Work Text:
“Geralt, you're killing me,” Jaskier whined, draping himself over the back of Geralt's chair as dramatically as he could without jostling him. He'd learned that lesson the hard way long ago.
Geralt merely hmmd; his legendary focus bent to the task in front of him instead of where Jaskier wanted it to be—namely, on himself.
He toyed with Geralt's hair. “You've been at this for hours, and you know what that smell does to me. How big does your army need to be?”
“Bigger,” Geralt replied with a small smile, carefully setting another piece of plastic aside to dry.