[ He can practically read it on Jaskier's expression. That look. The one that says he's doing something Jaskier believes he needn't have to. It comes when the bard catches him suturing himself off somewhere alone, in moments like now where Jaskier is too gentle and Geralt does not know how to reply or accept it. And it isn't that he doesn't want it. He does. He just doesn't know how to take it. Because when he tries, the last time he let himself do so, it's—
It doesn't stay.
(Right now, he wants Jaskier to stay. Maybe that's why it was easier at that party, heated and rough, why it was easier earlier when he had sat at that tavern and thought of pressing him hard against the wall outside until they both shuddered apart. Then Jaskier had touched that scar and Geralt had brought him here instead and now he feels something achingly tender in the space between them. Something he'd not meant to spark. Something he isn't sure how to put back or if he even wants to.)
He's almost afraid Jaskier will speak it aloud. That feeling. But of course Jaskier knows him too fucking well and instead he ends up with a bard in his lap under the water and a reply that makes him huff quietly. ] I don't miss the damn hooves.
[ It is still too soft. But it's unrelenting enough, as well, that Geralt decides not to push it away. He turns his head, lets Jaskier trace his jawline with his lips. His hand trails up Jaskier's side, rests at the small of his back.
no subject
It doesn't stay.
(Right now, he wants Jaskier to stay. Maybe that's why it was easier at that party, heated and rough, why it was easier earlier when he had sat at that tavern and thought of pressing him hard against the wall outside until they both shuddered apart. Then Jaskier had touched that scar and Geralt had brought him here instead and now he feels something achingly tender in the space between them. Something he'd not meant to spark. Something he isn't sure how to put back or if he even wants to.)
He's almost afraid Jaskier will speak it aloud. That feeling. But of course Jaskier knows him too fucking well and instead he ends up with a bard in his lap under the water and a reply that makes him huff quietly. ] I don't miss the damn hooves.
[ It is still too soft. But it's unrelenting enough, as well, that Geralt decides not to push it away. He turns his head, lets Jaskier trace his jawline with his lips. His hand trails up Jaskier's side, rests at the small of his back.
The base of his spine. ] Perhaps the tail.