Jaskier was normally not so petty that he would begrudge Geralt a bath or a small comfort, not intentionally, not after the man had a harrowing fight or two. Normally, though, he was not quite so...pent up as he was right then. Upon his return to the inn, Jaskier hadn't even bothered with frippery and bathing himself.
He probably should have, in retrospect, because even with all his charms he found it rather hard to convince the barmaid to join him.
Maybe he was just off his game. He had spent the return trip thinking about Geralt and, frankly, was only marginally interested in the woman in front of him. He was a wonderful flirt and an excellent orator, but Jaskier had never really been good at faking interest in a conquest.
In any case, it was nigh on two hours before Jaskier had even talked the woman into drinking with him and another, after that, before he convinced her to join him in their room. His bold assurances that Geralt would not be back before nightfall were drawn from thin air and, as so often happens with such claims, were proven incorrect at the most inconvenient time possible.
Geralt, drenched in ichor all but kicked the door in. Light spilled in from the hallway and haloed his hulking, dripping, stinking shape, and the barmaid, despite the dazed state she'd fallen into, startled alert. She shrieked and scrambled up, dislodging Jaskier's fingers from her cunt and rushed to both cover herself, stand, and flee all at the same time. In the tangle of sudden movement, she managed to unbalance the bard and knock him ass-first onto the floor.
That was, at the very least, a kindness as Jaskier was both entirely nude and ready for the proceedings. Being knocked prick first to the ground would have added injury to insult.
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He probably should have, in retrospect, because even with all his charms he found it rather hard to convince the barmaid to join him.
Maybe he was just off his game. He had spent the return trip thinking about Geralt and, frankly, was only marginally interested in the woman in front of him. He was a wonderful flirt and an excellent orator, but Jaskier had never really been good at faking interest in a conquest.
In any case, it was nigh on two hours before Jaskier had even talked the woman into drinking with him and another, after that, before he convinced her to join him in their room. His bold assurances that Geralt would not be back before nightfall were drawn from thin air and, as so often happens with such claims, were proven incorrect at the most inconvenient time possible.
Geralt, drenched in ichor all but kicked the door in. Light spilled in from the hallway and haloed his hulking, dripping, stinking shape, and the barmaid, despite the dazed state she'd fallen into, startled alert. She shrieked and scrambled up, dislodging Jaskier's fingers from her cunt and rushed to both cover herself, stand, and flee all at the same time. In the tangle of sudden movement, she managed to unbalance the bard and knock him ass-first onto the floor.
That was, at the very least, a kindness as Jaskier was both entirely nude and ready for the proceedings. Being knocked prick first to the ground would have added injury to insult.