"No, I didn't. But what does that have to do with--" Understanding suddenly kicks in, and Jaskier can feel a hurricane of emotions getting stuck in his chest. "Bollocks."
I can't feel love, the noble bastard had said. Then what the fuck would one call a sacrifice such as this?
His hands start trembling and Jaskier moves them away, gesturing wildly as his mouth opens and closes without actually saying a word - for once in his life, he's speechless. The only sound he can hear is his quickening heartbeat eachoing in his ears. Is his scent giving away the mix of feelings he's going through right now?
Like every bit of love and adoration he has for the man in front of him...
Like the distress, the misery, the need to do something to fix this and feeling absolutely helpless.
And can't forget the anger, oh no, can't forget the fury that runs through his passionate veins and wants to find Vesemir and burn his ears with insults until he understands how bloody fucked up this is.
It's that thought that shakes him out of his shock, that reminds him who is the real victim here: Geralt. He has no right to feel upset, he's just a fancy human brat with an easy life. What he needs to be is comforting, suportive.
"You big, caring, noble, obstinate oaf," he mumbles as he throws himself at his lover, giving him the hug of the century. A second is needed so he can swallow the ball of emotions stuck in his throat, which wants to come out as crying or screaming - or both at the same time, if that's possible. When he pulls back, he grabs Geralt's face with both hands and rests his forehead against the witcher's, eyes as intense as the tone of his voice. "Listen to me, and you better listen well. There's no bloody orgasm in the whole Continent worth your pain."
no subject
I can't feel love, the noble bastard had said. Then what the fuck would one call a sacrifice such as this?
His hands start trembling and Jaskier moves them away, gesturing wildly as his mouth opens and closes without actually saying a word - for once in his life, he's speechless. The only sound he can hear is his quickening heartbeat eachoing in his ears. Is his scent giving away the mix of feelings he's going through right now?
Like every bit of love and adoration he has for the man in front of him...
Like the distress, the misery, the need to do something to fix this and feeling absolutely helpless.
And can't forget the anger, oh no, can't forget the fury that runs through his passionate veins and wants to find Vesemir and burn his ears with insults until he understands how bloody fucked up this is.
It's that thought that shakes him out of his shock, that reminds him who is the real victim here: Geralt. He has no right to feel upset, he's just a fancy human brat with an easy life. What he needs to be is comforting, suportive.
"You big, caring, noble, obstinate oaf," he mumbles as he throws himself at his lover, giving him the hug of the century. A second is needed so he can swallow the ball of emotions stuck in his throat, which wants to come out as crying or screaming - or both at the same time, if that's possible. When he pulls back, he grabs Geralt's face with both hands and rests his forehead against the witcher's, eyes as intense as the tone of his voice. "Listen to me, and you better listen well. There's no bloody orgasm in the whole Continent worth your pain."