Apparently, it’s a very odd combination of trust and cockiness that gets Jaskier invited to Kaer Morhen for the winter.
The trust part, Jaskier had known about immediately upon being asked at all. Geralt’s hands on his face, the leather of his gloves cold, but warming slowly against his skin. “Would it be safe for you?” he’d asked, “To go so long feeding on just me? I won’t have you starve.”
No questions about whether he or his brothers would be safe, no doubting Jaskier’s self-control, just would Jaskier be healthy. It was enough to make Jaskier’s chest well up with love. He let his glamor drop just long enough for Geralt’s eyes to slide up to the horns curled back towards his ears before dropping back down to where his eyes had gone fully, crystalline blue.
“I’m far too seasoned to starve over the winter when I’ve got at least one witcher willing to bed me,” Jaskier had promised. And it was true, even. Plus being half-human means his hunger doesn’t drive him crazy nearly as quickly as being pure blood would. Lucky breaks.
And Geralt takes all of this at face value. It’s touching.
Apparently, there’s been a bit of miscommunication, though.
Because they get up the mountain and meet his brothers, all well and good. Eskel is a mountain of warmth and wit that Jaskier would love to climb; Lambert is a roguishly handsome prick that Jaskier would love to take face down. He doesn’t say either of these things out of the gate, just greets them cheerfully, holding his glamor in place. At least until dinner when Vesemir tells him not to bother with it all winter, the illusion is making his head hurt to look at.
Jaskier is a little hurt by that; his glamor is very good, almost no seams unless you know where to look, but, well—witchers, he supposes. He lets it fall and doesn’t let himself focus on the way Eskel’s eyes dilate slightly even if he can feel his attention simmering over his skin, sharper than most humans.
They’re halfway down a bottle of Gull and Vesemir has gone to bed when Lambert decides to ask, “So how many times did you try to brainwash him before he finally agreed to fuck you?”
“Lambert,” Geralt warns as a prickle of irritation sparks through Jaskier. He’s been accused of worse, but it bothers him every time.
“Never,” he says firmly instead of snapping, because he wants that to be perfectly clear. “Whatever you may think of my kind, I would never use my powers to force anyone to bed me.”
And then, of all fucking things, Geralt adds, “And it’s not like he could. Something about him being half-human, probably, but witchers are immune to him.”
Surprise startles a sputtering laugh out of Jaskier before he can think better of it, drawing three sets of eyes to him. “Oh, you think?”
Geralt’s brow dips. “I’ve been traveling with you for fifteen years, I think I’d notice if you were influencing me, even unintentionally. Only humans fall for that.”
Some part of Jaskier is almost offended. “Geralt, witchers may be resistant to my pheromones, but I also work very hard to keep them suppressed when I’m just milling about. Even so, you’re not immune to mind control.” He turns to face him squarely. “Please tell me you haven’t been going around thinking so?”
Lambert sort of snorts. “Not from mages, maybe, but some half-bred incubus? Please.”
Jaskier hesitates for just a second.
…It’s a bad idea, but then again, he’s had worse and he has a point to prove. “Hm,” is all he says, taking another sip of his drink before he puts it down, eyeing Lambert carefully. He doesn’t do this often, but when he’s not in danger, he usually uses it for parlor tricks like this (outside of the bedroom where someone has asked it of him). It’s not hard at all to envision a crown of his powers around Lambert’s head, a blue ring seeping into his mind. Jaskier smiles and Lambert’s face immediately goes slack.
“Get on your knees and spread your legs,” he says to him, voice full of magical suggestion, all pinpointed right at Lambert.
Lambert staggers a little as he tries to get off the bench, but goes to his knees all the same, listing towards Jaskier like he’s been pulled. His arousal is immediately thick enough for Jaskier to sip off the air without even touching him. It makes his skin tingle to watch a genuine blush creep across Lambert’s cheeks, his pupils blown almost perfectly round.
“Oh my, aren’t you delicious,” Jaskier coos, “Figures you’re into that kind of thing, sweet puppy.”
“Jaskier…” Geralt says behind him, sounding absolutely floored.
Jaskier hums again, standing to get behind Geralt even as Lambert whines, leaning towards him, but staying on his knees, what a good boy, gods. What a loss to let him up so soon, but Jaskier thinks his point has been proven. He blinks, lets his powers dissipate like they were never there at all.
Lambert gasps like he’s coming up from underwater.
Instantly, he goes from soft pink to near-purple-red with rage, launching to his feet. For all that his face is twisted with ire, it’s clear he’s hard as stone. “I’ll fucking—!!”
Geralt gets to his feet the second Lambert starts for Jaskier, a hand out on his chest. “You started it.”
Lambert knocks his hand aside looking ready to incinerate him, but the bulge in his pants kills the effect a little. “He tries that shit again, I’ll rip out his throat!”
Jaskier just smiles, petting Geralt’s tense shoulder. “I won’t do it again,” he promises. “But not bad for a half-breed, huh?”
“Eat shit and die,” Lambert replies, turning and storming off.
“Well, that was exciting,” Eskel says lightly, but Jaskier can feel the slow pulse of his arousal when he meets his gaze again and it’s keying him up. It’s keying Geralt up, too, the taste of his arousal familiar on the back of Jaskier’s tongue. “So, we’re not immune, you’re just polite?”
“Polite isn’t the word I’d use,” Jaskier winks, smiling through the way the lust in the room spikes, “but for a manner of speaking, yes.”
Eskel eyes him for a moment, before excusing himself. Geralt doesn’t even wait before he clears the doorway to sweep Jaskier into his arms, marching off to his room.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” Geralt growls.
Jaskier purrs back at him, twining his hand into Geralt’s hair. “Are you going to punish me for it, witcher?”
Geralt’s idea of a ‘punishment’ is not very effective, like he doesn’t know good and damn well Jaskier lights up under rough handling. Getting thrown onto the bed, stripped, and held down by the shoulder while Geralt takes his pleasure just has him moaning and leaking pheromones until the room is thick with the scent of his desire. Geralt is nearly incoherent with lust, but his mind is free of any of Jaskier’s control. His smell is more than enough to keep him where Jaskier can feed.
It does feel like a bit of a punishment, though, that Jaskier is acutely aware, can feel it like an itch in his teeth, that somewhere in the keep, Lambert and Eskel are jerking off to the thought of him.
The thought sends a jolt of pleasure up Jaskier’s spine when he has time to think between Geralt nailing him to the bed. “Fuck, Geralt,” he hisses, having to gather his breath before he can ask, “Can they hear us?”
Geralt grunts, lifting his head from between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. He’s panting and pouring with sweat, has to hold his breath as he listens. He growls low in his throat at whatever he hears, but his renewed arousal washes over Jaskier so sharply it nearly makes him dizzy. He bends down until his breath tickles Jaskier’s ear. “Eskel’s close enough. Can probably smell you, too,” he replies, chuckling dazedly at Jaskier’s moan. “Is he thinking about you?”
“They both are,” Jaskier whines. “Gods, Geralt, please, can I—? Would they let me—?”
“Take it up with them,” Geralt growls, but fits his hands around one of Jaskier’s horns, making him arch his back with a loud moan. “Later.”
Later sounds great, because Right Now is far too lovely to consider leaving.
Eskel comes to him first, because of course he does.
Guest or not, Jaskier has been expected to work just like the rest of them and he does so with flair, perhaps, but little complaint. He’s stronger than he looks and Vesemir makes use of that when needed. The twinge of Eskel’s arousal that shoots through Jaskier’s core every time he lifts a fallen section of wall back into place, or shoulders a hay bale, or smiles in his direction just to watch him lose his step is worth the chastising Vesemir gives them. Jaskier is only able to refocus from years of practice ignoring loving-verging-on-lewd crowds.
Jaskier is just coming up from underwater in the hot springs, when Eskel walks in, stopping in the doorway. His arousal is like a pulse at the back of Jaskier’s mind.
“When you say you suppress your pheromones,” Eskel starts in lieu of a greeting, “does that mean the way you’ve been driving me insane isn’t intentional?”
Laughing, Jaskier pushes his hair back and wades over to the side of the pool, the water just deep enough to reach his waist. “Oh, almost everything I do is intentional, but not usually magic,” he says with a wink.
Eskel’s arousal is tinged with chaos in a way Jaskier has never felt before. It makes the air between them deliciously electric as he starts shedding his clothes. Jaskier is salivating at the sight of his bare skin. “And… if I wanted the magic?”
Jaskier grins. “Which kind?” he sings as Eskel approaches him, fully bare and half-hard as he stands at the edge of the pool.
“I’d have you unrestrained,” Eskel says, sinking into the water just far enough away that their chests don’t touch, that the proximity makes Jaskier’s skin tingle. “I want to smell what I do to you when you feed.”
“Here? Where everyone will smell us?” Jaskier whispers, leaning up so Eskel can feel the words against his mouth. “You’ll have to do the walk of shame if it gets too strong in here,” he challenges, only to let out a breathy laugh when Eskel crowds him, an eyebrow arched.
It always feels good to let go like this and the expression on Eskel’s face is worth it.
“Sweet fucking—” Eskel’s voice splinters and trails off into a moan as he presses his face under Jaskier’s jaw. “Jaskier…”
Jaskier moans when Eskel starts to mouth at his throat, soft sucking kisses to drink in his scent. The taste of his arousal is thick and filling, vibrant in a fascinating way. Jaskier wants to gorge himself.
“How would you have me, darling?” he asks, but isn’t bothered at all that he gets a kiss instead of words.
Apparently, the answer is Eskel would have him standing there grinding together until he loses his patience and pulls Jaskier into his lap to ride him. Then on his back barely out of the pool, dripping all over the place, the sound of slapping skin and their moans echoing off the stone. Then with his mouth between Jaskier’s legs until he spills twice more and only makes Eskel stop when he can feel exhaustion shaking the man’s arms. He’s going to sleep well tonight.
“I may—I may need that walk of shame,” Eskel says, aware of his own trembling now that it’s been pointed out, but still half-hard.
Jaskier hums, slowly stopping the aphrodisiacs from seeping out of his skin. “No shame, Eskel, I was only teasing,” he says, petting his hair. “Let’s get dressed. I’d like to lay with you a while, yeah?” He also wants to make sure Eskel doesn’t slip and hit his head on the floor because he got so fuck-drunk he couldn’t watch his feet.
A quick rinse and they stagger through the cold halls to Eskel’s room, Eskel practically asleep on his feet, Jaskier deliciously full and lazy. He climbs into bed with slightly more grace than Eskel collapsing into a boneless heap.
“Geralt?” Eskel mumbles.
“I’ll go to him in a while,” Jaskier says, squishing into Eskel’s arms until he can feel him chuckling through his chest. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m feelin’ great,” Eskel slurs, sounding slightly drunk, but nothing worse. “That’s not even all you can do?”
Jaskier turns his smile against Eskel’s peck. “No, it’s not,” he confirms. “The pheromones are strong, can make you physically wanting, but they leave your mind to yourself. Influencing, certainly, but not controlling.”
Eskel just hums, tracing the shape of Jaskier’s horn. That’s it for a long while, just their shared warmth and Eskel’s hand on his head. Jaskier starts to think he’s actually falling asleep, but then his voice comes back, syrupy and soft. “I think Lam… might like feeling like he isn’t the one in control.”
The words bring Jaskier’s insides back up to a simmer. He breathes in slow. “I know.”
Jaskier picks his head up to look him in the eyes. “Never without asking.”
“I wasn’t accusing you,” Eskel says instantly, leaning forward to kiss him. “I’m asking, too.”
“Hm,” Jaskier replies, assuaged. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
Eskel winces. “He’s going to—”
“Be an absolute terror, I know that, too,” Jaskier says, smiling when Eskel laughs sleepily. Jaskier kisses him again, because his face has gone all sweet and soft. “Get some sleep, dear wolf, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Parting with a lingering stroke to Jaskier’s cheek, Eskel rolls face down into the mattress, sighing all his tension out.
Jaskier is touched beyond words that he’s asleep by the time he blows out the lantern and slips back into the hall.
It’s not an ambush, Jaskier thinks to himself, because ambushing a witcher would be a very stupid thing to do, even for an incubus who’s hard to kill in his own right. He’s already not Lambert’s favorite person; he doesn’t want to give him a reason to start swinging right off.
All to say, this isn’t an ambush, it’s just a very carefully time cornering.
Jaskier just wants to make sure Lambert isn’t feeling any of his influences, self-inflicted or otherwise, when they talk about this.
“So, I feel like I need to be honest with you,” Jaskier says as he wanders into the training area. Maybe not the best place, because Lambert looks like an entire snack, but Jaskier clamps down hard internally and trusts the frigid wind to carry the faintest scents away.
Lambert’s expression tenses, but he doesn’t stop going through his forms. “What’s your honesty worth?”
“Rude,” Jaskier says, but doesn’t otherwise rise to the bait. He leans against one of the dummies Lambert isn’t using. “I need you to know I can feel it.”
“Every single time you’ve pulled yourself off to me,” Jaskier says, gratified when Lambert freezes in the middle of a swing. “I’m aware of much more than the pretty face implies, Lambert, how else would I feed safely?” He smirks when Lambert turns a shocked glare on him, even as he starts to simmer with attraction. “I can feel when people are attracted to me, lusting after me. It makes me hungry.” He bites his lip, stepping into Lambert’s space, eyeing him from head to toe. “Even now, I can feel how bad you want me.” He stops when Lambert, steps back, his training sword suddenly extended between them.
“Don’t fucking play with me,” Lambert snarls.
Jaskier rolls his eyes, but puts his hands up. “This isn’t playing with you. I want to play with you, though,” he confesses. “You were so delicious down on your knees, mind emptied of anything but pleasure.”
Lambert’s arousal is as instant and sharp as the point of a sword. “Shut up.”
“I could do that for you again if you want,” Jaskier says lowly, only narrowly keeping control of his own lust. “Geralt has never minded sharing me. And Eskel…” He draws out the pause, watching Lambert’s eyes darken. “We both thought you were so pretty, flushed and doe eyed. Have you ever had someone do that for you before?”
“I’m not—” Lambert starts, but his voice breaks and Jaskier suddenly aches for him. Oh, he wants to be taken down so badly, doesn’t he, poor puppy?
“I’d do it, darling, I’d make it so good for you,” Jaskier coos, but gives Lambert some space, lowering his hands. “We’d take such good care of you.”
Lambert doesn’t say anything, but there’s the barest flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. Jaskier wants to swallow him whole, wants to wrap him up until pleasure is all he knows.
“I’ll not make you beg,” Jaskier says, because if they do this, there’s a very good chance he’ll do plenty of it later. “Let’s make it easy, shall we? Tell me no,” he says gently. “Tell me not to influence you and I won’t, not ever again. But if you say nothing, when Vesemir goes to bed tonight, I’ll make you the sweetest, most desperate little puppy for us to take care of.”
The desperation and lust rolling off Lambert is already almost enough to drown in, but Jaskier doesn’t let himself feed, not when Lambert has a decision to make.
Lambert searches him, like he’s waiting for a joke, waiting for Jaskier to suddenly swing on him. Jaskier has no such trickery waiting for him.
The sword lowers and Lambert tears his gaze away. He’s silent when he walks inside and Jaskier is practically buzzing out of his skin.
By no means new to organizing marathon sex, Jaskier spends the time between his chores getting his room prepped. There is a folded cloth of snacks in the footlocker at the end of his bed, but he snags a few extra pitchers of water to leave on his dresser. His empty wash basin is already by the fire beside a stack of rags. Geralt catches him with a spare set of sheets and furs, but just raises his eye brows, the taste of his lust familiar when it swells against Jaskier’s awareness. “Yeah?”
Jaskier nods. “Tonight,” he says and smiles into the kiss Geralt plants on him.
Eskel gives him much the same treatment, though he picks him up to press him into a wall. “You are a gift, Jask,” he growls against his mouth and Jaskier is loathed to make him put him down, but if they get wound up, he’ll let Eskel take him right in this hallway.
The tension in the air all day has Jaskier flittering about, irritating the hell out of Vesemir, though he knows better than to ask anything about why. He tolerates their behavior, the obviously stinted attempts at acting normal, all through dinner before he grabs Lambert’s latest—and most tolerable—bottle of Gull and bids them a firm goodnight.
Nobody else moves, but the arousal in the room twines tighter the further Vesemir gets from the hall. Jaskier waits until Geralt looks away from the door to stand.
“Lambert…” Jaskier says softly, just his name, no tinge of magic as he comes to his side.
Lambert looks up at him with a sneer that in no way disguises the lust rolling off him. “What?”
Jaskier gives him a moment to stay no, to leave, to do anything, but when he’s met with silence, he just smiles. He stops holding onto his scent so closely, watches Lambert’s nostril’s flare, pupils widening before Jaskier even presses the fog of his magic into his mind. Lambert moans, body already going slack as he lists towards Jaskier.
“There we are, darling,” Jaskier says, stroking his hand through Lambert’s hair, cooing as he shudders. “You’re going to be such a good boy for us, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Lambert replies and the smell of his arousal burns bright in the room.
“Fuck…” Eskel mutters under his breath.
“You sure are,” Jaskier replies, kissing his forehead, stealing a little taste of his lust. “You’re already getting so hard. Will you let us take care of you?”
Lambert lets out a harsh breath, already almost a sob and clings to Jaskier’s doublet. “Please, Jaskier, please…”
“Oh, I know, sweetling.” Jaskier doesn’t have to pry his hands away, just kisses him on the bump of his nose and mentally relaxes his fingers. Lambert is caught in a confusing storm, between the desperation to be touched and desire to do what Jaskier has asked of him. Jaskier keeps a hand on his arm as he makes him stand, turning to the others with a smirk. “Shall we?”
They’re on their feet before the words have even cleared his lips.
Lambert is sweating and shaking by the time they reach Jaskier’s room, mumbling pleas that it has pained Jaskier to ignore until now even as he stokes the arousal higher, and higher in Lambert’s mind. He must feel insane with it at this point.
“Jask, please,” Lambert pants, unable to lift his arms to grab him like he wants to. “I’ll be good, let me—let me—”
“Take your clothes off,” Jaskier cuts in, power roiling inside them as Lambert carelessly tears at his clothing like it hurts to have it on his skin. When his already damp smalls come away, his cock stands tall and angry red from his body. “Good boy, Lambert, beautiful,” he praises, lets the words wash in a wave of pleasure over Lambert’s mind that makes him stagger. “Now, what is it you want, darling?”
“Touch me,” Lambert begs. “Please, I want—you promised—”
Jaskier doesn’t let him put his hands on himself, making his arms feel too heavy to even move and delighting in the frustrated little sound that earns him. “I did promise, didn’t I? Touch you how, puppy?”
“Fuck me, please, I need it, I need your—your cocks, please, I’m gonna fuckin’—”
“Melitele’s tits,” Geralt swears.
Attention now caught on Geralt, Lambert’s begging changes course. “I’m so hot, I can’t—” Hands hanging limp by his sides, Lambert presses his sweaty forehead against Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt, please, he won’t let me touch myself, I need—”
“I hear you, pup,” Geralt growls, cradling the back of his head before turning his gaze to Jaskier.
“Would you have his mouth, Geralt?” Jaskier asks slowly, already feeling delightfully drunk on the lust they’re giving him. They all moan collectively and Jaskier laughs. “Kneel, Lambert.”
Lambert goes down instantly, “Please, I need it, I need you.”
“Fuck, Lam…” Geralt breathes out, runs his hand through Lambert’s hair, forcing an groan out of his throat when he closes his fist. He fumbles his pants open with his off hand. “Open for me?”
Jaskier influences Lambert’s mouth to open just because he can, the command making Lambert moan, loud and unrestrained, before Geralt feeds him his throbbing cock.
Lambert moans like he’s the one that’s had his cock swallowed.
Taking a seat on the bed, Jaskier holds a hand out to Eskel who’s standing just inside the door, immobile and awestruck. He fumbles for Jaskier’s hand without looking away from Geralt thrusting into Lambert’s mouth. Jaskier laughs quietly, drinking in the sight these men make. He strokes an absent hand up Eskel’s thigh, leaving him shuddering into the touch, letting out a quiet moan when Jaskier goes for his laces.
“Come as soon as you’d like, dear wolf,” Jaskier tells Geralt even as he wraps his hand around Eskel’s prick. “We both know you’ll keep it up for him.”
“Yeah,” Geralt grits, fucking Lambert’s mouth steadily as the little wolf writhes and moans, Jaskier’s magic twisting him up so thoroughly every stroke feels like he’s that much close to coming himself. When Geralt does finally come with a loud moan of Lambert’s name, without a hand to himself at all, Lambert whines and spills on the floor between his knees.
“Holy fuck,” Eskel breathes like he can barely get enough air to speak.
“Lovely, what a good boy,” Jaskier praises, “Kiss him, dear heart?”
Geralt is on him immediately, hauling him up as he kisses into his mouth. Lambert whimpers high in the back of his throat, legs buckling. Geralt is quick to wrap him up to steady him, Lambert writhing in his arms, humping his thigh like a dog in rut.
“Please, please, it’s not enough.”
Jaskier whistles softly, drawing Lambert’s gaze for a half second before it drops down to Eskel’s cock in his fist. “Let Eskel take care of you, too, puppy, he’s so hard for you.”
Lambert’s eyes are all pupil as he goes scrambling for Eskel, Geralt helping him stagger his way into Eskel’s lap. “Please, Eskel,” he begs kissing all over Eskel’s face, “fuck me please, I need it.”
“Yeah, you do, pup,” Eskel growls before tossing Lambert face down onto the bed. “I want to hear you.”
“Hold yourself open,” Jaskier says as Eskel sinks down behind Lambert, pulling him back by the hips.
Groaning into the sheets, Lambert reaches behind himself to hold his ass and Eskel takes in the sight with a slack mouth. Jaskier strokes himself casually at the loud wail Lambert lets out when that mouth presses against his hole.
“Oh, he’s so good, isn’t he, puppy?” Jaskier sighs as Geralt joins him on the bed, still out of breath and sticky with sweat as he presses against Jaskier’s back. Tilting his head back, he lets Geralt breathe in against his neck even as they both watch Eskel make Lambert cry. “Does he make you feel good?”
“Yes, yes, Eskel, please,” Lambert sobs, holding himself open so tightly he’s probably bruising his own ass. “Don’t stop.”
Eskel’s answering growl mixes in with the slick sound of his tongue forcing Lambert’s body open.
“What do we say, puppy?” Jaskier prompts.
Lambert doesn’t actually seem coherent enough to follow Jaskier’s prodding until he puts the thought right on the tip of Lambert’s tongue and he recognizes the shape of it. “Thank—thank you,” he blurts, “Thank you, Eskel, so fucking good, please don’t stop.”
It’d take a lot to get Eskel to stop at this point and nobody here is inclined to try. Lambert least of all, whimpering and rocking back against Eskel’s face until he yells into the sheets as he comes again.
“Good boy,” Eskel slurs, kissing the back of Lambert’s hand, his ass, the base of his spine. “Stay just like that, I’ve got you.”
Shuddering down his back, Lambert nods his head. “You got me, you got me, please.”
“And you, lark?” Geralt mumbles against the bruise he’d sucked into Jaskier’s throat.
Jaskier hums, feels around the shape of Lambert’s desires, trying to see past the haze of everything, everything, right now, ruin me, keep me, please, please—
“We’ve got you, darling,” Jaskier soothes, turning to kiss Geralt before shifting further onto the bed. A fingertip under Lambert’s chin is all it takes to get his watery gaze, not even turning when Geralt lobs a vial of oil in Eskel’s direction. Jaskier coos at him, stroking his bottom lip until his mouth opens and Jaskier presses down on his tongue. “Going to take good care of our puppy, hm? Do you want my cock while Eskel fucks you?”
Mouth held open, Lambert can only moan, unintelligibly, louder still when Eskel sheaths himself in his body with a loud groan.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jaskier smiles, stroking Lambert’s hair back before pulling him face down towards his arousal. “Relax your jaw, love, just take it.”
Lambert’s mouth is a dream. Soft, hot velvet, mindlessly slack as Eskel fucks him so briskly it shoves him right down onto Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier strokes Lambert’s cheeks as he starts to cry; overwhelmed, maybe, but so far from pain it seems like a foreign concept.
“Good, baby, you look so pretty stuffed all full of cock,” Jaskier says, breathing out sharply when Lambert’s throat hitches with a sob at the praise. “Just like you should be, getting fucked out of your head, not thinking about anything but how good you feel.”
“Better use of that smart mouth,” Geralt rumbles softly, reaching forward to press his thumb at the side of Lambert’s mouth, drool dribbling down his chin at the touch.
“Gods,” Jaskier gasps.
Eskel folds over Lambert’s back, biting the side of his neck, making Lambert shout so hard he nearly gags until Jaskier mentally relaxes his throat for him. It makes him whimper, sliding that much deeper into Lambert’s slack throat. Jaskier lets his head fall back, coming to the sound of Eskel growling out his orgasm.
Lambert is a whimpering, quivering mess beneath Eskel’s bulk. Jaskier lets himself heave for breath, enjoying the soft warmth of Lambert’s throat until he feels him squeak for breath. He lifts his head to let him gasp for air, mouth still slack and wet. His eyes are hazy and seem to struggle to focus on Jaskier even when he leans right down into his face.
“There you are,” Jaskier coos, nipping at his lip, sipping on the spark of lust that sends through him. “That’s where I want you.”
“I want a turn,” Geralt says, nipping at Eskel’s shoulder.
The Wolves get a little out of control after that. Or, at least out of their own control. Jaskier stays carefully focused on everyone, gorging himself as they fuck Lambert silly, until he’s just a raw nerve of pleasure. Geralt fucks him while Eskel makes a mosaic of hickies anywhere he can get his mouth. They’re insatiable and Jaskier keeps them there, the scent of his intent more potent in the room than he’d normally let it get. He’s stopped letting it seep out, but it still sits heavy on the air, a fog on their minds. It’s his turn again, spooned up behind Lambert as he fucks him steadily, only for Lambert to wail around Jaskier’s fingers when Geralt swallows down his tender prick. It’s the knife’s edge of pleasure that borders on pain; Lambert had exceeded his limits of pleasure two orgasms ago, but Jaskier won’t force him past the border of consciousness.
“Okay, my love,” Jaskier mutters against the back of his neck, pulling his fingers from Lambert’s mouth to rest them gently against his throat.
Lambert is nearly hysterical. “I can’t!! I can’t—”
“One more,” Jaskier kisses his shoulder, pointedly looking down at Geralt whose gaze clears marginally, winking his understanding. He keeps his jaw slack as Jaskier chases his—their final orgasm. “Just this last one. You’re doing so well, beautiful, let go for us. We’ve got you, darling puppy, let go.”
And Jaskier’s magic shoves him over that last hurdle, an internal nudge that makes Lambert scream as Eskel’s hand clamps over his mouth. Jaskier feels his orgasm even though he has nothing left to spill.
Jaskier spills for him, filling up his already seeping hole. “Good boy,” he gasps, pushing at Geralt’s head until he releases Lambert’s sore prick. “Such a sweet, perfect little puppy, you did so well.”
“Jask,” Lambert sobs against Eskel’s palm, still limp as a rag doll. Eskel shushes him, kissing his damp forehead.
“I’m right here, puppy, we’re gonna get you all cleaned up now, okay? Our good boy,” Jaskier says gently, stroking Lambert’s trembling thigh when he pulls out. “Let’s get you all settled, okay?”
With Eskel’s help, Jaskier gets Lambert to the ground. He’s kneeling, sort of. Stacked haphazardly over his own legs, but mostly slumped onto Jaskier as he wipes the sweat and come from his skin, cooing and pressing kisses over whatever skin is closest to his mouth. The dazed look on Lambert’s face is fucking darling, all doe eyed and sweet, all for Jaskier as he’s cleaned up. He’s still shaking slightly, leaking spend on the floor, but neither of them pays it any mind. Eskel and Geralt can handle the room, quickly stripping the filthy sheets and redressing the bed.
Lambert is obediently taking little sips of water when Geralt comes back to hover at his shoulder. The bed is clean and piled high with furs, the snacks he’d tucked away out on the night table.
“Is he still…?” Eskel asks.
Jaskier nods, humming. “I want him laying down before I bring him up,” he answers softly, standing and nearly fully lifting Lambert into his arms to get him back into the bed.
It’s always a lot coming out of the other side of Jaskier’s influence, especially when it was this long and this thorough. He gives Lambert his mind back in stages as he rests in Geralt’s arms, eats the tiny bites of food they push into his mouth. He tells him again and again how beautiful he was, how much they loved that, he was so good for them, so pretty when he let himself feel good.
Lambert turns away from the next bite of bread Eskel offers him, expression buckling as Jaskier’s influence releases him entirely. His trembling kicks up a notch.
Jaskier frowns softly, unsurprised by the waves of emotion rolling off Lambert. “It’s okay, puppy.”
“Don’t,” he croaks, eyes welling with tears as he fights to make his expression angry even though his lip is quivering and everything in him is screaming to touch. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Jaskier promises, pressing in close to Lambert’s front. “You’re such a good puppy, Lambert, it’s okay,” he whispers, stroking his face as he chokes on a sob. “We’ve still got you, I promise. Let go, darling, you’re gonna be okay. We’ve got you. Come here?”
It’s not a surprise when Lambert reaches for him, arms shaking and unsteady until he’s crushing Jaskier against him like a child with a toy as he cries into his chest. Geralt looks like he’s going to reach for Lambert’s hand where it’s digging into Jaskier’s shoulder, but he stills at the sharp look Jaskier shoots him. He’s sturdy enough that he won’t break and he certainly doesn’t mind bruises, not from his darling puppy who’s holding on to reality with the touch of his skin.
“It’s okay,” he says gently, for Geralt’s sake as much as Lambert’s. “We’re gonna lay right here and cuddle our sweet puppy right to sleep. Yes, we are, our good baby.”
“Jaskier,” Lambert cries, high and broken.
“I know, baby, we’re here,” he coos as Geralt settles down to wrap around Lambert’s back. Jaskier smiles when he hears him purring softly, stroking gently up and down Lambert’s side.
“Good boy,” Geralt tells him, voice low and soothing, right against the back of Lambert’s neck. “You did good, pup. Rest now.”
Eskel raises a hand and the candles in the room go out. “Thank you for sharing that with us,” he says, tossing an arm over Jaskier’s side to land on Lambert’s hip. He kisses Jaskier’s shoulder.
Unwilling to let Lambert go just yet, Jaskier smiles, stroking his foot up Eskel’s ankle. He hums softly, a lullaby he’d written on commission a few years back for a woman who loved wolves. It makes him happy as he kisses Lambert’s head and lets him cry himself out between them.
Thrumming with the wolves’ energy running through his veins, Jaskier stays awake well past when Lambert has finally fallen asleep, Geralt and Eskel following quickly behind him.
Jaskier can’t feed off contentment the way feeds he off lust, but he swears, the trust of a wolf pack willing to sleep around him leaves him feeling fuller than anything else they did tonight.