Work Text:
Neuvillette desperately loosens his cravat, practically gasping for air despite the cool breeze wafting into the room through his open window.
Hot. He’s hot.
What an inexplicable reaction. Nothing in the room is at a temperature that is likely to lead to such a flushed state on his part.
The only other explanation, then, is that it has to do with his recent actions.
And through this line of reasoning, Neuvillette leads himself to the conclusion that he had been dancing around, futilely trying to avoid or delay acknowledging the truth.
It’s Wriothesley. The man has somehow managed to fluster Neuvillette.
Neuvillette’s only excuse is that he hadn’t expected it. It’s true. He hadn’t had much of an idea of what to expect of Wriothesley when he first received notice of the Fortress’s transfer in administration. Of course, he knew his gender and approximate age, and he could make an educated guess at physical characteristics based on what it generally took to run a place like the Fortress, but that knowledge did almost nothing to prepare him.
Perhaps part of the reason he was caught off guard had to do with the fact that the only ‘Wriothesley’ he was familiar with was the one that lived in his memories, a scrawny fifteen-year-old convicted of a crime that threw Neuvillette’s entire understanding of the word ‘guilty’ into disarray.
Of course, he knew the child would not - could not - stay as such, and through Sigewinne’s eyes anyhow he heard of Wriothesley’s growth into the kind of man who could reign undefeated over the boxing ring of the underworld.
However, there is an old saying. “You will never understand the truth of something until you see it for yourself.”
Muscles for days . Biceps that bulge in his dress shirt, thighs that could crush a watermelon, flat stomach and - ahem - not-so-flat chest, and those pants flatter his … figure in ways that should have been illegal lest they send Fontaine into a drought brought on by spontaneous dry-mouth, or combustion, or really anything hot.
Neuvillette doesn’t know what to do with these feelings. It’s so rare that he feels physical attraction to anyone, let alone a mortal , that he is at a complete loss at how to proceed. He puts his hands in his lap. Then on his desk. Then he reaches to the bottom half of his hair, fidgeting with his immaculately (well, the Melusines tried) bow.
The man himself was just as impressive as he’s been described to be. He had walked into Neuvillette’s office with the kind of cocksure grin that melts less sturdy hearts, and the words that flowed from his lips just after only exacerbated the sensation.
Sensation.
“Ah, you must be Monsieur Neuvillette. Long time no see.” A flash of a little smirk and Neuvillette’s carefully curated list of pleasantries went out the window. Foolish of him. How foolish.
“I don’t believe I’ve… ah. You mean?”
“Yeah, the trial. Gotta say, you looked great staring down at me from that Judge’s box high up there. The coat really suits you.”
Neuvillette had not worn any other coat in more than five hundred years. He was well aware of how it accentuated - even flattered - his figure.
Yet, he acted like a fool. “Ah. Thank you.” Heat flooded to his face, a reaction that transformed Wriothesley’s smirk into a smile.
“Ah, don’t mind me. I was just teasing you a little bit. People can be… scared of me at times, so I like to ‘break the ice’ a little bit, so to speak.”
Neuvillette startled, mildly taken aback. “I am not scared of you.”
Then it was Wriothesley’s turn to blush a little. “Yeah. Of course. Chief Justice and all that. You could probably squish me into the ground faster than I could beg for mercy.”
… Beg for mercy?
Neuvillette shook his head a few times rapidly to get those thoughts out of his head. He decided that it would be prudent to change the subject.
“I don’t believe that we have formally met. I am Neuvillette.” A well-placed hand to shake and this would all be forgotten (or so he believed).
Wriothesley looked at the offered hand, a little confused. “Wriothesley,” he responded, clasping Neuvillette’s hand in a firm shake.
“Enough of the small talk - let us discuss business. I hear you have been recently promoted to Administrator status at the Fortress of Meropide?”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a promotion…”
As Neuvillette led Wriothesley to a seat near his desk, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering in a way it so rarely does. His trial? Wriothesley remembered him well enough to comment on the coat he was wearing?
Of course he remembers , Neuvillette chastises himself. It was quite possibly the most pivotal moment of his life. Of course he remembers every detail.
Neuvillette, on the other hand. For him, it was simply one trial of many.
Although, that wasn't exactly true, was it? That trial in particular had haunted him for weeks . The sheer guilt at not noticing the child trafficking ring right under his nose had been enough to keep him up at night.
Not to mention the sentence he had to give the poor kid.
Neuvillette had to remind himself that the ‘poor kid’ was right in front of him, talking, and likely deserved to have him listen to at least some of the information he had prepped.
Unfortunately, as soon as he turned his attention back towards Wriothesley, he got distracted by another thing entirely.
His chest. Firm, and shapely, barely held in by his flimsy vest, tie pulled down so a peek of body hair-
“See something you like?”
Neuvillette’s face flamed .
And he thought, would it be so bad to just go for it? To mention his attraction to the man, to see where this newfound (working) relationship would go?
What a ridiculous prospect.
“I’m not sure exactly what you’re referring to. Shall we continue with the official paperwork?"
And once they had finalized everything, Wriothesley had left, citing ‘Fortress duties’ which made sense given he was restructuring the entire operation, but the problem now, a whole two hours later, is that Neuvillette is hot and he knows exactly what the problem is.
Not just physically hot, either. Emotionally hot.
Neuvillette barely knows the man, but after the flirting and the blushing and one of the smoothest meetings he’s had in centuries, there’s hope of a connection he just can’t shake.
The vision taunts him. It’s as if the heavens have slapped a sign on him, just to make a point to Neuvillette that this human is not his to keep. Is not his, period.
It’s just another reminder of his mortality - that, one day, Neuvillette will have to let him go.
How did he fall so hard, so fast? Mortal or not, there is some magic in Wriothesley’s veins. Perhaps Focalors enchanted him, intending him to be the stand-in archon. Perhaps that’s why he’s so alluring.
After their first meeting, Wriothesley had never really tried to flirt again. Neuvillette could say that he wasn’t disappointed, but that would make him a liar.
(Perhaps he has stopped because he is uninterested. Perhaps he is disgusted. Neuvillette doesn’t blame him. The ears, eyes and tongue of a dragon. Why would a human ever?)
Yet, working relationships cannot be sacrificed for something as simple as human feelings. No, Neuvillette will lock all of this somewhere deep inside himself, will maintain his impartiality and stoic nature. There is no need for anything more.
He has never failed at carrying out a task he set for himself in the past. There’s really no reason to start now.
… At least he can say with confidence that the ‘Duke’ title was not a result of favoritism, or nepotism, or any of those tricky relationships that the gossip columns seem determined to insinuate.
“It’s to be expected,” Wriothesley had said. “I’m a former criminal, one who barely comes out to see the sun, let alone give interviews. You, on the other hand, might be the most eligible bachelor in Fontaine. Of course they aren’t gonna like this.”
Neuvillette fails to see what his marital status has to do with any of this, but he trusts Wriothesley. It’s of little consequence as it is. The more reputable newspaper columns, as well as any Fontainian who has significantly interacted with the Chief Justice, know that Neuvillette would never assign someone based on his emotions.
No, the Duke title is all earned.
Which is a point that is only bolstered when Wriothesley declines the invitation to a party in his honor. Clearly, the title matters little to him, as Neuvillette expected.
The assignment was simply a matter of Neuvillette wanting to do something . To thank him for his service. To reward him for a battle of life hard fought. To show everyone that he is more than his past.
Neuvillette truly does not understand why he is so invested in Wriothesley’s matters. In his own words, “I’m a big boy, Chief. Although I appreciate the concern, I can handle my own haters.”
It’s simply a… possessive instinct.
“I see you have found something you wish to do at last.”
Yes, and at the expense of the mark of an Archon. The Tsaritsa . Seemingly cold and hardened on the outside, yet soft (but never weak) at the heart. Just like someone he knows.
But then Wriothesley smiles at him, and all is forgotten.
(There is the distinct impression that he is hiding something, although Neuvillette is too smitten to care, not that he’d admit such to himself.)
All the emotional confusion aside, Wriothesley and Neuvillette work incredibly well together.
Wriothesley plans, schemes, bounces his ideas off Neuvillette. Neuvillette judges, reasons, refines his moral compass with Wriothesley as a never-failing guide, always pointing north and reliable as the sun.
Even the few murmurs about the Duke appointment died down quickly when people saw the changes Wriothesley had brought to the Fortress. Neuvillette makes it a point to have everything he does displayed and presented as often as possible - which is really not that often, but it at least causes people to notice.
Wriothesley does not take anything seriously. He jokes about jumping into the Primordial Sea, for Celestia’s sake. However, when it comes to work, it’s all down to business, no dilly-dallying around. His separation of roles is admirable, and something Neuvillette struggles to replicate.
Wriothesley’s shared his tips before. “All you have to do is think about what you value. During work time, you want to be productive, get stuff done, yeah? During break time, though, you want to rest and relax to be your best for everything else. You want to decompress, and indulge, and do all the things you can’t do during work. And for me, that’s letting loose and making jokes. For you, it might be different. Find that thing.”
The only thing Neuvillette wants to do is Wriothesley.
Which is a shameful thought, but he’s done denying the veracity of his feelings. It’s only brought him turmoil.
(Of course he only finally admits his feelings to himself when he’s following Wriothesley’s advice.)
Frequently, Neuvillette thinks back on his business dealings with Wriothesley. When he does so today, he instead recalls a somewhat different interaction, one that had happened just last week.
Their monthly ‘seal check’ on the Primordial Sea sluice gate had happened to fall on a holiday, so Wriothesley had requested that Neuvillette come earlier than usual so that he could give all the guards and escorts responsible for the visit a full holiday.
Or so Neuvillette thought. Turns out he was giving not only them, but himself , a full holiday.
“Are you not concerned about the Fortress in your absence, especially on a non-work day for everyone involved? Anything may happen.”
Wriothesley sighed. “Monsieur, if you feel like you can’t leave your work alone for one day without things going irreversibly, that’s a shitty system that needs to be fixed because it just falls apart when one piece is removed. The Fortress is similar. Like, say… what happens if I get sick? There are lots of safeguards in place, don’t worry.”
Neuvillette supposed that was true. “It’s not so much a matter of can’t leave my work alone, it’s more that I feel it’s my duty. As- uh- ahem- I do not need as much rest as the normal- average human. This holiday is not necessarily beneficial to me.”
Wriothesley laughed at that. “Yeah, sure, Monsieur. Workaholic,” he teased, smiling softly. “It’s about time you took a break too.”
They stood in silence for a few seconds, Wriothesley deep in thought. To Neuvillette’s deep surprise, a slight blush started to bloom over Wriothesley’s face.
“Say, Chief. I have an idea. Tell me if I’m completely off the mark here, alright? But what do you say to a day out tomorrow, just you and me? I’ll show you some of the spots Fontainians frequent, we can get some great meals and tea, and I hear there’s a great night market happening tomorrow too.”
Lunch and dinner? Night market?
When Neuvillette didn’t respond, Wriothesley got visibly more flustered. “Uh- If you hate that idea, we can do something different too. We can just sit around and drink water. We could even do paperwork-”
Warmth suffused Neuvillette’s chest, and he couldn’t stop the soft smile that spread across his face if he tried.
“Wriothesley."
“...yes?”
“I think the idea is splendid. Thank you.”
“I- yeah, of course. I think the-” Wriothesley rambled about something or other and was promptly shocked into silence when Neuvillette took his hand and squeezed it.
A scarlet red blush spread across his face, and suddenly they were both staring at each other and blushing and neither knew quite what to do with themselves.
“We should go check on the gate,” Wriothesley blurted out quickly, breaking the moment.
Neuvillette followed him obediently as he scrambled for the elevator, smile straining his facial muscles more than it had in the past century alone.
Anything for you.
When did ‘business’ become ‘personal’? Neuvillette doesn’t know.
Was it when Wriothesley asked him out on something that is, by every measure, a date? Or was it the hours they spent working together that transformed a mental connection into a real one?
Or was it that very first day, when the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide had shown up at his office, and Neuvillette had seen, in his mind’s eye, that little boy, convicted of a crime so severe, grow into a man who by all means should have his sentence extended for stealing Neuvillette’s heart.
He fidgets with the side of his coat in a manner entirely uncharacteristic, glancing from left to right and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Wriothesley is late. Admittedly, only by about three minutes, but seeing that clock tick past their start date (date?) of 10am had thrown every insecurity into sharp relief.
Why would Wriothesley, so charming and vivacious and virile , spend time with an old washed-up man like him? What will he get out of it? What could Neuvillette possibly provide besides an eclectic passion for water and a complete lack of understanding of human emotion?
‘Wriothesley suggested this first,’ Neuvillette reminds himself, as he’s had to do a lot these days. ‘He wants to be here.’
“You’re here.”
Wriothesley .
Clad in a black three-piece suit, so different to the prison-focused outfit he always wears. Hair controlled but not quite slicked back, tie nearly pulled up to his throat but not quite there yet, trousers cut to somehow accentuate his thighs and shiny black dress shoes so unlike his typical boots.
Neuvillette’s mind melts for a solid ten seconds.
He’s snapped back into reality by what Wriothesley is saying. “-you look… nice.”
Empty words, likely, given Neuvillette wasn’t wearing anything all that different from his typical appearance. He had put his hair into a loose braid to keep it out of his way, and he had styled his coat so that slivers of his vest and dress shirt were showing. Truly, though, that was all he had done.
But then he sees the blush on Wriothesley’s face, and he can’t help but think that maybe we’re both idiots.
“Thank you, Wriothesley.” A quick loop of his arm through Wriothesley’s. “Let us proceed.”
They stop at a cafe for breakfast, and before Neuvillette can do anything Wriothesley is ushering him into a seat at a charming corner table for two, going up to the counter and placing their order. Neuvillette is angled such that he can’t tell what Wriothesley is saying, but when the man comes back, he’s holding two mugs.
A smile. “Your water, Monsieur.”
Up to that point, Neuvillette didn’t really know what to expect. Would he be like the numerous others who, when he requested water, grabbed him a starter glass that typically went with meals and insisted on him consuming something else?
No, of course not. His Wriothesley knows him so well.
Neuvillette sips at his water as they make conversation. Not small talk - no, never small talk.
They discuss every topic under the sun. Sigewinne. The nature of the separation of religion and state. What Fontaine had been like before Wriothesley came around. The chaos inmates have been getting up to recently. And, yes, of course, the weather.
Neuvillette’s feeling quite adventurous today. He reaches for Wriothesley’s cup, picking it up and startling him.
“What-”
Neuvillette slowly, carefully brings the cup up to his face. The smell wafting up at him is Earl Grey, with hints of cream and sugar. As expected.
He brings it to his lips and takes a small sip.
“It is… passable.” As much as he wishes he could give a more laudatory rating (as much as he wants to share Wriothesley’s interests and his life), it seems tea (and any other beverage, really) is simply not his forte.
Wriothesley nods a little, staring at the place where Neuvillette had placed his lips on his cup. And they’re both full-grown, mature men, yet the thought of an indirect kiss tugs at Neuvillette’s mind.
Then Wriothesley laughs, and the moment is shattered.
Wriothesley takes him to a museum they call “Oddballs,” full of trinkets and mementoes of random, improbable occurrences in Fontaine. One they see is called the “Subauqa,” but Neuvillette doesn’t fully understand the name until Wriothesley explains the story to him.
“When they were manufacturing the Aquabuses, there was apparently a mistake in how one of the machines was calibrated. Anyway, god knows what happened, but they somehow managed to attach the top of the boat to the bottom of the ship. I didn’t even think that was possible. Like, how do you manage to turn the boat so much that the top gets bolted onto the complete wrong side?”
Neuvillette looks at Wriothesley. “I remember this day.”
Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, then falls silent.
“If I am not mistaken, it was a kind of… prank on the part of the Aquabus laborers. They caused this to happen intentionally, both as a symbol in their campaign for higher wager for workers but also as a little entertainment for the Fontainian populace. It was about - ah, I’d say about three hundred years ago.”
Wriothesley stares at him, and then sighs. Unexpectedly, he wears an almost-somber expression. “Sometimes I forget how old you are. You must have wisdom and ideas that far surpass my own.”
“That is not necessarily the case,” Neuvillette answers. “Dr- my species age differently from humans. As you can see, my form has physically stagnated. My mental capacity, while perhaps somewhat larger than a human’s, is also not infinite, and it grows quite slowly over the years as I acquire new knowledge and indulge in new experiences.”
New experiences . Yes, Neuvillette has a few things in particular he’d like to experience with Wriothesley.
He promptly tosses that thought and finishes his original statement. “In truth, wisdom does not come from collecting knowledge as much as it comes from understanding , no? And in that quest, in the quest of understanding the people who reside in my land, I am forever hunting for the next piece of the puzzle.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job at understanding,” Wriothesley mumbles.
“Thank you, Wriothesley.”
They tour the museum and look at the artifacts, Neuvillette pulling out an unexpected story every two or three exhibits. At least, now, Wriothesley looks as if he’s enjoying the primary source information sharing.
They buy lunch, head to a park, and simply sprawl out on the grass, eating and watching passersby. They feed a duck that unexpectedly gets aggressive, and Neuvillette has the time of his life watching Wriothesley run from the duck screaming. Then, as evening falls, they just sit, Wriothesley’s arm slung around Neuvillette’s shoulders, and talk and talk .
When the topic of childhood comes up, Wriothesley talks. He doesn’t talk of his ‘parents’ - no, he talks of his siblings. How his older sister Jeanette had helped him get ready for his first-ever date, with a boy named Jean-Paul who he really didn’t have feelings for but didn’t want to disappoint by saying no to when he asked him out. How his little brother, Francois, three years younger than him, clung to his pants and never let go when he had to leave for school.
He says Francois is still alive now, and doing as well as he can with a family of his own. Neuvillette doesn’t ask how he knows.
Eventually, Wriothesley stands up, dusting grass off his backside. “It’s getting pretty cold, so we should probably pack up. Do you still want to go to the night market?”
Neuvillette is tired, very tired. He’s done more in a day than he has in… a very long time.
Yet, at the same time, he doesn’t want this day to end. When will they ever get a chance again? When will Neuvillette be able to simply find Wriothesley, to ask him to spend a day together, and simply do it, no strings or work worries or anything attached?
That’s not true. There are certainly strings attached. The invisible thread that links Neuvillette and Wriothesley is thick and unbreakable, and they both know it.
“Yes, I am quite amenable. Let us head there now.”
Wriothesley smiles, again. It’s soft, and so rare when they’re working or spending time together in an official capacity. When they’re together, though, Wriothesley really lets loose with his facial expressions, and the result is that his face continues to light up in ways Neuvillette’s never seen before, emotionally devastating ways.
This time, Wriothesley loops his arm around Neuvillette’s, and they walk towards the night market.
Wriothesley speaks up after around a minute of silence. “Are you not worried about being recognized by anyone?”
They will be seen. They will certainly be seen. There will be articles, and gossip, and dare he say it fanfiction being written about him and Wriothesley.
He does not care. Why should he care about the articles when they’ll only contain a description of the reality he desperately wants?
Him, with Wriothesley. Their personal relationship. Always.
At the night market, they just wander , stopping at shops that catch their eye. Wriothesley buys himself a new tie embroidered with cartoon sharks. When he makes the purchase, Neuvillette stands at his side, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe Sigewinne’ll stop with the stickers if I’m already decorated,” he answers Neuvillette’s unspoken question.
Neuvillette isn’t allowed to pull out his wallet even once throughout the excursion. Wriothesley insists on paying for everything. When asked, he insists that “chivalry isn’t dead” and “please let me do this for you, Chief. Your presence here, with me, is gift enough.”
Eventually, Neuvillette gives in and has Wriothesley purchase him a very nice flower vase and a set of fine china emblazoned with dragon symbols.
Then, they get to a jewelry stall. Neuvillette is ready to walk past, but Wriothesley stops him.
“Wriothesley?”
“I- uh- I just thought you’d look good in a necklace? We don’t have to stop if you don’t want to, I just-” He falls silent.
“You just what?”
“... Never mind. Let’s go.” He grabs Neuvillette’s hand, pulling him along.
“No, Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says softly. “I am not opposed. I had actually… never considered such a thing. I am, in truth, quite amenable to the idea of wearing jewelry. Especially if it’s chosen by you.” He mumbles that last part softly enough that he doubts Wriothesley caught it.
“O- okay,” Wriothesley mumbles, uncharacteristically shy. “Let’s just- okay, let’s go in and we’ll-”
Neuvillette puts him out of his misery by using their clasped hands to pull him in.
They don’t let go of each other throughout the duration of the (admittedly very short) shopping segue. It seems that Wriothesley had, indeed, imagined Neuvillette wearing jewelry quite frequently, since he comes to a final suggestion quite quickly.
A delicate silver chain, with a blue topaz pendant approximately the size of his fingernail. It’s not anything fancy, but it’s a physical reminder of this time. Of their connection. Of Wriothesley.
They step out of the store after making the purchase, and Wriothesley tugs Neuvillette to the side, opening the box and carefully sliding the necklace out. He unclasps it, delicately removing Neuvillette’s cravat and brushing his braid onto his shoulder with one hand before pulling the necklace around his neck and clasping it.
He doesn’t quite let go, fingers brushing over Neuvillette’s nape even after the pendant is long-fastened. Neuvillette stands still, letting it happen. In the back of his mind, he knows that it’s about time for them to be leaving, that they both have a long day of work coming to catch up on what they missed, but he cannot bring himself to move.
Wriothesley leans in. Closer. Hot breath brushing the expanse of his exposed neck.
“Beautiful.”
He pulls away.
And that is the final straw. With a mighty spin, he grabs Wriothesley by the tie and tugs him in, slotting their lips together.
Stars burst behind Neuvillette’s eyelids as coherent thought leaves him, replaced only by thoughts of soft, slightly chapped, perfect.
When they pull apart, they’re both panting and breathless.
Neuvillette just can’t contain his outburst. “You thought you could just - say something like that and then pull away and leave me here, wanting? No, Wriothesley. From now on, there is no pulling away. There is no leaving.”
Wriothesley laughs, long and low and harder than Neuvillette’s ever seen him. And then, against all odds, Neuvillette is smiling too, and then he’s laughing, and passersby are staring at these two old men laughing their guts out in a random corner next to the jewelry store of the Fontaine Night Market but they don’t care. They don’t care.
The next time Wriothesley comes up to the surface, they spend longer in Neuvillette’s office than they would have liked.
“No, Neuvillette, trust me. The one in Romaritime Harbor is a lot better than the one nearby.”
“Yes, but this one is familiar and consistent. With that cafe, who knows of the quality we’ll get? One day splendid, the next day unpalatable.”
It’s a miracle when they finally decide on where to go for their date. Yes, for them, but mostly for the Gestionnaires and Melusines who were stuck on guard duty outside their door.
Seconds later, the door opens, and they exit, Neuvillette on Wriothesley’s arm. Wriothesley turns and grins cheerfully at the receptionist desk, where Sedene is eyeing them with an incredibly suspicious expression on her face.
“Sedene! Long time no see.”
“It’s been two days, Your Grace.”
“Yes, well. Did you know that I’m dating Neuvillette?”
Sedene sighs. “Why did I take this job?”
Neuvillette only smiles.
Wriothesley passes a group of guards. A little bit louder this time, “Did you know that I’m dating the Iudex?”
They all look at him, entirely unsurprised. It makes sense, given every newspaper worth its salt had run a front-page story about their antics the day after their holiday escapade.
As they step outside, Wriothesley is barely managing to conceal his excitement. He’s bursting with glee in a manner entirely uncharacteristic of him.
“Did you know I’m dating Monsieur Neuvillette?” he yells. Passersby turn to look at him, and birds scatter. It’s grounds for a minor noise complaint, but Neuvillette cannot quite bring himself to care.
And this man, this wonderful duke, only gets louder. “YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! I’M DATING MONSIEUR NEUVILLETTE! THE CHIEF JUSTICE OF FONTAINE IS MY-”
Yes, this is quite nice.
Lover.