[ CLOSED ] the feeling never dies in your eyes

[ He could. He could leave a lot of bruises, has in the past, and there's a moment where he slides his palm over Jaskier's backside as though he'll do exactly that. Turn the skin bright red under his hand.

He doesn't. He wants something else tonight. Not softer. Just different. ]

Maybe. [ It's a word that holds a hundred promises.

He works him gently, steadily; there's an impatience to it all, a desire to bury himself in the warmth of another until he's thinking of nothing else. He wastes little time as soon as Jaskier is ready—grips those hips he knows so well and sinks inside. A breath falls from his lips.

And as he settles into a rhythm, he buries his face in Jaskier's neck. It happens rarely, but he recognizes it now, that prick of heat behind his eyes. Even if he can't make it happen on command, he has started to learn to allow it, giving in without resistance, coaxing it forward instead of instinctively pushing it down.

It has its uses. Like now: his teeth sharper where they drag against Jaskier's skin. ]

Maybe?

[Jaskier questions with only a spare look over his shoulder. He shivers under the curve of Geralt's hand, still sensitive from the attention he's already received. Attractive little goosebumps raise on his arms as he anticipates that sharp bite of pain... but nothing comes.

Maybe.

Geralt is in a mood.

Even after what has happened to him, Jaskier is flexible, easily shaped. And he enjoys everything, as long as he has the company to take in. So it is with quiet noises he take Geralt's attentive, long fingers, until they're replaced with his cock and the hot breath of a Witcher on his neck.

There, maybe, he will finally be bruised -- but what he feels is so sharp and sudden that Jaskier jerks with a gasp, tightening. But not an unpleasant one. Though Jaskier's mind reels, he cares little what caused it. Only that he wants more.] Harder.

[ A mood is correct. The sort of mood that makes him quietly demanding in that way Jaskier's likely come to know, the sort that has him sinking his teeth into Jaskier's shoulder without asking. He's fairly certain he knows what Jaskier wants; it's what he wants, too. That's all he needs to press forward unless Jaskier stops him.

Which Jaskier won't hesitate to do. He knows that, too.

When he hears harder, that's what he grants. There's a trust here he isn't thinking too deeply about, one that lets him do this. Because he understands intrinsically, without question, that whatever's Jaskier reaction will be to discovering his Witcher suddenly has sharpened teeth and blackened eyes, he needn't worry about it. Hasn't any need to wonder if it'll change something between them. It won't.

For now, those eyes are hidden, his face buried in the crook of Jaskier's neck. He rocks against him, into him, one hand wrapped around Jaskier's wrist and pinning it to the bed. His grip is tight, hard enough to bruise. ]

[This is certainly fulfilling certain vampire-related fantasies Jaskier has held for years. And while he is quite sure Geralt's teeth should not be this sharp (of course he's heard the rumors for years upon years, but eaten beside him for just as many), between the heavy breaths and the hot air between them, it hardly matters.

Ask later. Take it now.

Blood dribbles around his neck. He gasps, nails digging into their bed. Impossible to ignore it, like a wayward rain drop, and then it falls and splatters onto the hand holding him up. Which is holding up a lot, by the way, as Geralt fucks him. Geralt's grip on his wrist isn't helping, but fuck if it doesn't feel fantastic.

He did ask for bruises. He was simply not expecting Geralt to so eagerly agree.]

Fuck. You've -- [Ah, shit. He may not be walking straight for a day, as heat spikes up his spine straight from his ass.] Become quite eager.

[ Jaskier's heart pounds in his ears. He can feel the strain on Jaskier's arms; his own wraps around Jaskier's waist to hold him up, and the rest of him keeps going.

His eyes fall shut. He turns his head down, kisses along the bard's jawline. There's a gasp, a jerk in his hips. Pleasure floods his veins, spills right through him. He takes a moment—eventually rolls onto his side next to Jaskier. His head buzzes pleasantly.

A small drop of blood dots the sheets. He wipes his thumb over Jaskier's throat, where the smallest mark has pierced the skin. It's not hesitation, exactly, that falls over him—but there's a consideration, a pause, as he turns his inky eyes on Jaskier. ]

Good?

[And quiet. But he's always been that.

Jaskier is not. He grunts, groans, even yelps at one point. It's overwhelming in the most wonderful way, all down to Geralt's quiet release, the wet trickle, and the eventual collapse of two bodies.

The bard simply flops down on his belly, giving his ass a rest.]

Whew! Fuck me, Geralt. I mean -- you know, I'd go again, if I think I'd be able to stand. I mean -- good? I'm fantastic. [He moves to his side with a smile, his head a whirl, his body feeling oddly like that moment where the ship in Nadine's carnival swung down with its fully might --

Jaskier gasps, reaching a hand for Geralt's cheek.] Are you all right? [His eyes search Geralt's, fully black, the veins tinted dark. Jaskier's brow knits. Was he hunting earlier today? Jaskier had only assumed he'd been putting it off for a bit, but --] You didn't tell me you were on one of those potions --

[He pauses as his eyes drop to Geralt's mouth. Those. Those were not there before.] Or that you've been picking up things from Alucard.

[Geralt's finger rests on the wound on his neck, and now that he is thinking of it, with a resounding hot pound, it reminds him fervently that it is now here.] Not that I'm against it at all, I simply... was not expecting this.

[ There it is: the furrow and concern he expected to see. His expression is gentle—though perhaps that's difficult to tell with how his eyes are at the moment.

But then, Jaskier's never had trouble seeing him, has he? ]

I'm fine. You asked me the other day. What the Singularity granted me.

[ It's this. Not a new power and yet it is. Visually, a return of what is close to what he gets from his elixirs—with more to it. The teeth, pointed rows in his mouth. He doesn't feel the toxicity the same. There's heat, a light rush in his veins, but the effect fades in minutes. Doesn't leave him feeling like shit. Doesn't heighten his senses.

He lays his hand on Jaskier's waist. He had not brought it forth on purpose. He'd simply chosen not to stop it from happening. ] It comes and goes.

Oh. [He sits up on one elbow to get a proper look. To be fair, he's not really had many opportunities to be close, when it only happens once Geralt hunts. And certainly not like now: the two of them in bed together.

His smile returns.]

This? [He doesn't look sick. Well. No worse for wear than a man with shark-black eyes looks. At least he's not quite so pale. Jaskier even pushes a finger against his lip, pushing it down to get another look at his teeth.

That does explain the blood.]

Believe me, I'm not opposed. Only surprised. [How long has he been hiding this little secret, the bastard? And here Jaskier tells him everything! He traces a vein, letting his head fall back to the pillow.] Mm. So you got so hot and bothered that, as you say, came? [He wiggles his brows.] It is so lovely to know that I can have such an effect on the rough, stoic Witcher.

[ He rolls his eyes despite how it can't be seen at the moment. Habit. His hand pushes at Jaskier's as they reach for his teeth—though they're not difficult to examine. The canines are elongated, the rest jagged.

Wolf's teeth. How fitting.

He's a little more used to them now. Tries not to dig deep in how it makes him feel to change like this. It helps, maybe, that it isn't permanent. But it still feels a bit close to a new mutation of sorts. One that should be impossible.

He doesn't mention the claws. Seems he can't choose which unsheathes itself. ]

I know it's hard to believe, Jaskier, but I do enjoy fucking you.

[ He's only teasing. Of course Jaskier knows. In this, he will not pretend he isn't affected. Never has. ]

[Funny how seasons ago he would have been far more concerned. Not because it was Geralt, but what this could mean -- could Witchers mutate further in time? Gods know he's never asked because it'd never been a concern.

But now he can turn into a fucking bird, so what isn't possible?

He laughs. Hard to believe! No, it isn't. Fucking him is a joy to anyone who participates, thank you.] And may it be so hard to believe one of life's greatest joys is aggravating you?

[He leans up and kisses him, teeth and all. ] Never once has it lost its luster.

That, [ Geralt props himself up on one elbow, ] is as believable as a blue sky.

[ Perhaps it's so that he allows himself to be aggravated. He takes Jaskier's hand in his. Rolls his thumb over the reddened marks that are beginning to bruise. Is it not too much?

No. Jaskier seems content. In return, Geralt is satisfied. With the marks, the night, that Jaskier is home again at last. Definitely with the fact that he can hear the guards just outside grumbling about the...

Disturbance. Within.

The black of his eyes are already starting to recede. A hell of a fucking time they've found themselves in these days.

He grows quiet, then lays down beside Jaskier. He slept next to him often in the days following those memories, those nightmares. Only feels right to do so again given what's happened. ]

I'll be staying in the city.

[ For the month. Maybe longer. He doesn't want to leave them. Jaskier, Ciri, Julie. His people. He wants to be near where he can protect them. ]

[A little bit of a shame, he thinks, that it goes away so fast. It's as much a part of Geralt as his white hair or cheerful disposition. Fascinating, he thinks, that if this is one of those "gifts" from the Singularity, that it reflects something that was already part of Geralt.

Nothing like becoming a bird. Growing a plant.

Again, somehow. It suits.]

I thought as much. [Geralt need not say why. He can guess. They have been friends for a very long time, and Geralt's heart may as well be bleeding, in some ways.] You know I'm not asking you to. [It needn't be said.] You know, I've been thinking, if I leave Cadens in the future, I might hire Gideon. What do you think? Have you seen her skills yet?

[ Yeah. He knows. That's not why he's staying. If he's being frank, it's as much for himself. If something were to happen while he was a week's ride away or more—

Things are precarious at the moment. He won't risk it. He has them now. People. (Family.) After everything he's lost, despite knowing what he's yet to lose—because what is waiting for those like him if not more loss?—he can't bear the thought of it. Not right now.

He swallows.

Right. Wait—Gideon? Hm. ] Handy with a sword. I don't know how well she cuts down men.

[ Men, specifically. There's a difference. Some hesitate when faced with another human when they otherwise wouldn't with a monster. And Jaskier is not in danger from monsters. Still. If she's willing—he'd trust her more than the guards. ]

She certainly seems eager for it.

[Not in any way that strikes Jaskier as strange. Plenty of mercenaries on the Continent just as intent. Even the queens have their guards. And Gideon shall surely be better than anyone under Marlo's control.

Jaskier releases a little breath, laying onto his back. The scars no longer hurt, but sometimes he recalls the ache when he goes a little too still, or catches the sight of them at the corner of his eye.

And still merely papercuts compared to Geralt's.]

I'm glad you are. [He doesn't look at the Witcher as he says it, closing his eyes.] So I can have a bit more of your cock up my ass, of course.

[And then he smiles into the dark -- the relative dark, except the glow of the lantern Geralt gifted him by the bedside.]

[ He hums. He's met Gideon. If nothing else, she's sincere. No ulterior motives. On that alone, he can approve. A straightforward mercenary there to earn coin is as simple as it gets.

With Jaskier's eyes closed, a small smile touches his lips. ]

Go the fuck to sleep, Jaskier.

[ He'll keep watch in the meantime. As always, sleep does not come easy to him and it's one of those nights he won't be getting any rest. It's all right. He wants to ride out at sunrise with Roach, anyhow. Stretch her legs before the day's scorching heat comes. ]

[ CLOSED ] the feeling never dies in your eyes

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