Kaer Morhen is… not what Jaskier expected. Yes, it’s big and empty and crumbling, but it’s also warm and surprisingly homey, and the hot springs are quite honestly a revelation.
The biggest surprise, however, is the talk he and Geralt have before they start the climb up to the keep.
“There’s something you need to know about us,” Geralt had started with, and with every word that came out of the Witcher’s mouth after, Jaskier’s eyes grew wider.
Winter, Geralt explained, is for fucking. Few brothels take on Witchers, and one’s own touch is rarely satisfactory enough, rendering the Wolves of Kaer Morhen all but celibate during the year. It’s not until the winter that they satisfy those urges amongst themselves, knowing the others can take whatever they have to offer.
“If you come with me, the others will expect you to participate.”
Jaskier had been one wrong move away from coming in his pants after Geralt’s explanation, the image of Geralt and his no doubt equally impressive brethren going at it like rabbits on fisstech all season enough to have him on the brink. He’s pretty sure he’d never been this turned on in his life.
If he had the mental wherewithal, he would probably question his decision to accompany the man to Kaer Morhen. As it is, he really can’t concentrate, not strapped to the bench as he is, speared on two truly ridiculously fat cocks on both ends. They’ve been at it for hours, and Jaskier’s brain has turned into mush.
Geralt always is first, waking Jaskier with gentle touches that have him melting into the mattress. He’ll pull the plug free from Jaskier’s hole and help him clean himself up, before he fucks him full again, slow and gentle and with praise whispered into Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier loves the mornings, loves the sweetness, the love that Geralt may not be able to put into words but that he communicates with every reverent touch. He’s happy that Geralt asked him to come along. If he hadn’t, and if Jaskier hadn’t agreed, the Witcher might never have gathered the courage to admit to how he feels about Jaskier.
Down in the hall, Jaskier greets the others with kisses. Lambert kisses like a starving man, all overwhelming passion. Eskel cups his face in those huge hands and holds him still while he sucks on Jaskier’s lower lip. And Vesemir usually contents himself with a sweet peck on the lips. “Breakfast first,” he told Jaskier the first day, “there is time enough for these games after.”
They like to feed him, from their hands, saying a toy doesn’t need to use its hands unless it’s to work open his hole (not that he needs much of that anymore) or to stroke a cock. He sits in their laps as they place small pieces of food on his tongue, and Jaskier finds himself surprised with how quiet his mind goes in those moments.
After breakfast, the young Witchers usually tend to their chores before playtime begins, but Vesemir keeps him busy. Sometimes all the man wants from him is a place to keep his cock warm, and Jaskier is happy to provide, be it his mouth or his hole. Vesemir keeps him on his cock until the others return, usually reading, and Jaskier drifts, calm and full of anticipation.
When the chores are done, it’s usually Lambert who hauls him over the table, pulling the plug out of him and fucking straight inside. Lambert fucks the way he kisses - hard and desperate. He’s not cruel, no, just so full of need and young enough that it can get a little rough at times. Jaskier doesn’t mind at all.
Eskel is next, and if Jaskier had to be honest, he’d have to say that Eskel’s cock is his favourite. It’s massive, nearly the size of Jaskier’s forearm. Taking it those first couple of times had been a challenge, and Jaskier is not ashamed to admit that he cried like a virgin on her wedding night. Now it’s easier, with how well-fucked his hole is at all times, but it’s still a stretch. Even after a couple of weeks he finds it nearly impossible to fit the man’s cock into his mouth, but Jaskier is nothing if not persistent. He will manage it before the season ends, he swore to himself, see if he doesn’t.
After these first few rounds, someone brings out the bench, and he can admit that he found it intimidating at first. Being bound to the contraption for hours, unable to escape - it had been daunting. Geralt had kissed him sweetly and assured him that he would be fine. He’s their toy, he belongs to them, and Jaskier must know that Witchers care for their belongings. It had been enough to convince him to give it a try, because he knows the truth of those words.
The bench is sturdy, padded generously to make it comfortable for him, and now he places himself on it with eager giddiness. The Witchers take great care with strapping him down, careful not to pinch his tender skin. Delicate, Vesemir had called him that first day, and usually Jaskier would object to that. He’s a grown man, sturdy and more than capable of holding his own, but next to the Witchers, he does feel delicate at times.
Once he’s on the bench, the fun truly starts. He is never empty, always filled with at least one cock, two more often than not, and, on a few memorable occasions, even three, with Geralt and Lambert sharing his hole while Vesemir fucked his face. His head, by contrast, is entirely empty. All he can think about is the next orgasm his Witchers will drag out of him, the next load of come filling his guts or his stomach. He’s wide open all the time, kept that way with a plug larger than his fist, and in the evenings, when Geralt takes him down to the hot springs to wash away the evidence of that day’s activities, his stomach is heavy and swollen.
The Witchers make no secret of what seeing him like that does to them. “It’s a shame you’re a man,” Lambert says one evening while they’re all lounging in the hot water. “You’d look so good, all big and fat with pups.”
Four pairs of golden eyes dropped to his stomach, to his chest, flat and hairy as it is, and moments later Jaskier found himself fucked open once more, bouncing on Geralt’s dick while Eskel and Lambert pinched and tugged at his nipples. Jaskier is pretty sure he’s rarely come as hard as then.
After that, the Wolves seem to see it as a bit of a challenge. They all know it’s impossible - Jaskier is very much incapable of bearing children, and even if he were, his Witchers couldn’t give him any. But the thought seems to drive all of them absolutely wild, and Jaskier has never been this full. His nipples ache from the way they’re all constantly sucking and pulling on them, and for a few days now his whole chest has been tender and hot to the touch. Jaskier doesn’t think about it too hard. The Wolves don’t seem worried, so he won’t worry about it.
Jaskier is happy with his role in the keep. True, he doesn’t contribute to any of the maintenance the place requires, but he keeps its inhabitants calm and happy, keeps them from going stir crazy during the long dark months, and what could be better than that?