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“Always have a supply of white honey on hand before entering battle, boys. Decoctions grant many advantages in battle but too many can be fatal to a Witcher’s heart. Drink, and your body will remove the toxins, returning your body back to its original state. Remember boys, an unprepared Witcher is a dead Witcher.”
Vesemir’s words rang in Geralt’s ears every time he had to take the sweet tasting potion. Out of all of the potions a Witcher would have to take through out their life, white honey was by far the best tasting one. It was sweet and syrupy, addicting in nature. It acted like a neutralizer for every other poison that had to be ingested for survival. For most, white honey seeped the toxins by sweating or defecation, but those were not the only methods, just the most common.
Geralt was never common.
He remembers his first successful batch of white honey and how he showed it to Vesemir in pride. The glass jar is was closed in gleamed under candlelight as Vesemir inspected it before taking a swallow. A firm nod was all the praise Geralt got before being handed by the glass jar.
“Every boy should taste their first batch. Down it, son,” Vesemir said.
And Geralt did just that, taking the whole thing in one gulp. He remembered licking his lips and humming in contentment at how much better this tasted than what they had to drink in the mess hall. He would later regret his thought the next morning as an achy feeling residing in his pectorals and the first dot of milk leaked from his nipple. Horror and humiliation followed suit as he tracked Vesemir down for answers.
He did not have any.
And neither did the mages.
The second batch, third, fourth, fifth all came up conclusive that Geralt’s body pushed toxins out of him through lactation.
Geralt no longer enjoyed the taste of white honey and avoided it for a majority of his life. However, this little detail could not go unnoticed forever. As a child, he confined in Eskel about his difference, as all little boys do with their best friends. And as all little boys do, Eskel laughed then punched his arm and told him a secret. They traded secrets about themselves until an instructor came into their room to threaten them with the underside of a brush if they did not go to sleep.
They stayed up another hour anyway.
Lambert learned of Geralt’s secret through a few empty glasses of mead and a tearful appearance of perceived failure. No matter how drunk Geralt and Eskel were, they would always have enough wits about them to keep their baby wolf from tipping over the edge. They let him howl out his pain and grief and share details of his past grievances with the school. Lambert knew he was in safe company and so did Geralt and Eskel. In that moment, they each shared with him an intimate detail about themselves, about their own turmoil with the school. Eskel shared how the ingredients for bombs left his hands scared, rough, and heavy with no hope in ever regaining their past moisture. Geralt shared his unique way of removing toxins by white honey.
They became closer that night.
They became even closer the first time they saw Geralt’s lactation in action. They were coming back for the winter and Geralt was rubbing the top of his left pectoral periodically. Eskel and Geralt were brushing off their horses when Eskel asked if he was ok and Geralt confided in him he was, just a bit tender from a previous fight. Lambert noticed the same motion later that day as they were unpacking their supplies into the cellar. He got the same answer. That night they cornered him after dinner and Geralt defeatedly explained that he had taken some white honey and his chest was sore and tender from the looming lactation. Instead of jesting, Eskel and Lambert both volunteered to help him with his little problem.
That night Geralt learned three things:
- Teeth do not feel good when one is lactating. (He had to pull Eskel off three times to get him to watch his fang from scrapping against his flesh.)
- As good as an idea it might be to squeeze the pec to get the milk out quicker, it sure does hurt like a bitch. (He caught Lambert’s hand twice from squeezing him. He also had to pull him off for drinking too fast. And playing with his food.)
- Breastfeeding puts one to sleep. (Geralt had dozed off during the session before finally letting go and falling asleep. He woke up in a warm cuddle pile.)
After that first session, their relationship had changed. Every winter, Eskel and Lambert waited patiently to see if Geralt would come back in need of their services or not. Their services were needed twice more since the first and each time, growing more and more accustomed to their ritual, the needs and wants, the effectiveness of certain positions. All in all, every time was calming and pleasurable for the boys. Geralt was released of the tenderness in his chest and Eskel and Lambert got to taste some of the sweetest milk to ever exist in the continent.
That is why Lambert was currently in the kitchen warming up ale and compiling an assortment of treats for Geralt.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Eskel announced his presence with one hand on his hip and another holding a pillow.
Lambert dignified Eskel with a cheeky grin as he collected his plate and warm ale.
“Making sure I get the spot closet to the fire.” Lambert moved past Eskel and started his steady walk toward Geralt’s room. Eskel was right on his heels, eyes narrowing on the plate. He went to snatch a piece of fruit, but Lambert swiped it from his grasp.
“AHT! Not for you! Get your own!” Lambert shouted.
“Well I would if you didn’t just take the last bit of apple we have, for Geralt.” Eskel retorted back, swiping at the plate again and missing.
“Quit, jackass or you’re gonna make me drop it. And then you’re really not gonna have a chance at the warm spot. You really think a back pillow will defeat a mug of warm ale and food?”
“It will once it’s in the perfect spot. You know how he always complains of his back hurting during…” None of them bother to say its name out loud. It is still a tough concept to wrap their heads around, being breastfeed by their brother and actively enjoying it. Eskel shook his head of the thought and brought the pillow to his chest, hugging it.
“You’re just angry you didn’t think of it before me,” Eskel interjected into their silence.
“Am not, the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Or some shit.”
“Ain’t that the phrase housewives use to justify fattening up their husbands before killing them?”
“I don’t know. I’m no wife.”
“And yet you’re bringing him food and warm ale. Better watch out, Lambert before you become a full housewife by the end of the winter.”
“Shut up, dickhead! If anyone is the wife, it would be you!”
“Oh yeah?! How so?”
“Because you’ve sucked his dick before!”
Eskel sighed audibly. “Lambert, you’ve sucked his dick before. Actually, we’ve all sucked each other’s dicks. We’re literally fucking every winter.”
“Yeah well, you do it more with him than me.”
“Shut up, we’re almost at his door.”
And just like that, they stood before the large wooden door to Geralt’s room. They eyed each other before Eskel knocked on the door.
“Geralt? Can we come in?”
The sound of wood crackling, pages flipping, and sheets rustling gave away Geralt’s location inside the room. “Come in.”
Eskel pushed open the door but Lambert butted his way in, leaving Eskel sputtering behind him. A swift smack to the ass made Lambert jump before he could introduce his winning favor. He growled behind him as Eskel shot forward.
Geralt was sitting upright in bed, his sheets pooling at his waist. His hair was up in a knot and he wore a loose-fitting white shirt. He was reading a copy of The Chronicles of Redania. The room was warmed by a gentle fire in the fireplace and the windows were closed. The atmosphere in the room was of familiarity and comfort, a safe place for intimacy. Geralt put aside his book on the table, wincing as the strain of his arm pulled on his pec.
“I brought a pillow for your back,” Eskel said confidently. He handed the firm pillow to Geralt, who immediately pulled the one from his back and replaced it with the new one. He let out a low moan of pleasure as he felt it support him.
Eskel looked back at Lambert with a shit eating grin but Lambert wasn’t having it this time.
“Thank you, Eskel. I-“
“I brought you something to eat!” Lambert cut in, placing a plate in Geralt’s lap and the mug on the table. “I even warmed up the ale for you. So, you best be grateful!” He crossed his arms and turned back to Eskel in a teasing manner. He was going to secure himself the warm spot.
“You can’t just demand someone to be grateful, you jerk. It’s earned!” Eskel sneered as he poked a finger on Lambert’s chest.
“You’re just jealous because he likes my gift better than yours!” Lambert replied, grinning with teeth.
“He hasn’t even said anything yet, how can you even know if he likes yours better! You arrogant prick!”
“Hey! The only pricks here I see is you, mister low effort!”
“Shut up!”
“Make me!”
Between them, a shirt went flying and the argument ended. The fruits were eaten, and the ale was drunk. The pillow was in place and the sheets were pulled back enough for the two to get in. Geralt sat quietly, looking between the two men, both of them anxiously waiting for his answer.
“Lambert.” Geralt said softly, patting his hand to the side closest to the fire.
“Yes!”
“NO!”
Lambert rejoiced by kicking off his shoes and removing his belt. They always ended up sleeping afterwards so he wanted to get comfortable before sliding in. Eskel grumbled next to him as he did the same, removing his shoes and removing his belt. They both were in their comfortable clothes for the night, already expecting intimacy of the best kind.
Lambert chuckled at Eskel’s sour expression as they both got under the covers, fixing themselves in their usual positions. Geralt leaned back into his throne of pillows and laid out both arms of them to rest their heads on. Eskel enjoyed reaching his arms around Geralt, wrapping around the torso, and angling his legs around Geralt’s thigh. Lambert preferred to draw his arms in, positioning himself small up top but twisting his legs around Geralt’s and holding him close.
Geralt was locked in once it started, neither of them moving until it was finished.
Eskel’s sour expression and Lambert’s look of cheek both disappeared as Geralt’s hands raked through their hair, a low purr emitting from his chest. His brothers quickly joined in, settling before the real show started. But before they could get started, Geralt’s hands fisted each of their hair and pulled them away from his nipples.
“Eskel,” Geralt growled, “No teeth.” He shook Eskel’s head for good measure.
Lambert snicked until his head was shook too. “And Lambert. Slow down and no squeezing. I don’t want to hear you having another stomachache from eating too fast. And no toying with my nipple, drink correctly.”
When Geralt received a nod, he let go of their hair and gently guided them to his nipples.
They latched on greedily.
Eskel was a slow drinker, wrapping his mouth wider around the nipple, letting his nose turn up against the tender skin. He used his full face to drink from Geralt, slowly lifting his bottom jaw to get the sweet milk from Geralt. This was the best technique for Eskel’s fangs to not cut into Geralt. He would suckle in a steady rhythm, making small snorting noises when we he suckled without enough air left in him. He would then swallow what he gathered in his mouth and start the process again. His eyes always remained closed, letting himself fully enrapture himself in the feeling of being breastfeed by Geralt.
Lambert was a noisy pup. He suckled loud and he suckled fast, but he learned to take his time after a few smacks to the bottom had made him recognize his speed. Lambert used only his lips and pulled in when he suckled. His cheeks would hallow slightly, and he always drank what he sucked. He wanted the milk inside of him as soon as it was out of Geralt, rarely letting it slip from his mouth. Once he saw Eskel let a bit of milk dripple out of his mouth and shot from his nipple to lick it off of Eskel’s chin. Geralt did not appreciate Lambert’s act of selfishness and held him back from returning to his own nipple for ten minutes. It was tortuous to watch Eskel drink down Geralt’s milk that he almost let to waste, but did not, thanks to himself. But it didn’t matter, he finished his side off and slipped into a peaceful slumber.
He was also one to keep his eyes half lidded, occasionally looking out into the distance, in his own world, or staring at Eskel’s show. Or sometimes he would look up at Geralt and watch with fascination how his pain morphed into relief.
Oh, how he was looking forward to that full stomach induced sleep. And that warm feeling of being surrounded by people who actively cared for him.
Lambert’s purring intensified and sucked a little hard, a little faster. A warning tug to his hair reconsidered his motives though.
Geralt was in peace. He held the two most important people in his life in his arms as they suckled from his breasts. Geralt never understood maternal instincts until he started doing this with them. Both so eager to suck from his breasts and both so eager to please him before so. It was endearing what Geralt’s uniqueness had brought him too. He moaned softly, turning his head in the soft pillow, and closing his eyes. Sometimes the scene was too much to handle, having Eskel suck so tenderly and Lambert suck so sweetly. He told Eskel once that Lambert looked so small during their sessions, someone he wanted to protect with both fists, both swords, and an open heart.
This was his favorite version of Lambert.
He let his hands drift across their hair and their sides, resting in protective places. Sometimes behind the neck, sometimes entangled in the hair, sometimes on the hip. Every once in a while, he will get a hand on their lower back, gently pushing them closer to him.
Geralt let a deep groan out as Lambert pulled a little too hard for too long as his nipple.
“Lambert.” Growled Geralt.
A tentative lick on the nipple and kiss before returning to his softer suckling was his apology.
Then, like a needle prick, Geralt felt the familiar poke of Eskel’s fang digging into his chest. Geralt let out a gasp, gripping Eskel’s hair and pulling him fully off. Eskel was so into his own world that he didn’t open his eyes until he was high above the nipple.
“Wha?”
“Teeth, Eskel. Teeth!” Geralt let a out a pained whine and was answered with another whine.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to; I just get so wrapped up!” Eskel tried to pull himself off to return back to the nipple but Geralt held him tight. Lambert was busy suckling away but kept an eye open. Geralt felt the smile on Lambert’s face around his nipple and gave him a swift smack to the bottom.
“Don’t tease your brother.”
Lambert whined and popped off Geralt. “Sorry.”
Geralt, tired and sore from a day of being full, forgave them both. He lowered Eskel back onto his nipple and Lambert returned to his suckling. It was quiet after that.
Eskel shuffled to get comfortable again, tracing his fingers against Geralt’s side. Lambert would pull Geralt’s leg closer to him when he was feeling really relaxed. They slowly dried Geralt out. As the last bits left Geralt, he found himself fast asleep, holding both of his boys in his arms, hands on their necks and thumbs resting on their spins.
He liked to feel the way the throat moved as it drank.
Eskel was second, popping off the slightly swollen nipple and rolling his head on Geralt’s shoulder, snoring. He was full and happy, making noises of contentment in his sleep. Soft snores would usually emit from him every once in a while, but it was usually drowned out by the loud purring.
Lambert would pull off the nipple with a pop and clean up around him to get every last drop. When he was done, he would give it a kiss before making himself even smaller, balling his fists tighter, and drawing his arms closer. He snuggled himself close into the cress of Geralt’s arm and his chest, being swallowed in the warmth.
In the morning, they will find themselves woefully sedated and unwilling to move from their positions. Eskel always got up first, though, the milk from last night hitting him harder in the bladder than Lambert. Lambert wouldn’t be too far behind. And Geralt, he will stay there, in the afterglow of their session, reveling in the warm sheets and his non-sore chest.
He wonders if he should tell them he has a supply of white honey for the winter.
He wonders when he should drink another potion.
The smell of sausage breaks his thoughts as he gets up from the bed. He decides to think it over at breakfast.
A glass of milk sounds delicious right now.