Work Text:
Neuvillette, Wriothesley thinks, is spiraling.
Sigewinne warned him. "He's a little off today," she'd said. "Maybe push your meeting back a week."
Nonsense, of course. Wriothesley has a budget to figure out, and Neuvillette is the man who signs off on the paperwork. If Fontaine wants its Meka, then it can't wait. Wriothesley detests being a business man when he needs to be, but at least it's worthwhile: he'll get to share some tea with Neuvillette once their work is concluded.
Sigewinne's care is often unwarranted.
But then Sedene warned him too. At first, she hesitated as he stood there, just on the opposite side of her desk. "I would, perhaps, come back another time…" she'd started, a paw pressed to her chin, but then the more she thought about it, the more her mind seemed to change. Melusines don't carry scents in the way others do, but Wriothesley can smell the changes in their demeanor: Sedene's went from worried to amused.
"On second thought, I think he would enjoy seeing you. You might calm him down. Just be careful, Your Grace."
Wriothesley brushed it off. But then he opened the door to Neuvillette's office and was assaulted by the sharp smell of seawater. Ocean breeze. Power and arousal.
Oh. Oh, this is—
Pre-rut.
Neuvillette's head snaps to the door. He stands by his desk, and his nostrils flare at the sight of Wriothesley. But he does nothing else, just stands there, his claws digging into the wood of that desk, which creaks underneath his inhuman grip.
Fuck, that does something to Wriothesley. His alpha stirs in interest, caught between turning tail and rising to a threat.
"The paperwork," says Wriothesley, hanging in the doorway. "It's… I mean, it can wait until later. Sedene said that…"
Neuvillette chokes on a short laugh. "Sedene," he murmurs. "Yes, she would say that. Come in, Wriothesley."
"Are you…" Wriothesley gestures vaguely to the space. "I don't want to intrude."
Part of him doesn't know how his own alpha will react. With others, he's caustic, quick to snap the moment he's in another alpha's space already, and oncoming cycles only make it worse. The smell of pre-rut burns his nose and turns his stomach.
But this is Neuvillette. Neuvillette is different, he isn't like other alphas, and Wriothesley finds himself cautious but curious. There is no immediate fight or flight; if anything, he leans into it, wanting to soothe that ire. How curious. Wriothesley's alpha is on high alert but also drawn to Neuvillette, whereas another alpha would repel him instantly.
Neuvillette taps a claw against his desk. "You are never an intrusion," he says. "You are…"
Wriothesley is many things, which Sedene so easily pointed out early. He clears his throat and steps past the threshold, the door snapping shut behind him. "Sedene said that you might enjoy seeing me. That being said, work is…well, work. And, as they say, all work and no play—"
"Wriothesley, I don't have much patience for teasing today."
Well.
Neuvillette's tone is curt but not unkind. Wriothesley sees the slight curl of his lip all the same. Smells the way that Neuvillette's smell sours with annoyance, a sharp tinge that cuts through that crisp ocean-salt scent that lines his being. A warning. Neuvillette might have a masterful grasp on his instincts any other day, but even his cycles make him testy.
And Wriothsley knows. Archons, he knows. The week leading up to his own ruts, he holes away and refuses to see anyone beyond Clorinde. Not even Sigewinne. Clorinde is made of strong stuff, so she'll put him into his place if need be.
This is…new. Wriothesley isn't sure how to navigate this, which is probably why Sigewinne suggested pushing this meeting. He steps closer with slow, careful movements. Keeps himself within Neuvillette's line of sight while maintaining a polite distance.
"I…" Wriothesley rests a hand against the back of one of the couches, the soft silk catching on his callouses. "Should I leave?"
Neuvillette starts at that. "No, that—" He cuts himself off, irritated—but mostly at himself, judging by his scent. "Work," he mutters, then. "I read over the budget that you submitted."
"And?"
"You are asking for a rather large increase."
Wriothesley huffs. "Old machinery needs fixing up. I'm pretty handy, Neuvillette, and we can do the maintenance, but I need replacement parts if you want to keep those wheels turning."
"I've given you an inch, and now you're asking for a mile."
"What's the point in dating the head honcho if I don't use it to my advantage?"
A muscle in Neuvillette's jaw tightens. "Wriothesley."
Besides, I didn't ask for that much more. Just a little. Next month—"
"Wriothesley."
Wriothesley's mouth snaps shut. The back of the couch creaks underneath his palms as his grip tightens. His alpha doesn't like that tone. It's a mild threat, one that is empty, but heat flashes through his chest quicker than his brain is able to catch up. Neuvillette would never harm him. He'd never—
Pre-rut makes an alpha do stupid things. Makes other alphas do stupid things in response. The hair on the back of Wriothesley's neck stands on end. His instincts tell him to go, go.
He doesn't. Neuvillette chews on his words. Sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring, doing his best to tamp his annoyance down. He doesn't mean to be so irate. Wriothesley knows that, truly he does. Alpha natures can be tricky, tricky things.
"Work," says Wriothesley. "All we have to do is sort out the budget, right? There's nothing else to cover?"
"I have a mountain of paperwork, Wriothesley. A desk covered in files. I'd rather finish it before I lose my ability to focus."
He has a few days yet, according to Sigewinne's estimations, but it amuses Wriothesley nonetheless. Neuvillette is so rarely ruffled. Wriothesley doesn't think he's ever seen him so unput-together, and that's including the first time they let themselves be truly caught up in each other.
Not that Wriothesley wants to goad it, but there is a delicious pleasure in pushing Neuvillette's buttons, just to see what happens. He won't. Archons, he won't. He isn't stupid. And Neuvillette is…well, not like other alphas in a less-than-human way. They haven't had that talk yet. That Wriothesley knows more about Neuvillette's nature than he's let on. Later. Later. For now—
"So, the budget report," replies Wriothesley. "Nothing drives me crazy quite like doing math, and I'm good at it."
"I'm perfectly capable of math," snaps Neuvillette, his patience wearing thin. Then he grimaces. "I—I'm sorry. I don't mean to direct my ire towards you. It's just that—"
"I'm an alpha in your space. You're close to rutting. I get it."
"You are not just any alpha—"
"Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I'm going to set off those alarm bells—"
"It isn't alarm bells, Wriothesley. I don't want you to leave. I want…" Neuvillette rubs his face, dragging his fingers across his nose before pinching the bridge of it.
Wriothesley stiffens. Oh. Oh. Neuvillette's scent turns into something spicier, wanton, and fuck, if that isn't a compliment. Wriothesley's alpha is both pleased and annoyed by it, but the fact that Neuvillette's thinking of him when it comes to his rut is positively delightful.
The promise of submission. The threat of ruining him in return, particularly during a rut. Wriothesley cannot help but think of every possible outcome, each one of them very, very appealing.
"Got it. That's—okay. Yeah. Heard. How about this, then—we sort out the budget, and then we'll have some tea. You'll like that, right?"
"That seems ill-advised, considering the circumstances."
"No tea, then. But work…we can finish that at least. Then I'll be out of your hair."
Neuvillette's mouth opens. He nearly says something, words on the tip of his tongue, but then his mouth snaps shut again, his scent shifting once more. He's wrestling with himself. Weighing the pros and cons. His claws tap tap against his desk.
Wriothesley watches him for a long moment. Wrestles with himself too. His alpha also wants to force Neuvillette to bend over, right there, with his rut just on the horizon. His alpha wants to soothe and ease Neuvillette through it. What a dichotomy—but oh, he can be good for him, right? Neuvillette would like that, and it'd make his cycle easier. It'd—
It's still too early to be thinking about that.
"The budget," says Wriothesley for the umpteenth time. The phrase feels like a crutch. His hands leave the couch, and he steps closer. One foot. Another foot. Neuvillette doesn't peel away. He just remains standing by his desk, claws digging into the finely grained wood. "We can sort that out, yes?"
"Wriothesley, you don't need to tip toe around me."
"I know that. I can smell it. You want… Well, you want. I want. That's probably the problem. Maybe it would be better if we sort it out later—"
"No."
Wriothesley nods. "Alrighty," he says. "Okay, I—We can make it work."
"It's always work. It's—" Neuvillette is still pinching the bridge of that elegant nose of his. "Your budget is approved."
"Wait, we haven't argued enough about it yet. That's my favorite part."
There's always a little bit of song and dance between them with this, even if Neuvillette ultimately gives in. Even if it's never really about the budget. Wriothesley never asks for much, considering the cost of what it could take to run Meropide, which Neuvillette often reminds him of. The game of it has always been entertaining.
The veneer of pre-rut has added an angle to it. Wriothesley likes the danger, likes the sharpened edge of Neuvillette's gaze when he finally looks at Wriothesley again, hand dropping from his face. He's still there. Mostly. He's managed to reign in whatever rages through him, his scent settling ever-so-slightly.
"Haven't argued enough?" muses Neuvillette. "We don't argue."
"Debate then. And you love it, that back and forth. Means that our meetings last a little longer."
Neuvillette's expression is affectionate as he appraises Wriothesley. "Our meetings can last as long as we wish for them to. Our tea times—"
"All work and no play makes for a dull day," interrupts Wriothesley. He pauses, pulling at his chin. "At least, I think I read that in a book you gave me once."
"Your attempts at soothing me are appreciated."
Warmth floods Wriothesley. His alpha is still a little curled, still a little hot in his breast, but Neuvillette's scent is welcoming despite the tension of his pre-rut. He wants Wriothesley there. Wriothesley makes him feel better, making that ocean-salt scent of his mellow with every passing moment.
Wriothesley steps closer, his boots catching against the fancy rug once he rounds the edge of Neuvillette's desk. "Only appreciated?" He leans against the desk, the wood digging into his ass. "What a way to wound a man's ego."
"You—Wriothesley."
"A tease," says Wriothesley. He reaches out hesitantly, his fingers stopping just shy of Neuvillette's chest. "What’s it that Sigewinne likes to say? I'm making a funny."
Neuvillette snorts softly. He reaches out to take hold of Wriothesley's hand, his thumb smoothing over the ridge of his knuckles. "You still came. Despite both her and Miss Sedene's warnings, you still came. Even though I'm…" He sighs, dipping forward, and tugging Wriothesley's hand to his mouth for a lingering kiss. "I was worried about this. Ever since we've begun to entertain each other, I’ve dreaded the approach of my rut."
"You don't need to explain. Trust me, I know." Wriothesley knows better than anyone, really. Suffering through a rut in Meropide, surrounded by other alphas, is less than ideal. He learned a long time ago to handle it alone, locked away in his dorm.
"No, no, I—" Neuvillette, for once, seems at a loss for words. "I usually work through my cycles. Here in my office. I manage to ignore the worst of it."
Wriothesley blinks back at him, entirely unsurprised. "But…now…?" he prompts when Neuvillette doesn't initially continue the thought.
"Now I find myself wanting to share with a partner, not out of necessity, but out of want."
Oh. Well. Wriothesley clears his throat, his cheeks burning red. He gets that too. His last rut was spent fucking his fist to the thought of Neuvillette, which, wow, is a little unbecoming. But to know that it's a sentiment shared, to have Neuvillette rubbing his cheek against his knuckles, soaking up his scent—
Wriothesley's alpha purrs at that. “Neuvillette.” His name rolls off Wriothesley's tongue a little stiffly.
But Neuvilllette—oh, Neuvillette. His scent shifts, pleased, his cheek resting against the back of Wriothesley's hand. "I'm sorry," he mutters, even though he has no reason to apologize. "I am not like other alphas, except for when it comes to this."
"It's natural to be keyed up."
Neuvillette grunts, beside himself. His nostrils flare as he tries to ground himself by scenting Wriothesley's hand, which he still has a tight grip on. "I don't want to be so uncomposed. I want… I want—"
"Can I kiss you?"
They kissed that first night when Neuvillette bandaged up his hands. They did other sordid things too, and have since, but kissing—
Well, that isn't something that they've indulged much in. Sleeping with another alpha is vulnerable enough, but kissing is intimate, emotional. Wriothesley wants that. Sovereigns, he fucking wants that, but it's a damn-near impossible topic to broach when they're still trying to figure out their shit to begin with.
Neuvillette's charged, though. Sweat beads along his brow. The line of his shoulders is tense. Wriothesley's alpha wants to soothe that, wants to answer the call. Wants to make it better. He's caught, however; caught between giving in and submitting, or taking charge. And Neuvillette's an alpha in rut. No matter his centuries of practice, it will be hard for him either way.
He still scents Wriothesley's hand, his cheek warm against Wriothesley's knuckles. Then Neuvillette tilts his face to press against Wriothesley's palm instead. "A bold thing to ask," he mutters, a soft tease meant to lighten the tense mood. "Do you so often proposition Chief Justices?"
"Only the ones who proposition me first." Wriothesley smiles as Neuvillette relaxes. "Come on, be a sweetheart. Let me kiss you."
Neuvillette snorts at the pet name, his scent curdled by mild annoyance. Only barely so. He's just never been one for such unfamiliarity, but it seems as though Wriothesley breaks down most of those well-imposed barriers.
Wriothesley leans closer. Takes hold of Neuvuillette's chin, turning his face closer. He knows that look, that half-mad, glazed expression as need sets blood on fire. Neuvillette isn't even fully rutting yet. He's—
Fuck, Wriothesley loves the smell of him all keyed up like this. Wriothesley's alpha reacts so readily. He smiles and closes the distance, pressing their lips together. A hesitant touch. The barest peck as he waits and judges Neuvillette's reaction.
Neuvillette's hand darts out. Curls into Wriothesley's lapel, tugging him closer. That kiss deepens. Neuvillette sighs against Wriothesley's mouth, opening up, and oh, oh—
This, thinks Wriothesley, is exactly what he needed. To drown in the taste of Neuvillette. To be a weight, grounding him to the floor. Neuvillette makes a soft keening sound as he slots their mouths together. That grip on Wriothesley's shirt doesn't slacken; it holds him there firmly. Right where Neuvillette wants him.
"Beloved," murmurs Neuvillette when he catches a breath. "So many centuries I've lived. So many ruts I've suffered through, and this one will no doubt be the worst."
Wriothesley's ears are sharp. To be called that, to have Neuvillette respond to his silly pet name with such deep understanding, rouses Wriothesley's alpha. "Well, we can—"
"We cannot," interrupts Neuvillette. A soft sigh as he considers his next works carefully. "I know what you're thinking, and we cannot. Not without a proper conversation. Not without preparation."
"You've got half a week," replies Wriothesley. "It'd be better if you spent it with me."
"Undoubtedly," agrees Neuvillette. "But I fear…" He swallows. "I just fear, that is all. Eventually, Wriothesley. For now, this. Just this."
Kissing is good. Kissing, Wriothesley can do, even if his alpha screams from his hindbrain that it isn't enough. He wants more, needs more. Wants to consume and be consumed. Wants—
This is exactly what Neuvillette meant by they can't. Alpha instincts are wild and unpredictable things on a good day, and Neuvillette doubts his ability to maintain control during the worst of his rut. Wriothesley, too. He hates his ruts because he's an insufferable mess of hormones. And Neuvillette is not just different, he's something else entirely.
"Just this," he agrees, a quiet promise. "We can do just this. A little to take the edge off. Is our work done? Can I kiss you again?"
Neuvillette laughs at that before leaning forward. And they kiss and kiss and kiss, mouths locked together as they lick into each other's mouths. Neuvillette tastes like the ocean, like alpha, so utterly him. And it's a distraction, but it's a good distraction. Wriothesley's ass hurts from the sharp edge of the desk cutting into him, but all he can think of is tasting more, more.
This is good. This will help. Neuvillette's scent is sharp, divine, woefully aroused—but that is it. There is no tension, just unfiltered want, which Wriothesley soaks up like a sponge.
"Perfect," he mutters. "Gods, you're perfect. Just like that, sweetheart. Take what you want."
A dangerous proposal, but Neuvillette does not overstep. He, instead, leads Wriothesley to one of those couches. They settle in, pressed close, and they just kiss for ages, tea time blending into a late night and beyond.