He excelled at all oral sex, as a matter of fact, regardless of the plumbing presented to him. He didn't like to brag, preferring to let his work speak for itself, and so what if he got more than a little thrill feeling flesh slowly harden in his mouth? His lips and tongue always itched to have something to do. He used to chew his writing quills when he was younger, until puberty slammed into him at full force and he found a much better occupation for his mouth. He was at his worst after a good performance (or his best, really) when his lips tingled and buzzed with the need to find a good pair of thighs to stick his head between.
Though the first thing he noticed about Geralt was his everything, those well muscled thighs were high on the list, quickly followed by the fangs.
Fangs, yes. Honest to gods sharp teeth, not quite like a wolf, but definitely there, adding a dangerous, sexy edge to the already beautiful man. So perhaps some of the rumors about Witchers were true... And yet, somehow, that only made Jaskier want him more, though he quickly threw out some of his favorite sex acts. It didn't matter, his partners didn't need to reciprocate oral sex, Jaskier got what he needed in other ways.
Kissing was an adventure, Geralt trying so hard not to bite Jaskier's lips too hard. And Geralt was a generous lover, wide tongue licking Jaskier's neck, his nipples—all his sensitive spots—like a dog, as experienced fingers swiped over his hole or groped between his legs to pull him off. Sometimes, if Jaskier agreed to be very, very careful, Geralt let him touch the sharp canines, rub the calloused pad of his finger over them as Jaskier bit down on his own tongue, imagining those fangs sinking into the meat of his ass. Alright, maybe Jaskier loved Geralt's fangs a little too much...
After a month of satisfying, but admittedly frantic sex, too quick to explore as desperate need overtook them both, Jaskier had one of his best shows outside of a bardic competition. Taverns were a mixed bag, some enjoyed the music and swayed along, others just wanted to eat their dinner in peace, Jaskier was never sure what he'd get from any random tavern. In this particular random tavern, he had the crowd on their feet all night long. They sang, they danced, feeding Jaskier their energy as they devoured his, a never ending loop of artistic fever. When he finally finished, his lips were tingling with the need to suck something, his own cock hard at the thought of falling to his knees in front of Geralt, finally displaying some of his other talents to his best friend and lover.
As usual, Geralt smiled at the overly horny behavior (he stopped complaining about Jaskier's loud composing the moment he saw how euphoric performing made him) and let Jaskier strip him, growling playfully as they kissed. His smile faded when Jaskier dropped to his knees, lips a breath away from his cock. “Jaskier?”
Whatever else Geralt planned to ask was lost to a soul deep moan as soft lips and a warm tongue wrapped around his cock, cheeks hollowing as Jaskier started to suck.
Jaskier barely got his lips around the bountiful cock he'd only felt in his ass and in his hand so far, he wanted to have the complete experience, know Geralt's cock in as many ways as he could... and then it was over. Bitter come exploded across his tongue, the thick shaft pulsing and twitching. It came so fast—Geralt came so fast—he barely had any time to swallow. Come dripped out the corners of his lips and he sputtered a little... not his best look.
Above him, Geralt was shaking, hands gripping Jaskier's shoulders like they were the only thing grounding him to this world. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his lips trembled. “Geralt?” Wiping the come from his lips, Jaskier stood up, running his hands all over the Witcher, looking for... he didn't know. An injury? Something they missed after his most recent contract? Did he—gods forbid—brush Geralt with his teeth? Jaskier was a professional at sucking cock, he didn't think himself so careless.
But Geralt was fine. Perfect even. Except for the thousand yard stare and the strange sweating. “Let's lay you down.” Jaskier steered him to the bed and Geralt collapsed, pulling Jaskier with him as he continued to shake, cock half-hard and glistening with saliva. “Geralt? Are you alright? Talk to me, please.”
Geralt didn't move for a few more minutes, short of grabbing Jaskier and holding him, not letting him move more than an inch away. Quietly fretting, Jaskier continued looking for injuries. He'd gotten rave reviews for his blow jobs in the past, but he figured a Witcher had experience with everything under the sun, not many surprises left to throw him for a loop.
Finally, Geralt blinked, sticking his tongue between pointed teeth and running it along his fangs the way he did when he was deep in thought. He swallowed and distant, dark eyes, the gold almost completely lost in pupil, strained to focus on Jaskier. “Again. Can you do it again?”
“Why yes, of course I can. I didn't hurt you? You seemed—”
Cock already painfully hard again, Geralt pulled him in close, smashing their lips together without his usual care. The tip of a sharp canine caught Jaskier's lips and he moaned a little. “Please,” Geralt panted, rutting against Jaskier side. “Do it again.”
So, Jaskier did it again. He crawled between Geralt's legs and licked at his sac before sliding his nose along the tender skin of his thighs. Jaskier really was very good at this, he barely got a chance to show off before.
Geralt didn't seem as enamored this time. A small dent of frustration formed between his eyebrows. “No, what you did before. With your mouth.”
Alright... he could skip the slow, teasing start. Geralt was already well revved up as it was. Wrapping his lips around the tip, Jaskier steadied the thick shaft with one hand, his other dropping to lightly caress Geralt's balls.
Once again, as soon as he got any good suction going, Geralt keened, moaning louder than Jaskier had ever heard from the normally stoic Witcher. Powerful thighs twitched around him and Geralt balled his hands in the sheets, hips canting, almost throwing Jaskier off the bed. “Fuck, fuck, ah—!” Seed filled his mouth, hot and plentiful like before. Jaskier sputtered, trying to swallow down the sudden load. He thought back to the nights Geralt thrust inside him, coming hard, how he enjoyed the sight of copious amounts of come slicking his thighs... it suddenly felt like too much when it was in his mouth, perfect when in his ass.
As soon as he wiped the rest of the spilled release from his lips, strong hands grabbed him, pulling Jaskier down into a bruising kiss. “Jaskier... Jaskier... do it again.” Geralt was already hard, or still hard, Jaskier didn't know. He licked slowly, watching Geralt for... he didn't know what. Possession? Could Witchers get possessed?
After the third blow job in less than an hour, Geralt finally seemed to get control of himself. His cock was still half-hard, shining with spit and come as he nuzzled Jaskier's neck, licking long stripes across his skin. “Thank you. That was... Anything you want, I'll do anything for you. Just please, touch me like that every night.”
“Suck your cock?” Well, it was far from a hardship, Jaskier did love a good cock in his mouth, but he'd never had a reaction like that before. “Yes, that's fine, but Geralt... haven't you done that before? You grew up in a castle full of boys. At boarding school, that's one of the first things we tried.”
Geralt opened his mouth, answering all of Jaskier's questions in an instant. Those remarkable teeth gleamed in the fire light, as sharp and pointed and devastating to soft flesh as they'd always been. “They come in after the first trial, which is right around the time boys typically get interested in each other.” He held his mouth open, let Jaskier pet at the fangs, a wicked little sparkle entering the Witcher's eyes when he smelled the spike of lust pouring from Jaskier. “We mostly—Eskel, Lambert and I—we lick when we want something different, but mostly we just fuck. I've never... no one's ever done that for me before.”
“Mmm, I see.” Jaskier didn't ask about brothels, which they'd both attended, together even. There was always a Witcher up charge, and if you were paying more, might as well get your dick wet.
So. No Witcher had ever had a proper blow job, and Jaskier was a blow job god. This was going to be... exciting.
Jaskier would never call their sex life boring. There was no boring when it came to Geralt, the man oozed intrigue in everything he did, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Geralt still fucked Jaskier, let Jaskier fuck him, fingered the bard until he sobbed, did whatever Jaskier asked, but he only wanted one thing in return: “Suck me off,” he moaned, thrusting into Jaskier's side. “Please, please suck me off.” And Jaskier did. He had access to Geralt's cock whenever he wanted—on the side of a road, any random alley, in the alderman's front room—it was all his for the asking. When they finished, Geralt's eyes hazy and distant, he ran his fingers over puffy red lips, his cock twitching in anticipation for the next time Jaskier took him in his mouth.
It's not that Jaskier minded, Geralt had never had a proper blow job, and Jaskier was the gold standard. But variety was the spice of life...
Laying together in their camp, Geralt pliant and melting on the bedroll next to him, he nuzzled in close. “Wha' can I do for you?” he slurred. Jaskier had to preen a little at that, his mouth was powerful enough to bring a Witcher to a jibbering mess. “Anything you want, anything at all.” It was his constant refrain these days. All Jaskier had to do was suck Geralt's soul out through his cock, and Geralt offered him the world in return.
There was a thought, lingering at the back of Jaskier's mind since the first night they made their discovery. How did juvenile Witchers manage? Geralt mentioned licking... “Show me what you do.” He shimmied out of his breeches, his shirt long discarded as Geralt grabbed for him, desperate to feel their skin brushing together. “With the others, what do you do?”
Geralt rolled up onto his knees and settled between Jaskier's legs, pushing them farther apart to accommodate his wide shoulders. “It's nothing compared to what you do.”
“Still, would you show me?” Jaskier wiggled his hips enticingly and it had the desired effect. Geralt smiled at the bounty in front of him, flashing those fangs. Before Jaskier could recalculate—had he made a mistake here? did Witchers actually bite when they were with each other?—a long, pink tongue poked from between those teeth, starting to lap at his sac. “Oh... sweet Melitele.” Jaskier dropped back onto the bedroll as Geralt started licking everywhere.
It started at his sac, soft little kitten licks, before moving down between his thighs and lapping at the smooth skin there. After a moment, Geralt shifted, hooking Jaskier's legs over his broad shoulders before continuing. Teeth remained a safe distance away from tender flesh as Geralt licked all over. Whatever Jaskier had, balls, cock, hole, Geralt's tongue found it. Just when Jaskier thought he couldn't take anymore, that the long, hot tongue currently pressing inside him, was too much, a rough hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking. Two pumps had Jaskier coming, spilling across Geralt's fingers.
He collapsed back onto the bedroll, panting like they'd just run from a town that decided not to pay. “Fuck,” Jaskier gasped.
Geralt rested his head in the bend of Jaskier's hip, the bard's strong legs still over his shoulders. “I'm glad you enjoyed. Like I said, it's not as good as what you can do, but it's what we had.”
“Yes, well, I'd still say it's very nice.” Shaking a little with the memory of Geralt's tongue licking him everywhere, Jaskier threaded his fingers in the loose strands of white hair. He needed a moment.
The quiet sounds of the night swirled around them, fire popping, crickets chirping, Jaskier's heart slowing back to normal... “Would you come home with me this winter? I want...” Geralt bit his lip, the mere glimpse of those furious fangs making Jaskier wish he could go again, but he was truly spent for the night. “I want you with me, but I also want to share you. If you're willing. I want my brothers to feel what you can do.”
So. Geralt was inviting him to stay at his castle and spend the winter giving blow jobs?
A little dizzy, not quite sure if he was still awake or had passed out from Geralt's tongue in his ass, Jaskier closed his eyes. “When do we leave?”
Mostly we just fuck, turned out to be a bald-faced lie. Or Geralt was too modest for his own good, either way, there was clearly much more going on behind the crumbling walls of Kaer Morhen between its three youngest residents.
Vesemir was nice enough in a very fatherly way. If Jaskier hadn't noticed the relationship right off—the tight bear hug, the way Vesemir's eyes roved over Geralt, appraising if he was healthy after a year away from home, the fatherly concern in those old, golden eyes—he would have offered his services, but there were some taboos even he wouldn't break, not when it came to his oh so emotionally fragile Witcher.
Lambert and Eskel were another story entirely. The moment they entered the chilly hall and Jaskier made for the large cooking fire, loud steps pounded above them, two other Witchers appearing and sprinting towards Geralt. They all collided, Geralt holding them close, burying his nose in Eskel's neck first, then Lambert's, all three of them rubbing and growling softly, bumping their noses together as they kissed, three gleaming sets of fangs gnashing together.
Well, if Jaskier was cold before, he certainly wasn't now. Despite the freezing trek that left him exhausted and shaking, his cock stood up and took notice of the three gorgeous men currently making moon eyes at each other not ten feet away from him. Lambert nipped at Geralt's lip as Eskel pushed in to hide his face in the crook of Geralt's neck, all three of them far too adorable for the efficient monster slayers Jaskier knew Witchers to be.
Just as he was having a good long stare, enjoying the view he'd have for the rest of winter, three sets of golden eyes snapped over to him. Lambert leaned in, whispering in Geralt's ear, his lip curling to show pointed teeth... Heat flashed through Jaskier's face. What had he gotten himself into?
Geralt took Jaskier up to his room to put their things away, the others following close behind. As soon as the door closed behind them, Lambert and Eskel crowded in, held back by a sharp glare from Geralt. “Let him settle in,” he growled. “He's not ready yet.”
“Oh I absolutely am.” Jaskier dropped his bags and shed some of his outer layers, leaving his heavy tunic in place. The fire was roaring, but the cold of the outside had yet to leave his limbs. Geralt stepped forward automatically and wrapped him up in his arms, and Jaskier felt warmer already. A soft whine came from somewhere—either Lambert or Eskel, he couldn't tell which—and he smiled, opening his arms. “Geralt told me all about you, now I want to get to know you two properly.”
Yes, Geralt did tell Jaskier about his brothers—brothers in arms, not in blood, thank the gods—and the more he said, the more stories he told, the more Jaskier couldn't wait to meet them himself. They lived up to the stories, Eskel's broad chest and shy eyes, Lambert's bastard smirk that just screamed love me. Jaskier wanted them as much as he wanted Geralt, he wanted to make them feel good.
Permission granted, they both moved in close, two noses sliding against his neck. He felt a brush of pointed fang and Geralt growled. “Lambert, fucking be careful.” But Jaskier only shivered at the touch. Oh, to have those teeth in his skin, even for just a moment...
He shook himself. Right, down to business. With all three crowded around him, Jaskier fell to his knees, rubbing his cheek against Lambert's clothed (for now) erection while his hand danced over Eskel's laces. Geralt had experienced his talents before, he could wait. “Who's first?”
“Lambert,” Geralt said. There was another whine and he nudged Eskel. “If he waits, he might get impatient and hurt Jaskier.”
“No I wouldn't!” Lambert almost shouted, then his voice immediately softened, hand running through Jaskier's hair as the bard's fingers untied his laces. “No I wouldn't.”
“Of course not.” With another thick Witcher cock hovering in front of his face, Jaskier gave a quick thought to the insanity of his position. Here he was, on his knees, sitting between three gods damned Witchers, offering to spend the winter servicing them in a way they'd never experienced before... and he just met two of them. Well, his mother always said: do something you love and it'll never feel like work. Jaskier lips tingled at the mere thought of two more full cocks in his mouth this winter. With one hand on the base of Lambert's cock, the other caressing Eskel through his breeches, he opened his mouth and swallowed Lambert down.
Lambert's reaction was somehow better than Geralt's. Come didn't immediately cover his tongue, but the youngest Witcher shuddered violently, almost falling backwards. Geralt moved to catch him and let Lambert brace against his chest. Curses and sweet moans fell from his lips, “Oh shit, fuck me, oh shiiiit—”
A truly colossal amount of come filled Jaskier's mouth. He was a little more prepared this time, having more experience with Geralt's quick trigger when it came to this particular act. Lucky for him, Witcher stamina allowed him to be hard and ready again in moments, prepared to stick his cock wherever Jaskier asked him to put it as payment for the lovely blow job.
Lambert swayed, held up by only Geralt it seemed. “See?” he whispered, licking over Lambert's ear, extra sharp front teeth brushing the shell, earning him a full body shiver from the younger Wolf. “You would've hated waiting for that.”
“Yeah... fuck.” His voice trailed off, pupils still wide and dark. “E-eskel, you gotta... do Eskel.”
Jaskier quickly turned and continued opening the ties he'd only been toying with. He didn't think there was a finer cock in the world, nothing could match Geralt's, then he saw Lambert's thick beast, dark hair around the base, a red head ready and dripping. And then, there was Eskel. As soon as his trousers opened and the already hard prick fell out, Jaskier's eyes went wide. “Fuck me.” Thicker than Geralt, Eskel's cock was practically perfect. Straight with just a little bit of a dip at the end as it fell under its own weight, the most delicious looking head on top of a dusky pink shaft, already wet with precome.
Jaskier actually licked his lips. “Oh, you three really are a treat.” Closing his eyes to better savor the feel on his tongue, Jaskier leaned in, being careful to go slow. He knew it wouldn't matter at first, they had all winter to build up their stamina, but he wanted to enjoy a little before swallowing another gush of come.
Eskel did manage to last an extra moment or so. Threading his fingers in Jaskier's hair, he got one good thrust in before he spilled, his legs shaking. Somewhat recovered, Lambert and Geralt held him up, the large Witcher taking both of them to steady him. “Fuck,” Eskel sighed, his softening cock slipping from Jaskier's lips. He pulled Jaskier to his feet, pressing feverish kisses all over his face. “Can you do it again?”
They all started stripping, taking care of Jaskier's clothes as well, pulling him into Geralt's large bed. Though Eskel and Lambert were already hard again, Jaskier turned his attention to Geralt, kissing across his chest before sliding down and taking him into his mouth. He started introducing more technique for Geralt, humming around the fine cock in his mouth, licking little swirls along his shaft, teasing the foreskin. Used to this treatment, Geralt lasted a little longer, finally coming and spilling down Jaskier's throat.
Limbs a little shaky, he pulled Jaskier back up, kissing his already puffy lips until they absolutely sang with sensitivity, bright and red and beautiful. “Whatever you want. Anything.”
Six hands roved over his body. Jaskier didn't even have to ask, each Witcher seemed to have ideas about what they could give Jaskier in return for this new pleasure, and all of them were probably right. For the next hour, he let himself be manhandled, put on his back, his hole licked by all three of them before they claimed their spots: Geralt opened him slowly before thrusting in, angling his hips just right to hit Jaskier's prostate head on; Eskel crawled under him to lick and stroke at his cock, and Lambert positioned himself at the head of the bed, presenting his cock for Jaskier to suck again.
“No fair,” Eskel grumbled. “You already had a turn.”
“Please, there's plenty for everyone.” Truth be told, none of them really exhausted Jaskier. He'd had some partners who took ages to come, working him until his neck cricked and his shoulders ached from holding the same position. But these Witchers barely taxed Jaskier's impressive stamina, he could easily service them a few times a night and not get tired, especially when taking breaks to get thoroughly railed by Geralt, though he was also eyeing Eskel, dreaming of that masterpiece of a cock inside him.
Lambert didn't last much longer the second time and switched places with Eskel, a new but equally skilled tongue lapping at Jaskier's cock and balls like they were made of sweets. This time, Jaskier tried to get more of Eskel in his mouth and was rewarded with a pleased shout, and another mouthful of come. They switched twice more before Geralt had him even close to coming and a new thrill sang through Jaskier. Three insatiable lovers who only wanted to please him, and feel his mouth around their cocks. As far as winter plans went, this really took the cake.
They all took to it differently. Lambert struck him as one with an addictive personality, and Jaskier wasn't wrong. He was addicted right away, finding Jaskier between his chores to get a quicky in the hall, waking him before the others to start their morning off right. But he was no less appreciative, whispering his thanks and praise into Jaskier's hair before they parted.
Though he was the most stoic in general, Eskel was also the most responsive. Shivering and moaning at the slightest breath. He liked Jaskier's hands on him as his mouth worked its magic, fingers curling, digging into strong muscles, his thick thighs and ass. Oh, how Jaskier wanted to bite that ass, mark it with bruises only to watch them fade a few minutes later. His oral fixation wasn't just for the pleasures that could be found between one's legs, sometimes his teeth itched to bite into tender flesh as his partner shook under his hands. Eskel was very good about giving those responses, making Jaskier all but purr in satisfaction.
Geralt was the most used to Jaskier's mouth, but he was no less enamored. He'd grab the bard, lips still sticky with Lambert's come, and pull them together, licking inside his mouth to taste his brother's spend mixed with Jaskier. “Please,” he whispered as he started to rut against Jaskier's side. “Me next?” How could Jaskier say no to such pretty begging?
After the first week or so of chores and preparing for the first big storm of winter, he accompanied them to training every day. They were serious in their training, fighting like their lives depended on it, honing their skills, but as soon as Vesemir called lunch, Lambert was the first to Jaskier's side, hand already pulling at his laces. “Can you do it here or do you want to go inside?”
Jaskier's lips buzzed with the thought of taking Lambert's cock in the courtyard, where he'd just watched the three Wolves spend the morning sparring, sweat running down their necks, getting all worked up...
“I told you!” Vesemir barked. “When you're in the courtyard, keep it in your pants! Same rule as always, just because you have a pretty new playmate...”
Yes, Geralt told him of Vesemir's rules, and Jaskier did feel bad about defiling the man's castle. “Inside,” he said, ushering Lambert along.
They always went down to the hot spring after training, the hot spring, so fucking magical Jaskier thought he might burst. Geralt and Eskel climbed into the heated mineral water, scrubbing the dirt and exertion from their skin as they watched Jaskier kneel in front of Lambert. They were both still dressed, Lambert dirty from training. It wasn't much of a delay to rinse off quickly, but fuck, Jaskier loved a good filthy fuck. On his knees in an alley, he missed that sort of thing sometimes; Geralt treated him with such care, made sure there was always a pillow for him to kneel on or a bed for them to slide into before asking Jaskier to open his mouth.
Less than a minute after Jaskier had the plump flesh in his mouth, musky and sweaty and perfect, Lambert stiffened, coming loudly, shouts echoing in the cave hot spring. Jaskier didn't try to swallow it all anymore, letting it drip down his chin. With a low growl, Lambert leaned down and licked, cleaning the seed away, half-hard cock still hanging out of his breeches. “Hurry up!” Eskel called, and Lambert pulled Jaskier to his feet, stripping them both and climbing into the water.
Anything he wanted turned out to be tender touches, wide hands pulling his legs open and brushing over his hole, filling him at the drop of a hat. Whenever Jaskier looked like he might want a fuck, he had an offer for three. For the past two weeks, there was not a single moment when Jaskier couldn't turn to any of his Wolves (for they were his now, most definitely) and ask for any sex act. Geralt bent over for him in the hall, Eskel licked his hole for an hour one night, and Lambert was literally down for whatever, even when Jaskier asked to fuck him while the others watched. He thought it might be a small ding to Lambert's pride, but the exhibitionist in him wanted to show off the lovely men he now shared his love with. Instead of shy blushing as Lambert slowly fell apart under his touch, he got off on it, locking eyes with Eskel or Geralt, asking them if they liked the way he looked on Jaskier's cock.
“Mmm, you know we do,” Geralt answered, his own prick hard and dripping, rubbing against Eskel's naked thigh. “I knew Jaskier would take care of you two, he cares for you as much as I do.”
“Yes, I do,” Jaskier whispered into Lambert's hair. A little rearranging and he had Lambert on his knees, back arched, thrusting back as Jaskier pounded into him. Damn near indestructible bodies, and all they wanted to do was please him. He'd say that was more than worth the price of a winter's worth of blow jobs.
But there was something Jaskier wanted, truly wanted, and he didn't think Geralt would agree...
He tried to put it out of his mind, shove the thought down with all the others as he licked into Lambert's mouth. “When we're all clean,” he whispered. “I want you to lick my hole the way you lick them. You're all so good with your tongues, I want you licking me all over.”
“Yes.” As if to back up Jaskier's assertion, Geralt dragged his tongue from the notch of his collarbone, all the way up to his temple before sniffing damn hair. “Anything.”
Anything, was not an empty promise. They gave Jaskier whatever he desired.
“All three of you,” he gasped one night, come still on his tongue and dripping out his lips, Lambert half way comatose on the bed. He swallowed and repeated his request. “All of you. One after another. Fuck me now.”
Geralt went first. As usual with Lambert, he couldn't wait to be fully naked before getting Jaskier's mouth on his cock, so Jaskier's breeches were unlaced, but still firmly in place. Geralt tugged at the hem, kissing the small of his back as he pulled the soft fabric down over Jaskier's delectable ass. Kisses continued down his tail bone and over his ass cheeks. A warm tongue licked over the fatty swell of each cheek and Jaskier couldn't help the moan that spilled from him when he felt a brush—the smallest hint—of fang against tender flesh. Oh, that was it, all he truly wanted, each one of them taking turns sinking their fangs into him so he could carry their marks for the rest of his life. But they'd never agree, too dangerous, so Jaskier had to be happy with three thick cocks plowing him all winter long.
It wasn't a bad consolation prize.
Though Witchers were lone hunters, they worked well as a team. Somewhat coherent under him, Lambert started stroking a hand through Jaskier's hair, pulling their lips together for sweet, lingering kisses. The youngest and the most reckless, Lambert had no problem letting Jaskier lick along his fangs, the bard shaking at the way they almost drew blood, close enough to danger to send another jolt of arousal through him.
Eskel handed Geralt their tin of salve, frowning at its weight. “Need to make more.” Yes, they made their sexual aids, Jaskier supposed all the lab supplies had to be useful for something other than mind and body altering potions.
“I'll get a batch going tomorrow.” Dipping his fingers in the soft greasy, salve, Geralt started out with two, knowing Jaskier's practiced hole could manage it. He moaned and groaned against Lambert's lips, pushing back. “Oh yes, you'll get what you need,” Geralt whispered.
The fingers disappeared, replaced by the blunt head of a cock and Jaskier's eyes fluttered. He considered himself a very good judge of size, but a prick as measured by the mouth felt different when measured by the ass. Geralt always filled him up until all Jaskier could do was moan and writhe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the absolute monster between Eskel's legs hanging just within reach, already heavy and full. Oh, Jaskier wanted that beautiful beast so much...
When Geralt pressed in, wide cockhead spreading Jaskier open, his arms collapsed and he was now sprawled across Lambert's chest. “I got you,” Lambert whispered, wrapping his arms around Jaskier, licking and nibbling at his ear. A shiver ran through him with each brush of those wonderful teeth and Jaskier canted his hips, rubbing his cock against Lambert's stomach.
By now, Geralt knew how he liked it. He held Jaskier still until he bottomed out, their hips flush together. Then, he started with the slow, almost glacial thrusts, drawing out... then pushing back in... out again... until Jaskier was going mad with it, his lips babbling, buzzing to have something to suckle or kiss. Lambert was right there, catching Jaskier's plush bottom lip between his teeth and sucking.
“Lambert,” Eskel growled. He was sitting on the side of the bed, watching, waiting for his turn to fill Jaskier's ass. He liked going last, giving one final stretch before Jaskier tumbled over his final cliff of pleasure. “Be careful.”
“He is,” Jaskier panted. “He's so careful with me, you all are. I wish you wouldn't be...”
Geralt took his words to mean he wanted it harder, which was not incorrect. Hips started snapping almost too fast, punching Jaskier's breath from his lungs even as he chanted, “Yes, yes, yes!”
Lambert's rough palm wrapped around him, jerking Jaskier's cock in time with Geralt's too quick thrusts. It didn't take long for him to come, the strong muscles of his channel pulling Geralt over with him. Geralt leaned forward, blanketing himself over Jaskier's back as he thrust again, pushing him through his orgasm. Just as Jaskier thought he was done, cock starting to drop, he felt a soft scratch of teeth on his shoulder. His vision whited out, body jerking as he came again.
“Fuck,” Geralt growled and continued to fuck him through it.
Jaskier was already floating, but he wanted the others, he wanted them covering him, filling him all night, they promised to give him anything and this is what he wanted. Arranging loose limbs, Lambert took his place behind Jaskier's upturned ass as Geralt held him, large hands rubbing soothing circles all over him. “Tell us if it's too much.”
“It's perfect.” Jaskier captured his lips just as Lambert thrust in, a little bit of Geralt's spend gushing out, making them all moan. His thighs were already sticky and they'd barely started, Jaskier's cock jumped at the mere thought of taking all three in one night. They'd done it before, but usually with breaks for reading or lazy rounds of Gwent, never one after the other, forming and orderly queue to access Jaskier's goods. He kind of liked that idea.
His attention snapped back to the moment when a finger brushed the edge of his puffy hole, pushing in a little. “Fuck,” he whined.
Lambert chuckled, his other hand coming down to slap Jaskier ass. “Gotta get you ready for big boy, Eskel's gonna ruin that tight hole if we're not careful.”
“Ruin me,” Jaskier groaned, rolling his hips so his cock leaked all over Geralt's hard again. “Do it, I never want anyone else ever again.”
“Uh, fuck, you say the filthiest, sweetest things.” Lambert's thrusts sped up, hands holding tighter to Jaskier's hips.
Geralt rubbed his nose up Jaskier's cheek, licking again and again, savoring the taste of his sweat. “And we only want you.” Nudging with his nose, he pushed Jaskier's head to the side so Eskel could lean down and capture his lips. Jaskier came with Lambert's cock in his ass and Eskel's tongue in his mouth.
“Do you need a rest?” Geralt ran his fingers through sweaty hair, sniffing at Jaskier to make sure he was uninjured. They all tried to be covert with their inspections of Jaskier's health, but they fooled no one.
He shook his head and rolled on his back, groaning at the gush of come he felt expel from him at the moment. “No. Eskel now. Now please.”
Settling between his knees, Eskel slicked his cock before gripping it at the base and lining up with Jaskier's hole. Jaskier was plenty slick, but there was just so much of Eskel, a little extra did not go amiss. He barely had enough strength to wrap his arms around Eskel's neck before the Witcher was inside him, opening him up wider than before.
Jaskier had taken Eskel's cock already this winter, he knew what it felt like, but there really was no way to brace ones self for the sudden rolling pin sized intrusion. Every time was like the first and Jaskier cursed and moaned like he was a virgin again, shaking apart on the first cock he'd ever seen. Of course, they were all so much superior to any human; their worries of ruining him were a little too late, Jaskier was already wrecked for them. His ship caught up in the maelstrom of golden eyes and sharp teeth, dragged to the bottom of the ocean, a watery grave he was happy to occupy for the rest of eternity.
“Uh, fuck,” Eskel cursed. The normally kind Witcher lost his head in the throes of passion, Jaskier enjoyed bringing those moods out in him. “Jaskier, you're a fucking mess. Do you feel this?” A finger swiped through the come squelching out of his hole, caressing the side of his sac and sending a full body shiver through Jaskier, his limbs almost ready to crumple under the strain of too much pleasure. “Do you know what they did to you? And you want more?” Teeth grazed his neck and Jaskier's breath caught. He was so fucking close, just a little more... “I guess what they say is true, bards are greedy.” A firm palm smacked down on his ass cheek. “Guess I have to fill you up again.”
The dirty chatter from an unusual source—Eskel was sweet, all sighs and coos and whispers of “I love you beautiful,” it took a lot to make him growl and tease like the others—sent Jaskier over, his cock spurting for the third time. It was only a little dribble now, his balls truly empty, but he knew there was a full load coming from Eskel. After multiple blow jobs a piece, each of them still had more than enough to pour into Jaskier. Gods bless Witcher stamina.
As soon as his climax ebbed away, soft hand brushed through his hair. “Was that alright?” Eskel asked. He kissed up and down Jaskier's neck as they all settled him on the bed, clean cloths and eager tongues at the ready for when Jaskier was done wallowing in the spend all over him. He wanted another moment to bask between them, appreciating how utterly ruined they made him.
“Yesss,” he slurred. His lips tingled with the need for another cock even as sleep pulled at him. “Perfect. I want... someone, please.”
Jaskier didn't know who's cock pressed between his lips, only that it was there and he started sucking. Gentle hands wiped him clean and his body pulled him down into slumber, warm, hard flesh between his lips as he slept.
Jaskier was fond of hyperbole, it made for good ballads to describe the river as “clear as crystal” rather than “muddy and a little smelly.” But when he described that winter as bliss, there was no embellishment attached. It was, far and wide, the best winter he'd ever spent. The drafty old castle was straight out of an epic poem, Vesemir was a good sounding board for his composing (he knew all the old masters too, knew them, knew them, met them so long ago) and his Wolves were perfect, the most generous lovers a man could ever ask for.
They spent their days doing chores to keep the castle standing, and their afternoons and evenings playing. When Vesemir went to bed but the others were still drinking and playing Gwent, Jaskier would crawl under the table, sucking them as they tried to concentrate on the game. “Think of it as training,” he said into Lambert's thigh as he nibbled far too sensitive skin, “I'd love you all to last longer, so I can really enjoy how you feel in my mouth. If you have to think about the game, you won't even notice me...”
They noticed. Lambert, the undefeated champion of winter Gwent, lost to Eskel in the first round, one hand buried in Jaskier's hair. “Fuck, you're killing me...” he gasped out as he spilled.
There were lazy afternoon fucks, one of them riding Jaskier's cock while someone else straddled his face, allowing Jaskier to take them deeper than before; quickies out in the training courtyard when Vesemir was on the other side of the castle, “I love fucking on the training dummies,” Lambert grunted as Jaskier sucked him down; and of course, they hid a pillow behind some of the library shelves so Jaskier could kneel in front of them while they were trying to re-shelve the books Vesemir told them to return. Everything was a game and there were no losers here.
A few weeks before the end of winter, Jaskier worked up the courage to ask for what he really wanted. Anything, anything, they said it over and over, promising him the moon in return for his sweet lips. Well, he didn't want the fucking moon, but something a little closer to home.
With Eskel and Lambert dozing beside him, Jaskier was a shivering, shaking wreck as Geralt licked between his legs. Strong fingers dug into the meat of his thighs, pushing them up and back to expose his hole to Geralt's tongue. There was nothing below his waist that wasn't absolutely covered in saliva and Jaskier wanted more. “P-please,” he whispered. “Put it in me.” Geralt's tongue worked its way into his loose hole and Jaskier keened, coming hard. As soon as he flopped back, completely spent, that tongue was back, licking up every drop of come Geralt found.
Eskel and Lambert started to move, nosing at him, getting a little lust drunk off the arousal that poured off Jaskier every waking moment. With all three of them firmly focused on him, Jaskier would never get a better chance. “I want something,” he said.
Three heads lifted. “What is it?” Geralt asked.
Eskel kissed up his arm, licking his shoulder. “Anything you want.”
The room went still. Six golden eyes shined like lamps in the darkened room, reflecting the light of the fire. Lambert moved first. “Is that... is that safe?”
“No, it's not,” Geralt snarled before Jaskier could answer. “We try so hard not to hurt you, not to damage you with our hideous—”
“They're not hideous.” Jaskier sat bolt upright and grabbed Geralt's jaw in desperate fingers, kissing roughly, lapping his tongue over each point. “They're beautiful. You have no idea how much I want to feel them on me, in me. Please. It's all I want. I'll worship your cocks every year until I die if you bite me once, mark me.” He rubbed his nose over Geralt's cheek, spreading his scent in the way he knew made them weak. It was playing dirty, but they were three godly beings sculpted from marble, he had to have a few tricks to get the upper hand with them.
Eyes fluttered before Geralt got a hold of himself and pulled back. But he didn't lean away, he stayed close enough to touch Jaskier. So many decades being careful to never actually bite, even when playing with Eskel or Lambert, they were rougher with one another than they were with Jaskier, but whenever they broke skin with their fangs, roughhousing turned into soothing licks lapping up the blood, their tongues apologizing with more than words. To do that to Jaskier deliberately went against every instinct Geralt had.
He dropped his head on top of Jaskier's shoulder. Fuck, he was lost. The bard was so much more than Geralt originally planned, a lover, a friend, an annoying pain in the ass in all the best ways. And the way he took to Geralt's brothers, treating them with all the same kindness, something they didn't get out in the wider world... “Fuck,” he sighed. “Not—not your neck.”
“No, of course not.” Jaskier wiggled onto his back, then rolled over, exposing his plush backside to all of them. Long fingers caressed a bouncy cheek. “Here.” His hands slid up, caressing his shoulders. “And here. All of you. Please?”
“Fuck,” Geralt hissed again. He met Eskel and Lambert's gaze and they all shared a thought, he's fucking insane and I'm not sure I mind... “Give us... give us a minute.”
There was shuffling and arranging, they found a spare bed sheet to lay down so they didn't get blood on the sheets. Eskel ran downstairs to get bandages just in case, but Geralt wasn't planning on biting deep, just enough to leave a light scar... It wasn't as if he was spoiling a perfect body, Jaskier had scars, but they were human scars—a pock mark at the corner of his mouth, a shiny patch on his knee where he must've skinned it one too many times as a child, and a nick on the back of his head hidden under his hair—he wasn't like a Witcher, a patchwork tapestry of pain and death. Geralt already carried Jaskier deep in his heart, and if the bard wanted to carry them on his skin, well... they really weren't good at refusing him, now were they?
Bandages and clean water close to hand, Geralt held Jaskier's hips down on the bed. “Don't move.”
Two sharp points pressed just above the swell of his ass. The slightest press was all it took to break the skin. Jaskier cried out in mingled pain and pleasure as Geralt dragged his fangs downwards, creating two neat lines that would definitely scar. He licked the coppery blood off his teeth before lapping at the little slashes, licking them clean before letting Eskel attend to Jaskier.
“Alright?” he asked, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.
“Yes...” Jaskier's eyes fluttered, his cock hard again, it was only Eskel's careful, caring hands that kept him from rutting against the sheets. “Perfect. Thank you.”
They waited until morning—monitored how the first wound healed—before Geralt allowed Eskel and Lambert to take their turns. Pressed between them, Jaskier panted and shook as they bit down on top of his shoulders. The blood rich area scarred easily and he almost came at the thought of seeing two perfect mouth indentations in his skin forever.
They were all so careful with him, the bites healed nicely. After the scabs disappeared, Jaskier would frequently wake to find Eskel or Lambert licking their bites, rubbing noses against the spot they claimed on their bard. He let them touch and kiss to their hearts' content before taking them into his mouth, letting their hips buck and roll, fucking his throat a little before they spilled deep inside him.
Geralt was more shy about his bite. He frowned for the first week whenever Jaskier winced as he sat, but Jaskier kissed that sour look away each time. Finally, when a dark pink scar marred his otherwise pristine ass, Geralt couldn't help but run his fingers over it, two little lines made with his overly sharp canines, not a full bite like the ones at his shoulders.
“Are you happy?” he whispered into Jaskier's hair.
“Yes.” He didn't have to think about his answer. Of course Jaskier was happy, he was currently in a bed surrounded by the most beautiful creatures in all the Continent, waiting until they woke to take them into his mouth again and feel them shatter apart under his touches. “Are you?”
Threading his fingers through Jaskier's hair, Geralt pulled his ear over his heart, beating low and slow, but strong. “Yes, I am. We all are.”
“Good.” Jaskier closed his eyes and let that heartbeat sing him to sleep. And in the morning, he'd wake to find Lambert's cock poking softly at his bottom lip, asking for Jaskier to work his magic again. Ah, the life of a Witcher's bard, such a chore...