[ Geralt twists a lock of Jaskier's lengthened hair around his finger and tugs. The turn of his lips smug. He knows it is—allows it to be so. ]
I'll know.
[ Can't say he minds being ogled at. He lets Jaskier's eyes travel down the length of his body as he lays back—content to have Jaskier take on the task of searching for oil and other necessities.
He drags his nails down Jaskier's back. Brushes the old scar on his arm. (The very first scar he can remember his friend receiving.)
Then a snort. He hooks one leg over Jaskier's shoulder in answer, and the other he indeed slips his arm under, hitching it up.
There. Plenty of room granted. Plenty of view to observe. ]
no subject
I'll know.
[ Can't say he minds being ogled at. He lets Jaskier's eyes travel down the length of his body as he lays back—content to have Jaskier take on the task of searching for oil and other necessities.
He drags his nails down Jaskier's back. Brushes the old scar on his arm. (The very first scar he can remember his friend receiving.)
Then a snort. He hooks one leg over Jaskier's shoulder in answer, and the other he indeed slips his arm under, hitching it up.
There. Plenty of room granted. Plenty of view to observe. ]