Chapter Text
Lambert and Eskel had settled in a familiar, comfortable pattern over the last two winters. In the first weeks, they’d danced around this budding something between them. A drunken confession and an aggressive smashing of mouths, teeth clashing, a lip splitting, then it had melted into something tender enough to make the back of Eskel’s eyes burn.
The vibrating ball of tension and anger unfurled in his arms as their kiss softened, like a flower opening its petals to the sun, and it rendered him breathless and imbecilic, unable to coordinate thought or movement as the gravity of the moment pressed down on him. They’d fumbled with straps, and buckles, and ties, until their clothes half tore off, and they flopped into bed together.
When Eskel gasped, “how long?” into the side of Lambert’s jaw, he’d expected a few months, perhaps a year at the most. Not the groaned, “forever,” that spilt out of parted lips. It added a certain weight to the whole thing. Neither of them wanted to fuck it up, and so it took time and patience to find a framework on which their relationship could grow. It was best not to evaluate it too closely because it looked remarkably like their old relationship model, but with a bolt-on for marathon sex during the winter.
Lambert was demanding. Foreplay wasn’t a word that had featured in his vocabulary, and only once he was completely wrecked, his hair stuck to his forehead, his body quivering, was he feeble enough to allow himself to be held. It was a conversation Eskel wanted to have, but he wasn’t sure how to start it. Somehow, “hey, Lambert, let me worship every inch of you,” felt a bit too dramatic. Lambert would tease him. Call him a soft touch, and then demand to suck his cock with all the airs of someone who would stamp their fucking foot if pushed too far.
It didn’t stop Eskel from thinking about it. That moment of vulnerability, of complete and utter surrender, had never happened again. Eskel had never felt that surge of protectiveness; the warm ebb of primal need that made him want to clutch Lambert tight to his chest and snarl at anyone that came near. It was hard to describe. Hard to identify. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t ask for it. He just didn’t have the words.
“Well, fuck, old man,” Lambert sighed, throwing his cards down. “You’re losing your touch.” Crushing Traps and Lacerate had completely decimated Eskel’s play, and Lambert left him with nothing more than a few useless weather cards and an infantryman who gazed pitifully out of his frame. The corners were dog-eared and bent, the colour somewhat faded. “Concede?”
“Yeah,” Eskel grunted, casting his hand aside with a huff. “My mind wasn’t in it.”
“I almost feel bad for taking your money." Lambert smirked, sweeping the side of his hand across the table to scoop his winnings towards him. “Almost.”
They drank a little longer. Lambert’s moonshine created a well of pleasant heat in the pits of their stomach that did more than the nearby fire in keeping them warm. Eventually, though, the chill of the winds and the frosted windows chased them upstairs. Last winter, Lambert had moved into Eskel’s room. His was empty, devoid of character, and Vesemir was pretty sure the ceiling would cave in at some point without some maintenance, which they couldn’t really afford. It wasn’t worth repairing anyway because, “you spend all your time in his bed,” said with a flick of the chin at Eskel. Lambert conceded the old man’s point only because Eskel was standing nearby in rolled shirtsleeves; ties open down his chest. Why waste energy on an argument when he could be riding all of that into the sunset?
They moved Lambert’s meagre belongings in together. Eskel was sure to give Lambert his chest and drawers, leaving him to sort through himself when he’d been snapped at for the third time. Everything had its place. As chaotic and fierce as Lambert was in person, the rest of his life was meticulous and organised. Potions, clothes, weapons, and journals were all kept ordered and neat. Boys who had run around in the dirt without shoes grew into men that valued their belongings.
The room was still cold and Eskel saw to the fire as Lambert stripped off. He heaped the logs behind the grate and stacked more nearby for later, before lighting it with a powerful flare of igni. It would take a while for the room to heat up, even with thick curtains draped over the windows and piles of soft furs and linens on the bed. Kaer Morhen had never been a bastion of comfort, but now she was decrepit and crumbling, it was almost like she’d become even more inhospitable out of spite.
With the fire high and crackling away merrily, Eskel’s next duty was to warm Lambert. His circulation was truly dire for a witcher; his hands, his feet, all would chill quickly outside his heavy boots and thick leather gloves. Even after sex, his feet were always colder than the rest of him, and Eskel weathered the press of cold toes against his calves to provide that small relief. They warmed eventually, and Lambert always relaxed quickly as glorious body heat hummed through him.
Shrugging out of his gambeson, Eskel kicked his own boots off and turned back into the room. Lambert had stripped down completely and then donned one of his thicker nightshirts, a familiar sight. The socks in his hands, however, were new.
Eskel squinted. No. Not new. They were slightly tattered, a little frayed around the edges, and repaired in several places. Their outer layer was made of vibrant red wool, and Eskel could see fleece fabric on the inside when Lambert turned down the top. If they were on, they’d reach to his thighs, perhaps a little bit past. They’d frame his calves perfectly, be soft against the tender skin just above the inside of his knee that Eskel longed to spend time kissing, licking. The thought of it, the divine image of it, manifested in his head. Of Lambert in his long socks, his soft nightshirt and bed ruffled hair, quiet and demure in the furs. Eskel felt the pressure build in his groin, his mouth wetter than usual.
“What’re you staring at?”
Eskel blinked, gaze lifting from the socks to Lambert’s raised eyebrow. “Just… uh, you gonna put them on?” The question tripped out, and Lambert looked briefly nonplussed. He hadn’t realised the socks would be on Eskel’s radar and now tried to shove them back into the drawer. Eskel moved towards him. “No, no, wait.”
“You don’t wear socks when you have sex, Eskel,” Lambert growled, fingers curling defensively towards his palms. “That’s bedroom etiquette one-oh-one.” But he wanted to wear them. Eskel could tell by the way his brow set and his gaze drifted, even if his freezing toes hadn’t curled slightly against the unforgiving stone floor.
“Your feet are always cold.” Eskel pointed at them as if Lambert didn’t feel every needle of chill that wormed its way underneath his skin. “You should wear 'em.”
“I’m not some dainty damsel.” Lambert scowled irritably, but his hand hadn’t left the drawer. He was lodged between wanting to concede and—oh, of course. It was the 'concede or fight on' part that he was struggling with. A pattern of behaviour so hardwired into his mind that he couldn’t shake it, not even when it was just them. There was no one to fight, no one to posture before, but still, Lambert nurtured a stubborn measure of detachment.
Eskel tempered the stab of hurt with realistic expectations. They were both still learning and still building. Lambert’s defensiveness; his careful maintenance of a masculine, aggressive persona, was a defence mechanism. It took time to pry open such a heavily fortified heart. Eskel was a patient man, and he’d already quietly, privately, committed to Lambert even if the promise itself was still wholly in his heart, unsaid.
Lambert had been caught in a moment of perceived vulnerability. He worried about looking foolish in front of Eskel, a man he revered, so Eskel had to make sure they gave even ground. Every step they took in their budding relationship, they took together.
“I…” Eskel swallowed, the flush rising up his neck, “I find 'em, uh… I like them.”
“You… like them,” Lambert repeated, eyes narrowed. Still suspicious.
“I have a thing for nice legs and, um, apparently nice legs in socks is… a good thought.” Eskel pressed the heel of his hand against the growing bulge of his codpiece pointedly, and Lambert’s attention dropped for the first time. His mouth formed into an ‘o’ of realisation, and a short pause followed as Lambert’s mind went through its silent negotiations. One vulnerability in exchange for another.
Lambert snorted. “They’re not stockings. I’d understand if they were lacy and kinky, but…”
“It’s not that, it’s, uh—” Eskel hesitated, before heaving a resigned sigh. The easiest way to coax Lambert to him was honesty. It had worked that way in the past, so it’d be foolish to change tac now. “Thought of you bein' all cosy, relaxed while I—uh, while I fuck you. It,” he grabbed his crotch, fingers squeezing around the hard line of his cock again because solid proof was the only way to convince Lambert of anything, “gets me goin'.”
“You’re a filthy old git,” Lambert said, breaking into a wide, lopsided grin. Despite his carefully maintained a veneer of casual indifference, Lambert liked that he was wanted. Lusted over, even. He would sooner cut out his right eye than admit that someone else’s opinion mattered. But it was Eskel. And Eskel mattered. “You’re not coming on them. I’ve only got two pairs, and they take ages to dry.”
“No cum,” Eskel swept his hand for emphasis, “I’ll contain myself.”
Lambert’s fingers tapped on the edge of the drawer as he established a one-sided concession hadn’t been made. Eskel fought his smile as the socks reappeared again, chewing on his lower lip as Lambert moved towards the bed. Another need—intense and hot—sprung unbidden from the back of his mind. “Can I—?” He stepped forward and then caught himself.
Lambert glanced up as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Can you what?”
“Can I put them on?”
“Thought the point was that I put them on.”
“No, I—” Eskel huffed and then rolled his eyes at the mischievous smirk beamed in his direction, “stop being a dick. On you. Can I put them on you?”
Lambert didn’t bother asking why. He already knew the answer would be, “I have no fucking idea,” from the size of Eskel’s pupils and the way his lips parted just so. His prick stirred, plumping slightly beneath the hem of his shirt, but he hid it behind a carefully curated sniff of nonchalance. “Yeah, sure, whatever. C’mon then, before my toes start dropping off.”
Eskel stepped up to the bed and sank slowly to his knees. It put him at eye level with Lambert’s cock, already hot and heavy against his thigh, and he leaned forward to place a kiss on the inside of Lambert’s knee inches below it. Eskel lingered there, his fingers stroking down Lambert’s twitching calf, and breathed in the scent of soap, clean laundry and the salty tang of arousal.
He swallowed the urge to speak. He’d learned the hard way that Lambert found gently whispered adoration difficult in the early stages of their lovemaking. His mind was still clear, not yet inured in a haze of pleasure where it could easily accept that it was cherished and adored. Once the sharp edges of the world had softened thanks to the brush of Eskel’s hands and lips, then Eskel could tell Lambert just how much he was loved, without the awkward twist and deep, troubled frown of disbelief. They were working on it.
Eskel wrapped Lambert’s cold toes against his palm, holding them there long enough for warmth to tingle through the skin before he plucked the first sock from Lambert’s grasp. Like the fleece of a sheep, the lining was soft and full, and Eskel dipped his fingers inside. It would feel divine against Lambert’s skin and the thought of his lover, basking in comfort and pleasure, made Eskel’s dick twitch inside the confines of his trousers. He took Lambert’s ankle and slipped the sock gently over his toes and heel. Goosebumps erupted beneath his fingertips as he unfolded the material up Lambert’s calf in the wake of gentle kisses.
Lambert sucked in a sharp breath and Eskel met his intense gaze with a mischievous smile of his own. Still no words. Not yet. Hitched breaths, clenching muscles, fluttering hearts. Eskel pressed his lips to the inside of Lambert’s thigh as he slipped the second sock into place, lips giving way to teeth as he made his first mark. Lambert grunted, strong fingers pushing through Eskel’s hair, tugging, insistent. When he had Eskel’s head tilted back, he swooped in for a kiss; hungry, unapologetic, fierce.
Eskel yielded to him, letting out a soft moan as both of Lambert’s hands gripped in his hair, kneading, pulling; his own thumbs circling slowly on the inside of Lambert’s thighs as their mouths and tongues worked together. Lambert pulled back, Eskel’s lower lip between his teeth and invited retaliation with a light tug. Eskel growled and surged forward, flipping Lambert onto his back to settle between his thighs.
The cocky grin was back, igniting something feral in Eskel’s chest; a need to melt that arrogance into gasping bliss under his mouth. He rolled his hips forward and Lambert grunted, head thrown back, as the coarse material of Eskel’s trousers rubbed over his sensitive cock. It was enough to temper Eskel’s fervour and he dipped his head to place an apologetic kiss in the hollow of Lambert’s throat. “Get naked, big guy,” Lambert croaked, groping at all the rolls and padding he could get his hands on, “wanna feel all this against me.”
It wasn’t a surprising request. On the Path, even paid company didn’t like to touch witchers properly. And even if it happened by accident—a flutter of fingertips, a soft nipple pressed to the ridge of a scar—the brush of their flawed body against the softer, pliable one beneath only served to remind them of just how monstrous they were. Eskel had hardened to it, dismissing it as yet another hardship amongst many, but Lambert didn’t have the benefit of decades’ worth of resignation and weathering to make the uncomfortable twinges in the girls’ expressions any easier. There was no place for that here, now, warm and safe in Kaer Morhen.
Eskel hummed, parting with a possessive nip to the side of Lambert’s jaw. Some might prefer the feverish stripping of clothes in the thrall of passion to a slow, methodical disrobing, but for Eskel there was a sweeter pleasure to be had. Notably, the hungry look in Lambert’s eye as he pulled his shirt over his head and revealed the furred curves of his chest and the tighter muscles of his stomach. Lambert groaned his appreciation, pink tongue darting out to wet parted lips, sunstone eyes wide and keen. Eskel squared his shoulders, fighting the urge to preen as he was appraised, and Lambert’s cock drooled wet spots in the fabric of his nightshirt as it leaked. Lambert liked his lovers thick in the physical sense; the pornography stuffed unceremoniously in one of the chests in Lambert's room had made even Eskel raise an eyebrow, but he could only benefit from a predilection for a little bit of extra padding.
“Wait, wait.” Lambert sat up quickly and shuffled back to the edge of the bed. He hooked his fingers through Eskel’s belt loops and pulled him until his knees braced against the mattress. “Mm, fuck,” Lambert breathed against the very bottom of Eskel’s stomach, tongue flicking out again to play through the soft hairs below his belly button as deft fingers plucked open the ties and buttons of his trousers. Eskel cupped the back of his head and neck, thumb drawing gentle circles at the base of his skull. His trousers slipped down his ass after a little bit of cussing over the tightness of his knots, and his cock finally leapt free of its confines, flushed and eager.
The heat of Lambert’s mouth descended on it without preamble, thick lips stretching around the swell of his crown with a soft moan. There was too much for him to swallow comfortably, and he sucked only long enough to bathe his tongue in the taste of Eskel’s arousal before pulling off to tend to the rest with broad sweeps of the tongue. Eskel found it impossible to deny Lambert anything when he was like this. Ruffled, lips swollen from their kisses, he watched Eskel through dark lashes and Eskel felt the warmth pool in his belly, a deep, yearning swell of emotion left untapped for many years. He traced a thumb down the scars on Lambert’s face, brushing gently over his brow and the delicate skin at the corner of his eye. Beautiful.
One day, Lambert would take Eskel’s compliments without snide rebuttal. He would believe Eskel when he said that Lambert was all he wanted; beautiful, loyal and strong. Not just the perfect lover, but the perfect partner. Sarcastic, merciless, and cunning, too. Eskel saw the flick from mindless self-indulgence to targeted mischief in the shine of Lambert’s eyes and felt it in the hard, sucking kiss on his balls that made him gasp out a strangled moan.
“Don’t think so,” Eskel growled, gripping a fistful of Lambert’s fluffy hair. Eskel held Lambert’s head tilted back, admiring the arch of his throat, the dip of his clavicles beneath the open collar of his nightshirt. Eskel wanted to map that lean chest with his mouth and feel Lambert squirm beneath him and Lambert clearly wanted the same, for he watched Eskel in wide-eyed anticipation until Eskel gave his next command. “On your back, wolf.”
The corner of Lambert’s lips twitched as he weighed up the pros and cons of obedience. His gaze dropped to Eskel’s prick, perhaps initially intent on finishing what he’d started before they rolled back up to Eskel’s face with a soft grunt of admission. When Eskel released him, he wiggled back on the bed and sprawled out dramatically. As Eskel kicked off his trousers and grabbed the pot of salve from the nightstand, Lambert writhed in the furs with a soft rumble of contentment, hips shuffling, legs rubbing together to enjoy the warm material of his socks. He was blissfully comfortable and the thought of a long, slow fuck in the warm made him tingle all over.
When Eskel turned back, his mouth dropped open, his prick throbbing empathetically at the sight. It was exactly as he’d pictured when those socks first emerged from their hiding place. His precious wolf lounged back in soft furs, rumpled and expectant; dark brown hair stuck up at odd angles, pupils still large and round, ringed in vibrant, fierce yellow. Lambert’s pretty cock rested over the top of his nightshirt, flushed and drooling; Eskel’s eyes followed the line of it to the swell of Lambert’s balls and the soft, milky skin of his thighs with their single bite mark. Lambert was breathtaking like this; wild and ravenous, displayed with wanton abandon. He begged—nay, demanded—to be taken apart with the mere arch of an eyebrow. “Lamb—” Eskel breathed, dropping onto the foot of the bed to crawl up on hands and knees, a pauper begging at the feet of his king.
Eskel trailed his fingers over the woollen outer of one sock before he hooked that leg over his hip. He wanted to feel the wool against his skin, a reminder of Lambert’s comfort and warmth when Eskel was moving inside him. But that was for later. Eskel sank onto his elbows, pressing into the hands that rubbed feverishly over the swell of his chest. Lambert’s soft moans betrayed his need; kneading palms turned into the bite of nails as Lambert clutched Eskel’s broader form close. “Fuck me, c’mon, stop teasing,” he growled as Eskel nibbled down his jaw to the fragile skin at the edge of his beard.
“So impatient." Eskel's nose pressed beneath the hinge of Lambert’s jaw. The hard length of his cock dragged over the soft skin of Lambert’s thigh, leaving a slick trail of arousal in its wake. “You smell good.”
“Not so bad yourself,” Lambert purred, beginning to yield under Eskel’s warm bulk. For all his posturing and sharp tongue, Lambert was weak for a little tenderness, a little worship. “Except your breath, it smells of ale and pottage.”
“Dick.” Eskel worked a little lower to press his lips to the hollow of Lambert’s throat.
“Yeah, good idea, get to—oh, fuck.” Lambert’s hips bucked from the bed as Eskel’s mouth closed around a nipple. The linen of his nightshirt soaked through quickly, creating delightful friction across the peak when Eskel’s lips moved. Lambert ground his prick against the soft padding of Eskel’s stomach, leaking head pressing his own wetness into the dark, wiry hair that trailed down to Eskel’s groin. Lambert pawed at him, squeezing the meat of his shoulders, nails finding purchase beneath a raised scar.
Eskel wriggled lower until Lambert’s cock pushed through the valley of his chest. He hunched his shoulders and pressed a palm to the top of Lambert’s shaft, keeping him wedged between his tits. Lambert lifted his head from the pillow and let out his first helpless whine, a breathless, “oh, fuck,” when his cockhead emerged from the swells of Eskel’s chest. Eskel let Lambert rut, listened to his soft, desperate noises as he alternated between looking and throwing his head back against the pillows. Eskel’s free hand curled up to stroke the seam between wool and skin on his calf, calluses catching on the loose fabric. Eskel considered letting Lambert finish like that, imagining his chin dripping with seed and the confused amusement on Lambert’s face as he realised he’d blown his load in Eskel’s face, but Eskel needed to taste him. The scent of his precum was so thick on the air now that Eskel’s mouth watered.
Lambert whined when Eskel pulled away, although he added bass growl at the end to try and disguise his yearning with frustration, rigid prick quivering as he gripped at the blankets beneath him. Eskel spared him a raised eyebrow as he grabbed the salve and slicked up a finger, mouth dropping to swallow Lambert’s cock whole. Lambert arched into it, his head thrown back in a rather dramatic display of pleasure, and Eskel couldn’t help but smile around his mouthful. He sucked almost contemplatively, taking his time to savour the weight of it in his mouth and the familiar grooves and lines against his tongue. Then the impatient bastard wound his fingers through Eskel’s hair and tugged, thighs closing around Eskel’s ears as fluffy socks pushed across his shoulders. “Eskel, Eskel."
Eskel gave him what he wanted; a teasing finger circling his hole before pressing inside. Lambert’s legs flopped open, hips lifting to urge Eskel a little deeper until his fingertip was primed against his sweet spot. Once Lambert was free of his carefully constructed walls of belligerent disdain and sarcasm, he was happy to be needy, to demand the pleasure he wanted. He whimpered and writhed in the sheets, desperate for stimulation and impatient for the peak. Eskel crooked his finger in a come hither gesture, and then resorted to slow circles as he relaxed his throat and sucked Lambert deeper. Lambert keened, his thighs quaking, socked feet nudging gently at Eskel’s shoulder as if to push him away before his heel hooked beneath his bicep to pull him back. A smaller, more intimate version of Lambert’s usual conflict with those he loved.
Eskel rested his free palm on Lambert’s stomach, fingertips stroking in slow circles, mapping the jagged edge of a scar that had nearly gutted him. Nearly took his life but for a quick application of Swallow and a nearby healer. Eskel turned his focus to those socks against his skin, the satin silk of Lambert’s cock in his throat and the tight clutch of his heat around just a single finger. Nearly, but not quite.
Lambert bit out a frustrated cry as he came, spilling down Eskel’s throat in hot, uneven spurts that Eskel drank down greedily. Eskel slipped his finger out and let Lambert’s cock drop past his lips, departing with one long lick from tip to shaft that made Lambert shiver. “Hey, don’t go anywhere, there’s more, I can—,” Lambert started, but Eskel was kissing him before he could continue to offer his bargain. There was no need. Eskel chased the words out of his mouth with the bitter tang of his own spend and a deep, involved kiss.
“Yeah, I know,” Eskel said, and Lambert’s eyes blew wide at the rough, metallic growl of his voice, knowing full well that his cock had done that. “Just thought I’d let you recharge. Can’t let you overexert yourself.” He ran a finger over the soft trail of hair revealed by the bunched hem of Lambert’s shirt, his droll tone was like a red rag to a bull.
“Overexert my—?” Lambert glowered, pushed his heel into the bed and suddenly Eskel was struggling to keep him pinned. They tussled amongst the furs, kicking pillows onto the floor, snarling, growling and nipping. At one point, Lambert managed to flip Eskel onto his back and sit astride his stomach, pouty lips turned up in a triumphant, lopsided smirk that revealed a single canine. Lambert shoved the heels of his palms into Eskel’s tits, massaging them in firm circles. Eskel watched him with dark eyes and let him have a moment of victory. It allowed Eskel to admire, to feast on the sight of Lambert above him. Lambert’s sleep shirt had dropped from one broad shoulder, gaping low over his chest to reveal a pink nipple amongst curls of dark hair, and Eskel had never wanted to devour a person so ardently in his entire life. “Woah,” Lambert purred. “Lookin’ a little feral there, Es—”
Once more, Eskel cut Lambert’s intended witticism off at the legs and threw Lambert onto the bed with a deft roll of the hips. Eskel’s bulk won out over Lambert’s lithe frame after a frantic struggle for dominance, and Eskel pinned Lambert’s wrists above his head. Lambert’s rebellious growl petered out into a low moan as Eskel bit at his neck, trailing more biting kisses down to his exposed shoulder, finishing at the furred chest peeking out from his shirt. The press of Eskel’s teeth, the lap of his tongue and the low, rumbling moans made Lambert squirm, trying to throw Eskel off and claw him closer all at the same time. “Eskel—fuck—fuck me.”
Eskel could make him wait. Make him beg even more, but his cock throbbed beneath him and the taste of Lambert’s skin, his sweat, pushed his hunger into desperation. With one final squeeze of Lambert’s wrists, Eskel sat up to slick his cock only to lean back over again, their foreheads resting together as Lambert’s legs flopped open. Through virtue of being a witcher, Lambert was always tight, and no amount of practice would change that. Both let out quiet, shuddering breaths as Eskel’s cockhead pressed inside. Lambert’s eyes fluttered closed, his brow creased in concentration and Eskel held his breath. The clutch of Lambert’s body was so hard it almost hurt and Eskel tilted his chin down for a soft kiss. Relax for me. Lambert let out a soft sigh over parted lips and Eskel moaned as the powerful body beneath him yielded, welcoming him in.
Eskel wanted to tell Lambert he loved him. He always did in this moment, when their bodies merged into one, when Lambert had opened himself up, let Eskel inside in more ways than one. He had framed it in so many ways without ever actually saying the word. He moved his hips slowly as their eyes stayed locked together, Lambert’s fight tamed out of him by the thickness of the cock spreading him open. His mouth dropped open in beautiful, panting moans, his hands fisted in the sheets above his head. Eskel dragged his teeth through the bristles on Lambert’s jaw and thrust faster, smiling into Lambert’s shoulder as a wet tongue licked into the shell of his ear, passion uncoordinated and desperate.
As Lambert’s body relaxed, Eskel drew out and grabbed some pillows to shove beneath his hips. When Eskel pressed back in, he was on his knees, cockhead rubbing over Lambert’s prostate with each rolling thrust. He gathered Lambert’s socked feet to his chest, wool soft against his skin, and marvelled at the view before him. Lambert looked thoroughly decadent; he was flushed and glistening, his linen shirt beginning to cling to his skin in patches, his cock hard and leaking on his stomach, jerking with each of Eskel’s well-aimed thrusts. Lambert was comfortable, soft and vulnerable, moaning as he shook apart.
Lambert reached for Eskel as they both neared their peak and Eskel let Lambert’s legs splay open again so that he could lean forward, covering Lambert’s lithe form with his thicker body. Eskel sucked Lambert’s lower lip into his mouth as he thrust forward with a hard snap at the fist, drank the bitten-off cry before it could escape into the room. Lambert smelled divine, of happiness and pleasure, sweat and sex. Eskel pulled away and bit down the curve of Lambert’s throat and shoved his nose beneath Lambert’s chin. He felt the vibrations of his moans, inhaling the sweat-rich scent of him. It was dizzying, heady. Lambert fisted his hair, pulling until Eskel’s scalp prickled, one hand diving between their bellies to tug furiously at his own cock.
Eskel’s orgasm washed through him, a coiled spring of tension that spilt into Lambert’s body. Lambert’s legs wrapped his waist, the soft fabric of the socks whispering over sensitive scars, as Eskel ground into him. Their foreheads pressed together, Eskel’s honey-soft eyes watching the sharp, yellow sunfire of Lambert’s own as they blazed with triumphant bliss. Lambert panted Eskel’s name in weak whimpers, pouty lips, swollen and red, parted. Eskel groaned in awe as Lambert’s body clenched around his cock, teasing the very edges of oversensitivity until his eyes rolled back. Eskel’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the bitter tang of Lambert’s release and left long, wet kisses on the side of his neck.
As they settled, their hearts returning to their usual desultory pace, Eskel pulled out but stayed between Lambert’s thighs. With one elbow at the side of Lambert’s head, Eskel reached behind him to wrap a hand around one warm foot, pressing it close to his skin again. Lambert hummed and Eskel looked down into a mischievous, lopsided smirk. “What?”
“You have the weirdest kinks.” Lambert’s voice was sex rough and Eskel’s eyes blew wide, nostrils flaring. “And you’re a horny fuck. My ass is still leaking, gimme ten minutes.”
“I can’t help it,” Eskel replied, eyebrows quirking up, and when Lambert reflected the expression, hands lifting to stroke up Eskel’s sides, he sighed. “I’m weak for you.”
“Well, guess I better watch your back, while you’re all… uh, soppy,” Lambert said, nudging Eskel lower until he could pull Eskel’s head to his chest. The big wolf went easily, nuzzling his face into the soft chest hair exposed by the dishevelled neckline of Lambert’s shirt. “Eskel, I…”
“Hm?” Eskel kept his eyes closed, his muscles eased. They were both still a mess, but he could afford a little tenderness before cleaning up.
Lambert swallowed, stroking the sweat-mussed mop of black hair splayed over his chest. Eskel could sense the little flutter of tension, and turned his face to nuzzle a kiss just above a pink nipple. “Thanks for…” he sighed, squeezing Eskel’s bulky torso with his thighs, “for caring about me enough to… want my feet to be warm while we fuck.”
Eskel stayed in place, but he could hear the slight hitch in the last word. Like it tasted a little bitter, but not because of regret. It was as if Lambert lamented the disparity between the sharp edge of the word ‘fuck’ and the soft, sleepy haze of their aftermath. ‘Fuck’ didn’t quite fit. He fucked people on the Path; quick, impersonal, just to get off. It was different with Eskel, and it needed a different word. “We can call it somethin’ else, y’know.”
“Like what? And if you say ‘make love’, I will vomit on you.”
“Uh.” Eskel swallowed, shoulders tensing, as he groped around mentally for a phrase that Lambert would find satisfactory.
“Eskel.” Lambert chuckled, cupping Eskel’s firm jaw to lift his head. He took a moment to study Eskel’s face, thumb sweeping the soft, sun-wrinkled skin around his eyes. Eyes brimming with unfettered adoration. “We can call it that. If… uh, if it’d make you happy.”
Eskel nudged one of Lambert’s hands away to press a kiss against the curve of his palm. He studied Lambert’s face closely, searching for hesitance, any discomfort at making a compromise, but he found only sincerity. It may be the lull of their post-coital bliss, but in that moment, Lambert meant it. The offer was genuine. Eskel had never been one to over analyse, and besides, they could always swap back if it stopped working for them. Not like their relationship had been a smooth march of progress thus far anyway. “Yeah, yeah, it would.”
“Well then,” Lambert said, squishing Eskel’s cheeks between the heels of his palms, “flip me over and show me how much you love me, big guy.” The offer was accompanied with an obscene wiggle of the eyebrows, and Eskel retaliated with a hard bite to the pec before drawing back. He flipped Lambert onto his belly and dug his teeth into his shoulder, the thick length of his cock pushed through Lambert’s asscheeks and Lambert crooned. “Fuck, yeah, yeah.”
When Geralt pointed out Lambert’s awkward mince the following morning, Lambert huffed, spread his arms and flicked his chin smugly. “Eskel has a lot of love to give.”