[ That's another advantage of keeping his interest focused on one person alone, there's no angry husbands (and occasional wives) angrily trying to kill him. As far as Jaskier knows, sharing his life with Geralt had only brought him good things, minus the occasional scar here and there. He doesn't want to think about the bad times, their fights and disagreements, especially not now that Geralt's mouth is oh so very close to his hardened cock. ]
Ah, fuck..okay, good. [ It's pretty much all the reassurance he needed to confirm they are on the same page, hell, reading the same book. Jaskier's back arches forward, the hand that's not buried on Geralt's hair sliding over the muscular back. It would be better if the man's shirt were off too but the bard works with what he has. His hand still manages to sneak under the back of Geralt's shirt collar to scratch between his shoulder blades.
He swallows harshly, legs parting forward to give his lover more room to move, biting back a curse when the Geralt's mouth swallows him deeply and invites him to thrust his hips forward. Which is definitely counting as awesome relationship progress in Jaskier's books. Soft moans that increase in volume drop from his lips along with small whimpers, Geralt's name and praise about his mouth, his body, his eyes. Gods, he loves those eyes so much. Jaskier starts rocking his hips some more, aiming for a rhythm that works for Geralt, and tugs at the white hair when one particularly skilled swipe of that hot tongue leaves him keening. ]
[Geralt thinks this is all a terrible idea but he hasn't come close to walking away. If anything he gets more passionate for Jaskier. It's showing now in his delight at pleasuring Jaskier without seeking his own yet, not throwing him around or eagerly taking him. He likes the feeling of Jaskier's nails on his skin, under his collar, and he will strip down soon enough to get hands on skin.
Geralt growls around Jaskier when he moans and praises him, a good kind of growl. A pleased kind. He softens his throat to let Jaskier go into his mouth more deeply, moving his head with the careful rhythm he's started so they are in sync. He laps at his head and grips his hips, forcing him to go faster. But that will end the game far quicker than either of them wants so Geralt slows his movements, suckling at Jaskier a little longer before pulling off.
He gets abruptly to his feet and pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the side. Geralt works hurriedly on his pants, leaning in to kiss Jaskier deeply as he works on getting bare. He's hard from working on Jaskier's pleasure and tips his head back, nuzzling his nose without kissing him more. That's very distracting.]
Need you. [He rocks their hips against each other and lower his head to bite him, putting a mark exactly where the last one started to fade. He lifts his head to look around and make a decision about what's best position-wise in this situation. ] Hands and knees on the bedroll. Now.
[ Jaskier swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and for a moment he focuses solely on watching his cock disappearing into the warm, wet heat of Geralt's mouth. There's the edge of wondering what those sharp teeth could do and the pleasure of knowing the Witcher wouldn't hurt him. Jaskier body shudders, heat spreading throughout him as he thrust his hips and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from whimpering pitifully when Geralt moves away.
His head is so fuzzy it's hard to think straight and he almost snickers at his own thought. Yeah, straight is not something they're were doing, funny that. Blue eyes watch Geralt hastily undress with no short amount of hunger. Once Geralt is naked and within reach, Jaskier's hands sweep over bare skin, nails rack down abs that might as well be made of polished steel for how hard and soft they feel under his palm. ]
I like it when you growl. [ Jaskier says in a gasp, his voice barely audible. He tilts his head back to expose more of his neck to Geralt, offers more room to be marked, pale column on display.
The bard has never been one for feeling shy, not about sex and even less with Geralt but the Witcher admitting that he needs him does leave him speechless for a few seconds. Only a whimper coming through his parted lips. Well, fuck, he's got it back.
Not for the first time, Geralt's intense eyes remind him of a prowling wolf. He wonders briefly what that makes him. He's also reminded of how much he enjoys the other man manhandling him and Jaskier's tempted to tell Geralt 'no', to tell him 'make me' just to see what he would do. But Jaskier knows there’s no place he would rather be than under the other man and Geralt has been so sweet so far he doesn't have the heart to tease him any longer.
Breathing heavily, he gives a small nod, cock twitching between his legs, and then finally moves. Jaskier makes a show out of it too, because of course, he does. Turning and winking at Geralt over his shoulder before he stretches like a cat in front of him, lying down so his chest is pressed against the bedroll. ]
Don't say I can't follow orders when you ask nicely. [ His head is turned so he can still look at Geralt, his hands on each side of his body loosely curled into fists, legs spread. ]
[There is something about the way Jaskier looks at him that causes a little shiver to go up his spine. It's the open desire and appreciation, and while Geralt considers his body made for combat and violence, it does make him moderately flattered that someone looks at it with desire instead. Jaskier looks at his scars and eyes and all the things that are different about him, and he wants him regardless. Or even because of it, considering he just said he likes Geralt's growl. And that he welcomes his bites and aggression. He was testier earlier in their conversation because he isn't used to flattery meaning something, and it's discomforting.
He watches the bard do as he's told and he can't help but smile faintly at him putting on a show. It's not even his usual smirk, it's an actual smile, shaking his head. It's a very good show and he watches precisely how Jaskier wants him to, the smile drifting away when instead he's presented with such a damned perfect meal. Geralt knew he was going to seduce the bard so the oil is already there by their bedroll. Presumptuous, maybe, but they've had their hands all over each other since this began with no sign of slowing down.
Geralt follows and gets on his knees, plastering his body on top of Jaskier's so that they're skin on skin quickly. He kisses his neck, running fingers through his hair, and while there's the usual hunger to all his movements, there's a type of tenderness to it too. That he doesn't want to bring attention to. He's taking time to kiss more than his throat, pressing his lips to his back and shoulders too, taking more time than he usually does. Jaskier's form is lithe and he enjoys the feel of it against him.
He oils up his cock first, mostly because it's demanding attention, and rubs it hard and eager at Jaskier's entrance with no intention of putting it in. He knows where they both want it to go, but he can wait. Then his slick fingers come and he works Jaskier open with them, crooking them just right inside of him. Geralt fucks him thoroughly with them, again not in haste this time, wanting to hear the bard sing with moans and words as he usually does.]
Jaskier. [He rumbles low, his other hand diving into his dark hair and tightening, giving it a nice little tug that he knows Jaskier enjoys. Sex talk never comes easily to him outside of commands. ] You can say those pretty, unnecessary things now if you want. [It's not as if he's asking or anything, it's if Jaskier wants to say them, obviously, not because he cares about hearing them, nope.]
[ Jaskier wasn't kidding all those times he told Geralt about writing dozens of songs praising his skills, his prowess, his looks...because he likes all of him, the sweet and sour parts. There's a special kind of deatly elegance and honest charm that he sees in Geralt, as easy as he can see the moon in the dark sky at night, and it baffles the bard how fewer people can appreciate it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, of course, but honest men are rare and that should make them more noticeable, no less, when the common folk looks at them. Maybe one day the whole world would see Geralt as the hero Jaskier knows he is. Until then, he will show Geralt his adoration in his own way, with his songs and his body.
Geralt's smile makes the brunette's gaze soften, his own grin less mischievous and more loving. He really would do anything it takes to get the man to smile like that more often, to give him a reason to. He huffs out a small chuckle at the view of the oil, curving the arch of his back as he laughs, his shoulders relaxing. Count on his Witcher to always be prepared, Melitele bless him. Jaskier also keeps a small vial on his person from time to time but today it was in his jacket and god only knows where it ended.
He wiggles his butt a little a second later, keeping the atmosphere playful and light, and hums low in his throat out of pleasure when Geralt's body presses against his own. The position should be embarrassing, Geralt is about to mount him like a vixen in heat, but it's not like Jaskier minds of that if it's him. Besides, he's being gentle, attentive, undoing the bard with only his mouth and teeth and fingers. It feels different than before, sweeter and more special for it.
They're so close that it's hard to tell where Geralt ends and Jaskier starts. A small, impatient, growl of his own escapes the younger man when the impossibly warm head of Geralt's cock brushes his entrance, the thick hardness sliding between his cheeks and not going deeper. The teasing is unfair but the more Geralt does it the strongest Jaskier wants him and he tells him that much between groans.
He grinds his ass back against him, lifts his chest and cranes his neck as he makes all kinds of little whimpers and moans. Supporting his weight on his knees and one hand, Jaskier lifts the other to bury the fingers on Geralt's hair as the man kisses his neck. He perks up at the mention of his name and Geralt's words, the suggestion punctuated by the movements of the fingers deep into him. The little thrusts are maddening, so good that they make Jaskier arch with them, wanting more.
How nice of you to give me permission. It's obviously not because Geralt wants to hear them, of course, of course. Not one to pass an opportunity like this, Jaskier smiles and drops his voice an octave, rocking his hips back. ]
And what are the kind of things I should say? That he last time you were inside me I came so hard I’m pretty sure I could taste colors? Should I tell you how much I like the feel of your hot, fat cock stretching me? Or perhaps that I want you to mark me, make me yours, feel you for days on end? I could spend a lifetime just kissing you, every inch of skin, every scar and mark, put a little kiss between your brows to try and get you to frown less. And..and the bites and bruises..ahh, I like to look at them the next morning. I like knowing that they're on me even if others can't see them under my clothes. They are there, and they're mine, and I am yours. [ Jaskier voice is breathy and a full-body shudder goes through him before he can continue. ] Oh, gods, your fingers...Geralt. Geralt, please, just fuck me already. Or I-I'll bite you, I swear.
[Geralt is far from the only admirer of Jaskier, that much he understands and much of the time rolls his eyes at. At a point in time unfortunately he did end up under his bard's spell, like a damned siren. He used to scoff at how people watched Jaskier with hunger and now it's him, golden eyes following him even when he's not aware of it. To keep him out of trouble, yes, but also because keeping him within sight is preferable. Jaskier's allure is not lost on him now. He's sincere and enthusiastic and irritatingly optimistic, and he somehow gets Geralt to laugh and smile more than anyone else although he usually can mask those reactions before anyone sees it.
He hums in a pleased tone when Jaskier's fingers find their way into his hair, rewarding him for that with a bite. There's nothing he wants more than to be inside of him. Jaskier's loud and while their first time it was all beautiful moans and whimpers, now he snarls and growls and Geralt thinks it's adorable. He's managed to get a little animal out of his bard, and if he didn't have advanced healing he'd have nail marks and bites to show for it too.
He is absolutely not interested in anything Jaskier is saying for his own pleasure, it's not as if he's listening closely and his breathing is getting choppier. Geralt's fingers go faster into him and he's rocking his hips against him so he can feel his cock near his ass as his fingers keep moving. These are not the types of words he should encourage, especially not the I am yours, but fuck, instead he starts panting from the strain of holding back.
He really planned on fucking Jaskier into submission just like this, but he gets the urge instead to pull his fingers out and flips him onto his back. Geralt is not doing great at all with this distance concept because he kisses him roughly, face to face more intimate than he should be, but he wants it. He grips Jaskier's legs around his waist and then thrusts into him in one smooth movement. He groans into his mouth, sinking deeply inside of him. His powerful arms hold him easily over Jaskier and the deadly grace he has in a fight is used just as well as he rolls his hips, taking Jaskier thoroughly.
He breaks off the kiss and flexes his arms, coming down closer to Jaskier's body and baring his throat to him.] Bite me.
[ Jaskier is making a happy sound in response to Geralt's hum and his ragged breathing, tugging at the white hair some more to please the man. Pretty, unnecessary words might not be useless after all, no if they get this reaction out of Geralt. The brunette takes a mental note, a reminder to praise the Witcher more but at the right moment, when no one else is near and Geralt knows he means it, that the words are for him, and him alone.
Thinking is becoming a very difficult task, there's a whine in Jaskier's throat every time Geralt's fingers get buried deep into him, when they press against the sweet spot inside. He could almost scream in frustration when they retreat and Jaskier can't be certain that he doesn't tug more viciously at Geralt's hair because, suddenly, the world goes blurry.
He lets out a startled squeak and then a laugh that ends smothered by a pair of lips when Geralt's warm body presses down on him. He should take offense at the sudden change, Geralt hasn't even bothered to warn him about how he planned to flip him over, but it's kind of really hot how easy it is for the Witcher to do that. It's also much nicer to be in this position, Geralt's mouth crushes his own and oh, oh yes, fucking finally.
It feels so good he wants to cry. His hands are scrabbling at Geralt's shoulders, his back arching up into the pleasant friction of the cock buried him, and his hips rocking back as much as he can in this position. Jaskier growls and whimpers against the other's mouth, not bothering to be quiet. He lifts his right leg further, nudging Geralt's side. If the man wants, he could bring it to rest on his shoulder and practically fold him in two.
The sounds Geralt lets out only make him harder, make something inside Jaskier purr and stir, demand more. For all his dramatic tendencies, he isn't that temperamental, doesn't indulge in growls or hisses often, yet Geralt brings that out of him. One can't spend half of their life hanging out with someone without picking some habits and an ongoing effect on their sense of self. And Jaskier likes it. Adores it, even. It's freeing.
Pressed chest to chest as they are, he can hear the slow thump of Geralt’s heartbeat, feel it under his lips when he mouths at the man's neck. He didn't think that Geralt would take him seriously, when does he? And there's a glint on the clear blue eyes at the new command, the pupils blown. No doubt the Witcher can smell the arousal coming off of him in waves.
Jaskier makes sure to roll his hips against Geralt's next thrust when his teeth sink into the skin on his neck, muscles tensing. To think he could hurt him is laughable but he's still mindful to keep the bite a really sharp sting and not go further and break the skin. ]
[Gods those tugs of his hair are enough to get him riled up all on his own and he snarls every time Jaskier does it, as a clear signal and reaction that it's appreciated. He doesn't know how to be gentle so the more passionate the bard gets in bed with him the more in line they are of how to enjoy sex together. Geralt shows gentleness typically after, he is decent when it comes to aftercare and even warily affectionate. But during he simply can't control his lust and need to split Jaskier apart until they're both made only of animalistic sounds.
Geralt doesn't react well to praise outside of sex, but obviously hearing it does something to him he can't express into words. He doesn't think before he turns Jaskier he simply does it, so he can't warn, only know that they both are getting what they want so he'll be forgiven. Then he's surrounded by Jaskier's heat and the smell of their sex is intense. Geralt usually sees sex as a way to let off steam and the tension within him; he's always enjoyed it, but it's seemed overall unnecessary. Then Jaskier and Yennefer reignited this overwhelming want in him, but it's still specific to the people under his skin, not the average one-off partner. He doesn't want to go back to it, which is the real danger here. How can he stop when it's this damned good?
Jaskier is a partner too, he gives as good as he gets. His limbs are all tangled up in Geralt and he takes the offer/request, hauling Jaskier's leg up to his shoulder and pressing down to split him open even more so. It goes give Geralt more control over his body, effectively pinning him in some ways, so he gives enough flexibility so Jaskier can keep eagerly moving with his rhythm. He gets a good angle this way, thrusting fast and shallow at first and then a snap all the way in that goes straight for Jaskier's sweet spot.
His teeth on him is the perfect amount of pressure, enough that even Geralt can feel the sting of it and he moans instead of growls, wanting it.] Scratch me. Mark me. [It doesn't last, they both know that, but that isn't the purpose. Make me yours is the underlining reality but fuck if Geralt will ever acknowledge that fact. He can't. It's too close to making him panic about what this all is. But during sex he's allowing himself freedom before his mind can catch up with him.
They are really being too loud for being in the open and he's so caught up in Jaskier's scent that they're vulnerable at the moment to attack. Geralt will still be able to likely catch on if anyone gets too close, his protective urges taking over, but it's just a credit to how mindlessly the bard gets him to take risks. The sound of their skin slapping and their moans splits across the otherwise silence. Jaskier's cock is trapped between them, the friction from Geralt's tight stomach as he thrusts desperately into him is consistent at least.] Jaskier, yes. [He murmurs low, breathing ragged.]
[ Geralt is more than gentle enough when it matters, when he first makes sure that Jaskier is ready to take him and then once everything is over and the bard is left a boneless, blissed-out mess who can't stand on his own. Jaskier has grown fond of the sounds he can get out of Geralt, the deeper the growl the better. It awakens something primal and possessive in him too.
Unlike Geralt, Jaskier considers sex another form of art, and hell if he doesn't plan on being a master at it. But no one said art couldn't be filthy and exciting. No one said it had to be quiet. It's all about passion, after all. If sex is an orchestra, then Jaskier labels himself as a conductor. You need to work for the music to be perfect, half-measures won't do, and his pride wouldn't allow him to give less than his best. Geralt's snarls are sweeter than any round of applause.
Jaskier is flushed and warm all over, raising his hips and smiling up at his partner when he gets the idea and hooks his leg over his shoulders. The new position leaves him a little winded but it's good, so good, and Jasker tries to relax so that Geralt can grind as deep as he wants. He's still tight, muscles constricting around the man's cock, shuddering with every snap of his hips, slow or fast. The shallow thrusts make the bard keen, moaning lowly and closing his eyes. He yelps in shocked surprise when the rhythm changes, lets out a strangled noise, his breath hitching, and his voice breaking. There's an attempt to say Geralt's name but it ends completely mangled, and his nails dig on the Witcher's biceps, leaving eight little crescent moons.
Jaskier has very few things that are truly dear to his heart or that he dares to call his own. The lute is one of them, and of course, it was a present because important things are given freely, not seized. Geralt is giving him a choice too, a chance in a lifetime, and Jaskier believes that he knows him well enough to read between lines. He knows him well enough to obey, to take what is offered without bringing up the fact that Geralt is only burrowing himself further under Jaskier's skin by giving that part of him away.
Jaskier kisses him before they both can say anything they might regret. It's hungry. Tongue, teeth, and sheer need mixing. And yet, it's mean to calm Geralt with the familiarity of the rough treatment. I've got you, says the kiss, words hiding in the silence of their breaths intermingling. He claws at Geralt's skin and wants to lick it better a moment later, leaves red marks on his back and shoulder blades that will health too quickly for his liking. But they are here, now, and that's what matters. Mine, Jaskier says with anything but words, Mine, now. ]
Good, you feel s-so good. Like I was made just for you. [ His brain is melting in his skull, his heart beating fast like a trapped hummingbird. A shaky hand moves to the back of Geralt's head, gripping the white strands there. He knows the right way to pull and cause pleasing needle-like spikes of pain that send a rush down the spine. ]
Would you come for me? [ He coos with a breathy voice, needy and almost desperate. He's so very close himself that if anybody, man or monster, tries to interrupt them right now, Jaskier would kill them himself. ] I want to feel you come inside me, Geralt.
[Geralt can't imagine not preparing his lovers, mostly because he's large and even with women who are wet for him, it's not immediately easy. He wants sex to be enjoyable all around if he decides to have it. He doesn't want to get a reputation as a monster on all possible subjects. He doesn't think it's beautiful or artistic or anything of the kind. But he doesn't mind getting dirty and sweaty through sex, it's definitely better than blood and guts. He hates to feed the bard's ego, although the fact he wants him so desperately should be a meal enough, but gods he's good at this. It's frustrating how good he is at this.
He smirks when his change in moves gets a yelp out of Jaskier, building up both of their pleasure by going shallow to deep, slow to fast, wanting to hear that keening and show that he too can be fucking good at this. Especially as they both know once he loses all control of himself he's like a ramming bull, as Jaskier's remarked upon before. He wants to get them up to that point.
The nails on his skin drive him absolutely wild. That's exactly what he wanted, what he asked for. The sting of them sends a shudder through his entire body that Jaskier can feel. He wouldn't say he likes pain exactly, but he does like the contrast of pleasure with a mixture of it, like sweet and sour only sting and ecstasy. Geralt feels like he should argue with that statement, but he thinks it's very true in that moment. Jaskier fits him, or he fits inside of him, they're compatible in a way he's only experienced with one other person in his long lifespan.
Geralt truly growls after that provocative statement, deep within a rumble of his chest and through his throat. He takes Jaskier's other leg and puts it on his other shoulder, definitely pinning the bard down now with his weight and strength. He bends him in half exactly as he wants, finally up to the place where all he can do is slam into him hard and fast, claiming this body as his. Mine. Mine. The friction between their bodies at least does offer some stroking of Jaskier's cock, since he can't actually touch him without crushing him.
His hips stutter and he presses their foreheads together, coming with the type of force that he thinks might get him to taste colors too. Geralt couldn't form words so it's just a long groan and he's still moving inside of Jaskier, wringing out the last of his orgasm and demanding the bard join him as his mind goes white. Unfortunately this time Geralt's so out of his mind that he doesn't seem to think to get off of him yet, golden eyes open and staring right at him. Feeling something.
You fucked up, he tells himself, and a flicker of something akin to fear shows momentarily in his gaze. He's gone too deep. ]
[ Geralt is already more considerate with all his sex partner that certain people Jaskier has met in his life. They're all forgotten now, his mind unable to focus on anything beyond the Witcher. He knows with every fiber of his being that monsters wear many faces but Geralt would never fall into that category. And Jaskier will happily fight whoever disagrees, he's got quite the protective streak when his friend is involved, even if he only weighs like five pounds soaking wet.
Being less muscled than Geralt also has its advantages, the flexibility, for example. Jaskier never had any doubt that Geralt is good at this, as he excels at everything he does, damn this perfect man, a fact he just keeps proving every time they get into bed together. Or the river. Or the ground. Or a convenient wall. Picky people, they're are not. If it's flat enough, wet enough to use, they will have sex in it. Jaskier is pretty sure his back will protest later about being in this position for a long while but the drag of Geralt's cock against his insides is a torture of the sweetest kind and he couldn't give a rat ass about the consequences.
When Geralt shudders, the shiver runs over his skin too, close and connected as they are, not a hair breath between them. It's such a delicious reaction that Jaskier moans in return of Geralt's growl and then bites down hard on his neck once again, on the juncture of neck and shoulder. There are going to be bruises in his hips and thighs in a matter of hours, maybe less, because Jaskier has quite the delicate skin and Geralt is now lifting his other leg to place it in his shoulder and ram him with abandon. If Jaskier still had any voice left he would sing. Geralt is setting a steady and relentless pace that has Jaskier crying and begging for more, urging him on. He's shuddering and twitching beneath the man, trying to rock his hips but kept in place by the position he's in, so he just submits and takes everything Geralt has to offer. It's a lot, even overwhelming, he won't be able to sit without wincing for a week at least, but the delicious stretch has Jaskier's toes curling and his mouth going slack at the startling pressure against his prostate.
His own cock is aching almost painfully. Reaching down to stroke it means letting go of Geralt's shoulders when the other man gets close enough to press their foreheads together, and there's no way Jaskier is tearing his eyes and hands away from him as he comes. It's the groan and the feeling of something wet and hot inside him that leaves Jaskier breathless. It's the rumbling growl vibrating against his whole body and he follows Geralt a second later, coating his stomach and hips with jets of white without even touching himself. The shudder that wracks his body makes him glad for the heavy body pinning him down. His brain short-circuits, a fluffy cloud free of worries settling where his grey matter used to be, and he feels weightless and safe.
When he goes back to his sense, only a little, he's greeted by a pair of intense golden eyes. There's something in them Jaskier can't describe but that makes him want to comfort Geralt. He lets his fingers tangle in the white hair, fingernails scratching at the scalp slightly as if he's calming a skittish foal. Wrong animal, though. What he has is a big, sated wolf on top of him and the bard hums contentedly. ]
[There are times when Jaskier winces a little as he walks that Geralt is pleased, and sometimes that he winces with him. He has had moments when he wishes he knew how to be gentler. He takes as much care as he can when his mind is with him. It's usually better when Jaskier is on top and has some semblance of control over the situation, but Geralt isn't made for soft. The problem is he wants to be in him, always. They are having serious trouble keeping their hands off each other these days and it may have started as an occasional offer but now it's nearly every day. He even let the bard hustle him into a dark town alleyway once with his clever mouth and he never does that, being a private and paranoid person.
He intellectually knew the pattern was a problem but yes in front of him now it's fairly clear. The problem is that he's still inside of Jaskier and he doesn't want to stop and he is fairly certain that he can't. Which is a very bizarre problem to have when you are a fearsome witcher who slaughters monsters and has an enormously strong will. Jaskier's overwhelming him with the ringing of his cries, his teeth at Geralt's neck, and pleasure zips through him like lightning under his skin.
This is such a bad idea and yet when Jaskier looks at him with dazed blue eyes his heart twists, and the soothing hand in his hair actually is soothing. Geralt's gentleness shows now as he pulls out of him and very carefully brings Jaskier's legs down, knowing that he gets weak as a kitten afterward. So he's very considerate and settles him more comfortably on the bedroll, and gets up to do his usual clean up. It allows him to get some physical space from Jaskier too, which at the moment he feels like he very much needs as he's a bit suffocated.
So his options are:
1. Stop. (No.) 2. Not stop but make it casual again. (Maybe.) 3. Not stop but make it very rare. (...unlikely.) 4. Stop. (No.) 5. Insist they go back to sleeping with other people too. (He's now aware of that, but fucking no.) 6. Actually address what he is struggling with and communicate it to Jaskier. (Never.)
None of this shows on Geralt's serious expression as he strides around going through the motions, bringing cloth for them to wipe off and apparently has gone with none of the above just yet. He doesn't go immediately to Jaskier's side as he has started to, admiring his marks or being sweeter than he ever should be with touches. Sex is simple. It doesn't have to be so complicated. He has to stop complicating it.
Geralt feels a little sting on his neck and can't help one of those little smiles again, touching where Jaskier actually managed to get a really nice bite out of him. It'll be gone by morning but he touches it and becomes less of that cold hard statue he was a moment ago, sitting next to the bard and accepting he has no answer at this moment. Problems can be ignored. Easily.] Not bad. [He says, tapping the bite on his own neck, golden eyes amused.] Didn't know you had it in you.
[ Jaskier mewls softly when Geralt slips out of him, his legs are shaky and his breathing less labored. The careful handling earns the Witcher a grateful look and Jaskier is relieved that he doesn't have to be the one looking for something to clean themselves, he couldn't do it even if he tried. Standing is not going to be an option for then next 15 minutes at least, he's too worn out and well fucked to move.
He makes room for Geralt in the bedroll and waits, curling a little into himself to stay warm. His eyes follow the man's muscular body as he moves, a fond smile on his face brought by the afterglow, not even bothering to hide the fact he's staring at his ass.
Worry rears its ugly head when Geralt keeps silent and still for a second to long to be just his usual demeanor. There's the need to comfort him again, to grab him, to wrap his hands around Geralt's neck and pull him towards him, to smother the crease between his furrowed brows under his lips. Being a romantic is going to be the death of him, Jaskier knows. One day Geralt will get tired of him and shatter his heart to pieces, probably without realizing it too.
But today isn't that day and he relaxes visibly when Geralt finally approaches. He still thinks that there might be something eating him up but if he asks, if Geralt gets the feeling that he's being cornered by a simple question such as 'what's wrong?', he will lash out. Or worse, close himself off. He keeps his mouth shut even though he wants to ask so many things. Maybe Geralt just needs time. ]
You bring out that side of me, you're a terrible influence, Geralt of Rivia. [ The brunette looks at the bruise on Geralt's neck, feeling a sting of pride swelling in his chest. He did that. The bitemarks won't last, anything good ever last, but they have this now. Geralt belongs a little bit more to him today. Once they get dressed, Jaskier will make sure to put on a shirt with a wide collar and keep his doublet unlaced, he will leave his own marks on display unless Geralt tells him not to. ]
Now we match. [ He leans in until he can rest his chin on the curve of the man's shoulder. Jaskier’s is skin flushed from the heat, the pink lips are bruised from the kissing and the biting, his smile is bright. ] I think we might have scared all the fauna and monsters within a 3 km radius.
[Jaskier looks very good while devastated this way. Geralt makes no attempt to hide his open attraction to him, his eyes traveling over the bard's body with much more directness than he allows in public or anywhere that it's not only the two of them. He also avoids looking at him like this when they don't have the time to have sex, because there is no doubting the bedroom eyes aspect of admiring a lover naked. His hair is tousled, marks all over his neck, skin flushed, so very pleased with himself too. Geralt thinks if he can simply focus on how good the sex is and the physicality of their connection, he doesn't have to worry about the other aspects that might be creeping in.
It is very good that Jaskier doesn't push since Geralt is defensive and prickly, as he well knows, and he will definitely stonewall him or snap. Healthy communication skills are non-existent for him. He is already slightly wary since he knows the bard is far too observant for his own good, but he relaxes slightly when there is no questioning. Geralt cleans them off to the best of his ability, snorting at being called a bad influence. Jaskier is the troublemaker, not him. The scratches on his shoulders also show very nicely on his skin for the time being.
When Jaskier wears his clothes like that Geralt often gets distracted remembering putting them there. Depending on how he's feeling, he often prefers him to be laced up in public, since their business is theirs and he doesn't love other people commenting on what's between them. And sometimes if he's feeling possessive and not liking the way others are looking as Jaskier, he intentionally opens up the shirt before the bard performs. And then, of course, pretends not to listen or be interested in the slightest when he does, but the statement is made.
He sighs when Jaskier's chin is on his shoulder and they're so close again, and it is reassuring and confusing all at once. He didn't realize how much he's grown used to Jaskier being physically in his space. He used to insist on personal boundaries and space between them, but they've gone far past that and he's adding it all up. No, monsters would have been attracted to the weakness and smells. [They would have been vulnerable. Jaskier would have been vulnerable. He frowns and runs his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip.
Geralt is fucking weak. He knows that now. It shouldn't be a surprise considering how pathetic he is with Yennefer, and yet it is. He drops onto his back next to Jaskier and runs his hand along his spine as he still sits, feeling each notch of his spine with rough fingers.] I am not yours and you are not mine. [He says, finally. Not exactly coldly, but not warmly either. More ... stilted. Distant.] That is sex talk, you understand that. [Not a question mark. Not a leading question at all. A statement. This is what he has to say. It's pointless, but he says it anyway.]
[ There's a soft humming that starts at the back of Jaskier's throat as Geralt cleans them off, almost like the purr of a cat. He returns the favor by reaching out and carding his fingers on the white hair, trying to untangle the nods his gripping and pulling might have caused.
Geralt's reaction to his clothing, always much brighter and eye-catching than the Witcher's own as it's another part of his artist image, will never not be funny. Jaskier understands that in certain towns, around certain people, it's just safer overall to keep whatever they are doing to themselves. It's best to look primp and proper lest they get unwanted attention that would lead to them getting kicked out or worse. But when they're in a more relaxed company sometimes Geralt is the one that pulls his doublet open or tugs at his shirt, earning a surprised yelp and a grin. He likes those times the best. ]
It was a joke, don't you dare bring logic into this. [ Jaskier chastises him lightly, clearly amused by the matter of fact reply. He tilts his chin up, leaning into the contact of Geralt's hand and purses his lips to kiss the pad of his thumb. He's almost so distracted that the statement don't register until a few seconds later and by then Geralt is lying down and Jaskier has an excuse to tear his eyes away from his face. He pulls the nearest blanker closer and over his lap, feeling colder all of sudden, too exposed. ]
I...do. [ He aims for casual too, and probably misses the mark by a mile. Jaskier might be able to read Geralt more easily now than a decade ago but the man's occasional mood swings still give him whiplash. He runs a hand through his messy hair to avoid looking at Geralt, tries not to shudder at the caresses to his back, lips now pulled into a tight-lipped smile. ]
But that's what bards are for, aren't they? Entertainment. [ He doesn't say the words 'bed warmer' but the thought sure comes to mind.
Fool. He's always been one and probably always will be. Reading too much in the way Geralt has looked at him. He isn't Yennefer, he should have known better. Geralt isn't being cruel, he's only being honest. It hurts just as much as he expected but this conversation doesn't come as a surprise and maybe that's the saddest part. He knows Geralt and he knows himself, he can't blame the man for not seeing him as anything more than a convenient lay.
[Geralt found the humming Jaskier sometimes did without realizing it annoying at first, but now it's grown on him. There has been many a time recently when the bard's used his chest as a pillow and he can hear him humming even in his sleep. It's become a sound that is strangely comforting, almost as much as the steady heartbeat, and while Geralt still doesn't sleep much or well, it allows him to rest without sleeping.
As soon as Geralt says the words he can almost immediately see their impact, as if he'd struct Jaskier straight across the face. Or punched him in the stomach, which he did once long ago, but hasn't since. He is not typically aware that words can be as vicious as blows, and often he can use them precisely that way, as sharply as a blade. At first he thinks it is merely a sting, but he can tell from his stiff reaction to Geralt's fingers on his back it's not that simple.
Regret is something he tries to pure from his life, and doing that is far easier when he's alone and no one counts on him. He rubs the bridge of his nose when Jaskier says that.] Fuck. [He mutters distinctly and with feeling. Geralt knows he's wounded him, and it was intentional, to put distance between them, but he didn't expect to feel this strange heavyweight in the pit of his stomach. It would be so easy to use this moment to end it. They would both hate it and be awkward, perhaps need to take time apart, but long term it was wisest. But he knew he wouldn't even make into town before dragging the bard into his arms for a kiss. This has spiraled out of his control.
Geralt respects whores, he trusts them with his body and needs more than individual people most of the time. But he still doesn't like the idea of Jaskier feeling like one, or like entertainment. Geralt isn't good at comfort and he is flat out incapable of apologies, at least so far in his long stubborn life. Say it's over. End it. End it now. Instead Geralt sits up and he puts a firm arm around Jaskier's shoulders. He tugs the bard back so he can lean against his chest, and it's not exactly gentle or soft, but it is solid and well-meant.]
Entertainment is not what witchers are for, and I still give that to you freely, Jaskier. [He gives him his body and his trust and that is more than many can get. If Jaskier is his entertainment, Geralt is the same way, that is what he wants to be communicated. It is not him taking and using. It is both ways. Geralt kisses his neck, thinking he really does have to stop marking him, it's part of the problem. That won't happen though.] We want one another and we enjoy one another. It is not bad to have that.
[ The swearing makes the younger man jump, not in fear but in surprise. He wouldn't allow himself to ever be afraid of Geralt, yet the man still catches him off guard often. Years of hearing curses and grunts taught Jaskier the difference nuances between 'You've been singing the same song for the last 2 hours as we walk through the forest and I'm about to throw the lute into the first river I see' and 'my enemy will be lucky if they still have any limb attached to their body by the end of the fight'.
This 'Fuck' falls somewhat in the middle. Is the one that means exactly what it says, I fucked up. Jaskier isn't used to hear this one often, even less directed at him. He should resist, keep his distance, shy away from Geralt's arms if such a thing is possible. Jaskier can't bring himself to do it, doesn't want to. Being by Geralt's side had always meant safety and comfort, despite the occasional arguments. Even then, he's learned that the Witcher doesn't really have a cruel bone on his body. He can be a brute in his actions, yes, and even more direct with his words in ways Jaskier will never learn to master no matter how much he studies and sings, but he's never known the man to take pleasure in inflicting pain of any kind.
It's surprisingly easy for Jaskier to lean back and rest against his chest, accepting the offered touches with eyes half-lidden and trying to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hates himself for it. He expects Geralt to put an end to whatever is going on between them here and now. Instead, he gets some...interesting logic to justify their actions. Geralt must have done some impressive mental gymnastics to land himself into that kind of conclusion. It's kind of endearing, even if Jaskier wants to slap him and scream at his face that NO, he isn't trying to use Geralt in any way. He kind of sees the point of what the other man is trying to say, even if there's no telling for sure if Geralt is really reassuring him or himself.
He can keep things casual, he's done it many times in the past, got himself a reputation for that...but it's more difficult with Geralt. Always had been since the first day they met, so many years ago, in that tavern from Posada. The lips on his neck make Jaskier close his eyes and tilts his head back, brow furrowed slightly even as he leans into the touches and offers more skin to mark.
What if I want to be yours?, lies on the tip of his tongue, the unsaid words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Melancholy doesn't suit him, it would only make Geralt push him away further, and so he nods and puts a smile on his face. It's performative, and act, maybe a white lie that both need to get moving. He would rather only have one part of Geralt that lose everything they built over the years, no matter how little importance the witcher puts in their (not)friendship. ]
No, It is not bad to have that. [ Jaskier repeats, and only if Geralt realized the truth about his own affirmation, they both would be happier.
And maybe pigs could fly. ]
I understand. [ It comes out softly but it's an honest truth. Jaskier reaches up to brush his fingers along the back of Geralt's hand. He brings it up to his lips a moment later, kisses the man's knuckles. ] I understand.
[Geralt is temperamental and stubborn, angry and frustrated, sarcastic and world-weary, but cruel he is not. It is something he cares about a great deal, not being cruel. The long-lived often are, and while he is generally very good at keeping his feelings to himself, he is determined not to lose sight of people being people and lives not being meaningless. When he makes a mistake, he knows it, and since he can't bring himself to apologize, he tries to apologize in less verbal ways. Such as a soft kiss on Jaskier's shoulder, a pacifying one since the bard finally relaxed back against him.
It is wiser to end it now, but perhaps now that some lines are re-established it will go back to how it should be. They can keep having sex as much as they want, with the awareness that sex and camaraderie are what they share. Both things that Geralt actually likes, so in his mind it is a stellar offer. He keeps pressing his lips against the curve of Jaskier's neck, he can practically hear the bard thinking, but that is fine. He would rather he think than talk; talk would get them into trouble. Thinking and then talking might not. He doesn't mark him, these are (apologetic) signs of affection.
This is very impressive mental gymnastics, yes, but it is how he can rationalize continuing this. If they decided to stop, Geralt would probably disappear on him in the morning. He wouldn't be able to control himself around the bard for a bit, so he would run, as he's prone to do, although he'd claim it wasn't running so much as giving respectful distance. Geralt understands there are emotions involved. He is not an idiot, he is simply picking the denial route until further notice. With Jaskier's taste on his tongue and the reassuring beat of his heart nearby, it's easy to pick that.
He knows that smile is forced but it's not as if he expects Jaskier to sincerely like this when he flat out told Geralt he wanted to be claimed. Gerallt is relieved at the agreement; it's not perfect, but they can get back on track.] Good. [He murmurs close to Jaskier's ear and tilts his head down, tapping Jaskier's chin up so he can take a slow kiss out of him. An agreement sealed with a kiss.] Come lie down. I was rough on you.
[He means physically, not emotionally. Geralt goes onto his back and tugs at Jaskier's arm, not pulling him unwillingly but as a physical request. He likes when the bard puts his head on his chest or in the crook of his arm, it will be easier to protect him this way if he gets in trouble. It doesn't occur to him that Jaskier might not want to go straight to their cuddling considering the lines he was drawing, because Geralt decided the topic was addressed and handled and that was it. For a long-lived relatively intelligent person, he was truly stupid when it came to people.]
I like some of your songs. [See, that was a huge gift, and possibly it came from a guilty place, but Geralt did mean what he said. This conversation started because he snarked about Jaskier's bad music, so it seems fair to soothe over that now, while still not apologizing.]
[ Geralt's kisses feel sweeter now after their clash. Carrot and stick, Jaskier thinks bitterly and arches his back when lips brush the curve of his nape. He's so weak for them still that he makes a small whimpering noise, leaning into the touch. The conversation is over that much is clear. He's feeling wrung out all of sudden, any energy he had left after their lovemaking finally lost him. Jaskier needs to stop thinking about what they do in such terms, it's what landed him in hot water in the first place, setting himself up to disappointment.
Their unspoken arrangement had changed in his mind alone, Geralt can't be blamed for his lack of common sense. He should be the one leaving, try and keep some of his dignity intact while the rest of him isn't. Jaskier has never been able to stay away from long, even those times they parted on agreeable terms to attend their personal affairs. Like a moth to a flame, it was inevitable that he would end burned.
Form now on, he'll still wake up Geralt sitting on his cock, or try to drag the man to a semi-private place to blow him, to kiss him, to show it's all fine. Nothing is different. It's just spectacularly good sex between two willing parties. Rough, exciting and impersonal. He will be more mindful of his words, no longer bring up the stupid, romantic shit he wants to say when Geralt is buried to the hilt inside him and all he can think about is how well they fit together. Jaskier won't bite him either unless the Witcher demands it. Because Geralt isn't his and Geralt made it clear he doesn't want him either. Flimsy preventive measures to keep his heart from breaking when there's already a large crack in it, but it's better than nothing.
And then Geralt is kissing Jaskier with a softness he didn't expect. The tug to his arm isn't demanding and he can read the plea in the gesture. He doesn't make him wait, only pausing for a second or two. Lying down, he soaks in the warmth of Geralt's body, rests his head on the man's chest and blinks back the tears stinging in his eyes after hearing the praise. It's like throwing a bone to a dog after you have kicked the pathetic creature. And Jaskier will take it, of course, hoping there's some measure of honesty in Geralt's voice. It's getting harder every day to look at himself in the mirror. ]
Oh, flattery. Don't let me stop you. [ His index fingers drawn small, odd patterns on Geralt's chest, circles and curvy lines at a slow pace. It feels soothing and it's what he usually does when they cuddle, showing that some things are still the same. Jaskier doesn't really expect Geralt to continue and he doesn't say anything else. He can feel the slow beating of Geralt's heart and the bard closes his eyes, chasing a restless sleep. ]
[The thing is, Geralt knows what they both should do, and also that his kisses and touches are meant to be comforting and it's a rather weak part of him too. He should be cold and impersonal, to keep this more rational. It was him being sentimental and soft that caused this. But it's a part of him he doesn't fully have answers for, that there's this underlining forgive me, stay with me plea under his affection. The bard is too deeply under his skin, he's addicted to their flights of passion.
Tomorrow it will be Geralt instead who wakes Jaskier up, his mouth hot and eager on his cock. To show them both that they can still be this way and he wants it, even if he doesn't want belonging or claiming in the clear sense, he still wants the lust and the connection between them. He relaxes when Jaskier nestles down on him the way he likes, putting an arm around Jaskier's shoulder and carefully lifting a blanket around them. He radiates heat so he doesn't need them, having no real reaction to extreme temperatures, but he likes to keep his partner from a chill.
There is honesty in his tone. Geralt never lies.] I like your instrumentals. You play well. [Geralt doesn't like the singing as much and it isn't personal, as much as it seems. He hasn't listened to many bards that he enjoys, but a lute playing a nice tune appeals to him. He doesn't like listening about himself but sometimes on their journey all Jaskier will do is test out a melody or strum his lute as they walk, and that he truly enjoys.
His voice is soft as he allows Jaskier to touch him and keeps him close, waiting until he hears his breathing slow and his heart steady in sleep. Geralt knows it won't exactly be easy for a bit, but they will carry on and find their equilibrium again. But even if it was harsh, he felt better with a line between them. He pretends it's for Jaskier, but it isn't. It's him. He doesn't find sleep himself that night, ears sharp listening for danger, but he does rest.]
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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Ah, fuck..okay, good. [ It's pretty much all the reassurance he needed to confirm they are on the same page, hell, reading the same book. Jaskier's back arches forward, the hand that's not buried on Geralt's hair sliding over the muscular back. It would be better if the man's shirt were off too but the bard works with what he has. His hand still manages to sneak under the back of Geralt's shirt collar to scratch between his shoulder blades.
He swallows harshly, legs parting forward to give his lover more room to move, biting back a curse when the Geralt's mouth swallows him deeply and invites him to thrust his hips forward. Which is definitely counting as awesome relationship progress in Jaskier's books. Soft moans that increase in volume drop from his lips along with small whimpers, Geralt's name and praise about his mouth, his body, his eyes. Gods, he loves those eyes so much. Jaskier starts rocking his hips some more, aiming for a rhythm that works for Geralt, and tugs at the white hair when one particularly skilled swipe of that hot tongue leaves him keening. ]
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Geralt growls around Jaskier when he moans and praises him, a good kind of growl. A pleased kind. He softens his throat to let Jaskier go into his mouth more deeply, moving his head with the careful rhythm he's started so they are in sync. He laps at his head and grips his hips, forcing him to go faster. But that will end the game far quicker than either of them wants so Geralt slows his movements, suckling at Jaskier a little longer before pulling off.
He gets abruptly to his feet and pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the side. Geralt works hurriedly on his pants, leaning in to kiss Jaskier deeply as he works on getting bare. He's hard from working on Jaskier's pleasure and tips his head back, nuzzling his nose without kissing him more. That's very distracting.]
Need you. [He rocks their hips against each other and lower his head to bite him, putting a mark exactly where the last one started to fade. He lifts his head to look around and make a decision about what's best position-wise in this situation. ] Hands and knees on the bedroll. Now.
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His head is so fuzzy it's hard to think straight and he almost snickers at his own thought. Yeah, straight is not something they're were doing, funny that. Blue eyes watch Geralt hastily undress with no short amount of hunger. Once Geralt is naked and within reach, Jaskier's hands sweep over bare skin, nails rack down abs that might as well be made of polished steel for how hard and soft they feel under his palm. ]
I like it when you growl. [ Jaskier says in a gasp, his voice barely audible. He tilts his head back to expose more of his neck to Geralt, offers more room to be marked, pale column on display.
The bard has never been one for feeling shy, not about sex and even less with Geralt but the Witcher admitting that he needs him does leave him speechless for a few seconds. Only a whimper coming through his parted lips. Well, fuck, he's got it back.
Not for the first time, Geralt's intense eyes remind him of a prowling wolf. He wonders briefly what that makes him. He's also reminded of how much he enjoys the other man manhandling him and Jaskier's tempted to tell Geralt 'no', to tell him 'make me' just to see what he would do. But Jaskier knows there’s no place he would rather be than under the other man and Geralt has been so sweet so far he doesn't have the heart to tease him any longer.
Breathing heavily, he gives a small nod, cock twitching between his legs, and then finally moves. Jaskier makes a show out of it too, because of course, he does. Turning and winking at Geralt over his shoulder before he stretches like a cat in front of him, lying down so his chest is pressed against the bedroll. ]
Don't say I can't follow orders when you ask nicely. [ His head is turned so he can still look at Geralt, his hands on each side of his body loosely curled into fists, legs spread. ]
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He watches the bard do as he's told and he can't help but smile faintly at him putting on a show. It's not even his usual smirk, it's an actual smile, shaking his head. It's a very good show and he watches precisely how Jaskier wants him to, the smile drifting away when instead he's presented with such a damned perfect meal. Geralt knew he was going to seduce the bard so the oil is already there by their bedroll. Presumptuous, maybe, but they've had their hands all over each other since this began with no sign of slowing down.
Geralt follows and gets on his knees, plastering his body on top of Jaskier's so that they're skin on skin quickly. He kisses his neck, running fingers through his hair, and while there's the usual hunger to all his movements, there's a type of tenderness to it too. That he doesn't want to bring attention to. He's taking time to kiss more than his throat, pressing his lips to his back and shoulders too, taking more time than he usually does. Jaskier's form is lithe and he enjoys the feel of it against him.
He oils up his cock first, mostly because it's demanding attention, and rubs it hard and eager at Jaskier's entrance with no intention of putting it in. He knows where they both want it to go, but he can wait. Then his slick fingers come and he works Jaskier open with them, crooking them just right inside of him. Geralt fucks him thoroughly with them, again not in haste this time, wanting to hear the bard sing with moans and words as he usually does.]
Jaskier. [He rumbles low, his other hand diving into his dark hair and tightening, giving it a nice little tug that he knows Jaskier enjoys. Sex talk never comes easily to him outside of commands. ] You can say those pretty, unnecessary things now if you want. [It's not as if he's asking or anything, it's if Jaskier wants to say them, obviously, not because he cares about hearing them, nope.]
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Geralt's smile makes the brunette's gaze soften, his own grin less mischievous and more loving. He really would do anything it takes to get the man to smile like that more often, to give him a reason to. He huffs out a small chuckle at the view of the oil, curving the arch of his back as he laughs, his shoulders relaxing. Count on his Witcher to always be prepared, Melitele bless him. Jaskier also keeps a small vial on his person from time to time but today it was in his jacket and god only knows where it ended.
He wiggles his butt a little a second later, keeping the atmosphere playful and light, and hums low in his throat out of pleasure when Geralt's body presses against his own. The position should be embarrassing, Geralt is about to mount him like a vixen in heat, but it's not like Jaskier minds of that if it's him. Besides, he's being gentle, attentive, undoing the bard with only his mouth and teeth and fingers. It feels different than before, sweeter and more special for it.
They're so close that it's hard to tell where Geralt ends and Jaskier starts. A small, impatient, growl of his own escapes the younger man when the impossibly warm head of Geralt's cock brushes his entrance, the thick hardness sliding between his cheeks and not going deeper. The teasing is unfair but the more Geralt does it the strongest Jaskier wants him and he tells him that much between groans.
He grinds his ass back against him, lifts his chest and cranes his neck as he makes all kinds of little whimpers and moans. Supporting his weight on his knees and one hand, Jaskier lifts the other to bury the fingers on Geralt's hair as the man kisses his neck. He perks up at the mention of his name and Geralt's words, the suggestion punctuated by the movements of the fingers deep into him. The little thrusts are maddening, so good that they make Jaskier arch with them, wanting more.
How nice of you to give me permission. It's obviously not because Geralt wants to hear them, of course, of course. Not one to pass an opportunity like this, Jaskier smiles and drops his voice an octave, rocking his hips back. ]
And what are the kind of things I should say? That he last time you were inside me I came so hard I’m pretty sure I could taste colors? Should I tell you how much I like the feel of your hot, fat cock stretching me? Or perhaps that I want you to mark me, make me yours, feel you for days on end? I could spend a lifetime just kissing you, every inch of skin, every scar and mark, put a little kiss between your brows to try and get you to frown less. And..and the bites and bruises..ahh, I like to look at them the next morning. I like knowing that they're on me even if others can't see them under my clothes. They are there, and they're mine, and I am yours. [ Jaskier voice is breathy and a full-body shudder goes through him before he can continue. ] Oh, gods, your fingers...Geralt. Geralt, please, just fuck me already. Or I-I'll bite you, I swear.
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He hums in a pleased tone when Jaskier's fingers find their way into his hair, rewarding him for that with a bite. There's nothing he wants more than to be inside of him. Jaskier's loud and while their first time it was all beautiful moans and whimpers, now he snarls and growls and Geralt thinks it's adorable. He's managed to get a little animal out of his bard, and if he didn't have advanced healing he'd have nail marks and bites to show for it too.
He is absolutely not interested in anything Jaskier is saying for his own pleasure, it's not as if he's listening closely and his breathing is getting choppier. Geralt's fingers go faster into him and he's rocking his hips against him so he can feel his cock near his ass as his fingers keep moving. These are not the types of words he should encourage, especially not the I am yours, but fuck, instead he starts panting from the strain of holding back.
He really planned on fucking Jaskier into submission just like this, but he gets the urge instead to pull his fingers out and flips him onto his back. Geralt is not doing great at all with this distance concept because he kisses him roughly, face to face more intimate than he should be, but he wants it. He grips Jaskier's legs around his waist and then thrusts into him in one smooth movement. He groans into his mouth, sinking deeply inside of him. His powerful arms hold him easily over Jaskier and the deadly grace he has in a fight is used just as well as he rolls his hips, taking Jaskier thoroughly.
He breaks off the kiss and flexes his arms, coming down closer to Jaskier's body and baring his throat to him.] Bite me.
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Thinking is becoming a very difficult task, there's a whine in Jaskier's throat every time Geralt's fingers get buried deep into him, when they press against the sweet spot inside. He could almost scream in frustration when they retreat and Jaskier can't be certain that he doesn't tug more viciously at Geralt's hair because, suddenly, the world goes blurry.
He lets out a startled squeak and then a laugh that ends smothered by a pair of lips when Geralt's warm body presses down on him. He should take offense at the sudden change, Geralt hasn't even bothered to warn him about how he planned to flip him over, but it's kind of really hot how easy it is for the Witcher to do that. It's also much nicer to be in this position, Geralt's mouth crushes his own and oh, oh yes, fucking finally.
It feels so good he wants to cry. His hands are scrabbling at Geralt's shoulders, his back arching up into the pleasant friction of the cock buried him, and his hips rocking back as much as he can in this position. Jaskier growls and whimpers against the other's mouth, not bothering to be quiet. He lifts his right leg further, nudging Geralt's side. If the man wants, he could bring it to rest on his shoulder and practically fold him in two.
The sounds Geralt lets out only make him harder, make something inside Jaskier purr and stir, demand more. For all his dramatic tendencies, he isn't that temperamental, doesn't indulge in growls or hisses often, yet Geralt brings that out of him. One can't spend half of their life hanging out with someone without picking some habits and an ongoing effect on their sense of self. And Jaskier likes it. Adores it, even. It's freeing.
Pressed chest to chest as they are, he can hear the slow thump of Geralt’s heartbeat, feel it under his lips when he mouths at the man's neck. He didn't think that Geralt would take him seriously, when does he? And there's a glint on the clear blue eyes at the new command, the pupils blown. No doubt the Witcher can smell the arousal coming off of him in waves.
Jaskier makes sure to roll his hips against Geralt's next thrust when his teeth sink into the skin on his neck, muscles tensing. To think he could hurt him is laughable but he's still mindful to keep the bite a really sharp sting and not go further and break the skin. ]
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Geralt doesn't react well to praise outside of sex, but obviously hearing it does something to him he can't express into words. He doesn't think before he turns Jaskier he simply does it, so he can't warn, only know that they both are getting what they want so he'll be forgiven. Then he's surrounded by Jaskier's heat and the smell of their sex is intense. Geralt usually sees sex as a way to let off steam and the tension within him; he's always enjoyed it, but it's seemed overall unnecessary. Then Jaskier and Yennefer reignited this overwhelming want in him, but it's still specific to the people under his skin, not the average one-off partner. He doesn't want to go back to it, which is the real danger here. How can he stop when it's this damned good?
Jaskier is a partner too, he gives as good as he gets. His limbs are all tangled up in Geralt and he takes the offer/request, hauling Jaskier's leg up to his shoulder and pressing down to split him open even more so. It goes give Geralt more control over his body, effectively pinning him in some ways, so he gives enough flexibility so Jaskier can keep eagerly moving with his rhythm. He gets a good angle this way, thrusting fast and shallow at first and then a snap all the way in that goes straight for Jaskier's sweet spot.
His teeth on him is the perfect amount of pressure, enough that even Geralt can feel the sting of it and he moans instead of growls, wanting it.] Scratch me. Mark me. [It doesn't last, they both know that, but that isn't the purpose. Make me yours is the underlining reality but fuck if Geralt will ever acknowledge that fact. He can't. It's too close to making him panic about what this all is. But during sex he's allowing himself freedom before his mind can catch up with him.
They are really being too loud for being in the open and he's so caught up in Jaskier's scent that they're vulnerable at the moment to attack. Geralt will still be able to likely catch on if anyone gets too close, his protective urges taking over, but it's just a credit to how mindlessly the bard gets him to take risks. The sound of their skin slapping and their moans splits across the otherwise silence. Jaskier's cock is trapped between them, the friction from Geralt's tight stomach as he thrusts desperately into him is consistent at least.] Jaskier, yes. [He murmurs low, breathing ragged.]
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Unlike Geralt, Jaskier considers sex another form of art, and hell if he doesn't plan on being a master at it. But no one said art couldn't be filthy and exciting. No one said it had to be quiet. It's all about passion, after all. If sex is an orchestra, then Jaskier labels himself as a conductor. You need to work for the music to be perfect, half-measures won't do, and his pride wouldn't allow him to give less than his best. Geralt's snarls are sweeter than any round of applause.
Jaskier is flushed and warm all over, raising his hips and smiling up at his partner when he gets the idea and hooks his leg over his shoulders. The new position leaves him a little winded but it's good, so good, and Jasker tries to relax so that Geralt can grind as deep as he wants. He's still tight, muscles constricting around the man's cock, shuddering with every snap of his hips, slow or fast. The shallow thrusts make the bard keen, moaning lowly and closing his eyes. He yelps in shocked surprise when the rhythm changes, lets out a strangled noise, his breath hitching, and his voice breaking. There's an attempt to say Geralt's name but it ends completely mangled, and his nails dig on the Witcher's biceps, leaving eight little crescent moons.
Jaskier has very few things that are truly dear to his heart or that he dares to call his own. The lute is one of them, and of course, it was a present because important things are given freely, not seized. Geralt is giving him a choice too, a chance in a lifetime, and Jaskier believes that he knows him well enough to read between lines. He knows him well enough to obey, to take what is offered without bringing up the fact that Geralt is only burrowing himself further under Jaskier's skin by giving that part of him away.
Jaskier kisses him before they both can say anything they might regret. It's hungry. Tongue, teeth, and sheer need mixing. And yet, it's mean to calm Geralt with the familiarity of the rough treatment. I've got you, says the kiss, words hiding in the silence of their breaths intermingling. He claws at Geralt's skin and wants to lick it better a moment later, leaves red marks on his back and shoulder blades that will health too quickly for his liking. But they are here, now, and that's what matters. Mine, Jaskier says with anything but words, Mine, now. ]
Good, you feel s-so good. Like I was made just for you. [ His brain is melting in his skull, his heart beating fast like a trapped hummingbird. A shaky hand moves to the back of Geralt's head, gripping the white strands there. He knows the right way to pull and cause pleasing needle-like spikes of pain that send a rush down the spine. ]
Would you come for me? [ He coos with a breathy voice, needy and almost desperate. He's so very close himself that if anybody, man or monster, tries to interrupt them right now, Jaskier would kill them himself. ] I want to feel you come inside me, Geralt.
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He smirks when his change in moves gets a yelp out of Jaskier, building up both of their pleasure by going shallow to deep, slow to fast, wanting to hear that keening and show that he too can be fucking good at this. Especially as they both know once he loses all control of himself he's like a ramming bull, as Jaskier's remarked upon before. He wants to get them up to that point.
The nails on his skin drive him absolutely wild. That's exactly what he wanted, what he asked for. The sting of them sends a shudder through his entire body that Jaskier can feel. He wouldn't say he likes pain exactly, but he does like the contrast of pleasure with a mixture of it, like sweet and sour only sting and ecstasy. Geralt feels like he should argue with that statement, but he thinks it's very true in that moment. Jaskier fits him, or he fits inside of him, they're compatible in a way he's only experienced with one other person in his long lifespan.
Geralt truly growls after that provocative statement, deep within a rumble of his chest and through his throat. He takes Jaskier's other leg and puts it on his other shoulder, definitely pinning the bard down now with his weight and strength. He bends him in half exactly as he wants, finally up to the place where all he can do is slam into him hard and fast, claiming this body as his. Mine. Mine. The friction between their bodies at least does offer some stroking of Jaskier's cock, since he can't actually touch him without crushing him.
His hips stutter and he presses their foreheads together, coming with the type of force that he thinks might get him to taste colors too. Geralt couldn't form words so it's just a long groan and he's still moving inside of Jaskier, wringing out the last of his orgasm and demanding the bard join him as his mind goes white. Unfortunately this time Geralt's so out of his mind that he doesn't seem to think to get off of him yet, golden eyes open and staring right at him. Feeling something.
You fucked up, he tells himself, and a flicker of something akin to fear shows momentarily in his gaze. He's gone too deep. ]
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Being less muscled than Geralt also has its advantages, the flexibility, for example. Jaskier never had any doubt that Geralt is good at this, as he excels at everything he does, damn this perfect man, a fact he just keeps proving every time they get into bed together. Or the river. Or the ground. Or a convenient wall. Picky people, they're are not. If it's flat enough, wet enough to use, they will have sex in it. Jaskier is pretty sure his back will protest later about being in this position for a long while but the drag of Geralt's cock against his insides is a torture of the sweetest kind and he couldn't give a rat ass about the consequences.
When Geralt shudders, the shiver runs over his skin too, close and connected as they are, not a hair breath between them. It's such a delicious reaction that Jaskier moans in return of Geralt's growl and then bites down hard on his neck once again, on the juncture of neck and shoulder. There are going to be bruises in his hips and thighs in a matter of hours, maybe less, because Jaskier has quite the delicate skin and Geralt is now lifting his other leg to place it in his shoulder and ram him with abandon. If Jaskier still had any voice left he would sing. Geralt is setting a steady and relentless pace that has Jaskier crying and begging for more, urging him on. He's shuddering and twitching beneath the man, trying to rock his hips but kept in place by the position he's in, so he just submits and takes everything Geralt has to offer. It's a lot, even overwhelming, he won't be able to sit without wincing for a week at least, but the delicious stretch has Jaskier's toes curling and his mouth going slack at the startling pressure against his prostate.
His own cock is aching almost painfully. Reaching down to stroke it means letting go of Geralt's shoulders when the other man gets close enough to press their foreheads together, and there's no way Jaskier is tearing his eyes and hands away from him as he comes. It's the groan and the feeling of something wet and hot inside him that leaves Jaskier breathless. It's the rumbling growl vibrating against his whole body and he follows Geralt a second later, coating his stomach and hips with jets of white without even touching himself. The shudder that wracks his body makes him glad for the heavy body pinning him down. His brain short-circuits, a fluffy cloud free of worries settling where his grey matter used to be, and he feels weightless and safe.
When he goes back to his sense, only a little, he's greeted by a pair of intense golden eyes. There's something in them Jaskier can't describe but that makes him want to comfort Geralt. He lets his fingers tangle in the white hair, fingernails scratching at the scalp slightly as if he's calming a skittish foal. Wrong animal, though. What he has is a big, sated wolf on top of him and the bard hums contentedly. ]
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He intellectually knew the pattern was a problem but yes in front of him now it's fairly clear. The problem is that he's still inside of Jaskier and he doesn't want to stop and he is fairly certain that he can't. Which is a very bizarre problem to have when you are a fearsome witcher who slaughters monsters and has an enormously strong will. Jaskier's overwhelming him with the ringing of his cries, his teeth at Geralt's neck, and pleasure zips through him like lightning under his skin.
This is such a bad idea and yet when Jaskier looks at him with dazed blue eyes his heart twists, and the soothing hand in his hair actually is soothing. Geralt's gentleness shows now as he pulls out of him and very carefully brings Jaskier's legs down, knowing that he gets weak as a kitten afterward. So he's very considerate and settles him more comfortably on the bedroll, and gets up to do his usual clean up. It allows him to get some physical space from Jaskier too, which at the moment he feels like he very much needs as he's a bit suffocated.
So his options are:
1. Stop. (No.)
2. Not stop but make it casual again. (Maybe.)
3. Not stop but make it very rare. (...unlikely.)
4. Stop. (No.)
5. Insist they go back to sleeping with other people too. (He's now aware of that, but fucking no.)
6. Actually address what he is struggling with and communicate it to Jaskier. (Never.)
None of this shows on Geralt's serious expression as he strides around going through the motions, bringing cloth for them to wipe off and apparently has gone with none of the above just yet. He doesn't go immediately to Jaskier's side as he has started to, admiring his marks or being sweeter than he ever should be with touches. Sex is simple. It doesn't have to be so complicated. He has to stop complicating it.
Geralt feels a little sting on his neck and can't help one of those little smiles again, touching where Jaskier actually managed to get a really nice bite out of him. It'll be gone by morning but he touches it and becomes less of that cold hard statue he was a moment ago, sitting next to the bard and accepting he has no answer at this moment. Problems can be ignored. Easily.] Not bad. [He says, tapping the bite on his own neck, golden eyes amused.] Didn't know you had it in you.
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He makes room for Geralt in the bedroll and waits, curling a little into himself to stay warm. His eyes follow the man's muscular body as he moves, a fond smile on his face brought by the afterglow, not even bothering to hide the fact he's staring at his ass.
Worry rears its ugly head when Geralt keeps silent and still for a second to long to be just his usual demeanor. There's the need to comfort him again, to grab him, to wrap his hands around Geralt's neck and pull him towards him, to smother the crease between his furrowed brows under his lips. Being a romantic is going to be the death of him, Jaskier knows. One day Geralt will get tired of him and shatter his heart to pieces, probably without realizing it too.
But today isn't that day and he relaxes visibly when Geralt finally approaches. He still thinks that there might be something eating him up but if he asks, if Geralt gets the feeling that he's being cornered by a simple question such as 'what's wrong?', he will lash out. Or worse, close himself off. He keeps his mouth shut even though he wants to ask so many things. Maybe Geralt just needs time. ]
You bring out that side of me, you're a terrible influence, Geralt of Rivia. [ The brunette looks at the bruise on Geralt's neck, feeling a sting of pride swelling in his chest. He did that. The bitemarks won't last, anything good ever last, but they have this now. Geralt belongs a little bit more to him today. Once they get dressed, Jaskier will make sure to put on a shirt with a wide collar and keep his doublet unlaced, he will leave his own marks on display unless Geralt tells him not to. ]
Now we match. [ He leans in until he can rest his chin on the curve of the man's shoulder. Jaskier’s is skin flushed from the heat, the pink lips are bruised from the kissing and the biting, his smile is bright. ] I think we might have scared all the fauna and monsters within a 3 km radius.
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It is very good that Jaskier doesn't push since Geralt is defensive and prickly, as he well knows, and he will definitely stonewall him or snap. Healthy communication skills are non-existent for him. He is already slightly wary since he knows the bard is far too observant for his own good, but he relaxes slightly when there is no questioning. Geralt cleans them off to the best of his ability, snorting at being called a bad influence. Jaskier is the troublemaker, not him. The scratches on his shoulders also show very nicely on his skin for the time being.
When Jaskier wears his clothes like that Geralt often gets distracted remembering putting them there. Depending on how he's feeling, he often prefers him to be laced up in public, since their business is theirs and he doesn't love other people commenting on what's between them. And sometimes if he's feeling possessive and not liking the way others are looking as Jaskier, he intentionally opens up the shirt before the bard performs. And then, of course, pretends not to listen or be interested in the slightest when he does, but the statement is made.
He sighs when Jaskier's chin is on his shoulder and they're so close again, and it is reassuring and confusing all at once. He didn't realize how much he's grown used to Jaskier being physically in his space. He used to insist on personal boundaries and space between them, but they've gone far past that and he's adding it all up. No, monsters would have been attracted to the weakness and smells. [They would have been vulnerable. Jaskier would have been vulnerable. He frowns and runs his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip.
Geralt is fucking weak. He knows that now. It shouldn't be a surprise considering how pathetic he is with Yennefer, and yet it is. He drops onto his back next to Jaskier and runs his hand along his spine as he still sits, feeling each notch of his spine with rough fingers.] I am not yours and you are not mine. [He says, finally. Not exactly coldly, but not warmly either. More ... stilted. Distant.] That is sex talk, you understand that. [Not a question mark. Not a leading question at all. A statement. This is what he has to say. It's pointless, but he says it anyway.]
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Geralt's reaction to his clothing, always much brighter and eye-catching than the Witcher's own as it's another part of his artist image, will never not be funny. Jaskier understands that in certain towns, around certain people, it's just safer overall to keep whatever they are doing to themselves. It's best to look primp and proper lest they get unwanted attention that would lead to them getting kicked out or worse. But when they're in a more relaxed company sometimes Geralt is the one that pulls his doublet open or tugs at his shirt, earning a surprised yelp and a grin. He likes those times the best. ]
It was a joke, don't you dare bring logic into this. [ Jaskier chastises him lightly, clearly amused by the matter of fact reply. He tilts his chin up, leaning into the contact of Geralt's hand and purses his lips to kiss the pad of his thumb. He's almost so distracted that the statement don't register until a few seconds later and by then Geralt is lying down and Jaskier has an excuse to tear his eyes away from his face. He pulls the nearest blanker closer and over his lap, feeling colder all of sudden, too exposed. ]
I...do. [ He aims for casual too, and probably misses the mark by a mile. Jaskier might be able to read Geralt more easily now than a decade ago but the man's occasional mood swings still give him whiplash. He runs a hand through his messy hair to avoid looking at Geralt, tries not to shudder at the caresses to his back, lips now pulled into a tight-lipped smile. ]
But that's what bards are for, aren't they? Entertainment. [ He doesn't say the words 'bed warmer' but the thought sure comes to mind.
Fool. He's always been one and probably always will be. Reading too much in the way Geralt has looked at him. He isn't Yennefer, he should have known better. Geralt isn't being cruel, he's only being honest. It hurts just as much as he expected but this conversation doesn't come as a surprise and maybe that's the saddest part. He knows Geralt and he knows himself, he can't blame the man for not seeing him as anything more than a convenient lay.
He's cheaper than a whore, after all. ]
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As soon as Geralt says the words he can almost immediately see their impact, as if he'd struct Jaskier straight across the face. Or punched him in the stomach, which he did once long ago, but hasn't since. He is not typically aware that words can be as vicious as blows, and often he can use them precisely that way, as sharply as a blade. At first he thinks it is merely a sting, but he can tell from his stiff reaction to Geralt's fingers on his back it's not that simple.
Regret is something he tries to pure from his life, and doing that is far easier when he's alone and no one counts on him. He rubs the bridge of his nose when Jaskier says that.] Fuck. [He mutters distinctly and with feeling. Geralt knows he's wounded him, and it was intentional, to put distance between them, but he didn't expect to feel this strange heavyweight in the pit of his stomach. It would be so easy to use this moment to end it. They would both hate it and be awkward, perhaps need to take time apart, but long term it was wisest. But he knew he wouldn't even make into town before dragging the bard into his arms for a kiss. This has spiraled out of his control.
Geralt respects whores, he trusts them with his body and needs more than individual people most of the time. But he still doesn't like the idea of Jaskier feeling like one, or like entertainment. Geralt isn't good at comfort and he is flat out incapable of apologies, at least so far in his long stubborn life. Say it's over. End it. End it now. Instead Geralt sits up and he puts a firm arm around Jaskier's shoulders. He tugs the bard back so he can lean against his chest, and it's not exactly gentle or soft, but it is solid and well-meant.]
Entertainment is not what witchers are for, and I still give that to you freely, Jaskier. [He gives him his body and his trust and that is more than many can get. If Jaskier is his entertainment, Geralt is the same way, that is what he wants to be communicated. It is not him taking and using. It is both ways. Geralt kisses his neck, thinking he really does have to stop marking him, it's part of the problem. That won't happen though.] We want one another and we enjoy one another. It is not bad to have that.
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This 'Fuck' falls somewhat in the middle. Is the one that means exactly what it says, I fucked up. Jaskier isn't used to hear this one often, even less directed at him. He should resist, keep his distance, shy away from Geralt's arms if such a thing is possible. Jaskier can't bring himself to do it, doesn't want to. Being by Geralt's side had always meant safety and comfort, despite the occasional arguments. Even then, he's learned that the Witcher doesn't really have a cruel bone on his body. He can be a brute in his actions, yes, and even more direct with his words in ways Jaskier will never learn to master no matter how much he studies and sings, but he's never known the man to take pleasure in inflicting pain of any kind.
It's surprisingly easy for Jaskier to lean back and rest against his chest, accepting the offered touches with eyes half-lidden and trying to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hates himself for it. He expects Geralt to put an end to whatever is going on between them here and now. Instead, he gets some...interesting logic to justify their actions. Geralt must have done some impressive mental gymnastics to land himself into that kind of conclusion. It's kind of endearing, even if Jaskier wants to slap him and scream at his face that NO, he isn't trying to use Geralt in any way. He kind of sees the point of what the other man is trying to say, even if there's no telling for sure if Geralt is really reassuring him or himself.
He can keep things casual, he's done it many times in the past, got himself a reputation for that...but it's more difficult with Geralt. Always had been since the first day they met, so many years ago, in that tavern from Posada. The lips on his neck make Jaskier close his eyes and tilts his head back, brow furrowed slightly even as he leans into the touches and offers more skin to mark.
What if I want to be yours?, lies on the tip of his tongue, the unsaid words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Melancholy doesn't suit him, it would only make Geralt push him away further, and so he nods and puts a smile on his face. It's performative, and act, maybe a white lie that both need to get moving. He would rather only have one part of Geralt that lose everything they built over the years, no matter how little importance the witcher puts in their (not)friendship. ]
No, It is not bad to have that. [ Jaskier repeats, and only if Geralt realized the truth about his own affirmation, they both would be happier.
And maybe pigs could fly. ]
I understand. [ It comes out softly but it's an honest truth. Jaskier reaches up to brush his fingers along the back of Geralt's hand. He brings it up to his lips a moment later, kisses the man's knuckles. ] I understand.
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It is wiser to end it now, but perhaps now that some lines are re-established it will go back to how it should be. They can keep having sex as much as they want, with the awareness that sex and camaraderie are what they share. Both things that Geralt actually likes, so in his mind it is a stellar offer. He keeps pressing his lips against the curve of Jaskier's neck, he can practically hear the bard thinking, but that is fine. He would rather he think than talk; talk would get them into trouble. Thinking and then talking might not. He doesn't mark him, these are (apologetic) signs of affection.
This is very impressive mental gymnastics, yes, but it is how he can rationalize continuing this. If they decided to stop, Geralt would probably disappear on him in the morning. He wouldn't be able to control himself around the bard for a bit, so he would run, as he's prone to do, although he'd claim it wasn't running so much as giving respectful distance. Geralt understands there are emotions involved. He is not an idiot, he is simply picking the denial route until further notice. With Jaskier's taste on his tongue and the reassuring beat of his heart nearby, it's easy to pick that.
He knows that smile is forced but it's not as if he expects Jaskier to sincerely like this when he flat out told Geralt he wanted to be claimed. Gerallt is relieved at the agreement; it's not perfect, but they can get back on track.] Good. [He murmurs close to Jaskier's ear and tilts his head down, tapping Jaskier's chin up so he can take a slow kiss out of him. An agreement sealed with a kiss.] Come lie down. I was rough on you.
[He means physically, not emotionally. Geralt goes onto his back and tugs at Jaskier's arm, not pulling him unwillingly but as a physical request. He likes when the bard puts his head on his chest or in the crook of his arm, it will be easier to protect him this way if he gets in trouble. It doesn't occur to him that Jaskier might not want to go straight to their cuddling considering the lines he was drawing, because Geralt decided the topic was addressed and handled and that was it. For a long-lived relatively intelligent person, he was truly stupid when it came to people.]
I like some of your songs. [See, that was a huge gift, and possibly it came from a guilty place, but Geralt did mean what he said. This conversation started because he snarked about Jaskier's bad music, so it seems fair to soothe over that now, while still not apologizing.]
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Their unspoken arrangement had changed in his mind alone, Geralt can't be blamed for his lack of common sense. He should be the one leaving, try and keep some of his dignity intact while the rest of him isn't. Jaskier has never been able to stay away from long, even those times they parted on agreeable terms to attend their personal affairs. Like a moth to a flame, it was inevitable that he would end burned.
Form now on, he'll still wake up Geralt sitting on his cock, or try to drag the man to a semi-private place to blow him, to kiss him, to show it's all fine. Nothing is different. It's just spectacularly good sex between two willing parties. Rough, exciting and impersonal. He will be more mindful of his words, no longer bring up the stupid, romantic shit he wants to say when Geralt is buried to the hilt inside him and all he can think about is how well they fit together. Jaskier won't bite him either unless the Witcher demands it. Because Geralt isn't his and Geralt made it clear he doesn't want him either. Flimsy preventive measures to keep his heart from breaking when there's already a large crack in it, but it's better than nothing.
And then Geralt is kissing Jaskier with a softness he didn't expect. The tug to his arm isn't demanding and he can read the plea in the gesture. He doesn't make him wait, only pausing for a second or two. Lying down, he soaks in the warmth of Geralt's body, rests his head on the man's chest and blinks back the tears stinging in his eyes after hearing the praise. It's like throwing a bone to a dog after you have kicked the pathetic creature. And Jaskier will take it, of course, hoping there's some measure of honesty in Geralt's voice. It's getting harder every day to look at himself in the mirror. ]
Oh, flattery. Don't let me stop you. [ His index fingers drawn small, odd patterns on Geralt's chest, circles and curvy lines at a slow pace. It feels soothing and it's what he usually does when they cuddle, showing that some things are still the same. Jaskier doesn't really expect Geralt to continue and he doesn't say anything else. He can feel the slow beating of Geralt's heart and the bard closes his eyes, chasing a restless sleep. ]
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Tomorrow it will be Geralt instead who wakes Jaskier up, his mouth hot and eager on his cock. To show them both that they can still be this way and he wants it, even if he doesn't want belonging or claiming in the clear sense, he still wants the lust and the connection between them. He relaxes when Jaskier nestles down on him the way he likes, putting an arm around Jaskier's shoulder and carefully lifting a blanket around them. He radiates heat so he doesn't need them, having no real reaction to extreme temperatures, but he likes to keep his partner from a chill.
There is honesty in his tone. Geralt never lies.] I like your instrumentals. You play well. [Geralt doesn't like the singing as much and it isn't personal, as much as it seems. He hasn't listened to many bards that he enjoys, but a lute playing a nice tune appeals to him. He doesn't like listening about himself but sometimes on their journey all Jaskier will do is test out a melody or strum his lute as they walk, and that he truly enjoys.
His voice is soft as he allows Jaskier to touch him and keeps him close, waiting until he hears his breathing slow and his heart steady in sleep. Geralt knows it won't exactly be easy for a bit, but they will carry on and find their equilibrium again. But even if it was harsh, he felt better with a line between them. He pretends it's for Jaskier, but it isn't. It's him. He doesn't find sleep himself that night, ears sharp listening for danger, but he does rest.]