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“How much did you use?” Geralt growls, teeth finding a new home in Jaskier’s neck.
Jaskier hums happily and tips his head to the other side so Geralt can peruse the real estate over there, too.
“Concentrate, Jaskier! How much did you use?” Water sloshes over the sides of the tub as Geralt hoists him halfway out, then pulls him back down so they’re sitting flush, Jaskier’s thighs thrown wide over Geralt’s.
“Hm,” Jaskier says, a little dreamily. He gestures at the empty bottle on the floor. “How much was in there?”
Geralt swears in what sounds like Elder tongue.
Speaking of tongues…