#blushing jaskier

Ily braincell bae

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“I don’t wanna get up,” Jaskier says. He’s expecting resistance. An argument. Some grumpy mumbling about how they need to get up and get moving, right back out to the Path as quickly as possible.

“Me neither.”

The Witcher wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist and tugs, rolling over and pulling the bard to lay on top of him. The brunette tucks his legs up so his knees are caging in the sides of Geralt’s hips. He presses his nose into the crook of the Witcher’s neck and pushes his arms beneath the pillow to support the back of Geralt’s head. 

One of the Witcher’s hands begins running in soothing lines up and down the curve of Jaskier’s naked back. His fingers dip in and out of the bumps of his lover’s gently sloping spine, feeling how delicate and easy to break his bard really is underneath the sinewy muscle and fierce, fae-like loyalty. 

“You’re never like this in the mornings. What’s so different about today?” 

“Twelve years ago today,” the Witcher rumbles, letting the hand on Jaskier’s back come to rest on the nape of his neck, “This idiot bard approached me in Posada and asked me to give him a review. Three words or less. I wouldn’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.”

Jaskier grins into the Witcher’s warm skin. 

“Idiot bard?”

“Hmm. Kind, too. Caring to a fault. Loyal beyond all reason,” Geralt continues. He can feel the blush cross Jaskier’s face where the bard’s cheek rests against his shoulder. He pushes forward, “Lovely singing voice, too. Didn’t want it to go to his head, though, so I told him the song was wrong.”

“I love you.”