[ A pity, but—they've only just started. Geralt plans on making this visit well worth both of their time, even if he's stopped keeping track of the minutes, the world simultaneously now and not. He grasps at John's arm, his back, dragging his fingers over dips and grooves and jagged marks. The lightning and thunder fade into the distance. A storm may as well not be happening.
The soft bite against his jaw is almost tender. Geralt is not a vocal man, in or out of bed, but it isn't hard to discern his feelings from his stuttered breaths, from the way he meets every stroke and tease. And he is not shy about chasing after more. He cants his hips, drawing one leg up and in to trap John against him.
His teeth catch the shell of an ear. He finds the ribbon's silk end and pulls, at last releasing John's once tidily swept-back hair. More for him to hold onto as pleasure mounts low inside him. A heat that pools, then radiates outward.
He lets their foreheads touch, lets the locks of hair stick to his damp skin. The tension of the month's burdens (years, decades) is replaced by something else, something much better he can soon release. ]
no subject
The soft bite against his jaw is almost tender. Geralt is not a vocal man, in or out of bed, but it isn't hard to discern his feelings from his stuttered breaths, from the way he meets every stroke and tease. And he is not shy about chasing after more. He cants his hips, drawing one leg up and in to trap John against him.
His teeth catch the shell of an ear. He finds the ribbon's silk end and pulls, at last releasing John's once tidily swept-back hair. More for him to hold onto as pleasure mounts low inside him. A heat that pools, then radiates outward.
He lets their foreheads touch, lets the locks of hair stick to his damp skin. The tension of the month's burdens (years, decades) is replaced by something else, something much better he can soon release. ]