He did know that. Drained, triumphant, he knew it throughout his entire being. Even down to his toes. He wiggled them just to test that theory. His toes confirmed it: they believed in Jason wholeheartedly.
“Ticklish?”
“Hmm? No. I never have been. Or I think not, at least.” His shoulder tingled: wonderfully cool, far less sore. “That feels splendid. Please pass on my compliments to someone.”
“Will do, next time we see Bruce. Other shoulder? Not as bad, but I can see it.”
“Oh, yes, definitely.” He became a puddle of lazy winter-scented indulgence under Jason’s ministrations, liquified by bliss. “Your hands are profoundly magical. My sorcerer. Healing greenwitch. Knight with enchanted fingertips. I may never leave your bed.”
“Works for me, but Jill might object.”
“Oh…Jill…production…they’ll understand, your bed is far too tempting and I’ve been ensorcelled…oh, that’s nice.”
“Good. Hip?”