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Summary
Jaskier whimpers and tries again to wriggle his way off Geralt's lap, to no avail.
Now normally, he would absolutely not be complaining about his current predicament— that is to say, nestled snugly in Geralt's lap, straddling the witcher's massive thighs with Geralt's lovely strong arms wrapped firmly around his middle and Geralt's insistent mouth working a hot trail down one side of his neck— but the fact is that he had been on his way out of their little campsite in the woods to go find a likely sort of tree and address a rather urgent matter of a decidedly personal nature when Geralt had accosted him without warning and pulled him down into his current position.