Work Text:
Neuvillette’s eyes drift away from the paperwork strewn across his desk, carefully setting down his pen. The clock ticking against the wall approaches a new hour in the late afternoon, and Neuvillette’s face softens from work-weariness into an anticipatory grin.
One minute after the clock chimes, an attendant knocks on the office door, announcing the arrival of the lord administrator, Duke of Meropide, Wriothesley.
Neuvillette pushes his chair away, standing to meet this honorable guest. They forego formal greetings. Neuvillette welcomes the duke with a warm smile, and Wriothesley makes himself comfortable on one of the couches. “Sit next to me?” the Iudex asks, gesturing at the empty cushion next to him with his hand.
Then Neuvillette secures the latest file he needs to review from his desk, taking the seat. The outer edges of their thighs are flush against one another. “Do you remember I once teased that your productivity seemed to quadruple as long as I was with you?”
”Hence, the importance of our weekly meetings,” Wriothesley laughs. He sneaks a daring hand around the small of Neuvillette’s waist for the briefest of moments before turning his attention to his own work.
Behind closed doors, the Iudex and Administrator sit cozy and nestled against one another, working in the comfortable silence of one another’s company. Bound to his sense of duty—and determined to finish this last task so he can turn all his attention to the duke—Neuvilette flips through his documents, scanning and marking them, signing where appropriate.
Wriothesley, on the other hand, makes no effort to hide his clear distraction. Neuvillette keeps his eyes trained on his paperwork, but he doesn’t miss the duke’s gaze wandering in his direction—soft-eyed, infused with admiration—and shamelessly seeking attention.
Neuvillette has two pages left of his work when Wriothesley’s arms suddenly snake around him, drawing him close. He hears a little noise escape himself, looking up to Wriothesley’s mischievous grin.
“Can’t work anymore,” he offers as an excuse.
Neuvillette promptly relinquishes the papers from his hand, dropping them to the table before the sofa. He takes Wriothesley’s hand, resting his head at the crook of Wriothesley’s shoulder.
Warmth. Comfort. The reassurance of a lover’s presence, of their touch. Neuvillette sinks into his beloved’s embrace, and Wriothesley’s arms tighten around him as he buries his nose into Neuvillette’s hair. Long minutes pass, but in each others’ arms, time freezes. Neuvillette could stay here forever, encapsulated in their own world. Outside the Palais, a pair of birds sing, calling back and forth to one another. The afternoon light filtering through the dim office slants against the polished floors, crawling toward eveningtide. Wriothesley’s hand slides down from Neuvillette’s shoulder, caressing his elbow.
Neuvillette sighs, hungry for touch. Wriothesleys’ hand meanders over his wrist, under the ruffle of Neuvillette’s sleeve to the thin, delicate skin of his inner wrist. Neuvillette finds himself holding his breath. He’s sensitive there, and he can feel the ends of his rhinophores twitch. He wonders if Wriothesley can feel his pulse there. Then Wriothesley’s fingers come up to trace a line through the middle of his palm.
Neuvillette looks up again, catching the crinkle of Wriothesley’s eyes as his smile widens.
His thumb sweeps over the delicate skin again. What fit of mischief compels him to do such a thing?
Neuvillette lowers his voice. “Please—I’m sensitive there.” His words come out strained, trembling like a plucked string, holding back an uncouth giggle. The Duke of Meropide teasing the Chief Justice of the Court of Fontaine in a court office like this? Really, he should reprimand the duke, but the most selfish parts of himself will never stop Wriothesley from this.
“One day, my sweet, one day I’ll tickle you, and you will laugh out loud,” Wriothesley declares, pressing a kiss to the base of a rhinophore. Neuvillette feels the flicker of a tongue there, sending a shiver from the base of his skull down the ladder of his spine. Wriothesley’s finger sneaks under the cuff of his glove, slowly prying it off Neuvillette’s hand.
It’s just one glove, but Neuvillette feels the implicit nakedness of it. Warmth blooms across his face.
Wriothesley takes the now bare hand, tilting their intertwined forms until Neuvillette’s head rests on a cushion. Above him, Wriothesley’s gaze is suffused with pure adoration. How could Neuvillette ever refuse him anything? He basks in the glow of it.
“You’re beautiful,” Wriothesley murmurs. He lowers his head until they’re close enough for Neuvillette to feel the warmth of his breath. Wriothesley presses his lips to Neuvillette’s, and Neuvillette raises his hands, pulling them closer.
And there they stayed, locked in each other’s embrace until time had to move again.