▌ cw: jan 3 supermoon, wolf moon, and start of breeding months "No! No! No!" - berleezy, 2022
[ wriothesley wakes in a slow, disoriented stir, blinking against the lingering darkness of another early morning into the new year. the sky outside is still black, the hour unholy, and for a moment it feels as if he’s simply caught in an odd dream. but then it hits him—a sudden, rising wave of heat and vertigo that grips him the moment he tries to sit up. his body doesn't cooperate. his hands fist into the damp sheets at his side of the bed, breath coming shallow and uncertain as sweat clings to his collarbones. there’s something wrong. he knows it immediately, and not in the distant, logical sense that usually accompanies his instinct. no, this is visceral—raw and pulsing, a low thrum beneath his skin that even leaves him aware of how entirely off his scent is. his pulse is erratic, pounding against his ribs like it’s trying to keep pace with something far older and deeper than blood. and while he can’t place it, his body seems to know exactly what’s happening.
and for what might be the first time in his life, wriothesley looks toward neuvillette with no armor; no pretense, no measure of control. the older man is still asleep, peaceful in a way that makes wriothesley's breath stutter. then heat floods his abdomen, thick and sudden and insistent. it’s not embarrassment or desire in the usual sense—it’s need, hollow and aching, something that blooms low and deep and refuses to be ignored. his limbs feel too hot, his skin too tight, his bones straining beneath a pressure he can’t ease. so he shifts, restless, and it takes him a full moment to realize his cock is hard and already leaking onto his stomach. however, the shame doesn’t land. there’s no room for it—not with how his lungs keep drawing in air that feels thick and cloying, as if the room itself has grown too close. ]
Neuvillette. Neuvi—
[ he tries to call neuvillette’s name. but even that thread of control is already slipping, because the moment he speaks, he breathes in deeper, and this time the scent hits him like a blow. it’s not a lingering trace of shared sleep or the faded remnants of their intimacy. it’s something else entirely as neuvillette’s scent is full and sharp, soaked in sovereignty and old power, the kind that settles into the air like a gathering storm. it clings to wriothesley’s tongue, floods his throat, and sends a sharp tremor down his spine. his breath catches on a low moan, not from pleasure but from sheer instinct—some part of him responding before his mind can catch up.
his tongue finds the slope of neuvillette’s neck, dragging slow over the pulse point where scent lingers strongest. it’s a reverent motion—desperate and unthinking—and his hips buck forward of their own accord, cock sliding messily against his abdomen as he presses closer into the heat and gravity of the other man. logic is a distant thing. where all he knows is that neuvillette smells like safety and something in wriothesley wants to drown in it.
he breathes the man’s name again, but it’s no longer an attempt to wake him. it’s a prayer now, strung with quiet pleading, sweet and cracked at the edges as he mouths at neuvillette’s shoulder and jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses and sharp little nips against the skin where that scent sings strongest. he’s moaning now, softly, almost feverishly, as he ruts against whatever part of neuvillette he can reach. it isn’t coordinated or even intentional. it’s just need, primal and pulsing through his body like a current, leaving him dizzy and undone. he wants—no, he aches—to be touched, claimed, steadied, anything to keep from falling apart. but even without a clear thought in his head, it’s neuvillette’s presence that he clings to. the one fixed point in a world that’s just become far too hot to hold. ]
( neuvillette has become used to sleeping with another in his bed — namely, wriothesley. he is accustomed to the warmth of his body, the wag of his tail when he dreams about something exhilarating, the warm fluff of it in his face whenever neuvillette ends up spooning him sometime during the night... in the many nights they have now spent together as the year passed, neuvillette likes to think that he has grasped the man's sleeping patterns.
at least, when they aren't busy defiling the bed and having to launder fresh sheets every time.
this night, neuvillette sleeps deeply, an arm wrapped possessively around wriothesley and his face tucked into the crook of his shoulder. when wriothesley moves, restless and squirming, he exhales and loosens his grip, still caught up in sleep and unfortunately unmindful of the younger man's distress. he barely hears him call his name, but that warm tongue, hungry and eager, begins to stir him into burgeoning wakefulness.
the process is slow, but steady, and when his beloved pleads for him so sweetly and moans, as if swept up in something that neuvillette has no comprehension of, neuvillette blinks sleepily, his hand coming to curl in his hair, massaging an ear to soothe him. )
Wriothesley, darling — ( is he rutting against him? his sleep-fogged voice is thick, almost slurring, but neuvillette is blinking, a touch more concerned than tired. his other hand comes down to rest on his waist, rolling his hips lightly to indulge, but nonetheless confused. he would've enjoyed this, if not for the distress that's rolling off of the other. ) what's the matter?
[ speaking of the sheets, it’s a shame to think of where they’re headed now—considering how snugly they’d been wrapped up in each other, both tangled in warmth and sleep. that comfort, precious as it was, barely stands a chance once the moon crests so early in the morning.
he’s still trying to hold on to softness when neuvillette rouses slowly beside him. the quiet sighs, the way the other's fingers graze over his ears—none of it truly helps in soothing him. if anything, it only fans the burn and sharpens the edge of his want. but it’s the way neuvillette breathes out his name, still softened by the last dredges of sleep, that does him in completely. wriothesley presses closer, burying himself in the other's arms—not just to steal the comfort, but to grind in deeper, to give in to what his body’s already decided. his kisses grow hungrier, scenting more desperate, as the heat of his cock presses shamelessly against neuvillette’s hip. and he lets the full weight of his body settle over neuvillette, pinning him down with quiet intent.
there’s a flash of teeth, a low huff of a laugh, and when wriothesley finally speaks, his voice curls warm and unhurried by neuvillette’s ear. ]
There you are.
[ there’s no further warning before his hand slips down, fevered and single-minded. he shoves beneath neuvillette’s waistband, fisting both cocks in one rough grip. his moan spills out low by neuvillette’s temple, breath shivering as he nuzzles in close, smearing his scent alongside the precum already slicking both lengths. neuvillette is still blessedly cool—just enough for wriothesley to drag some measure of relief from their closeness, even if it’s a losing game. the more contact they share, the more heat pours off him, cloaking them both in the weight of it. and still, being surrounded by neuvillette in all the ways that matter feels right. it feels like survival. ]
Keep up with me, would you? Just this once.
[ the words come slurred with heat—delirious ramblings that barely string together his usual clarity. but the way his hand works faster now, coaxing, is deliberate. if he’s lucid enough to say anything at all, it’s only to signal neuvillette for the usual hydro slick. and then he’s already moving, already gone—stripping his briefs in one breath, tugging neuvillette's draconic cocks free with the next. in a few slow, fevered beats, he straddles him.
the winter sky hangs low behind his shoulders, pale light from the balcony windows pouring over him. the solstice dimness makes the moon look closer than it should, like it’s watching. and under its glow, wriothesley’s eyes catch dark—blown wide, glassy with need. when he leans forward, the angles of his face are drawn with something hungrier than usual. something that almost looks like surrender.
his breath catches as he grinds back against neuvillette’s groin. there’s a stuttering gasp, a half-snarl of focus as he finds the angle, seats neuvillette’s slimmer, top-most cock between his cheeks, and sinks down slow. there’s no ceremony to it nor words. just the low hiss that breaks from his lips as the initial stretch burns him open. some spit on his palm helps a little, but not enough; as he works it down over the rest of the length he hasn’t taken in yet, bracing, then drops another few inches in a slow shudder.
it’s rare—this look on his face. something naked in the way his brow furrows and his mouth parts around another moan. wriothesley’s rarely this desperate and hardly this willing to outright take or demand. but this morning, he looks every bit the creature he tries to hold back: flushed, greedy, focused only on being filled. and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s stuffed full, hips rocking with dogged intent to take all that neuvillette has to give. ]
( keep up with him? oh, neuvillette will do more than that. it takes him a few moments to clock what is really happening to him, the subtle differences in their present encounter, steeped in distress and desperation, as if wriothesley is being commanded by something more powerful than himself, driven to reckless wanting, and the almost-certain way he will hurt himself to address that painful desire.
neuvillette doesn't question him when the puzzle clicks together into a visual, but he frowns in open concern, startled when his lover sinks down onto his cock without so much as a by-your-leave, scant lubricant. even neuvillette's smaller cock isn't small by any means, and he reaches up to tangle his hand in his hair, cradling the back of his head to pull him down tenderly.
he's here. he's here, dearest. and he will give him everything that he wants. in the sea of wriothesley's desperate need is the certainty of neuvillette's affection, the depth of his love and the awakening primal instincts of his dragonhood. he makes a soft, rumbling sound in response to wriothesley's fierce need, and he flips him onto his back in a swift move. wresting control back from him smoothly, he pulls out of him to push two hydro-slick fingers into him, grinding his cocks against his firmly while he fucks him open.
it won't do for him to hurt himself in his desperation to sate the beast of instinct that roars for completion. he aches to soothe him, feeling the same echo of that desperation in a different way — no, this is his partner, the other half of himself, and neuvillette is needed.
he kisses him deeply, swallowing all words, before he pulls his fingers out and drives the larger cock in unceremoniously, wanting wriothesley to feel it, all of it, every inch of his cock, thick and throbbing and long, sinking deep into him. he's forcing those walls to accommodate him anew, a hand closing around the base of wriothesley's cock to coax out his knot.
against the fever of wriothesley's need, neuvillette's words are calm. commanding. wriothesley is his to have and sate, no other. )
[ something deep inside wriothesley settles with a shuddering, bone-deep sigh when their hips finally meet flush. the jolt of taking it all sends trembling relief through his thighs as they bracket neuvillette’s waist. the burn just beneath his navel lingers, dull at first but layered with such raw heat that wriothesley can't tell whether it comes from the fierce stretch of taking one of neuvillette’s cocks all at once or from the overwhelming release now that his instincts have found its mark. but whatever pain flickers there is swiftly smothered by the heavy warmth that spreads across his shoulders and down his spine, leaving him humming as he slowly begins to rut, easing discomfort into pleasure with the breathless satisfaction of finally being filled by his mate.
for a fleeting stretch of time he is sated—full, grounded and blissfully centered—lifting himself gradually along the length inside him with a rhythm that grows smoother as his tail swishes lazily across neuvillette’s second cock resting beneath it. when neuvillette pulls him forward to settle him against his chest, wriothesley doesn't hesitate to press closer. he noses along the line of neuvillette’s throat and shoulder, drinking in the heady scent that clings to his skin, letting desire guide his teeth to the nearest pulse of warmth. the taste of the other settles on his tongue and wriothesley’s hands roam neuvillette’s chest with greedy certainty. the low churr rising from neuvillette’s torso only encourages him, vibrating through his palms and and the sound of it going straight to his leaking cock.
the shift, when it comes, is swift and decisive. one moment wriothesley is buried in scent and sound, and the next he is flipped onto his back with a strength that steals his breath. the sudden withdrawal of neuviliette’s cock tears a gasp from him—one that dies into a choked and disappointed moan as neuvillette’s fingers replace it, sinking into him with the slick confidence of someone who knows his body intimately. the interruption startles something primal in his own chest and it bristles; instinct rears before thought, and he bares his teeth in a warning he can't swallow down. his muscles tighten, claws dragging against the forearm pinning him, every nerve flaring with the panic of being flipped, denied, emptied so abruptly.
for a heartbeat he is nothing but instinct and agitation, thrashing against the sheets in a frantic effort to reclaim what his body so desperately misses, but then neuvillette kisses him.
the press of lips easily overwhelms the spiraling panic with something steadying and warm. the kiss dismantles his agitation piece by piece, slowing the frantic lift of his chest until he is meeting the kiss with fierce, breath-stealing fervor—chasing neuvillette’s mouth, panting into him, and proving through each desperate brush of lips that he still has bite even when his body trembles. yet his resolve cracks the moment neuvillette presses both heavy lengths against his own cock, the pressure deliberate as they slide along the sensitive underside of him. that single sensation dissolves the last defenses he has, melting his edges into something pliant and hungry.
neuvillette’s fingers spread him open with patience, pressing deeper until wriothesley moans into the kiss, hips rocking helplessly into the touch. when neuvillette finally guides the thicker cock back into him, sliding past softened muscle with slow assurance, wriothesley takes it with an ease so startling it snaps the fog inside his mind like stretched thread.
the moment neuvillette is fully seated inside him, the pressure becomes overwhelming enough to drag him back into himself. his lashes flutter before his gaze lifts, pupils blown wide as his body yields entirely to the one person he trusts enough to break him. and recognition hits him like a shift in gravity: it's neuvillette.
the realization softens him instantly, breaking apart the frantic strength in his grip and dissolving it into something looser, tender, and unguarded. he clings, not to fight, but to hold. a keening sound slips from him before he can stop it, his body trembling as he molds himself to neuvillette’s presence with a vulnerability he would never show in clear daylight. ]
It’s too much this time. [ he manages, voice shredded and head shaking, each word trembling as his body stutters between the slow press of neuvillette’s cock and the choking grip wrapped around his cock. a fierce, aching pressure builds deep inside him—and it takes everything in him to lower his gaze to where neuvillette’s hand tightens around the swollen base of his own cock. ] What—?
[ thankfully, neuvillette moves and thinks for both of them. with a slow thrust, neuvillette drives deeper, pushing past whatever resistance remains and shifting the growing swell into himself with a force that tears at the last traces of coherence in wriothesley’s mind. the shock tears another moan from him, this one raw and pleading, and his hips surge upward of their own accord, desperate to meet the next push. and he impales himself further onto neuvillette’s cock, forcing the swollen knot deeper into neuvillette’s grip, all while chasing a fullness he was not ready for but now needs with every ounce of his being. ]
( neuvillette picks up on that aggression and the way wriothesley protests when he pulls out, more demanding and primal than he's ever been when they coupled. no, this is something entirely new, something powerfully intoxicating that pulls neuvillette further into his orbit. he's the only one who can tame him, who can soothe that roiling demand for more, that fire that threatens to burn him alive.
his wriothesley is in heat, he knows now. perhaps the doing of the moon that casts them in new light and shadow, shielding wriothesley's needy, vulnerable gaze in rippling shades — and he kisses him again, again and again, drunk on that need and feeding that with his own blossoming desire, serpentine instincts twining with canine impetuousness.
letting go of his cock for a few moments, his hands smooth warmly over every inch of skin he can reach, grabbing and kneading the firm globes of his asscheeks, spreading them briefly before pressing them close, feeling the way wriothesley clenches around the base of his cock. right now, that almost painful need is quietened, and neuvillette takes advantage of the reprieve to study him and understand just what his lover needs.
he pulls out so far, only the head of his cock is buried in him, and he thrusts into the slick, slippery clutch of his hole and doesn't pause, launching into an unforgiving rhythm that he knows the duke can take. all wit and tease has fallen apart, and now only desperate action is left, the frenetic coupling of two people who are so compatible that they fit completely.
giving him mercy, neuvillette's hand goes back to grasping his knot, massaging it and stroking along his length, mimicking a hole he can fuck himself into at the same time. his wriothesley, so open and so honest, so much so that neuvillette never wants him to look at anyone else like this. he's the only one that gaze will ever belong to, the only one who can meet his need, thrust for thrust.
he fucks his mate, pounding him fiercely into the mattress and holding him down, second cock trickling pre-cum into the fur of his tail. he doesn't care — wriothesley looks best splattered with spend, with cum oozing out of his hole, completely spent and satisfied. )
No archons,
( neuvillette snarls, low and quiet and possessive. ) only me.
( him, mate and sovereign, the one creature who can soothe this insatiable, feral wolf. his free hand comes to grip his throat, holding him in place. eyes blazing, he nips at his lips and kisses him deeply. )
[ neuvillette’s hand at wriothesley’s throat was the axis around which everything spun—immovable and perfectly positioned so each deep thrust forced wriothesley harder into his grip. the pressure at his throat wasn’t frantic; it was controlled, deliberate, a steady constriction that turned every breath into something earned. his pulse beats wildly beneath neuvillette’s palm, and that only seems to encourage the latter further—his grip tightening until wriothesley’s vision shimmered at the edges. and the lack of air made everything sharper.
neuvillette’s other hand clamped mercilessly around wriothesley’s knot. the swollen base throbbed helplessly in his grip, slick with sweat and pre, trying to swell further—as if desperate to lock and take, even without being inside anyone. he squeezed in slow, devastating pulses, sending shocks tearing through wriothesley’s core. each time the knot jumped, neuvillette seemed to be shaping the knot to his palm, controlling every twitch.
pinned between the choke, the squeeze, and the brutal length driving into him, wriothesley was barely coherent—still reeling from neuvillette’s sudden demand. ]
Yours—mine? Mate, my sov—
[ he stumbles over the words, breath hitching on a moan as neuvillette starts to fuck him in earnest. if wriothesley were more lucid, he might’ve pieced together the cracks in neuvillette’s control—but the heat already had him unraveling. and he moans like the sudden roughness was only barely enough to scratch the itch.
neuvillette’s cock drives into him with fierce, claiming thrusts that made his spine bow. the hand at his throat kept him right where neuvillette wanted: open, breathless, unable to twist away from the rhythm that pounded him into the mattress. his heat made him pliant; every sensation landed harder. and with no air, each movement lit up like a live wire.
so when it hits—when neuvillette squeezes his knot just as he drives in to the hilt—it feels like wriothesley is lit from the inside out.
he comes with a sound barely pushed past the pressure on his throat; a high, broken gasp that splinters into silence as his climax crashes through him. his body seizes under neuvillette, muscles locking tight as the first pulse rips free. the orgasm is blinding, white-hot, spilling from him in thick, desperate spurts that paint across his chest and neuvillette’s stomach.
his knot throbs violently in neuvillette’s grasp, swelling against the firm, unyielding hold—begging to be buried, to lock, to be used. neuvillette’s fingers tighten around the base in a commanding grip that forces another pulse from him—then another, and another—until he’s spent, shuddering, his release painting them both as the mattress trembles beneath him.
his walls clamp down on neuvillette’s cock with hungry desperation, fluttering, milking, dragging him in deeper even when there’s nowhere left to go. the choke around his throat makes his head float, heat roaring through him like a furnace, every nerve pulled taut as his body strains into the grip—as if offering up his pulse. and the only expression wriothesley has left is a litany of hiccuping moans, his tears tracing helpless lines down his cheeks from the force of every thrust. ]
( the splatter of sticky-warm cum on his stomach and wriothesley's chest is delightful. in the haze of his own overwhelming desire, wrapped up in wriothesley's want and pleasure, he loosens his grip on his mate's throat, allowing the rush of air to intensify the experience. mate, a powerful, precise term for who wriothesley has become to him. in moments like these when all coherent thought and all manner of propriety is stripped away, his natural soul and his primal instincts recognize one thing: his mate.
the sight, the smell and taste of him is intoxicating. he releases his grip on his cock only to swipe up some of his sperm, scooping it up with his fingers to suck them off, smearing it on his tongue and letting his teary-eyed lover watch.
neuvillette is relentless nonetheless, fucking him through his orgasm, feeling the glorious clench of his walls, almost as merciless in milking him — but they're not done with each other. wriothesley has barely acknowledged him with a messy jumble of words, sweet and giving, and neuvilette devours him like the finest offering left upon his altar.
he looms above him, grabbing his chin and forcing his mouth open so he can kiss him deeply, suckling on his tongue and making him taste himself. the post-orgasmic sensitivity must be torturous, too, especially when neuvillette only keeps going, massaging the knot to coax him to get hard again.
they're not done with each other, not even a little, and he breaks the kiss only to lap up his tears and croon soft praise in his ear. good boy, good boy, uttered right before he practically folds him in half, tugging his knees to rest on his shoulders so that he can fuck him more deeply.
every lurid slap of his heavy balls against his ass punctuates velvety praise, and every press of the head of his cock to his prostate is deliberate in his ardent fervor, and neuvillette's gaze is locked only on his beloved, besotted with every sweet moan, every cry, every overstimulated squirm. how precious he is when he shivers, lit up and pinned down so that he cannot escape. wriothesley is magnificent in his helplessness, and he smiles, tracing biting kisses down his scarred throat so he can take a nipple into his mouth. )
[ it feels like wriothesley barely has time to feel the end of his climax before neuvillette seizes his hips and drives into him with a strength that steals what little breath he has left. his orgasm is still spilling through his nerves in shooting aftershocks when neuvillette’s cock plunges back home—burying straight into the deep, tender spot that had just been wrung dry. it’s too much, even as wriothesley gasps to catch his breath. but it’s perfect in its cruelty—especially in the way neuvillette fingers through his spend before treating himself to a taste. coupled with an amused look, as if to remind him of their usual running tally of orgasms, wriothesley knows he’ll be made to come again and again—long before neuvillette even chases his first release.
a loud cry breaks open from the center of his chest, sharp and staggering, as his overstimulated walls clench hard around the thick draconic length punishing him with unbroken, uncompromising thrusts. his legs shake when neuvillette hooks his knees over his shoulders and folds him deeper into the bed—each brutal stroke slamming the blunt crown of his cock directly into his prostate with ruthless precision. every thrust perfectly angled to rip sound from his throat.
neuvillette wasn’t easing him through the afterglow. he was fucking him past it. ]
N–nev—ah—!
[ wriothesley gasps, head falling back against the sheets, eyes rolling as his nails rake down neuvillette’s arms in a frantic drag he has no control over. his body arches in a helpless bow under the press of lips and the sharp bite of teeth at his nipple, heat still roaring under his skin. then one stroke makes him seize up in a full-body shudder. he knows that angle and neuvillette does, too. ]
Stay right there—sovereigns—don’t stop—
[ he chokes out, breath ragged, before calloused fingers sink into neuvillette's hair and pull him down more flush against his furred, cum-stained chest. his hips rise in time with the next thrust, even as he trembles beneath the weight of it all.
and when neuvillette obliges his nonsensical pleading—grinding his cock into the tender spot with merciless, focused rhythm—it crawls up wriothesley’s spine in hot, flickering jumps. the pressure builds behind his navel, coils tight around his prostate, and flaring brighter with every deliberate hit. the climax tears out of wriothesley without warning, his cock still limp from the first go between them as come spills out untouched. body spasming around neuvillette’s cock as his vision whites out ahead of his mouth falling open to a stream of wet, shocked cries, and unable to contain the sound of being undone. ]
No—no... I can’t— I just— I’m gonna—
[ his voice splinters into a ragged moan, hands gripping neuvillette’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to stay grounded—cock-drunk, overwhelmed, overstimulated beyond coherence. and yet, every trembling line of his body betrays the truth: the heat makes it easier to beg for more. ]
( he coaxes, low and velvet-rough. despite his savagery in pursuing wriothesley and overloading his senses, meeting that heat-need and overwhelming him with attention and desire, he knows enough to tamper it with tenderness.
he grinds down onto him, hands sliding up the flat of his abdomen to soothe him with a low purr, fingers curling through the furry mat of his chest to squeeze a pectoral lovingly. he still has him, he still cares for him, even though he's essentially fucked him through his second orgasm.
murmuring more low praise about how good he is for him, how sweet and how yielding, he scoops up more cum, this time pressing fingers into his mouth, smearing his seed onto his tongue.
the dragon still throbs inside of him while his mouth searches wriothesley's out in a deep, slow kiss, answering the primeval pull of the moon upon his love, meeting it with every slow, torturous thrust. he isn't pursuing his pleasure just yet, even when the duke's hole is fluttering around his, helpless and desperate. no, he wants to know just how far he can go, when his cock is softened from his second orgasm and he knows it hurts as much as it pleases.
he stills inside of him, balls-deep and twitching, pressed up against his prostate and not moving. )
Hush, I'll take care of you.
( he will. and he will kiss him better, with every breath that he has in his lungs. lips pressing against his, again and again, tongue lapping up his tears and spit, neuvillette hums softly. how fine, how exquisite to taste all of him at once. )
You are truly a gift, Wriothesley.
( he rumbles, low and pleased, before he pulls out of him nice and slow, grasping both cocks to stroke himself, allowing more hydro to lubricate both shafts. he's still painfully hard, curved and long, and neuvillette, this time more merciful than cruel, nudges both cocks against his hole. )
[ wriothesley lies beneath neuvillette in the flushed, shuddering aftermath of being fucked through not one, but two orgasms. his body still twitching with faint, involuntary spasms that ripple through his abdomen whenever neuvillette’s thick cock shifts inside him. and for a long while, all he can do is sink further into the sensation of neuvillette, the other's cock still seated deep against that well-worn bundle of nerves.
in the meantime he cries beautifully behind shut eyes, fresh tears brushed away with a gentle swipe of a tongue. but wriothesley remains aware of fingers combing through the mess of cum-matted fur across his chest, until he turns utterly pliant beneath a heavy kiss tinged with the taste of his own spend. as his body unfurls beneath neuvillette’s weight, he retreats into a quiet corner of his mind—just for a moment—poised on the edge of what feels like the final precipice of clarity. or perhaps it’s the last fragile boundary keeping him distinct from neuvillette.
crossing it would blur everything between them. but with neuvillette at the helm of his undoing, wriothesley finds no cause for alarm in being pushed this far so soon.
so he sobs when the weight of 'again' sinks somewhere past his ribs. not because it’s a question, or because it’s a command, but because it’s simply the reality waiting for him. still, the whimper carries no fear and a contented sigh quickly rises to take its place with the shaky lift of his head into the next rough kiss. only neuvillette can soothe that deep ache to feel wanted and cared for—can quiet the peculiarities of his natural soul, and can still the primal instincts to rut and breed mindlessly, all with the sure command of his hand.
eventually, the dissonance between the three voices clawing at wriothesley for release narrows into a single echoing whine. it pierces the quiet when neuvillette withdraws fully from his abused, fluttering entrance. where his eyes finally blink open, glassy and unfocused, just in time to see neuvillette’s twin cocks—thick, flushed, glistening—nudge once more at his abused rim. his body stills entirely, save for a tremor that travels down his thighs.
wriothesley's pupils dilate further, dark and liquid rather than holding the usual glint of frost, as neuvillette’s voice wraps around him like velvet. the question it carries is gentle, reverent, steeped in hunger and devotion alike. and when he looks up at neuvillette with kiss-bruised lips and tear-wet eyes, his voice is barely more than breath as he whispers: ]
...yes. Claim me. Knot me down. [ it takes a considerable amount of effort to lift his hand between them, but he manages. he squeezes as much of neuvillette’s cocks as he can fit into his trembling grip. the strength is only for show, given how his hold soon softens into worshipful caresses atop the ridges and veins. his fingers eventually trace the swollen rim of his own entrance, and he shivers when he brushes the tender stretch he’s about to endure. ] I want to feel full—wanna be all yours.
( wriothesley melts like the last of winter's frost on spring's first budding flowers, and the difference in the way he beholds neuvillette now compared to their first time is significant, incredible, and everything neuvillette has ever wanted for him. the new shade of softness and vulnerability makes him ache, and he knows how hard-won his trust is, and how precious it is above everything else.
neuvillette spares a few moments to admire him, pressing feather-soft kisses along his cheek and another to his lips, quiet appreciation twined in the roaring instincts of both his natural soul and his own primitive draconic impulses. this is a man who has endured far more than he ought, with scars both physically and emotionally that neuvillette will do everything in his power to soothe.
he knows this now, in the space between words, as they both exist, connected, in the unbearable lightness of their bond. there is no real hurry to rush to the end, not when there is much to enjoy in the process of having each other. his clean hand comes to comb through that fluffy hair, gently toying with his ears, while he urges wriothesley to play with his cocks, to feel them and how hard they are, just for him.
he's grinding into his grip with a quiet purr, pleased to have the man touch and hold him just like this. how precious, to be wanted by wriothesley, to be needed and sought after by a man who has always prided himself on being independent. he tugs him into another sweet kiss, and another, and he grasps his cocks now, brushing over wriothesley's fingers lightly.
both heads are engorged, flushed with almost painful arousal, and as his kiss becomes greedier and more searing in a bid to distract him from the inevitable discomfort, neuvillette pushes into him, careful and slow, making a soft noise when the tight, taut resistance of his hole refuses to grant him easy entrance.
[ wriothesley is nothing more than a simple creature. it’s plain in the way his gaze flutters and breaks, struggling to orient toward anything beyond the two of them and the shared heat of their bed. he tries to return the same gentle touch that coasts through his hair and soothes the base of his ears, though his clean hand only manages to cup neuvillette’s cheek with a kind of clumsy reverence. feeling unsure for a moment whether the soft light outlining neuvillette’s face is the late glow of the solstice sun finally spilling through the curtains or if it’s the subtle glimmer of his sovereign’s rhinophores. regardless, there is nothing left curled beneath neuvillette except a mate entirely undone. wriothesley is captivated by the kind of love that strips him bare and a pleasure so all-consuming he finds no need to resist surrendering. he lets neuvillette guide everything so he can give himself over entirely, anchoring only to the tangle of fingers by neuvillette's nape and the way their tongues meet in unrestrained kisses.
his other hand begins to move lower. he wants to memorize the shape and weight of neuvillette’s twin cocks, to reacquaint himself with every inch of them. the first few careful nudges to his stretched rim steal a sound from his throat. soon after, his hand closes around both shafts, cradling them with unsteady adoration as he gently helps position them. the image alone—of offering himself up to take them both in, without hesitation or demand—sends a tremor through his body. it is the sort of act only a devoted mate would offer so freely.
so when the first cock finds him again, wriothesley exhales in a stuttering breath. he shivers into the kiss, feeling the weight drive deeper, and it startles him how wide his body opens to receive it. his legs lift instinctively to accommodate the fullness, his hips tipping to hopefully ease the stretch. meanwhile neuvillette steadies him with both hands at his waist, grounding him with that same quiet strength that always makes warmth bloom across wriothesley’s chest. and in the low light, every pale scar that crosses his skin becomes starkly visible against the flushed tones of his heat, each mark lit by the pressure and presence filling him again.
it is only when the second cock begins to press in beside the first—slightly thicker near the base, shaped just differently enough to be jarring in contrast—that his entire body tenses in a single, breathless jolt. his mind is still catching up to the sensation, but his body reacts first. his mouth opening around a sound that can't decide if it is a gasp or a moan, but it fades too quickly into breathless noise. every syllable is swallowed against neuvillette’s mouth, taken from him before he can even attempt to speak.
yet neuvillette remains patient with him. he moves slowly, inching the second cock in a little at a time, giving wriothesley’s entrance space to simply yield. when both cocks finally settle inside him, wriothesley arches in a deep, unsteady bow. his chest lifts toward neuvillette’s own, body molded around the stretch in a way that feels both helpless and beautiful. a long, unbroken moan escapes him, soft at the edges, gradually dissolving into broken sobs as the pressure begins to crest into something overwhelming.
his body is entirely occupied. every part of him is filled, shaped around neuvillette’s cock in a way that leaves nothing untouched. the echoes of his earlier orgasms still thrum through his nerves, and they now fold into the dizzying stretch of being split open so deeply. his awareness begins to blur, and the edges of his thoughts softening. his lips part in a slack, hazy expression of surrender, and his breathing slows into warm, rhythmic pulses that stand opposite to the frantic beat of his heart. fresh tears begin to fall, slipping across his temples and into his hair. not from pain, but from the overwhelming intimacy of the moment—of being so fully held, so deeply claimed, and so thoroughly adored in his most vulnerable state.
and just like that, he gives in.
his legs curl tighter around neuvillette’s waist, the crook of his knees pulling him close with instinctive need. both hands rise to thread into the thickness of neuvillette’s hair. he holds him there, drawing him down into another kiss. it is desperate, wet, and breathless, streaked with tears and spit. but through that kiss, wriothesley pours every fragile, aching thing he can no longer articulate—his gratitude, his devotion, and that desire to belong only to neuvillette. ]
( neuvilette savors the exact moment that wriothesley completely yields, so tender and so sweet that it's hard for him to focus. every touch of his hand is magic, and neuvillette has to check the wild need to simply rut into him, to tear and ravage and take his pleasure for himself. even more impossible is the way he feels, suffocating and tight around his twin cocks. neuvillette has gotten his way, bullying into those exquisite depths to enjoy the overwhelming heat of his hole, fitting him like a glove.
he can feel the flutter of his passage echoing the frantic pulse of his heart, relentless in his greed to chase after another high neuvillette knows will take time to achieve. he can't help but hold that soft, needy gaze, breaking it only to lick fresh tears off of him, lapping up his drool to memorize his flavor for himself.
truly, they are one. neuvillette's hungry mouth seeks out the vulnerable hollow of his throat, his hand sliding down to stroke wriothesley's soft cock in order to distract him from the discomfort of having two cocks buried to the hilt within him. with a soft sigh, knuckles brushing over the bulge on his lower abdomen, proof of how snugly he has been taken, he guides him to cling and curl in his arms, to understand that even in the throes of savage passion there is something more powerful that threads their every coupling.
passion. devotion. aching desire. loving affection, and the purest adoration. neuvillette groans, low and quiet, grinding deep against his surely abused prostate, keeping wriothesley on that knife edge as long as he can.
his other hand strokes along the back of his thigh, squeezing lightly as he smiles against scarred flesh, sucking a lovebite that wriothesley cannot hope to cover up with his usual clothes. then he moves up, up, swallowing everything wriothesley offers up to him. his, all his. every inch, every ounce, everything is neuvillette's for the taking.
he takes, pressing his forehead to his before he starts moving, careful and slow. )
You are breathtaking, my Wriothesley. The taste of you... you have made me ravenous, insatiable —
[ by the time neuvillette settles both cocks inside him, wriothesley’s senses dissolve into a slow, flickering drift. as though every part of his awareness has been loosened from its usual moorings and left to float freely, without care or resistance. the room feels distant and hushed, its edges softened to nothing but the steady warmth of neuvillette and the lovely glow of his rhinophores. what remains vivid—achingly so—is the depth of the fullness stretching him open, an enveloping pressure that unfurls through his lower body in widening pulses that steal his breath in long, uneven pulls.
if wriothesley knew the kind of draconic instinct neuvillette now quietly reins in to keep from devouring him outright, he might have held back, or at least clung tighter to the edge of himself instead of surrendering so completely. but he’s never known this kind of safety. never let himself trust anyone enough be guided towards the sentiment to feel it firsthand. and what he finds there is that the world narrows into something wonderfully simple: neuvillette’s warmth pressed to his chest, the shared rhythm of their breaths, the subtle throb where they’re joined, and the tender pulse at his entrance. time unspools, its meaning lost. seconds blur into minutes, and minutes stretch into something quieter still. his thoughts, normally ordered and disciplined, drift like petals across water. he can form words if neuvillette asks for them, but he prefers to let them dissolve before reaching his tongue.
nevertheless, it starts with utterings of “mine” and “yours.” his fingers trace over neuvillette’s shoulders in slow, sweeping arcs, not for leverage but for the warmth that grounds him. then one hand rises to neuvillette’s cheek, brushing sweat-damp skin before his thumb draws across the curve of neuvillette's lower lip—a gesture so soft it borders on dazed reverence. and when neuvillette leans in, lowering their foreheads together, the closeness pulls a whimper from wriothesley, not of pain, but of longing. and he tilts his head to meet the contact, letting the mingled heat of their breath fold around him like an embrace that refuses to let him drift too far. ]
Neuv— right there. Sovereigns above, right there… don’t move…
[ his voice cracks, mouth and thoughts trembling as his eyes roll half-shut. his inner walls clench with tight, fluttering pulses around the twin cocks seated inside him. he clings to neuvillette like a man drowning, breath catching against his dragon’s throat. he can feel them shift—one dragging against his upper wall, the other pressing outward and low—and the sensation builds into something incandescent. he doesn’t need to look between them to know the distention under his navel; he feels it with startling clarity as a broken sob catches in his throat.
and still, nothing about this is painful. if this is love, then he understands it now. it fills him in ways he never imagined, profound and unrelenting, as if he has become a vessel carved for neuvillette to receive precisely this shape, this heat, and this intimate pressure that leaves no part of him untouched.
wriothesley tries to speak again. not to beg, not quite to confess, but to reach for some shape of the vulnerability blooming sharp and tender in his chest. when it comes, his voice is a tremulous murmur, thick with breath and meaning. ]
Please… stay with me. [ another slow, rocking thrust interrupts the words with a hiccupping gasp as wriothesley babbles, open-mouthed and dazed against the corner of neuvillette’s mouth. ] Don’t know where I’m going… but don’t want to go without you.
( he can feel the flutter of his touch, soft like butterfly wings, seeking to memorize him. neuvillette allows it with a soft sigh, partaking of wriothesley's surrender with warm eagerness.
he leans into his fingers, his kiss, stilling as wriothesley asks because as much as neuvillette has the duke under his control, he, too, is at his mercy. he hears his voice track, feeling the younger man fight to accommodate him and get used to being penetrated so completely that it pushes him to his very limit.
he checks the growing, overwhelming desire to move, focusing instead on wriothesley's comfort. this ought to be love, when he and his natural soul are in sync for the very first time, sharing a resonating desire for wriothesley, and a powerful appreciation for the man underneath him. there is no other emotion that can adequately describe the intensity of his compulsions, the depth of his yearning. wriothesley's next words are a litany of longing, his walls broken open to reveal something more precious than gold: trust.
his breath catches, and he brushes his knuckles over his cheek fondly, nudging him into a reassuring kiss. he will honor his trust to the end of his days, and stay by his side, no matter their destination. )
I will, I promise. I shall be by your side, no matter where we go.
( with that offered, he begins to move inside him, slow and careful, wriothesley's cock pinned between both their bodies. )
[ the sigh that slips in the wake of neuvillette's confession isn't one of relief but of unguarded bliss. even with tears falling freely, with mussed hair clinging to his sweat-dampened face, and with the way he lets neuvillette dote on him; gently kissing away the drool that spills across his cheek, wriothesley still finds the strength to simply smile. paired with an out-of-breath chuckle, it’s the last thing he holds before everything he once wore so tightly—the posture, the control, the quiet perception neuvillette has come to know so intimately—begins to melt away. not in a shattering, forceful kind of way, but rather as though he's a puppet whose strings have quietly loosened, leaving him soft and pliant beneath the weight of neuvillette’s love. ]
Yours... yours...
[ whether it’s an echo of neuvillette’s words or his own unraveling sentiment slipping loose in the haze of subspace, wriothesley lets the word hum gently in the space between them. over and over again until he doesn't try to manage himself anymore. his breath stutters, but steadies again, shaped more by neuvillette's hands than by his own intention. when the pressure of each thrust increases, his body yields instinctively, rocking back with lazy effort as the safety and rhythm lull him into a state where broken moans fall without shame or thought.
soon, his head drifts forward and he blinks slowly, the fog behind his eyes thick and warm as he dares a glance down between them. the heat in his belly builds with no urgency, pooling in deep, slow waves that contrast the sharper tempo of their earlier rounds. that warmth spreads outward with such gentle insistence that he doesn't notice his tail moving beneath them at first, slowly curling and brushing against where their bodies stay joined; revealing more than his expression ever could in the way the soiled fur and appendage brush and twitch frantically against neuvillette's leg.
his hand moves without thinking, slipping between them to rest on the soft distension below his navel. his eyes roll back the moment neuvillette thrusts, pressing his hand against the bulge and aiming his lengths up into his palm, the motion forcing both cocks impossibly deep inside. and the pressure steals every last fragment of composure as the muscles of his channel flutter wildly, coaxing sobs from his throat that are no longer filtered or controlled. pleasure tears through him in radiant pulses, too intense to hold back and too complete to fear.
from there his thoughts begin to scatter, pulled apart by sensation until they reduce to impressions that barely carry shape or name. ]
Warm... mn, here. [ his head tips back to bare the length of his throat, body loosening further as his coordination falters in quiet surrender. he rubs slow, absent circles over the swell of his belly, then lets his fingers trail downward to brush the flushed stirrings of his own cock nestled between them. none of it is rushed. everything he does is touched by softness, and when he lifts his gaze to neuvillette again, it’s with a quiet smile that trembles at the edges, adoring and lost. ] More...
[ neuvillette remains the only steady thing wriothesley can cling to—the rhythm of their breathing joined as one, each inhale and exhale syncing as naturally as waves on a shore. even at the faintest tilt of his sovereign’s head, he leans in, pressing their lips together with quiet eagerness. it feels less like seeking and more like being found. the touch of neuvillette’s palm against his cheek keeps him anchored, and he nuzzles into it gratefully, ears flattened in a wordless gesture of devotion. every sigh, every breath, every low sound from neuvillette becomes the axis he orbits around, and in that moment, wriothesley allows himself to be ruled by it completely. ]
( in all of his centuries of existence, neuvillette has never taken to a man quite like this — has never wanted anyone so ferociously, and has never been charmed by one quite like this. the dragon is caught on the curve of his smile, the pliance and ease that comes from having too many orgasms wrung out of him in a punishingly short amount of time, almost.
neuvillette's breath catches when his hand comes to rest over the distension where the man had taken not one, but two of him. buried so deeply, his balls pressed up against his ass, he can't help a soft, soft sound of want, desire building to a powerful, unrelenting instinct. his hand joins wriothesley's, resting atop his before he guides him to massage and squeeze, twitching at the tension it introduces, the inevitable clench of his hole.
down, and down, it's neuvillette that helps to stroke his cock, tender and slow. every move is an intention to worship, to lay his own passion at the altar of his grace, more of a warm coil than a knife-hot pull of passion. his hungry mouth finds the vulnerable hollow of his throat, and neuvillette suckles a lovebite, licking and kissing the vicious bruise he leaves there. one, and again, a necklace of kiss-bruises that he knows wriothesley will have to carry for the next few days.
slowly, slowly, he continues to move within him, carving out a place for himself, marking wriothesley within and without. his clean hand cradles his face as he pulls up for another kiss, slow and tender, lips and tongues twined with each other in a sensuous build toward more. more, together.
he anchors him with a soft sigh, his thrusts longer, slower, dragging his cocks down those incredibly slick walls. he can feel himself getting close, hot and throbbing, twitching inside of him. he wants to come, yearns to fill him up and and watch the duke take both his loads.
neuvillette's gaze is fixed, still, on him, lavender eyes deep and dark with mirroring devotion. )
That's right, you are mine as well, mon cher. Now —
( his words are husky, and he shifts position just a little, pushing up squarely against his prostate. )
— move with me. Come now, easy. Tighten up around me.
[ wriothesley doesn’t realize he’s slipping until his body stops answering him with the same immediacy it always does. it’s round three—he's pushed far beyond the threshold of where he usually regains control—and neuvillette is still moving inside him with that unshakable, drowning steadiness that shreds through every layer of strength or wall he’s ever built for himself. both draconic cocks are working him open in a way nothing could have prepared him for: one buried deep, pulsing with heat and relentless pressure, the other dragging every engorged ridge against the slackened rim of his entrance in a devastating rhythm that keeps him suspended between pleasure and absolute delirium.
his body feels too hot, too heavy, too slow to keep up with the pace. his thighs tremble beneath neuvillette’s weight, his nerves beginning to fray and overload, each hiccupping cry of his spilling out in soft, uneven waves. the exile in him—conditioned to brace, to calculate, to anticipate betrayal—can’t find purchase in this kind of sensation. there is nothing to counter, no blow to block, no pressure to avoid. where every thrust drives straight through him, heading directly for that place where instinct no longer bothers pretending it has control.
it only deepens when neuvillette moves his hand to hold wriothesley’s cock instead of pressing down on the bulge where they’re joined. from there, the shift turns the moment into something rapturous, and wriothesley sobs openly as neuvillette strokes, thrusts, and leans more of his weight atop him to keep the distention anchored. when he throws his head back to scream, it peters off into a tear-stained mewl the moment neuvillette adds bruising kisses onto the sensitive scar tissue that decorates his throat
the weight of neuvillette’s body, the heat of him, the flex of the muscles bracketing him in—every part of it folds around wriothesley until the room turns quiet and far away. his thoughts no longer run in coherent lines; instead, they collapse into pulses of sensation and base wants. deep. more. stay. don’t stop. don’t let me fall. mere words that flicker through him like embers, glowing briefly as a reverent stare before melting into the unfocused haze swallowing his awareness.
eventually, wriothesley’s world narrows to the two points of contact inside him and the grounding weight above him. the rest of the room around them fades, to where even his own voice sounds distant. his name could be spoken and he wouldn’t respond, because the part of him that speaks is drifting somewhere below his ribs, floating in a thick, velvety dark full of heat and surrender that doesn’t need any explanation.
and there, finally, wriothesley lets his consciousness go completely, dropping weightless and warm into the deep subspace neuvillette has been leading him toward for three rounds straight. he is gone, beautifully and utterly, in the way only neuvillette ever manages to draw out of him. his orgasm isn’t sharp or clean—it’s the hard, full-body clench of his channel, that leaves his abdomen locking in gasping moans beneath their hands. especially the one gripping his cock, where it twitches pathetically in neuvillette’s palm, drawing more sobs from wriothesley as he spills almost nothing, nearly cumming dry.
from there, wriothesley’s body continues without conscious thought, and neuvillette feels each reaction like a tide pulling at his own bones. wriothesley’s hips lift in small, uncoordinated movements, trying to meet each slow thrust with the instinct of someone whose body hasn’t yet realized his mind is already gone. the muscles that once flexed now shiver under neuvillette’s touch, softening around him as though the tension that used to define him has given way into something unguarded. when neuvillette pushes deeper, wriothesley exhales a broken sound against the sheets—a breath that catches and dissolves as his body tightens around both shafts with a reflexive clutch that pulls neuvillette even deeper into him. it is involuntary, primal, and nakedly honest.
even as wriothesley continues to stare upward, vacant and unseeing. his hips keep moving, unconsciously answering neuvillette’s every motion as if it’s the only thing he still knows how to do. ]
( wriothesley's heat howls for him, begs deliverance, and the dragon delivers with overwhelming devotion. it is that devotion that sees him push wriothesley far beyond what any human can endure, penetrated by twin dicks, and pushed past the edge over and over again before he even has time to recover.
and he can see how it fractures wriothesley from the inside, when he cannot escape from neuvillette's ardor, and all he can do is take, takes and take. he hears the sob, wrecked and broken, poured out and filled with the heat and honey of neuvillette's passion as he fucks him steadily — in, out, in out, again, again, pressing up all the intimate spaces within him and claiming him for himself.
he sees the light dim in those beautiful eyes, how wriothesley is swept out with him, certain with the tide. he cradles the back of his head then, captures his mouth in a kiss that speaks of unspoken affection, the blazing heat of a man discovering what worshiping another truly feels like. )
Look at me. I'm —
( he guides him to cling to him, and the final tightening, the clutch of him is what tips him over in a wordless cry, his name caught in his throat when neuvillette's orgasm finally hits him — powerful, unrelenting; thick, sticky spurts of warm cum gushing inside of him. pulse after pulse, thickly coating his walls and all the way inside, filling him up and slowly softening, until his seed oozes out of him and onto the sheets. neuvillette shudders, overcome by the force of his orgasm, lips tracing the outline of his name. )
[ it’s a shame wriothesley isn’t cognizant enough to process what’s happening around him, let alone catch the sound of neuvillette’s voice when it finally breaks and breathes his name at the height of climax. instead he's somewhere far removed from thought, weightless and quiet, though his body hasn’t quite stopped responding to neuvillette's movements. he yields to the deep press of lips against his slackened mouth, where the rest of his body softens instinctively, and he trails the barest of scratches down neuvillette’s arm—not as a gesture of intent, but simply as the last of his strength slipping loose from his fingers. his legs had long since fallen apart around neuvillette's hips, relaxed and pliant beneath the pressure of being opened so completely, and now his arms falter as well; no longer able to hold the shape neuvillette had coaxed him to keep a grip of.
then, somewhere inside, he registers the shift in weight. the slow swell beneath his navel as the full depth of neuvillette’s cum settles into him causes a quiet ripple across his abdomen, just enough to make his overstretched rim tighten around the twin cocks still lodged inside. it's not pain that pulls at his nerves, but the unfamiliar sensation of being made to hold more than what ought to be possible, of being filled to the point of overflow and yet still clenching to keep it close. it’s that lingering tremor of muscle, acting on its own, that begins to draw the rest of him back from where he drifted.
the world doesn’t return all at once, but rather it begins with the weight of the dark, thick and still around him, is a sort of heaviness that tells him the day has long since slipped away. any faint clarity that follows comes in flickers—the feel of clean sheets beneath his palms, the cool air that brushes over the sweat on his skin, the soft give of the mattress as his hips shift slightly to one side. he blinks once, then again, and exhales a quiet 'oh' without meaning to when a warm trickle spills past the edge of his abused rim and slicks across the back of his thigh. the breath he gives is low and full of realization, and it’s only after the sound escapes him that he understands what it means.
there’s no thought behind the next motion, only a desperate need that takes shape in the hollow space left behind. he brings his hand down between his thighs with slow precision, fingers dragging through the mess already leaking out, and presses in just enough to try and coax some of it back. it doesn’t work. wriothesley knows it won’t. and yet the rest of him stays still, as if moving too much might break whatever fragile hold he has on himself.
but the pressure against his rim does little to stop the creeping edge of something more complicated than shame. the gesture might be instinctive, born from the heat of rut and the echo of mating, but the ache that unfurls in his chest can't be so easily explained. it burns without warning, as though the weight of having been wanted so deeply is somehow too heavy to carry now that the moment has passed. and so wriothesley draws his hand back and rests it flat over his sternum, not to brace, but to soothe, pressing down in an attempt to calm the irregular rhythm of his breathing. the gesture is neither dramatic nor desperate, but it carries with it the quiet admission of something unsettled.
wriothesley doesn’t cry, doesn’t tremble or flinch, but there’s a tension building low in his belly that refuses to ease no matter how still he lies. the intimacy of what has passed lingers in the air, thick and warm, but it does nothing to shield him from the sudden onset of doubt—the kind that creeps in after affection and makes him question why the afterglow feels lonelier than it should. ]
( neuvillette feels it before he sees it — the way exhaustion sets deep in his bones, the muted reception of neuvillette's ejaculate spilling inside of him, claiming wriothesley for himself. there is the way he tries to keep all of his seed inside, fruitless, but no less sincere.
wriothesley moves on autopilot, almost, pushed into a space that neuvillette is only beginning to have a concept of. there is a distance in his eyes and a pliance in the way he holds him that surprises neuvillette, and he can't help but snag his cum-stained hand to lift it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. one more. another. another. he kisses those rough knuckles, the warmth of his palm.
the tension ripples around him, and neuvillette can't help but frown, cupping his face with the other hand. those eyes are distant, unfocused, and too vulnerable at the very same time. wriothesley is retreating, and he doesn't know why. )
My Wriothesley. ( he says quietly, his gaze searching, concerned. ) Look at me. Return to me.
[ wriothesley is slow to rouse from sleep, his mind rising through what feels like warm layers of water—where each one resists him in a different way and scatters his thoughts in soft, unsteady waves. nothing in him feels aligned or coordinated. where his gaze is fixed on some point beyond their walls, openly adrift in the early pull of troubling thoughts. when neuvillette laves gentle affection onto his soiled hand, it stirs only a few faint twitches—more reflex than intent. and the more he tries to carry himself as he should, composed and self-aware, the more clearly he seems lost, unable to find the footing of his usual mental clarity. ]
How— [ it isn't quite a word, but more a hollow rasp that slips out before he can catch it. even he seems faintly surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds after crying beneath neuvillette, though the realization doesn't reach his face for a long moment. ] How long has it been? Did I sleep past lunch? Did we already eat?
[ his questions fall one after the other in a muted, unsure rhythm, each one barely catching its breath before the next. his brow furrows as his eyes fall shut, the motion guided by a touch that gently redirects his gaze forward—toward something he can’t quite parse yet. when wriothesley tries to rub at his temples to soothe himself, his fingers clumsily knock against the steady warmth of neuvillette’s hand already resting there to show he's caught him during the lapse. it’s only then, in that small moment, that he truly registers the other man's presence. but the awareness remains dim at the edges, his senses still dulled and uncooperative. and so wriothesley brushes past the offered comfort and rubs at his eyes roughly, as if he might scrub himself back into a version that feels at little more steady. ]
Neuvillette... What happened to me? [ wriothesley shifts, uneasy, as he tries to piece together the scene; but the memories are half-formed, his mind dulled and padded, as if everything had been wrapped in too many layers to reach anything clearly. ] I remember, but only in parts.
[ he doesn’t look up—not yet. not until he can string it all together. or at least, that’s the reason he gives himself. but beneath the pause, something heavier lingers: a quiet, aching sense of being hollowed out, where in its place sits the silent pull of a longing he can’t yet name. the need for reassurance presses under his ribs like a dense weight, and no less urgent for being wordless. ]
( he's coming back, returning like the sunrise that has graced them a lifetime ago. he's certain they have gone beyond that and up until lunch, every hour spent tangled in him just scant minutes. neuvillette watches him unfurl, sluggish and exhausted, and wonders if he has gone too far feeding that heat-induced frenzy.
his exhaustion sits comfortably in his bones, and the familiar weight and shape of his lover in his arms has him more relaxed than concerned. whatever this is, the way he had slipped away from him earlier, compliant and obedient, they can figure it out. he soothes him then, petting his hair and running his fingers through it, keeping their limbs tangled together. it surprises him that wriothesley had been pushed so far, and he can't help the relief when his questions fill the spaces between them.
he presses a soft kiss to his forehead, instinctively moving to soothe his unease with light touches and more kisses, keeping him cradled in his arms. time to untangle some of these threads, first. )
You're all right, mon cher. You are back with me now, and I shall prepare lunch for us soon. What is it that you remember? Perhaps we can start from there.
[ there’s something in him that reflexively bristles at the sound of neuvillette’s voice at first. how the other sounds far too composed—far more rightly himself—while wriothesley is left grasping at fractured recollections that eventually blur into sensations rather than anything that's truly discernible in his mind’s eye.
maybe he spends a little too much effort trying to sincerely answer neuvillette’s question—not to give anything coherent for now, but more to use it as an anchor. something to hold onto while working through the frustration and fog of a mental crash he still can’t make sense of yet. and for a moment, the closeness between them feels like too much. especially when nerves fire beneath neuvillette’s fingers, right at the sensitive spot just below the crown of his head—leaving him shivering and raw, like an exposed nerve still being scratched open.
even under the press of soothing kisses and touch, wriothesley sinks deeper into their bed—a little more inward, his brow furrowing instead. he huffs before his ears flatten in exhaustion, and finally, he speaks: ]
It started when I woke up—felt hotter than usual. We knew it’d be another full moon, but it’s never felt like that for me.
[ it isn’t a ‘what do you remember’ so much as a challenge he’s set for himself—to piece everything together from the start. ]
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forward dated to 1/3; immediate cw for more old man yaois
▌ cw: jan 3 supermoon, wolf moon, and start of breeding months "No! No! No!" - berleezy, 2022
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at least, when they aren't busy defiling the bed and having to launder fresh sheets every time.
this night, neuvillette sleeps deeply, an arm wrapped possessively around wriothesley and his face tucked into the crook of his shoulder. when wriothesley moves, restless and squirming, he exhales and loosens his grip, still caught up in sleep and unfortunately unmindful of the younger man's distress. he barely hears him call his name, but that warm tongue, hungry and eager, begins to stir him into burgeoning wakefulness.
the process is slow, but steady, and when his beloved pleads for him so sweetly and moans, as if swept up in something that neuvillette has no comprehension of, neuvillette blinks sleepily, his hand coming to curl in his hair, massaging an ear to soothe him. )
Wriothesley, darling — ( is he rutting against him? his sleep-fogged voice is thick, almost slurring, but neuvillette is blinking, a touch more concerned than tired. his other hand comes down to rest on his waist, rolling his hips lightly to indulge, but nonetheless confused. he would've enjoyed this, if not for the distress that's rolling off of the other. ) what's the matter?
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he’s still trying to hold on to softness when neuvillette rouses slowly beside him. the quiet sighs, the way the other's fingers graze over his ears—none of it truly helps in soothing him. if anything, it only fans the burn and sharpens the edge of his want. but it’s the way neuvillette breathes out his name, still softened by the last dredges of sleep, that does him in completely. wriothesley presses closer, burying himself in the other's arms—not just to steal the comfort, but to grind in deeper, to give in to what his body’s already decided. his kisses grow hungrier, scenting more desperate, as the heat of his cock presses shamelessly against neuvillette’s hip. and he lets the full weight of his body settle over neuvillette, pinning him down with quiet intent.
there’s a flash of teeth, a low huff of a laugh, and when wriothesley finally speaks, his voice curls warm and unhurried by neuvillette’s ear. ]
There you are.
[ there’s no further warning before his hand slips down, fevered and single-minded. he shoves beneath neuvillette’s waistband, fisting both cocks in one rough grip. his moan spills out low by neuvillette’s temple, breath shivering as he nuzzles in close, smearing his scent alongside the precum already slicking both lengths. neuvillette is still blessedly cool—just enough for wriothesley to drag some measure of relief from their closeness, even if it’s a losing game. the more contact they share, the more heat pours off him, cloaking them both in the weight of it. and still, being surrounded by neuvillette in all the ways that matter feels right. it feels like survival. ]
Keep up with me, would you? Just this once.
[ the words come slurred with heat—delirious ramblings that barely string together his usual clarity. but the way his hand works faster now, coaxing, is deliberate. if he’s lucid enough to say anything at all, it’s only to signal neuvillette for the usual hydro slick. and then he’s already moving, already gone—stripping his briefs in one breath, tugging neuvillette's draconic cocks free with the next. in a few slow, fevered beats, he straddles him.
the winter sky hangs low behind his shoulders, pale light from the balcony windows pouring over him. the solstice dimness makes the moon look closer than it should, like it’s watching. and under its glow, wriothesley’s eyes catch dark—blown wide, glassy with need. when he leans forward, the angles of his face are drawn with something hungrier than usual. something that almost looks like surrender.
his breath catches as he grinds back against neuvillette’s groin. there’s a stuttering gasp, a half-snarl of focus as he finds the angle, seats neuvillette’s slimmer, top-most cock between his cheeks, and sinks down slow. there’s no ceremony to it nor words. just the low hiss that breaks from his lips as the initial stretch burns him open. some spit on his palm helps a little, but not enough; as he works it down over the rest of the length he hasn’t taken in yet, bracing, then drops another few inches in a slow shudder.
it’s rare—this look on his face. something naked in the way his brow furrows and his mouth parts around another moan. wriothesley’s rarely this desperate and hardly this willing to outright take or demand. but this morning, he looks every bit the creature he tries to hold back: flushed, greedy, focused only on being filled. and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s stuffed full, hips rocking with dogged intent to take all that neuvillette has to give. ]
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neuvillette doesn't question him when the puzzle clicks together into a visual, but he frowns in open concern, startled when his lover sinks down onto his cock without so much as a by-your-leave, scant lubricant. even neuvillette's smaller cock isn't small by any means, and he reaches up to tangle his hand in his hair, cradling the back of his head to pull him down tenderly.
he's here. he's here, dearest. and he will give him everything that he wants. in the sea of wriothesley's desperate need is the certainty of neuvillette's affection, the depth of his love and the awakening primal instincts of his dragonhood. he makes a soft, rumbling sound in response to wriothesley's fierce need, and he flips him onto his back in a swift move. wresting control back from him smoothly, he pulls out of him to push two hydro-slick fingers into him, grinding his cocks against his firmly while he fucks him open.
it won't do for him to hurt himself in his desperation to sate the beast of instinct that roars for completion. he aches to soothe him, feeling the same echo of that desperation in a different way — no, this is his partner, the other half of himself, and neuvillette is needed.
he kisses him deeply, swallowing all words, before he pulls his fingers out and drives the larger cock in unceremoniously, wanting wriothesley to feel it, all of it, every inch of his cock, thick and throbbing and long, sinking deep into him. he's forcing those walls to accommodate him anew, a hand closing around the base of wriothesley's cock to coax out his knot.
against the fever of wriothesley's need, neuvillette's words are calm. commanding. wriothesley is his to have and sate, no other. )
I have you, mon chere. Give yourself to me.
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for a fleeting stretch of time he is sated—full, grounded and blissfully centered—lifting himself gradually along the length inside him with a rhythm that grows smoother as his tail swishes lazily across neuvillette’s second cock resting beneath it. when neuvillette pulls him forward to settle him against his chest, wriothesley doesn't hesitate to press closer. he noses along the line of neuvillette’s throat and shoulder, drinking in the heady scent that clings to his skin, letting desire guide his teeth to the nearest pulse of warmth. the taste of the other settles on his tongue and wriothesley’s hands roam neuvillette’s chest with greedy certainty. the low churr rising from neuvillette’s torso only encourages him, vibrating through his palms and and the sound of it going straight to his leaking cock.
the shift, when it comes, is swift and decisive. one moment wriothesley is buried in scent and sound, and the next he is flipped onto his back with a strength that steals his breath. the sudden withdrawal of neuviliette’s cock tears a gasp from him—one that dies into a choked and disappointed moan as neuvillette’s fingers replace it, sinking into him with the slick confidence of someone who knows his body intimately. the interruption startles something primal in his own chest and it bristles; instinct rears before thought, and he bares his teeth in a warning he can't swallow down. his muscles tighten, claws dragging against the forearm pinning him, every nerve flaring with the panic of being flipped, denied, emptied so abruptly.
for a heartbeat he is nothing but instinct and agitation, thrashing against the sheets in a frantic effort to reclaim what his body so desperately misses, but then neuvillette kisses him.
the press of lips easily overwhelms the spiraling panic with something steadying and warm. the kiss dismantles his agitation piece by piece, slowing the frantic lift of his chest until he is meeting the kiss with fierce, breath-stealing fervor—chasing neuvillette’s mouth, panting into him, and proving through each desperate brush of lips that he still has bite even when his body trembles. yet his resolve cracks the moment neuvillette presses both heavy lengths against his own cock, the pressure deliberate as they slide along the sensitive underside of him. that single sensation dissolves the last defenses he has, melting his edges into something pliant and hungry.
neuvillette’s fingers spread him open with patience, pressing deeper until wriothesley moans into the kiss, hips rocking helplessly into the touch. when neuvillette finally guides the thicker cock back into him, sliding past softened muscle with slow assurance, wriothesley takes it with an ease so startling it snaps the fog inside his mind like stretched thread.
the moment neuvillette is fully seated inside him, the pressure becomes overwhelming enough to drag him back into himself. his lashes flutter before his gaze lifts, pupils blown wide as his body yields entirely to the one person he trusts enough to break him. and recognition hits him like a shift in gravity: it's neuvillette.
the realization softens him instantly, breaking apart the frantic strength in his grip and dissolving it into something looser, tender, and unguarded. he clings, not to fight, but to hold. a keening sound slips from him before he can stop it, his body trembling as he molds himself to neuvillette’s presence with a vulnerability he would never show in clear daylight. ]
It’s too much this time. [ he manages, voice shredded and head shaking, each word trembling as his body stutters between the slow press of neuvillette’s cock and the choking grip wrapped around his cock. a fierce, aching pressure builds deep inside him—and it takes everything in him to lower his gaze to where neuvillette’s hand tightens around the swollen base of his own cock. ] What—?
[ thankfully, neuvillette moves and thinks for both of them. with a slow thrust, neuvillette drives deeper, pushing past whatever resistance remains and shifting the growing swell into himself with a force that tears at the last traces of coherence in wriothesley’s mind. the shock tears another moan from him, this one raw and pleading, and his hips surge upward of their own accord, desperate to meet the next push. and he impales himself further onto neuvillette’s cock, forcing the swollen knot deeper into neuvillette’s grip, all while chasing a fullness he was not ready for but now needs with every ounce of his being. ]
Archons, Neuvillette... More.
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his wriothesley is in heat, he knows now. perhaps the doing of the moon that casts them in new light and shadow, shielding wriothesley's needy, vulnerable gaze in rippling shades — and he kisses him again, again and again, drunk on that need and feeding that with his own blossoming desire, serpentine instincts twining with canine impetuousness.
letting go of his cock for a few moments, his hands smooth warmly over every inch of skin he can reach, grabbing and kneading the firm globes of his asscheeks, spreading them briefly before pressing them close, feeling the way wriothesley clenches around the base of his cock. right now, that almost painful need is quietened, and neuvillette takes advantage of the reprieve to study him and understand just what his lover needs.
he pulls out so far, only the head of his cock is buried in him, and he thrusts into the slick, slippery clutch of his hole and doesn't pause, launching into an unforgiving rhythm that he knows the duke can take. all wit and tease has fallen apart, and now only desperate action is left, the frenetic coupling of two people who are so compatible that they fit completely.
giving him mercy, neuvillette's hand goes back to grasping his knot, massaging it and stroking along his length, mimicking a hole he can fuck himself into at the same time. his wriothesley, so open and so honest, so much so that neuvillette never wants him to look at anyone else like this. he's the only one that gaze will ever belong to, the only one who can meet his need, thrust for thrust.
he fucks his mate, pounding him fiercely into the mattress and holding him down, second cock trickling pre-cum into the fur of his tail. he doesn't care — wriothesley looks best splattered with spend, with cum oozing out of his hole, completely spent and satisfied. )
No archons,
( neuvillette snarls, low and quiet and possessive. ) only me.
( him, mate and sovereign, the one creature who can soothe this insatiable, feral wolf. his free hand comes to grip his throat, holding him in place. eyes blazing, he nips at his lips and kisses him deeply. )
I'm the only one who has you. Say it.
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neuvillette’s other hand clamped mercilessly around wriothesley’s knot. the swollen base throbbed helplessly in his grip, slick with sweat and pre, trying to swell further—as if desperate to lock and take, even without being inside anyone. he squeezed in slow, devastating pulses, sending shocks tearing through wriothesley’s core. each time the knot jumped, neuvillette seemed to be shaping the knot to his palm, controlling every twitch.
pinned between the choke, the squeeze, and the brutal length driving into him, wriothesley was barely coherent—still reeling from neuvillette’s sudden demand. ]
Yours—mine? Mate, my sov—
[ he stumbles over the words, breath hitching on a moan as neuvillette starts to fuck him in earnest. if wriothesley were more lucid, he might’ve pieced together the cracks in neuvillette’s control—but the heat already had him unraveling. and he moans like the sudden roughness was only barely enough to scratch the itch.
neuvillette’s cock drives into him with fierce, claiming thrusts that made his spine bow. the hand at his throat kept him right where neuvillette wanted: open, breathless, unable to twist away from the rhythm that pounded him into the mattress. his heat made him pliant; every sensation landed harder. and with no air, each movement lit up like a live wire.
so when it hits—when neuvillette squeezes his knot just as he drives in to the hilt—it feels like wriothesley is lit from the inside out.
he comes with a sound barely pushed past the pressure on his throat; a high, broken gasp that splinters into silence as his climax crashes through him. his body seizes under neuvillette, muscles locking tight as the first pulse rips free. the orgasm is blinding, white-hot, spilling from him in thick, desperate spurts that paint across his chest and neuvillette’s stomach.
his knot throbs violently in neuvillette’s grasp, swelling against the firm, unyielding hold—begging to be buried, to lock, to be used. neuvillette’s fingers tighten around the base in a commanding grip that forces another pulse from him—then another, and another—until he’s spent, shuddering, his release painting them both as the mattress trembles beneath him.
his walls clamp down on neuvillette’s cock with hungry desperation, fluttering, milking, dragging him in deeper even when there’s nowhere left to go. the choke around his throat makes his head float, heat roaring through him like a furnace, every nerve pulled taut as his body strains into the grip—as if offering up his pulse. and the only expression wriothesley has left is a litany of hiccuping moans, his tears tracing helpless lines down his cheeks from the force of every thrust. ]
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the sight, the smell and taste of him is intoxicating. he releases his grip on his cock only to swipe up some of his sperm, scooping it up with his fingers to suck them off, smearing it on his tongue and letting his teary-eyed lover watch.
neuvillette is relentless nonetheless, fucking him through his orgasm, feeling the glorious clench of his walls, almost as merciless in milking him — but they're not done with each other. wriothesley has barely acknowledged him with a messy jumble of words, sweet and giving, and neuvilette devours him like the finest offering left upon his altar.
he looms above him, grabbing his chin and forcing his mouth open so he can kiss him deeply, suckling on his tongue and making him taste himself. the post-orgasmic sensitivity must be torturous, too, especially when neuvillette only keeps going, massaging the knot to coax him to get hard again.
they're not done with each other, not even a little, and he breaks the kiss only to lap up his tears and croon soft praise in his ear. good boy, good boy, uttered right before he practically folds him in half, tugging his knees to rest on his shoulders so that he can fuck him more deeply.
every lurid slap of his heavy balls against his ass punctuates velvety praise, and every press of the head of his cock to his prostate is deliberate in his ardent fervor, and neuvillette's gaze is locked only on his beloved, besotted with every sweet moan, every cry, every overstimulated squirm. how precious he is when he shivers, lit up and pinned down so that he cannot escape. wriothesley is magnificent in his helplessness, and he smiles, tracing biting kisses down his scarred throat so he can take a nipple into his mouth. )
We are not finished. Cry out for me.
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a loud cry breaks open from the center of his chest, sharp and staggering, as his overstimulated walls clench hard around the thick draconic length punishing him with unbroken, uncompromising thrusts. his legs shake when neuvillette hooks his knees over his shoulders and folds him deeper into the bed—each brutal stroke slamming the blunt crown of his cock directly into his prostate with ruthless precision. every thrust perfectly angled to rip sound from his throat.
neuvillette wasn’t easing him through the afterglow. he was fucking him past it. ]
N–nev—ah—!
[ wriothesley gasps, head falling back against the sheets, eyes rolling as his nails rake down neuvillette’s arms in a frantic drag he has no control over. his body arches in a helpless bow under the press of lips and the sharp bite of teeth at his nipple, heat still roaring under his skin. then one stroke makes him seize up in a full-body shudder. he knows that angle and neuvillette does, too. ]
Stay right there—sovereigns—don’t stop—
[ he chokes out, breath ragged, before calloused fingers sink into neuvillette's hair and pull him down more flush against his furred, cum-stained chest. his hips rise in time with the next thrust, even as he trembles beneath the weight of it all.
and when neuvillette obliges his nonsensical pleading—grinding his cock into the tender spot with merciless, focused rhythm—it crawls up wriothesley’s spine in hot, flickering jumps. the pressure builds behind his navel, coils tight around his prostate, and flaring brighter with every deliberate hit. the climax tears out of wriothesley without warning, his cock still limp from the first go between them as come spills out untouched. body spasming around neuvillette’s cock as his vision whites out ahead of his mouth falling open to a stream of wet, shocked cries, and unable to contain the sound of being undone. ]
No—no... I can’t— I just— I’m gonna—
[ his voice splinters into a ragged moan, hands gripping neuvillette’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to stay grounded—cock-drunk, overwhelmed, overstimulated beyond coherence. and yet, every trembling line of his body betrays the truth: the heat makes it easier to beg for more. ]
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( he coaxes, low and velvet-rough. despite his savagery in pursuing wriothesley and overloading his senses, meeting that heat-need and overwhelming him with attention and desire, he knows enough to tamper it with tenderness.
he grinds down onto him, hands sliding up the flat of his abdomen to soothe him with a low purr, fingers curling through the furry mat of his chest to squeeze a pectoral lovingly. he still has him, he still cares for him, even though he's essentially fucked him through his second orgasm.
murmuring more low praise about how good he is for him, how sweet and how yielding, he scoops up more cum, this time pressing fingers into his mouth, smearing his seed onto his tongue.
the dragon still throbs inside of him while his mouth searches wriothesley's out in a deep, slow kiss, answering the primeval pull of the moon upon his love, meeting it with every slow, torturous thrust. he isn't pursuing his pleasure just yet, even when the duke's hole is fluttering around his, helpless and desperate. no, he wants to know just how far he can go, when his cock is softened from his second orgasm and he knows it hurts as much as it pleases.
he stills inside of him, balls-deep and twitching, pressed up against his prostate and not moving. )
Hush, I'll take care of you.
( he will. and he will kiss him better, with every breath that he has in his lungs. lips pressing against his, again and again, tongue lapping up his tears and spit, neuvillette hums softly. how fine, how exquisite to taste all of him at once. )
You are truly a gift, Wriothesley.
( he rumbles, low and pleased, before he pulls out of him nice and slow, grasping both cocks to stroke himself, allowing more hydro to lubricate both shafts. he's still painfully hard, curved and long, and neuvillette, this time more merciful than cruel, nudges both cocks against his hole. )
Can you take both this time?
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in the meantime he cries beautifully behind shut eyes, fresh tears brushed away with a gentle swipe of a tongue. but wriothesley remains aware of fingers combing through the mess of cum-matted fur across his chest, until he turns utterly pliant beneath a heavy kiss tinged with the taste of his own spend. as his body unfurls beneath neuvillette’s weight, he retreats into a quiet corner of his mind—just for a moment—poised on the edge of what feels like the final precipice of clarity. or perhaps it’s the last fragile boundary keeping him distinct from neuvillette.
crossing it would blur everything between them. but with neuvillette at the helm of his undoing, wriothesley finds no cause for alarm in being pushed this far so soon.
so he sobs when the weight of 'again' sinks somewhere past his ribs. not because it’s a question, or because it’s a command, but because it’s simply the reality waiting for him. still, the whimper carries no fear and a contented sigh quickly rises to take its place with the shaky lift of his head into the next rough kiss. only neuvillette can soothe that deep ache to feel wanted and cared for—can quiet the peculiarities of his natural soul, and can still the primal instincts to rut and breed mindlessly, all with the sure command of his hand.
eventually, the dissonance between the three voices clawing at wriothesley for release narrows into a single echoing whine. it pierces the quiet when neuvillette withdraws fully from his abused, fluttering entrance. where his eyes finally blink open, glassy and unfocused, just in time to see neuvillette’s twin cocks—thick, flushed, glistening—nudge once more at his abused rim. his body stills entirely, save for a tremor that travels down his thighs.
wriothesley's pupils dilate further, dark and liquid rather than holding the usual glint of frost, as neuvillette’s voice wraps around him like velvet. the question it carries is gentle, reverent, steeped in hunger and devotion alike. and when he looks up at neuvillette with kiss-bruised lips and tear-wet eyes, his voice is barely more than breath as he whispers: ]
...yes. Claim me. Knot me down. [ it takes a considerable amount of effort to lift his hand between them, but he manages. he squeezes as much of neuvillette’s cocks as he can fit into his trembling grip. the strength is only for show, given how his hold soon softens into worshipful caresses atop the ridges and veins. his fingers eventually trace the swollen rim of his own entrance, and he shivers when he brushes the tender stretch he’s about to endure. ] I want to feel full—wanna be all yours.
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neuvillette spares a few moments to admire him, pressing feather-soft kisses along his cheek and another to his lips, quiet appreciation twined in the roaring instincts of both his natural soul and his own primitive draconic impulses. this is a man who has endured far more than he ought, with scars both physically and emotionally that neuvillette will do everything in his power to soothe.
he knows this now, in the space between words, as they both exist, connected, in the unbearable lightness of their bond. there is no real hurry to rush to the end, not when there is much to enjoy in the process of having each other. his clean hand comes to comb through that fluffy hair, gently toying with his ears, while he urges wriothesley to play with his cocks, to feel them and how hard they are, just for him.
he's grinding into his grip with a quiet purr, pleased to have the man touch and hold him just like this. how precious, to be wanted by wriothesley, to be needed and sought after by a man who has always prided himself on being independent. he tugs him into another sweet kiss, and another, and he grasps his cocks now, brushing over wriothesley's fingers lightly.
both heads are engorged, flushed with almost painful arousal, and as his kiss becomes greedier and more searing in a bid to distract him from the inevitable discomfort, neuvillette pushes into him, careful and slow, making a soft noise when the tight, taut resistance of his hole refuses to grant him easy entrance.
tight. so tight. )
no subject
his other hand begins to move lower. he wants to memorize the shape and weight of neuvillette’s twin cocks, to reacquaint himself with every inch of them. the first few careful nudges to his stretched rim steal a sound from his throat. soon after, his hand closes around both shafts, cradling them with unsteady adoration as he gently helps position them. the image alone—of offering himself up to take them both in, without hesitation or demand—sends a tremor through his body. it is the sort of act only a devoted mate would offer so freely.
so when the first cock finds him again, wriothesley exhales in a stuttering breath. he shivers into the kiss, feeling the weight drive deeper, and it startles him how wide his body opens to receive it. his legs lift instinctively to accommodate the fullness, his hips tipping to hopefully ease the stretch. meanwhile neuvillette steadies him with both hands at his waist, grounding him with that same quiet strength that always makes warmth bloom across wriothesley’s chest. and in the low light, every pale scar that crosses his skin becomes starkly visible against the flushed tones of his heat, each mark lit by the pressure and presence filling him again.
it is only when the second cock begins to press in beside the first—slightly thicker near the base, shaped just differently enough to be jarring in contrast—that his entire body tenses in a single, breathless jolt. his mind is still catching up to the sensation, but his body reacts first. his mouth opening around a sound that can't decide if it is a gasp or a moan, but it fades too quickly into breathless noise. every syllable is swallowed against neuvillette’s mouth, taken from him before he can even attempt to speak.
yet neuvillette remains patient with him. he moves slowly, inching the second cock in a little at a time, giving wriothesley’s entrance space to simply yield. when both cocks finally settle inside him, wriothesley arches in a deep, unsteady bow. his chest lifts toward neuvillette’s own, body molded around the stretch in a way that feels both helpless and beautiful. a long, unbroken moan escapes him, soft at the edges, gradually dissolving into broken sobs as the pressure begins to crest into something overwhelming.
his body is entirely occupied. every part of him is filled, shaped around neuvillette’s cock in a way that leaves nothing untouched. the echoes of his earlier orgasms still thrum through his nerves, and they now fold into the dizzying stretch of being split open so deeply. his awareness begins to blur, and the edges of his thoughts softening. his lips part in a slack, hazy expression of surrender, and his breathing slows into warm, rhythmic pulses that stand opposite to the frantic beat of his heart. fresh tears begin to fall, slipping across his temples and into his hair. not from pain, but from the overwhelming intimacy of the moment—of being so fully held, so deeply claimed, and so thoroughly adored in his most vulnerable state.
and just like that, he gives in.
his legs curl tighter around neuvillette’s waist, the crook of his knees pulling him close with instinctive need. both hands rise to thread into the thickness of neuvillette’s hair. he holds him there, drawing him down into another kiss. it is desperate, wet, and breathless, streaked with tears and spit. but through that kiss, wriothesley pours every fragile, aching thing he can no longer articulate—his gratitude, his devotion, and that desire to belong only to neuvillette. ]
no subject
he can feel the flutter of his passage echoing the frantic pulse of his heart, relentless in his greed to chase after another high neuvillette knows will take time to achieve. he can't help but hold that soft, needy gaze, breaking it only to lick fresh tears off of him, lapping up his drool to memorize his flavor for himself.
truly, they are one. neuvillette's hungry mouth seeks out the vulnerable hollow of his throat, his hand sliding down to stroke wriothesley's soft cock in order to distract him from the discomfort of having two cocks buried to the hilt within him. with a soft sigh, knuckles brushing over the bulge on his lower abdomen, proof of how snugly he has been taken, he guides him to cling and curl in his arms, to understand that even in the throes of savage passion there is something more powerful that threads their every coupling.
passion. devotion. aching desire. loving affection, and the purest adoration. neuvillette groans, low and quiet, grinding deep against his surely abused prostate, keeping wriothesley on that knife edge as long as he can.
his other hand strokes along the back of his thigh, squeezing lightly as he smiles against scarred flesh, sucking a lovebite that wriothesley cannot hope to cover up with his usual clothes. then he moves up, up, swallowing everything wriothesley offers up to him. his, all his. every inch, every ounce, everything is neuvillette's for the taking.
he takes, pressing his forehead to his before he starts moving, careful and slow. )
You are breathtaking, my Wriothesley. The taste of you... you have made me ravenous, insatiable —
no subject
if wriothesley knew the kind of draconic instinct neuvillette now quietly reins in to keep from devouring him outright, he might have held back, or at least clung tighter to the edge of himself instead of surrendering so completely. but he’s never known this kind of safety. never let himself trust anyone enough be guided towards the sentiment to feel it firsthand. and what he finds there is that the world narrows into something wonderfully simple: neuvillette’s warmth pressed to his chest, the shared rhythm of their breaths, the subtle throb where they’re joined, and the tender pulse at his entrance. time unspools, its meaning lost. seconds blur into minutes, and minutes stretch into something quieter still. his thoughts, normally ordered and disciplined, drift like petals across water. he can form words if neuvillette asks for them, but he prefers to let them dissolve before reaching his tongue.
nevertheless, it starts with utterings of “mine” and “yours.” his fingers trace over neuvillette’s shoulders in slow, sweeping arcs, not for leverage but for the warmth that grounds him. then one hand rises to neuvillette’s cheek, brushing sweat-damp skin before his thumb draws across the curve of neuvillette's lower lip—a gesture so soft it borders on dazed reverence. and when neuvillette leans in, lowering their foreheads together, the closeness pulls a whimper from wriothesley, not of pain, but of longing. and he tilts his head to meet the contact, letting the mingled heat of their breath fold around him like an embrace that refuses to let him drift too far. ]
Neuv— right there. Sovereigns above, right there… don’t move…
[ his voice cracks, mouth and thoughts trembling as his eyes roll half-shut. his inner walls clench with tight, fluttering pulses around the twin cocks seated inside him. he clings to neuvillette like a man drowning, breath catching against his dragon’s throat. he can feel them shift—one dragging against his upper wall, the other pressing outward and low—and the sensation builds into something incandescent. he doesn’t need to look between them to know the distention under his navel; he feels it with startling clarity as a broken sob catches in his throat.
and still, nothing about this is painful. if this is love, then he understands it now. it fills him in ways he never imagined, profound and unrelenting, as if he has become a vessel carved for neuvillette to receive precisely this shape, this heat, and this intimate pressure that leaves no part of him untouched.
wriothesley tries to speak again. not to beg, not quite to confess, but to reach for some shape of the vulnerability blooming sharp and tender in his chest. when it comes, his voice is a tremulous murmur, thick with breath and meaning. ]
Please… stay with me. [ another slow, rocking thrust interrupts the words with a hiccupping gasp as wriothesley babbles, open-mouthed and dazed against the corner of neuvillette’s mouth. ] Don’t know where I’m going… but don’t want to go without you.
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he leans into his fingers, his kiss, stilling as wriothesley asks because as much as neuvillette has the duke under his control, he, too, is at his mercy. he hears his voice track, feeling the younger man fight to accommodate him and get used to being penetrated so completely that it pushes him to his very limit.
he checks the growing, overwhelming desire to move, focusing instead on wriothesley's comfort. this ought to be love, when he and his natural soul are in sync for the very first time, sharing a resonating desire for wriothesley, and a powerful appreciation for the man underneath him. there is no other emotion that can adequately describe the intensity of his compulsions, the depth of his yearning. wriothesley's next words are a litany of longing, his walls broken open to reveal something more precious than gold: trust.
his breath catches, and he brushes his knuckles over his cheek fondly, nudging him into a reassuring kiss. he will honor his trust to the end of his days, and stay by his side, no matter their destination. )
I will, I promise. I shall be by your side, no matter where we go.
( with that offered, he begins to move inside him, slow and careful, wriothesley's cock pinned between both their bodies. )
I am yours.
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Yours... yours...
[ whether it’s an echo of neuvillette’s words or his own unraveling sentiment slipping loose in the haze of subspace, wriothesley lets the word hum gently in the space between them. over and over again until he doesn't try to manage himself anymore. his breath stutters, but steadies again, shaped more by neuvillette's hands than by his own intention. when the pressure of each thrust increases, his body yields instinctively, rocking back with lazy effort as the safety and rhythm lull him into a state where broken moans fall without shame or thought.
soon, his head drifts forward and he blinks slowly, the fog behind his eyes thick and warm as he dares a glance down between them. the heat in his belly builds with no urgency, pooling in deep, slow waves that contrast the sharper tempo of their earlier rounds. that warmth spreads outward with such gentle insistence that he doesn't notice his tail moving beneath them at first, slowly curling and brushing against where their bodies stay joined; revealing more than his expression ever could in the way the soiled fur and appendage brush and twitch frantically against neuvillette's leg.
his hand moves without thinking, slipping between them to rest on the soft distension below his navel. his eyes roll back the moment neuvillette thrusts, pressing his hand against the bulge and aiming his lengths up into his palm, the motion forcing both cocks impossibly deep inside. and the pressure steals every last fragment of composure as the muscles of his channel flutter wildly, coaxing sobs from his throat that are no longer filtered or controlled. pleasure tears through him in radiant pulses, too intense to hold back and too complete to fear.
from there his thoughts begin to scatter, pulled apart by sensation until they reduce to impressions that barely carry shape or name. ]
Warm... mn, here. [ his head tips back to bare the length of his throat, body loosening further as his coordination falters in quiet surrender. he rubs slow, absent circles over the swell of his belly, then lets his fingers trail downward to brush the flushed stirrings of his own cock nestled between them. none of it is rushed. everything he does is touched by softness, and when he lifts his gaze to neuvillette again, it’s with a quiet smile that trembles at the edges, adoring and lost. ] More...
[ neuvillette remains the only steady thing wriothesley can cling to—the rhythm of their breathing joined as one, each inhale and exhale syncing as naturally as waves on a shore. even at the faintest tilt of his sovereign’s head, he leans in, pressing their lips together with quiet eagerness. it feels less like seeking and more like being found. the touch of neuvillette’s palm against his cheek keeps him anchored, and he nuzzles into it gratefully, ears flattened in a wordless gesture of devotion. every sigh, every breath, every low sound from neuvillette becomes the axis he orbits around, and in that moment, wriothesley allows himself to be ruled by it completely. ]
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neuvillette's breath catches when his hand comes to rest over the distension where the man had taken not one, but two of him. buried so deeply, his balls pressed up against his ass, he can't help a soft, soft sound of want, desire building to a powerful, unrelenting instinct. his hand joins wriothesley's, resting atop his before he guides him to massage and squeeze, twitching at the tension it introduces, the inevitable clench of his hole.
down, and down, it's neuvillette that helps to stroke his cock, tender and slow. every move is an intention to worship, to lay his own passion at the altar of his grace, more of a warm coil than a knife-hot pull of passion. his hungry mouth finds the vulnerable hollow of his throat, and neuvillette suckles a lovebite, licking and kissing the vicious bruise he leaves there. one, and again, a necklace of kiss-bruises that he knows wriothesley will have to carry for the next few days.
slowly, slowly, he continues to move within him, carving out a place for himself, marking wriothesley within and without. his clean hand cradles his face as he pulls up for another kiss, slow and tender, lips and tongues twined with each other in a sensuous build toward more. more, together.
he anchors him with a soft sigh, his thrusts longer, slower, dragging his cocks down those incredibly slick walls. he can feel himself getting close, hot and throbbing, twitching inside of him. he wants to come, yearns to fill him up and and watch the duke take both his loads.
neuvillette's gaze is fixed, still, on him, lavender eyes deep and dark with mirroring devotion. )
That's right, you are mine as well, mon cher. Now —
( his words are husky, and he shifts position just a little, pushing up squarely against his prostate. )
— move with me. Come now, easy. Tighten up around me.
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his body feels too hot, too heavy, too slow to keep up with the pace. his thighs tremble beneath neuvillette’s weight, his nerves beginning to fray and overload, each hiccupping cry of his spilling out in soft, uneven waves. the exile in him—conditioned to brace, to calculate, to anticipate betrayal—can’t find purchase in this kind of sensation. there is nothing to counter, no blow to block, no pressure to avoid. where every thrust drives straight through him, heading directly for that place where instinct no longer bothers pretending it has control.
it only deepens when neuvillette moves his hand to hold wriothesley’s cock instead of pressing down on the bulge where they’re joined. from there, the shift turns the moment into something rapturous, and wriothesley sobs openly as neuvillette strokes, thrusts, and leans more of his weight atop him to keep the distention anchored. when he throws his head back to scream, it peters off into a tear-stained mewl the moment neuvillette adds bruising kisses onto the sensitive scar tissue that decorates his throat
the weight of neuvillette’s body, the heat of him, the flex of the muscles bracketing him in—every part of it folds around wriothesley until the room turns quiet and far away. his thoughts no longer run in coherent lines; instead, they collapse into pulses of sensation and base wants. deep. more. stay. don’t stop. don’t let me fall. mere words that flicker through him like embers, glowing briefly as a reverent stare before melting into the unfocused haze swallowing his awareness.
eventually, wriothesley’s world narrows to the two points of contact inside him and the grounding weight above him. the rest of the room around them fades, to where even his own voice sounds distant. his name could be spoken and he wouldn’t respond, because the part of him that speaks is drifting somewhere below his ribs, floating in a thick, velvety dark full of heat and surrender that doesn’t need any explanation.
and there, finally, wriothesley lets his consciousness go completely, dropping weightless and warm into the deep subspace neuvillette has been leading him toward for three rounds straight. he is gone, beautifully and utterly, in the way only neuvillette ever manages to draw out of him. his orgasm isn’t sharp or clean—it’s the hard, full-body clench of his channel, that leaves his abdomen locking in gasping moans beneath their hands. especially the one gripping his cock, where it twitches pathetically in neuvillette’s palm, drawing more sobs from wriothesley as he spills almost nothing, nearly cumming dry.
from there, wriothesley’s body continues without conscious thought, and neuvillette feels each reaction like a tide pulling at his own bones. wriothesley’s hips lift in small, uncoordinated movements, trying to meet each slow thrust with the instinct of someone whose body hasn’t yet realized his mind is already gone. the muscles that once flexed now shiver under neuvillette’s touch, softening around him as though the tension that used to define him has given way into something unguarded. when neuvillette pushes deeper, wriothesley exhales a broken sound against the sheets—a breath that catches and dissolves as his body tightens around both shafts with a reflexive clutch that pulls neuvillette even deeper into him. it is involuntary, primal, and nakedly honest.
even as wriothesley continues to stare upward, vacant and unseeing. his hips keep moving, unconsciously answering neuvillette’s every motion as if it’s the only thing he still knows how to do. ]
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and he can see how it fractures wriothesley from the inside, when he cannot escape from neuvillette's ardor, and all he can do is take, takes and take. he hears the sob, wrecked and broken, poured out and filled with the heat and honey of neuvillette's passion as he fucks him steadily — in, out, in out, again, again, pressing up all the intimate spaces within him and claiming him for himself.
he sees the light dim in those beautiful eyes, how wriothesley is swept out with him, certain with the tide. he cradles the back of his head then, captures his mouth in a kiss that speaks of unspoken affection, the blazing heat of a man discovering what worshiping another truly feels like. )
Look at me. I'm —
( he guides him to cling to him, and the final tightening, the clutch of him is what tips him over in a wordless cry, his name caught in his throat when neuvillette's orgasm finally hits him — powerful, unrelenting; thick, sticky spurts of warm cum gushing inside of him. pulse after pulse, thickly coating his walls and all the way inside, filling him up and slowly softening, until his seed oozes out of him and onto the sheets. neuvillette shudders, overcome by the force of his orgasm, lips tracing the outline of his name. )
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then, somewhere inside, he registers the shift in weight. the slow swell beneath his navel as the full depth of neuvillette’s cum settles into him causes a quiet ripple across his abdomen, just enough to make his overstretched rim tighten around the twin cocks still lodged inside. it's not pain that pulls at his nerves, but the unfamiliar sensation of being made to hold more than what ought to be possible, of being filled to the point of overflow and yet still clenching to keep it close. it’s that lingering tremor of muscle, acting on its own, that begins to draw the rest of him back from where he drifted.
the world doesn’t return all at once, but rather it begins with the weight of the dark, thick and still around him, is a sort of heaviness that tells him the day has long since slipped away. any faint clarity that follows comes in flickers—the feel of clean sheets beneath his palms, the cool air that brushes over the sweat on his skin, the soft give of the mattress as his hips shift slightly to one side. he blinks once, then again, and exhales a quiet 'oh' without meaning to when a warm trickle spills past the edge of his abused rim and slicks across the back of his thigh. the breath he gives is low and full of realization, and it’s only after the sound escapes him that he understands what it means.
there’s no thought behind the next motion, only a desperate need that takes shape in the hollow space left behind. he brings his hand down between his thighs with slow precision, fingers dragging through the mess already leaking out, and presses in just enough to try and coax some of it back. it doesn’t work. wriothesley knows it won’t. and yet the rest of him stays still, as if moving too much might break whatever fragile hold he has on himself.
but the pressure against his rim does little to stop the creeping edge of something more complicated than shame. the gesture might be instinctive, born from the heat of rut and the echo of mating, but the ache that unfurls in his chest can't be so easily explained. it burns without warning, as though the weight of having been wanted so deeply is somehow too heavy to carry now that the moment has passed. and so wriothesley draws his hand back and rests it flat over his sternum, not to brace, but to soothe, pressing down in an attempt to calm the irregular rhythm of his breathing. the gesture is neither dramatic nor desperate, but it carries with it the quiet admission of something unsettled.
wriothesley doesn’t cry, doesn’t tremble or flinch, but there’s a tension building low in his belly that refuses to ease no matter how still he lies. the intimacy of what has passed lingers in the air, thick and warm, but it does nothing to shield him from the sudden onset of doubt—the kind that creeps in after affection and makes him question why the afterglow feels lonelier than it should. ]
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wriothesley moves on autopilot, almost, pushed into a space that neuvillette is only beginning to have a concept of. there is a distance in his eyes and a pliance in the way he holds him that surprises neuvillette, and he can't help but snag his cum-stained hand to lift it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. one more. another. another. he kisses those rough knuckles, the warmth of his palm.
the tension ripples around him, and neuvillette can't help but frown, cupping his face with the other hand. those eyes are distant, unfocused, and too vulnerable at the very same time. wriothesley is retreating, and he doesn't know why. )
My Wriothesley. ( he says quietly, his gaze searching, concerned. ) Look at me. Return to me.
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How— [ it isn't quite a word, but more a hollow rasp that slips out before he can catch it. even he seems faintly surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds after crying beneath neuvillette, though the realization doesn't reach his face for a long moment. ] How long has it been? Did I sleep past lunch? Did we already eat?
[ his questions fall one after the other in a muted, unsure rhythm, each one barely catching its breath before the next. his brow furrows as his eyes fall shut, the motion guided by a touch that gently redirects his gaze forward—toward something he can’t quite parse yet. when wriothesley tries to rub at his temples to soothe himself, his fingers clumsily knock against the steady warmth of neuvillette’s hand already resting there to show he's caught him during the lapse. it’s only then, in that small moment, that he truly registers the other man's presence. but the awareness remains dim at the edges, his senses still dulled and uncooperative. and so wriothesley brushes past the offered comfort and rubs at his eyes roughly, as if he might scrub himself back into a version that feels at little more steady. ]
Neuvillette... What happened to me? [ wriothesley shifts, uneasy, as he tries to piece together the scene; but the memories are half-formed, his mind dulled and padded, as if everything had been wrapped in too many layers to reach anything clearly. ] I remember, but only in parts.
[ he doesn’t look up—not yet. not until he can string it all together. or at least, that’s the reason he gives himself. but beneath the pause, something heavier lingers: a quiet, aching sense of being hollowed out, where in its place sits the silent pull of a longing he can’t yet name. the need for reassurance presses under his ribs like a dense weight, and no less urgent for being wordless. ]
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his exhaustion sits comfortably in his bones, and the familiar weight and shape of his lover in his arms has him more relaxed than concerned. whatever this is, the way he had slipped away from him earlier, compliant and obedient, they can figure it out. he soothes him then, petting his hair and running his fingers through it, keeping their limbs tangled together. it surprises him that wriothesley had been pushed so far, and he can't help the relief when his questions fill the spaces between them.
he presses a soft kiss to his forehead, instinctively moving to soothe his unease with light touches and more kisses, keeping him cradled in his arms. time to untangle some of these threads, first. )
You're all right, mon cher. You are back with me now, and I shall prepare lunch for us soon. What is it that you remember? Perhaps we can start from there.
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maybe he spends a little too much effort trying to sincerely answer neuvillette’s question—not to give anything coherent for now, but more to use it as an anchor. something to hold onto while working through the frustration and fog of a mental crash he still can’t make sense of yet. and for a moment, the closeness between them feels like too much. especially when nerves fire beneath neuvillette’s fingers, right at the sensitive spot just below the crown of his head—leaving him shivering and raw, like an exposed nerve still being scratched open.
even under the press of soothing kisses and touch, wriothesley sinks deeper into their bed—a little more inward, his brow furrowing instead. he huffs before his ears flatten in exhaustion, and finally, he speaks: ]
It started when I woke up—felt hotter than usual. We knew it’d be another full moon, but it’s never felt like that for me.
[ it isn’t a ‘what do you remember’ so much as a challenge he’s set for himself—to piece everything together from the start. ]
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