The expression on Jaskier's face, the shudders that run through his body and the tilt of his head-- it looks blissful, like the act of putting his cock in Geralt's mouth is the greatest pleasure that he's been blessed with on this earth. He has certainly had more skilled people in his bed than Geralt, because even though he's walked and fucked across the Continent for decades, his repertoire has been limited in scope. This must just be how Jaskier always is in bed, acting like every lay is the best one of his life. It's a courteous habit, Geralt supposes; some would be offended to know that their skills aren't up to par.
The bard's hips press in a little faster and harder than he's expecting, the head of his cock dragging against Geralt's soft palate; he's choked down far worse things than an impolite dick, though, and manages to avoid gagging. It's uncomfortable, but only for a moment, as Jaskier considerately restrains his hips. He puts a hand into Geralt's hand as though in apology, and the witcher hums at the touch. The sight of Jaskier's body bent over him and grabbing onto the headboard makes that hum turn into a groan.
Jaskier's hips move again, but smoothly and kindly, restrained to a pace that Geralt can easily accommodate. It's not necessary-- he doesn't need restraint, he offered Jaskier whatever he wants and he means it here, too. The bard talks to him all throughout, sweet nothings about how good Geralt is, and that praise makes him feel warm, fills his own slow cock a little more even though--
It doesn't matter. He'll give Jaskier what he wants, whatever he wants from this body. There's nothing that Jaskier can ask of him that he couldn't give. Nothing that he wouldn't give willingly. And it's not unappealing, the idea of giving everything over to Jaskier.
Geralt tightens his grip on the bard's ass and pulls him in harder; it ruins the lovely sweet rhythm that he'd had going, forces more of his cock into Geralt's mouth. He keeps his jaw loose and his teeth out of the way and accommodates his girth, feels it stretch at the corners of his mouth. His nose is full of his scent, spicy-sharp and pleasured and good, and Geralt would choke on his fucking cock if it would make that scent stay so sweet, make it sweeter. He pulls him in that hard rhythm, takes it from Jaskier like only a witcher can take punishment-- with only low grunts around the hot length pushing into him.
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The bard's hips press in a little faster and harder than he's expecting, the head of his cock dragging against Geralt's soft palate; he's choked down far worse things than an impolite dick, though, and manages to avoid gagging. It's uncomfortable, but only for a moment, as Jaskier considerately restrains his hips. He puts a hand into Geralt's hand as though in apology, and the witcher hums at the touch. The sight of Jaskier's body bent over him and grabbing onto the headboard makes that hum turn into a groan.
Jaskier's hips move again, but smoothly and kindly, restrained to a pace that Geralt can easily accommodate. It's not necessary-- he doesn't need restraint, he offered Jaskier whatever he wants and he means it here, too. The bard talks to him all throughout, sweet nothings about how good Geralt is, and that praise makes him feel warm, fills his own slow cock a little more even though--
It doesn't matter. He'll give Jaskier what he wants, whatever he wants from this body. There's nothing that Jaskier can ask of him that he couldn't give. Nothing that he wouldn't give willingly. And it's not unappealing, the idea of giving everything over to Jaskier.
Geralt tightens his grip on the bard's ass and pulls him in harder; it ruins the lovely sweet rhythm that he'd had going, forces more of his cock into Geralt's mouth. He keeps his jaw loose and his teeth out of the way and accommodates his girth, feels it stretch at the corners of his mouth. His nose is full of his scent, spicy-sharp and pleasured and good, and Geralt would choke on his fucking cock if it would make that scent stay so sweet, make it sweeter. He pulls him in that hard rhythm, takes it from Jaskier like only a witcher can take punishment-- with only low grunts around the hot length pushing into him.