Geralt has always been the sort who doesn't take thanks well, no matter how effusively Jaskier gave them. A man of action, or somesuch, and while Jaskier could appreciate that, this outcome was beyond the pale, truly. Jaskier couldn't profess his thanks, for the purchase of this singular horse, for the cost of it, for Geralt's willingness to have him along and keep him near. If he started waxing poetic, the Witcher would roll his eyes and stop listening.
That was fine, Jaskier had experienced a few tough audiences in his time. He just had to change the tune he sang.
"I'm sure," Jaskier agreed and leaned forward on the table, his smile still wide and his cheeks still flushed with delight (and probably a light sunburn, if he was being honest). "But you know, Geralt, as keen as I am to ride that horse, I'd rather like to ride someone else at the moment."
Jaskier was truly a charming man, he was a master of seduction, he'd talked his way into and out of more disasters than he could count without Geralt's help. He'd fucked Countesses, Knights, Princesses, and a Marquis or two. He had absolutely no idea why every attempt at flirting went completely awry whenever Geralt was near him. It was a tragedy, frankly, and Jaskier grimaced as that miserable failure of a line fell between them.
He could have apologized for it and tried again but, frankly, nothing would spare him the mockery he had just earned, so Jaskier doubled down and held Geralt's gaze as his blush (this time from acute embarrassment, definitely) deepened.
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That was fine, Jaskier had experienced a few tough audiences in his time. He just had to change the tune he sang.
"I'm sure," Jaskier agreed and leaned forward on the table, his smile still wide and his cheeks still flushed with delight (and probably a light sunburn, if he was being honest). "But you know, Geralt, as keen as I am to ride that horse, I'd rather like to ride someone else at the moment."
Jaskier was truly a charming man, he was a master of seduction, he'd talked his way into and out of more disasters than he could count without Geralt's help. He'd fucked Countesses, Knights, Princesses, and a Marquis or two. He had absolutely no idea why every attempt at flirting went completely awry whenever Geralt was near him. It was a tragedy, frankly, and Jaskier grimaced as that miserable failure of a line fell between them.
He could have apologized for it and tried again but, frankly, nothing would spare him the mockery he had just earned, so Jaskier doubled down and held Geralt's gaze as his blush (this time from acute embarrassment, definitely) deepened.