Work Text:
Jaskier sighed, staring at the blank page in front of him. It seemed to mock him—master bard, he calls himself, and yet he can’t even put ink to paper and write something down. This manuscript was meant to be sent off to the Oxenfurt publishers in two days, and he’d barely made any progress on it. He was feeling the stress keenly.
Even more keenly, though, he was feeling the familiar claws of skin hunger closing around him. Geralt and Yennefer had forcefully made themselves scarce so that he could concentrate on his writing, but if anything, the low-simmering hunger had roared to life in their absence, until he could hardly think for want of yearning.
He jammed the quill back in the inkwell with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. The stress of writer’s block and touch starvation was getting to him, he could tell, because it felt like his skin was prickling, a restless energy making itself known throughout his entire body.
Perhaps some fresh air would help. He wasn’t much one for exercise, really, but he supposed that a nice brisk walk around the manor would get the creative juices flowing, so to speak. Besides, it was a nice day, and Geralt was sure to be found either with Roach in the stables or with Yennefer in the garden, if he wasn’t inside with Jaskier. So what if he stumbled across them? Coincidence, surely.
Jaskier chose to forgo his doublet, the weather warm enough and the garden private enough to make do with only his chemise. Besides, if one of his lovers just happened to see him in a state of undress and take advantage? Well, he wouldn’t complain.
Geralt wasn’t in the stables when he checked, but Roach was, and she whinnied, either in greeting or in threat. She was grudgingly tolerant towards Jaskier on the best of days, and he chose not to tempt fate by getting any closer without Geralt there to soothe her.
Jaskier made his way to the courtyard, where Yennefer liked to lounge in the shade reading on quiet days. The prickling feeling got worse as he walked, a yawning chasm inside of him that wanted nothing more than to sink into a warm embrace and just be held until the hunger inside of him quieted.
He managed to retain a little dignity by not breaking into a run when he entered the courtyard, instead strolling casually over to where Yennefer reclined on a bench, her head in Geralt’s lap as he ran a hand through her hair. Jaskier fought off a pang of envy.
Geralt noticed him first. “Finished?” he asked.
Jaskier grimaced. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “Thought it might be time for a break, you know, rejuvenate the body and soul.”
“I do hope you aren’t getting any ideas,” Yennefer interjected, not looking up from her book. “You know the rules. No sex until you finish.”
“Those rules are cruel and unusual and you know it,” Jaskier groused.
“You set them,” Yennefer reminded him. “What was it you said? ‘Don’t bother me on pain of death’?”
“I don’t remember,” Jaskier sniffed, absolutely remembering. “But I didn’t come out here for sex, you deviant.”
Geralt, meanwhile, was frowning at Jaskier, his nostrils flaring ever-so-slightly in the way that Jaskier knew meant he was scenting the air. “You smell strange,” he concluded.
“I just bathed this morning!” Jaskier protested, though he knew that it wasn’t anything physical that Geralt was smelling.
“No, it’s… you smell stressed. And sad,” Geralt replied.
“I wonder why,” Jaskier deadpanned. “It’s not like I have a very important deadline looming over me or anything.”
“No, you’re right, Geralt,” Yennefer said, sitting up. She was peering at him intently, and Jaskier suddenly realized that she was reading his mind.
“You know I hate when you do that,” he objected, though she had likely already plucked the issue from his mind like picking a ripe apple off a tree.
“Then why don’t you get to the point? Tell us what you need, or I’ll portal you right back to that desk and chain you there until you finish.”
“Kinky.”
“Jaskier.”
“Alright! It’s just, sometimes I get this—this sort of hunger, where I—gods, this is embarrassing—where I just want to be… held, I guess.” It sounded so strange when he said it aloud like that. “It’s not sexual, or anything,” he rushed to follow it up with. “I just—I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Geralt answered, holding out his arms. Jaskier gratefully stepped into them, almost falling into Geralt’s lap. “We all need touch sometimes.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Jaskier mumbled.
“You bothering us isn’t any different from usual,” Yennefer teased, and Jaskier let her words bounce right off him, as he was well accustomed to. She snuggled up close, though, betraying her affection that was normally so hard won.
With both of his lovers close around him, Jaskier finally felt the void inside of him start to fill, the prickling along his skin dying down as he basked in the embrace. The three of them lay there for a bit while the sun moved lazily across the sky and a slight breeze rustled the leaves around them.
Jaskier was just on the verge of slipping into a doze when Geralt shifted beneath him. “Better?” he rumbled.
Jaskier sighed. “Much. I suppose I ought to get back to work, then…”
“Look at it this way—the sooner you finish, the sooner you can have us again,” Yennefer suggested. “And as a reward, we can try out that new toy you seem so keen on,” she purred.
“And if you feel touch starved again, you can always take a break and come find one of us,” Geralt added on.
Jaskier smiled. “Thank you, darlings. You know, I’m feeling quite inspired after that—with any luck, I’ll be done by tomorrow morning!” He leaped off of Geralt’s lap, filled with motivation and buzzing with energy, as if he’d absorbed it just from their embrace.
“Good luck,” Geralt called after him, settling back against the bench again, but Jaskier was already gone.