Geralt rolling his shoulders makes it easier and Jaskier doesn't stop sliding his hands over the sore spots until he can feel the skin under his fingers go tender. He's so focused that when a warm hand clams over his nape he lets out a surprised yelp that is soon swallowed by Geralt's lips.
He almost falls forward into the bathtub, the left hand slipping down Geralt's arms and ending inside the water. Jaskier makes a pleased sound against the other's mouth, eyes closed and tilting his head so get a better angle. There's a happy smile on his face by the time the kiss ends.
"You're getting me all wet." It slips out of his mouth before Jaskier's brain catches up on what his tongue said. Then he flushes. "I meant the clothes!" He amended quickly, voice a little higher. "I might as well take these off and get into the water before I catch a cold."
He stands up quickly, almost slipping on the water that is now covering some of the wood boards. So much for trying to be smooth, it's like his flirting skills go out of the window the moment Geralt's near.
Jaskier doesn't go too far away from the bathtub or tries to hide, but he doesn't look directly at Geralt either as he undresses. He takes off his boots and socks first, then his shirt, carefully folding it before it ends on another stool. When the bard finally strips out of his pants and undergarments, he's still not looking at Geralt's reaction. He shudders at the cold air hitting his skin and waves a hand towards the bathtub.
There's the strong urge to respond with That's the point, but Geralt spares the other any further embarrassment, instead chuckling internally at the awkwardness. Traveling together as often as they have, it isn't strange to have seen one another naked, though before today Geralt's eye never lingered, nor did his imagination. He doesn't think Jaskier has anything to be ashamed of, trim and lithe enough for a traveling bard who doesn't swing a heavy sword around on a daily basis. To compare himself to Geralt would not be fair and the witcher doesn't have any complaints to give.
He's respectful enough not to stare too long though, leaning back against the tub's side again to give him room to join, both arms resting on either side now. It's big enough for two but definitely going to put them in an intimate spot.
"I've kept it warm like I said," he comments, fingers warming the water even more, enough to lightly steam across the top. He doesn't hide his gaze once Jaskier starts to get into the water though, a lingering haze of want clear in his expression. It's been too long.
Embarrassed as Jaskier might have been, his amusement at hearing Geralt say something like that would have made it worth it. It's true that they've seen each other with very few clothes before but that was when Jaskier had no hopes about their partnership being anything but a good friendship. It feels special now because of their, er, relationship upgrade.
"Ahh, that you did. Thank you." Jaskier lets out a contented hiss once he gets into the tub and the water warms his skin. He could just about melt, he hadn't realized how cold he was getting until now. The bard hums deep in his chest for a few seconds, basking in the wonder of Geralt's magic and almost forgetting the man is there with him. His distraction doesn't last because not even a blind man would miss the look Geralt is giving him.
The bathtub isn't small but it's not leaving them a lot of room to move either, especially when one of the men inside it has the body of an Olympian athlete. They're already touching in places, legs pressing close, feet occasionally brushing. Geralt's arms are open and they look so inviting that Jaskier scoots closer and puts his own around the man's waist, chest to chest.
"Hi." It comes out like a purr, and the brief greeting is all the warning Jaskier gives to Geralt before he's pressing his lips to the curve of the man's jaw, peppering it with small kisses. He knows Geralt has liked that when they were in the cave.
"Hm, you're still tense..." There's hot breath on the Witcher's neck before water-wet lips lightly graze his skin. "We should do something about that."
When Jaskier moves closer Geralt makes sure to spread his knees enough to make room for him, an arm slipping back into the water to wrap around his shoulders. This closeness is nice though the fact that they're both naked only adds to the scandalous nature, and reminds Geralt of how long it's been since he was last intimate with anyone.
"Hi," he returns before lips find his jaw and neck, and Geralt tips his head to one side with a quiet, pleased sound. He enjoys this boldness from Jaskier where he's normally bumbling out of nerves alone, but the way he pushes himself to act on his desires is satisfying. It encourages Geralt as well, his hand rubbing across Jaskier's shoulders before lowering in the water to rub down his back instead.
"Hmm I can think of a couple ways to help," he mutters, both hands opting to caress down Jaskier's sides and pull him in closer, hip to hip.
It helps a lot that Geralt in comparison keeps a calm and put together demeanor. It both helps Jaskier feel at ease and it inspires him to try and see what could break the Witcher's composure. The way the man offers and responds to touches it's intoxicating, often stealing Jaskier's common sense.
"Funny, I also have some ideas of my own." He lets out pleased little whimper against Geralt's collarbone when the man pulls him even closer, making it obvious that they're both very much into the other. Also making it obvious that Geralt is a big man, everywhere. The bard's lips curl into a smile, arching his spine to push against the wandering hand on his back, encouraging it to wander further. Jaskier tilts his head down, looking at Geralt through his long lashes as if asking for permission, then his finger traces the curve of the wolf medallion resting between the man's pecs.
Geralt never takes it off and even if Jaskier doesn't understand what it stands for, not fully, he knows it must mean a lot to the other man. He knows it's important enough not to mention it on any of his songs, lest some idiot gets the bright idea of attempting to steal from Geralt of Rivia to best him. It was the medallion and Geralt's hair that gave Jaskier the idea of calling him the White Wolf and he's glad that it's now stuck in people's mind over the less flattering nickname of The Butcher of Blaviken. The has learned his lesson with that name back in the day, and never used it again.
His hands close around the medallion, his chin tilts up, and he tugs at the chain to bring their faces close. His lips meet Geralt again because Jaskier just can't not kiss him when they're this close and he's allowed to get his hands all over his gorgeous partner. It's not desperate, because he knows Geralt isn't leaving, but it's not a tame kiss either. It's all tongue and teeth, Jaskier puts into it everything he can't put into songs, into words. His hips buck, rutting against Geralt's, pressing their growing hardness together. The angle is nice but Jaskier's knees are suffering a bit and he briefly wonders if he could get away with actually sitting on Geralt's lap.
There's going to be a lot of spilled water to clean up but Geralt isn't even thinking of that right now. Instead, he's focused on the way the other man sounds when he whimpers, how he feels beneath his fingers with each shift of muscle, how he isn't afraid to look Geralt in the eye and take what he desires. It's refreshing. Paying for one night of lust will never compare to true intimacy.
Jaskier traces his medallion as Geralt watches, wondering what he's thinking. Hands lower and palm down Jaskier's sides beneath the water still, until he's tugged in for a kiss and they land on his rear instead, hauling him up closer. Sitting in his lap is no problem and Geralt is happy to take the brunt of any uncomfortable position, especially if it means they get to rub up against one another like this.
He buries a low, pleased sound into Jaskier's mouth, against his tongue, the rutting only urging Geralt's hips to move as well. He presses up to meet Jaskier's body, arousal clear as they press and rub together beneath the water, and Geralt's hands squeeze against Jackier's backside with each rock of his hips, helping him move. Teeth tug on the man's bottom lip and he's quick to soothe over with his tongue next, to lick back into Jaskier's mouth until even Geralt is left breathing harder through his nose.
Water dries out eventually, for all Jaskier cares about, they could turn the bathtub upside down and fuck on the floor. It wouldn't be comfortable for long, though, and if they even get to that point, he wants to take his sweet time pulling Geralt apart. He wants the man to know how much this means to him and just how much he appreciates getting touched back.
Big hands, skin rough from years carrying heavy swords, slide over his ass and the sounds Jaskier makes in response would embarrass him if he now bothered with menial things like shame. His cock jerks at the sound Geralt makes against his mouth and the nipping kiss that leaves him shuddering.
"No song..." Jaskier pants out, pulling back away only an inch apart to breathe, his fingers tracing the curve of Geralt's jawline. He grabs at the Witcher's shoulders to give himself more leverage, hips canting, trying to pull more delicious sounds from Geralt. "No poem or ballad...would ever compare to this."
His voice is low and rough, painfully honest coming from a man like him and he can't resist pressing a loving kiss to Geralt's lower lip. The Witcher had been hauling him up and holding his weight, he might as well go all the way. Jaskier squeezes his shoulders briefly to let the other know he's going to move, body shaking slightly. He lifts himself up on unsteady thighs, his legs around each side of Geralt's waist, which leaves him almost unbearably exposed, and he grinds down on the man's lap. Hard.
One of his arms goes around Geralt's neck for balance and his right-hand slide between their chest, fingers tracing the scars and playfully dipping into Geralt's navel before they wrap around the man's cock and give it a jerk. Jaskier blinks for a few seconds, lost in his wonder. He's noted the size of the bulge in Geralt's breeches before, a bard has eyes thank you very much, but now it feels impossibly huge. His brain provides a brief but heartfelt 'Oh, fuck' along with some questions such as how would Geralt's cock fit into his mouth, into him. He tries to keep those thought to himself, he really does. His mouth, however, has other plans.
It appears when allowed to touch freely Jaskier's attentions are even more intensely given, though Geralt has no room for complaint. In fact, he's drawn to the way the other man moves with a confidence he's only seen when he performs, as though he's finally getting to do what he's been dying to all along. The softer, sweeter touches paired with the bold and wanting, earn Geralt's attention and even tug on heartstrings witchers supposedly don't possess. He kisses the man with hunger but also love, a sweetness Geralt hasn't felt aimed toward him in some time.
The harder grinding pulls a sharp inhale from the witcher and he even lets out a low growl of need, fingers biting into Jaskier's hips with his supportive grip. Eyes fall down Jaskier's chest and stomach, to his exposed cock and thighs, before flickering up again to meet that heated blue gaze.
"Fuck, where have you been hiding this all along?" He asks before a new shift offers a hand on his dick, pulling another growl from Geralt's throat. His eyes shut briefly from the pleasure, his own hands continuing to wander and knead at Jaskier's body, his ass, his thighs - before that question hits.
He wonders if Jaskier can feel the way heat immediately pools in Geralt's gut and makes his arousal throb with need, though he can surely feel the grip he has on his rear, head tipped back and breathing noticeably more labored than usual.
"I wouldn't know," he starts slowly, quickly wetting his lips as he presses hips up into Jaskier's hold. "But I wouldn't stop you from sating your curiosity."
Jaskier might be totally inept in the art of fighting but he compensates it by being skilled in more privates areas. Once he's sure the other person is on the same page as him, he's a very enthusiastic partner that cares about his lover's needs.
He feels all that attention returned back to him when Geralt and he kiss and hold each other. As if they can't get enough of the taste of the other's lips, the warmth of their skin. Jaskier wants to press his mouth to each one of Geralt's scars, honor all the sacrifices the Witcher had to make over the decades so others could survive. Being together might not erase the bad memories but it could help bury them into sweeter ones.
The growl feels like music to his ears and the question startles a happy laugh out of him. Jaskier doesn't giggle, he so does not, but it was...a close thing. He rolls his hips a little, enjoying the hold Geralt has on him and all the touches. His own skin feels like it's on fire, his breath coming out in short pants.
"I've been following a rather stubborn man. Good thing he put up with me instead of telling me to go away."
For someone who is always so in control of his emotions, it's surprisingly easy to tell that Geralt is enjoying the attention. Jaskier almost doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that he enjoys it so much, that he would do anything Geralt ever tells him if he gets to see him blissed out in exchange.
A mangled noise that could have been Geralt's name at some point escapes his throat when fingers knead at Jaskier's ass, making him squeeze the Witcher's body with his thighs. Making an effort to focus, he strokes his dick again, now with even more intent. His hand rubs up the length, thumb circling the crown and then pressing down the slit.
"I'd love to sate my curiosity with you." Jaskier leans his head forward until he can press his forehead against Geralt's, smiling. Well then, go big or go home, as they say. "We should move to the bed."
"Good thing he failed in trying." He's dreamt of getting this close for some time now, thought of it at night when he should have been focusing on sleeping, at every turn when Jaskier would be walking too far ahead. Being able to explore this... relationship with another person has been eye-opening for the witcher, when he's been closed off for so very long. Jaskier isn't a common whore only showing his interest because of his coin - he's a friend and a true companion. Knowing how he sounds when he moans is just a privilege now.
Pressing up into his hand again, Geralt exhales with a shaky breath from the way Jaskier is playing him so easily, calloused fingertips only adding to the sensitivity. Forehead to forehead, Geralt can close his eyes and breathe in the moment, hearing the quickened pulse of the other man, smelling his arousal and excitement. He makes up his mind right then and there, humming quietly before he gives a brief warning: "Hold on."
Moments later Geralt's wrapping an arm around his partner and using the other to hoist them both up out of the tub, dripping wet as he steps out with Jaskier in his arms. Grabbing a towel to toss onto the bed (because they'll surely regret sleeping on soggy sheets later) he carries them both over to sit, hauling Jaskier with him as he kisses up the column of his neck almost possessively, lips and teeth sucking at the water dripping from his jaw. Hands are still touching Jaskier with dominating curiosity of his own, one coming around now to finally palm at the man's neglected cock.
"Can't win at everything." Jaskier jokes lightly, trying to downplay how painful it had been at times to keep his distance from the other man.
Geralt's words are touching, and he imagines this might be the Witcher's way of apologizing for the wasted time. It's not as if it was his fault, they were really not ready for these kinds of things. It took Jaskier a decade and a life-threatening blizzard to act on his feelings, no wonder Yenefer often said men were idiots.
"Hold o...? Oh!" Jaskier had been busy basking on the heat of Geralt's body, on how attractive are the sounds he makes when he's happy and aroused when he's suddenly hauled up like he weighs nothing. In retrospect, he should have seen that coming, Geralt is a man of action and he loves him all the more for it.
Out of instinct, the bard's legs tighten around Geralt's waist and his arms hold onto the man's shoulders, trapping his own hardness against their stomachs. To say that this position is giving Jaskier ideas would be an understatement, Geralt lips on his neck only encourage such thoughts. A fine tremble shivers through his body and Jaskier tilts his chin up, baring a pale, unmarked neck for his wolf.
His mouth was supposed to be busy by now but he won't stop Geralt from satisfying his curiosity if he wants to do some exploring of his own. They never dared until now, not properly, and Jaskier is sure he wouldn't deny the man anything. His eyes are half lidded and he's panting with his mouth slightly open by the time a big, strong hand tugs at his cock. Jaskier spine goes nearly liquid and he lets out a low, musical moan. A hand rise up and clutch at Geralt's hair, pulling at it a little to test his reaction. The other slides down Geralt's chest to rub one of his nipples with his thumb.
"You're a sweetheart..." And isn't that such a fun thing to say to a man like Geralt? He's sure not a lot of people would agree. Jaskier would argue with them all. "But I really want to get my mouth on you and suck you off."
Even Jaskier's moans are melodic and Geralt only has a moment to be amused about it before his hair is being tugged. It pulls a sharp breath from him and teeth can't help but bite a little harder just under the man's jaw in retaliation. Oh, he liked that.
"Hmm, can't say I've ever been called that. You're the first." He murmurs into Jaskier's skin, hand still lazily stroking while he pushes up into the man's touches too. Geralt can't be selfish in bed no matter his reputation (or that of witchers as a whole - greedy as they are with their coin). He wants to give as much as he gets, though sometimes maybe he gives a little too much without thinking of himself. It's moments like these when Jaskier stops him to give something more that Geralt realizes he should take the moment to enjoy himself... though usually the offer doesn't come in blowjobs.
That's new.
Taking a deep breath, he forces himself away after leaving another kiss to Jaskier's pulse, hands sliding over his hips instead as he scoots back a little more, leaning back on an elbow.
"If you need it that badly... I'm not stopping you." As if Geralt isn't the one hard as a rock right now.
The surprised intake of breath and the following bite gets a startled but pleased yelp from the bard. Oh, that's too good of a reaction and Jaskier eyes turn almost all pupil, adding 'hair pulling' to the mental list he's keeping about what Geralt likes. He does it again with more intent, his hand first sliding to be base of Geralt's head so he can grab the hair the right way to make the pull sting but not hurt. Jaskier clearly seems to know what he's doing.
"Proud of myself then." He likes to think he knows Geralt a little bit better than most by now, getting to surprise the man is exciting on its own way for him. Jaskier's mouth curls into a pleased smile and the attention Geralt's hand sare giving him are almost enough to turn him to putty, getting soft sounds out of his parted lips. They're almost too distracting.
Almost.
"Oh, I do. How generous of you." Jaskier agrees instead of scoffing at the comment, pushing at Geralt's chest. While the Witcher's ego doesn't need more pampering, he aims to make his eagerness clear that he's here with him because he wants to be. That he enjoys every part of Geralt, from the scars left after numerous fight to his absurdly big cock.
Because goddamn, it looks even more impressive up close. Jaskier can't help staring for a few seconds after he kneels between Geralt's legs, making himself at home.
"Melitele's tits. I've seen smaller horses, Geralt." Always a romantic, his bard.
While still kind of marvelling at the sheer size of it, Jaskier playfully slides up a finger from the thick base to the plush head, seeing it twitch under his touch. When he leans in, it's to kiss Geralt's inner thigh. Soft lips press against the unscarred skin, moving up to the curve of his groin, a cheek nuzzles into the fine hairs above, and Jaskier's hot breath skims over Geralt's shaft.
When he said he wanted to suck the man's cock, he never said he wanted to do so quickly. Part of Jaskier is curious to see how long Geralt's patience goes before he growls at him and grabs at his hair, uses him a little, lets himself go.
He naturally widens his legs when Jaskier kneels between them, propping his head up on an arm so he can actually enjoy the show. The look on Jaskier's face this close to his dick is kind of amusing though he's grown too used to the man's exaggerated comments on just about everything. Still, of course the comparison goes straight to Geralt's ego, predictably.
"As long as you're not getting on your knees for them too," he jokes dryly, though once Jaskier begins to touch him, his concentration is pulled back to just how hard he is. Never one to make things easy, Jaskier takes his time as well, the way he savors the slow build up to get his mouth where he's been asking for it most almost painfully gradual. Geralt can be a patient man when he wants to but tonight he's feeling wound up enough.
"Jaskier..." he warns in a quiet grumble of his name, muscles of his thighs tensing up when lips press to softer, more sensitive skin, a day's worth of stubble scratching along. Geralt reaches down to slide his large hand through the other's hair, pushing it away from his face and down the back of his neck. "Are you going to torture me like this?"
Jaskier things his reaction is pretty justified and for once, he won't argue about Geralt's ego boost being deserved.
"No, thanks. There' s only room for one stubborn ass my life." The bard scoffs, his voice is unbearably fond and amused. He likes a partner whom he can joke in an out of the bedroom, even if with Geralt the humor is mostly dry. Jaskier learned to appreciate it like an acquired taste.
From his lowered position, he looks up at Geralt through his lashes, eyes big and blue and staring back with an intensely Jaskier rarely carries with him. He's pleased by the way the other man says his name and his artist soul compares it to the sounds of a storm brewing in the distance.
"Hmm...no, not if you keep that up." Jaskier purrs. Is the touch to his hair what really undoes his resolve to tease Geralt further. His hand kneads gently into the flesh of a strong thigh and he breaks the eye contact to nuzzle his dick. "You have the prettiest fucking cock that I've ever seen."
Jaskier feels the pulse of blood beneath his tongue when he slides it up the vein on the underside of Geralt's cock, slower than any human. The skin is so warm it almost makes his mouth water. He's full of want, hard against his stomach, but he can be patient for this. A wet tongue swipes over the cockhead, tasting the bead of pre-come pooling at the tip before Jaskier wraps his lips around it and moans. Geralt tastes like salt, clean skin, and something like magic, otherworldly. Special.
Jaskier pulls the cock into his mouth as far as it would go without chocking him, lavishing Geralt with attention, his right hand squeezing the base and then sliding down to play with his balls. A life of singing and training his throat has left Jaskier with little to none gag reflex, and he swallows the man's cock almost all the way to the back of his throat before bobbing his head back.
The way Jaskier looks up at him with those big eyes is almost innocent but Geralt knows better than to be fooled, especially with the way he licks up Geralt's cock with a knowing mischief. There is no way he can remain unaffected, even for a man as stoic as Geralt, and by the time Jaskier has him in his mouth he's exhaling harder than before. The rumblings of a pleased sound start up in his chest and escape once he's swallowed down farther than expected, the hand in Jaskier's hair briefly tightening its hold.
"Fuck..." he lets out in a far more pleased expression than the usual, the expletive escaping on a sigh rather than anger. Fingers brush back more hair and grasp near the top of Jaskier's head, not yet pushing as he lets the man get used to his size. It's tempting to move and likely obvious by the way his thighs tense up, muscles stiff while he remains grounded. The last thing he wants is to accidentally hurt the man in this state.
If his grip does start to get a bit more coaxing though, that's not something Geralt can help. With the bobbing motion he urges Jaskier down and up with a slightly harder press of his hand, subtly grinding down into the touch of his hand as well. There's a joke here in the back of his mind about just how effectively the usual chatty bard has been shut up, but he can't bring himself to use words at the moment, saving it for later. Instead, the witcher grunts and groans his obvious pleasure the longer Jaskier's mouth works over him, his head even tipping back in an effort to calm himself when he feels warmth spreading faster than expected.
He might be a little bit in love with Geralt's cock, Jaskier thinks. It's thick and heavy, and it fits perfectly into his mouth. The sounds Geralt is letting out make him moan in return, pleased with how his partner responds when he presses his tongue against the satiny stretch of skin. The cock slips past his lips for a second when he needs to take a deep breath but the younger man tongues the tip, pushes back the foreskin with his lips to get at the slit. The salty taste of the pre-come smeared on his tongue combined with the tug of his hair gets a whimper out of Jaskier and he sucks more of the cock into his mouth, stretching his lips wide.
There's a slight shift in pressure, the hand that's gripping his head now it's guiding it further down. Humming in appreciation, Jaskier slides a palm over Geralt's left thigh, hard as steel and quivering, feeling the muscle twitching underneath his fingers. The witcher's self-restrain has always been a thing of beauty. He's strong enough to break through anything with ease, necks included, but he keeps himself in control for the sake of not breaking the fragile humans around him.
It's very sweet but Jaskier doesn't want the man to hold himself back now, not went it comes to pleasure. His hands give Geralt's a meaningful squeeze, and he looks up at him briefly, blue eye meeting gold. The bard opens his mouth further, relaxes his jaw as much as he can, and reminds himself to breathe through his nose slowly. His head pushes against the hold Geralt has on his hair, not to get away from it but to encourage him to grip even harder, trust faster if that's what he wants.
Jaskier has always responded well to manhandling, never really putting up a fight, he had learned time ago that it was useless. With Geralt, he trusts him enough to submit himself willingly.
Jaskier is showing off new talents that Geralt couldn't have suspected he'd excel in, but here he is, swallowing down his cock like it's such an easy thing, whereas normally people would choke and fail in their efforts. It's enough to leave the witcher speechless as he takes all the man has to give, fingers still gripping in his hair as he presses down further and further. All Geralt can really do is curse under his breath or groan from satisfaction.
The look in Jaskier's gaze is all he needs as permission to move, though Geralt is still hesitant at first, just because of his... size. He gives an experimental rock of his hips, enough to push upward when he's already in so deep, and the grip on Jaskier's hair forces his lips up to give him more space.
A low grunt escapes from Geralt and he has to rest his head back again, both hands now filtering through Jaskier's hair, gripping his head on both sides. There's an almost affectionate stroke along before he's holding him harder again, this time easing his cock away and back up into the heat of his mouth again, slowly but steadily getting a sense for how much he can handle.
There's a reason why Jaskier got himself in so many court scandals in the past. He might be shameless and talk too much, but when it comes to sex, like music, he would never do a half-assed job. A man needs to have some standards, even if said standards left him with a sore jaw. Jaskier is not used to the intensity of it all, however, and he shudders under the touches that Geralt offers back. It's not just because of the sheer size of Geralt but the fact he's doing this with someone that means so much to him. He wants to make it good, he wants it to be memorable.
The bard sucks and licks at all he can fit, keeping a hand working the girth at the base because the thickness of Geralt's cock is proportionate to the rest of him. Hearing his moaning has flushed Jaskier's cheeks a shade of red, and he desperately wants to know how Geralt sounds like when he comes. His own breath hitches when the witcher’s hands find their way into his hair, pulling hard.
Jaskier eyes shut closer firmly and he moans lowly against the hardness in his mouth, the sound muffled but no less evident, and his shoulders relax as he lets Geralt guide the pace. Oh, he's not going to be able to sing at all tomorrow, his voice would be too hoarse for sure, but he can't find it in him to care. The hand that is still caressing the surprisingly soft inner skin of Geralt's thigh curl inwards, nails leaving little crescent moon marks on the skin just as Jaskier hums. It creates spine-tingly vibrations while going down on Geralt.
Geralt braces one foot on the bed with a knee bent for leverage, helping him ease up into Jaskier's mouth better. He knows the bard will tell him if it's too much, nails digging into a vulnerable spot and his teeth quite literally in a prone position to hurt him if necessary. Geralt is careful to make sure that won't be the case.
With that humming vibration though he lets out a sharper fuck! before his hips jerk upward, fingers tugging at hair again in an effort to keep Jaskier's head still. He's breathing faster as it is, pleasure pooling in his gut quickly, enough to make him start to thrust up into this incredible heat with quicker, less measured motions. He doesn't even think about slowing himself down, to not orgasm too soon, knowing his body can catch up just fine. With shaky, deep breaths he brings his gaze back down to watch the way Jaskier's lips stretch over his cock, the way he continues to take and give even with rougher, quicker rocking.
"Fuck, I'm going to come." He warns with a low groan, one hand letting go to slip down and cup at Jaskier's jaw instead. He pushes up harder again, testing the limits of how much he can take, enjoying the way the younger man looks far, far too much like this.
If Jaskier needs him to stop he wouldn't immediately bite him, he would pat his thigh twice to make it clear he needs a break and for Geralt to let go of his hair. It occurs to him way too late that maybe they should have discussed that sort of unspoken communications beforehand because his mouth is too busy to speak. It's something worth mentioning for the next time. Now, even if Geralt's rhythm is speeding up and his airflow cut short at times, it's not unbearable. Is the reaction what really get to Jaskier, what is making his blood run hotter and his dick throb. Geralt is so beautiful like this, lost in his pleasure, that he can't get enough of it, delirious with arousal himself.
Geralt's body tenses beneath him, rocking his hips against Jaskier’s mouth, and the tighter hold the man has on his hair sends little prickles of pain down his nape and spine. It gives a sharper edge to things and Jaskier whimpers, wetness pooling at the corner os his eyes due to the strain but he doesn't motion for Geralt to stop. His cock hits the back of his Jaskier's throat as he fucks into his mouth again and again, and the bard lets out a choked sob when Geralt cries out his release.
Baby blue eyes snap up to Geralt's through long lashes. Jaskier doesn't want to think about the picture he might make, face flushed and lips red. He's so keyed up that he wouldn't deny the man anything, couldn't even imagine it. He lets out a moan and his eyes flutter a bit once he feels the first jets of cum splashing heavily onto his tongue, dripping down his chin as he struggles to swallow it all.
As emotionless as people like to think witchers are, even they aren't immune to the effects of pleasure, and it would be a strange thing indeed if Geralt remained completely stoic throughout the act. Jaskier gets a rare glimpse into what it's like when he loses himself to something pleasant rather than a bloodbath, and it's the flash of those blue eyes meeting his that really send Geralt off the edge. He can tell just from that brief exchange how curious he is, and how much he wants to see this. The picture he makes is perfect by default.
Geralt's grip is far too tight and it doesn't let up until his hips jerk into the other's hold one last time before he calms, breathing audibly and heart actually pounding faster from the rush of orgasm. Fingers finally free Jaskier from their grip and he smooths back his hair instead, leg dropping and an arm falling over his forehead with a low groan, almost in disbelief of what just happened.
He doesn't know what to say (if words are even important at all). Instead, Geralt quietly watches the other, the hand at his jaw caressing down until his thumb can spread across the slickness leaking from the corner of Jaskier's mouth, spreading it over his lower lip.
Jaskier sucks him through the aftershocks until he’s concerned that the oversensitiveness might turning things painful. The salty-bitter taste coating his tongue is mixed with a trace something else, something that he can't quite place but that now he labels as 'Geralt'. Only then does Jaskier let him slip from his mouth gently, the hand at the base of his softening cock giving Geralt one last squeeze.
Jaskier draws in a shuddering breath, eyes half-lidded now and making little small sounds as he tries to slow the beating of his heart. His eyes are half-lidded and he tilts his face towards Geralt's touch like a cat seeking warmth. His scalp still tingles and his cock is painfully hard but it's the good kind of hurt. It was all worth it just to see Geralt come, to know he was able to bring him this kind of pleasure.
He leans in to place another kiss to Geralt's thigh, leaning his cheek against the skin and not urging Geralt to say anything. He lets the man bask on his afterglow, enjoying the view as if it was his own orgasm. When the Witcher's thumb brushes across his cum streaked lips, Jaskier closes his eyes and puts it into his mouth, sucking at it slowly, the tip of pink tongue flattening against the pad.
He honestly can't recall the last time he came like that so he needs a minute. Jaskier's head on his leg is kind of comforting and as he finally calms his breathing to something steady again, Geralt realizes they'll never be able to go back from this night. What they had before was already changing but this is... something different.
Slowly removing his thumb, Geralt goes back to petting Jaskier's hair in a gentler motion to make up for all the rougher pulling that just went down. Moments of silence pass before he shifts and slides his hand down the man's shoulder and arm instead, gently tugging.
"Get up here already." As if he's going to not give anything in return.
Jaskier watches the man broad chest rise and fall in steady breaths and smiles up at him. He knew long ago that his crush on Geralt had turned into something much deeper, so he's not going through the same kind of revelation as his partner, but he's feeling at peace with the world. As if all the broken pieces of his life are now aligned and in place, fitting.
"I like the way you taste."
The touches to his hair get a soft moan out of Jaskier. It's barely a whisper escaping his lips but easy to hear by someone with enhanced senses like Geralt. He likes having his hair touched, like Geralt, but he likes the sweet attention most of all, which might come as no surprise.
"Mmm?" He moves up as requested, limbs heavy and his own hardness standing to attention. He ignores all that in favor of resting a hand over Geralt's chest and nuzzling his face, silently asking for a kiss.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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He almost falls forward into the bathtub, the left hand slipping down Geralt's arms and ending inside the water. Jaskier makes a pleased sound against the other's mouth, eyes closed and tilting his head so get a better angle. There's a happy smile on his face by the time the kiss ends.
"You're getting me all wet." It slips out of his mouth before Jaskier's brain catches up on what his tongue said. Then he flushes. "I meant the clothes!" He amended quickly, voice a little higher. "I might as well take these off and get into the water before I catch a cold."
He stands up quickly, almost slipping on the water that is now covering some of the wood boards. So much for trying to be smooth, it's like his flirting skills go out of the window the moment Geralt's near.
Jaskier doesn't go too far away from the bathtub or tries to hide, but he doesn't look directly at Geralt either as he undresses. He takes off his boots and socks first, then his shirt, carefully folding it before it ends on another stool. When the bard finally strips out of his pants and undergarments, he's still not looking at Geralt's reaction. He shudders at the cold air hitting his skin and waves a hand towards the bathtub.
"Make room for me?"
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He's respectful enough not to stare too long though, leaning back against the tub's side again to give him room to join, both arms resting on either side now. It's big enough for two but definitely going to put them in an intimate spot.
"I've kept it warm like I said," he comments, fingers warming the water even more, enough to lightly steam across the top. He doesn't hide his gaze once Jaskier starts to get into the water though, a lingering haze of want clear in his expression. It's been too long.
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"Ahh, that you did. Thank you." Jaskier lets out a contented hiss once he gets into the tub and the water warms his skin. He could just about melt, he hadn't realized how cold he was getting until now. The bard hums deep in his chest for a few seconds, basking in the wonder of Geralt's magic and almost forgetting the man is there with him. His distraction doesn't last because not even a blind man would miss the look Geralt is giving him.
The bathtub isn't small but it's not leaving them a lot of room to move either, especially when one of the men inside it has the body of an Olympian athlete. They're already touching in places, legs pressing close, feet occasionally brushing. Geralt's arms are open and they look so inviting that Jaskier scoots closer and puts his own around the man's waist, chest to chest.
"Hi." It comes out like a purr, and the brief greeting is all the warning Jaskier gives to Geralt before he's pressing his lips to the curve of the man's jaw, peppering it with small kisses. He knows Geralt has liked that when they were in the cave.
"Hm, you're still tense..." There's hot breath on the Witcher's neck before water-wet lips lightly graze his skin. "We should do something about that."
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"Hi," he returns before lips find his jaw and neck, and Geralt tips his head to one side with a quiet, pleased sound. He enjoys this boldness from Jaskier where he's normally bumbling out of nerves alone, but the way he pushes himself to act on his desires is satisfying. It encourages Geralt as well, his hand rubbing across Jaskier's shoulders before lowering in the water to rub down his back instead.
"Hmm I can think of a couple ways to help," he mutters, both hands opting to caress down Jaskier's sides and pull him in closer, hip to hip.
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"Funny, I also have some ideas of my own." He lets out pleased little whimper against Geralt's collarbone when the man pulls him even closer, making it obvious that they're both very much into the other. Also making it obvious that Geralt is a big man, everywhere. The bard's lips curl into a smile, arching his spine to push against the wandering hand on his back, encouraging it to wander further. Jaskier tilts his head down, looking at Geralt through his long lashes as if asking for permission, then his finger traces the curve of the wolf medallion resting between the man's pecs.
Geralt never takes it off and even if Jaskier doesn't understand what it stands for, not fully, he knows it must mean a lot to the other man. He knows it's important enough not to mention it on any of his songs, lest some idiot gets the bright idea of attempting to steal from Geralt of Rivia to best him. It was the medallion and Geralt's hair that gave Jaskier the idea of calling him the White Wolf and he's glad that it's now stuck in people's mind over the less flattering nickname of The Butcher of Blaviken. The has learned his lesson with that name back in the day, and never used it again.
His hands close around the medallion, his chin tilts up, and he tugs at the chain to bring their faces close. His lips meet Geralt again because Jaskier just can't not kiss him when they're this close and he's allowed to get his hands all over his gorgeous partner. It's not desperate, because he knows Geralt isn't leaving, but it's not a tame kiss either. It's all tongue and teeth, Jaskier puts into it everything he can't put into songs, into words. His hips buck, rutting against Geralt's, pressing their growing hardness together. The angle is nice but Jaskier's knees are suffering a bit and he briefly wonders if he could get away with actually sitting on Geralt's lap.
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Jaskier traces his medallion as Geralt watches, wondering what he's thinking. Hands lower and palm down Jaskier's sides beneath the water still, until he's tugged in for a kiss and they land on his rear instead, hauling him up closer. Sitting in his lap is no problem and Geralt is happy to take the brunt of any uncomfortable position, especially if it means they get to rub up against one another like this.
He buries a low, pleased sound into Jaskier's mouth, against his tongue, the rutting only urging Geralt's hips to move as well. He presses up to meet Jaskier's body, arousal clear as they press and rub together beneath the water, and Geralt's hands squeeze against Jackier's backside with each rock of his hips, helping him move. Teeth tug on the man's bottom lip and he's quick to soothe over with his tongue next, to lick back into Jaskier's mouth until even Geralt is left breathing harder through his nose.
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Big hands, skin rough from years carrying heavy swords, slide over his ass and the sounds Jaskier makes in response would embarrass him if he now bothered with menial things like shame. His cock jerks at the sound Geralt makes against his mouth and the nipping kiss that leaves him shuddering.
"No song..." Jaskier pants out, pulling back away only an inch apart to breathe, his fingers tracing the curve of Geralt's jawline. He grabs at the Witcher's shoulders to give himself more leverage, hips canting, trying to pull more delicious sounds from Geralt. "No poem or ballad...would ever compare to this."
His voice is low and rough, painfully honest coming from a man like him and he can't resist pressing a loving kiss to Geralt's lower lip. The Witcher had been hauling him up and holding his weight, he might as well go all the way. Jaskier squeezes his shoulders briefly to let the other know he's going to move, body shaking slightly. He lifts himself up on unsteady thighs, his legs around each side of Geralt's waist, which leaves him almost unbearably exposed, and he grinds down on the man's lap. Hard.
One of his arms goes around Geralt's neck for balance and his right-hand slide between their chest, fingers tracing the scars and playfully dipping into Geralt's navel before they wrap around the man's cock and give it a jerk. Jaskier blinks for a few seconds, lost in his wonder. He's noted the size of the bulge in Geralt's breeches before, a bard has eyes thank you very much, but now it feels impossibly huge. His brain provides a brief but heartfelt 'Oh, fuck' along with some questions such as how would Geralt's cock fit into his mouth, into him. He tries to keep those thought to himself, he really does. His mouth, however, has other plans.
"So, aah...do Witchers taste any different...?"
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The harder grinding pulls a sharp inhale from the witcher and he even lets out a low growl of need, fingers biting into Jaskier's hips with his supportive grip. Eyes fall down Jaskier's chest and stomach, to his exposed cock and thighs, before flickering up again to meet that heated blue gaze.
"Fuck, where have you been hiding this all along?" He asks before a new shift offers a hand on his dick, pulling another growl from Geralt's throat. His eyes shut briefly from the pleasure, his own hands continuing to wander and knead at Jaskier's body, his ass, his thighs - before that question hits.
He wonders if Jaskier can feel the way heat immediately pools in Geralt's gut and makes his arousal throb with need, though he can surely feel the grip he has on his rear, head tipped back and breathing noticeably more labored than usual.
"I wouldn't know," he starts slowly, quickly wetting his lips as he presses hips up into Jaskier's hold. "But I wouldn't stop you from sating your curiosity."
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He feels all that attention returned back to him when Geralt and he kiss and hold each other. As if they can't get enough of the taste of the other's lips, the warmth of their skin. Jaskier wants to press his mouth to each one of Geralt's scars, honor all the sacrifices the Witcher had to make over the decades so others could survive. Being together might not erase the bad memories but it could help bury them into sweeter ones.
The growl feels like music to his ears and the question startles a happy laugh out of him. Jaskier doesn't giggle, he so does not, but it was...a close thing. He rolls his hips a little, enjoying the hold Geralt has on him and all the touches. His own skin feels like it's on fire, his breath coming out in short pants.
"I've been following a rather stubborn man. Good thing he put up with me instead of telling me to go away."
For someone who is always so in control of his emotions, it's surprisingly easy to tell that Geralt is enjoying the attention. Jaskier almost doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that he enjoys it so much, that he would do anything Geralt ever tells him if he gets to see him blissed out in exchange.
A mangled noise that could have been Geralt's name at some point escapes his throat when fingers knead at Jaskier's ass, making him squeeze the Witcher's body with his thighs. Making an effort to focus, he strokes his dick again, now with even more intent. His hand rubs up the length, thumb circling the crown and then pressing down the slit.
"I'd love to sate my curiosity with you." Jaskier leans his head forward until he can press his forehead against Geralt's, smiling. Well then, go big or go home, as they say. "We should move to the bed."
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Pressing up into his hand again, Geralt exhales with a shaky breath from the way Jaskier is playing him so easily, calloused fingertips only adding to the sensitivity. Forehead to forehead, Geralt can close his eyes and breathe in the moment, hearing the quickened pulse of the other man, smelling his arousal and excitement. He makes up his mind right then and there, humming quietly before he gives a brief warning: "Hold on."
Moments later Geralt's wrapping an arm around his partner and using the other to hoist them both up out of the tub, dripping wet as he steps out with Jaskier in his arms. Grabbing a towel to toss onto the bed (because they'll surely regret sleeping on soggy sheets later) he carries them both over to sit, hauling Jaskier with him as he kisses up the column of his neck almost possessively, lips and teeth sucking at the water dripping from his jaw. Hands are still touching Jaskier with dominating curiosity of his own, one coming around now to finally palm at the man's neglected cock.
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Geralt's words are touching, and he imagines this might be the Witcher's way of apologizing for the wasted time. It's not as if it was his fault, they were really not ready for these kinds of things. It took Jaskier a decade and a life-threatening blizzard to act on his feelings, no wonder Yenefer often said men were idiots.
"Hold o...? Oh!" Jaskier had been busy basking on the heat of Geralt's body, on how attractive are the sounds he makes when he's happy and aroused when he's suddenly hauled up like he weighs nothing. In retrospect, he should have seen that coming, Geralt is a man of action and he loves him all the more for it.
Out of instinct, the bard's legs tighten around Geralt's waist and his arms hold onto the man's shoulders, trapping his own hardness against their stomachs. To say that this position is giving Jaskier ideas would be an understatement, Geralt lips on his neck only encourage such thoughts. A fine tremble shivers through his body and Jaskier tilts his chin up, baring a pale, unmarked neck for his wolf.
His mouth was supposed to be busy by now but he won't stop Geralt from satisfying his curiosity if he wants to do some exploring of his own. They never dared until now, not properly, and Jaskier is sure he wouldn't deny the man anything. His eyes are half lidded and he's panting with his mouth slightly open by the time a big, strong hand tugs at his cock. Jaskier spine goes nearly liquid and he lets out a low, musical moan. A hand rise up and clutch at Geralt's hair, pulling at it a little to test his reaction. The other slides down Geralt's chest to rub one of his nipples with his thumb.
"You're a sweetheart..." And isn't that such a fun thing to say to a man like Geralt? He's sure not a lot of people would agree. Jaskier would argue with them all. "But I really want to get my mouth on you and suck you off."
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"Hmm, can't say I've ever been called that. You're the first." He murmurs into Jaskier's skin, hand still lazily stroking while he pushes up into the man's touches too. Geralt can't be selfish in bed no matter his reputation (or that of witchers as a whole - greedy as they are with their coin). He wants to give as much as he gets, though sometimes maybe he gives a little too much without thinking of himself. It's moments like these when Jaskier stops him to give something more that Geralt realizes he should take the moment to enjoy himself... though usually the offer doesn't come in blowjobs.
That's new.
Taking a deep breath, he forces himself away after leaving another kiss to Jaskier's pulse, hands sliding over his hips instead as he scoots back a little more, leaning back on an elbow.
"If you need it that badly... I'm not stopping you." As if Geralt isn't the one hard as a rock right now.
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"Proud of myself then." He likes to think he knows Geralt a little bit better than most by now, getting to surprise the man is exciting on its own way for him. Jaskier's mouth curls into a pleased smile and the attention Geralt's hand sare giving him are almost enough to turn him to putty, getting soft sounds out of his parted lips. They're almost too distracting.
Almost.
"Oh, I do. How generous of you." Jaskier agrees instead of scoffing at the comment, pushing at Geralt's chest. While the Witcher's ego doesn't need more pampering, he aims to make his eagerness clear that he's here with him because he wants to be. That he enjoys every part of Geralt, from the scars left after numerous fight to his absurdly big cock.
Because goddamn, it looks even more impressive up close. Jaskier can't help staring for a few seconds after he kneels between Geralt's legs, making himself at home.
"Melitele's tits. I've seen smaller horses, Geralt." Always a romantic, his bard.
While still kind of marvelling at the sheer size of it, Jaskier playfully slides up a finger from the thick base to the plush head, seeing it twitch under his touch. When he leans in, it's to kiss Geralt's inner thigh. Soft lips press against the unscarred skin, moving up to the curve of his groin, a cheek nuzzles into the fine hairs above, and Jaskier's hot breath skims over Geralt's shaft.
When he said he wanted to suck the man's cock, he never said he wanted to do so quickly. Part of Jaskier is curious to see how long Geralt's patience goes before he growls at him and grabs at his hair, uses him a little, lets himself go.
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"As long as you're not getting on your knees for them too," he jokes dryly, though once Jaskier begins to touch him, his concentration is pulled back to just how hard he is. Never one to make things easy, Jaskier takes his time as well, the way he savors the slow build up to get his mouth where he's been asking for it most almost painfully gradual. Geralt can be a patient man when he wants to but tonight he's feeling wound up enough.
"Jaskier..." he warns in a quiet grumble of his name, muscles of his thighs tensing up when lips press to softer, more sensitive skin, a day's worth of stubble scratching along. Geralt reaches down to slide his large hand through the other's hair, pushing it away from his face and down the back of his neck. "Are you going to torture me like this?"
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"No, thanks. There' s only room for one stubborn ass my life." The bard scoffs, his voice is unbearably fond and amused. He likes a partner whom he can joke in an out of the bedroom, even if with Geralt the humor is mostly dry. Jaskier learned to appreciate it like an acquired taste.
From his lowered position, he looks up at Geralt through his lashes, eyes big and blue and staring back with an intensely Jaskier rarely carries with him. He's pleased by the way the other man says his name and his artist soul compares it to the sounds of a storm brewing in the distance.
"Hmm...no, not if you keep that up." Jaskier purrs. Is the touch to his hair what really undoes his resolve to tease Geralt further. His hand kneads gently into the flesh of a strong thigh and he breaks the eye contact to nuzzle his dick. "You have the prettiest fucking cock that I've ever seen."
Jaskier feels the pulse of blood beneath his tongue when he slides it up the vein on the underside of Geralt's cock, slower than any human. The skin is so warm it almost makes his mouth water. He's full of want, hard against his stomach, but he can be patient for this. A wet tongue swipes over the cockhead, tasting the bead of pre-come pooling at the tip before Jaskier wraps his lips around it and moans. Geralt tastes like salt, clean skin, and something like magic, otherworldly. Special.
Jaskier pulls the cock into his mouth as far as it would go without chocking him, lavishing Geralt with attention, his right hand squeezing the base and then sliding down to play with his balls. A life of singing and training his throat has left Jaskier with little to none gag reflex, and he swallows the man's cock almost all the way to the back of his throat before bobbing his head back.
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"Fuck..." he lets out in a far more pleased expression than the usual, the expletive escaping on a sigh rather than anger. Fingers brush back more hair and grasp near the top of Jaskier's head, not yet pushing as he lets the man get used to his size. It's tempting to move and likely obvious by the way his thighs tense up, muscles stiff while he remains grounded. The last thing he wants is to accidentally hurt the man in this state.
If his grip does start to get a bit more coaxing though, that's not something Geralt can help. With the bobbing motion he urges Jaskier down and up with a slightly harder press of his hand, subtly grinding down into the touch of his hand as well. There's a joke here in the back of his mind about just how effectively the usual chatty bard has been shut up, but he can't bring himself to use words at the moment, saving it for later. Instead, the witcher grunts and groans his obvious pleasure the longer Jaskier's mouth works over him, his head even tipping back in an effort to calm himself when he feels warmth spreading faster than expected.
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There's a slight shift in pressure, the hand that's gripping his head now it's guiding it further down. Humming in appreciation, Jaskier slides a palm over Geralt's left thigh, hard as steel and quivering, feeling the muscle twitching underneath his fingers. The witcher's self-restrain has always been a thing of beauty. He's strong enough to break through anything with ease, necks included, but he keeps himself in control for the sake of not breaking the fragile humans around him.
It's very sweet but Jaskier doesn't want the man to hold himself back now, not went it comes to pleasure. His hands give Geralt's a meaningful squeeze, and he looks up at him briefly, blue eye meeting gold. The bard opens his mouth further, relaxes his jaw as much as he can, and reminds himself to breathe through his nose slowly. His head pushes against the hold Geralt has on his hair, not to get away from it but to encourage him to grip even harder, trust faster if that's what he wants.
Jaskier has always responded well to manhandling, never really putting up a fight, he had learned time ago that it was useless. With Geralt, he trusts him enough to submit himself willingly.
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The look in Jaskier's gaze is all he needs as permission to move, though Geralt is still hesitant at first, just because of his... size. He gives an experimental rock of his hips, enough to push upward when he's already in so deep, and the grip on Jaskier's hair forces his lips up to give him more space.
A low grunt escapes from Geralt and he has to rest his head back again, both hands now filtering through Jaskier's hair, gripping his head on both sides. There's an almost affectionate stroke along before he's holding him harder again, this time easing his cock away and back up into the heat of his mouth again, slowly but steadily getting a sense for how much he can handle.
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The bard sucks and licks at all he can fit, keeping a hand working the girth at the base because the thickness of Geralt's cock is proportionate to the rest of him. Hearing his moaning has flushed Jaskier's cheeks a shade of red, and he desperately wants to know how Geralt sounds like when he comes. His own breath hitches when the witcher’s hands find their way into his hair, pulling hard.
Jaskier eyes shut closer firmly and he moans lowly against the hardness in his mouth, the sound muffled but no less evident, and his shoulders relax as he lets Geralt guide the pace. Oh, he's not going to be able to sing at all tomorrow, his voice would be too hoarse for sure, but he can't find it in him to care. The hand that is still caressing the surprisingly soft inner skin of Geralt's thigh curl inwards, nails leaving little crescent moon marks on the skin just as Jaskier hums. It creates spine-tingly vibrations while going down on Geralt.
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With that humming vibration though he lets out a sharper fuck! before his hips jerk upward, fingers tugging at hair again in an effort to keep Jaskier's head still. He's breathing faster as it is, pleasure pooling in his gut quickly, enough to make him start to thrust up into this incredible heat with quicker, less measured motions. He doesn't even think about slowing himself down, to not orgasm too soon, knowing his body can catch up just fine. With shaky, deep breaths he brings his gaze back down to watch the way Jaskier's lips stretch over his cock, the way he continues to take and give even with rougher, quicker rocking.
"Fuck, I'm going to come." He warns with a low groan, one hand letting go to slip down and cup at Jaskier's jaw instead. He pushes up harder again, testing the limits of how much he can take, enjoying the way the younger man looks far, far too much like this.
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Geralt's body tenses beneath him, rocking his hips against Jaskier’s mouth, and the tighter hold the man has on his hair sends little prickles of pain down his nape and spine. It gives a sharper edge to things and Jaskier whimpers, wetness pooling at the corner os his eyes due to the strain but he doesn't motion for Geralt to stop. His cock hits the back of his Jaskier's throat as he fucks into his mouth again and again, and the bard lets out a choked sob when Geralt cries out his release.
Baby blue eyes snap up to Geralt's through long lashes. Jaskier doesn't want to think about the picture he might make, face flushed and lips red. He's so keyed up that he wouldn't deny the man anything, couldn't even imagine it. He lets out a moan and his eyes flutter a bit once he feels the first jets of cum splashing heavily onto his tongue, dripping down his chin as he struggles to swallow it all.
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Geralt's grip is far too tight and it doesn't let up until his hips jerk into the other's hold one last time before he calms, breathing audibly and heart actually pounding faster from the rush of orgasm. Fingers finally free Jaskier from their grip and he smooths back his hair instead, leg dropping and an arm falling over his forehead with a low groan, almost in disbelief of what just happened.
He doesn't know what to say (if words are even important at all). Instead, Geralt quietly watches the other, the hand at his jaw caressing down until his thumb can spread across the slickness leaking from the corner of Jaskier's mouth, spreading it over his lower lip.
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Jaskier draws in a shuddering breath, eyes half-lidded now and making little small sounds as he tries to slow the beating of his heart. His eyes are half-lidded and he tilts his face towards Geralt's touch like a cat seeking warmth. His scalp still tingles and his cock is painfully hard but it's the good kind of hurt. It was all worth it just to see Geralt come, to know he was able to bring him this kind of pleasure.
He leans in to place another kiss to Geralt's thigh, leaning his cheek against the skin and not urging Geralt to say anything. He lets the man bask on his afterglow, enjoying the view as if it was his own orgasm. When the Witcher's thumb brushes across his cum streaked lips, Jaskier closes his eyes and puts it into his mouth, sucking at it slowly, the tip of pink tongue flattening against the pad.
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Slowly removing his thumb, Geralt goes back to petting Jaskier's hair in a gentler motion to make up for all the rougher pulling that just went down. Moments of silence pass before he shifts and slides his hand down the man's shoulder and arm instead, gently tugging.
"Get up here already." As if he's going to not give anything in return.
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"I like the way you taste."
The touches to his hair get a soft moan out of Jaskier. It's barely a whisper escaping his lips but easy to hear by someone with enhanced senses like Geralt. He likes having his hair touched, like Geralt, but he likes the sweet attention most of all, which might come as no surprise.
"Mmm?" He moves up as requested, limbs heavy and his own hardness standing to attention. He ignores all that in favor of resting a hand over Geralt's chest and nuzzling his face, silently asking for a kiss.
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y-you saw nothing
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