Fresh off the high of confessing love, Wriothesely wakes up on a lazy morning to Neuvillette kissing his shoulder.

Warning: Contains Smut.

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Wriothesley wakes up to a kiss against his shoulder.

It is too early. He's sluggish, still underneath the fog of sleep. Another press of lips to that aching joint before sliding across the length of it. Here, there, his nape, the back of his neck where baby hairs cling to his skin stubbornly.

"Beloved," comes as a soft murmur tattooed into his skin. Neuvillette. It is sweet and soft, lacking the cool efficiency that usually coats his words. He, too, is still waking up, slotted against Wriothesley's back, clinging to him like a second skin.

Too hot, too sweaty, but Wriothesley doesn't care, burrowing deeper into the sheets. When was the last time they had a lazy morning like this? Never. No, really, Wriothesley cannot recall. Neuvillette rises with the dawn and Wriothesley often finds himself rousing to a freshly brewed cup of tea, and Neuvillette fully dressed, giving him a dry look of amusement.

Today, though, he lingers, unwilling to move from the bed, kissing down the length of Wriothesley's shoulder. "Wriothesley," he says this time.

"'M sleepn'."

A soft laugh against his neck. Neuvillette's breath is hot but the rest of him is cool enough for Wriothesley to wonder if it's too early to make a cold-blooded joke. "Old fish," he mutters, pulling away slightly.

Neuvillette tugs him back. "I thought you would enjoy this."

Oh, he does, but there's one problem. "The alarm," mutters Wriothesley, reaching out blindly for his bedside table. Wriothesley sets an alarm when tucked away in his cot at Meropide. Never at Neuvillette's place because the man himself always wakes him up, but they're here this time, hidden underneath the waters. And Neuvillette stayed over. Rare. He has before but Neuvillette has confessed that he gets antsy when away from his den.

"What time is it? I need to turn it off—"

"Mate," purrs Neuvillette against his ear.

Wriothesley stills. Right. That. What a heated word full of promise. Neuvillette nuzzles his neck, scenting him, prompting Wriothesley to broach the topic. "You're strangely... tactile, today."

"You love me," replies Neuvillette. "I love you, and you love me, and you are my mate."

There is something about the way that Neuvillette says it that makes Wriothesley's bones melt. He's sore and aching from their rough fucking yesterday afternoon in Neuvillette's office, to their slower, sweeter lovemaking deep into the night after. How many times can I squeeze in an 'I love you', teased Wriothesley before pulling Neuvillette inside.

As it turns out, never enough. It didn't matter how many times he'd uttered it, whispered it, cried it out, Wriothesley needed more.

"Are you complaining?" Neuvillette asks this with humor, his voice rose-colored and indulgent. "I thought you would enjoy nesting with me—"

"Nesting?"

"I love the smell of you. I love the taste of you. I love—"

"Getting a year's worth of that, aren't you?"

Neuvillette trails kisses across his jaw until his chin rests against Wriothesley's shoulder. "I've never said it before."

Wriothesley didn't know that. Oh, he didn't fucking know that. It makes sense. Neuvillette knows many, many things, but relationships are not one of them, and their courting has been a strange and silly dance over the months.

But this feels natural. Everything is instinctual, meant to be. Wriothesley just sinks against him, giving into the tenderhearted touch, and the way that Neuvillette is curled around him. "Wriothesley." Neuvillette's voice is so warm that Wriothesley thinks he could drown happily in it. "Beloved, I want you again."

That's apparent enough. Neuvillette's cock is hard, trapped between Wriothesley's thighs. Wriothesley shoots him a sleepy, sly look over his shoulder. "Needy?"

"Mhmm, yes."

That tone does things to Wriothesley's stomach. It tilts, fluttering, and he wonders if this is what butterflies are supposed to feel like. His heart skips a beat, and he likes it, this weightlessness. Wriothesley never thought he'd have this sort of trust, but he trusts Neuvillette, allowing him at his back, to strip him bare. Neuvillette could climb into his body and wear him like a skin, and Wriothesley would welcome it.

Neuvillette is quiet for a long moment, his nose resting against Wriotehsely's temple. He inhales deeply, allowing Wriothesley the moment because he knows him; that this is hard, that even though Wriothesley is not struggling with these feelings, he is adjusting to this newfound depth of them. Neuvillette is too, equally awkward, and together they waffle about as they do their best to figure it out.

But they love each other, and Neuvillette has stayed over, warming his sheets, waking Wriothesley early in the morning with soft kisses.

"Wriothesley." Another one of those gentle kisses finds the shell of his ear. A hand trails down his side and then around his front. Fingers brush the soft skin below his navel, and just like that, heat flares Wriothesley's gut. "Please," he says.

They've never done this, Wriothesley thinks. Had lazy, early morning sex; it's always been quick and heat, or deep into the night under the cover of dark. This first time it's tinted with love—Gods, he can't stop thinking about that, and neither can Neuvillette judging by the way that he holds him reverently, tracing every inch of his skin, rutting against him, requesting more so sweetly in those hushed whispers.

"Okay," murmurs Wriothesley. He's still sleepy, still mussed, but he wants this, so he cants his hips just so.

Neuvillette used to be so quiet in bed, so reserved. It's taken time and effort to crack open his shell, to coax his need forward. But this is different; Neuvillette reaches between them as he sighs softly against Wriothesley's ear. His breath hitches as he slicks his cock with Hydro, as his fingers press into Wriothesley's hole, still pliant from the night before. When he sinks in, Neuvillette finally breathes, a moan rattling through his chest, lost in Wriothesley's neck.

Wriothesley loves the fullness, the way that Neuvillette cock bullies his insides as it settles deep. Neuvillette grinds against him, a short, aborted thrust. Claws dig into his skin, pricking it, and Wriothesley knows that he holds back.

"Neuvillette, you can—"

"No, just like this." He pulls out halfway and then thrusts back in, a slow drive that leaves Wriothesley aching for more.

Wriothesley bears down, clenching tight around him. "Feels good," he murmurs. "Fuck, feels—full."

Neuvillette shudders against his back, claws digging into the meat of his belly to hold him there. "Tight." He groans against Wriothesley's neck, burying his face there. "Even when you're so open, so ready for me, you're still so tight."

Always—that's what Wriothesley thinks. He's lax in the sheets as Neuvillette ruts against him slowly. It's lazy. Languid. Neuvillette's hand rests against his belly, but his grip is loose. So relaxed. When was the last time that Neuvillette was this relaxed? Wriothesley shifts, hips tilting, forcing Neuvillette's cock to slide against his prostate on the next thrust.

"There, oh, that's—"

Neuvillette laughs against his hair. He kisses the back of Wriothesley's neck. His tongue snakes out, lapping at the sweat clinging to his baby hairs. Another deep, slow grind has Wriothesley shuddering in the sheets.

"Sweetheart. Neuvillette—" Whatever thoughts Wriothesley has, Neuvillette's name on his tongue, the moan that swells in the back of his throat; they're all lost as Neuvillette moves against him.

His mate, he thinks. Mate, mate, mate. Wriothesley is no dragon so he didn't think he'd be affected like this, but gods, he is. To see Neuvillette so pleased, so soft and pliant, and tenderhearted against his back. To take his time as he thrusts into him, hands wandering, unable to get enough.

Yes, Neuvillette whispers praise against his ear, but it pales in comparison to those three other words that Wriothesley cannot get enough of. "I love you," he whispers, hot against his skin, his sweaty temple, the shell of his ear. "I love you, I love you—"

It's a mantra now seared into Wriothesley's flesh and bones. "Yes," he says, fucking back against Neuvillette, forcing those sweet grinds against his ass deeper. "Yes, love you too. Love you too."

Neuvillette's claws just barely dig into the skin of Wriothesle's belly. No pain—never—but the pinpricks can be felt as a tingle in the base of his spine. The slide of Neuvillette's cock has always been addictive; the heft of it, the weight of it, the subtle curve that hits all the perfect angles. But this, this lazy morning of sweet words and tender motions, is what will haunt his dreams.

Wriothesley didn't know that he wanted this.

Wait, no, that's a lie; of course he wanted this. Wriothesley came into this with feelings. From the moment Neuvillette kissed him, Wriothesley was gone, like a sinking lure lost to the bottom of the sea. Affection tugs at his gut, white-hot like the pleasure that makes his dick hard.

He aches. Neuvillette's hand against his belly slips down to cradle his cock. "Beloved," he purrs, thumbing across the slick tip. "Are you close?"

"I'm—yeah." Just a little more, all Wriothesley needs is a few jerks of his cock, and Neuvillette calling him beloved, love, mate—

"So good for me." Neuvillette slurs the words, almost like he's drunk on it. And maybe it's the early hour, or that high from the day before. Wriothesley still feels the way he was pressed into the sheets, Neuvillette hanging overtop as he fucked him. Fangs mouthing at his neck, marking him up. Claws tracing his sides, every dip and curve. Making love—Wriothesley had teased Neuvillette about it, but if that isn't what this is, then he'll never know.

Neuvillette isn't done. He mouths at Wriothesley's neck, his shoulder. "You feel so good," he says, his voice low and sultry. Awed. Gone. "You are mine. I love you, and you are mine."

Finally, Neuvillette strokes Wriothesley's cock. Wriothesley cries out, face pressed against his pillow, rolling back onto Neuvillette's thick length. Pulled apart and put back together, indeed. It's an out-of-body experience when his orgasm slams into him. He spills into the sheets with a hoarse sound.

Neuvillette chokes on a moan, the strangled sound lost against Wriothesley's neck. Another thrust, another grind. Claws dig into the sharp just of Wriothesley's hip bone, heavy enough to remind Wriothesley just how powerful Neuvillette is. Delicious. Wriothesley is entirely at his whim, his mercy, and Neuvillette chooses to be sweet and soft.

When he spills shortly after, it's hot and wet. Wriothesley imagines it filling him entirely, coating his insides, his being.

"Wriothesley," murmurs Neuvillette. It sounds like sin. But then he kisses Wriothesley's nape, and everything slides back, lazy and indulgent again. This is the afterglow that Wriothesley wants; Neuvillette's cock still buried in his ass, plugging him, his mate plastered against his back, mouthing at his skin, whispering sweet nothings.

He doesn't care about the mess or the tiredness in his bones. Wriothesley has forgotten about the missed sleep and the too-early morning. It's all about Neuvillette and their love—and oh, how he's in love.

Neuvillette is clingy, arms curled around him, face trailing over the line of his shoulder.

"I smell like you." It is a dumb thing to say, and even dumber to feel pleased about. "I do, right?"

Neuvillette's chest rumbles against his back. "Yes. Mine. Ours—these sheets, they smell like us both. I smell like you, too."

Oh. Wriothesley's throat bobs. That shouldn't do things, he shouldn't like it—

But his cock does, and Neuvillette laughs when he feels it twitch against his knuckles. "You like that," he teases. "Another?"

"No, I don't think I could—" Wriothesley lets out a frustrated groan as Neuvillette shifts, his half-hard cock overstimulating as it bullies Wriothesley's insides.

"Like this," says Neuvillette, then. "We stay just like this."

Wriothesley can do that. Gods, he absolutely can. Sluggishness pulls over him and Wriothesley hums, nodding at nothing, leaning against him to feel every inch of Neuvillette's skin, his cock, his hands, his mouth.

Neuvillette is kissing his shoulder again, fluttering things that lull him back into the liminal space of his mind. "How I love you so, beloved," he murmurs, pressing those words into his skin until they seep in, lingering.

"Don't go." And then, after a moment of thought, "Ever. Don't go, ever."

Neuvillette seems amused by the thought of it. "Mate," he reminds him, whispering that word against his temple.

Right, right. Neuvillette has mentioned before that dragons mate for life. And last night, in the throes of passion, he'd said there's never been another he's loved, nor will there be.

"Only me," is Wriothesley's sleepy reply, and Neuvillette hums in reply, petting his side.

What a tender, loving morning. Wriothesley can count on one hand how many of these he's had, and every single one has been shared with Neuvillette. He does not let others at his back, and Neuvillette is a comfortable weight settled against his spine. It's a trust thing. And a love thing. Wriothesley loves and trusts this man, and so he closes his eyes and drifts off, warmed by the afterglow of their lovemaking.

They'll talk later. For now, Wriothesley just focuses on his gentle kisses on the back of his neck.