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cavalierious-whim · 4 months

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An Itch to Scratch (And Scratch and Scratch—) (Wriolette)

Part of 'Intrusive Thoughts, a Comedy.

Neuvillette decides to offer a helping hand for Wriothesely's rut.

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Neuvillette’s nose twitches, assaulted by the sharp scent of an omega in pre-heat.

He looks, mildly curious. A young woman tries to calm her alpha down as he frets about her. They are a good-looking couple who seem kind enough, and no true distress rolls off of the omega; only the sweet tang of her fertility, and the arousal that her mate fails to reel back.

“Coffee,” she says, “I just want a quick coffee and then we can go back to our nest, hm? Then you can—”

Neuvillette tunes out the rest. How crass. Neuvillette sniffs, sidestepping her when she turns and nearly walks into him. “Watch it,” he says quietly, steadying her by the shoulders.

Her mate snarls. Neuvillette gives him a placid look before letting go of her. “My apologies,” he says. “Might I suggest, however, that you take this… elsewhere.”

The omega rubs her face, woefully embarrassed by the entire situation. “Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette. I apologize. We just needed… Well. I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it? Dear, let’s go.” Her mate, thankfully, has turned his attention back to her. His nostrils flare as he pulls her close, intent on dousing her in his scent. Marking what he considers his—and his pretty little mate keens in response, cupping his cheek before pulling him in for a kiss that borders on pornographic.

Disgusting. Annoying. Neuvillette’s nose twitches again. The irony is not lost on him. As a beta, such things should be mildly bothersome at best. But, as a dragon, his nose is just as keen as any omega and alpha, which over the centuries has become the absolute bane of his existence.

He does not have ruts or heats; no scent glands, and the desperate need to fuck or be filled comes only once in a blue moon, so to be surrounded by cock-headed idiots who think of little aside from that is… an experience. At least someone in Fontaine maintains awareness. At least someone maintains a calm and level head at all times.

“I shouldn’t have left my office,” he mutters to himself as he narrowly dodges the shoulder of an alpha dripping with the acrid scent of rage. Neuvillette sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The next time he’ll have his bottled water delivered to his door, the extra fee be damned.

There is one exception to what Neuvillette would consider to be the rules of his existence.

“Wriothesley,” he greets as the door to his office is thrown open.

“Thank the Archons,” hisses Wriothesley, pushing off a bewildered Sedene who looks absolutely scandalized that he marched past without her permission. “And before you whine about not mentioning them in your presence, I know.”

Neuvillette hides a grin when Wriothesley finally shoots Sedene an apologetic look before shutting the door in her face. “She won’t forgive you for that later, you know.”

“She always does.” Wriothesley strides across the room to the wet bar, fills the Electro Kettle, and sets it to boil. There’s a jerky quality to his movements that catches Neuvillette’s eye. Wriothesley seems agitated and on edge. Neuvillette watches as he makes his tea with shaking hands. “Also,” continues Wriothesley as he drops into the chair next to him, “Sedene loves me.”

Sweat beads along Wriothesley's brow. He smells like—Neuvillette’s gaze narrows. “Are you in—”

“Pre-rut? Yeah. Why’d you think I ran in here like a madman? I had to beat the omegas off of me in the street.”

Leather, tea, and something else; something intensely…Wriothesley. If it were anyone else, Neuvillette would gag on it, he’d send them from the room and light a candle.

Wriothesley is the one exception.

Still.

“You could have stayed home,” Neuvillette tells him in a tone as dry as the Sumeru desert.

“And leave you to fend for yourself?” Wriothesley scoffs, looking offended by the thought.

“Wriothesley, I have been the Iudex for centuries—What is with that look?”

“Oh, nothing.” It certainly isn’t nothing. Wriothesley leans against the edge of the wet bar counter, arms crossed over his chest. He watches him with that calculating look that Neuvillette had become so fond of. “Looooooook,” drawls Wriothesley as the Electro Kettle begins to whistle. He shuts it off, pours out the water into a cup, and says, “You’ve just got a…” He waves vaguely.

“A?”

“Large load? New duties? Look, Fontaine nearly drowned, the Archon is dead, and you—well. You’re the Dragon and now you’re doing a lot of things.” Wriothesley dumps a tea bag into the mug and crosses the room before dropping into the chair opposite Neuvillette. “Sedene is worried. Sigewinne is worried. I’m—”

“You should be worried about your rut,” cuts in Neuvillette.

Wriothesley blinks at him, surprised by the concern, which makes Neuvillette huff. Rude. Neuvillette isn’t an uncaring man, and even if he was, it is a fact that Wriothesley will not be able to maintain a clear head for long. He’s on the edge of his seat, back stiff and straight, one foot tapping with a sort of nervous energy that he rarely carries. His cheeks are flushed, pink setting over them and across his nose, rosy and—

Neuvillette’s thoughts reel to a stop.

This is the problem. Neuvillette might be a beta and lack the idiosyncrasies that come with secondary genders. But, he is also a dragon—and dragons have their own baser instincts, ones just as difficult to avoid. Typically, the smell of an alpha in rut would send Neuvillette packing but Wriothesley is…

Unable to be ignored. And it has been that way for years. Neuvillette smooths his fingers over the report that sits before him to distract himself from the handsome, sharp edges of Wriothesley's face, and that damnable smell of his impending rut. Tea. Leather, citrus, and machine oil. The spiced undercurrent of arousal—

Of arousal?

Wriothesley sits there in that seat awkwardly, sticking his finger into his collar to tug at it. Hot. Sweaty. Neuvillette cares little for things like lust and yet he finds himself wanting to lick the bead of it that slips down Wriothesley's temple.

Neuvillette thanks himself for the centuries of practice when it comes to avoiding others because Wriothesley is a tall glass of water and he’s never found himself so thirsty. He clears his throat and begins with, “Wriothesley, I think—”

“Alright, a compromise then,” interrupts Wriothesley. “We look at the most important budget reports and then I’ll go hole up for a few days.”

A sound plan. Rational. Logical. One problem: “Alone?”

Neuvillette never probes. He refuses to look at Wriothesley, trying to maintain that facade of his, dragging his fingers along the grain of the parchment instead.

“I… yes? I don’t, uh—” Wriothesley rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “My ruts suck because I don’t spend them with a partner. Omegas get too attached and I have no interest in entertaining—”

“Why don’t you fuck me, then?”

Wriothesley's mouth falls open in shock. And so does Neuvillette’s because what in the ever-loving intrusive thought was that?

His instincts getting the better of him, that’s what. Neuvillette’s dragon purrs underneath his skin, delighted by the thought. Wriothesley smells wonderful. They trust each other. He would take care of him and breed him full—

Neuvillette slams his pen down abruptly, causing Wriothesley to jerk. “Wriothesley, I apologize,” he says, the words thick on his tongue. “That was incredibly crass of me to suggest.”

“I’ll say. Monsieur Neuvillette, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the word fuck in all the years we’ve known each other.”

“And, obviously, you may disregard such a ridiculous idea—”

“Wait, why?”

Neuvillette finally looks at Wriothesley. And Wriothesley stares back, eyes blown wide and biting at his lip. The smell of his arousal has sharpened. Wriothesley is—

Oh. This is an interesting development. Neuvillette straightens in his chair. “You said yourself that you, apparently, do not take rut partners.”

“I… it’s complicated. Messy. I don’t trust anyone.” Wriothesley pauses, licking his lips in a way that makes Neuvillette unable to look away. “But you… I trust you. And you aren’t the type to make a mess of things.”

An odd thing to say. “Explain,” requests Neuvillette.

Wriothesley laughs, a short, aborted sound. “Ah, I just mean you aren’t the type to get attached. It’d be transactional and that’s…what I need.”

He is wrong. Wriothesley is so incredibly wrong. Neuvillette has known desire before as rare it was—and yes, those times were perfunctory at best. Dragons have their own heat cycles which even he cannot ignore. And Wriothesley is the exception because Neuvillette has long since had a problem with watching him from afar, with leaning in too close, with trailing his fingers over the length of his shoulders for just an inkling of heat; because of these things, it cannot be transactional.

Neuvillette has been attached for longer than he’d ever admit, and judging by the change of Wriothesley's scent, he is equally enamored.

“But,” says Wriothesley then, looking away to rest his chin against his knuckles. His voice is soft and far away. Strained. “You’re a beta. I know that I can’t hurt you, but can you take…” Embarrassment flashes across Wriothesley's face.

“Your knot,” concludes Neuvillette bluntly.

“Don’t just say it so, so—” Wriothesley gestures vaguely.

Neuvillette’s expression melts into something amused, a rare expression reserved for a select few—Wriothesley among them. “I may not be an omega,” he says, “but I am a dragon. You would find me… uniquely equipped to handle such a thing quite easily.”

Wriothesley drags a hand down his face. “What does that mean?”

“I suppose you would have to agree to a midnight rendezvous to find out.”

“Are you—” Wriothesley sputters, his face screwed into confusion. “Are you flirting? Is that an attempt to seduce me?”

“You said this would be transactional.”

“Right, right,” mutters Wriothesley. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks. His scent sours slightly, anxiety cutting through his arousal like a keen knife.

Neuvillette leans closer, hoping that it may quell Wriothesley's racing thoughts. “How long has it been since you’ve taken a partner?”

“I don’t know.” It must be the truth. Wriothesley grimaces, and sounds so tired that Neuvillette can feel the exhaustion settle into his bones as well. “And before you say it, I know it isn’t good for me. Sigewinne’s been hounding me about it for years.”

“Wriothesley, you are a dear friend and such a thing worries me.”

Wriothesley traces the edge of Neuvillette’s desk with a fingertip. “And if I were to say I’d take you up on that offer?”

“Then I would be at your disposal for your rut.”

Wriothesley hums, nodding his head, and worries the edge of the desk for a little too long. “Transactional,” he repeats as if trying and failing to convince himself. “Just one guy helping the other out, no strings attached.” He stands abruptly, tugging at his collar again.

Neuvillette watches him pace a few steps, biceps flexing with strain. His rut must be worsening at the thought of a prospective ma—partner. Neuvillette clears his throat. “Are those terms satisfactory?”

“Are they—” Wriothesley gives him a bewildered look and then blinks away the panic. “Right, no—yes. Yeah, okay. Make it later, though. In the day. Tonight? My place is a mess.”

Wriothesley doesn’t give Neuvillette a chance to reply, shuffling from his office on quick feet. A full cup of tea is left sitting on the desk. Neuvillette finally inhales, biting at his thumb as he melts into his chair. The room smells like Wriothesley, choked in his arousal, and Sovereigns he wants him.

The rest of the work day proves to be long and particularly difficult.

It will not be transactional, and any strings attached are immediately cut; that is clear from the moment that Neuvillette is let through the door.

Wriothesley yanks him across the threshold and shoves him against the wall. One thigh slips between his legs and Neuvillette responds eagerly, grinding against it without a second thought. Wriothesley groans against his neck, his breath fanning against the skin there, hot and heady. “Fuck,” he curses, nipping at Neuvillette’s throat, “you smell good. You always smell good. Sweetheart—”

Neuvillette yanks Wriothesley's head back to kiss him. It is sloppy. All tongues and teeth, but Wriothesley licks into his mouth as if he’s waited years to do so. He cups Neuvillette’s cheek, thumbing over the rise of the bone there. Wriothesley moans, his tongue sweeping across Neuvillette’s, tasting him, wanting more, wanting—

“Off,” mutters Neuvillette as he tugs Wriothesley's shirt from his trousers.

Wriothesley laughs. Damn him for walking around his home in only a loose shirt. Damn him for those sinuous muscles and the hot skin that scorches the flat of Neuvillette’s palm.

They are in trouble. This will be the death of them, but Neuvillette will not complain.

“I thought you were above this,” laughs Wriothesley against his mouth. A quick nip, the barest bite of his teeth, the cut of his fangs digging into Neuvillette’s bottom lip.

“Oh?” Neuvillette raises a hand to tug at Wriothesley's hair sharply.

“Sedene teases you about it. You’re always so annoyed by—”

“To be fair, alphas reek. Omegas reek. Both are a constant assault upon my nose, particularly when it comes to ruts and heats—”

“And yet, you’re here, helping me,” murmurs Wriothesley, nipping at Neuvillette’s neck. He inhales, sighs against his nape, and continues with, “You don’t smell annoyed, you smell—”

“You’re different.”

Wriothesley stills at that. His hand slides down the length of Neuvillette’s side, thumb rubbing circles against the jut of the bone there. Neuvillette swallows, his words caught in his throat. What is the human phrase? In for a Mora, in for a pound? And Wriothesley is no fool. He knows that Neuvillette doesn’t offer this to others, that he doesn’t dole out this sort of attention on the regular.

Only for him. Wriothesley can smell Neuvillette’s desire. He can feel it in the weight of their bodies pressed together, and can hear it in the soft whines that Neuvillette lets loose.

“So you want this.” Wriothseley’s voice comes quiet, strangely calm despite the heat that must boil his blood.

“How could I not?”

“And that tease about my knot—”

Neuvillette snorts. “That wasn’t a tease. I told you that I am equipped to handle it. Have I ever lied to you?” Skirted the truth, yes. Omitted things conveniently, absolutely. But he could never lie, least of all to Wriothesley.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” Wriothesley drags a calloused thumb across Neuvillette’s lips, admiring the bite marks. “I’ll hold you to it.”

“Hold me to what?” asks Neuvillette, in a teasing mood.

“Taking my knot.”

Neuvillette’s resulting look is a sultry smirk. “Beloved thing,” he purrs, cupping Wriothesley's chin in a too-tight grip. “As if I could deny you.”

Another kiss, this time slower, languid, searching. Neuvillette uses his tongue to parse out his feelings, tracing every inch of Wriothesley's mouth. A hungry moan. The clashing of teeth—that old dragon that lurks in Neuvillette’s breast comes forth and bleeds into his veins. Instincts are easy to blame and harder to give into, but oh, does he want to.

They stumble through Wriothesley's meager apartment. Neuvillette falls onto his bed and sighs at the smell of him, leather and citrus clinging to the soft sheets. And his rut—fuck, his rut. The air is choked with the spice of it, and—

Neuvillette’s gaze narrows. “Is that—”

“No,” cuts in Wriothesley as the mattress sinks underneath his weight.

It is clearly one of Neuvillette’s shirts peeking out from the sheets, dubiously soiled. He raises a brow and watches Wriothesley, saying nothing. And, as expected, Wriothesley cracks first, rubbing his pinked, embarrassed face. “So I may have bribed Sedene—Don’t give me that look.” Wriothesley grimaces, pained by the idea of it. “You don’t want to know what I promised her.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Later,” says Wriothesley, leaning over him, trying to distract Neuvillette from the thought of it.

“Sweet boy,” chuckles Neuvillette as Wriothesley shoves the offending article underneath the pillow. For a moment, he worries it may have sounded condescending, but Wriothesley breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes against him. A kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his jaw—then those teeth graze Neuvillette’s throat, mouthing at where a scent gland would be.

Wriothesley seems unbothered by it. No, in fact, he seems entirely taken, smitten, moaning at the taste of Neuvillette’s sweat-slick skin. “You’re wearing too much,” he complains, tugging at Neuvillette’s finery, fingers shaking as he peels away folds of fabric until flesh is revealed.

His hand is a hot brand against Neuvillette’s side. His back arches into the touch as she shucks away his clothing, tossing them to the side. And Wriothesley—that look. Hungry and wild as he looks at him, eyes tracing every dip and curve to his waistband.

Fingers tease the edge of his trousers. “Still too many clothes,” muses Wriothesley, undoing the fly and yanking them away.

Yes, yes, thinks Neuvillette.

Wriothesley's hand dips lower to cup his crotch—and then pauses.

And then Neuvillette pauses.

The confusion is understandable. Wriothesley doesn’t ask but his gaze does tip south, his brow pinched as he considers the lack of a bulge. His tongue is caught between his teeth as he thinks, and Neuvillette clears his throat. “You know what I am.” A dragon of old, the Sovereign of their nation.

Wriothesley's throat bobs. “I…” He hesitates. “Okay, so, I try not to think about it most of the time—”

Neuvillette chuckles at that. “I merely meant that my anatomy is considerably different.”

“So no dick?”

“I certainly have one,” says Neuvillette with a huff.

Wriothesley has remarkable restraint. He leans over him, braced on his hands, shuddering through his rut—but is still patient. Neuvillette hums softly, cupping Wriothesley’s cheeks, thumbing over the arch of the bones there. “Does the idea of it bother you? That I’m different?”

“What? No. Neuvillette, you have no idea why I—” Wriothesley tilts his face to kiss a palm. “Gods, I just want to fuck you,” he says crassly. “You’ve ruined me, you know. I can’t ignore you. You linger in my thoughts and permeate everything.”

Neuvillette knows, and it is the same for him for what is usually an inconvenience comes as a need when concerning Wriothesley alone. He could drown in his scent. He’s desperate to be speared open on Wriothesley's cock—enough so that warning bells make him wonder about just which instincts may have been awakened.

A fleeting thought. “You are the one taking your time. Are you not needy? Does it not hurt?”

Wriothesley groans as she shifts, hands fumbling as he undoes the fly of Neuvillette’s trousers. He pulls at them, shimmying them down long and lean legs, fingers tracing Neuvillette’s skin. He’s on fire. Neuvillette moans as he soaks up the heat of that touch, legs spreading for Wriothesley to slot between them.

He stares, curious, thumb sweeping down the crease where Neuvillette’s thigh meets his hips. “This is…”

Neuvillette feels undressed under that gaze, but not uncomfortable. Wriothesley watches him like a man parched, tongue dipping out to trace his lips as his fingers ghost the insides of Neuvillette’s thighs.

“So polite,” he muses, a hand slipping down to curl into Wriothesley's hair. “You can touch.”

“I—”

“You should touch. What was it you said? That I’ve ruined you? I am the one ruined, Wriothesley. Centuries of composure have crumbled at your scent, at the sight of you, at the thought of you.”

Wriothesley's throat bobs. And then he kisses Neuvillette again, sweetly, far more chaste than anything else they’ve shared since he arrived. Another kiss, and another, soft, fleeting things that trail down Neuvillette’s neck, across his collarbone, down the expanse of his sternum.

Then they become biting as Wriothesleys sucks at his skin. His tongue teases the line of Neuvillette’s muscles. Down, and down, and down—

And then a delicate lick across the length of Neuvillette’s slit. Not an ounce of hesitation. Exploratory. Curious. Wriothesley's thumb follows, tracing the seam, taking in the smooth edges of the vent between Neuvillette’s thighs. Neuvillette jerks in surprise, and then shudders, melting into the sheets.

It’s been long—far too long since Neuvillette has last indulged in another touching him like this, and it’s overwhelming. Even something so simple, so gentle nearly does him in, heat curling in his gut. Wriothesley pets the insides of his thighs. His tongue is devilish as it explores every inch, tasting and teasing, marking up pale skin until it blooms with marks.

“Neuvillette,” says Wriothesley then, “I… don’t know what to—”

“Anything.” Neuvillette rolls his hips with a soft grunt. “Explore, tease, touch, but please, anything.”

Wriothesley nuzzles at the joint of his thigh, pressing a sweet kiss there. He thumbs over his slit again before pulling at both sides to spread it open for a better look. “Wet,” he murmurs, fascinated. “Slick? Does it always…” He sweeps his thumb through that collected wetness.

Neuvillette sighs, his back arching. The heat in his gut coils tighter, collecting just under his navel. Tight, everything is too tight. Neuvillette’s cock hardens, aching in the tight space of his vent. It shifts, lengthening, slipping out from the top of his slit.

“Oh,” breathes Wriothesely as his gaze turns ravenous. He drags a fingertip down the length of Neuvillette’s cock as it fully hardens, curving toward his belly, dripping from the spade-shaped tip. And then Wriothesley offers him a smirk, delighted as he explores, that finger slipping below Neuvillette’s length to the slit spread open around it. He spreads Neuvillette open again, thumb sliding along the base of his cock before sinking in to the tight space below it.

Neuvillette jerks and Wriothesley stills, his head snapping up to shoot him a worried look. “Did I—”

“No, no, just like that,” hisses Neuvillette. Even pink-faced and flushed due to his rut, Wriothesley still has composure; he is still aware and careful. Sweet thing. Neuvillette knew that he’d make for a good partner, a good mate, and that thought leaves his mind reeling.

“So here, then,” mutters Wriothesley, sinking his thumb deeper, marveling at how Neuvillette’s cunt swallows it greedily.

He’d forgotten how good it can feel. Neuvillette isn’t the type to satisfy himself and his cycles only come once in a blue moon. Like Wriothesley, he prefers to handle them alone, but even then they are perfunctory. This though—Wriothesley pulls that thumb out and presses it back in, watching as slick drools from Neuvillette’s hole.

And then he does the unthinkable, leaning forward to lap at it with his tongue. Wriothesley moans at the taste of him. His thumb slips out and his tongue sinks in next, pressing flat against the underside of Neuvillette’s cock. He strokes the rest with his hand, fingers curled around it tentatively.

Everything is testing. There is a clipped edge to Wriothesley's touch, but he still watches Neuvillette carefully. He takes it slow, teasing his cock. The thumb in Neuvillette’s cunt is replaced by one, and then two fingers, squirming in alongside the base of his dick.

Wriothesley spreads them, opening Neuvillette up. “You feel—tight? You said—”

“You worry over needless things.”

“And this—does this feel good?”

Of course it does, and it should be obvious. Neuvillette is writhing in the sheets, fucking against his hand, and Wriothesley has the gall to ask if it’s good. It’s clear. He carries the scent of desire and his cunt swallows Wriothesley's fingers, slicking his hand to the wrist. Neuvillette’s cock leaks against his stomach, twitching, aching for release—which is more likely to come sooner or later.

“How are you thinking straight?” asks Neuvillette instead. His hand drops to tug at Wriothesley's hair, guiding him to look back at him. “Aren’t I here to help you? Aren’t you in pain?”

He must be; Wriothesley's nostrils flare the moment the question is asked. His trousers are tight, the bulge of his cock painful as he shifts slightly. Such strength. So worthy. Neuvillette has always been attracted to that particular aspect but this entire time Wriotheseley has shoved away his instincts out of concern.

Neuvillette clicks his tongue. “This is the time to be self-serving.”

“Neuvillette—”

“I want you to be.”

“You’re making this difficult—” He sounds pained, so pained. Pulled to the edge and barely holding on. Wriothesley's claws dig into the meat of Neuvillette’s thighs, and all Neuvillette can think about is how handsome the marks will look later.

“You can savor me later. You can explore and have your fun when you aren’t half-drunk with need. But right now—breed me.” The moment Neuvillette snarls it, everything clicks into place. It feels right. Neuvillette’s chest aches at the thought of being stuffed full of a knot, and he just knows that Wriothesley will more than satisfy him.

Wriothesley makes a choked, suffering sound as he moves, dragging himself back up the length of Neuvillette’s body. Fumbles with his trousers, shucking them half off, uncaring that they still hang around his knees. “Baby,” he says, pressing his face into Neuvillette’s nape, inhaling deeply, moaning at the scent of his arousal.

And his cock is generous, thick and girthy, and the perfect length. Neuvillette’s gaze lingers, greedy. He’s quick to reach out and pull at it, stroking it once, twice, just to take off the edge. A soft growl. Wriothesley nips at his neck, teeth sinking into the flesh there. He knows Neuvillette won’t break; that he wants it, craves it. They read each other so well and have done so far longer than this face was set into motion.

“Transactional,” needles Neuvillette, his tone curled with affection. They both walked right past that threshold knowing what would happen.

“It never was,” says Wriothesley. “Fuck, it never was—not with you. Never with you.”

Neuvillette stills, losing his breath. Romantic; everything about this is woefully romantic despite being the sort of meet-cute that he usually sneers about. All his years of rolling his eyes at alphas and omegas who give in so easily to their baser instincts only to fall victim to the very same thing.

But Wriothesley has always been the exception, one that Neuvillette thought he’d never be privy to.

“How long?” he asks, cupping Wriothesley's face, tracing the pucker of that scar underneath his eye with a thumb. “Just how long have you been dreaming of me?”

Not just bedroom talk. Neuvillette has a deep desire to know and Wriothesley eagerly responds.

“Too long—hah.” He groans as Neuvillette’s hand finds his cock again, this time wet with Hydro.

Everything is uncoordinated as the tip of his cock is pressed to Neuvillette’s slit. Wriothesley sinks in with a single thrust, powerful enough to shake the bed. Neuvillette keens, feeling full to the throat. Oh, it’s been so long, but what an itch it scratches.

When Wriothesley bottoms out Neuvillette feels complete. He didn’t know he’d been lacking, empty, so very alone. Sedene’s teased him about it. “All you need is a mate,” she’ll say before shoving a parcel of high-quality tea into his arms with an eyebrow waggle.

Wriothesley's cock already swells at the base. “I’m not going to last,” he says, his voice beautifully strained. “Gods, you feel good. I knew you would, I knew it.”

Neuvillette rolls his hips and says, “Then don’t. Wriothesley, fuck me.”

He doesn’t know where the neediness comes from. The heat in Neuvillette’s gut flares to life and only grows with every thrust of Wriothesley's cock. He aches for more, and clings to Wriothesley for leverage as he raises his hips. Anything to force his cock deeper, anything to feel the slick slap of their skin as they dance in the sheets.

The sounds that drip from Wriothesley's mouth is swansong. He moans in his ear, his breath hot against the shell of it. “Neuvillette,” he hisses on a deep thrust, the friction against the underside of Neuvillette’s cock no doubt strange and unexpected.

Wriothesley pauses, trying to ground himself. Just a gentle grind of his hips as he presses their foreheads together, sweat dripping into their eyes. The base of his cock rests against Neuvillette’s vent, his knot a teasing thing.

Instincts flare, catching Neuvillette in their blaze. He’s better than this. He’s supposed to be calm and composed, even when he wants, even when he indulges, but all he can think about is being genuinely bred. Blames it on the years spent alone. Blames it on being too long since his last fuck, on liking Wriothesley just a little too much.

“Beloved,” says Neuvillette, tipping his face up to catch Wriothesley's mouth in a sweet kiss. He cups Wriothesely’s cheeks, nuzzling his face, soothing the storm that rages in his veins. “I thought you were going to knot me.”

“I—I—”

“I told you to breed me—”

“Neuvillette.”

“A cruel thing you are to make me wait.”

“Neuvillette.”

Wriothesley is red in the face. “What if it takes?”

Ah yes, that would be a blunder. Neuvillette is old, though, and not in his heat cycle. “Unlikely,” he says, brushing Wriothesley's bangs back.

It soothes Wriothesley enough for him to finally give in. He hikes Neuvillette’s hips up and pulls him closer, rocking into the tight heat of his vent with heavy, driving thrusts. “Perfect,” he says, his gaze tipping down to watch. He tugs at the smooth edge of Neuvileltte’s slit, easy the glide of his cock. “You’re so perfect, so—ah, fuck.”

His knot slides home and locks into place. Wriothesley grunts, grinding again, bending Neuvillette in half until his cock is lodged inside him at the perfect angle. Neuvillette keens, crying out. “Wriothesley,” he keens, claws dragging down Wriothesley's back.

Neuvillette comes first, full and fat, his vent stretched to its limit. He squeezes tight, arching in the bed, jerking as his cock spills all over his stomach. Divine—he must look divine, writhing underneath him. Wriothesley stares, eyes tracking every move as he whispers praise. A gentle roll against him has Neuvillette seeing stars. Another causes tears to leak in the corners of his eyes as overstimulation frays his edges.

“Yes, yes—”

Wriothesley tips over the edge abruptly when Neuvillette hisses his name, legs locking around his back to keep him in place. White-hot come paints Neuvillette’s insides. That ancient dragon in his beast falls back, satisfied, satiated as he’s filled to the brim.

“Gods,” croaks Wriothesley, collapsing against him, chest heaving as he gasps for air.

Too intense. Not intense enough. No, no, Neuvillette needs more. “Wriothesley,” he says, reaching out to kiss him. Sloppy. Tongues tangle and teeth clack. Neuvillette can barely think now that he’s had a taste of this, and it isn’t the knot that makes his blood sing, it’s Wriothesley, Wriothesley, Wriothesley.

“Baby, breathe.” Wriothesley's voice is hot next to his ear, the command deep and sultry. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and then another, and then suddenly he is more aware.

“I’m… I apologize—”

“Shh, it’s intense. It’s supposed to be.” Wriothesley hums, nuzzling at Neuvillette’s nape. “It’ll get worse. Now that I’ve had a taste—Neuvillette, I really am ruined for the rest of my ruts.”

Neuvillette manages a weak chuckle. His cock is hard again, stiff against his stomach. Wriothesley leans against him, slightly off-center, dragging his knuckles down the length as he plays with the strange shape of it. “Ruined,” Neuvillette echoes.

Wriothesley snorts. “I said what I said.”

“I had thought it an itch to be scratched,” admits Neuvillette. “Even I have my urges, but this—”

“Hmm, is different.” Wriothesley moves, guiding Neuvillette to twist in his cock until they’re sideways in the sheets, back to chest.

This is… comforting. Wriothesley curls around him, an arm resting against Neuvillette’s waist. He mouths at his neck, the top knob of his spine. He smells pleased—so utterly pleased—and finally, relaxed. The calm before the storm. His rut is far from over and will only brew again.

“What did you promise Sedene?” asks Neuvillette, opting for a moment of levity.

“Nope, not answering that.”

“Wriothesley—”

“I’m not talking about her with my knot shoved into your…” He trails off, struggling to find the correct word.

“Vent,” supplies Neuvillette.

“Vent? That’s terrible.”

“Would you prefer cloaca?” asks Neuvillette next, his tone tinged with amusement.

“I’d prefer to just lay here and bask in the moment.”

That Neuvillette can do. He leans bad, trilling softly, fucked full and strangely content.

Eventually, Wriothesley breaks the silence again. “Don’t leave,” he murmurs into Neuvillette’s sweaty temple. “You’re going to stay, right?” Neuvillette huffs, offended, which only makes Wriothesley chuckle. “Right, that was a stupid question. You don’t do this sort of thing with anyone, do you?”

“No.”

“I’m special, then.”

“Yes.” And then, quieter, Neuvillette finishes with, “You’ve always been the exception.”

Wriothesley's fingers dance along Neuvillette’s forearm. “You’ve complained about the scent of my ruts for years.”

“Because you smell good. Dizzying. Distracting. I cannot think when I’m surrounded by the smell of leather, and that damned tea you love so much. And watching you—I can’t stop. Handsome and perfect. I think about you far too much, and—are you laughing?”

He feels Wriothesley smile against the back of his neck. “No, no, keep waxing poetically. I’m going to hold it against you forever, mark my words.”

Neuvillette frowns. But, he supposes there are worse things to be held against him. “You should rest,” he says.

“Hmhn, yeah. Did you know you smell like the ocean?”

He did not. Wriothesley seems to have put a lot of thought into it as he describes more of his observations. Years, thinks Neuvillette—they’ve been watching each other for years, wanton and waiting, desperate to share something.

At least tea times and lunches won’t be needless excuses anymore. Neuvillette has a feeling that this particular itch will only come back but no longer will he have to scratch at it alone. He hides a smile, thankful that Wriothesley has opted to doze as his knot eases up.

All that’s left behind is the good sort of soreness, one that Neuvillette feels deep in his bones.

“Rest,” says Neuvillette again, turning his face to bury his nose in Wriothesley's pillow. Wriothesley hums softly, a half-hearted, sleepy acknowledgment that leaves Neuvillette strangely giddy.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #omegaverse #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #wriothesley/neuvillette #genshin smut #alpha/beta #wriolette

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