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Jaskier notices it in the morning. He didn't back in the shed, nor last night, when they were in such a hurry that they didn't even bother lighting any candles. So much the better on both accounts, especially the first one. Radovid is sure that he wouldn't have found the courage to sing and pluck the lute unless it was among shadows.
And then there's... this.
Really, Radovid has no one to blame but himself. He should've foreseen he'd be out of luck when he woke Jaskier by pressing his lips to his collarbone, with the sun high and the curtains open, but his mind was yet sluggish with sleep and driven only by desire.
"Ah…" The bard has been preparing him, leaving kisses along his body, and now is moving above him, almost inside him already. "Please…"
Jaskier's eyes flutter and, when he glances down, his expression changes.
"What's this?" He lifts a hand, strokes Radovid's cheek. His mouth blooms into a slow smile. "Darling…"
"Hmm…?"
"You…" Jaskier looks impish, delighted, as he leans down to nuzzle Radovid's face. "You're blushing."
Oh. Oh, no. "N-No, I'm not."
"You are." Jaskier's laugh is airy and bright. Radovid covers his face with his hands. "Oh, no, none of that. Please."
How sincere he sounds, how fond. Radovid likes that, and liking it makes the issue graver. A conspicuous lack of either honesty or tenderness at court is the only thing that used to keep such displays at bay, and now that he has both in close quarters, there is nothing to be done.
"Oh…" He had been too caught up in how Jaskier made him feel to even hope it wouldn't happen, this betrayal of his body that is impossible to control and hard to conceal, has always been so. "It's embarrassing."
"This? Never." Jaskier's mouth is on his fingers, at his wrist, he nibbles there, then, unable to kiss his cheek, goes further right and… "Oh."
His lips graze his ear, which feels just as hot. "I guess I see why you wear your hair long," Jaskier murmurs into it before kissing it. "Though why you would wish to hide this is beyond me, sweet one, when it makes you look so lovely."
The names and the praise are too much. Radovid whimpers and turns his head, tries to hide his face in the pillow.
"Darling," Jaskier repeats, fond exasperation in his tone, but Radovid shakes his head.
"Don't look at me," comes out, muffled.
"As you wish." The bard leans down. When he kisses his temple, Radovid takes a peek and sees his eyes are obediently closed. "But I can still feel you, my sweet, the warmth on your skin…"
"Jaskier…"
"You look radiant. Tempting. Like a blushing bridegroom, a virginal prince about to be ravished…" He mewls at that, and he doesn't know which is more mortifying, the flush or the fact that Jaskier can affect him so only with words. "Please, I want to see you, let me see you."
Radovid trembles, but he pries his hands from his face, slowly. He can't bring himself to look at Jaskier.
"There you are." Jaskier kisses him, and manages to make it feel innocent, even though their bare bodies are pressed against each other. Radovid sighs.
"Are you ready, sweet thing, ready for me?" Eyes still closed, face still flushed, Radovid nods.
Jaskier enters him unhurriedly and Radovid's breath hitches, his face feels even warmer. He wishes he could hide it, but Jaskier has taken his wrists, pins them against the mattress in a gentle hold as he moves.
"Radovid— Ah." Jaskier continues to press brief kisses on his feverish skin, interrupted only by his own pleasure. "It's so… bewitching, captivating, how it blooms on your face, but it doesn't stop there, no, it spreads down your neck, your chest…"
"Jaskier…"
"So rosy, so pink… so undone for me."
"Oh… stop…" He says that, but not the word they agreed upon, and Jaskier knows he doesn't really want him to.
"How can I, when you blush so prettily for me?" Another thrust. Radovid moans. "Am I making you feel good?"
"Oh! Yes… oh…"
"So good that you can't help it. So good that you show me all of you…"
Radovid tenses, and he wants to muffle the cries, cover his face, but there's nowhere to hide, and it feels so good not to, so good to release.
He can feel Jaskier thrust a few more times, still murmuring praise, until he comes too and sprawls on Radovid, exhausted, panting.
"Are you terribly cross with me?"
"Cross?" Radovid huffs a breathless laugh. "Do I seem so?"
Jaskier smiles, barely lifts his head to press a kiss on his lips. His fingers are splayed on his chest, where the traitorous flush is beginning to fade. "I mean it. You look… beautiful. Truly."
This time, as he feels the warmth come to his face, Radovid resists the urge to hide it.
"I suppose it depends on what you see," he murmurs, and when Jaskier's hand comes to tenderly cup his cheek, he welcomes it.