[ Just the fact that Geralt might be considering what to do in the future is a big step, that's how Jaskier would see it if he knew what goes on in that thick head of his. The bard might be ridiculous and have a penchant for the dramatic but he's also very affectionate and very patient. He will be enthusiastic about anything Geralt feels like trying and will show respect of the things he refuses to do, even if he doesn't always understand the reason behind the man's choices. It's been a complicated day but it turned out much better than Jaskier expected and he's happy about where his relationships stands. He can properly call it that now, in his mind: A relationship.
He doesn't mind the aggressiveness, not when it's about Geralt marking him with bites and licks to his neck. They're greeted with a low, pleased hum followed by a gasp when the teeth sink into him. Jaskier blushes a furious shade of red all the way up to his chest when Geralt gets him to spread his legs like that, even though it's not the first time they do this kind of thing. He's been bent into all sorts of pleasant positions under Geralt, not so many whiles on top of him, and it's mostly the novelty what gets to him. He’s not even really aware of the fact that they're moving, because Geralt's traitorous hand is his cock and it's not fair to ask a man to think properly when that is happening, until his cheek is hitting the mattress.
It's confusing for a second until it's not, he finds that can't bring his legs together because Geralt's thighs are in the middle of them, and the Witcher is finally breaching him and oh, heavens, yes. Jaskier makes a noise in his throat, kind of like a cross between Geralt's name and a cry of gratitude to whatever Gods might actually exist. Moans and sobs follow and his hands grab at the sheets, his knuckles white. He wants to scream his pleasure to the four winds and is holding back until a skilled thrust hits his sweet spot just right and makes his eyes roll back into this head. ]
Geralt. [ He chokes out, and if it wasn't already high, Geralt now could sure smell the spike of arousal in him. ] GERALT!
[ Jaskier's brain shuts down after that because the Witcher is grabbing a handful of his hair, the tight grip just the right side of painful as he's diving in, and he keens and pleas at him for more. The brunette thrusts back into the man’s cock as much as he can, hard and needy, lifting his ass at Geralt's prompting. It should be an uncomfortable position but is not, not at all. Not with Geralt holding some of his weight as he fucks into him like an animal. And that, too, should be shameful, the idea of it, instead of turning Jaskier on as much as it does.
There are words, Geralt is praising him, which feels amazing too, but Jaskier is busy biting his bottom lip and concentrating on not coming all at once. His answer, when he manages one, is clenching his muscles around Geralt's hardness when he thrusts in. Every push of his cock drags slowly over his prostate, lighting him up, making his blood boil and building heat in his lower belly in a cresting wave. ]
F... [ Jaskier bucks, his body shaking. He can’t take much more, normal humans aren’t meant to take the brunt of a Witcher's strength and yet he needs it. He wants Geralt so ruthlessly deep into him that it gets under his skin, burrows in his heart, where he belongs. ] Faster.
[Some things are not changeable about the witcher. He will try new things. He will occasionally attempt to be gentle and kind. But a big talker he is not. Geralt prefers speaking only when absolutely necessary, and the only reason he spoke so much just a few minutes before was since he considered it necessary. So he is capable of it, when it matters, and will continue to do it when it matters. But most of the time? He prefers his quiet. Jaskier can talk enough for both of them. For every one sentence Geralt snarls in bed, the bard has spoken much more filth, and it is perfect that way. He would refuse to use the word 'relationship' himself, albeit knowing that's what it is. He'll just hmmmm non-committally at it.
Geralt almost laughs at the blushing, with everything they're doing, how can he blush, but the laugh turns into a huff instead, and he kisses the back of Jaskier's neck affectionately. He thinks it's charming and he also understands, because he was flustered when he let Jaskier fuck him. He didn't blush, he was a little nervous. Moving Jaskier around like this really requires intense trust. Jaskier has to know that wherever Geralt is moving him, fast and without warning, will be somewhere he wants and pleasant. He is putting his body in the hands of someone powerful and violent, and trusting him to touch him with only pleasure. Which he tries to.
It is complete ecstasy being inside of Jaskier and having a partner this hot to play off of, but it's all heightened by the sounds. Gods, he can hear these cries in his dreams, and will probably wake up hard because of them. It's immensely sexual and gorgeous, and Geralt could come a dozen times if those cries kept calling to him. Jaskier's the perfect lover. HIs enthusiasm is like none other. Geralt could ride him for hours and never get tired of it. He's thankful that Jaskier finds the elements of his sexual appetite attractive that others aren't always keen on. His teeth, his passion, his strength, his animalistic impulse, and the sheer force of him.
He will deal with the naysayers and whatever they worry about with the noise complaint tomorrow. For now he is fully involved in getting Jaskier to scream himself hoarse. Even if Geralt wanted to hold back there's no way with all of Jaskier's begging and desperate rocks back against him, so he lets loose. Still not hard enough to truly hurt his lover, there is a line he is always careful of, but right up to that limit.
He keeps Jaskier's face in the sheets and uses his weight to pin Jaskier entirely, holding him in place so all he can do is take it now. Geralt can feel Jaskier shaking and nearing the end and the only way to give them what they both need is to make it as fast as he begs. He bends his head down to bite his teeth deep into Jaskier's neck as he likes to do when he's nearing his peak, his upper half holding Jaskier down while his hips keep snapping harder and faster into him. The bed creaks with their movement but does not bang at least, since Geralt is keeping it contained to the two of them.
His arm holding Jaskier moves so he can touch his straining cock again, using precum and the oil from before to make it fast and rough in his strokes. He jerks him in time with his thrusts, aiming straight for his prostate to torment him into coming. Geralt growls into Jaskier's neck, teeth bruising the skin, and goes deep into Jaskier. He is trying not to push him too hard into the mattress so he can still breathe but he pins him harshly as he jerks forward and comes. He snarls like a wild beast, closing his eyes tightly, moving into him like he can't think long enough to stop.]
[ He's fine with Geralt only being talkative when it matters, over the years he's learned to read the man's body language better. It's not perfect but it tells him enough sometimes. The teeth in his nape he liked very much, it's a shame those didn't last. Jaskier has to remember to ask Geralt to bite him more there. Among a whole lot of other places.
He can almost feel it, the shift in the atmosphere when Geralt finally let go. Jaskier is squirming one last time in delight at the heavy body on him, the thick weight inside of him feels so fucking delicious, but he's soon enough pinned down for good. Powerful hands are gripping into his hair, shoving his face down, hard how he likes it, and he sees stars. It's a little harder to breathe and he can't move even if he wants to, not like Jaskier does. He's nearly folded in half in his need to push his ass higher, giving himself over willingly, offering all of him through his moans and his body.
He's being split open in all possible ways, owned. The near-constant pressure against his prostate every time Geralt slams into him as hard as he can is making him shout in surprise. His cock is leaking all over the sheets under him, aching in pleasure from each strike. No matter how divine it has been to be inside of Geralt, how much it meant to him, Jaskier can't deny that he craves this more. He prefers to be taken by the Witcher, to be held down and told he’s good as his lover's name is being torn from his raw throat.
Hoarse whines of need fill the room and the bard can't tell who they belong anymore. His back is straining, the hands on his skin bruising, and the feeling of Geralt moving in him, grunting and growling is welcomed by his high whines and keens. The Witcher's hand wraps around his cock and he can hear himself screaming a lust-fueled howl, shouting desperately and breathing hard. Blue eyes are blown out with lust, dark and unfocused, and his body stiffens with tension when Geralt presses even harder into him. It's so good it's painful. Nothing he cant take, nothing he doesn't want desperately.
When Geralt comes, it’s a constant hot pulse throbbing inside him and bolts of sensation are zinging along Jaskier's nerve endings. Is the snarling on his ears what does it for him. His walls clench around Geralt, tight as a vise on his cock, and he moans, and moans, and moans at the burn and ache as he comes. His senses are absolutely shot, on fire, alight as things edge over into a sharper sting. Geralt is still moving in brutal, bone-rattling thrusts and he's going to die. He's going to die with Geralt cock in his ass from the over-stimulation, and he can not give even a single fuck. Jaskier doesn't remember ever being so full and well breed in his life.
Thank the Gods he's already on his knees because he can feel his legs going weak and his mind clouding, blissfully high on his orgasm. There's a slickness sliding down his inner thighs that only adds to the sensation of him falling apart. ]
T-that was enthusiastic enough... [ Jaskier murmurs breathlessly, a cross between a laugh and a desperate cry, tired and blissed out. His voice is absurdly rough from all the screaming and there's no way he's going to be able to sing properly come morning. ] I may pass out.
[ Jaskier means it as a compliment but his eyes are a little red rimmed and he chokes on a whimper when Geralt’s hips snapped forward one last time. ]
[Geralt's never had sex with anyone who really takes him this way. It's mostly due to the fact he has sex with strangers and he doesn't want to scare them, and when he's with Yen she's the one in control even when he is on top. Jaskier just lets him loose, lets him take what he needs, and Jaskier also fucking loves it. The way he screams and writhes and moans, it's incredible to be with someone who encourages him that much. Who accepts all that he is and wants him for it too. Geralt's never mistaken sex for love, nor does he now, but he doesn't think it unusual that his emotional connection to Jaskier makes it much better.
He does keep Jaskier's head down especially when he really screams, muffling it part of the way, conscious enough to do that and otherwise he can't think at all. He can only take and take and take until they're both wrung dry. He doesn't realize how far he's really gone until Jaskier speaks and it is an immediate wake up from his haze of lust and aggression. His body is still singing from the third orgasm of the night.
Geralt moves off of him, very gentle as usual in the aftermath. He encourages Jaskier to move onto his back, manhandling him again but with a kind purpose. There may be a slight worry in the way he touches Jaskier's body now, running rough fingers over his limbs to settle him in the bed. He knows the bard says he can take it, but the last thing Geralt ever wants is to hurt someone in bed.
He kisses him sweetly, brushing fingers through his hair.] Lie there, I'll clean up. [Geralt gets cloth for them and true to his word does exactly that. Despite his mild concern, he still is enjoying the image of Jaskier blissed out and lying on the bed, covered in marks from his mouth. Gods he's attractive. Geralt has no water there to give Jaskier but he does have the last bit of ale that he didn't finish, so he brings it over and offers it to Jaskier. He truly loves that rasp in his voice, but he still wants him to swallow through it.
These are the ways that Geralt shows that he cares. Words may not be his strong suit, but actions are.] Sit up, have some of this. [He knows that Jaskier hates his voice being too different, it is his trade after all, so it's the least he can do for now. They sweat a lot in their sex. Geralt folds over the sheets on the side of the bed where they both came, so it is comfortable enough for the night. Only after he does his due diligence does he allow himself on the bed too.
He puts his arm around Jaskier and encourages him to rest his head on him after the ale, like usual.] You would tell me if it's too much. [It's not a question, it's a statement. He doesn't want the bard to cripple himself to please his witcher lover.]
[ Jaskier never had sex with anyone who did this to him before either because it implies a level of trust he can't give anyone else. It would be terrifying and painful to let someone much stronger than him dominate him like that without being able to move. With Geralt it's glorious and Jaskier is glad that they could share something like this, that it made the Witcher happy too.
He breathes a sigh of relief when Geralt shifts him, not because he wasn't having fun but because his lungs truly need the air. Jaskier immediately can tell that the man is worried and he gives his partner a soft, happy smile and reaches out to cup his cheek. He's fine, wonderful, just tired and still shaking from the aftershocks of a fantastic orgasm.
Jaskier is loose-limbed and soft in his afterglow, his body still drowning on endorphins to feel any of the pain from the bruises or in his muscles. He tries to nuzzle and kiss Geralt before he moves away but the Witcher is too quick. He always is, even when Jaskier's limbs don't feel like jelly. Alcohol might not be the best option to keep hydrated but he feels parched, throat raw, and welcomes the offered ale with a grateful smile. ]
Thank you. [ Jaskier mumbles, his eyelids feeling heavy. His hair is in disarray and he has the air of a man who's been thoroughly well fucked. It's not a bad look on him. He also seems to be admiring the marks and scratches he left on Geralt's body as he takes a sip of the drink. He hums pleasantly at the view, his eyes meeting Geralt's so the man can see the pleased look in them. His back rests against a pillow, watching Geralt as the man tries his best to fix the bed covers into something comfortable to sleep in. Jaskier feels his chest swell with affection. 'Witcher don't have emotions', his perky ass. ]
You don't have to do that immediately every time we..ah... I do appreciate it. Lots. But I like your scent on me.
[ Geralt pampering him when he can barely move is one of Jaskier's favorite things. But he's not disgusted by the stickiness or the feeling of Geralt's spend inside him, that's what he means in the end. With the empty cup now left aside and forgotten, The bard curls around Geralt's body, they're different frames fitting well into each other like puzzle pieces. ]
I would and it wasn't.
[ Jaskier's dignity and his ability to walk died a good death, good riddance to them. With all the strength Jaskier can must at the moment, which isn't much, he holds himself up by the elbows and leans it to place a feathery kiss on Geralt's closed eyelids, then moves further to peck at his mouth. ]
[Alcohol isn't the best option to be hydrated, but he isn't going to go get them water, since he will immediately have to hear about how their obnoxiously loud sex is unappreciated by the guests. He also would have to put clothes on which is not going to happen. He is feeling too good and loose for that. Since Geralt gets up very early, he will probably slip out of bed while Jaskier sleeps it off and make a deal with the innkeeper. And bring up some food and water for the bard.
If he's sneaky enough he might go kill the monster while Jaskier's still sleeping. The sex will energize him and the clarification of their situation gives some measure of temporary peace. He'll feel like a fight and good kill when he gets up. He'll decide in the morning depending on how early he's unable to stay in bed. He doesn't want his bard to pout at him if he's gone when he wakes. But if he finishes the kill and makes the townsfolk content enough, he can come right back to bed and wake Jaskier up a delicious way. A problem for the morning.
Jaskier really does look fantastic when he's thoroughly fucked like this. He makes a very pretty figure. Geralt likes the feel of his eyes on him too; his body has always been something to fight and kill with. Jaskier's open admiration and attraction to it feels good. He doesn't have to flex to look more impressive; his muscles have muscles. He practically is always flexing. He's big and broad and he's all Jaskier's. He hmmms in reply to that and smirks, golden eyes warm.]
You stink of me even after several washings. My scent isn't leaving because of a cloth. [Geralt would know. Anyone with a nose like him could tell who Jaskier belongs to from a town over. He isn't disgusted by fluids of any kind, but it is a symbolic effort. It does make him feel a little better, being able to communicate through action. He likes to be reminded he's a man not a beast, which the latter can be more of a problem the longer he's apart from society and hostile toward it. Jaskier's solved that problem since the day they met.
He makes a snarling sound that's actually more of a content rumble, tilting his head up for the little kisses while his eyes stay shut. He is so very soft when it comes to the bard; it's important no one else ever knows. Except for Yennefer. She'll torment him enough over it. Geralt's eyes open after the peck to his mouth and he leans into it, kissing him a little deeper. He is definitely feeling well fucked and drowsy at the moment, which is rare and nice, and he tugs gently at the bard's arm so he'll stop being on his elbows and rest on Geralt instead.]
I am holding back. [He mumbles.] I could fuck you to death if I didn't hold back. [Geralt smirks and strokes his hair.] Take fucking note of that next time you're being a tease.
[ Jaskier wouldn't have let him leave the room anyway, water and angry innkeepers could wait until tomorrow. It was much better to stay in bed, basking in the afterglow of a good fuck and enjoying the warmth of each other bodies. The bed isn't completely broken either, truly a miracle under the circumstances.
The bad had planned to be the one tiring out Geralt but it comes as no surprise that things ended the other way around. It's late and he's exhausted int eh best of ways, he's probably going to sleep in like a rock, cocooned in the mess of blankets that smells like them until someone comes to disturb his peace. If he does wake up to an empty bed, he won't pout at Geralt...much. But he would, the Witcher is right on that assumption. That's a worry for tomorrow.
He replies to that hum with a pleased sound of his own, seeing Geralt relaxed, and loops an arm around his waist. Jaskier should probably feel grossed out about the whole scent thing, if they ever meet other Witchers this would be fun to explain, but instead, he just huffs out a laugh. The rumble he gets out of Geralt after the kisses make him smile so much his cheeks hurt.
Like a real wolf sometimes, Jaskier thinks, as they kiss. Lowering himself at Geralt's request, his cheek rest on the man's broad chest. Geralt makes a surprisingly comfy pillow and Jaskier feels safe there, he tells him as such out loud before he realizes the words have left his mouth. ]
Okay, point taken. But you're still very hot when you let go a bit. [ Just for that scolding, Jaskier pouts and lightly flick Geralt's right nipple with his finger. ] I will try to keep it in mind but I make no promises.
[ He snuggles even closer against the Witcher like he wants to burrow into him. He lets out a final long sigh at the fingers in his hair before closing his eyes. ]
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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He doesn't mind the aggressiveness, not when it's about Geralt marking him with bites and licks to his neck. They're greeted with a low, pleased hum followed by a gasp when the teeth sink into him. Jaskier blushes a furious shade of red all the way up to his chest when Geralt gets him to spread his legs like that, even though it's not the first time they do this kind of thing. He's been bent into all sorts of pleasant positions under Geralt, not so many whiles on top of him, and it's mostly the novelty what gets to him. He’s not even really aware of the fact that they're moving, because Geralt's traitorous hand is his cock and it's not fair to ask a man to think properly when that is happening, until his cheek is hitting the mattress.
It's confusing for a second until it's not, he finds that can't bring his legs together because Geralt's thighs are in the middle of them, and the Witcher is finally breaching him and oh, heavens, yes. Jaskier makes a noise in his throat, kind of like a cross between Geralt's name and a cry of gratitude to whatever Gods might actually exist. Moans and sobs follow and his hands grab at the sheets, his knuckles white. He wants to scream his pleasure to the four winds and is holding back until a skilled thrust hits his sweet spot just right and makes his eyes roll back into this head. ]
Geralt. [ He chokes out, and if it wasn't already high, Geralt now could sure smell the spike of arousal in him. ] GERALT!
[ Jaskier's brain shuts down after that because the Witcher is grabbing a handful of his hair, the tight grip just the right side of painful as he's diving in, and he keens and pleas at him for more. The brunette thrusts back into the man’s cock as much as he can, hard and needy, lifting his ass at Geralt's prompting. It should be an uncomfortable position but is not, not at all. Not with Geralt holding some of his weight as he fucks into him like an animal. And that, too, should be shameful, the idea of it, instead of turning Jaskier on as much as it does.
There are words, Geralt is praising him, which feels amazing too, but Jaskier is busy biting his bottom lip and concentrating on not coming all at once. His answer, when he manages one, is clenching his muscles around Geralt's hardness when he thrusts in. Every push of his cock drags slowly over his prostate, lighting him up, making his blood boil and building heat in his lower belly in a cresting wave. ]
F... [ Jaskier bucks, his body shaking. He can’t take much more, normal humans aren’t meant to take the brunt of a Witcher's strength and yet he needs it. He wants Geralt so ruthlessly deep into him that it gets under his skin, burrows in his heart, where he belongs. ] Faster.
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Geralt almost laughs at the blushing, with everything they're doing, how can he blush, but the laugh turns into a huff instead, and he kisses the back of Jaskier's neck affectionately. He thinks it's charming and he also understands, because he was flustered when he let Jaskier fuck him. He didn't blush, he was a little nervous. Moving Jaskier around like this really requires intense trust. Jaskier has to know that wherever Geralt is moving him, fast and without warning, will be somewhere he wants and pleasant. He is putting his body in the hands of someone powerful and violent, and trusting him to touch him with only pleasure. Which he tries to.
It is complete ecstasy being inside of Jaskier and having a partner this hot to play off of, but it's all heightened by the sounds. Gods, he can hear these cries in his dreams, and will probably wake up hard because of them. It's immensely sexual and gorgeous, and Geralt could come a dozen times if those cries kept calling to him. Jaskier's the perfect lover. HIs enthusiasm is like none other. Geralt could ride him for hours and never get tired of it. He's thankful that Jaskier finds the elements of his sexual appetite attractive that others aren't always keen on. His teeth, his passion, his strength, his animalistic impulse, and the sheer force of him.
He will deal with the naysayers and whatever they worry about with the noise complaint tomorrow. For now he is fully involved in getting Jaskier to scream himself hoarse. Even if Geralt wanted to hold back there's no way with all of Jaskier's begging and desperate rocks back against him, so he lets loose. Still not hard enough to truly hurt his lover, there is a line he is always careful of, but right up to that limit.
He keeps Jaskier's face in the sheets and uses his weight to pin Jaskier entirely, holding him in place so all he can do is take it now. Geralt can feel Jaskier shaking and nearing the end and the only way to give them what they both need is to make it as fast as he begs. He bends his head down to bite his teeth deep into Jaskier's neck as he likes to do when he's nearing his peak, his upper half holding Jaskier down while his hips keep snapping harder and faster into him. The bed creaks with their movement but does not bang at least, since Geralt is keeping it contained to the two of them.
His arm holding Jaskier moves so he can touch his straining cock again, using precum and the oil from before to make it fast and rough in his strokes. He jerks him in time with his thrusts, aiming straight for his prostate to torment him into coming. Geralt growls into Jaskier's neck, teeth bruising the skin, and goes deep into Jaskier. He is trying not to push him too hard into the mattress so he can still breathe but he pins him harshly as he jerks forward and comes. He snarls like a wild beast, closing his eyes tightly, moving into him like he can't think long enough to stop.]
no subject
He can almost feel it, the shift in the atmosphere when Geralt finally let go. Jaskier is squirming one last time in delight at the heavy body on him, the thick weight inside of him feels so fucking delicious, but he's soon enough pinned down for good. Powerful hands are gripping into his hair, shoving his face down, hard how he likes it, and he sees stars. It's a little harder to breathe and he can't move even if he wants to, not like Jaskier does. He's nearly folded in half in his need to push his ass higher, giving himself over willingly, offering all of him through his moans and his body.
He's being split open in all possible ways, owned. The near-constant pressure against his prostate every time Geralt slams into him as hard as he can is making him shout in surprise. His cock is leaking all over the sheets under him, aching in pleasure from each strike. No matter how divine it has been to be inside of Geralt, how much it meant to him, Jaskier can't deny that he craves this more. He prefers to be taken by the Witcher, to be held down and told he’s good as his lover's name is being torn from his raw throat.
Hoarse whines of need fill the room and the bard can't tell who they belong anymore. His back is straining, the hands on his skin bruising, and the feeling of Geralt moving in him, grunting and growling is welcomed by his high whines and keens. The Witcher's hand wraps around his cock and he can hear himself screaming a lust-fueled howl, shouting desperately and breathing hard. Blue eyes are blown out with lust, dark and unfocused, and his body stiffens with tension when Geralt presses even harder into him. It's so good it's painful. Nothing he cant take, nothing he doesn't want desperately.
When Geralt comes, it’s a constant hot pulse throbbing inside him and bolts of sensation are zinging along Jaskier's nerve endings. Is the snarling on his ears what does it for him. His walls clench around Geralt, tight as a vise on his cock, and he moans, and moans, and moans at the burn and ache as he comes. His senses are absolutely shot, on fire, alight as things edge over into a sharper sting. Geralt is still moving in brutal, bone-rattling thrusts and he's going to die. He's going to die with Geralt cock in his ass from the over-stimulation, and he can not give even a single fuck. Jaskier doesn't remember ever being so full and well breed in his life.
Thank the Gods he's already on his knees because he can feel his legs going weak and his mind clouding, blissfully high on his orgasm. There's a slickness sliding down his inner thighs that only adds to the sensation of him falling apart. ]
T-that was enthusiastic enough... [ Jaskier murmurs breathlessly, a cross between a laugh and a desperate cry, tired and blissed out. His voice is absurdly rough from all the screaming and there's no way he's going to be able to sing properly come morning. ] I may pass out.
[ Jaskier means it as a compliment but his eyes are a little red rimmed and he chokes on a whimper when Geralt’s hips snapped forward one last time. ]
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He does keep Jaskier's head down especially when he really screams, muffling it part of the way, conscious enough to do that and otherwise he can't think at all. He can only take and take and take until they're both wrung dry. He doesn't realize how far he's really gone until Jaskier speaks and it is an immediate wake up from his haze of lust and aggression. His body is still singing from the third orgasm of the night.
Geralt moves off of him, very gentle as usual in the aftermath. He encourages Jaskier to move onto his back, manhandling him again but with a kind purpose. There may be a slight worry in the way he touches Jaskier's body now, running rough fingers over his limbs to settle him in the bed. He knows the bard says he can take it, but the last thing Geralt ever wants is to hurt someone in bed.
He kisses him sweetly, brushing fingers through his hair.] Lie there, I'll clean up. [Geralt gets cloth for them and true to his word does exactly that. Despite his mild concern, he still is enjoying the image of Jaskier blissed out and lying on the bed, covered in marks from his mouth. Gods he's attractive. Geralt has no water there to give Jaskier but he does have the last bit of ale that he didn't finish, so he brings it over and offers it to Jaskier. He truly loves that rasp in his voice, but he still wants him to swallow through it.
These are the ways that Geralt shows that he cares. Words may not be his strong suit, but actions are.] Sit up, have some of this. [He knows that Jaskier hates his voice being too different, it is his trade after all, so it's the least he can do for now. They sweat a lot in their sex. Geralt folds over the sheets on the side of the bed where they both came, so it is comfortable enough for the night. Only after he does his due diligence does he allow himself on the bed too.
He puts his arm around Jaskier and encourages him to rest his head on him after the ale, like usual.] You would tell me if it's too much. [It's not a question, it's a statement. He doesn't want the bard to cripple himself to please his witcher lover.]
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He breathes a sigh of relief when Geralt shifts him, not because he wasn't having fun but because his lungs truly need the air. Jaskier immediately can tell that the man is worried and he gives his partner a soft, happy smile and reaches out to cup his cheek. He's fine, wonderful, just tired and still shaking from the aftershocks of a fantastic orgasm.
Jaskier is loose-limbed and soft in his afterglow, his body still drowning on endorphins to feel any of the pain from the bruises or in his muscles. He tries to nuzzle and kiss Geralt before he moves away but the Witcher is too quick. He always is, even when Jaskier's limbs don't feel like jelly. Alcohol might not be the best option to keep hydrated but he feels parched, throat raw, and welcomes the offered ale with a grateful smile. ]
Thank you. [ Jaskier mumbles, his eyelids feeling heavy. His hair is in disarray and he has the air of a man who's been thoroughly well fucked. It's not a bad look on him. He also seems to be admiring the marks and scratches he left on Geralt's body as he takes a sip of the drink. He hums pleasantly at the view, his eyes meeting Geralt's so the man can see the pleased look in them. His back rests against a pillow, watching Geralt as the man tries his best to fix the bed covers into something comfortable to sleep in. Jaskier feels his chest swell with affection. 'Witcher don't have emotions', his perky ass. ]
You don't have to do that immediately every time we..ah... I do appreciate it. Lots. But I like your scent on me.
[ Geralt pampering him when he can barely move is one of Jaskier's favorite things. But he's not disgusted by the stickiness or the feeling of Geralt's spend inside him, that's what he means in the end. With the empty cup now left aside and forgotten, The bard curls around Geralt's body, they're different frames fitting well into each other like puzzle pieces. ]
I would and it wasn't.
[ Jaskier's dignity and his ability to walk died a good death, good riddance to them. With all the strength Jaskier can must at the moment, which isn't much, he holds himself up by the elbows and leans it to place a feathery kiss on Geralt's closed eyelids, then moves further to peck at his mouth. ]
You're fucking gorgeous when you don't hold back.
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If he's sneaky enough he might go kill the monster while Jaskier's still sleeping. The sex will energize him and the clarification of their situation gives some measure of temporary peace. He'll feel like a fight and good kill when he gets up. He'll decide in the morning depending on how early he's unable to stay in bed. He doesn't want his bard to pout at him if he's gone when he wakes. But if he finishes the kill and makes the townsfolk content enough, he can come right back to bed and wake Jaskier up a delicious way. A problem for the morning.
Jaskier really does look fantastic when he's thoroughly fucked like this. He makes a very pretty figure. Geralt likes the feel of his eyes on him too; his body has always been something to fight and kill with. Jaskier's open admiration and attraction to it feels good. He doesn't have to flex to look more impressive; his muscles have muscles. He practically is always flexing. He's big and broad and he's all Jaskier's. He hmmms in reply to that and smirks, golden eyes warm.]
You stink of me even after several washings. My scent isn't leaving because of a cloth. [Geralt would know. Anyone with a nose like him could tell who Jaskier belongs to from a town over. He isn't disgusted by fluids of any kind, but it is a symbolic effort. It does make him feel a little better, being able to communicate through action. He likes to be reminded he's a man not a beast, which the latter can be more of a problem the longer he's apart from society and hostile toward it. Jaskier's solved that problem since the day they met.
He makes a snarling sound that's actually more of a content rumble, tilting his head up for the little kisses while his eyes stay shut. He is so very soft when it comes to the bard; it's important no one else ever knows. Except for Yennefer. She'll torment him enough over it. Geralt's eyes open after the peck to his mouth and he leans into it, kissing him a little deeper. He is definitely feeling well fucked and drowsy at the moment, which is rare and nice, and he tugs gently at the bard's arm so he'll stop being on his elbows and rest on Geralt instead.]
I am holding back. [He mumbles.] I could fuck you to death if I didn't hold back. [Geralt smirks and strokes his hair.] Take fucking note of that next time you're being a tease.
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The bad had planned to be the one tiring out Geralt but it comes as no surprise that things ended the other way around. It's late and he's exhausted int eh best of ways, he's probably going to sleep in like a rock, cocooned in the mess of blankets that smells like them until someone comes to disturb his peace. If he does wake up to an empty bed, he won't pout at Geralt...much. But he would, the Witcher is right on that assumption. That's a worry for tomorrow.
He replies to that hum with a pleased sound of his own, seeing Geralt relaxed, and loops an arm around his waist. Jaskier should probably feel grossed out about the whole scent thing, if they ever meet other Witchers this would be fun to explain, but instead, he just huffs out a laugh. The rumble he gets out of Geralt after the kisses make him smile so much his cheeks hurt.
Like a real wolf sometimes, Jaskier thinks, as they kiss. Lowering himself at Geralt's request, his cheek rest on the man's broad chest. Geralt makes a surprisingly comfy pillow and Jaskier feels safe there, he tells him as such out loud before he realizes the words have left his mouth. ]
Okay, point taken. But you're still very hot when you let go a bit. [ Just for that scolding, Jaskier pouts and lightly flick Geralt's right nipple with his finger. ] I will try to keep it in mind but I make no promises.
[ He snuggles even closer against the Witcher like he wants to burrow into him. He lets out a final long sigh at the fingers in his hair before closing his eyes. ]