That it was the bard's own clumsiness that left him prone was fine; Geralt didn't feel the urge to chase Jaskier, only claim him and perhaps pull parts slowly off of him as he screamed. Parts he wouldn't miss, ultimately. The grin didn't leave the witcher's face-- watching the other man there, the realization of how caught he was spreading across his expression bit by bit as his color drained away... that was good. The more scared he was, the more he would scream. Geralt thought that it was just what the whispered roar of the voice inside him really was demanding, make him sing his pain.

Good, then.

Geralt laid his hands on Jaskier's thighs, digging fingers into the meat of muscle. "This won't be quick," he promised, "but it will let you purge yourse--" the words strangled in his throat as the pennants ripped and the tide was pulled out from under his feet. Geralt fell completely to the side of the chair, curled into himself, hands that had released Jaskier clutching at his own head for a moment as a queer sound crawled through his lips. His head pounded and he was trying to breath, gasping, fighting his way up. Falling onto his back as his muscles relaxed he stared at the chandelier above himself, sparking golden-tinged rainbows in the moonlight.

"What--"

And then the waves were drowning him again but this time the cave didn't fill so completely. The word fell off his lips as Geralt slackened again, blinked upward. In the corner someone started sobbing but it wasn't Jaskier so he paid it little mind. Geralt turned his head, yellow eyes narrowing.