Chapter Text
The keep felt empty with one fewer witcher. If Kaer Morhen had been an empty shell after the pogrom, it was an empty tomb after Vesemir fell.
His absence was palpable, and the ache he left behind was fresh, which made the matter of his hat a sore subject. Geralt certainly noticed how it was moved from place to place, from bookshelf to desk to chair, but never back to Vesemir's bedroom storage chest where it belonged.
Geralt was, one solemn day, looking sullenly at the black wide-brimmed hat, when Lambert snatched it up to inspect it with a mean smile. "Do you think the old wolf meant to leave this to you?"
"Put it down, Lambert." The white wolf growled, both possessive and defensive although unwilling to touch it.
If anything the quarrelsome witcher was encouraged, "It's pretty dumb looking. Maybe you should throw it out with the rest of the junk."
Geralt snarled, "Lambert!" The wooden legs of his chair scratched loudly on the floor as he stood up. The tension between them mounted, waiting for one to make the first move.
Eskel looked from one face to the other and stepped in between them to disengage the friction. Geralt accepted the redirection and looked to his friend, imploring his help. Eskel gave a wordless nod then grabbed Lambert's arm and pushed him towards the door, "Let's go, Lambert."
Lambert's shoes scrabbled on the floor as he was moved along, resisting for the sake of resistance but not fighting. Geralt collapsed in his seat, glad to be rid of the other and the conflict that often came in tow.
Eskel dragged his brother in arms to the nearest intact room, a decent distance away and certainly out of ear shot. He released Lambert and stood in place to watch him as he folded his arms across his broad chest.
The dark haired witcher gestured impatiently and Eskel spoke first, "I know what's going on." He ignored the look of annoyance, "You miss Vesemir."
"Fuck you." Lambert growled, rolling his eyes and throwing the hat to the side, effectively done with the relic for the time being.
"You were messing with him and his stuff again, and he didn't have a chance to tan your arse for it before he died." Eskel laid it all out bluntly, and Lambert met his eyes again, not agreeing but not brushing him off any more.
Eskel nodded, sure that he was on the right track now, "Yeah, I know. But you're not going to make it Geralt's responsibility to take you in hand. He'd rather wash his hands of you than be responsible for hurting you, even if you're 'asking for it'. He's just going to think you're being an ass."
Lambert's eyes dropped away as the other spoke and he gently kicked the leg of a desk with his frustration plain on his face. He hated being fully understood and having nothing to argue with almost as much as he hated being misunderstood.
"I'm going to take over for Vesemir for you. All right?" Eskel stated.
The younger witcher looked up sharply, judging the other's face and then sneering with a chuckle, "You think you're going to replace that old hard-ass?"
"I didn't say that. Just that when you've got an attitude, I'm going to be the one to straighten you out." Eskel answered with a half grin.
The younger man didn't run. He didn't cuss or otherwise protest, which was probably as close as Eskel could hope to get to an amicable handshake and clearly outlined agreement.
"You're gonna tan my hide for messing with Vesemir's hat?" Lambert asked slowly as he carefully raised a brow and kept his expression otherwise neutral.
"That's right." Eskel answered. He didn't leave the other to squirm in anticipation, instead giving him directions. "Take off your armour, and lower your trousers."
Lambert scoffed, offended and indignant, shaking his head at the injustice of the command, but unlatched the clasps and buckles of his armour to remove the heavy layers. He was smaller and softer in only a tunic and trousers, and it was easier for Eskel to imagine him taking a proper hiding.
He pushed his trousers down his thighs, only to the bottom of his tunic, which was just long enough to cover his rear for now. Lambert stood up, meeting Eskel's eyes with so much hostility in his own.
Eskel took hold of his fellow witcher's arms and pulled him forward with a steady hand. He didn't let the other trip on his lowered trousers, holding him firmly enough so that even if he did lose his footing, he would not crash down to the floor. Instead he guided Eskel through a guided fall, bringing the smaller body across his knees as he dropped himself down into a sturdy wooden chair.
"Hey!" Lambert growled over his shoulder, "This isn't how Vesemir did it!"
"I'm not taking Vesemir's place, remember?" Eskel repeated as he shifted his legs to rest Lambert's lean hips squarely on one thigh, and his ribs on the other. Lambert straightened his dangling legs and bent them, toes of his boots sliding on the floor as he tried to decide what to do with himself.
Lambert wasn't familiar with the position at all and wasn't sure how to even resist or brace himself.
He stilled completely soon as Eskel lifted his tunic to expose his naked thighs and the curve of his bottom, all the way up to the base of his spine.
"A spanking, Eskel? Seriously?" Lambert huffed. He was annoyed and starting to think Eskel was just going to waste their time on an infantile mockery of what they had come here to do.
"If this doesn't do it for you then we'll see about getting a paddle or whatever Vesemir did with you." Eskel assured.
"It was a belt, Eskel." Lambert corrected, liking to be able to correct the older witcher, even on a subject like this. Despite his edge and bitterness, he was glad to be able to talk about the old wolf.
"Doesn't matter right now. You're getting a spanking on your bare ass with my hand." Eskel stated. "You're going to have a word you can say, if something's wrong and you need me to stop."
Lambert started to twist and snarl, struggling to look over his shoulder again, "Fucking hell, Eskel! Would you just do it and get it over with?" Eskel held him firmly in place and Lambert raised his voice to shout when he couldn't break free, "You think your bare hand is enough to make me ask for mercy or something? Get your sword, I'll kick your ass and show you that I'm not weak!"
Eskel needed more strength than he expected to keep the struggling man on his lap, but he did. Lambert did the part of lowering his trousers, the least Eskel could do was follow through with him. He was bared and ready and he wasn't letting him turn back now.
"You better not tap out because your ass hurts! I'm letting you choose a word for emergencies. So, nothing like 'stop', or 'that hurts'. All right?" Eskel pressed. He hadn't expected the level of patience necessary to punish Lambert the way he wanted to do it, but he wasn't going to give up on that either. This conversation was important for doing this the way he wanted to do it and keeping the relationship they had had.
Lambert's struggles slowed and then stopped. He grumbled, "Wish you started this conversation while I still had my trousers up…" he sighed heavily and asked, "What happens if I say it's an emergency?"
"I'll stop." Eskel answered, simply. Lambert waited, and after a moment he continued, "I'll let you take care of whatever you need. Shake out a cramp, take a leak, rub your arse. Then you're going back over my knee until you're done."
There was a long pause, and then a word "Leather," Lambert said.
Eskel nodded and repeated him, "Leather." His heavy, sword calloused hand rested on the exposed flank and Lambert became as taut as a bowstring beneath his fingertips. He adjusted his position slightly as he lined up and then started to spank the naked backside presented for him.
He was only hitting hard enough to bring Lambert's blood to the surface, which is not to say he was being gentle by any means. Witchers didn't blush easily and bringing the blood to the surface, making the curve of his rear pink, required a certain sting in each slap.
Lambert said nothing, and did nothing, watching the gentle sway of his medallion hanging to the floor. For all the pain he'd taken in his long life, no one had ever warmed him up in preparation of it first. The idea was so foreign that he didn't recognize it even as it was happening to him now.
When Lambert finally started to twist his hips, angling away from the volley of blows, Eskel took it as a sign that there was sufficient underlying heat to move forward.
He raised his hand up higher and brought it down faster, creating a crack that made Lambert flinch. Although he expected it now, the second blow brought another flinch. Eskel slid a hand from Lambert's back to his waist, squeezing him as he continued to rain down harsh slaps.
The legs could kick, his back could arch and wriggle, he could do what he liked with his arms, but Eskel was keeping his hips squarely in place to receive each spank exactly where he aimed it.
Lambert squeezed Eskel's ankle in a fierce grip, flexing tightly with every slap against his flesh. He needed something to hold onto, and Eskel said nothing to imply he minded.
Quite the opposite, Eskel in fact liked it. Lambert was holding on as tightly to him as he was holding his hip in return.
Lambert's flesh was brought from a warm pink to the beginning shades of red when he rasped, "Fuck!" Eskel felt the sting of salt in his nose more than he smelled it and knew Lambert was tearing up if not already crying.
Eskel rested his palm on Lambert's arse and reminded him, "If you need to say 'leather'-"
"I don't!" Lambert seethed, "Just fucking do it, all right?" Eskel resumed his spanking immediately, gripping his hip tighter and forcing him to take each blow squarely on his sit spot for a while.
The scent of tears became stronger, and mixed with the smell of sweat. Lambert's breath became laboured before he started to whine. He fought hard to hold back the sounds, swallowing them back as they started to escape him.
Eskel paid no mind. He expected Lambert to cry and was not going to feel sorry for him. When Eskel said nothing at all, no commentary, mockery, or hesitation regarding the small pained sounds, Lambert eased into openly crying.
Eskel didn't change his technique. He fell into a rhythm as simple and repetitive as crafting bombs, he could very well rest in meditation like this. Or rather, he liked to believe he could. He could not pull his very focused attention from Lambert's arse to go into any sort of meditation.
His mind was screaming, still unable to believe that Lambert had willingly lowered his trousers to bare his arse for punishment. Lambert permitted this; maybe because he was no stranger to pain and never afraid. Whatever the reason, Eskel wouldn't believe it has happened if he weren't staring at the naked curve of his bum now.
Eskel hit him hard and fast, with rhythmic blows that matched how his hips snapped against a partners backside during the final strokes of a particularly good fuck. Lambert's arse flinched the way a partner's often did when he introduced the blunt head of his cock to their entrance.
His cock was pressed painfully against the laces of his tight leather trousers, stirred fully to life by the view of the reddened arse.
A part of him was distantly aware that Vesemir would never thrash one of his pups while entertaining some deep satisfaction or pleasure in doing so.
Lambert kicked his leg and Eskel squeezed his hip again, "Stay still. This is the end." But he let him kick as he finished with his large hand stretched across both cheeks, down low on the sit spot.
Each blow was a little softer than the one before it until he was slapping Lambert's ass with only enough force to pat away dust. One wouldn't think so, given the cries shaking Lambert's shoulders.
Eskel sighed heavily and stroked his palm over the reddened bottom, feeling the heat radiating from his skin with a sense of satisfaction.
Lambert allowed the petting for a second before struggling to get his hands under him to push himself up. He didn't get far. Eskel quickly put his free hand on the back of his neck and pushed him down again, keeping him across his lap as he asked, "What's wrong?"
"You're done, aren't you?" Lambert asked rather than demanded. The edge to his voice, the hostility that was always there, was gone.
"Yeah, but you're going to wait until I tell you that," Eskel explained as he eased the hand off Lambert's neck slowly and placed it on his back again.
"Fine." Lambert conceded, his voice still soft.
"I'm going to let you up, and I'm going to go." Eskel stated. Lambert didn't protest or complain, so he continued to give directions, "You can clean yourself up, I'll get us some drinks. When you're ready, you can meet me in the grand hall and we'll talk."
This was not how it went with Vesemir. When Lambert provoked his ire, Vesemir thrashed him at arm's length, scarcely touching him with his own hand. When it was done, Lambert fled and hid somewhere alone in the empty fortress. When he rejoined the others there was a unspoken rule he had always been grateful for to pretend that nothing had happened.
"And if I don't?" Lambert asked, working hard to drag up any kind of defiance. He found the words but the tone was lacking.
"Then I'll come and find you, you little prick! You're shit at covering your tracks." Eskel snorted as he pulled the darker haired man to his feet.
They stared at each other for a long, lingering moment. Calm and steady golden eyes meeting wet and tired eyes. Lambert clenched his jaw and nodded sternly. Eskel did as he said he would and left the room to find drinks and get ready to talk.
Alone in the room, with his trousers still lowered to his thighs, Lambert stood absolutely frozen. His backside was burning and he reached back to brush the back of his hand over the abused flesh and confirm that heat was radiating from him.
He tried to summon up the familiar feelings he wore like armour, anger and indignation. But he couldn't grasp the feelings or pull them over the unyielding and unfamiliar feeling of calmness.
In an attempt to reach for something familiar, he tried for defiance, asking himself what he would do with himself now. But nothing was more important than straightening his clothes and meeting Eskel in the grand hall.