"You just insulted a whole new generation of bookworms," he replies, laughing and grateful for the distraction, because Geralt's fingers are on his freaking back now. God. Every spot he touches tingles, he swears. He needs to keep conversation up, to convince his brain to hold onto the blood instead of sending it south - and he's about to say something about his surprise over them having authors in common when Geralt gives his warning. Jaskier doesn't have time to react, he can only say-
"What?"
-before Geralt is hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his fucking underwear. Jaskier catches his breath and before he can stop himself, he's raising his hand to cover his mouth because he's sure a very embarrassing noise almost escapes him. Geralt is looking at his ass. Geralt is looking at his ass. GERALT IS LOOKING AT HIS ASS! Or maybe he isn't. Is he? He doesn't know what to think, he doesn't know what he wants the answer to be.
Geralt isn't interested in him, he reminds himself. He wanted to be treated like a friend, right? Well, this is it. Dudes being dudes.
Then why does his heart keep on screaming about mixed signals? (His heart has never been good at giving advice, Lizzie would say.)
It's a quick moment that's over soon, but Jaskier feels like it lasts a fucking eternity. It's not helped by the fact Geralt asks him to check through his hair, something Jaskier has wanted to do since he first met him: to run his finger through white locks and let his nails tease the nape of his neck and-- stop.
"S-sure." He gulps before he starts turning around. "If you have a comb I could also help you with--"
Words get stuck in his -suddenly very dry- throat when Jaskier finishes turning and finds himself face to face with the two biggest tits he's ever seen in his fucking life.
That embarrassing squeaky sound from before? Yeah, he can't stop it this time.
Geralt was born chiseled by Michelangelo himself. Every muscle is bulging: his six-pack could be used to wash fucking leather on, those arms are thicker than some of the tree trunks in the forest, and the chest... good lord, that chest. What a mighty chest. Jaskier wants to bury his face in it, to take naps on it, to suck on those perky nipples - PIERCED nipples. Geralt has piercings. On his nipples.
Also a fucking wolf tattoo.
Did they drink all the wine? He needs more wine.
Jaskier realizes he's raising his hand and quickly takes it back - so much for not being a creep. And his voice? The traitor comes out in a high pitch when he speaks.
"...you are a wolf."
His brain is not working right, so that thought is the only thing he manages to say. He isn't talking about the actual animal - Geralt is a wolf in the same way he is an otter. How could he not see it before?
no subject
"What?"
-before Geralt is hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his fucking underwear. Jaskier catches his breath and before he can stop himself, he's raising his hand to cover his mouth because he's sure a very embarrassing noise almost escapes him. Geralt is looking at his ass. Geralt is looking at his ass. GERALT IS LOOKING AT HIS ASS! Or maybe he isn't. Is he? He doesn't know what to think, he doesn't know what he wants the answer to be.
Geralt isn't interested in him, he reminds himself. He wanted to be treated like a friend, right? Well, this is it. Dudes being dudes.
Then why does his heart keep on screaming about mixed signals? (His heart has never been good at giving advice, Lizzie would say.)
It's a quick moment that's over soon, but Jaskier feels like it lasts a fucking eternity. It's not helped by the fact Geralt asks him to check through his hair, something Jaskier has wanted to do since he first met him: to run his finger through white locks and let his nails tease the nape of his neck and-- stop.
"S-sure." He gulps before he starts turning around. "If you have a comb I could also help you with--"
Words get stuck in his -suddenly very dry- throat when Jaskier finishes turning and finds himself face to face with the two biggest tits he's ever seen in his fucking life.
That embarrassing squeaky sound from before? Yeah, he can't stop it this time.
Geralt was born chiseled by Michelangelo himself. Every muscle is bulging: his six-pack could be used to wash fucking leather on, those arms are thicker than some of the tree trunks in the forest, and the chest... good lord, that chest. What a mighty chest. Jaskier wants to bury his face in it, to take naps on it, to suck on those perky nipples - PIERCED nipples. Geralt has piercings. On his nipples.
Also a fucking wolf tattoo.
Did they drink all the wine? He needs more wine.
Jaskier realizes he's raising his hand and quickly takes it back - so much for not being a creep. And his voice? The traitor comes out in a high pitch when he speaks.
"...you are a wolf."
His brain is not working right, so that thought is the only thing he manages to say. He isn't talking about the actual animal - Geralt is a wolf in the same way he is an otter. How could he not see it before?