Jaskier was an adventurous man, leaving for Oxenfurt to get away from the dull, repetitive life of a noble, banding together with a witcher and now accustomed to most of the continent. It was with a lot of begging Geralt had agreed to let him come along to Kaer Morhen. Or, his exact phrasing was “considering you are on a hit-list from twelve married men from just this part of the world, it’s safer to take you along,”but Jaskier didn’t put much value into his words, not when he was going to spend a few good months with Geralt and his family.
It was a hell getting there, but finally moved in and settled, it all had a charm to it. Together they prepared meals, took care of chores and trained. At nights they would stay by an open fire to tell stories from the year that passed, drinks in abundance and a warm bed to sleep in afterwards.
Most of Jaskier’s chores consisted of cleaning up the mess the others left when doing their own lists, repairing the castle and training in the courtyard. It was easy enough, at worst having him sharpen swords for an hour or two before joining the others for dinner. This time, Jaskier was busy getting a tall fence in order, the harsh winter for once sated and calm as he picked up the broken pieces of wood.
It was a thick, sturdy thing, standing just under Jaskier’s height with a magnificent hole punched through it. It had been there for ages, he was told, never important enough to fix, nor too abundant to get rid of completely. He figured it was used for sword training when the weather was too wild for them to stay outside, the thick lashes penetrating the wood making a great argument for that. Exactly what had caused it to break was a mystery to the man, Vesemir only giving him a few vague gestures as he mumbled on about various attacks upon the fortress while walking away.
Just how he got stuck was as much of a mystery, Jaskier only realising he was deep within the hole grasping for a plank when he felt the splinters dig into his skin and his other arm protesting at the tight fit. His hips caught on the wood, scraping him harshly as he wiggled about, his left arm squeezed alongside his torso.
It got uncomfortable quickly, the fence digging into his abdomen and his left elbow already scuffed up from the rough edges. He was standing on his toes, the only thing keeping him from toppling over being his right arm pressing into the scarred wood to hold his body upright. He hadn’t even reached that stupid plank on the other side, the piece mocking him with it’s existence as he let out a groan.
Behind him, the door wailed as it was opened further, Jaskier freezing up as he realised how utterly humiliating of a situation he got himself into. With jerky motions, the bard tried his best to wiggle himself out of the hole. Nope. Still stuck.
“How... does this even happen?” Eskel sounded genuinely confused, walking over to the fence as he rounded it, stopping a few meters in front of Jaskier to get a good look at him.
“If I told you that I, myself, have no clue, would you believe me?” He tried his best with a smile, meeting the witcher’s eyes for a brief moment until his muscles complained, slumping back down against his trap as he sighed.
“No. But considering your track record of getting yourself in... trouble... I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.” Eskel stalked closer, one hand reaching out to support the bard’s shoulder as he crouched down to his level. His amber eyes studied the hole, Jaskier tuned in to a witcher’s reactions enough to see the inwards wince he made when he saw the wood digging into the bard’s arm.
“Oh, now this is a renovation I can get behind!”
A pair sets of boots alerted the two of Lambert’s and Geralt’s arrival, the former just about holding in a laugh as he entered. Jaskier once more wiggled about, legs going numb at the exertion and his face growing hotter by the second. In front of him, Eskel rose up to his feet, Jaskier thankful for his hand still supporting his weight.
“How are you doing, little bard?” Lambert tiptoed right next to him, Jaskier craning his neck to see the witcher resting his chin on the top of the fence. A smirk was spread across his lips, amusement dripping off of his entire being.
“Stuck,” Jaskier mumbled, too upset over his predicament to dignify the man with a proper answer. He slumped back, hair covering his eyes.
Silence stretched on for a while, the bard assuming the witchers were in deep conversation with looks and nods only. They were good discussing things completely mute, Jaskier finding is rather interesting by the fire. Not so much at the moment.
After a full minute, he started moving about again, scuffing his skin and groaning at the prick of a splinter that dug into his arm. This seemed to gain the others’ attention, Eskel pushing back in his shoulder slightly to aid him as a hand on his hip tugged gently.
“You really are stuck, huh?” Lambert gripped him harder, tugging more insistently. It hurt, Jaskier letting out a low wail as the wood rubbed him raw. He suspected his shirt had crept upwards from the wiggling, now exposing the soft skin around his abdomen to the rough edges and splinters. The hand on his hip left as if the man had burnt the bard.
Geralt provided them with an ever so unhelpful “Hmm” as the three began to circle the fence, Jaskier folding in on himself from the scrutiny of his far more competent friends. He was sure that Geralt wouldn’t get himself stuck in a goddamn plank, even if he was lithe enough to fit through it.
His gaze tied to the floor, Jaskier huffed out an annoyed breath, humiliation coursing through him in waves as he tried not to think of the witchers circling him, pacing around his body like a pack of wolves about to pounce. A pair of heavy boots stopped just in front of him, the bard craning his entire upper body to meet the eyes of Lambert. His lips were quirked up ever so slightly, staring the man down.
“Honestly? This is quite convenient.” One strong hand shot out to grip his chin, making sure Jaskier couldn’t look away. A thumb gently stroked over his jaw, moving slowly to stroke over his lower lip. Then Lambert looked across over the fence, studying his brothers with an amused look. “The winter is long and oh, so cold. Don’t we deserve some entertainment?”
Jaskier stared at him with large eyes. His gaze darted downwards, now realising his face was in line with the witcher’s crotch; The leather there strained by a bulge slowly growing. Fuck.
The bard began to struggle in earnest now, laughing nervously as he cringed out of the other’s hold on his chin. His legs were shaking with exhaustion, but he managed to kick himself about, his body complaining at the harsh tugs on his skin as he did. He could feel all three of them moving in closer, the same hand now supporting his shoulder the way Eskel had done earlier.
“Now, now. Calm down, bard.” Fingers dug into the muscle, thumb stroking his collarbone soothingly. Another set of hands touched his hips, slowly sliding up the small of his back to feel at the spot where his body got stuck. “We are going to take care of you so well, aren’t we?”
Behind him he heard absent murmurs of affirmation, more hands gliding across his skin and prodding at the hems of his breaches. Jaskier’s torso was sharply tugged upwards, both shoulders held firmly to stop him from moving. Thick fingers slowly undid the laces of his trousers, the fabric then hastily removed and pooling at his ankles. The sudden cold against his thighs had him shivering, his mouth running off.
“Stop! Really, this isn’t necessary, now is it?” He forced a nervous laugh, trying to find the humour in the situation. The lot had to be messing with him, just teasing him a little for getting himself stuck. There was no way they were actually serious about this.
The hands on his lower back moved down, kneading his arse with care. The action made Jaskier squirm, doing his best to get away from the grip. It only served to remind him of Lambert’s presence, the bard pushing himself closer to the straining bulge in front of him as one of the hands holding his shoulders snaked back up to his chin. The thumb once more played around on his lower lip, tugging his mouth open as it shoved itself inside.
“Be a good boy for us, will you?” Fingers hooked themselves in the hem of his small clothes, prying them off the bard gently. They fell to join his breaches, keeping his legs from moving about much. Lambert insistently pushed his thumb against his gritted teeth, smiling down at him. “Come on. Let’s put that mouth to some good use for once!”
Offended by the comment, Jaskier was about to say something, only realising his mistake once the thick digit entered between his teeth and pressed down upon his tongue. A cruel laugh bubbled up in the witcher, forcing himself further inside. Behind him he could her shuffling, two pairs of hands still petting his skin and prodding at him.
The bard felt something slick being poured over his backside; Judging by the scent he deduced it to be mineral oil used to keep their swords from rusting. The cold liquid made him shiver as it slowly ran down his backside, fingers rubbing it into his skin before prodding tentatively at his entrance. Jaskier groaned around the thumb in his mouth, once more trying to cringe away from the touch.
“‘on’t,” he slurred, the hand trapped next to his body grasping in the air for anything. He was completely powerless, not even able to call for help. Not that he would find any, he figured, considering the solitude of the castle. Would Vesemir help? Would he join in? Jaskier stopped that train of thought when he felt a thick digit enter him.
It was a tight fit even with the oil. The blunt finger didn’t let up though, just kept pushing inside as Jaskier mewled at the foreign feel. It stretched him horribly, the realisation of it being but one finger making him shudder. There was no way any of the witchers would be able to enter him, Jaskier well aware of what Geralt what working with after the years of travels together.
But whoever behind him didn’t stop, thrusting his finger in and out of him slowly and sinking deeper each time. When he felt impossibly full, it would recede only to fill him up again, repeating mindlessly as Jaskier tried his best to stay still. Then suddenly he was empty, the confusion making him try to turn around, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see what was going on even if he was allowed to do so with the thumb playing around with his tongue. He got his answer anyway, another finger now trying to enter him alongside the first.
Had one finger been uncomfortable, then he really couldn’t imagine a second entering. The stretch was bordering on painful before they even got inside, Jaskier struggling once more as his protests got ignored. The endless process of working him open continued as Lambert started palming himself.
“If you can’t be quiet, then I have something to keep you occupied,” he smiled, freeing his member with ease. The cock bobbed mere millimetres from Jaskier’s nose, heavy and hard as he stroked himself slowly. Pre rolled down the head, beading for a moment before beginning to drip, the bard shaking his head as it descended slowly towards him. Not that it mattered, instead Lambert pried his mouth open properly and held him still, his cock twitching as the pre slowly leaked onto Jaskier’s tongue.
The bitter taste barely registered, Jaskier instead focused on the pain searing from his behind. The fingers had gotten past the initial breach and then slid deep inside of him, too quickly and rough. The flinch only served to make it less comfortable, pushing them just a tiny bit further inside of him.
“Oh, what a whore,” snickered Eskel from behind, Jaskier not aware that he was able of such words. He had seemed like the reasonable one out of the three, but clearly he was wrong. Above him, Lambert hummed quizzically, making eye contact with his brother across the fence.
“He pushed me deeper,” Eskel explained. “So much for acting like he doesn’t want it.”
Jaskier could now safely assume the hands petting his thigh and waist were Geralt’s, focusing on the soothing pressure rather than the rest. It proved to be a challenge when Lambert moved in closer, guiding the tip of his cock to smear pre over his lips, gliding it inside his mouth experimentally from time to time. He ordered the bard to lick it, Jaskier shaking his head as good as he could as he screwed his eyes closed, singling out Geralt’s sword calloused hands against his skin.
With a tug to his jaw, Lambert shoved himself inside his mouth, the head of his cock sliding over his tongue wetly before going deeper. It knocked against the bard’s throat, Jaskier gagging and pushing back tears that formed in his eyes. The moment the cock was eased out, the fingers in his arse pushed inside, the two sensations keeping him filled at all times. It barely registered for Jaskier when Eskel added a third digit, the only clue being the searing stretch of his entrance making his legs go number.
Ever the gentleman Lambert made no attempt to keep it slow, stuffing himself further into Jaskier’s mouth with every thrust. One of his hands was fisted in the bard’s hair, pulling him onto the cock roughly to pop the head into his throat.
“Oh, fuck!” Lambert moaned, stilling for a moment as the muscles in Jaskier’s throat hugged him tight. The bard was convulsing under him, thrashing around as he felt his airflow being cut. Then the witcher slowly moved back, letting him gulp down air around his throbbing member as the fingers behind him pulled out as well.
The relief of being empty was short lived, something blunt prodding his entrance and gliding in the slick covering his backside. The tip caught on his hole, pushing inside with a determined force as Jaskier panted, trembling all over his body at the slow, dragged out feeling of being completely filled up. Three fingers had not been enough to prepare him, witcher gripping his hips tightly in order to push the bard onto him hard.
He didn’t get the satisfaction of enjoying the moment Eskel stilled behind him, fully seated inside. Instead, Lambert started thrusting himself down his throat once again, giving the bard but a few precious moments to breathe before plunging himself back inside the tight heat. Jaskier couldn’t stop his thrashing, desperate enough to get himself free from the situation that he didn’t even register the blood seeping down his arm to stain his shirt as the skin was rubbed raw.
To his side, Geralt stayed quiet under the whole affair, his slow circles over Jaskier’s skin so very far away from the intense sensations provided by his brothers. Fingers trailed slowly downwards, eventually gripping his flaccid member and fondling him gently. Jaskier let out a sob at the feeling, pleasure shooting up inside him despite the pain he was in, despite the dizziness creeping into his brain from the lack of oxygen. He could feel himself harden against his will, Getalt stroking him expertly while tears rolled down his cheeks to mix with his spit. He felt his edge nearing, whining as disgust welled up inside him he wasn’t supposed to enjoy this, his skin raw and insides throbbing with pain.
Eskel changed his angle ever so slightly, the head of his cock hitting something inside Jaskier that overpowered his lack of air, spinning his world on it’s end as white, hot pleasure shot through him. Jaskier let out a punched out groan, his body shaking wildly as his cock spurt out his seed all over Geralt’s hand. With each thrust hitting his sweet spot, more come dribbled out of him until it all muted into oversensitivity, Jaskier now going lax against the thick fence holding him trapped. He could feel himself being dragged backwards and forwards into the witchers’ cocks, his body used like a doll between the two as he mewled pathetically, both his hands gripping at nothing as the overstimulation turned into pain.
Jaskier sighed in relief as Geralt let up his stroking, brain mushed into something resembling what an inn would serve them for cheap coin. The two others sped up, Eskel being the first to spill inside of him only shortly followed by Lambert. Thrust deep inside the bard, Jaskier couldn’t taste the come as it slid down his throat, but made a weak noise at the sensation of hot seed filling his insides from both ends. They stilled, Lambert pulling out enough to rest the head of his cock on Jaskier’s lolled out tongue while Eskel let his softening member slip out of him gently.
Thick fingers gently prodded his gaping hole, pushing the come back inside him as it escaped. A grunt to Jaskier’s side was all the forewarning he got before more come splattered over his back and arse, Geralt panting as he milked himself dry over Jaskier’s skin.
“We will be back soon, bard.” Lambert’s big hand cupped his cheek, patting it gently as he smiled. With his other hand, he tucked himself back into his clothes, stepping back. “We will have some more fun, whore, don’t worry.”
Three pairs of boots left the room, the door closing behind. Jaskier relaxed into the grip around his abdomen, head slumped forwards and hair sticking out. A sob wracked his body before as he accepted the promise from the witchers in silence.