#coenchop

“L’mbert?” He manages, squinting at... something. “Wh’t t’hell you doing?”

“Go back to sleep,” Lambert whispers, even though they’re both awake now. Well— half awake. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Coen frowns and scrubs a hand down his face, but hell, their room is toasty warm and he mentally shrugs, choosing to sink further under the covers and become one with the mattress. He can still feel Lambert’s scent on his pillow, the smell of leather and horse and smoke from cooking last night’s dinner. It’s good. Familiar.

Soon enough, the door creaks open again. He hears half-murmured curses at the chill coming in from the hall.

“I’m back,” Lambert whispers, kicking off his boots and rudely drawing back the covers so he can get in.

Coen glares at him. Or tries to, since he can’t very well do it with one eye half-open, smushed against his pillow.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbles, and he’s jostled a bit when Lambert shimmies down under the covers with him. Suddenly, he’s enveloped in warmth, strong arms wrapped around him like a small furnace, a slow heartbeat under his cheek. “You know, Witchers are supposed to be stealthy.”

“Are they, now?” Lambert murmurs against his temple. “Must’ve missed the memo.”

Coen burrows deeper into him, tangling their legs together. “Must’ve.”

And he should chastise him longer for waking him up, should put up more fight, but there’s something about Lambert that draws him right in. It’s concerning, really, and Coen hasn’t discarded the idea that maybe there’s something wrong with him, the way he so easily melts under some well-placed touches and soft kisses being pressed into his skin.

But that’s for another time.

Now, Lambert kisses his forehead one last time and says, “Sorry for waking you up. But” — because no Lambert apology would come alone — “dawn is still hours away. We can sleep some more.”

“Mm-hm,” Coen murmurs again. “You’re not forgiven.”

Lambert makes a little sad noise.

A Coen/Lambert relationship study, 275 words, rated G. Read it on Ao3.

Everyone always assumed they were fucking. It was the only reason they could think of why Coën put up with Lambert when he was in a rage. They’d look at his temper, his crude language, his complete lack of anything resembling tact, and nudge Coën conspiratorially. “But the sex is worth it, right?” Coën just shrugged. He had no interest in sex, but what he got up to with Lambert, or didn’t, was none of their fucking business.

People thought Lambert was a fire, and they couldn’t understand why Coën kept coming back to get burned. And sure, sometimes Lambert cast his rage at Coën like igni, and sometimes it hurt. But more often, Lambert’s rage was like a quen, including Coën in its protective circle. Lambert got angry at the things Coën had forgotten how to feel properly years ago. When he was with Lambert, he could be angry. He could rage at their fate, cry at what he’d lost. And feel more deeply because of it. Not just the anger, but hope, and love, and an appreciation of beauty that had been lost in a gray fog before Lambert blew up his world.

Coën had stared at the abyss of his pain and turned away into nothingness. Lambert had seen that same chasm and hurled fire into it. He felt everything, and showed Coën how to feel it too. And in turn, Coën took Lambert’s rage and showed him what it left behind. How to rebuild in the wake of the cleansing fire, to laugh and cry and love. They’d never be whole, but maybe together they could make a life with meaning.

Congrats on the milestone!

(modern era, no warnings! I love this prompt thank u so much)

The worst habit Lambert has developed lately is, without a doubt, ‘forgetting’ his keys. But he just can’t be arsed to bring them around anymore, not when Coën’s archival job has him working mornings and Aiden works from home. There’s always someone in the apartment to buzz him up, and the antiquated, creaky elevator doesn’t require any sort of keycard. It’s nearly never a problem.

Until, of course, it is. Lambert enters the buzzer code over and over and over but no one answers, and to make matters worse he’s got a duffel bag full of expensive groceries that will likely expire in this afternoon heat. Given his luck, Coën’s vegan yoghurt and Aiden’s overpriced salmon have probably already gone off. Lambert shoulders the strap of the bag, slamming the buzzer code in for the eighth time and wishing that the building was modern enough to connect it straight to his phone.

Of course, he also left his phone at home today, so fat lot of fucking good that’d do him.

An angel in a housecoat and slippers exits the mailroom and sees Lambert through the glass windows of the entrance, clearly taking pity on him and his heavy bag. Lambert is pretty sure he knows this guy but wouldn’t be able to place his name on the apartment list; his spirits brighten nonetheless as he waves at his saviour. The resident tucks his letters under his arm and heads over to open the door, even offering him a kind smile.

“Thank you so much, I thought I was fucking screwed!” Lambert grins back toothily and the older man’s demeanour changes immediately to one of abject regret. “Now I just have to pray those shitheads haven’t locked the door.”

Episode 3

Look at those sexy eyes

I’ve decided it’s a CRIME that there’s no square for “old married couple” I decided in my head that these two are actually together and they are just an established relationship in the background.

Also I just want to say that I was on the Coën/Lambert train before S2 and everything thought I was crazy when I was ranting about them being literary parallels BUT I WAS RIGHT.