[ Extremely far from the first. Gods know no one enters to a bathhouse merely to bathe. Some things don't change across spheres, apparently, which works out just fine.
Mm. Quite fine.
Sentiments of sweeter or gentler or any kind of real emotion are carefully kept out of his thoughts. He grasps the physical presence instead: calloused fingers on his skin, a warm breath against ear, a weight pressing down on him. There are plenty of scars to trace on his body and Jaskier knows almost all of them. Stories, pulled out of him a hair's width at a time, over drinks, over rare quiet nights where the bard has managed to catch him in a sharing mood. Over years and years.
His eyes close. Fuck, Jaskier's got to make his shit jokes even now, hasn't he? It draws a noise out of him—annoyed but not without the lightest note humour—that occurs when he doesn't want to grant Jaskier the satisfaction of a laugh.
Normally, he'd be willing to bat some banter back and forth. Right now, his attentions are elsewhere. ] Shut up.
[ Idiot. Geralt wraps his fingers around Jaskier's wrist and brings that hand gripping his thigh to between his legs. He isn't subtle and he isn't asking. He wants. He wants a lot, and he plans on having it. ]
nsfw all the way down
Mm. Quite fine.
Sentiments of sweeter or gentler or any kind of real emotion are carefully kept out of his thoughts. He grasps the physical presence instead: calloused fingers on his skin, a warm breath against ear, a weight pressing down on him. There are plenty of scars to trace on his body and Jaskier knows almost all of them. Stories, pulled out of him a hair's width at a time, over drinks, over rare quiet nights where the bard has managed to catch him in a sharing mood. Over years and years.
His eyes close. Fuck, Jaskier's got to make his shit jokes even now, hasn't he? It draws a noise out of him—annoyed but not without the lightest note humour—that occurs when he doesn't want to grant Jaskier the satisfaction of a laugh.
Normally, he'd be willing to bat some banter back and forth. Right now, his attentions are elsewhere. ] Shut up.
[ Idiot. Geralt wraps his fingers around Jaskier's wrist and brings that hand gripping his thigh to between his legs. He isn't subtle and he isn't asking. He wants. He wants a lot, and he plans on having it. ]