#the other witchers quickly figure it out because Eskels favourite thing now is to come over Ciris tattoo and rub his come in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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HEY I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT YOUR FICLET ABOUT GERALT BEING ILLITERATE IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I had to put down my phone and whimper when he pulled out the card 🥺 can.. can i humbly request a pt. 2 in the future please? (also,, ive gone through the entirety of your blog too and its. so. good. while ive been chillin’ quarantinin’ reading your fics have been my very favourite thing to do!!) ♥️

Nonnie, you and @ohnomybreadsticks have both given me inspiration for more. It’s gone in a slightly different direction with the whole Wolf School in on the thing now. But, hopefully, you’ll enjoy this addition just as much. Best of luck with the quarantine! I’ll be posting stories fairly regularly for the foreseeable future which will hopefully keep you entertained and out of trouble!

The illiterate Geralt story can be found here.

Jaskier’s School of Self Care for Lost Wolves

It was a known fact that Jaskier loved too much and too freely. Sometimes, he even fell in love with those he hadn’t met but felt they needed love all the same. Which was how he ended up with emotions towards witchers he hadn’t met beyond Geralt occasionally letting a name slip. It wasn’t the same kind of love he held for Geralt, it wasn’t all consuming, he didn’t want to kiss the other witchers silly but it didn’t burn fiercely and involved a lot of throws and warm cuddles. Because, as Jaskier had helped Geralt work on his reading and writing, he realised something. None of the other witchers knew how to do that either. Which was how Jaskier ended up demanding he be allowed to go to Kaer Morhen with Geralt. He had a whole winter to remedy the mistakes their teachers had made. It wouldn’t magically make up for all the neglect but Jaskier would be damned if he didn’t try his best to slowly build scaffolding around and start the process of patching in the holes.

The journey back to the old keep was more hazardous than Jaskier had even dared imagine. It didn’t help that Geralt told him most witchers died on the path, either too naive and new on their way out or too tired or injured on the way back. That was utterly appalling and Jaskier was in half a mind to demand that a new path be devised to make sure all witchers could get home and get the care they needed. Even if Geralt insisted this was for the best, an injured witcher had no prospects after all. Rather than argue, Jaskier kept his mouth shut and began scheming.

There weren’t many witchers left, the school of the wolf was a dying breed but, along with Geralt, three other witchers returned and Jaskier was delighted. It seemed that the whole family was together again. Not that they acted like a family, more like a bunch of pissy cats trying to establish territories because they couldn’t figure out how to share and snuggle. That did disappoint Jaskier, he had a lot more work cut out for him than anticipated. Still, he could put the beginnings of his plan into play.

“What are you doing?” Lambert sounded so utterly offended when he came across Jaskier settled comfortably between Geralt’s legs, both of them stretched out on a fur in front of a fire. Jaskier was holding a book and Geralt was reading aloud in a low, rumbling voice.

“We’re enjoying a good story. Care to join us?”

Snarling, Lambert stalked out of the room and Jaskier shrugged. It was a start, even if it wasn’t an auspicious one. However, it set things into motion because not two days later, Eskel had approached Geralt in the kitchen, softly quizzing him on reading.

“I could teach you,” Jaskier volunteered as soon as he heard, deciding to ignore the wide eyed, almost sheepish look from Eskel.

That was how an hour was set aside each day where Jaskier sat with Eskel, leafing through well loved books that Geralt had used, sounding out words together. After the third time, they ended up with a secretive audience in the form of Lambert lurking just outside the door, listening in. In the end, Jaskier left a book in his usual hiding spot and waited for Lambert to come to him. It took longer than he had anticipated, Jaskier had been shooing Eskel out the room and hanging around to tidy up after their lessons for a good week before the book was thrown by his feet.

“Stop mocking me.” Lambert had his arms crossed defensively over his chest and was glaring in a way that would have sent bolts of fear through most people. Just as well that Jaskier wasn’t like most. He’d seen the posturing, the anger and lashing out in Geralt before, knew all too well what lay below it. With the greatest simplicity, he picked up the book and sat down, opening it and giving Lambert an expectant look. After a beat, the witcher sat down next to him.

That was three witchers on their way to literacy but something still bugged Jaskier. Thankfully, he didn’t have to say anything because Lambert took matters into his own hand. He had a book with him one breakfast, furiously trying to catch up with the other two and master ‘See Spot Run’ at record speed.

“Why did you never teach us to read?” he asked around a mouthful of eggs, greasy fingers leaving marks on the pages.

A silence descended on the table as eyes turned to Vesemir who, for the first time since they knew him, looked uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t needed,” he began. “A witcher can’t read a monster to death.”

Understanding dawned on Jaskier then and there. He put his fork aside and stood with an “oh you poor dear”. It was barely audible over Vesemir’s mumbled “I was just a fencing instructor.”

Walking around the table, he easily settled on Vesemir’s lap, ignoring all social conventions regarding touch. Looking up at the witcher, he smiled.

“It’s never too late to learn.”

Given the possessive nature of witchers, one would have expected Geralt to get jealous. However, he seemed content for Jaskier to do as he pleased, spending time with the other witchers. All too soon, all four of them were piled together on rugs and chairs around a fire and frowning over their respective books while Jaskier flitted between them, helping and encouraging where it was needed. It was obvious Lambert struggled the most, the letters dancing before his eyes and never quite settling which made him growl in frustration and his book often went flying across the room. Only once did it land in the fire.

“I’ve made a decision,” Jaskier announced during a quiet afternoon. “You’re all coming along wonderfully with reading and I have so much more to offer.”

Four witchers looked at him a little fearfully, wondering if they weren’t enough. They didn’t say anything as Jaskier walked out of the room but the sadness was palpable. Until Jaskier returned with his beloved lute.

“If anyone wants to learn any music, I’m happy to teach them.”

While reading was a chore for Lambert, he took to music like a duck to water when shown songs, able to replicate the chord sequences Jaskier showed him quite quickly. He had a special love of raunchy singing songs. The only sad thing was that there was only one lute or any kind of musical instrument in the whole of Kaer Morhen. Though Jaskier was more than happy to sing along to whatever tune Lambert was picking out. Soon, they had a whole repertoire of witcher drinking songs they would happily belt out while the others thumped the table in time with the beat.

By contrast, Eskel seemed content with the softer side of things. In fact, he had taken a real shine to sonnets and would often be found discussing them in depth with Jaskier. Occasionally, Geralt joined in but he didn’t find as much joy in dissecting whether the “sweet smell of faded summer” was in fact a statement about the passing of seasons or whether it was the soft lament of two lovers growing old.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir’s voice pulled Jaskier from his quiet introspection. It was early, the sun was barely poking out from behind the mountains but he was out in the courtyard with Geralt sat on a barrell and frowning into a book.

“Stretching,” Jaskier replied, sunnier than the weather. “I learned a series of movements to keep the body supple and the mind engaged. It helps me keep up with Geralt.”

The wink he sent Geralt’s way was enough to have him raising the book to hide his blush. While everybody knew what was going on between them, Geralt didn’t like to shamelessly advertise it. He was a private soul by nature.

“Come.” Jaskier beckoned Vesemir. “Let me show you.”

They worked through poses, Jaskier explaining a little about each of them. While they looked simple and easy, Vesemir was surprised to find that they gave the gentlest workout he had ever had. By the end, he was pleasantly tired but not in a way a training fight would have worn him out. It was, for want of a better word, rejuvenating. It had him as close to a smile as he usually got.

Over the course of the week, it went from Jaskier stretching in the courtyard while Geralt read to Jaskier and Vesemir. Until, silently, Eskel joined them one morning, standing next to Vesemir, a little nervous but a smile from Jaskier had him easing into the flow. The next morning, soft lute strums accompanied their exercises as Lambert sat opposite Geralt and his book, playing something gentle. The grateful look Jaskier shot him was enough to get him scowling, even if the music never stopped.

Spring was just around the corner. The witchers were all sat around the cleared dining room table with parchments in front of them, quills in hand. Eskel’s tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth as he focused on his work.

“Just remember, this means you can keep in touch with each other. Enchanted crows can deliver your letters now.” Jaskier was playing soft music as the others perfected their penmanship. Well, all except Lambert who had taken to doodling, letters getting lost in the pictures. But that was okay, he could always draw his sentiments, the others would understand.

By the time it came to leaving Kaer Morhen, Jaskier was content and happy. He had four witchers who looked so much more self confident in their abilities. Because while he had kept their attention on the arts, it was inevitable that they all bonded. It wasn’t all that unusual to find at least two, if not three of them piling on top of each other with a book, getting lost in adventures they didn’t have to live through. Someone else’s struggles were so much more satisfying when the fear of death and failure didn’t hang above their heads.

Three witchers and a bard stood in the courtyard, horses loaded up as they prepared to leave on their respective paths. Only Vesemir stood in his usual attire and a soft smile creasing his face.

“Safe travels to you all,” he said, meeting the others’ eyes in turn.

“What will you do?” Eskel asked. “You usually accompany us at least some of the way.”

The smile turned into an excited grin and Vesemi gestured vaguely towards the keep. “My path for the year is one that is a tight circle. The library here needs some attention.”

Pride made Jaskier beam. He stepped forward and gave Vesemir a hug. “I expect many a wonderful tale from the library when we’re back next year.”

That sealed it. The next winter, they were all going to return with more stories. Eskel even kept a diary to share with Jaskier in case Geralt was stingy on his details for songs. And, when they all reconvened at the start of the next winter, Vesemir had tomes from the library ready to read stories from while Lambert turned up with his own lute on his back.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #illiterate geralt #tldr: jaskier teaches all the witchers how to read and appreciate the arts

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restmyheadatnightcontent · 3 years

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febuwhump day 23 - ‘don’t look’

a continuation of this with some mama yen and a smidge of family fluff

geraskefer & ciri | 1258 words | cw: blood and injury

____

Ciri is almost asleep by the time someone comes for them. She is not sure how much time had passed, but eventually her constant worrying had tired her out and now she was dozing, blinking herself awake every few minutes, determined to see them when they returned.

The silence of their makeshift camp was broken by the snapping of twigs just behind the tree. She sits up reaching for her dagger, seeing Jaskier do the same next to her. He stands in front of her, knife gripped tightly in his hand as a figure makes their way out from the trees. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that it is just Yennefer but Jaskier is still tense, and does not relax until he lays the flat of his silver blade against the flat of her hand, confirming that it is in fact Yennefer. Although Ciri’s heart drops again when she sees that it is just Yennefer, no Witcher in sight.

“He’s alive,” she says, answering Ciri’s question before she could even ask it. “He’s alive but he’s been badly injured. I called Triss and we portalled him up to Kaer Morhen so he could get help.”

Ciri managed to relax slightly at the knowledge Geralt was alive. She doesn’t know what she would do if she were to lose him, but she does not need to think of that now. He’s alive, and he will heal. Especially with Yennefer and Triss helping him.

Jaskier quickly packs up their things and then the three of them, plus Roach, are stepping through a portal and into the keep. Once the dizziness passes and her stomach settles, she runs into the hall to see that Geralt has been laid down on the table, but she cannot see much more than that as everyone is surrounding him. All the Witchers are huddled around the table, as well as Triss, and none of them look up at her entrance. She makes her way towards the foot of the table and stops suddenly at the sight. Lambert and Cöen are holding Geralt down as Eskel pushes into his wound, Triss stands opposite him, hands moving quickly as she mutters incantations under her breath, Vesemir stands at Geralts head, holding his head still with one hand whilst trying to coax potions down his throat. But the thing that makes Ciri stop is the blood. There is so much of it, everyone stood at the table seems to be covered in it and yet more and more seems to flow from Geralt’s stomach. His entire torso seems to have been ripped open and she’s sure she can see his organs and—

“Don’t look at this, little one. You don’t need to see this,” a voice says as a hand comes to her shoulder and turns her so now she is looking at Yen.

“But – but I can help – I should stay and –” she says, trying to struggle from Yen’s grip and turn back towards the table.

“You can’t help,” she says bluntly “Not now. I know it looks bad, but we will fix it and he will be fine. Geralt would not want you to see this. The best thing you can do to help is to be ready and waiting for when he wakes up.”

“There must be something I can do! Some way that I can help! What’s the point of all this learning if I can’t do anything to help?” she cries. “What’s the point?”

Yen’s face softens and she crouches down in front of her and cups her cheek. “Healing magic is complicated, and it takes years of practice and patience. Even I still find it difficult after all this time. It is never easy to see the ones we care about suffer, and it takes great sacrifice to step back when they are hurting to let someone else take care of them, but that it what I need you to do now. I know it is horrible, but I need you to be brave.”

Ciri sniffs and nods. She can be brave. She is the Lion Cub of Cintra after all.

“It will be alright, I promise, we just need to be patient. So go and get some food, have a wash and try and get some rest. I’ll come and get you as soon as he wakes up,” Yen reassures her, hand wiping away Ciri’s tears.

“Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on Jaskier and makes sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble,” Yennefer adds, sending her a wink and she lets out a small giggle at the indignant ‘Hey!’ she hears come from the bard. He walks towards them, with a cheery smile plastered on fake and she notices the way he keeps his eyes fixed firmly away from the table.

“Come along then, Princess. Let’s go find something to eat, shall we?” he asks, holding out his hand. She glances up at Yennefer again, who gives her a small smile, before she takes his hand.

Neither of them pass comment on the way the others hand trembles as they make their way towards the kitchen. They sit and eat whatever they can easily find, neither of them feeling up to cooking anything. Once the food is finished, they head down to the springs and as sinks down into the water, the warmth envelopes her and she feels the tiredness from earlier return. After she clean and dry, she makes her way up to her room and collapses into bed. Jaskier comes and perches on the bed, running his hand through her hair.

“Stay until I fall asleep?” she asks quietly. If she cannot be with her whole family right now, she will take whatever small part of it she can.

“Of course, darling,” he replies, before softly singing her favourite lullaby, the one that her mother used to sing to her when she was a baby, and before long she is asleep.

“Ciri.”

She blinks her eyes open at the sound of her name to find Yennefer looking down at her, her position almost identical to Jaskier’s before she fell asleep. She looks tired, there are flecks of blood on her face and dress, but she is smiling.

“He’s awake,” she says and Ciri blinks once more before throwing the blankets aside and rushing out the room. She runs and skids into the hall, only stopping when she sees a familiar pair of golden eyes looking at her.

“Hello, cub” he says, his voice hoarse and he sounds exhausted but she doesn’t care because he is awake and he’s here.

She runs and throws her arms around his neck as tight as she can without disturbing his injury.

“I’m so glad you’re alright - I was so scared – there was so much blood and—”

“I’m okay,” he cuts her off, wrapping his arm around her. Ciri lifts her head from his shoulder to see his other hand is held tightly in Yennefer’s who is sitting on the other side of the table, with her other arm wrapped around Jaskier who is leaning against her side. He looks tired too, bags heavy under his eyes but he also has a wide smile on his face.

She turns back to Geralt and jabs a finger into an unbruided portion of his chest. “You have to promise to never get hurt and scare me like that again!”

He huffs out a small laugh at the pout on her face and says “I promise.”

“Good.”

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday23 #my fic #my writing #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskefer #geraskefer fic #geralt x yennefer x jaskier #geralt #yennefer #jaskier #ciri

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hardkinkbardkink · 4 years

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anon asked: Incubus!Jask at Kaer Morhen, having enthralled the witcher boys (+Ves? Your call.) wanting to watch them fuck only to be surprised they’re all... small? Maybe it’s the mutations fault. No matter. Jask makes them get off with each other by making them lap at each others’ cocks like they’re cunts, fingering one another until they’re squirming like pups begging for Jaskier’s cock to breed their needy holes because no other cocks will do. Bonus for puppy play, and forced orgasms because I could see someone like Eskel or Lambert snapping out of it for a moment while Geralt is humping their thigh and being horrified until Jaskier talks him down, asking “don’t you like being my pup? Doesn’t it feel good to have your little cunny touched?” Until they’re re-enthralled for Jaskier’s sole amusement.

so this is,,, my favourite prompt i’d ever got? truly? and that’s not to say that the other asks i get aren’t fucking amazing cos they very much are but this just hit all the points for me. all of them. lord have mercy.

this is filthy overstim tiny cock mind-controlled porn thru & thru oof i’m a bit hot under the collar not gonna lie to you babes

now also on the ao3 near you

***

At first Jaskier’d thought it was a joke. How could he not? The concept of a witcher letting him tag along for the monster-slaying ride was rich enough. The idea–the very idea of being invited to the place that was basically Geralt’s home, and home to his brothers, to other witchers–

It was, very much, not a joke, if the cold ache that’s seeped through his joints and the monolithic, run-down keep standing stark against the grey sky are anything to go by.

“This seems like a needlessly intricate plot just to kill me, you do realise. You could easily have done it at any moment and I wouldn’t even notice you draw the blade.”

Geralt never appreciates this particular vein of his humour.

“I won’t–”

“Yes, yes, you won’t kill me, I know, you boring old man.”

The heavy oaken door squeaks horribly when Jaskier pushes it open with some considerable effort. Geralt doesn’t move to help him, the great brute that he is, resigning instead to stewing in his insufferable self-righteousness.

The inside of the keep is no less cold than the outside, though there are at least three lit hearths in the big, open hall alone. At least there’s no snow. Jaskier looks around, overwhelmed by how awfully bland and devoid of style everything is. A long table with two equally long benches on either side seems to be the hall’s biggest attraction, and Jaskier nearly weeps at the thought of the sad, sad souls that have come through here. No wonder Geralt is the way he is.

“Witchers–” Geralt continues suddenly when Jaskier’s already long moved on from the subject.

“–are immune to incubus magic, yes, Geralt, you told me. I do listen sometimes, you know.”

“He never listens, though, so he assumes nobody else does either,” comes a beautiful voice speaking the whole truth and the truth only.

Jaskier turns as quickly as his stiff limbs will allow him.

“Eskel,” Geralt growls in–what, a threat? Even in his own home, the man resorts to threats?

“Eskel!” Jaskier repeats with the cheer it deserves. He’s heard only great things about Eskel. He extends a hand in greeting, and shivers when Eskel takes it in his own, gloveless in this awful chill. “Pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

Eskel’s smile, Jaskier thinks, is quite striking, just as the rest of him. Broad shoulders and thick thighs, dark hair peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, a playful glint in his golden eyes, the exact copies of Geralt’s–

He shivers again, and not from the temperature.

Another set of footsteps echoes through the hall, obnoxiously loud. Geralt walks silently, like a cat slinking in the shadows. Eskel seems about the same way. Whoever this is must just enjoy being a right pompous prick for the sake of it.

Jaskier gets introduced to Lambert and grows a little bit warmer when all three witchers gather around him, tower above him, really, walking, talking mountains of muscle and strength and gods, fuck, Jaskier’s so hungry.

He shouldn’t have agreed to come, but Geralt’s assured him they’ll figure it out.

They are yet to figure it out.

But he gets as many cups of mulled wine as his little heart desires, and Geralt soon brightens up around his brothers, cracking jokes as they all shove at each other playfully like they’re still wolf pups instead of hundred-year-old men.

The evening, all in all, ends up pleasant. Jaskier falls asleep calm and safe, ignoring the sucking emptiness inside him.

***

So here’s the thing.

Sometimes, he thinks Geralt makes himself forget about Jaskier’s inhuman heritage.

Sometimes, he thinks maybe Geralt really believes he doesn’t need to feed on energy because he scarfs down half a loaf of bread at breakfast.

Sometimes, he wishes someone would strike him down, so he doesn’t have to be so achingly hungry anymore.

And everyone’s being so nice to him, so accommodating–he’s embarrassed to ask them for anything more when they already give him so much.

And, here’s another thing.

Witchers are not actually immune to incubus magic.

Jaskier’s never had the heart to tell Geralt.

The poor dear once told him no when Jaskier half-jokingly asked to suck his cock and really thought his mighty witcher-brain is immune to Jaskier’s power.

It is decidedly not the truth.

Jaskier makes it a whole week, waiting for Geralt to offer himself or anyone else up–Jaskier would even take a sacrificial virgin in a pinch–but he stays famished and weakening by the day.

He means to only take a little, at first. He finds Eskel and Lambert in the courtyard. Compelling them to drop their swords and follow him inside is child’s play.

Jaskier walks them up to his bedroom–the only chamber in this whole blasted keep that’s even remotely warm–and thrums with anticipation as he practically skips up the steps.

He means to only take a little, so he gets Lambert on his knees and makes for Eskel to shove his undoubtedly glorious cock down his throat, except–

Except that he doesn’t think Eskel’s cock could reach Lambert’s throat in any capacity.

Oh.

When Lambert peels away his own leathers, and his dick turns out similarly sized, Jaskier burns with curiosity.

He motions for his boys to come forward, half-tangled in their clothes still, and they come to sit on the bed with him. He pets their precious tiny pricks and they squirm deliciously.

Oh, he’s got to find Geralt.

He leaves them to undress and sprints through the keep at inhuman speed, dipping his head into various rooms until he spots the shock of white hair. Geralt’s defences are so embarrassingly low, Jaskier doesn’t even have to try particularly hard to catch him under a spell.

Eskel and Lambert are knelt dutifully in front of the bed, their clothes strewn all about, their expressions blissed-out like Jaskier’s never seen them before. He helps Geralt undress–gods, and Geralt’s prick is even smaller, somehow–before directing him to his knees between his brothers.

Jaskier practically vibrates with eagerness.

He meant only to take a little, but now he thinks he’ll have all of it, and then some for dessert, until he’s bursting with it.

Gods, the possibilities are endless.

Jaskier makes himself comfortable, leaning back on the cushions, facing his obedient pups.

“My good boys. My darling, perfect pups. You’re even more breathtaking than I could ever imagine.”

Someone whines pitifully at the words.

“Oh, it’s high time someone took care of you, isn’t it? Look how wet your gorgeous cocks are getting, and I barely even touched you.”

He wants to touch, but even more he wants to watch.

“Eskel, my lovely, why don’t you lay down for me? That’s it, heart. Open your mouth nice and wide–”

Jaskier looks on, transfixed, as his pups shuffle to accommodate his wants; Eskel on his back on the furs, Lambert straddling his face, cute prick hovering just above his parted lips. He’s got Geralt on his belly, face buried between Eskel’s legs.

“My, look at you. Go on, dears, you must be ravenous.”

He can’t settle on where to look–to watch clumsy tongues lap desperately at each other’s cocks, or their faces twist in unadulterated pleasure. Just as he fixes his wandering gaze on where Lambert’s got his lip between his teeth, he catches a glimpse of Geralt rutting his tiny prick against the edge of the fur.

He waits until he can just feel the static of release cloying the air, all his pups whimpering as they approach the precipice–and orders them apart. They kneel again, their chests heaving and cocks throbbing, clad only in their medallions.

“What would my pups want? Do you want to fingerfuck your needy holes, since none of you have a cock to do it? I’ll give you something bigger, when you’re all nice and loose.”

“Please,” Geralt says quietly and crawls up the bed. He comes to straddle one of Jaskier’s thighs, his prick flushed a delightful pink, deliciously wet at the head, and Jaskier’s sure greater men would have succumbed.

“Oh, is my puppy desperate?”

Geralt nods frantically as he rides Jaskier’s thigh, spreading sticky precome all over the fabric of his trousers.

“You’ll have to wait your turn to get bred full, then, heart, since your brothers are so patient.”

He brushes Geralt’s hair to the side and shivers when Geralt comes with a series of lovely, high-pitched moans, feeling the shadow of his pup’s release at the base of his spine.

“Good boy. But you’re so greedy, darling, you’ve left your brothers waiting. Better make it up to them, yeah?”

Geralt nods again and scrambles off the bed to push at Eskel’s chest and get him to lay back down again. This time Geralt throws Eskel’s legs over his shoulders and laps hungrily at his hole. Jaskier makes Lambert return to sit on Eskel’s face, turned the other way as he rides Eskel’s tongue and moans wantonly.

They both take a finger beautifully, even before Jaskier hands them the oil.

Gods, Jaskier has to palm his own cock when he thinks about his pups, made-over and trained to be killing machines–helpless as he forces them to take their pleasure, squirming on each other’s fingers and tongues, moaning and whimpering and begging in broken, breathy whispers to be taken and bred and filled.

He watches Eskel stretched on three fingers, his powerful thighs quivering. Jaskier feels the frantic crescendo of his pup’s orgasm, can taste the panic that rises in him because he didn’t get the permission to come yet.

“Do you like Geralt’s fingers, darling? Want to come on them? Go on, Eskel, my lovely, let go for me.”

Eskel’s little cock twitches before he comes with a sob, draining his heavy balls all over his belly, but he never stops driving his fingers relentlessly into Lambert’s slack hole.

“You too, Lambert, baby, come for me whenever you feel like it. Look how good it was for your brothers.”

Lambert only takes a few more harsh thrusts before he nearly collapses forward, seizing up and shooting his load over Eskel’s chest with a full-bodied tremor.

“Good. Gods, you’re all so good, so lovely, you make my heart ache.”

They make other parts of him ache, too.

When Geralt moves up to dutifully clean Eskel’s skin of seed, from his flushed chest all the way to his sensitive cock, Jaskier’s resolve breaks.

He divests himself quickly of his clothes, and his pups stare adoringly, hungrily, at the sticky-wet tip of his cock.

And Jaskier immediately knows that he loves all of them equally–but he needs Geralt to have the last turn, and he’s wanted Eskel ever since he’d first laid eyes on him that first day.

“You can all come up on the bed now, loves.”

His pups drool all over themselves, watching his prick bob between his legs, and Jaskier can’t believe they were to deprive themselves all winter, when they so fiercely want for a big fat cock to stuff them silly. His heart breaks for them, just a little.

He kisses Lambert deeply, his darling too out of it to do it properly, licking into Jaskier’s mouth with a sloppy tongue like the desperate puppy he is. They all try to get comfortable around him, even with the aching emptiness between their legs, but Jaskier’s quick to remedy that.

“Lambert, my sweet, be a dear and open Geralt up while I breed Eskel’s tight little hole.”

Jaskier reclines with his back against the wall, so he can see Geralt open his legs wantonly and Lambert quickly get between them.

But most importantly, he can urge Eskel onto his lap, his pup’s glorious thighs spreading wide over his own as he looks at Jaskier with blind adoration.

“You want my cock, darling? Want to finally be so very full?” Jaskier asks in a whisper, giving Eskel his full attention, like his baby deserves.

“Please, please.” Eskel’s soothing, deep voice trembles a bit as he tries to speak. “Want you so bad, it hurts.”

Jaskier shushes him before pressing his lips gently to Eskel’s. The kiss is more cohesive than his last, Eskel groaning quietly when Jaskier sucks on his tongue.

“I know, you just want to get fucked, nice and proper, huh? I bet you get no relief on the path, with that pitiful little excuse for a cock–want me to breed you like the good little fuckhole you are, darling? I’ll leave you dripping.”

He smooths his hands over Eskel’s thighs to urge him up, so he can press his throbbing cockhead against Eskel’s greedy hole. It swallows him all at once, steals the breath from his lungs when Eskel’s bottom presses against the tops of his legs.

“Oh, Eskel, my love–” Jaskier rambles, because the feel of his pup, coupled with the sight he makes–wide open eyes, glazed-over in elation, his lips swollen and pink, his tiny prick hard again and bobbing against his belly when Eskel begins bouncing on Jaskier’s cock–

Gods, how did he ever think he could have just a little?

“Take what you need, whatever you need, darling, oh, you’re divine, you’re perfect.”

Eskel whimpers and leans in to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck, overwhelmed, but Jaskier doesn’t mind. He rubs his puppy’s back, and keeps fucking him, as slowly and as quickly as Eskel needs from him, sinking into his sinful hole again and again until Eskel shakes with it, until he can’t go anymore.

Jaskier pushes him gently onto his back and keeps driving into him, faster now, and Eskel sobs beautifully with each thrust. They share a feverish kiss and Jaskier finally gets his hands on that alluring chest, squeezing Eskel’s pecks and rubbing his nipples gently. Eskel arches into his touch and moans raggedly.

“Such a good boy, such a good pup–do you want me to touch your cute prick, love? Want me to rub your little clit?”

Eskel nods, his voice climbing frantically around a string of yes yes yes. It barely takes a full touch to his swollen, ruddy prick before Eskel pulses around Jaskier’s cock, thrashes on the bed with his head thrown back.

“Stunning, oh, that’s perfect–”

Jaskier pumps his darling pup full of hot seed and marvels when Eskel immediately quakes through another orgasm, before the first even subsides. Jaskier peppers his face with tiny kisses, wants to drown Eskel in affection. When he makes to pull out, Eskel whines and claws at his shoulders.

“I know, I know, pup, but I need to see to your brothers. Gods, I wish I had something to plug you up with, so you’re always nice and full.”

He does manage to pull out, and gets to watch Eskel’s puffy hole leak out his spend copiously. He leans down to lap it up, because how can he not? Eskel’s legs grip vice-tight around his head for a moment.

Eskel’s still convulsing periodically when Jaskier arranges him on his knees, straddling one of Geralt’s thighs, so they can hump each other like the needy pups they are.

“Lambert, love, would you like to suck a real cock, finally? I can shove it down your throat before I breed your lovely hole.”

And Lambert scrambles to get his mouth on Jaskier’s come-streaked cock so fast he nearly falls backwards and off the edge of the bed.

“Careful, dear, so you don’t choke. Gods, you are just my perfect cock-hungry sluts, aren’t you? How will I ever let you go?”

Geralt whimpers beautifully next to him, and Jaskier looks over to his other boys while he cards gentle fingers through Lambert’s hair.

Eskel’s too sensitive, Jaskier knows, and yet he still ruts his prick against Geralt like he’ll die without it. Their foreheads rest together. It only takes the smallest nudge to have them kiss, tentatively at first, then increasingly more hotly, until they’re both moaning with the intensity of it.

“Is this how my pups spend the winters? Rutting against each other desperately, lapping at your pathetic little pricks like they’re cunts? Writhing on fingers because there isn’t a cock in sight to fill you like you so very crave?”

Geralt shakes violently and grabs fistfuls of Eskel’s hair when he spills, yet the rhythm of his hips never falters. Jaskier smiles at them warmly, tugs Lambert’s head up and down, relishing the tight clutch of his throat.

Except there’s something threatening to ruin his perfect evening, and he can feel one of his pups slipping from his thrall.

Eskel jerks away slightly, as much as he can with Geralt still straddling his leg. His eyes aren’t filled with bliss and lust, but wide with confusion and, inexplicably, terror.

“You–” Eskel begins, trying to wrestle out of Geralt’s hold.

Jaskier shushes him calmly. “Oh, darling is something the matter? You do like being my lovely pup, don’t you?” He can see Eskel pause when he no doubt notices his sopping wet hole drooling all over the sheets. “Don’t you like your little boy parts touched, love? Doesn’t it feel good to be stuffed with my seed?”

Eskel’s sharp, golden eyes quickly lose their focus. Geralt whines and leans in for a kiss. Eskel opens his mouth somewhat reluctantly, still.

“That’s it, pup, just let yourself be cared for, isn’t that better? If you’re good I’ll have you warm my cock all night.”

Jaskier still has some tricks up his sleeve, so he snaps his fingers and has Eskel crashing through a sudden, dry orgasm, his lovely prick throbbing visibly.

“Maybe it’s for the better you don’t have real cocks. I can have your little boy pricks coming again and again, just as a woman would.”

Lambert gives a strangled groan around Jaskier’s cock, his release thick and heavy in the air without anyone even glancing at his dick. Amazing.

Jaskier urges his lovely pup up, gives him a chaste kiss before asking,

“How do you want it, darling?”

“Hard,” Lambert replies without hesitation, and settles on his hands and knees, his pink, sloppy hole perfectly on display.

Jaskier urges Eskel and Geralt to lay down, grind their oversensitive, aching pricks against each other. Their whimpers are a beautiful background for the slow, dizzying push of his cock into Lambert’s tight body.

“Oh, love, you’ve got such a nice, tight cunt, fuck–”

Lambert chokes on a breath, forces his hips back, overeager and hungry for every bit of cock he can get. Jaskier couldn’t deny him, wouldn’t want to anyway.

“That’s it, that’s right, I’ll fuck you until you can’t stand it anymore, darling, you’ll be feeling it for days.”

His hips hasten, until he’s snapping into Lambert with brutal force, jostling the whole bed, spurred on by the constant babble of more, harder, yes, yes.

“Will you finger your sore hole, thinking about my cock? Will you try to get Eskel’s tiny prick into you, to satisfy the ache?”

Lambert keens, and shakes his head vigorously.

“Just you, need your cock, need a real cock–”

The slap of Jaskier’s balls against Lambert’s is indecently satisfying. Jaskier brings his hand down with a crack on Lambert’s magnificent arse, and then a few more times, when Lambert hollers and the sharp scent of his intensifying arousal makes Jaskier half-rabid.

“Like that, darling? Want to be abused? Want me to bruise your little cunt until you sob with it?”

“Please, please, oh–”

Sobbing is not far off, it seems. Jaskier feels the tingle of power in every part of his body, in the air around them, everywhere, everywhere, raw carnal energy for him to devour.

Jaskier comes before Lambert does, but his pup isn’t far behind, milking the last of Jaskier’s release as he spills onto the sheets with a broken whimper.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Lambert whispers and tries to impale himself on Jaskier’s cock further.

“Greedy. Greedy, slutty pups, you’ve been neglected for so long, you can’t get enough, can you?”

He thrusts languidly, because if there’s one thing he doesn’t lack, it’s stamina.

They fuck for long minutes, Lambert steadily growing louder in his pleas and his moans, Jaskier sweaty and out of breath trying to keep his darling satisfied. Each thrust fucks his seed deeper into Lambert with a wet squelching sound that makes Jaskier dizzy in its obscenity. Which is perhaps why he pulls out of Lambert entirely and rolls his pup to lay belly-up before him.

“How would you like to come inside a nice, warm body, love?”

Lambert whines, his golden eyes blown entirely black.

“Geralt, my darling,” Jaskier calls softly, and Geralt looks up at him with red-rimmed, shining eyes. “You’ll be a good pup and ride Lambert, won’t you?”

“Want a real cock,” Geralt says faintly, voice cracking, but he’s already climbing to sit astride Lambert’s belly, facing Jaskier. “Want your cock.”

“You’ll get it, heart, you’ll get it as much as you want–if you’re a good boy for me.”

Jaskier doesn’t think Lambert’s cock is longer than his fingers, but it’s nice and thick and just big enough to fit inside Geralt without slipping out, at least until Geralt tries to fuck himself on it.

“Jaskier, Jaskier, please–” his pups call out to him, all three in a beautiful symphony.

He’s suddenly obsessed with the thought of Lambert coming inside Geralt, so when Jaskier gets in him his hole is nice and sloppy with spend.

Lambert’s cute little prick is not big enough for Geralt to bounce on it like he so clearly wants.

Easily remedied, that.

“Geralt. Geralt, my darling, the light of my life, my perfect little puppy–” he prattles on in a soft voice before he gives a measured slap to the very tip of Geralt’s cock.

The effect is immediate. Geralt sobs, just the tiniest bit, tightens around Lambert like the most amazing little boy, until Lambert writhes and comes with a scorching hot shout of someone getting to breed a warm hole for the first time in a long time.

Jaskier is dizzy with all this power, lust-drunk and floaty. He can barely contain it. He has to be careful, usually, when it gets this intense, but his perfect pups can take it, were made to take it, gods, gods–

A sharp burst of energy makes his witchers all shudder with release, squirming as it takes them by surprise, their little cocks come-soaked and oversensitive.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, and he slurs a bit in his haste. His composure is slipping. But his boys are so delicious, so eager and obedient and Geralt spreads his legs so very wide just to show Jaskier his loose, fucked-out hole, and what is he meant to do if not give in to the temptation laid out before him?

Geralt feels so intoxicatingly, unreasonably good, the spell nearly snaps. Jaskier has to keep himself firmly in check, even when everything around him becomes an impossible blur. He fucks Geralt on his back and his stomach, on all fours and against the wall. Vaguely, he registers the small tingle in his abdomen when his other pups come, too, again and again on each other’s fingers and tongues, wailing and screaming as Jaskier unconsciously wrings pleasure out of them long after it’d crossed the line of overstimulated pain.

“Geralt, my lovely, my darling little whore, fuck–you’re all so good, so, so good, ah–”

His pup’s tiny fucking prick twitches when Jaskier closes a palm around it, finds it deliciously soaked and so very sensitive. He licks the single tear that spills down Geralt’s cheek and rubs the heel of his palm over Geralt’s cockhead.

Jaskier blacks out when he finally breeds Geralt full of come.

***

He wakes up wrapped up in his beloved pups, keeping his hold tightly on their minds.

The room had grown cold, but he’s feverishly hot between three strong bodies. Curious, he touches a finger to the swollen head of Lambert’s soft prick, watches him twitch his hips away even asleep. Jaskier pillows his head on a burly chest and closes his eyes.

He’ll let them rest for the day, but by nightfall, Jaskier would very much like to be treated to an extravagant feast again.

#cw noncon #cw mind control #indulgent overuse of the word pup

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wordsablaze · 4 years

Text

3~ i can’t explain this

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: this chapter is a peculiar embodiment of eskel going "i've only had jaskier for one day but if anything happened to him, i would kill everyone on the continent (especially geralt) and then myself. but i don't understand why."

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 <3

previous chapter

Jaskier starts walking before Eskel can ask him where he’s headed.

He’s confused, of course, but he pulls himself up onto Scorpion and follows, assuming that the bard wants to keep his distance for now.

And they fall into a steady silence broken only ever so often by Jaskier starting to hum something before seemingly changing his mind and lapsing back into the quiet.

Eskel doesn’t question it at first but when he hears Jaskier start and stop humming familiar tunes, not just something new he might be composing, he decides to intervene. “You can, um, hum if you want. Or sing, if you prefer… You don’t have to stay quiet.”

Jaskier stops walking.

He turns to look at Eskel with confusion in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks eventually, his fingers twisting over one another as he waits for Eskel’s reply.

Once Eskel stops trying to figure out why Jaskier could be nervous , he nods. “Of course. You have a good voice.”

At that, Jaskier beams, his eyes shining suspiciously bright as he clears his throat and winks. “Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger…”

Eskel splutters slightly as the song progresses but doesn’t complain, laughing as Jaskier keeps going, his voice becoming louder and brighter with every chorus he sings, the sweet scent of confidence getting stronger and stronger.

“So, darling, a review?” Jaskier asks breathlessly once he’s stopped singing.

Eskel starts, having been more focused on Jaskier’s voice as opposed to the actual lyrics. “I like your voice,” he mumbles.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s new.”

“It is? Don’t you have taverns full of people admiring your voice?” Eskel points out.

There’s a long moment of silence before Jaskier shakes his head. “Yes, I suppose I can, but people usually have something to say about the daughter’s hunger before they even think about giving their opinions on my voice,” he admits, somehow sounding both proud and mournful at the same time.

Eskel hums in response, not quite sure what he’s meant to say since he can’t tell if Jaskier is happy with his feedback or not.

But Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind, reaching for his lute before pausing. “Do you mind if I play?”

Strangely, it rather hurts to imagine that someone had made Jaskier think listening to him playing the lute would be annoying.

“As long it’s not more about this fishmonger,” Eskel ends up saying, hoping that he doesn’t offend his new favourite bard.

He doesn’t.

Jaskier grins at him as if he’d just showered him in coin and does some complicated manoeuvre in which he very impressively removes his lute from its case without taking the strap off his shoulder.

Eskel whistles. “Nice lute you have there.”

“She’s a beauty,” Jaskier agrees, “and I am, of course, ever grateful to Filavandrel.”

It’s as if he doesn’t even realise how casual he’s being about having been bestowed a gift by the leader of the elves. But Eskel chooses not to point that out because everyone knows that’s a story from Posoda and he doesn’t want Jaskier to run away again.

So he just says, “Prove it.”

Jaskier gasps in mock horror. “You dare question the beauty of my lute and the skills of my craft? I’ll show you proof!”

His proof involves singing practically non-stop for the next three hours.

Eskel has never heard so many metaphors in his life and although they all merge together in his head, he does appreciate the way they fill the silence - even Scorpion had sometimes changed her pace to match Jaskier’s music.

But when Jaskier stumbles over a chord and slows down, Eskel stops, jumping down from Scorpion. “Lunch break?”

Jaskier blinks, frowning. “A break? Why?”

“Because you’re tired?” Eskel replies, already leading Scorpion into the nearest clearing off the main path.

“I am?” Jaskier asks as he follows Eskel.

Eskel turns to him and nods slowly. “You’ve been playing for hours and I might not have a coin to toss at you but give me ten minutes and I’ll find us a rabbit.”

“What?”

Although he’d been about to leave to find said rabbit, he turns back to Jaskier as the scent of confusion increases to an almost unbearable amount. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier’s fingers fiddle with the lute strings as he shakes his head. “You’re stopping… because I’m tired?”

Oh.

Eskel makes a mental note to punch Geralt twice when they meet again.

“No. We’re stopping because I don’t want you to collapse somewhere,” he corrects, leaving out the part where he feels bad for being atop a horse when he’s better built for walking.

Jaskier scoffs. “I have never been so undignified as to collapse anywhere! Well, okay, maybe a few times… But I’m really not that tired, we don’t have to-”

“Jaskier,” Eskel interrupts, “I want to. Okay?”

A small pause and soft smile later, Jaskier nods. “Okay.”

Eskel shakes his head, leaving the bard to go find them lunch, which takes him just a little over his prediction of ten minutes because he’s still busy thinking about how idiotic his brother seems to have been.

He doesn’t expect to find Jaskier kindling a small fire by the time he gets back.

“Oh,” escapes him before he can stop it.

Unfortunately, Jaskier hadn’t seen or heard him coming and jumps so sharply he wobbles where he’s perched and almost falls right into the flames. “Sweet Meletite-”

“I’m sorry!” Eskel exclaims, dropping the rabbit as he steadies Jaskier and nudges him away from the possibility of getting burned.

Jaskier exhales slowly. “It’s fine, I just- You scared me, that’s all. I forgot how quiet witchers can be.”

“I’ll step on a twig next time,” Eskel promises, not even sure if he’s being serious or not.

Either way, it’s a downright relief when Jaskier laughs.

And it’s not long before they’re done with cooking and eating, both of them falling back into a comfortable silence as the time passes and their stomachs are filled, Eskel then putting out the fire.

“Do you still want to walk?” he asks as Jaskier picks up his lute case.

Jaskier chuckles as if he’s said something stupid. “What other option do I have, darling? It’s not like I’m about to grow wings, is it?”

And abruptly, Eskel realises he needs to punch Geralt thrice.

With a small sigh, he gestures to Scorpion. “You could ride with me?”

Jaskier blinks.

He glances between Eskel and Scorpion with an oddly intense frown before opening his mouth only to close it again, his fingers starting to fidget again.

“She’s a strong horse and she’s more than capable of carrying two riders,” he adds before letting Jaskier take as long as he needs to consider the offer, which ends up being a very, very long two and a half minutes.

“I’d like that,” Jaskier admits eventually, a hesitant smile on his face.

“As would I,” Eskel says a little too quickly for his own liking; he’s known the bard for less than a full day and he’s already bordering on admitting he has what humans like to call feelings.

“Can I strap my lute next to your bags?” Jaskier asks, pulling Eskel out of his musings.

He nods quickly. “Yes, of course. Wouldn’t be very practical to have you holding onto it.”

“Oh, you are such a darling,” Jaskier declares as the two of them mount Scorpion, Eskel in front.

He doesn’t know how to reply to that so he just starts moving, slightly surprised when he doesn’t feel Jaskier’s arms around him - it hadn’t seemed likely that Jaskier would be good at holding himself upright if he’d never ridden Roach.

But Jaskier holds on just fine, staying quiet and all but invisible until the road forks into two.

“Go left,” Jaskier blurts before Eskel can even think about choosing.

“Why?”

He feels Jaskier shift awkwardly. “I mean, you can go right if you have a contract that way but you’ll have to drop me off here because I cannot go that away.”

“What?”

Eskel is dimly aware that monosyllabic questions are not the best form of conversation but Jaskier just shrugs, seemingly unbothered by his lack of eloquence.

“I might have made a few enemies there? Just a few, mind you, most of them loved my performances. But it just so happens that the few who didn’t like it have very sharp swords that I really don’t want to meet again…”

Eskel laughs.

He can’t help it.

He’s still laughing as he guides Scorpion to take the path on the left and he’s still laughing when Jaskier pointedly nudges him. “Exactly what are you finding so amusing?”

“You’re quite the mystery, bardling,” he chuckles.

Jaskier just hums in acknowledgement, but that seems to give him some kind of idea and he then starts humming tunes that Eskel can feel just as well as he can hear, even if he doesn’t recognise them in the slightest.

As they continue travelling, Eskel wonders how Jaskier’s lungs and vocal chords can possibly function so well for such long periods of time.

“Bardling?”

Eskel is most definitely not startled by Jaskier finally talking rather than humming. He coughs to cover up his surprise and shrugs, knowing the bard can see him do so. “I just…”

“I’ll have you know that I am one of the most esteemed bards in the continent and most definitely not new to my profession.”

A little intimidated by the serious edge to Jaskier’s voice, Eskel doesn’t offer up a reply, hoping once again that he hasn’t seriously insulted his favourite bard. He hadn’t even paid the term much attention if he’s honest, it’d just slipped out.

“But if this is one of those witcher things where you mean to express affection without wanting to admit you’re capable of it, well, I can appreciate that,” he continues, switching between threatening and compassionate as easily as Eskel switches between steel and silver.

“Witchers don’t feel,” Eskel offers.

Jaskier scoffs. “Says the witcher who just used a term of endearment.”

“I did what?” Eskel asks, seriously regretting the life choices that led him here.

“Well, maybe not quite, but it was close enough…” Jaskier trails off and without warning, the air around them is tainted with worry.

Eskel shakes his head, trying to physically clear it away. “I know you’re a professional,” he says slowly, wishing he knew how to convey that he doesn’t want Jaskier to be sad or worried.

Somehow, that seems to work and the tension around Jaskier dissolves as he laughs, curling his arms around Eskel and squeezing ever so gently. “Thank you, Eskel.”

He doesn’t understand how Jaskier’s touch can be so warm when witchers are biologically warmer than most species but he isn’t going to complain. After all, it means Jaskier isn’t afraid of him and that’s a marvel in itself.

“You’re welcome, bardling.”

i’m having fun with these two !! ik it’s a little chaotic but i hope it was enjoyable reagrdless <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

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vaire-gwir · 3 years

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.3

We are back to lockdown where I live so I had plenty of time to kill and this is the result, this is my excuse. There was plot, but I kinda got lost in a messy plan I don’t know what to do with it.

In short, Lambert is still very messed up and figures out a plan to settle for a while, there’s the usual flashback but I’ve never written smut (under the cut) in my entire life so I hope it’s not too horrible, an attempt was made. A failed attempt probably, but still an attempt nonetheless. Let me now what I can do to get better?

Did I say English is not my first language? Well, it’s not, and I always feel like I don’t know enough words to put down what I have in my head. Still not canon, still not anywhere close a valid characterization, still trash.

***

<<There you go, 300 crowns.>> The captain doesn't leave him waiting too long, thank fuck for that. The werewolf proved almost too easy to kill and Lambert is eager to go back to the inn and wash away ever thought of his dead lover with ridiculous amounts of alcohol. Spending the rest of his day drunk out of his mind sounds like a great plan, not one that Aiden would approve of, but he's not here to convince him otherwise. <<I'll find my way out.>> Something moves at the corner of his eyes, and his senses immediately pick up the weird rustling of leaves, preparing himself in case of unexpected danger. A black and orange cat jumps out of the bushes, the small beast is probably chasing something or doing whatever cat business cats usually do, but Lambert could swear he knows those green eyes darting around, he's seen them before millions of times. The animal is gone in a heartbeat and he shakes his head. If he could, he'd kick his own ass, cause he needs to stop thinking about Aiden, it's clearly muddling with his head. <<...still missing.>> He stopped paying attention to the captain's words a long time ago, he had no sympathy left in himself to share with the man. Lambert is only good at dealing with physical pain: the pain of the beatings his father used to give him, the pain of the trials, the pain of a monster tearing at his flesh, he learned to face it cause he knew that it would go away eventually. It was just a matter of time, broken bones and split lips mend, claw marks and cuts fade rather quickly being a Witcher and simply leave one more scar to his collection. Other things, he’s not good at coping with them, especially emotions, cause he's not even supposed to have them. They don't go away like bruised ribs. <<Not much I can do about that.>> <<But you've seen something? We hoped he managed to escape but...we didn't...Is he...dead?>> The missing soldier, Lambert remembers now. The werewolf took twelve men but only eleven bodies were found. <> He sees the old man's eyes widen at the thought, he sees the flicker of hope and he hates to kill it. <<A wife.>> <<You don't want his wife to see what I saw, trust me on that.>> Lambert leaves without another word.

The sole fact that a cat with green eyes is messing up with his head should be alarming, there must be something wrong with him. There were thousands of cats with green eyes all around the Continent, so why was he making such a big deal out of it? It's not like he'd never seen one before. Though in a way, a Cat with green eyes messed up with more than just his head already, that's what got him in this whole situation he’s not very good at handling. The only thing he's good at is killing things, and this is what he has to keep doing. He isn’t even that great at eliminating monsters actually, his brothers are much better, but that's all he knows how to do. Maybe he should look for them, track Eskel somewhere and explain what happened, explain that everything went to hell and now there are days when nothing makes sense anymore, he can’t even seem to care enough to find another contract, another village, another monster. He's not going to tell him that he saw a cat with Aiden's eyes and there's not enough to drink in this tavern to chase away that thought, cause patient as he may be, Eskel is not going to put up with crazy.

Looking for his brothers is a terrible idea, now that he thinks about it. He just needs to go somewhere with enough monsters for him to stop moving around all the time, cause he can't travel on the bad days. He can barely leave the room, on bad days. That's why Lambert comes up with a plan: he'll go to the only place where he doesn't have to find work, cause work will find him anyway. That is, as soon as he feels like existing again, because today the shadows crowding the corners of his vision don't leave him alone and there are green eyes haunting him every time he blinks.

Lambert wishes more than anything that he could feel Aiden again, the real one, not the ghost he sees in his dreams, just lay entangled in bed without any words being spoken aloud, their hands, their lips, their touches already said everything that needed to be told. Words have a habit of lingering just below his line of reach, they were there, but just a little too far for him to grasp at them and put them into thoughts he could say out loud. There were so many words between Aiden and him, words unspoken and words he'd like to take back, and why the fuck words are so complicated anyway?

It takes him another day before he's able to travel, but at least now he has a plan. Lambert tolerates Toussaint because people are filthy rich and always willing to pay a little extra to prove just how wealthy they are. He's been there before, spent three full weeks in a castle with Aiden, hunting a striga. The problem is, memories haunt him anyway, he can't get rid of them. At least they don't want to stone him there.

<<Lambert?>> He lingers on the doorstep for a moment before entering and closing the door behind his back. The light of the moon is enough for him to make out Aiden's form slowly sitting up on the bed, rumpled sheets pooling at his waist, and a faint trace of lavender soap invades the air. <<Why, were you waiting for someone else?>> Lambert is still holding an empty cup he brought up from the ballroom he just managed to leave, the only good part of the night was the wine. Empty social meetings and royal occasions are just an excuse for nameless Lords and Ladies to brag about the huge pile of bullshit they were sitting on. It bored him to death. And it all proved rather useless cause he didn't get much information about the striga that was supposedly haunting the castle. Lord Launfal kept passing him and Aiden around, showing them off like hunting trophies for the court to gawk at and bragging about having two Witchers at his services. What a fucking idiot, he hates royals with all of himself. But Aiden didn't even seem to mind! He had princes and ladies eyeing him as if he was an expensive cake they couldn't wait to get their dirty fingers on, and Lambert was upset. He didn't like people looking at his lover as if they were about to eat him. The worst part was that he saw the Cat talking to all those rich idiots, playing along as if he wanted nothing more than meeting another Lady Nobody from Nowhere, as if he was enjoying all the attention. Lambert was already fuming after the first part of the evening was over, and somehow it all seemed to go downhill when people started to discretely slip Aiden invitations for more.

Everybody hated and despised Witchers, in all corners of the Continent they were treated no better than the beasts they were hired to kill, chased out of villages and stoned, with one single exception. In Toussaint, they were some kind of luxury to exhibit, like exotic animals from distant lands, nothing more than the latest attraction among the richest assholes of the province. And Aiden, beautiful green-eyed Aiden, apparently was a favourite. Lambert kept hearing people offering his lover to finish the night in a more interesting manner, and it made his blood boil. He wanted to finish their night in a way more interesting manner, as in slitting some throats or throwing a bastard, or six, out of the window. Aiden pretended to accept the offers with a kind word, fully aware of his position here and what was required of him, saying he was still bound to his job but perhaps he could find time later. Maybe he wasn't pretending, that's what the voice in Lambert's head keeps saying. Maybe he'll take one of those invites. Maybe that's why he's so surprised to see Lambert now.

<<Possibly. I was terribly bored here by myself.>> Next thing Aiden knows, something is flying in his direction and he thanks his Witcher senses or the mug would have hit him fair and square. He ducks out of the way cursing, the loose black shirt covering him slips from his shoulder and his hair is a little tousled. When he speaks again his voice sounds on the good side of rough. <<What the fuck pup? I was just kidding!>> He stares at the cup on the floor more than a little surprised, things thrown at him were not part of his plan for the rest of the night. <<Didn't sound like it to me.>> Aiden smiles, the bastard has the courage to look smug and stare at him while Lambert busies himself with the buckles of his armor. He can tell by the way his Wolf was moving that something made him angry, and considering the night they had, the list of things that could have caused it was unsurprisingly long. <<Are you, by any chance, jealous, my dear wolf?>> <<What? No! Of course not! Do whatever and whoever the fuck you want.>> He tries to sound as careless and uninterested as possible, as if the idea of Aiden with someone else doesn't disturb him at all. He fails miserably.

Lambert finishes removing all his gear, leaving it in a pile on the floor and trying his best to ignore Aiden's pleased expression. He moves towards the screen door hiding the bathroom to retrieve a damp rag, but Aiden is up in a second, facing him. <<You're jealous.>> <<And you're still here? Thought you were waiting for someone, weren't you? Don't keep them waiting.>> He casually points at the door behind them. Of course he's jealous, he is jealous of everyone that ever caught Aiden's attention, constantly afraid of not being enough for the other man, but he isn't about to suddenly admit he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions, cause he doesn't have emotions. He doesn't. The Witcher, heartless, cold, the song didn't say the Witcher a soft sappy guy, it doesn't even rhyme. <<You're kicking me out?>> Aiden raises an eyebrow at him, casually leaning against the stone wall of the bathroom. <<Oh please, I'm sure there's more than one rich Lord or Lady in this house that would welcome you in a soft bed and with spread legs.>> Lambert moves past the Cat, fumbling with his clothes as if he doesn't know what to do with his hands before stripping down to his trousers. He picks up a washcloth from the side of the bathtub, mindlessly scrubbing down his arms and chest, frowning at the water in front of him as if it held the solutions to all his problems. Aiden's scent follows him around the room, and he's so used to it that it's always weird for him to be in a room that doesn't smell like Aiden when they go their separate ways for a couple of days. <<Sorry, when did I turn into a high-class whore in this ridiculous story of yours? All this because you refuse to admit you're jealous?>> <>

Aiden knows well enough that none of them is after a fight, too strung high after their evening. And he also knows that confronting Lambert is simply not working. He softens his voice and steals the washcloth from his hands, dipping it in the warm water again and beginning to gently swipe it across tense shoulder blades. <<Do you think that if I had my eyes on someone I'd bring them to our room? The very same room where I know you will come back? I decide to cheat on you and I do it in our bed, wearing your shirt? That's not a very smart move. Also, you were with me the entire night, who do you think I was waiting for?>> Lambert doesn't move, taken aback by Aiden's unexpected gesture. He knows the touch of the warm palm on his side he knows the motion of the hand that brings the rug down his back, and he's grateful for the familiarity of it. He can get lost in the sensation. Aiden is being nice to him, even after he practically called him a whore. Damn his stupid big mouth.

<<Plenty of options. I heard about all the invites you got.>> He mumbles under his breath, all the demanding voices of the evening just spent still echoing in his ears. Aiden lets the washcloth fall back into the water, placing a small kiss just under the nape of his neck as he was used to do every time they were cleaning up after a contract, it was his way to tell him it was all done, they could relax now that it was over. It's one of the little things Aiden does to keep him grounded, like leaving something of his in plain sight in the rooms they shared, so if Lambert woke up alone he would always know that he hadn't left for good, he was just at the blacksmith or getting them breakfast and he was coming back soon, or the fingers ghosting at the inside of Lambert's wrist when he was getting mad and he wanted to be on his own, so Aiden remained just close enough to trail his fingers on the back of his clenched fists or his wrists from time to time. Small things, habits picked up in many days and nights together, learning each other quirks without ever pointing them out, without ever judging but simply accepting them and learning what to do with them, cause they know fully well that sometimes fighting and fucking until they were out of energy was not enough, cause they were on edge and everything threatened to set their nerves off, so their best chance was trying to smooth out the razor-sharp corners of their frustration with soft touches and whispered words in the quiet. <> <<Then why did you sound so surprised when I walked in?>> Aiden laughs at his sudden outburst, moving his arms around Lambert's waist and pressing himself against his back. <<Cause I was sleeping you stupid pup! You said you wanted to stay a while longer but I was this close to snap someone's neck. I had to go.>> <<Oh. So you were not....waiting for someone else?>> Lambert feels his lover placing another soft kiss at the back of his neck before resting his chin on his shoulder. He tentatively lays one of his hands on Aiden's arm still around his waist, fingering the black fabric there as if he wasn't sure he was still allowed to touch him after the things he said. <<You're so stupid, you're lucky I love you. I couldn't bear being shown off among those bastards as if I was for sale, that's why I came back here. I cleaned up and I wanted to wait for you to return but I must have fallen asleep. >> <<You love me?>> Aiden hears him whispering, his voice so low he can only make it out because of his sharpened senses. He lays another kiss on his shoulder, tracking an errant drop of water with his lips. <<Very much. Now tell me why were you so angry?>> <> Lambert sighs loudly and moves away from his embrace, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious than usual. Aiden was not cheating, of course, why did he even say that? This was him being an asshole as always, taking out his anger on the first person who tries to put up with him. <<No, come on, tell me. What did you think was going on here?>> Lambert sits heavily on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on the green carpet covering a good part of the floor. He wants to make things right, but words are dirty treacherous things slipping out of his reach, and he doesn't know how to explain why there's always a nasty voice in his head whispering cruel things.

<<I see you. And I see people around you. They look at you. Want you. And you're...you, you flirt with them. They always reek of lust and desire, I could practically catch pretty maids getting wet between their legs when you talked to them. You could be spending the night with a fucking Princess or a Lord, but you're here in the servants' wing for no good reason.>> He lets out the breath he didn't realize he held, it always seems to require him a huge effort to say out loud his thoughts. Cats were supposed to be unbalanced and all that but fuck balance, sad lot of good balance and control did to him.

<<Lambert, look at me.>> His vision is fully occupied by Aiden's form standing directly in front of him, he didn't realize he moved but now an extended hand reaches out to his chin, thumb tracing the dark stubble there and he can't avoid his green eyes. Aiden is always moving with feline grace, when he's fighting, fucking, walking through a crowded room, or killing a beast, smooth as if everything he does is the easiest thing in the world. When he places a hand on the side of his face, Lambert nuzzles into the touch, feeling all his rage melting away in the palm of that hand. <<I am exactly where I choose to be. With you. I could never choose anything in life since I was brought to Stygga, and I don't remember anything before it, but this thing between you and me, I chose it. I want this.>> Aiden slowly straddles him, his knees resting on the mattress below them and Lambert can't resist putting his hands around his waist, hitching the shirt up a little, yearning for the warm skin underneath, for a touch to prove that this perfect man above him is areally here.

Lambert feels so stupid for even thinking those ridiculous words he said out loud. He never knows what to say cause he never had to try to fix things with someone, people were not this patient with him, they just walked out of his life when it all got too hard to handle. But Aiden is here, and all he can do is look at him and kiss him eagerly, the soft lips open to leave him full access to his lover's mouth. He wants to pour all these nameless things he feels in their kiss, seeking forgiveness on the tip of Aiden's tongue moving against his own. <<'m sorry.>> He tries to say when they break apart, leaning his forehead on Aiden's. Aiden kisses him again, letting his hands roam free on the exposed planes of Lambert's back, sending shivers down his lover's spine and silencing his excuses in a languid kiss. Lambert trails his hands down to Aiden's hips, too much fabric getting in the way of his exploration. <<Are you really...wearing my shirt?>> <<It smells like you, and I was lonely. I felt bad after being ogled like I was dessert by a bunch of old royal assholes.>> <<I...Shit, I thought you...you enjoyed the...attention.>> <<Why would I like a crowd of perverted nobles staring at me? I put up with it cause this contract is good money, not because I wanted to be noticed.>> Lambert is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to touch, to feel his skin under his palms, and have him closer. <<Fuck, Aiden, I'm... I hate them even more now.>> Lambert tightens his hold around his lover, relishing the feeling of Aiden's body on top of his own, of holding him, of those hands caressing his skin, and of his scent enveloping him. He knows he hardly deserves any of that. <<Me too pup, trust me, me too. Why did you stay if you despised it so much though? >> Aiden traces the scar on the right side of his face, fingers gently brushing on his forehead down to his cheek, exploring the different texture. It's his favourite one. Lambert didn't even want Aiden to touch it at first when they began to get more intimate, finding the ugly mark particularly horrible to look at, but the Cat was set to show the other man he didn't mind one bit, and he clearly succeeded in his mission. <<Tried to get more details on the striga. I caught three servants gossiping about how Lady Launfal was willing to do anything to make sure the castle stayed in her family even after her death.>> <<Ugh, they can't let go of their stupid stuff even when they're rotting six feet under.>> The contempt in Aiden's voice is crystal clear, and he chases it away kissing Lambert again, taking his time in exploring his mouth, nipping at the full bottom lip before suckling the sting away. Aiden slips his tongue between parted lips, licking into the inviting mouth, his lover's beard tickling his skin as he deepened the kiss. It's never enough for Lambert, he's addicted to this body, to this taste, he could hold him forever and he'd still want more. He feels Aiden moaning in the kiss, desire pooling inside him at the sweet sounds escaping his lover's mouth. <<Missed you.>> Aiden says while Lambert outlines with his thumb the edge of the pink scar under Aiden's ribs, this one is special cause it was the first he patched up himself, stitching his best friend in a dark cave by the fire, terrified to lose him.

<> Lambert stares at the wet, shiny lips he just tasted and slips his hands lower, cupping his lover's ass and squeezing it roughly, drawing him impossibly closer. Aiden starts to slowly roll his hips, eliciting a barely muffled groan from Lambert and smirking like the cat that got the fucking cream when he feels Lambert's cock twitch beneath him. <<Oh you're such a good boy, aren't you pup? But work hours are over, you're mine now.>> Aiden purrs in his ear before moving lower to place small kisses on his throat, nibbling on his collarbone and running his fingers over Lambert's chest, nails catching on his nipples and stopping his journey to squeeze one hardening nub. <<You could have...fuck yes, that's nice...you could have helped.>> Aiden bites a little too harshly on the soft spot where neck and shoulder meet. He loves the way Lambert grips at him harder, fingertips digging into the supple flesh of his ass, keeping him right where he wants him. <<I'm helping! I was half-naked in your room, wearing your shirt, all warm and ready for you, not my fault you had better things to do than join me.>> Aiden licks a few times over the reddening spot at the base of his lover's throat, the taste of his skin invading his mouth. <<Looks better on you.>> Aiden hides his grin in Lambert's neck as he deliberately starts to move his hips again, slowly rocking back and forward to create delicious friction between their clothed erections and drawing sharp groans from both of them. Aiden presses down on his shoulders, pushing Lambert to lay flat on the bed and working his trousers open before slipping a hand inside to slowly palm his cock, staring at his Wolf with hungry eyes, burning with lust. <<I want you. I've been wanting you the whole night. The one time we get to go to a party, and you get all jealous of me. And it looks so fucking hot on you. You thought I wanted a prince, but I kept dreaming of fucking with the scary, mean Witcher in every dark corner.>> The way Lambert shamelessly moans into his touch is sinful, and it's one of the best sounds Aiden ever heard. <<Oh fuck, Aiden...>> He leans on his Wolf just enough to whisper against his lips, sharing the same breath for a heartbeat. <<Yes love, that's the plan.>> Those inviting lips are gone just like that, and Lambert almost whines at the loss. Aiden pulls down his smallclothes, effectively shoving them out of the way before finally moving back to sit on his thighs, stroking his cock again. He loves feeling Lambert getting hard under his attention, feeling his erection growing when he licks his nipples or bites down on the sweet spot on his neck that makes his lover shiver. He begins to trace his fingers over all those places that make Lambert moan, teasing the head of his length with a thumb before wrapping his hand around it, enjoying the sounds he can get out of him.

<<Need you naked right now.>> Lambert groans while he moves to work the buttons on Aiden's shirt, his shirt, and he can't get the offending material off of his shoulders soon enough. Aiden laughs while standing up to quickly remove the last of his clothes. He gets a small vial of oil from the bedside table before wrapping his legs around Lambert's hips again. No matter how many times they've been here, the first skin on skin touch always feels like fire to Aiden, burning hot in his groin and making him crave more. Lambert digs his fingers into the dimples on Aiden's back, pushing their hips together as his lover begins to move in the most taunting rhythm. Sparks of pleasure flood his brain when he feels Aiden's cock rubbing against his own, smooth and velvety, the slow movements are enough to drive him crazy with need. <<Fuck me. Need you....need you now.>> Lambert knows this is not going to be one of the nights when they'll take their time, teasing each other over and over until they're both losing control, he can sense the same urgency he feels deep inside him in Aiden's voice.

Aiden sits up a little to get the vial of oil he left well in his grasp and pours it on his fingertips, eyes fixed on his lover beneath him as he reaches behind himself. Lambert watches entranced as Aiden starts to slowly stretch himself open, the sweet scent of the oil mixing with their arousal. <<You look so fucking hot Aiden.>> He moves his hands to grip Aiden's spread thighs, feeling the muscles quivering under the grasp of his fingers, harsh enough to leave little red dots scattered on the skin. Lambert nudges Aiden back a little, fingers moving on the inside of his thigh, stopping just to thumb at the slit on his lover's wet cock, losing himself in the keening sound that leaves Aiden's lips. <<So damn beautiful, can't believe you're all mine.>> He shifts enough to sit up and start mouthing Aiden's neck, tasting his skin and causing him to moan out loud. <<Need you...oh fuck, Lambert, need you inside...>> Lambert moves his hand back to grip the other's hips, steadying him as he kisses and bites his throat, and is so hard to resist the need to claim what's his. <<Let me. I want to feel you.>> Aiden shivers at his words, sneaking his free arm around Lambert's neck. Lambert brushes his hand on his spine in a soft caress, feeling the sweat already running down his back. He reaches the place where his lover is spreading himself open, two fingers already pushing inside his hole. Aiden slowly removes his hand, a small cry leaves his parted lips when he feels his lover teasing his entrance and when Lambert starts to press one finger there it's enough to make him writhe in his lap. <<Want you...Inside me...>> He rests his head on Lambert's shoulder, panting against the side of his neck as he feels a second finger entering him with no resistance. Aiden starts to roll his hips again, trying to grind their cocks together every time he nudges his hips forward, feeling the fingers inside him slip in even deeper. <> Lambert easily works his fingers in and out, searching for the bundle of nerves that will make Aiden scream and savoring the sight of his lover coming apart before his eyes when he finds it. Aiden moans in the most sinful way when he pushes a third finger in, rocking forward a little faster, enough for their erections trapped between their bodies to rub against the other just right. <<I'm...I'll come if you keep it up.>> Lambert feels the body in his arms shaking and quivering, and knowing he's the one that put him in that state always gets to his head. <<That's the idea. You make the most beautiful sound. I just want to make you come over and over again so I can hear it.>> He knows how to play with his lover's body, twisting his fingers just right to stroke his sweet spot, causing Aiden to cry out loud. <<Fucking....fuck, don't say that, I'm so close already.>> Aiden presses their bodies together, and Lambert can't help but wrap his hand around both their erections, pumping them with a sudden urgency. <> Lambert smirks at him, brushing his fingers against the tip of their cocks, spreading the wetness already gathering there. <<Not like this...I want to come with your cock deep inside me, I want to feel you everywhere.>> <<Gods, that mouth of yours.>> Lambert lets his fingers slip free from his lover's body, and he doesn't miss how Aiden whines at the loss. He tries to catch the green eyes he loves so much, hesitating for a brief second before asking <<You sure?>>

Aiden raises his head and looks dead serious while he shifts his hips enough to settle himself on his lover's thighs, feeling the hard cock twitching beneath him. <<You have to fuck me right now or I swear I'll find someone who will.>> Lambert grabs his ass possessively, squeezing hard enough to bruise and meeting Aiden's lips in a burning kiss. <<Like Hell you will!>> Aiden grins before taking his cock in his hand and guiding it inside himself, slowly sinking down as they both hiss in pleasure. For a moment Aiden remains still, very much enjoying the feeling of Lambert so deep and hot inside his body. Lambert tries as best as he can to stay still and let his lover adjust, losing himself in the vision before him. <<Aiden... Fuck, can you...Fuck, tell me you're good.>> Right now, stretched around him, with his eyes closed, hands braced on his chest and his tongue occasionally sneaking out to wet his lips, right now Aiden looks obscenely divine. He looks like everything Lambert ever wanted. <<My wolf, all mine...you feel so fucking good inside me.>>Aiden moans in his hear before settling a lazy pace, lifting himself up and slowly sinking back onto Lambert's cock. <<Tell me>> Lambert's voice is too rough and needy, and he can feel his control slipping away when Aiden sinuously arches his back, baring his throat for him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh. <<Feel so full, so deep inside me...I've been wanting you all night, wanted to ride you like this for so long...Oh fuck, you're gonna mark me? Cause I want you to.>> Lambert growls, hiding his face in the slope of Aiden's shoulder, biting down at the base of his neck, grateful for the fact that he doesn't have to hold back anymore, and Aiden tangles his hand in his hair to keep him close, crying out at the feeling of being claimed. <<Oh fuck, fuck, you feel so hot inside me.>> Aiden starts working his hips faster as Lambert meets him halfway, thrusting up in the welcoming heat and feeling the coils of his pleasure tightening inside him. Lambert licks the red mark decorating Aiden's throat, whispering <<Mine.>> against the heated flesh. He knows he won't last, they both heal quickly, but he knows it will be there in the morning. <<Yours. I need you to fuck me so hard I'll still feel you inside me tomorrow. >> Lambert moves his hands to grip Aiden's hips, holding him on his lap as he fucks into him, need burning inside him like flames. <<Godsdamn Aiden! >> A beautiful string of moans leave his lover's lips, Aiden was always loud, but right now he's sure every other person in this wing is probably hearing them. <<Oh, oh fuck, harder, please, just....fuck, you feel so good! I can take it, you know I can...>> Lambert knows he's not going to last long this time, Witcher's mutagens and all be damned, how can he resist with Aiden's tight ass around him, fully fucking himself on his cock. <<You're so tight, do you know how good you feel around me?>> Lambert feels how Aiden's whole body tenses up in his arms, and adjusts his angle to hit the right spot again and again, as he savors the way his lover clenches tighter around him, pleasure coursing through their bodies like sparks, bringing both of them closer to the edge. <<Show me...I need to feel you coming inside me, show me how good...>> Lambert watches Aiden quickly unraveling, relishing the loud moans and cries that keep falling from Aiden's lips every time he takes his whole length inside, tremors shaking the strong figure on top of his own. <<Fuck, keep moving like that and I will. Can you come on my cock like this?>> Lambert takes his lips in a bruising kiss, craving to feel his taste again before moving lower to lick at his neck, and Aiden's words go straight to his cock. <<Yes, yes, Gods yes, keep...keeping fucking me like this, fuck this is perfect...>> Aiden's fingers dig into his lover's back, nails leaving moon-shaped marks just above Lambert's shoulder blades as his hips desperately rock down to meet the hard thrusts claiming his body. <<Mine, only mine, my Aiden, fuck, come for me, I wanna see you.>> Aiden's whole body is tensing and twitching as a loud cry leaves his open lips, finally letting go, spilling his release between their bodies in pearly white lines pooling on Lambert's stomach. It takes Lambert only a few more thrusts into his hot clenching hole before his orgasm washes over him, filling his lover's body and gasping against the reddened skin of Aiden's neck.

He falls back on the bed, Aiden slumped forward on his chest with a silly smile on his face, and laying there contented is all they can do for now. It's a while before they can string thoughts, let alone words, together, both still coming down from their height. <<Lambert? I'll let you fuck me again if you admit that you were jealous.>> Aiden says it in the most innocent voice ever, and it shouldn't be possible coming from someone that looks so thoroughly fucked. Lambert just growls at him, his brain still refusing to work properly. <<Oh you little shit, can't you just drop it?>> Aiden curls up next to him, fingers drawing imaginary patterns connecting the scars on his chest. <<Careful love, I was under the impression you liked this ass.>> Aiden pretends to miss the words his Wolf just said, only because he knows he can and he will get away with it. <<What was that, pup? Was somebody jealous?>> Aiden smiles before scratching his nails over the sensitive skin on the inside of Lambert's thigh. <<Fine, fine, I was jealous, happy now kitty?>> <<Depends. Are you up for another round?>> Lambert rolls them over, giving a silent thank for the only one blessing brought by the mutagens in their blood. <<With you, always. I mean, have you seen you?>> Aiden spreads his legs open invitingly before arching under him. <<Then I'm very happy.>>

#the witcher #lambden #lambert x aiden #the witcher fanfiction #aiden x lambert #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #the witcher fandom #fanfic #smut #fanfiction #I really hope it's not terrible #I tried my best #I'm sorry

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hardkinkbadkink · 4 years

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Incubus!Jask at Kaer Morhen, having enthralled the witcher boys (+Ves? Your call.) wanting to watch them fuck only to be surprised they’re all... small? Maybe it’s the mutations fault. No matter. Jask makes them get off with each other by making them lap at each others’ cocks like they’re cunts, fingering one another until they’re squirming like pups begging for Jaskier’s cock to breed their needy holes because no other cocks will do. Bonus for puppy play, and forced orgasms (1/2)

(2/2) because I could see someone like Eskel or Lambert snapping out of it for a moment while Geralt is humping their thigh and being horrified until Jaskier talks him down, asking “don’t you like being my pup? Doesn’t it feel good to have your little cunny touched?” Until they’re re-enthralled for Jaskier’s sole amusement.

this is filthy overstim tiny cock mind-controlled porn thru & thru oof i’m a bit hot under the collar not gonna lie to you babes

now also on the ao3 near you

***

At first Jaskier'd thought it was a joke. How could he not? The concept of a witcher letting him tag along for the monster-slaying ride was rich enough. The idea--the very idea of being invited to the place that was basically Geralt's home, and home to his brothers, to other witchers--

It was, very much, not a joke, if the cold ache that's seeped through his joints and the monolithic, run-down keep standing stark against the grey sky are anything to go by.

"This seems like a needlessly intricate plot just to kill me, you do realise. You could easily have done it at any moment and I wouldn't even notice you draw the blade."

Geralt never appreciates this particular vein of his humour.

"I won't--"

"Yes, yes, you won't kill me, I know, you boring old man."

The heavy oaken door squeaks horribly when Jaskier pushes it open with some considerable effort. Geralt doesn't move to help him, the great brute that he is, resigning instead to stewing in his insufferable self-righteousness.

The inside of the keep is no less cold than the outside, though there are at least three lit hearths in the big, open hall alone. At least there's no snow. Jaskier looks around, overwhelmed by how awfully bland and devoid of style everything is. A long table with two equally long benches on either side seems to be the hall's biggest attraction, and Jaskier nearly weeps at the thought of the sad, sad souls that have come through here. No wonder Geralt is the way he is.

"Witchers--" Geralt continues suddenly when Jaskier's already long moved on from the subject.

"--are immune to incubus magic, yes, Geralt, you told me. I do listen sometimes, you know."

"He never listens, though, so he assumes nobody else does either," comes a beautiful voice speaking the whole truth and the truth only.

Jaskier turns as quickly as his stiff limbs will allow him.

"Eskel," Geralt growls in--what, a threat? Even in his own home, the man resorts to threats?

"Eskel!" Jaskier repeats with the cheer it deserves. He's heard only great things about Eskel. He extends a hand in greeting, and shivers when Eskel takes it in his own, gloveless in this awful chill. "Pleasure."

"The pleasure's all mine."

Eskel's smile, Jaskier thinks, is quite striking, just as the rest of him. Broad shoulders and thick thighs, dark hair peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, a playful glint in his golden eyes, the exact copies of Geralt's--

He shivers again, and not from the temperature.

He shouldn't have agreed to come, but Geralt's assured him they'll figure it out.

They are yet to figure it out.

But he gets as many cups of mulled wine as his little heart desires, and Geralt soon brightens up around his brothers, cracking jokes as they all shove at each other playfully like they're still wolf pups instead of hundred-year-old men.

The evening, all in all, ends up pleasant. Jaskier falls asleep calm and safe, ignoring the sucking emptiness inside him.

***

So here's the thing.

Sometimes, he thinks Geralt makes himself forget about Jaskier's inhuman heritage.

Sometimes, he thinks maybe Geralt really believes he doesn't need to feed on energy because he scarfs down half a loaf of bread at breakfast.

Sometimes, he wishes someone would strike him down, so he doesn't have to be so achingly hungry anymore.

And everyone's being so nice to him, so accommodating--he's embarrassed to ask them for anything more when they already give him so much.

And, here's another thing.

Witchers are not actually immune to incubus magic.

Jaskier's never had the heart to tell Geralt.

The poor dear once told him no when Jaskier half-jokingly asked to suck his cock and really thought his mighty witcher-brain is immune to Jaskier's power.

It is decidedly not the truth.

Jaskier makes it a whole week, waiting for Geralt to offer himself or anyone else up--Jaskier would even take a sacrificial virgin in a pinch--but he stays famished and weakening by the day.

He means to only take a little, at first. He finds Eskel and Lambert in the courtyard. Compelling them to drop their swords and follow him inside is child's play.

Jaskier walks them up to his bedroom--the only chamber in this whole blasted keep that's even remotely warm--and thrums with anticipation as he practically skips up the steps.

He means to only take a little, so he gets Lambert on his knees and makes for Eskel to shove his undoubtedly glorious cock down his throat, except--

Except that he doesn't think Eskel's cock could reach Lambert's throat in any capacity.

Oh.

When Lambert peels away his own leathers, and his dick turns out similarly sized, Jaskier burns with curiosity.

He motions for his boys to come forward, half-tangled in their clothes still, and they come to sit on the bed with him. He pets their precious tiny pricks and they squirm deliciously.

Oh, he's got to find Geralt.

He leaves them to undress and sprints through the keep at inhuman speed, dipping his head into various rooms until he spots the shock of white hair. Geralt's defences are so embarrassingly low, Jaskier doesn't even have to try particularly hard to catch him under a spell.

Eskel and Lambert are knelt dutifully in front of the bed, their clothes strewn all about, their expressions blissed-out like Jaskier's never seen them before. He helps Geralt undress--gods, and Geralt's prick is even smaller, somehow--before directing him to his knees between his brothers.

Jaskier practically vibrates with eagerness.

He meant only to take a little, but now he thinks he'll have all of it, and then some for dessert, until he's bursting with it.

Gods, the possibilities are endless.

Jaskier makes himself comfortable, leaning back on the cushions, facing his obedient pups.

"My good boys. My darling, perfect pups. You're even more breathtaking than I could ever imagine."

Someone whines pitifully at the words.

"Oh, it's high time someone took care of you, isn't it? Look how wet your gorgeous cocks are getting, and I barely even touched you."

He wants to touch, but even more he wants to watch.

"Eskel, my lovely, why don't you lay down for me? That's it, heart. Open your mouth nice and wide--"

Jaskier looks on, transfixed, as his pups shuffle to accommodate his wants; Eskel on his back on the furs, Lambert straddling his face, cute prick hovering just above his parted lips. He's got Geralt on his belly, face buried between Eskel's legs.

"My, look at you. Go on, dears, you must be ravenous."

He can't settle on where to look--to watch clumsy tongues lap desperately at each other's cocks, or their faces twist in unadulterated pleasure. Just as he fixes his wandering gaze on where Lambert's got his lip between his teeth, he catches a glimpse of Geralt rutting his tiny prick against the edge of the fur.

He waits until he can just feel the static of release cloying the air, all his pups whimpering as they approach the precipice--and orders them apart. They kneel again, their chests heaving and cocks throbbing, clad only in their medallions.

"What would my pups want? Do you want to fingerfuck your needy holes, since none of you have a cock to do it? I'll give you something bigger, when you're all nice and loose."

"Please," Geralt says quietly and crawls up the bed. He comes to straddle one of Jaskier's thighs, his prick flushed a delightful pink, deliciously wet at the head, and Jaskier's sure greater men would have succumbed.

"Oh, is my puppy desperate?"

Geralt nods frantically as he rides Jaskier's thigh, spreading sticky precome all over the fabric of his trousers.

"You'll have to wait your turn to get bred full, then, heart, since your brothers are so patient."

He brushes Geralt's hair to the side and shivers when Geralt comes with a series of lovely, high-pitched moans, feeling the shadow of his pup's release at the base of his spine.

"Good boy. But you're so greedy, darling, you've left your brothers waiting. Better make it up to them, yeah?"

Geralt nods again and scrambles off the bed to push at Eskel's chest and get him to lay back down again. This time Geralt throws Eskel's legs over his shoulders and laps hungrily at his hole. Jaskier makes Lambert return to sit on Eskel's face, turned the other way as he rides Eskel's tongue and moans wantonly.

They both take a finger beautifully, even before Jaskier hands them the oil.

Gods, Jaskier has to palm his own cock when he thinks about his pups, made-over and trained to be killing machines--helpless as he forces them to take their pleasure, squirming on each other's fingers and tongues, moaning and whimpering and begging in broken, breathy whispers to be taken and bred and filled.

He watches Eskel stretched on three fingers, his powerful thighs quivering. Jaskier feels the frantic crescendo of his pup's orgasm, can taste the panic that rises in him because he didn't get the permission to come yet.

"Do you like Geralt's fingers, darling? Want to come on them? Go on, Eskel, my lovely, let go for me."

Eskel's little cock twitches before he comes with a sob, draining his heavy balls all over his belly, but he never stops driving his fingers relentlessly into Lambert's slack hole.

"You too, Lambert, baby, come for me whenever you feel like it. Look how good it was for your brothers."

Lambert only takes a few more harsh thrusts before he nearly collapses forward, seizing up and shooting his load over Eskel's chest with a full-bodied tremor.

"Good. Gods, you're all so good, so lovely, you make my heart ache."

They make other parts of him ache, too.

When Geralt moves up to dutifully clean Eskel's skin of seed, from his flushed chest all the way to his sensitive cock, Jaskier's resolve breaks.

He divests himself quickly of his clothes, and his pups stare adoringly, hungrily, at the sticky-wet tip of his cock.

And Jaskier immediately knows that he loves all of them equally--but he needs Geralt to have the last turn, and he's wanted Eskel ever since he'd first laid eyes on him that first day.

"You can all come up on the bed now, loves."

His pups drool all over themselves, watching his prick bob between his legs, and Jaskier can't believe they were to deprive themselves all winter, when they so fiercely want for a big fat cock to stuff them silly. His heart breaks for them, just a little.

He kisses Lambert deeply, his darling too out of it to do it properly, licking into Jaskier's mouth with a sloppy tongue like the desperate puppy he is. They all try to get comfortable around him, even with the aching emptiness between their legs, but Jaskier's quick to remedy that.

"Lambert, my sweet, be a dear and open Geralt up while I breed Eskel's tight little hole."

Jaskier reclines with his back against the wall, so he can see Geralt open his legs wantonly and Lambert quickly get between them.

But most importantly, he can urge Eskel onto his lap, his pup's glorious thighs spreading wide over his own as he looks at Jaskier with blind adoration.

"You want my cock, darling? Want to finally be so very full?" Jaskier asks in a whisper, giving Eskel his full attention, like his baby deserves.

"Please, please." Eskel's soothing, deep voice trembles a bit as he tries to speak. "Want you so bad, it hurts."

Jaskier shushes him before pressing his lips gently to Eskel's. The kiss is more cohesive than his last, Eskel groaning quietly when Jaskier sucks on his tongue.

"I know, you just want to get fucked, nice and proper, huh? I bet you get no relief on the path, with that pitiful little excuse for a cock--want me to breed you like the good little fuckhole you are, darling? I'll leave you dripping."

He smooths his hands over Eskel's thighs to urge him up, so he can press his throbbing cockhead against Eskel's greedy hole. It swallows him all at once, steals the breath from his lungs when Eskel's bottom presses against the tops of his legs.

"Oh, Eskel, my love--" Jaskier rambles, because the feel of his pup, coupled with the sight he makes--wide open eyes, glazed-over in elation, his lips swollen and pink, his tiny prick hard again and bobbing against his belly when Eskel begins bouncing on Jaskier's cock--

Gods, how did he ever think he could have just a little?

"Take what you need, whatever you need, darling, oh, you're divine, you're perfect."

Eskel whimpers and leans in to bury his face in Jaskier's neck, overwhelmed, but Jaskier doesn't mind. He rubs his puppy's back, and keeps fucking him, as slowly and as quickly as Eskel needs from him, sinking into his sinful hole again and again until Eskel shakes with it, until he can't go anymore.

Jaskier pushes him gently onto his back and keeps driving into him, faster now, and Eskel sobs beautifully with each thrust. They share a feverish kiss and Jaskier finally gets his hands on that alluring chest, squeezing Eskel's pecks and rubbing his nipples gently. Eskel arches into his touch and moans raggedly.

"Such a good boy, such a good pup--do you want me to touch your cute prick, love? Want me to rub your little clit?"

Eskel nods, his voice climbing frantically around a string of yes yes yes. It barely takes a full touch to his swollen, ruddy prick before Eskel pulses around Jaskier's cock, thrashes on the bed with his head thrown back.

"Stunning, oh, that's perfect--"

"I know, I know, pup, but I need to see to your brothers. Gods, I wish I had something to plug you up with, so you're always nice and full."

He does manage to pull out, and gets to watch Eskel's puffy hole leak out his spend copiously. He leans down to lap it up, because how can he not? Eskel's legs grip vice-tight around his head for a moment.

Eskel's still convulsing periodically when Jaskier arranges him on his knees, straddling one of Geralt's thighs, so they can hump each other like the needy pups they are.

"Lambert, love, would you like to suck a real cock, finally? I can shove it down your throat before I breed your lovely hole."

And Lambert scrambles to get his mouth on Jaskier's come-streaked cock so fast he nearly falls backwards and off the edge of the bed.

"Careful, dear, so you don't choke. Gods, you are just my perfect cock-hungry sluts, aren't you? How will I ever let you go?"

Geralt whimpers beautifully next to him, and Jaskier looks over to his other boys while he cards gentle fingers through Lambert's hair.

Eskel's too sensitive, Jaskier knows, and yet he still ruts his prick against Geralt like he'll die without it. Their foreheads rest together. It only takes the smallest nudge to have them kiss, tentatively at first, then increasingly more hotly, until they're both moaning with the intensity of it.

"Is this how my pups spend the winters? Rutting against each other desperately, lapping at your pathetic little pricks like they're cunts? Writhing on fingers because there isn't a cock in sight to fill you like you so very crave?"

Geralt shakes violently and grabs fistfuls of Eskel's hair when he spills, yet the rhythm of his hips never falters. Jaskier smiles at them warmly, tugs Lambert's head up and down, relishing the tight clutch of his throat.

Except there's something threatening to ruin his perfect evening, and he can feel one of his pups slipping from his thrall.

Eskel jerks away slightly, as much as he can with Geralt still straddling his leg. His eyes aren't filled with bliss and lust, but wide with confusion and, inexplicably, terror.

"You--" Eskel begins, trying to wrestle out of Geralt's hold.

Jaskier shushes him calmly. "Oh, darling is something the matter? You do like being my lovely pup, don't you?" He can see Eskel pause when he no doubt notices his sopping wet hole drooling all over the sheets. "Don't you like your little boy parts touched, love? Doesn't it feel good to be stuffed with my seed?"

Eskel's sharp, golden eyes quickly lose their focus. Geralt whines and leans in for a kiss. Eskel opens his mouth somewhat reluctantly, still.

"That's it, pup, just let yourself be cared for, isn't that better? If you're good I'll have you warm my cock all night."

Jaskier still has some tricks up his sleeve, so he snaps his fingers and has Eskel crashing through a sudden, dry orgasm, his lovely prick throbbing visibly.

"Maybe it's for the better you don't have real cocks. I can have your little boy pricks coming again and again, just as a woman would."

Lambert gives a strangled groan around Jaskier's cock, his release thick and heavy in the air without anyone even glancing at his dick. Amazing.

Jaskier urges his lovely pup up, gives him a chaste kiss before asking,

"How do you want it, darling?"

"Hard," Lambert replies without hesitation, and settles on his hands and knees, his pink, sloppy hole perfectly on display.

"Oh, love, you've got such a nice, tight cunt, fuck--"

Lambert chokes on a breath, forces his hips back, overeager and hungry for every bit of cock he can get. Jaskier couldn't deny him, wouldn't want to anyway.

"That's it, that's right, I'll fuck you until you can't stand it anymore, darling, you'll be feeling it for days."

His hips hasten, until he's snapping into Lambert with brutal force, jostling the whole bed, spurred on by the constant babble of more, harder, yes, yes.

"Will you finger your sore hole, thinking about my cock? Will you try to get Eskel's tiny prick into you, to satisfy the ache?"

Lambert keens, and shakes his head vigorously.

"Just you, need your cock, need a real cock--"

The slap of Jaskier's balls against Lambert's is indecently satisfying. Jaskier brings his hand down with a crack on Lambert's magnificent arse, and then a few more times, when Lambert hollers and the sharp scent of his intensifying arousal makes Jaskier half-rabid.

"Like that, darling? Want to be abused? Want me to bruise your little cunt until you sob with it?"

"Please, please, oh--"

Sobbing is not far off, it seems. Jaskier feels the tingle of power in every part of his body, in the air around them, everywhere, everywhere, raw carnal energy for him to devour.

Jaskier comes before Lambert does, but his pup isn't far behind, milking the last of Jaskier's release as he spills onto the sheets with a broken whimper.

"Don't stop, don't stop," Lambert whispers and tries to impale himself on Jaskier's cock further.

"Greedy. Greedy, slutty pups, you've been neglected for so long, you can't get enough, can you?"

He thrusts languidly, because if there's one thing he doesn't lack, it's stamina.

"How would you like to come inside a nice, warm body, love?"

Lambert whines, his golden eyes blown entirely black.

"Geralt, my darling," Jaskier calls softly, and Geralt looks up at him with red-rimmed, shining eyes. "You'll be a good pup and ride Lambert, won't you?"

"Want a real cock," Geralt says faintly, voice cracking, but he's already climbing to sit astride Lambert's belly, facing Jaskier. "Want your cock."

"You'll get it, heart, you'll get it as much as you want--if you're a good boy for me."

Jaskier doesn't think Lambert's cock is longer than his fingers, but it's nice and thick and just big enough to fit inside Geralt without slipping out, at least until Geralt tries to fuck himself on it.

"Jaskier, Jaskier, please--" his pups call out to him, all three in a beautiful symphony.

He's suddenly obsessed with the thought of Lambert coming inside Geralt, so when Jaskier gets in him his hole is nice and sloppy with spend.

Lambert's cute little prick is not big enough for Geralt to bounce on it like he so clearly wants.

Easily remedied, that.

"Geralt. Geralt, my darling, the light of my life, my perfect little puppy--" he prattles on in a soft voice before he gives a measured slap to the very tip of Geralt's cock.

A sharp burst of energy makes his witchers all shudder with release, squirming as it takes them by surprise, their little cocks come-soaked and oversensitive.

"Geralt," Jaskier says, and he slurs a bit in his haste. His composure is slipping. But his boys are so delicious, so eager and obedient and Geralt spreads his legs so very wide just to show Jaskier his loose, fucked-out hole, and what is he meant to do if not give in to the temptation laid out before him?

Geralt feels so intoxicatingly, unreasonably good, the spell nearly snaps. Jaskier has to keep himself firmly in check, even when everything around him becomes an impossible blur. He fucks Geralt on his back and his stomach, on all fours and against the wall. Vaguely, he registers the small tingle in his abdomen when his other pups come, too, again and again on each other's fingers and tongues, wailing and screaming as Jaskier unconsciously wrings pleasure out of them long after it'd crossed the line of overstimulated pain.

"Geralt, my lovely, my darling little whore, fuck--you're all so good, so, so good, ah--"

His pup's tiny fucking prick twitches when Jaskier closes a palm around it, finds it deliciously soaked and so very sensitive. He licks the single tear that spills down Geralt's cheek and rubs the heel of his palm over Geralt’s cockhead.

Jaskier blacks out when he finally breeds Geralt full of come.

***

He wakes up wrapped up in his beloved pups, keeping his hold tightly on their minds.

The room had grown cold, but he's feverishly hot between three strong bodies. Curious, he touches a finger to the swollen head of Lambert's soft prick, watches him twitch his hips away even asleep. Jaskier pillows his head on a burly chest and closes his eyes.

He'll let them rest for the day, but by nightfall, Jaskier would very much like to be treated to an extravagant feast again.

#cw non-con #cw mind control #indulgent overuse of the word 'pup'#i rarely enjoy my own writing but bitch i'd read this again

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