Geralt's nostrils flare, and Jaskier can't help wondering why - is he checking his scent for any hints of pain? Or is he absorbing how bloody aroused his lover is feeling right now? He's probably a lust bomb at the moment, he imagines - is it too overwhelming for a witcher nose? Geralt obviously likes it, judging by his reactions. It doesn't really matter if it's A or B, though, both options are incredibly sweet, and they make him love the man under him even more.
Together with every groan, they also make his cock twitch.
Jaskier squeezes his butt every time he hears those lovely sounds, wanting to elicit more from him, wanting the witcher to lose that carefully maintained control. Which is a bit ironic, because he's also very grateful for Geralt's masterful witcher control, for giving him time to get used to the feeling, for not pounding into him without a thought (even if it would be hot as fuck). The gentle caresses of those strong hands (gentle for him, for him!) are an anchor that both keeps him grounded -helping him ease into the feeling easier- and makes his mind floaty at the same time, cloudy with warmth and bliss.
He can't help the little gasp that escapes his lips when Geralt responds to his request without hesitation (so easily, so ready, so eager for him) and now he has him closer, he notices the way those golden irises he loves so much have almost becoma invisible under all the black (forhimforhimforhimFORHIM). Crazy, this witcher is going to drive him fucking crazy. Bursting with lust and love, Jaskier meets Geralt half way to crash their lips together, giving back as much neediness and desperation as his lover is pouring into him. His arms quickly surround Geralt's neck, a hand burying in white locks to pull gently yet firmly and explore a little more of that little discovery from earlier. He's dying to put his legs around Geralt too, latch onto him and never let go, but he promised a ride and a show, and Jaskier's keeping his word.
"I believe that's what we are trying to do here, my dear." He teases with a chuckle, looking incredibly smug at Geralt's little curse and the twitch of his hips. Oh, the witcher is slowly getting there, barely able to keep that control going, Jaskier needs to push just a bit more...
But Geralt takes a moment to pull himself together, and fuck, Jaskier can't bring himself to complain. How can he, when it's his bloody scent that his lover is seeking, the taste of his very skin? Jaskier absorbs all this wonderful attention, lets it shape their pear, lets it burn his body and turn his stomach and make his heart beat so fast, not even an arrow could go faster. It's his turn to curse when Geralt runs his finger along his ring, which is incredible sensitive at the moment - it sends a shock of pleasure through his whole body, making his legs shake and his hand pull at the witcher's hair a little harder than intended.
And as if that wasn't enough, Geralt then says the magic words.
You're so fucking good to me.
The effect is instant: Jaskier's eyes widen, pupils expanding and body shivering as his scent spikes with both pleasure and glee, expressed through the neediest of whimpers.
Fucking witcher! Talk about hitting him in his weak spot!
"Am-- am I?" He replies as he recovers his voice just barely, whispering the words against Geralt's mouth as his body raises on his knees very slowly, intending to tease the cock between his cheeks as it slips out, only keeping the head inside. Jaskier squeezes his ass once more--
"How good am I? Tell me."
--before sinking down in one go, the wolf medallion getting stuck between their chests, the moan that leaves his mouth filthy and loud. So, so loud. The bard's calloused fingers fall on Geralt's back and anchor themselves there as support as Jaskier raises again, not all the way this time, but enough to make it worth it. His eyes never stop staring right into Geralt's as Jaskier starts riding him with as much grace, sensuality and rhythm as he usually puts into dance. He may be no witcher, but he still knows his body and how to use it, how to roll his hips just right to find the perfect angle that hits that sweet spot inside and allow his cock to rub itself against his lover's amazing abs. Geralt is thick and long and just perfect, never has Jaskier felt so full - there isn't an inch inside him that goes unattended, no part of his persona that isn't being hit with wave after wave of passion and raw wantonness.
no subject
Together with every groan, they also make his cock twitch.
Jaskier squeezes his butt every time he hears those lovely sounds, wanting to elicit more from him, wanting the witcher to lose that carefully maintained control. Which is a bit ironic, because he's also very grateful for Geralt's masterful witcher control, for giving him time to get used to the feeling, for not pounding into him without a thought (even if it would be hot as fuck). The gentle caresses of those strong hands (gentle for him, for him!) are an anchor that both keeps him grounded -helping him ease into the feeling easier- and makes his mind floaty at the same time, cloudy with warmth and bliss.
He can't help the little gasp that escapes his lips when Geralt responds to his request without hesitation (so easily, so ready, so eager for him) and now he has him closer, he notices the way those golden irises he loves so much have almost becoma invisible under all the black (forhimforhimforhimFORHIM). Crazy, this witcher is going to drive him fucking crazy. Bursting with lust and love, Jaskier meets Geralt half way to crash their lips together, giving back as much neediness and desperation as his lover is pouring into him. His arms quickly surround Geralt's neck, a hand burying in white locks to pull gently yet firmly and explore a little more of that little discovery from earlier. He's dying to put his legs around Geralt too, latch onto him and never let go, but he promised a ride and a show, and Jaskier's keeping his word.
"I believe that's what we are trying to do here, my dear." He teases with a chuckle, looking incredibly smug at Geralt's little curse and the twitch of his hips. Oh, the witcher is slowly getting there, barely able to keep that control going, Jaskier needs to push just a bit more...
But Geralt takes a moment to pull himself together, and fuck, Jaskier can't bring himself to complain. How can he, when it's his bloody scent that his lover is seeking, the taste of his very skin? Jaskier absorbs all this wonderful attention, lets it shape their pear, lets it burn his body and turn his stomach and make his heart beat so fast, not even an arrow could go faster. It's his turn to curse when Geralt runs his finger along his ring, which is incredible sensitive at the moment - it sends a shock of pleasure through his whole body, making his legs shake and his hand pull at the witcher's hair a little harder than intended.
And as if that wasn't enough, Geralt then says the magic words.
You're so fucking good to me.
The effect is instant: Jaskier's eyes widen, pupils expanding and body shivering as his scent spikes with both pleasure and glee, expressed through the neediest of whimpers.
Fucking witcher! Talk about hitting him in his weak spot!
"Am-- am I?" He replies as he recovers his voice just barely, whispering the words against Geralt's mouth as his body raises on his knees very slowly, intending to tease the cock between his cheeks as it slips out, only keeping the head inside. Jaskier squeezes his ass once more--
"How good am I? Tell me."
--before sinking down in one go, the wolf medallion getting stuck between their chests, the moan that leaves his mouth filthy and loud. So, so loud. The bard's calloused fingers fall on Geralt's back and anchor themselves there as support as Jaskier raises again, not all the way this time, but enough to make it worth it. His eyes never stop staring right into Geralt's as Jaskier starts riding him with as much grace, sensuality and rhythm as he usually puts into dance. He may be no witcher, but he still knows his body and how to use it, how to roll his hips just right to find the perfect angle that hits that sweet spot inside and allow his cock to rub itself against his lover's amazing abs. Geralt is thick and long and just perfect, never has Jaskier felt so full - there isn't an inch inside him that goes unattended, no part of his persona that isn't being hit with wave after wave of passion and raw wantonness.