Neuvillette tries his best despite taking 'teabagging' a little too literally.

Notes: This fic was written as a joke, ngl. 

CW: Contains Smut

--

Wriothesley's answer to Neuvillette's query is a... confounding thing.

"Oh? You want to know what I like?"

Neuvillette clicks his tongue. Yes. Of course. They are partners, are they not? When it comes to the pleasures of flesh Neuvillette is old and unpracticed, and the times have changed over the centuries. They seem to be compatible, Wriothesley keen to take care of Neuvillette however he wishes.

Still.

"You seem surprised that I would ask such a question."

Wriothesley tries not to laugh. His expression creases slightly, the skin around his eyes and mouth wrinkling with amusement. "You're so rarely... forward, is all. It's a nice change of pace."

"Then answer, please."

"Ah. What is something you enjoy in bed?" he muses, repeating the question. Wriothesley rubs his chin as he thinks. "You know how much I love to use my tongue, so teabagging—"

"Teabagging?" What a curious phrase. Neuvillette is about to ask but stops himself at the embarrassed look on Wriothesley's face. But there is also amusement as if there's a private joke to be had there, one that Neuvillette fails to understand.

"Hey, I know it's a little on the nose but let's enjoy the levity, okay?"

Levity. Right. Neuvillette files the information away for later, figuring that there are books to consult on the topic. He turns to Wriothesley, cupping his chin. "Thank you for your honesty," he says, tracing Wriothesley's lip with his thumb.

Whatever Wriothesley is about to say is lost the moment they share a kiss.

#

So, consulting texts does nothing. There is, as far as Neuvillette can tell, not one reference to teabagging. And while his knowledge of bedroom activities is not limited, he figures that this must be a newfangled term that he's likely too old to grasp.

Slang? Perhaps.

But then again— "Perhaps it is literal," he muses to himself, picking his way through another manual that details wiles of the flesh. Slang is more likely but Wriothesley is the type of man who does not mince his words. He also knows that Neuvillette is easing into a relationship and that it's been a long time since he's... indulged in such activities with regularity.

Wriothesley will be very plain with him, yes? And, Wriothesley certainly loves his tea, so the conclusion that Neuvillette comes to seems logical in the long run.

"Yanshang Teahouse," he says, switching mental gears. He remembers an old friend speaking of the place, commenting on its well-formed blends. It'll be perfect, he thinks, as he places an order.

Neuvillette does his best to not be offended when Sedene gives him a confused, suspicious look.

#

Of all the reactions that Neuvillette could have hoped for, absurd laughter was not among them.

There had been painstaking planning. He had practiced brewing the tea, which he had commissioned from the Yanshang Teahouse. Perfect little satchels filled with carefully measured spoons of leaves, tied off gently before being stepped to perfection.

When Neuvillette revealed the tea kettle, Wriothesley could barely keep a straight face. A soft snort. A cough into his palm, and then full-blown laughter that he fails to contain.

"I do not see what is funny," comes Neuvillette's dry and genuinely confused reply.

"I—I'm sorry. I just..." Wriothesley wipes at his face because he's laughed to the point that he's brought forth tears, and frankly, that does nothing but bruise Neuvillette's ego and make his half-hard cock flag, threatening to slip back into his vent.

"You told me teabagging, Wriothesley."

"Yeah, I did. What on earth did you think that I meant? Surely not..." Wriothesley's words dissolve into laughter again, and this time he nearly chokes.

Neuvillette explains his thought process. He hangs over Wriothesley and tells him of his research, of the texts he consulted, of how he commissioned the tea specifically for him, all the while tracing his skin, those puckered scars, the length of his hard cock as Wriothesley lies bare before him in the bed.

Wriothesley's teasing halts and his expression turns warm. "I should have explained," he says then, cupping Neuvillette's cheek. "I was too distracted to finish the thought, though, if I remember correctly."

Neuvillette hums. "I do recall a lot of kissing." And he kisses Wriothesley here too, dipping down for a short peck against his mouth. "I apologize for... misunderstanding."

"No, no, now I'm intrigued. Go on."

Go on. Wriothesley says it so earnestly that warmth seizes Neuvillette's chest. He shouldn't be surprised. Wriothesley has taken every punch given to him without a second thought. He never blinks at the weird dragon shit (his words) or Neuvillette's mildly possessive streak (also his words).

Neuvillette offers him a grin as he leans back. "Food play," he murmurs. "During my research, that is what stuck out to me, particularly tales of ice cubes and... other creative applications of Cryo."

Wriothesley's gaze narrows, half-lidded with interest.

"And so, I soaked these teabags. They are warm, but no less sensual when dragged across skin."

"That's..."

Oh, he's interested. Neuvillette can smell his arousal. Wriothesley's cock twitches against his hand as he palms at it. So, he wasn't entirely off base. Wriothesley is willing to indulge his... unintentionally strange idea for the sake of their intimacy.

Neuvillette scoops a tea bag from the kettle and lets it drip. "That explains the towel in the bed," teases Wriothesley when he brings it over, settling it against his sternum. Liquid collects against Wriothesley's breast bone, leaking down the valley of it. "Smells—"

"Good? Yes, I would hope so. It contains a lot of your favorite flavors." Neuvillette tugs at the bag, watching it slide over Wriothesley's tanned skin. It catches on a scar, staggering over the silvery flesh, down and down until just below his ribcage. Tea trickles into Wriothesley's navel.

Neuvillette thumbs over his wet, slick skin, marveling at the way the liquid travels. His tongue lolls out, wanting to taste, suddenly ravenous at the idea, and so he dips forward to lap at the tea, licking a stripe from Wriothesley's ribs to his chest.

The tea bag is tossed aside and swapped for a fresh one, warm and leaking. Neuvillette drops it against Wriothesley's pec, and drags it across a nipple, watching it harden. His tongue darts out to follow, tracing the sweet trail of citrus and black tea.

Wriothesley moans, arching against him as Neuvillette's tongue swirls around the peak. "Oh."

Neuvillette smirks, lapping at that nipple, sucking it between his lips and giving it a gentle nibble. His fangs are dangerous. They sink into Wriothesley's flesh, pulling a cry from his mouth, and Neuvillette sighs at the taste of tea that bursts across his tongue.

Another tea bag—Neuvillette thanks himself for the forethought of steeping several. This one trails back down the length of Wriothesley's body and raises gooseflesh. Tea pools in the lines of his muscles and Neuvillette drinks up every wet spot. Wriothesley's hand finds his head, fingers curling into the glossy strands of Neuvillette's hair. He jerks as Neuvillette bites at his groin, suckling the spot just at the base of Wriothesley's cock.

So hard. Twitching against his palm and leaking at the tip. Neuvillette tosses the last tea bag aside before his too-long and forked tongue licks around the crown.

Wriothesley curses, bucking against his mouth. "Sorry, sorry—" he murmurs, but Neuvillette just laughs, brushing a lock of his hair behind an ear before sinking further down his length.

A wrecked moan spills from Wriothesley's mouth. He's already tense, thigh muscles taut as he squirms in the bed. Keyed up from Neuvillette's touch, from the drag of those damnable tea bags, and how he chased them with his tongue. Neuvillette moans, his tongue now pressed flat against the underside of his cock. He bobs his head, sucking, his mouth wet and hot around Wriothesley's aching cock.

He loves the weight of it in his mouth. The heady scent of Wriothesley's arousal and the way he tugs at his hair. Wriothesley holds Neuvillette's head there, petting through his locks, drowning in the heat of his mouth as he tries to suck him dry.

"Gods," he mutters. "Baby, just like that, just like that."

Neuvillette preens. He sinks further, the tip of Wriothesley's cock bullying his throat, lodged so tightly in that space that he can barely breathe. He chokes on it, entering that hazy space of pleasure. Wriothesley never lasts long like this, woefully gone the moment Neuvillette wraps his lips around his length.

He feels the tell-tale twitching of Wriothesley's cock on his tongue, and the way the grip on his hair suddenly tightens. "Neuvillette," comes a punched hiss, "I'm going to—"

Neuvillette moves again, pulling back until the tip of Wriothesley's cock rests against his tongue. He strokes the rest hard and fast. Teases the head with the forked tip of his tongue—and that's when Wriothesley comes, white-hot, with a cry, all over Neuvillette's face.

Wriothesley groans, going lax in the sheets. He watches Neuvillette's tongue slip from his mouth, long and draconic as he cleans his face, licking away Wriothesley's spend. "Fuck, you always—"

"I can't leave a mess," sniffs Neuvillette, as if there aren't wet and sopping tea bags tossed around the bed.

Another weak moan has Neuvillette chuckling softly. He climbs across Wriothesley settling over his hips. "Beloved," he says, brushing back Wriothesley's damp bangs, "I appreciate your willingness too..." He tails off and gestures vaguely, a motion that Wriothesley often uses.

A weak laugh tumbles from Wriothesley's mouth. He tugs Neuvillette closer and kisses him, tongue slipping into his mouth. "Tastes good. It's sweet," he mutters against Neuvillette's lips. "The tea, I mean. Citrus, rose, and—mhm—lizard tails?"

"Rude," says Neuvillette, pinching Wriothesley's bicep as he teases his less-than-human nature.

"Wait, wait, no—more kissing, please?"

Neuvillette sighs softly, combing through Wriothesley's coarse hair. "Of all the requests you can make—"

"So here's the thing—you wouldn't be able to indulge in actual teabagging. It was a joke."

Neuvillette hums. "Will you explain?"

Wriothesley laughs. "Later. I wasn't joking about the smooches. Come here."

They do kiss—soft, fleeting touches that Neuvillette loses himself in. Later, Wriothesley takes care when detailing his actual wishes in heated, sultry words before rolling them over and having his way with him.