( neuvillette spares a moment to stroke his tail, before shifting up to tease the base of it, circling the appendage in fond acknowledgement. it's so much a part of him now, this thing, and a reminder of where they are and what they can be to each other.
he dispenses the kisses freely, addicted to wriothesley's taste and the tangle of their tongues every time. the whine of his voice is intoxicating, but even in the depths of powerful, undeniable desire, neuvillette retains the need to make sure he's all right, that it doesn't hurt. the blue glow of his arousal casts gentle shadows over their lovemaking, and he hisses softly when he feels those blunt nails down his shoulders. it doesn't hurt, not really; it anchors the duke to him beautifully, and neuvillette rewards him with a harder thrust, and another.
he doesn't pick up the pace, keeping it steady every time he rocks into him, but wriothesley clearly has other ideas — that greedy hole sucks him in desperately every time he pulls out, almost catching his rim and sinking deep, and every time he pushes through that resistance is its own kind of heaven.
he's drowning in him, endlessly enveloped by wriothesley's embrace, his need, echoing between the lurid sounds their bodies make every single time they come together. he makes sure to close a hand around both their cocks, guiding wriothesley to thrust into it alongside him. his words are low, almost breathless. ) Easy. I have you, I have you.
[ when neuvillette’s hand slips lower to trace the line of his spine and cup the base of his tail, wriothesley jerks, the touch pulling hairline tremors through him before he shakes his head frantically. ]
Too much.
[ is all he can manage at first as it lights up nerves he's not yet used to, too new and too sensitive, standing in stark contrast to the first hard thrust neuvillette gives him. he’s soothed only by immediate kisses he doesn’t have to chase after this time, and soon his breathing dips from the fever pitch of overstimulation into something more controlled—low moans, soft noises that coax a little more affection from neuvillette. insatiable as ever, even with wriothesley already taken fully in every way that matters and the sole focus of the hydro sovereign.
meanwhile, neuvillette’s pace remains deliberate. despite wriothesley’s pleas earlier, this particular rhythm suits him more—each stroke dragging him into a different space entirely, brushing against nerves he didn’t know he had. it’s deeper, tighter, and relentless in how it draws him closer to a crest he can’t brace himself against. each careful push grazes that spot inside him, a press that makes his body tense like it’s caught in a low, rolling current. his breath hitches—not sharp, but heavy, as if the air itself is too thick to draw in with neuvillette still inside him.
the next thrust lands with more weight—not faster, just more certain. the kind that tells him neuvillette has found exactly what he was looking for. even as the other coos from above, takes him in hand and urges him to rut up into his palm, wriothesley lets the force of neuvillette’s hips rock him forward and back until he’s bucking helplessly into that tight fist. he doesn’t know how long he stays like that—lost between blinks heavy with tears, between neuvillette slipping in and out of his vision—suspended on the edge until a twist of the wrist or a punishing grind breaks him open. his mouth falls slack, silent at first, before a choked groan claws its way out as his spine bows off the bed. ]
Neuvillette—
[ wriothesley’s voice fractures mid-syllable, stretched thin by the pressure coiled low in his belly. the pleasure isn’t rising in waves anymore; it’s winding tighter, sharper, demanding something he can’t hold back.
the last thrust isn’t faster or harder—just true. it glides directly along the swollen curve of his prostate, and that’s what finally tears the sound from him. his head tips back like it’s caught by an invisible thread as his body clamps down in rhythmic pulses. he trembles violently as the orgasm rips through him—blinding, all-consuming, focused entirely around that deep, unrelenting fullness. as the release rocks up his spine, stealing his breath, and wrenches something raw from his throat he’s never heard himself make. ]
( his release takes neuvillette by surprise, the shock of it sending him tumbling over in the next heartbeat, drawn along with wriothesley and swallowed up completely by the tight clutch of his needy hole. they finally, truly connect, and the iudex sees stars when he empties himself into him and on him.
he's overwhelmed, gripping him tight and holding on to wriothesley, embracing him through the riptide of his own orgasm, keeping him anchored against him. he is completely lost in him, unable to register anything but the way their breaths mingle, how they pulse and pant in tandem with each other.
in this, they are one. neuvillette replays the raw, wrecked sounds he had torn from him, breaking wriothesley's composure into pieces only to put him back together again. this is trust in its truest form, where wriothesley allows neuvillette to bear witness to his most vulnerable moment, while sticky white seed is carelessly painted all over the canvas of their sweat-drenched bodies.
he can feel slow, stuttering pulses of himself, offering up the last bursts of his own ejaculate, filling him up even more, until warm seed is spilling out of his hole onto his thighs.
they're a mess — and he can't blame them; sex is always an incredibly messy affair. he nuzzles along the side of his face, nosing the tears he sees, and wiping the other with his thumb, gentle and tender. )
that’s the first lie his body tells him, somewhere in the haze of afterglow. for a few drawn-out seconds, it almost feels true—as his muscles slacken beneath the weight of neuvillette’s hold, where his own chest rises and falls in something close to rhythm, and the tremors beneath his skin quiet just enough to let him pretend this is the end of it. wriothesley could stay here, like this, while the world softens around the edges. while still pulsing faintly around neuvillette, still slick with it, still stretched open and full in a way that makes something low in his gut ease in satisfaction.
it should be enough, but it’s not. and during his first foray with this sort of pull, his natural soul didn't care much for his restraint. but the first thing that truly steadies him this time is the smell.
it’s everywhere now—thick in the air, clinging to skin and sheets alike, layered and unmistakably theirs. salt and heat, the faint metallic tang of sweat, the clean, rain-washed sharpness that always clings to neuvillette. wriothesley breathes it in slowly, deliberately, nose pressed to the curve of neuvillette’s throat where scent gathers strongest. it floods his senses all at once, and something instinctive inside him loosens its grip. his own scent threads through it, darker and heavier now—spent arousal, the faint musk that always follows release but hasn’t faded this time. he can taste it at the back of his throat, feel it settle low in his lungs, and the effect is immediate. the heat that had been threatening to surge sharp and wild dulls at the edges, reshaping itself into something slower. heavier, and less frantic.
he noses along neuvillette’s jaw, then lower. breathing him in with quiet, reverent thoroughness, like he’s cataloguing the moment by scent alone. his body responds in kind. the tension in his shoulders eases, the tight coil in his abdomen settling into a warm, steady pull instead of a frantic ache. his hips still shift, still seek that pressure and friction, but now it’s unhurried and more intentional. he presses back with a slow roll of his body, chasing the familiar drag of fullness, and when sensation sparks again, it spreads wide rather than sharp, blooming outward through his chest instead of snapping him apart.
he exhales against neuvillette’s skin, a sound that borders on a hum, and stays there—breathing them in—until the haze behind his eyes clears just enough for thought to return.]
Better. [ he murmurs, voice low and rough, more honest than he usually allows himself to be. meanwhile his fingers curl at neuvillette’s nape, with a thumb brushing the skin already damp with sweat. ] You smell—just right.
[ it’s a small word for a feeling that settles deep in his bones. the influence of his soul hums through him still, but it no longer feels like a force pulling him under.
and so, with a strength that belies the softness in his limbs, wriothesley moves, catching neuvillette by surprise in the quiet lull of their shared afterglow. his grip at the nape tightens just enough to guide, to shift, as he turns them over with quiet efficiency. he cradles neuvillette’s head as he moves atop him, his palm gentle behind the crown, his touch reverent despite the mess. the smile he wears now is opposite to the ruined expression he’d shown before, although the aftershocks of bliss still trace down his cheeks. this look is smoldering. heavy-lidded and full of intent; the kind that marks a change in tempo.
his fingers trail low as he settles above neuvillette, painting the trimmed fur of his chest and abdomen with their combined mess. yet the motion carries no vulgarity, only ownership and fondness. the faint glow of his eyes catches the weak mid-morning sun peeking in through, casting him in quiet shadow as he straddles neuvillette with all the ease of someone who has made up his mind.
he sits high enough to reach between them, fingertips brushing along the base of neuvillette’s length still slick with spend. then he slips him free with care, and lets out a pleased hum when a satisfying flow of cum drips down, thick and slow over both lengths that show no signs of softening. whether that's largely due to neuvillette’s sovereign nature or thanks to his natural soul, it doesn’t matter, because wriothesley can take it, and wants to. with a grin that borders on coy, wriothesley braces one palm against neuvillette’s chest to steady himself. the other, still soiled, reaches down to align the thinner and topmost cock against his entrance. ]
But stay with me now. [ his head dips just enough to guide both their gazes down between his legs. even with his own spent cock hanging against his stomach, slick and flushed, the view is unmistakably intimate. wriothesley lowers himself slowly, taking neuvillette back in with a breathless, open-throated hum that vibrates from deep in his chest. ] I'm not done with you just yet, Neuvillette.
[ and as he settles more fully against Neuvillette, body warm and pliant, scent-sated and steady, there's no mistaking the excited glint in his eyes before starting to move. ]
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no subject
he dispenses the kisses freely, addicted to wriothesley's taste and the tangle of their tongues every time. the whine of his voice is intoxicating, but even in the depths of powerful, undeniable desire, neuvillette retains the need to make sure he's all right, that it doesn't hurt. the blue glow of his arousal casts gentle shadows over their lovemaking, and he hisses softly when he feels those blunt nails down his shoulders. it doesn't hurt, not really; it anchors the duke to him beautifully, and neuvillette rewards him with a harder thrust, and another.
he doesn't pick up the pace, keeping it steady every time he rocks into him, but wriothesley clearly has other ideas — that greedy hole sucks him in desperately every time he pulls out, almost catching his rim and sinking deep, and every time he pushes through that resistance is its own kind of heaven.
he's drowning in him, endlessly enveloped by wriothesley's embrace, his need, echoing between the lurid sounds their bodies make every single time they come together. he makes sure to close a hand around both their cocks, guiding wriothesley to thrust into it alongside him. his words are low, almost breathless. ) Easy. I have you, I have you.
no subject
Too much.
[ is all he can manage at first as it lights up nerves he's not yet used to, too new and too sensitive, standing in stark contrast to the first hard thrust neuvillette gives him. he’s soothed only by immediate kisses he doesn’t have to chase after this time, and soon his breathing dips from the fever pitch of overstimulation into something more controlled—low moans, soft noises that coax a little more affection from neuvillette. insatiable as ever, even with wriothesley already taken fully in every way that matters and the sole focus of the hydro sovereign.
meanwhile, neuvillette’s pace remains deliberate. despite wriothesley’s pleas earlier, this particular rhythm suits him more—each stroke dragging him into a different space entirely, brushing against nerves he didn’t know he had. it’s deeper, tighter, and relentless in how it draws him closer to a crest he can’t brace himself against. each careful push grazes that spot inside him, a press that makes his body tense like it’s caught in a low, rolling current. his breath hitches—not sharp, but heavy, as if the air itself is too thick to draw in with neuvillette still inside him.
the next thrust lands with more weight—not faster, just more certain. the kind that tells him neuvillette has found exactly what he was looking for. even as the other coos from above, takes him in hand and urges him to rut up into his palm, wriothesley lets the force of neuvillette’s hips rock him forward and back until he’s bucking helplessly into that tight fist. he doesn’t know how long he stays like that—lost between blinks heavy with tears, between neuvillette slipping in and out of his vision—suspended on the edge until a twist of the wrist or a punishing grind breaks him open. his mouth falls slack, silent at first, before a choked groan claws its way out as his spine bows off the bed. ]
Neuvillette—
[ wriothesley’s voice fractures mid-syllable, stretched thin by the pressure coiled low in his belly. the pleasure isn’t rising in waves anymore; it’s winding tighter, sharper, demanding something he can’t hold back.
the last thrust isn’t faster or harder—just true. it glides directly along the swollen curve of his prostate, and that’s what finally tears the sound from him. his head tips back like it’s caught by an invisible thread as his body clamps down in rhythmic pulses. he trembles violently as the orgasm rips through him—blinding, all-consuming, focused entirely around that deep, unrelenting fullness. as the release rocks up his spine, stealing his breath, and wrenches something raw from his throat he’s never heard himself make. ]
no subject
he's overwhelmed, gripping him tight and holding on to wriothesley, embracing him through the riptide of his own orgasm, keeping him anchored against him. he is completely lost in him, unable to register anything but the way their breaths mingle, how they pulse and pant in tandem with each other.
in this, they are one. neuvillette replays the raw, wrecked sounds he had torn from him, breaking wriothesley's composure into pieces only to put him back together again. this is trust in its truest form, where wriothesley allows neuvillette to bear witness to his most vulnerable moment, while sticky white seed is carelessly painted all over the canvas of their sweat-drenched bodies.
he can feel slow, stuttering pulses of himself, offering up the last bursts of his own ejaculate, filling him up even more, until warm seed is spilling out of his hole onto his thighs.
they're a mess — and he can't blame them; sex is always an incredibly messy affair. he nuzzles along the side of his face, nosing the tears he sees, and wiping the other with his thumb, gentle and tender. )
Better?
🎀 thnx for the practice bromie MWUAH
that’s the first lie his body tells him, somewhere in the haze of afterglow. for a few drawn-out seconds, it almost feels true—as his muscles slacken beneath the weight of neuvillette’s hold, where his own chest rises and falls in something close to rhythm, and the tremors beneath his skin quiet just enough to let him pretend this is the end of it. wriothesley could stay here, like this, while the world softens around the edges. while still pulsing faintly around neuvillette, still slick with it, still stretched open and full in a way that makes something low in his gut ease in satisfaction.
it should be enough, but it’s not. and during his first foray with this sort of pull, his natural soul didn't care much for his restraint. but the first thing that truly steadies him this time is the smell.
it’s everywhere now—thick in the air, clinging to skin and sheets alike, layered and unmistakably theirs. salt and heat, the faint metallic tang of sweat, the clean, rain-washed sharpness that always clings to neuvillette. wriothesley breathes it in slowly, deliberately, nose pressed to the curve of neuvillette’s throat where scent gathers strongest. it floods his senses all at once, and something instinctive inside him loosens its grip. his own scent threads through it, darker and heavier now—spent arousal, the faint musk that always follows release but hasn’t faded this time. he can taste it at the back of his throat, feel it settle low in his lungs, and the effect is immediate. the heat that had been threatening to surge sharp and wild dulls at the edges, reshaping itself into something slower. heavier, and less frantic.
he noses along neuvillette’s jaw, then lower. breathing him in with quiet, reverent thoroughness, like he’s cataloguing the moment by scent alone. his body responds in kind. the tension in his shoulders eases, the tight coil in his abdomen settling into a warm, steady pull instead of a frantic ache. his hips still shift, still seek that pressure and friction, but now it’s unhurried and more intentional. he presses back with a slow roll of his body, chasing the familiar drag of fullness, and when sensation sparks again, it spreads wide rather than sharp, blooming outward through his chest instead of snapping him apart.
he exhales against neuvillette’s skin, a sound that borders on a hum, and stays there—breathing them in—until the haze behind his eyes clears just enough for thought to return.]
Better. [ he murmurs, voice low and rough, more honest than he usually allows himself to be. meanwhile his fingers curl at neuvillette’s nape, with a thumb brushing the skin already damp with sweat. ] You smell—just right.
[ it’s a small word for a feeling that settles deep in his bones. the influence of his soul hums through him still, but it no longer feels like a force pulling him under.
and so, with a strength that belies the softness in his limbs, wriothesley moves, catching neuvillette by surprise in the quiet lull of their shared afterglow. his grip at the nape tightens just enough to guide, to shift, as he turns them over with quiet efficiency. he cradles neuvillette’s head as he moves atop him, his palm gentle behind the crown, his touch reverent despite the mess. the smile he wears now is opposite to the ruined expression he’d shown before, although the aftershocks of bliss still trace down his cheeks. this look is smoldering. heavy-lidded and full of intent; the kind that marks a change in tempo.
his fingers trail low as he settles above neuvillette, painting the trimmed fur of his chest and abdomen with their combined mess. yet the motion carries no vulgarity, only ownership and fondness. the faint glow of his eyes catches the weak mid-morning sun peeking in through, casting him in quiet shadow as he straddles neuvillette with all the ease of someone who has made up his mind.
he sits high enough to reach between them, fingertips brushing along the base of neuvillette’s length still slick with spend. then he slips him free with care, and lets out a pleased hum when a satisfying flow of cum drips down, thick and slow over both lengths that show no signs of softening. whether that's largely due to neuvillette’s sovereign nature or thanks to his natural soul, it doesn’t matter, because wriothesley can take it, and wants to. with a grin that borders on coy, wriothesley braces one palm against neuvillette’s chest to steady himself. the other, still soiled, reaches down to align the thinner and topmost cock against his entrance. ]
But stay with me now. [ his head dips just enough to guide both their gazes down between his legs. even with his own spent cock hanging against his stomach, slick and flushed, the view is unmistakably intimate. wriothesley lowers himself slowly, taking neuvillette back in with a breathless, open-throated hum that vibrates from deep in his chest. ] I'm not done with you just yet, Neuvillette.
[ and as he settles more fully against Neuvillette, body warm and pliant, scent-sated and steady, there's no mistaking the excited glint in his eyes before starting to move. ]