Unfortunately, he says. I think you've been very fortunate indeed to learn what you have about me.

[Unless Geralt is speaking of the times they shared an inn room and returned from a bath or from a romp about chasing monsters to Jaskier with a new body in their bed. Or he's speaking of the Cintran banquet, where he had to chase off angry cuckolds before they cut off very delicate parts of Jaskier off. Or he's talking about that time Jaskier woke Geralt from the dead of sleep when he was having that very sexy dream a bit after Rinde --

Yes, some dreams do linger for years, thank you.]

Of course not.

[Jaskier already knows he's made his point. He's won. Not that Geralt is much of an opponent. He's easy. He's always been that way, despite all his grumbling and defensive walls.

Jaskier wraps his arms about his neck, pulling him down, close, to deepen it. Simply because they want to.] Let me show you what I mean, then. Since your memory is so frighteningly short.

[His hands unwrap, sinking beneath the water, now that he's thought of something much better to do with them.]