In the dimly lit alley, Geralt's thirst isn't just for blood. As Jaskier's bardic voice echoes in the night, Geralt's hands find their way to the bard's tunic, caressing his muscular chest, tweaking his nipples until they're taut peaks. Jaskier, eager to please, grips Geralt's throbbing member, stroking it with expert precision. Their heavy breathing syncs with the rhythm of their hands, the wet sounds of suction as Geralt suckles Jaskier's neck, and the soft grunts of pleasure. The vampire's fangs glint in the moonlight, a promise of ecstasy and danger, as they both seek their release in the dark, their bodies rubbing together in a dance as old as time.