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At the bottom of the ocean, silence reigns. No light reaches down there. Strange to think rain and tears coalesce into these depths. How many emotions lie dormant here and forgotten?
Countless times, Neuvillette heard the voices of the water yearning for a past long since washed away by the ever changing high-tides.
Letters swim in front of him. He tries to blink the blurriness away but fails.
With a heavy sigh, the Chief Justice leans against his office chair and picks up his silver chalice. Elegant, gloved fingers curl along the smooth stem of the glass. Almost whimsically, he swirls it and loses his gaze in the crystal clear liquid fragmenting his mirrored visage.
Although a pure being of the Primordial Sea, his soul steeped in the essence of Hydro—his thoughts aren't quiet. They pour over him like a never-ending stream. An unstoppable, torrential force carrying him to unknown shores.
Bringing the chalice to his lips, Neuvillette inhales the pure fragrance of fresh water and takes a sip—the taste not so different from feeling a gentle breeze, a brook running over colored stones deeply hidden in the mountains. But the soothing sensation disperses too quickly down his throat.
Was his purpose here? Could he find it diluted between the ever-growing stacks of paperwork? Was it hidden in the cursive of black ink he scrawled over parchment everyday like blood dripping from a cut? Or beneath the never-ending flow of trials? Maybe in the judgments cascading over Opera Epiclese threatening to drown Fontaine in their superfluous show.
But his duty is a sacred act. Sometimes Neuvillette wonders whether he's worthy enough to judge anyone, considering how different he is from humans. But maybe that's exactly why it has to be him. To carry out justice in the name of true impartiality.
All of Fontaine relies on his impeccable judgment. Being the foundation of order and justice, Neuvillette doesn't possess the luxury to waver. Still, the nagging question of his existence needles him like an annoying itch he can't quite reach.
“Aren’t you too old to have a midlife crisis?”
A rich baritone breaches through the dam of his spiraling thoughts. And Neuvillette freezes, unsure if he should feel insulted about being called old or accused of having a crisis.
“Old is an understatement… Your Grace.” Huffing, he settles for neither.
“Haha. I thought we were past the formalities, Monsieur Neuvillette.”
A tense stare down ensues. But then Neuvillette catches the playful twinkle in Wriothesley's eyes and he can't keep up their little, useless farce.
Shaking his head, the corner of his mouth ticks up.
“I heard from Aether you keep worrying about your raison d’être.” Wriothesley says, crossing his arms.
“And here I thought you mastered the ability of reading minds.” His shoulders slump, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. A break is long overdue. But can he really waste time like this?
“Haha. Wouldn't that be practical?” Wriothesley winks at him.
“But I didn't take him to be a gossiper.” Neuvillette fails suppressing a blush, and taps his desk with his index finger, thoughtfully.
“Ah, I should specify: Paimon is the real culprit.” Wriothesley lowers his voice as if sharing confidential matters.
“I see.” Neuvillette steeples his fingers. “The traveler must have a hard time with her, seeing how she–”
“Talks like a waterfall? Yeah… Impossible to keep secrets around that little, floaty, puff-cloud.” Shaking his head, he chuckles (The sound twists something painfully in Neuvillette's chest). “But we're digressing…”
Wriothesley regards him for a moment as if assessing something. “You know, it's funny even. Wondering about your purpose—that’s such a human thing to do… can't get closer to our nature than that …”
Is that really enough?
Questioning the nature of one's existence as the proof of his humanity? Too simple!
Neuvillette dismisses the notion. And dives again into the bottomless depths of the ocean known as paperwork.
But if a secret smile spills over his lips like an overturned inkwell, that's only for the waters to know.
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The Maison Gardiennage requests for the approval of thirty-seven screws as the typing machine broke down seven weeks ago and after waiting for three years for the…
“Mon Chéri…” Wriothesley twirls his white hair strands. Smooth like flowing water.
“...” Needs to read a dozen more documents. But can't focus with this nonsense of a man perched on his desk. “Not here… Wriothesley.”
“Don't you ever take a break?” Wriothesley presses a kiss to his hair strand. And tugs them gently behind his ear.
“C’est la vie…” Defeated, Neuvillette gives him a tired smile and shrugs almost imperceptibly.
“You know, I really love the shape of your ears.” Wriothesley murmurs, while tracing his ear shell.
And Neuvillette blinks, freezing.
Calloused fingers slow down when he reaches the tip of his pointed ears as if to extend the moment.
“Then again, there is nothing I don't love about you.”
Why do his words always suck the air out the room? This is bad. Doesn't want to work anymore but he can't just stop to indulge in indecent behavior like this. It's still early in the morning!
“Don’t think you can… se-seduce me with a non sequitur.” Neuvillette frowns, fighting the yearning in his heart. There are many things he wants to do to him, but none are activities befitting of the hour.
“At least take a rest. You look awful.” Wriothesley says, straightening up. What a shameless scoundrel. Any inclination he had to give in to temptation evaporates, immediately.
“Thank you. I'll think about it.” Neuvillette says with a stilted smile. The nerve he has! (Though it's true, Neuvillette has been throwing himself into work like a berserker. Still, his honor won't allow him to take a breather. Consequences be damned.) “Now go already.”
Forget-me-not-blue eyes peer at him. “Don’t give me the kicked puppy look. It won't work.” He huffs.
For a brief moment, Wriothesley looms over him. “Guess, I've been too lenient with you. You can't escape me forever.”
After the man leaves, the room temperature drops. And for a solid hour Neuvillette can't think of anything else but those threatening words. Almost regrets not having taken the offer then.
Almost.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
“Ah, Mon Amour. Don't be shy and come in, I'm just getting ready for you~” Wriothesley hums, his back facing him.
… Mon Amour… The words tickle his ears pink. Still not used to such endearments—yet he isn't against them. The only problem is they leave him short of breath. Lost. Never knows how to respond to them without a blush and flutter of his eyelids.
Broad shoulders greet Neuvillette’s tired eyes. No fur jacket hiding them. He licks his lips, drinking in the sight before him.
Fabric rustles. The Duke removes his boxer hand wraps, and the black strip of cloth coils like a snake on his table. Rings and chains follow suit.
A gleam of metal flashes as Wriothesley turns to meet his gaze.
Handcuffs clink.
They dangle from his belt, enticingly.
But Neuvillette isn't looking at them. Absolutely not. He swallows. Knows what's going to happen, but that doesn't dim his anticipation singing beneath his skin like a rolling dragon in the slights. In fact, it makes everything so much more deliciously worse.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
The fall of Wriothesley's heavy boot steps resounds in tandem with his heartbeat as the man approaches him.
“Neuvillette…” He drawls with a quirk of his lips, stopping in front of him.
And Neuvillette understands the unspoken request. Slowly, he lifts his arms up, unable to suppress the minute tremble in his movements.
“You know, I really love this fancy coat of yours.” Wriothesley presses his hand against the fabric, just over Neuvillette's heart.
Alarmed, Neuvillette almost chokes on the question of why as he swallows it back down. He has no right to do anything now unless Wriothesley says so. An arrangement to unfetter his soul. Unburdening him from the constant pressure of decision making ingrained in his being like a holy mission.
“Haha. What impressive obedience.” Wriothesley croons, his hand tipping Neuvillette's chin up, thumb brushing over his cheek.
Heat creeps over his skin, his throat feeling suddenly unnaturally parched.
And Wriothesley leans in closer. “I'll indulge you—this coat hides your sinful body from prying eyes.” He whispers, each word husked against Neuvillette's ear shell. Inevitably, a shiver runs down his spine.
They are impossibly close. From this suffocating proximity, the fragrant smell of herbal tea and frost disrupt his already waning composure. Can even see his beautiful crow's feet crossing the scar and suddenly Neuvillette wants to press a kiss to the corner of Wriothesley's eye.
Instead, he furrows his brows, a protest forming on his lips.
“...”
A cold, calloused finger pressed against his half-open mouth silences him, immediately.
“Uh-uh~” Wriothesley tuts with a wolfish grin and slides his hand down Neuvillette's chest to unbutton his coat. He slips his hands beneath the fabric and pulls it off Neuvillette's shoulders in a deliberate, lazy way that sucks the breath right out of Neuvillette's lungs.
And with a gentle tug, Wriothesley frees his arms from the confines of his coat, the fabric rippling almost like water waves down his pristine, white sleeves.
Contrary to expectations, Wriothesley does not cast the coat heedlessly to the floor. Oh no. This man, despite his roguish look, keeps a meticulous order sans depressing constrictions.
Truly a gentleman at heart.
Thus he drapes Neuvillette's uniform over his office chair. And there is something reverent in his attitude. After all, this wasn't just a coat, but a symbol. Knows exactly how to handle this type of material to not cause it becoming overly wrinkled and thereby making the Chief Justice looking unpresentable in the aftermath.
And Wriothesley isn't wrong about those prying eyes. All of Fontaine watches every step and sneeze of Neuvillette without blinking.
He can already imagine the headlines in bold print screaming from the Steambird should they ever get caught. An askew ribbon or creases in his coat would lead to enough speculation and blow up into a fantastical scandal.
THE DARK SIDE OF JUSTICE
A SCAM?! FONTAINE'S ILLUSTRIOUS IUDEX SEEN DISHEVELED AND DISGRACED! WAS HIS IMPARTIALITY A HOAX ALL ALONG? We got all the juicy details! Find out more on p. 7
So used to this screening he takes it as part of his life, part of himself even. Yet… none of them will ever see him like Wriothesley.
A thought drops like a stone in the sea of his mind: Wriothesley, make a mess of me… The ripples reverberate through his body and expand to the room, Neuvillette is sure the other feels it too.
Forget-me-not-blue eyes fix him. Feels pinned to a board like a helpless butterfly under that piercing gaze. They cut through him stirring a tempest of unnameable feelings inside of him.
The Duke. Feared and admired in equal amounts by the inmates of Meropide. A terror and mystery to all who only look at the surface. Not that Neuvillette has any deeper insights on him. But he got glimpses past the brilliant frost.
Like now.
As his calloused hands tug at Neuvillette’s gloves, pulling them carefully off to reveal his pale, delicate fingers. With the same care reserved for his coat, Wriothesley places his gloves at his desk.
“What a treat.” Wriothesley whistles and watches him through half-lidded eyes, as he lifts Neuvillettes’s hand to his mouth. Ah, yes. Under the strict exterior hides a charming man, soft and sweet like freshly fallen snow.
A cool murmur—a searing breath on his skin: “How many people have your hands condemned?” Despite those heavy words, it's not an accusation but an acknowledgement. Chapped lips press to each of his knuckles as if to kiss all the burden away, and a slow heat pools at the base of his spine at the contact.
Transfixed, Neuvillette gasps, unable to take his eyes away from him. Wriothesley holds his hand as if it were something precious, and so fragile a simple breeze could break it. And at this moment even Neuvillette believes that. His heart does a funny flip while Wriothesley rubs his thumb along his wrist, slowly increasing pressure as if he were measuring his pulse. And perhaps he is.
“Mmh… someone seems eager tonight~” Shamelessly, Wriothesley sing-songs. “Tell me what do you want… Vite.” His name whispered like a secret between lovers.
“Wriothesley… I…” Neuvillette swallows. Under such a fond gaze it is hard to form words. Doesn't want to think at all. “... Need you…” He breathes after a struggle.
A devilish smile spreads across Wriothesley—one that has Neuvillette almost on his knees.
With a languid motion, Wriothesley unfastens those cursed handcuffs from his belt. And swings them around his finger, excruciatingly slow. As if they had all the time in the world. But wasn't that why he was here in the first place?
To pay for his crimes—pinpricks of guilt needle his soul. Shouldn't be here but work instead. Yet, isn't that his problem? Only feels useful in service for the people. The good of all comes first. Uptight, he can't exist out of the sphere of duty. His needs are not worth mentioning. Until Wriothesley dragged him from his office to enjoy a picnic under the sun.
Which would mean he'd been wrong again. It wasn't: they had all the time—Neuvillette has no right now but Wriothesley—eternity at his mercy. For he always takes care Neuvillette doesn't work himself to the bones.
Cool metal loops around Neuvillette's wrists with a soft clink. A sigh escapes his lips. And Wriothesley hooks up his shackled hands to a chain dangling from the ceiling.
“Well, Mon Chéri~ Comfortable enough?” Wriothesley pulls at the chain, experimentally before swiping a loose, white lock behind Neuvillette's shoulder.
And he nods, regarding Wriothesley through his lashes with a hint of a smile on his lips. His arms are stretched above him, wrists tied in those perfect handcuffs. Both know, it would be child's play for Neuvillette to break out from these confines. But here he isn't a dragon nor judge. Only a man in complete surrender to Wriothesley.
“Mmh… you look quite good. In handcuffs.” Wriothesley winks at him.
And Neuvillette flushes. But he's spared the embarrassment as Wriothesley steps behind him.
Sudden warmth envelopes his body as a broad chest presses against his back. Strong arms wrap around his torso as Wriothesley nuzzles his nape, kissing him behind his ear. “Let me hear you… Vite.”
“Ngh… hah… Wriothesley, you… I need more…” Nonsense dripped from his mouth like a waterfall.
“As you wish.” Wriothesley husks, his deep voice full of dark promises.
The chain jiggles above their heads as Wriothesley's hold on him tightens and one of his hands travels up to loosen the jabot around Neuvillette's neck. Then he cups his cheek, turning Neuvillette's face sideways and they breathe each other in before Wriothesley nips his lip, licking into his mouth.
They share a slow, sloppy kiss. Drool drips from the corner of his mouth. Wants to thread his fingers into soft, dark, gray hair but with his wrists bound he can only take what the other gives. Wriothesley's tongue explores his mouth, making Neuvillette's head swim with desire.
Choking on a moan, he feels the growing erection of Wriothesley through his pants who grinds his groin right against the swell of Neuvillette's ass while groaning into his mouth. Seeking more friction, Neuvillette bucks his hips back up and his own cock twitches in the confines of his slacks.
The taste of fresh lemon and fragrant mint spreads in his mouth as Wriothesley continues to kiss him senselessly. Heat stirs in his stomach like a coiling dragon. Can't get enough of Wriothesley's wicked tongue but eventually they have to part in need of air.
However, Wriothesley doesn't give Neuvillette any time to collect his thoughts as his hand rucks up his blouse and slips inside, fingertips tracing his abs. His nails scratch gently over Neuvillette's skin and a pleasant shiver runs down his spine. Wriothesley stops just a centimeter away from his nipple, only to tease his areola.
A whine almost escapes his mouth but there is no respite when Neuvillette feels a cool puff of air against his neck before Wriothesley drags his tongue over his jugular. His breath hitches. Sharp teeth graze along his sensitive skin. And a wake of goosebumps breaks out all over his body, even climbing up his arms.
And Wriothesley's other hand tangles into silky smooth hair, raking nails through Neuvillette's scalp.
“Look at you! Working always so diligently.” Wriothesley rasps against his ear. “Seeking justice for all.” His hand abandons Neuvillette's chest and skims down, reaching for his belt.
“Ah…!” The implication sends a jolt straight to his cock. Wants to say something—demand even but can't think.
“But where does that leave you? Who will give you justice?” Wriothesley continues, low and sultry. Metal clinks as he unfastens the belt and pauses as if savoring the burgeoning tension between them.
Feels like drowning in it, like a deep plunge into the untamed ocean. The chain above him rattles. Holds his breath. Tempted to close his eyes but doesn't. Has to watch with a morbid fascination how Wriothesley's fingers curl around the zipper of his slacks, so leisurely it almost looks like he isn't moving at all. Then he tugs it down, agonizingly slow.
And his cock jumps to attention—hard and dripping pre-cum at the tip.
Instinctual, he bucks his hips, searching for friction against nothing. The tang of blood spreads on his tongue—he'd been biting his bottom lip in despair.
Suddenly, his senses flip upside down. Cold fingers pry his mouth open, slipping inside. At the same time, Wriothesley's other hand wraps around Neuvillette's cock, giving him a delicious squeeze.
“So pretty.” Wriothesley rasps, a sharp smirk against his nape.
And Neuvillette forgets himself.
Sans souci: A moment of reprieve from his innumerous responsibilities. Neuvillette finds his sanctuary in Wriothesley’s touch. Cold, calloused hands offer him a taste of freedom he couldn't have ever imagined reaching on his own.
He whimpers, unable to form words with those wicked fingers mapping out his mouth. Unhinged, he grinds down against Wriothesley's clothed cock, bucks his hip into a cold, large hand with the single-minded need to be drowning in Wriothesley.
“That's it, gorgeous… just leave it all to me.” A heady whisper makes his head spin. Wriothesley licks into his ear, hot and wet. Tendrils of pleasure blossom all over his skin, frying his nerve-endings.
Fingers push deeper into his mouth, toying with his tongue. “Suck them.” Wriothesley demands and Neuvillette is more than happy to comply. Hollowing his cheeks, he savors the slightly metallic taste tinged with leather as he swirls his tongue around Wriothesley's fingers. Feel the blunt edges of his nails scraping against the cavern of his mouth. A pleasant chill follows the rough texture of those digits as he sucks them, eagerly.
Wriothesley groans. A fervent sound that would have Neuvillette melting into a puddle if he weren't chained up and held captive between muscular arms. “You're doing so well, Vite.” He praises and slides his thumb over the tip of Neuvillette's cock.
Calloused fingers curl tighter around him, pumping his shaft, lazily. And Neuvillette tenses with the overload of sensations flooding him. Can't focus on anything else but Wriothesley—the way he unravels him.
Drowning in lust, Neuvillette thrusts into Wriothesley's hand and his teeth sink into the flesh of cold fingers. The explicit complaint evident: pick up your damn pace!
His rebellion is met with a cutting laugh, enough to shatter his will. Fingers pull from his mouth; the hand around his cock comes to a stand-still. And Neuvillette chokes as those same spit-slicked fingers clutch his throat, mercilessly.
“Not today.” Wriothesley chastises, increasing the pressure around Neuvillette's swan-like neck. “Wouldn't be a punishment otherwise, right… Mon Chéri?”
“S-sorry.” He croaks, black dots dancing before his vision. But Wriothesley doesn't relent. Nails break his skin. “Won't… do it again.” He swallows, his lungs desperate for air. His boots shuffle against the floor.
Gasping, Neuvillette coughs as Wriothesley releases him. Greedily, he inhales, mind spinning. Metal clinks above them. The handcuffs dig into his wrists. The muscles in his arms ache. A good pain.
“Too much?” Wriothesley asks, rubbing soothing circles along his throat.
“No.” A quick shake of his head and blinks tears from his eyes. “Wriothesley… I…”
“Shush, I got you.” A rain of soft kisses pitter-patter on his skin as Wriothesley brushes his lips over his nape and behind his ear. Neuvillette shivers at the contact.
“Let's make you cry, hm?” Wriothesley hums, mischievously. And he resumes stroking Neuvillette, drags his battle-worn fingers along sensitive skin. His thumb smears pre-cum over Neuvillette's pink tip, nails grazing against his slit.
“Ngh… Wriothesley! Hah… feels good…” Neuvillette keens, throwing his head back.
“Mon Amour…” Voice thick with fondness, Wriothesley leans in and captures his lips, their mouths slotting seamlessly together. And he devours all of Neuvillette's moans while squeezing him tighter—a vice-grip of pleasure around his pulsing cock.
Ah, so so close…!
Feels like being dunked in hot molasses; his form dissolving in this bottomless ocean of passion.
Painstaking build-up. Like forging clouds. Amassing air pressure before the subtle rupture of a light, summer shower sprinkles the earth. But then like a thunderclap jolting his spine, a true downpour rushes through him—pleasure almost short-circuiting his brain.
His cries of ecstasy are all muffled against Wriothesley's devilish mouth. And his body stretches taut as his release spills, coating Wriothesley's hand and dripping to the floor.
Blissed out: Neuvillette goes limp in Wriothesley's embrace.
A moment passes. Two heartbeats joined as one. Hasn't felt so at ease since the last time this impossible, irresistible man fished him out of his office. Wants to be selfish for once and never leave again but knows they can't (Or rather Neuvillette can't. Shouldn't. He's sure Wriothesley would find a way to indulge him if he'd ever caught wind of this forbidden desire).
“Sleep here tonight.” Wriothesley husks, as if he were reading his thoughts, brushing away sweat-slicked hair strands from Neuvillette's face with his clean hand.
Shifting a bit, he reaches up—about to remove the handcuffs from Neuvillette's wrists—and Neuvillette feels a huge bulge press harder against his ass. That clears the cotton-like haze of his mind.
“No…” Neuvillette shakes his head, jerking away. The chain rattles.
And Wriothesley freezes. Neuvillette catches a glimpse of his crestfallen face before he schools it back to nonchalance. Neuvillette's heart cracks at the sight. What a silly man.
Grabbing the chain with one of his hands, he pulls himself up, and tilting his head, Neuvillette places a kiss to the crow's feet at the corner of Wriothesley's eye right over the scar.
“Take me now.” Neuvillette breaths.
“Vite… you–” Dumbfounded, he swallows, “–don't have to…”
“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette chides. Not as imposing as in the courtroom but with a more intimate fervency. “Are you telling me your cock is just for show?”
These words get him out of his stupor and he shakes with laughter. “You know it's not like that!”
Skeptical, Neuvillette lifts a delicate eyebrow and spins around to face Wriothesley eye to eye.
It's difficult to maintain balance, but he isn't for nothing a dragon in human form—raising his leg, he presses his knee against Wriothesley's clothed erection as if to drill his point home.
He's rewarded with a delicious groan and Wriothesley yanks his hair, as if he could pull Neuvillette any closer.
“Who am I to deny you?” Wriothesley says with a wolfish grin and holding Neuvillette's chin, he rubs his sticky thumb over Neuvillette’s lips.
A reverse encore from a past conversation like a jab of retribution: “Aren't you too old to play such games?”
“Heh. Never.” Eyes crinkling with mirth, Wriothesley dips his digit inside of Neuvillette's mouth and without prompting, Neuvillette sucks around it, laving the calluses. Tastes himself as Wriothesley strokes his tongue to a lackadaisical rhythm—enough to spark interest in his limp cock.
“But don't think I didn't notice.” Wriothesley stares at him, and Neuvillette feels like drowning in those pretty, forget-me-not-blue eyes.
Furring his brows, Neuvillette gives him a confused look. Can't speak coherently right now, after all.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Wriothesley whispers like a threat and moves out his thumb from Neuvillette's mouth, dragging it down along his chin and over his throat, coming to a halt at the dip of his collarbone.
And Neuvillette stops his head shaking mid-movement. Oh.
Has to avert his gaze. But that turns into another fatality as his eyes zero-in on the enormity still imprisoned behind Wriothesley pants. Absolutely criminal.
“You feel guilty about being here. Thought you should be working instead.”
“I didn't…!” Alarmed, Neuvillette's eyes snap up back.
“Really?”
He swallows. Although still clothed, can't feel more exposed under that sharp gaze that bores straight into his soul. His heart hiccups in his chest. “Maybe… just once?”
“Mmh, alright. I'll take that as progress but… Guess, we're really not done yet, huh?” Wriothesley smirks, moving his large hands down along Neuvillette's torso in a slow caress as if he hadn't memorized the shape of his body yet.
Despite the gentleness of his touch, it's like a punch to his guts, leaving Neuvillette winded.
“No… we're not. You still have to… punish me properly.” He breathes, eyelids fluttering, anticipation pouring like thick syrup through his veins as Wriothesley hooks his fingers into Neuvillette's waistband and pulls down his slacks.
Gasps as he feels the smooth drag of fabric brushing over his skin; down the curve of his ass until reaching his elegant spats which isn't much but enough for their purpose.
A desperate headiness thrashes in his core like a restless dragon. “Hurry.” Rattling the chain, he urges despite knowing it's no use. Or better said: knows his pleas will only prolong this dulcet torment.
Plump lips stretch into a wicked grin. And Neuvillette sees the wolf in Wriothesley's expression ready to toy with his prey. “Make me~”
The hint of a touch: feels those cruel, lovely fingers ghost over his ass cheeks, barley grazing his skin. His mind reels. It's too much.
Alright! Challenge accepted—Neuvillette thinks, leaning forward, and catches a strip of the black leather wraps tied around Wriothesley's throat. He sinks his teeth into the leather, giving it a hard yank.
“Vite!” A surprised grunt escapes Wriothesley's lips.
Slap! The sound rips through the air as Wriothesley’s cold hand strikes Neuvillette's ass cheeks.
“Hah…!” Neuvillette moans, eyes rolling back.
Pressed impossibly close to Wriothesley's chest, (can feel the drumming of his racing heart), one hand is holding his waist to steady him. And a succession of several more spanks follow. Each hit lands heavier, harder than the one before. The force of Wriothesley's slaps ripples through his body like waves in the ocean. The chain clink-clanks above them.
“Happy now?” Wriothesley hums.
Shaking his head, Neuvillette burrows his face in the crook of Wriothesley's neck, hiding his smile. His skin tingles. Stings. Burns. Knows for certain it's marked with red, glaring prints in the perfect shape of Wriothesley's hand. Feels like a claim.
And an illicit satisfaction unfurls in his core.
“Acting all prim and proper like a refined gentleman but inside you're just a thirsty, old man, hm?” Wriothesley husks, and gropes his asscheeks roughly, kneading the flesh with his calloused fingers, blunt nails digging to his muscles. It sends bursts of shivers down his spine.
“Ngh.. as if… you're… hah–one to t-talk.” Neuvillette shoots him a glare, but it's lacking in heat. Rather than indignation, he sees his own desire reflected in those forget-me-not-blue eyes.
“Haha. I've never pretended to be a saint.” Wriothesley says while he keeps palming Neuvillette's ass with one hand, he uses his other hand to unbuckle his belt. Zipping his pants open, Wriothesley pulls himself out.
Unwittingly, Neuvillette drools at the feast presented to him.
Like with everything about Wriothesley being exceptionally larger and thicker, his cock doesn't disappoint expectations either. If anything, he surpasses them by leaps and bounds. His size isn't just huge but downright obscene in girth and length. Glistening with pre-cum, his tip is a raging purple. Prominent veins run along his shaft.
No wonder this man boasts such confidence. Truly awe-inspiring massiveness! Even gods and dragons would kill to get a taste… and feel.
Neuvillette may never be able to say it in an official capacity but to call Wriothesley his own is a dream come true he didn't even know he had.
Not that the measure of Wriothesley's worth lies solely in his cock. Obviously, nothing would change for Neuvillette even if Wriothesley's dick were below the average.
Amused by the sudden image, Neuvillette snorts.
“Whatever you're thinking now. Stop. It’s rude.” Wriothesley warns hands sliding down, gripping Neuvillette's thighs.
“Not at all.” Neuvillette says with a private smile.
“Your grin is borderline creepy, old man.” Wriothesley chuckles, shaking his head and lifts Neuvillette effortlessly from the ground.
“Just thought… Even if you were a worm, I'd still love you.” Neuvillette muses, his legs looping around Wriothesley's waist like a ring. The chain clinks above them. Can feel Wriothesley's cock pulse against the cleft of his ass.
Forget-me-not-blue eyes widen for a fraction before it's Wriothesley's turn to snort. “How very charming,” he says with a sarcastic undercurrent on his voice. He moves his hand to Neuvillette's waiting hole. “You’re already so wet.” Wriothesley fingers his rim.
Gasping, Neuvillette twitches. Wants him so badly, it's beautiful and terrifying all at once. Feels his own cock stir to life.
“And who’s fault is it?” Neuvillette murmurs against Wriothesley's ear shell and nips his earlobe, teeth scraping his piercing. But self-lubrication is really just one of the perks of being a Hydro dragon.
“Mine~” Wriothesley announces unashamed. Proud even. And slips two fingers inside of Neuvillette with little resistance. Another dragon advantage? Maybe. Or he's just that desperate.
“Hah! Y-yours.” Neuvillette moans, his walls clenching around those cold fingers wanting to suck them in deeper still.
“Don't worry, Mon Amour. I’ll take responsibility,” Wriothesley promises, wriggling his fingers inside of Neuvillette's pliant heat a bit more before pulling them out.
“Wriothesely…” Neuvillette breathes.
They lock gazes.
The tension between them has long reached its peak.
Wriothesley cards his hand through silky white hair, pressing their foreheads together. “You're so pretty, Vite,” he whispers and aligns his cock with Neuvillette's dripping hole.
Neuvillette feels his heart swell to a suffocating degree. Can't think. Doesn't have to. Only needs to be. Things become quite simple when they are together. Nothing else matters.
Wrapping his hands around Neuvillette's waist, Wriothesley drags him down and Neuvillette feels the thick tip breaching his entrance. While more flexible than a human, he is still tight. Wriothesley's cock stretches his ring muscle wide. It hurts in a good way.
“More." He groans, his arms shake, rattling the chain.
Wriothesley grunts in response as if what he's doing requires exceptional self-control, and maybe it really does. Sweat beads collect at his temples, running down his face in rivulets.
They share another moment gazing into each other's eyes. Can't decipher all the feelings swirling in those precious forget-me-not-blue eyes, nevertheless feels his own resonating with them. Neuvillette drops down and their mouths melt together while Wriothesley finally sheaths himself all the way in with an erotic squelch.
The wet kiss muffles their moans as both are joined as one. And Neuvillette digs his heels into Wriothesley's back as if he could pull him deeper inside.
Greedily, he licks into Wriothesley's mouth, sucking that wicked tongue. Can't get enough of his refreshing taste. And Wriothesley fills him just right. Feels his cock inside him throb and he clenches reflexively around it.
Wriothesley smirks against his lips, devouring him just as eagerly. And they almost forsake their need to breathe to drown in each other. But unfortunately even such a passionate wave ebbs away. They part, panting with their lungs screaming for air and heartbeats out of control.
Slowly, Wriothesley pushes Neuvillette up before dragging him back down. And again he shows amazing self-restraint. Only Neuvillette knows how savage Wriothesley can get. But this is better. Prolongs the excitement (Not that Neuvillette doesn't love to be ravished. On the contrary. However, it's Wriothesley who dictates their pace and that's exactly what Neuvillette needs).
Despite his length, he never quite hits Neuvillette's sweet spot. Teasing it only occasionally, a light brush. Pure, destructive torment disguised as gentleness.
Yet, Neuvillette relishes in it. His anticipation keeps building and building. A terrifying itch he can't reach. On the brink of a scale that just doesn't want to tip In his favor. His neglected cock becomes hard again, trapped between their abdomens.
Wouldn't mind being connected to Wriothesley like this forever. A maddening desire threatening to plunge him into oblivion.
Suddenly, he feels the grip of Wriothesley on his waist tighten. “Mon Chéri…” He croons and rocks his hips in earnest, finally after all the teasing, hitting that spot.
And Neuvillette's reason bursts, flung high into the sky.
“Ngh… ah! There!” Embarrassing noises spill from his lips. Maybe he's crying. Maybe he's pleading. Neuvillette doesn't know it—too lost to the pleasure of Wriothesley inside of him.
A heady groan: “Vite, you're so damn tight.” Teeth claim his throat, as Wriothesley marks his skin. “Just perfect,” He murmurs, setting a pace of exquisitely slow motions, fucking into his hole relentlessly.
“Hah! Wriothesley! Yes, yes…” Liquid heat pools at the base of his spine, pleasure numbing his restless mind. Feels the delicious languid drag of Wriothesley along his inner walls. Keens everytime that enormous cock strikes his prostate. Blinding ecstasy consumes his body. His toes curl inside his boots. His hands clutch the chain, knuckles going white. Nails biting into his palms.
They sway like dancers over the ice and waves. Their breaths synchronized. Hard and soft in perfect balance. Their heartbeats call out to each other.
Each thrust sends him higher and higher above the clouds. And Neuvillette squeezes around Wriothesley as if wanting to trap him there between his thighs.
As if intent on drowning Neuvillette in a waterfall of affection, Wriothesley rains praise after praise on him. Murmured softly between kisses. Gasped over love bites. And licked along the tip of his pointed ears. Every touch and caress—an act of worship, leaving Neuvillette more and more unraveled, his soul bare and vulnerable. How much emotion can one man hold? Neuvillette can't tell. It must be much vaster and deeper than the ocean itself.
“So close…” Neuvillette pants.
“Hah… Already?” Wriothesley teases, heaving. “Me too.” He keeps pushing Neuvillette up and down on his cock a few more times in the same lazy manner as if both of them weren't desperate for a release.
Feels the heavy pulse of Wriothesley's cock against his most sensitive parts. Cold fingers dig into the flesh of his waist, pulling him down roughly.
“Vite… mon bel Vite…” Wriothesley moans, and suddenly stills before thrusting into the tight heat of Neuvillette, driving his cock hard inside of him; rams it straight into that sweet spot.
It's too much. From unsurmountable heights, both plunge at neck-breaking speed into the depths of the sea. Wrapped tightly around each other, they crash against the surface, drowning in their pleasure.
“Wrio…!” Neuvillette jolts, and cums painting a burgundy necktie and gray vest in white as Wriothesley fills him with his seed, hot and wet. His hole clenches around him like he wanted to milk Wriothesley dry.
Weightless.
Like the softest of breezes could blow him away. Neuvillette feels unfettered. Yet, the only thing that keeps him from drifting away fully are delicate threads tying him to Wriothesley's soul.
Hears Wriothesley murmur sweet nothings into his ear and nuzzling his hair. Hands caressing his spine, wandering higher up his arms. Metal clinks. And Wriothesley unshackles his wrists. Slowly, Neuvillette lowers his arms. Can feel his bones crack. Maybe he is really an old man, after all. The muscles in his arm tremble. A tingling spreads from his fingertips up to his shoulders.
Sighing, he rests his arms around Wriothesley’s shoulder. Wants to sink his hands into fluffy, dark, gray locks but the burning numbness in his muscles has to pass first.
“I’m tempted to say you do it on purpose now.” Wriothesley says after a while, patting Neuvillette's sore arms.
They are an absolute mess. Should get cleaned up. Yet, Neuvillette is in no condition to move and rather prefers to cling to Wriothesley like a stubborn barnacle.
“Mmh?” Neuvillette pretends to be clueless.
Almost exasperated: “Overworking.”
“Whatever gave you such a notion?” He quirks a brow, nonchalantly.
Calloused fingers brush his sweat-slicked bangs from his face. “You want me to punish you.”
“Well, who wouldn't want that?” Neuvillette smirks.
“How cruel! You can't just blue ball me for weeks! It's not fair! What a fine Chief Justice you are!” Appalled, Wriothesley grumbles.
“I’ve no idea what you're talking about.” Neuvillette continues with his silly charade.
“Guess this method isn't working. About time I’ll just go visit you instead for some improptu rendezvous~” Wriothesley says with a devious grin.
“Wriothesley! We can't!” Neuvillette almost chokes on the thought.
For a moment, they stare at each other in irascible silence.
“Pffft…” Both break out laughing.
At long last, Neuvillette found his true purpose.
It's not in pronouncing verdicts. Nor in condemning the guilty and protecting the innocent. That's simply part of what he is.
His true reason lies in the little, almost imperceptible things. Feeling the rain kiss his skin after a day spent under the sun with his cherished people. Seeing humans and Melusines going about their day-to-day hand in hand. A content sigh after a long day of work. In the drop clinging to the brim of his chalice. The joys and sorrows of being alive.
And especially shining from forget-me-not-blue eyes; hidden in dark, wavy locks; waiting for him in crow's feet crossing a scar; teasing him from a wolfish grin; in the glint of chains and handcuffs; in the softness of caresses and stolen kisses; hears it in Mon Amour, Mon Chéri, and Vite; it beats in the heart next to his; and lives in the shared moments of their bliss.