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Jaskier was getting way too damn cocky. Frankly, it was probably Geralt’s fault for letting him get away with too much, but– well, honestly, Geralt kind of liked him cocky. The pleased smile, the tilt of his hips, the light in his eyes, the way his scent filled out with his satisfied confidence.
But maybe he was getting a bit too bold, with the way Geralt had been holding off on retaliation. He couldn’t keep getting away with all his “sneak” attacks without repercussions. But thankfully, Geralt knew how to push Jaskier’s buttons just as well as Jaskier pushed his.
Which was how they wound up with Jaskier pinned firmly to the shitty, straw-stuffed mattress of the backwater inn they had rented for the night. Hopefully with staying in such a shithole, there weren’t too many people to complain about the noise, because the sounds leaving Jaskier’s mouth were borderline deafening.
He howled and cackled, kicking furiously behind Geralt, half-heartedly pretending to shove at Geralt’s hands tormenting his waist. Briefly, Geralt wondered how much he could truly count this as revenge when Jaskier was so clearly enjoying it, but ultimately he brushed it off. It wasn’t like he hated the reverse either.
And he still had a lot to make up for, after all.