The sweet playfulness paired with the edge of nails, a lewd suggestion, draw Geralt even closer to the other man. He leans over him with an urgent press of hands beneath Jaskier's thighs, urging them wider apart as he settles between them.
"I intend to have both over my shoulders, not only one," he replies, leaning down to kiss over Jaskier's chest and reach for the bottle of oil he'd tossed onto the bed. The scent is potent for his nose but not enough to bother him, and he's quick to get his fingers slick already.
The oil is warmer when he sneaks his hand between them and down toward Jaskier's entrance, careful to press and rub at the sensitive area. He only adds enough pressure to spread the slickness for now, until he's gauged enough of a warning to slowly press in a finger. The heat and tightness make him inhale sharply already but Geralt reins in his own excitement for the sake of making sure Jaskier isn't uncomfortable.
"If it's too much, you need to tell me." A strict and serious suggestion, eyes glancing up to Jaskier again as the finger presses in deeper, longer, until he's buried to the knuckle and slides out again, repeating the motion until he feels less of a resistance.
Jaskier's breath catches in his throat at that promise and hums in agreement when Geralt maneuvers his thighs and kisses his chest, muttering an 'oh, yes, please' in appreciation.
He loses his train of thought when fingers press gently against his sensitive skin, breath hitching but forcing his body to stay relaxed instead of taut as a bowstring. His body contract around the intrusion, thigh heat around Geralt's fingers and Jaskier is once against grateful that the Witcher is a far more patient man than he is.
"I'll tell you." The response comes quickly and the voice is sincere. He knows Geralt worries, it's endearing. Very sexy too, it makes warmth spread from the center of his chest down to every fiber of his body pooling in his chest. Or perhaps that also has something to do with the pleasant drag of the man's finger, sliding in and out easily thanks to the oil and making the muscles of the bard's abs twitch and tense up.
"And in the event of my mouth being busy, if I need you to slow down then I'd pat your bicep or thigh twice, sounds good?"
That should take care of any worries they might both have every time Jaskier's mouth gets acquainted with Geralt's dick. Because he plans on that to happen more in the future and doesn't want Geralt to be always wondering if he's hurting him when he goes too fast or too deep. The bard isn't particularly concerned because he knows Geralt would rather turn his sword on himself than hurt him. He also wants to offer him the same kind of deference, and Jaskier's voice softer when he ask. "You would tell me as well, right? If I do something you don't like or you aren't interested? I know I can be a bit, em....effusive during sex and I...ahh...fuuck."
A full-body shudder makes Jaskier tremble when the pad of Geralt’s finger grazes ever-so-gently over his prostate, the light sensation already setting his nerves alight. Always so sensitive, it's both a curse and a blessing.
"G-Geralt, please, more." Jaskier whines in the back of his throat and his hips roll forward in little jerks, inviting Geralt to slide a second slicked finger inside him.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
no subject
"I intend to have both over my shoulders, not only one," he replies, leaning down to kiss over Jaskier's chest and reach for the bottle of oil he'd tossed onto the bed. The scent is potent for his nose but not enough to bother him, and he's quick to get his fingers slick already.
The oil is warmer when he sneaks his hand between them and down toward Jaskier's entrance, careful to press and rub at the sensitive area. He only adds enough pressure to spread the slickness for now, until he's gauged enough of a warning to slowly press in a finger. The heat and tightness make him inhale sharply already but Geralt reins in his own excitement for the sake of making sure Jaskier isn't uncomfortable.
"If it's too much, you need to tell me." A strict and serious suggestion, eyes glancing up to Jaskier again as the finger presses in deeper, longer, until he's buried to the knuckle and slides out again, repeating the motion until he feels less of a resistance.
no subject
He loses his train of thought when fingers press gently against his sensitive skin, breath hitching but forcing his body to stay relaxed instead of taut as a bowstring. His body contract around the intrusion, thigh heat around Geralt's fingers and Jaskier is once against grateful that the Witcher is a far more patient man than he is.
"I'll tell you." The response comes quickly and the voice is sincere. He knows Geralt worries, it's endearing. Very sexy too, it makes warmth spread from the center of his chest down to every fiber of his body pooling in his chest. Or perhaps that also has something to do with the pleasant drag of the man's finger, sliding in and out easily thanks to the oil and making the muscles of the bard's abs twitch and tense up.
"And in the event of my mouth being busy, if I need you to slow down then I'd pat your bicep or thigh twice, sounds good?"
That should take care of any worries they might both have every time Jaskier's mouth gets acquainted with Geralt's dick. Because he plans on that to happen more in the future and doesn't want Geralt to be always wondering if he's hurting him when he goes too fast or too deep. The bard isn't particularly concerned because he knows Geralt would rather turn his sword on himself than hurt him. He also wants to offer him the same kind of deference, and Jaskier's voice softer when he ask. "You would tell me as well, right? If I do something you don't like or you aren't interested? I know I can be a bit, em....effusive during sex and I...ahh...fuuck."
A full-body shudder makes Jaskier tremble when the pad of Geralt’s finger grazes ever-so-gently over his prostate, the light sensation already setting his nerves alight. Always so sensitive, it's both a curse and a blessing.
"G-Geralt, please, more." Jaskier whines in the back of his throat and his hips roll forward in little jerks, inviting Geralt to slide a second slicked finger inside him.