Work Text:
It’s convenient that he sleeps on his front, arms tucked underneath him for comfort and warmth; Valdo’s always thought he was beautiful, but with his dumb face squished against their pallet and his hair mussed to hell Valdo can’t help but fall in love with him all over again. The sliver of skin that Jaskier’s chemise exposes becomes a canvas— he imagines it dotted with intricate flowers and birds with the feathers of Jaskier’s eyes. They’ve done this before; writing on skin is no stranger to the two artists, when parchment is far, few, and expensive. Nearly morbidly so for two starving traveling artists and it’s an easy jump to write a tune on the inner of one’s arm or paint a sky on the back of a palm.
But today, Jaskier is shirtless as he lounges in the warmth of the sun. His muscles are lax with the comfort and safety Valdo’s presence provides and he’s so breathtaking. As he always is, but Valdo’s sure that Jaskier wouldn’t be too terribly pleased if he woke to a mural of himself on his back. (In fact, he can hear his boyfriend’s manic laughter already once he realizes— Valdo decides to paint something else instead.)
He gathers the safest of his paints, not wanting to poison his boyfriend, and sets to work. Jaskier inches closer to the warmth of Valdo’s hand, and he can’t help the fond smile the action evokes. He loves him so much it’s near ridiculous. Valdo starts with blue paints, using the small of Jaskier’s back as a palette to mix his colors. He uses his broadest brush first, its soft bristles passing over the freckles that dot across Jaskier’s shoulders and dousing them in blue. The bird chatter quietly around them, a breeze working through the trees as Valdo works.
He fades the color down Jaskier’s back, teasing the darker light blue into something near white-blue before he dips his brush in deep, rich green. Valdo is a painter first and foremost, but the admirer in him has him parting his lips in the vibrance of color against Jaskier’s skin. He works it upwards to fade into the sky white. Jaskier huffs in his sleep, his fringe flicking upwards; Valdo pulls his brush back as his lover shuffles in his sleep. He’d always believed that art consumed him and his life, but he learns that art has a breath of its own. Valdo returns the broad of his brush to Jaskier’s skin and forms ridges against blend of blue and green. A distant mountain; it has no meaning, just as he and Jaskier do not in this moment. It simply is, just as they simply are.
Valdo’s knees ache as he kneels over his lover’s sleeping form, flicking his brush in delicate strokes. There are two birds at the center; a lark ruffling its feathers and a peacock that sits calmly with its eyes trained on the smaller bird.
“Val?” Jaskier blinks up at him, eyes vibrant and half-lidded under the weight of grogginess. “What’re you doing?” Valdo holds his breath as he sits up, Jaskier’s legs tucked behind him as he looks over his left shoulder and at him.
The painting is beautiful, leaves rustling with each of Jaskier’s movements; the birds’ feathers ruffle and ripple as if in breeze as his lover stretches. “Valdo?” A soft palm rests against his cheek, concern in Jaskier’s gaze but Valdo cannot look away. Each of Jaskier’s breaths breathes life into the painting and he’s shocked by its beauty.
He manages to tear his eyes away from it, and stares into Jaskier’s blues. “You’re— you—” Jaskier’s always been the wordsmith between them; Valdo finds himself speechless. He presses his lips to Jaskier’s, his movements a little too rough and uncoordinated. His heart swells, his chest aches with how hard it beats. “You’re so beautiful,” he manages to whisper between kisses. “You’re so beautiful.” Jaskier pulls away and grins at him, so bright as if the sun lives behind his eyes and kisses him harder.
Once the kisses have slowed into languid movements and eventually gentle pecks, Jaskier pulls away to redress. “Don’t put your shirt on,” Valdo yelps at the last second. Jaskier cocks his head, so adorable in his confused expression. “I might’ve painted on you, darling,” Valdo confesses, an unapologetic grin on his face as he rests his hands on Jaskier’s hips.
Jaskier stares at him wide-eyed before he demands to be shown. His eyes shine in excitement, in delight, and once he sees the painting, in love. They’re careful to keep the paint from smudging as they strip the rest of their clothes and fall back into their pallet.