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“In my humblest opinion, our esteemed Iudex should take care of himself once in a while,” Wriothesley declares boldly one day, playing with some loose gears in a mechanical clock he’s been tinkering with on his desk.
“What do you mean by care?” Neuvillette blinks, surprise evident in his voice as he holds onto a delicate cup of tea.
“Just that,” Wriothesley smiles from over his own cup, the curling steam slightly obscuring his face. “You need to relax once in a while, Vil. Everyone does. And forgive me for being so bold,” the Duke continues, but there’s no real regret in his voice, “but I think even Lady Furina has more leisure time than you do.”
Wriothesley’s working quarters are a far cry from Neuvillette’s rooms back at the Palais Mermonia. They are not uncomfortable per se, but there is a difference that lets itself known the more Neuvillette spends his time in them; somehow, with the growing tendrils of… a tenderness developing between him and the Lord of the Fortress, he started associating them with a strange sense of comfort.
Understandable, then, that he finds himself coming down underwater more and more often - sometimes just to have a talk, a cup of tea or a moment of respite from his duties above ground. Wriothesley is always a willing companion during these times - he puts on the finest teas brewed with water sourced specially for Neuvillette, brings new records for his gramophone so that the mellow music provides a background for their conversations - and like this, with time, their companionship has evolved into something both tentative and unspoken.
“I can’t just have a day off, Your Grace,” the judge sighs, swirling tea in his cup as he drinks the last of it. “Justice does not rest, so I cannot, either.”
“Bullshit,” Wriothesley replies, refilling their cups. “You’re not a machine, Neuvillette. One of these days you’ll have enough, your focus will slip and undoing it will be more of a hassle than it is to just sit down and let someone take care of you for once.”
“I do find myself— unable to focus, in fact,” Neuvillette admits with a wry smile as he paces around the office. “But as of yet this does not happen often, I assure you, my lord,” he adds after a moment, the honorific spoken so softly that it's almost a pet name by now. But Wriothesley just smiles, his bright eyes darkening with an emotion Neuvillette dares not decipher just yet.
“Yeah, I get that,” he chuckles, watching Neuvillette with the careful grace of a predator. “I wouldn’t push you otherwise.”
What creature could dare to prey on a dragon, the judge thinks, the corner of his lips curling upwards just briefly. Wriothesley’s bold; that is part of the charm that pulls Neuvillette to him so. The tension between them thickens as moments of silence stretch on; Neuvillette feels himself frozen in place for the shortest while, carefully watching each and any movement from the other man.
In a firm stride, the Duke leaves his comfortable seat behind the desk and stands just behind Neuvillette, the low notes of his voice raising goosebumps along the nape of the judge’s neck.
“Monsieur, if you’ll forgive me for being so bold,” he says - breathes - hot air touching Neuvillette’s neck, and the dragon shivers. “I think we’ve been beating around the bush for one day too long.”
Oh, so today is about this; the understanding hits him like a fresh gust of air. It appears, then, that their affections for each other…
Neuvillette whips around and finds himself face to face with Wriothesley’s dark gaze, looking at him like he’s a man starving, and the last vestiges of resolve break in him right that instant.
They fall against each other like a wave crashing against a shore, Wriothesley’s fingers tangling into Neuvillette’s hair with a sharp tug just as Neuvillette’s hands clutch onto Wriothesley’s coat. The kiss lacks finesse but makes up for it in urgency; Wriothesley kisses like a man drowning, pressing Neuvillette into the wall with a force that would be surprising in anyone else. Their bodies slot against each other in the blink of an eye.
Wriothesley’s hands waste no time sliding under layers upon layers of the judge’s formal attire, blunt nails raking down his back and sides and Neuvillette grows hard embarassingly fast - his hips arch up, aching for friction, and Wriothesley’s knee slots between his legs in an instant.
“Fuck,” the Duke breathes against his lips, forehead briefly resting against Neuvillette’s, “Do you want to-- do you want all of that, Neuvillette?” he asks in a breathy tone, one hand hoisting Neuvillette’s leg up, wordlessly urging him to wrap it against his waist. Neuvillette complies; he knows Wriothesley can handle him with that strength of his, and breaks through his haze enough to sharply nod.
“Please,” he hears himself whimpering, and the sound is almost embarrassing; the Duke’s touch is an assault on his senses. Neuvillette feels his thighs tremble all over with exertion, holding onto Wriothesley’s waist as the rhythmic push and pull of the man's hips drives him into the cold wall. It's a splendid mix of longing and pleasure, their clothed bodies grinding against each other.
He gasps, his own voice almost unrecognisable to himself; it's been decades since the last time he's felt like this. The warden’s posture and size make him feel strangely small and delicate and Neuvillette finds out he likes the feeling - this illusion of being submissive.
Wriothesley just smiles at him.
“Hold on,” he requests in a quietly dominant tone - and Neuvillette complies, stilling enough to hold onto Wriothesley as the Duke pulls out a wide cloth from one of his pockets. He recognises it for what it is - a blindfold - and his mind swims; he’d imagined it with Wriothesley previously - he’d imagined a great deal of many things with Wriothesley, in fact - but he never expected a clandestine tryst like this to include… additional artifacts, so to speak.
And yet the concept makes him tremble even more, his eyes sliding closed as he feels soft fabric touch his face, his fingers tangled into the red of Wriothesley’s shirt. Once it’s secured, Wriothesley leans down to kiss him again; fierce, demanding, stealing the breath Neuvillette did not know he was holding. His hips move against Neuvillette’s once more before he hoists him up and turns around to sit him on the desk - at least that’s what the judge assumes, feeling a solid expanse of wood under his palms as he reaches to stabilise himself.
A slow, tentative hand slides to the front of his slacks, drawing an impatient moan from Neuvillette.
“Please,” he keens again, straining against his clothes, but Wriothesley is unrelenting as he teases his cock through the fabric.
Unable to see, the silk blindfold wrapped snugly around his head, Neuvillette feels each touch even more - and his body arches up in anticipation, hands grasping blindly at the desk instead of Wriothesley, sharp talon-like nails digging into wood.
“Didn’t I say,” Wriothesley hums above him and a cold hand slides down his throat, all the way to his chest where it playfully tweaks a nipple, “that I’ll take care of you? Patience, monsieur,” he murmurs, following the path with his lips until he gently bites at Neuvillette’s collarbone. “Be good for me, and you’ll get what you want.”
Care. The word seems so unfitting for their current activities - Neuvillette blushes at the very idea. He’d always assumed that sexual encounters should be contractual, or at least mutually beneficial and the word care has never had such connotations for him.
The way Wriothesley drops to one knee in front of him, mouthing around his navel with a soft sigh, makes Neuvillette reconsider the concept; it seems the pleasure is still two-fold. Wriothesley, despite being quite literally on his knees, still holds that casually dominant aura of his; his thumbs stroke down the dips in Neuvillette’s hipbones, slowly pulling down his slacks as they go along.
When Wriothesley’s breath hits Neuvillette’s bare cock, the dragon lets out a loud moan.
“Not yet,” Wriothesley chastises, kissing a path down his trembling thigh. “Be good for me, hm? You’re doing well so far.”
There’s something about the praise that goes straight to Neuvillette’s groin and he whips his head back, stretching against the wooden surface of the desk as his hands blindly seek to tangle in Wriothesley’s short hair. He’s never had the need to be praised before and had no idea of the effect it would have on him - especially in a vulnerable setting such as this. Somehow, he wants Wriothesley to say it again, just to make sure.
The warden catches his wandering hands and kisses at the wrists, hot tongue darting off for the briefest of moments to lap at his pulse point.
“Should I cuff you next time as well?” he wonders aloud, and Neuvillette gasps at the idea of there being a next time at all. As if sensing his excitement, Wriothesley’s voice is suddenly closer to his ear, murmuring, “so you like it, too,” in that deliciously deep baritone of his. Neuvillette only nods in reply, gaining himself another low chuckle in return.
“It wasn’t a real question, monsieur,” Wriothesley hums, bowing down again to divest Neuvillette of his spats and then shoes, one hand sliding curiously up an ankle. “I can clearly see you do like it. And so do I,” he hums, kissing at the protruding bone before he rises again, moving away so that Neuvillette doesn’t feel his body heat anymore.
Then, all of a sudden, ice-cold fingers brush against his nipples, making Neuvillette arch up once again. “What—“ he manages to gasp out, brain short-circuiting as his entire body shivers from the sudden change in temperature. “Is that your—“ he tries again, but his voice sounds somehow broken still; he cannot command it as he usually would, not when he’s spread out naked on Wriothesley’s desk.
“Cryo, yes,” the warden agrees, sliding one finger down all the way, letting it drag against each of Neuvillette’s ribs. The Iudex gasps in response, seeking more of that deliciously shocking cold. He folds into an arch, his body following the touch, but Wriothesley keeps him grounded with the other hand to his shoulders, pressing firmly.
“Don’t move - just feel. Yeah, like this,” he murmurs when Neuvillette falls back onto the surface, the muscles on his stomach fluttering with tension. “You’re doing so well,” he praises again - and the gasp that falls out of Neuvillette’s mouth is broken on a moan.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Wriothesley’s hands move to stroke down his hard length - first just the fingertips against the glans, flicking, teasing, and Neuvillette gasps in air. He’s not used to this kind of torture; it’s so good and not enough both at once, and there are tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from the effort of keeping himself together.
One of them slips down his cheek, below the blindfold, and he can hear Wriothesley gasp at the sight of it.
“Archons,” the Duke groans. “Look at you, Vil; you’re even crying.” There’s a rustle and when Wriothesley steps close again, Neuvillette can feel the backs of his bare thighs touching naked skin. The implication of that makes his head swim.
“Please, Your Grace,” he repeats, reaching towards Wriothesley blindly - his hands scrape down Wriothesley’s chest, only mildly careful not to leave marks he cannot see - raising himself up from the desk to wrap his legs around Wriothesley again. Their cocks brush together and Neuvillette reaches down instantly, intending to take them both in hand, but Wriothesley swats his hand away.
“Let me tease you some more,” he hums, both hands enveloping Neuvillette’s ribcage so that his thumbs flick against the man’s nipples again, rolling them slightly. Belatedly, the judge realises Wriothesley’s hands are warm again. “I want to see more of these beautiful tears of yours.”
Embarrassment wells in Neuvillette’s chest and he’s about to retort something, but then Wriothesley bends at the waist again and drags a tongue against one of the hardened nubs, punching out any coherent thought from Neuvillette’s head. The hand teasing it previously slides down to play with Neuvillette’s erection again, alternating between the natural warmth of Wriothesley’s body and small instances of Cryo until the judge is a wordless mess, hanging onto Wriothesley’s each touch for dear life.
“Gods, you should see yourself,” Wriothesley keeps talking, his mouth moving between Neuvillette’s chest and the base of his throat, “all spread out and desperate for touch. You’re doing so well, holding out for me like this,” he says, and Neuvillette strains almost painfully - he’s close now, tension in his groin waiting to snap, but Wriothesley’s tone keeps him in check.
It’s wonderful, he thinks in a haze, how a mere human can indeed hunt and tame a dragon.
He’s completely at the Duke’s mercy now; it’s an illusion - most of the submissive behaviour is - but he can let go for a moment, surrendering to the power of another at least in his mind.
“Good,” Wriothesley praises again, kissing down Neuvillette’s cheek - licking at tears that slip from the blindfold that Neuvillette has barely noticed. “So good for me, monsieur,” he purrs - and finally, finally callused fingers wrap against his cock fully, strong and unrelenting. The sudden relief is too great; it takes only a few strokes for Neuvillette to come, pleasure blinding his thoughts as he repeats a broken litany of Wriothesley’s name, trembling all over.
Wriothesley must have come watching him, too; there’s a splat of hot liquid on Neuvillette’s chest that’s not only his own and when the Duke lifts his blindfold gently, his face is flushed too, blue eyes still a little hazy.
He helps Neuvillette up to the edge of the desk, a secure, strong arm holding his back up.
“Are you alright?” Neuvillette asks, his voice hoarse, as he runs a hand up the Duke’s chest. “Did you—“
“I don’t know, did you?” Wriothesley parrots with an amused smile, bending slightly to kiss the Iudex once again. This kiss is different from the previous ones in that it’s slower, more deliberate - but even without the urgency, they both end up breathless and tangled into each other after a few minutes of it. “If you’re not entirely sure, monsieur, allow me to humbly invite you to my bedroom for another instance of… ah, caring,” he grins, using his discarded shirt to wipe down the mess on Neuvillette’s stomach.
“Invitation accepted,” Neuvillette hums in response, his features softening into a lazy smile to reflect Wriothesley’s. “You’d have to tell me more about your affinity to call me monsieur during intimate activities, Your Grace,” he teases back, trying to find his balance on bare feet once Wriothesley releases him. “I find it most endearing.”