Golden Fields

lightless room

*smut warning*

Geralt laid amongst the sheets, lulling between sleep and insomnia.

He has found himself like this often now,

Edging between sleep and being awake for eternity. Even when his mind is blank, does he mind lean away from sleep

He catches a glimpse of silk, he feels its softness press against his own skin, fingers dragging lazily over his own chest

 

Jaskier’s name falls half – formed from his mouth, missing the taste of the bard.

‘Wolf,’ the bard half moans against Geralt’s jaw as Geralt’s hands palm at the bards ass, gripping both it and the silk as if it was a lifeline. The silk in its coldness only made Jaskier feel more like velvet. The tender softness of his ass and thighs made Geralt’s battle worn hands tremble slightly, ‘how blessed he was to touch something so delicate,”

 

Jaskier loomed over Geralt like sleepless smoke, his plump lips dusted over the pulse in Geralt’s neck, as if the bard was asking for permission to feel the beat of Geralt’s heart. He did not ask no, Jaskier soon suckled at the pulse, felt the way Jaskier himself had made Geralt’s heart beat strong and powerful.

 

Geralt could feel the way the swell and heat growing in his crotch was hollowingly stark to the cold of the room, to do something about it would mean abandoning the fandom heat he was wallowing in.

Geralt rolled them over, kneeled between Jaskier’s legs and looked,

 

Jaskier’s silk nightwear pooled around him, wrinkled from Geralt’s grip. The bards narrow hips softened with the weight Jaskier had recently gained – and Geralt adored. The bards bright blue eyes soft and wanting. His hair already wild. Geralt’s fingers trailed over the bards jaw, cheek, swell of his bottom lip.

 

Only when Jaskier nuzzled his nose into the place under Geralt’s ear and whispers ‘all of me is yours, take what you want,’ did Geralt break.

 

He kissed his nightingale and demanded ‘everything’ hungrily as he undressed the bard unceremoniously,

 

This was their church, these hours, they were strong and steady. Their bodies and muscles sung a symphony of godless hymns for one another’s forms. Geralt could let go of everything in their cathedral and solely focus on the prayers and begs of the song bird. Could enjoy how the religion of their coupling aligned them.

 

“I love you,” Geralt wishes he would say instead of the “be quiet bardling,” he muttered as he lifted the bards hips so his velvet thighs could hug Geralt’s hips.