[ He laughs a little: breathless, still curled over Jaskier. A mood. It's a number of things. All of those things. She is on his mind, but it's more than that, too. A coiled tension of just too much that's been building up since...shit. Weeks? Months? He can't even say. He isn't even aware of it, fully. He only knows there's been a tension inside him, threatening to spill over, and with enough wine, with someone he can let his guard down with, that's exactly what it does. Some of it, at least. Not all, but. A small burst that flares hot inside him.
Jaskier's not complaining. Not near it.
He lets Jaskier bury his fingers in his hair. He can hold him down if he wants; he doesn't give a fuck. He finds there isn't much he cares about at the moment, except where Jaskier's hands are, what the stutter of his heart says. (It says Jaskier likes this a hell of a lot.) His tongue curls, flattens; he trails his nails down Jaskier's leg, feels the rough brush of hair against his palm.
He wants to taste him and then he wants to fuck him. That's what's on his mind right now. ]
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Jaskier's not complaining. Not near it.
He lets Jaskier bury his fingers in his hair. He can hold him down if he wants; he doesn't give a fuck. He finds there isn't much he cares about at the moment, except where Jaskier's hands are, what the stutter of his heart says. (It says Jaskier likes this a hell of a lot.) His tongue curls, flattens; he trails his nails down Jaskier's leg, feels the rough brush of hair against his palm.
He wants to taste him and then he wants to fuck him. That's what's on his mind right now. ]