"Ohohoho, nononono, don't you fucking dare, Geralt of Rivia! Don't you fucking dare to repeat all that horseshit he put in your head back to me!"
It's a miracle that he manages to put his lute down against the wall gently when the fury returns, an angry and hurt ball of fire that lights up the entire bedroom when he jumps off the windowsill to pace the room with open arms, calling attention to its heat, its colors, its passion.
(His grandmother called him my buttercup because of his sunny personality - and like the sun, he burns bright and hot, trying to melt every frozen heart around him.)
Geralt's doing it again - doubting his own emotions, Jaskier can understand. Geralt's training pushes him to ignore those, to pretend they don't exist. It's not ideal, and it can get irritating, but he understands. He could be patient to work through them with time. But doubting Jaskier's word? His feelings on the matter? After twenty years of care and songs and friendship? It's like Geralt is spiting on his very face.
"Why would I follow a burden around the Continent for two decades, you cockeyed imbecile? It's as if you didn't know me at all! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, yet no matter how many times I say it, you keep dismissing my feelings! I CHOSE to stay by your side, I CHOSE to befriend you, I CHOSE to give you my youth, and I CHOSE to embrace these feelings instead of trying to-- LOOK AT ME, YOU BASTARD!"
Coming closer is torture, he can feel Geralt's natural warmth coming off him in waves, even in winter. Touching his face is even worse, fingers burning on every inch of skin that makes contact when he grabs the witcher's chin to make him look at him. Blue eyes look up, fearless as always, carrying the same fire that is keeping his heart beating faster than a shot arrow.
"No, I haven't fucked your brother." He almost spits the word, but it feels good to bring it out of the shadows, to stop dancing around it. "And I'll never fuck any witcher, because every time I see golden eyes, I think of YOU. How could you possibly doubt my love after everything we've been through? I don't ask for much, Geralt. I want your trust, which I thought I had, and I cannot believe I had to ask for it again! Is one word from Vesemir truly enough to overthrow what we have? Does it mean that little to you?" The need to emote and flap his hands around is a good one, that way he can let go of Geralt's face before the touch destroys him. "I thought I had been clear back in Oxenfurt - I don't need poetry from you, or an epic confession. I only need your honesty. I only need you to want this because that's what I mean to you. And you SWORE on the trials that made you! Were you lying to me to shut me up?"
He steps back, opening his arms, his voice gaining a mocking tone.
"But you still want to do this? Fine! Let's do this! If you cannot reciprocate, if you cannot feel, then what were you running away from that day in Vizima after the sight-reading contest?"
Stomping and with tears finally appearing his eyes, Jaskier reaches the shelf and grabs the book with the ribbon inside, which he drops on the desk with a blomp.
"THIS isn't lust, Geralt!" He grabs the gwent deck next, same treatment. "THIS isn't lust either! And neither is this!" The wood carving on Roach isn't dropped, but it's put down rather strongly too, noisy all the same, because everything must be dramatic with this bard. "Sir Practicality kept all these, not your cock! My best friend in the whole world went fishing before sunrise so I could have seafood stew, not the monster hunter!"
A pause to breathe, because all the yelling has left him panting. Usually he's excellent at controlling his breathing, thanks to being a performer, but he isn't exactly in control at the moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, letting sadness take over instead of anger to match the words he chooses next.
"It was a brother that lamented the loss of another one of your kind back in the hunting cabin. Because there are many kinds of love and care, and grief is a manifestation of them." He sighs. "So I ask you again, Geralt. What have I asked of you that you cannot give me?"
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It's a miracle that he manages to put his lute down against the wall gently when the fury returns, an angry and hurt ball of fire that lights up the entire bedroom when he jumps off the windowsill to pace the room with open arms, calling attention to its heat, its colors, its passion.
(His grandmother called him my buttercup because of his sunny personality - and like the sun, he burns bright and hot, trying to melt every frozen heart around him.)
Geralt's doing it again - doubting his own emotions, Jaskier can understand. Geralt's training pushes him to ignore those, to pretend they don't exist. It's not ideal, and it can get irritating, but he understands. He could be patient to work through them with time. But doubting Jaskier's word? His feelings on the matter? After twenty years of care and songs and friendship? It's like Geralt is spiting on his very face.
"Why would I follow a burden around the Continent for two decades, you cockeyed imbecile? It's as if you didn't know me at all! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, yet no matter how many times I say it, you keep dismissing my feelings! I CHOSE to stay by your side, I CHOSE to befriend you, I CHOSE to give you my youth, and I CHOSE to embrace these feelings instead of trying to-- LOOK AT ME, YOU BASTARD!"
Coming closer is torture, he can feel Geralt's natural warmth coming off him in waves, even in winter. Touching his face is even worse, fingers burning on every inch of skin that makes contact when he grabs the witcher's chin to make him look at him. Blue eyes look up, fearless as always, carrying the same fire that is keeping his heart beating faster than a shot arrow.
"No, I haven't fucked your brother." He almost spits the word, but it feels good to bring it out of the shadows, to stop dancing around it. "And I'll never fuck any witcher, because every time I see golden eyes, I think of YOU. How could you possibly doubt my love after everything we've been through? I don't ask for much, Geralt. I want your trust, which I thought I had, and I cannot believe I had to ask for it again! Is one word from Vesemir truly enough to overthrow what we have? Does it mean that little to you?" The need to emote and flap his hands around is a good one, that way he can let go of Geralt's face before the touch destroys him. "I thought I had been clear back in Oxenfurt - I don't need poetry from you, or an epic confession. I only need your honesty. I only need you to want this because that's what I mean to you. And you SWORE on the trials that made you! Were you lying to me to shut me up?"
He steps back, opening his arms, his voice gaining a mocking tone.
"But you still want to do this? Fine! Let's do this! If you cannot reciprocate, if you cannot feel, then what were you running away from that day in Vizima after the sight-reading contest?"
Stomping and with tears finally appearing his eyes, Jaskier reaches the shelf and grabs the book with the ribbon inside, which he drops on the desk with a blomp.
"THIS isn't lust, Geralt!" He grabs the gwent deck next, same treatment. "THIS isn't lust either! And neither is this!" The wood carving on Roach isn't dropped, but it's put down rather strongly too, noisy all the same, because everything must be dramatic with this bard. "Sir Practicality kept all these, not your cock! My best friend in the whole world went fishing before sunrise so I could have seafood stew, not the monster hunter!"
A pause to breathe, because all the yelling has left him panting. Usually he's excellent at controlling his breathing, thanks to being a performer, but he isn't exactly in control at the moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, letting sadness take over instead of anger to match the words he chooses next.
"It was a brother that lamented the loss of another one of your kind back in the hunting cabin. Because there are many kinds of love and care, and grief is a manifestation of them." He sighs. "So I ask you again, Geralt. What have I asked of you that you cannot give me?"