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Summary
“Good job, Jas,” Valdo says with a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder, and grabs his own short sword. He stands opposed to Jaskier, and the bard’s just barely kept from fawning over how delectable his lover looks with his thin chemise hugging his fine muscles and focus written into every inch of his face. He’s the same when he paint, and Jaskier admires him beyond words.
“Focus on dodging for me, darling, no need to—” and Jaskier lunges forward, sword raised.
Or, Jaskier lets his boyfriend think he's trash at sworfighting and proceeds to show his lover how very, very wrong he was in his assumption.
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