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“You know your bard’s watching,” Lambert murmurs, leaning down so his chest is pressed to Geralt’s pale back and his lips are right next to Geralt’s ear. “Thinks we won’t spot him over behind the doorframe.”
“Yes,” Geralt groans, possibly in response to the question, possibly because he gets pretty damn incoherent with two pricks in his ass. Understandable, really. Lambert himself loses some of his vaunted eloquence when Geralt and Eskel have him pinned between them.
“Think he likes what he sees?” Lambert asks. Eskel grins wolfishly up at him from where he’s stretched out under Geralt. Lambert smirks back. “I think he does. He’s got his prick in his hand. Looking at you like he wants to eat you up. Should we call him in here and have him put that prick in your mouth instead, pretty boy? Fill you up properly?”
Geralt whines, wordless and desperate, and Lambert snickers and moves his hips in a slow grind that makes Geralt and Eskel both gasp. Feels pretty damn good for him, too. And apparently the bard enjoys the sight, given how he sags against the doorframe and might actually be drooling.
Which is pretty nice, but Lambert thinks he can get Geralt all the way to incoherent whimpering if he really tries.
“You’ve said your bard’s a slut, yeah?” he murmurs in Geralt’s ear. “Bet he could take me no problem -” he punctuates the words with a thrust that wrings a gorgeous little yowl from the White Wolf’s throat - “but could he take you, d’you think? D’you want to bend him over a bench and fuck him full, pretty boy? Stuff that pretty prick of yours up his ass and make him sing?”
“That’d be a lovely sight,” Eskel opines, sliding his hands down from Geralt’s ribs to cover Lambert’s tight grip on Geralt’s hips and helping tug Geralt down a little more firmly onto their pricks. Geralt writhes beautifully, not trying to get away so much as just too overwhelmed to hold still. Lambert’s familiar with the feeling.
“Yeah, it would,” he agrees hoarsely. “Bet you anything he couldn’t take you, though.”
“Could,” Geralt gasps. “Fuck.”
“Yeah?” Lambert asks, a little startled, and looks up to meet the bard’s eyes. Jaskier is almost wholly slumped against the doorframe now, one hand wrapped around his prick, eyes locked on the tangle of witchers in front of the fire. Lambert smirks and raises his voice enough for human ears to hear. “You think your slutty little bard could take the fuckin’ dragon of Kaer Morhen? Want to see Eskel split him open?”
The bard makes a warbling sort of sound past the fist he’s got crammed against his mouth and comes, the smell of spend joining the general scent of sweat and sex filling the hall.
“Well damn,” Lambert says, genuinely rather startled by this turn of affairs. He’s never seen someone come just from thinking about Eskel fucking them before.
The bard stumbles a few steps into the room. “I, uh - I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No?” Lambert drawls, swiveling his hips again to make Geralt moan mostly so he can watch the bard try desperately not to stare at the White Wolf like he wants to eat him up. It’s fucking hilarious. “Just looking for the privy, were you?” He smirks.
The bard is flushed a deep and rather painful looking pink, but to his credit he takes another step forward. “I was looking for Geralt,” he admits. “And now I seem to have found him.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt says roughly. Lambert considerately stills his hips. Eskel strokes a soothing hand up Geralt’s side.
“Should I…go?” the bard asks, glancing from Geralt to Lambert to Eskel and back again. He’s still hard, Lambert notes.
“Only if you want to,” Eskel says. “We’d be delighted by your company.”
“Geralt’s still got one hole to fill,” Lambert agrees, and gives Jaskier a very obvious once-over. “Guess your prick’ll fit well enough.”
“Geralt?” the bard checks.
Geralt shivers, clenching down hard around Lambert and Eskel’s pricks. “Yes,” he growls.
“Fuck, this is a dream, isn’t it?” Jaskier asks the air, and moves closer until Geralt can lean forward, braced on Eskel’s chest, and mouth eagerly at his messy prick.
“He’s got a good mouth, doesn’t he?” Lambert purrs as he and Eskel start to move in slow unison. “Surprisingly clever tongue, given how little he talks.”
“Very good,” Jaskier says, sounding a little strangled, and tentatively laces the fingers of his cleaner hand through Geralt’s hair. “Fuck, Geralt, that’s - gods -”
“I think you should make him come again before you get to come, pretty boy,” Lambert decides. Geralt whimpers around Jaskier’s prick. Eskel growls and thrusts up a little harder, making Geralt and Lambert both gasp. Fuck, the feeling of that enormous prick pressed against his inside the tight clench of Geralt’s body -
Lambert loses the ability to talk for a few moments as he shudders and clutches at Geralt, doing his best not to fall over his own peak. But even overwhelming pleasure can’t keep him from running his mouth.
“So you’d like it if we took turns on you, bard?” he asks, letting Eskel set the pace as they fuck up into Geralt slow and steady, rocking him between their pricks and the bard’s. “Think you could handle three witchers?”
“Geralt can vouch for me,” Jaskier gasps, hips rocking gently; Geralt’s eyes are closed and from what Lambert can see of his expression he is blissed out, utterly content. “I can take anything you can give.”
Lambert laughs, suspecting it sounds more breathless than mocking. “Yeah? Gonna let me fuck you open for the two of ‘em? Me and then Geralt and then Eskel, so we don’t fuckin’ break you. Think you could take that?”
Jaskier’s eyes fall shut and he makes a thin sort of whining noise. Geralt, to Lambert’s distinct surprise, pulls away from Jaskier’s prick and chuckles. “Seen his toys. He could.”
He swallows Jaskier’s prick back down before Lambert can really wrap his mind around that. Eskel rumbles a pleased little noise. “Do we get to see that, bard?” he asks, voice rough with arousal. “Watch you open yourself on a wooden prick before we put you on ours?”
“If you want to,” Jaskier gasps. “Assuming this isn’t - oh, gods, Geralt, your mouth - a one-time treat.”
“Got all winter,” Lambert points out. “Not much else to do but fuck and spar. Nice of Geralt to bring back a pretty little thing like you to share.”
“Very generous of him really,” Jaskier agrees faintly. “Fuck, Geralt, do you not have a gag reflex?”
“None of us do,” Eskel chuckles. “He can take me down his throat. Looks damn pretty too.”
“Oh - oh gods,” Jaskier says, voice hitting a note that makes Lambert wince a little. “I want to see that, Geralt -”
Geralt hums something that sure as hell sounds like approval.
“Sounds like we’re gonna have plenty to do this winter,” Lambert smirks. “For now, though, come on, bard, fuck his mouth.”
“Fuck,” Jaskier chokes, and does as he’s told, moving slowly at first until Geralt lifts one hand from Eskel’s chest to curl around Jaskier’s hip and yank him closer. Then he fists his hand in Geralt’s hair and starts to thrust more quickly. Eskel and Lambert match his rhythm, Eskel panting softly as he stares up - it must be a damn good view from where he is - and Lambert gritting his teeth against undignified whines. Geralt’s damn pretty, back gleaming with sweat in the firelight, expression blissful as he swallows Jaskier’s prick like water in the desert; Jaskier is staring down at them all with enormous blown-dark eyes, thin rings of blue so narrow they’re barely visible, cheeks pink and lips bitten red. He’s unconscionably pretty.
And Eskel’s prick is thick and hot against Lambert’s, and Geralt is so fucking tight around them both, and -
Fuck, Lambert’s not sure he can hold out until Jaskier comes again.
“Damn, Geralt, how have you not done this before?” Eskel rumbles. “I couldn’t have kept my hands off him this long.”
“He’s very self-disciplined,” Jaskier says weakly.
“Always too self-sacrificing for his own good,” Eskel agrees.
“He is,” Jaskier agrees fervently. “He deserves - ah fuck - nice things!”
“So he does,” Eskel agrees.
“Yeah,” Lambert pants. “So give him what he wants, bard. Fuckin’ come for him.”
Geralt hums a low note of agreement and swallows, and Jaskier cries out, a high sweet note that rings off the smoke-blackened rafters of the hall, and curls over Geralt’s head, shaking as he spends down Geralt’s throat.
“Fuck yes,” Lambert snarls, and tightens his grip on Geralt’s hips until it’s probably going to leave bruises, at least for a little while, and shoves in hard, off-rhythm and a little vicious, leaning down to bite at Geralt’s shoulder as he spills.
Geralt makes a sort of desperate little whimpering noise. Lambert gets an arm around his chest and hauls him back, holding him upright while Eskel’s hips hammer up, prick driving deep into Geralt’s ass, and Jaskier, to Lambert’s surprise, drops to his knees beside Eskel and slides that pretty red mouth over the tip of Geralt’s prick.
Geralt comes with a howl like their School’s namesake, and Lambert whines at the feeling of Geralt’s ass clenching tight around his oversensitive prick, and then whines again when Eskel thrusts one more time and comes, prick throbbing against Lambert’s, spend almost burning-hot as it spills over both of them.
They all collapse gracelessly into a heap on the hearth, panting as they disengage from each other. Lambert rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling as he catches his breath.
“Fuck,” he says at last.
“Yep,” Eskel confirms.
“So,” Jaskier says, sounding far too energetic for a human who’s just come twice in reasonably quick succession. “That was marvelous.”
“Hm,” Geralt agrees. He sounds smug, the bastard.
“I am sorry for snooping,” Jaskier says a little sheepishly. “Even if it worked out well.”
“Eh,” Lambert says, waving a hand in the air. “Got no fuckin’ modesty. ‘S fine.”
“What he said,” Eskel laughs.
“Hm,” Geralt says again, and Lambert lolls his head to the side to see that Geralt has gathered his bard close and is nuzzling at his hair contentedly.
“Well then,” Jaskier says. “Give me a little while to recover, and then I will be very happy to try out some of those ideas you mentioned.”
Lambert grins stupidly up at the ceiling. Oh yeah. It’s gonna be a good winter. Good call by pretty boy, bringing his even prettier bard along at last.