“Really, Lambert,” Jaskier said, some of his drink sloshing over the edges of his tankard as he gestured with it. “Would it kill you to lighten up? To smile a little?”

Lambert glared at him, taking a long sip of his ale. “Yes.”

Eskel shook his head. Geralt scoffed and muttered something under his breath to Jaskier, who burst into giggles. Apparently even with the ale, Geralt was gone enough to forget that Lambert had a witcher’s hearing just as much as he did. Either that, or he just didn’t care if Lambert heard him.

“Lambert, Lambert, what a prick.”

If he heard that fucking limerick one more time--

Jaskier looked up at him and burst into a new bout of giggles. “Oh, dear, darling, I don’t think your brother likes your poetry very much. Now he’s even grumpier than before!”

Lambert sneered and turned away, busying himself with chugging what was left in his tankard, hoping it would finally bring him over the edge of just buzzed and at least into the tipsy category.

“You know,” Eskel said in a far too contemplative tone for a night of drinking, eyeing Lambert in a way he absolutely didn’t like, “there used to be a way we could always get him to smile.”

Lambert felt his scowl drop into a face of open shock. Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt was already starting to smirk. Eskel’s expression had yet to change, but he had started shifting closer to Lambert on the side of the table they shared.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” Lambert bit out, scooting backwards until he had no bench left to scoot backwards on.

“Do you remember, Geralt?” Eskel asked.

Geralt huffed. “Oh, I remember.”

“Should we give it a try?”

“No!” Lambert shouted, launching himself off the bench.

As usual, Lambert had forgotten how much sitting still made you feel less tipsy than you actually were. He stumbled back when he stood, tripping over his own feet as he tossed his empty tankard onto the table. In the time it took him to gather his bearings and catch himself from falling, Geralt and Eskel had already wobbled their way toward him, fully prepared to tackle.

“Not that this isn’t entertaining and all,” Jaskier called out from the table, craning his neck to get a better view, “but what, exactly, is going on here?”

“We’re going to tickle Lambert until he cries,” Geralt said.

Jaskier grinned. “Oh, carry on, then. I’m sure his smile is very handsome.”

Geralt frowned and turned around to face Jaskier. “Hey--”

Lambert, desperate for a way out of this, did a very stupid thing. With Eskel watching Geralt, waiting for him to be ready to lunge again, and Geralt watching Jaskier in offense, Lambert himself lunged for Geralt. He squeezed rapidly up and down Geralt’s sides, hoping to weaken Geralt enough to buy himself some time to get away. Geralt doubled over slightly and scrabbled at Lambert’s hands, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

Jaskier lit up. “Geralt, dear heart, I had no idea you were ticklish! Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Geralt didn’t answer his bard, he simply growled and whirled around fast enough that Lambert lost his grip. He barely had time to think shit, before he was tackled to the floor by both of his brothers. He’d missed his chance to run while Geralt was distracted, and now his fate was sealed.

Not that he necessarily hated the sort of playful bonding with his brothers, as much as he might put up fronts that he did. It was just embarrassing being pinned to the ground and tickled by your brothers, and mortifying to do so in the company of one of said brother’s possible lovers.

Lambert fought off their fingers as best he could, but when it came down to it, they had four hands to attack with, and he only had two with which to defend himself. Two hands that very quickly got pinned to the stone floor, leaving both Geralt and Eskel with one hand each to tickle him silly with. He almost wished he had kept his armor on, it would provide him with so much more protection than just his simple shirt and trousers. At least he’d kept his boots on, but feet were more Eskel’s weak point than his, anyway. And boots were easily removed, in any case, if the thought happened to occur to either of them.

Geralt and Eskel’s fingers were clumsy, courtesy of how much alcohol they had consumed, but unfortunately that did not make a very big difference in Lambert’s torture. He’d always been unfortunately ticklish, and the fumbling touch made him cackle just as much as their usual seeking fingers did. It didn’t help that they didn’t bother with any buildup, going straight for his lower ribs without any hesitation.

“Aww,” he heard Jaskier coo over his cackling laughter. “His smile is handsome!”

“I’ll kill you, bard!” Lambert roared, though he knew he probably looked as threatening as a wet kitten right now, all giggly and stupid.

Then Eskel’s fingers, even while drunk, managed to search out that horrible little spot on the front of his bottom ribs, and Lambert knew he wouldn’t be doing any more speaking for a while. Geralt chuckled over him.

“That’s what you get,” Geralt slurred – and how did he manage to get so drunk when Lambert was struggling to get tipsy?

Jaskier hummed playfully above the three of them. “Be careful, dear heart. You’re getting cocky.”

Eskel looked up with a grin. “We wouldn’t want that.”

For the first time in several minutes, Lambert could suck in a full breath as Eskel lunged for Geralt. He knew better than to lie there and recover, it would only further make him a target, so he quickly sat up and joined the fray again. After all, Geralt would want his own revenge on Eskel after this, and Lambert would be happy to dish out his own there, as well.

Lambert’s eyes flicked up to Jaskier while Geralt wheezed under their fingers. The bard looked far too proud of himself, smirking smugly and watching them with no small amount of glee in his eyes. Lambert narrowed his eyes at Jaskier.

“Careful,” Lambert said. “You’re getting cocky.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide at his own words being thrown back at him.