He hardens rapidly beneath the coaxing of her lips and the pressure of her tongue over the head of him. His hips twitch against her hands, against the weight of her, but he keeps the movement small. With her resting back, ground down against him, it is so simple to suckle more flesh, to draw the lips of her into his mouth, to lave them with whorls of his tongue.

Jaskier catches the firmness of her clitoris between the barest pressure of teeth and attends to it wholly, darting full focus across it as he grinds his nose, his brow, against the slick and fluttering flesh of her opening. Her thighs cover his ears but he can feel her moan as it travels down her form. It resounds through her body and vibrates his cock and it is--it is so very good.

The world is all flesh and wanting, tender warmth of delicate taste and it settles over the worries of his mind, over the pain in his heart. It is like sinking into a warm bath, he thinks, but that does dredge up a certain image and he gasps around it. Fuck. He redoubles his efforts, determined and eager, and his fingertips grip her harder, pull her harder to his face until there is no space between them.

Spots will dance behind his eyelids before long, the sweet relief of breath restricted. He savors it, the discomfort with the thundering of his pulse, with the beat of hers, and he trembles with it.