#lamskier

When 4pm finally rolls around, Jaskier all but jumps out of his chair, grabs his stuff without so much as a goodbye, and races down the stairs to find Lambert waiting for him. That wonderful, wonderful man with his ginormous coffee travel mug and a cinnamon roll the size of Jaskier’s fist, his arms opened wide in invitation that Jaskier only too gladly accepts. 

“I love you,“ he tells Lambert, pressing a kiss to his cheek. „I love you, I love you, I love you.“ 

Standing out here now, the sun on his face, breathing in Lambert’s familiar scent, all the tension falls from his shoulders. It almost leaves him feeling hollow, but he tries not to think about that too much.

“Just admit it, you love the coffee more,“ Lambert sighs as he presses the mug into Jaskier’s delighted hands. 

It is then that Jaskier realises he hasn’t eaten anything yet today, and that the dull ache just above his eyebrows might actually be caused by drinking too little. He’s not been great at taking care of himself between Essi’s broken heart, Yen’s latest mood swings, reminding Eskel of his worth and value, and just taking on everyone’s problems. He’s Jaskier, taking care of people is what he does. He shouldn’t complain that they love him, that they trust him enough with their deepest and darkest parts and value his input. 

And the tricky thing is, he does love being there for them. Loves being the person they confide hin, loves existing in other people’s lives as the one person who always has the right thing to say, who can always solve their problems. A bit of sunshine on an otherwise dreary day. 

But now the headaches are getting stronger, his anxiety is through the roof, he can barely focus on work, and even though there are so many things he wants to ask Lambert, wants to tell him, he finds that his throat is constricting. In fact, the very thought of talking to him makes his skin tingle again. 

“You okay?” Lambert asks, and Jaskier only nods as he sips his coffee. “Come here.” 

The words are gentle and Jaskier doesn’t even hesitate before he leans into Lambert’s chest, lets the other man’s arms close around him and his one wish of existing in his love’s arms with coffee and pastries comes true. A gentle kiss is pressed to his forehead, another to his temple, and Jaskier wants to cry. 

“Wanna go home?” Lambert asks, and Jaskier nods hesitantly. Not yet, he thinks. Let me have this first. 

Lambert hums and rubs his hands over Jaskier’s arms, replacing the tension there with warmth. 

“In a minute?”

He nods again, relieved that Lambert always, always understands him. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

No. Can’t talk. He shakes his head. 

“That’s fine,” Lambert promises. “Take your time. I’ve got you.” 

They stay like that for another ten minutes before Jaskier has finished the coffee and the cinnamon roll, and has breathed in enough of Lambert to feel like he can walk without tripping over the weight of everything that’s pulling him down. Lambert’s hand at the small of his back is his anchor, and Jaskier kisses him deeply before accepting the offered front seat in the car. 

He might be gruff, that love of his, but he never fails to hold open the car door for Jaskier, and it melts his heart every time. Even when they fight, even when one of them is pissed at the other, Lambert holds the door open until Jaskier is sitting comfortably. 

I love you, he would say if he had any words left. 

His phone vibrates. 

Jaskier wants to cry again. 

***

Lambert’s worried eyes rest on him heavily and Jaskier hates it. Doesn’t want to make him worry, doesn’t want to cause any distress. 

His phone vibrates again and he sees it’s a message from Essi, but before he can unlock his phone, Lambert snatches it from him. 

“You’re not here, Jask,” he says gently, holding onto the phone. “Is this what it’s about, what has you so completely exhausted that you’ve gone full nonverbal on me? Why you’re not eating, not sleeping?” 

There’s no judgment in his voice, no disdain, but the worry is so clear that Jaskier can’t stop his eyes from filling with tears. He looks away, holding out his hand for his phone but Lambert doesn’t relent. Instead, he ducks his head to meet Jaskier’s eye again. 

“You know you don’t owe anyone your time, right?” 

It stings. It stings because no, he doesn’t. 

“You don’t always have to be there for everyone, Jask.” 

That’s easy for him to say, though, because Lambert is only ever on his phone for Jaskier anyway, barely talks with his brothers about heavy topics because these three men have a different way of communicating that kind of stuff, and Lambert never has to navigate someone else’s bad days and relationship with themself. 

He frowns, demands his phone. This could be important, Essi could need him, Yen could be apologising, Eskel could be thought dumping on him about what it means to be aroace and Jaskier needs to be there to stop the self loathing before it can even start because in this world it is just way too easy to spiral out of control and he doesn’t want to be at fault, not when he could have stopped it, not when— 

“Hey, breathe,” comes Lambert’s voice through the haze of his mind, and before Jaskier realises what’s happening, he finds himself in Lambert’s lap on their couch, breathing through the tears and failing, failing, failing. “Come on, love, in and out. With me. You’ve got this, come on. In. Yes, like that. And out. Hold it for a second. And in again. Yes, you’re wonderful.” 

It helps. 

It’s good. 

Everything is fine. 

It helps. 

Until his phone vibrates again and Lambert growls, pulling Jaskier closer until his nose is tucked into the other man’s neck. 

“I’m going to text them, okay? Whoever it is, I’m gonna tell them that you need a break. And then I’m gonna draw you a bath, get that tension out of your shoulders. Make you eat. And we’re gonna snuggle up right here with Midnight in Paris, alright? Then, if you have words, you’re gonna tell me what’s weighing down that beautiful mind of yours, okay?” 

Jaskier only nods, wants to cry out in relief, wants to hide, to run, to not be so weak. Wants his skin to stop tingling, his lungs to stop aching, his mind to stop racing. He wants a world where there is only himself and Lambert and everyone’s problems disappear until Jaskier has learned to breathe again. 

“I love you,” Lambert tells him then, fingers running through his hair, massaging his scalp until Jaskier feels like all that’s left of him is a puddle. “You get to take breaks. You’re too good for the world, man. I don’t know how you do it. You’re, like. The best person I know. The best. Because you care so much, because you always want to help, because you’re just… You. But you gotta believe me when I say that more often than you think, being you is already enough. You don’t gotta be everyone’s therapist, everyone’s saviour, everyone’s emergency contact. Hell, you don’t even gotta be everyone’s friend! You just gotta be Jaskier. My Jask. That’s more than enough. And if the world complains about it, I’m just gonna punch it in the face.” 

That last part is said with an audible grin, and Jaskier sobs, laughs, doesn’t even fucking know what he’s feeling anymore. 

But when he finally stills, when his mind feels empty like his tears have washed away every single thought, he reaches for Lambert’s hand and joins their fingers. Not a second later, Lambert raises their joined hands to his lips and presses one, two, three kisses to his knuckles. 

“You back with me?” 

Jaskier shakes his head, just to be difficult, and Lambert chuckles. 

“Yeah, you’re back alright. Come on, let’s get you into the tub, yeah?” 

He doesn’t budge an inch, but that has never stopped his boyfriend who unceremoniously gets up from the couch with Jaskier still clinging to him as though he wears nothing. Stupid muscly mechanic that can carry him around however he pleases. He loves him so much. Still, he punches him in the chest and revels in the laugh he gets for it. 

In the bath, there is no phone to vibrate, no call to answer, no email to read. There are not expectations. Only Lambert with his wonderful hands, and Jaskier leans back and closes his eyes. 

“That’s it,” his love rumbles behind him. “Just relax, baby, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier hums and believes it. Thinks of otters in stupid hats, thinks of car doors, of Lambert threatening to punch the world in the face if it won’t let Jaskier believe that he is enough. He thinks of coffee with too much sugar in it, just the way Jaskier needs it. Thinks of leftover lasagna and cuddles on the couch. 

They all ask about the scars- most anyone who saw them did. There's a reason Jaskier likes to be on top, likes to have lovers crawl up between his legs, isn't caught unaware on his back. The Witchers ask with a bit more tact than most curious lovers, in a way. 

Geralt saw them when they were washing "all our fucking clothes" in the Solveiga. It was their last chance for plentiful and clean water before they scaled one of the Fiery Mountains (the first time both had been so far from home, neither could name the peaks they scaled) in search of a stranded desperate basilisk. Jaskier weighed the consequences of insisting on wearing his small clothes versus Geralt's exasperation and having to possibly wear crunchy linen a week from then when he was also miserable from the hot and the dry-

well. 

After all their clothes have been scrubbed and scoured and hung over branches and Jaskier is primly nestled on Roach's saddle blanket and asking about the properties of blowball as a reagent and stretching to see if he can still press his palms flat on his toes, and it only took those two seconds for Jaskier to feel the weight of Geralt's gaze slide over the zig-zagging red knotty flesh across his thighs that was looking so much better after years of salves and oils.

He couldn't even be that mad at Geralt: spotting flashes of color and movement constantly saved his life. 

It was hours later, fully clothed again and unstringing his lute, that Geralt poked at the fire and asked how long Jaskier had been following him.

Jaskier hid his smile into her luscious pegbox, "Our fourth anniversary is in twelve days," he teasingly arched out a leg and unhooked a string from a peg, "a full fortnight into Blathe. I couldn't have guessed you'd come from my jumping-wish."

Geralt was silent and Jaskier coiled the string into a bag; he looked across the fire and saw Geralt's narrowed eyes, his grip on the stick white knuckled and Jaskier wondered if a lesser man would shake, "They would've been fresh when you followed me."

Jaskier pressed his lips together, searching Geralt's eyes which are mysteriously full of a strange untapped old rage that Jaskier cannot yet name. "Not so fresh," he said cautiously, picking his words carefully, "I was young and jumping over fires- I think that's well enough to follow a witcher."

Geralt's brow eased, softening with something Jaskier thinks is affection, "It's not. But you were."

.

Lambert is as Lambert does. He pounced between Jaskier's legs and was nosing behind his knees, eyes closed and moaning into the soft flesh. And his fingers really started digging into his thighs and when he looked down, saw the soft messy cords, there's no hesitation before he locked their fingers together (Jaskier's knees still on his shoulders) and asked, "who did this to you?"

Which is so utterly endearing and so Lambert that that almost makes Jaskier cry which only tightens Lambert's grip and the witcher is reassuringly nosing at the soft parts of his belly which is so stupid sweet-

Jaskier supposed there was a reason they were called the wolves of Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier rubbed their knuckles into Lambert's scalp, "does it make it better if I tell you they're dead?" he mused.

It must, for Lambert gave him a feral grin and rumbled into his thighs.

.

Eskel didn't ask. 

Not with words. 

He didn't even blink when he saw them the first time, merely kept mouthing his way up Jaskier's calves.

He doesn't pay them any special attention until Eskel was passing through Skellige and Jaskier was trying to charm his way into a Jarl's library and the witcher's approval was enough for Jaskier to scour the library with Eskel's chaperonage. Jaskier would have felt awful holding Eskel back, but the thunderous storm outside promised days of rain and lightning that he'd rather not subject Scorpion to (never mind that Eskel was the one who told him of the obscure tome). 

It should have been a wonderful night to sleep: the stone walls of the castle keeping out the rain and letting the deep drumming sound lull the keep into rest. 

But the swells of a true Skelligan squall are still enough to cause the scars to swell and burn after all these years, even as they've mostly faded to glossy pale stripes. The ache was bearable, but made him restless. Made him want to scrub at them until the sharp pain glossed over the deep ache or he tore the flesh away entirely.

Pressed up behind him, tip to toe, Eskel's lips brushed his hair, "I can feel them, like fire," he gently kissed Jaskier's ear, "it's a nice change for you to be the warm one, but if they're causing you pain- I could help."

In the darkness, it was easy for Jaskier to nod and Eskel gently guided his limbs until Jaskier was curved away from him and he carefully traced his fingers up and down Jaskier's flanks. After a minute, when the rhythmic touch melted Jaskier, he felt Eskel's hands change-

well, change wasn't the right word.

Eskel's hands felt the same as always- smoothly calloused and firm and gentle and familiar- but Jaskier felt something immaterial begin to hum along his hands. Dimly, Jaskier recalled Geralt having a weird rant about Eskel's strength with signs and his "literally magic hands" (well, if the shoe fits); all thoughts left his head entirely when Eskel's fingers started to knead into the scars, dissipating anything in the world besides the absolute relief he feels when the feverish skin starts to drain and mellow and calm and Gods he couldn't love Eskel anymore than this.

The tears came quietly, soft little shuddering breaths, and felt good and he shook his head when Eskel asked, "too much?"

The words drained out too- unbidden and raw, they dripped from Jaskier's lips.

"My family sent me away," Eskel's hand didn't slip, but soothing curls started to pepper the rhythmic pressing, "you've seen my ring, well-" Jaskier let the thick sob out with his breath, "Redanians don't kill bad heirs. They train them for battle."

Eskel pressed soft open mouthed kisses down his spine; in the darkness it's easier to tell Eskel about the temple school and the garrison, about other weak and disfigured and soft heirs sent to die from exhaustion or wanting, about those who made it through their military career unable to rule or sire an heir of their own. The magic eases from Eskel's hands when they're tightly coiled together and Jaskier learns of Deidre.

After the shuddering calms, they slept through the night and into the morning. The storm still raged and the castle was quiet and slumbering. Eskel brought warm chicory to bed and told Jaskier of the Trials. 

Gods he couldn't love Eskel anymore than this.

.

A/N- Encouragement and kind words will always make me more excited to write stuff <3 and feel free to dash off a message to me! I haven’t really made any friends in the fandom yet :3c

Thanks for reading, friends!

Rough and tumble ragged drafts on tumblr here: actual fic varieties of exile

“It’ll be dinner time soon.” Geralt’s voice is low, comforting, and clear. His head is set just behind Jaskier’s on the pillows.

Jaskier rubs his socked foot up and down the witcher’s calf in acknowledgement and a burst of affection, then hums. “Mm. Yeah. Last night Lambert said it was your turn to cook?”

His boyfriend hums back at him in response. Jaskier presses his face into the pillow to smother a smile. “I only have to cook vegetables on the stove. Won’t take me very long.”

Jaskier giggles, the sound too loud to be covered by the pillow. He takes his face out of the fabric, since Geralt is aware of his joy now anyway. “You don’t have to get out of bed yet, you mean.”

A low, rumbling laugh intertwines with the remainders of Jaskier’s as Geralt nuzzles his nose into the hair behind Jaskier’s ear. He whispers, teasingly and pleased, “We don’t.”

They’re quiet for a long moment. The only sounds around them are the rush of the winter winds against the keep’s stone walls, the crackle of the fireplace across the room, and their soft, calm inhales.

Geralt breaks the silence with his lovely voice, still sleep-rough even though they’ve been up for hours. “I’m glad that you two… have what you have.”

“Me and Lambert?” Jaskier clarifies, even though he knows what Geralt means anyway.

Geralt hums in lieu of a verbal answer. Jaskier laughs again, unable to catch it in time to smother it like he did before. Geralt shoves his knee into the back of Jaskier’s in reprimand, but Jaskier knows he isn’t actually angry. Can feel his joy floating in the air around them.

“Yes,” Geralt says. “It’s… I like to see you two bonding, or spend time together or whatever you get up to. It’s comforting to know that because of your… relationship,” Geralt stumbles over what to call them and it makes Jaskier smile, if only because he and Lambert struggle to define it in the same way. “Lambert finally has someone he can trust who isn’t just one of us. You’re good for him.”

Warmth curls in Jaskier’s chest and suffuses his body in happiness, tingling under his skin. He sighs, pleased, and allows the relaxation to spread through his entire being. “I’m glad.” He snuggles deeper into Geralt. “He’s good for me too, you know. It’s not a one-way street.”

“Good.”

Geralt’s hand slips up his side, along his bicep, over his jaw, and hooks on his chin, tilting Jaskier’s face toward him. Jaskier shivers pleasantly and leans into the touch, craning his neck so that he can kiss Geralt while they stay close, still spooning. His witcher’s lips are warm and gentle, and he kisses Jaskier as he always does: sweet and slow and oh-so passionate.

The door creaks open.

“Fuck, you two are busy.” It’s Lambert. Jaskier pulls away from Geralt’s lips and turns forward to find his best friend hanging awkwardly in their door frame, one hand still gripped tight around the door handle and a nervous look on his face. Jaskier’s chest aches at the sight. “I’m sorry, I can leave—”

read the rest on ao3!

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine at the sound of Lambert’s deep chuckle, “Almost there.” Lambert made quick work of the door and Lambert was bounding up the stairs two at a time as Jaskier clung to him. Jaskier squeaked as Lambert tossed him onto his bed. He had very little time to take in his surroundings before his attention was directed to Lambert removing his shirt and crawling onto the bed after him.

Jaskier swore as he licked his lips, and worked on prying off his own clothes, starting with his annoyingly tight trousers. Lambert watched as he removed his own jeans at a teasingly slow pace. Jaskier kicked his pants off, flinging them to the floor, his erection tenting his boxer briefs. He huffed at Lambert to pick up the pace, “I don’t… I don’t want to go first.” 

Jaskier could feel his face warming as Lambert gazed at him. He chewed his bottom lip nervously. A brief moment of seriousness passed over Lambert as he kissed Jaskier’s anxiety away. He ran his hand along Jaskier’s thigh soothingly and nodded, “I’ll get completely naked first, but just know, I’m going to like whatever I see.”

Jaskier nodded, and felt a bit better as he watched Lambert finish undressing. His eyes ran down his chiseled abs, following the defined ‘V’ that directed perfectly to the unveiling of his groin. Lambert got off the bed for a moment to pull the rest of his clothes off. Jaskier took a sharp intake of breath as he watched Lambert’s erect cock spring free. 

“It’s perfect,” Jaskier sighed happily. His face immediately reddened as he realized what he said. He groaned as he covered his face and flopped back onto the mattress, “Oh Melitele, just kill me now.”

Lambert chuckled as he climbed back onto the bed, “Ask her later, I’d much rather have sex with you if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier squeaked as Lambert was suddenly on top of him and kissing him again. He mumbled against his lips, “Alright… I guess I can delay my death by embarrassment a bit.”

“Good,” Lambert smirked. He hooked a finger over the top of Jaskier’s boxer briefs, “Ready for these to come off or do you want to get rid of your shirt first?”

Jaskier swore when he realized he had forgotten to remove his shirt. He quickly undid the buttons, almost ready to rip his shirt off with how long it was taking. “I’m usually better at this, I promise. You just… I get so flustered around you.”

Lambert hummed as he watched Jaskier throw his shirt across the room, “I know what you mean.” He snaked a hand behind Jaskier’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. “You make me feel the same way.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Lambert’s neck as they laid back onto the bed. The urgency from earlier had died down, but the heat was still there as Lambert thoroughly fucked his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier gasped for breath when they finally broke the kiss. He whined with need as he rocked his hips up against Lambert’s, “I find that hard to believe…”

Lambert swore, digging his fingers into Jaskier’s hip as he returned the friction, “Fuck… believe it. You can ask Aiden. I was a mess when I saw you at the bar.”

A pink blush tinted Jaskier’s cheeks as his too perfect blue eyes gazed up at Lambert. He bit his lip nervously, “Really?”

Lambert smiled as he brushed some strands of hair out of Jaskier’s face and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Really,” he breathed, “I wanted to drag you into the bathroom and fuck you over the sink.” He kissed Jaskier again, biting and pulling at his lower lip as he did so.

“Fuck… Lambert,” Jaskier keened. He tangled his fingers through Lambert’s curls and wondered why it had taken him so long to do it. “I need you to fuck me.”

Lambert grinned and reached into the nearby nightstand, “I can do that.” He pulled out a couple condoms and some lube. He snapped the waistband of Jaskier’s underwear eliciting a squeak from the younger man. “You’re going to have to remove these before I can,” he grinned.

Jaskier accidentally pulled Lambert’s hair in his nervousness, earning him a groan. “Sorry...” Jaskier mumbled, “can you do it?”

Lambert nodded as he gently ran his hand along Jaskier’s torso, “I can… but we can stop, if you don’t want to continue. It’s not too late. Never in fact. We could be mid-thrust and if you say stop, we stop. Are you sure you want to continue?”

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier never felt more turned on in his entire life, “I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone more than you right now. Yes, please remove my underwear and fuck me thoroughly into this mattress.”

Lambert squeezed Jaskier’s hip as he swore under his breath, “Alright, but remember--”

Jaskier smiled as he kissed him, “Yes, I know. I promise I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

Lambert kissed him back as he slipped off his boxer briefs. They continued to kiss as Lambert reached his hand between them and gave Jaskier’s member a few strokes. Jaskier jerked his hips up into the touch as he gasped against his lips. Lambert hummed as he moved to kiss against Jaskier’s neck, “Fuck Jask… you fit so fucking perfect in my hand.”

Jaskier tossed his head back with a groan, “If that’s ah! If that’s a polite way of saying my-- fuck! dick is small…”

Lambert shook his head as he spread Jaskier’s legs and moved his hand down to palm at his ball sack, “I mean it Jaskier, everything about you… you feel so perfect against me.” He positioned his cock between Jaskier’s cheeks and slid his shaft along the cleft. “It’s like you were made for me.”

“Melitel’s fucking tits… please get your fat cock in me now,” Jaskier panted. He gripped his ass cheeks and spread them as he widened his legs farther for Lambert. Lambert almost blew his load right there, seeing Jaskier present himself like that. He quickly opened the bottle of lubricant and poured it generously over his fingers.

Jaskier tilted his hips into the touch as Lambert pressed the first finger against his entrance. He gasped as he felt his finger penetrate him. Lambert slowly pistoned in and out. Jaskier shifted impatiently as the friction soon wasn’t enough. “Another, please,” Jaskier whined.

Lambert laughed and Jaskier didn’t think he could find someone’s laugh to be so attractive, yet here he was feeling waves of heated pleasure wash over him. “I should have known you were an impatient one,” Lambert smirked as he inserted another finger alongside the first.

Jaskier pouted, but it was quickly wiped away as Lambert brushed against his prostate. Jaskier’s body jolted away from the mattress, “Lambert…! Oh fuck, you fucking tease!”

“I’m the tease?” Lambert growled low, “Who came to my class practically begging to be taken in front of all my students?” He crooked his finger more firmly against the sweet spot in Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s cock spurted precum as he bucked against him,”Fuck-- You thought that was begging? I’ll show you begging. Please Professor Lambert, fill me to the brim with your thick dick. Pump me full of your hot creamy cum so I’ll feel it dripping down my thighs for days afterward.”

Lambert growled as he spread his fingers, stretching Jaskier open. “Fuck Jask, if that’s what you want I’ll gladly give it to you.”

“Promises, promises,” Jaskier moaned as he moved his hips to thrust Lambert’s fingers deeper.

Lambert gripped Jaskier’s hip with his other hand to still him. He nipped at Jaskier’s neck, “Prep first.”

“Boo,” Jaskier pouted but was then cut off by a moan as Lambert started in with three fingers, opening him wider. He spread more lubricant inside Jaskier. Jaskier groaned as Lambert continued to stretch him open, massaging his insides.

“Almost done,” Lambert murmured against Jaskier’s skin as he placed kisses along his neck. 

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed as Lambert’s fingers grazed tauntingly against his prostate. “Bastard,” he swore.

Lambert’s laugh rumbled in his chest, the vibration sending a shiver over Jaskier, “You ready for my thick dick?”

Jaskier lifted his head and watched as Lambert opened a condom with his teeth, sliding it carefully over his hardened member. “Please Professor Lambert, teach me about the birds and the bees,” Jaskier smirked as he tilted his hips toward him.

Lambert had to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from blowing his load. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me…” Lambert growled. Jaskier wiggled in excitement as Lambert pressed his cock head against his entrance. Jaskier gasped as Lambert pushed past the tight ring of muscle. 

He moaned as Lambert continued to slide further in. Lambert rubbed a hand soothingly along Jaskier’s thigh as he paused to give him time to adjust, “Good?”

Jaskier nodded his head, breathing out a reply, “Yes, more, please…”

Lambert chuckled, “Sure thing, I got some left to give.” 

Jaskier gripped the sheets, his hips rolling up to meet Lambert’s as he sank deeper. When he was fully sheathed in Jaskier, the latter moaned, “Fuck… so fucking full…”

Lambert swore as he felt Jaskier clench around him, “Still okay?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Jaskier breathed, “move, please…”

Lambert complied, rolling his hips slow and steady, drawing moans out of Jaskier with each thrust. “You feel so fucking good around my cock…” Lambert groaned.

Jaskier’s head tilted back onto the mattress as pleasure shivered along his spine, exposing his neck. Lambert couldn’t help but lean down and suck bruises into the pale column of skin. 

Jaskier’s fingers tangled in Lambert’s curls. He praised and cursed Lambert’s name as he was taken closer to the edge. Lambert grunted as Jaskier pulling his hair sent pleasure-pain zipping down his back. “So good for me,” Lambert praised as he angled his hips, seeking a better position to pound into Jaskier’s prostate.

He knew he found it when Jaskier tightened his grip in his hair, his head falling back as he cried out with each thrust against the tender bundle of nerves. “Ah, ah, ah! Yes! There! Fuck!”

Lambert growled, spurred on by Jaskier’s sweet moans, and slammed his hips harder into Jaskier. The lurid sound of skin slapping skin mixing with Jaskier’s wanton cries of pleasure sent Lambert closer to the edge. He gripped Jaskier’s cock, and stroked quickly in time with his thrusts. 

“Lambert! I’m-fuck--!” Jaskier’s voice broke as his cock jerked in Lambert’s grip, his hot semen spilling over his hand and Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier clenched around Lambert, his thrusts stuttering as he drew close to his own release. A few more thrusts and he was spilling into the condom.

Lambert panted, resting for a moment before he carefully pulled out of Jaskier, removing and disposing of the condom. He grabbed a towel and gently wiped the mess from Jaskier. Jaskier mumbled a thanks as he attempted to sit up and grab his clothes.

He squeaked in surprise as a shirt was tossed in his face. His brows furrowed as he examined the piece of clothing, “This isn’t mine.”

Lambert scoffed, “Yeah, no shit. I doubt it would be comfortable sleeping in your tight fitting clothes. You can borrow that.”

Jaskier blushed as he held the shirt tightly to his chest, “You want… I can… you’re not asking me to leave?”

Lambert pulled a threadbare t-shirt over his own head, one he most likely only wore to bed since Jaskier hadn’t ever seen him in anything remotely shabby before. Lambert huffed as he crawled under the covers, “Of course not. You are more than welcome to spend the night… unless you don’t want to? I can call you an uber or something.”

Jaskier quickly shook his head and pulled on the shirt. He dove under the blankets, as if afraid Lambert would change his mind, and cuddled close, pressing against his chest, “No, this is fantastic.”

Lambert chuckled and wrapped an arm around Jaskier, pulling him closer. He nuzzled his nose into the hair on the top of Jaskier’s head before planting a kiss there, “Night, Troublemaker.”