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Liyue is an interesting place.
Not bad or good, necessarily; there are certainly aspects to it that could be considered as such, but mostly, it’s just… different.
Neuvillette knows Fontaine. He understands Fontaine, having stayed there the span of a mortal life and then some. Fontaine is home as much as a landmass can be home, and were he a typical mortal, he’d imagine these feelings are what nostalgia feels like.
But Liyue isn’t Fontaine, and nostalgia isn’t what comes to mind when his eyes travel across the room before him.
His first thought is color—gradients of reds and yellows, oranges and browns. Liyue fashion favors the fiery hues and offsets the bold colors with cooler tones. There’re spots of blues and greens, but many lean more towards violet or stark blacks. It’s a noisy color palette, not at all like Fontaine’s preference for soft watercolor.
(Neuvillette’s inclined to call it rather gaudy.)
The benefit to these bright hues is it makes his own outfit seem bland in comparison—he’s able to mesh seamlessly into the background and avoid most conversation like he prefers. These events are all about making an appearance, anyways. So long as you’re seen—and don’t have a lineup of hopeful suitors vying for your attention—you can escape relatively unscathed. Neuvillette isn’t always so lucky, what with his titles, but tonight’s been one of the better ones.
He drifts through the crowd quietly, bypassing circles of other nobles and dignitaries as he seeks out Wriothesley. They’d separated about an hour ago and Neuvillette’s long since reached his limit of socializing. Heading back to their rooms to spend the rest of the night together sounds far preferable to making mundane small talk with another Mondstadt lord, manners be damned.
As he steps politely around another couple, he’s drawn up short by his nose.
Parties are awful things for a variety of reasons, but the smells might be the worst. The cavalcade of different scents never fails to give him a migraine, his draconic senses overwhelmed by too many people wearing too much perfume and too much decadent food spiced beyond reason. It’s rare he’s able to single out any particular scent unless it’s Wriothesley.
But this one—this one he knows.
Something deep-seated and instinctual in his gut, stirring his hind brain, rousing his dragon. He resists the urge to bare his teeth, fangs aching unnaturally in his gums. Neuvillette’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, gaze sweeping across the room, and it only takes him a second to find the source.
Standing beside Wriothesley—the very man he’d been trying to find—near the glass doors leading out to the terrace, there is a stranger. He’s tall, slim, and one of the better-dressed guests of the night, his outfit clearly made of fine materials. Despite this, he doesn’t stand out, mixing into the crowd like a shadow. His hair’s a long slash of black ink pulled back in a simple tail, blending into the dark hue of his clothes and offset only by accents of gold and scarlet. Most striking are his eyes: a bright, shining amber visible from across the room.
He's all reds and golds and black onyx, an exact opposite to Neuvillette himself. The smell of Geo wafts off him in an oppressive wave, and something in Neuvillette’s stomach curdles.
Rooted to the floor, he’s only able to stare as Wriothesley converses with this man, all smiles and polite nods. He seems relaxed which is reassuring, and looks to be enjoying whatever conversation they’re having, casually sipping from a glass in his hand.
(Not wine, no champagne; bourbon maybe, if he could find it, but it’ll be just the one nursed throughout the whole night. Wriothesley hates to be drunk, let alone drunk in public.)
Neuvillette narrows his eyes as he slowly creeps closer, still breathing in the stranger’s foreign scent. Jasmine and green tea, some incense—cinnamon, maybe? His features are placid and calm, eyes focused on Wriothesley as he speaks. Neuvillette’s scales crawl uneasily with those amber eyes on Wriothesley, their focus far too intent for his liking.
Wriothesley finishes speaking and must’ve made a joke because the stranger laughs, lips upturning in a smile. He reaches out a gloved hand to set it at Wriothesley’s elbow, responding, and Neuvillette barely bites back a snarl. He’s across the room in seconds, uncaring of how many people get shoved along the way. His hind brain roars to life with a searing, possessive drive as his focus tunnels on that one point of contact, every instinct howling, stay back, get away from him, mine—
As if sensing his approach, Wriothesley looks up first. His eyes soften around the edges, a familiar fondness warming the icy blue of his irises, and any other time it’d be enough to curtail Neuvillette’s bad mood—but he’s too focused on the other man.
The stranger withdraws their hand from Wriothesley when he also notices Neuvillette, and to his credit, inclines his head in a respectful nod once Neuvillette gets within range.
“Ah, the ludex and Sovereign of Fontaine.” He offers out a gloved hand—the same one he’d placed on Wriothesley. “A pleasure. I am Zhongli, consultant for Wangshen Funeral services here in Liyue Harbor.”
“We’ve been talking about some of Liyue’s funeral rites,” Wriothesley provides, gesturing with the glass in his hand. “It’s actually really interesting—”
Neuvillette reaches out to meet Zhongli’s handshake, only half-listening to Wriothesley’s words. Despite the thin shield of the gloves they both wear, it’s impossible not to feel the sheer volume of power emanating from this man the moment their palms connect. Neuvillette’s scales ripple under his clothes as a wave of Geo energy moves across him, inquisitive and searching. His own Hydro pulses instinctively, bubbling beneath his skin like a thermal vent waiting to erupt. Zhongli blinks, but doesn’t say anything as he releases Neuvillette’s hand.
“—it’s been more entertaining than the other conversations I’ve had tonight,” Wriothesley’s finishing, letting out a good-natured chuckle. “Not that Liyue itself isn’t interesting, of course.”
Zhongli shakes his head. “Not at all. I understand some of the company for events such as these leave much to be desired.”
“That’s the polite way of saying it, yeah.”
Neuvillette clears his throat, tension pulling his spine straighter. Zhongli’s taller than him, putting him closer to Wriothesley’s height, and while normally such a thing wouldn’t bother him, his dragon sees it as a threat—to his mate and himself. He adjusts himself discreetly to be closer to Wriothesley.
(Don’t come any closer, don’t touch him, stay back.)
“I apologize for interrupting your conversation,” he says with feigned politeness, “but I’m afraid I must speak with His Grace privately.”
Wriothesley blinks down at him, clearly surprised by the title more than anything, but doesn’t protest. Zhongli nods without blinking an eye.
“Of course,” he replies, “I can only imagine the sorts of duties you both must attend to even when away from your home. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening.” He makes direct eye contact with Wriothesley, and Neuvillette bristles with displeasure. “You make for a fine conversation partner, Your Grace. I look forward to perhaps crossing paths again.”
Wriothesley nods in return. “Sure, we’ll be in Liyue for a couple more days. Maybe I’ll swing by the parlor if there’s time.”
Neuvillette bites the inside of his cheek, uncaring when blood bursts across his tongue. He utterly loathes the idea of Zhongli seeing Wriothesley again, every fiber of his being protesting it. Logically, he trusts Wriothesley, and he knows nothing untoward would ever happen—but his dragon isn’t too keen on listening to reason.
Zhongli and Wriothesley exchange a few more mild pleasantries before Zhongli leaves, slipping into the crowd and disappearing. Neuvillette doesn’t completely relax, but his hackles drop a bit knowing the man isn’t near Wriothesley anymore. The strong, pungent smell of Geo still wafts around them, and Neuvillette hisses under his breath, the air thickening with humidity as his Hydro thrums.
“Neuvillette?”
His eyes snap up to Wriothesley, another growl caught in his throat. His mate peers at him with a quiet look of concern, one eyebrow arched high, and reaches out to set a discreet hand on his lower back. Neuvillette relaxes instinctually under Wriothesley’s touch.
“Everything okay?” Wriothesley asks, pitching his voice low.
Neuvillette nods stiffly, resetting his jaw. “Fine. Come with me, please?”
“Of course.”
They go the opposite direction of Zhongli, Neuvillette’s nose now acutely tuned to the man’s unique smell. He leads them away from the party as a whole and further still to where their rooms lie, keeping their pace quick. Neuvillette practically feels Wriothesley’s curiosity, the other’s eyes burning into his back the entire walk, but keeps his own focus forward. The anxious, fluttery feeling in his chest doesn’t fade until they’re behind a closed, locked door with only the two of them—no strangers, and no Zhongli.
“Okay,” Wriothesley begins, shedding his suit jacket. “Why are you so—shit!”
Neuvillette shoves him against the nearest wall, crowding into Wriothesley’s space. He rips open the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal skin before shoving his nose against the man’s throat, a growl creeping up from his diaphragm when he smells more Geo.
“Woah, hey—” Wriothesley grabs his hips, leaning back as Neuvillette tries to press closer. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You smell like him.”
“Wait, who?”
Neuvillette hisses and curls his fingers into Wriothesley’s hair, forcing his head to the side to have better access to his neck. The clinging reek of Geo muddles his scent—Zhongli barely had to touch him to leave behind a mark. It makes Neuvillette’s dragon bristle, savage in its disdain.
Wriothesley squeezes his hips, squirming slightly. “Neuvillette, what’re you—”
He pushes his cheek under Wriothesley’s jaw, pumping out his own scent with every breath. Their skin glides against each other as Neuvillette rubs himself into Wriothesley’s neck, his shoulder, and under his ear. Wriothesley won’t be able to pick it up, but anyone with heightened senses will know. They’ll know exactly who’s laid their claim on this man, and they’ll know better than to get their disgusting smell all over him.
(Zhongli will know better. Zhongli won’t be able to approach him without smelling it; Neuvillette’s claim.)
A purr rises in his chest when the Geo begins to fade, overwhelmed by his own crisp Hydro. Neuvillette nuzzles Wriothesley’s clavicle and licks the sharp protrusion of bone, a burgeoning need curling in his gut.
Wriothesley jerks in surprise. “Fuck, sweetheart—”
“That man,” Neuvillette growls, nipping at Wriothesley’s skin. “He left his Geo all over you.”
“Z-Zhongli?” he asks incredulously.
Neuvillette snarls at the name, his claws digging into Wriothesley’s scalp. He let’s out a pained grunt while Neuvillette shoves up the hem of his shirt, palming the hard plane of his abdomen.
“Yes,” Neuvillette grumbles, “as if he couldn’t smell our bond.”
“Neuvillette, he was just making conversation.”
“Draconic blood runs in his veins, Wriothesley.” He scrapes his claws over the other’s skin, leaving behind angry red lines. “He’s not ignorant to such things.”
Neuvillette releases his hold to sink to his knees, nosing into the coarse hairs along Wriothesley’s stomach. Wriothesley’s scent is richer here, less tainted, and Neuvillette churrs happily at the familiar taste. Wriothesley cups the back of his head with one hand, the other stalling Neuvillette’s wrist where he’s reached for the man’s belt.
“Okay, okay,” Wriothesley huffs out, slightly breathless. “Slow down, gimme a second to catch up.”
He listens, but only because he’s placated by the musk of Wriothesley’s growing arousal. It fills his nose and soothes his instincts, his dragon pleased by the reassurance of his mate’s interest in him and him alone. Neuvillette peers up at Wriothesley through his lashes, keeping himself tucked close.
Wriothesley exhales roughly, shaking his head. “Not that this isn’t incredibly hot, but I’d like to understand why you’re so keyed up about this.” When Neuvillette opens his mouth, he quickly adds, “Clearly, please.”
Neuvillette grunts, reluctantly keeping his hands still while he explains. “Zhongli is of draconic blood. I do not know if he’s a full dragon, but I still sense it. He’s of the Geo Archon, so he holds the same power.”
“Okay, and—what? He scented me or something?”
“He touched you,” Neuvillette spits, digging his claws into Wriothesley.
He winces. “Other people touch me a lot, sweetheart.”
“Not other dragons.” He nuzzles against Wriothesley’s hip, hooking one talon into his belt again. “We are notoriously possessive, and you are mine. My mate.”
He slices through Wriothesley’s belt with a single pull of his claw, loosening the man’s pants. His fingers dip greedily into the waistband as he pulls at the offending material, drawing it down Wriothesley’s thighs. Neuvillette churrs when the heady spice of Wriothesley’s arousal hits him, his cock slowly thickening out. It curves up toward his belly, heavy with its own weight, and Neuvillette leans in to curl his tongue around the base.
Wriothesley curses, gripping his hair tightly. Neuvillette relishes the sharp pain as he leisurely laps at Wriothesley’s skin, savoring the salt of his sweat. His cock grows more steadily under Neuvillette’s attention and he churrs louder.
“You’re mine to have,” he murmurs, stroking the pads of his fingers over Wriothesley’s length. “Mine to pleasure and tend to, no one else.”
“Shit—”
Neuvillette steadies him with one hand before parting his lips around the head, slowly swallowing down the first quarter of Wriothesley’s cock. It bumps softly against his palate and sits heavy on his tongue, already leaking a few drops of pre. Neuvillette hums at the taste, mindful of his fangs as he sinks down further.
“Neuvillette,” Wriothesley pants, “fuck, Neuvillette, baby—”
He’s wonderfully wide and thick, filling Neuvillette’s mouth within the first few centimeters. He relaxes his jaw, using his tongue to gently lap at the underside to coax it deeper. Wriothesley holds both sides of his head, fingers twisted into his hair, and Neuvillette’s ears twitch at the quiet, muttering curses tumbling from the other’s lips.
Taking Wriothesley’s size is no small task. Whether Neuvillette’s on his knees or taking it in his vent, Wriothesley’s an impressive show of both length and girth, his cock bullying its way into spaces it shouldn’t fit. Neuvillette’s vent is easier, but his mouth is regrettably small and ill-suited, especially with his sharp teeth which is why they don’t usually try for it. Wriothesley’s plenty satisfied with putting himself between Neuvillette’s legs instead and eating out his vent like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have.
But this time, Neuvillette’s determined.
His instincts demand he work his throat open for his mate; to prove he’s the superior choice in this and more. Wriothesley would never judge him on something so arbitrary, let alone leave him in the first place, but Neuvillette’s dragon is too furious for logic. His hind brain snarls when he still gets the faintest hint of Zhongli, the man’s smell on Wriothesley’s clothes. Neuvillette clutches at Wriothesley’s hips, a growl rolling in his chest, and stretches his jaw wider.
Saliva pools in his mouth as he moves up and down on Wriothesley’s cock, working his throat open. Wriothesley’s moaning, his stomach trembling with each heavy gasp, but let’s Neuvillette set the pace, keeping his hips still. Pleasure curls sweetly in Neuvillette’s chest as Wriothesley simply takes what he’s given, not forcing Neuvillette to take more than he’s able. His hands are a solid presence on either side of Neuvillette’s face, kindly holding his hair back, but otherwise not getting in the way. His obedience, as always, is intoxicating, and only makes Neuvillette work harder.
His lungs begin to strain for air after several minutes, his meager inhales through his nose not enough. The corners of his mouth ache and he keeps almost forgetting about his teeth, his desire making him sloppy. Wriothesley grunts when the point of one fang catches near the head, but still doesn’t stop him which fans the flames in Neuvillette’s gut. Wriothesley trusts him not to make a mistake, and he reminds himself of that as he forces himself down another inch.
The heft of Wriothesley on his tongue is addicting, the hard curve of him sitting along the roof of his mouth. Neuvillette almost chokes when the crown nudges awkwardly against the back of his throat, balancing the razor’s edge of too much.
Wriothesley tugs gently at his hair, voice raspy. “Neuvillette, it’s okay, you don’t have to.”
Oh, but he does, he does. He needs to do this or else he might rend himself in two, his draconic side writhing in agony at the mere idea of failure. Neuvillette whines in protest, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes while drool spills past his bottom lip.
“You’re so good, sweetheart,” Wriothesley soothes, “you’re always so good. Don’t hurt yourself for me.”
Neuvillette blinks up at him through damp lashes, trying and failing to communicate his need through eyes alone. Wriothesley’s human, he doesn’t know the depths of a dragon’s jealousy—he can’t understand the physical pain of smelling another’s scent when it should be only one.
But the way Wriothesley looks down at him—eyes dark with desire, face flushed a ruddy pink as he fights not to rock himself into Neuvillette’s mouth. His hips keep twitching, barely restrained, but still, he maintains his composure, giving Neuvillette what he wants as much as he can. He fondly strokes the top of Neuvillette’s head, pushing away a few loose hairs from his face, and he’s perfect, wonderful, he’s his mate—
Neuvillette closes his eyes. His throat burns with every ruined swallow and his knees ache from the stone floor, but he can’t stop now. He’s close, he knows it, and he’s nothing if not stubborn.
The man curses anew when Neuvillette bobs his head down, sinking lower. He’s just shy of the base, a scant few inches left. Wriothesley’s plenty slick from the combination of drool and pre, so it’s only a matter of fortitude. Neuvillette adjusts his jaw, fighting against sore muscles, and urges his throat to open a little more, just relax, he’s so, so close.
It’s almost too easy. Like some invisible barrier suddenly disappears, Neuvillette takes the remaining inches, his nose digging into the coarse hairs on Wriothesley’s belly. His talons nearly rip through Wriothesley’s pants as he lets out a broken, muffled keen. Proper tears roll down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, pride swelling fiercely in his chest as his dragon croons with pleasure. Every sense is invaded with Wriothesley and not a single corner of his mouth left untouched, teeth, tongue and spit all suffused with the same musk. He could drown in it, hazy with gratification and desire.
“Fuck, fuck,” Wriothesley hisses, clutching Neuvillette’s head like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Neuvillette—”
It’s a rare thing to reduce Wriothesley to no words, and rarer still to speaking Neuvillette’s given name aloud. He always does so breathlessly and in a whisper, aware of the weight behind it even when it’s only the two of them. Neuvillette gave him this gift years ago now, but Wriothesley always treats it with the same care—a secret kept only for them.
Neuvillette keens again at the sound of his own name, warbled and rough. His heart thuds loudly in his ears and his blood burns beneath his skin, pulsing with energy like he’s been shocked with Electro. Wriothesley doesn’t say it more than once, but when he looks down at Neuvillette, the admiration on his face is illuminating.
“You’re amazing,” Wriothesley breathes out, stroking Neuvillette’s damp cheek with his thumb. “Fuck, you’re perfect, sweetheart.”
The praise hits him directly in his core, and Neuvillette would trill were his throat not stuffed full. He settles for a low whimper, the sound resonating along Wriothesley’s cock to make him shudder. His hips buck slightly and they both moan when it nudges him impossibly deeper into Neuvillette’s mouth.
He can’t smell Zhongli anymore—no traces of Geo or strange, foreign auras. It’s all Wriothesley; his addicting smell of bergamot and black tea, now infused with the clean edge of Hydro as it should be. Neuvillette’s instincts finally begin to quiet some, no longer a tumultuous barrage at the back of his mind. Wriothesley keeps petting his face and it’s nice, his lust cooling to a slower, syrupy feel like fresh honey.
“I’m not gonna last too long, sweetness,” Wriothesley tells him.
Neuvillette squeezes his thighs, humming around him. He wouldn’t mind staying here on his knees for Wriothesley—his dragon purrs with contentment, instincts quelled, need sated—but swallowing down his mate’s seed sounds equally enticing. A small, feral part of him wants to feel it on his skin, to have Wriothesley shoot across his face and leave behind a tangible mess of his own scent. His mate smells like him now, more than he did, but Neuvillette knows it could be stronger, better—their scents could be near indistinguishable from each other and he’s still not certain it’d be enough.
He slowly pulls back, mindful of his teeth, and Wriothesley sighs above him when he sinks back down. His size makes it impossible to move too quickly, but Neuvillette makes do. More saliva spills past his lips as he works up and down on Wriothesley’s length, stroking the underside with his tongue, dragging the edges of his fangs along delicate skin. He’s careful, applying only the barest pressure, but it’s still enough to make Wriothesley tug at his hair and gasp loudly.
It doesn’t take long for Wriothesley to come, just as he’d promised—Neuvillette notices the tension strung through his limbs and the tremble in his hands. He curls his fingers around the other’s hips, holding him firm against the wall as he swallows down the entirety of Wriothesley’s cock in preparation. Wriothesley spits out a final curse before he’s spilling down Neuvillette’s throat.
Wriothesley comes… a lot. Whether it’s his first orgasm or his third, his body provides ample seed, proving his virility, and Neuvillette loves it. His hind brain practically sings with pleasure as he swallows, working to keep up with each shot. He’s well-practiced, but some still leaks past his stretched mouth, rolling down his chin.
Dark spots dance across his vision by the time Wriothesley finishes, lungs straining for air. He’s made a mess of his own trousers, his cock half-slid out of his vent and slick gathering between his thighs, but it’s of little concern. The taste of his mate clings to the roof of his mouth, coating the backs of his teeth and sitting sticky upon his tongue. Neuvillette churrs roughly with Wriothesley’s softening cock still in his mouth, dizzy and flushed with pride.
“Okay,” Wriothesley chuckles breathlessly, “okay, easy there.”
Gently, but still with a firm hold, Wriothesley guides Neuvillette off him. Neuvillette grumbles, a whimper stuck in his throat, and reluctantly obliges, letting Wriothesley go with a final lick to his crown. He doesn’t move far, though, nuzzling again into Wriothesley’s hip while a purr starts up in his chest.
Wriothesley strokes his fingers fondly through Neuvillette’s hair. “Feel better?”
Neuvillette hums an affirmative. “Mm, yes.”
“No more bad smells?”
He knows there isn’t, but he tucks his nose closer to Wriothesley’s soft member anyways, inhaling sweet Hydro and rich musk. His purring deepens, rattling a little broken in his ribs, but still strong despite his sore throat.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Wriothesley says with a quiet laugh.
“There’s always room for improvement,” Neuvillette replies, nipping at Wriothesley’s skin.
“Gotta give me at least a few minutes, sweetheart. You’ve got me all weak in the knees.”
Neuvillette smiles against Wriothesley’s stomach, but doesn’t tease him further, content for the time being. He focuses instead on Wriothesley’s hand in his hair and the soft, lingering smell of his mate’s satisfaction, hind brain blessedly quiet. He’s eager to have more, slick still leaking steadily from his vent, but he’ll be patient.
For Wriothesley, he’d wait a millennium and more.
Anything for his mate.