Someone is kissing his neck. Their body is pressed up against his, an arm wrapped snugly around Lambert's middle, the other gently stroking through the hair on his chest. There's a slight chill in the air, but under his thick woolen blankets and the pleasant warmth of his bedmate, Lambert feels perfectly content.
Not quite willing to wake up yet, the witcher hums and turns into the other body, lifting his chin to provide better access. The lips continue to kiss him, moving across the newly provided canvas of skin with pleased purr. They travel upwards, pressing open mouthed kisses up the length of Lambert's throat, then under his jaw and across his face until they reach the corner of his mouth. Lambert tilts his head to kiss them properly and the purring gets louder.
The kiss is slow and drawn out, with Lambert's bedmate kissing back enthusiastically. The arm around his stomach disappears and there's brief shuffling as the other person crawls on top of him, changing the angle and deepening the kiss.
What a pleasant thing to wake up to. Lambert sighs and reaches up, pulling his partner closer and threading his fingers through surprisingly soft curly hair. He can feel a scar at the corner of their upper lip, one that he's felt against him too many times to count.
"Mmmm, Aiden."
Aiden cups Lambert's face in one hand and tilts his head so that their mouths can better slide together.
Wait.
Aiden.
Lambert's eyes snap open and he sits bolt upright, accidentally knocking his forehead against the other witcher and biting his lower lip in the process. Aiden yelps as Lambert all but throws him off his lap, curling into himself and holding his injured forehead in his hand.
"Aiden, what are you--" at this point Lambert realizes three things: one, that it is the middle of the night, two, that his room is fucking cold and most importantly, three, that Aiden is somehow not in his room where he should be, but rather in Lambert's bed.
Said Cat witcher licks the blood dribbling off his lower lip and, seemingly recovered from the shock of Lambert's reaction, and gives a confused look before crawling back over to him. When he attempts to lean in for another kiss, Lambert stops him with a hand in the center of his chest.
"What are you doing here?" Lambert hisses, glancing towards the door nervously. "How did you even--" his eyes land on the open window, the source of the suddenly frigid temperature. No fucking way.
Lambert climbs out of bed for a closer look and, sure enough, the window to Aiden's room is also open. He groans and runs a hand down his face before nearly walking into Aiden who has followed him to the window and is hovering behind Lambert, a hopeful look on his face.
"Did you fucking climb here?"
The ashamed expression and mournful sound that Aiden makes tell Lambert everything he needs to know.
Lambert breathes a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Fucking hell, kitten. You're crazier than I am." Though, that much was evident already. Not even Lambert was brave enough to attempt a climb that far. But then again, before he broke his brain, Aiden had taught him everything he knew.
He...should probably send Aiden back to his own room. Lambert looks at the Cat expectantly, then gestures to the window. "I, uh, don't suppose you want to climb back?"
Aiden blinks at him.
"Aiden, you need to go back to your own room. If the others find out you left they'll..." Actually, Lambert doesn't know what they would do, but he sure as hell knows that it's a conversation he would like to avoid if given the chance.
An icy breeze blows through the window. The other witcher makes a noise of displeasure and shivers, then latches his arms around Lambert, burning his face in the Wolf's neck. Lambert sighs in defeat. Gently, he pries Aiden off of him, then closes the window.
"Okay fine, you can stay. But you're climbing back before breakfast in the morning, got it?"
Lambert climbs back into bed and Aiden follows, chirping happily and burrowing into the blankets. When he settles back down however, Aiden is suddenly looming over him. His gaze flicks to Lambert's lips, then he darts forward. Lambert barely has time to turn his head away. "Nope, we're not doing that again."
Aiden, it seems, doesn't get the message, and after a huff and a brief pause, attempts to kiss him again.
Lambert grabs him by the shoulders, holding the other man back. "Aiden, stop. I can't." No matter how much he wants to. Letting things escalate with Aiden still being in this state is a bad idea.
The Cat witcher frowns and pushes forwards, but Lambert holds fast.
"Look, you can stay till morning, okay? But this--" He gestures between the two of them-- "Can't happen, kitten."
Aiden makes a small sound at the back of his throat. He cups Lambert's face in one hand and attempts to pull the other man up to him.
Lambert swats his nose. "No."
Aiden lets out a mewling whine. The pitiful look on his face sends guilt like a stake to Lambert's chest.
"Just...lie down, okay?" Lambert sets himself on his side and gives Aiden an expectant look. Slowly, the Cat lies down beside him.
Lambert tucks the blankets over them both, then opens his arms. The other man perks up a bit and shifts into his embrace, cuddling around Lambert like before. The familiar weight of Aiden in his arms sends warmth seeping into Lambert's chest. Before, he'd always fantasized about what it would have been like to have Aiden with him at Kaer Morhen. He knew the others would never allow it, but Lambert had been gathering up the courage to invite Aiden anyway because fuck them. Except by the time he had finally made that decision, everything had already begun spiraling out of control.
And yet, despite everything, here they are.
Lambert gazes down at the other witcher fondly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Please don't make me regret this in the morning."
The Cat smiles and presses his face into the crook of Lambert's neck, purring. Lambert falls asleep to the steady rhythm emanating from his chest.
----------------------------
"The Cat's gone!"
Lambert is awake in an instant. "Fuck!"
Panic races through him. They slept in. He slept in. Lambert never sleeps in. How could this happen?
Sunlight is streaming through the window. Aiden is lying almost entirely on top of Lambert, legs tangled with his, arms clinging to him in a vice-like fashion.
There's the sound of approaching footsteps in the hall, Eskel's concerned voice alerting everyone to the situation. Lambert shakes Aiden awake. "Wake the fuck up, Aiden, you gotta go."
The Cat makes a grumpy sound and curls into Lambert further.
"Come on." Lambert shoves him again and Aiden growls quietly. Not knowing what else to do, Lambert just pushes him off. The other witcher lands on the floor with a yowl and a thump. He pops his head up a second later, glaring.
"Don't look at me like that," Lambert says defensively. "You need to climb back." He opens the window and ushers Aiden towards it.
It's at that moment that Lambert's door bursts open.
"Lambert, wake up, Aiden's--"
Lambert and Aiden freeze.
Eskel's gaze flits from Lambert, to the disturbed bed, to the Cat witcher that he's currently helping climb out the window. His face shifts from concern to confusion to frustration. "You let him out?"
"It's not what you think!"
"Are you sure? Cause it looks like you let him out and are trying to hide the evidence by smuggling him out the window."
"Smuggling what now?" Jaskier appears over Eskel's shoulder. "Oh. Well that's just adorable actually." The bard grins and turns down the hall, disappearing as he shouts, "Geralt, it's fine. Eskel found him, he's with Lambert."
"I swear it wasn't me," Lambert says to Eskel.
The other witcher raises an eyebrow. "Care to explain then?"
Lambert gestures to the open window. "See for yourself."
Eskel frowns slightly, but heads over to the window. Aiden growls a bit as he approaches, curling around Lambert and glaring in Eskel's direction, but as soon as the youngest Wolf takes his hand, he calms down. When Eskel looks out the window, his face pales. He turns back to Lambert.
"Did he really...?"
"Yep."
"All that way?"
"The School of the Cat is very thorough. They have a whole trial just for acrobatics."
The scarred witcher lets out a long whistle. "Well, shit. Now I finally know where you get it from."
Lambert eyes his brother warily. "Are we good then?"
"We're good. But you're explaining this to Vesemir, not me."
Lambert sighs. He was afraid of that. "Come on, Aiden," he says, looping an arm around the Cat's shoulders. "Let's get you back before the old man yells at me."
Aiden frowns, but lets Lambert guide him towards the door. He shoots a look over his shoulder at Lambert's room and chirps sadly.
"It's fine," Lambert assures him. "Once you're better, you can visit again. Hell, move in for all I care."
The whole way back to the tower Aiden glances curiously around Kaer Morhen. He cranes his head to look at the towering ceilings, tries to grab at the tapestries and the tassels on the hallway carpet, and every so often will try to wander out of Lambert's grasp to go and investigate something that catches his eye. It pains Lambert to tell him "no." He would like nothing more than to show Aiden around the keep, to let him roam to his heart's desire and burn off that pent up energy from being trapped in a little room all day, but he knows he can't. Until Aiden is more himself, they'll have to make do with what they can under the restrictions that everyone agrees on.
Once they get back to Aiden's room and Lambert opens the door for him, the Cat is full-on pouting.
"It's just for now," Lambert tells him. "Look, maybe we can convince the others to let you go on a walk sometime." Of course Vesemir will probably want the shackles back on if that were to happen, but something is better than nothing, right?
Gently, Lambert coaxes the other witcher back into his room. After he's settled comfortably on the rug in front of the fireplace, Lambert rises to go and get some food for the both of them-- or rather he tries to, but Aiden grabs his wrist and tugs him back. Lambert lands on top of him with an oof. Arms wrap around his back.
Aiden rolls them over and nips gently at Lambert's collarbone, the unspoken message ringing clear: stay put.
Lambert huffs. "Let me up, kitten."
Another bite to his collarbone, harder this time.
"I can't stay here. I have stuff to do."
Aiden whines, then his gaze dips down to Lambert's chest. He's still not wearing a shirt, since he hadn't bothered last night with the fireplace going and he didn't get a chance to change this morning amid the whole escape incident. The Cat's eye widens as it falls on the scar over Lambert's heart.
Slowly, Aiden traces a thumb over it. Lambert's breath hitches. The witcher has a faraway look in his eye, as if struggling to think. Then he crosses his thumb over the mark in the other direction, making an "X."
"A-aiden?"
The Cat repeats the action again, then presses a kiss to the mark.
"I love you too," Lambert whispers.
He reaches up and places a hand over Aiden's heart, mirroring the action, but pauses when he feels bumps of raised skin beneath the other man's shirt.
Lambert frowns, pulling down the neckline. "What's..." The words catch in his throat when he sees what lies underneath.
Over Aiden's heart is a symbol. It's a series of fine swirling and criss-crossed lines that look like they've been carved into the skin by someone with a very precise hand.
A lump forms in Lambert's throat as he thumbs over the reddened mark.
"What on earth is that?"
---------------------------
Triss Merigold's nose bunches up as she runs her fingers over the mark, her face set in a frown. Aiden shivers beneath the touch and Lambert holds him tighter. He has the Cat witcher sitting in his lap, which has so far proved to be a much better way to keep him restrained while Triss examines the mark and searches for any others that they may have missed. Aiden's been remarkably calm so far, but he's starting to get tense the longer people poke and prod at him. Lambert soothes a hand over his, rubbing the back of his knuckles in slow circles.
Eskel stands at Lambert's side-- a precaution in case things go badly-- whether it's in fear of Aiden lashing out, or Lambert and Triss's sour relationship, he failed to specify. Geralt and Jaskier hover behind Triss. Vesemir has relegated himself to the armchair at the far wall.
"Well?" Lambert asks.
Triss shakes her head. "It's a rune of some kind, that's for sure. But I've never seen it before."
"What do you mean you've never seen it? Aren't you supposed to be the expert here?"
Triss frowns at Lambert briefly before regaining her composure. She stands up and starts putting back on her velvet gloves. "Expert, yes. But that doesn't mean I know every single obscure rune out there. Sometimes magic users even invent their own."
"So you can't tell us anything about it?"
The sorceress hums, tapping her chin. "Well since it's drawn into, uh, organic material, I would say it's very possible that this mark has something to do with why Aiden is the way he is."
"So this crazy wizard's rune is what fucked over Aiden's mind?"
"Well, there's no way to tell for sure without identifying the mark or asking the caster themselves."
Eskel's face tightens. "Yeah, that's not going to be possible." Lambert nods in agreement. He hopes the piece of filth is rolling in his grave. He only wishes he could have killed the bastard himself.
"But can you do something to help him?" Lambert presses. "Do some magic shit and take it off?"
"Not without knowing more about it," Triss says gently. "Tampering could have serious consequences if we don't know what we're dealing with."
"So what," Lambert growls, voice getting louder, "we're just supposed to sit here and do nothing?" He feels Aiden tense in his arms.
"Lambert." Eskel says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. Triss is just trying to help."
"Maybe she should actually help then."
"It looks similar to Elder," Geralt offers. "Maybe you can contact Aretuza, see if they have any tomes that categorize it."
Triss nods. "It's worth a shot."
"Sounds good," Eskel says. "While you do that, we can check the library here. We've got decades worth of Witcher accounts and journals. Maybe someone from the Wolf School has come across it before."
"Good thinking, Eskel. That could give us a lead. I'll contact Yen as well, though it may take some time to track her down. We can discuss our findings in, let's say a week or so?"
A collective nod goes around the room.
"Great." Triss claps her hands together. "Now, I should be getting back to Temeria." She turns to Vesemir. "I don't suppose I could bother you for something to drink beforehand? Casting too many portals in a short time tends to drain me."
The old witcher nods and beckons her towards the door. "Come. I'll show you to the kitchen."
Geralt and Eskel follow. Jaskier pauses at the door and gives Lambert an encouraging look before joining them as well.
Left alone with Aiden, Lambert hugs the other witcher tightly before releasing him. Aiden looks around the room curiously, probably wondering why he had so many visitors all of a sudden who just up and left. He glances towards the door with a sad sound.
"It's okay," Lambert says, coming to stand next to him. "Merigold will find something. Then we'll get you back to your old self." He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but some manages to seep through anyway. That was not the resounding solution he'd been hoping for.
----------------------------
"How about this one?" Geralt asks, taking the weathered brown book off the shelf and flipping through the pages. "Have you read the journals by--" he glances at the name etched crudely into the spine-- "Elgar yet?" It's an account by a witcher he's never heard of, but they're beginning to resort to more and more obscure writings as their search comes up fruitless.
Jaskier cranes his head over the back of the sofa, brows scrunching slightly as he studies the volume in Geralt's hands. "Hm, I don't think so. Hopefully it's more helpful than this diary-- and I mean literal diary, Geralt, there's no way you could call this thing a journal. Most of its content belongs in Eskel's poetry collection rather than under 'historical accounts.' My man, Olach of Ban Glean, was one randy bastard." He sighs and chucks the book in question onto the "unhelpful" pile. Books lay strewn around the bard in heaps, some on the couch cushions, some on the floor, all sorted based on usefulness.
Geralt raises an eyebrow as he grabs Elgar's three journals and returns to the couch, handing one to Jaskier. "Oh? Perhaps we should file that one away for later."
The bard breathes a laugh, taking the book from him. "Unfortunately I don't think it will be useful in even that regard. The man's prose is terrible."
"Then why have you spent so long reading it?"
A deep red blush spreads on the younger man's face. "Ah-- well, it's only fair that I conduct a thorough search of each text. You know, a scholar's oath and all that."
"A scholar's oath. Of course." Geralt shoots him a sideways glance, smirking, and shoves his husband lightly.
"...perhaps we could set it aside for later."
The witcher chuckles and presses a kiss to the bard's cheek, earning him a sunny smile. "Whatever you wish, oh husband mine."
Geralt settles into the couch and begins to read. They've been at this for what seems like hours now and they're no closer to finding out about the mysterious rune than they were when they started. The only thing that has progressed is Geralt's increasing headache and Jaskier's fidgeting. The bard's had a faraway look in his eye since that morning, and Geralt is beginning to wonder if maybe he knows more than he's letting on. The fae has been dabbling in all things magic lately and he figures that if Triss and Yen can't find out what's going on, then the next best person is Jaskier.
Elgar's journal turns out to be dry and inconsequential, with most passages consisting of recounting the day's events in a way that would make Geralt look like the most eloquent man in existence. After making it about halfway through the first volume, the witcher glances over to Jaskier, knowing the bard will have some sort of witty quip in regards to the poor writing.
Jaskier however, is staring at the page, face blank, only a few pages into the journal despite hours spent reading.
"Jask?"
The bard doesn't respond.
"Jaskier." A little more insistent this time.
"Wha?"
Geralt chuckles at the quick turn of the other man's head, the bard blinking as if waking up from a trance. A tuft of brown hair has fallen into his eyes and Geralt tucks it behind his ear. "You're not reading, are you?"
"Of course I am, it's just...slow going."
"You've been staring at that page for an hour."
Jaskier glances down at the book and huffs. "Fair point. I'm just deep in thought I suppose."
"About what?"
"Well that's just the thing," the bard says. "I'm not entirely sure. I feel like I've seen Aiden's mark somewhere before, but can't for the life of me recall where."
"Hmmm." Geralt ponders that thought for a moment. They're not really getting anywhere with these books anymore, and if he reads another paragraph he's sure he'll start ripping his hair out. Jaskier, he assumes, is feeling much the same. "You know," Geralt says, a smile tugging at his lips, "perhaps you just need to come back to it. Clear your head and all that."
"Yeah, maybe you're right, darling, I-- oh ." The bard's breath hitches a little as Geralt leans towards him, sliding a hand up his thigh. " Oh."
Geralt's lips latch onto his husband's neck, kissing at the tender spot just below his pulse. "I could help you with that," the witcher rumbles, sucking a mark into the soft skin before him. "If you would like."
The spicy scent of Jaskier's arousal spikes in the air and the bard fidgets in his seat, pressing his legs together more firmly. A hand immediately threads into his hair as Jaskier pulls him closer. "And what did you, uh, have in mind?" The bard's voice wavers a little as Geralt bites down gently, then licks over the mark he's made.
A low purring rumble rises in the witcher's throat. "Hmmm. I could think of a few things."
He captures Jaskier's lips in a deep kiss. Geralt can tell the exact moment Jaskier's nonchalant routine crumbles; the hand in the witcher's hair tightens, and a little sigh escapes him, then he's melting into it, going soft and pliant as Geralt's tongue teases the seam of his lips.
They break apart briefly and Jaskier shuffles his position on the couch, throwing a leg over Geralt's hips and straddling his lap. The higher angle grants him more control of the next kiss and Jaskier clutches Geralt's head in both hands, titling him up and, practically devouring his mouth. Geralt's hands come to rest on Jaskier's waist, he teases his thumbs under the hem of Jaskier's shirt as they continue to kiss.
"Geralt," the bard whines, his hips jerking forwards. Geralt can feel the hot line of his cock press against his abdomen. He pulls Jaskier closer and grinds up lazily, eliciting a soft moan from the other man as their clothed erections rub together.
"You're tense," Geralt murmurs, kissing along his jaw.
"Well if Vesemir catches us fucking in the library he'll put us on dish duty for the rest of the winter."
Geralt hums. "We just won't get caught then."
"He'll know. He always knows. It's like some terrifying witcher sixth sense."
Geralt presses a quick kiss to Jaskier's lips, then pauses, considering. "Very well," he says, nipping at the bard's lower lip. Then, wrapping his arms around the smaller man, he holds Jaskier to his chest and stands. Jaskier's scent sparks with brief surprise, but it's quickly overcome by want as he curls his legs around Geralt's waist. He loves when Geralt manhandles him like this, when he uses any of his witcher abilities for sex, really.
Geralt whisks him out of the library and up to his room where he deposits his precious cargo onto the bed.
Jaskier giggles a bit and latches his arms and legs around Geralt, pulling the witcher on top of him. "Gods, Geralt. I love you so fucking much."
Geralt growls and kisses him, desperate and hungry. Jaskier's hands begin to roam around his back and chest. When they pull apart to breathe, the bard whines and tugs at Geralt's shirt. He kisses him again, biting softly at the column of Jaskier's throat, then leans in to whisper in his ear.
"Do you want me to fuck you, little lark?"
Jaskier hips buck against him and he moans. "Won't-- ah, won't last long enough for that, I think."
Geralt grins wickedly and presses his nose to the bard's neck, inhaling the scent of his arousal. No, he probably won't. Geralt is already more affected than he probably should be, and though he could cum now and still be able to go another round or two, he just craves release. They've both been stressed by all the things going on at the keep, and something to take the edge off is very much needed.
"Alright." Geralt smooths a hand down Jaskier's front, then sits back and takes his clothes off before helping Jaskier with his own. He tosses the garments on the floor and kisses Jaskier again, cradling the bard's hip in his hand and guiding him to rock his hardened prick up against his own. "Just like this then, hmmm?"
Jaskier groans, mouthing across his neck and wraps his legs around Geralt tighter. He pulls Geralt down along with the witcher's own movement, grinding into him. "Yes, yes, Geralt, fuck. Just like that, darling."
"Yeah? You like that?" Geralt rolls his hips again and the bard makes a small broken sound.
"Mmm. So good. Keep going."
Geralt continues to rock against him, breaths coming out in short pants. It doesn't take long for Jaskier to reduce to babbling, murmuring filthy things along Geralt's skin in between open mouthed kisses and his own soft cries of pleasure.
Fuck, Geralt needed this. Between training, their usual work at the keep, and filling in for Lambert so that he can spend more time with Aiden, it feels like he and Jaskier hardly get time alone lately. If not for the circumstances, Geralt would have had him all over the keep by now.
He dips down and kisses at Jaskier's collarbone, across his chest, and then laves his tongue against the pink bud of his nipple. From the way that Jaskier whines, Geralt knows that he's getting close. Though the heightened smell of his arousal could have given that away on it's own; it sits heady in the air around them.
"You close, songbird?" Amber eyes flick up to see his face and the more primal part inside Geralt purrs at how debauched he looks; all flushed and pink, blue eyes nothing more than a ring around lust blown pupils.
"Y-yeah. Just need..." Jaskier bites his lower lip, gasping a little. "Kiss me?"
Geralt surges up and captures his lips. Jaskier moans into it, hips bucking against his. Geralt moans too, meeting the bard's thrust, and then Jaskier's cumming between them with a soft gasp. Geralt follows a few moments later, letting out a low moan and pulling the bard into a kiss that's slow and filthy.
They stay like that for a while, trading kisses back and forth, Jaskier's hands roaming Geralt's sweat slicked body lazily until their breathing slows back to it's normal rate.
"Love you," Geralt whispers, kissing the bard's jaw.
Jaskier smiles up at him, and Geralt's chest flutters. He cups Geralt's face in his hands, letting his thumbs swipe back and forth just below his cheekbones. "I love you too, my witcher."
Then suddenly his eyes go wide and Jaskier gasps, shooting up like a bolt. "That's it! I know where I've seen the mark!" It takes Geralt's post sex brain a moment to comprehend what he's saying, but Jaskier is on his feet in an instant. "We need to go to Faerie. Now."
"Jask, hold on a second, we're all gross. We should first clean up a bit before--"
The bard snaps his fingers and in a blink, the sweat and cum disappears from their bodies. Geralt looks down to find himself wearing a particularly tight fitting silk shirt, stretched so tightly over his chest, the buttons look like they might pop open from just touching them.
He pokes the shirt in confusion, then gives Jaskier a look. "This isn't what I was wearing."
Jaskier grins mischievously, then presses a quick kiss to Geralt's lips. "My magic, I choose the clothes," he says smugly. "And you, my dear, look positively ravishing."
Geralt opens his mouth to say something in response, but the bard quickly shushes him, urging him towards the door. "Let's go."
-----------------------------
Jaskier tears through the palace library, heart pounding in his chest as he scans the shelves. Geralt stands behind him with his grandmother, the queen, both of them eyeing him with a somewhat concerned expression. "We really don't have to do this now," Geralt says gently. "We can come back tomorrow."
Jaskier shakes his head, thumbing over the books. "No, it's one of these ones, I'm sure. I saw it when I was reading up on Faerie runes last year."
His eyes flit from shelf to shelf. Magical Creatures, no, Maladies and Mishaps, no, Mating Ceremonies of the Fair Folk-- oh? He'll have to come back for that one. Then his eyes land on the dusty red volume on the third shelf of the bookcase-- there. Jaskier grabs the book from the shelf and hurries to the nearest table, laying it out.
The book in question is massive like most of the literature in Faerie, and is nearly as wide as four of his fingers. Jaskier flips open the heavy pages, letting them land on the table with a loud thunk, then begins flipping through the second half of the book. He freezes and points to the worn parchment.
"Found it."