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"Geralt?"
Jaskier is a twitcher.
"Um, hello?"
He cannot lie still. Is that a human trait? Probably more of a Jaskier trait.
"Is that a kink of yours, not paying attention to me?"
That's curious, considering the steely-eyed concentration that Jaskier has just demonstrated.
"In all seriousness, talk to me or I'm kicking you out of my bed-"
"This is my bedroll."
"-and I'm walking away from this unhealthy lifestyle-"
"You're naked and the roads are dangerous."
"-and I won't spare you the most fleeting of thoughts, let alone touch you-"
"You're petting my hair."
"-you mute, unspeaking, mute oaf."
"-"
"Oh. You've been saying things."
"You're sharp."
"Fuck you, Geralt," Jaskier grumbles out and yanks his hand away. Pity, that. Geralt has been very much enjoying the gentle, nimble, relentless fingers in his… Oh, what? Yes. His hair.
"Why are you ruining the peace?" Geralt asks, pondering whether he can afford the blow to his stellar reputation were he to take Jaskier's hand with its clever, dexterous, relentless fingers and guide them back. Where they belong. Into his hair.
"I was, erm, wondering, you know. If you, that is. You know."
"How could I?" Geralt is exasperated. Why does he have to deal with this?
"What?"
"How could I know. You're repeating three words in random order."
"Oh ho ho, wait a minute, mister. So help me gods, for once in my life my voluminous vocabulary betrays me - the nerve! - and you're at once the most insensitive person in the Continent!"
"Disagree."
"What?" Jaskier elongates the vowel as he cranes his neck to look down at Geralt. Who is not looking back at him. Decidedly.
"I was not… insensitive," Geralt grumbles, eyes closed, his whole body pliant. He can feel Jaskier's somewhat sharp hipbone digging into his stomach. He moves his knee, yes, that's Jaskier's calf, he can position his kneecap so that it sits in the soft tissue between the bone and the muscle. Jaskier twitches again, Geralt can feel it - the calf muscle contracts and cold toes touch his ankle, there's the faintest sensation of hairs on Jaskier's big toe tickling his heel cord.
"No, you most certainly were insensitive, blatantly rude even!"
Gods give him patience. "No. I mean, when you did that. It felt good. Perfect. When your fingers," relentless fingers,"yeah."
"Oh," Jaskier lays down his head again, his chest relaxing under Geralt's ear.
"Thank you?"
"No, Geralt, don't thank me, ugh," Jaskier lets out a noise that combines sighing (his pharynx rasps) and soft growling (his chest rumbles).
"What?" Geralt does not want that much, does he? A little silence after a good time.
"Why would you think I was fumbling with the sentence: Did you enjoy the forty minutes of fingering I bestowed upon you?" Jaskier's fingers, his left hand (because his right hand is out of commission before Jaskier washes it), stroke Geralt's back. An echo of just moments ago, the fingers linger and caress along Geralt's spine, back and forth, relentlessly back and forth.
"Hm."
"I'm perfectly capable of expressing myself when it comes to carnal pleasures, my dear witcher."
Have ear muffs been invented yet?
"Penis, cock, prick-"
"I believe you."
"-phallus. I can go all night."
"Please, don't."
When Jaskier gets going like this, his lips make sounds. Not that Geralt listens to the words that clever mouth spews, no. Rapid verbal vomiting causes Jaskier's lips to rub together, emitting a very faint sound reminiscent of small animals rustling in bushes. Geralt likes that sound.
"I'm perfectly aware how much you enjoyed my fingers." Geralt can smell the smugness in the sex-laden air surrounding them.
"Hm," he rumbles out, not denying it.
"Even if I wasn't completely confident in my fingering skills, which I am and I'm also proud of it-"
"And smug."
"-the stream of expletives from your bloody-bitten witchery lips, let alone the veritable waterfall of ejaculate-"
"Why would you even say that."
"-would be a clear indicator that my fingers are the best you've had."
With his eyes closed, Geralt finds it easier to let the onslaught of words wash over him. They should wash up. But Geralt is comfortable like this.
"Are they the best you've had?" Jaskier enquires softly.
"Hmm," Geralt rumbles, not denying it.
"Good."
Jaskier seems satisfied with that. His body relaxes and his fingers resume their slow back and forth on Geralt's back. They travel upwards caressing the back of his neck and into his hair. Soft, circular motions knot and unknot strands of hair and Geralt feels calm. Happy.
Silence stretches between them. Geralt does not need to know why Jaskier tripped over his words before. He's content as he is.
Listening to Jaskier's heartbeat. Enjoying the smell of sex and spunk and them. Rubbing his hand over Jaskier's chest. Tasting beads of perspiration.
So content with the silence.
"What were you trying to say before?"
"Ha, you curious cat!"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Geralt, why are you rubbing your face all over my chest? You're like an overgrown cat - a curious one who loves hearing me talk! - and it's been going on without pause for an hour-"
"Ten minutes."
"-and you've just licked me, for gods' sake."
Geralt raises his head, turns more on his side so that he can crane his head and look Jaskier in the eye.
"That's why you've been ruining the afterglow?"
Jaskier rolls his eyes: "I, too, am a curious cat, there can be two curious cats in this relationship."
"I told you."
"When did you tell me?" Jaskier asks in disbelief.
"Last night."
Impatience and tiny seeds of anger penetrate Jaskier's voice: "Do you have to make it so difficult, Geralt? Just tell me."
"I told you things I find attractive about you. Your chest hair."
"Oooh," Jaskier sounds like a cat that got the cream. Fucking cats. "I completely forgot about the chest hair. My ankles being delicate were such a revelation that I completely forgot. How could I forget the chest hair so completely?"
"Attention span of a gnat?"
"No, we're talking about my chest hair."
"Are we?" Geralt sighs. Why.
"Yes, we are. You talk when things are important. And my chest hair is of utmost importance."
"Is it?" It is.
"It is, to you! Why do you like it so much?"
"It's, hm, fluffy." Geralt would take a wyvern over this discussion any day of the week.
Jaskier squeaks. Clears his throat. Reverently whispers: " Fluffy!"
"-"
"What else?" Jaskier reminds Geralt of children receiving their first ever present.
"It makes you look very. Erm. Manly."
Jaskier nods, stands up, looks into the deep forest, raises his arms and shouts:
"I can die now! Come kill me, monsters!"
"Jaskier!"
Jaskier pays him no mind: "Geralt of Rivia thinks I am manly!"
No, this is too much. Geralt gets to his feet and while Jaskier is busy shouting elatedly about fingering the fuck out of the White Wolf, he wets a rag, wipes the relentless fingers of Jaskier's right hand, turns him around and in order to get some blessed silence, kisses him.
With a hand on his chest. Petting the Chest Hair.