All the ass squeezing has Jaskier groaning right into Geralt's mouth, hips already thrusting to look for that delicious friction. With half his clothes out of the way, he's even more aware of the witcher's muscles being crushed against his body - hard, powerful, warm. Jaskier can't wait to put his mouth on them, kiss every scar, get more sexy rumbling from that wide chest. That last one he can do, so he makes sure to let his string-player nails scrape as much of Geralt's back as possible.
As soon as his thighs are grabbed he knows what to do - a little hop and they're wrapped around Geralt's waist just as he throws his head back to offer Geralt all of his neck, hissing a yes with a very prolonged S. It seems the witcher is very good at catching on what Jaskier likes best, and he has to wonder if he won't have to thank the mutagenes for it. Laughing when he's dropped on the bed, Jaskier quickly fixes his position to rest on his elbows and have the best view of Geralt taking off his shirt. It's nothing he hasn't seen before (many of those scars he's stitched himself, after all) but he finally is allowed to ogle, to lick his lips and hum in a very obscene way.
Will a hickey stay for longer than an hour or so, he wonders, or will the healing factor play against him? Only one way to find out.
Geralt doesn't seem to mind his chest being hairy as fuck, thank Melitele, and Jaskier arches his body under him, groaning his lover's name. His hands fall on Geralt's body, ready to grope every inch of muscle...
"You're the most superb, stunning, exquisite beauty--"
...but then the banging on the door comes.
"OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Maybe it's a prank. It has to be a prank, right? Nope, the man truly has an emergency only a witcher can take care of. Bollocks. Not happy with only letting out a string of insults under his breath this time, Jaskier grabs a pillow, covers his face with it, and screams. He hasn't had an orgasm since before his captivity, how is he supposed to keep on living like this? His poor dick won't survive the trip to Kaer Morhen if he doesn't empty his balls at least once before they get going. At this rate, it's going to fall, he's sure of it!
"I suppose it's too late to change 'friend of humanity' to 'fucker of bards', isn't it?" He comments when Geralt returns to the room, but it's obvious he doesn't really mean it. Huffing, he finally leaves the bed behind and helps Geralt to get ready like he would usually do. A werewolf in the commonly peaceful Oxenfurt city will make a nice story, but Jaskier can't come along - since they're leaving next day after lunch, his lecture this time will be early in the morning, before classes even began. And Jaskier had already been paid in advance so he could do his winter shopping, Pegasus didn't exactly pay for himself.
"Which means I won't allow you to be stingy with the details, you hear me? Especially when I'm sacrificing my love life for it." He pecks Geralt's lips for good luck. "Be careful. I'll try to wait for you. The night is still young..."
He does try, but the night stops being young. Jaskier tries to distract himself with other activities - composing, going over the notes for tomorrow, checking and rechecking all the supplies to see they haven't forgotten anything. Nothing works, his blood is still boiling and the beginning of a tent in his pants won't go away. How could it when the memories of the day keep returning to him? Geralt returning his feelings is something he can't still quite believe, and his skin still tingles on every spot the witcher has touched. Before he realizes what he's doing, his hand is rubbing his clothed groin.
Oh, fuck it. He's earned some release after 20 years of frustrated fantasies. Geralt is obviously not coming back any time soon, and he isn't that old yet not to get it up again if he does end up showing up before crazy o'clock. Pants and smallclothes disappear in seconds, and Jaskier gets in bed with a jar of lavender oil and one of Geralt's shirts, in which he buries his nose to let the scent of destiny and heroics cloud his senses.
Between that and the memories of the last few hours, he doesn't last much.
When Geralt comes back, Jaskier is asleep. And if he cares to check under the covers, he'll notice the bard is only wearing the witcher's black shirt - which is super baggy on him and covers enough. The smell of an orgasm is also thick in the air...
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As soon as his thighs are grabbed he knows what to do - a little hop and they're wrapped around Geralt's waist just as he throws his head back to offer Geralt all of his neck, hissing a yes with a very prolonged S. It seems the witcher is very good at catching on what Jaskier likes best, and he has to wonder if he won't have to thank the mutagenes for it. Laughing when he's dropped on the bed, Jaskier quickly fixes his position to rest on his elbows and have the best view of Geralt taking off his shirt. It's nothing he hasn't seen before (many of those scars he's stitched himself, after all) but he finally is allowed to ogle, to lick his lips and hum in a very obscene way.
Will a hickey stay for longer than an hour or so, he wonders, or will the healing factor play against him? Only one way to find out.
Geralt doesn't seem to mind his chest being hairy as fuck, thank Melitele, and Jaskier arches his body under him, groaning his lover's name. His hands fall on Geralt's body, ready to grope every inch of muscle...
"You're the most superb, stunning, exquisite beauty--"
...but then the banging on the door comes.
"OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Maybe it's a prank. It has to be a prank, right? Nope, the man truly has an emergency only a witcher can take care of. Bollocks. Not happy with only letting out a string of insults under his breath this time, Jaskier grabs a pillow, covers his face with it, and screams. He hasn't had an orgasm since before his captivity, how is he supposed to keep on living like this? His poor dick won't survive the trip to Kaer Morhen if he doesn't empty his balls at least once before they get going. At this rate, it's going to fall, he's sure of it!
"I suppose it's too late to change 'friend of humanity' to 'fucker of bards', isn't it?" He comments when Geralt returns to the room, but it's obvious he doesn't really mean it. Huffing, he finally leaves the bed behind and helps Geralt to get ready like he would usually do. A werewolf in the commonly peaceful Oxenfurt city will make a nice story, but Jaskier can't come along - since they're leaving next day after lunch, his lecture this time will be early in the morning, before classes even began. And Jaskier had already been paid in advance so he could do his winter shopping, Pegasus didn't exactly pay for himself.
"Which means I won't allow you to be stingy with the details, you hear me? Especially when I'm sacrificing my love life for it." He pecks Geralt's lips for good luck. "Be careful. I'll try to wait for you. The night is still young..."
He does try, but the night stops being young. Jaskier tries to distract himself with other activities - composing, going over the notes for tomorrow, checking and rechecking all the supplies to see they haven't forgotten anything. Nothing works, his blood is still boiling and the beginning of a tent in his pants won't go away. How could it when the memories of the day keep returning to him? Geralt returning his feelings is something he can't still quite believe, and his skin still tingles on every spot the witcher has touched. Before he realizes what he's doing, his hand is rubbing his clothed groin.
Oh, fuck it. He's earned some release after 20 years of frustrated fantasies. Geralt is obviously not coming back any time soon, and he isn't that old yet not to get it up again if he does end up showing up before crazy o'clock. Pants and smallclothes disappear in seconds, and Jaskier gets in bed with a jar of lavender oil and one of Geralt's shirts, in which he buries his nose to let the scent of destiny and heroics cloud his senses.
Between that and the memories of the last few hours, he doesn't last much.
When Geralt comes back, Jaskier is asleep. And if he cares to check under the covers, he'll notice the bard is only wearing the witcher's black shirt - which is super baggy on him and covers enough. The smell of an orgasm is also thick in the air...