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Wriothesley rarely attended the enormous, raucous balls of Furina de Fontaine, but as one of Fontaine’s most prestigious, eligible bachelors, and one of its few Dukes at that, his social standing was considerable and his landholdings vast, encompassing all of the town of Meropide and its surrounding areas. As he grew older, it became more and more of a social talking point that he was still unmarried, and so she invited him to her exclusive balls every time without fail.
Naturally, he could have refused. He had done so, on numerous occasions. But, word had reached him through several of his sources that the object of his interest would be attending the ball tonight—Fontaine’s Chief Justice and Wriothesley’s good friend, Monsieur Neuvillette.
There were already plenty of rumors circulating that Wriothesley held no desire for women, and they weren’t entirely wrong. In his younger years, he’d flirted with the possibility of marrying Lady Clorinde, a friend of his from his childhood, but a mere week of attempted courting had quickly shown them it would only lead to a marriage of unhappy bickering, inevitably destroying their friendship in the process. They were both better off remaining single for the rest of their lives if necessary.
There was the matter, too, that both he and Clorinde had always had eyes for someone else entirely.
Wriothesley wasn’t even certain when exactly he’d become so infatuated with Monsieur Neuvillette. Years and years ago, to be sure, perhaps the day he’d first attended a trial and seen him there, so unyielding in his element, an impartial deliverer of justice who was more beautiful than all the world’s vast oceans, more beautiful than the moon itself.
That admiration had compounded into a quiet longing, and eventually into infatuation after years of mingling at occasional parties, sharing tea in one manor or the other, and getting away from the hustle and bustle whenever they could.
There were rumors about their relationship, too. Two men of such high social standing, neither with wives or any indication that they might court any woman at all, their visits incredibly private, their light touches through gloved hands often lingering.
Despite this, Wriothesley had told Neuvillette nothing of the desire that burned in his chest. Perhaps, tonight, if he could work up the courage, he finally would.
He had told himself this every time they’d met for the past six months, to no avail. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying.
He made sure to dress his best for Lady Furina’s party. A fine navy tux, white cravat, dark breeches and black knee-high boots. Once he arrived, he kept other conversations to a minimum, just a few jokes or comments when others tried to pull him aside. He had no real desire to socialize with the other attendees, and a glass of champagne or two was all that kept his spirits up as he scanned the crowded room for the man he was looking for.
“Ah, Duke Wriothesley!” Furina called when she saw him, and he put on his best smile, tried not to look too irritated, and went to meet her. At least, of all the attendees, she was relatively easy to chat with. She never asked him about his opinions on the latest politics or marriages, always plied him with tea and sweets, and kept their brief conversation to topics she knew he would enjoy—namely, his vast collection of horses and the well-known tea gardens that surrounded his estate.
“I simply needed to tell you,” she said, conversation with her always akin to being rushed along a rapid, bubbling river, “I must go around to greet all the others, but the dances will begin soon, and now is the perfect time to find a suitable partner before everyone else gets snatched up for the evening. There are quite a few suitable ladies looking for a fine gentleman, and if you aren’t careful, you never know who might get stolen away.” She gave him a wink and a wave, a subtle motion of her hand indicating one corner of the room.
As she floated away, already chattering with another guest she’d spotted, Wriothesley stared in the direction of that gesture, his gaze landing directly on a man in blue and white. He was partially obscured by the shadow of a pillar towards the edge of the room, long white braid draped over his shoulder, a champagne glass held thoughtfully in one hand as he stared off into the distance.
At the sight of him, Wriothesley’s mouth went completely dry.
Neuvillette was dressed in a fine, embroidered tux, the fit accentuating his slim waist, his jabot spilling in furls of delicate white lace over his chest. His spats were buttoned all the way up to mid-thigh, his navy and gold shoes perfectly polished.
Wriothesley cleared his throat, set his empty champagne glass on a nearby waiter’s tray without tearing his gaze away, and steeled himself as he moved in that direction.
“Chief Justice,” he greeted as he approached, putting on his characteristic rakish smile. “I didn't expect to see you here tonight. Finally got bored of all those trials?”
The man in question turned at the sound of Wriothesley’s voice, a quiet smile gracing his lips. Just that single look, and Wriothesley’s heart was already rabbiting in his chest.
“Duke Wriothesley,” Monsieur Neuvillette said, giving him a slight nod of acknowledgement. “It was not so much that as, somewhat against my better judgement, Lady Furina convinced me to attend. But what of you?” There was a hint of amusement to his tone. “As I recall, you rarely attend these sorts of functions.”
“No, I don't,” Wriothesley laughed, well aware there were already several curious eyes trained on the two of them. “But, admittedly, I heard you would be here tonight. So, here I am.”
Neuvillette’s brow raised, gaze softening. “You only came for me?” He lowered his voice as Wriothesley went to stand next to him, and Wriothesley was glad for it. He didn’t care if other people saw them; let them look all they liked. The conversation, however, was reserved for the two of them alone.
“Yes,” Wriothesley said, meeting his eyes. He sucked in a breath, jaw set, knowing that now was the perfect time to say what he wanted to say most of all. Neuvillette was staring at him with such warm curiosity, and Wriothesley could feel his heart pounding in his ears. But instead of something incredibly romantic like, I would go anywhere for you, to the ends of the world, because I’m so madly in love with you I can hardly stand it anymore, he said, “I was hoping for a dance.”
“A dance?” Neuvillette echoed softly.
A dance... yes, a dance, to give him time to sort out his thoughts and then... then, he would steal Neuvillette away somewhere and—
“I’m afraid I must decline.” Neuvillette turned his gaze downward as he said it, and Wriothesley froze, his hand still offered, heart shattered in an instant. But before he could even manage an apology for his forwardness, Neuvillette added, “At least, not here. I fear it might affect public opinion far more than would be acceptable. I apologize, Wriothesley.”
Head spinning, heart careening from the whiplash of being firmly shut down before that little clarification, Wriothesley glanced out at the people beginning to clear the dance floor, just for something to distract his mind while he processed it all.
“Right,” he said, lowering his hand. “Not here, then.”
He was fully prepared to bid Neuvillette a good night, leave the party and disappear, maybe go for a late night ride to shake off the crashing waves of disappointment. Before he could manage it, though, Neuvillette took a half-step closer, leaning in to whisper directly into Wriothesley’s ear.
“In the garden,” he said, his breath warm, and his voice so very soft. “It will likely be unoccupied at this hour, and there will be more than enough space.”
Wriothesley turned to look at him, the shock almost certainly evident across his face. Neuvillette stepped back again, his gaze still lowered, the tips of his ears flushed pink.
“Right,” Wriothesley said, swallowing hard. “The garden. It would be my pleasure to accompany you there.”
“Then,” Neuvillette said, glancing up at Wriothesley through lowered lashes, interest evident in his bright lilac eyes, enough to make Wriothesley’s face burn. “Shall we?”
--
The garden was indeed empty but for the two of them. It was still early in the night, and everyone was occupied with socializing, drinks, and dancing. Even so, they could hear the faint notes of the orchestra drifting out through open windows and over tall hedges. Near the garden’s center was a large, ornate fountain, cobblestones laid out around it, and it was there that they stopped, far from wandering eyes.
“I must apologize for declining you outright,” Neuvillette said as they stood by the fountain together. “I must have startled you.”
“No, no,” Wriothesley assured him, letting out a laugh even though it was the truth. “It’s all right. But...” He cleared his throat, tugging at the knot of his cravat. “If you’re still open to it, then...”
“I would be honored.” Neuvillette looked at him with that beautiful lilac gaze again, intent in his desire, and Wriothesley swallowed, feeling just a little as though he were suddenly pinned by some great dragon, the sheer strength of Neuvillette’s regard leaving his heart racing in his chest.
“Ah, but who should lead?” Wriothesley asked, flushed as he realized he was only accustomed to dancing with women. Lady Clorinde or Lady Navia, Sigewinne from time to time despite how much smaller she was than him, and on one memorable occasion with Lady Furina, where, despite him leading, she had all but dragged him across the dance floor, chatting away about this or that the entire time.
Neuvillette subtly shook his head. “It matters little. But if you prefer it, we shall switch.”
“Then,” Wriothesley extended his hand once more. “May I have this dance, Monsieur?”
Neuvillette’s gloved fingers alighted upon his own, the touch soft and gentle through the cloth, and Wriothesley felt as though he might expire on the spot.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out again, he smiled and coaxed Neuvillette a little closer, settling one hand on his slim waist, taking the other in his own to begin leading him in a gentle waltz.
They were around the same height but it didn't bother him so much. Wriothesley was used to dancing with tall women. He couldn’t help but note, though, how different it was with a man. There were no frilly skirts swept across the floor, and his figure was slimmer, his footsteps heavier, his palms larger. And oh, how Wriothesley gravitated towards him in a way he never had with any other. His feet seemed to move on their own, his attention stolen entirely by the distant beat of the music and the beautiful man in his arms.
He hardly noticed when they switched, it felt so natural. As they turned, suddenly Neuvillette’s hand was on his waist instead, his own palm resting on one of his friend's broad shoulders and—
“Neuvillette I—” he started to say, but the words clogged up in his throat. Even so, Neuvillette was giving him that look again, an intense gaze through lowered lashes as though Wriothesley was all that was left in the world, and Wriothesley could feel his flush crawling all the way down his neck.
“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette said softly, almost a purr into the scant space between them. “Perhaps this is presumptuous of me, but if you mean to confess, you need only say the words.”
Flush burning hotter across his cheeks, Wriothesley let out a breathless laugh. “What? You knew?”
Neuvillette gave him an elegant nod, squeezing Wriothesley’s hand briefly in his own. “I suspected. After all, I have harbored such feelings myself for a great many years. Given your mannerisms as of late, especially tonight, I had begun to suspect you felt the same.”
Wriothesley stopped in his tracks, pulling Neuvillette to a stop with him. The music continued on in the distance, accompanied by chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. There, in the garden, though, it was peaceful and quiet. Hidden behind the hedges that surrounded the fountain, they were unlikely to be seen.
Breathless and uncertain, Wriothesley tangled his fingers with Neuvillette’s as he gently pushed stray strands of white hair away from his face, tucking them back behind one flushed ear.
“May I?” He asked softly, tilting his head ever so slightly, eyes half-closed as he stared at Neuvillette’s thin, parted lips.
Neuvillette tugged him a little closer by the waist, and Wriothesley let out a shuddering breath as the remaining space between them disappeared little by little.
“You needn’t even ask, Wriothesley,” Neuvillette whispered. “For so many years already, I have been yours.”
The waltz that played in the distance crescendoed as their mouths met, the kiss chaste and tender at first, but still more than enough to light a fire in Wriothesley’s veins. Neuvillette’s mouth was so soft and warm and perfect against his own, and at once he knew he needed more of it, and more, and more.
His fingers tangled fiercely into Neuvillette’s hair as Neuvillette’s grip tightened on his waist, dragging him close in a rush to crush their bodies together, kiss deepening until their tongues tangled, Neuvillette’s other arm wrapping around him, fingers digging into his back between his shoulderblades. Wriothesley did the same, pulling him close enough that he could feel the shape of his body beneath his suit, could feel the pounding of Neuvillette’s heart against his own.
“For so long,” he gasped as they parted, but only enough to breathe. “I— we could have been— if only I’d said something.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Neuvillette assured him, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
Wriothesley nodded at that and kissed him again, long and deep and indulgent. He wanted to taste him forever, wanted their bodies entwined, to feel the warmth of Neuvillette’s skin against his own, just like he’d dreamed.
“I want you all to myself,” Wriothesley whispered into their kisses. “Come back to my estate with me.”
“My work,” Neuvillette muttered in turn, letting out a shuddering, aching breath as he drank from Wriothesley’s lips. “It won’t allow for it, I fear. I must arrive at the court early tomorrow.”
“Then, I will come to yours. I won’t be missed, as long as I send a message ahead.”
Neuvillette drew back just enough to look at him, then briefly nodded. “Yes... yes, of course. You would be welcome, Wriothesley. Just as you say you want me to yourself, I feel very much the same. I have coveted you for so very long.”
“After the party,” Wriothesley assured him, taking Neuvillette’s hand in his own and drawing it to his lips, planting kisses across the backs of his gloved fingers. “I’m all yours, Monsieur.”
Neuvillette hummed in contentment, a gentle smile upon his lips. “I do like the sound of that,” he said as he cupped Wriothesley’s cheek in his hand, thumb dragging over Wriothesley’s mouth, and Wriothesley planted kisses there, too.
“Could we go now?” Wriothesley asked, gaze imploring, grin widening. “Slip away into the night?”
Neuvillette lifted his head, staring back at the party. “Perhaps,” he mused, “I will return and alert Lady Furina.” He leaned in again, their mouths meeting once more in an aching, longing kiss. “Wait for me by my coach?”
“I will wait,” Wriothesley said, kissing his fingers again, grinning widely. “Forever, if I must.”
“It will not be forever,” Neuvillette assured him with some light amusement.
A short while after, riding together in the back of the coach, sitting side by side, their hands fumbled beneath each other’s clothes, desperate to touch skin, each kiss deeper than the last.
With all the night stretched before them, plenty of time to indulge in each other alone in Neuvillette’s vast manor, Wriothesley had no doubt it would be a night he would never forget, and the very beginning of a dream come true.