Stuck

[antimonyschnuck]

Stuck

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Geralt/Emhyr

Rating: mature (smutty but not explicit)

Geralt is trying to get Emhyr out of his trousers. In which he's stuck.

"Halt, who - oh, Master Witcher. Have a good day, Sire." The Vizima palace guard shuffled back into their watch stance.

The witcher was usually more talkative, today he just gave a salutary grunt. The hood of his cloak was pulled down over his face. It was early in the morning and he was probably hung over. The guard sniggered. Happened to the best of us.

It clearly was the witcher, though, the cloak billowed freely away from what was unmistakably one of the witcher's colourful sets of armour. Tight green leather trousers overlayed with intricately shaped metal parts in strategic places - a bit like a steel girdle - and a multi-layered combination of a red jerkin with leather and metal patches.

The witcher went into the direction of the stables and was obviously on his way to ride out.

*****

The stable hand had Roach and another horse at the ready, as she had been asked for the day before.

She jumped slightly when the witcher suddenly dropped down to the stables from a palace window, but whatever. He wasn’t exactly a noble as far as she knew, but he rubbed shoulders with an emperor, so of course he was eccentric and she didn’t even want to know.

The witcher was personable enough though and greeted her; most nobles and half of the soldier types never did. Then a cloaked figure in green and red armour approached and was introduced as the witcher’s brother Lambert, who didn’t talk since he’d been cursed by a witch and whose face was so hideous he always wore a hood. The two men mounted their horses and vanished into the misty Temerian morning.

*****

"I am not sure I approve of the fact that the palace personnel are so easily misled," the very distinctive voice of the emperor resounded from underneath the hood. " Hvren those trousers are tight."

Geralt snickered. "But you got your wish to ride out just like a normal person." He clicked his tongue at Roach. "Come on. Race you to that copse!"

*****

Two hours later back at the palace they were met with the backlash of their shenanigans.

Geralt was waiting for his armour in the parlour. Emhyr seemed to take his sweet time changing out of it.

"Witcher!" The emperor sounded oddly hesitant. "Come in here."

Geralt put back the bottle of liquor he'd been sniffing and stalked over to the Imperial bedroom. He opened the door enough to talk through the gap. "Do you need help with the buckles?" Emhyr had been able to don the armour all by himself earlier.

The sigh almost sounded like a growl. "No. Get in here and get me out of those. Do not laugh."

Geralt opened the door and definitely didn't laugh; mainly because he was hit in the face by the very sudden epiphany that Emhyr was an extremely attractive man, a thought he simply hadn't entertained before. Much.

He'd managed to peel out of everything but the trousers and looked dishevelled and furious, his hair was mussed up, tiny beads of sweat glinted in his dark chest hair, and he shoved at the metal parts around his hips - to no avail. "Just cut them off me."

Geralt baulked. "I'll do no such thing! That’s the only set of armour large enough I can wear woollen undergarment underneath. If you got them on, we can get them off."

He studied the situation from up close, subtly scenting the heated air carrying enticing notes of Emhyr. The plate armour parts were a codpiece (albeit not one of the ridiculous bulbous things but more of a flat triangular plate) and two pieces hugging the hips, connected via joints to thigh guards. Everything was manoeuvrable enough Emhyr had been able to move around and ride a horse but it wouldn't budge downwards anymore. The leather trousers could have been rolled down but there was no rolling anything with the plates in place. Geralt sighed in frustration.

The emperor shivered, either because the room temperature was cool and he was sweaty or because Geralt's breath had just caressed his naked stomach.

"I have an idea. Fortunately you forewent wearing smallclothes today." Geralt straightened up from his crouching position. "Do you have any oil at hand?"

"I did not 'forego' wearing something underneath, it did not fit." Emhyr managed to be more annoyed than before. "This is my bedroom. Who has oil in their bedroom?"

Geralt kept his face straight. "I'll be back in a minute." He closed the door behind himself and rang the ring pull in the parlour.

Mererid magically appeared within seconds. He narrowed his eyes. "His Imperial Majesty is looking different today."

Geralt snorted. "Funny. His Imperial Majesty is in need of some oil. Be so kind and get us some, maybe from the kitchens. Doesn't need to be fancy, just slick." The moment he said it, he knew how Mererid would interpret this and he grinned, which did nothing to mitigate the implications.

Mererid stood there for two seconds - his life possibly flashing by behind his eyes - then he confirmed "Oil, right away," turned on his heels and left. He returned shortly with a fantastically huge demijohn full of cooking oil. He was probably aiming at being reticent but this would actually be helpful.

"Thanks." Geralt vanished with the oil in the emperor's bedroom.

Emhyr hadn't managed to free himself in the meantime but was obviously trying, as he lay on his back, slowly pushing himself across his giant bed like a caterpillar. It should have looked ridiculous but only did unhelpful things to Geralt's anatomy. Fortunately Geralt's gambeson reached down far enough it would cover his dignity for however long this would take.

"Alright, stand here. We don't need to get your bed greasy." Geralt directed the disgruntled emperor to lean back against his sturdy bed post and started pouring oil on Emhyr’s stomach. The pale golden liquid slowly oozed down and vanished in the narrow gap behind the waistband Emhyr managed to hold open, wicked away by the strip of dark hair growing from Emhyr’s navel… downwards.

Geralt attempted to spread the oil on a broader expanse of Emhyr's skin and press on the leather from the outside but Emhyr slapped away his hand and insisted on doing that himself.

"Now turn around, hold on to the bedpost and lean forward a little." Emhyr squawked when he felt the oil run down his backside but got silent when Geralt massaged the leather to spread it evenly. Geralt was too absorbed by his task to notice perhaps unusual levels of compliance. He did notice when Emhyr turned around and looked into his eyes.

"This is counterproductive," Emhyr said carefully.

Geralt cleared his throat. "No, trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Emhyr laughed under his breath. "We both know what you are doing."

Geralt flinched.

Emhyr kept staring at him but his eyes glinted. "You are going to cut those trousers off me now. If you still do not acquiesce I will have to find some arguments to make you reexamine your priorities. Let me give you an example."

He grabbed Geralt by the front of his gambeson and pulled him in for a slow and demanding kiss. Maybe he lost himself in it for a bit because when they paused he didn't follow up with his rhetoric and it was Geralt who kept him steady.

"Yeah that was convincing," Geralt grunted.