They had been freely sharing everything this night, hadn't they? Showing little injuries, sharing little stories, any small thought or worry spoken. Yennefer helped him dry his tears. She doesn't wish to cause more of them. Not for Jaskier or herself. Geralt's mutant nature must be what makes it so difficult to banish him from thoughts or hearts. Worst yet that she is betraying this fellowship even considering him a party. No, she can't speak of that.
"I like the thrill of being hung and admired. It's like becoming a garden swing." She lets her eyes return downward until resting on his face. Sly, bard. "Would you and your ropes be so strong as to hold me down?"
This second question is a greater surprise. Instead of retreating, her brow furrows thoughtfully. Yes, that is deeply personal. Her knee jerk reaction is to leave the tub, leave the room. She is still a prideful, angry sorceress. Though she is also used to walking a path on her own, untethered, unattached. And this won't be information shared with a person that will squander its value. They're naked to one another and she finds in her heart that she does not want to shrink from Jaskier twice. Her eyes stare into his.
"The act has been...as a performance. No service or distribution of power." As a habit she has not allowed anyone to step up to the plate to take care of her. It has been a command or an order, Jaskier and a few other lovers act intuitively, navigating the points of pleasure on a woman's body. That is not what he is asking. "I seldom get to go to another place or know what it is like to be cared for. I struggle and dominate enough as it is."
He sees the alarm flash in her eyes and regrets asking, he nearly reaches out for her...but she steels herself and replies anyway. He finds he can only admire her more for the strength in that. It makes her uncomfortable, this admission, and his heart swells with that. His smile is gentle as he regards her and, after a moment of silence, he offers her his hand.
They should rise and dry off before the water becomes uncomfortably chilly.
"If...you would like, and it does not discomfit you to have me render such care, I would be happy to provide it." He rises but leaves his hand out for her still. "I rarely dominate and, in truth, find less allure in it than most things...but I have always enjoyed caring for people who need it...and sometimes a firm touch is needed."
Ah, but this is very heavy. Heavier than his fragile heart will tolerate for too long.
"That I might truss you up and hang you like a lovely work of art is, additionally, very appealing. Though where I will find a satisfactory length of black silken rope, I've no idea."
The curve of his smile is the spell keeping herself from crumbling in these precious seconds. Yennefer's heart still beats. Her eyes still see and there is still breath in her lungs. That gentle acceptance for her answer for what it is, for how she is keeps the order to balance the chaos. She loves him for it with such a sudden blooming sharp pain as if she were struck by an arrow.
He rises out of the water, lean and now with glossed from the fine honeysuckle and grass soap. A bard and noble viscount. "If there is one thing that I have learned today, it is not to doubt your word or skill." She reaches for his hand slowly and her own smile begins to renew on her mouth. The water sloshes, foggier from the soaps and salts. Midsummer air is warmer to be in and she notes that the maids have left towels. Jaskier's fingers get a squeeze.
"I would also like to hear more about what you find alluring." Perhaps with more time spent together to learn his ways of easy smiles and easier conversation where matters of the heart are concerned. "We can figure out the details at the market at Gors Velen. I'm sure the madam would be able to procure whatever needed. Magic can do the rest."
Lengths of silken ropes. Perhaps better suited cock pieces. The obsidian phallus was large he did say. Yennefer pulls at the towels and offers one to Jaskier. Their fingers are still touching.
He takes the towel and just resists taking her fingers as well. He ducks his head at her question, smile reduced to something small and nearly private before he ruffles the towel through his hair and dries his face and arms. He steps out of the tub a moment later and, after a cursory drying of his legs, sets out his towel on the floor for her. A damp mat, but better than the floorboards of an inn.
Has he been so obsequious with past lovers? He has certainly been caring, but this fawning is new. She brings it out in him and, frankly, he cannot say he objects. Even simple kindnesses seem to brighten her eyes and demeanor and, if that is the trade, he will make it gladly. Every time.
"My wants vary," he hedges, not because he is particularly ashamed, or because he thinks she will refuse him--no, he is nervous because he knows she will not.
"I delight in service, as I am sure you've noticed--in gentle aid and kindling desires," he begins in a tone he hopes is casual. "On my own, I enjoy praise as much as punishment, enjoy being ignored as much as fawned over, and find that toeing the edge of bliss and being left wanting is the sweetest torture."
He enjoys being the center of attention and straining to reclaim it when it's lost. To be petty, to break rules and bring punishment and focus back upon himself? It is a guilty pleasure and one he has rarely indulged in.
No, too often he accepts dismissal outright. His lovers are rarely in on the game and it is unfair to presume.
Smarting hurts and swift discipline are sweet and savory things, when applied right, though there is a touch of hesitance in him as he ponders that. Finding a brothel that specializes in such things is rare, and rarer still are the courtly bodies willing to indulge him. The last time he had truly had another committed to the whole of it, it had not gone well. When he had brought it before Valdo, the troubadour had been exceptionally keen on the rod, on neglect and denial, as opposed to songs of praise and wanting.
His memory is kinder to Valdo than Yennefer is likely to be, so he doesn't mention it aloud. The troubadour hadn't had enough regard for him to learn the balance, and that was just as well. Jaskier had left him a decade ago.
Geralt had...also echoed Valdo, hadn't he? Full of denial and harsh words, punishment and mocking, distance...and even more distance. He had never struck him with a crop or left him lashed in place with a weeping cock, but that was not for a few decades of trying on Jaskier's part.
What an unpleasant line of thought--his smile has fallen and a short frown taken his expression as he mulls it over.
The day is coming to a close, hours slipping and with each the distance between them becoming smaller and smaller. How much more time will pass before there is hardly any room at all? Will they collide? Will they exist together in tandem? This peace is so new. Yennefer will have to sort out what it all means when she is by herself. That may not be until close to the afternoon tomorrow.
Jaskier's face, charming and still not yet through with the boyishness of his features, holds so many expressions. Speaking these wants does not bring out bashfulness. It is a more refined emotion. She waits and listens before deciding. Each whim has her smile grow steadily brighter. "You speak rightly, that is a variance indeed." Her voice is warm and amused. "I would like to explore that range with you."
Their hands are still clasped. She can use the towel with one hand so much better than she thought she would be able to. Over her torso, her arms. Carefully patting her hair. Putting down a towel as a mat is brilliant. He is a clever man. Keeping company with a mage can bring so many benefits as well as dangers. That is just in company, not friendship. Not--whatever this is becoming slowly but surely.
Chireadan had the chance to warn Geralt. He did not warn Jaskier. All he got to hear was how magnificent Yennefer was to him. Perhaps it is just as well. The warnings were from a man that had watched her from afar. He did not know her the way Jaskier knew her even a full day ago. What good are words of caution about fickleness or cunning? What do those even mean?
That sweet, smiling face changes once more. Yennefer wonders if he feels the bruises left by those that mishandled him. Is he thinking of them right now? She would ask, yet had denied him her thoughts a moment ago. Words she cannot use to reach out. She lifts their joined hands to rest at her heart. "Say the words and I can fulfill your want to the letter. I don't believe we need a special trip to Madam d Carabas for that." She presses her lips to his knuckles and then gently steps to pull him to the bed.
For just a moment, he looks like he will say it. His face shifts, just so, with how desperately he wants to ask her, but he doesn't in the end. No, he stays silent and swallows back that desire. They have had enough turmoil tonight for a lifetime. He should space out their fraught conversations if he can. He will find ample satisfaction in holding her close and slumbering--he needn't beg for praise beyond her trust.
Not tonight.
His small smile returns as she calls by that pretty little name, and he leans in to brush a kiss against her brow.
"I would adore some, but I admit the idea of sleep calls to me more," He answers delicately. "Today has been a wonder, but it also feels as though it were years long, in and of itself."
He leans back a bit and looks down at her.
"Then...perhaps, once we have slept and the world is new, I will feel bold enough to request my wants without all this coy hesitation."
There is time yet to show what other scars have marred their hearts and souls. That won't mean that it will be any less spectacular of a reaction. Yennefer loves as fiercely as she fights, with her whole self. Light and shadow of her aligned to a cause. Perhaps it is a blessing to the whole world that not many are endeared to her. Especially fragile, normal humans.
Yennefer is able to smile and breathe now that there is a sign of recovery at his own lips. It feels even better as a kiss on her skin. "It was an adventure, wasn't it?" Gossip, song, drink and lovemaking and so very, very much stimulating conversation.
"The offer stands." Hands joined acts as a lead as she steps to pull them to the bed. A gesture pulls back the furs and linen. There was a thought to comb her hair and put it into a plait, it's been over taken by wanting to wrap him in an embrace in hopes to settle what is trying to ail them. "Tomorrow morning or four and twenty mornings from now...the offer stands." She does not apply the same patience with her own hesitation. Jaskier's on the other hand? She has the time.
His shoulder gets a push. Urging him to sit, undoubtedly after lay because she is going to draw the bedding up and around them.
He follows after her eagerly, almost like a puppy with a new mistress, and feels a bit of the thrill of that as he goes. She pushes him to sit and he obeys but draws her down with him, into his arms before he lays back down. Wrapping her in a hug and taking her down with him, damp hair fanning across his neck and chest in the process.
She has magic, he reasons airily, she can pull the covers up without use of her arms, right?
If not, he will merrily wind himself around her and act as a blanket.
"Thank you," he murmurs, honestly, against the top of her head. Not for the acceptance--though he well appreciates that--but for the patience to tolerate in him something she has already expressed distaste for in others.
Pulled down? That ignites a short laugh. Yennefer doesn't resist his touch nor gravity. They fall together. Lilac, honeysuckle, gooseberry, lavender... the lighter shades have a sort of musk on his skin, it's pleasing to her nose. That's whys he nuzzles up against him.
One hand has a careless half movement and the blanket linen move, the fur after. The candles can gutter out. It's fine.
"You're welcome, Jaskier." Gods above she is actually feeling tired now that they lay still. She keeps her face close to his body. His heartbeat is steady, honest and true. No magic, just the miracle of life as it was before The Conjunction of the Spheres.
It is so very easy to fall asleep wrapped around her, ensconced in blankets and furs and the smells of fine soaps. He sinks into that bed and against her and is out in mere moments, limp and comfortable and utterly dead to the world. He has never been a light sleeper and, if she remains awake to hear it, is actually given to mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Half formed thoughts, lyrics, names--he says them all warmly or with some pale shade of his mock aghast and then resettles in the cocoon of blankets and warmth. He is just a bit animated in sleep which is, frankly, not all that surprising.
He wakes when the sun finally creeps far enough through the windows to fall across his head. He doesn't have a hangover, somehow--ah, yes, they'd had juice and hadn't slept drunk, had they? He feels thirsty, yes, but there is no punishing headache or pain behind his eyes to back that up. So, as one does when they awake next to a beautiful woman in a comfortable inn bed, he shifts and pulls her closer, burying his head in her dry silken locks and tucking his eyes beneath her, pinned in that space between her and the pillow.
He doesn't sleep, but he does doze very comfortably, then. She smells more of herself than perfumes or soaps and it is both indescribable and easily assigned to her: a tang of feminine sweat and skin and just the edge of magic.
Yennefer isn't sure at what point sleep takes her. She drifts, and is able to hear mutterings. They make her pet his arm, his chest until the movement is too much. Whether it had any lulling effect for him she won't know. Dipping into the depths of unconsciousness she is less rigid, less tense. In the night she hardly moves. When she does it is to grab for the form of his body to be sure he near. And he is. No nightmares or visions. No empty bed.
Dimly she feels movement. Her hair shifts just so and her lashes flutter but her eyes don't open. A small noise is caught in her throat. Stillness again. The room is silent. This close she can hear him breathe and a steady, regular beating of a heart. There is shuffling on the floor of the in. Someone is sweeping. Up the street a horse and cart have started to pull through. It's day again.
Yennefer wets her lips and pulls herself closer. Her hair may overtake him completely. "Hello." Sunlight cuts in tiny shards through the black forest canopy of her hair as her lips drag on him for a sleepy kiss. "...I know you're awake."
He yawns into the mattress and says something that sounds like: "Scurrilous lies." He draws a deep breath a moment later, holds it, and then draws back far enough to crack an eye open and look at her. In the soft morning light, rumpled and haloed by sunshine, she is more than a worthy muse. He studies her for several long moments, committing this to memory, and shifts his arms around her so they can settle more comfortably.
"Good morning," he offers after a moment drawing himself up from sleep. He grazes her lips with his in a sleepy kiss and gamely resists the urge to fall back asleep. Mostly. He closes his eyes and hums and is comfortable but surely--alright maybe he is given to dozing more.
The movement is good, she can see his face better. Heavy with sleep his eyes are softer, though his mouth as generous and careful as the night before. The moment his eyes dip shut she wants to pull on him.
"Good morning to you." Waking rested, clean and in an embrace. They did not part ways in the night. No further tears shed. Yes, it is a good morning. Yennefer kisses back with a measured pressure, lips together and chaste. Those blue eyes stay shut and a laugh rumbling low in her voice. She reaches up to stroke the line of his jaw.
"I did. You must have too, I see you're not yet willing to give up." She reaches his ear and traces the lobe up to his hair. "..or perhaps that was not enough, mmm?" She expects an answer and rubs nose to nose as her finger nails gently scratch his scalp. "Do you need more sleep?"
Each touch and nuzzle draws him further into waking. Her fingers dancing on his face, against his jaw, and her amusement shakes his arm. He shudders just a bit, a fine shiver as she draws her nails over his scalp, and he is awake, far more awake than he expects to be. He takes another deep breath but keeps his eyes closed, if only so he doesn't dissuade the fingers in his hair.
"Why...would I willingly give up such comfort?" he asks, in place of an answer, but the drowsy, drifting edge of his voice is gone. He will have to surrender this comfort, eventually, and so he resigns himself and cracks open his eyes to look at her again.
"Did you know that you are almost unbearably soft?" Jaskier asks and shifts the leg he has carded between hers, smooths his calf across her slender one and revels in the delicate softness of her limbs. "It is like hugging a cloud. How does anyone refrain from embracing you at all times?"
Finally seeing results puts a smug smile on her face. His eyes don't have to be open, that shutter and change in his breathing is telling. Dear me, perhaps she should not be so openly admiring common place things like breath and heartbeat. Her profession already gets push back. Blame it on Jaskier for adding his own shine to the common place.
"Ah, that is the angle." He is not wrong at all. The bed is fine as it was. The true luxury is touching and being touched. They were so much more charged and inspired the night before. Though this is, for some strange reason she cannot place, an equal.
Yennefer laughs again, low and dark. Her nails still scratch upon his head, moving it to puff before petting it to order. Then it starts again, carding and scratching, fluffing and petting. No hurry. She has no appointments to attend especially at any hour before noon. "I simply don't allow just anyone an embrace." If he were to say such a thing, would anyone believe Jaskier? He has enough of a reputation as a rake to have it chalked up to exotic appetites to consider Yennefer of Vengerberg sweet let alone soft.
She plays with his hair and he luxuriates in it, like a great cat savoring the scratching behind his ears and above the nape of his neck. He hums delightedly, small dancing shivers creeping across him under the attention. He nearly misses her correction--
"Ah, so they do not know?" Jaskier teases. "What a clever and generous woman, hiding such a secret from the world and allowing me to partake."
He lets his hands roam idly, petting down her sides and smoothing over her hips, the plushness of her thighs, her buttocks. His smile is self-satisfied and nearly smug. He doesn't rock his hips against her but he does want to--his halfmast morning erection can be ignored but, the longer he indulges and the more she pets his hair, the less halfmast it will be.
"Do you have anywhere to be this morning?" He asks, none too subtly.
"The world doesn't need to know. No one does." Flippant? Oh yes. She doesn't have enough of a heart to try and share it with so many. These ventures take time, effort. Jaskier's reckless abandon has inspired her to try. There is less room between them now, her legs entangled in his. The slightly firm shape of his cock resting close to her.
Anywhere his hand wanders, her skin comes alive as if he is rousing the chaos swirling in her blood and bones. "Why here, of course. I never ever make appointments in the morning." The time is usually for herself, for sleep and her beauty rituals. Though in a rare occasion, resting against a handsome man with beautiful eyes that somehow remain shut.
"Do you, bard? Any...breakfast feasts?" Look, she's not sure what kind of an event would take place so early. Yennefer's hip nestles to Jaskier's. Fingers still scratch, fluff and pet. "The world has such demands of you." And she? She only wants everything.
"Thankfully no," Jaskier breathes as she nestles close enough to trap his cock between them firmly. "I've nary an engagement between now and sundown."
They cannot stay like this until then, of course. Surely she must have somewhere to be and he will not be so selfish as to keep her occupied all day, but they can linger like this for a while. He cracks his eyes open just a touch, to peer at her from behind his lashes, and hums delightedly. If he could purr under her petting, he would, he looks so boneless and content with it.
"Though I would not object to a breakfast feast, if you are offering?" Jaskier plies gently, his hands squeezing her hips just as he speaks. He is truly insatiable but, if she declines, he will not be more than the barest bit disappointed. This, right now, is entirely enough.
"Oh?" And it's followed by a thoughtful, fluttering hum as if she has to consider a grave decision. Their nest is temporary, this bliss secure in her memory for all time. That should be more than enough should it not? The room is growing brighter with daylight. The candles burned down, wax spread over the brass and the more costly oil lamps empty. For now the remains of their bath keeps everything fragrant.
His eyelashes are long enough that she can only see his eyelids move. "I am hungry, not near so much as you." Her voice is soft with a humor. "Shall we see what they have downstairs?"
If they start to play again she might not leave Temeria for days. The want, the thrill is deep. Would so much indulgence sate his appetite completely after? Her finger gently cease their motion and she sits up to press kisses to his eyelids.
He let's out a huff of fond laughter as she kisses his eyelids and sits up, pulling free from his idle embrace at last. He watches her, awake and happy, and inclines his head.
"Yes, let's," Jaskier agrees brightly and drags himself up to sit. Getting dressed shall be a trick, but he makes a concerted effort to think of terribly boring, unappealing things as he rises and gathers up his clothing.
Well, most of it. He cannot seem to find his smalls but, then again, he had been terribly drunk when he lost them. He puts up a token search and, by the end of it, has fallen enough that he can shimmy into his trousers and actually make himself presentable. As presentable as he ever is, at least.
"I am actually quite famished--did we eat while we drank? I can't recall."
Rising up out of the bed is the remedy though she ought to be ashamed of herself at how she steals glances at him. The first thing she does is find a means to put a kind of order to her curls, perched at the vanity. From the mirror she watches him pass several times, clothes in his grip.
Yennefer has the audacity to hum to herself. No, it's not the terrible crab dance song. Though his scuttling is very animated. The longest part of her readiness is her face. Simple touches and she is no longer barefaced. The dress she wore the night before remains draped over the chaise. Beneath it are the illusive silk blue he was looking for. A new dress, black with carefully placed pearls of white and black dotting the neckline. Beneath is a new equally small bit of cloth and no effort to bind her breasts.
Well, if he didn't ask. She won't tell.
"You ordered a tray at the tavern." Still thirsty and impatient, she finds the apple juice. It's no longer chilled but still good. The apples were pressed the night before after all. She pours a glass. "I can't rightly tell you what it was. A roast I think?"
He pulls his chemise on, tucks it in as he had himself, and makes some attempt to render himself presentable. His hair is a lost cause but, fortunately, being seen with dreadful bed-head is not even close to a problem for his reputation. His doublet covers the rumples in his chemise well enough and he even buttons it up properly as she pours herself a drink.
"I haven't the faintest--I remember cherries and singing and, oh hell, did I get a poor reaction? I must have been off key all night and not noticed," Jaskier grimaces and lets out a short sigh as he moves to retrieve his lute. In only a few moments, he is fully dressed and looking only slightly less put together than the night prior.
Oh he is lovely. It's unfair. The hair is wholly her fault. The state of his clothes, well, she could have been more careful too she supposes. Though any would cast their gaze upon him and see he cuts a silhouette. Yennefer keeps eyeing him over the rim of her glass.
"No?" Details don't stay as well as emotions. Though it does cause a momentary flutter of dread. He is still present and was willing to bed her a moment earlier. "You did very well, though I'm afraid we may have made a scene and hurt the feelings of a popular barmaid that had been making eyes at you." May as though she wasn't entirely aware of the situation.
Yennefer takes his arm, "The best part about the tavern was the cherry schnapps anyway. There is still the bottle of that. That would be the only reason to return."
The Golden Fawn in daylight hours is clean. The midsummer festival patrons are only just staggering out from their lodging. Jaskier is already winning the contest of who looks not only bedded but presentable enough to pass through the doors of a temple. It's a miraculous feat. There are still tables available. The smell of eggs, potatoes and bacon make her stomach growl.
If he has forgotten anything of note, it doesn't show on his face. He gives her an utterly besotted look as she strolls to his side, as she takes his arm. He settles his own hand atop hers at his elbow and they head down. He draws her seat out once they've joined the crowd and loops his lute around his own chair before stepping back.
"A plate of everything for the lady, I presume?" Jaskier asks and cocks a brow, his own smile implying that he intends to have the same.
He wonders if they have tea--this place is very nice, it is possible they will have an assortment.
The afternoon and into the night had been eventful. Yennefer could not forget that she had learned that her companion was a viscount and a tenderhearted man that could fuck like a beast and lay back prettily to be treated the same. The thought makes her tilt her head to his shoulder briefly before coming to sit.
"Oh yes. And fruit if that is not already included. Tea. Mmm." No, that was not a dip into his thoughts. What fine establishment to offer bath service and salts but not serve tea? The barman was just cleaning away plates and notices Yennefer and then Jaskier. He quickly cleans his hands and toddles over to them.
What will the lovely lady and gent be having this day? Yennefer makes her wishes known. A full platter, and bless the Golden Fawn it comes with fruit. She asks for tea. Attention on Jaskier pauses and his brow furrows. Doesn't he know him from somewhere? Perhaps he hasn't seen the lute.
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whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-15 03:20 pm
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"I like the thrill of being hung and admired. It's like becoming a garden swing." She lets her eyes return downward until resting on his face. Sly, bard. "Would you and your ropes be so strong as to hold me down?"
This second question is a greater surprise. Instead of retreating, her brow furrows thoughtfully. Yes, that is deeply personal. Her knee jerk reaction is to leave the tub, leave the room. She is still a prideful, angry sorceress. Though she is also used to walking a path on her own, untethered, unattached. And this won't be information shared with a person that will squander its value. They're naked to one another and she finds in her heart that she does not want to shrink from Jaskier twice. Her eyes stare into his.
"The act has been...as a performance. No service or distribution of power." As a habit she has not allowed anyone to step up to the plate to take care of her. It has been a command or an order, Jaskier and a few other lovers act intuitively, navigating the points of pleasure on a woman's body. That is not what he is asking. "I seldom get to go to another place or know what it is like to be cared for. I struggle and dominate enough as it is."
no subject
They should rise and dry off before the water becomes uncomfortably chilly.
"If...you would like, and it does not discomfit you to have me render such care, I would be happy to provide it." He rises but leaves his hand out for her still. "I rarely dominate and, in truth, find less allure in it than most things...but I have always enjoyed caring for people who need it...and sometimes a firm touch is needed."
Ah, but this is very heavy. Heavier than his fragile heart will tolerate for too long.
"That I might truss you up and hang you like a lovely work of art is, additionally, very appealing. Though where I will find a satisfactory length of black silken rope, I've no idea."
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He rises out of the water, lean and now with glossed from the fine honeysuckle and grass soap. A bard and noble viscount. "If there is one thing that I have learned today, it is not to doubt your word or skill." She reaches for his hand slowly and her own smile begins to renew on her mouth. The water sloshes, foggier from the soaps and salts. Midsummer air is warmer to be in and she notes that the maids have left towels. Jaskier's fingers get a squeeze.
"I would also like to hear more about what you find alluring." Perhaps with more time spent together to learn his ways of easy smiles and easier conversation where matters of the heart are concerned. "We can figure out the details at the market at Gors Velen. I'm sure the madam would be able to procure whatever needed. Magic can do the rest."
Lengths of silken ropes. Perhaps better suited cock pieces. The obsidian phallus was large he did say. Yennefer pulls at the towels and offers one to Jaskier. Their fingers are still touching.
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Has he been so obsequious with past lovers? He has certainly been caring, but this fawning is new. She brings it out in him and, frankly, he cannot say he objects. Even simple kindnesses seem to brighten her eyes and demeanor and, if that is the trade, he will make it gladly. Every time.
"My wants vary," he hedges, not because he is particularly ashamed, or because he thinks she will refuse him--no, he is nervous because he knows she will not.
"I delight in service, as I am sure you've noticed--in gentle aid and kindling desires," he begins in a tone he hopes is casual. "On my own, I enjoy praise as much as punishment, enjoy being ignored as much as fawned over, and find that toeing the edge of bliss and being left wanting is the sweetest torture."
He enjoys being the center of attention and straining to reclaim it when it's lost. To be petty, to break rules and bring punishment and focus back upon himself? It is a guilty pleasure and one he has rarely indulged in.
No, too often he accepts dismissal outright. His lovers are rarely in on the game and it is unfair to presume.
Smarting hurts and swift discipline are sweet and savory things, when applied right, though there is a touch of hesitance in him as he ponders that. Finding a brothel that specializes in such things is rare, and rarer still are the courtly bodies willing to indulge him. The last time he had truly had another committed to the whole of it, it had not gone well. When he had brought it before Valdo, the troubadour had been exceptionally keen on the rod, on neglect and denial, as opposed to songs of praise and wanting.
His memory is kinder to Valdo than Yennefer is likely to be, so he doesn't mention it aloud. The troubadour hadn't had enough regard for him to learn the balance, and that was just as well. Jaskier had left him a decade ago.
Geralt had...also echoed Valdo, hadn't he? Full of denial and harsh words, punishment and mocking, distance...and even more distance. He had never struck him with a crop or left him lashed in place with a weeping cock, but that was not for a few decades of trying on Jaskier's part.
What an unpleasant line of thought--his smile has fallen and a short frown taken his expression as he mulls it over.
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Jaskier's face, charming and still not yet through with the boyishness of his features, holds so many expressions. Speaking these wants does not bring out bashfulness. It is a more refined emotion. She waits and listens before deciding. Each whim has her smile grow steadily brighter. "You speak rightly, that is a variance indeed." Her voice is warm and amused. "I would like to explore that range with you."
Their hands are still clasped. She can use the towel with one hand so much better than she thought she would be able to. Over her torso, her arms. Carefully patting her hair. Putting down a towel as a mat is brilliant. He is a clever man. Keeping company with a mage can bring so many benefits as well as dangers. That is just in company, not friendship. Not--whatever this is becoming slowly but surely.
Chireadan had the chance to warn Geralt. He did not warn Jaskier. All he got to hear was how magnificent Yennefer was to him. Perhaps it is just as well. The warnings were from a man that had watched her from afar. He did not know her the way Jaskier knew her even a full day ago. What good are words of caution about fickleness or cunning? What do those even mean?
That sweet, smiling face changes once more. Yennefer wonders if he feels the bruises left by those that mishandled him. Is he thinking of them right now? She would ask, yet had denied him her thoughts a moment ago. Words she cannot use to reach out. She lifts their joined hands to rest at her heart. "Say the words and I can fulfill your want to the letter. I don't believe we need a special trip to Madam d Carabas for that." She presses her lips to his knuckles and then gently steps to pull him to the bed.
"More juice before bed, dearheart?"
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Not tonight.
His small smile returns as she calls by that pretty little name, and he leans in to brush a kiss against her brow.
"I would adore some, but I admit the idea of sleep calls to me more," He answers delicately. "Today has been a wonder, but it also feels as though it were years long, in and of itself."
He leans back a bit and looks down at her.
"Then...perhaps, once we have slept and the world is new, I will feel bold enough to request my wants without all this coy hesitation."
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Yennefer is able to smile and breathe now that there is a sign of recovery at his own lips. It feels even better as a kiss on her skin. "It was an adventure, wasn't it?" Gossip, song, drink and lovemaking and so very, very much stimulating conversation.
"The offer stands." Hands joined acts as a lead as she steps to pull them to the bed. A gesture pulls back the furs and linen. There was a thought to comb her hair and put it into a plait, it's been over taken by wanting to wrap him in an embrace in hopes to settle what is trying to ail them. "Tomorrow morning or four and twenty mornings from now...the offer stands." She does not apply the same patience with her own hesitation. Jaskier's on the other hand? She has the time.
His shoulder gets a push. Urging him to sit, undoubtedly after lay because she is going to draw the bedding up and around them.
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She has magic, he reasons airily, she can pull the covers up without use of her arms, right?
If not, he will merrily wind himself around her and act as a blanket.
"Thank you," he murmurs, honestly, against the top of her head. Not for the acceptance--though he well appreciates that--but for the patience to tolerate in him something she has already expressed distaste for in others.
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One hand has a careless half movement and the blanket linen move, the fur after. The candles can gutter out. It's fine.
"You're welcome, Jaskier." Gods above she is actually feeling tired now that they lay still. She keeps her face close to his body. His heartbeat is steady, honest and true. No magic, just the miracle of life as it was before The Conjunction of the Spheres.
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He wakes when the sun finally creeps far enough through the windows to fall across his head. He doesn't have a hangover, somehow--ah, yes, they'd had juice and hadn't slept drunk, had they? He feels thirsty, yes, but there is no punishing headache or pain behind his eyes to back that up. So, as one does when they awake next to a beautiful woman in a comfortable inn bed, he shifts and pulls her closer, burying his head in her dry silken locks and tucking his eyes beneath her, pinned in that space between her and the pillow.
He doesn't sleep, but he does doze very comfortably, then. She smells more of herself than perfumes or soaps and it is both indescribable and easily assigned to her: a tang of feminine sweat and skin and just the edge of magic.
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Dimly she feels movement. Her hair shifts just so and her lashes flutter but her eyes don't open. A small noise is caught in her throat. Stillness again. The room is silent. This close she can hear him breathe and a steady, regular beating of a heart. There is shuffling on the floor of the in. Someone is sweeping. Up the street a horse and cart have started to pull through. It's day again.
Yennefer wets her lips and pulls herself closer. Her hair may overtake him completely. "Hello." Sunlight cuts in tiny shards through the black forest canopy of her hair as her lips drag on him for a sleepy kiss. "...I know you're awake."
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"Good morning," he offers after a moment drawing himself up from sleep. He grazes her lips with his in a sleepy kiss and gamely resists the urge to fall back asleep. Mostly. He closes his eyes and hums and is comfortable but surely--alright maybe he is given to dozing more.
"Sleep well?" he asks in a slurred murmur.
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"Good morning to you." Waking rested, clean and in an embrace. They did not part ways in the night. No further tears shed. Yes, it is a good morning. Yennefer kisses back with a measured pressure, lips together and chaste. Those blue eyes stay shut and a laugh rumbling low in her voice. She reaches up to stroke the line of his jaw.
"I did. You must have too, I see you're not yet willing to give up." She reaches his ear and traces the lobe up to his hair. "..or perhaps that was not enough, mmm?" She expects an answer and rubs nose to nose as her finger nails gently scratch his scalp. "Do you need more sleep?"
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"Why...would I willingly give up such comfort?" he asks, in place of an answer, but the drowsy, drifting edge of his voice is gone. He will have to surrender this comfort, eventually, and so he resigns himself and cracks open his eyes to look at her again.
"Did you know that you are almost unbearably soft?" Jaskier asks and shifts the leg he has carded between hers, smooths his calf across her slender one and revels in the delicate softness of her limbs. "It is like hugging a cloud. How does anyone refrain from embracing you at all times?"
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"Ah, that is the angle." He is not wrong at all. The bed is fine as it was. The true luxury is touching and being touched. They were so much more charged and inspired the night before. Though this is, for some strange reason she cannot place, an equal.
Yennefer laughs again, low and dark. Her nails still scratch upon his head, moving it to puff before petting it to order. Then it starts again, carding and scratching, fluffing and petting. No hurry. She has no appointments to attend especially at any hour before noon. "I simply don't allow just anyone an embrace." If he were to say such a thing, would anyone believe Jaskier? He has enough of a reputation as a rake to have it chalked up to exotic appetites to consider Yennefer of Vengerberg sweet let alone soft.
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"Ah, so they do not know?" Jaskier teases. "What a clever and generous woman, hiding such a secret from the world and allowing me to partake."
He lets his hands roam idly, petting down her sides and smoothing over her hips, the plushness of her thighs, her buttocks. His smile is self-satisfied and nearly smug. He doesn't rock his hips against her but he does want to--his halfmast morning erection can be ignored but, the longer he indulges and the more she pets his hair, the less halfmast it will be.
"Do you have anywhere to be this morning?" He asks, none too subtly.
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Anywhere his hand wanders, her skin comes alive as if he is rousing the chaos swirling in her blood and bones. "Why here, of course. I never ever make appointments in the morning." The time is usually for herself, for sleep and her beauty rituals. Though in a rare occasion, resting against a handsome man with beautiful eyes that somehow remain shut.
"Do you, bard? Any...breakfast feasts?" Look, she's not sure what kind of an event would take place so early. Yennefer's hip nestles to Jaskier's. Fingers still scratch, fluff and pet. "The world has such demands of you." And she? She only wants everything.
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They cannot stay like this until then, of course. Surely she must have somewhere to be and he will not be so selfish as to keep her occupied all day, but they can linger like this for a while. He cracks his eyes open just a touch, to peer at her from behind his lashes, and hums delightedly. If he could purr under her petting, he would, he looks so boneless and content with it.
"Though I would not object to a breakfast feast, if you are offering?" Jaskier plies gently, his hands squeezing her hips just as he speaks. He is truly insatiable but, if she declines, he will not be more than the barest bit disappointed. This, right now, is entirely enough.
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His eyelashes are long enough that she can only see his eyelids move. "I am hungry, not near so much as you." Her voice is soft with a humor. "Shall we see what they have downstairs?"
If they start to play again she might not leave Temeria for days. The want, the thrill is deep. Would so much indulgence sate his appetite completely after? Her finger gently cease their motion and she sits up to press kisses to his eyelids.
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"Yes, let's," Jaskier agrees brightly and drags himself up to sit. Getting dressed shall be a trick, but he makes a concerted effort to think of terribly boring, unappealing things as he rises and gathers up his clothing.
Well, most of it. He cannot seem to find his smalls but, then again, he had been terribly drunk when he lost them. He puts up a token search and, by the end of it, has fallen enough that he can shimmy into his trousers and actually make himself presentable. As presentable as he ever is, at least.
"I am actually quite famished--did we eat while we drank? I can't recall."
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Yennefer has the audacity to hum to herself. No, it's not the terrible crab dance song. Though his scuttling is very animated. The longest part of her readiness is her face. Simple touches and she is no longer barefaced. The dress she wore the night before remains draped over the chaise. Beneath it are the illusive silk blue he was looking for. A new dress, black with carefully placed pearls of white and black dotting the neckline. Beneath is a new equally small bit of cloth and no effort to bind her breasts.
Well, if he didn't ask. She won't tell.
"You ordered a tray at the tavern." Still thirsty and impatient, she finds the apple juice. It's no longer chilled but still good. The apples were pressed the night before after all. She pours a glass. "I can't rightly tell you what it was. A roast I think?"
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"I haven't the faintest--I remember cherries and singing and, oh hell, did I get a poor reaction? I must have been off key all night and not noticed," Jaskier grimaces and lets out a short sigh as he moves to retrieve his lute. In only a few moments, he is fully dressed and looking only slightly less put together than the night prior.
"Shall we?" He asks and holds out an arm for her.
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"No?" Details don't stay as well as emotions. Though it does cause a momentary flutter of dread. He is still present and was willing to bed her a moment earlier. "You did very well, though I'm afraid we may have made a scene and hurt the feelings of a popular barmaid that had been making eyes at you." May as though she wasn't entirely aware of the situation.
Yennefer takes his arm, "The best part about the tavern was the cherry schnapps anyway. There is still the bottle of that. That would be the only reason to return."
The Golden Fawn in daylight hours is clean. The midsummer festival patrons are only just staggering out from their lodging. Jaskier is already winning the contest of who looks not only bedded but presentable enough to pass through the doors of a temple. It's a miraculous feat. There are still tables available. The smell of eggs, potatoes and bacon make her stomach growl.
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"A plate of everything for the lady, I presume?" Jaskier asks and cocks a brow, his own smile implying that he intends to have the same.
He wonders if they have tea--this place is very nice, it is possible they will have an assortment.
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"Oh yes. And fruit if that is not already included. Tea. Mmm." No, that was not a dip into his thoughts. What fine establishment to offer bath service and salts but not serve tea? The barman was just cleaning away plates and notices Yennefer and then Jaskier. He quickly cleans his hands and toddles over to them.
What will the lovely lady and gent be having this day? Yennefer makes her wishes known. A full platter, and bless the Golden Fawn it comes with fruit. She asks for tea. Attention on Jaskier pauses and his brow furrows. Doesn't he know him from somewhere? Perhaps he hasn't seen the lute.
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