Every little gesture from Geralt makes Jaskier even more drunk with this wonderful connection between them, both sexual and emotional, a twenty year bond showing itself in the smallest ways. If he had fucked Geralt when he was 18, he realizes now, it wouldn't have been anywhere this good. He wouldn't have been able to fully appreciate the way the usual stoic man grunts and twitches under his thigh, the very sweet way he rumbles at the loss of his lover by his side, wouldn't have gotten inebriated with the attention those golden eyes put on him as he moves around the room. He probably wouldn't have had Geralt's hand on his knee, touching him as if he was the most precious thing in the world, he wouldn't have been watched with so much want that makes his heart beat twenty times faster and his scent burn with lust.
(Twenty-two years is a little too much though, what the fuck, Destiny.)
Jaskier beams when he hears the request. A want! From Geralt! Hooray!
"Your wish is my command, my dear."
The chamomile bottle is left on the mattress before Jaskier climbs back between Geralt's legs, bending over to drop kisses on those majestic abs, a tongue playfully poking at Geralt's belly-button before Jaskier pulls back to finally free his prize. Blue eyes lock on golden as he slowly lowers the small clothes, revealing pubic hair as white as Geralt's mane (such a silly detail that he loves) and that thick, marvelous that have him licking his lips.
It's hard for him and the sight is slowly helping his own blood travel south again.
Not wanting to leave Geralt's side again like he did with the pants, he bends gently the witcher's legs to get ride of the small clothes, and the fact Geralt allows him to handle him like this, so easily, makes his chest swell.
"You're magnificent." He murmurs before kissing the scars on Geralt's thighs, including the one he isn't allowed to sing about, the one he doesn't know the story behind but can take a guess on why. "I could spend all night worshiping your body - you taste like breakfast after starvation. You're thunder - dangerous yet gorgeous. I want to get drunk between your thighs..." Not being able to resist the temptation any longer, he closes a hand around Geralt's cock and gives it a couple of strokes, basking in the feeling of the witcher's prick finally in his hands, hard and wet and waiting for him. Jaskier wants to fucking choke on it but if Geralt is only having one orgasm tonight, then it isn't his mouth the hole he'll be filling. "Ah, but I promised a massage, did I not?"
He'll have to show Geralt exactly how talented his mouth is another day - he doesn't want their first time to end without him having at least tasted it, though, and so Jaskier licks the pre-cum that is already forming at the tip before reluctantly moving to sit on Geralt's stomach, making sure to wiggle back a little bit to let his ass rest against the witcher's dick like the teasing little shit he is.
What follows is actually very familiar for them: Jaskier dropping oil on Geralt's skin and his own hands, taking care of sore muscles. But it's never been like this before - Jaskier's hands take their sweet time now, lingering on every scar and every muscles, caressing tenderly but also sensually, allowing themselves to occasionally brush those perky nipples.
"Always wanted to do that." He confesses with a mischievous grin.
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(Twenty-two years is a little too much though, what the fuck, Destiny.)
Jaskier beams when he hears the request. A want! From Geralt! Hooray!
"Your wish is my command, my dear."
The chamomile bottle is left on the mattress before Jaskier climbs back between Geralt's legs, bending over to drop kisses on those majestic abs, a tongue playfully poking at Geralt's belly-button before Jaskier pulls back to finally free his prize. Blue eyes lock on golden as he slowly lowers the small clothes, revealing pubic hair as white as Geralt's mane (such a silly detail that he loves) and that thick, marvelous that have him licking his lips.
It's hard for him and the sight is slowly helping his own blood travel south again.
Not wanting to leave Geralt's side again like he did with the pants, he bends gently the witcher's legs to get ride of the small clothes, and the fact Geralt allows him to handle him like this, so easily, makes his chest swell.
"You're magnificent." He murmurs before kissing the scars on Geralt's thighs, including the one he isn't allowed to sing about, the one he doesn't know the story behind but can take a guess on why. "I could spend all night worshiping your body - you taste like breakfast after starvation. You're thunder - dangerous yet gorgeous. I want to get drunk between your thighs..." Not being able to resist the temptation any longer, he closes a hand around Geralt's cock and gives it a couple of strokes, basking in the feeling of the witcher's prick finally in his hands, hard and wet and waiting for him. Jaskier wants to fucking choke on it but if Geralt is only having one orgasm tonight, then it isn't his mouth the hole he'll be filling. "Ah, but I promised a massage, did I not?"
He'll have to show Geralt exactly how talented his mouth is another day - he doesn't want their first time to end without him having at least tasted it, though, and so Jaskier licks the pre-cum that is already forming at the tip before reluctantly moving to sit on Geralt's stomach, making sure to wiggle back a little bit to let his ass rest against the witcher's dick like the teasing little shit he is.
What follows is actually very familiar for them: Jaskier dropping oil on Geralt's skin and his own hands, taking care of sore muscles. But it's never been like this before - Jaskier's hands take their sweet time now, lingering on every scar and every muscles, caressing tenderly but also sensually, allowing themselves to occasionally brush those perky nipples.
"Always wanted to do that." He confesses with a mischievous grin.