[He blinks, looking at him, then splits into a smile, a laugh.] That's what you ask? Seriously?
[He should expect nothing else, and truthfully, he didn't. He gives a sigh; one of content. He did not want to be alone tonight, either, and perhaps this is the one time they both will not admit it. When he withdraws his hand, he rolls onto his back. Gods forbid anything show on his face, or he stares at the Witcher. Things he would have done with a lover without hesitation.]
Honestly, I imagined you throwing me into walls a bit more. A dirty tavern somewhere. The stink of ale and sweat, and my fingers still numb from playing the strings. [His heart still feels so light. Jaskier lays a hand delicately over his chest, willing it to normal, knowing Geralt can hear every beat. (He's always wondered if that gets annoying. Hearing hearts. Or does one get used to it? Is it easy to ignore?] I mean, if I saw fit to imagine anything.
[Though they show that, yes, perhaps he put thought into his, his words are light. Besides, that fantasy is Geralt's fault. He's the one who brought up fucking him behind a tavern.] It is very fulfilling to know I had you pinned down so perfectly.
[The way he fucked. Hard, with a threat of violence -- Geralt pushing his nails into him, demanding more, the squeal of wood as he held onto the bed -- but edged with something gentle.]
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[He should expect nothing else, and truthfully, he didn't. He gives a sigh; one of content. He did not want to be alone tonight, either, and perhaps this is the one time they both will not admit it. When he withdraws his hand, he rolls onto his back. Gods forbid anything show on his face, or he stares at the Witcher. Things he would have done with a lover without hesitation.]
Honestly, I imagined you throwing me into walls a bit more. A dirty tavern somewhere. The stink of ale and sweat, and my fingers still numb from playing the strings. [His heart still feels so light. Jaskier lays a hand delicately over his chest, willing it to normal, knowing Geralt can hear every beat. (He's always wondered if that gets annoying. Hearing hearts. Or does one get used to it? Is it easy to ignore?] I mean, if I saw fit to imagine anything.
[Though they show that, yes, perhaps he put thought into his, his words are light. Besides, that fantasy is Geralt's fault. He's the one who brought up fucking him behind a tavern.] It is very fulfilling to know I had you pinned down so perfectly.
[The way he fucked. Hard, with a threat of violence -- Geralt pushing his nails into him, demanding more, the squeal of wood as he held onto the bed -- but edged with something gentle.]