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Lambert takes a deep drink of White Gull, in the vague hopes that it will get him drunk enough to say this without choking on the words. It doesn’t help very much, not when Eskel is sitting across the table, chin propped on one hand, watching him with calm amber eyes.
“I want,” Lambert says, and then his throat goes dry and he has to take another drink of Gull.
“You want,” Eskel prompts gently.
Lambert puts the empty tankard down and closes his eyes. Maybe this will be easier if he can’t see Eskel watching him. “I want to get fucked.”
There’s a brief silence.
“Alright,” Eskel says eventually. “Did you need...advice on a good brothel? I know a succubus who’s damn good with a wooden prick, if that’s appealing.”
Lambert swallows hard. “No. I mean. I want. You.”
“...Ah,” Eskel says. Lambert slits his eyes open, trying to see what Eskel’s expression is doing. His own eyelashes get in the way. “You don’t seem particularly happy about that, Lamb. And I’m not into forcing people.”
“No!” Lambert says, eyes flying all the way open in horror. “Not - that’s not what I meant - fuck.”
“Deep breath,” Eskel advises him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Lambert nods, and takes a deep breath. “I want to get fucked,” he says again, slowly and carefully. “But I’ve tried brothels, and - I don’t know them, I don’t trust ‘em behind me. The one time I let a whore tie me down, I broke the ropes and near as fuck broke his jaw getting out.”
Eskel nods slowly. “But you trust me?”
Lambert licks his lips. “Yeah. I. I trust you.” He braces himself. “I want - can you - Axii?”
Eskel’s eyebrows both go up briefly. “Axii?”
“To make sure I don’t try to break your jaw.”
“Huh,” Eskel says, and considers that, running his finger through the little puddle of condensation on the table. “Well. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that. I’d have conditions.”
Lambert isn’t going to ask about the other times. He learned his lesson the time Geralt challenged Eskel’s claim to have successfully fucked a leshen. Eskel is a very good storyteller, and Lambert may well be mentally scarred for life. “What sort of conditions?”
“To start with, you’d have a word - that’d be my first order, when I put you under. Something you could say if you changed your mind.”
Lambert swallows. “...Speartip.”
Eskel nods slowly. “Alright. Good choice. Second condition: you’ve got to tell me exactly what you want, sometime before I put you under. I won’t play this by ear, Lamb.”
Lambert nods, ears hot with embarrassment and chest oddly warm with...reassurance, perhaps? This is why he picked Eskel, after all. Calm, competent, solid Eskel.
Well, this and the fact that Eskel’s Axii could convince a manticore that it was a cow.
“I…might have to write it down,” he says. “Don’t know if I can say it out loud.”
“Writing’s fine,” Eskel says calmly. “Just as long as I can ask you some questions after I read it.”
Lambert nods. Shit, this is happening. Or, well, going to happen.
“And yes, I will burn whatever you write after I read it,” Eskel adds, which makes a tension Lambert didn’t even realize he was carrying slip from his shoulders. Right. So only Eskel will ever know. Yeah, that’s…that’s good.
“Right,” he croaks. “I’ll…do that.”
Eskel nods. “Let me know,” he says, and stands to head for the kitchen, then pauses as he passes Lambert and bends down, one big hand cupping Lambert’s jaw and tilting his head up. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” he murmurs, and kisses Lambert softly and thoroughly.
Lambert sits there dazedly as Eskel moves away, lips tingling, head spinning.
Well. If he had any doubts about choosing Eskel, they’re long gone now.
*
Lambert opens the door at Eskel’s knock, and steps aside to let the big Wolf in. Eskel grins down at him. “Alright there, Lamb?”
“Alright,” Lambert says. It’s mostly true. He’s jittery as all hell and he keeps going over all the possible ways this could go wrong - from him somehow breaking Eskel’s Axii to him not actually liking this to the keep burning down around their ears - but he’s also already half-hard and worryingly desperate, so he figures that averages out to ‘alright’.
“Still want this?” Eskel checks as Lambert closes the door.
“Yes,” Lambert says, and then, dredging a fragment of courtesy from some ancient lesson he never paid much attention to, “Please.”
“Alright,” Eskel murmurs, voice low and soothing, and his hand forms Axii. “Calm, Lamb. You’re safe with me.”
Axii hits like - like a warm blizzard. The whole world goes sort of soft and muffled - everything but Eskel, anyhow - and all of Lambert’s jitters fade away into a gentle fuzz of quiet anticipation. He doesn’t have to worry. He’s safe. Everything’s fine.
“If you need to stop, say Speartip,” Eskel instructs him. Lambert nods. He can do that. He can’t imagine wanting to stop - wanting this gentle muffling of the world to end - but he can do whatever Eskel needs him to do.
Eskel’s hand cups his cheek, calluses rasping slightly against Lambert’s beard, thumb stroking over Lambert’s cheekbone in a warm, gentle slide. “What do you say if you need to stop, Lamb?”
“Speartip,” Lambert murmurs, caught by the way Eskel’s eyes have gone very dark indeed, thin rings of amber around enormous depthless pupils, like starless midnight skies.
“Good,” Eskel purrs, and kisses him. The word and the kiss shudder through him, a heavy warm pleasure like nothing he’s felt before.
“Strip for me,” Eskel says, and lets his hand fall from Lambert’s face. Lambert misses its warmth immediately, but his fingers move without conscious control, muscle memory taking over while Lambert’s mind enjoys not worrying about anything at all. Ordinarily he’d be a bit self-conscious about being naked in front of anyone - humans because of his scars, Eskel because in some weird way he isn’t scarred enough, isn’t quite enough of a witcher to match Eskel’s breadth of shoulders and experience - but the muffling Axii keeps him calm, and he lays his clothing over the back of his chair without any hesitation at all, and turns back to Eskel hopefully.
“Good,” Eskel murmurs, and it hits just as hard and sweetly as the first time. Lambert shudders.
“Sit down on the bed,” Eskel says. Lambert does, curling his hands in the blankets. He changed the sheets for this, took all the blankets and furs outside and beat them to get the dust and ick off, took the curtains out and beat them, which is a fucking awful job, getting them back into place is hellish. He’s surrounded by the crisp cool smell of the mountain air and the thick warm musk of lust, his and Eskel’s both.
Eskel sinks to his knees on the thick rug beside the bed, and oh fuck, Lambert did not think this through. Yes, he asked for this, wrote it down with the quill clutched so tightly in his fingers it splintered and he had to get a new one, but he didn’t realize how it would look: Eskel in the loose comfortable tunic and trousers he only wears here in Kaer Morhen, eyes dark as midnight, looking up at Lambert with unmistakable hunger as he leans in to breathe hot over Lambert’s straining prick.
Lambert clutches at the blankets and whines. Ordinarily he’d be horrified at having made such a sound, but he can’t regret it now, not when Eskel licks his lips and purrs, “Good, let me hear you, Lamb.”
The order sinks deep, hot iron through snow, leaving Lambert’s mind steaming helplessly in its wake, and when Eskel closes his mouth delicately over the tip of Lambert’s prick, Lambert makes a noise he’s never made before, something raw and desperate and wanting that makes his throat and heart ache. His hips jerk forward without his meaning to, and Eskel chuckles and wraps his hands around Lambert’s hips, holding him in place, muscles rolling beneath bronzed scarred skin.
Lambert shouldn’t be surprised that Eskel’s mouth is devastatingly talented. Eskel’s stories make it clear that the big Wolf has a lot of experience, with partners of every possible shape, including some that most sensible people would not dare approach - leshens, for instance. Minotaurs. A fucking sphinx. And more succubi and incubi than Lambert could shake a very long stick at; Lambert’s actually met a few of those who heard he was a Wolf witcher and asked rather politely if he happened to know where his brother was, and they sure as hell didn’t mean Geralt.
He is nevertheless genuinely astonished at how fucking good Eskel’s mouth feels as it slides down his prick. It’s hot and wet and his tongue is doing something Lambert can’t even describe and then the head of Lambert’s prick lodges in the tightness of Eskel’s throat and Eskel just swallows and keeps going, no gagging or choking or anything, just sinks down and down until his nose is buried in the coarse dark hair of Lambert’s crotch and he hums, sounding immensely satisfied.
Lambert scrabbles at the blankets and makes garbled desperate noises. Sure, he’s had a mouth on his prick before, but no one’s ever seemed so pleased about it. Eskel glances up at him, eyes so dark Lambert could drown in them, and swallows again, and starts to move, long slow bobs of his head that make Lambert shake with pleasure. Lambert doesn’t know how to describe the sounds spilling from his mouth; they’re raw and desperate and so full of wanting that he would be embarrassed if not for the comforting muffle of the Axii keeping him calm, but even if he weren’t held safe under Eskel’s Sign, he thinks the way Eskel looks so pleased by every aching sound would be enough to keep him from silencing himself.
Eskel pulls back until he’s just breathing on the tip of Lambert’s prick and looks up at Lambert again. “Come whenever you want, Lamb,” he says. “I want to taste you.”
Lambert very nearly comes right then and there; he claws onto his last dregs of self-control as Eskel sinks back down, whining deep in the back of his throat at hot and tight and Eskel’s fucking tongue and the reverberating hum, more felt than heard, that means Eskel is enjoying this almost as much as Lambert himself -
Lambert comes so hard he thinks he might have pulled something, spilling helplessly into Eskel’s scarred perfect mouth, and collapses back on the bed, staring up into the darkness of the gathered curtains and panting for breath.
Eskel pulls away slowly, swallowing every drop of Lambert’s spend, and Lambert glances down the sprawl of his own body to see Eskel licking his fucking lips and nearly comes again just from the look of smug satisfaction on Eskel’s face.
“Fuck,” he rasps, and Eskel chuckles, a deep pleased sound that shivers down Lambert’s spine.
“We’re getting there,” he promises. “You’re being so good for me, Lamb.”
Lambert shivers again, and whines.
And then Eskel stands and pulls off his tunic - not with any particular showiness, just an easy casual movement like he’s in his own bedroom at the end of the day. Lambert’s seen him shirtless before - when chopping wood, or tending the goats, or just lounging by the fire - but he’s never quite had the balls to look the way he wanted to, and now he can -
Eskel is broad and scarred, with a layer of padding over the boulderlike strength of his muscles, and his deep tan doesn’t end at the edges of his tunic, but continues down all the way to the waistband of his trousers and possibly below, which - does he just lie around nude in the summer sun? Sprawl out in a meadow with his hands laced behind his head and doze in the deep drugging warmth of midsummer, utterly unconcerned about who might come along and see him? Of course, given that it’s Eskel, anyone who did stumble across him in such a state would probably not object in the slightest. Fuck knows Lambert wouldn’t.
Eskel chuckles at whatever expression Lambert is wearing, and Lambert realizes he’s propped himself up on an elbow to stare. Eskel doesn’t seem to mind. He meets Lambert’s eyes squarely, smirking a little, and drops his hands to the laces of his trousers.
Lambert watches, feeling utterly caught: a rabbit pinned under the gaze of a wolf, knowing he’s helpless. Only rabbits probably don’t enjoy the feeling quite so much. Lambert could stay in this comforting muffle forever, if Eskel’s Axii held out.
Eskel isn’t wearing smallclothes.
Lambert makes a little choking sound as Eskel’s trousers fall to pool around his feet, revealing that yes, he probably does lie about in the nude during the summer, since he’s that same lovely bronze shade all over, from his treetrunk-thick thighs to his scarred calves to what Lambert can see of the perfect swell of his ass, and also that Eskel is most definitely enjoying himself. His prick is thick and heavy, with a slight curve, a little larger in all dimensions than Lambert’s own. Which makes sense, since Eskel himself is slightly larger in all dimensions, too. Taller. Broader. Stronger.
Lambert licks his lips absently, and Eskel chuckles, stepping out of his trousers and kicking them to the side. His feet are bare, and Lambert doesn’t know how long that’s been true, or where his boots have gone, and also doesn’t care. It doesn’t seem relevant, really, not when he can look at all of Eskel, bare and scarred and mouthwateringly perfect.
“Scootch on back a bit, Lamb,” Eskel says, and Lambert shuffles back until he’s all the way on the bed. It’s a nice big bed - one of the few true luxuries of Kaer Morhen - with a thickly-stuffed mattress and a frame wide enough for Lambert to spreadeagle himself if he pleases. Or to have a partner join him, though he hasn’t done that before.
Eskel crawls into the bed gracefully, which doesn’t seem fair somehow - Lambert never looks so graceful. But Eskel looks like a prowling wolf, perfectly balanced, utterly sure of himself. He moves right up over Lambert, in fact, until he’s looking down into Lambert’s face from inches away.
“Alright, then, Lamb?” he murmurs. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Lambert says, the word falling from his lips without thought. “Yes, please, Eskel.”
“Please what?” Eskel purrs, and oh, Lambert almost wants to goose him for that, except for how he also wants to bare his throat and beg.
If he starts a wrestling match, Eskel might not fuck him, and the comforting weight of Eskel’s Axii is still keeping him from worrying about making himself vulnerable, so -
Lambert tilts his head back against the blankets, baring his throat, and says, “Please fuck me.”
“Gods,” Eskel hisses, and then he’s kissing Lambert fiercely, ferociously, all lips and teeth and tongue, and Lambert can’t do anything but surrender.
He whines a little when Eskel pulls away, and Eskel presses another kiss to his lips, this one soft and almost chaste. “So good for me, Lamb,” he whispers. “Roll over?”
Lambert has a little trouble finding the coordination to roll over, but he manages it somehow, and - ordinarily, Lambert would find someone at his back to be extremely worrisome. That is, in fact, the whole point of this: he can’t do it. Someone at his back is a threat.
But today the person at his back is Eskel, and Eskel’s Axii keeps the panic from even starting to form. Instead of flailing or going for a knife or trying to elbow the person behind him somewhere painful, Lambert relaxes, melting against the blankets with a long sigh.
“There we go,” Eskel murmurs. “That’s it. Good, Lamb.” And presses a gentle kiss to the nape of Lambert’s neck, where the bare vulnerable skin is soft and sensitive and no one ever touches Lambert at all.
Lambert shudders and makes a sound that might be a sob, clutching at the blankets as he hides his face. Fuck. Fuck.
“Good?” Eskel checks, warm breath against the back of Lambert’s neck making him shudder again.
“Good,” Lambert chokes out. “Fuck, good, Eskel, please.”
“Ahhhh,” Eskel breathes, and kisses the nape of Lambert’s neck again, then eases down until his full weight is pinning Lambert to the bed, heavy and warm and perfect. Lambert feels…well, squished, but good squished, like all the worry and second-guessing have been squeezed right out of him, leaving him sprawled here beneath Eskel, exactly where he wants to be.
Eskel kisses the tip of his right ear. “This is how I’m going to fuck you, Lamb,” he murmurs. “Pin you down just like this and fill you up. You want that?”
Lambert can feel Eskel’s prick against his ass, a bar of hot iron, throbbing in time with Eskel’s slow heartbeat. He wants it like he wants his next breath. His own prick, trapped between his belly and the blankets, aches like he hasn’t just had the most overwhelming orgasm he’s had in decades. “Yes, fuck, please.”
“You’re being so good for me,” Eskel croons. “So good, Lamb.”
If Eskel keeps saying that, Lambert’s going to come again without anyone even touching his prick. He whines desperately, and Eskel chuckles, the warm puff of air against Lambert’s ear just a little ticklish.
And then Eskel moves, pushing up onto his knees, and Lambert whines again at the loss of the heat and weight of him. Eskel’s hands smooth down his back, calluses catching a little against Lambert’s scars, and then Eskel digs the heels of his hands into the tight muscles of Lambert’s back and Lambert makes a strangled sound of agonized pleasure as knots he didn’t even know he had start to give way.
“Hah,” Eskel says softly. “At some point this winter, you should let me give you a massage, Lamb.”
Lambert scrabbles for coherency and manages to find what he thinks are the right words: “Sure, but you gotta let me do the same for you.”
“I’d be glad to,” Eskel purrs, and Lambert realizes he’s just gotten Eskel to agree to Lambert putting oiled hands all over him and -
Well, the Axii is definitely proving its worth, because under ordinary circumstances that would be worth an entire panic all by itself. As it is, Lambert is still wrapped in that comforting muffle that keeps all worry from impinging on his mind, and he’s just deeply pleased at the thought.
Eskel shifts off to one side. “Spread your legs,” he orders softly. Lambert lets his legs sprawl apart and slides his arms up so he can pillow his cheek on his crossed hands, looking a little over his shoulder at Eskel looming comfortingly over him.
Eskel leans over to the bedside table. Lambert has oil there, of course - the oil he makes himself for his own private jerkoff sessions; it has a subtle, neutral scent, and stays slick for ages. Eskel picks up the little jar and opens it, dipping a finger in and rubbing finger and thumb together thoughtfully.
“This is really nice,” he says. “You made it?”
Lambert nods. Eskel grins. “Nice job,” he says. “It’s perfect.”
The praise settles into the pit of Lambert’s stomach like a warm coal of pleasure.
Eskel shifts until he’s kneeling between Lambert’s wide-spread legs, and strokes a hand over Lambert’s ass. “Alright, Lamb,” he murmurs, and slips one slick finger down to pet over Lambert’s hole.
Lambert shivers. Fuck. That feels…really fucking good.
“D’you touch yourself here, Lamb?” Eskel asks softly.
“Sometimes,” Lambert says. “Not on the Path.”
Eskel nods. On the Path, baths are always less frequent than might be desired. At least Kaer Morhen has the mage-made plumbing - which Lambert took full advantage of this afternoon. He scrubbed himself hard enough that his skin felt a little raw afterwards, and was very thorough around his crotch and ass.
“But during the winter?” Eskel asks.
“Sometimes,” Lambert says again. “Just - touching.”
“Ah,” Eskel purrs, and keeps petting gently over Lambert’s hole with that one slick finger. Lambert closes his eyes - he can’t keep watching Eskel’s hungry expression, not and keep from coming. He can feel himself relaxing, feel as each pass of Eskel’s finger presses against him where he’s so fucking sensitive.
Eskel adds more oil - warmed somehow, so it doesn’t make Lambert flinch away - and the tip of his finger slips just barely in, and Lambert tenses up for a moment and then melts, sighing softly as that finger slides deeper.
“There we go,” Eskel murmurs. “Good, Lamb.”
Lambert makes a formless little noise. It feels weird but it’s good and he wants more.
Eskel’s finger slips out and comes back with more oil and a second finger, and this time as they slide in Eskel crooks them, beckoning, even as he presses his thumb gently against Lambert’s taint, and Lambert yowls and claws at the blankets, shoving back against Eskel’s hand, as ecstasy like a lightning bolt rolls through him.
“The fuck,” he pants. He knows what that is - witcher training does include anatomy - but he’s never quite managed to find it for himself and he had no idea it was going to feel that fucking good.
“Beautiful,” Eskel breathes. “Fuck, Lamb, you look so good like this.” And his fingers crook again, and Lambert loses his breath in a gasping wail of pleasure.
“Please,” he chokes out as soon as he has air in his lungs again. “Please, please, fuck, Eskel.”
Eskel bends and presses a kiss to the small of Lambert’s back, and then another a little higher up, and another, working his way up Lambert’s spine vertebrae by vertebrae, until he reaches the nape of Lambert’s neck again, and bites, teeth closing firmly enough to bruise, even as he curls his fingers again.
Lambert comes so hard his vision goes white, a strangled scream tearing itself from his throat, and sags against the blankets panting hoarsely.
“Fuck,” Eskel whispers in his ear. “That was beautiful, Lamb. You’re being so good.”
Lambert whimpers weakly. The praise right after the orgasm is almost too much to bear.
“Ready for me to fuck you?” Eskel asks.
Lambert heaves in a shaky breath. He feels like he might fall apart, but Eskel’s there. Eskel will hold him together.
And that comforting muffled feeling is still wrapped around his mind, keeping him calm, letting him tell Eskel what he actually wants without getting in his own way.
“Ready,” he agrees, pillowing his forehead on his hands and shivering as Eskel slides those marvelous tormenting fingers out and away. There’s the slick sound of oil being spilled out and the wet squelch of oil on skin, and then Eskel stretches out atop Lambert again, heavy and blissfully warm. His oiled prick nestles snugly in the cleft of Lambert’s ass.
“Give me your hands,” Eskel purrs, and when Lambert draws his hands out from under his head, Eskel laces their fingers together, pinning Lambert’s hands to the blankets. Lambert whines softly. Eskel chuckles and ruts against Lambert’s ass, prick sliding easily against sensitive skin.
“I’ve got you,” Eskel murmurs. “Open for me, Lamb, I’ve got you.” The words sink in through the muffling comfort of Axii and wrap themselves around Lambert, as warm as Eskel’s skin against his, command and reassurance twined together.
“Y-yeah,” Lambert stutters, legs spreading wider as Eskel shifts his hips. “Please?”
“Yes,” Eskel says, and draws back until the head of his prick nestles against the slick, sensitive skin of Lambert’s hole. “Push back against me if you can.”
Lambert does his best, and it weirdly seems to help; for a moment he’s entirely sure there’s no way in hell Eskel’s thick prick can fit inside him, and then Eskel squeezes his hands and presses a kiss to the side of his throat, and something inside him shifts, and Eskel sinks into him, slow and steady and implacable. Lambert gasps for breath, feeling like Eskel’s prick is filling him clear up to his throat, like he’ll be split apart by heat and pleasure.
It’s so much. It’s just - so much.
It’s exactly what Lambert wanted.
“Good?” Eskel whispers against Lambert’s ear.
Lambert nods; all his words have fled somewhere far away. He is a vessel for pleasure, shaped by Eskel’s Axii, filled and overfilled by the burning ecstasy of Eskel’s prick sunk deep within him.
“So good, Lamb,” Eskel purrs, and draws back again until only the head of his prick is still in Lambert’s ass. Lambert whines, thin and desperate.
“I’ve got you,” Eskel says again, and thrusts.
Lambert doesn’t mean to make the noise that falls from his mouth; it’s pushed out of him by the shock of pleasure as Eskel’s prick hits that golden spot in his ass with unerringly perfect aim. It’s loud and shaky and it makes Eskel growl, low and pleased, right against Lambert’s ear; the growl shivers down Lambert’s spine and makes him clench down around Eskel’s prick, and that makes Eskel shove in harder, and that pushes another loud desperate noise from Lambert’s throat -
It builds and builds and builds, the steady driving rhythm of Eskel’s thrusts hollowing him out and filling him up again, the shocks of impossible pleasure shuddering through him every time Eskel hits that golden spot, Eskel’s weight against his back and the clasp of Eskel’s hands around his own, the helpless noises spilling from Lambert’s mouth and the low growls rumbling from Eskel’s deep chest, and something has to break.
That something is the coiling pleasure deep in Lambert’s gut, that rachets tighter and tighter until it finally snaps and he clutches at Eskel’s hands and comes for the third time that night, caught on a knife’s edge between pleasure and pain and shaking like a leaf in an autumn gale.
Eskel snarls and ruts into him, hard, and then Lambert can feel him coming, too, hips jerking in an uneven rhythm as he shudders.
Then Eskel sags, heavy and almost limp atop him, and presses another kiss to his ear before carefully letting go of his hands, slipping an arm under Lambert’s chest, and rolling them both to the side so Lambert isn’t completely squashed. Lambert ends up sort of leaning back against him, gasping as he tries to catch his breath.
“Good?” Eskel asks softly.
Lambert swallows hard and discovers he has words again. Not many, but some. “Good,” he agrees. “Fuck.”
“Good fuck,” Eskel chuckles. “Yes, it was.” He nuzzles at Lambert’s hair, humming contentedly. “You did so well, Lamb.”
Lambert shivers. He’s wrung out like an old dishcloth, exhausted and glowing with remembered pleasure. Eskel eases back, prick slipping out of Lambert’s ass; it feels very weird, and Lambert whines softly. Eskel reaches over to the bedside table and finds a clean cloth, wiping Lambert down gently before cleaning himself, then rolls them both over so Lambert is sprawled atop him, head pillowed on Eskel’s broad chest.
“Want me to lift the Axii now, Lamb?” Eskel murmurs.
Lambert doesn’t want to lose this feeling, the muffling comfort keeping his mind from its usual whirling chaos. “You’re leaving?” he asks, voice far too small.
“No,” Eskel says at once. “I’d like to stay the night, if you’ll let me.”
Lambert swallows. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Please.”
“Alright,” Eskel says. “Let’s get us under the covers, then.”
They manage to scramble under the blankets without either of them elbowing the other anywhere unpleasant, and Eskel gathers Lambert back onto his chest, stroking a hand over Lambert’s hair. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to sleep under Axii, Lamb. You ready?”
“Not quite,” Lambert says, and pushes himself up just enough to be able to kiss Eskel, trying to pour all the gratitude and wonder he knows he’s not going to be able to verbalize once the Axii is lifted into the press of lips. Eskel’s mouth opens under his, soft and willing, and Eskel moans a little, pulling Lambert closer. It’s intoxicating; Lambert could do this for hours.
But eventually he has to pull away, tucking his head into the curve of Eskel’s throat and sighing. “Alright,” he says.
Eskel’s hand moves slightly, and the muffling comfort of Axii fades away.
Lambert goes very still. It’s - gods, it was so fucking good, but now he can’t help wondering if it was any good for Eskel, if he’s just fucked up their entire relationship, if the rest of the winter is going to be an utter clusterfuck of avoiding each other -
“Shh, Lamb,” Eskel murmurs, one big hand stroking down Lambert’s back. “Don’t panic, hm? That was so, so good. I enjoyed the hell out of myself. I’d do it again, if you ever want to. And I’m not leaving.”
Lambert blinks. “You’d - again?”
“If you want to, yeah. Fuck, you were beautiful for me, Lamb. So fuckin’ good.”
Lambert tries to fit that into his spiraling worries, and can’t. It’s so utterly different from anything he was anticipating that it knocks him most of the way out of his incipient panic - which probably would have involved shoving away from Eskel and going and holing up somewhere until he felt less cornered - and lets him actually relax a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Eskel’s big hand stroking his back is so damn soothing. “It was good. You were good.”
Lambert relaxes a little further. “Don’t gotta stay if you don’t want to,” he mumbles.
“I want to,” Eskel says easily. “I like holding someone, ‘specially after a fuck like that.”
“I won’t break,” Lambert says, bristling a little.
“Never thought you would,” Eskel says, hand never slowing in its slow sweep up and down his back. “This is for me. I like the closeness.”
“Oh.” Lambert subsides. “Uh. Alright.”
“Sleep, Lamb,” Eskel murmurs. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow. I can give you that massage I promised.”
“Fine,” Lambert says, closing his eyes and pretending he isn’t nuzzling in even closer. “Then I get to do you.”
“Anytime you like, Lamb,” Eskel purrs, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Anytime at all.”