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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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.