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"It is necessary, Geralt?"
"Hm-hm."
"... That bad?"
Geralt didn't answer back and got up from the stool he was sitting. Jaskier, inside the tub, let out a whine and rubbed his face with both hands. The water was still hot, with the steam making whitish little clouds and the delicate soap bubbles dancing around the bard, caressing his pale skin.
"What a shame," Jaskier whimpered behind his hands.
Across the tiny room, Geralt smiled softly and took a small bottle out of his bag. Then he sat down again on the stool beside the tub.
"You'll survive," he said.
Jaskier uncovered his face, eyes fixed on the water, feeling warm and vulnerable and incapable of look at Geralt because Geralt had rolled up his sleeves and Jaskier could see in front line the witcher's magnificent biceps. And Jaskier was naked. Naked and with a thin layer of transparent water covering half of his body.
"Easy for you to say," Jaskier replied bitterly, then bit his lower lip. "You don't have to worry about your reputation, don't you?"
"No, that's your job." Geralt retorted.
Jaskier could feel a smile in his words.
"This is fun for you, right?" he groaned, frustrated, and looked over his shoulder. It was a mistake, Geralt was right there, a mere inch away from him, golden eyes watching him with amusing. "You…" Jaskier frowned. "... are a terrible friend."
Geralt didn't move but curved a little smile and said in a low and hoarse voice:
"Is that so?"
Jaskier looked straight ahead feeling a living and burning hell in his cheeks. And in his stomach. And in his cock. Geralt snorted and opened the jar. It was mid filled with an intense green liquid that smelled like something between wine and ashes.
"Wet your hair." Geralt instructed.
The bard sank his hands in the water, cupped and brought them to his head. The warm licked the dry skin and made Jaskier shiver.
"Lie back and close your eyes."
Jaskier obeyed in silence, leaning into the tub back wall with a sigh. Then Geralt poured some of the green liquid into Jaskier's hair and his own hands and began to massage the scalp slowly, rubbing in circles. Jaskier hissed.
"It hurts,"
"The lice must have bitten you," Geralt replied, caressing Jaskier's temples with his thumbs.
"Well, that's their thing, right? Infect people and sucking their blood," Jaskier sounded irritated but resigned, tapping the tub edges with his fingertips. "At least I don't have to cut my hair."
The bard let out a big sigh and let himself relaxed under Geralt's touch. It was nice, very nice, being the one in the tub while the other was the one that was washing you.
"Then you are lucky," Jaskier heard Geralt say, again low and hoarse. Nails scratched behind the ears and Jaskier fingers twitched. He parted lips.
"What?" he inquired, weak.
Behind him, Geralt huffed and dragged his fingers to the nape and stroked there, slow. Jaskier felt agonized.
"I said…" Geralt whispered, touching skin (and Jaskier didn't know if it was on purpose or not but he wanted to think that indeed it was). "... 'Then you are lucky', for not having to cut your hair."
Jaskier swallowed. Hard.
"Right." His voice was weak and a little shaky.
Geralt didn't stop washing and rubbing the hair and the scalp, patiently, carefully, pouring more of the green liquid, making himself sure he was killing all the lice and nits.
Jaskier didn't open his eyes in all that time, relaxed, immersed in the delicious and sometimes painfully pleasure of having Geralt touching him in that way. Delicious because Geralt was being gentle and, somehow (at least for Jaskier), erotic. Painful because the bard knew it was something that was not going to happen again. This, he having lice, was an exception and as much as he wanted to Geralt to touch him, he wasn't going to risk his fame, his health, and his hair again.
"Jaskier." he heard Geralt say. The bard hummed. "Don't fall asleep."
Jaskier smirked.
"I'm not sleeping," he murmured. "It feels good."
"What?" Geralt's voice tone was soft, curious, almost…
"Your fingers," Jaskier said with a sigh. "I know witchers do magic but this… This is something more."
Geralt chuckled.
"So…" Jaskier heard softness and curiosity again. "It not longer hurt?"
"No."
There was a pause. One in which Geralt smiled in silence absorbed with the calm, sweet and relaxed expression Jaskier had. He said:
"Good." Then he stopped. And Jaskier groaned with disappointment, opening his eyes.
"No, no no no," The bard protested, watching the witcher getting up and going across the room. "Geralt, Geralt, please."
Undoing one of his travel bundles, Geralt unfolded a blanket and hung it on his arm.
"Don't rinse your hair," he said, approaching the tub and added with a clearly playful grin. "Let the potion doing its magic and come here."
Jaskier narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose, but he got up and left the water just when Geralt enveloped him with the blanket. Little pale green drops slid down his forehead, his nose, and cheeks. When Jaskier was about to dry them, Geralt did for him with his not anymore rolled-up sleeve. Jaskier looked up at him, at his bright amber eyes, while Geralt wiped the potion drips, and noticed the witcher was almost encircling him with his free arm. Jaskier bit his tongue by accident and hissed immediately after.
Geralt grinned. Jaskier frowned.
"Don't do that", Geralt mumbled, pressing softly a thumb on Jaskier's forehead. Jaskier blinked and wrapped himself tightly in the blanket. Geralt finished drying the drops and brushed some wet strands of hair off. Jaskier almost leaned into the touch.
"Don't stay too long like this, you'll catch a cold," Geralt said, tilted a little his head.
Jaskier nodded and stepped aside from him. He put on clean and warm nightclothes while Geralt took care of the tub and returned it to the owner. Jaskier blew out all the candles except one and got into bed, the tiny and only bed they could pay for. When Geralt came back to the room, Jaskier was snoring softly in his bed's side, curled up in a ball. Geralt watched him in silence, for seconds long like hours, and blew the last candle.
Then the witcher took off his boots and occupied the space Jaskier had left, careful not to wake up the bard. Immediately Jaskier nuzzled against him and his warm body.
Geralt sighed softly and strokes Jaskier's hair, magically dry (and finally free of lice) now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, falling asleep not so much long after, with the light and (now) sweet and pleasing scent of Jaskier everywhere.