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It is, perhaps, serendipitous.
Neuvillette has never paid much attention to others, despite his alpha nature. His instincts have; his alpha has needs just the same as any other, and as the Hydro Sovereign, he has a harem to suit those rare indulgences. But that is a manner of biology. Neuvillette has distaste for his ruts, distaste for that inner dragon of his to lose its inhibitions.
And as for omegas—whining, loud creatures. He has an innate need to breed but no desire to cultivate a family, no desire to keep a mate. That detachment is for the better. Dragons are possessive creatures by nature, and he takes pride in the fact that he is old and wise enough to rise above these instincts.
Still.
When those ruts come, when that need claws through him, viscerally, there is only so much that he can take before he cracks.
This is one of those days. He sits in his seat at the court, tugging at his collar, ignoring the sweat that beads along his brow. How he hates politics, rubbing elbows with other lords and rulers, trying to be chummy with Celestia and her Archons.
Focalors gives him a once over, her expression melting into one of extreme judgment. “You know,” she says, “you are allowed to take some time off if you’re feeling…” She says nothing else, just waves her hand, but it’s easy to imagine that explicit gesture she’s thinking of.
Neuvillette pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is an important meeting.”
“One that can be rearranged. Morax is an alpha, not to mention a dragon as well. He would understand.”
He would. Morax would also enjoy a break, taking pleasure in exploring the Court of Fontaine whilst Neuvillette holes himself up. Logically, it makes no sense for Neuvillette to torture himself, but—
Focalors sighs because she knows the reason. It’s the same reason as always. “What about that nice man? The beta? You share tea with him a lot.”
Neuvillette blinks. Wriothesley. The son of the Duke of Meropide. He recently moved into the court as a measure of good will. Tensions between the court and Meropide are always tight, but Neuvillette is determined to smooth those wrinkles out. The prison region is autonomous in nature, but it needs support, and he’s willing to offering in return for something of equal value.
Wriothesley was sent in part for the negotiations, but also to enjoy the courtly life. He is not a ward—no, he’s too old for that—but he’s a fixture nonetheless, one that Neuvillette has enjoyed sharing the company of.
“It would be untoward,” he hisses, “to ask a member of the court to help alleviate my cycle.”
Focalors’s brow furrows in confusion. “But he’s a part of your harem?”
He is what now? Certainly not. Besides, Wriothesley is a beta, it would make absolutely no sense.
“He came here to help solidify relations between the Court of Fontaine and the Fortress of Meropide.”
“Right,” confirms Focalors with a nod. “By being a part of your harem. Gesture of good will, and all that. Did you not listen to what they said when he was presented at court?”
Admittedly, he did not, a rare thing for Neuvillette. But he’d been distracted! Rarely is he so captivated by another, but Wriothesley was, is, unique when compared to most. And Neuvillette is still a man, still has his occasional interests.
When Neuvillette doesn’t immediately answer, Focalors’s mouth twitches into a half-smirk. “Because you were ogling him.”
“I was not—” Neuvillette clears his throat. “Ogling is a crude descriptor. I was appreciating him.”
“Is that why you share tea every day?”
“We share tea every day because he is an interesting man, not because…”
Focalors chuckles softly. “Wow, you really didn’t know, then?”
“I… he would not be a standard choice for…” Neuvillette rubs his face in an uncharacteristic show of tiredness. “He is older—easily twice the age as anyone in my harem—and he’s a beta. That alone is… there would be little point in gifting me someone who cannot even bear me children. Besides, he hasn’t mentioned it.”
Focalors nods. “There’s a lot to unpack there, but I’ll say this: your tastes aren’t exactly unknown. It’s not secret that you have little desire to fuck an omega—”
“Focalors.”
“—so assumptions can be made. Also, it’s tradition? Maybe there were no pretty little omegas in the family to gift you, so you got the beta instead? It’s all about politics.” Her expression softens as she continues. “That being said, I think that Wriothesley doesn’t pay it much mind, so there wasn’t a reason to mention it. He likely assumes that you’ve been… courting him?”
“I fail to see how.”
She laughs— laughs at him! “Maybe what they say about alphas is true—we really can’t smell ourselves when we’re tossing out pheromones left and right. You smell like a swamp the moment he’s within sight. You take him out on strolls. You talk to him. You share brunch and tea, and give him little trinkets—”
“How did you know—”
“Eyes and ears everywhere in this court,” she reminds him coolly, smoothly, but not with malice. He’s never quite trusted her, but Focalors has always been the least of Neuvillette’s worries, unabashedly honest to his face. He would call her a friend despite the gnosis she carries in her breast.
“Regardless of my own personal affections, he is not made to…” Neuvillette has never slept with a beta. He barely sleeps with anyone, but this would be treading unknown waters.
“You really underestimate the feats of the mortal body, don’t you?”
“I— what does that mean?”
“It means that I think he’d be receptive, and that you should call upon him for help. Soon, too.” Focalors’s face scrunches up in distaste. “I’m not sure how much longer I can handle your stench. Let me call upon Sedene to reschedule this meeting—don’t give me that look.”
Neuvillette is not giving her a look. Neuvillette is certainly not squirming in his seat, his mouth curled into a frown of annoyance, cocks hard in his trousers, heat burning through his gut. He would never.
Focalors calls over a guard with a gentle gesture. “I’ll also have them send Wriothesley to your rooms.”
“Focalors—”
“Just this once, be a little selfish. Who knows, maybe this will be a boon? He was sent here to foster good relations, as well as please you.”
She… has a point. Neuvillette rather dislikes it, but she is not incorrect. “Alright,” he eventually says, “but we will never have this discussion again.”
“Of course not,” she says, but Neuvillette knows they are empty words. Focalors is going to make fun of him for centuries to come.
#
Neuvillette expects for it to be infinitely more awkward than not.
When he steps into his room, Wriothesley is already there, and the rut that rages through Neuvillette is immediately calmed. Soothed. Somewhat. He wants, yes, and gods he’s never wanted a person in such a way, but the need is dampened by that crooked grin on Wriothesley’s face as he turns to greet him.
“Sooooo, not going to lie—I didn’t expect for this to happen.”
“If you are disinterested, you are not obligated to stay—”
“That isn’t what I said,” cuts in Wriothesley.
The door clicks shut behind Neuvillette when he remembers to step fully into his chambers. Wriothesley is a sight for sore eyes, still devilishly handsome even when wearing only soft trousers and a simple cotton shirt. Neuvillette has never seen him so dressed down, or mussed.
“To clarify,” continues Wriothesley, “I am definitely interested in being here.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were part of my harem.” Bite the bullet. Get the obvious issue out of the way, and then maybe Neuvillette will no longer make a fool of himself. And that rut— oh, he aches. His cocks are hard at merely the sight of Wriothesley, but he’s determined to pay it no mind for the time being.
Properly, he wants to court him properly—
What? Neuvillette’s front brain catches up and he swallows thickly. Well. That’s— Neuvillette’s thoughts are interrupted when Wriothesley laughs.
“At first, I thought it was kind of a bit.”
“A bit?”
“You know, a joke?” Wriothesley shrugs nonchalantly. “Look, I don’t pretend to know what goes through an alpha’s mind. I don’t even smell things the same way, or have those urges, or—” He drags a hand through his coarse hair. “I’m a normal guy. Just a beta. I thought, ‘Woooow, maybe this guy just enjoys toying with folks’.”
Neuvillette growls softly at that baseless accusation. Insulting.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Wriothesley’s face is creased with amusement and fondness. “‘Be kind to the Sovereign, and do as he says, and Meropide may well find a bright future’—that’s what my father said to me. I’d thought that your interest in me was merely politics, at first, but the more time that we spent together, it became apparent that you genuinely just… enjoy my presence. And then I realized that you had no idea that I was in your harem.”
“Why would I think that? As you said, you are a beta.”
“What is a harem but a box to keep fancy gifts?”
Neuvillette frowns. “You were not given to me, Wriothesley.”
“I was, but it’s sweet that you think otherwise.” Wriothesley still stands opposite the room, leaning against a tea table by the fireplace. “Or, rather, that you insist on thinking otherwise. Makes a guy feel special.”
“You are special.”
Wriothesley’s mouth falls open at that. He turns a delightful shade of pink and rubs the back of his neck. “I—yeah, that’s apparent. I just… Anyway, thank you. You’re also… Well. I don’t share tea with most, even though it’s my favorite. I certainly don’t go on walks—”
“Wriothesley, you’re babbling.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m— unused to… this?”
Neuvillette crosses the space. Even if Wriothesley can’t smell it the same way an alpha or omega can, he isn’t entirely immune to soothing pheromones. Just less so reactive.
“So, what do you need? They just said you’d requested my presence in your chambers. I can put two and two together, but it’s still a surprise. A pleasant one—just to reassure you, but one nonetheless.”
Of course, Focalors would say nothing about the nature of his need. Neuvillette sighs, but maintains a careful space between the two of them. He takes Wriothesley’s hand and tugs it to his cheek, inhaling Wriothesley’s scent to settle his raging nerves.
“I’m in rut,” he says, scenting Wriothesley’s wrist, his knuckles, the tips of his fingers. “I typically avoid my cycles until I cannot anymore. Spending them with others is… exhausting.”
Wriothesley blinks. “Rut?”
“That is why I said that there is no obligation for you to stay here, Wriothesley. They should have related such information. I apologize for—”
“Wait, no, that’s not—” Wriothesley hasn’t pulled away yet. He lets Neuvillette rub himself all over his hand. “Why do you prefer to ignore them?”
A genuine question. Neuvillette sighs against his palm, focusing on Wriothesley’s leather and tea scent. It works, settles him enough to formulate an answer. “I detest being so vulnerable. Others often use it as an opportunity to… entrap me in specific ways. For this reason, omegas are not my preference.”
It takes a moment for Wriothesley to understand what he means. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Oh, that’s—” He coughs indelicately. “Well. That certainly wouldn’t be a concern with me.”
“Wriothesley, you must know that it is not your status as a beta that I seek out. I said that you were special.”
To his credit, Wriothesley doesn’t laugh at him. He lets loose a soft breath and reaches forward to cup Neuvillette’s cheeks. “I know, Monsieur,” he says. “It’s not as though you’re doing on tea dates with anyone else. I just didn’t think we’d… As you said, I’m not built in the same way a pretty little omega is.”
“That’s what I like.” Neuvillette’s rut-addled brain forces him to make a bold move and press a palm against Wriothesley’s waist. “From the moment that I saw you, Wriothesley, I’ve been captivated. You are… robust.”
“Robust,” repeats Wriothesley—but he seems to like that compliment. “Tell me more. My old ego needs to be soothed.”
“That too,” murmurs Neuvillette next, leaning close and pressing his face into Wriothesley’s nape. “Experienced.”
“Middle-aged,” corrects Wriothesley.
“Well-aged.” Betas may not carry the same heavy pheromones that an omega does but Neuvillette finds himself more enthralled by Wriothesley’s subtle scent than with anyone else he’s ever shared company with. He could drown in it. Alphas don’t have nesting tendencies, but dragons— dragons do. To be surrounded by it… Yes, that’s what he needs.
“What do you want from me?” Boundary-setting. Smart. Smart. Trust Wriothesley to be clear-headed and polite about this even as Neuvillette rubs against him.
“Anything that you’d give me. Anything that you are comfortable with, even if it’s as little as letting me scent you out here in the parlor. Or laying in bed together, chaste.”
“Would that satisfy you?” Neuvillette doesn’t immediately answer. Wriothesley pets through his hair as he pulls back. “Hey, listen to me for a moment.”
“Wriothesley—”
“Would that be enough to satisfy you?”
Neuvillette looks at him, really looks at him, takes in every soft crease of his face, the silver of his hair. Handsome. So handsome. Just what he needs. Neuvillette presses the length of his pointer finger against Wriothesley’s chin, tilting his face back slightly. They’re similar enough in height that they share the same space, the same breaths.
“No,” he finally says, thinking that honesty may very well be the key here. “If you gave me an inch, Wriothesley, I would want a mile. I will not downplay the danger it may pose for you to indulge in helping me through this.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Not intentionally. But I would take you in the same way I would an omega. I would take you over and over. I would want to knot you, I would want to remain locked together, begging for my seed to take root.” These are embarrassing things to admit, but Wriothesley has never judged him, and he doesn’t judge him now; just pets his hair and listens as Neuvillette confesses each and every sordid thought in his skull.
“But I would also take care of you. I’d feed you, and I would let you rest. I would—”
“Are these promises?” Wriothesley’s tone is quiet. His scent now fills the space, lightly spiced with arousal. “Because these things sound like a great deal to me.”
“Wriothesley.”
“Sweetheart,” interrupts Wriothesley, and it’s a wonder that Neuvillette doesn’t feel annoyance at the pet name. No, just unfettered want and need, wrapped up tightly in that gift. Neuvillette pulls him close by the hips and finds that Wriothesley is hard, the bulge of his cock evident in those soft trousers.
“This wouldn’t be…” Neuvillette doesn’t know exactly how to express his feelings on this matter. Ruts are a matter of biology, but this, Wriothesley—these are not things he wishes to give into without thought. “It would be different with you. It would not be a matter of mere satisfaction.”
“So you want to bond with me, yeah?”
“We can’t. You’re a beta, it wouldn’t take—”
“Says who? If you bite me, and I bite you, isn’t that a bond?”
Technically, yes, and Neuvillette’s alpha delights at the thought. It would lack the benefits of a traditional pairing, but Neuvillette would be pleased every time that he saw the mark. “Don’t suggest things that you are not willing to follow through on, Wriothesley.”
“Gods, I have to spell it out for you, don’t I? I’ve been here nearly a year, and you haven’t figured it out.”
Neuvillette tilts his head, curious. “Figured what out?”
“That I love you.”
Time stands still. Neuvillette is quiet for a long, pregnant moment as his brain tries to process this. Wriothesley loves him. Wriothesley shares tea with him, and speaks on policies, and gifts him vials of very nice water.
“You’ve been courting me,” says Neuvillette then. “You’ve been—Ah. This is why Focalors was teasing me earlier.”
“She was what?”
“I would court you,” says Neuvillette then. “Is that not your purpose here? To woo me?”
Wriothesley turns red in the face. “Well, not in such blatant terms, no, but—”
“But you have,” purrs Neuvillette. He still holds Wriothesley by the chin and drags his thumb across his bottom lip. “I wish to kiss you, but let it be known that this would be your last chance to back out. Once I have you in my nest, I will not let you go until my rut is over.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Wriothesley—”
“Do I have to beg you for it? Kiss me, Neuvillette. Take me to your nest and breed me.”
Those seem to be the magic words. Neuvillette closes the distance between them and forgets everything else save for the softness of Wriothesley’s lips, and the taste of his mouth. Tea. Citrus. Neuvillette is desperate to taste every inch of his mouth.
And Wriothesley—Wriothesley responds with eagerness, his own want readily apparent. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says when they pause for a breath. “I want to feel what you're working with.”
“Needy boy,” teases Neuvillette. “Nothing is keeping you from doing as you wish.”
Wriothesley’s expression melts into something sultry. A hand snakes between them, brushing against the front of Neuvillette’s trousers. “Adequate,” he says.
Neuvillette raises a brow. “Adequate,” he repeats.
“I mean, respectable. Whatever you’re packing, I’ll enjoy, I promise you.”
“That’s—” Neuvillette grunts because he doesn’t enjoy being made fun off. “You are toeing a line.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing. Where’s the bedroom?”
Not yet. Neuvillette kisses him again because he wants to memorize the shape of his mouth, wants to lock away his taste to think about later. Tea—all that tea, that finely dried bergamot that lingers on Wriothesley tongue—Neuvillette wants to swallow it down. Perfection, he thinks. Wriothesley tastes like love and perfection, and Neuvillette’s old chest rumbles thinking of stupid, old instincts.
He would mate him—not now, not without a proper chat, and a period of intentional courting, but he would. And gods, his alpha wants that.
“Hey, where's the fire?” asks Wriothesley as he pulls away.
“Fire?”
“Ah, that’s—look, just take me to your nest. Wouldn’t you rather me naked?”
Yes. One-hundred thousand times, yes. So Neuvillette leads him to the bedroom and Wriothesley follows, their fingers clasped together as they get distracted by more kisses on the way there. Neuvillette cannot stop touching him, but Wriothesley is right. He’s wearing too much clothing.
The bedroom is dark and a little damp. Humid, due to the natural spring that wells up in the corner that he uses to soak his tired bones in. His bed, though, is dry, piled high with the finest silks and pillows.
Wriothesley tugs off his shirt and drops it to the ground. Undoes his trousers and underthings, and shucks those off too before dropping onto the mattress and making himself home. And it’s—perfect. Neuvillette pauses to stare, to think that yes, that is where he belongs, that this is home, and that he wants to share this together.
He pulls off his own shirt and tosses it aside. It’s Wriothesley’s turn to stare, which he does unabashedly, his graze raking over Neuvillette from head to toe. His alpha churrs. His partner likes it, him, which doesn’t wonders for his hind brain as his rut takes stronger hold.
The bed dips underneath his weight. “You cannot begin to comprehend how much I’ve wished to see you like this.”
“Oh, I think I can.” He spreads himself so easily, so eagerly, allowing Neuvillette to slot between his thighs.
“Scars.” Neuvillette traces the length of one of Wriothesley’s legs, thumbing over old, puckered skin. “Scars?”
“Boxing,” says Wriothesley, the word light. But his tone isn’t, it’s tight, and Neuvillette decides to leave that be, sliding up his body until they are face to face.
“Here too,” says Neuvillette, thumbing over the jagged line cut underneath Wriothesley’s eye.
“Had a bad run-in with a knife.” Neuvillette’s brow furrows, his rut forgotten in his momentary concern. “Don’t give me that look. I think it makes me looking dashing.”
True enough. Still. Neuvillette’s gaze drops to his throat. He brushes over this spot with the backs of his knuckles, his question silent.
“An alpha,” comes the soft reply. Neuvillette starts at that, old instincts flaring up in his chest. “Hey, ease up. It was a long, long time ago, and I promise you I came out ahead in that fight. The guy thought I was like any other beta.”
Relief floods through Neuvillette—and then heat. “Strong,” he says then, lifting his hips to grind against Wriothesley. “You can take care of yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You can fight back. You—”
“Do you want me to fight back?”
No. Maybe. Neuvillette would be willing to try many things with Wriothesley. “I have no desire for a docile partner,” he admits, “nor do I expect for you to submit to me. I merely want you as you are. You are a—as you said—dashing creature. Unique. I would say akin to a finely aged wine, but I don’t drink.”
“Nicely fermented water from Chenyu Vale?” Neuvillette frowns and Wriothesley laughs. “I forgot—no bubbly for you. Still, I like you being sweet on me.”
Neuvillette… likes it too. The alpha in his chest enjoys lavishing these compliments.
“Still,” continues Wriothesley, “aren’t you supposed to be rutting? Should I be offended that you can still think straight?”
Neuvillette’s mouth curls into a feral grin. He dips forward, his mouth next to Wriothesley’s ear. “Beloved,” he calls him, and oh, he has to do that again and again, “I would advise against teasing me whilst I’m in such a state.”
“Then kiss me. Or fuck me. In whatever order, I’m not picky.”
Neuvillette chooses the former, and this time it’s a hot, hungry thing. He devours Wriothesley’s mouth as if he’ll never have another chance. The pleasure is blinding. His need is all consuming, and like that, Neuvillette slips into his rut firmly.
He is still unlike other alphas; he’ll maintain a decent grip on himself. But he’ll also be needy and rut-drunk, desperate to fill his mate. Plus, the promise of a bond—Neuvillette nips at Wriothesley’s mouth, swallowing the moan that tumbles from it. And then Wriothesley’s jawline, his fans dragging over soft, supple skin before it hits scar.
Neuvillette pauses, kissing the thick, ragged spot. Wriothesley loves that, judging by the way his hips buck, and how his cock twitches. Thick and full. A wonderful specimen. Neuvillette finally gets his hand around it for a proper squeeze, testing its weight against his palm.
“Delightful,” he whispers against Wriothesley’s throat. Betas have scent glands; smaller, mildly underdeveloped, but they are there nonetheless. Wriothesley’s arousal permeates his being, leaving Neuvillette’s alpha desperate for a taste. He nips at that spot underneath his jaw, finding it swollen with lust. “You really are needy. Tell me, Wriothesley—what do you want?”
“I already told you. I— hah, that’s—” Wriothesley arches, his head falling back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
“Beloved, I want to hear it.” Because nothing stokes an alpha’s rut like begging. And others have—it’s meant little beyond the way that his instincts respond, but Wriothesley… To hear Wriothesley beg to be taken might be Neuvillette’s entire undoing.
“Fuck me. We can take our time later. Right now, I want you inside.”
Neuvillette leans back just enough to drag a hand down Wriothesley’s front. He still holds his cock; feels the way that it twitches in his palm. He thumbs over the tip, marveling at the wetness there, at how much leaks from the tip.
“A little patience, at least. You aren’t an omega. I can’t just… At least let me prepare you.”
Wriothesley moans, curling an arm underneath his thigh and pulling it to his chest. “Then do it. Don’t you want to breed me?”
Neuvillette stills, unable to overlook the way those words affect. And oh, do they. He thinks of pulling Wriothesley onto his cock, of spilling deep, of grinding against him; of laying a clutch inside, of petting at Wriothesley’s belly as they take. Neuvillette has never been genuinely desirous of these things, but Wriothesley makes it easy. Natural. He wants.
“What I would give for that,” he confesses, squeezing at Wriothesley’s chest. “But there is a certain delight in knowing that we do not have to worry about it, that I can fuck you however many times I want, risk-free, no?”
“I—” Wriothesley’s pupils are blown wide as Neuvillette’s hand dips lower to cradle his balls. Then further to spread the crease of Wriothesley’s ass, taking in sight of his furled hole. “Neuvillette, please.”
It takes nothing to conjure Hydro, slicking his hand. A gentle press, just the tip of a finger sinking in to that tight, hot heat. Oh, he’s going to feel amazing. Neuvillette cannot wait to sink in and take his pleasure. Wriothesley cries out, bearing down on that finger, rolling his hips to take more.
Neuvillette’s alpha preens. What a willing partner, mate. The promise of that bond burns brighter now as he fucks that finger in and out, testing the give of Wriothesley’s ass. “Eager,” he quips, shoving in a second. It’s harder to be gentle, to take his time, but Wriothesley seems to enjoy the stinging pressure.
“There, there,” begs Wriothesley when Neuvillette curls his fingers, sliding them across his prostate.
Perfect. Neuvillette thinks that this is a perfect sight, and not just Wriothesley being opened up on his fingers, but him in his nest, open and wanting, begging for more. More Hydro. A third finger. Wriothesley fucks against his hand, driving himself closer to his own end.
“I want to see you come for me,” purrs Neuvillette, watching the way that Wriothesley’s cock twitches against his belly. He spreads his fingers, opening Wriothesley up, watching the way that his rim stretches smooth around them. “Wriothesley, can you do that?”
“I— I—”
Oh, he can; Neuvillette knows by the way he shakes against him, nearly there. He leans close again, pressing his face against Wriothesley’s sweaty temple. Neuvillette has never scared for the dulcet, sweet scents of needy omegas. Too pungent, too saccharine; Neuvillette has a distaste for such overindulgences. Wriothesley, though; Wriothesley smells like salt and leather, and that makes his cock ache. He needs more of it, to inhale it, to taste it, to drown in it.
To breed him fat and full. And if it were to take, if he were to fuck Wriothesley full of a clutch—Neuvillette groans at the sweet thought of it. It won’t happen; Neuvillette rarely produces eggs to begin with, and Wriothesley cannot be impregnated in the traditional way. But it’s enough, that thought. It’s enough to quell that aching alpha that lingers in his skin.
“You would be perfect,” he says, mouth near Wriothesley’s ear, “full of a clutch.” He’s never wanted children, but he’s rethinking it now—that’s the rut speaking. Those are thoughts for another day. “Beloved, are you close?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Are you going to come like this?” Neuvillette bullies that bundle of nerves again, and Wriothesley lets loose a long, keening sound before spilling all over his stomach. A sharp cry of Neuvillette’s name, his ass clamping down on Neuvillette’s fingers; Neuvillette doesn’t think he’s ever been so hungry for another than he is for Wriothesley at that moment.
He didn’t know his ruts could be like this. They’re usually annoying and invasive, and even when fucking another, he finds the entire process exhaustive. But now, he wants to drag it out, wants to see Wriothesley open up on his fingers, on his cocks. Wants to ease his knot deep inside and see what sorts of sounds Wriothesley can make. Rinse and repeat. Over and over.
Wriothesley said that he loved him, and Neuvillette thinks that, maybe, this is love too. He wants to be vulnerable, wants to give into Wriothesley entirely—and to have no fear of pregnancy in the aftermath makes that want all the brighter.
He nips at Wriothesley’s throat, fangs grazing his scent gland. Less potent but no less divine. Neuvillette inhales, drinking in Wriothesley’s scent, letting that sharp, spiced arousal wash over him. He moves, angling Wriothesley against his crotch. Grinds against him, delighting in how Wriothesley moans underneath him.
“I’m— you—” Wriothesley is at a loss for words. He pushes back against him. “Sweetheart, I know it has to hurt. Are you going to fuck me, or not?”
Yes, yes. Neuvillette’s ruts are always tricky things, spent lost in a haze that leaves him broken and battered. But this—this he can do. He trusts Wriothesley enough to lose himself to his basest instincts. The heady pleasure that burns through him drives his need. Neuvillette mouths at his neck, his jaw, Wriothesley’s ear.
“Beloved,” he says, voice dripping with white-hot need, “what if I told you that I had two cocks?”
Wriothesley, who is sprawled across his nest, stills. Pulls back and cups Neuvillette’s cheeks, and gives him this wide-eyed. And oh, that look. Not fear; no that’s curiosity, that’s sultry and licentious interest. Wriothesley’s cock twitches with renewed interest, and his cheeks flush pink. Divine. The perfect partner. What a good, good mate.
“Feel.” Neuvillette unclasps his trousers at last, tugging them and his underwear down the swell of his ass. He’s too impatient to kick them off entirely, tugging Wriothesley’s hand close the moment his clothing is caught around his thighs.
Two cocks, as promised, tinged blue, and wickedly veined, protruding from his vent. Dragon biology. Still an alpha, but unique—and Wriothesley seems enamored by it. He touches one not tentatively, but with daring intent, the thick length of Neuvillette’s ovipositor resting against his palm.
“For eggs,” says Neuvillette when Wriothesley gives it a curious stroke.
That hand stills. “Eggs?”
Neuvillette chuckles, tilting his face to press a reassuring kiss on Wriothesley’s cheek. “No need to worry about that. I haven’t produced a clutch in centuries. But that’s—I can explain later. I need—”
Wriothesley thumbs over the spade-shaped tip, dragging it through the creamy precome. “And the other?”
“More familiar to you—” Neuvillette grunts, finding himself very distracted by the way Wriothesley’s hand traces the length of his second cock next. “That is the one with the knot.”
“So this one first,” concludes Wriothesley, tapping the first one. “And then—”
“Beloved.” Neuvillette’s thoughts have thinned. He ruts into Wriothesley’s hand, chasing friction, touch, anything to alleviate the pain of his rut. If he comes, he’ll feel better. If he breeds his mate, that heat will quell, and he’ll be able to think, to enjoy this, the feel of Wriothesley against and underneath him. But for now—Neuvillette groans as Wriothesley squeezes at his cock.
“Which one first?”
Neuvillette can’t answer that, he just grunts and shoves his face in the juncture of Wriothesley’s neck.
Wriothesley laughs, raising one hand to rest against the back of Neuvillete’s neck. “I’m lucky, aren’t I? I get to bed the Hydro Sovereign.” Yes, yes, he does. “This guy, I think,” continues Wriothesley, his fingers curling around Neuvillette’s ovipositor, tracing the flared ridges just underneath the head. “You can fuck me with this one, and then you can knot me with the other.”
They scramble about, trying to find a good position. Wriothesley isn’t as flexible as an omega would be, and Neuvillette would take him in any way that’s comfortable, but his hind brain short-circuits, and his alpha rages in his chest. He needs—
“Wriothesley,” he mutters, nipping at his ear, “have you been with an alpha before?”
“Yeah, I’ve—it’s been a while. Don’t worry about me.”
Neuvillette growls at that, territorial. Mild jealousy bleeds through his veins, taking root in his bones. But it’s good. That he has experience. Despite the way his alpha hates it, the rational part of his brain knows that Wriothesley has had other partners.
“Experienced,” he says then, a low purr against his temple.
“Have a thing for older, sadder but wiser men?”
“I have a thing for you,” corrects Neuvillette, “and I will not have to worry about hurting you.”
Wriothesley’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Well.” Neuvillette waits for him to finish. “I’ve never been with an alpha in rut. I’ve—are you supposed to be this coherent?”
No, but Neuvillette has centuries of practice. Still. “I assure you, beloved, that I am barely holding on. I have not just a virile beta beneath me, but one that I’ve long desired. Should I breed you? Should I fuck you full of my come and then knot you until it takes?”
“Please, please.”
Neuvillette calls Hydro into his hand and slicks that first cock, the bottom most one. “There’s a good boy,” he murmurs, pressing the tip to Wriothesley’s loose hole. He thrusts in sharply, right to the root. Wriothesley cries out, arching in the sheets, fingers tugging at the silk of Neuvillette’s sheets.
Hot and tight. So, so good for him. Neuvillette’s grinds into him, relishing how well Wriothesley seems to fit around his cock. “So open for me,” he says, leaning close, pressing their foreheads together as he gives an experimental thrust.
“Fuck,” hisses Wriothesley. “Fuck, you’re—”
Oh, he’s drunk on it too, the pleasure, the thickness of Neuvillette’s cock, they way that those ridges tug at his hole. Wriothesley’s hand slips between them, pressed against his stomach, imagining a bulge there. If he were to take both— no, no, not right now. Another time. Neuvillette will coax Wriothesley into it later when he’s well-fucked and begging for more.
“You feel amazing,” he says, kissing Wriothesley’s temple, his cheek, the underside of his jaw. Noses and nuzzles at that barely-there scent gland—but it’s there, and Wriothesley smells like sin, like ambrosia, like the fine wines that the rest of the court talks about. Neuvillette doesn’t like wine, but this—this he craves, viscerally, wholly and utterly. “Wriothesley.” Neuvillette pulls out and thrusts back in too quickly, driving into Wriothesley’s body as he chases that long-neglected end. “Wriothesley.”
“So full, so, so—” Wriothesley whines. Locks his legs around Neuvillette’s hips and tilts just so his cock rams into just the right spot. The resulting keen is a deep, low moaning, punctuated by the rise and fall of Wriothesley’s body, meeting his movements, forcing Neuvillette’s dick deep.
Neuvillette’s other cock, the normal, more traditional one, rests against Wriothesley’s front. Wriothesley’s own length is hard again, dripping at the tip, a thin line of precome strung between it and his belly. Neuvillette squeezes at his pec, thumbing across a nipple. He bites at Wriothesley’s neck, dangerously close to that gland—but all that Wriothesley does is beg for it.
“Yes, yes, please.”
And it isn’t the tender mewling of a needy omega; no, Wriothesley’s voice is deep and sultry, hoarse from his crying out. “Neuvillette. Sweetheart, please.”
He’s asking for so many things, and Neuvillette wants to give him each one. His hind brain, though; Neuvillette’s alphas demands that the breed him. Wriothesley isn’t full enough, isn’t drenched in his come, soaked in his scent. More, more. So much more. Neuvillette moans, picking up the pace, hips snapping against Wriothesley’s thighs.
“Are you close?” Wriothesley barely manages the question, drunk on his own pleasure. “Neuvillette, tell me that you’re close. I need— I need—” He wants to come again. Wriothesley groans, arching in the sheets, begging for Neuvillette to breed him.
What sweet, sordid torture. He will, he will, and Sovereigns, Neuvillette wishes that he had a clutch to fill him with. Another time. That’s what he tells himself in the absence of his rational brain; another time he’ll fill Wriothesley with his eggs, watch him carry them so perfectly. His old instincts settle at the thought.
“Are you going to breed me?” Wriothesley cups his cheeks, pulling Neuvillette’s face toward his own, nipping at his mouth with blunted teeth. “Come on, fill me up. I want your knot.”
Oh. Oh. Neuvillette’s steady thrusts lose their cadence. He slows to a crawl, grinding his ovipositor deep. “What I would do to lay my eggs deep inside of you,” he says against Wriothesley’s lips.
“Yeah?” Wriothesley moans at that, bucking his hips, forcing Neuvillette’s cock to sit against his prostate. Neuvillette’s other cock still rests against Wriothesley’s, which twitches, close to coming for a second time. There’s already a mess of come on his stomach. Neuvillette groans, sweeping his fingers through it, using Wriothesley’s spend to wet his hand. He gathers their cocks together for a stroke, and Wriothesley jerks, keening, crying out his name.
“Neuvillette. Neuvillette, hah—”
“My knot,” says Neuvillette, thumb over their cocks, watching the wetness that dribbles from their tips. “Soon, beloved. Soon you’ll have it, but I have to fill you first.”
Pleasure spreads through him, hot and heady. He has no eggs, but his ovipositor twitches all the same, and after a few more thrusts into Wriothesley’s tight, willing heat, he snaps, tipping over that edge, spilling a thick, viscous slick into Wriothesley.
Neuvillette’s other cock aches. All that heat in his gut, the heady rush of his orgasm only bites off a portion of the need he feels. He’s bred his mate, but he needs for it to take, to knot him, to rest in the sheets before doing it all over again. He pulls out slowly, watching as Wriothesley’s hole clenches at the loss of his length.
Beautiful. Wet and slick. Neuvillette’s thumb traces his slack rim. “You took me so well,” he says, awed.
But his knot—there is brief worry. Wriothesley isn’t an omega, he isn’t built to take one. But Wriothesley also seem entirely unbothered by the thought of it. The opposite, actually. He moans, wriggling his hips, clearly asking for more.
Neuvillette is fully in the throes of his rut, now. He leans close again, presses his nose against Wriothesley’s neck. “A bond, you said earlier.” He nuzzles at Wriothesley’s scent gland. It’s small, but potent enough so that his alpha is desperate for a taste. “Do you still want that?”
He could mate him, he thinks. Sink his teeth right into Wriothesley’s skin and pull, leaving a permanent mark. He should. He should. Wriothesley said that he loves him, and he’d want that, he’d let him. He’s in his nest begging for a knot, so what more would it take? Neuvillette groans at the thought, his fangs so close. He kisses that gland. Wriothesley smells like sin, like spiced tea, like the damp air before a storm.
Almost like a fertile omega. Almost like—
No, not a mating bond. They should talk about that. But, but—
“I would have you forever,” says Neuvillette. “I do not think you understand how you’ve captivated me so—and you’re in my harem? You were gifted to me? We could have been doing this the entire time. I could have—my ruts—”
“Sweetheart,” says Wriothesley. He brushes Neuvillette’s bangs back and ah, that’s nice, the sweet and soothing touch. That calms his raging alpha. His rut takes a back seat, if only for a moment, and Neuvillette manages a moment of clear thoughts. “Neuvillette listen to me.”
He tries. Manages. Groans as sweat beads along his brow with the strain. “Beloved. Wriothesley.”
“Bite me, yeah? We can talk about the rest later, but I want to feel a bond, even if it’s dull.”
Yes, he can do that. Neuvillette nods, lays a sloppy kiss onto Wriothesley’s mouth, and then pulls away. “You’ll be so handsome, full of my knot,” he says, slicking his hand with Hydro. This cock is smaller than the other, shorter and thinner, but it’s the one with semen, that’ll swell at the base, that’ll leave Wriothesley choking on the feel of it.
And then another thought, one that has his alpha scrambling for a sense of normalcy. This is his rut. He needs to breed, needs to cover Wriothesley in his come, his scent, his everything. “Present yourself for me?” Neuvillette doesn’t mean for it to sound so questioning.
Wriothesley blinks slowly, processing the request. Then his mouth widens into a sultry smirk that’s just this side of teasing. “You want me to roll over, alpha?” Yes. Yes, yes, yes. “You know, I don’t roll over for anyone, I’ve always done this sort of thing on my terms.
Neuvillette growls at the thought of past partners, but Wriothesley just laughs lightly and squeezes his cheeks.
“Getting all jealous. Cute. Makes it better when I say that I’ll do it for you, and only you. Sweetheart,” he murmurs then, tugging Neuvillette’s face close for a kiss. “My Sovereign. You were thinking about mating me, right?”
“I—” Should he feel guilty about that? It’s the rut hormones, surely.
Wriothesley hums softly and then lets go of him. Drags a hand down Neuvillette’s chest, chasing taught swimmer’s muscles, thumbing over a nipple, and silvery, iridescent scales. “I’m not an omega, but I’ll submit all the same—only to you.”
He rolls over then, settling onto his stomach, arching his back and sticking his ass into the air. His hole is loose, clenching, begging for more. Wriothesley looks like a feast, pulling at his ass cheeks, spreading them to allow Neuvillette a better look. “Your knot,” he says, words lost in the pillow that his face rests against, neck twisted to look back over his shoulder. “Come on, give it to me. Finish what you’ve started. You want it to take, don’t you? Breed me properly?”
What devious words. Each one appeals to Neuvillette’s raging alpha, stirring those old, annoying instincts. But still, he’s gentle, reaching out to press his palms against the swell of Wriothesley’s ass. Perfection, truly. Scars, wrinkles, body hair—all of it. Neuvillette thinks this man is the most divine creature.
He sinks in slowly this time, relishing in the tight grip of Wriothesley’s insides. An aborted thrust next, a wet, sopping sound filling the space between them as Neuvillette pulls out to the tip and fucks back in with a sharper thrust.
This is— not enough. Neuvillette needs more, needs to feel all of Wriothesley against him. He lays across Wriothesley’s back, grinding his cock deep. A hand wraps around Wriothesley’s front, palm pressed to the skin just above his own length. Neuvillette rests his chin against the line of his shoulder, mouth right next to his ear.
He fucks him differently this time, with hard, driving thrusts that shake the bed frame. But he takes his time. Wriothesley pants in the bed, pressing back against him, forcing Neuvillette’s cock as deep as it’ll go. Cries out when it slides against his prostate. Leaks a mess all over the sheets as he barrels towards another orgasm.
“That’s— oh, gods, you feel so, so—”
Neuvillette is drunk on this, the feel of Wriothesley’s body and the sounds that he makes every time that he thrusts in. Neuvillette is desperate and needy, and Wriothesley may not be a pliant omega, but he begs for it all the same. He needs this too, demanding that Neuvillette breed him full. Writhes on his cock when it’s shoved all the way inside, circling his hips for more of that delirious friction.
“Good boy,” Neuvillette tells him. “Perfect, perfect boy for me.”
Wriothesley nods, his hole tightening as he soaks up the praise.
The pressure builds. Neuvillette finds it hard to breath and focuses on that. But Wriothesley eggs him on in the best and worst of ways. His cock aches, twitches, engulfed in that slick heat. The base swells, his knot beginning to form as Neuvillette finds himself racing towards another orgasm.
“Yeah.” Wriothesley’s voice is punched. Hoarse. He moans, rolling his hips back against Neuvillette, gasping when he feels that pull of his knot against is wrecked hole. “Oh, oh, that’s—”
“You’ve been begging for it.” Neuvillette draws out and rocks into Wriothesley, doing his best to ease him onto his cock the entire way. His alpha would shove it right in and watch him cry in overstimulation. Wriothesley would like that too, he thinks. But— no, this is sweeter. Wriothesley writhes underneath him, working with him to settle onto his knot, bracing himself on his elbows on the bed.
“Please.” Wriothesley’s cock is so hard, it’s red at the tip. There’s a mess in the sheets, pooling underneath its tip. “Archons—”
Neuvillette snarls at that, losing his grip for a moment, thrusting sharply enough that Wriothesley cries out. Not in pain, no, but— Neuvillette kisses his nape, apologizing quietly. “Not in our nest.”
“Our nest,” repeats Wriothesley.
He’s so slick, so open, but Neuvillette still finds there’s resistance. “Ours,” he confirms, pulling away for a moment. Wriothesley protests, and Neuvillette’s alpha does too; he wants to be near his mate. But his needs outweigh those feelings for the moment.
Neuvillette drags his thumb against Wriothesley’s entrance where it’s spread smooth around his cock. Then his thumb presses in, sliding alongside his length with care. Wriothesley stills. “There’s a good boy,” says Neuvillette, pulling at his rim gently, coaxing him to loosen up. “Breathe. Relax for me. You want my knot, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
More Hydro, more prodding of his thumb. “That’s it,” he says. “Just like that.”
“Just, Neuvillette, just—”
He was right, of course; Wriothesley wants him to just shove it in, and who is Neuvillette to deny him that pleasure? He’s looser now, slicker, more prepared. Neuvillette pulls away his thumb and drapes across Wriothesley’s back once more.
“Beloved, you are a wicked, wicked creature, aren’t you?” Neuvillette’s hand finds Wriothesley’s cock and gives it a stroke. He fucks him, harder, faster, the bulge of his knot spreading Wriothesley open. He slips in entirely with a groan.
Wriothesley jerks, blurting out a curse. “I—fuck, fuck.”
Neuvillette will not last much longer, not with Wriothesley taking his knot so well, crying out his name, shoving himself back onto it. All that Neuvillette can afford are short, grinding thrusts, but the heat in his gut swells, and he moans, fangs raking across that swollen scent gland.
He loves this, Neuvillette can smell it. Just like an omega lost in their heat, Wriothesley is drenched in spicy arousal, in need. “How does it feel?” He has to know, needs to hear it. “Is it all that you wanted?”
“I— I—” Neuvillette feels Wriothesley’s throat bob as he swallows thickly. “I didn’t think it’d feel so…”
Didn’t think? Neuvillette tilts his mouth towards Wriothesley’s ear. “Beloved, you said you’d been with an alpha before.”
“I have!” Neuvillette rolls his hips and Wriothesley strangles on his words, his gasp caught in the blankets of their nest. “I just—I’ve never—I’ve never taken a knot. Alphas don’t want betas, they just want to get off. Quick and dirty. But this, you, I—” The sound that Wriothesley lets loose on Neuvillette’s thrust is something he’ll never forget. Neuvillette’s hind brain needs to hear it again, needs Wriothesley to come just like that, shoved full of his knot, telling him how good it feels.
“I’m close,” purrs Neuvillette, “and it’s because you feel so good. And now that I know you’ve never taken a knot…” Gods, that does something for him. His alpha rumbles in his chest, pleased by that fact. Only him—first Wriothesley submits, only to him, and now he’s taken only his knot. Next, his eggs. Next time, he’ll fuck a clutch into Wriothesley. “I would never let you take another, other than mine.”
“I wouldn’t, I— Neuvillette. Hah—”
Neuvillette’s hand moves from his cock and presses flat against Wriothesley’s belly. “I can feel myself here,” he says to him. “So full of my knot. Is it good?”
“Yes,” hisses Wriothesley, pinked-faced, every inch of his skin flushed.
“Would you take both of my cocks?” A sight to be desired, Wriothesley’s ass stretched so wide.
Wriothesley moans, tightening around him. He grabs at his own cock, jerking it in time, raising his hips and dropping back to drive Neuvillette’s knot deep.
Later, Neuvillette will pull Wriothesley overtop and make him ride his knot. Later, he’ll ask Wriothesley to actually take both, or maybe he can fuck him against the wall, or in that cool pool of water in the corner. Any and everywhere. Neuvillette’s instincts drive him mad, and he has to smother every inch of his den with their shared scents.
Neuvillette mouths at his neck, his fangs teasing the spot right next to Wriothelsey’s scent gland. Tea and petrichor. Sweat. The leather of his favorite court jacket. All of these marry together and make Wriothesley, but he lacks the undercurrent of Neuvillette’s scent.
A bond, they need to— Neuvillette’s fangs dig into the meat of his shoulder, instead of that tender, swollen gland. Wriothesley cries out his name, urging him on. “Please,” he begs. “So full, so— gods, just fucking bite me!”
Neuvillette does, his teeth latching on and biting into his shoulder. Something snaps into place, a feeling, an inkling, an awareness in the back of his brain. Neuvillette’s alpha roars, feeling Wriothesley’s affection and neediness, smelling his arousal ten-fold.
Breed him. It’s a singular thought that drives him, just like how he fucks into Wriothesley’s body. He licks at that bite mark, feels the bulge of his cock just underneath Wriothesley’s navel, deep, so, so deep.
Wriothesley comes a second time, spilling against his hand and the sheets. His ass clamps around Neuvillette’s knot in a vice-grip so tight that Neuvillette barely holds on, his thrusts stuttering, that heat spreading through his veins like wildfire, and then he too is tumbling over the edge.
What he’d give for it to take. Wriothesley moans as he’s filled with Neuvillette’s come.
“Just like that,” he murmurs, nuzzling that bite, kissing the skin there, the juncture of Wriothesley’s neck. He strokes his belly, locked together, draped across his back. “Perfect, so perfect. If only you’d actually…”
That’s the rut-brain talking. Wriothesley is a beta. He can’t and that’s okay. He still takes Neuvillette’s knot like a dream, and that’s enough.
Wriothesley seems to not care. “Come on, baby, you know it’ll take,” he says. “I need it too.”
Oh, he’s… Neuvillette can’t help but press his face into his sweaty nape and inhale deeply. Wriothesley is so good to him, indulging in this fantasy. He’ll be embarrassed later, but it feels good now. Neuvillette’s alpha as been tempered. His rut still makes him hot and bothered, but it’s calmed to a slow-rolling boil instead of sharp agony.
Neuvillette guides Wriothesley onto his side so that he can rest. His knot is still hard, still lodged inside, but otherwise Wriothesley seems alert and aware. “I’m sorry,” he says in the moment of clarity. “This is not how I would have… I would have preferred to court you, first. Properly.”
Wriothesley hums, leaning back against him. “I’ve been courting you for months, and you didn’t notice. You didn’t even know I was part of your harem.”
“I may have been distracted.”
“By societal pressures? By the work load of a Sovereign?” Wriothesley means it as a joke, but the real reason makes Neuvillette want to drown in the ocean.
“By you,” he murmurs against the back of Wriothesley’s neck. “I’ve been so enamored from the first sight of you that I didn’t notice anything else.”
Wriothesley is quit for a moment, and then he burst into laughter. “Wait, wait—”
“I’d rather not have a reminder. I’d…” Neuvillette groans, shifting his hips, lost in the feeling of Wriothesley bearing down around him.
“Don’t worry, alpha, I’m flattered.”
“Wriothesley.”
“Are you going to breed me again? You should. I want that, I want—”
Wriothesley is going to be the death of him. Or maybe this is a blessing; Neuvillette’s ruts have always been disastrous things, a base-level function of his being he’s hated. But Wriothesley has made this process enjoyable, more than enjoyable. It’s…
“You said that you love me,” says Neuvillette quietly.
“Hmm, yeah.”
Neuvillette churrs softly, strangely content. Then, with his mouth close to Wriothesley’s ear, he continues, “You should have told me that you’ve never taken a knot.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Honestly? No. Wriothesley is lucky that Neuvillette has had centuries of practice holding onto himself and ignoring his rut-addled brain. “I’d never hurt you intentionally,” he replies, “but I’m not immune to my baser instincts. I’m barely into my rut. From here on out, it will be worse.”
Wriothesley cracks a grin at him from over his shoulder. “Or better?”
“Wretched creature.”
“I prefer it when you call me beloved.”
The banter is nice, as is Wriothesley’s weight against him. As much as Neuvillette would like to stay notched together like this, his rut is started to glaze over him again. He eases his knot and cock out of Wriothesley with a hiss. “Water,” he mutters, “while we still can. The bathroom is over there. You should rinse off—”
“Why?”
Neuvillette looks at Wriothesley, who’s rolled over onto his back. He’s thick-cut, scarred, and unbearably handsome. Still flushed with arousal, abs coated in dried come, and his hole slick with—
“You’re staring.” Wriothesley’s voice is tinged with amusement, and he stretches indolently in the sheets, showing off how well-fucked he is. “I thought you’d want me like this, covered in your scent, full of your—”
“Wriothesley.”
“Water,” he says, “I do want that. But I think I’ll rest here instead. Really permeate the sheets, if you know what I mean. You’ll thank me later.”
Neuvillette can’t help but lean over, capturing Wriothesley’s face between his palms. “I will,” he murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re already taking such good care of me, aren’t you?”
“So you were thinking about it earlier. Mating me. No, it’s okay, sweetheart,” laughs Wriothesley when Neuvillette tries to pull away.
“This is not the right time to talk about that.”
Wriothesley nods. “Yeah, you’re right. But we’re bonded, and I know it won’t last, and I know that it feels weird because I’m a beta, but you need to know—”
“I can feel it,” cuts in Neuvillette. “I’ve never bonded another, so I cannot compare, but this, I feel it. Your presence lingers in my mind. I know how aroused you are. I feel your devotion, your affection for me.”
Wriothesley swallows. “I. Well. Yeah, okay, so not to get weird, but that’s not normal since we aren’t suited to each other.”
Beta. He says that because he’s a beta, but Neuvillette has never cared for normalcy. “I’m a dragon,” he says. “I’m suited for whomever I wish to be suited for.”
Wriothesley’s mouth is close to his. “I know you promised to get me water, but I think I want a kiss instead.”
Neuvillette kisses him, just a short, sweet peck against his lips. That deepens, Wriothesley snaking an arm around Neuvillette’s waist and dumping him to the side with surprising strength. “Could I drink water from your lips? Like, is Hydro potable?”
“Ridiculous question.” Neuvillette has no desire to test that theory out, but he does desire his mate again, and feeling Wriothesley’s arousal through that fresh bond only fuels those flames.
Wriothesley gives him a crooked grin. Drops his hips and grinds against Neuvillette’s cocks. “Remember that tease about taking them both?”
It isn’t a tease anymore. Neuvillette knows that determined look on Wriothesley’s face, and his cocks flare to life, already hard, ready to fill him again. “Wicked, I’d called you earlier.”
“Better to be wicked and in your bed,” replies Wirothesley.
Damnable words, but the truth if Neuvillette’s ever heard it.
#
A week or so later, though no one is really counting, Neuvillette strides into the Court of Fontaine looking fresher than he has in nearly three centuries.
No one meets his gaze. Morax coughs politely, hiding a smile behind his palm as he trains his eyes elsewhere.
Focalors, though—she gives him a shrewd look. “Well,” she states, “glad to see someone had a fun week.”
Neuvillette looks polished and smooth around the edges, preened to perfection—but he bares the obvious bite marks of his partner, and his collar is undone in rare form to show them off. He trills softly. Settles into his chair and prepares for whatever meetings the Court will attend to for the day.
Then, finally, Neuvillette looks at her, his mouth pulled upwards just barely on one side. “I should remind you, Archon—” And even if they’re friendly, even if they’ve known each other for centuries, that’s still a title and makes his bones restless. “—that it was your idea as to who I should spend my rut with. A resounding success, by the way. I feel better than I have in…” He pauses, considering this. “Likely ever.”
Focalors face burns pink in response, which Neuvillette considers a victory.
Work will be a slog, but at least Wriothesley has made himself home. Neuvillette’s den will, for once, invite him home.