[ there’s something in the way neuvillette moves with haste to strip himself of his normal dress and uniform, yet still takes the time to set each piece neatly aside. ever the creature of habit, though wriothesley hardly faults him—centuries spent beneath the mantle of iudex are difficult patterns to shed. so of course the uniform lingers in his hands, and yet it gives wriothesley a few ideas about what sort of casual wear might better suit him now. but it's quickly a distant thought when the snap of a belt stirs wriothesley out of his musings
he watches the whole thing with a heavy‑lidded gaze and a lazy smile, and when neuvillette crosses the distance again—bare, cold, and already reaching—wriothesley wraps him in a firm, grounding embrace. the fervor of another heated kiss and fingers slipping beneath his shirt, draws a short‑winded laugh before he leans in to swallow the groan that spills when their clothed cocks press together. ]
Now that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?
[ the words drift out casually, spoken more to the air than anything, but he watches closely as neuvillette focuses on drawing every sound from him. wriothesley gasps when a chilled touch brushes across the scar tissue at his throat—still sensitive—and bucks his hips more insistently when cold palms wander beneath his shirt and seem pleased with what they find.
bit by bit, neuvillette coaxes the rest of his clothes away. but wriothesley, unlike him, treats his own garments with little care. by hastily shoving his bindings and rumpled shirt aside to make way before pushing neuvillette down onto the bed in one practiced, decisive motion—flipping their positions without losing a breath. ]
And your pants next.
[ it’s his turn to loom over the other man, chuffed and openly pleased despite the feverish blush that spreads from the square of his chest to his features. corruption has brought its fair share of changes over the months—with twitching wolf ears, a restless wagging tail brushing against neuvillette’s shins, added height and bulk, fur trimmed neatly across his chest and tapering down past the waistband of his shorts—but right now, it’s the difference warmth between them that undoes him.
neuvillette’s body holds a cold that sinks deep, unmistakable now that he’s shed his layers. the kind of cold-blooded chill that makes warmth a necessity. wriothesley feels the way the other leans into his heat—instinctively, greedily—and something in him answers, low and possessive.
he bends to kiss along neuviliette’s clavicle, then down the curve of his torso, drinking in the contrast of heat meeting chill. each place he touches gradually warms under his mouth, and the sight of neuvillette melting from the inside out claws at something primal in him. amidst the attention, clawed hands find the buckles of neuviliette’s spats and yank them open one by one. a soft prayer of mine slip from him between claiming bites and scent-marking nuzzles, each one pressed reverently into slowly warming skin.
it satisfies wriothesley on a level deeper than reason—to be the one who can heat neuviliette through touch alone, to be the answer to that instinctive cold. and by the time the last clasp comes undone, he’s half-wild with it, steadiness stretched thin beneath the urge to claim.
still, he manages a touch of playfulness. barely. he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of neuviliette’s pants, easing them just past the dip of his hips before lifting his head with a stare gone dark and hungry. ]
Let me have you. [ then he lowers his mouth and breathes hot over the still‑clothed bulge of neuviliette’s cock before mouthing wetly against it—heat meeting cold in a way that makes instinct shudder through both of them. ] Let me burn for you.
no subject
he watches the whole thing with a heavy‑lidded gaze and a lazy smile, and when neuvillette crosses the distance again—bare, cold, and already reaching—wriothesley wraps him in a firm, grounding embrace. the fervor of another heated kiss and fingers slipping beneath his shirt, draws a short‑winded laugh before he leans in to swallow the groan that spills when their clothed cocks press together. ]
Now that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?
[ the words drift out casually, spoken more to the air than anything, but he watches closely as neuvillette focuses on drawing every sound from him. wriothesley gasps when a chilled touch brushes across the scar tissue at his throat—still sensitive—and bucks his hips more insistently when cold palms wander beneath his shirt and seem pleased with what they find.
bit by bit, neuvillette coaxes the rest of his clothes away. but wriothesley, unlike him, treats his own garments with little care. by hastily shoving his bindings and rumpled shirt aside to make way before pushing neuvillette down onto the bed in one practiced, decisive motion—flipping their positions without losing a breath. ]
And your pants next.
[ it’s his turn to loom over the other man, chuffed and openly pleased despite the feverish blush that spreads from the square of his chest to his features. corruption has brought its fair share of changes over the months—with twitching wolf ears, a restless wagging tail brushing against neuvillette’s shins, added height and bulk, fur trimmed neatly across his chest and tapering down past the waistband of his shorts—but right now, it’s the difference warmth between them that undoes him.
neuvillette’s body holds a cold that sinks deep, unmistakable now that he’s shed his layers. the kind of cold-blooded chill that makes warmth a necessity. wriothesley feels the way the other leans into his heat—instinctively, greedily—and something in him answers, low and possessive.
he bends to kiss along neuviliette’s clavicle, then down the curve of his torso, drinking in the contrast of heat meeting chill. each place he touches gradually warms under his mouth, and the sight of neuvillette melting from the inside out claws at something primal in him. amidst the attention, clawed hands find the buckles of neuviliette’s spats and yank them open one by one. a soft prayer of mine slip from him between claiming bites and scent-marking nuzzles, each one pressed reverently into slowly warming skin.
it satisfies wriothesley on a level deeper than reason—to be the one who can heat neuviliette through touch alone, to be the answer to that instinctive cold. and by the time the last clasp comes undone, he’s half-wild with it, steadiness stretched thin beneath the urge to claim.
still, he manages a touch of playfulness. barely. he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of neuviliette’s pants, easing them just past the dip of his hips before lifting his head with a stare gone dark and hungry. ]
Let me have you. [ then he lowers his mouth and breathes hot over the still‑clothed bulge of neuviliette’s cock before mouthing wetly against it—heat meeting cold in a way that makes instinct shudder through both of them. ] Let me burn for you.