Wriothesley teases a little too much when it comes to offering up kisses.

--

Wriothesley is impressively strong.

He holds Neuvillette's chin in a tight grip. "Sweetheart," he murmurs lowly, softly, and though Neuvillette has often expressed his displeasure at the pet name, heat pools in his gut nonetheless.

Wriothesley tilts his face towards his. Smooths his thumb over the rise of his cheekbone, the callused pad catching against his soft skin. Wriothesley is close—close enough to feel his breath, warm as it fans over Neuvillette's mouth, and oh, Neuvillette finds himself wanting. His heart skips a beat. His gut tightens as he leans closer.

A kiss is expected and Neuvillette squirms in anticipation. Wriothesley drags that thumb across Neuvillette's bottom lip, teasing the seam of his mouth. Neuvillette kisses it, which makes a smile bleed across Wriothesley's face, wide and genuine.

And then Wriothesely pulls away just enough to kiss Neuvillette's forehead instead.

The disappointment is palpable. Neuvillette lets loose a soft wine that would, otherwise, embarrass him. But this is Wriothesley, and Wriothesley gets to see him at his best and his worst, so Neuvillette lets himself pout. And, perhaps it's childish, perhaps it's a silly thing to be vexed by, but Neuvillette is a covetous, needy creature even on his best days.

"That look," laughs Wriothesley. "There's no need—"

"No need?" Who is Wriothesley to tell Neuvillette what he does and does not need?

Wriothesley's mouth twists into a knowing smirk. He taps at his chin and pulls away entirely to pour out a fresh cup of tea. He takes his time with it, pressing his nose to the cup for a deep inhale, and then takes a long, drawn-out, and savoring sip.

Neuvillette behaves. For now. He sits there and wills himself to be patient. Finally, Wriothesley puts the cup down and leans again into his space.

"Is this better?" Wriothesley is delightfully warm against Neuvillette's cool skin. He cups his cheek, and presses his nose against Neuvillette's temple, nuzzling at his hairline.

A soft kiss is pressed there, gentle enough to leave Neuvillette wanting more. Then, his fluttering eyelids as Neuvillette sighs, sinking into the Wriothesley's comfortable weight against him. Wriothesley's lips are chapped. Neuvillette knows that he'll taste like tea and citrus, and he is already tilting his face to seek out to taste it.

Wriothesley stills him again, Neuvillette's chin pinched between his thumb and knuckle.

"Wriothesley—"

"What's the rush?"

There is no rush. Logically. But when it comes to all things Wriothesley, Neuvillette has learned that nothing about their courtship has rhyme or reason. Neuvillette wants things that he's never before considered. He is bereft and lonely without Wriothesley by his side, and he craves his taste, the feel of his mouth against his, the way that he moans when Neuvillette's tongue slips between his lips—

"I merely want a kiss," says Neuvillette rather diplomatically. "Isn't this a tea date?"

Wriothesley laughs. "Emphasis on the date, huh?"

"Wriothesley—"

"Beloved," says Wriothesley, then, throwing Neuvillette's wild card back at him. He smells like leather and machinery. Those sweet, fruity oils found in his tea blends. The cream and sugar that he decorates his brews with.

Neuvillette's mouth parts in anticipation as Wriothesley tugs his face close and—

Plants a kiss against the tip of his nose.

Frustration bleeds through his being. It ripples through his nerves and bleeds through his veins. The whimper that falls from his mouth is unbecoming but Neuvillette did not slog through his work day only to be denied what he owed.

"Needy," chastises Wriothesley with good humor.

"Your Grace—"

"Oh, so we're back to titles, now? Monsieur Neuvillette, may I have the honor of kissing you?"

That shouldn't sound sexy. The request shouldn't make him hot underneath his cravat, or do things to him, but Neuvillette finds himself leaning into Wriothesley's space, unwilling to be apart from him. "Please," he says.

Wriothesley smiles against his cheek and kisses the corner of his mouth.

Not enough. Neuvillette has wanted for so long that even though he has Wriothesley in his grasp now, it still isn't enough. His hand darts out, inhumanly quick to catch Wriothesley's face. "Wriothesley," he says, holding him there, teasing him the same way by dragging his thumb across the swell of his bottom lip. "Beloved. You toe the line, teasing me."

It is an empty threat. Wriothesley is relaxed against him, even with his chin locked in Neuvillette's tight grip. He nips at Neuvilette's thumb, his flat teeth digging into the pad of it.

Neuvillette's expression turns serpentine. He kisses him, closing the distance before Wriothesley can contest. And Wriothesley responds eagerly. His hand curls into Neuvillette's shirt for purchase. His mouth opens immediately and he moans when the forked tip of Neuvillette's tongue traces the edge of his teeth.

It is all-devouring. Neuvillette is halfway into Wriothesley's lap and cupping both of his cheeks as he licks into his mouth. He drowns in the taste of him, drawing out those soft, sweet sounds that make Neuvillette weak in the knees, and hard in his trousers.

"A tea date," mutters Wriothesley against him, chasing Neuvillette's lips, his tongue.

"Dates are for things like this, are they not?" He drinks Wriothesley in the same way he savors his favorite waters. "You asked for the honor of kissing me and then you did no such thing—"

"Every kiss is an honor," says Wriothesley. Neuvillette stills and they share breaths. "I never thought I would get that honor, so I savor every one."

All the annoyance that shocks Neuvillette's bones melts away. Wriothesley is so sweet and earnest as he confesses this quietly.

The next kiss is quieter. Languid and searching. Neuvillette pets Wriothesley's hair as he slots their mouths together, swallowing up the soft groan that bubbles from Wriothesley's throat. For all of his teasing about tea dates and kissing, Neuvillette finds enjoyment in these... physical shows of affection. And not just this—no, it's the handholding, the palm resting against the small of his back. How Wriothesley will lean close and whisper something silly into his ear when others aren't looking.

Neuvillette sighs into his mouth. His tongue sweeps across Wriothesley's and he just feels it, this, their feelings coming together with something as simple as pressing their mouths together.

When they part, Wriothesley chases him. Neuvillette chuckles, a rare sound that makes the skin around Wriothesley's eyes wrinkle. So distinguished. Handsome, even at his age. Neuvillette finds himself falling more and more in—

Neuvillette does not think about that. They are courting. This is fresh and new, and there is no need to worry over such... things.

Wriothesley digs his thumb against the edge of his mouth and says, "You've got a little something—"

"Wriothesley."

"Cream? Spit? Didn't think you'd try to eat my face off. Maybe I should tease you more—"

"Wriothesley."

A wicked, crooked grin is Wriothesley's response, and Neuvillette's chest tightens at the sight of it. It's his turn to cradle Wriothesley's face, to smooth his thumb across those darling cheekbones, to feel the way his thumbs catch against his chapped mouth. He traces the scar underneath Wriothesley's face, thinking far too seriously for Wriothesley's liking.

"You said it was an honor, but what if I told you that the honor is mine?"

"Sweetheart," says Wriothesley, and this time it isn't a tease, it isn't dripping with sarcasm because he knows that it needles Neuvillette's bones. This time it's uttered in reverence, in awe, with a nuzzle against Neuvillette's nose, with an expression that makes his heart quicken.

"Another kiss, please," Neuvillette politely requests. A soft, amused chuckle fans across his face.

Wriothesley doesn't tease him. This time the kiss that Neuvillette receives is just a short peck against his mouth, casual, domestic, even. It is nicer than the others. All those knots in Neuvillette's gut ease and he's left with a glow, purring softly in Wriothsley's grasp.