#blacksmith!eskel

[smolgloves]

The Trial

Summary: Freya is reunited with her cousin, but must face a trial for breaking the rules

Tw: mentions of death, mentions of slavery, transphobia/enbyphobia, deadnaming

Deep underground, unbeknownst to the people of Skaars Hollow, was a colony of borrowers. Tunnels were painstakingly carved by the tiny people to keep such a large group hidden from the larger beings. Uncle Eskel said it was better that way, but after sitting in the empty room with only four dirt walls to keep her trapped, Freya started to wonder if this way was truly keeping her people safe or if this was merely a way to keep them sheltered.

The door creaked open and a figure not much taller than Freya slipped in. “I can't stay here long but you need to tell me everything.”

“Kes!” Freya jumped up from the bedroll and practically tackled her cousin into a hug. His arms wrapped around her and she was fully embraced in the familiar scent of smoke and ash that clung to him. “I was worried sick about you.” He said, trying to sound stern but the crack in his voice gave himself away.

“I know, I'm sorry.” Freya pulled away from Kes to meet his gray eyes. Soot smeared his round cheeks; when Freya slipped out of the border, he was still in the forge. Gods, he must have been searching for her since last night! “I thought I could get more supplies beyond the border.”

“I figured that much,” Kes sighed, taking Freya by the hand and sitting down on the bedroll with her. “But I need to know if you were spotted by that group that caused havoc in Huskin's Tavern.”

Freya tucked her knees to her chest, despite being close to Kes, she still struggled to meet his worrisome gaze. Unlike her, Kes was a more cautious and secluded borrower who didn't care to leave the safety of the walls. To him, there was uncertainty when one ventured out to larger being territory, and he refused to be put in a position where he might get caught. So he opted to be the colony's blacksmith, while Freya looked for supplies for him. They made a pretty good team, but that still didn't make telling Kes what happened any easier. “I got caught last night by that group.”

“By the gods, are you alright?!” Kes grabbed onto her shoulders and began studying her for any signs of injuries. “One of the scouts said you were covered in blood! Which one hurt you?!”

“I'm fine, really!” Freya shoved her cousin away, but flashed a smile. “It takes more than a few travelers to knock me down.”

“I'm glad this experience hasn't shaken your confidence, but this is serious.” He sighed. “What happened out there?”

“They didn't want me to head back home alone, and agreed to escort me back.” Freya avoided eye contact as she uttered those words, yet the horror that radiated off of him was palpable. “They were already planning on coming to town for some business.”

“What kind of business?”

“They were going after the goblins that terrorize the outskirts of the town and their leader wants to investigate the plague.” Freya took a shaky breath, fearing Kes’ reaction. “I think they're going to help us.”

Kes stared at her like she was suddenly growing horns and a tail. “Help us or help the real townsfolk?”

“All of us, Kes!” She exclaimed. “They seem like… good people.”

“Large ones don't help borrowers.” He clenched his jaw. “And if they do, it's never for the right reasons.”

Freya was no stranger when Kes acted this way, she knew what he had been through and thirteen years later, he still was traumatized by the raid of their colony. Normally, Freya would leave him alone to mourn his losses, but in a few hours, Freya would have to stand before the elders and face a trial that may not stand in her favor. Her only hope was to persuade Kes into seeing her point of view. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I don't know how else to explain it, but they're different.” Freya sighed softly, thinking about how Tav treated her, and wondered of their fate. Did they survive or were they already dead? Freya had to push those thoughts out of her head, Tav had to be fine. If they haven't fallen to the illithid parasite, then surely they wouldn't fall to Huskin! “Their leader speaks with such passion and kindness.”

Kes hastily shushed her. “You know better than to talk like that!”

“I'm just thinking about our colony!” Freya retorted. “We've been hurt by the plague too, and they have a lead on how to end it, maybe if we asked-!”

“You're going to get exiled or executed If you keep talking like this!” Kes hissed out, a fierce glare met locked onto her before fading away. He sighed. “Look, maybe there are nice large ones out there, but you need to play this smart. Tell them you were scared, be vague, do that and your punishment might not be so severe. Please, I can't lose you, Freya.”

“Okay.” Freya nodded, there was no getting through to him. Pride and fear kept a lot of borrowers in line, it was usually a life saver but Freya feared that would soon be their downfall if the plague continued to spread.

~~~~

Freya tugged at the sleeves of her green blouse, the questions had been relentless since the trial began, it didn't help when the entire colony had gathered around to listen to her brush with danger. She told them the story about getting caught by Astarion, meeting Tav and the rest of the group, and having to stay until morning; she of course, left out certain details that might make the colony panic more, but the main story was the truth.

“And they just let you go?” Asked uncle Eskel.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Uncle Eskel's stone gray eyes bore into Freya. He was definitely the spitting Image of Kes, but where her cousin showed more kindness and sympathy when he looked at Freya, uncle Eskel only showed a stern disapproval. The two quarreled for a long time, as to why, that remained a mystery. Whatever the reason, Freya knew she wouldn't get any pardons for simply being the elder's niece.

“They… didn't see a use in keeping me.” Freya sighed. “The group had better things to do than keep a borrower around.”

Murmurs spread around the room speculating how a borrower would simply be let go. Then one elder named Whitcomb broke through the crowd. “Preposterous, a larger being wouldn't let a borrower go!” He shook a bony fist in the air. “We are too valuable on the black market.”

“Ta- The halfling showed empathy when they met me.” Quizzical looks painted the faces of the five elders, none of them could wrap their heads around a larger one being nice to a borrower. “Their priority was to figure out what was causing the plague in Skaars Hollow, they had no time to… sell me off.”

“Why are they curious about the plague?” The elder named Petrona asked. She was a woman in her forties, the youngest elder of the five. The only reason she was appointed was because her mother- the previous elder, had gotten sick from the very plague and was likely to die.

“They want to cure the town of this ailment.” Freya glanced over to Kes, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared at her with wide eyes. She wished she could read his mind right now, was he mentally screaming at her for speaking too much or just filled with general anxiety?

“So Freya got lucky and was spared by kind travelers?” The elder known as Veron said, running his fingers through his graying beard. Things seemed to be going Freya's way, the hammering in her chest was slowly easing up.

But Mirable cleared her throat and stood up. “I'd like to remind the council that Freya lingered in the tavern after she was free.” Freya cursed under her breath, of course Mirable would rat her out!

“Is this true, Freya?” Uncle Eskel's voice cut through like a blade, ready to pierce her heart if she even utters the wrong words.

“I did,” She let out a heavy sigh. “I wanted to know more about the plague to see if I could learn anything that might help us.”

For a moment, the crowd seemed to approve of Freya's logic. That maybe the young borrower was only risking herself for the sake of her people, surely she shouldn't be punished so severely for thinking about the fate of her people, right? But Mirable only glared at Freya with dagger-like eyes. “Oh? If that's the case then explain why you attacked the one who tried to kill the Gith?”

Gasps dispersed around the room, Kes looked as though he might rip out his own dark hair. If the ground decided to open up below Freya's feet, she would gladly let herself be swallowed up to avoid this trial.

“Answer the question, Freya.” Uncle Eskel snapped.

“She was aiding in learning more about this plague.” It took everything in Freya to keep her voice from trembling. “I wanted to do my part in aiding them to that.”

“Borrowers are forbidden to aid larger beings no matter the reason!” Her uncle shouted. “You know this, yet you defied the very law that has kept our people safe!”

“Standing back and watching them die could only hurt our people!” Freya retorted.

“Father…” Kes cleared his throat, his hands shook more than Freya did. “Perhaps, Freya's intentions should be… considered over her nativity?”

“Silence Kan… Kestrel!” Uncle Eskel shot a piercing glare at his child. “All of Freya's actions will be judged!”

Nails dug into Freya's clenched fists, even ten years after Kes began his transition, Uncle Eskel's efforts to use his child's true name was lacking. Years of arguing with him wore him down enough to use the correct name to keep the house civil, yet they all knew uncle wasn't keen on the change. Anger boiling, Freya was ready to lash out at her uncle, but her eyes glanced over to her older cousin, who shook his head at her. She didn't need to read minds to know Kes was telling her not to start this now, and as much as she hated it, she knew he was right, the correction can wait until after she is given a penalty.

Petrona glanced over at uncle Eskel. “I hate to say it, but Kes has a point. If the travelers mean to seek aid for this plague then surely Freya should meet a less severe punishment?”

Loza, the other female elder scoffed. “Even if the large ones aid this town, we will not obtain such gratification.”

“That's not true!” Freya blurted out, all eyes fell on her now. Her throat threatened to close in an attempt to seal her true words from leaving her lips, but the searing glares from the elders kept her from freezing up. She had to speak up, to vouch for Tav and their companions. “I mean… their leader seemed keen on helping everyone affected by the plague. Perhaps, aid could even… reach us.”

The collective gasp wasn't at all surprising but it was disheartening, the quiet murmurs became full blown clamors, people spoke of theories of what the group did to Freya to make her say such a blasphemous thing.

“Are you suggesting that we reveal ourselves to those travelers just because a few of our own are ill?” Whitcomb bellowed out.

“Absolutely not!” Her breathing became more ragged, her mind racking for ideas that could win the colony over. “But maybe… I could… ask for the assistance myself.”

“No!” Kes shouted out, terror flickered in his eyes. His fear was reasonable, but Freya only gave him an apologetic look before continuing. “I heard they're going to investigate the cave south of here. If I go there, I could get the answers and hopefully, a cure for this plague. I would be the only borrower they interact with during the whole journey.”

“Have you gone mad, girl?! You're asking to befriend the very beings that have oppressed our people!” Fury was painted on uncle Eskels's face; there was no doubt he wanted to do nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs for even hearing such a suggesting, but he maintained a professional decorum. “Have you forgotten the last time a borrower befriended a large one?” He asked in an eerily calm tone.

“Of course I haven't.” Freya's jaw clenched, how dare her uncle question her loyalty, she was not like the boy from thirteen years ago. The boy who befriended the larger being only to be betrayed and hunted down along with the rest of her colony for a quick profit. The very raid that took the lives of her parents, and the lives of Kes’ mother and younger brother. She wasn't stupid, she knew what larger beings were capable of, but if the fate of her colony rests in the hands of Tav, then she must do everything she can to make sure her people survive, even if such methods were… unconventional.

“I worry about Freya's alliance.” Mirable's cold voice silenced the crowd. “There was another questionable character amongst the travelers. The pale elf had a bounty on him, Huskin and his grunts wanted him, and the way he fought... He used more than blades to slaughter his enemies, he also tore into the neck of one of the cooks. I've only heard of vampires doing such a thing.” The scout studied Freya for a moment, she saw the guilt written on her. “I'm right, aren't I?”

She couldn't face anyone, not Mirable, not the elders, not even Kestrel. There was no good way to explain why Tav kept a vampire around, Freya couldn't even fully understand why. Her silence was all the confirmation the crowd needed.

“By the gods!” Uncle Eskel shouted. “You would have us put our trust in a group who lets a vampire roam free?!”

“One that walks in the sun too!” Veron added.

“Did he charm you?” Petrona gasped.

“Of course not!” Freya scrunched her nose. “The halfling is the one who leads the charge and he listens to them.”

“A vampire will always listen to their instincts.” Whitcomb warned. “And a colony of borrowers will satisfy their hunger for a bit.”

The panic in the crowd grew like a pot of water boiling over. Youngsters mentioned second hand stories about vampires, while the elderly feared they must uproot their lives and leave Skaars Hollow, and mothers cried out for the safety of their children. It was chaos that couldn't be contained.

“You have put our colony in danger with your recklessness!” Uncle Eskel shouted.

“Everything I have ever done was for the colony!” She snapped back.

“It was for your own selfish desire to seek out adventure, like your father!” Her uncle screamed out, his voice silenced the crowd, they watched in bated breath realizing this was no longer just a trial of a borrower who broke the rules, but a family affair being put on display. When Freya didn't retort back, uncle Eskel cleared his throat of all the rage he had pented up. “I have given you a pass due to it being the very thing that saved you from the raid, but now I see my leniency has put us at risk.”

Freya tensed up. “What are you saying?”

Uncle Eskel took a deep breath. “As of tonight, you are no longer welcome as a member of our colony. You will be escorted beyond the border where you will continue your exile alone.”

Yo-you can't do this!” Freya shrieked, her eyes locked onto her older cousin's, who shared the same look of fear as her. Neither of them should be surprised yet they were gutted by the verdict no less!

“Are we sure we should let her go freely,” Loza scowled. “Where she could always return with… unwanted guests.”

“I will not sentence the daughter of my sister to be executed.” While still stern, a glimpse of pity shone in his eyes. It was easier to pretend her uncle hated her, but deep down, Freya knew he had a soft spot for her just for looking like her mother.

“There must be another way, father!” Kes pleaded, tears pricked his eyes. “What if we forbade her from leaving the walls.”

“No!” Uncle Eskel bellowed. “She will continue to sneak out and cause trouble!” His cold glare fell onto his niece. “If you won't abide by the rules that kept your ancestors alive, then you can live on your own where your actions will only get yourself killed!”

“All I did was try to help!” There was no holding back tears anymore, she looked back to Kes, meeting his eyes one last time before Mirable pushed Freya along to send her out in the wilderness.

A/N: Hey, I just wanted to take a moment and say this was my first time writing transphobia in a story and while I took time to consult with people about the topic before hand, I will still admit that this is a topic that I wanted to tread carefully on. I didn't want to shoehorn the topic in but also not downplay the affects of misgendering/deadnaming. If anyone has more advice on how to write such a delicate topic. Let me know! Also Kes is trans-masc and would use he/they pronouns, I'm not quite sure how to write a character with multiple pronouns. So if anyone has any tips on that, feel free to let me know. Thank you for your support!

[curlygirlybitchachos]

Witcher Reader

Jaskier: just a question gentlemen. Because I'm curious. What would you do if you were not a Witcher?

Eskel: farm. Just let me have some peace...

Lambert: I would have an inn. Maybe a blacksmith.

Geralt: hm... *looks at Ciri* stay at home dad.

Y/n: well, one summer I learned how to pole dance. So I think I will stick with that.

*everybody speechless*

Jaskier: I knew that you are a slut. I like you.

[witchaphe]

(used this template and this oc creator)

(if I could have been bothered I would have edited a rainbow horse for Jaskier and called it Pegasus but I am lazy so nyeh)

I've got the Stardew Valley brainrot and now all I can think about it Stardew/Witcher au Jaskier is the new "farmer" that lives in a cozy house full of musical instruments. His farm is covered in dandelions come Spring.

Geralt owns a horse ranch in the mountains and has both a dog and a horse named Roach. Yennefer is his ex wife she owns a potions shop.

Eskel is the blacksmith that always gets excited about the new ores he's brought.

Lambert (and Aiden) own the bar tavern and you can see that there is a back room full of bombs?? Lamberts favourite gifts are beer AND bombs.

Vesemir is the one running the adventurers guild.

[justhereforeskel]

Blacksmith Eskel, my beloved 💜

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Geralt x Eskel | 14.7k  || header by the loveliest @petrificustotaluss​ <3

Geralt is in the middle of bottling a pain elixir for Mildred down the road when there's a frantic knock at his door. Frowning in the direction of the sound, he corks the bottle and rises from his seat, crossing to open the door. A young girl - Geralt recognizes her as the blacksmith's apprentice - is bent over, hands on her knees, and panting on his doorstep. She looks worried and when Geralt crouches down she looks up at him with big, glossy eyes.

"He's hurt," she pants and Geralt isn't sure who she's referring to. It's a farming village, someone is always hurt.

"Who," he asks gently and Gretka just looks at him.

"Eskel," she says and it feels like a dagger being plunged through Geralt's heart. It takes everything in him to keep his breathing even as he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"Where is he?" he asks, "Is he okay?"

"They're bringing him here. The boys from the farm."

"Okay," he says gently, still trying to slow the hammering of his heart, "why don't you run along home and I'll go meet them."

Gretka nods and gives Geralt one last pleading look before straightening up and pulling away. She only takes a couple of steps before turning back to him, fidgeting with the hem of her apron.

"You'll take good care of him, right?"

"Of course."

Geralt doesn't know what he can do. Without knowing what happened, he can't promise anything, but he will do the best he can. Eskel is a friend and one of the kindest people Geralt knows, he has to be able to do something.

When Gretka is out of sight, Geralt pushes himself up on shaky legs, takes a deep breath, and makes his way out of the garden and down the path to meet up with the entourage. He doesn't make it far before he spots them, John the farmer and his three sons, and they've got Eskel between them on a stretcher. Geralt tries not to let it bother him, but even seeing him from a distance makes his chest tight.

As soon as the men reach him, everything moves far too quickly. Geralt is giving them directions and they move surprisingly fast for carrying a man as large as Eskel between them. Eskel himself is awake and Geralt does his best to give him a once-over on the way back to his hut. Immediately, he sees burn marks in his clothes, holes of varying sizes where the fabric was singed and he fears to see the skin beneath. A good portion of one trouser leg has been lost already and Eskel's leg is red and blotchy. Burns, at least, he knows how to deal with; he only hopes it's nothing more serious than that.

When they reach the hut, Geralt hurries in ahead of the others, seeking out a tonic for pain relief. He'd rather Eskel was unconscious for all of it, but that will have to come later; he still needs to talk to him about his injuries. So for now a simple painkiller will have to do. He finds one that's not too strong and hopes it will be strong enough.

He directs the men to lay Eskel on his bed and he hurries into the bedroom after them, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He thanks the men and sends them on their way. He'll have to remember to repay them somehow, but he has other things to worry about now.

Eskel groans where he lies, and Geralt reaches out, his hand hovering just above Eskel's thigh. He doesn't dare touch him because he doesn't know how bad it is, but he wants to comfort him somehow.

"Hey," he says gently, "I'm here. Tell me what happened?"

"Fuckin' goat," Eskel mumbles and Geralt immediately scans his body for signs of bruising or puncture wounds. "Was making coal and she came up and tried to get right into the fire pit, had to pull her out of the way. Dog next door spotted her and started barking-" he groans and shifts in place, wincing, "-spooked her and when she pulled away I lost my footing-"

"Shit," Geralt mutters. He can imagine well enough what happened next. Eskel huffs a laugh, immediately followed by another groan of pain. "Shh, just relax. Where is it worst?"

"I think my leg?" Eskel says, "but my arm's not great either." He sounds much more concerned about the latter and Geralt realizes with a start that it's his left arm, his dominant arm that's worse for wear. Eskel moves to demonstrate and Geralt presses a hand to his chest instinctively.

"It's okay," he says quickly before realizing he's now leaning right over him. "I'll look you over." He only belatedly realizes he's still holding the bottle of pain tonic in his other hand and he pauses. "Sorry, I should have- It's easier for me if you're unconscious when I look you over, but I need to undress you first." He can feel his cheeks flush already and he hates it, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it.

"Do what you gotta, doesn't bother me any."

"If you'd rather be awake I can give you this for the pain-"

"Geralt," Eskel interrupts, "you're not some stranger passing through town, I trust you."

Oh. Geralt's heart clenches and it takes him far too long to recover from that.

"Okay," he says softly, "wait here-" he realizes what he's saying at once and stops, shutting his eyes and dropping his chin. "I'll be right back with the sedative."

Geralt slips from the room and back into his kitchen, pressing his hands to the table and dropping his head. He's an idiot. Eskel is injured - badly - and here he is barely keeping his shit together. He gives himself exactly ten seconds to sulk and panic a little bit about having Eskel in his home and then he replaces the painkiller on the shelf and pulls down a bottle of sedative.

He measures it out carefully, though with shaky hands, and pours it into a cup that will be easier to drink from. He takes it into the bedroom and sets it on the side table, pulling up a stool for himself so he doesn't jostle Eskel any more than is necessary.

"It's fast acting," he explains, "you'll be asleep in a matter of minutes."

"For how long?"

"A couple of hours? Unless your body needs the sleep, then maybe longer." Eskel nods lightly and reaches up automatically when Geralt lifts the cup off the side table. "Hey," he whispers, "it's okay, let me."

He presses the cup to Eskel's lips, tipping it up so he can drink it. He hates seeing him like this, helpless and obviously in a great amount of pain, but he tells himself it will be fine. Eskel will sleep soon and Geralt can do what he can for the wounds.

Almost as soon as he's finished drinking, Eskel's eyelids flutter and he lets them drop shut. Geralt waits until he hears the sound of his breath evening out, then finally sets the cup down. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding it until he lets go. His gaze lands on Eskel again, looking over him, and he swallows hard.

Pushing all his other feelings aside, Geralt gets to work. He starts with the belt around Eskel's waist, undoing it and gently pulling it out from under him to set it aside. Next comes the apron - slightly more difficult because Geralt has to empty the pockets first before he can turn him over to untie it, and Eskel's pockets are full of shit. Everything from nails to rags to dried fruit for the goat winds up in a pile on the end of the bed and Geralt smiles to himself as he thinks about it, imagines Eskel feeding treats to lil' bleater even when she's a pest.

Once he's got the apron set aside, Geralt falters. Shirt or trousers next and he can't bring himself to do either. But he's a professional, he can do this. He's done it dozens of times before. But stripping Eskel out of his clothes is not the same as the alderman or the seamstress down the road. Geralt swallows hard and resigns himself to a not insignificant amount of embarrassment as he leans over to unbutton Eskel's shirt.

The buttons end halfway down his chest and thick dark hair appears where his shirt now sits open. Geralt pretends not to notice and reaches down to unbutton Eskel's trousers, making it as easy as possible to pull his shirt loose where it's still partially tucked in. He winces in sympathy as he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing red, splotchy skin on the better half of his chest and stomach. It only goes partway around his side, so Geralt isn't too worried about rolling him over, but he will have to check.

First, he gets Eskel's trousers undone all the way and tugs them down his thighs, shocked to find he's wearing nothing between them. He steadfastly ignores Eskel's cock where it rests against his hip and makes a mental note to find him something to wear if he's going to be here longer than the night. Which, judging by the state of him, he will be.

Once Eskel is fully nude, Geralt inspects the burns more closely and they're worse than he thought. But when he turns him over, they don't reach his back, which means lying in bed will still be comfortable enough. Geralt leaves him for a moment, returning with cold water to rinse the burns and a salve for the burns that will both help with the pain and start the healing process.

He starts with the water, soaking cloths and laying them over the damaged skin, replacing each when they begin to warm up. He keeps it up for close to half an hour until Eskel's skin is no longer hot to the touch and then, once he's dry, he starts with the salve.

Geralt fidgets when he can't get the lid off and eventually has to stop and collect himself before continuing. This time, he gets the lid off without trouble and begins applying the salve.

Eskel shifts in his sleep and it takes all of Geralt's strength not to reach out to settle him. He realizes belatedly that he'll need bandages for him and wants to immediately get up to collect some, but he knows he should finish this first. He's just antsy, struggling to sit still and keep from climbing up onto the bed with Eskel. He takes his time applying salve and once he's satisfied with his work, leaves to collect bandages.

Nearly Eskel's entire front has some sort of damage and Geralt winces as he wraps his wounds, starting with his legs and working his way up. When he's done, he sits at the side of the bed for a moment, barely resisting the urge to reach down and brush his fingers along Eskel's cheek. His face is pinched up, even in sleep and Geralt can only hope the salve will act quickly, helping to relieve some of the pain, if only temporarily.

While Eskel is sleeping, Geralt keeps himself occupied. He brews teas to help with the pain and ensures he has enough salve to re-bandage Eskel's wounds tomorrow. He makes sure he has enough food in the house and calls out for supplies he's missing. It's not often he has someone else in the house with him and he doesn't want to leave Eskel alone like this.

But once he's sure his supplies are in order and fresh salve and bandages are prepared for the morning, Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself. He tries to read, but he can't focus on the words and when he cleans, he finds himself sweeping the same bit of floor four times because his mind keeps going back to Eskel lying in his bed. Although that, at least, gives him something to keep him occupied for a little while.

Geralt pulls all his winter blankets and extra pillows from the cupboard, making himself up a bed on the floor next to his own bed. He doesn't want to be far from Eskel, but he doesn't want to risk hurting him by sharing the bed. Once that's seen to, he makes his own supper and extra for Eskel if he wakes before the morning, then goes out to collect his laundry from the morning's wash.

While he's out in the yard, three separate people stop him to ask about Eskel. Geralt tells them all the same thing; he's fine, but he needs to rest and he'll be in bed for at least a couple of days. He appreciates their concern and he knows Eskel would too, but he'd rather keep to himself right now. He's not the one injured, but he's still feeling rather raw and overwhelmed by the whole situation.

It's a well-kept secret that Geralt has always been fond of Eskel, more so maybe than is good for him. They both grew up together in town, playing in the woods and the creek as boys and later attending the same festivals with the other children their age. They had at some point been mistaken for brothers, only as Eskel got older, he got bulkier while Geralt remained thin but strong. As children, Geralt had had a crush on the other boy and like so many other things growing up, it had never entirely gone away.

He drops a shirt thinking about it and as he ducks down, spots a red tulip growing next to the fence. Appropriate, he thinks. Tulips mean passion, a declaration of love, and he can't help but pluck it from its spot and bring it inside with him. He puts his laundry away and takes the flower into the bedroom with him, intending to put it in a cup to brighten up the room a little, but when he sees Eskel again, he sighs and drops onto the stool.

As he looks over Eskel again, his modesty preserved by a blanket pulled up over his waist, he smiles sadly. Leaning over, he slips the flower into Eskel's hair, tucking it behind his ear and brushing the hair from his forehead.

Eskel is still asleep when night falls and Geralt doesn't want to wake him. He takes the extra food he prepared and sets it on the side table with a cup of water. If Eskel wakes in the middle of the night, they'll be there for him, even if it might be difficult for him to move.

Geralt then settles himself in his makeshift bed and shuts his eyes. Then opens them again, listening to the sound of Eskel's breath. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, pulls his blankets up tighter against his shoulders, rolls back onto his side. Nothing he does makes it easier to sleep. His mind races with thoughts of Eskel's suffering, hoping he won't wake until the morning and Geralt will be there to care for him. He thinks about him into the early hours of the morning and then, finally, falls asleep once he's made himself a plan for the morning.

When Geralt wakes, he can't have been asleep for more than a few hours. He pulls himself up off the floor, groaning at the way his joints creak and his muscles groan at him from sleeping on the hard floor. He'd be much happier to have slept on the sofa in the main room or on the bed, but he'd rather be closer to Eskel, though not close enough to risk hurting him.

He goes about his morning routine, cooking breakfast and disposing of the supper Eskel never ate. He puts it in a bucket for the pigs next door and proceeds to get something hot ready for Eskel in its place. He's glad, on one hand, that Eskel is still asleep, but on the other, he's worried that he's still asleep.

It's certainly not the tonic anymore, but he must have been exhausted, from his injuries or just because he works so damn hard. Geralt gets breakfast and a glass of water together and takes them into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed to prepare Eskel's salve and bandages and behind him, the bed shifts.

"Hey," Geralt whispers, turning to face a very frowny and somewhat confused Eskel. "Don't get up, you're hurt."

"I- Geralt?"

"You were brought to me yesterday afternoon, do you remember?"

"Mm, I remember falling in the coals and… yeah. Yeah, I remember coming here. You took care of me."

"It's my job," Geralt says simply, but he can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. It's not his job and they both know it.

"Coulda sent for a doctor."

"You needed immediate attention, I was happy to help. How are you feeling now?"

"Sore. Stiff. How bad is it?"

"Bad," Geralt says simply. He doesn't want to it and he knows Eskel doesn't want that either. "You'll need to rest a couple of days. You're… more than welcome to say here."

"Geralt, I couldn't-"

"You can, you will. I have more than enough space."

"Geralt-"

"I made breakfast," Geralt interrupts, "please, eat. There's water as well and I'll have to check your burns after you eat."

Eskel relents at the scent of food and Geralt is more than happy to have him eat it. He helps Eskel into a sitting position, propping pillows up against the frame of the bed to make him more comfortable. Eskel's right arm is better off than his left, so he's fully capable of eating on his own; Geralt could just leave him to it and give him a bit of privacy, but he can't bring himself to get up.

He keeps his hands to himself, even when Eskel fumbles the first couple of times because he's not sure how much Eskel would allow. He was still pretty out of it when he arrived yesterday, not that Geralt could blame him for that. He sits and waits and when Eskel is finished eating, he drinks the entirety of his water and settles back into bed.

"Sure you don't mind me staying?" Eskel asks.

"Of course not, stop worrying." Geralt gathers up the salve and bandages and sits on the edge of the bed. It's only when he pulls the blanket down to see Eskel's stomach that he remembers he's completely naked beneath the covers and he draws back.

"Do you-" Geralt lowers his eyes, "I could find you some clothes," he suggests, "I could bandage you up well enough if you wanted a pair of trousers."

"'S fine," Eskel mumbles, "wouldn't be the first time, anyway."

Geralt nearly chokes. He knows Eskel's only referring to the times they would swim in the river together as boys, but it feels very different when he's lying naked in Geralt's bed. He's not sure exactly how to go about it with tact, so Geralt just pulls the blankets away all at once and tucks them under themselves to the side. He carefully controls his line of sight as he moves to strip the bandages away.

Some of them have bled through, only a little, but it makes him nervous. He peels the bandages back and is relieved to find the wounds themselves don't look any worse than yesterday. He breathes a sigh of relief and Eskel snorts just faintly.

"I'm more resilient than you give me credit for," he mumbles. Geralt's instinct is to hit him gently, for being so careless about his own health, but he has no intention of proving himself a hypocrite. If Eskel is so blase about it, someone has to take care of him.

Once the bandages have all been removed, Geralt takes them away to be disposed of and finds a clean washcloth. He fills a basin with cool water and returns to the bed, setting the basin on the stool within arm's reach. Eskel has shifted so he's further down the bed now, easier for Geralt to reach, but his legs are spread just so that they draw his attention and Geralt has to try very hard not to look.

He chastises himself for it silently. Eskel is injured and the last thing he needs is his friend gawking at him because he's naked. Forcing the thoughts from his head, Geralt wets the cloth and wrings out the excess water.

Eskel shudders at the first touch of the cloth, winces as Geralt dabs it against the burn on his calf, but he doesn't complain even once. When Geralt is finished cleaning the wounds on his legs, he dampens the cloth again, wiping it along Eskel's unharmed skin. He gets a much better reaction to that.

"If you're too hot I can open the windows in here," Geralt offers. "It's stuffy anyway. In a couple of days, you should be healed well enough for a bath, I can fill it with cool water for you. I know it's hot in the summer."

Eskel just hums appreciatively and when Geralt pulls away to take the water and replace it, Eskel grabs his wrist.

"Thank you," he says, "truly, Geralt I know this is above and beyond your responsibilities. I know we haven't been as close as we used to be. So thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't move, not until Eskel's hand slips away from his wrist. "I'll be right back with fresh water."

His cheeks are hot and he feels warmer than he should be so early in the morning, but his skin tingles where Eskel's fingers touched him and it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. So when he goes to collect fresh water, he splashes some of it on his face to cool down and to calm himself. Eskel is just a friend and he's doing him a favour because he's hurt and he can't do it himself. This isn't anything more than that.

He takes the water back and finishes cleaning Eskel's wounds as quickly as possible. To fill the time and keep his mind occupied, he asks about Eskel's work. He's always been fascinated by smithing, everything from the tiny little hinges that he makes for chests up to the frames that are used to build carts. On occasion, Eskel has tried his hand at swordsmithing and he was damned good at it from what Geralt heard. They'd offered him a position in the king's employ, but Eskel had wanted to remain in town, live a simpler life. Geralt, at least, was glad for that.

When Eskel is clean and dry again, Geralt helps him to his feet and finds him a robe to wrap around his shoulders. It's loose but soft and shouldn't hurt when it brushes against the burns. Not at least, as much as any other clothing Geralt could offer him. Eskel walks around a little awkwardly and pauses when he turns back to the bed. He bends a little awkwardly and picks up a crushed tulip from the pillow covering.

"Must have fallen into the bed," he mumbles, turning back to Geralt. "I must have crushed it in my sleep, I'm sorry." He says it with such sincerity that Geralt doesn't have the heart to tell him it was never not in the bed.

"It's fine," he says simply, his heart hammering in his chest. "There are plenty in the garden." Eskel offers him a smile and sets the broken flower back down on the side table.

"I have to water outside," Geralt says, "the sun won't be good for your burns, but I won't be long. Make yourself at home."

He leaves before Eskel can respond because he's still trying to figure out what possessed him to put a flower in Eskel's hair last night. It was silly and pointless and he could have gotten caught and then maybe Eskel would ask to go home. And Geralt likes being able to provide something for him, even if he doesn't like the circumstances surrounding it.

He takes his time out in the garden, both enjoying the sun and fresh air and giving Eskel some time to himself, even if only a few minutes. When he goes back in, Eskel's sitting on the edge of his bed, just watching out the window.

"In a couple of days, your skin should be healed enough to go back out in the sun," Geralt offers. Eskel hums but doesn't say anything and Geralt is surprised to find he doesn't seem particularly sad as he would have expected.

"Do you want to lie down again? I'll put more salve on your burns."

Eskel nods and shrugs carefully out of the robe, hanging it over the end of the bed before lying down obediently. He lies with his legs spread, just wide enough for Geralt to be able to reach between to wrap the bandage around and he should be thankful that he doesn't have to ask, but all he can think about is crawling between those thighs.

He realizes he has bigger problems when he pulls the little box of salve out. He has to get right up close between Eskel's legs to ensure he reaches the extent of the injuries and that means being very close to his cock. Last night Eskel was asleep so it didn't matter and this morning, Geralt was able to avoid touching too closely, but there's no getting out of it now.

But Geralt reminds himself that he's a professional and that Eskel needs this to get better, so he takes a deep breath and gets to work. Eskel's skin is soft beneath his hands, surprisingly so, and Geralt finds his hands wandering. He spreads salve on the wounds, still struggling not to pull back when Eskel winces. And maybe it's as an apology, that he runs his hand under his calf just gently.

But when Eskel sighs happily - the first pleasant sound Geralt's heard out of him - and settles against the bed, it's all the encouragement he needs. Gerlt doesn't let himself get sidetracked from his job, but he drags his fingers along Eskel's unblemished skin, soothing even as he continues to tend to his wounds. Maybe he gets a little carried away, captivated by the smoothness of Eskel's skin under his hands, but Eskel doesn't seem to mind, so Geralt doesn't think anything of it.

Until he moves up to the burns on Eskel's thighs and finds him… hard. Something hot and insistent swirls in Geralt's gut, but he adamantly tamps it down, refuses to acknowledge it. He smooths his palm up the outside of Eskel's thigh, brushing his thumb against his skin before reaching for the salve again. At the first press of the cream to his skin, Eskel's cock twitches, although Geralt tries very hard not to notice it.

"Sorry," Eskel mumbles, a breath of a moan in his voice, "your hands are soft, feels nice."

"It's fine," Geralt whispers, "I shouldn't have." And although he wants to continue touching, he returns to his work but keeps his hands to himself.

When he's finished, he slides off the bed. His heart is still beating too quickly and his own trousers are a little too snug, but he ignores it and pointedly keeps his gaze on Eskel's face.

"I have to go out," he says, "I have a friend who's a mage at the edge of town, I need to get something from her, it'll help."

"The edge of the village?" Eskel asks, "that's pretty far."

"I'll be back before nightfall," Geralt promises.

It's not really that far, Geralt thinks as he leaves the house, it's only half an hour each way - barely anything in comparison to how far he has to travel for some of the herbs he can't grow at home.

The trip, which should take less than two hours, winds up taking three. It's not uncommon that Geralt and Mara get caught up talking about new remedies or new ways to mix herbs, but it just so happens that she has been developing a potent burn remedy. And while Geralt is always interested in new potions - especially those above his own ability - but something that can help Eskel is even more intriguing.

Geralt leaves with a basket of foreign herbs, two bottles of the burn remedy, and a warning that the latter is potent and need only be given in small doses. Geralt makes a mental note of that and hurries back home, having already delayed longer than he should.

When he arrives home, Eskel is in the kitchen and Geralt frowns at him for being out of bed until he realizes there's a simple supper waiting for him on the table. He still wants to chastise Eskel for not taking care of himself properly, but his heart clenches at the thought of him getting up and preparing food for him and there's something about Eskel wearing his robe that scrambles his brain. He settles for a gentle you should be in bedwith me."

"Oh."

He's not sure what to say to that. Geralt doesn't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone for anything other than sex and even then, that was too long ago to be worth remembering.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says because it's easier than admitting he's nervous about sharing a bed because of his feelings for the other man.

"You won't, please Geralt I hate to think of you sleeping down there on the floor."

"Only if you're sure," Geralt says, against his better judgement.

"Completely. Get up here."

Geralt relents and stumbles over to the bed in the dark, climbing up over the end of the bed and keeping close to the wall so he doesn't jostle Eskel. He lays flat on his back, arms crossed over his stomach and focuses very hard on not breathing too loudly or too quickly. But Eskel shuffles over, presses right up against his side and hums.

"'S warmer with you here," he says and Geralt feels awful. He should have asked if he was warm enough.

"If you're cold, I can get more blankets- I didn't think-"

"Hush," Eskel chuckles, "I'm fine. It's always nicer to have someone else in your bed."

Geralt can feel the flush creep all the way up his neck and into his cheeks, but he doesn't dare say anything. It is, he decides, nicer having someone else in your bed, but these are not the circumstances under which he would choose to share a bed. But the heat from Eskel's arm against his own spreads through him and he lets himself relax into the mattress, more focused on Eskel's body next to him than the quickness of his own breath.

When Geralt wakes, it's with his nose pressed into Eskel's neck and a heavy arm around his shoulder. For a moment he's blissfully unaware that he's actually away, happy to remain in his dreamlike state. But when Eskel moves his arm, he seethes with pain and everything comes back to Geralt very abruptly.

He slips out from under Eskel's arms, apologizing profusely, barely aware of Eskel's constant answering stream of reassurances. It's not until they're fully disentangled and Geralt is climbing back out of bed that he remembers Eskel is naked.

It takes everything in him not to run away, but Eskel needs him, so he stays. He's so flustered he almost forgets about the burn remedy, what with bandaging Eskel's wounds and cleaning them again. But he does remember and Eskel swallows it with a grimace.

"Unpleasant?" Geralt asks.

"Disgusting."

"I'm sorry. You should only need to take it a couple of times. It will help you heal faster and I should have you home within the week."

It's only the second day, but as he says the words, Geralt feels a certain sadness to be sending Eskel off home already. He likes having him around and will be disappointed the first morning he wakes and doesn't have someone to care for. But he's glad Eskel is getting better, or will be.

The morning passes quickly, but there's a lingering embarrassment that follows him into the afternoon and early evening. Geralt has been trying to focus on his work - just because Eskel is injured and in his house doesn't mean he's allowed to fall behind on his other orders - but it's hard.

It's summer, so it's hot and Eskel is always shoving the blankets down during the day, pushing them off his chest so they settle just below his hips and Geralt is having a very hard time keeping his eyes to himself. But every time he glances over, Eskel is stretching or smiling back at him and it's very hard to concentrate on even the most basic remedies when he's under Eskel's gaze.

By the time they're ready for bed, Geralt has gotten a little work done and has settled enough that when Eskel calls him over to bed, he doesn't complain. He crawls up under the covers, making sure to stay on his own side, this time.

This time, when the morning comes, Geralt is still on his own side of the bed and he manages to slip out before Eskel wakes. He slips out of the room to collect water for a bath, splashing some of it on his face to wake him up, and by the time Eskel wakes up, Geralt has the bath mostly ready for him.

He takes care in unwrapping the bandages on his chest and wiping away the excess salve from the wounds but already they're starting to look better. Geralt can't be sure if it's his own work or the burn remedy from Mara, but he's happy to see Eskel moving around more comfortably. Still, Geralt is careful with him.

He pulls the sheets down carefully and nearly chokes when he realizes Eskel is half-hard. Feels nice. The words echo in his mind and Geralt forcefully shoves them away along with the stirring heat in his gut. He shouldn't be thinking things like this about Eskel, he certainly shouldn't be thinking about them when Eskel is hurt. So he helps him out of bed and wraps an arm around his waist, pointedly ignoring the way Eskel's cock bounces when he stands up, and helps him get into the bath.

The cold water, Geralt thinks, should ease his arousal, but it doesn't.

Eskel settles in the bath with a hum, stretching his arms up to rest on the edges of the tub. For the most part, Geralt uses his hands to wash him, scooping clean water onto his skin and rubbing gently with his fingertips. He has a special soap he's used before for greater wounds and it doesn't seem to sting Eskel at all, but he's still careful with it, rubbing it onto his hands to apply it, just in case.

And Eskel hums under his touch, head dropped back over the edge of the tub, eyes closed. He's enjoying this, Geralt realizes, which is... probably a good thing. It's better than him being in pain, anyway. But as Geralt's hands slip lower, he becomes increasingly aware of Eskel's erection and he knows he shouldn't even think about it, but his fingers twitch against Eskel's skin, eager to touch and stroke.

He restrains himself, but only barely and when Eskel's hips shift to get comfortable, Geralt nearly forgets himself. And when he gets to his thighs, slipping between them to ensure the last of the salve is washed away, Eskel lets out a soft, shuddering moan. Geralt grits his teeth against it and continues, despite his own growing arousal. He barely survives the bath, and he has to keep behind Eskel as he helps him back out of it and wraps him in a sheet because there's no way Eskel won't realize just how it's affected him otherwise.

Eskel gets settled on the bed as soon as he's dry enough, lying with the sheet around him, but not covering him. His cock sits heavy against his hip and Geralt curses himself for how much he focuses on it. Yes, it's been a long time since he's been with someone, but Eskel needs him to help him, he doesn't need Geralt lusting over him while he's barely in good enough condition to get up and walk around on his own. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets to work.

But Eskel is tense under his hands this morning, and while he does his best to be soothing, nothing seems to work. Geralt has apologized three times before he realizes what the problem is and then he feels like an idiot because it's been staring him in the face this whole time.

"Are you alright?" he asks, "it's starting to look uncomfortable." He gestures vaguely toward Eskel's cock where it's swollen and twitching against his hip.

"'S fine. My caretaker would just be upset with me if I tried to do anything about it, anyway. Gotta relax, can't be overworking myself." He chuckles lightly and Geralt would swear he catches a wink as he scoffs at him.

"Sure?"

"Geralt, it's not the first time, you're just-" he takes a slow, measured breath as if to emphasize his point, "-very good with your hands."

Geralt wants to say that he has to be, that it's part of his job, but he doesn't trust his voice, so he takes Eskel's reassurance for what it is. But he's barely put his hands on him again before Eskel is pulling in shuddering breaths and moaning softly as Geralt's palm slides up the inside of his thigh. It's distracting to say the last and Geralt's own cock stirs in his trousers. He doesn't think it through very long before offering to help.

"I could… take care of it for you," he offers quietly, "so you don't overwork yourself. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Yeah?" Eskel asks and Geralt finds himself nodding, far more enthusiastic about touching Eskel's cock than he should be. "As long as you don't mind."

Geralt barely resists licking his lips as he glances at Eskel's cock and assures him that he doesn't mind at all. It's part of his healing, after all.

He slips off the bed to retrieve a bottle of oil and then comes back to sit on Eskel's other side. He slicks his hand up and tries not to think too much about what he's doing. The first touch has Eskel shuddering though and it's increasingly difficult for Geralt to keep his own body under control.

He winds his fingers around him and they don't quite touch. Eskel seems oblivious to his internal struggle and Geralt reminds himself this is not for him. As much as he wants this, it's for Eskel. So he gets to work quickly, wrapping around the base of him and stroking up to the head. To start, he's slow, almost clinical about it, as he would be if he needed to force an erection to examine a patient. But he doesn't have to force anything with Eskel, and before long his hips are shifting, pushing into the touch and Geralt speeds up.

He lets his thumb rub over the head of Eskel's cock, watches the way it pushes through the tunnel of his fist and he barely holds back a groan himself. He wants this to be more. He wants to be able to straddle his hips and kiss him while he touches him, to be able to slip his fingers down and find out if Eskel is amenable to being touched elsewhere. The thoughts bounce around in his head and it makes it hard for him to just keep his hand on his dick. Especially when he rubs under the head and Eskel lets out a low moan, pushing into the touch.

Geralt would do anything to hear that sound again, even if it means embarrassing himself when he's the one who comes out of this with an erection. He gets one hand on Eskel's hip - to steady him, he tells himself - and brushes his thumb against the skin. Eskel makes soft little noises under him and Geralt starts to pick up on what he likes.

Firstly, he likes to be squeezed hard, Geralt almost pulls a whimper out of him when he clenches his fist around the base and pulls all the way up, keeping pressure around him. And when he plays with the head, running the pad of his thumb along the slit and just beneath. But when he goes quickly, jerking only the top couple of inches, Eskel writhes in the sheets. And Geralt knows he shouldn't let him. It's not bad for his burns, most of which being on his front, but it's not good either. Though the sight is something Geralt will remember until the day he dies.

He licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one, and stops abruptly, squeezing the head in his hand. Eskel swallows hard and rolls his head back.

"Geralt," he groans, "fuck, that's good." Geralt doesn't dare respond. His own cock is aching beneath him and his throat is dry. "'m close."

At that, Geralt groans aloud and one big hand comes down to settle on his shoulder. He works him quicker, pushing him closer to that edge and then realizes with a jolt that Eskel is going to come all over himself and he doesn't know what to do about that. In a moment of panic, he ducks down, taking the head of his cock in his mouth.

Eskel bucks and whines and then both hands are in his hair, tugging as he winds his fingers through it.

"Oh fuck- Geralt, yes." The words encourage him and Geralt takes him deeper, pushing as far as he can take it as Eskel mumbles above him. Somewhere amongst the slurry or words, he imagines he hears wanna touch you, but passes it off as a figment of his imagination prompted by how badly he wants to touch himself.

He shifts his position so his cock presses against the bed with every forward thrust and he's pushing his luck because he could easily come like this, even though he's holding himself back. He winds his tongue around Eskel's cock before dragging it up the underside and pressing into the sensitive spot below the head. Eskel groans above him, pressing Geralt's head down lightly and Geralt is more than happy to let him take control. If he lets Eskel call the shots, he can't be held accountable. He's helping out a friend in need, is all.

His own cock jerks under him and he rocks his hips into the bed with a groan, but Eskels thrusts pick up, quicker and harder than before, effectively distracting Geralt from his own need. Eskel moans his name as he comes and it's like a bolt of lightning through Geralt's entire body as he tries to keep his mouth on him. He swallows everything down, pulling up to suck at the head to be sure.

Eskel's eyelids flutter shut and he slumps back against the bed, breathing hard. His hands remain in Geralt's hair for a moment, tangling gently before Geralt rises up and he lets go.

"I-" Geralt starts, but then Eskel's eyes open and he's reaching for him. Geralt shakes his head and pulls away. "You don't need to. I'm fine. I.. have to go get the bandages, I'll be right back."

He barely manages to get out of the room before cursing silently. He leans against the wall, hands clenched at his sides. This was a stupid idea. He should have known he couldn't get out without being affected by it himself. Geralt shuts his eyes and focuses on anything else, walks himself through the remainder of Eskel's care for the afternoon, and once the heat searing through him fades a little, he goes to collect the bandages and returns to the bedroom.

Eskel just looks up at him as he approaches, still slightly foggy from his orgasm and when he smiles Geralt sighs and plops down a little too hard on the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Eskel says, "I didn't mean to push, you just- I thought you'd want me to reciprocate."

"You're injured," Geralt says, "and I couldn't ask that of you." He turns away, grabbing the salve from the shelf. Neither of them says anything else as Geralt returns to cleaning his wounds properly.

When he's finished, he's still wondering if he didn't make a mistake and Eskel is right on the edge of falling asleep, so he leaves him alone in the room and sets himself to work for a little while. It's not until well past noon that he realizes he hasn't been out in the garden at all today.

He heads out and tends to the plants, but he can't keep his thoughts from Eskel, from the way he moved under his hands and the way he moaned his name. He doesn't know how he's going to continue on with Eskel in his house after this.

But the following morning when he checks his wounds, everything goes smoothly and some of the smaller burns have already started healing around the edges. Geralt makes a mental note to talk to his Mara and ask about the recipe because it seems to be working wonders. Once Eskel is bandaged up again, Geralt finds him some clothes to wear and Eskel accompanies him out into the garden.

His skin is still sensitive, so Geralt finds a spot in the shade and lays out a blanket for him to sit on while he goes about tending to the garden. Eskel chats quietly to him, petting the neighbour's cat when it comes to see what's happening, and it all feels disturbingly domestic and Gerlt isn't quite sure what to do with that thought.

He continues on with his work, poking at the edges of a fantasy where Eskel comes home to him every night and Geralt continues to care for him. He lets himself get carried away with it, scoping out the best place in the garden to build a pen for the goat; she's well-behaved (most of the time) but not enough to be allowed free reign in his garden. She's already cost Eskel days of work, she doesn't need to cause problems for Geralt's business as well.

But there's a section in the backyard that he keeps for fall plants and they could be moved to the front yard easily enough if he brought some of the herbs inside to grow in his-

He's abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and he spins around to see Eskel standing behind him, smiling at him.

"Sorry," he says quietly, "didn't mean to startle you, you seemed very caught up in your thoughts."

"Mm," Geralt agrees, "just thinking about reorganizing the garden, bringing some of the herbs inside."

"I could help," Eskel offers and Geralt huffs a soft laugh, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"I don't think I'll have to, it was just a thought. How are you feeling?" he asks, quickly changing the topic before Eskel can add anything more.

"Better. I got up to walk around a little and I found these growing just down the road. To replace the one I crushed."

"That was for you," Geralt says weakly.

"Oh. I thought," he says a little bashfully, "they'd look nice in your hair." Eskel holds up the white flower, reaching up to slip it behind Geralt's ear. But Geralt jerks away unintentionally when he sees the flower.

"What's wrong?" Eskel asks, withdrawing.

"Nothing, it's just those - Gardenia - it means secret love."

Eskel's cheeks darken just slightly and Geral's heart does a little flip-flop at the sight. It's a very good look on him.

"Keep it anyway," Eskel says, reaching back up again. He pushes Geralt's hair back and tucks the flower behind his ear, smiling at his work. "Maybe you could tell me more about them so next time I can find you something more… appropriate."

Geralt's heart sinks a little but Eskel is still smiling so softly at him and the thought of telling him about his plants is exciting, so he pushes the bad feeling away and smiles in return. They spend the next hour going back through the whole garden while Eskel listens patiently to Geralt's explanation of the plants - what their meaning is, what they're used for.

Eskel listens and takes in everything Geralt tells him and Geralt has never loved him more than he does right now, standing out in the middle of his garden explaining how to make a potion to cure headaches.

By the time dinner rolls around, Eskel is getting sore again, so he heads inside while Geralt finishes up with the garden. He heads in when he's finished to find potatoes and carrots already cut for stew and Eskel sitting at the table in the corner waiting for him. He stays while Geralt makes dinner, talks to him while he cooks and Geralt wants to keep him forever, but he also wants him to leave because he knows he can't keep him.

Tonight, when they ready themselves for bed, Geralt doesn't hesitate to climb in next to Eskel, basking in the warmth that radiates off of him. He remembers nights when they were boys, camping out under the sky and pretending to be adventurers, knights. They would curl up together when it got too cold and he wishes he hadn't taken those times for granted. He'd give anything now to be able to cuddle up close to him and breathe in the comforting, still-familiar scent of him.

He lays quiet for a while in the dark, listening to every little hitch in Eske's breath, every groan when he moves wrong. He wants to reach out to him, to comfort him in any way he can, but without knowing how much would be welcome, he decides against it altogether.

But at some point during the night, Eskel shifts in his sleep, turning to lie on his side and Geralt wakes up with his head tucked under Eskel's chin and strong arms holding him. He wakes before the sunrise, letting himself enjoy the comfort of Eskel's body against his own, but as the sun streams in through the window, he disentangles himself and heads into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Without even checking, he knows Eskel's burns are healing quickly. He knows today will probably be the last he wakes up with Eskel in his bed and his heart is heavy as he prepares food for them. He tries not to think of their upcoming parting, knows that Eskel lives just down the road and they will still see each other, but Geralt will still miss him.

It's only been a few days, but he's been happy with Eskel here, even if he's spent most of the time trying to distance himself from him. He takes the food into the bedroom where Eskel is just sitting up and they eat quietly, but he can feel how badly Eskel wants to say something. Likely, he wants to know what's wrong and Geralt will inevitably lie about it, make up something about the house being too quiet without him around. But it doesn't matter what he says, because there's still a chance that Eskel's burns need treatment and if they do, he'll be staying a little longer.

Geralt doesn't hope for it, but he wouldn't be disappointed by it either.

He is disappointed upon unravelling Eskel's bandages, to find that most of the small buns have diminished to marks on the skin and when he touches them, Eskel confirms there's no pain. The worst of them are still red and uncomfortable, but they no longer inhibit his movement and Geralt barely holds back a sigh at the realization that Eskel is perfectly well enough to go home. And if that's the case, he'd rather do it sooner than later.

"You'll be happy to know they're healing quickly," Geralt says, rebandaging only the worst of the burns. "The remedy I got from the mage had worked wonders, but there's still some discolouration." The scars are lighter than Eskel's tanned skin, but Eskel just shrugs it off as he looks down at himself.

"I've got dozens of scars, a few more won't hurt."

"Suppose not," Geralt hums, tying off the last bandage around Eskel's thigh. He lets his hand slip, running down his inner thigh to rest on his knee. "They're healed well enough now that you'll be able to go home today."

He doesn't want Eskel to leave, not at all, but there doesn't seem to be much of a choice. Because Eskel no longer needs him, so there's no good reason for him to stay. Geralt sighs as he pulls away, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it. Eskel watches him and Geralt almost thinks he looks disappointed (his own feelings getting away with him, he tells himself) but before he has a chance to do anything about it there's a knock at the door.

Geralt gets up to answer it, offering Eskel a half-smile as he goes. He doesn't want to seem down, but he's not looking forward to being alone in his little hut again, especially not after sharing a bed with Eskel for the last few nights. But when he opens the door, it seems Eskel will certainly be leaving him.

John, the farmer and Eskel's closest neighbour, is standing in front of him with a goat in his arms and she's squirming and bleating loudly. Geralt's surprised he didn't hear it before.

"Please tell me he's in good enough shape to come home," John says and gives Geralt a pleading look. "I don't mind looking after the goat, it's just she's… well, she's a demon to put it frankly."

Geralt opens his mouth to reply, but there's a huff of a laugh from behind him and he turns to find Eskel coming up behind him, pulling a shirt over his head. The goat squirms so hard John has to put her down and he's barely bent over before she's leaping from his arms and trotting over to Eskel, still shrieking loudly.

"Sorry," Eskel smiles, "she's attached." He bends down, running a hand along her back and sighs. "Guess that means we're heading home then, hm? Thank you, John," he adds lifting his head again. "I'll bring her home."

"I'll be heading home then," John says and once he's gone, Geralt shuts the door and turns to look at the goat, now happily lying on the floor and nibbling at one of his rugs.

Eskel is gone, but he returns a moment later with his boots, mostly unharmed by the accident.

"Well, I guess this is it. You can have your house back," Eskel smiles but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes and Geralt desperately wants to tell him he doesn't want his house back. He wants to tell him he'll make space for the goat and he'll find somewhere for Eskel to sleep if he doesn't want to continue sharing and he-

"Thank you, Geralt, for everything. And don't tell me you'd do it for anyone, because we both know that's not true." He reaches out, resting a hand on Geralt's shoulder and his thumb just brushes against Geralt's neck. "I'll see you."

And just like that, Eskel is gone, heading out the door and back to his own home. Realistically, he just lives down the road, but he's never felt so far away and Geralt isn't quite sure what to do with himself. It's only been a few days but he's grown used to having Eskel around and he's not sure what he's going to do now without him.

He could go after him, tell him he doesn't want him to go, but what if Eskel does want to go home? What if all the little things Geralt has thought were hesitation were really something else? He doesn't want to risk his friendship with Eskel on a guess, so he lets him go and resigns himself to his chores.

The day passes slowly, but it's fine until Geralt turns in to go to bed. The room is still set up to care for someone and Geralt quickly makes the decision to tidy up before bed; it's one thing to come to bed missing someone, but it's a whole other to start your day that way. But clearing away the medicines and bandages doesn't help, because when he crawls into bed it smells like Eskel and Geralt can't help but press his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

He's not sure how it happened, or even when it happened, that his friendship with Eskel shifted into something more, something greedy and wanting, but he's never felt this way about anyone else. A part of him wishes it was anyone but Eskel.

For two days, Geralt's life returns to normal, for the most part. He's plagued by thoughts of Eskel and the memory of him in his bed, of his scent and his smile. But he gets through as he always has, reminding himself that it's better to have Eskel as a friend than not at all.

Then, on the third evening, since Eskel left, Geralt is in the kitchen boiling water for a tonic for the boy down the road when there's a knock on the door. Geralt sets the pot aside and pushes the grate up to keep the sparks in and crosses to the door wondering who could possibly want him so late. Another emergency, he supposes.

He's preparing himself for another sick child or an accident on the farm, but when he opens the door, Eskel is standing in front of him, a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand. He smiles sheepishly and Geralt forgets for a second that he's supposed to greet visitors because he looks so shy.

"Eskel," he says and the confusion in his voice prompts a soft laugh from the other man.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh-" Geralt steps out of the way, eyeing the bouquet as Eskel slips past him.

To anyone unlearned in the meaning of flowers, it looks a little like a jumbled mess, but Geralt can tell there's a theme. Longing. Love. Hope. He knows the meanings of each one of those flowers and realizes with a start that it's a floral confession of love. His heart clenches to wonder who Eskel means to confess to, but he suspects he wants Geralt's help with the flowers and Geralt only wants the best for him.

Eskel shuts the door behind him and holds the bouquet in front of him, looking down at it as if ensuring it's good enough. Geralt is about to tell him it is, that the flowers are a little aesthetically jumbled, but that their meaning is clear when Eskel holds it up to him.

"I'm not very good with words," he says, reaching back to rub the back of his neck, "and you're not very good at picking up on things, but I thought this might be a little clearer."

"Eskel-?"

"I got the idea when you were telling me about your garden and I have a friend who knows about flowers. She helped me pick the right ones because I wanted it to be perfect."

Everything clicks into place at once and Geralt realizes he's been holding his breath. Slowly, he lets it out and considers very carefully what he wants to say before mumbling, "they're for me?"

Eskel nods and Geralt leans in, kissing him without thinking. He pulls back as soon as he realizes what he's done, but Eskel's already got a hand on his waist and he draws him back again, kissing him softly but firmly. Geralt shifts against him, giving in with a soft sigh and wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck. Gently, Eskel lays the flowers down on the table and puts his other hand on Geralt's waist, holding him against him as he kisses him.

It's soft, softer than anyone has ever kissed him before, but there's an urgency behind it, a desperation that speaks of years of longing. Eskel's hands slip up under his shirt and Geralt hums against his lips, parting his own to deepen the kiss as Eskel pulls him closer. For a few, glorious moments, Geralt knows nothing but Eskel's mouth against his own, his hands on his skin, and when they break apart, he finds it hard to breathe.

"I should see how you're healing," Geralt breathes and Eskel grins at him, tipping forward to press a brief kiss to his lips.

"Mm, of course," he agrees, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and pulling it up over his head. It falls to the floor unneeded and Eskel gets his hands back on Geralt's waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom, the implications of which are too much for him to think about right now.

Eskel sits himself down on the bed and Geralt crosses to stand between his knees, looking down at him. He runs his fingers over the discoloured skin, now nearly completely healed, and makes a note to ask Mara about her potion. But Eskel grows impatient with him quickly and in only a few minutes, Geralt finds himself tugged down into Eskel's lap.

"'M fine," he says softly, "thanks to you." He kisses Geralt's cheek, his jaw, his neck.

"Not me," Geralt hums, tipping his head back to give Eskel better access to his neck. "Mara made the potion."

"Mmm, but you got it for me. You cared for me. You loved me." Geralt starts at that, pulling back to look at Eskel. Almost immediately there's a hand on his cheek, rough but gentle. "Hey," Eskel whispers, "I love you, too. Have for a long time."

"I love you," Geralt breathes and the words feel foreign on his tongue, like somebody else is using his voice. He never expected to say those words out loud, much less to have Eskel smiling back at him.

Eskel kisses him again, soft and slow, and Geralt lets himself melt into it. He slips forward, straddling his lap and smiling against his mouth. Abruptly, he's hauled up and Eskel readjusts them so he can lie back against the pillows, pulling Geralt down on top of him.

It doesn't strike him until Eskel's hands are working their way under his shirt again, that he's allowed to touch, that Eskel wants him to, if past experiences are anything to judge by. He breaks the kiss, nosing at Eskel's neck before kissing down to his collarbone. He traces his fingertips along the edges of Eskel's scars, kissing the paler skin with reverence. Geralt pours all of his love into the soft kisses, everything he's wanted to say for years and felt he was unable and as Eskel's hands slip into his hair, he hums softly against the skin.

Eskel moans softly under him, pressing up into each kiss and winding his fingers between Geralt's against his hip. He holds him close even as Geralt dips lower, following the burn marks down to Eskel's stomach and the waistband of his trousers. He only detangles their fingers to get Eskel's trousers undone and once they're off and out of the way, Eskel reaches for him again. Geralt gives a little squeeze of his hand, a reassurance mostly meant for himself as he shifts down the bed and settles himself between Eskel's thighs.

He slides his free arm around Eskel's thigh, tipping his face to kiss along the line of the burn. His left leg is better off than his right, but Geralt picks out every little mark, kissing them individually as he makes his way down. Above him, Eskel groans and Geralt can feel his arousal in every little shift of his hips, of his legs, in the way his fingers clench around his own. There's a peace that washes over him knowing that this is what Eskel wants too; out of all the people he's met in his life, Geralt is the one he wants and it feels something like relief.

Geralt continues, diverting from his task to kiss Eskel's thighs, nipping at the soft skin and running his tongue over it. Eskel moans softly, spreading his legs and then he's reaching down, tugging Geralt's shirt up over his head. Eskel's fingers brush along his shoulders and the side of his neck, soft and tentative, and he lets Geralt linger for a while longer before hauling him up so they're chest-to-chest.

He kisses him again, harder this time and as Geralt shifts to get comfortable, he can feel the hard line of Eskel's cock against his stomach. His own cock twitches in his trousers.

"Gods," Eskel whispers, running his thumb over Geralt's lip, "you have no idea how badly I want you, how tempting it was with you sleeping right beside me." He rests his hands on Geralt's hips, slipping down over the swell of his ass and guides his hips forward, rocking up against him.

"Tell me," Geralt mumbles, "what you wanted."

"Mm," Eskel hums, "you looked so soft and sweet next to me, I just wanted to touch you, to get you hard. I wanted to roll you onto your side and slip up behind you. I'd take such good care of you, fuck you so well, sweetheart."

"Please," Geralt whispers, but he's breathless and the word comes out broken. Eskel doesn't need to be asked twice.

He rolls them over, shifting onto his knees over Geralt to fumble with the ties of Geralt's trousers before shoving a hand inside and wrapping around his cock. Geralt's already half-hard but it doesn't take much to bring him to full hardness with Eskel's mouth hot and demanding against his own and a strong, calloused hand stroking him.

Eskel nips at his lips and Geralt shifts, pressing his hips up and pushing between Eskel's fingers. He rolls his hips and fucks into Eskel's hand, moaning against his lips as Eskel's fingers slip lower on his prick until he's wrapped around the base of him and tracing the vein on the underside with his thumb. When he finally slips up again, he rings his fingers just beneath the head of Geralt's cock, squeezing tightly around him.

He lets Geralt fuck his fingers and Geralt wraps his arms around his neck, happy enough to have Eskel's hands on him. But it gets too restrictive, his trousers are in the way and he wants to spread his legs, to fuck up properly. Eskel seems to notice and he pulls off of Geralt's cock to rid him of them.

As soon as Geralt's fully naked, Eskel presses in close right up against his side. He traces his fingertips down the length of Geralt's cock, his lips hovering just above Geralt's and then, as Eskel's fingers slip down to cup his balls, Geralt groans and Eskel smiles.

"Mm, good?" he asks and Geralt nods, whining softly as Eskel's fingertips press into the sensitive flesh. He rocks into the touch and Eskel's lips drag across his jaw and up to his ear, nibbling at the lobe and nosing behind it.

"You're so beautiful," Eskel whispers, "I love you." He kisses behind his ear, moving down Geralt's neck to nibble at his shoulder. "I want to make you feel good."

Geralt shuts his eyes as Eskel's mouth finds his own again and then Eskel's fingers are slipping down, pressing back behind his balls and teasing at his hole. He shudders and Eskel's free arms lips under his neck, wrapping around so his fingers brush across his jaw.

"Okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, sliding a hand into his hair.

"Please, Eskel, I-"

"Shh," he whispers, "I know love, I've got you."

He presses further and Geralt opens to him, spreading his legs and shifting to give Eskel better access. He wants him, wants this and it still doesn't feel real that he's allowed to have it. But Eskel is soft against him, even his fingers, calloused and rough feel gentle on his face and Geralt tips his head to the side, kissing his fingertips.

Eskel holds him, rubs over his hole, whispering against Geralt's ear. He's only half listening, but it doesn't matter what he's saying because it's Eskel. Geralt just likes the sound of his voice, regardless of the words, so deep and rough yet somehow still soft. He shuts his eyes and focuses on Eskel's voice, on his hands, moaning and pressing back onto Eskel's fingers.

"Eskel," he breathes, "please, I want you."

"I know. Where's the oil?"

Geralt groans. The oil is back where it belongs, tucked away in his cabinet in the other room and Geralt regrets ever putting it away. Reluctantly, he pulls out of Eskel's arms and climbs off the bed. Eskel hums appreciatively as he crosses the room and Geralt smiles to himself. He can feel eyes on him all the way out of the room and even as he ducks into the kitchen, careful to avoid the windows.

When he turns back, oil in hand, Eskel is leaning up on one elbow, watching him with a soft smile on his face.

"What?" Geralt asks.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that? You were always the best looking of us but you really got pretty."

"Shut up," Geralt mumbles, but when he reaches the edge of the bed, Eskel reaches up around the back of his neck and tugs him into a brief kiss.

"'M serious. You're so fucking gorgeous, Geralt." He kisses him again, tugging him closer and Geralt climbs onto the bed, deepening the kiss as Eskel moans softly against him. This time, Geralt ignores his words, despite the heat that spreads through his chest, kissing him deeply instead.

Eskel rearranges them with ease, maneuvering Geralt onto his back again and pressing up against his side. Immediately, he reaches down, stroking him slowly without breaking the kiss. He takes the bottle of oil from Geralt and pops the cork, spilling it over his fingers. He wraps around Geralt's cock, stroking right up to the head and rubbing his thumb beneath the head before slipping back down again.

Geralt moans as Eskel's fingers slip down between his legs, pressing back against his hole. He's less patient this time, pressing against him and pushing inside just a little before withdrawing. Eskel's fingers are thick and stretch with every press and Geralt drops his head back against his chest with a groan.

"You okay?" Eskel asks and Geralt nods.

"'S good."

"Good," Eskel leans in, lips brushing against his earlobe as he whispers, "I want you to come on my fingers before I fuck you." Geralt groans, but then Eskel's pressing into him again and he turns his face into Eskel's neck, breathing against his skin. "There you go, sweetheart, just lay back and let me make you feel good. You took care of me, now it's my turn."

Geralt wants to tell him that there's a huge difference between this and that, but Eskel pushes deeper and the protest dies on his lips. Eskel kisses the groan from his lips as he presses a second finger into him and Gerlt rocks enthusiastically back onto him. Eskel is incredibly good with his hands, pressing in and stretching him, and Geralt is breathless where he leans against him, groaning against his lips.

Eskel is above him, behind him, all around, mumbling soft words into his hair and against his lips and Geralt has never felt so wanted in his life. He shudders and lets out a soft little moan as Eskel presses a third finger against his rim and tips his head back.

"Eskel," he groans, "please, come on."

"Not gonna rush, sweetheart, don't wanna hurt you."

Geralt groans. He's seen Eskel's cock, gotten up close and personal with it and has been dying for a chance to get it inside him. He doesn't want to wait, he wants Eskel to fuck him. But as much as he rocks down or squeezes around him, Eskel isn't letting up. He adds a third finger and Geralt bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud.

"Don't have to be quiet for me," Eskel hums, "I like hearing you."

"Fuck."

"Mmm, that's right." Eskel presses his nose into his ear, nibbling at the skin of his neck. "Tell me how it feels, Geralt."

"Good," he mumbles, "but I want you."

"You've got me. Always."

Eskel gives a good couple of thrusts, then presses in with just two fingers, seeking out that spot inside him and rubbing against it. Geralt squirms against him, writhing as Eskel plays with him and then he withdraws altogether.

"Roll over," he whispers, nudging Geralt with his knee. Geralt turns onto his front and he's still settling when Eskel climbs over him, kissing his neck and pushing the hair aside.

He moves down Geralt's back, kissing a line down his spine and sucking at the skin. It sends shivers through him and Geralt can't help but rock his hips down, grinding against the mattress as Eskel's hand drops to hold his hips. He huffs a soft laugh against Geralt's lower back and then he's moving lower, one hand slipping between his cheeks and pressing back in.

Geralt buries his face in the pillow, gathering it under his face and moaning into it as Eskel fucks him with his fingers again. He's quick and hard but somehow still gentle, lips sliding softly over his skin until Eskel's thrusts slow and his mouth moves to join in.

The first press of Eskel's tongue against his rim has Geralt pulling up on his knees, thighs spread to give him better access and Eskel huffs against him. He slides a hand down Geralt's thigh, steadying him as he pulls his fingers out, and licks over the stretched muscle.

"Think you can come like this instead?" he asks and Geralt nods. He's sure of it.

His cock is already leaking steadily onto the sheets, hard and aching, and every press of Eskel's tongue sends him rocking forward, eager for any sort of friction. And when those thick fingers wrap around him again, Geralt could cry. He rocks forward immediately, rutting into the tunnel of Eskel's hand and pressing back against his tongue.

Then Eskel pushes in and Geralt cries out into the pillow. Rough stubbles scratches against his cheeks, a stark contrast to the slick smoothness of Eskel's tongue pressing inside and he's mindless as pleasure sparks through him. Geralt whimpers and rocks back, overwhelmed by so much sensation, until his hips stutter, unable to move fast enough to keep up with the need. But Eskel pulls him up, gripping around the base of his cock and thrusting in with his tongue.

Geralt whimpers, unable to do anything other than take what Eskel is offering. His legs shake under him, the coil of heat in his gut tightening until he almost can't stand it. He's so close, he just needs a little more. Eskel wants him to come like this and Geralt wants to, wants to shatter apart under his hands, and have Eskel put him back together again afterward. He whines and bucks, vaguely aware of Eskel rising up to cover him then Eskel strokes him again, slow and steady and he pushes him over the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart, fuck, you look pretty like this."

Geralt fists his hands in the pillow, hips jerking abortively as he spills all over his sheets. Eskel moves again, continuing to stroke him as he comes and then he's pulling away, readjusting to get an arm around his waist as Geralt's legs nearly give out on him.

"Fuck," he whines and Eskel guides him down against the mattress, humming softly against his skin.

"Yeah," Eskel agrees. He runs his hands up Geralt's back, slowly lowering himself over him until they're pressed chest to back and Geralt can feel Eskel's breath against his skin.

"Mm," Geralt mumbles, "you didn't come. Want you to fuck me." Geralt pushes his hips up and Eskel slides his hands up, letting his full weight rest on Geralt and twining their fingers together. He shifts his hips so his cock fits perfectly against Geralt's ass, pushing between his cheeks with each little movement.

"Just like this?"

"Yeah. Wanna feel you." He loves the weight of Eskel's body against him and he wants to make him come, and he wants to keep as close to him as he can.

"Tell me if it's too much," Eskel hums and then he's pulling one hand away, reaching down to adjust himself. Geralt holds his breath as the head of Eskel's cock presses against him and then he's pushing in, stretching him impossibly further and filling him up. He pauses before he's fully seated and Geralt shifts his hips, wiggling encouragingly.

"Don't wanna hurt you," Eskel mumbles and he sounds breathless already.

"You won't." Geralt can already hear the rebuttal, so he pushes his hips back, pushing all the way onto him, and Eskel drops his head between his shoulder blades.

"Fuck," he whines and Geralt just hums and tips his head to kiss Eskel's fingers where they're wrapped around his own.

Eskel gives a short roll of his hips, testing Geralt's readiness and pushes right up against his prostate. Geralt whines and his cock stirs beneath him where it presses into the bedding. It's sensitive, but it feels good and Geralt exaggerates the motion when Eskel thrusts into him again.

He keeps an even pace to start, slow enough not to hurt him, despite Geralt's assurances that he won't, but quick enough to keep him happy. And gods, he could stay like this for hours, pressed against the mattress as Eskel fucks into him. It feels like a dream, one of those he thought could never possibly come true, and yet with every thrust, Eskel mumbles against his skin, kisses him, holds him close against him. And Geralt didn't think he'd be able to come again, but his cock swells again, needy and wanting beneath him.

Then Eskel is shifting behind him, rising up to his knees and pulling Geralt up into his lap with him. He slips a hand around his chest, tweaking his nipples and sliding down his stomach. His fingers brush the base of his cock and Eskel hesitates before slipping down further, following the curve of his cock.

"Mmm, you're hard again," he hums, burying his face in Geralt's neck. "You want to come again, sweetheart?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Eskel's fingers are already wrapping around him again, stroking him in time with his thrusts and Geralt couldn't stop him even if he wanted to.

He settles his hands back on the bed, leaning back against Eskel's chest and turning to kiss him. The angel is awkward, but he catches his lips, groaning as Eskel takes the opportunity to slide his free hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh. He's already worked up and the faint brush is overwhelming.

He squirms under Eskel's fingers, but they just drag further up, teasing around Eskel's cock where it breaches him.

"Please," Geralt whispers and he's not even sure what he's asking for, but then Eskel presses one finger alongside his cock and Geralt's eyes roll back in his head. He's vaguely aware that he's mumbling, asking him for more, asking him to come, and Eskel holds him against his chest, kissing his shoulders and his neck.

"Come on," he whispers, "come for me, Geralt."

It doesn't take much after that, with Eske's hand around him and one pressing into him before he's coming again, a choked-off moan on his lips. Both of Eskel's hands leave him as he rides it out, wrapping around his middle.

Eskel fucks him quick and hard, panting against Geralt's ear.

"Love you," he mumbles, "gods, Geralt, you're so beautiful, so good for me-"

Eskel comes with Geralt's name on his lips, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and burying himself deep inside him. He shudders as he comes, hips twitching, and Geralt reaches a hand back to wrap around his neck.

For a moment they sit together, panting, and then Eskel flops to the side, pulling Geralt down with him. Geralt shifts to get comfortable, letting Eskel pull him up against his side so he can rest his head on his chest. The sheets are damp with sweat and come, but Geralt has never been so comfortable as he is in Eskel's arms.

"Could I stay?" Eskel hums, nosing into his hair.

"Of course," Geralt smiles, "as long as you want."

"Still got Lil' Bleater to get home to eventually, but I don't want to leave tonight."

"Could put a goat pen in the back corner of the garden," Geralt yawns, "there's lots of space if we move the fall plants to where the herbs are." Eskel pushes himself up, looking down at him.

"Geralt?" he asks tentatively, "are you- are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I- if it's not too much trouble going back and forth to the forge?" he reaches up, running a hand through Eskel's hair. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss you until you were gone again. I don't want you to leave again."

"You might get sick of me," he teases but his lips curl up in a smile and he smooths his hand across Geralt's stomach.

"I doubt it, it's been thirty years and I'm not sick of you yet."

"Thirty-" he starts but cuts himself off. "Yeah, okay. Guess we'll be building in the morning then, hm?"

"No," Geralt hums, tugging Eskel against him and curling back against his side. "Tomorrow we're moving plants, then we can build a goat pen."

six months later

For months, Geralt has been blissfully happy. He didn't think he'd ever get to be like this, but having Eskel living with him has been everything he could hope for and then some. They've even gotten another goat to keep Lil' Bleater occupied and Eskel has been talking about breeding them and selling goats. It's not a well-thought-out plan, but Geralt entertains it because Eskel's ideas usually turn out well for them and he wants Eskel to be as happy as he is.

But recently Eskel has been distant. He's always busy at the forge making something for someone, but lately, he's been spending more and more time there, coming home long after Geralt is asleep and leaving almost immediately after they wake up. And Geralt has his own business to attend to, so he tries not to let it bother him too much, but he can't help wondering.

Maybe Eskel is tired of spending so much time together, maybe he needs a break. On bad days, Geralt will wonder if there's someone else, but Eskel always comes home smelling of coal and singed hair, and that helps to settle Geralt's worries.

Then one morning he wakes up and Eskel isn't in bed at all. His side of the bed is still untouched from the night before and his first thought is that something happened to him again. Geralt rolls out of bed, fumbling to get dressed as he stumbles into the kitchen and out onto the road.

The forge isn't far, and he makes good time, running half the way in his rush to ensure Eskel is okay. And when he arrives, he shoves the door open to find… Eskel is fine. He's leaning over a table at the back of the shop and when he hears Geralt he turns to look at him.

He looks… fine and Geralt feels like an idiot for rushing up here. He's breathless, leaning in the doorway and Eskel smiles when he sees him, crossing the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, ducking down to kiss him briefly, "and in my shirt, no less?" Geralt looks down to find he is, indeed, wearing Eskel's shirt and he shrugs.

"You didn't come home last night, I was worried something had happened to you." The smile fades from Eskel's face and he shuts his eyes.

"Shit," he mumbles, "I'm sorry Geralt, I got carried away. I didn't mean to worry you." He takes Geralt's hands in his own, bringing them close to his face and kissing his knuckles. "I've been working on something special, something important. I thought it was too early, but maybe,-" he shrugs and smiles, "do you want to come see?"

Geralt nods and Eskel leads him back to the table at the back of the room. There doesn't seem to be anything there, but Eskel picks up a small velvet bag and opens it, tipping the contents into his palm. From here, Geralt can't tell what it is, but as Eskel gets closer, he realizes it's a ring.

"Can I-?" he asks, reaching out a hand and when Eskel nods, he picks it up and inspects it. It's beautifully crafted, delicate flowers inlaid in the band, honeysuckle, he thinks, everlasting bonds, happiness - a wedding ring, most likely. "It's beautiful."

"It's for you," Eskel says and Geralt's heart stops for a moment. "If you'll have it. If you'll have me."

"Eskel-"

"Just… you have made me happier than I've ever been, Geralt and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you. Marry me?"

"Yes," Geralt says before the rest of him can catch up. He doesn't even have a chance to think before Eskel is surging forward and scooping him up into his arms.

He kisses him softly, slowly, only pulling back to take the ring from Geralt's hand. He slips it onto his finger and slips his fingers between Geralt's, tipping forward to kiss him again. There's a weight to the ring, but it feels like comfort, like that first time Eskel touched him. Geralt smiles against his lips, bringing his free hand up to slip through Eskel's hair.

He can't believe that a year ago, he was silently pining over this man and now he's looking forward to spending the rest of his life with him.

[elliestormfound]

okay, listen to me

Are you listening?

Okay, here it comes: 

Blacksmith Eskel

Because they need someone at Kaer Morhen who can do metal work and who is better suited than our favorite beefy boy? 

Just imagine him all sweaty from the heat, bare arms with rippling muscles, a bit of soot smeared on his cheek...so strong...

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[eskel-and-goat]

Eskel might be the *polite one* but he’s got mad shit on everyone on the continent and he WILL spill it if deserved (and no one knows how he got it because he seems like such a nice shy witcher man but actually he’s been directly involved in every weird royal scandal for the past near-century)

He’s got his own burn book and everything. He can and will shit talk, don’t test him

[chasneedsamoustache]

How to get Eskel to fall instantly and completely in love with you

[thesleepy1]

Thank You For Making Him Smile

A/N: Anonymous asked for a Lambert fic. Pretty wholesome prompt compared to the last Lambert fic I wrote, lol. I love my angst but I'll try to keep this one light hearted. Scouts honor.

Pairings: Lambert x Reader

Summary: Lambert takes you to Kaer Morhen for the first time to meet his family. Suffice to say they aren't expecting you to bring out a better side in Lambert.

Word count: 1,683

Warnings: suggestive themes,

According to the stories Lambert told you, witchers were not known for their look of shock and surprise. It took a lot to catch a witcher off guard. Let alone a whole school of witchers. Apparently, their youngest bringing back a lover warranted a whole cloud of disbelief.

"Please, don't tell me you kidnapped some poor human," the eldest of the witchers remarked the moment you trailed in from the cold behind Lambert. Your witcher did not even have the chance to greet his family before all sets of eyes were on you, mouths gaping. Some were already making jests and jeers at Lambert, others were just confused as to why a human was following in Lambert’s wake.

The witcher of the hour looked irate to put things politely. He looked ready to do something worse than spit in someone’s tankard. His jaw was set and he glared at any gaze that lingered. A curse was hanging on the tip of his tongue, his fangs ready to sink into the first person who got too close.

Before an all out fight could begin, you embraced Lambert’s side and laid your chin on his shoulder. “Are you going to introduce me to your pack or are you too embarrassed to be seen with a lowly human?” you teased, giving Lambert a peck to his chin. His scowl lessened with the gentle kiss, eyes softening around the edges. His amber gaze settled on you like you were a jewel that had to be treasured.

Lambert’s arm came to wrap around your waist, his sag of personal belonging dropping onto the floor with a heavy thud. “That old fart is Vizimir and the pretty boy’s Geralt.” Lambert went on introducing you to the other witchers. You learned their names along with colorful insults some of which contained curses that you were not even aware of. When it was finally your turn to be introduced, there was no ill intent to be found from Lambert. His voice took on a low tone, something almost private despite the audience. He spoke of you far higher than you deserved. You were just a mere blacksmith in Redania but Lambert made you out to be the royal family’s personal armorer. You were no such thing but you could not help but soak up Lambert's praise.

*****

The other witchers took well to having a guest in the keep. You were afraid that everyday was going to be a battle to earn their respect but when you volunteered to help Eskel with supper that night, it seemed like you had won them over. Cooking was not your speciality but Eskel was a good teacher and you had brought along spices and herbs from the city and passing merchants. It may seem like a trivial thing to invest one’s coin in but some ginger root was the difference between dull slop and a gut warming bowl of stew.

And when the school of witchers had a taste of yours and Eskel’s meal, they had to agree. Lambert begged for seconds which was common, but you distinctly saw Coen sneaking spoonfuls from his neighbor. It was hilarious to be honest. These century old monster hunters fighting over food like some school children. You could almost imagine what the keep must have been like in its prime.

Hundreds of heads darting about. Boys and men of all ages coming in and out of the dining hall, the kitchens. You could see boys the same age as your little brothers fighting over who got the last of the baked sweets. You could imagine war tired witchers settling down next to the hearth. You could picture boys coming back from their first year on the path, stories and horrors to tell to the witcherlings.

These still living witchers breathed with the spirit of the old.

*****

“Do you know where Lambert ran off to?” Coen asked from the doorway of the armory. You had taken to the weathered room like a moth to a flame. There was a little cot and furs in the corner where you had refused to leave unless your work was finished. Lambert had taken to sleeping with you as well, the young witcher could almost always be found within an arm's distance of you.

“It's his turn to bring in firewood,” you informed Coen from your work table.

“Well, yes, I know it's his turn. I’ve been tasked to drag him outside,” Coen spoke as if this was an annual occurrence. “Do you know where I could find him?”

“Last I saw of him, he already had an ax to a fallen pine.”

“He what?” Coen’s surprise made you look up from your restoration of a battered chest piece. Your look of confusion must have thrown him off as well because before you knew it, he was standing right in front of you. “Repeat that. Please.”

“Lambert is outside,” you spoke slowly, feeling as if you had missed something.

“What do you mean he’s outside?”

Your brows furrowed, lips pursed in thought, “That’s where you get firewood around here, yes? Or do you just use your signs to warm up the keep?” You tilted your head. You surely saw logs in the fireplaces. Sure, the witchers started the fires with their signs but fire still needed something to feed on. “Lambert’s getting firewood as far as I know.”

Coen rubbed his face in disbelief. At what you were not sure of. “I’ve got to tell the others.” A grin stretched across his features that told of nothing good. “They won’t believe my words. Tell me, how did you convince him? Bribery? Insults? We’re tried them all and nothing has worked.”

You shrugged, at a loss to Coen’s reaction. “I only told him I was cold.”

*****

Late in the night after supper all the witchers cleared their tables and brought out the stores of ale. Tankards were shared as well as tales of monsters and monstrous humans. There must have been a class on storytelling because their recallings were captivating. You hung onto every word even when your eyes grew heavy and your mouth was filled with more yawns than sips of ale.

You leaned into Lambert’s side, the heat from the fire, ale, and Lambert’s body were nothing if not very soothing. Your head laid on his shoulder, hand resting on his thigh. “Sing to me, Lambchop,” you requested, voice barely above a whisper. In a dining hall of heightened senses, everyone heard. “Please, darling?”

The other witchers tried to be subtle as they lessened their talks and leaned towards you and Lambert. They weren’t fooling anyone but Lambert was not put off. He pulled you flush to his side, stubble scratching at your skin as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Lambert knew only a handful of songs, most centered around taverns and what sort of people to spend the night with, but he sang them anyway. His voice was low, pitch something of a mother’s lullaby despite its lyrics. The witchers held their breaths as the youngest of their ranks sang his lover into slumber.

*****

Nearing the end of the winter, you were pulled aside one morning on your way to the hot springs. You held onto your towel of soaps and oils possessively against your attacker. “Geralt, I thought I told you to purchase your own oils,” you scolded the pair of arms that tugged at you.

When you turned around to face more than your resident white haired witcher, you were baffled to say the least. “Do all of you expect me to give you my soaps? Don’t you have any of your own?”

Geralt was the one to speak for the group, although not eloquently. “No-yes, I mean,” Geralt cleared his throat. “No to your first question, yes to our hygiene.” You nodded, still skeptical as to why all the witchers were acting like they were guilty of some crime. “We just wanted to say thank you.”

“What for?”

“For bringing out a better side to Lambert. He’s never brought anyone to the keep before and we had feared that he never will. Lambert can be…”

“Difficult,” you finished for him, finally understanding what the witchers were getting at.

“Yes, to put it politely,” Coen piped in, another word for what Lambert was on the tip of his tongue.

“He’s not the easiest to get along with, but when he’s with you it's like the Lambert before all the terrible things that happened comes out.” A small smile that must have passed for a face altering grin passed Geralt’s face. “He’s playful and responsible, he sings with us again without being blackout drunk. Hell, he hasn’t been black out drunk since he got here and believe me when I say he had many chances.”

“You make him happy and for that we could not thank you enough,” Vizmir finished.

*****

Later, in the hot springs with your back resting on Lambert’s chest, you told Lambert of his family’s words. “They outright thanked me for making you yourself,” your tongue twisted on your words and Lambert kissed you until you could remedy your phrasing. “They were grateful that I made you Lambert.”

“But I’m already Lambert.”

You turned in your seat on Lambert’s lap. “Exactly, my dear. I didn’t do anything worth thanking.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lambert mused, thumb grazing your lower lip. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been. I think that warrants a thanks.”

“But it's not like it's a chore, Lambchop. I’m honored to make you smile.”

Lambert pulled you into a kiss, his tongue asking you ever so gently for permission. You gladly granted him entrance into your mouth. Your hands cradled his face like it was the most precious thing, your legs straddled his legs. His hands ran up and down your naked body, thick fingers pressing against your hips, your thighs, your arms, and anything else he could reach.

He parted only for you to catch your breath. Even then he pressed a chaste peck to your nose. “Either way, thank you.”

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Tender Love and Care. Alpha!Eskel X Omega!Reader

Master List

*Edited and Revised 06/07/22. Story and character developing chapters added.*

Alaska are you starting another series even though you haven't finished the last one????

Maybe........

There is like zero ABO Eskelxreaders and, seeing as filling niche genres is my specialty (as of posting this still the only person to have written Laufey x reader) I figured I would at least give it a go. How many parts am i planning? Don't know. Do I plan on smut? Honey this aint ABO for show. Is there smut in this chapter? no, in usual fashion I can't write anything short. Anyway onward to the fic!

There was a sort of endearment you had for men that were completely oblivious. Maybe it was the vulnerability they showed in not knowing. Maybe it the breath of fresh air that seeing a man asking for help—in a world where men knew all the answers—brought. Maybe it was just the utterly adorable look on Eskel’s face when he was confused. Yeah, that probably had a lot to do with it. You and the Witcher were quite familiar. Living in the closest village to Kaer Morhen you ran in too many of the Witchers. Running the only library/bookshop/book repair shop meant you ran into two Witchers more than others. Vesemir was the one you were most acquainted with, seeing as he stayed at the keep year-round. He made monthly trips to see you for supplies, to fix books for him or just to chat. You held a soft spot for the old man. His eyes seemed to hold an air of regret, you supposed in a life as long as his he had done many things he regretted, you sure had.

In truth you were not fully human. You were half fae. The daughter of a king and his once swore enemy turned lover. This meant you lived long-- in truth you were probably as old as Vesemir if not older—but still appeared fully human. This however came with it’s quirks. You were still subject to heats. Yes, if being a fae hybrid was not enough you were also an omega. This had made you unique and had drawn quite a few eyes your father was none too thrilled about. That was why you chose to stay here instead of the land of the fairies. You could visit at any time, all it took was a looking glass or a still, clear, pool of water to go back, but it was safer to reside here full time. It also came with the perks of seeing the other Witcher you were acquainted with, Eskel, standing around your shop looking for all intents and purposes, oblivious.

You had resided and run this book shop in this exact building for 50 years (you resided in a different town before that) and not once had Eskel seemed to notice you did not age. Vesemir also never said anything. You wondered if all Witchers were like this. You hoped so. As watching Eskel try to sneak glances at you while supposedly perusing books. All the while you trying to pretend like you didn’t notice, never failed to make you bury your head into a book to hide your smile.

Eskel and you had been flirting back and forth for the past 10 years. You weren’t sure how it started. The time spent with Eskel blurred into one amazing scene in your head. Over time awkward glances turned into loving glances. Jolted unexpected touches turned into lingering of hands over one another as he handed you something. In a blink a decade had passed of casual comments and gestures, and he had been your best friend before that. He knew everything, everything that made you tick or caused you to calm down.

 It excited you, knowing he would come to you every spring and fall like the rising and setting of the sun. However, you wished to progress with him. You were in no rush that was for sure, but it was becoming harder and harder to watch him walk away. Your heats felt like they were becoming lonelier and lonelier. Sure you could probably have some Alpha stay and satisfy you. Both the widower tavernowner and local blacksmith had propositioned you before.  But you didn’t want SOME Alpha. You wanted the Alpha that was too large to fit through the doorway and had to crouch. The one that would enviably knock over a book or two and then profusely apologize for it. Probably thanking all the gods above that he couldn’t blush. The one that would press wildflowers into the pages of the books he borrowed for you to find when he returned them. Yes, you wanted him. And you were intent on having him.

Just like clockwork, as the leaves started to fall, your door clicked open. The smell of Patchouli, lemongrass, and pine mixing with that of paper, leather, and ink. The smell of Eskel in your bookshop was one that enticed you to no end. You wished more than anything you could bottle it. You looked up through you lashes, away from the, frankly large, tomb you were fixing to gaze at Eskel. He narrowly avoided knocking over a stack of books while trying to maintain eye contact. You laughed quietly sitting up and looking at him straight on. His face was worn, the sun ravaged skin that comes with traveling making him even more appealing to you.

He stood before you, content to stand there all day and look at you. It was quite a few moments before he seemed to realize he was before you for a reason and grabbed at the bag from his shoulder.  He cleared his throat.

“I believe these are yours” He said. Extending the four books you had lent him this year.

“Why thank you” you replied mirth slipping into your voice. You placed the books on the floor on top of another small stack next your stool behind your desk.

“What are you working on?” Eskel said, slipping to stand behind the desk next you. On queue knocking over the stack you had just set down.

“fuckin hell” He said under his breath the venom in it lost when paired with the little giggle you gave out.

“I’m fixing this tomb for Vesemir, he’s supposed to come pick it up before winter. But, if you don’t mind staying for a bit.” Eskel perked up at the invitation.

You continued “I almost have it done. Then I can send it up with you instead of having him make the extra trip” You reached over the desk for the needle, working on fixing the outer seam of leather from where it had come undone.

“I recognize this” Eskel said from where he was peering over your shoulder. You hummed at him and you looked up to look at his face. His lips were upturned slightly and his eyes shone. His neck stretched out, leading in a trail to the wide expanse of his shoulders. As he peered over you his body enclosed around you, creating a magnetic, warm wall against your back. You leaned back just barely to get closer. Not enough to touch, just enough to get that much closer to him. Perched on the ledge, not ready to jump.

“Yes” there was an undertone of excitement in his voice  “this is the old sword drill manual. Why on earth would Vesemir want you to restore this?” Confusion marred his face as he continued “All of us have this thing memorized, hell Vesemir himself could probably quote it word for word.”

“Maybe he’s sentimental?” you offered. Recalling how gingerly Vesemir had carried the manual into you.

“Perhaps, but seems a strange thing to be sentimental over.” He dismissed.

“Oh come on” You started playfully. ”You can’t tell me there isn’t one thing in that keep you don’t want to preserve?”

He seemed to ponder it a moment before nodding slowly

“You know there is one thing.”

“what?” you asked. You turned to face him better, an arm resting on the back of the chair.

“A book of poetry from my mother. It’s the only thing I have from when before I took up the path, outside of some vague memories. It’s only the size of a hand or so. I snuck it into the keep in the waistband of my pants and kept it in the straw of my mattress in the bunks.” He looked off in the distance for a moment. Emotion flashing behind his eyes.

“I haven’t read it in years for fear it will completely fall apart” It didn’t seem like he was talking to you. It was more like he was talking to himself, or someone else lost in his memories.  You lifted you hand to his arm, grabbing his attention once more.

“If only you knew someone that fixed books” You said eyes gesturing back and forth between his gaze and the book you were fixing. He laughed a moment.

“I suppose I never thought of that, though I’m afraid if it wouldn’t survive a simple read it certainly couldn’t take traveling down a mountain.” You hated the dejected tone that took over his voice. You were well acquainted with that feeling. The spark of hope that flares in you only to be plunged into the cold water of reality. That feeling. You wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially not Eskel.  A fire was set under your skin as you spoke.

“Well we’ve got at least a good few weeks before it’s ought to snow. If you’d like I could come up to the keep myself and fix it up there. At least enough to where I could bring it back here and work on it this winter.”

“Really?” The smile reached Eskel’s eyes as he looked down expectantly at you.

“Well I mean I’ll have to miss out on all these costumers” You gestured to the empty shop. Eskel gave out a small chuckle.

“But yes Eskel I would love to fix it for you.”

[artistsfuneral]

Vesemir has a huge chunk of land and a small farmhouse. Over the years people kept asking him to take care of rescue animals and it slowly turned into a thing.

Geralt is the vet, Eskel the blacksmith/farrier, Lambert the shearer, Jaskier is the one that sells a little bit of everything he produces at his own cottage.

Vesemir's farm is their unintentional meeting spot. The story explains how they become friends and then more...

[myidlehand]

AU idea

The next spring after Blaviken, all the Witchers get a letter (a magic one that can trace them wherever they are) that says that all the Northern Kingdoms have agreed on a new law.

No Witcher will be allowed to take any contract or be paid for any job if he isn't accompanied by a human scribe. Said human will be officially attached to one Witcher and will be responsible for journaling every hunt, every contract and any other relevant Witchering. So that if a Witcher commits another crime, threaten or steal from a human or tries to get paid more than his due, there will be plenty of evidence of his evil doings. (There was contradictory evidence in Blaviken with some witnesses saying Geralt killed mercenaries threatening the town so no judgement was officially made). The scribe is also expected to keep his Witcher from doing anything rash and to help Witchers to have better relationship with humans (the hope is that people will feel less threaten if a human is accompanying the Witcher). The humans are not required to winter with the Witchers but they must be present when their Witcher travels anywhere.

All Witchers are to present themselves to the nearest palace to be assigned a human and get the paperwork that will allow them to work.

That's how, come spring all four wolves of Kaer Morhen end up in front of the King of Kaedwen. There's a lot of protest against this law, mostly from Lambert and Geralt but in the end they can't win since the law as been posted across the entire Northern continent (and it's kinda Geralt's fault). Only the universal hatred for Witchers could unit evey Kingdom.

Vesemir ends up with a blacksmith in his late twenties. He seems of a good nature. He seems to light up when Vesemir inform him he won't have to travel but will stay at Kaer Morhen with him most of the time and will be able to visit his family regularly. The man seem capable and Vesemir needs help keeping the Keep standing. It's not too bad.

Lambert gets an extremely chatty young doctor, just out of school. The man seem to breath only every couple of minutes and won't stop asking him questions. Lambert immediately wants to claw his ears off and starts protesting the entire thing again.

The first guy they put in front of Eskel takes one looks at him, screams, soils himself and passes out. The second man goes really pale and keeps shaking, but doesn't say anything. Eskel privately wonders how many of these men were volunteers and if any of them had any choice becoming their scribes.

And of course Geralt ends up with a very bouncy young man who seems absolutely over the moon to be given to a Witcher. He has a lute strap across his back, eyes bluer than the ocean and a ability to speak faster than Geralt's brain can keep up. He introduced himself as Jaskier, poet and bard extraordinaire. Jaskier has apparently already planned half of their itinerary.

Geralt sends a pleading looks at Vesemir who smirks and shakes his head before turning to his new companion. Eskel pretend not seeing the puppy eyes Geralt makes at him. Lambert just says "don't look at me, mine's even worse".

Not having any other choice, they all go their separate ways, trying to get use to their new companions. It takes about five months for Geralt to admit that maybe Jaskier is not so annoying and he could, in very dire circonstances, agree they are possibly just a little bit friends. Jaskier immediately makes them friendship bracelets. He ties it on Geralt's wrist while he's sleeping. Which is very distressing for Geralt the next morning. Three days later Geralt gets another bracelet, it's twin on Roach's front leg. Jaskier scratches her nose and says a man can have two best friends and she was getting jealous. Geralt calls him an idiot but doesn't take his bracelets off.

Lambert and Eskel end up crossing path just before summer. It takes Eskel nearly two full months to realise the man he's traveling with is not actually mute, just very very closed off. It's been a boring few months, he was actually looking forward having a traveling companion. Lambert seems about ready to murder his. They spend about three days together. Nobody says anything when the mute man leaves with Lambert and the chatty one leaves with Eskel. Lambert and his companion share about four words a day, which is perfect for both of them. The man turn out to be a good chemist and silently help Lambert to make explosives. Eskel spends an entire day talking exclusively about ekhidna anatomy with his new doctor companion. He's never been this happy before. The man seems genuinely delighted to learn has much as Eskel can possibility teach him. It's perfect.

When winter comes they find Vesemir and his blacksmith have been very busy. The Keep hasn't looked this good in years. It's a big adjustment for all of them but maybe it's not so bad after all.

[justhereforeskel]

Gift prompt for @witcher-bows-and-arrows Blacksmith!Eskel made a nice little trimming dagger for Herbalist!Geralt 💜 Playing in @witcher-and-his-bard's AU with this one! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[pillage-and-lute]

Kaer Morons and My Headcanons for their Hobbies

Geralt loves horses and gwent but his hobby in the wintertime is leather working. He does some lovely decorative work on the strap for Jaskier’s lute and even, subtly, Roach’s tack. He repairs all her tack himself too. Gifts Ciri some beautiful leather armor pieces when she’s about fifteen and she’s heartbroken when she grows out of them. (He makes her more)

Eskel has a surprising talent for recognizing gemstones. Maybe it’s the magic that’s inherent in most precious or even semi-precious stones, but he remembers their name. He likes blacksmithing and can do the basics, but between his skill with gems and a surprising aptitude for gold and silversmithing, Eskel is an excellent jeweller with the patience for very detailed pieces

Lambert has an exquisite eye for color and it translates into artistic talent. He likes clothes and fabrics and, although he isn’t quite patient enough to sew, enjoys sketching outfits. He’s a pretty good painter, too. He dabbles in brewing but is most successful with vodka and mead.

Coen is more patient and steady than his wolf peers, and apart from his sword drill, he enjoys woodworking. His favorite pieces are large, useful items, like sturdy tables, chairs, and chests, but for certain people (mainly Ciri on whom he dotes) will carve more delicate pieces. He varnishes all his own pieces and they decorate much of Kaer Morhen.

Aiden is a baker, to the delight of everyone who stays in the keep. His preferred fare is bread of all sorts, but he branches out into scones, farls, and sometimes sweeter things like honeycakes, when materials are available

Letho likes killing things. This comes with an aptitude for alchemical and chemical work as he develops his own specially curated toxins. Just don’t taste the experiments. The rat poison he developed finally cured the infestation in Kaer Morhen, although he changed the recipe to sub-lethal after a young Ciri begged him to. He has a soft spot for her, and with her urging branched out into other chemisty that has nothing to do with death at all. He and Triss sometimes collaborate on medicinal plants and in return she sewed him a coat to wear in his lab, although he requested she take the sleeves off. (Because buffness)

Vesemir has many hobbies, aquired over a long lifetime. One of them is reading romance novels and correcting the sex scenes in the margins. (Jaskier once spent a happy afternoon cackling over comments such as “under no condition should a phallus be called a ‘bratwurst’” and “if her bosom is that big, why wasn’t she wearing something under her nightgown, her back must ache”). He also keeps bees, whose honey contributes to Aiden’s honeycakes and Lambert’s mead. There are a few goats at Kaer Morhen and, although caring for them is Eskel’s preferred task, their milk is made into chees by Vesemir, who also occasionally knits with their wool

+ Bonus non-witchers

Jaskier says his only true hobby is music and poetry, but also indulges in making soaps and perfumes. Tailoring scents especially for his friends and family brings him great joy, and he delights in seeing his creations used up so he can make more. In his travels with Geralt he often picks up ingredients that are hard to find, such as cloves or dried orange peel, to use in his soaps. He collects natural dyes to create the best color combinations as well, and they often stain his fingertips.

Triss likes sewing and embroidery, and finds it calming, in an odd way. She’s a mostly peaceful person, often mediating conflicts with her friends, so perhaps sometimes she just wants to stab something hundreds of times until she feels better. Whatever the reason, she makes very nice clothing and is happy to consult with Lambert on colors

Yennefer was surprised to find she enjoys spinning and weaving. The creation of yarn and cloth under her fingertips is a power much like magic, and Jaskier, with all his natural items, usually is willing to dye it for her. (so long as he’s allowed to make a few jokes likening her to sleeping beauty’s wicked fairy)

Ciri is most often the recipient of the other’s gifts and talents, a wonderful place to be. It has left her with a skill for interior decorating and home organization. She enjoys cleaning up and moving furniture around to bring a room new life. She’s also taken to rock climbing and rappelling the walls of Kaer Morhen, which gives her two fathers, her two mothers, her grandfather, her four uncles, and the weird sort of uncle who comes around sometimes, heart attacks. (Geralt and Jaskier, Triss and Yennefer, Vesemir, Lambert Eskel Aiden Coen, and Letho).

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Everybody Knows It

Pairing: Geralt x original female character, Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): sex work, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, a whole lot of smut Rating: explicit

Summary:  When Geralt visits a brothel, he brings Jaskier along to keep him out of trouble, but it ends up being far more of a prize than a punishment.

For @writinglizards​. Thank you for pushing me to finally write one of these, I’ve been wanting to for months

It's not that Jaskier's been causing more problems lately, per se, but trouble does seem to find him everywhere these days. It started with an angry husband back in Hagge (the wife he had slept with months prior, but Geralt hardly cared to listen). Then there was the innkeeper whose son Jaskier had slipped away with one night, much to his father's displeasure. Then a blacksmith, a herbalist, a ferrier. All still angry about things that took place days ago or longer. And now on top of all of that, Geralt is angry with him. Angry enough to not let him out of his sight, but also not angry enough to keep him away from the brothel, which seems odd. It's not until they arrive that Jaskier realizes he will be accompanying Geralt and he struggles to see how this is a punishment.

The worker who greets them is stunning, as beautiful as any queen or princess Jaskier has ever known with long red hair flowing down to her waist. She takes them to a room tucked away in the corner and lets them in first, slapping Geralt's ass as he passes. The two of them are very familiar and Jaskier assumes they've seen each other before. He knows it's not easy for Geralt to find a brothel that will take him so once he does find one, and a woman he likes, he must stick to that. Which also explains why he's so grouchy, because it's been months since they've been back in Vizima.

The girl - Katja - guides Jaskier back into a chair at the back of the room and he's immediately turned on by her presence. She's forceful with only the lightest touch and he would pay a hell of a lot to spend the night with her. But he sits where he's put, in perfect view of the bed. He supposes the room is set up that way on purpose, so those who only like to watch can be present without having to participate, but he doesn't know how he's going to survive.

"Are you okay being involved?" she asks and Jaskier's mouth goes dry. For a man whose words are his livelihood, he's certainly short on them today. "Geralt likes being watched and he likes being reminded of it. Sometimes I have another girl come in, but if you're okay with it...?" She lets the sentence trail off and Jaskier nods. She chuckles softly.

"Anything you're not okay with? Touching? Kissing?"

"Anything," he manages, "for Geralt, nothing's too much." She smiles peculiarly at him. It's the same kind of smile he's seen on Eskel or, slightly more irritably, on Lambert which… doesn't make sense.

"And with me?"

"Anything." Katja's smile morphs into one of amused pleasure and she tips forward, bracing herself on his thighs. Her breasts hang in front of his face and he wants to touch, wants to lean forward and kiss her soft skin, but he holds back. They're here for Geralt.

"You'll get your turn," she says sweetly, "I'm not going to leave you wanting." She dips forward, catching his lips in a firm kiss before pulling away.

Katja then turns her attention to Geralt, crossing the room to press up close, and running her hands up his chest. From where he sits, Jaskier can see the way Geralt's eyes widen a little, the way he swallows hard and drops his gaze to meet her eyes. She's only a little shorter, but the fact that she looks up to him and Geralt still submits wholly without being told is something Jaskier didn't need to know. His cock stirs in his trousers and he grips his thighs, shifting to lean back in his seat.

"It's been a while," she hums and Jaskier doesn't hear Geralt's response, but he sees the way his eyelids flutter as she runs her hand down his chest.

Without speaking, Katja turns Geralt around and guides him to the bed, pushing him back until his knees hit the frame. Jaskier watches in wonder as Geralt moves fluidly under her touch, not even a note of hesitation as she presses on his chest and he drops to sit on the edge of the bed. Up until now, Jaskier could never imagine Geralt letting anyone have that kind of power over him, but here's a sex worker from Vizima just smiling prettily at him and pushing him around like some sort of doll. And fuck if that isn't a little hot.

She spreads Geralt's knees apart, pressing down on them as she pushes between and then she's dropping to her knees, hands slipping down the backs of Geralt's calves. He's still fully dressed, but it doesn't seem to bother her any; clearly, Katja knows what she's doing. She reaches up, stroking Geralt through his trousers and even from here, Jaskier can see that he's hard, his cock pushing up obscenely against the rough material. He's always tried to avoid looking directly at Geralt's cock out of respect when they're naked around each other, but he knew he was big and now he can't keep his eyes off of him. Even Katja in her silk and lace - and very little of it - can't keep him from biting his lip at the sight of Geralt's hard prick.

"Oh," she breathers, tipping her head back to look up at Geralt, "you are happy to see me."

"Always," Geralt says and it sends a shiver up Jaskier's spine. She does know what he wants. They've done this before.

"Mm, you spoil me, Geralt." She squeezes him through his trousers and Jaskier can see the way Geralt's expression pinches up, the way his fingers curve a little tighter around the sheets.

He leans back on his hands, watching Katja work and the arousal is already clear in his face. Jaskier hadn't noticed it earlier, so either Geralt really likes her or he's been in need for a while now. The latter causes mixed feelings and Jaskier isn't sure how to deal with them, so he ignores them, pushes them aside and focuses on Katja's hand, pressing more firmly down on Geralt's cock.

She lingers there for some time, working him up to full hardness until his trousers are pulled taut around his impressive erection and Jaskier can barely breathe for the thought of seeing it naked. Then, slowly, she rises to her feet, pressing her hips back in a way that makes Jaskier's cock twitch against his thigh. she runs her hands over Geralt's thighs, right up to his ships and leans in over him.

"Better get you out of these," she says, "don't want you making too much of a mess just yet."

And fuck, the mental image that leaves. Jaskier has been more than respectful, he thinks, considering the discrepancy in times Geralt has barged in on him naked and vice versa, but he has, on occasion, imagined what Geralt would be like when he gets worked up. He puts on a strong face, but Jaskier has always imagined him more docile in bed, giving but needy and the thought of him wet and leaking is too fucking much.

Heat prickles at the back of his neck and Jaskier has to squeeze his leg again to keep from touching himself. He wants to; the thought of getting off watching Geralt fuck someone is unbelievably tempting, but he knows he shouldn't. He hasn't been invited here, he's been brought along only to keep him out of trouble. And getting his cock out when he shouldn't is usually what gets him in trouble.

But he would so happily climb up there, even just to sit behind Geralt and hold him while Katja undresses him. She's got his trousers unbuttoned now, teasing the head of Geralt's cock where it pokes between the flaps. He's still covered by his smalls and Jaskier nearly groans when he catches a glimpse of the dark spot where his cock presses out. He is wet. Fuck.

Katja leans forward, pressing her mouth to the fabric and kissing the covered head. Geralt whines under her and Jaskier can see how he holds his hips down, keeps himself from bucking up against her mouth. He can't imagine having that kind of control over a man like Geralt, and without even having to say a word, he just knows. She doesn't torment him for long, though, tugging his smalls down with his trousers and Jaskier can't focus on anything but Geralt's cock as it bounces free, bobbing between his body and the mattress.

He bites down on his bottom lip and tries to tear his gaze away, but Geralt is huge and hard and Jaskier would almost risk the consequences to cross the room and get his mouth on him right now. But Katja beats him to it. She ducks her head and Jaskier can't see past Geralt's thigh - not that the view is one to complain about - but whatever she's doing, Geralt is thoroughly enjoying.

His fingers clench in the sheets and his eyes drop shut and he's so fucking sexy it's unreal. Jaskier quickly shucks off his doublet, dropping it to the floor because it's much too hot for it now. He watches Geralt's face, watches the little shifts in his expression as Katja slips from the base up to the head, suckling just at the very tip until Geraly is moaning outright, any hesitation long forgotten. He sounds beautiful like this, so lost in pleasure already that he's either forgotten about Jaskier or just doesn't care anymore. The latter, he suspects, because Geralt is always aware of his surroundings.

Katja gets a hand around him, stroking firmly but slowly, though she refuses to take any more of him into her mouth. Initially, Jaskier thinks it's because she's unable to - and who could blame her? - but he realizes, as she teases sinking lower, that she wants Geralt to ask for it.

Something about it shoots hot and true, straight through Jaskier because Geralt doesn't ask for things for himself. He's practically incapable of it. But he moans loudly and Katja squeezes him hard and he drops his chin to his chest with a mumbled please.

"Please what?"

"Suck me," he moans, "fuck, Kat, please."

"Mm, you are hard up aren't you? You need it that badly?"

"Yes, fuck."

"How badly."

"Fuck," Geralt groans again, "so badly. 'S been too long."

"How long? When was the last time you touched yourself?"

For the briefest moment, Geralt's eyes flick over to Jaskier and Jaskier feels like he can't breathe. Not forgotten about, then.

"Couple weeks ago."

"That is a long time. Why don't you tell me about it?" Geralt groans and Katja hums in amusement. "Tell me about touching yourself and I'll let you come in my mouth."

There's a strangled moan that follows, but Jaskier is unsure if it comes from him or from Geralt. It goes unacknowledged, but Geralt shifts uncomfortably.

"We were in Cintra, visiting a friend."

"You and Jaskier?" Katja asks, turning to smile slyly at him. Geralt nods. "Go on."

"Jask was performing, I- I told him I was going to lie down. The business of cities is too much sometimes and I told him I needed to rest but-"

Jaskier holds his breath, afraid to miss a single word. He remembers this, remembers Geralt acting strangely before the banquet, but he never pressed as to what was wrong.

"But?" Katja prompts and Jaskier would die for her.

"I was so fucking horny. I'd been hard half the ride there, thinking about-'' he cuts himself off and switches tracks. "Needed to get off and I wasn't going to find anyone to fuck in Cintra, so I ha to do it myself."

"A shame, my sweet, I would have loved to ride this pretty prick for you. But, you're missing some very important details." She slips her fingers up the length of his cock, pressing the tip of one into the slit and Geralt whines. "What made you so horny that day? What were you thinking about that got you hard?"

"Fucker wouldn't stop playing," Geralt mumbles, so soft that Jaskier nearly misses it over the blood rushing in his ears. "Couldn't stop thinking about his fingers, how they'd feel on my cock or-"

"Go on."

"-inside me."

"Oh, I bet they'd feel delightful, my pet. Continue. How did it feel before you arrived? Bet you were wet, weren't you?" Geralt nods weakly.

"Godsdamn nearly come in my trousers with the saddle pressing against my prick."

"Did you like that? Like the thought of Jaskier right next to you, oblivious to how fucking hard you were because of him? I bet you did, didn't you? You wanted to come." Katja leans up close, pressing against his cock and whispering in his ear. Jaskier is too far to hear what she's saying, but Geralt whimpers at it, hips shaking with the effort to keep them still.

It doesn't matter what she says because Geralt's reaction is enough and Jaskier's already reeling from the confession. He is very good with his hands and if he'd known Geralt wanted a demonstration, he would have been more than happy to oblige. Still would be at any given time.

"Tell me the rest, tell me about getting your hands on your cock and I'll suck it."

"Couldn't wait," he mumbles, "barely got out of the main hall before pulling it out."

"Anyone could have seen you," Katja grins, "Jaskier could have seen you."

"Didn't care. Needed to come so badly."

"Did you think about him while you pleasured yourself?"

"Mm," Geralt admits and Jaskier's mind breaks a little. Geralt thought about him with his hand on his prick. "Hard not to. Could hear him from the other room."

"Oh, and I bet you liked that, didn't you? Tell me Geralt, did you get wet for him? Did you even need slick or did you just jerk off right there in the hall?" Geralt whines again, dropping his head forward and Katja nips at his jaw.

"I did. Couldn't help it."

"Mm, I bet that was a pretty sight to see. A lot of people would be delighted to find you on your knees with your cock in your hand. Bet Jaskier would be delighted to see that, hm?" she turns to him for a moment, a sly smile on her face, and then- "but a promise is a promise-" without another word, Katja drops, taking half of Geralt's cock into her mouth without hesitation.

This time, he does buck forward and Katja doesn't even try to stop him. She lets him fuck into her mouth until she's nearly taken all of him and then stops and presses his hips down. Geralt shudders and she just holds him there as she pulls back, painfully slowly even for Jaskier who is only watching.

His own cock throbs now, precome gathering at the head, but he doesn't dare touch himself. As soon as Geralt is done, he's going to find the first willing person and spend the rest of the night in bed with them. He'd prefer to find someone with a cock he can suck, but he's not picky.

He can feel the need from Geralt's story, knows what it's like to watch someone all day and not be able to touch, to want so fucking badly you can't stand it any longer. The irony that Geralt was thinking the same about him is too much because Jaskier has jerked off in bed more times than he can count, imagining sliding into Geralt's body or climbing onto him to ride that magnificent cock. He aches for it and the more he focuses on Geralt and Katja, the more desperate he becomes.

Which is ridiculous seeing as they've been here maybe twenty minutes, but Jaskier's cock throbs in his trousers and he's not sure he'll make it to the end of this without making a mess of himself. But Katja is so controlled, so assured in all her movements and Geralt already looks like he's about to split apart at the seams, how is he supposed to cope with that? When he watches her sinking further onto Geralt's cock and he's not sure which one of them he wants to switch places with.

Because he'd give anything for the chance to suck Geralt's cock, but the way Katja moves, the way she glances repeatedly up at Geralt with just the tip of his cock between her lips, Jaskier knows he'd be fucking ruined by her. She presses further between Geralt's legs, resting her arms on the bed on either side of him and she presses his fingers into his ass, pulling him forward.

Geralt shudders and Jaskier can see the way his hips twitch before he lets out a stuttered, breathy moan. He stills abruptly, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he rolls his head back. Jaskier realizes abruptly, that he's coming and that's- fuck, that's hot. Jaskier squeezes his thighs together, shifting for any sort of friction on his cock. He whimpers and leans back in his chair, forcing his legs apart and balling his hands into fists.

He wants so badly to touch, even just the faintest press against his cock would be incredible right now. But that's not what he's here for. Across the room, Katja is pulling off Geralt's cock and climbing up into his lap. She hovers just above him, the silk of her panties just a fraction of an inch from Geralt's still-hard cock. And Jaskier doesn't know how he can withstand the temptation because he can barely stand it, just watching.

She rocks her hips as she presses Geralt down against the bed, and Jaskier can no longer see Geralt's face but he can't imagine the frustration. Or maybe it's only because he wants to come to fucking badly. Katja unbuttons his shirt slowly, dragging her fingertips along Geralt's skin as she pushes the shirt up over his head. And when Geralt's fully naked, she drags her fingers down his cheek and Geralt cranes his head up, wrapping his lips around the finger that catches on his mouth.

Katja pulls her finger out, running it along his bottom lip and Jaskier watches, enthralled.

"You want something to do with your mouth?" she asks and Jaskier isn't sure whether it's himself or Geralt that moans in response.

Katja doesn't wait for a more coherent answer before climbing up so she's straddling Geralt's face. She turns, pulling her panties to the side, and lowers herself onto Geralt's mouth. Instantly, his hands come up, gipping around her thighs as she rocks forward with a soft sigh. While Geralt is occupied, she turns her attention back to Jaskier.

"You like watching?" she asks and Jaskier nods. "Good. He likes it, too." She turns her attention from him and slides a hand down Geralt's stomach, teasing the head of his cock with her fingertips. "We have a captive audience, my pet, why don't you show him how good you can be?"

She presses her palm to the underside of Geralt's cock, running it firmly down the length of him until her fingertips press into his sac. Geralt gives a little gasp and she presses harder, moving further to cup his balls. She gives a firm squeeze that has Jaskier pressing his legs together, but Geralt's groan of pleasure is loud enough that Jaskier hears it across the room, muffled as it is, and sees the effects of it on Katja's face. Her soft little moans send a shiver down Jaskier's spine and he can't help but think about what Geralt is doing to elicit those sounds.

Realistically, he knows Geralt has to be good in bed; he doesn't get a lot of sex outside of what he pays for, but the brothels who take him are welcoming and the girls are always delighted to see him again. It's not something he's thought much about before, but now every meeting with a sex worker has been very good and very enthusiastic. Fuck, Geralt must be incredible if sex workers are all but throwing themselves at him.

Jaskier's cock twitches in his trousers and he instinctively presses his palm against it, relieving the ache a little, but increasing his want tenfold. Fuck, if he could just get a little closer he could see, but Katja put him here and he's staying put unless told otherwise.

Geralt's legs spread wider, catching his attention again and Jaskier looks over to find Katja with his balls in her hand, squeezing and rolling them between his fingers. Groans and shifts and his cock jerks where it lies neglected against his stomach. Jaskier wants to touch him, to suck him off while Katja plays with him and he groans softly, squeezing his knees to keep control.

"You like his cock?" Katja asks and Jaskier meets her eyes but can't make his voice work. She dips down, flicking her tongue at the head of Geralt's cock and Jaskier whimpers. She drags her tongue along his skin, slipping under the foreskin and pulling at it gently with her teeth. Geralt's hips jump into the touch and Jaskier is fascinated and overwhelmed by the things he's learning about Geralt tonight.

"You wanna suck it, don't you?" Jaskier whines again and Katja smiles sweetly at him. "Maybe later, darling." She winks at him as she wraps her mouth around Geralt's cockhead and sinks down in one swift motion and it's a miracle that Jaskier doesn't come in his trousers right there and then.

Geralt's reaction is strong. He holds Katja's thighs so tightly Jaskier can see where the skin pales at the pressure and she moans around him, somehow remarkably steady despite her desperate moans still muffled by Geralt's cock in her mouth. Jaskier slumps in his seat, legs spreading wide and he rocks his hips against the fabric of his trousers, desperate for any touch. It's not enough, not that he actually wants to get off like this; he wants to come so fucking badly, but he wants a hand around his prick at least when he does.

But gods if it isn't tempting to just watch them, to jerk off looking at them. They're both so fucking gorgeous Jaskier doesn't know what to do with himself and he might actually die if he wound up between the two of them. But fuck, the thought of Geralt's hands on him, tangled in his hair while Jaskier sucks him off- he whines and digs his fingers into the silk of his trousers, forcing his head back to look at the ceiling. He shuts his eyes, focuses his breathing and then-

There's a loud groan and a harsh oh fuck, and Jaskier's eyes snap back to them to find Geralt shaking through a second orgasm. He shakes and shudders, but he doesn't let up where he's still buried in Katja's cunt. Even after she pulls off of his cock, Geralt's still moaning into her, pulling her hips down against him. And it's clear on her face when she looks up at Jaskier, the pure bliss of it, and then just as Jaskier thinks she's about to come, she climbs off of him.

Jaskier is relieved when she slips off the bed, but she pushes Geralt's knees together and when she leans over him, Jaskier can see the slick running down her thighs. He wants to crawl over and lick it up or finish the job Geralt started and make her come on his tongue.

She says something to Geralt that Jaskier doesn't catch, but then Geralt's shifting up the bed and Katja picks up his clothes and drapes them over the headboard. Geralt lies with his head on the pillow and his hands wrapped around each post of the headboard. It's not until Katja produces a length of rope that Jaskier realizes what she's doing and he groans at the implications.

Katja climbs up over Geralt, straddling his face and hovering just above his mouth. Geralt squirms and bites his lip, eyes focused on her cunt, but he doesn't move, doesn't make an attempt to lick or touch because he hasn't been told to. And that's so fucking sexy Jaskier can barely handle it. She gets his wrists tied and slides down his body in much the same way, touching him as little as possible until they settle between his knees, pushing his legs apart.

She squeezes his thighs, rubbing right up to the join of his hips and then pulls one hand away, trailing down below his balls and Jaskier doesn't need to see it to know what she's doing. Geralt whimpers and gasps and for a moment he's tense before settling against the mattress again with a soft sigh. She works into him quickly and Geralt moans and jerks, fingers clenched tightly around the headboard.

"You like that, don't you Geralt? Like having something inside you?"

"Yes," Geralt groans.

"Tell me, Geralt, do you want my cock?"

"Please. I want it- want you to fuck me-"

"Oh, I will, handsome. I'll fuck you so good they'll hear you down the road." Katja leans down, kissing Geralt's cock. He's hard again, dribbling constantly against his hip and Jaskier can practically taste the saltiness of it against his tongue.

But Katja slows down, pressing another finger into him and thrusting slower now. Jaskier watches and whimpers and his cock throbs with need. If Geralt likes having something in his ass so much, Jaskier would be more than happy to assist.

Katja is thorough and Geralt is nearly whimpering before she even acknowledges his cock. She dips down, licking a stripe up the full length of it before ramming into him hard and straightening up again.

"You want to get fucked properly, don't you?" Geralt whimpers but doesn't respond. "Want a nice thick cock up your ass, fucking you hard? How about your friend, hm? You want Jaskier to fuck you? He's got a nice prick, I'd bet." She spares a glance in Jaskier's direction before leaning up over Geralt, fingers still working into him.

"Nice and thick," she hums, nosing under Geralt's jaw. She leans on her elbow, turning his head toward Jaskier. "Can almost see it through his trousers, he's so fucking hard. Look at him, Geralt, don't you want his cock?"

"Yes," Geralt whimpers and Jaskier's head spins. He'd give it to him in an instant, though right now he wouldn't last long enough to fuck him properly.

"I bet, my darling," she leans in, whispering something in Geralt's ear and when she pulls back she's grinning widely. "In the meantime," she continues, "I have an idea."

She slips from the bed, swaying her hips as she crosses the room and Jaskier knows it has to be intentional, no one looks that enticing accidentally. She bends low, showing off her ass and thighs as she digs through a drawer in the dresser and Jaskier bites the inside of his lip to keep from thinking about what he'd like to do to her. How good her thick thighs would feel around his cock, or how her skin would feel under his hands. His cock jerks again and he groans out loud, he's never going to survive this. He tips his head back, staring at the ceiling to gain back a little control over his body. Already, he feels like he's one wrong move away from coming in his trousers and no one has touched him.

But Katja is stunning and Geralt is, well, Geralt and watching him bend to her, soft and docile is something Jaskier had only imagined in his wildest fantasies before. Being able to see him like this for himself is… overwhelming. If he thinks about it too much, it feels like crossing some sort of invisible boundary, like this is pushing them one step closer to something. But thinking about it makes Jaskier hopeful and he knows where he stands with Geralt, even if some of the things he's admitted to tonight came as a surprise.

When he's calm enough to watch again, Katja is sitting between Geralt's thighs again, slicking her hands and stroking him slowly. Geralt is nearly silent, his mouth open in a silent gasp and fingers clenched tightly around the bedpost. He's fucking incredible and Jaskier wants so badly to climb up onto that bed with them and touch him everywhere.

"Ready?" Katja asks and Geralt lets out a needy sound that only vaguely resembles a yes. Katja laughs softly and leans down to hiss his stomach and when she does, Jaskier realizes oil wasn't the only thing she was retrieving from the drawer. She's got a dildo in her hand, thick and long and delicately carved. He groans at the realization that she's going to fuck Geralt with it and his hands tighten where they're still clenched in his trouser legs.

"Shh," she whispers, and Jaskier's eyes snap up to where she's got the toy pressed up against Geralt's ass.

He can't see everything, but he can tell when she breaches him because Geralt's legs spread wider and he rolls his head back against the pillow. Gods, who knew he was so enthusiastic about taking a dick? If Jaskier had known he'd have made his offers more serious. Not that he suspects Geralt would have been amenable. Now though, he's not so sure.

Because Katja pushes into him and Geralt moans so sweetly, unabashedly rocking his hips to get the toy deeper, and Katja just lets him. She makes no attempt to stop him, pushing steadily as Geralt does all the work for her. And Jaskier can't keep his eyes off of them. He's so fucking turned on he can hardly stand it and here's Geralt with a fake dick up his ass after specifically stating he wanted his. And Jaskier is more than willing to give it to him.

His cock jumps as Geralt shudders and Jaskier realizes with a start that he's been staring and now Geralt is staring back at him. A wave of heat rolls up his back and his cock throbs, but he doesn't dare touch himself because he knows with Geralt looking at him like that, any touch is going to set him off. And, in theory, he has a reputation to uphold.

But the thought of jerking off while Geralt watches him is… enticing and he thinks about it far too much. Geralt's eyes pinch shut and he lets out a low whine and Jaskier's eyes slip down his body to where Katja is fucking him in earnest now. She's bent over him, nipping at his stomach and she thrust the toy into him and Jaskier lets out a breathy fuck as Geralt arches right off the bed. She glances over at him and Jaskier just chews his lip when she grins.

"Tell him how it feels, Geralt."

"'S good," he mumbles, "feels so fucking good." Geralt's eyes meet his again and Jaskier can feel the desperation in his stare, can see it in the flutter of his lashes.

"Come like this and I'll fuck you properly," she promises, flicking her tongue at the head of his cock. Geralt groans and rolls his head back again. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes."

"How badly do you want it?"

"Fuck," Geralt mumbles, "so bad, please- I wanna come on your cock."

Jaskier pitches forward in his seat, pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch. He can't take much more of this. Evidently, Katja notices.

"How are we doing, bard? Do you like watching him?"

"Yes," Jaskier rasps, "and you."

"Mm, I bet you do. How close are you?"

"Very," he mumbles, avoiding Geralt's eyes. "I can't-"

"I know. I can see you squirming over there. You can hold on a little longer, I think."

"Please-" Jaskier whines, but Katja just gives him a look.

"If you come before Geralt, I'll make you sit in the hall so everyone can see just how much you like to watch." It's supposed to be a threat, but Jaskier's prick jerks at the thought of being left outside so everyone can see him like this. The primary flaw in letting this happen, of course, is that he'd no longer be able to watch and that would be truly cruel.

He mumbles an agreement and shoves his hands under his thighs. It doesn't help the near-constant throb of need, but it stops his hands from moving without his permission. He doesn't have long to wait though because he's barely sat himself down again when Katja's thrusting into Geralt again, keeping her pace quick and hard.

Geralt writhes in the sheets, pleading with her to let him come and then, abruptly, she reaches up, wrapping a hand around his cock, and Geralt comes before she can even reach the tip. He bucks hard into her hand, lifting right off the bed and splattering himself with come. Jaskier is so enthralled, so caught up in the moment that he almost forgets his deal and has to sit back on his hands before he can touch himself.

She gives him a look and evidently the pained look of need on his face is enough to assure her he hasn't come yet and he shifts back leaning on her hands. Geralt, on the other hand, slumps against the bed, eyes shut and chest heaving. He's so beautiful like this that it feels almost wrong to be so turned on by him, but Jaskier has never been good at feeling the right things when it comes to Geralt.

But it doesn't last long and when Geralt's eyes open again, they go wide as he looks down between his legs. Jaskier follows his gaze as he stares down between his legs. Katja's got the toy in a harness now, strapped around her hips and she's pressing forward into him. She looks over at Jaskier as she sinks fully into him and Jask forgets to breathe for a moment.

She's stunning, so fucking sexy wrapped up in satin and lace, but Jaskier wants that to be him. He wants to be the one pushing his cock into Geralt, the one whose body Geralt's legs wrap around. Fuck, he's been able to deal with the longing and the ache in his chest when Geralt slips off to visit the brothel or before, when he used to visit Yen, but this is so much more than that. So overwhelming he doesn't know how he can stand it, just watching Geralt and not being able to touch him.

He wants to bury himself in him and stay there forever. He wants to make Geralt come again and again and he wants to be the one with him after, to wipe away the sweat and come and pull him into his arms and fuck, he should not be getting this emotional watching Geralt get fucked, but the only other option is to give in to his arousal and he can't do that yet.

But he'd be so good for him, give him everything he wants. He clenches his eyes shut and when he looks back, Geralt's watching him again, fingers flexing around the bed frame, and Jaskier very nearly goes over there.

"You want to touch don't you?" Katja hums.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Both of you," Geralt whines, "please."

"You can touch me soon enough, pet. You'll have to ask Jaskier later."

Geralt groans loudly, a wild, petulant sound, and Jaskier is hit with the realization that Geralt really wants to touch him, and he can't help but wonder if he's been holding back, too.

"You can," Jaskier whispers, casting a glance at Katja before continuing. She gives a smug little smile and thrusts deep, forcing another groan from Geralt's lips. "Any time you want. Any way you want. You can touch me." His voice is rough and breathy and Geralt just looks at him pleadingly.

"Not yet," Katja says, "you set the rules, pet."

Another petulant groan and Jaskier wants so badly to know about the rules that Geralt made that he can't contain himself. In his defense, all of his self-restraint is being otherwise used.

"What are the rules?"

"He's not allowed to touch unless I tell him he can. And as long as you're amenable."

"Oh." Jaskier's cock jerks hard and he knows he won't be able to control himself much longer. He's so fucking close to coming he has to stop himself from thinking about it in case he slips over the edge.

"Mm, indeed."

Geralt squirms under her, twisting in his bonds and arching up off the bed. He mumbles quiet words that Jaskier can't catch, but judging by Katja's responses, he's asking to come. Jaskier's blood rushes at the absolute obedience and can't keep it together. He's slipping, his cock jerking hard against his thigh, but he's so caught up in Geralt's expression and the way his fingers twist and clench that he's barely aware of his own body.

"Fuck," he whispers, "you look so good like this, wish I could-"

"Jask-" Geralt gasps, low and broken.

The sound sends a jolt through him and Jaskier's cock pulses against his thigh and he's coming, hot and sticky, in his trousers. Wave after wave crashes over him and he can't even think, he just watches as Geralt writhes and jerks and comes all over himself. Jaskier keeps his eyes on him, even as his own orgasm lingers, and Geralt blinks softly at him before shutting his eyes and rolling his head back.

When he finally comes down, Jaskier slumps against his chair. His trousers are uncomfortably wet, but he feels amazing, stuck somewhere between amazement and disbelief. He doesn't even remember the agreement with Katja until she hums at him.

Jaskier reluctantly turns to look at her and she's still rocking forward lightly, one hand in the join of Geralt's hip, curled around the base of his cock. She's stroking slowly and she looks over at Jaskier, shaking her head.

"You're lucky bard, that was almost you out of the room." He gives her a weak, hopeful smile and she laughs. "You're fine, Jaskier, but it was close." She flashes a smug smile and returns her attention to Geralt, smoothing both hands up his stomach and chest.

Jaskier watches, transfixed, as Geralt's cock swells under the touch. He's come for times already, but when Katja plays with his nipples, he squirms and rocks back against her.

"Uh uh," she says, "if you want to come again, you're going to have to work for it, my dear." Geralt groans but Katja just chuckles softly at him, leaning down to press her lips to the underside of his cock. "I can only keep up with you for so long, honey, and look at you-" she runs a hand under his cock, lifting it and wrapping her fingers around him, "-you're already getting hard again."

She drops his cock and thrusts a little harder, jolting Geralt as the toy sinks into him. Jaskier is fascinated. He knows about Geralt's enhancements and he knows the potions can make him go for hours without rest of any sort, but he didn't realize that translated to sex as well. He can't help but wonder how long Geralt could go on for with a partner who could keep up and Katja is doing an excellent job at it, not faltering in the slightest, but Geralt is so ready to just keep going and Jaskier would give anything to be the one to test it.

His own cock is soft now, but when Katja pulls out and crawls up over Geralt again, it gives a twitch of interest. She unwinds the rope from Geralt's wrists and the bedposts, running her hand down his arms and further down his sides to settle on his hips. As Geralt shifts, she settles in his place, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

"Come on up here, big boy," she grins at him and Geralt rises up on his knees, shifting up to straddle her hips. "Mmm, no darling, don't you think Jaskier deserves a show? Turn around, Geralt, let's let him watch."

Geralt is remarkably enthusiastic about it, quickly adjusting himself so he's facing Jaskier where he's still slumped in his seat. Jaskier keeps his eyes on him as Geralt settles and then sits back on the toy. He takes it easily, settling quickly and shifting impatiently as Katja gets her hands on his hips, holding him steady. She waits for a minute, then slides her hands down his thighs and to the bed.

"Fuck me, darling, show Jaskier how badly you want him." Geralt groans and Katja slips her hands up his back. "You do want him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Show him."

Geralt rises up a little, letting the cock nearly slip out of him before dropping back on it again. Katja encourages him and Jaskier keeps his eyes on him, wondering if this is how enthusiastic Geralt is any time he rides a dick. He rocks his hips and moans loudly, his inhibitions long forgotten as his cock bobs between his legs. He leans back, resting on his hands, and Katja gets her hands on his chest, slipping up to play with his nipples and Geralt pushes into the touch as he grinds back hard on the dildo.

"Mmm, you like that don't you, darling? Like being in control of that cock inside you?" Geralt whimpers and Katja pinches a nipple. "Tell me, Geralt."

"Yeah," he breathes, "feels good, nice and thick." Jaskier nearly chokes and his cock gives another twitch.

"Mm and you love it, don't you? Love that thick cock filling you up. Tell us, Geralt, whose cock are you riding?"

"Jaskier's," he gasps and there isn't a note of hesitation. Jaskier just stares for a moment before he remembers how to breathe again. Katja eyes him conspiratorially and slips her hands to Geralt's hips, squeezing gently.

"And why Jaskier?"

"Need it," Geralt huffs, gasping for breath as his hips rock a little quicker. "'S all I can think about." It's obvious that Geralt gets off on this, on talking about what he's doing.

"Yeah? And why's that?"

"Want him. Want him to touch me." His eyes flash open and he turns back, still rocking himself back onto the dildo as he looks pleadingly at Katja. "Can he?" he asks, "please let him touch me, he's right there, he's so close."

"Oh my pet, he is so very close, isn't he? And you already made him come tonight, but I think you can hold on a little longer."

"Don't want to- want him, Kat please."

"Shh, darling. You'll just have to be patient. Tell me what you want from him."

"Want him to fuck me."

"Yes, we know that."

"Want his cock, want to feel it, wanna taste it." Jaskier groans out loud and Geralt's eyes snap back to him as though he'd forgotten he was there. And Jaskier's skin burns hot under his gaze.

"Tell me?" he whispers, "whatever it is, you can have it, love-"

"After," Katja reminds him and Jaskier is quick to amend.

"After."

"Wanna come," Geralt whimpers, "Kat, 'm close-"

"Don't tell me," she whispers, "tell Jaskier."

"Can I?" he asks, directing his attention to him and Jaskier nearly chokes.

"A little longer, love. Show me how much you like my cock."

Geralt groans but rocks his hips hard, slamming himself down on the dildo and clenching his fingers in the sheets. Sweat rolls down his chest and Jaskier wants to climb up onto the bed and lick it away. He wants to climb up into Geralt's lap and jerk him off, make him come hard with that cock up his ass. He groans and presses a hand to his crotch where his cock is slowly filling again.

"Jask," Geralt rasps, "I dunno if I can hold on. Please, wanna come, please-"

"Yeah, fuck Geralt okay. Come for me, love, let me see you."

Geralt gives another couple of thrusts, hips jerking forward into nothingness as he spills over his hip. There's not much come this time, but he continues to twitch as he drops back against Katja's chest. She rocks up into him, fingers trailing along his skin as she hums against his ear.

"You wanna go again?" Geralt pulls off the toy and flops onto his side, smiling softly, almost sheepishly, at her. "I know you do, pet, come here."

She wraps her arms around him, drawing him in and kissing him softly. Jaskier fights back a surge of jealousy and Geralt turns back to look at him for a moment before Katja guides him back to her.

"Touch me," she breathes, leaning in to kiss him. "I wanna ride you next but you gotta work for it."

She gets her arms around his waist, rolling onto her back and pulling Geralt halfway on top of her. He gets a leg between her thighs and when he shifts, Jaskier imagines him rubbing against her thigh. He ducks his head, kissing her shoulder and moving down to her breasts, nipping and sucking at the flesh until he finally gets his mouth around her nipple. A loud moan breaks the stillness and Jaskier realizes with a start that it's Katja moaning and she lifts her leg, pressing against Geralt's cock.

He touches her so softly that Jaskier aches and for the first time he feels like he's interrupting something, that he shouldn't be witness to this. Because Geralt is so soft and he wants that softness for himself. He watches Geralt's hands brush along her skin, how confident he is given the opportunity, and fuck that tugs at something in him that he's been forcibly ignoring for too long, now.

Katja moans again and Jaskier watches the way she moves under him, clearly enjoying the way Geralt touches her. He wants to know that pleasure, to have Geralt's hands on him, his mouth on him and he whines softly as his cock twitches. He's overwhelmed by it, desperate for any little touch, even brief, but Katja moves again, pressing Geralt onto his back, and it distracts him momentarily, from the burning need in his chest.

She wastes no time climbing up onto him and the moment of distraction stretches as she turns away from him, stroking his cock with both hands before shifting to push it inside of her. She gasps and Geralt groans, hands coming up to her hips, and Jaskier is so preoccupied with the sight of his cock slipping in and out of her to think of anything else. She keeps her legs spread wide, clearly inviting him to watch and he couldn't look away if he tried.

Apart from being gorgeous, Katja has more control over Geralt's cock than most men he's been with and she's stunning to watch, especially when Geralt is already mumbling weakly beneath her. He holds his hips still, but Jaskier catches the twitch of them out of the corner of his eyes and Geralt's fingers speak of his desperation, clinging to her hips and thighs or the blankets beneath them.

Jaskier whimpers to watch them. He's held out for so fucking long, he doesn't even know how to cope any longer. He wants to come again, his prick swollen and twitching in his already ruined trousers. He barely resists touching himself, but then Katja looks over at him with a wide smile.

"How are you holding up?"

Jaskier just whines because he doesn't trust his voice right now, doesn't trust himself not to say how badly he wants to fuck Geralt, or worse, how he feels about him.

"What do you want, pet? Tell me."

"Wanna lick you." It's not a lie, he does, but he also wants to fuck, to be fucked, to touch.

"Mm, come up here then, let's see what that famous tongue can do."

He's hesitant, but he doesn't show it, rising up from his seat and striding across the room. He climbs up onto the bed and leans down, flicking his eyes up to confirm he's allowed. Katja presses a hand to his head and leans back.

Fuck, she smells incredible, and with every shift, Jaskier catches sight of Geralt's cock fucking into her. He does his best to ignore it, focusing on Katja instead.

He starts small, kissing the space between her thighs and her cunt and she laughs softly when she realizes what he's doing, but she doesn't stop him. He moves around, kissing everywhere he can reach before finally pressing a soft kiss to her cunt. He flicks his tongue out, slipping between her folds and his cock throbs beneath him, brutally reminded of how hard he already is again, how badly he'd like to sit up and press into her.

And fuck, if that isn't a thought. Geralt's cock slipping against his own as they work to bring her off together. He wants that. Fuck, he wants it so fucking badly, but instead, he puts all of his want and desire into eating her out. And the reaction is worth it, the way her fingers clench in his hair and the way she moans above him, telling him to keep on with it.

"Mm, right there," she breathes and Jaskier curls his tongue around her clit, sucking hard and delighting in the sounds that spill from her lips. "Fuck, Jaskier they weren't kidding when they said you had a talented tongue." He flicks his eyes up to look at her and she hauls him up into a rough kiss, before pushing him back down again and Jaskier is more than happy to prove himself.

"Fuck," she breathes, "that's it, darling. Gods, Geralt your boy really has a fucking mouth on him." Geralt huffs a laugh and his fingertips brush against Jaskier's. "Bet you'd love to get that mouth on your cock, hm? And you," she adds, slipping her fingers through Jaskier's hair, "ah- you too, I bet." Jaskier just moans against her, sucking at the folds of skin and flicking her clit with his tongue.

"Make me come and you can suck him off, Jaskier."

He can barely think beyond the thought of Geralt's cock in his mouth and when Katja moves abruptly, he can feel Geralt's cock slide against his tongue and it's already overwhelming. He wants to taste him so badly he aches and he doubles down in his efforts, sliding a hand up her thigh and, when she doesn't protest or push him away, travelling further up her chest.

He plays with her nipples and eats her out and before long she's jerking hard against him, pressing down on Geralt's cock and grinding between the two of them. Until now, she's been cool and collected, as though entirely unaffected by anything happening around her, but she squirms now and Jaskier can't keep his eyes off her.

Jaskier can feel when she gets close, the way she shifts and the way Geralt groans as she clenches around him. And then, abruptly, she's coming, tugging Jaskier's hair and pulling his head in close to rock against him. Around him, Geralt pulls his knees up, bracing himself as he rolls his hips and Jaskier realizes belatedly that Geralt's coming too.

Katja shudders and leans back against Geralt's chest, tilting to kiss his cheek.

"You've been so good tonight, Geralt, I think you deserve a little treat." He mumbles something, but Jaskier is only half-aware of what it is and then Katja laughs softly. She pushes herself up and climbs off of Geralt, sliding off the edge of the bed.

"Come here," he says, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He shifts up onto the bed and she moves to the side, giving him space to settle between Geralt's legs. "I'm gonna go have a nap now," she grins, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his mouth, "take care of him for me?"

Jaskier's breath catches and his heart beats too quickly in his chest, almost painfully. But Katja is already leaning down to kiss Geralt again, climbing over him and slipping off the bed.

"Have fun boys," she hums and then she's gone, shutting the door behind her and Jaskier is left feeling remarkably out of his depth.

He bites his lips and looks down at Geralt, laid out for him and still breathing heavily. His eyes are dark and lidded and he looks so damn beautiful Jaskier can barely breathe.

"Do you want-?" is as far as he gets before Geralt is sitting up and reaching out to him.

"Yes," he says quickly. One hand cups Jaskier's jaw as the other arm slips around the back of his neck and then he's being pulled down and kissed hard despite Geralt's stiff and sluggish movements.

He can barely think but to kiss him, pressing against his chest and humming into his mouth. He's thought about this so many times and yet in all the years he's considered it, he barely thought it would ever happen, much less that Geralt would be the one to initiate it. But he holds him closer, keeping Jaskier against his chest as he presses against him, arching off the bed just to get closer.

Jaskier quickly unbuttons his shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside as Geralt's little movements get stronger, his hips a little more demanding where they press against his own. And Jaskier could cry for the pleasure of it all. He's been hard for so long, not even touching himself, and now Geralt's rutting against him, fully hard and clearly wanting and Jaskier doesn't know what to do with himself. But as Geralt deepens the kiss again, he realizes it doesn't matter.

This is Geralt and he and Geralt always find a way to make things work.

So he grinds down a little more firmly with the next roll and Geralt moans into his mouth, a slight whine to his voice. His trousers must be rough against his bare prick after coming so many times already, but Geralt makes no attempt to let him go, apparently happy enough to just kiss him. And Jaskier could live the rest of his life in this bed wrapped around Geralt.

Geralt makes a soft little sound, blinking softly at him and Jaskier pulls away, just a little.

"Tired, love?"

"I want you." Jaskier's heart clenches and all the poems and songs in the world don't have the words to tell Geralt how much he adores him right now.

"I know, darling, but let me alright? You've already done so well tonight, my love, let me take over." Jaskier shuffles up close, fitting himself between Geralt's thighs and sliding his hands up his sides.

He bends to kiss him, dragging his lips against Geralt's skin and savouring the saltiness of it on his tongue. His own desire becomes secondary to Geralt's, to exploring his body and discovering the most sensitive parts of him. And Geralt is happy to be explored, humming and sighing and moaning softly under God's hands and mouth.

He's beautiful like this, so soft and docile, but Jaskier's cock bumps against Geralt's every time he leans forward and soon the fiction is too much to ignore. He rocks forward, hands planted on either side of Geralt's chest as he grinds against him, panting and moaning against Geralt's skin.

Then there are hands on his hips and sliding along his waistband to the front. Geralt gets him out of his trousers with little effort and shoves them down and out of the way so he can get a hand around him. He strokes them together and Jaskier rocks into the touch with a moan, leaning up to meet Geralt in a kiss.

Geralt's hands are calloused but Gentle and Jaskier delights in the roughness around his cock, even as sensitive as he is. His hips jump with it, but Geralt keeps a hand on his back, soothing and settling. Even so, Jaskier isn't going to last long, so when he breaks the kiss, he moves down to nip at Geralt's jaw and kiss his way down his neck and chest.

He pauses briefly in his travels to nose at Geralt's nipples and the sound he gets in response is so desperate and needy Jaskier barely keeps himself from reaching down and jerking him off right like that. But he still wants to get his mouth on him and he knows he can make Geralt come like that, so he pulls off his nipple, ignoring Geralt's protests and shuffles down the bed so he's hovering above his cock.

Jaskier has no idea how he can still be so hard after coming so many times, but he'd put coin on the trials having something to do with it - enhanced stamina and all that. He noses up the length of Geralrt's cock, breathing in the scent of him and desperately hopes that he'll get the chance to find out the full extent of that stamina.

Beneath him, Geralt is as impatient as if he hasn't come once, writhing and moaning and softly pleading with him and Jaskier can hardly stand it. He slides one hand up Geralt's chest, reaching up to brush against his lips and when Geralt sucks his fingers into his mouth, Jaskier shudders and groans.

"Fuck," he whispers, "you like that, love?"

He doesn't wait for a response before mouthing at the underside of his cock and sliding up and wrapping his lips around the head. Geralt whimpers and he can feel it around his fingers and it's so much that Jaskier will be lucky if he doesn't come untouched again just listening to the sounds Geralt makes with a mouth around his cock.

He takes him down, prepared to use all his best techniques to impress Geralt and get him off quickly, but he barely sinks down halfway, tongue pressed against the underside of his cock before Geralt is coming, jerking hard and whining around Jaskier's fingers. Jaskier sinks down fully, holding Geralt's cock against the back of his throat while he shakes and shudders through it.

His own cock throbs and he can't help but shove a hand down under him, jerking himself hard and fast as Geralt shudders through an orgasm. He comes too quickly, overwhelmed by Geralt under him. He presses his head into Geralt's stomach, panting and whining against him and Geralt gets an arm around his shoulders, his free hand coming up to stroke his cheek.

Jaskier is still working through the rush when Geralt pulls him off his cock and tugs him up on top of him again. He still has so much strength even after exhausting himself and Jaskier's cock gives a pathetic twitch of interest. Geralt gets him out of his trousers and Jaskier shifts to get comfortable, slipping to lie next to him.

"You're amazing," Jaskier mumbles, eyes only half-open.

It takes a couple of minutes to adjust to the sensitivity, but he swells under Geralt's touch, moaning softly against his lips as he kisses him again. Dream or not, he'll be running off this high for a long time. Geralt's hips stutter against him and Jaskier wraps a hand around his cock, slowly stroking from the tip right down to the base and Geralt breathes heavily against his lips.

"Good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods slowly.

"'S good. Jask-"

"Shh, darling, I've got you." He kisses Geralt's jaw, brushing his lips against his mouth. "Geralt," he breathes, "do you want to come again? Can I fuck you?"

"Yeah," Geralt gasps, "yes. Please." He pushes forward into Jaskier's hand and Jaskier squeezes a little tighter around him before pulling off.

Geralt releases him, too and Jaskier readjusts to fit better against him without their arms in the way. He leans up to kiss him, sliding one hand up the side of Geralt's face and into his hair. A wave of anxiety washes over him, mingling with the anticipation and lust already roiling through him. What if he's not good enough? What if he can't get him off again? Geralt has already come six times and Katja was very good at getting him there. He's not sure he'll be enough.

But Geralt moans against his mouth, and reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Jaskier's cock and pressing it against his hole. There's a little gasp from both of them as he pushes forward, just slightly, but then Geralt's groaning, throwing his head back and pressing his hips down.

Jaskier holds his breath as he pushes forward, nipping at Geralt's throat and kissing over the little red marks as they fade. He pushes his hips forward just barely breaching him and Geralt tenses under him but he doesn't let up, so Jaskier pushes a little further, sinking into him. He doesn't so much as move before Geralt's twitching under him, letting out a desperate moan and coming hard.

He groans and shoves himself onto Jaskier's cock, rocking onto him and fisting a hand in his hair. He shakes and shudders and Jaskier can't focus on anything but the tight heat around his cock.

"Fuck," Geralt mumbles, "fuck Jask, yes. 'S good, 's good please-"

Without hesitation, Jaskier rolls his hips forward, and his thighs shake with the effort it takes not to just slam into him and chase his own orgasm. He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at Geralt as he fucks into him, at the pleasure on his face and the exhaustion that sets in. He dips down to kiss him and moves to pull away, but Geralt stops him, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him close.

"Want you," he mumbles, "Jask please."

"You've got me."

He gives another couple of thrusts and he's already so fucking close when Geralt squeezes around him and he comes hard, shaking as he continues rocking into him. He drops his head to Geralt's shoulders, pressing sloppy kisses into his skin, but as the rush passes, he collapses against him. He barely pulls out before Geralt's arms are around him, holding him against his chest as he nuzzles against his neck.

It seems to take forever before Jaskier can breathe without panting again, and by the time he relaxes and rolls back onto the bed, Geralt is breathing softly next to him, eyes shut. He'd think he was asleep if not for the gentle way Geralt's thumb brushes his skin.

Jaskier rolls onto him and Geralt releases him, pulling his arm back to his side. It feels a little like a dismissal, but Jaskier has nowhere else to go, so he settles in. He follows Geralt, pressing up against his back and draping an arm over his hip.

"You know," he hums, "the next time you want to have someone watch you get fucked, you could just ask me instead of paying for a second girl. I'd… be happy to join you."

"Hmm." Geralt doesn't sound opposed to the idea, so Jaskier presses on.

"I know you like seeing her," he adds, "but we could do this again, it was good, right?"

"Yeah," Geralt breathes and Jaskier slumps in relief, pressing a kiss to Geralt's shoulder. He was worried that maybe he was pressing too far, but evidently not. "You'd do that?"

"'S not purely selfless, my darling, you should see the way you looked tonight. Stunning." Geralt huffs and Jaskier nuzzles into his hair. "So beautiful, love. I could hardly believe you'd let me stay."

"Always wanted you there," Geralt mumbles, "didn't know how to ask."

"Well," Jaskier hums, "now you know you can. All you have to do is say come with me and I will."

"And if I wanted… other things?"

"Depends what they are, but you know I'd never say no to you, Geralt."

"Even if I just wanted you… without anyone else?" Jaskier's breath catches, but he forces the words out.

"I think it might be better to have this conversation in the morning," he whispers, "but yes, Geralt. Anything you want." Geralt presses back against him and Jaskier smiles into his hair.

"Jask," he hums, "will you stay for tonight?"

"Darling, if you have me, I'll stay forever."