The Witcher is Kind of Gay - 2. Lambert

‘Fuck, ow!’ Lambert glared at Geralt.

‘Stop squirming and it won’t hurt, kid.’

‘Don’t call me “kid”, old man!’

Geralt chuckled, pulling the bandage taut and winding it one last time around Lambert’s shoulder. He had skewered it on the end of his own sword after dropping it when Geralt gave him a savage kick while training.

It was getting towards winter, but Kaer Morhen was still mostly empty, not many of the Witchers on the Path returned yet. As such, even if they’d never exactly gotten along, Lambert and Geralt had few options other than to train together. The sparring had been fun, Geralt had to admit. Lambert was fierce and determined, but he was young, only a few years a full Witcher, and reckless. All Geralt had to do was feint and bide his time until he’d pissed him off thoroughly enough that the younger man lunged without thinking.

‘You gotta calm down, Lambert.’ Geralt secured the bandage. ‘This would never have happened if you’d just kept your cool.’

‘This would never have happened if I hadn’t been sold to this cult,’ Lambert mumbled under his breath.

Geralt ignored that. ‘You need to work on your technique. And you need to stop letting your anger get the better of you.’

Lambert had nothing to say to that and contented himself with glowering at Geralt instead. Geralt put away the medicine kit and then met Lambert’s gaze until he finally looked away. If Lambert could ever forgive him for beating him so thoroughly, Geralt knew he wouldn’t forgive him for being right. The young Witcher was too proud fro that.

‘Let’s have a drink,’ said Geralt with a sigh. ‘You won’t be able to spar for a couple of days anyway, might as well get hammered.’

Lambert looked like he was about to argue, but seemed to change his mind. ‘That’s fair.’

* * *

They drank vodka until the hour was late and the world seemed a blur. Conversation was limited, but it was nice to have some company all the same, thought Geralt.

‘Why do you like being a Witcher so much?’ Lambert slurred, glancing askance at him.

Geralt frowned. ‘Like it?’

‘Yeah. I mean, you never complain. You do your thing, you wander the world sleeping with beautiful women and slaying monsters and generally having a gay old time of it . . .’

‘If that’s what you think,’ said Geralt, draining his cup, ‘you really don’t know me at all.’

‘You mean, you don’t wander the world sleeping with beautiful women?’

Geralt shrugged, ‘No, that part’s true. Doesn’t mean I like being a Witcher. See this hair? Think I was born like this?’ He shook his head. ‘You’re always complaining about your trials, how awful they were. You don’t know the half of it.’ He picked up the bottle. It was nearly empty, so he portioned out what was left between his own cup and Lambert’s. ‘A Witcher’s what I am. There’s no point being bitter about it now. What’s passed is passed.’

He took another swig of his vodka, and they remained silent for a while, until Lambert had drained his cup and was staring into the bottom of it.

‘Damn. Out of vodka.’

‘Probably for the best,’ said Geralt. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘Go plough yourself, Geralt.’ Lambert stood up. ‘Gotta piss.’ He stopped, swaying, and looked down at his crotch, frowning. ‘Shit. All this talk of women, now I need a woman.’

‘No women at Kaer Morhen,’ Geralt pointed out.

‘I know that, Geralt!’ Lambert snapped. ‘Gotta go take care of this.’

He stumbled out of the room. Geralt drained his cup again, the last of the vodka washing down his throat, stinging a little bit. He grimaced. It was shit vodka. Then he stood up, and followed Lambert out of the room. He might as well mess with the kid.

He found him outside, pissing up against a bush. He looked around as Geralt approached, tucking himself away. ‘What do you want now?’

Geralt shrugged. ‘Thought I might give you a hand.’

Lambert looked dumbstruck. ‘You what?’

‘Got pretty worked up, too, thinking about my . . . exploits. No women around. I figure we might as well.’

‘Well, you figured wrong! I’m no pervert.’

‘You mean to tell me, growing up here with no girls around, you never once considered it?’

‘Yes!’ said Lambert sharply. ‘That’s exactly what I mean to tell you!’

Geralt gave another shrug and turned away. ‘Suit yourself. I just tend to find two hands are better than one, no matter who the other one belongs to.’ He began to walk away.

‘Wait,’ said Lambert, quiet enough that Geralt might not have been able to hear him without his superior senses. He halted.

‘Yes?’

‘C’mere.’

Hiding his smile, Geralt turned back towards Lambert, and began to walk towards him. Lambert’s face was flushed, and he looked resolutely away from Geralt.

‘You’re not fucking me. Okay?’

Geralt nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘And if you ever tell anyone about this—’

‘I don’t kiss and tell.’

‘There will not be any kissing.’

‘Fine.’

Lambert still wouldn’t meet his gaze, but he took a step closer. Then he took Geralt’s hand and brought it to the front of his trousers. Pissing must have been uncomfortable, Geralt mused, because Lambert was hard as Mahakam steel. As he gave a gentle squeeze, Lambert hissed, closing his eyes. He hadn’t done up his trousers properly, so Geralt could easily slip his hand inside to stroke Lambert’s cock.

Lambert released a deep groan. ’Fuck . . .’

‘Feels better than doing it yourself, doesn’t it?’

‘Sh—shut up!’

‘Want me to suck you off?’ asked Geralt, unable to keep the playful tone out of his voice. Lambert’s cock twitched in his hand, and he smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘If it’ll shut you up, do it!’

Geralt got to his knees. He pulled Lambert’s cock out of his trousers. It was long and slender, and already leaking. This wouldn’t take long.

He sucked the crown of it into his mouth, and Lambert moaned. Geralt licked from the base to the tip, swirling his tongue around it, eliciting sounds from Lambert that made his stomach tighten. Then he swallowed him down, and Lambert released a particularly loud moan before covering his mouth with his fist. Geralt groaned around Lambert’s cock, and reached down to touch himself through his trousers.

He took Lambert as deep as he could, and the younger Witcher’s hips bucked as he thrust into Geralt’s mouth. Geralt felt a hand on his head, and he reached up with his free hand, encouraging Lambert to grip his white hair. Lambert fisted his hand and pulled, causing Geralt to moan around his cock. Lambert wanted to call the shots, wanted to dominate him, that much was clear. And Geralt was nothing if not a giver.

Sliding his hand down the front of his trousers, Geralt took himself in hand. Getting Lambert to do it was probably too much to ask, so Geralt contented himself with watching the younger man fall apart under his ministrations, and listening to his stifled moans and racing heart. That was enough to really get him going, and he stroked himself roughly, letting Lambert fuck his face.

Lambert came without warning, his hot seed spilling down Geralt’s throat, and Geralt swallowed it down. He looked up at him through white lashes. Lambert’s face was slack, eyes nearly closed. Geralt slid his tongue around the head of Lambert’s cock, tasting his cum. Lambert whimpered.

‘Ah . . . stop!’ He pulled out of Geralt’s mouth and looked down at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they began. He was breathing heavily still, his heart pounding in his chest. Geralt could hear it, felt it through the tip of Lamber’s cock, still only just touching his lips, though it was softening now.

Geralt kept his eyes fixed to Lambert’s as his breathing grew laboured and his balls tightened, and then he came with a deep, guttural groan, still not looking away. He saw Lambert’s eyes widen, and then he looked away again, blushing furiously.

‘You’re way too good at that,’ he mumbled.

Geralt shrugged, getting to his feet and tucking himself away. ‘Had some practice.’

‘You’re disgusting.’

Geralt laughed. ‘What does that make you, hm?’

‘Shut up!’ Seemingly unable to find anything else to say, Lambert did up his trousers, stormed past Geralt, and disappeared into the castle. Geralt chuckled. That was fun. He knew Lambert would never look at him the same way again, and he would never, ever forgive him. That was okay. There were enough other things Lambert would never forgive him for. Adding this to the list shouldn’t make a difference.

Whistling a tune to himself, Geralt made his way to his quarters. Time to get some sleep.