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As soon as they crossed the border, Neuvillette’s been on edge.
He doesn’t like leaving Fontaine—in fact, he tries to avoid it as much as possible. As ludex, he typically didn’t have to worry about traveling. With Furina in charge, he’d had enough on his plate alongside his standard duties within the court, so anything beyond their city limits rarely concerned him. He could keep his head down and stay exactly where he wanted to be: within Fontaine.
But now, well—now he’s the Hydro Sovereign. A Sovereign, a ludex, and essentially a replacement ruler all in one.
This complicates things.
He’s not exactly a ruler, but humans don’t understand the nuance of the old tongues very well nor do they care for the differences in old history which traps him in a unique box. He doesn’t get to ignore the polite invitations to galas and banquets across Teyvat; he can’t brush aside requests for his presence to ceremonies in neighboring countries; he barely gets to say no to benign events like the nameday celebrations of random dignitaries. All the duties Furina once had fall to him, including entirely new one’s courtesy of being the (supposedly) singular Sovereign dragon left. He’s not only a public figure; he’s a novelty.
It's a nightmare, to say the least, and Neuvillette loathes every second spent trapped within the four walls of a carriage or stuck in the bellows of a ship. He’d gladly travel on his own—he could do so through the seas much faster, besides—but propriety demands a small delegation of fellow Fontainians go with him everywhere less he causes unnecessary offense. And while he certainly hates traveling, the dramatic politicking of humans is even worse.
The things one does for their people.
So, he denies what summons he can and begrudgingly accepts the others. This time, at least, it’s more than a simple social party. Liyue expressed interest in Fontaine’s technological prowess some time ago, but had never been able to come to an agreement with Furina (a resounding shock to no one). With Neuvillette’s calmer head, they’ve since drafted a treaty between the nations. Neuvillette, after poring over every line of the contract, agreed to meet with the Liyue Qixing to finalize things—unfortunately, this requires a great deal of pomp and circumstance. The members of the Qixing had insisted.
It's a momentous occasion, they’d said, we haven’t had anything like this with Fontaine in decades.
(Neuvillette almost wishes it’d stayed that way.)
Liyue Harbor is bursting with life come nightfall, news having spread quickly of the successful partnership. Colorful paper lanterns light the streets, strung up on thin wire between stalls selling trinkets and various goods; the decadent smell of fried dough and roasting meat wafts through the city, drawing in wanderers from afar; and children dart underfoot with sparklers in hand, waving them wildly in the air as they shout to each other. The mood is joyful and boisterous, rising like a pleasant heat on a warm summer’s day. To anyone else, it’d be a downright shame to miss out on the festivities.
Neuvillette is of the few, as he often is. He’d rather claw out of his own skin than join the crowds of foreigners, so he stays within the Yujing Terrace where his quarters reside. From the main balcony leading off his rooms, he’s able to watch from a distance, undisturbed by the loud parade of celebration.
“It’s not too late to go down.”
Mostly undisturbed.
Neuvillette tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding over to his companion as Wriothesley steps up beside him. He’s holding two wine glasses; one he offers to Neuvillette with a crooked smile and a mischievous glint to his eye.
Wriothesley remains his sole indulgence for events such as these, and one Neuvillette doesn’t give up easily. He’s certain he’d go mad without Wriothesley’s stabilizing presence—and that’s not accounting for the sour mood he’d be in for not seeing Wriothesley weeks or months at a time either. Of course, being Meropide’s administrator, Wriothesley can’t always come with him, but it’s a weight off Neuvillette’s shoulders when he does.
He scoffs quietly as he takes the glass from Wriothesley. “No, thank you.”
The man leans against the stone railing of the balcony, peering down at the colorful display of the harbor. “I don’t know, I think it’d be pretty fun.”
“You are welcome to it,” Neuvillette mutters, unable to hide his distaste.
“And leave you all to your lonesome? I’d never.”
His words are light with humor, and Neuvillette appreciates his levity even if his own mood isn’t suited for it. He takes a welcome sip of the wine Wriothesley’s brought him, savoring the tart flavor—Mondstadt wine, imported.
Despite his teasing, Wriothesley doesn’t pressure Neuvillette. He appears perfectly content as he lounges against the railing, fingering the stem of his own glass while gazing out over the city. Neuvillette takes the time to study him in turn, eyes roaming over the broad slope of Wriothesley’s shoulders down to the strong line of his waist. He’s dressed simply in pants and a loose linen shirt, the deep V of the collar showing an ample amount of chest. Wriothesley’s acclimated better to Liyue’s humidity, more than Neuvillette, but there’s still the faintest sheen of sweat on his skin. Neuvillette looks away, fanning himself idly with the paper hand fan he’d found tucked into one of the vanity drawers. It barely stirs the heavy air, but it’s better than nothing.
“Are you at least happy with the treaty?” Wriothesley asks him.
“Of course, it will be beneficial for both nations.”
“But are you satisfied with it?”
Neuvillette blinks, pausing with his glass half-raised. “Yes, yes, I am. It will provide us with some new answers to old problems, I believe.”
Wriothesley nods his head. “Well, good. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“I think appeased might be a more appropriate term.”
“You’re just moody ‘cause of the heat.”
Neuvillette huffs, fanning himself a little harder. “How anyone lives like this is beyond me. It’s suffocating.”
Wriothesley chuckles and sets his glass to the side, offering out the same hand to Neuvillette. When he hesitates, Wriothesley’s grin shifts into a playful smirk.
“What, think I’ll bite?” he teases, gesturing for Neuvillette to step closer. “C’mere, let me try something.”
Neuvillette rolls his eyes, but does step closer. As he moves into Wriothesley’s space, the man sets a gentle hand on his lower back, caressing him fondly through the sheer silk of his clothes. Neuvillette can’t help how he softens under Wriothesley’s touch, some of the tension in his spine easing—only to tighten up again in shock when a surge of cold energy radiates out from Wriothesley’s palm.
“Ah, shit—” Wriothesley takes his hand back, shaking it out briefly before returning with just his fingers. “Sorry, sorry, it’s hard to focus it sometimes.”
The second attempt is less aggressive, the tips of Wriothesley’s fingers helping spread out the coolness. Neuvillette shakes off the initial chill while Wriothesley carefully pushes a hint of Cryo into his skin, chasing away some of the sticky moisture hanging in the air around them.
Neuvillette lets out a breathy sigh of relief, relaxing again. “That’s lovely, thank you.”
Wriothesley smiles; one of those crooked ones of his that are utterly disarming and make him look far too handsome. He doesn’t say anything, only continues to stroke Neuvillette’s back while applying a steady flux of Cryo to keep him cool.
It’s a quiet sort of intimacy even as the sounds from the city rise from below, too distant to make anything out except the telltale upbeat of music. Neuvillette leans into Wriothesley, sipping his wine, and allows himself a moment of peace. The treaty is signed, the Qixing are satisfied, and soon, they’ll be heading back home to Fontaine. There will be plenty of work to do on their return, but mostly, Neuvillette looks forward to reasserting his space in Wriothesley’s bed. His scales tingle beneath his clothes at the thought, his dragon stirring at the back of his mind. There’s only so much they can do when away on business and it’s rare they find themselves with enough alone time to manage more than a hasty kiss or two. Wriothesley never complains because of course he wouldn’t, but Neuvillette catches the wistful look he sometimes gets when they separate into different rooms.
It’s why Wriothesley’s touch is so welcome now, languid and slow where he traces random patterns along Neuvillette’s spine—never straying anywhere inappropriate, but still lingering in certain places. Neuvillette chirps quietly, pushing the sound up from the back of his throat. Wriothesley’s hand stills briefly before slipping beneath fabric to find skin. His fingers are still cold, but the hard edge to his calluses bring a pleasant roughness to his stroking, one Neuvillette hadn’t felt through his clothes. He’s not completely relaxed, but he could be, and Wriothesley is always a surefire solution.
“Have you enjoyed your time in Liyue?” Neuvillette asks, breaking their serene silence.
Wriothesley makes a thoughtful noise, considering. “It’s been interesting. You read about some of these places, but they’re always different in person.”
“Indeed.” Neuvillette takes another sip from his glass, swirls the remaining liquid around in the fine crystal. “What of your opinion on their Archon?”
“Ah—” Wriothesley clicks his tongue, shrugging one shoulder. “You know me, I’m more of a Sovereign’s kinda guy.”
He winks coyly at the end of his sentence, and Neuvillette pointedly looks away, his cheeks growing warm. He clears his throat and says, “Humor me.”
Wriothesley stares off over the harbor as he thinks, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. His hand stops moving on Neuvillette’s back and Neuvillette resists the urge to chirp at him, letting the man focus. His restless energy always makes him needy, the dragon inside him wanting for his mate. He finishes the last of his wine and ignores it.
“Seems strict,” Wriothesley finally says. “A lot different from what Furina was like, though I guess she was only pretending. The people seem happy enough.” He shrugs again, taking a drink from his own glass. “What else matters besides that?”
Neuvillette nods absently, watching the distant, bobbing lanterns of the ships moored along the docks. “I heard a rumor about them.”
“Who, Rex Lapis?”
The name alone makes him twitch, distaste seeping across his tongue like bile. He regrets drinking his wine so quickly. “Yes, them. I heard they walk amongst their people in disguise.”
Wriothesley glances sidelong at him, and—as if he sees the bitterness Neuvillette tastes—offers out his barely touched drink. “And what do you make of that?”
“I am…” Neuvillette takes the wine, his fingers tingling with warmth when their hands brush together. He takes a long, thoughtful sip before he answers. “Curious. And apprehensive.”
“Do you think they’re part of the Qixing?”
“I have no idea.”
Wriothesley resumes his slow, methodical petting on Neuvillette’s back. “Well, if it is true, they obviously don’t mind this treaty. They are all about contracts—maybe this deal appeals to them.”
Neuvillette makes a faint sound, contemplative. “Perhaps.”
“Is this why you’ve been so tense? You think there’s an Archon walking around the city?”
“Partially,” he admits, “but you know that leaving Fontaine isn’t my preference to begin with.”
Wriothesley curves his hand around Neuvillette’s hip and tugs him in closer, pressing him to Wriothesley’s side. He goes willingly, tilting his head up to meet Wriothesley’s eyes. His features are soft with affection, an understanding to his gaze that warms the icy blue.
“We’ll be heading out tomorrow,” he assures, squeezing Neuvillette’s waist. “Bright and early, just how you like.”
Neuvillette smiles slightly, his dragon preening. He lifts a hand to stroke his knuckles across Wriothesley’s jaw and warbles quietly from his throat when the man leans into the touch. “What would I do without you?” he sighs.
Wriothesley catches his hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “Be a lot more difficult to work with, I think.”
Neuvillette hums as Wriothesley turns his hand over to kiss his palm, lips trailing down to his wrist. “I suppose the other ruling agencies are rather indebted to you.”
“They don’t know the half of it,” Wriothesley chuckles, mouthing at Neuvillette’s pulse.
“Shall I arrange for some sort of restitution?”
“I think I’m very well compensated, Sovereign.”
Wriothesley peers at him through dark lashes, lips still pressed to Neuvillette’s wrist, so he must feel the way Neuvillette’s heart jumps. Titles are a complicated thing for him these days, let alone the weight they carry, but hearing Wriothesley call him Sovereign in that deep, rough voice—well, he wouldn’t mind hearing it again.
Neuvillette sets down the wine glass. He turns so they’re properly facing each other, lifting both hands to cup Wriothesley’s face between his palms. He smooths his thumbs over the other’s cheekbones, appreciating the cut of his jaw and the slope of his chin. Wriothesley’s nose is permanently crooked from being broken one too many times and Neuvillette finds it horribly endearing. Wriothesley loves to call him pretty and beautiful and all sorts of compliments, leaving little few for himself, but—
“You’re lovely, you know.” Neuvillette watches Wriothesley blink at him, taken aback. “The moonlight suits you, dearest.”
And it does. The soft silver beams do well for Wriothesley’s graying hair and muted colors, making him look striking in the darkness. His eyes are so clear, a perfect, crystalline blue much like his Vision. When he tilts his head down to be closer to Neuvillette, the light splits down his face in two colors: one mercury pale from the moon and the other sunrise yellow from the lanterns lit inside. He leans in close until their foreheads bump together and Neuvillette could count each eyelash upon his face.
“Well, you aren’t half-bad yourself, sweetheart,” Wriothesley teases.
Neuvillette churrs softly and doesn’t have to wait for Wriothesley to kiss him. It’s sweet and chaste, a simple slotting of their mouths together like a dovetail hinge. Wriothesley’s hands cradle Neuvillette’s hips while Neuvillette pushes his fingers into Wriothesley’s hair, combing through the wily curls. The humidity sits heavy upon their shoulders and makes being close near unbearable, but it’s ignored in favor of the slick slide of their lips together, growing in urgency.
Neuvillette’s dragon rumbles in his chest with a familiar insistence, rising to meet his mate with a palpable eagerness. His tongue flits out to taste before he can reign it in and his fangs itch for flesh, a buzzing in his gums he feels down to his molars. He almost doesn’t notice his talons until Wriothesley hisses, the sharp points digging a little too harshly into his scalp.
“Sorry,” Neuvillette gasps, rearing back. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay,” Wriothesley laughs breathlessly, “it’s okay, don’t worry. You just surprised me.”
He tenderly pets the spot his claws scratched, pursing his lips. “I do not know what’s gotten into me,” he mutters, half to himself.
“Liyue, I think. Or Rex Lapis.”
Neuvillette tsks sharply. “The sooner we return to Fontaine, the better. I dislike how paranoid this place has made me.”
Wriothesley presses a placating kiss to his forehead. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
They trade the open air of the balcony for the privacy of four walls, though the humidity follows clinging to their heels. It sticks the linen of Wriothesley’s shirt to his shoulders and draws lines of sweat down the back of Neuvillette’s neck, making him grimace. Wriothesley’s trick with his Cryo had helped, but it’s since faded. Not for the first time, Neuvillette longs for Fontaine’s cooler climate, his disposition far more acclimated to its Northern waters.
Wriothesley leads them to the bedroom, holding Neuvillette’s hand along the way to keep them tethered. It’s regrettably audacious—lots of reds and golds with the multi-diamond of the Geo Archon spread throughout. The bed itself is practically opulent: far too large for any one person, covered in silk sheets, and piled high with cloud-soft pillows. Neuvillette had tossed and turned so much the first night he’d slept on one of the smaller settees instead. Wriothesley had laughed when he found out, but not unkindly—neither of them cares for such grand luxuries.
“Damn, that is big,” Wriothesley says with an impressed whistle.
“Did you not believe me?”
“No, I did, it’s just different seeing it in person.”
Neuvillette tucks himself into Wriothesley’s side, leaning in close to nuzzle at his shoulder. “I suppose being a Sovereign, they didn’t wish to offend.”
“Yeah, they give their biggest beds to the most important people,” Wriothesley chuckles good-naturedly. “That’s why I got one smaller than my mattress in Meropide.”
“Please tell me you are joking.”
“If you put two prisoner cots together, those would probably be bigger than the one I have here—”
Neuvillette turns Wriothesley to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he’s placated by the amused look on the man’s face. He gently swats Wriothesley’s chest, rolling his eyes even while his hind brain rumbles in displeasure at the notion of his mate getting anything less than, a protective sort of outrage simmering in his chest.
Smoothing his palms over the front of Wriothesley’s shirt, he says, “Tell me if you ever have such inadequate accommodations. I will see it taken care of.”
Wriothesley hums under his breath, curling his fingers around Neuvillette’s hips. “Yeah?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “you are a member of my delegation. It would be incredibly disrespectful not only to you, but to myself as well.”
“And that’d be the only reason, obviously. It’s disrespectful.”
Neuvillette nods, tilting his head back to peer up at Wriothesley. “Obviously.”
He slowly fists the wide collar of the man’s shirt, subtle in how he uses it to tug Wriothesley infinitesimally closer. Wriothesley’s eyes dart down to his lips and back up again.
“Careful, Sovereign,” Wriothesley teases softly, “someone might think you’re playing favorites.”
Neuvillette trills in response, eyelashes fluttering as he replies, “Let them.”
This kiss is more heated than the first, quick to turn messy with tongue and teeth. Neuvillette purrs deep in his throat when Wriothesley pulls their hips together, broad palms squeezing shamelessly at Neuvillette’s backside. He feels the hard length of Wriothesley’s cock through their clothes and moans when his own quickly descends from his vent. His thighs are already wet, his dragon quick to ready himself, and Wriothesley brushes aside sweat-damp silk to find the source.
“Fuck,” he breathes against Neuvillette’s mouth, knuckles dragging through slick. “You’re soaked.”
“Instincts,” Neuvillette groans, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “I told you, this place—”
Wriothesley kisses him again hard, not letting him finish. His fingers press deeper, stroking across Neuvillette’s vent and along the underside of his cock. Neuvillette moans against him while his knees threaten to buckle, held up by the arm Wriothesley’s looped around his waist.
He’s dizzy with want and lust, a feeling he doesn’t often get unless Wriothesley’s kept him from coming for too long. His scales ripple across his body, draconic instincts sinking their teeth into him as they seep in from his hind brain. Though there’s still an uncomfortable itch under his skin, he tries to smother it through Wriothesley. He nips at Wriothesley’s mouth with his fangs while his lower half opens itself for the man’s fingers, his vent soft and leaking, ready to be used. When Wriothesley slides three fingers into him, Neuvillette churrs in delight, rocking his hips down eagerly.
“Do you want to come, sweetheart?” Wriothesley asks breathlessly, pressing their foreheads together. “Do you want to come or wait for me, huh?”
Neuvillette grazes his teeth across Wriothesley’s chin, chasing after his mouth. “Now,” he commands roughly, “now, and then again.”
Ever the gentleman, Wriothesley does as he’s bid. His fingers curl deeper into Neuvillette’s vent and he drives them in with a hard thrust of his hand, making Neuvillette keen. He grips Wriothesley’s shoulders tightly as he careens toward an orgasm, knowing just one is rarely enough—even if he weren’t being influenced by his instincts, one wouldn’t be enough.
It only takes a few minutes of Wriothesley whispering sweet encouragement into his ear and working his fingers just right before Neuvillette comes with a high-pitched whine, spilling across the front of Wriothesley’s shirt. Neuvillette nearly collapses into him, his vent clamping around Wriothesley’s hand while hot slick dribbles into the man’s palm. He’d be more embarrassed if they hadn’t gone through this so many different times; instead, he’s able to savor his pleasure, the desperate edge of his lust tempered somewhat as he sinks into Wriothesley’s embrace.
Wriothesley delicately removes his hand from between Neuvillette’s legs, kissing the side of his temple. “Good?” he asks.
Neuvillette nods, panting faintly. In lieu of words, he nuzzles under Wriothesley’s jaw, littering kisses along his neck and throat. Wriothesley chuckles under his breath and hugs him close.
It’s still uncomfortably warm, the air thick and heavy with moisture. Neuvillette uses his tongue to lap lazily at the sweat beading on Wriothesley’s skin, tasting his arousal, soaking in his scent. Normally, he might suggest a bath; but realistically, it wouldn’t help much. They might feel clean for an hour or two only to sweat through the night and be just as they were before. His dragon, at least, is thrilled by the heavy scenting.
Wriothesley’s taken up stroking his back again, fingers following the length of his spine. One of his hands is noticeably stickier than the other, and Neuvillette twirls his own fingers in a quick, efficient shift of Hydro, cleaning them easily.
“Too messy?” Wriothesley laughs.
“Distracting,” Neuvillette corrects, nipping at his ear. “Take off these clothes.”
The cool relief of separation is stymied by how Wriothesley looks at him, pale eyes dragging over Neuvillette’s figure. He’s hardly at his best, but Wriothesley is no better with his shirtfront streaked with Neuvillette’s cum and sticking to his skin from sweat—Neuvillette resists the urge to lick his lips. Wriothesley sheds the ruined linen quickly, tossing it aside before reaching for his waistband. He’s efficient in his undressing always, rarely lingering unless Neuvillette asks it of him, and this time is no different. He steps out of his pants once they’re on the floor and Neuvillette takes him in appreciatively, lingering on his swollen cock.
“Just me?” Wriothesley asks, taking a piece of Neuvillette’s sleeve in his hand. He rubs the silk between thumb and forefinger, one eyebrow arched high. “Feeling shy, Sovereign?”
Neuvillette blinks up at him—slowly, affectionately—and tilts his head to one side. “Feeling exposed, your Grace?”
“Not at all.” He smiles, lips tilting up in a playful smirk. “Just hoping to see a little more of you.”
Stepping back, Neuvillette withdraws, drifting over to the foot of the bed. Wriothesley’s eyes follow him as he goes, burning like hoarfrost. His attention is singular, focused, and Neuvillette drinks it in with no small amount of satisfaction. He’s still a bit flighty, his ears twitching at every sound and his eyes occasionally darting to the far corners of the room, but Wriothesley helps. He draws Neuvillette’s attention to him like a moth to flame and grounds him, keeping him present in the moment even while part of him itches to stay on guard.
Rolling back his shoulders, Neuvillette loosens the collar of his clothes, letting silk spill down his arms to pool in the bend of his elbows. He lifts a hand to comb his hair across one side, exposing the back of his neck as he peers at Wriothesley through his lashes.
“Like this, your Grace?” Neuvillette asks sweetly.
Wriothesley visibly swallows, hands curling into fists. “Yeah, yes, that’s—” He clears his throat, taking a step closer. “Maybe more?”
Neuvillette almost smiles, lips curling slightly. For all their play, Wriothesley crumbles like dust the moment Neuvillette takes advantage of his attention. Another endearing trait to add to the list.
Fabric shifts as Neuvillette exposes more of his torso, the scales along his spine fluttering faintly. He uses the tips of his claws to delicately peel silk away from his thighs and unwind it from his hips, watching Wriothesley watch him drop it to the floor. Keeping his gaze on Wriothesley, he slowly turns to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching down to stroke a gentle hand across his own cock. His breath shudders, sensitivity nearly making his composure buckle, but holds firm.
“Well?” he sighs, dipping two fingers down to his vent as he parts his thighs. “Are you going to stay over there?”
Wriothesley’s across the room in a heartbeat. He’s on his knees and between Neuvillette’s spread legs without a word, hands gripping Neuvillette’s thighs hard enough to bruise. Neuvillette exhales a slow, unsteady breath as he pushes his fingers deeper, letting Wriothesley watch while he spreads himself open.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Wriothesley murmurs.
Neuvillette moans for him, pushing out his hips while dragging his palm back up his length, spreading his own slick across it. “Wriothesley.”
“What do you want, Neuvillette?”
“You know what I want, dearest,” he breathes, cupping the back of Wriothesley’s head. “You know.”
Wriothesley looks up at him, pupils blown wide with lust. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, clinging to Neuvillette’s fingers where he grips the man’s scalp, and his mouth looks slick-bitten and red. He’s flushed high in his cheeks, a pink slash across the bridge of his nose stretching from ear-to-ear. He’s a man on the verge of falling prey to his baser instincts, uncaring of the consequences—and Neuvillette wouldn’t have it any other way.
Leaning in, Wriothesley kisses Neuvillette’s soft inner thigh, moving closer to where he wants him. “Say it for me,” he requests softly.
Neuvillette pretends to consider even while he spreads his legs a little wider and pushes closer to Wriothesley’s drifting mouth. Wriothesley drags his nose along the crease between thigh and groin, teasing the base of Neuvillette’s cock with his warm breath, his patience endless.
“My Wriothesley,” Neuvillette whispers, the words as heady as they are sweet. “My dearest heart.”
Icy blue eyes flick up to him again, clear as the winter sky, burning worse than any frostbite. If not for the reality of the heat around them, Neuvillette could almost pretend they were somewhere far from Liyue and its harbor.
Hooking one of his legs over Wriothesley’s shoulder, he draws the man in ever closer and says, “Take your fill of me, beloved.”
Wriothesley’s eyes spark with a hint of Cryo—frigid, eager—before he dives forward. Neuvillette gasps aloud as Wriothesley’s tongue sweeps into him, going straight for the source. His mouth is hot and searing, the perfect contrast to the hint of ice on his breath and the cold in his fingertips. Wriothesley grips Neuvillette’s thighs as he crowds between them, keeping him firmly in place despite how Neuvillette willingly rolls his hips against Wriothesley’s face. He pants into the air and whines with each thrust of his mate’s tongue, chasing the feeling with every retreating stroke. His mind is hazy, clouded by Wriothesley’s scent, and his chest rumbles with his satisfaction, dragon placated.
Low clicks and warbles sound from his throat the closer he crests to his next orgasm. Wriothesley licks deeper, angling his head to open his mouth wider, and Neuvillette digs his talons into the man’s hair, gritting his teeth. His second always takes a bit of coaxing, tugging at his core near the back of his abdomen like a weighted anchor. It’s as if someone hooked a claw directly into his cunt, chained to something set deep within him that’s otherwise impossible to reach. Draconic, maybe, or just his own mind stirred wild by physical sensation—regardless, it drives him mad. Neuvillette snarls when he feels it, his hips jolting against Wriothesley. His insides twist uncomfortably even while his cock spurts pre and his vent tries to clamp around Wriothesley’s tongue, walls working uselessly around it.
“Wriothesley,” he hisses, twisting his opposite hand into the sheets. “Wriothesley—”
His perfect, wonderful Wriothesley knows him. He knows every little twitch and tell of Neuvillette’s, and he knows how to work him over this steep edge. Without wasting a single second, Wriothesley seamlessly moves up to swallow down Neuvillette’s length while four of his fingers replace his tongue at Neuvillette’s vent, swiftly driving in to the last knuckle. All it takes is one more thrust and Neuvillette comes for a second time.
Where his first had been quick, but relieving, this one is devastating. It sweeps through him like high tide rushing back in from the ocean depths, crashing down to his bones and flooding his veins. His spine goes rigid as his back curves in a long, smooth arc, talons gouging into the mattress. He can’t breathe, ribs too tight around his lungs for a terrifying handful of seconds until his diaphragm finally deflates. Only once he’s able to inhale again do his muscles relax, losing their strength quickly as the wave passes, and Neuvillette lets himself fall back onto the bed with a weak groan.
Wriothesley slowly, gently, pulls off Neuvillette’s cock and frees his hand. Neuvillette makes a short, disquieted sound, but Wriothesley shushes him while crawling up to his side.
“Easy,” Wriothesley soothes, littering kisses along Neuvillette’s clavicle. “Easy, sweetness. I’m right here.”
Neuvillette grunts and turns his body toward his mate, needing his touch. Wriothesley obliges him, stroking his palm along Neuvillette’s flank while muttering more quiet praise. It takes longer for him to recover—a hefty handful of minutes rather than a few short ones—and Wriothesley is ever patient beside him, unbothered by his own erection where it still curves up between them. It’s hardly flagged and won’t until it’s settled inside Neuvillette, a delicious reminder they aren’t yet through with each other.
Once he’s caught his breath, Neuvillette tilts his chin up, kissing first Wriothesley’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Wriothesley adjusts to meet him, their mouths slotting together with familiar ease.
“You spoil me,” Neuvillette murmurs once they part, barely a hairs-breadth between them.
“Not enough, I don’t think,” Wriothesley whispers back, squeezing his hip affectionately.
“How would you like me?”
There’s a moment of quiet as Wriothesley studies him up close, blue eyes thoughtful. “How’re you feeling?”
“It’s impolite to answer a question with a question,” Neuvillette points out lightly.
“Sure, but I’m not the one who’s part dragon.” He leans back slightly to sweep his gaze across Neuvillette’s entire figure again—more calculating, but no less appreciative. “You said you were restless.”
Neuvillette nods, hooking his leg over Wriothesley’s hip to keep him from drifting too far. “I am better than I was, I promise. Being with you helps.”
“Those instincts of yours aren’t going too wild?” Wriothesley asks, stroking his fingers over Neuvillette’s thigh.
“No more than they should be.”
“Should I be flattered?”
“Very much so.”
Wriothesley grins and Neuvillette smiles back at him, fondness gripping his heart in a vice. It oozes between his ribs like honey and pools sweet and thick in his abdomen, mixing with the low simmer of his lingering arousal. While his instincts are certainly present, they’re satiated by the heady taste of Wriothesley’s scent intermingled with his own: sea salt and iron, black tea and petrichor. He inhales deeply, parting his lips to allow it to seep across his tongue like fresh spring water, and the resulting purr rattles his entire chest.
“I love it when you do that,” Wriothesley admits.
Neuvillette chuckles. “I believe most people would find it quite odd.”
“Well, I’m not most people.”
He kisses Wriothesley again, lifting a hand to cup one side of his face. His thumb brushes across Wriothesley’s cheekbone, following the line of an old scar while another purr fills his throat. They kiss once, twice, three times; chaste and sweet, moving their mouths slowly as if to memorize the shape of each other.
Neuvillette gently drags his teeth along Wriothesley’s bottom lip with the fourth, peering at him through half-lidded eyes as he finally says, “No, you’re not.”
Wriothesley exhales harshly against him and—as if finally remembering his own arousal—pushes in to kiss him fiercely. Neuvillette meets him gladly, welcoming the roughness, and reaches down to palm the man’s cock. When Wriothesley groans loudly, Neuvillette resists the urge to tease.
Instead, between wet, open-mouthed kisses, he asks a second time, “How do you want me, dearest?”
Neuvillette gasps when Wriothesley shifts to his neck, biting the pulse of his jugular. His dull teeth work into the skin until it’s dark with blood, and Neuvillette’s no doubt a bruise will be there come morning.
Between bites, Wriothesley answers, “Get up to the headboard.”
He nips one last time, the sharp sting making Neuvillette jolt, before drawing back. Neuvillette mourns the loss of him, but doesn’t hesitate to listen. He pushes himself up and crawls over the sheets to the head of the bed, hyperaware of Wriothesley’s eyes on him. The headboard is a slab of dark cherrywood, carved with ornate patterns and molded with open, decorative holes meant to showcase the sigil of Rex Lapis. In this case, they’re terribly convenient as Neuvillette purposefully slots his fingers through them to brace himself. He arches his back and pushes out his hips, knees digging into the mattress while he looks over his shoulder back at Wriothesley.
“Like this, your Grace?” Neuvillette asks, mimicking himself from before.
Wriothesley’s features are strained as he hurriedly follows Neuvillette up the bed. “You have got to stop calling me that—”
Neuvillette moans when Wriothesley pushes his cock between his thighs, grinding harshly against his vent. The head slides up along the base of his own length and Neuvillette purposefully squeezes his legs together to create more friction. It’s plenty slick thanks to his own wetness, making for a delicious glide when Wriothesley draws his cock back out.
“It is your title,” Neuvillette reminds breathlessly. “Using it properly encourages others to do the same, your Grace.”
“Fuck,” Wriothesley groans, “Neuvillette—”
His hands force Neuvillette’s thighs back apart, manhandling him easily. Neuvillette could resist, in theory, but they’ve long since tried and tested that route. The resistance isn’t the arousing part; rather the ease with each Wriothesley uses his strength. He does it again when he grabs Neuvillette’s hips to readjust him, finding the perfect angle to expose his vent. Neuvillette whines when Wriothesley slots the tip of his cock against his hole, not yet filling him, but keeping him spread.
“Sweetheart, are you—?”
“I’m more than ready,” Neuvillette assures quickly, anticipating the question. “Please, Wriothesley.”
They both moan when Wriothesley pushes in properly, not wasting another second. Neuvillette bows his head as Wriothesley sinks in to the hilt without pause, halting only once they’re pressed flush together and his cock sits as deep as possible. It’s both overwhelming and relieving at the same time; decadent while still devastating. Wriothesley’s no small man and his cock is no different, filling Neuvillette perfectly.
Neuvillette curls his claws into the headboard, gouging out small holes he cares little about. He’s panting heavily and chirps when Wriothesley leans over him, bearing his weight down as he drapes himself across Neuvillette’s back.
He fondly tucks Neuvillette’s hair over one shoulder and presses a kiss to the exposed part of his neck. “Okay?”
“Mm—” Neuvillette churrs, squeezing his vent around Wriothesley to hear him moan. “Very.”
“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” Wriothesley grunts, cock twitching within Neuvillette.
“Dragons aren’t known for their modesty.”
Neuvillette’s breath hitches when Wriothesley tugs at his hips, grinding impossibly deeper. It bumps the head of his length against Neuvillette’s cervix and fresh slick dribbles out between his thighs.
“You aren’t most dragons,” Wriothesley reminds coyly, breathing the words into Neuvillette’s ear.
He doesn’t get the chance to reply, thoroughly distracted by how Wriothesley begins rocking his hips. The man takes long, driving thrusts meant to knock deep, leaving little to the imagination in regards to his size. His hips smack loudly against Neuvillette’s ass with each one and Neuvillette knows his skin will be rosy by the end, if not lightly bruised. It sends a thrill up his spine, causing him to push back to meet Wriothesley, ensuring both the deepest penetration and the hardest connection of skin-on-skin. The more marks, the better—or so his instincts promise him. His knees slip on the sheets when Wriothesley seems to understand, thrusting particularly hard on the next stroke.
Neuvillette hisses between his teeth, but still widens his stance, deepening the slope of his spine. “Wriothesley, hah—”
“Just like that, sweetness,” Wriothesley murmurs encouragingly.
A hand slides around his hip and Neuvillette nearly whimpers when Wriothesley grabs his cock, broad palm warm and calloused. He strokes Neuvillette in time with his thrusts, swiping up pre with his thumb, and Neuvillette does whimper when he squeezes near the base.
“Are you going to come again for me, Sovereign?” Wriothesley asks roughly. “Will you come twice on my cock?”
It’s tempting and also extremely possible. Wriothesley loves dragging multiple orgasms out of him and holds a unique talent for doing so, able to string out Neuvillette’s pleasure until he’s near boneless. Neuvillette trills for him, the sound shifting into a purr when Wriothesley releases his cock to press a hand over his belly.
“So long as you get my cum in you, it doesn’t matter, huh?” Wriothesley muses aloud, teasing and clearly also aroused by the idea. “You just need to feel full.”
Oh, he’s playing to Neuvillette’s dragon far too well. His hind brain practically salivates at the words, his scales flaring up excitedly while his vent leaks fresh slick. Wriothesley hums knowingly into his ear.
“I hear you,” he soothes, “anything for you, sweetheart.”
He picks up the pace, his thrusts driving a little harder, hips moving a bit faster. Neuvillette chokes on a clicking warble, the sound catching in his throat as Wriothesley’s cock bullies into him. With Wriothesley’s hand on his stomach, he allows himself the fantasy of imagining the space where Wriothesley must feel his own cock through Neuvillette, that he’s able to count each time the tip knocks into his own palm. Neuvillette keens at the thought, too far gone to care if it’s even possible.
His orgasm crests beneath his ribs, climbing the ladder of bone while coiling tighter and tighter. Wriothesley’s moans echo in his ear, the man’s teeth digging into the curved point of his cartilage, and Neuvillette encourages him with more trilling whines. His thighs are starting to shake from holding himself up and slick rolls down to his knees in tacky trails, making each thrust sound obscene. Wriothesley doesn’t let up and Neuvillette doesn’t stop urging him on.
“Wriothesley,” he gasps, clinging to the headboard. “Wriothesley, yes—”
The vertebrae of his spine lock in an instant, frozen as if by pure Cryo. Neuvillette’s lips split around a wordless cry as his orgasm tears through him, rippling through his chest to knock the air out of his lungs and push his heart into his throat. His vent seizes around Wriothesley inside him, refusing to let go, while cum shoots across his stomach. Neuvillette wheezes around another moan with aftershocks still shooting along his nerves as Wriothesley chases his own end.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” he groans, “so perfect, Neuvillette, shit.”
He drives his cock deep one final time, carving a place for himself, and Neuvillette welcomes his cum with a tired whimper. It shoots inside him in a hot stream, spilling into his vent one jet at a time until he’s swollen with his mate’s seed just as Wriothesley promised. He churrs, the sound raspy in his throat, but still loud and content.
Wriothesley presses lazy kisses across his skin, rolling his hips languidly for an extra handful of seconds before finally going still. Neuvillette exhales a breathy sigh as Wriothesley gently guides them both down onto their sides, mindful of any damp spots.
“Feel good?” Wriothesley asks.
Neuvillette finds Wriothesley’s arm to tug it over his waist, still churring. “Immeasurably.”
“Well, I’m happy to hear it,” he chuckles, smiling against Neuvillette’s neck.
“I don’t believe I will ever be able to leave Fontaine without you.”
“Consider me your permanent plus one, sweetheart.”