“Have you ever fucked an O before?”
Geralt coughed around his mouthful of cheap gin, the medicinal taste of it burning all the way down. He passed the flask back to Eskel - a silver piece which looked out-of-place in the whore’s large hands, and must have been a present from one of his customers.
“Yeah they’d been just crawling with ‘em in the docks,” Geralt replied gruffly. Like most Alphas, he’d been born rough - perhaps rougher than most after being abandoned by his mother to a workhouse. Eskel had been right there with him, working shoulder to shoulder in a sooty factory after daily lessons which were more sanctimonious than useful.
It had to be beaten into them that Alphas were the accursed animals of society, given to violence and drink, unable to hold much higher thought than their next meal, next fuck. Most damningly, they were a danger to Os, those oh-so-delicate Lords and Ladies who had to be protected from their unruly lusts.
Unlike many Alphas who attempted to “better” themselves by filing down their eyeteeth and gelding their knots, playing at being Betas to angle for white-collar jobs, Geralt was yet whole. It was not due to any radicalism on his part, nor the manner of romanticism that had some Alphas hoping that an O might claim them and lift them from the depths of their circumstances. There had just never been the money for it.
Now, Eskel was saying that there were poncy nobles who preferred that bit of rough.
“Is it all that good, being a whore?” Geralt asked, and Eskel smiled with all his teeth before turning his face to the stars, which twinkled mutedly under a blanket of fog. Beneath their rickety fire escape, the city seethed like a beast prowling a cage. In the distance, the slamming of a door. Loud music and laughter from the tavern. The low wail of a siren and the sound of a couple’s loud arguing.
Geralt threw a worried glance through the grimy little window behind him, but Ciri yet slept, inured to the noises of the slums.
“Not sunshine and roses,” Eskel said truthfully, rolling out a cigarette. “Some of the johns can get a bit difficult. You can’t just turn off your brain and go with your instincts like they say. But we stick together and I’ll see you through. At the end of the day, it’s three square and a sight better working on a soft bed than on your knees.”
Geralt winced. Eskel knew, of course, about how Geralt supplemented his dock salary by sucking off the older Alphas behind the warehouses.
He didn’t know that it wasn’t just about the money. How Geralt sometimes imagined Eskel in their place, Eskel’s cock on his tongue and Eskel’s strangled moans as he tightened his fingers in Geralt’s hair-
Geralt took the cigarette from Eskel and took a deep draw, pressing his lips against where his friend had just abandoned. They’d always shared everything, ever since they were boys. Geralt trusted that Eskel wouldn’t lead him wrong. And ever since he’d injured his leg last winter, Geralt knew that his days on the docks were numbered.
How else would he keep Ciri from the poorhouse?
“And they don’t care that we’re not ...” It just baffled Geralt that any O would take the risk. Any Alpha with a knot, with unfiled teeth, could claim an O during their heat and create a bond which could only be broken by death.
Granted, it was usually the Alpha put onto the chopping block should they displease the O who allowed them claim, though the stigma of broken bondings was usually punishment enough for the society types.
“Believe me, there are plenty who prefer it,” Eskel said dryly. He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.
“I guess I might as well give it a try,” Geralt said, flicking the ash from the tip of the cigarette before passing it back to Eskel. “It’s what we’re made for, isn’t it?”
Rosemary & Thyme was posher than Geralt expected.
The type of brothel that admitted dock Alphas were little more than claphouses, with dirty back rooms and a bar out front that served liquor strong enough to peel paint.
Geralt should’ve known that the establishment Eskel brought him to was serious business when he was led through wrought-iron gates, through a servant’s entrance and … bathed. Bathed! In a bathroom with taps that ran hot and cold, and fixtures of gleaming copper upon spotless white tiles.
It made Geralt more nervous than if he had been taken to a claphouse with a dirty mattress. How was he supposed to please the kind of clientele that came to a place like this? He’d never even fucked an O, and there was no way that his chalk-white hair and cat's eyes would be attractive to some posh knob. It was only the other Alphas that called Geralt pretty, and it was never in a complimentary way, either.
When Geralt confessed his worries to Eskel, he just laughed.
“Look at me,” Eskel waved a hand at the scar on his face, the product of a factory accident. “Os have different tastes than the likes of us. Besides, the madam already agreed to try you out for a night.”
Geralt thought of the hard-eyed Beta who had strode into the bathroom while he was changing, sweeping a cool gaze across his body while he struggled not to hide behind his clothing. After a lifetime of breaking his body to earn his bread, Geralt knew that he was cut lean, his ribs exposed and his pale skin crossed with scars. An unattractive shape, for an Alpha or anyone.
Eskel, on the other hand, was built thick and solid, with warm brown skin and an easy-going sweetness. The type of Alpha farmboy an Omega knight might fall in torrid love with in the penny dreadfuls which Ciri sometimes read to him.
Geralt, himself, had never made it much past primary.
“What if they want me to talk to them?” Geralt fumbled with his neckcloth, a cheap square of linen, which was at least clean and crisply ironed.
Here was another baffling aspect. Not only was he to be a whore, he was to be a whore with pretensions, dressed in a dove-grey suit which was some other worker’s cast-off, judging by the pull at the shoulders and the wear about the knees.
Did the Os want them cleaned up, or rough around the edges? Perhaps a bit of both, a wolf on a leash, a wild thing stuffed into a cheap suit.
Eskel took the neckcloth from Geralt’s fingers, making quick work of it. Had he been born a Beta, Eskel’s intelligence and polite diligence would have made him an excellent gentleman’s secretary.
Geralt fixed his gaze above Eskel’s head, trying not to flush as he felt Eskel’s warm breath against the skin of his throat.
“There,” Eskel said softly, patting Geralt’s arms. He didn’t step away, and Geralt felt his heartbeat quicken as he gazed into Eskel’s face. “You look great,” Eskel smiled, a bit brittle.
“What is it like?” Geralt asked, his voice rough as his eyes fell to Eskel’s mouth. “Fucking an O?”
“Like you were made for it,” Eskel said, his expression unreadable.
Jaskier grimaced as he felt the tendrils of pre-heat curl in his stomach, mixing poorly with the half-dozen drinks Jaskier had been forced to imbibe in order to hold himself back from challenging Marx to fisticuffs. The man had been insufferable at the club today with his comments about Jaskier’s latest operetta, La Fille du Pêcheur. Melitele knew why Jaskier had stayed as long as he had, seething, until the symptoms of his incoming heat became too pressing to ignore.
Dratted biology. Jaskier’s heats always made him irritable, but unlike many of his compatriots, he wasn’t willing to mate himself to some dopey, biddable Alpha just to wrest some control over his cycle.
It was said that claiming an Alpha made it so that no greater sexual pleasure could ever be found outside the bond. This sounded simply terrible to Jaskier, honestly. He enjoyed all types, even his fellow Omegas, as air-headed and precious as they sometimes tended to be. Though there was no shame in tipping into his biological urges when the need arose.
“Rosemary & Thyme,” Jaskier told the coachman before ducking into the hack. The Beta, accustomed to bringing young Lords and Ladies to the pleasure district, merely pulled at his forelock differentially.
In the dark carriage, gently rocking over the cobblestones, Jaskier slowly loosened his collar, thinking of his favorite Alpha at the brothel. He was sure that Eskel had blocked off the time for him, probably tracked Jaskier’s heat cycle better than he did himself.
He was a sterling package as far as Alphas were concerned - bright, affable and fucked like a god. Jaskier had made a few half-joking offers to buy out Eskel’s contract, but the man had only ever smiled neutrally and demurred that he didn’t want to be anyone’s “kept boy”.
With any other Alpha, Jaskier might have wondered whether he was angling for a bite. But Jaskier got the sense that Eskel was hung up over someone.
It was almost enough to make him jealous.
The summer night was mild when Jaskier stepped from the hack, surveying the couples weaving through the rain-slicked, cobblestone roads, pawing drunkenly under the gaslamps. He glanced up at the windows thrown open in the upper floors which spilled light, music and laughter … as well as more lustful noises, out onto the street.
With just the slightest stagger, Jaskier stepped inside the dark, heavy doors of the brothel, allowing the doorman to take his hat and cloak.
“Lord Pankratz,” the host murmured, before showing him to his usual table.
The lounge on the first floor of Rosemary and Thyme was decorated tastefully in emerald and gilt. Jaskier sat heavily in a divan, patting his jacket for his silver cigarette case. He had hardly put the cigarette in his mouth before the seat across from him was creaking with Eskel’s weight.
Some Omegas thought it base to salivate over large Alphas, but Jaskier had no such compunctions. Eskel was a delicious piece, and Jaskier felt his lips curl into a smile as the Alpha leaned forward to light the tip of his cigarette with a match.
“Darling,” Jaskier said breathily, pulling at his collar and enjoying the flare in Eskel’s nostrils as he caught the bead of Jaskier’s heat. “I was hoping to find you free tonight.”
“I ordered a martini made how you like it,” Eskel murmured.
“Order it to the room,” Jaskier said carelessly, leaning forward to tug Eskel’s necktie from its clever knot. He intended to snap Eskel up before some other patron got the bright idea. “I’m fairly dripping into my drawers.”
Eskel flushed with uncharacteristic nervousness, which gave Jaskier pause. “Sir,” Eskel said quietly, pulling at his sleeves. “I am … training a new boy tonight. I wonder if your Lordship would be interested in asking for him as well?”
Jaskier wondered at Eskel’s use of the diminutive as his eye wandered to where Eskel’s gaze led, his breath catching oddly in his chest at the sight of white hair, broad shoulders and a dark, attractive scowl.
The Alpha was no boy in the span of his years, being well over the age of majority, but perhaps Eskel wished to soften the danger inherent in an Omega sharing their heat with two Alphas. Two uncut Alphas. Jaskier’s nethers turned to water when the new Alpha walked near upon Eskel’s gesture.
He smelled … amazing. Such raw energy seething from his pores that Jaskier could hardly hold himself back from clawing the ill-fitting suit from the Alpha’s shoulders.
“How do you do?” Jaskier managed his pleasantries at least, drawing off his glove finger by finger before offering his hand to the white-haired Alpha, who pressed a dry kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles, then hesitated when Jaskier made no move to take his hand back.
“Geralt, this is Lord Pankratz,” Eskel murmured, cutting a glance to Geralt which held some communication Jaskier wasn’t privy to.
“No formalities, please. Call me Jaskier,” Jaskier smiled, taking pity on Geralt as he turned his hand wrist-up in directive of what he wanted.
If Geralt was surprised at the familiarity an Omega was bestowing upon him on their first meeting, he made no sign, ducking his head to drag his tongue across Jaskier’s sensitive wrist, where his scent was the strongest.
Jaskier’s body reacted immediately, shivering like a plucked bowstring. This was the most intense compatibility he had ever felt, even moreso than with Eskel.
Geralt felt it too. When the Alpha raised his head, Jaskier saw his eyes dilated wide, a flush rising in his pale cheeks. Even the scent in the air changed as Geralt’s body began seething with rut. Jaskier bit his lip, indicating for Geralt to take a seat beside him on the divan.
“I would like to see your teeth, if you please,” Jaskier stroked his fingers along the cut of Geralt’s jaw, wondering if it was simply his heat which made it all feel so visceral, or whether Geralt was something special in truth. He had even half-forgotten about Eskel, though the large Alpha seemed content to remain quiet as Jaskier and Geralt acquainted themselves.
Geralt hesitated before pulling his lips back. There was no coquettishness in Geralt’s expression as Jaskier ran his thumb against Geralt’s eyeteeth, he made no attempt to suck on Jaskier’s fingers, or ply him with empty compliments.
The cut of Geralt’s teeth against his bare skin made Jaskier shiver. Uncut Alphas were such a danger … such a thrill.
“You’re lovely,” Jaskier said, smoothing a hand down Geralt’s chest. From the corner of his eye, he saw Eskel release a relieved breath. “And it seems that we are quite compatible. I believe I would like to get to know you a little better, if you are amenable.”
“I am,” Geralt said, jerking down his chin. There was an artlessness to his response that Jaskier found charming.
“You must be new indeed,” Jaskier said, wondering at the possessive satisfaction settling in his chest. “Tell me, have you ever fucked an Omega on the cusp of their heat? Tasted them burst upon your tongue like a ripened fruit, juices slicking down your chin …” he drew a slow finger down the line of Geralt’s throat, jerking with his swallow, “... to your chest?”
“No, sir,” Geralt said, his voice ragged, the tent within his trousers evidence enough of his eagerness.
“Keep your head,” Eskel said worriedly, pressing a hand to Geralt’s lower back as they stepped into the bedroom.
The look Geralt shot him was incredulous, fevered, and Eskel began to wonder if he had made a mistake. Jaskier was … the easiest of Eskel’s regulars. Cheerful, generous, and as beautiful as a fashion plate. He would be a gentle education for Geralt upon the appetites of Os.
But Eskel had not been able to predict the young Lord’s state when he stepped foot in the brothel, drenched in heat pheromones and swaying with drink. And he had definitely not anticipated Geralt’s reaction to Jaskier’s scent. Even now, his friend appeared seconds away from dropping to his knees and whining for permission to lick his Lordship’s cunt.
Simple inexperience? Or something … more dangerous?
Fuck. Eskel carded his hand through his hair, wondering how he would maintain control in this situation. It wasn’t as if he were unaffected either. Jaskier’s heat pheromones were thick upon Eskel's palate, his body running hot with an answering rut, a fever which threatened to burn away the last of his control. Grimacing, Eskel struggled to ignore the uncomfortable tightening in the front of his trousers, discreetly adjusting himself so that the fat swell of his unpopped knot stopped grinding painfully against the seam.
He glanced at Geralt to find him affected similarly, his expression cast in a dark, helpless glower. Eskel couldn’t help but reach out a hand, squeezing Geralt’s elbow in what he hoped to be a comforting gesture.
Trust me. Follow my lead.
Geralt’s eyes fell to Eskel’s hand, then he colored and tugged himself away. Eskel frowned, hoping that his friend was not addled enough to fall into rut aggression. It hurt him, in a manner he tried not to dwell on, the idea of Geralt challenging him for an O.
“Pour yourself a drink if you’d like,” Jaskier gestured to a silver tray on a side-table, which held a bottle of wine and two glasses. There was also the martini Eskel had ordered for him before realizing the state he was in. Thankfully, he made no move to touch the drink.
Eskel walked past the tray to stand before Jaskier, trusting Geralt to remain in place.
“Sir,” Eskel murmured, pitching his voice low to match the intimate flicker of candlelight between their bodies, “Allow me to service you first, so that Geralt might learn what pleases you.”
“You always please me, Eskel,” Jaskier said a little drunkenly, threading his fingers through Eskel’s hair and bringing him down for a deep kiss.
Eskel released a groan at the heat of Jaskier’s mouth. Sharp with liquor and tasting faintly of olives. Eskel knew how lucky he was to have caught the attention of Lord Pankratz. There was not a whore in Rosemary & Thyme that didn’t seethe with envy when the handsome young Lord returned each month for his heat and chose Eskel again and again and again.
So perhaps it was a little bit of pride, a bit of hubris that made him wish to show Geralt how skillfully he could bring the O to peak, make him quiver and moan, drip helplessly around Eskel’s fat knot.
Eskel growled into the kiss and Lord Pankranz stepped back, laughing with lust-dark eyes, his lips swollen red like ripened cherries. Eskel stalked forward, dimly conscious of Geralt groping his way to a chair in the corner.
Would Geralt manage to keep his head until he was called to do his part? Or would the flush of his first rut make him turn on Eskel like a feral?
His Lordship would like that, Eskel thought. Two strapping Alphas rolling about the floor for the right to his cunny. The thought of rutting against Geralt, roughhousing the way they hadn’t since they were boys, made Eskel’s cock pulse in his drawers.
He ignored that as he always did similar thoughts, pushed it to the recesses of his mind as he focused the entirety of his attention on the heat-flushed Omega before him.
“Undress me,” Jaskier murmured, swaying minutely on his feet. Eskel slowly complied, thumbing the buttons at Jaskier’s left wrist, then his right, pausing to lick against the pulsepoint where the young Lord had bade Geralt to put his mouth.
It had taken until their third assignation for Jaskier to allow Eskel that particular privilege. Feeling a strange pettiness, Eskel ghosted the edge of his teeth against the delicate skin and felt his Lordship tremble under his grasp.
“Playing a dangerous game tonight, are we Eskel?” Jaskier’s eyes were bright in the candlelight. He slid two slim fingers underneath his rumpled necktie and tugged it away, revealing the span of his bare, vulnerable throat.
Eskel froze. Even in his rut-addled state, he realized the recklessness at play. “Have you a collar, your Lordship?” he asked, his voice rough.
Unbidden, his eyes flicked to Geralt’s. The other Alpha was digging his nails into the arms of his chair, watching their conference with a strange look of anguish. Eskel tried to glean whether Geralt still had enough sense left to avoid a rut-fueled bite upon his Lordship’s neck, an offense punishable by death.
“They’re such dreadful things … I must have forgotten,” Jaskier waved forward a hand, slapping it down upon Eskel’s shoulder. “I swear I did not even feel a lick of heat this morning. Really, Eskel, you must allow me to purchase your contract so that you might sit as my personal secretary and take charge of my life for me.”
Eskel smiled, swallowing the throb of want which usually accompanied Jaskier’s jesting offers. His Lordship did not know he was being cruel, offering Eskel a taste of something he could never accept in truth.
Though if Geralt pleased him well enough, Jaskier might take to him instead. And if the Lord decided that he preferred the both of them …
A frightening wave of lust made Eskel’s fingers rough and clumsy as he pulled Jaskier’s shirttails from his trousers and unbuckled his belt. The feeling of Geralt’s eyes on him, the smell of Geralt’s seething rut under Jaskier’s sweet heat-scent made Eskel wild, distracted him so that all thoughts of pausing their activities in order to fetch muzzles for himself and Geralt fled completely.
Eskel would have cause to regret his oversight, much later.
With a light growl, Eskel pushed Lord Pankrantz onto the bed, making him release a breathy, endearing laugh. With most Os, Eskel wouldn’t have dared to be so rough. But Jaskier had always enjoyed a bit of a tumble.
“Sir,” Eskel groaned as Jaskier kicked off his trousers and spread his legs. His slick had plastered his white cotton drawers to his skin, the transparent fabric revealing a tantalizing hint of pink. “May I … ?” Eskel asked huskily. In the corner, he heard Geralt make a strangled sound.
“With your teeth,” Jaskier purred, and Eskel complied, catching the edge of Jaskier’s drawers with his teeth and dragging the sopping fabric over the hard ridge of his Lordship’s cocklet, the swollen lips of cunt. Jaskier was panting by the time his cunny was fully exposed, glistening in the candlelight. “Throw it to him,” he ordered.
It took Eskel a second to understand what Jaskier wanted. After pulling his Lordship’s drawers from his legs, Eskel flung them to Geralt, who jolted from his seat to capture the square of fabric with both hands.
“Don’t waste your knot,” Eskel smirked in Geralt’s direction, though there was a real entreaty to his words.
Geralt just growled under his breath before returning to his seat, thighs spread wide around his hard cock.
Eskel didn’t linger to watch what Geralt would do with Jaskier’s drawers before turning back to retrieve his reward, his Lordship magnanimously pressing a hand to the back of Eskel’s head to lead his mouth to his dripping cunny.
It was easy to lose himself in the act. Jaskier tasted of honey and salt, his thighs tensing around Eskel’s ears, his fingers knotting in Eskel’s hair as he rode Eskel’s tongue. He made his Lordship come once with his mouth and another on his fingers, suckling on Jaskier’s cocklet until he writhed with oversensitivity.
“Fuck me,” Jaskier clawed Eskel up to join him on the bed, desperate with it as he tongued the taste of his own slick from Eskel’s lips. “Now.”
“Yes, Omega,” Eskel sighed. It was an intimate term of address, one which most of the other Os would not tolerate him using. But Jaskier simply nodded, his eyes large and heat-dark as he opened his legs for Eskel’s cock.
Like you were made for it, Eskel had told Geralt, and it was true every single time. Sinking into the cunt of an Omega in heat created a bone-deep sort of satisfaction, untouched by even an orgasm. As if Eskel’s entire body was rewarding him for providing what his Omega needed, as much pleasure as their body could handle.
Jaskier was slick and tight, releasing eager little sobs as he stretched around Eskel’s cock. Eskel groaned, shuddering, when his half-filled knot bumped against the lips of Jaskier’s cunt.
“Why don’t you show him how well you can fuck me?” Jaskier slurred warmly in Eskel’s ear, and Eskel realized that Jaskier was looking over Eskel’s shoulder and making eye contact with Geralt.
With a growl, Eskel began thrusting his hips in an urgent rhythm, hauling Jaskier’s legs around his middle as he forced his knot in and out of Jaskier’s cunny until it grew soft and sloppy, the heat-desperate Omega wailing as he clawed at Eskel’s shoulders.
“Now,” Jaskier ordered, arching as he gritted his teeth. “Knot me!”
Eskel pulled Jaskier’s hips towards him, grinding deep once, twice before his knot filled with dizzying speed. Panting, Eskel dropped his forehead to press against Jaskier’s, shuddering through the after-shocks of his orgasm as Jaskier’s cunt milked his sensitive flesh.
“Have I learned enough yet?”
Eskel turned towards the sound of Geralt’s lust-thick voice to find that the other Alpha had sidled close to the side where Jaskier was hanging half-off the bed.
“I think that it’s time for a hands-on demonstration, don’t you think, sir?” Eskel asked, his voice dropping an octave as the Omega greedily reached for the buttons of Geralt’s trousers.
Geralt had never been so hard in his life.
Watching Eskel disrobe the pretty Lord, then himself. The noises Jaskier made as he writhed under Eskel’s tongue. The shape of Eskel’s backside in the candlelight as he pistoned between Jaskier’s furred legs …
Was it his dangerous yearning for his best friend heightening his physical reaction? His inexperience with Os making his Lordship’s heat go right to his head?
Both, most likely. Geralt’s attraction to the young Lord was more intense than he could have ever anticipated. He wondered if it would always be this way.
“It is admirable you did not toss yourself off,” Jaskier looked like the painting of a debauched forest nymph, tostled brown hair falling over his forehead, licking his pink, slick lips as he groped for Geralt’s knot through his trousers even as belly continued swelling with Eskel’s seed. “Let me look at you, darling.”
Geralt fumbled clumsily with the buttons of his trousers, faint growls escaping his teeth as he roughly pushed the waistband of his drawersjust low enough to free his throbbing cock.
“Oh,” Jaskier said, and the gratification in his eyes made the wait worthwhile. Geralt did not dare to look at Eskel, though his body was shivering like a tuning fork with the other Alpha’s proximity.
Geralt swallowed a groan as Jaskier wrapped his slender fingers around Geralt’s shaft and tugged him closer. It was a clumsy angle for the Omega to suck Geralt’s prick, but even the feeling of Jaskier’s hot tongue bathing this glans, lapping up his shaft, made Geralt long to paint Jaskier’s pretty face with his spend.
Eskel rolled his hips and Jaskier moaned, the vibrations going right up Geralt’s cock. Panting, Geralt raised his eyes to Eskel, startled to find the other Alpha’s face a lot closer than he expected, staring deep into his lust-dark eyes. Geralt could feel Eskel’s breath on his skin and wondered how his friend would react if he just leaned forward and pressed their lips together ...
“Give me a minute,” Eskel murmured, and Geralt could not understand what he meant until Eskel released a low grunt, making Jaskier whimper around Geralt’s cock as Eskel pulled from his cunt, a trickle of white following his exit.
Jaskier took his mouth from around Geralt’s cock. “Hurry,” he said, biting his lip. “Don’t leave me empty, Alpha.”
Geralt growled, crawling onto the bed and taking the position Eskel vacated to lean against the post against the foot of the bed. He dragged his tongue through the mess of Jaskier’s cunt, hungry for the taste of Eskel’s spend underneath the addicting sweetness of his Lordship’s slick.
Jaskier began to thrash, tugging on Geralt’s hair, and Geralt obeyed, kissing the sharp cut of his Lordship’s hipbone, his trembling abdomen and each beaded nipple.
“Geralt,” Jaskier moaned prettily, rolling over and fucking presenting for Geralt with his arse in the air and Eskel’s spend drippng from his pink cunt.
“You’re doing well,” Eskel said in Geralt’s ear. Geralt’s breath thinned as he felt Eskel’s chest pressing against his back and - Melitele! - Eskel’s thick, warm hand folding around his shaft, guiding the head of his cock towards Jaskier’s slick and swollen entrance.
“You’ll make me shame myself,” Geralt rasped and Eskel released a low chuckle, squeezing Geralt’s half-filled knot until he whimpered, bucking into Eskel’s hold.
Meanwhile, his Lordship's eyes were fluttering closed, his back arching as his mouth opened in ecstasy.
“It feels so good,” Lord Pankrantz moaned. “Has it always felt this good?”
That, Geralt could not answer. He was barely staving off his rapidly-approaching orgasm as he sank into Jaskier’s cunt, guided with a firm inevitability by Eskel’s hand. A ring of white thickened and dripped around his cock. Melitele, he was fucking Eskel’s come out of his Lordship’s cunny.
“Eskel,” Geralt moaned, even as he bent forward, nosing at the sweat-damp curve of Jaskier’s nape. He snapped his hips forward and felt his Lordship’s moan as a vibration all down his front.
“Normally … I would not suffer a lover crying any name in bed but … my own,” Jaskier gasped, twisting his fingers in the sheets as he pushed back against Geralt’s thrusts.
“You did not give him leave to use your name, Jaskier,” Eskel’s voice was hot in Geralt’s ear again, and when he pulled back, Geralt could feel the hot brand of Eskel’s cock against his arse. Fuck, just the fantasy of being fucked open on Eskel’s prick while he railed the debautched young Lord’s heat-slick cunt …
“Eskel,” Geralt gasped, not knowing what he was asking for, but knowing that he was burning up for it, dying without it. “Eskel please.”
“I’m here,” Eskel said softly, and Geralt shuddered as he felt a warm hand pet down the line of his back.
Geralt did not know how to ask for what he wanted, did not know if he had the right. It was good enough, he thought, to be allowed to fuck pretty Lord Pankratz into the mattress, to sweeten the air with his cries and pet his mop of chocolate-brown curls which fanned across the white sheets. And still, he was bracketed by Eskel’s solid body, pinned fast between his heart’s desire and his animalistic lust.
Instinct drove him to lap at the vulnerable span of Jaskier’s unclaimed neck, a dangerous game indeed, but each time Geralt’s tongue circled his scent gland, his Lordship went wild underneath him, writhing and crying into the pillow he was hugging to his front.
“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier moaned. “Alpha.”
Geralt made a strangled sound as he felt Eskel’s oiled fingers slip between the cleft of Geralt’s arse.
“Shhhh,” Eskel said softly. “Focus on your work.”
Work. Right. Geralt was probably doing an abysmal job of it so far, rutting into the pretty O like a dumb animal. With an apologetic whine, Geralt leaned over Jaskier’s back, slipping his hands underneath the Lord’s slim, twisting body to thumb at his nipples.
Jaskier’s eager noises told Geralt that he was on the right track, and he hissed as Eskel rewarded him with the press of one thick finger, sliding into his arse up to the knuckle.
Geralt pet a shaking hand down his Lordship’s furred chest, over the small bump of his stomach, swollen tight with Eskel’s seed. It would be impossible, but … Geralt shook to imagine planting a pup in Jaskier’s fertile cunt, making him swell so prettily. Would he be happy with Geralt then? With … the both of them? Oh, Geralt would make their Omega so happy, he would die for the opportunity-
“Play with his cocklet, Geralt,” Eskel ordered, and Geralt hurried to comply, fucking back against the burn of Eskel’s fingers and forward into Jaskier’s tight cunt. The young Lord made such a sweet sound when Geralt ground the heel of his hand against his slippery cocklet, and Geralt echoed the sentiment as he mouthed against Jaskier’s neck, mindlessly needing as his thighs drifted apart for more of Eskel’s touch.
It happened so quickly that Geralt would never be able to say what triggered it, whether it was the crook of Eskel’s fingers or the clench of Jaskier’s cunt as he wailed through his third orgasm which sealed Geralt’s fate.
Suddenly, he was coming, knotting up Jaskier’s cunt, rut-drunk on pheromones and howling as he fucked his come deep into the O’s soft body.
In a moment of pure instinct, Geralt opened his mouth and bit-
The clang of metal woke Geralt from his stupor.
He uncurled himself stiffly from the prison floor, feeling the cold of the stone floor seeping into his bones. He was surrounded by the smell of piss and unwashed bodies, the howls and jeers of feral Alphas ringing off of the stone walls. Geralt licked over the taste of blood in his mouth, jaw aching around the rusty muzzle stretching his lips. He wondered what had his fellow inmates so riled up.
The scent of Omega made him stiffen in his seat just before a familiar voice reached his ears.
“... yes I’m sure. You think to question my decision, warden?”
Those were his steps ringing on the stone floor. Geralt struggled not to cringe at the sound, his body frozen. What did Lord Pankratz come here for? This was no place for a gentle-bred O.
Your mate, Geralt’s brain supplied, and he felt the familiar tendrils of guilt and despair clawing at his gut.
He was told that he had bitten the young Lord in the wilds of his rut, that he had to be dragged off of Jaskier’s bloodied, insensate body in a full feral state. Geralt had committed the greatest crime an Alpha was capable of. A non-consensual claim.
Geralt shifted miserably, drooling around the rusty muzzle as he waited for the footsteps to reach his cell. This was it, surely. Lord Pankratz was here to gaze upon Geralt with all the disdain he deserved before he would be put down like a dog.
If only Geralt could talk … he needed to beg clemency for Eskel, for Ciri-
Three men rounded the corner to stand before Geralt’s cell, but he only had eyes for one. With a fine, high-necked jacket and his expression slitted with annoyance, Jaskier looked every inch his station, haughty and untouchable, a world away from the heat-lush nymph who had writhed under Geralt’s cock just the other night.
Immediately, Geralt’s eye fell to the collar of Jaskier’s coat, seeking evidence of his bloody deed.
“Geralt,” Jaskier said, pausing before the bars. His face flickered with worry and weariness, which Geralt felt it like a punch to the gut. “Melitele that muzzle … ” Jaskier whispered. “Take it off of him!” Jaskier turned to bark at the guards, and Geralt tried not to flinch at the clear displeasure in his tone.
“I don’t think it’s safe, Lord Pankratz-” the warden said gruffly, but Jaskier silenced him with a steely glare.
Geralt didn’t have the strength to fight as he was hauled upwards none-too-gently by a pair of Beta guards, wincing as the muzzle was painfully pried from his jaw, strings of bloody drool snapping between his mouth and the rusty metal.
“Thank you,” Geralt rasped at Jaskier, lapping the cuts at the corners of his lips with a dry tongue.
“Here,” Jaskier said, his voice gentling as he unscrewed the top of a silver flask. “Spit,” he ordered as Geralt shakily poured the sharp-tasting liquor into his mouth. “Don’t swallow.”
Geralt complied, feeling his eyes water as his mouth began burning, his cuts alighting with pain.
“And the restraints, if you please,” Jaskier told the guards thinly. “My mate is coming with me.”
Geralt’s mouth fell open and Jaskier shook his head curtly before directing the guards to unlock Geralt’s manacles, which fell to the floor with a clatter of iron.
“Are you sure, your Lordship?” this time it was the third man who spoke, a nervous-looking Beta in a suit.
“It’s all just a terrible misunderstanding,” Jaskier said firmly, wrapping his fingers around Geralt’s upper arm and drawing him close. The touch was grounding, the scent of mate cutting sharply through the fog of pain and fatigue and hunger. “I ordered the bite … as ill-advised and reckless as it might have been at the time. I will take responsibility,” Jaskier continued talking as they walked, but Geralt couldn’t catch much more of it beyond the fact that Lord Pankratz was lying for him, covering for his fuck-up.
They allowed Geralt to change from his filthy prison garb in a private room. Lord Pankratz had brought him a clean stack of clothes. They were all Geralt’s size, though certainly not his style.
A choosing beggar, Geralt thought hysterically. He still thought he looked like shit when he stepped out to see the warden resentfully filling out the rest of the paperwork, transferring Geralt to the care of Lord Pankratz.
Geralt chose not to torture himself with imaginings of what that might entail as he followed Jaskier out the door of the police station, where Geralt had not expected to leave except to the gallows.
The brightness of the sun after being held in the dank prison made Geralt blink painfully, he straightened at the smell of fresh air.
"Geralt!" a familiar voice. Geralt’s face split into a large grin when he saw Eskel standing by the side of an unmarked hack, his steps hurrying to join his friend.
Frowning at the growing crowd of on-lookers, Jaskier ushered them all inside, and Geralt turned his head as he sank into the thin, worn cushions, feeling the comforting bulk of Eskel's body sliding in beside him. He did not breathe out until the bulk of the prison faded from the view of the small back window.
Eskel growled under his breath upon seeing the marks the muzzle had made upon Geralt's face, his hands gentle as he cupped Geralt's jaw. "I'm sorry," he said raggedly. "I'm so sorry."
“We’ll get those patched up first,” Jaskier said crisply. “Melitele knows you don’t need any more scars on that pretty face.”
Geralt just shook his head. "Ciri?" He asked Eskel quietly.
"She's with Sister Nenneke. I told her that you were sent away for a job," Eskel said, and glanced towards Jaskier.
"Eskel told me of your ward," Jaskier said, delicately opening a silver cigarette case and offering it to Geralt, who took one before remembering to incline his head with terse gratitude. "We can collect her whenever you deem fit. I figured that you wouldn't want the child to see you in your current condition."
"Collect her- … where are we going?"
"You can't expect me to keep my mate in a common boardinghouse," Jaskier placed a cigarette in his mouth, patting down the front of his jacket with a faintly annoyed air until Eskel leaned forward to light his Lordship's cigarette.
That tenement is my home, Geralt thought peevishly, but knew better than to protest.
"Why?" He asked instead, and Eskel shot him a look of warning from under his eyelashes. "Why did you lie to the wardens? You could have let me die, break the bond I forced on you and be free."
Jaskier sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Geralt. The bite was careless, but so was I. I should've never asked for your services without a collar."
"No, I … I should have brought out the muzzles," Eskel said quietly, his hands curling on his lap. “This was my fault.” On impulse, Geralt reached out to take one of Eskel's hands in his own, squeezing his cold fingers.
"As you can see, there's more than enough blame to go around," Jaskier said, silver smoke curling from his lips as they swayed with the moving carriage. "The question now becomes … where do we go from here?" Jaskier inclined his head, his expression warm as he looked into Geralt’s eyes. “We have good enough physical chemistry … perhaps we could come to understand each other, even … develop a fondness.” Jaskier’s cheeks pinkened, and Geralt could see, when Jaskier tugged his necktie . “If the circumstances allow.”
Geralt swallowed, looking from where his hand was linked with Eskel's to the other Alpha's face. Eskel's expression was resolute, his smile sad.
"Go with him," Eskel said quietly, disentangling his fingers from Geralt's hand. "With your … mate."
Geralt should be thanking his lucky stars. Saved from certain death and mated to a noble O. There was nothing he could ask for, no leverage he possibly had for such a request, but-
"Take Eskel," Geralt blurted out, and Eskel's face tightened with shock. "I mean … take us both. I don't know the first thing about being a proper mate, but Eskel knows all about O...Omegas, sir. Please let him come with me."
Jaskier's eyes flicked up to Eskel's. "Would you consent to this?"
"I … yes," Eskel said, his voice stirring with quiet hope. "I would. I would like to stay with you … both of you."
"Very well," Jaskier's mouth pulled into a broad smile and he knocked against the top of the hack, which stopped with a shudder when they were in a neighborhood much different form Geralt’s own.
Geralt took a breath as he ducked through the door of the hack, feeling Eskel's reassuring presence behind him as he found his footing on a posh street in uptown Novigrad. Before him rose an intimidatingly ornate townhouse. White-frocked young ladies and Beta nannies pushing buggies passed around them, staring at the unwashed Alpha in their midst.
Geralt imagined Ciri in a crisp, white dress instead of the cast-offs she currently wore, her hair pleated neatly and her bag full of books, enough to satisfy her voracious mind.
"Well," Jaskier shot Geralt a warm smile, then turned to Eskel with the same expression. "I don't know about you, but the day's just started and I'm already knackered. Let's get you home."
Home, Geralt thought with a start. A home with his Omega and his … Eskel.
As if hearing his thoughts, Eskel slid a hand around Geralt's elbow and squeezed, the familiar, comforting gesture going right to his heart.
"Things are really going to change now, aren't they?" Eskel murmured, his voice awed as he looked around the street.
"Yeah," Geralt said, finding Eskel’s hand again and squeezing it in comfort. “But we stick together, and I’ll see you through.”