Never. [He laughs between his groans, his skin prickling under Geralt's touches -- but more precisely at the scrape of teeth on his shoulders, which he's always sworn are that tiny hint sharper than human teeth.
A kiss not to hide it, but almost to preserve the feeling left behind. The breeze strengthens outside, that hint of pain turning into a heated pleasure.
Jaskier turns his head like he knows it's coming, eyes fluttering shut. He draws his nails up one of the arms holding him, teasing Geralt with a tight squeeze around him.] Worry not. I won't tell a soul.
[It's a promise, clearly.]
Might... mmm. Might write a song about it, though.
[ Clearly. He tugs on the silk because he can, and then he tugs on Jaskier's hair, too. Pulls him back to actually kiss him on the lips. ]
What? About my cock?
[ He's a romantic, naturally. His nails dig into Jaskier's hips. He knows precisely how his friend likes it. He's learned. Funny, that there are still more things to learn about Jaskier. He's known him for so fucking long, but this.
It's both recent and isn't. And maybe it's good, to reacquaint himself. Some part of him thought—after the mountain, after the nearly two years between them, there would be a distance he couldn't cross. There isn't. ]
[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.]
[ He huffs out a deep noise in his throat. ] Fuck off.
[ An annoyance, he thinks, but it's fond. He fucks Jaskier just the way he knows Jaskier likes. He knows because he can hear it, in the skip of Jaskier's pulse, the catch of his breath. The shudder of his warm body underneath his hands—rough hands that delve between those legs.
A heat unfurls inside him. It is a familiar one, a pressure that grows and grows. His breaths come heavy, until he spills with a groan. His fingers tangle with Jaskier's, a buzz humming around his veins, in the air.
He inhales sharply. He's curled around Jaskier still, their bodies entwined as he listens to the stutter of a heartbeat. ]
[He gives a laugh, cut off by another moan as his body curls up, growing tighter and tighter, heated as a fire. Gods, if anything about this place is amazing, it's that sex feels just as good in the Horizon as it does in their world.
Oh. Fuck it. He can come as many times as he wants here, can't he?
Two will do it. He holds it as Geralt fucks into him, matching his noises until, with one rather striking thrust, his friend spills. And as does he, messily onto his hands with a shudder over his body.
Lights sparkle across the air, and he isn't quite sure if it's in his eyes, or he meant to make that happen.
Jaskier doesn't move. With Geralt wrapped around him, warm as a stone left in the sun, he couldn't imagine pulling away now.] Mm. Very glad you came today.
[ He can practically hear the pleased chuckle in Jaskier's voice. Geralt tugs off the silk so that Jaskier can see the exasperation written on his face.
Even so, his words are light, low in his chest. ] Aren't you?
[ He is, too. A contented breath escapes him. He likes having Jaskier in the real world, but there's something to be said about the convenience of the Horizon. He rolls over onto his back. ]
I prefer this bed over the one we've actually got.
[ Much softer. Significantly larger. He's fucked Jaskier in the other bed, but it takes some maneuvering and he's kicked a jug or a pile of books off the table before. ]
[Oh, he is definitely pleased. His eyes are still closed as the silk pulls away. Ah. Those little sparkles were behind his eyes. And yet so fucking pretty.]
Mmhmm. As are you, I imagine. I don't even need to look at you to know that warm expression.
[Jaskier sits up, rubbing his eyes. Giving them time to adjust to light peering through the lids. Strange, how he'd nearly forgotten it was there. There were so many other sensations to focus on, it hadn't mattered.
He laughs.]
Only the best of the best when you're here. [He carefully opens his eyes, letting the natural sunlight through the tree's branches, through the open air door, hit across his legs. Acclimating them again.
God. That'd been... good.] Shall we get a larger bed next, then? Now that your lovely bookshelves are up, and Mog has made his nest.
[ Geralt neither confirms nor denies his so-called warm expression. Besides, it was a good fuck. Only feels right to be warm. He can still taste him, smell him, and he lets himself sink into it. ]
Mm. [ Geralt has given little thought to beds. He's rarely home, sleeps just fine on the floor or next to Jaskier as needed. It isn't that they can't afford one. Maybe it's—he has never gotten himself a bed. In his entire life. He has his room in Kaer Morhen, shitty and full of holes with old furs piled atop a rickety wood frame. That's all he's ever had. Now they're here. Settling. And he did find them a larger place, but that's the thing. For them, is what he tells himself. Jaskier, Ciri, Rinwell. Were he on his own, he'd still be holed up in a cheap dusty inn.
He supposes to most, it's just a fucking bed. It doesn't matter. But to him, it does. He can't explain it. Almost as if the more comforts he has, the more uncomfortable he instinctively feels.
Jaskier says we, though, and he finds he can accept that. If Jaskier wants to bring in a larger bed. He can benefit on the side. ] We have got room now. And yours wobbles.
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.
[ Oh, his fault. Mm-hm. Geralt idly swats Jaskier's hand away.
There's no need to mention it. He looked at the wobbly bed legs to see if he could repair them and found them all chewed to shit. Decided it wasn't worth fixing while the damn beast was apparently being housebroken still. (Mog also gnawed on his gloves the first couple weeks. Geralt had sighed, then quietly purchased a new pair and now makes sure to keep his bag closed at all times.)
He hums, acknowledging that. The Horizon was never the retreat for him as it is for some, but he understands what Jaskier means. Their home, it's—worn and scuffed and Geralt's repaired more broken hinges and crooked shelves than he can count, but it's theirs. It's more than a single inn room with four of them piled into two beds and a kitchen that's almost too tight for even Rinwell. The rent's twice as much here, but he can see how much better Ciri and Rinwell like it. He knows he'd pay any price for that. Besides, what else is his coin for? Contracts are easier to come by here. He's no shortage of work, especially when he's one of the rare few who can travel as quickly and as far as he does. Jaskier grows half their ingredients; Geralt hunts the other half easily, and Sam appears now and again with a cooked pot of something or other.
It isn't perfect. He wishes...things had not gone the way they had, between him and Yennefer. He wishes that come next winter, he will be able to go to Kaer Morhen as always and he can't. He can never return again. There's a cost to all things, isn't there? But the choice to pay it was his.
He's got this. Here. It's enough. ]
Ciri came by not long ago. To mine. Tree's back together now. [ Jaskier has not seen his domain, fallen apart. He doesn't need to. He was there when it happened in the real world. It's the first time Geralt's really spoken of it, though. ]
[Jaskier, like him, knows the move was worth it. Feels it. He'd do it again if they needed, if only to give room to Ciri and Rinwell their own rooms. He'd loved glancing at Rinwell's loft in the mornings, making sure to leave extra pancakes to the side for her when she woke -- often already with a book in her hands.
And it was large enough they had gotten a second table for proper dining, so Ciri no longer needed to butcher scorpions or whatever where they ate.
It was cozy. It was lived in. Home.
He lays on his side facing Geralt, propping his head up on a hand. He smiles.] You fixed it? Only the two of you?
[He knows. He doesn't ask why the tree was shattered in the first place; a foolish question, when Jaskier's domain had turned into from a lovely, sunny vineyard to that stupid, stinking tavern. Hearing that Geralt's was damaged the same, but repaired in the end -- it felt like some sort of. Good omen.] That's really wonderful to hear, Geralt. I'm sorry that I was not... I was not able to help.
[He had been in no state to even offer. And he had not gone; has barely gone, really, since he saw that basement in Geralt's Kaer Morhen.]
She wanted to do something. [ Just the tree. Hanging the medallions. Most of the rest, Geralt took care of on his own. Nadine and Sam had stumbled by incidentally, lent him a hand briefly, but otherwise he pieced it together himself. Bit by bit.
Julie had apologized, too. For not coming to help. He feels now as he did then: that it isn't anyone's responsibility except his own. Something inside him broke it. At the end of the day, he's been repairing Kaer Morhen since he was a boy. Fixing crumbling walls and rotting floors. Rebuilding benches and tables worn by time, by the wet and cold that filters in through the holes in the keep. ]
You helped elsewhere. And it's done now.
[ He tucks an arm under his head. He knows why Jaskier does not come. It is the same reason he goes to his domain less and less. Before it fell, he could put aside what laid behind that door, beneath the stairs. Now it's—he's spent all that time fixing every inch of the fortress, and yet there's one place he can't touch. If anything, it seems to grow. Last time he ventured to open the door, it was no longer just a blood-stained lab. It was dark, cold stone, smelled thick of rot and blood and vomit, and he had shut it immediately.
He doesn't bring it up. He has carved his space in the Horizon. It's a shard of home and there's comfort within it in many places. But as with the only home he ever knew, it is splintered deep in its foundations, too. He isn't certain it can be any different. ]
[Sounds like Ciri. Like Geralt, hardly ever still. Always doing something. And with that bright spark of kindness hidden beneath dirt and blood and sweat. Of course she wanted to do something. He can only imagine she blamed herself for its destruction in the first place.]
Suppose I did.
[He doesn't ask what. Doesn't matter. He's safe here, fulfilled, and as he reaches over to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair -- taking advantage while Geralt is feeling generous -- he relaxes.]
I'll come by soon. I already know you need help sprucing the place up with a bit of decoration. And, of course, I owe your wolf a steak or two.
[A part of himself in Kaer Morhen. He doesn't bring it up, and neither does Geralt. Like Moglad, the wolf is more Geralt's than anyone else's anymore. Jaskier doesn't even lay claim to it, nor to why he created it in the first place.
Silently, he's thankful to the beast. Someone to protect Kaer Morhen, and someone to keep Geralt company when no one else can.]
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
no subject
A kiss not to hide it, but almost to preserve the feeling left behind. The breeze strengthens outside, that hint of pain turning into a heated pleasure.
Jaskier turns his head like he knows it's coming, eyes fluttering shut. He draws his nails up one of the arms holding him, teasing Geralt with a tight squeeze around him.] Worry not. I won't tell a soul.
[It's a promise, clearly.]
Might... mmm. Might write a song about it, though.
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What? About my cock?
[ He's a romantic, naturally. His nails dig into Jaskier's hips. He knows precisely how his friend likes it. He's learned. Funny, that there are still more things to learn about Jaskier. He's known him for so fucking long, but this.
It's both recent and isn't. And maybe it's good, to reacquaint himself. Some part of him thought—after the mountain, after the nearly two years between them, there would be a distance he couldn't cross. There isn't. ]
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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.]
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[ An annoyance, he thinks, but it's fond. He fucks Jaskier just the way he knows Jaskier likes. He knows because he can hear it, in the skip of Jaskier's pulse, the catch of his breath. The shudder of his warm body underneath his hands—rough hands that delve between those legs.
A heat unfurls inside him. It is a familiar one, a pressure that grows and grows. His breaths come heavy, until he spills with a groan. His fingers tangle with Jaskier's, a buzz humming around his veins, in the air.
He inhales sharply. He's curled around Jaskier still, their bodies entwined as he listens to the stutter of a heartbeat. ]
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[He gives a laugh, cut off by another moan as his body curls up, growing tighter and tighter, heated as a fire. Gods, if anything about this place is amazing, it's that sex feels just as good in the Horizon as it does in their world.
Oh. Fuck it. He can come as many times as he wants here, can't he?
Two will do it. He holds it as Geralt fucks into him, matching his noises until, with one rather striking thrust, his friend spills. And as does he, messily onto his hands with a shudder over his body.
Lights sparkle across the air, and he isn't quite sure if it's in his eyes, or he meant to make that happen.
Jaskier doesn't move. With Geralt wrapped around him, warm as a stone left in the sun, he couldn't imagine pulling away now.] Mm. Very glad you came today.
[Hah. Double entendre.]
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Even so, his words are light, low in his chest. ] Aren't you?
[ He is, too. A contented breath escapes him. He likes having Jaskier in the real world, but there's something to be said about the convenience of the Horizon. He rolls over onto his back. ]
I prefer this bed over the one we've actually got.
[ Much softer. Significantly larger. He's fucked Jaskier in the other bed, but it takes some maneuvering and he's kicked a jug or a pile of books off the table before. ]
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Mmhmm. As are you, I imagine. I don't even need to look at you to know that warm expression.
[Jaskier sits up, rubbing his eyes. Giving them time to adjust to light peering through the lids. Strange, how he'd nearly forgotten it was there. There were so many other sensations to focus on, it hadn't mattered.
He laughs.]
Only the best of the best when you're here. [He carefully opens his eyes, letting the natural sunlight through the tree's branches, through the open air door, hit across his legs. Acclimating them again.
God. That'd been... good.] Shall we get a larger bed next, then? Now that your lovely bookshelves are up, and Mog has made his nest.
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Mm. [ Geralt has given little thought to beds. He's rarely home, sleeps just fine on the floor or next to Jaskier as needed. It isn't that they can't afford one. Maybe it's—he has never gotten himself a bed. In his entire life. He has his room in Kaer Morhen, shitty and full of holes with old furs piled atop a rickety wood frame. That's all he's ever had. Now they're here. Settling. And he did find them a larger place, but that's the thing. For them, is what he tells himself. Jaskier, Ciri, Rinwell. Were he on his own, he'd still be holed up in a cheap dusty inn.
He supposes to most, it's just a fucking bed. It doesn't matter. But to him, it does. He can't explain it. Almost as if the more comforts he has, the more uncomfortable he instinctively feels.
Jaskier says we, though, and he finds he can accept that. If Jaskier wants to bring in a larger bed. He can benefit on the side. ] We have got room now. And yours wobbles.
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[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
There's no need to mention it. He looked at the wobbly bed legs to see if he could repair them and found them all chewed to shit. Decided it wasn't worth fixing while the damn beast was apparently being housebroken still. (Mog also gnawed on his gloves the first couple weeks. Geralt had sighed, then quietly purchased a new pair and now makes sure to keep his bag closed at all times.)
He hums, acknowledging that. The Horizon was never the retreat for him as it is for some, but he understands what Jaskier means. Their home, it's—worn and scuffed and Geralt's repaired more broken hinges and crooked shelves than he can count, but it's theirs. It's more than a single inn room with four of them piled into two beds and a kitchen that's almost too tight for even Rinwell. The rent's twice as much here, but he can see how much better Ciri and Rinwell like it. He knows he'd pay any price for that. Besides, what else is his coin for? Contracts are easier to come by here. He's no shortage of work, especially when he's one of the rare few who can travel as quickly and as far as he does. Jaskier grows half their ingredients; Geralt hunts the other half easily, and Sam appears now and again with a cooked pot of something or other.
It isn't perfect. He wishes...things had not gone the way they had, between him and Yennefer. He wishes that come next winter, he will be able to go to Kaer Morhen as always and he can't. He can never return again. There's a cost to all things, isn't there? But the choice to pay it was his.
He's got this. Here. It's enough. ]
Ciri came by not long ago. To mine. Tree's back together now. [ Jaskier has not seen his domain, fallen apart. He doesn't need to. He was there when it happened in the real world. It's the first time Geralt's really spoken of it, though. ]
no subject
And it was large enough they had gotten a second table for proper dining, so Ciri no longer needed to butcher scorpions or whatever where they ate.
It was cozy. It was lived in. Home.
He lays on his side facing Geralt, propping his head up on a hand. He smiles.] You fixed it? Only the two of you?
[He knows. He doesn't ask why the tree was shattered in the first place; a foolish question, when Jaskier's domain had turned into from a lovely, sunny vineyard to that stupid, stinking tavern. Hearing that Geralt's was damaged the same, but repaired in the end -- it felt like some sort of. Good omen.] That's really wonderful to hear, Geralt. I'm sorry that I was not... I was not able to help.
[He had been in no state to even offer. And he had not gone; has barely gone, really, since he saw that basement in Geralt's Kaer Morhen.]
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Julie had apologized, too. For not coming to help. He feels now as he did then: that it isn't anyone's responsibility except his own. Something inside him broke it. At the end of the day, he's been repairing Kaer Morhen since he was a boy. Fixing crumbling walls and rotting floors. Rebuilding benches and tables worn by time, by the wet and cold that filters in through the holes in the keep. ]
You helped elsewhere. And it's done now.
[ He tucks an arm under his head. He knows why Jaskier does not come. It is the same reason he goes to his domain less and less. Before it fell, he could put aside what laid behind that door, beneath the stairs. Now it's—he's spent all that time fixing every inch of the fortress, and yet there's one place he can't touch. If anything, it seems to grow. Last time he ventured to open the door, it was no longer just a blood-stained lab. It was dark, cold stone, smelled thick of rot and blood and vomit, and he had shut it immediately.
He doesn't bring it up. He has carved his space in the Horizon. It's a shard of home and there's comfort within it in many places. But as with the only home he ever knew, it is splintered deep in its foundations, too. He isn't certain it can be any different. ]
no subject
Suppose I did.
[He doesn't ask what. Doesn't matter. He's safe here, fulfilled, and as he reaches over to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair -- taking advantage while Geralt is feeling generous -- he relaxes.]
I'll come by soon. I already know you need help sprucing the place up with a bit of decoration. And, of course, I owe your wolf a steak or two.
[A part of himself in Kaer Morhen. He doesn't bring it up, and neither does Geralt. Like Moglad, the wolf is more Geralt's than anyone else's anymore. Jaskier doesn't even lay claim to it, nor to why he created it in the first place.
Silently, he's thankful to the beast. Someone to protect Kaer Morhen, and someone to keep Geralt company when no one else can.]