“Why are you so interested in my sex life?”

“More like utter lack!” Lambert stands, taking the removed pelt and rolling it up. “Because watching the two of you is actually painful.”

“Don’t look then!” Seems an obvious solution to Geralt, but then he’s always been better than Lambert at minding his own fucking business.

“What’s stopping you, seriously?” Lambert shakes his head as he drops back to his knees beside Geralt. “You’re not even denying it, I mean–”

“Lambert, I swear to the gods.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. Shit with Jaskier is strained enough without adding sex into the mix. He takes a few deep breaths before pushing himself to his feet, collecting the bulk of the meat. “I told you: it’s complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.” Lambert scrambles to his feet with the rest of the meat in one hand and the pelt tucked under his other arm. “Don’t you ever have fun?”

“Plenty,” Geralt says flatly, “just not when you’re around.” With a small smile, he shoves Lambert’s shoulder, causing him to stumble.

When he catches his feet again, the redhead trots ahead and then turns to walk backward. “Seriously, though. Do we need to hire a surgeon to remove the stick from your ass? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve always been a cantankerous bastard–”

“Fuck, Lambert, what do you want from me?” he snaps.

Rolling his eyes, the younger witcher falls back into step with him. “I want you to chill the fuck out,” he says lightly, “and I thought having him here was doing that, until it wasn’t anymore.”

Geralt grunts his annoyance, hoping from Lambert’s subdued tone that he’s done with this little crusade. Unfortunately, hope is a fool’s comfort, and his little brother has more to say yet.

“It was funny at first. It’s getting less entertaining every day.” Lambert lets out a breath through his nose that almost sounds like a laugh. “Look, that little loudmouthed freak is obviously good for you, and he’s clearly just waiting for the green light.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Geralt says tightly, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Lambert does laugh now, short and derisive. “Well that’s rich, coming from the king of ignoring feelings.”

Geralt lets out a warning growl as they pass through the gates back into the courtyard.

“It’s actually kind of insane,” the redhead carries on, either oblivious to or encouraged by Geralt’s quickly mounting irritation, “that you’ve slept side by side on the road for years, and now have shared quarters for quite some time, and you still haven’t hit–”

Before he can finish whatever undoubtedly vulgar thing he was about to say, Geralt lets out a snarl and swings. Maybe he was goading, because Lambert ducks the strike as though he’d been prepared, but the smug look on his face when he pops up only fuels the fire. Dropping the meat in the snow, Lambert tackles him and the two tussle in the snow until Geralt has him in a headlock and the younger witcher taps out on his forearm.

Someone tagged this image from the comment section and I found it funny and very accurate.

To be very honest, I prefer my Jaskier beefy (because, let's be real, he is), but I have to admit I often twinkify the bard just for the sake of this dynamic. Idk sue me.