Chapter Text
There’s a beautiful, sexy dragon man in his kitchen. He’s wearing Wriothesley’s apron and a flimsy robe that shows his cute little thigh gap, his hair tied up into a high ponytail with that adorable blue ribbon of his.
Wriothesley is at a stalemate.
On the one hand, he needs to finish ironing their clothes. On the other hand, he also needs to drop everything he’s doing, again, just so he can slot himself right behind his partner and graze the pale column of his neck with his nose, the scent of rosewater macarons tickling his lungs and making his mouth water. Wriothesley unties the apron and slides his hand around the judge’s slim waist, fingers slipping inside to feel his skin.
“Wriothesley,” the angry dragon man reprehends, his voice much too smooth for the Duke to take it to heart, “I will not allow you to use me to procrastinate any further.”
“Mmh, don’t be so mean to me, love,” Wriothesley whispers against his skin, fingernails carving hot paths down Neuvillette’s stomach, earning a shudder, “I’ll finish my chores in a bit.”
“Nnh… please,” the judge gasps, “The food… will burn…!”
“I can eat you instead, right?”
“Wriothesley!”
The Duke growls, rolling his hips against his partner. “Fuck; I love it when you say my name like that.” His teeth sink into Neuvillette’s neck, causing the dragon to moan and push back against the Duke’s hardening cock, “Just a quickie, yeah?” Wriothesley suggests.
“Hhgh…! Such an immoral… seducer,” Neuvillette breathes out, “Take me…!”
“With pleasure.”
Wriothesley lowers his pants enough to pull out his enthusiastic cock, grinning as he slips it between Neuvillette’s thighs and feels slick lathering his length. He uses a hand to position the tip against his partner’s feverish, moist entrance, and steadily slips in, testing the looseness – he should be okay after their two rounds earlier. There’s no resistance around his cock, only a snug tightness that envelops him whole as he buries himself to the hilt, leisurely, attentive to any possible signs of discomfort. If anything, though, Neuvillette seems eager to be filled up, moaning sinfully loud and twitching around him.
“Ah, I knew it… see how easy it went in?” he chuckles into the judge’s neck, cheeks prickling with heat, “I’m slowly molding you into my shape, Neuvillette.”
“Mmh– Ah– Mil–ord, d-don’t say…!”
“What? Don’t like dirty talking? You’re clamping me so tight though,” he provokes, pulling away only to thrust back inside, slotting himself deep into Neuvillette. Those warm, slick walls hug every inch of his cock, so snug and lubricated it’s torture to stay still – he sets a slow rhythm, wet noises reaching his ears together with his partner’s voice as he thrusts, hydro swirling in his gut like thick, liquid ecstasy. “Shit… feeling weird… again…!”
He picks up the pace without intending to, hips slapping sharply against Neuvillette’s ass, hands grabbing the judge’s pectorals to fondle, tugging at his nipples, feeling at the muscular meat sinking beneath his fingertips. “Mha– H-Harder,” his partner pleads, “Harder, Milord…!”
Wriothesley growls in response, releasing Neuvillette’s chest to slide his hands between his legs instead, lifting him up by the back of the knees. He spreads those long legs wide, his cock easily slipping in again and hitting even deeper than before, in a fast and sharp thrust. Neuvillette throws his head back, his toes curling in, a blissful scream tearing out of his throat.
“Ah–! Ah, haa— Mm, fuck, fuck, Wriothesley!” he cries out, “Ruin me!”
The Duke feels the hydro within him surging with furious tides, a siren’s call that echoes in his gut and erases what little composure he had. He slams into Neuvillette’s tight little hole again and again, their sounds mingling to form a cacophony of depravation and lust, his muscles tight with adrenaline, cock throbbing with sensitivity. His partner’s slick drenches his shaft and slides down towards his balls, and it keeps getting wetter, tighter, hotter.
“Neu–villette,” he chokes out, “I’m– s-so close…!”
The dragon moans incomprehensibly, his voice a mess of gasps, moans and mewls. Wriothesley thrusts faster than before, using all of his might, and Neuvillette comes undone – with a cry, he clamps around Wriothesley while pumping slick all over his dick, his orgasm rocking his entire body and reverberating into the Duke’s.
Wriothesley’s world goes white. He loses his rhythm, blindly fucking Neuvillette while his senses shatter, cock pulsating hard while shooting his seed spurt after spurt into his mate’s womb. He nearly loses his balance, clenching his teeth as he allows himself to slide to the floor. The moment he’s sure that Neuvillette is alright and properly sitting on his lap, he releases the back of the judge’s legs and drops to the ground, splayed around like a dead… something.
“...Milord…?”
“I…” he wheezes, out of breath, “I should’ve just… ironed the… fucking clothes…”
“I warned you not to procrastinate.”
“I’m not…” A deep breath , “Procrastinating. I’m making babies.”
Neuvillette splashes his face with a playful blast of cold water, earning a cheerful laugh out of him.
“Ah, I love you to bits,” Wriothesley chuckles.
As they’re lying in bed that evening, Neuvillette can’t help but notice Wriothesley being more… introspective. The Duke watches him as if contemplating something, his thumb caressing the Iudex’s scaled knuckles, his expression impossible to read with Neuvillette’s current grasp on human emotions. He resigns to asking about it instead of dwelling on useless thoughts – “Is there something wrong, Milord?”
“No, nothing like that.” It takes him a while to elaborate, lips moving as if he’s choosing which words to say, “I was just wondering… you know, what it’s gonna be like.”
“Yes…?”
He hesitates for another moment, and then, “To be a dad.”
Neuvillette’s stomach flips upside down, his heart missing a beat. “I… am not sure either. What kind of parent would you want to be?”
“Fuck; that’s a hard one,” the warden sighs, rolling around on the bed to face the ceiling. He spends a long time in silence, so Neuvillette curls himself around him, using his shoulder as a pillow, hand over the Duke’s hammering heart. “I probably won’t be able to send them off to school everyday,” he eventually murmurs, “But I know I’ll be there for every meeting, and I’ll help with their math homework too. And… I’ll probably laugh a lot whenever they fall down, but I’ll put cute lil’ bandaids on their injuries and kiss the boo-boo away anyway.” He sighs, grimacing. “I’m a fucking softie. This is embarrassing.”
Neuvillette laughs to himself, short and sweet. “That sounds lovely, to be honest. I thought you would teach them how to punch things.”
“Are you kidding me? Neuv, love, it’s my kid. They’re gonna punch the hell out of your tummy before they’re even born,” he says with a proud chuckle, one hand lacing around Neuvillette, the other caressing his cheek, “They’ll be strong… and beautiful, like you.”
“What if—”
Neuvillette cuts himself short.
‘What if I don’t get pregnant?’ he intends to ask, but decides it’s too painful a question; he doesn’t want to ruin the pleasant mood with sad uncertainties. Maybe later… weeks later, after the results of the inevitable blood test he’s going to take come in, then they can have this conversation. For now…
“What if they like tea better than water, Milord? What am I to do?”
With a cackle, his Duke kisses him goodnight.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Wriothesley begins as he’s sliding his coat over his shoulder the next morning, ready to go out of the door – his own fault that he’s late; he did not have to wake up Neuvillette by eating his ass, and yet he did, and that led into another creampie, which then led him to being twenty minutes late, “I’ll take care of some stuff real quick, then uh, I’ll grab us lunch… and then I’ll spend the rest of the day procrastinating with you. How’s that sound?”
Neuvillette watches him with a hand to his chin, but says nothing. His head tilts one way, then the other, his beautiful silky hair swinging with the motion. “Your tie is wrinkled,” he finally accuses, releasing his face to slide his elegant fingers beneath the Duke’s tie, quickly smoothening the red fabric. He tugs on it when he’s done, hard enough to make Wriothesley move forward, and presses a kiss to his lips. It lingers, mouth on mouth, their eyes closed, small breaths spilling when they part. “Please be safe, Milord. I’ll be waiting for you to come home.”
“Ah– Uhm– Uh huh,” he agrees, brain malfunctioning, possibly due to his face being hotter than the surface of the sun, “I, I’ll be back soon.”
Neuvillette smiles, his cheeks pink like rainbow roses and eyes glistening like romaritime flowers in bloom, and Wriothesley fully loses his breath. This man, he thinks, will be the death of him.
He receives a worried report from one of the guards later that morning – something about strange noises being heard around his room on his day off – and he blames it on a special training he’s been doing in private, absolutely by himself. As they’re used to him bench pressing with tables and using other less orthodox methods of exercising every once in a while, his lie is easily accepted.
They’re gonna have to be more careful, though.
The rest of the afternoon is much like the day before: spent in each other’s arms, either chatting about the most trivial things – like which one is, objectively, the best water in Teyvat – or frolicking (silently) in the sheets. Wriothesley loves how eager Neuvillette is to try new things, and how accepting the judge is of his kinks, which may or may not include using the Duke’s handcuffs, playing with Neuvillette’s horns – that’s new – and receiving a good stomping from those exotic, beautiful scaled feet right on his greedy cock.
There is but one challenge for his dragon lover to surpass.
It won’t fit in his mouth.
Wriothesley can’t help the way a grin takes over his lips when Neuvillette gags around him, pulling away with cute little coughs, only to engulf him again. The judge glares at him from behind teary eyes, his cheeks flushed, and it lacks so much bite that it wouldn’t be unfitting if he were to suddenly whine with frustration. He looks gorgeous like that, mouth full of cock, hair sprawled on the sheets, that perfectly round ass raised just for him and marked with all five of the Duke’s fingers. He wants to slap it again already.
“You’re adorable,” Wriothesley chuckles, fingers weaving around Neuvillette’s hair, “Did you know that?”
Neuvillette’s glare acquires that bite it was lacking – his eyebrows draw together, pupils slit thin, horns and scales pulsating with a ferocious blue glow, lips still tight around the head of his cock. His fingers, wrapped around Wriothesley, suddenly tighten and a sharp surge of hydro shoots from his gut right to his shaft.
Wriothesley throws his head back, hitting it against the headboard. His fingers curl tight around the dragon’s locks, his entire body coming undone with every wave, every riptide, every droplet of Neuvillette’s essence coursing through his veins. He bucks his hips up, pistoning off the bed, hands instinctively pressing his partner’s face into his cock, only to have them roughly pulled back.
Barely conscious and no doubt drooling, Wriothesley looks at his wrist to see a water shackle around it, pinning him to the headboard. He doesn’t even think about what’s happening – he’s not allowed to; Neuvillette sucks him harder, the hydro inside him getting thicker, tugging on his cock from the inside out like wet tendons of bliss, pumping the orgasm out of him so intensely he feels like he’s blacked out for as long as it draws out.
He shudders harshly after he’s done, eyes returning from the back of his skull, his breaths uneven, hands slipping to the bed as Neuvillette’s hydro loses its grasp on him. He catches the judge swallowing down, tears rolling down his reddish cheeks, cum dribbling down the side of his mouth. He coughs a bit, visibly overwhelmed by the whole experience, but still collects the remaining fluids on his chin with his thumb and drinks that much, too.
Wriothesley laughs breathlessly. “Again?”
The next day, the Duke repeats what he had done previously – works in the morning, and spends the afternoon and evening with Neuvillette. The Iudex notices, and keeps to himself, how they have less sex and more moments of affection that day, simply bathing in each other’s embrace and spoiling one another rotten. Wriothesley combs his hair and braids it for him, while Neuvillette offers him a massage that ends with small kisses to his calloused fingertips.
The elephant in the room: it’s almost over.
Tomorrow is the last day of Neuvillette’s heat, and it’s palpable how none of them want to talk about it, like it’s a hidden rule between them that it’s forbidden to bring up the subject. His sexual appetite is steadily dwindling, his mood slowly stabilizing, the countdown to the end of this thing between them leisurely but surely ticking.
It is so much so that, when the final day arrives, Wriothesley doesn’t go to work at all.
He awakens Neuvillette by peppering his face with kisses, their hands entwined, and spends an eternity telling him how beautiful and how perfect he is. His voice breaks with every I love you. Neuvillette stares at the ceiling with blurry eyes while Wriothesley sobs into his neck, disconnected thoughts of don’t leave me, I’ll miss you, I don’t want to let you go coating every teardrop that falls on the Iudex’s skin.
He bites into his lip until it bleeds, and keeps to himself.
There’s no sex that day, only moments of quietness and warmth, as if they’ll be wasting time if they’re not appreciating each other with their hearts. Neuvillette doubts, quite honestly, that either of them would be able to get hard when they’re both grieving over what they’ll lose once a new day breaks. And it does break, with the two of them staying the night awake only to get up at three in the morning because Neuvillette can’t take it anymore.
He doesn’t tell Wriothesley that, most likely, there’s a storm waiting for him on the surface because his heart hurts enough to feel like it’s bleeding, but rather that he should go while everyone’s asleep, so that it’s easier to sneak out. The Duke never asks him to stay, certainly knowing all of the duties that Neuvillette has neglected so far this week, and how he simply cannot, should not, would not.
As he’s ready to go out of the door, his bag slung over his shoulder, Neuvillette is pushed against the wood by Wriothesley’s strong body, trembling hands holding his wrists, his lips quivering as they kiss with tongue and teeth, stealing each other’s breath away. Wriothesley is the first one to pull away, a thin string of saliva connecting their lips until it eventually breaks apart.
Just like them.
The Duke steps away, glossy eyes to the side, his tongue running over his abused lips. His shoulders look heavy. “This is it, then.”
“...indeed.” Neuvillette tightens his jaw, his gaze on the floor, and turns to leave. With his hand on the door, he stops, lips parting with surprise as a realization hits him. “It just occurred to me… I never said I love you.”
“Well… do you wanna say it now?”
Wriothesley sounds dejected even without hearing his answer, like he knows it already, and Neuvillette can’t bring himself to face him. “…not yet,” he murmurs, eyes closed and tears brewing behind them, “If I ever tell you those words, I want to make sure they’re pure and heartful. Maybe… maybe soon. Will you wait for me, Milord?”
Silence. Neuvillette can’t read into it. Doesn’t want to.
“Yeah. Of course,” the warden replies, his voice breathy, “See you around, Monsieur Neuvillette.”
“...farewell, Your Grace.”
Settling back into his routine is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to Wriothesley. He decidedly wasn’t being himself during that week with Neuvillette, so there is truth to what he said about the Duke being affected by his heat, and it is good to be in control of his own actions and thoughts again, but…
They all revolve about Neuvillette anyway.
Wriothesley keeps checking the weather. It rains for days after they part, heavy storms with thunder and lightning, but eventually the sun shines on the overworld again. He keeps thinking it means that Neuvillette forgot all about him, that he got over him, that it’s really over. The same idea doesn’t apply to him.
He thinks of Neuvillette’s smiles, his elegant laughter, the feeling of those cool locks of silver hair around his fingertips, of that apron that’s now lying in a drawer in his empty kitchenette. He thinks of Neuvillette’s wellbeing, his health, and that of the child that he’s possibly nurturing in his womb.
Wriothesley thinks of the butterflies in his stomach that just won't die no matter how many seconds, minutes, hours, days pass, but there’s no surprise there. He knew all along that he'd be heartbroken and lost; knew that he'd love that idiot lizard man regardless of the distance between them, of the spells binding him, of any of the senseless arguments Neuvillette raised during their conversation.
Perhaps he should’ve been more aggressive when trying to convince that idiot that he was wrong, that his feelings were genuine, that yes, you beautiful piece of stubborn fuck, I am wholly and irreversibly in love with you.
He misses Neuvillette. He gives the judge all the time he needs, though, and doesn’t try to contact him even when it hurts so much that he could make the sky cry for him. He promised he’d wait, so he does.
He checks the news, at least, to see if anything comes up about Neuvillette, just so he doesn’t have to ask about him or hope that the information falls on his lap for granted, but there’s nothing. His trials have been going smoothly and there have been no disturbances in the Court. Truly, it’s like nothing happened in the first place, like Wriothesley simply lived a fever dream for an entire week straight.
…well, it’s no to say that nothing’s going on. He’s been getting the shovel talk from a bunch of Melusines he’s never seen in his life.
He receives a few letters during the first weeks after Neuvillette goes back, and they all contain some manner of… not exactly threats. It’s a ‘You’d better take care of Monsieur!’ here, another ‘I’m watching you!’ there, maybe a spicy ‘If you hurt him, I will… I will… grr!’. He can’t decide if he’s more confused about the letters, or the multitude of Melusines that started scheduling meetings with him and which he promptly refuses because, first of all, what the fuck?
Wriothesley tries not to think much of what these things may mean. He promised he’d wait, after all.
He wishes he hadn’t.
The sun is cozy and gentle that day. Neuvillette takes a deep breath by the window, his hip against the sill, the breeze playing with his hair like a gentle lover. He closes his eyes to enjoy it, a gloved hand settling over his womb and applying warmth to it. It’s easy to imagine a larger, even warmer hand following suit and entwining with his own on his belly; it’s easy to feel the aroma of musk in the wind, to see lakes of frozen blue when he opens his eyes.
He memorized Wriothesley’s touch, his scent, the cadence of his heartbeats. Committed everything to memory. Whatever he hasn’t, has been ingrained in his body and left a mark so deep he’d struggle to erase them.
It’s not like he wants to. He yearns to see that man again, deeply, terribly.
Soon, he tells himself.
As if on cue, the door opens for Sedene to come running his way, an envelope in hand; she stops by his desk nearly losing her balance. “Monsieur Neuvillette! Your results– Your results are in!” she exclaims, short of breath.
Neuvillette pushes himself out of the windowsill and walks towards her, affectionately patting her head. “Much appreciated, Sedene. If I may have them…”
She offers him the envelope and he promptly opens it, a cold thrill crawling in the bottom of his stomach, which he refuses to acknowledge. He takes the white sheet of paper inside, skims through the results, and closes his eyes with a sigh of relief so pure it feels like he’s standing on clouds.
“I see,” he whispers to himself.
Wriothesley finally receives word of Neuvillette, in the form of a letter. His hands tremble so much as he’s reading that he has to go through the contents twice to make sure he’s not missing any words.
“My Dearest Duke,
It has been far too long since we’ve parted ways. How are things going for you? Here’s hoping you have been at peace. I am aware you are in good health thanks to Miss Sigewinne; it overjoys me that you have been eating well and staying hydrated. Thank you for watching over yourself when I cannot.
I believe we have matters yet unresolved. You must know what I speak of. If it is your wish to tie up our loose ends, please do meet me this weekend, behind the Opera Epiclese for your convenience, at nine in the morning. We can have a most relaxing picnic, if the weather allows. I shall bring you some tea.
Yours Truly and eagerly awaiting our encounter,
Iudex Neuvillette”
The paper smells faintly of roses, of that sweet scent of macarons that Wriothesley begged for Sigewinne to buy for him three times ever since they said their goodbyes, and it makes him weak on the knees. He grabs the first paper he sees on his desk, one that’s full of stickers he doesn’t bother attempting to take off, and quickly writes a short reply that’s cut at least three times because of the little hearts and stars strewn around.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ I can’t ✮ ⋆
- ̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙♡*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 wait to
⋆｡°✩ see you.♡･ﾟ: *♥︎･ﾟ:*
It’s not like his handwriting is comprehensible anyway; he’s trembling too much.
Neuvillette can figure that shit out.
The first thing he sees upon arriving at the surface is the blinding sunlight, overly bright but carrying a comfortable level of warmth. He shields his eyes from the aggressive rays and sets his feet on the platform behind the Opera Epiclese a good half an hour before the agreed upon time with Neuvillette.
The man’s already there.
He’s holding his cane in front of his body with both hands, a picnic basket hanging from his arm and his attire just as flawless as Fontaine has known for centuries now. Wriothesley exhales a shaky breath upon seeing the Iudex’s face, the calm lines of his expression curling up as he offers a small, coy smile. “Your Grace,” he greets, his voice as serene as Wriothesley’s dreams would have him believe, “I’ve been expecting you.”
Wriothesley could cry.
Honestly, he could do a lot of things – he could punch something, he could scream, he could stomp the ground, could tackle that idiot lizard man to the ground and kiss him ‘til he fainted just like his heart orders him to, but he doesn’t know where they stand. Not yet.
He settles with a nod and a contained, practiced, “Monsieur Neuvillette. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
Neuvillette looks away, and the Duke swears it’s bashful. “Ah… I arrived a tad bit early, actually.”
“Same thing. What a coincidence,” Wriothesley teases, licking his dry lips, a familiar fluttering in his ribcage making itself known and immediately crumbling all his self control and restraint to dust, “Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”
“I believe these were your exact words, Your Grace. Those stickers were most adorable, by the way; truly endearing of you, as expected.”
“Okay, alright,” the now absolutely nervous trainwreck of a blushing Duke blabbers out, “Can we just go now? I’m kinda– You know? Impatient. You could say nervous, but I don’t like that word much, makes me sound like a loser, so maybe just– Shit,” he whispers, trembling fingers running through his hair, “Please?”
Neuvillette chuckles to himself, taking a few steps towards him. Wriothesley braces himself for anything – a kiss, a punch, a blast of water to the face – but what comes is the judge’s arm locking with his own. “May I aid you in walking, Your Grace? We don’t want you tripping over your own foot and planting your face on the ground because you’re too impatient to execute normal human functions.”
His heart throttles up his chest and nearly bursts through his throat, getting locked there at the last second. “...that sounds good. Thank you, Neuvillette… Monsieur. Neuvillette.”
“How about we save the titles for another time, Wriothesley?”
“Fair.”
Really fucking fair, actually. The fairest fucking thing.
Celestia; he needs a glass of water.
As they walk through the flowery meadows, Wriothesley’s heart calms down. Neuvillette seems to be in a good mood, his smile brighter than the sun, his hair swaying in the breeze as Wriothesley holds his hand and he walks over a big log on the ground. As he jumps down, the wind timely picks up and carries with it leaves, petals, and a little blue flower that Wriothesley grabs midair.
He twirls it around before tucking it behind Neuvillette’s pointy ear, a beautiful addition to the ornament in his hair, and the Iudex’s eyes slant with a smile of their own. “Shall we sit down for a bit, Wriothesley? I believe we have some things to talk about.”
The Duke nods, unable to form words – there’s a dark, cold knot inside his stomach that acts up and slashes at him every time he thinks about why exactly they’re here. He ignores it for the time being and sits down on the log beside Neuvillette, who places his basket beside him. It’s only after taking a long breath and exhaling all the way out, hands folded neatly over his lap, that the Iudex talks again.
“I’ve been thinking deeply about our situation,” he murmurs. “I don’t know where to begin, but… perhaps…” He stares at the grass for some time before his crystalline eyes find the Duke, “We once had a conversation about nicknames. Do you remember?”
His heart does a somersault, a tight lipped smile forming. “Sure do.”
“It so happens that I decided, recently, that Milord was a terrible choice,” he shakes his head, a hand curling over his chin, “It was impossible for me to come up with only one option for you, but you can pick one out of two, if you wish.”
“Hah, that sounds fun. What do you got?”
“The first option would be…” He makes a small pause, something like a chuckle spilling from his beautiful pink lips and reflecting on the glossy kaleidoscope of his eyes, “My love.”
“Yep, that’s the one, that’s the winner,” Wriothesley happily interrupts, a dumb little grin spreading over his lips as he leans back on the log – relief. Heavens, that feels great. “Don’t need a second option. Skip!”
“Ah-ah, you must follow the rules,” Neuvillette sighs, playfully clicking his tongue, “Tenacious Duke.”
“Fiiine,” Wriothesley whines, “What’s the other option? Not gonna top the first one, but go ahead, give it a shot.”
Neuvillette nods. The Duke keeps his questions to himself when a light, cool drizzle begins to fall, instead watching attentively as Neuvillette’s hand moves away from his chin and glides down to his stomach, settling over his womb. “How about…” He tenderly caresses his tummy, eyes so joyful and glossy that they form half violet moons, “Papa?”
Wriothesley inhales a breath so sharp he nearly faints on the spot.
The million butterflies in his stomach explode like tiny bubbles of sugar, brewing hot tears behind his eyes and a shaky, dry sob in his throat. He rubs his face with both hands, a laughter that’s broken but so deeply jubilant fluttering out of his chest that he fears he may have accidentally hiccupped out his own heart.
“Can I choose both, love?” he asks with a heartfelt smile, a vibrant rainbow adorning the sky behind the most beautiful man in all of Teyvat.