It's the perfect position. Jaskier nuzzles Geralt's chest, wide and warm and oh so comfy, smiles against those strong muscles when he feels the rumbling of that (very sexy) voice against his musician ears, together with Geralt's slow heartbeat, an unique rhythm of his own. He lets those simple yet powerful words wrap him in safety and comfort, and suddenly he finds himself humming, remembering what Her Sweet Kiss was originally about before the disaster that was the dragon hunt happened.

"I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance..." He mumbles as he slowly falls asleep again. "Gorgeous garroter, jury, and judge..."

The nightmares don't return.

Jaskier wakes up to the sun on his face, but the warmth that surrounds him isn't coming from it. Did he butter any biscuits lat night? A quick look up after rubbing his eyes tells him no, this is the one biscuit he's tried to butter for years with no success. The events of the evening slowly return to him, and he has to swallow before his heart even tries to start spilling feelings all over the witcher's lap.

He stayed. And he let Jaskier sleep cuddled against him. Whatever you want - Melitele please have mercy.

"Geralt..." The man is meditating - he shouldn't be too sudden with his movements. And that's his excuse for cupping Geralt's face, and no the fact he's dying to touch more. No sir, not at all, just looking out for the witcher. "Good morning, my friend. Have you meditated all night?"