The Witcher (One shots)

Give yourself away

(Lambert x Aiden
TW: Knife play but not in a sexual way-)

Lambert should have been more on his guard, yeah, but the truth was that the prospect of an evening alone with Aiden had him thoroughly distracted. When he approached the abandoned barn outside of Vizima that they’d used for trysts several times now, he hadn’t been wary. That was on him. The other witchers had attacked as soon as he’d stepped inside.

The fight had been embarrassingly short. Lambert didn’t even have a chance to draw his swords. He did manage to get a dagger out and stab one of the fuckers through the arm. But then they got him down on the floor and beat him until he knew no more.

Lambert hadn’t really expected to wake up, but he supposed there had to be a reason they didn’t just shoot him full of crossbow bolts on his way to the barn. And they're gonna be sorry they didn't. When he saw the Cat school medallions on his captors, he started to have his suspicions about that reason.

He lay on his side in the overgrown farmyard in front of the barn. His head ached, but nothing felt broken. The other witchers--four that he could see--paid him little attention. One was watching the road, another the woods, and the others were talking together nearby.

They’d bound him hand and foot, with his fingers tied too tightly to form Signs. They’d also relieved him of his weapons, armor, and clothes. Lambert couldn’t blame them for that. He carried enough concealed weapons that there would have been no way to ensure they’d found them all without stripping him. Worst of all, they’d shoved a cloth into his mouth and secured it with a rope. Fuck, not being able to taunt enemies was terrible.

Lambert heaved himself up onto his knees. If he was going to suffer the indignity of being held hostage, he at least didn’t need to do so lying in the dirt.

“Wolf’s awake,” said the bald one.

“Good,” said another, a tall witcher with dark hair, his right arm bandaged from where Lambert had stabbed him. “If we make him scream, Aiden might hurry it up a bit.”

“Kiyan, relax,” the bald one said with a long-suffering sigh. “We’re just here to talk. No need to piss off the Wolves more than we need to.”

“What’s the matter, Gaetan?” the other one sneered. “You afraid?”

“You don’t want the White Wolf’s attention, believe me.”

Kiyan spat on the ground, then turned to glare at Lambert. “This one doesn’t look like much. Wonder what the kitten sees in him.”

“He’s always had strange taste,” said one of the other Cats.

“Hey.” Kiyan came closer, close enough to bite if Lambert hadn’t been gagged, squatted down to look him in the eye and said, “You just stay quiet like a good little dog, and this’ll all be over soon.”

Lambert slammed his head forward into the stupid fucker’s nose, sending him tipping back on his ass to howls of laughter from at least two of the other Cats.

“Mangy little shit,” Kiyan snarled as he leapt to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. He kicked Lambert in the belly, knocking the air out of him, but Lambert was saved from any further abuse by Gaetan dragging Kiyan back by the arm.

“We need him alive, idiot. Or have you forgotten what we’re here for?”

“I don’t care,” Kiyan snapped. “He tries anything else, I’m gonna gut him.”

To that, Lambert unleashed a tirade so filth-laden it required five languages to properly express. And if it was largely unintelligible through the gag, Lambert still felt he’d gotten his point across, as the Cats had all turned to watch him with various expressions of anger and concern.