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“She’s gone,” murmurs Wriothesley the moment the opulent doors of the Opera Epiclese slam shut behind Focalors. “You’re safe from her wild whims.”
Neuvillette frowns but takes pleasure that Wriothesley is already pressed, dipping towards him to soothe his aggravated being. “Safe,” he muses, the edge of his mouth upturning slightly on one end. “She is mildly aggravating, is all.”
“Oh? You looked ready to cut her open.”
“Thoughts are merely thoughts, and rarely actions.” Wriothesley arches an eyebrow and Neuvillette scoffs. “She is, as you said, a bit of a wild force. I’m tired of cleaning up her messes.”
Wriothesley hums at that, reaching out to smooth his hand across the line of Neuvillette’s shoulder. “She is a handful. I know that hiding int he shadows isn’t so easy with someone as dramatic as her on the throne. But—”
“I have no regrets,” cuts in Neuvillette. There are no prying ears—he’d smell them, hear them—but there is no harm in taking precaution. Besides, he rather enjoys keeping these conversations truly private, something shared just between the two of them. Aside from Focalors, Wriothesley is the only other being who knows of his true nature.
Neuvillette reaches out, taking hold of Wriothesley’s hand. Covered in leather. Regrettable. Neuvillette could benefit from a brief moment of skin-to-skin contact with his mate.
“That look,” teases Wriothesley, knowing the look on his face. “That hot and bothered, huh?”
“Less so hot and more so bothered—”
“Would a kiss make it better?”
Neuvillette snorts softly, but confesses, “Yes, it would.”
Wriothesley is already leaning over and cupping Neuvillette’s cheek before he even finishes that thought aloud. He sweeps his thumb over the arch of his cheek. Laughs softly as he presses their mouths together for a quick and gentle kiss.
It’s instantly soothing, the taste and scent of his mate. Leather and tea. There’s another layer there, an intermingling of ocean salt and sand. His scent. Wriothesley carries it so well.
Neuvillette sighs against his mouth, feeling Wriothesley’s smile against it. “Better?” asks Wriothesley.
“Mmhn, yes. But—” Neuvillette holds Wriothesley firm as he begins to pull away. “Another certainly wouldn’t hurt.”
“Needy,” chides Wriothesley. He moves, dropping against Neuvillette’s lap, arms curling around his neck. “I suppose that I can spare a moment.”
“You must be dreadfully busy.” Neuvillette’s tone is lighthearted as he nips at Wriothesley’s jaw.
“My Emperor runs me ragged,” says Wriothesley quiet enough for only him to hear.
My Emperor. Neuvillette loves hearing it said with such love and care. Wriothesley blesses him with loyalty unheard of and Neuvillette is better for it. They are two halves of a whole, utterly complete in the space they share together, and when Wriothesley whispers these sort of sweet nothings into his ear, that old dragon in Neuvillette’s chest trills with pleasure.
“Shall I have a stern word with him?”
“Depends on what sorts of words you mean.”
Neuvillette chuckles. He tilts Wriothesley’s face towards his, knuckles pressed underneath his chin. Nuzzles his forehead, his nose, his mouth, savoring the way the Wriothesley relaxes against him.
“More kisses?”
“One is never enough,” says Neuvillette. “Surely you should know that by now.”
“Want to see how many more we can fit in before another knight comes barging in here?”
Neuvillette’s mouth curls into a rare and honest smile. He kisses Wriothesley a second time, this one deeper, his tongue seeking purchase in the white-hot of Wriothesley’s mouth. But that is all that it is, just a kiss, a grounding thing that reels back all of his earlier annoyance.
And Wriothesley, his darling knight, his darling mate, just pets his hair and laughs against his mouth, seeking out more.