"Fuck yes," he exclaims when Geralt starts meeting him with thrusts of his own, and his whole body flutters. He's barely aware of his knees on the mattress anymore, Jaskier feels like he's floating - and it's Geralt's mighty cock meeting him half way that keeps him drifting, his mind hazy with pleasure. They're dancing together now, two lovers in sync, to the music of their flesh coming together...
If you ask Jaskier, he would call it art. The art of love making. And he would pay good coin to be able to watch himself and his lover going at it.
Geralt calls him tight, and Jaskier can't help laughing just a little bit. It's not the kind of praise he craves for, but he can tell Geralt is trying, and well- it's cute, really. Besides, having the witcher groaning his nickname like that is already a huge compliment by itself.
"And you, ah- you are fucking thick, love." Unlike Geralt, Jaskier is capable to do some narrating while fucking. Because of course he is, damn bards and their tongues. "I've never -fuck- never been so full. Every thrust of yours stretches me more and it's simply wondrous."
Those hands shouldn't be on his hips, they should be on his dick, but Jaskier doesn't express that thought. He can tell Geralt wants to keep things slow - he hasn't made the connection to the little witcher issue yet, but that's still fine by Jaskier, who does agree on having a nice, slow first time together. Let them enjoy each other, learn what they want, build up to one hell of an orgasm. It's incredibly hard, though, pun intended. It's not only the years of pining and the fact he hadn't had sex in weeks that have him riding Geralt like a stolen horse - no, it's also those teeth grazing his skin, taunting him with the possibilities those fangs could offer; it's the nose searching for his scent; for there's no greater flattery that your lover being high on your natural smell...
It's those witcher muscles, flexing under his hand and legs, it's being allowed to cling to them and touch every scar and weak spot, being held by those strong hands without breaking, it's those golden eyes with pupils widening at the sight of their bard...
It's Geralt and every detail of his persona driving him crazy.
So yes, while Jaskier's goal is to make his lover lose it, he's also thankful (for a change) for that witcher control that reminds him to take it easy and savor the moment.
Jaskier hums his agreement and bottoms out once again, allowing his legs to rest for a short moment as he offers mores of his neck for Geralt to nose and nip-but-not-really.
"You know..." He comments as he rolls his hips not to lose their rhythm and lets his hands wander to explore Geralt's body again, their skin smoothly travelling through glistening muscles, groping at pecs and stroking biceps. He could worship his witcher's body all night long. "No need to mind your teeth so much, my dear. I don't mind a little biting."
His tone comes out a little needier than he intends it to, but oh well, to hell with it. It's not like he needs to hide his wants any longer, even if he will have to take his time with some stuff not to put pressure on Geralt (or scare him off, if that's a possibility).
When Jaskier starts riding him again, it's with a slower, more sensual than frantic rhythm. Like he did at the beginning, he raises until only the tip is still inside him, but this time he lowers himself unhurriedly, basking in the feeling of each inch of Geralt's prick filling him in little by little, making his stretched hole tingle deliciously and his insides tighten around it. It's the sweetest of tortures, having his whole body almost aching with filthy delight, his dick twitching against Geralt's hard stomach completely unattended and knowing that just a fingertip brushing it could be enough to make it end right now.
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If you ask Jaskier, he would call it art. The art of love making. And he would pay good coin to be able to watch himself and his lover going at it.
Geralt calls him tight, and Jaskier can't help laughing just a little bit. It's not the kind of praise he craves for, but he can tell Geralt is trying, and well- it's cute, really. Besides, having the witcher groaning his nickname like that is already a huge compliment by itself.
"And you, ah- you are fucking thick, love." Unlike Geralt, Jaskier is capable to do some narrating while fucking. Because of course he is, damn bards and their tongues. "I've never -fuck- never been so full. Every thrust of yours stretches me more and it's simply wondrous."
Those hands shouldn't be on his hips, they should be on his dick, but Jaskier doesn't express that thought. He can tell Geralt wants to keep things slow - he hasn't made the connection to the little witcher issue yet, but that's still fine by Jaskier, who does agree on having a nice, slow first time together. Let them enjoy each other, learn what they want, build up to one hell of an orgasm. It's incredibly hard, though, pun intended. It's not only the years of pining and the fact he hadn't had sex in weeks that have him riding Geralt like a stolen horse - no, it's also those teeth grazing his skin, taunting him with the possibilities those fangs could offer; it's the nose searching for his scent; for there's no greater flattery that your lover being high on your natural smell...
It's those witcher muscles, flexing under his hand and legs, it's being allowed to cling to them and touch every scar and weak spot, being held by those strong hands without breaking, it's those golden eyes with pupils widening at the sight of their bard...
It's Geralt and every detail of his persona driving him crazy.
So yes, while Jaskier's goal is to make his lover lose it, he's also thankful (for a change) for that witcher control that reminds him to take it easy and savor the moment.
Jaskier hums his agreement and bottoms out once again, allowing his legs to rest for a short moment as he offers mores of his neck for Geralt to nose and nip-but-not-really.
"You know..." He comments as he rolls his hips not to lose their rhythm and lets his hands wander to explore Geralt's body again, their skin smoothly travelling through glistening muscles, groping at pecs and stroking biceps. He could worship his witcher's body all night long. "No need to mind your teeth so much, my dear. I don't mind a little biting."
His tone comes out a little needier than he intends it to, but oh well, to hell with it. It's not like he needs to hide his wants any longer, even if he will have to take his time with some stuff not to put pressure on Geralt (or scare him off, if that's a possibility).
When Jaskier starts riding him again, it's with a slower, more sensual than frantic rhythm. Like he did at the beginning, he raises until only the tip is still inside him, but this time he lowers himself unhurriedly, basking in the feeling of each inch of Geralt's prick filling him in little by little, making his stretched hole tingle deliciously and his insides tighten around it. It's the sweetest of tortures, having his whole body almost aching with filthy delight, his dick twitching against Geralt's hard stomach completely unattended and knowing that just a fingertip brushing it could be enough to make it end right now.