[Even if Jaskier was truly irritated (he isn't; there's something succulent about any man so bold), he would be mollified by Cid's further flirtations regardless. He smiles, practically purrs as he says:] I expect you will.
[So far, it's going wonderfull. Drink and good company, that doesn't take itself too seriously.
Until he does. Jaskier is not entirely thrown off by it, not anymore; if that is Cid's fate to bear, he can hardly be the one so upset by the reminder of it. Geralt is the same -- a death waiting for him in a world that never wanted him in the first place.
He sets aside Cid's offer of drink (or more) to draw his hands to the other man's cheek, leaning in as if he were to kiss him. Whether it is some secret he keeps to the breast or not, Jaskier is close and quiet when he responds.] Then who shall nurse your tender old heart for what time you have left? [His tone is breathy, and he smiles after, eyes tilting down to Cid's pretty lips.] None of us are here for long enough. We may as well have a good time.
[Now he leans in to actually kiss him, in front of the gods and the Sarstina. He is hardly turned away by the threat of heartache, of loss. He has lived through plenty already.]
[ Cid thinks he ought to receive some sort of commendation for the sheer fact that he doesn't knock his drink over. He's hardly some doe-eyed paramour, but he'd be lying if he said that his old heart hadn't skipped a bloody beat. Cid's expression softens. ] You're too good by far. I see why you've done so well for yourself.
[ The ability to speak so plainly on matters of the heart, without even the faintest flinch or hesitation, is a trait that he can only admire. Hard won, in the sorts of places they've come from.
He leans into the kiss. Cid is neither shy of the audience nor hurried to be on with it, and he takes his time enjoying the warmth of Jaskier's lips, cupping his jaw so he can brush his thumb across the faint roughness of his cheek. He even smells nice, like wood and liquor.
Cid pulls away from the kiss only to lean in and speak close to Jaskier's ear. ] Let's take our good time somewhere a bit more private, eh? Can't have you out here preforming for free.
[The taste of the orange-tinged liquor tastes even better from another's lips, accompanied by the buzzing sensation of short hairs against his palm. Cid would've held the attention of anyone with eyes on the Continent; for once in his long experience in Abraxas, it feels as if he's romancing a man closer to his own sphere than to others.
He brushes a thumb across Cid's lips once there is space to breathe again.
The secret has always been sincerity. Whether Cid sees a performance or not is irrelevant; Jaskier means everything he's ever said. He is no flatterer; he does not romance for the sake of it. In Cid, he sees a man holding tragedy in his hands but still building monuments despite it. Someone who does not allow himself to idle.
Speaking of the lack of idling --]
If you can manage to pull yourself from your drink. [His skin prickles pleasantly, his smile warm. Performing, is it? Suppose it all falls into its own sort of performance.] Do you have a room, or shall you use more of my coin to acquire us one?
[ Teasing as his remarks might be, Cid can't find it in himself to believe that this is a performance. Perhaps he's just such a fool, but Jaskier has always seemed to be a man with too little of his heart to hide, and this is no exception. Cid supposes that he has no choice, then, but to treat it as tenderly as he can.
He moves his hand to capture Jaskier's wrist, though he's careful to telegraph the movement before he curls his fingers around it. ]
It's a good drink. [ He replies with a warm chuckle before turning to press a light kiss to Jaskier's palm. ] I'm deep enough in your debt already. Let's get up to mine, and I'll see about paying it off, eh?
[ He untangles himself then, though he'd admit that it's more of an effort than he might expect, he's not quite shameless enough to get too handsy in a crowded tavern. He releases Jaskier, but rests a hand on the small of his back as they make their way up the stairs.
The room itself is average, neatly kept. He hasn't done much in the way of decorating, but there are touches here and there; a little mint garden on the window sill, a few gifted trinkets on the shelves, and a prototype airship model tucked into the corner of his desk.
Cid himself is hardly paying attention to any of that. His gaze is still on Jaskier, who he'd be more than happy to press right up against the wall if Jaskier will let him get away with it. ] Where were we again? I've forgotten already.
There's always plenty of opportunity to end up further on my tab after.
[What's better than more drink? Jaskier doesn't pull from his grasp, stealing a kiss on a roughened cheek before they leave the bar behind (and a pouch of Jaskier's coin.) If anyone sees them going upstairs together, it clearly doesn't make a mark; anyway who is even half a regular at the Sarstina has seen a similar sight a hundred times before.
Jaskier isn't only famous for his singing, after all.
He takes in the room quickly enough; if Cid's mint plants grow an extra inch seemingly out of nowhere, then it clearly has nothing to do with him. It's more unintentional than he means it, especially as distracted as he is.
Jaskier makes his invitation quite obvious when he grabs Cid by the lapels and pulls him in so the bard is trapped against the wall. Or, in this case, the back of the door. He hikes a leg up, locking an ankle behind Cid's.] I don't think you're near old enough to be losing your memory so easily. [He pulls him down, a kiss with much more tongue and a teasing pull of Cid's lower lip with his teeth.] I believe I was about to undress you. Perhaps with a bit of haste.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[So far, it's going wonderfull. Drink and good company, that doesn't take itself too seriously.
Until he does. Jaskier is not entirely thrown off by it, not anymore; if that is Cid's fate to bear, he can hardly be the one so upset by the reminder of it. Geralt is the same -- a death waiting for him in a world that never wanted him in the first place.
He sets aside Cid's offer of drink (or more) to draw his hands to the other man's cheek, leaning in as if he were to kiss him. Whether it is some secret he keeps to the breast or not, Jaskier is close and quiet when he responds.] Then who shall nurse your tender old heart for what time you have left? [His tone is breathy, and he smiles after, eyes tilting down to Cid's pretty lips.] None of us are here for long enough. We may as well have a good time.
[Now he leans in to actually kiss him, in front of the gods and the Sarstina. He is hardly turned away by the threat of heartache, of loss. He has lived through plenty already.]
no subject
[ The ability to speak so plainly on matters of the heart, without even the faintest flinch or hesitation, is a trait that he can only admire. Hard won, in the sorts of places they've come from.
He leans into the kiss. Cid is neither shy of the audience nor hurried to be on with it, and he takes his time enjoying the warmth of Jaskier's lips, cupping his jaw so he can brush his thumb across the faint roughness of his cheek. He even smells nice, like wood and liquor.
Cid pulls away from the kiss only to lean in and speak close to Jaskier's ear. ] Let's take our good time somewhere a bit more private, eh? Can't have you out here preforming for free.
no subject
He brushes a thumb across Cid's lips once there is space to breathe again.
The secret has always been sincerity. Whether Cid sees a performance or not is irrelevant; Jaskier means everything he's ever said. He is no flatterer; he does not romance for the sake of it. In Cid, he sees a man holding tragedy in his hands but still building monuments despite it. Someone who does not allow himself to idle.
Speaking of the lack of idling --]
If you can manage to pull yourself from your drink. [His skin prickles pleasantly, his smile warm. Performing, is it? Suppose it all falls into its own sort of performance.] Do you have a room, or shall you use more of my coin to acquire us one?
no subject
He moves his hand to capture Jaskier's wrist, though he's careful to telegraph the movement before he curls his fingers around it. ]
It's a good drink. [ He replies with a warm chuckle before turning to press a light kiss to Jaskier's palm. ] I'm deep enough in your debt already. Let's get up to mine, and I'll see about paying it off, eh?
[ He untangles himself then, though he'd admit that it's more of an effort than he might expect, he's not quite shameless enough to get too handsy in a crowded tavern. He releases Jaskier, but rests a hand on the small of his back as they make their way up the stairs.
The room itself is average, neatly kept. He hasn't done much in the way of decorating, but there are touches here and there; a little mint garden on the window sill, a few gifted trinkets on the shelves, and a prototype airship model tucked into the corner of his desk.
Cid himself is hardly paying attention to any of that. His gaze is still on Jaskier, who he'd be more than happy to press right up against the wall if Jaskier will let him get away with it. ] Where were we again? I've forgotten already.
can start fading to black/wrap here!
[What's better than more drink? Jaskier doesn't pull from his grasp, stealing a kiss on a roughened cheek before they leave the bar behind (and a pouch of Jaskier's coin.) If anyone sees them going upstairs together, it clearly doesn't make a mark; anyway who is even half a regular at the Sarstina has seen a similar sight a hundred times before.
Jaskier isn't only famous for his singing, after all.
He takes in the room quickly enough; if Cid's mint plants grow an extra inch seemingly out of nowhere, then it clearly has nothing to do with him. It's more unintentional than he means it, especially as distracted as he is.
Jaskier makes his invitation quite obvious when he grabs Cid by the lapels and pulls him in so the bard is trapped against the wall. Or, in this case, the back of the door. He hikes a leg up, locking an ankle behind Cid's.] I don't think you're near old enough to be losing your memory so easily. [He pulls him down, a kiss with much more tongue and a teasing pull of Cid's lower lip with his teeth.] I believe I was about to undress you. Perhaps with a bit of haste.