"Yes, sentimental," Geralt sighed, in as much of a I couldn't care, this is all ridiculous anyway tone as he could manage for feeling quite the opposite. The still-simmering anger was kept absolutely from face and the lines of his body; he sprawled without much care, his wilted cock still half-out of the buttons that had been undone earlier. He scratched the back of his neck and pulled his hair from underneath him where it was pulling.
His mind was trying to recall the times that he'd been with Jaskier-- in inns? Villages?-- when the man had seemed off, particularly in the mornings, and he'd written it off. Told himself it was just a mood that would pass as they all did. Convinced himself that Jaskier was fine instead of following the problem to the root. Had there been times when he had swept some awful and real trouble under the rug of Jaskier's ability to reclaim a sunny, if annoying, personality?
Geralt blinked at Jaskier as the man found a sitting position, having missed the entirety of whatever he'd just said. He tucked himself away and then touched the bard's nearest elbow with just two fingertips. He waited until Jaskier looked at him and quieted. Both. As long as it took.
"I have an iron sword to dispatch the monsters who are less than supernatural," he said, his cat-eyes direct on Jaskier. It was only after the words were out that Geralt realized that something had shifted between them-- though maybe it hadn't exactly coincided with the sex. Or with the horse.
The horse--
Geralt sat up with a jerk, all the attention he'd had on Jaskier a heartbeat before now out the window across the room. "Fuck." He smacked Jaskier lightly on the back as he climbed off the bed. "Jaskier, your damned kelpie is loose!" And how. The view from the room was of buildings across the street, including a small square set up for dancing and festivals around a large center fountain-- in which, at that moment, the gold horse was in, prancing and snorting.
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His mind was trying to recall the times that he'd been with Jaskier-- in inns? Villages?-- when the man had seemed off, particularly in the mornings, and he'd written it off. Told himself it was just a mood that would pass as they all did. Convinced himself that Jaskier was fine instead of following the problem to the root. Had there been times when he had swept some awful and real trouble under the rug of Jaskier's ability to reclaim a sunny, if annoying, personality?
Geralt blinked at Jaskier as the man found a sitting position, having missed the entirety of whatever he'd just said. He tucked himself away and then touched the bard's nearest elbow with just two fingertips. He waited until Jaskier looked at him and quieted. Both. As long as it took.
"I have an iron sword to dispatch the monsters who are less than supernatural," he said, his cat-eyes direct on Jaskier. It was only after the words were out that Geralt realized that something had shifted between them-- though maybe it hadn't exactly coincided with the sex. Or with the horse.
The horse--
Geralt sat up with a jerk, all the attention he'd had on Jaskier a heartbeat before now out the window across the room. "Fuck." He smacked Jaskier lightly on the back as he climbed off the bed. "Jaskier, your damned kelpie is loose!" And how. The view from the room was of buildings across the street, including a small square set up for dancing and festivals around a large center fountain-- in which, at that moment, the gold horse was in, prancing and snorting.