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Geralt doesn’t look up when Jaskier saunters across the living room of their flat, focused as he is on his phone.
His boyfriend clears his throat quite audibly, though, and Geralt briefly glances sideways at the brunet, raising an eyebrow in question of why he’s being extra extra today.
Jaskier is clearly about to go out on his morning run with his friend Priscilla, dressed as he is in a breathable tanktop, his beloved running shoes, and what looks to be athletic leggings instead of his usual short-shorts since it’s still summer. He’s smiling just a touch smugly, and Geralt frowns, unsure what it is that Jaskier wants from him.
“So?” Jaskier asks after a moment. “How do I look?”
“You look good,” Geralt replies automatically while glancing back at his phone. He long ago learned the nuances of attempting to navigate Jaskier's vainglorious need for constant praise of his—admittedly very good—looks.
Geralt just doesn’t see what the fuss is about this time.
Jaskier rolls his cornflower blue eyes and pops one of his hands up on his hip, a sure sign of attitude incoming. “You’re not even looking.”
“You always look good, Jas,” Geralt placates, indeed not looking up as Jaskier strides over to him.
He does pause when Jaskier suddenly turns about-face in front of him, and Geralt glances up slowly to see Jaskier’s shapely ass right in his face. The leggings he’s wearing are cut in such a way as to bring particular emphasis to Jaskier’s ass and toned thighs, and Geralt’s mouth goes a little dry.
“What are you doing?” he asks, trying to tear his eyes away from the cake in front of him to look up at Jaskier’s face, as his boyfriend is smirking at him over his shoulder.
“Giving you something to appreciate. You’re welcome,” Jaskier says airily.
The confidence that borders on arrogance should not be a turn on for Geralt, but he does love Jaskier’s ass, and the bragging is quite earned; Jaskier works hard to keep his svelte figure. Words are failing Geralt, as they tend to do(especially when all his blood is rushing south), but he tries to think of something to say.
“You look…amazing,” Geralt manages, reaching out to grasp a grateful handful of what is being displayed for him.
But Jaskier pops his hand, the sting not truly painful but more surprising, and Geralt frowns at the rebuff, earning him a musical little laugh from Jaskier.
“I have to get going, we’ve no time for you to fondle the merchandise. Maybe you’ll join me for a shower after my run?” Jaskier asks innocently as he grabs his phone and keys off the table by the door.
“I might need a cold shower ‘til then,” Geralt complains lightly, adjusting himself in his pants.
Jaskier cackles and fucking winks at him as he strides out of the flat without a further glance back.