Try, Please Try For Me

An Incredibly Attractive Inconvenience

Fuck.

It's two witchers that step into the great hall instead of the single one that was expected, but the second lingers by the door while the other makes determined strides in Jaskier's direction.

Oh Fuck.

The man's presence is intoxicating, all rugged and powerful and...witchery? Is that a word? Fuck it, now it is and Jaskier's using it.

He looks like some ethereal being, dressed from head to toe in black leather, with moonwhite hair and skin almost pale enough to match. And his eyes. For the love of all that is holy, are they gold? Jaskier's mouth goes dry. That man has arms like fucking tree trunks-- and he should probably be scared-- but all he can think of is how the witcher could use those arms to snap him like a twig.

Why is the thought of that so attractive?

And holy fuck as Geralt nears the dias-- it would have to be Geralt because why else would he be approaching-- Jaskier can practically feel the weight of his steps.

This has got to be the most gorgeous man he's ever seen.

He's nearly quaking in his little heeled boots.

No. No, shut up. Stupid Jaskier.

You hate him, remember?

You're being forced to marry this guy and you hate him. (And he's gorgeous.) You hate him, you already decided. (Look at those hands, they're big enough to practically fit around your entire waist) No he's a fucking wicther, stop it.

Before Jaskier knows what's happening Geralt is standing by the dais and he can finally see him up close and his knees go weak.

Yes. Handsome, terrifying, stunning, powerful. Even beautiful would be a good word.

He's brought back to reality when his father steps forward and walks down the stairs of the dais, eyeing the witcher with all the terrible scrutiny a single look can muster.

"Geralt of Rivia, I presume?" His father drawls.

Geralt's eyes flick from his father to Jaskier and he gives a curt nod. He makes no move to kneel or bow as he addresses the Earl, instead standing with his head held high as he replies, "Yes. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lord."

Sweet Melitele's tits that voice! Good god, Jaskier can feel it rumble through every fibre of his being.

His father hums and stares at Geralt as if waiting for him to bow. When he doesn't, he replies, "yes, a pleasure," then waves a hand in Jaskier's direction, "I welcome you to Lettenhove, witcher. Please, allow me to introduce you to my son, Julian."

Geralt turns to give his full attention to Jaskier and Jaskier catches a glimpse of his father's jaw flexing when the witcher gives the slightest bow of his head to him.

He...suddenly has to try very hard to stop himself from swooning.

Good looks and public disrespect of his father? What a catch.

No, shut up, Jaskier.

"It is an honor to finally meet you," Geralt says, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Jaskier just looks at him dumbfounded, eyes trailing from his lips to that jawline that can cut through glass to the way that his hair tumbles over his shoulder looking like a waterfall of starlight against black armor.

Jaskier's father clears his throat loudly and Jaskier nearly jumps. He looks around the room. Everyone is staring at him.

Right. Yes. He's supposed to respond. He can do that. Except he can't seem to form words. Why can't he remember any words?