blooming through the snow [jaskier x reader]

2. power without taking any away

The sun has dipped beyond the horizon by the time you're done — a consequence of your late start and the longest bath of your life — and it is definitely time to eat something. Jaskier refuses to let you go to the commissary though; insists on going himself and asks that you start the fire instead, once the tub has been cleared away.

It's not a hardship of any kind to follow his requests. You think he has some kind of rapport with the ladies that run the commissary, and you don't really want to put on all your clothes again anyway. Watching him pull on pants and a shirt to leave was hard enough — you do well to put on your smallclothes and your robes before falling into a comfortable place on the couch.

You feel relaxed and warm, limbs still loose after... everything, and you distantly wonder how debauched this whole thing is going to get before it's all said and done. (You resolutely aren't think about things being 'said and done.')

Jaskier comes back with dinner, pulling you out of your thoughts. How long was he gone? You're feeling easily distracted, especially as you sit up and press yourself against his side. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, you can't think of anything else. It's shameful, considering you'd gotten off in the bath.

You make conversation even though you aren't really paying attention to what you're saying — something about one of the ladies in the kitchens. You eat, but you don't really taste your food. All you can think about is the warmth of his body, the way the light looks when it flickers across his skin from the fire, and the ways you've touched before. You keep coming back to — to the other conversation, when he'd said he had plans for tonight. Distinctly sexual plans.

"When are you going to share your big plan with me?" you blurt into the silence that has easily formed between you, turning to look more directly at his face. You are so eager to know.

He looks back at you, breaking from where he'd been humming a tune under his breath. You see where his fingers were counting time on his thigh. Oh, his hands. "Big plans?" he asks, blinking guilelessly at you. You dig your elbow into his side, just a little, and he laughs. "I do have some plans, yes," he allows you, and then he turns away to take a drink.

"You are so determined to drive me to the point of insanity with your teasing," you mutter, but — it's not as if you're truly mad. He'd said it was for later tonight, more or less, and that means you will find out in time.

It does come out sooner than you'd imagined, all things considered. You finish before he does, leaning your head on his shoulder and watching the fire. Listening to him workshop music, even as quietly as he is doing it now, has been one of your favorite things about sharing space with him. Eventually, though, his bowl is empty.

You move with the intention to settle into your usual evening routine — you'll go find a book to read, he'll pull out his notebook and use your legs as a writing surface, and you'll while the night away — but he makes a noise that pulls you up short.

"Let's go to bed early, hm?" he suggests when you turn to look at him, and — you are not so innocent to miss the obvious implication of his words.

"Consider it done," you tell him, getting to your feet and reaching out to pull him up as well. He follows along as you drag him with enthusiasm you foolishly weren't expecting to have, considering that this was all you'd thought about throughout dinner. Trusting him has always felt good, and whatever plays out tonight is sure to be something you'll enjoy.

He lets you tug him into the bedroom, lets you pull his shirt off over his head and undo the laces on his pants. Getting to undress him feels like a treat, even though you can't bear to drag it out, to savor it. Your hands are trembling with pent-up energy; you want to put them everywhere at once. You could unwrap the gift of him every day, forever.

You feel a bit like an animal again, mouth nearly watering as you take in the sight of his bare skin, the way he looks standing fully nude in your bedroom. It's different from last night, when you'd been on the other side of a crying jag and a great deal of emotional upheaval. You're less worried, for one, and it is that change that has made way for you to feel little other than unfettered joy.

While you're staring at him, feeling a bit dumbstruck, he returns the favor. Bridges the gap between you to undo the tie of your robe and slip it off over your shoulders. It hangs around your elbows and you don't miss the noise he makes, in his throat, at the sight.

"Putting a chemise on seemed like too much effort," you mumble, half-embarrassed, but he catches your hand when you make a motion to cover yourself and steps in close, instead. You let the fabric fall to the floor when he pulls you against his chest, leans down to cover your mouth with his.

"You are so beautiful," he says, hands roaming your body. When he cups your breast in one hand and touches your nipple, you jump. There's something in his touch that affects you deeply, but when you pay attention to how you feel beyond that, it's nearly a tickle, but it's a tickle that stokes the fire in your loins. "And you find new ways to surprise me, every day."

"This is only day two," you return, feeling compelled to argue the point despite the fact that it doesn't really matter.

"You will find that this winter started long before yesterday," he says quietly, like it's only for you, and a shiver crosses your skin. Oh.

You go up far enough onto your toes to kiss him again, leaning a bit on him for balance, and his hands find their way to your hips. It goes on forever, but still not as long as you want it to — you want to begin and end every day with his mouth on yours.

The gentle tug of his fingers at your waistband draw your attention away from his talented mouth, and you pull a hand away from where you've been holding his face to — give him a hand in getting them off, or something. Not that he needs much help, for soon your underthings are on the floor and his hands are on your bared skin and —

He steers you toward the bed not long after with the barest interruption to your kissing, hands still on your hips. You're half-convinced your dance experience is the only thing that keeps you on your feet as you cross the room. You like this dancing with him just as much as the real thing, last night.