Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lambert muttered to himself irritatedly, chastising himself under his breath as he turned the present over in his hands again. It was neatly wrapped (of course it was - Lambert had always had an eye for these kinds of things), even complete with a red ribbon tied in a little neat bow over the paper. As perfect as the presentation was, Lambert couldn’t shake the itching, slimy feeling in his gut. 

It was a stupid idea, as far as Lambert was concerned anyway. But if he knew anything about relationships (and he didn’t know much, he had to admit) it was that you needed to put yourself out there, do things for your partner and make yourself emotionally vulnerable. Lambert knew it wasn’t an area in which he excelled, and no one had mentioned just how nerve-wracking it was to do so, either. 

What if Jaskier didn’t like the gift? He’d spent all winter up until that day working on it, scurrying off to private corners of the keep to craft in secret. Lambert had strained his hands to ensure it was ready in time for the Yule celebrations. Jaskier had been so wistful about not spending the holiday period with his family that Lambert had to do something. 

He knew that even if Jaskier hated the gift, and Lambert expected he would, the bard would still be kind enough to accept it, so as not to hurt Lambert’s feelings. But still, Lambert knew he’d see the faint flicker of distaste in his boyfriend’s eyes when he unwrapped it. And if Lambert’s gift wasn’t good enough, maybe Jaskier would realise that he wasn’t good enough either. Lambert couldn’t let that happen. 

He thumbed over the edge of the wrapping paper, eyebrows pinched as he bit his lip. ‘I should stop being such a chicken and just give it to him.’ Lambert thought bitterly. Nobody liked a coward. Maybe, if he acted confident, Jaskier would be more likely to like the gift and not laugh at Lambert for the effort he’d put into it. 

Gift aside, Jaskier didn’t even know that Lambert knit - so he’d have two surprises when he opened it. And both had the potential to blow up in his face. Knitting was an activity for elderly women in their rocking chairs by the fire, not witchers. Lambert was all but certain that fact alone would have Jaskier laughing. 

The ginger was so consumed with his anxiety and self-loathing, that he didn’t notice Jaskier approaching until it was too late, his steady footsteps and heartbeat as he came up the corridor falling on deaf ears. With the wrapped bundle out in the open, Lambert had nowhere to hide and no excuse to give when Jaskier’s eyes fell on it. 

“Oh? What’s this?” Jaskier closed the door softly behind him and took several steps forward until he was standing in front of where Lambert sat on the bed. For a brief moment, Lambert considered lying. But instead, he forced his heart rate to slow and took a deep steadying breath. He trusted Jaskier. Jaskier was safe. That didn’t stop Lambert feeling any less sick, though. 

“I-I… It’s for Yule- for you. It-it’s a gift for you.” Lambert stuttered, resolutely looking down at the bundle and not at Jaskier’s face. If he’d turned his eyes upwards, he would have seen Jaskier’s expression light up like the morning sun.

“Aw sweetheart, you shouldn't have!” A hand came down to pet through Lambert’s thick hair for a moment. “Can I open it?” 

Despite Jaskier’s enthusiasm, nerves still bubbled hotly in Lambert’s stomach. Sure, Jaskier might have thought he wanted a gift, but when he saw the shoddy quality of what Lambert had knitted for him, the ugly colours, he’d surely turn his nose up. Still, Lambert couldn’t deny his love, even if it had the potential to spell the end of their relationship in Lambert’s view. Reluctantly, he handed over the bundle, clammy hands leaving small stains on the wrapping paper. 

‘If this is what feeling vulnerable is like,’ Lambert thought, bitterly. ‘I don’t like it.’ He kept his eyes downturned as the paper rustled and fell to the floor, Jaskier’s gift being revealed to him. 

“Aww!” Jaskier cooed. Lambert sensed movement and the bard’s nest words were muffled. “I love it!” Lambert blinked unexpectedly and looked up just in time to see Jaskier’s head emerge from the thick, woolen jumper he’d pulled on. It was somewhat large on Jaskier, Lambert evidently having overestimated the other man’s size when he’d begun knitting it, one arm a little longer than the other. The pattern seemed to have gone slightly wrong around the armpits and Lambert couldn’t help but frown minutely when he noticed it, but the radiant smile Jaskier wore was infectious. Lambert’s lips turned up at the corners. 

“This is amazing.” Jaskier’s voice was soft despite his grin, hands smoothing over the bulky fabric. “It’s so warm and cosy! Honestly, you’re better than half the tailors in Novigrad, I promise I’m not just saying that.” The butterflies Lambert had been feeling all evening didn’t abate, but they felt kinder somehow, the nauseous feeling that had gone alone with them settling. Even his witcher mutations weren’t enough to prevent the blish rising to his cheeks. Once again, Lambert looked down, grumbling out something intelligible to hide his embarrassment and fiddling with the sleeves of his fleece, pulling them up over his knuckles. 

And then, Jaskier gasped dramatically. The sound was unexpected enough to distract Lambert from his shyness. “Did you knit this?” He sounded incredulous. Lambert’s eyes went wide and his blush intensified more than he thought possible, face tingling with blood. ‘Ah fuck, he’s gonna think I’m so fucking weird.’ Lambert’s shoulders tensed up at the thought, but no laughter came from the bard. 

“Yeah… Eskel taught me a few years ago…” Lambert muttered, almost hoping Jaskier wouldn’t hear him. But his boyfriend had keen ears for a human. 

Jaskier must have been able to sense the embarrassment and defensiveness in Lambert’s tone as he stepped forward. As much as Lambert battled internally to keep his eyes pointed downwards, he couldn’t help but give in to the other man’s silent plea when Jaskier gently took Lambert’s cheeks in his hands and guided his face instantly upwards. The soft material of the jumper rasped softly against the witcher’s stubble and Lambert found he quite liked it. 

Soft blue irises met amber ones, and Jaskier smiled down at him with impossible kindness, making no attempt to conceal his adoration of the prickly ginger. The intensity of Jaskier’s love was almost paralysing and Lambert had little idea how to go about accepting it. What did people say when someone bared their soul to them so completely? A simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t suffice. 

“Darling,” Jaskier’s voice was serious despite his smile, firm but somehow still kindly and gentle. “That’s amazing, you’re amazing.” He gave Lambert’s cheeks an affectionate squeeze, forcing him to pout slightly for a moment. “You must knit me some socks next, or a hat… or perhaps a scarf too if you have the wool for it.” That caught Lambert off guard. To like the present was one thing, but to want more of Lambert’s shitty knitting? The request seemed off, he’d give Jaskier that. But then again, Jaskier had always been a little eccentric when it came to clothing. 

“You… don’t think it’s weird?” He asked cautiously. 

“Why would I think that, sweetheart?” 

“I’m a witcher. We kill things. We don’t… we don’t knit.” He tried to explain, turning his nose up at the word. This time, Jaskier did chuckle lightly at his expense. 

“I don’t care if you play the bagpipes or walk around in dresses in your spare time, darling!” ‘Now that was a thought.’ But Lambert didn’t allow himself to become distracted from Jaskier’s declaration. “I love you whatever your interests.” A soft kiss was pressed to Lambert’s curls. “And you always manage to surprise me with these talents, baby! What’s next, walking on water? It wouldn’t surprise me.” Almost against his will, another small, shy smile was drawn from Lambert - the kind reserved exclusively for Jaskier’s company and his alone. Lambert’s shoulders relaxed as Jaskier pet over his hair, the soft wool of Jaskier’s sleeves feeling distinctly different from his fingers, but not in a bad way. 

But then another theatrical gasp cut through the air.

“Melitele’s tits!” The hand in Lambert’s hair stilled and he mourned it’s loss. “I didn’t get you anything!” Jaskier sounded horrified - moreso than he’d done last week when his prized lute had developed a chip in it’s wood. 

“You didn’t-” 

“No, no, no!” Jaskier held up a hand and took a step back so he could pace, the very idea of not bringing something for Lambert seemingly distressing him. “As soon as we get down this mountain, I’m taking you shopping!” He declared. Lambert knew arguing with the bard was a lost cause so made no attempt to try. And besides… he wasn’t against the idea of Jaskier buying him nice things, even if he knew he’d no doubt feel guilty about having money spent on him. 

There were several beats of silence before Jaskier seemed to get an idea. “I could always write you a song in the meantime! So many of them are about Geralt and that’s not fair!” The blush, which had started to fade in the absence of Jaskier’s cooing, returned in full force. Lambert ducked his head and hid his face behind a thick curtain of hair. 

“No bloody songs…” He grumbled. Jaskier would have called him adorably grumpy (he often did in his head, regardless) but decided he’d embarrassed the witcher enough for one day