bakerstreet | We deserve this.

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[meme] shipping

We deserve this.

Deserve to be Happy

If we're honest, fictional characters can be generalized into two camps: 1. good people who have crap happen to them or 2. just crappy people. But bad or good, cheery or grouchy, undeserving or no, we sometimes shamelessly want them to have something nice in life. Or, more accurately, someone nice. A certain someone to give them kisses and their favorite foods, to make sure they have a blanket when they fall asleep, and maybe to whisk them away on fun dates/adventures? If they're lucky, this somebody may even give killer back rubs.

But forget your shame, okay? No judgement here. This is just a cute meme for all your gross (shipping) needs, where your character can get all the happiness they deserve...or don't. Whatever!

Comment with your character's info, your prefs, all those goodies. You can also include info about what would make your character really happy or if there's a particular role you'd like to play (maybe the one doing the cheering up?).
Reply to others.
Be presh.

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"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.

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