Midge smiles at the sight of Jaskier sitting at his desk. She places the glasses of water on it, then wraps her arms around him from behind and leans down to kiss his temple.
Jaskier's startled by the sudden touch but it only lasts a second - he quickly relaxes into her hug and leans back to kiss her cheek. Her hand, however, closes the notebook. He doesn't like it when people look at his unfinished writing.
"Trying to find a way to describe your tits in a way that makes their beauty justice."
"An ode to my goddess," he replies as he moves his chair back a little to bring Midge to his lap. After drinking some of the water, he talks again. "I must be careful, though. I can't have Susie asking for profits over your persona."
He gasps when he realizes something. "I haven't introduced you!" He lifts the shawl that is covering something big on the back of his desk to reveal a typewriter. It stands next to pens but also quills and ink bottles, so everything together makes for a funny historial sight.
“Oh really?” Midge grins. That’s actually so sweet. “Do you need help coming up with words that rhyme with ‘tits’?” She settles into his lap. “You’re right. Susie would probably want her cut.”
The typewriter is a nice modern version, even if the ink bottles and quills make Midge think of Shakespeare. “Nice to meet her,” she replies. “I’ll try not to be jealous over the time you spend together. How’s your typing going? Does it make your writing go faster?”
"I'd never use the word 'tits' in a poem," he explains with clear amusement. "More like... the enticing curves of her bosom."
He laughs at the jealousy joke. "It's not faster than my handwriting yet, but I'm getting there, I can feel it. The actual creative process, though? That's the same. Lucky for me..." He kisses her cheek. "I have a great source of inspiration."
"Well, yes." He watches her for a second with his head tilted, curiosity piqued. "Is that something you want? A filthy poem? Full of cocks and cunts and fucks instead of the art of lovemaking?"
She's one of his muses - he isn't about to say that aloud, and he hopes that won't bite his ass in the future. "Have I not recited enough poetry while fucking you to prove it?" he teases while nuzzling her hair. "I must fix that."
He reaches for one of his quills and dips it in black ink before bringing it to her cleavage. With that pretty and fancy handwriting of his, he writes muse on her left breast. It's supposed to go on the heart.
“Well, you know me. I wouldn’t mind a dirty poem. But the idea of you writing something romantic for me is very appealing.” As much as she loves the sex, Midge can’t turn down a bit of romance.
“You have,” she admits, while watching what he does with the quill. “Does that one inspire you more than the other one?” she jokes.
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“Whatcha working on?”
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"Trying to find a way to describe your tits in a way that makes their beauty justice."
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“Hmmmm… I guess it depends on what you’re writing. Is it a song? A poem? A racy novel?”
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He gasps when he realizes something. "I haven't introduced you!" He lifts the shawl that is covering something big on the back of his desk to reveal a typewriter. It stands next to pens but also quills and ink bottles, so everything together makes for a funny historial sight.
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The typewriter is a nice modern version, even if the ink bottles and quills make Midge think of Shakespeare. “Nice to meet her,” she replies. “I’ll try not to be jealous over the time you spend together. How’s your typing going? Does it make your writing go faster?”
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He laughs at the jealousy joke. "It's not faster than my handwriting yet, but I'm getting there, I can feel it. The actual creative process, though? That's the same. Lucky for me..." He kisses her cheek. "I have a great source of inspiration."
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Midge rests her head on his shoulder. “Am I really your muse?” The idea of that makes her feel warm inside.
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She's one of his muses - he isn't about to say that aloud, and he hopes that won't bite his ass in the future. "Have I not recited enough poetry while fucking you to prove it?" he teases while nuzzling her hair. "I must fix that."
He reaches for one of his quills and dips it in black ink before bringing it to her cleavage. With that pretty and fancy handwriting of his, he writes muse on her left breast. It's supposed to go on the heart.
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“You have,” she admits, while watching what he does with the quill. “Does that one inspire you more than the other one?” she jokes.
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He laughs pretty hard. "It's on your heart! You wanted romance! Here--" He writes funny on her other breast. "Better? No more jealousy between tits?"