"A bookworm." He says, laughing. "That's adorable."
And it makes lots of sense - twenty years later, Jaskier still remembers that first review (if it can be called that) from Geralt. They don't exist. He's always been annoyed by lore inaccuracies in tales and songs, but Jaskier had blamed it on witcher pride. This is one hundred times better. Maybe he should start buying books for Geralt when he gets poetry for himself? Not a bad idea, and now the mental image of them cuddling in front of a fire, reading together, won't leave his mind.
There'll be time for that in the future.
Eskel compliments his work and Jaskier preens, pride swelling in his chest, his scent sweet as it can be. He's a sucker for praise in general, but having a witcher -and one he just met, at that- allowing him to patch him up and then complimenting him for it is doing wonders for his ego. It also pleases the romantic in him that wants to impress the in-laws.
"Thank you. It's nice to have someone that appreciates my work." He glances at Geralt when he says that, an expression on his face that says he's just being a little shit. "A little bit of both, actually. I learned to sew back in Oxenfurt to take care of my clothes, but anything healing related you can thank your brother and his lack of self-care for. I spent a whole night holding his bloody guts and he still wouldn't call me a friend!"
When Geralt approaches with the vodka, Jaskier lets their fingers brush for longer than needed as a little affectionate gesture to make up for all the teasing going on. He instantly regrets it, however, when Geralt fires back. The bastard!
"Oi! Don't act as if you didn't know my drinking limits as well as your own, you big oaf! At least I'm not the one meditating instead of sleeping!" He takes a pretty deep sip of vodka before passing the bottle back to Geralt and turning to Eskel again, this time to bandage the wound. "You can take turns with him from now on, right, Eskel?"
He's trying to sound as indignant as he can but there's an edge of begging to his voice - it breaks him that his lover hasn't slept in so long, Geralt deserves to fucking rest.
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And it makes lots of sense - twenty years later, Jaskier still remembers that first review (if it can be called that) from Geralt. They don't exist. He's always been annoyed by lore inaccuracies in tales and songs, but Jaskier had blamed it on witcher pride. This is one hundred times better. Maybe he should start buying books for Geralt when he gets poetry for himself? Not a bad idea, and now the mental image of them cuddling in front of a fire, reading together, won't leave his mind.
There'll be time for that in the future.
Eskel compliments his work and Jaskier preens, pride swelling in his chest, his scent sweet as it can be. He's a sucker for praise in general, but having a witcher -and one he just met, at that- allowing him to patch him up and then complimenting him for it is doing wonders for his ego. It also pleases the romantic in him that wants to impress the in-laws.
"Thank you. It's nice to have someone that appreciates my work." He glances at Geralt when he says that, an expression on his face that says he's just being a little shit. "A little bit of both, actually. I learned to sew back in Oxenfurt to take care of my clothes, but anything healing related you can thank your brother and his lack of self-care for. I spent a whole night holding his bloody guts and he still wouldn't call me a friend!"
When Geralt approaches with the vodka, Jaskier lets their fingers brush for longer than needed as a little affectionate gesture to make up for all the teasing going on. He instantly regrets it, however, when Geralt fires back. The bastard!
"Oi! Don't act as if you didn't know my drinking limits as well as your own, you big oaf! At least I'm not the one meditating instead of sleeping!" He takes a pretty deep sip of vodka before passing the bottle back to Geralt and turning to Eskel again, this time to bandage the wound. "You can take turns with him from now on, right, Eskel?"
He's trying to sound as indignant as he can but there's an edge of begging to his voice - it breaks him that his lover hasn't slept in so long, Geralt deserves to fucking rest.