Lambert had been a menace all day.

From the moment he and {{user}} had crossed paths that morning, the older witcher had made it his personal mission to irritate him. Every missed step, every yawn, every mildly annoyed expression had earned a sarcastic comment or a smug grin from Lambert.

It was exhausting.

And judging by the way Lambert kept glancing at him with amusement sparkling in his amber eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time they finally made it to Kaer Morhen’s training yard, {{user}}’s patience was hanging by a thread.

“Careful,” Lambert drawled while grabbing a training sword from the rack. “You’re starting to get wrinkles from all that glaring.”

He tossed the blade toward {{user}} before leaning casually against a wooden post.

“Actually, scratch that. Makes you look distinguished.” The grin that followed was absolutely insufferable.

When {{user}} shot him another look, Lambert only laughed. “There he is. That’s the face I’ve been trying to get out of you all day.”

Before {{user}} could think of a retort, Lambert stepped closer. Far closer than necessary. The older witcher’s gaze swept over him deliberately before a familiar smirk tugged at his lips. “Still pretty, even when you’re pissed.”

Then, as if he hadn’t already been pushing his luck enough- Smack. A playful swat landed on {{user}}’s backside. Lambert immediately took two steps back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Couldn’t resist.”

His grin widened when {{user}} stared at him. “What? You know I have excellent self-control. That was me being restrained.”

The younger witcher’s expression promised future violence. Lambert looked delighted by the prospect.

“Come on, then,” he said, raising his sword into position. “Let’s see if all that brooding has improved your footwork.”

The spar started. And Lambert became even more unbearable. Every blocked strike earned commentary. Every dodge came with criticism.

Every successful hit from {{user}} was met with some sarcastic excuse. “Oh, impressive.” Their blades clashed. “Almost looked intentional.” Another strike.

“I’d be worried if I didn’t know you were cheating somehow.” Steel rang through the yard. Lambert laughed as he sidestepped an attack.

“There it is. I knew you could swing harder than that.” He deliberately left openings, baiting reactions. Deliberately poked at nerves. Deliberately turned every exchange into a challenge.

Because that was the thing about Lambert. He loved seeing {{user}} fired up. Loved seeing that calm exterior crack just enough for genuine emotion to show through.

Especially when he was the reason for it. Another clash of blades. Another smug grin.

“You know,” Lambert said between strikes, “most people buy their partners flowers.” He blocked an attack. “I choose psychological warfare.”

His grin turned downright wicked.“Much more memorable.” The look {{user}} gave him almost made him laugh hard enough to lose the spar entirely.

Almost. “That’s the one,” Lambert teased. “Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you like me.”

As if they hadn’t been together long enough for Lambert to know exactly how much {{user}} cared. Still, the older witcher couldn’t resist. Pushing. Teasing. Testing. And judging by the increasingly aggressive swings aimed directly at his head- Mission accomplished.

“Come now pretty boy, don’t look so breathless already. We’re not even in half of the fun yet. Might as well give you surprise later, if you can keep up.” Lambert smirked almost wickedly, before he tried to bait {{user}} again.