Geralt and Eskel edging Jaskier, who's under Axii not to come until they tell him, spending all day taking turns till he's soaked and full of cum, hole too loose to close and just completely cockdumb to the point he can't even begin to come. Finally, they DP him and tell him to come and his scream is loud enough to shake dust off the walls. Or fisting/ double fisting maybe? Age is dealers choice I'm good with any.
Oh my goodness what an amazing prompt! Thank you for sending it in!
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Jaskier hadn’t expected his first winter at Kaer Morhen to be like this. He’d been excited, sure—it would be a great opportunity to see where it all began, the top-secret home of the Wolf Witchers, a mystic keep hidden high in the mountains. He could talk to Geralt’s brothers, see if they proved to be less monosyllabic.
He and Geralt could fuck in a proper bed without having to worry about other inn patrons.
Which they proceeded to do as soon as Jaskier could stop shivering from their trek up the mountain. Several times. Very loudly, in fact.
He almost—almost—regretted it the next morning, when Eskel greeted him, unable to look him in the eye. Of course. Witcher senses, enhanced hearing.
Jaskier considered being embarrassed for all of a second—after all, it was sort of like having your in-laws know all the details of your sex life. But he’d never been one to embarrass easily, and he wasn’t about to start now. So, after getting Geralt’s agreement, he looked Eskel straight in the eye and asked, “Wanna fuck?”
Which was how he’d found himself here, spread-eagle on their bed, head in Geralt’s lap while Eskel kneeled between his legs. “Sure you want to do this?” Eskel asked, in that honey-warm voice of his that never failed to send shivers down Jaskier’s spine.
“Yes I’m sure, please,” Jaskier begged, leaning his head back to entreat Geralt, too. Eskel nodded and traced his fingers through the air, and the world went syrupy around him. All he could feel was Geralt’s fingers combing lightly through his hair, and an overwhelming sense of Eskel, intimate and comforting. Jaskier sighed in relaxation.
“Jaskier, are you with me?” Eskel asked, honeyed voice drifting to him through the fog.
“Yeah,” he said dreamily.
“Good. Listen carefully. You can’t come until we say,” Eskel coached him, and Jaskier repeated it dutifully. If Eskel was telling him, then it must have been important.
Then Jaskier felt the fog lift, and being snapped back to reality felt like jumping into a freezing river. He gasped. “Oh, fuck.”
“Alright?” Geralt asked, his fingers tracing lower and lower until they were caressing his neck, then down his chest, until they were tweaking at his nipples. Jaskier arched up into the contact.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Now fuck me,” he demanded, wiggling his hips enticingly. Geralt laughed.
“Impatient,” he chided. “Eskel, get him ready?”
Eskel hummed—was that a witcher thing, then?—and grabbed the vial of they kept beside the bed for this exact purpose. Jaskier watched as he drizzled it into his hand, and promptly yelled as Eskel seized his cock. “Fuck,” he gasped, bucking up into it, but only succeeded in thrusting once, twice, before Eskel was pulling away.
“That’s just a taste of what’s to come, little lark,” Eskel murmured darkly. Jaskier was saved a response by the feeling of one thick finger—thicker than Geralt’s, even, which, wow—nudging against his hole. Jaskier moaned.
“Listen to you. Only one finger and you’re already begging for it,” Geralt teased, pinching his nipples again. Jaskier was caught between the dual sensations, already half out of his mind with lust. And they’d only just started. “We’re not going to stop until you’re crying for it,” he promised, and Jaskier moaned again, louder.
“Such beautiful sounds for us,” Eskel praised, adding another finger and crooking them both just right.
“Please—more, give me more,” Jaskier pleaded, and nearly bit his tongue off when Eskel complied, just as Geralt tugged at his cock again.
“Is this what you want?” Geralt asked, rubbing his thumb over the slit.
“Yes, yes, please, Geralt, want—”
“What do you want? Do you want to come?” Geralt continued, sounding far too at ease for the fire coursing through Jaskier’s veins at every movement.
“Yes—so close—gonna—”
“But you can’t. Don’t you remember, Jaskier? You asked for this,” Geralt reminded him cruelly, letting his cock bob back against his stomach. Jaskier whined.
“You won’t be complaining for much longer, once I’m inside of you,” Eskel assured him, and then did just that—Jaskier whined again at the loss of his fingers, feeling entirely too empty, hole fluttering in Eskel’s wake—but he was soon pacified when Eskel’s thick, gorgeous cock breached him.
All of the air punched out of him as Eskel thrust deep in one smooth movement. He could come just from this, the sensation of being so exquisitely full—except he couldn’t. He couldn’t even as Eskel took him in hand and started stroking, pumping his hips in powerful thrusts that sent him brushing right up against Jaskier’s prostate.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” Jaskier chanted, unable to form any other thoughts besides the urgent need to come and the overwhelming feeling of Eskel, Eskel, Eskel.
“How does he feel?” Geralt asked, looking at Eskel, whose face was tightly screwed up in pleasure.
“Fucking—incredible,” Eskel grunted. “So hot—and tight—and wet, all for us—” And with that, he came, come squelching up inside of Jaskier, hot and wet against his inner walls. Jaskier moaned, thrashing his head back and forth.
“Fuck—fuck, please, please, let me come, I’ve been good—” he begged.
“You have been, you’ve been so good, so good for us,” Geralt reassured him, petting broad hands down his sides. Jaskier sobbed in overstimulation, the touch just this side of too much and yet not enough. “Can you keep being good for us?”
Jaskier nodded, chest heaving. “Please—want you, Geralt, want you inside—”
“Shh, little lark. Be patient,” Geralt said, but gently scooted out from under Jaskier’s head, letting him drop softly back onto the bed. Eskel shuffled away from Jaskier’s ass, replacing him at the top of the bed. Geralt took Eskel’s place, hoisting Jaskier’s legs up until he was bent nearly in half, gaping hole winking up at him, still with come dripping out of it.
Eskel’s hand appeared in his vision, fingers heading towards his mouth, and Jaskier opened eagerly. “Suck,” Eskel commanded, and he did with pleasure. It gave him something to focus on, a much needed distraction from his painfully hard dick.
And then his concentration went completely out the window when Geralt thrust into him, glide slicked by the oil and come leaking out of his hole. A strangled sort of gasp made its way out of Jaskier’s mouth.
“Mmm, so open and wet for me. Did Eskel fuck you open nice and good?” Geralt crooned, thrusting rapidly, hitting Jaskier’s oversensitive prostate with every stroke. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.
He tried to say something, garbled past Eskel’s fingers, who kindly removed them and then unkindly started pumping his spit-slick hand up and down Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier wheezed.
“Gonna fill you up so good, ‘til you’re round with our seed,” Geralt purred, shuddering as he approached his own peak. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your own name.”
“He’s already halfway there,” Eskel commented wryly. It was true—Jaskier felt half out of his mind with lust, unbearable and immediate.
It only intensified when Geralt thrust once, twice, again, and then came, come shooting out of him in thick spurts, filling Jaskier up completely. He sobbed with the feeling, so unbearably full.
And through it all, Eskel’s hand never stopped, up and down until Jaskier was sure his cock had been rubbed completely raw. “Hnghh—” he whined, trying fruitlessly to squirm away, but Eskel didn’t let up. “Please.”
“Oh, do you want to come?” Eskel asked, leaning over to fill Jaskier’s view. Jaskier nodded frantically. “Too bad.”
The sobs started in earnest then, chest heaving as the witchers swapped places again. And again, and again, fucking him full of their come until he was heavy with it, until his hole couldn’t even so much as clench around them.
He didn’t know when they let up, but he came back to himself some time later with nothing inside of him, the feeling of come leaking out tickling his ass.
“Jaskier, hey,” Geralt said, and Jaskier cast exhausted eyes at him. “Do you want to keep going with what we talked about?” Geralt asked, and it took a minute for Jaskier to remember.
But once he did, he nodded, even though part of him was screaming out for him to stop, to accept his limits. But the larger part of him wanted to see how much he could take, and so he nodded, and Eskel lifted him until he was chest-to-chest with Eskel and perched over his cock, all of his weight supported by those two strong hands, legs weak as a kitten’s.
Geralt took his position behind Jaskier, and then Jaskier was being unbelievably stretched even farther, speared open on both of their cocks. He screamed, thrashing from pleasure or pain, he didn’t know. If he could just—get a hand on his cock—maybe he could finally come—
But he was too fucked out to even think about attempting it himself. Even just the effort of keeping his head from lolling back was monumental, every muscle overtaxed and every limb in his body filled with sand. He whined, voice cracking in the middle of it.
“Fuck—you’re so open for us, so good, fuck, lark,” Eskel grunted, rapidly pistoning his hips in counterpoint to Geralt’s thrusts.
“So good,” Geralt murmured, nosing at Jaskier’s neck. “Do you want to come? You deserve a reward.”
“Yes,” Jaskier sobbed, and then Eskel was making that hand gesture in front of him again.
“Come for me,” he ordered, and Jaskier screamed until his throat went numb and the world went white, cock spurting rope after rope of come, wringing him completely dry.
He passed out.
He came to what must have been hours later, limbs and ass deliciously sore the way they only were after a good fuck. He groaned, uncurling from the ball he’d been curled into underneath a pile of furs, and opened his eyes to see Geralt sitting against the headboard with Eskel asleep in his lap.
“Hey,” he said softly, upon seeing that Jaskier was awake. “How do you feel?”
“Fucking amazing.”
Geralt chuckled. “So you liked it, then?”
“Oh, we are absolutely doing that again,” Jaskier rasped. “…As soon as I can feel my legs.”