It's not the part about Princess Cirilla - he already heard that from the soldiers, so he isn't surprised. He's glad to know she's safe, actually. It's not the part about Geralt's hands on his thighs, either, although a little part of him does want to scream about that. He's too tired and hurt to have any kind of sexual thoughts.
No, what takes the air out of his lungs -again- is the fact that even when he's not expecting anything, he manages to get disappointed anyway. Because yes, Geralt, words are truly necessary. Otherwise Jaskier will think this is only happening because the witcher just doesn't want to have another corpse under his name, because he doesn't want to give Nilfgaard a pawn.
The bitter smell returns.
Garroter, jury, and judge...
The only reason why he turns around and lays his body face down on the bed, offering his back to Geralt as he requested, is because he wants this to be over with. The lute stays by his side, fingertips brushing its wood, itching to play it but knowing they have to wait. 'Her sweet kiss' is echoing in his mind when he speaks again.
"...and we can't have the bard keeping on shoveling shit on you, can we?"
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It's not the part about Princess Cirilla - he already heard that from the soldiers, so he isn't surprised. He's glad to know she's safe, actually. It's not the part about Geralt's hands on his thighs, either, although a little part of him does want to scream about that. He's too tired and hurt to have any kind of sexual thoughts.
No, what takes the air out of his lungs -again- is the fact that even when he's not expecting anything, he manages to get disappointed anyway. Because yes, Geralt, words are truly necessary. Otherwise Jaskier will think this is only happening because the witcher just doesn't want to have another corpse under his name, because he doesn't want to give Nilfgaard a pawn.
The bitter smell returns.
Garroter, jury, and judge...
The only reason why he turns around and lays his body face down on the bed, offering his back to Geralt as he requested, is because he wants this to be over with. The lute stays by his side, fingertips brushing its wood, itching to play it but knowing they have to wait. 'Her sweet kiss' is echoing in his mind when he speaks again.
"...and we can't have the bard keeping on shoveling shit on you, can we?"