[The answer is so Geralt, so godsdamn gauche, that he laughs. No. Fuck, no, it wasn't. Look, Jaskier has appreciated beauty in every sense of the word, and Geralt is... that. Even for all his rough edges, the man knows how to be attractive. Even though he puts no fucking effort into it.
(All right, so there was some effort put into the strength that's needed to hold him up.)
A flush comes to his cheeks as he tilts his head up, to the side, offering more length of throat. It must be the atmosphere of the party, of the imagined bodies so close to them, that makes everything so heated.
There are a lot of bodies. They have never factored into Jaskier's diving into this. Into -- ohh, into a Witcher's mouth, and the taste of drink on his tongue. Jaskier's groin rubs against him, and it leads to the most wonderful shiver --
He blinks open his eyes. Fuck? Wait. Fuck what?]
Ah! [He jumps as Geralt's tail flicks and something splatters onto his leg. His hooves hit the ground, his leg shaking like a bothered goat's. Why is it so fucking sticky?] Geralt, what did you do?
[The bit of disgust is nothing compared to the gasp he makes when he steps around Geralt to see his beautiful white tail now has a huge wet pool of red soaking into it.] My handiwork! What have you done?
[There goes that spell. The hot air fizzles out like a coal dumped into a bucket of water. His beautiful tail! He'd created that himself, and -- well, apparently Geralt took too well to it if it was shaking it all about. With a curse, Jaskier summons a towel and steals it from his hands, soaking the drink out of the fur as well as he can. As fun as it'd been to rut against the Witcher and be kissed and, you know, generally adored, he had put quite a bit of work in making this tail. He'd wanted it to be real.] You just had to go about wagging it everywhere! Ugh, I think this is going to stain. And now you've ruined the mood.
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(All right, so there was some effort put into the strength that's needed to hold him up.)
A flush comes to his cheeks as he tilts his head up, to the side, offering more length of throat. It must be the atmosphere of the party, of the imagined bodies so close to them, that makes everything so heated.
There are a lot of bodies. They have never factored into Jaskier's diving into this. Into -- ohh, into a Witcher's mouth, and the taste of drink on his tongue. Jaskier's groin rubs against him, and it leads to the most wonderful shiver --
He blinks open his eyes. Fuck? Wait. Fuck what?]
Ah! [He jumps as Geralt's tail flicks and something splatters onto his leg. His hooves hit the ground, his leg shaking like a bothered goat's. Why is it so fucking sticky?] Geralt, what did you do?
[The bit of disgust is nothing compared to the gasp he makes when he steps around Geralt to see his beautiful white tail now has a huge wet pool of red soaking into it.] My handiwork! What have you done?
[There goes that spell. The hot air fizzles out like a coal dumped into a bucket of water. His beautiful tail! He'd created that himself, and -- well, apparently Geralt took too well to it if it was shaking it all about. With a curse, Jaskier summons a towel and steals it from his hands, soaking the drink out of the fur as well as he can. As fun as it'd been to rut against the Witcher and be kissed and, you know, generally adored, he had put quite a bit of work in making this tail. He'd wanted it to be real.] You just had to go about wagging it everywhere! Ugh, I think this is going to stain. And now you've ruined the mood.