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Summary
Wriothesley has never felt so creaturely before. So feral and carnal, for Neuvillette before, until this very moment.
“Fuck, Neuvillette, you can’t–”
“ – I can,” and Neuvillette smiles. Full this time, until his eyes crease. “You seem to be enjoying this.”
Wriothesley is. Has been already. He fills out beneath his own touch, arousal burning in his veins and faltering his breath. Neuvillette is gorgeous. He’s always looked beautiful in silk and lace, but this? Pale white against paler skin, with the occasional scatter of dark navy scales as he lets his form fall, is breathtaking.
- After a long evening spent at a charity banquet, Wriothesley comes home, only for Neuvillette to reveal what he's been wearing beneath his evening attire.