His cheeks gain a pink blush again, but it's totally worth it if it means having Geralt huffing laughter like that.
"You could?" He gulps and licks his lips. "And you didn't mind."
Bloody hell, all this time Geralt has been dealing with Jaskier's masturbating habits and he never said a word about it. Which, when it comes to Geralt, is saying a lot, because he has complained about every single aspect of Jaskier's personality at some point or another. He's told Jaskier to shut up how many times by now? But never to his moaning, never told him to wash away the smells...
The witcher stood by his side and absorbed it all. Bollocks.
Jaskier bites his lip, already feeling his blood boiling, and it immediately starts traveling south when he hears Geralt talk directly into his ear like that. He's always had a thing for that deep voice, and now that it is dirty talking to him, Jaskier can't stop a whimper from echoing in the room.
Which transforms into a groan when the witcher sinks down to his knees in front of him - Jaskier stops breathing for a second there.
"Fuck, Geralt."
Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher, destroyer of monsters, is on his knees, offering to suck his cock. It's such a trusting, powerful, erotic, intoxicating image - it makes his heart race and his throat go dry. Callused fingers fall on the top of the witcher's head and pet it a couple of times to then make their way down and cup Geralt's face, his thumb brushing his lips.
"You're the most magnificent beauty I've ever had the pleasure to be with." He murmurs, a small tent already forming in his pants. "I cannot be quiet, Geralt - I never was, not in life and not in bed, and with you? I'll be singing until the priestesses of Melitele hear me all the way from their temple."
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"You could?" He gulps and licks his lips. "And you didn't mind."
Bloody hell, all this time Geralt has been dealing with Jaskier's masturbating habits and he never said a word about it. Which, when it comes to Geralt, is saying a lot, because he has complained about every single aspect of Jaskier's personality at some point or another. He's told Jaskier to shut up how many times by now? But never to his moaning, never told him to wash away the smells...
The witcher stood by his side and absorbed it all. Bollocks.
Jaskier bites his lip, already feeling his blood boiling, and it immediately starts traveling south when he hears Geralt talk directly into his ear like that. He's always had a thing for that deep voice, and now that it is dirty talking to him, Jaskier can't stop a whimper from echoing in the room.
Which transforms into a groan when the witcher sinks down to his knees in front of him - Jaskier stops breathing for a second there.
"Fuck, Geralt."
Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher, destroyer of monsters, is on his knees, offering to suck his cock. It's such a trusting, powerful, erotic, intoxicating image - it makes his heart race and his throat go dry. Callused fingers fall on the top of the witcher's head and pet it a couple of times to then make their way down and cup Geralt's face, his thumb brushing his lips.
"You're the most magnificent beauty I've ever had the pleasure to be with." He murmurs, a small tent already forming in his pants. "I cannot be quiet, Geralt - I never was, not in life and not in bed, and with you? I'll be singing until the priestesses of Melitele hear me all the way from their temple."