whatupbuttercup | PSL Catchall with Conjurechaos

"Thank you," spoken from the bottom of her heart. She takes the offered glass. With Jasker sitting close to her he can interpret her little noise of delight however he means. A tease, a memory or because she really does enjoy her apple juice. Freshly pressed apple juice to be exact. She can tell. The right flavor and crispness, the right sweet and tartness.

The water they carry is hot and heavy. Both are still young women. They have successful childbearing years ahead. What reason do they have to be ashamed of the pleasure of others? When a man is kind to you, handsome and charming it makes no sense to not bed him. Maybe they have never heard such passionate, enjoyed fucking. That could be a reason for the flush of color. The very pointed refusal of eye contact, that is a more obvious indicator they were heard. Yennefer leans into Jaskier. "I don't think, darling. I know." No apologies on her part either.

"Perhaps in the morning or whenever I leave." Violet eyes stop scrutinizing the poor maids as she turns to look at him. "I hope you are not wasting any spent coin on your own lodging being here." The notion is a gentle nudge, already he is here and she has not paused her touching or leaning. The time of shooing him away has passed. She would like someone else to wash her hair. And after?

"The bed is large and, as you have witnessed for yourself, comfortable. And I could not take up the whole of it even if I tried." Is this casual enough? Welcoming and not too, too much. Is there really any use at attempting to put him at a distance when Jaskier is wised to her?

Were she literally anyone else, Jaskier might've been inclined to tease her. To point out the coyness of her invitation, to tease her about enjoying his company, but that felt like it would be...unduly cruel. Instead, Jaskier sipped his juice and considered her. He was given to lingering after trysts, probably too much so--he had outstayed many a welcome...but he didn't think that would be a terrible problem, this time.

"If there is such luxurious bedding to spare, who am I to refuse?" He replies and sets his glass aside as he offers her a hand. The bath is steaming already and he is certain that ten minutes spent in carnal disarray is long enough for anyone's taste.

"Now, I insist you allow me to wash your lovely hair," Jaskier added and his request was earnest. His own hair never grew much longer than his ears--it became unbearable for him after that. He had always liked to--washing long hair was a guilty pleasure and hers was so terribly soft and curling.

One doesn't have to be a sage to suggest that sorceresses and any magic users should not be teased. Those that bed with magic users of any kind are already throwing caution to the wind. That doesn't mean they should not take care. Jaskier's response is perfect. Yennefer nods in agreement. Perfect reasoning to stay the night.

Now that they are alone once again, she lets the silk fall from her shoulders and down her back. Her glass gets a final, full drink. Once she stands it's another garment to touch the floor. Her companion's state of dress renews the amusement in her eyes as she pulls the chemise free from his barely fastened trousers. "Is there an end to your gallant nature?" Leave it to her to find this arrangement gallant. She takes his hand for balance to take the first step into the tub. Yennefer moves slowly savoring the way the water's intense heat makes her pale skin pink. Any possible soreness will be fended off with a soak. She keeps their fingers touching because that's what she wants right now.

"You are joining me." Once she is settled that is. Kneeling, feeling the water rise and splash to her thighs, her buttocks her cunt. "It will be cozy." Cozier than the bed situation. Finally low enough in the tub the water sloshes about her tits.

He gives her a strange look, then--not one that disagrees, but one that's caught between confusion and novel surprise, as though the possibility honestly hadn't occurred to him. He has to extricate his hand to free his chemise but, once that is hauled over his head, ruffling his already bed-tossed hair, he takes her hand again and undoes his trousers with his free fingers. Those he shimmies out of and, ah, but he is still a mess.

"Gallant she calls me! Invites me to her bed and a cozy bath?" Jaskier says in a falsely scandalized whisper as he steps into the tub alongside her. It is not a large tub, it was well within his ability to maneuver, but there is space for them both so long as they do not mind one sitting in the other's lap. Jaskier, being the heavier of the two of them, opts to draw her into his once he sinks into the water.

"Why, Yennefer, if I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to seduce me," Jaskier announces quietly, and falsely aghast, into the space between her cheek and ear. Her hair, where it touches the water, is already gathering into dark, shiny locks.

The water rises with another occupant in the tub. It now sloshes across Yennefer's collarbones. They are far, far more comfortable with one another than before. Her eyes are half-lidded in the warm bliss. "I would have asked for two baths but not only would that have taken longer....what fun would it be?" Trying to suss out how they fit and get clean accordingly in a bathtub of this size is only a problem that the lowborn dream of. Yennefer dreamed of this once upon a time. Now she prefers to live her every want as it comes.

Jaskier only sports the oil on his posterior. His enjoyment is important but he does need to be clean too. The tray is not so far away. A stretch and they can reach every offered salt, scrub and soap.

"Oh is that what they are saying now? So many, many whispers for you. Is it a hobby to collect them?" She can't keep a straight face for that nonsense. Though every word is true in this case. An invitation that was taken without so much as a pause. The bard is a bold one, she already knew it. Somehow experiencing him first hand is filled with surprises.

She sits up on his thighs with such an ease. Jaskier is taller than she, heavier than she and a man. Yennefer casts such a shadow that remembering herself, remembering that with power she is still a small woman... that can be terrifying. With the bard she is unafraid. "Me? What a notion. Why would I ever think I had a chance with a man of such principle and talents?" Her voice is low and attempting to stay scandalized.

Jaskier manages to maintain his scandalized expression as she accuses him of collecting rumors about himself. Well he mostly maintains it--his moe of outrage does turn into an open mouthed smile before she finishes. When she plays the meek and lowly maid, though, with her hair wreathed around her, perched atop his thighs, his backside still sore from how lovingly she had fucked him not an hour ago?

Jaskier laughs, honestly and brightly and leans forward until his forehead rests on her shoulder. He is laughing still, and it shakes him and her and ripples the water. Lest she think he is laughing at her, he smooths his hands up her sides and then ghosts them along her skin until he can settle them on either side of her face.

"Principle and talent, she says? Scurrilous lies," he announces mirthfully and leans in to peck his lips against hers. "Beautiful words from a beautiful woman who will ever ruin me for lesser women, if I am not very careful."

He was never very careful.

Yennefer likes the sound of his laugh actually. Listening to it peal through the room and make their tub into an ocean of waves. It does carry quite a bit. He is the most smiling and laughing of sane adults she has come across. That's saying something. Her travels have taken her to so many kingdoms. Though it was already established he was quite the individual.

His eyes are still laughing even as no more comes from his mouth. Lip to lip again, pressed and soothing. "I wasn't joking about talent." And that is sealed with another kiss.

No true ear for music nor verse he plainly has an appeal. Folk have learned the words and tune enough to sing along. Maidens--well tonight one maiden--weep for his words. The source of all that is here with her.

"Take care, I don't aim to ruin. Accidents happen." Yennefer's smile has a sharpened edge. Ruin him for lesser women encompasses many, many women. Just because she wants everything doesn't mean that she will possess it. And even possession is a fleeting state. She tries not to let her own line of thinking sour the mood.

"...will you really clean my hair?"

"Gods yes," he exhales and it has none of the teasing quality of their flirting. "I have wanted to wash your hair since I first woke up and you tried to unsex me."

It is truly lovely hair and he has always delighted in running his fingers through lovely hair. He does so, then, as he has permission to touch. His own damp fingers muss more than they straighten, but the satisfaction is all the same.

"Turn around or I'll get soap in your lovely eyes," he instructs, matter of fact, and gestures as he leans back.

"Want no longer, dearheart." It's her turn to laugh. Not so long, loud or jovial as he. Undoubtedly merry. Their first meeting was so spectacularly awful. No regrets. The past is finished. Yennefer was so certain that her efforts would make her whole again. She would have castrated him and a dozen other men if it would have been true. Praise to the gods indeed, she had done herself a favor. Jaskier's cock is best on himself.

She uses the sides of the tub for balance as she turns. There is enough room for her to tilt her head back and submerge most of her hair. Her legs curl under her, sitting lower to help the process. The steam coils in the air.

"After this festival," or whenever his majesty has had enough of song of a traveling bard, "where will you wander to? Is there a pattern or order you follow?" Yennefer was invited. She's invited many places. Kingdoms want to show power and influence with their guests as much as appeal to sorceresses, mages and druids. This was absolutely a whim.

Her hair trails his lap and grazes, with perfect light, softness, against his legs and hips as she dips her head back. When she rights herself it falls in a heavy curtain against her back--already his fingers card through it and comb it and he reaches over the side to pluck a fine soap off the tray.

"Not generally, no, unless I have been summoned here or there, or winter is upon us," Jaskier explains as he pours some of the lilac scented soap I to his hands and works it between his fingers. He settles them on the crown of her head and scrubs with gentle, delicate motions against her scalp.

Much like his eclectic scheduling, it is not hard to guess why he works this way. She is certainly not dirty enough to merit this attention, but he is very good at it and enjoys giving this as much as anyone has ever enjoyed receiving it.

"This year, I had thought to journey south, perhaps, or to Cidaris if that cad Marx is afield. I've always been fond of the coast."

The diligent, careful work against her crown makes her sigh and softly moan. Thorough and committed to the task, truly. Leave it to Jaskier to not tie himself to empty promises. All Yennefer will have to do with her locks is brush it and braid it before sleep. "Are you sure you're only a bard and not a barber?" Her head tilts this way and that into Jaskier's hands. Now Yennefer can list is accomplishments beyond the lute.

Facing away, she cups the water to rinse her face. Her own cosmetics are resistant until she wills them not to be. More curiosity and illusion, as if females needed more.

"Marx? That is another bard. Hmmm. Marx... I can't say I've heard the name." One of her shoulders shrug. "Though as you know I am chasing the tail of trend on what is popular where music is concerned. Have you met the man? Or are you sworn rivals on principle?" Yennefer reaches beneath the water to stroke his thigh because she can. "Don't speak ill of cads. Some are most brilliant."

There are precious few things Yennefer could have said that would have endeared her more to Jaskier than asking who the hell Valdo Marx was. His grin split his face as he pulls her head back a bit and cups water in one hand to rinse her long dark hair. He looks positively elated, even as she corrects him about his own status as a horrible cad.

He is, apparently, a brilliant cad.

He could love her, he realizes, with his whole heart for as long as she would allow it.

"Oh, I've known Valdo Marx for quite a while," Jaskier tells her. "He's a pompous, bloviating, lackluster minstrel with a tin ear and clumsy fingers. He is deadset on ruining my reputation and will not shut up about his own--he is the worst--"

Jaskier smooths her hair back from her forehead and sighs, flatly.

"He is also my ex." Which, he felt, explained quite a lot about their animosity. "Did you know I actually tried to wish him dead with that Djinn? I believe I requested apoplexy, specifically. I know, I know, but he did steal my songs and cheat on me with a patron and muse--it was warranted."

The suds dissolve leaving her hair in a renewed state of shine. Yennefer spies his expression before shutting her eyes against another flow of water. How he outshines the lamps with a grin. She can picture it just as perfectly with her eyes closed the way the sun burns an image. Far more merriment in one little finger than other men have in his whole body.

"Jaskier, why is he still alive?" That's a real question, and she twists to be able to look at him in the face. "Life's riches are ill spent on his like." Is it the carelessness with a fellow sensitive creator that is so offensive to her in this moment? Or is it because it is her dear, sweet new ...friend? She touches his cheek. Diving in and out of lover's beds, taking to the path and flitting in courts on the regular is not for the feint of heart. She still felt his tears for one that did not handle him carefully. Geralt, while cruel, did not act with a plan or motive. Obliviousness is not an excuse and won't redeem him in her eyes she has decided.

"That was a very worthy wish. If he is as charming as you say he is, than he may be dead before the month is out." Her own little grin at the thought could be as reassuring as it could be frightening. Since they are face to face she gives him a peck before turning away.

Two bards together. That must have been a whirlwind. They talk that a sorceress and a witcher is a match for catastrophe, two passionate musicians seems to be of equal standing.

Jaskier makes a small surprised sound in the back of his throat--her question about his living still was not unusual, but the tacit offer to see him dead was a shock. He forgets, sometimes, that many of the people he knows are entirely capable of eliminating those that displease them--or, if they are feeling generous and inclined--those that displease him. He draws her close as she turns back, pulls her back against his chest so that she may stretch out as much as the tub allows, and wraps her in a loose embrace.

"Honestly, the cruelest fate for Valdo is going unknown," Jaskier muses with a note of smugness. "For all my songs grate on me, they are each of them nails in his foppish coffin. I cannot imagine how much he must have suffered when Toss a Coin first swept through Cidaris. Weeks after his thieving hands stole my music and suddenly he is awash in it."

He still gloats about that, about his own popularity with the people where Marx has failed to make a foothold. The face Valdo makes, each time, is nearly worth the humiliation and heartbreak he'd suffered.

"Now, before I ramble on about more past loves to my newest paramour--a terrible breech of affairs, I must say--tell me, sweetling, what scented soaps and salts would you prefer? We have quite an assortment."

There are so many hazards to life on the road as it stands. When your livelihood depends on the approval of your talent there is a heavy importance of money to add to safety, supplies and lodging. Bards are not known to be skilled in warrior arts. Accidents do just happen. Yennefer prefers blunt, direct methods for a statement. What statement can be made for life carrying on as it does? Vermin don't live long. Providence to Valdo Marx because when Jaskier speaks again, her drive for justice disappears.

"What manner of song does a man that chooses to go by Valdo Marx sing?" Her bias is obvious. And she nestles against his back. "That's some gall to take another's work and tout it as your own. Is there not a guild of bards?" There's a high council for mages to decide the fate of the realm. Not that Yennefer heeds them anyway.

The conversation pauses for real important matters. Yennefer hums thoughtfully. "I do want the lavender salt. Rose too." All the floral and sweet. "Do they have any of the lemon and sage soaps? I keep meaning to buy some in Novigrad. Business is so distracting."

"They do," Jaskier announces cheerfully and plucks up the lavender and rose salts first--best to scrub and then wash, or so he has always found. He frees his hands long enough to pour some of the scented granules in the palm of one, and then offers it first to her, should she wish to scrub her face or arms. He will merrily scrub the rest of her, given the chance.

"Valdo," Jaskier says and seems equal parts bemused and befuddled that they are still discussing his ex, "is known for his academic pieces. Fine ballads for courts, weddings, funerals, pronouncements, that sort of dreck."

Much though he maligns Marx, even Jaskier has to admit the man has some talent in the finer orchestral arrangements. It was why he'd fallen head over heels for him. Young Jaskier had been too easily impressed by a few complex bits of phrasing and complementary melodies.

Still, he revels in the obvious bias in Yennefer's tone. There is nothing quite like listening to someone as lovely and powerful as her as they distastefully inquire about someone he dislikes.

"And..as for a guild. Yes, technically? They're all a bit cut-throat, honestly, and mired in academia. It mostly comes down to 'Who sang it first?' rather than a question of who wrote it. I would imagine Sorcery would be the same--aren't there any terrible rivalries? Vying for positions? Salacious murders or trysts?"

The salt is finely ground and truly a balance of fragrance. It's plain to see that The Golden Fawn is not gilded. She will pay handsomely for their hospitality. There is a nagging feeling that it is all enhanced by the company. Yennefer knows a good bath, a good salt and a grand room well enough on her own. Everything about tonight feels heightened. Scrubbing with the tiny fragments loosens the lingering grime on her skin.

Yes, fucking makes grime. And she is not one to trample through bogs, marshes or ditches. Squalor was a thing of her past.

Music comes in shades the way that flowers do. She knows that much. Her nose crinkles. "Court music. Forgive me, darling but as whole it did not seem to hold longer than the duration of a dance. Perhaps your own orchestrations are different." In that way he takes to everything, his own fire and energy would be played out to a venue that can return even a part of what he gives. Lords and ladies can be so anemic. "I think the only way he could gain any popularity is if a dance were crafted for his pieces. As it stands there are so many variations to a damn waltz." Yes, court life was not her favorite time. All that luxury and no chance to enjoy it, surveying every occasion and making chances for his excellency to slip away with whoever caught his eye.

And who put her in such a position? Yennefer herself. Though she had faith in her elders, in her council. "Unfortunately, yes. There are so many, many agendas being pushed. Nilfgaard still on the march as if it were a crusade." Her head drops back against Jaskier. "I had hoped it would be more orderly given that the collective expertise is more an artistic pursuit."

Once she has taken her fill from the well of salts in his hands, he smooths both his wet palms together and splits the delicately scented slurry that forms between them. He rubs down her arms, across the back of her neck and over the tops of her shoulders as she pulls a face describing her distaste for court music. Jaskier could giggle, his amusement was so great.

"There was a dance crafted for one of his--a formal little Basse unique to Cidaris," Jaskier tells her, quietly hoping she might've seen it. "The one with all the spinning and the arm's raised bend. Looks ridiculous, if you ask me, but supposedly represents the sun over the ocean."

It was far too academic a thing for parties, but that was why Valdo would never be the best. Her hopes for the Bardic Guilds is charming but it does draw a chuckle out of him.

"My dear, you have met bards before, yes? Put two of us in the same room and we fight like wet cats. Can you imagine what a hundred of us in the same building looks like?"

Jaskier hums, then, and leans to put his chin on her shoulder. His hands start the gentle process of rinsing where he's scrubbed.

"Actually--there is a contest in mid-autumn in Oxenfurt," he says. "Very dry, but full of excessive drama. We all clamor and perform for judges and seek the University's patronage for the next year."

He hadn't tried to gain it in years, not for all the time he'd spent with Geralt. When last he'd gone after it, he had lost quite soundly...but that had been before he left the school. He could probably take it now and the idea of having Yennefer present and in the audience? Oh that was appealing.

"You should come, as my guest."

The floral scrubbing makes her skin pink and even in a heightened state of comfort, Jaskier makes her laugh. "No, really?" Her arms lift from the water, not even committing fully to the arrangement of the dance, she still has some salt she'd like to use on her chin and face. "That one? The hmm-dee-dum-da-da-da-hmm?" That is as close to the tune as she can recollect. "With their arms up it's more like the scuttling of crabs!" The Cidarians have a strange enough taste as it stands. She's laughing again. "Oh he really is awful." It might be amusing to meet such a lowly bard after all.

His touch is so gentle. If there was a way for her to relax into his body, she would. Yennefer kisses his arm as it crosses over her.

"Hundreds of wet cats... in concert. What a sound!" Patronage for a whole year would make a significant improvement for any aspiring musician of any repute.

She reaches from the water again, this time not to mock a dance. To touch his cheek. "I will only attend if you promise to tell me each and every sordid little thing about the contenders.... will you also compete?"

"Of course! On both counts," Jaskier assures her brightly. He couldn't imagine how disappointed he would be if she refused to indulge in the rumor mill while attending such a popular event.

"And you must tell me what you think of the dances because crabs? I shall never be able to see anything else," Jaskier tells her and his chest shakes with silent laughter. He reaches behind them and plucks up the bar of sage and lemon soap, one of several scents on the tray, and holds it out before her, presenting it for her use and approval whenever she is done with the salts.

"And weren't you just saying I was overdue for a visit to Oxenfurt?" It all falls together so nicely. And with events being what they are in their country, any manner of amusement should be pursued. "I would like to see you win."

Soap in hand she takes to gliding it over her arms. "Have you seen the step that is supposed to be Zarrikanian? Overly elaborate stepping with, wide legged with a head movement? I cannot keep a straight face. How do these things come into fashion? I see that that dog Marx is one harbinger." At least it comes with music.

Yennefer gently pushes from Jaskier. "Would his lordship like a wash as well? You've been so very, very attentive." And not at all shy with how he enjoys to touch. The bath is still warm and their fingers are not utterly pruned. She slips the bar of soap over her breast to clean under her arm.

"The Zarrikanian one! Oh yes, it's positively ridiculous--" he agrees and has to snort back the sudden laugh at her dig toward his rival. What a wonderful woman. She sits up and offers that smile back at him as she slides the soap across herself.

He pulls a slight face at the title, but says nothing to dissuade her teasing. He quite likes it, he finds.

"I would not object to a lovely woman washing my back for me, if she were so inclined," he responds diplomatically. He had to scrub the oil from himself--thick and luscious as it was, it would remain on him until he put in some concerted effort to remove it. That...was not a delicate or flirty request to be made. Once she was finished, he would clean whatever they had not.

Her own face is as much of a mask of innocence as she can make. She is ready for a push back. It does not come. If it weren't already a test, she would start to tell him he is such a good and kind lordling, so gracious to a lady. Instead she bats her lashes. Violet is not a common eye color and she can gather why they are said to do things like twinkle or sparkle. She is just looking at him.

"I'm so very inclined. Yes." Both arms open for him to lay where he likes. "Did you choose anything for yourself downstairs? A salt or treat?" Her hands dip below the water to feel over his legs. Yennefer is seated crosslegged and is happy to reach wherever. Jaskier's trim body is so lovely to hold, lovelier to lay waste to. "I did say anything you like. I meant it."

What could he want? What makes him stretch and sigh that is not caresses? Silken, tailored clothes, berry schnapps, witchers and sorceresses it seems.

He turns, then as she moves her fingertips gently over his legs. His poor cock is too dearly spent to stir again this evening, but he warmth that follows her touch is pleasant nonetheless. He reaches across the tray and sorts it a moment before coming back with something rather decadent--it is a smooth and liquid soap that smells of honeysuckle and grass. He had enjoyed the scent when he smelled it first, and the texture was fine enough that he wouldn't lament using it across the soreness of his backside later.

"I found this rather charming, but hadn't put much thought into additional treats," he admitted and handed her the bottle as he turned to lean against the side of the tub. He pillowed his head on his arms and peered back at her, comfortably.

"I have already had so many this evening, I fear I'll become insatiable."

"Become? Now, Jaskier." His appetites are what make him such a person.They would not have got on so well if he were a reserved monk sort. Having a person enjoy indulgences unabashed and with no design around it is a wonderful, wonderful change. Yennefer takes the bottle from him. "This is a fine choice."

Pouring the contents into her palms she smooths both hands over his shoulders to spread the soap. It is so very soft and it guides her hands to spread a gathering foamy lather. "Don't you dare become meek or reserved because it's proper." The steam and warmth dulls all of the beautiful aches and stills he wants to touch him because she can, their bath is a floral bouquet as it was. Now honeysuckle and grass is the most potent. "Besides, I don't think that you have it in you to be so." Which is a fine thing to be by her tone of voice.

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