Oh gods, another huffed laugh - such a magical sound. Jaskier could swear he's gotten more of those in the past few days than he did in two decades, and that thought alone is warmer than the fireplace itself. It's a good sign, great even; and he can't wait to see how else this shift in their relationship will impact their daily interactions with each other.
Gods yes, he murmurs when Geralt mentions the Oxenfurt room, his mind reading within the lines and easily filling the gaps. It could've been the perfect place for their first time together, they could've stayed naked in bed together all night, and then all morning, and taken their sweet time to learn their bodies with the same mastery they usually dedicate to hunting monsters or writing songs.
Geralt keeps talking, and the bastard doesn't need big words to sound poetic - every statement is raw with want, using that voice to his favor now he knows the power it holds. Jaskier knows he'll hate and love having given such information to his witcher in the future. What truly shakes him, though, is hearing that beautiful, honest request.
This is Geralt, the man that doesn't often (if ever) express any wants of his own, asking for Jaskier's hands, complimenting them, wanting them on his god-like body no matter how calloused they are, because he sees the virtue in them. It's the sexiest and highest praise he's ever gotten in his entire life.
With the most incredibly heartfelt fuck and moving on his knees, Jaskier turns around to crash his mouth against Geralt's in a very messy and passionate kiss, his hands falling on the witcher's pants to undo those buttons as easily as he had done in the inn.
"I shall play you so well, darling, you'll be asking for an encore." He murmurs against Geralt's lips before kissing his cheek as well, then moving to nibble on the witcher's ear as those deft fingers of his jump inside black pants to stroke that very thick dick through the smallclothes. "Bloody hell, Geralt, one hand is barely enough to cover you. It's better than every fantasy I've ever had. You'll keep both my hands so busy, my dear - my fingers want to learn every inch of your mighty cock, commit them to memory like the chords of my songs. The mere thought makes my mouth salivate - I've dreamed of taking you with my lips as well, of tasting you with my tongue in exchange of providing you with your dear blessed silence."
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Gods yes, he murmurs when Geralt mentions the Oxenfurt room, his mind reading within the lines and easily filling the gaps. It could've been the perfect place for their first time together, they could've stayed naked in bed together all night, and then all morning, and taken their sweet time to learn their bodies with the same mastery they usually dedicate to hunting monsters or writing songs.
Geralt keeps talking, and the bastard doesn't need big words to sound poetic - every statement is raw with want, using that voice to his favor now he knows the power it holds. Jaskier knows he'll hate and love having given such information to his witcher in the future. What truly shakes him, though, is hearing that beautiful, honest request.
This is Geralt, the man that doesn't often (if ever) express any wants of his own, asking for Jaskier's hands, complimenting them, wanting them on his god-like body no matter how calloused they are, because he sees the virtue in them. It's the sexiest and highest praise he's ever gotten in his entire life.
With the most incredibly heartfelt fuck and moving on his knees, Jaskier turns around to crash his mouth against Geralt's in a very messy and passionate kiss, his hands falling on the witcher's pants to undo those buttons as easily as he had done in the inn.
"I shall play you so well, darling, you'll be asking for an encore." He murmurs against Geralt's lips before kissing his cheek as well, then moving to nibble on the witcher's ear as those deft fingers of his jump inside black pants to stroke that very thick dick through the smallclothes. "Bloody hell, Geralt, one hand is barely enough to cover you. It's better than every fantasy I've ever had. You'll keep both my hands so busy, my dear - my fingers want to learn every inch of your mighty cock, commit them to memory like the chords of my songs. The mere thought makes my mouth salivate - I've dreamed of taking you with my lips as well, of tasting you with my tongue in exchange of providing you with your dear blessed silence."