Thousands of times Jaskier has touched Geralt's body - from daily nudges and taps on his shoulder to tending his wounds and rubbing oil on his lovely bottom. There's been lots of cuddling lately, too. Yet it's a whole new feeling to be pressed against that thick, strong body and be embraced by arms that are capable to decapitate a monster yet control their power just for him. It's safe. It's cozy. It's warm. It's home.
If they weren't in the middle of an university building, he would ask Geralt to pick him and carry him to their room just like this.
And the kiss! Oh, what a kiss, twenty years of pining exploding into a kiss that Jaskier swears tastes like a spark of magic and a touch of wilderness. He keeps it soft for now, making sure Geralt understands how much affection is going through, guiding the witcher's lips against his to tell him yes, this is right, keep doing it. The sound he hears coming from the deepness of Geralt's very own soul makes his heart skip a beat and his scent suddenly gains a very faint but unmistakable hint of arousal.
Jask. Damn. He can get used to that pretty quickly.
"Fuck, Geralt." He says after licking his own lips, feeling his whole body burning under the weight of that sound and that nickname. "If you keep calling me that, there won't be anything I'll be able to say no to." His thumb traces the lines of Geralt's mouth as a little rhythm leaves his throat, inspiration taking over. "Darling, kiss me like you want to feel safe, because my lips want to know all the places you've been hurt so they can take it all away."
Musician fingers bury themselves in Geralt's hair to push just as Jaskier dives in for a new kiss, this one a little more demanding and passionate. Two decades and all the drama from the last week or so have drained all his patience, and now he wants the reward he deserves for his loyalty. He kisses, he nibbles, he lets the tip of his tongue peek out to tease with a promise that yes, this witcher is definitely wanted.
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If they weren't in the middle of an university building, he would ask Geralt to pick him and carry him to their room just like this.
And the kiss! Oh, what a kiss, twenty years of pining exploding into a kiss that Jaskier swears tastes like a spark of magic and a touch of wilderness. He keeps it soft for now, making sure Geralt understands how much affection is going through, guiding the witcher's lips against his to tell him yes, this is right, keep doing it. The sound he hears coming from the deepness of Geralt's very own soul makes his heart skip a beat and his scent suddenly gains a very faint but unmistakable hint of arousal.
Jask. Damn. He can get used to that pretty quickly.
"Fuck, Geralt." He says after licking his own lips, feeling his whole body burning under the weight of that sound and that nickname. "If you keep calling me that, there won't be anything I'll be able to say no to." His thumb traces the lines of Geralt's mouth as a little rhythm leaves his throat, inspiration taking over. "Darling, kiss me like you want to feel safe, because my lips want to know all the places you've been hurt so they can take it all away."
Musician fingers bury themselves in Geralt's hair to push just as Jaskier dives in for a new kiss, this one a little more demanding and passionate. Two decades and all the drama from the last week or so have drained all his patience, and now he wants the reward he deserves for his loyalty. He kisses, he nibbles, he lets the tip of his tongue peek out to tease with a promise that yes, this witcher is definitely wanted.