"I have plenty of fun skills I can show you in bed, darling."
Silence is definitely not one of them, and he isn't interested in practicing it either. He loves the sound of his own voice, and he enjoys seeing his lovers react to his moaning and whimpering, letting them know how much he's enjoying them. And then there's Geralt, who needs to hear it even a hundred times more. Jaskier is going to worship that gorgeous body until he runs out of words, which -considering his education- isn't happening any time soon.
Geralt's hands reaches for his pants buttons and Jaskier's hips thrust up against them, the mere brush of fingers against his groin already making him gasp. He hadn't lied to Geralt when he had said he enjoys foreplay and build-up, but he's been pining after the witcher for twenty years, their finally coming together keeps being interrupted which causes even more sexual tension, he hasn't fucked since before captivity and he hasn't had an orgasm since Oxenfurt. Jaskier is desperate.
Which means he cries out to the ceiling when they get interrupted yet again.
"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Hopefully that doesn't alert the nekkers, mmh?
This time, he doesn't help Geralt get ready, too frustrated and angry at the world. Like the drama queen he is, he falls face down on the bed and covers the back of his head with a pillow.
"This is the gods finally punishing me for loving freely and openly, for finding pleasure and affection in the most unlikely places, against their godly wishes." He whines away. "Years of need satisfied in various beds so they punish me by stealing from me the one I want the most."
The craving in those last two words can be tasted in the fucking air. Jaskier waves goodbye at Geralt, not trusting himself to even throw a kiss at him, and considers a good wanking like he did in Oxenfurt. But there's nothing sexy what's going on outside - he can hear the screeches and agony of the nekkers, can picture their smell in his mind. Eugh.
He ends up falling asleep while waiting for Geralt. Without an orgasm. Again.
And on top that, they get up at way too damn early in the morning, not even able to enjoy an extra hour or two of cuddling. Chireadan greets them with breakfast (great) and a very amused and knowing look (not so great when they haven't done anything to even deserve it). At least the mood is better when they find themselves on the road again, thanks to leaving Rinde behind and their little adventure in the bedroom (failure as it was, his balls may be blue but his heart is lighter for it). He fills the silence with his own voice like the old times, keeping his singing to a hush or hum not to call attention to them.
The babbling doesn't last as long as the old times, though, because Geralt is pushing really hard, and they aren't stopping to camp unless they absolutely have to. It tires Jaskier out so hard that he doesn't even try anything when pushing their bedrolls together, happy to be sleeping in the arms of a walking furnace in the middle of the nocturnal autumn chill.
So he's kinda tired and sleepy when one afternoon they stop by the river to refill their waterskin and let the horses drink, not quite catching what Geralt says while he's washing his face.
"What now?" Jaskier blinks up at him, trying to understand what has been said to him. Something about not sharing? "Geralt, my dear, I think there's enough river for all four of us."
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Silence is definitely not one of them, and he isn't interested in practicing it either. He loves the sound of his own voice, and he enjoys seeing his lovers react to his moaning and whimpering, letting them know how much he's enjoying them. And then there's Geralt, who needs to hear it even a hundred times more. Jaskier is going to worship that gorgeous body until he runs out of words, which -considering his education- isn't happening any time soon.
Geralt's hands reaches for his pants buttons and Jaskier's hips thrust up against them, the mere brush of fingers against his groin already making him gasp. He hadn't lied to Geralt when he had said he enjoys foreplay and build-up, but he's been pining after the witcher for twenty years, their finally coming together keeps being interrupted which causes even more sexual tension, he hasn't fucked since before captivity and he hasn't had an orgasm since Oxenfurt. Jaskier is desperate.
Which means he cries out to the ceiling when they get interrupted yet again.
"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Hopefully that doesn't alert the nekkers, mmh?
This time, he doesn't help Geralt get ready, too frustrated and angry at the world. Like the drama queen he is, he falls face down on the bed and covers the back of his head with a pillow.
"This is the gods finally punishing me for loving freely and openly, for finding pleasure and affection in the most unlikely places, against their godly wishes." He whines away. "Years of need satisfied in various beds so they punish me by stealing from me the one I want the most."
The craving in those last two words can be tasted in the fucking air. Jaskier waves goodbye at Geralt, not trusting himself to even throw a kiss at him, and considers a good wanking like he did in Oxenfurt. But there's nothing sexy what's going on outside - he can hear the screeches and agony of the nekkers, can picture their smell in his mind. Eugh.
He ends up falling asleep while waiting for Geralt. Without an orgasm. Again.
And on top that, they get up at way too damn early in the morning, not even able to enjoy an extra hour or two of cuddling. Chireadan greets them with breakfast (great) and a very amused and knowing look (not so great when they haven't done anything to even deserve it). At least the mood is better when they find themselves on the road again, thanks to leaving Rinde behind and their little adventure in the bedroom (failure as it was, his balls may be blue but his heart is lighter for it). He fills the silence with his own voice like the old times, keeping his singing to a hush or hum not to call attention to them.
The babbling doesn't last as long as the old times, though, because Geralt is pushing really hard, and they aren't stopping to camp unless they absolutely have to. It tires Jaskier out so hard that he doesn't even try anything when pushing their bedrolls together, happy to be sleeping in the arms of a walking furnace in the middle of the nocturnal autumn chill.
So he's kinda tired and sleepy when one afternoon they stop by the river to refill their waterskin and let the horses drink, not quite catching what Geralt says while he's washing his face.
"What now?" Jaskier blinks up at him, trying to understand what has been said to him. Something about not sharing? "Geralt, my dear, I think there's enough river for all four of us."