#don't wonder why lambert is naked for some reason-

[omendrawsrandomly]

THIS IS THE PINKEST THING IVE EVER SEEN IN THIS GAME GAWD DAYUM

I ain't really a pink person BUT GAWD DAYUM

(Sneak peak of what comic I'll be making next 😌)

[oldandkinky]

Love me some of that con/non con and/or overstim! Is sex pollen too basic? It feels basic even tho I love it and never get tired of it. Or maybe Jaskier is wintering at kaer morhen and he and the witchers either accidentally get into an aphrodisiac or deliberately deciding to play around with one? Even if you decide this isn't sparking joy for your muse, just know that I love you and you're wonderful and I'll be loving whatever prompts you do end up writing bc I've loved everything I've read of yours

I LOVE sex pollen type fics!

Contains accidental aphrodisiac overdose, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent, gangbang, implied monsterfucking.

*********

"Oops."

Jaskier watches the silvery powder billowing into a strangely fragrant cloud around him. He'd just been looking, honestly, he hadn't even touched anything. He'd looked around, squinting at a book on the shelf, and then his elbow bumped into the little pot and shoved it off the work table. Who leaves something so close to the edge anyway?

The powder settles on his clothes and hair, and his nose tickles. He sneezes, sucking in air and, in the process, the powder, and he really hopes he didn't just accidentally poison himself.

He's just brushing the powder off of his sleeve as carefully as he can without breathing in even more when Geralt almost skids around the corner and through the door of the lab Jaskier is currently in. They blink at each other for a second, and then Geralt asks, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You said 'Oops'."

Jaskier scowls at him, brushing the last bits of powder away from his thigh. "I knocked over this pot but it's fine, I didn't get any in my mouth or anything."

Geralt stares at him and says nothing.

"It is fine, right?"

"Uh."

"Geralt."

***********

Jaskier feels like he's going to die. The reason for that is twofold. One, he's sitting in the kitchen, getting the talking to of a lifetime from Vesemir of all people, who has this way of looking so incredibly disappointed without his facial features really changing all that much, and two, his cock is so hard he's afraid it's going to burst.

"That powder is one of the most potent aphrodisiacs we have in our arsenal," Vesemir explains, and Jaskier shifts in his seat. He's starting to feel very, very warm, and his heart is starting to beat faster. Maybe if he can just- "Jaskier!"

"Huh?"

The old Witcher looks at him with what Jaskier is pretty sure is pity. His eyes flicker down, and when Jaskier follows his gaze, he sees that he has his hand in his breeches. "It's starting," Vesemir says quietly, and beside Jaskier, Geralt makes a soft noise.

"What can we do?"

"There is an antidote but we don't have it on hand. Making it would take too long. He'll have to ride it out." Vesemir looks at the bard again. "Doing it alone might kill you."

Jaskier shifts again. He can't… He can't think, if he's honest, can't focus on what Vesemir is saying. All he can concentrate on is the way his smalls brush against his cock, the soft drag back and forth as he shifts his hips from side to side. If he could just-

"Jaskier, listen to me." Geralt is before him, his hand cupping his chin so Jaskier has to look at him. The Witcher looks concerned. "Do you want us to help you?"

Jaskier is so, so warm, and he needs to… He needs…

"Alright, Jask, you're alright."

Everything goes dark.

*************

When lucidity returns to Jaskier, he's in a bed, sitting on a gloriously thick cock, covered in sweat and what he's fairly sure is more than one load of come.

"Wha-"

"Oh good, he's back with us." Lambert moves into view, stark naked, his dark hair pretty much standing on end, and stroking himself lazily, and Jaskier feels like his eyes might bug out of his head.

"What the fuck is going on?" He cranes his neck to see who he's sitting on and finds himself face to face with Geralt, who looks both extremely well-fucked and vaguely ashamed. "Geralt, why is your dick in my arse?"

"You dosed yourself up with Witcher aphrodisiac," Eskel says from his other side, and Jaskier turns to find him in a chair, also completely naked. He's not hard but even so he's… well, quite intimidating, if Jaskier has to be honest. "This is the first time you've been lucid in roughly six hours."

"What?!"

Lambert plops himself into the chair on the other side of the bed. "Yup. You, little songbird, just spent the better part of the day bouncing on our cocks so you wouldn't die."

Jaskier feels very, very faint. He slumps backwards, almost falling over, but Geralt is there to catch him. Of course this changes the angle of the man's dick inside Jaskier, and he can't bite back the moan that falls from his lips.

Geralt wraps strong arms around his chest, holding him close. "You alright?"

"I… honestly don't know." He shivers when Geralt's breath brushes over his neck. "I can't… I don't remember anything."

Lambert chuckles, hand still wrapped around his cock. "Well, let's just say we were all surprised by how flexible you are."

A variety of images flashes through Jaskier's mind at that, things he can't be certain whether they're memories or fantasies. In any case, he shivers, and tightens around Geralt, and the Witcher draws in a soft breath.

"H-how long is it going to last? The effects, I mean." There's heat crawling under his skin again, his heart beating a little faster.

"Going by how twitchy you are, I'd say we're about halfway there," Lambert muses, and Jaskier frowns at him.

"What do you mean, twitchy?" Lambert points at his crotch, and when Jaskier looks down he becomes aware of two things in rapid succession: one, he's hard again, and two, he's started riding Geralt without even being aware of it. Noticing that sets all his nerve endings aflame, and he throws back his head and moans.

It's blurry after that, but it's not the same total blackout as before. It's like he's watching through a veil. He knows what is happening but his body moves entirely on its own. It's a very odd experience.

Jaskier is no stranger to… athletic sex, to a variety of positions, to having numerous partners. None of his dalliances so far could have prepared him for what happens in that room.

He's never empty for long. One of the Witchers is always fucking him, slow and gentle or hard and fast, whatever he asks for. After he rides Geralt to an orgasm that has the man's grip on him tightening almost painfully, Lambert pulls him off of Geralt and pushes him onto hands and knees. Jaskier is loose and slick, and Lambert sinks into him to the root with a groan. He fucks him with short, hard thrusts that have Jaskier's eyes rolling back, that have him coming within moments, but the need doesn't dim much.

He comes twice more like this before Lambert pumps him full, and again it's only a matter of moments before Eskel takes the other's place. Jaskier had been right in assuming that Eskel's cock would be intimidating. The stretch of it is almost too much, but Jaskier is so wet, so open, that it's surprisingly easy. Eskel's pace is slow and deep and makes Jaskier's toes curl.

By the time Geralt rolls him onto his back and kisses him softly as he moves between his thighs, Jaskier is wrung dry. Geralt watches him as he fucks him, just as slowly, just as deeply as Eskel, and there's something in his eyes that makes Jaskier's back arch and his stomach flutter.

They're all exhausted, and Lambert flops down between Jaskier's legs at some point, swallowing his cock down. That's when Vesemir comes in to check on them, and Jaskier finds himself whining, reaching for the man. Vesemir's face softens, and a short while later Jaskier finds himself face down, pressed into the mattress under the old man's bulk. Vesemir is not as gifted as his pups but he knows how to make Jaskier lose his mind with pleasure, and he has Jaskier screaming through two orgasms before he even puts his cock into the bard.

Finally, it's over, Jaskier a shivering oversensitive mess between the Witchers, cradled against Geralt's side. He's on the verge of sleep when Geralt presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Jaskier smiles, and sleeps, and dreams.

**************

When he wakes up again, everything hurts.

Jaskier moans, this time not in pleasure, and immediately there are big hands cupping his face, stroking over his arms, down his thighs.

"Hey," comes Geralt's voice, low and gentle, and Jaskier forces his eyes open. His Witcher is the one cupping his cheeks, and behind him is Lambert, one hand on the bard's thigh. Jaskier whimpers.

"How do you feel, Jaskier?" Eskel, behind him, petting down his arm, and Jaskier hums.

"Ow," is all he can say, and Lambert cackles. Eskel squeezes his arm gently, and Geralt smiles softly.

"No wonder," Lambert muses once he's calmed down again. "You got a dose large enough to deal with a fully grown gryphon. It's a miracle your heart didn't give out."

Jaskier blinks, and Geralt looks to the side in a way that is very suspicious. "Say, Lambert," Jaskier asks, "what exactly do Witchers need this aphrodisiac for anyway?"

Lambert seems to have noticed his lapse in discretion, his cheeks colouring slightly. "Um."

The bard narrows his eyes. "Geralt?" No answer, but his Witcher's fingers twitch where they're still cupping his cheeks. "Eskel?"

The scarred Witcher winces behind him, and Jaskier opens his mouth to nag them further but he doesn't need to. Vesemir moves into view, arms crossed behind his back and a look of long suffering on his face. "We need it to deal with creatures under specific circumstances. Some creatures produce seed that is a valuable component for spells. We use the powder to enable us to harvest it."

Jaskier gapes at the old Witcher, and then he brushes off Geralt's hands even though every muscle in his body protests the movement vehemently. "You… You use it to get fucked by monsters?!"

Vesemir shrugs. "If you want to put it so crudely, yes."

Jaskier's gaze jumps from Witcher to Witcher, until it comes to rest on Geralt. The white haired man looks deeply embarrassed, and Jaskier takes a deep breath. "My dear Witchers, I thank you most humbly for what was almost certainly the best orgy of my life, but I'll have to ask you to leave now." He narrows his eyes when a muscle in Geralt's jaw ticks. "I think Geralt and I have some things we need to talk about."

Lambert and Eskel each give him a last friendly squeeze before they leave, gathering up their clothes before they shuffle out, and Vesemir gives him a nod that Jaskier can't really interpret. When the door closes behind him, Jaskier looks back at Geralt.

"Were you going to tell me?"

Geralt finally looks at him again, his eyes guarded. "Probably not."

"Why not?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," Geralt says wryly. "We can't exactly advertise that we drop our breeches to get bred full by the beasts we're supposed to be slaying." He has settled on his back beside Jaskier, watching him. Waiting for his reaction.

Jaskier mirrors his position, wincing as he turns his head to look at the Witcher. "Did you think I would… what? Tell people? Judge you?" Geralt shrugs one shoulder, and Jaskier's lips thin. "So you don't trust me."

Now Geralt's eyes widen, and he rolls onto his side, one hand coming up to cup Jaskier's cheek again. "It's not that, Jaskier, I promise. It's just… We were always told to keep it a secret, and I never thought it would be relevant."

"Hm." Jaskier reaches up and slides his hand over Geralt's. "I'm sorry," he says at length, "for putting you all in this position."

"Jaskier, don't. We did what we had to, yes, but…" He leans closer, brushes the tip of his nose over Jaskier's. "It was no hardship."

He chuckles softly. "How romantic," he murmurs, and Geralt huffs a laugh before he leans in to press his lips to Jaskier's. They kiss, slowly and unhurried, and Jaskier sighs into Geralt's mouth. "I love you," he murmurs, and Geralt winds an arm around him and pulls him close.

"And I love you." Their foreheads rest against each other, and Geralt squeezes him softly. "Seeing you with them… Gods, you should have seen yourself. You were so beautiful."

"My dear Witcher, do you… want a repeat of this?" Geralt growls softly, and Jaskier shivers.

"Maybe without the life-threatening aphrodisiac," Geralt rumbles.

Jaskier laughs, and burrows deeper into his embrace.

They doze a while longer, even Geralt's impressive stamina having reached its limits, and Jaskier feels so deeply loved that even he struggles to put it into words. When he wakes the next time, he still aches thoroughly but it's a pleasant ache, one of a body well-used.

It's not until he sits up to stretch that he notices a peculiar dampness between his cheeks, and he's scared for a moment thinking it must be blood. But when he reaches back, the fluid on his fingers is clear and slick. It looks almost like…

"Geralt?"

The Witcher snores loudly as he jerks awake, looking up at Jaskier blurrily. "Whsrong?"

"One of the side-effects of the aphrodisiac doesn't happen to be self-lubrication, does it?"

All of a sudden Geralt is wide awake, sitting up and drawing the bard close. He nuzzles Jaskier's hair with a happy hum.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jaskier says faintly, and then Geralt pulls him back into bed.

Never a dull day, the bard thinks as Geralt pulls his thighs over his broad shoulders. Never a dull day.