Neuvillette goes into heat, Wriothesley makes him work for the D, and then gets to fuck the vent.

Content Warnings: Contains Smut and Weird Dragon Biology

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Neuvillette is rarely so needy.

Wriothesley might frequent his office as of late, and use thinly veiled 'tea breaks' as an excuse to devour his mouth, but Neuvillette is never the one to initiate. Eventually give in, yes. He finds enjoyment in Wriothesley's amorous nature. Despite Neuvillette's preference to keep things quieter, darker, and kept in the shadows, even he cannot say no to those—what did Sedene call them? Puppy dog eyes.

He is a simple man. Neuvillette craves the same as any other does, particularly now that he and Wriothesley are courting.

No, that sounds wrong.

Neuvillette frowns, his mouth tugging downward at the corners. A rut? Surely not. Whilst not infrequent, they are manageable, and he often works through them. He ignores it and that is that.

This, though, is different. A clawing at his gut. White-hot heat that spreads from his chest to his groin. Not insufferable, just... he needs. Wants. To see Wriothesley, to kiss him, to—

"Monsieur Neuvillette?"

He blinks, finding Sedene standing before his desk. He hadn't even heard her come in. She watches him with a shrewd gaze, eyes narrowed, paw pressed to her mouth. "I apologize, Sedene," he says, clearing his throat. "I wasn't aware that you were there. Is there something the matter?"

"I was about to ask you that."

What a curious thing to say. Neuvillette blinks at her and replies, "I beg your pardon?"

"You've been distracted all morning. A little unusual... but it happens from time to time. Now that I'm looking at you, though, you seem..." Her face scrunches cutely. "Your power is all wonky. Concentrated around your..." She gestures to his crotch.

"I—" He has no excuse. Sovereigns, it's embarrassing. It's usually Wriothesley who is in various modes of public arousal which, occasionally, borders on indecent. It's a common tease. But for Neuvillette to be...

Oh, this is terrible.

"Miss Sedene, is it within my schedule to take the rest of the day off?"

"Planning on a visit to the Fortress?"

Neuvillette's mouth twitches. "I did not realize that I was so transparent."

Sedene raises an eyebrow. "No? Monsieur, you never took days off until you and His Grace started... courting," she finishes politely.

Wrong. That's the wrong word. It is more than courting. Wriothesley isn't a mere partner, he's more, he's—

"I find myself strangely... stressed," he admits, pushing those thoughts away. "I am unsure why, but I think that visiting Wriothesley would alleviate this some."

"Alleviate," repeats Sedene slowly, drawn out, her teeth pronouncing the last syllable sharply. Neuvillette shoots her a look that makes it clear he does not appreciate her teasing. With a soft, subtle smile, she continues, "I think that we can manage without you for the rest of the day. There are no trials that need your attention, and any other paperwork can be handled tomorrow."

A small relief, though he thinks Sedene would have made it work regardless. Neuvillette stacks the files on his desk into a neat pile before standing. "Thank you, Sedene. I appreciate it."

"Hmm, yes, the same way that I'm sure His Grace will appreciate a visit from you."

"Sedene."

"I mean well."

He knows that. He knows that. Still, there's something about her needling that comes off as... considerably untoward. His relationship with Wriothesley has loosened her tongue quite a bit.

"You know," she says, "it's alright to spend a day with him. Or two. Maybe a week."

"I have work. He has work. We're busy—"

Sedene hums softly, her gaze distant, as if she's looking through him. Then her eyes clear and she meets his face once more. "If you change your mind, just send me a message. I will clear your books."

Neuvillette stares at her. She stares back, her mouth curved into amusement. Suddenly, Neuvillette feels as if he's missing the joke, as if he's the only one in the room that is unaware of something.

And then he thinks of Wriothesley again. He misses him. He shouldn't. Neuvillette saw him just that morning. They'd shared the bathroom, and then Neuvillette's kitchen, and then they parted ways for the day with a quick kiss before heading out the door.

Odd. But not unwelcome. It is... mostly just there, a deep yearning clawing through his gut. Neuvillette chalks it up as being strangely possessive for the day.

He clears his throat. "Right then. I'll keep that in mind. Good day, Sedene. Thank you again."

Neuvillette chooses to ignore the way her smile melts into a smirk as she waves and leaves.

"Oh? To what do I owe this surprise?"

Wriothesley's expression softens the moment that Neuvillette steps into his office. He leans back in his chair, his work having gone forgotten.

"I wanted to see you," replies Neuvillette as he sweeps across the room. It's true. He doesn't need to mention the heat in his gut, or the painful clench of his ass. His cock—even that is an issue, half-hard and having already slipped from his vent. Blessings that it isn't apparent. At least Wriothesley won't be able to tell immediately just by looking.

"Don't get me wrong, sweetheart, this is definitely a treat." Wriothesley is already reaching out to him when Neuvillette closes in. "But it's a treat, and I know you. I don't get treats during work hours unless I beg." His hands find Neuvillette's hips, warm even through his clothing.

The relief is immediate. Neuvillette doesn't just lean into him, he drops against Wriothesley's lap, curling his arms around his neck. Presses his face into Wriothesley's nape, inhaling. That helps. Sovereigns, that helps.

And then it doesn't, that heat in his gut burning hotter because that well-loved scent of bergamot and machine oil permeates every cell of his being. Neuvillette shifts, pressing closer. He sighs against Wriothesley's neck and—

"Okay, something's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

Wriothesley squeezes his hips. "Sweetheart," he says, pulling away, "something is wrong. You're acting strangely."

"I'm... not. I merely wanted to see you." And hold him, and be touched by him, and kiss him. Neuvillette needs everything; will take everything, anything, that Wriothesley will give him.

"Neuvillette." Wriothesley says his name quietly, but firmly. The skin around his eyes is creased with worry. Those hands on his hips move to cup his cheeks instead, a thumb smoothing over the rise of his cheekbones.

"I am particularly needy, today," Neuvillette admits. "I just needed to see you."

Wriothesley hums. "And?"

And what? Neuvillette's desire flashes through him, hot and heady, but if he begs Wriothesley for something untoward, he'll never hear the end of it. Wriothesley would tease him forever. Neuvillette's been swayed before, but never has he been the needy one on company hours, least of all in the depths of Meropide.

"That is it, beloved. I already feel better."

He does and does not. Wriothesley has soothed some of the heat with just his presence, but the rest of Neuvillette burns. His cock is still half-hard, pressed against his trousers. They haven't kissed yet, and he finds his tongue begging for a taste.

Wriothesley smiles so sweetly as he pets his cheek. Wriothesley also knows him and all of his tells, that smile curling into a smirk. "Do you, sweetheart?"

"Wriothesley—"

Neuvillette falters when Wriothesley drops a hand, tracing the length of his sternum, pulling at the lace of his cravat. Down, further still, across his stomach. His knuckles brush over the front of Neuvillette's trousers, teasing. "You could feel better, no?"

"How'd you—"

"You thought I wouldn't notice? Sweetheart, you're tense, keyed up. You dropped into my lap and were moments away from latching onto my neck. Are you going to be honest with me now?"

A soft grunt falls from Neuvillette's mouth. "I—I don't know what is... I'm needy, beloved. I've thought of nothing but you this entire morning, and I don't..." Neuvillette swallows. Wriothesley still cups his cheek with the other hand and thumbs across his bottom lip softly.

Neuvillette kisses that pad of it. Sighs. Leans forward to rest his forehead against Wriothesley's shoulder. Wriothesley still brushes over his cock with a gentle touch, which is a blessing in a curse. It quells that heat a bit, but, but—

This isn't a rut, he knows that. Need gnaws at him. It isn't an emptiness; no, he just needs to be close to his mate, he needs to be touched, to be cared for to, to be—

Neuvillette knows what this is. He should've realized when Sedene gave an embarrassing, very pointed look at his crotch, citing the concentration of his power there. He presses a hand to his abdomen, pressing against it. He has no clutch, but heat cycles don't always result in them. The desperation is there all the same.

He considers not telling Wriothesley. Or rather, telling him later, but Neuvillette has always been a bad liar, and Wriothesley can read him better than any book he owns.

"Sweetheart," says Wriothesley, tilting his face up. He always knows when Neuvillette is thinking too hard.

"It's hot," says Neuvillette, squirming against his lap. He groans at the friction, at the way that his cock is trapped against Wriothesley's palm. "I'm hot, it's hot, I need you. I need you like I need water, beloved. You're my mate, my mate—"

And oh, the look on Wriothesley's face is torn between enthrallment and worry. "Neuvillette—"

He leans close to Wriothesley, tilting his face toward his mouth. "A heat cycle," he murmurs into Wriothesley's ear. "It's nothing to be afraid of. I didn't realize until now because I so rarely experience this. But you... with you, many things have been awakened, and I find myself hungry."

"Oh," says Wriothesley. He relaxes slightly, trusting Neuvillette with this, never questioning when something draconian is presented. "Okay, okay. What can I do?"

"I need you."

"Not here, pretty thing."

Neuvillette grunts. "You're quick to fuck me when you want and wherever that might be," he muses, "and I always give in because—"

"Did you just say fuck?"

"Wriothesley," hisses Neuvillette. He bites at his ear, the curve of his jaw. And then softer, "Wriothesley, beloved, please."

"Needy thing." Wriothesley pets his cheek and leans forward to give him a kiss, slow and sweet.

"When I want to be," replies Neuvillette, deepening that kiss, licking across Wriothesley's tongue. He tastes like sin, like everything that he needs. Citrus and tea. Leather. Sweat. He needs more. "You would deny me so easily?" Wriothesley swallows, his throat bobbing. Neuvillette's mouth curls into a rare smile as he holds his face in a firm grip. "No, you wouldn't."

"I still can't—Neuvillette this is my office—"

"But my office is fair game?"

"It locks at least. Mine just has a sticky door."

"No one bothers you here, you know that." Neuvillette kisses him again, petting over his face. Wriothesley hasn't shaved in a few days, and stubble pricks his fingers, digging into his skin.

"Gods, you're going to kill me," mutters Wriothesley as Neuvillette grinds against his hand again. "Okay, baby, just—Not here. Let me take you back to my bed at least."

"Wriothesley."

"And I've got a few things I have to finish—"

"Wriothesley."

"Is it that bad?" asks Wriothesley. "Can you wait a little bit longer?" Neuvillette whines softly, which makes Wriothesley groan. "Or," says Wriothesley then, his voice dropping to a deep purr, "what if I make you work for it?"

Oh. Oh. Neuvillette tips back and gives him a half-lidded glance. A delicious premise that scratches at his hind brain.

"You like that, don't you?" Wriothesley praises him for it. "What would you do?"

Neuvillette says nothing, just kisses him again for a second before pulling off of his lap entirely. He falls to his knees. Presses at Wriothesley's legs to part his thighs. Wriothesley is quick to comply, his hand falling against the back of Neuvillette's scalp the moment he's between them.

Need burns through him. His mate has asked him to work for it, and work for it, he will. Wriothesley leans back, showing off that he's already hard. Neuvillette traces the length of his erection with the tips of his fingers; feels the watch it twitches under his touch, hears the soft moan that drips from Wriothesley's mouth as his head falls back.

His fingers comb through Neuvillette's hair, petting at it. "That's going to make it hard to focus on my paperwork."

"You said to work for it." Neuvillette squeezes. "I've taken the rest of the day off and so, I shall do as you ask. And when I do, after, you will reward me." The demand is saccharine.

Wriothesley agrees, leaning forward and back over his desk, doing his best to ignore the way that Neuvillette paws at him. It's thrilling. While those within Meropide may come this way often uninvited, there is still a chance that someone will walk in and see them.

What a sight that'd be, Neuvillette between his legs, sucking Wriothesley's cock. His mouth sealed around the stiff length, swallowing it to the back of his throat. His hand between his thighs, touching himself.

Wriothesley jerks slightly when Neuvillette pulls out his cock, fingers tightening around its girth. A quick stroke. A soft hum as Neuvillette leans forward, licking a stripe from his trousers to the tip. Wriothesley manages to maintain focus even he traces his tongue around the flared head, even when he suckles at the tip, tasting salty precome.

The taste is divine. Utterly Wriothesley, his mate. Neuvillette moans, that heat in his gut abating slightly the moment it hits his tongue. Better. This is better, this is nearly perfect. Neuvillette presses his tongue flat against the underside and sinks down. Sinks and sinks and sinks until the tip of Wriothesley's cock is bullying the back of his throat, sitting thick and fat in Neuvillette's mouth.

Wriothesley's hand drops against the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He says nothing. Neuvillette hears the scratch of his pen over parchment, but Wriothesley's fingers are tight in his hair as he holds him there on his cock.

Neuvillette smiles around him, sucking, pulling back until he's at the tip again. He laps at it, swirling his tongue around the head. Tastes salty, like sweat. Smells like him, like his mate. Neuvillette's gut clenches and his moans, swallowing him down once more.

He sucks Wriothesley off at a leisurely pace. Lets saliva pool in his mouth, slicking the way, uncaring of how he drools into Wriothesley's lap, or the mess that it makes. Squeezes the base, stroking over the length that isn't deep in his mouth. Down and up, down and up—Neuvillette savors this, moaning with every down stroke as he chokes around Wriothesley's cock.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. That heat in his gut, those pinpricks of need have come back in full force, and even with Wriothesley in front of him, Neuvillette finds himself desperate for more.

But he'll be good and work for it, and work for it, he does, pulling at Wriothesley's clothes to free more of him. Neuvillette licks down his length and presses a kiss at the base where it meets his groin. His teeth sink in, latching on to salty skin, sucking. He'll pet over them later, enjoying the sight of Wriothesley bearing his marks.

For now, Neuvillette cups his balls instead, squeezing at them gently. He sucks the tip of Wriothesley's cock back into his mouth, moaning, swallowing him down.

"Sweetheart," hisses Wriothesley, his grip on Neuvillette's hair tightening, "if you keep doing that—"

Neuvillette could suck him to completion and then coax his cock back to life. But then another thought, another fleeting idea that has his mouth curling as he pulls off. "Apologies," he says, kissing the tip sweetly. "I've been too hasty."

Wriothesley's petting against the back of his head stops. "Hasty?"

Neuvillette hums, kissing another spot, just underneath the head. "We should draw this out, no? You told me to work for it and I shall—but you—"

"But me?"

"Try to hold off until you're inside of me properly, yes?" Neuvillette looks up at him through long and thick lashes.

Wriothesley watches back, his expression pinched. "I didn't even—sweetheart."

Oh, he's in a state. Usually their midday, sordid meetings are quick things; even under the guise of working for it, even with him asking Neuvillette to wait a bit longer, it was mostly a bid for him to get some work done before he inevitably forgot about it.

Neuvillette is now in the mood to drag this out, though, and he chuckles as he offers a few more kisses down the length of Wriothesley's cock. It isn't enough. Wriothesley whines, bucking his hips slightly, seeking out more friction than just the soft press of his mouth.

"Neuvillette, please—"

"You asked if I could wait a bit longer. Need claws through me, but I can, beloved. I'm patient. But are you?"

Wriothesley groans when Neuvillette brushes his testicles with his knuckles. Then his mouth, sucking one onto his tongue, tracing skin. That grip on his hair tightens again, Wriothesley curling it around his fingers. "Sovereigns," he says. "Fuck, fuck."

Neuvillette laves over his sack, and then back up Wriothesley's length. He gives it a stroke, smirking at the way it twitches in his hand. "You're close," he murmurs.

"How can I not be? Baby, I was close the moment you dropped into my lap."

"Smooth talker." It isn't a compliment, it's a tease, one that Neuvillette says against the slit of his cock before pulling away, wrapping his fingers around the base of Wriothesley's cock, squeezing it. Neuvillette pulls back entirely, sitting on his haunches. "If I were to try and talk you into moving to your bed—"

"Say no more, sweetheart."

Neuvillette gives him a coy look. "Aren't you working?"

"I was until my mate came in and demanded to swallow my cock. You have of a wicked tongue, you know that?"

He does, and Neuvillette lets it slip out of his mouth, flicking the forked edge, showing it off. Wriothesley's gaze is heated. His cock is still hard, cradled in Neuvillette's fingers.

"Yeah, okay, let's—enough of the teasing."

Wriothesley stands and pulls Neuvillette to his feet. It's an awkward shuffling to make it to his personal quarters linked to the back of his office, but Wriothesley tugs his trousers up and makes do. Once out of public sight, the door shut behind them, Wriothesley kicks them off entirely

Neuvillette doesn't think he's ever undressed himself so quickly. Wriothesley's bed is small, a tight squeeze for the both of them, but he falls onto his back, naked, needy, and—

Wriothesley notices the moment his knee hits the mattress. Neuvillette's vent is wet, slick and glistening. His cock is usually so, but this is a new sight, one that rarely presents itself because it isn't Neuvillette's preferred method of fucking. Wriothesley knows that he's allowed to touch his cock, and his ass, but his vent is always off limits.

But Neuvillette's heat is indiscriminate; it wants what it wants, which is to be bred until he's round with a clutch, and so his cock is hard, and his vent is wet, and Wriothesley just stares and stares and stares.

"It functions all the same," says Neuvillette. "And I've been waiting too long. Fuck me."

Wriothesley snaps to attention, settling between Neuvillette's thighs immediately at the command. But he still stares. Itches to touch. Neuvillette can't deny that his vent is swollen and aches, but—

"Beloved," he says, grabbing hold of Wriothesley's cock and slicking it with a handful of Hydro. He gathers it against his own aching length and strokes them both together to take the edge off.

Or make it worse for Wriothesley, judging by his pinched expression and red face.

Neuvillette is desperate. He cannot wait any longer, so he drags the tip of Wriothesley's cock down his swollen vent—which makes Wriothesley choke—then further, until the tip is pressed against the rim of his ass.

"You're so..." Wriothesley's words fail him. His throat bobs as Neuvillette bears down, the tip of his cock sinking in so easily. Wet and open. That's what Wriothesley was going to say. He takes the hint, thrusting in with a smooth, deep grinding that sends a shock wave down Neuvillette's spine.

Instantly better. Gods, this is what he needed. Wriothesley groans as he pulls out and thrusts in again, and Neuvillette arches in the bed, welcoming it. He's full of his mate. That thick, hard cock bullies his insides, and finally, finally, Neuvillette feels—

It's still not quite enough.

For all that Wriothesley fills his ass so sweetly, Neuvillette is still left open and aching. It matters not the way that Wriothesley grinds into him, or how his hands hold his thighs back, tilting him just so to find the perfect angle. Wriothesley's cock nails Neuvillette's prostate, and it's good, is so, so good, and it leaves his cock aching, and leaking all over his belly.

But there is agony there. His mate is doing so well, but still isn't enough. Neuvillette is still too empty, he still craves a clutch, to be bred full, and Wriothesley deep in his ass does little to satiate those needs.

Neuvillette whimpers as he grabs his cock. Gives it a stroke, and then another. Wriothesley is so good to him, fucking him so well, but even with Neuvillette pulling over his cock, even with his palm wet against his length, thumb pressed to those ridges, it is still not enough.

Wriothesley moans, thrusting into him sharp and hot. Neuvillette arches, crying out, begging for more. "Yes," he says, "yes. Wriothesley—"

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," hisses Wriothesley, his fingers digging into the meat of Neuvillette's thighs as he bends him in half.

Neuvillette lefts go of his cock. His fingers drift south to his soaked vent and trace those swollen edges. Better. A little better. Heat flares in his gut as his fingers drag over the opening where his cock is settled.

Wriothesley notices. Stills, his hips stalling as he watches. He looks stupefied because for as much as they've done this, he's never seen Neuvillette touch himself there, never even seen him pay it any mind aside from avoidance.

And it isn't that Neuvillette doesn't like it. No, no, it's a complicated thing compounded by trust issues, and age-old instincts that are unlikely to give in. But Wriothesley is different. Wriothesley has caused Neuvillette to go into heat, and there is little that can satisfy that raw, aching need that cleaves him in half aside from fucking his vent.

"Wet," says Wriothesley. "You're wet. There. Um."

"I am in heat." Neuvillette's fingers tug at the smooth edges of his vent. Slick dribbles from his hole there, slicking the entire space from his thighs to Wriothesley's cock where it's shoved inside of him, below. "I want to be bred, I need a clutch, and fucking my ass isn't going to satisfy those instincts."

Wriothesley makes a choking sound, caught by the fact that Neuvillette was just so openly vulgar. "I—Sweetheart?"

"It hurts, beloved. You're my mate, I'm wet and waiting, and it hurts. And this—this is where I need to be filled. This is—" Neuvillette moans, coating his fingers in his slick before shoving two of them into his vent.

It's been so long since Neuvillette's last used it that the tightness of his cunt is overwhelming, even for those fingers. But he's open, so open, wet and willing, and he spreads those fingers, driving them deeper, doing his best to carve that space out.

His cock grinds against his scaled wrist as he fucks himself with his fingers. Wriothesley watches, enraptured, entranced by the sounds of his fingers sliding in and out, by the wetness that seems to flow freely from his vent.

Another buck of Wriothesley's hips has Neuvillette melting in the sheets. That's—yes, that. That is perfect, so nearly there, so— Neuvillette bows in the sheets, tightening around his fingers, Wriothesley's cock.

"Fuck," curses Wriothesley. "Fuck, I'm—I'm going to—"

"No!"

Wriothesley jerks at Neuvillette's snarl, every motion, every rut of his hips coming to an immediate standstill.

He didn't mean to—Neuvillette whines and pushes at Wriothesley. "Not there, not—Wriothesley, I need you inside of me."

Wriothesley's brow creases. "I'm already—"

Oh, what a fool. What a sweet, blasted, hilarious fool. Neuvillette pushes him harder, and Wriothesley falls back until his cock slips from his ass. Hydro pools into Neuvillette's palm as he cups it, stroking his cock, cleaning it off in preparation for what his instincts demand.

"I've already told you that I need a clutch, Wriothesley. I need, I need—"

It clicks into place. Wriothesley's eyes go wide like saucers, pupils blown. "I..." He licks at his lips and moans, unable to stop himself from rutting into Neuvillette's hand. "Wait, I—I don't know what to do? With... it? It's...?"

"It functions the same," Neuvillette mutters, mildly annoyed. He's told his mate this. Wriothesley isn't dense, but his brain must be muddled with arousal because Neuvillette already explained this the first time that Wriothesley saw just how wet he is.

Wriothesley is too slow. He'd been too slow earlier too, and Neuvillette had all but crawled into his lap, demanding attention, taking what he needed from Wriothesley's cock. It quelled nothing. Raw, visceral need claws through Neuvillette, clouding his mind. He can't think of anything else aside from Wriothesley filling his vent, and giving him that clutch that he so desperately demands.

Neuvillette flips them. Wriothesley grunts as his back his the sheets in is tiny cot, and he grabs Neuvillette's hips to steady him as he throws a leg across his thighs. This is not the correct position. Everything screams him to roll over and submit, to shove his ass in the air and hold himself open for Wriothesley to slide his cock home.

But Neuvillette is cognizant enough to know that Wriothesley is new to this. He's being presented with unknown options, and flounders in his insecurities because he needs guidance. "Beloved," says Neuvillette, tugging Wriothesley's hand to his mouth for a sweet kiss to the backs of his knuckles, "I apologize. I am not angry at you, I am merely frustrated by my heat."

"I know that, baby. Just show me what to do and I'll do it. What do you need?"

His cock, thick and full inside of him. Instead, though, Neuvillette guides Wriothesley's hand to his vent, guides his fingers below his cock and shows him what to do. And Wriothesley listens; oh, he listens, presses his fingers deep into Neuvillette's cunt, marveling at the sopping wetness, at the soft give of his insides, at how he can feel Neuvillette's cock crowding the space.

And then after, Wriothesley's cock, slicked with Hydro, is pressed to that tight entrance.

"In what could be considered indelicate words," murmurs Neuvillette, arms around Wriothesley's neck, chests pressed together so close that they might as well be one, "all you need to do is shove it in."

Wriothesley does exactly that, trusting Neuvillette's word, giving in to his demands as he drives into his vent with a swift, heavy thrust.

Instant relief. The sound that Neuvillette lets loose as a loud, keening thing that's lost in Wriothesley's nape. He clings to him, one hand against the back of Wriothesley's neck, the other curled into his hair. Neuvillette moves, grinding down on his cock, fucking himself up and down, chasing that fullness he's been desperate to have.

Wriothesley gasps. "Gods," he murmurs. "Oh fuck. I can feel your cock. It's tight. Sweetheart, Neuvillette, Sovereigns—"

Neuvillette churrs at that, pleased by the plea, by the punch and raspy quality of Wriothesley's voice. Wriothesley's fingers dig into his ass and help guide him as Neuvillette moves overtop him. "What a perfect mate," he says, nipping at his throat, fangs dragging over the soft skin there. He tastes Wriothesley's arousal, drowns in the sharp tang of leather and tea. "You feel so good, beloved. Do you know when the last time I was filled like this was?"

Wriothesley groans, the gait of his thrusts stuttering. Neuvillette purrs, moving to cup his face, to press their foreheads together. He wants to soak everything up, he wants to feel every inch of Wriothesley when he tells him this next: "Never, beloved. I've never taken another here, aside from my own fingers, or toys of my making."

It gets quiet, then. Wriothesley's hold on his hips, his waist tightens. He curses and tries to pull away to get a better look, but Neuvillette holds his face right where he wants it. "Only you've been in my vent, Wriothesley. Only you do I trust with this, and never anyone else."

Wriothesley doesn't call him by his surname, next. No, he breathes his first name, his given name, a testament to the trust that Neuvillette was just talking about. Only his mate knows such a thing, only Wriothesley.

"Yes, beloved." Neuvillette kisses him, devouring his mouth, licking past Wriothesley's lips with that forked tongue of his. "Yes, yes, just like that."

He's finally full, finally has everything that he needs. His mate's cock is in his vent, bullying those soft, yielding insides, and he's going to be bred.

Wriothesley won't last long. Sweat beads on his brow. He breathes heavily, nipping at Neuvillette's mouth, chasing his tongue. "Gods, you feel like nothing else. Tight and wet. Fuck, I'm going to—" And then Neuvillette's name again.

It's so rare to hear it, and every time is a gift. Wriothesley whispers it against his mouth, his neck, the shell of his pointed ear, and Neuvillette soaks up the attention as he never has before.

"Inside," he says. "Come inside, I need it—"

Wriothesley grunts. "That—that sounds like not a great idea."

"Wriothesley—"

"No, you said this was a heat. You've been begging for me to breed you. I'm in your—" He turns pink at the thought of the word.

Ah, but Wriothesley doesn't know, he cannot fathom the pain that Neuvillette is in. Neuvillette pulls at his face again, tugging Wriothesley to look at him. "I ache," he murmurs against his mouth. "Wriothesley, I am in pain. I need to you come inside."

"But—"

"I have no clutch. It will not take, no matter how I wish that it could. But Wriothesley, beloved, I need to feel it. I need you to fill me over and over. I need it to take."

That's the heat brain talking. He knows it won't, they both do now, but it feels good to say it, to feel Wriothesley nod against his face.

"Alright, baby. Okay, yeah. I'll, let's—" Wriothesley is so sweet to him, giving in so easily. He's hanging on by a thread, shuddering against Neuvillette as he bucks up into him, meeting every roll of Neuvillette's hips. "You want me to breed you, right?"

Neuvillette snarls at that, an ugly, needy sound as he presses closer. "Yes, yes, please."

"Are you close?" Wriothesley tips his face up, nuzzling at Neuvillette's temple, inhaling deeply in the way a dragon would. And oh, oh—Wriothesley has no idea what that does to him, but he loves it. Neuvillette's baser instincts trill, and he fucks himself faster, deeper onto Wriothesley's cock, chasing his end, desperate to be fucked full of his come.

Wriothesley calls his name again, pulling Neuvillette from his thoughts. He whines, clinging to him, and Wriothesley chuckles softly. "Sweetheart, tell me that you're close. I can't—I'm going to—you feel too good to last."

"Do you want a clutch?" Neuvillette invades his face, foreheads pressed together, sweat-slick skin tacky and damp. "I've worked hard for this, for you to fuck me, but I need to know. Wriothesley, mate—"

Wriothesley's lips are cool against his forehead. "Yeah, I do, baby. Give me a clutch."

In a perfect world, Wriothesley would have a knot, and it would slot inside and keep Neuvillette full of his spend. Wait, no. This is a perfect world, and Wriothesley is the perfect mate. He doesn't question Neuvillette's heat, or the fact that he needed his vent fucked; he just pulled him into his lap and gave him just what he wanted.

"Beloved," he says, stroking Wriothesley's cheek, rising and falling on his cock. "I didn't know it'd feel like this, using my vent. I've never—it's always been—" A frustrated grunt as he throws his hips down, Wriothesley's cock carving a home inside of him. "It's so good. You're so good, the perfect mate. Yes, yes—"

It's Wriothesley that comes first, spilling hot and wet inside of him with a cry. And Sovereigns—even Celestia above—Neuvillette wants it to take. He wishes he had a proper clutch, that they could have little hatchlings, that they could share this experience to the fullest extent, and—

That's the hind brain steeped in his heat. For all of Wriothesley's talk, for all of Neuvillette's need, they don't actually want that. They aren't even mated, they aren't even bonded, that isn't something he's even broached the topic off. Wriothesley would, of course. Neuvillette knows that he would the moment he explained the depth of a bond, how it'd tie them together. That's why Neuvillette gave him his name, that's why he's settled deep in his vent, taking Neuvillette in a way no one else has before.

Finally, he finds relief; finally those instincts are satisfied, and whatever strange heat he's in will quell—if only for the moment. Neuvillette buries his face in Wriothesley's neck, and he shudders against him, clenching around his cock.

"Sweetheart." Wriothesley's hand traces the length of his spine gently. "You haven't come yet." His other hand dips between them, knuckles brushing against Neuvillette's smooth belly in a wicked tease. "Want me to touch your cock? Or would you rather just be full of mine?"

Sweet of him to ask. "Both," says Neuvillette, forcing Wriothesley's hand to curl around his length. He fucks into that grasp, gasping at the friction against his cock from Wriothesley's calloused fingers. He's wet there too, leaking from the tip, and Wriothesley drags his thumb over the head, tracing each ridge, each curve of his inhuman length.

"Beautiful," he says as if he's never seen Neuvillette's cock before, or explored every inch of it. He's worshiped it, spent hours mapping out its shape. Now, Wriothesley strokes it while still buried in his vent, and it's overwhelming, it's nearly too much, as the heat in Neuvillette's gut just boils over, white-hot, flashing through him.

He comes with the next pull of his cock, spilling all over Wriothesley's fingers. And Wriothesley—his mate is wicked when he brings those fingers to his mouth for a taste, making a show of it as he licks them clean.

Neuvillette's cock is still hard. His need has lessened, he burns less brightly, but it's still there, the urge to be bred, the desperation to be filled with a clutch. He needs his mate, and no amount of kissing, or cock, or come will be enough until Neuvillette has worked through the entirety of his cycle.

But he can think now, at least. Wriothesley lays back in the bed and Neuvillette collapses against him. "That was..."

"It isn't over," comes Neuvillette's warning. He sighs, nuzzling Wriothesley's throat, scenting him. He needs it all to be mixed, to be so intertwined he can't tell the difference between the two of them. "Wriothesley, I will be like this for days."

The apple of Wriothesley's throat bobs. "Ah, that's... Should we call Sigewinne here? Didn't you say this was unusual?"

Sigewinne is the last person Neuvillette wants to see, and he makes an ugly, ugly sound at the thought of someone else coming into their nest. But then the rational part of his brain catches up with him, and he begrudgingly agrees.

Wriothesley coaxes him into the bath. It's lukewarm and too tight, but Neuvillette loves the closeness, loves having Wriothesley's pressed against his back in the tub.

An arm is thrown around Neuvillette's hip, resting there comfortably. Wriothesley's fingers are gentle as they prod around, sweeping across the swollen slit of his vent. "So this," he murmurs, his mouth pressed against Neuvillette's ear, warm, hot, delicious—Neuvillette, control yourself. "Was the occasion specifically this heat?"

"Mhmn, yes, but—"

"But?"

"... it is a vulnerable thing to give into those baser instincts. Dragons rarely take partners, and we are picky. I've always been... standoffish about my vent."

"Can we call it anything else?"

No, they cannot, and that's what Neuvillette tells him.

Wriothesley pets him, dragging his knuckles down his half-hard cock and slit, taking advantage of Neuvillette's weakness in the touch. "Soooo, is this like... only during a heat thing? Or can we—am I allowed to... Just curious as to your intentions from here on out."

"Did you enjoy my vent?"

Wriothesley groans, his forehead dropping to Neuvillette's shoulder. "That might be the dumbest thing you've ever asked."

Neuvillette's chuckles, his mouth curling into a smile. "I trust you, implicitly. You are my mate, and so I am not... against the occasional foray in that direction."

"Oh?" There's a lilting tease to Wriothesley's voice that makes Neuvillette's gut churn with want again. His mate likes this. He wants this, he needs to breed him again—

Neuvillette clears his throat. "It is not my preference. But in the vein of foreplay—"

"Fingers and tongue, then," concludes Wriothesley. Then his voice quiets, mouth pressed to Neuvillette's temple. "For the record, I want to explore everything with you. There is no need to be self-conscious—"

"I'm not—"

"I meant about your heat. Because you were. A little."

He was, and not because he thought Wriothesley would be put off. "I dislike being a burden. To be so indisposed..." Neuvillette suddenly remembers something. "Sedene. She knew. When I left my office, she was teasing me about it, and I didn't realize..." He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a morose, embarrassed sound.

Wriothesley kisses his ear and laughs. "Well, whatever she says won't be as bad as Sigewinne. Speaking of, how are you feeling? Should we put off calling for her?"

"Tired." Bone-weary. Exhausted. Hot and needy. Neuvillette whines softly, pressing the heel of his palm against his abdomen. "But I don't think this is a cause for immediate concern—hah..."

"Already?" asks Wriothesley. "You're going to have to guide me through this, sweetheart."

"I am fine for the moment, just... discomforted. Your presence helps. I should eat—we should. But then I'll..."

Wriothesley smiles against his cheek. "Needy thing. Does this mean days of fucking your vent? Do I get to taste it?"

Neuvillette twists in his lap, tilting his face, and capturing Wriothesley's mouth in a kiss. It lingers. He licks through Wriothesley's mouth with a too-long, forked tongue, and Wriothesley just deepens that touch.

When they part, Wriothesley says, "If you want me to go grab us food, that's a surefire way for me to take you back to bed instead."

Neuvillette pets Wriothesley's cheek, and the laugh lines of his smiling face. So handsome, so distinguished. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he teases, petting that scar underneath Wriothesley's face.

"Being inside you again? Baby, you're going to kill me, but it'd be a death worth it."

"No dying," laughs Neuvillette, "and yes to the food."

They lounge there in the tub long enough for Neuvillette to doze, and the water to cool enough to be chilly. His heat has abated for the moment. He's steeped in the scent of his mate, full of come, and the promise of a clutch—at least, the thought of it is enough to trick his brain.

But heats ebb and flow, and later, after food and water, Neuvillette is hungry again, not that Wriothesley airs any complaints.