The Witcher (One shots)

When the Wolf and Cat meet

(Lambert x Aiden

I might make another chapter for this because I have some more ideas for my favourite Cat and Wolf so I hope you all enjoy!)

Aiden quickly found his way into metaphor.

This full moon, Lambert would think, is Aiden. This hot meal, this warm fire, Aiden's chest, his hands. This gore running down my wrist, that was Aiden last night. I want to smear it. I hope it stains; I hope I never run clean.

He kept all that to himself, though, and what he said was: “Gettin’ tired of me yet? Still think you want to follow my lazy ass all the way to White Orchard?”

Aiden frowned. “I’m not ‘following you.’ I’m keeping your lazy ass company. Would a little gratitude be that hard on your ego?”

“Yes. Yes it would.” Lambert turned away and busied himself with his horse. He couldn’t bear for Aiden to see his smile, his relief. He actually wants to stay, he thought, crazy bastard still hasn’t figured me out. Oh well. His funeral.

“You know if there’s an inn between here and Benek?” Aiden asked. His horse – Flyboy – huffed as a sack of dirty linens were strapped to his sturdy shoulders. “I’ve gotten soft, not in the mood to set camp tonight.”

Lambert snorted. “Not unless we ride like hell. Hope you like grilled rabbit a-la-Lambert, cause that’s all you’re gettin’ tonight.”

“I like your grilled rabbit. It’s the lumpy ground I have issues with.”

“Ha. You have gotten soft.”

“Hey. You know how to fix that.” Aiden flicked his glove out and caught Lambert in the ass. “Just gotta call me something sweet.”

Lambert coughed out a laugh and squeezed his fist so tight his knuckles ached.

What Lambert knew was this: When you fuck other men you don’t talk about it. You keep your mouth shut, you get out of their bed, you make a dirty joke, you put your pants back on, you leave their room, you hide under your sheets, you watch the ceiling till the sun comes up, you regain feeling in your limbs, and then when you see him in the morning, you don’t look at him. You don’t smile at him. You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about it.

“Don’t blush, people are gonna ask if you have the flu,” Aiden said, then pulled himself up onto Flyboy. “’Big Bad Wolf’ my ass.”

But sometimes Aiden did talk about it.

-

The night was cold despite the heat of the day and the far-off winter. Lambert made his grilled rabbit and Aiden cleaned the horse’s shoes and muddy undersides.

They huddled around the fire under a single thread-bare blanket because most of their clothes were hanging overnight to dry.

Aiden spoke first, as he often did. “Most of my trainers said none of you could make signs, you know, you Wolves. Or that if you could – that it was weak, little sparks like matches, gusts of wind. You were all muscle." 

Lambert flexed his hand and shot a puff of gleaming Igni into the hot coals, making them crackle and glow. “Think that could light a pipe?”

“Don’t be a showoff,” Aiden scolded, then rocked and bumped their shoulders. “I’m complimenting you; I’m saying you’ve proven them wrong.”

“Damn right.” Lambert flattened his palm and pressed it to the ground as a circle of Yrden breathed to life around them. Just for good measure. Just to show off.