Jaskier sheds the doublet in record time, like every time Geralt tells him to strip, he's trying to beat his own record. He laughs, brilliantly and happily, and the sound of it combined with the sight of him makes heat curl in Geralt's guts. He hums at the suggestion, only with minor annoyance at the whole third sword thing, because fuck, Jaskier, did you have to write a song about his cock? He files the idea away for later-- if Jaskier wants to be pinned to a wall, than Geralt will find a suitable wall to pin him to.
For now, though, they have been frustrated in their past two attempts at sex, and Geralt doesn't want to go for a third. He'll indulge all of Jaskier's fantasies and desires later, when they're finally ensconced at Kaer Morhen and there are months of long winter days ahead of them.
The bard's leg stretches out and he presses the soft sole of his foot against Geralt's groin, and the lovely friction of it against his cock-- still soft itself but slowly becoming interested in the proceedings-- gets him growling. He grabs Jaskier's ankle, using it to pull his legs open wide, making space for himself as he kneels between them. The chemise is unlaced, which reveals an attractive amount of surprisingly hairy chest, but not nearly enough. Geralt grabs the garment and yanks it over the bard's head, throwing it to the floor without a care for how expensive it probably is.
"Careful, bard," he says, his voice pitched low as he grabs him by the hip with one hand and, leaning over, braces himself on the bed with the other. Caging him. "A witcher's blade may very well be too much for you."
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For now, though, they have been frustrated in their past two attempts at sex, and Geralt doesn't want to go for a third. He'll indulge all of Jaskier's fantasies and desires later, when they're finally ensconced at Kaer Morhen and there are months of long winter days ahead of them.
The bard's leg stretches out and he presses the soft sole of his foot against Geralt's groin, and the lovely friction of it against his cock-- still soft itself but slowly becoming interested in the proceedings-- gets him growling. He grabs Jaskier's ankle, using it to pull his legs open wide, making space for himself as he kneels between them. The chemise is unlaced, which reveals an attractive amount of surprisingly hairy chest, but not nearly enough. Geralt grabs the garment and yanks it over the bard's head, throwing it to the floor without a care for how expensive it probably is.
"Careful, bard," he says, his voice pitched low as he grabs him by the hip with one hand and, leaning over, braces himself on the bed with the other. Caging him. "A witcher's blade may very well be too much for you."