It doesn't -- all right, it does, but I'm fairly certain that's your fault somehow. Possibly from this?
[He lightly smacks Geralt's ass.
Jaskier distinctly does not mention that when he first got Mog, the gryphon had started scratching his claws and gnawing at the bed legs. It was not important, and of course, with any creature, there are growing pains as they acclimate to a new home.
The creature deserves no scorn for his mild destruction.]
I'll look into it, then. Put some real coin into it. Surely there's a carpenter here who can carve something that can hold even you up. [He grins, pushing hair out of his face. With the magic of the Horizon, no cleanup is even necessary -- though Jaskier lets the smell of sex linger, and the sweat coating his skin. His head falls back, arms propped behind him, letting the last of that warmth linger inside him.
Sometimes this simplicity is what he craves. Fucking a man he's known nearly all his life. No complications. His heart has long been entangled with Geralt's, and there are no tangles that can be straightened now.
He breathes in. The sweet scent of the oak's flowers makes it even in here.] We've quite the home now. Some days I don't even think about this place, as perfect as it is.
no subject
[He lightly smacks Geralt's ass.
Jaskier distinctly does not mention that when he first got Mog, the gryphon had started scratching his claws and gnawing at the bed legs. It was not important, and of course, with any creature, there are growing pains as they acclimate to a new home.
The creature deserves no scorn for his mild destruction.]
I'll look into it, then. Put some real coin into it. Surely there's a carpenter here who can carve something that can hold even you up. [He grins, pushing hair out of his face. With the magic of the Horizon, no cleanup is even necessary -- though Jaskier lets the smell of sex linger, and the sweat coating his skin. His head falls back, arms propped behind him, letting the last of that warmth linger inside him.
Sometimes this simplicity is what he craves. Fucking a man he's known nearly all his life. No complications. His heart has long been entangled with Geralt's, and there are no tangles that can be straightened now.
He breathes in. The sweet scent of the oak's flowers makes it even in here.] We've quite the home now. Some days I don't even think about this place, as perfect as it is.