Wriothesley plays a dangerous game of riling Neuvillette up in public.

CW: Contains Smut

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Wriothesley is a menace.

Neuvillette prides himself on his usually unflappable patience, but he's learned that there is always an exception to the rule. Wriothesley tests that patience with teasing touches that are far too overt for public display.

"Beloved." His tone is a curt warning. Neuvillette's hand curls around Wriothesley's wrist to stay his wandering hand that currently rests against the small of Neuvillette's back, a little too close to the swell of his ass.

"Sweetheart." Wriothesley's reply is relaxed, teasing. Even with Neuvillette holding him by the wrist, Wriothesley's fingers dig into his back through his clothing, trying to grab a handful of muscle.

Perhaps it is the wedding. Neuvillette cannot deny that the atmosphere is romantic. Navia and Clorinde's ceremony was quiet, and quaint, and even the reception, while lively, carries an air of intimacy that Neuvillette had not expected from such a function. Still, it is no excuse for this particularly licentious behavior.

Wriothesley has clung to his side the entire night. A hand against his waist. Knuckles pulling down the length of his spine. All of these teases build heat in Neuvillette's belly, and though he is a man well-practiced with reigning in his desires, his mate is... enticing.

His cock fills to half-hardness, aching in his trousers. Neuvillette has never been so thankful for such dark lighting, or the busy array of guests around them. He adjusts himself covertly, and any closeness that he and Wriothesley share is brushed off as normal.

"A dance?" asks Wriothesley, squeezing at his hip, already pulling him back to the dance floor. They've already spun a round out there, so Neuvillette would rather not, which is exactly what he says to Wriothesley, firm in his footing. "All the better then," continues Wriothesley, pressing close again. "I get to have you to myself in this corner—"

"Wriothesley."

Wriothesley is dangerously close to inciting his ire. Neuvillette chitters with annoyance—but also arousal, and Wriothesley knows that. Wriothesley can sense it, can see it on his face. He tugs at Neuvillette's hips, pulling him chest-to-chest in the way that couples do when dancing to such slow-churning music.

But then Wriothesley's hand dips between them, his knuckles brushing against Neuvillette's erection, and he smiles like a cat with cream at this discovery. He dips close, his mouth falling near Neuvillette's ear. "If we weren't in public now," he murmurs, breath warm against that pointed shell, "the things that I'd do to you."

Neuvillette reaches out to pull at the lapel of Wriothesley's suit jacket. "A menace," he calls him. "Why are you torturing me so?"

Because this is torture. It is bad enough they've both been busy, that their shared time has only been in passing as of late; mornings together as they eat breakfast, and late nights where they drop dead into bed. There has been little time for anything else. Neuvillette's fingers itch to touch. His cock aches to be buried in his mate, and Wriothesley is torturing him for the fun of it.

"If we weren't in public," repeats Wriothesley, his voice a deep and dangerous purr, "the things I'd beg you to do to me—"

"You've imbibed in too much," cuts in Neuvillette. With all the free-flowing liquor being passed around in champagne flutes, it would come as no surprise. He thinks that Wriothesley would be a bold drunk, one with wandering hands desperate to partake despite the fact that they are in public.

But Wriothesley just stands there, a wide smirk pulling across his face. "I'm stone-cold sober, sweetheart. You know that I don't drink. You, though..." Wriothesley plucks the crystal flute from Neuvillette's hand, bringing it to his nose for a sniff. "Sweetheart, I don't think I've ever seen you drink bubbly."

Neuvillette regrets it, now. It isn't that he forgot Wriothesley shies away from alcohol, it's that he didn't think about it. This is a safe space. Clorinde and Navia would never let anything happen at their wedding, and perhaps Neuvillette thought that Wriothesley would let his walls down, if only for the night.

And so, he did too.

"One glass." Neuvillette's throat bobs as he says this. "I've had one glass, Wriothesley."

"How's it feel?"

Until that moment, Neuvillette had not considered. His veins thrum. His mouth is a little dry, and he could benefit from some water. His gait is straight, though. Neuvillette isn't tipsy, but his mind is a little fogged, and everything feels looser than usual, which Wriothesley more than likely picked up on.

Wriothesley's hand brushes against the bulge of Neuvillette's trousers. "I thought so," he purrs, proving Neuvillette's thought right. "You haven't stopped staring at me since we arrived at the reception."

How can Neuvillette not? His mate wears a crisp, well-cut suit with all the correct parts. Even his tie is knotted properly, resting against his throat. His hair is slicked back, and he looks like sin, smells like sin, peppered with arousal—

Oh.

Neuvillette can't help but press his nose against Wriothesley's temple, tipping close for a deep inhale. How inopportune. The need to bend Wriothesley against the nearest wall claws through his chest, his cock aching in his trousers.

It is the champagne. It must be. Neuvillette made a mistake partaking in the festivities, the wedding be damned. He should have known better because he's missed his mate. This is the first time that he's seen Wriothesley for longer than a half-hour at a time, in a week.

"Hey." Wriothesley grabs Neuvillette's chin, tipping it towards him.

They're still tucked in the corner of the ballroom, away from most prying eyes. Those who do stare quickly look away. It's a marvel to see the Chief Justice indulging in his partner on a more public level, but it is not unknown. This, though; this is more than he would usually allow. Wriothesley is so close that Neuvillette can smell the tea on his breath, and one of those little appetizers he had not ten minutes okay.

Wriothesley offers him a small smile. Leans forward to brush their lips together, a simple kiss. But his hand—his hand is still shoved between them. Wriothesley palms at Neuvillette's erection, swallowing down the soft groan that tumbles from his mouth.

"Beloved—"

"Let's get out of here." Wriothesley's touch is searing hot through the thick fabric of Neuvillette's trousers. "Find a corner somewhere, hm? I can take care of this for you."

"I don't need—" Neuvillette lets out a frustrated grunt because the reality is that yes, he does in fact need release, but this isn't remotely the place to engage in such behavior. "We are at a wedding," he finishes with a hiss. "The wedding of friends—"

"Friends who won't miss us." Wriothesley bobs his head towards Clorinde and Navia who sit at a table, near the end of the room. They're pressed close, sharing words and stealing kisses from wine-stained lips. The sight of it does not help. Only makes Neuvillette crave his mate more, and the idea of stealing of Wriothesley away—

"That look," murmurs Wriothesley, cutting into his thoughts. "Sweetheart, I know that look."

"This is hardly an appropriate place to—"

"This manor is nearly as old as you. Surely there's an abandoned, dusty room that no one will look in."

Neuvillette frowns, which results in rich laughter from Wriothesley. He does not appreciate being called old, least of all compared to an aging manor. Still. The estate is vast. And sparse. And only used for event hosting. There are parts that function as a living museum during daytime hours, but the rest remains largely abandoned, used only for storage.

Wriothesley wears a knowing smirk. "You're thinking about it." His thumb drags down the length of Neuvillette's cock, copping another feel. "It'll be a fun memory."

Perhaps. It would also mean that Neuvillette would never be able to attend a function at this venue ever again without thinking about just how handsy Wriothesley got with him. Neuvillette has standards. Boundaries.

Boundaries that are thrown out the window when Wriothesley's hand squeezes at him for the umpteenth time.

Then Wriothesley lets go and peels back. Neuvillette follows when tugged along because his instincts cannot say no, because that bubble burns burns through his veins, loosening his core. He wants, needs, and Wriothesley smells hot like a bonfire, his arousal spicing the air. The alternative is leaving early, which would be no better, so Neuvillette lets himself be greedy.

Wriothesley leads him blindly through a side door and into a hallway. They bump into a server. Apologies are mumbled, Wriothesley offering up a hissed, "Sorry, uh, looking for the... We just need some fresh air. It's stuffy in there."

The server waves them along, uncaring of their excuses, seemingly used to this. Just how often do mortals act like this? Wriothesley laughs as they round a corner, and then another corner—and then Wriothesley's hands find Neuvillette's face. He's pulled close for a searing, aching kiss.

"Fuck," Wriothesley mutters against his mouth. "I've wanted to do that since—"

"Wriothesley, we're still not—"

"No one's here."

It's still too close to the kitchen, too close to the rooms that they are serving out off. Neuvillette can still hear the clinking of plates and glasses, and bottles of liquor being uncorked.

Wriothesley's palms are warm against his face. "Worrywart," he teases, nipping at Neuvillette's mouth.

Neuvillette's fingers curl around Wriothesley's elbow for a tight squeeze. He kisses him back, biting, sharp, his fangs catching against the swell of his bottom lip. Wriothesley moans, a deep sound that's a little too loud. Neuvillette swallows it, shoving his tongue into Wriothesley's mouth, tasting him.

"Sweetheart," breathes Wriothesley against Neuvillette's mouth. He's back against the corridor hall now. "If you don't stop that, I'll have you fuck me right here."

Neuvillette groans. Despite the fact his inhibited have been... loosened, he will not—they're still too close to the wedding reception itself. "Further down the hall," he murmurs, right before stealing another kiss.

They stumble deeper into the manor, barely keeping track of the turns they take. Neuvillette will be able to lead them back well enough, but here, now— Sovereigns, he has a need.

"Locked." Wriothesley rattles a door handle. And then another. "This one too."

"They must've had some forethought." Amusement pulls at Neuvillette's being. Wriothesley is needy. His mate wants him so badly that he's pulled him aside for something quick and sordid. Neuvillette won't fuck him, not properly, but a little bit of mischief... Pleasure spreads through his being at the thrill of it all.

Wriothesley gets frustrated once they reach a dead end of a hall. It's dark here, the walls covered in thick curtains. It's late evening, so there is no sunlight filtering in through the window; the only light is the flickering glow of an oil lamp set into the wall beside them. Wriothesley's gaze darts around the space before looking past Neuvillette. Then he meets Neuvillette's face, his lips curved into a sultry smirk.

Neuvillette knows that look. That's a look that spells trouble. "Wriothesley—"

"Here." Wriothesley reaches out, takes hold of Neuvillette's jabot, and yanks. Wriothesley leans back against the wall, dragging him closer. "Neuvillette," he murmurs, his voice pitched low, deep with need. "I've wanted to get my hands on you all evening."

"Wriothesley." It is a weak plea, a half-hearted grunt that goes ignored.

"I've wanted your hands on me, all evening." Wriothesley's hand finds his, and pulls it to his mouth. He nuzzles Neuvillette's knuckles, dragging the arch of his cheek across every dip.

Unfair. Unfair. Wriothesley knows that Neuvillette cannot ignore scenting; that he'll crave returning the favor in whatever way that he can. There's a laugh, no doubt at the expense of Neuvillette's expression. Wriothesley kisses his knuckles next, and it's annoying that he's wearing gloves, that Neuvillette's skin is barred from the heat of his breath.

Wriothesley makes a soft, aching sound. He pulls off that glove as if reading Neuvillette's mind, and oh, that's better, so much better. Wriothesley guides that hand down, down, to his hard erection, thick in his trousers.

"Menace." Neuvillette leans close, shoving his face into the crook of Wriothesley's neck. He smells like tea and leather; tastes like sweat, and the cologne that he spritzed before they left for the ceremony.

"You love it." Wriothesley's face tips up, his head pressed against the wall.

"I do." The words are almost lost against Wriothesley's skin as Neuvillette mouths at it. "Beloved, I love you."

"Feeling sentimental?"

It must be the wedding, the booze. Watching Clorinde and Navia exchange vows has awoken something in Neuvillette, and Wriothesley is no help. His mate wants him, needs him so badly that he's pulled him into the shadows. Neuvillette chuckles, feeling emboldened, and settles his mouth near Wriothesley's ear. "Sentimental." A kiss to the shell of cartilage there, his tongue darting out for a taste. "Or debauched? You decide."

"These things are not mutually exclusive." Wriothesley's hand curls around the back of Neuvillette's head. "Sweetheart, I want another kiss."

Neuvillette's hand is still between Wriothesley's thighs, palm against his cock. He squeezes at it, causing Wriothesley's breath to catch. "I thought you'd rather this, perhaps." Neuvillette has lost any worry of someone coming across them. They're deep in the estate, away from prying eyes. He smells no one near. They are utterly alone, and Wriothesley is prime for the taking.

He traces the length of Wriothesley's erection with the tip of his thumb. "Shall I use my hand?" Neuvillette nuzzles Wriothesley's temple, pressing his nose into his hair. Wriothesley's arousal chokes the air. His heart skips a beat. Neuvillette can hear the way that his pulse stutters in his veins. "Shall I fuck your thighs?"

What a dream that would be, shoving his length between the muscular plush of Wriothesley's thighs.

Wriothesley's fingers curl into his hair, pulling slightly. "I want—" Wriothesley thrusts his hips against Neuvillette's hand, groaning at the pressure. The way that he ruts against his palm, how he seeks out more—Neuvillette wants. Wants to see Wriothesley crack under the pressure, wants to feel his cock twitch as he spills all over his hand.

Sovereigns, he's never having a glass of champagne again. He isn't even tipsy, he's just relaxed to the point of caring less, but it's enough to be embarrassing. But, but—

"You smell delectable." Neuvillette could drown in Wriothesley's scent. He drags his nose down the length of his face. Bites at the curve of his jaw, the apple of his throat. "Wriothesley, just how long have you been so desperate for me?"

"Since I saw you dressed like this."

Neuvillette is dressed well for the wedding, clad in an old formal suit that he doesn't often wear. Three pieces, with a perfectly tailored jacket and tails, and a nice waistcoat cinching his middle.

"I see," he purrs, chuckling against the line of Wriothesley's throat. He gives it another nip, the tips of his fangs grazing the thick scars there. "A sentiment returned, I assure you. So rarely do I see you in such finery."

Wriothesley swallows, his throat bobbing underneath Neuvillette's mouth. "Just for you," he says. "I thought you'd like it. The last time we went to the opera, you couldn't look away."

Neuvillette couldn't, obsessed with the sight of Wriothesley dressed so well. He moans against Wriothesley's neck at the thought, mouthing at it again, this time his teeth sinking in just a little bit harder.

Wriothesley pulls Neuvillette's face back by his hair. "Fuck, I need you," he hisses, turning around in his grasp until he's pressed against the wall. Wriothesley wastes no time fumbling with his trousers, pulling them open and slipping them down the swell of his ass.

There is a need to be quick about it. Even if there is no one in this part of the estate, it will be noticed that they've disappeared. Someone will come looking, eventually. Not that Neuvillette will last long. His own hands shake as he yanks open the fastenings of his own clothing. His cock aches. It'll be soft and warm between Wriothesley's thighs, and with a little bit of Hydro, Neuvillette knows he'll find himself done in a matter of minutes.

Neuvillette sighs at the sight of Wriothesley's bare ass once revealed, his trousers caught around his thighs. "Beloved," he mutters, grabbing a palmful, squeezing at the muscle. Gods, when he gets him home. Neuvillette will make love to Wriothesley in the sheets until he's crying from overstimulation, until he's begging for a break. They both of a rare day off tomorrow, and so Neuvillette will run him ragged.

But then Wriothesley reaches behind himself to pull at one of his ass cheeks, showing off his hole. It's slick with oil. Loose, having obviously been prepped. Neuvillette stares, and suddenly all thoughts of fucking just his thighs in this hall come reeling to a halt.

Wriothesley's forehead rests against the wall. He looks back at Neuvillette over his shoulder, his cheeks tinted pink, but he doesn't hide from Neuvillette, just gives him an amused curl of his lips.

"You wanted this." Neuvillette dips his thumb between those cheeks, resting the pad of it against Wriothesley's softened rim. "You thought about this, planned for this."

"I didn't. I—" Wriothesley sighs as Neuvillette drags his thumb over his hole, petting it. "Okay, planned it, yes, but not for here. For later, after the wedding. I—fuck."

"Later, hm?" Neuvillette imagines it, Wriothesley fucking himself open on his fingers, all because he didn't want to wait when they got home. "Not a single thought of being up to no good?"

"No." The word is punched from Wriothesley's throat when Neuvillette's thumb sinks into his ass, testing its give. Wriothesley moans. His arms shake as he braces himself against the wall. "Sweetheart, please, I—"

"Mate." Neuvillette sighs as he pulls his thumb free. "I will not deny that being at a wedding has me feeling a certain way. If we were at home, I'd take you apart slowly."

"I wouldn't want that. I'd want you to—Neuvillette, please."

No, Wriothesley wouldn't would he? Neuvillette's thumb sweeps over his rim again, massaging at it. He begs so perfectly, his voice hoarse and needy.

"We don't have much time." Hydro fills Neuvillette's palm, and he slicks his cock, hissing slightly as he gives it a stroke. He... won't last long, which is all for the better. Pleasure pools in his gut at the thrill of potentially being caught.

They won't be—Neuvillette would be able to hear or smell anyone the moment they're within several feet, but heat zings down his spine nonetheless. He shuffles closer, pressing the tip of his cock to Wriothesley's hole. "Beloved, tell me how you want this."

Neuvillette knows, but he wants to hear Wriothesley's say it.

"Hard and fast. We've got to be quick about this, and I'm not going to last anyway. Please."

That's all that Neuvillette needs to hear, that sweet plea dripping from Wriothesley's mouth. He lines up his cock and thrusts into Wriothesley sharply, sinking right to the base. The heat is blinding. Wriothesley's insides give way so easily, swallowing his cock with greed. And Wriothesley—Wriothesley moans, shoving his hips back, trying to take Neuvillette's length deeper.

Neuvillette wastes no time setting a harsh, quick pace. He fucks Wriothesley into that wall, yanking him into each thrust.

"Yes," hisses Wriothesley. "Yes, yes—Fuck, like that."

Too loud. He's being too loud, but Neuvillette wants to hear more. "Beloved," he hisses, shoving his cock deep, grinding his hips against Wriothesley's plush ass. He fucks him with hard, deep punches of his cock. Leans close, boxing Wriothesley against the wall, chest resting against his back.

What Neuvillette would give for skin-to-skin contact, to be free of their clothing, and feel his mate. The best that he can do is Wriothesley's nape, so he shoves his nose against the curve of his jaw, right where it meets his ear. Neuvillette inhales deeply, drowning in his scent.

He's close; the heat of Wriothesley's insides tight around his cock are alone enough to drag him to the edge. Combined with the thrill of being caught, of fucking his mate publicly, in a dark corner—Neuvillette moans against Wriothesley's neck, his fangs finding thick scar tissue.

"Mine," he murmurs, licking across the puckered flesh of Wriothesley's throat. "You couldn't wait. You needed me so badly that you begged to be taken, right here."

"Yeah." Wriothesley chokes on a broken sound as the tip of Neuvillette's cock nails the perfect spot. "Oh fuck, there. There, I'm—"

Neuvillette shoves two fingers into Wriothesley's mouth, tamping down his tongue. His thrusts slow to a crawl but keep that angle, churning Wriothesley's insides with a lazy grind instead. The pleasure is decadent and drawn out. Neuvillette's gut tightens as he does his best to not spill. A little more, he wants to draw this out just a little bit more.

"Quieter, beloved." He twists until his mouth is pressed against Wriothesley's ear. "I won't have others hearing you."

"I—" Wriothesley can't talk around his fingers, so he sucks on them instead, dragging his tongue across the joints.

"I said that I won't." Neuvillette nips at his ear playfully. Squeezes Wriothesley's tongue between his fingers, forcing it still. "You're mine, Wriothesley. No one else is allowed to hear you like this, or see you for the matter, as appealing as the thrill of it might be."

He thrusts into Wriothesley with a sharp movement that forces Wriothesley to catch himself against the wall. He moans around Neuvillette's fingers. His ass tightens, squeezing Neuvillette's cock to its near limit. Wriothesley's own length hangs hard between his thighs, dripping a mess onto the worn, antique rug below them.

Oh. Neuvillette wishes he could get a better look and see the wetness leaks from that flushed, aching tip. He reaches around Wriothesley's waist with his other hand, groping blindly. Curls his fingers around Wriothesley's length, stroking it from base to tip. He squeezes at the head, thumbing over the slit.

"So wet for me," he whispers against Wriothesley's ear. "So tight. Beloved—" Another thrust, another sweet grind, and Wriothesley's ass writhing around him. Neuvillette moans against his temple. "You feel perfect. Just what what I needed."

Wriothesley utters a muffled cursed around Neuvillette's fingers.

"My mate," purrs Neuvillette, yanking Wriothesley against him. "Can you feel the way my cock twitches? I'm close, Wriothesley."

Wriothesley's breath hitches. Neuvillette can hear the way that his heart beats faster, feel the clench of Wriothesley's gut underneath his forearm. He's close too, seconds away from tipping over the edge, delirious in his pleasure. This is what drives Neuvillette, why he gave in. Wriothesley's pleasure is his own, and Neuvillette is determined to give him exactly what he wants.

"Shall I come inside of you?" His whisper is harsh, punched. The thought of Wriothesley fucked full of his come, only to go back to the wedding, sets off his instincts. No one would know. But Neuvillette would; he'd smell his claim from across the room, see it in the leftover flush on Wriothesley's cheeks. "Yes, that's—" Neuvillette sighs, the image seared into his brain. "This is exactly what you wanted, isn't it? You fucked yourself open on your fingers, and and then you begged for me to follow you into this corner. Did you want to be caught? Hmm, imagine what the others would think if they saw just how it is that I claim you."

Wriothesley spills into his hand abruptly. He chokes on a moan, on Neuvillette's fingers, and he paints his palm white with come as Neuvillette strokes him through his orgasm.

"Good boy, always such a good boy. Just like that."

Wriothesley's cock twitches in his hand, pulsing with several aftershocks of his pleasure. Neuvillette pulls his fingers from Wriothesley's mouth and delights in the groan that fills the space, that raspy sound music to his ears. Sovereigns, it feels good. When he's buried so deeply in his mate, Neuvillette is complete.

His hand drops to Wriothesley's hip, down the swell of his ass. Pulls at the muscle there, spreading Wriothesley to watch as his cock slides out and in. Divine. Gods, the sight of it. Neuvillette gives a couple more stuttered thrusts before he breaks, coming when his cock is shoved as deep as it will go.

Wriothesley smells satisfied, like he's over the moon, like this is everything that he wanted and more. Neuvillette praises him again, soft, loving words as he grinds out the remnants of whatever's left in his cock. "Beloved," he murmurs, his nose pressed into his hair, "you always take me so, so well."

"Gods, it feels good. You always feel good, I'm— I love you. Sweetheart—"

"We cannot stay here for much longer." Despite saying this, Neuvillette is reluctant to pull away. He's clingy after sex, prone to leeching off of Wriothesley's warmth and presence. His instincts demand this of him, to preen in his mate's satisfaction, and to steal him away for more. Were they home, Neuvillette would lavish Wriothesley, would press him into the bed, and mouth across the entire length of his body.

"Yeah, we—how much longer do we have to stay?"

Neuvillette chuckles. Pulls his softened cock out of Wriothesley carefully, dragging his thumb over his wrecked rim to soothe it. He kisses Wriothesley's sweaty temple, nuzzling, dragging his scent across Wriothesley's skin. "We, regrettably, should stay longer. I would think our lack of presence has been noticed—by Clorinde and Navia at the very least."

"Neuvillette."

"We are public figures." Neuvillette sometimes wishes they were not. Wriothesley turns his is grasp, leaning back against the wall. Neuvillette's gaze sweeps down, and he finally gets an eyeful of his spent cock, still damp at the tip. "There is the expectation of our attendance."

"We've attended. Our faces have been seen. We even took a spin around the dance floor—"

"Were that I could," he says in a quiet murmur, "please know that I would steal you away in a heartbeat. All this has done is delay the inevitable."

"Oh?" Wriothesley arches a brow. "And what's the inevitable?"

Neuvillette offers him a tilted smile. His fingers are still covered in Wriothesley's semen, and he brings them to his mouth for a proper taste. Makes a show of it, even, dragging his forked tongue across his knuckles.

Wriothesley's pupils widen. His throat bobs and he swallows, and then he whispers Neuvillette's given name, a tight utterance accompanied by a rush of arousal spiking Wriothesley's scent. "You can't—sweetheart, don't make me beg."

Amusing. Neuvillette finishes cleaning his fingers. "Do you truly wish to risk the wrath of Miss Clorinde and Miss Navia?"

"Completely worth it."

Neuvillette disagrees. Neuvillette also reaches out, cradling Wriothesley's balls, and his soft cock, memorizing their weight against his palm, considering the request. Then he tucks them away and pulls up Wriothesley's clothing, fumbling with the fastenings as he redoes his trousers.

"A little bit longer, beloved." Neuvillette curls his hand around Wriothesley's neck, fingers curling into the sweaty hair there. He presses their foreheads together, savoring his mate's weight against him, and the feel of being in his space. It calms him. Neuvillette purrs as he soaks it all up, then he tilts his mouth up to press a sweet kiss to Wriothesley's brow. "Miss Navia still has to toss the bouquet. Once they cut the cake, we can take our leave."

When he pulls back, Wriothesley is smirking. Neuvillette's mouth pulls into a frown. "What?"

"Nothing. Just—well. I thought you'd last longer than that. Leaving, I mean. Can't wait to get home?"

"Wriothesley—"

"Then again, you did fuck me in a dark corner. I thought the most I'd be able to talk you into was a quick handsy."

"Wriothesley."

"Hey." Wriothesley laughs, pulling Neuvillette's hand to his face. He rubs his cheek all over his knuckles, scenting him, and oh, Neuvillette's chest lurches. "I love you," continues Wriothesley. "I was teasing earlier, but I love that you gave in so easily. Thanks for treating me."

Wriothesley is the one who treated him; drove him mad with touch, and then was already slick and loose, prime for the taking. Neuvillette doesn't hash out the details. Wriothesley knows what he's thinking anyhow, judging by the curl of his mouth, and the kisses he presses to each rise of knuckle.

"Until the cake, at least. I can manage that, but can you?"

Rude. Neuvillette growls softly, pulling his hand away and reclasping his clothes. "Do not play games you will not win."

"I won't?"

Neuvillette just shoots him a look.

Wriothesley rolls out his shoulders, wincing slightly when he takes a step. "Well, like I said earlier, if we weren't in public..." Then he winks. "A thought to explore later. We really should get back before Clorinde sends out a search party."

Neuvillette snorts. As Wriothesley begins to turn away, he tugs him close one last time to steal another kiss. It's a slow and aching thing, one that promises a night of more pleasure. Wriothesley shudders into the touch, his tongue sneaking between Neuvillette's fangs to tease.

And then it's over. Wriothesley's hand brushes the front of Neuvillette's trousers, nudging at his half-hard cock. "Quick to recover," he teases. "Better put this boy away."

"It is not—this boy?" What an absurd thing to call it.

Wriothesley says nothing, just turns to head back towards the reception, Neuvillette close on his heels.