Jaskier cups his face in both of his hands, looking into Geralt's eyes as though searching for something there. The witcher waits, despite his desire to start on the tasks that he'd been given-- like a dog whose master is holding a treat in front of him and telling him to stay. His obedience doesn't temper the want in his eyes or quell his desire to taste the bard's skin. Jaskier licks his lips and Geralt's eyes flicker to them, briefly, and for a lesser man, it may have been too much of a temptation to resist. Even a witcher's prodigious resolve could only take so much.
He speaks-- of course he speaks, Jaskier rarely does anything else-- and the brief, chaste press of his lips to Geralt's isn't even close to enough. This is for our fun and pleasure, he reminds his witcher, as though he could have forgotten that being in bed with Jaskier is a pleasure. It would be a pleasure even if Jaskier had made him sit on the other side of the room and watch him bring himself to orgasm and not allowed him to touch at all.
Geralt is kissed again before he can respond, which is just as well. He presses into it and would gladly make it as filthy and deep as Jaskier likes, except that the bard pulls back again and he makes an annoyed noise at the break. Are they to talk all night? Had Jaskier not gotten his fill of blue balls in the past few weeks? If they're prevented from fucking again by the bard's own inability to shut up, Geralt will have Vesemir check him for curses, awkwardness of explaining this to the old witcher be damned.
When Jaskier speaks, it's confirming part of the course of action that Geralt intended to take, with the addition of an endearment that's... still hard to hear. It's still difficult, every time Jaskier calls him love or mentions loving him, from the sheer inequality of their feelings. He makes up for it with the pinches to Geralt's chest, and he'll soon discover that though the witcher's cock is slow to rise, his nipples require far less blood flow and perk up much quicker.
Geralt groans, both at the tug of bard's fingers and his words. Jaskier could come on whatever part of Geralt pleases him.
"Yes."
His objectives have been modified, but it's desirable, attainable. A monster that Geralt both knows how to slay and is eager to. There's no reason to waste more time with speaking-- anything that needs to be said, has been. Geralt shifts the both of them back a little, so that when he lays down again, his head is resting against the pillows. He could have chosen a different position, perhaps flipped the bard onto the bed and held his hips down, but this-- well, Jaskier had said to trust him. And there's little that he could do that would actually hurt Geralt, even if the bard is in control.
"Come," he says, with a little tap to the bard's ass. Scoot up, Jaskier, there's a witcher's mouth waiting to be full of your cock.
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He speaks-- of course he speaks, Jaskier rarely does anything else-- and the brief, chaste press of his lips to Geralt's isn't even close to enough. This is for our fun and pleasure, he reminds his witcher, as though he could have forgotten that being in bed with Jaskier is a pleasure. It would be a pleasure even if Jaskier had made him sit on the other side of the room and watch him bring himself to orgasm and not allowed him to touch at all.
Geralt is kissed again before he can respond, which is just as well. He presses into it and would gladly make it as filthy and deep as Jaskier likes, except that the bard pulls back again and he makes an annoyed noise at the break. Are they to talk all night? Had Jaskier not gotten his fill of blue balls in the past few weeks? If they're prevented from fucking again by the bard's own inability to shut up, Geralt will have Vesemir check him for curses, awkwardness of explaining this to the old witcher be damned.
When Jaskier speaks, it's confirming part of the course of action that Geralt intended to take, with the addition of an endearment that's... still hard to hear. It's still difficult, every time Jaskier calls him love or mentions loving him, from the sheer inequality of their feelings. He makes up for it with the pinches to Geralt's chest, and he'll soon discover that though the witcher's cock is slow to rise, his nipples require far less blood flow and perk up much quicker.
Geralt groans, both at the tug of bard's fingers and his words. Jaskier could come on whatever part of Geralt pleases him.
"Yes."
His objectives have been modified, but it's desirable, attainable. A monster that Geralt both knows how to slay and is eager to. There's no reason to waste more time with speaking-- anything that needs to be said, has been. Geralt shifts the both of them back a little, so that when he lays down again, his head is resting against the pillows. He could have chosen a different position, perhaps flipped the bard onto the bed and held his hips down, but this-- well, Jaskier had said to trust him. And there's little that he could do that would actually hurt Geralt, even if the bard is in control.
"Come," he says, with a little tap to the bard's ass. Scoot up, Jaskier, there's a witcher's mouth waiting to be full of your cock.