[A mushroom! As if he was anything like a fungus. Jaskier preferred a weed, actually, because at least weeds could have flowers. (Though he did love a good mushroom, fried in real butter... gods. All right, perhaps a mushroom wasn't the worst.)
It does show. So, so obviously. And like in the past, when he's found a quiet moment to appreciate something of Geralt's -- when it is them and they are alone, and he says something heartfelt or particularly meaningful (which is often, thank you), he can feel Geralt pull back from it. Nearly recoil.
You can have gentle things, you know, he wants to say, but it won't change anything. Instead he pulls himself into Geralt's lap with a coy little wiggle of his eyebrows. If Geralt will not accept gentle things, good things, then, like always, they must be thrust upon him.]
You are absolutely correct. And, like the wraiths of our yesterdays, I will come back and haunt everyone with both word and song. [He considers that for a second.] With less murderous intent, I assume.
[So close, he cannot miss where Geralt's eyes are focused. And since the large, rough-and-tumble Witcher means to simply stare, Jaskier will have to make the first move.
Simply to press him (and because it has always held attraction for him), he leans in and kisses the edge of the Witcher's jaw, his scarred arm slipping out of Geralt's grip to move onto Geralt's shoulder, fingers plucking at his hair. Gentle. Thrust upon him.] I think I miss the ears a bit.
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[A mushroom! As if he was anything like a fungus. Jaskier preferred a weed, actually, because at least weeds could have flowers. (Though he did love a good mushroom, fried in real butter... gods. All right, perhaps a mushroom wasn't the worst.)
It does show. So, so obviously. And like in the past, when he's found a quiet moment to appreciate something of Geralt's -- when it is them and they are alone, and he says something heartfelt or particularly meaningful (which is often, thank you), he can feel Geralt pull back from it. Nearly recoil.
You can have gentle things, you know, he wants to say, but it won't change anything. Instead he pulls himself into Geralt's lap with a coy little wiggle of his eyebrows. If Geralt will not accept gentle things, good things, then, like always, they must be thrust upon him.]
You are absolutely correct. And, like the wraiths of our yesterdays, I will come back and haunt everyone with both word and song. [He considers that for a second.] With less murderous intent, I assume.
[So close, he cannot miss where Geralt's eyes are focused. And since the large, rough-and-tumble Witcher means to simply stare, Jaskier will have to make the first move.
Simply to press him (and because it has always held attraction for him), he leans in and kisses the edge of the Witcher's jaw, his scarred arm slipping out of Geralt's grip to move onto Geralt's shoulder, fingers plucking at his hair. Gentle. Thrust upon him.] I think I miss the ears a bit.