Warning: Contains Smut

--

Wriothesley wakes up the next morning hot, sticky, and smothered by hair.

He groans softly, pressing closer to that source of heat, uncaring of the sweat that coats his being. The hair smells nice, even if it chokes him slightly, and Wriothesley finds himself inhaling deeply, nuzzling those fine babies hairs—

Neuvillette.

All that comfort, all those sleepy thoughts, come reeling to a halt the moment that Wriothesley remembers.

He slept over. Right. He—Wriothesley had literally the best sex of his entire life, and then he stayed, he stayed. This is bad. This is— well, maybe not bad. Clorinde's going to kill him for sure, but this is a good thing, right? Neuvillette isn't like the others, Wriothesley has known that from the moment they had that damn call, and the entire point of this is to test the waters and see what happens.

Wriothesley isn't a relationship kind of man... but maybe he can be. He wants to be, for specifically this person, and that's a wild, terrifying thought. He calms himself by tilting his face and kissing Neuvillette's nape. There. Better. His anxiety melts away and as he loses himself in the feel of him, in the weight of his body pulled flush against his front.

Neuvillette sleeps like the dead. Even with Wriothesley plastered against his back, and his arm curled around him in a tight squeeze, Neuvillette doesn't stir. He snores softly, a domestic sound that makes heat flare in Wriothesley's gut.

He's beat, sore in places he didn't know that he can be sore in, but fuck if the night before wasn't the experience of a lifetime. Their date had been awkward, but pleasant. For all that Neuvillette has claimed he is not a people person, they seemed to get along like bread and butter. Maybe it's a Wriothesley thing. Maybe he's different.

(Wriothesley then thinks about his own dilemma, about how he doesn't date anyone except for, apparently, lead prosecutors with an occasional bold streak. He tries to push down those simmering feelings and look at this objectively, but Wriothesley fails, he fails miserably because Neuvillette fits so perfectly against him, warm and soft. When was the last time he wanted to cuddle? Never—literally fucking never because the idea of skin-to-skin contact beyond the horizontal tango is a no-go for Wriothesley, but Neuvillette throws a wrench into his carefully crafted walls yet again, and the worst part is that Wriothesley likes it.)

He should call Clorinde. Text her. It's too early in the morning to wake her up properly, but a text is manageable. He'll feel better once he's gotten it all out. Wriothesley carefully extracts himself, doing his best to not wake Neuvillette. Neuvillette barely moves, barely lets loose a breath; he just sighs and buries into the blankets, blissfully peaceful.

Gods, Wriothesley wishes that were him.

He can't find his clothing, but he does find Neuvillette's discarded button-down from the night before. Wriothesley slips it on without a second thought because he and Neuvillette are similar in size, even if Wriothesley is more broad. He does up the buttons, satisfied enough when the hem falls to mid-thigh. He then throws on his boxer-briefs, just to play it safe, and pads out of Neuvillette's bedroom on quiet feet.

Wriothesley finds the kitchen easily enough. He leans against the counter, holding his phone with shaking hands. "Fuck, I—where do I even begin?"

[Wriothesley] >> clorinde I need you

A little needy, but in Wriothesley's defense, this is an emergency.

[Wriothesley] >> i'm freaking out

[Wriothesley] >> i stayed over

[Wriothesley] >> like i slept in his bed and woke up here the next morning stayed over

[Wriothesley] >> he smells nice

"He smells nice?" Wriothesley slaps a hand across his face, cringing. That was a dumb fucking thing to text her. He didn't think before sending it, he just texted with his heart, and right now that's full of thoughts of Neuvillette. Too late. Clorinde can roast him all that she wants.

His phone chirps. Wriothesley is almost afraid to look.

[LesBAEin] >> I'd call you dumb but you already know that

[Wriothesley] >> not helping

[LesBAEin] >> What's there to help with?

[LesBAEin] >> You stayed over and made your own bed

[LesBAEin] >>You did make the bed, didn't you?

This is a nightmare.

[Wriothesley] >> hes still asleep

[Wriothesley] >> but i did kinda... tuck him in

[Wriothesley] >> hes a heavy sleeper

[Wriothesley] >> anyway wtf do i do

[LesBAEin] >> You be a polite guest and make him some fucking breakfast

[Wriothesley] >> is that what you do?

[LesBAEin] >> I don't make anyone breakfast but that's because I don't stay over

Right. Clorinde's carefully placed boundaries have come to haunt him.

"Breakfast," murmurs Wriothesley as he looks around the kitchen. Fancy, and high-tech appliances greet him, making Wriothesley feel entirely out of his depth. He's used to cooking on a twenty-year-old induction stove with only two working burners, and a third that goes in and out. He's lucky that his fridge keeps cold.

Still, it's good advice. He shoots Clorinde a quick text of thanks before tossing his phone aside to go rooting through the cabinets... which are mostly empty. A few cans of tuna, several boxes of pasta, a bag of potatoes that are a little green around the edges and sporting fresh sprouts of growth. Packages of bottled water stacked high, all different brands (and really, this comes as no surprise, but Wriothesley laughs at it nonetheless. Most men pick alcohol as a vice, but Neuvillette's kicker is expensive, fancy water). Soup—not the canned, condensed kind, but the expensive 'comes in a nice box that you don't cut with liquid' kind.

"What does he eat?"

Not that Wriothesley eats well himself. He can cook but chooses not to because it's easier to shove a protein bar in his mouth, and reheat whatever he meal-prepped earlier in the week. Sometimes Clorinde preps for the both of them (bless her, when she does this. She's actually a good cook, and Wriothesley is willing to bribe her with money).

But this... Neuvillette's pantry isn't just sparse, it's pretty much empty. The fridge is worse, sporting nothing but a half-used carton of eggs, a bag of shredded cheese, and a pitcher of filtered tap water.

"Well, I guess when you can afford to eat out every meal, you make the most of it, huh?" Neuvillette is an entirely different tax bracket, which is both thrilling and daunting. Wriothesley makes more than a decent wage—most of his income comes from ThirstTrap—it just goes immediately into a retirement fund, and he lives frugally in the meantime. But... there's something nice about having a rich (maybe) boyfriend.

Breakfast might be a nice change of pace. Wriothesley doesn't know Neuvillette's preferences, but there are eggs and cheese. "An omelet?" he considers, pulling out the carton, checking the date just to make sure. "Who doesn't like omelets?"

Maybe Neuvillette, judging by his highly specific tastes in water, but it's all about trial and error, and if it's a bust, Wriothesley will just eat it instead.

He manages to find a small thing of oil in a cabinet above the stove. Some seasonings. A pan in a separate cabinet, underneath the kitchen island. It won't be a fancy omelet, but it'll be a decent one at least, and as many say, the thought will count. Wriothesley just wants to... settle his nerves and take care of Neuvillette. Something, something, domestic bliss. And yeah, that helps, the thought of it. Wriothesley's nervous energy abates the moment he turns on the gas burner and sets the pan over the fire.

He's in the middle of scrambling eggs when a door in the hallway creaks on its hinges. Oh. Neuvillette's up. Wriothesley should've left a note, should've prodded him awake to say he'd be in the kitchen, at least, that way he didn't have to wake up naked and alone. Wriothesley turns to greet him with a soft, "Sweetheart—"

It is not Neuvillette that has just walked into the kitchen.

"Navia?"

What in the loving fuck is she doing here? It's been decades, Wriothesley hasn't seen her since his college days when it was all fun and games until she and Clorinde—

"Wriothesley?" Navia stands there, arms wrapped around a huge stack of paperwork, shock pinching her expression. She pauses as she thinks, looking him over from head to toe. Then her mouth falls open. "Wriothesley," she snaps, all the puzzle pieces clicking into place. "Oh, gods. Oh—Oh—" A look of abject horror falls across her face, turning her skin ashen. "I've seen your dick. I've—I said you had a nice dick!"

He is confused. The omelet in the pan burns as he just stands there, dazed and confused. There are so many things to ask, so many things that make no sense. Why is Navia here? What's all that paperwork? Why the fuck has she seen his dick? The Navia he knew would never compliment one. "I—"

"I'm so stupid," she interrupts, crossing the kitchen and dropping the stack of folders onto the table with a large thud. "Wriothesley—"

"Why do you keep saying my name? I know it's been a really long fucking time, but—"

"It's not a common name, but not unusual enough that I'd think the boss would snag the only one that I know."

"The boss?"

Navia's gaze fixes on him. "Monsieur Neuvillette. Keep up."

Wriothesley cannot begin to fathom what the fuck she is talking about. "Navia, what are you talking about?"

"You're The Duke!" she hisses. "You're his—" She halts, unsure what to call him. "His something," she settles on, waving a hand. "Mostly a pain in my side. Definitely a pain in his ass, if you're still here, if you know what I mean."

It falls into place bit by bit. "Your boss is Neuvillette?"

"Yes."

"And you... know about me?" Wriothesley isn't sure whether that bodes well or bad.

Navia snorts, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs. "Archons, this feels like a bad dream. I encouraged this, you know. You and him. It was kinda funny at first, but then he caught feelings, and now I—"

"Regret that, I'm sure." He would if the last Wriothesley he knew was the one from college. He was a mess. It took a good decade to sort himself out, and it took beating up others in a ring, and a lot of broken knuckles for it to finally sink in.

Navia sighs. She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. "No, actually. You've... been very kind to him. Stupidly patient, which most aren't. It's the only reason that I ever told him to take the plunge. But now that I know it's you, you realize what's coming next, right?"

"The shovel talk?"

"The shovel talk," confirms Navia. She rests her chin against the back of her palm and looks at him. "Luckily for you, it'll be short and sweet. You hurt him, I'll kill you. Monsieur Neuvillette isn't just my boss, he's my best friend, and he's family, so I'm not above murder if need be. And don't think he wouldn't help hide your body. Also, your food is burning."

Wriothesley suddenly remembers the omelet and yanks it from the fire. "Shit," he mutters. It's burnt black at this point, so tosses the damn thing into the trash and rubs his face. This is a lot to take in. They had a perfect date, a perfect fuck, and it was a perfect morning until Navia walked back into his life.

He has no idea how to keep this a secret from Clorinde. He doesn't know if he can.

"Were you cooking him breakfast?" asks Navia unhelpfully.

"I thought it'd be nice." He clicks off the flame and tosses the pan into the sink. "Wait, does that mean you know we went on a date?"

"You're welcome, by the way. I had to talk him into it, and then he was terrible at asking, so, like before, I took his phone and gave the request a little flare."

Oh, this is abysmal. Wriothesley hates everything about this now that he knows he's been flirting with Navia half of the time.

"To be fair, though," she continues, "I thought you'd have bounced last night. Neuvillette doesn't let others stay over. He's... particular."

That's phrasing it lightly.

"I had no intention of it, I promise. Shit, Navia, I didn't think we'd... I wanted to, obviously, but I went into the date thinking it'd be just... that. And like... I was okay with it? I wanted that? But we really hit it off and we just..." Wriothesley waves vaguely and clears his throat. "Anyway, he asked me to stay. I was going to bounce, but then he wouldn't let me, and Navia, the way that I jumped right back into those sheets is fucking embarrassing."

Navia's expression is soft, amused. "You've aged well."

"I—that isn't on topic—"

"No, it is. I don't mean just your looks, Wriothesley, but I mean your entire demeanor. Two decades ago, I would've never thought you'd talk like this."

Wriothesley swallows thickly. Two decades ago, Wriothesley wouldn't have ever considered being gross and domestic, or thought that just cuddling was a nice and relaxing thing. Fuck, he didn't think that a month ago.

"A lot's changed, Navia," he says.

She hums softly and pats the table. "Sit. Just for a moment, then I'll get out of your hair."

Wriothesley drops into the seat, the wooden creaking underneath his bulk.

Navia's gaze rakes across his form again. "His shirt," she notes.

"Thank fuck I put it on. I almost came in here butt naked." Navia cringes which comes at Wriothesley's supreme delight. A small beacon in a sea of unrest. But then he remembers something else: "You saw my dick? He showed you..."

"Don't blame him. I forced his hand, but look where it got you, hm? You weren't planning on feeding him an omelet, were you?"

Wriothesley blinks, unease creeping back up his spine. "Does he not like eggs?"

"Well, not exactly. If you made it, he'd likely eat it. You seem to make him... adventurous. But he's a fan of soups."

"...soups," says Wriothesley. "And water. That's—" Absolutely no surprise, actually. Now that Wriothesley thinks about it, this feels incredibly on brand. The night before at the café, Neuvillette had politely nibbled at his pastry, but never finished it. He only drank water, and though he politely tasted Wriothesley's tea at his request, he'd frowned slightly before swallowing. "Liquid diet?"

Navia laughs at that. "No, but close to it. If he's hungry enough, he'll broaden his horizons, and, of course, there are exceptions, but the way to his heart is definitely soup."

"And fancy water."

"Hm, that, yes, but—"

"But?"

Navia shoots him a sly expression. "I know he's partial to your dick too."

She's never going to let him down for this. No, Navia is going to tease Wriothesley about this for the rest of his fucking life.

"Anyway, if you're still wanting to present him with breakfast—" Navia pulls aside that humorously large stack of paperwork to reveal a bagged takeout container. "I frequently drop by with food since he forgets to eat. After last night...well, I figured he might be too distracted to remember."

That, too, seems on brand. Wriothesley doesn't pretend to know his work schedule, but he's seen Neuvillette on the news enough to know that his days are long, and his caseload must be stacked.

"Navia, you're a lifesaver."

"Mhm, yeah, in more ways than one."

Wriothesley pokes at the folders. "And these?"

"Ah. He likes to read through case files when he's nervous, or his mind is occupied. Calms him down. I told him I'd bring these but don't let him work. He's on vacation."

Wriothesley's mouth curls into a small 'o'. "Is he now?"

"I bet him that you'd answer when he slid into your DMs beyond just that first message, that if you did, he'd take a vacation. Do you know when the last time he did that was? Never. I've been working for Monsieur Neuvillette for nearly fifteen years."

"That's a long time," replies Wriothesley. He couldn't imagine. But, then again, Wriothesley can be horrifically lazy when given the opportunity.

"Right. It took literally the promise of him getting potential dick to finally use some of that PTO—"

"Navia."

"—but I'm glad that you played right into it because he's been happier the last few weeks than I've ever seen him."

Oh. Oh. Wriothesley pulls at his chin, letting that sink into his bones. "Really?" The question is a small, timid thing, hidden by the palm of his hand.

Navia reaches out and touches his wrist. "Hey, I mean that, you know? Neuvillette is just... himself. He has little patience for most, and most have little patience for his eccentricities. But you just seem so... taken by him."

"He's funny," says Wriothesley with a soft chuckle. "Not in a bad way, just... we're both older and unused to this, so we're just kinda floundering about together. It's nice to not feel so alone. Also, literally the best sex I've ever had."

"Gross." But then her mouth curls. "Older," muses Navia with a wry expression. Wriothesley can read it. She's thinking about Clorinde, a question on the tip of her tongue.

"Look, Navia, about—"

"He'll likely wake up soon." Navia must've sensed that things were about to get weird because she pulls away and begins to straighten that paperwork as a distraction. "Use the food and go woo the man."

"Navia—"

"I'm okay with this, for the record. I think you're good for him, but remember—I will kill you."

"Navia." He doesn't mean to sound so aggressive, so Wriothesley winces at his own tone. "Sorry, I just... Clorinde—"

"Wriothesley," says Navia softly, but firmly. "Don't."

He swallows. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I think. Just... think about it. I won't say anything unless you give the okay, but you need to know that I'm breaking about twenty of her rules."

Navia's mouth twitches at that, just a subtle upturn on one side. She stands and leans over to give Wriothesley a mildly awkward, but genuine hug. "I'm glad it's you," she says. "And I'm glad to see you. It'd be a lie to say I haven't missed you. I'm sorry for not keeping in touch."

With that, he breathes a sigh of relief, all of that renewed anxiety sloughed off with just those words. Wriothesley pulls away slightly and brushes back her bangs. "Nah, no apologies necessary. We were all messes back then, myself included. I've learned recently that maybe it isn't too late to figure shit out."

"Neuvillette," she murmurs.

"Pretty thankful for him, and you, apparently." Navia offers him a bright smile and Wriothesley leans forward to kiss her forehead, something that he used to do back when they were thick as thieves. "Now get out of here."

"I'll check on him later. You... do whatever it is you need to do. I want to be gone before the two of you—" Navia makes a crude gesture.

"It's only breakfast," says Wriothesley, leaning back in the chair.

"Says that man who reeks of sex. I know you, Wriothesley. Even with the decades between us, some things never change."

Wriothesley smiles and watches her leave with a small wave of her hand. Once alone, he peeks into the plastic bag to see what she brought. Some mild fruit-filled pastries. A bottle of crisp water. A jar of preserves. Some baked breakfast sausage. "Decent spread," he says, taking it to the counter.

It takes only a moment to plate it up, but Wriothesley feels like years have been lifted from his shoulders.

#

When Wriothesley slips back into the bedroom, his intentions are pure. Honestly. He means to wake up Neuvillette with a sweet kiss to his brow, before coaxing him into the kitchen for breakfast.

But Neuvillette is too fucking handsome, swathed in those silk sheets, looking like sin in the early morning light that filters in through the window. Wriothesley had tucked the comforter around him before dipping from the room, but now Neuvillette's kicked it off, and it lay around his waist, leaving his chest on display.

Delectable, every inch of him. The bed sags underneath Wriothesley's weight, and he just takes a moment to stare. He presses a hand against the dip of Neuvillette's waist, thumbing over soft, pale skin. "Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, nudging at him.

Neuvillette stirs, still half-dozing. A soft, fluttering sound drips from his mouth as he rolls onto his back.

Precious. Wriothesley can't help that thought, endeared by Neuvillette's sleepy softness.

Then his gaze drops and he stills. Neuvillette is hard, his cock thick and resting against his thigh. Wriothesley's mouth goes dry at the sight of it. Brushes his knuckles down the length of it, watching it twitch slightly from the attention. Another soft sound bubbles from Neuvillette lips, and oh, oh—

Fuck breakfast.

"Sweetheart," says Wriothesley again, leaning over Neuvillette until his mouth is near his ear. "Can you wake up for me?"

"Mhmmhn."

Neuvillette is adorable like this. Wriothesley has never cared much for morning afters—that's why he's never indulged in them—but he could get used to this. The soft laziness. The slow and sweet moments that drag by. Wriothesley kisses the shell of Neuvillette's ear, and then the juncture of his jaw and neck, laughing lightly as he brushes over that hard cock again.

"Dangerous," he says. "What a temptation. Are you thinking of me, even when asleep?" What a delicious prospect. It's been a long time since Wriothesley felt so... youthful? No. Wanted, genuinely wanted.

He cups Neuvillette's cock and gives it a gentle squeeze. This is... Neuvillette needs to wake up. Wriothesley has no qualms about teasing him to awareness, but he's a gentleman above all, and until those rules are sorted out, he wants to ask for it.

"Neuvillette." This time, Wriothesley's mouth is directly near his ear. "Baby, I need you to wake up." He punctuates that thought with a stroke, his fingers dancing along Neuvillette's length.

This time, Neuvillette blinks, still slow to wake up, but mildly aware. "Hm?"

"There you are. How are you feeling?"

Neuvillette tilts toward him, and Wriothesley takes a moment to take in the sight of his handsome face. "Tired," murmurs Neuvillette, his voice hoarse with sleep. "Mmnh, sore." A pause and a small gasp as Wriothesley thumbs over the tip of his erection. "A good sore. Wriothesley."

"I didn't get a chance to look at you last night, not in the way that I wanted. What do you say to an early morning pick-me-up?"

"I wouldn't say no." Neuvillette's sighs, falling back into the pillows. "But you don't need to..." He trails off as Wriothesley nips at his throat.

"I want to." Wriothesley shifts lower, teeth grazing over his collarbones before kissing the end of one. "These have haunted me. Sharp but delicate. So fine." Another kiss to the smooth strip of sternum just below them. Pink nipples, stiff in the cool, early morning air. Wriothesley can't help but lick a stripe over one of them.

Neuvillette chokes off a sound.

"None of that, sweetheart." Wriothesley kisses that nipple next, biting at it gently, but pulls away before he can settle in and get distracted. He has another motive, another desperate need, and it lies thick and hard between Neuvillette's thighs.

Wriothesley scoots down the bed until he's settled between Neuvillette's legs, resting on his belly. He kisses a smooth, milky thigh. Sucks a mark into tender skin, causing Neuvillette to jerk.

More of that, thinks Wriothesley, worrying another bruise into his thigh right next to it.

"Just like the video call," he says, nuzzling the fine hairs that dot Neuvillette's leg. "Just like on the phone, sweetheart. I want to hear you."

"Alright," says Neuvillette, his voice still sluggish, still heavy with sleep. "Alright, I—"

The next sound comes as a sinful delight. Neuvillette lets loose a thin moan when Wriothesley kisses the base of his cock. Traces the entire length with the flat of his tongue before suckling at the tip for a taste. Sweat. Sleep. Wriothesley moans as he sinks down further, pulling the head into his mouth for a proper suck.

Neuvillette's hands fly to Wriothesley's head, fingers curling into his hair. His hips buck lazily, sleepily, a gentle rut that he can't stop. "Wriothesley." His fingers tighten, scraping across his scalp, and the burn of it is so good.

Wriothesley is hard too, cock trapped by his boxer briefs, but this isn't about him, this is about exploring, about seeing how Neuvillette reacts. He's wanted to taste him from the moment he saw his perfect cock through the camera lens, and it is—perfect. Fits in his mouth like it's meant to be there, a pleasant weight on his tongue.

He moans, sinking down as deep as he can go, showing off his blow job skills. Neuvillette jerks when his cock hits the back of Wriothesley's throat, and that moan, that sound he looses will haunt Wriothesley's dreams until the end of his life.

A deep, seductive crawl of his voice as he cries out a garbled version of his name. Wriothesley wants to hear it again, to drag it out over and over, to drown in it while choking on Neuvillette's cock.

He pulls back, hollowing his cheeks around the tip. When he pulls off, he says, "I've dreamt of this, of taking you into my mouth. I needed to get my mouth on you."

"Wriothesley."

Precome leaks freely from the tip, and Wriothesley drags his tongue through the slit, groaning at the taste. "Fuck," he curses. "Gods, just—" Wriothesley wraps his lips around him again. Strokes the rest of Neuvillette's cock with his fingers, squeezing at him lazily.

It's slow and languid; indulgent, as if Wriothesley has all the time in the world. And he does—gods, does he. He'd pull Neuvillette apart in his bed for hours if given the chance, until they're both ready to spill on a hair trigger.

"Beloved."

Wriothesley could die at being called that. Neuvillette pets his hair sweetly before cupping his cheeks in his palms. Wriothesley moans, nodding as much as he can with a mouthful of his cock, but it gets the message across. He encourages Neuvillette to move, to sink into his mouth however he wants.

Neuvillette understands, and bucks, testing the motion and how far he can take it. Groans when Wriothesley's throat tightens around him. His cock is hot in his mouth. Bullies the back of his soft palate as he slides along it. Perfect. Just want Wriothesley wanted, and this is why he pets the inside of Neuvillette's thigh with the pad of his thumb.

"So good." Neuvillette arches in the sheets. "So, so—I'm going to..."

Wriothesley smiles around him. Forces himself to breathe through his nose, and slides the flat of his tongue along the underside of his cock. He bobs up and down, maintaining that slow and steady pace. Palms at Neuvillette's balls, squeezing at them gently before a thumb drags down the smooth skin just underneath.

That thumb presses against Neuvillette's rim. It's still loose, still soft and pliant, and so the first knuckle sinks right in to caress those tight insides.

And that's the kicker, it seems. Neuvillette cries out, spilling down Wriothesley's throat suddenly. Wriothesley smiles against him and swallows because he's a good boy, and he wanted this, wanted to taste him, wanted to choke on it.

His own cock aches and he grinds it against the sheets. Wriothesley moans too, pulling off, kissing the tip of Neuvillette's oversensitive dick before pulling away entirely.

Neuvillette is flush from his neck to his chest, fully alert and awake now, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. Wriothesley crawls up the length of his body and nuzzles his temple, inhaling the scent of sweat and too-fancy shampoo.

"I'd make a joke about breakfast, but—"

Neuvillette swallows his words right down, pulling Wriothesley in for a kiss. A proper one with tongue, uncaring of morning breath, or the fact that Wriothesley just sucked him off and swallowed his come. Wriothesley eagerly responds, chasing his movements, his tongue.

He pulls back when Neuvillette cups his aching erection. And gods, it's good, and Wriothesley definitely wants that—but the moment is ruined when his stomach interrupts with a loud rumble.

Neuvillette's grip lessens to a gentle tease. Wriothesley groans, embarrassed, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. "This is where I tell you that there's breakfast set out. That's what I meant to say when I came in here, but—"

"Mhmn, I am not complaining about the way I was woken up." Neuvillette's expression is soft and amused. "But it seems as though you're hungry in more ways than one."

"I don't want the food to be wasted."

"And if I wanted this for breakfast instead?" Neuvillette gives another squeeze around his cock, and it takes everything in Wriothesley's being to not immediately give in.

"Normally, I'd say yes. Normally, I'd—sweetheart, that's really distracting." Neuvillette's hand has dipped into his underwear, groping at him properly. "Navia," blurts Wriothesley. "She brought you breakfast."

"She does that from time to time."

"She saw me."

Neuvillette laughs—and fuck, Wriothesley loves that sound, but— "She knows about you."

"So I've heard." Wriothesley's moan is a morose thing despite the pleasure that simmers in his belly. "I've been flirting with her?"

"I may have employed her help, but you were certainly flirting with me."

Point taken. Still. Wriothesley grabs at Neuvillette's hand, stilling it, and plucking it away from his cock. He tugs it to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. "Let's put a pin in this for the time being. I got what I wanted, and I'm more than satisfied. Let's go eat?"

For a moment, Wriothesley thinks that Neuvillette might bargain with him. But then Neuvillette's gaze softens, and he shifts the position of their hands, pulling Wriothesley's knuckles close for a kiss of his own.

"I could eat," he says. "Besides, if Miss Navia came by, she must have brought the next set of files—"

"Which you're banned from." Neuvillette frowns. "I hid them."

"Hid them?"

"She told me you're on vacation—which you did not tell me, by the way. You're off through tomorrow."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Texted me after she left. Got my number from helping you. By the way, I think I might've traumatized her by being half-naked."

Neuvillette hums, tugging at the shirt he wears loosely. "This is mine."

"I thought about cooking naked, but on the off chance you might startle me, I didn't want to risk burning my dick off."

"We can't have that," agrees Neuvillette, which is just so silly. "Also, I thought you said she brought breakfast—but you cooked?"

"Burned it." Wriothesley kisses his forehead, and then the tip of his nose. "Breakfast? It's probably cold, but—"

"Breakfast, it is."

They slip from the bed together, Neuvillette throwing on a flimsy robe and nothing else. It's distracting, the way that it flows around him. Wriothesley can't help but stare, which makes Neuvillette preen, offering up a sultry smile in return. And this man thinks he can't flirt. More like it comes to him effortlessly, and he just doesn't seem to notice.

Breakfast is cold, but Wriothesley's chest is so hot that it nearly burns. It's a good burn, though, wholly satisfying. When Neuvillette smiles around a mouthful of raspberry tart, Wriothesley thinks, this is it.

#

"You're supposed to be anywhere other than here."

Neuvillette winces at the sound of Navia's voice. "Miss Navia—"

"Don't Miss Navia, me. It's bad enough that I had to see your smooze half-naked in the kitchen, but now you're here, and not there, knocking socks with—"

"Miss Navia." Neuvillette refuses to meet her face. His cheeks burn and he knows he's red, and really, he should have expected that she'd let herself in out of worry. She always concerns herself over such matters, but he's an adult, and he didn't text her in a panic. It should have been obvious that he was fine.

When he finally turns to her, she stands there, hands on her hips, mouth pulled into a scowl. "You're on vacation," she reminds him.

"Is it not bad enough that you told him that?" Embarrassing, but Wriothesley took it well enough.

"Because I thought it'd make you indulge a little—"

"I've indulged plenty."

"So indulge more." Navia lets out a frustrated grunt, dragging a hand through her hair. "Speaking of, why'd you depart for the day?"

They shared a lengthy breakfast filled with laughter and a lot of heavy petting. Honeymoon period. Isn't that what they call this? Feels like it. Neuvillette spent the entire morning and early afternoon feeling light on his feet, punch drunk with affection.

"Wriothesley said that he had an errand to tend to."

"And that's it? You didn't follow up?"

He did, thank you very much. Neuvillette is old and unused to this, but he isn't entirely... without understanding. "I told him thank you."

Navia gives him a look, a slow blink and a minor curl of her lips that doesn't bode well. "Thanks," she says. "You had—from what I understand—an amazing date, the best sex you've ever had—" Neuvillette did not tell her that. "—and all you did was thank him?"

It is, in Neuvillette's esteemed opinion, a very nice text message that he sent to Wriothesley.

But, now he's filled with doubt.

Navia lets loose a long-suffering sigh. "I'm still working because I'm your assistant, and I told you that I'd handle anything for the next few days. I know you read case files to calm your nerves, but for the first time in over a decade, Neuvillette, you're more relaxed than I've ever seen you, and it's because you finally got some dick—"

A very polite cough sounds from the door. Navia and Neuvillette turn to find his secretary there, her head peeking in through the door. Oh, for fuck's sake. Not to take a number from Wriothesley, but Neuvillette thinks that the curse is appropriate for the moment.

"You have a visitor," says Sedene. To her credit, she seems mostly amused. Eyebrows drawn high, and surprised, yes, but entertained.

Neuvillette pulls at his tie. "A visitor? I have no clients scheduled for today."

"I'm pretty sure that this isn't a client. Tall? Dark? Handsome? Miss Navia may have been talking about him before I interrupted."

Oh. Neuvillette wants to shrivel up and dissolve, he wants to never be perceived ever again. Navia helps none by nudging his ribs with an elbow, and giving him an eyebrow-waggle.

"I—see. Wriothesley?"

Sedene hums softly. "That would be the name he gave, yes. Considering the typical security protocol, however, I asked him to let me double-check with you."

Which Wriothesley would have had no issue with, supposes Neuvillette. He smiles gently, failing to hide it behind his palm, and it doesn't go unseen by Sedene's keen eyes. "I assume that I can let him in?"

"Forever," says Navia. "Like, I have a feeling he's going to be a regular fixture around here—"

"That is enough." Neuvillette clears his throat politely and straightens his back. "But yes, you may let him in."

"Good." Sedene nods. "I'd hate for the nice lunch he brought to go to waste."

Neuvillette blinks. "Lunch?"

But Sedene is already gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Navia elbows him in the ribs again. "Ooooh, he's taking care of you. Managed to snag of decent one—"

"You? Calling me decent?" Wriothesley steps into Neuvillette's office with a grin on his face. He's dressed in dark jeans and a black T-Shirt that looks like it's painted on. Neuvillette finds that he likes him naked better, or wearing his clothing most of all.

"I do think that Miss Navia has a good read on others."

"That isn't what I meant. If you dated me two decades ago, she would tell you to run away and never look back."

"I would not! You were a nightmare, but you weren't—" She gestures vaguely in a way that escapes Neuvillette. Also, two decades ago?

"Please," drawls Wriothesley as he crosses the room. First, he leans close and kisses Neuvillette on the temple, uncaring that they have an audience. Then he goes to Neuvillette's desk. "These papers aren't important, are they?"

"Just shove them to the side, he won't mind."

He certainly will, and Neuvillette frowns. "Navia—"

"Look, had I known she was your personal assistant, I might've slid into your DMs sooner."

"You wouldn't have," is Navia's dry reply. "What'd you bring for lunch?"

"Nothing for you."

"Wriothesley—"

"Pardon," cuts in Neuvillette, finally finding his words. "Do the two of you know each other?" Because that thought alone is a wild one that he can barely comprehend. Navia has worked for him going on nearly fifteen years, and their circles do not remotely align.

Navia winces and Wriothesley rubs at the back of his neck.

"Well, in my defense, I hadn't seen her in about twenty years until this morning."

"We went to college together," confirms Navia.

"Went to college together," repeats Wriothesley. "That makes it sound so... impersonal. Navia nearly married my roommate."

Shock stuns Neuvillette's core. "The evil roommate?"

"You call her evil?" asks Navia.

"No! She's just a little mean, especially since the two of you—" Wriothesley nips whatever he's about to say right in the bud. "Nope, not my baggage to share. Anyway, Navia and I go way, way back."

"A blessing and a curse." Navia looks fond, though, lost in those old memories as Wriothesley pushes at her lightly. "Anyway, I should make myself scarce. Don't want to be here, turn around, and find the two of you groping each other, or something."

Neuvillette sniffs, offended. "I wouldn't—"

"Yeahhhhh, it's going to be hard keeping my hands off of this one, so good call."

He tries and fails to ignore the heat that ignites in his belly. Wriothesley says it so easily, so nonchalantly as he pulls open the plastic bag that houses the food. A testament to his trust in Navia, particularly. Neuvillette is curious as to the full extent of their shared history, but that's for another day. Navia should... leave. Yes.

Navia stands and dusts off her trousers. "Right, then. I'll just..." She thumbs to the door. On the way out, she stops by Wriothesley. "Remember what I told you earlier."

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it. Shovels and all of that."

Navia nods, tosses on her jacket and person, and zips out the office door, leaving them alone.

Wriothesley pulls at the bag nervously. "So, she didn't give me a lot to go on, but I now know you like soups."

"Wriothesley."

"Soup is broad, though, so I popped into a local place and grabbed a few options. The entire menu seems pretty good—"

"Wriothesley," he tries again, but Wriothesley just barrels over the call of his name.

Nervousness. Neuvillette has come to recognize this now; this is the same way that he behaved on their date, or later last night in bed. Wriothesley gets worked up and lost in his head, leaving him to babble. Cute. Endearing. Neuvillette steps to him and cups his face, tilting it toward him. "Wriothesley."

Wriothesley chuckles. "Sorry, I just... Food. I get excited about food, but more excited about talking to you, and Navia was a wild but pleasant surprise, and I—"

"What did she talk to you about earlier?"

Wriothesley's face turns beet red. Neuvillette rubs his thumb over his cheekbone, amused by this. "She gave me the shovel talk. You know—you hurt him, I'll kill you. Then she said you'd help hide my body."

Neuvillette hums, pressing closer, boxing in Wriothesley against his desk. Wriothesley turns, ass resting against the sharp jut of wood, hands dropping to rest on Neuvillette's waist. "I apologize for her precociousness."

"No, she's—Well, that hasn't changed. Navia is very stubborn when she wants to be. Besides, it's an empty threat."

"Navia's threats are never empty." Neuvillette slings his arms around Wriothesley's shoulders, and wow, they fit together well.

"I just meant I have no intention on fucking this up."

What a sweet thing to say. Neuvillette wants that too, wants this to last, to be a thing. He wants to share lazy mornings and wake up to not just blow jobs, but Wriothesley in general. Neuvillette slept so soundly with Wriothesley's heat against his back, he can only imagine that it will get even better as time passes.

"This isn't lunch." Wriothesley gives him a dopey grin before brushing back his bangs. "Also, some might say this is moving too fast."

"We mutually masturbated on camera—"

"Please never say that again."

Neuvillette's mouth twitches. "We shared an explicit phone call—"

"You can say that we fucked."

"We fucked on the first date," says Neuvillette, giving into the request, teasing, and Wriothesley's face goes entirely pink.

"That's—yeah, I—"

"And the way that you woke me up this morning..." Neuvillette knows that it might be a little cruel, goading him, but now that Wriothesley is within his grasp once more he cannot stop himself. "Navia advised me that merely saying thanks isn't enough."

"It is," says Wriothesley. "It definitely is."

"Even though you didn't get off this morning?"

Wriothesley stills, his mouth falling open. "I..."

Neuvillette smooths his hand down the expanse of his chest, pressing against those damnable muscles. Not an ideal place for this, but Sedene will hold any of his calls and unexpected visitors, and Navia is unlikely to come back at all. "I wasn't left wanting, but I cannot deny that I would've enjoyed returning the pleasure you gifted to me."

"Here?" hisses Wriothesley, equally scandalized and turned on.

Neuvillette's hand drops to brush against the front of Wriothesley's trousers. "You don't seem too appalled by the idea."

"I didn't think you'd—"

"I'm certainly not the type, but you seem to bring out my more... debauched nature, don't you? Phone sex, I remind you."

Wriothesley doesn't look panicked; he looks needy and desperate, pupils blown wide. He spreads his legs without a second thought. His cock is already half-hard in his jeans, and Neuvillette traces the shape of it with his fingers. "Quickly," says Neuvillette. "I can take care of this quickly, and then we can enjoy lunch."

Most would likely take that as an insult, or mutter something inane about lasting longer than either of them expects. But Wriothesley—Wriothesley just nods, bracing his palms against the edge of the desk, spreading his legs slightly to allow Neuvillette better access.

Neuvillette undoes his trousers deftly, dipping his fingers into the rough jean fabric. His skin is hot, scalding against his hand, but Neuvillette loves it, loves the quiet grunt that falls from Wriothesley's throat. He pulls out Wriothesley's cock just enough to get his hand around it, stroking it from base to tip before dragging his thumb through the slit.

"Damp," says Neuvillette. Their faces are close, close enough to smell the tea that Wriothesley favors, and the leather scent of what must be aftershave. Neuvillette lets go of his length and licks his palm, slowly, sensually. Wriothesley tracks the movement. His throat bobs as he watches, nostrils flaring. "Hard, too," continues Neuvillette when his hand returns to give it a another stroke, this time wet and slick.

"Of course, I'd be—hah." Wriothesley falls forward, resting his forehead against Neuvillette's shoulder.

"Eager. Quick to rise to the occasion—"

"Please stop making fun of me," groans Wriothesley. His hips buck against Neuvillette's hand, forcing friction.

Neuvillette laughs, his mouth next to Wriothesley's ear. "I rather enjoy seeing you like this. It's one thing for me to be needy, but for you?" He hums, squeezing tightly around Wriothesley's cock as he jerks it with steady, smooth movements. "I didn't think you'd be the type to give in so easily."

"Only for you, baby," says Wriothesley, his voice drawn tight with pleasure. Precome dribbles from the tip of his cock, and Neuvillette can't help but sweep his thumb through it. "Neuvillette, I'm—"

"So soon? You didn't give me the pleasure of enjoying you this morning, and now—"

"I didn't? Sweetheart, you definitely enjoyed me, and—hah, that's...." Wriothesley bites his lip, choking off a moan. He hides his face in Neuvillette's nape, tugging at the collar. "It's not a suit, but you're still buttoned-all the way up. What's a guy got to do for some skin?"

Wriothesley pulls that collar aside and mouths at whatever skin he can find, which leaves Neuvillette faltering in place. Blunt teeth bite at him, a sharp sting sinking into the juncture of his neck. But then the pain is gone, soothed by Wriothesley's tongue as he laps at his skin.

He pulls at Wriothesley's cock tighter, faster; drags his fingers from base to tip, over and over. Wriothesley's breath is hot against his neck. He moans, softly, hiding it in Neuvillette's collar. "Fuck, fuck, it's—"

Surely not as good as he's making it out to be, but Neuvillette's feathers are adequately preened, and swallows that praise right down, letting it sink into his gut. He's hard too, but he can ignore it. His focus is entirely on Wriothesley, and the way that his cock twitches against his palm.

"The blow job," he purrs, hot breath ghosted the shell of Wriothesley's ear, making him shudder against the desk, "was nice, have no doubt. What a delightful way to be woken up in the morning. But it holds no candle to this, your cock, and the way that it feels inside me."

Wriothesley hisses his name. One hand holds his neck and the other Neuvillette's hip, the grasp so strong the bone there aches. A roll of Wriothesley's hips, forcing his cock to slide through the tight grip of Neuvillette's fingers. "Please," he murmurs, a soft whine that makes the hair on the back of Neuvillette's neck stand on end.

Oh, to hear that again. Over and over—that's what Neuvillette thinks. Wriothesley is open and honest about what he wants, what he needs. Neuvillette wants to pull him apart in bed so that he can hear everything.

But, for now, this works; his hand on Wriothesley's cock, stroking him to quick completion—almost perfection.

"Beloved," he says, tilting his face close enough to kiss Wriothesley's cheek. Then his mouth, a slow and lazy thing that has Wriothesley moaning against him, and going slack against the desk.

"Sweetheart, I'm close," he mutters against his mouth, nipping at Neuvillette's lips.

"Good," replies Neuvillette, guiding him back for a proper kiss with a stern grip to Wriothesley's chin. This kiss is still slow, still dragging, but it's deep, and sensual, and it leaves Neuvillette grinding against Wriothesley's thigh.

Wriothesley comes like that, with Neuvillette pressed against his leg, with Neuvillette's hand on his cock, pulling that orgasm right from the tip. Wriothesley makes a mess of his hand, spilling against his palm with a low, deep moan.

Neuvillette wants a taste, so he brings his hand to his mouth and licks around his fingers, between every notch and knuckle. Wriothesley stares at that too, watches with a lost, heated gaze that Neuvillette will be feeling all day.

When he's done putting on a show, he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wipes up the rest before tucking Wriothesley's cock back into his jeans. "That was silk," says Wriothesley. "Neuvillette, you just used silk to clean up my—"

"Silk can be washed." Neuvillette's tone has a ring of finality to it, so Wriothesley says nothing else as he zippers everything closed with a gentle pat of his fingers.

Then Wriothesley is kissing him. He cradles Neuvillette's face between his palms and gives him a sweeping, sweet kiss before pulling away. "You're a wretched thing, you know that?"

"Is that how you think it best to woo me? By calling me names?"

"Sweetheart."

"Better, though I'm still getting used to it."

Wriothesley laughs, knocking their foreheads together. "Thank you," he says. "Which, by the way, I liked your text."

"Which is exactly what I told Navia. Is that why you brought me lunch?"

Wriothesley pulls away to give him a bright smile that creases the edges of his eyes, and shows off those attractive lines around his mouth. They just sit there, basking in the moment, enjoying looking at each other, enjoying the easiness of it all, and how well they've fallen together. It is not the first time Neuvillette has felt that this is just... right, and it certainly won't be the last. There is plenty of time to just... figure it out.

"So, soup," prompts Neuvillette, breaking the silence. "Did you really buy one of each?"

"Not one of each." Wriothesley steps back, rubbing his head. "But I picked a few varieties. Navia gave me advice, but she didn't really go into detail. Chicken noodle isn't the same as tomato, and so on, etcetera, etcetera."

True enough. Neuvillette has a picky palate, but he's warmed by Wriothesley's intentions of just... testing the waters.

"For the record, I'm not a huge fan of tomato soup. Too acidic, too creamy. But the brothier options... those would be more to my taste."

"Mostly clear soups," says Wriothesley, absorbing this information. "Got it."

There is a small table at one end of this office by the window, less roomy, but not covered in paperwork and legal documents. Wriothesley spreads out the offerings before guiding Neuvillette into one of the seats. "I'll just... it's a potato soup," he says, grabbing one of the containers and dropping into the chair opposite Neuvillette. "I'll take this one. There's a stew, there's a chicken noodle, there's some sort of clear soup with veggies. Just poke through 'em and pick what you want. If nothing's to your taste... I'll make up for it with dinner."

"Dinner?" Neuvillette raises an eyebrow as he looks over the other containers. "A bold assumption."

Wriothesley blinks, spoon halfway to his mouth, about to take a sip. "Is it? An assumption? If I'm being overly presumptuous, please let me know."

The best and worst part is that he is not. If Wriothesley hadn't asked him, Neuvillette would have because he sinks deeper and deeper with every moment they share. Heat rolls through him with a soft, pleasant hum. He is... content. Neuvillette is happy, at this moment, knocking knees together, and sharing soup in his office. It feels like an honest vacation.

And Wriothesley—he actually expects nothing. Wants, yes. Assumed they'd share dinner, yes—but it's because he's good at reading him, and a damn flirt, not because he feels owed this. He respects Neuvillette's autonomy which is just... very nice. That is a rarity in Neuvillette's experience, both in the rare times he's shared the company of others, as well as being in the public limelight.

But this comes easily. Effortlessly. Wriothesley smiles at him from overtop his own container, prompting Neuvillette to pop off the lid to a nice consommé. He's never had one that tasted so well.

#

Later that night, they finally part from each other.

"As much as I'd love to stay over, sweetheart, I have a fish to feed." Wriothesley said this, cupping Neuvillette's cheek, tracing the edge of it with the pad of his thumb.

"You do not."

"I do. Its name is Clorinde, which is also the name of my former not-quite-evil roommate, and I definitely named it that, so I could call them Thing 1 and Thing 2." Wriothesley offers him a stupid-looking smile. "It's a stained-glass tetra, you know the ones where they inject the dye? Terribly inhumane, but Clorinde gave it to me as a joke, and so I named it after her as another joke."

Realistically, they cannot spend the entirety of the day together. Neuvillette knows this, he's not some young, green thing trapped in youthful ideas. But he can want that, and he can dream about it too. Wriothesley must. He rubs at his cheek, just looking at him with a soft expression on his face.

"There will be other dates," he finally says. A pause, his brow wrinkling. "There will be other dates, right?"

"Yes," replies Neuvillette with such urgency that he surprises them both, and Wriothesley chuckles. "Yes, of course. That is all that I meant."

"No, no, it's... yeah. Okay, let's just..." Wriothesley gives him one last kiss, a sweeping, lingering thing that isn't deep, but is more intimate than anything they've shared until then. "I'll call you, yeah? You're still off tomorrow and I make my own hours. Something can be arranged."

Neuvillette agrees, and Wriothesley drops him off at his town home with a fond gaze and a tiny wave. He watches until Neuvillette steps inside, and then it's Neuvillette watching out the window as Wriothesley lingers several minutes before walking away.

It should be absurd, he thinks. It is, right? Neuvillette nearly texts Navia but decides against it. She's already been bothered enough by the both of them to last a lifetime. So he dresses down, tugging at his tie, and then his shirt. He takes a shower. He has a bottle of water. He slips into bed with tired and aching bones.

Neuvillette is staring at the ceiling when he realizes that this is an old habit—him counting the spots because sleep hasn't come to him. His schedule lately has been disrupted because he's fallen under so easily with Wriothesley on the line that he nearly forgot what mild insomnia feels like.

And it isn't bad, he's comfortable enough. His bedsheets are clean. The bedside lamp is on, but the orange glow is soft and soothing. But his mind wanders. Wriothesley, he thinks. Neuvillette is either the luckiest man alive, or the unluckiest.

That's the thought that he mulls over when his phone sets off, the ring cutting through the otherwise silent room.

Neuvillette scrambles for it, losing all grace, half sprawled across the bed. "Wriothesley," he breathes. Navia wouldn't be calling him this late, which leaves only one other option.

"Hey, sweetheart."

It falls quiet. Neuvillette imagines that Wriothesley is wringing his fingers on the other end of the phone. "I... did tell you that you were handsome, yes? Today and last night."

Wriothesley laughs. "Yeah, you did. And even if you hadn't, I'd have known. You stare."

Just like that, the tension bleeds. When Neuvillette settles back into his sheets, his phone pressed against his ear, everything just... melts.

"I couldn't sleep," says Wriothesley. "I hope it's okay that I gave you a ring."

"I can't either." A soft confession, but Neuvillette's heart flips slightly as he says it. "I've gotten used to falling asleep on the phone with you." Even if it's only been a few times, even if that's probably something crazy to comprehend.

Wriothesley just hums and says, "Yeah, I've... Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

And he doesn't.

Neuvillette doesn't remember falling asleep.