#lambralt

“Everything okay, in there?” Eskel knocked on the door, he was much larger than Lambert, but Lambert was - Lambert. Walking into his room unasked led to snarling that he did not need.

“Fuck off!” Lambert barked back, flinging something at the door, following it with a retch, and then what Eskel could only describe as a sad little whimper that Eskel knew he was to pretend he didn't hear.

Eskel left and came back with a mug of water and knocked on the door again.

“I have some water, want me to bring it in?” He could hear Lambert thinking through the silence, before he grunted back. Eskel opened the door and looked at the smaller wolf crumpled in a little heap on the floor, his arm hugging a large china bowl as he retched over it. He walked over and sat down next to him, pulling him into his arms with little to no struggle. Lambert was clammy, his eyes were red and without complaint, he buried his head into Eskel’s chest.

“You over-do it pup, maybe just a little?” Eskel rubbed his back and brought the mug of water up to his lips and he shakily took a sip. 

“Where is he, Esk? He’s usually here by now. Do you think… Do you think he doesn’t want to-” “Hush now, pup. He’s just taking his time. He wouldn’t want you worrying like this now, would he?” Lambert closed his eyes and curled up closer to Eskel. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, they heard footsteps coming up through the hall. Both of their heads turned to the door as it creaked open and Geralt peered round. 

“You two okay? It’s freezing out there.” Eskel could feel Lambert relax underneath him at the sight of him. The younger man whined G’rlt as he pleaded with his eyes for him to join them on the floor.

“Your bitey little pup had a few too many drinks last night, Wolf. He missed you very much.” Eskel smirked, very gently scritching at Lambert’s head, making him grumble with embarrassment.

Geralt shed his armour and got down onto the floor with the other two witchers, and Lambert slid with ease from Eskel to him, squeezing him tight.

“M’ tummy hurts.” Geralt nosed at the younger man's scalp, scenting him. He could smell salt from his cheeks, and he brought his thumb up to wipe the tears away.

“Oh poor Lamb. I’m sorry I took so long. You hungover, pup? You want me to make it better?”

Lambert clung onto Geralt’s shirt and nodded, rubbing his face against the man’s chest trying to cover himself in his scent. Geralt lifted his hand and cast axii, feeling the man relax further in his grasp.

“You’re okay, I’m here.” Geralt looked up at Eskel, who in turn reached for a blanket to cover them both on the floor.

Eskel leaned back, his head cocked to the side, and Lambert watched his hand as it left the table into his lap. The table was low enough to leave everything on full display; the slow, deliberate progress of Eskel's hand over the crest of his thigh to his full codpiece. There was no give to the material as Eskel rubbed his fingers across it, a soft sigh low in his throat, and Lambert's nostrils flared. Shit, the bastard was hard already.

If Eskel was that excited, then he thought he'd won. Knew he'd won.

"Oh, Lambert," Eskel said, his gnarled lips lifting into a more mischievous smile. "Better luck next year." The card hit the table and Lambert stared down at his own fucking face. Two damage plus additional damage to every duplicate. Every. Fucking. Duplicate. Lambert's line of archers folded like tissue paper.

"Hah," Geralt barked.

"Fuck off." Lambert scrubbed his hands over his face and watched Eskel through the slats of his fingers. His heart sat in his throat, his stomach fluttering. When Eskel's hand lifted and he beckoned with a crooked finger, Lambert left his seat like he was on the end of a string. He stood before Eskel with his arms hanging by his sides, a gasp punching from his chest as Eskel's palm rubbed over his crotch.

"So hard already," Eskel rumbled, massaging in firm, groping circles until Lambert's knees began to shake.

Geralt huffed. "He threw the game. Wanted you to wreck his little arse."

"Come over here and say that, pa--ahh!" Lambert didn't get to finish. Eskel squeezed his ample handful and Lambert's hips bucked forward. He latched onto Eskel's wrist helplessly, each shuddering breath making his lips quiver. He hadn't realised how on the edge he was, but now that Eskel was carefully plucking open his belt and ties, Lambert felt like he'd shake apart.

"Hmm, think you need to relax a little," Eskel said, hot breath fluttering over the flushed skin of Lambert's prick as it sprang free. The tip was already wet, precum welling from the slit as Eskel's fingers ghosted over a vein on his shaft. Eskel descended on him like a man starved, swallowing him to the root in one go, and Lambert's head fell back helplessly.

"Fuck, both look amazing," Geralt breathed, rubbing slowly at the growing bulge of his codpiece. Lambert dragged his eyes away to look down at Eskel, lips stretched wide around the base of his cock as his throat squeezed tight.

"Es--esk--fuh--" Lambert gasped, fingers burying in the mop of black hair with its shitty fucking haircut that had been the same for about a hundred years, but just seeing it every winter made Lambert feel all sorts of ways, because fuck Eskel could slowly pull him apart without even trying, and -

Two big hands squeezed his arse, pulling Lambert closer until Eskel's nose pressed to his groin, and then the pressure was easing. Eskel pulled off, saliva and precum dripping down his chin, and Lambert groaned helplessly. "C'mon, just..."

"Hmm." Eskel didn't seem to care. He mouthed over Lambert's balls, sucking gently, swirling his tongue, feasting on the taste of sweat and arousal. The only thing keeping Lambert upright was the grip Eskel had on him, his belt buckle clattering loudly around his thighs as he shook. Chair legs scraped nearby as Geralt left his perch, moving to Eskel's back for a better view.

"Nice." Geralt tilted his head, admiring the slant of Lambert's cock over Eskel's face, the misty look in Lambert's eyes. Yeah, Lambert knew he was hot, even managed a faint smirk before his head flopped back again and Eskel growled hungrily against the tender skin of his sac.

"Can show you an even nicer one," Eskel said as he pulled away, and Lambert's mouth dropped open.

"Here?"

They were in one of the old workrooms. A few years back they'd converted it into a general living space. It was a damn sight easier to heat than the grand hall, and most of the beaten up furniture had been gathered from the crumbling rooms around the keep. There wasn't much; a few armchairs, the low coffee table scattered with cards. But it felt a little more illicit than Eskel's fucking bedroom.

"Yeah," Eskel replied lightly, spinning his forefinger in the air. "Put your hands on the table, spread your legs."

Lambert's breath hitched in his throat but Eskel's tone brooked no argument. They'd made a deal. The same deal for the last five years, and it had been Lambert who had let Geralt in on it so he shouldn't get coy now. And fuck, yeah, his arse was a masterpiece, so...

Lambert let his trews slide down his legs to pool around his still booted feet and turned. He planted his hands on the edges of the low table and arched his back, gratified by the hitched sigh of admiration from one of the men behind him. Yeah, he was hot. He knew it. And he spread his thighs a little more, dropping his shoulders, with a little shimmy of the hips. His shirt slid up his back, revealing an expanse of bronze skin with its myriad of scars.

"Mm, yeah, can see why you're keen," Geralt said, his speech a little slurred from the Gull and the ale. Clothing rustled, Eskel's chair creaked as it moved, and Lambert bit out a tight cry as a warm, wet tongue slid down his cleft.

"Fuck," Eskel growled from somewhere over Lambert's shoulder. "He likes that, don't you, little wolf? Always wanted Geralt to kiss your arse, how's it feel?"

"Hnng." Lambert couldn't manage words. Geralt was a fucking master with his tongue. Of course he was; there could be no other reason that the witch kept his whiny ass around. But fuck it was something else to be on the receiving end. Geralt spread Lambert open, thumbs pressing into firm muscles, and lapped slowly over his hole. Geralt teased him into desperate clenches as the tip of his tongue flicked over his rim, making him buck and wriggle. Lambert melted under Geralt's attention, moaning into the table as his cock hung hard and heavy, drooling a tick pool of precum onto his own Gwent card. It was so good. So much. But not enough. He could walk the precipice, hold on and not embarrass himself with how desperate he was.

When Geralt's tongue pressed inside him, Lambert's eyes clenched shut as he tried to stave off the climax pooling in his gut. Geralt seemed to sense his resistance, taking his cock even as he licked into his soft furl. It took only a few slow, firm tugs for Lambert to peak, cock thrusting through Geralt's grip as come wetted his fingers. Lambert felt the bluster of Geralt's breathy chuckle against his spit-slick hole and groaned.

"So good," Geralt said, almost to himself. His hand withdrew from between Lambert's thighs and in the next moment cum-wet fingers pressed into the buttery soft muscle of Lambert's arse, making his back bow like a bitch presenting. "He's desperate to be full, look at that."

Lambert managed to twist enough to glance over his shoulder. He could see Eskel in his peripheral, his huge dick free from his codpiece and slick with oil where he was fisting it slowly. Those honey eyes were watching Geralt and Lambert intently, his angular jaw slack, his lips damp. "Yeah... fuck me.." Lambert rasped. "Want you, big guy. Want you so bad."

Eskel hummed as Geralt stepped back, head cocked the side, gaze misty with want. "C'mon, come get what you want." He held his cock upright, large hand squeezing at the base, and Lambert's mouth went dry. Geralt was watching from behind the armchair, his mouth still wet and slick. They wanted him to go and impale himself. They knew this was what he'd wanted, who was he kidding? He could have beaten Eskel any other day, with any other price on offer. But being stuffed full of Eskel's cock wasn't an opportunity he could pass up, even if he would never outright ask for it.

Lambert staggered upright, his knees weaker than a foal's in spring, and shuffled back. He felt Eskel's steadying hand on his hip as he lowered himself, ankles and feet tangled in his trews and useless. Eskel liked that, though. He liked it when Lambert and as a little off kilter, unsteady, because it made him desperate. Lambert felt the tip of Eskel's prick line up, wet with oil, and knew the stretch was going to make his eyes water.

His arms shook under his own weight, hands braced on the arms of the chair, thighs spread as much as he could. He lowered in increments, the burn of Eskel's cock working inside him slowly. Fuck, it was so good. Eskel didn't rush him, didn't thrust, but Lambert could hear his breathing become more ragged as Lambert's body sucked at him with each lift.

After an agonising eternity, Lambert finally managed to work himself down Eskel's length to sit in his lap. He felt Geralt's hand slip beneath his chin, nails raking through his beard, and his mouth fell open in a silent plea. Geralt seemed to know, his fingers teasing over Lambert's full lips to press on his tongue. "He wants to be full both ends, huh?"

"He always does. Perfect hole. Fucking hot and desperate." Eskel ground his hips up, holding Lambert in place, and Lambert's eyes rolled back. "Ah ah," Eskel tapped him, "if you wanna be fucked, better get movin'."

Lambert gripped the arms of the chair and lifted his hips slowly, groaning at the ache that Eskel left behind as he eased out. When he rolled back down, the stretch was a little easier, but Eskel still ground over every sweet spot and nerve ending. Lambert needed more, he needed to feel speared open, needed Eskel's load leaking out of him. He bobbed faster, shallow at first as he found his rhythm, until he was bouncing in Eskel's lap, his head held back by Geralt's hand.

Eskel growled and snarled near his ear, teeth biting into his shoulder, and Lambert moaned around Geralt's fingers, spit sliding down his cheek and chin. They were prying him open, filling him up, Eskel's thick cock molding his body into shape. His biceps ached with the pressure of moving his body, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop, desperately chasing the pleasure.

"Need his mouth on me," Geralt grunted, his hand pulling away. Lambert's head fell forward just as Eskel pulled him down for a hard thrust, grinding his cock in deep and keeping Lambert pinned to his lap. Lambert watched Geralt circle the low table and then straddle the end, his ruddy cock sitting in the v of his open trews. Eskel lifted Lambert effortlessly, fat cock pulling free with an obscene noise, and forced him onto unsteady legs before pushing him down to the table.

"Time to breed you properly, little wolf." His voice was husky, raw from the deep, pleased growls torn from him by the desperate grip of Lambert's body. Lambert flopped forward, his knees spread wide, and let Geralt pull his head down. The salty musk filled his senses as he swallowed Geralt's cock, the hand in his hair tightened and he relaxed his neck, letting Geralt fuck his face with a gentle pressure.

Lambert groaned as Eskel took his hips and fed his cock back inside, bottoming out in one smooth thrust. The big wolf's answering moan rumbled through Lambert's entire body, and he arched his back low, his body submissive as Eskel thrust in deep. The angle was fucking perfect, Eskel's prick grinding over Lambert's sweet spot with every pass. Lambert had filled again, cock adding to the mess already on the table surface.

The wet sounds of Geralt's cock sliding past his lips, the slap of skin as Eskel fucked him open, were obscene. Lambert dissolved into the pleasure of it, moaning loudly and freely as he submitted to their hold. Every sense was flooded, overwhelmed, his body wrung out on a tightrope. He could feel Eskel's firm grip holding him in place and Geralt's in his hair. When Eskel shifted, broad chest pressing to Lambert's back, to grind into him deeper, Lambert wailed around Geralt's cock.

He could hear their lips meet, the slide of their tongues, their soft, desperate moans. They were kissing over him, their cocks buried to the root, his body pinned between them; he was their toy for the night, their plaything. Something special shared and enjoyed together. Lambert's eyes rolled back and he came hard so hard he saw lights behind his eye lids.

"Hng, fuck," Eskel grunted, drawing back to fuck Lambert hard through the aftershocks. Geralt spilled down Lambert's throat seconds later, teased over by the feral look on Eskel's face as he enjoyed the needy clench of Lambert's body. Lambert's knees spread wide as Eskel's hips stuttered, letting Eskel spill deep inside him with a satisfied groan. When Eskel pulled out, he teased a thumb against Lambert's puffy hole, making his lover buck on the table as oversensitivity made every muscle seize.

Geralt pulled his chin up. "Like that, don't you? Eskel coming inside you. Filing you up. Gonna keep you full all winter, little wolf. Keep your legs spread for us, use your pretty mouth." Geralt smoothed a thumb over Lambert's lower lip, and Lambert licked gently at the pad. "Fuck, you're perfect."

Eskel's fingers worked inside him and Geralt held him still, his back arched. They had him gasping and begging within moments, Eskel's fingers stroking over his prostate in slow, firm circles. "Please, please... Fuck, ah, Esk--" Lambert's entire body shook as they wrung another orgasm out of him, and then another. Geralt teased his nipples, tweaking them between finger and thumb, while Eskel fondled his balls, leaving his aching cock to leak onto the table. By the time they were done with him, tears of overstimulation leaked down Lambert's cheeks and only Geralt's arms kept him upright.

"Hmm, this winter's gonna be fun," Geralt murmured later, with Lambert snoozing on the rug by the fire. "Think he'll agree to free use?"

Lambert growled at the strap on his pauldron, pulling it as tight as he could. It hadn’t been this stubborn at the beginning of the year---must have shrunk with all the bad weather he’d slogged through.

“Going somewhere?” Eskel asked, leaning against Lambert’s doorframe. 

“Fucking fishing, if I can get this fucking armor to cooperate,” Lambert groused.

“How about some help?” Eskel asked, suddenly behind him and talking in his ear, one hand on Lambert’s shoulder. 

What the fuck was Eskel doing, trying to intimidate him? Like Lambert would be afraid of any Witcher. He glared and made himself stay still as Eskel’s hand slid down his arm to the pauldron strap---and pulled it off. 

“Hmm, you’ve built up some muscle,” Eskel said, poking his bicep. Which, yeah, maybe, but---

“I was trying to keep that on,” Lambert said. 

“I was hoping to help you take the rest of it off,” Eskel said, casual. “It all looks pretty tight.”  

Lambert finally whirled to face him. “What the fuck?” he asked. “You want me to go fishing without my armor on?” 

Eskel’s face did a complicated thing that Lambert was too flustered, for some reason, to parse. 

“You want me to take some ice shrapnel bare-skinned?” Lambert asked. “Not to mention how much it keeps you warm. Fuck, did you really think I’d go out there and freeze my balls off just cuz you batted your eyes and asked real pretty? Thought you weren’t that much of an asshole.”        

“I...uh...” Eskel stammered. “Sorry. Fishing. Right. Have fun with that.” He walked off in the direction of Geralt’s room.

Lambert would have fun fishing. With his armor on. And now he had to start fighting his pauldron all over again, thanks to Eskel’s interference. Melitele’s methane farts.   

---  

“Coën!” Lambert said, surprised to be met at the gate. He’d expected to be the first one at the keep, up the trail early with a wrist that had healed wrong and could use someone with two free hands to rebreak and set it. The fiend had had the worse end of the fight, dead and scavenged when Lambert had awoken, but he’d been unconscious long enough for his wrist to fuck itself up---at least a day and a half, maybe longer. 

“Lambert,” Coën said with a friendly nod. “Guess we both had a hard year on the Path.” He rubbed at his shoulder; bandages poked out from beneath his shirt. 

No horses in the stable. “We’re the only two here?” Lambert asked to confirm. 

 “Even Vesemir’s down at Ard Carraigh, picking up some supplies,” Coën said. He hesitated. “Since it’s only us...do you want to, you know...polish some armor together?” 

Lambert stared. “What?” he asked. Griffins were known for their courtly manners and good hygiene, but polishing armor? 

“You know, do some personal polishing,”  Coën said, weirdly intent. “Really make sure our swords are looking good.” 

Lambert bristled. “I know my shit needs a good scrubbing, but you don’t have to point it out as soon as I get here!” 

Coën startled. “Wait, what?” 

“Listen, doing anything is a bitch and half with this wrist fucked up like it is, let alone keeping my oh-so-precious armor polished to shining knight standards!” Lambert ranted. “I want the kitchen and a bed, in that order, and if my hideous stench offends you so much, you don’t have to be around it!” 

“I---” Coën’s mouth dropped open, and then he drew himself up into that Griffin formality, straight-backed and earnest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Listen, if your...wrist troubles...ever bother you and you need some relief, I’m here for you, all right?” 

Lambert’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah, you’re all right. Guess I didn’t need to shout; just need a meal in me. Catch you tomorrow for sparring?”

Coën nodded and beat a quick retreat. 

Little spats like that were always easier with Coën, who was as placid as Lambert was reactive. Not much shared history, either, which helped. Still, Lambert kept from cleaning his gear throughout most of that winter; if dirty armor bothered Coën that much, he could polish it himself. 

This lasted until Eskel finally got tired of the smell and threw him, fully armored, into the hot springs. But even then, Lambert got to collect on a bet with Geralt that one of the others would break before Midwinter, so it wasn’t too bad.   

---

“You look good out of your armor,” Geralt told him the next year, both of them steaming next to each other in the hot springs. 

The latest match between them had ended in a draw, and the hot water had Lambert’s muscles warm and loose, too pleasantly unspooled for him to bother tensing up like he usually would at that kind of dig. “Yeah, yeah,” he said instead, leaning his head back against the stone ledge behind them. “Not everyone can afford that mastercrafted shit.” 

Geralt sighed next to him. “Just meant that you look nice. Healthy,” he said. 

Lambert glanced at him; he had a little smile on his face like he actually meant it. “Well, fuck, I guess you’d be the expert on looking nice, pretty boy, so I’ll have to believe you.” 

Geralt snorted. “You catch a Wtcher with an exfoliator one time,” he said, bringing them back to familiar ground. 

“If you weren’t gonna use it, you would’ve left it with that bard of yours,” Lambert said, as he always did when the subject of the cute little pumice stone that they’d found in Geralt’s saddlebags came up.  

Geralt got out a few minutes later, water sluicing off of him attractively. Too bad Geralt wasn’t the kind of guy who went for mouthy assholes like Lambert. 

---

The Cat, small and wiry, leaned into his space. “That was a nice killshot,” he said. “We make a pretty good team.” 

Lambert hesitated, but it had been pretty good teamwork, the Cat herding the troll into a tight spot so Lambert could take it out with a concussive bomb. “Thanks,” he said, and “Split the reward?” just to make sure they were square about it.    

“Half and half,” the Cat confirmed. “Name’s Aiden,” he added, his plump mouth curled into a mischief-making smile. “You got a name, Wolf?” 

“Lambert,” Lambert said. He stepped closer, drawn in by the smile despite himself. 

“Well, Lambert, I think you’re hot. You want to go find somewhere to take our armor off and fuck?” 

Lambert looked Aiden up and down, from the braids curled tightly against his head to the pointy tips of his soft-soled boots. Pretty. Straightforward, too, especially for a Cat, which was nice. And no Witcher was ever really disarmed so long as they had the use of their fingers. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, I guess I’d like that.” 

“Let me help you get started,” Aiden said, and he pulled Lambert into a kiss, slow and sweet, until Lambert’s breath caught in his throat from the building heat of it. “There’s the first bit down,” he said, poking his finger at Lambert’s cheek, which was creased with a smile. 

“That’s called a fucking face, you metaphorical twat,” Lambert said. “Here, I’ll show you what taking armor off really looks like,” and he pulled at the straps on Aiden’s breastplate.

--- 

A few months later, Aiden, his head on Lambert’s lap for post-coital petting, laughed when Lambert told him the story of the season of smelly armor. “You know that’s a euphemism for Griffins, right? Polishing armor?” He said it with a waggle of his eyebrows and a lewd gesture. 

Lambert stopped petting him. “What the fuck,” he said. “I was getting propositioned?” He ran through the last few conversations he’d had about armor. “Wait,” he said. “Is that what it means when someone puts their hand on your shoulder and says you’d look better with your armor off?” 

Aiden cackled and pressed his face into Lambert’s stomach. “All this time, you could have been getting dicked down at that keep of yours!” he said, biting at Lambert’s hairy thigh. 

“Dicked down by euphemistic assholes,” Lambert grumbled, widening his legs to give Aiden more room to lengthen a chain of hickeys he’d left earlier.

---

“Hey, pretty boy,” Lambert said that winter. “Your dick would look even prettier without that armor. Let me help you with that.” 

Geralt burst out laughing, but he was good in bed, wicked and dryly funny, so Lambert spent the winter well-fucked and sated. And anyway, his line had worked, hadn’t it? Unlike the lines from certain other assholes. 

“’Helping with armor,’” Lambert grumbled to himself while giving his literal armor its winter cleaning. “My ass.” The pass looked like it would be open soon, sun starting to shine more each day. 

“We could help with your ass instead?” Geralt offered from the doorway, Eskel and Coën beside him. “If you’re not too busy.” Geralt smirked. Eskel and Coën smiled. They were literally looking down at him, what with Lambert kneeling to scrub his chest plate, but it didn’t feel like they were looking down on him.    

Geralt shuddered under his lover’s touch and leaned up to chase his lips, claiming them in a soft press of lips that quickly grew in intensity. Lambert’s hand on his ass started to grope, squeezing soft flesh as their mouths moved together. A groan escaped the redhead as Geralt brought one thigh up over Lambert’s, bringing their hips into contact at last. 

  “Fucking hell, Ger,” Lambert gasped as he broke their kiss. They didn’t stay separated for long, though, as Lambert began trailing kisses over his stubbled jaw, up over warm cheeks and high cheekbones. Every point where they touched felt like tiny sparks of lightning, and Geralt couldn’t get enough. 

  “Fuck me, Lam. Please.” Geralt had never been above begging, but he knew their paying audience liked when he was whiny, needy with it, so he made sure to add a little extra breathiness to his voice. At the same time he brought a hand between them to stroke over Lambert’s bare chest. He couldn’t help but smile as his lover gasped when he ran the pad of his thumb over a cherry red nipple and used the momentary distraction to capture his lips again. 

  This time as they kissed, it was almost a fight for dominance. Lambert’s large hand came up to cup Geralt’s face, fingers gliding back into long white hair at the same time as Geralt held onto the back of Lambert’s neck, as if trying to keep him still as he plunged his tongue into the redhead’s mouth. 

  “‘M ready, Lam,” Geralt spoke quietly in between kisses, hopefully too quiet for the camera to pick up. With a soft nip to his bottom lip, Lambert nodded and began to ease himself off, letting Geralt shift positions so he was laid on his back, blinking up at his gorgeous, wild looking lover adoringly.

  “Gonna take you apart, pretty boy,” Lambert’s words were as much for their audience as they were for Geralt, but that didn’t matter. Sure, their fans loved when Lambert would run his mouth during a scene, they loved how Geralt would react, as a six-foot-plus, built like a bodybuilder man, to being called pretty or sweetheart or, everyone’s favourite, a good little boy. What mattered was how the praise made Geralt’s heart race and his mouth go dry.

  All he could do was nod in response, lost for words as Lambert smirked down at him. He began to bring his knees up instinctively, making space for his lover’s broad frame between his spread thighs. 

  Before getting himself in position, Lambert got up to move one of the tripods. Geralt had once thought that pausing what they were doing to adjust camera angles would be awkward and potentially kill the mood, but watching those competent hands fiddle with knobs and play with the lenses was surprisingly hot. He swung one of his legs idly as he watched, biting his lip as he thought of what else those fingers could do.

  “Gonna eat you out, babe. Get you all nice and wet. That sound good?” Usually they’d cut out the scene adjustments, but the way Lambert was running his mouth, Geralt knew they’d have to keep it in. The filth he’d spew was too fucking hot to leave on the cutting room floor, and he knew as he squirmed on the bed, hands curling into fists to grab hold of the bedsheets under him and a quiet little whine slipping from his lips, Lambert would agree. 

  “Knees all the way up, Ger. That’s a good boy.” There he went again, dropping a “good boy” on Geralt like it didn’t make him swoon like something out of a romance novel. He could feel his cheeks burning as he flushed hot, the colour no doubt spreading down his neck and staining his chest, the praise in Lambert’s words and the love in his eyes making Geralt’s cock throb against his abdomen almost as much as he felt his heart swell.

  Lambert licked his lips as he settled between Geralt’s thighs, casting a playful wink up at him before those big hands curled around his thighs and pulled Geralt to where he wanted him. Geralt had a moment to think on how wonderful Lambert’s short beard would feel against his ass and on his inner thighs —though he’d bitch and moan about the beard burn later, it always felt amazing in the moment— before he lost all coherent thoughts. 

  He started with broad strokes, lapping almost the full stretch of the cleft before placing a sucking little kiss against Geralt’s perineum. With every pass of his tongue, Geralt moaned up at the ceiling, his fists clenching and unclenching and his toes curling.

  “L—Lam, I, fuck!” Geralt knew he was babbling but as Lambert leaned back so he could dribble a fat gob of spit down Geralt’s perineum and over his twitching hole, he fully whined. Between his thighs, Lambert laughed, letting his head hang a little so all Geralt could see was a mess of red curls. 

  Fingers tangled through the messy strands and tugged lightly, encouraging Lambert to get back to work. 

  “I know, baby, I know.” Lifting his head again, Lambert scattered kisses over Geralt’s inner thigh, biting down gently on the plush swell of one ass cheek. He kissed his way back to Geralt’s entrance, stiffening his tongue into a firm point as he circled the twitching muscle slowly. 

  The first slight press inside has Geralt’s eyes rolling, a deep groan spilling from him as his toes curl. Lambert hums, pleased with the reaction, and strokes a hand over rock hard abs, scratching through body hair at warm skin. 

  Geralt’s legs started to twitch almost uncontrollably with every flick of Lambert’s clever tongue, the feel of saliva running down his crack and the bump of a nose against his balls. Letting go of the bedsheet beneath him, he curled the fingers of one hand into his own thigh, using the grip to pull his leg up and open and allowing Lambert more room to work with. Of course, it had the added benefit of opening himself up further, allowing the tongue working inside him to slip slightly deeper. 

  “Oh, oh fuck! Lambert!” Geralt almost knocked Lambert from between his legs when he eased a finger alongside his tongue, quickly followed by a second, with how violently he jerked his entire body. Lambert moved with him, though, in tune with Geralt’s body enough to anticipate his movements. 

  The snick of a lube bottle being opened had Geralt lifting his head and peering down at Lambert between his legs, panting heavily with his mouth hanging open. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and he distantly thought “yeah, the fans’ll love this” before telling that part of his brain to shut up and just enjoy himself.

  Geralt jumped slightly as cold lube trickled over where Lambert’s fingers were inside him. The bastard could’ve warmed it up, but one look at the heat in his lover’s eyes told Geralt just how desperate to get on with things he was as well. 

  The stretch of two fingers soon became three and Geralt felt like sobbing he was so turned on, so desperate to be filled, and he babbled as much to Lambert and to the cameras as he rocked his hips back down into Lambert’s hand. 

  “Fuck me, please Lam, I—need you in me, please…” his voice sounded desperate even to his own ears, so lord knew how it sounded to his lover, to the fans who’d pay good money to watch. 

  “Okay baby, okay. Just, fuck, just. Hold on…” Lambert sounded as desperate as he did. Geralt watched through half lidded eyes as Lambert fisted his own hard length, mouth all but watering at the sight. God, he wished he could have a taste, but no. No, he needed to feel full, desperately so. 

  The first press of Lambert’s cock against his hole always took Geralt’s breath away. He was so big, well proportioned with a long, thick prick that matched everything else about him. It made Geralt’s mouth water, set off his oral fixation like nothing else ever had, and he found himself more often than not wanting to feel split open on it. 

  Lambert was so careful and considerate, too, slowly sinking an inch deeper and cooing quietly about how good Geralt was, how gorgeous he looked, how much he loved him. Each inch deeper made Geralt feel more and more desperate, so close to what he craved. He reached a hand up to paw at Lambert’s broad chest; stroking up over hard abs, pausing to squeeze one pec weakly, before finally landing on his shoulder and tugging, wanting Lambert to lean down so he could—

  Yes, yes, this was perfect. Their mouths moved together messily, Geralt panting as Lambert licked at his teeth and sucked at his tongue. And still, his hips kept moving, slow rocks of his hips until he finally bottomed out, making them both groan. Geralt could feel his nails digging into Lambert’s shoulders where he was holding on for dear life, but as his lover looked at him with a perfect mix of adoration and desire, Geralt figured he didn’t really mind. 

  “Lambert, please,” he whined, trying his best to look pleadingly up at his boyfriend, biting down on his full bottom lip only for a thick thumb to press just under it, gently tugging it free. 

  Another whine slipped from him as Lambert leaned up and away, angling his upper body to give Geralt —and the camera— a good view. Maybe he could trade off kisses for admiring the way his abdominal muscles stretched and contracted. 

  Lambert didn’t waste a moment, setting a hard, fast pace using both hands to push one of Geralt’s legs up towards his chest and the other out to the side. Every rock of his hips had red hair swaying, muscles twitching, and Geralt couldn’t stop staring at the veins standing out beneath his abs, leading down into the neatly trimmed nest of pubic hair above his cock. 

  “You look gorgeous, Geralt. Feel so fucking good…” it’s Lambert’s turn to babble as Geralt gasps for breath. “Could spend my whole life fucking into this tight little hole,” as he spoke, Lambert let his hand brush over Geralt’s inner thigh to pry the globes of his ass further apart, making his hole tighten at the stretch. 

  “Fu— fuck, Lam. ‘M all yours, fuck me. Mark me…” a full body shudder ran through Geralt when Lambert growled in response to his words and somehow set a more punishing pace. One large hand moved to wrap around his prick, sweeping through precome to slick the way as Lambert began pumping his fist, stroking Geralt in time to the hard thrust of his hips. 

  “You gonna cum for me, baby? C’mon, pretty boy. Wanna see you make a mess…” and that was it. 

  Geralt wailed as he finally came, ropes of cum shooting across his stomach and his pecs, one spurt almost hitting his chin. His back arched off the mattress as Lambert kept stroking him even as he grew oversensitive.

  “Ah, Lam. Lam, ‘s too much,” reaching a hand out somewhat fumblingly, Geralt tried to knock Lambert’s hand away weakly. It seemed like he got the message as Lambert quickly moved to grip Geralt by the waist and pull him down onto his cock as his thrusts got harder, faster, more frantic as he chased his own orgasm down blindly. 

  “Ger, fu— Geralt!” The sound that left Lambert as he filled Geralt with his spend was animalistic, a deep, loud growl from deep within his chest. Fuck, if it didn’t make his dick twitch with faint interest. 

  Filthily, Lambert ground himself into Geralt, making sure every load was shot deep inside him. He didn’t know if he was imagining the squelch he could hear, but fuck, if that wasn’t hot. 

  Blindly fumbling under his pillow, Geralt pulled out his phone and handed it to Lambert. He watched through sleepy eyes as his lover tapped at the screen, opening the camera app.

  Geralt made a vaguely distressed sound as Lambert slowly pulled out, his hole clenching weakly as if trying to keep him there. He turned it into a quiet sigh as he spread his legs as far as he could, letting Lambert film the slow trickle of cum leaking from him with every muscle twitch. 

  The phone hitting the bed signalled to Geralt that they were done. Peering at his smug looking lover, Geralt spared him a tired smile. 

  “Clean me up?” He asked, voice sounding scratchy and worn as he luxuriated on the bed, swirling a finger though his own spend where it lay splattered across his skin.

  Not one to be outdone, Lambert swept a thick finger over Geralt’s loose hole, gathering up his cum and ducking his finger clean before smirking.