a simple egg (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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bakerstreet2022-01-04 05:59 pm
asimpleegg) wrote in bakerstreet2022-01-04 05:59 pm
Entry tags:
bodyswap meme
bodyswap meme
- Toplevel with your character (+ info, prefs, etc.)
- Respond to someone else's toplevel
- The characters are now in each other's bodies!
- GO NUTS
no subject
He has but to run a tongue over his lip and its like a recipe. It almost startles him, the sudden influx. It's both the most mundane flavor he's ever known and impossibly complex and delicious. Is this--this has to be part of smell right? Geralt can smell everything it seems. The whorl of scents around himself are comforting and he's not sure if that's a body response or just recognizing his own body's familiarity.
It is just so much and so wonderful and Jaskier is not at all surprised that Geralt rarely speaks. Even a poet can't start organizing all this loveliness--]
How are you not overwhelmed all the time?
[Jaskier asks and finally has the courage to rest a hand on himself--oh but he can feel his own pulse that's--his voice almost sounds dreamy in appreciation as he adds:]
I can barely stand it.
no subject
Ohh teeth. The contact doesn't rattle the way he thought it would. Not the way silverware or bone against his jaw while eating. It's easy to get over! The cushion of lips he takes for granted are soft, a might dry but when their mouths touch properly. Then--oh, this is better. Yes he can deal with this! He wants to!
Jaskier--? Leaning up to meet face to face, he chooses to grasp at his own biceps. Both are a handful. The wet pants he has neglected hang precariously. If they were any less fitted they would have dropped trow.
Watching Jaskier pull back and process gives a moment of fear. Was this not enjoyable on his end as it usually is? His lips stay parted and brow furrowed some before the impact of the question breaks over him. They remain close together, the moment not lost or dashed. The firm, solid hand of a Witcher at his shoulder it makes his mouth go dry with the realization of strength, of difference.]
I had forgotten long ago how much was around me. I became used to it.
[So silly, so simple to admit.]
Try and focus on a few things together. Pleasant things.
[The words could be suggestive and he's trying to gauge where Jaskier is in his enthusiasm. Enough to bounce back? Or wading in sensory so much that they must crawl before they run? The years upon this sphere he has never learned how to be a Witcher.]
Shut your eyes for a moment.
[With mortal eyes as young, keen and blue as Jaskier's he is confident to keep them both safe while grounding.
Pleasant things. Things that Geralt would look to in bleak, cold hours of the night to guide him to a place of stability when it was more than he wanted to deal with.]
Hear me breath. Hear me speak.
[Geralt's breath hitches before he continues knowing that it sounds animalistic. At least know Jaskier can know and understand. A Witcher with a keen scent is not crawling on all fours like a hound or pressing his nose to dirt or backsides of living things.]
Smell my breath, my skin.
[Details together in fragments that are calming.]
no subject
Oh, he would have puzzled at that a bit before, but now he can pick out the difference between skin, breath, and the water around them.
He breathes deep, mouth moving to his own jaw, to the spot on his neck that is always just this side of too sensitive. He draws teeth over it and takes another deep breath. His world narrows like a cat's again, but now all his focus is on Geralt.
He isn't going to get used to it. How could he? It's astonishing.
Distantly it occurs to him that he's lucky there's nothing unpleasant to experience around here.]
We should finish undressing.
[It's a reminder rumbled against skin, because apparently Geralt cannot whisper in quite the same register as Jaskier is accustomed to. Jaskier makes no move to shuck Geralt's pants or boots, that would require moving away and he's entirely against that right this second.]
no subject
The magic came on swiftly. It may pass the same way. In the event that it doesn't, well, it would bode well for Jaskier to become accustomed with his borrowed body for now. He listens. Bowing closer to Geralt where he stands. The weight of him, the slightly damp locks and bristle of hair.
Oh fuck.]
Yes.
[The word is thick in his throat and on his tongue. Speaking is like a kiss and he gives him to the shiver.]
I've got the advantage there.
[Being more familiar with his own clothing he knows just where to begin to unbutton his trousers, tilting his face away from the contact of where skin and teeth touch. A murmur pulls from his gut and groin. Jaskier's sensitive and reactive in his own right. Perhaps because his whole self is starved for stimuli.]
Can you--tell what's happening?
[The natural change in body chemistry and exchange of heat, the rush of blood. Geralt is unfortunately still sporting red cheeks. Ridiculous because he's personally witnessed many people around him in various states of arousal. Now Jaskier can get his own bit of show. Geralt's body is not just for killing. And if he must have the experience may it be pleasant.]
no subject
[Oh, but Jaskier is a hedonist at heart and it takes a great deal to pull back a bit. As intense as everything is in Geralt's skin, Jaskier intends to cheat. He knows all the little spots that he doesn't remark upon to lovers, though, as he thinks on that, he realizes Geralt has that same ammunition.
That's a bit sobering and sends a rush of warmth below his belt. Or rather above now, given that Geralt has gotten his trousers slack. It's not entirely strange to push Geralt's clothes off of him, but it is from this angle, and he has to step back to pull off the Witcher's boots.
His water filled boots.]
Oh, right. Yes, bits and pieces, but it's hard to stay focused--hang on, I did not think this seduction through all the way.
[Were he in his own body, Jaskier has no doubt he'd have to hop to keep his balance as he pulls those off. Geralt is remarkably stable and, in short order, he has his feet free and his trousers down and--a very surreal view of Geralt's body that he just has to take a moment and appreciate.]
no subject
[The words are so bouncy, so bemused and melodic. The sexual frustration is simmering, not bubbling over. He shakes his head, no long locks to lash against him in any way. The shorter, though longer than typical, hair for Jaskier lays so simply. Geralt suspects even prettily.]
You've seen it all before.
[His body. Well. The body he's in. The scrutiny perhaps not to such a degree. Jaskier's skin, his bones and self are just so comfortable in a way that's difficult to explain. The muted state of the word and the way it leaves his mind so light, so hungry for more. He idly touches down to his own collarbone, smooth skin beneath the generous dusting of hair.
Geralt fancies himself to be the sensible one. Though now he's very aware of how the energy, the thoughts passing between them cause the fabric in a wet, baggy state to feel restrictive. May as well give up the last article of clothing. He pushes the trousers down from the trim gentlemanly hips. The dampness was all that held them there.
A low, usual hum from him in his own vocal range could mean anything. With Jaskier's golden voice it's something.]
no subject
[He objects and something in that sounds almost right for Geralt's voice. Though, Geralt's hum in his voice is rather good and pulls Jaskier's attention to himself and Geralt running a hand along his collarbone. Now that they're both free of wet clothes and standing nude in the open, it's odd, but Jaskier wants nothing more than to watch Geralt in his skin.]
I do hope I don't disappoint?
[Its asked casually but there's an air of uncertainty to it. His body is a fine affair, or at least he's always liked it, but Geralt is usually in this body and the difference in power and ability is a stark one.]
no subject
There would be more, he'll give him that. The bobbing of his head as he decides that there aren't any words in his head. Geralt's palm smooths down from the intact collarbone, time has been kind to Jaskier. Filling out more in the chest, no disruption to the texture. Rapt attention coming at him with familiar gold eyes has ensured that these nipples stay pert. An idle flick across one with his thumb causes a sharper inhale.]
No, not at all. ...you've never.
[Absolutes are damning in most circumstances. Geralt doesn't hesitate. He can say solidly with the same certainty that steel slays monsters that Jaskier's body has always been pleasing. To be in it like this is a new, strange pleasure. The vague stirring in his loins is no longer subtle.]