[ it’s one thing to expect the moment his thoughts begin to lag, and another to recognize it while it’s happening. he’s been guided through this sort of high a handful of times now, they've spoken about it at length, and wriothesley has grown more accustomed to the weight and warmth of neuvillette's affection around him. it makes the feeling of sinking—into himself, into neuvillette, into the bond between them—come easier.
and at some point, the effort of thinking stops entirely. there’s no clear moment when it happens, only the quiet absence of it after. where everything narrows onto neuvillette and his presence—where wriothesley is held, how he’s moved. as time stretches, or maybe it folds in on itself; wriothesley can’t tell anymore, and he doesn’t need to.
not when he’s guided to lean down and kiss neuvillette, barely registering the shift in their positions until it’s already happening. not when he’s eased onto his back at first, maybe to rest, as arms lift to wind loosely around neuvillette’s shoulders as if by instinct; coupled a soft sigh leaving him at every murmur of praise pressed against his mouth. he’s simpler like this, stripped down to something quieter, where the usual urge to push back—even in jest—has no place. and all that remains is the need to stay attuned to neuvillette, to follow without hesitation.
so he nods between kisses, agrees to making 'a mess' before the words fully reach him; blinking slow tears from his eyes as a string of mumbled “yes… yes” slips free before he can gather anything more coherent. ]
Yeah, ah, looks good. [ he adds belatedly, gaze dipping between them and to where they're still connected as he braces his footing and lifts his hips, chasing the feel of neuvillette’s cocks as he moves to rut against them out of pure instinct. it takes him a moment to understand what feels different. it's not the stretch of his abused rim, nor the heat that’s already consumed him, but higher—just beneath his navel, where something presses outward against neuvillette’s warm hand. and the slight swell shifts when their hips meet, leaves a soft, disorienting movement that draws a low moan from him over the next few thrusts. ] Feels good, too.
[ it’s a shame the feeling doesn’t last. the sound he makes when neuvillette finally withdraws doesn't hide his disappointment, his body trying to follow, to cling closer despite the lack of strength behind it. yet there’s no real resistance when he’s guided onto his hands and knees, only a faint, instinctive attempt that fades as quickly as it starts. he isn’t kept there long either; as the first press of neuvillette’s tongue has him sinking down onto his elbows, arms folding beneath him as wriothesley squirms to present more fully, his tail twitching sharply at the base before curling tight. ]
Leave it— [ the thought barely forms, clipped and unsteady, but it carries the weight of a plea. there’s a difference between being cleaned and being kept a mess, and even in this haze his body knows which it wants. it shows in the way wriothesley presses back a moment later, the response coming before the awareness, a delayed moan following after. ] —Want you inside.
[ it’s unclear what he means—whether it’s the cum, neuvillette’s cocks, or a deeper press of tongue—but the distinction doesn’t seem to matter to him. not when he can’t quite reach for and cling to neuvillette the way he wants to, and begging for it is the closest he can get. ]
( he wants neuvillette inside him? of course, of course. how can he deny him when he beg him like this, full of unabashed yearning with that delectable edge of desperation? neuvillette is relatively kind in most things; his very nature will not allow him to be otherwise. but wriothesley's unsteady pleading and the open vulnerability that seeps into the strain of his voice plucks the strings of ancient, feral instinct, reverberating along the chords of learned restraint
writhesley is a melted mess, guided and held down, submissive and completely yielding, and he doesn't respond to him in words. he simply holds both asscheeks open and presses deep, lapping at the tight ring of his hole before pressing in deep, desire spiking. wriothesley might feel the insistent, deep push of a longer tongue, the firm part of his hands, and the way the appendage rubs along the sensitive walls of his hole. he tastes his own cum, savoring every moment of it while he slowly, deliberately fucks him with his tongue.
still, he's not without affection, a hand coming up to rub the base of his tail fondly while he pleasures him, taking the offering he so clearly presents. )
[ it’s nothing like the sublime stretch of neuvillette’s cocks, but his tongue comes close—enough to fill wriothesley in a way that brushes the edge of what one of them feels like. and wriothesley has been more than spoiled tonight; enough that skin, fur, scales, and sheets alike are left damp and clinging, soaked through with the mess of them both. the more often neuvillette drags him under—deeper into that slow, euphoric state—the easier wriothesley submits, unfurling without hesitation, letting his senses narrow until there’s only one feeling that matters, and letting neuvillette take care of everything else. it leaves him pliant and willing, with nothing left in him but the urge to chase neuvillette—through the way he clings, the way he begs, the way his voice slips loose into open, helpless sound when neuvillette’s tongue curls and brushes along places already shaped to take both draconic lengths.
there’s nothing coy in the way neuvillette moves—no teasing, no modest sampling of his own spend left inside wriothesley, only a deliberate, thorough mapping of overworked nerves. his tongue traces every inch of wriothesley’s channel with an intent that feels almost reverent in its precision, each slow curl and probing press paired with the deft pressure of his fingers at the base of wriothesley’s tail, grounding and undoing him all at once. and for the first time this evening, wriothesley breaks with a sobbing whine, caught between the two sensations until they blur together and he can’t tell which one is pushing him faster toward the precipice of another climax. through tears, he reaches back on instinct—shaking, needy—grasping to keep himself spread as neuvillette withdraws a hand only to keep stroking at his tail.
it doesn’t last; it never does this many rounds in. wriothesley’s strength gives way in uneven increments, slipping through his fingers as he’s caught between the sharp, trembling pain of overstimulation and the deep, dragging pleasure of being taken so far below the surface that thought itself starts to lose shape. his body can’t decide whether to thrash or arch, so it does both in broken, faltering rhythm—light, desperate movements born of nerves overloaded past reason, of pleasure turned so intense it borders on something wrecking. and still, the only thing that stays clear is the need for neuvillette—the need to want him, to reach for him, to give him one last shuddering finish on his cocks before whatever is left of wriothesley’s control dissolves completely. ]
Neuv— [ the plea bleeds into a broken sound on the way out, muffled by tears and the way he sinks forward onto his chest, knees spread and pressing weakly into the mattress as if that alone might brace him against the next wave. one hand tries to hold himself up, but it falters—rolling uselessly onto his wrist every time neuvillette’s tongue pushes deeper, as if savoring the last frail bit of strength before both muscle and wriothesley’s will finally yield. ] Neuvi— [ meanwhile, wriothesley’s other hand pinches and twists into the sheets, and his call of neuvillette’s name slows into something distant and far more besotted. unable to cling to neuvillette himself, wriothesley settles for the next best thing—pulling the soiled sheets close so he can breathe in the scent of his sovereign and lap at the taste left there in plain, obvious worship. ]
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and at some point, the effort of thinking stops entirely. there’s no clear moment when it happens, only the quiet absence of it after. where everything narrows onto neuvillette and his presence—where wriothesley is held, how he’s moved. as time stretches, or maybe it folds in on itself; wriothesley can’t tell anymore, and he doesn’t need to.
not when he’s guided to lean down and kiss neuvillette, barely registering the shift in their positions until it’s already happening. not when he’s eased onto his back at first, maybe to rest, as arms lift to wind loosely around neuvillette’s shoulders as if by instinct; coupled a soft sigh leaving him at every murmur of praise pressed against his mouth. he’s simpler like this, stripped down to something quieter, where the usual urge to push back—even in jest—has no place. and all that remains is the need to stay attuned to neuvillette, to follow without hesitation.
so he nods between kisses, agrees to making 'a mess' before the words fully reach him; blinking slow tears from his eyes as a string of mumbled “yes… yes” slips free before he can gather anything more coherent. ]
Yeah, ah, looks good. [ he adds belatedly, gaze dipping between them and to where they're still connected as he braces his footing and lifts his hips, chasing the feel of neuvillette’s cocks as he moves to rut against them out of pure instinct. it takes him a moment to understand what feels different. it's not the stretch of his abused rim, nor the heat that’s already consumed him, but higher—just beneath his navel, where something presses outward against neuvillette’s warm hand. and the slight swell shifts when their hips meet, leaves a soft, disorienting movement that draws a low moan from him over the next few thrusts. ] Feels good, too.
[ it’s a shame the feeling doesn’t last. the sound he makes when neuvillette finally withdraws doesn't hide his disappointment, his body trying to follow, to cling closer despite the lack of strength behind it. yet there’s no real resistance when he’s guided onto his hands and knees, only a faint, instinctive attempt that fades as quickly as it starts. he isn’t kept there long either; as the first press of neuvillette’s tongue has him sinking down onto his elbows, arms folding beneath him as wriothesley squirms to present more fully, his tail twitching sharply at the base before curling tight. ]
Leave it— [ the thought barely forms, clipped and unsteady, but it carries the weight of a plea. there’s a difference between being cleaned and being kept a mess, and even in this haze his body knows which it wants. it shows in the way wriothesley presses back a moment later, the response coming before the awareness, a delayed moan following after. ] —Want you inside.
[ it’s unclear what he means—whether it’s the cum, neuvillette’s cocks, or a deeper press of tongue—but the distinction doesn’t seem to matter to him. not when he can’t quite reach for and cling to neuvillette the way he wants to, and begging for it is the closest he can get. ]
no subject
writhesley is a melted mess, guided and held down, submissive and completely yielding, and he doesn't respond to him in words. he simply holds both asscheeks open and presses deep, lapping at the tight ring of his hole before pressing in deep, desire spiking. wriothesley might feel the insistent, deep push of a longer tongue, the firm part of his hands, and the way the appendage rubs along the sensitive walls of his hole. he tastes his own cum, savoring every moment of it while he slowly, deliberately fucks him with his tongue.
still, he's not without affection, a hand coming up to rub the base of his tail fondly while he pleasures him, taking the offering he so clearly presents. )
no subject
there’s nothing coy in the way neuvillette moves—no teasing, no modest sampling of his own spend left inside wriothesley, only a deliberate, thorough mapping of overworked nerves. his tongue traces every inch of wriothesley’s channel with an intent that feels almost reverent in its precision, each slow curl and probing press paired with the deft pressure of his fingers at the base of wriothesley’s tail, grounding and undoing him all at once. and for the first time this evening, wriothesley breaks with a sobbing whine, caught between the two sensations until they blur together and he can’t tell which one is pushing him faster toward the precipice of another climax. through tears, he reaches back on instinct—shaking, needy—grasping to keep himself spread as neuvillette withdraws a hand only to keep stroking at his tail.
it doesn’t last; it never does this many rounds in. wriothesley’s strength gives way in uneven increments, slipping through his fingers as he’s caught between the sharp, trembling pain of overstimulation and the deep, dragging pleasure of being taken so far below the surface that thought itself starts to lose shape. his body can’t decide whether to thrash or arch, so it does both in broken, faltering rhythm—light, desperate movements born of nerves overloaded past reason, of pleasure turned so intense it borders on something wrecking. and still, the only thing that stays clear is the need for neuvillette—the need to want him, to reach for him, to give him one last shuddering finish on his cocks before whatever is left of wriothesley’s control dissolves completely. ]
Neuv— [ the plea bleeds into a broken sound on the way out, muffled by tears and the way he sinks forward onto his chest, knees spread and pressing weakly into the mattress as if that alone might brace him against the next wave. one hand tries to hold himself up, but it falters—rolling uselessly onto his wrist every time neuvillette’s tongue pushes deeper, as if savoring the last frail bit of strength before both muscle and wriothesley’s will finally yield. ] Neuvi— [ meanwhile, wriothesley’s other hand pinches and twists into the sheets, and his call of neuvillette’s name slows into something distant and far more besotted. unable to cling to neuvillette himself, wriothesley settles for the next best thing—pulling the soiled sheets close so he can breathe in the scent of his sovereign and lap at the taste left there in plain, obvious worship. ]