Jaskier's pleasure is immeasurable. Not just from a good fucking -- which is coming soon enough -- but by the very feel of the air surrounding them, as if it shimmers like water, but weighed, and hot. Every breath drags through him and lights up his vein. Every heave of her chest, her breasts shifting with the movement, permanently painted into his memory.

"There she is. The little demoness. The woman who knows what she wants."

He all but purrs the words, widening her legs with a hand on each knee. The little demoness. Yes. If he cannot indulge in the word lover, then he will fall on the other side of the spectrum.

He leans down and kisses her as he moves in, prepared with only a few strokes of his hand and a bit of guidance. The vines have moved down near her elbows now, and the sprouts begin to bulge and bloom as Jaskier's breath catches on the feel of her around him, and that ever-increasing heat.

The vines hold her tight, but he holds her tighter, hands leaving bruising prints of his fingertips across her pale skin.