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“Wriothesley, I have a meeting—”
“Push it back.”
Neuvillette’s mouth thins into a line which makes Wriothesley laugh.
Gods, he wants to kiss that frown right off of Neuvillette’s face. Wriothesley wants to do a lot of things because they’ve had so little time together as of late, but he’ll settle for just a moment or two of his time if that’s all he can snag.
“I’m just asking for a little bit of tea,” he continues, pulling his thoughts out of the gutter.
Neuvillette raises a finely arched brow. “It is never just a little bit of tea with you.”
“Well, that sounds like a you problem,” replies Wriothesley with a wide grin, “not a me problem. Afraid that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“No.”
“Shame. I know I won’t be able to—”
“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette groans his name as a long-suffering sigh, pressing his fingers against his eyes.
Wriothesley reaches out and catches his hand, pulling it close. “Okay,” he says, tracing the rise and fall of Neuvillette’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb, “I won’t tease anymore. I’m not joking, though—I really just want a little bit of your time. A half-hour, max. We’ll share a pot of tea in your quarters.”
Neuvillette sighs, defeated, and Wriothesley knows that he’s won this battle. “Lord Morax—”
“Has been working just as much as you. Suffering, for sure. Have you seen his mate? That little knight of his likes to bark up a storm in the barracks, challenging anyone he can get his hands on.”
“Sounds not so dissimilar to you.”
“Hey now—”
“Are you not my guard dog?” muses Neuvillette, cupping Wriothesley’s cheek affectionately.
Yes, he is. Always and forever. Still, Wriothesley nips at his thumb. “The point that I was making was surely he wants a little… break.”
“Morax is more likely to be insulted we didn’t invite him to share said tea.” Neuvillette says this with no heat, only amusement. “Considering your affinity for the drink—”
“Please don’t make me schedule a meeting just to make out with you.”
Neuvillette snorts, but dips closer nonetheless, still holding Wriothesley by the chin. “So it isn’t about the tea.”
“It never is. You said so yourself.”
The banter is sweet and Wriothesley finds himself endeared, especially with Neuvillette pressed so close, despite his initial hesitance.
“Tea,” he finally says, letting go of Wriothesley’s chin. “ Only tea,” Neuvillette then reiterates. “I can push off my meeting a bit, but I cannot entirely reschedule it.”
Wriothesley can work with that. Neuvillette sighs softly, dropping his hand. He pulls him into their chambers and Wriothesley sets to work, moving to the wet bar, pulling out the tea pot. He’s quick. Efficient—enough so that Neuvillette won’t complain that he’s taking too long, that he won’t remind Wriothesley they’re on borrowed time.
Wriothesley can feel Neuvillette’s gaze on him, can imagine the way his eyes glow ever so slightly, pleased at the sight of his mate. Wriothesley doesn’t put on a show, but he does slow his movements, flicking his wrist ever so slightly as he drops the tea leaves into their respective cups.
“Wriothesley,” he warns.
A glance at the clock. A soft hum as Wriothesley pulls the kettle off of the Electro burner. “Can’t rush good tea. There’s a method, proper etiquette and such to consider.”
“You really should share a cup with Lord Morax,” teases Neuvillette with a snort. “If anyone would appreciate your antics, it would be he.”
“Antics?” Wriothesley crosses the room, carrying the two steaming mugs carefully. Neuvillette says nothing and raises an eyebrow. Wriothesley laughs and continues with, “You always think the worst, don’t you?”
“Not the worst,” replies Neuvillette, taking the mug into his hands when Wriothesley holds it out. His expression is trained on it as he runs his fingers over the smooth, porcelain rim. “I’ve known you long enough to know there is always an ulterior motive.”
“Usually.”
Neuvillette finally meets his gaze. “Usually?” he questions, head tilted slightly.
“There’s usually an ulterior motive. Sometimes, though, I really do just want to share tea with you.”
They fall quiet and the silence stretches comfortably as Neuvillette takes a sip. Wriothesley wanted something nice and herbal, and he watches him contemplate the taste, letting it wash over his tongue, polite enough to go through the motions even if tea is not his favorite.
“Not terrible,” he eventually says, placing the cup back onto the saucer.
Wriothesley knows that it’s unlikely to be touched again. No matter; he’ll enjoy the brew enough for the both of them.
“A kiss to make it better, then?” It’s a question that pushes his luck, but Neuvillette finds the humor within it.
He chuckles, brightly, sweetly, and then he flashes Wriothesley a small smile. “I’m not wounded, Wriothesley.”
“Not even a burn to the tongue? This tea is hot, you know.”
Neuvillette leans back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. His expression is cool, amused. “Every day you vex me more, my handsome knight.”
Being called that is so nice, a wonderful throw back to their earlier years. Wriothesley, though, much prefers being called mate. It’s private and heavy, and he likes the weight of it when Neuvillette whispers it against his skin.
Wriothesley sets his cup down and leans forward, pressing a hand against Neuvillette’s knee. “We only have a few more minutes until you have to leave me.”
“There’s no need to sound so distraught.”
Wriothesley’s chair screeches as it drags across the floor. Neuvillette does nothing to stop him as he presses their foreheads together, mouths just inches away. Instead, he purrs, a gentle rumble of his chest as he tilts his face towards Wriothesley.
“What would others say if they knew that my Emperor was nothing but talk?”
“Hm. I’d tell them I was merely spelled by my mate. They’d understand.”
It’s Wriothesley’s turn to laugh, only to have the sound swallowed up by Neuvillette pressing their mouths together. The kiss is slow and lingering, easy to get lost in. Wriothesley moves against him, teasing Neuvillette’s lips with his tongue before sliding it past his teeth.
They indulge long enough for time to be lost, and Sedene to come slamming her fist against their chamber doors. Neuvillette is the one to pull away, reluctantly. He has a hand curled into Wriothesley’s shirt, clinging to it tightly, holding him there. Cute. Adorable. Often his actions speak louder than his words, rendering whatever he said utterly useless.
“You know,” says Wriothesley, nipping at Neuvillette’s mouth, “if you asked nicely, I bet Lord Morax would reschedule to tomorrow.”
“Incorrigible,” Neuvillette replies. “That’s what he calls his mate. Perhaps I should adopt the same endearment for you.”
If it means that Wriothesley can coax Neuvillette into sneaking off, he’ll let himself be called whatever his mate sees fit, and that’s what Wriothesley tells him as he leans in to steal another kiss.