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inkformyblood · 4 months

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some monster hunter you are (The Witcher, Eskel x Lambert x Geralt; Geralt x Jaskier)

Eskel, Lambert, and Geralt go to a bar after a hunt and they meet Jaskier. [Modern AU, Modern Witchers, AroAce Eskel, Established Relationship] Eskel checks the soles of his boots, dragging the edge of his nail along something that could’ve been mud or blood or any combination of the two, and swings his legs up onto the table. Lambert, without looking, still barely even breathing since they first slumped into the narrow booth, swipes at the tailing end of his lace, twisting the narrow cord around his fingers. It’s as effective as a leash and Eskel huffs back a snort that still tastes like ichor no matter how many drinks they have worked their way through. He draws his boot back, tipping his foot to avoid the bottle balanced on top of the pile of empty cans and a handful of discarded glasses, and shoves his foot onto Lambert’s lap instead. The other man is solid, barely shifting with a grunt at the impact.

He begins to untie Eskel’s lace, drawing the cord tight before redoing it. “What?”

The air itself is sticky to say nothing of the floor beneath their booth, a cloying sweet scent that invades every pore and would keep them humming at an uneven keel for the next few days until the rest of the potions bleed out of their systems. Eskel braces himself against the low slouch of the booth seating, decades of barely-wiped down grime clinging to his palms. He’ll scrub them raw in the bathroom later, trying to scour down to his clean bones without too much damage. He doesn’t need much height to peer over the teeming crowd, they’re already built tall and broad and that natural inclination had only been enhanced over the years, and he could see Geralt in the pitch black after his eyes had been plucked out. Eskel isn’t attracted to people, not in that way, not really, but he knows that Geralt is beautiful the same way he knows the sunset is compelling and sometimes all he needs is to sleep for a day and fuck someone until the knot in his belly is gone. It isn’t a relationship, not in the conventional sense, they’re far too close for that simple word to apply. They just are .

“Someone’s chatting to Geralt.”

Lambert snorts, tugging the knot on Eskel’s laces tight. His movements are mechanical, the same actions a thousand times over executed the same way every single time, and he finishes with a tap to the middle of Eskel’s calf. “And? People do talk to Geralt for some reason.”

It is his silver hair, Eskel thinks. Somehow natural through the same potions that lengthened their teeth and burned their irises gold from the inside out and Geralt walks away with silver hair that draws every desperate soul in a two thousand yard radius to fling themselves at his feet. Sometimes literally. The man at the bar seems much the same as any other drowning idiot who looks at Geralt and sees a human life preserver instead of the rocks the lighthouse warns them away from. He’s different in that he looks like he could take a punch, possibly already has from the broken capillaries just starting to darken over the curve of his cheek that gleam in the low light, and he leans towards Geralt to try and immolate himself on the Witcher’s presence. His hair is dark, brushed back away from his face by some kind of product that smells nice. Like apples. Eskel breathes in deeply, filters out the tang of sweat and fear and far too much alcohol and bad decisions, and finds this man beneath it all. There’s plenty of mistakes lined up along his shoulders, a healing cut on his hand and another on his lip, but he’s interested, sharp and hot and focused on Geralt.

“This one is different,” Eskel murmurs, digging his heel into the meat of Lambert’s thigh. It’s a silent request, barely needing to be preceded by an action but they’re close, not quite family, not quite lovers, and what would he be if he didn’t take the opportunity to irritate Lambert? Lambert scoffs at him, swiping at the carefully balanced bottle and tips the remnants into his mouth from an arm-span away. The liquid is, somehow, pink. Lambert pushes himself onto one foot, the muscle in his thigh tensing as he does so. His hand falls, bottle still clutched between two fingers, to keep Eskel’s boot wedged in the seam of his thigh.

“That little thing?”

“Not little is he?”

“Solid.” Lambert kisses the back of his teeth, the beginning vibrating along Eskel’s jaw before it lowers into a normal register of sound. Geralt glances over at them. “Fuck, is he blushing?”

Fuck. Shit. Is he? Eskel pushes himself upright once more. Geralt’s gaze meets his, pointed like the pretty slip of a dagger Geralt carries in his boot, a matched set for the one that Eskel carries at his thigh and Lambert has tied around his neck like an oversized pendant. His eyes are still dark with the remnants of the potion, but the main colour is robbed by the expanse of his pupils, blown wide with interest. The colour on his cheeks wouldn’t be noticeable by anyone human, it is too subtle for that, but to Eskel’s eyes, the pink hue bleeds over Geralt’s cheeks, stretching from his hairline to jaw and dripping over his shoulders. He’d bet his pay from this job that the pink extends further, stopping somewhere over the planes of Geralt’s chest.

This night just got fun .

“Isn’t he off the posters?”

Eskel slants his gaze back at Lambert, tracking Geralt’s reluctant twist back to the man out of the corner of his eye. No. Not reluctant. Protective. His hackles are already up in defence of this man, this stranger, and the barrage of teasing Eskel and Lambert will unleash over him the moment he slinks back to their booth, company pulled along in his undertow or not. Lambert tips his head towards the far wall, his grin tight and starving. Eskel follows his indication, blinking once, twice, to clear the flickering spots from his vision as his eyes focus on the twisting dust motes before he can adjust and make out the posters. It is the same man although somehow more muted in print and ink than he is in person, a certain sparkling essence about him that doesn’t translate to a still image. “The amazing and astounding Jaskier on his debut tour,” Eskel reads, carefully sounding out the blocky print.

“Amazing and astounding seems like a stretch.”

“You called a milkshake amazing the other day.”

Lambert closes his eyes, the tip of his tongue poking out as he grins in bliss. There is something strangely canine about his expression, a dog lounging in the sun, it’s tongue hanging free from jaws stuffed with too many teeth, and Eskel bites back a laugh. He shoves his boot into the line of Lambert’s hip instead and the other man shifts with a groan, his eyes snapping open and away to the bar.

“That man is touching Geralt.”

No. No, he couldn’t be so ignorant of every instinct flattened into his brain and braided into muscle and bone. Humans were taught to ignore the itch of discomfort at the back of their thoughts, the sinking hollow in their stomach that something wasn’t right whenever they encountered something like the monsters the Witchers had been made to kill, but they listened when those same instincts screamed about the Witchers themselves. They were necessary, but not wanted. Something for humans to flirt with the concept of and retreat at the first opportunity, entranced and repulsed in equal measures.

Eskel pushes himself up again. Lambert is right. The man, Jaskier if the posters are to be believed, has curled himself into the barely-there space in front of Geralt, one hand playing with the delicate cocktail umbrella from his other drink and the other laid on Geralt’s forearm. Eskel blinks. Jaskier’s hand hasn’t moved.

“He is.”

“He isn’t pulling away.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Neither is Geralt.”

“No.”

Eskel settles back into the booth, shoving his knuckle into his mouth and setting his teeth against the shattered topography of his knuckle. He breathes out through his nose in a slow hiss that doesn’t settle the snarl building in his chest, a brief burst of steam to keep a pressure gauge from tipping into the red. “Well, think we should go and introduce ourselves?”

“Yeah.” Lambert tips his head back, cracking his neck and Eskel winces, grinding his boot hell against Lambert’s thigh again, just because. “Let’s go say hello.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #jaskier #eskel #lambert witcher #eskel witcher #eskel x geralt x lambert #eskel x geralt #geralt x lambert #eskel x lambert #my writing #fanfic

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incorrect-quotes-at-random · 10 months

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Lambert: I owe you one.

Eskel: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

#source: perchance generator #eskel the witcher #witcher eskel #eskel #lambert the witcher #witcher lambert #lambert witcher #lambert #lambskel #eskel x lambert #lambert x eskel #netflix the witcher #the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #incorrect quotes #the witcher incorrect quotes

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cas-kingdom · 2 years

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'Geralt was beginning to think he should never have introduced Akela to the other witchers'. xx

Geralt was beginning to think he should never have introduced Akela to the other witchers. Of course, he was three years, a lot of love, and a slight case of separation anxiety too late in remaking that decision, but the thought regularly crossed his mind when he returned to Kaer Morhen for the winter each year.

“What’s that bitter look on your face for?” Lambert asked. He sounded genuine, seemingly disregarding the fact he was holding a pocket knife in one hand and a fistful of blonde curls in the other as he stared at Geralt in utter confusion.

Geralt stared between his brother and the little girl sat on the floor, chewing on a medallion, surrounded by more hair than was left on her head, not that she looked to care at all.

“She had curls,” Geralt said slowly, eyes lingering a little reminiscently on the child before snapping back up to glower at Lambert.

Lambert frowned darkly. He wouldn’t let anyone criticise his work, and he proved so with the clicking of his jaw and the hand—scissor included—that came to sit against his hip. “Your point?”

“Now she doesn’t,” Geralt stated the obvious. He bit his tongue to refrain from provoking Lambert and took one large step forward until he could kneel beside Akela and sift his hand through her hair...or lack thereof.

Lambert scoffed. “She has loads of hair. Don’t be fucking dramatic.”

"I thought we agreed to lower the profanities when the baby’s around,” Eskel said matter-of-factly once he’d entered the room. There was an irking grin on his face as Lambert stuck a middle finger in his direction.

“Fuck off. Geralt thinks I haven’t done a good job with her hair.”

Eskel stopped beside Lambert and looked at Akela, still munching on the medallion. True to Lambert’s words, Geralt did seem to be as distressed as his witcher-persona would let on, ruffling the child’s hair this way and that, brushing off cut pieces on her shoulders and shaking the stray strands that had escaped into her tunic.

Lambert had...done an interesting job. They’d all agreed that Akela had needed a haircut, her beautiful curls growing to such a vision-obscuring length that she’d toddled into a wall just yesterday, but Geralt had unwaveringly insisted that it be a trim. Nothing more, nothing less. Just enough to return her eyesight.

The witcher was far too attached to Akela’s mighty mane, having heard from someone once that most babies’ curls lost their bounce and strength as they grew older. Even with Lambert’s barber skills, Akela still had a good amount atop her head, but apparently that was not enough to tide Geralt over.

“It looks fine,” Eskel said with a small shrug, assuring both Lambert and Geralt.

Lambert grinned. “See! I’m wasted at Kaer Morhen. Should be going around charging people to cut their hair. Isn’t that right, brat, huh?” He dropped the scissors and bent down, swinging the giggling girl up into his arms and leaving Geralt stooped below.

Once Lambert had left, proclaiming he was going to show the others his handiwork, Eskel put a hand between Geralt’s shoulder blades, the both of them silent for a mere second before—

“Would you like a moment to mourn, brother?”

Geralt scowled and batted Eskel’s hand away as he stood to his feet. He pressed his lips into a thin line at the sight of the hairy massacre below, breaking his gaze only when Eskel laughed and clapped him on the back, pulling him away in the direction Lambert had gone.

“It’s just hair, Geralt,” he said, “it’ll grow back.”

Geralt hummed. “Let’s hope Lambert has the same optimism when I cut his off while he sleeps tonight.”

Witcher Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

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justhereforeskel · 1 year

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My gift for @jaskiersvalley for the @continentcakeshop Holiday Gift Event 💜🐺

Full version is up on PF (link in bio!)

#eskel #lambert #eskel x lambert #tw3 fanart #hades!au #gift art #much love to winterfir and margot for listening to me yell about this and helping with last minute tweaks #my art

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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 years

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a prompt you say? Oh, with all the brotherly affection of these two bastard friends, with some nice deep grumbly voice, please to provide me some Lambskel intercrurual. You know me, I'm not too picky over the hows. We both know the whys. Nothing like surviving a child soldier creating orphanage trauma machine to drive you close to the found family you scrape from the ashes. Though you'll make me giggle with glee if you manage to work in "baby doll" because I am having a moment after a video I found yesterday, I'll link you. xoxox

(Eskel/Lambert, public sex, intercrural, Eskel's canonically rumbly voice, pet names)

Lambert hated parties. Fuckin' hated. They always smelled like the arse end of Novigrad, with the press of bodies and hormones creating their own smog cloud specially formulated to torture sensitive noses. Then there was the noise, and the looks, and the stupid fuckin' dresses that snagged, and barged, and...

This one was a masquerade ball too, which meant locating the damned katakan that had been harvesting young men for the best part of a month was an even greater ball ache than usual. Everyone and their mum was bedazzled to the hilt, trinkets and foibles glittering in their hair and on their fingers. The beast was probably having a field day.

There was one upside. Lambert was sharing this contract. Usually, running into another witcher on your circuit was a pain in the arse. Some didn't share, which meant squaring off or a fight, while others pretty much insisted and you walked away with a purse far too light for the added irritation of having to collaborate. Tonight was different, because that witcher happened to be Eskel.

Working with Eskel meant a swift and professional contract, followed by a long and athletic roll in the hay. A successful hunt riled Eskel up like nothing else; the thrill of the chase, no small amount of perfectly healthy and adjusted bloodlust, and a libido that rivalled Geralt's.

Until moments ago, Lambert had been following Eskel's progress through the crowd from his vantage point on a balcony, but had managed to lose him when a dropped drinks platter had drawn his attention away. Watching Eskel when he was on the prowl was like watching a dancer; his eyes intent, his body following with the fluidity of a shadow, broad shoulders dipping, hips weaving. Knowing what else those hips could do, how they felt between his thighs and under the bite of his fingernails, made Lambert hard in his leathers.

He reached down to squeeze the length of his cock, stifling the groan with gritted teeth. The bastard had no idea what effect he had—

The scent hit him first. Tart and spicy, edged with summer heat and sweat. He stood frozen, clothed dick in his hand, as a familiar body pressed up behind him. "Fuck," Eskel growled. "Could smell you from the dance floor."

Lambert opened his mouth for a sharp reply, but the words died in his throat as Eskel rocked the hard length of his prick against the curve of Lambert's arse. He groaned, pushing back with unabashed need.

"Think we could both do with a little relief, eh?"

"You filthy fuck, here?"

"Oh yeah, right here. Above their thatched wigs and powdered faces."

Eskel's big hands left Lambert's hips. One wandered to the looped end of his belt while the other slipped beneath his shirt, fingers pushing through the downy hair on his belly, heat of Eskel's palm like a brand on his skin. He'd taken his gloves off just to feel Lambert properly, every caress sending electric pleasure through every inch Eskel touched.

Lambert arched back, his head resting against Eskel's shoulder, so he could breathe in the thick scent of his arousal. It drowned out the fetid odour of humanity from below, and made Lambert dizzy with anticipation. He licked at Eskel's throat, tasted the salt of his sweat, just as Eskel freed his cock from the confines of his braies.

The air was cool against the flush skin of Lambert's prick, soon covered by the grip of Eskel's broad palm. Lambert bucked into it as Eskel smoothed a thumb through his slit, a slow, gentle pressure that applied the perfect press of battle-worn callus. "So desperate for me, baby doll," Eskel breathed, still with that trademark growl, like thunder on a distant horizon. Lambert didn't miss the wonder in Eskel’s voice, and his entire body buzzed at the idea that he was even close to worthy in Eskel’s eyes.

"Both hands on the ledge," Eskel said, and Lambert obeyed without hesitation. Leather clad palms pressed to the broad edge of the concrete railing separating him from a thirty foot drop into the crowd below, and Eskel pushed his trews down his thighs, still lazily palming Lambert's cock. Lambert’s chest felt tight as he clutched onto each breath, worried his moans would echo loudly through the hall. Lambert’s tortured pants seemed to excite Eskel, who purred into his ear. "Gonna make a mess of these pretty legs."

The word 'pretty' shot straight to Lambert's dick and it twitched in Eskel's grip, another warm dribble of precum wetting Eskel's fingers. "Like that, huh? Like it when I tell you how pretty you are?"

"Eskel, c'mon," Lambert huffed, a laugh lost in a soft moan as Eskel's teeth sank gently into the soft skin of his neck. He panted, sweat beading on his brow as Eskel's bulk closed in around him. He felt like prey, and it made him weak with want. "Fuck."

Eskel clearly took it as a demand. Lambert heard the rustle of leather and cloth as Eskel pulled away his codpiece and felt the fire-hot length of his prick press into the bare cleft of his arse. Lambert tilted his hips up, pushing up onto his tiptoes in an effort to get the first touch over his hole. Eskel hummed thoughtfully, his hand slipping out from beneath Lambert’s shirt to guide the fat head of his prick, wet and smooth, to the tight furl of Lambert’s opening. "Shame I didn't bring any slick," Eskel rumbled thoughtfully, as if Lambert wasn't standing right there, his legs shaking with the anticipation of Eskel using him with Temeria's landed fucking gentry milling about below.

There was a single fucking scrap of cloth over the archway between them and a corridor. A sentry, a member of the party, anyone could push through and find Lambert with his arse presented. The illicit thrill sent a rush of arousal to Lambert’s groin, and he thrust into Eskel’s sedentary fist. "Eskel, fuck, c'mon, please," Lambert grated, the plea slipping out before he could wrangle it. It had the desired effect; Eskel growled, hand tightening around Lambert's cock as he spat in the other. The prick that slipped over the milky smooth skin of Lambert's inner thighs was barely slick enough, but the raw, animal rut would make it all the better. Lambert didn't even need guidance for the next part, his pulse rabbiting in his neck, his back arched deep. He pulled his legs together, muscles pulsing around the iron heat of Eskel's shaft, and pushed his arse back against Eskel’s groin.

Eskel groaned, his fingers tightening on Lambert's hip. "You're a fuckin' gift," Eskel slurred, drunk on the scent and sounds of Lambert unravelling in his grip. He let Lambert unfurl a little so he could press his nose against his neck and roll his hips freely. Lambert bowed his chin towards his chest and watched the fat head of Eskel’s cock force through the seam of his legs, nudging over the swell of Lambert’s balls with a rough, raw friction that left his cock drooling and his mind blank; the wet, obscene slap of skin almost louder than the party below. Eskel matched his rhythm with the hand on Lambert’s cock, and Lambert’s eyes closed as he surrendered himself to the burning pleasure licking up his spine, the cold press of Eskel’s belt buckle against the curve of his arse where the bastard hadn’t even bothered to remove it, and the feral, animalistic babble Eskel was snarling into the back of his neck, as senseless with need as Lambert.

When those words were replaced by tongue and teeth, Lambert couldn’t help the pathetic whimpers that slipped out of his mouth, a stream of cusses breaking through Eskel’s name, uttered like a fucking prayer. Eskel hit his peak first, worked up by Lambert’s helpless noises and the unyielding clutch of his muscular legs. His hips stuttered, fingers biting hard into Lambert’s hip, and Lambert felt Eskel’s punched out moan of release vibrate through his damned chest. Lambert’s balls ached, his cock quivering and sensitive, so close to release; the feel of Eskel’s seed dripping over his skin, the way his huge body pinned Lambert in place through sheer presence, was a cruel taunt. “Eskel…” he rasped, watching then in mute awe as Eskel gathered the spend splashed over Lambert’s thighs into his palm and grasped Lambert’s cock once more. It took only a handful of slow, teasing tugs to pull Lambert into a heady orgasm that crashed through him in waves, ruddy cock smeared with Eskel’s cum and now his own as Eskel stroked him through it to shuddering oversensitivity.

A strong arm looped around his waist as his legs finally gave in, the tangle of his own trews around the buckles of his boots preventing him from finding purchase, and held him against the bulwark of a chest at his back. Eskel nibbled the arch of Lambert’s ear and nosed at the scruff of his beard, humming and rumbling with contentment, as Lambert panted, open-mouthed, at the ceiling. “Fuck, big guy. You’re an animal.”

“Mmhm,” Eskel hummed, pleased.

“Eskel.”

“Mhm?”

“The bloke opposite,” Lambert’s gaze fixed on the far balcony where two large, owlish eyes were blinking at them from the darkness, “looks mighty… vampiric.”

A low growl rumbled in Eskel’s chest. The hunt was on.

#wolf lads get rekt 2022 #lambskel #lambert #eskel #eskel x lambert #eskel/lambert

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anonymousblueberry · 11 months

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Occasionally I do actually finish fics!

Mostly pwps because there's no brain for plot!

Eskel/Lambert

Large sex toys and fisting

Bit of praise kink

Very very rated E

2k words

Make Making it Your Intention

#eskel x lambert #beth writea fic #witcher fic

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witcherrarepaircommentexchange · 1 year

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ship:

Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)

fic:

Standing By the Sea by IvyMandragora

It wasn’t an easy sight. Not because it made you look monstrous, the way a human might tend to see it — but because it meant you were suffering.

Eskel manages to make it back home after a rough contract, but the effects of high toxicity have always hit him particularly hard. Lambert…does what he can.

#the witcher #witcher rarepair #eskel x lambert #eskel/lambert #eskel #lambert #tw3 #the witcher games

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whataboutthefish · 2 years

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Day 20

Prompt 20 Double penetration in two holes | Overstimulation | Edgeplay

Eskel/Lambert, Overstimulation, Forced orgasms, Crying, Subspace

Words 481

Written for a prompt sent to me on Tumblr

Dripping sweat and covered in his own release, Eskel’s body felt alight with heat, his heart hammering hard in his chest.

When Lambert barked out a laugh, dry and sardonic, Eskel shuddered. Lambert still held his cock in his fist, jerking him through his orgasm, and he wasn’t stopping. Despite Eskel’s panting, Lambert kept stroking. His hand kept moving and Eskel couldn’t stop him, the axii that held him in place was strong. In truth it was nothing Eskel couldn’t shake off if he needed, but right now, in this moment, he let the feeling of being trapped take over. It swept through him, making his stomach swoop and his heart beat even faster until all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and the high pitched whines he couldn’t hold back.

Grinning, Lambert didn’t let up. Eskel was sure he wouldn’t be able to come again. The feeling had moved from pleasure to pain now and Eskel wasn’t sure how long the tears had been flowing down his cheeks. He tried and failed to get away ,every minute touch to his cock too much, but he was stuck, motionless, on the bed.

Lambert was teasing his nipples, always sensitive but now, with the constant abuse, it was tourture. Pinching him again, Lambert said nothing, and when Eskel looked up at him he could see his pupils blown wide, a look of awe on his face. That alone would have made Eskel’s cock twitch in interest if Lambert wasn’t in the process of destroying him.

Leaving his nipples alone Lambert began rubbing the head of Eskel’s cock against his palm. The pain was intense. Eskel’s gut felt like it was twisting, his toes curled to the point of cramping, his face numb for some unknown reason and dear gods all he could think about was his cock. He was sobbing now, somewhere in his scattered brain he could hear himself pleading, begging for what he couldn’t grasp.

He couldn’t focus on anything, a loop of too much too much played out in his mind until he finally let go.

It took a lot for him to get here, it was always a sweet kind of tourture one he loved to hate, all for this moment. Eskel floated as everything but Lambert dropped away; all the stress, all the pain, everything disappeared. His thoughts flowed thick and sluggish but that didn’t matter because Lambert was there, watching him with love and devotion.

When Eskel came back to himself, everything was different. He was clean, his body felt cool again and Lambert was there holding him tight to his chest, speaking the sweetest words into his hair. Eskel shifted, letting him know he was back. His words would take longer to return, but Lambert knew this, so Eskel relaxed back into his hold and enjoyed the softness of Lambert’s care.

#Kinktober #Kinktober 2022 #A very witcher Kinktober #my writing #eskel x lambert #overstimulation

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greenapplespider · 2 months

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Probably should have gone to bed but I reeeeeeeaaaaally couldn’t help myself 😭

#lambert witcher #Witcher #witcher 3 #witcher fanart #the witcher #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #Eskel x lambert #lambert x Eskel

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thesleepy1 · 1 year

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The Picture of Lambert the Witcher

A/N: I have no explanation for this. I just wanted to get back into writing when I have the free time. I’m sorry it took me so long. <3

Pairings: Lambert x Eskel

Summary: Eskel purchases himself a leather bound sketch book and fills it with pages and pages of the things he loves. He has far too many pages of just Lambert.

Word count: 600

Warnings: Lambert’s colorful language

“What are you doing?” Lambert asked. His head was resting on Eskel’s shoulders. It had taken him a moment to get comfortable, to squirm his way and adjust as he went until his head was perfect next to Eskel’s. The young witcher looked down at the book in the elder’s hand.

“It's called drawing,” Eskel explained with a smirk. “It’s what people do when they have hobbies.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and adjusted against Eskel’s neck again. “I know what drawing is, you arse.” Lambert pointed at the rough charcoal marks on Eskel’s page. “What are you drawing?”

“Lil’ Bleater at the moment. Would you like to see others?”

Lambert began flipping the pages without a word. There were depictions of flowers they had seen in passing, delicate things Lambert would not have paid any mind to but Eskel had treasured. There were more pages of Lil’ Bleater. Drawings of her grazing out in the fields and her asleep in the stables.

And then there was an alarming amount of pages of just Lambert.

After a certain point there were nothing but pages and pages and pages of him. There were charcoal prints of him gazing off in the distance and colored depictions of him asleep and doing other mundane tasks like carrying buckets of water and training in the courtyard. Eskel had even rendered an image of him nursing a bowl of soup, the softness in Lambert’s eye was almost unrecognizable to the witcher himself.

“If I didn't love you just as much, I would say you’re obsessed.”

Eskel blushed and quickly closed the sketchbook. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” He made to put the sketchbook back in its carrier. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you first.”

“Hey, hey, Eskel.” Lambert paused the older witcher in his movements. “I never said I didn’t like them.” Lambert took the sketchbook back and flipped to a random page of himself. “Do I really look this good? I think the artist took a bit too many liberties here.”

Eskel’s hand went to Lambert’s chin and gently pulled him into a kiss. Eskel rarely kissed roughly or with too much force. It wasn’t in his nature. Eskel kissed Lambert like he was drinking the sweetest, most refreshing nectar from the saints themselves. Eskel tugged at Lambert’s bottom lip with his teeth to draw out a moan but that was as far as Eskel took it.

“You do. I—” Eskel had to remind himself to breathe when Lambert was gazing at him like he was now. “I can’t stop myself.” Eskel caressed Lambert’s cheek, fingers being extra careful on his scars. “I’m always afraid I’ll take too much if I don’t keep myself in check.”

Lambert exploded out laughing. He leaped from his spot against Eskel and clutched at his stomach. His laughter was overwhelming. He had to wipe the tears from his eyes when he was done. “Are you some sort of princess, Eskel? Do you think I’m some sort of noble that’s going to get scared by your advances?” Lambert chuckled at his own words. He reached his hand to the back of Eskel’s neck and wound his fingers in the short hair there, pulling the older witcher closer. “You can have me anyway you please.” Lambert kissed Eskel and refused to leave up for air until Eskel had to pull himself away lest they pass out in each other’s arms.

“C-could I draw you in bed?” Eskel whispered the request earnestly in between breaths.

“You can even tie me with ribbon.” Lambert winked. “I bet I'll make for a lovely picture.”

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