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“I’m bored.” Oh, Geralt knows. Geralt knows just how bored Jaskier is because he hasn’t shut up about it in nearly an entire fucking hour. “Gerallllllttttttt.” Jaskier flops himself over his flatmate, looking up with those annoyingly blue eyes. Annoying.
(Not pretty.)
“What?” They’ve been at it for what, half a day? Four fucking hours of trying to figure out a solid movie, and now that they’d finally settled on one, Jaskier was bored. Even Roach wasn’t this high-maintenance. (Golden eyes unwaveringly stare at him from the ball of fluff on the floor.)
“I’m boooreeddd.” Geralt’s going to lose his mind. The creature on-screen growls, yellow goop dripping from its blunt teeth, face twisted in rage. “Oh come, on. This movie’s so unrealistic.” Jaskier goes from draping onto Geralt to full-on sitting in his lap, “I mean, look at me, I’m fabulous!” He isn’t. “Rude! I am.”
Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you, Geralt thinks. Jaskier pouts at him and Geralt hears a fuck me yourself, you coward echo in his head. Geralt makes sure to mentally sigh very, very loudly.
“Geralt!” When Geralt had agreed to move into Jaskier’s flat (“Rent too high” even though Jaskier could literally magic gold out of thin air), he’d known it’d be rough. “Gerallllllllltttt.”
Shut up. The telepathy was a nice touch, annoying when Jaskier could just pop into his head and read his mind to read his horny thoughts, but great when Geralt didn’t feel like moving his mouth.
Or what? Or what? Or Geralt was going to fucking strangle him.
I’d rather you kiss me instead. Roach flicks her tail, annoyed.
Fine. And Geralt kisses him instead. (Jaskier, funnily enough, has a hand around Geralt’s throat later that night.)