They set the couch up as a bed quite quickly. Geralt has little trouble maneuvering it and the coffee table even when he's high as tits, and, really, physical labor is what he's good for. Jaskier pats his arm in thanks and then hurries off to find some clothes for him to change into, hopefully something that would be large enough to fit his bulky physique. It seems unlikely, but maybe he's kept some kind of oversized t-shirt around from something.
While he's gone, Geralt goes through the musician's music collection to put something on, as he suggested. Might as well-- he could put on another movie, but it's getting late and his attention span is a bit shot because of the pot, anyway. And, hell, since he's stoned as tits already, might as well put on some Grateful Dead and just go with it.
When Jaskier returns, Geralt catches the shirt that he throws at him and holds it out to look at it. It's got an Oxford logo on it, which is a school that would have literally never allowed someone like Geralt to set foot on campus, and apparently was made for the rugby team. Looks like it might be big enough, or at least big enough not to pull too badly or outright rip when he tries to get it over his chest. The pants are very stretchy, as Jaskier demonstrates by tugging on them, and, well. Hopefully that works, because the only other alternatives are sleeping in his jeans or just foregoing pants altogether and sleeping in his boxer-briefs. He has the feeling that, though it's not like his dick would be out or anything, that would be an awkward situation to be in.
Geralt follows him into the bathroom for the grand tour, which seems extremely unnecessary considering that it's a fucking bathroom and so long as it has a shower, he knows what to do. But then Jaskier starts explaining the just... copious amounts of hygiene products that he has in there and Geralt can feel his eyes start to glaze over. After the musician gets to the body lotion, that's it, he's checked out, he's going to wash with whatever looks the most like soap and that's good enough for him. Jaskier mentions the detachable showerhead and how he could have fun with it, and Geralt shoots him an unimpressed look. He's not going to masturbate in Jaskier's shower. What a weird thing to say.
Once the musician gets out and leaves him be, Geralt puts the new clothes on the edge of the sink and fiddles with the shower knobs a bit, until he gets a stream of water that's an acceptable temperature. Then he strips off of his clothes and, without really thinking about it, leaves the door open a crack just to let some of the humidity out before getting in. He generally doesn't take long, indulgent showers-- he prefers long, indulgent baths-- but he spends a little longer in this one just because he has to figure out what the fuck he's supposed to wash with. The jelly soap seems promising but the texture of it is so disconcerting that he doesn't want to use it. He ends up just going with the body wash and using that for everything, from head to toe. It's more scented than his usual soap and, obviously, a liquid, but it gets the job done just as well. By the time he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, he feels clean and like a man who doesn't smell like stale cigarette smoke and PBR.
He dries off and changes into the spare clothes that Jaskier had given him. The yoga pants are made of a soft, stretchy material, and they... fit, for a given value of fitting. They're definitely stretching to cover the expanse of Geralt's ass and thighs, but not to the limits-- it doesn't seem like he'd be bursting out of them if he bent over. The shirt's also about a size too small for him in the chest. It'll do, though, so long as he doesn't try to push his range of motion. He can live with it, for a night.
When he walks back out, Jaskier has turned the couch-bed into a nest of pillows and blankets and snacks, and there's the warm smell of more tea being brewed.
"Did you go to Oxford, or did you just steal someone's shirt?" he asks, tossing his folded jeans and shirt next to the couch for tomorrow.
no subject
While he's gone, Geralt goes through the musician's music collection to put something on, as he suggested. Might as well-- he could put on another movie, but it's getting late and his attention span is a bit shot because of the pot, anyway. And, hell, since he's stoned as tits already, might as well put on some Grateful Dead and just go with it.
When Jaskier returns, Geralt catches the shirt that he throws at him and holds it out to look at it. It's got an Oxford logo on it, which is a school that would have literally never allowed someone like Geralt to set foot on campus, and apparently was made for the rugby team. Looks like it might be big enough, or at least big enough not to pull too badly or outright rip when he tries to get it over his chest. The pants are very stretchy, as Jaskier demonstrates by tugging on them, and, well. Hopefully that works, because the only other alternatives are sleeping in his jeans or just foregoing pants altogether and sleeping in his boxer-briefs. He has the feeling that, though it's not like his dick would be out or anything, that would be an awkward situation to be in.
Geralt follows him into the bathroom for the grand tour, which seems extremely unnecessary considering that it's a fucking bathroom and so long as it has a shower, he knows what to do. But then Jaskier starts explaining the just... copious amounts of hygiene products that he has in there and Geralt can feel his eyes start to glaze over. After the musician gets to the body lotion, that's it, he's checked out, he's going to wash with whatever looks the most like soap and that's good enough for him. Jaskier mentions the detachable showerhead and how he could have fun with it, and Geralt shoots him an unimpressed look. He's not going to masturbate in Jaskier's shower. What a weird thing to say.
Once the musician gets out and leaves him be, Geralt puts the new clothes on the edge of the sink and fiddles with the shower knobs a bit, until he gets a stream of water that's an acceptable temperature. Then he strips off of his clothes and, without really thinking about it, leaves the door open a crack just to let some of the humidity out before getting in. He generally doesn't take long, indulgent showers-- he prefers long, indulgent baths-- but he spends a little longer in this one just because he has to figure out what the fuck he's supposed to wash with. The jelly soap seems promising but the texture of it is so disconcerting that he doesn't want to use it. He ends up just going with the body wash and using that for everything, from head to toe. It's more scented than his usual soap and, obviously, a liquid, but it gets the job done just as well. By the time he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, he feels clean and like a man who doesn't smell like stale cigarette smoke and PBR.
He dries off and changes into the spare clothes that Jaskier had given him. The yoga pants are made of a soft, stretchy material, and they... fit, for a given value of fitting. They're definitely stretching to cover the expanse of Geralt's ass and thighs, but not to the limits-- it doesn't seem like he'd be bursting out of them if he bent over. The shirt's also about a size too small for him in the chest. It'll do, though, so long as he doesn't try to push his range of motion. He can live with it, for a night.
When he walks back out, Jaskier has turned the couch-bed into a nest of pillows and blankets and snacks, and there's the warm smell of more tea being brewed.
"Did you go to Oxford, or did you just steal someone's shirt?" he asks, tossing his folded jeans and shirt next to the couch for tomorrow.