Chapter Text
“I wanna be your lover, I don't wanna be your ‘friend’...”
He was most definitely awake now. Wriothesley’s hic nearly startled Neuvillette, as if the man wasn't already by his slurred, drowsy words. By how he stumbled into his room once again at an ungodly hour of the night, lost in his thoughts. While it was clear he was intoxicated, he didn't look too far down…
“Wriothesley.” He watched as those silvery eyes stared into him with a want, a need for him. The tiniest flutter snuck into Neuvillette’s heart as he drew in a breath. “Do you know what you are saying?”
Of course he didn't. Surely he didn’t. Both parties knew well by now that he didn't. Both parties knew on the occasions he'd drink that it'd be just enough to slightly make him tipsy, just enough for him to forget and breathe.
But what if?
For it wasn’t lust that greeted him but love. “I do…I do, Neuvillette. I want you…” The dragon flushed red, both from flusterment and fear. He wasn’t sure of what to do. He wasn’t even sure of how he got here, upright in his bed at 2AM observing a drunk Wriothesley on his couch with keen eyes. “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone, my dear–” The man walked over, kneeling before the dragon, whispering into his ear with a warm breath. “—so tell me that you love me again.”
“Look at me.”
The desire that clouded the air made Neuvillette choke. “Say it again.”
His wrapped hand guiding his chin, the Iudex couldn't look away—as if he would, had he been given the choice. Clearing his throat, he straightened up, matching the Duke’s piercing, longing gaze. For a man known to be hidden, his regret stood a bit too obvious: Rigid body, horns slightly lowered. His grip around his cane tight enough for his knuckles to be slightly prominent. Neuvillette winced internally as he watched those grey eyes falter upon recognizing it. “Wriothesley.” Could he finish what he started? “I cannot. You know I cannot.” If all that were risks turned to thorns, they showed by his pained throat from swallowing them. Every fiber of his being longed for what was moments before. I love you, his mouth echoed.
I love you and that cannot be.
For what would it mean if it could? He wasn’t supposed to look at him that way, with want and desire and the need to satisfy a craving that could only be done by him. What would become of him, of Fontaine, of them?
“Please,” he begged, pleading with a whisper that sent chills down Neuvillette’s spine. “Just one more time.”
And then what? One more kiss? One more hug? One more night in his bed, with the lights low and clothes strewn about on the floor and his warmth decorating his shoulders as he murmured innocent nothings into the crook of his neck, littered with hickeys and bite marks and—
Lighting crackled in the distance as it began to sprinkle.
“No. I suggest you head back to your quarters.” Neuvillette pulled the arm resting around his waist away before backing up. “I will be doing the same.”
There was a long pause by the time Wriothesley responded. Even then, however, his voice turned quiet. Clouded. “...Good night, Neuvillette.”
“I love you, too.”
“Good night, Wriothesley.”
I always have.
Neuvillette had had Wriothesley escorted out.
He was left there once more, still in his bed, but now at 3AM. His taught hair had been combed out, his sleeping gown now shining in the moonlight with the covers pushed away. He didn’t know when or why he made such a rash decision, just that it was quiet once more. Try to get some sleep, Monsieur, went a Melsuine moments before, but how could he? Not when he was faced with the memory he had worked so hard to guard and hide away. Each breath he took filled his lungs with his scent, every beat of silence led him to Wriothesley’s voice that echoed in the walls, worry and concern laced around his words.
Such a sweet, charming man.
And yet you can’t love him.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to try, it wasn’t that he had anything against him. Wriothesley was the man of his dreams. It just couldn’t be true, couldn’t be right.
But what if?