[ The disruption is pushed aside quickly, forgotten even quicker. He's only glimpsed the marks left behind once or twice in the mirror—after the stitches were removed, just to see how it was healing. A thick scar up his back, a few lashes too deep to have healed in full. Not pretty, but it matters little. The only thing about them that bothers him is the deep itch that lingers beneath. It will ease in time.
For the moment, he can ignore all that with how Jaskier nips and kisses at the raised jagged lines. He grunts as Jaskier shifts on top of him, fucks into him hard enough to rattle the bed. His grip tightens around the wood frame, around the pillow—he stopped paying attention to what he grabbed onto. He's just holding on, heavy breaths filling the air. The brush of rough stubble against his skin sends lightning right through his body.
He hears it soon: that start and stutter in Jaskier heart that tells him he's close. Geralt lets him have what he wants, takes his share in turn. It is not long before he feels Jaskier shudder and drape over him, spent—and there's a slickness inside him, between his thighs.
One will do. Geralt can't care to answer in words, but he doesn't hesitate to grab Jaskier's hand and put it on his cock. He likes his own fine, but he wants Jaskier's more. Wants those long fingers wrapped around him, stroking with him, and it might be that he's waiting for that. Holding back just to feel that. ]
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For the moment, he can ignore all that with how Jaskier nips and kisses at the raised jagged lines. He grunts as Jaskier shifts on top of him, fucks into him hard enough to rattle the bed. His grip tightens around the wood frame, around the pillow—he stopped paying attention to what he grabbed onto. He's just holding on, heavy breaths filling the air. The brush of rough stubble against his skin sends lightning right through his body.
He hears it soon: that start and stutter in Jaskier heart that tells him he's close. Geralt lets him have what he wants, takes his share in turn. It is not long before he feels Jaskier shudder and drape over him, spent—and there's a slickness inside him, between his thighs.
One will do. Geralt can't care to answer in words, but he doesn't hesitate to grab Jaskier's hand and put it on his cock. He likes his own fine, but he wants Jaskier's more. Wants those long fingers wrapped around him, stroking with him, and it might be that he's waiting for that. Holding back just to feel that. ]