Uh, besides you, I've kissed all of two men in my life. Not much opportunity for a variety of locations or weather conditions.
[It's a bit of a fudge of the truth, but Nadine maintains that Harold doesn't count. And there'd been precious little kissing involved, anyway. That's not something to think about now. Harold is long gone, and Jaskier is right here and clearly very willing.
She'd assumed he would be.]
And I didn't say you had to be quiet.
[The words may not have a flirtatious tone, but the implication is clear. She can be bold, when she wants to be. She doesn't entirely know what her intentions are, in the long run, but she knows it would be very nice right now to be held and kissed and complimented. Jaskier is, if her memory serves, very good at all of those things. And he wants her. Enough to ignore all her warnings and initial rebuffs, and there have been so very, very few men who've persisted beyond that barrier she keeps up. Maybe it's some trait inherent to musicians.
She slips into the barn, the inside as picturesque as the outside. It's warmer in here, and spotlessly clean. The hay in the loft looks impossibly fluffy and soft, born entirely of imagination rather than reality.]
I don't really get many drop ins around here, and even when I do...nobody comes out here. It's just us and some phantasmal cows wandering around outside.
no subject
[It's a bit of a fudge of the truth, but Nadine maintains that Harold doesn't count. And there'd been precious little kissing involved, anyway. That's not something to think about now. Harold is long gone, and Jaskier is right here and clearly very willing.
She'd assumed he would be.]
And I didn't say you had to be quiet.
[The words may not have a flirtatious tone, but the implication is clear. She can be bold, when she wants to be. She doesn't entirely know what her intentions are, in the long run, but she knows it would be very nice right now to be held and kissed and complimented. Jaskier is, if her memory serves, very good at all of those things. And he wants her. Enough to ignore all her warnings and initial rebuffs, and there have been so very, very few men who've persisted beyond that barrier she keeps up. Maybe it's some trait inherent to musicians.
She slips into the barn, the inside as picturesque as the outside. It's warmer in here, and spotlessly clean. The hay in the loft looks impossibly fluffy and soft, born entirely of imagination rather than reality.]
I don't really get many drop ins around here, and even when I do...nobody comes out here. It's just us and some phantasmal cows wandering around outside.