[ 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. ]
( something's wrong. wriothesley looks dissatisfied, and even distressed — the flat of his ears are a dead giveaway, which inexplicably makes neuvillette anxious in the wake of just about fucking him into catatonia.
had he hurt him? he's not entirely sure; this is the first time he has gone all out on him, forcing him past his limits through overstimulation and relentless passion. he rubs his ears lightly, trying to soothe him. is this all right? should he be more affectionate?
neuvillette hesitates. ) You were... whatever you were feeling was overwhelming you. Like you needed — like you needed me to put you on your back and ravage you mindless.
( he cuddles up closer with a soft sigh, looking back at him curiously. ) I lost control, and pushed you past your limits. I am sorry, Wriothesley.
[ it feels ironic to be so timid and bashful over the way neuvillette recounts their morning. as if they haven’t done worse to each other already in their intimacy, but wriothesley forcibly tries to realign himself; as lashing out at neuvillette wouldn’t do either of them any good. and the more he shakes off the haze of being fucked stupid, the less sure he feels of himself—especially when neuvillette maneuvers his touch to help soothe the apprehension wriothesley is likely giving off in waves.
the other’s words do help, though. especially in the way they turn the lens of scrutiny back onto himself, even if it feels like wriothesley is unduly reprimanding himself for a lapse in control. subdrop is a hell of a drug. ]
You’re right. I wanted just you, and only you— [ he reaches up to rub a hand over his face, trying to ground himself before pressing his palms between his eyes—trying to sound more like himself, and less like a softened mess. ] I still do. And that’s what’s worrying me.
[ despite the redness from where he’d scrubbed at his skin, there’s still a light dusting of pink across his features—from the square of his chest and up to the tips of his ears. and when he finally looks up at neuvillette, he looks exhausted but still caught in the early throes of his heat—or rut. it's hard to say which given the way both his and the other soul have distinct voices and almost tortuous demands of neuvillette; from wanting to be bred and tended to, or shoving knot after knot into his mate until it takes. ]
But you’re not the only one who’s bothered by losing control. [ it isn’t shame or regret that colors the worried stare he lifts to neuvillette—it’s the way he’s spent a lifetime clinging to a solid grip on himself, his instincts, his responses. now, that control feels like it’s unraveling, tangled up with his needs and wants in a way that feels dangerous to let go of—especially when it whatever the mood is feels so easyand pleasant to sink down into. ] I’m wondering... is it wrong of me to have enjoyed all of it?
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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. )
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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. ]
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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 —
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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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had he hurt him? he's not entirely sure; this is the first time he has gone all out on him, forcing him past his limits through overstimulation and relentless passion. he rubs his ears lightly, trying to soothe him. is this all right? should he be more affectionate?
neuvillette hesitates. ) You were... whatever you were feeling was overwhelming you. Like you needed — like you needed me to put you on your back and ravage you mindless.
( he cuddles up closer with a soft sigh, looking back at him curiously. ) I lost control, and pushed you past your limits. I am sorry, Wriothesley.
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the other’s words do help, though. especially in the way they turn the lens of scrutiny back onto himself, even if it feels like wriothesley is unduly reprimanding himself for a lapse in control. subdrop is a hell of a drug. ]
You’re right. I wanted just you, and only you— [ he reaches up to rub a hand over his face, trying to ground himself before pressing his palms between his eyes—trying to sound more like himself, and less like a softened mess. ] I still do. And that’s what’s worrying me.
[ despite the redness from where he’d scrubbed at his skin, there’s still a light dusting of pink across his features—from the square of his chest and up to the tips of his ears. and when he finally looks up at neuvillette, he looks exhausted but still caught in the early throes of his heat—or rut. it's hard to say which given the way both his and the other soul have distinct voices and almost tortuous demands of neuvillette; from wanting to be bred and tended to, or shoving knot after knot into his mate until it takes. ]
But you’re not the only one who’s bothered by losing control. [ it isn’t shame or regret that colors the worried stare he lifts to neuvillette—it’s the way he’s spent a lifetime clinging to a solid grip on himself, his instincts, his responses. now, that control feels like it’s unraveling, tangled up with his needs and wants in a way that feels dangerous to let go of—especially when it whatever the mood is feels so easyand pleasant to sink down into. ] I’m wondering... is it wrong of me to have enjoyed all of it?