[ Jaskier rarely likes to think about how much time has passed since they first met, because he doesn't like to think about how much they have left. He might be lucky and look younger than his age but there's no changing the fact he gets older at a normal human pace, unlike his Witcher of Yennefer. Human lives are so fleeting that he thinks it's a good excuse to not hold back and do what you want. And right now, what he wants is figuring out what sounds Geralt makes when he comes.
Pointing out that it's a well deserver fuss is at the tip of his tongue but that kind of bragging seems a bit too much. Jaskier flashes him a smile instead, a rather charming one at that. ]
You were wondering? [ Because that's what he focusses on. The idea is flattering, even if Geralt might not be interested in him for anything further than stress relief.
He doesn't get an answer, which is fine, because Geralt is pushing their mouths closer and Jaskier is taking the change to explore him. He closes his eyes and nips at the man's lower lip, a teasing press of teeth before he pushing past them with his tongue and let his hands rest on Geralt's hips. Jaskier enjoys kissing, it's probably not a secret given his reaction, but his thumb press down on the curve of Geralt's hips with more intent and he leans on the man's chest to try and coach him into moving back and sitting down on the closest bedroll. ]
[ Before he can answer any further, though, Jaskier's on him all eager teeth and lips and the two of them are half-stepping backwards, half-stumbling a bit over their clothing and bedrolls. Geralt's distracted with the man's hands on his hips, and he pulls Jaskier with him when he lets himself fall backwards onto the bedroll, landing with a little oomph. And knocks an elbow into the worn side of the tent. Sighs a little, before the sound is swallowed up by another hungry kiss, Geralt pushing back and licking into the man's mouth.
The tent isn't exactly spacious. Should've magicked this one bigger like Yen did, is on the tip of his tongue, but he'd rather not be thinking about his on-again off-again ex. Particularly not now, when he's learning precisely how good the bard is with his tongue.
Geralt can't tell him that. Jaskier would never let him hear the end of it. ]
[ Jaskier laughs against Geralt's neck when they fall on the bedroll, far from being annoyed about it. He chases the taste of the man's lips soon enough and seizing the opportunity, swings a leg over Geralt's thighs to straddle his lap. ]
Yes, good idea. [ Rather than taking off his own, Jaskier's deft fingers work on the buttons of Geralt's black shirt and he rocks his hips slowly, grinding down. His eyes go up from the buttons to Geralt's face, the pupils already blown, and he raises his eyebrows. ]
You don't expect me to just roll on my back and lie still, do you? I'll let you know I have a reputation as a notable lover to uphold. Besides... [ Now that the shirt is open a hand slides in and rubs down against the scarred skin and hard abs. The smile on the bard's face turns softer, his eyes lowered a little. ] ...I want to take good care of you.
[ The buck of Jaskier's hips elicits a strangled grunt from Geralt, and it's an interesting challenge, seeing what interesting noises he can draw out of the terse, often-monosyllabic witcher. Whores have sometimes been quietly disappointed at the fact, at how they can't wring anything out of him: he's a fierce lover but completely silent, and utterly disinterested once they're done.
This, though, promises to be a little different. Jaskier can feel Geralt's stomach tighten against his touch, the muscles rippling. Geralt's own hands drift down, settle on Jaskier's ass, squeeze firmly as the bard shifts his weight again. ]
You must be doing something right, considering the shit you've landed us in over the years from people's wives.
[ When the bard's voice softens, though, he — all of a sudden — can't quite find it in him to maintain that challenging bite in his own voice. Instead, Geralt sizes up the bard, his yellow eyes staring up. After a pause, he nods. Something in his face shifts, though few besides Jaskier would have been able to notice. ]
[ Making Geralt communicate and talk to him has always been exciting for no other reason than it isn't easy and it takes effort. Even then, Jaskier won't be upset or offended if Geralt is still not very vocal during sex, it's the man's nature and the bard can only do so much to bring him out of his shell. Focusing on the present, Jaskier bites back a moan when big hand settle in his ass, arching his back to lean into the touch. ]
Sometimes the husbands too. [ The younger man chuckles, shameless. He has kept that sort of affairs more private, proving that he does have a degree of decency, because some common folks can be really narrow-minded and Jaskier has no wish to be stoned to death.
Now, his hand gives Geralt's chest another squeeze and then retreats so he can quickly unlace his doublet and drop it to the floor along with his embroidered shirt. His skin is creamy and unmarred save from a few small scars scattered here and there from those times Jaskier got in trouble or couldn't get away from a monster fast enough. ]
Good. [ Leaning in, he presses their lips together, first softly then pushes against Geralt's tongue, plays with it and his lips, kisses along his face. He starts to suck a mark under Geralt's chin where jawline meets neck and lets his hands wander down again, tugging at the buttons of Geralt's trousers. Now that they're started, he's practically vibrating with energy even if he told Geralt that he plans to take his sweet time with things. ]
Lie back for me? Let's get you out of these, they're so tight I'm surprised you can feel your legs. Not that I'm complaining, it's always an experience to see you run and fight disgusting monsters in these pants.
[ Geralt watches Jaskier as he undresses, with a hunger glinting in the witcher's yellow eyes. This is such a different context than when they've caught glimpses of each other naked before, just in the natural process of their adventuring together: shivering in a river, a flash of bare skin and ass, getting dressed quickly in the mornings. Geralt is terrifically good at compartmentalisation; hadn't fully conceptualised Jaskier as someone he could desire and be desired by in return, until now, until the scales had suddenly tipped with the added weight of Jaskier's flirting and they'd both realised, ah, alright. This is an option.
The bard's smooth skin is a sign of the comparatively safer life he's lived; his fingertips are calloused from strumming a lyre, not from gripping a sword. Geralt's own hardworn fingers trace the lines of those few scars, which are more meaningful, in a way, for how much rarer they are on the man's body. The prostitutes always make a show of asking Geralt about his own scars, fawning for their stories, and he's bored with it.
Not so, here. ]
Leather is sturdy, [ he points out, but there's a burr of humour in his voice. He's aware the trousers are ridiculously tight. Surprisingly obliging, he leans back and raises his hips off the cot to aid Jaskier in unlacing them. Then, bemused: ]
Does this mean you've been checking out my arse when I've been running around protecting us from being eaten alive?
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
no subject
Pointing out that it's a well deserver fuss is at the tip of his tongue but that kind of bragging seems a bit too much. Jaskier flashes him a smile instead, a rather charming one at that. ]
You were wondering? [ Because that's what he focusses on. The idea is flattering, even if Geralt might not be interested in him for anything further than stress relief.
He doesn't get an answer, which is fine, because Geralt is pushing their mouths closer and Jaskier is taking the change to explore him. He closes his eyes and nips at the man's lower lip, a teasing press of teeth before he pushing past them with his tongue and let his hands rest on Geralt's hips. Jaskier enjoys kissing, it's probably not a secret given his reaction, but his thumb press down on the curve of Geralt's hips with more intent and he leans on the man's chest to try and coach him into moving back and sitting down on the closest bedroll. ]
no subject
[ Before he can answer any further, though, Jaskier's on him all eager teeth and lips and the two of them are half-stepping backwards, half-stumbling a bit over their clothing and bedrolls. Geralt's distracted with the man's hands on his hips, and he pulls Jaskier with him when he lets himself fall backwards onto the bedroll, landing with a little oomph. And knocks an elbow into the worn side of the tent. Sighs a little, before the sound is swallowed up by another hungry kiss, Geralt pushing back and licking into the man's mouth.
The tent isn't exactly spacious. Should've magicked this one bigger like Yen did, is on the tip of his tongue, but he'd rather not be thinking about his on-again off-again ex. Particularly not now, when he's learning precisely how good the bard is with his tongue.
Geralt can't tell him that. Jaskier would never let him hear the end of it. ]
Clothes. Off.
no subject
Yes, good idea. [ Rather than taking off his own, Jaskier's deft fingers work on the buttons of Geralt's black shirt and he rocks his hips slowly, grinding down. His eyes go up from the buttons to Geralt's face, the pupils already blown, and he raises his eyebrows. ]
You don't expect me to just roll on my back and lie still, do you? I'll let you know I have a reputation as a notable lover to uphold. Besides... [ Now that the shirt is open a hand slides in and rubs down against the scarred skin and hard abs. The smile on the bard's face turns softer, his eyes lowered a little. ] ...I want to take good care of you.
no subject
[ The buck of Jaskier's hips elicits a strangled grunt from Geralt, and it's an interesting challenge, seeing what interesting noises he can draw out of the terse, often-monosyllabic witcher. Whores have sometimes been quietly disappointed at the fact, at how they can't wring anything out of him: he's a fierce lover but completely silent, and utterly disinterested once they're done.
This, though, promises to be a little different. Jaskier can feel Geralt's stomach tighten against his touch, the muscles rippling. Geralt's own hands drift down, settle on Jaskier's ass, squeeze firmly as the bard shifts his weight again. ]
You must be doing something right, considering the shit you've landed us in over the years from people's wives.
[ When the bard's voice softens, though, he — all of a sudden — can't quite find it in him to maintain that challenging bite in his own voice. Instead, Geralt sizes up the bard, his yellow eyes staring up. After a pause, he nods. Something in his face shifts, though few besides Jaskier would have been able to notice. ]
Alright.
no subject
Sometimes the husbands too. [ The younger man chuckles, shameless. He has kept that sort of affairs more private, proving that he does have a degree of decency, because some common folks can be really narrow-minded and Jaskier has no wish to be stoned to death.
Now, his hand gives Geralt's chest another squeeze and then retreats so he can quickly unlace his doublet and drop it to the floor along with his embroidered shirt. His skin is creamy and unmarred save from a few small scars scattered here and there from those times Jaskier got in trouble or couldn't get away from a monster fast enough. ]
Good. [ Leaning in, he presses their lips together, first softly then pushes against Geralt's tongue, plays with it and his lips, kisses along his face. He starts to suck a mark under Geralt's chin where jawline meets neck and lets his hands wander down again, tugging at the buttons of Geralt's trousers. Now that they're started, he's practically vibrating with energy even if he told Geralt that he plans to take his sweet time with things. ]
Lie back for me? Let's get you out of these, they're so tight I'm surprised you can feel your legs. Not that I'm complaining, it's always an experience to see you run and fight disgusting monsters in these pants.
I'M SLOW AF SORRY
The bard's smooth skin is a sign of the comparatively safer life he's lived; his fingertips are calloused from strumming a lyre, not from gripping a sword. Geralt's own hardworn fingers trace the lines of those few scars, which are more meaningful, in a way, for how much rarer they are on the man's body. The prostitutes always make a show of asking Geralt about his own scars, fawning for their stories, and he's bored with it.
Not so, here. ]
Leather is sturdy, [ he points out, but there's a burr of humour in his voice. He's aware the trousers are ridiculously tight. Surprisingly obliging, he leans back and raises his hips off the cot to aid Jaskier in unlacing them. Then, bemused: ]
Does this mean you've been checking out my arse when I've been running around protecting us from being eaten alive?