Is he chill about it? Not exactly, no. He's not pleased, and he doesn't know why this conversation is even happening right now. All Jaskier had to do was say literally nothing about watching Geralt fuck Yennefer, and they could've gone right on with their lives. If he had just kept his mouth shut, the witcher would've chalked it up to Jaskier being strange and just dropped the whole thing because he's fucking tired and it's too much of a bother to try to figure out what's going on in the bard's head sometimes. And yet, here they are.

"Could've lived my life without knowing that you watched," he grunts, dropping his potion bag to the floor. What had he done, stood in the window and looked in on them while Geralt was on top of her, fucking her like a beast? Listened to his groans and her breathy sighs as he'd pleasured her?

Had he liked it?

That's a thought that doesn't need to be investigated.

Geralt sighs and props his swords up against the wall. He should have finished his ale, or brought it with him. It had been decent, and the ale's only going to get shittier the further north they go. Having it now might actually give him the godsdamned strength to get through this horror of a conversation.

"Is it going to be a problem," he clarifies, "every time you remember that I've fucked Yen?"

Though this particular memory was jogged because of the voyeurism thing. Geralt's head turns sharply from his swords to focus on the bard again.

"Tell me that's the only time you've watched me fuck her, Jaskier."

Because if the answer to that is anything but an absolutely truthful yes, than Geralt would be properly mad at him. On account of what the fuck, Jaskier.