It may be just a little humming, but it's still a reaction, one that makes Jaskier raise both his eyebrows and smile a little smugly. Something similar had happened in Oxenfurt, he's remembering now - Geralt does like having his boobs touched, his nipples especially it seems. It's good news, great even, it helps Jaskier ease into things - in his experience, men usually aren't as much into male boobs (be touching them or being touched there) as they are into women's. If Geralt enjoys Jaskier's groping, then this horny bard feels better about indulging into this little kink of his, both now and in the future.
The hands on his ass get a weird, startled sound out of him - a groan that mixes both pleasure and a little complaint. While he's far from being in actual pain, his ass is still a bit sore. Is he going to mention it? Of course not, because it doesn't bother him, but he can bet his lute it will bother Geralt.
"Always so romantic," he replies as he rolls his eyes. "Sorry for caring about my beloved's well-being, I guess."
The sarcasm is strong in this one, but he still does as he's told. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth and pours the oil... not on his hands, but directly on his dick. And not only his dick, on Geralt's boobs as well - some of it drips down onto the furs and the witcher's neck, and Jaskier can't bring himself to care. Geralt is quite a sight under him, with his hair loose and disheveled, his boobs glistening and a cock right on top of him. It's a damn pity his own prick won't wake up during this, because Jaskier wants to fucking devour him.
Calloused fingers rub the oil all over Geralt's chest and his own cock before he starts moving, occasionally lifting his legs and therefore ass a bit for smoother thrusting and to avoid too much friction on the sore area. He keeps on massaging those amazing tits as he bucks his hips in a languid, slow pace - he gropes, squeezes, rubs, pushes them against his cock and moans a little louder every time he can see his head almost fucking disappear.
"Fuck. You're so good to me, love. What a-ah, what a marvelous and gorgeous vision you make, enough to inspire Melitele herself. I could -fuck- worship you all day long..."
Now that's something he hasn't done in a while, a day-long sex marathon. He should throw the idea at Geralt, but probably way into Spring, because there's no way they'll have the day for themselves in here, with a child surprise and nosy brothers around. Maybe if they go back to Oxenfurt and Geralt accepts to take a break... can't hurt to ask.
This isn't love making, it's just morning wood. And while Jaskier is enjoying the hell out of fucking Geralt's boobs, spouting poetry until he can't talk anymore and is reduced to simple words and panting, he isn't doing much to keep control and make it last. His thrusts come quicker and more erratic, the medalion starts bouncing on his own chest, his hands do less squeezing and more simply leaning on the witcher's pecs, nails digging on oily skin, his scent sweet and spicy and heavy in the room.
It's a pity he has to let go of Geralt's tits when he comes - his whole body trembles and so he needs better support, giving in to the tremors and bending over with hands landing on both sides of Geralt's head. He comes hard, moaning the witcher's name and decorating his neck and chin with the promised pearls. It's not as good as the orgasm he got from Geralt actually fucking him, but it's still a damn good one. It's not sad wank, it's still toe curling and stomach turning, one that he still savors for a few seconds before he stops moving, before he stops riding this climax until the very end to milk it into oblivion. Is it always going to be like this with Geralt? Like being a teen again, discovering how good and satisfying sex can be?
It's the connection he mentioned last night, he's sure of it now. And okay, a hard fucking body worthy of the gods also has to do with it, obviously, but mostly the connection. He's willing to bet it wouldn't have bee this good had they done it back on Posada.
He stays for a moment there, bent above Geralt, panting and recovering, a huge smile on his face. And when he finally moves, well, he doesn't sit up - not yet. Instead, he uses one hand to spread his cum on Geralt's chest, mixing it together with the oil and creating random patterns.
"Mmmh, a breathtaking work of art. I suppose I can't take you down to breakfast like this, can I?" He'd pay good coin just to see Vesemir's face.
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The hands on his ass get a weird, startled sound out of him - a groan that mixes both pleasure and a little complaint. While he's far from being in actual pain, his ass is still a bit sore. Is he going to mention it? Of course not, because it doesn't bother him, but he can bet his lute it will bother Geralt.
"Always so romantic," he replies as he rolls his eyes. "Sorry for caring about my beloved's well-being, I guess."
The sarcasm is strong in this one, but he still does as he's told. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth and pours the oil... not on his hands, but directly on his dick. And not only his dick, on Geralt's boobs as well - some of it drips down onto the furs and the witcher's neck, and Jaskier can't bring himself to care. Geralt is quite a sight under him, with his hair loose and disheveled, his boobs glistening and a cock right on top of him. It's a damn pity his own prick won't wake up during this, because Jaskier wants to fucking devour him.
Calloused fingers rub the oil all over Geralt's chest and his own cock before he starts moving, occasionally lifting his legs and therefore ass a bit for smoother thrusting and to avoid too much friction on the sore area. He keeps on massaging those amazing tits as he bucks his hips in a languid, slow pace - he gropes, squeezes, rubs, pushes them against his cock and moans a little louder every time he can see his head almost fucking disappear.
"Fuck. You're so good to me, love. What a-ah, what a marvelous and gorgeous vision you make, enough to inspire Melitele herself. I could -fuck- worship you all day long..."
Now that's something he hasn't done in a while, a day-long sex marathon. He should throw the idea at Geralt, but probably way into Spring, because there's no way they'll have the day for themselves in here, with a child surprise and nosy brothers around. Maybe if they go back to Oxenfurt and Geralt accepts to take a break... can't hurt to ask.
This isn't love making, it's just morning wood. And while Jaskier is enjoying the hell out of fucking Geralt's boobs, spouting poetry until he can't talk anymore and is reduced to simple words and panting, he isn't doing much to keep control and make it last. His thrusts come quicker and more erratic, the medalion starts bouncing on his own chest, his hands do less squeezing and more simply leaning on the witcher's pecs, nails digging on oily skin, his scent sweet and spicy and heavy in the room.
It's a pity he has to let go of Geralt's tits when he comes - his whole body trembles and so he needs better support, giving in to the tremors and bending over with hands landing on both sides of Geralt's head. He comes hard, moaning the witcher's name and decorating his neck and chin with the promised pearls. It's not as good as the orgasm he got from Geralt actually fucking him, but it's still a damn good one. It's not sad wank, it's still toe curling and stomach turning, one that he still savors for a few seconds before he stops moving, before he stops riding this climax until the very end to milk it into oblivion. Is it always going to be like this with Geralt? Like being a teen again, discovering how good and satisfying sex can be?
It's the connection he mentioned last night, he's sure of it now. And okay, a hard fucking body worthy of the gods also has to do with it, obviously, but mostly the connection. He's willing to bet it wouldn't have bee this good had they done it back on Posada.
He stays for a moment there, bent above Geralt, panting and recovering, a huge smile on his face. And when he finally moves, well, he doesn't sit up - not yet. Instead, he uses one hand to spread his cum on Geralt's chest, mixing it together with the oil and creating random patterns.
"Mmmh, a breathtaking work of art. I suppose I can't take you down to breakfast like this, can I?" He'd pay good coin just to see Vesemir's face.