Geralt grunts in response to Jaskier's request, considering it. There's little harm to leaving his fangs as they are while they're in the keep, and, in all honestly, would be what he would've done if Jaskier and Ciri weren't around. There's little need to grind them down when no humans would be around to either be frightened of them or get injured by them. Jaskier's arms are a warm, pleasing weight on his shoulders, keeping him close while he breathes in his scent. Another thing that the bard inexplicably seems to like rather than find strange or unsettling.
He noses his way down from the bard's hair to an attractive spot right behind his ear, where the scent of him is particularly strong. Jaskier doesn't raise a hand to stop him, and he is well aware of the fact that he won't-- the bard is as much a slut for touching and affection as he is for everything else.
He presses a kiss to that pretty little spot, then another just below it; more, in a long trail down Jaskier's pretty neck-- like a sexy bird of some sort, gods forbid a goose-- until he runs out of neck and starts up the other side instead. His skin tastes clean with a hint of lavender soap, and Geralt presses kisses to the places that his mouth had gone last night and left bruises. Unlike witchers, those marks would hang around for days rather than mere hours.
"I'll keep them," he says, a reluctant concession. "But they aren't going into your neck."
Kisses and bruises for the necks of lovely bards, not teeth. That does technically leave the door open for teeth in other parts of his body, ones that have fewer delicate structures in them that could be easily damaged, but that's something to be taken on a case-by-case basis.
Geralt palms his way down from the bard's hips to his ass; it really does fit so very nicely in his hands, one on each cheek, pulling him flush. If he'd had the blood flow of a normal man, this would be the part where Jaskier would feel his arousal digging into his hip, but witcher physiology is on his side for this. When he leans in to kiss him, his body is as calm and composed as it always is-- good, for once, because he plans on riling his bard up a little bit. And considering that Jaskier rarely ever stops reeking of lust, a filthy kiss and some hands-on attention should be easily enough to get him going.
He continues until he feels Jaskier's interest, then breaks the kiss. Tipping his head, he murmurs against the bard's ear in that low, gravelly voice that he knows he likes,
no subject
He noses his way down from the bard's hair to an attractive spot right behind his ear, where the scent of him is particularly strong. Jaskier doesn't raise a hand to stop him, and he is well aware of the fact that he won't-- the bard is as much a slut for touching and affection as he is for everything else.
He presses a kiss to that pretty little spot, then another just below it; more, in a long trail down Jaskier's pretty neck-- like a sexy bird of some sort, gods forbid a goose-- until he runs out of neck and starts up the other side instead. His skin tastes clean with a hint of lavender soap, and Geralt presses kisses to the places that his mouth had gone last night and left bruises. Unlike witchers, those marks would hang around for days rather than mere hours.
"I'll keep them," he says, a reluctant concession. "But they aren't going into your neck."
Kisses and bruises for the necks of lovely bards, not teeth. That does technically leave the door open for teeth in other parts of his body, ones that have fewer delicate structures in them that could be easily damaged, but that's something to be taken on a case-by-case basis.
Geralt palms his way down from the bard's hips to his ass; it really does fit so very nicely in his hands, one on each cheek, pulling him flush. If he'd had the blood flow of a normal man, this would be the part where Jaskier would feel his arousal digging into his hip, but witcher physiology is on his side for this. When he leans in to kiss him, his body is as calm and composed as it always is-- good, for once, because he plans on riling his bard up a little bit. And considering that Jaskier rarely ever stops reeking of lust, a filthy kiss and some hands-on attention should be easily enough to get him going.
He continues until he feels Jaskier's interest, then breaks the kiss. Tipping his head, he murmurs against the bard's ear in that low, gravelly voice that he knows he likes,
"I should get you to the library."