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“Oh, you’re a marvel,” Jaskier murmurs, brushing his lips over Yennefer’s with the words.
She huffs a tiny laugh, tasting sweetly of chocolate and amaretto, and he leans in to close the final fraction of an inch between them before she can protest his words.
“Don’t even need dessert, not when I have you right here, delectable and sweet.” He pulls back far enough that she can see his wink.
Just as he’s hoped, it makes her laugh, head thrown back to bare her throat and putting more of her weight into his arms around her back. The gesture makes his heart swell. So she does trust him, at least enough to keep her in his lap and not to let her overbalance.
“You sap,” Yennefer tells him when she rights herself again, but her expression is still amused and fond, and so he pulls her closer and purses his lips in the hopes of getting her with the program.
She gets with the program.
The kisses they share are soft and indulgent, not working towards any particular goal so much as loosing themselves in each other, and Jaskier could spend his life like this, Yennefer in his lap – she fits so well in his arms, a grounding weight of leashed power, and the fact that she could crush him with her little finger only makes it all even more enticing – and her lips on his, and –
Sap, she says again, this time in his head, but she is undeniably pleased.
Jaskier summons as much of his love and adoration as he can to the forefront of his mind, which gives him a wave of pure, happy pleasure. She surges into the kiss, and it, too, tastes like her happiness, and gods, he truly loves this woman.
He feels her smile into the kiss and can’t help but return it, and promptly almost fucking drops Yennefer when a truly horrendous crash sounds from deeper into the house.
Well – of course he would never actually drop her, and he definitely doesn’t shriek and jump several inches into the air, because that would be silly, but –
What the fuck.
“It’s just Ciri and Lambert.” Yennefer doesn’t even try to keep her laughter out of her voice. “No reason to crush me, my poor, delicate little flower.”
Jaskier takes another deep breath before he unhides his face from Yennefer’s neck and relaxes his arms. His heart is still racing in his chest, but the adrenaline is already fading.
“Holy,” he says, and then drops his head on her shoulder again as the last remnants of his surprise turn into helpless laughter. “Do I want to know what they’ve just done?”
Yennefer is quiet like she is considering the answer carefully, which doesn’t bode well. “Nope,” she finally says decisively, which sets off a new wave of giggles in Jaskier.
“There, there,” she says, petting his hair in clearly faked sympathy.
By the time he manages to get himself under control, his ribs ache and Yennefer looks like only her amusement over him losing his composure is keeping her in his lap instead of wandering off.
“Sorry,” he says, and almost starts giggling again.
“Sometimes, you are very strange,” she tells him, as though she has any sort of leg to stand on.
“Currently, I’m sitting,” she points out smugly.
“Maybe I should go back to kissing you… get your mind off such horrible thoughts.”
“There are worse things you could do,” she decides magnanimously.
Jaskier grins at her, and then goes right back to what they had been doing before the undignified interruption.