Yennefer lazily pushes herself to sit up on her elbows. "I'm no necromancer but I can see if I can bring you to life once more." Her own mouth is glossed from her efforts, lips more plump and far, far more smug. How she can pull off more smug than usual? Well, now Jaskier knows.

"You are lovely, darling." The other shoe hasn't dropped. Sexual tension still hangs in the air. It is not a dreadful, feared weight. Were it to drop away, Yennefer is confident she would still feel that same tenderness. They are friends. How is it that notion is just as thrilling as knowing that the next time she kisses Jaskier she will taste herself?

Such a proposition. Her head tilts, hair gaining volume and less order now as it moves. "Will you play me like your lute, bard?" The cunt is not a stringed instrument. Yennefer is not at all in a state of mind to think of what else it would be like actually. Violet eyes twinkle and she spreads her thighs.