[ Over the decades, Geralt has acquired and forgotten an endless stream of bodies warming his bed. It's nothing about them; they just aren't meant for more than a night or two amongst his many. Only a handful does he commit to memory—and he decided, early on, that John falls under the latter.
He will remember those choked noises, the knuckles turned white as they grasp the sheets. The ripple of tension running through.
Geralt sinks lower, eyes meeting the man beneath him. The taste of salt and something far more unique to John rests heavy against his tongue. His hands have not stopped exploring. He wanders towards the sensitive places his mouth can't reach: under, over, coaxing forth more sounds. ]
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He will remember those choked noises, the knuckles turned white as they grasp the sheets. The ripple of tension running through.
Geralt sinks lower, eyes meeting the man beneath him. The taste of salt and something far more unique to John rests heavy against his tongue. His hands have not stopped exploring. He wanders towards the sensitive places his mouth can't reach: under, over, coaxing forth more sounds. ]