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The contract could have gone better.
Jaskier knew that a few minutes after Geralt had arrived in the tavern and had sat on the other side of the table, opposite him. He was still covered in grime, smelling of earth and blood and sweat, his eyes fixed on the flagon in front of him. The booth he had slid into (as Geralt always preferred a corner booth than a table in the middle of the room) remained streaked with dirt from his armor.
It could be tough to tell with Geralt’s moods, when he was actually wanting peace and quiet versus when he was particularly sour or glum. Jaskier knew, though. He could untangle the twitch in Geralt’s lip, the shift in his gaze, the way he would roll his eyes or turn his face depending on Jaskier’s intonation.
The contract hadn’t gone badly, Jaskier knew that immediately. For one, Geralt had already been paid by the alderman- a good sign. And, secondly, they hadn’t been run out of town. Sure, that didn’t happen all that often, but the few times it had happened since Jaskier had accompanied Geralt had left a mark.
Geralt also wasn’t so badly wounded that Jaskier needed to drag him back to their room and fix him up immediately. Good again. He also wasn’t completely silent. He had grunted a hello, he’d shook his head and grumbled at Jaskier to leave him alone when he’d started fussing. Good, good, good.
But he did let out a huff as he rested his cheek on a fist. He clicked his tongue as he cast his eyes over the tavern. The only response Jaskier got when he asked if they were staying another night was a shrug.
So the contract hadn’t been the best. Not terrible, not awful, but not great.
On evenings like this, it was always tough to get Geralt to talk. It infuriated Jaskier at times. It was difficult enough to get the man to open up and show a little bit of vulnerability beyond the odd self-deprecating jab, but during moments like this he tended to completely shut down. Whatever was bothering him would simmer and boil away, until he’d lash out at the most inopportune moment.
Thankfully that tended to happen less and less these days, but it still nagged at Jaskier when it happened.
Geralt stood abruptly, and without saying anything he began to move out from behind the table.
‘Where are you going?’ Jaskier asked, wondering if they really were leaving that night.
‘Gonna get more fuckin’ ale.’
A quick peek into the flagon revealed it had been drained. That was quick. So, the contract had gone a little worse than Jaskier first thought.
There was a pause while he sat there in silence, until a swish of fabric had him tilting his head up.
‘He’s splenetic.’
‘Ahh, Yennefer,’ Jaskier drawled, picking up his still half-full flagon. ‘You’re resplendent, as always. Whose soul did you suck out today?’
‘Jaskier.’
Yennefer, her charcoal cloak billowing behind her, sat down in the seat opposite him. She was careful to tuck her cloak around her, so as to not let it touch any of the dirt that had fallen off of Geralt stain her garment. Though Jaskier had known she’d be in town (it was part of the reason they’d stopped here), it still took him a moment to bite his tongue. It was still a habit to spit venom at her the moment he saw her.
‘What happened?’ she asked, nodding to where Geralt was standing at the bar.
With a quick look over his shoulder to confirm he wasn’t immediately returning, Jaskier gave a mild shrug. She could also pick up that he had had a bad contract. It still nagged at him a little, that Yennefer was attached to Geralt as he was. Jaskier had also learned a long time ago that when Yennefer was about he'd likely be sleeping alone. Which, in a way, was fine; Geralt often complained Jaskier ran hot when he was asleep; Geralt also kicked in his sleep and grumbled when Jaskier spent an hour trying different chords and melodies on his new songs.
‘He hasn’t said,’ Jaskier replied with a roll of his eyes. ‘You know how he gets.’
The noise Yennefer made was rude, but also indicative that yes, she was well aware of Geralt’s moods.
There was a heavy thudding of boots on the tavern flaw as Geralt returned. He stopped next to Jaskier and grunted in Yennefer’s direction.
‘You’re in my seat.’
‘Hmm. Pity. You got up and abandoned it. Guess you’ll have to sit elsewhere.’
With a grunt, Geralt walked behind Jaskier and made his way to the other side of the table. It was a far tighter squeeze, given they were in the corner of the tavern, but he made it work. Falling back onto the bench, a fresh flagon in hand, he immediately took a thirsty gulp from it.
‘Alright, let’s go a little easy on the ale, and start using our words a bit more.’
As he spoke, Jaskier reached over and took hold of the flagon. With a gentle, yet insistent tug, he removed it from Geralt’s hand and set it on the table.
‘That’s not fair.’
‘And yet, as you so kindly remind me, dear Geralt, life isn’t fair.’
Geralt scoffed and turned to Yennefer. ‘I take it you’re in on this, too?’
‘Of course. I live to torment you.’
‘I thought that was only for Jaskier.’
‘I understand you’re a package.’
Across the table, Jaskier beamed. It was rare that Yennefer acknowledged he and Geralt had a bond (just as he liked to do the same with her, he imagined), but when it happened, he luxuriated in it.
‘Now, are you going to tell us what happened, or do we need to play a guessing game?’ Yennefer continued on, in that sickeningly sweet tone that made Jaskier’s stomach curl.
Geralt scowled at her. ‘Let’s not, but say we did.’
Jaskier also hated that Geralt also succumbed to it, mostly because he tried to do it frequently but with less success.
Their eyes met over the table. Yennefer’s brows raised casually as Jaskier tipped his chin down. *Fine*, he’d go along with this, but only because he didn’t want Geralt to be in a grumpy mood for the rest of the evening.
Pushing out of his seat, Jaskier stepped along the edge of the table and shoved Geralt to the side. It was a tight squeeze, where he was pressed between the wall and Geralt’s right hand side, but he forced himself to fit. Jaskier set his elbow on the table, pressed his fingers to his temple and waited as Geralt looked up at him and shook his head.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Are you in on this interrogation, too?’
‘You weren’t talking. I had to get back up,’ Jaskier drawled.
While he would have preferred to have coaxed Geralt into talking on his own, he’d take Yennefer’s help when she offered it. Even if they disagreed on a great many things, knowing she cared for Geralt as much as he did meant a lot.
‘Come on, Geralt, talk to us,’ he said as he leant over, grabbed Geralt’s flagon and handed it to him as a peace offering.
There was a heavy sigh and a long pause. Even with the ale in front of him, it still took him a moment to pause. Jaskier shared another glance with Yennefer, but they waited and let Geralt find the words in his own time. Yennefer’s hand was laid over Geralt’s arm, her thumb rubbing back and forth; in turn, Jaskier set his own on Geralt’s back, just over his shoulder blade. He was bracketed on both sides, their touch grounding.
‘The husband insisted on coming along,’ he finally started, referring to the farmer who gave the contract. ‘I told him not to, but… you know how they are.’
Folk tended to think that they would be safe accompanying a witcher while on a job. Jaskier still didn’t understand that, even after twenty odd years. If the jobs Geralt got hired for were so easy, then they wouldn’t have required a witcher.
‘The cockatrice took a good chunk out of him,’ Geralt continued on. ‘He’ll live. But he’s missing a few fingers now and might lose his hand.’
‘Geralt…’
‘He’s a farmer, Yen.’ With a shake of his head, he took a swig of ale. ‘I need to fucking stop doing jobs once the idiot decides to come along with me.’
‘That’s how you met Jaskier, isn’t it? Who knows, you might make a new little friend.’
‘Hey!’ Jaskier squawked, indignant. ‘I wasn’t the one who gave him the contract, and you know that. I just wanted an adventure.’
‘Of course, dear.’ Yennefer batted her lashes at him and gave a tight smile.
Between them, Geralt was still scowling at his ale. Jaskier craned his neck and peered inside; it was half empty. This wouldn’t be strong enough to get Geralt drunk, but it did reveal the level of stress he was under. He went through bouts of self destruction, where he’d beat himself up for other peoples choices.
‘You need to relax,’ Jaskier said, knowing that was a very unhelpful statement the moment it passed his lips.
Geralt, of course, took the bait.
‘What I need is another damn drink.’
‘How about a nice bath?’
‘Oh, let the man drink, Jaskier,’ Yennefer chided. She was waving a waitress down and gesturing for another round for the table.
She was plotting something. Jaskier could sense it, that little rat brain of hers cooking up some scheme that he would be forced to go along with. Worse still, he might enjoy it. He had to begrudgingly admit that sometimes the worst of Yennefer’s ideas were the most fun.
‘He’s clearly had a tough day,’ she continued on, her smile dark and mischievous. ‘Let him have a drink to relax.’
‘I don’t like it when you’re so agreeable,’ Geralt grumbled.
It was too late. The waitress was bringing out three large flagons on a tray, which she set down in front of them. Jaskier let his hand fall from Geralt’s shoulder as he grabbed one for himself, while Yennefer took the other two. As the waitress turned and left, he watched as Yennefer stuck her finger in her mouth, sucked on it, and then proceeded to mix it through the ale. Beside him, Geralt was also watching with a look of mild apprehension as he nursed the remainder of his second drink. Jaskier’s eyes briefly dropped to the medallion that hung around Geralt’s neck and watched as he thumbed it. Once she was done, Yennefer slid it over to him and nodded.
‘Drink.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ Jaskier remarked.
‘I would have just spat directly into it, but even that seemed unappealing to me. If you’d like, though, Jaskier, I’m happy to do it to yours. Here, hand it over.’
‘Hmm. No, thank you.’
Geralt had downed the remainder of his second drink in the time they’d been talking. It was set down heavily on the table as he eyed his tampered ale. With a grunt, he pushed the empty flagon away, grabbed the new one and squinted at it suspiciously. He swore under his breath, picked it up and downed some of it. As he sipped his own ale, Jaskier began to stroke Geralt’s shoulder again, mostly to ensure he wasn’t in any immediate danger from whatever spell Yennefer had infused his ale with. Yennefer’s hand had also returned to Geralt’s knee, and Jaskier watched as she ran it up and down his thigh, squeezing a little as he swallowed and set the flagon down heavily.
‘Now breathe.’
At first Jaskier assumed that to be a command to have the spell start working. But Geralt turned his head, fixed her with an even stare, and grunted.
‘I’m already breathing. I’d be dead if I wasn’t.’
‘Oh, fuck you. I’m trying to get you to relax.’
While this had nothing to do with him, Jaskier did feel a little smug that it seemed like her spell wasn’t working right away. Sure, Yennefer didn’t seem all that concerned by it, but he’d still take it as a win. Sure, they might be on friendly terms now, but he would continue to enjoy any little sign that she wasn’t nearly as powerful as she liked to think she was.
The three of them fell into an almost companionable silence. Jaskier would have preferred a rich, red wine, but he’d take anything if it were free.
The tavern was lively. A few people looked their way, clearly confounded by the three of them sitting in a row. A sorceress, a witcher and a bard walk into a bar- it sounded like the start of a joke. Now Jaskier just needed to think of a punchline. Sipping the ale, Jaskier moved his hand down Geralt’s back, along his arm and rested it upon his thigh. He could feel the muscles move beneath his palm, but there was no move to shake it off.
There were musicians playing. They were passable. Jaskier knew he was better than them, but he’d only give them tips if they asked. Nothing was worse than unrequested criticism, even if it was meant to be helpful. The raucous music, though, did have the crowd cheering, and the more the booze flowed, the less people looked over and tried to study the three of them.
It took Jaskier until the band had started to play the third song to realise Geralt had grown quiet. No, it wasn’t just quiet, it was peaceful. The usual twitching of his leg had died down, as had the drumming of his fingers that often occurred when he was in one of these sour moods. Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to think that he was relaxed, but he did seem oddly at ease. He would have supposed he had even fallen asleep, particularly when he looked across and saw Geralt’s eyes, heavy lidded and lowered as though he were studying something quite interesting within his ale.
‘Geralt, are you alright?’
‘Mm.’ Geralt nodded.
Jaskier wasn’t convinced. So, to Yennefer, ‘is he?’
‘He’s fine, Jaskier. He’s just… mellowing out.’
‘That sounds suspicious and I don’t like it.’
Yennefer laughed, loud and dark. There was only a minimal response from Geralt, where he breathed in deep, stretched, and took another draw from the flagon.
There was something else, though, cooking behind Yennefer’s eyes. Jaskier could sense it, he could see it, when he looked across and met her gaze. There was an upward quirk in the corner of her lips. As Geralt sat there, resting his cheek on his fist, Yennefer slid her hand over his lap and took hold of Jaskier’s. She guided it across, then pressed it down over the front of Geralt’s pants.
‘He needs to relax. You said so yourself.’
There was a flicker of movement from Geralt’s eyes. They slid across to Yennefer, then over to Jaskier, his head tilting a little in either direction.
Jaskier had said that. He just wasn’t sure he’d meant it like this.
But that mischievous look still sparkled in Yennefer’s eyes and Geralt hadn’t pulled away. If anything, he’d actually parted his legs a little, allowing Jaskier’s hand to better cup his cock through his pants.
‘What did you put in his drink? Yen, what did you do?’
‘Oh, easy, Jaskier,’ she chided. ‘We’ve done this before. Besides, I know how you two get when you’re wound up. This is nothing more than to take the edge off.’
‘How- how us two? Who told you? What did Geralt tell you? Geralt, what did you tell her?’
Beside him, Geralt grunted and shook his head. There was a faint, hazy look across his face and he lightly elbowed Jaskier into silence as his hips rocked forward again. Yennefer still held Jaskier’s hand down, her fingertips pressing in so he was forced to push against his cock.
‘We’ve done this before, Jaskier,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s just… soothing.’
It seemed like he’d been about to choose a different word but had decided against it.
He could feel Geralt getting hard. It was slow, subtle. The faintest sensation of him growing warmer, thicker, as he rocked into Jaskier’s palm. It wasn’t the best idea to be doing this in the middle of a busy tavern, but Jaskier would be lying if he didn’t admit a part of him had always wanted to try it. He was a bard, he was an exhibitionist by trade. It was a wonder he already hadn’t tried something like this.
‘There. That’s better.’
Yennefer’s voice was soft as her hand slowly released Jaskier’s. She turned in her seat, her elbow poised on the table as she moved to face the two of them. For a moment she looked over her shoulder, her eyes passing over the crowd, as her hand roamed up to the top of Geralt’s pants. All the while, Jaskier found himself watching her fingers as each button was released. Geralt wasn’t helping her, but he wasn’t stopping her, either.
Jaskier knew what would happen next. He felt himself drawing in a breath as Yennefer’s fingers ran up his fly and then delved into his open pants. There was a sharp intake of breath from Geralt, his eyelids fluttering shut. This would have been enough, just the sight of Yennefer’s hand disappearing inside, the feeling of her knuckles against Jaskier’s palm as she took hold of him. Clearly it wasn’t, because after a moment she was pulling out his cock, hidden only by the tabletop.
It took Jaskier a moment to respond. Geralt had sworn under his breath, his eyes shut as he reached for the flagon and drank from it. He wasn’t fully hard yet, though by appearances alone he was getting there. All the while, Yennefer continued to look out around the tavern, as though she wasn’t stroking his cock in full view of anyone who might be curious enough to look.
Of course Jaskier was curious.
He also wanted to join in.
With a cautious glance, Jaskier swept his eyes around the tavern. No one was watching them. Beside him, Yennefer and Geralt looked like a moderately affectionate couple, and Jaskier just seemed to be the awkward third wheel. It took him a moment to lean forward, rest his chin on his hand like he was in a similarly drunken state as Geralt, and then slid his other hand further along his thigh.
There was a faint grunt and a shudder from Geralt as Jaskier wrapped his fingers just under the head of his cock. Yennefer’s hand was pressed right up against it, her thumbnail digging into the base of his pinky finger. There was a careful rock forward from Geralt’s hips, a slow breath out. The deep breath was enough to coax Jaskier into circling his thumb around the tip of Geralt’s cock, which elicited a faint grunt from him.
‘There we go,’ Yennefer whispered, her voice almost a coo. ‘Easy now. Breathe.’
It wasn’t quite a breath that came from Geralt but a deep groan. His head tilted down so he could press his brow to the back of his hand, his jaw visibly working as he grit his teeth. Jaskier pressed his thumb to the slit of his cock and watched as Geralt trembled; a smirk fluttered across Jaskier’s lips and he looked across at Yennefer. Her gaze matched his own, with a devilish grin flashing over her face.
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
Once again Geralt grunted. Then, after a pause, ‘needs to be slicked up more. Both of your hands are dry.’
‘Uh, excuse me. My hands are as soft as a kitten’s whisker.’
Geralt turned, opened his eyes and leveled him with an even stare. ‘They might be soft but they’re still fuckin’ dry.’
Although Jaskier was about to start his melodramatic gaping that he was known for, but Yennefer studied him again. Her words cut through him and sent his mind to an abrupt halt.
‘Fix it for him, Jaskier.’ Her voice was steady. ‘Go on.’
He shouldn’t.
Jaskier knew he shouldn’t.
They were already playing a risky game here, but it would be easy enough for Geralt to tuck himself further under the table and hide what was happening if need be. Anything more than that would be impossible to hide. But Jaskier had never been one to turn down a challenge, and both Yennefer and Geralt knew that. He liked dancing on that dangerous line. Behaving himself was dull.
‘Fine.’
He gave the tavern another look and, when the coast was clear, he scooted back as far as he could get and ducked his head down. He had barely moved before Geralt’s firm hand was pressed between his shoulders and he was forced lower. The strong presence on his back was the last piece of encouragement Jaskier needed before he removed his hand, pushed Yennefer’s away, and wrapped his lips around the head of Geralt’s cock.
This was an awful idea. Terrible, really. But so were most of the ideas that popped into Jaskier’s head when Yennefer was around. He was constantly trying to one-up her to keep Geralt’s attention- and really, who was sucking his cock right then? Jaskier was clearly winning. Only she was stroking his hair while Geralt was stroking his back, and it was making it all quite difficult to think.
‘Better?’ she asked Geralt, all cloying sweetness.
The grunt that was given in response indicated that it was.
Geralt’s cock was heavy on his tongue, even without yet being fully erect. The familiar salty taste filled his senses, though, and when Yennefer pushed his head down just a little, her nails scratching the back of his skull, he found himself choosing to ignore their setting and instead focus on the task at hand. Yennefer may have had her ways of calming Geralt down, but so did Jaskier. And this, he knew, worked just as good as anything. Jaskier couldn’t cast spells, and chaos did run through his veins, but he knew how to weave magic with his mouth; songs and ballads and poetry could be uttered with words or by his tongue licking up from root to tip.
The position, unfortunately, wasn’t superb. This would have been better under a table, while Geralt polished and sharpened his swords, or stretched out on a bed between his legs. But Jaskier knew how to work with what he had, and the angle at least meant he could move his head with some ease. Occasionally Geralt would let out a low groan, bitten back to avoid being heard, while Yennefer ran her hands through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, she did have nice hands and her fingers felt lovely against his scalp.
‘See? Isn’t he good?’
Jaskier gave a noise that meant to indicate he agreed, but Yennefer tugged at his ear sharply. Lifting his eyes, studying her through his lashes, he tried his best to scowl.
‘I was talking about you, Jaskier, dear. Not to you.’
He would have shot back a snide remark if he didn’t have Geralt’s cock in his mouth. But, unwittingly, he also felt a hot flush burn through him and he found himself not wanting to interrupt what he was doing. Besides, Yennefer’s hand really did feel lovely in his hair.
Above him, Geralt gave another low groan. It was louder than the last one, and it was followed by a small rock of his hips. His cock had been growing thicker in Jaskier’s mouth, each slow drag of his lips up and swirl of his tongue making him harder. It was difficult to keep his jaw loose in this position, and a burn was beginning to develop in his cheeks as he forced head down further in an effort to take him as far as he could.
‘We should…’ Geralt’s voice was rough. Jaskier listened to him breathe, and when he spoke again, it sounded labored. ‘We should go upstairs. Get some privacy.’
Jaskier nodded, cock still in his mouth. As fun as this was, he was developing a cramp in his neck. With a heavy, almost disappointed sigh, Yennefer ran her nails one final time through his hair.
‘But he looks so pretty. Doesn’t he look pretty, Geralt?’
It would be a lie if Jaskier didn’t admit he liked the sound of that. Yennefer’s little compliment, the way Geralt grunted and gave an approving stroke along his back. Even if the focus was meant to be on lowering Geralt’s stress right then, Jaskier still liked being fawned over.
But as much as he liked the two of them touching him, whispering such nice things about him and overall making this moment about him as much as it was for Geralt, Jaskier knew they ought to go somewhere that wouldn’t lead to them being caught. With a huff, he lifted his head up, dared to glance over the edge of the table, and slipped back into a sitting position as though he hadn’t been doing anything untoward. As he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, Geralt tucked his cock back into his pants and did his best to button them back up.
Yennefer took the lead, as Jaskier had expected. She guided them past the crowd, slipping in between each person like she was made of gossamer and silk. It was unlike Geralt, who simply let his shoulders smack into whoever got into his way. Jaskier took up the rear, certain everybody knew what was about to happen, especially when he lashed out, grabbed the back of Geralt’s shirt and tried to not get lost in the throng.
The room he and Geralt had booked was upstairs. As they cleared the bulk of the crowd and managed to slip away without trouble, Jaskier heard Geralt giving Yennefer the room number. Somehow it was only then that it dawned on him, in a strange and peculiar way, what was happening.
The three of them had never been together at the same time. It was an agreement that he and Yennefer both had their time with Geralt, but it was never discussed in depth. It had all been accepted and understood. And, though he was now following the two of them to the room, Jaskier still expected Yennefer to turn around at any point and shoo him away.
She didn’t. She even held the door open for him.
Geralt was already on the bed by the time Jaskier entered, his shirt pulled over his head and his cock out, hard and resting against his belly, from his unbuttoned pants.The door was shut behind Jaskier and he watched Yennefer swan past him, calm as ever. Her cloak was unclasped, slipped off her shoulders and tossed over Jaskier’s lute case. He bristled out of indignation but didn’t say anything.
‘Jaskier.’ Geralt lifted his head off the bed as he kicked off his boots. ‘Are you joining us?’
Yeah, he really didn’t need to be asked twice.
He undressed briskly. Neither Yennefer nor Geralt seemed to have an issue with nudity. While Jaskier didn’t necessarily have an issue with it, either, he didn’t want to be shown up by either of them.
Doublet off, breeches unlaced. He went to shove them down, only to have them catch around his boots. Cursing under his breath, he stumbled to the bed, sat down on it and began pulling at the laces.
‘Are you alright?’
Looking over his shoulder at Yennefer, who had already slipped out of her cloak and dress. Somehow, he managed to avoid looking down immediately.
‘These boots are expensive, I’m not damaging them by ripping them off.’
Jaskier liked hearing Yennefer laugh, even if it was at his own expense. It brightened her features, particularly as she laid back on the bed beside Geralt, who already had his arms tossed above his head, his back stretched upwards in an arch. His pants had worked down his hips a little further as he sighed deeply.
‘Hurry up,’ Yennefer said. ‘He’s getting impatient.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Geralt drawled.
‘Well, I am.’
She threw herself dramatically back, her lithe body posed dramatically on the bed side Geralt. It was done deliberately to make Jaskier look, which he did. Yennefer had a talent for knowing how to position herself and what angles looked best on her. Besides, Jaskier was an artist, and he could appreciate when something, or someone, looked good- Yennefer included.
At last his boots were pulled off, and Jaskier let out a triumph hurrah. The breeches were flung off and at last he found himself joining them on the bed.
‘Took you long enough,’ Yennefer remarked as he turned, kneeling at the foot of the bed.
Jaskier sighed. ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t you ever shut- ‘
Yennefer kissed him. In all fairness, Jaskier should have seen it coming, what, with the way she pushed up on her elbow and slid over to him. But it still took him by surprise for a moment, as his mind reeled with how soft her lips were, how delicately her hand cradled his cheek. Her tongue flicked inside his mouth as she drew him down on top of her, her bare foot sliding up along his calf as she reached out to take hold of Geralt’s hand. It occurred to Jaskier, just as he broke free from the kiss and felt a gentle push from Yennefer to bring him closer to Geralt, that he’d probably just been influenced by the same spell she’d mixed in with the ale.
‘Oh, don’t give me that look,’ she chided, as though reading his mind (which was actually incredibly likely and a little unsettling). ‘It merely lowers inhibitions. Geralt enjoys it.’
‘My inhibitions are plenty low, dear lady.’
‘Then this should be familiar to you.’
Anything else that Jaskier could have said was gone when Geralt kissed him. Kneeling between Yennefer’s legs, he leant over and braced his hand on Geralt’s hip to help keep him upright, his hand gripping tight. A gasp came from him as Yennefer’s fingers wrapped around his cock, her hand much cooler than he’d anticipated. As a shudder ran down his spine, he broke away from Geralt to look at her.
‘What- ‘
A growl came from Geralt, and Jaskier found himself hauled back in for a kiss. He was grabbed and pulled down so he was draped across both of them, partly on his side. He’d always loved that noise Geralt made, that rough near-purr when he was turned on and aching for it. It echoed through Jaskier’s body, his hips stuttering forward as he rutted into Yennefer’s hand, as Geralt growled again and tugged at his hair.
At first, Jaskier didn’t immediately pick up on what was happening. Geralt’s tongue was in his mouth and Yennefer’s hand was around his cock- he didn’t need to be encouraged any further. But, as he took a breath and moaned, something slow began to roll over him, a wave of heat and hunger and desire. It turned around low in his belly, melted down his legs and simmered up his chest. With a deep breath in through his nose, Jaskier shuddered and arched his back, momentarily unable to do anything but let it hit him.
‘Ahh. There it is.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Just let it happen, dear bard.’
Jaskier could feel the growl that came from Geralt. It ricocheted through his body, a deep vibration that ran through each nerve, each cell of his body. A low hiss came from him as he stretched out, like maybe he could feel it even more if he did that, and shivered from top to toe.
‘Easy now, Jaskier. You remember who this was for, right?’
It was a struggle to nod, but he managed to. It took all his effort to focus, to breathe through the strange, intoxicating feeling that he was sinking through molasses.
Geralt. Right. This was for Geralt.
With a huff, he moved onto his knees. One leg, then the other, moving back onto his heels. His cock was hard and curved up towards his belly; a steady throb pulsed through it as he moved back just far enough to watch as Geralt rolled onto his side and slowly clambered on top of Yennefer. The scars that covered his back seemed to ripple with his muscles, and Jaskier found his eyes drawn to them. He’d never noticed how beautiful they were before. He’d never noticed before that they weren’t just white, but instead almost silver. In the dim lighting of the room, he could now see just how it seemed glimmer.
Rationally, Jaskier knew it was just the magic Yennefer had cast that had him thinking like that. Somehow, though, it didn’t matter. He wanted to roll with it, particularly when he watched Geralt’s hips rock back and Yennefer’s legs wrap around his thighs.
‘Huh.’
They were fucking.
That dawned on him slowly. It shouldn’t have- it wasn’t everyday that he found himself kneeling only a few inches away from a couple that were fucking, particularly when said couple involved his best friend and someone who he also begrudgingly considered a friend and part-time nemesis.
Jaskier shook his head. He needed to clear his head, else he’d just sit there. Besides, Geralt was presently fixing him with a glare that told him if he didn't hurry up and do something, he was liable to get knocked off the bed and forced to tend to himself.
'Alright, alright, I'm coming.'
'Evidently you're not,' Yennefer drawled, her voice whisper-thin.
Jaskier hated how his cheeks flushed in that moment. A wave of heat cascaded across his face, from the tips of his ears that turned crimson that rolled down to spread across his chest. Even with the effects of the magic Yennefer had infused him with leaving him with less coherent thought than typical, he still wanted to seem vaguely sophisticated. Yennefer was so… so put together. It was insufferable. Even while Geralt thrust into her and her nails dug into his back she still had the audacity to turn and smile at Jaskier and those damn vibrant eyes of her were staring into him and it was all he could do to not lean over and-
‘Fuck.’
Bowing forward until his forehead pressed to the mattress, Jaskier gave a low groan. His erection pressed incessantly into his belly, a powerful reminder of what he wanted.
He moved onto all fours. With a huff, he crawled forward slightly, laid his hand on Geralt’s hip and pulled himself around. One leg was placed between Geralt and Yennefer’s, the other dragging behind. Everything seemed to move in a hazy, wondrous fog. He could feel the thump of Geralt’s heartbeat in his head, he could taste Yennefer’s arousal on his tongue. With his hands splayed on Geralt’s hips and feeling him rock forward with a steady thump, Jaskier breathed in deep.
It took him a moment to wiggle far enough back on the bed that he could lean down. His hands pressed into Geralt’s ass, urging him forward, coaxing him on, as he bowed his head. At first he just lingered there, the bridge of his nose pressed against Geralt’s balls, breathing them both in. Then, with a groan, he ran his tongue between them, tasting where Geralt’s cock sank into Yennefer’s cunt. There was a stutter of Geralt’s hips and a yelp from Yennefer as he dragged his tongue up. Maybe the angle wasn’t perfect, but he wanted to be part of it. He wanted them to know.
‘Creative little shit, isn’t he?’
Geralt grunted. ‘He’s a bard. What d’you expect?’
Jaskier loved Geralt’s voice when he was in this state. Thick, rough, deep enough to turn around low in his belly. Yennefer’s voice also sounded strained, though hers went wispy and breathless. And though it wasn’t a direct compliment, not by either of them, Jaskier still took it as encouragement. He ran his tongue between them again, right as Geralt pulled out. His cock was slick from Yennefer, the scent strong as he lingered there, hips rutting forward as he longed to sink in himself. He wouldn’t, though; he had a feeling Yennefer wouldn’t be all that pleased about him taking over from Geralt. But he groaned all the same as his cock throbbed.
‘Fucking… fuck.’
As he mumbled to himself, Jaskier took another deep breath. His tongue dragged up, over the back of Geralt’s balls and to his ass. It pressed in with barely a pause, causing Geralt to shudder, his thrusts coming to a pause. While she couldn’t exactly see what was happening, Yennefer seemed to sense what Jaskier was doing. Her foot pressed into his shoulder, and he thought she was going to push him back until she laughed.
‘Give me your hand.’
‘What?’ Jaskier was struggling to understand what she meant.
‘Your hand. Give it to me.’
In a daze, Jaskier did just that. He held his hand out and watched as Yennefer took it, brought her head forward to perch on Geralt’s chin, and then spat directly into his palm. It was disgusting, and Jaskier found himself recoiling and trying not to retch, particularly when Yennefer curled his fingers over it.
‘Fuck him,’ she said, plain as ever. ‘I can tell you want to. He wants it.’
Jaskier continued to stare at her, barely able to breathe with how hard his cock was. It pulsed as she urged him on, her words washing over him like a rush over water. Even without the thrum of Yennefer’s magic surging through his veins, he wanted it. Although Geralt had done little more than rock back and forth half an inch each way during the discussion, his labored breathing and occasional grunt of acknowledgement was enough indication to Jaskier that he wanted them to do something about it, too.
Fine. Jaskier didn’t need to be directed by both of them.
He smeared the saliva over Geralt’s ass. He didn’t think it would be enough (there was a reason why he always carried oil in his bag these days), yet somehow it coated his fingers and Geralt’s hole. He could slip two inside easily, causing Geralt to breathe in sharply. He was tight and warm around Jaskier’s fingers, but it was like he’d been ready for some time. With some amazement, he just watched as his fingers worked Geralt open with far more ease than he’d witnessed before. It was bewitching.
Well, he supposed, it was just that.
‘Just fuck me already,’ Geralt snarled.
‘My, my, someone’s impatient.’
The growl that came from Geralt hit Jaskier low in the belly. As his hips rolled forward, he withdrew his fingers, wrapped them around his cock and lined the tip up. Normally they wouldn’t move this quickly. It didn’t matter how much Geralt insisted he could take it, Jaskier preferred to take his time. Just because he was a witcher and capable of handling a little discomfort didn’t mean Jaskier was going to subject him to more.
But he knew, now, as he sank into Geralt with only Yennefer’s spit to slick him up, he knew he could handle this. Fucking magic.
‘Melitele’s fucking- fuck- ‘
Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hip. He squeezed tight, a choked noise coming from him as he filled him easily. It might not have ever been like this before, but dammit, he could get used to it. With a deep, low moan, Jaskier sank in, inch by inch, until he was pressed flush against the curve of his ass. Swearing again, just under his breath, he bowed his head until his brow rested between Geralt’s shoulders, where he could feel the ripple of his muscles as he balanced himself back over Yennefer.
It was like Jaskier was fucking her. He rolled his hips and thrust back into Geralt, which caused him to rock forward into her. Maybe one day Yennefer would grant him permission to fuck her himself, but he’d take this for now.
Breathing in deeply through his nose, Jaskier took his time settling into a pace. The bed lurched under their combined weight as he started to move. A half-inch back, an inch forward, pelvis barely moving as he felt Geralt’s muscles contract and relax beneath his hands. It was slower than how Geralt had been moving, and not nearly as hard as his thrusts had been, but Jaskier needed a moment to collect himself. He’d never done this before. Sure, he’d fallen into bed with two or three people at a time, but not like this, and definitely not with Geralt.
‘Move, already.’
Apparently Geralt could handle Jaskier taking his time, but Yennefer couldn’t. Jaskier shouldn’t have expected anything else.
He began to move faster, one hand still gripping Geralt’s hip, the other splayed on the bed by Yennefer’s shoulder. Her thin fingers wrapped around it as she arched up beneath Geralt; her knees pressed into Jaskier’s thighs as she attempted to coax him on, forcing him to move at the pace she desired. Harder, more urgent, her nails biting into his wrist as the force of Jaskier’s thrusts urged Geralt on. The muscles in his arms twitched, causing him to sag until his mouth fell to the shell of Geralt’s ear. His tongue traced it, ears nipping at the ridge as Yennefer craned her neck and let his lips smear over her cheek.
Jaskier’s orgasm hit him unexpectedly. It would have been a touch humiliating, being the first to get off, but he didn’t hold it with much weight. His hips stuttered forward as he spilled over, his teeth sinking into the meat of Geralt’s shoulder. He could feel Geralt’s growl, the way his body shuddered as Jaskier filled him with his seed. Maybe later he could prove himself to Yennefer, but he didn’t care right then.
Pulling out, Jaskier immediately replaced his cock with his fingers. The slickness provided by Yennefer’s magic-infused spit had mixed with his semen. Two digits were pressed in as he sought out Geralt’s sweet spot. With a directness that belied his familiarity with Geralt’s body, Jaskier massaged it carefully.
‘Come on, sweetheart. Let yourself go,’ he whispered into Geralt’s ear.
With Yennefer’s hand still around his other wrist, Jaskier worked his fingers over and over. A rasp of air came from Geralt, which was quickly followed by a huff. Each was a telltale sign that he was close. Curling his fingers, Jaskier took his time as he knelt behind Geralt and helped him near his peak. One of Geralt’s hands had disappeared from view, and from the breathless noises coming from Yennefer, Jaskier had a decent idea what he was up to.
For Geralt, though, it didn’t take much longer. Jaskier knew how to twist his fingers, how to plunge them in, how to work that sweet spot of his until he was coming undone. Geralt tightened around his fingers, his muscles flexing as he grew still and snarled into Yennefer’s chest. There was a deep rasp in his breathing as he bucked back a little, a fist sinking into the pillow beneath her head. As his body began to relax, Jaskier withdrew his fingers, kissed the back of Geralt’s neck and began to ease to the side.
It was difficult to give the two of them privacy at this moment. Jaskier didn’t feel entirely welcome to help Yennefer with her orgasm, but he also didn’t have the sense that he should get up and make himself scarce. But as he rolled to the side and laid flat on his back, Yennefer took hold of his hand. Her nails dug into his palm much as she’d done with his wrist, the strength of her grip a little frightening as her legs wrapped tight around Geralt’s hips.
She was loud. Of course she was loud. Jaskier would have been disappointed if she was anything but that. He did have a feeling she was putting it on a little for his benefit, but he didn’t mind all that much. Much like how she continued to grab his hand, it kept him feeling involved. Part of this.
Jaskier closed his eyes. There was still some lingering magic pumping through him. A desire to move, to connect, to go along with whatever was presented to him. As Yennefer mewled next to him and Geralt gave another huff, he turned his hand and let his fingertips drift over Yennefer’s. A small gesture in return, a way to let her know he was there, he was still aware of what was happening; his stillness was merely him grounding himself.
When Geralt rolled off, Jaskier had expected him to plant himself in the middle. He didn’t. He landed on Yennefer’s otherside, sandwiching her between them. That was fine. She still held his hand, her other arm tossed above her head; she was tugging some locks of his long, overgrown hair between her fingers, but he couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or if she thought it was her own. It was oddly pleasant.
‘How… how long does this…’
‘You’ll be fine, dear bard,’ she said, her words drawling together. ‘Once you wake, you’ll be back to your grating self.’
‘Oh, fabulous. I have a show tomorrow night. I can’t be distracted by- ‘
‘If you mention your nipples…’
‘My frigid nipples.’
‘Fuck’s sake. Is he always this chatty after?’
Geralt grunted. ‘Both of you need to shut it.’
Jaskier cracked open an eye at that. Beside him, Yennefer had already turned her head to look over at Geralt, her lips twisted into a wry smirk. With a slight huff, Jaskier tilted onto his side, his hand still entwined with Yennefer’s. His other arm tucked under his head as he curled his legs up to watch the two of them. The palpable, crotchety energy that had been emanating from Geralt earlier had faded, and instead his eyes were shut in a way that could indicate a relaxed calm or the cusp of slumber. Both would be good.
‘He’s always like this,’ Jaskier said, nodding at Geralt. ‘Especially after a job.’
‘Gods, I know,’ Yennefer replied, her head turning back at Jaskier. ‘It’s terrible.’
‘Fuck. Let me sleep.’
It was different when Geralt hadn’t been on a tough contract, but Jaskier had come to expect this of him after a difficult day. Sure, a little bit of pillow talk and a cuddle wouldn’t go astray, but there were other nights for that. This evening had been about letting Geralt release some steam.
Yennefer was wriggling between them. She grabbed the quilt they were all laying on, tugged at it, and threw it over. Geralt huffed and resolutely kept a leg sticking out. He always ran a little hot. Jaskier, meanwhile, was happy to get under, and even found himself shifting a little closer to Yennefer in the process. She leveled him with an even look.
‘Go on. Throw your arm around me, I can see you angling for it.’
‘My favourite witch, I was not angling for anything,’ he said, even as his arm tucked around her. ‘But if you’re inviting me to hold you, I suppose I can debase myself enough to do so.’
‘How kind.’
The room had grown dim. It took Jaskier a moment to realise the candles had been snuffed out, likely due to Yennefer’s spellcasting. He really did wish she’d avoid doing that. Even so, his arm remained around her, his knuckles brushing against Geralt’s side from where he remained close, and he squirmed in a little nearer.
‘Are you going to sleep?’ he asked.
‘I will, if you remain quiet,’ Geralt grumbled.
‘Easy now,’ Jaskier replied. He waited, then nudged Yennefer.
‘Mm-hmm.’ She nodded.
‘Well. Right then.’
Jaskier was too wound up to sleep immediately. He lay there, arm loose around Yennefer, his fingers drifting up and down Geralt’s side. Both their breathing began to even out, with Geralt’s tell-tale snuffle and Yennefer with a strange, yet oddly sweet hum as she burrowed in closer to him. Maybe it was just the fading magic that lingered in his body, but it sounded melodic; there was a rhythm to it, a harmony.
Closing his eyes, he nestled in and let his head rested on Yennefer’s chest. Even if he didn’t let dreams claim him right away, he could appreciate the music the pair provided him.