#lamskel

Heat burns in Lambert’s ribcage and he crosses his arms, frowning hard and avoiding Eskel’s gaze. He knows how he looks— tired, hungry, and dirty. This is embarrassing. It’s his fourth year on the path, he shouldn’t be struggling like this. Eskel probably never struggled like this, Lambert’s mind snarls at him. Eskel’s been on the path for nearly two decades now, and Lambert bets he never looked this bad— not even the year when he got those scars on his mug—

“Lemme buy you a drink,” Eskel cuts into Lambert’s self loathing, heading towards the bar. Lambert watches his broad shoulders part the crowd for a long moment before following after him.

“You fucking better buy me a Gods damn drink, you asshole,” Lambert snaps. He never would have talked to Eskel like this before last winter, but something has changed between them recently. Before, Eskel was just the quiet one who was glued to Geralt’s side. It makes sense— the two of them are decades older than Lambert and went through the Trials together—a natural fit as friends, but still...Lambert has always been the odd one out. The youngest Wolf. The only one to survive his class. The only one to undergo the Trials in his teenage years.

Last winter concluded Lambert’s third year on the path, and Eskel had changed. He suddenly started dragging Lambert into conversations, and demanding his presence at meal times, and coercing him into games of gwent. Lambert had tried to avoid it at first, confused by the sudden attention, but Eskel is weirdly patient and calm, and he won in the end.

And sure, maybe Lambert has had a crush on Eskel for years, and maybe Lambert is intimidated by the other witcher, but over the winter he tried to shove that aside and just talk to Eskel. And conversation was easy between them once they got over the weird, stilted shift in their relationship. Eskel is smart, and genuine, and while he’s quiet, Lambert has learned that he thinks deeply about things. He just measures his words more than Lambert does.

All of which of course opens Eskel up for receiving Lambert’s foul language.

A mug of something cold and frothy is shoved into his hands and he drinks automatically. It’s actually decent, and he hums, glaring up at Eskel.

“You’re welcome, pup,” Eskel says, taking his own mug and walking towards the back of the tavern’s small common room.

“Don’t call me that,” Lambert snaps, following after him and scowling at the curious human gazes clinging on them as they settle into a dark booth.

“How are you doing?” Eskel asks as Lambert plops down into the seat across from him. The wooden table sways dangerously between them as he props his arms on the surface.

“What do you mean?” Lambert grumbles, glaring around the room. He wants to stare at Eskel— at his handsome, familiar face with his warm, sharp eyes. It’s not fair— being slapped in the face with Eskel’s presence when he’s just finished building up his wall for the year.

“What would you have done if it was another witcher who took that contract?” Eskel asks, raising a brow in challenge.

Fuck him.

“Woulda chewed him out,” Lambert snaps. “What’s it to you?”

Eskel’s brow furrows.

“What?” Lambert growls.

“You look skinny,” he says, and Lambert can tell by the way he clenches his jaw that he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“I’m fine,” Lambert mumbles, taking a long drink of his ale. He’s not fine. He’s fucking hungry, and he hasn’t been able to find a contract for almost a month…

Soon he’s going to have to resort to manual labor for pay.

Eskel hums, and Lambert feels mortified heat burn his chest. Eskel must think he’s pathetic.

“Don’t move,” Eskel murmurs, and Lambert glares, huffing into his drink as Eskel gets up and walks back to the bar. Lambert scowls down at the tabletop, taking another sip of his ale and relishing the burn as it moves down to his empty stomach. It aches, and he bites his lip hard against the self loathing burning like old embers in his chest.

When Eskel returns, it’s with two steaming bowls of stewed vegetables and grains. Lambert opens his mouth, indignation piling up in his throat—

“If you don’t eat it, I will,” Eskel cuts him off, digging into his own food and ignoring Lambert. Fuck. Fuck him. Lambert’s stomach twists as the warm scent of cooked root veggies and soft grains hits him. His mouth floods with saliva, and he’s so Gods damn hungry—

He gives in, picking up his spoon and trying to eat slowly. He hasn’t eaten in nearly a week and he doesn’t want to get sick. The food is good, though— so good— and when he’s finished the entire bowl the ache in his guts has subsided to a dull hum.

“I have a room for the night,” Eskel says as soon as he’s done eating, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on.”

And Lambert follows him, unsure what to do. The rooms are on the second floor of the inn, and tension eases from Lambert’s chest as the din of the crowd retreats once they make it to Eskel’s small room.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lambert panics. He’s never been in a room alone with Eskel— not really. Kaer Morhen always has other witchers around, so they’re never really alone, and this is…

“What do you think about a bath?” Eskel asks, and the soft lilt of his voice makes something in Lambert’s chest tear open, sick and angry.

“Want me to bend over just because you bought me a meal?” Lambert growls, shame and panic making him snarl out the first thing that comes to mind. And really, if that’s how it’s gonna be then fuck Eskel—

“You think I haven’t taken a meal when it was offered?” Eskel asks without rising to the bait, squinting at Lambert in disbelief. Lambert’s voice dies, quelling all the rage in his stomach with that simple look.

Oh.

“I don’t expect anything, Lambert. You really think I’d pull that kind of bullshit?” Eskel asks, and that’s clear hurt in his voice.

Fuck. Now Lambert feels like an ass. And the truth is he knows Eskel wouldn’t do that shit. It’s just…

“I can take care of myself,” Lambert says, all too aware that he sounds like a petulant child. But Eskel just nods, sitting on the bed and tugging at his boots.

“I know,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. Lambert crosses his arms, shifting on his feet restlessly.

Why the fuck does Lambert have to always make things weird and—?

Eskel jolts upright, spine suddenly goes rigid as he looks up at Lambert with an unnervingly blank stare.

“Has someone tried to pull that kind of bullshit on you before?” He asks, and his voice is flat— unassuming and terrible—

“No,” Lambert lies too quickly, crossing his arms and glaring out the small window across from Eskel’s bed. The stars are starting to glitter as the moon rises. He really, really doesn’t want to talk about—

“Lamb—“ Eskel starts, and his voice is too gentle and worried—

“I’m gonna go order a bath,” Lambert growls, heading to the door. “If you’re paying, then I’m taking advantage.”

He spends longer than necessary downstairs, lingering by the doorway and debating just taking off. But his bag is upstairs, and Eskel invited him to stay, and sleeping in a bed would be nice...

Fuck it.

The bath alone is worth going back up, and Eskel doesn’t try to bring up Lambert’s lie. Lambert slips into the water, avoiding Eskel’s gaze, and sighs with relief. They added some kind of salts to the water that loosen his muscles, and it smells of eucalyptus, and it’s hot. He relaxes for the first time in what feels like a month, and Eskel is sitting by the bed sharpening his steel sword…

It’s good, and Lambert tries to freezes the moment in his mind.

Gradually the water starts to cool and Eskel finishes his work. Lambert listens to the sounds of Eskel pulling off his armor, and he risks a peek over at Eskel from the corner of his eye—

Oh fuck. He’s down to just his braes, and he’s sitting on the bed like he’s going to sleep like that—

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked before, but this feels different for some reason. And Eskel’s shoulders are so broad, and strong, and Lambert bets it would feels nice to be pinned beneath all that naked bulk—

Lambert fumbles to stand. He should get out of here before this becomes embarrassing—

A soft towel smacks into Lambert’s face and he glares over at Eskel, hurrying to cover himself.

“Come on, Lamb. I’m exhausted and you look like you’re about to collapse,” Eskel says, gesturing to the tiny twin bed.

Well shit. Lambert makes a big show of sighing and grumbling, drying himself roughly and throwing on his sleep shirt and braes. He contemplates putting on another layer— the consequences of sleeping mostly naked next to a shirtless Eskel would be disastrous—

“Sleep,” Eskel growls, shifting further onto the mattress and gesturing Lambert closer. Lambert sighs loudly, slouching over to the bed and staring down, grumbling about the lack of space—

“If you’re really uncomfortable…” Eskel starts, and there’s that piercing, concerned look in his eyes again, and Lambert snarls at him, shoving at his huge shoulders and dropping down onto the bed. He turns his back to Eskel, fumbling with the sheets.

Eskel shifts over to give him more room and Lambert just…can’t get comfortable. Eskel’s heat behind him is just too tempting and he can’t relax. He keeps shifting— tugging at the warm sheets, tense and angry—

“Fuck it, I’ll just sleep on the floor—“ Lambert complains, sliding to the edge of the bed.

“Fucking ridiculous pup,” Eskel grumbles, and before Lambert can get away, Eskel wraps a strong arm around Lambert’s waist and twists. The world spins as Lambert flies through the air, landing on Eskel’s other side with a surprised ‘oof.’ He tries to keep the momentum going, hoping to spin Eskel over him and break free, but Eskel predicts his move and shifts over him, pinning him belly down to the bed.

An instinctive growl rumbles in his chest and he squirms beneath Eskel, trying to find leverage, but Eskel is so much heavier than him, and he has decades more experience than Lambert, and he trained Lambert—

Eskel’s full weight suddenly drops down onto him, pressing into him from shoulder to toe. Instinct takes over and Lambert presses back into him, wanting more of that touch—

Eskel freezes, breath hitching with shocked understanding.

Lambert’s stomach heats and he goes very, very still. Fuck. Fuck. He has really fucked up now—

Warm hands slide along Lambert’s sides, soothing, and breath shudders out of his lungs. Is this…?

Lambert’s heart leaps as soft lips ghost across the nape of his neck, gentle and sure and careful.

”Eskel…” Lambert breathes, tentative.

“Relax, pup,” Eskel rumbles, his voice calm and soft in Lambert’s ear. “Just rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

”Eskel—“

”Tomorrow, wolf,” Eskel murmurs. “It’s okay. Just sleep.”

And he presses his face against Lambert’s neck, sighing out a heavy breath as he relaxes down against Lambert’s back like he has all the time in the world— like he hasn’t just shifted their entire relationship with one gentle touch—

Lambert’s heart pounds hard for long moments, but Eskel just rubs his cheek along Lambert’s shoulder, humming softly until Lambert’s breathing settles.

His thoughts start to muddle, succumbing to Eskel’s protective, heavy strength across his back. Their breath slowly syncs up and Lambert drops down into sleep, content and safe.

Eskel wasn’t sure what startled him awake that night. Witchers were mutated to be the perfect hunters, perfect killers, so Lambet’s steps had been quiet down the hall. The door hadn’t been flung open in any sort of rage, his armor hadn’t been dropped to the floor - as a matter of fact it hadn’t been removed at all. All Eskel knew was that one moment, he was in a peaceful, dreamless sleep, and the next he was blinking blearily at the moonlight streaming in through the copious amount of holes in the ratty curtains that hung loosely in front of the inn room’s single window.

To most, he supposed, it might have been creepy to wake up to their traveling companion standing near the doorway, staring. But when Eskel noticed him he didn’t startle further, only gave him a once over, focusing on the black pits that were his eyes, the darkened veins crawling away from them on his pale face.

He was lost like this. Lost without knowing how to reach out, how to make that first step. Eskel only had to reach out his hand, and Lambert’s carefully kept calm face twisted into a growl as he lurched forward. He crossed the space between them in nothing but a heartbeat, teeth on Eskel’s skin as his hands roughly pushed him down - and Eskel let him. Let him straddle his hips and snarl at the shirt that was in his way as he nipped and bit down Eskel’s body.

Good thing Eskel wasn’t particularly attached to the shirt, because Lambert didn’t let it stay in his way. He pulled out a knife and cut it off of him, Eskel’s breath hitching with something other than fear as the cool metal touched his skin. But it didn’t cut him. No matter how frantic Lambert’s movements seemed, he was in control, and soon the knife was thrown down with a loud thud as it stuck into the wooden floor below.

Shirt out of the way, Lambert’s hands and teeth were on him. Eskel hissed when the biting got a bit too sharp, murmuring out a “careful, little Lamb” as Lambert bit down to his stomach. It earned him a snarl that would have sent a human running, but his next nip was more gentle than the last, and Eskel had never once feared the man who was now sucking marks into the soft folds of his stomach.

Lambert stayed there for a minute, hands kneading hungrily into his sides. Though Eskel wasn’t always a fan of rough treatment his cock still twitched in his smalls, swelling as Lambert bit lower and lower, one hand reaching down to rest on the back of Lambert’s head. Lambert’s fingers found the hem of his pants and they were soon jerked down his hips, Eskel lifting his hips up while Lambert hissed and tried to jerk them down further.

“Eager tonight, aren’t we?” Eskel chuckled at the dark look Lambert sent him. The next nip was hesitant, Lambert’s eyes never leaving Eskel’s, his mouth open and panting, fingers twitching and clenching arrythmacially against him.

With rough fingers, Eskel caressed down Lambert’s face, stroking his thumb on the black lines that streaked across his cheek. Lambert didn’t lean into the touch but his eyes fluttered ever so slightly.

“You’re alright, Lamb,” Eskel whispered, the night quiet around them, the air filled with the scent of them. “I’m good, you know I am. I’d let you know if I wanted to stop.”

Lambert’s teeth were back on him a moment later. Nipped past his hips, Eskel’s breath hitching as that hot mouth barely avoided his half hard cock, heading straight for his thighs. Lambert’s hands followed, one squeezing the thigh his mouth wasn’t on, fingers digging into the soft fat that covered the hardened muscles underneath.

It didn’t take long for Eskel’s cock to fully harden. His thighs had always been especially sensitive, and with Lambert sucking marks into him he found it hard to lay still. Lambert looked so good between his thighs, memories of all the times he’d sucked him off at the forefront of Eskel’s mind as his hand returned to the back of Lambert’s head, a low moan drawn out of him as Lambert continued to kiss and bite and lick every inch of his thigh that he could reach.

He looked hungry for it. A growl in the back of his throat, his eyes as ravenous as his lips and tongue and teeth. He switched to the other thigh to mark it as well, not sparing any touch to Eskel’s obvious erection, leaving Eskel swearing under his breath as he watched Lambert cover him in bite marks.

One of Lambert’s hands disappeared, shoved down as Lambert growled low in his throat again. That growl was cut off by a moan and Eskel gasped, knowing Lambert’s hand had wrapped around his cock. His fingers scratched for purchase in the short hairs at the back of Lambert’s head which only made Lambert moan louder, the sound pressed against the soft, sensitive skin of Eskel’s right inner thigh, to the stretch marks that veined across him there.

If Eskel had been human, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to hear the wet sound of Lambert’s fingers finding the tip of his cock, slicking in the precum that leaked out of it. But he could and he shuddered, breath catching, eyes shut tight as he listened to Lambert working himself over. His own stomach clenched at the sounds, tongue flicking out to wet his crooked lips as he followed Lambert’s movements with his ears alone. Knowing just how fast he was stripping his cock, how desperate he was, how wet he was - Lambert had always been a bit of a leaker and he was even moreso with the potions coursing through him.

Lambert hadn’t even touched him yet, and already Eskel found his toes curling, muscles tightening across his body as he tried to hold back. His cock was straining against his smalls, staining the material dark with precum, but Lambert’s teeth and tongue stayed on his thigh, mouthing and biting and sucking so close and yet miles away from Eskel wanted them.

It was the most torturous heaven, one that left Eskel suspended, so close to pleasure. And when Lambert finally nipped his way over to mouth at Eskel’s balls through the fabric of his smalls, it took no time at all for Eskel to fall. Cut loose from that suspension as he came with a low whine, one hand balled into the sheets and the other holding onto the back of Lambert’s head like a lifeline.

He wasn’t sure when Lambert came. Sometime after him and before his mouth became too hot, before the pleasure became too much and he was left gasping and writhing as it found the head of his cock. Lambert never stopped sucking at him after his mouth found him, but his movements became languid after a time, and eventually he got tired of Eskel’s smalls and yanked them down to kiss at his cock proper.

The overstimulation was almost too much, but Eskel knew Lambert was still grounding himself. Lambert licked him clean and Eskel did his best to not hiss at it, did his best to lay still. He licked all the way up to the still leaking head, savoring the heady taste of Eskel there, sucking it into his mouth and letting out a soft moan as it sat on his tongue.

Eventually, he sank down fully onto Eskel’s cock, holding it in his mouth while it softened. As his movements stilled eventually Eskel relaxed, sinking back into the pillows and sheets, eyes barely cracked open as he stared down at the man between his thighs.

His very bitten and bruised thighs. A low chuckle almost escaped him but he bit it back, though he was unable to help the crooked smile that sat soft on his lips. He reached down to stroke his thumb over the receding black lines at the corners of Lambert’s eyes, wrapping one of his legs around him to squeeze him close, making Lambert grunt but otherwise stay limp now that he’d gotten what he needed.

He wasn’t standing outside of Kaer Morhen, despite how he could smell the ashes and the fire. He was in a tavern room, of all places, where he’d been nestled up in bed just minutes before. Now, he was up, his hand on his chest and those other hands on his shoulders. Tugging him. Eskel followed the pull, letting himself be enveloped in arms that he knew, head pressed against a chest that he knew, because sleeping with a shirt on was just too hot.

“Eskel, the fuck’s wrong with you?” Lambert asked.

They left together from Kaer Morhen. Without Vesemir, there was no reason to stay there and no reason to care. So, they’d left. Together. Both of them. Eskel, with Lambert at his side, had traveled down the mountain pass on Scorpion’s back. In the wake of his dream, he hadn’t remembered. Now, he did, even with the scent of ash still fresh in his nose.

“Bad dream,” Eskel managed to choke out.

“Bad dream? The fuck, are you twelve?” Lambert cupped the side of Eskel’s face and titled up his head. “What kind of bad dream’s got you in this state? Can hear your heartbeat the next country over.”

Eskel shook his head and grasped onto Lambert’s chest. There was nothing to really grab, but he tangled his fingers in heavy covering of hair, and that was enough.

“You were dead,” Eskel said. “Wild Hunt. Died. Couldn’t—”

Eskel wouldn’t have even known if Lambert were dead, not until he would have seen the body later. Lambert was with Geralt out front, while Eskel was further back within the keep, waiting for the moment they had to pull back. They did have to, and Lambert was there, but if he hadn’t been, how long would it have taken Eskel to find out? He might have gone the whole fight without ever knowing if Lambert were alive or not, but that would have been the best way. If he knew Lambert had died, maybe he would have, too.

“Hey, hey, hey—” Lambert’s voice was softer, now, and he shifted to get closer to Eskel. “That’s what’s got you all shaken up? Come on, Eskel. Never seen you like this before.”

Eskel wanted to be mad, but he couldn’t bring himself to be. Neither could he bring himself to even say a word. With the things Lambert said, it sounded as if he didn’t think his own death would have been anything to get choked up over, and here Eskel was. He hadn’t ever felt like this before, either, but seeing that in his dream had been so real. Eskel thought he was passed everything that had ever bothered him, strong enough to fear nothing, but seeing Lambert’s body lying dead on a pyre had struck deep.

Now, it was all that he could do get to closer, to feel Lambert’s weak heart beating beneath his chest. With his ear pressed right over it, Eskel finally felt his own begin to slow. He was able to close his eyes, to breathe, and with that, Lambert only held him tighter.

“Talk to me, Eskel.” The way that Lambert said his name, too, so softly. It was the same voice he used when he wanted to make sure Eskel was okay.

“Just—felt real,” Eskel worked out. “Saw you there. Burned your body with Vesemir’s.”

“I’m right here,” Lambert said. “Not going anywhere. Not dead.”