(His protest never had any impact at all, regardless of the kiss. Jaskier only snorted. Sorry, Geralt.)
Welp, there goes the cute little moment they were having. At least Geralt has reacted well to the gestures of affection, doing his sniffing and keeping his hand on Jaskier's chest. So he'll take it as a win - he knows better than expecting gran romantic gestures from the man, but he wishes he would at least not get bloody scolded after such poetic words of love.
"Yes, mom, I know." He says while rolling his eyes. "I'll hide it as soon as we see the walls in the distance."
The hand on his chest is brought to his lips for a peck - the fact it has gloves on is irrelevant, it's about the romance and giving Geralt all the affection his touch starvation deserves. Now he can go back to Pegasus feeling like a proper gentleman that has treated his lover right, which is very, very important!
"A hunting cabin? With a fireplace and an actual bed? You should've mentioned that before, dear witcher. Let us depart."
They keep pushing their way north, barely stopping at all and when they do, waking up to frost on their hair. They don't even have time to take more than basic care of their horses, and Jaskier promises them extra sugar cubes and an extra long session of brushing when they finally make it to Kaer Moher.
It's only two more days to Ard Carraigh but they feel like forever. Without their usual stops to camp, without music and with little to no chatter, the trip drags on to incredibly dull levels. If he wasn't so tired, Jaskier would sing at the sight of the city in front of them. Instead, he makes sure to hide his brooch and pull up his hood.
Never in his life has he tried so hard to go unnoticed, it goes against every bard instinct in him.
The inn is almost empty, travelers already being scarce at this time of the year even if snow hasn't fallen yet. They have plenty of rooms to choose from, and the innkeeper, trying to get some business going before winter kills it for a few months, offers them a discount if they rent two. Jaskier doesn't want two, it'd be a waste of coin and, most importantly, it'd keep him away from Geralt. But they can't risk attracting bigot attention if they ask for just one double bed, so Jaskier sighs and asks for a room with twin beds instead.
It wouldn't be the first time they share a tiny bed anyway, and Jaskier has fucked in closets. It can't get worse than this.
(Famous last words.)
As soon as they put a foot inside their room for the night, Jaskier runs to throw himself face down on the bed, not even bothering to take off his cloak or boots first.
"Geralt." He speaks as he nuzzles the hell out of a pillow - oh, how has he missed the comfort. "If you don't Igni that fireplace right now, I'll become a snowflake. And not because I'm pretty and unique."
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Welp, there goes the cute little moment they were having. At least Geralt has reacted well to the gestures of affection, doing his sniffing and keeping his hand on Jaskier's chest. So he'll take it as a win - he knows better than expecting gran romantic gestures from the man, but he wishes he would at least not get bloody scolded after such poetic words of love.
"Yes, mom, I know." He says while rolling his eyes. "I'll hide it as soon as we see the walls in the distance."
The hand on his chest is brought to his lips for a peck - the fact it has gloves on is irrelevant, it's about the romance and giving Geralt all the affection his touch starvation deserves. Now he can go back to Pegasus feeling like a proper gentleman that has treated his lover right, which is very, very important!
"A hunting cabin? With a fireplace and an actual bed? You should've mentioned that before, dear witcher. Let us depart."
They keep pushing their way north, barely stopping at all and when they do, waking up to frost on their hair. They don't even have time to take more than basic care of their horses, and Jaskier promises them extra sugar cubes and an extra long session of brushing when they finally make it to Kaer Moher.
It's only two more days to Ard Carraigh but they feel like forever. Without their usual stops to camp, without music and with little to no chatter, the trip drags on to incredibly dull levels. If he wasn't so tired, Jaskier would sing at the sight of the city in front of them. Instead, he makes sure to hide his brooch and pull up his hood.
Never in his life has he tried so hard to go unnoticed, it goes against every bard instinct in him.
The inn is almost empty, travelers already being scarce at this time of the year even if snow hasn't fallen yet. They have plenty of rooms to choose from, and the innkeeper, trying to get some business going before winter kills it for a few months, offers them a discount if they rent two. Jaskier doesn't want two, it'd be a waste of coin and, most importantly, it'd keep him away from Geralt. But they can't risk attracting bigot attention if they ask for just one double bed, so Jaskier sighs and asks for a room with twin beds instead.
It wouldn't be the first time they share a tiny bed anyway, and Jaskier has fucked in closets. It can't get worse than this.
(Famous last words.)
As soon as they put a foot inside their room for the night, Jaskier runs to throw himself face down on the bed, not even bothering to take off his cloak or boots first.
"Geralt." He speaks as he nuzzles the hell out of a pillow - oh, how has he missed the comfort. "If you don't Igni that fireplace right now, I'll become a snowflake. And not because I'm pretty and unique."