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Geralt had a recurring dream. It wasn’t every night but it was frequent. He dreamed of braiding Jaskier’s hair the way Jaskier did for him. The only problem was Jaskier kept his hair infuriatingly short. Even after weeks on the path, sleeping in the forests and searching for food in bushes, catching fish or rabbits whenever they could, Jaskier’s hair would be kept trim, with not even the beginnings of a beard.
And Geralt didn’t know how to ask. It was Jaskier’s hair not his. He had no right to ask but Jaskier seemed to enjoy brushing Geralt’s hair and he wanted to return the favour.
After meeting Ciri for the first time outside of Brokilon Forest, he had an idea. His child surprise was a girl. He would need practice. So shyly, Geralt suggested that Jaskier could help him prepare for looking after Ciri when the time came. Jaskier lit up, a blinding smile that made even Geralt’s heart beat a little faster, blue eyes twinkling in the twilight. One trip to a sorceresses later, Jaskier had flowing chestnut brown locks that fell down his back in gentle curls.
It took Geralt’s breath away.
Jaskier’s hair was soft and silky between Geralt’s fingers, and his voice a warm tenor as he talked Geralt through brushing the gentle curls. Every stroke of the brush helped to settle Geralt’s mind and calm his senses, the rhythm helping to ease him into almost a meditative state, and Geralt struggled to remember why he’d been so scared to ask.