She leaves him bereft and Jaskier sighs, wistfully, fitfully, as he draws his fingers out of himself. His slicked hand, for most of his hand has been covered by the movements against himself, settles loosely around his own cock and he watches, through half-lidded, fascinated eyes, as she sets her cock into place.
Her sigh is acting, but he shivers nonetheless, as though she had drawn those delicate fingertips over him instead.
Jaskier suddenly has the image of her as an actress, stalking the stage and projecting the breadth of her emotions and tone across an eager, rapt audience. It takes so little to envision it, the way fire would rise in her face, the way she would look clad in characters, wearing costume as much as the facade of some other fictional life. That she would breathe life into those pale constructs like the breath of chaos itself.
His hand flutters as the slick and swollen flesh of his hole does and he sighs, dreamily at her.
"Then come, take me," Jaskier encourages, an edge of neediness to his voice. "Please?"
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Her sigh is acting, but he shivers nonetheless, as though she had drawn those delicate fingertips over him instead.
Jaskier suddenly has the image of her as an actress, stalking the stage and projecting the breadth of her emotions and tone across an eager, rapt audience. It takes so little to envision it, the way fire would rise in her face, the way she would look clad in characters, wearing costume as much as the facade of some other fictional life. That she would breathe life into those pale constructs like the breath of chaos itself.
His hand flutters as the slick and swollen flesh of his hole does and he sighs, dreamily at her.
"Then come, take me," Jaskier encourages, an edge of neediness to his voice. "Please?"