#lambcoden fic

[lambden]

Lambert/Aiden/(Coën?) - Roller Skating Au

“He isn’t even wearing derby skates,” barks Lambert as he reaches up to unbuckle his helmet, launching it across the changing room. It bounces harmlessly off a pile of dirty towels and clatters to the floor, which somehow pisses him off more than if it had cracked. He ignores Coën’s placating “I know, Lamb”, continuing to complain, “He’s some fucking nobody is who he is— I don’t give a shit how many followers he’s got on TikTok for his pretty skating tricks, you can’t just roll into derby and act like you fucking own the place when you’ve no inclination to learn the actual rules or any respect for the sport itself. I fucking hate TikTok anyway!”

Removing his own helmet so that he can carefully wipe his face, Coën repeats with all the calm patience of someone who’s sat through a thousand of Lambert’s rants, “I know, Lambchop.”

“And did you hear, when I asked him about derby he said he used to practice with some Cats,” hisses Lambert. “That’s bad news, Co, I don’t give a fuck if he’s coming here with good intentions or how hot he is, Vesemir would have my head if he found out we were training potential skaters from our biggest competitors. And he said it so flagrantly too! I mean, no fucking respect!”

He angrily gestures with his wrist pads at the Wolf emblazoned on his shirt. Coën, who transferred teams years ago after the fall of his own school, only nods politely. “I know, Lambert.”

“And…” Losing steam, Lambert runs a hand through his already messy hair, ruining it further. He finally turns to look at Coën, aggrieved. “And the fucker is, like, really hot. I mean… he’s our type, right?”

“I know, darling,” Coën repeats yet again, this time with a slightly different tone. The heat boiling in Lambert’s blood moves away from his brain, and for the first time since that smug little shit in thigh-highs and expensive skates came into their rink, he begins to consider a different tactic than immediately banning him from the venue.

[lambden]

“Everyone else in the building is coming up with theories about why three people are sharing a one bedroom apartment and honestly it’s so entertaining let’s not tell anyone for a while, yeah?” - with Lambert/Coën/Aiden ?

Congrats on the milestone!

(modern era, no warnings! I love this prompt thank u so much)

The worst habit Lambert has developed lately is, without a doubt, ‘forgetting’ his keys. But he just can’t be arsed to bring them around anymore, not when Coën’s archival job has him working mornings and Aiden works from home. There’s always someone in the apartment to buzz him up, and the antiquated, creaky elevator doesn’t require any sort of keycard. It’s nearly never a problem.

Until, of course, it is. Lambert enters the buzzer code over and over and over but no one answers, and to make matters worse he’s got a duffel bag full of expensive groceries that will likely expire in this afternoon heat. Given his luck, Coën’s vegan yoghurt and Aiden’s overpriced salmon have probably already gone off. Lambert shoulders the strap of the bag, slamming the buzzer code in for the eighth time and wishing that the building was modern enough to connect it straight to his phone.

Of course, he also left his phone at home today, so fat lot of fucking good that’d do him.

An angel in a housecoat and slippers exits the mailroom and sees Lambert through the glass windows of the entrance, clearly taking pity on him and his heavy bag. Lambert is pretty sure he knows this guy but wouldn’t be able to place his name on the apartment list; his spirits brighten nonetheless as he waves at his saviour. The resident tucks his letters under his arm and heads over to open the door, even offering him a kind smile.

“Thank you so much, I thought I was fucking screwed!” Lambert grins back toothily and the older man’s demeanour changes immediately to one of abject regret. “Now I just have to pray those shitheads haven’t locked the door.”

The resident’s eyes bulge out of his head a little but he doesn’t comment on the profanity, only sniffing quietly before following Lambert to the elevator. Lambert pushes the button and the doors open straightaway; he waits for the old man to get in first. “Where to?”

“Uh, 4B.”

“Ah, nice. Headed to 4D myself,” Lambert says. He slams the button for their floor and whistles quietly. In the mirrored walls of the elevator, he can see the other man still watching him strangely.

Sure enough, his neighbour doesn’t stay silent for long. “I thought 4D was a one-bedroom suite… you live there alone?”

Ah, this again. Lambert isn’t quite sure why their situation eludes the imagination of all the old curmudgeons that live here; even the landlord was perplexed. Figuring he might as well have some fun, he clears his throat.

-

When Coën gets home an hour later Lambert can practically hear him panicking all the way down the hall. He finally kicks open the door to the apartment— well, he does the Coën equivalent to that which involves flaring his nostrils and raising his voice before he even takes off his jacket. “Lambert,” he demands.

Lambert peeks over the edge of the couch, grinning. Aiden is still on a work call in the other room and, disappointingly, has yet to give in to Lambert’s persistent methods of distraction. So Coën is, as always, a sight for sore eyes. “Yes, doll?”

“Why does Mr Vigo down the hall think that I hired male strippers?!”

Lambert sulks. “I can’t believe he snitched after I offered him a private show and everything.”

For the first time all day Aiden peeks his head out of their room, holding, bizarrely, a golf club. “Strippers?”

“Yes,” Lambert nods enthusiastically as Coën cries, “No!”

[lambden]

A Blessing of fertility

In their decades of friendship Jaskier has had plenty of fantasies where he’s been mostly naked in front of Geralt, but he never imagined the man’s family standing around too. Geralt, disappointingly immune to Jaskier’s body as always, says, “What’s the curse?” “It’s— well, I’ve been blessed, technically, according to the old priestess,” Jaskier winces. “It wasn’t my fault this time, really! I didn’t know I was fulfilling some ancient ritual just by playing a song about fertility, and before I could even thank my audience Nenneke had summoned me, chanting all this nonsense about Melitele and sacred rites. She’s very scary when she chants, do you know that? Not sexy at all, for a priestess of Melitele. I always pictured—” “Jaskier,” Geralt sighs. “Right, the blessing, yes. It revolves around repressed urges,” Jaskier says, feeling shamefaced for the first time in many years. “When people are in my presence, those urges will come to life, and they won’t be able to contain themselves.” He falls silent, expecting the assembled witchers and their sorceress to laugh in his face. Astonishingly, none do; Geralt and Eskel don matching scowls as Lambert and Yennefer step away, eyes wide with what Jaskier could almost mistake for fear. The Griffin backs away too, gaze twitching nervously around the room. The only person who offers him any response is Vesemir, slowly shaking off the cloak from around his shoulders. For a horrific, hilarious moment Jaskier thinks Vesemir intends to strip, but thank the gods, the old man only holds it out to Jaskier. “You must be freezing,” he explains, and Jaskier nods, gratefully accepting the fur. For some reason Geralt bristles, backing into a table and accidentally overturning a pitcher of water. Without hesitation, Eskel strips out of his armour, tearing his undershirt from his shoulders and hastening to mop up the spill with it. “Jaskier,” Coën interrupts, sounding like he means business. With great reluctance, Jaskier tears his gaze away from the muscles flexing in Eskel’s back. The Griffin moves past Vesemir, taking the bard’s hands in his and squeezing them gently. “How do we free you of this, my friend?”

this is another fic i'm VERY excited to share, i've been busy with life & events & etc but i still desperately want to finish this one. the premise is stated above and originally it was just going to be PWP but quickly it spiralled into something longer; story of my life. i hope this snippet pleases you and that i can publish the full fic soon!

ask me about one of my works in progress!

[lambden]

Hey, it's Ledgea! For the drabble prompts, how about 43 for Aiden/Cöen/Lambert? Thank you :D

“You did what?!”

Aiden barely has time to spit out the words before the other witchers shove him aside, muscling past him into the modest room. Kaer Morhen is hardly home for the Cat so he didn’t bother trying to persuade Vesemir to give him a larger space; it would be pointless anyway, as he usually finds himself flitting between Lambert’s and Coën’s rooms for the night.

The size means that Coën swears vibrantly as he fails to find a hiding spot, while Lambert makes a beeline for the wardrobe and somehow manages to fold himself into its narrow vacant space. Aiden gapes at the pair of them, and his eyes only bulge out of his head more when Coën ends up diving under the bed. He’s sure to get a mouthful of dust bunnies and scuff his pretty armour but he makes no complaint, silently tucking himself away and then lying perfectly still.

In the next instant footsteps thunder up the stairs, and Aiden winces as a raging Vesemir shoves hard enough for his door to slam open and then bang off the opposite wall.

The elder witcher’s shadow seems to grow tenfold as he stands in the doorway, panting heavily and staring at Aiden with fire in his eyes. Aiden doesn’t move a muscle. Nobody moves a muscle, in fact, but they’re all witchers— so they can all surely hear four different pulses racing.

“Young one,” Vesemir says, measured enough to send chills down Aiden’s spine. He’s not stupid enough to mistake that for an endearment. “Have you seen any of the other witchers around the keep this morning?”

You could hear a pin drop if not for Coën’s heartbeat thudding incrementally faster, practically lighting up a glowing target under the bed. “No,” Aiden lies through his teeth. He makes the most intense eye contact of his entire life with Vesemir. No one in the room dares to blink. “Why?”

Vesemir’s chin— his newly shorn half-naked chin with a funny sort of shape on the left side, although Aiden absolutely hasn’t noticed that because he absolutely is not letting his gaze drop past the man’s nose— twitches. The eldest Wolf witcher glowers, clearly wanting to chew Aiden apart but for some reason refraining. Maybe gods are real. Vesemir, slowly and carefully, says, “You’re sure you haven’t seen them around anywhere? I wanted them to help me muck out the stables; Eskel’s goat was sick last night.”

Aiden’s stomach turns, but he does not falter. He draws from the deepest well of courage that he has, mustering himself against the inevitable shitshow ahead and nodding to the old man. “I can step in.”

The Wolf’s eyes flash red but he doesn’t call Aiden on his bullshit, simply returning the nod. “We’ll start now,” he says, and turns on his heel to leave. A poorly concealed sigh from the wardrobe makes him tense, shoulders drawing into a straight line, and he glances back over his shoulder to shoot another look at Aiden. “I’d find some way to plug my nose if I were you. Or someone to take my place.”

But Aiden just laughs, more uncomfortable than he’s ever been here, “Right,” and Vesemir seems satisfied for now. Or perhaps annoyed, or amused. It’s really hard to discern his emotions now that he’s missing half his fucking beard.

The elder witcher leaves and Aiden’s door swings shut behind him, but still nobody moves. Aiden grinds his teeth together and then tells the silent room, “You owe me at least seven consecutive orgasms for this.”

[lambden]

I return with another kiss drabble; this one is for Ledgea who requested Aiden/Coën/Lambert! I'm always delighted to write this OT3 <3

12. Kisses shared under a waterfall

T, 2070 words, some brief mentions of Coën's insecurities but no other warnings. Also on AO3!

-

The water rushing down into the lake is clean and clear, and it would likely taste as sweet as fresh rain. Aiden wants to taste and touch and feel the current, itching to jump in from the very moment the trio spots the clearing and lays their eyes on the wonder of nature. He discards his armour and doublet on the shore, turning around as he kicks off his pants. “It’s beautiful,” Aiden exhales, throat tight with unexpected emotion. This wasn’t what he expected when Lambert suggested they meander off the well-travelled path, but he’s hardly complaining.

Pleased with the praise of his idea and thus him, Lambert smiles, crooked and gorgeous. He strips out of his shirt too, toeing out of one boot and stepping on the heel of the other to kick it off. Lambert is just as breathtakingly beautiful as the vista awaiting them, and if Coën weren’t at his side, Aiden would run forward and kiss him senseless until both of them tumbled off the shore into the cool sapphire surf.

Coën meets Aiden’s eyes for only the briefest of moments before his gaze dips down, following the line of Aiden’s bare throat to his chest. The Griffin, almost unconsciously, drinks in the sight of his skivvies and the tight junction of his thighs. Aiden watches Coën pretend not to ogle him, and in turn he pretends not to feel the heat churning in his gut.

Lambert doesn’t know this, but Aiden dreams often of Coën naked.

It isn’t his fault, really, it’s Coën’s— as shitty as that sounds. The truth is that although Aiden’s reputation lends him an infamous tendency for perversion he’s always been a romantic, leaning more towards lovemaking than any quick flings or cheap thrills. That’s why this thing he’s got with Lambert works so well: he has unlimited love to share, and Lambert’s desire to be needed and wanted is bottomless.

That must be why Lambert fell for Coën too, years before he’d even met Aiden. The Griffin sought refuge at Kaer Morhen after the siege of Kaer Seren, and according to the Wolf himself, Lambert instantly liked his earnest personality and bookishness. They had danced around one another for much longer than Lambert and Aiden, only finally admitting their feelings after a close call with a leshen that made all the witchers reconsider their time left and what they wished to do with it.

Aiden is glad, really. Lambert, insecure after a lifetime of trauma, has asked him time and time again if he’s harbouring any secret jealousy. The truth is that while Aiden has never been jealous of Coën for getting to spend the winters with his summer lover, he has questioned his own proclivity upon meeting his lover’s lover. He understands what Lambert sees in Coën, no explanation necessary. The very first time Lambert had introduced them, the young Wolf had been delightfully flushed and flustered, glancing between them expectantly. Aiden shook Coën’s hand, and Coën had told him some smart one-liner about the Cat caravan, and Aiden had thought— so vividly that he remembers it now— oh no.

He has never given away his infatuation, worrying that Lambert might feel put upon to share Coën. Instead Aiden keeps the secret close to his chest, saving his summers for his beloved Lamb and only daring to dream of Coën’s depths in the winter. Truthfully, he wants it all— the romance from and between both men, Coën’s sincerity and Lambert’s strength, Lambert’s firm body and Coën’s…

Well. Like he said. He’s dreamt of it often, but he has yet to see it in real life.

When Lambert fully strips down to his underclothes Aiden is already knee-deep. The water ripples around his thighs as he turns to whistle at his Wolf. Lambert flips him off which just makes Aiden laugh, and Coën interrupts, still on the shore. He’s still wearing his full armour, as though he expects a drowner to rise from this picturesque waterfall. “Is it cold?”

“Not at all,” Aiden lies through his teeth. Then he cackles as Lambert dips his toes in and immediately swears, colourful and loud. “Well, perhaps it isn’t the famed hot springs of Kaer Morhen. But two mountaineers like you should be able to stand it, no trouble at all!”

“C’mere,” Lambert growls, wading through the clear lake. “I’ll drown you right now. See how many of those nine lives you’ve got left.”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” teases Aiden, breaking into a slowed sprint through the water. It’s easier when he dives, the lake bending easily to every stroke. The current is stronger as he approaches the fall but Aiden is strong too, and he hasn’t kept up his lithe figure all these years for nothing. He sucks in a puff of air and then breaches the waterfall; the spray is both lighter and faster than he expects. If any innkeeper could market this kind of water pressure, they’d be famous across the Continent faster than you could order a bath.

Something clamps around his ankle and Aiden makes a noise he isn’t proud of, shrieking and flailing. Then he recognizes the smug heartbeat and scent of his lover— even diluted by a rushing waterfall, Lambert is intimately familiar. Aiden does his best to kick Lambert, shouting and twisting to push him away. “You fucker! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Watch out for those kelpies!” Lambert releases Aiden’s leg only to grasp the curve of his upper arm. They float together until Aiden’s hip collides with a rock shelf, then he pulls himself and his beloved bastard man up onto the surface. Lambert huffs, breathless, “They might look handsome, but they’ll pull you under the tide and then you’re done for.”

“I surrender,” Aiden murmurs, sharing the last of his air with Lambert. This secluded nook behind the waterfall is the only privacy they’ve had in days, and while Aiden enjoys travelling with Coën, he did miss opportunities like this. Lambert kisses him back in the fresh spray, their ankles still dangling under the surface of the lake. Aiden takes his lover’s affection and runs with it, reaching between them. He wants too much, too fast, and he knows it— but Coën standing only a short distance away does nothing at all to quell that want, and that’s the part that Aiden has no idea how to confess. “Lambert,” he mumbles under his jaw, hand moving quicker than his mind. “Want you.”

Lambert huffs, “Here?” and Aiden nods, kissing his neck gently. His fingers dance lower until Lambert snatches them up in his grip, holding them away from any sensitive extremities. Aiden, ever the mature one, whines and bites him. “Not here,” he mumbles, ignoring Aiden’s teeth against his pulse point. “It smells like snails.”

“It’s romantic,” growls Aiden. At any other time his head would spin at the sensation of Lambert’s hand in his, but now he craves more touch than he’s likely going to get. “Surely you can’t blame me for taking advantage of a rare moment alone.”

Except he trails off abruptly after ‘taking advantage’, because destiny has other plans for them. Coën pokes through the falls, his disembodied head briefly parting the curtain of water. Aiden and Lambert look over, still entwined with one another, hands still tightly gripped as Aiden mouths at Lambert’s neck, their gazes searing into the Griffin’s nervous frown.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Coën apologizes, eloquent even when flustered. Of fucking course. He blinks several times before ducking his head, water rushing down over the back of his neck and his bare shoulders. “I didn’t— I— I’ll go—”

Four hands reach for him, pulling him under the spray and through the falls until he lands on the other side. Coën splutters, shaking his head and wiping his eyes dry as he struggles to find his footing. Lambert turns to Aiden, sharp as a sword’s edge, and demands, “So much for a private moment, huh? You pulled him in here too!”

“Well,” Aiden says hotly, “Can you blame me? I mean, look at him!” Both he and Lambert pause to admire Coën, nearly naked and soaked to the bone. The map of scars trails from his scalp down to his waist, hinting at a severe pox that he had been lucky to survive. Coën, embarrassed and confused, ducks away from their ogling but doesn’t shove their hands away. “He’s gorgeous,” continues Aiden. “I’ve got eyes, you know!”

“It smells like snails back here,” Coën comments as mildly as possible.

Lambert retorts, “You’re just putting on a big front because you’re jealous! I know you are, you do a fucking terrible job of hiding it—”

“Fine! Yes, I’m jealous,” Aiden cuts in before Lambert can start an actual argument. But both Lambert and Coën freeze, turning to him with equally nervous expressions. Coën slowly floats over to the rocky shelf, blinking errant droplets from the waterfall out of his blue and brown eyes, and Aiden shifts over to make room for him. “But… I’m jealous of you,” he confesses to Lambert, suddenly embarrassed for the first time in a long while. “Coën is beautiful, and I’ve never so much as seen him tear his shirt during training. I mean, the mind wanders, and imagining the two of you together… how could I resist? Fucking look at you, Coën!”

Instead of bashfully hiding his face in his shoulder as Aiden expects, Coën meets his gaze head-on. He narrows his eyes, curious, and replies, “I tend to keep my clothes on most of the time. I don’t want to frighten Ciri or anyone else I might encounter, and… it’s obviously a sight that takes some getting used to—”

“Insane,” Aiden scoffs. He turns to Lambert for confirmation, who just shakes his head in wonder. “Anyone would count it as a blessing to see you naked. I know I’m not taking this for granted.”

And he isn’t— even as they trade nervous, genuine banter back and forth, Aiden’s gaze hasn't stopped wandering the length of Coën’s body. He pays little attention to the scars, too enchanted by the broad veins running along Coën’s dark arms, the thin patch of hair along his chest, and his soft bare stomach that makes him look so vulnerable.

From behind Aiden comes a gentle touch to his shoulder; he leans into it without hesitating, accustomed to Lambert’s touch by now. “You should’ve said something, Cat.” Aiden shudders as that low, pleased voice rumbles through his chest, heading straight to his lower regions and flooding them with blood. “I could’ve introduced you years ago.”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Coën breaks in, because of course he does. “But… the scenery is romantic, at least?”

“Ha,” crows Aiden triumphantly, twisting in his lover’s slippery grip to shoot a look at his wolf— something akin to ‘see?!?!!’. But Lambert isn’t wearing the miserable expression of a loser at all, instead thrilled and excited. Aiden’s heart thrums at the half-smile on Lambert’s face; a smile he leans in to kiss slowly, ignoring their company.

Then he breaks away, turning to their company and taking Coën’s hands in his. “Come on,” Aiden insists, tugging the Griffin away from the safety of the rock shelf and back under the spray. Coën barely has time to begin treading in the shallow water before Aiden is pulling him in and kissing him, wet hands looping over his bare shoulders. Coën kisses exactly the way Aiden dreamed that he would, with an unmistakably intense focus and a slight bite that leaves Aiden wanting more.

“I’ve been wanting to see that happen for years,” Lambert drawls, and it doesn’t ruin the moment but it does send Aiden and Coën into simultaneous fits of giggles. Coën kisses him again as they laugh, and then when they turn to face Lambert, water rushing down over their bare bodies, they see the raw desire written all over his face. Then nobody is laughing at all.

By the time they leave the safety of the waterfall, the sun is dipping down past the horizon and all their toes and heels have pruned up. But none of them care at all— not one whit. Coën pulls Aiden from the water who then offers Lambert a hand, and the three shivering men don’t let go of one another for a very, very long time.

[lambden]

i have absolutely nothing to say for myself. here’s more bingo smut for @novigradmarket ... happy holidays!

Prompt: tinsel bondage

E, 3.2K words, Aiden/Lambert/Coën (with established Lambden)

Tags/warnings: modern AU, ... tinsel bondage

“I have to say,” Coën says, more apprehensive than Aiden has ever heard him before. “This isn’t what I expected when you said you needed a favour.” He still has yet to step through the open door into Aiden and Lambert’s apartment; his eyes may be wandering, but his feet are firmly planted in the hallway outside. 

He thrusts his hands deep into the pockets of his sweater— a hand-knitted gift from Eskel, which Aiden only knows because Lambert has a matching sweater of his own. Even though Coën might not technically be part of Lambert’s family, he’s practically one of the pack by now. He’s Lambert’s best friend, which has been more than a little daunting as Aiden tries to navigate the emotional minefield that is Lambert’s family. Coën has been there long before him. And although he’s far too kind to ever say it, should something happen between Aiden and Lambert, Coën would definitely be around to pick up the pieces.

But that’s exactly why Aiden needs to cement this friendship— or, at least, that’s the rationale he’d prepared before Coën actually came over. Now he just feels foolish, and he hasn’t felt foolish while standing shirtless in front of a gorgeous man in a long time. To make up for his nerves, Aiden holds out the massive roll of tinsel to Coën. “I know, but I didn’t expect it to be so much work,” he practically whines. “I’ve been looking up bondage tutorials for hours and they all say a partner is key.”

Though he frowns in bemusement, Coën accepts the proffered tinsel. Aiden counts that as a minor victory and steps back into the apartment, clearing a path for the man to enter. He continues, “If you’re uncomfortable then of course you don’t have to, it’d just— it’d just be a massive help! I mean, the shops were all sold out of sexy one-eyed blow-up dolls, so I had to make do with what I already had at home.”

That terrible joke finally draws a smile out of Coën, and Aiden instantly relaxes at the warmth in his eyes. It’s easy to see why Lambert used to have such a crush on this man when they were teenagers, even if Aiden is glad that Lambert chose him instead. “I’m not uncomfortable,” Coën tells him, sounding very uncomfortable. “It’s just… not what I expected. Where do you even find bondage tutorials?”

“Reddit has everything, my friend,” laughs Aiden. As if he hasn’t been scrolling through the same weirdly devoted Tumblr blog for most of the day, half-trying to find inspiration and half-grinding against his palm. He balances that palm against his bare waist now, and watches without comment as Coën’s gaze sweeps over his naked chest once more. “So… you’re alright with this? Really?”

“It’s a great present,” says Coën, ever the fair and balanced dork. Aiden can’t imagine how he puts up with an asshole like Lambert— he’s only able to manage their relationship on account of being a massive asshole himself. Finally Coën steps over the frame and shuts the door quietly behind himself, and Aiden exhales for the first time since he showed up. Then, for reasons unknown, Coën adds, “Lambchop’s a lucky guy. We should probably get started if he comes home from work soon, yeah?”

“Yes,” Aiden nods eagerly, then remembers exactly how weird this favour really is. “Um. Would you like water or anything, first?”

“I’m alright.” Coën begins twisting the tinsel in his hands, looking for an end as if it’s tape or yarn. It takes tremendous effort but Aiden manages to tear his gaze away from the shifting muscles in those broad arms, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. How can anyone look that good in an ugly, homemade Christmas sweater? It defies the imagination. “So am I tying you to the couch here, or…?”

He could ogle Coën all day but the man’s right— they’ve got work to do. Aiden shakes his head and gestures for Coën to follow him into the bedroom, where he’s already set up a jazz vinyl. Lambert can’t stand the sound of jazz but Aiden adores it, and if he’s going to relax enough for another man to tie him up in tinsel, he’s certainly going to need calming music. 

The record is quiet enough that the neighbours won’t hear, but loud enough to drown out the creaking bed frame as Aiden reclines onto it. He starts on his back, drawing his knees up and spreading them until his feet are by his wrists, and he can easily hold his ankles. Raising his head to peer at Coën, Aiden mumbles, “I thought something like this, maybe. You know, you could just tie my wrists and ankles like this, um…” Still holding his bundle of tinsel with one loose end, Coën stares at him from the entrance to the bedroom. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t expect this to be awkward.”

“You didn’t?” Once more Coën laughs, although there’s no meanness to it at all. “So this is your first time having a friend tie you up, then?”

Aiden releases his ankles, huffing sheepishly. “First time having anyone do it, actually,” he admits, and sees Coën’s eyes bulge in surprise. “I mean, I don’t want anything too intense! I just want him to be surprised.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” says Coën. Aiden watches him pace over to the nightstand to retrieve a giant red bow, the type that would belong on a new bike. Not a trussed up boyfriend. Aiden flushes, embarrassed, but Coën just holds the bow up, frowning thoughtfully. “Is this meant to go around your neck?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Aiden bleats out, instead of I thought maybe you could hang it above my gaping asshole, actually! He reaches for the bow, meaning to arrange it around his neck to test how it might feel, but before he can grab it Coën snatches it away. He huffs, shifting his shoulders around to get a little more comfortable. “So are you up for this or not?”

“Sure, I’d love to help.” His tone is almost too perfectly kind— Aiden flushes again as he wonders if he’s being teased. Lambert has always raved about Coën’s sharp wits but honestly, Aiden never gets that impression from him. Coën seems too honest and loyal to have a cutting sense of humour; he’s booksmart, not necessarily clever. But now, seeing him walk around the bed and admire Aiden’s body like it’s a new project to be worked on… Aiden starts to think that maybe Coën’s hiding a laugh. He’s surprisingly flustered by the idea, which must be why the next question catches him so off-guard. “Are you going to keep your pants on?”

“I don’t have to,” Aiden volunteers almost instinctively. Coën doesn’t move, and eventually he realizes that that means the onus is on him to undress himself. Feeling more demure than he’s ever felt in his entire life, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt. The mood music isn’t doing a good enough job calming him down, and the tiny clink of his buckle is almost more than he can bear. To keep the conversation going, he blurts, “I told Lamb you might help me with his present, you know.”

“Yeah?” Coën holds a hand out for the belt. “What’d he say?”

Aiden, stymied, hands it over— then he watches Coën open their closet and carefully hang it next to the rest of their belts. That’s almost too much to handle, so he focuses on stripping out of his jeans in one smooth motion. “Uh, he said that was good, that he liked the sound of that. Because, uh, apparently you always give really good gifts.”

“He flatters me,” Coën scoffs fondly. When he turns back to the bed to take Aiden’s discarded jeans, Aiden watches him falter. Which is entirely fair— it’s not like Aiden had warned him about his underwear, and he knows that this piece is a scene-stealer. Aiden is privately pleased when Coën doesn’t immediately look away from the red lace garment sitting low around his hips. It wouldn’t be fair if he was the only flustered one here.

Then, as the music swells for a heated moment, Aiden realizes that Coën is staring not at his festive underwear, but at the plug that must be visible through the semi-opaque fabric. Even if he can’t see its ridiculous candy-cane colour he would be able to see the flared ridges of its base where they’re pressing against the lace. 

Aiden inhales and curls his toes, flexing his thighs so that the plug moves inside him, and Coën honest-to-God squeaks. Aiden opens his mouth to reflexively deflect, perhaps to give the man an out. After all, he’d signed up for ‘hey, we’re friends, we’ve been to three concerts together now, could you perhaps tie me up in tinsel because I forgot my boyfriend’s Christmas present?’ He had not signed up for this, and Aiden knows he’s taking it too far. But he can’t help put on a show, not when Coën is watching him with such narrowed, focused intensity.

But before Aiden can defuse the situation Coën steps closer to the bed. He doesn’t touch Aiden but he sets the bow down on the mattress and Aiden swears he feels the impact anyway. Coën says, low and serious, “I guess I have a reputation to live up to,” and before he remembers their previous conversation Aiden can’t, for the life of him, parse what the fuck Coën means. Then the implication sets in— I guess I have to make you look good for him— and a shudder runs down Aiden’s spine, making him tremble. Coën doesn’t relent, continuing in that sinfully low voice, “If I came in here… alright, let’s try something else. You’ve got a lovely face, but if I came in here expecting a present, perhaps I’d want you on your hands and knees.”

“Right,” Aiden pants, scrambling to do exactly that. He flips over on the bed so quickly he nearly topples off the edge, but before he can fall he feels a hand on his upper back. He nearly jerks at the motion, unsure why he expected Coën not to touch him. In order for this whole plan to work, Coën is going to have to touch him a fuck of a lot. “Sorry,” he grits out, shaking his head. “I’m good, I just… you startled me a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” Coën says sincerely, coming around the bed to stand at his side without touching him. “If you need me to stop or untie you, really, just say the word. I’m only doing this because you want to— if it starts to feel weird, you need to tell me, alright?” Aiden nods, digging his teeth into his lower lip. Again, Coën prods; “Is that alright?”

“It’s alright,” says Aiden, embarrassment fading slightly. God, Coën is such a dweeb. He’s going to choose to focus on that and not the undeniable fact that this encounter is already much, much sexier than he’d imagined it would be. He had thought the tinsel would be unimaginably itchy and the bow hilariously goofy, not… well. He hadn’t thought that any of it would go like this, with him on his hands and knees, ass in the air for another man. For his boyfriend’s best friend, no less. Even though Aiden knows Lambert wouldn’t mind, the thought still makes him tremble.

Apparently satisfied by his answer, Coën returns his broad, warm palm to Aiden’s back. “Lower, I think,” he suggests gently. Aiden obliges, folding himself down so he’s resting on his elbows. Then Coën taps those too, pulling his wrists up behind his back. Like this Aiden is face down against the mattress, preventing him from enjoying any part of the display, but he can imagine how it’d look for anyone entering the room. For Lambert entering the room. 

His legs spread a little at the thought, at what Lambert will surely do when he comes home to find Aiden like this. Coën takes the cue and moves down there, taking Aiden’s ankles and gently spreading them even further apart. “Is that comfortable? Do you feel like you could hold this for another half hour?”

“Holy shit, we’re cutting it close,” Aiden laughs against the pillows. Coën laughs too, and it sets them both at ease, dissolving some of the tension built up between them. “Yeah, that feels alright. Feels good.”

“It looks good too,” Coën assures him. “I’m going to tie your legs like this, then, but I’ll leave him a little room to move them around.” All of a sudden Aiden is extremely glad to be face-down as heat sparks through him and his cock twitches with desire. Not room for Aiden to shift his legs, but for Lambert to move them as he pleases. Aiden exhales heavily and the pillows only partially muffle the sound.

If Coën notices Aiden’s growing problem, he graciously ignores it, wrapping tinsel around his knees and ankles. Aiden expects it to itch abominably— this is the part he’s been dreading all day, honestly— but it only feels like a light tickle. A rasp, maybe, if he leans into it. He nearly likes the idea that it’ll leave his skin flushed red even after the gentle restraints are removed, like how rope would cut into him and leave an impression. He closes his eyes and lets Coën tie his legs up however he likes.

“Stunning,” Coën says. Aiden gnaws on his lip again, worried about the kind of noise he might let out if he doesn’t. “Really, just… this was a great idea. I had my doubts, but it looks… Yeah. Wow. Lambchop’s gonna black out.”

“Well, let’s hope his reaction is slightly more involved than that,” grins Aiden. Coën chuckles, this time lower than before. Suddenly Aiden desperately wants to know what the view is like for him. Not what it’ll be like when his boyfriend gets home, but how Coën is feeling right now. “Hey, if you’re gonna black out, at least finish wrapping me before you do!”

“What a mouthy gift you’ve brought home,” Coën teases, and Aiden is the one who nearly blacks out at that. So he does know how to tease! Aiden redacts his earlier musings about Coën not having the capacity for cleverness, and wiggles his hips slightly in lieu of a response. 

But Coën just reaches down to take Aiden’s wrists in one hand, grabbing the tinsel with the other and tying them together above his ass. The angle is just shy of uncomfortable but at least Aiden won’t be like this for long. He tests the bonds, curious to see how Coën’s handiwork will hold up against the most minor struggling— but to his surprise, the knot holds fast. “Oh,” he breathes. “You’re very good at this. Hey, I can’t believe I forgot to ask this earlier, but have you done this before?”

A beat hangs in the air as both of them breathe, silence interrupted only by the record player. “No,” Coën finally admits. “I was a Boy Scout, though.”

“Course you fucking were,” Aiden says, delighted. “I would pay to see pictures of that. Do you still fit into your uniform?”

“I didn’t keep the shorts, but I’m sure I wouldn’t,” Coën laughs. He moves up the bed and at first Aiden can’t fathom why, but then when Coën’s gentle hands draw a ribbon around his throat, it’s all he can think about. Right. The bow. Coën ties it more loosely than he expects, and leaves the large bow dangling around Aiden’s neck, ends trailing over his shoulders. 

Perhaps Lambert will grab the ends while he fucks him— the thought makes him shudder, and he really shouldn’t be having reactions like this while Coën is still so close. Valiantly trying to return the conversation to safe territory, Aiden begins, “So was Lambert a Scout with you? Or was that before the two of you knew each other?”

Before Coën can answer, both of them freeze as they hear a sound from outside the bedroom, distant but unmistakable— the doorknob turning as someone opens it. They hadn’t even fucking locked it. Aiden can hardly lift his head to look but he tries anyway, and when he turns he sees Coën staring back at him with wide, dark eyes. “You said half an hour.”

“Guess he’s home early,” Aiden breathes. His traitorous cock twitches with want again. Why is that the most dangerous situations always make him feel the most turned on? “You weren’t supposed to be part of the present, Eagle Scout. Any ideas?” Because Aiden can provide a couple, but he’s pretty sure none of them are appropriate enough for Coën to say yes.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” whispers Coën. Despite his serious tone he looks uncertain as he stands and slowly crosses the room, shutting the door quietly behind himself. Aiden doesn’t blame him— for all Lambert’s many winning attributes, he does have a lightning-quick temper. Coën’s involvement in this whole ordeal was only supposed to be a funny story, shared after Lambert fucked Aiden silly. Aiden feels guilty that Coën now has to go explain this whole thing to his best friend. 

And also, he feels especially guilty that none of this awkwardness has, at all, made his dick less interested. He strains against the tinsel but Coën did a fantastic job tying him down. If Aiden really wanted to free himself, he’d have one hell of a time doing so. He rolls his hips forward in a tiny, locked motion, grinding against thin air. It provides no friction or relief and the plug in his ass doesn’t move against anything, only moving when Aiden flexes. He moans into the pillow, low and quiet, and as a result he nearly doesn’t hear the awkward conversation happening just outside the room.

“Coën? Didn’t know you were over. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine, sorry! Aiden asked me to come over.”

“Oh, cool. … Where is he?”

“Uh. Well. It’s kind of a funny story.”

Aiden’s knee slips out towards the edge of the bed a little more and somehow the motion pushes his panties up his hips, jerking the plug slightly more inside him. He misses the rest of the muffled dialogue from outside, too busy trying to catch his breath. He’s overwhelmed— has been ever since Coën pushed him down onto the bed, to be honest, and he’s starting to lose what little control he’s got left. He bites down on the soft fabric of the pillow, thinking absentmindedly about the laundry they’ll have to do later, and the apologies he’ll have to deliver to both Lambert and Coën.

Then the bedroom door opens, and he hears a quick inhale from— well, from either of them. Like this, with his face shoved into the pillows, Aiden has no hope of being able to tell who’s who. That thought— that it could be either one of them standing behind him, ogling him right now— is too much to bear, and he groans again, trying to bear down against the plug.

“Holy fucking shit,” Lambert says, already sounding hoarse. Well, that’s one question answered.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Aiden mumbles, trying to spin his head to look over his shoulder. He can’t without straining, but he catches a brief glance of not one, but two men in the doorway. Well, they both might be mad at him for this, but if he’s going to be naughty, this feels like the right time to do it. Aiden breathes, turning to shove his head down again, “Coën, you sticking around?”

[lambden]

for the wip game, three guys one bed? :D

The picture shows an older house in very poor condition. The garden is overrun with plants that have grown high enough to invade a broken window on the second floor. The strangely narrow windows paired with the uneven, dilapidated roof make it look more like a child’s drawing of a haunted house than an actual place to live. Lambert’s lip curls. “Is this still on the market?” “Oh, let’s see!” Yennefer leans forward, smiling. Smiling until she sees the property Lambert picked. “That… I don’t know why that’s on the list, sorry. We got that one as a joke; the previous owners surrendered it years ago.” Lambert glances back at the house. “The bank seized it?” “No, there was an accident or something, and no one’s been able to sell it since.” Yennefer sighs. “I’m only in charge of the place because Fringilla gave it to me as a prank gift at our last staff party.” “Well… how much are you asking?”

this WIP is my beloved au where lambert moves into an old house only to find that it's haunted (by the ghost of coen) and also a werewolf occasionally squats there (a werecat, really, by which i mean aiden) and he fixes up the place and in the process gains not one monster boyfriend but TWO! i'm deeply attached to this silly little fic i will finish it someday

ask me about one of my works in progress!