[Jaskier all but guffaws, switching immediately onto his side so he can shove Geralt over (though, unsurprisingly, he hardly fucking moves.)] That's the best you can do? Shit jokes, as per usual. It is an absolute wonder that your ass somehow makes up for them.
[But perhaps it's done what a joke is meant to do; Jaskier is looking at him with a smile, with humor lining his eyes. It's maybe the first time in almost a season that he has not felt wound tighter than a bowstring. His hand crosses the space between them, trailing down Geralt's chest for nothing more than the lovely touch of it, still warm, still moist with sweat. He traces scars that he could rattle off the stories of without a second thought.
It is not strange for Jaskier to know someone's body. It is only that he has long memorized Geralt's before he has ever bedded it. Years of bathing the bastard when he's broken a bone, cleaning wounds he can't reach. Stitching him up when he could do it without passing out. Watching firelight glow upon his face as he cleans his swords, with Jaskier alongside him oiling his lute or restringing catgut.
I missed you, he thinks. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come back. That his oldest, boldest, and strongest friend could be so easily taken away... and that he should go through so much without barely a complaint after it.] Will you manage any sleep at all, you think?
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[But perhaps it's done what a joke is meant to do; Jaskier is looking at him with a smile, with humor lining his eyes. It's maybe the first time in almost a season that he has not felt wound tighter than a bowstring. His hand crosses the space between them, trailing down Geralt's chest for nothing more than the lovely touch of it, still warm, still moist with sweat. He traces scars that he could rattle off the stories of without a second thought.
It is not strange for Jaskier to know someone's body. It is only that he has long memorized Geralt's before he has ever bedded it. Years of bathing the bastard when he's broken a bone, cleaning wounds he can't reach. Stitching him up when he could do it without passing out. Watching firelight glow upon his face as he cleans his swords, with Jaskier alongside him oiling his lute or restringing catgut.
I missed you, he thinks. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come back. That his oldest, boldest, and strongest friend could be so easily taken away... and that he should go through so much without barely a complaint after it.] Will you manage any sleep at all, you think?