#Does Eskel know how to play? I think he does - he remembers the kids at Kaer Morhen still but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

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Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair. “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

#the witcher fic #geraskel #geraskel fic #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geraskier #eskralt #sexy gwent #WHEW okay hope you enjoy!#my fic #asks

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advena87 · 4 years

Text

Keira and Lambert's love story because we need one!

Here is Part 2

Keira: You must be Lambert. I've heard so much about you.

Lambert: All bad, I’m assuming.

Keira: Uh, yes.

Triss: And all true.

***

Keira: I love this whole "good witcher/bad witcher" thing you two have going.

Eskel: It's not really a thing. It's more like I'm nice, Lambert is not.

***

Lambert: I would never say this to Keira's face, but she is a wonderful person and really smart.

Geralt: Why wouldn’t you say that to her face?!

***

Lambert: So, did it hurt?

Keira: What?

Lambert: When you fell down from heaven.

Keira: No, I'm fine.

***

Keira: What can I say? I'm seductive and irresponsible.

Lambert: You mean irresistible?

Geralt, sighing in the background: No, you heard that right.

Lambert: Wow, she is perfect.

***

Keira: This guy has been bothering me. And he always disagrees with me.

Lambert: Kill him!

Keira: No.

Lambert, softer: I kill him for you?

Keira: Lambert no. Just listen up, there are three ways to argue: words, proof and-

Lambert: Murder!

Keira, sighing: See? This is why your brothers hate you.

***

Lambert: I don't understand women.

Geralt: Nor do I. But they understand us. Well, maybe not you.

***

Lambert: Yeah, I've been doing a lot of thinking. And, I've come to realize that Keira is the only woman I want to be with.

Geralt: You mean today?

***

Keira: I’m not gonna say it was love at first sight with Lambert. No, it was more like oh, hell-yes-please, I’ll have that. With a helping of right-the-fuck-now on the side.

Triss: Oh my god! I'm not judging you or anything - but, oh my god!

***

Keira: When I was six years old I sprinkled sugar on my head, convinced myself it was pixie dust, wished myself invisible, and walked into the boys' bathroom at school.

Lambert: I fucking love her so much.

Geralt: It starts to make sense now.

***

Keira: It is nice to see you again.

Lambert: Are you talking to my butt?

Keira: Yes.

***

Keira: Lambert is a good man, if you ignore all the things he does on purpose and concentrate on all of the things he does by accident.

Triss: Okay. I’m going to picture Lambert without his personality.

Triss: ...

Triss: OMG, Lambert might be hot.

Keira: I know, right!

***

Triss, speaking of Lambert: Ok, he is king of jerks but he does have a terrific ass.

Keira: Perhaps that's why you're always making him leave.

***

*Lambert and Keira just had sex for the first time*

Lambert: Promise you won't tell Geralt?

Keira: I gonna tell everybody!

***

Triss: Is everything alright? It sounds like you're having sex in here; which I know can't be true due to the fact that you have a homosexual boyfriend.

Keira: Bisexual, Triss, Lambert is BISEXUAL!

Triss, dramatic, without even listening: Lord tells us to love everyone, even the whores and the homosexuals. But it's so hard, it's so hard because they keep doing it, over and over again.

Keita: Did you just call me a whore?

Lambert: Aw, don't be jealous Merigold, someone may one day fuck you too.

***

Lambert, with an arm around Keira: I was lost... but then I met the love of my life.

Everyone: *collectively awes*

Lambert: But he died, and now I'm with Keira.

*a few hours later*

Lambert: Are you STILL ignoring me? Babe I was kidding-

***

Keira, texting Triss: I’m begging Lambert not to do stupid shit and guess what’s doing?

Triss: Are you surprised?

Keira: No.

Keira: Update: He’s doing more stupid shit.

Keira: And somehow it makes me more attracted to him.

Triss: You say that like that’s not the number one thing you’re attracted to.

***

Keira: What was the most inspiring thing I’ve ever said to you?

Lambert: “Don’t be an idiot.” Changed my life.

***

Lambert: Keira isn’t just some bitch, she’s the bitch I love!

Lambert: And don’t tell her I called her a bitch, or she’ll kill me!

***

Lambert: Babe, do the thing.

Keira: *Glares*

Lambert, breathless: Oh my god.

***

Lambert: Keira, there's something else I've been wanting to say, but before I do, I just. I want you to know you don't have to say it back. I know you're not ready and I don't want you to say it just because social convention dictates-

Keira: I love you, too.

Lambert: You said it.

Keira: Oh please, social convention? Not ready? I'm Keira fucking Metz, and I do what I want!

Lambert: I'm so fucking in love with you.

***

Eskel: Lambert, how do I ask someone out?

Lambert: Well, first, you-

Keira: No, don’t ask him. He asked me out in a Kaer Morhen bathroom.

Eskel:

Eskel: And you said yes?

***

Eskel: So, Lambert, what'd you get her? Earrings? A little bracelet?

Lambert: No, I got her way more than a piece of jewelry. I got her a gift that really says something - a diamond engagement ring.

Geralt: As a joke?

Lambert: No, you guys, I'm gonna ask Keira to marry me.

Eskel:

Geralt:

Geralt: As a joke?

***

Eskel: Did you guys hear about Lambert's and Keira's engagement?

Ciri: Yeah, isn't it great!

Geralt: For him. She could do better.

***

Keira: Did you tell anybody we’re engaged?

Lambert: Yes, Keira, I have no self-control and I told all of our friends we’re engaged.

Keira: Okay, no need to be sarcastic.

Lambert: No, seriously, I have no self-control and I told all of our friends we’re engaged.

***

*Lambert and Keira’s wedding, during the marriage vows*

Priest: Now, I’m gonna need you to swear--

Lambert: FUCK.

Priest:

Keira:

Keira: Swear as in promise, you idiot!

Lambert: But I’m your idiot *pointing at wedding ring* FOREVER.

***

*At Lambert and Keira’s wedding*

Vesemir, raising a glass: To my new daughter-in-law, I say this:

Vesemir: You have released me. This monster is yours now.

***

Geralt: How was the honeymoon?

Keira: Lambert got drunk and tried to set our marriage certificate on fire while screaming "good luck trying to return me without the receipt".

***

Lambert: I love her.

Lambert: Do you think she knows I exist?

Eskel: Well, you’re married so I’d hope so.

***

Lambert, at 3 AM: I think cheese is better than cake, because you can have cheesecake, but you can't have cakecheese.

Keira:

Keira: I can’t believe I fucking married you.

***

Lambert: What are you doing?

Keira, standing on the chair: I live here, you know. I can stand wherever I want, thank you very much.

Lambert:

Keira:

Lambert: Where's the rat?

Keira: Under the table.

***

Keira, trying to get Lambert into yoga: It's a symbol for rebirth-

Lambert: I'm not interested in being rebirthed, thank you. I'm still recovering from being birthed the first time.

***

Lambert: WHO THE FUCK ATE MY POPTARTS I’M GOING TO KI-

Keira: I did.

Lambert: -kiss you and tell you how much I love you.

*later*

Keira, hugging Lambert and whispering in his ear: Drink my coffee again and we’re fucking done.

***

Keira: Why is your back all scratched up?

Lambert: *flashes back to chasing a raccoon around the house after Keira specifically said to leave it alone*

Lambert: I'm having an affair.

***

Geralt: When Keira’s mad at you, how do you make her not mad?

Lambert: First, I apologize. Then I get her whatever she wants.

Geralt: Even when she’s wrong?

Lambert: She’s never wrong.

***

Keira: Be safe.

Lambert: DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!

Lambert: … But okay.

***

Keira: I bet I can fit the whole world in my hands!

Lambert: Keira, that's physically impossible.

Keira: *cups his face* Are you sure?

Lambert: * blushing *

Lambert: Stop it woman, I have a reputation.

*later*

Lambert: 911 I'd like to report a robbery.

Lambert: It's my wife, she stole my heart.

911: Sir, I told you to stop calling this number.

***

Vesemir: No Lambert.

Lambert: Yes Lambert.

Eskel: Lambert no.

Lambert: Lambert yes.

Geralt: Prick NO!

Lambert: Prick YES!

Keira *quietly*: Lambert...

Lambert: Lambert no :<

***

Lambert: Keira is finally coming home from her week long Brotherhood of Sorcerers meeting, so you know what I’m getting tonight,

Lambert: Yelled at. I’m gonna get yelled at.

***

Geralt: My goal for tonight is to get Keira drunk enough to tell us embarrassing stories about Lambert.

Keira: Why would I have to be drunk to do that?

***

Lambert: *returns home in the morning, from the contract, after a long absence.*

Keira, grumpy and half sleepy: Either get out of bed or else take your clothes off. I'm not in the mood to compromise.

***

Lambert: Send dudes.

Keira: You mean nudes?

Lambert: That's later. Now I’m in a fight. I need more men.

***

Lambert, holding a big box: If i came home with a child of surprise what would you do?

Keira: What? Why?

Lambert: ...

Keira: Whats in the box?

Lambert:

Keira: Lambert, what is in the fucking box?!

Lambert: I think you know...

Keira: For the fuck’s sake, you moron, do you keep a child in a box? Take it out before it suffocates!

***

Keira: Our daughter keeps getting letters from boys.

Lambert: What? Why?

Keira: Because she’s charming and beautiful.

Lambert: Trace the sender, end his lineage, salt the earth.

Keira: I’m pretty sure he’s 7.

Lambert: Then it should be easy.

***

Keira, teaching their daughter to dance: So remember, the guy always leads.

Lambert: And if his hand slips any lower than your back, call me. I’ll brake it.

***

Lambert: Well, I want it on the record that if the kid was running a gwent game for money under the bleachers, she didn't necessarily get the idea from me.

***

Kid: Dad if I ask you a boy question, will you promise not to be weird?

Lambert: I promise.

Kid: So, there’s this boy-

Lambert: You can do better.

***

Keira: Remember, kid: the only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down.

***

Keira, about their daughter: She can't go in the water this weekend, she's got an ear infection. So no swimming.

Kid: Awwwww, Mom...

Lambert: No, it's OK, princess, we'll have a great weekend. We can go to Disneyland, we can play gwent, go sword fighting, horse riding, whatever you want.

Keira: Lambert, relax. You're starting to sound like a tampon commercial.

***

Lambert: We can't go out tonight. We're getting up early to go to Disneyland.

Keira: "We"?

Lambert: Yeah. I thought maybe you'd want to come with us.

Keira: Lambert, I'm terrified about having one small rodent in my house. Why would I drive 50 miles to see their kingdom?

Here is Part 2

#witcher #witcher 3 #witcher 3 wild hunt #tw3 #wild hunt #lambert #witcher lambert #keira metz #keira x lambert #geralt of rivia #eskel #witcher eskel #vesemir #witcher vesemir #triss merigold #incorrect witcher quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect witcher #kaer morhen shenaningans

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goofgoofdildo · 4 years

Text

I long for a geraskier au in the indeterminate past but vaguely Victorian where Geralt p much grows up in an orphanage in the country and Jaskier is the rich kid from the next property over.

I want Geralt who came into the orphanage and quickly learned that the best thing to do was to ignore jabs and do your thing. This tiny kid whose only friends were the boys he tried to fight back to and they saw a worthy opponent in him. And sure, they share blankets with Lambert and Eskel and if one of them is denied dinner as punishment, they smuggle bread into the dorms, but if Geralt called them friends, Lambert would freak out and maybe also punch him. And Eskel insists that they’re brothers, will correct any other term. Geralt thinks Eskel must have had friends before the orphanage, someone real. Geralt thinks Eskel longs for something beyond, and Geralt wants that, too, expect he’s not sure what the beyond is or if he’d like it.

They get a glimpse of the world sometimes, when Vesemir comes. Vesemir comes by on some Wednesdays and school is gets cancelled then. He teaches boys how to do work around the house, how to tend to animals they keep there. Really, he’s a vet, but he likes teaching the children. Geralt loves learning about the animals, volunteers to take care of them often. At least that way he can keep away from the other children, making fun of his hair or eyes. Vesemir teaches them to fight, too, sees how they quarrel and says they might as well do it properly. Geralt gets strong, so do the other boys, and they still hold each other at night, but they’re getting older. Eskel can’t wait to leave, Geralt knows. He’s hoping to learn, to travel. He’ll go to school, maybe. Geralt doesn’t want to go anywhere. He doesn’t want to go to school or any other institution but he’s got a knack for animals and so Vesemir takes him under his wing, teaches him, promises to take him in once he’s old enough.

And Geralt thinks what will it be like, then. He’s always been alone, but not without his brothers. What will become of him? Geralt is in his teens and realizes he knows very little about himself. He spends as much time as possible with the animals. He’s clipping some chickens’ wings one afternoon, as ordered, when an unfamiliar voice sounds close to him, ‘why would you be doing that?’ And when Geralt looks up, he sees perhaps the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. The boy in front of him is smiling, cheeks rosy, eyes piercing blue. He’s wearing blue clothes that really bring them out. Geralt surprises himself by noticing. He says, ‘I have to clip them so they don’t fly away.’ And the beautiful boy looks him straight in the eye and says, ‘you don’t want them to?’ It’s a genuine question and Geralt can’t answer.

They make friends. They know little about each other’s lives, but they do know some. Geralt learns that Jaskier wants to play music, not become a businessman. He plays to Geralt sometimes, during the night, when they both sneak out and meet in the field. With Jaskier, Geralt learns about himself. He likes music, he likes sounds, enjoys listening to the world. Jaskier is sound, Geralt is the listenig silence. Geralt likes colours, likes patterns. He likes the pattern leaves make on the ceiling when they catch sunlight. He likes the pattern on jaskier’s shirt. He likes soft and warm skin of a hand pressing into his calloused and scarred one. He likes Jaskier, likes that Jaskier calls him friend. They meet as often as they can and share about their dreams, their likes and dislikes. Jaskier is welcome to ask Geralt about a new scar when he gets one. It’s usually just some brawl with the boys. But Geralt doesn’t know if he can ask about the black eye Jaskier shows up with one night. Jaskier says nothing, but he does ask him if he’d ever kissed someone. If it felt weird kissing a girl at the orphanage, since they’re supposed to be like siblings. Geralt doesn’t know and he tells Jaskier this. They’re lying together in the short grass, fields on either side of them and Geralt wonders if he’ll get to hold jaskier’s hand again tonight. ‘I think about kissing you, sometimes,’ Jaskier says. Geralt takes his hand and squeezes hard and then Jaskier is hovering over him and pressing their mouths together. It’s over soon, but Geralt holds onto Jaskier for dear life and they stay pressed together for hours before they part.

And then Jaskier never comes back. Geralt comes out to the field still, but they never meet again. It’s okay, he thinks. He remembers Jaskier fondly and tries to tell himself that he’d been left behind, so as not to worry about what might have happened to the boy. Geralt moves in with Vesemir, into his place in a little village where they take care of animals and, soon, where Geralt takes care of Vesemir until he’s gone. And then it’s just him. Until one night, dark and gloomy, a storm raging outside. He gets a knock at the door. A tall man is outside of the door, holding a breathing sack of blue cloth. ‘The villagers sent me, said you’re the only doctor around,’ he says. Geralt observers the breathing blue sack limp in the man’s arms. ‘I’m a vet,’ he doesn’t know what else to say. It’s true that the doctor passed away recently. ‘Please. You’ll do. My daughter is dying,’ the man’s voice breaks, ‘please.’ And then the man looks up from under his soaked cloak and a pair of blue eyes pierce Geralt, they see him and widen in surprise and recognition. Jaskier.

part 2

#listen let jaskier be a dad ok #the witcher #geraskier #my shitty writing #:)

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afterhoursfic · 3 years

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Hi! I saw your lactation prompt with Yen, and it reminded me of this prompt I sent to another blog. It wasn't their cup of tea and I was wondering if you might like it? Eskel/Vesemir/Geralt/Lambert daddy!kink, breeding!kink, lactation. wolf school used to use a potion to make their witchers lactate for when they recieved a baby child of surprise. The wolves don't believe it, so Vesemir makes a batch and Eskel volunteers to try it. It works, but it also makes him horny AF. He begs to be bred and his papa Vesemir and his brothers are more than willing to help. It's all about those hoe Eskel rights!

Okay I really loved this prompt and not just for the hoe Eskel part, but I hope you enjoy reading it!

He doesn’t know how the conversation started, just that it was late and they were all deep in their cups on Lambert’s shitty moonshine, even Vesemir for once.

It wasn’t as if they cared for the old witcher practices, if they weren’t useful now, and most weren’t, there was no point in knowing it because it only served to open wounds and secrets that should really remain unknown.

Yet when the conversation predictably goes to Geralt’s child of surprise, a topic Lambert enjoys bringing up every chance he gets (he’s just thankful they don’t bring up Diedre), Vesemir buts in with his own stories of the problem of too many babies earned through the law of surprise and no safe way to bring them to Kaer Morhen. Basically, they couldn’t produce milk to sustain them, a fair point, but the school was desperate for recruits and so they made a potion, and each witcher out on the path would take the recipe so if the time ever came, they could lactate to support their new charge.

The story is just a bit too outlandish for him, and given Lambert’s scowl and Geralt’s somewhat mortified glare, no doubt imagining himself lactating to feed Ciri from one side of the continent to the other, he knows they don’t believe it either.

But then Vesemir lists off the ingredients with far too much ease and then the method to make it, adding in that he almost did it for Geralt, but he was just old enough not to need it when Vesemir found him, which frankly earned a snort from him and a ribbing from Lambert who would no doubt use it to his advantage in the future.

Hearing all of it though Eskel can’t help but feel curious. He craves knowledge, always eager to delve into the unknown, at least bookwise, he wasn’t going to gamble his life on a contract, and hearing this he wanted to know the truth, if such a thing could really work.

As Geralt and Lambert scuffled on the other side of the table Eskel turned to Vesemir, a hint of humor in the older witchers eye when he turned to face him and he whispered, almost impossible to hear even to himself.

“Can you make the potion?”

Vesemir just scoffed as he drained his cup slurring out “Of course I could make it, if you listened a minute ago you would know how to make it as well”

Then there was silence as Vesemir refilled his mug, Geralt and Lambert now staring between them and Eskel could swear his face turned bright red in embarrassment as they pieced together the conversation.

All eyes were on him then and Eskel hated it, feeling like he was examined down to the bone and he was just about to stand up and say his goodnight’s, hoping the next morning the others were all too drunk to remember it when Geralt spoke up.

“You want to try the potion” Sure, he did, but having it said so bluntly didn’t exactly help matters and he just nodded once in answer and the room turned silent again as they all thought on it, on what would happen. He looked up when Geralt hummed and he could smell the startings of arousal? Coming off of Geralt as he turned to him again “Can I be there?”

Eskel nodded again before saying “It’s just curiosity, nothing else”

Again, he felt all of their eyes boring into him, before suddenly Lambert leaned back and smacked his hand on the table “Well guess I’ve got to see it too now, plus it’ll be fun to watch you squirm”

He felt himself let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and almost didn’t even hear Vesemir interject “That settles it, we’ll all be there. Tomorrow good?”

He could only nod as he tried to come to terms with what he agreed to, he was going to down some potion that hasn’t been used in decades to make himself lactate for all his brothers to see. With a sigh he straightened his back before finishing his drink, turning his eyes away as he bid them farewell and escaped back to his room to properly work out what the fuck just happened.

When he woke up the next morning, he half hoped it was all some drunken fever dream. In fact, he’d fully talked himself into believing it until he got downstairs to see a grinning Lambert, never a good sign.

He was only proven right as Lambert stepped closer to grab his pec as if it were a women’s tit before quickly stepping away from hitting distance as he said “So how do you feel about growing your own pair of tits? Will be the first you’ve touched in how long?”

He’s somewhat proud of how he manages to catch Lambert unawares and knock him to the floor in retaliation before he quickly escapes back to the kitchen for food, but not before Lambert tells him Vesemir’s already preparing his potion and that it’ll be ready by noon. Great, now he had a deadline, and he won’t be able to focus on anything else until this whole business is over with.

Although the more he thinks about it he finds himself almost excited about it, about how it would feel as his tits filled out, would they even fill out and what it would be like to leak milk, could he convince one of them to suck at his tit so he could feel that too?

He cussed Lambert for putting thoughts in his head and got himself some bread and meats before heading back to his room, and no he didn’t stomp his way there or slam his door in a horny strop, no matter what Lambert says.

It’s gone midday when he ventures out of his room, it’s not like he can stay there forever and it’s better than having one of them come knocking on his door to tell him to drink his lactating potion. Gods he was so fucked.

It didn’t make going down to the great hall to see all three of them sitting there, waiting for him, and feigning polite conversation as if they weren’t just about to watch their brother, brother, lactate.

Thankfully, he wasn’t made to ask for the potion, Vesemir just held it out to him and he quickly snatched it up, ignoring their eyes boring into him as he unstoppered it to get a smell. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t the sweet smell wafting up to him, almost like a mix of honey and milk he’d seen mothers make their kids at night, and he was quick to shove that thought to the side as he quickly downed the potion in one.

He was surprised when the effects weren’t instantaneous like their other potions and for a long while he thought it hadn’t worked and that Vesemir’s memory wasn’t as good as he seemed to think. He was just about to gruffly tell them that the show’s over and head back to meditate, no not strop Lambert, in his room.

At least that’s until he feels an itch? A pain? On the right side of his chest and for a moment he thinks that somehow, he’s having a heart attack, it’s a feeling so unfamiliar to him that he can’t help but lift a hand to work at the ache steadily growing and he’s only faintly aware when he hears Geralt’s breath hitch.

When he looks to the other witcher he sees his eyes are blown wide and fixed to wear he’s working his chest, which just so turns out to be his pec, his pec that’s supposed to be producing milk and Eskel lets out his own breath. He can’t get his shirt off fast enough and when he does, he’s looking down as he strokes and squeezes at his tits, barely able to keep back his moan when he notices that they're bigger, easily a full handful now and he can’t stop himself from playing with them.

He wants to see himself, to force the first bead of milk out but no matter how much he works his tits nothing seems to work. There is a pressure there that he’s desperate to release but he can’t help but get frustrated when all he does do is work himself up the more he pinches and tugs at his nipples until Lambert speaks up.

“Looks like you’ve got a bigger problem than a couple of sore tits, your cock’s trying to say hello” He ignores Lambert’s snicker as he gets hit over the head to look down and sure enough the head of his cock is peeking out of the top of his pants, hard and leaking over his stomach and clothes. Now that he’s seen it it’s all he can focus on, how his cock is so hard it almost hurts, so he moves a hand under his trousers to start jerking off whilst the other keeps pinching at his tits trying to get anything out at this point and he really can’t help his groan. “Fucking hell Vesemir, witchers took this around kids? That’s fucked up, and more fucked up than usual”

He barely registers Lambert getting hit again or Vesemir’s ‘The effects are different for everyone’ because he just aches too much, he feels too empty and too full, and whilst he can gradually feel something building it’s not enough, he needs more, to be filled up properly to drive him over because he thinks he’ll go insane with want before anything happens.

“Fuck me” It was said as a whisper, one Eskel didn’t realize he’d even said until he heard three gasps of air. He couldn’t wait though, desperate for anything to fill him up at this point, to take him over the edge and get him to spill, from where didn’t matter but he just needed it.

He repeated the command even as his eyes shut, head rolled back as he continued working his cock and nipple, growling when it did little to help the empty ache that begged him to be filled, in fact, he’d just moved his hand down past his taint to try and get his fingers into his hole, slick with nothing but pre.

A growl left him when a firm hand grabbed his wrist to stop him and he looked up to see Vesemir, a vial of something in his other hand as he coaxed Eskels hand out of his pants.

“If you want to get fucked then we’re going to do it properly before you hurt yourself” Eskel could only focus on the words ‘we’ and ‘fuck’ and the thought had his hole clenching, just waiting to feel one of them slide their cocks in and Eskel couldn’t help himself from taking his hand back to stroke his cock again before Vesemir batted it away “We can’t fuck you with your clothes on wolf”

That sentence he did register and was practically tearing his clothes off, shivering as the cool air of the room hit him and he didn’t even realize someone was helping him until he was naked and he briefly caught a flash of white hair before a mouth was on his nipple, sucking and biting it whilst Geralt’s hand fondled his other tit, now swollen and too big for a handful but it still didn’t stop Geralt.

Eskel hissed at the feeling of it, at the gentle pressure and the way Geralt was sucking at his tit like he was desperate for something, his milk he realized in the back of his mind, and Eskel felt his knees grow weak as Geralt doubled his efforts, and he would have fallen if it wasn’t for Vesemir’s strong grip on his hips.

He didn’t even recognize when Lambert came up behind him, just felt his head being pulled back and he found himself leaning back against a strong chest and pulled into a messy kiss purely because he didn’t have the brainpower for anything more finessed.

So focused on Lambert’s burning grip around his waist, on the way he licked into his mouth as Geralt moved his mouth to his other tit, a line of spit connecting him whilst he admired the red, swollen nipple he’d been working on until he rushed forward to latch desperately onto his other one. It was all too much and not enough, and he still felt too empty, was ready to whine about and try and work Lambert’s cock into his ass somehow, regardless of prep, until he clenched his hole and found that he was currently being finger fucked by Vesemir and gods how had he missed that.

“In me, please, need one of you in me now” He heard Lambert chuckle against his lips and Vesemir tut, mentioning something about manners, but then Lambert had a hand under his thigh and was lifting it up to make space for Vesemir to step between his legs. “Daddy” He felt Vesemir shudder, could hear Lambert swear in his ear and Geralt groan with a mouth still around his nipple, and the feeling was enough to have Eskel whine because he was so close to getting what he wanted, no needed “Daddy, daddy please breed me, wanna be filled with your pups”

Eskel whined when he felt Geralt pull away, but he didn’t mourn long before he felt Vesemir's hands under his thighs, holding him up and open which left Eskel clinging onto Vesemir’s shoulders as the older witcher quickly fucked his cock into him. He didn’t even get a chance to enjoy finally feeling full, to grind down and feel his cock settle even deeper into him, the perfect place to come and so deep inside of him he’ll have to catch, but all thoughts of that were gone as Vesemir immediately started fucking him, nothing but the sound of their fucking and Eskel’s unbidden moans on every other thrust could be heard.

“That’s it, daddy, just like that, just like-“ He broke off with a cry as Vesemir moved his hips and was now driving against his prostate “Fuck daddy right there, you gonna knock me up? Gods wanna be full of your pups, want you to fuck me till I’m dripping come, daddy, will you do that?”

“I won’t last long with that mouth on you, wolf”

Eskel couldn’t help but moan, trying to fuck himself back on Vesemir’s’ cock despite the tight grip on his thighs letting out chants of ‘yesyesyes’ and ‘harder daddy’ and ‘right there’, reminding Vesemir he has to fuck him deep if he wants him to catch. The comment is always accompanied by a swear from Vesemir before he shifts his legs to reach deeper in him to make his hole tighter around Vesemir’s’ cock until the witcher is panting and Eskel’s pretty sure he’s drooling over Vesemir’s shoulder as he whines at the witcher to come.

It’s when Vesemir leans forward to latch onto one of Eskel’s nipples, sucking at it that Eskel swears he leaks a bit of milk into Vesemir’s mouth, and that fact with Vesemir changing his angle so that his cock stretches even further into him has Eskel coming. His neglected cock twitching as he spills between them and he’s pretty sure he whines out for his daddy again because he feels Vesemir fuck into him once, twice, and on the third time he stays there, grinding deeper into him as the witcher comes with a snarl, fucking him full of come and the realization has Eskel clench around Vesemir’s cock trying to coax as much out as he can.

When he comes to a little bit, he realizes he’s being passed off to Lambert, behind him but still being held up as Vesemir pulls out. Eskel whimpers and tries to cling onto Vesemir with a soft ‘daddy’ to get him to stay, that and the fact that Vesemir’s come is dripping out of him, he can hear it splatter on the stone beneath him, has Eskel feeling hollow and empty again.

Vesemir just offers him a quick kiss before pulling back to say “You wanna get bred don’t you wolf? You’ll have a better chance with three of us, have you swollen by the end of the night if that’s what you want” Eskel’s shudder and muttered swear is answer enough as Vesemir pulls away and his space is quickly filled with Geralt who again latches onto one of his tits.

He’s not left waiting as he feels Lambert slip his cock into him, the sound of their fucking wet and dirty as Lambert whispers a whole manner of dirty things to him, all centered with him on someone’s cock, whilst Geralt worked at his tits, desperate to taste a drop of him as his brother humped his front. Occasionally their cocks bumped together, but Eskel wasn’t fully hard yet, was still recovering from the last one but even then it was the last thing on his mind, right now it was all about getting Lambert to add to the mess Vesemir had left in his hole.

It’s not long before Lamberts biting his neck whilst he grinds his cock deep into him as he comes, and it's then Geralt moans and snarls as he pulls away, pinching one of his nipples between his fingers and he looks down too to watch a bead of milk bead at the tip before Geralt again snarls as he latches on, humping him desperately as he sucks and Eskel lets out a shattered groan when the ache on his tit gives way to pure relief, ecstasy, as he’s finally letting out milk.

He can hear Lambert whine behind him before the witcher's hand comes to work on his other tit to help alleviate the ache whilst Geralt feeds, slapping their brother away with a snarl of mine when Geralt moves to latch onto that one. Eskel’s sure he can come from this, he can feel Lambert’s cock, still inside him, getting hard again and glancing over his prostate whilst Geralt feeds on him.

Only then Geralt chokes as he comes between them and suddenly Eskel is begging ‘In me, Geralt, get your cock in me now’ and he feels Lambert start to pull out, feels the stretch when Geralt tries to shove his cock in just as the head of Lambert’s cock is pulling out, can feel the stretch of both of them in his hole for just a moment before Lambert’s out and Geralt is grinding out the tail end of his orgasm and it’s that which has him shaking through a second orgasm.

The rest of the night is spent in much of the same way, in that even being filled by all three of them isn’t enough, that ache to be filled comes back and he begs to get two of them in his ass at once, but the promise of another time from Vesemir will have to do for now. Although the implied later, of doing this all again, is not lost on Eskel.

They spend hours on the floor by the fire, where he’s left to ride Geralt’s cock who watches with wide eyes and eager hands on his tits as they bounce with each movement, but it doesn’t last long before Lambert kneels beside him to latch onto his other nipple, groaning at the first taste of his milk. Before he can pull either of them into a kiss, where just the thought of tasting his own milk on their tongues has him shiver, Vesemir pulls his head, teasing his cock head at his mouth and fuck why hadn’t Eskel thought of this, letting out a moan when he feels Vesemir’s cock slide deep down his throat.

#afterhours cw lactation #afterhours cw breeding kink #afterhours cw daddy kink #afterhours fic week #any feedback is welcome

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whaticannotshowyou · 3 years

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Don't worry I finally made some progress. So, here's the fluff of the day. Vesemir wishing he could be a grandfather (or raising kids again? Because he's kinda lonely?). Lambert arguing with him about his way of raising the trainees. And Lambert realizing he wants a family of his own.

I’m proud of you!!! 🥰 and this is so good... maybe they are all back from a tough year, Vesemir happily doting on his boys and them all revelling in his pampering. When Lambert says his abundance of smooches and hugs are bordering on too much, Geralt chuckles and comments on the old man being lonely all year, not even having some boring fucks to argue with for coin even if he wanted it. Vesemir nods solemnly and they drop it, the silence suddenly... a lot.

A few days later Lambert catches him and Geralt talking when they think they’re alone, the two brothers gone to bed some time ago and Vesemir and his golden boy staying up for a while longer. He just meant to sneak into the kitchen for another tankard of ale, a snack as well if he was so inclined, but ends up flush against a wall listening to the two. Vesemir talks about being lonely, tired of the empty keep but he knows he can’t exactly leave. He talks about grandchildren, how he even misses the little trainees running around all day causing all kinds of ruckus and mischief, shaving years off of the old wolf’s nigh immortal life each passing day. Geralt even seems interested, happily indulging the fantasy that makes Lambert’s blood boil.

He doesn’t stay hidden for long, his brother calling out for him as he can hear his increased heart rate and Vesemir is suddenly quiet, just looking at his youngest with regret in his eyes. He knows Lambert would be the last he ever wished to tell this, knows how badly the man would take to such an idea after the things he’s been through and yet there he is, had heard all he had to say.

“Old man still not done fucking lives up, eh?” Lambert is raging already, his voice just shy of cracking from the exertion he has to use just to stay composed. He was one of the last litters to graduate the school, maybe even out of all witchers out there, and never got to experience coming back from a long year to a keep sprawling with kids fawning iver him, never had to see their soul leave their bodies for each passing winter. He’s happy for that.

“Lambert, I-“ He doesn’t let his mentor finish before he’s storming away, making sure to knock over the small table just by the door for the hell of it. He doesn’t want to hear his explanation, doesn’t want any part of it. No, he just wants to sleep and wake up thinking it was a dream, a nightmare. It isn’t morning come, Vesemir still giving him regretful looks and averting his gaze.

It takes a wekk before Lambert as much as talks to him, opting for grunts and flat out ignoring the man until he wakes up one night to his door opening. Vesemir sits at the edge of his bed and apologises, quietly brushing his hand against Lambert’s leg as he explains himself.

“I know it’s selfish, pup, and I regret everything from back then. If I could go back I would have-“

“Stopped it?” The silence tells him more than he ever wishes to have known. He’s just about to turn over and go to sleep again as Vesemir shakes his head, staring at his own lap.

“No. No, I wouldn’t... But I would have changed things.” Lambert can respect the honesty, sighing as he stares up into the roof. He hates it, absolutely does. But Vesemir starts talking about missing the kids, not wanting to be alone all year, and brings up old memories; Geralt and Eskel’s childhood together being rascals, Lambert’s peers and their ideas of pranks. That one time and Eskel and him spent a full day trying to coax Lambert down from the roof of the stables. Lambert can’t help but laugh at it, each story as entertaining as the last and he can hear his mentor’s fond voice retelling them, how he smiles and chuckling. It’s as if he remembers eacha nd every kid that soent their youth at Kaer Morhen, has memorised them all like his own sons. He think back to Geralt listening and adding to the stories that night, how even the grumpy white wolf had fun times memorised of the children.

Then something weird hapoens inside of Lambert, his heart aching in a way he rarely felt and he wondered just how it would feel to be like Vesemir, to have children to care for and raise, to see them become grown adults with aspirations and adventures. Would he want grandchildren as well one day?

“They wouldn’t become witchers nowadays, would they?” He surprises himself eith his question but Vesemir just smiles, leans back a little and looks at the roof. Shaking his head no, the old man says the days of old are lost, that there wouldn’t be any trials nor merciless training. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to just let them slack, he confesses, but they wouldn’t become witchers. Just regular humans with a unique childhood. They would all rather around and listen to the wolves as they came back for winter, marvel at their stories and dream of the continent. Perhaps Vesemir would pack his bags and they would descend the mountain in summer, travel to nearby towns and play with the other kids that didn’t fear their eyes. There would be a whole new generation growing up with an understanding for witchers, a new era.

#answer #🐭#i dont know if u intended for me to add myself in here #i really wanted to but-#just imagining Lambert think of me waiting for him after the winter and how badly he wants to raise a child with me #sft

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paintingraves · 4 years

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The Witcher Sing!AU

just watched Sing and I’m feeling pretty inspired so please imagine a Witcher band AU in which they all participate in a singing contest. In the end it all comes down to two very different finalists:

one if a band called The Witchers. we’ve got Yennefer as lead singer, Geralt as lead singer + guitarist, Eskel as drummer, Lambert on the bass, Aiden as cellist and Cohen as keyboardist (or something along those lines.) Geralt knows Regis, who’s a music manager under the big name label Vampire Records (Detlaff owns the company and the label organized this whole thing hoping to find some new talent.)

Now The Witchers are good, they’re better than good, and they know they’re good, but alas they suffered several major setbacks that prevented them from ever breaking through in the industry; including, like, Geralt getting a child surprise, Yennefer and him going through a bad breakup once, and Eskel getting in a very bad car accident (he’s got the scars to show for it.) But today they’re here and they look amazing. They’re going to set fire to that damn stage and get signed under Vampire Records if it kills them.

And the other finalist? Why he’s a strapping, loud and very flamboyant young man who plays, between other things, the lute. He’s got an amazing voice and an amazing presence on stage, and at his disposition a whole variety of instruments that he has mastered - he switches between the lute, the guitar, the piano and even at some point a goddamn hang drum seemingly effortlessly. And it sounds gorgeous, damn it.

Geralt has to admit it - the kid is good, he’s really good. Depending on what Vampire Records are looking for he might just be who they choose. But it doesn’t mean The Witchers won’t go down without a fight. Each of them wants this more than Julian - stage name Jaskier, buttercup - can possibly imagine.

Jaskier does grate on Geralt’s nerves at first but then Eskel, kind Eskel invites him to get a drink after rehearsals and Jaskier beams at them and readily agrees. As time goes by and despite the fact they’re competing against one another they all become fast friends with Jaskier - it’s hard not to, charisma practically oozes off the guy in waves and it feels like he could charm the pants off of anyone if he just smiled at them like they’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He stares at Yen like that.

And Geralt.

And Eskel, who is utterly puzzled by it.

And Lambert, a tad, but then Aiden growls at Jaskier who prompty moves on.

(Seriously, it’s like the bard falls in love with everyone he meets.)

Regis and Detlaff pay them a surprise visit the final day of rehearsal and, à propos of nothing, Regis tells him Emyr var Emreis himself might just be there to see the performance -- just because Detlaff knows him and apparently the emperor made time in his schedule to see this as a way to relax.

Jaskier chokes on his bottle of water and repeats the words the emperor???? the fucking emperor?????! for the next fifteen minutes until Lambert cuffs him on the back of his head.

The last day of competition arrives. The winner gets to sign under Vampire Records and the second place goes home with a 10,000 $ price, which is a fair consolation prize. Geralt is nervous, but they’re all in a good mood, in top shape, Yennefer is gorgeous as ever, they’ve all donned their ‘armor’ and they’re ready to make the audience lose their minds.

Jaskier is silent for once. He’s wearing a shiny blue thing à la Freddie Mercury that sparkles in the light; his hair is carefully tousled and his eyes are lined with knol (artfully done by Yennefer herself, who’s grown quite fond of the little bard.)

Lambert is talking to Aiden in a corner, their hands touching; Geralt is pretty sure that, whether they win or lose, Aiden’s gonna ask for Lambert’s hand in marriage tonight and they’ll party till dawn.

His daughter Ciri is in the audience, of course, with a few friends. She can’t wait to see her dad kill the stage. His heart tightens in his chest. He’ll be the best he can for her.

He doesn’t know if the emperor is actually here, and tells himself he doesn’t really care. they’ve done this hundreds of times. they’re ready as they’ll ever be.

Jaskier goes first, for once. His manic energy fills up the entire stage and he’s got the public eating out the palm of his hand after the first song. Geralt watches him from backstage, mesmerized, just like Yennefer and anyone else looking at Jaskier right now. When his set ends he is sweating, his cheeks flushed, but the audience roars their approval and calling for encores and he bows deeply and flirts as he makes his way out of the stage under a thunder of applause. He’s smiling brightly and Geralt doesn’t say it but he knows Jaskier is thinking the same thing - that was incredible and he’s won.

Doesn’t mean people shall leave this place without remembering performance of The Witchers, because they’re damned good. The audience is going to see two very different genres of music and two very different performances tonight and Jaskier will appeal to some and The Witchers to some others. The public also gets a vote.

It’s the matter of a few minutes to set the stage and then it’s their turn. The atmosphere immediately grows darker, the lights fading out. Eskel and Lambert start the first song, Ignite, with the drums and bass and then Yennefer’s melodious voice gradually joins in like the veil of an angel cast from the shadows. The lyrics are Geralt’s and Eskel’s work (Eskel just has a way with words, must be all that poetry he reads) and talk about resilience and the ability to ‘come back to life’ when one has lost everything.

It’s a heavy subject but the beat is good, Geralt and Yen’s voices powerful, and the whole room is electrified. They have fans here, old and new, who shout at the top of their lungs the lyrics as they sing and Geralt briefly spots Ciri in the crowd, dancing along and grinning up at her father with stars in her eyes.

After that comes Aard, with an incredible solo by Lambert, and then Yrden -- Yennefer’s time to shine. The performance goes very well, and the multiple light and fire effects on stage add to the wow effect of it all.

When they’re almost done the crowd goes absolutely wild, screaming and shouting and applauding. Some are even crying. Yennefer gets close to the edge of the stage and touches a few outstretched hands as she holds that final note, and Geralt grins at Lambert, who nods and they both take off their shirts (Eskel rolls his eyes) and throw them in the public to screams and whistles. Yennefer throws her empty water bottle to a lucky guy who holds it like it’s the holy grail, awed and struck dumb.

They perform one last song, a bit calmer and quieter but no less remarkable, and then finally bow and leave as the curtain closes.

Jaskier grins at them and hands out a new water bottle to Geralt. “That was amazing,” he says sincerely. “I got goosebumps all over, I’m still shaking.”

They can hear the showman telling people to vote while the jury deliberates and, after fifteen good minutes, they are all called back onstage. Geralt puts on another t-shirt. Lambert doesn’t and walks out there with a feral grin.

The tension is high and near unbearable as they wait for the final deliberations.

Finally the presenter calls Regis and Detlaff onstage. Regis holds a single golden enveloppe in his hand. They wave to the crowd, thank them for coming here tonight, say it was difficult to make a choice, yada yada. Yennefer’s biting her lips, Lambert is standing ramrod straight, and Jaskier is flexing his hand.

“And the winner is... Jaskier!”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says aloud, and then, “Wait, what? No!”

And Geralt knew but it still hurts, it feels like he’s failed his band again --

The crowd is wild but Regis holds up a hand. “If you’d let me finish,” he says calmly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Yes, Jaskier, congratulations for winning this competition. You have a lot of potential, and I think everyone here saw that. However...”

“... However,” he continues, “I believe everyone will agree with me here when I say The Witchers more than deserve to win.” There are screams of agreement. “Your performance here tonight was astounding, Geralt, everyone -- you blew us all away. Even the emperor, who yes, dear audience, is with us tonight. Up there.” A stagehand shines a spotlight to where Regis is pointing. There indeed sits emperor Emyr var Emreis, who stands up and waves under a new thunder of applause. He meets Geralt’s eyes and gives a nod, smiling. Geralt feels like he’s dreaming.

“Which is why...” Regis has to raise his voice even with a mic. “Which is why The Witchers will still get signed under ampire Records; and as for you, Jaskier, we offer Oxenfurt Records on a silver platter. I am good friends with the CEO and she has noticed you. Countess de Stael, if you please?

As a gorgeous blond woman rises from the high seats and makes her way down, the world suddenly comes into focus around Geralt.

The noise is deafening. Regis is smiling smugly as if he knew this was how it would go the whole time. Lambert is cheering and hugging Eskel and Cohen is repeating well fuck me on a loop, and then Aiden is grabbing Lambert by the scruff of his neck and bringing him center stage and getting down on one knee in front of him and oh my god.

“Oh my god,” Jaskier echoes, and he’s crying.

It’s all so much.

Geralt might be crying too.

And Ciri.

And Yen, though she’d never admit it.

And everything is fine.

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #band au #jaskier #geralt of rivia #aiden x lambert #yennefer of vengerberg #eskel #lambert #my fic

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headtothecoast · 4 years

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high school au where geralt and jaskier were neighbors in elementary/primary school. vesemir adopted geralt lambert and eskel because he had been friends with their parents and they all died in some sort of accident that vesemir barely survived. he took them all in but as a result geralt was quieter than most young kids. jaskier doesn’t know any of this but when he moves in next to geralt he sees eskel and lambert wrestling while geralt is sitting by himself on the sidelines and goes to talk to him. jaskier talks enough for the both of them and geralt is annoyed but the more he sees jaskier the more glad he is for not feeling so alone.

at some point in elementary school jaskiers family moves away and he goes to tell geralt crying (at this point definitely friends with lambert and eskel but in that way where if siblings tease your friend you stand up to them) and geralt can’t understand him through tears so he hugs him and jaskier cries harder because geralt doesn’t say much but he does say “i’ll miss you” and jaskier will miss his best friend who would always sit with him at lunch and go along with his monster hunting games at recess even if he tried to sing to all the monsters while geralt would occasionally point out monsters weren’t very nice and geralt will miss having someone who didn’t need him to talk constantly because his words seemed to have left with his parents who he doesn’t remember well but now he just can’t seem to voice things but jaskier never cared and always talked about so many things and jaskier asks his parents if geralt can spend the night one last time before they move and they do and in the morning geralt cries when jaskier leaves with his parents but they promise to write each other

jaskier of course sends dozens of letters constantly all filled with the new people he’s meeting and the classes and who he likes and who he doesn’t and that he misses geralt but geralts letters don’t have much in them because once jaskier leaves he finds no one in class really wanted to talk to the nice kids quiet and kinda scary looking friend so he’s mostly by himself. his letters are sparse in that he mostly talks about different projects that he lambert and eskel get up to, like building a treehouse or vesemir getting them wooden swords that they practice fighting with in the back yard and maybe geralt writes about all the books he reads about wildlife and fauna because he loves the outdoors but something happens to jaskier and he doesn’t write geralt back for a week and he doesn’t think anything of it but a week turns to months and geralt is sad, sad that his only friend stopped writing him wonders if he said something in a letter or they were too boring or maybe jaskier just got with the program like the rest of geralts classmates and decided he wasn’t worth talking to anymore

the year before geralt starts high school vesemir decides to move the boys to his uncles ranch instead of selling it when he passes. there geralt meets roach and learns the ways of taking care of everything on the ranch and vesemir homeschools then for a year so they can get acclimated to life on the ranch and the work necessary to take care of animals. when geralt starts high school he assumes it’ll be like his last school experience and so he sorta keeps his head down but some kid in the hallway bumps into him and when he looks up it’s jaskier and jaskiers not bumping into him he’s hugging him and saying “oh my god geralt it is you it’s been so long i didn’t think i’d see you again” and geralt is confused and people are staring but jaskier doesn’t seem to care and geralt hugs him back and jaskier asks if he can come to his place after school because he has so many things to tell him and geralt agrees because vesemir had always like jaskier who had been a cheery sort of loud in a very grief filled house. so when vesemir comes to pick them all up jaskier has hugged lambert and eskel and all of the other students are completely baffled by the school’s lead band and theater nerd hugging these really tall and quiet and intimidating new kids but vesemir lets him in the car and it’s a little awkward because he remembers geralt being broken up that he stopped writing him and tells jaskier as much and jaskier is crying because he’s so sorry but his parents got really strict when the moved (they liked being in-the-know in parent circles and wanted their kid to be worth bragging about) so they signed jaskier up for piano and guitar and violin and it was so many hours of playing that his fingers hurt so bad by the end of the day he couldn’t write but his parents didn’t let up so jaskier tucked the letters away and geralt stopped writing too so he thought maybe geralt forgot about him and he’s sitting in the backseat of his friends dads car crying his eyes out and geralt wraps and arm around him and vesemir’s heart breaks for the kid and suddenly geralt has the high school experience he never thought he would because jaskier knows everyone (isn’t liked by everyone because he’s constantly first chair and lead in school plays/musicals - take that valdo marx) but now the kids that had bullied him in middle school see that he has three giant protectors and all of jaskiers friends quickly realize how absolutely soft the brothers are and sort of adopt them and the mascots of the music department. and maybe the brothers sign up for backstage help for jaskiers musicals because they’re good at constructing things like sets or strong enough to pull ropes when jaskier plays peter pan but he also talks them into going out for sports and they turn out to be amazing at wrestling and fencing or something.

and with all the dances that take place in high school jaskier of course goes to all of them and makes sure geralt and lambert and eskel go to and they have a great time because lambert and eskel are really good at dancing and geralt smiles while jaskier absolutely nails every note even as his voice gets hoarse by the end of the night (but also keeps his eye out for people spiking jaskier’s drink or girls drinks because he heard someone in the locker room say something and so he kinda becomes the protector at school dances who makes sure that people who say no still get to have a good time) but when prom rolls around geralt is starting to realize that he likes jaskier as more than just a friend and jaskier came out to him as bi like 6 months into freshman year and knows that jaskier dated like, more than half their grade in middle school so geralt thinks that jaskier won’t want them to all go as a group to prom because he’ll actually want a date so he resigns himself to just not going because he wouldn’t want to watch jaskier dancing with someone all night.

but then jaskier gets together all of the letters that geralt wrote to him in elementary school and wraps them up and leaves them on geralts desk and geralt reads through them and recognizes them and had thought jaskier joking when he said he kept them (geralt kept his of course but jaskier looses things constantly) and when geralt gets to the end of the stack of letters he sees one he doesn’t recognize because that’s not his handwriting it’s jaskier’s asking him to be his date to prom but also his boyfriend and jaskier was grateful he did this in a music room during lunch and not in the lunch room because geralt is crying but doesn’t realize it and he’s hugging jaskier saying yes of course i’ll go with you and they go to prom and jaskier looks gorgeous and geralt looks handsome and it goes great but jaskier maybe has one too many spiked fruit punches and tells geralt he loves him and geralt is blown away that this gorgeous and kind human being loves him and just kisses jaskier like an earthquake. of course he loves jaskier - more than anyone.

so jaskier gets accepted to juilliard or something for college and geralt isn’t exactly sure what he wants to do so he follows jaskier and gets a job taking care of horses while jaskier completes college and they live together and geralt helps pay for jaskiers tuition and they make it work and jaskier forms a theater company or joins one or something maybe writes a hit musical i don’t know but he’s famous and geralt travels with him to all his shows (and i wasn’t sure how to write yennifer into this) but she’s one of jaskier’s troupe who is sarcastic and geralt likes her because she’s talented and jaskier is jealous but she becomes geralts first friend that stays that isn’t jaskier and of course jaskier stops being jealous when yennifer admits to dating this cute nurse back home (tissia) and evening less jealous when geralt finally proposes (after much hounding from yen) and with jaskiers money they buy a home together and geralt takes care of animals and runs essentially an animal sanctuary while jaskier travels around performing or writing but they’re happy and geralt couldn’t have asked for more but yennifer and tissia decide they want to have a daughter and name her ciri and declare them both her uncles, if not sort of dads because she’ll really have like 4 parents given how often she stays with geralt when yen and jaskier perform shows around the world and they offer to watch he when yen and tissia have date night so they’re more like a really large extended family and yen and tissia don’t really have family on their side so when christmas rolls around and vesemir and lambert and eskel meet yen and tissia and ciri it’s a huge fucking circus but geralt and jaskier have more than enough space and geralt can’t believe how lucky he is but then neither can jaskier

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher

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