[ A place certainly exists here. Jaskier carved it out for himself without permission and Geralt allowed it to happen. Now they're here, tied together not by Destiny or magic but two decades of history Geralt had not meant to have with anyone. And after pushing it away once, he no longer wants to.
There's a slight curve to his lips as he traces them along Jaskier's throat. Maybe the bard can sense it. It's teasing and knowing and a little curious. He knows his own strength well, would not be leaving marks if Jaskier didn't want them, but the fact is there's that needy little noise out of Jaskier each time he squeezes, each time he presses hard. Makes him wonder if Jaskier has imagined him doing this before or if he's only discovered he likes it now.
Geralt obliges either way: he nips at the skin with his teeth until it blooms hot beneath, reddened and pink. His body coils tight, Jaskier's hand wrapped firmly around him. He lets his nails rake down, shudders with a gasping breath. His chest rises and falls.
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There's a slight curve to his lips as he traces them along Jaskier's throat. Maybe the bard can sense it. It's teasing and knowing and a little curious. He knows his own strength well, would not be leaving marks if Jaskier didn't want them, but the fact is there's that needy little noise out of Jaskier each time he squeezes, each time he presses hard. Makes him wonder if Jaskier has imagined him doing this before or if he's only discovered he likes it now.
Geralt obliges either way: he nips at the skin with his teeth until it blooms hot beneath, reddened and pink. His body coils tight, Jaskier's hand wrapped firmly around him. He lets his nails rake down, shudders with a gasping breath. His chest rises and falls.
Fuck. ] Fuck.