[One it is. Far be it from Jaskier to forget his partner when there's still so much to enjoy. Besides, the one time he held this cock, it was under water. Far different than now, when he can curl his fingers around it and appreciate the feel, the weight of it.
Exquisite. He'd always said a man who could swing a sword like that had to learn it from somewhere.
He'll tease him later. Jaskier doesn't want to bother now. He wants to keep kissing those scars, which he does, his lips wetter and hotter than before. The hand around Geralt jerks him, teases a thumb down its length, and its when he feels Geralt tighten across his back that he bites one of those scars, the ugliest of them, with a sharpness that the nips lacked before.
Hard enough that as Geralt comes underneath them, Jaskier can lift up high enough to see he's left a faint imprint of teeth.
Carefully, he draws himself out, letting his unscarred arm take his weight as he sinks to the bed beside the Witcher. If there is a softness to the wrinkles around his eyes, or an ease in his body he has not remembered for months, it's -- it's only the effect of sex, of course.] I'm starting to think I could make a habit of seeing you under me.
[There it is. A tease. He goes straight to it, to the joking and the jests, to ignore how bitterly soft his heart has grown in the moment. Despite himself, he reaches over to push Geralt's shorter hairs back out of his face.]
no subject
Exquisite. He'd always said a man who could swing a sword like that had to learn it from somewhere.
He'll tease him later. Jaskier doesn't want to bother now. He wants to keep kissing those scars, which he does, his lips wetter and hotter than before. The hand around Geralt jerks him, teases a thumb down its length, and its when he feels Geralt tighten across his back that he bites one of those scars, the ugliest of them, with a sharpness that the nips lacked before.
Hard enough that as Geralt comes underneath them, Jaskier can lift up high enough to see he's left a faint imprint of teeth.
Carefully, he draws himself out, letting his unscarred arm take his weight as he sinks to the bed beside the Witcher. If there is a softness to the wrinkles around his eyes, or an ease in his body he has not remembered for months, it's -- it's only the effect of sex, of course.] I'm starting to think I could make a habit of seeing you under me.
[There it is. A tease. He goes straight to it, to the joking and the jests, to ignore how bitterly soft his heart has grown in the moment. Despite himself, he reaches over to push Geralt's shorter hairs back out of his face.]