[ Probably for the best, Jaskier isn't in the most cheerful of moods right now. ]
Try not to get eaten by anything again.
[ Once Geralt comes back, or he decides to go looking for the bard, he will find him by Roach's side, brushing clean the mare's coat...while talking to her abour Geralt being a dummy that doesn't realize people cares about him. And what would the Witcher do without us? Sulk all day and night, right Roach? You poor thing, so many years with that silly brute.]
[ Or option C, he actually came by considering to leave. Or maybe seek some earthly wisdom from Roach, who seems to know a thing or two about putting him back in line. It is not his expectation to find Jaskier there, talking to his horse for him.
Which he will stand at a distance to watch near the entry of the stable. Shirt lightly dampened with sweat from some cathartic means of training. He plucks at it idly to flow some cool air through the linen as he watches carefully leaned to the gate.
It's nothing new that this is only because of Geralt's constant off handed comments about his quality of travel companion. The man does seem to endear to try to provide his worth to the witcher in any way he can. Picking up the odd task here and there that might otherwise be tedious to do. It's exhaustive to watch, to say in the least. But if it doesn't at least warm some part of his cold mutated heart, he'd be lying to himself.
Eventually, he clears his throat. ] She'll always side with me, you know that.
[ The horse is a surprisingly good conversationalist, she might not speak back but Jaskier has the reassurance that Roach is listening by the way she neighs, flicks an ear or nips at his fingers. Although the last one might be because Jaskier sometimes feeds her apple slices and sugar cubes when Geralt isn't looking.
The bard has started to brush his fingers through her mane, working on a small braid. He jumps like a cat with its tail on fire at the unexpected voice, startled. For someone so big, Geralt can be surprisingly silent. Witchery powers, and all that. ]
I dunno, I think I'm finally winning her over. [ Jaskier pats her muzzle. Roach immediately twists her head and tries to nips at his fingers, looking for treats. ] Oi...ok, let's give it another decade too.
[ The witcher isn’t surprised to have started him, but his eyebrows climb with mild amusement, especially as the mare remained completely nonplussed by his intrusion.. ]
Hm. [ An acknowledgment. Don’t think just because he doesn’t see, he doesn’t know what’s going on.]
Didn’t expect you’d get your hands dirty today. [ Geralt remarks after a pause. Again, the tedium of hard work just doesn’t fit the man - especially in his finely woven trousers. If anything, he expected to find him sulking somewhere strumming his lute dramatically waiting for the sunset.
Obviously it has to do with him, but he’s not going to acknowledge it. That would actually mean he was a mature person and not a nearly 100 year old witcher who doesn’t really have his shit together when it comes to any sort of relationship platonic, questionable, or otherwise.]
I'm not incapable of hard work. [ He's just averse to it, much like Geralt avoids anything feeling related. But he doesn't want Geralt to cast him away because he's useless despite the work he does with his songs. Plus, he really likes Roach, she's a good and loyal horse and it's not hard to see with Geralt cares so much for her. If Jaskier were honest with himself, he would admit that he's been worried about the Witcher packing up his things and leaving just like that. He wouldn't put it past the man to run to the other side of the continent to avoid an uncomfortable conversation. But he wouldn't leave without Roach, she's the only creature Jaskier knows with certainty that Geralt loves.
The bard glances at him, feeling something twist in his gut, and then turns his face to Roach. It's a bit easier to do this if he isn't staring at the piercing golden eyes. This time, when he pats her head again, she stays put. ]
Things don't have to be different, you know. Or complicated. The voice is soft, almost just a whisper, but he knows Geralt can hear him just fine. He's talking about the sex quietly just in case someone else eavesdrops. We can keep it impersonal, good, it's just... [ He doesn't want Geralt to disrespect him in the bedroom too, it's all. Not unless he's asking the man for it. Jaskier has had enough of that kind of treatment in the past with other lovers and its' really not fun. ]
[ There is a pained look on his face when Jaskier begins to soft talk to the mare. It's not like Geralt to stay, feelings or otherwise, given the nature of his being. The life of a witcher. Not for the lack of wanting, as that has been made fairly clear. It's complicated, even if Jaskier says it doesn't have to be, and it always will be. Granted it's taken decades to even acknowledge Jaskier a friend is a testament to that. And now he's stuck his dick in it, way to go Geralt.
There is a quiet pained noise in his chest as he listens and slowly comes to the conclusion where it might be going. In retrospect, he hadn't made the connection to the time before. What'd made him so upset to be ridiculed in such a way. The witcher drew up a finger to rub at the middle of his brow as he cringes slightly. ]
You're not a whore, Jaskier. [ Geralt sighs with a pathetic sweep of his hand as it drops. Bothered that it needs to be said and less careful of it. He at least knows who might or might not be listening. ]
I sure don't get paid for my time and effort. Maybe I should start charging.
[ He looks over at Geralt, the smile playing in his lips shows more than a little self-deprecation. No matter how much he runs his mouth on a daily basis, he isn't any better than the other man at talking about personal or important subjects. Where the Witcher grunts or stays silent, the bard lets sarcasm or mockery do the work for him, more often than not directed at himself.
Jaskier loves people, talking to them, dancing, fucking...he's also never been shy about it before. There's no shame in enjoying sex and enjoying your partners fully. But most of his past lovers were that, in the past, something fun and fleeting. Geralt is...Geralt. And Jaskier is a fool who wants to stay with him, despite their differences. Or perhaps because of them.
It's even making him uncomfortable seeing Geralt so out of his element, frowning but trying. The Witcher hasn't left running for the hills and for that Jaskier is honestly grateful. He gives a small smile but this time is a sincere one. He always forgives way too easily. ]
Hm. [ Geralt hummed an agreement, glancing down at the space between them. Whether or not indifference will stay true will remain to be determined. So long as they are, in fact, on the same page. Though in the back of his mind just feels like he's still wading through a pool now up to his neck ignoring his common sense. At what point is he still keeping him at arm's length?
But Geralt is no stranger to avoiding his own feelings as much as he loved avoiding talking about them. He's a masterclass of his own. Which is why he's standing here and didn't leave the bard high and dry the morning after. Neither of them were bound by destiny or magic, and yet Jaskier has proved in so many years it's impossible not to cross his path. So long as they both see eye to eye, he doesn't see the need to cut things off where they are now.
Where are they now? No, it's still kind of strange.
The witcher wets his lips before speaking.] I have a contract to finish at sundown. Find you after?
[ Jaskier will try, if only for Geralt's sake. What another decade of silent pinning? He's got experience with this. It's only harder now that the impossible happened and Geralt has given him one night together. He can do this, he can. Geralt licking his lips makes it really hard for Jaskier to no immediately notice them and want to kiss them. Goddamn attractive Witchers. ]
Of course. Will you be taking Roach with you? I just finished cleaning her and she's had a good rest. [ He knows Geralt isn't a dishonest man, that he won't promise one thing and do another but some uncertainty still remains. Jaskier can't help it.
No matter the answer, the bard will go keep himself useful at the tavern just in case. Less because he's in the mood for performing and more to earn them enough coin to pay for possible extra days at the inn. If Geralt comes back injured, something unlikely but still possible, he might need to rest. And if he comes back looking the way he usually does, then he will need a thorough wash. ]
[ Jaskier is right to feel uncertain, his gut feeling would be right but perhaps for different reasons. As Geralt disappeared for the rest of the day and good part of the evening without his horse, sword, or even his armor. And while he may have lied about where he was going and what he was doing, he eventually does return to the new tavern they've rooted themselves into. Not so much as covered in any flavoring of monster guts, but definitely a bit more weathered than when he left.
The witcher finds a rowdy sort of crowd, stomping their feet and sloshing mugs of ale. The kind that lets him slip in without drawing too much attention to himself, which is a feat given who he is. But the candles burn low, and people are less interested to who comes and goes. Not one to want to disrupt the snafu of merriment, he doesn't seek Jaskier out in the midst of his performance. However at least he does make eye contact, which reveals him to still be under affect of some potion. Golden eyes still filled with pure black.
Instead, takes his attention to fetch a much needed drink. Which the bar maid behind the counter revolts surprisingly at the witcher's blank gaze. Even as he explained, under the chaotic mingle of chattering voices and delightful song, she reluctantly took his offer of coin. He gathers his drink with a scuffed hand, though he had washed them before returning, still showed tenderness and broken skin around his knuckles. ]
[ Leaving in such a way has been worrisome and Jaskier found himself anxious despite his anger and despite knowing Geralt can take care of himself. At the inn, he played the songs that he knew best rather than new ones he was still perfecting because his mind was too unfocused and he didn't want to risk missing a keynote and messing up the tune. The songs are still popular and so far it had earned him amused looks, people singing along, and a respectable amount of coin.
No one seemed to be paying much attention to the Witcher but since Jaskier had been trying to find him among the crowd all night, he almost jumps in relief when the man shows up. By pure luck, he finishes his song without issue and starts one more to keep appearances, making it short but lively, getting the patrons to cheer and laugh before excusing himself for the night.
He makes his way up to Geralt's side, trying not to walk too fast and make it obvious but the bard is moving as if he's in some sort of trance. To Jaskier, the sight of the black pupils is even more striking up close than when he had spotted them while singing. He wasn't fully sure of what he had seen back then but now there's no missing the black that covers all of Geralt's usually golden eyes, even the sclera. It clashes heavily against his now pale skin and Jaskier can't stop looking.
He's reacting with a measure of shock as well but for an entirely opposite reason that the bar maid's one. His mouth feels suddenly very dry, his scent spiking up with lust, and he's reaching out to brush the pad of his fingers against the high curve of Geralt's cheekbones before he realizes what he's doing. Jaskier's own pupils are blown out and almost completely engulf any blue in his eyes. ]
[ It's long enough a time to pass for him to finish his drink, the coin enough to earn him another immediate refill. Jaskier's short jig filling the room with further uproar, he knew them well enough to know how much time he has left to finish his drink. His head kept low, not only to alarm anyone else that might be curious enough to catch his eye, but the sheer avoidance of the lantern lights. Which even in the slightly murky dark of a tavern, is still bright enough to give him a headache so long as the potion remains swirling around his system.
The song ends as he takes his last gulp of strong spirit, enough to light a small burn behind his nostrils that sneer as Jaskier makes his way to him. He looks up then, the corner of his eye having caught the familiar pattern of the bard's trousers. Able to pick out the finer details in the dark, the widening of his gaze as they meet. Not quite the smell, but just the minute little twitch of his shoulders. The flutter of the man's heart pushing heat up his neck. He's so focused on it he doesn't even realize Jaskier has reached out to touch him until he does. Fingers dry and slightly scrubbed from the strings of his lute. His cheek turns, inadvertently leaning into it, as his eyes scan to look around to see whose eyes might be on them.
Geralt doesn't agree or disagree, but merely sets his cup aside and tips his head for him to lead the way. Still lingering a guilt, a complicated tightness in his chest from what he'd gone and done. The fight he had has been long over, but the adrenaline is still tickling through his veins. Wearing on his limbs, the way he holds himself. Leaving his fingertips yearning and jittery. He'll bumble along if guided, still carefully weaving around those around him or brushing them out of his path.]
[ When Geralt has to drink concoctions for a fight, it means the enemy is too dangerous for Jaskier to hang around as a spectator, so he's never quite caught Geralt looking like this before. He knows about the potions all Witchers use but never mentions them in his songs because it would do Geralt no good to let possible enemies know about his boosts and secret tricks. Those are the sort of private details Jaskier likes to know, to witness and catalog, and that he keeps to himself. He never mentions Kaer Morhen either.
He makes a soft whimper at the back of his throat when Geralt's face turns, presses his face against Jaskier's fingers by pure chance or honest interest, he can not tell. They're still in public and they don't need to bring attention to themselves but Jaskier couldn't help himself. He has a lot of questions and, at the same time, none seems relevant enough. His heart rate picks up, muscle beating like a trapped hummingbird in a cage when Geralt puts his drink now.
Jaskier's glance lowers to and he catches sight of the injured knuckles. The corner of his lips twists down in sympathy and apprehension, he doesn't like to see Geralt hurt no matter the inevitability of it due to the man's profession. He will worry about those later. Now, Jaskier's hand slide over Geralt's own carefully, fingers brushing the softer skin of his inner wrist, feeling the slow pulse underneath. As if he's looking for reassurance that Geralt is here and real and not just a ghost. A very attractive looking ghost to him, but still. That same hand gently wraps around the Witcher's wrist a moment later. Jaskier turn and starts moving towards the stairs, leading them away from the prying eyes and the loud sounds.
The bard is oddly quiet, feeling like that if he tries to speak it will ruin something. His heart is beating wildly in his throat, he figures Geralt can even heart it. Once they reach their room, Jaskier closes the door carefully and only lets go of Geralt's hand to snuff out some of the candles so the place is more shadows than bright light for the all too sensitive Witcher. Geralt is too silent, even for his stony usual self. But there's that aura of barely contained energy around him that draws Jaskier in, makes him walk over and press his body against the Witcher's chest, like a moth to a flame. His hands rise up to cup Geralt's face again, clear blue eyes staring into black pools, not even a little bit afraid. ]
How do I help you? [ The voice is only a whisper, his lips a brush against Geralt's own. His eyes say something else. Touch me, touch me. Let me touch you too.]
[ It's far from a common occurrence for Geralt to be seen like this. He's not even taken the most toxic of elixirs tonight, just the one that allowed him to move around in the dark. Still, the muddled mixture would soon wreak its own kind of havoc on his body. No matter the mutations that even allow him the fortitude to swallow them, once the heat of a fight wore down the poisons would wear at him. The witcher is used to the brunt feeling of it, shrugging it off in the morning like any other hangover. The collapse hasn't quite hit him yet, but he could feel it coming.
As Jaskier released him, he turned his head sharply with a snarl to avoid more blundering light. Busying himself with turning around and shutting the door with a little snap while lanterns were lowered and candles were snuffed. The flutter of Jaskier's heartbeat is easy to follow, listening as his breath quietly hitches around the room. The scent of warm wax settling in the air with the smoke.
Geralt clears his pockets of a couple indistinct bags of coin onto the nearest table just in time to meet the thud of weight up against his chest. Flush with the bard's scent of stale ale, the perfume of every shoulder he's rubbed up against that night, whatever crumb he's hard for dinner, at the distinct pique of his arousal. He can feel Jaskier's heartbeat now, thudding underneath his fingertips as Geralt stares him down with voided eyes. And whether or not he can really ply those thoughts from Jasker's mind or the meaning behind the deep well of his eyes, he relents.]
Don't. [ Geralt dismisses, voice deep and graveled before cutting itself off as he snares the bard's mouth with a barely restrained kiss. His weight pushes forward with a slight hiccuped stumble as his hands gather up at Jaskier's hips to immediately push him flush to the adjacent wall. He inhales deeply, as if trying to absorb all those tiny negligible facets of his day and find something deep within to sink into. Not wanting to be coddled or cooed. No playful banter. Just something to take the edge off, and even more so someone. This one in particular. His kiss breaks, hands sliding down to cup his ass tightly against him. ] Just want you.
[ The snarling sound Geralt let go a moment before sent a shiver down Jaskier's spine. It should have been one of fear, not desire, because Geralt was a dangerous person and probably more so now that he is so attuned to everything, the light, the sounds, the smell. What it should have been and what it is doesn't matter to Jaskier's body or mind. Geralt can act more beast than man on occasion but the bard doesn't treat him as such no matter what. Instead of panic, the whole situation brings another layer of want towards the Witcher that doesn't fully smoother the worry about Geralt's well being.
He's taken these sorts of poisons for years, Jaskier knows he would be fine, eventually. But he wants to help make it better, easier, and he also wants to ride Geralt until none of them can't walk the next day. Probably not possible, Witcher's stamina and all that, but he would try. Geralt's refusal makes Jaskier wonder if he's pushing it too far and his hands still briefly only to find himself at the mercy of a bruising kiss. His back connects with the wall a moment later, Geralt blanketing Jaskier’s body with his own, and hell, this is all the confirmation he needs. ]
Yes. Yes. [ He arches up into the heat of Geralt's body, giving him room to grab and squeeze at his ass to his heart content. Everything that comes out of his mouth is a mindless, wanton moan. Arms wrap around Geralt's neck, fingers raking over his nape and scalp before Jaskier buries them into the silver-white hair to give it tug. His free hand starts tugging at Geralt's clothes, trying to get everything off as soon as possible, desperate for contact. There's too many damned layers in the way, not counting Jaskier's own complicated outfit. His mouth meets the man's lips for another searing kiss that's more teeth than tongue. He pulls away only to sucks the Witcher's earlobe into his mouth before whispering in a breathless voice. ]
Just...ah..tear everything off, I know you can. [ He will regret giving Geralt free rein to ruin his clothes come tomorrow morning but they will die a good death. He doesn't even care. ]
[ Geralt's not entirely sure what part of the night that tore him back on this path to find him. He'd intended on waiting, shaking off the rattle that usually came from a fight. When he usually feels his darkest, the most untouchable. He doesn't know if it'd been spurned on by the blundering contention in the morning. Reminding him of the other night. Where the bard's innate vulnerability shorn bare scuffed, rattled, and mildly ashamed. There's still some of that anger he felt then, now seeping out of his fingertips. All those feelings flushed back to the surface had not yet had their time to calm down.
The raw moans of content in Jaskier's throat just feeds into him. His hands gripped tighter, delighting in the warm and firm contact of flushed hips and pressed cocks that lifts the other man onto his toes. The witcher falls into his mouth, using his weight to press him back up against the wall. Sneering with a low rumbling growl at teeth sinking into his lips at the same time his head is turned under the tangled bard's fingers. His mouth is unrelenting, fighting to catch his mouth and sink down into plump pink flesh and lapping at the reddish indentations they leave behind. And only when he pulls away he tries to find somewhere else to occupy, barely nipping at the bone of his jaw when the warmth of his voice rocks against his ear.
It's a bit of irony, just a little bit in the request. Given the last time he had his hands on the bard's doublet. The emotional journey he takes, slightly furrowed brow can be seen as he untangles himself with a half-step back. The witcher's chest rises and falls as the devouring of his mouth has already rendered him slightly bereft with a half untucked shirt. It's only a beat that passes, looking him over with his own slightly unsettling gaze.
Geralt's hands move swift, snapping apart Jaskier's doublet like its paper. Bits and bobbles of string and cloth covered buttons skitter across floorboards and table tops. His fingers move in a subtle sign as he draws a hand bag to clutch the open collar of the other man's linen undershirt and shears it down the middle with a warm singe of embers under his fingertips. The witcher steps in to find his mouth again. The acrid smell of charred fibers wafting under their noses as he draws his hands back up under both layers to force the bard's arms up over his head as he works the garments up and off of him.]
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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[ He's been playfully insulted at least twice this conversation and nearly stabbed not 12 hours ago.
Obviously, he's going to play hard to get.]
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[ He can be patient, when Geralt really doesn't want something, the man makes it clear enough.
Jaskier could dress his wounds and help him relax. It doesn't even have to be sexual in nature. ]
You had a long day, what you need now is to unwind. You know I have skilled fingers, what about a massage?
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You know, plenty of bathhouse whores have asked me very same thing.
[ He has competition. ]
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I'm sure the offer and their patience also came with a price.
[ Jaskier respects them and their profession, they do a lot of good to society but he isn't thrilled at being compared to one. ]
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Oh so because it's free, it's tended to be better?
[ Yeah, he's going to try to ride this out. See where this goes. ]
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Because it's free, it's honest. I'm not trying to get anything out of you but the pleasure if your company.
[ And even that is becoming debatable. Next time try to argue without your foot in your mouth, Geralt. ]
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[ He doesn't say it, but his expression could speak a volume or two as to how in the past that just simply does not seem the case. ]
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[ Oh he sees that expression and refuses to let it make him feel sorry for Geralt. He's not very successful. ]
A simple answer will suffice. Do you want me near or do you want me to fuck off?
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No, I think I'll fuck off myself. [ a.k.a he's gonna go take a walk. ]
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Try not to get eaten by anything again.
[ Once Geralt comes back, or he decides to go looking for the bard, he will find him by Roach's side, brushing clean the mare's coat...while talking to her abour Geralt being a dummy that doesn't realize people cares about him. And what would the Witcher do without us? Sulk all day and night, right Roach? You poor thing, so many years with that silly brute.]
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Which he will stand at a distance to watch near the entry of the stable. Shirt lightly dampened with sweat from some cathartic means of training. He plucks at it idly to flow some cool air through the linen as he watches carefully leaned to the gate.
It's nothing new that this is only because of Geralt's constant off handed comments about his quality of travel companion. The man does seem to endear to try to provide his worth to the witcher in any way he can. Picking up the odd task here and there that might otherwise be tedious to do. It's exhaustive to watch, to say in the least. But if it doesn't at least warm some part of his cold mutated heart, he'd be lying to himself.
Eventually, he clears his throat. ] She'll always side with me, you know that.
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The bard has started to brush his fingers through her mane, working on a small braid. He jumps like a cat with its tail on fire at the unexpected voice, startled. For someone so big, Geralt can be surprisingly silent. Witchery powers, and all that. ]
I dunno, I think I'm finally winning her over. [ Jaskier pats her muzzle. Roach immediately twists her head and tries to nips at his fingers, looking for treats. ] Oi...ok, let's give it another decade too.
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Hm. [ An acknowledgment. Don’t think just because he doesn’t see, he doesn’t know what’s going on.]
Didn’t expect you’d get your hands dirty today. [ Geralt remarks after a pause. Again, the tedium of hard work just doesn’t fit the man - especially in his finely woven trousers. If anything, he expected to find him sulking somewhere strumming his lute dramatically waiting for the sunset.
Obviously it has to do with him, but he’s not going to acknowledge it. That would actually mean he was a mature person and not a nearly 100 year old witcher who doesn’t really have his shit together when it comes to any sort of relationship platonic, questionable, or otherwise.]
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The bard glances at him, feeling something twist in his gut, and then turns his face to Roach. It's a bit easier to do this if he isn't staring at the piercing golden eyes. This time, when he pats her head again, she stays put. ]
Things don't have to be different, you know. Or complicated. The voice is soft, almost just a whisper, but he knows Geralt can hear him just fine. He's talking about the sex quietly just in case someone else eavesdrops. We can keep it impersonal, good, it's just... [ He doesn't want Geralt to disrespect him in the bedroom too, it's all. Not unless he's asking the man for it. Jaskier has had enough of that kind of treatment in the past with other lovers and its' really not fun. ]
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There is a quiet pained noise in his chest as he listens and slowly comes to the conclusion where it might be going. In retrospect, he hadn't made the connection to the time before. What'd made him so upset to be ridiculed in such a way. The witcher drew up a finger to rub at the middle of his brow as he cringes slightly. ]
You're not a whore, Jaskier. [ Geralt sighs with a pathetic sweep of his hand as it drops. Bothered that it needs to be said and less careful of it. He at least knows who might or might not be listening. ]
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[ He looks over at Geralt, the smile playing in his lips shows more than a little self-deprecation. No matter how much he runs his mouth on a daily basis, he isn't any better than the other man at talking about personal or important subjects. Where the Witcher grunts or stays silent, the bard lets sarcasm or mockery do the work for him, more often than not directed at himself.
Jaskier loves people, talking to them, dancing, fucking...he's also never been shy about it before. There's no shame in enjoying sex and enjoying your partners fully. But most of his past lovers were that, in the past, something fun and fleeting. Geralt is...Geralt. And Jaskier is a fool who wants to stay with him, despite their differences. Or perhaps because of them.
It's even making him uncomfortable seeing Geralt so out of his element, frowning but trying. The Witcher hasn't left running for the hills and for that Jaskier is honestly grateful. He gives a small smile but this time is a sincere one. He always forgives way too easily. ]
Glad that we are on the same page now.
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But Geralt is no stranger to avoiding his own feelings as much as he loved avoiding talking about them. He's a masterclass of his own. Which is why he's standing here and didn't leave the bard high and dry the morning after. Neither of them were bound by destiny or magic, and yet Jaskier has proved in so many years it's impossible not to cross his path. So long as they both see eye to eye, he doesn't see the need to cut things off where they are now.
Where are they now? No, it's still kind of strange.
The witcher wets his lips before speaking.] I have a contract to finish at sundown. Find you after?
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Of course. Will you be taking Roach with you? I just finished cleaning her and she's had a good rest. [ He knows Geralt isn't a dishonest man, that he won't promise one thing and do another but some uncertainty still remains. Jaskier can't help it.
No matter the answer, the bard will go keep himself useful at the tavern just in case. Less because he's in the mood for performing and more to earn them enough coin to pay for possible extra days at the inn. If Geralt comes back injured, something unlikely but still possible, he might need to rest. And if he comes back looking the way he usually does, then he will need a thorough wash. ]
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The witcher finds a rowdy sort of crowd, stomping their feet and sloshing mugs of ale. The kind that lets him slip in without drawing too much attention to himself, which is a feat given who he is. But the candles burn low, and people are less interested to who comes and goes. Not one to want to disrupt the snafu of merriment, he doesn't seek Jaskier out in the midst of his performance. However at least he does make eye contact, which reveals him to still be under affect of some potion. Golden eyes still filled with pure black.
Instead, takes his attention to fetch a much needed drink. Which the bar maid behind the counter revolts surprisingly at the witcher's blank gaze. Even as he explained, under the chaotic mingle of chattering voices and delightful song, she reluctantly took his offer of coin. He gathers his drink with a scuffed hand, though he had washed them before returning, still showed tenderness and broken skin around his knuckles. ]
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No one seemed to be paying much attention to the Witcher but since Jaskier had been trying to find him among the crowd all night, he almost jumps in relief when the man shows up. By pure luck, he finishes his song without issue and starts one more to keep appearances, making it short but lively, getting the patrons to cheer and laugh before excusing himself for the night.
He makes his way up to Geralt's side, trying not to walk too fast and make it obvious but the bard is moving as if he's in some sort of trance. To Jaskier, the sight of the black pupils is even more striking up close than when he had spotted them while singing. He wasn't fully sure of what he had seen back then but now there's no missing the black that covers all of Geralt's usually golden eyes, even the sclera. It clashes heavily against his now pale skin and Jaskier can't stop looking.
He's reacting with a measure of shock as well but for an entirely opposite reason that the bar maid's one. His mouth feels suddenly very dry, his scent spiking up with lust, and he's reaching out to brush the pad of his fingers against the high curve of Geralt's cheekbones before he realizes what he's doing. Jaskier's own pupils are blown out and almost completely engulf any blue in his eyes. ]
Let's go up.
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The song ends as he takes his last gulp of strong spirit, enough to light a small burn behind his nostrils that sneer as Jaskier makes his way to him. He looks up then, the corner of his eye having caught the familiar pattern of the bard's trousers. Able to pick out the finer details in the dark, the widening of his gaze as they meet. Not quite the smell, but just the minute little twitch of his shoulders. The flutter of the man's heart pushing heat up his neck. He's so focused on it he doesn't even realize Jaskier has reached out to touch him until he does. Fingers dry and slightly scrubbed from the strings of his lute. His cheek turns, inadvertently leaning into it, as his eyes scan to look around to see whose eyes might be on them.
Geralt doesn't agree or disagree, but merely sets his cup aside and tips his head for him to lead the way. Still lingering a guilt, a complicated tightness in his chest from what he'd gone and done. The fight he had has been long over, but the adrenaline is still tickling through his veins. Wearing on his limbs, the way he holds himself. Leaving his fingertips yearning and jittery. He'll bumble along if guided, still carefully weaving around those around him or brushing them out of his path.]
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He makes a soft whimper at the back of his throat when Geralt's face turns, presses his face against Jaskier's fingers by pure chance or honest interest, he can not tell. They're still in public and they don't need to bring attention to themselves but Jaskier couldn't help himself. He has a lot of questions and, at the same time, none seems relevant enough. His heart rate picks up, muscle beating like a trapped hummingbird in a cage when Geralt puts his drink now.
Jaskier's glance lowers to and he catches sight of the injured knuckles. The corner of his lips twists down in sympathy and apprehension, he doesn't like to see Geralt hurt no matter the inevitability of it due to the man's profession. He will worry about those later. Now, Jaskier's hand slide over Geralt's own carefully, fingers brushing the softer skin of his inner wrist, feeling the slow pulse underneath. As if he's looking for reassurance that Geralt is here and real and not just a ghost. A very attractive looking ghost to him, but still. That same hand gently wraps around the Witcher's wrist a moment later. Jaskier turn and starts moving towards the stairs, leading them away from the prying eyes and the loud sounds.
The bard is oddly quiet, feeling like that if he tries to speak it will ruin something. His heart is beating wildly in his throat, he figures Geralt can even heart it. Once they reach their room, Jaskier closes the door carefully and only lets go of Geralt's hand to snuff out some of the candles so the place is more shadows than bright light for the all too sensitive Witcher. Geralt is too silent, even for his stony usual self. But there's that aura of barely contained energy around him that draws Jaskier in, makes him walk over and press his body against the Witcher's chest, like a moth to a flame. His hands rise up to cup Geralt's face again, clear blue eyes staring into black pools, not even a little bit afraid. ]
How do I help you? [ The voice is only a whisper, his lips a brush against Geralt's own. His eyes say something else. Touch me, touch me. Let me touch you too.]
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As Jaskier released him, he turned his head sharply with a snarl to avoid more blundering light. Busying himself with turning around and shutting the door with a little snap while lanterns were lowered and candles were snuffed. The flutter of Jaskier's heartbeat is easy to follow, listening as his breath quietly hitches around the room. The scent of warm wax settling in the air with the smoke.
Geralt clears his pockets of a couple indistinct bags of coin onto the nearest table just in time to meet the thud of weight up against his chest. Flush with the bard's scent of stale ale, the perfume of every shoulder he's rubbed up against that night, whatever crumb he's hard for dinner, at the distinct pique of his arousal. He can feel Jaskier's heartbeat now, thudding underneath his fingertips as Geralt stares him down with voided eyes. And whether or not he can really ply those thoughts from Jasker's mind or the meaning behind the deep well of his eyes, he relents.]
Don't. [ Geralt dismisses, voice deep and graveled before cutting itself off as he snares the bard's mouth with a barely restrained kiss. His weight pushes forward with a slight hiccuped stumble as his hands gather up at Jaskier's hips to immediately push him flush to the adjacent wall. He inhales deeply, as if trying to absorb all those tiny negligible facets of his day and find something deep within to sink into. Not wanting to be coddled or cooed. No playful banter. Just something to take the edge off, and even more so someone. This one in particular. His kiss breaks, hands sliding down to cup his ass tightly against him. ] Just want you.
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He's taken these sorts of poisons for years, Jaskier knows he would be fine, eventually. But he wants to help make it better, easier, and he also wants to ride Geralt until none of them can't walk the next day. Probably not possible, Witcher's stamina and all that, but he would try. Geralt's refusal makes Jaskier wonder if he's pushing it too far and his hands still briefly only to find himself at the mercy of a bruising kiss. His back connects with the wall a moment later, Geralt blanketing Jaskier’s body with his own, and hell, this is all the confirmation he needs. ]
Yes. Yes. [ He arches up into the heat of Geralt's body, giving him room to grab and squeeze at his ass to his heart content. Everything that comes out of his mouth is a mindless, wanton moan. Arms wrap around Geralt's neck, fingers raking over his nape and scalp before Jaskier buries them into the silver-white hair to give it tug. His free hand starts tugging at Geralt's clothes, trying to get everything off as soon as possible, desperate for contact. There's too many damned layers in the way, not counting Jaskier's own complicated outfit. His mouth meets the man's lips for another searing kiss that's more teeth than tongue. He pulls away only to sucks the Witcher's earlobe into his mouth before whispering in a breathless voice. ]
Just...ah..tear everything off, I know you can. [ He will regret giving Geralt free rein to ruin his clothes come tomorrow morning but they will die a good death. He doesn't even care. ]
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The raw moans of content in Jaskier's throat just feeds into him. His hands gripped tighter, delighting in the warm and firm contact of flushed hips and pressed cocks that lifts the other man onto his toes. The witcher falls into his mouth, using his weight to press him back up against the wall. Sneering with a low rumbling growl at teeth sinking into his lips at the same time his head is turned under the tangled bard's fingers. His mouth is unrelenting, fighting to catch his mouth and sink down into plump pink flesh and lapping at the reddish indentations they leave behind. And only when he pulls away he tries to find somewhere else to occupy, barely nipping at the bone of his jaw when the warmth of his voice rocks against his ear.
It's a bit of irony, just a little bit in the request. Given the last time he had his hands on the bard's doublet. The emotional journey he takes, slightly furrowed brow can be seen as he untangles himself with a half-step back. The witcher's chest rises and falls as the devouring of his mouth has already rendered him slightly bereft with a half untucked shirt. It's only a beat that passes, looking him over with his own slightly unsettling gaze.
Geralt's hands move swift, snapping apart Jaskier's doublet like its paper. Bits and bobbles of string and cloth covered buttons skitter across floorboards and table tops. His fingers move in a subtle sign as he draws a hand bag to clutch the open collar of the other man's linen undershirt and shears it down the middle with a warm singe of embers under his fingertips. The witcher steps in to find his mouth again. The acrid smell of charred fibers wafting under their noses as he draws his hands back up under both layers to force the bard's arms up over his head as he works the garments up and off of him.]
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