Wriothesley is tired of seeing others hang off of Neuvillette so he proposes a late-night fuck on one of the hallway couches.

CW: Contains Smut

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Neuvillette doesn't even notice.

The woman leans a little too close under the guise showing him something on a report. She feigns tripping, apologizing as her ample bosom brushes against his forearm. Her shirt is low-cut, the line of her cleavage in full display, contradicting the more conservative style most women adopt in Fontaine.

Neuvillette is too kind, reaching out to steady her by the elbow. "Miss, watch it," he says, resulting in the woman cooing and fawning as she thanks him for his supposed heroism.

Wriothesley is not a jealous man, and yet—

"You know, for all the teasing about Melusines being naive," says Sedene from his left, shooting him a wry grin. "It's insufferable, isn't it?"

"Is this a common occurrence?"

Sedene blinks placidly. "Would you feel better if I said no?"

No, he would not. "You're terrible at lying," says Wriothesley.

"Then I suppose I should tell you there's a whole gaggle of women—"

"On second thought, don't."

It is a little condescending when Sedene reaches out to rub Wriothesley's shoulder, even if she means to comfort him genuinely. "For the record, he's never noticed anyone's attempts at flirting. Not even yours."

Well, that's true. Wriothesley hides a laugh by clearing his throat. "Right. Oh, look, this report. Was this a good trial?"

Sedene rolls her eyes but Wriothesley finds himself eased. And, it's not as if Neuvillette will run off with another. There is, at least, that.

#

So, now that Sedene has said it, Wriothesley sees it everywhere.

Women and men, older and younger folk, and even a Melusine, of all things. And Neuvillette is just... too fucking polite, all genteel propriety as he unknowingly gives into their whims. Fingers ghosting arms as he steadies someone after an errant step. Leaning in as they point to something he must look at. Mutters of fuzzies in his hair as a person reaches out to touch.

Wriothesley may or may not have snapped a pen in half. He may have casually crafted a knife out of Cryo, running his finger down the edge, and definitely didn't think about slitting a throat or two.

It is late now. The Opera Epiclese is quiet, running on one step below a skeleton crew. Wriothesley finally catches sight of Neuvillette strolling through the halls with a folder in his hand.

"Wriothesley—Oh."

Wriothesely tugs him into a dark hallway that's been empty since lunchtime. He boxes Neuvillette against the wall, pressing close and yanking his face down for a biting kiss. Neuvillette stiffens, but then gives in, tilting his face back to nip at Wriothesley's mouth.

"Not to complain," he drawls when he pulls back, "but should I remind you that we're in the middle of the Opera Epiclese?"

Wriothesley tries to kiss him again but Neuvillette holds his face firmly. "Let them watch," he finally says, turning to bite at Neuvillette's fingers. "Maybe they should. All day I've—"

"All day you've what?" Then, Neuvillette's nose twitches, having caught a scent. He leans close, inhaling near the juncture of Wriothesley's neck. "Beloved," he murmurs, "there is nothing to be jealous about."

"I know." Wriothesley doesn't mean to sound so aggravated. He grunts as Neuvillette kisses his neck, trying to soothe him, but Wriothesley is too on edge. "I—it's just the way that they look at you even though they know."

It is no secret who warms Neuvillette's bed. They may not parade each other around but everyone knows. They've seen the gifts and shared lunches; the too-long tea breaks and how Wriothesley makes personal visits more frequently now than in the past. It should be obvious and that's what irritates Wriothesley so much.

Neuvillette sighs and kisses him again, slower, sweeter, his tongue tracing the seam of Wriothesley's mouth to coax it open. Too soft. Wriothesley loves it, loves him, yes, but it's too little, too gentle. He wants more, fingers curling into Neuvillette's hair, yanking at it. He kisses back with his teeth, sinking them into Neuvillette's bottom lip.

A grunt. Neuvillette pulls back and gives him a searing gaze, his eyes glowing pale in the dark corridor. "You healed it," says Wriothesely, dragging his thumb across Neuvillette's lip, wishing he'd left it behind so that everyone else could see. A claim. He wants, he needs a claim.

"You worry over the silliest things."

"What if I smelled like you?"

"Wriothesley, I don't care—"

"What if you smelled like me?"

"Wriothesley."

"Can you fuck me here?"

Neuvillette sucks in a breath. "Don't be ridiculous—"

"How is this any different than your office?"

"It's public," hisses Neuvillette.

"You still haven't said no."

Neuvillette sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But when Wriothesley guides him to the abandoned couch he puts up no fight, dropping against the cushions with a soft trill in his throat. "Beloved," he murmurs when Wriothesley settles across his lap, knees digging into the seat on either side of his thighs.

"Come on—"

"I—"

"Still not a no." Wriothesley gives him a sly grin before tugging Neuvillette's hand to settle against his ass.

Which Neuvillette doesn't remove, squeezing at the muscle instead. "You are—"

"You love me."

"Yes."

"So fuck me," says Wriothesley, cupping Neuvillette's cheeks. "No one else is here."

At least, no one should be; this late at night there are a few guards outside, a secretary downstairs, and then usually Neuvillette in his office. These upper floors are abandoned outside of trials and the hustle and bustle of regular days, so... they should be able to get away with it.

Neuvillette is weak; his other hand rests against Wriothesley's waist, thumb dipping into the waistband of his trousers. "An absurd request," he says. And despite the comment, he pulls Wriothesley's shirt from his trousers. Neuvillette's hand is hot against the small of Wriothesley's back as it rests there. "Needy boy."

"Yeah. For you." Wriothesley tips forward to kiss him again.

This time, Neuvillete indulges, slipping him tongue. That hand wanders, fingers sinking into Wriothesley's waistband, tracing the scars there.

Wriothesley grinds down moaning as their cocks brush together. Neuvillette is hard to—how can he be not? Wriothesley grins against his mouth as if he's won a fight. "Go on," he says, "touch me."

"You're a terrible influence," replies Neuvillette, his hand slipping in entirely. A finger dips between Wriothesley's asscheeks, pressing against his hole. Already slick around the tip. Blessed be Hydro, thinks Wriothesley as he just smirks back.

"Who knew you could be kinky?"

Neuvillette huffs. "Would you have taken no for an answer?"

"No."

"Case in point." Neuvillette's finger sinks in to the second knuckle, stealing Wroithesely's breath away.

The sting is delicious. Wriothesley drags his hips down, riding it, forcing it deeper. Neuvillette gives in so sweetly, fucking him open on one, and then two fingers. It's too quiet in the hall; the wet squelch of his hand is loud. Neuvillette glances to the side, watching the end of the corridor. A line splits his brow in worry.

"Hey, look at me," demands Wriothesley, pulling Neuvillette's face back to him. "Don't worry."

"I—"

"Am I tight? Do I feel good?"

"Wriothesley."

"Your cock would be better. Wouldn't that be fun? To fuck here? Think about it—only we would know. We'd think about it every time we pass by this couch during the day. You'd smell it too—"

"Wriothesley."

Oh, Wriothesley knows that look. Neuvillette's pupils are narrowly slit and draconian. He's two fingers deep and squeezes at an asscheek with his other hand. He considers it. Weighs his options. Oh, he likes that thought.

"Sweetheart," says Wriothesley, knowing it'll annoy him. And then his voice quiets as he dips closer, nipping at Neuvillette's mouth. A hand drops between them and squeezes at Neuvillette's cock, hard and aching. He fumbles with the fastenings of those trousers, and Neuvillette doesn't stop him; he just flares his nostrils and lets Wriothesley do as he wishes, pulling out his stiff cock. Wriothesley thumbs across the tip, collects the precome, and brings it to his mouth for a taste. "Baby."

Neuvillette whines when Wriotheslely pulls away, only to turn around on his lap. He raises his hips, shucking off his trousers just enough to free his ass and cock.

"Wriothesley—"

"Please," cuts in Wriothesley, already reaching for Neuvillette's cock with a spit-slick hand. He gives it a rough, quick stroke that has Neuvillette hissing.

"Yes, okay, okay—"

Wriothesley leans back and sinks onto his cock. Thick. Long. He leans back when he bottoms out, bracing his weight against Neuvillette underneath him. And Neuvillette—Oh. His hands curl around Wriothesley's waist, yanking him down, grinding his cock deep.

A groan. Neuvillette tilts his face and presses a kiss against the shell of Wriothesley's ear, his forked tongue sneaking out to trace the edge of it. "Beloved," he whispers, nipping at it next before guiding Wriothesley's hips to rock against his thighs.

Wriothesley bites at his lip. "Fuck," he hisses, rising and falling against him. Neuvillette's cock carves its way through his insides. So full, his rim spread wide, bullied open. Perfect. Neuvillette helps Wriothesley move, angling him back to lean against his chest to change the angle. On the next thrust, the tip of his length nails Wriothesley's prostate. He yelps, then moans, fingers curling around Neuvillette's wrist, nails digging into the flesh.

It isn't aggressive but, rather, heated and passionate. They rock against each other, Neuvillette pressing against every roll of Wriothesley's hips. Smells like sex and them—and Neuvillette loves it, unable to stop the way that he sucks in his breaths, nose pressed against Wriothesley's neck.

"Like that," he murmurs, biting at it. "Mhmn, just like that."

Too good. Heat sparks in Wriothesley's groin, zinging up his spine, leaving his cock hard and leaking at the tip. "I thought you'd—oh, that's—" He palms it, stroking from base to tip. Anything to take the edge off the thick length lodged in his ass. Anything to distract from the searing heat that bubbles in his gut as Neuvillette grinds against him.

"This couch will be the bane of my existence." Neuvillette's chin rests on his shoulder, face tilted to keep his mouth latched against Wriothesley's sweaty skin. "You are right; I will smell it, our coming together here. And I will think of it every time."

"Hot. Sexy."

Neuvillette huffs in that way of his that makes Wriothesley's heart skip a beat. "Ruinous." He presses his hand against Wriothesley's stomach and presses there. "You are an utterly ruinous thing, aren't you?"

"Neuvillette—"

"Jealousy suits you." Neuvillette ruts into him to drive home that point. He drags Wriothesley against to lean back against him, his weight heavy against his chest. His mouth finds his ear again for a kiss that makes Wriothesley melt.

"They were—Archons—"

"None of that," chides Neuvillette. "I too, am a covetous thing. The ire of a dragon should never be provoked. You, however—" He hums, pressing close against Wriothesley's nape. "Anyone else is a being unworthy of my attention. I may be polite, but you are the one that consumes my thoughts. My beloved. My mate."

Their movements change as they crash together, uncoordinated, lacking rhythm. Neuvillette has an arm curled around Wriothesely, holding him close. The other holds his hip and guides him up and down on his cock. They both moan, the sounds lingering in the air for far too long. The slick slap of their skin is so loud that even Wriothesley is a tad embarrassed, heat pinking his cheeks.

But gods, he loves this, how they move together so well. Neuvillette is just as needy, nothing but draconic bravado with a fancy cravat tied at his throat. In the end, he's desperate too, drunk on Wriothesley's scent and the feel of him. He fucks him earnestly, rocking Wriothesley against his cock.

"Tight," he mutters near his ear. "What a perfect boy."

"I'm—gods, I'm going to—"

Neuvillette chuckles, leaning over his shoulder. "Show me." His hand sweeps down Wriothesley's front, claws dragging through the coarse hair at his pubic bone.

Wriothesley moans as he jerks himself off. He lifts his hips and slams them back down, choking off a too-loud sound. "You feel so good." He tenses and shudders, the pleasure in his gut flaring. "Fuck, Neuvillette."

He drowns in the heat. Neuvillette whispers praise into his ear and Wriothesley rises and falls at his direction. A hand sweeps between his legs, teasing the soft skin of Wriothesley's inner thighs. And then up, cupping his balls, squeezing them gently as he bucks into his tight heat.

Another stroke has Wriothesley coming, spilling across his stomach. He jerks, tensing as that wave crashes into him, dragging him under. Neuvillette inhales sharply, fangs sinking into the juncture of his neck. His next thrust is hard, searing as it strikes deep. And then the next, and the next—

Neuvillette grunts as he comes then, lapping at the mark that now bruises Wriothesley's neck. Hot and wet—Wriothesley clenches around his twitching cock, annoyed that they'll have to separate and clean up. This is what he loves the best; the aftermath, pressed together, Neuvillette breathing against his neck. The soft touches, the lingering kisses, that slow come-down as they melt into the sheets.

Neuvillette thumbs down the seam of his balls, giving them another light squeeze before letting them go. His fingers trail the length of Wriothesley's spent cock, then through the spend that pools on his stomach. Neuvillette drenches his fingers in it. Makes a show of bringing them to his mouth for a taste, that damnable forked tongue suckling at his fingers.

Wriothesley stares and Neuvillette's mouth curls into a smile. He leans forward, kisses him, then says against his lips, "It's a shame that here, I can't take you apart again and again. You know how I love to dote when you've had a long and trying day."

"Stop teasing me."

"A tease? Never."

It is. It absolutely is. Neuvillette is getting better at honing that sharp tongue, which he knows. His teases are promises that carry a heavy weight, which is proven only a moment later. He slips his cock out gingerly. Wriothesley stands and rights his trousers, sighing when Neuvillette reaches out to refasten them.

"You're bad at this," Wriothesely says when Neuvillette spends more time squeezing his cock back to half-hardness than dressing.

"Nonsense. You asked for this."

Wriothesley cannot argue with that. "And what about doting on me? My day was terrible." Preferably sooner than later because Wriothesley hates the way come leaks down his thighs. He'd rather be naked in the sheets.

Neuvillette's gaze is sharp. He still sits before him on that couch, leaning forward to kiss the sharp jut of his hip bone. "I do enjoy it when you choose to stay over. But, first—a bath, please?"

That, he can do. Wriothesley tugs Neuvillette to his feet, tucking his dick away. "Thank you," he says, thumbing over the buttons of Neuvillette's trousers as he returns the favor of fastening them. "I know this isn't... the sort of thing that you do."

"There are always exceptions. And, you painted a pretty picture."

Wriothesley raises an eyebrow. "Of soiling that couch?"

"Of drenching you in my scent." A pause as his gaze tips past Wriothesley. "And the couch."

Wriothesley tugs his face close for another kiss. "Sweetheart—"

"Wriothesley."

"I was just going to say that I love you."

Neuvillette grunts, and though he dislikes public displays of affection, he does hold his hand all the way back to the Palais Mermonia.