blooming through the snow [jaskier x reader]

2. power without taking any away

"Are you ready for your first lesson?" he asks, settling you down onto your back on the sheets. He's still stood between your knees, looking down at you with such heat in his eyes that you can feel it on your skin.

Lesson? What? Oh —

"You were serious about that?" you ask, suddenly breathless. You curl your leg around his to pull him even an inch closer, and his hand comes to rest on your thigh. The sweeping motion he makes, from knee to hip, gets you ever hotter, and he laughs quietly, as if to himself.

"I was definitely serious about an opportunity to have a great deal of sex with you under the guise of edification, darling." Your face goes hot, now, at his words, and —

"Maybe the first lesson should be in confidence," you murmur, watching him watch you. You feel pinned like a butterfly. "I — wish I could talk to you the way you do to me." As a thought it has already come up to you a few times already. There is an easy-going confidence that Jaskier has always been clothed in that you... You wish you could wear it, too.

"Unfortunately, I think that will only come with time and practice," he says, and he looks remorseful about it. "Except... I suppose I can say that you have no need to be shy, with me."His expression is serious, intent, and you take a steadying breath.

"Oh, well, if there's no need," you say, half-joking, trying to loosen your nerves. You trust him, implicitly and explicitly, and besides that — you can't be him. Even though he has a wealth of things to share with and show you, you won't be like him even if you do learn it all. If only you could rationally understand that and stop worrying that any wrong word or action would lead this to falling down around your ears.

"I'll help you practice," he says, face softening. "And I promise, I won't tease you." That makes you scoff. He's such a tease. His mouth presses into a line, eyebrows high, and then — "Well, I'll never tease you to embarrass you, unless you want me to. Teasing you into wanting me is different."

"Why would I want you to?" you ask, zeroing in on that to ignore the idea of him 'teasing you to want him.' You're starting to think he's already trained you to be weak to that one, and it's only been a day.

"Some people enjoy that," he says, tilting his head to the side. Watching you still.

"Being embarrassed?" It doesn't make much sense.

"Sometimes. Or being humiliated, though that may be a bit more than just teasing. Some people enjoy the idea of taboo, and some people enjoy being scolded as if they've been naughty," he says, as if reading off a list. The way he says the word 'naughty' makes something hot spike down your spine.

"Seems strange," you say after a moment, wondering why the word did anything to you at all. That, itself, is strange. You don't much like getting in trouble in any capacity, so surely you do not fall into the surprising set of people that are, apparently, aroused by that.

"Perhaps to you," he allows, rubbing his hand up your thigh again. "You don't want me to tell you how naughty you've been, my girl?" There's that same hot spike, but —

"Have I?" you ask, feeling struck a bit dumb again, a bit off-kilter.

"Hm?"

"Been naughty," you finish, feeling your face grow hot just for the saying of the words.

Something soft passes across his face again, and he shakes his head. "It's not so much about actually being, in as much as it is about being treated as though you have been. Unless you actually want to, but even that is — well, it would be structured."

"So it's a game of pretend," you say, watching him watch you.

"A very lewd game of pretend," he agrees.

"People really do that? Are they so bored in their sex?"

"No, the ones who are bored usually just bed handsome bards at the inn," he says wryly. Even you can't help snorting at that. "But if it pleases them — or you, or me — to pretend for a little while, I can't begrudge someone that. It doesn't hurt anyone, after all.

"I suppose that makes sense," you tell him, still rolling it around in your head. "I'm not sure how I feel about it."

"The fact that you are here, with me, is all that I could want," he says, leaning down to cover your body with his own, to bring your faces closer together. "I cannot stress to you how very little the rest of it matters to me." He is, by his expression, very serious. One elbow is by your head and his other hand is on your side, a gentle touch. "But you seemed to want to — experience things, and I have experience to share. If that is not the case, at any point, you need only say so."

"You would... give me that power?" you ask, words falling from your mouth before you can fully put the sentence together in your mind.

"The power to stop something if you aren't enjoying it? Of course I would. It's about mutual respect, and trust." And love? your traitorous, previously-silent heart suggests. But now is not the time to think about love — "I meant it when I said I did not want to pressure you. This is — not like a tryst with a stranger in a tavern, darling."

"Because we're friends?" you ask, unable to not ask, and he smiles just a little. It crinkles around his eyes, mostly.

"Because you are very dear to me, and I could not live with myself if I damaged our relationship, or your opinion of me." The sincerity that has always been present in your friendship feels doubly potent now, with his face so close to yours and the thrumming in your heart the way it is. Somehow, him returning your affections has made you more weak to him, not less.

"You are dear to me, too," you tell him after a very long moment. You find his hand on your side with your own and entwine your fingers, squeezing briefly. I love you, you think, against your better judgment.