Wriothesley gets to spank Neuvillette cause he's had a bad day.

CW: Contains Smut

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"So good for me."

Neuvillette jerks as Wriothesley's hand presses against the curve of his spine. There is hesitation from them both as Neuvillette sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. It isn't fear. Gods, no. But there is a thrill there, a tendril of exhilaration that claws through his chest as his alpha perks in interest. A little teeth gnashing, a little bit of fight. A low growl bubbles from his throat, unable to be held back.

Wriothesley's hand stills, thumbing digging into his spine to rub circles. "Is this still okay?" he asks. Not in judgment but genuine curiosity, a need to know. An out. He always gives him an out.

And despite the way that his instincts squirm, Neuvillette wants to see this through. "Yes." A soft murmur as he tucks his face into the meat of Wriothesley's thigh, spread over his lap, ass in the air. Mostly naked—from the waist down, his shirt rucked up above his hips.

Wriothesley is careful as he touches him. Soft, sweeping motions. Gentle. Intended to not spook. He knows the sorts of instincts that Neuvillette wrestles with which makes his submission all the sweeter. And Neuvillette wants to give into him. Wriothesley needs it that day; needs to unwind and let loose, to take pleasure in something that calms him. To gain back a shred of control after a taxing day of work.

The irony isn't lost on either of them. Neuvillette is often amused that one alpha is soothed by the other because by all accounts it should be the opposite. But they've never been the standard—either of them. Their natures have always been contradictory to others but complimentary to themselves.

Wriothesley's chambers are chilly. The air is damp and humid. The couch is utilitarian, unlike the posh fair found in Neuvillette's home.

"We've never done this before," murmurs Wriothesley. His hand is hot against his back, unwrapped, bare, searing hot against Neuvillette's skin. A grounding weight. Already Neuvillette feels his alpha shrink underneath it, lulled by the way Wriothesley drags a thumb down every notch of his spine.

"I'm aware."

"We don't have to—"

"Wriothesley." He doesn't immediately answer. Neuvillette shifts, turning his face back to look at him. Wriothesley's face is pinched, contemplative. He still smooths his thumb over his lower back, tracing the edges of each vertebra, as if he's counting his words alongside each movement.

Neuvillette doesn't smell distress. Hesitation, yes—but that is standard when they enter new territory. "Wriothesley," says Neuvillette again, "do you need this?"

Wriothesley's eyes meet his. "No." An honest answer. That was something that Wriothesley always promised him—the truth. Even though he's had a bad day, even though he's wound tight and frustrated and just wants to let go; he can do that with cuddling, scenting, and a nice cup of tea.

But Neuvillette knows him. "Do you want this?"

Ah, there it is. A crack in Wriothesley's composure. His nostrils flare. His eyes glint with mischief. He brushes his knuckles down the length of his back, palming over Neuvillette's ass. Heat rises. Neuvillette's alpha shifts, but in arousal, not disgust.

"Yes," says Wriothesley.

Neuvillette smirks, the subtlest curve to his lips. "Then do your worst, Your Grace."

Wriothesley's eyes narrow at that. The tease never fails to land, which is why Neuvillette often abuses it. A surefire way to rile him up. Wriothesley's fingertips dig into his asscheek, testing the give. "Safe word?"

Most would roll their eyes. Neuvillette does not. "Sigewenne," he replies, clear and concise.

Wriothesley snorts. "Be serious."

"I am." Nothing would call their play to a stop quicker than crying out her name. Or Sedene—but Wriothesley is still annoyed that she dumped a pitcher of water on him when he last fell asleep on Neuvillette's office couch. The levity works; Wriothesley relaxes, the tension easing from his form. "This is about you," continues Neuvillette. "Do as you wish."

"It's..." Wriothesley finds himself tongue-tied. Thinking too much. Battling with those inner demons of his. Taking too long. Neuvillette didn't think himself needy but growls in annoyance. That earns him a sharp pinch against his asscheek and a heated gaze from Wriothesley.

There it is. That resolve. That edge of alpha that makes Neuvillette's blood sing, both in arousal and defiance. Wriothesley's nails dig into the soft flesh of Neuvillette's backside and he hisses, jerks, bucks slightly to pull away. But Wriothesley's grip on him is too strong, holding Neuvillette firmly against his lap.

"Should I punish you?" he muses. And no, no, this isn't punishment; he's just teasing, which only makes the alpha in Neuvillette's chest bristle in annoyance. Wriothesley hums, loosening his grip, thumbing over the red spots Neuvillette knows must be there.

"I do believe that it's my job to dole out sentences," says Neuvillette in a low purr.

"And if it's you? Who doles out your sentences?"

Neuvillette's chest burns, itching to fight back at the question. But he reels in those instincts and bites out, "No one."

Wriothesley squeezes his asscheeks, spreading them slightly. Neuvillette shudders, feeling exposed and on edge. But pleasure curls, too, heat rising in his gut at the way Wriothesley stares and takes his fill. "Oh?"

"I am the law."

Wriothesley's expression shifts, his mouth curling into a feral grin. "You have no jurisdiction here—which was something you gifted to me."

Neuvillette clicks his tongue. "And yet you don't use it—"

A crack slices through the room. Neuvillette's ass cheek burns, white-hot, aching in the wake of Wriothesley's palm against it. He grunts, sinking forward, chest against his thighs. Ow. But then he groans as Wriothesley soothes out that twinge, kneading at the muscle.

Hesitating again. Gauging Neuvillette's reaction. The space is thick with alpha pheromones and mildly tense. But it's good. Gods, it's— Neuvillette tilts his face, cheek against Wriothesley's thigh as he inhales, drowning in the leather and tea scent that he's come to crave.

His instincts flare. Claws dig into the meat of Neuvillette's thigh—but that is it. He shifts, those fingers curling into the fabric instead.

Wriothesley's thumb is gentle as it sweeps over the swell. "More?"

Yes, yes yes. Neuvillette lifts his hips and bites out an affirmative, which makes Wriothesley chuckle.

"Should I make you count?"

Neuvillette blinks at the thought. Oh. His knee-jerk impulse is to pull away but there's something about the request. And the other part of his brain, that rational part, the part that's laden and thick with lust—he wants that. There is power in giving up control and there is no one that he trusts aside from Wriothesley. A game of cat and mouse as they explore boundaries and to what lengths they can milk their vulnerability.

Want curls in Neuvillette's gut. He's about to reply when Wriothesley beats him to it. "Yeah, count them for me. I want to hear it."

Another smack, this one against the other cheek, one that leaves stinging pulses. It burns through Neuvillette's being, heat coiling in his core, winding tighter and tighter.

"One," he breathes, eyes fluttering closed as Wriothesley's hand soothes the hit. His palm is cool against Neuvillette's ass, light-handed and sweet—and then it lifts to lay another hit across the upper end of both cheeks. A fresh spot, one not yet marked red. Neuvillette moans, head tilting forward to rest against Wriothesley's leg as he manages a breathy, "Two."

His ass is hot. Rippling, stripes of pain pulse through his backside, setting his nerves alight. Neuvillette's nostrils flare. Sensitive, so, so sensitive.

"Look at you," murmurs Wriothesley, admiring the pink tint to his skin. Another strike, this one lower, against the underside of Neuvillette's ass.

"Three," he hisses, the word choked off. His cock twitches. He—he shouldn't... This is for Wriothesley, for him to let loose some of that tightly coiled aggravation. And while Neuvillette didn't think he'd be uninterested in such affairs, he underestimated how quickly he would rise to the equation. His cock hangs between his thighs, half-hard, aching as it slowly fills out.

Wriothesley sighs, his tone caught between awe and fondness. "You're actually counting," he says quietly.

Of course he is. It's what he asked, for no? And even if Wriothelsey had been teasing, even if he didn't actually expect it, the entire point of this is for Neuvillette to submit to his whims. The further their play wears on, the easier that becomes. He craves Wriothesley's hands against his ass, the bite of his spanking, fingers sinking in and squeezing at his flesh.

Neuvillette could look at him; he could twist to the side and knows Wriothesley would look like a wreck if they locked gazes. The tension has melted away from his body. His touches turn sharp as he settles into his role, delighting in how Neuvillette squirms in his lap.

Two competing alphas, one at the mercy of the other. A rumble rolls through Neuvillette's chest and he tamps it down—

But not before Wriothesley hears it.

He spanks him again, this hit against his right cheek, striking a place that is already tender. Neuvillette gasps, surprised at how the pain radiates, spreading from the center of impact, outwards. He throbs—both his ass and his cock.

The touch pulls back. Neuvillette chases it. The juxtaposition is too good, the mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock is fully hard now, heavy as it hangs, dripping from the tip. Neuvillette shifts, twisting just so, grinding his length against Wriothesley's thigh without thinking about it.

"What's this?" Wriothesley traces a finger down the smooth curve plane of Neuvillette's perineum and the seam of his balls.

"I—" Neuvillette groans, legs spread and Wriothesley's arm slips between his thighs to drag a knuckle down his cock.

"Oh, you like this."

"I—"

"Distracted. So desperate. Is that why you forgot to count that last one?"

Fuck, he didn't—

"Four," says Neuvillette. "Four—"

Wriothesley instantly relaxes, his hand falling away to cup his cheek. "Sweetheart." The endearment curls annoyance in Neuvillette's chest as his alpha snarls, but he sinks into it nonetheless, tilting his face to kiss Wriothesley's palm. "I was just teasing. A little fun." Wriothesley's thumb traces his bottom lip. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Neuvillette finally looks at him and finds Wriothesley watching back with a half-lidded, libidinous gaze. He's just as affected. Arousal spices the air, and not just Neuvillette's ocean-spray scent—no, the tang of lather and black tea lingers too.

"Do you want more?"

The expected question, the out that Neuvillette is always given if his alpha isn't in the mood. Tension coils through him, hackles half-raised, claws tight around Wriothesley's thighs. Neuvillette didn't expect to be so affected by this but Wriothesley's hand, firm against his ass, has him writhing in his lap beyond the point of no return.

"Please."

Wriothesley's throat bobs. "Fuck," he curses. "You'll be the death of me, won't you?"

There are worse deaths to have. They both know it. Wriothesley squeezes Neuvillette's cheek sweetly before his hand pulls away. "Come on, Sweetheart—"

"Wriothesley."

A chuckle. "One day," he says, combing through Neuvillette's hair, mussing it.

Never, thinks Neuvillette, even though the name has grown on him. Even though he loves the soft and gentle way Wriothesley says it. Stripped bare as he lays out his intention. It's quiet, how he does it. Underhanded. Subtle.

But Neuvillette is no fool.

Wriothesley's thumb dips into the cleft of Neuvillette's ass, pressing against his hole. Rage flutters through him—just for a second. The gnashing of teeth as his alpha jerks, recoiling. "Easy there," says Wriothesley, stroking from his hole, down to the smooth strip of skin below it, digging his thumb into it.

Just like that, all those instincts that rage settle, far too drunk on lust to put up a fight. Neuvillette moans as Wriothesley's thumb works its magic, moving back to press against his rim. The barest pressure, not enough to sink in, but enough to be felt, the promise of more lingering there.

And then Wriothesley spanks him with his other hand. It's jarring. So different from the sweet words that drip from Wriothesley's mouth and the soft-handed touch of his thumb that rubs his hole. Neuvillette's skin is hot. It stings, red from his hand, Neuvillette knows.

He forgets to count, mind fogged as his hips roll, grinding his cock against Wriothesley's lap. Anything for friction. Neuvillette's cock aches, his ass stings, his entire body a live wire ready to tip over the edge.

Wriothesley too. Neuvillette can feel the hard line of his erection straining Wriothesley's trousers. He rubs his cheek against it, inhaling the musky scent of Wriothesley's arousal. He moans, a wanton keen that earns him another spank.

"Gods, you're—" Wriothesley brushes his bangs back and takes in the sight of him. Neuvillette must be a mess, sweat beading on his brow, lips dry as he lips them. He rolls his hips again, his breath hitching as the tip of his cock catches against the rough fabric of Wriothesley's clothing. "That's it, Sweetheart. Just like that. "

Neuvillette is close. Between the white-hot pain that sears through his backside, the thumb against his hole, teasing a promise, and the way his cock is trapped underneath him against Wriothesley's leg, he's nearly gone. Wrung thin. Wasted.

"I—you—"

"Don't worry about me."

How can he not? This was supposed to be about Wriothesley unwinding and instead, Neuvillette humps his thigh like an omega in heat, like he's desperate to be bred, like he needs to be fuck full with his knot. His alpha snaps at that thought, finally baring its teeth. He should roll them over and pull at Wriothesley's clothing. Give him his cock instead until he's settled nice and deep. All those thoughts back from his blasted rut come barrelling back.

Wriothesley tugs at Neuvillette's chin harshly. "Heel," he says, authoritative.

And fuck if that doesn't—

Neuvillette whines, nodding, realizing just how deep his claws had sunk into Wriothesley's thighs. He eases off, murmuring an apology, which is promptly ignored.

"So good for me," says Wriothesley instead, back to palming his sore ass, relishing in the way that Neuvillette hisses at the praise.

And it hurts—but it hurts so good, the sort of pleasure that pricks the base of his spine. He shudders, rutting against Wriothesley's lap. "Archons." Neuvillette's voice is raspy with his. Wriothesley encourages it, lifting his thigh against him. That thumb still rests against his hole, tracing Neuvillette's rim, a fucking tease. "Please—"

"No, like this," cuts in Wriothesley.

"Wriothesley."

Wriothesley dips close and brushes an errant lock of hair behind Neuvillette's ear. He nuzzles his temple, inhaling, moaning at the smell of him. "Against my leg," he murmurs. "I didn't think you'd get off on the spanking but shit, it's hot. Almost as hot as you grinding against my thigh."

He'd rather be fucked. Neuvillette aches to be filled, Wriothesley plastered against his back, heavy and hot. He'd choke on his addicting scent and the heft of this cock. Drown in the feel of him, in his need for him—and even Neuvillette's alpha has calmed, purring at the idea.

Heel, indeed, he thinks. Happily so. And maybe it's because he's spent an eon training his beast, but Neuvillette feels safe like this. Even with his alpha pushing back the tiniest bit, it always eases, always gives in because Wriothesley is safe.

Neuvillette rolls his hips, seeking out more friction. Precome stains Wriothesley's trousers, making a mess of them. Claws dig into his ass, dragging down the swell, leaving red welts in their wake.

"I should fuck you," says Wriothesley, that damned thumb of his tugging at Neuvillette's rim. Not enough to sink in, but the pressure is blinding all the same. "Later. We'll tuck into the sheets and I'll slip in and fuck you nice and slow."

Another spank, a light-handed slap that sings through the air makes Neuvillette come suddenly, spilling all over his trousers. He groans, drunk at the thought of dressing down for the night. Of staying over, wrapped in Wriothesley's arms.

He hasn't done that yet. Their trysts and affairs are always cut short, their duties more important than their wants and needs. They haven't had the chance to explore such things, but Neuvillette thinks that it would work out fine. He buries his face in Wriothesley's lap, desperate to just feel him, a churring whine caught in his throat.

"Hey." Wriothesley's hands leave his ass in favor of Neuvillette's face. "Hey, come back to me. Are you okay?"

"I'm—"

"Does it hurt?"

Neuvillette hums. Yes and no. The sting has buried itself into his skin and he knows sitting will be uncomfortable. But it's a good ache, the sort that sinks into your bones, the kind of reminder that stays with you in the most delicious of ways.

Wriothesley is too kind. Neuvillette moves, twisting, and curling into his lap. Uncaring of the mess he's made, he just needs to be close, to press his face against his nape. He nips at Wriothesley's scent gland, nosing at it, licking it.

And Wriothesley just sighs, tilting back against the couch, giving him all the access that he needs.

Instincts both rage and settle. A contradiction. Neuvillette is pulled in two directions as he mouths at Wriothesley's neck, fangs catching on his skin, desperate to sink in. A tug at his hair; not hard, just enough to bring him back too. When Neuvillette meets Wriothesley's face his gaze is sweet, amused, even. The scar underneath his eye crinkles as he laughs, his grip on Neuvillette's hair loosening.

"Needy thing," teases Wriothesley before pulling him forward for a lingering kiss.

Neuvilllette's blood lulls, heavy in his veins. Exhaustion wafts over him like a tidal wave, jarring in how hard it hits. "You—you're—" Neuvillette paws at Wriothesley's cock, only for his hand to be caught around the wrist.

Wriothesley tugs it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against his pulse. "No need for that."

"I want—"

"Oh, I know you do." Wriothesley presses into his space, nosing at his nape. "Gods, you always smell so good. But you should rest. We can deal with me later." Then his voice dips lower near his ear. "And don't think I don't want you. It's taking everything that I have not to roll you over and fuck you right here. But." That tone is gone the moment he pulls away. He brushes Neuvillette's bangs back and sighs at the sight of him. "I think you'd be a pillow princess."

Neuvillette narrows his eyes at the accusation. "Not if I fuck you into the bed instead. You'd look so good on my cock."

A challenge. They always have these little half-hearted spats. Wriothesley gives him a wolfish grin. "Want to find out?"

Time comes to a standstill. Neuvillette sits across his lap, his cock soft, half-naked, thighs smeared with come. His heart is in his throat. His alpha, though—oh, there's interest. Desire spreads through him, heady and hot.

"It isn't fancy," says Wriothesley then, hesitant. He drags his thumb down the length of Neuvillette's arm over and over, in a repeated fashion. A nervous gesture. "Meropide. Celestia knows it's cold and damp. My bed is too small too. It'll be cramped, but—"

"I want to stay." Wriothesley blinks. Neuvillette's lips part and surprisingly, his words come easy. "Wriothesley, you don't need to talk me into staying. The idea appeals to me. I was thinking about it when—"

Wriothesley kisses him again, harder, longer, tongue slipping between his teeth to seek out his own. Neuvillette sinks into it, kissing him back, fingers digging into the back of his neck.

"You'll have to share my clothing," murmurs Wriothesley when they part. "And I can't cook here—I don't have a kitchen. We'll have to get breakfast at the canteen. Everyone... they'll..."

"We are a terribly kept secret." Everyone knows. They couldn't possibly not, not with the way they stink up the space together, with the way they smell of each other, drenched in shared scents. Not that they were hiding, to be perfectly honest.

Wriothesley smiles, the tension easing. And then he smirks. "So? Spanking?"

Neuvillette scoffs. "What happened to 'Wanting to let loose?'"

"No, no, this conversation is about you now."

"It is not."

"Sweetheart—"

"Don't."

More laughter. More lingering kisses. Wriothesley's hands smooth over Neuvillette's sore ass, making his alpha roll over and keen. For now, he'll indulge. Let Wriothesley's hands wander before draping himself in his clothing.

Tomorrow morning though, the game resets, and Neuvillette has his sights set on revenge.