[The truth is, he'll probably stop soon. Maybe. It's hard to say; right now, he feels as if absolutely nothing anyone does to him could possibly bother him. He's ageless, invincible. Untouched by insult or Geralt's obvious annoyance with him. He's not even particularly bothered they were interrupted and lost the moment, though as he traces his lips he reimagines Geralt's pressing on them, the taste of him.
It isn't something he'll easy let go of.
Jaskier's eyes slide over, and he plucks up his drink as if he never noticed it was growing empty, drinking deep again. The combination of all of it is enthralling and heady. Enough so that he must be mistaking Geralt for saying something that sounds oddly soft.
He picks up a piece of cheese and begins mashing it in the corners, smiling to himself. When he places it in front of Geralt, it's vaguely in the shape of a wolf.]
no subject
It isn't something he'll easy let go of.
Jaskier's eyes slide over, and he plucks up his drink as if he never noticed it was growing empty, drinking deep again. The combination of all of it is enthralling and heady. Enough so that he must be mistaking Geralt for saying something that sounds oddly soft.
He picks up a piece of cheese and begins mashing it in the corners, smiling to himself. When he places it in front of Geralt, it's vaguely in the shape of a wolf.]
With you, my friend, my well will never run dry.