[ Witcher's don't express, or they don't express very well. Even under the affects of cloudy black eyes, it's understandably more nuanced. It's well and truly a lie that Geralt doesn't feel. He may not whimper and mewl at every little thing that sends a shiver up his spine, but there is its own level of enjoyment in watching him do it. Keening into his hand, warm and damp as his cock begins to harden. He's not waiting for him to beg, but hearing his name snaps him out of the brief fascination.
The witcher's hand withdraws along the same as his fingers untangle themselves from the last of Jaskier's hands, gathering him back at the waist as he peels him off the wall and turns him astride to face an adjacent table. It's as he's bending him over to place Jaskier's hands down upon it, he wonders how much of it Jaskier wants or if it's just a ploy to satisfy Geralt's needs. Stark to the contrast of their last encounter spent rutting both fast and slow. It's not necessarily a situation where Geralt is asking to be taken care of - - no the gesture reeks to him of preening and tenderness. Neither of which tonight he needs or deserves. There's no denying the bard craves a bit of the roughness, that much he can tell, but finds it difficult when the other man acts so soft and pliable in his hands.
Geralt takes the vial to his teeth to bite off the stopper and spit it off to the side, rumbling around somewhere under a dresser. Slicking a pool of it across his fingers before discarding it. His mouth dips in to find refuge along the warm skin of Jaskier's shoulder. Tasting the remnant of linen and musk as he brushes aside the hem of his open trousers so that they no longer cling to his hips and crumple halfway down the bard's thighs. ]
Your smell, when you're turned on - [ Geralt breathes across his neck, voice little more than a whisper. Pausing to bite down into the curve of his neck as he eases a finger inside of him. Wondering how long it'll take this time, perhaps better if he can distract him. ] Is sweet and spiced.
[ He could smell it in the tavern, he's swam in it the last night they spent together. And every little time before that may have been lost and disregarded. Jaskier's lust has been haunting him for years, even if he never made quite a mood before. Geralt knew, he could always smell it. And now he can enjoy it face deep, tinted sweat along the nape of his neck where he plies his mouth again. Swirling his tongue and biting down. ]
[ It if weren't because the Witcher's touch returns soon enough, holding his hips and maneuvering him around, Jaskier would have whimpered loudly at the loss. As it is, he only lets out a soft gasp at the way heat is settling in his gut, a heady anticipation of what is to come after he rests his upper body on the table.
He turns his head towards Geralt, looking at him over his shoulder, eyes soft and yet heavy with yearning, an all-consuming need that would be embarrassing if Jaskier wasn't beyond the point of caring. He misses kissing the Witcher, Jaskier could easily get lost in the sensation of Geralt’s tongue, warm and wet against his own, but it's almost impossible at this angle. Luckily, the man's mouth is on his skin soon enough, keeping the wanting at bay. It makes the bard more pliant but not wordless, small mewling sounds keep falling from his parted lips. Moans, gasps, and Geralt's name mingling together.
His head turns to the other side as if he's trying to hide and he bits his bottom lip, shuddering at the intrusion even as he wills his body to relax around Geralt's finger. This is always the most inconvenient part of sex, no matter how much he wants it. But It doesn't take Jaskier much this time, it's not like the first time they did this together. The Witcher's finger is bluntly thick inside him, sliding in and out easily, offering a perfect stretch that leaves the younger man wanting for more. And then Geralt starts talking, voice grave but soft, and Jaskier's skin feels like it’s on fire, burning from the inside out. ]
I...always...always wanted you. [ One of Jaskier's hands leaves the table to reach out and bury itself on Geralt's hair, giving it a tug. The other is digging its nails on the wood, knuckles white. ] I...fuck aah...Knew it from the moment I saw your face in that tavern.
[ He shifts his legs, first moving them closer so the clothes fall to the floor and he can step out of his breeches, and then arching his back and spreading his legs. His hips rock back in small jerks, ass pushing back onto Geralt's finger when he's ready for another. ] More. Geralt, more.
[ He's aching into the contact, pulse thundering in his ears and cock harder than he's ever known. Jaskier needs more of their skin pressed together, wants to feel Geralt fully inside him, and he knows he's never going to be able to forget this. ]
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
no subject
The witcher's hand withdraws along the same as his fingers untangle themselves from the last of Jaskier's hands, gathering him back at the waist as he peels him off the wall and turns him astride to face an adjacent table. It's as he's bending him over to place Jaskier's hands down upon it, he wonders how much of it Jaskier wants or if it's just a ploy to satisfy Geralt's needs. Stark to the contrast of their last encounter spent rutting both fast and slow. It's not necessarily a situation where Geralt is asking to be taken care of - - no the gesture reeks to him of preening and tenderness. Neither of which tonight he needs or deserves. There's no denying the bard craves a bit of the roughness, that much he can tell, but finds it difficult when the other man acts so soft and pliable in his hands.
Geralt takes the vial to his teeth to bite off the stopper and spit it off to the side, rumbling around somewhere under a dresser. Slicking a pool of it across his fingers before discarding it. His mouth dips in to find refuge along the warm skin of Jaskier's shoulder. Tasting the remnant of linen and musk as he brushes aside the hem of his open trousers so that they no longer cling to his hips and crumple halfway down the bard's thighs. ]
Your smell, when you're turned on - [ Geralt breathes across his neck, voice little more than a whisper. Pausing to bite down into the curve of his neck as he eases a finger inside of him. Wondering how long it'll take this time, perhaps better if he can distract him. ] Is sweet and spiced.
[ He could smell it in the tavern, he's swam in it the last night they spent together. And every little time before that may have been lost and disregarded. Jaskier's lust has been haunting him for years, even if he never made quite a mood before. Geralt knew, he could always smell it. And now he can enjoy it face deep, tinted sweat along the nape of his neck where he plies his mouth again. Swirling his tongue and biting down. ]
no subject
He turns his head towards Geralt, looking at him over his shoulder, eyes soft and yet heavy with yearning, an all-consuming need that would be embarrassing if Jaskier wasn't beyond the point of caring. He misses kissing the Witcher, Jaskier could easily get lost in the sensation of Geralt’s tongue, warm and wet against his own, but it's almost impossible at this angle. Luckily, the man's mouth is on his skin soon enough, keeping the wanting at bay. It makes the bard more pliant but not wordless, small mewling sounds keep falling from his parted lips. Moans, gasps, and Geralt's name mingling together.
His head turns to the other side as if he's trying to hide and he bits his bottom lip, shuddering at the intrusion even as he wills his body to relax around Geralt's finger. This is always the most inconvenient part of sex, no matter how much he wants it. But It doesn't take Jaskier much this time, it's not like the first time they did this together. The Witcher's finger is bluntly thick inside him, sliding in and out easily, offering a perfect stretch that leaves the younger man wanting for more. And then Geralt starts talking, voice grave but soft, and Jaskier's skin feels like it’s on fire, burning from the inside out. ]
I...always...always wanted you. [ One of Jaskier's hands leaves the table to reach out and bury itself on Geralt's hair, giving it a tug. The other is digging its nails on the wood, knuckles white. ] I...fuck aah...Knew it from the moment I saw your face in that tavern.
[ He shifts his legs, first moving them closer so the clothes fall to the floor and he can step out of his breeches, and then arching his back and spreading his legs. His hips rock back in small jerks, ass pushing back onto Geralt's finger when he's ready for another. ] More. Geralt, more.
[ He's aching into the contact, pulse thundering in his ears and cock harder than he's ever known. Jaskier needs more of their skin pressed together, wants to feel Geralt fully inside him, and he knows he's never going to be able to forget this. ]