Neuvillette helps Wriothesley with his rut.

CW: Contains Smut

--

Wriothesley had left very specific and clear instructions about his need for no visitors.

Sigewinne pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow before asking a rude and invasive question which was promptl answered with a door to the face. "Wriothesley," she'd said, too loudly to cut through the thick door, "If you need me to call—"

That was the last thing he needed. Or the first. Wriothesley was drowning in the burning heat of his pre-rut but there is still work to be done, budgets to balance, new intakes to process—really, the list just goes on and on. Never a dull moment. Never a day off, and so he pushes through despite the sweat that drips down his neck.

He isn't there yet. His rut. It still simmers at the edges of his being. It'll be a while before he's wholly indisposed, then he'll hole up and—

And what? Wriothesley swallows, pawing at his face. Sigewinne had, blessedly, not called upon Neuvillette for help but did manage to give him a suspicious bundle of his used clothing. It should not be a surprise. Wriothesley already had his foot in the door by offering up a shirt during Neuvillette's last rut, so it should be expected that Neuvillette would eventually return the favor.

So, the knock-. Wriothesley yanks the door open expecting to chew out Sigewinne for bothering him only to find a wide-eyed and pink-cheeked Neuvillette on the other side instead.

"I—" His hand is still held out, mid-knock.

"Sigewinne," assumes Wriothesley.

"Sedene, actually. Sigewinne went to her with a request for—well, you likely know by now. I figured that you would need... a change of..." Neuvillette's gaze drops to the bundle that he holds in his hands.

Wriothesley looks too and then swallows slowly. "Are those your official robes?"

Neuvillette clears his throat politely. "They are potent. I thought—" He breaks off, strangely embarrassed about this. "You took care of me during my last cycle, as indirect as it was. I did not want to waste the opportunity to return the favor. If you are keen for me to do so, that is."

Oh. That's—sweet. Wriothesley snorts softly because they've talked about this, the idea of spending their ruts together. The answer had been yes, of course. Why would they not? But like Neuvillette, this rut had snuck up on Wriothesley so suddenly that it left little room to prepare.

And now that it's nearly there the idea of it is daunting. Not that he doesn't want—no, no, Wriothesley wants. And Neuvillette does too because he stands there not as an alpha repulsed, but an alpha deeply aroused. There is no stench of distaste or even the sharp tang of wanting to dominate; Neuvillette is quiet, baring himself gently with a scent meant to entice.

"Neuvillette, I can't jack off into your robes." It'd be almost sacrilegious, as arousing as the idea is.

There is a small crack in Neuvillette's demeanor. His mouth twitches, curling at one end, amused. "It is not my only set, you know. If you wanted—"

"Do you want to come in?"

They both pause. Neuvillette's pupils widen and he clears his throat. "I—do you want me too? We've discussed this but if I..."

If he comes inside, he will not be leaving. They both know that. Another line in their courtship will be crossed.

Wriothesley rubs at the back of his neck. "There is no obligation for you to do so. I'm still working. I'm not quite there yet. I'm still in the lead-up to it. But..." He drags a hand down his face. "I can't focus, so your presence may help, at least. A little."

Until it makes it worse.

Neuvillette's expression softens. "Obligation," he repeats. "Wriothesley, it is not a matter of such a thing. Do you want me here?"

"Yes." The answer is immediate, punched from Wriothesley's throat with a soft whine before he can stop it.

"Alright, then. If you would?" Neuvillette gestures to his office.

Right. Wriothesley's thoughts are so scattered he nearly forgets that Neuvillette still stands there in the hallway. "Ah, sorry, I just—Yeah, come in."

Neuvillette steps in easily and Wriothesley tugs the door shut behind him. "I told Sigewinne no visitors, but I guess she—" Wriothesley stops dead as Neuvillette's cool hand cups his cheek. And then the other, as he drops his robes onto the side table by the door to cradle Wriothesley's face between his palms.

"Beloved," he says, leaning into his space, pressing his face against Wriothesley's nape. "You shouldn't be working. You should be resting."

"Pot meet kettle. Who are you to say anything? You spent your actual rut in your office."

"Yes, well, what is the mortal phrase? Do as I say, not as I do?"

Wriothesley sighs, relaxing against him. "I'm nearly done, I promise." He inhales, drowning in Neuvillette's scent. The salty tang of ocean water. Crisp, clean, parchment. Already Wriothesley's mind clears—if only a little—because his partner is here.

I want you to stay, he thinks, but doesn't ask; he just basks in Neuvillette's scent as he calms himself down. Neuvillette is good to him, patient as he combs through Wriothesley's hair. And when Wriothesley finally pulls away, Neuvillette presses a kiss to his mouth, short and sweet.

"Go finish. I'll—" Neuvillette looks to the hallway that leads to Wriothesley's personal chambers. "I'll put my robes away and make you some tea."

"Neuvillette, you don't have to—"

"I know." It isn't commanding, or even stern. Neuvillette says this so genuinely that Wriothesley shrinks back. He's so unused to a person wanting to take care of him that he still sees most things as transactional.

Wriothesley nods and goes back to his desk, the heat of his pre-rut temporarily quelled due to the impromptu scenting. Neuvillette disappears for long enough to be mildly suspicious, but Wriothesley trusts him.

A little bit later, Neuvillette brews him that promised tea using Hydro that he's conjured from the air. Even if it's crisper than usual, even if it compliments the tea leaves, and he forgets the dash of cream and sugar, Wriothesley finds that the taste doesn't matter so much as the intent behind it. Neuvillette sits close, tucking into a worn chair with a book. And Wriothesley settles back into his work, a hand resting against Neuvillette's knee.

#

The thing about pre-rut is that it gets worse. Obviously. It's the entire point, biologically speaking, the slow ease into the rampant heat and desperation that comes with the need to breed another.

Neuvillette is both a blessing and a curse. For a while, Wriothesley's head is clear enough to approve and deny several budget proposals, as well as work through a list of materials to order for Sigewinne. But then Neuvillette's scent becomes oppressive and thick in the air, and Wriothesley finds himself horrifically distracted.

He moves about the office, adjusting this and that, picking up soiled clothing that Wriothesley was too tired to toss into the hamper. Cleaning. Alphas don't clean—not like this, at least—and they don't go about indulging in nesting tendencies. And yes, yes, Wriothesley has jerked one out with his face shoved into Neuvillette's clothing before, but he maintains that it's a scent kink, that it's comforting, not this deep-seated desire to roll over and beg, and if there is a scarf shoved under his pillow, or shirt against the wall, then sue him, but—

"Wriothesley, would you hand me your cup?"

Wriothesley blinks. He didn't realize he was so lost in his thoughts, enough so that his pen has dripped ink all over the current report before him. "I—yes, sorry." Their fingers brush as Neuvillette takes the cup gingerly, whisking it away to the wet bar at the far end of his office.

More cleaning. Neuvillette rinses the cup and puts it away, then lifts the water from the counter, dropping it into the sink. Wriothesley's breath is caught as he watches and wonders what it would be like to share such domesticity every day.

Heat curls. His cock flares to life, twitching in his trousers, and suddenly the ache of his want is sharper, tangible, unable to go away.

And there's a part of him on a hair-trigger. There's an alpha in his space and he's too vulnerable for that. Wriothesley shudders in his chair and grinds his palm against his erection, torn. Another alpha, yes—and oh, part of him hates that. But the other part is delighted because it's Neuvillette, and Neuvillette will submit to him, he'll take care of him, he's already taking care of him—

"Wriothesley."

Wriothesley jerks at the sound of his voice. He snaps, just a short, sharp, growl, and Neuvillette rears back warily, giving him his space. "Shit," hisses Wriothesley. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—I was just thinking, and I didn't realize—"

Neuvillette's expression is so, so, soft. "It's alright," he says quietly.

"It's not. Shit, Neuvillette, you should go. You should—"

Neuvillette steps closer and Wriothesley stiffens. He's slow about it. Cautious, hands held up to placate. But the moment he's close enough to reach out to, Wriothesley falls, pulling him close, pressing his face into the cradle of Neuvillette's hips. He inhales that sharp scent of his, groaning at the fire that rages through his veins.

"Breathe," says Neuvillette, reaching out to comb his fingers through Wriothesley's hair. "I know what it's like, so just breathe."

Right, right. Wriothesely usually spends his ruts alone, leaving himself dull and unsatisfied at the end. And the rare times he's had a partner, it's always been a means to an end, a faceless omega picked mostly at random. Even if his alpha was left rumbling with pleasure, Wriothesley himself felt sick and used.

But Neuvillette knows, he understands, and Wriothesley has never forgotten that searing hot kiss they shared when he tried to help the last time. Even Neuvillette can be riled up, even Neuvillette can lose his calm composure and struggle with his baser instincts.

Wriothesley moans as Neuvillette drags his claws over his scalp lovingly. He is hard too, his cock straining against his trousers, influenced by his need and the pheromones of Wriothesley's rut. Another alpha would have left. Or fought him. Or—

I am unlike other alphas.

Fuck, Wriothesley wants him; he wants Neuvillette in his bed, underneath him, and on his knot. He tilts his face to nuzzle at the hard line of Neuvillette's cock, imagining the way it'd swell at the base when stuffed full and bred. How there'd be a little fight in it, but then how Neuvillette would give in, keening and begging for more.

"I don't want you to leave," he says, holding Neuvillette by the thighs.

"Of course, not." Neuvillette doesn't have to laugh at him, but he does, his words tinged with humor, as if the idea of it is absurd.

"Neuvillette, please stay."

"Oh, sweet thing," he says—and to others, it may sound condescending, but Wriothesley sinks into it, his chest rumbling at the endearment.

Neuvillette pulls away, causing Wriothesley to whine. But then he quiets as Neuvillette falls to his knees, pressing Wriothesley's thighs apart to settle between them.

"I'm—it's not—You don't have to—"

"I can smell it," says Neuvillette. "Almost there, but not quite. I still have you here for the moment."

"We need to talk about this. Set some ground rules. I know we've discussed it, but—that is not what I meant." Wriothesley groans as Neuvillette's fingers brush across his length before moving to undo his trousers. "Neuvillette, please, listen to me."

"I'm listening," he replies, pulling out Wriothesley's cock. He gives it a stroke and then meets Wriothesley's face, his expression placid as if he isn't driving him mad. "Tell me your concerns."

"It's been a long time since I've shared a rut with a partner and it's never been—" He chokes up on the word alpha, head tipping back as Neuvillette thumbs over the tip of his cock. "But you—fuck, that's—" Neuvillette's hand on his length feels too good. "Okay, okay," he murmurs, sucking in a deep breath, looking away from Neuvillette's devilish smirk. "I want this. You. I want to share this with you."

"That has been established." Neuvillette squeezes the head of Wriothesley's cock, an obvious show of his dwindling control.

"I might be mean. I'll mark you up for others to see. I'll say terrible things. I'll—I'll—"

"Then be mean, Wriothesley. Indulge in your dirty talk and take me with all the roughness you so wish. I'm here because I wish to be."

That's what does him in. Wriothesley moans, rutting into Neuvillette's palm, fucking into the tight grip of his hand. "I want to breed you, Neuvillette. I've never wanted that, but fuck, I want it with you. Pump you full of my come and watch it leak out. Then again, and again until it takes. You always say you'll take my knot, but will you? I want that, I want—Fuck, I want."

He sounds so pathetic and half-expects Neuvillette to find fault with it. When Wriothesley looks, Neuvillette watches him back with a searing-hot, half-lidded gaze. Another stroke down the length of his cock before Neuvillette leans close.

"Your knot," he murmurs, kissing the tip, the length, and then the base of Wriothesley's dick. There he lingers, nuzzling it, sucking at it, the tips of his fangs just barely dragging at the skin. "I've dreamt about it. I've fantasized about taking it more often than I would care to admit."

Oh. Oh, that's— Wriothesley's alpha likes that a little too much. His logical brain is pleased but his alpha sees it as a challenge to be had, as a way for his partner to submit to him, to heel, to—

"You like that, hm?" Neuvillette licks from the base of his cock to the tip. "Do you want my mouth on you? Take the edge off?"

"Sweetheart."

"Afterwards you can breed me—"

"Please. Please." Wriothesely will be embarrassed by his neediness later but for now, all he thinks about is that wicked grin on Neuvillette's face, and how perfect and wet his mouth will feel.

Neuvillette takes his cock between his lips and sinks down easily, a slick glide right to the root. Wriothesley moans, melting into his chair, eyes tipping closed as relief floods through him. He needs this. Fuck, he needs this, because his arousal is blinding hot and his thoughts are hazy and strung thin. Neuvillette hums around him, pleased at his taste, and the heft on his tongue. He sucks around him, bobbing his head, and when Wriothesley gives a tentative thrust, Neuvillette's fingers just sink into his thighs, signaling for more.

Wriothesley is so wound up. He presses a hand against the back of Neuvillette's head and presses, forcing him down until he's choking around his cock. "Fuck, that feels good. Sweetheart—baby—"

He's embarrassingly close to the edge. Wriothesley blames the rut and not Neuvillette's killer oral skills even if he's sucked him to completion in a matter of minutes plenty of times before. Neuvillette allows himself to be guided along Wriothesley's length in a stilted, needy pace. Drool pools in the corners of his mouth, leaking. Neuvillette himself is disheveled, pink-faced, and palming at his own dick.

"I've been dying for you to take my knot," says Wriothesley, then, fingers curling into his hair, pulling it into a tail for a better look at Neuvillette's face. "You talk about it so much. You tease me about it endlessly, but you never—Hah, your mouth feels good."

Neuvillette sucks around him, hollowing his cheeks as if he's meant for it. But not like an omega—no. There is nothing meek or timid about this man. He swallows Wriothesley's cock because he's dying for it too, and his claws sink into his thighs with enough force that he may rip the fabric. There's a sharp, jerking nature to his movements. Neuvillette moans, deep and dark, the sort of moan that can send Wriothesley into a fit, and all he thinks about is how much he needs him in his bed.

Mate. It's so easy to imagine. Neuvillette will take his knot so well. He wants it, and not because his body demands it, but because he demands it. Wriothesley couldn't ask for more.

"Neuvillette," he says, "I'm close. I'm going to come." He isn't deep enough into his rut to knot fully yet, but there's a thickness there, a slight swell that Neuvillette has his fingers squeezed tight around. Wriothesley curses, rolling his hips against Neuvillette's mouth, the wet and slick sounds of his gagging music to Wriothesley's ears.

He curses when Neuvillette pulls off him, leaving his cock twitching in the cold air. His hips buck, chasing the heat of Neuvillette's mouth. Neuvillette's eyes flick up to meet Wriothesley's. His tongue lolls out, long and forked at that tip, and he laps at the precome that spills from the slit of Wriothesley's cock.

Cruel. How cruel of him. This is why he shouldn't have picked an alpha for his rut. Oh, how Wriothesley's alpha hates this. For the first time since Neuvillette stepped through that door, Wriothesley's teeth are bared. He growls, tugging at Neuvillette's head—but Neuvillette is made of sterner stuff, and sits between his thighs solid and unmoving.

"Beloved," he says, squeezing the base of Wriothesley's cock tightly, "listen to me."

"I was close. You—"

"Did not give me a chance to explain. How are you feeling?"

"Frustrated," hisses Wriothesley. His alpha aches to take control but he does his best to hear him out, to listen. Neuvillette is here to help. He cares. He wants his knot, he wants—

Wriothesley wants to fuck him into the desk and breed him. The heat in his gut flares, arousal flashing through him. His rut hits him full force, and Neuvillette's eyes turn glassy at the sharp smell that cuts through the air.

"Come on my face," says Neuvillette then. "That is what I was going to tell you. Think of how I'll smell covered in your come. Think of how I'll be steeped in your scent, how I'll look as I lick away the mess. I know it hurts, and I know that you want this. But you're struggling—"

"I'm not." But Wriothesley is. He is, he is, he is.

"It will be easier. I will smell like you, and then you can take me to your bed and have your way with me with a clearer head. You'll see how well I take your knot without struggling with the need to fight me."

Oh, that's—Wriothesley's nostrils flare as lust sears through his gut. Yes, he wants that, wants Neuvillette. He's his mate, mate, mate—not an alpha to fight. He'll submit; Neuvillette always submits but it's because he wants to, because he willingly rolls over and spreads his legs, not because it is expected of him.

The other partners of his past ruts were flighty things who threw themselves face-down because their omegas demanded it. Neuvillette is an equal. He chooses to humble himself, and it's a level of trust that spears Wriothesley right through the heart.

"Wriothesley," says Neuvillette, the grip on his cock loosening. He strokes it and then licks it, suckling at the head and moaning at the taste of him. "Wriothesley, please."

It takes nothing for Wriothesley to spill then, his cock twitching as he comes all over Neuvillette's face. Neuvillette stills, watching him through those long, blue-tipped lashes. He lets go of Wriothesley's cock and drags his knuckles across his cheek, smearing Wriothesley's semen across his skin. Then his tongue sneaks out, lapping at his lips, his fingers, the palm of his hand, cleaning up the mess he's been painted with.

Wriothesley cannot stop staring. His throat is dry, and he moans softly, watching Neuvillette's forked tongue drag across his fingers sensually. Wriothesley's alpha churrs, satisfied by the display, Neuvillette still kneeling between his thighs, dousing himself in Wriothesley's scent so readily.

And Neuvillette was right—the sight of it helps. The smell of it too, their scents lingering, melting together until Neuvillette is steeped in a mixture of black tea and ocean spray. Wriothesley wants to steal him away and make love to him. To bask in the sheets together, Neuvillette pulled onto his cock, sighing at the fullness, at the promise of being bred.

It can't happen—it'll never take. Wriothesley knows that it's impossible, but the fantasy lingers in his hindbrain, and oh, how his alpha wants.

"Wriothesley," says Neuvillette, cutting through his thoughts. He leans up, capturing Wriothesley's face between his palms. "Beloved," he murmurs, his voice deep and sultry, pressing their foreheads together.

"Sweetheart," Wriothesley replies, clear-headed enough to nod and pull their mouths together. "Mate," he utters, lost in the moment, in his thoughts, in the feel of Neuvillette grinding against him. Wriothesley's cock is hard again. He needs more, he needs—

"Mate," repeats Neuvillette, and it's then that Wriothesley realizes he said it aloud. He's about to pull back and apologize, to blame it on the rut, his alpha, his stupid, stupid, hormones, but then Neuvillette speaks again. "Alpha. My alpha." He purrs. Neuvillette purrs as he rubs against him. "I want your knot."

The request that drips from Neuvillette's mouth is sweet and sordid. His fingers are cool as he takes Wriothesley's hands into his. He leans back, tugging with that strength that makes Wriothesley weak in the knees, and his cock twitch.

He's dreamt of this for far too long. It'd taken everything for him to not stay and help Neuvillette through his own rut, and now here is Wriothesley, neck deep in his cycle, about to—

Suddenly he is nervous. Neuvillette may want this but he has his own alpha to contend with. What if the moment they're in bed Neuvillette rolls him over to take him instead? And Wriothesley would—gods, he would, but—

"You're thinking too hard," says Neuvillette. His gaze carries no judgment. "Take me to your bed."

"Neuvillette—"

"Breed me, Wriothesley. Don't make me ask for it again."

Wriothesley doesn't. Neuvillette pulls at him again and he just goes.

#

Neuvillette heels so perfectly.

Wriothesley had worried—he still does. There is an inkling of it that lurks in the back of his mind, his wayward alpha ready to pounce the moment the tides turn. But Neuvillette is perfect, spread out before him, baring his neck easily. Wriothesley traces the line of it with his fingers, dragging them down the pale column of skin. He thumbs over his swollen scent gland, and Neuvillette moans, lax in the sheets.

Neuvillette smells like the both of them and Wriothesley's alpha is soothed as he leans close, dragging his nose over that gland, inhaling deeply.

His cock aches, the base of it already bulging. How long was it since he last knotted someone? "My last rut," he says then, his mouth falling next to Neuvillette's ear. "I spent it alone in these sheets. I popped knot after knot into my own hand to the thought of you."

Neuvillette moans as Wriothesley kisses his ear, his jaw, the space just underneath the jut of it. This is intimate in a way he's never experienced before and he wishes to relish it, to drink in every last moment, to savor it in the same way that Neuvillette waxes poetically about his favorite waters.

"It must hurt. Your cock. Wriothesley, you must be aching—"

"Aren't you the one who's always telling me to take my time?"

"I'm—" Neuvillette gasps as Wriothesley's fangs sink into the meat of his shoulder. "Yes. But you need me. You need me and I need you. I want—"

"Sweetheart." Wriothesley's chest rumbles with the word as he licks over the mark he's just bitten into Neuvillette's skin. "I've dreamt of taking you during my rut."

Neuvillette pushes at him, using his strength to roll them over in the bed. Wriothesley's alpha flares and he gnashes his teeth. He fights back because this is what he worried about—about Neuvillette tipping the scales in his favor. Neuvillette pins Wriothesley's wrists down, and even with the oily sensation that floods his veins, his cock still twitches at the show, woefully aroused.

"Then do so," says Neuvillette. And then his weight eases and he sighs. He leans over Wriothesley, cupping his chin, his hair sliding over his shoulder in a thick curtain. "Is this alright?" he asks.

Checking in because he saw the panic on Wriothesley's face. Yes and no—that's what Wriothesley thinks. His alpha bristles at being underneath him but Wriothesley—Wriothesley—relaxes into Neuvillette's care. He's sweet to him and patient. He cups his cheek and thumbs over the skin there over and over.

"Yes," says Wriothesley, willing his alpha to settle. It does because it wants this too.

Neuvillette is so handsome as he hangs over him. "Sweet boy," he says, kissing Wriothesley's mouth gently. "Let me take care of you."

"I wanted to savor it."

"I know." Neuvillette leans back and Wriothesley already misses his warmth. The rest of him is hot—too hot. Blazing. Wriothesley is on fire and Neuvillette is the cool water that can put it out. "And you can, later. For now I want you, and you want me. We have a need, the both of us, one better satisfied quickly to whittle that sharp edge down. Later, we can explore. We can laze about with your knot shoved deep inside of me. You can fuck me until I can't walk, until I'm drenched in your scent."

Fuck, the way says these sorts of things. It leaves Wriothesely wanting and aching. Wriothesley arches underneath him when Neuvillette rolls his hips, grinding their cocks together. His face is flushed, pink with want, and his cock drips from the slit.

Everything evens out after that. Wriothesley's alpha relaxes even with Neuvillette over him, drunk on the promise of breeding him full. They bite at each other, with stinging and sharp kisses. They move against each other at a clipped pace, wanton and heated. The heat of Wriothesley's rut burns through him, threatening to catch fire. He uses too much oil when his fingers sink into Neuvillette's tight ass.

Neuvillette's breath hitches, hips dropping to drive his fingers deeper. "Please," he says, meeting each press of his hand.

"Wait," says Wriothesley, "I've got to prep you better. We can't—"

They can. Neuvillette knows it, Wriothesley knows it. He isn't like other alphas, he isn't even mortal, and every time that Wriothesley has fucked him stupid, Neuvillette has craved it in a visceral way. He likes the bite of his fingers as they sink in too quickly, as they pull at his rim, working it open.

"Another," demands Neuvillette, bracing himself against Wriothesely's chest with his hands. He moans, deep and distracted as Wriothesley slips in a third. And then: "Another, Wriothesley."

It's for the best. Four fingers. It's a tight squeeze, but a handful of oil and patience leaves Neuvillette a trembling mess overtop him. "Fuck," hisses Wriothesley. "You're so tight. You're—"

He'll feel perfect around his knot. Not yet, not yet. Wriothesley steels himself as he sinks his fingers deeper. Neuvillette rides his hand, crying out his name, dropping his hips, willing himself to relax around Wriothesley's knuckles. "Wriothesley," he says. "Please. Please."

Neuvillette's claws dig into Wriothesley's pec as his fingers slip free. "Hang on, baby," he soothes, slicking his cock with enough oil that the sheets are ruined. Neuvillette does not hang on; the moment the tip of Wriothesley's cock is pressed to his loose hole, he sinks down.

Wriothesley sucks in a breath. His rut makes this different. Neuvillette feels so good, hot and tight, the perfect mate. Made to be bred, to take his knot. And Neuvillette heels, throwing his head back, making all sorts of sweet, sultry sounds as he rides Wriothesley's cock.

There's a neediness to it all. For both of them. Neuvillette holds him down and takes what he wants, squeezing tight around Wriothesley's cock. An omega could never satisfy him in the way he needs. Only Neuvillette. Mate, mate, mate.

"I know that look." Neuvillette doesn't even sound like himself, so lost in his pleasure. He watches Wriothesley, eyes half-lidded and serpentine. They glow in the dimness of the room. "My alpha," he says then, dragging his claws down the length of Wriothesley's chest and raising gooseflesh. "My mate."

Wriothesley's hands curl around Neuvillette's hips so tightly he fears he may hurt him. Bruises, he'll definitely leave bruises, and he'll have to massage a salve into them later.

But Neuvillette encourages it with a grin and moves faster. "Beloved," he teases, "I'm doing all the work."

His alpha sharpens and Wriothesley bucks his hips, pulling Neuvillette down onto his thick cock. He hurts. He aches. He needs his release. The swelling at the base of his dick is already too much, knocking against Neuvillette's rim with every grind against his hips.

Neuvillette stills, breathing heavily. "Are you close?"

"I'm—" Fuck, where did his voice go? Wriothesley's throat is parched. "Neuvillette," he whines.

"Pet," murmurs Neuvillette, his mouth curled at one end. "Sweet thing. I'm close too—see?" He tugs one of Wriothesley's hands to his cock. It twitches against his palm, and there's the tell-tale swelling of Neuvillette's knot too.

Oh. Oh, gods. Archons, Sovereigns—whatever. Wriothesley is definitely going to come at just the thought of Neuvillette popping a knot.

"Imagine it," says Neuvillette, voice soft and reverent. "Me, stuffed full of your cock, of your knot, and I'm like this." He squeezes Wriothesley's hand tightly around the base of his cock. Then Neuvillette grinds against him, hissing slightly when the swell of Wriothesley's knot catches against his rim. "Hah."

It takes work. They add more oil, and Neuvillette lets gravity take him as he works Wriothesely's knot inside.

Times stands still, and it's a dumb thought because that's the sort of thing that romance books shill. It's never been truer. Love is real, he thinks, and Wriothesley loses his breath, every thought, every inkling of anything other than Neuvillette above him. He's captivated. He can't stop staring and Neuvillette stares back, his expression pinched as he fully seats himself.

When they're finally locked together, Neuvillette moans—a type of moan that Wriothesley has never heard from him before. "Yes, yes—"

"Fuck. Neuvillette. Neuvillette." It's sinful. All the anxiety that wracked his alpha has faded away leaving behind the instinctual urge to breed. And Neuvillette is perfect, he's so, so perfect, tight around his knot at the base, but otherwise soft and yielding. Wriothesley ruts against him, grinding his knot deeper.

Neuvillette goes taut. "Full," he blurts. "Fuck," he curses, a soft utterance that sounds wholly out of character. "It's—it's—"

Wriothesley curls an arm around Neuvillette and pulls him close. "Alpha," he mutters against his ear, inhaling the rich spice of Neuvillette's arousal. His cock is so wet that it leaks in a stream against his belly, and his knot fills Wriothesley's palm as he squeezes at it. "My alpha. All mine, always mine."

"Yes, yes, Sovereigns you feel—" Neuvillette scrabbles against him, wriggling his hips. "I've never..."

"Felt something like this?" Wriothesley smiles against Neuvillette's temple as he nuzzles his damp, sweaty brow.

"I've never taken a knot. I've never—"

Wriothesley stills. What? Neuvillette is as old as time. He's spoken of past partners, of his tastes, and indulgences. "What do you mean—"

"Only yours, Wriothesley, and it's—" Neuvillette's breath is hot against Wriothesley's ear. "I wanted it. And next time, you'll take my knot. We'll—hah, breed me. My mate, my alpha, please." Neuvillette tilts his head to mouth at Wriothesley's swollen scent gland. He suckles it, fangs grazing across the spot, keening against Wriothesley's neck as he holds himself back from the claim that he wants to make.

Wriothesley fucks into him, grinding his cock through Neuvillette's insides. His hand finds Neuvillette's cock again, curling around the full knot. "Come on, sweetheart. Come for me. I want to feel you around my knot."

Despite his begging, Wriothesley comes first, pleasure slamming into him as he spills into Neuvillette's heat. His hindbrain is sated. It'll take, he thinks, the nonsensical thought rolling around in his rut-addled mind. Neuvillette nips at Wriothesley's neck again, fangs sinking into his flesh to mark him up. Not where Wriothesley wants it and he whines—but that's a discussion for another day.

Neuvillette guides Wriothesley to stroke his cock once, twice, and then he too, is coming with a groan. His ass is like a vice grip and all that Wriothesley can think of is how well it'll keep his come from leaking out. It'll take, he reminds him. It'll take, and Neuvillette will be such a perfect father.

Everything tilts with that thought. Wriothesley's brain clears slightly as his rut eases off with the culmination of his knot, and breeding his partner properly. It's only a matter of time before he slips under, but for the moment he can think. He's sore, everything is sore. Neuvillette is heavy against him, but neither of them makes any effort to move.

"Just like that," soothes Neuvillette, collapsed against Wriothesley's chest, combing through his hair. "You smell—"

Their scents have merged so completely they may as well be the same person. That's... overwhelming. A little. "I've got to roll you over," says Wriothesley, tugging gently at Neuvillette's hair. "Work with me."

It takes some awkward maneuvering, but eventually, they find themselves on their sides, Wriothesley plastered against Neuvillette's back. His hand presses against Neuvillette's taut stomach, his hindbrain still dreaming, lost in his instincts.

"I don't know how long we'll be locked together," he says against the back of Neuvillette's neck. "The last time I knotted someone properly was years ago, and it wasn't..." He trails off, hiding his face in Neuvillette's hair, uncaring if he chokes on it.

Neuvillette hums. He shifts and they both groan, and then he settles. "Do you feel better?"

"I—yes. But it's..."

"I'll be ready when you need more."

"Fuck, I don't deserve you." Neuvillette huffs, offended. "How do you feel?" Wriothesley has dreaded asking this, fearing rejection, fearing that Neuvillette just did this to help satisfy his rut. It's bullshit—it has to be—but his anxiety stinks up the place nonetheless.

Neuvillette ignores it. He grinds back with a satisfied moan. "Full," he says. "In a way I didn't think possible." He presses his palm against Wriothesley's hand where it's settled against his stomach. "I am... satisfied. In many ways. I find myself surprised."

"The next round—"

"Soon?" Neuvillette sounds hopeful which does wonders for Wriothesley's sleepy alpha.

"Not yet, sweetheart." He can sense the frown that pulls at Neuvillette's mouth. "But I wasn't joking—I want to savor it. I want to take my time and devour you." Neuvillette moans as Wriothesley rolls his hips against his, every so slightly. "But first—a power nap. And then some water and food."

"Wriothesley—"

"Aren't you supposed to be taking care of me? Why are you the one all muddled?"

Neuvillette throws him a glance over his shoulder that spells trouble. "I'm a needy creature, apparently. But yes, rest is wise." He relaxes against Wriothesley, melting into his chest. "You should know that I've never taken a week off. Not even for my own ruts."

"I remember," laughs Wriothesley. "Working and jacking it off at the same time—"

"I was not."

"Then you weren't managing your time well. Should I tell Sedene?"

Wriothesley yelps, Neuvillette's claws pinching the back of his hand. "Ouch."

"You are not resting."

"Right, right." Neuvillette drags his thumb over the pinpricks of his claws, soothing the sore spot. It's then, in the throes of that domestic bliss, Wriothesley remembers something. "Mate," he whispers.

"Mhm. Yes." And Neuvillette leaves it at that.