Jaskier's mood brightened enough that it could almost be called light, and, considering that they entered Rinde with the mood about as low as it could get without someone actually dying, is saying something. He had been concerned that cutting through Rinde would end up being a mistake, that he should've just dealt with getting stoned in Ghelibol, but he prefers not being run out of town. And Jaskier would've been upset by that reaction towards him, too.

Geralt huffs a laugh when Jaskier mentions all of his... late-night indiscretions. The times that he had wandered off from camp to have a piss that ended up taking twenty minutes; the long soaks in rivers; the noises that he could hear even when he was off hunting and Jaskier was 'tending the fire'. Tending to something, certainly.

"You aren't as subtle as you think you are," he says, definitely amused now. "I could smell you every time, Jaskier. And hear you, most times."

Witcher senses. Terrible for privacy, useful for not getting eaten alive by monsters.

He leans down to satisfy Jaskier's request for a kiss, pressing it against his grinning mouth. It's short, cut off by the bard's chatter and constant need to speak whatever comes to his mind. This time, though? Geralt is quite fond of his ideas.

"Hm." Geralt would be able to maintain his composure if Jaskier wanted to do such a thing, but it would also take him an absurd amount of time to bring him off that way. He would grow bored and have a sore jaw before he ever brought the witcher to completion. He could offer an alternative, instead; Geralt turns his head a little and scrapes his teeth over Jaskier's earlobe, murmurs to him, "I think a better question is whether you think you can stay quiet for me."

He sinks down to his knees in front of Jaskier.