Neuvillette comes untouched during a heavy make-out sesh.

CW: Contains Smut

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It should come as no surprise that after they share that first kiss, things change.

Short and sweet kisses morphing into long and lingering things. Neuvillette learns how to slip Wriothesley tongue, that it's okay for his hands to wander, to grope and grasp. Wriothesley learns what sorts of sounds Neuvillette makes, what sorts of sounds he makes, because apparently making out with the person you've loved for over a decade is a vastly different affair than quick, perfunctory fucks.

Those sweeping kisses turn into hands full of flesh, which turn into grinding their hips together, which turns into Neuvillette climbing into Wriothesley's lap to bite at his mouth.

And that's where they are now, with Neuvillette sitting across his lap, his tongue shoved down Wriothesley's throat. It's an uncoordinated mess, but it's a good mess, one that leaves Wriothesley aching in his trousers, his cock trapped underneath Neuvillette's broad thigh.

Wriothesley doesn't realize his face has drifted away, distracted, until Neuvillette tugs it back sharply. He cups Wriothesley's cheek with strong fingers that could snap him like a twig. Hot. That will always be really fucking hot, but not as much as Neuvillette's fingers dragging across the skin of his face, tracing every inch to commit it to memory."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he mutters, tipping his face back for another kiss.

Neuvillette grunts, holding him there firm, and Wriothesley just takes it, everything he gives him; that thick, draconian tongue is thicker, rougher, but it's—

Wriothesley moans. His fingers dig into the meat of Neuvillette's calf, squeezing it. "Fuck," he curses. "Fuck—"

"Quiet." Neuvillette doesn't quite command it, but it's said with the same sort of Authority that shapes his entire being.

Wriothesley smiles and pecks his mouth sweetly. "Needy?"

"Wriothesley."

"You love kissing me."

Neuvillette huffs, a strange, whistling sort of sound caught between fondness and annoyance. He rakes his claws through Wriothesley's hair, petting at his scalp. "I've been denied this for so long."

"You could've kissed me years ago."

Neuvillette's expression is narrowed. His grip shifts to hold Wriothesley's chin, and he drags his thumb across his bottom lap. "Always so chapped," he muses. "Surely Miss Sigewinne can provide you with an adequate moisturizer."

"Please don't mention her while we're making out."

"I would think that it would hurt with how cracked they are."

Warmth fills Wriothesley's chest at that. It's the smallest and silliest things that Neuvillette focuses on. "You wouldn't know, would you?" he muses, laughing. "You've probably never had dry lips in your life."

"I am a rather... wet... being."

Neuvillette's attempts at teasing are endearing. Wriothesley finds himself tipping his face back as he relaxes into the couch, tugging Neuvillette against him.

"Another," Neuvillette politely requests. "Beloved, please."

Wriothesley cradles Neuvillette's face, slotting their mouths back together. Not that the kiss before wasn't deep, but this is heavier, headier. Neuvillette licks into his mouth like he's trying to catch his taste, to memorize it as his tongue slides across Wriothesley's.

Neuvillette is hard. Wriothesley feels the way that he squirms in his lap, trying and failing to ignore it. Pleasure heats Wriothesely's belly, and sinks into his own aching dick. Things have moved fast, and Neuvillette is an eager, eager, man; it's Wriothesley who is a little more patient about this, who—while he doesn't want to take it slow—still approaches this newfound intimacy with care.

Still, who is he to not react? Wriothesley presses his hand flat against Neuvillette's chest, squeezing at those taut swimmer's muscles. They kiss and kiss, all tongues and teeth, and trilling noises that no human would ever make. But Neuvillette—he mouths at Wriothesley's face hungrily, needy, those sharp-tipped claws digging into the meat of his chin. Not enough to damage, but he feels it, and fuck, he loves it.

That hand drops to Neuvillette's thigh, Wriothesley's fingers digging into the plush feel of it. And then, upwards, the backs of his knuckles pressing against the bulge of Neuvillette's cock where it's trapped in his trousers.

Neuvillette doesn't still; he moans against his mouth and spreads his legs, offering up a better reach.

"Sweetheart," mutters Wriothesley, smiling against his mouth. "Does that feel good?"

"I—Wriothesley."

It must; Neuvillette grinds against his hand, chasing what little friction he can get. Wriothesley teases him, allowing only for the barest contact, just the sweep of his fingers overtop his trousers, tracing Neuvillette's length.

It's mostly about the kissing. A little about the groping. Entirely about the way Neuvillette sits in his lap, devouring his mouth, pushing himself flush against Wriothesley's body.

"Damp," teases Wriothesley, the tacky fabric of Neuvillette's clothing catching against the pad of his thumb. "You said you were a wet being, but—"

Neuvillette lets loose a deep moan as he suddenly shudders against Wriothesley. It takes a moment for it to sink in, the flush tint to Neuvillette's face, the pinch of skin between his brows.

"Oh," breathes Wriothesley. "Oh, you've—"

Neuvillette came from just making out, and the lightest touch of his fingers. Overly sensitive. He's embarrassed, too, just slightly, but he doesn't hide away; and just grinds against Wriothesley's fingers as they sweep through the damp patch on the front of his trousers, writing out that surprise orgasm for as long as he can. They've indulged in plenty of heavy petting, but never to the point of this.

Even if he walked in on Neuvillette that one time, even if Neuvillette's given him a grand total of one hand job, Wriothesley never pressed the issue after that. Wriothesley just to hurries it back home and furiously jerks himself off after any of their... meetings.

"Fuck, that's hot." He nips at Neuvillette's mouth playfully. "Didn't think we'd get to third base today."

"What does that..." Neuvillette's nostrils flare as Wriothesley cups him properly, just for a feel.

"More?"

Neuvillette doesn't immediately answer. He cups Wriothesley's face, tilting it towards him. He traces that scar underneath his eye, watching him, and it's with such a fond expression. "More, you ask me," says Neuvillette. "If we were to indulge in more, we may very well get into trouble."

"It's late. No one else is here, aside from us."

Neuvillette's fingers pet through his hair, and Wriothesley groans at the tingles the touch sends down his spine. That's good too. As is just sitting here. Honestly, he'll take anything, but now that he's seen Neuvillette lose himself so easily, that's what he wants more.

"There is a time and place. I was not prepared to..." Neuvillette's face wrinkles slightly. "My trousers are soiled, thanks to you."

"Me?" Wriothesley is offended by that. "It takes two to tango—"

"You came for tea," is Neuvillette's blunt reply.

"And I stayed for the kissing, and the grinding, and the—" Wriothesley stops when Neuvillette shifts, tossing a leg over to straddle his hips properly. Wriothesley's erection is apparent. Neuvillette now tortures him with the exact same, light-handed drag of his fingers across the clothed bulge. "Weren't you just trying to talk me out of this?"

Neuvillette hums, pulling at the opening of Wriothesley's trousers. "Consider myself swayed."

Wriothesley is down for the count after that, but he supposes it's his own damn fault—not that he's complaining.