For your smoochfest what about one was rambling and the other was just like "oh shit... he's gorgeous like this" and had to kiss them.
yeah that’s a Monty Python reference so what
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“The average wingspan of a Eurpean sparrow is actual-”
Jaskier never managed to finish the sentence. Geralt had backed him up against a sturdy, flame-orange maple and kissed the breath from his lungs. He’d kissed his bard until the younger man could barely stand for the happiness he was feeling.
When at last the Witcher pulled away, Jaskier laughed. “What brought that on?”
“You’re beautiful when you talk about the things that interest you.”
Jaskier blushed and twined his fingers with the Witcher’s.
“You’re beautiful too, you know. When you sharpen your swords or build a fire or catch us dinner. You’re marvelous.”
“This isn’t about me,” Geralt said, brushing his lips against Jaskier’s again. Something settled in the bard’s chest and tears sprang to his eyes. Geralt wiped them away gently with the thumb of his unoccupied hand. “This is about you and the fact that you glow when you gush about birds. Or new doublet styles. Or the latest gossip from Novigrad. This is about how sweet it feels to kiss you after you’ve been talking for hours and I can feel how chapped your lips have become in your giddiness to share. This is about you.”
Jaskier wrapped his arms around his Witcher’s shoulders and held on tight. This man, this mountain, would always make him feel like the god of the fucking sun.