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    Summary

    Jaskier seemed shocked for a split second, then his expression became more pensive. “Geralt, have you…have you done this before?”

    The torrent of shame that poured down his spine left Geralt cold and angry. He was sure his expression was thunderous; he could feel his teeth grinding together painfully and his blood was pumping far harder than it would under normal circumstances. “If I’m not up to your standards, there’s the fucking door.” He gestured broadly to the exit and stalked across the room to fiddle with his potions that clearly needed no fiddling.

    When Jaskier spoke again, his voice was painfully soft. “That’s not what I meant, but I will leave if you want me to.”

    “I don’t care,” Geralt spat, the lie obvious even to his own ears.

    “Well I do,” Jaskier insisted. “And I don’t think you’re actually cross with me. I think you’re scared. Maybe embarrassed.”

    “You’ve known me for twelve hours and now you can read me like a book, huh? You don’t know a thing about me.”

    “I’d like to,” Jaskier responded, warm and kind. “And I’d surely like to keep kissing you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

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