Chapter Text
Jaskier wipes his hands on his legs in an attempt to appear more casual than he feels. Ever since Yennefer and Geralt first took care of him, the hallways have felt less empty and more welcoming, especially since they rarely let him wander them on his own. They fight off the bad days with kisses on his cheeks and hands in his hair, ruffling in a way that appears teasing to all the other witchers but softens the stress inside him. Often, he never has to say a word for them to understand what’s wrong.
Today, though—
Today, he woke from a nightmare about Rience and the hours he tormented Jaskier. He woke shaking and gasping— and he woke with one hand wrapped around his wrist as though he could claw away the ropes that once burned him there.
Throughout breakfast, Yennefer watched him with worried eyes. She tapped her fingers along the back of his arm, an offering he simply shook his head in response to. During Ciri’s training, standing outside with his arms wrapped around his body, Geralt had frowned and gently bumped his shoulder. Again, Jaskier had shrugged and turned away.
He knows what they want to give him, what they think he needs. They’re planning tender touches and slow moments, curling together while Jaskier grasps at the sheets. And he wants that— gods, right now, he needs that— but, well.
He also wants to go just one bit further. If a few hours with Rience can have him scurrying away at the mere thought of ropes, then, maybe…
Maybe Geralt and Yennefer can rewrite those memories. Maybe they can offer him something sweeter to think of when he imagines being bound. It’s lucky Yennefer knows not to read his mind; he’s ashamed of himself for even thinking it.
And, yet, hours after dinner, in the dark of Kaer Morhen’s night, he finds himself stumbling through the halls, seeking the light of those he loves.
He finds them leaving the laboratory, discussing their experiments on the monster bits Voleth Meir pulled through to their world however long ago. Jaskier tries not to hear much of what they’re saying; he has enough nightmares to handle, already.
Yennefer spots him first, pausing with a knowing breath even as she raises an eyebrow in his direction. Jaskier hesitates. He’s not the one who initiates any of their activities, so what is he supposed to do now? Simply walk up and ask to be tied down, to test this stupid theory of his? Or should he wait until they can guess at it? Perhaps, wait until he’s sure this isn’t a fleeting fear meant to pass on its own?
Still, Yennefer says his name, and Jaskier sinks to his knees.
Geralt curses, at his side in a moment. He mutters that he knew there was something off, that they should have paid closer attention. Familiar hands grip Jaskier’s arms, stabilizing him as Geralt looks into his eyes.
“Do you need us?” He asks— and it’d be so damned easy to just say yes and nothing more. They can fuck and kiss and get it over with, he doesn’t need to be such a problem.
But he’s here now, and he didn’t come this far just to back down.
He waits until Yennefer’s beside them, crouched in a way that somehow still doesn’t wrinkle her skirts. She brushes her hand through Jaskier’s hair, petting him, and it’s strange enough he’s able to speak.
“I think I do need you,” he says, allowing them to guide him back to his feet— even if they take more than half his weight in the process. Gods, but is he even fully present now? He feels unattached, untethered from everything that makes him him— like he’s still in Rience’s clutch somewhere, struggling against his ropes. “And, if it’s okay, I think I need something else, too.”
They stagger awkwardly down the hallway to the closest bedroom— Geralt’s, warm and wide— and shut the door behind them. Someone lights a handful of candles on the far side of the room, away from the bed, and it’s just subtle enough that Jaskier doesn’t flinch. Most days, he can handle the memories of his own torture. Other days, though—
Yennefer and Geralt start the way they always do, undressing Jaskier with a tenderness that always somehow feels unexpected. He tugs at their clothing, too, once he’s lying naked on the bed, and they smile knowingly before joining him in his nude state. For a moment, he allows himself to stare, to breathe it in— to appreciate the lilac scent on Yennefer’s skin, the starry shade of Geralt’s hair. He burrows between them, content.
Yennefer breaks the quiet first. “What do you need tonight?”
By the sound of her voice, slightly louder than a whisper, it feels as though she must have been trying to capture his attention for a while. Jaskier blushes but her eyes hold only fondness when he turns towards her.
At times like this, he wonders if they know how much he loves them.
“I keep thinking of Rience,” he confesses, and Geralt tenses briefly beside him— a sore point of guilt Jaskier wishes he wouldn’t place upon himself.
“Do you need the candles out, then?” Yennefer asks, already lifting a hand to douse them from here. Jaskier, though, shakes his head.
“No, it’s not that,” he says. He swallows but manages to keep his voice steady for one more sentence. “He tied me to the chair.”
A moment passes— a moment where, in his mind, Jaskier relives every hour where he struggled uselessly against the knots, where he kicked his legs and sobbed for help. He recalls how they dug into his skin, how Rience laughed when he tightened them.
At last, beside him, Yennefer sighs. “What are you asking?”
Jaskier takes a deep breath. “I don’t like how helpless I feel when I think of that moment. If I’m going to be bound, I want it to be my own choice— something I controlled.”
Yennefer and Geralt share a look over Jaskier’s head, and he allows them the time to consider his request. He won’t hold it against them if they say no— it’s nothing like what they usually do, and it’s coming from a desperate place. Though, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t escape his terrors in this way tonight.
“We won’t use ropes. Not this time,” Geralt says, meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “We can talk about it again tomorrow morning, make sure it’s something you truly feel safe with. Tonight, though, it may be a bit soon. I don’t want your mind falling back into that place without warning.”
“Right. I understand,” Jaskier says. And he does. They’re right— they need to talk about it more, figure out boundaries and lines, safer ways to approach it. He makes to sit up, shifting in his embarrassment. “I’ll just—”
“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts with a gentle tone. “There are others to recreate feelings of restraint, if you’d like.”
“What?” Jaskier asks. “How?”
“If you’re comfortable with it, I can hold you in place,” Geralt offers, his voice low but certain. “You still won’t be able to move, but I can better read any chance of anxiety. It’ll be easier to release you, as well, if you need to go back on it.”
“Oh,” Jaskier breathes, and he feels Yennefer’s smile when she kisses his shoulder.
“It’s your choice, Jaskier,” Geralt says, promises.
“I think— I think I’d like to try,” Jaskier decides after a moment, reaching to hold both Yennefer and Geralt’s hands. “I trust you.”
At once, the two guide him into a new position, Geralt shifting to kneel behind him, Jaskier’s head near his knees as Yennefer moves towards his front. He allows them to lead this part of it, distracted by how flickering candle lights cast puppet-show shadows of the two over his body.
“Jaskier, are you sure?” Yennefer asks, calling his attention back towards her. He looks up and smiles, the only answer he can give. She considers the smile and then nods at Geralt.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Geralt says. Jaskier nods— and Geralt takes Jaskier’s hands into his own, lifting them above his head. His knuckles rest against Geralt’s thighs, his elbows bent to keep from tiring his arms; Geralt strokes Jaskier’s palm, and then, slowly, he wraps his hands around Jaskier’s wrists, pinning him in place.
A flare of panic deep in his chest, a hitched breath. Rience. Fire. Dark rooms and endless questions. No one’s coming, no one knows, no one—
Yennefer’s eyes above him, her hand stroking his cheek. There’s a light in her gaze that calms his heart, and a smile on her lips that curls pleasantly beneath his skin. He shivers as her teasing touch glides lower, brushing his collarbone, and her smile only grows.
“You have the control,” Geralt reminds him. “Yen and I are just here to help you find that.”
“Try to relax,” Yennefer says. “Nothing bad can happen here.”
Jaskier nods, tipping his head back painfully to meet Geralt’s eyes for a second, looking for his glance of reassurance.
“I’m ready,” Jaskier says.
“Good,” Yennefer says. “Now, tell us what you want.”
Jaskier considers his options, his desires. It’s nothing extravagant, really, just—
“Touch me?” He asks, and Yennefer does.
“Of course,” Yennefer says, lifting her hand into Jaskier’s vision so he isn’t shocked when she presses her palm to his chest. Jaskier shudders under the feather-light brush and Yennefer’s eyes glimmer as she watches him gasp. She drags her nails lightly through his chest hair down his ribs, to his stomach and his hips. A flare of arousal coils in Jaskier’s gut, earlier than he’d expected; he jerks, his cock beginning to fill. Yennefer pays it no mind, her eyes only on his face.
“You’re doing so good, Jask,” Geralt murmurs.
Jaskier practically melts at the sound of that perfectly low voice. He tries to press further against Geralt, shifting to rest his head on his thighs, but a weight settles across Jaskier’s legs, pinning them in place. He looks back down— Yennefer.
“Still good?” Yennefer asks from where she’s sat on Jaskier’s calves, leaning forward to balance her hands on his thighs. Jaskier simply nods again, the slight touch of unease uncurling when Yennefer smiles at him.
“Yeah,” Jaskier says. “Yeah, I think so.”
It’s not quite the answer she must be looking for, because she frowns prettily for just a moment.
“We can go slowly,” she says, moving up so only his thighs and hips remain trapped. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, okay.” As if Jaskier could ever say no to something like that. He lifts his head, neck straining to try to reach her. Yennefer lowers but keeps just out of reach, those perfectly full lips a hair’s width from his own.
True to her word, Yennefer moves as tantalizingly slow as possible. Her legs spread over his waist as she shifts forward, her hair tickling his cheeks when she dips her head. Jaskier’s hands clench into fists, arms tight as he imagines pulling Yennefer closer— his hands around her body, his arms holding her tight.
Geralt’s thumb brushes the pulse point on Jaskier’s wrist and he settles back down, breathing heavily.
“Yennefer, please,” Jaskier groans when she moves at the last second, kissing his neck instead. “I— I want—”
Yennefer’s hands rest on his chest, fingers on his nipples. Jaskier’s cock twitches and he flushes at the sudden reaction. His arousal only grows when Yennefer strokes through his chest hair, teasing and tempting him.
“Alright,” Yennefer whispers. “I’ve got you, Jaskier.”
This time, when Yennefer leans down, her mouth fits against Jaskier’s like it was meant to be there all along. It starts slow and gentle, her tongue brushing his lower lip when he parts his mouth for her, but the tenderness doesn’t keep Jaskier from gasping, aching for more.
“Thank you,” Jaskier mutters against her mouth.
Pleased, Yennefer slides down Jaskier’s body, sitting on his legs again. She cup his hips, stilling his small, bucking jerks; when he calms, she finally takes his cock into her hand.
She strokes him like she kissed him— softer than expected, gently and carefully. It strikes Jaskier in his gut and he tugs thoughtlessly against Geralt’s hold again.
“You’re good,” Geralt promises— and his hands around Jaskier’s wrists tell him he’s safe, his touch swears that he won’t be hurt. “We’re here.”
“ Fuck.” Jaskier’s voice shudders out of his throat. Fully hard in Yennefer’s hand already, he rocks into her touch as much as he can, the tips of his fingers brushing Geralt’s stomach when he reaches out. A bead of precome catches on Yennefer’s thumb and she swipes the dampness down his shaft, picking up her pace.
Jaskier jerks again, spasming in Geralt’s hold.
“Wait, wait, I don’t want to come yet,” he says, causing Yennefer to still. “I want this to last.”
If that’s alright, his mind tacks on. If you’re okay with it.
“Of course,” Yennefer says. “Remember, you’re in charge.”
“Right,” Jaskier gasps as he catches his breath. “Still getting used to that.”
Once Jaskier’s calmed, he gives Yennefer a nod and she returns to the slow drag of her hand across his cock. Her eyes are more focused this time, watching Jaskier for any sign she needs to stop. Still, even with the concern, she’s lovely— cheeks pink and eyes crinkled, a vague smile fluttering on her lips. Jaskier rolls his hips to meet each stroke, the pleasant buzz of arousal humming beneath his skin— like magic, like chaos, like Yennefer weaving her way into his very being.
The frantic race of Jaskier’s heart paired with the gentle stroke of Yennefer’s touch is enough to drive him mad. She spreads his legs, fits herself between them. When his release draws near again, Yennefer brings her hand to her mouth and wets her fingers with her tongue. Her other hand rubs his stomach, easing the shuddering breaths lifting and dropping his torso.
“More?” Geralt’s there, above him, bent with his lips against Jaskier’s hairline. Jaskier arches his neck, trying to meet his mouth with his own, but the closest he gets is a kiss against the tip of his nose. He scrunches his face at the feeling, and Geralt’s laughter brushes his cheeks. “Gonna need an answer, Jask.”
An answer? Jaskier digs back towards Geralt’s first statement.
“Oh, yes,” Jaskier says. “Gods, yes.”
In the time during his exchange with Geralt, Yennefer must have found the oil left beside the bed, and her properly slick fingers touch between his legs, reaching for his hole. Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath— a good breath, an impatient one. He wiggles on the bed; it’s a small action, pinned as he is with Geralt’s hold on his arms and Yennefer’s free hand pressing against his hips. He can’t move much— but, he knows, it’s only because these two want to bring him pleasure. Nothing bad, nothing painful. Even trapped, he’s safe.
Yennefer takes her time, teasing and circling his hole before finally pushing a single finger inside. Heat ignites beneath Jaskier’s skin all at once, from Yennefer’s hand between his legs to Geralt’s forehead pressed to his own.
Jaskier swears, though the harshness of the word’s softened by his nigh reverential moan. His hips twitch as much as they can, and his body feels stilled entirely outside of the small jerks; if he didn’t trust her so completely, he might have assumed Yennefer’s used her magic to keep in place. But he can twist his hands in Geralt’s grip if he so chooses; he can curl his toes and kick his feet into the bed. It’s just, when he thinks of how he may free himself, he realizes he doesn’t quite want to. He’s happy like this, with them.
Yennefer adds another finger, scoffing fondly when trying to scissor them proves more difficult than she might have imagined, Jaskier tighter than expected. Jaskier whines at the brief stretch, missing it as soon as she eases her fingers back together.
“You’ve been neglected, haven’t you?” Yennefer asks. She’s not looking for an answer but Jaskier nods, lazily, in agreement.
All coherent thought flees Jaskier’s mind when Yennefer finally picks up the pace, pumping her fingers in and out of him until his body finally starts to loosen. She brushes his prostate enough to tease him, to drive him insane, but she shifts away when his voice reaches a broken pitch of desperation. Jaskier gives up trying to push back against her, happy to lie back and let the bliss rush across his being without any of his own effort.
It doesn’t take long before Jaskier’s moaning in earnest, body twitching with shuddering breaths, his cock hard and red against his stomach. He forgets to be embarrassed by such shameless ecstasy, crying out with a ragged voice.
“Yennefer, please, I’m ready,” he whines when Yennefer presses a third finger inside him.
“Go ahead and come,” Yennefer says, driving her fingers back against his prostate, hitting it with each thrust. “I know you’re close.”
Her other hand cups his balls, rolling and rubbing and squeezing with just enough pressure to drag a whimper from his throat. Jaskier turns his head, his mouth on Geralt’s thigh— he sucks and he bites, shaking with the aimless freneticism of a single snowflake in a storm. With a final thrust against his prostate, Yennefer wraps her hand around his cock— and Jaskier comes all over himself, shouting, his voice snapping into needy whines as his vision blurs with the intensity of his orgasm racking across his body. His hands and arms ache, still held above his head, but it’s an ache that complements the rush of pleasure pounding through every other part of him— gods, but he can’t remember ever feeling so fucking good before. His hips continue to stutter, tears sticking to his eyes as he tries to catch his breath.
Eventually, the world stills. His come cools on his stomach and chest, and he knows he should find it gross but he’s too spent to care. Yennefer’s hands pet his sides, helping him to calm back down.
Geralt’s hold tightens— reassuringly so— and, then, he lets go.
Jaskier whimpers as Geralt helps him to bring his arms back down to his chest.
“Thank you,” Jaskier hears himself mumbling as Yennefer and Geralt readjust the three of them in the bed. “Gods, thank you.”
“Of course,” Yennefer whispers, helping Geralt maneuver Jaskier into a more comfortable position. “You sound better.”
“Hm,” Jaskier responds. “I feel better.”
“I wish there was more we could do to help that feeling last,” Geralt says as the three of them tangle into the bedsheets.
“This is perfect,” Jaskier swears, and he means it. How can he want anything more than these two kind faces looking back at him, beautiful and incredible, smiling like he means something more than just songs or music?
“Good,” Geralt says, a hand on Jaskier’s hip and another at his chin as he pulls him into a chaste but lingering kiss.
As Yennefer wraps her arms around his middle and Geralt continues to pepper kisses around his face, Jaskier feels something within his soul untethering— a rope coming loose from his heart, a chain falling from his aching body.
He allows these two to love him— he trusts them to love him— and he begins to let go of the fears that have haunted him for so long.