Quiet, happy days are rare in their life and Jaskier learned time ago to take advantage of the good times. There will be misery and worries when the moment comes, special if The Nilfgaardian Empire keeps conquering part of the continent. He has to remind himself not too overdone it, though, least he starts making Geralt uncomfortable. He Witcher needs his space like the bard needs his music, he can respect that.
Jaskier finds himself smiling at the humming, thinking a 'yeah that's what I thought' in return, but not voicing it. Geralt is still pretty much a mystery but years of walking together had taught the younger man to read his moods in the intonations of his short responses.
"Nothing, uh? That's good for me too, I don't have your keen eyesight, I don't see in the dark." Would he be able to convince Geralt to drop his armour and clothes and get into the water with him? Who knows. Is Jaskier still going to try to coach him into it? Oh yes.
The sun has started to set, red and brown filling the sky, and the view is so breathtaking that it distracts Jaskier from the fact the forest sounds different than any forest should be. He's more interested in the building shaped shadow he can see in the distance, beyond the trees. "I think I see the inn."
Crazier things have happened than Geralt getting naked under moonlight, though convincing may be soothed from him far easier on this trip than their next destination or the next. He's feeling more accommodating than usual and it has everything to do with what happened when they were caught in that storm.
The lightest humming among whispers of tree branches and the occasional call of a bird is cause for concern, though Geralt still hasn't brought any attention to it. He wonders if Jaskier has heard or if it's all in Geralt's mind, if maybe it's lack of rest that's finally caught up with him. Whatever the case, he's still tense despite the happy-go-lucky nature of Jaskier beside him. If anything, it's obvious there's magic in this forest.
"Hm, I see it too," he confirms, though with the sun setting he can only hope they've made it in time. His arm drops from the other man's the closer they get to the edge of the woods, urging him and Roach both to walk a little faster for the home stretch.
The moment they leave the woods and head off on a more open path to the inn, Geralt feels some of the oppressive nature melt away, though it isn't completely gone. It's as though they have eyes on them but he can't tell from which direction. Trying not to dwell, he leads Roach to the stables before they head inside to find a room, the warmth and surprisingly cheery atmosphere inside the inn's tavern welcome.
"They only have one room." Not that it would be their first time sharing. "Feeling hungry?"
With Geralt increasing their pacing, it doesn't take them more than a few minutes to reach their destination. Jaskier stays close to him without invading his personal space once they're near enough to the inn to be seen by others. He can't tell what's wrong with the forest, oblivious as he is, but he doesn't miss that the other man is keeping an alert posture that doesn't go away until they're no longer surrounded by trees. Even then, it doesn't stop completely and the bard reasons that Geralt must be tired.
They had been walking all day and he looks forward to taking a break as well, preferably with a drink in hand. No one looks at them with disdain when they walk into the inn and Jaskier finds himself so relieved that knowing they have to share a room isn't even worth an ounce of concern. He prefers it, if he's honest, he always feels safer when Geralt is near and this is their usual arrangement.
"Thirsty, rather." Either the people in the tavern haven't heard a lot of bad things about Witchers or they're too merry and drunk to care. It works to their favor, especially if the later means that the food and ale are good. "Let me pay, since you took care of the room."
They've come to have an understanding when it comes to dealing with troubles on the road as well as small concerns such as who will pay for what. Despite his initial annoyance, Geralt soon learned that Jaskier is an honorable friend, if not a bit too generous with his coin when it comes to treating the witcher. In a way, they share the wealth, even if they each have their own pockets.
"Hmm, I won't say no to that," he agrees, leading the way to their room so they can at least drop their personal items. Geralt is all too happy to slouch off his traveling cloak and start unfastening his armor, body feeling stiff from it.
He still can't shake off the feeling like they're being watched to the point of walking to the small window and drawing the curtains, albeit not before taking a long look outside. He sees nothing.
"Drink downstairs?" he asks idly, turning back around to Jaskier as he unbuckles the armor padding on his shoulders.
After travelling with someone for so long, sleeping close, sharing meals and gently looking out for each other, it's inevitable that they already function as a tandem. Jaskier never gave it much thought before but he notices it more now that he's thinking of them as an item, and it explains the odd looks they had gotten in the past on occasion from some town folks.
Geralt's mind seems to be somewhere else too as goes to check the window while Jaskier blinks at him, mild confusion in his face. He's itching for a drink and some well-deserved rest, so he doesn't think much of the Witcher's odd behavior. Blue eyes fall on the now-closed curtain when Geralt turns his back to it, and for a second Jaskier thinks that he sees them moving slightly. A gush of air makes the hairs at the back of his nape stand on end and he shudders. The air is warmth, which is weird in a building so close to the sea at night. But Geralt is speaking and the bard blinks twice in quick sucession and focuses on him immediately.
"Sounds good. And just so you know that my attention is fully focussed on you, I'll leave the lute here."
Once his instrument is on the nearby table, Jaskier walks over to Geralt to try and help him get out of his armor. The man can do it on his own, he has decades of practice, but Jaskier has seen it remove it and put it own so many times that the knows the fastenings and knots by memory as well. He's confident that he could undress Geralt much quicker than the man itself, having the advantage of smaller hand with long fingers, and not being the one stuck in the armor to begin with.
"There you go, handsome as ever." Jaskier smooths down invisible wrinkles from the front of Geralt's shirt, smiling. Most men would laugh at him for this but he likes the domesticity. He enjoys doing things for Geralt on their everyday life, like fixing him a bath or making sure he eats properly. Maybe it's to compensate the fact he's totally useless during their adventures, not even able to hold up a sword the right way.
Geralt's eyebrows lift at Jaskier stating he'll leave his lute behind, clearly surprised because he's more often than not taking whatever chance he can to perform in places like this. Good coin comes from those drunk enough to not realize how much is slipping away from their pockets after all.
"You must really be in the mood," he drawls, though for what, Geralt doesn't quite specify. The suggestive air is there though and he registers the oddly warm air as well, especially the closer the bard comes. Helping him out of his armor is unnecessary but still nice, and by the time Jaskier's hands are palming down his front, Geralt's feeling more pliant than usual.
He has to blink a few times to get rid of the sleepy heaviness in his eyelids. Instead, he's inspired to reach forward and tip up Jaskier's chin gently with the back of his pointer finger, stepped up close. Instead of responding he leans in to brush their lips together, a simple kiss but one they haven't shared for at least a full day on the road. Normally Geralt wouldn't be so soft when they have other plans but he's feeling strangely relaxed, barely registering the odd whispers outside their window. His focus is on the younger man instead, and how he looks after he's been kissed.
"Don't believe the jokes, I'm not married to my lute no matter what they say."
It's true that Jaskier will carry the lute everywhere, it means a lot to him because they got it after their first adventure, and it as a preset that had served him well many years. Yes, he cherishes that lute like it's his own child. But he loves Geralt more.
He considers saying something witty, something casual, like how there will be more time tomorrow to charm the patrons with some sea shanty because the people here looks like they would like that sort of thing. But then Geralt is flirting, because that's what Jaskier would call it, he's the expert here about these things okay, and it makes his mouth go dry and a blush creeps up to his cheeks.
It's not even blatant flirting. It's just sweet and honest, and so rare coming from Geralt that the cadence in the man's voice alone is enough to make Jaskier 's brian short circuit. He's feeling a little odd tonight, still too warm, but it's hardly the first time he dreams about Geralt talking to him in a soft voice, faces close enough for only him to hear him speak as their lips brush. It's the first time that the mental image of them with their naked bodies entwined and comes to the forefront of his mind so blatantly fast. Dear God, he's got it bad.
Geralt's gentleness is really what makes Jaskier weak on the knees, the soft touch to his chin earing the Witcher a coy smile once the kiss is over. His chest almost swells with affection.
"I was." He can't deny the affirmation, nor he wants to. A pair of arms wrap around Geralt's shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss, closer. Jaskier doesn't have to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him when they're standing, he's not that short, he just likes the extra contact. When they break apart, Jaskier's hand comes to rest lightly over Geralt’s heart. He's rethinking ever leaving the room but they need some proper food and rest.
"We...we should go down before all the good ale is gone."
The softness doesn't come often but Geralt is no stranger to the gentler kind of affection, rare as it is. He knows when to step back and take things slowly, when to take his time, and for a one with such a romantic heart like Jaskier, these things are just as important as lust and desire. Geralt knows this much.
The second kiss is welcomed easily and Geralt even winds an arm around the bard to hold him near. This is still new to them but kissing him feels easy, simple, and exciting. He finds himself wanting to lean in for more when they part, a low, resigned sound leaving him.
"We should," he confirms, though his hold stays firmly in place a while longer. There's a sweetness in the air Geralt can't quite place, though he assumes it's the fragrance from the tavern below. Even the sensation of Jaskier's warm palm on his chest is easing security into Geralt where there was once paranoia.
He stares a moment longer, eyes falling to the other man's lips, and with another, more frustrated sound, he finally lets go. They should go downstairs.
"And food. You're buying, remember?" He adds in before leading the way out the door.
After their rough start so many years ago, Jaskier's heart always feels younger, more daring, when Geralt is like this. He didn't think he would ever get that kind of gentleness directed at him, no matter how often the other man had been worried for his sake in the past.
"Uh hmm." That totally is a 'sure, I'm moving' sound of agreement, yet Jaskier is still resting his weight against Geralt's chest. The man's a furnace, one that he wouldn't mind feeling all over him. Alas, all good things come to and end.
"I'm buying, I can't have you going hungry. What if you and I have to carry around?... We wouldn't get very far." The last line comes out with a small pout. Jaskier has no illusions about their different strength.
Turns out the patrons of the tavern DO love sea shanties, probably much to Geralt's chagrin. A lot of them are sailors or work in the trading outpost, and Jaskier isn't surprised about their taste. True to his word, he doesn't join the other in their singing and stay by Geralt's side, sharing drinks and food and generally being amused at the Witcher's annoyance.
As the evening stretches and more people come and goes, the bard is feeling warmer by the minute. The random flashes of hot air are still happening from time to time, ruffling his hair, making his shiver. It feels as if a warm hand is caressing up his spine or brushing against his flustered cheeks. He chalks it up to how crowded the tavern is getting and how close he is to Geralt. But being close and crowded does allow him to slide his hand up the man's thigh under the table without anybody paying them any mind.
"How about we get some fresh air? Not like I don't adore the smell of sailors and spice traders mixing together like it's a tangible thing I need to wash off my clothes but...it's not cool outside and the sea is beautiful at night."
The place is far livelier than either of them are used to on their journey together. The taverns and inns they find on the road tend to be small and discreet, the kind of locations accustomed to having many travelers coming and going through various towns, so the fact that the patrons here are ready to sing and laugh together is new. Geralt can't help but wonder how badly Jaskier must want to join in yet the man keeps his distance from the crowd, his focus seemingly on their little table in the corner.
The food is simple but filling, mostly seafood of course, and the beer smoother than expected. Maybe Geralt's mood is affecting his general acceptance of all that's going on around them but he feels far lighter than usual, especially considering the journey they had to get here. He finds himself wanting to lean in closer, to touch and suggest they go back upstairs already, though the warm hand over his thigh stops that train of thought. It's bold for the pair of them in such a crowded tavern and Geralt's gaze lingers on Jaskier's, almost as if to comment on his lack of concern.
"Hm... and quieter," he adds in regards to moving outdoors, picking up his mug to finish off the rest of his ale. "Let's go."
Before he stands Geralt takes the chance to slide his own hand atop Jaskier's, giving it a gentle squeeze before he's standing to start and slip away through the crowds and toward the outdoors, surprised by how they are getting away with slipping under the radar. Perhaps the tales of the White Wolf are not as popular this far north.
It isn't exactly warm outside, especially since they're so close to the mountains, but Geralt still finds the air refreshing. Waiting for Jaskier to catch up, he takes a few deep lungfuls of air, that strange warm breeze hitting his face again, though whatever is causing it has also passed under the radar for far too long.
Maybe it was that they were finally rested and no longer hungry, and that had helped Jaskier to relax, but even someone as forward as him knows not to risk their relationship being made obvious when they're in public. And yet, he couldn't help himself. It is as if a little voice in the back of his mind keeps pointing out how close Geralt is, how kissable he looks. He had to touch the other man in some capacity and given how making out with him wasn't possible, he squeezed his thigh.
Whatever was left of his own drink is easily forgotten, Jaskier can't get out of the tavern soon enough, suddenly feeling the need of privacy like some deep urgency. He has been expecting the chill air outside to make him shudder but as soon as he steps out there's another gush of wind against his cheek and nape. It's once again warm, feels stronger than before too. As if whatever it's causing it was lurking outside the building, waiting for General and him to alienate themselves from the crowd. This time, Jaskier lets out a soft sound, almost like a giggle. He feels a bit drunk, but it's different than usual. He's been plastered before, he knows his body telltales when he's had too much to drink and that isn't the case tonight.
"Sea! Now!" The bard announces cheerfuly, wrapping an arm around Geralt's and trying to steer him towards the direction of the beach. He doesn't even manage to move two steps forward, the witcher won't be budged. Jaskier lets out a small 'oof' and frowns at Geralt's chest as if to blame it for the fact the man is built like an ox. Then he seems to remember that yes, the man is built like an ox, a very attractive one at that, and makes another soft noise. It sounds like a purr this time.
"Geralt, let's move towards the east, I checked the map before and there's a cove near. Should be safe from inquisitive eyes"
Jaskier is talking about the tavern's patrons, unaware that another set of bright eyes are staring at them from the shadows, the rest of the creature being nothing but a faint, indistinguishable bur. It's quiet and watchful, looking for entertainment for the time being.
There is something distinctly off about this beach and Geralt knows it, yet he has no proof other than his own paranoia. His medallion isn't reacting to any magical presence around them but his head feels strange and his willingness to follow Jaskier's suggestions even stranger. He feels the strong urge to follow and make the most of this night, even though they could be up in their room doing so in relative privacy instead.
Shaking his head, Geralt tries to clear his mind as he looks at how excited the other man is, how suddenly attentive he is, and after an initial hesitation he's willed forward. The eyes blinking at them from the dark go unnoticed for now, though Geralt still feels that odd sensation of being watched.
"Didn't you once say you want to run naked into the ocean?" He offers with light amusement as they head down toward the beach, allowing himself to be tugged to whatever cove Jaskier had seen. "Though these waters might freeze your dick off."
Geralt's instinct always had been good, he was trained for this, and maybe that's why the creature knows it must keep a certain distance. Golden eyes, strong muscles, silver sword...doesn't take a genius to spot a Witcher. Tasty but too dangerous of a meal to try and lure this one into its arms. But also...with such an unusual choice in partners that curiosity is piqued. What woudl they do if left to their own devices? If they were slightly influenced, more inclined to worry less, to focus on their interest on each other instead of their surroundings? The foundation is there, it is easy to exploit it.
The sand under Jaskier's feet shifts and blows in the air thanks to the sea breeze whirling around them - or what he assumes is the sea breeze- as he moves with the determination of a man with a clear purpose. The purpose being to find a private place to kiss his Witcher senseless, that's it. He beams at Geralt for that question, laughing as they walk down the beach and the vegetation changes. He can spot the cove in the distance, surrounded by a canopy of trees, the perfect place for privacy.
"I did want to. But If that happens it would be such a loss. We can't have that, do we? You'd have to keep me warm." The bard is already tugging the laces of his doublet loose as he moves, revealing the embroidered chemise under it.
It wouldn't have taken him another minute to takes off the doubled completely but the view in front of him stops him. Even at night when the sea is mostly pitch black, the cove looks gorgeous. There's tree guarding them from each side, like silent protectors, and the water glints under the moonlight. The sand is thin and soft, with patches of green grass here and there as well as huge rocks that had been smoothed by the elements over the years. It looks almost unreal.
Geralt doesn't recall seeing this on their travels in earlier today but Jaskier claims he has, that he wants to take him there, so Geralt trusts him. He has no reason not to after all, even as his mind grows increasingly fuzzy and unfocused. The witcher follows the bard loyally, his eyes falling naturally to the man's backside as he walks, urged on by the warmth caressing his face, neck, and body. Hmm. Maybe some privacy isn't such a bad idea.
But then Jaskier is stopping and in his hazy state Geralt nearly walks into him from his distraction. An arm bumps against Jaskier's and his hand slides down to find his, unabashedly lacing their fingers together as he looks out at the view. It is pretty. Ethereal. Surreal.
He can smell something sweet.
It doesn't take long for Geralt to realize the scent is wafting off of Jaskier's body. Lured in, he turns his body into his and his free hand grasps at Jaskier's hip, dipping his head in to stick his nose and lips against the man's neck to kiss. The scent is even stronger here and a pleased sound rumbles through Geralt as he attempts to push the other man up against one of those convenient rocks.
Jaskier is sure he's seen the cove in the map when he checked it, back when they were travelling accross the forest. Sure, it was after he started to feel the odd warm air but written maps don't change just because the air hits them, right? That would be weird, what kind of absurd magic would do that instead of something more impressive? And so, the bard is convinced this is a perfectly normal, gorgeous cove.
Geralt's hand on him is sudden and comforting, and it makes Jaskier's heart skip a beat. He gives a squeeze, leans into the man's side as they stare at the sea and the moon. Jaskier wants to compose a sonnet, a new song or maybe even ten, about how the reflected lights remind him of Geralt's hair, about how the ocean symbolizes his strength, about so many things. But no matter how many times he sings about Geralt, nothing really makes the man justice.
No matter how fascinating the view, Geralt lips on him are ten times more distracting. It's like a dam overflowing, like being given free will to act. Jaskier moans and moves with Geralt, lies back on the rock and tugs at the front of Geralt's shirt to pull him on top of him.
"This is definitely better than swimming naked." He mutters against the witcher's lips, not bothering to pull away as his hands fly to the buttons of the shirt, which makes the words sound muffled. Kisses don't seem enough, not tonight, he wants to touch and bite and bring the other pleasure.
None of this makes much sense. If Geralt wasn't so distracted by whatever spell is upon them and how amazing Jaskier smells right now, he would catch on far more easily. As it stands though he's just as affected by magic as anyone else when he hasn't prepared otherwise, no potions or defensive spells in play here. Whatever is controlling the air around them caught this couple at just the right time in their tentative relationship, urging on their newfound attraction.
A simple, deep hum is his intelligent response to Jaskier's commentary, busy kissing the bard senseless to comment otherwise. His own hands slip under Jaskier's doublet clumsily, seeking out warmer skin but only finding his undershirt in the process. Frustrated and suddenly far more turned on than he was five minutes ago, Geralt's fingers dig into the fabric almost with the intent of ripping it off the man's body. Teeth bite at Jaskier's lower lip and he pulls back only to look between them with clear frustration.
"You wear too many layers." Patience is apparently not his strong suit when he's this horny. He tries to tug both layers out from Jaskier's pants instead, nearly ripping the front of his doublet open.
Something giggles in the woods behind them.
Geralt's ears perk at the feminine sound and suddenly he stops, staring at Jaskier and how flush he looks under the moonlight as though seeing him for the first time. "Did you hear something?"
So little things make sense in Jaskier's life that he stopped paying attention. Right now he's pleased with the fantasy, with Geralt's lips on him and the weight of the man's body against his own. It feels real enough, the rest is unimportant. His hands come up behind Geralt and are trailing his back, squeezing at his shoulder blades, his sides, looking for a way to sneak his fingers under the clothes.
"Agreed. Rip it off of me." Any other day Jaskier would have protested, would have said that being fashionable wasn't a crime and that his clothes needed to be handled carefully. But now he just groans against Geralt's mouth and rocks his hips up, desire clouding any other thought and making it obvious he's not his usual self. His blood is burning up, lightning shooting all down his spine every time Geralt's fingers manage to brush against bare skin.
Something giggles and it takes Jaskier a second to realize it hasn't been him. He still doesn't care but Geralt has stopped attacking his mouth and that is unacceptable. The bard's hands reach up, grab each side of Geralt's face, try to no avail to make the man look back at him.
"It must be the wind, it's been windy since we were in the forest." His voice is rough, needy, and his throat feels choked up. His legs are wrapping around Geralt's waist, pressing their still clothes erections together. "Geralt," He begs. "Geralt, I need you in me."
In their current altered state, it would be so easy to succumb to the heady arousal and magic and simply give in to their whims, but Geralt is starting to feel like there's something more to all this. It's almost too convenient they've managed to find such a secluded area all to themselves with an impressive view and a perfectly warm breeze to accompany them. If it wasn't for the medallion around his neck starting to warm and vibrate from magic as well, Geralt may have just ignored all the other signs and indulged in the very tempting offer quite literally wrapping himself around him right now.
Fuck.
The neediness to Jaskier's voice tests his resolve but Geralt pulls back despite the way his body screams at him for being so foolish. A reassuring hand rests at Jaskier's hip while he tries to pry at least one leg down, his voice heated and heavy when he speaks: "Something's wrong."
Gods, does Jaskier make a tempting sight right now though and Geralt kicks himself for letting it get this far. The hardness in his pants begs to agree. Another giggle breaks the tension and Geralt snaps his head toward the wooded area nearby, practically snarling as he forces himself out of Jaskier's embrace to guard him with his body instead. "Show yourself!"
Jaskier is not entirely sure what is going on. He's heard the giggling this time and a distant, sober part of his mind is telling him that's a bad sign. That they're in danger. His cock has other ideas and they all involve a naked Witcher grinding against him and no matter how hard he tries Jaskier can't focus on anything else. He whimpers is desperation when Geralt shifts, turns and starts yelling at someone. No that's not fair, why must someone has to choose this very moment to interrupt them??? Geralt's mouth should only be busy with him, this is not the time to talk to...what even is that.
There's a brief moment of clarity in which Jaskier blinks and stares at the blurry shadow now visible among the trees. Another rush of warm wing announces the approaching presence of the creature and her shape changes, becomes more solid and visible.
"Please don't stop now, things were finally getting interesting."
It's a woman. Sounds like one, at least. Her voice is melodic, amused but soft like silk, her skin dark with a slight reddish hue and mostly on display. Only the long dark hair falling on her chest hide her breast and there are streaks of white paint all over her arms and belly, curling in patterns. Two large horns are on each side of her head like a goat, they match her cloven hooves and Jaskier is pretty sure that's a tail behind her.
He frowns, decides he cares about her far less than he cares about getting Geralt naked and starts to ignore her again in favor of focusing on his partner. The Witcher's back is to him and the bard runs his hand down the strong, wide shoulders and the small of his back, then he gives the perky arse a squeeze.
"Geralt, tell the goat lady to go, we're busy." As if to make that more obvious, Jaskier nuzzles the curve of his neck, pushing his hair away to nip and suck at his nape. Instead of looking put out, the succubus eyes get brighter and he looks delighted at the scene.
Geralt knows who - or what - this is the moment it shows itself, and suddenly everything from the past few hours makes much more sense. Their insatiable desire, the building need, the distracted thoughts... it was all the doing of a clever succubus tailing them for half the day, if not longer. Her magic is even more potent so up close but the reveal has Geralt's thoughts far more sober. A succubus is harmless until it won't let go of a mark.
"Stop-" he barely manages before a shiver runs down his spine and through his body at Jaskier's touch, inviting and warm, and the lips on his neck nearly make his knees buckle. Geralt's feeling a lot more sensitive with the magical influence and the natural need that's been forming ever since he and Jaskier have become... closer. The temptation to continue is strong but only because he wants the man behind him, not the creature trying to involve itself.
"Release... this spell," he slurs out as dignified as he can dare try with an obvious stiffness in his pants and Jaskier mouthing at his neck. His body is still angled protectively to shield the bard from the creature, as if she will pounce at any moment. He knows that isn't how they work. The magic she's exuding is much more powerful than he's used to. A mutation, perhaps? "He's-... We're not interested."
A dismissive wave of his arm does nothing to put the creature off as she steps closer, more of that sweet scent and coaxing magic pulling them in. "He seems very interested. In you. I could just... watch. And help."
She has no intention of escalating things until they turn violent, dead men can't feed her, and she would like this meal to last. It's been keeping her hunger at bay for almost two days, it's been good but she knows it could be better. Besides, these humans really are fun to watch, they make such an unlikely pair. Her tail curls up behind her, like a cat staring at tasty, fat mice, but she does listen to the Witcher. She can't tell if that 'Stop' is meant for her or for his partner.
Jaskier can't tell either, not like he's listening much, his mind clouded with desire and the need to feel Geralt's skin against his own, his body pressed hard against his, inside him. But then, the succubus suggestion finally sinks in. I could just... watch. And help.
Help?
Help!
How dare she...!
The bard looks over Geralt's shoulder, brows knitting together, and for some brief seconds, the word turns into focus. It doesn't last but it's long enough that Jaskier can growl at her, actually growl, and say "No. Mine."
His arms wrap around Geralt's chest more firmly, hands clutching at his front, and there's a glare in the blue eyes that is only slightly getting clouded again. The pheromones she's releasing, her magic, is still very much influencing him but Jaskier tries to cling to his sanity, what he knows to be the truth. And what he knows is that he doesn't want Geralt to be with anybody else, that he would let the Witcher go if his heart belonged to another but that Jaskier's own would never recover.
'Did he just growl at me!?' It makes the succubus pause, confusion all over he beautiful features. Her tail drops and she blinks comically a couple of times, as if she can't believe that the bard has the nerve to talk back to her. She can make any man, woman or beast do her bidding unless their magic is powerful enough or...or their heart belongs to another. She's followed them enough to know the brunette has as much magical ability as a potato sack, so it can't be that. Love. Ew, that's nothing like lust and won't satisfy her hunger. The woman's eyebrows pinch together and she pouts before she can get a hold of herself. You aren't fun anymore.
Any other monster saying that with an annoyed expression should be warning enough that things are about to go downhill. But Succubus aren't Bruxas.They're not werewolves, or trolls, or drowners. Annoying, yes, but not murderous unless it happens by accident. She crosses her arms over her chest like a petulant child and drops the flirtatious facade, along with the spells that making the men act on their deepest urges. When she does, the cove changes as well. It doesn't turn hideous but the looming trees have a scarier feel to them, casting dark shadows over the sand and grass. The rocks feel more uncomfortable, the ocean darker, ominous, and the moonlight eerie rather than welcoming.
In retrospect, Geralt will kick himself for falling for this alluring illusion so easily, but this succubus had been trailing them for some time. She was clever and planned out this meeting, building them to a point where even a witcher couldn't tell something was afoot until he was already affected. Thankfully this particular "monster" isn't of the violent kind. Geralt doesn't even have his sword with him right now.
Jaskier coming to his defense in a possessive way is surprising enough to give Geralt pause, not knowing how to respond at first. The succubus looks annoyed by the behavior and the ease as to which she backs off is suspicious. Did Jaskier really just ward off an active succubus from the pair of them? Geralt still feels paranoid enough to keep a defensive posture, ready to fight if necessary, but then she's glaring, pouting, and the world around them seems to melt into reality again.
Fuck, it's cold out here.
Geralt shivers from the sudden blast of cold night air by the beach, darkness surrounding them save for the full moon, but thankfully he can see clearer than humans in the dark. His hand comes up to squeeze Jaskier's forearm reassuringly, trying to pull it away gently. The succubus sighs like she cannot believe her luck here, wriggling her fingers in their direction before she gestures to the inn up on the beach.
"There are far more fun energies from the humans inside. I've wasted so much time here."
She turns to disappear into the woods beside them and Geralt lets her, despite feeling the need to urge her not to try anything funny. His mouth and throat feel too dry all of a sudden, and he turns to face Jaskier instead, concern evident in his voice: "Are you alright?" A hand pressed to the bard's shoulder, he searches his face. "The spell has worn off. You might feel dizzy from the rush of blood."
To be honest, Jaskier has no idea what happened either. He wasn't thinking about scaring away the succubus, it's not a thing that should have been possible. His mind was in a much simpler state, protecting the one he categorized as his lover. But apparently, you can annoy a succubus into letting you alone??? Jaskier is good at annoying people, it's a natural talent: It was about time such thing came in handy.
Now, no single person who ever met Julian Alfred Pankratz would say that he's shy or that suffers from things like embarrassment or common sense. He might have at some point in his youth but those days are long gone. Usually. Trying to climb your best friend (boyfriend?) and acting like a cat in heat while in a very public space would embarrass even the more shameless person. He hadn't listened when Geralt asked him to stop, that's the worst of all.
The Succubus left but Jaskier isn't paying her any attention. He retreats his arms from Geralt's form after the squeeze and hugs himself when the chill air of the night had hit him like a ton of bricks. His clothes and his hair need to be fixed but he can't bring himself to care about that. He's trying really hard to avoid looking at Geralt's eyes and also willing his boner away. None of those things are easy to accomplish and so far none of them is also happening.
"I am I think. That was...weird. The last days feel weird." He dares to look up at Geralt, wanting to apologize, to check on him. The words are stuck in his throat.
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givingexposition) wrote2020-01-03 11:55 pm
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Jaskier finds himself smiling at the humming, thinking a 'yeah that's what I thought' in return, but not voicing it. Geralt is still pretty much a mystery but years of walking together had taught the younger man to read his moods in the intonations of his short responses.
"Nothing, uh? That's good for me too, I don't have your keen eyesight, I don't see in the dark." Would he be able to convince Geralt to drop his armour and clothes and get into the water with him? Who knows. Is Jaskier still going to try to coach him into it? Oh yes.
The sun has started to set, red and brown filling the sky, and the view is so breathtaking that it distracts Jaskier from the fact the forest sounds different than any forest should be. He's more interested in the building shaped shadow he can see in the distance, beyond the trees. "I think I see the inn."
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The lightest humming among whispers of tree branches and the occasional call of a bird is cause for concern, though Geralt still hasn't brought any attention to it. He wonders if Jaskier has heard or if it's all in Geralt's mind, if maybe it's lack of rest that's finally caught up with him. Whatever the case, he's still tense despite the happy-go-lucky nature of Jaskier beside him. If anything, it's obvious there's magic in this forest.
"Hm, I see it too," he confirms, though with the sun setting he can only hope they've made it in time. His arm drops from the other man's the closer they get to the edge of the woods, urging him and Roach both to walk a little faster for the home stretch.
The moment they leave the woods and head off on a more open path to the inn, Geralt feels some of the oppressive nature melt away, though it isn't completely gone. It's as though they have eyes on them but he can't tell from which direction. Trying not to dwell, he leads Roach to the stables before they head inside to find a room, the warmth and surprisingly cheery atmosphere inside the inn's tavern welcome.
"They only have one room." Not that it would be their first time sharing. "Feeling hungry?"
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They had been walking all day and he looks forward to taking a break as well, preferably with a drink in hand. No one looks at them with disdain when they walk into the inn and Jaskier finds himself so relieved that knowing they have to share a room isn't even worth an ounce of concern. He prefers it, if he's honest, he always feels safer when Geralt is near and this is their usual arrangement.
"Thirsty, rather." Either the people in the tavern haven't heard a lot of bad things about Witchers or they're too merry and drunk to care. It works to their favor, especially if the later means that the food and ale are good. "Let me pay, since you took care of the room."
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"Hmm, I won't say no to that," he agrees, leading the way to their room so they can at least drop their personal items. Geralt is all too happy to slouch off his traveling cloak and start unfastening his armor, body feeling stiff from it.
He still can't shake off the feeling like they're being watched to the point of walking to the small window and drawing the curtains, albeit not before taking a long look outside. He sees nothing.
"Drink downstairs?" he asks idly, turning back around to Jaskier as he unbuckles the armor padding on his shoulders.
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Geralt's mind seems to be somewhere else too as goes to check the window while Jaskier blinks at him, mild confusion in his face. He's itching for a drink and some well-deserved rest, so he doesn't think much of the Witcher's odd behavior. Blue eyes fall on the now-closed curtain when Geralt turns his back to it, and for a second Jaskier thinks that he sees them moving slightly. A gush of air makes the hairs at the back of his nape stand on end and he shudders. The air is warmth, which is weird in a building so close to the sea at night. But Geralt is speaking and the bard blinks twice in quick sucession and focuses on him immediately.
"Sounds good. And just so you know that my attention is fully focussed on you, I'll leave the lute here."
Once his instrument is on the nearby table, Jaskier walks over to Geralt to try and help him get out of his armor. The man can do it on his own, he has decades of practice, but Jaskier has seen it remove it and put it own so many times that the knows the fastenings and knots by memory as well. He's confident that he could undress Geralt much quicker than the man itself, having the advantage of smaller hand with long fingers, and not being the one stuck in the armor to begin with.
"There you go, handsome as ever." Jaskier smooths down invisible wrinkles from the front of Geralt's shirt, smiling. Most men would laugh at him for this but he likes the domesticity. He enjoys doing things for Geralt on their everyday life, like fixing him a bath or making sure he eats properly. Maybe it's to compensate the fact he's totally useless during their adventures, not even able to hold up a sword the right way.
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"You must really be in the mood," he drawls, though for what, Geralt doesn't quite specify. The suggestive air is there though and he registers the oddly warm air as well, especially the closer the bard comes. Helping him out of his armor is unnecessary but still nice, and by the time Jaskier's hands are palming down his front, Geralt's feeling more pliant than usual.
He has to blink a few times to get rid of the sleepy heaviness in his eyelids. Instead, he's inspired to reach forward and tip up Jaskier's chin gently with the back of his pointer finger, stepped up close. Instead of responding he leans in to brush their lips together, a simple kiss but one they haven't shared for at least a full day on the road. Normally Geralt wouldn't be so soft when they have other plans but he's feeling strangely relaxed, barely registering the odd whispers outside their window. His focus is on the younger man instead, and how he looks after he's been kissed.
"I know you were thinking about it too."
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It's true that Jaskier will carry the lute everywhere, it means a lot to him because they got it after their first adventure, and it as a preset that had served him well many years. Yes, he cherishes that lute like it's his own child. But he loves Geralt more.
He considers saying something witty, something casual, like how there will be more time tomorrow to charm the patrons with some sea shanty because the people here looks like they would like that sort of thing. But then Geralt is flirting, because that's what Jaskier would call it, he's the expert here about these things okay, and it makes his mouth go dry and a blush creeps up to his cheeks.
It's not even blatant flirting. It's just sweet and honest, and so rare coming from Geralt that the cadence in the man's voice alone is enough to make Jaskier 's brian short circuit. He's feeling a little odd tonight, still too warm, but it's hardly the first time he dreams about Geralt talking to him in a soft voice, faces close enough for only him to hear him speak as their lips brush. It's the first time that the mental image of them with their naked bodies entwined and comes to the forefront of his mind so blatantly fast. Dear God, he's got it bad.
Geralt's gentleness is really what makes Jaskier weak on the knees, the soft touch to his chin earing the Witcher a coy smile once the kiss is over. His chest almost swells with affection.
"I was." He can't deny the affirmation, nor he wants to. A pair of arms wrap around Geralt's shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss, closer. Jaskier doesn't have to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him when they're standing, he's not that short, he just likes the extra contact. When they break apart, Jaskier's hand comes to rest lightly over Geralt’s heart. He's rethinking ever leaving the room but they need some proper food and rest.
"We...we should go down before all the good ale is gone."
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The second kiss is welcomed easily and Geralt even winds an arm around the bard to hold him near. This is still new to them but kissing him feels easy, simple, and exciting. He finds himself wanting to lean in for more when they part, a low, resigned sound leaving him.
"We should," he confirms, though his hold stays firmly in place a while longer. There's a sweetness in the air Geralt can't quite place, though he assumes it's the fragrance from the tavern below. Even the sensation of Jaskier's warm palm on his chest is easing security into Geralt where there was once paranoia.
He stares a moment longer, eyes falling to the other man's lips, and with another, more frustrated sound, he finally lets go. They should go downstairs.
"And food. You're buying, remember?" He adds in before leading the way out the door.
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"Uh hmm." That totally is a 'sure, I'm moving' sound of agreement, yet Jaskier is still resting his weight against Geralt's chest. The man's a furnace, one that he wouldn't mind feeling all over him. Alas, all good things come to and end.
"I'm buying, I can't have you going hungry. What if you and I have to carry around?... We wouldn't get very far." The last line comes out with a small pout. Jaskier has no illusions about their different strength.
Turns out the patrons of the tavern DO love sea shanties, probably much to Geralt's chagrin. A lot of them are sailors or work in the trading outpost, and Jaskier isn't surprised about their taste. True to his word, he doesn't join the other in their singing and stay by Geralt's side, sharing drinks and food and generally being amused at the Witcher's annoyance.
As the evening stretches and more people come and goes, the bard is feeling warmer by the minute. The random flashes of hot air are still happening from time to time, ruffling his hair, making his shiver. It feels as if a warm hand is caressing up his spine or brushing against his flustered cheeks. He chalks it up to how crowded the tavern is getting and how close he is to Geralt. But being close and crowded does allow him to slide his hand up the man's thigh under the table without anybody paying them any mind.
"How about we get some fresh air? Not like I don't adore the smell of sailors and spice traders mixing together like it's a tangible thing I need to wash off my clothes but...it's not cool outside and the sea is beautiful at night."
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The food is simple but filling, mostly seafood of course, and the beer smoother than expected. Maybe Geralt's mood is affecting his general acceptance of all that's going on around them but he feels far lighter than usual, especially considering the journey they had to get here. He finds himself wanting to lean in closer, to touch and suggest they go back upstairs already, though the warm hand over his thigh stops that train of thought. It's bold for the pair of them in such a crowded tavern and Geralt's gaze lingers on Jaskier's, almost as if to comment on his lack of concern.
"Hm... and quieter," he adds in regards to moving outdoors, picking up his mug to finish off the rest of his ale. "Let's go."
Before he stands Geralt takes the chance to slide his own hand atop Jaskier's, giving it a gentle squeeze before he's standing to start and slip away through the crowds and toward the outdoors, surprised by how they are getting away with slipping under the radar. Perhaps the tales of the White Wolf are not as popular this far north.
It isn't exactly warm outside, especially since they're so close to the mountains, but Geralt still finds the air refreshing. Waiting for Jaskier to catch up, he takes a few deep lungfuls of air, that strange warm breeze hitting his face again, though whatever is causing it has also passed under the radar for far too long.
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Whatever was left of his own drink is easily forgotten, Jaskier can't get out of the tavern soon enough, suddenly feeling the need of privacy like some deep urgency. He has been expecting the chill air outside to make him shudder but as soon as he steps out there's another gush of wind against his cheek and nape. It's once again warm, feels stronger than before too. As if whatever it's causing it was lurking outside the building, waiting for General and him to alienate themselves from the crowd. This time, Jaskier lets out a soft sound, almost like a giggle. He feels a bit drunk, but it's different than usual. He's been plastered before, he knows his body telltales when he's had too much to drink and that isn't the case tonight.
"Sea! Now!" The bard announces cheerfuly, wrapping an arm around Geralt's and trying to steer him towards the direction of the beach. He doesn't even manage to move two steps forward, the witcher won't be budged. Jaskier lets out a small 'oof' and frowns at Geralt's chest as if to blame it for the fact the man is built like an ox. Then he seems to remember that yes, the man is built like an ox, a very attractive one at that, and makes another soft noise. It sounds like a purr this time.
"Geralt, let's move towards the east, I checked the map before and there's a cove near. Should be safe from inquisitive eyes"
Jaskier is talking about the tavern's patrons, unaware that another set of bright eyes are staring at them from the shadows, the rest of the creature being nothing but a faint, indistinguishable bur. It's quiet and watchful, looking for entertainment for the time being.
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Shaking his head, Geralt tries to clear his mind as he looks at how excited the other man is, how suddenly attentive he is, and after an initial hesitation he's willed forward. The eyes blinking at them from the dark go unnoticed for now, though Geralt still feels that odd sensation of being watched.
"Didn't you once say you want to run naked into the ocean?" He offers with light amusement as they head down toward the beach, allowing himself to be tugged to whatever cove Jaskier had seen. "Though these waters might freeze your dick off."
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The sand under Jaskier's feet shifts and blows in the air thanks to the sea breeze whirling around them - or what he assumes is the sea breeze- as he moves with the determination of a man with a clear purpose. The purpose being to find a private place to kiss his Witcher senseless, that's it. He beams at Geralt for that question, laughing as they walk down the beach and the vegetation changes. He can spot the cove in the distance, surrounded by a canopy of trees, the perfect place for privacy.
"I did want to. But If that happens it would be such a loss. We can't have that, do we? You'd have to keep me warm." The bard is already tugging the laces of his doublet loose as he moves, revealing the embroidered chemise under it.
It wouldn't have taken him another minute to takes off the doubled completely but the view in front of him stops him. Even at night when the sea is mostly pitch black, the cove looks gorgeous. There's tree guarding them from each side, like silent protectors, and the water glints under the moonlight. The sand is thin and soft, with patches of green grass here and there as well as huge rocks that had been smoothed by the elements over the years. It looks almost unreal.
It might be.
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But then Jaskier is stopping and in his hazy state Geralt nearly walks into him from his distraction. An arm bumps against Jaskier's and his hand slides down to find his, unabashedly lacing their fingers together as he looks out at the view. It is pretty. Ethereal. Surreal.
He can smell something sweet.
It doesn't take long for Geralt to realize the scent is wafting off of Jaskier's body. Lured in, he turns his body into his and his free hand grasps at Jaskier's hip, dipping his head in to stick his nose and lips against the man's neck to kiss. The scent is even stronger here and a pleased sound rumbles through Geralt as he attempts to push the other man up against one of those convenient rocks.
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Geralt's hand on him is sudden and comforting, and it makes Jaskier's heart skip a beat. He gives a squeeze, leans into the man's side as they stare at the sea and the moon. Jaskier wants to compose a sonnet, a new song or maybe even ten, about how the reflected lights remind him of Geralt's hair, about how the ocean symbolizes his strength, about so many things. But no matter how many times he sings about Geralt, nothing really makes the man justice.
No matter how fascinating the view, Geralt lips on him are ten times more distracting. It's like a dam overflowing, like being given free will to act. Jaskier moans and moves with Geralt, lies back on the rock and tugs at the front of Geralt's shirt to pull him on top of him.
"This is definitely better than swimming naked." He mutters against the witcher's lips, not bothering to pull away as his hands fly to the buttons of the shirt, which makes the words sound muffled. Kisses don't seem enough, not tonight, he wants to touch and bite and bring the other pleasure.
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A simple, deep hum is his intelligent response to Jaskier's commentary, busy kissing the bard senseless to comment otherwise. His own hands slip under Jaskier's doublet clumsily, seeking out warmer skin but only finding his undershirt in the process. Frustrated and suddenly far more turned on than he was five minutes ago, Geralt's fingers dig into the fabric almost with the intent of ripping it off the man's body. Teeth bite at Jaskier's lower lip and he pulls back only to look between them with clear frustration.
"You wear too many layers." Patience is apparently not his strong suit when he's this horny. He tries to tug both layers out from Jaskier's pants instead, nearly ripping the front of his doublet open.
Something giggles in the woods behind them.
Geralt's ears perk at the feminine sound and suddenly he stops, staring at Jaskier and how flush he looks under the moonlight as though seeing him for the first time. "Did you hear something?"
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"Agreed. Rip it off of me." Any other day Jaskier would have protested, would have said that being fashionable wasn't a crime and that his clothes needed to be handled carefully. But now he just groans against Geralt's mouth and rocks his hips up, desire clouding any other thought and making it obvious he's not his usual self. His blood is burning up, lightning shooting all down his spine every time Geralt's fingers manage to brush against bare skin.
Something giggles and it takes Jaskier a second to realize it hasn't been him. He still doesn't care but Geralt has stopped attacking his mouth and that is unacceptable. The bard's hands reach up, grab each side of Geralt's face, try to no avail to make the man look back at him.
"It must be the wind, it's been windy since we were in the forest." His voice is rough, needy, and his throat feels choked up. His legs are wrapping around Geralt's waist, pressing their still clothes erections together. "Geralt," He begs. "Geralt, I need you in me."
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Fuck.
The neediness to Jaskier's voice tests his resolve but Geralt pulls back despite the way his body screams at him for being so foolish. A reassuring hand rests at Jaskier's hip while he tries to pry at least one leg down, his voice heated and heavy when he speaks: "Something's wrong."
Gods, does Jaskier make a tempting sight right now though and Geralt kicks himself for letting it get this far. The hardness in his pants begs to agree. Another giggle breaks the tension and Geralt snaps his head toward the wooded area nearby, practically snarling as he forces himself out of Jaskier's embrace to guard him with his body instead. "Show yourself!"
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There's a brief moment of clarity in which Jaskier blinks and stares at the blurry shadow now visible among the trees. Another rush of warm wing announces the approaching presence of the creature and her shape changes, becomes more solid and visible.
"Please don't stop now, things were finally getting interesting."
It's a woman. Sounds like one, at least. Her voice is melodic, amused but soft like silk, her skin dark with a slight reddish hue and mostly on display. Only the long dark hair falling on her chest hide her breast and there are streaks of white paint all over her arms and belly, curling in patterns. Two large horns are on each side of her head like a goat, they match her cloven hooves and Jaskier is pretty sure that's a tail behind her.
He frowns, decides he cares about her far less than he cares about getting Geralt naked and starts to ignore her again in favor of focusing on his partner. The Witcher's back is to him and the bard runs his hand down the strong, wide shoulders and the small of his back, then he gives the perky arse a squeeze.
"Geralt, tell the goat lady to go, we're busy." As if to make that more obvious, Jaskier nuzzles the curve of his neck, pushing his hair away to nip and suck at his nape. Instead of looking put out, the succubus eyes get brighter and he looks delighted at the scene.
"I could join you."
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"Stop-" he barely manages before a shiver runs down his spine and through his body at Jaskier's touch, inviting and warm, and the lips on his neck nearly make his knees buckle. Geralt's feeling a lot more sensitive with the magical influence and the natural need that's been forming ever since he and Jaskier have become... closer. The temptation to continue is strong but only because he wants the man behind him, not the creature trying to involve itself.
"Release... this spell," he slurs out as dignified as he can dare try with an obvious stiffness in his pants and Jaskier mouthing at his neck. His body is still angled protectively to shield the bard from the creature, as if she will pounce at any moment. He knows that isn't how they work. The magic she's exuding is much more powerful than he's used to. A mutation, perhaps? "He's-... We're not interested."
A dismissive wave of his arm does nothing to put the creature off as she steps closer, more of that sweet scent and coaxing magic pulling them in. "He seems very interested. In you. I could just... watch. And help."
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Jaskier can't tell either, not like he's listening much, his mind clouded with desire and the need to feel Geralt's skin against his own, his body pressed hard against his, inside him. But then, the succubus suggestion finally sinks in. I could just... watch. And help.
Help?
Help!
How dare she...!
The bard looks over Geralt's shoulder, brows knitting together, and for some brief seconds, the word turns into focus. It doesn't last but it's long enough that Jaskier can growl at her, actually growl, and say "No. Mine."
His arms wrap around Geralt's chest more firmly, hands clutching at his front, and there's a glare in the blue eyes that is only slightly getting clouded again. The pheromones she's releasing, her magic, is still very much influencing him but Jaskier tries to cling to his sanity, what he knows to be the truth. And what he knows is that he doesn't want Geralt to be with anybody else, that he would let the Witcher go if his heart belonged to another but that Jaskier's own would never recover.
'Did he just growl at me!?' It makes the succubus pause, confusion all over he beautiful features. Her tail drops and she blinks comically a couple of times, as if she can't believe that the bard has the nerve to talk back to her. She can make any man, woman or beast do her bidding unless their magic is powerful enough or...or their heart belongs to another. She's followed them enough to know the brunette has as much magical ability as a potato sack, so it can't be that. Love. Ew, that's nothing like lust and won't satisfy her hunger. The woman's eyebrows pinch together and she pouts before she can get a hold of herself. You aren't fun anymore.
Any other monster saying that with an annoyed expression should be warning enough that things are about to go downhill. But Succubus aren't Bruxas.They're not werewolves, or trolls, or drowners. Annoying, yes, but not murderous unless it happens by accident. She crosses her arms over her chest like a petulant child and drops the flirtatious facade, along with the spells that making the men act on their deepest urges. When she does, the cove changes as well. It doesn't turn hideous but the looming trees have a scarier feel to them, casting dark shadows over the sand and grass. The rocks feel more uncomfortable, the ocean darker, ominous, and the moonlight eerie rather than welcoming.
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Jaskier coming to his defense in a possessive way is surprising enough to give Geralt pause, not knowing how to respond at first. The succubus looks annoyed by the behavior and the ease as to which she backs off is suspicious. Did Jaskier really just ward off an active succubus from the pair of them? Geralt still feels paranoid enough to keep a defensive posture, ready to fight if necessary, but then she's glaring, pouting, and the world around them seems to melt into reality again.
Fuck, it's cold out here.
Geralt shivers from the sudden blast of cold night air by the beach, darkness surrounding them save for the full moon, but thankfully he can see clearer than humans in the dark. His hand comes up to squeeze Jaskier's forearm reassuringly, trying to pull it away gently. The succubus sighs like she cannot believe her luck here, wriggling her fingers in their direction before she gestures to the inn up on the beach.
"There are far more fun energies from the humans inside. I've wasted so much time here."
She turns to disappear into the woods beside them and Geralt lets her, despite feeling the need to urge her not to try anything funny. His mouth and throat feel too dry all of a sudden, and he turns to face Jaskier instead, concern evident in his voice: "Are you alright?" A hand pressed to the bard's shoulder, he searches his face. "The spell has worn off. You might feel dizzy from the rush of blood."
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Now, no single person who ever met Julian Alfred Pankratz would say that he's shy or that suffers from things like embarrassment or common sense. He might have at some point in his youth but those days are long gone. Usually. Trying to climb your best friend (boyfriend?) and acting like a cat in heat while in a very public space would embarrass even the more shameless person. He hadn't listened when Geralt asked him to stop, that's the worst of all.
The Succubus left but Jaskier isn't paying her any attention. He retreats his arms from Geralt's form after the squeeze and hugs himself when the chill air of the night had hit him like a ton of bricks. His clothes and his hair need to be fixed but he can't bring himself to care about that. He's trying really hard to avoid looking at Geralt's eyes and also willing his boner away. None of those things are easy to accomplish and so far none of them is also happening.
"I am I think. That was...weird. The last days feel weird." He dares to look up at Geralt, wanting to apologize, to check on him. The words are stuck in his throat.