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There were certain establishments that didn't look down their noses when Jaskier wore something a little different to perform. Not only did they not look down their noses, they usually paid more, cheered more, demanded more. It was a subtle difference but he'd noticed. And if he bent over, squeezing together his muscular bosom in the direction of the crowd, they roared.
Fuck, dress a goat in lady's clothes and parade it before them and they'd eat it right the fuck up. This thought made him giggle. He was getting ready for a show at Lady Luck, which just so happened to be one of those establishments.
"Pass me my hose, love," he said to the witcher who was reclined on his bed with his feet crossed over each other at the ankle. Geralt leaned far enough forward to grab what he thought Jaskier wanted.
"No, not the stockings, the hose," Jaskier was watching the reflection of the witcher in his round hand mirror, holding it up to try to see the back of his hair. Geralt grunted and grabbed the correct item, settling back again after handing it to his lover. The bard tucked a knee up to his chest to fit the hose over his foot, following with the other foot and tugging them up to just below his waist. He pressed at his soft prick making it slip between his legs, crossing them to hide it further. It felt good to have everything tucked away and tight under the hose. He held up the mirror again.
Geralt was still watching him. Jaskier caught his eye in the reflection. He dipped a finger into the little jar Geralt had given him, holding it up to the light to see the shimmer of blue. Azurite, crushed into bear fat, from the eastern mines. He swept it onto one lid, leaning closer to see the result. He grinned at himself, rubbing another finger's worth of it on the other lid. Pretty, he thought. He caught Geralt's eye again. The witcher was looking at him. Jaskier winked at him in the mirror and Geralt rolled his eyes.
"Knew it would make you more vain," Geralt said. He didn't stop looking though, and Jaskier set his mirror down to pull his loose shift over his head. Undressed to the waist, he picked the mirror up again to rub a bit of rouge over his cheeks, letting his fingers trace across his collarbone and down to outline the tuning fork he wore. Geralt was still watching when he tilted the mirror his direction. Jaskier felt his skin heat, rising to his already pink cheeks.
He wanted to ask the witcher if he thought he looked pretty. A tiny, insecure voice in his head said that Geralt would not answer, and that might just break him. He reached for the soft blue chemise he wanted, buttoning the lowest few buttons. It matched perfectly the shimmer on his eyelids. It matched his eyes. The frill at the neckline tipped inward to brush his neck. And he met the witcher's gaze in the mirror again. His expression was somewhere between bored and tired but Jaskier knew him better than that. Those golden wolf eyes of his burned in his skull, assessing Jaskier with something that was neither bored nor tired. His eyes focused back on his own reflection. The horrible thought occurred to him that the shimmer on his lids made him look like Yennefer.
Jaskier bent to retrieve the corset he'd kept hidden away in the back of his drawer. Black with gold piping and embroidered with a patterned front. He turned in his chair after he'd wrapped it around his torso, holding it in place in the back. "Do me up?"
Geralt stood, an animal's grace about his movement, and Jaskier turned around to give him his back. He let go of the laces as Geralt stood behind him but the witcher didn't take them up. Warm breath at his neck made Jaskier shiver and the witcher's palm reached around to cup his pectoral underneath the loose corset. Jaskier groaned.
His head leant back and Geralt kissed him. The hand on his pec kneaded the muscle until it found his nipple, pinching gently. "Oh," Jaskier spoke softly into the kiss, his entire body warming. A thumb outlined his nipple and then Geralt's palm cupped his pec again, holding him under his clothes while he kissed him. The pleasure of having his breast held and his nipple touched worked its way down between his legs where his prick was beginning to fill. When Geralt stopped kissing him, Jaskier reached a hand up to him.
"Making me hard," he said. Geralt was still bent over, hand underneath his corset. The witcher's breathing was just a little heavier than normal and his pupils had dilated a bit. He blinked slowly. Jaskier lowered his lashes to where their fingers were twined together. Geralt hummed. He took his hand from under the corset and used it to cup Jaskier's cheek instead. His eyes drifted down to where the bard's prick had filled out the hose between his legs and back up, taking in the full look, an honest appraisal. Jaskier couldn't help himself.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" He asked, immediately regretting the slip. He kept his eyes down. Please don't say I look like Yennefer, please don't say I look like Yennefer, please don't....
"If I say yes, it'll only go to your head," Geralt's voice was all serious, nothing to give Jaskier even a hint at his innermost thoughts. He glanced up quickly. Geralt had a little half smile beginning at the corners of his eyes. He leaned close again and Jaskier closed his eyes as Geralt kissed his lids softly. He groaned with the feel of Geralt's lips against the outside edge of his eye, his temple, his hair. Their fingers were still holding onto each other's.
"You're very, very pretty," Geralt whispered low into his ear, emphasizing each very with a kiss, and Jaskier thought he might swoon. Geralt turned him back around so the laces of his corset were accessible and began pulling them tight, tying a neat bow at the bottom. Jaskier's pulse was racing; in his jugular, his groin. He let his hands rest in his lap, ignoring his prick.
"Not too tight?" Geralt asked, and Jaskier told him no, it was just tight enough.
