She stares and his stomach flips, his cock twitches at her offer but he knows himself. If she is dedicated they will waste much time and effort trying to make him rise again. If he tends to her, if he revels, then it may yet happen...or at least the effort involved will be lessened much.

"I could, if you like," Jaskier offers and the muscles in his stomach, hidden by a fine layer of fat, bunch and shift beneath his skin. He is lithe and lovely and he knows it, knows how it appeals and why. The hair on his chest travels nearly to his navel and the hair from there follows the line to his cock.

"I could have you sing for me, sweetling," he suggests and leans forward, bends at the waist so he can press his lips against her chest, against the dip at the pit of her neck. Her hair is so soft where it brushes his hip.

"A private concert. Or--" he starts as the thought drifts through him. It hangs, caught on something in the back of his mind, in the vagueries of memory and he is tempted to let it drift...but the chance is.

"Or, perhaps, you would like to move in me until I can return the favor?"