Geralt was being surprisingly cooperative--well, now he was--and let himself be arranged to Jaskier's convenience. Jaskier's hands worked as he attended to Geralt's neck. The bard let out a short, soft sound as Geralt kissed him--it was too brief to be much of anything, happy or unhappy, but it was uncommon. He stilled a moment as Geralt claimed his lips, but it was only a moment--his fingers found the fasten at Geralt's waist and popped the top clasp. He pressed back, then, as his fingers moved down that row of buttons. He licked into Geralt's mouth with his newfound focus, but the actual act started to rankle before long.

(They weren't lovers.)

He could have savored this were that sentiment not so fresh on his mind. Geralt tasted like the good ale of this particular establishment, his mouth was hot and heady, Jaskier had wanted to kiss him off and on all day, but a line had been drawn. (Jaskier's fool heart wasn't keen to prod at the boundary so quickly.)

Fortunately, it didn't take Jaskier's fingers much time at all to unbutton Geralt's fly. Even when working blind, the bard's hands were nimble and quick.

He broke away from Geralt's mouth and dropped to his knees alongside the bed. He would have asked, any other time, whether Geralt would prefer he suck him or simply fuck him, but they weren't talking. That was the theme for the moment and Jaskier had committed to it. His fingers found the Witcher's cock inside his trousers and, before he'd even pulled it free, Jaskier was mouthing along the underside of it.