[Unless my mouth is occupied, need not be said. It's a tug and pull, a fun little came to begin with must feel like it was inevitable. (Funny, he should think, that he really only did follow him home for some company. Yet company can come in so many ways, and he imagined... if Geralt would not sleep, then he could be doing something else. Namely, Jaskier.)
He's a simple bard. A simple man with appreciation for bodies tight with muscles, rippled with scars; and, besides, he still feels he owes Geralt a little for their bathing house venture. It certainly aided the healing of his arm, which hurts not at all now.
It's fitting their kisses always taste of ale. Jaskier mumbles his approval of it directly into Geralt's mouth, pitting his knees into the bed below as he lifts a little higher. One hand to palm him, his scarred arm going round his shoulder to tangle fingers in the ends of his hair. It's perfect, how the mood hits them all at once. Jaskier needn't think about much else but the next thing he wants to touch or taste.
His hand moves inside, deft, his mouth occupied with biting Geralt's lower lip. He gives him a tug, a sharp jerk of his hand to bring the Witcher here, in this moment, as sternly as he can.] I suspected you missed me. [He breathes against his mouth, ducking down to kiss his throat.] Isolating yourself over here.
[Another mumble, as his mouth begins traveling southward towards its intended destination.]
no subject
He's a simple bard. A simple man with appreciation for bodies tight with muscles, rippled with scars; and, besides, he still feels he owes Geralt a little for their bathing house venture. It certainly aided the healing of his arm, which hurts not at all now.
It's fitting their kisses always taste of ale. Jaskier mumbles his approval of it directly into Geralt's mouth, pitting his knees into the bed below as he lifts a little higher. One hand to palm him, his scarred arm going round his shoulder to tangle fingers in the ends of his hair. It's perfect, how the mood hits them all at once. Jaskier needn't think about much else but the next thing he wants to touch or taste.
His hand moves inside, deft, his mouth occupied with biting Geralt's lower lip. He gives him a tug, a sharp jerk of his hand to bring the Witcher here, in this moment, as sternly as he can.] I suspected you missed me. [He breathes against his mouth, ducking down to kiss his throat.] Isolating yourself over here.
[Another mumble, as his mouth begins traveling southward towards its intended destination.]