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Orkish Delight

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Orkish Delight

"I am told you are in dire need of a break from monster hunting. We can certainly offer that. You may end up bruised and beaten nonetheless, but I do promise you will enjoy yourself. If that is not to your liking, say so now. We won't think less of you."

Rhys sprawled on a chair, with Duncan kneeling next to him. He idly petted Duncan's ear while speaking but kept his eyes on Geralt. The witcher didn't seen entirely convinced by the idea of handing himself over. He had divested himself of his weapons readily enough but had stopped at his armor. Which wasn't so bad because he certainly was pleasant to look at. White hair in a ponytail, the balanced stance of an experienced fighter, padded vest and tight pants nicely accentuating his waist and ass. Golden cat's eyes marked him as different at first glance, just like their tusks and pointed ears did for Duncan and Rhys.

They had claimed a comfortable room on the second floor of the Rosemary and Thyme. A large bed was the main attraction although Rhys didn't plan on using it just yet.The light streaming in through the crown glass windows made the polished floorboards gleam and softened all edges. Only a little noise filtered up from the lively taproom below.

When he didn't get an answer right away, Rhys walked over to Geralt, circling him. One hand trailed over the witcher's leather clad forearm, only just touching. Under the smell of the leather and metal of the armor was was something different, a hint of herbs and the sting of chemicals. Unusual but not unpleasant. Rhys wondered how he'd smell without the armor. He stopped in front of Geralt, carefully invading his personal space.

"Well, what will it be, witcher?"


Geralt carefully weighed his options, balancing the risks against his desires. Dandelion had called it accurately when he said Geralt was pent up. In the end, curiosity won out over all.

"I can heal bruises in a day. I’m nearly a century old, the memory of a good night spent tied up by someone who shouldn’t exist and can leave a bruise. I find that… appealing."

The orks in the room with him shouldn’t exist anymore and that was just it. Maybe they were from another time or another place. The twitch in Geralt’s pants when he watched the light gleam off of the dull white of Rhys' tusks told him he did not care either. In a fight he was sure Duncan could take him any day, but something about the dynamic between the two told Geralt he should probably be more concerned about the less bulky one standing in front of him. Rhys seemed slender in comparison to Duncan and had the pale skin of a nobleman, a braid falling over his shoulder. He also had a nobleman's air of authority, used to having his wishes followed. There was magic there, Geralt's medallion vibrated gently against his chest.

Shifting on his feet, Geralt wasn’t nervous, not really. The way his cock was starting to pay attention to the situation in his pants was less than comfortable though. Reaching up he started to unbuckle the catches on his leather and chainmail vest, eyes never leaving those tusks. What would they feel like on his skin, he wondered?

Geralt could smell incense and a sort of spice he was unfamiliar with. He could also smell Rhys' arousal but the man seemed annoyingly calm and collected. Behind him, Duncan had started to fidget on his knees, searching and not finding a more comfortable position. His heart beat faster than Rhys', with excitement and a little fear.

"So, are you gonna tell me what to do?" Geralt was being a bit of an ass and he knew it, he wanted to see how this guy would react.


Rhys was still standing very close and waited until he had Geralt full attention before smiling a slow, dangerous smile that showed his sharp fangs, almost as long as his tusks. The slight widening of Geralt's eyes was extremely satisfying. "You seem to be doing just fine on your own for now. Do continue."

He sat down again and watched Geralt undress while petting Duncan's neck. When Geralt was done, Rhys gave him another thorough inspection, starting with his back and working his way around. He traced the multitude of Geralt's scars, ran his palm over the stubble of the undercut, pushing Geralt's head down and trailed his fingers over Geralt's side to his chest, keeping away from the snarling wolf's head medallion.

Rhys grabbed Geralt's ponytail and pulled, forcing his head back. "Unless I tell you otherwise, you will stand with your hand on your back and your legs apart. If you ever feel like you need to stop, say Novigrad. We will do the same." He reached between Geralt's legs, cupping his balls and slowly stroking his shaft until Geralt gave a first moan. A last pat to his balls and Rhys stood back. "Very nice. I think we will enjoy you. You can make yourself useful by undressing Duncan. Don't touch his cock, he hasn't earned that yet."

At a gesture from Rhys, Duncan stood up and took the stance Rhys had just explained to Geralt: legs spread, hands on his back and head bowed. He was a good bit taller than Geralt and much bulkier, with tusks that were more blunt, but probably still capable of slicing clean through skin and flesh. Even with his head bowed, the slant of his eyes caught Geralt's attention. A rare sight in these parts. He didn't look up when Geralt approached but took a deep breath, visible centering himself.


Trying to force the sensations Rhys had created in his body from his mind so he could focus on not screwing up the task at hand Geralt stilled. He took another deep breath in through his mouth and let it flow out his nose, along with his thoughts of how Rhys’ hand had felt in his hair. Letting go of the way the soothing whisper of his hand over Geralt’s stubble and the stinging yank on his ponytail reminded Geralt of the smooth pleasing flat and the sharp cutting edge of his sword.

Mouthing off earlier had been a mistake. Geralt had expected to be grabbed, manhandled, or worse. He had not expected to have his behavior outright ignored. Only when he had done what he was asked, by continuing what he had started out of sheer cockiness, did he get what he really wanted. Hands on his skin, fingers in his hair, and orders to follow. It was time to try being good and see what he could get.

Geralt’s hands loosened the ties on Duncan’s tunic, at the wrists and neck. Untucking it from those obscenely tight Nilfgaardian trousers, he slid his hands under it. Rhys had said not to touch Duncan’s cock, but he hadn’t mentioned Geralt couldn’t touch anything else. Unable to resist teasing this giant of a man, clearly already on edge by the sound of his heartbeat and the quick shallow depth of his breathing, Geralt mapped out Duncan’s muscles. Letting his sword-calloused hands run over his abdomen and chest, Geralt lifted Duncan’s tunic from him.

Putting on a show for Rhys, Geralt slowly went down to his knees on the time worn floor, face coming level with the prominent bulge in Duncan’s sleek black trousers. Geralt wanted desperately to glance at Rhys and see if his plan was working but he didn’t dare. Placing his hands on Duncan’s solid thighs for balance, Geralt leaned forward and pulled at the strings of the trousers with his teeth, ever careful not to touch Duncan’s cock, even through the fabric. After several meticulous tugs the strings were loose and Geralt dipped his fingers in the edge of the waist band. Tipping his head down and to the side his hands glided over Duncan’s ass pushing the trousers down, freeing his cock; Geralt skimmed the back of Duncan’s thighs, shimmying the tight trousers to the floor.

Geralt sat back on his heels for only a moment taking in the sight before him. All smooth muscle and deep olive skin, immense thighs, and the wide shaft of Duncan’s cock. Waiting as patiently as he could while the man in front of him stepped out of the pile of clothes at his feet and folded them. Then Geralt stood up, moving beside Duncan, lowered his head, placed his hands on his back and spread his legs. Almost like when he meditated, the buzz in Geralt’s mind from putting on such a show slowed, but the ache in his balls would not settle.


Rhys pushed Geralt's head up with two fingers under his chin and gave him another smile, showing off his fangs. "Nicely done."

He turned to Duncan and got close but not close enough to touch except for his fingers running through Duncan's mohawk. "If you behave yourself, I might let you fuck the witcher. Would you like that?"

Duncan's breath caught in his throat as he answered. "Yes, Sir. I'll try to please you."

"Mhm, I'm sure you will. You can start by getting on your knees again and sucking his cock. Use your mouth only." Rhys allowed Duncan a cushion and watched him kneel, looking up at Geralt for a moment, before taking his cock into his mouth. The shiver that ran over Geralt as he did it made Rhys smile and he stopped to take in the sight a bit longer. Duncan licked and sucked on the tip of Geralt's cock, then took him deeper before coming up for air again.

Geralt was quivering, moaning quietly, and Rhys stepped behind him. He took a rope from his pack under the bed, pulled Geralt's arms closer together on his back. Starting to wind the rope around them in a pattern interspersed by knots, Rhys listened to the breathing of both men growing heavier. When he was done, he admired the way the rope made the muscles of Geralt's arms and back stand out. The man was delicious. Rhys hugged Geralt from behind, ground his own cock against him, pushing Geralt's deeper into Duncan's mouth.

"You've probably noticed by now that Duncan doesn't like taking a cock too deep. One of his many failings. You can help me teach him. Fuck his mouth, as hard as you can. You may come if you want to. Depending on how you perform, it might be the only time you're allowed today." Rhys spoke directly into Geralt's ear in a low whisper and gave his earlobe a sharp nip with his fang when he was finished. He let go and sat on the bed to watch.

Duncan had his eyes closed, resigned to his fate. His cock was hard, twitching with every heart beat, the tip glistening with precum. Seeing him so needy was exactly what Rhys wanted. The encounter with Geralt had been a stroke of luck he intended to put to good use.


The cock grinding against his naked ass, the warm wet mouth around his own cock, the spit-slicked smoothly pointed tusks on either side as his cock was forced further in, all of it made Geralt’s mind reel. The smallest pinch of Rhys’ fang on his ear, telling him to use Duncan - no help Duncan learn for him. Even better, he had permission to come. And he wanted to come, wanted to sink in between those gleaming tusks and feel Duncan take it all from him willingly, to please Rhys.

Letting his shoulders relax, arms cradled by the ropes, Geralt stretched his fingers making sure nothing was tight enough to create a problem later. He sighed and leaned his hips into Duncan’s mouth testing the depth, sensing the tightness in Duncan’s throat before pulling out and taking a step forward.

"Gods, I fucking love your tusks next to my cock," Geralt ground out as he thrust his hips forward quickly this time. He could sense the trepidation in Duncan, his heartbeat quickening, muscles tightening minutely at the impending intrusion. Setting a fast rhythm, feeling the head of his cock bump the back of Duncan’s throat on each pass, Geralt encouraged him, "Gonna be a good boy for him aren’t you? Come on, relax your throat," Geralt thrust just a tad harder against Duncan’s resistance.

Duncan’s mouth was wet and sloppy around him, as Geralt forced his cock all the way in. "Such a good boy for Rhys. You wanna fuck my ass don’t you? You have to be good then, take it all." He let himself stay still in Duncan’s throat for two heartbeats, three. The acrid smell of panic rose in the air. Geralt drew his hips back and resumed his previous fast rhythm, deeper this time. Dipping into Duncan’s throat with every thrust. It felt like a warm fluttery glove, squeezing his cock with each stroke and Geralt was quickly approaching his orgasm.

"Gods your mouth is good. I bet he loves it." Geralt paused deep in Duncan’s throat again, glorying in the feel of it. Two heartbeats, three. Pulling out and thrusting again. "You can take it, such a good boy for him. Are you gonna swallow everything I give you too? Earn your reward?" The smell of Duncan’s dripping arousal swirled with Rhys’ in Geralt’s nose. The thought of Duncan getting his reward and the way his thick cock would feel stretching out Geralt’s ass sent him over the edge. Hips held flush against Duncan’s face, balls pressed against those glorious tusks, Geralt went rigid. Two heartbeats, three. Four. Then he was spilling down Duncan’s throat with a low feral groan.


Rhys watched them from the bed, relishing Duncan's fear and Geralt's eagerness. He unfocused and slipped into astral sight when Geralt pushed his cock down Duncan's throat. Their auras had begun to intertwine, melting into each other. Lighting patterns of coral red lust flashed in Geralt's, burning themselves into the gold of the witcher's normal aura.

Duncan's fear and panic bloomed in inky purple stains, almost drowning out the red when Geralt forced him to take his cock and didn't draw back immediately. But the red didn't go away, it kept surfacing in broad strokes like the back of a whale breaching the water. Geralt's praise coaxed it to the surface and kept it there even when he came and Duncan tried in vain to swallow around his cock.

Geralt pulled back and Rhys switched to normal sight just in time to see Duncan leaning forward and licking at Geralt's cock and balls, cleaning them of cum and spit. Duncan had drooled all over himself and had to stop licking a few times to cough hoarsely. When he was done, he looked up at Geralt. "Thank you." His voice was rough, both from the now quickly subsiding panic and the throat fuck he just received.

Walking over to them, Rhys petted Duncan's hair. "You did very well. Go clean yourself up, drink something. Peel the ginger for me, please. When you're done, kneel on the cushion again." The way he placed it after Duncan got up would allow Duncan a good view of the bed. With a deep kiss, he let Duncan go, tasting Geralt's cum on his lips.

He turned to Geralt, checked on the rope. Finding everything still loose enough to not cause pain or damage, he turned Geralt around to face him and gave him a bite to the throat, pressing down with tusks and fangs. He growled deep in his throat, breathing in the scent of leather and sweat. The tang of chemicals was still there, mixed with the sweat.

When he let go, there were red marks on Geralt's neck. "You have talent. I enjoyed watching you."

"Thank you, Sir." Geralt had been paying attention and Rhys rewarded him with a smile. He also took note that the rumours about the stamina of witchers were apparently based on facts. Duncan was busy with the ginger and its sharp smell filled the room.

Rhys' fingers wandered up Geralt's chest, flicked against his nipples, thumbing over them. "You get to choose how we continue. Well, part of it." Spreading a cane, a riding crop and a belt on the bed, he invite Geralt to step closer with a gesture. "Take your pick."


The buzz of his orgasm had lingered in Geralt’s veins as Rhys’ words floated past. He had swayed on his feet slightly with the tug and pull of Rhys checking his bindings. When he was turned about face though, tusks and fangs clamping down on his neck to create a deep ache without piercing his skin, Geralt pulled his focus back to Rhys to hear his praise.

The smell of ginger made Geralt’s nose itch. He looked over the items that had been laid out on the bed for him to choose from. The sight of the leather made Geralt flinch, bringing with it unpleasant memories. No. He wanted to feel tonight, not endure. Rhys had given him a choice. A reward of his own for helping Duncan? Maybe. Both the belt and the crop were leather and would sour his mood, but the thin cane…

"The cane." Geralt was glad his voice came out clear because he was still feeling a little disoriented. Then he remembered he had a question. "Why do I smell ginger ?"

"The part you don’t get a choice in. As a witcher you have a dulled sense of pain. In order to ensure that you properly appreciate the sensations I give you, Duncan is preparing some ginger for you." Rhys had leaned in close to Geralt, speaking candidly. The corners of his mouth pulled into the beginning of a grin. He waited for understanding to sink in for the witcher.

The proximity to his neck made Geralt wonder if the marks of the bite had already faded or not. He wished they wouldn’t. Geralt looked at Rhys trying to understand how a root he knew helped with nausea, dizziness and a myriad of other things would help him feel this more.

"Are you planning on making me nauseous?" Geralt asked half jokingly. Gods he hoped not, but it was better than the alternative he could think of- ginger on an open wound. He didn’t desire to be outright tortured. That had happened plenty enough before, but Dandelion had vouched for these two so Geralt was certain that wasn’t where this was headed.

Rhys’ lips broke open into a full grin, fangs on full display. "Have you truly never experienced this before, witcher?"

"Uh, I guess not?" Geralt replied confused, but more concerned than a moment ago. Rhys’ grin was almost feral and for a moment he wondered if Dandelion had misjudged him.

"Allow me to explain," Rhys took a finger of ginger from Duncan, who promptly assumed his place on his knees at the foot of the bed. "This," Rhys held the freshly pared piece aloft for Geralt to see, "has been peeled to allow the ginger juice to produce its irritant. Duncan has shaped it nicely with a notch here, see? So it cannot slip in too far, you cannot push it out either."

Geralt’s jaw went slack with realization as Rhys pointed out all the features of the tiny piece of ginger. It was small, he rationalised, compared to Duncan, to what he had taken of others, but even such a small amount of ginger would burn fiercely because Rhys intended to put it in his ass. Oh Gods. Oh fucking Gods. His ass would be on fire.

"-knees. Bend over the bed." Geralt caught only the last part of the order, he’d been so wound up in his head. There was no choice in this part. He had been able to choose not to use leather, he couldn’t turn this down though, not without at least trying. His face felt hot as he dropped to his knees next to the bed and fell forward onto it. The blanket was cool on his cheek. Counting his breaths in and out he tried to settle.

In, out. In, out. Where was Rhys? Geralt couldn’t hear anyone moving, but he honed in on the orks’ breathing. Even with his eyes closed he knew Duncan was still kneeling on his pillow. Rhys was just… waiting. Why did he make him wait? Geralt hated that. Then a gentle hand ran over the cheek of his ass.

"You are being so good for me." Rhys’ words worked their way into Geralt’s head. His focus shifted to listen to Rhys’ breathing instead of his own, but his eyes remained closed against it all. It took all Geralt’s concentration not to tense up when Rhys spread him open. Instead he laid chest supported by the bed, face turned the side, knees on the hard wooden floor, sensitive hole exposed to Rhys.

The roughness of the ginger as it made its home was different. It wasn’t smooth like a man, and Geralt noticed each bump and knob as it went it. He realized then that he was holding his breath waiting for the flames to lick his insides but they weren’t. Not yet at least. Softly letting his air out, Geralt relaxed onto the bed, into his ropes. His hole itched around the ginger. A low moan escaped his lips at the feeling. The longer it sat inside him the more intense it got, the itch turned to a sting.

Geralt shifted on the bed trying to get comfortable. Rhys was waiting again, he knew it. Watching him squirm as the sting built. Geralt wished he would take it out and let Duncan fuck him now. There was still the cane though, so he knew he needed to wait for Duncan’s cock. At least Rhys could take out the ginger now, its job of irritating his tender lining done. Geralt was sweating, the sting had intensified to a low burn now.


"Yes, I think this will do nicely," Rhys stared at Geralt trying not to writhe on the bed with a wicked grin. Duncan couldn't help but be relieved that the grin was aimed at someone else for a change. When Rhys came over to him, Duncan leaned against his leg and had his hair scritched while they both watched Geralt squirm.

"Get him into position for me. You can play with him a bit." Rhys gave Duncan a last affectionate pat and went to undress.

Duncan hunkered down behind Geralt and let his fingertips wander over Geralt's calves, up his thighs to his ass. He gave a little tug on the ginger, made Geralt moan. With a wicked grin of his own, he pulled it halfway out. The tension went out of Geralt and came right back when Duncan pressed the ginger into him again.

"What, did you think you were done with this already?" He stood and grabbed Geralt in a bear hug, pulled him upright, held tightly to his chest. "You're not. Not for a while." Geralt's skin was warm, wet with sweat, and Duncan licked his neck. He tasted salt and something metallic that was unfamiliar but interesting. Chasing the taste, he licked and nibbled at Geralt's neck and shoulders. Geralt went limp in his arms, let himself be held. His breathing and heart beat slowed and Duncan adjusted his grip to take more of Geralt's weight, taking care not to squeeze too hard.

He looked over at Rhys who gave him permission with a gesture to take his time. So he let Geralt enjoy the embrace for a bit longer, slowly grinding his cock against him. There were a few scars there that his shaft rubbed over and Duncan shuddered with want.

A hard bite to the shoulder served to wake Geralt from his daze and Duncan immediately pushed him forward a few steps into the middle of the room. He let go and grabbed Geralt's neck instead, forcing him to bend over. "Stay like this."

Duncan circled Geralt, correcting his posture with a few light shoves, not enough to unbalance him. "Spread your legs. Wider." Slipping a hand between Geralt's legs from behind, he gave the ginger another push and Geralt's balls a tug. "Back straight. Keep your head down. If Rhys wants you to look up, he'll tell you."

When Geralt was doing everything to satisfaction, Duncan held onto the ropes binding his arms, took some of his weight. With his free hand, he gently petted Geralt's neck, traced circles in the stubble of his undercut.

Rhys had been watching, stroking himself lazily. Now he stepped behind Geralt and picked up the cane. The tip of it wandered up the inside of Geralt's leg and a little gasp told Duncan it had tapped Geralt's balls. He watched, his heart beating almost as rapidly as if he were the one being caned. It was the first time he had ever seen Rhys doing it. The concentration on Rhys' face and the precise force of his movement as he brought down the cane on Geralt's ass were delicious.

Geralt went rigid under Duncan's hand, all air leaving his lungs with a wheeze. His head snapped up, eyes so wide Duncan could see the white in them. Rhys gave him time to savour the pain and the burn of the ginger. Finally, Geralt remembered that he wasn't supposed to look up and bowed his head again, settled back into the position Duncan has put him in. A slight shiver ran over him and Duncan ran his thumb up the nape of his neck, a little encouragement before the next cane strokes landed, hard and fast, each as loud as the crack of a whip.


The cane was a cruel tease. Creeping up the inside of his sensitive thighs, greeting Geralt’s balls with a tap. The acceleration of Duncan’s heartbeat belied its intent but not its bite. Geralt heard the cane moving through the air just before he felt it hit his ass. It was so much more solid that leather, making his ass vibrate with the strike. It stung and he clenched his cheeks involuntarily trying to force the sensation away, to prepare for the next strike- a terrible mistake.

The sting of the cane was nothing compared to the inferno inside him. Every muscle in his body strained against it, neck stretched and nostrils flared. Fuck. Dropping his head back down Geralt tried desperately to let go. Relax. Go back to where he had been when he was surrounded by Duncan’s arms. Breathe. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Duncan’s thumb was rubbing the back of his neck, if he could just remember to breathe. Ruffling through his undercut soothingly, grounding him. Reassuring. A deep ache was building.

A pause.

Geralt settled on the feeling of the ache and Duncan playing with his hair, willing the sounds of Rhys walking out of his mind. Then the cane whistled down across the back of his thighs. That was untouched territory and the sting was… good. A new ache to add to the others. Several more strokes fell, each one right below the previous. Beautiful little lines of pain. Geralt didn’t know how many, he wasn't counting, only feeling.

The tip of the cane traced up one leg, lightly over the welts making the air rush out of Geralt. Inside his thigh and forward past his balls, the tip traveled, the cane brushing up along the length of his throbbing cock. Geralt hadn’t even been aware of how hard he was until the cane visited it. Gods, he was probably dripping on the floor. He felt hot all over and yet cold at the same time.

"Does the pain arouse you?" Rhys voice echoed in Geralt’s ears for a moment. Before he could process whether it was a question and he was required to answer, the cane retreated only to come down hard on his ass. "I asked you a question. You will answer me, witcher." His ass stung where the cane had landed over the top of the other welts. Geralt tried to gather his senses and answer coherently. Correctly.

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes Sir what? You did not answer my question, witcher. Do not make me repeat myself." Another blow landed on Geralt’s abused ass, the sting radiating out. Geralt’s cock trembled. Fuck. He drew in a deep breath trying to inhale his shame.

"Yes, Sir. I like the pain, it makes my cock hard. Please continue."

Forced to voice his dirtiest desires out loud and with Rhys probably grinning behind him, Geralt felt so small in that moment. He wanted the cane back, the pain back, something to distract him from it. Duncan’s thumb had stopped moving on his neck somewhere in all of this and Geralt wasn’t sure when. He had no reassurance and it was horrible.


Duncan froze, watching Rhys. He didn't even dare to breathe loud. Impatience built into cold anger on Rhys' face and it was every bit as terrifying as if Duncan had been on the receiving end of the cane. Even knowing that it was all play didn't make it any less frightening.

Geralt had gone very still next to him, with only the slightest quiver in his muscles. A blush rose from his shoulders up his neck and presumably into his face, but Duncan couldn't see.

With two fast steps, Rhys was in front of Geralt, fisting into his hair and pulling his head back. He went down on one knee so he could look into Geralt's eyes. "Continue what?" His voice lashed out just as quickly as the cane and with an even harder bite. Duncan couldn't help but flinch. "Tell me, witcher. I'm losing patience. Ask me for what you want, right now."


Rhys’ was absolutely livid when Geralt’s head was hauled up to look him in the eye. He’d known he screwed up the moment Duncan went motionless, but he had no idea how he’d screwed up. What did Rhys want him to say, that he hadn’t admitted to already? The Trials had broken him and he liked pain? That he was even more strange and freakish than people believed a witcher to be? Might as well just lay it all out, give them their chance to save face and go now. Geralt was somewhat used to bad reactions to his sexual tastes after Yen, but he really thought he’d chosen better this time.

"I’m sorry," Geralt was shaking, he shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t but he did. Honesty was the best policy right? "I do like it when it hurts, I know that’s not normal. I want you to bite me, harder. I want you to continue hitting me, but I understand if you don't want to because you think I am a freak, Sir." Geralt swallowed, shoving down his fear that everything was over. Again. They’d either leave or not. It was up to Rhys now.

"Rhys?" That was Duncan and Geralt couldn't read his tone at all. He dropped his head when Rhys let go, heard him answer Duncan: "I know." They were going to leave, Geralt knew it. He just wanted it to be over.


Fuck Duncan knew they had pushed too hard. Even without Geralt starting to shiver, he had heard it in his voice. "Rhys?"

"I know." Rhys took a deep breath. "Novigrad. Geralt, you are not a freak. And I do want to continue playing. We should talk about some things first though." Carefully, he cupped Geralt's jaw and caressed his cheek. "We'll untie you and take the ginger out, is that alright?"

Geralt nodded silently and let them gently handle him, but wouldn't look at them. They ended up on the bed. Duncan gently touched him and when Geralt didn't move away, even leaned into the touch a little, he hugged him from behind, Geralt's back against his chest.

Rhys reached out for a quick touch to Geralt's arm. ''I'm sorry for pushing so hard. Liking pain doesn't make you broken, it really doesn't. Believe me, I've been around - a surprising amount of people enjoy it during sex. You're not alone in this and you're not a freak."

"I didn't know I did or at least how much I did until I met Rhys.'"Duncan gave Geralt a gentle squeeze. "He's done worse to me than a caning and I've enjoyed it. Even though it was really strange to me at first. Handing myself over like that." He shrugged, not happy with his explanation but not able to find better words right now.


Eyes still closed, leaning back into Duncan, Geralt sighed, "It’s only strange when someone questions me about it. I need to give myself over like that, that doesn’t bother me. It’s the only way to get what I want." Geralt paused to gather his thoughts, he really didn’t like talking about this but he needed to explain what went wrong for this to work.

Opening his eyes Geralt looked at Rhys and wondered if a little bit of Yen sat inside of the ork. He’d barely touched Geralt, where Duncan held him in a full embrace, a physical statement that Duncan didn’t want Geralt to run away from this. Rhys though, was far less readable. Geralt noticed for the first time the intricate tattoos covering Rhys’ body. Both arms were completely filled with… art. All the way up the sides of his neck, some even peeked around the sides of his ribcage. Geralt wondered what would happen if he reached out to touch Rhys, would he flinch away? Or did he really mean what he said about not thinking Geralt was a freak? He was with Duncan after all.

Testing Rhys’ honesty Geralt reached out and ran his hand over a design on his forearm, a sea creature or a flower, an underwater flower maybe? Rhys didn’t shudder under his touch. To Geralt’s shock, instead Rhys covered his hand with his own holding it there, warm and comforting. Geralt looked up at Rhys, eyes wide with surprise at the action, and saw relief on Rhys’ face.

"I’m not used to anyone pointing out that I get off on pain," Geralt could explain this now, "Alright, that’s not entirely true." He sighed and thought of Yen’s poking and prodding. Her relentless teasing, how she never knew when to let things rest. "There is a person I have enjoyed some of this with before, off and on, and they don’t really know when to let it go. They have a habit of making fun of what I like. Even when we aren’t doing anything." Geralt closed his eyes and pulled his hand back, retreating into Duncan’s hold again. "And, well, a quick rough bar fuck or a whorehouse doesn’t really ask questions."

"I guess what I am saying is if we want to continue, which I do, then humiliating me about what I like is off limits, because I can’t handle that." And that alone was a revelation for Geralt. That there were things in the world that could bring the witcher to his knees. Not pain, but emotions. Something everyone claimed a witcher couldn’t have.
"Sorry, I didn’t even realize this was a problem for me, but it is."


Duncan shrugged, his muscles moving against Geralt's back. "It happens. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"I have no problem not pointing it out. We're here to enjoy ourselves and I want you to be comfortable," a grin showed off Rhys' fangs, "even if it doesn't look like it when I'm torturing you." He came forward until he was nuzzling Geralt's neck, his hands trailing over Geralt's sides. Kept at it until Geralt's pulse had evened out and he had started to respond to the touches with quiet noises.

'Do you want to continue? It's fine if you don't, we can take this up again later? We'll be here for a couple of days more." Rhys didn't look up, spoke against Geralt's shoulder.

"No, I want to-," Geralt lost his voice mid-sentence when Rhys found a sensitive spot under his ear. "Please, keep going-" He turned his head to offer his neck to Rhys.

Rhys moved back and Geralt gave a little disappointed whine that turned into a gasp when Duncan tightened his grip. With very little effort, Duncan pulled Geralt up until he was kneeling upright on the bed, his arms on his back, wrists in Duncan's grasp. Duncan's free hand curled in Geralt's hair, forcing his head back, exposing his throat for Rhys to bite.

With a growl, Rhys nipped at the skin of Geralt's neck, working his way down to Geralt's chest. There, he drew blood with a sharp bite. He watched it well up and spill from the marks left by his fangs, licked up a few drops. It had the same chemical tang he had noticed in Geralt's smell. Hearing Geralt moan, Rhys set out to leave a pattern of marks. After a while, puncture wounds were grouped together in a pleasing design around Geralt's nipples and down his stomach. Rhys stopped to admire his work.


The rivulets of blood almost tickled Geralt’s skin, warm and wet trickling downward before Rhys lapped them up with a soothing broad tongue. The sweet contrast between that heat and the sharp pain of the next bite each time kept driving Geralt higher. He wanted to wiggle into it, to struggle, but Duncan’s grip was solid rock- better than any ropes he’d ever encountered.

Head pulled to the side by Duncan’s grip in his hair, Geralt’s gaze was drawn again to Rhys, to the scrolling inks on his skin, to his hair. His blue-black hair was pulled tightly back and intricately twisted into a plait that started at the crown of his head, strands pulled into it from each side as it went down to his nape. The plait continued down his back, laying along his spine, resting among the tattoos there.

Geralt was fascinated by them, and the more Rhys bit him—drawing his blood, pulling his arousal higher—the more Geralt became enthralled by them. Rhys’ entire back was covered in nature. It reminded Geralt of Skellige, the ground morphing into a flowering vine winding up the side. A large caterpillar crept up the vine, a cocoon hung from one of its leaves. Over there, a moth with broad delicate wings. Pain seared into Geralt’s chest again and a deep guttural moan rumbled from his throat, drawing his hip up in a thrust. The shells of sea creatures were scattered around the edges, a stinging jellyfish swam along the perimeter, and in the center of it all walked a giant bear, aloof to its surroundings.

They came alive with the movement of the muscles of Rhys’ back. Small needy noises filled Geralt’s ears, but he failed to recognize them as his own, his hips thrusting abortively into the air, wishing they could reach Rhys. Geralt’s cock desperately ached for contact, but the denial was almost as good. And Gods Rhys was biting him and he wasn’t having to wait and it was everything he wanted. He swore the bear moved on Rhys’ back but it must have been a trick of the light, of his lust.


The wounds had already stopped bleeding and Rhys traced the pattern he had created. He embraced Geralt, taking his wrists out of Duncan's grasp into his own, and lay back slowly, pulling Geralt on top of him.

"Get the oil, please? And you," he nudged Geralt, "get your ass up for Duncan so he can prepare you." He pushed Geralt's legs apart with his own and let go of his wrists so he had both hands to run his palms all over Geralt's body, tracing his scars, fisting into his hair.

Geralt took some of his weight off of him but tried to maintain as much contact as possible, nestling into Rhys' chest. He gave a loud moan when Duncan pushed into him, working him open slowly and carefully. Duncan took his time, teased Geralt until he was shuddering and flinching at the slightest touch in Rhys' arms.

Rhys pulled Geralt's head up, kept pulling until Geralt was on all fours. He wriggled out from under him until Geralt was between his legs. "This is how this will go: you get to suck my cock. You can have Duncan's cock in your ass while you do it, but he only gets to play rough with you once you've made me come. Do you think you can do that?" With slow movements, Rhys stroked himself, showing himself off for Geralt.


Geralt’s heart skipped a beat, then another. He’d gone from being putty against Rhys’ chest to being unwaveringly interested in the ork’s cock. So much was on offer and he wanted it all. A thick cock in his ass, another in his throat. The tempting promise of rough play. And he could have it all, if he could just manage to be good. Rhys had let go of his hands though, and that was dangerous. Not in a bad way- exactly. It was so much harder to control his own impulses though when he wasn’t held down or tied up, and Geralt didn’t trust himself not to fuck it up. He genuinely wished they would take the responsibility of his hands from him. Save him from himself there.

The fingers in his ass stretched him as much as any cock and Geralt couldn’t help the lust addled noises that burbled from his mouth. Rhys sat in front of him, delectable as any feast he’d ever attended. Pale fingers worked up and down his shaft, inviting Geralt in. Forefinger drawing a lazy circle around the head as Rhys watched him closely. Geralt’s mouth watered. Rocking forward on his arms he traced the pattern of Rhys’ finger with his tongue, carefully looking up at him through his eyelashes. Geralt closed his eyes and slide his mouth down until Rhys nudged at his throat. It was heaven, warm and heavy in his mouth. Drawing back once he surged down again, wet, messy, and sloppy, swallowing around Rhys until his nose was nuzzled against smooth skin just above his cock.

Geralt worked his throat, breathing through his nose, determined to show Rhys how good he could be. He whined at the loss of the fingers exploring his sensitive ass. The ginger had mostly cooled off but his tender insides still felt overwhelmingly aroused. Every touch was magnified twofold. Geralt started to pull up and with Rhys’ cock halfway out of his mouth Duncan edged his own past Geralt’s tight ring. It was impossibly wide, causing Geralt to lose his concentration for a moment. A reassuring hand on the small of his back urged him on and he resumed. Sucking Rhys up to the tip and sliding him back down his throat, Geralt worked up a quick rhythm.

Every time Geralt drew back sucking Rhys clean, he pushed himself further back onto Duncan’s impressive girth. Duncan followed him forward with each dive down on Rhys’ cock, not giving up any territory. Moans rumbled from Geralt’s chest around Rhys cock, making it jump satisfyingly in his throat. Geralt’s hands wandered forward of their own regard, coming to rest on Rhys’ thighs, sliding up them, but Rhys said nothing.

Licking from tip to base, Geralt’s tongue laved at Rhys’ balls. What would Rhys’ taste like? Gods he wanted to know. Not now though, he had a job to do. Rolling his tongue around once and opening his mouth wide Geralt drew it into his mouth, pulling it away just enough to hear a tiny gasp from Rhys. Perfect. Geralt let Rhys’ ball drop from his mouth and licked up his shaft again, swallowing him down. His hands continued their exploration, dipping into the crook between thigh and groin. Thumbs delving behind Rhys’ sac.

Geralt’s head snapped sharply up, Rhys’ cock popping out of his mouth with a wet sound. "Witcher, do you want Duncan to be rough with you?" Rhys had already let go of his hair, depriving him of the sharp pain he craved, leaving his head feeling strangely unsupported midair. "Did I give you permission to use your hands to make me come?"

Fuck! This is why he wished Duncan would hold his arms. "Answer me, Witcher!" Rhys looked angry, and Geralt did want Duncan to fuck him roughly. Gods how he wanted it. He needed to answer to Rhys for his bad behavior.

“No, you did not. I am sorry I didn’t listen. It won’t happen again, Sir."

Geralt let out a breath, resting on his elbows he folded his arms together holding his elbows in his hands, a physical reminder to himself to be good. He sucked Rhys’ other ball into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, seeking out the hitch in his breath he’d heard earlier. When Geralt heard Rhys’ breathing speed up he moved back to fucking his mouth down on Rhys’ cock. Swallowing him all the way to the root, over and over again until Rhys was quivering under him. Drawing up, licking fast over the sensitive slit, before burying Rhys in his throat again. Geralt could feel Rhys’ balls tightening against his chin.

Working his throat around Rhys’ cock, Geralt turned his head a little to the side to be able to look up into Rhys’ eyes. Letting Rhys see his vulnerability Geralt swallowed around him and waited for Rhys to fill him up. And Gods did he feel vulnerable right then, even not tied up, mouth full of cock, ass twitching around Duncan’s thickness. Because he was counting on Rhys to let him have what he needed.


Rhys had softly petted Geralt's hair, kept his hands busy with it. He had been perfectly content with letting Geralt do all the work so far and Geralt was good at this. At reading Rhys' reactions and following them exactly to what Rhys wanted and needed.

Now, he tightened his fingers in Geralt's ponytail, already coming loose, strands slipping from it. The hair tickled on his thigh as he pushed Geralt down, held him and thrust upward into his mouth. His cock slid easily down Geralt's throat and Rhys moaned. He fell back, still forcing Geralt to remain in place, and stopped holding back.

Rutting wildly, Rhys didn't give any thought to Geralt's ability to breathe as he fucked his throat in long strokes, barely pulling back. The noises Geralt made, with no choice but to take whatever they wanted to do to him, were delicious - little breathless moans and whines, a helpless gagging when Rhys pushed too deep too fast. And they were not done with him yet.

Rhys didn't last much longer. The thought of getting to see Duncan play with Geralt pushed him over the edge, a wave of pleasure taking all control from him. Fisting roughly into Geralt's hair, he arched his back and with a last thrust, spilled cum down Geralt's throat. He let go, lay shuddering and gasping, wincing as Geralt licked him clean.


Duncan had kept still as much as possible and just watched. He knew he had to wait for permission to do more than keep Geralt in place for Rhys. Watching Rhys writhe and then go stiff under Geralt, falling back all soft and pliant. He loved seeing Rhys like this, no matter if he or someone else had been the cause for it.

His own cock was screaming for him to get to it and fuck the witcher. He told it to shut up and wait and gasped involuntarily when Geralt moved back against him to let Rhys sit up.

At a glance from Rhys, he pulled Geralt up against his chest until the witcher was once again kneeling upright on the bed. Rhys looked very content and sated as he came to hug them both. He gave Geralt a gentle bite to the ear and Duncan a kiss. "You can play with him. Do whatever you like. You can come, but make sure he does, too." With another kiss and another bite, Rhys moved to curl up in one corner of the bed, leaning against the headboard.

Duncan growled, long and low, the sound vibrating in his chest. "You're mine now, witcher." He moved until he slipped out of Geralt, grabbed him and flipped him over on his back. Geralt landed hard enough to bounce on the mattress, hair finally spilling out of the ponytail completely.

With a pounce, Duncan was on top of him, forcing his legs apart. He guided his cock back in, pushing into Geralt's ass in one movement until their hips ground together. Geralt bucked under him with a gasp and Duncan leaned in to bite his lip, drawing blood. Duncan's weight kept Geralt pressed into the mattress while he gave more bites: to the shoulders, down the arms.

Scooping Geralt up with an arm around him, Duncan sat back up until he had Geralt in his lap, hands held fast behind his back. Geralt's own weight pushed Duncan's cock deep into his ass, his legs spread so wide around Duncan that he barely could support himself.

Duncan kept Geralt in a firm hold, moving him up and down on his cock. He did it as slowly as he could stand it, teasing Geralt and himself. The quiver of Geralt's muscles under his hands lured him into rougher and faster movements.

Geralt had his eyes closed and went limp in Duncan's grasp. With a snarl, Duncan gave him a push that threw Geralt on the mattress, his eyes flying open, slitted pupils wide.

Fingers digging into Geralt's hips, Duncan pulled him back into his lap, burying himself once again. He thrust into Geralt, pulling his hips up as he knelt. Geralt ended up with his back arched painfully high, only touching the bed with his head and shoulders and nothing to hold on to except the blankets. Duncan fucked into him in long thrusts, almost slipping out with each one, pulling Geralt against him.


The wet moans, gurgles, and gags coming from Geralt’s throat as he let Rhys fuck into his without abandon made him sound like a common brothel whore, he was sure. He didn’t care, he wanted to be used, and Rhys was doing a good job of it. Hand behind his head to keep him in his place, cock in his throat, Duncan in his ass holding him still. It was almost peaceful.

Rhys must have spilled down his throat and he must have swallowed it all because the next thing Geralt knew Duncan was hauling him upright on his knees, thick cock still stretching his ass wide. Rhys seemed so much softer, more pliant, as he embraced both of them. Nipping at Geralt’s ear, not really biting, telling Duncan he could have Geralt now. Geralt didn’t even really care that Rhys had said Duncan had to make him come. His cock was already jumping with anticipation even before Duncan growled in his ear.

There was no time for Geralt to process the loss of Duncan’s cock from his ass because hands were gripping him, flipping him, and he was bouncing on the bed like a sack of laundry. Duncan was on him in a flash, driving his wide cock back in, stretching Geralt all over again. Gasping at the feeling Geralt thrust his hips up, wanting to take more. Duncan’s mouth clashed with his, and Geralt moaned loudly when tusks tore at his lip. The urge to wiggle, to move, was tempered by the heavy weight of Duncan’s body covering him. Duncan continued biting his shoulders, down his arms, and Geralt’s cock throbbed between them with each blooming spot of pain.

Duncan manhandle him around like a doll and Geralt limply followed. His breathing was shallow and reedy when he was hauled back up to be fucked slowly at Duncan’s pleasure. Nothing around him mattered anymore, only Duncan’s hand on his wrists, arms like steel moving Geralt to his will.

Flopped onto the mattress again Geralt stared glassily up at Duncan. The ork looked almost feral, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. Duncan’s grip on his hips was painful, pulling Geralt’s ass up into his lap so he could thrust into him again and again. A churning fire was building in Geralt’s gut, and every long thrust of Duncan’s cock stoked it further. Arms splayed out wildly, Geralt fisted the blankets trying to hold onto reality. This was good, this was so good. Duncan could break him if he tried, and it was frighteningly arousing.

Geralt wanted to touch something. Himself or someone else, he wasn’t really even sure. One hand left the blankets and grabbed at Duncan’s wrist, squeezing rhythmically with his thrusts.

A whispered, “Please Sir,” was all Geralt could manage. Mind addled with lust and narrowed down to the heat building deep in his groin. Geralt’s legs found each other behind Duncan’s waist and he locked his ankles trying to draw Duncan as deep as he could.

Finding Duncan’s eyes with his own through his haze, Geralt repeated a little louder, “Please, Sir.”


Duncan broke Geralt's hold on him with ease, letting him fall on the bed. Geralt whined when Duncan pulled out of him and gasped when he was flipped over on his stomach. With all the restraint he could muster, Duncan savoured entering him again from behind, excruciatingly slow. He held Geralt down, kept him from moving. He couldn't keep him from tensing his muscles on purpose, squeezing his cock, and he didn't want to.

Drawing Geralt to himself with an arm around his chest, Duncan stretched out on top of him. He nuzzled the back of his neck, pushing hair out of the way, and bit down hard. Not hard enough to draw blood but he had searched for and found sensitive spots, put pressure on them. With a low growl, he started to fuck Geralt, tried for a slow rhythm.

His self control failed when Geralt begged him again in a breathless whisper. The words and the desperate tone cut right through the already badly frayed leash Duncan kept his strength and his viciousness on. He let go of Geralt's neck, crouched over him. Brutal thrusts pushed Geralt forward, into Duncan's grip on his shoulders.

Geralt was gasping for breath, Duncan's weight forcing the air out of his lungs. It only served to make Duncan fuck into him harder, to hear his breath hitch and fail. Ruthlessly chasing his pleasure, Duncan didn't waste any thought on whether he might hurt Geralt. The witcher was pliable under him, yielding to his force. It poured oil on the fire of Duncan's aggression and lust until it consumed him, rushing over him.

Rhys' hand in his hair was the next thing he knew, softly petting him. He still had Geralt clutched in his arms, still had his cock buried deep in him. With a loud moan, Duncan rolled over, let Rhys gather Geralt up in an embrace. Shuddering and twitching, he caught his breath, eyes half closed, his mind only slowly returning.


It wasn’t what Geralt wanted when Duncan broke away from him, knocking him loose and flipping him over onto his stomach. He couldn’t help the desperate whine that escaped his lips, he wanted to be touched, groped, fucked. It was a small reprieve when Duncan took him again, torturously slow. Teasing Geralt with his thick hard cock in his ass, hot mouth biting roughly just right at his neck. Deep growls reverberating through his spine down to his cock. Geralt couldn’t help but tease back, clenching his ass around Duncan, making no effort to control his whispered moaning. Begging with his body.

“Please give me what I need Sir,” it was barely a whisper coming out of Geralt’s mouth but it let something loose in Duncan.

The only thing that kept Geralt from sliding into the headboard was Duncan’s arm wrapped around his chest, gripping his shoulder as he fucked into Geralt mercilessly. It was pleasure and pain all wrapped up together. Geralt could hardly draw a whole breath before Duncan fucked it back out of him. His vision was blurry and he didn’t care, all he could smell was Duncan, clean skin and sweaty ork. All he could feel was that hulking body over him, taking him, owning him, keeping him there for Duncan’s pleasure. That was all he needed, for Duncan to not hold back.

It sounded like a rushing river in his ears, blotting out all other noise. Geralt’s vision had faded to sparkles. Maybe he’d closed his eyes he thought vaguely, although he didn’t remember doing that. Balls drawn tight up against his body, Duncan’s cock thrusting in and out of him with no concern for Geralt’s pleasure, he felt out of air. Ass throbbing around Duncan’s thickness Geralt’s orgasm rolled through him, shaking him to his core. His cum was slick between the bed and his belly as Duncan continued to fuck him right through it, oblivious to Geralt moaning weakly below him, seeking his own pleasure. Duncan’s release was warm and wet and comforting inside Geralt and he moaned louder at the feeling.

“Thank you Sir,” Geralt said, voice still breathy.

Geralt drifted, not able to open his eyes just yet. Feeling peaceful and sated under Duncan’s heavy weight. The ork laid over him like the warmest winter blanket and Geralt was soothed by the rise and fall of each of Duncan’s breaths. Too soon Duncan was rolling away, moaning loudly, taking his arms away from Geralt. He wanted to grasp at Duncan, tell him to stay, but he wasn’t up to that either. Then Rhys was gathering him up, drawing him into a deep hug of his own and Geralt simply followed. Allowing Rhys to hold him, card his fingers through his dishevelled hair, slowing straightening it out. The scent of cardamom filling Geralt’s nose as Rhys played his fingers lightly through his sparse chest hair.

After a time Geralt became aware of the ache in his ass, the throbbing in his neck and around his nipples. He ignored it in favor of the soft touches from Rhys. It had been worth it. If he didn’t open his eyes yet he could enjoy it a while longer. Duncan was rousing behind him, Geralt could hear his breathing evening out, slowing down, returning to normal. He couldn’t have been happier when he felt Duncan’s broad muscled chest press up against his back. Yes, he would stay here for a little while, it was allowed to do that surely. These two wouldn’t mind.


Duncan rolled over to nestle into Geralt and Rhys, pulling a corner of the blanket over the wet spot left behind by Geralt. With Geralt between them, Duncan propped himself up on his elbow to be able to look at Rhys. Their hands met while they both petted Geralt, who was breathing deeply and didn't move except to move closer to Duncan with a sigh.

"You wore him out, I think." Rhys smiled at Duncan and ruffled through his mohawk before returning to caressing Geralt. "But he's fine, just out of it."

"Good." Duncan had worried but Rhys knew him well enough so he didn't have to ask. There was a long bloody scratch running down Rhys' thigh and Duncan frowned at it. "Wait, where did you get that?"

"When you threw me off the bed?" Rhys frowned right back at him.

"I never threw you off the bed, what the fuck are you talking about?" Duncan was taken aback but there was this spark in Rhys' eyes that told him Rhys wasn't actually upset and he played along. He kept his voice down so not to wake Geralt.

"Oh, you were too busy fucking Geralt to notice, but you bounced me right of the bed when you threw him down. I didn't even know these mattresses could bounce like that! Suddenly I'm on the floor, I'm bleeding out and what does the love of my life do? Fuck someone else! You really are unbelievable." Rhys still looked dead serious.

It lasted for about one second more, then he snorted. "You were completely oblivious, didn't even notice me get up again."

Duncan groaned softly. "You are never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"No. Never." Rhys grinned and gave Duncan's hand an encouraging pat. He looked down at Geralt. The whole conversation, held in a loud whisper, didn't seem to have woken him from his blissful half-sleep. "I was going to suggest getting something to eat and cleaning up, but it can wait, what do you think?"

Duncan leaned close for a kiss before flopping down again. "I'm in no hurry." He pulled Geralt to himself and Rhys followed until they were nestled into each other again, a tangle of limbs. Holding hands with Rhys on top of Geralt, listening to the soft sounds of the inn below and the city outside, Duncan slowly dozed off.