Geralt bit the inside of his cheek and cleared his throat. "No, Jaskier, I don't think that I would." The very last thing that he needed was the man singing a song in dedication of a witcher's rear-end in front of the entire inn and its self-proclaimed bad acoustics. No doubt loudly. "Are you going to eat lunch?" Yes, he was trying to switch the topic-- mostly because his cock kept reminding him that he enjoyed the look of those pinked cheeks whenever his attention happen to hang on them. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone but him but he was, of course, enough.

Also, they could speak and do as they would when they were around their fire but here in the middle of a pub and its patrons... suddenly what he and Jaskier had done felt farther away and much more volatile. Geralt, of course, considered that it would change nothing about the way they traveled together-- but Jaskier was Jaskier and he had somehow failed to account for that.