[Instead of a laugh, which he means, it's a moan. Fuck. It's always the pulling of his hair. How does everyone know it so quickly? Is he advertising it somehow? Growing it out was the best decision he's made so far, really.]
Why not? What sort of man doesn't want a ballad written about his cock's escapades?
[And it gives Jaskier a perfect opportunity to sing of his own accolades in bed.
Geralt, for all his faults, at least is a giving lover. (He's so much more than that.) He digs his nails in the perfect way. Not leaving bruising (not anymore), but supplying points of pressure, of the barest pain.
Jaskier's hand reaches between his legs, wrapping around his own. Stroking with the rhythm. He'll make sure he comes, what, three times in the song? But if he can manage two himself, that's close enough to the truth.]
no subject
Why not? What sort of man doesn't want a ballad written about his cock's escapades?
[And it gives Jaskier a perfect opportunity to sing of his own accolades in bed.
Geralt, for all his faults, at least is a giving lover. (He's so much more than that.) He digs his nails in the perfect way. Not leaving bruising (not anymore), but supplying points of pressure, of the barest pain.
Jaskier's hand reaches between his legs, wrapping around his own. Stroking with the rhythm. He'll make sure he comes, what, three times in the song? But if he can manage two himself, that's close enough to the truth.]