The explanation, for once in Geralt's stupid, verbally-deficient life, is enough. Jaskier understands, and better still, doesn't care that Geralt's physiology has been so drastically altered in this arena. It's-- a relief? Like finally setting down a heavy burden that he'd carried so long he'd forgotten the weight of it.
Jaskier kisses him tenderly, presses their foreheads together, and Geralt feels that vice-like thing twist up his chest again. It's been happening so much more frequently around the bard, and a part of him hates it-- this sign that he's been botched badly enough to have some feeling left, but not so badly that he can return Jaskier's love as purely and truly as it's given. An echo of his sentiment is a poor way to repay two decades of devotion, but Geralt is selfish.
"I'd have no one else's hands putting my guts back in me," he replies, half a joke and half honest truth, tilts his head to meet Jaskier's lips, and--
And the fucking door bursts open. Geralt is on his feet in an instant, ignoring the bard's indignant screech, his sword already in his hand.
"Hey, Geralt, when we told you to make friends, we didn't mean another--"
The figure in the doorway steps inside, nearly as tall and broad as Geralt, but with brown hair instead of white and the same gold witchers' eyes. A grin breaks across his scarred face, pulling up to reveal teeth on the side that's been damaged.
"Oh, you have been making friends, huh? Put that sword down, brother, and," he makes a lazy gesture at Geralt's unbuttoned pants, "put that one away too, yeah?"
"What the fuck are you doing here, Eskel," Geralt growls, sheathing the sword and hastily buttoning up his pants. Fuck, there shouldn't be anyone this far down the mountain this late in the year. And the timing couldn't be more rotten. Is he cursed? Geralt is seriously considering getting himself checked for curses.
"The wyvern have been acting up, so I came down to deal with it. You're welcome, by the way." Eskel made his way over to the cabinets, pulling out another bag of jerky and tearing into a piece. "I saw Roach and decided I'd say hello. Didn't realize you'd be, y'know, getting friendly. You usually show up alone. And now you've brought a kid and a bard, all in one year!"
Eskel nods towards Jaskier, acknowledging the bard. "Hi, by the way. Let's not feed me to the bloody basilisks, if it's all the same to you."
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Jaskier kisses him tenderly, presses their foreheads together, and Geralt feels that vice-like thing twist up his chest again. It's been happening so much more frequently around the bard, and a part of him hates it-- this sign that he's been botched badly enough to have some feeling left, but not so badly that he can return Jaskier's love as purely and truly as it's given. An echo of his sentiment is a poor way to repay two decades of devotion, but Geralt is selfish.
"I'd have no one else's hands putting my guts back in me," he replies, half a joke and half honest truth, tilts his head to meet Jaskier's lips, and--
And the fucking door bursts open. Geralt is on his feet in an instant, ignoring the bard's indignant screech, his sword already in his hand.
"Hey, Geralt, when we told you to make friends, we didn't mean another--"
The figure in the doorway steps inside, nearly as tall and broad as Geralt, but with brown hair instead of white and the same gold witchers' eyes. A grin breaks across his scarred face, pulling up to reveal teeth on the side that's been damaged.
"Oh, you have been making friends, huh? Put that sword down, brother, and," he makes a lazy gesture at Geralt's unbuttoned pants, "put that one away too, yeah?"
"What the fuck are you doing here, Eskel," Geralt growls, sheathing the sword and hastily buttoning up his pants. Fuck, there shouldn't be anyone this far down the mountain this late in the year. And the timing couldn't be more rotten. Is he cursed? Geralt is seriously considering getting himself checked for curses.
"The wyvern have been acting up, so I came down to deal with it. You're welcome, by the way." Eskel made his way over to the cabinets, pulling out another bag of jerky and tearing into a piece. "I saw Roach and decided I'd say hello. Didn't realize you'd be, y'know, getting friendly. You usually show up alone. And now you've brought a kid and a bard, all in one year!"
Eskel nods towards Jaskier, acknowledging the bard. "Hi, by the way. Let's not feed me to the bloody basilisks, if it's all the same to you."