The season has turned, Wriothesley is cold, and it takes a bit for Neuvillette to take the hint.

CW: Contains Smut.

--

It goes like this:

The night is young, Wriothesley has had a little too much tea, and Neuvillette, for once, has no work thrusting him into overtime, so he reads through a thick tome as they rest on the couch.

"So, it's cold."

Neuvillette hums and flips a page, the old parchment crunching as it turns. And that's it, just a soft sound as his eyes track whatever he's reading.

Wriothesley watches him, his arm resting against the back of the couch, palm cradling his chin. His other hand holds a cup of tea that's gone lukewarm because he's forgotten about it, captured by the sight of Neuvillette instead. "Hey," he says, nudging Neuvillette's thigh with a socked foot. "I said, it's cold."

Neuvillette finally looks at him, his expression pinched with mild confusion. "Yes? Wriothesley, it is winter. This first snow is—"

Oh, he's adorable. Neuvillette continues to chatter about weather patterns and how the snow this year has come earlier than the decades prior, missing the entire point. And these are the endearing things about him. Insufferably cute. Wriothesley hides a grin behind his palm as he digs his cold toes underneath Neuvillette's thigh.

"Wow, yeah, imagine the snow bringing in a chill. Wouldn't it be nice if I had a partner to warm me?"

Neuvillette stills and blinks. Then it clicks and his mouth curls into a tiny little 'o'. "Ah. I..." He chuckles softly. "I apologize, Wriothesley. I didn't realize that you were attempting to seduce—"

"Hey. Not everything is about fun times in the bedroom."

"But this is," counters Neuvillette, bemused.

"It doesn't have to be." And it doesn't—Wriothesley is more than welcome to just be in Neuvillette's sphere of presence. It's the little things, those tiny acts of intimacy they often indulge in. Neuvillette is dense to them unintentionally and yet still manages to nail every moment that matters.

Like now. Neuvillette drops a hand to Wriothesley's foot and tugs it into his lap, squeezing the ankle joint. He doesn't even think of it, he just does, thumb rubbing over the jut of bone there through the wool of Wriothesley's sock. "You want it to be."

"Sweetheart—"

"Wriothesley."

"—I always want it to be, but I'm happy to just... have the man, too. If you don't want to—"

"Who said that I didn't?" Neuvillette asks it so casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Wriothesley blinks. "Oh? Tell me more."

They've been practicing this—Neuvillette voicing his wants. He's gotten better, more loose with that beloved tongue of his. As it turns out, it isn't just good for sucking the life out of Wriothesley's cock, it's good at spinning heated words and turns of phrase as well. Neuvillette is quiet with it. Subtle. Wriothesley's past lovers were the loud sort, and not in a good way. But because Neuvillette is a man who only says exactly what he means, it makes all those utterances worth every bit.

Neuvillette's expression softens, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. "As you said, it's cold—"

"Hm yeah, that was mentioned. Several times, I might add."

"You're on your fourth cup of tea."

"Because I've got to warm myself, apparently."

Neuvillette huffs and thumbs at his foot again. "This is the season in which I want to hibernate but centuries of practice have conditioned me to overlook that instinctual need. However, the idea of settling somewhere warm with my beloved one... Old nesting tendencies, I suppose. They are not easy to ignore. The promise of warming each other, of revealing every inch of flesh, and lazing about as I trace each scar."

Wriothesley swallows, his throat suddenly thick. Oh, he asked for this, didn't he? "That's—"

Neuvillette continues on. "Even now, I wish to drag you to my bed and refuse to let you leave. But—" He turns back to his book and creases the page. "As you so astutely said earlier: it doesn't have to be. And I find myself enjoying this book. Any other questions?"

"Yeah," he says, "why aren't we in your bed again?"

There is an expression that Wriothesley doesn't often see—and it's the one that curls across Neuvillette's face at that moment. Soft. Warm. Affectionate. His mouth is tugged into the smallest of smirks and he blinks slowly, turning to look at Wriothesley from underneath those damnable long eyelashes. Menacing.

Neuvillette's book claps shut with a sharp sound. "The things that I wish to do to you—you must have an idea."

"Something, something, dragon instincts, I assume?"

"Winter is cold—"

"A third reminder. Is this payback?"

Neuvillette's expression cools. "As I was saying, winter is cold. I find myself possessive of that which is mine."

The heat that curls in Wriothesley's gut is instantaneous. The hand that holds his tea shakes slightly, tipping a smidge over the rim, wetting his trouser leg. The air is sharp and tense, and Wriothesley may not have the same senses that he does, but Neuvillette's arousal always hangs heavy in the air like the humidity that comes right before a rain.

"That being said—"

"Oh come on."

"—I think that I would like a cup of tea. Would you get me one?"

Wriothesley forces himself to take a deep breath as he stands. He crosses the room to the tea nook set into the wall opposite them and places his own cup to the side. Ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. He can feel the weight of Neuvillette's gaze on the back of his neck as he lounges on the couch. Staring. Stripping him down.

Tea. Neuvillette wants a damn cup of tea that he won't even drink. Wriothesley plays along, though, pouring a measure out into a fancy porcelain cup. When he turns around, Neuvillette is there, his hand already sneaking out to press against his waist.

"Oh."

"Perhaps I teased too much," laughs Neuvillette. "I thought you might snap the handle right off the pot."

"It isn't—"

"Mhmn." Neuvillette buries his face into Wriothesley's neck and breathes in. "I apologize."

Wriothesley melts at the gentle tone. He leans against the bar counter, combing his fingers through Neuvillette's hair. "Hey, it's fine. You know I love it."

Neuvillette purrs against his neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin there. Then he pulls back and kisses his forehead next. The scar underneath his cheek, the tip of his nose, Wriothesley's mouth—which he nips at, playfully.

Wriothesley cups his cheek. "Sweetheart," he says again, only this time the tone is different. It isn't a jab meant to annoy, it's genuine and crowned with warmth. Wriothesley breathes it against Neuvillette's lips before kissing him properly, fingers curling around the back of Neuivillette's neck to hold him there.

It is sweet and lingering. Neuvillette's tongue sweeps beyond his teeth, dipping into his mouth. Wriothesley is stripped down, having long shed his necktie and waistcoat. His coat hangs by the door, his boots beside it. Neuvillette tugs the hem of his shirt from his trousers, slipping his hand underneath to press flat against the small of Wriothesley's back. It's hot, searing against Wriothesley's skin, and all that talk of it being cold, and seduction just seems to sink straight to his groin.

Neuvillette laughs, pulling away, taking hold of his chin. He thumbs across Wriothesley's bottom lip. "Chapped," he notes.

Wriothesley grins and kisses his thumb. "Kiss it and make it better then."

A soft chuckle. "Beloved, I had another thought—"

"You're terrible at the whole seduction thing, by the way."

He isn't. Wriothesley knows it. Neuvillette knows it, which is why he laughs again. "Did you realize that it is your birthday?"

Wriothesley stills. He hadn't. Neuvillette must've read it in a report somewhere ages ago and filed the thought away. He remembers the strangest of things, ones that Wriothesley never questions. And this... is less awkward than expected, as are many things with Neuvillette. Their entire time together has been a slow process of easing up, of relearning how to... be himself. "I don't... think about it much," he finally admits. "Threw away my name, my past, my—"

"I see." Neuvillette is hesitant. His mouth is parted as he thinks of what to say next, which warms Wriothesley's chest.

"Hey, you can... with you it's different. I don't dislike it, I just don't think about it."

"A celebration then? Or no? It matters not to me, Wriothesley, I'll worship you all the same."

What a thing to say. He makes Wriothesley eat his words about his seduction techniques. Heat curls at the thought of Neuvillette over him in their bed, kissing every mark and scar, whispering against them. He does it often enough. Wriothesley wakes in the morning to Neuvillette watching, dragging his fingers over thick and gnarled flesh.

It is a testament to his trust. Wriothesley's. Anyone else and he'd startle, the knife under his pillow pressed to their throat. But here, there is no knife. He doesn't keep his back to the wall, or one eye open. Everything that he has is held within Neuvillette's palm, and Wriothesley, for the first time, just gets to rest.

"You can't say that and not kiss me. You can't say that and not pull me into the bedroom."

"Ah, because you're cold—"

"Because I love you."

Neuvillette's expression shifts, caught between soft and searing. His pale eyes seem ancient at that moment. There are a million things in that gaze, all of them difficult to parse out. And Neuvillette is learning—they both are—how to navigate these waters. "I suppose then," he says, "it is my job to show you how I share such a thing."

"Neuvillette—"

"Do you know what it is like to have the love of a dragon? You think that you do, but have barely cracked the surface. Even I, myself, don't quite understand, Wriothesley. I flounder about each day and learn something new. This season—you teased me about how you are cold, but I am not. I burn for you, searing hot and there isn't a storm that can calm that desire."

"You sat there on the couch, ignoring—"

"I have never ignored you." Neuvillette dips close and mouths at his jaw, fangs scraping over the line of bone there. "No, I would say that I am inherently aware of you. You live in my hindbrain, you—"

"I get it. Gods, I—" Wriothesley gasps as Neuvillette's teeth sink into a tender spot of his throat.

Neuvillette yanks Wriothesley's hand between his legs. He's hard. Fuck, he's— "Do you feel it? My need for you?"

One bulge and then—Wriothesley smirks. "Hah. I didn't realize... One of those nights, hm?" Wriothesley is deceptively strong. He twists, rolling them until Neuvillette's back is pressed against the counter.

"What—" Neuvillette stops as Wriothesley sinks to his knees. His nostrils flare as Wriothesley makes quick work of his trouser fastenings. "I thought you wanted the bed," he muses.

"That was until I felt these guys." Neuvillette's trousers and underthings are tugged down in one swoop, revealing not one, but two hard erections. Both long and one of them tapered at the tip, already drooling precome. What a treat. Rarely does Neuvillette indulge so carelessly, preferring to reign in the baser of his instincts.

Wriothesley strokes the draconian one, thumb sliding across the tip. His tongue follows, tracing around the head of Neuvillette's cock. He tastes different, like ocean salt. Heady. inhuman. Addicting. The other cock—the more human-like one—twitches against his cheek.

His lips wrap around that spade-shaped head. Wriothesley moans as he suckles, sliding down further, his fingers jerking what his mouth doesn't reach. He loves this, the taste of him, the weight of Neuvillette's cock on his tongue. How Neuvillette tries not to rut into his mouth, the sounds of his hitched breaths, and the thunk of his head against the wall.

The air is damp and humid. Neuvillette drops a hand to curl into Wriothesley's hair, claws scraping across his scalp. Then he pushes and Wriothesley sinks further down his cock, giving in to the silent request until the tip nudges his throat. He breathes in. Out. Moans as he just barely chokes, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks.

Neuvillette hisses. He bucks, just a short thrust that knocks the air from Wriothesley's chest. Spit bubbles at the corners of his mouth, leaking in long strings. It feels good, Neuvillette's cock bullying his throat, especially as he rolls against his lips. Wriothesley strokes the other, squeezing it from base to tip. And Neuvillette—he looks nearly gone, the air around him glittering blue like Hydro.

"Wriothesley," he says. "Beloved."

Wriothesley pulls off and kisses the tip. Then he stands, having gotten what he asked for. "What was it that you said about nesting tendencies?"

"Don't tease."

"I'm not, I'm just wondering if you're going to fuck me with both cocks."

Neuvillette's pupils dilate. He surges forward, dragging Wriothesley close so he can devour his mouth. This is what Wriothesley wanted; to push him a little, to get him to take what he wants. And it will still be lovemaking. Even with Neuvillette's edges melting away, he'll never not make love to him, even if it's a matter of a good rough fuck.

But even here, with Neuvillette swallowing his moans, he is careful. Calculated. Careful with his claws and fangs.

They move, tripping through the parlor of Neuvillette's private residence. Wriothesley kicks off his clothing piece by piece, a process impeded by Neuvillette trying and failing to help. Instead, those claws drag over his skin, raising gooseflesh. He whines as Wriothesley laughs, stepping away.

The doorframe of the bedroom digs into Wriothesley's back as Neuvillette boxes him against it. Another kiss, another keening moan that drips from Wriothesley's mouth as Neuvillette's tongue meets his. A hand around Wriothesley's cock, too cool, too slick as he strokes it. Hydro. Perks of being a dragon sovereign, not the first time that Wriothesley has thought of it; but then again, the two cocks are also a boon.

Somehow, they actually make it to the bed. Wriothesley falls back against the soft pillow. It smells like— "Is this one of my shirts?" he asks, his hand falling against something clearly pilfered from his dirty clothing. Strange. He hasn't stayed here recently; the both of them have been busy due to the uptick of crime in the colder season. "Where'd—"

"Don't ask." Neuvillette bites at his mouth, fangs digging into Wriothesley's lip.

Sedene. Or Sigewinne—either choice is terrible. "Did you you have someone sneak this out—"

"It was me." Wriothesley's mouth snaps shut as Neuvillette mouths at his neck, sucking a mark there. "Your office is a mess. It is easy to stow away a shirt or two when your back is turned."

That's...hot. The idea of Neuvillette tucking away his clothing and trinkets. And it smells like him, the bed; like tea and cream, the leather of this coat, and the oil and grease of his tinkering. "Fuck, that's—"

"Embarrassing," murmurs Neuvillette, hiding his face against his neck.

Wriothesley imagines the pink tint to his cheeks. "No, I love it." Neuvillette pulls back. He hangs over him, hair wild. Wriothesley reaches up and tucks a lock behind his ear. "You don't need to... hide, you know. I'll never judge."

"Incorrigible."

"Yeah."

"Far too casual about things you do not understand."

"Because I trust you."

Neuvillette knows what that means. "What a gift," he says softly, looking at Wriothesley as if in awe.

"Speaking of gifts—"

"Wriothesley," cuts in Neuvillette as if he expects what is coming next.

"Fuck me, please. With both—"

"Wriothesley."

He shoots Neuvillette a half-lidded gaze. "Do you not want to?"

Oh, he does. Wriothesley knows it. Neuvillette's jaw tightens as he works his mouth, eyes alight with arousal. The air is humid. Smells like the ocean, and even the tendrils in Neuvillette's hair glow, iridescent. Wriothesley trails a finger down one and Neuvillette shudders. Then, he says, "Consider it a birthday gift—"

"You don't care about your birthday." Neuvillette is bent close again, fangs now digging into the meat of his collarbone.

"What's a guy gotta do to get dicked down by the Chief Justice?"

Neuvillette laughs, full and raucous. He slides down the length of him, kissing across Wriothesley's body. Each scar is treated to the tip of his tongue. He mouths at a nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud until it hardens. "Wicked thing," he says, biting at it until it stings. Wriothesley gasps, back arching, tugging at his hair.

But it doesn't last. Neuvillette lets go and kisses the swollen flesh. Down he goes; nibbling at his skin, tongue dipping into his navel, suckling at the tip of Wriothesley's aching cock.

Wriothesley curses as Neuvillette gives it a cursory stroke as that split tongue dips into the tip. "Delicious." Neuvillette's voice is deep, gravelly. Taut and thin. "Ready to be devoured." He presses Wriothesley's cock against his belly as his tongue drags down the seam of his balls before sucking one into his mouth.

He could die. Neuvillette's mouth is hot and wet as it works its wicked magic. "Archons—"

A bite at the smooth skin underneath his balls, a sharp-tipped warning that's mostly playful. "Don't bring such blasphemous talk into my bed."

"Neuvillette."

"Better," is the response as Neuvillette spreads Wriothesley's ass cheeks. He licks over Wriothesley's hole, tracing the tight furl.

It isn't enough. It's never enough, but this time—Wriothesley groans, arching in the bed as Neuvillette's tongue bullies its way deeper. Thicker than normal. Longer. This is a special treat, one that Neuvillette occasionally uses to drive him into overstimulation.

"I'm—that's—I want—"

A finger slips in beside, slicked with Hydro. Neuvillette's tongue flicks deep against his insides. That finger curls, pressing against that spot that has Wriothesley seeing scars. Wriothesley jerks, hips shuddering as he fucks against him. Another finger. Suckling at his rim—Neuvillette is clever with his touch and tongue, leaving Wriothesley already teetering on the edge.

His cock aches against his stomach. "More, fuck, Neuvillette."

A huff of laughter. That draconic tongue slips out only for a third finger to replace it, and soon Neuvillette is fucking Wriothesley fast and quick with his hand. "Both of my cocks," he muses. "That's what you said." His pinky traces Wriothesley's rim as he considers this.

It is not the first time they've played with them but he's never taken both. It's always been the spade-tipped one sheathed deep as the other frots against Wriothesley's own hard cock. He wants to be speared open on both, to be stretched to his limits. And Neuvillette would be so sweet and caring. He'd take it slow. He'd be careful.

What a good mate—that's what he always says, and lately, Wriothesley has loved the thought of it.

"You said I was yours." Wriothesley's breath hitches as Neuvillette's pinky carefully slips in. He's full—gods, he's full.

"Look at you." Neuvillette spreads his fingers, stretching his hole wide. "For you to take both of my cocks..."

Wriothesley looks down between his legs and finds that Neuvillette hinges on something close to feral. Eyes trained on his hole as his fingers fuck in and out. His tongue darting out to wet his lips. Pupils so wide they nearly blot out his pale irises.

"Please," begs Wriothesley. "I just—give me this, please."

Neuvillette meets his gaze. His throat bobs as he slides his fingers out gingerly. "Slowly," he says. "We take this slowly. And if it hurts, or you are discomforted—"

"Sigewinne," says Wriothesley. Their safe word. A silly one to use but effective. "I promise."

Neuvillette slides between his thighs and tugs Wriothesley's ass closer until his legs are wrapped around his hips. He thumbs over the smooth skin inside Wriothesley's thigh. Then Neuvillette slicks his cock with Hydro and presses the draconian length to Wriothesley's hole.

He is so loose and relaxed that he sinks right in to the root. Wriothesley moans, head tipping back, nails digging into Neuvillette's shoulders as he clings to him. "Yes," he says, "just like that."

Neuvillette pulls out and thrusts in once, twice. He sighs, claws pricking the meat of Wriothesley's legs as he rolls his hips against him leisurely. And he's thinking about it—the second cock. He must be with the pinched expression as Neuvillette hangs over him. Right now it lays against Wriothesley's, hot and hard, leaking at the tip.

Wriothesley reaches down and takes both into his hand. He strokes them together, squeezing them tight, leaving Neuvillette to loose a strangled noise. "Baby," he says—and he knows that Neuvillette hates that pet name too, but at this moment it feels right. It sparks heat in his chest as Neuvillette's hips slap against his ass.

"Wriothesley." Neuvillette leans close, the angle changing, the tip of his cock driving against his prostate. He smells so good, like fresh water and desire. Neuvillette's face buries into Wriothesley's neck and he moans. "Do I—Wriothesley, may I have your consent to—"

How sweet. Wriothesley tilts his face and kisses his cheek. "Of course, sweetheart." That soft tone again, the one that makes the base of Wriothesley's spine tingle when he says it. That heat of both pleasure and affection that curls in his gut. And then for fun: "You have my consent."

Neuvillette snorts. Must realize just how ridiculous it sounds, how formal. But still, anxiety must wrack his brain because Neuvillette asks again. "Are you certain? I—"

Wriothesley cups his cheeks and tugs his face close until their foreheads are pressed together. "Just shove them in already."

"I would never." A pause. Neuvillette's heavy breathing and a quick kiss to Wriothesley's mouth. "But, as you wish."

Hydro condenses in his palm and he wets his second cock. He pulls out, thumbing at Wriothesley's loose rim.

As promised, he goes slow, pressing both of his cocks together, sinking just the tips in. He watches Wriothesley's face and tracks every reaction.

"Oh," breathes Wriothesley. The stretch burns—but is pleasurable. But mostly it's the way that Neuvillette looks at him, expression pinched. Like he won't last, like he's just stuck himself into perfection. More, Wriothesley wants more. His nails dig into Neuvillette's back and he kicks his heel against him.

Neuvillette rocks against him. Both cocks slide deeper and suddenly, Wriothesley's seeing stars. No longer does he tease him, he clings to Neuvillette instead, his breath caught in his throat. "Beloved," says Neuvillette. Sweat beads on his brow. "Wriothesley—Hah."

"So big," blurts Wriothesley as he bottoms out. Both cocks sit inside, snug, bullying his insides. He feels them in his gut, his chest, his throat. "Yes, fuck, so big, so—"

Neuvillette braces himself on one arm and shifts. Wriothesley cries out as his cocks slide even deeper. A gentle pace. He pulls out and sinks back in with a desperate-sounding groan. Neuvillette presses close, his mouth near Wriothesley's ear again. "So tight," he mutters, kissing the shell of it. "Perfect, you're—"

He can barely talk. And Wriothesley can barely think. He tugs at Neuvillette's hair at the base of his neck. "More," he begs, lifting his hips. "Please."

Neuvillette fucks him with an easy pace. His breath is hot, fanning against Wriothesley's face. A deep thrust shocks Wriothesley to his core. It's—it's—almost too much, and not just due to the thickness of both of Neuvillette's cocks. The energy in the room is charged. Neuvillette isn't rough, but there's a jerkiness to his movements that suggests he's wearing himself thin.

"Are you alright?" asks Wriothesley, his fingers combing through his hair.

"Yes." Neuvillette's face dips to his neck to suckle at his pulse point. Fangs threaten to bite him there. "Yes, I'm—Wriothesley."

He wants to ask if it's all he's wanted. He'd joked about claiming Wriothesley in this nest, of filling him and refusing to let him go. And Wriothesley wonders if this satisfies those instincts. He pets one of his horns and Neuvillette moans. He sounds lost, rapturous, even. I'll worship you all the same, he'd said.

And he does; Neuvillette mouths at his neck. He whispers praises into his skin as his hands wander across skin and scars. "Perfect," he says. "All I've ever wanted. Tight, and hot, and perfect. So good. So good."

He fucks him slowly as he crushes Wriothesley with his weight. Sweat-slick skin and the wet slap of his balls against Wriothesley's ass has him clambering for more. Wriothesley's cock aches, an utter mess as precome drips from the tip. And he's close—so close.

"I'm going to—" Wriothesley locks his legs around Neuvillette's waist and he lifts his hips. "There, there."

Neuvillette grunts as his thrusts lose their rhythm. His cocks carve through Wriothesley and he knows he'll never be the same. He'll be empty after this, sore and empty, but so satisfied. And Neuvillette will—

"I love you," whispers Neuvillette into his ear right as his cocks drive in all the way. "Wriothesley, I love you. You are—Mhmn."

This is it, Wriothesley realizes. He'll never love another man like this, he'll never want to. Neuvillette either; for a man who refuses interpersonal relationships, who holds others an arms length away with intent, he's so free with his words in the sanctity of their bed.

"Mate," says Wriothesley, causing Neuvillette's hips to stagger. "That's what you like to say, right? Mates."

Neuvillette slides a hand underneath him, guiding his hips up and off the bed. And this angle—Wriothesley nearly goes cross-eyed as those cocks shove all the way in. He curses and keens, crying out. He arches, meeting each thrust, every punch of Neuvillette's lengths, squeezing tight around them as he barrels to his end.

"May I bite you?" Neuvillette asks so sweetly, kissing the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. "I wish—"

"Yes, yes."

Neuvillette's teeth snap down and white-hot pain shoots down Wriothesley's spine. He reaches between them, thumbing at where Wriothesley's rim is stretched to its limit. He pulls him into his next thrust, lapping at Wriothesley's neck, moaning at the taste of the blood that wells.

Wriothesley comes first, untouched, just from the torturous pleasure of Neuvillette's cocks alone. He clamps down, dragging a whine from Neuvillette, who just ruts into him quicker, faster, chasing his own end. He spills with a grunt of Wriothesley's name—the human-like cock. And then the second swells, twitching as a second rush of warmth fills Wriothesley to bursting point.

Everything stills. Wriothesley is still keyed up, his nerves suddenly in overdrive. It's too much; Neuvillette's weight, his smell, the way he nuzzles the bite mark against his neck. How heavy his cocks suddenly feel in Wriothesley's ass, even as they soften.

When Neuvillette shifts to pull out, Wriothesley stops him. "Don't—not yet. I want to stay like this."

Neuvillette must smell it, the sudden change in his demeanor. Not anxiety—no, he loves this. But he's overstimulated as he drops, and Neuvillette is quick to respond. He brushes back Wriothesley's bangs, his palm cold against his forehead.

Soothing. Wriothesley sighs, melting into the sheets as Neuvillette rolls them onto their sides. He presses his nose against the back of his neck and curls around him, arm resting in the notch of his waist. And then he asks, "Are you still cold?"

Wriothesley laughs, his voice hoarse. "Stop joking."

Neuvillette kisses the base of his neck, hiding a chuckle. "I live to annoy you, it seems."

"No, you live to..." Wriothesley falls quiet. "Well, you can live to do whatever you want."

"And if that is to annoy you?" A funny idea. Wriothesley smiles into the pillows, amused by the thought. And then Neuvillette continues with, "Or, if I live to love you?"

All of Wriothesley's bravado dissipates. He swallows thickly, words caught in his throat—but he knows that Neuvillette doesn't need a response.

Eventually, Neuvillette has to pull out, and they both wince as they separate. Empty. Too, too empty. Clean up is efficient. Wriothesley is patient as Neuvillette cleans the bite mark on his neck, knuckles tracing the dips of the prickmarks.

"Admiring your work?" he asks with a grin.

"Yes," says Neuvillette with absolutely no shame. "It isn't permanent enough. It isn't—" He stops himself, realizing just what he's said.

Wriothesley sits there on the edge of the bed, watching as nervousness casts across Neuvillette. He reaches out, tugging his hand to his mouth for a kiss. "You're worrying about nothing."

"Wriothesley—"

"Later. For now I'm tired and sore, and I want to sleep." He nuzzles Neuvillette's knuckles. "Also, I'm cold again—"

Neuvillette offers him a wry smile. "I've heard of a dragon who rather enjoys cuddling."

"Oh? I remember that he found it weird at first." Wriothesley slides back into the sheets, Neuvillette following suit.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, Neuvillette tucking against his side and resting his cheek against Wriothesley's chest. "Soft," he mutters. "I've long since learned of the appeal."

Wriothesley kisses the top of his head. Pets his hair, and those soft tendrils of horn. Neuvillette is soon the one to doze, far more tired than he cared to admit. Wriothesley has never been a cuddler, either, for all his teasing of Neuvillette. He never even stayed over—but from day one he's found a home in Neuvillette's sheets.

And now—

He kind of wants to never leave, not that Neuvillette would let him if he tried.

Wriothesley rubs his face, hiding a smile.