#geraskel fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

all-hail-the-witcher · 3 years ago

Text

undying love

because @officerjennie called the vet yesterday

ship: geralt/jaskier/eskel, modern

warnings: not sexy nakedness, not sexual belly rubs, baths, vomit/vomiting (not incredibly descriptive), brief negative self talk, brief negative body image, soft/fat eskel, trans eskel, nb geralt

words: 3.1k

editing: yes

genre: somft comfort

Eskel tumbled through the door of the apartment, a hand pressed to his large stomach and his eyes squeezed shut. It was plain dumb luck that he didn't trip over Geralt’s shoes. For such an organized person, Eskel could never understand why they couldn't put them away.

Eskel always put his shoes away, in their appropriate bin, but today the thought of bending over made him sway on his feet and he leaned heavily against the door frame for support, gasping for breath. He didn't have the energy to call out. Hopefully one of his partners would hear his labored breathing and come to his rescue.

“Geralt? Did you- oh Eskel, darling, what is it? What’s happened?”

Jaskier’s hands were on him almost immediately, feeling his forehead stroking his back. Eskel leaned into the touch, happy for the brief bit of relief from the intense pain in his stomach.

“Sick,” he managed to mutter. “I gathered that, darling,” Jaskier whispered fondly. “Tell me what hurts.”

“Stomach,” Eskel whimpered as another wave of discomfort hit, this time causing bile to rise in his throat. “Think I ate something bad.”

“Alright darling,” Jaskier soothed, never stopping rubbing Eskel’s back. “Let’s move you to the bathroom then, in case you get sick. Can you manage that?”

Eskel hesitated. He had barely been able to make it up to their apartment. He didn’t know how much further his shaky legs could carry him. And there was no way that Jaskier would be able to carry him.

“Okay, that’s alright,” Jaskier said, taking Eskel’s silence as he didn't want to move. “We can wait here for Geralt to come back from the store and then they can help you to the bathroom, they should be back any moment now.”

Eskel nodded, pressing his hand further into his stomach as he swallowed hard. “Jask…”

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier said, kissing his sweaty forehead. “I’m just going to grab you a bag, wait right there for me, darling.”

But as soon as Jaskier left, Eskel unraveled. It was as if Jaskier’s had been the only thing holding him together.

At least he had had the presence of mind to not get sick all over their shoes.

“Eskel, darling, it’s okay,” Jaskier said, his voice coming closer to him. He put his arm around Eskel again, resuming rubbing gentle circles into his back.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Eskel choked out, shuddering when his stomach cramped tightly.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier reassured him. “Do you think you’re going to be sick again?”

Eskel took a deep breath and waited a moment before shaking his head. Despite the pain still in his stomach, he felt loads better and could actually bear to open his eyes.

“There you are, darling,” Jaskier muttered, offering Eskel a smile and wiping at his mouth and chin gently with a damp paper towel. “Could you have a sip of water for me?” He held out a glass.

“Yeah.” His voice grated against his throat as he reached for the glass. Jaskier kept a steadying hand on it as he brought it to his lips, taking slow sips.

And that was how Geralt found them, their arms laden with groceries as they walked into the apartment and took in the scene quite literally at their feet: Eskel, covered in his own sick, standing shakily with Jaskier’s arm wrapped around his back as he carefully downed a glass of water.

Eskel could feel the moment Geralt switched into paramedic mode. They set down the groceries a safe distance from the pool of sick on the floor and walked over to Eskel and Jaskier, calmly placing their hand on Eskel’s forehead, just as Jaskier had done.

“I’m fine,” Eskel mumbled unencouragingly as he held his stomach tighter. “Think I just ate something bad.”

“Hmm,” Geralt removed their hand from his forehead and placed two fingers on the pulse point in Eskel’s neck, looking at their watch. When they finished they nodded in satisfaction and turned to look at Jaskier, raising an eyebrow.

“He came in and was very shaky and holding his stomach,” Jaskier said, tightening his hold on Eskel slightly as if to say: Everything’s going to be fine, Geralt’s just doing their job. Eskel knew this, but the reassurance still helped. He got panicky sometimes when Geralt went into paramedic mode.

“No fever?” Geralt asked, moving to look into Eskel’s eyes.

“No,” Jaskier confirmed. “I stood with him for a moment and then he threw up once, about five minutes ago, and then I got him some water.”

Geralt nodded in approval, but frowned when they saw Eskel’s arm still clutching at his stomach. “Do you still feel sick?”

“No,” Eskel said, repeating what he had told Jaskier. “I feel better, actually. My stomach just really hurts.”

“Hmm.” They knelt down, not minding the sick still on the floor and gently pulled Eskel’s arm away from his stomach before placing their own hands there gently. The largeness of Eskel's stomach dwarfed Geralt's hands as they worked.

Eskel hissed as Geralt prodded at his stomach, clearly trying to be as gentle as possible, but their sharp movements were not helping.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier muttered next to him, kissing his temple lightly and moving his hand up and down Eskel’s back. “They’ll be done in a moment.”

True to Jaskier’s word, Geralt pulled their hands away a moment later and stood up.

“What’s the verdict, Doctor?” Jaskier asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Geralt ficked Jaskier’s shoulder, earning a soft ow that made Eskel smile, before looking to Eskel.

“Looks like mild food poisoning or a stomach flu,” They said. “The cramping should go away soon.”

Eskel nodded. He could live with that. Especially when he had two partners to take care of him. His shoulders sagged in relief, there was nothing out of the ordinary wrong with him.

“We should get you cleaned up, darling,” Jaskier said, looking at Geralt. “Would you help him to the bathroom?”

Geralt nodded, eyeing the way that Eskel was still clinging to Jaskier in order to stay upright. Eskel opened his mouth to say that he could walk when suddenly Geralt was gently sliding an arm under his knees and lifting him up.

Eskel squirmed in their arms. “I’m getting my sick all over you,” he protested. He had long since given up protesting that he was too heavy for Geralt to carry. Mostly because Geralt had once told him that they had started working out years ago, when the three of them had gotten together, in order to be able to lift both him and Jaskier at once.

“I’ve had worse,” Geralt reassured him.

Jaskier placed a lingering hand on Eskel’s cheek. “I’m going to clean up and put away the groceries, I’ll be in soon, alright darling? Geralt’s going to take good care of you in the meantime.”

He pressed a light kiss to Eskel’s nose and Geralt whined above him until Jaskier laughed and kissed their cheek as well, before heading to the kitchen

Geralt carried him down the hall to the bathroom, slowly, so as to not aggravate his stomach more, and carefully set him on the closed toilet seat.

“Do you think you’re going to be sick again?” Geralt asked, keeping a steadying, supportive hand on Eskel’s shoulder.

Eskel shook his head.

Geralt seemed satisfied by his answer and moved on to their next question. “Can you get undressed by yourself?”

“I think,” Eskel said, looking down at the work clothes that he was still in, now covered in his own sick. It shouldn't be too difficult to get his shirt off, although he might have trouble bending over.

“Let me know if you need help,” Geralt said, squeezing Eskel’s shoulder before rummaging around under the sink in the bin of various bath products that Jaskier kept.

Eskel clumsily unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off. He managed to undo his belt and the buttons on his pants before another cramp hit that made it excruciating to bend over. He let out an involuntary whimper.

Geralt was there in a second, calmly taking the soiled clothes from Eskel’s hands and tossing them in the sink before gently tugging off his pants, underwear and socks. They pulled off their own clothes quickly and offered Eskel a hand to stand up before guiding him to the shower.

Jaskier had absolutely insisted that their apartment have a huge bathroom because he loved taking baths and sometimes forcing his partners to join him as well. Geralt and Eskel hadn’t really cared either way and had gone along with it. They mostly just used the shower and ignored the giant bathtub, but based on the various products Geralt had taken out, Eskel had a feeling that he was the one who was going to be pampered today instead of Jaskier.

Still, the shower was plenty big enough for the two of them and Geralt let Eskel lean against them, keeping one of their hands wrapped around Eskel’s chest to keep him upright as they turned on the water.

Geralt washed away the sick that had still been stubbornly clinging to Eskel’s skin, making sure to get it all off before turning off the water and guiding him over to the tub, which was already filling.

“Do you need help getting in?” Geralt asked.

The sides of the tub were high and Eskel’s balance was still off. He hated to ask for help doing something so simple, but he knew that Geralt wouldn’t care. Still, the thought of being so helpless made him feel incredibly useless.

“If you don't mind?”

Geralt smiled one of their rare smiles before first pulling Eskel into a tight hug, their wet bodies clinging to each other as Geralt engulfed Eskel in their secure embrace. Geralt kissed away the water droplets on Eskel’s forehead and Eskel sighed at the pleasant pressure of Geralt’s own muscled stomach pressing against his large, soft one, dulling the aches and pains there for the time being.

“You never have to feel bad for asking for help,” Geralt whispered, their professional, paramedic voice gone and replaced with the soft, loving one that they reserved for their partners. “You’re sick, let Jaskier and I take care of you.”

“Okay,” Eskel whispered into Geralt’s neck.

Geralt pulled away and stepped into the tub, keeping a firm hand on Eskel the entire time. Then they offered their arm to Eskel, keeping their other one wrapped around him as he stepped in slowly, ready to take his weight if he fell.

Geralt helped Eskel sit, back against the side of the half-filled tub, as they began to futz with Jaskier’s bath serums and salts and god knew what else.

Eskel let his eyes slip closed as the water lapped around him, already feeling heavenly against his sore stomach. Soon, the steam was filled with the faint scent of lavender and chamomile. The jets, another thing that Jaskier insisted that they have, were flicked on behind him and only then did he feel Geralt settle next to him, tugging at Eskel’s shoulders until he was leaning against their chest.

Geralt gently tugged Eskel’s arm away from his large stomach and settled their own hands there. But while their earlier examination of Eskel’s stomach had been clinical and painful, their hands now were light and gentle, massaging away the cramps that were still plaguing him.

Eskel sighed into the touch. He loved getting his stomach rubbed, but was often too shy to ask for it, even from his partners. He knew that Geralt and Jaskier didn’t mind that he was on the larger side and they never shied away from showing his body love, but he was always hesitant about asking.

But this...this was heavenly. Geralt’s fingers seemed to anticipate each cramp and ache, massaging them away with ease as their fingers moved over his skin with delicacy in the manner of someone who had spent years memorizing his body. They glided over his skin under the sweet smelling water, occasionally scratching gently at the hair that grew on his stomach, and traced over his numerous stretch marks, never judging him, just loving and caring for his body.

Eskel whimpered as Geralt’s fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot above his hip.

“You like this, don’t you?” Geralt muttered, their voice vibrating against Eskel’s back.

“Mmmhm.” It was the only sound that Eskel could make, too overcome by the bliss that was Geralt massaging away his pain.

“You don’t have to be in pain for us to rub your stomach,” Geralt whispered, one of their hands coming to cup Eskel’s stomach protectively as the other continued rubbing at the sensitive spot on his side. “It’s a very nice stomach.”

Eskel snorted at Geralt’s awkward compliment.

“It is ,” Geralt muttered crossly. “I think it’s big enough for both Jaskier and I to rub at once, actually."

And if that thought didn't reduce Eskel to a puddle.

“But the point is that you can ask for these things,” Geralt continued. “We’re your partners, we want to make you feel happy and loved.”

“I know,” Eskel whispered, finally finding his words. “I’ll remember for next time.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed in satisfaction, never stopping their fingers from rubbing away Eskel’s pain. The cramps were coming less frequently now, but the dull ache was still there.

He didn't want Geralt to stop.

That was how Jaskier found them: Eskel, leaning against Geralt’s chest, half asleep and getting his stomach rubbed.

“Oh my poor darling,” Jaskier whispered, kneeling down next to the tub and turning off the water before kissing the top of Eskel’s head. “Are you feeling any better?”

Eskel nodded.

“I bet you’re both glad that I insisted we get a place with a big tub now, hm?” Jaskier asked smugly.

Eskel didn't need to have his eyes open to know that Geralt was glaring at him.

A sharp cramp went through the left side of Eskel’s stomach right at that moment and he gasped, sitting up and away from Geralt as he felt his stomach begin to clench.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Jaskier muttered, shoving something under Eskel’s chin. “Let it out.”

Geralt rubbed his back as he began to heave, the familiar feeling of bile scorching his throat making him wince, but nothing else came out.

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” Jaskier pushed his wet hair away from his face, muttering soothing words until Eskel’s heaving stopped and he settled back against Geralt, his stomach aching.

Geralt’s hands were immediately back on his stomach, soothing away the ache just as they had been before and Eskel sighed.

Jaskier ran a hand through his wet hair. “Would you like me to wash your hair for you, darling?”

Eskel nodded. Anything to take his mind off of the ache in his stomach. He thought he had been done throwing up. He didn't think he could deal with the painful ache again.

There was the sound of Jaskier gathering bottles and then something sweet and citrusy smelling was being rubbed into his hair, the scent quickly overpowering any lingering stench of sickness.

Jaskier’s fingers massaged at his scalp, another one of his weak spots, although this was one that his partners knew about. But between Geralt’s hands rubbing his stomach and Jaskier’s hands scratching gently at his scalp, Eskel thought that it was possible that he had achieved pure bliss.

He just wished that he wasn't sick. That way he would have been able to appreciate it properly.

Jaskier washed the soap from his hair gently, using a cup that he filled with water and holding his hand just so so that none of the bubbles got into his eyes. Then there was another burst of citrus as Jaskier rubbed conditioner through Eskel’s hair.

Eskel usually skipped this step in his own shower routine, mostly out of pure laziness, but Jaskier loved it when his hair was shiny and smooth. He focused on the feeling of Jaskier carefully detangling his hair as he raked his fingers through the soap-coated strands.

“Your hair is going to be so soft, darling,” Jaskier whispered as he rinsed out the conditioner. “I’ll even dry it for you if you want.”

Another thing that Eskel never did for himself. But he had to admit that the thought of going to bed right now with his hair wet did not sound fun.

“Please?” he asked quietly.

“Of course, darling,” Jaskier said. “Are you ready to get out?”

Eskel hesitated. The water had grown slightly cold, but he didn't want Geralt to stop rubbing his stomach. He knew it was stupid, but he thought that if Geralt could see his stomach, they wouldn’t want to give it the same love and attention because it was too large. Right now it was hidden by the bath water, and he knew that Geralt and Jaskier had seen it before, even used it as a pillow from time to time, but that was different than caressing and rubbing it. They might not want to.

“I can rub your stomach more when we get out,” Geralt whispered, as if reading Eskel’s thoughts.

“Promise?” Eskel couldn't help the small, desperate word that escaped his lips.

“Of course.” Geralt sealed their promise with a wet kiss to Eskel’s neck.

Jaskier flicked the drain and the sweet scented bubbled started to recede.

Geralt shifted, preparing to stand as they hooked their arms under Eskel’s armpits. “Can you get your legs under you?” They whispered.

Eskel tried, bending his knees and planting his feet on the bottom of the tub, but the action made his stomach cramp horribly and he whined in discomfort.

“It’s alright darling,” Jaskier whispered. “Just a moment longer and then you can rest again.”

True to Jaskier’s word, Geralt stood the both of them up not a moment later and the ache in Eskel’s stomach lessened once he was standing again

Geralt and Jaskier helped him out of the tub and dried him off before helping him into a pair of underwear and one of his softest t-shirts.

True to Jaskier’s word, he brushed out Eskel’s hair and dried it while Geralt got dressed and cleaned up the bathroom. The warm air from the hair dryer was pleasant, and Eskel was almost sad when Jaskier turned it off.

But then Geralt was scooping him up again and carrying him to their bed, sliding him under the covers gently. Geralt curled up against his right side and Jaskier settled on his left.

Eskel was nearly asleep. The bath had been soothing, as well as his partners’ caretaking, and he had nearly tired himself out. So he didn't catch the brief words that Geralt and Jaskier exchanged over him.

But he felt both of their hands slide under his shirt and rub at his stomach in the same way that Geralt had been doing earlier.

Eskel gasped in surprise, not expecting his partners to be so forthcoming in this, but they continued all the same, rubbing away his aches and pains until they were nothing more than a memory.

Geralt ran their other hand along Eskel’s thigh as well, massaging the soft skin there with the heel of their hand. Jaskier let his other hand drift up further under Eskel’s shirt, rubbing the soft padding covering his ribs and chest, giving his top surgery scars a little extra attention before working his way back down.

“You don’t-” Eskel gasped, too overcome by the love that his partners were showing him. “You don’t have to.”

“Oh darling,” Jaskier murmured, his breath tickling the hair on Eskel’s stomach as he kissed gently across his fading aches. “We want to.”

Eskel thought he felt tears prick in his eyes as Geralt’s lips joined Jaskier’s, pressing gentle kisses into his stomach. He drifted off, surrounded by his two partners and their undying love for him.

theyre SOMFT YOUR HONOR

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years ago

Note

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn��t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair. “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

#the witcher fic #geraskel #geraskel fic #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geraskier #eskralt #sexy gwent #WHEW okay hope you enjoy!#my fic #asks

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mollymawkwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Written for @whataboutthebard day 4

Title: Une Faim de Loup (A Wolf's Hunger)

Prompt: werewolves

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: faun!Jaskier, werewolf!Geralt, werewolf!Eskel, size difference, breeding kink, knotting, rough sex, intercrural sex, anal sex, rimming, oral sex, belly bulge, cum inflation

The forest is alive with laughter and song and the clash of antlers as Jaskier makes his way away from the festivities. Beltane has always been his favourite celebration, long before he was even interested in participating in the mating ritual. It honours everything his poet’s heart holds essential; music and love and beauty. It is a celebration of life, and Jaskier has always loved life with a passion, delighting in its every gift.

Any other year, Jaskier would fuck away the night with a pretty doe or a handsome buck, maybe even join one of the Countess’ famed orgies. Tonight, though, Jaskier doesn’t have a mind to party, to flirt and drink and find a partner to celebrate the goddess of love with, to delight in the pleasures of the flesh under her pale round eye until the sky lightens and a new day begins.

His mother would throw a fit if she knew how blatantly he is disregarding her most important rule: don’t stray away from the herd at night. He mentally promises her to be back before dawn, with an excuse as to why she hasn’t seen him during the festivities. She probably hopes he’ll come back with a serious mate this time. Her inquiries about his love life have been more pressing lately, and her disappointment when he inevitably answers he is not ready for that kind of commitment yet is harder to bear every time. It is part of the reason he does not have the heart to be his usual sociable, joyous self tonight, preferring the company of the moon and stars than that of his own people.

It is already late enough that as Jaskier leaves the circle of warm light cast by the bonfires and lanterns hung in the trees he passes a few entangled couples, some of them mating unashamedly in plain sight. Lustful moans and cries of ecstasy accompany Jaskier for a while, and though he tries not to get distracted, his body alights with desire, reacting eagerly to the pheromones saturating the air.

The neck of his lute hits the back of his knees every few steps, his hooves making nary a sound on the soft forest ground as he follows the whisper of a babbling brook to the little sanctuary where he composes most of his songs and poems.

Under the silver light of the full moon, the little clearing has an eerie quality to it. A fallen tree lies across a small spring, green, plush moss covering the bark, making for the most comfortable of pillows as Jaskier jumps over and sits cross-legged.

His thoughts straying back to the lewd couplings he witnessed on his way here, Jaskier palms his half-hard cock with a huff, the pink tip peaking out of its sheath. Maybe he will bring himself to a lazy orgasm later, but for now, his body’s responsiveness to the sultry atmosphere of Beltane night is another reminder of his growing frustration. The hassle of finding a partner doesn’t seem worthy; after fucking every willing faun of his age and a good number of the older ones, every option feels stale.

He’s always loved his herd, his family, and the forest around them, but he’s never thought he would be so bored of it by the time he’d reach adulthood. He knows every nook and cranny of these woods, and nothing, not even the stars reflecting on the rushing water underneath him, holds any surprise or wonder for him anymore. If only he was allowed to travel, to wander away for a bit, over the edge of the woods and into the world, but that is strictly forbidden by the herd. A faun must content themself with what they have been given, and sing only of love, and the generosity of the forest, and never believe that the world has more to offer than this.

Sighing, Jaskier swings his lute to his front and rests his fingers over the strings. As he deepens his breaths and closes his eyes, he flicks his ears this way and that to take in all of the sounds of the night, letting its natural melody guide his hands to create a music of his own. He strums his instrument barely loud enough to hear, so as not to disturb the family of boars foraging close by, and lets himself be soothed by the breeze cooling his heated skin.

He doesn’t know what startles him out of his trance-like state. His brain his filled with music and it takes him a second to realise the forest has gone utterly silent around him. A bush ruffles nearby and Jaskier cuts the discordant twang of his lute with a flat palm over the strings, eyes open wide as his heart thrums against his ribs.

Whatever hides in those bushes, it is not the hungry boars, nor a hunting owl; he knows those sounds like he knows his own voice.

Everything is still for so long that Jaskier almost convinces himself that he imagined it, that the goblet of wine he drank before leaving the party is playing tricks on him. Until the moon is revealed from behind a cloud, casting a ray of silver light over the clearing. In the gently waving grass, two orbs glow, round and pale like twin moons fallen to earth.

Staring right at Jaskier.

The faun’s heart misses a beat as his body goes rigid, unable to do anything but watch and wait as the hulking form creeps closer, slow and low on the ground, glowing eyes never straying from Jaskier.

White-furred like a winter rabbit, it resembles a wolf except for its size and the rippling muscles of its massive shoulders. A few steps away from Jaskier, it blinks, and the pale moons of its eyes become warm, golden suns, their intensity utterly focused on the little, trembling faun.

Jaskier knows he should run, or scream for help. He also knows he would never make it alive if he did either of those things. There haven't been werewolves in these woods for longer than Jaskier has been alive, but every young faun has been told the tales of these merciless monsters that would snatch away naughty kids and not even leave bones to bury. Glimpsing at the sharp fangs protruding from the wolf’s mouth, Jaskier has no doubt these stories had their share of truth.

But the werewolf doesn’t act like he’s planning on ripping Jaskier’s throat off, though its breath stinks of fresh blood as it stops in front of him and rises to its hind legs, leaning closer. Jaskier is finally shaken out of his stupor and yelps as he scrambles backwards, almost falling off his perch. Holding his lute in front of him as if it’ll be any help as a shield, Jaskier closes his eyes, expecting the monster to bite his head off now that it has confirmed the faun isn’t just a strangely shaped log.

When nothing happens, Jaskier squints an eye open, finding the werewolf watching him with a curious tilt of its head. Slowly, it leans in, its large, clawed paws almost human-like in their shape, though Jaskier doesn’t doubt it could open his stomach with one swipe. Its gaze still locked with Jaskier’s as if gauging his reactions, the creature takes a deep inhale. Confused, scared to move even a finger, Jaskier lets himself be scented, wondering distantly if the werewolf is making sure he’s still fresh.

Apparently satisfied that Jaskier is not going to jump again, the creature pushes its wet snout under his jaw, warm, humid breath tickling his throat. Jaskier fails to hold back a surprised giggle, and the werewolf rears back to observe him again, its tail wagging tentatively.

Slowly, cursing his own terrible self-preservation instincts, Jaskier uncurls, pushing his lute aside. Keeping his eyes on the werewolf, he raises his chin, baring his throat and sending a prayer to the goddess — or any god listening — that the creature takes it as an invitation to continue its inspection and not to feast on Jaskier’s flesh and blood.

The werewolf seemingly understands as, once again, it leans forward, and puffs of breath brush Jaskier’s collarbone. It scents his armpits next, where Jaskier’s smell is the strongest, and the faun flushes bright red but doesn’t move, and then moves to his sternum, where it licks at the spot Jaskier spilled wine over himself earlier in the evening. This time Jaskier can’t keep himself from twisting away with a laugh. That doesn’t deter the creature, who continues its exploration, nosing at his soft stomach.

Emboldened by the werewolf’s peaceful behaviour, Jaskier raises his hand and pushes his fingers into the soft fur behind its ear. He scratches gingerly, and a pleased sound rumbles from the werewolf’s chest, before its snout drags along the trail of thick hair under Jaskier’s navel and buries its snout right between his legs, nudging his groin.

Jaskier yelps, curling forward reflexively at the unexpected stimulation on his sensitive prick, then pushes the large head away. “No! Bad!”

The werewolf goes willingly, though it doesn’t move far, staring at Jaskier with dilated pupils swimming in the gold of its irises. Its tongue lolls out the side of its mouth, drool gleaming over its fangs.

Flustered, Jaskier chuckles. “Guess you didn’t come here for my music, then.”

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the sarcastic look the creature gives him.

“Oh, well, don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier huffs. “I’m easy, but I’m not that easy. It takes a bit of seducing to get into my pants.”

This time, the skepticism in those golden eyes is unmistakable as they lower to the pink tip of Jaskier’s half hard prick, then rise back to his face.

“Well, what did you expect! Mating season has everyone a bit on edge,” Jaskier crosses his arms, pouting. “And anyway, I’m not arguing with you. You can’t even talk.”

Grumbling, the werewolf pushes away from the dead tree, taking its warmth with it as it leaves Jaskier alone in the clearing without a look back.

Jaskier stares after it for a long time, unbalanced, the remnants of adrenaline tingling under his skin. Well, he’d been wanting novelty and adventure. The goddess hasn’t disappointed.

Shaking his head, Jaskier slides his lute back on his lap and strums a few improvised chords, a song about moon-white fur and sun-gold eyes taking shape on his tongue.

It’s only a few minutes before a movement in the tall grass catches his attention again, and this time when he raises his head his eyes meet two sets of twin moons instead of one.

The white werewolf is back, and with it, a larger, dark brown one, staring at Jaskier with the same intensity, though it seems reluctant to come closer.

All fear forgotten, Jaskier discards his lute for good and slides down the dead tree, landing softly on the mossy ground.

“Did you bring a friend?” Jaskier asks the white werewolf as it trots up to him and nudges under his arm, sneaking behind him, its fur tickling the small of Jaskier’s back. On its four legs, the werewolf reaches just under the faun’s shoulders.

The other one observes them from a safe distance while Jaskier scritches at the white werewolf’s chin with cooing sounds, its eyes — a warmer shade of gold, almost amber — traveling from Jaskier to its friend, assessing.

Jaskier fails to muffle a gasp when it finally comes out of the shadows and the stark light of the moon puts in evidence the rough pink scars marring the right side of its face, narrowly missing one beautiful eye. The werewolf’s ears flatten at the sound and it stops, looking uncertain.

“Come on,” Jaskier coaxes softly, extending one hand in its direction. “I won’t bite.”

The werewolf huffs but resumes its careful approach, until Jaskier can feel the warmth of its breath against his fingers. With an encouraging smile, Jaskier uncurls them, brushing against the damaged skin ever so gently. He startles when a low whine rises from the werewolf’s throat, afraid he’s hurt him, but the creature steps forward, nuzzling into Jaskier’s palm.

Behind him, the white werewolf lets out a sharp bark, and Jaskier chuckles. “I’m not forgetting you, darling, I’m just saying hi to your handsome friend.”

The amber-eyed werewolf rumbles lowly and Jaskier grins, stroking its cheek, as the other one slips around him to bump its friend under the chin, catching its attention, before turning back to Jaskier and slotting its snout under his ear again, giving it a great, tickling sniff.

Emboldened by the demonstration, the dark werewolf bullies his way closer and starts its own inspection, scenting the faun more delicately than its friend, who playfully nudges at Jaskier’s ribs. The faun squeaks and laughs, swatting at him, fluttered by the intensity of their attention but submitting himself to it willingly.

Only when a large, scarred snout slots itself between his thighs again does he protest. “Goddess, you both have terrible manners! That’s not a way to behave!”

The dark werewolf pulls away with a bashful expression, amber eyes wide and apologetic, and Jaskier can’t find it in himself to admonish him. “It’s okay, sweetling. I’m not mad,” he reassures, petting the creature’s incredibly soft ears.

The two of them crowd him, the white one at his back and the bigger one nosing at his collarbone, and when a deep, husky voice rumbles, “Smell good,” there’s no mistaking where it came from.

“You can talk?” Jaskier squeaks, staring in disbelief at the dark werewolf.

It shouldn’t be that surprising, really, the werewolves always talk in the old wives tales, but because the white one hadn’t replied to him, he’d assumed they were just slightly more sentient — and incredibly horny — wolves. He’s feeling a bit foolish about how liberally he’s been petting them now, but given how the white one is currently purring under his hand he assumes they don’t really mind.

Instead of answering Jaskier’s — admittedly stupid — question, the dark werewolf licks a stripe up the side of the faun’s neck. “Taste good, too.”

Jaskier’s cheeks warm, the fire of arousal, which had been banked until now, flares bright and hot in his belly. There is something about being sandwiched between two very large, very intimidating apex predators that does it for him, apparently.

He shouldn’t even be surprised..

The white werewolf shifts behind him and Jaskier yelps as something wet nudges between his arsecheeks, prodding at his hole. He jumps forward as the dark werewolf rumbles a laugh. “Geralt also thinks you smell good.”

Jaskier moans and buries his face in the dark fur of the bigger werewolf’s collar, hiding his blush as he answers, “Well, maybe Geralt should get a taste, too.”

The growl at his back has the hair on his neck rising, and then a slick tongue is laving up his crack. Jaskier’s moan morphs into a sharp cry as teeth nip at his twitching tail. His hips buck forward and his cock fully slides out of its sheath.

“Careful, little prey,” the dark werewolf hums. “He might eat you whole.”

Behind Jaskier, a rough, gravelly voice grunts, “Eskel,” a warning and a demand for permission all at once.

The faun straightens up with a shaky inhale, boring his eyes into a serious amber gaze. Despite the teasing, threatening quality of his words, the werewolf looks uncertain, searching Jaskier for a sign of fear. His hand fisting into Eskel’s fur, Jaskier stretches up to plant a kiss on the werewolf’s mangled lip, flicking his tongue over the gleaming tooth exposed by the scar.

“I am quite a mouthful.” Jaskier grins. “It’ll take the both of you.”

Eskel’s pupils expand visibly, and that’s the only warning Jaskier’s gets before the werewolf descends on him, his tongue licking into Jaskier’s mouth into the messiest — and hottest — kiss the faun has ever been given. He gives as good as he gets, his short tail flicking excitedly, spreading pheromones of his own in the warm bubble of their embrace. Both werewolves roar ravenously at the scent of his need and a hot, hard cock slots itself between Jaskier’s thighs, smearing precome over the coarse fur of his legs. Geralt’s wide paws come to rest on the faun’s waist, almost spanning it entirely, the claws pricking his skin sending sparks up his spine. The white werewolf ruts against him and Jaskier whines into Eskel’s mouth, high and desperate.

“Fuck,” he pants, lowering his gaze and trailing a hand down his own body to squeeze at the tapered head peaking from between his thighs, wondering at the size of it compared to his palm. He whimpers, trembling at the overwhelming want coursing through his veins.

“Goddess, I need that inside me,” he mumbles as he pushes Eskel away from where he’d been licking and nipping at his freckled shoulders, bruises blooming already on the faun’s tanned skin.

Wriggling out of the werewolves’ embrace, Jaskier pads over to a thick patch of green grass, looking back at them as he kneels on the cushy ground and grabs one of his arse cheeks, spreading it as he holds his tail obligingly out of the way.

“Is one of you going to breed me, or should I take this somewhere else?” He asks archly when neither werewolf moves, staring at him with wide eyes and their considerable pricks hanging red and angry between their legs.

Falling back to his front legs, Geralt stalks forward, a predatory glint in his eyes, and Jaskier shudders with anticipation. The werewolf fits himself behind him again, paws covering his ass and spreading him further, rubbing his cock over the exposed crack.

Eskel joins them, kneeling in front of Jaskier, and the faun eagerly drops to his elbows licking his lips at the sight of the massive, drooling cock standing proudly from Eskel’s lap.

He’s going cross-eyed, wondering if he’d survive taking that monster into his throat, when Geralt licks a long, hot stripe from Jaskier’s balls to the base of his tail, dipping only briefly, teasingly into his fluttering hole. Jaskier shouts with mingled surprise and pleasure, pushing back with a plea for more when Geralt blows a cool breath over the wet area, sending shivers wracking through the faun’s entire body.

The werewolf indulges him, grabbing his hips and lifting them high, so high that Jaskier’s knees no longer touch the ground, and buries his snout into his arse, no longer teasing, his tongue lapping and prodding at Jaskier’s hole relentlessly.

His prick weeping precome over his quivering stomach, Jaskier whimpers and begs, head hung between his elbows as he watches the way Geralt devours him. It’s filthy and slick and intoxicating, and Jaskier’s body is burning up with it.

A large paw threads through his hair carefully, and his head is tugged back, met with the mouth-watering sight of Eskel’s cock bobbing just inches from his mouth. Even mindless with pleasure, Jaskier understands what is expected of him, and he lets his jaw fall open, not even trying to muster the coordination for a proper blow job but offering a slack, wet hole for Eskel to fuck.

The werewolf rumbles approvingly, rubbing the flushed head of his cock over Jaskier’s waiting tongue at the same time as Geralt finally breaches his hole.

“G— ah!” Jaskier gasps, and Eskel’s prick slips out of his mouth to slide over his cheek, leaving a wet trail. Eskel releases a low laugh and gives Jaskier a second to get used to the sensation of Geralt’s agile tongue licking at his inner walls.

When Jaskier’s breath has evened a little, he squeezes one of Eskel’s thickly muscled thighs and the werewolf takes his mouth again, thrusting deeper this time, though Jaskier can barely take half of it before choking around it.

“Fuck,” Eskel growls as Jaskier sucks and swallows as well as he can, and pride swells in the faun’s chest when he tastes a splurt of bitter precome.

Despite his girth, Eskel is gentle as he fucks Jaskier’s mouth, and the faun lets himself be grounded by the steady rhythm of the werewolf’s hips and the growing ache of his jaw as Geralt continues to open him.

Filthy sounds fill the clearing and Jaskier moans at the idea that someone from the herd might hear them. Let them, he thinks. Let them hear just how good I’m being fucked, how much I’m loving it.

It sends him spiraling faster than he can control, his prick slapping against his stomach and his hole clenching around Geralt’s tongue as the tension coils tighter and tighter in his balls.

He is standing just over the edge when Geralt pulls away from him, leaving him empty, the furl of his hole fluttering as saliva runs down his crack.

“Ah, f— fuck!” Jaskier yells as his hips thrust into empty air, seeking friction. The waves of pleasure recede, leaving behind frustration and unspent, buzzing energy. Whirling back, Jaskier snarls at Geralt, “You… asshole! I was almost there!”

The werewolf lowers Jaskier to the ground with a shit-eating grin, white fangs gleaming and heat simmering in his eyes, and Jaskier’s knees almost immediately give out when Eskel leans down to whisper in his ear, “Wouldn’t you rather come on his cock?”

Jaskier is only spared from sprawling to the ground like a newborn foal by the strength of Geralt’s grip over his hips. “Well, get on with it, then,” he snaps, though his voice comes out breathy and unstable.

Eskel’s dark chuckle raises the hair on Jaskier’s nape, and the werewolf looks over his head to speak to Geralt. “Give our needy little prey what he deserves, wolf.”

As if he’d only been waiting for the permission, Geralt throws the faun over his shoulder and stands up with a deep growl, crossing the few paces back to the dead tree and sprawling Jaskier on top of it, belly down. The moss is comfortable enough and Jaskier whines as he bucks his hips, his impatience rekindled by the pressure on his groin.

Geralt stops his movements by covering the faun’s body with his, snarling into Jaskier’s ear. When the faun stills, panting and whimpering low in his throat, Geralt straightens and spreads Jaskier’s cheeks again, the wet tip of the werewolf’s cock rubbing into his entrance.

Resting his flaming temple on the cool, dewy moss, Jaskier meets Eskel’s eyes, the werewolf watching them both as he strokes his own cock with languid swipes of his clawed hand, almost matching the pace of Geralt’s rutting.

Just as Jaskier is drawing the breath to request the werewolf stop being such a fucking tease and get on with it, Geralt pushes in in one long, hot slide, forcing the faun to open around him without a pause for him to get used to the intrusion. It burns, and Jaskier chokes as he struggles to get enough air in his lungs, but still Geralt doesn’t stop until his hips meet the back of Jaskier’s furred thighs.

Resting his sweaty forehead over the plush green moss, Jaskier takes a shaky inhale, breathing around the sensation, willing his body to relax. When he feels like he can take Geralt without splitting open, he turns his head on the side, gazing at Geralt over his shoulder.

“Come on then, what are you waiting for?”

A wild look fills Geralt’s amber eyes and Jaskier wails as the werewolf pulls out almost completely before slamming back into him, the faun’s body sliding forward with the force of his thrust. He has no time to recover as Geralt fucks into him again and again, Jaskier jostled this way and that, trying to get a good grip on the dead tree but only managing to rip chunks of moss.

Geralt remedies the problem by grasping Jaskier’s flailing arms, pulling them behind his back and holding them in a lock with one large paw, while the other rests on his left hip. With the added grip, Geralt can pull him back on his cock with each deep thrust, and Jaskier wails at the relentless drag of the burning shaft over his inner walls. His hooves hover over the ground, and he has no leverage or any sort of control over the situation, a powerless prey to the ravenous creature ravishing him.

Geralt fucks him without grace or finesse, rutting into him like the mindless animal Jaskier would have believed him to be an hour ago. As it is, Jaskier is going cross-eyed with intense, all-consuming pleasure, drool slicking his lips. The rough friction of the moss over his sensitive prick has him crying out again and again, along with the broken moans slipping from his lips every time Geralt finds his prostate with an abrupt thrust.

Jaskier reaches the edge fast but then he can’t seem to fall, the desperation building inside him with every drag of Geralt’s cock glancing over his prostate. He can’t touch himself and he can’t arch his hips to give Geralt’s ploughing a better angle. No amount of begging seems to sway the werewolf, who keeps on rutting and grinding and fucking without obvious rhythm. He’s stuck, Geralt taking his pleasure inside Jaskier’s body without much regard for Jaskier’s own, but it’s the most aroused the faun has ever been.

Geralt’s thrust become choppy and erratic after an unknown amount of time. Jaskier feels loose and like he’s ready to snap at the same time, and he doesn’t immediately notice the growing bulge bumping against his hole every time Geralt slides inside him. The confused sound that escapes his lips turns into a surprised shout when it pops inside, stretching him even wider. Geralt snarls, drooling over Jaskier’s sweaty back, and pulls out again, the knot — and Jaskier’s eyes go wide as he realises what it is — making a squelching sound as it pops out.

It catches on Jaskier’s rim with every thrust now, growing larger and larger as Geralt approaches his peak, growling and snarling like an enraged beast, his claws tearing chunks out of the dead tree, splinters flying around them and falling to the ground. Jaskier is mewling with it, scared and eager for the knot to stretch him, fill him, wreck him.

Fangs prick at Jaskier’s freckled shoulder, grazing his skin in the ghost of a bite, and finally, Jaskier spills with a shout, clenching hard around Geralt’s knot, preventing it from slipping out. Geralt howls, thrusting another couple of times before he reaches his own peak, grinding against Jaskier’s ass as his cock pulses load after load of come deep inside him. It pushes Jaskier’s stomach to rub against a pool of his own semen, smearing it all over himself, but he’s too out of it to protest, mouth gaping, twitching with the last waves of his orgasm.

Geralt’s movements weaken, his cock still milking come into Jaskier, and the werewolf whines as he licks Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Good boy,” Jaskier slurs, face smooshed into the moss, his entire body tingling.

Gathering him in his arms, Geralt lowers them to the ground, propping himself up against the fallen tree, Jaskier cradled on his chest. The faun cries out as the shift in position jostles the knot inside him, and Geralt pets his sides apologetically.

“How long will it take to go down?” Jaskier asks when his sensitivity has receded a little, burying his face into Geralt’s neck, breathing in the warm, musky scent of his fur.

“Not long now,” comes Eskel’s voice from above him, and Jaskier turns his head to find him close, watching the both of them with warm amber eyes. Jaskier shivers, both from the weight of that gaze and the cool breeze over his damp skin, and the dark werewolf crawls closer, enclosing the faun between his and Geralt’s bodies. Eskel noses at Jaskier’s chest, the faun wriggling weakly when the wet snout brushes at his nipples. A long, warm tongue laves over his stomach, and it takes Jaskier’s come-addled brain several second to understand Eskel is lapping at the seed smeared over him.

Jaskier keens when Eskel’s attentions turn to his spent cock, licking at the tip to tease out the last droplets of come, and when the faun pushes his head away, the werewolf noses his way down his sheath and balls to where Jaskier and Geralt are still tied. Geralt’s knot is only now starting to go down, deflating slowly, and Eskel laps at the semen that leaks out of Jaskier’s hole. When Geralt finally slips out, a rush of come following it, Eskel replaces it with his tongue, curling inside Jaskier’s abused hole.

The faun sobs at the sensation, both soothing and too much, but submits himself to Eskel’s thorough cleaning. When the werewolf is satisfied, he rises, fitting himself between Geralt and Jaskier’s open legs. His large, heavy cock rubs in the crease of Jaskier’s hip as he leans down to nose at his neck, and then further to nip at Geralt’s ear affectionately when the white werewolf lets out a needy rumble.

He pulls back, straightening up, his paws coming to spread Jaskier’s thighs further, and watches where his cock slides against Jaskier’s, teasing his prick out of its sheath again. Mating season always does wonders on the faun’s stamina, and he’s never been so grateful about it.

“Please, Eskel, I want—“ Jaskier whines when the werewolf doesn’t do anything to move things along, his gaze locked on their weeping cocks. One large paw comes to trap them together against Jaskier’s stomach, and the faun gasps, though the friction is far from enough to do anything else than taunt him.

The werewolf rumbles, his gaze dark, and when Jaskier lowers his eyes to see what he’s looking at, he almost comes all over himself.

Eskel’s cock slides over his flat stomach, the tip reaching almost all the way up to his navel, and Jaskier keens at the thought of it inside him, tearing him apart. His impatience rekindled, he hooks his ankles behind the werewolf, pulling his hips flush against Jaskier’s backside and demanding, as archly as he is able to when he’s burning up with want, “Are you gonna put that thing inside me, big boy, or do I have to find someone else to breed me full?”

The werewolf’s fangs flash in the moonlight as he smiles, a dangerous, predatory glint in his eyes. Still, he is gentle when he hikes Jaskier’s hips higher with an arm wrapped behind his back, almost folding him in half, cradling his head in his broad palm. Underneath them, Geralt purrs lazily, content with his head resting on Jaskier’s shoulder to observe the proceedings.

With the last of Geralt’s come slicking the way, Eskel slides in a slow, smooth glide, coaxing Jaskier to open for him as the faun tries to relax. It’s the largest cock Jaskier has ever taken, and it fills him to the brim, but his body welcomes it, needs it. Every one of his nerve ending sings, and Jaskier gasps wetly as Eskel bottoms out.

Pulling out slowly, until only the tapered tip of his cock stretches the rim of Jaskier’s hole, Eskel breathes huskily, “Good?”

Jaskier has to remember how to form words, mouth gaping open as he stares sightlessly into the starry sky, but he manages to answer after a moment, eager for Eskel to fill him again.“Y— yes, very good, Eskel, fuck— please, move, I need it—“ Jaskier’s pleading is cut off with a sharp cry as Eskel complies, sliding home again.

The werewolf builds a slow and steady rhythm, so controlled in contrast to Geralt’s earlier mindless rutting that Jaskier mewls in confusion. He would try and fuck himself back on Eskel’s cock to encourage him to go faster, but Geralt’s paws are on his hips, preventing him from doing anything else than writhing helplessly.

A weird sensation in his stomach makes Jaskier lower his eyes, and he gasps at the sight that greets him. With every deep thrust in, a small bump appears in Jaskier’s lower belly, his skin stretching over the tip of Eskel’s cock. One hand comes to cradle the bulge like a precious thing, mesmerised by it, and Eskel growls wildly, possessive and as desperate as Jaskier is feeling.

The press of his hand makes the sensations even more vivid, and Jaskier pants at how Eskel seems to touch the deepest parts of him, hoping he isn’t drooling over himself. With how boneless and desperate he feels at the way he is being used, he really can’t be sure.

Underneath him, Geralt shifts and whines, slowly getting hard again, his dick rubbing against Jaskier’s lower back. Mad with desire, Jaskier hears a stream of pleading nonsense spill from his lips, begging for more even though he feels like he’s going to explode at the slightest touch.

One of Geralt’s paws leave Jaskier’s hips and soon after Jaskier can feel the nudge of his cock against his hole, where Eskel is still thrusting rhythmically. The faun cries out in both arousal and alarm, wanting Geralt to slide in next to Eskel even though he knows there is no way for him to take it. He finds himself hurtling fast towards his peak as he imagines the both of them knotting him.

Eskel growls and snaps at Geralt, the two of them fighting for control, for the right to Jaskier’s body, while the faun is jostled, limbs weak and unresponsive, between them.

The dark werewolf gets the upper hand and Geralt grumbles but submits, his cock slipping to Jaskier’s lower crack again. Eskel licks into the other werewolf’s mouth, affection filling his amber eyes, and Geralt accepts it begrudgingly, though Jaskier can feel the jump of his cock at the sloppy kiss.

Impatient, feeling petty at being ignored by the two werewolves while one of them is buried hilt deep into his ass, Jaskier moans and mewls exaggeratedly, blinking wide, wet eyes at Eskel. “Please, Eskel, I need you… I need more…”

It does bring the attention back on him, though Eskel’s smirk is knowing, and he chuckles when Jaskier curses him as he pulls out entirely, leaving his hole gaping open, empty and clenching around nothing.

Jaskier screams in frustration, his hooves kicking in the air, trying to land a blow on the infuriatingly smug werewolf, but Eskel catches his ankles in one paw, tugging him closer.

The faun allows himself to be manhandled with a pout until the werewolves settle into a new position, Eskel and Geralt kneeling in front of each other while Jaskier hangs suspended between them, his back against Eskel’s chest and his knees hooked over Geralt’s arm.

Again, Eskel’s cock breaches his hole as the werewolf lowers him into his lap, the new angle pushing a raw whine out of Jaskier’s lips. The werewolf resumes fucking him with his ever steady thrust, and Jaskier loses himself to it, head thrown back on Eskel’s shoulder, until something pokes at him and he opens his eyes with effort to see the head of Geralt’s cock peeking from his thighs. Thrusting in and out, wetting Jaskier’s fur with precome, Geralt drags his cock over the faun’s balls as he uses his thighs like he did his hole.

Between the paired sensations of Eskel’s cock splitting his ass, hitting his prostate every time, and Geralt stimulating his prick as he fucks Jaskier’s thighs, it’s not long before the faun peaks to his second orgasm, pushed out of him with a cry.

Eskel gentles his thrusts, avoiding Jaskier’s oversensitive prostate, but neither he nor Geralt stop completely. They drag their own pleasure out of Jaskier’s body for what feels like hours to the almost delirious faun, a pliant ragdoll for them to fuck their seed into.

When finally Eskel locks up and comes, grinding into Jaskier until the faun’s stomach bulges the slightest bit, Jaskier sobs in relief. Geralt follows soon after, popping his knot in the tight clench of Jaskier’s thighs, covering the faun’s torso with stripes of hot come, matting his fur and pooling into the hollow of his throat.

Before it has even time to cool, Jaskier slips into an exhausted sleep.

Blades of sun-warmed glass caressing his skin wakes Jaskier a few hours later. Smiling at the tell-tale scent of sex that clings to him, he stretches languidly with a jaw-cracking yawn, deciding against opening his eyes just yet.

He snakes a hand down his torso, bypassing his still-sensitive cock to prod at the tenderness of his puffy hole. All traces of come and sweat and dirt has been washed away from his body, but when he plunges two fingers into himself, he finds he’s still wet there, marked with the evidence of last night’s incredible coupling. With a self-satisfied sigh, he brings his sticky digits to his mouth, cleaning them with lazy licks.

A soft but heartfelt “fuck” startles him and he opens his eyes to meet a familiar golden gaze in a not-at-all familiar face.

The man looking down at him has long, tangled white hair and smells distinctly of wet fur. He seems as surprised and confused as Jaskier is feeling, but before the faun can speak up, another voice calls from the direction of the little stream.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, little prey.”

A very naked and very wet man with brown skin and a mean scar across his right cheek walks towards them, droplets of water sliding enticingly down the soft lines of his body.

“Eskel?” Jaskier squeaks, his throat suddenly very dry.

The tanned man nods with a smile as he crouches down next to him, amber eyes soft and warm. “How are you feeling?”

“I— good, thank you,” Jaskier stammers, blushing a deep red as a twinge in his core reminds him of just what exactly he let those two handsome men do to him a few hours prior.

“Here, drink some water,” Eskel hands Jaskier a flask filled with fresh spring water. “You should eat too. Geralt picked some berries while you were asleep.”

Geralt’s frown is belied by the pretty pink flushing his cheeks as he offers Jaskier a handful of plump wild strawberries, and the faun accepts them with a tentative smile, his stomach rumbling accordingly. The tart taste of the berries bring water to his mouth, and he jumps a little when Geralt noses at his neck, sniffing, much like he had done in his wolf form.

“Fuck, Esk,” the man groans. “He smells like the both of us.”

A possessive arm snakes around Jaskier’s waist and he lets himself be pulled flush to Geralt’s sun-kissed body, holding back a smirk. “That’s not really surprising, given that you came all over me, as well as inside.” And damn, if Jaskier doesn’t feel smug about it.

Both men groan and Eskel tips forward to cover the faun with his body, biting his lips and licking into his mouth, while Geralt’s fingers slip down to prod at Jaskier’s hole. The faun hisses, and the men immediately pull away, worry and uncertainty written into their eyes.

“As much as I’d love going another round with you two looking like this,” he encompasses their glorious nakedness with a flourish of his hand, “I don’t think I’ll be up for the challenge for at least a day or two.”

Eskel and Geralt exchange a long, meaningful look as the white-haired man lowers his head to nibble at Jaskier’s freckled shoulder, and Eskel huffs, shaking his head good-humouredly. “We’re heading south for the summer to meet our brother. I think you’d like him, and he, you. I mean, if you… were keen on accompanying us.”

Glee bubbling in his chest at the thought of adventures and songs and lots and lots of mind-blowing sex, Jaskier brushes a sweet kiss on Eskel’s flushed cheek. “Oh, darling. Just try and get rid of me now.”

#watb #what about the bard #geralt/jaskier/eskel #geraskel #geralt #jaskier #eskel #the witcher fanfiction #werewolves #nsft #my fic

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bi-aragorn · 3 years ago

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Sleeping Wolves

Finally answering this from the old blog for @mayastormborn

(Soft somno prompt!! Preferably with pre-established consent, your choice of starring cast)

Anyway, ask and ye shall receive many many months later-

Here on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

CW for somnophilia (it’s consensual)

Further Tags: Frottage, Grinding, Finger Sucking, Eskel Has A Scent Kink, Sleepy Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Naked Cuddling, Winter at Kaer Morhen, Established Relationship

Pairing: Geraskel

sleepy smut hidden below!

It had been a particularly cold day, followed by a particularly cold evening by the time Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier trundled up the icy stone stairs to bed. Jaskier was shivering under the furs they had wrapped him in, and Eskel had one hand on his back, guiding him towards their room with a concerned frown on his face. Geralt was only a few steps ahead, glancing back over his shoulder at their frozen bard every few seconds, and already wondering if they had enough wood for the fire.

The middle of winter in Kaer Morhen was always like this, and though the Witchers were used to it, Jaskier was not. They had been plying him with hot drinks all day as it was, and he was still trembling from the cold.

Jaskier’s fingers clutching desperately at the blankets as Eskel herded him into the room and straight into the bed. Eskel tutted and muttered under his breath, holding Jaskier's hands between his own to warm them up as he nudged the bard under the covers. He glanced back and watched as Geralt shot a burst of igni into the fireplace, a warm orange glow lighting up the room and catching Geralt's eyes.

“Still the fastest way I’ve ever got a fire lit,” Geralt murmured, flashing a quick smile over at Eskel. “Just like you showed me,”

Eskel hummed, and crawled onto the bed next to Jaskier, chuckling when he felt a cold nose press against his neck.

"Melitele's tits," Jaskier cursed, wriggling closer, "how do you stand it up here?"

Across the room, Geralt was making sure the windows were firmly shut against the cold, piling wood by the fire and cramming an old rug in the gap under the door that always let in the coldest breeze. Finally, the room seemed sufficiently winter-proofed for his tastes and Eskel watched again as he tugged off his boots and stripped down to his smalls. Jaskier shivered against him, as if even the thought of taking his clothes off was too much. He didn't seem to mind, though, when Geralt slipped into bed beside him, snuggling up close, warm hands wrapping around his hips. The soft little pants Jaskier was breathing against Eskel's neck made them both shiver, and Eskel reached to wrap his arm around both Geralt and Jaskier's shoulders, bringing them all closer together.

"Skin to skin contact would keep you warmer, you know, Jask," Geralt murmured, pressing a kiss against Jaskier's soft hair, and breathing in the smell of him. He let out a contented sigh, his eyes falling shut. Jaskier wriggled in his grasp.

"If you think I'm getting out of this bed for even a second, you're mad," he grumbled, squirming deeper into his cocoon of blankets. Geralt chuckled, and let the bard loose, happy to just watch for now as Eskel brought Jaskier closer to his chest.

They made such a pretty picture together- Jaskier was by no means a small man, but compared to Eskel he looked somehow delicate. Snuggled so close together, the ends of their hair had tangled a little, and Geralt smiled softly, utterly enamoured at the sight of them. They wore their hair at the same length now, though Eskel's was a little darker than Jaskier's. Jaskier had taken to wearing more red now, too, another small similarity they shared that made Geralt's heart swell fit to burst.

Geralt stared at the tender way Eskel reached out from under the covers to run a hand across Jaskier's back. When he leant down to murmur into the bard's ear, Geralt's view was obscured by the dark strands of hair falling across Eskel's face. Geralt sighed, leaning up to prop himself up on an elbow, his chin resting in his hand. Jaskier let out a quiet huff, and at last, Eskel managed to peel him out of his doublet and chemise, flinging them onto the floor to be dealt with later. Jaskier whined as Eskel removed his own shirt, and wasted no time in shoving his face into Eskel's chest, letting out a low groan as he did so. Eskel met Geralt's eyes over the top of him, a smile glinting in his eyes at their bard's theatrics.

It didn't take long after that to finish getting Jaskier out of his cold clothes, and snuggled up warm between them. Geralt fell asleep with his head on Jaskier's shoulder, and Eskel's arm wrapped around his waist.

---

Jaskier wasn't sure what time it was when he next woke up, the room still too dark to see much with human eyes. The fire had burnt down to a small orange glow, but Jaskier found that he wasn't cold- it was hard to be when he was trapped between his two lovers.

At first, he wasn't quite sure what had woken him, mind still foggy with sleep. But then he heard a low groan from behind him, and felt something pressing up against his arse. Eskel's arm had him fixed in place, as he realised blearily what was going on. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as Eskel rutted against him again, his cock hot and hard against Jaskier's arse. Carefully, so as not to wake the others, Jaskier brought his hand up to his face, smothering the little gasps that Eskel drew out of him.

The feeling of Eskel's breath ghosting over his neck had Jaskier biting down on his lip, his hips thrusting forward, searching desperately for some friction. It wasn't until he heard Geralt's answering moan that he realised this had the unintended consequence of grinding their cocks together. Jaskier shuddered, feeling his cock get harder still as Geralt's hand slid down to grasp at his thigh.

Jaskier's breath was coming out in tiny, shaky gasps as Geralt began to grind against him, gripping his thigh so tight he was sure it would bruise. The thought had him moaning, cock leaking already, grinding up against him. Behind him, Eskel whined, missing the warmth of his body and rolled closer, rutting up against Jaskier's arse faster, and faster.

Jaskier shuddered, feeling so needy already, wanting more, but not wanting to break the atmosphere. Instead, he reached down and pushed his underwear to his knees, shivering as the air reached the tip of his cock. Hastily, he tugged down Geralt's as well, and had to shove two fingers in his mouth to silence himself at the heat coming off him. He panted, sucking messily at his fingers as he felt Geralt's cock leak onto his, and all the while Eskel kept thrusting against him, growling in the back of his throat. He was close, so close already, but gods how could he not be with his two lovers grinding against him like this? So messily, so sweetly, the little cut off growls bursting from their mouths, panting against him as they all drew closer.

One of these days I'll have to blow them whilst they're sleeping, Jaskier thought blearily, see what pretty sounds they make then.

The final thought pushed him over the edge, and Jaskier was coming, whining around his fingers, hips thrusting erratically against Geralt's hips. Shakily, he reached down, wrapping his damp fingers around Geralt's cock. Geralt shuddered, his head thumping against Jaskier's chest as he came with a deep moan.

Jaskier was still shuddering, Geralt's weight against his chest pushing him back more firmly against Eskel. Just as he was gathering his breath, about to reach to help Eskel along too, he heard the witcher sniffing. Suddenly, Eskel howled, fucking forward again, his dick sliding between Jaskier's thighs as he came, sniffing the air frantically, hands scrabbling towards his mates. He kept rutting against them, slowing down gradually, whimpering as he came down from it. He collapsed against Jaskier in the middle of the bed, and the bard groaned, crushed between the two of them again. A moment later, he realised he could hear soft snoring noises coming from his left, and heavy breathing tickling the hairs on his chest. Lovely as it was to be warm at last in the Keep, Jaskier found that he was now unbearably sticky.

“Ugh,” he groaned, extracting himself carefully from the warm pile of limbs. Taking a moment to clean himself up, he glanced back and saw that in his absence, they had cuddled up closer together, looking more like a pair of puppies than the large, strong men he knew them to be. Well, if they were still asleep- Jaskier smiled to himself, wriggling back under the covers and easing his way between them- he might as well test out his earlier thought about blowjobs…

#the witcher #witcher fic #shay's writing #geraskel #geraskel smut #geralt #eskel #jaskier

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soiruntotheriver · 3 years ago

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By Melitele, I’ve done it. Project Witcher Burlesque AU is a go.

________

Geralt accepted the call and waited, knowing that Eskel could hear him breathing.

“Hey, man. Sorry to interrupt your ‘me time’, but I’m afraid the old girl’s finally given out.”

Geralt huffed.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I should’ve traded her in years ago, but we both know that was never gonna happen. So let’s just skip to the part where you agree to pick me up and I promise to buy you one of those gross green drinks you like on the way home.”

Geralt sighed and racked the fifty pound weight he’d been doing curls with.

“That’s the spirit.”

Read on.

#H writes fic #Geraskier #Jeskel #Geraskel #the witcher fic #enjoy!

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crushcandles · 2 years ago

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[Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel, TWN, 373, alpha/omega/alpha]

Eskel appears through the bushes near midnight. Geralt's alone at the fire. His neck prickles and he reaches for his sword, but relaxes when he makes out Eskel's shape, scents him, tired but triumphant.

"Good evening, stranger," Eskel says, smiling, swinging his own sword sheath off his back.

"You were gone a week. I didn't forget you."

Eskel sits on a rock near Geralt, sighing as his arse hits the hot stone, as he drops his sword beside him.

"I saw you reaching," he murmurs. He rubs his chin. "I know I haven't shaved, but I can't look that different."

"I recognize you," Geralt insists. He shrugs his shoulders in his cloak uncomfortably and stares down the fire. "I'm just on edge."

Eskel stretches luxuriantly until his spine pops. "Hmm, why? More bandits and monsters than when I left?"

"No," Geralt says as the fire pops, showering sparks down on the dirt in front of their boots. "Jaskier's in heat."

Eskel leans forward, firelight catching on his stubble, making the gleam in his eye sparkle. "Oh," he murmurs. "And you can't take care of him yourself?"

That rankles Geralt enough that he huffs from deep in his chest. He found Jaskier first, protected him from interlopers, and mated with him for years before Eskel joined them.

"I can," Geralt grunts. "You just never know who's going to come through the trees in the middle of the night."

Eskel snorts and puts a calming hand on Geralt's leg. "I'll help you rip apart any other bastard who comes here."

"Thanks," Geralt says, hackles lowering with each pass on Eskel's fingers over his thigh. It's a relief to have him back, to see him well, and know he's looking out for them. Geralt touches his wrist, the strength of the bones, the softness of the skin there.

Eskel pets Geralt and allows Geralt to pet him in return for a moment before he squeezes Geralt's leg and stands. He reaches for the leather belt around his waist that holds his potions satchel and smaller weapons, unbuckling it, draping it over his sword.

"Hold the watch a little longer," he murmurs, passing his hand over Geralt's fire-warm forehead, through his hair before heading to the tent.

#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#this is not the crushcandles a/b/o you're looking for #but it is /a/ crushcandles a/b/o #my fic #geraskel #??#the witcher #a/b/o

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funkylittlebard · 3 years ago

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Sweet Dreams, Buttercup

hey @dont-trust-humanity have fic, happedy bappedy hope you had a great day!

Here on Ao3

Rating: Gen

Tags: Slice of Life, Domestic Fluff, Modern AU this is thoroughly plotless aha

Hiding below is some Geralt/ Eskel/ Jaskier fluffy slice of life stuff... hope you like it!!

The first thing Jaskier became aware of as he awoke was the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He grunted, rolled over, and jammed his head under a pillow, keen to get just a little more sleep despite the delicious smell wafting closer. He had arrived home sometime after three in the morning, so whatever time this was, it was too early. He snuffled into the pillow, and wiggled further into the mattress, his breathing heavy as he slipped between sleep and wakefulness.

Someone sat down on the bed beside him. He whined, half-heartedly trying to cling onto the pillow as it was eased from his grasp. He kept his eyes tightly closed and pouted even as he felt a large hand start to scratch at his scalp just the way he liked.

“‘M not gonna get up just for some scritches,” he mumbled into the bed. A deep laugh resonated behind him, and Jaskier smiled softly as he recognised it as Eskel’s. He flopped a hand in Eskel’s direction and a happy sound rumbled through him when he felt the man pick it up and rub small circles into his palm. Despite his claim to the contrary, Jaskier soon found himself shuffling over to Eskel’s lap for some cuddles and affection. Eskel pressed a kiss to his temple and Jaskier sighed, leaning into it. Then yelped as Eskel hefted him up into his arms and stood before walking towards the kitchen.

Jaskier clung tightly to his boyfriend’s shoulders as they moved, trusting Eskel not to drop him, but finding he was still a little scared. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was set down on the counter with another delicate kiss to the top of his head. Soon a cup of coffee was pressed into his hands, and Jaskier took a sip as he glanced about the room. Pancakes were sizzling on the stove, and someone had already gotten out the maple syrup and three sets of cutlery. Right as he began to wonder where Geralt had got to, the man strode back into the room, already dressed for work and draining his cup of coffee. He leant down to give Jaskier a quick kiss, before moving to the coffee machine without a word. From the stove, Eskel chuckled- it was a well-known fact, and source of great amusement, that there was no use in expecting words from Geralt until he’d had at least two cups of coffee in the morning. After which, he became terrifyingly competent again. It gave Jaskier whiplash each morning without fail. He shook his head fondly, and rubbed his hand down Geralt’s arm, smiling at the happy rumble he heard in response.

They stayed in companionable silence for a minute, with only the whirring sound of the coffee machine and the hissing sound of Eskel’s pancakes audible. Jaskier stifled a yawn behind his hand, and shivered, feeling suddenly cold. He should’ve pinched one of Eskel’s jumpers… they were far too large on him, and provided the best sweater paws. He took another sip of his coffee and considered moving to go and find one...but no. He didn’t want to miss a second with his boys before they had to go to work.

“What time you working, Esk?” he asked, swinging his bare legs through the air. Eskel flipped a pancake and slid it onto the plate at his side.

“I’ve got to be over there for twelve today, I think,” he said, turning back to his pan with a look of intense concentration on his face.

As Jaskier thought about this, soft hair tickled the underside of his chin. He chuckled, face lighting up with glee, as Geralt snuggled in, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s neck.

“Morning,” he grunted. Jaskier rubbed his nose into Geralt’s hair, inhaling the woody smell of his boyfriend.

“Morning,” he said, words tumbling out of him with a sigh.

Geralt’s breath was warm against his neck, and another time when he was less tired it might have inspired a different reaction from Jaskier, but that morning all it made Jaskier want was a hug. Both of his boyfriends gave such good hugs, even if Geralt was a grumpy bastard who occasionally had to be cajoled into it. They were both just so broad, and their arms were so strong, and Jaskier always felt completely safe wrapped in their embrace. He held his arms out in front of himself expectantly. Geralt, too sleepy to protest, grumbled and practically fell into Jaskier’s waiting embrace.

A soft huff of air burst out of Jaskier’s mouth with an “oof” as Geralt’s bulk slammed into him. He giggled a little breathlessly, and pulled Geralt in closer, hiding his nose in the soft white waves falling over Geralt’s shoulders.

Sadly, Geralt soon wriggled out of his grasp and snatched up the plates from Eskel, rushing to the other room with them. Jaskier chuckled to himself and slipped down from the counter. Eskel turned to meet him, smiling sweetly at him- and grabbed him around the waist, throwing him over his shoulder for the second time that morning. Jaskier yelped and wriggled in his grasp.

“You absolute brute- Geralt defend me!” he cried. Geralt glanced up at them and snorted, sitting down as he rolled his eyes at the two of them. Eskel laughed quietly and deposited him in his seat without fuss, thoroughly immune to Jaskier’s spluttered protests after so many years together.

Once they had sat down, Geralt dug into his food at alarming speed. Jaskier stared at him, wide-eyed.

“In a bit of a rush, are we?” he asked, his first forkful still hovering in front of his mouth. Geralt nodded at him, and waved his hand towards the door.

“Wanted to have breakfast with you. But I need to leave-” he glanced at the time on his phone- “now,” he swallowed his last bite of food, inhaled the last dregs of his coffee, and bent over the table to press a slightly sticky kiss to Eskel’s cheek. He reached over and ruffled Jaskier’s hair, pulling the sleepy man into a quick hug before snatching his keys off the hook and slamming the door closed behind him.

Jaskier blinked sluggishly. “Did he…” he started, rubbing at his eyes. Eskel nodded.

“Yeah, he’s gone,” he said as he began to clear away the plates. “How about you and I go get cosy on the sofa for a bit?” Jaskier staggered to his feet, and slumped against Eskel’s chest.

“Carry me,” he mumbled into the solid chest in front of him. “‘M falling back to sleep. Your cooking is too good,” he said, feeling extremely reluctant to let go of Eskel’s warm body. Was it too much to ask that he could spend the whole day following a long night at work snuggling with his boyfriends? He didn’t care- if he didn’t get cuddles in the next five minutes, Jaskier was going to write a very whiny song about the matter. He groaned happily as Eskel lead him over to the sofa and waited placidly as the other man wrapped him up in his favourite blanket. He snuggled back into Eskel’s chest, giggling when strong arms moved to hold him in place. His eyelids already felt heavy again… Eskel would just have to move him when he needed to go to work because Jaskier was exactly where he wanted to be right now. He yawned and snuggled up closer to Eskel, turning his head to rest it on his collarbone. The last thing he felt before drifting back off was a soft kiss to his temple and the whisper of Eskel’s breath as he spoke.

“Sweet dreams, buttercup.”

#my writing #the witcher #witcher fic #geralt #eskel #jaskier #geraskel

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 3 years ago

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Eskel Gets Nice Things Fic Rec List

With season 2 of The Witcher nearly upon us, I thought now would be a good time to share some of my favorite fics where nice things happen to Eskel (for reasons totally unrelated to certain rumors.) The below vary as far as rating, length, and ships, but all are fluffy to low angst completed stories. Thanks to @rawrkinjd, @eyesofshinigami, and @iboughtaplant for your help in compiling it!

Eskel/Jaskier

Uncommon by Descarda: E, 11K. A very soft, sexy fic where Jaskier is a prostitute who has been nursing a crush on Eskel for years and jumps at a chance to lavish him with attention.

Eskel's Spa Day by mayatheyellowbee: M, 4K. Eskel doesn't think anyone should bother giving him nice things and Jaskier spends a day in Kaer Morhen's hot springs showing him how wrong he is. Very fluffy and hot, with background Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier/Lambert.

A Love as True as Mine by eyesofshinigami: E, 2K. A sweet PWP set in a modern AU where Eskel is a beefy farmer and Jaskier is a country singer who decides to wake his lover up in the best way.

What The Tide Brings by xxenjoy: T, 3K. A delightful lighthouse keeper!Eskel, mermaid!Jaskier AU where Jaskier tries to court Eskel by leaving mysterious gifts for him.

Jaskier's Eskel Obsession by Hallianna: A series of darling one-shots, rated between T and E and all under 2K, where Eskel and Jaskier are a married couple that just can't get enough of each other.

Eskel/Geralt

Growing pains by apuzzlingprince: G, 4K. A cute, hijinks-filled fic where Eskel and Geralt are still trainees at Kaer Morhen determined to bag trophies for their bedroom door, with mixed results.

Love Looks Not With Eyes by aleatory_fox: T, 8K. Fairy!Eskel is charged with the thankless task of guarding his ungrateful community, until he meets single dad Geralt and his daughter, Ciri. This one is an absolutely delightful fic about two lonely people finding and valuing each other.

Honey, You're Familiar Like My Mirror Years Ago by stevie_RST: 4K. A soft, sweet story where Eskel is a witch and Geralt is his familiar. When they both temporarily lose their powers and Geralt gets stuck in his cat form, they have to confront their feelings for each other.

Its Eyes Are For the Stars by inexplicifics: T, 3K. A lovely modern with magic AU featuring fire lookout Eskel and park ranger Geralt, who are childhood friends reunited after years of not seeing each other.

Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier

And For My Next Trick... by Hum My Name: T, 3K. A delightful modern AU where Eskel goes to see a magic show starring Jaskier the Illusionist and his assistant, Geralt and the magic tricks are the last interesting part of the performance.

The Infamous Kaer Morhen Petting Zoo Trip by JinxedAmbitions: E, 5K. This one is technically a WIP, but the first chapter stands alone as a hilarious, charming fic in its own right where Jaskier is a teacher who takes his class to the petting zoo on a field trip... but it's not the animals that Jaskier wants to pet.

On Top of Someone Else's Love by mayatheyellowbee: Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, E, 5K. This is a really lovely post-mountain fic where Jaskier falls in love with Eskel and then realizes that Eskel and Geralt have been harboring feelings for each other for years. It's sweet, smutty, and full of characters actually communicating.

Twirl Three Notes and Make a Star by inexplicifics: Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, E, 33K. Eskel gets a vacation and finally gets to admit his feelings to his longtime love. It's part of the larger Accidental Warlord verse, where nice things happen to all our favorite witchers, but this is one of my favorite installments in the series because it's nice to see Eskel get to take a break.

Eskel/Lambert

over fire and water by catoptric_lunarian: Eskel/Lambert, M, 1K. Eskel and Lambert reunite for the winter, with very soft, slightly smutty results.

With You (Nowhere Else I'd Rather Be) by stevie_RST: Eskel/Lambert, T, 3K. Some very soft Lambskel modern slice of life, with lots of banter and fluff.

This Is How Our Story Starts by eyesofshinigami: Eskel/Lambert, M, 7K. An absolutely adorable fic featuring librarian!Eskel and Lambert both being nerds and bonding over a series of books that they both love.

#the witcher #eskel #jaskel #jeskel #eskier #eskralt #gerskel #geskel #geraskel #lambskel #fic rec #long post

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limerental · 4 years ago

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under the sky, chasing our fears

eskel/geralt, eskel/geralt/yennefer, eskel/yennefer

for @witchertrashbag for the @fisstech-and-succubi exchange event

summary

Eskel normally attends masked kink party for some semblance of anonymity, but he gets more than he bargained for when he runs into Yennefer leading a blindfolded and collared Geralt behind her. Knowing that the brothers have long had complicated desires for one another, forbidden by their school from being intimate with one another, Yennefer gives Eskel the chance to play voyeur for the night.

Geralt believes he is being watched by the illusion of the man he desires most, Eskel believes that Geralt would never truly look at him that way and will hate him if he ever discovers the truth, and Yennefer is wondering why she didn't think to try this little trick sooner.

content warnings

dubious consent issues due to deliberately concealed identities, treats the relationship between eskel and geralt as pseudo-incest, frequent reference to them as brothers bordering on incest kink, if that ain't your thing avoid reading

excerpt

You want to watch.

Eskel choked on his wine.

How do you know what I want?

A guess, she said, wrapping Geralt’s lead around the slender length of her wrist to shorten it. She watched Eskel’s gaze catch on the way the collar lifted against the underside of Geralt’s jaw. And wishful thinking. I enjoy being watched. He won’t know that it’s you.

He’ll know it’s me. My scent. My heart rate.

I’ve already masked both. He won’t know that it’s you.

She felt the thrill of disbelieving excitement and anxiety tremble through their connection. A faint tinge of guilt, knowing it was wrong to want to watch, knowing what it would do to them if his brother found out but also struggling to find the energy to care. Geralt wouldn’t find out.

She brushed beyond the surface of his thoughts and found them teeming with sordid fantasies, all tinged with the echo of Geralt can never find out.

Ah, Eskel, she thought, amused. You’re not quite the good boy everyone assumes you to be, are you?

Shut up. The connection fizzled and went quiet.

read on ao3

#my fic #mind the content warnings please #this is my long time coming brotherfucker fic #geralt x eskel #geralt x eskel x yennefer #geraskel

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years ago

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Touch prompt! 14: After a bruise

“What is that?”

Geralt’s bard is staring at him in horror.

Eskel flinches out of habit but quickly forces himself to calm down. There’s no reason that Jaskier would react to his scars like that, not when he’d met him a few days prior and paid no such mind to the disfiguration, jabbering brightly instead about how Geralt’s told him so much about you, Eskel, I just know we’re going to be the very best of friends!

(Eskel had looked to Geralt, bemused. Since when does Geralt tell anyone so much about anything?)

Before Eskel can parse the bard’s horrified expression, Jaskier strides to his side and places three feather-light fingers on his collarbone. “Whatever happened to you, darling? This looks dreadful, it must hurt something awful. I’ve a salve of arnica in my pack, I’ll have to fetch it for you.”

Eskel feels warmth flood his face at the tenderness of the fingers on the deep mottled bruise, the earnest concern on Jaskier’s face. He seems to be awaiting an answer, Eskel realizes suddenly, so he says, “Had a tussle with a couple of wraiths the night before I headed up. Got shoved chest-first into a sarcophagus. Not my greatest night.”

Jaskier tuts sympathetically, pulling the loose shirt collar back and over his shoulder to better assess the bruising. Behind him, Geralt leans against the doorframe, a strange, soft smile on his face, one Eskel’s rarely seen since they were boys.

“Now you stay right here and I’ll be back with the arnica. Geralt, can you help him get this shirt off?” Jaskier flits to the staircase, darting up three steps at a time.

Eskel stares at the floor. He can feel the slight pressure from the fingertips linger.

Geralt laughs, not unkindly, as Eskel pulls the thin shirt over his head. “I’d say you get used to it, but...”

The silence hangs between them until Jaskier returns with his usual gusto, brandishing the rich, golden substance in a squat glass jar. “Here we are,” he says, dipping into the medicine before he brings a gentle hand to Eskel’s bruised chest. He massages him carefully, delicate fingers rubbing the salve into the discolored skin of his neck, collarbone, and shoulder.

Eskel blinks furiously at the unexpected moisture welling in his eyes.

Jaskier glances to meet his eyes, but instead of mockery or worse, pity, he answers with a soft, knowing smile. He plants his left hand on Eskel’s unbruised shoulder, ostensibly to ground himself as he works on the other, but the overwhelming feeling of warmth that floods through the witcher knows that it’s for his benefit, as well.

He lets the bard continue his ministrations, unnecessary as they may be, and doesn’t question it when the touch lingers, just skimming the area with gentle, affectionate fingers.

And long after Geralt and his bard have gone to bed, Eskel sits by the fireplace. For the first time in years, he feels truly human.

#hi eskel's love language is touch and also he's touch-starved i'm not projecting at ALL #major-trouble #thanks for sending this!#the witcher fic #eskel #could be jaskel or geraskel? or could just be some gen softness #the witcher #my fic

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kueble · 3 years ago

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Hold My Hand (Oh Baby, it's a Long Way Down)

Written for @witcher-trick-or-treat’s prompt: monster. This is a collaboration with @justhereforeskel who was kind enough to talk through the fic with me and draw This Amazing Art.

18+ under the cut, Warnings: monsterfucking, Jaskier has two dicks. 4,200 words. Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel

---

For once Geralt doesn’t have to negotiate the contract, and it’s refreshing to let Eskel take over and deal with the business side of things. They never mean to meet up, but it’s been happening more and more lately, and Geralt likes to think it’s just destiny’s way of making up for all the shit in their lives. Sure, contracts hardly ever actually need two witchers, but if Lambert can travel with his Cat, then Geralt and Eskel can do the same.

It’s nice to let his guard down a bit, or to have someone to talk to instead of silently cleaning his weapons by the campfire every night. As good of a listener as Roach is, sometimes it’s nice to have someone speak back when he talks to them. The fact that Geralt is completely, devastatingly in love with Eskel has nothing to do with it, either. Hell, they’ve been inseparable since they were kids, and time did nothing to break them apart.

Truth is, witchers can have plenty of feelings, and Geralt got over that emotionless bastard image years ago. All he wants in life is a full stomach, supplies for Roach, and Eskel curled up around him at night. It’s well worth all the knowing smirks Lambert gives them, especially since Lambert is a hypocritical bastard. Geralt smirks and covers it up with a cough, because the Alderman is droning on about some beast by the river who is luring out helpless townsfolk, and he should at least try to be a bit sympathetic.

“We can take care of it,” Eskel tells him before reaching out to shake on it. Humans don’t seem to flinch away from Eskel like they do him, and Geralt would be more jealous if he’d rather not be touched in the first place. It’s another reason to travel with Eskel, since his politeness seems to put people at ease. Geralt is well aware that he communicates through sarcasm and grunts, and not everyone can handle that.

He stays silent as Eskel leads him out of the building and doesn’t bother speaking until they’re at the edge of the village. “River monster? They couldn’t be more specific?” he asks, and Eskel lets out a dry chuckle in response.

“If they knew more, they wouldn’t need to send witchers after it. No one is hurt, though. Seems like the town is just spooked. Maybe we’ll get lucky and we can just talk it down,” he says, shrugging as they make their way towards the river that runs past the town.

“It’s possible I zoned out,” Geralt admits sheepishly. “Did he mention where the creature is typically seen?”

“Got more air in your head than brains,” Eskel says, but his tone is fond and he leans over to ruffle Geralt’s ponytail. “The river is dammed up about half a mile outside town, and whatever it is likes the pond it created. We should be able to do some scouting this afternoon and come back tonight. Seems like mostly pairs have run into it. The Alderman mentioned something about youths at night, so maybe it feeds off the lust? We might get lucky and just find a lonely succubus.”

“Keep your monsters to yourself,” Geralt teases, laughing as he bumps their shoulders together. “I never get drawn in the way you do. I’m hoping for a friendly rock troll. They’re dim, but they’re easy to relocate.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Eskel says with a shrug. They fall into an easy silence for the rest of the walk, and Geralt can’t sense anything in the forest around them. The afternoon sun is high in the sky, and he wishes he’d worn lighter armor. Chances are they won’t have to fight anything until later tonight, and the sweat is starting to gather between his shoulders.

Any chance of a quiet scouting mission dies as soon as they approach the dam. There’s a voice in the air, but surprisingly it sounds human. Geralt can’t make out the words, but it’s a haunting tune, full of longing and sadness. Eskel looks at him, and they have a conversation with their eyebrows before deciding to continue on.

The closer they get to the pond, the more Geralt realizes this can’t be human. His medallion starts humming faintly, and he can feel the tug of magic flowing through the music. It’s calling them closer, and might be enough to draw them to whoever is singing if they weren’t heading there anyway. Eskel shoots him a confused look, but he just shrugs and draws his silver sword. As much as he’d like to avoid violence, an unprepared witcher is a dead one.

They move as silently as possible, and Geralt knows he spots the creature before it notices them. The creature looks mostly human on top, just a smattering of colorful scales breaking up its pale skin; a cluster in the center of his chest and patches on his cheeks and arms. His pointed ears peek out from below disheveled brown hair, and his wide eyes are an eerie blue. At first he thinks it’s some sort of mer, but the tail doesn’t have any fins on it.

With a start, Geralt realizes the bottom half is all snake. He doesn’t look like the sketches of nagas Geralt has seen in ancient texts, mostly because he seems too small to fit. But there’s no denying the beast is curled up on a warm rock like a snake in the sun. Its tail is a rich blue with light green highlights. It stops singing as they approach, but makes no move to attack them.

“Oh! Er, hello,” it says, awkwardly raising up a hand in greeting. Blue scales start at its elbows, darkening to the deep blue of its tail as they travel down its arms. The claws at the end of each finger are so dark they’re nearly black, and Geralt really hopes he doesn’t have to fight this. Normally sentient beings tend to not want to be killed, so he’s still pretty hopeful.

“Definitely not a succubus,” Eskel says before eyeing up the creature in a way that has Geralt blushing for him. He elbows Eskel, who just laughs and continues, “Your song. It’s a mating call? Is that why the villagers are so up in arms about you?”

“Shit,” it grumbles, scrunching up its nose before bringing an arm up to rub at the back of its neck. “It’s...it’s a bit embarrassing actually, but I’ve lingered too long away from home. I was supposed to make it back in time for the mating season, but there was a bardic competition in Novigrad and I couldn’t possibly miss out. Same thing last year...and the year before. So basically...I have a problem and no way to take care of it.”

“You need to mate?” Geralt asks, and he can practically feel Eskel vibrating next to him. How does he end up in these situations?

“Going a bit mad without it, actually. But where are my manners? Jaskier the bard at your service,” he says with a little bow.

“You’re not a naga,” Eskel points out, eyes narrowing as he studies it...him.

“Indeed I am not,” Jaskier says, giggling as his tail slides up, wrapping around his own waist. Geralt can’t take his eyes off the smooth slide of scales over tanned skin, and he knows he’s going to offer himself as a potential candidate before he overthinks it. “I have other forms, but this is my favorite. If I feel like sharing later, I can show off my fins or my legs...provided you’re not here to kill me, of course.”

“Of course,” Geralt agrees. He slides his sword back into its sheath and sees Eskel do the same out of the corner of his eye. “I think maybe we can come up with a better solution. You’re not actually causing any harm here, and we don’t kill innocents.”

“Thank you, though I’m hardly innocent,” Jaskier murmurs before wetting his lips. Geralt’s eyes go wide at the forked tongue, and he takes a step forward before he realizes his feet are moving. What the fuck is wrong with him? It normally takes more than a pretty face to get him this eager, but there’s something stunning about Jaskier that has his blood running hot in his veins.

“Thought you told me to keep my monsters to myself,” Eskel chuckles, and Geralt can feel his cheeks heating up.

“There’s more than enough of me to share, if that’s the suggestion you have,” Jaskier adds helpfully. He slides closer, moving off the rock with such liquid grace that Geralt nearly swallows his tongue.

“Seeing as you need to mate and we’re willing, it seems the smartest course of action,” Eskel confirms, and Jaskier smirks at both of them.

“I accept, but I like to know the names of my lovers, if you will?” he asks and Geralt can’t believe they’re talking about fucking and haven’t offered their names yet. He’s tripping over his words, his tongue thick in his mouth and his palms sweaty, like some kind of blushing maiden. He’d suspect magic, but the earlier pull from Jaskier’s song is long gone.

“Geralt,” he manages to grunt out before Eskel cuts him off.

“I’m Eskel, and you’re a Nixe, aren’t you?” Eskel asks, and the bestiary flashes through Geralt’s mind. Of course. Nixes have several forms, and though the females prefer fishtails, most of the men take a snake or human form to lure lovers in.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jaskier says, his words slurred a bit as his forked tongue curls around the human language. “If I’m to have both of you, I think it’s best if I stay partially in the water? There’s a lovely rock along the banks that would give us the leverage we need.”

“Both of us at the same time?” Eskel asks, tilting his head as Jaskier giggles before stroking a hand down his own chest.

“This is my favorite form, mostly because snakes have two cocks,” he tells him with a wink, and Geralt can’t help the groan that slips out. “Looks like you appreciate it as well. Now I’d hate to get your gear all wet. Why don’t you two give me a little show and undress each other for me? We can’t do an actual mating dance, but I do love seeing a well-built man strip.”

“How do you know we’re like that?” Geralt asks, but Jaskier just laughs again. There’s almost a melody to it, and Geralt could see himself getting addicted to the bright sound.

“Oh please,” Jaskier says, sticking his tongue out like a snake scenting the air, “You simply reek of each other. Thank you for finding room for a third. It’s not every day I get two gorgeous mates, after all.”

“Mate sounds a bit permanent,” Geralt says, eyes narrowing, but Jaskier just laughs again.

“Only as much as you want it to be. Don’t worry, darling,” Jaskier assures him before gesturing for them to get on with it.

Eskel just smirks at him like a cat in the cream, and he looks so smug that Geralt has to kiss him. He hates poetry, but kissing Eskel is like coming home. Their mouths slant together, Eskel’s large hands cupping his face, and Geralt can’t help sighing against his lips. He slips his tongue into Eskel’s mouth, deepening the kiss as he starts to undo the buckles on his armor.

Eskel returns the favor, nipping at Geralt’s lower lip while his broad hands shove under Geralt’s gear. It’s a dance they know all too well, and soon they’re both topless, their armor tossed to the ground. Eskel’s chest is warm under his hands, heated by the midday sun high in the sky. He runs his hands lower, teases the hem of his trousers before tugging at his laces. Eskel helps him by bucking into his hand, and Geralt bites his lip roughly to chastise him.

By the time they step out of their pants, Geralt is panting and can’t stop touching Eskel; can’t stop raking his fingers down his broad chest. He moans into his mouth, and Eskel reaches down to wrap his hand around both of them. It feels so good that Geralt nearly forgets they have a purpose - have an audience - and he gets lost in the rough slide of Eskel’s palm against his prick.

But then Eskel pulls back and pats him on the shoulder before looking over at Jaskier, and Geralt is so turned on by the thought of sharing this creature that he forgets to be embarrassed. They walk towards the river, but not before Eskel snags his cloak and lays it down on the bank. Jaskier slithers over, his tail still in the water and the sun glistening off his damp skin.

“Sadly I don’t make my own slick, so we’ll need something,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt’s feet are moving towards their abandoned gear to fetch oil before he even registers it.

When he turns back, Jaskier and Eskel are kissing and he almost trips over his own feet hurrying back. They look stunning together, all tanned and dark, and Jaskier wastes no time finding Eskel’s nipple piercings. Geralt palms himself, rutting against his hand as he watches Jaskier tease Eskel. He tugs lightly at the piercings, forcing a stream of broken moans out of Eskel.

They look so good together that he’s hesitant to interrupt, but as soon as he nears them, Jaskier reaches out and drags him into a rough kiss. Geralt melts under his mouth, groaning as that forked tongue slides past his lips. Jaskier’s fangs nip at him, and he shudders and tries to get closer to him. His skin is sun-kissed and warm, and the pattern of scales on his chest feels amazing as it rubs against Geralt’s nipples.

“I’d like to eat you out,” Jaskier tells him as he pulls back, and Geralt nearly comes right then and there. Just the thought of that forked tongue inside of him is enough to have his prick twitching against Jaskier’s scales.

“Fuck yeah, ok,” Geralt growls before looking to where Eskel has spread out on the cloak. He snags the slick from Geralt’s hand and shakes it at him with a wink. Jaskier places his hands on Geralt’s hips and guides him over to where Eskel is laying. It takes a moment of maneuvering, but they end up with Geralt bent over Eskel and Jaskier half in the water behind them.

“Get him ready for me,” Jaskier orders, and his words send shivers down Geralt’s spine. He nods and holds out a hand for Eskel to pour oil into. Jaskier watches, his arms around Geralt’s stomach and his chin over his shoulder, but this is an act so familiar that Geralt couldn’t possibly be nervous.

He brushed his fingers around Eskel’s hole, spreading the oil and teasing him just to see him squirm. He starts slow, just one finger to the first knuckle, giving Eskel plenty of time to adjust to the feeling. Only Eskel shoots him an impatient look, and he chuckles before sinking in deeper, giving him the whole finger. He should have known Eskel would be fucking greedy for it, since he knows how the man feels about monsters.

“Keep going,” Jaskier tells him before sinking down into the water, leaving a trail of kisses down the center of his back as he goes. Geralt spreads his legs and shoves another finger beside the first, smirking at Eskel when he arches his back and groans loudly.

But then Jaskier is spreading his cheeks and lapping at his hole, and Geralt can’t concentrate, can barely think at the first touch of that snake’s tongue on him. Eskel chuckles and starts fucking himself on Geralt’s fingers, gloating while he stares up at him. Jaskier sucks at his rim, and Geralt lets out a howl, his head bowing forward as he tries to keep himself together.

It’s so easy to get lost in the sloppy slide of Jaskier’s tongue as it pushes inside of him, though, and Geralt is thankful Eskel has the foresight to clamp a hand around his wrist and start thrusting against his fingers. He clings to Eskel’s thighs and whimpers as Jaskier licks deeper inside of him; so much deeper than he’s ever felt before.

He loses time as Jaskier skillfully works him open with his tongue, his saliva making a mess of his eager hole. There should probably be some fingers involved, but Jaskier’s claws would get in the way, and Geralt doesn’t trust himself to try right now. Eskel is bucking up against him, head thrown back and eyes wild as he curls his fingers inside of him.

Jaskier sucks at him like he’s dying for it - like Geralt’s the best meal he’s ever had - and he can’t handle that. He sobs, eyes wet as his cock twitches against Eskel’s hairy thigh. Somehow he managed to get a third finger inside of him, but all he can focus on is the wet thrust of Jaskier’s long tongue inside of him.

“Fuck,” he growls, nearly losing his footing on the wet rocks beneath his feet. “I’m ready. Get in me,” he orders, and both men chuckle dryly at him.

“Sure you’re loose enough?” Jaskier asks, hissing over the s’s.

“Yes, get on with it,” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier giggles against the small of his back. He nips at the dimples at the base of his spine, making Geralt shudder and whine deep in his chest.

“Like we’re a chore. How do you feel about that, Eskel?” Jaskier asks as he pushes back up on his tail and looks down at Eskel over Geralt’s shoulder.

“He gets rude when he’s desperate for it,” Eskel says with a shrug, and Geralt has enough sense to slap him lightly on the knee. “Oh shut it, you do. It’s a good thing you’re pretty when you beg for it. Get down here.”

He wraps a hand around the back of Geralt’s neck and tugs him down, catching his mouth in a harsh kiss. Geralt’s too far gone for skill, and he whines into the kiss as Eskel slips his tongue past his lips. He can feel Jaskier at his back, and can make out the distinct press of two separate cocks against him.

Fuck, he wasn’t kidding.

“Slick?” Jaskier asks, holding out a hand for Eskel to coat with oil. They both turn to watch him, and it’s well worth the crick in his neck.

There’s a slit in the navy scales, and they split open a little bit beneath the smooth line where skin meets tail. Jaskier’s twin cocks are dark blue and purple, and Geralt can make out bumps and ridges down the staff as he spreads the oil over himself. He sucks in a breath, overeager and needy, and lets Eskel pull him back down again so that he’s laying on top of him.

Jaskier starts muttering praise, sweet words dripping from his lips and he runs his hands over Geralt’s back and down his thighs. He can’t see anything, but fuck he can feel it as Jaskier guides one of his cocks to Eskel’s entrance, the other brushing against Geralt’s balls. He whines and lets his head dip forward, resting his forehead on Eskel’s solid shoulder as he listens to the breathy moans he makes as he’s breached. The slide of Jaskier’s second cock is almost too much of a tease, but Geralt just shivers in anticipation as it moves against him.

Looking down at Eskel, it’s easy to see how good it feels. His eyes are practically rolled back in his head, and he’s chewing on his lower lip while he writhes under them both. He can’t help leaning forward and kissing him quickly, breaking off in a moan when the head of Jaskier’s second cock brushes against his eager hole. With Eskel’s hands on his hips and one of Jaskier’s palms on his lower back, Jaskier slowly slides inside of him.

Geralt plants his hands on Eskel’s chest and arches back, crying out wordlessly as Jaskier fills him. He’s still tight enough that there’s a pleasant burn; and ache that lights him up in such an amazing way. He shudders and has to focus on not blowing his load too early. The thick press of Jaskier’s cock combined with Eskel bucking beneath him is enough to have him on edge already.

“You’re both taking me so well,” Jaskier pants out, and Geralt’s cheeks redden at the praise. Eskel grunts below him and shifts just enough so that their cocks line up. They’re both leaking steadily, making a fucking mess between them, and it’s easy to slide together as the three of them move.

Time slows down, and Geralt just gets lost in the overwhelming feeling of everything. Jaskier and Eskel hold him up, and it seems like there’s hands everywhere; brushing his nipples, his spine, the curve of his hips. He tries to do more, but it’s all he can do to hold himself up with shaky arms while Jaskier plows into him.

He looks down and sees Jaskier’s tail wrapped around Eskel’s ankle, spreading his legs wider as he fucks them both. With a whimper, he has to look away because he’s struck with an intense need for it to be him, for Jaskier to be wrapped around him as well. There’s a brief thought of how the tip of his tail would feel inside his ass, but then Jaskier picks up speed and all higher thoughts leave him.

Eskel comes first, shouting himself hoarse as he coats Geralt’s and his chest with his seed. He looks so blissed out - just completely wrecked - and Geralt feels his own orgasm crash through him. He comes in endless bursts between them, his ass clenching around Jaskier’s thick cock. It doesn’t take long for him to follow, hissing as he floods Geralt with come.

He collapses on top of Eskel, barely able to move, and loves the way Jaskier keeps thrusting through his orgasm. He’s babbling, a constant hum of praise and filth as he rocks his hips and pumps them so full of his seed that Geralt doubts they’ll ever be clean.

When he’s finally empty, Jaskier bends down and presses kiss after kiss to Geralt’s neck, his clawed hands reaching around to stroke Eskel’s cheek as he does so. His tail is wrapped around them both, and he seems so pleased that he’s almost vibrating with it. Geralt feels boneless, but he knows they can’t lay here all day, no matter how nice it feels.

Eventually Eskel makes them move, and they wash up the best they can in the cool water of the river. Jaskier hurries off somewhere, calling out that he’ll be back, but leaves them to get sorted out on their own. Eskel just shrugs and starts pulling his armor back on, so Geralt follows suit.

“Are monsters normally this weird after sex?” Geralt asks, and Eskel snorts at him.

“I have a feeling Jaskier is his own special experience,” Eskel says, chuckling before turning to see someone walking out of the woods. “Jaskier?”

“The one and only,” the man - in human form and everything - answers. He smirks and slings what looks to be a lute case over his shoulders. “Shall we then? Where are you off to?”

“To collect the bounty from clearing out the menace,” Geralt says dryly, and Jaskier giggles at him.

“Rather be a menace than a beast.”

“You’re uh...you mean to come with us?” Eskel asks, gesturing at Jaskier’s case and bag.

“Well now that I’m not tied down, I figured you might be amenable? Having a bard with you might boost your image - though you both look very fine indeed - and I have to admit that I’m quite taken with the pair of you. What say you?” he asks, looking a strange combination of scared and hopeful that has Geralt tripping over himself to speak.

“You said the whole mating thing is as permanent as we want? So yes...we, I want,” he clarifies, and Jaskier beams at him. They both look at Eskel who just pulls them both into a tight hug before kissing them on the cheeks.

“Only if you keep your fucking hems away from me,” he jokes, and Jaskier giggles again while Geralt tilts his head looking for an explanation. “Seriously, you need to brush up on the bestiary. Nixes can appear human, but you can tell what they really are by their constantly wet hemlines. See?”

Sure enough, the bottoms of Jaskier’s trousers are damp, and there are thin wet lines at his wrists. Geralt reaches out and traces his fingers across the thin skin over Jaskier’s pulse before looking away with a shy smile. It’s taken him years to get comfortable showing affection around Eskel, but he supposes they have time. The one thing he remembers about nixes is that they have long lifespans. He’s pretty sure he read something about them mating for life, but he’ll have to do some research when they retire for the winter. For now, he’s content exploring whatever this is.

#my fic #collaboration #monsterfucking #geraskel #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geralt #eskel #jaskier #threesomes are more fun #especially with a monster #the witcher #witcher TorT

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