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“Come on Geralt!” Jaskier called from the bedroom, his words already a little slurred from the cheap bottle of wine he’d consumed as a pre-drink. His cheeks were no doubt rosy and his eyes sparkling with giddy excitement.
Geralt looked down at his outfit and sighed. It could barely be called an outfit but Jaskier insisted that he wasn’t allowed to wear clothes because it didn’t go with the party’s theme. Instead, the musician had thrown a bed sheet at him and told him to google togas. Geralt hadn’t been allowed to see Jaskier’s outfit, and he was starting to wonder if that was for the best. Telling Jaskier that he wasn’t allowed to wear clothes was just a recipe for disaster, and Geralt was certain that if his boyfriend wasn’t quite so terrified of Yen, then no clothes would mean nothing at all.
“Geralt!” Jaskier called again.
So Geralt sighed again and tugged cautiously at the knots that secured his bed sheet. There were a couple of safety pins but he wasn’t sure it would hold up for an evening around an increasingly touchy-feely Jaskier. “I’m coming,” he called back with a grunt, feeling all too sober.
Jaskier predictably giggled. “Oh no, darling, that’s later.”
“Jask,” he groaned, running his hands through his loose hair.
“Oh come on, you cannot expect me to-”
“I can, I do. Fuck it, let’s go,” Geralt grumbled as he threw open the door.
Only to stop in his tracks at the sight of his boyfriend. Jaskier had been experimenting with growing his hair out since he split up with Essi, Pris and Valdo and decided to take his music career solo, and he was no longer the clean shaven boy that Geralt had met at university. His growing stubble made him look ruggedly handsome, even in the torn up bin bag he was wearing. The black plastic had been made into some kind of dress, tied at the waist by a rope. It barely covered Jaskier’s arse, revealing thick muscular thighs that seemed to go on for days and were covered in a coarse dark hair. The same hair peaked out from the neckline of the bin bag and Geralt felt his mouth go dry.
What the fuck?
How the fuck?
Geralt was used to his boyfriend stunning him in a variety of different styles and carefully put together outfits, but this… it was a fucking bin bag, and Jaskier had no right to look that sinful.
The bastard ran a hand through his hair, winking as he bit his lip, stained red from the wine. “What do you think, dear heart?”
Geralt didn’t say anything, just whining as Jaskier’s hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him into an embrace. He buried his face into Jaskier’s neck, inhaling the soft lavender scent of his shampoo as the long strands of hair tickled against his cheek.
“Go on, you can say it. I look rubbish,” Jaskier teased, hands gripping at Geralt’s waist.
And despite himself, Geralt smirked. “It’s one of your trashier outfits.”
“Utter garbage,” Jaskier agreed, “and what about you? I’d like to roll around in your sheets.”
Geralt groaned, rolling his eyes as he pulled away from Jaskier’s arms. “That was terrible.”
“Oh come on,” his boyfriend pouted at him but Geralt turned away before he could crack.
“I’m leaving, I don’t know you.”
“Geralt!” Jaskier called after him. “No, no, no, Geralt, come back and love me!”
With his back turned on his boyfriend, Geralt grinned. That was possibly the easiest thing Jaskier had ever asked of him. Even dressed in a bin bag, Geralt would love him with every single beat of his heart.