Chapter Text
As Jaskier and Lambert continued with their senseless bickering, their voices were beginning to grate on Geralt. He could feel a headache brewing. Tired of it, he closed his eyes for a moment to try and find some inner peace, looking away from his book.
He was sat at one end of the sofa they kept in the library, examining a manuscript so ancient it was practically turning to dust in his hands. Jaskier sat opposite him, close to the fire, curled up in an armchair. The notebook he’d been writing in had been abandoned on his legs in favour of arguing with the second witcher who pretended to be examining something on a bookshelf across the room.
Geralt knew as well as Jaskier did that Lambert had no reason to be in the library. The younger witcher barely tried to make excuses for himself anymore, simply turning up wherever Jaskier happened to be. And sadly, more often than not, that also meant Geralt was there too.
They’d been arguing all winter, pointless insults and bickering flying both ways but not doing much damage. Geralt knew that neither one hated the other, quite the opposite in fact. When Lambert truly hated someone, he was quiet and avoided them at all costs. But that evidently wasn’t the case here.
Geralt would have had no problem with their squabbling if it weren’t for the thick sexual tension that their arguments provided. It had been growing since he’d first introduced the pair several weeks ago but as of yet, neither had done anything about it. The tension only seemed to spur their arguments on and Geralt guessed that Lambert had reverted to insults to avoid addressing the elephant in the room when it came to their relationship. Jaskier, naive as ever, had fallen for it. The biggest point of irritation for Geralt, though, was how the two always seemed to make their arguments everyone else’s business, too.
“Go on Geralt,” Jaskier turned to him, passion in his voice. “Tell him about the time I saved you from that kikimore!” The white-haired man sighed heavily and opened his eyes.
“You didn’t technically-”
“Ha! See?” Lambert cut him off and Geralt regretted opening his mouth at all. “You’re not so courageous after all. Just like I said - bards are all talk!” Geralt agreed but knew that Lambert was all talk too. “You can’t hurt a fly! I bet Geralt has to do everything for you, right Geralt?” Geralt hummed ambiguous but gave nothing away other than acknowledgement.
“I’m not some delicate flower you know!”
“Your name would suggest otherwise. I’m surprised so many women want you when you’re built like a reed. I’m surprised you could even haul your own body weight up to the keep at all! Or did Geralt do that too?”
“Women and men ,” Jaskier made sure to emphasize, Lambert blinking rapidly as he processed this new information. “Are aware of just how deceiving my fine clothes can be. I’m deceptively strong you know! But the fashion for bards is otherwise so I have to compensate because that’s what people pay for. It doesn’t make me any less of a man than you!” Geralt knew that Jaskier, although comfortable in his masculinity, was still conscious of appearances.
“You couldn’t pick up a bag of four.” Lambert laughed. Geralt saw a flicker of determination cross Jaskier’s eyes and knew that the bard had had enough.
He tore from the chair, notebook falling noiselessly onto the carpet, and marched over to Lambert. A little perturbed and unsure of where things were headed, Lambert took a small step back and his eyes flicked over to Geralt for reassurance. Even if Geralt had been willing to give it, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity before Jaskier was grabbing him and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The sound Lambert made was very un-manly indeed, hands immediately scrabbling at Jaskier’s back for balance as his legs kicked out weakly, none of the force Geralt knew they possessed.
Making his way back over with long, confident strides, Lambert was all but thrown onto the sofa beside Geralt, bouncing slightly on the cushions. He looked up at Jaskier with wide eyes, hair and clothing disheveled. Geralt rolled his own when he noticed how large Lambert’s pupils had become, taking over most of his iris as he stared. Geralt noted the beginnings of arousal in the air.
“Oh, nothing to say? Speechless at my display of strength? I’ll consider that a win, my darling!” Jaskier grinned triumphantly before giving a theatrical bow and resuming his previous seat.
Lambert said and did nothing for a long moment, the scent of arousal thickening and offending Geralt’s nose. He blinked rapidly after a while, as if his mind had only just caught up with the previous events and stood stiffly. Lambert left the room like the building had been on fire and Geralt didn’t have to (and didn’t want to) stretch his imagination too far to know what Lambert would do next. He sighed to himself, tired of it all, and prayed to all the gods he knew that they’d pull their heads out of their asses soon.