[ For a few seconds, Geralt lays back, limbs loose and veins buzzing. His hair spills tangled around him. Jaskier's weight drapes atop, familiar. Comfortable.
He opens his eyes. Jaskier looks down at him with sincere expectation. He sighs, but the curve of his lips is amused. Hm. With what will he stroke bard's ego? ]
Your cock is as talented as your singing.
[ That answer, maybe, is also very him. Because he's poked at Jaskier's singing before, and yet he is also here, clearly satisfied with Jaskier in his bed. More than. So Jaskier can interpret that how he wants—but Geralt knows the truth of what he means by it. And he thinks Jaskier will, too. ]
no subject
He opens his eyes. Jaskier looks down at him with sincere expectation. He sighs, but the curve of his lips is amused. Hm. With what will he stroke bard's ego? ]
Your cock is as talented as your singing.
[ That answer, maybe, is also very him. Because he's poked at Jaskier's singing before, and yet he is also here, clearly satisfied with Jaskier in his bed. More than. So Jaskier can interpret that how he wants—but Geralt knows the truth of what he means by it. And he thinks Jaskier will, too. ]