The question catches him off-guard. When was the last time? He blushes at the realization that it was quite some time ago.
"It was alright." He says. "Sometimes during the winter, you know, stuff happens. You get drunk and nostalgic. And cold." He had crawled into Geralt's bed in the freezing dark. They should have been too old for such foolishness: fooling around with one's own sex was for novices who knew nothing of the world's pleasures waiting for them on the Path. Eskel had just wanted something familiar and to see something other than pity and fear in his partner's face.
The last thing he wants now is something familiar. He feels drunk on what he imagines must the slow build of Bull's succubus power.
"I don't want it like that was: slow and quiet in the dark." He looks a little sheepish. "And, uh, I'm not with men a lot these days. If I hang back a little, it's not you, it's just me being out of practice." Even if he had just admitted his last lay was a fellow witcher-- but Geralt almost didn't count, having been practically Eskel's other half since they were barely more than toddlers, their bodies as familiar to one another as the crumbling fortress around them-- and therefore he hadn't been with a woman in ages either. He raises a broad, rough hand and marvels at the way it doesn't look so large and rough at all when he lays it on Bull's chest.
"I gotta say though, you're my type and then some, at least. I like guys built like me, and rough and not inclined to be too careful."
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"It was alright." He says. "Sometimes during the winter, you know, stuff happens. You get drunk and nostalgic. And cold." He had crawled into Geralt's bed in the freezing dark. They should have been too old for such foolishness: fooling around with one's own sex was for novices who knew nothing of the world's pleasures waiting for them on the Path. Eskel had just wanted something familiar and to see something other than pity and fear in his partner's face.
The last thing he wants now is something familiar. He feels drunk on what he imagines must the slow build of Bull's succubus power.
"I don't want it like that was: slow and quiet in the dark." He looks a little sheepish. "And, uh, I'm not with men a lot these days. If I hang back a little, it's not you, it's just me being out of practice." Even if he had just admitted his last lay was a fellow witcher-- but Geralt almost didn't count, having been practically Eskel's other half since they were barely more than toddlers, their bodies as familiar to one another as the crumbling fortress around them-- and therefore he hadn't been with a woman in ages either. He raises a broad, rough hand and marvels at the way it doesn't look so large and rough at all when he lays it on Bull's chest.
"I gotta say though, you're my type and then some, at least. I like guys built like me, and rough and not inclined to be too careful."