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Jaskier couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when, but something had certainly caused a change. Maybe it was the softness of Geralt’s gaze as he watched him across their shared campfire. Maybe it was in the brush of Geralt’s hand across his back as he guided him through a crowded tavern, protecting from any over-zealous fans. Or maybe…maybe it was in the feeling of chapped lips brushing against the back of his neck as they curled up together in their bed, Geralt’s arms strong and secure around him.
Whatever it was, Jaskier could feel the stirring of some entirely new beast in his chest. Sure, he was arguably the more experienced lover, had flitted between royal courts and humble huts to exchange affection and kisses. And yes, as a bard he knew all the words to describe love, had written ballads and poems and limericks even. He knew all the trappings of love, that much was required of him by his profession.
But oh, Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d ever truly felt a love like this, as when he held his Witcher in his arms. He was going to have to learn, to feel this love the way Geralt deserved.