Emhyr wakes up to a hangover from hell and a blaring cellphone, and immediately wishes for death. He is feeling absolutely shit.
He has to keep an arm over his face as he reaches for the phone blindly.
“Hello,” he croaks.
“...It’s 11 in the morning.” Geralt says on the other side, in lieu of greeting like a normal fucking person.
“What do you want?”
“Are you home? Ciri said you had a work thing last night, and if I just woke you up-”
“I’m home. Does Cirilla need a change of clothing?” He had told his obstinate child the weather would be too warm for winter wear this weekend, but her head was quite hard. If he was feeling slightly better he might be feeling vindicated at this moment.
“Yeah. I'll be over in fifteen.”
___
Emhyr is waiting on the porch as Geralt finally makes his appearance. He had barely made it to his position at the top of the steps, and was just contemplating attempting the descent when he catches Geralt’s judgemental expression through the windshield. Fuck that, he decides, as he plops the bag of clothes down next to him, resolved to make Mr Well Adjusted climb up the stairs his goddamned self if he wants to be super dad so bad.
He is well aware of what he must look like in that moment, but he is quite convinced that Geralt should be grateful he has at least managed to greet him freshly showered (he’d spent ten minutes under the water leaning with his head against the wall), with a towel around his waist and a bathrobe on his back.
As Geralt comes sauntering up the driveway, looking mean and fit and totally sober, Emhyr takes a fortifying drag of his cigarette. He has to close his eyes as he expels the smoke, since the sight of the rapidly moving white particles past his face might just have him give in to the temptation to ruin Geralt’s day by vomiting all over him.
“Ciri said you quit.” the dickhead rumbles.
“It shall be our little secret.” Emhyr answers in the most condescending tone he can manage in his impaired state. He points to the bag at his feet, and is rewarded by a flash of irritation on Geralt’s face.
As the other man stomps up the steps, Emhyr experiences a moment of regret for not just tossing the bag at him, when he sees Mr Fitness' eyes linger on his soft belly. Instead, he affects the unbothered, and leans his arm on the banister next to him, trying his best to look self assured despite still very much feeling like shit. He maintains the pose until Geralt gets back into his hideously dilapidated vehicle.
__
In the perfectly serviceable and actually quite well maintained truck, Geralt frantically reaches for his cellphone as he takes up his place behind the wheel. He struggles to pull his eyes away from the half naked man now sashaying to the porch couch to drape himself over it, porno style.
“Yen,” he says, as the woman in question picks up his call, “I swear to GOD Emhyr is trying to seduce me. Can you believe that!!??”
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Geralt and Yennefer enter the Banquet on Thanned and stealing the spotlight 🌟
For some context, other sorceresses are trying to read Geralt's mind for some juicy political info, but Geralt aint having it that night and started praising his love for Yennefer 💜
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