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Chapter Text

The first time Jaskier sees Eskel, he stares. Then he licks his lips.

Geralt groans, and covers his face with a hand.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Excuse me, I am not being dramatic. I'm just saying, if I don't get to at least suck your gorgeous brother's undoubtedly gorgeous cock, I shall surely perish."

"Don't say that."

"What, that he's gorgeous? Why?"

"He'll think you're making fun of him."

"I am most definitely not making fun of him! Why, I never!"

"I know that. Eskel doesn't."

"Well, then you'll just have to tell him I'm being utterly serious, won't you?"

"Jaskier, I will not help you fuck my brother."

"Why not?!"

"Because he's my brother. And he's... He doesn't look like it but he's soft, Jaskier. Gentle. You can't say the things you say to people to him without meaning them."

"Now who's being dramatic. I mean every word I say to my lovers. You know I love every single one of them, each in their own way."

"Right."

"What?"

"That's not how... most Witchers do things. You'd break Eskel's heart."

"I thought Witchers didn't have feelings."

"Jaskier."

"Alright, alright."

"Hm."

"Can I at least talk to him?"

Eskel and Jaskier get on famously, which... isn't something Geralt anticipated. Sure, Eskel is friendly by nature, and Jaskier could probably charm the pants off a celibate, but still.

They've all ended up sharing a room at the inn. Jaskier isn't shy around strangers, and the Witchers certainly aren't, so when Eskel got up to leave to find some place to sleep, Jaskier had offered he just stay with them.

"It's so dreadfully wet out there," he'd said, waving a hand at the drizzling rain, "and we have a perfectly dry room. There's just the one bed but I'm sure we can squeeze you in somewhere."

Geralt didn't miss the not at all subtle innuendo, and judging by the quick glance Eskel shot his way, neither did his brother. "I can sleep in the stable," he said, "it's fine."

"Gods save me from the stubbornness of Witchers," Jaskier sighed, and then he reached across the table and placed his hand over Eskel's. "Please," he'd said with a gentle smile, "I insist."

And that's how Geralt finds himself in a room with the bard and his brother, more than a little bemused. Jaskier is chattering away about everything and nothing, the way he always does, and Eskel looks fascinated. He's cleaning his swords but his mind only seems to be half in it. His eyes keep straying back to Jaskier, who has stripped down to his chemise and trousers, pacing the length of the room on bare feet, and is scribbling in his notebook as he talks.

"... and quite frankly, I have never heard such a baseless accusation in my life! As if I would stoop to such a thing! Isn't that right, Geralt?"

He has no idea what Jaskier is talking about, too busy watching Eskel watching Jaskier, and so he just hums. That usually works.

Today though, Jaskier cottons on and huffs. "Oh, you're not even listening to me, are you? Well, suit yourself."

"You don't seem the type," Eskel says, and Jaskier stills, almost like he had forgotten that he's there and is caught off guard by him talking.

"Thank you," he says after a moment of slightly awkward silence. "I'm glad you can see that."

Eskel smiles, shyly, and Geralt stifles a groan and dives into his potions bag to sort through it.

"Geralt, why didnt you ever tell me your brother was such a sweetheart?"

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Cut it out, bard."

"What? I'm serious!"

Now Geralt does groan and looks over at Eskel. The dark haired Witcher is... a little flushed, or rather as flushed as Witchers can get, meaning if he were human, he'd be scarlet. "Just... stop it."

"It's fine," Eskel says, looking down at his sword. "You don't have to pretend to like me, Jaskier."

Jaskier is... quiet, and when Geralt looks over at him, the bard stands there, mouth agape and eyes wide. Fuck. "Jask-"

"Hush, Geralt," Jaskier says, very softly. Eskel is still not looking at him, and Geralt doesn't know what to do. Jaskier, meanwhile, closes his notebook and very deliberately walks to the bed and puts it down before he turns back to Eskel. "You think I'm lying to you."

Eskel doesn't say anything, just shrugs one shoulder and keeps staring at his sword.

Jaskier walks closer to him, slowly, as though Eskel might lash out at him if he moves too quickly. Geralt knows what he's doing, he's been on the receiving end of that approach too many times to count for him to not recognise it for what it is.

He holds his breath, waiting.

"Why would I lie to you, Eskel," Jaskier asks, gently, standing close enough for Eskel to be able to feel the heat of his body. Geralt can see his brother's throat working as he tries to figure out what to say.

"Some humans... They get off on it." He swallows, his hands flexing around the oil rag and the hilt of his sword. "On fucking a monster."

Geralt knows Eskel expects to be laughed at. Expects Jaskier to dismiss him, to reassure him that that's preposterous, that he's not one of those people. He expects Jaskier to lie some more to get what he wants.

Instead, Jaskier crouches down beside him, eyes on Eskel's hands. He tips his head, maybe subconsciously, exposing the long line of his pale throat. It's such a simple sign of trust, one that Geralt had learned early on in their acquaintance calms his own distrust more than anything else the bard could do. He's still not sure, even after all these years, that Jaskier is even aware he's doing it.

Eskel, however, notices right away, judging by the slightly panicked look he gives Geralt. Geralt just shrugs and turns back to his potions bag, giving them at least a pretence of privacy.

"I don't think you're a monster," Jaskier says quietly, unmoving. "Why would I think that?"

"My face-"

Now Jaskier does laugh, just a quiet huff of breath, more surprise than anything else. "You think a couple of scars make you a monster?"

"Humans think so."

"Humans are stupid," Jaskier says emphatically, and Eskel stares at him. Now Jaskier turns and looks at him. Geralt can't see his face, but he can imagine the earnest, open look he's probably wearing. "I haven't known you long at all, Eskel, but I can tell that you're kind and funny and gentle, and I would love to get to know you better. If you don't want that, that's perfectly fine. I can respect that."

He stands up again, and when Geralt glances over, he can see the way Eskel's hand is wrapped so tightly around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles have turned white.

Jaskier moves to step away, to give Eskel space. He catches Geralt's eye as he does so and smiles, and Geralt nods, just the barest inclination of his head.

He sees it coming a mile away. Eskel drops the rag and reaches for Jaskier's hand, quicker than the bard's eyes can comprehend. One second he's turning away, the next Eskel's hand is wrapped around his wrist. Jaskier's scent spikes with surprise, and Geralt watches Eskel's face closely.

Every other human would stink of fear at such a blatant display of a Witcher's speed.

Jaskier has lived beside Geralt for a decade, has shared his bed half of that time. He knows what Witchers are capable of. And so, once his brain catches up with what has happened, he just lifts his eyes to look at Eskel and smiles.

Eskel looks... awed, and almost like he might start crying. "I..." His voice cracks, and he turns his face slightly, bathes the scarred side of it in the stark shadows of the fireplace on his other side. "I'd like that," he says quietly, eyes flicking to Geralt, who nods encouragingly. "I'd like to get to know you better, too."

Jaskier smiles, wide and happy, and the tension in Geralt's chest disappears.

Chapter Text

Nothing much changes, immediately. Jaskier seems content to continue scribbling into his notebook, to let the emotional turmoil settle. Geralt can tell by the way he keeps rubbing thumb and index finger together how highstrung he is, and it won't be long before he crashes.

It's not much later that the bard starts yawning, and when he yawns so widely his jaw cracks, Geralt intervenes. He pulls the notebook from Jaskier's fingers, ignoring his protestations.

"You need to sleep, Jaskier, or you'll be intolerable tomorrow."

"You always think I'm intolerable," Jaskier murmurs, but he slides beneath the covers anyway. Then he tilts up his head, expecting a kiss.

Eskel isn't looking at them, busying himself with his pack, but Geralt knows he's aware. Of course he is, with how intertwined their scents are, with how Jaskier had still vaguely smelled of Geralt's spend when they entered the tavern. It would be impossible for him to not know.

It still feels a little awkward to bend down and kiss Jaskier. "Go to sleep, lark."

"Hmm, don't stay up too late, you know I get cold without you," Jaskier murmurs, then burrows deeper into the pillows and furs. Geralt strokes a hand through his hair, smiles when Jaskier makes a happy little noise. "G'night, Eskel," he mumbles from inside his little nest, and Eskel jumps a little.

"Good night, Jaskier," he says after a pause, and Jaskier makes that same noise again and settles in.

Geralt returns to his spot by the fire and resumes straightening his pack. He can feel the tension in Eskel's limbs, can smell his agitation.

It only takes Jaskier a few minutes to fall asleep, and a few more for Eskel to round on him with disbelief on his face. "What the fuck, Geralt?" He's quiet but clearly disturbed by the experience of Jaskier's easy acceptance. "You told me he was odd, you didn't tell me he was insane!"

"He's not," Geralt says quietly, watching the slow rise and fall of the Jaskier-shaped lump beneath the furs. "He's... open. He's befriended mermaids. The dryads like him, although that might be because he's given them a couple of daughters."

Eskel's eyebrows rise. "He is insane."

Geralt snorts a quiet laugh, shrugs. "He sees the world differently, Esk. He sees... He sees the good in people. In creatures even. Don't try to kill him outright and he'll probably be friendly."

Eskel sits for a long moment, watching the fire. "He really doesn't care, does he?"

"Why would he," Geralt says softly, and Eskel ducks his head. "He knows what being a Witcher means. He has stitched up enough of my injuries. He would never judge anyone based on the marks on their skin." He reaches across the space between them, squeezes Eskel's hand. "And he knows I love you. That's all he needs to know to like you."

The dark haired Witcher turns his hand over, until they are palm to palm, and squeezes back. "Fuck, I missed you, wolf."

Geralt tugs, and Eskel comes easily, lets himself be pulled against Geralt. They kiss, gently, in a way born of familiarity, of knowing each other for longer than a human lifespan. Being with Eskel has never been difficult, and Geralt lets himself fall back into the familiar comfort of the other's body.

"What about the bard," Eskel says when he pulls back, "wouldn't he mind?"

Geralt snorts a laugh. "Not even a little." He looks over at the bed, licks his lips. He can taste the ale Eskel drank earlier. "He'll lie with you," he says, "if you let him." He looks at Eskel again, smiles sharply. "Said he'd die if he didn't at least get to suck your cock."

Eskel chokes on air, and Geralt laughs. "Well," Eskel says after a moment. "I'll think about it." He looks down at his knees, fingers twitching. "He's a pretty little thing, isn't he?"

He pulls Eskel closer. "Imagine how pretty he'd look on your cock," and Eskel groans, buries his head against Geralt's throat.

"Stop that."

"I told him I wouldn't help him fuck you, but that was when I didn't know if you'd even be interested." He inhales, Eskel's hair tickling his nose. "Before you smelled like this."

Eskel shudders. "No one's ever looked at me like that, Geralt. No one except you. I don't know... how to handle it."

The thing is, Geralt understands. It took him a long time to let Jaskier close, years to allow his attraction to the bard to get the better of him. Eskel has known him for a couple of hours only. It's a lot all at once.

"Give it time. He'll wait."

They retire not long after that, and if Eskel has any objections to Geralt moving between his thighs and closing his hand around them both with Jaskier right there, he doesn't give voice to them.

Geralt falls asleep with Jaskier on one side, Eskel on his other, and he thinks he could get used to this.

The next day, Geralt wakes first, which isn't unusual. Jaskier sleeps like the dead, and Eskel is a slightly heavier sleeper than him, and Geralt takes the opportunity to just... look.

Jaskier has moved between them in the night, probably seeking out the warmest spot, and is plastered to his side, the way he always is, clinging to him like an overly affectionate octopus. That's normal.

Behind him, Eskel is curled around the bard, one arm wound around his waist and his nose buried in the nape of Jaskier's neck. His brother looks... peaceful, in a way that Geralt has rarely seen outside the walls of Kaer Morhen.

It hits him, all of a sudden, that he's never had this before. Never had the two people he loves the most in the world this close at the same time, together. He can just reach out and touch them, and the awareness settles deep into his gut.

He wants this as often as he can get it.

Eskel stirs just when the sun rises outside, his arm around Jaskier tightening a bit as he breathes him in, and when awareness comes back to him, Eskel freezes. "What the-"

Geralt props himself up on one elbow, smiling smugly. "Morning."

"Fuck," Eskel says, moving to let go of Jaskier, but that doesn't help much. The bard grumbles in his sleep and rolls over, chasing Eskel and now plastering himself to his front. Eskel looks up at Geralt with wide eyes. "So much for 'give him time'!"

"Hazard of sharing a bed with him, I'm afraid." Geralt doesn't move to intervene, far too amused by Eskel's predicament.

The problem is that Eskel has nowhere to go. His back is to the wall already, and now Jaskier has flung a leg over Eskel's. Both Witchers can tell the bard is about to wake up, and Eskel looks between him and Geralt. "Fucking do something! He's your bard!"

"Hnng, stop wriggling," Jaskier complains, still half asleep. "Why are you- Oh!" He's blinked up at Eskel and realised his mistake, and Geralt slides smoothly behind him, winding an arm around his waist.

"I'm over here," he rumbles, and Jaskier flushes.

"Eskel, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" He pushes himself away to give Eskel more room, or rather tries to, a futile task with Geralt's weight behind him. "Geralt, you lump, move," he says, elbowing him.

"Why?" Geralt is watching Eskel over Jaskier's shoulder, and he can see just how affected his brother is. "Do you want us to move, Eskel?"

Jaskier makes a spluttering noise and Eskel stares at Geralt in a fashion that promises revenge. Geralt feels oddly... giddy. Just last night, he'd been so vehemently opposed to Jaskier's stupid idea, afraid of Eskel getting hurt. Now? Now he wants to see this, wants Eskel to experience what it feels like to have all of Jaskier's attention and, well, love focused on him.

"Geralt, what are you doing?" Jaskier's voice trembles, and beneath his confusion Geralt can smell the first traces of arousal.

"I told Eskel," he breathes against Jaskier's ear, and the bard stiffens in his arms.

"Let go," he says, and then he starts struggling, kicking Geralt and almost kneeing Eskel in the groin in the process, and his scent changes from sleepy and slightly aroused to furious within moments. "Let me go, you stupid-"

Geralt releases him, baffled, and Jaskier scrambles away, off of the bed and away from them. Eskel looks as surprised as Geralt feels, and Jaskier starts pacing. His hair is a mess, his chemise hangs open almost to his navel, and he looks about as angry as Geralt has ever seen him.

Finally he stops in the middle of the room and points an angry finger at him. "You are the most unbelievable, insufferable man I have ever had the misfortune to meet! Why the fuck would you tell him that? Didn't you see how absolutely terrified he was?"

Next to him, Eskel makes a soft noise of surprise, too quiet for Jaskier to hear. Geralt sits up, frowns at the bard. "I thought you'd want this."

"I do, you big oaf, but not like this!" He looks at Eskel now, and his face softens. "I'm sorry, Eskel," he says, quietly, like he'd speak to a scared child. The fact that he's using the same voice for a Witcher, and not in a mocking or patronising fashion, can't escape Eskel's notice. "It would be my honour to share your bed, but I really would like to get to know you. I want..." His smile wobbles a little, and Eskel tenses. "I want you to like me," he continues, and Geralt's shoulders sag.

Fuck.

"Jaskier-"

"No, Geralt. I'm-" He ruffles his hair with both hands, then covers his face with them. Then he shouts, screams wordlessly into his palms. Eskel flinches, rises up to his knees. He smells as agitated as Geralt feels. Finally, Jaskier pulls his hands away again. "I need some air." And with that he grabs his boots and is out the door.

The Witchers sit in silence for a long moment, listen to Jaskier thunder down the steps. When the door bangs open downstairs, Eskel sags back against the wall. "That went well."

"Eskel-"

"It's fine, Geralt." He's not looking at Geralt, though, rather at his hands in his lap, and his voice says that it's not fine.

Geralt presses his lips together and says nothing. He's said too much already.

Chapter Text

Jaskier returns half an hour later, eyes a little red and a frown etched between his brows. Geralt and Eskel had gotten up soon after he'd left and are now silently packing up their things, but both stop when Jaskier enters. He stands by the door for a long moment, not looking at either of them.

"I'm sorry, Eskel," he says again, eyes trained on nothing. "I would've liked this to go... very differently than it did."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Eskel replies. "It's not your fault that Geralt has the emotional range of a dish rag."

Jaskier snorts a surprised laugh at that, and Geralt elbows Eskel in the ribs. "In any case, I do apologise for being so forward, even if it was in my sleep."

Eskel looks at his hands for a long moment, then he says, quietly, "I didn't mind, Jaskier, I just..." His eyes flicker to Geralt, a little desperate. "I'm not... used to people reacting that way. And I should tell you that I- Well, I was holding you. In my sleep. So I guess we're even." He smiles shyly, the smile tugging at his scars, and Geralt reaches over and squeezes his knee.

Jaskier, meanwhile, has gone from looking apologetic to absolutely delighted at this revelation. "Well, in that case let me tell you that you're welcome to hold me any time you want." He smiles and cocks his head. "And if you're never interested in sharing a bed with me, that is also alright, Eskel, please know that."

Geralt watches them in silence. There's such a tender, hopeful look on Jaskier's face that it feels like someone took his heart and squeezed. The bard's ability to just... give of himself, seemingly endlessly, never fails to astonish him. From the look on Eskel's face, he feels the same.

Witchers learn quickly to take anything they're given, because those instances are so few and far between. So how do you handle someone who doesn't stop giving?

They say goodbye after breakfast. Geralt pulls Eskel into their customary embrace, and when they part, Jaskier is hovering beside them. His hands are wrapped around his lute strap and his lower lip is caught between his teeth, and Geralt can smell the nerves on him.

"Can I-" Jaskier shuffles his feet, bites his lip again.

Eskel and Geralt exchange a look. Eskel wants it, Geralt can tell, and when he nods, so small he's sure Jaskier can't tell, Eskel open his arms for the bard. Jaskier sinks into the embrace with a stuttered little, "Oh."

"It was good to meet you finally," Eskel says softly against Jaskier's hairline, and Jaskier makes a happy little noise as his arms tighten around Eskel.

"I hope it won't be another decade before I get to see you again," Jaskier says with some bite and a pointed look in Geralt's direction, and Eskel snorts.

"The Path is unpredictable," he says pensively, then gives Geralt a look heavy with meaning.

He wants to see Jaskier again, that look says, and Geralt feels a twisting, oddly pleasant, in his gut.

They split up about three weeks after they say goodbye to Eskel. Jaskier has a longer engagement at some noble's house, and Geralt takes the opportunity to take on as many contracts as he can, which is something he rarely does with Jaskier by his side.

He also takes the opportunity to think.

Both Eskel and Jaskier had seemed so hopeful when they'd said goodbye, cautiously optimistic, and to Geralt it had been obvious that the attraction had been mutual. Eskel's insecurities about his appearance had once again thrown a spanner in the works, which doesn't surprise Geralt at all.

When he meets up with Jaskier a month later, Geralt has hatched a plan.

Jaskier is flush with coin and buys them a room at a fancy inn, complete with bath and a lavish meal, and once they have eaten, washed and otherwise thoroughly reacquainted themselves with each other, Geralt says, "I want you to come to Kaer Morhen this winter."

Jaskier looks up at him from his spot on Geralt's stomach, clearly surprised. Geralt has never asked him to come along, unsure if the bard would want to spend an entire winter in the drafty old ruin with no company but a bunch of uncultured Witchers, but now he wants him there more than anything.

After a moment the bard narrows his eyes at him. "This doesn't have anything to do with Eskel, does it?"

Geralt scowls at the ceiling.

"Oh, it does! You want us to spend time together!"

Geralt grunts.

Jaskier crawls up his body and kisses him, on the mouth and then he peppers kisses all over his face and ends with rubbing the tip of his nose against Geralt's. "Of course I'll come with you, my darling. I've wanted to see your home for years. Honestly, getting to spend time with Eskel and meeting the others is just an added bonus."

Geralt hums, and winds his arms around the bard.

When Kaer Morhen appears before them that winter, Geralt watches Jaskier's face carefully. He knows it's not much. It's more ruin than keep, the attacks leaving scars on their home that will never heal, but that's what it is - home. And Geralt wants Jaskier to like it.

Of course he does. He loves it. His eyes grow wide and he gasps softly, clinging to Geralt's arm. "Oh, it's beautiful!"

Lambert is the first they meet, and after a couple of rude comments that Jaskier laughs at, he grins and tells them that Vesemir and Eskel are in the kitchen. "And tell Eskel he owes me five ducats."

"What for?"

Lambert's grin widens. "We had a bet." And he looks at Jaskier, eyebrows raised meaningfully, and Geralt groans.

Jaskier is both delighted and apprehensive at this revelation, once Geralt explains. "Do you think Eskel doesn't want me here," he asks quietly as they make their way from the stable to the kitchen, and Geralt stops him with a hand on his wrist, pulls him into his arms.

"I think he wants you here so much he had to deny it." He kisses Jaskier, softly, rests his forehead against the bard's. "Just like I did for so long."

Eskel and Vesemir are preparing supper, and Eskel looks surprised, cautious and hopeful all at once at Jaskier's presence. Jaskier waits until Geralt has greeted his brother and Vesemir, has made introductions, and then, when Vesemir has bustled off to "check the larder", he smiles sweetly at Eskel.

"Hello," he says, then, with something that is more smirk than smile, says, "I hear you lost a bet."

Eskel huffs a laugh and pulls Jaskier into an embrace, and Geralt steps close and holds onto both of them.

This is home, he thinks, the way it ought to be.

Chapter Text

The next few days are a blur of chores and falling into bed in exhaustion, only to repeat the same the next day, and it's not until they've been there for a week that either him or Jaskier feels up for anything more than lazily kissing each other goodnight.

Geralt takes his time, kissing Jaskier until he's boneless beneath him, strokes gentle fingers over his skin until he whimpers, suckles and bites at his nipples until his back arches and he begs for Geralt to please fuck me, please, need you in me. He obliges happily, working Jaskier open gently, and when he slides into him, he kisses the bard deeply, hoping he can transport the depth of his emotions.

After, when they lie side by side, catching their breath, Jaskier says, "If I weren't here, what would you do?"

Geralt looks at the ceiling for a long time. The bard doesn't know the details of the relationship between the younger wolves, but he suspects, Geralt knows.

"I'd sleep with Eskel or Lambert sometimes. Mostly Eskel."

"Sleep as in sleep, or as in fuck?"

"Hmm."

"So both." He moves closer, lays his head on Geralt's chest. His fingers trail through the hair on his chest.

"Does that... disturb you?" There's some unease in his stomach at the thought. Kaer Morhen is a world onto itself, always has been, and the customs of its inhabitants are often so different from those of humans that it took Geralt a while to get acquainted with them. The idea that being this close with your brothers in arms was somehow wrong had been entirely alien to him, all those years ago.

Jaskier kisses his ribs and says, "Why should it?"

Geralt releases the breath he has been holding, then hugs him close.

The next morning, while they're getting dressed, Jaskier asks, "Are you going to object again?"

Like he did when they first met Eskel, he means. "No," he says, closing the buckles on his boots, "I don't think I will."

Watching Jaskier and Eskel become acquainted is delightful, he finds. Eskel likes to read, and Jaskier is almost as well-read, and they have discussions that go straight over Geralt's head.

One evening, when they're all in the great hall and Eskel and Jaskier are discussing the merits of Redanian poetry, Lambert gives him an odd look over their game of gwent.

"Don't you care?"

Geralt studies the cards already on the table, trying to decide which one to play next. He knows Lambert's deck well, just as Lambert does his, and that presents its own challenges. "Care about what?"

"Them," the young wolf says, nodding in the direction of the fireplace. Jaskier is on the floor, cross legged and with furs draped around his shoulders, while Eskel sits in an old rocking chair, and they both look... well, besotted. Geralt smiles.

"No," he says mildly.

Lambert watches him for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he says, "You wanna fuck them together."

Geralt doesn't reply. Instead, he plays a card. "I win," he says, and Lambert's eyes drop to their game.

"Son of a-"

Another two weeks later, winter has fully hit the keep, the winds howling outside, and Jaskier grins up at Geralt one evening.

"Geralt?"

"Hm."

"I'm cold," he whines and, as if to prove his point, pushes his icy feet against Geralt's calves.

"What do you want me to do about that?"

"Well," the bard says, batting his lashes, "there's all this empty space beside me. It gets drafty."

Geralt sighs.

Eskel looks rumpled when Geralt knocks on his door, like he has just been woken after not having been asleep all that long. "What?"

"Jaskier's cold," Geralt says flatly, knowing his brother will effortlessly see through the paper-thin excuse.

"Oh. Alright." The tips of his ears go a little pink, and Geralt pulls him close.

"You don't have to," he says into the space between them, and Eskel rumbles a laugh.

"I know." And then he takes Geralt's hand and pulls him back down the hall.

Jaskier's excitement fills the room, honey sweet, and Eskel, exposed to its full potency for the first time, sways in the doorway.

"Fuck," he says, and Geralt hums knowingly. Jaskier beckons from beneath the furs, and Eskel slides underneath beside him. "Hey," he says softly, and Jaskier beams.

"Hey yourself."

Geralt tries very hard not to let his heart thump out of his chest at the image of his brother and his lover, together, in his bed. Jaskier snuggles into the crook of Eskel's arm with a happy sigh, then holds a hand out to Geralt.

"You're too far away, my love."

He gets into bed, winds his arms around Jaskier, holds onto Eskel's hand, and sleeps more soundly than he has in many, many years.

Chapter Text

The winter solstice is a couple of weeks later, and Jaskier has managed to talk Lambert of all people into bringing him back some mistletoe from one of his hunts. When Geralt asks what Lambert wants in return, Jaskier just shrugs. "A back rub," like it's nothing, and to Jaskier it probably is. Geralt knows it's a whole lot of something for Lambert.

The mistletoe is installed in the corridor leading to the great hall, and it takes Jaskier only a couple of minutes to lure Geralt underneath and kiss him soundly. Then Vesemir walks past and holds up a hand.

"I'm not kissing either of you boys," he says mildly, and Jaskier laughs.

"Oh, we'll see about that," and then, much to Geralt's horror, ducks under his arm and into Vesemir's space - which the old wolf allows for some reason - and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Happy solstice," Jaskier says, and Vesemir rolls his eyes, pats the bard's cheek and continues on to the kitchen.

Geralt stands there, dumbstruck for half a minute. Then he says, "What the fuck was that?"

Jaskier winds his arms around his waist and smiles sweetly. "Didn't you know? It's a solstice tradition to kiss under the mistletoe." As if to emphasise, he kisses Geralt again, licks into his mouth with a hum.

"No," he says faintly when Jaskier pulls back to bat his lashes at him. "Never heard of it."

"Huh. Well, now you know. Eskel," he cries happily when the dark-haired Witcher appears around the corner. "Come here, would you?"

Eskel looks suspicious for half a second, but Geralt's presence seems to reassure him that he's not about to be ambushed.

He's wrong, of course.

Jaskier tugs him close by the sleeve of his shirt, until he's sandwiched between the two Witchers, and grins at him. "Happy solstice," he breathes, and then he leans up and kisses Eskel softly on the lips.

Eskel freezes. Then he makes a hungry sound in the back of his throat, one that Geralt can feel in his own chest, and pulls Jaskier flush against him to kiss him deeply.

From the corner of his eye, Geralt notices Lambert walk into the corridor. The young wolf stops, makes an exaggerated retching noise, and turns on his heel, yelling at them to get a fucking room.

Jaskier laughs into the kiss and winds his arms around Eskel's neck, leaning his head back against Geralt's chest. "What do you think? Should we follow Lambert's advice?"

Geralt exchanges a look with Eskel, sees his own hunger reflected back at him. He lifts an eyebrow, and Eskel grins and grabs Jaskier's arse and lifts him up. Jaskier squeaks, his arms tightening around Eskel's neck, then he laughs.

"Oh, I am so looking forward to this," he moans, caught between the two Witchers, and Geralt leans in and kisses along his neck, nips at his earlobe.

"You're insatiable, lark," he growls, and Jaskier laughs again.

"And you love me for it, darling."

How they make it to his room, Geralt has no idea. Jaskier is constantly begging to be kissed, by both of them, and when they finally stumble into Geralt's room, he weasels out of Eskel's hold and all but tears off his chemise.

"Fucking finally! Now, before we commence, I need to ask: are you absolutely sure, Eskel?"

Eskel answers by sweeping Jaskier into his arms again and reeling Geralt in to hold the bard up between them. "Are you sure, little bird," Eskel says, and Geralt huffs a laugh at the way Jaskier's heart skips.

"Ooh, you're going to kill me, my lovely wolves," Jaskier moans.

They undress Jaskier together, and when he's naked, he drapes himself across the bed and crooks a finger in Eskel's direction. Eskel gives Geralt a questioning look, and he smiles. "Go on."

Geralt settles into a chair by the fire, watching. They look wonderful together, he thinks as Eskel lets himself be undressed by Jaskier's nimble hands, the bard peppering kisses over every bit of exposed skin. Eskel looks half drunk, lost to the pleasure of it.

And then Jaskier starts talking.

Chapter Text

"Oh, look at him, Geralt," he murmurs, running his fingers over Eskel's broad shoulders, along his collarbones. Eskel shivers under the touch. "So strong," he says, then slides his hand down Eskel's chest, pressing soft kisses to his neck at the same time, "and yet so gentle."

Eskel makes a soft sound, and Jaskier strokes his hair, kisses the line of his jaw, so close to the scars, then up, until his lips ghost over the ruined flesh, and Eskel clenches his fists so hard Geralt can hear the bones straining.

"Sssh, darling, it's alright," Jaskier murmurs, so softly. "Let me be good to you, hm?"

Jaskier kisses him gently on the lips, and Eskel sags, relaxes. His hands come up to cup Jaskier's face, and he kisses the bard with a tenderness that Geralt knows all too well. Jaskier is right: Eskel is the gentlest of them all, the one whose outside appearance is most at odds with what's in his heart. With what he needs.

Eskel lets Jaskier pull him into bed, allows him to arrange him against the headboard. Then the bard makes himself at home in Eskel's lap, kissing him deeply. "Tell me what you want, Eskel," he murmurs against the other's lips, and Geralt spreads his thighs a little wider to give his hardening cock room.

"Fuck, Jaskier," Eskel groans, and the bard chuckles.

"If you like. Anything you like, actually."

Eskel's fingers dig into Jaskier's hips. "You can't say things like that," he says, shooting Geralt a helpless look.

"He means it, Eskel," Geralt reassures. "He enjoys giving pleasure." Jaskier smiles softly at him over his shoulder.

"What if I said I wanted to beat you, or choke you or-" Eskel looks so confused, Geralt thinks, and he rises to his feet and moves to sit on the bed beside them. Jaskier leans in to kiss him briefly, then looks at Eskel, completely serious.

"One, I doubt you'd want any of those things. I think you're very much like me, you want to please, want to make your partner feel good. Am I wrong?" Eskel hesitates, and Geralt puts a hand over his. Finally Eskel shakes his head, and Jaskier smiles. "And two, if you had any interest in that, we would set up some rules and go from there. I don't enjoy being beaten bloody or being punched, but those are my only firm nos when it comes to being hit."

Eskel's eyes are wide as saucers as he takes this in. Then he says, "Do you... like that? Being hit?"

Jaskier's eyes crinkle softly as he smiles. "Being spanked or paddled can be a lot of fun. Even getting flogged has it's perks." He leans forward and kisses Eskel softly. "But right now, I want to make you feel good, darling, so please, what would you like from me?"

The dark-haired Witcher tips forward, buries his face in Jaskier's throat. Geralt reaches up, places his hand on Eskel's neck. His brother is tense under his hand. "It's alright, Eskel," he murmurs, and Eskel groans.

"Can I suck you," he asks, and Jaskier hums.

"Of course, my lovely wolf," he says, sliding a hand into Eskel's hair. "Would you like me to do something for you, too?"

"Later. Need to think," Eskel says into the hollow of the bard's throat, and Jaskier's eyebrows rise. He gives Geralt a meaningful look.

Jaskier had explained this to him a good while ago. "My thoughts just get so loud sometimes, you know? It helps when I don't have to think for a bit. I suppose it's a bit like your meditation," he'd said, right before sliding off of Geralt's lap to lay between his legs, taking the Witcher's cock into his mouth and closing his eyes, his head resting against Geralt's thigh.

Yes, Jaskier is indeed an experience.

"I understand," he breathes now against Eskel's hair and leans back a little. "How do you want me?"

Eskel lifts his head again, looks at Jaskier with such wonder on his face. "Sit with Geralt?" he asks quietly, and Jaskier smiles and kisses him softly before sliding off of his lap.

They need to rearrange themselves a bit. Geralt moves to the middle of the bed, Jaskier between his spread thighs, and Geralt pulls him back against his chest. Eskel lays on his stomach between Jaskier's legs, and the bard pushes a hand into his hair, softly stroking.

Eskel's eyes slide closed, and he shivers. Jaskier hums, pleased. "So good, Eskel, thank you for trusting me with this," he murmurs, and Eskel whines, burying his face in Jaskier's groin, breathing him in. Then he opens his mouth and takes Jaskier's cock inside, resting his head against the bard's thigh. Jaskier sighs and melts back against Geralt.

Geralt, for his part, has no idea what to do with either the love or the arousal coursing through him. Seeing the gentle way Jaskier handles his brother makes his heart swell, makes him want to hold the human close and never let him go.

He's hard and hot between them, his cock nestled between Jaskier's cheeks, and he winds an arm around his chest and pulls him closer. "You're so good with him, songbird, you have no idea what that does to me."

Jaskier, the little shit, wriggles, the smallest bit so as not to disturb Eskel. "Oh, I'm pretty sure I have some idea."

Geralt slides his nose along the tendon of Jaskier's neck, making the bard shiver. Then he nips softly at his earlobe. "You're a menace."

"Hm, your menace, my love." He tilts his head to watch Eskel again, slides gentle fingertips through his hair with a sigh. "Doesn't he look so pretty with a cock in his mouth," he asks, and Eskel twitches, ruts against the mattress, and Geralt groans against the back of Jaskier's neck.

The bard was wrong earlier, he thinks. They're not going to kill him. He's going to kill them, with nothing but his words.

Chapter Text

Geralt winds both of his arms around Jaskier, holding him close as the bard continues to gently stroke Eskel's head, fingers carding through his hair, thumb tracing the arch of his eyebrows. Eskel reaches up, places a hand on the jut of Jaskier's hip. Jaskier hums, content.

"I can't recall the last time someone asked me for this, you know? A shame, really, it's so pleasant and relaxing."

Geralt kisses his throat, his jaw. "I know," he murmurs against his skin with a smile, and Jaskier chuckles.

"Hm, remember the first time we did this? You hardly knew what to do with yourself. Just the sight of me with your delightful cock in my mouth, not doing anything, was almost enough to make you come."

Eskel cracks open one eye, and Geralt wasn't aware that his brother could look this incredulous and smug with a cock in his mouth. "Can you blame me, love? Your mouth is something else." To emphasise, he brings one hand to Jaskier's face, and the bard parts his lips and lets him push two fingers inside. Geralt nuzzles his throat again, almost purring. "And you're always so hungry for it."

In reply, Jaskier sucks on his fingers, pushes his tongue between them, and hums. Geralt's cock twitches, leaks.

Apparently Eskel has had enough time to think. He lifts his head off of Jaskier's thigh and starts actually sucking the bard off instead of just holding him, and Jaskier moans around Geralt's fingers. Geralt hums against the bard's cheek. "His mouth is so good," he breathes, and Jaskier makes a soft keening noise. "Not a lot to do during the long winter nights except fuck," he adds, "so we all got very good at it, hm?"

Jaskier all but spits out his fingers, his head thrown back as he groans. "Fuck, Geralt, that is an absolutely filthy image," he gasps, his fingers tightening in Eskel's hair. "Explains a lot," he adds, then whines as Eskel's hand moves between his legs.

"Do you want to come in his mouth, songbird," Geralt asks, and the bard shudders. "Let him swallow you down and come down his throat?" He looks down to meet Eskel's gaze. His brother's eyes are dark and hungry. He'd love it, Geralt knows, and as if to emphasise, he takes more of Jaskier into his mouth, more and more until his nose is pressed against the bard's stomach.

Jaskier wails, his hand curling into a fist in Eskel's hair. "Fuck, stop, stop, I'm gonna-"

Eskel pulls off, slowly, until only the head is inside his mouth, and still Jaskier trembles and whimpers, so he gently lets go. "You alright, bard," he asks, voice rougher than usual, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and breathes heavily through his nose.

"Just- Give me a moment, please," he says roughly. Geralt presses a kiss to the side of his throat, and Eskel strokes his hip, and slowly Jaskier calms, his heartbeat slowing somewhat. "Alright, I'm-" He huffs a laugh, strokes Eskel's cheek with a smile. "You must remember, my lovely wolves, that I'm only human. Make me come and I shall be out of commission for a bit." His smile turns wicked. "And I would so love to come on somebody's cock tonight, if you're amenable."

Eskel growls, and Geralt twitches against Jaskier's arse.

The bard laughs. "I'll take that as a yes." He strokes a single fingertip along Eskel's jaw, over his bottom lip. "Would you like that, dear Eskel? For me to sit on that beautiful cock? Oh, but I must insist," and here he leans forward until he can almost kiss Eskel, his tongue flicking out to tease at his lips, "on a taste first. Turnabout is fair play, don't you think?"

"Geralt," Eskel rasps as he crawls up to kneel between Jaskier's thighs. There's a question in his voice and hunger in his gaze, and Geralt reaches over and cups his brother's chin, pulls him closer and kisses him over Jaskier's shoulder.

"It's up to him and you, Esk," he says, "not about me."

Eskel presses their foreheads together, breathing deeply. "Alright." When he pulls back, there's a familiar glint in his eye. "Open him up for me?"

Jaskier stiffens between them, and Geralt feels himself twitch again.

Again they rearrange themselves, now with Eskel leaning against the headboard and Jaskier on all fours between his legs, and Geralt behind him. It's a familiar picture, the smooth slope of his bard's back, the tension of anticipation in his limbs. And Eskel from this position is also something he's closely acquainted with.

Both at the same time? Well, he's not the poet in this relationship.

Jaskier sighs at the first touch of a slick finger against his hole, and then he shifts his weight slightly. "I just knew you'd be gorgeous everywhere," he says dreamily as he wraps a hand around the base of Eskel's cock; Eskel groans. "So nice and thick," the bard continues, "it'll feel so good inside me." There's a wet sound, and Eskel's head falls back with a hiss.

"What is he doing, Esk," Geralt asks in a low voice as he works his finger into Jaskier slowly. He loves this part, working his lover open and stoking his desire until he begs to be fucked.

Eskel groans. "He's- Fuck, Jaskier. He's licking my cock," he says, "like a kitten."

Jaskier hums, obviously amused by the description. Geralt adds more oil, and a second finger; the hum dissolves into a breathy moan.

They don't talk much, after this. Jaskier is the one who fills silences, and he does now, in a way, just not with words. He is messy as he sucks Eskel's cock, drooling and loud, and Eskel looks torn between watching every second of it and closing his eyes to keep out the overwhelming image of Jaskier swallowing his cock down to the root, one that could easily make him spill. Geralt knows this from experience.

Geralt, for his part, concentrates on getting Jaskier slick and open. Sometimes, this is all they'll do, Geralt fucking the bard with his fingers until he's insensible with pleasure, and Geralt will pull himself off to the cries and whimpers of his lover.

Today though, Jaskier has neither patience for nor interest in that, and so, by the time Geralt comfortably fits three fingers into him, he pulls off of Eskel with a lewd pop. "Fuck, I'm ready," he gasps, pushing back against Geralt's hand.

"Are you sure," he asks, spreading his fingers apart, slowly opening Jaskier further. The bard keens; Eskel cups his cheek with a hand, and Jaskier moans, pushes into the touch.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure, please," and he looks up at Eskel, "please let me have your cock, Eskel, please."

Eskel looks over at Geralt again, his face a mixture of doubt and desire, and Geralt nods as he slowly, gently, pulls his fingers free. Eskel closes his eyes for a moment, and then he hooks his hands under Jaskier's arms and pulls him into his lap. "Alright, little bird, come here."

Jaskier moans helplessly; he loves being manhandled like that. He leans into Eskel's space, his fingers fluttering over the Witcher's collarbone, his jaw. Then he whispers, "Oh, gorgeous, lovely Eskel," and whatever answer Eskel might have had to that is swallowed up when Jaskier kisses him again.

Geralt sits back against the foot of the bed, stroking himself slowly. This was a brilliant idea.

Chapter Text

The bard pulls back after a moment, breathless from kissing, and looks back at Geralt over his shoulder. "Do you still have the oil?" Geralt nods, and Jaskier gives him a wicked smile. "Would you?"

Geralt smirks, then moves to kneel behind Jaskier and kisses his shoulder. "Gladly." Eskel shudders at his touch, his cock twitching in Geralt's hands, and Jaskier leans in again and kisses him, slow and deep.

"Fuck, will you hurry up, wolf?" Eskel is breathless when Jaskier lets him up for air, and the bard snickers.

"Now who's impatient?" He kisses Eskel again, soft and sweet, and he reaches behind himself and taps Geralt's arm. Geralt follows the unspoken command, guiding Eskel's cock to Jaskier's entrance, and then he sits back and just watches.

Jaskier pushes himself down, slowly, slowly, his head tipping back with a gasp, and Geralt can see where Eskel's fingers dig hard into the bard's flesh. "Fuck, you're bigger than I thought," he moans, his thighs trembling as he rocks his hips ever so slowly, carefully, and Eskel holds him steady, even as he grits his teeth at the tight clutch.

"You don't have-"

"Eskel, you will not suggest that I don't have to fuck you, because I absolutely do." He winds an arm around Eskel's neck and kisses him, open-mouthed and messy, and then he sinks down a couple of inches all at once with a whine. "Fuck, Geralt, why'd you keep him from me all these years?"

Geralt chuckles. "Wanted you all to myself, bard," he murmurs as he reaches out and cups one of Jaskier's cheeks, pulling gently so he can see better. The bard keens and whimpers, and Geralt slides his fingers down his crack, to where the two are joined. "I'm starting to see the error of my ways," he says against Jaskier's back, and Jaskier moans, caught between the Witchers.

Then he slams his hips down, taking Eskel to the root with a ragged shout, and he falls back against Geralt's chest. Eskel groans, hands around Jaskier's waist, and when Geralt looks at his brother over Jaskier's shoulder, his eyes are wide in disbelief and black with lust.

"You alright, Jask?" The bard is shaking between them, one hand pressed to Eskel's chest, the other grasping Geralt's hair, and he's making the most delicious noises. Geralt kisses his temple, strokes his sides. Jaskier whimpers.

"Fuck, get him off." Eskel is already trying to lift Jaskier up and off him, but Geralt shakes his head.

"He's fine. Aren't you, lark?"

Jaskier's fingers twitch, and slowly he stops shaking as his breathing returns to somewhat normal. "I'm- Fuck, I'm so fucking full," he moans, and Geralt carefully pushes him forward, into Eskel's arms. Jaskier whines again at the change of position.

Fuck, they look gorgeous like this, Geralt thinks.

"Jaskier, if I'm hurting you-"

Geralt moves in behind the bard, holds him steady. "Does he smell like he's in pain, Esk?" He reaches down again, slides the tips of his fingers along Jaskier's stretched rim, over the part of Eskel's cock not inside him, and Jaskier shudders and rocks his hips, once, twice, moaning loudly. "Doesn't he feel good?"

Eskel is staring, and Geralt knows why. His brother is... thick, and most humans shy away from it, when they're not scared off outright by his scars. Women have an easier time of it, usually, but they're also more scared of him, whereas men show more bravado and then struggle. It's not like he's freakishly large, but he's... proportional, and finding a willing partner outside of Kaer Morhen is difficult.

Having Jaskier on his cock, to have the bard not just fight through it but to actively enjoy the challenge - Eskel doesn't know how to deal with it, Geralt thinks.

"Just let him," he says quietly as Jaskier gasps and twitches between them, "he knows what he can take." He moves closer, presses himself against Jaskier's back, slots his cock between his cheeks. "I think you could take both of us, couldn't you, bard," he whispers against the shell of Jaskier's ear, and the human goes rigid; Eskel swears.

"G-geralt-" It's a whimper, a plea, and Geralt takes hold of Jaskier's waist and moves him on Eskel's cock, slow and careful.

They find a rhythm soon, and Jaskier relaxes more and more, until he's loose and soft against Eskel, letting himself be moved by both of them. Eskel has his nose pressed against Jaskier's throat, and Geralt knows he's looking for even the faintest trace of distress. Instead, Jaskier pushes his hand into Eskel's hair and holds him there.

And then he starts talking again.

"Thank you for letting me have this," he breathes, eyes closed and his mouth curved into a soft smile as Geralt guides him. "You feel so good inside me, Eskel, I can feel you everywhere, fill me up just right."

"Jaskier-"

The bard hums, then lifts his hands to Eskel's shoulders as he leans back a bit, rolls his hips on his own as his eyes flutter. "I want you to come inside me," he moans, "you're so deep, I'll be dripping for days."

Each roll of his hips comes a bit quicker, until he's riding Eskel properly, and Geralt sits back and watches the way his lover's arse bounces as he moves, watches him sink down on Eskel again and again. It's almost like something clicks into place as he watches them take their pleasure with each other, and Geralt takes hold of his own cock and strokes himself.

"How does he feel, Esk," he asks, and Eskel groans, his head thumping back against the headboard.

"Like a gift," he breathes, and Jaskier makes a happy little noise and leans in, presses kisses to the line of Eskel's throat.

Geralt can tell Jaskier is getting close, judging by the way his soft moans turn more guttural, needier, and he moves back into place behind him, presses himself against his back. His cock is slick with the remnants of the oil he used earlier, and he slides easily against the small of Jaskier's back as the bard fucks himself on Eskel. "Are you going to come, lark," he asks, presses kisses and gentle bites into the skin at the back of Jaskier's neck.

"Yes, fuck, I'm so close..." He whimpers and shudders, and then he slides one hand into Eskel's hair, the other into Geralt's, and lets himself be rocked between them, his eyes fluttering closed again as he concentrates on feeling alone.

Geralt loses himself in the slick back and forth, the sounds and smells of it all, Jaskier's gasps and moans, Eskel's deeper groans and bitten off curses, and it feels like barely any time has passed when Jaskier's moans turn into desperate panting, his back arching as he pushes his head back against Geralt's shoulder.

"Come on, little bird," Eskel croaks as he reaches between them, and Jaskier wails when Eskel wraps his hand around the bard's cock. "Come for us, Jaskier," and the human slams his hips down, again and again, and then he screams, back tightly arched like a bow. The Witchers hold him in place, Eskel thrusting up shallowly all throughout Jaskier's orgasm, Geralt rubbing himself against the bard's arse, and Geralt has to close his eyes and breathe through how utterly perfect it all is.

Jaskier comes down slowly, his hips and fingers twitching, and Eskel stops and holds him close. The bard makes a soft noise, nuzzling Eskel's jaw. "Keep going," he says, and Eskel stiffens. "Please, I want it, use me, want your come in me-"

Eskel stares at Geralt over Jaskier's shoulder, and Geralt nods. It's all the permission his brother needs. He takes hold of Jaskier's hips and keeps him in place as he sets a quick, hard pace, and Jaskier arches against Geralt with a cry.

"Jaskier," Eskel gasps, "you're so tight, how can you even-"

"Eskel, please," the bard gasps, his hand tightening in Geralt's hair, and Geralt bows his head and sucks at his throat. Jaskier whimpers, moans, says, "Fuck, I'm gonna-"

He screams, and comes again, and Eskel loses it, pulling Jaskier down as he hammers into him brutally, and then he groans and spills, as deep inside the human as he can go. Jaskier shakes and whimpers, and Geralt groans, sinks his teeth into the meat of the bard's shoulder as he strips his cock, until he comes messily across his back.

They're slick with sweat and oil and come, their harsh pants only interrupted by Jaskier's soft whimpers of beginning discomfort. Geralt peels himself off of the bard's back with a last, soft kiss to the mark he left behind, then drops heavily onto the mattress beside Eskel.

"You alright, Jask?"

Jaskier moans happily and stretches, arms above his head until his shoulder pops. "That was utterly divine, my loves," he sighs, then catches himself and, with a slightly panicked look at Eskel, says, "I'm sorry, was that too much? It was too much, wasn't it, I don't want to assume-"

Eskel laughs and pulls him against his chest, kisses the tip of his nose. Geralt leans in and kisses the bard's cheek. "It's alright, Jaskier," Eskel rumbles. They're all breathing the same air, and Geralt closes his eyes, just listens to their heartbeats, his and Eskel's so slow, Jaskier's rabbit quick. It's a peculiar symphony.

"I just- I don't mean to overstep. Fucking doesn't mean... You know."

"Being loved by you would be an honour," Eskel murmurs, and Geralt hums his agreement.

All Jaskier can say in reply is, "Oh," very softly. He lets himself be held like that until Eskel has softened and slid out of him, and then Geralt pulls him into the space between them, both Witchers curling around the human.

When Geralt wakes the next day, he's still sticky, and too warm to boot, until he remembers the reason for both of those things.

They had all drifted off the night before without cleaning up, holding onto each other, and the room smells like sex, like all of them combined, and Geralt closes his eyes again, breathing deeply.

Kaer Morhen has always meant pack, especially after the pogrom, when it had only been the four of them. Eskel has been love and comfort for as long as Geralt can remember, their shared history tying them together forever.

And then Jaskier had pranced into his life and, later, his heart, his home away from home.

Both together, and Geralt is happier than he's ever been.

Jaskier is pressed snugly against his side, Eskel again on the bard's other side, one of his arms thrown over his waist and his hand on Geralt's stomach, and he watches them sleep for a long moment. This time, Jaskier stirs first, blinking up at him sleepily before his face softens into a smile.

"Hey," he whispers, and Geralt leans down and brushes a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

Jaskier wriggles a bit, his nose scrunching. "Sore. But in a good way. Also, gross. Please never let me fall asleep covered in come like this again."

Behind him, Eskel gives a low hum, his nose pressed against the back of his neck. "But you smell so good covered in our come," he murmurs, and Jaskier flushes, his eyes fluttering.

"And here Geralt insists Witchers don't have a talent for poetry."

Later, when they're soaking in the hot springs, Jaskier watches as Geralt slides onto Eskel's lap, as he wraps a hand around them both, the bard's eyes shiny with lust and his lip caught between his teeth, and when Eskel tugs him close against his side, Jaskier bats Geralt's hand away, replacing it with both of his. He stares, mesmerised.

Then he says, "Geralt? That thing you suggested yesterday?"

Geralt and Eskel exchange looks, and Geralt bites the inside of his cheek when Eskel mouths, "Insane," at him. "Hm?"

"I want to try. Not right now, but..." He looks up, blue eyes wide and hungry. "Soon."

They kiss, all three of them, messy and with too many teeth as Jaskier brings them both off, and for the first time in a long time, Geralt wishes that winter would never end.