“What’s the matter with him?” Lambert asks.
The way they’re talking as if he isn’t there would be annoying if Jaskier could think past the deep, pervasive, aching need within him that makes him squirm, panting with the effort of it. His whole body is flushed, crying out for relief, and he is at risk of biting his tongue bloody in an effort not to blurt anything out.
“I don’t know. We were on the east side of the valley gathering maidensbane and he just…”
Jaskier looks at Geralt, still frantic with frustration that Geralt’s first response had been to bring him back to the keep. He’d made it clear what he wanted.
Eskel looks sharply at him as he says it, causing Jaskier to whimper, going weak at the knees. Eskel catches him, his touch setting Jaskier’s senses ablaze.
“But that doesn’t affect humans…” Lambert adds.
“Perhaps,” Eskel says slowly, and as he hasn’t stopped Jaskier, Jaskier presses against him, burying his face against Eskel’s throat. “Perhaps we ought to concern ourselves with what’s happening, rather than what should or shouldn’t have happened.”
Jaskier shivers at the sound of Geralt’s voice.
“Which one of us?” Lambert asks.
Jaskier groans at the thought, the knowledge of what he needs to be satisfied.
“Jaskier?” Eskel prompts, his hand pressed against Jaskier’s upper arm.
“All of you,” he breathes. “All.”
“Are you sure?” Geralt hesitates, and Jaskier feels his eyes sting with frustration. If Geralt had fucked him as Jaskier wanted him to when this first hit, it would have taken some of the edge off at the very least.
“Come on,” Eskel says warmly, guiding Jaskier. He realises it’s towards the fire, towards the welcoming furs spread on the floor before the hearth.
He hears Lambert’s voice, the plea in it, and turns gratefully towards the youngest Witcher, meeting him in a bruising kiss. Eskel lets him go, a fact that only dimly registers, because Lambert’s hands are all over him, tugging at Jaskier’s clothes as greedily as Jaskier works Lambert’s armour off.
“Fuck yes,” he pants between kisses, murmuring the words against Lambert’s lips. “Fucking fuck me, come on.”
Of the three Witchers, Lambert always needs the least persuading, happy to mount and fuck Jaskier at the drop of the hat. His touch is always hungry, and so, so welcome, freeing, and Jaskier presses himself against it, ravenous for relief. Lambert’s cock is perfect, beautifully curved and thick, and Jaskier wraps his hand around it, moaning as he thinks of having it inside him. He needs it, he needs…
He gasps as fingers find their way between his thighs, too big to be Lambert’s. He pushes back, letting the slick digits slip into him, Eskel stretching him with almost too much gentleness. Jaskier wants to feel it, he wants the ache, the fullness and heaviness that is the only thing that can satisfy him.
Geralt is the one who helps Lambert, wrapping an oiled fist around his cock. He looks at the other Witcher in a way that says he wants to warn Lambert to be gentle, but they all know Lambert won’t be in spite of any promises he makes, and Jaskier doesn’t want him to be. He wants to feel it, to be fucked hard and fast with all the power Lambert can muster.
Lambert doesn’t disappoint. Jaskier lies back for him, finding his head by Eskel’s knees, and wraps his legs around Lambert’s waist, letting him push in with a grunt that makes Jaskier sing with relief. The stretch is perfect, Lambert’s cock filling him with two sharp trusts, and Jaskier finds himself moaning freely, rocked by every powerful slam of Lambert’s hips against, the head of Lambert’s cock brushing against the sensitive spot inside of him with unpredictable, jarring intensity.
“Fuck yeah,” Lambert breathes, curling over Jaskier and keeping his hips raised. “Sing for me, little bird.”
Jaskier draws a faltering breath, shuddering and feeling hot tears of relief escape him as he squeezes his eyes shut. A litany of curses tumbles from his lips, one hand above him to steady himself, the other clawing and scratching as Lambert, begging him to go harder.
Even untouched, Jaskier comes. It takes him by surprise, not just because of the suddenness of it, but because of the dissatisfaction it brings. It felt weak. Come coats his stomach, dripping down his sides, but he’s still hard, still wanting, still desperately needing more, so much more.
He whimpers, pulling Lambert closer. “More.”
With a near feral growl, Lambert adjusts his position, leaning over Jaskier, pistoning into him with unrestrained power. He’s beautiful like this, all raw edges and honest need, and Jaskier whimpers again, but this time for a different reason, his heart skipping a beat within his chest.
As he reaches up and touches Lambert’s cheek, Lambert comes, grunting as he fucks his load into Jaskier. He rides out his release, his breathing faster than normal, and as he starts to pull out Jaskier whines. It’s not enough. Even with the ache Lambert has left behind, he’s not satisfied. He tugs at his own cock, jarred by the sensitivity of it but in no way deterred. He needs more.
“Shit,” Geralt breathes. “Jaskier, are you okay?”
“Shut up and get inside me.”
Beside him, Lambert laughs, and Jaskier turns towards him, kissing him roughly. Fingers card through his hair – Eskel’s, perhaps – and Jaskier moans openly as another pair of hands spread his thighs, fingers pushing inside him.
He hears Geralt curse, and draws his knees up, breaking the kiss so that he can look at Geralt. Without any further persuading, Geralt lines up and eases forward. It takes nothing for him to slip into Jaskier’s already loose hole, sliding in on Lambert’s leavings, and Jaskier shudders, arching his back. “Yes,” he breathes. “Oh, fuck yes!”
Geralt reaches up with his clean hand to cup Jaskier’s face, holding his weight above him. No matter how much Jaskier tries, he can rarely get Geralt to lose all his restraint and fuck the way Lambert does. Even now, he’s painfully slow, sliding into Jaskier’s body almost leisurely, making him feel every perfect inch of his cock. The intensity of it hits Jaskier harder than it usually does, his muscles tightening around Geralt, wanting to hold him there as deep as possible.
Geralt, of fucking course, doesn’t stay. He pulls out almost completely, and then pushes back in again, slow and yet somehow still powerful, making Jaskier whimper. He hates and loves how unfairly good it is, how torturously steady Geralt can be, and his fingers bite into Geralt’s skin, pleading. Geralt gradually picks up the pace to pull out slowly and then push back in with controlled force, and Jaskier lets his head fall back as he’s fucked, the meted out pace leaving him near dizzy. He wants more, yes, he fucking wants more, but at the same time this is enough, because the most important thing is to feel Geralt inside him, to not be left empty and aching. He comes again, Geralt’s hand wrapped around his cock and gently thumbing just below the head, and then he finds himself huffing a breath of laughter when he’s left still hard, somehow unsatisfied.
Even Geralt’s release isn’t enough to sate him. Jaskier kisses him as he climaxes, open-mouthed and sloppy, his body still singing with need. As Geralt pulls out, he whimpers.
Jaskier moans at Eskel’s question. “It’s not enough,” he whines.
“Shit,” Lambert breathes, and when Jaskier looks at him, he’s growing hard again. “Can I…?”
Jaskier rolls over onto his front, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. He looks towards Lambert, whose expression is heavy with almost as much need as Jaskier feels. His hand is at his cock, stroking it, the head flushed and a mixture of Lambert’s last release and precome dripping from the slit.
Jaskier licks his lips, arching his back as Lambert works more oil into him first, fingers sloppy against his sensitive entrance. The pace this time is just as hard and unforgiving as before, and Jaskier’s body sings with joy at it, nerve endings aflame, raw to every sensation as Lambert fucks into him. Geralt’s fingers twine with his, Jaskier leaning on his elbows and panting heavily now, his head bowed and bowing further as Lambert presses a palm down between his shoulder blades. He feels the tell-tale shift in pace, the pitch of Lambert’s moans fracturing, and then the cock buried deep within him twitches with release, Lambert fucking another load of come into him.
He all but collapses when Lambert pulls out, face pressed against the furs, his ass still raised in the air. A warm trickle of mess spills from him, running over his taint and down his thigh as Lambert moves away and Eskel takes his place.
A large, calloused, gentle hand rests against Jaskier’s hip, Eskel’s thumb rubbing a familiar, soothing circle there. “Are you still okay little bird?”
Jaskier’s sense flutter at the endearment, and he nods, his throat feeling too raw to voice words.
“Tell me,” Eskel coaxes.
“Yes,” Jaskier manages, his voice wrecked. “Come on, please, I need you, I need…”
He breaks off with a moan as he feels the head of Eskel’s cock press against his hole, slipping against the mess that Lambert and Geralt have made of him. The deep, satisfied groan Eskel gives echoes through Jaskier’s body, his lungs fluttering and aching as Eskel stretches him open. It feels perfect, so fucking perfect, and Jaskier pushes back without thinking.
“That’s it,” Eskel murmurs, and the praise leaves Jaskier whimpering, surrendering to the steady, unrelenting pace Eskel sets. It begins to occur to him that this might never end, that he’ll be fucked again and again, passed endlessly between them. The happiness of the thought makes him hiccough, choking on it, and he moans, pushing his knees wider as he thinks of his Witchers always keeping him constantly filled.
He feels Eskel’s hand exploring the contours of his back, fingers pressing into his hips and holding him steady. Eskel feels so thick and heavy inside him, and Jaskier rocks back as best he can to meet his thrusts, reeling that the broken gasps and pants he hears are his own.
“Arms behind your back, little bird,” Eskel breathes, and Jaskier clumsily moves to obey. His face presses hard against the furs as he crosses his arms behind his back, and he feels a large, strong hand lock around his forearm, pulling.
The shift in position is exquisite. Eskel uses it as leverage, both hands now wrapped around Jaskier’s arms, holding them back and lifting Jaskier’s torso from the floor. He cries out, moaning and panting hard, startled to realise that he’s close to what feels like true completion now. To his side, Lambert curses, and Jaskier’s whole body jerks as Geralt’s hand wraps around his cock, stroking him. His eyes squeeze shut, curses falling brokenly from his lips as he begs and pleads for completion, sobbing between breaths. It’s all too much, too perfect, too wonderful, and as he feels Eskel come, pistoning hard into him and holding himself there as he fills Jaskier with another load of come, he breaks. The rush of release leaves him blinded, breathless and shuddering as his cock twitches and spills his third and heaviest load, Geralt coaxing him through it as Eskel’s cock rocks against his oversensitive prostate. His cheeks are wet, his lungs aching and heart racing, his body spent and sated at last.
Jaskier barely needs to pull to find Eskel gently releasing his arm, and he tries to support his own weight as Eskel pulls out. He’s quickly drawn to Eskel’s chest, cradled there as kisses are scattered against his neck. Geralt and Lambert crowd closer, touching him too. Jaskier can only breathe, unsure of his voice as he’s embraced by all three Witchers. Slowly, he comes back to his normal self, to steadiness, and he gives a faltering sigh, wondering what the fuck just happened. His body aches pleasantly, but it’s an ache nonetheless. The experience is definitely one to be repeated, but maybe in a few days’ time.
“Are you okay?” Lambert checks.
Jaskier nods. “Yeah.” He might not be singing for a day or two as well. “Are you…?”
“We’re fine,” Eskel reassures him, stroking back his hair. “Would you like a bath?”
“Mm,” Jaskier hums. “And some water.”
“A drink and a bath,” Geralt agrees, leaning in and cupping Jaskier’s chin, kissing him. He pulls away as he stands, looking down at Jaskier. “And then you can tell us why a plant that’s benign to humans had such an effect on you.”
Lambert snickers, and Jaskier shares a glance with him, seeing the way he smiles. It’s a conversation he didn’t ever really plan to have, but somehow he doesn’t think his Witchers are going to mind.