Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Huddled by the campfire, Jaskier watches in amusement as Geralt paces with uncharacteristic nervous energy. They are a day’s travel from Kaer Morhen and with every mile Geralt has grown more tense. A surge of fondness spreads through Jaskier's chest at the fact that this powerful witcher is being brought to his knees at the prospect of Jaskier meeting his family. Is this how Jaskier acted before introducing Geralt to Marya? Gods he hopes not.

“Again,” Geralt commands, hands clasped behind his back like a drill sergeant.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier recites the lecture that has been ingrained into his mind. “Lambert is an utter prick and will be unbearable if I take any of his insults personally. Eskel has a large facial scar that he is super self-conscious of so don’t call attention to it. Vesemir will be very apprehensive about welcoming a stranger into the keep so tone myself down a bit. That last one is still unclear to me Geralt.”

Tilting his head backwards so he can track the frantic pacing of his wolf behind him Jaskier remarks, “What was it you said? ‘Try to tame your eccentricities and flamboyant personality?’ Geralt. Darling. It’s me.”

At Jaskier’s gentle teasing Geralt slumps, collapsing on the ground behind Jaskier. Wrapping his arms around the bard, Geralt props his chin upon his shoulder. “I just want you to survive longer than a day,” Geralt says, his attempt at humor undermined by his morose tone.

Sighing, Jaskier turns his head so he can gently claim the witcher’s lips. He smiles as Geralt sinks into the gesture, some of his tension draining away as he gets lost in Jaskier’s lips. Gods, Jaskier will never stop feeling drunk on the power the wolf gives him. Jaskier is in awe over the fact that this fierce monster hunter allows a lowly bard to touch and caress him, shower him with affection...that Geralt allows Jaskier to see him drop his guard and soften...Jaskier will never take it for granted.

Before the kiss can get too heated, Jaskier pulls away. Twisting so he can properly face his mate Jaskier cradles Geralt’s face and smiles into those worried eyes. “I promise Geralt, I will do everything I can to make a good impression. Trust me.”

***

“I thought this was the wolf school...” Jaskier examines Lambert with a critical eye. “Hmm but you’re not very wolfy if you ask me. You seem more like a kitty cat,” he adds with a feral grin.

“And what would you know about wolves, songbird?” Lambert asks snidely.

“Oh I happen to have an intimate knowledge of wolves,” Jaskier purrs with a dirty smirk and a bold step forward so they are chest to chest.

Only years of witcher training ensures that Geralt maintains a straight face as he watches the exchange between his brother and his bard. The moment Geralt and Jaskier strode through the gates Lambert greeted them with a “So the prodigal son returns! And he brings his little rentboy this time. Bringing him to share?”

Jaskier had swept his gaze lazily along the witcher and crooned, “Oh darling, you couldn’t handle me.” Eyes bouncing across the three witchers Jaskier added, “So from what Geralt told me the prickly one is Lambert, the handsome one is Eskel, and the regal one is Vesemir.” While Eskel had stared gaping at the compliment, Lambert let Jaskier know how he felt about being called “prickly” which then devolved into their current situation. Vesemir took one look at the two men arguing, rolled his eyes, and walked away, grumbling about Lambert finally meeting his match.

Now Eskel stands shoulder to shoulder with Geralt and watches the battle of wits with thinly disguised amusement and vague concern. “Should we intervene?” he finally asks Geralt, unable to peel his eyes from the argument. This was the most entertainment the old keep has seen in years.

“Hmm,” Geralt says. “Let them have their fun.” Throwing an arm around the other witcher, Geralt guides him away, a soft smile playing on his lips. Honestly Geralt shouldn’t have been worried that the bard wouldn’t be able to hold his own. After all, a wolf knows how to establish dominance, and Geralt can’t wait to watch Lambert be brought to heel.

***

“Geralt I’m surprised that you let a fragile little human follow you like a stray duckling,” Lambert scoffs through a mouthful of venison. Quirking a brow at his wolf and witnessing Jaskier’s secretive smirk, Geralt rolls his eyes. Seems like they’re keeping the truth of how fragile and human Jaskier truly is to themselves for now. Let the shifter have his fun.

“You misunderstand Lambert,” Geralt rumbles. “You don’t let Jaskier do anything. He latches onto you like a wyvern's claws and after awhile you resign yourself to living with the irritation.” Geralt releases a huff as Jaskier jabs him in the ribs; Geralt keeps forgetting how strong the wolf actually is.

Rubbing at where he was shoved Geralt shoots Jaskier a glare, to which the bard merely blinks innocently back. “What’s wrong old man, you so weak that a puny bard is giving you some bruises?” Lambert taunts.

Licking the meat juice off of his fingers Jaskier gives Lambert a sultry wink. “Oh honey I give my wolf lots of bruises and he loves every one.”

“Please,” Eskel groans as Geralt prays for the floor to swallow him up. “Some of us are eating.”

Flashing the scarred witcher a genuine smile Jaskier says, “Apologies my handsome wolf.” When Eskel freezes before scowling in response, Jaskier releases a mournful whine. Seems like he’ll need to put in more of an effort to show Eskel he’s sincere.

Before Jaskier can say more though Vesemir rises. “I’m off to bed. You all should be too. Repairs start tomorrow.” Turning a stern gaze to Jaskier he adds, “If you want to winter here bardling you’ll be expected to pull your weight like the rest of us.”

For the first time since he arrived Jaskier turns serious. Nodding he responds gravely, “I am grateful for your hospitality and will do all I can to earn my keep.”

Jaskier perks up at the approving nod sent his way. “I expect nothing less.” As the elder wolf sweeps out of the dining hall Geralt rises slowly, waiting for the doors to close behind him so he can do what he has been itching to do since they first entered the keep. “And what help will that be? Sucking our cocks?” Lambert inquires, miming lewdly at Jaskier.

As the wooden doors thud shut Geralt allows a feral smile to cross his face. Right then. No time like the present. In a flash of silver the witcher launches himself across the table and tackles Lambert to the ground. The younger wolf lands with a surprised “oof” as his tankard and plate clatter to the floor.

Jaskier jumps up in alarm only to find a solid hand halt his movements toward Geralt. “This became a normal occurrence last winter as well,” Eskel sighs tiredly. “Geralt doesn’t seem to appreciate how Lambert speaks of you.” A mixture of exasperation and fondness struggle for dominance in Jaskier’s chest. That silly wolf, trying to protect his honor. Like Jaskier has any left to guard!

Realizing that there was nothing to be done, Jaskier turns his back to the flying limbs and vicious snarls. “In that case my dear Eskel, would you be so kind as to show me the library? One of the selling points for me wintering here was the library and the promise of meeting a certain witcher who has a love of reading,” Jaskier explains, smiling at Eskel softly.

Ducking his head, a humorous action for one so tall and broad, Eskel’s lips twitch. Inwardly, Jaskier crows. One step closer to getting an honest smile out of the man! Nudging the witcher’s shoulder companionably Jaskier prods, “So what have you been reading lately?”

Jaskier sinks into the soft baritone of his companion as they weave through the halls, elated that he found a topic that gets the reserved witcher talking. In the distance there are twin grunts that sound suspiciously like two grown witchers getting pulled up by their ears. Straining his ears, Jaskier chuckles to himself at the booming voice of a very tired father figure. “Both of you. Mucking the stalls for the week.”

Oh, this winter was going to be fun.

***

Jaskier and Geralt are curled up on the bed enjoying a rare lazy morning. It has been two weeks since they arrived at Kaer Morhen and all of Geralt’s concerns have been assuaged. Between trading jabs with Lambert, engaging in long literary debates with Eskel, and listening attentively to Vesemir’s old tales and knowledge, Jaskier has made himself at home in the keep and the wolves seem to be slowly warming up to him. Well, most of them, but Lambert is a special case.

There was just one item on Geralt’s mind left and it was about to be addressed. After all, an open bedroom door is always tempting for nosy witchers.

“Geralt?” Eskel calls steadily from the doorway, only a small crack in his voice betraying his panic.

“Hmm?” he replies, without opening his eyes.

“Are you aware that you’re currently cuddling a giant ass wolf?”

Peeling open one eye Geralt peers into the laughing blue eyes of his mate currently resting on his chest. Humming, Geralt closes his eyes again as he continues to stroke a hand through the soft fur. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

The sputtering that ensues causes the wolf to sneeze in amusement, though that quickly turns into a snarl when Lambert skids through the doorway with his sword raised. “We’re the school of the wolf Geralt but that doesn’t mean we actually befriend wolves!” he cries. “Now step away from that thing.”

Geralt’s calm demeanor evaporates and he coils ready to protect Jaskier, snarling at the weapon raised against his wolf. With a bored yawn said wolf shifts, leaving in its place a very naked Jaskier. “I resent being called a thing Lambert,” Jaskier drawls, smirking at the gaping mouths of the two witchers in the doorway.

Sighing at his wolf’s dramatics, Geralt clambers out of the bed before throwing some trousers and a tunic at the bard’s head. Sticking his tongue out like the child he is, Jaskier wiggles in the bed in a far too alluring way as he slides on what Geralt belatedly realizes is his own attire. A dark possessive warmth curls in his gut as Geralt rakes his gaze over the bard wearing his oversized clothes.

Suitably distracted, Geralt blinks in surprise when Lambert finally regains his voice. “What. The fuck. Geralt.” Turning to his brother, Geralt arches a brow. Lambert is staring at him like he’s grown a second head while Eskel glances between Geralt and Jaskier with a contemplative expression. Throwing up his arms, Lambert gestures frantically between the duo. “I say again-what the fuck??”

Stalking toward Lambert like the predator he is, Jaskier remarks with a tilt of his head. “What’s wrong Lambert? Afraid of a little wolf?” Baring his teeth so his fangs peek out he says innocently, “Don’t worry witcher, I don’t bite.” Winking he adds, “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

And without further adieu, Jaskier slips out of the room, leaving Geralt at the mercy of his brothers. Gods his wolf is gonna pay for that later. Shrugging at the twin looks of confusion, Geralt settles back on the bed and grunts, “He’s a shifter. It’s your fault for assuming he was simply human.”

Lambert’s face was turning an unflattering shade of red and Geralt couldn’t stop the smug smirk crossing his face. Serves that bastard right. His jabs at Geralt and Jaskier had grown more and more barbed over the days and Geralt was getting sick of it. It was nice having something over the younger witcher’s head.

Nodding slowly Eskel muses, “This makes a lot of sense now that I think about it.”

Sheathing his sword, Lambert stalks into the room before sprawling by the hearth with a huff. “Drop the bullshit Eskel, you were as clueless as the rest of us.”

Sinking into an armchair opposite the bed Geralt is lounging on, Eskel taps his chin thoughtfully. “No-there were a couple times during some of the repairs when I was surprised by the bard’s strength. Just assumed he was unusually strong for a human but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

At this Eskel looks to Geralt for confirmation. “Hmm,” Geralt grunts in response, feeling a tad grumpy now that he doesn’t have his wolf by his side. It was the first morning in weeks they were able to properly tangle together for gods’ sake.

“Geralt I never thought I would see the day when you would become a monster fucker,” Lambert laughs. “What, were you tasked to kill him but fell in love with his pretty face?”

Between one breath and the next, Lambert finds a hand gripping his throat and golden eyes burning through his skull. Geralt’s mind buzzes blankly as he tightens his grasp. “Call Jaskier a monster again and I’ll rip your throat out,” he snarls. The animal inside him howls at the spark of fear in the other witcher’s eyes.

Roughened hands as familiar as Geralt’s own grabs his shoulders and gently pulls him back. After a moment's resistance in which Geralt squeezes around Lambert’s throat once more to make his message clear, he allows himself to be guided away.

“He was just teasing Geralt,” Eskel murmurs in his ear with a grounding stroke through his hair. Rumbling discontentedly in his chest, Geralt gives no response and instead turns on his heel and stalks away. A voice is screaming in his head that he needs to find his wolf.

***

When Geralt strides through the library where Jaskier is chattering away with Vesemir the bard pauses mid sentence, knowing immediately that something was wrong. Expression stormy, Geralt doesn’t slow until he pulls Jaskier up from the cushioned chair and presses him to a bookshelf. A rumble vibrates through his chest as he curls his head down to scent Jaskier’s neck.

Shooting a sheepish glance to Vesemir who is watching the proceedings with a placid expression, Jaskier tilts his head to give Geralt more to work with. This is a common occurrence when Geralt is feeling distressed; Jaskier assumes that the witcher finds his scent grounding or something equally as flattering/adorably odd.

As Geralt snuffles at his pulse point Jaskier begins humming lowly, gently raking his hands through Geralt’s hair. Closing his eyes, Jaskier soaks up the earthen scent of Geralt while the witcher does the same. Geralt wasn’t the only one who finds his mate’s scent calming. Slowly, the tension vibrating through the witcher’s body eases until he’s pliant against Jaskier.

Want to talk about what happened?” Jaskier asks softly after a moment.

Despite the shake of his head Geralt grumbles, “Lambert.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums, making a note to check in with the younger witcher later. He clearly said something that set Geralt off and when his wolf was distressed sometimes it is easier to go to the presumed source than try to pry out what happened from Geralt. He struggles so with his words.

“Sorry I left you alone with them my love. Want to continue where we left off earlier?” Jaskier asks, gazing into those troubled golden eyes. When Geralt jerks his head toward Vesemir Jaskier releases a lilting laugh, “Oh he’s known since he first set eyes on me, my wolf! You don’t get to his age without having a strong sense of observation.”

Without loosening his grip on Jaskier’s hips Geralt turns a questioning glance at Vesemir who is pretending to be enthralled by a novel on wild mushrooms. Flicking his gaze up Vesemir releases a grunt. “Your business is your own, pup, as long as it doesn’t endanger the rest of us. Makes a lot more sense why you’d risk a relationship with your bardling; have to say I thought you were a bit of a fool when I assumed he was simply human. Wasn’t looking forward to watching you grieve after a couple a decades.”

At the reminder of Jaskier’s potential mortality Geralt releases a low whine. Though it is harder to do, Jaskier can still be killed and Geralt tries not to think about it too often to maintain his sanity. Without another word Jaskier shifts, nosing Geralt to sit down.

Settling against the bookshelf, Geralt digs his fingers into the russet fur with a contented sigh, worries of death and dying banishing. With an affectionate lick, Jaskier sprawls across Geralt’s lap and the pair remain there in silence, reveling in the presence of the other.

Geralt’s mind drifts into the hazy space it is wont to do when they are curled amongst each other, compounded by the familiar scents of his mate and Kaer Morhen mixing into a hypnotizing scent of home. So it takes him a moment to realize that Vesemir is talking. Blinking open the eyes that Geralt hadn’t realized he closed, the witcher tunes into his instructor’s words. “He’s good for you Geralt. He’s helped mellow you out a bit.”

Frowning Geralt responds carefully, “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

With a gruff chuckle Vesemir clarifies, “I don’t mean you’re tame, boy. I just mean you smile more and seem less liable to bite someone’s head off with him around.”

Expression darkening Geralt growls, “Not if that someone is Lambert.” At the wet nose that nudges his hand, Geralt relaxes the tight grip he had on Jaskier.

As Geralt gives an apologetic stroke through the wolf’s fur Vesemir sighs wearily. “Lambert can be a right bastard, we all know this. But place yourself in his shoes for a moment boy. He was raised with the knowledge that witchers don’t form bonds. They don’t want or need anyone and they don’t want anyone needing them in return.”

With the echo of a long ago conversation exchanged over a bath, Jaskier crawls higher on Geralt and burrows his head in the witcher’s chest, seeking comfort. Without ceasing his steady strokes through the fur, Geralt presses his face to his wolf’s before returning to observe Vesemir.

Leaning forward in his chair the old wolf says softly, “He’s jealous. He would sooner bite my dick off than hear me say it but that man is lonely and longs for affection.” Nodding at Jaskier Vesemir adds wryly, “And your bardling is chock full of it.”

With a sigh Geralt thunks his head against the shelf. He knows that’s why Lambert is being more of an ass than usual. Doesn’t make it easier to handle. A weathered hand claps on Geralt’s shoulder. “Give him time boy. Give him patience.” And with that Geralt and Jaskier are left alone, both contemplating the older witcher's words.

Chapter Text

“Damn Geralt how much do you pay him to make you moan like that?” Lambert asks, lounging by the communal hearth the next morning. Geralt releases a growl and starts toward Lambert before Jaskier lays a staying hand on him. Right. Witcher hearing. Jaskier should’ve guessed there would be a possibility their lovemaking the night before would be heard by nosy witchers. But after spending the night musing over what Vesemir said, Jaskier has decided to change tactics. Responding to Lambert’s taunts with his own barbs is just playing the witcher’s game. Time to change the rules.

As Jaskier walks steadily toward the prone witcher he shifts forms from one step to another until he is close enough to plop on top of him. “I preferred your boytoy when he was just an annoying bard,” Lambert wheezes under 200 pounds of smug wolf. When Lambert doesn’t do anything more to extract Jaskier from his lap, Jaskier tries his luck and licks the witcher’s face, sneezing with amusement at the look of shock he receives in response.

With a happy sigh, Jaskier squirms until he finds a comfortable position on the witcher still recovering from his surprise. Jaskier should’ve seen past Lambert’s attitude from day one. After all, he’s known Geralt for over a decade and he saw through that guy’s bullshit the first week they knew each other. So now Jaskier is doubling down and going to respond to every taunt with affection. Kill em with kindness, right?

Jaskier eyes the youngest witcher as Lambert silently scrambles for what to do with the wolf who has found a home in his lap, shooting a furtive glance to Geralt who is pouring himself some porridge for breakfast. Without looking up Geralt rumbles, “He wants you to pet him Lambert,” before turning his back to the pair.

Lambert looks down at the wolf currently seated in his lap, brows furrowed in a frown. Releasing an impatient huff, Jaskier prods Lambert’s hand with his muzzle until it tentatively moves to his fur. Rumbling with contentment, Jaskier sinks into the witcher’s ministrations as he gently, so gently the secret sap, begins running his hands through his coat. “So soft,” Lambert mutters to himself, scratching behind Jaskier’s ears and releasing a huff of laughter as his tail begins to wag.

For the rest of the morning, the pair rest quietly together as the other three witchers discreetly observe in silence. “This is the longest time Lambert has gone without making a snarky comment,” Eskel eventually remarks.

Humming Geralt nods. “Jaskier has that effect on people.” Part of him is roaring with jealousy that Lambert gets to cuddle his wolf but the more rational part of Geralt understands what Jaskier is doing; they discussed it last night. Witchers are starved for affection and any gesture of kindness. For the brief winter months, Jaskier can fill a hole that is otherwise gaping in their chests. It’s like a wound that healed poorly; it’s not mortal but it itches and aches in certain weather and events.

Geralt lived with that pain for so long he hardly noticed it until he chased Jaskier off of the mountain after the dragon hunt. When he calmed down and fully processed what he had done, the wound Geralt had ignored for so long reopened viciously. The loneliness was all-consuming. Since getting his bard back, Geralt has sworn never to take Jaskier’s companionship and open affection for granted again.

But the rest of the witchers are probably in a similar state as Geralt was before. They’ve accepted their lot in life and that hole in their chest. They don’t expect any sort of gentleness or kind touch or gesture, which makes Jaskier that more unsettling and unnerving. Geralt remembers that feeling well.

Fortunately, Jaskier has already begun to worm past Vesemir and Eskel’s walls through animated conversations and passing touches on shoulders and hands. Lambert is going to prove to be the trickiest; he’s always been the thorniest of the witchers and the least likely to trust. Not like witchers trusted very often to start with.

Watching Lambert is saddening and entertaining in equal measures. He’s clearly trying to find the ulterior motive Jaskier has for curling up on him but watching Lambert attempt to solve the riddle is like watching a skittish cat being pet for the first time. Adorable. And gods if Lambert hears that Geralt just thought of him as adorable he would be gelded in a second.

Turning his attention from the duo Geralt observes Vesemir and Eskel. They are watching Jaskier with matching looks of curiosity and apprehension, as though Jaskier is a potion recipe they can’t get right or a creature they've never encountered before. When Vesemir catches Geralt watching him he seems to determine that there had been enough lazing around for one day, barking orders at the witchers and bard as he stands up to clear the meal. Releasing a tired sigh Geralt scrapes his chair away from the table. Well, back to it then.

***

Operation: Turn the Prickly Cat into a Purring Kitten is a GO and the first mission is a resounding success so far, Jaskier reflects as he trots down the hall. Since this morning Lambert has been shooting Jaskier looks like the shifter is a particular melody he hasn’t quite nailed yet and it’s absolutely precious. Chuckling to himself as he imagines Lambert’s potential indignation at being called precious Jaskier sweeps into the chamber where the luxurious hot springs are. Right, time to implement the next phase of his plan.

Eskel, Geralt, and Lambert are lounging in the springs already so with a wolfy grin and a gleeful wag, Jaskier builds up speed before leaping into the air to splash in the pools. As all three men sputter water out of their faces, Jaskier shifts back to human and sidles over to lean against Geralt. Returning the three matching glares with an innocent grin Jaskier remarks, “What? My fur needed a wash.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt goes to say something undoubtedly snide but stops himself when with a hum Jaskier reaches into his hair. Pausing, very aware that this is a ritual they have only ever done in private, Jaskier meets his wolf’s eyes. “May I?” With a quick glance to their companions, lingering a second longer on Lambert, Geralt gives Jaskier a hesitant nod. Beaming, Jaskier rearranges them so Geralt is pressed back against him and the various soaps Jaskier leaves by the spring are in easy reach.

Humming a melody he is workshopping, Jaskier lathers his hands and begins massaging Geralt’s head. Almost immediately, the tension that had been running through Geralt from the knowledge of being watched in such a vulnerable state drains away. With reverent fingers, Jaskier covers every inch of Geralt’s hair with soap the witcher won’t admit to but obviously loves.

The hints of pine and lavender are just subtle enough not to irritate a witcher’s nose but still strong enough to banish even the most foul smell. And this has been field tested many, many times with horrible, terrible scents. When his wolf is a puddle under Jaskier’s hands the bard shifts his focus to Geralt’s shoulders. Tsking when met with a mess of knots, Jaskier puts more force into his efforts as he digs his fingers into the abused muscles.

The happy moan that slips out of Geralt’s lips was clearly unintentional and the witcher’s eyes shoot open in mortification. Shushing him, Jaskier renews his efforts at relaxing Geralt, glaring at Lambert as the younger witcher opens his mouth to undoubtedly make a lewd remark. When he wisely shuts his mouth again, Jaskier sends him a soft smile and chuckles to himself at the wide eyes that stare back at him. Poor man doesn’t even know what to do when he’s smiled at.

Turning his gaze to Eskel as he continues his ministrations, Jaskier cocks his head in deliberation. Though it’s true Jaskier’s current goal is to break down some of Lambert’s walls, Eskel is just as wary and bereft of affection; he just doesn’t hide behind snark and insults. Eskel’s eyes keep flicking back and forth between Jaskier and Geralt, expression far more guarded than what Lambert manages. “Would you like to be next?” Jaskier finally offers him.

Lips parting, a glimmer of hope flashes in Eskel’s eyes before they shutter again. “Take him up on it Eskel,” Geralt rumbles. “Fucker works miracles.”

Smacking the back of his head with false affront Jaskier sighs theatrically. “One day you will manage to compliment me without insulting or calling me names in the same breath. Today is clearly not the day.”

“Hmm,” Geralt helpfully says in response, a mischievous smile lurking at the edges of his lips. Huffing with exasperation Jaskier turns to Eskel. “See what I have to put up with?” When he catches Eskel studying him intently Jaskier returns his gaze with as open and sincere of an expression as he can muster up. Gods does he want this witcher to trust him, just a little. Finally, Eskel hums contemplatively.

Snorting Jaskier remarks, “Really? You too? Is humming just a genetic trait of witchers?”

“Naw, just in the dumb ones,” Lambert drawls. “It takes a higher mind to utter more than monosyllables.” Oddly, that was the least rude thing Lambert has said in the two weeks of their acquaintance.

Beaming at him with something akin to pride Jaskier says, “You can come over after Eskel if you’d like.”

“Oh I’m sure you can make me come,” Lambert purrs with a wink, quickly covering the shock he clearly experienced at the offer with bravado.

Jaskier sighs. Well, baby steps anyway.

***

A few evenings later, Geralt and Jaskier are curled up once again, this time on a decadent rug by the hearth in their room. Though they began the night kissing, Jaskier’s exhaustion soon caught up with him and with a yawn he shifted forms. Now Geralt rested against a pillow, one hand stroking through the dozing wolf while he propped up a book on Jaskier’s back with his other hand. Geralt looks forward to Jaskier’s indignant look when he registers that Geralt is using him as a book holder. He is especially looking forward to shutting up the ensuing rant with his lips and tongue.

Mind happily falling into the gutter, it takes a moment for Geralt to notice the amused witcher in the doorway. “I can smell your lust from here Geralt. Don’t tell me you’re into bestiality too?”

Scowling, Geralt growls, “What do you want Lambert?”

Shrugging, Lambert stuffs his hands into his trousers before sauntering into the room. “Thought I’d challenge you to a game of Gwent. See if you wanted to earn your coin back from last night.”

Geralt would have to be utterly blind to miss Lambert’s furtive glances to Jaskier as he spoke. This needed to be handled delicately. Humming Geralt nods to Jaskier. “He’ll be a pain in my ass if I shift him off me right now.” It’s only because Geralt is touching Jaskier that he catches the soft huff of laughter. So he is awake. Guess that lecture isn’t coming after all.

“Right, can’t interrupt your songbird’s beauty sleep,” Lambert snorts, leaning against the wall. Humming, Geralt ducks his head to hide a smile. Geralt doesn’t think the other witcher realizes it but Lambert has been using that nickname more and more often. What started as an insult of Jaskier’s masculinity has quickly become a term of endearment and it’s only a matter of time until Lambert panics at that realization.

“Oh-I’ll come back,” Eskel says at the doorway before turning on his heel.

“Wait-” Geralt calls, before freezing. Dammit, Jaskier is the one who’s good at words, not Geralt. Sensing his distress, Jaskier stretches with a long yawn. Lumbering across the room, Jaskier snags the back of Eskel’s tunic with his teeth before dragging him inside. Well, that works too, Geralt supposes. Taking pity on Eskel as the witcher obediently follows the unspoken demand with a lost expression, Geralt nods towards the rug. “Lots of fur to pet,” he remarks off-handedly.

Satisfied now that he has managed to guide Eskel to the hearth, Jaskier sprawls atop Geralt once again with a satisfied rumble. Glancing at Geralt for confirmation, Eskel tentatively perches beside him before reaching to stroke through the shifter’s fur. “Hmm,” Eskel says. “Soft.”

“Stop hogging him,” Lambert butts in, crowding onto the rug as well. After several minutes of grumbling, growling, and elbow jabs, the three witchers finally agree on a set up. While Jaskier remains spread across Geralt, Lambert rests his head atop Jaskier’s back while Eskel sits to the left of Geralt under Jaskier’s head. With all three getting easy access to the shifter, a calm silence falls upon the room.

***

An hour later, Vesemir goes in search for his pups, half expecting them to be dead with how quiet the keep is. When he traces their scents to Geralt’s room he huffs out a laugh at the sight that greets him. Four sets of purrs vibrate through the air as three witchers lay passed out curled up with a giant wolf. A single blue eye peels open to peer at the newcomer before a tired tail begins to wag invitingly. Humming, Vesemir trods into the room. A small space on the other end of the rug is calling his name.