whatupbuttercup | PSL Catchall with Conjurechaos

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.

"Shall we?" He asks and holds out an arm for her.

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.

Jaskier is alight--until he turns to face the barman. Oh, but while he does not recognize the bard, the bard recognizes him. His smile goes a bit panicked and he shoots a darting glance of apology at Yennefer.

"Know me? Oh, I don't--" Jaskier starts, glad he hasn't sat, and carefully reaches to pluck up his lute by the strap. The moment his fingers snare it, the barman's eyes are drawn over and, all at once he can see the recognition bloom across the man's face. Recognition shifts to shock and then, quite predictably, to fury.

"You--!" The man seethes and makes a swiping grab for Jaskier's doublet. The bard dances back, bends to place a quick kiss on Yennefer's head, and slings his lute over his shoulders. The barman, in the meanwhile, has turned redfaced with his rage.

"Well, that is my cue, my dear," Jaskier apologizes and the man moves around Yennefer, babbling through gritted teeth about his wife and Jaskier's diving from the window and, yes Jaskier thought this establishment was familiar--he grimaces and manages to evade him rather deftly as he bolts for the door.

PSL Catchall with Conjurechaos

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