abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] eyes black, big paws

[ He manages to kick off one muddy boot before he falls back on the bed, sinking into plush pillows and cool sheets. His arm slips under John, not quite lifting but steadying with a casual strength that says he could easily bear the weight of a grown man.

A hum rumbles deep in his chest. He turns his head, granting more of his throat for John to explore. Geralt runs warm as it is, and his blood has only grown hotter. His fingers scrabble for purchase in John's hair, tangling in them until more locks tumble out of the ribbon. It's been some time since he's had somebody new—and though he's a creature of habit, of old comforts, he finds a different familiarity in mapping uncharted territory. Listening for the telltale hitches in breath, a skipped heartbeat.

As John settles more atop him, Geralt hooks his leg over, tangling them together. He lifts his hips. A flame burns low in his belly. Brief thoughts of drawing things out pass through before he decides, fuck it. He dislodges his other boot and loosens the top button of his trousers. ]

[John hopes that they will have a chance to repeat this again, sometime. That they will have opportunity to come together in person, rather than the strange fever-dream of the Horizon. Not that he is complaining, given present circumstances. But once they do, then he will take his time to really savor the moment. Here and now? He does not mind so much if their touch is a little harried.

If Geralt is waiting for a sign of John’s pleasure, he does not have to wait long. His breath hitches, at the hook of Geralt’s leg over his own, tangling them further together. Shudders at the roll of his hips, as he presses up against him.

Needing no further encouragement, he manages to shift his weight enough to free one hand again. Working it between them to lay flat against Geralt’s stomach first, then slide its way down to join the other man’s fingers on the buttons of his trousers. Aiding him in freeing another from its fastenings before his fingers slide lower, cupping the shape of Geralt’s hardening arousal in the palm of his hand. Groaning softly against the skin of the other man’s neck at the feel of it and the heady realization that yes, he really does want this too.]

Jesus… [John says again, cursing softly before turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss at the corner of the other man’s jaw, the spot so kindly presented to him…]

[ And a little harried it is; where Geralt's movements are normally deliberate, precise, he's now much looser—hand hovering in the air once John takes over undoing the fastenings. For a beat, he simply watches. Then he drops it, gripping the pillow beneath while John makes quick work of the rest.

He wants it. He wants a lot, but he makes no move to demand more. Curiosity overtakes pure desire; he's interested to see what John will do next. When he turns back to catch those lips wandering over his jaw, there's a glint in his eye and a faint tilt to the corner of his mouth. Because he heard it. The small noise of appreciation. The foreign curse that slipped free as careful fingers curled around his cock.

He drags in a sharp breath. His eyes flutter. Fuck. ] Fuck.

[ Far too much fabric still. He yanks his trousers fully off and consigns them to the rug below. Better. Nearly. There's John left, but he leaves it for now, satisfying himself with another kiss as he pushes into the hand between his legs. ]

Edited 2024-03-29 21:49 (UTC)

[There are still John’s trousers left, but he has other priorities at present. Namely: the man underneath him, and dragging other similar reactions out of him such as the one he had just received.

He wishes he had time and opportunity to step back and look at him, fully unclothed as he is. From what he knows already of Geralt’s naked body, he can only imagine that he would like what he sees. But there will be another time to allow himself to linger. Perhaps when they have a chance to meet again face-to-face, at that. For now, however…

John leans into the kiss, hungry for more. For the taste of Geralt’s lips against his own. For the next sound of pleasure he might draw from him and the way his eyes had closed just now, at his touch. For the heat of his arousal, firm and solid in his hand as Geralt presses his hips up into the touch.

John’s sword-calloused fingers wrap around him in return and offer a teasing, experimental stroke, up and down the length of him.]

[ The kiss is eager, and Geralt responds in kind, cupping the back of John's head. Pressed between them, the silver wolf on its chain grows warm.

Long fingers draw another rough noise from him, caught in his chest, and he digs a little harder into John's shoulder—narrow but well-defined. He's careful to withhold his true strength, leaving behind only the faintest imprint from his nails. Perhaps it doesn't matter in the Horizon where nothing will follow them out, but it's real enough while they're here, each breath ghosting over his skin and the heat that continues to unfurl inside him.

It's thoughtless to fall into the steady rhythm. His blood thrums. Beneath the shadow of his lowered lashes, darkened veins spiderweb around his eyes for a blink, then fade—easily missed. He doesn't notice himself, too distracted by. Everything. And those fucking hands.

John's previous caution seems to have been laid well to rest. Geralt isn't complaining at all. ]

[John is not aware of the full extent of Geralt’s abilities, he is not aware of how careful he must be, to hold back as he does. He is too distracted himself, by the press of Geralt’s lips on his own, the heat of his skin, and that sound he drags out from him. A sound that cuts right through him, the pleasure tingle of it running down his nerve endings like miniature lightning bolts, setting his skin ablaze.

It is a pity he has not undressed, that Geralt cannot touch him further in return. But John is otherwise preoccupied, and like a mantra he thinks to himself hazily: there will be time, yet.

In the meanwhile, he has the other man right where he wants him. Pulling back out of the kiss in the attempt to catch his breath and nip at the underside of Geralt’s jaw, his finger stroke, soft yet firm. Teasing yet certain. Letting himself explore with touch alone. Running a thumb across the very tip of him. Sliding down to circle at the very base and squeezing, ever so slightly.

John may not be taking his sweet time, but he is not rushing this either. Enjoying himself and enjoying Geralt, in this moment. Confident in the fact he knows exactly what he is doing.]

[ 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. ]

[John’s eyes fall shut for a moment as their foreheads touch, as he lingers in the sensation of his hair, now loose about his shoulders. He doesn’t often wear it down, not even when he’s sleeping. Certainly not around others, but here and now.

But does not mind so much that Geralt has freed it from its ribbon. Does not mind the way that Geralt has trapped him against his body, the scrape of his teeth against John’s ear in return, the barely contained restraint. In fact, he rather enjoys all of the above. The way he is coming apart at the seams and the knowledge that he is the one to make it happen. That Geralt is allowing it this way.

Idly, John thinks that he would like to explore in further detail what really gets under Geralt’s skin and drives him wild, but he’d like to think they might repeat this experience another time. For now…

John does take pity on him, enough to establish a solid rhythm of his hand. Rolling his hips forward once against Geralt’s thigh as his own control begins to fray. He is only human, after all.]

[ His blood runs hotter and hotter. Moments when Geralt ceases to think are rare, but right now, he's free from his worries, from the ever-swirling question of what awaits them all. It's a state he tries to hang onto for as long as he can.

He is not eager to return to the ground.

He fumbles at John's trousers, keen to feel as much of him as John has, but his attention is disrupted and he doesn't quite get there. The wave inside him crests. A familiar pleasure, always wanted no matter how many times he's experienced it; a huff of a breath falls from his lips, an inaudible curse, as the tension inside him releases. His fingers tighten in John's hair, then slackens.

Slowly, heavily, he exhales. His skin buzzes pleasantly as he steadies his breathing. He can feel John against him (of course he can), and he is content to let the other man seek more. Thinks that he would like to give him more, actually. Perhaps taste what he's been wanting to from the start.

He pauses to steal a kiss first before he rests his palm against John's chest. There is a question in the lift of his eyebrows when he gives John a gentle nudge to lie back on the bed. ]

[John can feel the tension building in the other man. Even as Geralt moves to reach for him, John’s focus is on Geralt himself. This may be the first time they have lain together, but this is by no means John’s first time with another man, and he can read the signs. That catch in his breath. The way his fingers tighten in his hair.

John leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s jaw, calloused fingers not easing in his attentions — until at last Geralt spends in his hand. Softly, gently almost. A release of tension that seems to flow through the whole of his body underneath John. He has been with men who were far more theatrical about this moment, but somehow John thinks this suits him fine.

Slowing his touch to a stop, he releases him, allowing himself to be pulled in for that kiss before Geralt releases him, hand on his chest pressing him far enough to meet his eye and the question there.

Yes, John thinks, somewhat dazedly, as he lets himself be pressed onto his back. God, yes. Please. He realizes he should have something more of his mind about him, but it’s difficult, given their present situation. Growing more impossibly so by the second.]

Edited (oops needed to up my acct so i could change the icon) 2024-04-15 15:36 (UTC)

[ John moves with him, and Geralt doesn't hesitate to shove him down a little rougher, knees bracketing hips. The shadows cut across angled cheekbones; John's eyes are lit a warm blue in the firelight.

He finishes his task with the buttons—far simpler in this position—and at last rids John of his trousers. A pillow bounces off the bed when he pushes them aside. His eyes trace the prize unearthed; he wants, but further, he can tell (can really fucking tell) John is hungry, too, and that knowledge is significantly more enticing.

Though he can't help teasing a little: fingers skirting as he traces up the softer inside of John's thighs, the ghost of his breath along the skin. He follows the path he leaves with his lips, sliding lower down on the other man's body.

Then he wraps a hand around that cock and finally takes him into his mouth. ]

[John lies bare before him at last, wanting and unashamed for the knowledge of it. Unashamed of his body, for all its scars and imperfections. The one side of his chest heavily crossed with scars of varying ages. His left forearm is also scarred from the duel, as is the top of one thigh, deep and long. The scars do not bother him overmuch. He would be far more bothered if he had not survived the injuries that had caused them, after all.

Laying back, he watches with anticipation as Geralt moves over his body. Shivering slightly as he teases, fingers and breath ghosting over skin already sensitized by desire.

When at last Geralt reaches the mark, John cannot help the choked, breathless noise that slips from his lips. Fingers scrambling to fist in the coverlet of the bedspread, needing a lifeline to hold onto, before this is over far too quickly.]

[ 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. ]

[John's eyes meet the other man's briefly, the light blue of them darkened with the pleasure of the sensation building within him. And then Geralt's hands are moving, and he cannot help the way his body responds, almost unbidden. Eyelids fluttering shut, he arches into the touch. Body taught as a bowstring ready for release.]

Geralt--

[He pants, fingers clenching tighter against the sheets, breath catching in his chest. Against the tightness in his lung that sometimes bothers him after that business with the canon explosion, but he frankly doesn't give a flying fuck about any of that right now. His singular focus on the press of Geralt mouth and fingers on his skin.]

Please.

[ Please. He likes the breathless way it tumbles from John's lips, as though it can't be helped. Geralt lays his palm against a quivering thigh and flattens his tongue. There's a unique satisfaction in being the one to send John's heart racing, in knowing that it's both because of him and for him.

His eyes lower towards his task. The sheets bunch beneath his knees, damp and sticking to his skin. With all of his senses heightened, he can tell when John has reached his limits. Can smell it in the air, hear it in the stutter of his pulse.

Geralt doesn't draw things out past their welcome. He brings John right to the edge and over it. He does not hesitate over taking all of him, pays no mind to the faint ache running up his leg. Doesn't care if those fingers have moved to curl tight in his hair or if they're still gripping the sheets. None of that matters now that they're here. The breath he pulls through his nose is sharp and heavy, catching in his throat as he lets John finish. ]

Edited 2024-04-29 11:23 (UTC)

[John’s body tenses as he climaxes, fingers reaching to tangle in Geralt’s hair, his breath releasing in a deep moan of pleasure. He lies bonelessly underneath the other man for a long moment as he slowly comes back to himself, before taking in another deep breath and prying open one eye to peer up at him. Face more than slightly flushed from both pleasure and now, the knowledge of the intimacy they have shared. His lips curl sideways in a smile before he bites his lip and self-consciously loosens his fingers from Geralt’s hair, dropping his hand to cover his face for a moment with a breathless laugh.]

Good god.

[He laughs again, taking in another deep breath before uncovering his face to peer up at Geralt, blue eyes twinkling in mirth.]

I had been disappointed that we were interrupted so soon the other night, but now…

[They certainly would not have been able to do this.]

[ Time slows for a brief moment. Geralt slides off, wiping a hand across his mouth before falling back beside John with careless grace. His limbs are loose, and he pays no attention to the continued storm outside.

Disappointed. The confession brings a faint curl to his lips. No. He imagines it'd have been far more difficult to convince John to open up amidst the crowded pavilion.

And Geralt prefers a soft bed, anyhow. Easier on the knees. ]

So you're glad I came? [ It's not a real question. He tucks one arm under his head, satisfied. A shame they're separated by miles. The distance isn't uncommon, but his inability to travel there is a fact he'll never get used to.

Still. They have got this.

He hums, reflecting on that night. ] You made a charming distraction. Worth watching.

[John turns on his side, flicking an eyebrow up at the question. Firstly, does he really even need to ask? Of course he is glad Geralt sought him out like this. That the other man was just as dissatisfied by the way things had ended before as he had been. Secondly, had he phrased it that way on purpose, the cad.

He watches the way Geralt sprawls, comfortable in the moment, and wonders whether it would be too presumptuous or forthright of him to touch him again so soon. At all? He understands that some men have certain ideas of what relations with men ought to be, but then again Geralt did just use his mouth on him, so he has already crossed that line.]

Did you find yourself distracted by my charms as well? [He quirks his lips slightly, a gentle tease. Watching implies he had not had his attention fully on his task, after all.]

[ Geralt makes a soft noise in response. ] Now you're fishing.

[ Perhaps he was a little distracted. He can do two things at once. As John might've discovered tonight.

He's loath to leave so quickly, so he doesn't. There isn't anything waiting for him right now, and John seems in no hurry, either. He can stay for a bit. Listen to the crackling fire and the beat of John's heart. If John's hands stray towards him, Geralt will not complain. Despite his surface tendencies, he's surprisingly receptive about being touched. At least amongst those he likes. ]

Let's hope the sunless lands don't close for too long.

[ In case John had any doubts that he fully intends to do this again. ]

[ CLOSED ] eyes black, big paws

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wrap soon? 🎀