Geralt may think he hasn't done much at all, but for Jaskier, every little gesture of his speaks volumes. Will there be a future where the fact he's actually fucking Geralt of Rivia doesn't blow his mind? Probably, but that's not a thought for this moment. Right now, Jaskier wants to lose himself in the feelings of his beloved witcher caring for and wanting him back, in all those details that coming from his wolf mean a hundred times more because Jaskier knows how special they are, how not just anyone gets this privilege.
(How most people wouldn't even consider it a privilege.)
"Then do some--" His cheeky remark is interrupted when his chemise is tugged up but hey, he isn't complaining. The exact opposite in fact, it strokes his ego just right that Geralt is as eager for this as he is, desperate for more contact. Geralt bucks into his hand as Jaskier's body arches under the witcher's mouth, whimpering when teeth play with his nipples, smiling at the fact Geralt doesn't mind either his chest hair or his new scars.
Am I still pretty? he wants to ask, and he knows it's a very stupid question, because Geralt obviously still wants to fuck him, and he shouldn't feel self conscious about them when the witcher has carried his own for a century. So he keeps it to himself.
"Fuck." He says as well, his turn to thrust his hips against Geralt's hand, which is sadly gone too soon. It had barely been one second of touching his groin and he can already feel his whole body on fire, only made worse (or shall we say better) by Geralt tugging at his pants above his ass, so teasingly close yet not touching enough. (Mental note: the bow is a deliciously torture success.) "And you will smell of me, right? A constant reminder of whom snatched the White Wolf from their pack right under their sensitive noses..."
He mainly means Vesemir, obviously, but the idea in general is inherently erotic - carrying the brooch on his chest is one thing. But for Geralt to go out smelling of claim as well, the mighty wolf showing he belongs to a mere human bard... fuck. Jaskier may be lucky not to have a witcher's sense of smell after all, or he'd be hard all day long.
Speaking of hard, Geralt is getting there faster than he had in the cabin, but there's still some work to be done - he's the one needing the attention next. Jaskier lightly pushes and is surprised at the fact Geralt moves along, allowing them to flip their positions. Not something he would have trouble achieving with the ladies or fellow twinks, but his boyfriend is a fucking brick wall. It's this kind of trust that drives him crazy, how can he not be so strongly aroused already?
"You complain about my clothes." He comments as he moves to the edge of the bed. "But you're overdressed as well, love. What do you think is harder to take off, mmh? Some innocent buttons? Or the pants you wear like a bloody second skin?"
Grinning, he pulls at the black leather then throws it on the floor, making it land near his doublet to make a point. He's dying to take off Geralt's smallclothes as well, but he waits for that one, unsure if the witcher's self-esteem wants his dick exposed while not fully hard yet - not something to be embarrassed of, but he knows how Geralt's mind works.
Jaskier hops off the bed then, and since Geralt has already undone the bow, he only has to wiggle his hips to let his pants fall to the floor, which he does while looking directly at golden eyes and licking his lips - there's already a pre-come stain on his own smallclothes.
"Would you take your tunic off for me, my dear? Let me see you flex those marvelous muscles." His eyes are still on Geralt as he walks towards his grooming kit, only taking them off that god-like body to retrieve the one vial of oil that has nothing to do with baths. Said vial is thrown on the mattress on his way back, but before jumping back on the bed, Jaskier turns around and very slowly pulls down his smallclothes, bending over just right as he wiggles his ass and strokes his legs for Geralt.
(His fingers brush the whip marks on the back of his legs and he hopes Geralt's dumb brain aren't thinking too hard about them. Like he is.)
"Like what you see?" He asks with a flirty and fake-shy tone as he climbs on Geralt's lap to straddle him, his erection hard and proud for the witcher, making him hiss when it brushes Geralt's body as he sits down on his groin to roll his hips and press his ass against that slow raising boner. Jaskier bends over to undo Geralt's hair tie and it's then that the idea hits him - he's surprised yet again when he takes the medallion off that thick neck without protest from his lover and gods, isn't that another amazing fuck you at witcher 'tradition'? He puts it around his own neck before tilting his head and asking with the same bawdy voice from before. "How about now?"
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(How most people wouldn't even consider it a privilege.)
"Then do some--" His cheeky remark is interrupted when his chemise is tugged up but hey, he isn't complaining. The exact opposite in fact, it strokes his ego just right that Geralt is as eager for this as he is, desperate for more contact. Geralt bucks into his hand as Jaskier's body arches under the witcher's mouth, whimpering when teeth play with his nipples, smiling at the fact Geralt doesn't mind either his chest hair or his new scars.
Am I still pretty? he wants to ask, and he knows it's a very stupid question, because Geralt obviously still wants to fuck him, and he shouldn't feel self conscious about them when the witcher has carried his own for a century. So he keeps it to himself.
"Fuck." He says as well, his turn to thrust his hips against Geralt's hand, which is sadly gone too soon. It had barely been one second of touching his groin and he can already feel his whole body on fire, only made worse (or shall we say better) by Geralt tugging at his pants above his ass, so teasingly close yet not touching enough. (Mental note: the bow is a deliciously torture success.) "And you will smell of me, right? A constant reminder of whom snatched the White Wolf from their pack right under their sensitive noses..."
He mainly means Vesemir, obviously, but the idea in general is inherently erotic - carrying the brooch on his chest is one thing. But for Geralt to go out smelling of claim as well, the mighty wolf showing he belongs to a mere human bard... fuck. Jaskier may be lucky not to have a witcher's sense of smell after all, or he'd be hard all day long.
Speaking of hard, Geralt is getting there faster than he had in the cabin, but there's still some work to be done - he's the one needing the attention next. Jaskier lightly pushes and is surprised at the fact Geralt moves along, allowing them to flip their positions. Not something he would have trouble achieving with the ladies or fellow twinks, but his boyfriend is a fucking brick wall. It's this kind of trust that drives him crazy, how can he not be so strongly aroused already?
"You complain about my clothes." He comments as he moves to the edge of the bed. "But you're overdressed as well, love. What do you think is harder to take off, mmh? Some innocent buttons? Or the pants you wear like a bloody second skin?"
Grinning, he pulls at the black leather then throws it on the floor, making it land near his doublet to make a point. He's dying to take off Geralt's smallclothes as well, but he waits for that one, unsure if the witcher's self-esteem wants his dick exposed while not fully hard yet - not something to be embarrassed of, but he knows how Geralt's mind works.
Jaskier hops off the bed then, and since Geralt has already undone the bow, he only has to wiggle his hips to let his pants fall to the floor, which he does while looking directly at golden eyes and licking his lips - there's already a pre-come stain on his own smallclothes.
"Would you take your tunic off for me, my dear? Let me see you flex those marvelous muscles." His eyes are still on Geralt as he walks towards his grooming kit, only taking them off that god-like body to retrieve the one vial of oil that has nothing to do with baths. Said vial is thrown on the mattress on his way back, but before jumping back on the bed, Jaskier turns around and very slowly pulls down his smallclothes, bending over just right as he wiggles his ass and strokes his legs for Geralt.
(His fingers brush the whip marks on the back of his legs and he hopes Geralt's dumb brain aren't thinking too hard about them. Like he is.)
"Like what you see?" He asks with a flirty and fake-shy tone as he climbs on Geralt's lap to straddle him, his erection hard and proud for the witcher, making him hiss when it brushes Geralt's body as he sits down on his groin to roll his hips and press his ass against that slow raising boner. Jaskier bends over to undo Geralt's hair tie and it's then that the idea hits him - he's surprised yet again when he takes the medallion off that thick neck without protest from his lover and gods, isn't that another amazing fuck you at witcher 'tradition'? He puts it around his own neck before tilting his head and asking with the same bawdy voice from before. "How about now?"