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[Jaskier laughs after they part, his cheeks already painted a pale pink now he's stroking the Witcher. Even sea water cannot cool a man's temper completely.]

Thank the gods you didn't say hand.

[A terrible cliché that would ruin the mood, of course. And the mood as it is is very pleasant: the bobbing waves, the sound of water cracking on rock, and the expansive sky overhead, wide and deep enough to suck them away to another world, as they already have been.

He kisses Geralt, running his thumb up the length of him. As easy, as natural, as breathing.] At least I needn't worry about sirens here.