It can be incredibly easy to make Jaskier pout some times, he takes words as seriously as he shoots them - especially when it comes to insulting his skills as a bard or a lover. This time, however, he's still in an excellent post-orgasm mood and, most importantly, Geralt is so obviously teasing. Jaskier can tell the difference between this and the old insults and jabs he used to get, and he's delighted to hear Geralt joke around, deadpan as he may be.
"I could stop touching you right now, my dear-" He says between chuckles. "And write at least ten different sonnets about your anatomy and your generosity as a lover. I'm feeling light and content and simply blissful. Worry not, my mind has definitely been moved."
Geralt quickly reacts to the leg between his and oh, he's already rocking against him as well. Wonderful. Jaskier presses his thigh a little harder against Geralt's groin, delighted to be causing the witcher to lose the control of his usual deadpan, feeling drunk with fondness, lust and influence.
It's that 'nothing' that makes him pause his affection, ready to scold Geralt for it, but luckily the witcher is learning quickly and he clarifies what he means. You should've told me sooner, he almost says, but then Jaskier remembers why he didn't get the chance to hear about it - they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms before Eskel pushed them together. (They really owe Eskel one. Or three or five.)
"Thank you for telling me." He replies as he kisses Geralt's cheek - positive reinforcement and all that jazz. A small step, but it shows how Geralt is already trying and getting better at communicating. Jaskier wants him to know how proud he's of him for that. "And I have just the thing you need."
He pecks Geralt's lips before climbing off the bed and going to his grooming kit once more, this time to retrieve a different oil: good old chamomile. How many times has he massaged Geralt's sore muscles in twenty years? Too many to count - and now they're lovers, it can only serve as more foreplay. Jaskier can finally allow his hands to have the fun he's always wanted.
When he returns to the bed, however, he doesn't climb back on top of Geralt - he sits by his hips instead, a mischievous grin on his face, the light of the fireplace reflecting on his sweaty skin and the medallion on his chest. Jaskier crosses his legs, trying to look casual but still sticking to his usual perfect posture that has been taught into him since young.
"Tell me, darling. What do you think would be more fun for you while I massage you?" His blue eyes never leave gold as he speaks, and a playful hand lands on Geralt's clothed crotch to start stroking. "Should I sit on your small clothes, leave your very impressive cock imprisoned as an extra tease? Or should I finish undressing you right now so you are finally free to rub yourself against my own lovely bottom?" He licks his lips at the thought. "Would it be a sweet kind of torture?"
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"I could stop touching you right now, my dear-" He says between chuckles. "And write at least ten different sonnets about your anatomy and your generosity as a lover. I'm feeling light and content and simply blissful. Worry not, my mind has definitely been moved."
Geralt quickly reacts to the leg between his and oh, he's already rocking against him as well. Wonderful. Jaskier presses his thigh a little harder against Geralt's groin, delighted to be causing the witcher to lose the control of his usual deadpan, feeling drunk with fondness, lust and influence.
It's that 'nothing' that makes him pause his affection, ready to scold Geralt for it, but luckily the witcher is learning quickly and he clarifies what he means. You should've told me sooner, he almost says, but then Jaskier remembers why he didn't get the chance to hear about it - they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms before Eskel pushed them together. (They really owe Eskel one. Or three or five.)
"Thank you for telling me." He replies as he kisses Geralt's cheek - positive reinforcement and all that jazz. A small step, but it shows how Geralt is already trying and getting better at communicating. Jaskier wants him to know how proud he's of him for that. "And I have just the thing you need."
He pecks Geralt's lips before climbing off the bed and going to his grooming kit once more, this time to retrieve a different oil: good old chamomile. How many times has he massaged Geralt's sore muscles in twenty years? Too many to count - and now they're lovers, it can only serve as more foreplay. Jaskier can finally allow his hands to have the fun he's always wanted.
When he returns to the bed, however, he doesn't climb back on top of Geralt - he sits by his hips instead, a mischievous grin on his face, the light of the fireplace reflecting on his sweaty skin and the medallion on his chest. Jaskier crosses his legs, trying to look casual but still sticking to his usual perfect posture that has been taught into him since young.
"Tell me, darling. What do you think would be more fun for you while I massage you?" His blue eyes never leave gold as he speaks, and a playful hand lands on Geralt's clothed crotch to start stroking. "Should I sit on your small clothes, leave your very impressive cock imprisoned as an extra tease? Or should I finish undressing you right now so you are finally free to rub yourself against my own lovely bottom?" He licks his lips at the thought. "Would it be a sweet kind of torture?"