Boxed/Unwrapped/Misethere Deorum

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Emhyr/Geralt

Rating: explicit and awkward

Geralt and Emhyr wake up in a coffin like box, tied up together. This starts something they pursue very clumsily. (This started out only with "Boxed" and then the other chapters emerged - so it's 3 fics in a series on Ao3.)

4300 words under the cut, 4300 words

Boxed

Geralt woke up drowsy. The first thing he noticed was that he lay in someone's arms in a nice, tight embrace. He sighed happily. The second thing that entered his conscious mind and went right into his loins was that someone's scent - woodsy, musky... kinda familiar. Geralt pressed his face into its source and breathed in deep. This was answered by the other's gasp. Mmhm, that smelled like -

"Emhyr?!"

Geralt forced his eyes open, tried to move and failed. It was rather dark, there was just enough light for his Witcher eyes to see. What he saw was a neck and when he lifted his head it gently collided with the face of the Emperor of Nilfgaard.

"What the fuck?" His lips brushed against the Emperor's jaw. The Emperor snorted, the air from his nose tickling Geralt's temple.

Geralt tried to escape the embrace and noticed he couldn't move his arms, which went in a tight clasp around Emhyr's chest. Now he was paying attention he realised his hands felt slightly numb and were clearly tied at the wrists.

"I can only repeat myself: What the fuck?" he growled.

"We are in some kind of wooden container, my arms are tied in a similar fashion as yours," the Emperor's deep, velvety voice explained patiently right next to Geralt's ear. It also reverberated from his chest through all of Geralt's body in all its infuriating magnificence.

Geralt said something like "Hng."

He remembered they'd been on their way back to Vizima after an Imperial visit to Oxenfurt. Ciri had urged him to accompany Emhyr as some kind of personal guard. It was clear she knew he was bored out of his mind and that would give him something to do, even if it meant spending more time with his Imperial Pain-in-the-Arse.

Then there was - shit, a royal wyvern attacking the Emperor's cohort had probably not been a bad dream then, that had happened, and in that chaos somehow someone had apparently managed to subdue both the Emperor and him and put them together in a box. Great.

"Your arms go around my shoulders, that means you can move them upwards, right?" he tried to visualise their positions.

"Yes. But there is nothing I can do with them there." Emhyr sounded like he was rolling his eyes.

"Scratch my head? Itches like mad." Geralt waited. "Please?"

Emhyr's arms moved up his shoulders and his hands came up to Geralt's head, fingers massaging his scalp. "That is a serious bump on your head," the Emperor diagnosed.

"Yeah, that's where it itches," Geralt sighed. "Thanks." It wasn't the only serious bump but he still hadn't given up faith keeping that knowledge from Emhyr.

He tried to wiggle without giving anything away.

"What are you doing?" the Emperor hissed.

"Trying to wriggle down so I can kick at the coffin wall. Come on, you'll have to move with me," Geralt explained.

The Emperor started wriggling, too. "I wish you had not called it that," he grunted.

"Well, we aren't burried or anything, there's still light and air coming through the gaps between the boards," Geralt reasoned while they were carefully inching their way down. Something pressed against his hip and the Emperor winced. They stilled.

Geralt had been aware of the smell of arousal mixed into Emhyr's enticing scent, he'd been happily wallowing in the mix but thought that part had just come from himself.

Emhyr kind of panted. "I apologise. I cannot- it is the physical friction and your voice." He'd turned his head away as much as possible.

"My voice?" Geralt was incredulous. "It's not me with the weapons-grade voice in here."

Emhyr tried to politely not-press his erection against Geralt's hip and in the course of this pressed his thigh against Geralt's hard cock. Geralt moaned and automatically bucked his hips. Emhyr groaned. They both just breathed for a few heartbeats.

"I can whisper in your ear if my voice is too distracting," Emhyr whispered into Geralt's ear. Geralt growled and Emhyr inhaled sharply.

"Let's try to get out of here first, alright?" Geralt sighed. "Just a little more and I can kick at the boards." Emhyr nodded carefully.

They moved more effectively now they didn't have anything to hide. Geralt got a little light headed from his calculations of Emhyr's estimated size.

"Alright, don't move or we'll just bump our knees together." Geralt kicked at the boards. It wasn't a good angle and really sturdy wood. "Shit." He kicked a few times more, just to release some steam.

"I keep a dagger in my right boot," the Emperor deigned to share. "I don't know if they took it while they had me drugged. Do you think you could somehow reach it, if it is still there?"

"Uh." Geralt contemplated his new task and sighed. Things had become more relaxed when he'd been able to distract himself by kicking at the boards but considering where his face was about to go made him rock hard so fast he felt dizzy. "Sure, why not," he rasped.

Fortunately they - whoever it was - had tied Geralt's arms around the Emperor's broad chest, so he could slowly slide down his body while still looping him with his arms. They both grunted from the effort. Then Emhyr moaned because Geralt's face pressed against his cock while he tried to get his arms over his arse. "Was your idea," he growled extra deep. Emhyr's hips bucked up, which helped a lot, actually.

Then Geralt squatted at the foot of their coffin like a flattened frog and eventually managed to push his tied hands all the way down under the Emperor's soles and back up between their bodies. He didn't even have to dislocate a shoulder for it to work. He'd be able to use his signs now, even if the knife should be NO there it was. "It's still there." He carefully slipped the knife from the Emperor's boot, the feeling in his hands was just now coming back properly. He shuffeled up a little, then cut first his own bonds, then Emhyr's.

"Alright, brace yourself and protect your eyes." Geralt pointed upwards. "I'm going to blast a hole into the top of our box. If whoever did this is outside, I'm going to fight them. Stay here, try not to attract any attention."

"Understood." The Emperor could be not-obnoxious if he tried to. Then he pulled Geralt back into a tight embrace and kissed him so thoroughly he forgot where they were. "I expect you in my bed tonight," he growled so low Geralt felt it in every nerve ending of his body.

He cleared his throat, then his head, and aarded their way out of the box. He needed them to be back at Vizima palace as fast as possible.

Unwrapped

The three thugs were having a good time. They were camping out in front of a dilapidated ruin of a house, sat around a fire and enjoyed a quiet team meeting eating dubious meat, drinking and boasting, one of them was whittling or at least attempted to whittle.

Now and then there were noises coming from the large rectangular box they were keeping an eye on, mostly grunts. At one time some serious kicks hit the sturdy boards of the box but it withstood the feeble attempt of violence. They had a bit of a laugh and continued with their business brunch.

It took them completely by surprise when the box was suddenly blasted open from within, some kind of raving berserker with wild, white hair jumped out of it like a grotesque Jack-in-the-box and descended upon them all, Melitele have mercy on their souls.

He had nothing but a knife, which immediately ended up in the whittler's eye. Then he killed middle management with their own sword, yanked the knife from the first one's eye, threw it and hit the third one in the back of their knee, which made it much more difficult for them to run away any further and was also a bit unhygienic.

"And now we're going to have a bit of a talk," he growled at them, holding the sword over their throat while they lay writhing on the ground.

*****

"I cannot believe someone would orchestrate something like that with the single objective of demanding gold. In exchange for an Emperor!" That Emperor was full of indignation. "They could have attempted to pressure Cirilla into making serious political concessions." He pulled his knife from the dead kidnapper's knee and wiped it off with their shirt.

Geralt pulled an eyebrow on him. "Not everyone slaughters for the pure, ethical cause of political power." He went around the corner of the house, ignoring the Emperor's huffing and puffing. "Try to stay alive all by yourself for a minute, I have to take a piss."

The Emperor stood there, blinking, and then went into some bushes to the other side of the building. Geralt had gotten them out of the box just in time. It would have become a lot less cosy pretty soon.

"Good news, there are horses back there," Geralt returned. He went into the hut, looking through trunks and crates. When he turned his head he saw the Emperor watch him through the open doorway. "Looking for my stuff. They took my swords and outer layer of armour," he explained.

The Emperor hummed. The very slight shadow of a leer was on his lips. His eyes were not on Geralt's face.

Geralt took a deep breath, stayed bent over the trunk as he was, opened it and found his armour, thank fuck. He felt the Emperor's blatant gaze on his arse like a caress. So that's how they were going to behave around each other now, apparently. Geralt would have gone for professional detachment - as demonstrated above - at least temporarily.

He moved, trying to look unimpressed. Emhyr smirked. Geralt's swords leant against the wall behind the door. Emhyr kept fondling him with his eyes while he donned his layers.

"Happy you found new ways to rile me up?" Geralt sighed ostentatiously.

Emhyr stepped closer, still wearing his smirk. He hummed very low. "Indeed. And you like it." His fingertips grazed Geralt's thighs just below his arse while he passed by him. "Horses?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. Unfortunately he did like it; a lot. "Behind the building. Follow me. You can watch me walk."

*****

The Emperor had managed to return to Vizima palace before anyone there had made a decision how to react on the ransom note they'd received in the morning. He vanished in an expanding cloud of buzzing people, all squeezing after him into the building.

Geralt stood completely by himself in front of the palace and huffed. He could hear crickets in the nearby underbrush. He shrugged to himself and went to find his room, water, food, and some peace and quiet.

In the late afternoon there was an extraordinarily polite knock on the door and Mererid entered immediately, not waiting for admission. He had a flat parcel, a box and a letter, carried it all stacked on one flat hand with the gravitas he probably exuded when he presented the Emperor with his chain of office, but his face showed so much contempt it threatened to burn a hole into anything he looked at for more than a few seconds.

"With regards from his Imperial Majesty," he said through his nose. "The gentleman will follow these orders and then wait until he is being summoned." He deposited the delivery on Geralt's table, turned on his heels and left without waiting for any reaction. After him several servants entered, carrying buckets with steaming water, heading directly for the bathtub in the corner of the room.

Geralt opened the letter while the chain of servants was still filling the tub. Fortunately he was good at keeping expressions from showing up in his face. The last servant left the room, bowing themselves out, and Geralt was alone with his hot bath, his brand new satin robe and slippers, the very large syringe he'd found in the box, and detailed, very factual orders how he was expected to prepare himself.

He considered being contradictory about it but then -

Well, on the one hand: Who was he kidding, of course he wasn't just aware but kinda hopeful as to what the evening entertainment would encompass and one could have called it considerate to provide him with the means to clean himself up properly. Had it not been in form of extremely impersonal orders that read like a standardised leaflet handed out for such occasions, making it clear he was going to be the evening entertainment.

But on the other hand - and again, who was he kidding - exactly because the whole procedure felt like Emhyr sending forth his tendrils of power, Geralt felt tickled. But also infuriated. But also tickled.

*****

The satin robe was beautiful. It was very black with even blacker ornaments embroidered along all seams, very flimsy - as it was satin, and a robe - and so long the hem swirled around Geralt's feet. It was not a piece of clothing - if you could even call it that - appropriate to wear in public, but there he was, walking through the palace in it with two Impera Guards as colour coordinated accessories. It was a bit too much. He felt like a sacrificial virgin being led to be intimately introduced to a group of cult members; or maybe a non-sacrificial virgin on the way to be droit-du-seigneured. Alright, this wasn't too bad.

The Imperas stopped at the Imperial chambers and opened the doors for him. Their faces were expressionless. They must have had special training in that; probably sparred regularly by showing each other grotesque pictures. Geralt wasn't nervous, that would have been ridiculous.

He stepped inside and the heavy doors closed behind him. He'd been in Emhyr's private rooms before, this wasn't entirely new territory, but his state of undress made this surreal. The Emperor's study/parlour was deserted. The door to his bedroom stood wide open, Geralt could hear that someone was in there. He approached. No reason to become all apprehensive now, it was only Emhyr after all, right? He - oh fuck.

The Emperor reclined in an armchair by a fire place, sipping cognac from a tumbler. He was wearing a black-and-gold robe - but barely. He smiled wickedly and put the tumbler down on a side table. "There you are. Good." He offhandedly pushed away the last bit of robe that had still covered him. "You may service me now."

Some kinds of pain are like that. They make you forget you just inhaled and have to exhale next, so it feels like you can't draw a breath anymore. Fortunately Geralt was well acquainted with this effect and didn't faint from having his brain fucked out from underneath him with just five words and an attitude. There had been half a second, before Emhyr had started to talk, in which Geralt had been undecided if he was going to play along - because he wasn't sure it actually was a game for Emhyr, too, or if he meant that shit for real. Well. He could still care about minor details like that later.

Geralt stepped between the Emperor's lazily sprawled legs. Their eyes locked. Geralt knelt. Something in Emhyr's gaze gave but it wasn't triumph taking hold, it was something soft and private. Geralt licked his lips, a tiny movement, not for show. The Emperor's erection twitched, swaying heavily in the air and his thigh muscles contracted under Geralt's hands. Geralt lowered his head, almost touching the base of Emhyr's cock with his lips, breathed him in deeply and let his breath tease his skin, then fixed his eyes back on his face. "Your Majesty." Emhyr groaned helplessly while Geralt licked his way up the underside of his cock, slowly but determined.

The Emperor got himself back under control almost immediately, touched Geralt's hair with one hand and gingerly held his head. "Yes. Like that." His voice was remarkably little shaky but much lower than Geralt had ever heard him speak before. The bastard reached with his other hand for his cognac. "Proceed."

Geralt trembled, repeated a few of those slow, thorough licks and then started lapping at Emhyr's weeping glans while his Majesty leisurely took another sip from his tumbler. Geralt lost it right there. He clenched his jaw and moaned, pressed his face against Emhyr's cock, grabbed at rock hard thigh muscles and desperately pushed his own aching cock against Emhyr's naked calf. The hand in his hair gripped a little tighter and when he finally looked up again the Emperor swirled his cognac around his glass, watching him with almost relaxed amusement. "How often do you think you can come just from pleasuring me."

In one relentlessly slow move and with a raspy low growl Geralt took him in deep. Emhyr gasped a stifled moan and his tumbler hit the table with a solid clang as he set it down without much coordination. Geralt couldn't even properly swallow him, the girth was a challenge; all he was able to do around it was keeping his teeth away. He let him glide out for a quick breath and sucked him in deep again, letting his throat muscles contract a few times for good measure and even found enough air left to hum, while carefully caressing Emhyr's balls.

Emhyr made a quiet, intense noise when he came. He gripped Geralt's head and just held him there for a few heart beats. Geralt tried to press his tongue and lips against him as hard as he could to ease his need. Emhyr cursed. It was a lot of new Nilfgaardian vocabulary. Geralt let his cock slip out and caught his breath.

Emhyr was looking down on him with a frown and cleared his throat. "I apologise. I had planned this differently. I have never reacted like that before. You are, of course, free to leave."

Geralt huffed. "I was always free to leave. Do you usually kick people out immediately after you came?"

Emhyr stared. "I do not 'usually' do any of this."

Geralt looked puzzled.

Emhyr rolled his eyes, nudged Geralt away, rose and went to bed. "Fornication of any sort has always felt very perfunctory. Utterly unnecessary. I have not felt the need to engage in it for some time."

Geralt snorted. "For such a needless exercise you were rather enthusiastic today."

"Yes, apparently. I do not have an answer to explain that." Emhyr looked at Geralt. "Thank you very much?"

Geralt blinked and wrapped himself back into his robe. "You're welcome, I guess."

Misethere Deorum

"Witcher." The Emperor steepled his hands under his nose.

Geralt sighed. "Emhyr."

"I have a contract for you," the Emperor declared. "Take a seat."

Geralt sat. At least he would get something to do now.

"I seem to have been poisoned or cursed," the Emperor elaborated. "I need you to find out what it is and how to counteract it." He frowned. "This is so very undignified." He got up and started to pace. "I am also aware it might be you who did this to me."

"What?" Geralt sputtered. "The fuck? Why would I poison you?"

The Emperor shrugged. "Revenge, spite, mischief. I am not saying it was you. Indeed other parties would profit more from giving me a profound weakness like that, but if so - you still seem to be part of it, maybe unwillingly."

Geralt tried to make sense of any of it and couldn't. He decided to focus on the most important aspects. "What are your symptoms?" Maybe paranoia was one of them, that would explain everything else.

The Emperor huffed. "I feel a completely unwarranted, unnatural attraction towards you; you might have noticed. It limits my attention span, clouds my mind and presents my enemies with an exploitable vulnerability."

Geralt gave him a long-suffering look. "Is this your way of proposing to have another go at it? You could just ask, you kn-"

"I do not want to 'have another go at it', on the contrary." The Emperor was starting to put little stops between his words. That was usually the moment people started to sweat and comply unconditionally. "I blame myself for not immediately noticing it was a condition induced by some foreign substance or spell. I might have been slightly overwhelmed because it felt pleasant at first. I would not have acted on it as I did, had I suspected."

Geralt blinked. What if Emhyr was right. "When did this compulsion of yours start? When we were captured and put into the box? They drugged you, there might have been more to it."

Emhyr sat down again, propped his elbows up on his desk and rubbed his face. "No. Before."

Geralt's eyebrows went up. He tried his best to stay professional about it. "It would be great if you could give an approximation, then we'd know who had access to you at the time."

Emhyr exhaled. "Shortly after you arrived here with Cirilla."

There was a long pause in which Geralt listened to the Emperor's quickened heartbeat.

"Emhyr." Geralt squinted at him. "What exactly is the difference between what you're experiencing to what you'd call 'normal attraction'?"

The Emperor attempted, and almost succeeded, to impale Geralt on the glance he threw him. "It is much stronger. Like everything you think it will be when you are young and read about it and think it must be just wonderful. Like Zerrikanian Delight. Once you actually try some, you find out it is just odd, tasteless sugar. And now, suddenly, I am drowning in it and it is everything and even more." He burried his face in his hands. "Even acting on it was incredible."

Geralt tried very hard not to take that as a compliment. Obviously something was wrong with Emhyr. "Don't get startled, not gonna take advantage of you," he warned him and stepped around the desk. "Hold my medallion. Does it vibrate?"

The Emperor shook his head.

"Alright, I'm going to sniff at you now, try if I can identify anything from it." He knew Emhyr's scent, he'd wallowed in it, he'd been boxed in with it, but he'd never tried to analyse it for residual substances. He put his nose into Emhyr's collar. Everything as usual, the very, very good powdery core scent of Emhyr's body, some sharper, spicy notes of sweat, the woodsy citrus of his cologne and also an enticing musky waft of arousal - but if he'd been affected for weeks Geralt was maybe just missing the neutral baseline.

Emhyr was panting in his ear and he felt a little dizzy himself. Was he afflicted, too? It was odd how he'd felt drawn to Emhyr, not because it was a completely new feeling for him, but still. Emhyr? Throwing his heart at a rock troll would yield a better future prognosis. And he'd felt like shit when he'd been discarded after that one evening; he usually had no problems having casual encounters and not persue it further. To be honest, the last time he'd felt that desperate for a connection he'd forced it with a djinn; but he was very sure he'd done no such thing this time. On a different note, maybe he shouldn't keep pressing his face into Emhyr's neck. "Sorry I think it affects me, too, but I can't identify anything by scent," he rasped, leaning away.

"I don't know of any substance that would act like that. Some of them are vicious, you wouldn't be able to function normally on them - but you'd have to have looked at me while you breathed it in. Some of them are even life threatening if you don't act on them, but most of them are rather mild and would just work for a few hours, also all of those lesser potions have a general effect, that means you'd feel very personable to everyone including Mererid."

Emhyr huffed. He'd pulled himself together again. "A curse then."

Geralt nodded. "Have you made a wish to a djinn lately? Or a shady, smarmy man offering you help and burning you with a rune?"

Emhyr gave him a dry look. "I think I would remember. Have you?"

"Yeah, but not recently," Geralt shrugged.

There was another pause in which both of them were thinking and Emhyr had absentmindedly started to fondle Geralt's sleeve.

"Do you want me to contact a sourceress about this?" Geralt thought he deserved a medal or maybe a wheel of cheese for even suggesting it out loud, he did not want to tell any of them what this was about. Yen would kill him. Triss would be very hurt. Keira would cackle, pull a grift on Emhyr and worst of all tell Lambert. Any of the others - yeah, or why not ask a golem for a massage.

Emhyr looked at him with a stony expression.

"Can't stress enough how much I agree," Geralt exhaled. "I'm going to tell you if I can think of other options." He cleared his throat. "I'll leave if you let go of my arm."

"Yes." Emhyr winced and let go. "Very Good. You may leave now."

*****

Mousesack looked at the Emperor and the Witcher in utter disbelief. Ciri had fetched him via portal after Geralt had the idea to consult him and of course he couldn't say no to her.

"Is this a joke?" He looked around like he expected to find a trap or an explanation. "You've dragged me here because you have feelings for each other and think you've been cursed? You know who's cursed? I am!" He bumped his staff on the floor. "I always have to deal with your nonsense, what did I do to deserve this!"

Geralt shuffled his feet. "So you don't see any Chaos aura?"

Mousesack narrowed his eyes. "No. Only the chaos you constantly cause yourselves." He pointed his staff at Emhyr. "Don't look at me like that, you still owe me, I don't feel very deferential right now. And you," he pointed at Geralt, "you're still two taxidermied bears short of having made up for your destruction." He turned around to Ciri. "Alright child, you promised me something from Foltest's wine cellar. Let's have a look at that. Maybe it's been cursed and I have to decurse it."

Ciri lifted her eyebrows at her fathers and showed Mousesack out.

There was a pause in which both of them tried to come to terms with the fact that they'd been enormously silly and also...

"I think we need to talk and I mean talk."

"Hmph."