Last fall I splurged on interior detailing for my father’s former car my father that has been handed down to my daughter. It was indescribably filthy inside, due to my father’s declining abilities, disconcerting lack of caring about cleanliness, and the fact that he put farming supplies such a bags of potting soil in there regularly. The guy who cleaned it works out of a specialized garage in his back yard. When we went to pick it up after the cleaning he came bouncing around the side of his house to meet us and walk us back - I mean he was literally jumping in the air like a happy goat and waving his arms. This guy is HAPPY about cleaning cars. He had a strong vibe of neurodivergence, so I liked him right away. Wave your arms in the air, Happy Cleaner Guy, you rock!
It took me a while to get around to getting MY car in there, but I was so happy with what he did for the first car I really wanted to treat myself. While technically I can clean the inside myself, he has all the specialized tools to do a really pro job, clean the upholstery, just everything. We picked it up last night, and it looks so good. I never want to get in it again - I don’t want to mess it up! Living on a farm on a dirt road is really hard on a vehicle. It’s just bemusingly charming to interact with this guy who’s living his best life in a garage that looks like an industrial clean-room. Now I need to go leave him a 5-star review on Yelp or something.
ps: I TOTALLY deserve to have somebody ELSE clean something for me.
please don't think i'm a freak. but i would love to see jaskier as geralt's caregiver. nothing sexual about it. just geralt relaxing and allowing himself to be taken care of. where do i find something like this? 🥺🤧 this idea does not leave my head
I adore this; while I am a smut blog, I declare today a non-smut, cuddles-only fluff day. i think we could all use a little of this!
“You look like hell.”
“Hmm,” Geralt tried to groan, but it came out a wince.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Jaskier said, easing Geralt’s swords from his shoulder and shrugging them onto his own.
“I don’t need–”
“Please just don’t argue with me, for once?”
Geralt allowed himself to be led into the bathhouse. His joints and muscles were stiff from days hunting the griffin in the cold; he found he could barely move his fingers when Jaskier pulled off his gloves. He tried to unbuckle his armor, but found Jaskier’s nimble fingers already flitting across his body, unfastening and finally hefting the weight off his shoulders.
Geralt let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Jaskier gave him a pleased “hmm.” The bard set his hands to his linen shirt, carefully lifting Geralt’s arms over his head with a–
“There you go–”
Before raising the fabric off. Jaskier knelt and set Geralt’s hand on his shoulder– Geralt raised an eyebrow until he felt his leg be lifted and his boot removed, like he was a stallion being untacked. Jaskier shifted his hands and removed the second boot.
Geralt closed his eyes and hummed as he felt his bare feet on the warm stone floor. He hadn’t realized how cold they were; the warmth pierced through his legs in a friendly stabbing sensation.
“Just–ah… don’t get any ideas, witcher,” Jaskier said, and Geralt smiled. Until he felt those nimble hands set to the buttons of his trousers. But Jaskier merely stood, Geralt’s arms over his shoulders now, and slowly helped him out of them.
“I don’t need–” Geralt began, but groaned as he lifted his knee. His hamstrings were aching, and some muscle deep in his rear that he hadn’t previously been aware existed was very out of sorts.
“That’s right, you don’t need anything or anyone, I know,” Jaskier crooned to him, carefully wrapping a linen cloth around his waist, then lowered him to sit on a stool.
Geralt was vaguely aware of Jaskier murmuring orders to someone, of the sounds of fabric rustling and falling, as his body slowly warmed in the room.
“Gods you are cold; let’s get you in the water,” Jaskier said, now raising Geralt up to his feet again– Geralt noted the feel of his bare arm across Jaskier’s bare shoulders, their torsos slung together, as he walked to a different room.
Jaskier slowly pulled off his linen and eased him into a giant tub of almost-scalding water.
Geralt hissed as he sat– the knife-like sensation of the warmth shooting all over his body now. He could hear someone, likely the bard, enter the bath with him.
“Don’t–”
“I told you not to get any ideas, Geralt,” Jaskier teased, and Geralt felt a wet sea sponge wipe across his chest. “This is purely selfish, what I’m doing, so I don’t have to smell the details of your lonesome adventure.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured, finally easing into the heat and warmth of the bath, of Jaskier’s touch as he wiped away the last three uneasy days.
“Geralt, sit up.”
Geralt realized he had drifted in and out of a light sleep under Jaskier’s hums. He eased himself forward, letting Jaskier sit behind him, the bard’s back to the edge of the tub, his knees up to support Geralt’s back.
Geralt groaned into the hard sensation of his bony knees against his sore muscles.
“Aha, yes– I’ll work on those next. But let me wash this filth out of your hair. Is this? Is this ice? Still? How?”
“It was a cold few days.”
“Hmmphf.”
Jaskier used soap, lathering and working his fingers against Geralt’s scalp, and Geralt couldn’t help but let out a languorous groan at the incredible sensation. He loved his scalp being touched, Jaskier knew, one of the simplest pleasures he was rarely afforded. At least before they began traveling together. His hair, once cleaned, was plied with oils Jaskier worked in with a comb.
All too soon, Geralt felt Jaskier steady his shoulders and rise behind him, then help heft Geralt to his feet. His eyes blinked open as he stepped out of the basin and onto the warm stone floor.
“Your ears are still cold,” Jaskier said, looking at him worryingly. “The way you’re holding yourself– will you let me work this out?” he asked Geralt, rubbing at his shoulder as he dried the witcher in front of the fire.
“Hmm.”
“Good, come here,” he said, and eased Geralt onto the cushions in front of the fire, on his stomach.
Geralt knew he wasn’t much to look at, with horrific scars spider-webbing across his body, his calves and thighs almost monstrously huge. In truth, he’d never ask or even pay a stranger to do this, but Jaskier…
Geralt groaned as Jaskier pressed deeply into his feet, beginning to massage there until they tingled. Then he moved upwards, working with long, oiled strokes up his calves, pressing against the hard muscles along his shins. He slowly worked up to his hamstrings, using the broadness of his palm to ease the muscles before going deep, deep, the oil slicking the path across his rough brushes of hair.
Jaskier brushed across his ass and straight up to his back, where he carefully worked the oil in, finding little coils of tension running up and down his spine, across his shoulder blades, with occasionally little “Oh now how did you get to be here?”s and “Right there?”s as he worked, until Geralt felt like he was melting into the floor.
Jaskier worked down his arms, pressing his thumbs into his palms, opening up his fingers until they were usable again.
Geralt sighed deeply.
“Yes? Good? Now some fresh clothes are just outside–”
“Jaskier… I hate to ask, I know it’s odd, but…”
“My dear, you know me; nothing is odd.”
“I think I strained something– I swear, don’t read anything into this, but…”
“But what, Geralt?”
“I seemed to have strained something.”
“And I haven’t attended to it yet? Just show me where.”
“You promise you won’t make any remarks– I mean this sincerely.”
“Upon my lute.”
Geralt took a deep breath. And pointed to his ass.
“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier said. But Geralt was relieved to feel his palms pressing and working into his muscles. And he finally fell into a deep sleep.
