Work Text:
Wriothesley did not realize how tense he was until Neuvillette appeared at his back, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders. His thumbs slide across the length of them, hooking into a tight muscle and Wriothesley groans, eyes slipping closed as he leans into it.
“That feels nice,” he murmurs.
Neuvillette hums softly. “That relieves me. You smell—”
“Thanks.” Wriothesley doesn’t mean the bitter edge to his tone but he’s annoyed. Not at Neuvillette. Never at Neuvillette, but the annoyance stings his gut nonetheless. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
“I know that.” A pause as Neuvillette’s thumbs shift lower, digging into the meat between his shoulder blades. Fuck that feels good. “I was going to say that you smell sour.”
“Oh that’s better, isn’t it?”
“Are you alright?” asks Neuvillette instead of entertaining Wriothesley's needling.
Yes and no. It was a shit day at Meropide with too many intakes, too many criminals acting up, and to make matters worse Sigewinne cornered him about his annual physical, something that Wriothesley dreads with a passion.
“I have a killer headache,” he eventually says, hedging a more honest response. It’s true enough that Neuvillette shouldn’t smell a lie.
Neuvillette kisses the crown of his head sweetly. “There is an old adage,” he says, nuzzling the coarse strands of Wriothesley's hair, “about kissing it and making it better.”
Wriothesley smiles into his palm, feeling marginally better. Neuvillette is adorable when he tries to adopt humanesque mannerisms.
“Still,” continues Neuvillette, “I find myself concerned.”
“It’s nothing.” And it isn’t. Wriothesley is just fucking tired, majorly annoyed, and has already taken enough painkillers that he can’t risk more. Neuvillette is quiet, still pushing and pulling at his shoulders. Waiting. Wriothesley sighs, knowing that this time he won’t let it be. “Sigewinne,” he surmises.
“She may have sent a message, concerned.”
“Because I don’t want a physical?”
Wriothesley can still hear her, even now. “You’re old—old enough that you should take this seriously.” Old his ass. Wriothesley might be a little decrepit but he certainly isn’t as ancient as she makes him out to be.
“You know that Sigewinne predates me by like… centuries, right?” he asks.
Neuvillette huffs, mildly amused. “She is long-lived, like any Melusine. You, however—”
“It’s a physical.”
“That isn’t what she was worried about. She knows you’re stressed. You refuse to take a vacation and delegate tasks. You’ve brought work home with you. She thinks that you need some time off and I am inclined to agree.”
Oh. Wriothesley pulls at his face, suddenly sheepish. “Hearing that from you is like a pot calling the kettle black.” Because Neuvillette is prone to working nights on end, without sleep or food.
“I am built for such things. You are not.” Neuvillette’s fingers smooth over the back of Wriothesley’s neck, just barely dipping into his loose collar to trail across his skin.
Better. That’s so much better. Wriothesley leans back into it, tension already melting away. Just the touch of Neuvillette’s hand, that’s all it takes. Still.
“Next time tell Sigewinne to keep her grimy little antennae out of my business.”
“Rhinophores,” corrects Neuvillette.
“Whatever they are. She’s always bothering me. I’m just trying to work.”
Neuvillette dips close enough to kiss Wriothesley's temple. “I shall let you in on a secret, then. I thanked her and then told her that you were my concern.”
Wriothesley stills. “You did not.”
“Hm. I did.” His mouth drops to Wriothesley's ear, his breath warm against it. “Which is why I’m here, now, worrying over you. Wouldn’t a vacation be nice?” What a strange thing for Neuvillette to suggest. Wriothesley can barely pry him away from the office for an hour or two.
“Only if you take one with me. What would I do alone? Read? Drink tea? Might as well learn to knit and just retire at that point.”
He’d never, and Neuvillette wouldn’t let him either, but it’s a funny thought. Peace and quiet accompanied by the nicest of teas, a decent book, and balls of yarn. Wriothesley can’t remember the last time he had a lazy morning.
“I could make you feel better,” purrs Neuvillette into his ear.
It’s embarrassing how quick Wriothesley is to respond to that. Neuvillette laughs against his ear, the tip of his forked tongue sneaking out to trace the shell. Wriothesley's cock twitches in his trousers and he tries to palm at it subtly, shifting slightly in the chair.
“Wriothesley.” He’s caught, Wriothesley knows it. Neuvillette’s expression is fond when Wriothesley meets his face. “Beloved,” he says next, reaching over his shoulder to push the paperwork he’s been pouring over aside. “Call it a night. Let me take care of you.”
A loaded request. Despite Neuvillette’s sweet words, there is a hunger there, lurking. His brow is a little too relaxed and his voice too deep. He teases, nipping at Wriothesley's ear. Ulterior motives aside, however… it sounds nice, being at Neuvillette’s mercy. Wriothesley is too keyed up to continue on with work, especially now that he’s sporting a raging hard-on.
Neuvillette rounds the chair and tugs at his hands. “The kitchen table cannot be comfortable,” he says with a click of his tongue.
“It isn’t.” There’s a twinge in Wriothesley's back, and he grunts as Neuvillette pulls him to his feet.
Before they can move from that spot, Neuvillette kisses him, slowly, sweetly, cupping his cheek as he coaxes Wriothesley's mouth open with his tongue. It isn’t a heady rush that burns through Wriothesley, but rather a slow creeping warmth. Pleasure bubbles in his gut. His cock twitches, pressing against the front of his trousers. He shifts awkwardly.
Neuvillette chuckles against his mouth and pulls away. “Such a needy thing.”
“You said you’d take care of me. How can I not be?” Because Neuvillette can’t just promise him something like that and there not be a visceral response.
Neuvillette could tease him more. He could pull Wriothesley along for the ride, insisting that they make this a game as he gives into his rarer, playful side. But his expression softens as he drags a thumb over Wriothesley's bottom lip.
“You did good today,” he says. “You worked hard—you always work so hard. You deserve this break, you deserve this indulgence.”
Wriothesley leans into the praise like a lost duckling. Finally, Neuvillette pulls at him, his fingers cool around his hands. No gloves. Wriothesley just realized. He’s dressed down too, only in a loose tunic and trousers. “How long have you been home?”
“Long enough to have already bathed and settle in for the night. You didn’t hear me milling about?”
He didn’t. Wriothesley must’ve been completely immersed in his work. “I didn’t get much done. I just kind of stared at the reports and let my mind wander. I’m just… there is so much. It wasn’t Sigewinne, I promise.”
“Everyone has a bad day.”
Wriothesley smiles gently and turns his face to kiss Neuvillette’s palm. “Even old fishes?”
“I think I preferred when you called me Chief, but yes, even old fishes.” Neuvillette’s hand drops to Wriothesley's fingers. He tugs them to his mouth and kisses each knuckle, one by one. To most it might seem stuffy. Too slow, too antiquated, but to Wriothesley it is a show of care. “My mate,” continues Neuvillette, rubbing his cheek across each rise and dip, scenting him. “Let me show you all the ways that I love you.”
Wriothesley goes without complaint, falling into bed at Neuvillette’s request.
“I’ll admit,” he says, dragging a hand down Wriothesley's sternum, claws catching against that peek of his chest hair, “There is a modicum of selfishness involved with my request.”
“I could tell,” laughs Wriothesley, moving to sit up slightly and adjust Neuvillette in his lap.
But Neuvillette is strong, and his hand against Wriothesley's chest anchors him easily. “Keep still and let me finish.” Wriothesley sinks back into the sheets, and Neuvillette hums in appreciation. “Just like that. As I was saying—”
“Sweetheart.”
“While Miss Sigewinne’s concern is to be noted, I have missed this. You, in my bed, underneath me. Or I, underneath you. I crave you, Wriothesley, and I crave taking care of you.”
Neuvillette admits these things quietly as his hands trail down the length of him, pulling at his vest, his shirt, any article of clothing that is within reach. A little needy, a little impatient.
Wriothesley rises to the occasion, shifting slightly to shrug the offending articles off. “Baby, you can take care of me however you wish.”
Neuvillette’s expression narrows, then, lustful and heated. This time when his hand falls against Wriothesley's chest it meets skin. His claws raise gooseflesh in their wake and Wriothesley moans softly, hips bucking against him, seeking out friction to quell the ache in his cock.
His hand drops to Wriothesley's waist, pulling slightly at the waistband. Then, a palm to his cock, squeezing at it lightly. Wriothesley hisses, head tipping back against the pillow. Better— but not enough. Never enough. But his annoyances of the day are starting to dissipate, leaving behind nothing but desire for his mate, and the pleasure of his hand grinding against Wriothesley’s cock.
As soon as it’d come, the hand is gone, leaving his dick cold. Wriothesley whines, chasing the touch with the rise of his hips, but that palm falls back against a hipbone, pinning Wriothesley to the bed.
“Neuvillette, this isn’t my idea of taking care of me. Didn’t you say you could make me feel better?”
“A little patience, beloved.” Neuvillette climbs off of him, the bed sinking underneath his weight as he moves to stand.
He takes his time, pulling at the collar of his shirt, and tugging open the buttons one by one. Wriothesley watches with a sharp gaze, unabashedly as Neuvillette strips to nothing. Slow and methodically, teasing slips of pale flesh and glittering blue scales before dropping his garments to the floor.
Neuvillette is a vision as he settles back over Wriothesley, his ridged cock already sliding out of his vent, dripping at the tip. Wriothesley knows better than to touch, so he just looks, eyes trailing over the length of Neuvillette’s lithe body.
Patience is hard. Wriothesley knows that he should just lay back and enjoy it but it’s damn near impossible with Neuvillette hanging over him like this. Neuvillette’s hand slides down to palm at his own cock, coaxing it from his vent fully. A thumb teases the tapered head, the ridges underneath, down the length where it glows a soft blue. Ethereal. Neuvillette is otherwordly, and Wriothesley considers himself more than lucky to see him like this.
“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette lets loose a soft moan, rolling his hips against his hand, squeezing around his dick.
“I thought you were going to make me feel better,” muses Wriothesley. This is good. He could watch Neuvillette touch himself all day, if given the chance because it’s a rare sight. “Remember that first night that I saw you like this? Alone in your office, hot and bothered?”
Neuvillette doesn’t tell him to be patient again, he just pulls Wriothesley's hand to his cock, guiding him to stroke it. Precome drips from the tip, thin and wet, easing the friction of his palm. “You like this,” says Neuvillette, bucking into his grapes, groaning at the friction of his rutting against Wriothesley's fingers. “But no, this is not what I had in mind.”
Wriothesley raises an eyebrow. Neuvillette hums softly, shifting forward to box Wriothesely against the sheets. “Sweetheart, I’m still in my trousers.”
“A pity,” replies Neuvillette with mock seriousness. “However will I take care of you?”
That tone, that quirk of Neuvillette’s mouth spell disaster. But he’s sweet enough to paw at Wriothesley's trousers until they’re open and undone, yanking them off and tossing them to the ground.
“There’s a start,” is Wriothesley's cheeky reply.
He is so prone like this, with Neuvillette hanging over him, but there isn’t another person in the world that he trusts. Neuvillette will take care of him. He’ll take him apart and put him back together, and Wriothesley will feel renewed, refreshed, remolded by those divine, sovereign hands.
“Patience,” Neuvillette tells him. “Let me do as I wish.”
“Which is?”
Neuvillette purrs softly, the rumble of his chest loud in the quiet room. His gaze is sharp, pupils half-slitted as he slides down the length of him. His hand is cool around Wriothesley's cock, and the scales at the edges of his wrist catch against the insides of Wriothesley's thighs.
“Let me taste you.” Neuvillette presses against his legs, face close to his length. His tongue lolls out, long and forked at the tongue, tinted blue. Wriothesley has dreams about this tongue, those fangs. Neuvillette claims to be rusty in his lovemaking but Wriothesley would’ve never known because he wields that tongue like a weapon, well-honed and practiced.
“I—that’s— oh—”
Case in point. Neuvillette licks from the base of Wriotheskey’s cock to the tip, that wicked tongue of his tracing the head. His tongue swirls around it, too long—and Neuvillette knows the novelty of it, judging by the way he smiles at the sound of Wriothesley's strangled moan.
“Fuck,” hisses Wriothesley, hand falling to his head, holding him there. Neuvillette’s mouth is hot, unlike his cool hands, when he seals his mouth around Wriothesley's length properly. Wriothesley wonders if his cock can melt right out. Hot and slick. Wet. Neuvillette moans around him as he takes his cock deeper, and gods, Wriothesley is going to die.
A soft, sweet hum pulls Wriothesley from his thoughts. Neuvillette bobs his head greedily, swallowing him deep into his throat. This is—Wriothesley groans, squirming in the sheets. “Sweetheart,” he gasps, tugging at Neuvillette’s hair. “Neuvillette, if you keep that up—”
Neuvillette pulls off abruptly. He knows, Neuvillete always knows, and the kiss he places against the slit is teasing. “Apologies,” he says.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Of course.” Neuvillette laughs, the skin around his eyes wrinkling attractively. He’s a devilish creature when he wants to be. Wriothesley should’ve known better.
Neuvillette, though, sees his pinched expression, reads his body language. He dips low, nuzzling the crease of Wriothesley's groin, scenting him. He kisses him again, lips and fangs dragging across Wriothesley's heated skin. Softer, gentler.
He moves, settling back overtop Wriothesley, their hips aligned. The drag of the cocks against each other makes Wriothesley groan. The friction of it, the roll of Neuvillette’s hips, the way that he wraps those long, handsome fingers around the both of them for a quick stroke.
“I should admit to something rather untoward,” he murmurs. “In the bath I touched myself.”
Oh. Oh. Wriothesley's mouth goes dry thinking about it, Neuvillette pulling at his cock, pressing his fingers deep inside himself.
“Did you open yourself up for me?”
Neuvillette answers with a sultry grin, just one end of his mouth tilted. Yes. Yes he did. Wriothesley sighs at having missed out on the sight of it. Nothing like watching him pull at his rim with those deft fingers. It comes second only to Wriothesley stretching Neuvillette open himself.
Their cocks are wet—too wet in Neuvillette’s grasp. When had he used Hydro? Wriothesley is tired. His brain is mush. He’s distracted, so, so distracted by his mate above him, and the way he drags his hand over their cocks.
“Please,” mutters Wriothesley. “Neuvillette, you’re killing me here.”
A soft chuckle bubbles from Neuvillette’s throat. His pale glows in the dimly lit room, the same way that the tip of Neuvillette’s length does. Just barely. A hint of blue, the soft, vent that his cock is nestled in. All reminders that Wriothesley beds a dragon, not a man.
“Sweet boy.” Neuvillette shifts, leaning forward, bracing his weight on his free hand. It takes nothing to aim the tip of Wriothesley's cock where he wants it. It’s an easy glide as he sinks down, Wriothesley's length carving its way through his ass.
Neuvillette moans, low and deep, grinding against him, taking Wriothesley to the root. Wriothesley stares, he can’t help it. He looks unabashedly, his gaze caught on the hardness of Neuvillette’s cock, curved towards his belly; at where it sits in his vent, and the slit underneath; the smooth skin below it, and his rim, spread wide and loose around Wriothesley's cock.
“Look at you,” he says, awed. “Fuck, you take me so well. Just like that.”
He guides him, hands curled around Neuvillette’s waist, helping him rise and fall. Neuvillette moves, languidly, sensually. “Big,” he groans, dragging a hand down his front, tracing the dips and curves of his chest until his hand stops against his belly and presses flat as if he can feel Wriothesley there.
“Yes.” Wriothesley doesn’t mean to sound so gone. Just like that, his aches and pains of the day are sloughed away, lost as he focuses on the heat of Neuvillette’s body instead. The way he moves over him. How he rides his cock, shuddering, breathing heavily, letting loose soft noises of pleasure.
“Is it good?” he asks. His expression is searing and heady, rapturous as he looks at Wriothesley as if nothing else exists. “I said I’d make you feel better but I want to hear you say it. I need—”
“Perfect. Gods, you’re perfect. Just what I needed.” Neuvillette churrs at the praise. He moves faster, rising and falling against Wriothesley, tilting his hips, crying out as the angle becomes perfect. Wriothesley has a sudden need. More, he needs more, he needs everything that Neuvilette can give him. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “touch yourself. Let me see you come.”
Neuvillette wastes no time wrapping a hand around his own length, his breath hitching as he strokes it from base to tip. Wriothesley bucks against him, driving his cock deeper, aiming for the bundle of nerves that makes Neuvillette’s legs shake and lose his balance.
Precome glistens at the tip of Neuvillette’s cock. It twitches in his palm, and he pulls over it roughly, harshly. “Wriothesley,” he hisses. “Beloved.”
A few more jerks of his cock and Neuvillette is coming, squeezing tight around Wriothesley's dick. Neuvillette curses softly, fucking himself through it, milking Wriothesley for all he’s worth. Wriothesley just watches, eyes washing over him, taking in the flush of his face, the way that he shakes against him. He thinks, for the millionth time that he doesn’t deserve, that he’s been blessed by the Archons, or the previous Sovereigns, or Celestia herself.
Neuvillette breathes heavily, still rolling his hips, slower, sweeter, dragging out his orgasm until his fingers are fisted in the sheets beside Wriothesley's head.
It’s Wriothesley's turn. He rolls them over until Neuvillette’s resting in the sheets. Wriothesley cups his face and kisses him, nipping at his mouth, his lips, desperate for more. “Beautiful,” he tells him. “Always so beautiful. You feel good—so good—and I’m close sweetheart.”
“Fuck me.” Neuvillette’s voice is raspy with want, and if Wriothesley were less keyed up, less lost in his pleasure, he’d pull out and take his time, bringing Neuvillette back to the edge, over and over again. His cock is still half-hard, cupped against his palm, slick at the tip. Dragon refractory periods. Wriothesley's always been jealous, and Neuvillette knowing it, takes advantage of it. “Again,” he begs. “Take your pleasure and give me another.”
“There is a modicum of selfishness involved with my request,” Neuvillette had said earlier. And he’s done so well; he’d massaged the knots from Wriothesley's back, whispered sweet words into his year, and melted all that stress away with the touch of his lips.
Wriothesley fucks him with long, deep punches of his cock. Thighs bent back, ankles resting against Wriothesley’s shoulders. He pulls Neuvillette into each thrust, and Neuvillette arches in the sheets, back curled, eyes screwed shut tight as he goes taut. He pulls at his cock, hard again, dark blue at the tip.
“Archons—” Neuvillette hisses in annoyance and Wriothesley grimaces. “Sorry, sorry—”
His gut is too hot, too tight. He can’t think straight as he barrels towards his orgasm. And Neuvillette— fuck, he’s perfect. He keens, crying out Wriothesley's name. “Another,” he begs. “Beloved, another, again.”
Wriothesley cock twitches. That heat in his gut sears, blazing hot from the tips of his fingers to his toes. He leans forward, resting their foreheads together, craving the closeness, the feel of Neuvillette against him. Wriothesley comes like that, nuzzling Neuvillette’s skin, painting his insides with white-hot come.
“Baby,” he whispers, tilting his face until his mouth is near Neuvillette’s ear. “You’re close, I know you are.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Are you going to come again?”
Neuvillette groans as he does, gasping Wriothesley's name. His spend is watery and thin this time, but the clench of his ass around Wriothesley's flagging cock has him seeing stars.
This was supposed to be slow and sweet. It was supposed to be Neuvillette taking care of him, and he did— Gods, he did. Wriothesley chuckles against Neuvillette’s sweaty nape, kissing it, his skin tasting like seawater instead of its usual fresh crispness.
Neuvillette grabs his chin and tilts Wriothesley's mouth towards him. This kiss is soft and fleeting, a gentle mashing of their lips together as Neuvillette nearly misses the target. Healing, in the way that sex isn’t. They laugh against each other, lounging in that afterglow, sweatslick and aching, Neuvilllette bunting his face against Wriothesley's as if he’s an overgrown cat.
When they finally separate, and Wriothesley sinks into the sheets, he’s reminded just how bone-weary he is. “I’m beat,” he groans, stretching out his back until his spine pops.
Neuvillette lays beside him, propped up on an elbow. He drags a hand down Wriothesley's side, squeezing at the meat of his waist. “You’ve made a mess of me. I was clean, you know.”
“You started it. You wanted to treat me.”
“Ah. The price of taking care of my mate, then.” Neuvillette leans forward, his face overcome with fondness. His hair drapes over his shoulder as he hovers. “Worth it, I would think.”
“You think?”
Neuvillette’s laughter is rare enough that it’s a healing balm in of itself. Wriothesley catches his hand and tugs it to his mouth for a kiss. “I’m too tired to clean up.”
“You are allowed occasional laziness.”
“You hate changing the sheets in the morning.”
Neuvillette hums softly. “Many things annoy me but I am willing to—as some like to say—take the occasional loss. Do you feel better?”
How sweet he is.
“Yeah, I do, sweetheart. But I’m never going to forget that you essentially told Sigewinne that you’d fuck the life back into me—”
“I said no such thing— Wriothesley!” Neuvillette looses an absurd sound as Wriothesley yanks him close. But then he laughs, full-hearted and loud, and Wriothesley just feels all his worries just slip away, drowned, lost entirely in the feel of his mate.