#yarpen

Bonus : geraskier and yennskier similar soft kicks

"She has a name," Jaskier shoots back.

They're sitting around their own little fire, with the dwarves camped not far off--Yarpen's group is shouting merrily as they play a game neither the bard or the witcher are familiar with.

It's...cozy. Just him and Geralt here, close, sitting on a fallen log together. The two of them haven't shared an intimate space like this in a long while, and Jaskier...well, if his heart is beating a little fast at Geralt's proximity, who can blame him?

"Cecillia," Jaskier continues, voice dreamy as he tries to focus on a different place and time. A different conquest, as it were, to try and explain away the sudden uptick in his pulse. "And yes, we spent an absolutely magnificent three nights together. Under the stars." His eyes go unfocused--his inner gaze far away, reminiscing. "Summer evenings, with light fragrant breezes flitting over our naked bodies, sweet wine on our lips, and her beard tickling me lightly in all the right--"

"I get the picture," Geralt growls.

Jaskier eyes him carefully. "Do you...? Do you have a problem with me sleeping with Cecillia?"

Geralt takes a deep breath, glances over at the dwarven camp, then opens his mouth to say something.

But before he can utter a syllable, Jaskier barrels on--wholly offended. "Really, Geralt, I never would have pegged you for holding such prejudices. Dwarves are wonderful people, renowned for their riding technique, if you take my meaning, and Cecillia especially had this way of swirling her hips that--"

"Jaskier, it's not that she's dwarven."

The bard's mouth pins itself shut as he tries to work out what the issue is then. Geralt isn't looking directly at him. And Jaskier wants to read something into this, he does.

Finally, Geralt speaks again. "It's just that..."

Jaskier leans forward, licks his lips. Anticipating...something. What, he's not sure. A confession? An admission? "What?" he prompts, voice no more than a whisper.

Geralt's gaze shoots to his. Their eyes lock. Jaskier's heart stops. The witcher's lips quirk in a way that could be him considering, or could be him smirking. "It's just that...I'm pretty sure she's Yarpen's sister."

For a moment, the words don't fully hit him. They're so far off from what he'd been expecting, he can't quite process them. "Yarpen's...?"

Then, from the other camp, a shout that is distinctly unmerry. "You and that shite-stain bard did WHAT NOW?"

"Jaskier?" Geralt says, standing.

Jaskier is instinctually on his feet in the next moment, following Geralt's lead. "Yes?"

There’s always one