In the middle of being bent in half, Wriothesley blurts out 'I love you'.

CW: Contains Smut

--

"Beloved," murmurs Neuvillette, checking in with him.

Fuck, that tone that he takes just makes all the tension melt away. Wriothesley groans as Neuvillette shifts, the thick shaft of his cock sliding a little bit deeper into him. It feels good. Fuck, it does, but Wriothesley isn't as practiced at this, isn't used to taking a dick instead of giving it, and so his alpha barrels around in his chest, unsettled.

But Neuvillette knows this, just as he understands exactly how it feels, the push and pull of those instincts. Wriothesley wants this, but his alpha has teeth. He moans in pleasure, but his fangs dig into his lip, drawing blood and—

"Wriothesley." Neuvillette's voice is quiet. Searching.

"I'm okay," says Wriothesley. "I'm—I swear, I'm okay. Just need a moment. Just—"

This was easier when Neuvillette was neck-deep in his rut. There was something different about his cycles, something unlike other alphas. Neuvillette plays coy and swears he doesn't know, but Wriothesley does, he'd felt it, how he'd been drunk on Neuvillette's pheromones; how even when full of a knot, Wriothesley just begged for more and more.

His alpha heeled so perfectly, then. His alpha wanted it, and it isn't that Wriothesley doesn't now, it's just that those instincts aren't as subdued, aren't as... hypnotized? Neuvillette's rut came and went in a rush of endorphins, pheromones, and a lot of knotting, Wriothesley drunk on it all. He wants to feel that again, that utter submission, to give and be taken, and forget about everything else.

But. Wriothesley thrashes, just a little. Jerks slightly as Neuvillette's cock shifts inside him. It's good; so, so good, but Wriothesley can't deny the undercurrent of sourness that bleeds into his veins. It won't last long, it never does, but Wriothesley still has to swim through it.

Neuvillette thumbs across the line of Wriothesley's abs. He's so fucking patient as he waits, rubbing circles into Wriothesley's sweat-slick skin. Most alphas aren't. I am unlike other alphas, he's said time and time again. He'd certainly proved it with that damned rut of his and whatever spell he put Wriothesley under.

"Feels good," Wriothesley tells him. And gods, it does. Neuvillette's cock is thick and long, and hits all the right places. Fills him to the brim, and presses right against his prostate. He'd missed this. Didn't think that he would, but even his alpha likes the intimate nature of being close in this way. "I want more. Sweetheart, I want more, please. I'm just—"

"Sweet boy," praises Neuvillette, the words a balm against Wriothesley's heated instincts. "Heel." It isn't a demand, but rather a quiet urging. Neuvillette pets over Wriothesley's stomach and asks him to give in. "Alpha," he says next. Then: "My alpha. Heel for me? Let me take care of you."

Wriothesley calms. My alpha, Neuvillette had just called him, and Wriothesley's brain so easily supplements the rest: My mate. Wriothesley's alpha heels, finally gives in. He moans, relaxing, and Neuvillette lets loose a shaky breath.

"Just like that," he purrs, the hand against Wriothesley's belly dropping south. "So good for me."

Wriothesley melts into the sheets underneath that wicked touch of his. Neuvillette drags his knuckles down the length of Wriothesley's cock, pausing at the base, squeezing that spot lightly. Wriothesley doesn't usually knot outside of a rut, but there's a gentle swell there, just a slight thickening of his dick. Likely won't grow more than that, but it's a testament to how aroused he is.

Neuvillette's expression is... something. Caught. Arrested. He looks at Wriothesley like he's a painting to be studied, and he just holds his cock, stroking his thumb across that one spot, over and over. "Beloved," he says, "you're taking me so well. Look." Another squeeze, one that leaves Wriothesley teetering on the edge of just a little too much.

But oh, so good. Wriothesley whines, shifting, grinding his cock against Neuvillette's hand, seeking out more friction; seeking out more of that delectable fullness that bullies his insides.

"You—you're—" Neuvillette chokes on his words. "Wriothesley," he hisses, stilling, because yeah, Wriothesley just squeezed his ass tight around Neuvillette's length.

Even Neuvillette struggles. Wriothesley knows that he wants to fuck him hard and deep; can smell it in Neuvillette's scent as it turns sharp and wanton. "Sweetheart," he says, "I want—you can—archons, please just fuck me."

"Archons," snarls Neuvillette, instincts finally getting the better of him. "You would invoke usurpers in our bed?"

Our bed. Never his bed, even through they're tucked away in Neuvillette's precious town home. It took a while to feel welcome there, but Wriothesley could move in. He has spare shit here, odds and ends in the bathroom, and both drawer and closet space. He spends enough nights here that Sigewinne just assumes he won't be coming back to the Fortress. He—

"I find it difficult to believe that you would let an archon fuck you." Neuvillette's words cut through Wriothesley like a hot knife through butter. Heat flares, settling low into his belly, and his cock twitches against Neuvillette's hand.

Neuvillette's expression his narrowed, half-lidded. The smell of his arousal chokes the air, a heavy blanket of virile alpha that should make Wriothesley snap right back. Neuvillette's other hand drags down the length of Wriothesley's leg, claws raising goose flesh on his thigh. "No, you wouldn't," he purrs.

That hand of his rests back against Wriothesley's belly, and finally—finally—Neuvillette pulls his hips back before rolling back against him. It's a short, too-slow thrust, but Wriothesley feels it in his bones; the thickness of Neuvillette's cock, how deep it settles when his hips press against Wriothesley's ass.

"Only me," murmurs Neuvillette then. "You've only let me fuck you like this. You've only taken my cock."

Neuvillette is in a rare mood, but the dirty talk is delicious, and it stokes the pleasure spreads through Wriothesley's veins. And yes, yes, only him, only Neuvillette. Wriothesley trusts enough people to fit on one hand, and even then, none of them are his mate.

The entirety of this is the result of that. Wriothesley keens in the bed, opening up for him. He moans his name as Neuvillette's thrusts into him again, and Wriothesley yields for him because he wants this.

Neuvillette must smell it, the way that Wriothesley's alpha feels at ease. There's no tension to him anymore. All those keyed up instincts have fizzled out, leaving Wriothesley loose and compliant, and sweet with arousal. Plus, there's the slight swell at the base of his dick, which Neuvillette still cradles in his palm.

"Would you let me take you from behind?" muses Neuvillette.

He would. Wriothesley would, he did, back during his rut. Neuvillette is the only person he'd turn his back to, and Wriothesley has told him that time and time again. Warmth fills him at the thought. He's full to the throat, and he's happy.

"Later," continues Neuvillette, giving in to another lazy thrust. He sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he fucks Wriothesley with slow, languid movements. He wants more. Wriothesley can feel the way that Neuvillette's thighs shake with strain, but he knows that Wriothesley needs to be eased into it. "Later, we can—" A soft grunt. A tiny little pinch of the skin between his brows.

Wriothesley realizes then that the sweet touches are half-performative. Neuvillette distracts himself by petting over his cock, by digging his claws into the meat of Wriothesley's thighs. But he struggles, and fuck if Wriothesley doesn't love that.

"Sweetheart," he says, "you can fuck me. I want you to, I want to feel you, I—"

Gods, he loves this man. Neuvillette is so good to him. Wriothesley feels a certain way that he never thought he would, and that's with a chest full of warmth and affection. He loves, loves, this man who's pulled his walls down, who's shown him that it's okay to be an alpha with odd tastes, they they are allowed to swim against the current of societal expectations.

Neuvillette stills. Gives Wriothesley a strange, wide-eyed look. "I..." Neuvillette, uncharacteristically, waffles about with his words. "Wriothesley, you..."

It takes a moment. Oh. Oh, shit, he said that aloud. Wriothesley muttered those three damn words, and it isn't like Neuvillette doesn't fucking know, but Wriothesley has never actually said it.

Panic sets in. Yes, they're mates. Yes, they want to be together. They've talking about bites, about the future and sharing a bond, but that isn't—Wriothesley hasn't—

"Oh, beloved," says Neuvillette. He drops Wriothesley's cock, his leg, and leans forward.

"I want you to—" Wriothesley wants to be bitten. It's hard not to imagine it with Neuvillette's fangs ghosting the swell of his scent gland. "Please, please—"

"No." Neuvillette's murmur is soft, almost pained. "Not now, but do not make the mistake of thinking I do not want to. Wriothesley, there is little more that I wish for beyond claiming you as mine. But now is not the right time, and you know that."

Yes, that makes sense. Wriothesley isn't in the right mind when he's drunk on the feel of Neuvillette's thick cock. It carves through him, pulling at his insides with delicious friction, and that heat in Wriothesley's gut just builds and builds and builds—

"Your knot," he moans. "Neuvillette, I want—"

"No, beloved, not today."

What does he mean not today? Wriothesley is already split open, loose and ready. It wouldn't take much, just a few more fingers and a little bit of effort. He wants, he needs—

"You aren't prepared for that," murmurs Neuvillette against his ear. "As much as I desire it, I do not want to hurt you."

"You won't. You—I can—"

"I know that you can, Wriothesley. You always take me so well, but please listen to me. Listen to your alpha, hm? Can you do that?"

The strain must be overwhelming. If he had a knot nudging at Neuvillette's hole, it would take everything in him to reel those instincts back and hold himself off. Neuvillette grinds his cock deep, shuddering against him, and yeah, he's trying.

Wriothesley cups his face, tilting it towards his. His chest rumbles with pleasure, and that's all it takes for Neuvillette to sigh against his mouth. "I can do that," Wriothesley tells him, "but I want you to come. I want to feel you, Neuvillette, I want you to claim me."

The double-meaning is not lost on Neuvillette. He groans, mouthing at his jaw, his neck, that aching gland on Wriothesley's neck. Neuvillette is pressed close enough that Wriothesley thinks that he could just about sink into his skin. The room stinks of alpha and arousal; of that fresh water and ocean scent of his. Wriothesley soaks it up, petting through Neuvillette's hair, dragging his claws against the skin at the base of his neck.

"Sweetheart," he mutters, pressing their foreheads together. Wriothesley brushes his knuckles along the sharp length of Neuvillette's face. Cups his cheek and gives him a deep kiss that's all tongues and fangs. He tastes Neuvillette's love. It's warm and heady, and Wriothesley just swallows it right down.

His alpha snarls in his chest, but with hot arousal, desperate for more. The kiss turns sharp and biting.

Neuvillette responds in kind, snapping his hips against Wriothesley's ass, driving his cock as deep as it can go. His knot is heavy against Wriothesley's rim, pulling at it slightly. It burns deliciously, a taste of what Wriothesley could have, what he wants but has been denied, and that just makes the pleasure all that sweeter.

Wriothesley's gut tightens. His cock is hard and aching, dripping against his stomach. He wants to touch. His hand slips between them, only to be caught by Neuvillette's and pulled back up. "No," he says against Wriothesley's mouth. "Only on my cock."

A cruel thing to ask of him. "You won't even give me your knot. I—Neuvillette, please."

Neuvillette hums against Wriothesley's mouth. He slots his fingers between Wriothesley's, pinning that errant hand to the mattress. "You're close, aren't you? I can smell it, beloved. You're nearly there."

Fuck, Wriothesley is. Pleasure sits in his belly like a hot stone, and his cock is just a moment away from spilling. He wishes he could pop a knot properly in the same wild way that Neuvillette can. The mild swelling, that half-there formation, only makes him groan in annoyance. Nearly there. He's nearly, nearly there, but fuck he wants more.

To be claimed, to be mated—

"Mate," he moans. "Alpha, my alpha, please. Something. I need just a little more."

Neuvillette shakes against him with strain. Nuzzles Wriothesley's sweaty temple with his nose, inhaling, sighing against his skin. "You love me," he says. Doesn't repeat the confession, but he marvels at those words, too lost in the feel of Wriothesley to think straight. "Alpha," moans Neuvillette, drunk on his lust and need, his cock buried deep inside Wriothesley.

Then he takes pity, cupping Wriothesley's cock. He doesn't stroke it, he just thumbs over the slight bulge at the base of his length, just like he did earlier. Neuvillette fucks him, pounding into Wriothesley with renewed intent, chasing his own end. Neuvillette is awed. He praises Wriothesley and marvels at those three damn words he let slip.

Neuvillette's cock carves through Wriothesley like a hot brand. Everything is suddenly too tight, too much. Wriothesley heels, coming on the next downstroke, and how the tip of Neuvillette's cock slams against his prostate.

"Yes," hisses Wriothesley, his alpha overcome with the sensation of tipping over the edge. "I love you. Fuck, I mean that, I love you." Wriothesley just melts in the sheets, shaking against Neuvillette has he's fucked right through his orgasm. He could take his knot now, surely. "More," he mutters. "Neuvillette, your knot. I want it. Alpha, please."

Neuvillette spills abruptly. Doesn't even get the chance to think about giving into Wriothesley's demand, he just thrusts deep and comes with a grunt.

Wriothesley shifts, reaching between them to get his hand around Neuvillette's knot. It's an awkward stretch, his wrist bent at a weird angle, but judging by the long, drawn-out moan that Neuvillette lets loose the moment Wriothesley's fingers squeeze around it, it's the right call. Neuvillette's cock twitches inside of him. Wriothesley smells of his come, swathed in Neuvillette's scent.

"Perfect." Neuvillette says that, pressing his face into Wriothesley's neck. "Feels good. And you smell—" He can't get enough of Wriothesley's scent, of his taste. Neuvillette mouths at that gland against, his teeth sinking in just enough for Wriothesley to whine.

His alpha wants more, wants Neuvillette to sink his teeth in properly and just fucking claim him. They love each other, right? Wriothesley loves this man to the point of blurting it aloud, so at least a fucking bond—

"Heel," mutters Neuvillette into his neck. He doesn't say this to be mean, he says this to soothe him, to reel Wriothesley back from what could wind up as a nasty alpha drop. "Beloved, rest, rest. Just feel me, yes? Just keep squeezing my knot tight, and enjoy this."

Wriothesley nods. He can do that. Neuvillette is a warm weight against him, comforting. This bed is a nest of their combined smell, and Wriothesley basks in it, his alpha satiated, satisfied, happy. He's—

"You're purring." Neuvillette's voice is quiet. Awed. He traces Wriothesley's side with wandering hands.

Rarely is Wriothesley the one who purrs. His alpha will rumble with excitement, yes, but Wriothesley is usually too keyed up to find this level of relaxation, even with Neuvillette. Neuvillette purrs. Wriothesley has fallen asleep to it underneath his ear as Neuvillette pets through his hair, praising him for being a good, perfect alpha.

"My mate," says Neuvillette, "I care for you in ways that you cannot begin to fathom." He shifts, his cock slipping out. Wriothesley whines from the sudden loss, feeling open, empty. Neuvillette chuckles softly. Guides him onto his side before settling against his back. Fingers find Wriothesley's slick hole and play with it, scooping up Neuvillette's come and forcing it back inside.

"Old fish," replies Wriothesley as Neuvillette lets those instincts go haywire. Neuvillette purrs too, a soft rumble against his spine.

A press to Wriothesley's damp, sweaty hair at the base of his neck. "So you often say. I'm still your mate, though. Your alpha."

"Yeah." Wriothesley's voice is tight with emotion.

"My alpha." Neuvillette cannot seem to stop repeating it as he pets the jut of Wriothesley's hip.

Wriothesley sinks into this, dropping into the hazy aftermath of their lovemaking. Love. Fuck, it feels good to have said it aloud, to have those cards laid out on the table. Wriothesley is prone to sentimentality, and even if there's a lot that Neuvillette doesn't quite understand, Wriothesley thinks that this is the one thing he very well might.

He falls asleep to the feel of Neuvillette against his back; to the ache in the base of his spine after being fucked full by his mate; to the smell of their alphas, happy and lingering, melded together so intimately they might as well be the same person.

It feels good, and it's the best rest Wriothesley has in years.

So, maybe Wriothesley fucked this up.

Sure, he told Neuvillette that he didn't need to say that he loved him back. Yes, he knows that Neuvillette does—Wriothesley isn't fucking stupid, and Neuvillette's baser instincts give him away just as his own do. But, but...

Neuvillette has all but ignored it. The fact that Wriothesley told him that he loved him, that he confessed this in bed when Neuvillette was balls deep in his ass. A vulnerable moment. The most vulnerable moment and, maybe, one that might've intensely unattractive when looking back upon it.

What sort of alpha finds himself on the verge of tears from being fucked so well that he blabs something so intimate? One who lets his feelings get the better of him. This is why Wriothesley has never entertained more than casual fucks. He's prone to making an utter, downright fool of himself, mucking things up.

"How embarrassing," he groans, rubbing his face. "Fuck, I'm—Clorinde, I don't know what to do."

It's too bright outside for Wriothesley's taste, but the Fortress feels too small, and it's easier to walk off his anxiety than hole up in his office. He'd stared at his paperwork long enough for Sigewinne to become suspicious, which led to her calling up the next best option.

"I can't fix you if you don't tell me what's wrong," replies Clorinde in that dry way of hers.

"Fix me?" Wriothesley peels away his hands from his face. "Fix me?"

"Miss Sigewinne's words, not mine. She said you spent two straight days at Monsieur Neuvillette's. You're not unknown to ask for a day off once in a blue moon, but him?" Clorinde hums softly and takes a sip of her coffee. "Did something happen?"

Oh, something happened. Wriothesley's throat bobs as he swallows thickly, which sets Clorinde on edge. Her expression turns sharp, calculating.

"Did he hurt you?"

"What? No, of course not. He—"

Okay, so the question isn't so out of the blue. Clorinde is well-aware of his particular self-destructive tendencies when it comes to fucking alphas that bite back. He's always picked fights because he loves the burn of adrenaline it results in.

"I'm definitely the problem here, not him," he finishes lamely.

Clorinde raises an eyebrow and waits for him to explain.

Gods, this is harder than he thought it'd be. Clorinde will judge him, and it will be at his expense. But she'll also pull no punches, and that's why Wriothesley has always loved her occasional insight, even if it results with him running off, tail tucked between his legs.

"I told him that I love him." He rips the bandage off, like Sigewinne does without warning. "I—um—we were—"

"You were fucking him, weren't you?"

Wriothesley turns beet red in the face, says nothing, and shifts awkwardly in the seat. Then he grimaces, ever-so-slightly because his ass is still a little sore.

Clorinde's mouth falls open. "Oh," she says. Which, she knows that they... she's well aware that he spent Neuvillette's last rut with him and teased Wriothesley relentlessly about it after the fact. Doesn't make that stare of hers feel any better. "So..." she draws out, "he was fucking you—"

"Clorinde!" he hisses, his arm snapping out to cover her mouth. "We're in public! And it doesn't matter who was doing what. It matters that I said it."

"One could argue that it does matter that it was you who said it," replies Clorinde.

She's right, of course. Clorinde has known Wriothesley long enough to know that he's never the one to broach these sorts of things. He waits for the other to bring it up. Fuck, he wasn't even the one who made a move on Neuvillette in the beginning—that was all Neuvillette, and his worry over Wriothesley's busted knuckles.

Yes, he invited Neuvillette into his office for a better look, but it'd been Neuvillette who shoved his face into Wriothesley's neck; who said that he smelled divine, and dragged his fangs across the length of his neck for a taste. Wriothesley had pulled his hand into his trousers that night, but it was only because of Neuvillette's words, and the sweet-smelling arousal that wafted off of him.

Wriothesley's fucked many alphas in his life, but that was the first time it wasn't a fight, and even now, his alpha craves to be tamed by Neuvillette's long, spindly fingers.

"Okay, there," says Clorinde, cutting into his thoughts. "Down boy."

Right. Embarrassment floods through Wriothesley again once he catches a whiff of his own scent, and gods above, he's fucking dumb. He cringes when the waiter comes and tops off the water for his tea, nose twitching to the side.

"I just..." Wriothesley trails off, not knowing where to even start.

"Well, you meant it." It is not a question. Clorinde says this as fact, tracing her finger around the rim of his glass. "And, to put it bluntly, Monsieur Neuvillette definitely returns those feelings. I swear, I can't be in the same room as the two of you nowadays."

Neither can Sigewinne who'd—according to Neuvillette—was willing to even cover for them if it meant they stopped ogling each other during public functions. Idiots. They're both idiots, which makes this entire thing feel really stupid in retrospect.

"He hasn't said it back." Wriothesley groans this, pulling at his face. "Fuck. I told him that I love him, and that he didn't have to say it back, but it's been two weeks, Clorinde. Almost three, and I—Why are you laughing?"

Clorinde's snickering bursts into sharp, biting laughter at his incredulous face. "Wriothesley," she says, "you told him that he didn't have to say it back?"

"I mean, I was a little focused on other things at the time." Like Neuvillette's cock shoved in his ass, and trying not to force his knot in as well. Wriothesley did a very, very good job at fighting the urge to wrestle Neuvillette onto his back, and taking what he wanted.

"But you told him, the man who barely knows how emotions even work, that he didn't have to say it back."

"I—well, I know that he..." Wriothesley gestures vaguely. "At the moment it wasn't a big deal, but now it's just... things are the same? Nothing has changed."

Clorinde raises an eyebrow. "Did you want it to?"

Wriothesley... has not considered that. One bit. At all. And no, he didn't, but—

"I mean, it's supposed to, right?"

Clorinde lets loose a long-suffering sigh. "So, maybe I'm not the right person to talk about this on account of my current relationship—" True enough. Clorinde and Navia have been on-again, off-again for two decades at this point, but the current on period has lasted considerably longer than most, and Wriothesley thinks that Clorinde might be hiding a bond mark underneath her collar. "—but I think that expecting the two of you to follow conventional norms is laughable at best."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence—"

"For Celestia's sake, let me finish."

Wriothesley's mouth snaps shut. Leans back in his chair and pulls at his trouser-leg idly.

"That man loves you, Wriothesley," she continues. "Everyone knows it. You know it, so when you tell him that, he is going to do just as you ask. I'm not sure what you expected from Monsieur Neuvillette in return, because he knows that you know how he feels, too."

"Clorinde—"

"You've talked about mating with him. Wriothesley, you asked my opinion on what it's like to bond with another alpha—"

"So you have!" Wriothesley fucking knew it.

"This isn't about me," Clorinde bites out, "this is about you. The two of you have been planning a future, mutually, together. If you are waiting for Monsieur Neuvillette to make the next move, you will be waiting forever. To him, he doesn't need to say something that he knows you already know."

Wriothesley feels really fucking stupid at the moment when it all sinks in. "Gods, I'm..." He clears his throat. "In my defense, I was a little busy—"

"Taking it like a champ?" Clorinde smirks at him from behind her cup of coffee. "Tell me, do you beg for his knot like a sweet little omega?"

Wriothesley growls, his alpha taking offense that if he did, that would be a bad thing. "Do you, when rolling around in the hay with Navia?"

Clorinde's smirk widens. "Yes, and I have no qualms about admitting it."

Ugh, gross. Wriothesley shoves at her arm, which prompts her to reach out and grab his hand. She holds it sweetly, trying to comfort him in a slightly awkward way.

"Have you said it since?" she asks.

"...No."

"Then do so. No need to make a night out of it. Just go about your normal day, casually say that you love him, and kiss his cheek, or something. If you want to hear it back, tell him. Monsieur Neuvillette is very smart about many things, but when it comes to people..." Clorinde gestures vaguely. "There's a learning curve. I know it, you know it, and because you know it, you should also know better. Get your head out of your ass and just talk to the man."

"Is that what you did with Navia?" asks Wriothesley, coolly. A gentle tease. Clorinde and Navia went years barely looking at each other, and now they spend most of their time sucking face.

"Eventually, yes. Don't make the same mistake I did, though. We're officially old enough that you don't want to waste the time you have left."

No, he doesn't. Wriothesley knows his years in comparison to Neuvillette's are—don't think about that. It should be discussed, but that's the sort of talk that happens after love confessions, and figuring out where to go from there.

Clorinde leans over and sniffs. "You know," she says next, "you smell like him. It's been that way for a long time. You really have nothing to worry about beyond whatever frenzy you're working yourself into." She lets go of his hand and pushes at him. "Calm down and go seek out your mate. You'll feel better."

Wriothesley thinks that, perhaps, this is the best advice Clorinde has ever given him.

Wriothesley does what Clorinde says. He returns to the Fortress and pares down some of his paperwork. He feels better—fuck, he feels better about this—so he manages to slice through a large enough portion of files that he's comfortable telling the Gardes that he's going to take a day or two off.

It's dark by the time he finds himself back on the surface. The key to Neuvillette's townhome burns a hole in his pocket—

Their townhome. That's what Neuvillette called it when he pressed the key into Wriothesley's palm one night. "For when you want to come home, our home," he'd said. Wriothesley ruminated on those words for far too long.

But when he slips the key into the lock, when he crosses the threshold and kicks off his boots in the entryway, all that he smells is their combined scents, warm and pleasant, and fuck it really does feel like they both belong here, together.

Neuvillette is in the kitchen, heating up left over consommé. He's dressed down, wearing loose trousers, and one of Wriothesley's shirts. Doused in his scent. Wriothesley's mouth is dry at the sight of Neuvillette padding around in socks, pulling the collar to his nose to inhale when he pauses in his stirring.

Okay, yeah, so Clorinde was right. He's an idiot.

Wriothesley wastes no more time stepping into the space. "Smells good," he says, curling an arm around Neuvillette's waist, tugging him close.

"Hardly," is Neuvillette's reply. "They're just leftovers and quite possibly a day past their prime."

"I meant you." Wriothesley tucks his face into Neuvillette's nape and inhales his fresh water scent. Happy, relaxed, pleased that Wriothesley is there. Neuvillette's alpha doesn't fight the closeness; he leans into the scenting, and Wriothesley's chest warms, his own instincts churring at the display of—not submission, but—

"I love you," he says against Neuvillette's pointed ear. He holds him from behind, leaning against Neuvillette's back. "I love you," Wriothesley says again, kissing the corner of Neuvillette's jaw. Then, further down, kissing the gentle swell of his scent gland.

Neuvillette tilts, pulling his hair to the side, showing him the line of his throat. Presenting himself, giving Wriothesley room to do as he wishes. He smells of home, not pleasure. Wriothesley has come home, and he is kissing his mate, and it's just nice, and intimate, and fuck, he loves this man.

Fingers curl into Wriothesley's coarse hair. "Beloved, are you okay?"

This is not so unusual a question, but Neuvillette has been particularly in tune with Wriothesley's being as of late. Mates, he thinks. It's because they're mates. Wriothesley doesn't think he's ever wanted to bite that spot on Neuvillette's neck more than he does at this exact moment.

"Mmhn, yeah." The scenting grounds him. Wriothesley nuzzles at Neuvillette's skin, humming against it.

Neuvillette turns in Wriothesley's grasp until they are facing each other. The consommé bubbles softly in the pan behind him. He leans against the counter, the expensive wood digging into the small of his back.

Wriothesley blinks. Licks his lips, thinking, taking in the sight of Neuvillette's finely boned face. His expression is soft, but pinched. Alert. Neuvillette cups his cheeks between his palms and tilts his face to and fro, taking in the sight of him.

"You've never said it," Wriothesley finally says. "I've told you that I love you, and you haven't said it back. Hang on," he requests when he sees Neuvillette's mouth open for a retort. "I that I told you I didn't need to hear it. And I don't. I already know how you feel, I've known since the beginning, sweetheart."

Neuvillette's cheeks are pink. He smells soft, like a warm, buttered roll, pleased in the way that older couples are, ones that've been together for decades. It was like that for him too. Wriothesley doesn't know how long he's actually loved Neuvillette, just that he can't believe this is where they are now.

"I'm sensing a but," teases Neuvillette.

"Well, I don't need to hear it, but I won't deny that I want to. You make me a weak, weak man. I've grown very soft because of you—Sigewinne's words, not mine."

Neuvillette still holds his face. Thumbs over the arch of his cheekbones, his mouth pulling into a wide smile. "Sweet boy," he muses, trying to hold back a chuckle. "Of course, I love you."

Oh. Oh, Wriothesley was not prepared for the way it would feel, hearing that. Those three words settled right into his chest, and his alpha grabs onto them, yanking them deep. The air is charged now, gently spiced with affection, arousal, need—any and all of the above.

"I want you forever," continues Neuvillette, tilting Wriothesley's face towards his. "My alpha," he says, kissing him, sweet and lingering. "If I were to ever know what love is, it is because of you."

Wriothesley did not think he was capable of love. Of caring for others, yes; he cares for many people like Sigewinne and Clorinde, and even Navia by extension. But Neuvillette is different. Wriothesley cares about Neuvillette in a way he used to only dream of. He never thought he'd have this, another alpha, his alpha, such a wonderful mate at his fingertips.

It is not perfect. It will never be perfect. They argue and debate, and there are times when Wriothesley has to reel those instincts of his back. Times when Neuvillette feels and acts his age, and Wriothesley feels so small next to him.

But the good outweighs all of that, and Wriothesley loves the person that he has become when they are together. He thinks that this is meant to be, their natures be damned.

"My Sovereign," he replies, knowing that it'll soothe Neuvillette's alpha. "Say it again?"

A soft laugh. The drag of Neuvillette's claws against his cheek, as if memorizing this moment. "Wriothesley," he says, "I love you."

They kiss again. They kiss and kiss and kiss in that kitchen, the consommé entirely forgotten.