The thigh between his legs is definitely welcome, and Jaskier does rut against it, especially when Geralt tells him he has, indeed, sucked cock before. And isn't that a wonderful mental image? The witcher on his knees, mouth full of dick? A whore's dick, he realizes, which means Geralt has paid to fuck them, which also means he does know what to do with a man's ass and Jaskier won't have to do any explaining when the time comes and he pushes a vial of oil into the witcher's hands.
(Thank goodness for that, because explaining periods had been weird enough.)
The one who has explaining to do at the moment is Geralt, who starts with it's not what you think and wow, yeah, Jaskier is wincing too. Yikes. Definitely not a good start. He does, however, recognize the expression on Geralt's face - he's struggling with something and talking about it is hard. So Jaskier waits patiently for his lover to find the words he needs, his hand rubbing one of the witcher's arms to remind him that I'm here, you can tell me anything.
Geralt is a man of action rather than words, but still takes Jaskier by surprise when his hand is suddenly grabbed and taken to the witcher's neck. There it is, the feeling of Geralt's pulse under his fingers - it freaked him out a little bit the first he heard it all those years ago, but he's used to it now. Especially after he's spent time cuddling against Geralt's chest, the slow beat of his heart has become a safety blanket, a sign of being in the arms of his dear wolf. In fact, he could swear he knows it well enough by now to tell that it may be going a little faster, perhaps? Could it mean...?
The explanation finally comes and Jaskier's eyes widen, a gasp escaping his lips. Of fucking course, how didn't he think about that? To think he's supposed to be the educated one here!
"...oh." Blink, blink. "Oooooh! So you are enjoying this. Me. Us."
Jaskier smiles, relief exuding from every muscle of his body as tension and nervousness instantly fade away. If Geralt is having a good time, then that's all that matters. The rest? Witcher bullshit. And Jaskier has had twenty years to learn how to deal with all of it.
Something else does offend him, though, so get ready for the now classic dramatic indignation and wagging finger in Geralt's face.
"Let you finish on your own? I would never! What kind of lover do you take me for!" A huff as his hands move to his own waist then, any similarities to a scolding housewife are a mere coincidence. Witcher bullshit indeed - not only the heartbeat, but the low self-esteem. And the bastard being his dumb noble self by telling Jaskier he doesn't need to keep up with him. How does Geralt manage to keep on giving him reasons to love him so much? "So you're a slow raiser - big deal! That only means I get to play with you for longer. Am I supposed to be sad at the prospect of long sessions of love making? Because then you don't know me at all, you big oaf. Foreplay, my dear witcher, is what transforms a nice orgasm into an explosion."
He grabs Geralt's face then to kiss him sweetly - not teeth, no tongue. Just a tender kiss filled with affection, not meant to arouse but to reassure.
"I love you, Geralt of Rivia." He says as he makes their foreheads touch. "If your body didn't turn me off when it was spilling its guts on my hands through a bruxa injury, then nothing will."
If anything, it makes Jaskier more sure of his plan to, some day, get Geralt lying down between his thighs on the bed and kiss every scar, massage every muscle, worship every inch of pale skin until he accepts the fact his body makes the fucking gods jealous. Better seal this promise with a kiss...
Which gets interrupted when the door is slammed open.
You got to be kidding him.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"
Jaskier suddenly finds hinds himself pushed to the floor because of course Geralt doesn't hesitate to stand up (pants buttons undone and everything) and grab his sword, ready to jump into action. Whatever is at the door, the bard can't possibly give a damn, he just has one thing to say about it.
no subject
(Thank goodness for that, because explaining periods had been weird enough.)
The one who has explaining to do at the moment is Geralt, who starts with it's not what you think and wow, yeah, Jaskier is wincing too. Yikes. Definitely not a good start. He does, however, recognize the expression on Geralt's face - he's struggling with something and talking about it is hard. So Jaskier waits patiently for his lover to find the words he needs, his hand rubbing one of the witcher's arms to remind him that I'm here, you can tell me anything.
Geralt is a man of action rather than words, but still takes Jaskier by surprise when his hand is suddenly grabbed and taken to the witcher's neck. There it is, the feeling of Geralt's pulse under his fingers - it freaked him out a little bit the first he heard it all those years ago, but he's used to it now. Especially after he's spent time cuddling against Geralt's chest, the slow beat of his heart has become a safety blanket, a sign of being in the arms of his dear wolf. In fact, he could swear he knows it well enough by now to tell that it may be going a little faster, perhaps? Could it mean...?
The explanation finally comes and Jaskier's eyes widen, a gasp escaping his lips. Of fucking course, how didn't he think about that? To think he's supposed to be the educated one here!
"...oh." Blink, blink. "Oooooh! So you are enjoying this. Me. Us."
Jaskier smiles, relief exuding from every muscle of his body as tension and nervousness instantly fade away. If Geralt is having a good time, then that's all that matters. The rest? Witcher bullshit. And Jaskier has had twenty years to learn how to deal with all of it.
Something else does offend him, though, so get ready for the now classic dramatic indignation and wagging finger in Geralt's face.
"Let you finish on your own? I would never! What kind of lover do you take me for!" A huff as his hands move to his own waist then, any similarities to a scolding housewife are a mere coincidence. Witcher bullshit indeed - not only the heartbeat, but the low self-esteem. And the bastard being his dumb noble self by telling Jaskier he doesn't need to keep up with him. How does Geralt manage to keep on giving him reasons to love him so much? "So you're a slow raiser - big deal! That only means I get to play with you for longer. Am I supposed to be sad at the prospect of long sessions of love making? Because then you don't know me at all, you big oaf. Foreplay, my dear witcher, is what transforms a nice orgasm into an explosion."
He grabs Geralt's face then to kiss him sweetly - not teeth, no tongue. Just a tender kiss filled with affection, not meant to arouse but to reassure.
"I love you, Geralt of Rivia." He says as he makes their foreheads touch. "If your body didn't turn me off when it was spilling its guts on my hands through a bruxa injury, then nothing will."
If anything, it makes Jaskier more sure of his plan to, some day, get Geralt lying down between his thighs on the bed and kiss every scar, massage every muscle, worship every inch of pale skin until he accepts the fact his body makes the fucking gods jealous. Better seal this promise with a kiss...
Which gets interrupted when the door is slammed open.
You got to be kidding him.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"
Jaskier suddenly finds hinds himself pushed to the floor because of course Geralt doesn't hesitate to stand up (pants buttons undone and everything) and grab his sword, ready to jump into action. Whatever is at the door, the bard can't possibly give a damn, he just has one thing to say about it.
"Feed them to the bloody basilisks, Geralt!"