bakerstreet | We deserve this.

( I mean he really doesn’t but we can dream right? )

[ Happy to have her in either role! Ota for platonic, m/f for anything shippy. ]

[[ OOC: For this particular prompt, it's probably good if you're caught up on the manga, since the anime hasn't introduced enough of Hawks yet! ]]

[ Either role, she's a sweetheart and deserves nice things too. ]

It had been months since Lambert had helped Eskel on the endrega hunt that swiftly detoured into an all-out bar brawl. He was now back at Kaer Morhen, had been for a few nights now. After Vesemir, Lambert usually was the first to arrive. And when Eskel had arrived just after, he'd been relieved. The incident with the knife had reminded him just how easily they could lose one another.

Fighting monsters was one thing. Having it happen because of something he himself had maybe possibly started was something far different.

It was something he shouldn't be shocked about, though. Something that shouldn't still upset him, after all this time. But it did. And now that he was home, he could maybe try to get the fuck over it again and go back to normal. Bottling things up and hiding behind sarcastic remarks and pushing everyone away so he didn't have to worry about anything.

Which is why he was currently standing in the hallway outside Eskel's door, clad only in his smallclothes and a warm chemise and regretting his choice to walk the freezing stone floor barefoot.

If he knew he was capable of feeling fear, Lambert might admit to himself that he was afraid to knock. But witchers didn't feel fear, so he obviously couldn't be afraid, and at any rate, falling back on childhood habits wasn't something he'd get yelled at or mocked for. So he knocked, softly, and whispered the older man's name. Then he knocked again, a little louder.

Eskel's arm had healed fine. Had taken a little while longer than he planned-- he guessed the knife had gotten into the joint and mis-aligned something for a while, but it was fine now. Which he handily demonstrates by punching Lambert affectionately in the shoulder upon arrival. And it had all seemed fine. It was good to be home.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed-- piled high with furs and a wool blanket that was warm enough where the moths hadn't nibbled it too much and only smelled a little bit like musty cedar chips-- looking at the chest of books he kept in his room. There was very little sense in material possessions on the Path, so it was kind of nice to be in Kaer Morhen, where they all had their small things. Books, trinkets from the road. Saucy etchings bought for a penny or two in nice brothels. Exotic weapons from all over the continent. Eskel was considering a volume of old Zerrekanian war poetry when his keen ears picked up a tiny knock.

"Hm?" He sniffed. "Lambert? Come in, it's not locked."

Lambert is quick to slip inside, shutting the door quietly. Rather than join Eskel on the bed, however, he continues to stand awkwardly by the door, scrunching his shoulders up and and crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like the same angry little boy that Vesemir had dragged back to the keep decades ago. He looks around the room for a moment, eyes finally settling on the chest of books Eskel is digging through. He'd always liked to read.

"My room's cold," he offers. It's a lame excuse. He's been here long enough that his room should be plenty warm. But he's not about to tell the older witcher why he's really here. "Can I stay with you?"

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. I think we lost a few more windows." He snorts. He picks up a shaggy skin that probably once belonged to a bear and offers it to Lambert. "Come on, there's room for your skinny ass." He points to the foot of the bed. For all his levity, he watches Lambert carefully as the man approaches. His body language says it's more than just a chill and Eskel knows he's probably going to have to draw out whatever sliver is sticking in the younger witcher's side.

"Glad to have me back? I know you and the old man don't get along."

He doesn't have to be told twice. Quickly, he crosses to the bed and climbs in, settling right next to Eskel. "Yeah. Took him exactly an hour to start in with the questions and the nagging. Told him to go pester those rock trolls if he was so desperate for conversation." Vesemir had asked what he'd found when he'd gone back to the little shack he'd been taken from. The look in the old man's eyes said he already knew what had happened.

Lambert leans over the other witcher's shoulder to look at the chest again. "Bring back anything new?"

Eskel feels like he can tell what Lambert and Vesemir butted heads over. It was unkind of the old man to bring it up. He wraps the bearskin comfortably around Lambert's shoulders.

"Nah." He says, showing Lambert the book, which is bound in some kind of brightly colored leather, embossed with gold. "Just revisiting an old favorite. It's too big to take on the road with me, so I can only enjoy it during the winter." Indeed, the cover is larger than the length of even Eskel's large hands. "See, it's got the Zerrekanian on this side and the translation opposite. I like to read it at night, helps me sleep, I think. Gives my brain something to do."

Lambert pulls the bearskin tighter around himself, letting his head stay on Eskel's shoulder. "Makes sense...And if you really wanted, you could probably learn Zerrekanian." The cover is pretty, and it's kind of a shame it's too big to be taken along on the road.

"What do you do on the road, then? To sleep?"

"Same as you, Lamb. Meditate as long as I can stand it and then drink. But if there's a place that sells old books, I can pick up a volume or two if they're small, that helps." He shrugs. "I worked my ass off this fall. The vineyards easy of Novigrad have a huge problem...spiders the size of dogs. I was there for two months just running damage control before I found the nest. Apparently they have queens, like bees or some shit. Had to burn down like a quarter of an acre to eliminate the infestation. Most nights I was out pretty quick, between the things' venom and the potions I had to take to counteract it. So...keeping busy helps. But you know all that as well as I do. And I imagine none of that helped you sleep any, in the end."

"No, not really. Couldn't...really sleep tonight, either." He sighs and shifts so that he can flop back while managing to keep the bearskin covering himself. "Papa Vesemir had me helping to chop and stack firewood. I should be tired. 'M not."

"Thought you couldn't sleep because you were cold." Eskel says wryly, shifting the bearskin. "And don't let him catch you saying that or you'll get put on wall repair duty and your arms will be jelly for weeks." He snorts. "Come on, get comfortable. I'll sit with you and maybe you'll sleep, if I'm keeping watch." It was always easier to sleep with another witcher at one's side. Knowing that, for once, there was someone else capable of taking on the things that lurk in the dark.

They have single beds, and they're not mere boys anymore, but with some shifting about they manage that. Eskel settles back against the headboard, crossing his long legs, and pats the pillow, inviting Lambert to settle in.

"Why can't it be both?" He scowls at Eskel for a moment, then moves so he can lay his head on the pillow properly. "We're all gonna be on wall repair duty before spring." Tucked up close to the other witcher like this, Lambert can easily pick out his scent from that of the bedding. Leather and horse, sword oil, the tangy hint of magic, and a musk that was distinctly Eskel. It was nothing like huddling together with Voltehre after their first Trial, both clumsy and overwhelmed as they sought comfort in one another in the dark.

"You don't have to keep watch. Nothing can get in here, even if the place has gone to shit."

"But your instincts don't know that." Eskel points out, picking up his book and resting an arm on Lambert's shoulder. It really was like it had been when they were younger, wasn't it? Witcher code and culture probably dictated that each of them fight their own battles as they lay awake at night but Vesemir never really did anything about the fact that the young witchers would often sneak into each other's quarters, looking for warmth and just the presence of another person. Eskel and Geralt had fallen asleep in each other's arms more than once, especially right after their changing, when the pain of their ravaged bodies, their overwhelmed new senses was simply too much. When they got news that someone wasn't coming home, as their numbers got smaller and smaller so too did Eskel's bed because--on occasion-- he and Geralt found themselves curled around Lambert, the young witcher secured between them. Each of them probably wondering if he was the broken witcher for being unable to bear up under the feelings of crushing grief they weren't supposed to have.

There had been other, more intimate times. Of course there were. Brought here as children, fellow apprentices were all the witchers had ever known. At a certain point-- especially before the Changes dulled (though clearly failed to eliminate) pesky human wants and needs-- there was a different kind of comfort to be had in the beds of one's brother witchers. Usually these furtive liasons dwindled over time and there was an unspoken understanding that nothing more lasting than an unshakable fraternal bond develop, especially when the witchers were Changed, became men and set off on the Path. Eskel had not held Lambert in such a way for many decades, as Eskel had tried not to indulge Lambert's more youthful tendencies: his need for physical comfort and his temper tantrums among them and because Eskel found he had vastly preferred the company of women. At least before he became so violently disfigured and turned every ounce of his devotion to the Path and away from outside distraction.

Eskel rubbed Lambert's shoulder as he read, a reflective, comforting gesture.

The arm resting on his shoulder prompts Lambert to scoot the scant few inches closer that he can manage, throwing his own arm over Eskel's waist and lifting his head a tiny bit so that he isn't smothering himself in the other's hip.

He's rather glad Geralt isn't here yet. As much as he loves his brothers, and as much comfort as he'd found sandwiched between them when they were all younger, there's no way they'd all fit in a bed now. He and Eskel barely fit. Lambert had no issue getting so close, however. He'd fought tooth and nail to set himself apart from all the other witchers, clinging to every small comfort he could, seeking out what he needed wherever he could get it.

During those years when they were changing, growing--both naturally and unnaturally--Lambert had discovered those same more intimate comforts as every other boy. He had no problem staying detached emotionally, knowing any of them could die suddenly and that it was safer to snuff any romantic notions out before they could begin. But he'd discovered there was a deeper level of comfort to be found, something primal that could be soothed, if he gave up control to someone he trusted. He didn't have to stay on guard, or think, or keep his emotions reined in. And once he'd set out on the Path, he hadn't cared to get rid of that particular habit. It was difficult to find someone he trusted as much as his brothers, though. Whores could be paid for all manner of services, but there were things he was unwilling to ask for. Even from the few male whores he'd encountered. Then he'd met Aiden and found that the Cat witcher could absolutely be trusted with his life.

He'd found his own ways to deal with his shit, and he didn't care if it wasn't the proper way for a witcher to be.

Laying here now, it was tempting to want to fall back on those ways. He'd been alone with his thoughts too long. But the older witcher had discouraged these childish habits long ago. He was probably lucky to be invited in at all.

Eskel read for a while, hoping to soothe Lambert just with his presence. The comfort went both ways, he would never pretend otherwise. Unlike the notorious (if sometimes accidental or bewitched) Lothario that was their brother Geralt, Eskel eschewed both relationships and the night flowers that bloomed enticingly in the brothels of Novigrad, Oxenfurt and Vizima. Unlike Lambert, he preferred to walk the Path alone. He didn't think of himself as touch-starved or lonely most of the time but now that Lambert was there he found the sense of presence comforting. And vaguely nostalgic. After a while, however, his nose and intuition picked up on some kind of discomfort or melancholy in the younger witcher.

"Hey...you're not still worried about my shoulder, are you? It's nothing, I'm fine now."

"Yeah, I know, you greeted me with a punch. Memory starting to go~?" he teases. The young wolf knows he can't lie about being fine, though. Just as he can sense the calm that had washed over Eskel, he knows Eskel can sense that he isn't quite comfortable. He could talk about it, admit to what was going on, or he could lay here and ignore it.

"Just lay down already. Unless you still wanna read."

"Keeping you up?" The wolf teases, but he leans over to blow out the stub of candle next to the bed and lays his book aside. There's some groaning and shuffling as the older witcher gets settled.

"You're gonna have to pick: big or little spoon?" Eskel snorts. "We won't fit otherwise." There's only one double bed in Kaer Morhen, a mystery relic perhaps from a mage or other, less ascetic person. And only guests sleep there. "You wanna be the little spoon? Like back in the day?" He asks. He's half teasing, half in earnest, starting to realize that may be what Lambert needs.

Lambert shifts and rolls so that his back is to Eskel, trying to make himself as small as he can. It's difficult, but he makes it work.

"It'd be weird if you were the little spoon anyways." The difference was marginal, but Eskel had always seemed bigger. And, when given the choice, he wasn't about to pass up a chance to be held. If he's a little too eager when he reaches to tug Eskel's arm around himself, can he really be blamed? "Have you ever been the little spoon?"

"Maybe when I was way younger. You know, before we Change and get all bulky." He snorts. "We didn't all get to be weirdly lanky like Geralt. My shoulders are too big." He shrugs. "Hmm...Once I met a guy from Skellige, the first time I ever went there. He was beefy enough, built like a polar bear. He managed it." They hadn't exactly slept in that position, which turned out to be a doubly novel experience for Eskel. "But I don't spend a lot of time with men like that, so." He shrugs against Lambert's back. "You ever been the big spoon?"

Lambert is nice and warm and smells familiar. To say that it was a reminder of the joys of their youth would be a lie: the childhood of a witcher is hard and there's all kinds of reasons why so many of them don't make it. But it was a reminder that none of them was truly alone in the world. Not yet. The bonds of their order were stronger than the world that would have broken any one of them if given the chance.

Edited 2020-08-16 21:27 (UTC)

Nodding, Lambert thinks over this new information. "'S a shame you don't. Or that there isn't a woman big enough." He never would've thought Eskel would be the type to look for that outside the keep, but going out on the Path for the first couple of years was hard.

"If a woman lets me stay, after, and wants to cuddle up." Which was a bit of a rare thing. "Aiden and I switch, when we're not sleeping face to face, or just...on our backs. But I like being the little one."

"Nah, I like being the big spoon." He says, giving Lambert a reassuring squeeze. Butting his head against the back of Lambert's, nose buried in the back of his neck.

"You gonna ask Vesemir if you can bring Aiden around of these winters? I know Cats got reputations but I trust you that he's alright."

The soft breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck pulls the tiniest gasp out of Lambert. He shifts a little to get more comfortable.

"Do I have to ask? Was kinda planning to just show up with him next year. It'll save me an argument with the old man this year, 'cause you know he's gonna say no." And then, because he likes making his brother laugh, he adopts the voice he uses to mock their mentor. "Witchers from the Cat School cannot be trusted! They are all...scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells!"

"Okay but you gotta make sure I'm here so I can see the look on his face." Eskel laughs. "I mean if Geralt can bring his sorceresses up here, you should be able to bring Aiden. I mean, arguably, the Cat has more right."

Lambert relaxes considerably at the laugh. "He's a witcher! He does. Why don't you just meet us at the trail head and we'll go up together?" That way, Eskel can get to know him, too. Two Wolves vouching for him should surely convince Vesemir to allow the Cat to stay.

"That's a whole year away, though."

"It's a deal. In a year." Eskel says.

The wind howls outside the keep and the older witcher re-arranges the blankets so they're nice and warm. Their bodies curled together neck to knees.

"I don't think you've crawled into bed with me for decades." Eskel says, and tries not to sound too grave or worried. "I think the last time it was because it was the last time the old man put his hands on you." Lambert had been a grown man (if barely) but he had run his mouth, pushed too hard, did something so reckless it had put himself and maybe even another witcher at risk and Vesemir had taken a belt to him. Which, now that Lambert had dragged his history out in front of his brother, seemed extraordinarily cruel in Eskel's eyes. But it was only fair, he and Geralt had both gotten-- and distributed-- their fair share with a strap. It was just the way children were disciplined in Kaer Morhen. Which had been far more Vesemir's intent-- rather than causing an inordinate amount of pain or damage it had been to embarrass Lambert, to imply he was being childish. He had crawled into Eskel's bed and the older witcher had kissed tears from his cheeks they both pretended not to notice.

A year seems so far away now. The promise of it fills him with excitement, though, because he'll be bringing Aiden home and there's something that just feels right about it.

Then he's tensing up at the memory of the last time. He hasn't forgotten the sting of the leather, can feel it now as if it had just happened. He'd deserved it. It wasn't harsh enough to leave a bruise, and he'd taken it like any other boy who'd lived in the keep at one time or another had done. Lambert probably felt the strap across his backside more often than normal. He'd waited until he was safely tucked against Eskel to cry. He hadn't expected to be kissed and comforted that night. It was around the time his group was being actively discouraged from all their childhood ways, being prepared to be sent out on the Path.

"Didn't think you'd let me, to be honest. You used to pretend you were asleep most of the time, or you'd tell me to fuck off." He stays quiet for a moment after that, resisting the urge to fidget, then he speaks barely above a whisper. "You're still my favorite."

"I had to. It was time for you to move on." Eskel says, quietly, the arm around Lambert's waist squeezing gently. That time especially, when the message from Vesemir had been so clear: Lambert was too old to for the unruly actions of a youth to be excused. Vesemir never forbade the wolves from sleeping together but as with all things there was a tacit understanding: Lambert's time as a young, apprenticing witcher was over, he would have to learn to be on his own in all things and that included his night-time pleadings with his fellow witcher for comfort. But Eskel had indulged him then, quietly and kindly and with the understanding that it was to be the last time.

"Yeah?" Eskel laughs against his ear, endeavouring to lighten the mood. "Don't tell Geralt." He teases. "You'll bruise his ego." He rests his chin on Lambert's shoulder. "Now that you're here, I kinda missed this."

Lambert glances at Eskel from the corner of his eye, able to see well enough in the dark this close. "I won't tell him if you won't~"

Different people offered different comforts. At least, that's what he'd felt. Even between Eskel and Geralt, there were differences in the way each one held him, touched him, what they expressed. Deep down, he knew that was why he hadn't wanted to give this up. And knowing the last time was truly the last had only made him cry more, really. He hadn't been made to explain, because Eskel knew what he would and wouldn't talk about, and that's why Eskel had always been his favorite.

"I did, too. Doubt the old man would say anything now, if...if you wanna keep doing this. He knows we know by now, so what's it really hurt?"

"He probably wouldn't bother. He's got other things on his mind in his old age. Some frowning at the breakfast table, probably. I might get a lecture about encouraging you. But fuck 'im. The keep's colder than a witch's tit, better to sleep with company. And we're grown men now, on the Path and living our own lives, I'm not indulging you or holding you back anymore." He huffs against Lambert's hair. "I don't mind having you sleep here, at any rate."

"Exactly. And you know what'll happen if he lectures me, I'll just mouth off." Gently, he tugs Eskel's hand up to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. "Maybe 's what Papa Vesemir needs. Think we could convince him to pay Mignole a visit? They can talk about whatever old people talk about or whatever."

"Yeah but you know the old man can still get frisky and I don't even want to think about it." Eskel snorts. "Also he probably won't leave us alone because he's worried you, me and Geralt'll get drunk and burn the place down once and for all."

The brush of Lambert's lips against his hand makes his breath go funny, an unsettled sound of long-ignored, unacknowledged want.

"We do go a little overboard," he agrees, letting his lips continue to ghost over the older man's fingers. He hadn't expected to get a reaction. "Maybe a lot overboard."

"Yeah, well..." Eskel shrugs, burying his face in Lambert's hair. His fingers flex, a restless shiver passing through the older man. "What the fuck else are we going to do all winter?" He shuffles, fitting his body more snugly to Lambert's. It's been so long since he'd held his fellow wolf, since he held or had been held or been touched by anyone in so long he had lost count of the days, the weeks, the months...

A smart-ass retort had been on the tip of his tongue, but when Eskel presses closer, his mind goes blank. A tiny little noise escapes his throat. If it were anyone else wrapped around him, Lambert would be embarrassed about it. He rolls his hips back in an attempt to entice, pressing a kiss to the other witcher's palm.

"Lamb..." Eskel says, quietly and there's a rare note of uncertainty in the cocksure Witcher's voice. "It's been a long time. Are you certain?" He buries his face in Lambert's neck, inhaling shakily.

"Yeah. You're not gonna break me," he says. It had been a long time, and he's nervous, but Lambert keeps his voice steady. The younger Witcher can tell he isn't the only one that needs this. "Just don't rush it."

"Alright." Eskel says, and for once there's a lingering note of uncertainty in his voice. He lifts his head, listening, but he's sure the old man's gone to bed by now. And like Lambert said, what the hell was Vesemir going to do about it, precisely. "I haven't been with a guy in a really long time." He admits. "Haven't been with anybody in a long time-- the face even puts whores off-- but I'll be careful. Promise." He kisses Lambert just below the ear, his rough hands crawling up under the other witcher's shirt. Closing his eyes and just feeling over the warmth of Lambert's body in the dark. Just like when they were younger men, huddled together, wondering what was wrong with them that they needed the comfort of another person to survive. But lone wolves are dead wolves, the saying went and Eskel knew the bonds between the younger three surviving wolves had a desperate edge to it-- clinging to each other as the only world they had ever known crumbled beneath their feet-- and nothing could ever break it. No matter how old they got, they would always have each other, the same they had when they were all barely men, violently changed from the boys they had once been.

He breathes in deep against Lambert's neck and tries to focus, his hips shifting restlessly against Lambert's. What a witcher lacked in emotional depth, he could make up for on passion and instinct and Eskel's body remembered how hungry it could be for touch as surely as it would remember to be hungry for food, even after his inhuman abilities had allowed him to forget it for far longer than a man could have done.

"I know, guys aren't really your thing. And you're not gonna put me off." He doesn't say that he trusts Eskel, but he thinks the older witcher knows. He doesn't need words to say it. As sword-calloused hands wander over the planes of his abdomen and chest, he relaxes and bares his neck. It's easy to submit the way he had decades ago, to press back and meet every little shift of hips. His hand lifts and reaches back to tangle in the soft hair at the back of Eskel's head, keeping him close.

He isn't the same desperately eager boy he'd been. A needy little whine spills out all the same, because he knows he's safe here, that he can let his guard down and trust that his brother won't let him come to harm. He knows that as long as he has Eskel and Geralt, he'll have a home. Hell, even Vesemir, for all that they argue and fight.

But right now, his world is reduced to the bed hardly big enough for two grown witchers, and his focus is on the way Eskel surrounds him.

Eskel kisses over Lambert's offered neck and shoulder. His hand finds new scars on the other Wolf's body, traces and memorizes them. His other hand finds the drawstring at the waist of Lambert's small-clothes. Restlessly caressing hip and thigh.

His teeth scrape-- lightly-- over Lambert's shoulder and he makes a low sound deep in his chest, a sound of mixed protectiveness and slowly mounting arousal.

Between the scrape of teeth at his shoulder and that low noise that he feels more than he hears, his clothes are starting to feel like too much. The last thing he wants is for Eskel to stop touching him, though. Gently, he tugs at the dark strands in his hand.

"Esk, wait--stop."

He half-assumes there's been a change of plans and rolls back from Lambert, emphatically with his hands not touching the other witcher until he's told it's alright to do otherwise. His own smalls feel a little tight but he leaves them for now.

"Yeah? You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, I just..." Now that he can do so, he sits up and quickly strips his shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His smalls follow after a bit of an awkward maneuver. "Better," he whispers with a resolute nod. "Put your hands back on me."

"Oh good." He laughs, rolling Lambert back into his arms, back to chest. "Scared me for a minute." He buries his face back in Lambert's shoulder. "You can say no whenever you like." He promises, gravely. "But I really hope that you don't. Not tonight." He draws a hand down Lambert's chest, skimming over the muscles of his stomach to his hip.

"Tell me how you want me to sort you out." He asks, his coarse voice even rougher for being pitched low against Lambert's ear.

Lambert laughs with him, his fingers going right back to tangle in Eskel's hair. "I'd never say no to you." A soft sigh slips past his lips. "Just like this. Close."

"Okay." Eskel says, from somewhere just behind Lambert's ear as one hand slips between Lambert's thighs to tease and stroke his cock. Anything to stay close, to get as much touch as he can.

He nips at Lambert's shoulder again but it seems a bridge too far to bite him. He wants to be careful with Lambert, like he was when they were younger men. And he's not wholly sure what's got the younger wolf in such dire need of comfort to turn to something that-- while not expressly forbidden-- might be considered beneath his dignity. And until he figures out what that is, he's not going to push anything too much. Just slow, lazy strokes for the moment. Every sense tuned to Lambert's.

Not that he wasn't enjoying himself, as Lambert can no doubt plainly feel on the back of his thighs.

Much like when they were younger, Lambert is more than willing to let Eskel take the lead. He props his top leg up, giving the other room to do as he pleases and showing that he'll obey. A rare thing for the young wolf. He can certainly feel that the older witcher is enjoying it. So he lets go of Eskel's hair and reaches back to tug at his smallclothes, at his hip, trying to get him to move.

What he needs is to have someone else in control, because he doesn't feel like he can trust himself right now. And maybe he is still a little shaken from their bar fight, because he doesn't want to lose anyone else, least of all Eskel.

Maybe he'll admit to that after.

For now, it's enough to just let the older wolf take care of him and work up him up slowly.

The acquiescence answers many of his questions and Eskel holds the other Wolf tightly as he continues stroking his cock.

"It's alright, Lamb, I've got you." He promises. "It's alright." He kisses the witcher's shoulder. "Roll over for me, on your belly."

"I know."

Cheeks burning, he does as he's told, closing his eyes and burying his nose in the pillow to breathe in the other's scent. And then he thinks to ask, "You got oil, right?" Because Lambert had given no thought into creeping through the hall to Eskel's door, only following the impulse to go.

"Yeah, I've got something." Eskel promises, running his hand down Lambert's back. It's not, unfortunately, too different from the way he would soothe a nervous animal. He kisses between Lambert's shoulderblades and the shuffles over under the blankets (trying to disturb them as little as possible in the cold room; the wind has come up and there's definitely a draft Eskel didn't remember from last year) to rummage around on a low shelf next to the bed. The oil he brings back smells like leather, so thick and smooth it's almost grease and he offers it to Lambert.

"Will that do?" He asks. It's the stuff they use on their boots and the horses' tack.

Lambert pushes himself up enough to watch. The blankets have slipped from his shoulders, and he can feel the chill in the room, so he makes a mental note to help Eskel fix that later. For tonight, body heat will work.

When he's presented with the oil, he nods and meets Eskel's eyes for the first time since he'd come slinking in. "I can bring something better next time. If you want." If he isn't turned away and told this was a one-time thing. "'S good for soothing sore muscles, too, so when the old man sets us to work, I can fix you right up," he adds with a little grin.

He won't promise Lambert a next time, but he won't deny him a next time either. He's completely focused only on this moment.

"Oh, somebody's developing fancy tastes out there in the wide world?" Eskel teases, slicking up his fingers and reaching to stroke Lambert's cock once more, leaning over to kiss and bite across the other witcher's shoulders.

Lambert goes to sneer at being teased, but the feeling of a rough hand around his cock smooths his features right back out, and his voice maybe comes out not so biting. "Yeah, and why shouldn't I? W-what's wrong with nice things?" Other than the price he often had to pay for them. His head drops back to the pillow, hips lifting and knees shifting a little wider.

"Shhhhh." Eskel says, ruffling the younger man's hair, pressing him into the pillows momentarily. "It's alright." His slick fingers work over the younger witcher's cock as he leans in close to whisper in Lambert's ear. "Do you want me to get you off just like this or do you want more?" His fingers tease up the back of Lambert's thigh, to the curve of his backside. An unspoken question.

The ghosting of breath over his ear and the fingers teasing up his thigh make Lambert shiver, and it takes him a moment to register that Eskel's asking him something. It's just a tiny bit difficult to get the words out. But he knows this won't be enough to shut his mind off for a while, so he does his best.

"More. Need more."

"Good." Sufficiently assured as to his fellow Wolf's needs, Eskel applies another layer of grease to his fingers, experientially pressing one into Lambert while rubbing his back soothingly. "You just relax, Lamb, I've got you."

Lambert nods, keeping himself relaxed, and the finger slips in easily enough. But he knows it's been a while for both of them. So he doesn't argue about the gentle treatment or the comforting words.

Just because he knows Lambert can take some rough handling doesn't mean he's going to push it. At least at this point. He thrusts in his finger, one hand braced on Lambert's shoulders, pressing down. He wouldn't hold Lambert down but the touch is...bracing, certainly.

When he's sure he can, he adds a second finger.

Having a hand braced on his shoulders is nice, but it doesn't keep the young witcher from moving. Especially when he feels a second finger prodding at him. He tries to stay quiet, not wanting to risk their mentor interrupting (because wouldn't that ruin everything), but a few soft moans manage to escape.

Eskel's free hand shifts up from Lambert's shoulders and into his hair, gripping at the root and holding fast as he begins to slowly thrust his fingers. Focusing all his attention on the other Witcher.

Lambert hisses at the tug on his hair. With each thrust, he pushes back into it, already eager to please the older Wolf.

Lambert's so eager to please, completely surrendering and it makes Eskel's heart ache. He's determined to give Lambert what he needs and he speeds up the work of his fingers, hoping to get the other witcher relaxed, and give him more than a little pleasure in the bargain.

"Esk..." It comes out as a whimper, the rest of what he'd meant to say dying on his tongue. He's bared to the other witcher, plenty relaxed, but he's still finding it hard to say what he wants.

"Yeah?" A note of encouragement in the rough voice. A dexterous curling of rough fingers. He needs to hear Lambert say it. Wants him to, the note of need in the witcher's voice making his cock twitch and ache.

Lambert moans, trying to bury his face in the pillow and crying out when he's reminded that Eskel has a grip on his hair. "I want--need you."

"Tell me what you want." Eskel says, not relinquishing his grip on the witcher's hair. "You know I'd do anything for you, but I need to hear you say it." He does, however, shift so that Lambert can feel his hard cock against his spread thighs.

"Fuck," he breathes, pressing back on the fingers still working him. "I want you to fuck me." It doesn't quite come out as a growl.

"There you go." Eskel laughs in the dark. He withdraws his fingers and settles between the other witcher's legs. "That wasn't so hard-- fuck--!"An obscene noise tears itself from his ruined lips as he spreads oil over his aching cock, lines himself up and thrusts.

That laugh sends heat spreading through Lambert. The urge to snarl and mouth off rises up, but the way he's knelt with his ass in the air, spread open for the older man, keeps him quiet. And then Eskel is thrusting in, and he can't help crying out again.

"Shhhhh." Eskel says, but the tremble in his voice takes the edge off the order. He bends over the other man so he can kiss and nip at his shoulders as he sets a slow, deep, grinding pace. He struggles to keep his senses focused on Lambert.

Lambert doesn't want to be quiet, but he'll give Eskel anything he asks for. He slips one hand under the pillow, bringing it up to muffle himself with it, and reaches back with his other hand for one of Eskel's. When he catches hold of a wrist, he tries to tug it around to his chest.

"I've got you. I've got you, Lamb." Eskel says against his ear, wrapping his arm around the other Wolf's chest. His other hand grasps Lambert's hips as he thrusts into him. Their bodies shift restlessly in the dark and if Eskel closes his eyes it's like being young again, before their bodies had been torn apart on the Path. When Lambert was an easily upset youth, who cried more than the other young men in his class. It's not that Eskel felt sorry for him: to do so felt cruel, as if he had pitied him, but he had felt protective of him in a way that felt less necessary with some of the younger witchers. "I've got you. I'll take care of you. It's alright."

Like this, it's easy for Lambert to shut his brain off and just enjoy the moment. He still remembers the first time, how gentle Eskel had been, and how much closer he'd felt to the other witcher afterward. He had been scared the first time. Now, he's enthusiastic and pliant, a broken moan being drawn out every time the older Wolf thrusts particularly deep.

It's easy to be scared the first time, no matter what kind of intimacy is being exchanged. It's hard to trust someone else with your body when you've only just realized your body belongs not to you, but to the 0rder. But Eskel liked to think he had been as good to Lambert as he knew how to be. And he would be good to him now, as best he could.

It helped that Lambert looked so good like this, felt so good held close, smelled amazing. Eskel's thrusts pick up the pace, free hand holding fast to Lambert's hip as he drives into him. Now the sounds against Lambert's ear are starting to unravel as Eskel finally stops thinking, starting to lose himself in his own pleasure.

Lambert lets the pillow fall from his face, and the scent of arousal is so thick, it's all he can think of. He's lost to the feeling of it, the sound of it, the one hand still gripping tight to Eskel's wrist. Nothing matters except this.

He slips his free hand down, gripping himself loosely as he starts to stroke.

Eskel growls against Lambert's ear, his panting breaths taking on a rough edge. The hand on Lambert's hip grips tight enough to bruise. He buries his face in the back of Lambert's neck and abandons himself completely to the moment, his hips jerking, thrusts becoming erratic and desperate.

Eskel's name is drawn out in a moan amidst a plea for "harder" and "more". The begging doesn't last long, though, a wave of pleasure taking Lambert by surprise. He spills himself, making a mess of the sheets and his own chest. It seems to go on forever to the young witcher, even though he knows it's only a moment.

Eskel mumbles something that might have been an attempt to shush him but it gets lost in the chorus of growls and moans. He feels Lambert come and the sensation is enough to draw his own orgasm out of him, his cry muffled in Lambert's shoulder.

Even if he'd known he was being shushed, Lambert couldn't have quieted himself down. He didn't want to be quiet. But all he can think about is Eskel, the way the older witcher is pressed against his back, filling him, and holding him tight. It's a good thing, too, because he feels boneless now.

Eskel eases them onto their side, holding Lambert carefully against his chest. "Tell me when you want me to move." He says, giving Lambert a moment before he withdraws. He exhales slowly against the back of his fellow wolf's neck. "You alright?"

Shaking his head, Lambert whispers, "Don't. Don't leave." He's pleasantly numb still, enjoying the afterglow. Relaxed enough to just say how he feels. "'M better...Still wanna stay here, with you."

"You can sleep here, if you wanna." Eskel promises, stroking down Lambert's side in that same soothing motion. He buries his face in the mess that is now Lambert's hair. "I think I needed that too, you know?"

"Yeah?" He glances back, even though he knows he won't be able to see the older Wolf. His body's starting to ache a bit, but it's a welcome ache. "It was like before...Like the first time."

Eskel makes a surprised noise against the back of Lambert's neck.

"Really?" He asks. "That was a long time ago." He gives his fellow wolf a squeeze around the middle. "I guess it was, but you're less nervous now."

"Just 'cause it was a long time ago doesn't mean I forgot." He's a lot less nervous now. "I just...It's you, me, Geralt, and the old man. I know it comes with what we are, but after--" Lambert cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. Even knowing he's safe in Eskel's bed, it's hard to talk about. When he speaks again, it's a whisper. "The rest of the year, I kept wondering if I'd return to an empty keep, too."

"Mm." Eskel is even more unwilling to say it out loud, but in his low noise is understanding. He too fears the day he comes back to Kaer Morhen to find the old man finally dead, for the snows to come without sight or word of his brothers.

"I'd fight like hell to get back here." He promises after a long time in the quiet, listening to the wind scream outside the keep. "Even if I died on the threshold. I wouldn't leave you or Geralt to wonder what became of me. And if you didn't come back, I would ride every inch of the Continent until I found you, even if all that was left was your swords and your medallion, and I would rain hell down on whatever fiend or fool that killed you."

The slow, steady heartbeat Lambert can feel against his back is comforting, and he knows no matter how much he threatens to never return, as long as Eskel is alive, he'll spend every winter at the old keep.

"I'd do the same. Burn down the world if I had to." He usually has to be piss drunk to admit these things, even to himself, but if the older Wolf can do it, he can, too.

The moment of candor seems to pass, however, though Eskel does curl more tightly around his fellow Wolf, at least for a while. At last he sighs heavily.

"Fuck, it's gonna be so cold outside these blankets when we have to clean up."

Lambert groans, curling up to try and make himself smaller. "You're gonna make me get up and freeze, aren't you?" He tugs the blankets up over his head, already feeling the chill on his nose and ears. "Why's your room so cold?"

"Window's got a big crack in it. Vesemir says there were some bad storms in mid-summer, that's probably what did it. I'm lucky my stuff didn't get too wet." He does his best to slither out of the bed without letting in too much cold so he can go to the wash-stand. He cleans himself off and returns to the bed with a clean rag.

"Alright, water's cold but it's clean." He offers the cloth to Lambert.

Pouting, Lambert sits up and takes the rag to clean himself. "You're sleeping in my room until we get that fixed." He takes care of clean-up as quickly as he can, then hands the rag back to Eskel and burrows back under the blanket...only to be reminded of the mess he'd made. He grimaces at the feeling of his own cold spend on his skin.

"Maybe...we should go now. I'll, uh...take care of your sheets tomorrow." At least he has the decency to look sheepish about it.

"Yeah, you made quite a mess of it." Now that the emotional moments have let up slightly, he feels a little better about teasing Lambert. He shrugs into one of his clean shirts and picks up his book. "Come on, Lamb. Let's go to bed."

"Yeah, wasn't exactly thinking of the consequences. Had more important things on my mind." Lambert pulls his smallclothes and shirt back on and gently shoves Eskel toward the door.

Eskel snorts with amusement but lets himself be shoved out the door and into the hallway. The keep is silent except for the howling of the wind and they are undisturbed by any sign of Vesemir on their way. Eskel is quick to get into bed, snuggling down among the blankets. "Come on. Want me to read to you a while? Or have I worn you out enough to sleep?" He teases.

Despite the quietness surrounding them, Lambert's on edge the entire short trip back to his own room. He'd expected their mentor to be waiting just outside the door. He shuts the door quietly, then crawls into bed beside Eskel, snuggling up to his side. "You can read. That's your war poetry, right?"

Eskel's pretty sure Vesemir is snoring thunderously in his rooms. The old man is probably going to find out eventually but for the moment, they're undisturbed.

"Yeah." He holds up the book, waiting for the younger Wolf to get settled. "Just for a little while, til I drop off to sleep." He yawns expansively; clearly it won't be too long.

"Mm, what was that you asked? If you wore me out? You had it backwards~" Unfortunately, yawns are contagious, and Lambert is rather tired. He tries and fails to hide a yawn of his own against Eskel's shoulder.

"I'm old!" Eskel protests jokingly. "I'm old and I did all the work!" He ruffles Lambert's hair and gets the blankets settled around them so they'll be plenty warm tonight. He picks up his book, turns to the poem he'd been reading before they had sex, and begins to read aloud in his low, rough voice.

"Coulda made me do some~" He doesn't bother trying to fix his hair. It'll be one more thing to help them stick it to the old man. As Eskel starts to read, he nuzzles against him, closing his eyes and trying to follow along. The older Wolf's low rumble is soothing, though, and before long, Lambert's drifted off to sleep.

The look of peace on his brother's face makes the mess worth it, makes the emotional discomfort worth it, makes tomorrow's inevitable frowning and tutting from the old man worth it.

Eskel reads for a while longer and then falls asleep sitting up, his book spread across his lap.

[ Preference to the husband if canon shipping, cross canon is good, also love family reunions and AUs ]

[ Everyone deserves something, Howard, the commandos, Bucky, Angie, Colleen, Jack, Daniel..all of them. ]

[Face it, her life got f'd. She could use some good stuff.]

[Future AUs and AUs in general are love. I have a huge soft spot for found families and family things in general.]

Edited 2020-08-16 03:26 (UTC)

[ m/m for anything shippy, ota for platonic situations, either role ]

[Not familiar with the canon but checked out your info post. Maybe Sebastian makes a deal that he can convince Lan to hand over his soul before he achieves immortality? Basically Sebastian serves Lan without question as a butler, but he may try manipulating his master away from the immortality thing?]

[ Basically, he's trained at dealing with ghosts/demons/spirits, etc., I am also unfamiliar with Sebastian's canon beyond what little I've picked up in fandom.

the immortality bit is only a headcanon thing to give me an excuse for playing modern stuff, not an actual thing in canon (at least not a known thing)! I'm happy to use it, though! Lan Wangji plays a song called 'inquiry' every day for like 13 years, trying to reach someone, so perhaps Sebastian comes in during that time to serve him and tries to shift his attention to something else/away from the immortality thing? ]

[All cool, I'm new to Sebastian's canon on my end. Main thing is he's a demon who enters contracts with humans he deems worthy enough - he serves/dotes on them until they accomplish their goal and then he eats their soul. Mostly he enjoys a challenge: so he'd probably enjoy trying to manipulate Lan Wangji away from the immortality thing.

That, plus Sebastian wouldn't want him to turn immortal since it means he wouldn't get his soul after all that hard work.

Since you mentioned the more modern times thing, it sounds like it's pretty loose when/where this could take place? Did you have a preference? Also, prose or brackets?]

[ His ultimate goal would be to bring someone back (the love of his life, who is dead and who he never told), but I am happy to use the immortality thing instead; it might be easier. He'd need

Canonically, it's ancient China, but I can play with time/setting easily, and a modern setting could be a lot of fun, but no strong preferences, really. I tend to default to brackets. ]

[This immortality thing may pose a problem later.

That said, Sebastian did always enjoy a challenge. At his age, you had to, truly! So "assisting" his Master in this foolish search for immortality should be interesting and, better yet, it should ripen Lan Wangji's soul, raise it to exquisite, dizzying heights. Worth the danger, the demon thinks, that he might actually succeed.

As soon as his smoky, clawed hands had clasped the new Master's, he made sure to make himself irreplaceable.

He ingratiates himself, as is demonic custom.

Taking on a human form, Sebastian placed himself always at his new Master's side, a tall, slender shadow who seems to predict his every want and desire. Before the Master realizes he's thirsty, there is drink waiting for him on a silver platter. Before his stomach rumbles, Sebastian is already sweeping into the room with food and an elegant bow, executed perfectly from the hips, his red eyes always watching "his" prey. Always searching Lan Wangji out in the room...as if to make sure his soul is right where it should be.

Today he enters the Master's quarters, dressed sharply as always (no wrinkles: Sebastian won't abide wrinkles). The butler bows and then straightens]

Good morning, my Lord! [He advances closer, pulls out the newspaper folded neatly under the crook of his elbow.] Today's newspaper, as usual. How are you feeling?

[He beams, the smile tight-lipped without showing teeth]

[ 'Shoulder the weight of mortality' and 'Do not associate with bad men' are rules burned into Lan Wangji's mind. Like the other rules that governed his clan, he knew them well, and the meaning and intent behind them. But he seeks to lay down the burden of immortality, so he might find something else, one day.

That search, for immortality, means forsaking certain rules. It means bargaining with a demon, something that, if it were known and obvious, would have him banished from his clan, and perhaps worse.

The fact that Sebastian can pass as a butler &mdahs; a frivolous expense, his uncle had grumbled, but made no further objection; it helps the man is thousands of miles away — makes it simple. Lan Wangji hunts for the path to immortality, searches for a soul, and is otherwise a dutiful, obedient member of the Lan Sect.

Morning is always early for him, but Sebastian is just as timely. Just as he is swinging upright, brushing out the wrinkles in his pajamas, his butler enters. ]

Mm. Fine. [ A man of few words, he simply looks at Sebastian, taking the newspaper from his hands. He's always careful to never touch Sebastian unless necessary, as he is with most people, but he has softened marginally. Newspaper in his lap, he reaches for the white ribbon on his nightstand and carefully wraps it around his forehead, the first thing he does every morning. ] Have you any news to report?

[ News. Of anything unusual, anything that might grant him an answer. ]

[For whatever reason, the Master requests the daily newspaper even though he has a perfectly good phone within arm's reach.

That had been one of the biggest surprises for the demon - to come back to the mortal world and realize that humans, insatiable as always, had advanced from paper and pen to this new invention called "digital technology". To words and images, transmitted almost as fast a demon could travel. He might even think this threatened his job security, if it wasn't for the fact that human nature itself didn't seem to have changed much. Humans are still hungry and desperate and so here he is: with a new Master, and a new game to play. A new soul, waiting just for him.]

You have some pressing correspondence. Suitors, maybe, and your uncle has left a voicemail.

[Sebastian turns, reaching for something, and wheels in a small cart with select choices of food. Dumplings, a light, delicate soup, and some pastries that he remembers the Master seemed to like. Sometimes it's hard to tell: Lan Wangji is less vocal than most and he must be one of the more...difficult humans that the demon has worked with. Others were more obvious, more willing to display their vices and wants and desires to their faithful butler.

Master Lan Wangji makes Sebastian work for it.]

I've been looking into that lead regarding your personal project. [There must be a work around the immortality thing. Demons are masters of being technically right and he's sure that he can find some way to betray his Master and serve him at the same time. Sebastian stops the breakfast cart next to Lan Wangji's bed] I'm sorry to say that it appears to be a bust. Of course, I'll continue to follow up on it.

Now: I have arranged breakfast, but I must warn you, it is quite hot. Please, mind your tongue.

[ The newspaper makes it easier to track down unexpected, unusual events; those with some legitimacy show up in the newspaper, rather than the rubbish heap that is the Internet. He glances over the front page of the newspaper; nothing extraordinary, but the situations he's looking for rarely make the front page.

Although Sebastian is a servant, Wangji was raised to be polite, courteous, so he settles the paper next to him, giving Sebastian his full, undivided attention. ]

I will respond to Uncle after breakfast. Any suitors can wait. [ His tone doesn't change much, and he's generally too well-controlled to allow feelings to show on his face, but there's a cool current to his voice as he says 'suitors.' What a waste of time.

Wangji lets his gaze fall to the cart, nodding his approval at the meal; light and simple, almost bland, a reminder of his time in his home, where his uncle, his guardian, had provided education, a strict set of rules to follow, repressed emotions, and a diet that did not stir the passions.

Wangji keeps to that, lets his hunt and his music stir his passions. ]

Inform me if you find anything. [ He reaches for one of the pastries, taking the heeding to heart, giving the warmer food time to cool. ] Word has reached me that a night hunt will be necessary soon. Not pertinent to my search, but there are junior cultivators handling it. I shall need to be prepared, should anything go amiss.

[ The pastries are light and flavorful, and along with the dumplings and soup, enough to satisfy his appetite. ] An invitation should arrive to the University musical gala; I will attend this year. [ A brief pause, and then: ] It would be a benefit if you attended with me.

[Of course the suitors can wait. They always do.

Sebastian does wonder about that. Humans generally learn to move on, finding that their fear of loneliness or their biology can drive them to forge new, equally fragile relations with one another. Procreation: a funny, alien thing. Loneliness: even stranger. The Master seems to insist on being that rare outlier.

A shame. Sebastian is sure he could've used those typical human weaknesses against him, like with many of his previous Masters.

At least it's easy to keep this one fed. Lan Wangji is less picky than most, his tastes less demanding.]

Of course, Master.

[There is finding something and finding everything, and it's all in the technicalities. Perhaps he may hold some details close, unless directly ordered to spill his guts. He stands at the bed side as Master Lan Wangji samples today's breakfast and seems to find it up to snuff. A night hunt? Sebastian's eyes slide to his Master, the barest arch of his eyebrow betraying the demon's curiosity as he watches him eat the filth humans insist is food.

Sebastian is already mentally preparing for the arrangements for this night hunt, determined to give his Master every edge and tool he could possibly need, when his next request catches him off guard. In the middle of taking plates and the soup bowl, he pauses for just a breath.]

A musical gala sounds positively enchanting!

[When Sebastian speaks, it's softly, his tone bordering on amused as he smiles amicably at Wangji]

A request, I wonder, or an order?

[Sometimes Sebastian likes to test Master Lan Wangji. Likes to remind him that he holds more power than maybe he likes, that he has the power of a demon behind him and maybe it wouldn't be such a crime to use him as he sees fit. A demon's way of entertaining himself, of testing the valuable soul he circles around. The soul he desires would have no qualms about a stream of orders instead of tip-toeing around a mere butler.

Sometimes, Sebastian finds, you have to train humans into it like pets.]

[ The drive of biology is present in Wangji but buried deep: only one person has inflamed his desires that he considered letting go.

That one person is also the source of every lonely ache Wangji feels in his heart. He had once been used to being alone, but after Wei Wuxian, it has been harder. Difficult.

Sebastian is, in some ways, a blessing to which Wangji would not admit: a companion. Not a friend, but then, he has little need for friends.

He studies Sebastian from the corner of his eye as he eats, delicate, and effortlessly graceful. Sebastian has similar coloring to Wei Wuxian's, beyond the eyes — although he remembers well the red of the Yiling Patriarch's eyes — but that's where the similarities end. Which is. Useful.

Finished with breakfast, he wipes his fingers off, dabs his mouth, sips his tea to rid his mouth of the taste of food, even though shortly he'll shower and perform the necessary morning rituals. ]

Did I show you the talisman papers? [ He asks it almost idly, knowing well he had not. ] Just those, my sword, and the guqin for the hunt. I am unlikely to be needed. [ But it is a group of younger disciples going out after the rumored ghost, and he likes to be close for those, in case anything goes wrong.

He watches Sebastian's face carefully, wondering just why the demon is here, with him. His words are a reminder than Wangji doesn't need, well aware of the power dynamics between them. He swallows, wonders why he agreed to this in the first place, and remembers. He needs to be alive when Wei Wuxian returns, and as it has not happened yet — well.

He will continue this hunt. ]

A request. It features classical instruments from the ancient world and the musicians are talented. Your presence would be welcomed if you wish to attend.

[ Besides, Sebastian can keep people from making awkward small talk, or attempting to confess, or asking him about a hookup and happens at every event he attends. ]

[Ah, how disappointing.

His Master seems to be terribly allergic to giving out orders, almost as if the thought is embarrassing! "Request", the human says, as if they are equals! Foolish. So soft. Sebastian hides the faint, sneering curl of his lip by turning away so he can finish loading the dirty dishes and utensils onto the breakfast cart. When the demon turns back, he's smoothed out his handsome face into the usual pleasant mask, accommodating as always.

By the time Sebastian is ready to feed on Master Lan Wangji's soul, he'll have taught him how to properly order a demon around. A soft, fragile soul is hardly worth the risk he took with a contract like this.]

That does sound pleasant! I'll have to see how the schedule looks, my Lord: it's quite full, but perhaps it can be...adjusted.

[If it was a direct order, he would've cleared both their schedules instantly, but Sebastian intends to drag his feet at a mere request. Give him some time to shuffle the Master's schedule around to inconvenience him at a later date, as revenge: that is what requesting gets him. A week from now, he intends for Wangji's days to be suddenly filled with meetings. Those suitors? They're coming in person. Dates and trips to expensive restaurants where it isn't easy to escape. That bothersome uncle? Will find his trip to the city suddenly acceptable.

Sebastian might just enjoy watching his poor Master suffer some demonic inconvenience.]

As for those talisman papers and the rest of the items, I will make sure they are ready in case you decide to take them.

[He wheels the cart to the door and out into the hall. When Sebastian comes back, he bears today's wardrobe, all spotless and dry-cleaned and perfectly folded, with no loose threads. He sets them down at the foot of the Master's bed and straightens.]

Shall I help you dress or shall I await you in the office?

Edited (snap, sorry. Hit reply too soon. Adding more to tag) 2020-08-21 05:43 (UTC)

[ Few people would accuse him of ever being soft; carved from jade and as frozen as a glacier is much more common. It is simply that, in this instance, orders do not suit. He's much more interested in seeing how Sebastian reacts to something like requests. Especially ones so simple as joining him for a musical gala.

He makes a soft noise of agreement and understanding, acknowledging the crowded schedule, although a faint line appears between his brows, there and gone again in a moment. The last time he'd looked, there had been no conflict.

So he adds: ]

I will be attending, no matter the conflict. You may do as you see fit.

[ Not quite an order, but it is a line drawn. Even if he has to skip those meetings with the suitors, refuse his uncle's call. Even if his brother showed up — no, he would join his brother for dinner and conversation, if Lan Xichen showed up at his doorsteps on the same night.

With the same quiet, implacable gaze, he watches Sebastian wheel away the cart and returns with his suit. White, the color of traditional mourning, for a loss he refuses to accept and wasn't truly his to claim. Some accents of blue on the shirt, pale enough that most people wouldn't notice, the only color he deigns to wear, the preferred color of his family. ]

Wait in the office.

[ Brief and succinct, and he climbs out of bed before Sebastian can retreat, expecting his butler to follow that order. It doesn't take him long to dress, once he is left alone; most of his time gets spent on fixing his hair after his morning ablutions. It's long and a hassle, but he refuses to cut it; instead, he wears it pulled back from his face, blue and white ribbon in place on his forehead.

But eventually, he leaves his bedroom, newspaper in hand, and joins Sebastian in the office. ]

[Slightly more forceful language. More serious intent. Perhaps there is hope for the Master after all]

Yes, of course.

[Sebastian bows, a bit deeper than before, and he'll obey as he always does to anything stronger than a request. He'll promptly put the cart away in the kitchen, clean the dishes and silverware so they sparkle and shine, and by the time Master Lan Wangji arrives at the office, Sebastian will be there like a promise. The office has a marvelous view of the city's sprawl, large windows filling three of the four walls. The desk is simple but functional, and of course Sebastian has ensured that it's of the finest materials and construction: same with the chair. Everything about it should be elegant but functional, perfectly molded for his Master's use.

The office's doors will slide open upon the Master's approach, Sebastian pulling out the chair so Wangji can sit. A cup of tea, steam curling up, waits for him, just like every morning.]

You've received a package. [The demon produces the box, prepared with a small knife to open it if his Master desires.] And there have been 33 new emails each demanding your correspondence since breakfast. Some of them seem to be...insistent. Increasingly so.

[Matt definitely deserves to be happy, no matter what he thinks.]

[She's Pretty Fuckin' Tired, gotta say. Throw a witch a soft epilogue, the only important factor to her is having people to latch onto and something to keep busy, be it far-reaching or mundane. Crosscanon's great, happy to throw her into other canons/combine them/post-jamjar/etc. Found family stuff would also be great! Load her up with mutually adopted siblings or parentesque mentor types.]

[ All the main characters in her canon have been forced into making hard, awful choices, and all deserve happiness. Bonus points for Tobias or Cassie, but I'm up for cross canon, too!! ]

(He's likely to be the one trying to cheer someone up, unless it's Sean. Sean will make him the happiest and forget everything else.)

We deserve this.

ben k̶y̶l̶o̶ ̶r̶e̶n̶ solo. STAR☆WARS. ota

esther moreau / original / ota

Hawks | BNHA | OTA

Pyra | Xenoblade Chronicles | OTA

Ben Hargreeves | Umbrella Academy | OTA

Bodhi Rook | Star Wars | OTA

Jyn Erso | Rogue One | OTA

Cassia Andor | Rogue One | OTA

Essa Erso-Andor | Rogue One OC | OTA

Sherlock Holmes || Sherlock BBC || m/m

Lambert || The Witcher 3 || OTA for canonmates

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