Oh I love this prompts list! How about geraskier and 100 wet dreams?
Jaskier dreams of bodies behaving like the sea: rocking gently, swallowing sounds, lapping at the wet edges of each other. Both his heart and his dreaming mind tell him it's Geralt with him. He sees flashes of Geralt's hair, his broad mouth. Feels Geralt's callused hands sweeping over his body with the firm patience he loves. In the dream, they're side by side, sharing kisses, breath. Close enough that every touch touches them both.
The dream fades in and out of focus, like a head bobbing underwater. But it's warm and exciting, not stressful. With his hands on Geralt's body, Jaskier is anchored, safe. It's easy to give himself over to the pleasure as it crests, his hips rising in a wave, semen streaking Geralt's stomach. The last thing Jaskier sees in the dream is Geralt's smile.
He wakes up, his body still shuddering with release. Hips pivoting, wanting the pressure of a warm belly to finish against, finding only the flimsy fabric of his smallclothes, already wet and unsatisfying. Caught between the heat of his dream and the coolness of reality, Jaskier groans. He forgets where he is until Geralt's arm around his waist tightens, pulling him back into the curl of Geralt's body. Geralt's nude, skin hot, as aroused as if he shared Jaskier's dream.
"Are you awake?" Geralt asks, voice rusty. He kisses Jaskier's neck, over the small, sensitive hairs at the hairline. The sensation of the kiss, damp and soft but real, has Jaskier's hips moving again. There's still no friction in front of him, but Geralt's cock is hard in the cleft of his arse.
He rubs against it, sighing, "Yes." He groans again when Geralt's heat leaves him, making room for Geralt pull at him until he's on his back. He expects to be kissed again and is, but instead of his mouth, Geralt kisses the skin below his navel. Tongue out, tasting sweat.
"I had to listen to you the whole time," Geralt purrs, "smell you." His tongue touches the waist of Jaskier's smallclothes, so close to where the fabric is wet. He pulls at the laces holding them up. "What were you dreaming about?"
Jaskier arches obligingly as Geralt peels his smallclothes down his legs and off.
"The ocean," he says, shivering as the air cools his cock. He's half-hard still, still aroused but unfocused.
"Uh-huh," Geralt says, but he's distracted, lapping at the smears of come on Jaskier's belly and hips. He makes an animal sound, his patience while Jaskier slept finally rewarded.
âYou taste good,â he grunts, taking the soft, wet head of Jaskierâs cock into his mouth, sucking the spend off.
âOh!â Jaskier whimpers, body seizing around Geralt, fingers finding his hair, thighs rising against his neck. He tugs, squeezes, overwhelmed after nothing but the touch of his dreams.
Geraltâs mouth softens, releases his sensitive cockhead reluctantly. His tongue is lighter when it trails down to his balls, catching a little more semen. Still, Jaskier shivers. He palms the back of Geraltâs neck, drawing Geralt up until his mouth is on Jaskierâs, a better place for it right now.
They kiss, all Jaskier is good enough for, while Geralt works his own cock between them. As he gets closer, his hips press against Jaskierâs, his cock sliding into the crease of Jaskierâs thigh, nudging under his balls. Seeking friction.
If Jaskier thought he could handle it, heâd let Geralt fuck him. The thought warms his belly, but he knows itâd be too much right now. And besides, itâs too late, Geraltâs mouth and his hand going sloppy as he starts to come. He fills Jaskierâs mouth with moans as he comes over Jaskierâs balls, his cock, his belly.
Geralt keeps his mouth on Jaskierâs until his own shuddering has stopped, his come already cooling on Jaskierâs skin. He pulls away slowly, hanging his head, balancing with one hand on Jaskierâs knee.
Jaskier keeps his own hand anchored on Geraltâs nape, finally taking a deep breath, his inhale tasting heavy and salty, like the sea.