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I Know I'm Just That Boy Who Writes The Love Songs

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“Geralt, there are literal guts in your hair. You cannot wash them out properly by yourself.”

“No.” Geralt closed the door firmly in Jaskier’s face. Jaskier huffed at the shut door for a moment then went back into their room. He checked his lute was tuned and started testing out the song he had begun writing earlier. Jaskier was pretty engrossed in what he was doing when the door opened, letting in a draft. He looked up; Geralt was stood in the doorway, dripping slightly, a towel wrapped round his waist and still with monster guts in his hair.

“I might have misjudged quite how dirty I was,” he said. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘you think?’. Geralt looked slightly uncomfortable, his eyes shifting around. “You were right.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Jaskier asked, a grin on his face. Geralt of Rivia, The White Wolf, just admitted that Jaskier was right about something. He was going to milk this for all it was worth. Geralt scowled.

“You were right. Help me with my hair?”

Jaskier carefully set aside his lute and stood up. “Lead the way.”

As he followed Geralt down the hall Jaskier tried his best to not ogle his ass too much. But then again, he reasoned, Geralt couldn’t see him, so Jaskier let his gaze wander over Geralt’s back, over the scars that littered his skin, and down to where the towel was fastened. He had a brief moment of panic when Geralt dropped the towel and climbed into the bath but managed to keep his face blank so Geralt didn’t notice (he did).

Jaskier picked up a basin and scooped out some of the bathwater to pour over Geralt’s head.

“Lean back,” he commanded. Geralt tipped his head back and caught Jaskier’s eye before closing his eyes. Jaskier blushed furiously. The water got rid of the scum on the top of Geralt’s head but he was definitely going to need more water. Jaskier picked up the bar of soap and rubbed it until it produced a lather. He ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair to remove the worst of the tangles and scrubbed at it.

Getting monster guts out of Geralt’s hair took quite a while and by the time Jaskier was finished he was mostly just scraping his fingernails lightly over Geralt’s head because he could. Geralt was nearly asleep when Jaskier heavily rested his hand on his shoulder.

“All done!”

“Thank you,” Geralt rumbled, standing up. Jaskier took an involuntary step back and suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.

“Let me brush your hair,” Jaskier blurted out. Geralt looked at him for a moment then nodded.


As they walked back to their room Jaskier couldn’t stop talking to himself. What an earth had possessed him to ask to brush Geralt’s hair? And why did he say yes? He should just tell Geralt it was all a mistake. But what if he doesn’t let you touch his hair again? This could be your only chance a voice inside him kept saying, so he didn’t.

Geralt sat down on the bed and Jaskier crawled across the sit behind him, a comb salvaged from his pack in one hand. He started brushing out the tangles in Geralt’s hair and, because Geralt didn’t stop him, when he was done Jaskier began to plait his hair. He tied it off with the scrap of leather Geralt used to hold his hair back. Jaskier would have liked to add some flowers in the folds and really make Geralt beautiful but it wasn’t the season. Even if it was, he would have needed to get up to fetch some and Geralt would never have let him come back and finish.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled.


“What are you doing? I can hear you thinking.”

“Really? You can do that?” Oh gods the things Jaskier thought about sometimes. He was so screwed. Geralt absolutely did not need to know how Jaskier felt about his ass in those tight pants that Yennefer gave him.

Geralt huffed a laugh. “No. I just know you.” Jaskier let out a sigh of relief. Thank the gods. He’d gotten away with it. That aside, Geralt really needed to laugh more. It was a truly beautiful sound.

Geralt turned around and took the comb carefully from Jaskier’s tight grip, placing it aside, and took Jaskier’s hands in his own.

“Thank you.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, “You’re welcome.” His gaze jumped away from Geralt’s eyes which were still fixed on him. A flush crept up his cheeks. Geralt reached up and gently turned Jaskier’s face back to look at him.

“No, I mean it – thank you.”

Geralt leaned forward, slow enough to give Jaskier the time to back out if he wanted to. Jaskier, however, wasn’t sure what was happening. Surely Geralt wasn’t going to kiss him? Geralt’s lips met Jaskier’s. Oh! Apparently he was.

His lips were softer than Jaskier had expected from the witcher. Geralt was about to pull back when Jaskier’s brain finally kicked into gear and realised what was going on. Geralt was kissing him. Geralt was kissing him. He reached out his hands and buried his fingers in the hair at the back of Geralt’s neck, pulling bits of it out of the neat braid he’d just done. It didn’t matter, he could redo it tomorrow.