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It starts simply enough. Neuvillette notes an incorrect number on a spreadsheet, and Wriothesley says, “Oh, good catch,” and Neuvillette smiles, murmurs a thank you, and blushes—and Wriothesley can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about the way that delicate color spread across his cheeks, the way his eyes softened, the way his entire body language changed for a brief moment in time.
The next time they’re together is after a long and grueling court case. Wriothesley swings by Neuvillette’s office at the Opera Epiclese with a bit of paperwork and, after handing it off, says, “That was a tough call today. You did well.” This time, he’s waiting for Neuvillette’s reaction, so he sees the surprise followed by the pleasure, that same softening of his eyes and flushing of his cheeks.
“I’m merely doing my job,” Neuvillette replies, a quiet deflection, and Wriothesley leaves it there.
But he can’t stop thinking about Neuvillette’s reaction. Neuvillette looked so pleased, so happy to receive a compliment, and it’s true that he rarely gets them without some caveat or political trap attached. No one, Wriothesley realizes, compliments Neuvillette just to compliment him. So he tries to. Whenever they see each other, which isn’t enough, Wriothesley’s quick to say something, anything, nice. He compliments Neuvillette’s penmanship, the fold of his jabot, the style of his hair, his quick wit. Little things that make Neuvillette light up like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
Wriothesley knows he has to moderate his compliments, but he can’t help doling them out at every opportunity. Making Neuvillette happy makes him happy, and that’s the most he’ll ever have, this reflected sort of happiness. He may be a duke, but they’re so far apart from each other in every meaningful way. So he contents himself with the compliments, with Neuvillette’s shy, curving smile.
Until one day he says, “Have you done something different with your hair? It looks nice today,” and Neuvillette, canting his head to the side, replies, “You are uncommonly complimentary of me, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley, seated behind his desk, goes still. “No more so than usual,” he says, trying to deflect.
“Perhaps not,” Neuvillette agrees, crossing one leg over the other, so prim and proper that Wriothesley wants to push those legs apart with his shoulders and devour every inch of Neuvillette’s skin with his mouth. “But I have noticed in these recent months that you almost always have something kind to say to me.”
Clearing his throat, Wriothesley makes a great show of shuffling the papers on his desk. “It’s only polite.”
Neuvillette frowns. “I see,” he says in the tone of a man who doesn’t see at all.
Wriothesley presses his lips together, studying Neuvillette, who has wilted somewhat. “And what, exactly, do you see?” he asks slowly, feeling the words out carefully.
Now, Neuvillette turns his face away, and a delicate flush spreads across his cheeks, that flush that so enchants Wriothesley. He wants to know—has wanted to know—how far down his throat it travels, if it reaches his chest, his nipples, and he wants—well. It doesn’t matter what he wants.
“It has been suggested to me,” Neuvillette says, “that when a man is free with his compliments, he is demonstrating a certain interest.”
His heart lurches against his ribs. His breath catches. He wonders, briefly, who the hell Neuvillette has been talking to that might suggest such a thing, but the answer is obvious. It’s either Sedene or Sigewinne, and Sigewinne has been suggesting, especially recently, that he clean himself up a little more. That he wear cologne. That he dress in the latest—often absurd—fashions. He’s largely ignored her. Maybe he shouldn’t have.
Swallowing hard, terrified of fumbling the opportunity that has fallen into his lap, Wriothesley allows himself a small smile. “That suggestion might not be wrong.”
Neuvillette’s eyes lift to his, limpid and beautiful, startlingly violet, deep enough to drown in, and they are bright with hope—which can’t be possible. There’s no way that Neuvillette, of all people, would be interested in him. “Then are you interested in me, Your Grace?” he asks.
Wriothesley can’t breathe quite right. He drops his hands into his lap, laces his fingers, and squeezes. He’s always been the kind of person to go after what he wants, but the gulf between him and Neuvillette is so insurmountably wide, and Neuvillette is… is everything. He could play this cagey, could drag this out, but Neuvillette isn’t fond of those kinds of games—isn’t good at them either—and Wriothesley is inclined to agree.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Wriothesley says, “Monsieur, you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. The most compassionate. Thoughtful.”
Neuvillette’s eyes widen, and that pretty flush steals across his face. “That is—we aren’t speaking about me,” he protests.
“We are though,” Wriothesley says, rising from his desk. Cowardice never won him anything, and if he fucks this up, well. He can always appoint some kind of intermediary to talk to Neuvillette on his behalf. “We’re talking about my interest and the why of it.” He comes around his desk, approaching Neuvillette slowly, giving him plenty of time to bolt from his own chair.
Neuvillette doesn’t move. He stares up at Wriothesley as though he doesn’t quite comprehend the situation, or like he can’t quite believe it’s happening, and Wriothesley can’t tell which is right. Neuvillette isn’t the easiest man to read.
“We’re talking about the way I think about you all the time, Monsieur Neuvillette,” he continues, resting one hand on the back of Neuvillette’s chair. “The way I need to give you compliments just to see the pleasure on your face. The way your eyes go soft and warm, the way you duck away from me, the way your cheeks turn red.” Slowly, he touches his fingers to Neuvillette’s jaw. His hand is shaking, but he pretends not to notice. Nevuillette extends him the same courtesy. “I want to make you happy. To see you smile. Doesn’t matter how shit my own day is. If I can win a smile from you, Neuvillette, my whole day gets better.”
“Oh,” Neuvillette breathes, staring up at him with an expression that says he’s not unhappy about this turn their meeting has taken at all. “It would make me very happy if you were to kiss me, Your Grace.”
Lips curving, heart still pounding but now with relief instead of abject terror at the thought of Neuvillette’s rejection, Wriothesley bends toward him. “It would make me very happy, too,” he says, and then his lips are on Neuvillette’s, and the kiss is slow and soft and lingering, their mouths brushing against each other in barely-there caresses.
Kissing Neuvillette is surreal. Wriothesley has imagined kissing him so many times in every possible scenario—in his bed, in Neuvillette’s, in Neuvillette’s office, in Wriothesley’s own. He’s imagined kisses like this one, sweet and tender, and kisses born of desperate, needy passion. But those were all fantasies, and this is real, Neuvillette’s mouth warm and soft beneath his own, Neuvillette’s gloved fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold him in place, Neuvillette’s lips clinging to his.
“Good,” Wriothesley murmurs, and with their lips still touching, he feels the shudder that goes through Neuvillette. “You’re so good, Neuvillette.”
A soft sound escapes Neuvillette. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” Wriothesley says, kissing him again, angling his head to the side to take his mouth in a fuller kiss. Sure, maybe there’s something a little fumbling in Neuvillette’s kisses, a little hesitant, like he doesn’t know what to do with his head or his mouth, but that’s endearing. “Kissing you is so good. You’re so good.” Wriothesley catches Neuvillette’s lower lip in his teeth, tugging gently.
Neuvillette makes a quiet, broken sound in the back of his throat, and Wriothesley puts something together he should’ve figured out a while ago.
His smile grows. “Come here,” he says, applying a gentle pressure to Neuvillette’s jaw to urge him out of the chair. Neuvillette follows him, his eyes a little glazed, a little unfocused, as Wriothesley leads him to the side of his office, to one of the couches there. He eases himself down, drawing Neuvillette with him. “On my lap.” To Wriothesley’s delight, Neuvillette climbs across his lap without question, settling astride him.
Reaching up, Wriothesley sinks both hands into Neuvillette’s hair, drawing him close. Their mouths touch again, but Wriothesley’s kiss is hungrier this time, needier. His tongue plays across Neuvillette’s mouth, and Neuvillette gasps. Oh, but that’s a pretty sound. Wriothesley wants to pull more sounds just like it from Neuvillette’s lips, wants to turn gasps into aching, desperate moans as he fucks into Neuvillette’s body.
“Let me taste you,” he murmurs against Neuvillette’s lips, and Neuvillette lets his tongue slip into his mouth, groaning. The sound goes straight to Wriothesley’s cock, accompanied by a sizzling pleasure. Heat burbles within him, a low, rolling simmer in his veins as he licks into Neuvillette’s mouth.
Neuvillette tastes like fresh spring water, like succor, and Wriothesley drops his hands to Neuvillette’s waist. He pulls him closer, lifting his hips to grind against him, aware that he’s pushing hard and fast with a man who usually doesn’t let anyone touch him, not even to dance at society parties, but he can’t help himself.
“So sweet.” Wriothesley takes Neuvillette’s mouth again, and Neuvillette groans. “So good. Your taste is—” He licks deeper into Neuvillette’s mouth, and Neuvillette grips his shoulders, rocking his hips down, grinding his ass over Wriothesley’s hardening cock. “You taste divine, sweetness.”
Neuvillette whines in the back of his throat, a strangled and needy sound.
Lifting one hand, Wriothesley touches Neuvillette’s jabot. “Let me take this off?”
Neuvillette hesitates, panting against Wriothesley’s mouth. “We—we are in your office,” he says, breathless. “The door—”
“It’s late,” Wriothesley replies. “No one will bother us.” He turns his mouth to the curve of Neuvillette’s jaw. “I want to taste you, sweetness. I want to touch you. You’re all I’ve thought about for months. Just getting my hands on your body.” He suckles beneath Neuvillette’s ear, and Neuvillette makes another of those wickedly obscene little noises. “Beautiful dragon, let me touch you.”
A shudder pulls through Neuvillette’s body. “You know?”
Wriothesley can’t help a little laugh. “Hard not to.” He reaches behind Neuvillette’s head, fingers stroking down one arching rhinophore.
Neuvillette moans. He curves over Wriothesley, rocking their hips together, dragging his ass over the half-hard line of Wriothesley’s cock, and Wriothesley would be a fool not to file that little bit of information away.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says. “The way you move is so good. The sounds you make…”
Neuvillette takes Wriothesley’s hand and brings it back to his throat. “Do as you please,” he says softly, a bare whisper, his voice shaking. “Touch me. Just don’t stop—” His throat works.
Another smile curves Wriothesley’s lips as he removes Neuvillette’s jabot pin and the fabric wrapping around his throat. “Don’t stop talking?” he guesses. “Don’t stop singing your praises?” His mouth presses against Neuvillette’s pounding pulse, and he rolls their hips together, rocking into him. “Beautiful dragon, you’re so good.”
Keening, Neuvillette grips Wriothesley’s shoulders harder, with enough force that it hurts, but Wriothesley has never minded a bit of pain with his sex.
“You sound so good,” Wriothesley continues, mouthing down Neuvillette’s throat. They’re both wearing too many clothes, and this isn’t the place for the kind of fun Wriothesley desperately wants to have, but they can make do. “Love how you sound, sweetness.”
Another whining keen and the jumping arch of Neuvillette’s hips.
“Lemme make you feel good.” His teeth drag across Neuvillette’s throat, eliciting the kind of sound he usually only hears when he’s buried inside a partner. It’s so much better on Neuvillette’s lips, so much sweeter. Fuck, but he wants to hear that sound again. “Let touch you.” His hand finds the front of Neuvillette’s pants, tugging at his belt, his laces.
When Neuvillette only gasps and rocks his hips against Wriothesley’s hand, he continues, pulling Neuvillette’s pants open and slipping his hand inside.
“So hot,” he breathes against Neuvillette’s throat as he takes the long line of Neuvillette’s cock in hand. And he is. He’s burning under Wriothesley’s touch, a hot brand against his fingers. Little whines spill out of him as Wriothesley strokes lightly down his length. “So hard for me. You’re so good for me, Neuvillette.”
Neuvillette groans, pressing his cheek to the side of Wriothesley’s head. Another of those wicked shudders pulls through his body, and Wriothesley wraps one arm around his hips, holding him firm.
“Are you wet for me, too?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Neuvillette’s cock and through a bead of precum. Nevuillette chokes, his hips jerking forward, and Wriothesley rumbles with quiet laughter as more heat burns low in his belly. “Wet and hard and hot. Just how I want you. How good you are. You’re doing so very good.”
He’s not really in the habit of talking like this. Most of his couplings in the past have been quick, furtive things—and this should be quick, too; the door to his office isn’t even locked—but Neuvillette and his whimpering moans are both so inspiring. And, too, there’s the fact that he knows Neuvillette is getting off on it, on the praise.
Wriothesley works his hand a little faster, a little harder, using Neuvillette’s precum to ease the friction, his leather-wrapped palm gliding over scorching hot skin. He whispers words of praise into Neuvillette’s throat, and Neuvillette rewards him with the bucking of his hips and soft, gasping cries shaped vaguely like his name. He’s so sensitive, reacting to every little touch, and the way he moves has Wriothesley hard and aching in his pants, has him desperate to get his cock out and sink it into Neuvillette’s body, but that’s something they really can’t do.
He slips his fingers beneath the loose waist of Neuvillette’s pants, rubbing one finger between his cheeks, and Neuvillette makes the obscenest sound yet, his back bowing.
“I want—” He gasps, clutching at Wriothesley’s shoulders. “I want you inside me.”
Well, fuck. Wriothesley’s cock throbs, and he groans as he moves his hand faster over Neuvillette’s length. “Sweetness, believe me, we want the same thing.” He lifts his face, pressing his lips to Neuvillette’s ear. “I want to fuck into you so bad.” Neuvillette whines. “Your body would be so hot and tight around me, wouldn’t it? Would you be so good for me?”
“So good,” he replies, fucking into Wriothesley’s fist, his cock gliding across Wriothesley’s palm.
“You already are,” Wriothesley says, low and purring. Neuvillette’s whole body seizes. He cries out, bowing over Wriothesley to press his face into the crook of his neck, and his hips drive harder into Wriothesley’s hand. “You’re perfect, Neuvillette.”
And Neuvillette comes undone for him, gasping into his throat as cum spills out of his cock. He shudders against Wriothesley’s chest, emptying himself into Wriothesley’s palm, and it’s the most erotic moment of Wriothesley’s life.
When he’s still at last, when he leans back with glassy, dazed eyes, Wriothesley smiles up at him. “Good boy,” he purrs.
Neuvillette’s lips part, but he makes no sound, only shivers once more.
They remain like that until Neuvillette’s trembling subsides, until he is lax and boneless in Wriothesley’s arms. Only then does Wriothesley say, “We should clean you up.”
“But you,” Neuvillette begins, reaching between them.
Wriothesley takes Neuvillette’s wrist in his hand. “We’re courting enough trouble right now, don’t you think?” And there’s that gorgeous flush he loves so much spreading across Neuvillette’s face. “I’ll be fine.”
Neuvillette tugs against Wriothesley’s hold. “Surely you’re uncomfortable.”
“Of course I am, but I’m also capable of dealing with that.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to Neuvillette’s mouth. “But if you really want to do something about it—”
“I do,” Neuvillette says, hurried and eager.
“—then maybe you can come back to my room with me, and we can see how good you are with my cock inside you.”
Neuvillette licks his lips. “I would be very interested in that,” he says.
Getting Neuvillette back to Wriothesley’s bedroom unseen does take some doing, but getting inside Neuvillette and praising him until he’s sobbing? That takes only the best kind of effort on Wriothesley’s part—the kind of effort he’s more than interested in putting forth again and again and again.