"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.
"It would, indeed, be an interesting challenge to tackle. What about you, then?" he asks with a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Would you be able to tell a naughty joke more poetically?" Two can play this game!
He smiles into the kiss, happily kissing her back while his hand moves the robe from her lap. He isn't trying to do anything naughty, though - when the kiss breaks, he writes a poem on her thigh.
I reach your heated, wet cunt and start to play with your clit. You moan in delight, arching your back, begging me not to quit.
Midge looks down at what he’s writing on her thigh.
“I’m going to have to take a shower before I leave tomorrow morning,” she says. “Although, I probably was going to have to take a shower anyway. I usually need one after you’ve thoroughly fucked me.”
Jaskier pouts. "I write poetry for you, let the art of my words combine with the art of your beauty on your soft skin, and here you are, already thinking of washing it off!"
The nerve! The scandal! The offense!
"You would've taken a shower even if I hadn't fucked you. I refuse to believe you leave the house with bed hair."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
“Hmmmm… I guess it depends on what you’re writing. Is it a song? A poem? A racy novel?”
no subject
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.
no subject
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?”
no subject
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."
no subject
Midge rests her head on his shoulder. “Am I really your muse?” The idea of that makes her feel warm inside.
no subject
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.
no subject
“You have,” she admits, while watching what he does with the quill. “Does that one inspire you more than the other one?” she jokes.
no subject
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?"
no subject
She smiles and poses for him with the writing on both breasts. “Perfect. And I think you’re very romantic, Jaskier.”
Leaning in, she gives him a gentle kiss.
(by Joelene Pitt)
He smiles into the kiss, happily kissing her back while his hand moves the robe from her lap. He isn't trying to do anything naughty, though - when the kiss breaks, he writes a poem on her thigh.
I reach your heated, wet cunt and start to play with your clit.
You moan in delight, arching your back, begging me not to quit.
no subject
Midge looks down at what he’s writing on her thigh.
“I’m going to have to take a shower before I leave tomorrow morning,” she says. “Although, I probably was going to have to take a shower anyway. I usually need one after you’ve thoroughly fucked me.”
no subject
The nerve! The scandal! The offense!
"You would've taken a shower even if I hadn't fucked you. I refuse to believe you leave the house with bed hair."