Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His heavy heels press into the pavement, sliding against the bend in the street with a harsh angle. His knuckle brushes the floor, thin sheen of icy slate gleaming against the stone spreading as he pushes himself up and presses forward. His legs burn as he runs, kicking up gravel and broken bits of concrete as the Court all but collapses around him. The restorers are gonna have a field day.

A loud and utterly wrong sound tears through the towering buildings, ripping through the alley Wriothesley presses himself into. His chest thrums, heavy and long stretching breaths pulling through his nose as sinks into the wall behind him.

The sound edges closer, a deep vibrating rumble that flavors the air with electricity. It doesn’t belong in the same frequency that Wriothesley speaks in. It is utterly, entirely, displaced. What else would you expect from a beast that pulled itself through a rift?

The scent of it fills Wriothesley’s nose, electric and sharp and right above him. His lashes pull skyward. The sight is horrifying. It’s just like that day so many years ago, the same day he met his foster sister, the same week his parents tried to force them in front of that ugly terrifying thing.

It’ll do you good to manifest an ability, they’d said. It’ll help the family, they promised.

The beast presses down, wriggling between the buildings and shoving itself into the alley just to get to him, to taste him, to subsist on the power surging through his veins. It is with that very power that Wriothesley puts the beast through the wall.

His fist connects with a maw of static, sparking embers crackling between the touch. Its back cracks against the stone wall, kicking up dust that flies past Wriothesley’s cheek. The air turns cold, the alley submerged beneath ice. There the beast lies with its jaw split and hanging, frozen in time.

Wriothesley’s lashes pull across the beast’s body, at the tendrils and the markings that don’t come from Teyvat. No one knows where these creatures have come from exactly, nor the rifts themselves, but they’ve thrown the Court of Fontaine into chaos for decades now. Wriothesley is one of the few who can handle the beasts, put them down and stop the carnage. It’s supposed to be a good thing, a gift from whatever being put these things here, but Wriothesley knows better.

Being an Esper is no different from being a soldier to a war he didn’t sign up for, he is nothing but a tool.

A sharp jolt of liquid fire shoots up Wriothesley’s arm nearly sending him to his knees as it travels to his knuckle. His hand shoots to his wrist as his fingers spasm, clutching desperately at thin air. He breathes through the nausea building up in his throat, coating his tongue with saliva. He spits against the ground, scenting the iron with it. Fuck, but he refuses to let this take his life just as much as it rules it.

The sound of feet finally ring against the corner of the alley, “Duke!” A guarde shouts. “The beast?”

“Detained.” Wriothesley spits, voice full of gravel.

Shit, his throat hurts.

The guarde’s head snaps from the beast encased in ice to where Wriothesley stands, shielding his arm from view. He gives him a long look. “You need to see a guide, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley turns on his heel at the very word, “I’m done here. Let me know if the Palais needs anything else from me.”

“Your Grace!” The guarde shouts, but he can’t neglect his duty to the corpse so he doesn’t chase after him.

Wriothesley takes himself away on deft feet, a heavy and powerful stride as he slips behind the wreckage being picked away and melded back anew by a short group of people dressed in uniform. The restorers are right on time.

Wriothesley passes it all for the reprieve of the Court elevator, taking him down to the Fortress, the only place on Fontaine removed enough from the Court to keep his mind at ease from the backlash that he can feel encroaching on him.

This isn’t good, he definitely needs a guide, but he doesn’t want to kill someone over this. His body is, different, from most Espers, but it has nothing to do with him being an Esper and entirely everything to do with how he became one.

Courtesy of his unsafe childhood, Wriothesley’s body refuses most basic guiding. Even worse, it likes to attack the poor bastards and strike their chests cold and give some of them frostbite. It’s not good for anybody, Wriothesley especially because it leaves him prone to these moments of pain and fear of his impending destruction. He could implode at any minute and take out the entirety of the Court with him as he goes.

It’s reckless to refuse guiding but he has a much safer backup. Safer for who, you ask? Well, certainly not Wriothesley.

Wriothesley raps a knuckle against the doorway to the infirmary.

“Your Grace! So glad you’re here.” Sigewinne leaps from her chair, “Sit! I’ve come up with something that should help!”

Wriothesley ambles in, catching the chair with his heel and pulling it beneath him. The moment he’s sat Sigewinne is pressing her favorite home remedy into his hands.

Wriothesley raises a brow, “Didn’t you say this doesn’t actually affect the backlash?”

Sigewinne, calculating thing that she is, pretends she can’t hear him. Easily, Wriothesley sets the green bubbling drink aside and reaches for the capsule on the desk. That she responds to.

“Wait! Don’t take those!” She reaches for them with her paws, stealing them back from his hands.

Wriothesley levels her with a look, “Those actually do affect my backlash, I need those.”

Sigewinne’s expression changes into something uneasy, “About that. I don’t recommend you take those at the state you are currently in Your Grace. Instead, we’re going to try this.” In her paws is a needle.

Wriothesley has learned to keep the nerves out of his face but he’s not particularly fond of needles. Still, his hand twitches against his side, beggars can’t be choosers.

Wriothesley rolls up his sleeve and turns his cheek. It’s quiet for a moment as she prepares his arm and then the prick of the needle is beneath his skin. His body reacts to that more than it should. It’s not just fear, it’s that familiar taste of static on his tongue, it’s his chest splitting open and bleeding something cold that he can’t control.

Wriothesley pulls away immediately, standing over the chair he sent flying as he looks over at Sigewinne from across the room. She stands with a broken syringe, glass shattered like it imploded from the inside. Ice chases the glass on the floor.

Fuck, what was in that thing? Whatever it was, his body didn’t like it.

“Huh, I really thought that would work.” She hums with a blank expression.

“What was that?” Wriothesley asks, chest heaving with the thrum of his heart.

It feels like he’s just had a panic attack. He needs to get a hold of himself but his eyes are shooting around the room looking for shadows. No, he chooses to focus on Sigewinne, determined to remain in control.

“It’s a version of the essence that the Guides usually give through touch. I thought you might react to it differently if it wasn’t administered through a person’s wavelength.”

“Well, that didn’t work.” Wriothesley takes a deep breath, shucking his sleeve down and walking back over to her desk, “Give me the pills.”

That expression returns to Sigewinne’s face, only this time her gaze has hardened.

“You can’t take them anymore, Your Grace.” She tells him, like he has a choice.

“I’m close to overclocking it, Head Nurse, I really need you to give them to me. I can handle the side effects.”

Sigewinne shakes her head, “You don’t understand, the treatment is ineffective at this stage.”

Wriothesley blinks, “What do you mean?”

“Your body has progressed past the damage the medicine can effectively combat.” She says, “This is no longer a professional suggestion, I beg of you,” her paws reach for his arm, he suppresses the urge to flinch at the heat coming from her, “seek guiding.” She implores.

Wriothesley’s gut twists. Images of the past flood his mind without permission. He swallows past them.

“It’ll just lash out and hurt someone at best,” He tells her, “at worst they’ll lose their life.” He chokes.

“Not if their capabilities match your capacity.” Sigewinne defends.

Wriothesley’s lashes pull skyward, “And where are we supposed to find someone like that?”

“I’ve been saying for months now,” Sigewinne says, “Monsieur Neuvillette has never refused an Esper, he can guide anyone of any class!”

“He’s the Chief Guide of the Palais, I would expect no less, but he surely has a waiting list or—“ Wriothesley tries to perpetuate his reason for refusal but Sigewinne doesn’t let him.

“You are the Administrator of the Fortress of Espers, Your Grace,” she says, “your abilities are the least explored because of your aversion to guiding but your status alone is enough to cut to the front of any waiting list, especially in your condition. I’ve already wrote to Monsieur Neuvillette, he knows of your situation, just let him guide you.”

“I’m not killing the Chief Guide of Fontaine.” Wriothesley refuses.

“You won’t kill him.” She defends.

“I won’t strike his heart with frostbite and leave him injured,” Wriothesley amends, “Sigewinne, I refuse.” He reaches his hand out, “Just give me the medicine, it’ll have to do something eventually.”

Sigewinne takes a step back, shaking her head, “I can’t in good conscience let you make that decision, it’s dangerous.”

“Then I’ll take a day,” Wriothesley decides, stepping back himself, “like you’ve wanted, I’ll take a break and recover.”

“The backlash won’t recede on its own.” Sigewinne shouts after him.

“No but this headache might.” He defends, before he’s turning a corner.

Sigewinne sighs, tasting defeat at the sight of Wriothesley’s retreat.

In a room of the Palais around a long table full of Fontaine’s Bureau.

“We need the Duke’s assistance.” A man wearing an expensive suit says.

“But the Duke has his limits,” another man defends, “he’s invulnerable to guiding. If he overextends his backlash could wipe Fontaine off of Teyvat’s map.”

“We have no other choice,” the man wearing the expensive suit rebuffs, “we only have two expert Espers and only one of them has seen half as many dungeons as the Duke.”

“As his doctor,” Sigewinne interrupts, “I can’t support him going into that dungeon, however, I have a solution I’d like to propose.”

The bureau goes silent. Slowly, their eyes turn to one figure.

At the head of the table, Lady Furina waves a hand, “The board is listening.”

“Please allow Monsieur Neuvillette to administer guiding to the Duke.” Sigewinne pleads.

“While we have no qualms with this,” another board member cuts in, “how is the Duke going to receive proper guiding? His body has been known to cause its own backlash against those effects.”

“Yes, but it’s not unheard of,” another defends, “This happens with other Espers too, it’s just The Duke is stronger than most Guides can handle. I believe Monsieur Neuvillette has the capabilities to properly guide The Duke.”

“Hm, while it is true that Monsieur Neuvillette has yet to fail in his service over the last five decades, we don’t quite know where his limits lie.” Someone says.

“This could be the opportunity to measure that.” Another board member suggests.

“Monsieur Neuvillette has been amenable to the board all these years,” one member says casually, “what’s the harm in this? There’s no way he’d refuse. Plus we need the Duke, for the sake of Fontaine.”

Slowly, the board members concede.

“Very well,” Lady Furina surrenders, “We will remove Neuvillette from basic guiding and assign him to the Duke for the foreseeable future.”

Sigewinne breathes her first sigh of relief in the past week.

“Isn’t that the Duke? What’s he doing top side?” The walls of the Palais murmur.

“He refused to get guided last I heard.” They say, whispering to each other behind the backs of their hands, gazes pulling over their shoulders.

“Doesn’t he realize how irresponsible that is?” They sneer.

“Why, you wanna be his guide?” They chortle.

“Like I’d be able to survive him, did you see what happened to Beckham when he last tried to guide him? His entire arm was bitten purple! He was close to amputation!”

Their voices echo, ringing sound and traveling tremors through the long hall. A rhythmic and hollow thudding joins their whispering in concert as The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, home to the Espers of Fontaine, strides through the Palais’ hall. His hand spasms by his side.

Wriothesley itches to reach for his wrist but he refrains. Luckily his headache is gone, a day off did him some good. He’s been careful not to use his abilities and he’d planned on avoiding the surface for as long as possible. Unfortunately, life is never so simple, and within the week duty calls.

Wriothesley ignores the chatter around him for the impending office.

Apparently a dungeon broke out in the center of The Court just a day ago and the Palais wants it solved as quickly as possible. Oddly enough, however, they also refuse to let Wriothesley handle it. He’s sure Sigewinne had her hand in this circumstance and he can’t say he doesn’t entirely understand, he’s not aching to go dungeon exploring with his hand fucked as it is either, but he’s less excited for this splendid turn of events.

A directive from the Palais isn’t something you can refuse, especially not when you’re in a position of fake power like Wriothesley. It’s not entirely fake in the Fortress but above ground, he’s no different from these civilians. Only thing is he can’t refuse when the Palais asks something of him, otherwise he could lose his position. That position is all Wriothesley has, so he’d never even dare consider disobeying.

Today however, he just might.

Wriothesley pulls his lashes over the end of the hall, the long double doors that he’s only ever seen from afar. Before those doors stands Sigewinne and a man, a tall and impeccably dressed man who wears long silver hair loose across his back. It fans over his shoulder as he moves.

If Wriothesley’s life were an opera, this would be where the stage director gives his cue. Instead, he stands at the edge of the hall and considers this new character.

Enter Neuvillette, Wriothesley muses to himself, the Chief Guide to the Court of Fontaine, a guide who is legally bound to refuse no one. He is often taken advantage of but his skill set is so large that it can’t be helped. He’s treated not as human but as a tool and machination of the system. Truthfully, Wriothesley’s heart bleeds for him. That’s probably what makes him so opposed to this.

Neuvillette’s a victim, and Wriothesley doesn’t intend on becoming his parents.

The Monsieur is dressed in a 3-piece suit with a floor length navy blue coat. His polished shoes ring against the floor with the silver of his heel. He fixes his gloves on his hands and presses back the hair behind his ear, tossing it over his shoulder where it lays loose and long. His spats run up the length of his leg. Wriothesley notices the silver glint of the buckle as he kneels, bending to address Sigewinne.

The melusines of Fontaine used to live in hiding until the rise of the rifts occurred. As their villages were destroyed by the beasts peeling out of the dungeons, they were forced to flee to the Court. Most Fontaine citizens consider them as nothing but immigrants, and that’s only the polite opinion contrary to the other idea that they come from the rifts themselves which is patently untrue. They’ve been in Fontainean history for millennia, they’re simply reclusive, and for good reason.

This sight however, is interesting to Wriothesley. He wasn’t aware Monsieur Neuvillette and Sigewinne were so close. Wriothesley doesn’t know much about where Monsieur Neuvillette comes from, his history is as much of a mystery as the rifts but as the dungeons began to emerge, no one could deny his help. He is necessary, for both Espers and other Guides.

His skill is like a vast pool, no one knows how deep it goes. Modern technology can’t seem to measure it. Wriothesley feels only a little reassured by that thought. If anyone could survive guiding him with little to no damage, it would be Monsieur Neuvillette. Still, he’s a prominent and important person, Wriothesley doesn’t think it’s quite worth the risk. He’s not dead yet anyway and all he’s got is some arm pain.

Wriothesley is aware of his tendency to down play his injuries and general condition, that’s just an effect of a life he used to live, and this actually feels like a good time to be aware of the fact that if he refuses any longer there’s a large chance he’s gonna get put down before he takes the Court out with him. He should be more open to this than he has been, he knows that, but he can’t get the sight of his sister’s face out of his mind.

She didn’t deserve this, neither does Monsieur Neuvillette. The thought that he might kill Neuvillette over this? It—Wriothesley’s hand twitches against his side, a sharp jolt that brushes up the edge of his skin like a live wire. Wriothesley swallows his breath, stifling the whimper he feels rising in his sternum. No, Wriothesley resolves, it goes against everything Wriothesley has ever fought for.

Neuvillette’s cheek turns at that moment, spying Wriothesley standing on the edges. Feeling caught, Wriothesley surrenders. His feet are heavy as he walks over, standing before the man he’s damned with his very existence.

“Your Grace,” Neuvillette greets, “it is nice to finally meet you.” He says politely, his face reticent, “I am Neuvillette, your guide for the foreseeable future.”

That sounds indefinite. They must assume Wriothesley is either gonna get guided properly, fat chance, or he’s gonna go out in that dungeon they send him to. Well, better inside a dungeon than in the middle of the city.

“Wriothesley, it is nice to meet you too, Monsieur.” Wriothesley says with a smile, because when you’re about to give a guy frostbite to the heart you might as well treat him nicely.

Neuvillette’s lashes are long as he dips his head in a graceful nod of acknowledgment. Wriothesley feels increasingly ashamed that he’s about to injure such a beautiful man. Society will surely be remiss.

He holds a wisdom in his face that Wriothesley doesn’t see worn gracefully very often. His skin is smooth, unblemished, his lips thin and straight and his eyes are, a color Wriothesley can’t identify. It must be the light streaming in from the window casting that hue. It’s pretty, Monsieur Neuvillette is a pretty sight.

“I hope you’ll be cooperative, Your Grace.” Sigewinne says with a tone that Wriothesley doesn’t catch.

Wriothesley blinks, lashes lifting away from Neuvillette’s handsome countenance to Sigewinne. She’s looking up at him with that grin of hers that he’s still trying to figure out.

“As much as in my control.” He smiles back, eyes creasing in a mirror of her intentional expression.

“I trust the Duke is prepared for this as much as any of us can be.” Neuvillette cuts in smoothly.

Sigewinne’s attention turns to him easily and his words manage to catch Wriothesley’s too. Huh, he’s never had someone defend him like that before. It’s subvert but effective. It makes Wriothesley really not want to go into that room with him. Monsieur Neuvillette doesn’t need to be kind but he is and that just makes Wriothesley feel worse.

“Very well then!” Sigewinne chirps cheerily, “I’ll leave you to it! Take care of him well, Monsieur!” She says on her heels, bounding down the hall without even waiting for a reply.

Neuvillette, for a moment, looks unsure of how to deal with that, but he settles for a kind shake of his head and a little smile. Wriothesley thinks maybe he’s not meant to be looking this closely but Neuvillette is naturally charming with his subtle movements and simple elegance.

Neuvillette turns his shoulder to the double doors where he twists the knob beneath his gloved hand, then with an open gesture, he invites Wriothesley in.

His office is far from understated, dripping in the casual luxury of the Palais’ natural splendor, but the actual accessible parts of the room are surprisingly bare, like someone doesn’t even use it, which from what Wriothesley knows about Neuvillette, is probably untrue.

Word on the street is that Monsieur Neuvillette is a workaholic who never leaves his office and takes multiple guiding sessions a day. The thought that Neuvillette is no longer going to be guiding half of Fontaine for the foreseeable future is not lost on him. Oh brother, he really hopes he only frosts the guy. Neuvillette could probably live without his pinky.

“Come, have a seat.” Neuvillette offers with a gesture of his gloved hand.

Many guides go around wearing gloves to limit the access of their ability through touch, so it’s not unusual to see. Neuvillette is impeccably dressed though. Wriothesley doesn’t spy a single section of exposed skin besides for the end of his high collar around his neck. He could be a priest. Probably not a thought he should be having right before he gets touched by the guy.

Priest or no priest, Neuvillette is still a Court official, that begs at least some sort of respect and propriety.

Wriothesley takes a seat on the couch in the center of the room. He is only slightly surprised when Neuvillette comes around and sits beside him. Right, guiding.

Wriothesley hasn’t even attempted to receive guiding in years. He’s perhaps more nervous for this, simply sitting side by side, than he should be. Sure, he’s appropriately apprehensive for the guiding process in general, but just this, this sitting next to another person, scenting them, hearing their heartbeat so close to his own is, well, it’s been a while.

Wriothesley doesn’t know if it’s because he’s missed proximity or if it’s because Neuvillette simply has a pleasant scent, but Wriothesley, despite being full of tension and anticipation, doesn’t dislike the position.

Neuvillette removes his glove with a slow pull, revealing pale skin and lithe fingers. They’re longer than he expected, slightly knobby and blushed around the knuckles. Wriothesley’s lashes settle over the hand as it turns, palm up. Neuvillette is silent but Wriothesley understands his gesture.

He peels off his own gloves, unwinding his wraps. With a casualness he doesn’t feel, Wriothesley delivers his hand to Neuvillette’s own. At the touch Wriothesley’s skin jumps. Neuvillette isn’t using his ability yet but the touch of his hand is so novel that his body reacts to it. He forces himself to relax, his palm settling against Neuvillette’s own.

His fingertips tingle, his hand alight with tension. Neuvillette’s hand is slightly warm but not as hot as he would expect from someone who always wears gloves. Wriothesley doesn’t have anything to compare the sensation to, doesn’t have enough clarity over his mind to even form an opinion on it. He’s too busy trying to calm down to think much of anything. Fuck but he’s tense. Neuvillette can probably tell.

Neuvillette’s lashes flick up from their hands to Wriothesley’s face. Wriothesley meets his gaze, watching as his lips part.

“You are tense.” Neuvillette observes.

Knew it, Wriothesley thinks.

“Sorry.” He says, unsure what else to say.

“No need,” Neuvillette replies, “it is no fault of your own. It is something I must try to fix.”

Wriothesley blinks at that. Huh, interesting. Most guides Wriothesley’s been around have always acted like nurses at the hospital would, with apathy and judgement. This self imposed responsibility must be purely Neuvillette’s personality.

“Just, give me a minute.” Wriothesley suggests.

With that minute he tries to force himself to calm down. Unfortunately that just makes him more aware. Neuvillette’s eyes return to their clasped hands, perhaps the appropriate choice given their current position. Looking into each other’s eyes silently feels a little more intimate than this process requires. Wriothesley appreciates the consideration.

“Alright,” Wriothesley decides, feeling no less uncomfortable than he did before. “You can try.” He allows.

At those words, the world expands til he is microscopic. Wriothesley blinks and he can’t feel himself anymore. All he feels is Neuvillette and that erasure of his own sense of self is so violent that something within him cracks. The world erupts into light and before he knows it Wriothesley is detached and gone. He forces himself to feel the wall against his back, the shelf beneath his hand, the clenched shirt within his fist as his chest palpitates.

Wriothesley blinks back the light as his sense of sound returns to him.

“Are you alright?” Neuvillette asks, sounding far too casual for the ice castle he sits in.

Wriothesley has never had this level of a reaction to a guide before. He felt like he was drowning and that feeling had split his chest open, spilling out something cold and sharp. Wriothesley blinks at the sight of frost covering the walls of the room, but more importantly, arching up Neuvillette’s hand. Neuvillette observes it with an impassive expression.

Wriothesley doesn’t know what just happened but that’s his backlash, and that amount of it is terrifying. Wriothesley could actually kill him if they keep this up.

He’s halfway to the door before he can even speak.

“No.” Wriothesley refuses, barely pausing as Neuvillette rises to his own feet.

Neuvillette’s lashes flick to him, “No?” He implores.

“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head, turning to face Neuvillette, “this,” he gestures between them, focusing on the frosty tips of Neuvillette’s hand, “is not continuing.”Neuvillette’s brow furrows. “No, I refuse.” Wriothesley resolves, wiping the back of his hand across his face as he angles away from Neuvillette, other hand placed on his hip, begging for something to center him to the room around him. It’s cold.

He should leave but that’s rude and he refuses to be rude without explanation.

Wriothesley removes his hand from his face and gestures with it for emphasis, “This is dangerous, Monsieur.” Wriothesley pleads, begging for Neuvillette to understand and turn tail.

“Your condition is more dangerous to you than this is to me.” Neuvillette remarks casually.

Wriothesley rears back as if struck.

“Do you not see it?” Wriothesley laughs, a harsh sharp sound, “Look around, Monsieur.” The walls are covered in ice, Neuvillette’s very couch is dusted with frost. Wriothesley begs, “If you try to guide me I can’t—“ Wriothesley’s tongue grows stiff at once, words dying in his throat with a choked sound.

Still, Neuvillette remains. His regard is a heavy weight as he watches Wriothesley fumble for a proper excuse, a way to relieve Neuvillette of his duty. He can’t find the nerve to express the words every other guide seems to just know. Wriothesley is dangerous, violent even. He’s not worth the risk.

“I’m afraid this is the condition of my job,” Neuvillette begins, “backlash is not unexpected, and I assure you whatever frost you coat this room with, I can handle it.”

As if to prove it, the ice begins to recede. Wriothesley knows some guides have the power to nullify but this is, a little shocking. Huh. Wriothesley’s lashes stutter over the sight of Neuvillette’s bare hand, free of damage or discoloration.

Wriothesley swallows. Hope is a dangerous thing.

“It’s still,” Wriothesley tongues his cheek, lashes flicking back up to Neuvillette’s patient gaze, “I don’t think direct guiding is a good idea.”

“Do you have an alternative solution?” Neuvillette asks, slowly sitting back down and placing his hand in his politely folded lap.

Wriothesley worries his lip between his teeth. Slowly, he turns his cheek, “Unfortunately, I can only assume the reason my body is rejecting you is because subconsciously I feel,” he hesitates, “threatened.”

Neuvillette considers him for a long moment.

“What would make me less threatening than?” He asks slowly.

“Just,” Wriothesley turns, glances at the couch then sighs, his lashes kiss his cheeks with defeat. Slowly, he returns himself to the couch, taking a seat with a hesitant motion. His cheek turns to Neuvillette, watching him and his expression. The sight of Neuvillette’s eyes holding his gives Wriothesley the barest amount of courage to speak with, “be patient with me?” He pleads through his lashes, as if anticipating harsh rejection.

Neuvillette’s expression grows immutably soft, a motion barely noticeable and yet Wriothesley notices.

“Of course,” Neuvillette says, “I will do my best.”

They try again, going slower. Anytime Wriothesley feels the tickle of Neuvillettes power he suppresses the urge to flinch but that makes him anticipate backlash and he backs off immediately. Neuvillette is patient, as he promised, but his gaze is calculating, searching for a solution.

“Perhaps this would be easier for you if my touch was less presumptuous as guiding.” He offers as Wriothesley rubs at his wrist.

“What would you have me presume?” Wriothesley asks, half paying attention.

“That I am your lover.” Neuvillette says with little explanation.

Wriothesley blinks, “I’m sorry?”

“If you presume me to be your lover then would you not also presume me to be someone who wishes to not harm you?” Neuvillette explains, delicate lashes blinking subtly like this means nothing.

“Ah,” Wriothesley says, “yeah, I guess, that makes sense.”

A furrow appears in Neuvillette’s straight brow, “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m just,” Wriothesley shrugs with a twitch of his cheek, “it’s not a thought I expected you to make.”

“There is little I am unwilling to do to comfort you.” Neuvillette says, entirely earnest.

Wriothesley almost misunderstands him and takes that personally, but he is quick to catch himself.

“Right, well, I appreciate that.” He says with a polite smile, it feels strained, “I guess we can give it a try if you’re so willing.”

“Good.” Neuvillette nods, satisfied.

Neuvillette holds Wriothesley’s hands, both this time, and smoothes a thumb over the back of his knuckles. The motion is sweet, the caress gentle, and Wriothesley thinks he might actually be serious about this lover thing. For a long moment, Wriothesley doesn’t feel his guiding rise, they’re simply sitting here holding hands and that thought leaves Wriothesley focusing on the touch of Monsieur Neuvillette’s bare hands.

His nails are manicured stiletto, the nail beds pink. Wriothesley gets stuck staring at them, chooses to think about the way they look and not focus on the way Neuvillette breathes before him. If he focuses on the gentle rise of Neuvillette’s chest he’ll forget his own rhythm.

But then that vast pool opens up beneath him and Wriothesley thinks he glimpse the ocean. It’s terrifying. It freezes his chest and he takes his hands back before the ice travels out of his skin.

He flexes his fingers around the frost in his palms, begging it to recede on its own.

Neuvillette makes a soft move for his hands and at the gentle touch the ice recedes as if beckoned. Wriothesley marvels at the fact his body listened to that. Huh. Nullification is pretty neat.

“I’d consider this an endeavor, Your Grace.” Neuvillette remarks as he continues to brush his thumbs over Wriothesley’s chapped knuckles.

“Whatever do you mean, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks with a dead tone, utterly sarcastic.

Neuvillette responds seriously, “It will take several tries for me to properly guide you. Luckily, the board has given you a month to prepare for the dungeon in the Court. Within that month I would like to make progress at least once a day.”

Wriothesley hums, a little lost in the motion of Neuvillette’s thumbs, “Then I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other than, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette’s lip twitches, “Much more, Your Grace.”

Chapter Text

Their session ended shortly after that. Neuvillette had offered another attempt after Wriothesley had grown a little used to his touch but at the suggestion all that tension returned and it seemed useless. Neuvillette had let him go with a patient expression at Wriothesley’s refusal.

It’s nice to not feel shamed for saying no, Wriothesley thinks as he remembers that day from behind his desk in his office. His hands fold before his face as his thumb curves a line along his cupid’s bow, lost in thought. His work for the day lies separated at the edge of his desk, completed and waiting for review, while he sits there waiting for Neuvillette.

Wriothesley received the letter of his appointment early that morning and his mind has been distracted for the better most of the day because of it. It is probably best they don’t attempt another guiding session in Neuvillette’s office so close to the Court and citizens of Fontaine.

Though the Fortress was built to handle backlash, it is essentially a holding shelter for Espers who developed early and are rather reckless with their abilities. Wriothesley doesn’t want to injure them either, that’s perhaps why he’s so on edge even just waiting in his office. He really hopes Neuvillette can keep him in check.

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock at his door, the metal causes a sound that echoes through his office even up the long stairwell.

Wriothesley shifts back in his chair and presses the button beneath his desk, letting the door unlock and open. At the sight of a familiar Esper bounding up his stairs, he wishes he hadn’t. This may take a while.

“Duke!” The Esper cheers at the very sight of him, “please tell me you put me on the dungeon in Elynas!”

“Yeah,” Wriothesley smiles good naturedly, “you got it,” he says, with a shrug of his crossed arms, “but don’t rub it in the other’s face.” He tells that suspicious expression that slowly grows giddy, “Now scram, I’ve got an appointment coming.”

“What for,” she blinks, “is it about the dungeon in the Court?”

“Something like that.” Wriothesley allows, hoping it’ll make her leave quicker.

Unfortunately it’s not quick enough. At that moment the door beneath them opens and the unmistakable sound of Neuvillette’s cane rings against the metal as he climbs the stairs.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” She blanches. “Oh—I should thank you for the last time you helped me.”

“Think nothing of it,” he says as he climbs the last stair, waving a finger against his cane, “it is merely my job.”

“What are you doing in the Fortress?” She asks, “Is someone close to overclocking?”

The room falls silent.

“If you want to keep your dungeon you should carry on with your day.” Wriothesley suggests with a smile.

Her face turns white, “Right, I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart Your Grace, good day!” She says, before throwing herself down the stairs and out the door.

Neuvillette’s lashes lift, from her departure, to Wriothesley’s face with a slow turn. Wriothesley swallows.

“Well,” he begins, “care for some tea?”

“If it would make you comfortable to do so,” Neuvillette allows, “I do not mind receiving it.”

Wriothesley doesn’t know how to respond to that but he wants a cup so he figures he’ll make them both one.

“Alright.” He says, before standing and turning on his heel for the cart along the wall.

The kettle sings as the water boils. Wriothesley prepares two cups and brings the tray over to the table beside the couches in the corner of his office. He takes a seat by Neuvillette before reaching for the handle of the teapot. Neuvillette is silent as he pours the water into the cup with a gentle hand, slow and steady. His wrist feels sore as he goes for his own cup but he pushes through it.

Both cups deliver steam to the air as they sit on their saucers. Setting the teapot aside, Wriothesley picks up a cup and delivers it to Neuvillette beside him. Neuvillette accepts his cup with a gracious nod and a delicate hand.

For a moment they merely purse their lips over their cups, waiting for their tea to cool before taking a sip in unintentional rhythm with each other. Their expressions split and Wriothesley notices Neuvillette’s twitching brow from the corner of his eye.

So he’s not a tea fan. He tucks that information away and instead sets his cup on the table.

“So,” Wriothesley begins, watching Neuvillette set his own cup aside with a gentle movement, “how do you want to do this?” Wriothesley asks, surrendering control to Neuvillette and his guiding experience.

Wriothesley doesn’t surrender control over a situation very often in his life, nothing good comes from giving it up to people who are less capable than Wriothesley, and it often times only ends up being an irresponsible decision in the end, but in this situation he thinks Neuvillette won’t disappoint him. He’s guided more people than Wriothesley’s been guided by so that thought eases the nerves that surrendering his authority leaves him with.

Neuvillette turns to him, his knee shifting against the cushions and Wriothesley turns his own body at the movement, mirroring Neuvillette’s open position. Neuvillette peels his gloves back one by one before laying them flat across his thigh.

Wriothesley’s hands shake as he removes his gloves but it’s not from nerves, that’s a tremor in his right hand coming from the pain that doesn’t seem to go away no matter how hard he squeezes his hand or leaves it alone. Neuvillette’s lashes pull over that hand but he doesn’t acknowledge it with a word, instead he makes a gesture that Wriothesley recognizes.

Wriothesley delivers his hands to those palms, feels where their skin brushes and alights his fingertips with sensation. It buzzes beneath his skin, a thrum that hums like his pulse and for a moment he can’t tell if he’s still trembling because Neuvillette holds him steady.

His touch is gentle sure but firm. The other day he’d let Wriothesley merely lay his hands across his palms but today he holds them, fingers curling over and thumbs dipping into the bend of his own thumbs.

That sensitive skin there tenses but Neuvillette’s thumbs are gentle, they choose to rub over the bone of his hand, that long strip that leads to his index finger and simply goes back and forth in an endless and repetitive motion that soon grows boring with its consistency. Wriothesley settles beneath it, as comfortable with the motion as he is with the hum settling beneath his skin at the touch.

Wriothesley’s lashes brush his cheeks as he no longer focuses on the sounds happening outside but on the steady beat of his heart in the center of his chest and that same thrum beating between their hands. Wriothesley waits for the guiding to begin, almost wishing Neuvillette would just get it over with like a bandaid but that thought leaves him tense.

He takes a deep breath, holds it in his chest and releases as quiet as he can, afraid to interrupt the silence that settles over the room.

Wriothesley’s lashes flick up as nothing continues to happen and they rise at the sight of Neuvillette’s attention on him. His eyes are a hue Wriothesley still can’t parse, his silver lashes long as they shift between Wriothesley’s eyes. He’s looking for something, Wriothesley just can’t tell what. Permission to start maybe?

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley asks.

“You are more tense than you were yesterday.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. Given how tense he was yesterday he almost doesn’t believe the statement but given that they’re in his office today, yeah, he can imagine why he’d be tense.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Neuvillette says, Wriothesley doesn’t flinch but he recognizes the impulse, “no need. Here,” Neuvillette says instead, removing his hands from Wriothesley’s clasp.

His skin feels cold as Neuvillette moves and then his cheek feels warm. Soft skin, the pad of a thumb rubs along Wriothesley’s cheek, teasing the skin beneath his eyes that have gone wide with his surprise. He swallows under the gaze Neuvillette delivers him. This feels, different, almost suggestive.

Wriothesley is certain that Monsieur Neuvillette Chief Guide of Fontaine is not about to kiss him in the middle of his office in the Fortress but if anyone were to walk in on them it would certainly look like it. Neuvillette is surprisingly bold, Wriothesley thinks, only half remembering his lover comment from the other day.

Neuvillette looks serious, eyes shifting between Wriothesley’s lashes, cataloguing his comfort level Wriothesley realizes. Wriothesley decides to take it in stride, breathing through the touch and reaching for Neuvillette’s other hand abandoned against his thigh.

Neuvillette’s lashes glance to the sight of Wriothesley gently begging his palm back into his grasp but he goes easily, fingers sinking back into that comfortable position and returning the warmth Wriothesley was so focused on only a moment ago. Feeling that heat on his face now makes him feel a little eclipsed. He thought that would bother him more than it does but it just forces his body to calm down.

That’s nice, not having to use his own willpower to be calm but his body simply listening to someone else’s direction. Fuck but he can feel the tension flooding out of him. His lashes dip against his cheeks, begging him to pull under into the touch and surrender to nothing but the places where Neuvillette holds him. He doesn’t recognize this instinct in himself, but he doesn’t feel strong enough to reject it.

That’s when Neuvillette’s guiding comes, silent and predatory. Wriothesley’s spine goes stiff at the emptiness around him, the vast open ocean. He can’t tell where it’s coming from. It feels like it’s all around him, pressing in on him.

Neuvillette’s hand is the only thing keeping Wriothesley from falling untethered into the nothingness around him, into the ether of empty that blips and blinks and suddenly it grows. Neuvillette’s hand is the only thing Wriothesley can cling to beneath the giant wave threatening to swallow him.

Wriothesley shudders, pressing his cheek into Neuvillette’s palm, running away from that encroaching wave, but he immediately becomes aware of the power surging in that hand. It’s like a slap to the face despite no one having moved. Wriothesley kicks himself up onto his legs and walks himself back into a wall. His lashes peel back but he can’t see, still trapped beneath the Tsunami threatening to erase his existence entirely.

Neuvillette remains on the couch watching him with an impassive face. Wriothesley can’t read it, can’t read anything besides the pulse in his throat. He pulls in a shaky gasp and nearly hurls. His hand chases his mouth, fingers curling into the skin just to cement himself as he presses the ridges of his spine into the metal of the wall behind him.

God, this is impossible. For a moment there he thought he might be able to push through but, fuck.

“Take your time.” Neuvillette advises, his gentle voice sounding full of some knowing wisdom as he sips from the cup of tea that he doesn’t even like.

Wriothesley feels ridiculous but that action that Neuvillette takes makes him feel so much better. It’s like he’s been granted privacy despite knowing Neuvillette is still in the room with him, but that’s nice too, knowing he’s not being abandoned for this behavior.

Wriothesley’s lashes pull over ice, a thin sheen that sparkles like stardust as Neuvillette’s authority nullifies its ugly picture into something beautiful. Neuvillette looks otherworldly sipping from his cup with a delicate hand seated amongst falling stardust.

It touches his shoulder and evaporates, water turning into thin air. He removes the cup from his lips and lifts it to the air, catching a falling petal of frost as it turns to water. Just like that, he fills his cup. This time, when he drinks from its mouth, he pulls away with a smile, satisfied and content.

Huh. Wriothesley feels oddly distracted by that sight, can’t pull his lashes away from Neuvillette for a second. Just like that, his panic recedes and he feels an urge. An urge to do what? To sit by Neuvillette’s side on the couch, to try again. Odd, he didn’t feel that yesterday, but he feels it now, watching Neuvillette settle his teacup against the table.

Wriothesley gives in slowly, taking his feet to the edge of the couch and looking down his nose at Neuvillette. Neuvillette slowly delivers his attention to Wriothesley, lashes peering up at him. Even from this angle he is handsome. Neuvillette makes a quiet and inviting gesture of his hand. Wriothesley sits.

For a long moment nothing happens, Wriothesley simply watches Neuvillette and Neuvillette reciprocates. Then, Wriothesley offers his face in gentle invitation. He tilts his cheek with lidded eyes, awaiting Neuvillette’s touch. It comes sweetly, soft and warm and something curls around the ice in his chest and nullifies the sting.

“Good.” Neuvillette coos with a gentle deep voice.

Wriothesley, for a mindless moment, believes it.

This time, Wriothesley lets his lashes pull closed completely, surrendering to the darkness and choosing to believe he can trust it. He repeats it to himself in the conscious part of his mind, arguing with his instincts and impulse. He presses his cheek harder against Neuvillette’s palm and settles at the fact that it doesn’t move, it holds him and his weight and that pulls something dizzying into his head, it leaves him unable to argue with himself.

Wriothesley turns his nose to the edge of Neuvillette’s palm, lashes fluttering against his fingers as he settles. At the same time, Neuvillette’s thumb continues that gentle motion against Wriothesley’s hand. For a moment he forgets he’s supposed to be anticipating something, that this, just this touch, is not what Neuvillette is here for. He could’ve fooled Wriothesley, sitting here half falling into Neuvillette’s strong hand, as if Wriothesley is centered to the core of the world itself as long as they remain touching.

Wriothesley thinks he loses time thinking on that notion. When Neuvillette removes his hand Wriothesley is going to miss it, he doesn’t know how he couldn’t. This simple motion has created in him some form of dependency. Like as long as Neuvillette is touching him it is proof that nothing will happen. And then that thought shatters as the world sinks around him.

Wriothesley is drowning. For a moment he thinks he put himself here, he wants to drown, but he remembers how ridiculous that sounds and rejects the thought entirely. That’s when his chest splits open.

“Uh-uh.” Wriothesley pulls away, chasing the emptiness of his face with his own hands and hiding behind his split fingers. He blinks through the haze and sees Neuvillette sitting there, motionless, patient, ice free except for the couch they sit on. Progress, Wriothesley thinks a little wryly. Mostly, he feels embarrassed.

He rubs his thumbs across his sore seek bones, his jaw feels tight. Fuck. Neuvillette was right. This is an endeavor.

Moments later after Wriothesley is over the aching loss of Neuvillette’s touch and the overwhelming burden of Neuvillette’s guiding, Wriothesley stands at the edge of the stairs with Neuvillette on the way out.

“You did well today.” Neuvillette tells him, like it’s true.

Wriothesley doesn’t waste his energy on rebuffing him. He merely nods.

“Shall I continue to meet you in the fortress?” Neuvillette then asks.

Wriothesley shrugs a stiff shoulder, “Sure.”

Neuvillette’s gaze lingers, “On second thought,” he says slowly, “I believe I would prefer if you came to my townhome. It’s removed from the Court and quiet.” He reasons, “It should put me at ease.”

Wriothesley can taste the half-truth. Swallowing his gratitude, he gives Neuvillette a nod, surrendering to his gentle suggestion.

Wriothesley stands, massaging his wrist with a gentle motion, before the townhome Neuvillette invited him to, an old century looking house on the outskirts of Fontaine, closer to the wild than it is to the city. It’s a beautiful piece of architecture and almost impeccably reflectant of Neuvillette’s taste.

Wriothesley stands out front for some time, working up the nerve before he decides to fuck waiting and rely on impulse. The chime of the doorbell is startling as he presses it but he keeps the reaction from his body with considerable effort. Moments later, the door peels back and there stand Neuvillette, subtly dressed down to his vest and sleeve garters. It’s a sight Wriothesley can appreciate.

“Your Grace, come on in.” Neuvillette invites, stepping back neatly.

Wriothesley nods his own greeting on the way in, reaching for his coat to leave on the rack by the door. Neuvillette looks pleased at his silent initiative. That makes Wriothesley feel a little proud of himself.

“Before we begin,” Neuvillette starts, “perhaps you’d like a tour. It is your first time here, new places can be intimidating.”

Wriothesley’s lip twitches.

“That’s considerate of you, Monsieur.” Wriothesley says, “I think I’d enjoy a tour.”

Neuvillette’s answer is a small smile, upon his straight lips it is understated and handsome. Wriothesley’s lashes fall to it for a stuttered moment before Neuvillette is turning to a hall by his shoulder. Wriothesley is introduced to a dining room, a study, and a guest room upstairs that looks particularly sparse. They avoid Neuvillette’s bedroom out of courtesy and return down the stairs for the living room which is likely where they will be making their final stop.

On the way over, Neuvillette passes a hand across Wriothesley’s arm. He startles immediately, a sharp jolt that is easy to miss. Neuvillette, however, does not miss it.

“My apologies.” Neuvillette expresses with a frown, “I should have forewarned you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Wriothesley rushes, “it’s—it’s just me,” he shrugs, “I’ll get used to it.”

That frown on Neuvillette’s face deepens.

“You need not accommodate me, Your Grace.” He tells Wriothesley, “If anything it should be me who is accommodating you.”

“Please it’s fine,” Wriothesley says, “ I need to get used to you anyway, I don’t mind you touching me, just,” he asks through his lashes, “don’t get spooked if you catch me off guard yeah?”

Neuvillette’s response is subtle, the whites of his eyes barely show before his expression shifts into one Wriothesley has seen before.

“If you insist.” Neuvillette says, despite the worry in his brow.

“I do.” Wriothesley assures.

Neuvillette’s expression softens, taking Wriothesley’s words seriously. For that, Wriothesley is grateful.

Neuvillette then turns and leads Wriothesley through a doorway from the foyer into a living room that shares an open space with a kitchen and island. Neuvillette must come from old money, Wriothesley thinks at the sight.

“Would you like something to drink, Your Grace?” Neuvillette asks as they enter the room.

“Have any tea?” Wriothesley asks.

“Ah,” Neuvillette blinks, “I do not.”

Wriothesley shrugs, “Don’t worry about it then.”

Neuvillette’s brow furrows but he accepts it without a word. Instead he leads Wriothesley to the couch sitting in the center of the room before a fireplace. As they sit, Neuvillette crosses his leg out of habit and Wriothesley spies the edge of his ankle.

Seeing Neuvillette in socks is a sight Wriothesley is having a hard time getting used to. He keeps expecting to look down and see his spat buckles and silver heels but all he sees are the barest hints of an ankle and those dark half-socks covering the silhouette of his toes. It’s distracting.

He has pretty feet, not a thought Wriothesley has very often, or at all really because who thinks that about feet? But despite only seeing the temptation of an outline, Wriothesley is certain that for Neuvillette it must be true. His feet are likely beautiful.

Wriothesley removes his attention from Neuvillette’s feet and instead delivers it to his face. Neuvillette wears that expression again, the one he wore only a moment ago when Wriothesley had reacted to his touch. Wriothesley suspects whatever he is about to say is in regard to that moment.

“I should preface this now,” Neuvillette begins, his slow cadence slipping the room under the effect of his gentle voice, “I would like your permission to touch you,” he tells Wriothesley with his silver lashes and attentive gaze, “in order to get you used to my touch.” He explains, “I won’t guide you without asking first so you can expect that when I touch you, it will simply be my hand and none of my ability.”

“Alright.” Wriothesley agrees like it’s easy.

He hopes his true feelings don’t show on his face.

Whether they do or don’t, Neuvillette makes no comment. Instead, he settles, as if assured. With that, he leans back against the upholstery and switches position, turning towards Wriothesley with a thigh slanted across the cushions between them. Wriothesley, with a confidence he doesn’t feel, lifts Neuvillette’s crooked leg across his own, leaning impossibly closer. In the silence that stretches like permission, Wriothesley delivers his face to Neuvillette without word.

That same gentle hand rises, only this time Neuvillette leans his elbow against the back of the couch and seeing his intention Wriothesley follows and settles his shoulder into the cushion as he buries his cheek into that palm. Neuvillette’s fingers eclipse the back of Wriothesley’s ear, curling around the base of his head.

He has never felt so held before. He feels like he could surrender anything at this moment. Hopefully he retains that mindset once Neuvillette’s guiding begins.

Nothing happens for a long moment. Wriothesley doesn’t close his eyes, and Neuvillette doesn’t falter beneath his gaze, holding his attention with a security Wriothesley doesn’t experience often. He feels his respect for the Monsieur grow as their eye contact holds.

This time, Neuvillette gives him a warning.

“I am going to begin guiding you now.” Neuvillette says with that gentle tone of his, voice barely a whisper.

It feels better not being caught off guard, Wriothesley thinks as he chooses to surrender. His lashes kiss his cheeks as the world opens up around him. It’s startling, but this time Wriothesley suppresses the urge to leap out of his chest and instead presses into Neuvillette’s hand. Beneath his fingertips he finds Neuvillette’s slack clad knee and in the plush of his skin he finds a second tether. His fingers smooth over the warmth of his skin as he buries his lashes into Neuvillette’s palm.

His neck lies exposed, that should scare him. The only thing that scares him is the ice threatening to spill from his chest. He can’t help it, he’s afraid. His body trembles with the reaction of a bad memory, an old and distant thing where a lack of control meant surrender to chaos and prosecution. He tries to remember that this hand belongs to  Neuvillette. Under the pressure of the ocean, he cannot.

Wriothesley rips away from everything, touch, sight, and sound as he curls up on the opposite end of the couch, coiling around his large, body til he feels small. His fingertips press pressure into the fuzzy feeling of his face, peeling his lashes open and begging sight back into them. He stares, unseeingly, past his knees, past the blur, at the cushions beneath his socked feet.

Through Wriothesley’s fingers, his black lashes flutter. Slowly, he rises heavy and tired eyes upon Neuvillette. Wriothesley buries the shame for fear and eats the fear for anticipation. He anticipates Neuvillette’s reaction deeply, and yet, Neuvillette does nothing. He simply sits there on the opposite end of the couch with an impassive expression. His hands sit in his lap as he watches Wriothesley with a look that is both aware and distant, calculating.

Wriothesley shivers. That’s probably from the ice in the room.

Slowly, just as the frost recedes, he begins to feel his face again. Beneath Wriothesley’s palms, his cheeks are warm and his jaw loosens. The ache peels in, and he begs his shoulders to settle. They won’t. His body refuses to move. He is effectively stuck.

For several moments, Neuvillette seems to trust that he will peel himself away from his corner. As those moments settle his brow furrows.

Slowly, his lips part, “Come,” his deep voice splits the silence, “sit with me.” He invites gently.

To Wriothesley that registers as something old with authority. He can’t disobey that, he knows this and yet his body refuses. Panic kicks up in his chest. He wants to obey, he wants to be good, but he can’t.

The cushion suddenly dips beneath Wriothesley’s leg as Neuvillette, on his hands and gentle knee, crawls to Wriothesley. His lashes strike wide at the sight. He swallows against the emotion threatening to rise at the thought that Neuvillette didn’t threaten him after Wriothesley disobeyed his command.

Instead, Wriothesley focuses on Neuvillette’s hands as they reach for his own, and gently pull his fingers away from his face. Wriothesley looks up at Neuvillette’s patient expression through heavy lashes, nervous and tense and hopeful. He waits for Neuvillette to absolve him of his sin, of his disobedience, but Neuvillette does not recognize the need for such a motion.

Instead, he gently begs Wriothesley into his arms and that, this, Wriothesley thinks as Neuvillette holds him, tucks his chin over the crown of Wriothesley’s head and settles his ear over Neuvillette’s beating heart, registers as what he needed, forgiveness. Wriothesley breathes, settling into Neuvillette’s arms. Finally, like the ice, his panic recedes and his heart rests.

Neuvillette’s vest is soft and expensive to the touch, it’s not bad for bringing the awareness back to Wriothesley’s body as his cheek lays across Neuvillette’s chest. He’s firm, Wriothesley thinks he can feel muscle where his palm rests on his waist. His thumb is frozen, afraid to tempt a line of touch where he’s not sure he’s meant to be. Neuvillette initiated this to pull him out of his fear, that doesn’t extend to Wriothesley’s curiosity nor should he take his own liberties.

As the silence stretches Wriothesley feels his skin grow tense with awareness. It’s awkward til Neuvillette runs a flat palm down his spine and Wriothesley goes limp. Fuck, where’d he learn that trick?

“Monsieur.” Wriothesley’s throat croaks.

“Hm?” Neuvillette hums, quiet against the evening sun’s quiet descent.

“Is it alright if we leave it at this?” He asks, voice taking a softer tone with the fear of expected rejection.

Neuvillette presses that palm back down Wriothesley’s spine.

“Of course, Your Grace.” He says and Wriothesley wonders if you can administer guiding through nothing but sound because the effect Neuvillette’s voice has on him feels cleansing.

Wriothesley’s lips spill his relief and for a moment longer, he rests in the bed of Neuvillette’s gentle embrace.

As the evening light settles across the walls spewing shadow towards the corner of the room Wriothesley politely removes himself from Neuvillette’s arms. Neuvillette sees him out in the foyer as Wriothesley shrugs on his overcoat.

“You did well today, Your Grace.” Neuvillette tells him.

Wriothesley bites back the impulse to deny it or assume that he says that to everyone he guides. Instead he puts on a casual smile and waves his goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow, Monsieur.” Wriothesley waves, and then he’s gone.

The moon is out by the time Wriothesley reaches the elevator delivering him to the Fortress below. He carries himself on heavy feet to his apartment, shouldering in through the door and locking it behind him. He drags himself through a shower and a meal before forcing himself to lie flat on his back in bed.

The shadows make weird shapes on the ceiling and for a long moment Wriothesley simply watches them form. Then he tries to close his eyes and surrender to sleep.

Behind his eyelids, memories materialize, some good, most painful, and then a warmth blooms across the side of his face. The sting that usually begs him to retreat doesn’t come, the warmth isn’t painful, simply present. It takes a while for Wriothesley to realize he’s remembering Neuvillette’s touch and when he does he doesn’t know how to feel about that. He’s halfway into REM by the time he even notices.

His chest beats a gentle rhythm, swaying his body deeper into his sheets, muscles sinking beneath a loosening tension. Then pain flares along the edge of his elbow shooting down his wrist and crooking his fingers sideways.

Wriothesley is out of bed with his head hanging off the edge of his gasping hands, neck bent as he tries to raise his limp wrist aching with electric pain. His mouth fills with static and saliva threatens to drip from his tongue but he grits his teeth and groans through the pain, silently begging for it to recede.

It is a long, trembling, and silent moment, as Wriothesley’s chest pants with exertion and exhaustion alike, til the pain even begins to dim. It is moments longer that it slowly settles back into that dull thrum. Wriothesley can’t tell it it’s gone just that it’s lessened and even that small miracle tastes like relief.

Wriothesley sits there on the edge of his bed with his head dipped between his shoulders, feeling the pull to sleep pass over him. His body is tense and alight and full of anticipation. Fuck, there’s no way he’s sleeping tonight. With that thought he resigns himself to a night of staring at shapes and shadows along the wall. It’s thrilling.

Unfortunately, a major side effect of being up all night is not only this headache Wriothesley nurses behind his desk in his office but also this frustration pouring out of him that leaves even Sigewinne short with him.

“Alright, Your Grace.” She says, “Just make sure to attend your appointment with Monsieur Neuvillette today.” She reminds him like he needs it.

For a second, he does. Right, he should head out soon if he plans to make that before evening.

“Will do.” Wriothesley smiles his biggest most enthusiastic smile and watches how Sigewinne trips trying to read if it’s genuine or not.

For a moment she’s stumped, then she’s rightfully contrite. She huffs on her way down the stairwell out the door.

Even standing in front of Neuvillette’s townhome Wriothesley still feels mildly annoyed. This is burdening and he doesn’t want to bother anyone else with it. Hopefully Neuvillette will spare him the indignity if he makes a fool of himself.

The door pulls back to Neuvillette in his vest and slacks with his hair pressed behind an ear, his bangs falling across his nose, dusting the arch of his straight brow. Wriothesley suddenly feels all that bubbling frustration flood from his shoulders til he’s standing bereft of the tension. All he feels now is anticipation, for what? Guiding probably. Maybe. Huh.

Wriothesley has no clue what’s just happened but he’s not going to question it in front of Neuvillette himself. Instead he smiles, entering through the door at Neuvillette’s behest and accepts the hand offered to him. The touch fills him with something, a warm feeling that sends his heart thrumming. The anticipation rises.

This is likely a bad sign if Wriothesley feels this way before guiding even begins but he can’t see it as a negative thing when it feels, good. Odd.

“Would you like something to drink?” Neuvillette asks as they enter his living room, “I have tea this time.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide.

“Sure,” his lip twitches, “sounds good.”

Neuvillette nods with a gentle expression of his own, visibly pleased as he turns towards the island in the kitchen. Wriothesley follows at a distance, idly watching Neuvillette as he goes through the motions of preparing the teapot. There’s not much left to do, it seems like he was anticipating preparing this for Wriothesley. That thought strikes his heart a little fondly.

The sight of Neuvillette making tea for Wriothesley to be a good host is cute on a man who is tall and begets authority and respect simply from his visage. Wriothesley feels honored to bear witness to the ceremony Neuvillette goes through, his gentle hand lifting the teapot to pour over the bed of leaf held within a cage of silver. Fancy mechanism for tea making, Wriothesley wonders where he got it. Makes his own tea preparations feel a little medieval.

When Neuvillette is finished, he lifts the tray and guides them to the couch that they sat on the other day. The tray meets the coffee table with a gentle sound before Neuvillette takes his hand to the saucer holding a cup and delivers it to Wriothesley sitting beside him. Wriothesley accepts it with a twitching smile before pulling it under his nose to scent. It’s spicy.

He takes a sip, chasing back the bite of cinnamon with the taste of something earthy. Rose and cinnamon seem like an odd combination but it’s not bad.

“How is your tea,” Neuvillette asks, “is it to your liking?”

“Yeah,” Wriothesley smiles, “it’s good, you know you’re quite the host, Monsieur.”

“Oh, truly?” Neuvillette’s lip twitches, “I must thank you, Your Grace. I have never heard that before.”

Wriothesley’s lashes pull over the subtle expression Neuvillette makes, flattered and proud. It’s a good look though a little understated. Wriothesley thinks Neuvillette might be the most humble man he knows.

“Tell me, Monsieur.” Wriothesley begs, “Who are you really? I feel as if I hardly know you.”

Neuvillette’s head rises, delivering Wriothesley his polite attention. He is without a response for a moment, likely thinking, but he thinks with his eyes on Wriothesley’s face, searching. Wriothesley feels disturbingly curious about that look, but before he can think on why, Neuvillette’s lashes turn to his hands.

“I am your Guide,” he says, “because of that, I hold responsibility over you, so I suppose you must become at least a little familiar with me.” As if coming to terms with something he nods, “Very well then, let us get acquainted.”

At that, Wriothesley straightens his back. “Very well then.” He agrees, feeling a little like they’re about to play a game.

“If you have any questions, I shall answer them all to the best of my abilities.” Neuvillette says.

Wriothesley’s lip twitches, “Any hobbies Monsieur?”

Neuvillette blinks, then without missing a beat, replies, “None whatsoever.”

Wriothesley tilts his cheek, “Pardon me for my disbelief, Monsieur.”

“You are pardoned.” Neuvillette says.

Wriothesley can’t help the smile fighting across his face, “Truly none?”

“A hobby is something you do in recreation,” Neuvillette clarifies, “in my case I do very little recreational acts.”

“What about reading?” Wriothesley suggests, “You have quite a few books, Monsieur. Surely you enjoy those.”

“Ah,” Neuvillette slants his lashes across his collection, “they are for study mostly, but I suppose if I had the time, I would choose to read recreationally.” He says, as if the thought has only just occurred to him.

Wriothesley feels amused and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it, leaning back with a cross of his arms, he throws his ankle over his knee and merely watches Neuvillette from beneath his lashes.

“What do you like then, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette takes a second to think on it, earnestly considering. He returns with rising lashes and an answer.

“Experience, perhaps.”

Wriothesley nods, “Experiences can be enjoyable, what about them do you enjoy?”

“Everything.” Neuvillette answers easily, “Even the most painful experiences teach me something I once was not privy to.”

“So you like to learn.” Wriothesley concludes.

“I am, perhaps, curious of most things,” Neuvillette explains, “learning is a continuous act for me.”

“I could understand that.” Wriothesley says.

Neuvillette’s lashes stutter, “Truly?”

“I’ve had an interesting upbringing,” Wriothesley shrugs, like it’s easy to mention, “taught me some things that aren’t necessarily accurate to apply to the modern world. I’ve had to relearn a lot of behaviors. I’m still learning even now.”

Neuvillette’s expression is mystified and perhaps a little relieved. “I see.” He says, reserved and enigmatic.

Wriothesley thinks they may have more in common than he once thought. The suspicion begs of him another question, “Do you like mysteries, Monsieur?”

Wriothesley has never seen Neuvillette’s attention caught so quickly before.

“I find them stimulating yes.”

Wriothesley likes Neuvillette’s odd turns of phrase he thinks, just as much as he does this little sparkle in his eye, it’s the look of his interest. Wriothesley finds it engaging.

Like that, they somehow find themselves lost in a conversation about the newspaper and Fontaine’s latest mystery written at the end of that paper. It’s been updating for years now, some inspired by truth, most fiction. Many are inspired by the origin of the dungeon’s themselves but very few strike on anything concrete, spinning stimulating fiction for fun and comfort both. Wriothesley doesn’t even notice the sun begin to dip below the curtain hanging over the window but when it does he remembers what he’s here for.

Right, he promised Sigewinne he’d receive guiding today. He’s remiss to interrupt Neuvillette and his excitement but Neuvillette is polite and appreciates being kept on task.

“Thank you for reminding me. Are you ready to begin then, Your Grace?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Wriothesley says, for nothing better to say.

They slip into touching each other easily, like habit. Before this day, Wriothesley had simply regarded Neuvillette as a famous Guide, a man of high regard, but  Neuvillette is more companionable than Wriothesley anticipated. That makes the touch feel different today, almost charged.

Wriothesley can feel the static in his mouth, not the same static that begs of nausea but one that speaks of a different feeling. Wriothesley is present, aware, and perhaps buzzing with the pleasant energy a stimulating conversation begets. It’s odd. He’s never felt this way with Neuvillette before. He’s afraid of how itll make him react to his guiding.

Unfortunately, he was right to be afraid. Wriothesley tries to calm down, leave himself loose and pliant and soft in Neuvillette’s hands, but when the press of expanding nothingness weighs over him, Wriothesley’s heart is in his throat and he’s pulling away before the couch finishes coating itself in ice. Neuvillette nullifies it the moment they’re removed from each other, keeping his attention to the act rather than on Wriothesley and his gentle frustration. He breathes through his nose, feeling that annoyance from before return all at once.

“Again.” He begs.

Neuvillette allows it. That same ocean, endless, suffocating, mystifying. Wriothesley can’t tell where he begins and Neuvillette ends. He misses feeling his own senses, forgets this was his decision in the first place. All of his sense of control has been lost. That splits his chest open.

Wriothesley pulls away, forces his eyes to look at what he’s done, at his mural of ice taking the carpet. Neuvillette does not blame him, nor does he look at him. He grants him privacy and silence and Wriothesley takes it to stew and shame himself. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, he dropped that habit years ago, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Perhaps you are too tired to properly handle this today.” Neuvillette suggests with his gentle tone.

Wriothesley wonders when he noticed, but he finds he cares less than he might usually.

“Yeah.” He sighs, he takes the out, “you’re probably right.”

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Neuvillette promises.

Wriothesley nods, it’s easy to give in to Neuvillette’s gentle orders. Wriothesley does it almost mindlessly. He goes through the motions with a mind that barely thinks, returns himself to his bed and buries himself in the quiet of his own breathing and forces himself to sleep. When he wakes he picks up the work he failed to do the day before, and as noon passes, Wriothesley turns himself on deft feet to the elevator that delivers him to the surface.

He stands outside of Neuvillette’s townhome with an ache in his neck. Moments later, the door peels back and Neuvillette, with his gentle countenance, invites him in. Wriothesley is shaking his hand before he even realizes it’s been given to him, at the touch his neck feels lighter.

Neuvillette turns on his heel, taking Wriothesley into his living room. He stands by the doorway, letting Wriothesley walk through first. He barely registers the hand pass over his bicep as Neuvillette makes a gesture for Wriothesley to make himself comfortable while he prepares them a cup of tea.

Wriothesley’s idea of comfortable is perhaps a bit nosy. He takes himself to Neuvillette’s fireplace, pulling his lashes over the fishbowl of marbles that reflect the gentle light of the sun.

A moment later, Neuvillette’s gentle footsteps meet his ears. He hears him set the tray on the coffee table so he doesn’t expect him to appear behind him. He only becomes aware by the sturdy palm of Neuvillette’s hand pressed into his spine, a signal to let Wriothesley know Neuvillette’s there, behind him, and Wriothesley is both impressed and surprised at the fact that he doesn’t startle. Maybe Neuvillette’s method is actually working.

“Sit with me?” Neuvillette offers, his gentle voice close to Wriothesley’s ear like this.

He may not startle but he has to suppress that shiver for an entirely separate reason.

Wriothesley turns on his heel, lashes flicking over the sight of Neuvillette so close to him. His eyes are attentive, his suit pleasantly well fitted. Wriothesley accepts the cup from his hands with a grateful expression, before lifting the lip of it to his mouth. His eyes remain on Neuvillette’s face, burgeoning with anticipation, Wriothesley notices. The taste of it is herbal, sweet, it’s good.

“A good pick, Monsieur.” Wriothesley delivers.

Neuvillette’s smile tastes sweet.

“I am glad to hear it.” he says, before leading the way to the couch.

Wriothesley eats the ache he feels at losing Neuvillette’s closeness, instead he follows after him and sits pressed against his side on the couch. Neuvillette says nothing at the sight of his initiative but he settles against Wriothesley like he’s comfortable and Wriothesley feels oddly satisfied.

He’s never felt like this about anyone before, he doesn’t know what that means. He chooses not to consider it. Instead he considers the slope of Neuvillette’s nose and the length of his lashes and then that feeling is back because Neuvillette is looking at him through the corner of his eye. Wriothesley feels caught. Surprisingly, he is not scolded. Something in his chest expands. He’s surprised there’s any room for it.

Time must be an illusion because the next thing Wriothesley knows, he’s busy using the time reserved for guiding, on making conversation with Neuvillette. They talk about irrelevant topics, nothing pertaining to Guides or Espers or dungeons at all. Instead, they talk about Neuvillette’s taste in architecture, Wriothesley’s own reluctant taste for the frivolous and in some topics they find distinct disagreement, but in those topics they reach a conclusion.

“I see, I had not considered it like that.” Neuvillette delivers, “Very well then, consider me to have learned something new.”

“I am happy to give you something you enjoy.” Wriothesley shrugs, feeling like he’s won something.

Neuvillette chuckles, a wheezy and breathless little thing, “Yes,” he admits, “you have indeed.”

Wriothesley gets lost in it, the endeavor of finding common ground, of connecting with Neuvillette. There are far more things that they agree on than anything else.

They both consider themselves on the outside of society, reluctant to sink deeper into a place they feel doesn’t best suit them. They both prefer communicating through behavior, an art that was supposed to have died with the rise of modernity. They both enjoy long walks on the beach and watching the sunrise, Wriothesley thinks wryly as he notes his sudden interest in Neuvillette.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking so closely for connection with a man who is so different from him, but if this endeavor has taught him anything it is that they are not so different after all. That, in the end, is a realization that tastes like something Wriothesley has longed for, and that is much too hard to repress for something as small as propriety.

In the low light of the flickering flame sitting in the hearth, shadows dance across the walls sitting behind Wriothesley’s shoulder. Wriothesley’s chest rises with each tumbling chuckle that spills from his lips, quiet exhalations in the evening lit room. Neuvillette watches him with a gentle smile of his own.

Nothing interesting has happened, no one told a funny joke, just a phrase said in a way that Wriothesley thinks sounds different. He thinks it is precisely because of this simplicity, this almost boring conversation, that Wriothesley feels soft and pliant. Pleasant he thinks is the word.

Neuvillette seems to share his contentment, a sweet and stretching smile playing across his face as the embers flicker streams of light across his eyes. The hue has changed again. Wriothesley has found himself distracted by them for most of the evening but right now it is the gentle breath sinking into his lungs that has his attention.

Neuvillette is touching him, his entire side is alight where they connect, and yet Wriothesley’s breath belongs to himself. His pulse is calm, his shoulders slack. He anticipates nothing, and that almost feels exciting. He is perhaps too relaxed to feel excited though and the very idea of any surge of energy in his body is not a welcome one. For just a moment longer, Wriothesley wants to linger in this peace.

Neuvillette doesn’t try to take the silence away from him. It gives Wriothesley the space to settle his lashes across his cheeks and sink into the darkness behind his eyelids without fear of being caught or begged to act.

The fire continues to spit and hum. The wind continues to blow outside. Neuvillette continues to breathe and the warmth of his hand atop Wriothesley’s palm, forearm sinking across his as it’s settled atop Wriothesley’s thigh, is comforting. The weight of it presses Wriothesley into the cushions of the couch they share. Wriothesley’s heart sits perfectly center in his chest.

The nothing continues undisturbed. Wriothesley breathes and no one holds him responsible for it.

At the sound of nothing, Wriothesley’s lashes lift. They settle on the sight of Neuvillette’s considerate gaze, watching over him while he rested. That affects Wriothesley somehow, registers as important, but he doesn’t know exactly why or what to do about it, so he simply acknowledges it and lets it go, sinking into the tender gaze of another person who is not mad at him. It’s nice, if not a little endearing.

Wriothesley can feel the gratitude he feels rising in his chest, begging him to be affectionate to express it properly, but he doesn’t think that would register the same to Neuvillette. No, he thinks this silent acceptance of eye contact might just be enough for him, might mean more than anything Wriothesley could think up. It’s interesting to think about how different gestures register due to the different experiences people go through.

Wriothesley wonders what it is that makes Neuvillette appreciate this kind of attention, this silent behavior where all they do is sit here and stare at each other. Wriothesley doesn’t mind it, perhaps because it is a moment of reprieve where nothing continues to happen and that tastes like something he usually has to fight for. This time it’s easy, so yeah, he appreciates that a little.

This however, this quiet eye contact is intimate to Wriothesley. It must be to Neuvillette as well, right? Wriothesley wouldn’t be able to endure this with just anyone without feeling the need to protect himself rise. The fact that he feels no need to defend against Neuvillette’s attention must mean something. Probably just means that Neuvillette really is simply that disarming and influential with his patient kindness.

But why, Wriothesley wonders, does Neuvillette treat him so well? He treats him with respect, and gives him his attention, and Wriothesley didn’t even have to ask for it. Did Wriothesley do something to deserve this? Did Sigewinne order it? On whose behalf does Neuvillette act so kind for? Perhaps, it is self satisfying. That might be the best case scenario, Wriothesley thinks.

If Neuvillette is simply a kind person because he wishes to be kind, then Wriothesley can do nothing to affect his kindness and ruin his attention. Wriothesley doesn’t want to ruin Neuvillette.

“You are thinking.” Neuvillette observes.

“I am.” Wriothesley responds easily, feeling a little caught, he swallows, “Are you curious?” He tries not too sound hopeful.

“You caught me.” Neuvillette responds.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide.

“Truly, Monsieur?” Wriothesley exhales.

Neuvillette’s lip twitches.

“It is in my nature.” Neuvillette says. “Would you enlighten me?” He asks, ever so kindly.

Usually, Wriothesley wouldn’t bother with the truth, but something about Neuvillette, perhaps his earnestness, makes Wriothesley feel like he may actually appreciate the truth.

Wriothesley, feeling a little nervous but pliant beneath the atmosphere of Neuvillette’s living room, gives in to his wish to express himself sincerely, “I was wondering what it is that makes you so patient, Monsieur. You are kind, considerate,” Wriothesley watches something beautiful happen to Neuvillette’s expression as Wriothesley speaks his mind, giving him the words Wriothesley thinks of Neuvillette as most often, “Is it merely your sense of responsibility?” Wriothesley questions, “or have I done something to earn your good graces?”

Neuvillette’s lashes flutter, a brief expression that changes very little but Wriothesley thinks he can read that as flustered and perhaps flattered. Neuvillette’s eyes do not stray even once but his gaze grows heavy and his lashes settle. His fingers subtly twitch in Wriothesley’s hand. Absentmindedly, Wriothesley strokes his thumb atop Neuvillette’s knuckle, intending to comfort.

It is silent for a long moment, Neuvillette’s lips part once, then close softly as his eyes shift between Wriothesley’s lashes. Wriothesley wonders what it is he is looking for, wonders how he can express how much he is waiting for Neuvillette’s words without seeming impatient.

Slowly, Wriothesley offers, “I am listening.”

All at once, Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide. Then, his lip twitches and his soothing voice fills the room, “Thank you,” he says first, “I—“ he hesitates, “I am perhaps immature in the matters of expressing my thoughts, but I want to appropriately appreciate the words you’ve given me. This is,” Neuvillette’s lashes flick across Wriothesley’s face, taking a moment to find the words he wants to use.

He perhaps loses a little confidence in the silence. Like habit from another life, Wriothesley hums assuringly. Neuvillette’s expression softens at the sound.

“I am your Guide,” Neuvillette says with a subtle incredulous smile, “and yet you are the one comforting me.”

Wriothesley interrupts that self incriminating expression, “We are not guiding,” he tells Neuvillette’s bashful face, “your name is Neuvillette and mine is Wriothesley, remember?”

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide.

“Yes,” he says slowly, as understanding dawns, “of course, you are right.”

Wriothesley’s own lashes peel back with surprise. Those words have never been given so easily before. His chest feels deeply satisfied just to hear them. He swallows the emotion it begs of him, not wanting to make the room any heavier with his feelings than it is.

“So, can I take this to mean you are simply dedicated to your job, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette’s expression grows considering, “Perhaps,” he says, Wriothesley tries not to feel disappointed at the admission but Neuvillette continues, “but, it could also be true that I am more tolerant of you because of your reception to me.” Neuvillette says, “I rarely meet a man who is so closed off to guiding and yet so willing to heed my instruction. You are one of a kind, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley’s heart kicks. Huh. Yeah, that’s, something Wriothesley doesn’t have the mind to analyze right now but that makes him feel good, really good.

“I’m glad to hear that, Monsieur.” Wriothesley admits.

“Thank you for asking.” Neuvillette smiles.

Wriothesley’s lip twitches, “But of course.”

The sound of the clock along the wall reminds Wriothesley of how much time they have left. He breathes through the thought and parts his lips, “Shall we guide, Monsieur?”

Neuvillette’s nostrils flare, as if that question perhaps surprises him, or rather, like it registers in a certain way for him. Wriothesley doesn’t think he’s said anything suggestive but, it is likely that phrase has connotations he is not aware of.

Regardless, Neuvillette settles and delivers him a nod, “Very well then, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley settles his lashes against his cheeks, feeling the way Neuvillette’s hand holds him from the base of his head, like he’s carrying the weight of him with nothing but his palm. That stokes something in Wriothesley’s chest.

He breathes as the first touch of Neuvillette’s ability registers, it’s small at first, then wider, then it widens evermore. Wriothesley can’t see the limit. He knows what to expect, knows he shouldn’t flinch, for a moment he thinks his heart understands that too. He lasts longer than he ever has, feels almost comfortable with it, but that split comes, the moment where his true feelings spill into his sense of safety and suddenly he can’t make sense of a thing.

“Mh-m.” Wriothesley tries to shake his head and voice his complaint because he can’t move, can barely twitch, he’s gone stiff with his fear.

Neuvillette removes his hand immediately.

“I hear you.” Neuvillette’s voice splits through the static.

Wriothesley doesn’t open his eyes, tries to breathe first. He doesn’t want to see the damage, doesn’t want to take responsibility for what he didn’t intend but that thought sends his eyes open. He won’t reject his accountability, he needs to see what he’s done. Only Neuvillette is already absolving him of his sins, like perjury isn’t a punishable offense.

“It’s alright.” Neuvillette tells him, reaching to touch but not making contact til Wriothesley dips his chin. Neuvillette’s hand is warm against the side of Wriothesley’s face. “We’ll try again tomorrow.” Neuvillette promises.

Wriothesley accepts it completely.

Wriothesley returns to his apartment with his posture feeling better, less tense, though he can’t tell if that’s from the guiding or the touch.  It is probably the touch that leaves him distracted from the spasm of his hand, but now standing alone in his bedroom, he becomes aware of that feeling again. It aches. Wriothesley stands there for some time with that thought, thinking on it like it’s significant.

Wriothesley’s lashes pull over the bookcase along Neuvillette’s living room wall while the sound of Neuvillette preparing the teapot in the open kitchen fills the open room. Moments later, the sound stops.

“Here.” Neuvillette offers, coming up by Wriothesley’s shoulder with a steaming cup in his hand, “Join me on the couch?”

Wriothesley takes the cup with a nod, following on Neuvillette’s quiet heel. Wriothesley takes his first sip as he sits back against the tall upholstery, tasting both sweet honey vanilla and spicy ginger.

“This is a good blend, who did you ask to find you this?” Wriothesley teases today, feeling a little brave.

“Ah,” Neuvillette blinks, “my assistant Sedene asked Lady Furina for her recommendation.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide, “Well, color me impressed.”

Who knew the esteemed Lady Furina has such polarizing taste and that Neuvillette has such access to her. He files the information away to the back of his brain. Instead, his attention is focused on the way Neuvillette sips from his champagne glass of water. Fancy, Wriothesley thinks, a little amused.

His gaze turns considerate as Neuvillette sets his glass against the coffee table with a gentle hand. He returns that hand to Wriothesley’s leg, around the crook of his knee where it rests against Neuvillette’s thigh. Touch like this feels second nature now, and more than welcome. In a way it’s regulatory. Wriothesley can focus better when they’re touching than when they aren’t. Perhaps it’s because he knows Neuvillette is gentle with him when they are touching.

He is unfamiliar with the Court side of Neuvillette, the appropriate and professional Guide who knows nothing else but mandatory business and strict duty. Wriothesley fears losing this easy access to Neuvillette now, perhaps because he is the only one Wriothesley can seek this kind of comfort with. Hm, a thought. Wriothesley seeks confirmation of it.

“What do you get out of this?” Wriothesley asks as gentle as he can manage because he wants to hear the true answer not the defense he expects to receive.

But Neuvillette is not defensive and has only ever been earnestly honest.

“I enjoy helping you.” Neuvillette tells him, delivering his gentle lashes to Wriothesley’s face.

“What about all the touching?” Wriothesley asks further, curious, “Doesn’t It make you uncomfortable since you’re,” he hesitates, searching for the word, “yknow,” he shrugs a shoulder, his hand around his ankle twitching, “forced?”

Neuvillette’s brow twitches in a way that Wriothesley recognizes as disagreeing.

“I have full autonomy over my choice to touch.” Neuvillette says simply, like that’s not profoundly rewriting every thought Wriothesley has ever had between them.

He was so prepared to villainize himself for Neuvillette and yet Neuvillette is absolving him of that duty whilst also reminding him that Neuvillette is more than just Wriothesley’s perception. There comes the guilt, striking him hot, but he thinks this one might be a little helpful. It’s a good reminder that Neuvillette is a human being with his own thoughts and choices, and that Wriothesley doesn’t have the authority to make up his mind about what those thoughts are. What a relief.

“Plus,” Neuvillette continues, “I enjoy touching you.” He says and little else, simply that.

I enjoy touching you, Wriothesley can hear the admittance echo in his mind as they sit in momentary silence.

“Good.” Wriothesley breathes, feeling the way his chest expands and his shoulders sink, relieved of burden. “That’s good.”

Neuvillette’s lashes slant over his face, watching him. Wriothesley has no idea what he’s thinking, but his lip lifts at the corner and Wriothesley finds himself a little distracted by it. Huh.

Suddenly Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley with a new expression. “Your Grace,” he begins, “there is something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”

Wriothesley nods, “I’m listening.”

Neuvillette’s lip twitches and then he dips his head and says, “There are many ways to provide Guiding. Your backlash, though severe, is not an uncommon occurrence. Many Espers prefer a buffer between the act of guiding. Most touch is welcome, but the more distracting the touch, the less attention is spent on the guiding itself.” Neuvillette explains, slowly, Wriothesley gets the sense he knows where this is going, “I didn’t know how comfortable you would be with the suggestion so I waited a bit to bring it up, I am also not personally experienced in giving this kind of guiding,” Neuvillette says, a little shyly, “but I think it’s best you are aware of the possibility. It may help you.”

Wriothesley’s lashes stutter, “Are you—is this in line with your acting as if we are lovers idea?”

Neuvillette responds slowly, “Similarly to how lovers have access to such caresses, Guides may be open to such actions as well. With you,” Neuvillette reveals, “I am open to it.”

“To,” Wriothesley’s chest feels arrested, “to what, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette curls his hand over Wriothesley’s jaw, fingers tickling beneath his ears and reaching into his hairline. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine as Neuvillette’s eyes flick down to his mouth, long lashes fanning across his cheeks with spider leg long shadows. That look kicks Wriothesley’s heart into his chest.

Slowly, Neuvillette returns his eyes to Wriothesley’s own. His gaze feels heavy with intention. Wriothesley is hyperaware of the sound of Neuvillette’s lips parting, and then his response comes.

“I would kiss you to help you.” Neuvillette’s voice is low, slow and tender. Wriothesley wonders if that’s how he would kiss. He’s never felt so determined to find out. “To this,” Neuvillette questions, his thumb teasing a line across Wriothesley’s jaw, “are you amenable?”

“Monsieur,” Wriothesley breathes, he can only imagine the sight he makes, he is certain with his heavy lidded lashes and flushed ears that his anticipation sits clear on his face, “Yeah,” he intakes a breath, shuddering through the attention Neuvillette regards his expression with, “yes, I am, yeah.” He finishes lamely.

Neuvillette’s lip twitches and then he’s smiling something sweet.

“Good.” He breathes, “I can only hope this is helpful to you.”

Wriothesley thinks it might be regardless of the outcome.

Wriothesley tilts his cheek further into Neuvillette’s hands at his jaw, he likes the way it responds to him, curling against his neck and holding him firmly. Wriothesley’s lashes fall to Neuvillette’s own mouth, those straight lips and subtle cupid’s bow. He feels the way Neuvillette watches him, lets him set the pace. The power that gives Wriothesley, he recognizes with a distant ache.

He remembers all at once what it’s like to be in control of himself. In this, he also is a little in control of Neuvillette, he thinks. But something like fear gets to him and he becomes conscious of the fact that Neuvillette is waiting for him. For a moment, he can’t remember that Neuvillette is patient and in that moment he pushes himself forward and presses his lips to Neuvillette’s mouth.

The touch is soft, a little cautious, but slowly, the scent of Neuvillette affects Wriothesley and he begs closer, pressing firmly into Neuvillette’s kiss. Neuvillette holds him, accepting his touch and reciprocating with his own press. That touch is electric, pure energy shifting beneath Wriothesley’s bones and he’s aware that Neuvillette hasn’t even started guiding him yet.

Wriothesley is determined, certain that this will be the day he receives Neuvillette’s guiding the way he’s meant to and with that thought he pulls away with a soft sound and begs against Neuvillette’s lips, “Guide me.”

Neuvillette’s response is swallowed by Wriothesley’s mouth. It changes tune, sounds like something encouraging, like a stuttered little groan and that is such an absurd idea that Wriothesley forgets why they’re kissing. He thinks, for a moment, maybe Neuvillette is his lover, and maybe this is his opportunity to please him and make him feel good. Wriothesley thrills at the thought, feels his chest expand with the propensity for affection that he’s buried for years, but then he feels Neuvillette’s guiding.

At first, it doesn’t really register. Wriothesley is lost in the motion of sipping soft little sighs and sounds from Neuvillette’s lips, drinking from his mouth like he drinks from his teacup but then his heart kicks up. Wriothesley doesn’t recognize what it is that’s making his heart race, he can’t tell if it’s Neuvillette’s guiding or the fact that he’s kissing him. He’s too busy with kissing Neuvillette to determine anything. But something changes, somewhere between a pulse that takes him and the fact that Neuvillette is all around him. It’s too much, Wriothesley thinks all at once.

He pulls away from Neuvillette with his hands on his arms. He blinks dizzying spots out of his eyes as he stares at their legs between them. Neuvillette watches him silently, expression curious. Wriothesley feels a little ashamed. His thoughts are stolen from him by a touch along the crown of his head.

Wriothesley lashes lift all at once, “What’s that for?” He asks.

“Comfort.” Neuvillette tells him with a low voice.

“Oh,” Wriothesley blinks, “thanks.”

Neuvillette dips his chin, “Of course.”

Wriothesley thinks he has a bigger problem than Neuvillette’s guiding all of a sudden.

He really shouldn’t have a crush on his guide, guide-esper relationships have historically bad turnover rates, but fuck, Neuvillette is special. At least he thinks he may be, beneath those eyes that linger over him, watch him, catalogue him, see him. He’s patient. It’s been a while since someone’s been patient with Wriothesley. He used to fight every day for the respect that he thought might earn him a little patience as a kid.

He’s never been given it so wordlessly like this before, like it’s easy to respect Wriothesley and his confusing behavior. Fuck, but Wriothesley isn’t so unaware of himself to think he’s easy. If anything he’s hypersensitive to how he comes off, that’s how he keeps his tenuous position in society, his safety. It’s important that Wriothesley is aware at all times, so he knows how he comes across.

He’s twitchy and faux casual and sensitive, and as much as he tries to control his behavior, minimize his reactions, demonstrate confidence and comfortable social platitude, he’s visible to his core. Wriothesley knows all it takes is a second glance, a lingering look and his expression slips right off his face and shatters. He gives in like he’s not even trying, like maybe he wants to be seen.

Maybe he does, but the threat of it is too great to take that desire seriously. Wriothesley can’t give in, he can’t let go. He has a reputation, and he needs that reputation to stay where it’s at, tenuous at best. A little charming once you meet him but infamous and distant. This is how he protects his place, keeps the people safe from him, keeps himself safe from their judgement.

Wriothesley just wants to call himself a good man. It’s getting harder to say that these days. It feels less true each passing minute, but Neuvillette doesn’t make any subtle gestures that Wriothesley could use to validate that feeling.

It’s odd, a little destabilizing, but mostly it’s boring—no, not boring, safe. It’s comfortable. Oh god, when has Wriothesley last felt comfortable around someone? Fuck.

So yeah, maybe he’s attracted to the way Neuvillette makes him feel. That’s not a revolutionary thing for Espers around Guides. Guides quite literally take their pain away and relieve them of their duties. It even translates as physical pleasure sometimes. It can get confusing so, that’s what this must be.

Wriothesley is confused. He is mistaken. Even if he weren’t, holding tangible feelings for Neuvillette is useless and in some cases dangerous. He doesn’t need to get any closer to him than he is. This is already too much.

Fuck. Wriothesley just wants to keep him safe. That should be his first sign that these feelings are a little more, a little real, a little inappropriate. Wriothesley swallows all feeling at the sting of his twitching wrist.

Clearly Neuvillette’s guiding isn’t reaching deep enough and that is entirely the fault of Wriothesley’s self preservation.

“Your Grace?” Neuvillette calls.

Wriothesley responds to that gentle tone, lifting his lashes to that patient and curious expression. Wriothesley doesn’t want to disappoint that face but feels a little discouraged. Still, Neuvillette is kind.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley considers that. His tongue runs away with him before he even comes to a conclusion, “Overwhelmed me I think.”

Neuvillette’s eyes grow considerate, calculating. Wriothesley recognizes that as his thinking face, looking for a solution to help Wriothesley. Wriothesley doesn’t know where they found this Guide because he can’t actually be real. The best in Fontaine is not a title to be taken lightly.

“Hm, would you, perhaps, like to try again?” Neuvillette offers, like he’s afraid that might not be the right solution.

Wriothesley doesn’t have any other better ideas either so he nods. At the sign, Neuvillette reaches for him. This Wriothesley slips into with a thrill. He delivers his face to Neuvillette’s gentle hands and pulls his lashes across his face, merely sinking in the comfort he feels from his touch.

This time Neuvillette kisses him first. That’s somehow worse. It registers differently now, Wriothesley thinks as he searches for an explanation. His brows furrow as Neuvillette’s lips press into his. His feelings for Neuvillette make him more aware. He’s intimidated just from the touch, stiff with anticipation and hope and god forbid expectation. Wriothesley thinks he’s just royally fucked himself over.

This isn’t going to work, Wriothesley thinks as he feels the first press of Neuvillette’s guiding. He’s already too tense, too intimidated, he should’ve expected his chest to split immediately. They part with a shocked sound at the force. Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide at the sight of the ice stroking over Neuvillette’s shoulder.

Immediately, without question, Wriothesley slips into control and takes over. It is dangerous, he realizes all at once, to let Neuvillette be in control like this.

“Up.” Wriothesley orders, “stand with me.” Neuvillette stands, leaning into his awaiting grasp, “there you are.” Wriothesley coos, rubbing an open palm down Neuvillette’s arm.

He can feel the shiver that runs through him. Wriothesley decides to assume the ice must be making him cold, any other assumption is unhelpful.

Slowly, the ice begins to recede as it always does.

“It just got a little close this time didn’t it?” Wriothesley murmurs gently, feeling consoling, “it’s alright. You’re okay.”

Somehow, like this, Neuvillette feels less intimidating. Wriothesley thinks, if maybe he’s in control just like this, he might survive Neuvillette’s guiding without backlash. A theory. Should he try it?

Neuvillette looks up at Wriothesley with an expression he’s never seen before, something a little fragile, “I’m sorry.” His low voice begs.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide.

“Absolutely not,” he whispers, careful of rebuffing Neuvillette’s vulnerability, “you did nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame it’s me but I’m not going to hold that opinion either.” He tells Neuvillette’s disagreeing brow, “No one has to be at fault for this, it’s just, it’s an endeavor yeah?” Wriothesley quirks his lip, knowing Neuvillette will agree with him on that.

Neuvillette nods his head sweetly, just as Wriothesley expected only the true sight of it tugs something affectionate from his chest. Wriothesley swallows. It’s now or never, he thinks. He can’t let Neuvillette hold onto this discouragement.

“I have a suggestion,” Wriothesley says slowly, watching Neuvillette’s lashes turn to him, looking hopeful, “I would like you to hear me out. Are you willing?”

“I am willing, Your Grace.” Neuvillette says, his answer tastes like something Wriothesley likes.

“If,” Wriothesley starts then shakes his head, “let me put it like this.” He says instead, lowering his voice to a gentle volume as he feels his own vulnerability threaten to split his chest open, “I learned a long time ago,” he starts, “that surrendering control over myself to others around me leads to frustration, pain, and punishment. Because of that, I have learned that I must never relinquish this control over myself.” Neuvillette’s patient and considerate face gives Wriothesley the courage to continue, “This entire time, I have been trying to force myself to submit to your experience with guiding over surrendering to the experience and knowledge I hold over my own self. I would like to try it like this instead,” Wriothesley tells Neuvillette’s attentive eyes, “you submitting to me.”

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide. Slowly, understanding dawns.

“I don’t see how I didn’t think of this before, but you are right, Your Grace.” Neuvillette says and Wriothesley feels his heart twinge, “You are the one in control over yourself, if you are uncomfortable because you are worried I will take that from you, we need to prove it will remain yours.” Neuvillette nods his head gracefully, “I am amenable to this.”

“Truly?” Wriothesley’s brow twitches, he questions, “What about your own sense of peace?”

Neuvillette’s expression turns firm.

“I am not disturbed by the idea of submitting to you.” He says.

Wriothesley swallows. That shouldn’t make him feel the way it does.

“Then,” Wriothesley begins slowly, tempting a thumb over Neuvillette’s sleeve garter, he watches the fabric pull down then lift at the end of the stroke, “you will try it like this?” He asks, slanting his eyes back to Neuvillette, “Under my command?”

“Only at your command.” Neuvillette assures, “I will do nothing else.”

Wriothesley chews on his cheek. This isn’t good, he might just strike himself greedy with this feeling, but earning Neuvillette’s submission is a thing, a very large and important and meaningful thing and fuck, but Wriothesley’s into it, into him. God. He’s fucked.

Hopefully this works.

Wriothesley pulls Neuvillette against his stomach where he stands. For one last moment of confirmation he asks, “This okay?”

Neuvillette’s lashes go lidded at the sudden closeness but he nods, sending a stray bang across his cheek, “Yes, Your Grace.” Neuvillette submits easily.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. He tries not to groan but his lashes grow heavy. With a finger, he slides Neuvillette’s hair back across his face, “Okay,” he says.

His hand lingers over the edge of Neuvillette’s cheek, stroking his skin with the back of his knuckles. This might just work. If anything, Neuvillette certainly isn’t having a bad experience, Wriothesley thinks as he watches Neuvillette’s expression slip into something familiar in that way that you can understand when you’ve experienced it.

Slowly, Wriothesley’s hand strokes across Neuvillette’s neck and his grip turns firm as he holds him there in his palm. He strokes his thumb across Neuvillette’s cheek, lashes shifting across those eyes that watch him then down to that straight mouth.

He leans in, his ghost a breath, he mutters his permission there, into that open and waiting mouth, “You know just what to do.” He says, then seals their lips with a kiss. At the first press, he feels the presence of Neuvillette’s guiding just as he feels Neuvillette’s breath stutter into him. Wriothesley can’t help himself as he presses praise to Neuvillette’s lips, “Good job.” He whispers before swallowing the effect that has on Neuvillette.

It’s heady to think that Neuvillette likes this, is pliant beneath Wriothesley’s hand and is begging him back with nothing but his mouth. It distracts him a little from Neuvillette’s guiding.

Like this, with his hand on Neuvillette’s face, Wriothesley feels himself tethered permanently in the middle of the emptiness. Suddenly he doesn’t feel so alone. He doesn’t feel that invading sense of erasure picking at himself. Instead, he feels like Neuvillette is letting him in somewhere reclusive and secluded and ancient. He feels in the emptiness the presence of Neuvillette and that’s less intimidating with Neuvillette beneath his thumb like this.

Neuvillette is a line of heat across the front of Wriothesley’s body as he tilts his chin back and sips comfort from his mouth. Wriothesley’s open palm smoothes across the line of Neuvillette’s vest across his back, leading down to the taper of his waist. The motion is grounding and Wriothesley can physically feel the pain receding from his wrist as Neuvillette continues to guide him.

That shocks him where he’s standing.

Huh, so that’s how it’s supposed to feel. It makes sense now why Espers covet guides. Wriothesley has never felt so warm before, tingly, weightless and unmoored but in a way that could only be considered good. Fuck, that’s heady. Wriothesley feels a little hot. His body is bothered, his heart a kicking thrum. He doesn’t remember how to act properly. This is terrifying.

Neuvillette makes a sound that sends Wriothesley immediately back into his body, just so he can reciprocate it. Neuvillette is moaning, like this is effecting him too and Wriothesley thinks this is less terrifying and more intimate than he first anticipated. He can’t get enough.

Their lips part with a sound just for Wriothesley to be begged back into Neuvillette’s mouth with a rough hand at his shirt and that, rather than register as fear, registers as proof of Wriothesley doing something right, like praise. It tastes like desire as Neuvillette presses into him for another kiss. Wriothesley is more than happy to give him this experience.

Neuvillette breathes, slow and shallow as he pants against Wriothesley’s kiss slicked lips. Wriothesley’s lashes lay open, unashamed of the glances he pulls over Neuvillette’s face, staring at a visage so beautiful it can’t possibly be real. Neuvillette has never looked so undone, never looked so pleased. His expression is dazed, soft at the edges, pliant. Wriothesley wants to move him just to watch him give in to the motion.

Slowly, gently, Wriothesley eclipses Neuvillette’s face between his hands, stroking his thumbs across his cheeks with a soft motion. Neuvillette’s lashes lift up to his face at the touch, nothing but tender indulgence in his eyes. Wriothesley tests that look with a sway, a gentle back and forth of Neuvillette’s head.

Neuvillette’s lashes pull down at the motion, as if sinking into it, submitting to it. Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide at the sight. Huh. That’s, okay yeah, he’s into this.

“Monsieur.” Wriothesley whispers as he slowly settles Neuvillette’s cheek against his hand.

The sound he gets in response is a small hum and the most lazy pull of his lashes lifting upward. Wriothesley blinks. He’s never had anyone trust him like this before, it’s a little heady. He wonders if maybe Neuvillette is feeling a little tired after guiding Wriothesley all evening. It’s likely with how many times they’ve had to try again.

“Are you sleepy, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks gently. Neuvillette watches him but his lips don’t part, as if the use of words has escaped him. “Would you like me to put you to bed, Monsieur?” Wriothesley’s lips stretch with the affection he feels growing.

At those words, Neuvillette presses his hands around Wriothesley’s neck and goes impossibly slack. Wriothesley blinks at how quickly his arms are filled with Neuvillette. He holds him close to his body, for a moment, he feels mystified a clueless, but he returns to his senses quickly and slides his hands beneath Neuvillette’s thighs, lifting him with an easy flex of his arms as he walks to the staircase in the Foyer.

Taking Neuvillette to his room is an endeavor of its own. Wriothesley is aware that Neuvillette is not asleep in his arms, merely pliant, and he is reminded of that fact by the gentle nuzzle of Neuvillette’s cheek pressed to his own as he takes them up the last stair. Neuvillette is surprisingly cute when he’s tired.

Wriothesley himself gets a bit grumpy so he’s sure he’s not a good time, but Neuvillette’s behavior is so endearing that Wriothesley can only imagine the amount of people who would trip over themselves to take care of him. Wriothesley feels grateful he’s the one witnessing this side of Neuvillette. He gets the feeling this is a rare occurrence with how quickly rumors would spread if it wasn’t.

Wriothesley leans Neuvillette down across his bed, removing his hands and pressing them along his sides. He considers undressing him to be more comfortable but he worries that may be too far. Luckily, Neuvillette has seemed to have forgotten all about him as he curls up on his side and cradles a pillow to his chest. Wriothesley watches his breath strike even before he feels comfortable enough with leaving.

Still, the memory of Neuvillette lingers with him even as he enters the Fortress. It follows him to bed, leaving his chest feeling soft enough to slip right into a dream he won’t remember in the morning but cherishes as he dreams it.

Chapter Text

Wriothesley’s hand has stopped hurting. He feels reverted enough that he could stave off backlash symptoms with pills again. Oddly enough, he doesn’t want to.

Wriothesley strides across the metal hall of Meropide, turning towards the direction of the light at the end of the bend. He catches the wall with his knuckle as he enters the doorway. Sigewinne shoots her head up at the sound.

“Good morning, Head Nurse.” Wriothesley calls.

Sigewinne turns to him with a look then does a double take.

“Good morning indeed, Your Grace. You might sound like you believe it!” Sigewinne smiles as she skips over.

Wriothesley lowers his chin as she draws near, “For the first time in a while,” he shrugs, “it feels like one.”

Sigewinne’s smile stretches wide.

“I am glad to hear that, Your Grace! Now let me check how much guiding you’ve received!” She makes a gesture with her paws that Wriothesley eyes with suspicion.

“A little too eager, Head Nurse,” Wriothesley remarks, “but alright.”

Wriothesley walks himself over to a chair near her desk. He hears the sound of Sigewinne’s cheery footsteps as she follows after him. Her cheeks must hurt with how wide she’s smiling, he thinks as she reaches for his arm to read against the machine by her side. She hooks him up with electro magnets, eyes stuck to the monitor as it kicks and jumps in ways Wriothesley can’t read. Each level ticks a bar and Sigewinne’s smile widens.

“Is that a good thing?” He asks her barely retained enthusiasm.

“This is very good, Your Grace! Just the other week you were one level away from death! You’ve gone down a whole chart!” She informs sounding incredibly excited about the whole thing.

Wriothesley blinks, “That’s, good yeah.” He smiles along, uncertain what any of that really means but he’s sure that Sigewinne failed to mention he was a level away from death only a week ago.

Still, things have seemed to work out well enough. He’ll have to find a way to repay Neuvillette for his efforts.

“I don’t know what you did to finally achieve basic guiding but this is great news Your Grace! If you continue like this we might be able to measure your ability!”

Ah, and this is another point of contention they’ve stumbled into. Sigewinne seems to think knowing Wriothesley’s true capacity of his Esper abilities is important in scheduling dungeons. So far he’s just been throwing himself into them on the idea that if no one else has the guts then he might as well take the responsibility but with this, she might find a way to argue with him against it easier.

“Reading my ability is still a reactionary process with the machine, I’m afraid not even that is going to work.” Wriothesley shrugs like he’s upset by it in the least.

Sigewinne isn’t so easily fooled, nor discouraged it seems by the way her smile widens. “That’s alright, we don’t need a machine!” She chirps, “I can read you.”

Wriothesley blinks.

Sigewinne grins, “I can.”

Huh. Now how is he supposed to get out of this one?

Wriothesley’s lip twitches, “Right, well, maybe one day.”

Only Sigewinne with a theory is a Sigewinne that doesn’t believe in maybe. Her eyes stare at him with her determination.

“Your Grace, this will only help you.” She says, seeing no problem with it.

Wriothesley understands where her heart is coming from, even sees that before today she wouldn’t tempt this kind of conversation with him, but now she’s got a taste of hope in her teeth and she refuses to let go of it.

“Sige I don’t think this is a good idea.” Wriothesley maintains, “Neuvillette is one thing, he can nullify the backlash if it goes wrong, but you—“

Sigewinne doesn’t meet his eyes as she removes the wires from his arm.

“You know me, I trust you.” She says easily.

Wriothesley swallows.

“I appreciate that but that’s not the problem.” Wriothesley tells her.

“Then there is no problem.” She smiles.

She’s definitely not listening.

“No,” Wriothesley scoffs, “there definitely is, just,” Sigewinne moves her attention from fiddling with the machine to approaching his arm like she’s about to do what she’s been threatening to suggest, “careful Sige, listen to me.” Wriothesley begs. She stops and turns to him. Wriothesley’s voice lowers to a whisper as he says, “I don’t trust myself.”

“Then there’s the problem.” She chirps, “Let’s fix that!”

Wriothesley feels his heart kick up. He’s tense. He doesn’t know how to get Sigewinne out of the idea of trying to measure his ability all by herself. Neuvillette guiding him is one thing, that’s been an endeavor. This is an entirely separate thing.

Wriothesley knows how his body reacts to intrusion, every momentary touch of energy is perceived a threat. Sigewinne will be perceived as a threat. Wriothesley doesn’t want that, but she’s not backing down.

“Your Grace,” Sigewinne’s expression turns serious, “What if that dungeon is too much for you?” The uncharacteristic sound of her voice has Wriothesley listening, “The Fortress researchers have been measuring the levels of it and it’s the first of its kind. If there is a chance that it could be too much for you,” she bites her cheek.

Wriothesley’s expression softens. Slowly, he sighs, “I understand, but if not me then who?”

“Then more.” She says with a firm voice. “More Espers. More time. More information. That’s what this is, information.”

Wriothesley has a thought, that maybe, just maybe, there is a way that he can satisfy Sigewinne and make her happy. If he lets her do this, he can protect her from the fear she faces. He just needs to keep himself in check.

Wriothesley looks at Sigewinne with a considering gaze before, without a word said, he gives her his arm. Her lashes strike wide. All at once an expression he’s rarely seen before takes her face.

“Thank you, Wriothesley.” She says.

Wriothesley feels his heart settle at the words. And then her energy slips beneath his skin and he realizes very acutely how much of his subconscious he is truly not in control of. How could he have been so arrogant?

Sigewinne gasps and the sound of her choking shoots Wriothesley to his feet. He cradles her before she falls back, lifting her small body close. She’s cold to the touch.

“Sigewinne!” He shouts, a cracking sound ripped from his throat.

His lashes stutter over her face, her eyes wide then sinking, rolling back. Her cold body falls limp between his arms. Wriothesley’s heart drops.

“No.” His lips mutter, stuck in disbelief. All at once, panic takes him, “Shit!”

Wriothesley pulls himself up on shaky feet and throws himself out of the infirmary. His boots clang down the long halls of Meropide passing by meandering Espers who look at him with wide eyes and turning shoulders.

“Duke?” He hears them call past his shoulder but he doesn’t spare any explanation.

Wriothesley throws himself into the elevator, catching his shoulder against the lever and pushing himself to the wall as the doors close and they ascend. It feels achingly slow going up and up. Wriothesley’s eyes stare down at Sigewinne in his arms, her small body heavier than it should be. She’s entirely dead weight. Not a single muscle twitches, stock still and cold. Her pulse against his thumb is distant and slow and he can barely hear her breaths over his own shallow pulls.

The elevator doors opens. Wriothesley pushes through the crowds of the upper echelon, forces himself into the Palais and shouts against the ornate walls for Neuvillette. He’s the only one who can fix this.

There are Palais officials shouting for him, guardemeks looking at him with attention he doesn’t like, guides stepping forward. Wriothesley ignores them all for the double doors at the end of the hall.

“Duke!” Someone shouts, “What are you—hey! I’m talking to you.”

Wriothesley turns on his shoulder with a barely contained sneer, “Where is Neuvillette?” He bites.

The guide’s lashes strike wide, his face twisting into something upset. “Excuse me—“

“Fuck.” Wriothesley growls, turning back around for the doors.

“What the hell?” He hears someone say.

Entertaining the Court is a waste of time, Wriothesley needs to find—polished shoes ring across the hall. Wriothesley’s lashes widen on the sight of Neuvillette.

“Finally,” someone scoffs, “Monsieur,” a guide cuts over to Neuvillette, “Tell the Duke to stand down. He’s making a scene in the Palais!”

Neuvillette slants his eyes over to the guide. Wriothesley has never seen that expression before. Neither, it seems, has the guide for he flinches.

“Monsieur….” he says, like he’s about to defend himself.

Neuvillette speaks slowly with his ancient and wise cadence, his tone is cutting, “The Duke is the Esper under my guidance, show some respect.”

The guide withers all at once, removing himself from between them. Wriothesley can feel Sigewinne’s head loll against his chest. His eyes shoot back down to her face.

“Sigewinne.” Wriothesley chokes out, he looks for Neuvillette meeting his awaiting gaze. Neuvillette’s lashes pull over Sigewinne and then he’s stepping closer, pressing a palm to her face with his gloved hand, “She’s not waking up.” Wriothesley whispers, unable to get his voice to work properly.

Neuvillette’s eyes flick over his face, his expression immutably shifting, “I’ll take care of her.” he tells Wriothesley.

“Sir,” a new guide interrupts, this time addressing Wriothesley, “the Maracheusse want your statement on what happened.”

Wriothesley doesn’t respond to them, eyes still stuck on Neuvillette. He fears he may collapse without Neuvillette’s authority.

Neuvillette’s lips part, “You can trust me,” he says, “go with the Maracheusse.”

Wriothesley, terribly afraid of making any more mistakes, gives in to Neuvillette’s words with a stuttered nod. His feet feel heavy as he pulls himself down the Palais halls to an empty office where a Maracheusse officer awaits him.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” They greet.

It had been. That thought stabs him in the gut. Oddly enough, he doesn’t really feel it.

Wriothesley stands as he recounts without a word of question, “Sigewinne was reading my ability capacity when my backlash struck her.”

The Maracheusse officer’s gaze stutters before following his account. “I see,” they say, “now where was this?”

“In the Fortress of Meropide’s infirmary.” Wriothesley’s voice feels hoarse.

“And what time?” They ask.

“10 minutes ago.” His voice cracks.

“Very well, we’ll have to have you write a report. And,” they ask, “who authorized this reading to take place?”

Wriothesley’s jaw clenches, “I did.” He delivers through gritted teeth, “The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It was on my authority.”

The officer says nothing to that, merely slides a report across the desk and sets a pen by his hand. Wriothesley stares at it, feeling everything but the desire to reach for that pen. It feels like too much responsibility to take that pen and write his own recount. What about Sigewinne? What about her recount?

Neuvillette has her, he reminds himself. He remembers that he trusts Neuvillette. He remembers that this is necessary. Wriothesley reaches for the pen.

Time slips from him the moment his hand finishes writing. He is left in that office alone for some time, told that he is more than welcome to wait there for Monsieur Neuvillette.

Wriothesley can’t feel his toes. He can feel the edges of his fingers but only because he’s staring at them. Every couple of minutes he flexes his hand and marvels at the lack of pins and needles. Huh. Guiding sure is nifty.

Wriothesley’s face feels fuzzy, blurry, like static. His entire body is thrumming with anticipation that tastes like dread. His fingertips touch each other and he can feel his pulse in their beds. His jaw feels loose, saliva pulling behind his teeth. He forces himself to swallow. At the same time, his back straightens stiff as the door opens.

Wriothesley sends himself to his feet at the sight of Neuvillette.

“Where’s Sigewinne?” Wriothesley asks, at the silence his breath catches, “Neuvillette,” He pleads, “Where is she?”

Neuvillette’s eyes remain on Wriothesley with a silent and choking expression. His face is reticent, intentionally so, and yet Wriothesley can see it clearly, the consequence they refuse to blame him for.

“Is she okay?” Wriothesley’s voice breaks, his throat choked with emotion.

Neuvillette doesn’t say a word but something in his expression cracks. Pearls bud in the bed of his lashes. Wriothesley’s eyes widen as they threaten to spill down his face.

“No,” Wriothesley refuses, “no,” his voice is barely a whisper, but he reels back, “What happened?” He shouts, but he doesn’t have enough breath in his lungs to make the sound loud, “What did I do to her? Answer me, Neuvillette!” Wriothesley begs, fingers grasping at his throat because he can’t reach out to Neuvillette for comfort, not after this, not when he’s volatile, violent.

Wriothesley chokes on his emotion at the thought.

“I—“ Neuvillette’s voice cracks, “am afraid that she is, temporarily, indisposed.”

Every word sounds like it wrestles its way out of Neuvillette’s mouth, like he can’t believe what he’s saying and yet he must say it. He upholds his duty with dignity and grace and tear streaked cheeks.

Wriothesley did this to him. He doesn’t know how to apologize for that, to take it back, make it okay. The realization that he simply can’t strikes him so hard it splits his chest open.

Wriothesley stares unseeingly at Neuvillette. He can’t take it back. He can’t even apologize because he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven, not for this. This shame is his consequence. There is nothing he can do to make it better, so why should he wish to be absolved for his sins?

Wriothesley’s swallows his tongue. He feels unmoored from his body, weightless, unburdened. That thought sends him right back into himself because he should feel it. He should feel everything he did to Sigewinne and worse, everything he did to Emily.

This isn’t fair, Wriothesley thinks once. This isn’t fair, Wriothesley thinks twice. Suddenly it’s all he can think, is that simple expression. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair.

“Wriothesley remove your hands.” Neuvillette begs, his voice cutting through the haze of his mind stuck in repetition.

This isn’t fair to them, Wriothesley recognizes. This isn’t fair at all.

“Wriothesley now.” Neuvillette orders.

It cuts through him, slices to the quick. Neuvillette’s authority registers above all else. Wriothesley listens without a word, hands falling limp at his side, red and sore with the grip he held. His neck aches.

“Come, Wriothesley.” Neuvillette commands, a pillar in the middle of the cold room.

Wriothesley wants to obey for more than just the desire to be good, he wants to feel the comfort of Neuvillette’s presence. He shouldn’t let himself want that, shouldn’t let himself receive it, but he can’t disobey Neuvillette, not now.

“Good.” Neuvillette tells him with a warm palm against Wriothesley’s cheek.

He doesn’t know how to tell him no, it’s not good, he’s done no good. Wriothesley thinks he’s lost his tongue entirely. All he has is his heavy gaze, looking up through his dark lashes. His eyes burn. Neuvillette looks blurry.

“I know.” Neuvillette whispers, thumb swiping across Wriothesley’s cheek like it’s catching something.

Wriothesley’s chest clenches. He shouldn’t be crying. Who is he trying to seek comfort from? He bites his cheek, begs himself to stop.

Neuvillette’s brow furrows, “No.” He orders, as his second hand comes to Wriothesley’s face and eclipses him entirely, “Enough of that.”

Wriothesley doesn’t have the mind to disobey. He drops his chin and collapses into Neuvillette’s hands. His lashes kiss his cheeks as he surrenders to Neuvillette all of his reckless responsibility. He should never be allowed authority again. Not when this is his consequence each time.

“Come, we cannot see her now, so we shall return home.” Neuvillette says.

All Wriothesley hears is a command to follow, so he follows. He blinks as the walls of the Palais follow them. His lashes pull over Neuvillette’s silver heels as they enter the stone Court of Fontaine. He blinks again and they are standing in front of Neuvillette’s townhome. Wriothesley is surprised he’s not being locked in his apartment under house arrest but maybe this is another version of it and Neuvillette is his jailer. It’s not uncommon for Guides to be put in authority over unruly Espers.

Wriothesley thinks nothing of it as Neuvillette takes him into his home and sets him on his sofa. There is no tea this time. There is no touch. There is merely the carpet beneath Wriothesley’s feet and his lashes stuck on it.

The sun sets outside, light streaming through the window begging morning to noon as Wriothesley sits there. He is not aware of anything around him. He does not notice the cup gone cold on the table nor Neuvillette sitting by his side afraid to initiate comfort that Wriothesley does not ask for. He simply sits there sharing in Wriothesley’s silence til he determines what to do.

Wriothesley does not register the sound of Neuvillette’s feet against the carpet, nor the sound of him in the kitchen as he pulls something from the cabinet. Time is not a concept to Wriothesley. There are only two focal points in his world. One is the carpet. The other is the persistent thrum of his heart in the corner of his chest.

A third makes its way onto his cheek.

Slowly, his world view tips as his chin lifts, begged to rise by a gentle and covered hand. Neuvillette’s eyes are a hue Wriothesley doesn’t think is humanly possible.

“Dinner is ready.” Neuvillette tells Wriothesley. Wriothesley makes no response. Neuvillette needs none as he continues, “You will eat with me.” He says.

To that, Wriothesley’s stiff tongue loosens, “Yes, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette’s lashes stutter. Slowly, he reaches for Wriothesley’s arm and with both focal points of touch on Wriothesley’s jaw and forearm, Neuvillette begs him to stand. Wriothesley goes easily, like he doesn’t have a mind of his own.

Neuvillette leads Wriothesley to his dining room with those two points of touch, holds his eyes even as it begs of him to walk backwards just to hold it. Wriothesley considers the sight of that with meaning like it’s powerful and important that Neuvillette is choosing to lead him blind as long as he holds Wriothesley’s attention. For a moment, despite nothing else managing to do so, this registers to Wriothesley through the fog of his mind.

Then those hands move from him and his  tether is snapped.

Wriothesley sits in a chair forced to think for himself and he finds that he simply can’t do it. He doesn’t trust himself. Neuvillette watches him from the chair of his opposite, silent and observant.

“Eat.” Neuvillette begs gently.

Wriothesley feels his heart kick in his chest. He lifts his fork. Panic and tension carry his meal to his lips. Battling the nausea, he swallows under the weight of a decision he knows has been made for him. At one point it may have felt relieving, but buried under his shame, all he feels is heavy.

Still, it does what Neuvillette wishes for it to do. It makes Wriothesley eat.

His plate is empty when his fork meets the table yet again and from there, Wriothesley awaits orders. Neuvillette watches him from over the rim of his glass, both curious and mystified. He has never seen despondency before and never quite like this. Neuvillette doesn’t know what to do. He’s never had an experience like this before to teach him, but he is determined to learn.

Neuvillette stands, and with a finger, loosens the tie around his throat. Slowly, he walks around the edge of the dining table before his feet deliver him to Wriothesley. Those long black lashes lift to look up at him, blank and yet filled with something.

He is expectant, Neuvillette realizes.

Neuvillette has seen Wriothesley patient before, it is the same expression he wears when Neuvillette is struggling to find the words he wishes to speak aloud. This, is something like that. Neuvillette feels like he must do something at the sight of those eyes. So he does.

“Come here.” Neuvillette’s voice sounds incredibly soft, so soft that his words, though a command, feel safe.

Wriothesley pulls to his feet with a strength he does not feel, delivering his body to Neuvillette despite the burden in his shoulders that wishes to forget that he is conscious. Neuvillette’s pleased expression tastes like reason enough.

“There.” Neuvillette whispers, catching Wriothesley with his hands and pulling him closer.

Like this, Wriothesley doesn’t need to use his own strength to stand. Neuvillette holds him with a hand around the back of his neck and another sweeping a thumb up and down his bicep. Neuvillette begs Wriothesley closer, dipping his forehead to press against Neuvillette’s shoulder. With the hand along Wriothesley’s neck, Neuvillette takes his thumb down the line of his pulse, gently begging from him his tension.

Wriothesley surrenders, entirely.

All he feels is warmth. He can feel it in the touch of Neuvillette’s hands on him, can feel his throat as he swallows near his ear, can feel the wisps of his loose hair, can feel the heat of his cheek near Wriothesley’s own. This touch is terribly intimate and Wriothesley feels nothing but undeserving and greedy for it.

He buries his lashes into Neuvillette’s shoulder, stealing sight from himself and begging his conscious to allow this. He breathes through his aching throat, feels it stutter in his chest, but the sweeping touch of Neuvillette’s thumb reminds Wriothesley what a pulse is meant to feel like. He sighs all at once, sinking into this kind touch.

Slowly, his hands begin to reach for Neuvillette, leaning up and groping at the plains of his back. His fingers dig gently into Neuvillette’s pressed shirt and he clings. Wriothesley feels fragile, small, and reverent. He doesn’t know what else to feel.

They stand there for some time, long enough to leave Wriothesley’s back stiff, before Neuvillette begs his head back with the hand along his neck. His eyes shift across Wriothesley’s face, searching for something. Wriothesley follows the subtle movement with his own twitching lashes, back and forth. Neuvillette must get distracted for they look at each other just like that for an indeterminable moment.

Wriothesley recognizes awareness slowly sink back into Neuvillette’s eyes, and when they do his lashes flutter. All at once, Neuvillette’s feet begin to move back. He removes his hands til their point of touch lies around Wriothesley’s palm. With intertwined fingers, Neuvillette guides Wriothesley back to the couch in the center of the living room.

Under Neuvillette’s gentle guidance, Wriothesley sits. All at once, he feels struck, aware that he is in plain sight. The urge to hide grows, but he doesn’t dare move from where Neuvillette has placed him, not even as Neuvillette’s footsteps move away.

Neuvillette takes himself to the hearth along the wall, stoking a fire with a poker and a gentle switch of the gas. The flame spits and sputters before it casts light and heat against Wriothesley’s toes from across the room. He had not realized the sun had already started to set.

Wriothesley blinks, feeling his eyes sting from staring. As his lashes rise, Neuvillette stands before him. Wriothesley’s chin tilts skyward, lashes rising just to look at him.

“There you are.” Neuvillette says at the sight of Wriothesley’s answering gaze. His eyes feel impossibly heavy. “It’s alright.” Neuvillette tells him, “Just sit, breathe, watch the fire.” The permission begs his lungs to fill and Wriothesley, for the first time, feels his body sink into the cushions. “Good.” Neuvillette’s gentle low voice praises.

Wriothesley feels an urge, a desperate wish to taste how that voice sounds. He lets it go untouched.

The fire dances in the hearth, a gentle motion that makes Wriothesley ignorant to the way it chews at the wood beneath it. He is focused on the flame, distracted from its destruction.

Neuvillette strokes his hand across Wriothesley’s shoulder, a warm and gentle rubbing touch, each time he passes by, begging from him the barest of his consciousness. With his attention slowly tracking Neuvillette, Wriothesley finds it impossible to return to his state of mindlessness.

Neuvillette wanders across his living room with a mind set on tasks. He picks up stray things, like a blanket that he sets across Wriothesley’s legs and a book that he flips through before putting it on a shelf like it belongs. Wriothesley’s lashes pull over Neuvillette with a heavy gaze but an absent mind.

He thinks no opinion of what he sees, simply sees it and feels safe at the sight. Nothing is happening despite Neuvillette moving around. Wriothesley is ignorant to Neuvillette’s tasks just as he is to the dying logs, too distracted by the grace with which Neuvillette holds himself.

His legs are long, his movements slow and purposeful. Each limb acts like he is aware of it in its entirety. His hand, when it goes to chase his hair back across his face, is delicate and only uses the edges of his nails to brush the strands behind his ear.

He follows through the motion with his palm, brushing it down the edge of his neck, feeling that pulse along his throat as his lashes read the edges of the book he is flipping through. His hand softly goes to the page, and with his middle and forefinger, he flips it. Then he turns on his shoulder and strides over to Wriothesley and the couch he sits on.

Neuvillette tucks himself along Wriothesley’s side like it is a normal action, familiar. Wriothesley wonders if to them it may be. Wriothesley does not mind the heat of Neuvillette along his arm as he picks through his book with a gentle hand and a peaceful silence. Wriothesley thinks, and then he decides he doesn’t want to.

Instead, he sinks back into the cushions, closes his eyes, and does nothing but feel the thrum of his heart in the center of his chest and the heat of Neuvillette sinking into his shoulder.

They stay like that for as long as the fire burns bright then little as its shadows grow and stretch across the wall.

As the night pulls over the sun, Neuvillette stands. The sudden movement begs Wriothesley’s lashes from his cheeks. His eyes open to Neuvillette’s hand on his jaw. Neuvillette tilts Wriothesley’s attention to his eyes with that gentle hand.

“Come,” he says, “the guest room isn’t made up, but you will sleep in a bed.” He invites.

Wriothesley does not argue despite the urge he feels. He lets himself be taken to Neuvillette’s door along the end of the hall, and he swallows the feeling that rises at the sight of that door open for him.

Neuvillette’s bedroom is quaint. The most notable part of it is the bed, a 4-post with a canopy and brocade curtains. There are other fixtures in the room as well but Wriothesley isn’t paying them any attention, not when Neuvillette is inviting him with a hand to sit on the edge of his bed.

Wriothesley sits awkwardly but Neuvillette continues to move. He returns with a hand filled with a change of clothes.

“Here,” Neuvillette says, “change into this.”

Wriothesley’s lashes pull over the soft fabric. He can smell Neuvillette on them from here.

“You may use my bathroom if you’d like.” He makes a gesture towards a door along the opposite end of the room.

Wriothesley stands and pulls himself through that door without a word. At the sound of it’s hinge, Wriothesley’s fingers pull over the buttons of his shirt. He peels himself out of his clothes and as he slips into the ones that smell of Neuvillette he feels subtly changed in a way that is inexplicable.

He feels, perhaps, softer, easier to love. He wonders if that is because of how he feels for Neuvillette. Wearing his clothes feels like he’s earned something, like a good opinion, and that makes Wriothesley feel better toward himself, more forgiving.

When Wriothesley delivers himself back to Neuvillette he finds him newly changed too. He wears soft pants of navy and a shirt that billows with wide lantern sleeves and a low collar. It wraps around his hips slightly fitted.

Neuvillette is a vision. Wriothesley has done nothing to earn this. He feels ashamed for this opportunity, but it is Neuvillette who is giving it to him. At that, Wriothesley makes no further thought.

Neuvillette is waiting for him by the bed. Wriothesley should argue, try not to steal Neuvillette’s bed from him, but Neuvillette slides beneath the sheets and leaves a spot open for Wriothesley. It looks too inviting to reject. He doesn’t expect the hand to his head as he lays against the pillow. The weight begs the rest of his breath from his lungs. It escapes him and takes his tension with it.

“It’s not your fault.” Neuvillette says slowly and all at once that tension returns.

Wriothesley grits his teeth. He won’t burden Neuvillette with his argument. Neuvillette’s lashes flicker over his face, calculating.

Slowly, Neuvillette speaks anew, “It is your fault,” He says. Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide but for the first time all day he’s truly listening. “But it was not your intention.” Neuvillette finishes.

Huh. Something warm beats in his chest. Wriothesley realizes that’s the pulse of his heart. Oh, when did that stop?

“It will be okay,” Neuvillette tells the crown of his head, “Sigewinne’s pain is enough, you don’t have to carry it too. It is better for everyone that you don’t.”

That sounds logical enough that Wriothesley thinks he might believe it.

Maybe this is the wrong way to store his guilt. Maybe even though he can’t erase what he did, he can try to make up for it, do better. Maybe there is something he can do after all.

“How do I fix it?” Wriothesley’s voice croaks with disuse.

Neuvillette rubs a hand across his spine.

“That, we will ask Sigewinne in the morning.”

Neuvillette is kind, Wriothesley thinks and that thought sends him to sleep.

Wriothesley wakes to an empty bed. Before he can panic, the sound of soft footsteps sound behind him. Wriothesley shifts on his back turning his cheek to the sight of Neuvillette, dressed in his slacks and poet shirt, walking over to him along the edge of the bed.

“Ah, good morning.” He greets, “You’re quite a light sleeper so I tried to be courteous. I’m sorry for waking you.”

Wriothesley is more surprised he managed to leave the bed and get dressed without Wriothesley waking sooner but his tongue is stiff with sleep. Instead, he stares blankly at Neuvillette, getting a little distracted at the sight of his bare face. Huh, so the monsieur wears powder. No wonder his face is so even. Even like this however, he is inexorably beautiful. The texture of his face humanizes him, brings out the subtle lines of his face and makes him look handsome.

Neuvillette’s lip twitches as the silence continues, “Come,” he says, turning his shoulder, “I’ve made breakfast. Your clothes are folded on the dresser.”

Wriothesley follows the open gesture of his hand to the dresser. When he turns back, Neuvillette is down the hall stepping down the staircase. Wriothesley watches after him for a moment more before he turns on his shoulder and throws his feet over the side of the bed and stands. He changes quickly before heading downstairs and looking for Neuvillette in the dining room.

“Come sit with me.” Neuvillette invites, seated at the edge of the dining table.

Wriothesley takes the chair beside him where a plate lays out for him. They eat in companionable silence. It is only as Wriothesley delivers his fork to the table that Neuvillette speaks again.

“Sigewinne is awake.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. His heart stutters in his chest but he keeps his restless emotion from his voice as he asks, “Where is she?”

Neuvillette responds, “She is being held in her own infirmary in Meropide. Her students are looking after her now.”

Wriothesley finds his relief at once, it begs from his lips a gentle sigh.

With that, they stand and head for the Foyer. Wriothesley watches Neuvillette pull on his coat before stepping through the door Wriothesley holds for him. Together they make the travel to The Fortress of Meropide.

Their shoes ring against the metal as the doorway to the infirmary pulls back. Wriothesley spies two students gathered around a mound of blankets in the bed of the room. As Wriothesley steps closer, he sees her and his heart squeezes at the sight.

Sigewinne’s color has returned as if nothing ever happened. She sneezes upon seeing him and grins through her sniffle.

“Your Grace!” She smiles. “You made it.” Her voice sounds low in the way that speaks of a clogged sinus.

Wriothesley could fall to the floor with the way his tension floods him. Thank whoever is above that all Sigewinne walked away with is a cold.

Wriothesley drags a chair over with his heel before falling into it at her bedside. His hands reach for her paws through her mound. She squeezes back against his large palm. His tongue is too stiff for words.

Sigewinne’s face softens at the tense line of his face, “I just had a chill that’s all!” She assures, “Look! I’m right as rain now!”

Wriothesley doesn’t know what to say. He could apologize, should apologize, but he doesn’t want to be forgiven.

“I’m glad.” He breathes, “I really am.”

Sigewinne giggles, “I know that!”

Neuvillette, standing by Wriothesley’s shoulder, speaks softly, “We worried for you Sigewinne, it will take some time for him to understand that you are truly well.”

Sigewinne’s lashes pull over Neuvillette’s expression Wriothesley’s seen only once before. It seems they really are as close as he wondered. Slowly she turns her face back to Wriothesley and that gentle expression of hers remains.

“Neuvillette removed the ice but you didn’t strike me as bad as you think.” Sigewinne tells him, “It was a nip is all.”

“You went limp.” Wriothesley whispers, unable to say the words any louder.

“The body does that when overwhelmed. I assure you, Melusine constitutions are different. You did the right thing bringing me to Monsieur Neuvillette but I was right to trust you too.” Wriothesley makes a face at that, he can feel the way his disbelief twists but she maintains her position, “I felt the depth of your capacity Wriothesley, even for just a moment. You could have killed me if that was your intention.”

Wriothesley shakes his head, “I don’t like that thought.”

“Then appreciate that you didn’t.” Sigewinne chirps, cheery as ever.

Wriothesley’s eyes sink to Sigewinne’s paw in his hand. For a moment his mind is arrested with thoughts, busy discerning which question is the right one. He doesn’t want to be forgiven, but he doesn’t want to leave Sigewinne without what she deserves.

Slowly, his head rises.

Sigewinne turns her attention back to him, “What is it, Your Grace?” She smiles.

Wriothesley’s lashes pull up, heavy and burdening as he meets Sigewinne’s honest gaze. “What can I do to make it up to you?” He begs.

Sigewinne’s cheeks grow wide as her smile peels back, “Take care of yourself!” She chirps, then she maintains, “Stick with Monsieur Neuvillette, let him help.”

Wriothesley’s jaw tightens with emotion, “Anything.” He agrees, “As you wish.”

At Sigewinne’s satisfaction, the room bursts into conversation, laughter, and an amiable atmosphere. Wriothesley maintains one thought through it all while he strokes her gentle paw; Sigewinne is far too kind.

Standing at the doorway to the infirmary, Wriothesley considers Sigewinne one last time before returning to work. He’s sure he’s got a pile of paperwork waiting for him back in his office.

“Will you be alright?”

Wriothesley’s lashes pull over Neuvillette’s face for a moment, taking in his considerate expression. All at once shame and embarrassment threaten him, but it’s gratitude that wins. He can’t remember the last time someone has cared for him so intimately before and without a battle especially.

“I will be, Monsieur.” Wriothesley says sincerely, “Thank you,” he tells those eyes that watch him still, “I don’t know how to repay you for what you’ve done for me, but thank you.”

Neuvillette’s expression softens, “Think nothing of it, Your Grace. It was an experience I have never had before.” He says, like that is repayment enough.

Wriothesley’s lip twitches, “That’s one way to put it. Sorry for the trouble.” He chuckles.

“You were no trouble,” Neuvillette replies, sounding serious, “Before I’d met you I might have called it the duty of my station as a Guide,” he says, with a pondering expression, “but I remember what you said to me.” His lip twitches, “I will say it to you now. Our names are Neuvillette and Wriothesley. That is all.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. His heart begins to pound in a way that feels significant. He doesn’t know what expression he’s making but he’s certain it’s a little embarrassing. His ears feel hot.

Wriothesley dips his chin, hiding behind his bangs momentarily, “Right,” he says, “of course.” He looks up at Neuvillette through his lashes, “You are right, Monsieur. Thank you for the reminder.”

Neuvillette smiles, something gentle and pretty that pulls his cheeks back handsomely, “You are welcome.” He begins to turn away, before he goes however he says, “I will see you tomorrow.”

That promise strikes Wriothesley ineffably.

“Tomorrow, Monsieur.” Wriothesley mutters at the sight of Neuvillette’s back.

Wriothesley continues down the hall of Meropide but before heading to his office he freshens up back in his apartment. It eases some of the pressure in his head and he no longer smells like Neuvillette after. Some losses are to be expected, Wriothesley thinks then refuses to consider the implication of that thought too seriously.

He heads to his office shortly after that. As he expected, there is a pile of paperwork waiting for him. He quickly gets to work on processing and revising. This ordeal takes him late into the night and as his wick burns itself out, Wriothesley blinks back the sting in his eyes to the sound of a knock at his door. With an easy pull he reaches for the button below his desk. The sound of footsteps come up the stairs and the sight of a familiar Esper tells Wriothesley he has worked til morning.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” She smiles.

“Good morning, Loretta.” Wriothesley smiles back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just here to give you my report on the dungeon I entered.” She says, delivering a packet to his desk.

“Very well then.” He smiles.

“You coming down for lunch, Your Grace?” Loretta asks.

Wriothesley blinks. He pulls his eyes over to his clock and feels the sigh tear itself from his chest.

“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.” Wriothesley says.

With that Loretta turns on her heel and continues the down the stairs without a word. At the sound of her retreat, Wriothesley stands to make his own. He takes himself down the halls of Meropide, headed for the cafeteria.

His boots ring clean sounds of a gentle rhythm as he passes a dark spot below the twinging pipes. He can feel the eyes on him before the hands touch his sleeve.

Wriothesley twists his waist, grappling with the touch at his shoulder and throwing the Esper to the ground. Another hand reaches for his chest and before he can react, electricity strikes through him.

Wriothesley grits his teeth against the static buzzing through his jaw at the touch. His body seizes and for a moment he can’t reject the hands pushing against him, swaying him toward an abandoned pipe along the edge of the Fortress halls.

Wriothesley’s back hits metal as they drop him to the floor. He can taste the blood filling his mouth from where he bit his cheek. Ow.

“Come on, Duke,” an Esper with a crooked nose gets in his face with a scoff, kneeling before him with a twitching lip, “this was too easy, you’re clearly no fit for your position anymore.” He says.

“We can’t afford to let you clock out on us,” another man says, he stands tall with a cross of his arms, he favors his right leg from where Wriothesley threw him, “so just do us all a favor and resign.”

Wriothesley raises a brow at the dynamic duo, “You think threatening me like this keeps you safe from me overclocking it?”

“You kept the melusine safe.” Crooked nose guy shrugs, “We’re not too worried.” He grins.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. If he had any less of a mind that would’ve been it, but in a way they’re right. He wouldn’t dare lose it with Sigewinne down the hall. Doesn’t mean he can’t slam his head into this bastards nose though.

The Esper rears back with a bitten shout, hand chasing his bloody lip. “Fuck!” He hissed.

Wriothesley glares up at him through his lashes with the Esper’s blood dripping down the bridge of his brow. He looks between the two stooges and swallows his incredulity. Espers are like this, he thinks, children with too much authority.

Wriothesley tilts his head back against the pipe behind him, testing his grip in his hand. His fingers barely twitch. Huh, well, that happens. It’ll take him some time til the static drips from his body, until then these two likely plan to torture him in some way to force him to hand over his authority as the Duke.

That thought doesn’t bother him enough to make an expression. Eventually someone will come looking for him. He just has to outlast their patience. Luckily, he’s got experience in this area.

Then the first crack rings.

The Esper with the bloody lip sneers down his nose, his hand strewn in the air where it rests after the action. His knuckles are red from the impact. Wriothesley’s cheek lies slanted, bangs brushed across his cheek hiding his eyes.

Slowly, Wriothesley rights his jaw. His lashes lift, delivering a dead look to the Esper whose chest shakes with barely retained rage. Wriothesley merely looks at him and that rage builds into a newly coiled smack with the back of his wrist. Wriothesley’s head shoots sideways with the force, skin flaring with the beginnings of a bruise. It is silent at the second hit. Wriothesley says nothing as he turns his cheek again, lifting his lashes to return that look to the Esper above him.

It is the Esper’s own perception that sees arrogance. It is with that perception that he loses it and smacks the Duke again and again before he grabs him by the collar and slams his head back into the metal wall.

“Fuck!” He screams in Wriothesley’s face. “Don’t look at me like that!” He begs with a voice that breaks into a whine. “You have no idea—your resignation is for the greater good.” He pleads, his brows tilting upwards like he pities Wriothesley or maybe himself.

Wriothesley says nothing. The Esper’s gentle expression cracks. That anger returns. With snarling teeth he begs Wriothesley to give in with his fists and his desperate shaking.

“Give it to me!” He demands, “Give it up already!” He bites.

Wriothesley spits at the newest crack to his jaw. His face feels blurry. Blood coats the inside of his mouth. He refuses to give up his seal over something as petty as this.

The man in the corner stands with his stiff back and crossed arms looking unrepentant and uncaring as his partner slams his foot into Wriothesley’s gut. Wriothesley bites his cheek, hard, just to keep his air in his lungs. He chokes on the attempt, but fuck if he refuses to sound weak in front of these assholes. They already doubt his authority as it is. No, Wriothesley’s better than this.

He lifts his head and waits for the next sting.

As the man raises his red hand, a sharp echo bounces off the metal walls. Sure enough footsteps round the corner. He knew someone would notice his absence at some point. Only Wriothesley doesn’t expect to see Neuvillette in all his brilliant 3-piece glory with his polished shoes rounding the corner himself. Loretta arrives shortly behind, standing by his side and the puzzle comes together.

Wriothesley angles his shoulder against the wall, begging himself to keep upright in the face of his Guide. The shame at being found like this is already eating at him, he doesn’t need to collapse too.

Neuvillette’s eyes skip over the Espers in the room, shouting words that Wriothesley isn’t paying attention to, not when Neuvillette’s eyes are on him. The whites of his eyes widen, silver lashes peeling back in their bed as his cane strokes the ground with his next step. All at once his cheek turns and he’s rounding on the men backing up into a corner. Wriothesley notices the minute Neuvillette spies the Esper responsible for Wriothesley’s appearance, his eyes dropping to the man’s red hand.

Neuvillette’s expression is ineffable, his eyes hard and his gaze cold. The Esper’s try to explain themselves, barking words about justice. Neuvillette’s hand tightens against his cane, raising the silver head above the ground, with a quick strike, he sends the tip of the metal down hard. The sound rings through the pipes joining the concert of the heavy thud as the men fall to their knees.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide at the sight. This goes beyond nullification. For the first time since meeting him, Wriothesley feels suspicious. Just what exactly is Neuvillette?

Against the silence, Neuvillette’s voice sounds loud, “You,” he commands to their bowed heads and trembling shoulders, “will be judged before the Court for your crimes. I will see to it myself.”

Wriothesley has never heard that edge in his voice before. He has never met this Neuvillette. This is the Court official, the Chief Guide of Fontaine. And then a hand is at his cheek and Wriothesley is blinking at a familiar expression.

“Monsieur.” Wriothesley croaks, in the corner of his eye he sees Loretta hall the men out using her ability.

Neuvillette’s brows pull forward capturing Wriothesley’s attention again, “They threatened you.” He says, his voice uncharacteristically edged.

Wriothesley’s brow tilts, “A keen observation, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette shoots him a look that sends Wriothesley silent.

“Sorry.” He bites without intending to, it feels pulled from him, like it is the only proper response.

It eases the hard lines in Neuvillette’s face, splits through to him enough to grow soft.

“That’s quite alright,” he says, voice a low timber, “Come, with me, Your Grace.”

Neuvillette stands from his kneel, bending a hand. Wriothesley really does try to move, but the only thing that bends is the edge of his lips.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of range of motion at the moment, Monsieur.” Wriothesley says, feeling sheepish.

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide then narrow.

“What did they do to you?” He asks, getting to his knees. He hesitates to touch him again, but it’s clear that this time if he did, Neuvillette would likely search for the answer himself. Wriothesley appreciates his self control, he doesn’t want to lash out in this pipe right now.

“Just a little electric shock. I’ll be fine in an hour or so. My legs are just, a little limp.” Wriothesley shrugs.

He’s grateful to be able to make even that small gesture.

Neuvillette’s frown deepens, “Very well then.” He says, before promptly lifting Wriothesley into his arms.

Wriothesley startles but the only thing he can control is his shoulders and maybe his fingers. He clutches uselessly at Neuvillette’s collar.

“Put me down please.” Wriothesley bites immediately, fear of being seen like this cutting through his patience quicker than any backhand to the face could.

Neuvillette spares him a glance, a long look that communicates more than Wriothesley thinks he wants it to say. Beneath that look Wriothesley swallows and feels the urge to give in rise. It’s Neuvillette, he remembers as his lashes pull over that patient face. Defeat settles on his tongue, pulling his chin low and dragging a sigh from his lips.

Wriothesley drops the crown of his head to Neuvillette’s shoulder, “Alright,” he mutters.

He thought he was embarrassed before but as Neuvillette carries him through the abandoned pipe, he forgets that emotion for something else. Wriothesley marvels. He’s not a small guy, and Neuvillette definitely doesn’t feel thin, Wriothesley has spied muscle before but this is, a bit mysterious.

Neuvillette doesn’t struggle at all.

Wriothesley’s heart makes a familiar motion at that. It settles and the tension in his back recedes. It’s nice to know he’s in capable hands even if those hands are carrying him through his Fortress and making him feel like he deserves his authority even less. Fortunately Neuvillette listens to Wriothesley when he suggests they take the back ways and thankfully those halls are empty. Wriothesley breathes easy knowing his precarious position in society survives another day. Besides, being held by Neuvillette isn’t a terrible thing, not really. Wriothesley was never held even as a child so if anything this is a new experience.

Neuvillette takes Wriothesley to his office, closing the door behind them and carrying him up the stairs to his couch. Wriothesley is grateful for the privacy to recover. While Wriothesley sinks into the couch cushions, Neuvillette brings over his tea tray.

Wriothesley could swoon.

“Thank you.” Wriothesley mutters as Neuvillette presses a hot cup between his fingers.

The warmth helps tickle some sensation into them but Neuvillette maintains his grip, delivering the lip of the cup to Wriothesley’s mouth where he sips. Even this small bit of assistance feels intimate to Wriothesley. He’s not used to this and the fact that it’s Neuvillette helping him is not lost on Wriothesley. It feels a little meaningful if not hard to believe.

Wriothesley watches him deliver the cup back to the table before them right as his finger twitches against his thigh. Wriothesley watches each digit pull slow against his palm. They twinge in a way that reminds him of a time where it used to hurt. Now all he feels is numb.

Wriothesley blinks at the sight of a handkerchief being brought to his face.

Neuvillette doesn’t touch him, not yet, instead he asks, “May I?” Waiting for Wriothesley’s expressed permission.

Wriothesley nods mutely.

The touch of the cloth is soft and a little wet as it soaks up the blood on the bridge of his nose. It’s not his blood, he thinks a little wryly, but he hesitates to say it aloud. He doesn’t think that matters to Neuvillette, not with the way his brows pull and he runs his knuckles across the red of Wriothesley’s cheek. His eyes narrow at the barely retained flinch shuddering through Wriothesley’s face at the touch.

Still, Wriothesley doesn’t look away, can’t, not when Neuvillette is making expressions he’s never seen before. Not when this tastes like something Wriothesley so rarely receives, attention, sweet soft and comforting attention.  

Hesitantly, Neuvillette breaks the silence, “I would like to guide you, if you’d allow it.” Neuvillette says, pulling Wriothesley’s attention from his hand to Neuvillette’s face.

He has never looked quite so conflicted before. Wriothesley wonders. He comes back with an answer that feels too good to be true so he drops it. Instead, he considers Neuvillette’s request. His initial reaction isn’t fear surprisingly.

“Okay.” Wriothesley mutters.

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide, “Truly?” He clarifies.

Wriothesley himself feels surprised, even as he says, “Yeah, just…” his lashes flick to Neuvillette’s lips and he focuses on the way his expression shifts.

Neuvillette’s nostrils flare with understanding.

Before Wriothesley can draw his own conclusions on whether that’s a good sign or not, Neuvillette reaches for Wriothesley’s hand. Wriothesley’s eyes widen as Neuvillette pulls his palm across his face, letting Wriothesley hold Neuvillette around his jaw.

“Do as you need.” Neuvillette says, his eyes growing lidded and soft.

Wriothesley’s heart stutters.

The world narrows down to two focal points. One, is the heat radiating through Neuvillette’s cheek to Wriothesley’s palm. The second, is Neuvillette’s gentle expression. His lashes kiss his cheeks, casting gentle shadow, but as the silence stretches, those lashes flutter and lift.

Neuvillette’s eyes gaze at Wriothesley with purpose. His intent needs no words, Wriothesley understands this look clearly and he would be a fool to reject it.

Wriothesley places his other hand against the cushions by Neuvillette’s waist, curling over his body with the barest motion he is allowed, gently pushing Neuvillette into the soft back of the couch. Neuvillette, trusting in the hand at his jaw, leans back toward Wriothesley’s suggestion. As he goes, his chin rises. Wriothesley catches his lips before Neuvillette’s spine meets the cushion.

Wriothesley swallows Neuvillette’s shallow breath with a firm press of his mouth, exhaling his own relief between them. The touch immediately sends Wriothesley beneath the abyss of endless waves into an ancient and expansive pool, but he’s not paying attention to that. No, the sound of Neuvillette’s lips kissing his is much more enticing.

Their mouths meet with a chaste cloy and part with Wriothesley’s hand adjusting Neuvillette’s chin. Wriothesley can feel Neuvillette’s lashes flutter across his face as they meet again, hungry, like they truly may be lovers.

Neuvillette sighs into Wriothesley’s mouth with a muffled sound and Wriothesley completely forgets about the fact that he’s not supposed to be able to access his body right now. That feels like a distant memory with how much energy is buzzing through him, how achingly alive each of his limbs feel.

He hardly registers it at all as he throws a leg over Neuvillette’s lap and eclipses him entirely against the back of his couch. Neuvillette only catches him, his hands chasing Wriothesley’s hips, filling him with dizzying warmth.

Wriothesley’s thumb traces a line against Neuvillette’s jaw, pulling his chin impossibly closer to sip from his soft lips. He can scent his breath, it’s heady, and shouldn’t be this appetizing but it is. Wriothesley swears he can taste him, he feels tempted to use his tongue, but that thought shudders through him like clarity and all at once he becomes distinctly aware of how active his limbs are.

Wriothesley parts from Neuvillette’s mouth with a soft wet sound, lashes lifting immediately and stuttering over the sight of Neuvillette’s dazed eyes watching him. Wriothesley swallows his heartbeat in his throat.

“Sorry—I,” Wriothesley chases his hand to his mouth, pulling at the edges and effectively cutting himself off.

“It’s quite alright,” Neuvillette says, catching his breath, his hand at Wriothesley’s waist twitches, “It is normal to get carried away,” he assures, lashes fluttering a little quickly, “or so I’ve heard.”

Wriothesley’s lip twitch, “This a new experience for you too, Monsieur?”

Neuvillette’s own lips stretch, “Quite.”

Wriothesley’s eyes shift between Neuvillette’s, chest thrumming a distant rhythm that echoes in his ears, “I’m honored.” He breathes.

Neuvillette’s voice sounds full of something when he replies, “The honor is mine.” Like he truly believes that.

A pregnant silence lapses, an indeterminable moment where they simply watch each other.

Wriothesley should admit to the tension of their position, at the impropriety but he is stuck in a world where none of that matters. In his perspective this feels perhaps normal for them, or, rather than normal, it feels natural, like this was always their intended trajectory. Wriothesley thinks, as long as Neuvillette does not remind him, he could believe this is proper between them.

They watch each other for a long moment like that, lost in their own terribly intimate perspectives. Wriothesley wonders about Neuvillette’s perception, wonders about his intimate experience, wants to draw his own conclusions and act based on that but for the moment he is so absorbed with his own thoughts that he forgets that that is his typical behavior.

Perhaps he is not leaning back on this habit because he is not afraid. No, Wriothesley finds that he is not afraid of Neuvillette and his own perception. This is because he suspects that whatever it is Neuvillette is thinking on, it must certainly be a kind thought, a safe thought, a thought Wriothesley can trust.

That shakes him, makes him feel a feeling he can’t name, but it also pleases him. For once he feels normal, like everyone else, capable of trust. It makes him feel kinder to himself.

Wriothesley gets lost in the stroke of his thumb against Neuvillette’s jaw, in the flutter of those lashes as they dip and watch him as Neuvillette leans into his touch. It is then, that Wriothesley’s eyes dip to Neuvillette’s parting lips.

“You will be staying with me for the foreseeable future.” Neuvillette informs him.

It sounds like Wriothesley has no choice.

Oddly, that doesn’t kick up Wriothesley’s thing with authority over him, no, in fact he sees it as an opportunity to earn Neuvillette’s good graces. For the first time in a while, Wriothesley feels a spark of ambition. With this determination he makes a silent vow.

He’s going to be so good to Neuvillette.

Chapter Text

The door closes with a heavy sound as their shoes meet the marble of the foyer.

Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, “If you would prefer,” he begins, “I can make up the guest room for your privacy, but I do not mind sharing my bed with you. It is large enough.”

Wriothesley blinks, lashes pulling over Neuvillette’s impassive expression, “Truly Monsieur?” He says, “I would hate to impose.”

Neuvillette turns his shoulder, effectively cornering Wriothesley against the door. Wriothesley eyes the scant distance between them. Neuvillette must not notice but he arrests Wriothesley’s attention with nothing but this subtle movement.

“Your presence is no imposition to me.” Neuvillette says, “I do not know how else to express myself,” he admits, “but I hope you can believe me when I say this. I have never guided someone so closely as I have with you.” Neuvillette looks introspective as he says, “Perhaps that explains why your presence is, appreciated.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. That sounds like Neuvillette likes him, but Neuvillette hasn’t said that. He just said that Wriothesley is the opposite of an imposition, that’s all. Wriothesley doesn’t dare let himself read into it. He takes Neuvillette at his words.

“Whichever is easiest, Monsieur.” Wriothesley says, “I also do not mind sharing a bed with you.”

Neuvillette nods, “Then it is settled.”

Wriothesley feels his heart kick.

With that, Neuvillette turns on his heel, dressing down to his waistcoat and leaving his coat against the rack before he disappears through a doorway. Wriothesley follows behind, spying him at the island in the kitchen where he begins to prepare for lunch.

“Anything I can do to help, Monsieur?” Wriothesley offers as he ambles around the counter.

“Ah, it is not necessary.” Neuvillette says shortly but he catches Wriothesley’s expression and changes his mind, “If you would like, you could grab the chopping block off the rack.”

“I got the fun job I see.” Wriothesley jokes as he passes by Neuvillette to the rack along the wall.

Neuvillette makes a soft sound, like a laugh, “You are easily amused I see.”

Wriothesley’s lip twitches, “You can call me childish, Monsieur. I’m not so easily offended.”

“I would never.” Neuvillette maintains, “It would be offensive to me instead. I do not let children cook in my kitchen.”

Wriothesley nearly trips at the sound of Neuvillette being droll.

“So you are funny too, Monsieur.” Wriothesley smiles.

“Perish the thought.” Neuvillette replies.

Wriothesley barks a laugh, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Neuvillette says nothing to that but Wriothesley spies the twitching of his lips from behind his shoulder. At that moment Wriothesley turns just as Neuvillette reaches and they collide. Wriothesley grabs Neuvillette’s hip gently where Neuvillette steadies himself against Wriothesley’s arm. For a moment they blink. Then their cheeks pull into matching smiles.

“Forgive me, Monsieur.” Wriothesley mutters just as Neuvillette says, “My apologies.”

The two share another look. Then they’re turning their cheeks to laugh.

“Excuse me.” Neuvillette says, passing his hand along Wriothesley’s arm as he moves to the other end of the kitchen.

He returns shortly with the utensil he was looking for. Wriothesley’s heart is busy beating voraciously in his chest. He feels electric, charged, full of anticipation. The sight of Neuvillette lights his fuse it seems. He cringes at the very thought, deeply appalled. It is more likely that Neuvillette is simply amusing and Wriothesley is only slightly amorous.

“Ah,” Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, his eyes looking at what he needs, “could you hand me—“ Wriothesley delivers it to him without a word. Neuvillette’s lashes lift to Wriothesley’s eyes, his regard growing heavy for a short moment, “Thank you.” He says.

Wriothesley’s heart skips a beat. He has to bite his cheek just to keep the ugly grin threatening to betray him from striking across his face.

Wriothesley easily surrenders to Neuvillette’s direction in his kitchen, standing by his side and making use of himself by bringing Neuvillette what he needs. Other than that, he spends most of it watching him move through a ceremony that very few get the privilege to see. Neuvillette is beautiful doing most things but even in this, he is strikingly handsome. Wriothesley uses considerable effort to not get distracted. It is a mere blink before lunch is ready.

The meal they prepared steams as they bring it to the dining room, set against the middle of the table. Wriothesley takes his seat across Neuvillette and with short ceremony, they begin to eat. The food tastes better knowing the effort it took to make it, Wriothesley thinks as he steals a glance at Neuvillette appreciating his own plate with a quiet reserve. Wriothesley’s focus gets distracted on the sight of Neuvillette’s tongue peeking out to catch his fork but he catches himself before Neuvillette’s lashes lift. Wriothesley chases back his shame with a sip from his glass.

Neuvillette is an enigma. This is the conclusion Wriothesley has come to after these past few days of knowing him. He is a man of duty and he upholds it with dignity and grace. He is a patient man, a kind man, and he seems to hold  no bar to the reserve of this well of kindness towards Wriothesley.

That, seems odd, does it not?

There has only been one consistency throughout Wriothesley’s life and it has been persistent enough to trust this fact and no other. Unfortunately, people are not altruistic by nature. It is choice to be altruistic, but altruism is not sustainable. Wriothesley knows from experience. As kind as he may choose to be, he is not endlessly so. Monsieur Neuvillette, as of late, has shown a kindness that even Wriothesley himself finds difficult to access for most people.

For Wriothesley, a man with no benefit outside of Neuvillette’s assigned duty and the upholding of social justice, he cannot imagine what other reason Neuvillette would have to go so far. Perhaps duty is all it takes for Neuvillette. Perhaps social justice is something he cares much for, but Wriothesley cannot find it to be reason enough to allow someone into your bed.

Wriothesley wonders, tries to imagine himself in Neuvillette’s spats and silver shoes, the image is startlingly for a brief moment, but he looks past the imagery and through to the perspective. Wriothesley, as Neuvillette, would not extend such intimate grace toward himself, a man he hardly knows. But then he imagines Neuvillette being the Esper in his care and Wriothesley’s chest stutters. In this circumstance, he would afford Neuvillette quite a bit more than he’s willing to admit, but that is due to bias. Monsieur Neuvillette, Wriothesley thinks, is impartial.

Still, that line of thought is irrelevant. Whatever conclusion Wriothesley comes to will be, in the end, biased by his own experience and will hold very little weight towards the truth. If Wriothesley were braver, he would ask Neuvillette himself. Instead, he chooses to remain ignorant. In that decision, he reserves himself to what he does have control over.

The feelings he’s clung to since he brought Sigewinne to Neuvillette surge at once. It is both shame and gratitude. Feeling wise and inordinately in control over himself, Wriothesley chooses to sit in gratitude. Gratitude with nowhere to go is just as heavy as shame, perhaps that is why he resolves to find a way to repay Neuvillette for his time, patience, and kindness.

Wriothesley wipes his napkin across his mouth before tucking it beside his empty plate. He raises his lashes to Neuvillette’s face. He, from the looks of it, has also just finished his meal. Wriothesley takes the opportunity.

“You have done much for me Monsieur,” he begins, watching Neuvillette’s eyes flick to him from across the table, “I already feel terribly imposing,” Wriothesley says with a twitching and shy smile, allowing himself to feel momentarily bashful, “is there anything I can do to help in these upcoming days to ease the burden?“

Neuvillette pays special attention to Wriothesley as he speaks, his expression impassive and patient throughout the words but as Wriothesley finishes, Wriothesley spies a tension in Neuvillette’s brow.

“You are more companionable than you must presume, Your Grace.” Neuvillette says, that tension slowly flattening like it is slow to being relieved, “Your presence alone is worth the imposition.”

Wriothesley blinks, “Surely you mean that only politely.”

Neuvillette looks suddenly serious, that tension returning entirely.

“I would award you more opportunities than most.” Neuvillette says shortly, seemingly thinking that must be enough to put Wriothesley’s worries to rest.

Only he’s just lit something entirely new.

It must be wishful thinking, Wriothesley assumes, but his heart is quickening and his tongue runs away with him, “Monsieur, you have to know how that sounds.”

Neuvillette’s head tilts in a way that is oddly cute.

“I am afraid I do not.” He says, “Would you enlighten me?”

“Well, it sounds like—,” Wriothesley hesitates, instead he asks anew, “Monsieur,” Wriothesley looks up through his lashes, “do you like me?”

Neuvillette’s expression does not change, even as he admits, “I am fond of you.”

Wriothesley breathes, short and quick and entirely deceptive. It is a choice to not take that as an admission. Instead, Wriothesley takes Neuvillette’s ambiguous words as a boundary. If he doesn’t want to be blunt about his rejection then that’s fine. The opposite of an effusive yes, in Wriothesley’s experience, is a polite no. Wriothesley can forgive him his privacy.

Still, Wriothesley is nothing if not betraying towards himself.

“Likewise Monsieur.” Wriothesley admits, his tone more earnest than it should be.

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide. Instead of that tension increasing in his brow that Wriothesley anticipates, something pretty takes his lips, a sweet smile that he tucks beneath the dip of his chin as he takes a sip from his fluke. Wriothesley watches it from behind his own raised glass.

Wriothesley, for an unnerving moment, finds himself to be feeling exceptionally distracted between the dichotomy of what he feels and what he perceives. For the safety of his own fragile heart, he decides to pay it no mind. Unfortunately, with the experience he has lived, this is all he knows how to do.

Neuvillette stands to attend to the dishes of the table and Wriothesley joins him. He reaches for the largest in the center, letting Neuvillette take the smaller plates and stack the silverware as Wriothesley heads to the sink. With a habit that tastes like dust, Wriothesley falls into the motion of housework.

Neuvillette enters the kitchen shortly, setting the plates on the counter by the sink where he spies Wriothesley filling the basin.

“You need not trouble yourself.” Neuvillette says.

Wriothesley is certain he is trying to be kind again, but this is beginning to feel betraying to Wriothesley’s sense of identity. Wriothesley is a responsible man, and well enough to clean up after himself, especially where he is being treated as a guest.

“Just trying to pay you back.” Wriothesley says with a distracted gaze as he continues to roll up his sleeves.

“Think nothing of it.” Neuvillette says, casually flippant.

Wriothesley refuses.

He turns to Neuvillette at once, leveling him with his most repentant and pleading expression, “Put me out of my misery, Monsieur,” Wriothesley begs beneath his lashes, “let me be kind to you.”

Neuvillette’s eyes watch him, shifting between each lash with an expression Wriothesley can’t parse. It is silent between them, before Neuvillette’s lips part, “Very well then.” Neuvillette swallows and blinks a short blink, once, as he turns his head away, an action Wriothesley thinks of as uncharacteristic, “As you wish.” Neuvillette surrenders.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide at the realization. This feels significant. Perhaps that is because he himself is not so easy to earn the trust and surrender of, but Neuvillette in particular is never without his authority. This is different from being allowed to take the lead in guiding between them, that authority belongs to Wriothesley. This, however, is Neuvillette’s house, his dishes. Wriothesley is being allowed to tend to them for his own selfish purpose.

Wriothesley, at once, feels grateful to Neuvillette. He feels a little reverent, but most of all, he feels important, special, and he races to humble himself. Neuvillette is merely being kind again, in a new way. This means nothing that Wriothesley wants it to mean. Wriothesley alone already struggles with attaching meaning to behaviors that people likely do not think twice about, but this, this feels—! Wriothesley swallows. It is no different he argues, and effectively begins the task he earned.

The sun is dipping through the curtain into evening as Wriothesley finishes the last dish. Companionably, Neuvillette has remained by his side, drying and setting them away. He makes no remark on how Wriothesley chooses to clean, thorough and military, and Wriothesley wonders if that is because he did a good job or utterly failed. The insecurity sits with him until Neuvillette interrupts his overthinking mind.

“Care to join me in the living room?” He invites.

“Sure, Monsieur.” Wriothesley nods, following Neuvillette on his heel.

Neuvillette stokes the fire while Wriothesley takes the corner of the couch, a spot he’s become comfortable with claiming as his own. He leans back, watching Neuvillette pass his hair back over his shoulder as he leans to press the knob of the gas. The fire lights, and only now does Wriothesley realize the logs are ceramic. An odd thing to observe now but it keeps him from staring at Neuvillette and the long line of his slender legs and drawn back.

Neuvillette straightens, turning over his shoulder, he walks over to sit by Wriothesley. This time their shoulders do not touch.

As Neuvillette settles into his seat, crossing his leg over his knee, Wriothesley breaks the silence.

“So, Monsieur,” Wriothesley begins, “what is on your mind?”

“Ah,” Neuvillette turns to him, “presently—“ he pauses, taking a moment to think, “Well,” he begins anew, “lately I have been thinking on the dungeon in the Court. It is no small matter,” his chin dips with the realization, “I do not envy your responsibility,” he says, “and I am perhaps a bit worried on your behalf, even Sigewinne is on my side in this.”

Wriothesley feels his chest split. He feels greedy for enjoying this admission.

“I asked her if she’d managed to truly get a read on your capacity,” Neuvillette says slowly, like the topic is sensitive, Wriothesley feels appreciative about that, “Unfortunately,” Neuvillette sighs, “she could not. She merely glimpsed a wall that she could not climb. I myself have met that wall in our endeavors to guide you, and in the moments where we have proven successful,” Neuvillette’s expression shifts, he suddenly clears his throat, “I have, perhaps, been too distracted to get an appropriate view.”

Wriothesley feels himself grow both embarrassed and flattered, but he pays Neuvillette’s words some mind. It is not his first time thinking on the dungeon, it’s simply that he, more often than not, chooses not to think on things he cannot control. Whether the dungeon will be too much for him or not, it is imperative he goes and tries to clear it. It is his duty, and this he thinks, Neuvillette can understand.

Still, it’s nice to know someone worries over him, especially when Neuvillette is subtle about it, unlike Sigewinne. Though her worrying is palpable, even that kind of attention is something Wriothesley feels rewarded by. He has lived too long without it to feel smothered by it now.

“And you?” Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, “What of your thoughts?”

Wriothesley holds his eyes, watches them shift across his face, then turns his lashes to the fire in the hearth. He considers that thought for some time, picking his answer carefully. He’s not certain how much Neuvillette is willing to hear, what he has the capacity for, nor the care to listen to.

Wriothesley perhaps answers too shortly, when he says, “It doesn’t bother me.”

It’s not an outright lie, but it’s not entirely accurate.

Neuvillette sees through it immediately. Wriothesley knows him to be polite, expects him to maintain his propriety as they are nothing but associates, but he is reminded of who Neuvillette has introduced himself to be, a naturally curious man desperate to taste the perspectives of others.

“Truly, Your Grace?” Neuvillette challenges.

Wriothesley sees the opportunity immediately. He feels the urge to grab it, to split his chest open and spill every ugly thought he holds, but as he meets Neuvillette’s patient gaze and holds his eyes, Wriothesley feels that desperate urgency abate and finds something warm take him. It is sincerity, he realizes, as his lips part.

“I am worried I will fail,” Wriothesley admits, “but I have made peace with whatever form that may take.”

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide.

Slowly, he says, “I see.” His expression seems downcast and Wriothesley witnesses the weight of his admission burden Neuvillette. Oddly enough, Neuvillette carries that burden well, raising his head to meet Wriothesley again and continue, “I will do my best to keep that possibility from arising.” Wriothesley’s lashes stutter as Neuvillette says, “It is more than just my duty.”

Those words choke Wriothesley as if he were the one to say them. They fill his chest full of something he can’t swallow, something bitter like hope but Wriothesley knows better. It may sound like a yes but it is not effusive. Neuvillette is a man of subtlety, he knows, but Wriothesley is known to misperceive things even on his good days. He cannot take this to be what he wants it so desperately to be. Wriothesley’s impartiality makes his perception unreliable, and isn’t that the story of his life.

With a tongue that feels stiff and heavy, Wriothesley says, “I appreciate that.”

Neuvillette’s expression softens, for once he looks satisfied. Wriothesley feels glad he has that effect over Neuvillette, feels it strike him where his desire to be good lies, sinks into his gut where his belief that it’ll earn him attention rests.

Wriothesley wrestles it back up his stomach, forces himself to be satisfied with Neuvillette’s good graces and not wish for more. He is tired of feeling betraying and two faced. He can be wholesome, he decides, and perhaps platonic. At least he resolves to try, and that is the only thing he has control over.

As the sun continues to set, Neuvillette suggests Wriothesley take the first shower. As he stands in Neuvillette’s bathroom, freshly washed, he realizes he left his bag in the foyer.

Wriothesley presses his hand down on the handle of the bathroom door with his towel affixed around his waist. He pulls back the door to Neuvillette, standing there, holding Wriothesley’s bag in his hands. Wriothesley feels the weight of Neuvillette’s eyes on his naked chest, heavy and attentive, like a physical caress.

Huh.

“Thank you, Monsieur.” Wriothesley smiles.

Neuvillette’s lashes lift from Wriothesley’s body to his eyes. “Of course.” He says, clipped and reserved as he hands Wriothesley his bag. Then he turns on his heel and walks down the hall.

Wriothesley assumes it must be a new experience for Neuvillette to witness another man’s naked chest, or perhaps it was simply strange to see Wriothesley like that. He decides to make nothing of it. Instead, Wriothesley changes into his night clothes. A tank top and soft pants. As Wriothesley walks into the bedroom Neuvillette’s invited him into, he notices the way Neuvillette’s eyes linger on his arms.

Double huh.

Neuvillette sits on the edge of his bed, only to stand at the sight of Wriothesley. He carries his own change of night clothes in his hands as he passes Wriothesley with a gentle nod of acknowledgement before heading to the shower himself.

Wriothesley turns his attention back to Neuvillette’s now empty bedroom. He feels imposing. He tries to calm himself but this circumstance in general is quite awkward, strangely intimate for what they are to each other. Still, Wriothesley would be lying if he said he’s not excited. He’s perhaps more excited than he should be.

Enough of that, Wriothesley thinks, as he sits on the edge of Neuvillette’s bed. He can smell him in the room, the scent of his cologne, something woody, and the delicate scent of romaritime blooms. Even the thin veil of his natural scent like perspiration lingers if Wriothesley pays it proper attention which he does almost unintentionally.

Wriothesley blinks as the scent grows impossibly stronger. He turns, noticing Neuvillette enter the room at once. His collarbones are damp like the ends of his hair. His face looks narrower with his hair slicked back, his ears subtly pointed, his nose prominent and his lips—Wriothesley turns his attention back to his eyes, those same eyes that pull down Wriothesley’s body with a subtle distraction.

Triple huh.

Now does that make this causality or correlation?

Neuvillette finishes the direction of his stride after only a moment more. There he turns, busying himself with pulling back the sheets. Wriothesley feels his own presence like a physical thorn.

“Are you certain, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks, tongue running away with his insecurity.

Neuvillette straightens as his long silver lashes, wet with the dripping drops of water from his bangs, slant to Wriothesley. Neuvillette’s low voice speaks with an ancient cadence, a tone Wriothesley hasn’t heard anyone else speak with, he uses that rare voice to say, “Would you stay if I asked you to?”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. There isn’t much that can make Wriothesley surrender on spot, take him to his knees and beg from him the urge to please strong enough to flood him, but this tone of voice, this gentle question, no, maybe it’s Neuvillette himself that makes Wriothesley feel this way now.

With a chest stolen by his earnest feelings Wriothesley answers, “I would.”

Neuvillette’s expression turns soft, like this answer pleases him. Then Neuvillette, with a graceful motion, tucks himself into bed on the far end. Beside himself, he rubs his hand against the empty spot, his pale knuckles blushed from his shower, and gently pats. “Come.” He begs.

Wriothesley heeds his gentle command without hesitation.

The sheets are cold beneath his arms where he tucks in on his side, his gentle lashes resting on Neuvillette’s face. He feels hesitant to look away. Neuvillette’s attention is delicious, makes his heart thrum in his throat in a way that sways his body, slips into his head and leaves him feeling capable of comfort.

It’s heady, and that tastes safe.

Wriothesley thinks he gets a little restless when he has no one’s attention, reminds him of a time where he felt like that was all he needed to cure his problems, courtesy of a neglectful childhood. He thinks on it now and comes to the conclusion that Neuvillette erases that icky feeling with nothing but his eyes, watching him like he’s curious. Wriothesley could punish himself, he thinks quickly, or he could keen.

He chooses to wait for Neuvillette to make the first move.

Silence stretches as they watch each other, neither seeming particularly pulled to sleep just yet, not when the moon illuminates the room so beautifully. Wriothesley’s bicep twitches beneath his cheek as he lays there watching the way Neuvillette’s hand holds his pillow beneath his cheek.

His shoulders look slender like this, on his side. His collarbones are a visible line that connect to the muscles of his neck. His jaw is strong, handsome. Wriothesley doesn’t dare look any lower than Neuvillette’s collarbone but he can see from the corner of his eye the way his chest muscles gather and create a plush line. Wriothesley wonders if it’s soft enough to lay on. He stops himself there.

Neuvillette’s own eyes however are stealing glances that Wriothesley feels curious about. More often than not they pull over to his bicep and Wriothesley feels the muscle tense beneath the glance. He doesn’t need to flex but he wonders if Neuvillette would appreciate it. He must like the look of them at least to be so distracted. Then Wriothesley notices those lashes pull across his own chest for a spared moment and he feels tempted.

This may be out of line but the words are already out of his mouth, “Would you guide me?”

Neuvillette’s eyes strike wide.

“Are you sure?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley holds his gaze, “As long as it’s you.” He assures.

Neuvillette intakes breath.

“Alright.” It sounds like an admission of trust. “How would you like me to do it?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley presents his face to Neuvillette, gently reaching for his hand stranded in the space between them. Wriothesley feels too dishonest to ask for any more than this, he thinks, as Neuvillette’s gentle fingers pull up his jaw and settle over his cheek. Wriothesley watches Neuvillette’s eyes glance across his face, shifting between his own lashes. He looks like he may say something, but his lips straighten and he merely settles.

Wriothesley feels himself surrender, but he doesn’t feel any trepidation at the thought. No, submission to Neuvillette now only registers as his own selfish pleasure. This thought is betraying and cruel to Neuvillette but he can’t help it. He almost doesn’t want to when the ocean spills into him and begs him beneath the waves. He sees it this time, through his eyes, feels it filling his limbs. He can’t breathe but he remembers the edge of breathlessness with Neuvillette’s kiss on his lips and that association changes everything.

Wriothesley sighs, a gentle exhalation that feels like relief as he settles beneath Neuvillette’s palm. This kind of guiding is normal for Espers, natural to their condition, but it has never been accessible to Wriothesley. Maybe that’s why the touch of it is slightly overwhelming. It stimulates him in a way that feels intimate.

Neuvillette’s hand is on his face but it feels like his caress is pulling over every surface point of his body, like his palm is reaching the very core of Wriothesley, touching his heart with a ticklish sensation. That should not leave him burning in his gut or make his cock twitch but it does.

Wriothesley’s lashes pull back only to stutter over the heady sight of Neuvillette’s heavy gaze. His eyes are full of something, entirely focused and that makes Wriothesley’s cock fill. This should bring him shame but his skin feels hot and Neuvillette’s attention only looks encouraging as he pours his energy into Wriothesley.

Wriothesley opens his mouth to put an end to it, draw a line between Neuvillette and his own burning arousal but words fail him all at once and stutters on something else, a sound he’s never made before. Neuvillette’s focus narrows, away from guiding and immediately to that sound.

“Did I hurt you?” Neuvillette questions, pulling his hand away from Wriothesley’s cheek and sliding it over the pulse of his neck.

Wriothesley shakes his head, tucking his nose into his bicep, feeling embarrassed.

“Are you sure?” Neuvillette asks, his thumb rubbing a motion along Wriothesley’s neck, catching on the rise of his fluttering pulse.

“Just,” Wriothesley’s voice sounds full of gravel, he tries to think of how to explain without revealing himself but Neuvillette’s nostrils flare and at the same time his throat bobs.

Wriothesley thinks that immutable motion means he’s been found out. Neuvillette’s lashes sweep across Wriothesley’s body and he knows all at once that he has been.

“Ah,” Neuvillette whispers, understanding coming quickly, “this is a normal reaction.” He assures.

“So you’ve heard.” Wriothesley teases.

It eases the tension all at once.

Neuvillette’s lip twitches, “And it appears to be true.”

“Quite.” Wriothesley mutters.

For a moment, no one says anything. Neuvillette merely watches Wriothesley and Wriothesley watches Neuvillette back.

Then, Neuvillette’s lips part, “May I?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. Those two words hold more meaning to Wriothesley than he could ever explain. The fact that Neuvillette even wants to, but of course he is a man of duty. That registers bitterly. Wriothesley chooses to consider a different perspective. Neuvillette is asking for Wriothesley’s permission to take care of him. That sends heat down his spine. But in the chance that this is simply Neuvillette feeling dutiful, Wriothesley is reluctant.

“You don’t have to.” Wriothesley says, affording Neuvillette a polite out.

“I know.” Neuvillette breathes, choosing not to take it.

Wriothesley feels his world narrow. He becomes aware of every sensation against his body. He holds Neuvillette’s gaze with this focus and spies something that makes his heart thud.

“Okay.” Wriothesley whispers.

“Are you certain?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley appreciates it, it gives him the opportunity to prove to Neuvillette just how okay this is to him. He shuffles imperceptibly closer as he takes Neuvillette’s hand from his neck and delivers it beneath the sheets, pressing it low against his stomach, “Yes.” He submits with a gentle breath that ghosts against Neuvillette’s lips.

Neuvillette’s pupils dilate as his tongue sweeps out across his lips slowly. Wriothesley’s eyes dart to the motion, following that muscle back into its mouth.

“Can I?” Wriothesley croaks.

Neuvillette groans, “Yes.”

Wriothesley effusively accepts his permission with his mouth. At the firm press, Neuvillette moans and his hand buries beneath the hem of Wriothesley’s pants. Wriothesley keens into the press of his soft fingers twitching over his length. Neuvillette’s touch is gentle, perhaps trepid, but as Wriothesley slots their mouths together, raising his hand to Neuvillette’s jaw to slant them closer, Neuvillette finds his confidence.

Neuvillette’s grip grows firm and the first stroke has Wriothesley’s chest stuttering. His hips shift, pressing into that hand like he can’t control himself. Never before has he come undone so quickly. It can only be Neuvillette’s effect. Fuck. It’s bliss.

Neuvillette’s thumb presses beneath his head, trailing up for the bead of wetness at his tip. His other fingers brush Wriothesley’s thigh as he pulls his thumb down and over Wriothesley’s head, coaxing from him more liquid to spread and ease the pressure of his grip. Wriothesley has never been touched so gently before, treated with such forethought, but Neuvillette does. Neuvillette strokes him like he plans to dedicate the entire night to getting Wriothesley off with nothing but the twist of his hand.

Neuvillette’s mouth, like his touch, is easy and gentle, languid as he sips kisses from Wriothesley’s twitching lips. Wriothesley gasps into Neuvillette’s mouth, a live wire in his grasp. His hand on Neuvillette’s face loses grip, dragging down to rest over his collarbone as Neuvillette rules over him with nothing but his touch. Wriothesley’s entire body is tight with anticipation and yet, with each stroke, he feels himself sink into the idea that he might actually be hard forever. If it keeps Neuvillette’s hand on him he doesn’t think he minds that. It’s as arousing as it is comforting, warm and gentle. Wriothesley wants to come, he really does, but he wants to savor this.

That’s when Neuvillette picks up the pace, adjusting his grip around Wriothesley’s cock and tilting it, as if curious to see how Wriothesley will react. Neuvillette’s lashes part as he continues to press kisses to Wriothesley’s mouth. Wriothesley watches those eyes pull over his body, his hips, and the motion of Neuvillette’s own hand lost beneath the sheets. The sound is muffled, buried in the darkness, the sound of their breaths is perhaps loud enough to drown it out but Wriothesley pays it special attention.

Slowly, Neuvillette’s eyes return to Wriothesley and their gazes meet. Through softly parted panting lips, Wriothesley watches Neuvillette’s lashes shift over his face while he strokes him beneath the sheets, getting him off like this might be a new hobby for him. That thought nearly sends Wriothesley over but just as suddenly as Neuvillette’s hand sped up, it slows down, reaching for the base of him. He takes him down to the root, experimentally rubbing a thumb along the vein there. Wriothesley shivers.

This isn’t what he thought it would be. Neuvillette isn’t just giving him a quickie to release the tension caused by his guiding, he is  busy mapping out Wriothesley’s cock like he’s been wanting to get to know it. Wriothesley remembers that it’s in Neuvillette’s nature to be curious. He wonders how much of this is just nature and how much is interest, because from where Wriothesley’s lying, this tastes like interest.

Wriothesley moans, a sharp high whine, as Neuvillette pulls his thumb over his tip. That, catches his attention. His lashes strike wide, nostrils flaring as his eyes focus on Wriothesley’s face. Wriothesley likes that, Neuvillette’s attention makes him feel important. He wants more of it.

Wriothesley slowly reaches up with that hand against Neuvillette’s collarbone, pulling it around til he holds Neuvillette at the base of his neck. The touch is grounding and a suggestion of control. Just as Neuvillette has control over Wriothesley’s pleasure, Wriothesley has control over Neuvillette’s attention.

Neuvillette’s eyes grow lidded, like the thought occurs to him at that moment, like he likes it like that. Wriothesley chews on his lip at the sight. Neuvillette’s lashes fall to the motion before he’s pressing his mouth to Wriothesley’s bitten lips and begging him to be gentle with himself. Wriothesley breathes in the scent of Neuvillette against his mouth and settles just as the grip around his cock twists. Wriothesley throws his head back, unable to suppress the long drawn groan torn from his throat.

“Just like that.” He gasps, his hand tightening around Neuvillette’s head, thumb pressing into the pulse of his neck.

For a moment, Wriothesley remembers that that point is restricting, that Neuvillette might lose the chance to breathe but a low sound reaches his ears and he amends that thought. Huh, guess he likes it like that too. The sound of Neuvillette being affected by Wriothesley is hot, and he knows he’s not gonna last, not when Neuvillette seems to be encouraged by Wriothesley’s gentle command spoken seconds ago.

His hand is fast now, a little rough and easy with the motion, persistent. Wriothesley can’t pull away, can only surrender to the way his stomach sinks and pulls taut and tight. He can only brace himself against Neuvillette, breathe into his open mouth and press their foreheads together. Fuck. It’s heady.

Neuvillette’s attention is heavy, his regard a weight Wriothesley likes, and then his lips part, “Show it to me?” He begs.

Wriothesley’s body responds to it like a command. He comes. Wriothesley’s chest stutters as the feeling washes over him, bright and hot and dizzying, electric energy pulsing through his veins and reaching every corner of his body. It wells up on his tongue and tastes like relief.

Neuvillette coaxes the energy out of him through his cock and presses encouragement to the side of his face that tastes like praise. Wriothesley breathes a low sound as he comes down. Slowly, his breath catches up, at the same time, Neuvillette takes his hand to Wriothesley’s stomach and just holds him there, like he wants to stay connected.

Wriothesley feels a little emotional at that thought. He feels like he should apologize for the mess but Neuvillette is so busy looking at him that it suddenly feels like an unnecessary interruption.

Neuvillette’s eyes take in Wriothesley’s face and for that spared moment, Wriothesley does the same. As the silence stretches Neuvillette’s lip twitches.

“Thank you for the experience.” He says.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. He can’t help it, with a toss of his head, laughter spills from his chest. He giggles into the darkness of Neuvillette’s bedroom beneath the weight of Neuvillette’s gentle hand on his pubic bone. He feels weightless.

“You’re welcome.” Wriothesley tells Neuvillette with a smile he can feel pressing into his cheeks.

Neuvillette looks stunned. He looks pretty like that.

“We should clean up though if we plan to sleep after this.” Wriothesley says.

Neuvillette nods, surrendering to Wriothesley’s gentle instruction and following him to the bathroom. Neuvillette washes his hands in the sink while Wriothesley pulls a rag down his stomach and changes his underwear. It feels intimate doing this in the same room but Neuvillette makes no move that seems embarrassed so Wriothesley chooses not to be either.

Following Neuvillette’s guide, it’s almost easy to treat this as normal, just another experience Wriothesley, an Esper, and Neuvillette, his Guide, share. He tries not to think about how many selfish liberties he’s taken with this arrangement and instead chooses to remain present underneath the fluorescent lights of Neuvillette’s bathroom.

Wriothesley pulls his lashes over the sight of Neuvillette brushing through the slightly damp ends of his hair. For a moment he looks to be searching for something. Wriothesley follows the line with his eyes and spies the comb before Neuvillette does.

Gently reaching around Neuvillette’s shoulder Wriothesley unintentionally eclipses him against the sink as he delivers the comb to Neuvillette. Neuvillette turns his cheek to look at Wriothesley. From this position, Wriothesley could kiss him. All he would have to do is lean in. He thinks about that with his eyes stuck to Neuvillette’s own. He doesn’t dare let himself look down, that would be too betraying.

Slowly, Neuvillette turns and lifts his comb to his hair and the moment should pass but Wriothesley feels stuck in this position he’s found for himself. Neuvillette doesn’t ask him to move, doesn’t seem uncomfortable, simply persists in brushing his hair and Wriothesley persists in watching him. It isn’t a very long moment, but it fills Wriothesley’s chest with an emotion that leaves him feeling demure.

When Neuvillette sets his comb down Wriothesley backs away and he follows Neuvillette as they leave and return to the bedroom.

The shadows cling to Neuvillette as he tucks into bed, but the moon illuminates the stretch of his hand as he reveals the open spot for Wriothesley to climb into. Wriothesley slides in beside him and they settle once again. This time they lay on their backs, looking up at the shadows the moon casts into the ceiling.

Wriothesley feels lighter, both physically and in regard to his backlash. It feels necessary to speak the words building up his throat.

“Thank you.” Wriothesley breathes into the darkness.

Neuvillette is silent for a long moment, his expression inaccessible to Wriothesley but he can hear the gentle rhythm of his pulse picking up.

“You are welcome.” Comes his gentle voice, sounding like a whisper.

Wriothesley settles beneath the weight of night and slips into sleep.

So perhaps Wriothesley feels especially charitable in the morning. It’s not weird to make breakfast for the guy who kindly rubbed you off the night before. It isn’t, he argues with no one. Neuvillette looks pleased enough anyway, eating dutifully across from Wriothesley. Wriothesley sips his tea and tries not to be so obvious with his staring but Neuvillette is paying his meal his attention so Wriothesley takes his chances.

When Neuvillette sets his fork down, Wriothesley asks, “So, how was it?”

Neuvillette’s lashes lift to him, “It was delicious, thank you.” He says.

Wriothesley feels satisfied, and what a thing to feel.

“I’m glad.” Wriothesley admits, chasing back any other betraying words he may admit with the dredges of his tea.

Wriothesley does the dishes again. Neuvillette gives the action a long look but says nothing. He stays with him like he did yesterday but this time Wriothesley puts the dishes away too, already knowing where they go. There’s not that many this time anyway but Neuvillette notices it and Wriothesley feels tense, anticipating some kind of disapproval. Unnervingly, Neuvillette says nothing and Wriothesley, feeling particularly fragile, doesn’t prompt a fight. Instead, they join each other in the living room.

Wriothesley doesn’t quite know what to do with his day. He’d received a letter from Sigewinne that morning saying he’d been given a leave of absence on behalf of the incident and that in order for the Maracheusse to conduct a proper investigation it is best he remain away for a while. At the same time, he doesn’t know what Neuvillette does in the time Wriothesley doesn’t see him. He doesn’t have other guide work to tend to, but surely he has some kind of authority in the Palais. Still, he chooses to sit on the couch with Wriothesley like there is nothing that could dare pull him away. Wriothesley regards that thought with no small amount of attention.

The teapot is set up on the coffee table, and though Wriothesley has just had some with breakfast he feels tempted to serve himself another just for lack of a thing to do. Neuvillette watches him from the corner of his eye as he does so. It is silent as Wriothesley fills his cup and pulls a sip from it with his lips. He feels Neuvillette’s attention like a physical touch. Anyone else would leave him tense, anxious, but Neuvillette just leaves him curious and perhaps a little giddy.

Wriothesley likes the attention, it feels like control. It’s clear that Neuvillette is waiting for him to start a topic, to lead whatever happens next between them. Wriothesley doesn’t have many experiences like that outside of his desk in Meropide, not like this, not so intimately. Yeah, Wriothesley’s into it.

As he sets down his cup against the table, Wriothesley turns to Neuvillette, “I bet you wish you had some hobbies now.” He jokes.

Neuvillette blinks, “Ah,” he says, then slowly his lip twitches, “yes,” he agrees, “I suppose now would be the perfect opportunity wouldn’t it? I must admit, I am not usually afforded so much downtime.”

“Really?” Wriothesley prompts, “What do you usually do, Monsieur?”

Neuvillette thinks it over shortly before saying, “Work.” And that is all.

Wriothesley’s lip feels itchy, but he tries not to laugh.

“I can see you are a very dedicated man.” Wriothesley says.

Neuvillette nods, seemingly taking the words at face value before slowly he turns his cheek, “You are being polite.” He says accusingly.

“Cheeky perhaps,” Wriothesley smiles, he was caught but if anything he feels proud to be so,  “but are my words any less true Monsieur?”

Neuvillette’s expression looks strictly impassive for a short moment before Wriothesley spies a crack.

“As you say.” Neuvillette says shortly but Wriothesley thinks that’s meant to be playful.

Wriothesley feels tempted to grin. The idea that he’s becoming familiar with Neuvillette is a fun one.

It is as Wriothesley is leaning and Neuvillette is readjusting the cross of his leg that the teacup on the coffee table gets knocked over and falls to the carpet. It is lucky it is empty, Wriothesley thinks without panic but Neuvillette shifts at his side, prepared to take responsibility over the cup that Wriothesley is certain is likely more his fault than Neuvillette’s.

Wriothesley reaches for Neuvillette’s shoulder before he manages to rise and sets his hand across the slope near his neck. The touch immediately stills him. Neuvillette practically goes limp beneath the mere suggestion. Wriothesley’s lashes stutter.

Spying a piece to a curious puzzle, Wriothesley tempts a command, “Hey,” he says with a gentle voice, Neuvillette’s lashes react to the very sound of him, “leave it.” Wriothesley suggests.

Neuvillette sinks back into the couch, placing his hands in the center of his lap. It is left without a word.

Wriothesley bites his grin into his lip, “Good.” The word is pulled from him without decision, like it doesn’t belong to him, no, like Neuvillette’s earned it.

Wriothesley watches the way that affects Neuvillette, can feel the shiver beneath his hand on the base of Neuvillette’s neck along his spine. Wriothesley has only ever seen Neuvillette’s attention caught this quickly when he’d mentioned mysteries to him before. This reaction in itself is a mystery but it appears that our Chief Guide, our Dear Neuvillette, has a penchant for submission.

Now this, Wriothesley can do. He can take the responsibility Neuvillette is looking to release control over.

“The cup is empty, so there’s no trouble.” Wriothesley says, reaching for it easy and righting it on the coffee table.

Neuvillette nods mutely and Wriothesley notices his inattention. He must be processing. Wriothesley thinks this might be new to him too, that he might be feeling things he’s never put a word to before. Wriothesley intends to have a conversation with him about this later if he’s afforded the opportunity but for now it’s merely a theory, a theory he plans to test thoroughly.

For now, Wriothesley steers them back into conversation and over time it mutates into reminiscing over the short sessions they’ve had. Neuvillette asks Wriothesley for insight into his experience and Wriothesley, with a desperation that is not unusual to him but has never been paid attention to before, tells him as much as he can.

“I was curious what was happening when you went still in the corner of my couch.” Neuvillette mentions.

“Ah,” Wriothesley says, feeling a little embarrassed, “I can imagine it wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Neuvillette assures, “I would never pass a judgement over you in a vulnerable position. It is just not an experience I can personally attest to.”

For a moment, Wriothesley spies an opportunity. In his mind he receives an answer and he teaches Neuvillette a new experience. Neuvillette has been indulgent enough that Wriothesley finds the courage to even tempt the invitation aloud. A strange thing he thinks.

If it weren’t for Neuvillette, Wriothesley doesn’t think he’d ever be able to say, “Here,” Wriothesley offers, “would you like to know how it feels?”

Neuvillette blinks.

A quiet moment stutters and then, “If you’d allow it.” Neuvillette answers, and that is not the rejection Wriothesley was expecting.

Still, Wriothesley’s heart beats in his chest and he can taste his anticipation on his tongue, he’s excited. Wriothesley leans back, placing himself sideways along the armrest. Then, he makes a gesture with his open arm. Neuvillette pulls his lashes over the sight before slowly, like that one day, he pulls himself across the cushions. Only this time, he slots himself into Wriothesley’s open arms, much like he did when he brought Wriothesley into his. It’s nice to think he gets to return the favor.

Wriothesley likes this, the ability to give what he receives and receive what he gives. It feels like reciprocity and that translates too closely to what he secretly wants.

Wriothesley turns his attention to the way Neuvillette tucks himself side ways, pressing his knees to his chest like Wriothesley once did, and leaning the crown of his head against Wriothesley chest. Beneath the steady weight of Neuvillette, Wriothesley can feel the thrum of his heart more resolutely. He likes that pressure he decides, it’s a good reminder that he’s really experiencing this. It kicks him into his body and out of his mind.

Ah, it’s grounding, he realizes and when has he last been able to do that? Before meeting Neuvillette, he can’t recall.

Wriothesley holds Neuvillette in the corner of the couch, Neuvillette’s ear against Wriothesley’s chest while his knees curl up, settled between Wriothesley’s bent knee against the couch. Like this, Wriothesley leverages a hand across the back of the cushions and dangles his wrist over Neuvillette’s shoulder, settling a heavy palm and eclipsing his bicep. Neuvillette grows soft beneath the touch so Wriothesley settles more of his weight into it. He can feel where Neuvillette’s body sinks into his, growing comfortable.

Leaning against the edge of the coffee table, Wriothesley spies a book Neuvillette must read. In order to keep Neuvillette where he is, Wriothesley grabs the book and dangles it before Neuvillette. He watches that chin rise as those long lashes flick up to him, his hair falls back, shifting against Wriothesley’s skin, sending goosebumps along the naked line of his throat.

“Read it to me?” Wriothesley prompts.

Those lashes grow heavy like that registered exactly as Wriothesley predicts. Yeah, he thinks, Neuvillette’s into this too, gentle suggestions. It’s easy to fall into, Wriothesley knows, helps ease the burden of choice and makes option more meaningful.

The sound of Neuvillette’s voice filling the room feels like trust, tastes intimate, makes Wriothesley feel important. It’s hard to humble himself after earning this but he thinks about how easily it can be taken away and he’s back in his socks sitting against the couch with Neuvillette in his arms.

Wriothesley strokes his palm against Neuvillette’s shoulder, easing the tense line out of him and growing the warmth between them. It’s peaceful, comfortable, and for a long stretch, as Wriothesley focuses on nothing but the sound of Neuvillette’s voice, he feels his chest expand in a way that breeds room for clarity.

Oh, Wriothesley thinks. Oh.

All at once, Wriothesley realizes he’s endeared towards Neuvillette. For a betraying moment, Wriothesley thinks, maybe he’s just easy, but the ridiculousness of that thought sits with him, because that’s the thing, he’s not easy.

Earning Wriothesley’s affections, his attention, drawing out his propensity for nurture, that is not easy. Wriothesley has at times wished it was, has felt endlessly apathetic and uncaring and masqueraded through those feelings with crippling empathy and hyper vigilance but this, this feeling in his chest like he cares, like this might just effect him, that has been missing for years. He thought it died with Emily.

This, is entirely Neuvillette’s effect, and how special is that? Neuvillette is one of a kind, Wriothesley thinks, both admiring and sad, because he knows he will never receive this attention ever again. He will never know care like this, touch like this, careful and patient affection like this. He will never be pulled to act affectionate again, to want to hold Neuvillette’s cane for him, to want to carry him to bed to let him rest sooner, to wash his dishes and dry them before the suds mar the cup and effect the taste.

Wriothesley swallows and it tastes like sorrow. A shame, he thinks, before dipping his chin into the crown of Neuvillette’s head and refuses to think on this again.

Chapter Text

For the moment, there is nothing but the sound of Neuvillette’s soothing voice. His deep timber and ancient cadence washes Wriothesley in a sense of peace he hasn’t felt before meeting Neuvillette. As Neuvillette continues, Wriothesley listens to the sound of gravel enter his voice. With preventative care, Wriothesley reaches for the teapot along the coffee table and pours him a cup.

Neuvillette shifts subtly in his hold but he rights himself as Wriothesley returns, holding the cup out for Neuvillette to sip as Wriothesley takes the book from his gentle hands and keeps his spot with his thumb. Neuvillette thanks him shortly with a smile and that deep timber, before returning the cup to Wriothesley and accepting the book back.

For all of a minute, Wriothesley feels pleasantly necessary and that suffuses him with a warmth that he aches to express with his lips buried in Neuvillette’s cheek. He refrains but only just. Neuvillette seems indulgent, but Wriothesley fears meeting his limit.

As the clock ticks closer to noon and Wriothesley feels his stomach begin to ache, he notices the chapter dwindling. As Neuvillette reaches the end, he pauses.

“Should we take a break?” He asks, looking to Wriothesley for answer.

For a moment, Wriothesley thinks he might be looking for another command and that kicks him in the gut.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley mutters, clearing his throat and rubbing his palm across Neuvillette’s arm, “We should get started on lunch.” He says and to that Neuvillette nods.

“Very well.” Neuvillette agrees easily.

Neuvillette stands, peeling himself out of Wriothesley’s arms and taking to his feet with only a slight sway. Wriothesley joins him as he heads for the kitchen.

Neuvillette takes out the utensils to prepare a meal he must have in mind without a word. Wriothesley sits back and settles into Neuvillette’s silent authority. It’s relieving watching someone else take care of the things Wriothesley doesn’t care to be an expert in. Neuvillette looks good doing it too, and Wriothesley much prefers sitting in his appreciation to commanding a kitchen.

“So, Chef,” Wriothesley calls, saddling up by Neuvillette’s side, he watches the way Neuvillette gives him a glance at his arrival, “what are we making today?”

Neuvillette’s lip twitches, “A spinach pasta, ah,” Neuvillette suddenly turns, “but only if you don’t mind. I realize now I didn’t ask.”

“I like spinach.” Wriothesley smiles, opening the fridge and tilting his cheek toward Neuvillette, “What do we need Chef?”

Neuvillette blinks then replies. With each ingredient Wriothesley double checks, makes sure to get it right and returns to Neuvillette with his bearings. Neuvillette thanks him with a slight tilt of his head. Wriothesley feels his chest expand. There’s more of that relief. Good, this he can do, Wriothesley thinks a little proud. He can take orders well.

Pasta is easy enough to prepare, Neuvillette does most of the intricate parts and Wriothesley keeps him company, giving him new topics of conversation when Neuvillette falls silent. He asks about Neuvillette, only slightly revealing his endless curiosity, but Neuvillette doesn’t seem to mind. No, if anything he blossoms, like he’s been waiting.

Wriothesley feels reverent at the sight. Neuvillette expressing himself is endearing, Wriothesley thinks as he catches the way Neuvillette laughs at himself with that wheezy breathless sound he makes. Neuvillette is cute, childishly adorable in quiet moments like these. He gets caught in explaining his perspective, gives the briefest summary of an event you can imagine and that’s where Wriothesley spies his duty.

With a smile, he begs Neuvillette for more. With an expression that’s hard to read but Wriothesley thinks might be pleased, Neuvillette gives him more. The story gets interesting after that.

“Wait, I’m sorry, you failed to mention the rat in the first half.” Wriothesley says, pushing off the wall he’s lounging against.

Neuvillette blinks, stirring the pot, “Ah did I?”

Wriothesley can’t help it, he bites at his grin and shakes his head. “Monsieur you said the Palais guardes were running and screaming for most of the afternoon and you failed to mention this was all because of a rat.”

“Yes, well, rats are not common in the Palais.” Neuvillette mentions as he pours the remaining vegetable into the pan.

Wriothesley shakes his head, “We’re going to work on your story telling,” he declares, Neuvillette’s head rises at that, “your sequence of events could use some work.” Wriothesley finishes.

Neuvillette chews on his response, considerably silent for a short moment, before he decides on what to say. “If you’d like.” He surrenders.

Wriothesley can taste the subtle offer, and like a dog to a bone he clings to his duty.

“I would.” He assures.

Neuvillette’s shoulders sag and his expression brightens, “Very well.” He says and he sounds pleased now.

Wriothesley did that, he thinks, and he feels proud for it.

Lunch is finished after that. Wriothesley helps Neuvillette take it to the table. They take their seats and for a moment, do nothing but dine in companionable silence. It is only as their meals are close to finished that their conversation picks up again. Wriothesley sips on his water as Neuvillette tries to finish his story. It’s a whirlwind of a thing but he’s more focused on the way Neuvillette looks telling it than anything else.

His eyes are alight with the very memory, his lips twitching as he realizes what he’s saying aloud. He gets increasingly excited once he mentions people that he is fond of. All of them are melusines, Wriothesley recognizes halfway through, and that feels significant. Neuvillette is fond of the outcasts in society. That feels like a selfish thought but Wriothesley decides not to consider it.

Neuvillette finishes his story at the dining table and only once he is done and Wriothesley has given his response do they stand and make to clean up. Wriothesley heads to the sink with a subtle trepidation but he pushes through it, determined to earn his spot and continue this task.

Neuvillette doesn’t try to stop him when he reaches for the scrubber or when Wriothesley starts with the first dish. It is only as Wriothesley gets a rhythm going that he realizes Neuvillette hasn’t left, he’s still standing there off to the edge, silent.

Wriothesley glances at him and notices his face immediately. Neuvillette is wearing that long distant look, like he’s thinking particularly hard about, well, it could be anything but Wriothesley assumes it’s about him doing the dishes. Just the assumption alone sets his nerves on fire. Wriothesley anticipates it, the rebuff that’s coming, his shoulders are tense for it.

The silence persists. Nothing happens.

Neuvillette turns his cheek.

Wriothesley should feel relieved, he thinks watching Neuvillette walk off into the living room, but all he feels is, oddly enough, betrayed. Wriothesley knows Neuvillette is kind, knows him to be polite, he is likely going to eat his words and leave Wriothesley unaware. That’s the worst. Wriothesley has done something wrong and he won’t even tell him what to fix. Fuck. This is his worst nightmare.

There cannot possibly be anything worse than making a mistake, knowing it’s been done, but not being told what or how to fix it. Wriothesley sits with his guilt, holds it against his cheek and swallows around it. It’s got nowhere to go. Neuvillette won’t even mention it.

That’s got nothing to do with Wriothesley, he thinks quickly. It’s not up to him to take control over what Neuvillette chooses to do, even if it affects him. Unfortunately, that’s not how things work. Wriothesley tries to calm himself down with that thought, sinks into a reality where maybe Neuvillette isn’t upset with him and he’s just making assumptions based on a past that can’t reach him anymore.

When he finishes the dishes he feels relatively better. He can comfortably take himself to join Neuvillette in the living room and not feel like his chest is about to split open.

Wriothesley comes up by Neuvillette’s side, watches him as he looks over his book case before that cheek turns to him.

“Thank you.” Neuvillette says out of nowhere.

Wriothesley blinks, his polite smile caught on his face slowly morphing into one of confusion.

“For what?”

“For doing the dishes each time.” Neuvillette tells him sending Wriothesley’s lashes wide, “I am loathe to admit but it is not my favorite activity.” Neuvillette turns his cheek back to the bookshelf as he says, “Perhaps that is why I appreciate you doing it for me.”

Wriothesley blinks, shuddering through the cloister of relief gripping him tight. His chest swells. This entire time Wriothesley has been anticipating a fight when this is what has been on Neuvillette’s gentle mind.

Wriothesley doesn’t know what expression he’s making but he feels the way it pulls at his cheeks. He dips his head, “You’re welcome.” He says, feeling uncharacteristically bashful.

Neuvillette’s eyes slant to him, then remain on him, as if stuck. Even as Wriothesley turns to look at the bookshelf himself, he feels their draw, like a physical touch. He tells his heart to be normal about this but he fears it’s a little too late.

The moment passes as Neuvillette’s hand reaches for a book by Wriothesley’s face. Wriothesley blinks, stepping back to give him the space to take it and follows the line of Neuvillette’s delicate fingers with his eyes. Neuvillette flips through the first few pages, searching with an expression Wriothesley recognizes before he closes it all at once.

“We should do your guiding for today.” Neuvillette offers suddenly.

Wriothesley doesn’t let his surprise show on his face. Instead he nods, “Alright.”

Neuvillette turns to him, “How would you like to do it?” He asks.

Wriothesley feels his authority return to him with that question. He’s a little hesitant to answer, considering what Neuvillette would rather him pick but he quickly remembers that he’s not doing this for Neuvillette. That’s right, Neuvillette is guiding Wriothesley to help him. With that thought in mind, he feels a little less nervous when he drops his lashes to Neuvillette’s lips.

Sweet, attentive, dear Neuvillette, intuits him quickly, and he does it with the prettiest smile Wriothesley has ever seen. Wriothesley doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile quite like that before. It looks relieved, if Wriothesley is reading that right.

“Very well then.” Neuvillette says with those smiling lips before setting the book back on the shelf.

Like a lover would, Neuvillette touches his fingers to Wriothesley’s hip and sways him into his space. Wriothesley eats that space, eats as much as he is allowed to take. He shudders beneath the touch of Neuvillette’s gentle hand reaching up his cheek. He bows his head into it, tilting his lashes against Neuvillette’s palm and breathes through the soft touch.

Neuvillette’s eyes catch his, pulling him in with their gentle stare. Neuvillette surrenders there, lets them stand suspended as he waits.

Wriothesley recognizes the baton being handed to him, spies his duty with a giddy determination. My turn, he thinks, as he presses his mouth to Neuvillette’s lips. He thrills at the way Neuvillette gives in to him.

Kissing Neuvillette is ineffable. The feelings it pulls from Wriothesley is a mix of thrill and aching sorrow because he knows any day now that this may be his last chance at such sweet touch. His heart bleeds for Neuvillette as he kisses him, because he is under the perception that Neuvillette does not feel the same way Wriothesley does, that this is merely guiding and that Neuvillette is indulgent because Wriothesley is not a terrible partner. Wriothesley fears becoming a terrible partner, but he is presently kissing Neuvillette and that alone feels like proof that he is good, that he has earned something, because Neuvillette’s kiss is a reward.

Neuvillette is gentle beneath him, pliant, almost entirely. This is what he is like when he submits, Wriothesley recognizes. Neuvillette falls into submission like he steps up to duty, with dignity and honor and a grace that Wriothesley could never imitate. At the same time however, Neuvillette feels hungry.

Wriothesley notices this in the way a man who has starved can tell. Neuvillette is starving for this touch, for this connection and that tugs at the boundaries of his submission. Neuvillette lets Wriothesley kiss him, dictate how their lips slot and their tempo grows but his hands are cloying and desperate and every little signal Wriothesley feels reads like he wants more, more than this, like he’ll take anything. Wriothesley knows better than to project onto others, but for a moment he almost believes Neuvillette feels the way he does.

Instead, Wriothesley makes a suggestion with his hand at Neuvillette’s chin and feels his heart kick as Neuvillette takes it, slackening his jaw and letting Wriothesley breathe him in with his tongue. This is different, charged, beyond intimate. Wriothesley knows what Neuvillette tastes like now and that’s never going to go away, not with how fixated he is on the very scent of it. His tongue is soft. The muscle urges Wriothesley closer.

Neuvillette, with his hands, pulls Wriothesley closer, foot tripping back as Wriothesley chases after him, not realizing he’s being led. Neuvillette doesn’t seem to realize what he’s doing either, at least not until his back hits the bookshelf and Wriothesley trips over him. Wriothesley catches himself with a hand to the shelf above Neuvillette’s head, careful not to crash into him. Their lips pull apart in the motion and they blink at each other through their surprise.

Wriothesley eclipses Neuvillette like this.

Neuvillette looks up through his lashes, catching his breath through his parted lips. As they watch each other, Wriothesley realizes something that makes his heart beat ring in his ears.

Neuvillette hadn’t been guiding him that entire time. It seems to occur to Neuvillette too as the silence stretches, because his expression begins to morph. Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. He’s never seen Neuvillette go red before.

“Ah,” Neuvillette dips his lashes, tugging his eyes away for a startled moment, “it appears I got a little, carried away.” He says, slanting his eyes back to Wriothesley slowly, “Forgive me.” He begs with a quiet voice.

Wriothesley swallows.

“Forgiven.” He’s surprised his voice is even.

Neuvillette, looking especially shy, wipes a hand to the edge of his face, hiding the corners of his lips. He looks up at Wriothesley through his lashes, his brows tilting upwards like he’s sheepish. Wriothesley’s heart pounds a rhythm he’s not paying attention to, too distracted by this display he’s never seen from Neuvillette before.

His eyes are scattering, looking everywhere but at Wriothesley for a moment, before they kiss his cheeks and he’s sighing, like he’s surrendering. All at once Neuvillette returns his gaze to Wriothesley and, with the barest of his determination, he wipes that hand down the rest of his face.

“If you would like to continue,” Neuvillette says slowly, “I would not be opposed.”

And isn’t that the cutest way to say, please continue. The Monsieur is startlingly cute, Wriothesley thinks not for the first time, only this thought is stealing his breath right now.

Wriothesley delivers him a gentle nod, both response and an attempt to remove the smile from stretching across his face. It does very little for his smile, he can feel it even as he presses his lips back to Neuvillette’s mouth.

Neuvillette tries to kiss him back, pull his lips slack and fall into rhythm again but Wriothesley is presently smiling too wide to do it properly. Neuvillette a little frustrated and resolutely flustered, grabs Wriothesley by his chin and stills him, delivering him a look that reads too closely to a pout to be effective censure. Still, it gives Wriothesley the moment to school his expression, to sink into the sight of Neuvillette’s eyes shifting between his own and that look, that tempted and distracted look, pulls Wriothesley in.

He delivers his lips to Neuvillette’s mouth, breathing him in and gently begging from him a response. Their jaws loosen, mouths cloying with sweet respite as they settle into the motion of sipping from each other.

Slowly, Neuvillette’s guiding takes him. It begs Wriothesley under the expansive pool that he can’t quite fathom the depths of but he pays it no mind. Instead, Wriothesley eats every little sound, every gentle sigh. He relishes in the way he feels Neuvillette’s hand reaching up his chest, lightly venturing in his touch. It tickles, Wriothesley thinks, trying to repress his urge to smile, as Neuvillette’s gentle stiletto tipped nails drag over the plush of his skin.

Then Neuvillette clings and that hand cloying at Wriothesley’s chest registers hotly. He must not realize that he’s got a handful of Wriothesley’s chest. Wriothesley isn’t aching to remind him either, greedily accepting the touch and taking advantage of the feeling of Neuvillette’s fingers begging him closer.

Fuck but he doesn’t want this to end like it did last time. He’s grateful to have the experience of Neuvillette’s touch, but he’s too embarrassed to let it repeat, especially when their hearts don’t match. No, that registers bitterly and effectively shuts down his arousal at once. But he doesn’t stop kissing Neuvillette. Instead he slows them down, presses short and sipping kisses to his mouth and eclipses Neuvillette’s gentle face between his palms. His lashes split just to get a glimpse of that face of his as he kisses him softly. Neuvillette’s expression is slack, pleasantly content and pliant. His lips purse as he reaches up for Wriothesley and Wriothesley’s heart squeezes at the sight.

Shit he’s gonna start smiling again.

Wriothesley watches for any strain in Neuvillette’s face as the guiding continues. He doesn’t want him passing out like the first time they did this, but Neuvillette seems to be doing fine. Wriothesley wonders how deep that well of his truly reaches but he doesn’t care enough right now. No, he’s busy he thinks.

His jaw is a little achey, just a little, his back somewhat stiff but only a bit. Neuvillette is soft beneath him, against him, a warm line. Wriothesley never knew a kiss could be comforting but it feels like it. This isn’t drugging or begging from him a sexual anticipation for more. No, a kiss like this he would consider enough, pleasant in its own simple action.

Neuvillette hums, a gentle release of sound as he breathes. His pulse is a gentle thing beneath Wriothesley’s thumb. He rubs a motion along Neuvillette’s jaw as he sips from him, their tongues brushing to peak at each other every so often. It’s lazy. A little dizzying. Wriothesley loses time under the oasis of Neuvillette’s mouth and the expanse of his guiding.

The grandfather clock strikes a song along the wall. The sound begs them apart briefly. Their lashes pull back, eyes shifting across each other’s expressions searching for a cue. Wriothesley catches his breath through his nose as the shores of Neuvillette’s guiding recedes. Neuvillette finds his control back, but slowly, like he doesn’t really want it yet.

Wriothesley recognizes that expression, has felt it on his own face before. He finds it to be endearing on Neuvillette.

“How do you feel?” Neuvillette’s voice is low, a little deep but tender and liquid slow.

“Better.” Wriothesley responds, getting distracted by the hue of Neuvillette’s iris.

Neuvillette hums, “Good.”

That catches Wriothesley’s attention. He knows not to take it that way but it sends a shiver down his spine.

Wriothesley nods, his thumbs absentmindedly stroking over Neuvillette’s cheek bones, “Guess that’s that.” He offers.

Neuvillette taking it as Wriothesley’s desire responds with his own nod, “For today.”

That kicks Wriothesley’s heart into his throat, makes him anticipate tomorrow. He quickly steps back, retrieving his hands and clearing his throat. He watches Neuvillette stand tall without him, like he doesn’t need Wriothesley to keep him balanced. Rather than feel bitter he feels reverent. Neuvillette doesn’t need him but he seems to like him anyway.

Neuvillette makes for the kitchen.

“What should we make for dinner?” Neuvillette asks, a simple question spoken casually.

Wriothesley’s heart drops to his feet as static and dust fill his mouth.

The options are endless. Wriothesley hasn’t a clue what Neuvillette even owns. Why the hell is Neuvillette asking him this question? Because he’s kind and is taking Wriothesley into consideration. Fuck. And yet it’s having an effect Wriothesley can’t control.

He tries to keep himself silent, keep the damage he can do with his frustration to himself, but that simple question sends him back to being a child forced to make a decision that no child should have to make.

Wriothesley can’t make this decision, he knows no matter what he picks, it’ll be the wrong one. But today he’s an adult and Neuvillette is waiting and Wriothesley has to speak for himself even if he doesn’t want to. Neuvillette can’t take the responsibility for him, Wriothesley has to make the decision.

The silence stretches.

Why aren’t I saying anything? Wriothesley thinks.

Ah, all at once he realizes, he can’t speak.

Not allowed, Wriothesley thinks immediately, he can’t just ignore Neuvillette he’ll get in trouble. Wriothesley’s chest feels arrested, his lungs empty with the thought, it keeps him from remembering that adults can’t be in trouble with each other, no one has that authority over him not anymore but he can’t think. He’s not presently an adult right now, he’s feeling things he only ever felt as a child so he must be a child again.

Fuck he can’t breathe, it hurts. The guilt is choking him. He knows how he gets when he’s like this, he’s burdening, he’s a problem no one can fix, he gets it when they get frustrated with him. Right now all that frustration wells up from his own design, he forgets he has control over that, over his thoughts and feelings towards himself. It doesn’t feel like he has control over anything, not like this, not when he can’t speak.

Wriothesley is effectively breaking down in the middle of Neuvillette’s living room, but his breakdown is quiet, muffled between his teeth and all he does is stare at a blank spot as tears threaten to bud. He blinks hard, turns his cheek and makes an expression he never wants to show anyone. He breathes and the tears are gone but he can still feel the aftertaste of the emotion tearing him apart.

It shouldn’t be this serious but it is.

He just wants to give Neuvillette the right answer, because ultimately he just wants to be good. It really sucks that no matter what, that seems to be the one thing he fails to achieve. He wishes he were kinder, he wishes he were braver and able to say the words he thinks in his mind with his own tongue, to be confident with what he wishes to say. He can’t, he realizes it over and over that he simply fails. He can’t express kindness at all. He’s fucked. He’s affectionate with nowhere to go and he’s fucking his life over by being unable to communicate.

God, he takes a breath, and stares at nothing. He feels disappointed and undeserving and he knows those aren’t his thoughts nor his ideas toward himself, he knows that. He’s aware that the voice in his head sounds like someone else, but it’s still there. He wishes he didn’t believe it.

All of this must happen within a single tic of the grandfather clocks hand. Neuvillette turns his shoulder, surprised by Wriothesley’s silence. He notices his stillness, his stiff stand in the center of his living room, frozen, like he’s trapped in ice.

“Is this like the day on the couch?” Neuvillette asks quietly, recognizing something.

Wriothesley can barely nod, just jerks his head and turns away. He doesn’t know what face he’s making but he doesn’t want Neuvillette to see this ugly expression of his.

Neuvillette says, “Perhaps I could give a recommendation.”

“Whatever you want.” Wriothesley submits, tries to keep his voice kind but it’s quiet, he can’t be any louder than this, too afraid Neuvillette will actually hear him.

Neuvillette straightens, “Very well, I shall choose.” He says with a voice that sounds kind. “I think a soup would be nice tonight.” He muses.

Neuvillette begins to make his case and as he does Wriothesley feels the strings around his lungs slip. He breathes through the gentle murmur of Neuvillette’s voice. He doesn’t sound upset.

Just like that, in the empty space where nothing bad happens, Wriothesley gets a hold of himself. It feels ridiculous as his tongue loosens and he takes the first step, a bit cautious, like a wild animal unsure if it’s aloud around this counter. Or, Wriothesley thinks, like a child who wonders if it’s allowed in the kitchen when it’s starving.

Neuvillette doesn’t watch Wriothesley as he comes over, gives him some privacy that Wriothesley doesn’t think he wants. If he’s allowed to be honest with himself, he wants to be greedy and hold Neuvillette’s attention. He wants Neuvillette’s hands on his face again, begging from him his tension and whispering sweet assurances that Wriothesley can barely give himself.

Instead, Neuvillette sets out the pan and flicks the flame. As he sets up, he tempts a question.

“Might I ask what happened?” Neuvillette doesn’t turn to look at Wriothesley, thinking he is being helpful.

Wriothesley breathes, “Yeah, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to freak out on you just, got a little overwhelmed is all.” He takes the privacy to hide, peel back into his collar and act like nothing happened.

That’s when Neuvillette turns and looks at him. Wriothesley feels pinned beneath the sight of those eyes, the way they catalogue his face and consider him like they’re curious.

“What overwhelmed you?” Neuvillette doesn’t sound like he’s judging him so Wriothesley lets his defensiveness go.

“Ah well,” he feels embarrassed about it, but for that kind attention, he tries to explain, “I guess I have this belief that I make bad decisions, no matter what I choose to do, it’s got a consequence I can’t fix.” He shrugs, “I didn’t want to put that on you. I know it’s just dinner but hell, I don’t know, I guess it got to me. I couldn’t think past the idea that this was too much for me.”

“I see.” Neuvillette turns back to the pan, “I think I can understand why you would have this belief.”

“Yeah?” Wriothesley’s lip twitches, “you watch me that closely?”

Neuvillette delivers him his attention just to say, “I have not taken my eyes off of you since the day we met.”

Wriothesley’s eyes widen imperceptibly, a subtle expression that he tries to hide with a bashful tilt of his cheek. “Well, ‘preciate that. Helps when things like this happen.”

“Yes,” Neuvillette’s lip twitches, “I’d have to agree. Attentiveness is rather crucial for unfamiliar situations.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Luckily Neuvillette seems to intuit what he means.

“No,” he says, “it is like many things have been with you, a learning experience. And I’m sure you know by now how I treasure those.”

Wriothesley’s heart thrums. “Yeah.”

He wonders what it would take to become treasured himself. How much better of a man would he have to be?

The sun dips through the window, casting golden light on the dining room table, catching the silver of Wriothesley’s fork, it glints. Across from him, Neuvillette tells him another tale, this one older, spoken of only in vague tones.

Wriothesley can’t predict how old Neuvillette is in the story, where he is, can’t recognize any thing aside from how Neuvillette felt during it. Wriothesley thinks that might be the only thing that matters. The vague shapes and colors of Neuvillette’s experience fill Wriothesley’s mind, touch him in a way that connects to a perspective he’s made all on his own, makes him feel less lonely. He listens to Neuvillette’s strong voice grow fragile and soft as the sun dips and their forks still.

Wriothesley encourages Neuvillette after each pause, each offer for it to end, because Wriothesley is still hungry, even after dining on Neuvillette’s food. He wants to know more, be included, earn knowledge about Neuvillette and in a way, earn a right to his company. Neuvillette, with an expression Wriothesley is beginning to become familiar with, indulges him.

It is only as the tales have ended and Neuvillette’s throat is slightly hoarse that they stand. Neuvillette heads for the first shower at Wriothesley’s behest while he grabs their plates.

“I’ll be up after.” He assures at the tense pull of Neuvillette’s brow.

He likely doesn’t know how to handle this, whether to trust Wriothesley and his eagerness to be of service or to remain polite and keep control. Fortunately for Wriothesley, Neuvillette is discovering what kinds of control he can do away with, is perhaps finding relief in the act. That idea alights Wriothesley pleasantly as he scrubs the dishes.

Truthfully, he doesn’t care for this activity either, but he almost finds it comforting when doing it in service. It feels like he deserves praise for it and that he can finally give himself. Finally, he can find reason enough to be kind to himself, because he is being good, helpful, and pleasant.

He cleans up the sink when he’s done, runs a damp rag over the dining table and takes it back to the counter edging the sink. He rings it, and leaves it to dry on the partition in the basin so it doesn’t wad up and mold. With a cursory glance, Wriothesley over looks the room, finding nothing else to do, he heads upstairs.

The shower has stopped running and the door is open so he takes to it for his own. He strips the tension from his shoulders, gathers his ugly thoughts and washes them kind and clean. He towels off, passing it around his shoulder as he tugs on some soft pants. He takes the towel to his hair before throwing on his shirt. He clicks the light off as he leaves, heading down the hall for the door at the end.

His footfalls are gentle as he pads into the room through the cracked door. The sight of Neuvillette, leaning back against his headboard in bed with his fingers in his hair, gently braiding, hits Wriothesley in the chest.

“Thank you for picking up,” Neuvillette says softly, “I appreciate it.”

For a moment, Wriothesley can imagine that this painfully domestic scene is common place, that he owns it, that he’s earned this to keep, but he’s quick to pull himself back. Any further lies danger.

“You’re welcome.” Wriothesley says, feeling uncharacteristically serious about this because it seems like Neuvillette wants him to be.

Wriothesley’s eyes pull back over Neuvillette’s braid as he draws closer to the bed. He wants to compliment it, but that feels a little close to his domestic vision. Instead he settles in beside Neuvillette and watches him flick the light off.

Tonight there is no guiding but Neuvillette watches him again, like he is a particularly interesting sight. Wriothesley watches back, feeling pleasantly warm under his regard. Like that, they fall asleep.

That day, when the dawn streams in through the windows, Neuvillette receives a letter. It leaves him antsy all morning. Wriothesley can tell, he can see it, but Neuvillette remains silent, staring at nothing with his hands crossed in front of his face, across from him at the dining table.

Wriothesley stands without ceremony, consuming the floor to Neuvillette’s chair, where he gently lifts his chin with his thumb.

“Alright, tell me.” Wriothesley orders softly, “What’s distracting you?”

Silver lashes flick up to him, less startled than he probably should be. Neuvillette fights him but only for a moment.

“It’s—“

“Important to you,” Wriothesley softly interjects, “so what is it?”

Neuvillette holds his tongue, his lips subtly thin and then he sighs, “The Palais wants to move the date for the dungeon.”

“Sooner? Later?” Wriothesley asks. Neuvillette’s expression pinches, “Ah, sooner.” Wriothesley understands.

“Too soon.” Neuvillette says.

“It’s okay—“

“It is not.” Neuvillette interjects this time, his tone sharp but kind, “You have lived your entire life without proper guiding, the well of your backlash runs deep. I will not have you lose it in that dungeon. I will handle this, so don’t worry.”

Wriothesley feels his throat swell with inexplicable emotion. Fuck but this tastes like Neuvillette cares and that really fucking gets to him.

“Alright.” Wriothesley submits easily, probably because it pleases him to see Neuvillette defensive on his behalf, “but in the evening yeah? Hang out with me til then.”

Neuvillette deflates.

“Alright.”

Wriothesley manages to get him in the living room, back in that corner of the couch Wriothesley likes with Neuvillette tucked against his front. They lay longways, Wriothesley’s thumb pressed to Neuvillette’s jaw where he rubs a subtle line, feeling the after effects of Neuvillette’s guiding like sparks beneath his skin. Wriothesley lifts their unfinished book to Neuvillette’s hands, where he delivers it with a gentle suggestion.

“Read it to me?” Wriothesley asks just to see that pretty smile Neuvillette gives him for this.

How rewarding it is to give Neuvillette his attention, Wriothesley thinks as Neuvillette blossoms beneath his eyes. Wriothesley catches the sparks of Neuvillette’s guiding, tucks it back where it belongs when it starts to seep as Neuvillette reads, like he’s doing it subconsciously. It’s not enough to be threatening and it speaks to Neuvillette’s control that it hasn’t happened til now, where Wriothesley is bodily pressed up against him, but it leaves him thinking that Neuvillette is always on, always giving some kind of energy.

That burns Wriothesley with ambition, a determination to give Neuvillette some of it back, just a little. It makes Neuvillette seem more deserving in his mind maybe, because Neuvillette is so giving. It makes Wriothesley’s selfish affection feel necessary. Even if it may never be reciprocated, at least let Neuvillette experience this, this gentle return of his own energy.

Wriothesley can do that, he can see it, notice it, he is capable. Let him do this if he can do nothing else, let him do this.

They eat time on that couch, experiencing the crest of the story together. After each chapter, Neuvillette asks Wriothesley his thoughts, considers what may happen next, they theorize and predict and Wriothesley earns a smile from Neuvillette at each foreshadow he manages to guess. Neuvillette is rewarding like that, notices the little things that make Wriothesley feel good. He wonders if it’s intentional or if he’s just naturally observant.

Fuck but it’s an experience Wriothesley’s never had before. Neuvillette is engaging. Sitting together, feeling each other’s heart beats, on a couch doing nothing but listening to Neuvillette read is somehow the most engaging activity Wriothesley has ever done with another person, including sex. That’s got to mean something.

It leaves him feeling warm, makes smiling easy, gives him the returning impulse to press his lips to Neuvillette’s crown. Instead he tucks the falling strands of his bangs behind his ears and reads over his shoulder, reaches for Neuvillette’s cup of water when his throat gets parched, and listens to that sonorous cadence of his. It sets Wriothesley’s skin alive, makes him aware, makes him want but he’s used to denying himself.

He settles into the burn, holds the torch he carries for Neuvillette til the flame burns his hand and leaves his fingers with calluses. Wriothesley kind of likes the sting, it’s proof he’s capable of feeling like this. That feels important.

Every so often, when the chapter grows long and the plot is drivel and Wriothesley’s eyes slant to Neuvillette’s face, he gets a little voice in his head, something insistent and young and long left to dust. That voice that speaks with the tongue of his childish body says only one thing.

Look at me.

Wriothesley continues to watch the back of Neuvillette’s face, the way his lips move as he enunciates.

Notice me.

His eyes burn, his lashes unable to look away. It would be betraying to not see Neuvillette.

Just once.

The child pleads, certain that everything would be okay as long as he got just a little recognition, a bit of notice, just a—

Neuvillette’s cheek turns, “Wriothesley?” His gentle lips enunciate.

Wriothesley blinks. Neuvillette noticed. Neuvillette noticed Wriothesley watching him from behind him. Does he have eyes on the back of his head? Wriothesley doesn’t know what to make of this, Neuvillette wasn’t actually supposed to pass the test, this was supposed to make the child in his heart give up once and for all but Neuvillette—

“Is everything alright?” Neuvillette asks gently, his eyes searching. His shoulder sits against Wriothesley’s chest, part way turned as he rests his knuckles to the bone of Wriothesley’s cheek, feeling for him, drawing his attention to him.

Wriothesley chuckles, a low pulled sound as he shakes his head, feeling ridiculous about this all of a sudden, “I’m fine, don’t mind me.” He assures, feeling a little fragile, “Where were we?” He asks.

Neuvillette watches him silently, looking curious but he delivers his eyes to the page, “We’ve reached the end, any ideas for the next chapter?”

Wriothesley’s lips stretch wide. This is his favorite part.

“Only a few.” Wriothesley says, trying for casual.

Neuvillette holds his eye with a look. He’s a quick learner, Wriothesley doesn’t have him fooled at all.

“I’m listening.” Neuvillette says.

And that is probably Wriothesley’s favorite phrase.

By the time they have lunch and Wriothesley is at the sink, Neuvillette is prepared for his meeting with the Palais.

“I shouldn’t be too long.” He assures, doing up the button of his vest before he reaches for his gloves. He hasn’t worn them since Wriothesley’s gotten here.

“Alright.” Wriothesley responds, unsure what else to say.

Neuvillette nods shortly then turns, but he pauses in the doorway to the foyer. He gives Wriothesley one last look, a look Wriothesley can’t parse before he’s gone. The sound of the door closing resonates through the empty townhome. Wriothesley stands there with his hands freshly dry from the towel on the counter, bereft of a job to do.

He hopes it’s a short meeting.

In a lone hallway outside of an extravagant double door, a wandering guide walks past an office.

“I object!” Peels through the door.

The guide startles, looking like he’s heard something he shouldn’t. He carries on down the hall, encouraged by the sound of the conversation getting louder.

From inside the room Lady Furina wears an easy smile, “Overruled!” She sings merrily, pleasantly joyed by the rhythm the conversation has fallen into.

Neuvillette breathes through his nose, taking his seat once again, looking impervious.

“The objective was a month.” He reminds dutifully.

Lady Furina hums, seemingly bored before she looks him over more closely. Her brow twitches like she’s caught something. Neuvillette makes no sudden movements. Furina’s grin stretches anyway.

“Oh my, are you feeling possessive now, Monsieur Neuvillette?” Lady Furina could giggle but for this play she decides to refrain, to act more in control than she normally does, instead she says, “Word of advice, don’t.” Playing the voice of a woman who is seasoned and wise. “The Duke belongs to the Palais,” she reminds him with curved eyes, “not to you.”

Neuvillette’s fingers curl into his palm against his knee. His face betrays nothing.

“I will let you know when he is fit for the field.” Neuvillette says.

Lady Furina shrugs, “Alright, old friend.” Clearly bored with his impassivity, she relents, “As you say. As long as it is within the next coming week, the board has no problems with that.”

Neuvillette’s brow ticks but he says nothing further.

For a meeting with Lady Furina, it is relatively short. Neuvillette is in and out before dusk breaks. The larger waste of time is simply the journey. He returns to his townhome as the moon begins to rise. The scent of dinner wafts under his nose the minute he enters the door. All the fight leaves him at once.

Wriothesley finishes setting the dining table, his back going stiff at the sound of the door, but Neuvillette’s heels are unmistakable. He calms at the sight of the man himself coming around the doorway and into the room.

“You made dinner.” Neuvillette observes.

“For two.” Wriothesley shrugs, “Come eat?”

Neuvillette’s face bears an expression that is fleeting, barely there then gone but Wriothesley spies it and eats it and tastes something relieving in it. Good, he thinks, he made the right decision. Neuvillette is pleased. That makes Wriothesley happy.

Neuvillette joins him at the dining table and they eat together in companionable silence. Oddly enough, there are no stories tonight. Wriothesley had grown a little used to them but he figures Neuvillette must be tired from his trip so it doesn’t occur to him too strangely. When Wriothesley makes for the dishes however Neuvillette beats him to it.

“Go shower first, since you cooked I will do the cleaning.” Neuvillette says.

It sounds logical enough that Wriothesley doesn’t fight but as he’s under the water washing off the energy of the day, he thinks on it. Neuvillette seems inexplicably reticent. Wriothesley doesn’t know what to do about that, doesn’t know if he can do anything about that. It’s not necessarily his place to pry is it? If Neuvillette wants to draw that boundary, that’s his prerogative.

Still, Wriothesley feels a little about it. He acknowledges that he feels about it but that’s as far as it goes. He leaves it in the shower when he steps out.

Wriothesley, freshly dressed and smelling particularly pleasant like woodsy deodorant, wraps a knuckle against the living room doorway. Neuvillette looks up from the island counter where he finishes wiping it down.

“Ah, I’m just about finished.” Neuvillette calls before sending the rag to the basin.

Wriothesley doesn’t respond, just watches. Neuvillette, under his watch, gets the idea and rather than start cleaning something else, he relents. He takes his soft feet to Wriothesley, greeting him with a short smile where he slowly passes for the stairs. Wriothesley watches Neuvillette’s fingers make what he recognizes to be a self soothing motion by his side.

Whatever happened at the Palais has left Neuvillette worse off, distant and clearly frustrated. Only thing is he’s not talking to Wriothesley about it.

Well, Wriothesley doesn’t have a right to his mind, but he can try to let Neuvillette know he’s receptive. He resolves to that sentiment when they crawl into bed together that night. Neuvillette is still, intentionally still. He lies on his back, his attention distant. Wriothesley doesn’t know how to deal with this. He recognizes that, feels the fear and lets it go for a solution. He needs a solution.

Wriothesley resolves for staring at Neuvillette, cataloging the way shadows shift across his face. Wriothesley contemplates what else he can do, what does Neuvillette need, what does he look for, what is the answer. As he thinks, Neuvillette softens and without Wriothesley even opening his mouth, Neuvillette turns on his shoulder and delivers his eyes to Wriothesley’s face. He looks a little small.

Wriothesley wonders what he’s done to earn this. It’s only as Neuvillette watches him that he realizes what it was. Oh, he’d been giving Neuvillette his attention and Neuvillette, sweet observant Neuvillette, noticed, like it means something to him to have that.

Wriothesley, feeling a little more understanding, reaches out his hand, palm up. Neuvillette’s lashes lift imperceptibly, a subtle surprise that settles as quickly as it comes. Then, without word or explanation, Neuvillette reaches out with his own bare hand. The veins beneath Wriothesley’s palm thrum with his heartbeat as he holds Neuvillette’s gentle hand in his. He strokes his thumb along his skin, watching the tension bleed from Neuvillette with each pass.

They don’t speak. Wriothesley wants to ask, is endlessly curious but he’s afraid. Wriothesley is aware of his limits, achingly acknowledging and right now, he perceives Neuvillette’s silence as a boundary. Neuvillette watches Wriothesley with no indication that it is, simply incapable of speaking, but he settles beneath Wriothesley’s attention anyway and for a moment, conversation seems unnecessary.

It is the most basic and secondary form of connection. It has no place in this moment that they share. Neuvillette feels comforted without it anyway, keen on behavior long left behind by modernity, Wriothesley remembers.

Just like that, they find sleep to be easy and restful.

Still, in the coming days, Wriothesley can taste Neuvillette’s distance, like a line has been drawn somewhere. He realizes it all at once. This is the Chief Guide of Fontaine, not Neuvillette. In fact, Wriothesley fails to see Neuvillette unless it’s under moonlight in his bed where they watch over each other to sleep.

That thought strikes him stiff beside the Chief Justice as he reads from the opposite end of the couch. Wriothesley feels hesitant to get any closer, perceiving this distance as Neuvillette’s answer. Wriothesley knows holding feelings for his Guide is not helpful and sets an unrealistic expectation.

So if this is Neuvillette’s response, he’ll take it. Wriothesley resigns himself to the fact that Neuvillette will never broach propriety any further for Wriothesley.

And yet, he’s confused. Neuvillette has no qualms with touch when they’re guiding. It’s as if nothing has ever changed when they’re guiding. No, if anything Neuvillette seems further indulgent.

Wriothesley spies this behavior curiously, tosses it around in his mouth and swallows around a conclusion that only feeds his bias. Neuvillette is certainly not using guiding as an excuse to be close with Wriothesley. This is likely just him fulfilling the presumption to act like lovers, to keep Wriothesley from feeling threatened.

If that’s the case then can’t Wriothesley indulge too?

That thought spurs him on, strikes his chest hot and perhaps leaves him a little lenient over his control. It leaves them like this, with Wriothesley’s feet consuming the space of the living room carpet with Neuvillette beneath his palms, giving in to his direction. Neuvillette’s back meets the wall with a sudden jolt, begging from him a gentle sound of surprise.

He pulls back all at once, his eyes shifting between Wriothesley’s lashes as Wriothesley’s hands eclipses his face. Wriothesley’s eyes pull over Neuvillette’s expression, dips to his kiss slicked lips and back to his eyes. His thumbs rub across the bones of his cheeks.

“This too much?” Wriothesley asks quietly, his gentle breath ghosting across Neuvillette’s lips.

“No.” Neuvillette croaks, his voice full of something. “No,” his lashes dip below Wriothesley’s nose, “let us continue.” His voice but a whisper.

Wriothesley accepts it, even if his heart bleeds.  The taste of Neuvillette on his tongue fills the ache, makes him cruelly believe that he’s satisfied. He doesn’t realize til the touch ends that his heart is still bleeding. Wriothesley, using all the knowledge he has, tries to fill it up, again and again. He does the dishes, gives Neuvillette gentle suggestions that make him smile, delivers him his cup when his throat gets parched and each action reads just a little like his blood pumping through his heart.

But he keeps forgetting that it’s been punctured and the sight of Neuvillette, no, The Chief Guide of Fontaine, splits it open each time.

Fuck, Wriothesley doesn’t know how to deal with this. And that, tastes just a little like defeat. But maybe this distraction is necessary. It keeps him from noticing the date of the dungeon on the calendar.

“It’s the 17th tomorrow.” Wriothesley mentions in between a bite of his dinner.

He stares at his plate a little distantly. The ring and clatter of Neuvillette’s fork barely registers.

“Ah,” the break of Neuvillette’s voice however seems to echo, “Yes,” he continues, “So it appears.”

That’s faux-casual. Wriothesley recognizes that like a second skin. The fact that it’s coming from Neuvillette makes him smile a little though. He thinks an incredulous thought like he’s rubbing off on him before he shakes his head and continues to eat. It tastes a little plain now.

Neuvillette’s mask is cracking, Wriothesley spies as they settle in to routine for that night. It seems like mentioning Wriothesley’s impending doom is the way to get under the Chief Guide barrier and straight back to Neuvillette. He shouldn’t feel gleeful about that, but he’s missed him. He can admit that much.

Still, Neuvillette seems distracted, standing at the edge of his bed with his hand pulling at the cover, lost in thought. Wriothesley spies him from the bathroom door in Neuvillette’s bedroom, his sleep pants low on his waist and his shirt in his hand. Neuvillette’s head rises, his cheek turning and then those eyes settle on him. Wriothesley feels satisfied when they pull over his chest, a little distracted, but as Wriothesley eats the distance between them, those lashes pull back up to him.

Holding his shirt in his hand, Wriothesley intends to give Neuvillette a gentle suggestion. Standing before him now, it comes out a little insecure.

“Would you do it for me, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks, leaning out his shirt for him.

Neuvillette’s eyes don’t stray from Wriothesley’s face. As if answering a separate question he replies, “I would.”

Wriothesley shudders. He doesn’t know what question Neuvillette is answering but the lack of hesitation tastes like something Wriothesley wants desperately. Instead, he swallows and steps back to give Neuvillette his permission to enter his space.

Neuvillette’s hands are gentle. He tucks the soft shirt over Wriothesley’s head, his body pulling close and picking up the heat, Wriothesley feels his breath as he meets Neuvillette’s face on the other end. Neuvillette doesn’t back up as he continues. His hands are slow as he passes Wriothesley’s arms through the loose sleeves. With a long motion Neuvillette pulls his fingers up through the sleeve with Wriothesley’s arm before he slowly withdraws, his fingertips leaving goosebumps along Wriothesley’s flesh.

With a small tug and skirting knuckles down Wriothesley’s chest, Neuvillette begs the rest of the shirt down Wriothesley’s belly. Those fleeting touches leave Wriothesley alight and trembling. It gives him all he needs to be satisfied with whatever happens tomorrow.

At least he got this, this subtle confirmation of Neuvillette’s gentle indulgence.

It is silent as the moon settles in across Neuvillette’s face. Wriothesley gets stuck on the sight.

“I—“ Neuvillette’s voice is thin as he broaches, “If you would allow it,” he whispers, that breath hovering across Wriothesley’s lips, “I would like to guide you.”

Wriothesley cannot look away from Neuvillette’s eyes, that brilliant hue, the way they shift between his own lashes.

“Truly Monsieur?” Wriothesley asks, maybe for a reason, maybe just to hear Neuvillette’s voice again.

“Would you let me?” Neuvillette asks instead.

Wriothesley swallows, “Absolutely.” He admits without hesitation, feeling pained at the idea that he wouldn’t. He doesn’t care if that betrays him, doesn’t care if Neuvillette knows, not when tonight could be his last.

Neuvillette kisses him, a gentle and slow, sipping thing. There is no guiding touch to it, he simply kisses Wriothesley as if that’s all he wants to do. As he pulls away, Wriothesley spies his complicated expression. He wants to ask but Neuvillette’s just stolen his breath.

“Sleep with me.” Neuvillette gently suggests.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide.

“Monsieur.” He whispers.

“I would afford you this.” Neuvillette assures. “It is your decision.”

Wriothesley has no other answer, “Okay.”

His heart bleeds, but let him have this. He whispers, more certain, against Neuvillette’s lips, “Okay.” And then he seals his permission with a kiss.

Neuvillette accepts him, reciprocates him with his own gentle pull, breathes him in. Wriothesley feels his touch more thoroughly now, with anticipation and expectation. He’s not focused on the guiding, he’s too distracted by what’s about to happen. Neuvillette is going to sleep with him, he’s going to sleep with Neuvillette. It only really occurs to him when Neuvillette pulls Wriothesley’s hand to his hips and begs him to remove his shirt.

Wriothesley’s palm runs over the muscle beneath, the firm expanse as he slips the soft shirt up Neuvillette’s body. Neuvillette pulls back from his kiss only to rid himself of his shirt, and then he’s pulling off Wriothesley’s, just as he put it on. His skin is pure energy beneath Neuvillette’s fingers. He can’t tell who it belongs to just that it comes from Neuvillette.

All at once, Wriothesley’s mind fumbles for an explanation, a reason, and all he can find is that Neuvillette cares about him in some way, enough of a way to go so far just to make sure Wriothesley is in peak condition to survive the dungeon tomorrow. That, or Neuvillette is inexorably in love with him and carnally attracted to his body and wants one last chance before he never sees Wriothesley again. Huh, both reasonable assumptions, both completely irrelevant with Neuvillette tucked naked between his hands as he begs Wriothesley to press him into his sheets.

Neuvillette lays beneath him, his body one sinuous line as he leans back, revealing the pale stretch of his naked neck. Wriothesley’s lashes grow heavy, eyeing what he recognizes to be Neuvillette’s gentle submission. Wriothesley takes it, takes the baton being handed to him and slips into control like a second skin, relishes in the weight of it around his shoulders. With that authority he begs Neuvillette a question. Just once, he would like to know.

“What is this Neuvillette?” Wriothesley asks, settled above Neuvillette, his knuckles brushing along Neuvillette’s cheekbone.

“This is guiding.” Neuvillette maintains, touching a hand to Wriothesley’s jaw and pulling him down to touch his face. “Let me do this for you.” Neuvillette begs against his cheek.

Wriothesley doesn’t think he believes that perspective.

“Okay.” He says anyway, even if it bleeds because he knows no other way.

They start with a kiss, a gentle almost slow thing. Wriothesley can feel the nervous tension in his spine, can almost see it in Neuvillette like a mirror. This is the most intimate thing they’ve ever done. Wriothesley wants it to mean something, is certain it does even if it may not be exactly what he wants. This touch, this allowance, this endeavor is a symbol of Neuvillette’s care for him. Wriothesley can appreciate that.

Neuvillette moans softly, almost quiet, as his tongue pulls Wriothesley back in, begs his muscle into his mouth. Wriothesley eats that sound, feels Neuvillette’s pulse raise beneath his hand along his throat. Their cocks brush, a long and aching caress that strikes his spine with heat. Neuvillette pulls back with an open mouth, a long drawn groan spilling into the room, pressed to Wriothesley’s ear. It’s sweet, delicious, and tantalizing. It’s loud and it’s all Wriothesley can focus on, the sound of Neuvillette’s pleasure. It’s all he wants to hear.

Wriothesley, spying lithe muscle he’s never seen before, presses his lips to Neuvillette’s skin. He can taste his perspiration, deliciously. He can feel the energy of his open line guiding beneath his veins. It tingles against Wriothesley’s lips. He takes his hand down Neuvillette’s body in long sweeping caresses, mapping out what makes him twitch, what makes his spine croon, where he likes it. He remembers the way Neuvillette had touched him before, the way he’d taken his time to explore and get to know Wriothesley’s cock.

He takes his own opportunity, drifting his knuckles along Neuvillette’s length. That earns him a gusty little sigh, a long pulled reedy sound. Wriothesley tempts a firmer touch as he pulls himself up over Neuvillette’s body, looking down at him through his lashes, watching the way his face contorts. His eyes are closed, his canines beg his lip back as Wriothesley strokes him, long and slow and a little heavy handed.

Neuvillette’s hips stutter and those lashes peek, blown eyes stare dazedly at Wriothesley. Wriothesley can’t look away, not when this is another form of communication for them.

Wriothesley spies an edge in Neuvillette’s body, a precipice and at the sight of it he pulls back. Taking his touch from arousing to soothing as he smoothes his palm along Neuvillette’s twitching hips, softening him back into the bed. He makes a sound of frustration, one he can’t control and he flushes with it, like he’s embarrassed. Wriothesley doesn’t want to humiliate him, he wants him comfortable, warm, sated.

Wriothesley tucks his face along Neuvillette’s cheek, nuzzles him gently as he hums, “I’ve got you, I know.” He presses assurances to the mouth searching for his, Neuvillette’s lips turning towards him in blatant invitation. Wriothesley indulges him in the long slow pulls, soft and comforting, both soothing and arousing when Neuvillette’s tongue begs for him.

Wriothesley groans as Neuvillette’s hips press up, searching for him. Wriothesley pulls back at once, taking his hand to Neuvillette’s waist just to steady himself.

“Neuvillette, hey,” Wriothesley smiles at that dazed expression, “Do you have any oil?”

Neuvillette’s eyes blink, then his lips pull over the words, “In the top drawer.”

With Neuvillette’s instruction, Wriothesley retrieves what looks to be a new bottle. He doesn’t have the mind for the implication right now, his chest is too full with meaning as it is.

Wriothesley returns to Neuvillette, taps his knuckle along Neuvillette’s face, gently greeting those closed eyes. At the touch, Neuvillette looks up at him, awareness sinking back from the senses in his body to the sight of Wriothesley leaning above him.

“Hey.” Wriothesley begs, “Good, there you are. I’m gonna need you to do something for me.”

“Yes.” Neuvillette breathes.

Wriothesley’s expression goes achingly soft for the sound of Neuvillette, recognizing that propensity building in him, “Hold still for me okay? Whatever you do,” Wriothesley tells him with a stretching smile, “remember to breathe.”

Neuvillette barely has the chance to nod before Wriothesley pulls back and descends his body. then he takes Neuvillette into his mouth all the way to root. He feels the way Neuvillette’s body reacts to him, hips stuttering, thighs rising, before he hears him. That strokes his pride, catching Neuvillette off guard. It feels playful in the most intimate way.

At the same time, Wriothesley rubs a slick finger against Neuvillette’s entrance, getting him used to the sensation before he tempts it open. The muscle is tight and hot and Wriothesley has every intention of giving Neuvillette special attention before he even thinks of anything else further than this. This, like Wriothesley’s guiding had been, tastes like an endeavor. Chest full of his own experience, Wriothesley feels inexorably gentle and sensitive towards Neuvillette as he lies back in the moonlight, fully entrusting Wriothesley with this task. Wriothesley takes it with honor.

It is slow going but Neuvillette remains hard while Wriothesley works him open. The way Neuvillette’s body responds to Wriothesley’s touch feels rewarding, the stuttering twitches of his hip, the way his thighs beg against his cheek but hold back like Neuvillette is being careful of Wriothesley. Those gentle fingers bury into his hair just to hold him, to ground Neuvillette into the experience. Wriothesley loves all of it.

He pulls his mouth away from Neuvillette’s cock, careful of overstimulating him, just to deliver his stomach a kiss. It shudders beneath his lips, rippling like the muscle around Wriothesley’s finger. It takes him in deeper, all the way to his knuckle.

“There we go, good, good.” Wriothesley praises to Neuvillette’s temple, catching those eyes and delivering him his attention.

He rubs a gentle palm across Neuvillette’s hip as he works him over, gently massaging his insides. At a particular crook, Neuvillette’s mouth drops open in a silent exclamation. His brows contort into the most beautiful expression Wriothesley has ever seen. A soft little sound spills from Neuvillette’s lips, a little self conscious.

For that, Wriothesley gives him a command, gives him the permission and encouragement necessary to be expressive, “Let me hear you, come on sweet thing.”

Wriothesley tries not to punish himself for the slip but fuck if Neuvillette isn’t the sweetest thing he’s ever seen.

Neuvillette’s lashes flick up to him, those gentle eyes and his careful hands pulling him in.

“Wriothesley.” He mutters, tongue stuck on the letters like it’s a moan.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. Fuck, he’s never gonna get that out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley breathes, throat tight, “I’m here.”

He presses his lips to Neuvillette’s forehead, his cheek and for an experiment, to his ear. Neuvillette flinches and makes a sound of surprise. It comes out louder, like Neuvillette doesn’t hear himself. Wriothesley feels greedy about that, feels the impulse to kiss him on his ears grow just to pull that sound from him again but Neuvillette is growing restless and Wriothesley thinks he might be able to take more.

“You can do it can’t you.” Wriothesley says, pulling back to meet Neuvillette’s shy gaze, “You can take another for me, I know it.”

Neuvillette’s lips straighten, like he won’t respond, like he can’t.

“Hey,” Wriothesley presses a kiss to them, feels them loosen to meet him, “yeah, I see you. What do you think? Can you take another?”

Neuvillette, understanding that Wriothesley wants a response nearly balks. Slowly, he nods his head, a little reticent, impossibly shy and Wriothesley feels the way his heart gets arrested at the sight. Of course, sweet and impassive Neuvillette has this impossibly endearingly bashful side of him. As if Wriothesley needed any more reason to swoon.

“Uh-uh, sweet thing.” Wriothesley smiles, “I’m gonna need your words.” He says, slowly massaging that spot in Neuvillette again.

It sends his trembling body taut and tight and Neuvillette gasps.

“Wriothesley.” He manages.

“I hear you.” Wriothesley encourages.

“Please.” Neuvillette whispers, broken on a whine.

“Yeah?” Wriothesley pulls out his finger to a knuckle and tucks it back in, feeling the way Neuvillette’s muscles make way for him, loose and slick.

Neuvillette moans through his pressed lips. Wriothesley kisses them, pulls them apart with his tongue, swallows the rest of that sound.

“Come on,” he moans, pressing his words into Neuvillette’s lips, “Tell me, tell me.” Wriothesley begs, feeling desperate himself.

Neuvillette, perhaps spurred on by that expression, that vulnerability, finds his voice. “I can take it.” He promises, determined, “Give me another.” It’s barely a whisper but it’s everything.

Wriothesley moans against his cheek, “There it is. Good, so good.”

He presses his praise with kisses just as he tucks another finger in past Neuvillette’s rim, pushing into his soft heat and burying himself up to his second knuckle. Neuvillette gasps, pulling on his breath with the end of a long drawn whine. His body trembles beneath the touch, electric and alight. Wriothesley watches it at all, doesn’t miss a moment of this special sight just for him.

His muscles twitch, long lithe stretches that makes Wriothesley’s throat feel dry. Neuvillette is a sight, a vision of subtle strength and grace, even lying on his back. At the third finger, Neuvillette is a long sinuous line of pleasure and sound. He takes Wriothesley’s gentle suggestions to heart and blossoms beneath his attention.

Neuvillette’s eyes shine in the lowlight. His panting shakes his body. Wriothesley can feel his trembling beneath his thumb, can taste it when he dips to kiss him. Neuvillette is a line of electricity, a wire of anticipation, and he’s like this because of Wriothesley. That, is power. That, is authority. That, is proof of Wriothesley being good, worthy, perhaps deserving.

Finally, he’s earned it.

At this point Neuvillette’s lips have loosened, his chest expanded. When he’s feeling brave, he pulls Wriothesley down into his mouth and presses secrets into his lips.

“I can take it.” He promises, with that deep voice and ancient cadence of his, full of wisdom. “Give it to me.” He begs, stealing a kiss while he’s at it.

Wriothesley, his gentle servant, can’t possibly reject that.

Neuvillette’s ankle climbs Wriothesley hips, encourages him close as Wriothesley slicks himself with quick perfunctory strokes. He takes his cock to Neuvillette’s rim, gentle against him. He slides in past the first muscle, steadying himself on the hand by Neuvillette’s head as he groans into Neuvillette’s neck. He presses his lips to that empty spot, buries his teeth into the skin as Neuvillette takes him further, begs him in with his heels. Wriothesley’s heart stutters at the sound of Neuvillette’s groan and the sensation all around him.

Neuvillette’s expansive pool of energy registers all at once, but under the Tsunami of Neuvillette’s guiding, all Wriothesley feels is pleasure. He feels the way Neuvillette takes him further, gasps for it, nearly begs, like he wants it. Wriothesley, desperate to be of service, gives him everything he asks for, even if that means blurring the lines of his control a little. He focuses less on giving Neuvillette instruction and simply gives Neuvillette pleasure.

“That’s it,” Wriothesley talks him through it, every word breeding the tension out of Neuvillette’s spine and earning Wriothesley the sound of his contentment, “just like that, move with me.” He encourages, pressing into Neuvillette with an undulating rhythm.

Neuvillette’s cock is trapped between their bellies, a line of heat and precum slickening between them. As the pressure builds, Neuvillette’s legs tighten, begging him impossibly closer. He presses their cheeks together, holding Wriothesley around his neck and moaning into his ear at a particularly well placed thrust.

“Come inside me,” Neuvillette beckons gently, “I want to feel you.” He reveals with a furrow twitching his brow like it pains him to express himself.

Wriothesley can’t help the way he watches that face, the way his heart thrums. He is endeared, utterly and completely.

“Okay.” Wriothesley submits, pressing his lips to Neuvillette’s cheek sweetly.

The prettiest sigh of relief escapes Neuvillette’s lips at the sound of that single word.

That gentle request spurs Wriothesley on, makes his hips stutter as he grinds his cock into Neuvillette, burying himself to the root with each long pull. Neuvillette gasps, breath pulled and dropping into a groan as the pace picks up. Their bodies work in sonorous concert, subsisting on each other’s panting groans split by pleasure. Neuvillette eyes peer up at Wriothesley through each meeting thrust, his silver lashes fluttering with each pulse.

Wriothesley doesn’t dare look away. He holds Neuvillette’s gaze as he crests the precipice. He holds himself back, as much as he can, instead taking Neuvillette into his hand and watching the way that pretty mouth of his drops into a long reedy whine.

“I know.” Wriothesley breathes, “come on, let me see you.” He can’t help the way his throat cracks with his desperation, can’t do anything but fuck Neuvillette through his orgasm and sink into his own.

Neuvillette clutches Wriothesley close and tight like he can’t bear to be bereft of him. His heart is a fluttering pulse, Wriothesley can feel it in every point that they connect, too many to count. They breathe through it together as Wriothesley pulls out. His arm, growing tired, takes him to Neuvillette’s side. His lashes strike wide as Neuvillette wraps around him, burying his face into Wriothesley’s throat as his guiding sinks into a low simmer, not yet gone. They’re perhaps too connected for it to recede completely.

Wriothesley presses his palm to Neuvillette’s head, feeling inexplicably tender and fragile about this sight. This feels like what Wriothesley wants it to be, this feels like his fantasies that he refuses to indulge in, this feels like more than indulgence. Neuvillette presses lazy lips to Wriothesley’s throat, his palm a warm and present touch along Wriothesley’s ribs, stroking down the ladder of muscle and skin. That hand passes over his hip, both soothing and comforting and begging as Neuvillette crawls impossibly closer.

Neuvillette’s breaths feel pulled from him, like he’s working through more than just an afterglow.

Wriothesley wishes he could see inside his mind, could feel what he’s feeling and take the responsibility from him. He wishes he could go through it with him together. For now, all he can do is press comfort into Neuvillette’s crown with his lips and card his fingers through the base of his hair.

Unfortunately, it’s getting harder to trust Wriothesley’s perception against his logic. Logic tells him Neuvillette hasn’t said anything, he’s not reciprocating Wriothesley’s feelings, but Wriothesley’s perception, built through lives that make it inaccurate at times, and devastatingly on point at others, begs him to consider that Neuvillette is not a man of words but of subtlety and behavior. This behavior tastes like reciprocity.

All at once, Wriothesley feels startlingly aware of all the cues he’s rejected from Neuvillette, simply under the influence of his assumed misunderstanding. Maybe Neuvillette isn’t even aware of it, and that feels inexorably hard to swallow but maybe it’s true. Maybe Neuvillette aches for him, but there’s something holding him back. In that case, can’t Wriothesley help him with this too?

It feels too biased to be true, but for once in his life Wriothesley thinks he’s prepared to trust his perception.

It is quiet in the room, nothing but the sound of their gentle breathing and the echo of their pulses beating a matching rhythm interrupts the silence. Until Wriothesley, pulled by a bleeding heart, decides to take his chances before his final day.

“Monsieur,” Wriothesley’s throat is slightly dry, “this is far too intimate to remain guiding I’m afraid.”

Neuvillette’s fingers twitch against his side.

“Is that so?” Neuvillette asks, but it sounds like the end of a statement, like he’s not ready to consider that yet. Wriothesley can’t blame him, but he doesn’t have the time to waste.

“In that case let’s not be Guide and Esper tonight.” Wriothesley suggests, “Let us be lovers like you mentioned when we first met.”

Neuvillette’s eyes lift to him, his expression something tight and then soft all at once.

“Yes,” he says, voice sounding strained, “Let us presume that instead.”

And then he kisses Wriothesley for no other reason but to kiss him, and that settles into Wriothesley’s mind like confirmation.

At the very least, he knows what reciprocation tastes like. It tastes like Neuvillette.

Chapter Text

The sun dancing across his bare back cannot be the explanation for the warmth he feels. It can only be the touch of the arm wrapped tight around his waist that keeps Wriothesley pleasantly suffused. The weight of his lashes is heavy as they lift but he is tempted by the touch he feels. Desperate to catalogue this moment, Wriothesley open his eyes against the blurry dredges of exhaustion.

Neuvillette is a gentle image, a line of alabaster skin and smooth muscle. He wears Wriothesley’s affection in marks of red bruises and teeth. His face is slack with sleep, beautifully gentle as he breathes through his nose.

Wriothesley watches the steady rise and fall of his body, feels the way Neuvillette twitches in his sleep. His fingers spasm against Wriothesley’s hip, his thumb pressing into the skin. Even this subconscious action leaves Wriothesley feeling both hungry and satisfied. Neuvillette’s effect over him is ineffable.

With a swell of deep, nurturing, affection, Wriothesley raises his fingers to Neuvillette’s face, running the back of his knuckles down his jaw in a single stroke. He marvels at how touchable Neuvillette is, at the way his skin gives beneath his fingers, the way Wriothesley can feel the texture on his knuckles. Neuvillette’s nose twitches at the touch, sending a ripple through his face. Then he’s blinking back and looking up at Wriothesley with the sweetest expression Wriothesley has ever seen.

It strikes his heart, hard, seeing Neuvillette a little dazed and confused but content.

Neuvillette makes a noise of awareness but he doesn’t speak yet. His lashes flutter as he takes in Wriothesley’s face, a gentle expression of consideration taking his face. Then that hand on Wriothesley’s hip grows firm and Neuvillette uses it to press closer, takes control over Wriothesley just enough to bury his nose into Wriothesley’s throat.

Wriothesley swallows around the ticklish sensation but the way Neuvillette breathes him in and sighs with something like relief feels satisfying, special. It’s an action Wriothesley recognizes for his own impulse.

For a moment, he doesn’t concern himself with Neuvillette’s thoughts, nor his intentions. Instead he takes his own gentle liberties. Wriothesley wraps his arms around Neuvillette, pressing his nose into the crown of his hair. He smells good here, like the shampoo Wriothesley has been using. Neuvillette’s skin is cool and refreshing to the touch. Wriothesley’s own body feels like a furnace and clinging to Neuvillette like this is a relief.

His arms flex lightly as Neuvillette shifts, getting comfortable. As he stills, that gentle breath spills over Wriothesley’s collarbones. Wriothesley draws no assumption with it, simply acknowledges the behavior and lets himself settle into the peaceful morning.

This is more than he could ever ask for, perhaps because of that, it is enough. At least Wriothesley has this. It makes his life feel worth living for nothing else but to experience this moment.

Wriothesley takes his blunt fingers to the base of Neuvillette’s head, lightly scratching the skin and root of his hair, picking and carding his fingers through the rivulets. Neuvillette makes a sound that feels pulled from him, a gentle exhalation that hums and rumbles through Wriothesley’s chest where they connect. Warmth breeds between their naked skin. Wriothesley looks down and with his hand along the edge of Neuvillette’s jaw raises his chin to witness that expression, the proof of his contentment.

Neuvillette is pliant and visibly pleased. Wriothesley’s chest swells with the responsibility for it.

“Hey there you.” Wriothesley whispers, unable to keep himself from reaching for Neuvillette’s attention.

Those lashes peel back slowly, pupils slowly expanding at the sight of Wriothesley. Neuvillette makes another noise, a deep hum, as he presses his cheek into Wriothesley’s palm.

So this is what it is like to be Neuvillette’s lover. Wriothesley’s chest feels tight at the thought. There’s no way he can keep this, but he refuses to acknowledge that right now. Instead, he presses his lips to Neuvillette’s forehead and sighs. If nothing else, let them have this.

Neuvillette’s eyes are watching him when Wriothesley pulls back, that searching and almost lost expression on his face. Wriothesley wants to kiss it off of him, make him smile and laugh but he’s certain his morning breath is rough, so he refrains. Instead he swipes his thumb across Neuvillette’s cheek and smiles.

Neuvillette settles into the touch, expression shifting into something resigned and gentle. For a long moment, all they do is watch each other. That is all they can do. They do not have permission for anything else, not when Wriothesley’s duty awaits him outside of their bed.

It is silent when they pull themselves from each other. Their eyes pull from routine to watch each other, even as they resign themselves to dressing for the day. Neuvillette is a sight Wriothesley wants to savor, sitting along the edge of his bed, walking across his room, standing before his dressing closet. Doing anything, Wriothesley thinks, Neuvillette is worthy of his attention.

But he has a duty to uphold so Wriothesley pulls himself back to his own self as he dresses. Wriothesley has gotten a little used to wearing just his button down shirts, but now he puts on his vest and wraps and straps the tactical belt around his thigh.

Neuvillette, surrounded by the sun’s gentle beam, stands before Wriothesley with an offer.

“May I?” Neuvillette asks, with Wriothesley’s tie between his fingers.

Wriothesley’s heart thrums, loosening his tongue and leaking the wonder into his voice, “Yeah.”

Neuvillette’s hand passes around Wriothesley’s neck, his fingers brushing the scars along his throat. Wriothesley feels nothing but the urge to swallow at the touch. He is no longer surprised by what Neuvillette has earned from him. Those lithe fingers make deft work of Wriothesley’s tie, make it prettier than Wriothesley has ever bothered, like it matters. Neuvillette always handles Wriothesley this way, Wriothesley thinks, like that thought is important. He thinks it may matter to him, just as this does to Neuvillette.

Silence stretches as Neuvillette removes his hand from his finished task, but before he can turn away, Wriothesley captures him with a single question.

“Can I?”

Neuvillette’s eyes stutter across his face, slowly searching, slowly shifting and then he’s smiling something sweet, “Yes.”

Neuvillette delivers his tie to Wriothesley’s hands. It feels like he’s been handed something much heavier.

Wriothesley is perhaps not as adept at the art but he knows how to tie a tie with military efficiency. With Neuvillette, he does not make it perfunctory. He does his best to make it properly, make it good, use the same amount of care that Neuvillette used. He wants them to match. That’s important to him. He thinks, with the way Neuvillette passes his fingers across it in the mirror, it may be for him too. In this, they can agree.

They leave Neuvillette’s townhome together, heading for the Court where the officials await them. The journey is long but peaceful and in their silence lies all the words unspoken between them. Wriothesley is prepared to let them die, content with his perception of Neuvillette’s reciprocation, even if it is false, he would prefer this to the fearful truth. For once, Wriothesley does not mind a little ignorance. If anything, he clings to it now. It keeps him from focusing on the split in his chest.

Researchers and guarde’s block off the civilians from the dungeon’s gate. It is abrupt, the change from the court’s splendor to the wreckage of a ruined door humming with static. Wriothesley can feel the way his skin vibrates with the energy in the air, strikes him to the core and makes his hand spasm with a phantom pain he no longer feels. He spies the door from the corner of his eye with equal anticipation and trepidation both as Neuvillette leads them to the officials in charge of the gate.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” They greet with a reverent gesture.

“Everything is prepared and accounted for.” One research assures.

Neuvillette nods his head in acknowledgement, his face impassive and reticent. Wriothesley feels less about seeing this side of Neuvillette around people than he does when it is just them. If anything he can appreciate what this expression is for Neuvillette, a careful mask, a way to uphold his responsibility. Wriothesley can respect that, find it almost charming. It is an experience to watch Neuvillette take control over a group of researchers who usually care for nothing but their own ambitions. Neuvillette is respected by all of Fontaine, these people included.

There are a few Guides dispersed through the small group of officials, a few Wriothesley even recognizes. The guide from the day Wriothesley brought Sigewinne to Neuvillette notices him, catches his eye but under that gaze the Guide quickly looks away. It seems Neuvillette’s admonishment still rings in his ears.

Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley after a short discussion, his silver lashes settling upon Wriothesley’s face and capturing his attention.

“They say the dungeon is ready for you.” Chief Guide of Fontaine Neuvillette, informs.

But Wriothesley spies that crack in his impeccable reticence. Neuvillette is worried, about Wriothesley. Wriothesley keeps his thrill to himself, eats his greed and gives Neuvillette his most assured expression he can muster.

“I’ll be back soon.” Wriothesley smiles, feeling the strain of his twitching lips.

Neuvillette considers him for a still moment, his eyes a well of unexpressed emotion, then he straightens. “Very well.” His voice comes out even and sonorous, “I shall be waiting.”

Wriothesley swallows, “Yeah?” It is a whisper, a question only for Neuvillette, an opportunity.

Neuvillette has never passed up an opportunity to assure Wriothesley before, this is not where he starts.

“Yes.” Neuvillette tells him, certain and firm.

Wriothesley feels his lungs expand.

“Goodbye for now then, Monsieur.”

“For now.” Neuvillette promises, standing at the edge of the gate, his gaze unyielding.

Wriothesley drinks that sight in one last time before he turns on his shoulder and enters the dungeon.

The doors close with a reverberating sound of static then impossible silence. The researchers turn their attentions to the sight of it. It is not that they are unused to this phenomenon, it is perhaps simply that they have never seen a door quite this large before.

“Has there ever been record of a dungeon o with a door like that?” One asks his partner by his side, considering the data on the screen attached to his wrist. The readings are all normal, nothing indicates that the door’s size has changed anything to the dungeon itself, but the sight is curious.

“The largest I’ve seen was the one in the middle of Elynas, now that was a doozy. They called in 3 Espers for the job.” He remarks, whistling through his teeth.

“We really think this one is only going to take one? Doesn’t that seem reckless?”

“Ah well,” his partner shrugs, “it’s the Duke, what can ya do. He does these things solo for a reason. If he pushes himself too hard,” the researcher makes a lethal motion, one of graphic implosion.

The initial researcher blanches. “Right.” He says slowly, shuddering through the thought.

Across from the two junior researchers, Senior researchers engage themselves in similar conversation for there is very little to do in these moments of expedition. They often find themselves gossiping.

“You think he’s got a chance?” One starts, slanting the researcher beside him an open glance.

“He’s the Duke,” the researcher says, making an expression that seems obvious, “who else has a better chance than him?”

“You think he’ll yknow,” the man makes a gesture, “lose it?”

The other researcher shrugs then makes a face, “The Duke I know was on his last leg, did you hear about how he got threatened? Some Espers jumped him and tried to get him to give up his authority. He couldn’t do anything against them, otherwise he would’ve overclocked it. That’s the kind of man we’re depending on.”

“Fuck, that’s—well I’m not going in there.”

The other man laughs, “Yeah, me neither.”

The two men share a laugh, none the wiser to the footsteps encroaching upon them.

“Hey,” a familiar Guide belonging to the Palais interjects, “you know he’s been getting guided right?”

The two researchers turn to the new face, giving him a subtle glance before sharing a look.

“Uh-huh.” One says, sounding disbelieving.

“Yeah,” the other sighs, “I heard he got court mandated but I doubt he let the Guide do anything.”

The guide scowls, “His Guide was Monsieur Neuvillette.”

The two blink before peeling into synchronized laughter.

“There’s no way—“

“You can’t just make this up kid—“

“I mean come on, he’s got better things to do—!”

Slowly they sober.

“You really think the court would waste their best guide on some Esper who’s got backlash issues?” The researcher prompts.

The guide merely raises a brow, “Why else do you think he’s here?”

The two researchers look to each other than shrug, “Because he’s Chief Guide?”

The guide rolls his eyes before turning on his heel, “Researchers.” He mutters.

The sun sets in the sky with a gentle revolution. Neuvillette’s consideration falls upon that setting sun for an innumerable amount of time. This is one of the duties of a Guide, keeping count of how long an Esper resides in the dungeon for.

Time works differently in the dungeons. Most dungeon captures only take a couple minutes to a half hour at best. This is because each minute eats a large portion of day in a dungeon. Wriothesley has been in there for nearly 40 minutes now. That’s little less than 48 hours. He’s not equipped for more than two days.

“It’s been an hour. I’m going in.” Neuvillette interjects, stepping up to the dungeons gate.

All four active researchers peel for him.

“Monsieur! You’re a guide you can’t enter without an Esper—“ the senior shouts.

“Overruled.” Neuvillette pushes through.

The researchers have no time to do anything but watch as the Chief Guide of Fontaine disappears into a dungeon that he was definitely not authorized admission for.

“Hey!” The senior researcher pulls the Palais guide over, “what’s he doing?” He asks him, “Why is Monsieur Neuvillette, a guide of all things, going in the dungeon?”

“Because he’s the Duke’s Guide.” The Palais guide answers.

“You weren’t kidding.” The researcher’s jaw drops.

The guide raises a brow, “Believe it?”

The researcher sighs then shakes his head, “Still doesn’t explain why a Guide would just walk in there.”

“I don’t think I could explain it to you.” The guide admits, looking pitying, “The relationship between a Guide and his Esper is ineffable.”

The researcher’s eyes pull skyward, “Guides.” He mutters.

The guide sniffs, appropriately offended. “Just call for another Esper to get down here. We should send one in.”

“Alright boss!” The senior researcher grins, sarcastic as he pleases.

A loud grunt peels across the narrow walls of stone ruin. The clang of metal and maw echoes through the channels, spewing dust and cold ice through the halls. A low and desperate sound rips itself from the chest of a man who does not belong here, should not be here, but persists against the utter wrongness of his presence.

Wriothesley eyes the beast from his haggard low bellied arch as his wrist spasms, fingertips barely brushing the floor. Slowly, he straightens, pulling himself up with nothing but the remnants of his stamina as he stares the beast down. Those eyes are hollow, there is no conscience to connect with. That makes this easy. Wriothesley will show no remorse for a being that cannot connect.

The air around Wriothesley’s aching and open palm crackles with static, the scent of ozone and ice hitting his nose as his fist shifts. He sheds broken metal for new, long tendrils of ice crawling up his arm, taking him nearly to the throat. Twin gauntlets sheath his hands, bends over his arms and strikes him cold but through the burn of his anticipation he can’t feel it. All he feels is the way his foot bends and pushes him forward.

Again, he thinks, not for the first time.

The beast snarls, a large snapping maw pulling for him but Wriothesley kicks out his leg and slides beneath those sharp canines begging for him. Underneath, Wriothesley spies the zipper of its chest, a hardline where the skin is thin. Wriothesley picks his chin up as he slides through to the other side of the beast, sends himself to his feet before the maw can catch him. His fist comes up, metal meeting static and sparking as it meets a canine that doesn’t crack. The beast snarls. It latches on.

Uh oh, Wriothesley thinks, he’s just severely fucked himself over.

Taken with panic, he smashes his open fist into the creature’s face, crunches against the bone and reaches for the eyes, anything to make it let go. He can feel the way those teeth bare down on him, bending metal into his arm. He grits his teeth against the pain as ice curls against his skin, shocking and numbing and cold but protective. Wriothesley grits his teeth as he slams his fist back down, meeting bone.

The beast ducks back with a loud sound that trembles the air and sparks ozone as it shakes its head, visibly disoriented. That’s when Wriothesley reaches for the zipper. He catches that thin skin between his metal fingers and pulls. Static chases up his arm, using the connection to bite him. Instinctually, Wriothesley’s chest splits open, ice pours out.

The impact sends Wriothesley backward, his feet skidding across uneven ground. He blinks against the settling fog, sprays of ice and crystal and widens at the sight of the beast conquered, stiff and encased. Then it shatters.

Huh. He’s so fucking glad that never happened to Neuvillette.

With a heaving chest, Wriothesley pulls himself up and wipes at his chin, coming away with dust and blood that’s not his. It tingles against his skin and it’s darker than red, nearly black. It tastes like tar where it catches on his lips. He spits it against the ground beside him.

Wriothesley has been in here long enough to watch the sun rise and fall, twice, and whatever planet this dungeon exists on has two of them. That’s probably not great for his skin, he thinks wryly.

Usually these dungeons disappear after you fight whatever resides in it. This time, Wriothesley kills something and another just crops up. There has to be an end, he just hasn’t found it. These beasts don’t seem like the main event anyway. The terrain is a bit like a puzzle. If he keeps searching, eventually he will find whatever actually resides here. These rift drifters just keep getting in his way, eating up his time and stealing from his energy.

Neuvillette’s guiding is starting to feel like a distant memory. If Wriothesley had entered this dungeon before meeting Neuvillette he surely would’ve overdone it at the first beast with that gaping mouth where nothing but darkness resided behind its teeth. Fuck but he’s lucky he can still pull on his ability without imminent implosion. As long as he finds the true resident of this dungeon, he can get the fuck out of here and back to Neuvillette. That is the one thought that conquers him as he picks himself up and heads for the next winding maze.

As the twin suns set, Wriothesley can feel his exhaustion like a physical touch, pulling on his tongue and stiffening his jaw. He’s running out of stamina. He refuses to acknowledge that til now, standing over another carcass, shattered beneath his feet like stardust. There seems to be no end to these winding pathways. He can’t spy a den, can’t find an underground. All it is, is endless and narrow tunnels and the burning suns. Or at least there was until the suns dip behind the edge of the tall walls.

Well, fuck. There goes his advantage.

These rift drifters seem to be significantly slower in the daylight, and under the cover of darkness they’re hard to spot. Wriothesley’s hair sticks up on the back of his neck, his spine tense and rigid as he stills, listening for any sign that he’s going to be jumped under the cover of night. The silence persists and even that is eery. These dungeons always hum with a quiet energy, this silence feels wrong.

This dungeon is different, like nothing really makes sense. These rift drifters aren’t supposed to be here. Something with authority is putting them here. Unfortunately, that’s high above Wriothesley’s pay grade.

No, even if the Palais knew what this was they likely wouldn’t tell him. Him knowing doesn’t affect how he wields himself anyway, not really. If anything tries to get him he’ll just put them down. And that’s about the sum of his experience, so he doesn’t think twice about twisting the hand that reaches for him and throwing the creature over his shoulder.

Only the creature is stronger than Wriothesley anticipates and rather than go down, the creature turns on its heel and spins them til Wriothesley is lying with his back against a narrow wall and he’s staring down the face of something ethereal.

“Neuvillette.” Wriothesley exhales through a slow rise of his beating chest. The tension in his body floods him all at once.

“You’ve been here for two days.” Neuvillette says, in lieu of a greeting. Neuvillette’s eyes trace the planes of Wriothesley’s face. He pulls back to catalogue his injuries, the state of him. “You’re building up quite a well, Your Grace.” Neuvillette mentions, like he can tell that Wriothesley’s hand twitching comes from his impending backlash.

Wriothesley goes limp under Neuvillette’s regard. “Yeah, it does that.” He remarks, uncaring about anything but getting to see Neuvillette.

Then it hits him that Neuvillette is here, in this dungeon. A guide is in a dungeon, and one as eery as this.

All at once, Wriothesley straightens, removing Neuvillette’s hand beside his face against the wall.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Wriothesley remarks, “Especially not right now.”

The sun has just gone down. This is beginning to stroke the outlines of Wriothesley’s worst nightmare.

Neuvillette’s expression doesn’t shift. “Before you endeavor to protect me, I would like you to seek guiding.” The Chief Guide—no, Neuvillette implores.

Wriothesley slants a glance behind Neuvillette, to the narrow endless hall beyond. He steadies a hand to Neuvillette’s waist and turns him to the wall, holding his own back to the alley like a physical shield.

“Alright, do it like this.” Wriothesley says.

Neuvillette’s eyes take his face before shifting beyond his shoulder. At that he slowly gives in.

“Alright, like this will do.” Neuvillette agrees before he begs Wriothesley’s mouth to his.

Wriothesley feels the way his chest makes room for the breath Neuvillette gives him, in more ways than one. Neuvillette’s guiding takes effect immediately and Wriothesley can feel his exhaustion peeling away.

Neuvillette doesn’t dare close his eyes, Wriothesley can feel the way his lashes flick across his cheek as he keeps an eye on the path beyond Wriothesley’s shoulder. Wriothesley in turn, focuses on kissing Neuvillette, in sipping from him not just guiding but comfort and relief and every palpable expression Neuvillette’s very presence makes him feel.

Oh how he has missed him. It has been hours, days, of endless fighting, of chaos and tension and the underlying fear that he may never see him again. Wriothesley takes what Neuvillette gives him now, his own tangible liberty.

Let this be enough, he begs his unsatisfied and cold heart, let this be more than enough. Wriothesley is tired of this hunger. Let this be reason enough to feel nourished.

Wriothesley pulls back all at once when he feels the energy crest. With the rhythm humming beneath his veins he can taste the static flavoring the air, can smell the scent of ozone and dust. A rift drifter is encroaching from beyond the veil.

Wriothesley turns his cheek, staring down at the floor as his jaw twitches. Like this, he can hear it. With his eyes on the ground he can see the tremors shaking the earth. It is with experience and intuition that he manages to pull Neuvillette back in time for the rift to split in the middle of the wall Neuvillette held his back too.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. He wastes no time in pulling Neuvillette back. He gives but one instruction.

“Run!”

Neuvillette doesn’t question him, he delivers his eyes to Wriothesley and follows him as they peel into the narrow halls of darkness. Wriothesley is spying for a clearing, anything to get distance between Neuvillette and that creature. What he finds is a temple of rubble. It’ll have to do.

Wriothesley urges Neuvillette with a hand on his back, eyeing a vantage for him to take. Neuvillette finds one on his own. Grasping Wriothesley’s hand in his he calls his eyes to his face.

“Worry for yourself.” Neuvillette imparts before the sound of air splitting draws Wriothesley’s attention away.

Wriothesley turns on his shoulder and raises a fist in expectation. The resounding sound of metal meeting maw reverberates through the courtyard. His muscles tense, back rigid as he holds the weight of the beast pushing against him, daring to sink his liquid jaws into Wriothesley’s already warn arm. Luckily Neuvillette’s guiding has had an effect. Wriothesley pushes the beast back with his newfound energy, shoving it away with a spray of ice, encroaching and encasing and chasing the rifted beast away from the walls.

The rift drifter careens for the crystal only to blip out of sight. It is silent for a breath, a single breath and then the wicked tearing sound of the snarling beast threatens Wriothesley over his shoulder. He turns, but he’s not fast enough to catch those teeth with anything but the meat of his arm.

Fuck. Pain blooms, wicked and searing, it lances down his spine with electric fervor. The beast pulls back with a might totally unbecoming of its wily stature. That, is not a good thing, Wriothesley recognizes distantly, too high on pain to fully register the disconnect.

The beast growls, a cackling sound.

Wriothesley’s throat gets caught on his own sound when he recognizes the displacement. Shit, that’s not where his shoulder is supposed to be. He just needs a minute, just to correct it. The beast doesn’t give him a minute, it rushes forward with a vengeance.

Fine then, one handed it is.

“Wriothesley!” Neuvillette shouts.

Wriothesley turns his cheek. So does the beast.

There’s his minute, Wriothesley thinks, before shoving his shoulder back where it’s supposed to be, in its socket. In the same motion, he cuts across the floor and meets the rift splitting behind Neuvillette’s shoulder. The beast, not expecting to leap right into his hand, makes a terrible sound. Wriothesley grits his teeth against the static filling his mouth and pulls. The zipper comes undone. That terrible sound, stench, sight and smell, become nothing but stardust.

Wriothesley sags, falling into Neuvillette’s body. He marvels at the way Neuvillette catches him, holds him without strain. That’s nice, he thinks through his sudden exhaustion. He just, needs another minute. Neuvillette gives it to him, makes him feel like time is nothing but a suggestion with the way his world expands.

“You did well.” Neuvillette praises, brushing his fingers through Wriothesley’s hair.

The sparks of his guiding feel good against Wriothesley’s skin. What a blessing that is.

His shoulder throbs, a distant and dull ache that he decides not to think about. Instead he focuses on those gentle fingers in his hair, on the faint scent of Neuvillette’s breath, on the beating of his pulse ringing in his throat. The world is sonorous beneath Neuvillette’s guide, it is beautiful.

Wriothesley blinks, a long slow thing, and as his lashes pull up he feels inexplicably energized. He stands on his own too feet, straightening to meet the gaze Neuvillette holds on him. Those eyes are a sight he’s missed.

“Hi.” Wriothesley breathes.

Neuvillette’s lip twitches, “Hello.”

Before Wriothesley can get further distracted he finds his resolve and pulls back. Guiding is some heady stuff, that’s for sure. He ignores the fact that it’s not the guiding that makes Neuvillette hard to part with and instead leads for the edges of the courtyard. Back to resident hunting.

With Neuvillette by his side it’s not that bad. The quiet is necessary for staying alert but it’s not entirely silent when Wriothesley focuses on Neuvillette’s gentle breathing and rhythmic heels. It’s comforting if nothing else, leaves him alert and aware. He won’t be caught off guard, not when he has Neuvillette to protect.

Besides Neuvillette being simply an enjoyable companion, he’s got a good eye. He observes things Wriothesley could’ve sworn didn’t actually exist before now. He’s been through these halls before, and yet, sure enough, Neuvillette stands before a narrow entrance to a den Wriothesley has never seen before.

Huh. He thinks first. Finally. He thinks second.

Then they enter, side by side, ready for this to be over.

The walls of the den are mountainous, dangling edges of flora and twinkling ore. In the bed of the dwelling lies the resident. Wriothesley’s eyes widen at the sight of it. The true resident is large, much larger than he anticipated. Still, he snaps out of it quickly. Neuvillette on the other hand, is uncharacteristically still, almost distracted. Wriothesley notices that only a second too late, because at that moment a pair of eyes settle on them.

There is no sound when the resident moves, no tremor no echo, almost like it doesn’t move at all, but Wriothesley catches sight of motion in the corner of his eye and Neuvillette flinches.

Wriothesley, with fear in his spine, grips Neuvillette by his arm, “Duck!” He shouts.

The order cuts through Neuvillette’s stiff body. He jerks out of the way of Wriothesley’s fist, delivered to the resident’s encroaching temple. Ice spills out over the metal, connecting with the resident and slipping up over its leather skin, encasing it in brilliant crystal. Wriothesley takes the reverberating silence as a moment of reprieve and tugs Neuvillette back with him.

“You okay?” Wriothesley asks, pulling his eyes over Neuvillette.

Neuvillette remains looking at the beast, as if he’s seeing something Wriothesley isn’t, or maybe recognizing something. Still he nods and Wriothesley will take any communication Neuvillette gives him.

The sound of splitting rings against the shell of Wriothesley’s ear. He turns his cheek, only for his lashes to pull wide at the sight of the crystal shaking, long veins of splitting ice traveling up and over. All at once, it shatters. The resident emerges, untouched.

Well, that’s not great.

The thing moves silently, large leather skin and unflappable wings made of bone and cauterized flesh. Its gaping maw stretches, revealing rows of jutting canines and a spiral tongue. It zips through the distance, ripping wind and sound past Wriothesley’s ears. He blinks, and it’s baring down on him with a heavy jutting hand, a full appendaged hand with a thumb. Wriothesley has no idea what this creature is, a chimera of some sort, but it’s strong and Wriothesley is being bullied into the ground with nothing but its raw strength.

Wriothesley kicks out his knee and rolls. The sound of the resident’s hand coming down is loud as it sprays up dust. Wriothesley takes space between them, but his eyes pull over the impression left in the ground. That was almost him.

Wriothesley jerks his cheek, eyes searching almost desperately. When he finds Neuvillette, he’s seemed to have snapped out of whatever was keeping him still. He keeps a wide birth from the resident but never removes his eyes from it. The resident is staring at Neuvillette, a long and hard gaze, threatening. That doesn’t bode well.

Wriothesley picks himself up, and using the beast’s distraction to his advantage, goes for the throat. This chimera, unlike the rift drifters, doesn’t have a zipper to strike for. Wriothesley takes his fist to its maw, eating up space and pushing it back into a corner of ice. He needs to find its weak point.

The resident steps back and further. At the touch of its skin to the ice, however, it jerks around and takes its large body to the sky. Its wings don’t have skin. It doesn’t get much further than a leap above Wriothesley before it lands heavily on its side behind him. The resident grumbles, whipping out its tail at Wriothesley. He jerks his chin back, giving it regrettable space.

Wriothesley eyes the resident snarling at him before it threatens to charge again. Wriothesley goes on the defensive, blocking with all his strength, ruled by muscle memory.

His fists barely leave a dent in the thing and it seems to be impervious to ice. Things aren’t looking great for him. And then pain spasms up Wriothesley’s shoulder. It’s not his wrist but his sore socket. Fuck.

He’s fine, he’s got it handled. Until he doesn’t.

“Wriothesley!”

Wriothesley turns his cheek—Neuvillette. Only the resident isn’t going after Neuvillette. A gaping maw charges for Wriothesley on the end of his dead shoulder. He can’t bring his fist up, it won’t respond. He doesn’t have the time to consider anything else, can barely blink before an arm wraps around him and pulls.

Wriothesley’s body gives in to the motion, a heavy and powerful force and he barely catches himself on his knee. Something loud rings through the den, shaking the walls with a powerful tremor. Wriothesley’s chin pulls skyward, looking towards the resident, looking at—Neuvillette.

Wriothesley doesn’t expect him to move like that. His coat billows behind him as he bends, practically parallel to the floor, before he lifts off into a high arch and strikes down with his silver heel. Dust flies, fogging Wriothesley’s vision and shielding the outcome of Neuvillette’s attack from his eyes. As the dust settles, Neuvillette stands alone, looking untouchable, as the corpse of the resident lies at his feet, nothing but bone and stardust.

Holy shit.

Neuvillette turns to him, his expression concerned as he comes over and takes his hand to Wriothesley’s stymied face.

“Are you alright?” Neuvillette asks, with his tense brow.

“Are we not going to talk about that?” Wriothesley mutters, a little starstruck.

“Ah,” Neuvillette slants a glance behind him, his eyes grow distant at the sight of the dust, “perhaps later.” He says, before turning back to Wriothesley, “For now, we should prepare for the dungeons collapse. Come, you’ve been here for much too long.”

Neuvillette outstretches his palm. Wriothesley’s lashes pull over that gloved hand, the same one that pulled him away from imminent destruction. He doesn’t hesitate to take it, not even with the knowledge of how truly powerful it is. He feels no threat when his eyes rise to meet Neuvillette’s. His heart is too busy pounding with inexorable affection.

Wriothesley notices as Neuvillette’s lips part only to fall into a line. He seems to consider his next words carefully.

“I must ask you keep what happened today a secret.”

Wriothesley, scenting the start to a much larger conversation that they will definitely be having later, does nothing but surrender to Neuvillette.

“I trust you, you can trust me too.” Wriothesley says.

Neuvillette’s lashes stutter, a brief and beautiful expression before he sobers and leads Wriothesley through to those doors. That is until they split and drip and nothing but a rift exists. Neuvillette stills Wriothesley immediately, shielding him with his body. Wriothesley’s lashes stutter on the sight of the door disappearing and the den terraforming.

“What’s happening?”

Neuvillette’s expression pinches, “They are interfering.” He mutters, a harsh low whisper.

“Neuvillette.” Wriothesley begs him back with his hand on his wrist, taking in the sight of their surroundings shifting.

Neuvillette turns his shoulder and tightening his grip on Wriothesley’s hand walks them to the center of the den. Stone ripples into cracked marble as dust descends, catching into static like starlight. The dust, no, the ash of the resident begins to swirl before it takes shape. The chimera persists.

Wriothesley prepares to step forward but Neuvillette stills him. Wriothesley nearly goes limp under that hand, at the suggestion of Neuvillette taking over. He shouldn’t be so amenable to that, this is his responsibility, he is the Esper, but Neuvillette, Wriothesley thinks with a slanted glance to his determined face, is capable. Wriothesley can trust him with this. He can let go of the burden and give Neuvillette authority over this.

Finally, he thinks, with a relief he feels ashamed of.

Neuvillette takes a short step, the end of his long coat dancing with the gentle breeze streaming in from the gaps in the shifting den.

“I beg of you,” Neuvillette says, voice impossibly still, “don’t look.”

“Neuvillette.” Wriothesley worries immediately.

Neuvillette’s voice splits, “I cannot protect you from my own backlash Wriothesley—“

The sound more than the words stills him, but he can’t do this with Neuvillette’s back to him. Wriothesley takes his hand to Neuvillette’s shoulder and that cheek turns to him.

“Okay,” Wriothesley eclipses his face and presses his lips to his mouth, for a moment those lips pull for him, accepting his kiss and Wriothesley feels his tension recede, “okay.” He promises then turns on his heel and gives Neuvillette the first thing he’s ever asked for.

Wriothesley’s lashes kiss his cheeks as a streak of heavy wind splits past his cheek. He hears nothing until the den erupts with sound. A loud grating whining growl erupts. Wriothesley assumes it’s the resident until he remembers dust can’t speak.

Static crackles in the air, leaving a buzzing hum ringing against the shell of Wriothesley’s ear. The scent of ozone wafts beneath his nose and for a moment it feels familiar. Then the world splits and expands and Wriothesley realizes why Neuvillette doesn’t want him to look. This is probably something above his pay grade, a secret he was never meant to tempt, a reason for why the Chief Guide of Fontaine never feared guiding Wriothesley.

This goes beyond the glimpses Wriothesley spied during their guiding sessions, this is something that he can feel without even touching Neuvillette. Simply being in the same room is enough to strike terror into his chest. And yet, his heart continues to beat, a steady and matched rhythm that it has always held around Neuvillette since the day he rediscovered his propensity for affection.

He feels it now and it’s all he feels, burdening and brilliant affection. There is no room for any other perception.

All of a sudden the air goes still and silence persists. It is in the stillness of nothing happening that Wriothesley turns.

Standing over a corpse of dust, Neuvillette says, “It is perhaps my fault that these dungeons have appeared.” His voice sounds small, his shoulders imperceptibly rounded.

Wriothesley blinks, “What do you mean?”

“Long before Fontaine expanded into modernity,” Neuvillette begins, eyes distant and inaccessible, “it was my duty to watch over the Court, judge its people. That duty became too heavy.” Quieter he says, as if to himself, “This is exactly as Focalor’s foretold, Celestia’s judgement of me. Forcing me back to the Court.”

“Neuvillette, are you saying—“

Neuvillette’s chin rises, “I am older than you think Wriothesley.” He reveals.

The voice makes sense now, no one else sounds like Neuvillette anymore. There’s also a couple other things Wriothesley wants to unpack, like the fact that Wriothesley being an Esper is somehow Neuvillette’s fault but despite how important that fact feels, his heart can’t find the space to care. All he wants to do is cross this unimaginable distance between them, to touch Neuvillette who seems so untouchable.

“Neuvillette,” Wriothesley says.

At the sound of his name in Wriothesley’s mouth, Neuvillette turns to him with the full weight of his attention. Wriothesley does not falter beneath it, no, it burns but that weight is grounding, steadying, feeds his propensity.

Wriothesley all at once realizes that he understands Neuvillette. Whatever happened to make him abandoned Fontaine, it is likely a story Wriothesley can empathize with. Not all authority tastes good, not all of it is easy. Judging an entire nation all alone for generations sounds exhausting. Wriothesley is already exhausted just from trying to control himself. No, what this feeling in his chest is, it isn’t betrayal or distrust toward Neuvillette, it’s pity.

Pity with a name like that sounds mean, sounds condescending and it can be, but this pity Wriothesley feels comes with a desire to hold Neuvillette’s sadness in his own hands and chase it away. Wriothesley understands Neuvillette is capable of continuing alone but he doesn’t have to. Wriothesley doesn’t want him too, because he selfishly loves him, and wants his attention to remain.

So he gives the command knowing it is a gentle suggestion, “Come here.” He says with a voice that is achingly tender.

Neuvillette’s eyes go wide, his silver lashes casting across his face as the hue of his inhuman eyes shift with color. His expression morphs from surprise to barely held restraint as the edge of his canine presses into his lip to keep it from trembling. All at once, Neuvillette takes his heel to the floor and does as bidden, he consumes the distance between them with a powerful stride and at the behest of Wriothesley’s open palm, he fits himself into the touch.

Wriothesley pulls him close, stuffs Neuvillette’s face into his neck and chases his other hand to the back of his head. Like that he holds him and his bleeding heart mends.

“Good.” Wriothesley breathes, close to choking on his own emotions, “It’s okay now, we’re lovers remember?”

Neuvillette’s breath hitches, his lips brushing against Wriothesley’s pulse point at the motion. Slowly, Neuvillette settles and the puff of his breath smoothes across Wriothesley’s skin.

“That’s right,” Neuvillette agrees, “I much prefer that presumption.”

Something like thrill settles into Wriothesley’s bones and for a long moment, he holds Neuvillette like it is his only responsibility. What glorious purpose.

This time the door remains and that familiar funny feeling passes through Wriothesley’s body as he steps through. His lashes peel back to faces of court officials and—

“Loretta?” Wriothesley questions.

“Your Grace!” The Esper bounds over with barely retained excitement. “You did it?” She blinks, seemingly stunned before quickly changing tune, “You did it!” She says instead, sounding pleased and proud.

Wriothesley raises a brow, “What you thought you’d take the glory?”

She jerks her head, “What?” Her voice pitches, “No, no way, I’m just backup!” She assures.

Wriothesley shakes his chin before passing a hand to her shoulder, “I’m kidding with you.”

She melts, “Oh thank archons.”

Neuvillette makes a noise by Wriothesley’s side, sounding like disapproval but Wriothesley can’t imagine what for. Before Wriothesley can think anything of it, a researcher comes over.

“The Palais wants a report, Your Grace.” He says.

Neuvillette takes a step, splitting the distance between the researcher and Wriothesley.

“I will handle it.” Neuvillette declares. “For now however my priority is seeing that the Duke receives proper treatment.”

The researcher blinks, but he recovers quickly, “Right! Of course! Should I prep the infirmary?”

“No need,” Neuvillette says, taking Wriothesley by the wrist, “he will be recovering at my townhome.”

Loretta blinks, “Ah, right, wait—pardon?”

Neuvillette doesn’t miss a beat, “You’re pardoned, now if you’ll excuse us.”

Wriothesley fights very hard to retain his grin but he submits entirely to Neuvillette’s hand guiding him through the court. No one else tries to interrupt the Chief Guide as they leave the city, and Wriothesley keeps his thoughts to himself til they reach Neuvillette’s townhome. Entering the door he feels his exhaustion crest over his shoulders. Neuvillette leads him to the couch with wordless gesture, setting him there with an empty cup that fills on its own.

Huh. So Neuvillette also has Esper abilities. Interesting.

“Drink,” Neuvillette insists, “you cannot persist without water past 72 hours.”

Wriothesley drinks easily, feels happy to do it, and that smile Neuvillette gives him is only half the reason.

As Wriothesley finishes his cup, it refills and Neuvillette takes his hands to Wriothesley’s chest, making deft work of his kevlar and straps. He peels back Wriothesley’s shirt, removing it from the black blood mottling his skin. He winces at the texture and sight.

“Your couch.” Wriothesley worries.

Neuvillette slants him a look, “Not a concern.” He says.

Wriothesley raises a brow but Neuvillette returns to his task, ignoring it completely. That’s cute, Wriothesley thinks, instead of feeling offended. Then he hisses as Neuvillette’s knuckles brush his shoulder. Yeah that still hurts.

Neuvillette brushes his hand against it again. This time the only thing Wriothesley feels is the presence of his guiding. The surplus of energy begs his body to recover quicker, nearly instant. That’s, not something normal guides can do.

Wriothesley wants to ask, feels endlessly curious about anything regarding Neuvillette, but he fears losing Neuvillette’s gentle hands on him. He acknowledges that he goes perhaps a little submissive around Neuvillette, driven by the desire to appeal to him, but he can’t find a reason not to at the moment, not when Neuvillette’s touch feels like a reward for keeping the momentary peace.

Wriothesley sits there, his shirt a distant memory, with Neuvillette’s hands taking from him his shallow injuries and leaving his skin lightly marred by new scar. It’s not magic that Neuvillette is using so it’s only expected. Wriothesley doesn’t mind it, not when it feels like Neuvillette’s the one marking him. Selfishly stupid and indulgent thought but one he likes all the same.

“How are your knees?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley recognizes the way he’s avoiding his eyes.

“They’re fine, they’ll heal.”

“I can—“

“Neuvillette.” Wriothesley interjects, feeling a little rejected at the way he won’t look at him.

Neuvillette’s lashes rise slowly, “Wriothesley.” He says back.

Wriothesley spies the baton. Neuvillette is submitting. Wriothesley swallows.

“What do you want to tell me?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide. His lips part, like he may respond to that, but then they close like he’s considering Wriothesley’s words. His expression shifts, falls from reticent to something vulnerable. Slowly, he tries again.

“Truthfully,” Neuvillette begins, “when I first learned of you I felt guilty. I had ruined your life and had never even met you.”

That admission sits in the lingering silence like its weight might determine its truth. Wriothesley rebukes that sentiment.

“Hell,” Wriothesley sighs, “You’re a victim Neuvillette, just as I am.” He shrugs, “Besides, my life was ruined before I became an Esper.” Wriothesley straightens as he tells him, “It’s not your fault that the forces above decided to threaten you.”

The guilt on Neuvillette’s face remains but it ripples like Wriothesley’s words have an effect. What a thing that is.

“And yet I felt like I was responsible. Perhaps that can explain some of my behavior toward you.” Neuvillette admits. Wriothesley feels his chest constrict. “But it does not explain the rest.” He says slowly, his eyes shifting between Wriothesley’s lashes, “The way I hungered for you and only ever felt nourishment at the sight of you.” Wriothesley’s heart kicks, “The way I wondered what was on your mind when you were silent. The way I wished to have authority over you when you went still. I have never felt these effects before you, so you’ll have to forgive me for not realizing what they mean.”

“Monsieur—Neuvillette,” Wriothesley breathes, “Are you—is this—?”

“Yes,” Neuvillette’s chin dips, “I am trying to express how I feel for you.”

“And you?” Wriothesley begs.

Neuvillette answers, “Very much.”

Wriothesley’s heart has wings, it is fluttering up his throat and choking him.

“I—“ Wriothesley’s voice breaks, “Me too.”

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide, then he smiles, achingly tender and endearingly soft.

“Yes,” he says, “and for that I am glad.” 

Wriothesley, for a long moment, feels like that changes everything, and yet, at the same time, it changes absolutely nothing. Neuvillette and Wriothesley persist to be who they are, in this gentle proximity that they share, and Wriothesley wonders if maybe this is just what happens when two people love each other, the world continues to spin. 

That thought resonates with him, registers as something important, like clarity and something else he’s always wished for, peace maybe, independence in his emotions possibly, reciprocity definitely. 

Like that, they fall back into gentle routine and Wriothesley lets Neuvillette tend to his knees.

As the sun gives way to the moon, Wriothesley finishes with his shower in Neuvillette’s bathroom. When he exits the room, he spies Neuvillette sitting on the edge of his bed with his legs turned to the door and a gentle expression on his face.

“You waiting for me?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette nods silently. Wriothesley’s heart skips as the world narrows to this single sight.

Wriothesley steps forward.

“Can I?” He asks, dipping his head in subtle invitation.

Neuvillette’s answer is in the weight of his gentle palm pulling Wriothesley down to meet the his kiss. Wriothesley takes a long and deep breath, releasing it at the touch of Neuvillette’s tongue with a moan.

Neuvillette pulls back briefly with a question of his own.

“May I?” Neuvillette begs against Wriothesley’s lips.

“Yes.” Wriothesley says, pressing back down for another kiss.

The ocean presses down on Wriothesley’s shoulders but it is nothing but a thrum singing through his veins. He moans at the touch of it. He hears a perfect mirror of that noise pulled from Neuvillette’s own lips. That sparks in him his curiosity.

“How does it register for you?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette’s lashes lift, “Are you curious?” His breath brushes across Wriothesley’s face.

Wriothesley has only one answer to that question, “Endlessly.”

Neuvillette’s lips pull back into a smile.

“It is like I am stripped bare and taking you into me.” He reveals, “You are the only one to have seen me in my entirety and not turn away.”

“I was intimidated for a bit.” Wriothesley admits, feeling ashamed.

“Certainly,” Neuvillette agrees, “but that was not me you were seeing was it?“

He’s right, he couldn’t see Neuvillette when he was so busy anticipating pain.

Wriothesley blinks, “You’re right.”

“Thank you for saying so.” Neuvillette’s grin stretches, like those words satisfy him.

Wriothesley wants to do it again, do nothing but satisfy him, endlessly. It seems Neuvillette might be amenable to that, he thinks, at the press of Neuvillette’s arousal growing firmer against Wriothesley’s stomach.

Wriothesley smiles, looking down his lashes, “May I help you Neuvillette? Like lovers do.”

Neuvillette’s lashes stutter.

Slowly, he exhales, “Yes.”

They undress each other in between soft kisses and sweet sighs. As Wriothesley pushes Neuvillette back into his bed, he strokes him, mapping the ridges of his cock with his palm. That pulls the most beautiful sound to press against the shell of Wriothesley’s ear. The proof of Neuvillette’s pleasure sends hot liquid energy down Wriothesley’s spine, leaving his edges feeling sensitive.

Every touch he delivers to Neuvillette he gets back with gentle reward.

Neuvillette’s voice is a physical caress, his lips a gift as he mouths at Wriothesley through his pleasure. Wriothesley takes his thumb beneath the head of Neuvillette’s cock and smears his precum til slick. At the touch, Neuvillette’s hips stutter against his palm. Wriothesley holds him firm with his body and delivers to him the pleasure he tries to take.

“I see you,” Wriothesley breathes between kisses.

Neuvillette, growing passionate, begs for more, and Wriothesley a gentle servant, delivers. His wrist twists, tempo speeding as he strokes Neuvillette closer and closer to the edge of that sweet precipice. He’s close, Wriothesley can tell with the way his kiss grows distracted and submissive. Wriothesley takes over gently, sipping from Neuvillette his attention and giving him what he needs.

“You can do it.” Wriothesley encourages, pressing his lips to Neuvillette’s ear. He relishes in the whine that earns him, “You’re so close, yeah?” Wriothesley whispers, voice dropping an octave with desire, “Come on, for me?”

Neuvillette throws his head back, his body tensing into one long sinuous and arching line as his hips stutter and the sound of Wriothesley’s name spills from his lips. Oh, he is never going to forget the sound of that.

Wriothesley holds Neuvillette as he strokes him through his orgasm, milking from him the energy that sparks his skin like a live wire. Wriothesley expects Neuvillette to sink into the sheets and grow soft with sedation. He doesn’t expect to get pressed to his back by Neuvillette’s hand and climbed like a tree.

The moon curls around Neuvillette like a halo, ringing the edges of his skin white. His hair spills around his shoulders, casting a curtain as he leans down and pulls a kiss from Wriothesley’s mouth. That tongue licks into him, searching and tasting him and pulling from him sound and desire. Wriothesley doesn’t expect the gentle attention nor the switch but he feels it.

Neuvillette is in control now. Wriothesley groans at the realization. Fuck but that’s hot.

Neuvillette’s lips pull from Wriothesley’s mouth, “I want more,” he whispers, and Wriothesley feels proud to hear this declaration from the reticent and bashful Neuvillette, “I want what we did last night, I want you.” He spills, growing desperate and insecure both, “Have me.” Neuvillette begs.

“Gladly.” Wriothesley presses into Neuvillette’s mouth before he takes over, just as Neuvillette wishes.

This, Wriothesley thinks as he chases Neuvillette onto his back, is fun, mentally stimulating and thrilling both. This back and forth feels like conversation. It makes this act that is usually a carnal pursuit, feel playful, meaningful. It’s got to be the reciprocity, Wriothesley thinks, before he goes down on Neuvillette.

His reward is so gentle, those hands that card through his hair and hold him. Fuck but Wriothesley wants the instruction, wants to know how to make Neuvillette feel good, feel satisfied.

Wriothesley pulls off Neuvillette’s cock just to give him the permission, “Use me, teach me, whatever you want.” Before he’s putting his mouth back where it belongs.

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette moans as Wriothesley takes him til he’s full.

That hand is gentle, so impossibly gentle yet firm and present. He keeps Wriothesley at the base long enough for him to remember that he has to breathe through his nose and then Neuvillette is teaching him how to move, gently rubbing his thumb across Wriothesley’s cheek. Wriothesley feels the way Neuvillette feels himself through his cheek and that is such an erotic motion that he can’t help but moan. The vibration pulls a gusty little sound from Neuvillette above.

He loses time between Neuvillette’s legs, perfectly content in his gentle service, feeling present and encouraged by Neuvillette’s participation. He could do this forever he thinks and then Neuvillette is pulling him back like he might just spill over into Wriothesley’s mouth. He wants that, oh how he wants that, but he remembers what Neuvillette wants and that makes him feel obedient.

He presses suckling kisses into Neuvillette’s thigh before he climbs his body, pressing a few more to the corners of his hips and the dips in the planes of his muscles, and then he’s leaning over and reaching for the oil. Neuvillette runs his palm up Wriothesley’s side, tracing the ladder of his ribs as he returns. His eyes are watching him, gentle lashes pulling up at the sight of Wriothesley’s attention. His expression is beautiful, flushed and pliant and pleased, yet full of a burgeoning anticipation.

Wriothesley feels it too, communicates that with a gentle roll of his hips into Neuvillette. That makes Neuvillette’s expression contort. His brows pull, and his lips part as their cocks brush and Wriothesley realizes he can feel Neuvillette’s heart beat down there.

Huh. That’s hot.

“Hey you.” Wriothesley greets, feeling like a grinning fool.

Neuvillette’s lips pull, gentle smile making him unbelievably handsome, “Hello.”

And Wriothesley realizes how much he likes this, this simple conversation between him and Neuvillette. It feels like what he’s been wishing for his entire life. Connection. And it feels good. Huh.

“Wriothesley?” Neuvillette presses a hand to Wriothesley’s cheek, wiping his thumb beneath his lashes, Wriothesley’s blinks. “There you are.” Neuvillette breathes, that smile lifting.

“I’m here.” Wriothesley assures, then shakes his head, “sorry,” he admits, feeling particularly expressive and open to his own vulnerability, “I was just, considering you.”

Neuvillette’s lashes flutter, like those words affect him. His voice comes out sounding full, and a little breathless, “My,” he chuckles, “how sweet.”

And that, kicks Wriothesley’s heart into his throat.

“Yeah?” His voice cracks.

Neuvillette, noticing, seeing him, grows assuring, “Yes.” He presses to Wriothesley’s lips with a gentle hum, “The sweetest.”

And that’s so close to what Wriothesley has been calling Neuvillette that he feels recognized and discovered and perhaps stripped to his core. That pulls from him an impossibly desperate and whining sound, ons that Neuvillette likes, he realizes, as Neuvillette curls his arms around him and holds him.

Wriothesley gets lost there, in Neuvillette’s arms, in his kisses, he almost forgets about what he’s meant to do next but Neuvillette doesn’t push him away, doesn’t beg of him to take pace, he simply lingers in the affection they breed and that feels like patience and patience tastes like love.

Neuvillette loves him, Wriothesley perceives, and this perception he believes.

Wriothesley parts from Neuvillette with a sound, taking his hands down Neuvillette’s body and lifting his legs.

“Like this, yeah?” Wriothesley breathes over Neuvillette’s lips as he takes a slick finger to his entrance.

“Yes.” Neuvillette exhales, his body tensing at the intrusion only to go limp at the touch of Wriothesley’s lips.

Wriothesley sips a kiss from him, slow and pulling like the finger he enters into Neuvillette’s body and buries to his knuckle. He massages Neuvillette from the inside, feeling Neuvillette’s thighs tense and twist at the pressure, his hands searching for purchase across Wriothesley’s chest.

Wriothesley hums, guiding Neuvillette’s hands up his chest and around his shoulders, “Here.” He instructs, “hold tight yeah?” He can’t hold back his grin, not when Neuvillette is going starry eyed so quickly beneath his attention.

Neuvillette nods his head, a small and adorable motion before he sinks his hands into Wriothesley’s hair and moans at a particular press.

“Oh, yeah.” Wriothesley kisses the long naked line of Neuvillette’s neck as he arches into that spot, “There you are.” Wriothesley smiles.

Neuvillette whines as Wriothesley massages his prostate and in the tense line he slips in a second. Neuvillette’s legs skirt wider as his hips stutter into the motion. Wriothesley loves this, this witness of Neuvillette’s participation. It’s beautiful, it’s intimate, it’s an honor.

Neuvillette is a man of control, a paragon of duty that lies outside of himself but this sight, this is not a Neuvillette in control, this is a Neuvillette in surrender. His body expresses itself selfishly for no one’s reflection but his own pleasure and that’s beautiful. That’s rare. That’s Wriothesley’s effect on Neuvillette on display.

What glorious purpose.

At the third finger Neuvillette is keening and then he’s begging.

“Wriothesley,” he whines, pulling Wriothesley’s attention from Neuvillette’s necklace of kiss marks to his eyes, “Please, have me.” He begs.

Wriothesley nearly bites his tongue, “Okay,” he surrenders, pressing a kiss to Neuvillette’s lips as they pull for him, then he straightens and removes his fingers from Neuvillette.

Neuvillette’s legs shiver at the loss. Wriothesley makes quick work, slicking himself up to enter. At the press of his head to Neuvillette’s entrance, he feels Neuvillette’s encouragement beg of him at his hips. Wriothesley slides in, slow and steady through the tension pooling in his waist, burying himself up to the root. They groan in sonorous concert at the sensation.

Wriothesley presses gratitude to Neuvillette’s skin as he crowds his body, leaning up to nuzzle against his cheek.

“I can feel you.” Neuvillette breathes, voice full of awe.

Wriothesley groans, feeling the way that sparks the tension in his hips. They stutter into Neuvillette’s heat, tempting Wriothesley cruelly.

Neuvillette sighs a pleasant sound as he continues, “I’m so,” he gasps as Wriothesley adjusts his arm and slants closer, “full.” Neuvillette moans.

“Fuck,” Wriothesley says, “look at you.”

Neuvillette looks up at Wriothesley through his lashes, “I already am.”

Wriothesley doesn’t come right there, no he has more control than that but fuck if Neuvillette isn’t dangerous. Taking that as a sign, a cue, an anything to make Neuvillette satisfied before Wriothesley finishes himself.

He pulls out just enough to sink back in with a target. Neuvillette groans as Wriothesley bullies him into his bed with each thrust, a persistent press against his sweet spot building his pressure and making it sweeter. Their breathes grow in concert with their pleasure as they grip each other tight, hips moving in undulating and concentrated rhythm.

Sweat beads as the pressure builds. Not even the pull of Wriothesley’s cock against Neuvillette’s rim begs relief, no, nothing but satisfaction will feed this ache they share. Wriothesley does his best, chest full of brilliant affectionate ambition, as he thrusts Neuvillette to the edge of completion.

Neuvillette’s thighs tremble, his entire body quivering as Wriothesley nuzzles against his face and fucks him through his orgasm. Neuvillette’s lips part as proof of his release spills from his chest and that sends Wriothesley tumbling over his own edge. He spills into Neuvillette, presses that proof of pleasure into his body before the energy seeps from him.

He is warm, tremendously warm and pliant as he takes himself to Neuvillette’s side. He feels the way Neuvillette turns and grips him, pulling him into his arms and holding him as he presses kisses to crown of his hair. Neuvillette’s chest hums, a vibration that sounds pleased. Wriothesley feels it pulse through his chest like a heartbeat. Their rhythm’s pulse in sync.

Wriothesley lifts his chin, lips parting in subtle invitation. Neuvillette meets him with a smiling kiss. Wriothesley brings his hand to Neuvillette’s face, sinking into the kiss with a contented little sound. His thumbs pull at the skin around Neuvillette’s eyes, rubbing absentminded motion just to feel him.

Neuvillette parts from his mouth with a slow pull, gently chuckling at the way Wriothesley presses forward for another. Neuvillette gives him one more, a sweet press that sips satisfaction from Wriothesley.

How indulgent, Wriothesley thinks, as he settles back to watch Neuvillette’s face, satisfied with one final kiss despite how he longs to kiss for hours more. That gentle indulgence is enough to leave him feeling obedient.

For a long moment, all they do is watch each other. Gentle lashes shifting across a shared expression. Their lips lift as the stare grows, as their silent conversation continues and they chew on the words of a shared perception.

Feeling playful, Wriothesley imparts, “This is far beyond presumption.” Wriothesley, feeling sincere and taken by his affection, tells Neuvillette, certain and assure, “I would allow you more than you know, Neuvillette. Not a conceivable thing would be too much.” Neuvillette’s lashes stutter but Wriothesley only continues with the words he has kept pressed behind his teeth, “If I can’t give it to you,” he promises, “I would strive to become the person who can.”

Neuvillette’s reaction is not subtle nor understated. It is hard to misunderstand too, but he doesn’t express himself with words that’s for sure. No, Wriothesley thinks, accepting the weight of Neuvillette’s passionate kiss, this kind of communication needs nothing so secondary. This is a behavior Wriothesley can perceive well enough.

They match, he thinks, a little giddy at the proof. Finally, satisfaction at last.