Chapter Text
Halfway through Lambert’s second week of his assignment, as Lambert and Eskel are driving back to his penthouse after a movie date, Eskel receives a call from his mother through his car’s audio system. It never fails to surprise Lambert just how trusting Eskel is around him, even more so when he answers the private call without a care for Lambert’s presence in the passenger seat. Lambert feigns disinterest, maintaining his gaze on the busy streets of downtown Novigrad whizzing past before his tired eyes. He even manages to drown out the sound of Agnes and Eskel’s small talk, mostly convincing himself that he isn’t all that curious about the man’s conversation with his mother.
Until his name is mentioned, that is.
“... expect you to be present at this event. And make sure Lambert attends as well,” Agnes adds, her tone nonchalant even as she requests Lambert’s presence, confident that she won't be denied this simple request. “You’ve been hogging him, dear. Not even a dinner to introduce him properly to your mother since your cousin’s wedding.”
Lambert flashes Eskel a smug look, adding a wink for good measure.
“Count me in, Agnes,” Lambert says, earning himself a warning look from Eskel, who clearly didn’t expect Lambert to take part in the conversation.
“Lambert, darling, hello!” If Agnes is at all surprised by Lambert's presence, her warm tone betrays nothing, as composed as ever. When Eskel’s gaze falls on him, Lambert mouths a cheeky ‘mothers love me’ which pulls an unexpected snort from Eskel. “Oh, I am so glad you’re free to attend. I have missed our conversations.”
“Well, Eskel’s had me to himself for long enough I think. High time we met again, Agnes.”
“I agree.”
“Do I get a say in this?” Eskel asks, and the small smile tugging at his lips as he takes a right turn doesn’t go unnoticed by Lambert. The twin ‘no’ he gets in response only seems to delight him more, though he tries to hide it behind a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll be there, mom. Just send us the details.”
“Great. And tell Geralt to come as well. He’s got this knack for keeping auctions interesting.”
“If you’re referring to his habit of overbidding to drive up the price of your art, then sure!”
Agnes clicks her tongue at those words and Lambert can picture her waving her hand dismissively in retort.
“No such thing as overbidding, dear. Besides, it’s for charity, we want people to overbid. That’s the whole point.” Agnes’ words are partly muffled by the sound of the wind whipping into her phone’s microphone. “I’ll send you the details tomorrow morning. Speak soon.”
Agnes kills the line before Eskel has a chance to say anything else. Only once the sounds of Lambert’s playlist filtering through the speakers again does Eskel let out a laugh that’s partly exasperated and partly amused.
“You were quick to jump on that bandwagon,” he accuses, earning himself a deadpan look from Lambert.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that you weren’t going to drag me to that event regardless.”
“I would have asked you to come,” Eskel points out, a small smile tugging at the unscarred side of his face, “unlike my mother, who didn’t exactly give you any choice in the matter.”
“Well, the woman knows what she wants.” Lambert returns his attention to his window, settling more comfortably in the leather seat. Lambert knows they aren’t far away from Eskel’s building. Strange how this side of town, which always seemed so out of reach, is now starting to feel more familiar than his old neighbourhood. “Might even revive the press’ interest in our little scam, give them something to gawk at.”
Even as the words leave Lambert’s mouth, bile rises in his throat at their implication. Even Lambert noticed a dip in the paparazzi presence despite him and Eskel going out of their way to be seen in public. When he brought it up, Eskel told him that there always comes a point when the media lose interest. The initial excitement of Eskel Morhen, Novigrad’s most eligible bachelor, dating again will eventually fade as their ‘relationship’ progresses, until Lambert will become old news as they move on to the next exciting relationship. Lambert doesn’t really know how to feel about this, whether he should be offended or relieved, or perhaps a mixture of both.
“Yeah,” comes Eskel's terse response, his tone taking an edge that Lambert can't quite place. “Maybe you’re right.”
A loaded kind of silence stretches between them, broken only by the sounds of Lambert's playlist filling the growing gap between them. A heavy weight settles over Lambert's chest as he follows Eskel into the penthouse, already missing the comfort of the other man's touch, which up until Lambert opened his big mouth was dealt out generously. It surprises Lambert how much it bothers him that Eskel won't even look at him right now. They were having a nice night. Lambert retraces their steps to pinpoint exactly when the evening took a turn.
"I don't have to go to that charity event, you know," Lambert blurts out the second they step out of the elevator and into Eskel's living room. Eskel's eyes snap up in surprise, a confused frown settling over his eyebrows. Lambert barely resists the urge to fidget under the scrutiny. "I mean, if you don't want me there, I don't have to come. I can spend this weekend with Aiden."
Lambert's mouth snaps shut before he says something he might regret. Truth be told, he's not entirely sure what he wants to say anymore. He's an escort, a plaything that Eskel will discard in two weeks, maybe a bit longer if Eskel is feeling generous. Lambert is a nobody, while Eskel is a somebody.
I want to spend time with you for as long as you’ll let me, he doesn’t say.
I don’t want to get attached, but you're making it so hard not to like you.
"Do you want to go?" Eskel asks after a beat, a nervous lilt creeping into his tone. The way Eskel looks at him, like he's scared of being rejected, has Lambert's stomach flipping like a landborn fish. Lambert swallows thickly, rasping a response around the lump in his throat.
"There you go again, asking me what I want." Eskel, in all his ridiculous patience, doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he waits quietly for Lambert to gather his thoughts, completely unaware of the inner turmoil going on in his head. "I would hate to miss the chance of a lifetime by not going to this event with you.”
"Tricky wording on that answer,” Eskel remarks, the ghost of a smile gracing his features just as Lambert lets out a noncommittal hum. “What does that sound like without the triple negation?”
"It sounds like you're being a dick." Weak as far as deflections go, but Lambert is too busy trying to hide the heat rising to his cheeks to care. The soft chuckle that meets his ears does precious little to improve his current predicament. "Fuck off, Morhen. I don't need to stroke your already massive ego."
"Lamb, look at me?"
Lambert doesn't want to look at Eskel, afraid of what he might see in the other man's face - pity, rejection, mockery. Bad enough that Lambert feels like he somehow has to impress the man, he doesn't need the validation of just how pathetic that makes him in the eyes of the world. When Lambert refuses to comply with Eskel's request, the latter bridges the gap between them until he's close enough to tilt Lambert’s chin up with a finger, gently forcing their gazes to meet. Lambert sees none of the feelings he expected to find in Eskel's hazel gaze, but his stomach twists uncomfortably all the same at the kindness and warmth plastered all over the man's stupidly handsome face.
"Everything ok in there?" Eskel asks and what is Lambert supposed to say to that? He doesn't recall there ever being a time where he's been 'ok in there', but now is certainly not the time to trauma dump on Eskel. His client. No matter how much he tries to convince himself of the contrary, Eskel is still just that, a paying customer. He will never be more than that. Lambert can't allow himself to forget it, and he certainly shouldn’t allow himself to hope that things will ever be different.
"Of course I'll go to that damned event," Lambert says after a brief silence, rolling his eyes before wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck seductively. "Free food, free booze and the chance to dazzle again with my outfit choice? Well, Aiden's outfit choice, really."
Eskel's surprise at the sudden shift is only detectable by the slight crease between his eyebrows. Lambert doesn't give the man a chance to weigh in on the situation before pulling Eskel into a hungry kiss, delighting in the startled noise his actions pull from him. This Lambert knows how to navigate. Sex, lust, arousal; all feelings Lambert can rationalise and enjoy without any strings attached.
"I want to try something," Lambert whispers urgently once their lips part again. Eskel is looking at him through a lust-hazed gaze even as he struggles to steady his breathing.
"Anything you want, Lamb," Eskel tells him, his voice heavy with arousal to match the growing tent in his trousers. Scarred lips find the sensitive skin of Lambert's neck, where they leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses from jaw to collarbone, an action which severely hinders Lambert's thinking abilities. "All you have to do is ask."
"S-slow down, big guy," Lambert stutters, his hands shooting up to Eskel's shoulders in a desperate attempt to root himself in the present moment. "Need to talk about this first, ah."
"Hmm, less talking," Eskel argues before digging his teeth into Lambert's clavicle, earning himself a startled hiss from Lambert, "more showing me exactly what you have in mind."
"Morhen, I mean it.”
Eskel snaps out of it at Lambert's insistent tone, pulling away from him long enough to meet his gaze. Thank fuck for that, because Lambert is this close to throwing caution to the wind and indulging Eskel's appetite.
"Let's sit down, yeah? Have some of that fancy wine you hide at the back of your fridge thinking I won't find it."
"Not hidin' anything," Eskel says, and Lambert believes him because that's just the sort of man Eskel is. "But I fancy something stronger."
Which is how Lambert ends up on Eskel's sofa with a glass of Mahakaman spirit, his free hand landing on Eskel's thigh even as Lambert leans into the warmth of the other man's body. Eskel, equally reluctant to part, spreads his legs so Lambert can reach his thigh more comfortably.
"I want to try a full-on dom/sub scene. Now hear me out first." Lambert adds quickly when Eskel opens his mouth to speak. "It's clear from our few weeks together that you respond well to that kind of scenario. Dare I say that you even enjoy not being in control from time to time. I think you'd enjoy taking this a step further in my very capable hands. But, if we agree to do this, we need to establish some ground rules."
"What kind of rules?" Eskel asks after a beat, his voice smaller than before and it's all Lambert can do not to laugh at how surreal this situation is. A man like Eskel, as tall and broad as he is, as cockily and confidently he carries himself in public, looking so unsure and lost... it's giving Lambert all sorts of ideas.
"Well, for one, I really need you to start using that safeword of yours. It's in place for a reason, yeah? Think of it as a..." Lambert pauses there, thinking back on the phrase Eskel used the previous week in his emergency meeting while Lambert was kneeling under his desk. Gods, that was an epic day. "Think of it as a control measure. Make sure we eliminate the risk of you and me getting hurt during our session."
"Look at you, using corporate jargon. Original as far as foreplay goes," Eskel jokes, though he isn't able to hide the blush creeping up his neck. "Point taken about the safeword."
"Good." Lambert leans into Eskel's chest and rests his head on the other man's shoulders, the smell of Eskel's perfume helping him relax further into the embrace. "Rule number two, we need to establish exactly how far both of us are happy to take this little experiment. Which includes telling each other about our experience with dom/sub play to date. If you're not comfortable doing that, say the word."
This time, it takes longer for Eskel to respond as he ponders the weight of Lambert's words. To the point where Lambert wonders if maybe he's overplayed his hand and overstepped an invisible line he wasn't meant to ever cross. It's his job to cater to the needs of his clients and to keep them interested, especially a customer as important and affluent as Eskel Morhen. However, the insecure part of him wants to take it all back because what if Eskel laughs at him? What if Eskel calls him a freak for wanting to explore this? There's a big difference between enjoying being called a good boy and enjoying being dominated. Perhaps Lambert read the cues wrong. Perhaps he-
"I'm not against the idea." Relief washes over Lambert at Eskel's words, though he keeps his face carefully neutral. "I've enjoyed letting you take the lead, but..."
"But?" Lambert prods gently, at least as gently as he knows how, which isn't saying much.
"Not tonight." Eskel almost sounds apologetic, though his tone doesn't match the heady look he flashes Lambert as his free hand traces the length of Lambert's spine. "I have other plans for us tonight. Tonight is about making you feel good."
Despite the moan the promise pulls from Lambert, he can't help the uneasy feeling blooming in his chest. He doesn't get a chance to argue before Eskel's lips find his again, swallowing his protests easily. Whether it's the alcohol or something else, Lambert doesn't have it in himself to fight Eskel. Not tonight, not when Eskel seems so eager and enthusiastic about the task at hand. Implying that Lambert isn’t enjoying Eskel’s attention would be hypocritical considering the growing bulge in his trousers and the soft whimpers those skilled hands wring out of him. Lambert goes pliant in Eskel’s arms, which pulls a low, pleased rumble from the other man that goes straight to Lambert’s twitching cock.
“Bedroom, now.”
Their lips barely part as they stumble into the unlit room, blindly discarding clothes as they go and leaving a trail of shirts, pants and underwear in their wake. By the time Lambert feels the back of his knees collide with the firm mattress, he’s been driven half mad by Eskel’s fingers toying with his nipples and scarred lips nibbling at the sensitive spots on his neck just behind his ears. Lambert drops onto the bed with a relieved sighed, his back arching to meet Eskel’s warm body as the other man’s bulk settles over him. Their eyes meet then, and for an instant, through the fog of lust and unrestrained want, Lambert thinks he sees something else - something softer - in Eskel’s gaze.
Lambert doesn’t get a chance to linger on the discovery before Eskel kisses a trail down Lambert’s naked chest, his tongue hovering over each nipple until Lambert starts squirming under him from overstimulation. Eskel continues his exploration of Lambert’s body, the tip of his tongue tracing complicated patterns around Lambert’s abdomen and navel, taking his time to enjoy every inch of the other man’s body. Meanwhile, Lambert feels himself getting more frustrated by the second, occasionally bucking his hips upwards in a silent demand for Eskel to hurry the fuck up. Lambert can’t remember the last time a client took the time to make him feel good, probably because clients don’t really do that, not when they pay for Lambert to service them. So really, the last time a lover has taken the time to toy with Lambert was… a long time ago, whenever Lambert’s last relationship ended.
Lambert is quick to chase the dangerous train of thought from his mind, instead focusing on Eskel’s loving attention. The feeling of a warm mouth wrapping around his pulsing dick certainly helps anchor him in the present moment. His groan of pleasure when Eskel starts bobbing his head up and down echoes in the air around them, pulling another contented rumble from Eskel and encouraging him to take more of Lambert’s length. Skilled fingers tickle Lambert’s balls and the action is met with a startled yelp of surprise, followed by a shaky mewl of pleasure.
“Fuck, Morhen. If you don’t s-stop now, I-I’ll-”
“Let yourself feel it, Lamb,” Eskel urges him after releasing his cock with a wet sound, his eyes dark with want. His crooked grin has no business looking as sexy as it does. Doesn’t the man know just how devastatingly handsome he looks like this, all cocky confidence and natural authority? “The night is still young. I want to see you come undone. When I’m through with you, you’ll be screaming my name.”
Lambert believes him, godsdamn, he believes every word. There won’t be an ounce of acting required for it either if Eskel keeps going the way he is. Lambert’s chest heaves with the effort of staving off his orgasm, reluctant for the moment to end too quickly. When Eskel’s mouth returns to Lambert’s cock, swallowing him whole until Lambert’s weeping tip hits the back of his throat, there is very little Lambert can do to stop the wave of pleasure crashing over him and culminating in an explosive orgasm. He doesn’t have the strength nor the wherewithal to warn Eskel, though judging by the way he’s eagerly swallowing every last drop of Lambert’s seed, Eskel doesn’t seem to mind all that much.
“There we go,” Eskel whispers gently, his breath tickling the shell of Lambert’s ear. Lambert keeps his eyes shut as he comes down from his high, choosing to bask in the afterglow for as long as Eskel will allow. “You look gorgeous like this, Lamb.”
Eskel’s lips press soft kisses to Lambert’s temple, gentling him through the aftermath of his orgasm. It feels nice, is what it feels like. To be cared for instead of being expected to have the stamina of a fucking horse. It feels downright amazing to be allowed to savor the moment without worrying about reciprocating the gesture before their hour runs out. While sex with Eskel has always been a fun experience, it’s never been… like this. Lambert can’t put it into words, certainly can’t pinpoint with any accuracy what exactly feels different. He just knows that he’s not felt this blissed out by sex in years and he doesn’t know what to do with that information.
“Fuck,” is the first word his brain supplies once the fog of passion starts to clear. “Fuck.”
“Yes, that’s the idea.” Eskel’s soft chuckle is like music to Lambert’s ears. “I want to fuck you, Lamb. Want to split you open. Will you let me?”
“Uh-huh,” comes the intelligent reply. “Yes, fucking hell yes. Anything you want, Morhen.”
“Eskel.”
“What?” Lambert’s surprise is met with an indulgent, albeit slightly shy smile.
“My name is Eskel. You can use it as much as you want. You won’t wear it out.”
“Eskel,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them, a smirk gracing his lips at the way Eskel’s eyes dilate with want at the sound of his name on Lambert’s lips. “Eskel. What are you waiting for?”
Eskel doesn’t have to be told twice.
“Aiden has outdone himself once again,” Eskel remarks casually when Lambert steps out of the bathroom, wearing the slim-fit gray suit Aiden picked out for him earlier that day. “It’s putting me in the mind of hiring him as my stylist.”
“Pretty sweet, huh?” Lambert spreads his arms either side of his body to showcase himself, giving Eskel a little twirl for good measure. It helps that he knows how well the suit trousers hug his ass. “Aiden thought something more understated would be appropriate for a charity event.”
“You’ll still turn heads, I’m sure,” Eskel tells him, his voice warm and his smile genuine as his larger hand comes to rest on Lambert’s hip. Hazel eyes roam over Lambert’s form appreciatively before Eskel leans in to steal a quick kiss.
“Might do, but don’t worry. I won’t steal your spotlight.” The cheeky wink Lambert flashes Eskel is met with a pointed eye roll.
“Trust me, some days I wish someone would.” Eskel squeezes Lambert’s hip one last time before stepping towards his dresser, where he spends a few minutes picking out a watch and a perfume to wear for the night, even though Lambert knows Eskel will likely settle for his favourite combination. Creature of habit, so is Eskel. Meanwhile, Lambert busies himself with lacing up his shoes, enjoying the comfortable silence that settles between them. A quick glance at his phone tells him that they’re even running ahead of schedule. No surprises there.
It’s got Lambert thinking and that’s never a good thing, by his own admission.
“Hey, Eskel?”
“Hm?”
“You haven’t ordered an Uber yet, have you?”
When Eskel looks over, Lambert has to stop himself from smiling. He doesn’t want Eskel getting suspicious and ordering an Uber on principle. Besides, it’s far too easy to toy with him.
“I have not,” Eskel says, his tone careful and eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Good. No need for one. I’m driving us tonight.”
Lambert leaves it at that, this time allowing the satisfied smirk to stretch across his lips as he watches Eskel raise a quizzical eyebrow.
“If you wanted a shot of the car, you could’ve just asked,” Eskel tells him and he probably means it, the big soft idiot. When Lambert shakes his head, the other man’s confused frown intensifies.
“Don’t need to borrow your car. My bike can fit the two of us.”
Lambert leans back against the headboard of Eskel’s bed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he watches realisation dawn on Eskel. A series of complicated emotions flash across Eskel’s face as he contemplates Lambert’s offer, probably thinking of the best way to politely decline. Unfortunately for Eskel, Lambert decided that he won’t let the other man chicken his way out of this one. Lambert already had to ask for a loan of Aiden’s helmet and ended up in a bet with his best friend over whether Eskel will be bullied into riding behind Lambert. Lambert is many things, but a gracious loser isn’t one of them
“I’ve got a spare helmet you can wear,” Lambert adds before Eskel has a chance to decline. “Besides, my bike will get us to the event quicker than any car will.”
“Lamb-”
“No, no need to thank me,” Lambert deflects expertly as he rises to his feet and bridges the distance between them. “It’s my pleasure. Talk about a badass entrance.”
“I just don’t think that-”
“It’s really no bother at all,” Lambert insists, his arms now coming to rest around Eskel’s neck. “Don’t you trust me?”
That’s the final blow to Eskel’s resolve. Lambert feels the other man’s shoulder slump in defeat as Eskel succumbs to Lambert’s will. The feeling of having Eskel Morhen, one of the most influential men on the Continent, wrapped around his little finger is intoxicating. If all Lambert has to do is ask nicely, he wonders what else he might convince Eskel to compromise on in the two weeks they have left together.
“Fine,” Eskel sighs, though his eyes are soft as they land on Lambert’s smug face. “Though I don’t think valets typically park bikes.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Lambert coos in mock condescension, earning himself an unimpressed look from the other man. “As if I’d let anyone touch Betsy.”
“You gave it a name?”
“Don’t disrespect Betsy like that!”
Eskel snorts, shaking his head in fond exasperation. When Lambert goes to pull away, he is met with resistance as Eskel’s hand comes to rest on his lower back.
“Before we go, I want to tell you something. I’ve had a think about your suggestion from earlier this week.” Eskel marks a pause, waiting for Lambert to acknowledge the conversation in question. Lambert nods his understanding, a familiar kind of warmth pooling in his stomach at the thought. “I want to try a scene, too. And… I’m willing to discuss comfort zones and limits, but I need you to understand that my experiences haven’t all been… positive. If we do this, I need to know that I can trust you to… to respect whatever limits I have.”
Lambert nods again, letting Eskel’s admission float between them. The fact that Eskel has unresolved issues has been abundantly clear since that first time he lost it during phone sex, but Lambert has never pushed for details and even though he’s curious to find out more, he won’t press Eskel now either.
“I promise to respect all and every limit you give me.” Lambert’s tone is solemn and serious, something he’s not used to hearing from himself, but this moment is too important to be his usual abrasive self. “As long as you’re honest with me, I can make it a safe space for you. I’m nothing if not an expert at what I do.”
“Of course,” Eskel agrees easily, his easy smile washing over Lambert in calming waves. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lamb. I want this thing between us to feel good. For me, and also for you.”
Lambert doesn’t know what to say to that, still unused to Eskel’s almost pathological need to make Lambert feel wanted. Instead, Lambert leans into Eskel and catches the other man’s lips in a heated kiss, parting with a playful nibbling of Eskel’s lower lip.
“We better get going,” Lambert whispers softly before Eskel can say anything else, “if we don’t, I’ll end up keeping you tied to your bed and your mother will be very cross.”
Eskel chuckles in response, stealing a final kiss from Lambert before pulling away.
“Dunno. If anyone can convince her to let me skip this event, it’s you. Geralt would be the one rapping at my door demanding my presence.”
“That Geralt of yours sounds fun at parties.”
“Well. You’ll see for yourself tonight.”
Eskel almost sounds nervous at the prospect. Interesting. If Lambert wasn’t convinced of Geralt’s importance in Eskel’s life before, Eskel’s visible anxiety at the thought of Lambert meeting him would be a dead giveaway.
“Alright Morhen, let’s get going. Let me grab the helmets and I’ll whisk you away on my proverbial carriage.”
The unintelligible words Eskel mumbles under his breath in response only make Lambert cackle with impish glee.
“See, now was that really so bad?” Lambert asks as Eskel pulls the helmet off his face.
“That was awesome,” comes the enthusiastic response, taking even Lambert by surprise. “I can’t believe I’ve never done this before, but it felt so… freeing. Fuck. Can we do it again?”
The beatific smile plastered on Eskel’s face and the ways his eyes shimmer with barely contained excitement are refreshing. Lambert can’t help the flush of pride warming his chest at the thought that Eskel enjoyed the ride as much as Lambert did. Admittedly, Lambert’s reasons had very little to do with the actual ride and everything to do with the way Eskel clung to him, his warm body pressed against Lambert’s back like a protective shield.
“Anytime you want,” Lambert agrees stupidly, unable to tear his eyes from Eskel’s smiling face. There’s something devastatingly beautiful about the man when he allows himself to be happy without worrying about the way it makes his face look. Lambert never noticed until now just how straight and clean Eskel’s teeth are, not in the artificial way of Lan Ex celebrities, but in a way that tells of a childhood of wearing braces and constantly being reminded to floss. Meanwhile, a childhood of having to look after his own hygiene because nobody else was bothered to do it left Lambert with amalgam fillings and yellowing enamel. Even dressed up to the high heavens, Lambert doesn’t hold a torch to Eskel’s rugged charm.
Eskel and Lambert don’t use the main entrance to the event, mainly due to the fact that Lambert had to park his bike a few blocks away from the venue. Going in through the side door feels almost clandestine, but it does mean that Eskel doesn’t bother fixing his smile quite yet. Lambert sneaks in a glance every now and then, noticing that Eskel still looks as ecstatic as when they stepped off the bike. An expression Lambert put there and he feels like boasting the feat from the rooftops of Novigrad.
They reach a doorway manned by a member of staff who escorts Lambert and Eskel to their table in the main hall. A quick glance around the room tells Lambert that they’re one of the firsts to arrive and it doesn’t take long for Eskel to be recognised by the other guests, who swarm him like a committee of vultures.
“Eskel, so good to see you again!”
“Your mother sure knows how to throw a party!”
“How wonderful that you could make it tonight!”
For all their greeting, preening and asslicking, none of the people who address Eskel even as much as glance at Lambert, even though Eskel takes the time to introduce him as his partner to every patron. Lambert is used to being invisible at events, knowing that this type of crowd doesn’t want to hear him. He knows his place, has been in this position often enough to know his role and how to behave. What Lambert isn’t prepared for is how vocally Eskel introduces him to everyone who strikes up a conversation. Like he’s proud to have Lambert at his arm, like he wants to show him off.
Lambert tries not to linger on the way his chest tightens at the thought.
“Ah Eskel, there you are,” a familiar voice calls out seconds before Agnes Morhen comes into view. Her eyes land on Lambert, her smile widening a fraction. “Lambert, darling, I am so glad you could make it. I have to ask, what is your secret? That’s twice you’ve dazzled with your outfit!”
“Old friend of mine, Aiden,” Lambert supplies easily, never missing an opportunity to brag about his friend’s work. “Thank the gods for him, because I am hopeless at fashion. Unlike you!”
Lambert makes a show of praising Agnes’ outfit - a royal blue jumpsuit cinched at the waist thanks to an elaborately gold-embroidered belt. Despite her stiletto high heels, the top of Agnes’ head still barely reaches Lambert’s chin.
“Oh, this old thing?” Agnes vaguely gesticulates a heavily-bejewelled hand, flipping her auburn curls over her delicate shoulder. Despite her dismissive tone, Lambert just knows that the woman spent hours picking out the perfect outfit for the event. She seems the type. “You’re too kind, darling.”
“For all this new-found modesty, she’s probably been getting ready since breakfast this morning,” Eskel confirms Lambert’s suspicions, earning himself a half-hearted swat on the arm from his mother.
“Don’t sass me, boy! At my age, this doesn’t just happen,” she says, pointing at all of herself like Lambert is supposed to point out the obvious flaw in her appearance. He can’t, for the record. Agnes Morhen is damn near flawless.
“Nonsense, you are in great shape,” Lambert insists, figuring that Eskel’s mother, unlike her son, is someone who will graciously accept any and all attention and praise whenever it’s dished out. The flirty wink she flashes him tells Lambert he hit the nail on the head.
“Flatterer! Anyway, I must be getting on, still lots to do before the opening speeches!” Agnes gently tugs at Eskel’s shoulder until he leans down enough to allow her to place a quick peck to his unscarred cheek in parting. “You boys don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“That’s a surprisingly short list, believe it or not,” Eskel mutters under his breath once Agnes is out of earshot. “Nicely done stroking her ego.”
“Would you rather I called her a cougar past her prime or something?” Lambert raises a pointed eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest as he does. “I’m by no means the smartest guy out there, but I’m certainly not stupid.”
“It’s obvious you never walked into your own house to a twenty-something guy drinking milk straight from the carton in his boxers.” Eskel accepts two glasses of champagne from an ambulating waiter, handing one to Lambert. “Not only that, but I then realised that said guy was in my chem class in college.”
“Good for her!” Lambert gratefully accepts the flute of champagne before downing half of it in one sip. “I was usually greeted by the sight of my parents either drunk, high, or both, passed out on the couch. Most times I could hear their screaming matches from a block away, so I didn’t bother going home. They never came looking for me, either.”
Eskel chokes on his sip of champagne, averting his gaze shamefully at the words.
“Fuck, Lamb. I never meant to-”
“Stop you right there, big guy,” Lambert quickly interrupts before Eskel can get himself in a tizzy over nothing. “I can laugh about it now. It’s a coping mechanism.”
“I… what?”
“They really do let anyone in at these things nowadays,” an unfamiliar voice snides from behind them, interrupting their conversation. Lambert instantly tenses at the words, ready to throw hands at whoever dared disrespect Eskel in front of him. When Lambert turns around, he is met with the sight of a man slightly taller than him with long white hair and piercing blue-gray eyes. Lambert’s eyes narrow into a displeased glower that goes unnoticed by the white-haired prick before him. Unfortunately, Eskel beats Lambert to the chase.
“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Eskel takes another sip of his drink calmly as he faces the newcomer. “The AA meeting isn't until next Saturday.”
Lambert's mouth nearly drops in surprise at the insult, delivered so casually and flawlessly, mind you, that it leaves him reeling. He quickly recovers and gets ready to step between Eskel and whoever Eskel just insulted, his muscles recoiling in anticipation of a fight. Instead of a punch, the stranger rewards Eskel with a warm chortle before throwing his arms around him in a friendly hug.
What… the fuck is happening right now?
“Lambert, this is Geralt,” Eskel introduces the other man to a befuddled Lambert. “Geralt, Lambert. Where’s your plus one, then?”
“He’s just-” Geralt glances over his shoulder, clearly expecting to see his date behind him. “Uh, he was there.”
“Sorry, sorry-” Lambert’s eyes dart towards the source of the noise, landing on a man of roughly similar stature to his, wrapped in an emerald green velvet blazer and off-white silk shirt over tailored leather pants. His boots, polished within an inch of their lives, sport just enough of a heel to make a statement. “I got distracted by one of the paintings, an absolutely gorgeous piece, rife with phallic symbolism. And those colors!”
“Jaskier,” the man Geralt grumbles irritably under his breath, his hand shooting out to grab Jaskier’s wrist and pulling him to his side. “What did I tell you about wandering off?”
“Ah yes, something something, don’t do that?” Jaskier places a loud peck on Geralt’s cheek before flashing him a brilliant smile full of adoration. “You can’t blame me, dear heart. You should see this woman’s work! It’s genius!”
“Gods, don’t be telling her that,” Eskel jokes, putting on his most charming smile and the sight of it directed at Jaskier has no business making Lambert feeling all possessive over his fake boyfriend. “Already had this one ingratiating himself to my mother, if you start too I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Eskel Morhen?” Jaskier cries out, his eyes widening as realisation dawns on him. “Yes of course it's you! It's wonderful to finally meet Geralt’s childhood friend. He thinks so highly of you! I’m Julian Pankratz, but my friends call me Jaskier!”
Lambert wants to instantly dislike the guy, what with his sunny disposition, his flirty smiles and the way he finishes every sentence with an exclamation point. Life just isn’t that exciting, at least not in Lambert’s experience, and having this other guy’s happiness shoved down his throat makes Lambert want to throw himself off a cliff. Eskel, rather than seem put off, looks almost amused.
“Well, ain’t that nice to hear?” he teases, earning himself a muffled curse from Geralt who has since blushed a deep shade of crimson. “Geralt, I didn’t know you felt all those warm feelings towards me.”
“Shut up, you ass.”
“Love you too!” Eskel’s warm laughter fills the air between them and an insidious thought crosses Lambert’s mind, a realisation that he’s no longer the reason for Eskel’s happiness and that… well, it doesn’t fucking sit right with him. Which is a ridiculous notion, because why the fuck should Lambert even care? He isn’t actually Eskel’s boyfriend and this whole thing is nothing more than an elaborate charade. It’s not like Lambert loves the guy. It’s not like he has any right to feel jealous.
What the hell do they put in that champagne?
“Lovely to meet you, Jaskier,” Eskel acknowledges the flouncy peacock of a man with his usual charming smile. “This is my partner Lambert.”
Instantly, Geralt’s sharp eyes focus on Lambert, and it’s all he can do not to sneer at the white-haired ass. Lambert doesn’t ask the prick what the fuck he’s staring at, but it’s a near thing. Lambert bristles under the scrutiny, though he tries very hard to hide his irritated scowl under a veneer of politeness and mock friendliness. He even manages a smile, which is saying something. The things he’ll do for a bit of cash.
“Pleasure to meet both of you,” Lambert forces around the lump in his throat, ignoring the way Geralt’s eyes narrow in appraisal like Lambert is nothing more than cattle being priced at market. Feeling petty, Lambert holds Geralt’s gaze and offers a cold smile. “How do you and Eskel know each other? It never came up in conversation.”
“Geralt and I have known each other since primary school,” Eskel supplies, oblivious to the battle of wills taking place between his fake boyfriend and his very real best friend. A best friend Eskel mentioned having slept with before, if Lambert’s mind is to be trusted. “Haven’t been able to shake him since.”
“He grows on you,” Jaskier interjects, once again flashing his baby blue eyes at his scowling boyfriend, the very picture of a lovestruck fool. A harmless fool, but a fool all the same.
“Yeah, like a mushroom. Or a weed.” Eskel jokes, expertly dodging the punch Geralt directs at his shoulder.
“You’ll see Lambert, he’s all growls and monosyllables until you get to know him.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, dropping his voice to a conspiratory whisper. “I had to wear him down, but under all that rough exterior there’s a caring and loving man. Isn’t that right, dear heart.”
“Well, I can’t wait to get to know you both better,” Lambert lies and Geralt, astute as the bastard is, sees right through the deceit. Lambert doesn’t have it in him to feel bad about it. Until he meets Eskel’s eyes, that is, and notices the shimmer of excitement in them at the possibility of Lambert and Geralt spending more time together. Like any of this will matter in two weeks’ time, when Eskel’s check clears and he sends Lambert on his merry way.
“Oh, how about a weekend at the Ranch?” The mildly panicked look Geralt flashes Jaskier would almost be comical if Lambert wasn’t busy hating the guy’s guts for the crime of simply existing. Oblivious to his faux-pas, Jaskier doubles down on his suggestion. “You keep your horse there, don’t you Eskel? We could all go out riding. Do you ride, Lambert?”
Lambert only rides paying customers and that is probably not what Jaskier means. Horseback riding is a rich man’s sport and frankly, Lambert doesn’t think he’ll ever trust a thousand-pound lump of anxiety not to buck him off its back. That being said, Geralt instantly bristles at the suggestion and Lambert is nothing if not petty.
“I’ve never ridden, but I’m sure Eskel will be a very patient teacher.”
Lambert links his fingers with Eskel’s and makes his own attempt at a loving gaze, though his rendition probably doesn’t come across as genuine or natural as Jaskier’s. Eskel’s response is to wrap his arm around Lambert’s waist and pull him closer, so Lambert must be doing something right. The soft look he gets in return from Eskel is almost worth risking his life on horseback. Almost.
“Let’s talk about it later,” Eskel says, his eyes darting towards the stage. “Think the opening speeches are about to start.”
“A shame we couldn’t get more intimately acquainted, but Eskel and I should really be getting to our table.” Lambert tugs at Eskel’s hand insistently, only to be stopped by Jaskier’s annoyingly amicable voice.
“What table are you at? We’re sitting at table 4.”
Ah, fuck.