[Of course it's irony, that's what makes it so fucking good.
Though, honestly, he couldn't say what wasn't good about this. He plants his scarred arm into the bed, fingers like claws, And Geralt holds it. Now it isn't weak, not as before. It holds his weight up with only the slightest tightness. Wounds heal. Grow stronger. Shouldn't he know that better than most, after all this time with a Witcher?
A Witcher, he thinks, that might've not gotten a proper fuck for a time. Jaskier groans, moving his hands again to the man's hips, his nails biting in. Right. He'd liked that, hadn't he? That little noise he'd made. Sinful, really.
He's a bit chuffed he was right about Geralt all along. How he fucks. But, if anything, perhaps he -- he underestimated him.]
Fuck. [It's barely a whisper, a soft exhalation as he pulls back, pushes back in with a shiver that wracks his back. A twinge in his arm lances into his head, but he ignores it. Jaskier grips his hips like a lifeline as he pushes Geralt down, and. The Witcher lets him. Lets him do it.
Fucking ridiculous to feel so trusted now.] Good? Are you -- [He breathes, but still chokes on the words. There's too many things rocketing through his head right now, and yet nothing at all.]
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Though, honestly, he couldn't say what wasn't good about this. He plants his scarred arm into the bed, fingers like claws, And Geralt holds it. Now it isn't weak, not as before. It holds his weight up with only the slightest tightness. Wounds heal. Grow stronger. Shouldn't he know that better than most, after all this time with a Witcher?
A Witcher, he thinks, that might've not gotten a proper fuck for a time. Jaskier groans, moving his hands again to the man's hips, his nails biting in. Right. He'd liked that, hadn't he? That little noise he'd made. Sinful, really.
He's a bit chuffed he was right about Geralt all along. How he fucks. But, if anything, perhaps he -- he underestimated him.]
Fuck. [It's barely a whisper, a soft exhalation as he pulls back, pushes back in with a shiver that wracks his back. A twinge in his arm lances into his head, but he ignores it. Jaskier grips his hips like a lifeline as he pushes Geralt down, and. The Witcher lets him. Lets him do it.
Fucking ridiculous to feel so trusted now.] Good? Are you -- [He breathes, but still chokes on the words. There's too many things rocketing through his head right now, and yet nothing at all.]