Neuvillette decides to give Wriothesley a taste of his own medicine by shoving his tongue down his throat.

--

"I lied earlier, by the way," Wriothesley had said, their mouths just centimeters away from each other. "I think that we should absolutely mix business and pleasure." And he has delivered just what he promised.

There is an order to Wriothesley's game, Neuvillette has noticed. Wriothesley will come to his office with a stack of paperwork, which in itself is not unusual. Neuvillette now knows this is an age-old excuse. Wriothesley can easily have delivered his reports by messenger but chooses to do it personally just to see Neuvillette. Persistent. Endearing. Utterly distracting.

Those reports are then dropped onto his desk. Next, Wriothesley will cross the room to where the Electro kettle is and sets water to boil. He'll agonize over tea leaves even though he picks the same blend every time. He whistles as he watches the clock. Three minutes exactly for the black tea before he strains it and adds a measure of milk and two spoons of sugar. And then, finally, Wriothesley will drop into the chair next to Neuvillette's desk.

Work will trickle by. They'll talk about budgets, inmates, and upcoming trials. Wriothesley sits closer now—close enough that they knock knees.

We should absolutely mix business and pleasure. The thought creeps into Neuvillette's mind every time they share tea. Wriothesley's knee is warm even through his trousers. He leans a little too close when he wants to drag his finger over lists, causing Neuvillette's attention to always waver.

He's tried to flirt. Neuvillette. After watching humans for centuries and never quite caring, he finally tried his hand at it because Wriothesley cannot be ignored. And now, their work dates are just that—dates that drive Neuvillette half-mad as he pretends to pay attention to his job.

And Wriothesley knows. He must. It's all part of this routine he's created as he teases Neuvillette while they file through reports. When they're done, he'll clean his cup and the teapot before putting them away. Right before Wriothesley leaves, he'll make his attack; he'll lean over and nuzzle Neuvillette's temple. He'll whisper something sweet in his ear and then tip up Neuvillette's face for a lingering kiss.

Which will leave Neuvillette out of sorts for the rest of the day. He'll squirm, desperate for more because now that he's crossed the threshold he doesn't want to go back.

Today is much the same. Words blur on the parchment as Neuvillette tries and fails to focus. Wriothesley smells like tea and leather, and it takes everything for Neuvillette to not shove his face right into his neck. Neuvillette needs it. Wriothesley's scent. Old, raging instincts demand that he bathe in it before imparting his own. A claim—just for himself. No one else would know or care, but Neuvillette—

"Neuvillette?"

He blinks away narrowly-slit pupils.

Wriothesley looks at him, mouth tilted into a grin as if he can read his damn mind. "Distracted?"

"Yes," says Neuvillette, knowing there isn't a reason to lie. Wriothesley tilts his head, that grin slowly melting into a smirk that makes heat curl in Neuvillette's chest. And oh, how he desires him.

Neuvillette reaches out and grasps him by the elbow. "Don't act so surprised," he says, dragging his fingers down the length of Wriothesley's arm until his claws meet skin. Gooseflesh raises as they trail down to his wrist.

Wriothesley shifts in his seat, uncrossing his legs. "Look—"

"I think that you misunderstand," cuts in Neuvillette. "I enjoy it, how you try to drive me mad." He nearly laughs at the way Wriothesley's mouth snaps shut. "And you do, might I add. You will kiss me and then you will leave me here, wanting. How cruel."

"Neuvillette—"

He dips closer, his chair creaking beneath him. He places his other hand against Wriothesley's thigh, thumbing over the thick fabric of his trousers. Wriothesley swallows. Neuvillette's gaze sharpens as he watches Wriothesley's throat bob. "And those kisses," he continues, voice pitched low as he cups Wriothesley's chin, "mediocre things."

"Mediocre?" Wriothesley sounds offended.

"Too short. All they do is tease. Wriothesley, when are you going to kiss me the way you did several weeks ago?"

Wriothesley bites at his lip. "Sweetheart—"

"Hm." A new pet name. Wriothesley has been trying one after the other and none of them have stuck. Neuvillette drags his thumb across his bottom lip and says, "That one is particularly worse than the others." A pause, and then: "Wriothesley can I kiss you?"

"You don't have to ask."

But he will. Neuvillette is new to this and still learning how to swim in these unknown waters. He kisses him, a short peck that just barely lingers, the same sort that Wriothesley taunts him with every single day. Neuvillette pulls away and Wriothesley whines, leaning forward to chase his mouth.

"Hey."

"Not so fun, hm? Far too chaste for my taste."

Wriothesley pulls him close and gives Neuvillette a searing kiss. Their teeth clack together as he tries to tilt up for better access. He groans softly—so softly that Neuvillette barely hears it—but gods, the sound of it. Neuvillette just wants to swallow it down.

The forked tip of Neuvillette's tongue traces the seam of Wriothesley's mouth. Wriothesley is good for him, opening up to let Neuvillette's tongue sweep through his mouth. He tastes like bergamot and Neuvillette cannot get enough, his tongue dipping deeper. Wriothesley's fingers are curled into his shirt, holding the fabric in a vice grip.

Hot and wet; that's what Neuvillette thinks as the tip of his tongue brushes the back of Wriothesley's throat. He pulls back, flicking it across Wriothesley's.

They part for a gasping breath. "Too chaste, you said," says Wriothesley. His cheeks are bright red and he licks his lips as if chasing Neuvillette's taste. "What would you do if I wanted more? That it's hard to behave, but you—"

"I what?" asks Neuvillette in a soft murmur. Wriothesley would never know this, but Neuvillette can smell his arousal spicing the air. Just a kiss; that's all it takes for the both of them to be pulled to the edge of reason.

"So prim and proper. Didn't I tell you that we should absolutely mix business and pleasure?"

Wriothesley asked for more. Neuvillette is so used to reigning himself back and forcing himself to be calm and composed that it is second nature to him, but Wriothesley—he threatens that. Age-old instincts burn through his being and for the first time in centuries, Neuvillette does not just want, he lets himself want.

"You want more," muses Neuvillette, chuckling.

"It's neat," said Wriothesley that first time at the sight of his unusual features. "Show me more."

Neuvillette traces the arch of Wriothesley's cheek with his thumb before kissing him again. He plays with him, dragging the forked slit through Wriothesley's mouth. He wants to devour him. The taste of Wriothesley's mouth is addicting. Neuvillette's tongue sinks deep enough for Wriothesley to jerk in surprise.

But then he moans, a low sound that bubbles from the back of his throat. Wriothesley yanks at Neuvillette's shirt, leaning forward until he nearly falls out of his chair. Hazy. Light-headed. Heat curls in Neuvillette's gut he pulls back that tongue for a more proper kiss, one that Wriothesely can at least respond to.

Lazy—despite the passion there, it's languid and searching. And when they part to breathe, Wriothesley whines, sorry for the loss. "You—"

"I do believe that it is time for you to go back to your office."

Wriothesley blinks. "What?"

"Work, Wriothesley," says Neuvillette as if it should be obvious. "We both have work to attend to. Now that we've settled the budgets for the week—"

"We are busy—"

Neuvillette laughs at that, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. "In more ways than one."

"And you'd just leave me like this?"

Neuvillette doesn't need to look down to imagine what sorts of trouble Wriothesley may be dealing with. "Hmm. You were the one who suggested that we should, indeed, mix business with pleasure."

"Oh, come on."

"Which means that work still must be done. Regretfully. Had I the choice, I would rather be doing other things."

Wriothesley perks up at that, his expression turning coy. "Oh? Like?"

"Things to be discussed later."

"You can't—"

"I can, and I will. This is no different than your paltry kisses that leave me begging for more. I hope that you've learned your lesson."

Wriothesley's expression cools. "And if I haven't? If this just makes me want to play this game even more?"

Neuvillette hums, dragging his thumb across Wriothesley's chapped lips as he considers them. "Then I look forward to it." Then he smiles, just a small thing, the slightest upturn of his mouth. "Joking aside," he continues, "you do not need to hold back. I am more than receptive to... kissing—"

"Making out."

"I refuse to call it something so unseemly. But please know that I will humor you—"

"By calling it 'making out'?"

"—by indulging in moments of intimacy as a pause in the work day." Neuvillette leans close and gives Wriothesley one last peck. And then he says against his lips, "Be wary of Sedene, though. She doesn't always knock." Primarily because Neuvillette doesn't have a history of doing anything untoward in his office.

Wriothesley cringes. "Ah, yeah, that's... okay, okay. Message received. Back to work."

To his credit, Wriothesley rises from the chair without much of a complaint. He leans over, brushing Neuvillette's bangs from his forehead, and kisses it. "Just so you know, this means war."

"Don't be absurd." Despite his response, Neuvillette sits at his desk, hiding a smile behind his palm long after Wriothesley slips from the room.