Jaskier, while usually a lover of foreplay, is starting to get as desperate to be fucked as Geralt wants to fuck him - the feeling of the witcher's hard cock against the cleft of his ass is maddening, to say the least. But he wants their first time to be good -no, great- and that shouldn't include sore muscles in Geralt's memory of the night. Besides, his dick needs the intermission.
Seeing Geralt quiver under him and get restless under all the praise make the wait one hundred percent worth it. His dear witcher truly needs this - the kindness, the pretty words, the reminder that he matters, that he isn't a monster. Jaskier is having an effect on him, that request to shut up barely able to be taken seriously when he shortens his name like that.
This is what you need, my love, and I'll remind you as many times as it takes.
When Geralt accuses him of being a tease, Jaskier puts up his best innocent face and rolls his hips, biting his lower lip at the sensation of that hardness being rubbed all over his buttcheeks. His own cock is slowly awakening, and Jaskier whimpers at the tingling in his groin that can't quite enjoy the party yet.
"I thought you wanted me to shut up." He keeps on teasing, hands groping Geralt's chest again to check on grunts (and because he simply likes doing so). "Fuck, Geralt. It's been two decades of pining and fantasies. Where should I even start?"
Jaskier takes one of Geralt's hands, not because he minds it on his thigh (the opposite in fact, he wants those bruises, wants proof on his body of how much Geralt wants him) but because he wants to play with it. He makes it rest on his stomach then makes it go up slowly, carving a path on his upper body as he speaks.
"Kneeling in front of you in the tub was the sweetest torture - so close yet so far! I only wanted to climb in with you, ride you until I could feel you for days. I wanted you to ruin me for any other man ever again." When the hand makes it to his neck and face, Jaskier kisses the fingers before nuzzling it. "Massaging your back and shoulders allowed my imagination to run wild. What if it wasn't my hands on them? What if it was my legs, as you bent me over to pound me with the same power and skill you stab a monster?"
Geralt's left hand is taken to rest on Jaskier's ass, then he takes the right one to repeat the process: up his body, nuzzling and kisses.
"Rubbing chamomile on your lovely bottom had me wondering - had anybody been there before? I wanted to check. I wanted to bury my face between your cheeks and stretch you open with my tongue. I wanted to feel you tight around me, to leave my spend inside you, to see you struggle to ride Roach on the road later. I wanted to show you things that no woman ever could."
The witcher's right hand isn't taken to his ass like the left one, at least not yet. Jaskier changes the chamomile oil for the clear one, and starts covering Geralt's fingers with it.
"Every time you would pick me to drag me away from another spat with rude, bigoted tavern goers, I dreamed about your hands. I wanted - want. I want your fingers inside me. I want the strength and proficiency you use to swiftly wield a sword to slowly and efficiently drive me to ecstasy." With a hand going to rest on the mattress next to Geralt's head, Jaskier bends over, medallion pressed between their chests and ass wiggling in the air as Geralt's now oiled fingers are guided to his entrance. "You know what to do, right, my dear?"
His voice is husky, his eyes are hooded, and blue matches golden in pure and raw want.
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Seeing Geralt quiver under him and get restless under all the praise make the wait one hundred percent worth it. His dear witcher truly needs this - the kindness, the pretty words, the reminder that he matters, that he isn't a monster. Jaskier is having an effect on him, that request to shut up barely able to be taken seriously when he shortens his name like that.
This is what you need, my love, and I'll remind you as many times as it takes.
When Geralt accuses him of being a tease, Jaskier puts up his best innocent face and rolls his hips, biting his lower lip at the sensation of that hardness being rubbed all over his buttcheeks. His own cock is slowly awakening, and Jaskier whimpers at the tingling in his groin that can't quite enjoy the party yet.
"I thought you wanted me to shut up." He keeps on teasing, hands groping Geralt's chest again to check on grunts (and because he simply likes doing so). "Fuck, Geralt. It's been two decades of pining and fantasies. Where should I even start?"
Jaskier takes one of Geralt's hands, not because he minds it on his thigh (the opposite in fact, he wants those bruises, wants proof on his body of how much Geralt wants him) but because he wants to play with it. He makes it rest on his stomach then makes it go up slowly, carving a path on his upper body as he speaks.
"Kneeling in front of you in the tub was the sweetest torture - so close yet so far! I only wanted to climb in with you, ride you until I could feel you for days. I wanted you to ruin me for any other man ever again." When the hand makes it to his neck and face, Jaskier kisses the fingers before nuzzling it. "Massaging your back and shoulders allowed my imagination to run wild. What if it wasn't my hands on them? What if it was my legs, as you bent me over to pound me with the same power and skill you stab a monster?"
Geralt's left hand is taken to rest on Jaskier's ass, then he takes the right one to repeat the process: up his body, nuzzling and kisses.
"Rubbing chamomile on your lovely bottom had me wondering - had anybody been there before? I wanted to check. I wanted to bury my face between your cheeks and stretch you open with my tongue. I wanted to feel you tight around me, to leave my spend inside you, to see you struggle to ride Roach on the road later. I wanted to show you things that no woman ever could."
The witcher's right hand isn't taken to his ass like the left one, at least not yet. Jaskier changes the chamomile oil for the clear one, and starts covering Geralt's fingers with it.
"Every time you would pick me to drag me away from another spat with rude, bigoted tavern goers, I dreamed about your hands. I wanted - want. I want your fingers inside me. I want the strength and proficiency you use to swiftly wield a sword to slowly and efficiently drive me to ecstasy." With a hand going to rest on the mattress next to Geralt's head, Jaskier bends over, medallion pressed between their chests and ass wiggling in the air as Geralt's now oiled fingers are guided to his entrance. "You know what to do, right, my dear?"
His voice is husky, his eyes are hooded, and blue matches golden in pure and raw want.