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It is, perhaps, a fruitless endeavor to court an alpha.
There’s something in Wriothesley's hindbrain that rears its ugly head, whispering that this is wrong. Alphas do not swoon over other alphas. Alphas—good, proper alphas—settle down with equally good omegas, spend their cycles together, and raise pups. Good alphas—
Well. Has Wriothesley ever been a good alpha? Debatable, as Clorinde likes to say. Not that he’s tried. Not that he’s wanted to—until recently.
Wriothesley thinks of a crisp, ocean-salt scent. Of smooth skin and uncalloused fingers tipped with sharp claws. Of hair soft like silk, pulled back into a tail, and bangs brushed behind a pointed ear. And then Wriothesley groans, because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? These errant feelings, that want and need that washes through him, it's all so overwhelming. Wriothesley's a man in love and has no idea where to even begin.
But it’s stupid, right? To think that he has a chance? To think that one alpha could court another without their natures warring. For—
A thumb and a forefinger flick his forehead, leaving it stinging.
“Ow!” hisses Wriothesley with a flinch.
“You were thinking so hard there that it was throwing off your blood pressure reading.” Sigewinne gives him a look of disapproval before pulling at his hand, guiding him back into a better position. “Relax. Don’t tense up.”
“Easier said than done,” he mutters, which, again, catches another look of her ire. “Sorry, sorry.”
Sigewinne hums softly before turning her attention back to the test. Hydro coating her hands, she closes her eyes to listen and feel, nodding softly after a few seconds. “Decent,” she says, “for a man your age. But—”
“There’s always a but.”
“—your heart rate is a little high. I’d ask if you’re stressed, but I know the answer to that already, what with your job. However…” Sigewinne trails off, her mouth curling into a slight smirk. “Or, perhaps it’s someone? A certain someone?”
Wriothesley goes rigid. Sweat crawls down the back of his neck, and not because it’s warm and damp in the infirmary. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he denies.
Sigewinne leans over and sniffs at him, her pert little nose trained slightly upwards. When she pulls back, her smirk deepens. “Wriothesley—”
“Don’t say it,” he starts, raising a hand to cut her off.
“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with him, haven’t you?” It’s a question that isn’t a question—this is an astute observation that Wriothesley knows she won’t let him back out of.
“Work,” he replies, thinking it an even compromise. “We’ve just had a lot of work to do, together, recently. Papers to sign, budgets to figure out.”
Sigewinne raises a brow and watches him, her thumb still resting against his pulse. “At Café Lutece?”
Technically, yes, and at Neuvillette’s behest. But lately…they’ve gone for purely social reasons. Wriothesley's heart skips a beat, and judging by the grin that spreads across Sigewinne’s face, she felt it while monitoring his pulse.
“Stop bothering me about it! He and I—we’d—” Wriothesley slaps his free hand against his face, dragging against it. There’s no use in hiding anything from Sigewinne. It’s painfully clear that she’s already well aware of where this is going. “It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s not like he’s in the market for a partner, let alone an alpha. Sige—”
“I think that you should give him the benefit of the doubt.” Finally, she lets go of Wriothesley's wrist, tilting to the side to jot down the numbers of his vitals.
“We’re coworkers, Sige.”
“He is with Clorinde, too. And Miss Navia. Even Miss Furina once upon a time. I don’t think he ever invited them to do paperwork somewhere casual. I don’t think he’s ever held an audience outside his office, really. Except for you.”
Well, there’s that, and it’s true enough. Neuvillette even stated as much when Wriothesley questioned it.
“We are effectively coworkers, you are right. But Wriothesley, I also consider us friends. And, as you know, I do not tend to hold personal relationships with others for obvious reasons.” Then, if that hadn’t been enough, Neuvillette paused with a quiet, rare smile and then finished with: “Just food for thought.”
More like food for thought that’s haunted Wriothesley every waking moment since, because what did that even mean? Neuvillette is more honest with Wriothesley than most, but that comment, that entire conversation…
Wriothesley groans against his hand because the way that his alpha purrs at the mere thought is childish and stupid. Teenaged, even. What a hopeless romantic he is.
“Well,” says Sigewinne, reminding Wriothesley that he isn’t alone and that he’s technically getting a physical, “whatever the case may be, you should sort it out. I can’t have you dying of a broken heart.”
“My heart isn’t broken!”
“Then why are you acting like it is?”
Loath Wriothesley is to admit it, Sigewinne is right. He’s pushing off the idea as nonsensical before even giving it a go. The thing is that with anyone else, he’d ignore it, but with Neuvillette—
Well, Neuvillette is just very different. Wriothesley can’t read him. But what he does know is that Neuvillette’s scent settles in his presence. That Neuvillette leans a little too close and lingers when they share a room. That their tea times are more casual than not, even for alphas who are friends.
All of that means something, right?
Maybe, maybe not. With Neuvillette, particularly, no one really knows.
Sigewinne gives Wriothesley one last look. “Not to say just go for it, but… I think that you should just go for it.”
“Sige—”
“Doctor’s orders!”
Which, Wriothesley thinks, is a tease until he leaves the infirmary with a handful of prescriptions—one of them boasting in Sigewinne’s neat handwriting: One heaping dose of Monsieur Neuvillette’s scent.
#
“Wriothesley, you seem distracted today.”
Neuvillette’s voice is quiet and cautious, mostly because he knows that Wriothesley doesn’t like being called out on his bullshit.
Wriothesley is a mess. A mess. He’s done a lot of thinking—even asked Clorinde for her advice, who just laughed at him in return—and now he sits there, in Neuvillette’s office, a courting gift burning a hole in his pocket. This is the worst. This is too intimate, too private. Not that Wriothesley would’ve preferred potential rejection in public, but at least it would’ve been less awkward to laugh it off. Here, alone and just the two of them, there’s no room to dance around a potential rejection.
“I—” Wriothesley swallows. One hand rests against the knee of his jittery leg that bounces with nervousness. “I mean, it’s not really… That is to say, it’s nothing much. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Lately.”
Oh, how articulate.
Neuvillette must think the same, judging by the way that he raises a brow. “Thinking?” he asks.
“Ah. It isn’t…”
Wriothesley trails off because it’s really, really hard to think straight with Neuvillette sitting so close. What started as a small work meeting turned into staying for tea. They settled onto the couch, Neuvillette right next to him, their thighs touching. Neuvillette smells content, like the strong salt-ocean tide. He leans closer, their elbows brushing as he pours out a fresh cup for Wriothesley, and—
Maybe Sigewinne was right. And Clorinde. And even Navia, whom Wriothesley sought out as a neutral third party.
Wriothesley's alpha purrs with comfort, affection blooming in his chest. Neuvillette wants to be there, wants to be next to him, serving him tea, locked near each other and sharing a presence. There is nothing strange about this. Even though Wriothesley's hindbrain halts a little, it’s only a little. Manageable. A quick knee-jerk that he can hold back. He’s strong enough to suppress it. Even now, it’s a minor twinge. He still wants Neuvillette, still craves the attention of his alpha.
“So,” starts Wriothesley, taking hold of his freshly filled teacup, “I’ve been thinking about me.”
“You,” repeats Neuvillette, more so to show that he’s listening.
“I’m an alpha, and you know how those instincts can get to you after a while. The want to settle down and find a partner. To—” Wriothesley halts slightly when Neuvillette frowns. He hates that dejected look on his face, the slight downturn of his mouth. Then, his scent sours, turning more into a sharp brine than a pleasant sea breeze.
Oh. Oh, that’s—
Neuvillette’s jealous. That’s the ripe, tart tint of jealousy that bleeds through his being, so strong that it makes Wriothesley immediately laugh.
He’s a fool. He’s been a fool. How could he have not noticed? Was he so in his head about his own misgivings about gender that he truly didn’t realize that Neuvillette might have been on the same page? But, then again, this is what not just Sigewinne, but two others had told him too. Wriothesley, for as intelligent as he is, is often the last to realize things when it concerns himself.
“Wait, wait.”
“I understand,” says Neuvillette, albeit stiffly. “Innate desires are impossible to ignore when given the chance. It should be no surprise that you might’ve found an eligible partner. Of course, one must wonder if they are truly worth your title. You, Wriothesley, are a man worth far more than just the distinction of Duke, and—”
“It’s you,” blurts Wriothesley.
Neuvillette stops dead in his monologue, his expression turning both bewildered and curious. His lips part, but he’s caught for words.
Wriothesley rubs at his face. “I—that is to say, that one I wish to court is you. I’ve been agonizing over it forever. My brain wants you, but my instincts somewhat war with it. That should be of no surprise. We’re both alpha. We’re biologically opposed, but even then, I’m able to overlook it for the most part. Even if there’s a little bit of hesitation, my alpha wants what it wants, and that’s…”
He sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a long length of black ribbon, one that he wore around his neck for an embarrassing amount of time. It’s steeped in his scent, incredibly potent. “I know that others would probably ease into the idea of this, but I feel like we’ve been dancing around this for years, Neuvillette, so if I could be so bold.”
Neuvillette’s expression practically glints. “For me?” he asks, reaching out to drag a clawed finger against Wriothesley's palm. “Are you sure that you are alright with this?”
“I assume this means that I haven’t misread the situation.”
“No,” chuckles Neuvillette. “No, you haven't. I just find myself surprised that… I have been perfectly content with just spending time near you.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t been. It isn’t enough. I want…this. Whatever this is,” admits Wriothesley. “Whatever it turns out to be.”
Neuvillette plucks the ribbon from Wriothesley's hand. “You wore this.”
“Yeah.”
“And now you’re giving it to me.”
Wriothesley swallows thickly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Yeah.”
“Some might call this quite the brazen overture, Wriothesley.”
Wriothesley snorts, the tense moment cracking slightly with humor. That sounds like a line from a dumb romance book, which he’s about to say aloud when Neuvillette moves, tilting towards Wriothesley.
“Is this alright?” he asks, leaning into Wriothesley's space. His nose is near Wriothesley's jawline, not quite scenting, but certainly closer than would be considered publicly decent. “Nothing untoward, I just want to…” A pause. “If you are amenable, that is.”
Neuvillette is giving him space. Neither of them has any idea of how their innate alphas will react, and while there’s a sharp undercurrent of unease that clings to Wriothesley's skin, it’s more nervousness than distaste. His alpha wants this, wants Neuvillette, despite the strangeness of it all.
“Perfectly so,” replies Wriothesley. “Honest.”
Neuvillette hums softly, finally pressing his nose into the juncture of Wriothesley's neck. “I will admit,” he murmurs, inhaling, rubbing against the gnarled skin of Wriothesley's throat, “I may have had nightmares about this.”
“Nightmares? That’s a little mean.”
“I only meant that your scent haunts me. Wriothesley, I’ve wanted you for so long, but I wasn’t sure that you—”
“Can we just forget about it and kiss?”
Neuvillette pulls away slightly, meeting Wriothesley's gaze with a calculated, pale expression. “You want to kiss. Wriothesley, you want to…”
Wriothesley cups Neuvillette’s chin with his hands, tilts his face closer, and kisses him. It’s a silly thing, both of them unpracticed. Alpha instincts rear, snarling in Wriothesley's brain—but Neuvillette’s taste outweighs all of that. This is nice. This was worth every worry, every week and month and year that Wriothesley's been tortured by this.
Neuvillette nips at his mouth, a teasing little bite that causes Wriothesley's alpha to bristle, but that’s the appeal, isn’t it? Wriothesley loves that push and pull, and can’t wait to explore more of it. For now though, the kiss remains easy and stilted. They press together, trying to find a rhythm, trying to see how they work together.
And, all the while, Neuvillette’s hand remains curled around that ribbon, that sweet little courting gift that Wriothesley's poured all his affection into, fingers tangling into it like it grounds him.