That one word already shakes Jaskier's entire world, but then Geralt keeps talking, saying he's earned more and-- by Melitele's tits, he uses the f-word. And not the one he likes so much.
Jaskier's smile could light up the entire fucking inn.
Forget the bitterness - Jaskier smells sweetly now, happiness exuding from every inch of his body, eyes twinkling like the stars, grin almost splitting his face in two. He's still sore so he doesn't enter his dramatics mode, but it's obvious that a general bounce has returned to his limbs.
And before Geralt gets away, because he knows that face, knows the conversation has become too much for him, Jaskir leans in and hugs the hell out of him.
"I forgive you, old friend." Gods, it feels good to be able to say those words once more. Makes his heart beat to the rhythm of Toss a coin again. "And thank you. For saving me, and for taking care of my wounds." He pulls back and this time his little smirk is more of a teasing kind. "I won't apologize for the pillow, however, I shall carry that success with me. Your cloak is mine now too."
Okay, the cloak part he doesn't mean, not really. But he still grabs it and wraps himself in it, enjoying having this little piece of Geralt protecting him. He was too hurt, both in the emotional and the physical sense, to appreciate it on the ride here. Now though? Now he doesn't let go of it, moving to lie down on the pillow that is left on the bed. See, he's being a good boy!
"Let us sup, then, my dear witcher!" Congrats, Geralt, you've earned some extra terms of endearment. Jaskier pats the spot next to him. "Come, Geralt. Bring the tray and sit with me. Let us share food like the old times. Then I'll promise I'll rest - I am tired and I don't want to stay here for too long either."
Where is he going, he has no idea. But they can figure that out in the morning. Now he only wants to cuddle against Geralt's broad back, just like he used to do while sharing bedrolls and rooms with only one bed.
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Jaskier's smile could light up the entire fucking inn.
Forget the bitterness - Jaskier smells sweetly now, happiness exuding from every inch of his body, eyes twinkling like the stars, grin almost splitting his face in two. He's still sore so he doesn't enter his dramatics mode, but it's obvious that a general bounce has returned to his limbs.
And before Geralt gets away, because he knows that face, knows the conversation has become too much for him, Jaskir leans in and hugs the hell out of him.
"I forgive you, old friend." Gods, it feels good to be able to say those words once more. Makes his heart beat to the rhythm of Toss a coin again. "And thank you. For saving me, and for taking care of my wounds." He pulls back and this time his little smirk is more of a teasing kind. "I won't apologize for the pillow, however, I shall carry that success with me. Your cloak is mine now too."
Okay, the cloak part he doesn't mean, not really. But he still grabs it and wraps himself in it, enjoying having this little piece of Geralt protecting him. He was too hurt, both in the emotional and the physical sense, to appreciate it on the ride here. Now though? Now he doesn't let go of it, moving to lie down on the pillow that is left on the bed. See, he's being a good boy!
"Let us sup, then, my dear witcher!" Congrats, Geralt, you've earned some extra terms of endearment. Jaskier pats the spot next to him. "Come, Geralt. Bring the tray and sit with me. Let us share food like the old times. Then I'll promise I'll rest - I am tired and I don't want to stay here for too long either."
Where is he going, he has no idea. But they can figure that out in the morning. Now he only wants to cuddle against Geralt's broad back, just like he used to do while sharing bedrolls and rooms with only one bed.