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Yennefer was tired of Geralt's neediness.
That was it, that was the problem. (Not the feeling like she might be growing attached herself.) Well, that and Jaskier's maudlin singing every time she snatched the witcher up to scratch that itch of hers. Bards were dramatic by nature of course, but there was a limit to how much whining and pining she could endure without turning the fop into a fish so he would be silent.
And as tempting as the thought was, it would almost certainly make Geralt even more broody and his thoughts were incessantly loud that happened. And frankly, she didn't care to hear her lover's mind flickering over to how Jaskier was while he was in bed with her.
So really, they should just fuck already. It was not like Yennefer wasn't sleeping around or like Geralt didn't go to prostitutes when they were apart. But Geralt didn't think of those prostitutes while sleeping with her. He thought of Jaskier. (Sometimes, very rarely, always briefly and mostly about the bard's wellbeing, like his chances of ending up gelded for hiding his sausage in the wrong pantry while Geralt wasn't there to keep an eye on him.)
But that was still too much thought for another and the fact that Geralt was tolerating the bard's obnoxious presence at all was proof enough that he actually wanted to screw that hoppity arse. So he just should. That should get it out of his system. Except for some reason those two idiots just couldn't get it on, preferring to express nothing (Geralt) or literally everything else (Jaskier) to avoid sitting down together and resolving their tension with a solid romp.
Urgh, men. They would probably run in circles around each other for another twenty years and never get anything done if left to their own devices.
For the sake of fairness, she did still try to talk to Geralt first and he denied everything. So she claimed to want a threesome - that she would then accidentally leave them to - but it seemed to break something in his brain because he just gaped and then his thoughts were so loud it gave her a headache and she left. The next time they met, he acted like nothing had ever happened and she was too fed up to try again so they just fucked and she postponed her plan.
But she didn't scrap it. She just accepted that men's brains were indeed unsalvageable and they needed to be led to function at all.
So the next time she left Geralt, well-satisfied herself, she poured some Melusine's Draught past his lips as he slept off his orgasm and ordered the bard to go watch over him and not leave his side or let anyone disturb them, implying that Geralt hadn't been feeling well.
With that, the pomp was nailed to her witcher's side and would be sure be to be the first person Geralt saw once the potion had a hold over him. But just in case Geralt got a bit too armorous for the human, she tipped three drops into the bottle of wine she shoved at him to help him stay hydrated for his vigil as well.
That should do it.
Jaskier hated the witch. He fucking HATED her.
Because guess what? Geralt had been perfectly FINE before she had stormed in like rain on a parade. He was a WITCHER for Melitele's sake, he didn't just feel under the weather sometimes, so what pervy mage shit had she done to him now? Urgh, he hated that woman. Loathed her. (Envied her. ...Feared for Geralt around her. Especially his heart...)
So he drank down his sorrows with a helping of wine, knowing full well that the witcher wouldn't listen to him if he complained about her or tried to warn him anyway. And knowing that could make him drink a lot... Enough to make terrible thoughts enter his mind. Thoughts about Geralt, lying there all gorgeous and naked from sex.
Shit, he felt hot. His mouth tingled and his cock throbbed for no good reason. He should go find that pretty barmaid who had liked his songs... But then Geralt would be alone and- And actually, he didn't feel like sleeping with anyone else right now. Actually, he just realized that Geralt's lips looked even rosier than usual right now. His muscles bulged better than the best tits and he wanted to know if they would jiggle and-
NOPE! Not his place. He couldn't just touch Geralt, so he pulled back the hand he hadn't even realized was reaching out. Better to just wank. He had wanked around Geralt before, it wasn't a problem. Admittedly that had been before he had realized that even if the witcher was out on a hunt or getting firewood to bring back to their camp or whatever he still generally heard Jaskier do it and definitely smelled it on his return.
Goodness, he had been so mortified when Geralt had indirectly admitted to that one time by barging back in with the words 'You're bleeding, what happened?' Because even frozen in shock with one hand wrapped around his dick and the other three fingers deep in his own arse, Jaskier had known that there was no way Geralt should have smelled a trickle of blood from accidetally scratching himself on an exposed nail in the bedframe and not the huge pool of precome running out of him like milk from a jug.
So yeah, Geralt had always known. They had never actually discussed that and Jaskier had stopped having sex (by his lonesome or with company) in any shared rooms or camps every since, but the witcher also hadn't chased him away. Not even oer the implications of the fingers in arse thing. So it would probably be okay to get himself off right now...
And that was how he found himself stark naked - it was somehow reeeeally hot right now - with a hand around himself. His other first played with his balls, because fingering his arse might be a bit much so close to the sleeping witcher, but when he came his lust didn't lessen and his cock was super sensitive right then.
He still wanked it a second time, but then Geralt got hard - in his SLEEP! - and Jaskier acknowledged that he had never been good at resisting temptation, so up his arse it was. His hand, that was, well his fingers - not Geralt's cock. That was what he imagined inside himself, but he couldn't actually take it. He was tempted horribly, but that would just go too far.
Jaskier was a cad, alright, but doing things to someone who had never expressed any desire in him without their knowledge was still a line he had never crossed and had no intention of crossing now. Only the temptation wouldn't lessen... He came mostly from his prostate that third time around but he still felt like he needed more... He needed Geralt. And when he looked back up for some - perfectly innocent - fantasy inspiration, golden eyes stared back. Shit, he-
"'S not what you think, Geralt, I- Uh- Geralt?"
The witcher was already up and stalked over to him like a predator on the prowl. At that he first thought that he might be in for a punishment beyond a simple punch in the guts - though somehow he didn't mind the thought, in fact his trepidation only made him more aroused right now and he almost asked to please get punished hard, especially when the witcher's massive, dripping, glorious cock was so on display, bobbing with every step.
But then Geralt just grabbed him, not caring at the hands instinctively scrambling at him when he picked Jaskier up - or where those hands had just been - and threw him on the ground - on his belly - hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Jaskier had about two blinks to be confused - and horny - before there was a thud behind him and then his hips were pulled up.
...Was this happening right now? At all? What WAS happening?!
He was probably dreaming, it just had to be a dream - was that GERALT'S COCK at HIS entrance?!?!?! Now admittedly if it were his actual dream come true he would be able to look at Geralt and maybe not risk splinters in his face and down his chest from being pressed on the frankly unflattering ground and his knees wouldn't be aching already, but fuck, he felt so hot...
And it was so much. Geralt was pressing against his hole and Jaskier was so happy he had fingered himself because he had seen how huge that thing was and damn he wanted it in him. Heat churned in his belly and if his body would please open up already - Geralt's cock might have warranted one or two fingers more than he had used. (If only he had known that this would be happening...) But really, the witcher could be a little more considerate and put some of his own huge, sword-callused fingers to use in order to-
FUCK!
The tip pressing into him with slow but steady force was one thing - a very exciting thing - but now the head popping past his rim was on the wrong side of too much. Jaskier still heard his own shout echo in his ears and already Geralt was pressing more. Shit.
"Okay, fuck, slow down! I- argh, Geralt? Look, I- holy tits! No, please- I mean NOT NO! I want it, I do, more than is reasonable, more than usual even, I just - ah- fuck! SLOW DOWN! Geralt, it HURTS! it- Geralt?!"
He was tensing up and that was making it even worse, it really hurt by now - had Geralt even put some oil on his huge dick or was he going with just the residue from Jaskier's bit of fingering? Because that was not enough! Not at this size! But it would explain the hard drag...
And still he felt like he wanted it. (Unnaturally much.) But then he always did and maybe he shouldn't worry that Geralt wasn't responding because the witcher communicated mostly in grunts and looks anyway, but even then Geralt wouldn't just hurt him, wouldn't ignore him pleading and he was definitely pleading by now, clawing at the ground with hot tears welling from his eyes at just too much.
But Geralt kept pressing forward with all his bulk behind it, hands locked around Jaskier's waist to hold him in place as he buried himself inch by inch without a care for the resistance. Not that Jaskier's hole could actually resist him. He couldn't even if Geralt was an ordinary human and nobody could save themselves from being overpowered by a witcher like that, which was precisely why it meant so much that nobody needed to because Geralt for all his strength was just too good at heart!
Except right now. (If it was really Geralt?) Good Melitele, if Yennefer had set him up with magic trap while she had the real Geralt tucked away somewhere.. She wouldn't be beyond rape, he knew that. They had literally first met the witch in the middle of raping a hall full of people, body and mind, with her magi- Holy SHIT!
"Ragamuffin! Geralt, Ragamuffin! Wasn't that the word? Fuck, just snap out of it! GERALT!"
"Shhh..."
"Geralt?!"
"Calm, Jaskier."
"No, Geralt, you- you're hexed, bewitched! Snap out of it, fuck, it's too much!"
Like a tree branch splitting him, like those infamous executions in the South where they drove giant stakes into people only to right them up and let them die for days as they sank ever lower as the sharpened tip slowly but surely pierced their whole body...
"I'm bewitched."
It was still slightly slurred and too low, but if Geralt was staring to understand?
"Yes, Geralt, you-"
"You have bewitched me..."
"What? Me?"
"...body and soul..."
"I-"
"I love you so much..."
He what?!
Jaskier felt the tickle of Geralt's bush against his cheeks, the massive balls against his own like big brothers looking down at him and his ass and spine and lower back and actually even his stomach hurt to the point of nausea, but did Geralt just say that he loved him?!
(Maybe he could live with this after all?)
No, Yennefer had to have hexed him, it was FAKE! But if felt so real... Jaskier's feelings at hearing that were too real. And still he never meant to say anything while Geralt was under some kind of influence, but his tongue tingled like he had licked a stripped ginger root and he found himself speaking anyway:
"I love you, too."
But before he could truly fall into his inner crisis about what this meant for their friendship, what Yennefer might have done to Geralt - and him? Because something wasn't normal - he was rather violently ripped out of his thoughts. Specifically the witcher's massive cock was abruptly ripped out of his hole and it felt like it ripped half his hole along with it.
Jaskier screamed.
Dimly he knew that the other people in the inn had to have heard him, but nobody ever came. And Geralt never slowed down. He just ripped himself out to ram right in again with a groan and Jaskier panted through panic and pain as the witcher tore himself free and shoved himself back inside him again and again and all over again.
He was pretty sure that he was bleeding. (Maybe it helped slick the thrusts?) He also thought that he might have splinters in his nipples as every new shove into him scraped him across the wooden floor with a creak. Fuck, even his balls hurt now, with Geralt's much bigger and heavier ones banging into them like threshing flails.
But Geralt had said that he loved him...
His fingers were bleeding, at least one nail had gotten stuck in the floorboards and been torn off, and three more were broken. He had also bitten his tongue and his lower lip was busted from his face being smashed into the ground. There were trickles tickling his nostrils from his noses meeting the same fate. His palms were raw, his knees open.
But Geralt had said that he loved him...
And then the thrusts became erratic and his heart sped up in concord with it and then heat burst deep in his bowls as the witcher released a flood of his essence inside him. And it felt like a blessing... The lazy thrusts of Geralt fucking him through his oragsm were also much softer and the heat in him only grew as his own increasingly senseless arousal battled his pain to make itself known again.
Except then - within the minute - the shoves into his insides returned to their previous rhythm, picked up their pace again and soon jabbed his guts even harder than before. Apparently Geralt didn't stop at a single climax any more than he himself had before, so he was in for... an unknown measure of more. (When it was already too much as it was.)
But Geralt had said that he loved him...
So it had to be okay. He wanted it. (Right?) He wanted Geralt to love him... (If it was real?)
His belly started feeling tight after the third load and the ground was slick with the blood from his face, hands and knees. After the seventh climax it actively ached and some time after he lost count it started cramping around the weight an volume of the witcher's come filling his intestines.
He couldn't twist himself enough to look, but going by the way his belly was starting to rub against the floorboards too, it had to be swelling around the witcher's relentless torrent of spend. And there was still more coming. More than he would have thought possible. Maybe more than there was room for. It already seemed enough to make more room by forcing his body to bend outward, to stretch and strain to hold it all.
But Geralt had said that he loved him...
And some part of him still wanted it enough to hump his raw cock against the floorboards to get off with the man who owned his heart and whole.
When Geralt woke up, he felt sick.
Not in the traditional sense, of course, that was hardly possible anymore and he didn't have enough memories of 'before' anymore to compare the two. No, he felt sick in the sense that his mouth and throat itched, his head and veins hurt and he was nauseaous like he had a bad potion hang-over. 'Bad' as if he had decided that he would rather sleep off a potion toxicity around the last tenth of what he could handle instead of just taking some White Honey for it.
Or like he had accidentally taken one of those experimental concoctions of Lambert's that he claimed were legit cat witcher potions. Or like he'd chugged a potion past its expiration. All of it sounded too stupid to be true... God, if Jaskier had cooked up some screwed up potion imitation to 'help' and put it among his real ones, he'd wring the bard silly.
Whatever it had been, though, he didn't feel like he was dying. He just felt like shit. Well, except for the soft warmth along his front and even around his cock! That felt like a dream come- Wait a minute. Yennefer never stuck around. And she certainly wouldn't keep his cock warm after they were done! Nor would any prostitute without bankrupting him.
Startled, he pulled back and- shattered. When he smelled the stink of blood, Jaskier's blood, EVERYWHERE, and saw the bruises in his skin from his hips to his balls, the squishy, deep pink prolapse following his cock out of his fragile, human best friend's swollen, seeping hole...
Gods, what had he done?
How could he?!
What had come over him?!
WHYYYY?!