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Geralt’s head fell back, thumped against the wall. His fingers tangled in Jaskier’s hair.
He looked down, still not quite believing what he saw: Jaskier on his knees, worshiping Geralt’s cock. His hands gripped the leather of Geralt’s trousers, trying to find traction as his head bobbed relentlessly up and down.
Geralt’s mind was muddled; he was drunk on Jaskier’s mouth and the scent of his arousal. How had they gotten here? He couldn’t think beyond Jaskier.
Just this once, he decided, the path didn’t matter.
“Fuck, Jask.” Geralt’s eyes fluttered closed. Jaskier was everywhere, all around him.
He surrendered.