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    Summary

    “Want a hand?” Jaskier asks from his place on the bed. He pauses at picking away at his lute, smiling. “Or two?”

    Geralt doesn’t respond and drops his hand, cursing the reveal of discomfort around the bard. They’re three years into whatever it is that makes Jaskier follow him around, and Geralt has begun slipping, showing weakness where he shouldn’t.

    “Seriously!” The bard says, sitting up on his knees. “I’ve seen how you walk around all day. You’ve got to be knots all over. Let me give you a massage.” He gives Geralt a wicked look. “I have it on good authority that I have very talented hands.”

    (scenes from their time together) (the first time Jaskier gives Geralt a massage)

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