He is embarrassed, mostly about the fact that he's doing his bullshit touchy thing, and it's one thing to get like that around his brothers but a complete different thing to do it to Jaskier. He shouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing, be bothered by having some big bastard get into his personal space and lay all over him like an asshole.
Jaskier kindly insists that he doesn't mind, because he's polite and that's the sort of thing that you say when someone's being a bother but you don't want to upset them. The long, awkward pause after he says that it's all right proves it-- see, Geralt has some social skills, despite what his brothers say-- and suggests opening up the sofa-bed. That's a diplomatic way to solve the problem, give them enough space so that Geralt can lay his heavy, space-invading ass somewhere that it won't be a problem.
Maybe he should've just called one of this brothers to take him home. But by now they've already probably gone home, and Geralt really can't justify calling them at this hour to drive all the way out here and then take him all the way back to the ranch. And he'd still have to get his bike in the morning.
"Yeah," he says. They might as well get it open, anyway, considering that it's probably where Geralt is going to be sleeping. He's crashed in worse places, he could've slept on the floor if need be. "Might as well get it ready."
If it had been someone other than Jaskier, he might have thought that inviting him to lay down and get comfortable would be the lead-up to something else, but, well. He's the bother, the unintended guest. He wasn't supposed to stay all night, just for long enough to make Jaskier feel better and then fuck off. Now the guy's stuck with him, and sure, it's definitely Jaskier's fault for not labeling his damn pot brownies, but Geralt should at least make this whole process as easy as possible.
A pajama party. Jesus, Geralt doesn't even know what the fuck that entails, not when his only experience of "pajama parties" was the kind where no one wore clothes or hung around until morning.
"I should borrow some clothes from you, too," he says. Jaskier had offered that earlier, but Geralt hadn't thought that he'd be staying over then. That was before pot brownies ruined his plans. "I don't really want to sleep in jeans if I don't have to."
He sniffs at his shirt. "And maybe a shower. I smell like a fucking bar."
Not a great smell on him, or anyone really. No wonder Jaskier didn't want him laying on him, even aside from the whole heavy thing. He reeks of secondhand smoke and craft beer.
But in the meanwhile, before he takes care of any of that, he could get up and help transform the couch into its bed form. Helping out is the least that he could do.
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Jaskier kindly insists that he doesn't mind, because he's polite and that's the sort of thing that you say when someone's being a bother but you don't want to upset them. The long, awkward pause after he says that it's all right proves it-- see, Geralt has some social skills, despite what his brothers say-- and suggests opening up the sofa-bed. That's a diplomatic way to solve the problem, give them enough space so that Geralt can lay his heavy, space-invading ass somewhere that it won't be a problem.
Maybe he should've just called one of this brothers to take him home. But by now they've already probably gone home, and Geralt really can't justify calling them at this hour to drive all the way out here and then take him all the way back to the ranch. And he'd still have to get his bike in the morning.
"Yeah," he says. They might as well get it open, anyway, considering that it's probably where Geralt is going to be sleeping. He's crashed in worse places, he could've slept on the floor if need be. "Might as well get it ready."
If it had been someone other than Jaskier, he might have thought that inviting him to lay down and get comfortable would be the lead-up to something else, but, well. He's the bother, the unintended guest. He wasn't supposed to stay all night, just for long enough to make Jaskier feel better and then fuck off. Now the guy's stuck with him, and sure, it's definitely Jaskier's fault for not labeling his damn pot brownies, but Geralt should at least make this whole process as easy as possible.
A pajama party. Jesus, Geralt doesn't even know what the fuck that entails, not when his only experience of "pajama parties" was the kind where no one wore clothes or hung around until morning.
"I should borrow some clothes from you, too," he says. Jaskier had offered that earlier, but Geralt hadn't thought that he'd be staying over then. That was before pot brownies ruined his plans. "I don't really want to sleep in jeans if I don't have to."
He sniffs at his shirt. "And maybe a shower. I smell like a fucking bar."
Not a great smell on him, or anyone really. No wonder Jaskier didn't want him laying on him, even aside from the whole heavy thing. He reeks of secondhand smoke and craft beer.
But in the meanwhile, before he takes care of any of that, he could get up and help transform the couch into its bed form. Helping out is the least that he could do.