It's not the purring he wanted, but soft humming is still an excellent reaction. At least Geralt is still relaxed! And Jaskier has to hum as well, enjoying the thumb that lightly rubs his heel. He hopes they can recreate this position on tubs in the future - Jaskier doesn't need to hide his feelings (and lust!) anymore, and their grooming sessions shall reflect this. If he wants to climb in with a wet Geralt, now he can.
The shaving is paused after Coën's comment, because Jaskier is Jaskier and he's gotta be dramatic, meaning: he opens his arms and throws his head back as he exclaims "Thank you!" to the sky. "Trust the wise and enhanced eyes of a witcher to see the truth!"
Wise, he says, as if he wasn't always calling witchers dummies. But this is obviously a jab at certain witch's constant reminders of Jaskier's age - Yennefer knows those are the insults that actually hurt him and she never hesitates to poke Jaskier right there in his humanity. To have a witcher (aka someone incredibly aware of how short human life can be) tell him he's doing fine helps tremendously to keep some worries at bay.
Someday he won't be able to follow Geralt anymore, he knows. But he doesn't want to think about it - which is incredibly selfish, because Geralt has enough issues with bonds and loss, this is something they should chat about. For someone that always insists on talking about things and to use words, Jaskier stays silent about this particular subject. My Lady Destiny, let us have some years of happiness before we need to plan for the end.
"I'm turning forty-two this spring," he clarifies as he returns to his task. "Most men my age don't appreciate good grooming, deeming it a female trait. Funny little detail for you to mention gray hairs, however. I hadn't had any until recently - only two, but I still quickly took care of them. I'd like to think I can blame them on the stress of staying away from the war instead of my age."
The war... and the mountain argument. That's got to be it, right? He can't be getting gray hairs already, he won't accept it.
(Following that reasoning, being captured and tortured should've given him hundreds of gray hairs. His mind chooses to ignore that, wanting to keep up the illusion.)
The actual shaving is done now, but the grooming session is far from over. Jaskier exchanges his blade for a bottle of chamomile oil, which Geralt can recognize as the one that often ends up on his lovely bottom. He pours some on his fingers and rubs his hands to spread it before they land on Geralt's face for a gentle after-shave massage.
Jaskier has to frow as well, though, when he sees Geralt's doing so.
"Ooooh nonononono, nope, I know that face, that's not a relaxed face. What's in your mind now, my dear? It better not be witcher logic. Is this conversation putting ideas in your head?"
no subject
The shaving is paused after Coën's comment, because Jaskier is Jaskier and he's gotta be dramatic, meaning: he opens his arms and throws his head back as he exclaims "Thank you!" to the sky. "Trust the wise and enhanced eyes of a witcher to see the truth!"
Wise, he says, as if he wasn't always calling witchers dummies. But this is obviously a jab at certain witch's constant reminders of Jaskier's age - Yennefer knows those are the insults that actually hurt him and she never hesitates to poke Jaskier right there in his humanity. To have a witcher (aka someone incredibly aware of how short human life can be) tell him he's doing fine helps tremendously to keep some worries at bay.
Someday he won't be able to follow Geralt anymore, he knows. But he doesn't want to think about it - which is incredibly selfish, because Geralt has enough issues with bonds and loss, this is something they should chat about. For someone that always insists on talking about things and to use words, Jaskier stays silent about this particular subject. My Lady Destiny, let us have some years of happiness before we need to plan for the end.
"I'm turning forty-two this spring," he clarifies as he returns to his task. "Most men my age don't appreciate good grooming, deeming it a female trait. Funny little detail for you to mention gray hairs, however. I hadn't had any until recently - only two, but I still quickly took care of them. I'd like to think I can blame them on the stress of staying away from the war instead of my age."
The war... and the mountain argument. That's got to be it, right? He can't be getting gray hairs already, he won't accept it.
(Following that reasoning, being captured and tortured should've given him hundreds of gray hairs. His mind chooses to ignore that, wanting to keep up the illusion.)
The actual shaving is done now, but the grooming session is far from over. Jaskier exchanges his blade for a bottle of chamomile oil, which Geralt can recognize as the one that often ends up on his lovely bottom. He pours some on his fingers and rubs his hands to spread it before they land on Geralt's face for a gentle after-shave massage.
Jaskier has to frow as well, though, when he sees Geralt's doing so.
"Ooooh nonononono, nope, I know that face, that's not a relaxed face. What's in your mind now, my dear? It better not be witcher logic. Is this conversation putting ideas in your head?"