It seemed to be a running joke, how inspired Jaskier was by Geralt. How many songs could possibly be written about one person? But right now, Jaskier very much wanted to capture this moment and make it eternal. And music would live on forever, long after they'd passed. For a long time, Jaskier didn't move. He was far too busy taking it all in: the feeling of Geralt's cum trickling down his leg, the feeling of being so boldly claimed. Blood still dotted his shoulder and nape where the witcher had sunk his teeth into him and bruises littered his skin. It was amazing and Jaskier wouldn't have traded it for the world.
Jaskier's chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths as he finally budged, carefully unsheathing himself from the witcher's cock. He shivered as more semen dripped down his inner thigh. And as he turned to face his boyfriend, a wide smile spread across his lips. Oh, Geralt. Beautiful, sated, wet Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier wasn't sure what he had done to deserve him. What he had done to have fate smile upon him so favoringly. But Jaskier was grateful for it.
They weren't until the hotel's spell anymore (for now), but nothing could have stopped Jaskier from wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, pressing a tired but contented kiss to his lips. "We've been in the shower for ten minutes Geralt and neither one of us is very clean," he teased, "You wanna see how long we can keep the hot water going?"