[There he is. The Witcher he knows can't wait. What had he said back then? A hurried eagerness. An unexpected gentleness. Though Geralt is demanding and rude, they're the same traits he is long used to. (Had long found a stupid fondness for. Melitele herself knows no one could put up with this for long without being fond of it.)]
Demanding, are we? [His smile is devilish, curled deliciously at the edges. He didn't fight the hold. To be fair, he'd never much fought any of Geralt's holds, rare as they were. (Djinn bottle notwithstanding.)]
Be nice to me, [He adds, one hand curling around the cock he was being led to, and the other even lower,] or I'll leave you here with half a mast on your own.
[No, he won't. In the end, he always is the last one to walk away.]
no subject
Demanding, are we? [His smile is devilish, curled deliciously at the edges. He didn't fight the hold. To be fair, he'd never much fought any of Geralt's holds, rare as they were. (Djinn bottle notwithstanding.)]
Be nice to me, [He adds, one hand curling around the cock he was being led to, and the other even lower,] or I'll leave you here with half a mast on your own.
[No, he won't. In the end, he always is the last one to walk away.]