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His first mistake was opening his mouth to scream, foolishly thinking that anyone might hear him. The cold, mercilessly dark water burned his lungs as it rushed to fill in all available space. Liquid chased air from within him, like a beast relentlessly hunting a rabbit.
Wriothesley kicked, fighting the cruel embrace of endless water as his chest burned and his eyes stung with tears swallowed by the vastness of the ocean he drowned in. Silence dominated, his struggle a fruitless one, unnoticeable in the depths of wherever this hell was.
How long did it take to drown to death? There was a point in time when he knew the answer to that question, but amidst the act itself, with the chaos of survival instincts screaming in his mind, everything was too scrambled to run calculations. They wouldn’t save him, anyway.
A light, rippling through undulating currents, refracted through translucent ink, casting his outstretched hands in a net of bright yellow and grey ribbons. It would have been pretty if that source of salvation wasn’t so far off, growing further and further away as he sank deeper.
“Wriothesley…”
That voice. He knew it, loved and cherished it. It settled like warm tea on a cold winter’s day in his gut, despite the frigid chill of the water around him threatening frostbite to his limbs.
Freezing temperatures had never bothered him, but this? This was different. This was the cold embrace of death, come finally to collect a debt well past due.
But that wasn’t correct…was it? Hadn’t he paid his dues?
“Wriothesley! Beloved –”
A growl resonated in his chest as that voice grew louder, nearly unignorable as it shattered through the water surrounding him. A flash, something shiny and bright in the distance, caught the rapidly fading light, drawing his attention. Something else was here. He blinked through the murky waters, squinting as a shadowed figure approached. Their hazy form flickered in the limited light as they swam, rapidly closing the distance, growing nearer with every blink. In those scant moments, their features resolved into turquoise hair, a white coat, and a beak-like mask covering the upper half of their face –
Wriothesley’s eyes widened as a hand wielding a modified gun stretched towards him, aiming to fire what looked like a syringe of blue liquid directly at his chest –
Pure terror flooded his system, recognition dawning too late to force his limbs to move in a way that would be effect against anything –
“WRIOTHESLEY!”
The wolf-shifter gasped, eyes flying wide open, ears pinned back against his head as he blinked blearily up at a darkened ceiling, tension running through his body like a live wire. There was a hand on his shoulder, the other pinning his wrist next to his head, filling him with immediate panic.
He was being held down.
Someone was holding him down.
With teeth bared, he growled threateningly, fighting the restraint as his eyes swiveled from one corner of the room to the other, looking for anything familiar.
A pair of lilac eyes caught his own, freezing him in place mid-flail.
White hair curtained around him, untidy and loose, blocking out the room that he took far too long to identify as Neuvillette’s.
Neuvillette, who was hovering over him, looking, for the Oratrice leader, terrified on his behalf. He bled freely from a scratch mark on his cheek as he restrained Wriothesley gently to the bed with his own body.
Their bed.
Oh. Oh no.
Wriothesley’s chest heaved, the only movement between them, save for the furious thrashing of his tail against the sheets.
“Neuv –” His voice cracked without his permission, wetness staining his cheeks as reality crashed down around him like a tidal wave. With it, Neuvillette’s expression relaxed, melting to something so warm and relieved that it made Wriothesley’s chest ache. He could feel it, Neuvillette’s worry, pulsing through him, so similar to the way his own unfiltered fear had seeped across their connection – their bond.
“It is all right. You’re all right, Wriothesley. I am here, and you are safe.” Neuvillette shifted, lying down to pull Wriothesley into his arms, swapping their places so the wolf-shifter was no longer pinned under him. There was no convincing needed, Wriothesley willingly winding his arms around his mate’s torso as he buried his tear-stained face against the side of Neuvillette’s neck, right over the bonding mark he’d left. It was the part of Neuvillette’s neck that smelled the strongest of his affection, desire, and comfort.
Safe. He was safe.
Wriothesley sucked in a shuddering breath, taking in the scent of the ocean, petrichor, all things he associated with security and refuge as his fragmented mind tried to sort itself and pull back from the terror of a nightmare he’d not asked for.
“Fuck.” His voice hitched with a sob, residue from the crying he’d more than likely been doing in his sleep.
This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“I’m here. You’re safe,” Neuvillette reiterated, fingers winding into Wriothesley’s hair to stroke along his scalp, seeking out the soft ears slanted back in shame atop Wriothesley’s head. His fluffy tail curled up tightly around their twined forms, as close to his body as it could get. It began to relax faintly when thumbs glanced soothingly over the base of his ears, petting over the appendage again and again in a way that usually turned him to a pile of happy goo.
“Your face, I scratched you –” Wriothesley started to pull away, realization dawning suddenly, only managing an inch before Neuvillette’s hand clamped tighter on his head, preventing him from going anywhere.
“I am fine. Do not work yourself up further about my condition.” The rumbling of Neuvillette’s voice vibrated against his own bare chest where they were pressed together. “All I want you to do is breathe for me, Wriothesley. Breathe and stay in my arms. Can you do that beloved?”
Wriothesley relaxed against him, nodding silently and closing his eyes tightly.
“Good boy,” Neuvillette whispered; one hand continued to play with Wriothesley’s ears, while the other began a long caress that started at the back of his neck and ran the length of his spine towards the base of his tail. The motion drew another shaking sob from within his chest, residual emotions clinging to his body like tar, tacky and putrid. His fear had soured the room, turning the normal bouquet of their combined scents into something twisted and fowl.
Wriothesley opened his mouth to speak.
“If you so much as utter a single apology I will tell Sigewinne about how you ate nothing but tater tots and Liyuan takeout that week you renovated the kitchen in your house.”
Wriothesley choked on his words, on a laugh that was still partly a sob. Clearly, any attempt at atonement was not going to be tolerated. The absurdity of the threat, the intimate knowledge that reflected their deeply rooted trust, broke beautifully through the lingering dread in his gut. His tail perked up minutely, giving a sad little wave in the air in protest.
“Anything but that,” he complained, a slight whine creeping into his voice as he nuzzled further into Neuvillette’s throat, greedily inhaling his calming scent until his own started to ease towards normal.
“Then I better not hear any apologies.” Neuvillette clutched him tighter, squeezing him in a hug that managed the perfect amount of compression, securing his mass against the dragon –shifter's in a way that felt like it physically pressed his consciousness back into his body, anchoring him back to reality.
“Okay, then. How about, ‘is your cheek okay?’” Wriothesley lifted his head despite the compression taking place, ears perking up as he peered blearily up through watery eyes, attempting to see around the sharp line of Neuvillette’s jaw to his cheek. “I saw blood…” He didn’t need to say the apology aloud for Neuvillette to know what was on his mind.
Sweet feelings of reassurance travelled easily across the bond, smoothing ruffled fur as Neuvillette tipped his chin downwards enough to both gaze upon him and allow Wriothesley a better view of the scratch mark on his cheek. The wolf-shifter reached up and swiped his thumb over the wound, wiping away the faint beading of blood.
“Truly, beloved, I am fine. A mere scratch is all you managed, and that was partially my fault for not catching your right hand sooner than I did. Luckily, you didn’t see fit to throw any real punches,” Neuvillette joked softly.
The immediate slump of Wriothesley’s ears and tail gave away how poorly the joke landed, as he was once more hit with the reality that he could have seriously hurt Neuvillette. The dragon-shifter sighed, and quickly adjusted his approach, grabbing Wriothesley’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to prevent it from dropping in shame.
“I can practically hear you admonishing yourself for actions you had no control over, Wriothesley.” Neuvillette raised an eyebrow, tracing the pad of his thumb over the swell of Wriothesley’s bottom lip. A tender caress, blossoming with subtle affection.
“I don’t like hurting you,” the wolf-shifter admitted quietly, a secret whispered to the still-dark bedroom.
“I know this to be true. And I do not like to seeing you hurting so from a past that still haunts you. If the price for bringing you back to a reality that no longer seeks to see you suffer is a scratch on my cheek, then I will gladly pay it every single time, Wriothesley.” A gentle hand caressed his cheek, swiping just under his eyes, along the scar that sat there, to collect the remnants of lingering tears.
Wriothesley’s ears slumped, arms winding tight one more around Neuvillette as he buried his face into his mate’s bare chest, right next to the head of the blue dragon tattoo he’d traced his lips over hundreds of times.
“I love you… Thank you, for waking me up.” The words came slowly to his mouth, each one chewed over carefully to ensure the sentiment would ring true and wasn’t steeped in a watery near-apology.
“I love you too.” Neuvillette’s hands resumed their gentle petting, a quiet calmness invading the room as their scents equalized, trending away from the sourness of panic and fear and towards the calm freshness of the ocean and the subtle floral and earthy notes of black tea.
Wriothesley peered out of the wide windows, at the moon peeking out from between clouds, just visible above the tops of buildings. It was likely early in the morning, too soon to get up but too late, possibly, to try and fall back asleep successfully.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Neuvillette asked, softly brushing sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead.
Fluffy ears perked up, his tail matching them with a slow, lethargic wag.
“No,” Wriothesley answered on reflex, before he reconsidered hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t mind sharing if you want to hear. It wasn’t profound or anything. I was drowning in a black ocean, and as I was sinking, that Dottore fucker appeared, readying to shoot me with something. I don’t know what, but I don’t think that matters…” He exhaled, letting tension leave his body, focusing on the places he could feel actual physical sensation so the dream didn’t drag him under again. “Saying it aloud makes it sound ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t. Drowning is a terrifying experience, made all the worse by the additional idea that Dottore was behind it.” Neuvillette dragged his claws from the top of Wriothesley’s head all the way down his spine, taking Wriothesley’s concerns away with the easy sweep of his hand.
“Yeah, well…what else is new.” Wriothesley pressed his forehead to bare skin, ears flopping forwards with the pull of gravity, leaving his back on display, a canvas for Neuvillette’s fingers to paint upon in whatever winding patterns he so desired. His eyes drifted closed, lending emphasis to the soft feeling of skin against his lips, his nose, his hands where fingertips dug gently into muscle and skin.
Neuvillette took him up on the silent invitation, dragging his claws in circles and spirals along his scarred back, melting more of that tension out of his shoulders.
“Wriothesley…have you given any more thought to the service I mentioned a few weeks ago?” Neuvillette’s tone softened, the seriousness of the question drawing the shifter’s drifting mind back from the brink of checked-out bliss.
“Hmn? Which one?”
“The spa, with the therapy sessions built into their program. The one Sigewinne advised I recommend to you.”
Ah. That one.
Right.
Therapy.
“Uh… no. No, I haven’t. Sorr – ” He caught himself, the apology on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back forcibly. “That doesn’t count, I caught myself!” He brandished a single finger aloft without lifting his head.
“I implore you to consider about it further. Not immediately, of course. Right now, your sole responsibility is to remain put. Later, we should discuss the matter in greater depth.” Neuvillette shifted, lips pressing to Wriothesley’s forehead sweetly.
“Okay,” the wolf-shifter agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Wriothesley wasn’t against the idea of therapy per say but finding a provider that wouldn’t immediately try to get him arrested and then paying for the whole thing had been an insurmountable task all his life. Now, though, it was becoming clear how ill-equipped he was to handle a more mundane lifestyle, the kind that wasn’t constantly throwing conflict and strife his way. In truth, the nightmares were only a single point of evidence in a growing file proving just how poorly adjusted Wriothesley was.
Not that their life came anywhere near the average person’s experience. Wriothesley was still the head of Meropide, and he did have to engage in many dangerous affairs here and there as a result, but none of it was constant. If anything was, nowadays, it was the mountains of paperwork he had to deal with.
It was true, he was no longer in survival mode every Archons-damn day of his life, and fuck if his nervous system knew what to do with that. Neuvillette was not fond of his penchant for riding one of the three motorcycles he now owned at top speeds down the highways in the middle of the night as a self-administered therapy for what Wriothesley called the “everything is too okay” itch.
Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop made a man twitchy, and it was noticeable.
A contemplative quiet cloaked them like a blanket in the dark, and Wriothesley was loathe to interrupt it. Sometimes it was nice to simply exist in each other’s arms, but his mind was whirling about, caught up in thoughts about the nightmare and Neuvillette.
The room may have been silent, but his head was oh so loud.
“Can I ask you for something really silly?” Wriothesley finally lifted his face, pressing his cheek instead to Neuvillette’s pec so his mouth wasn’t muffled by skin.
“Of course, beloved. What can I do for you?”
Wriothesley took a deep breath, eyeing his mate, the powerful mythic shifter who loved him equally as fiercely as Wriothesley loved him. Neuvillette was disheveled, but gorgeous all the same, his unkempt state endearing and private, a coveted gift for just the two of them to relish.
“Will you read to me? It can be anything.” Teeth pressed against the tender flesh of his bottom lip as a strange embarrassment welled within him at asking something so self-indulgent. “I just want to hear your voice right now. It’s soothing, yanno. Nice to listen to.” The wolf-shifter trailed off sheepishly.
Neuvillette, for all his carefully calculated expressions, could not hide the surge of adoration in his eyes at the request, nor the way his scent and the bond reflected those sweet and genuine feelings.
“Absolutely, beloved. Why don’t you go fetch whatever book you’d like.”
Wriothesley’s ears pinned back at the words chosen, a small pout appearing on his face as he narrowed his eyes playfully at his mate.
“Fetch? Really?”
“It was merely the word that came to mind.”
Wriothesley’s eyes narrowed further in deep, suspicious scrutiny as he pushed up off of his lover’s chest to kneel on the bed.
“Uh-huh. Sure it was. Sure.” With a decisive motion, Wriothesley dipped down and nipped playfully at Neuvillette’s shoulder, springing to his feet promptly after to avoid the hand that tried to smack his ass with a laugh.
He wandered to the bookcase in the upper loft just outside of the bedroom in nothing but his briefs, browsing the collection of tomes there for a moment until a historical fiction novel caught his eye. Wriothesley plucked it from its home and returned to the bed, where Neuvillette had already propped himself up with some pillows and turned on the bedside lamp, leaving his lap open for Wriothesley.
The wolf-shifter eased onto the bed, kissing Neuvillette softly on the lips twice as he passed off the book.. Slipping back under the covers, he snuggled down, draping himself over his mate’s lap. He wiggled about to adjust until they were both comfortable, ending with Neuvillette’s hand in his hair, thumbing over his ears, and the other helping to balance the book open on his back.
Wriothesley’s tail wagged, curled up over both of their legs, the end flopping rhythmically in a sure sign that he was feeling better.
“Comfortable?” Neuvillette checked in, hand slipping down from Wriothesley’s hair to instead twine their fingers together. Wriothesley admired the way the abstract, paintbrush-style line of both his and Neuvillette’s newest tattoos crossed the gap between their palms and fingers. When they held hands, it was one continuous line, flowing like a river back and forth between them, and when they were apart, it was a reminder that they held a piece of one another in their hands and in their hearts. It may have been silly and disgustingly romantic sentiment, but the twining marks were easily one of Wriothesley’s favorite tattoos yet.
“Always, in your presence,” he replied, relaxing further as he traced his thumb over the line and Neuvillette began the story, his voice a gentle deep susurrus, like the distant, rolling waves of the ocean.
Even if the nightmares never stopped for the rest of his life, that was okay. They weren’t so bad when they weren’t allowed to linger.
What fear could possibly persist in the face of unfailing love and support?