Wriothesley had the purest intentions when he accidentally walks in on the Iudex whacking one out.

CW: Contains Smut

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It is late enough in the night that Wriothesley doesn't have to sneak through the Opera Epiclese; the foyer is dark and empty, and everyone else has gone home for the day.

He never used to come above ground. He still doesn't make a habit of it but Neuvillette has a tendency to burn the midnight oil a little too often, and Wriothesley knows that his recent caseload has been running him ragged. And so, an offering: one bottle of imported water from the Vourukasha Oasis in Sumeru. Cost him a pretty penny, but Wriothesley doesn't mind. It's nice to dip into his bank account for a selfish reason.

He sighs in relief that Sedene isn't there. She's sweet, yes. She's also as bad as Sigewinne with her knowing glances and waggling eyebrows. "Thank the Archons," he hisses, passing by her empty desk and veering towards Neuvillette's office.

The door opens without a creak, its well-oiled hinges giving way silently. It's a late-night nightcap, all things considered. A nice break, just the two of them, as they wind down. Wriothesley smiles as he shuts the door quietly behind him. He's about ten paces from the door when he hears it—

A wet sound. Soft panting. A quiet, stuttered moan that is distinctly Neuvillette's voice.

Wriothesley's mouth falls open in shock. He—they'd—

Well, I'll be damned. Wriothesley rubs his chin as he steps closer, padding across the floor as quietly as he can.

Neuvillette usually hears him the moment he's within earshot. Or smells him; really there is no hiding from the man, except when he's apparently... very distracted. Distracted in a way that Wriothesley didn't know he indulged in. They've shared heated kisses and sessions of heavy petting, but they've never...

Wriothesley knows that his cheeks are red just at the thought. As it turns out, dating when older is awkward. Even Wriothesley struggles with intimacy, so they've taken their time, is all. Not that he hasn't dreamt of the opposite, not that he hasn't woken up from vivid dreams of coming together, but—

He should leave. It'd be the polite thing to do. He crosses the room instead, thankful for the way that Neuvillette's chair is tilted, angled just so that Wriothesley is partially hidden. If Neuvillette looked, he'd be seen, leaning against one of the hard-backed chairs.

But Neuvillette is otherwise occupied, trousers shucked down to his ankles, hand curled around...

Wriothesley's jaw tenses at the sight of Neuvillette's handsome cock. Inhuman, apparently. Glowing a soft blue in the darkness of the room. Neuvillette sighs as his fingers slide along its length, tracing the delectable ridges that flare underneath the head.

He isn't close enough for a better look but he likes it. Wriothesley always likes these bits of him as embarrassing or awkward as Neuvillette finds them. He supposes that this must be why things have—well, not been slow-going, just... carefully handled. Neuvillette must not want to scare him off.

Rude. Wriothesley wants to taste that cock as soon as possible. He settles for watching instead, telling himself that it's for research purposes.

He takes in the way that Neuvillette touches himself. His grip is lax and slick. He strokes the shaft of his cock with a light touch but squeezes around the head. Thumbs across the slit. Grinds his palm against the spade-shaped tip that Wriothesley finds himself fascinated by.

Neuvillette is tense, he notices, stiff-backed and taut in his chair. He grunts as his hand slides over his length, and though Wriothesley has heard him moan before, it takes a different sort of tone and feel here. It's self-serving, brought on by his own hand, and Wriothesley finds himself half-hard and wondering what Neuvillette is thinking about.

He wishes the angle was better so he could see more—but this is good. And it'd be better if he was actively involved, but—

Neuvillette moans his name. It's soft and breathy, and Wriothesley nearly misses it, but they've frotted enough for Wriothesley to know exactly what it sounds like when it tumbles from Neuvillette's mouth.

Oh. Oh. Wriothesley's cock fills out embarrassingly fast, straining the front of his trousers. Now it's his turn to touch himself, squeezing at his length, biting his lip so that he doesn't sigh too loudly.

Neuvillette's head rests against the back of his chair. His hair is messy, unbound and loose, and he moans softly as his eyes slip closed, those damnable lashes kissing his cheeks. Wriothesley has to bite the inside of his cheek to choke off a moan.

Research, he reminds himself, even though his cock twitches, even though it aches, and begs to be taken into his hand. Instead, his fingers dig into that chair he leans against, pulling at the fabric.

Wriothesley wonders what brought all of this about. Neuvillette is reserved, even in private, even when they are together. He can't imagine that he frequently whacks one out in his office. It's too public, too risky, too—

Another gasp of his name has Wriothesley slapping a hand over his mouth. Yeah, this is—he should definitely leave. But he stands there and watches, rooted to the spot as he squeezes his cock because fuck, Neuvillette is gorgeous. It takes everything for Wriothesley to not cross the space to bend him over the desk and worship him the way that he should be.

Neuvillette must be close. He kicks a leg out, his thighs shuddering. He strokes himself faster, sweeping his thumb over the swollen head of his cock. His precome is wet and waterlike, leaving Wriothesley to wonder if this is just another draconian quirk. He's desperate to know, to taste, to swallow it deep and drag more of these sweet sounds from Neuvillette's lips.

Suddenly, none of it is enough. The making out, the dry-humping and wandering hands; now that Wriothesley has seen what Neuvillette is working with, he definitely needs more.

The sloppy, wet sounds of Neuvillette's hand seem so loud in the otherwise quiet room. His soft hisses, the groans of Wriothesley's name, how his breath hitches, and the way his chair creaks as his back arches when he fucks into the grip of his hand—Wriothesely is hyperaware of it all.

When Neuvillette comes, it's with a gasp. He spills so easily, messily, soiling his crisp, clean shirt that he didn't ruck up high enough. Then he drops his cock with a sigh, his palm dripping with his spend. "Damn mess," he mutters in a rare curse, shaking out his fingers, and dragging his clean hand through his hair.

His chair swivels as he moves to stand, and that's when he notices Wriothesley. Neuvillette's nostrils flare in surprise. His eyes shine with heady arousal as he stills, dick out, shirt soiled, trousers still around his ankles.

"A nightcap," blurts Wriothesley, rather stupidly. It's obvious he'd been there for a while. His present sits on the side table next to him, and Neuvillette glances at his obvious erection. "Well, that was the intention, at least. I walked in to see you..." He gestures vaguely before rubbing the back of his neck. He can't help but stare at Neuvillette's softening cock as it—disappears? Slinks back into a slit-like opening that he can't see well enough from this far away, in the dark.

"And then you stayed," surmises Neuvillette. "To watch. Like a voyeur."

Gods, this is embarrassing.

"I—can you blame me?" So, not the best thing to say, but to his credit Neuvillette doesn't seem angry about it, just resigned to his fate. Wriothesley drags a hand down his face. "I didn't know you..." He makes a crude gesture that mimics jerking off.

Neuvillette laughs then, a strange, sharp sound that Wriothesley has never heard from him before. "I'm old, Wriothesley, not dead."

"I'm just saying that you're too... proper? Agh, there's no right way to explain—"

"It's your fault, you know," cuts in Neuvillette. "I find myself often stressed and I typically sleep it off. Lately, though, I've found... that I crave other sorts of wants and needs, no doubt cultivated by our recent courting."

Wriothesley's mouth snaps shut. Say what?

Neuvillette sighs, wiping his soiled hand against his shirt. "But no, traditionally I have never been one to indulge in these... baser instincts. I've never cared, nor spared it much thought."

"Until recently."

"Mhm." Neuvillette drags the hem of his shirt between his fingers.

It doesn't take a genius to know why, even if Neuvillette explained it. He still stands there, cock out and slowly retreating, relatively unbothered by his nakedness. This begs one simple question: "Why didn't you seek me out?" asks Wriothesley quietly.

Neuvillette finally meets his face, and though his cheeks are tinted peek, his gaze is thoughtful. Then he tugs up his trousers in a poor attempt at redressing. "You know that I am not good at being selfish, or indulging in my own wants and needs."

Right. It's why it'd taken nearly a decade and a half for them to even share a damn kiss.

"It is..." Neuvillette trails off as he steps closer, crossing the space to where Wriothesley stands. He drags his clean hand down the broad expanse of Wriothesley's chest before resting there, and Wriothesley hopes to Celestia that he can't feel how hard his heart beats. "It is hard to articulate how much I want you, Wriothesley. There are many things that you know about me and many things that have yet to be revealed. Do not make the mistake of thinking I am like ordinary men."

It's Wriothesley's turn to laugh. "I noticed," he says with a wolfish grin. He presses a fingertip underneath Neuvillette's chin. They aren't so different in height, but it's enough for him to tilt Neuvillette's face up a tad. "Sweetheart—" Neuvillette's face falls slightly at the endearment. "—I have to admit that I like what you've been hiding away."

Because fuck, he wants to explore whatever's going on down there.

Neuvillette's mouth quirks slightly. "Yes, I can tell," he says, dragging that hand against Wriothesley's chest down to cradle his cock. "I appreciate your astute honesty."

"Astute? Neuvillette, we need to work on your dirty talk—hey, what are you—"

Neuvillette hums as his fingers trace the waistband before hooking around the buttons that hold Wriothesley's trousers closed. "I find myself jealous. Now you've seen mine, but I've yet to see yours. Unless you would rather wait for another time?"

"Nope. Wait, I mean—" Wriothesley doesn't want to sound too eager but how can he not? Neuvillette is more than willing, he's actively pursuing his cock. He sucks in a breath and finishes with, "I would, uh, like that. For you to see."

Neuvillette hums undoing the buttons of his trousers. His hand is cold as it slips inside, and Wriothesley hisses when Neuvillette's frigid fingers wrap around his cock. He tugs it free, letting it rest against his palm, Wriothesley's cock dark and flushed against Neuvillette's pale skin. His mouth parts, tongue darting out to trace his lips.

"Handsome," mutters Neuvillette. "Admirable."

"Neuvillette, that's terrible—"

"Perfect," cuts in Neuvillette, giving it a stroke.

Wriothesley is not going to last. He's going to tip over the edge stupidly quick because it doesn't matter how many times he's had this dream, or jerked off in the shower, or in the bed, or even at his desk, nothing compares to the way that Neuvillette holds his cock, regarding it like a marvel.

He is careful with his claws, swiping the pad of his thumb across the tip and spreading the precome that pools there. Then, suddenly, his hand is slick—Hydro, realizes Wriothesley in a belated hazy fog.

Neuvillette tugs at his cock slowly, squeezing around different spots, testing its thickness, its hardness, humming when it twitches in his palm. Wriothesley's hips jerk, fucking into his grip, earning him a rare and coveted smirk spread wide across Neuvillette's face.

"Sweetheart, I'm close—"

"That's a pity."

"Neuvillette, this really isn't the time to tease—"

"I'm not teasing," says Neuvillette, stroking Wriothesley quicker. "I meant what I said: that's a pity. Wouldn't you rather have time to explore? Aren't you the one who bemoans that we're too busy to kiss properly, and share a night together?"

"Not here," hisses Wriothesley. Pleasure pinches his gut, white-hot and coiling tight. He moans softly, fucking Neuvillette's hand, one hand still holding onto the chair next to him for dear life. "Fuck, I'd rather take my time with you not in your office."

Neuvillette is teasing him, though. Wriothesley knows it deep in his core. Fancy words fly from his mouth lighthearted and amused, but he pulls at Wriothesley's cock with purpose, staring with that sharp, serpentine look that he gets when focused.

Fuck. Wriothesley groans as he comes suddenly, spilling all over Neuvillette's hand and wrist.

Neuvillette does something wicked then; he sweeps his thumb through Wriothesley's spend before bringing it to his mouth. He suckles at his thumb, a too-long and forked tongue dragging around his knuckles, making a show of the way he tastes his come. A soft moan. The flutter of his eyelashes as he seems to savor the taste.

"Does this suit your voyeuristic tendencies as well?" asks Neuvillette with a half-lidded and, frankly, lecherous gaze, knowing that Wriothesley is a hopeless, hopeless man.

Wriothesley groans, dropping his forehead to rest against Neuvillette's shoulder.

Neuvillette laughs softly, petting through Wriothesley's coarse hair with his clean hand. He then tucks Wriothesley's softened cock away, refastening his trousers. "A nightcap," he says, musing about Wriothesley's intended offering. "Alcohol, Wriothesley?"

"Water, actually." Wriothesley smiles sheepishly. "I swear that I came here with pure intentions."

Neuvillette's expression is delightfully soft. Affectionate. Fuck, that's what Wriothesley likes the most.

"Pure," repeats Neuvillette. "Wriothesley, your visits as of late are anything but. And that's the problem, isn't it? You come here and sweep me off my feet with kisses, and touches, and your taste, and then you leave me here to suffer the consequences alone."

"So... no more kissing in the office?"

Neuvillette's expression is fond. "I didn't say that. But, perhaps, we can carve out time to carry those indulgences further."

Wriothesley's throat dries up. "Are you—is that a proposition?"

Neuvillette neither confirms nor denies, he just pulls Wriothesley towards him by the collar and plants a sweet, lingering kiss on his mouth. His tongue is dastardly, sweeping across his lips, teasing at the seam. Just as Wriothesley is about to cup his cheek and sink into it, Neuvillette pulls away, satisfied.

"Now, that water," he purrs. "Pour me a glass?"