Geralt sits in a chair with his head tilted into Jaskier’s fingers, purring as the bard weaves his hair into a variety of braids and twists.
Eskel and Lambert’s eyes collectively narrow from where they’re propped against the wall opposite...not jealous at all
Geralt gives his brothers a sidelong glance under heavy lids and a cheeky grin, sucking in a sharp breath as Jaskier’s fingers tug aggressively.
Eskel shifts, surreptitiously crossing one leg over the other
Lambert breathes slowly through his nose and out through parted lips
Jaskier curls his fingers under, short nails scratching gentle lines into Geralt’s scalp from the nape of his neck to his crown as he gathers his soft silver tresses into his hands.
Geralt squeezes his eyes closed, a low growl slithering from his lips as he shifts in his chair, attempting to mask the way his hips are trying to twitch.
Eskel sucks his bottom lip in and it’s suddenly stiflingly warm
Lambert fists his hands at his sides, willing them to remain at his sides and mentally curses the tight fabric of his breeches.
Jaskier’s thumbs press into the firm cord of muscle that stretches across Geralt’s shoulders, lithe fingers whispering against Geralt’s sensitive ears.
An electric wave makes Geralt’s skin prickle and he shudders magnificently at the touch...a whine hitches in his throat as Jaskier withdraws his hands.
Jaskier’s eyes flicker salaciously from the growing point of interest in the front of Geralt’s pants to Eskel and Lambert before grasping Geralt’s hand and tugging him up.
Eskel *swallows thickly*: I’m next
Lambert, hisses back: The fuck you are...
Jaskier, with a soft chuckle: Salon’s closed boys...