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Technically speaking, Wriothesley doesn’t have any jurisdiction in the overworld, just like Neuvillette has no jurisdiction in Meropide. And, speaking less technically, as a duke, Wriothesley outranks Neuvillette. But, all things considered, when Neuvillette makes a request of Wriothesley, Wriothesley isn’t about to say no. So when Neuvillette sends him a letter asking Wriothesley to join him in an investigation, Wriothesley is all for it.
Even when he discovers they have to attend incognito. At the last minute. In the carriage that’s taking them to the venue.
“And here is your mask,” Neuvillette says, passing Wriothesley the flimsiest domino mask he’s ever seen. “Thankfully, you are relatively unknown to society, so no one should recognize you.”
Neuvillette, seated across from him, has done his hair in a series of elaborate braids wreathing in his head, and he wears a half mask complete with a long, dark veil down his back to disguise the color and the pointed tips of his ears. Dressed in black instead of white or blue or gold, he’s utterly unrecognizable as the Chief Justice of Fontaine, which, Wriothesley has to admit, is a pretty neat trick considering just how striking a figure Neuvillette is.
“You really think this secret society is plotting to overthrow the Maisons?” Wriothesley asks, settling the mask on his face and tightening the ribbons to hold it in place. It’s itchy and claustrophobic, but it’ll hide everything except the usually messy mop of his hair, which he’s combed back from his face so he looks a little less like himself and a little more respectable. He’s even wearing a damn tailcoat.
“I am uncertain,” Neuvillette replies. “Thus our investigation.” He holds up twin calling cards. “I received these from Lady Allard and Duchess Bouchard, the latter of whom suggested I reach out to you so that, and I quote, someone might have my back when I decide to attend.” He passes one of the cards to Wriothesley, who takes it in his gloved fingers.
The card is thick, a strange logo debossed and foiled in gold on the front. On the back is an address and a single word: pomegranate.
“What if they take attendance?” Wriothesley asks blithely.
He can’t read Neuvillette’s expression through the half mask, but judging from the quiet sigh, he assumes it’s put upon. “Secret societies don’t take attendance. The calling cards will be enough.”
Indeed, when they present the cards at a crumbling old manor on the edge of the Court, they’re waved inside by what most people would probably find an intimidating butler. He’s two inches shorter than Wriothesley and half as wide, so Wriothesley isn’t particularly bothered.
“Seems weird that someone is hosting this at their house,” Wriothesley says.
“It’s an abandoned folly,” Neuvillette replies, guiding Wriothesley into a barely lit hallway that’s bare-walled and crumbling.
Wriothesley frowns. “A folly?”
“A building designed to be a ruin. As I understand it, this was meant to be part of a public park, with this large manse a folly, but it was never finished and has fallen into disrepair,” Neuvillette explains. He leads the way through the darkness, toward a flicker of light at the far end, and Wriothesley follows, picking out careful steps so he doesn’t trip and fall flat on his face. “Now, the rich and titled use it as a place to play, and no one looks twice.”
“Seems dangerous,” Wriothesley says, scratching his chin.
Neuvillette snorts. “Oh, terribly. Every time a party is hosted here, someone injures themselves.” He shrugs, moving from shadow toward flickering firelight. “But that doesn’t stop them.”
They emerge into a ruined ballroom lit by blazing braziers burning green instead of red. Individuals stand in pockets, all of them masked, some in plain dominos like Wriothesley’s and others as elaborately as Neuvillette. One woman wears a veil that covers her from head to waist, the holes for her eyes in heavy shadow.
As the crowd ebbs and flows, it parts to reveal an altar, ringed by elaborate candelabras, at the very center.
“That supposed to be there?” Wriothesley asks, sotto voce.
“No,” Neuvillette says, just as quiet. “Come, there is wine. Let us pretend to partake.”
They keep to the edges of the crowd as they approach a table heavy-laden with wine, and Wriothesley wonders who’s footing the bill for this, wonders why they’re at the party when all they need to do is pay the caterers more than the host to get information. Maybe Neuvillette doesn’t know who the caterers are. Maybe, given his proximity to power, he doesn’t even know to ask the staff—or maybe it wouldn’t occur to him; he’s so upstanding.
Neuvillette passes him a goblet of wine, and Wriothesley takes it, lifting it to his lips and pretending to sip it.
“Ever consider just going through the staff?” he asks.
“No,” Neuvillette replies, with the tone of someone who thinks the idea is absurd. “Whoever is hosting this will use their house staff, and house staff are notoriously loyal. Betraying one’s employer tarnishes a servant’s good name, ruining their chances at future employment. No, going to the servants is, unfortunately, a waste of our time.”
“Well, fuck,” Wriothesley mutters, following Neuvillette once more as they begin a circuit of the dance floor.
He doesn’t spend enough time in polite society to recognize anyone, but Neuvillette does. Speaking quietly, forcing Wriothesley to lean into the warmth of his body, he identifies several high-ranking justices, an aging duke, myriad other landed and titled nobility. Everyone present, it seems, is some kind of aristocracy, and that makes every hair on Wriothesley’s body stand on end.
“This really is a meeting of the richest and most powerful men and women in Fontaine,” he says.
Neuvillette inclines his head, pretending to sip at his wine. “Indeed. And what is more troublesome is that they aren’t doing very much to disguise themselves. Most of these masks are mere nods to privacy. The attendees are—”
But whatever Neuvillette is about to say is stolen away by a man gowned in a heavy robe ascending the altar. “Mesdames and messieurs,” he calls out in a voice booming like thunder. Wriothesley’s impressed he can do that without a megaphone, and he edges closer to Neuvillette as the crowd turns as one toward the man on the altar. They become a press, converging around the altar as a mass, and Neuvillette goes with them.
Wriothesley hovers at his back, keenly aware of his role in all this. If anything goes wrong, he’s the muscle. Neuvillette using elemental power will reveal him for who he is, but Wriothesley is an unknown.
“Mesdames and messieurs,” the man calls again, “it is once more time for us to throw off the trappings of society!”
Once more? So this is a regular thing. Interesting to note. Wriothesley files it away as a mighty cheer goes up from the crowd, which has parted to allow another robed figure to approach the altar. Slighter than the man, rounder, almost certainly a woman beneath the mask, she reaches for the cord at her throat as she gains the altar.
“For too long,” the man is saying, “we have allowed ourselves to be confined by rules and requirements.”
Someone calls, “Hear, hear!” from the crowd. Wriothesley grimaces and shifts closer to Neuvillette. Neuvillette merely cants his head to the side, as if he’s not standing in the midst of what is about to be a riot.
“For too long anyone who acts outside the dictates of the Archon or the Chief Justice has been derided! Put on trial! Shamed!” The crowd murmurs, agitated, and Wriothesley wishes he had a weapon. Oh, he’s got his Vision tucked inside his jacket pocket, but he’d pay in gold for his gauntlets. “Now,” the man shouts, spittle flying from his mouth, “we say, as one, no more!”
And it’s at that exact moment the woman on the altar beside the man drops her robe.
She’s naked beneath it.
“Huh,” Wriothesley says, his brain screeching to a halt as he realizes exactly what he and Neuvillette have walked into.
“No more!” the crowd exclaims in the same moment, breaking into cheers and applause as the man, too, sheds his robe. He’s old and wrinkled and hard, so, you know, that’s nice, and the woman on the altar gets to her knees and—
Yeah.
“So,” Wriothesley says, leaning over Neuvillette’s shoulder. “We’ve managed to stumble into a sex cult.”
Neuvillette takes a step back, which has his back colliding with Wriothesley’s chest, and Wriothesley sets his hands on Neuvillette’s hips to steady him. Around them, no one is standing still. As the woman on the altar performs oral sex on the man—something Wriothesley is distinctly not interested in, unlike at least half the crowd surrounding them—everyone is stripping off their clothing. They’re undoing buttons and shrugging out of jackets, blouses, corsets. Women are hiking up their skirts to pull down their drawers, are laying down on the ground and welcoming lovers into their arms.
“We must go,” Neuvillette hisses. “Immediately.”
“Yeah, fleeing? Fleeing is going to paint a huge target on our backs,” Wriothesley says, bending his face into Neuvillette’s neck as though he might be kissing it, keeping a wary gaze on the crowd around them.
No one’s looking at them yet, everyone too wrapped up in their own lascivious activities, but that’s not going to last long. When everyone else is in various states of undress and he and Neuvillette aren’t? That’s going to draw curious gazes.
“Then what do we do?” Neuvillette sounds faintly distressed, and Wriothesley hates that.
“Blend in,” he says with a sigh. “Turn around?”
Neuvillette does so, but Wriothesley doesn’t lift his hands from Neuvillette’s waist. His hands slide over silky fabric, and part of him wishes Neuvillette’s skin was under his palms, but the rest of him hates this whole situation. Sure, yeah, he’s harbored an unrequited love for Neuvillette for the better part of the last five years he’s been a duke and Meropide’s administrator. That doesn’t mean he wants to be in this position with Neuvillette, forced into intimacies Neuvillette doesn’t want.
Setting one hand on the small of Neuvillette’s back, Wriothesley steps into him, against him, pressing their bodies together. Neuvillette’s hands alight on his chest, and he hopes Neuvillette can’t feel the sudden hammering of his heart.
“We’re going to have to fake it,” he murmurs, bending his lips to Neuvillette’s. “We can probably get away with acting like shy lovers, but we can’t run away.”
Neuvillette’s eyes are wide behind his mask. “I…” Archons, he looks terrified.
“It’s okay,” Wriothesley reassures him, brushing their lips together in what should look like a tentative kiss, like they’re new to this, like they’re not quite sure what they’re doing. His heart continues pounding, and now his dick is starting to take interest in his extreme proximity to Neuvillette’s body. “We can make it look like we’re doing more than we are, but we’re going to have to lose a few clothes. Can I kiss you?”
Neuvillette swallows hard. “Your Grace.” Fuck, but that makes him even harder, and he fights against his baser desire to rub against Neuvillette’s body. They need to work out some boundaries real damn fast. “Your Grace, I—You should know that I am…” He licks his lips, flicking his tongue over Wriothesley’s lips, too, and Wriothesley smothers a groan. “I am greatly inexperienced in—in carnal matters.”
Well, fuck. That’s sure not great. It’s extremely interesting to his dick and every base and greedy part of him, but it’s a huge problem to the rational part of his mind.
“Alright,” Wriothesley says, curving one hand over Neuvillette’s jaw and brushing his thumb along the corner of his mouth, enough to make their proximity look like a real kiss depending on the angle. “Alright, we’ll figure this out. We’ll make it work.”
“We cannot leave?” Neuvillette asks.
Wriothesley glances at the bodies all around them. Moans rise like a chorus from the tangles of limbs, and he considers, for a moment, that they might be able to get away if everyone’s distracted. Then he glances at the man and woman on the altar; she’s finished with him, and now she sits astride him, riding him, but he’s not paying attention to her. He’s watching. Not Neuvillette and Wriothesley, thankfully, but the orgy. He’s watching the orgy—and the exit.
“I think we’d bring a lot of suspicion on us if we tried.” He grimaces against Neuvillette’s mouth. “C’mere, come sit on my lap, and…” He groans. “When you say you’re greatly inexperienced, what’s that mean?”
Without any guile at all, Neuvillette says, “I have never so much as kissed someone.”
“Fuck,” Wriothesley mutters. This couldn’t possibly get any worse. “Alright, alright, come on, we need to—to look like we’re doing something. Sit on my lap, and we’ll… we’ll figure this out. Alright?”
Neuvillette nods, letting Wriothesley guide him down. Wriothesley sits and urges Neuvillette to straddle him; they’re chest to chest, hip to hip, and Wriothesley’s cock is so extremely into everything that’s happening, but he himself is frankly mortified.
“Ah,” Neuvillette says. He braces his hands on Wriothesley’s shoulders, keeping their faces close, and shifts his hips against Wriothesley’s own. “You’re aroused.” And there’s a glint of something in his eyes—something wicked, maybe, but that makes no sense.
“Yes, thank you, and sorry,” Wriothesley grits out.
A woman’s moan pierces the air, followed by a man’s grunt.
Beneath his mask, Neuvillette flushes, the color spreading over his cheeks, and Wriothesley wishes they weren’t in the middle of an open-air fucking orgy, that he could take off Neuvillette’s mask and his cravat and jacket and shirt and see just how far that flush spreads down Neuvillette’s chest.
Right. That’s a fantasy for later, not for now.
“So,” Wriothesley says, sliding his hand beneath Neuvillette’s veil and around the back of his neck. “Most of these people are going to trade partners, so keep your attention focused on me. They’re going to look at us. Let them. But don’t look away from me. Don’t give anyone any indication you’re here for anyone else, understand?”
Neuvillette nods. “You wish to present us as an established couple.”
“Yeah.”
Neuvillette drapes his arms over Wriothesley’s shoulders. “You should know, then,” he says, rocking his hips tentatively against Wriothesley’s own, pulling a hiss of surprise from Wriothesley, “that while I am greatly inexperienced in these matters personally, I have read a great deal of literature.”
Wriothesley stares at him.
Neuvillette continues to rock his hips against Wriothesley’s, a slow and tentative grind that is wholly unschooled but all the more delicious for it. “I am not unfamiliar with sexual congress.”
“Please don’t ever call sex that again.”
Laughing, Neuvillette cants his head. Now, he brushes his own lips over Wriothesley’s, and Wriothesley’s breath hitches. They’re so very close to kissing, and he’s dreamed of kissing Neuvillette for so many fucking years.
“Ground rules,” Wriothesley says, taking Neuvillette’s hip in his free hand. He shows Neuvillette how to move, gently guiding him, and groans as Neuvillette grinds against his rapidly hardening cock. “I don’t think it’d be right to be your first kiss, not like this, so—”
So, Neuvillette kisses him. And, yeah, it’s sloppy and messy and Neuvillette definitely has no idea what he’s doing, but the way he inhales, the way he presses against Wriothesley’s body, the way his hips jump and stutter, all those things suggest to Wriothesley that he wants this. That he might want Wriothesley. Which is insane, but here they are, with Neuvillette, the Iudex of Fontaine, grinding into Wriothesley’s lap in the middle of an orgy on a Thursday night.
Wriothesley cups Neuvillette’s jaw, adjusts the angle their mouths meet with a gentle caress, and kisses him back fiercely, hungrily. That unpracticed kiss is better than any Wriothesley’s ever experienced, is genuine and raw and real, completely lacking in artifice the way so many approach him, especially now. Neuvillette kisses him earnestly, sweetly, their mouths not aligning quite right until Wriothesley makes another correction, and then it’s just exquisite delight.
Groaning into Neuvillette’s mouth, Wriothesley squeezes his hip, flexing his own with what little leverage he has, and—and, fuck, there’s an equal hardness in Neuvillette’s pants, one that matches his own, and that’s—
He tears his mouth from Neuvillette’s, his head falling back. “You—” Neuvillette’s mouth finds his throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin above Wriothesley’s admittedly awful cravat. What Wriothesley wanted to say dies on his tongue, and he groans again. “Those books were… were really good for you,” he manages.
“I have long wondered what intimacy might be like,” Neuvillette replies, his voice low and soft as he kisses along Wriothesley’s jaw, toward his ear. “But though I have been tempted a handful of times, I have never found it in me to trust someone enough with such vulnerabilities.”
Wriothesley’s breath hitches. That—That sounds like Neuvillette is saying he trusts Wriothesley, which is fucking absurd. “You—We’re in the middle of an orgy,” Wriothesley says.
“You are keenly observant, Your Grace.” Oh, fuck, that use of his title, whispered against his ear, does wicked things to him. His cock twitches in his pants, and Neuvillette grinds harder against him, rumbling with laughter. “Did you not just say to pretend you’re the only person here? That I have eyes only for you?”
He did say that. “Yeah.”
Neuvillette’s tongue finds the shell of Wriothesley’s ear. “Then it is good that such a thing is already true.”
A bewildered sound bubbles out of Wriothesley’s chest, and he stares almost blankly over Neuvillette’s shoulder, not entirely sure he’s still breathing. Neuvillette wants him. Neuvillette has eyes for him. Only for him. Neuvillette—
He leans back, turning to catch Neuvillette’s mouth in another hungry kiss. This time, he cups Neuvillette’s jaw in both hands, cradling his face, holding him still as he plunders Neuvillette’s mouth with his tongue. He fucks into Neuvillette’s mouth the way he’s dreamed of fucking into Neuvillette’s body, and maybe that’s too much, maybe he should pull back, but then Neuvillette moans for him—moans ever so sweetly—and he clutches at Wriothesley’s shoulders as he grinds into the cradle of Wriothesley’s hips, as they writhe together on what should be very uncomfortable stone. Wriothesley barely notices his own discomfort.
Neuvillette’s mouth is warm, welcoming, and kissing him is as sweet as any tea—sweeter, more decadent. Wriothesley knows he could lose himself in these kisses, and he would if they were anywhere else, but they’re in the middle of an orgy at the edge of town, surrounded by people who are much more naked than they are, who are indulging in much more carnal acts.
Pulling back just enough to speak, he says, “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He swallows. “With public sex, I mean?”
“We’re the only two people here,” Neuvillette replies, and Wriothesley’s heart does something wicked and traitorous. “And you are asking too many questions.”
Wriothesley’s pretty sure he’s not asking enough questions. “I need one more.”
“If you must,” Neuvillette says, huffing, and it’s adorable.
“You’re a virgin?”
“Your Grace,” Neuvillette says, clearly annoyed.
“Wriothesley.”
Neuvillette murmurs a little laugh. “Wriothesley,” he says, and Wriothesley groans, rubbing his fingers into the base of Neuvillette’s skull, delighted by the sound of his name on Neuvillette’s tongue. “I am a virgin, but I hope that has little bearing on how we proceed.”
Mouth suddenly dry, Wriothesley drags Neuvillette into another kiss. The man is a fucking temptation poured into flesh, and the way he’s talking is overwhelming. “It’s gonna have some bearing,” Wriothesley rasps. “But if you’re sure about all this?”
Neuvillette’s tongue flicks across Wriothesley’s lower lip, and he wonders if Neuvillette read about that in one of his romances. “I am quite sure. We must fit in, after all.”
It occurs to Wriothesley in that moment that nothing Neuvillette says will actually reassure him, but he’s also too desperate for a taste of Neuvillette’s body—for more tastes of it—to question him any further. He’s got the permission he needs, dubious though it may be, and he wants so much. Wants Neuvillette so much.
With eager hands, he pulls at the buttons of Neuvillette’s tailcoat, his waistcoat. His eyes remain fixed on Neuvillette’s, and Neuvillette watches him in turn from behind his half mask, both of them blocking out the orgy of flesh all around them. No one here matters except for Neuvillette.
“Do you want to keep your clothes on?” Wriothesley asks, thumbing at Neuvillette’s cravat as he drops his other hand back to Neuvillette’s waist, pulling their hips together, showing Neuvillette how to move. Fuck, but that friction is good, is Electro sweet, shocking and delicious. Their cocks grind together through the thick fabric of their pants, and Wriothesley wants Neuvillette naked, but maybe not in front of all these people. There’s a greedy part of him, one that wants to keep Neuvillette hidden away, that doesn’t want to share Neuvillette with anyone.
“Would that not make this difficult?” Neuvillette slides his fingers into Wriothesley’s hair at the nape of his neck, petting through the coarse locks as he rubs himself all over Wriothesley’s cock, and Wriothesley is rapidly losing the ability to think straight.
In his defense, he’s pretty sure no sane man could think straight with the Iudex grinding on his lap.
“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Wriothesley says against Neuvillette’s lips. “I don’t want anyone else to see you. I don’t want to share you.”
“Then how will we fit in?”
With a warm laugh, Wriothesley bites gently at Neuvillette’s lower lip. “Stand up.”
Neuvillette’s eyes flick to the side. “Few others—”
“That mask has your peripheral vision totally fucked. There are definitely people on their feet. Stand up, monsieur.”
With a querulous little noise, Neuvillette rocks to his feet, and while Wriothesley feels the loss keenly, he rolls to his knees in turn, ignoring the bite of the stone beneath him. Tipping his head back, he watches Neuvillette from behind his mask, wishing he could see more of Neuvillette’s beautiful face, wishing he could read the expressions on it or see it flush with pleasure and desire.
He leans in, pressing a hot kiss to one of Neuvillette’s thighs, and Neuvillette shivers. His hands find Neuvillette’s hips, wandering across them to pull at his trousers. Anticipation sings in his veins, burning through him as desire coils in his belly. The rest of the orgy fades into the background as he frees Neuvillette’s hard cock from his pants, running his fingers along the length of it with a reverent touch.
No one else matters. No one exists in all of Teyvat except him and Neuvillette, Neuvillette whose fingers are in Wriothesley’s hair, whose expression is hidden by his mask—except for the shape of his mouth, delicately bowed into a little oh, lips parted on a breathless gasp.
Wriothesley doesn’t look at Neuvillette’s cock. He keeps his gaze fixed on that mouth as he strokes down Neuvillette’s length, long and lingering. Beneath his calloused fingertips, Neuvillette is silky and oh so hot, delightful to touch. The tip of him is damp with precum, and Wriothesley smears his thumb through the little droplet as Neuvillette’s lips part even more, as he sucks in a breath that shudders through his entire body.
Just because Neuvillette’s a virgin doesn’t mean he hasn’t gotten a hand job, but the unguarded and easy way he expresses himself suggests to Wriothesley that this, too, is a first. And that’s wickedly arousing—to know no one else has had the delight of coaxing pleasure through Neuvillette’s body makes Wriothesley’s cock throb, makes him reach between his legs to grind against the heel of his hand, which is its own, special kind of hell. It alleviates nothing of the pulsing ache in his cock, only serving to make it worse.
Groaning, he grinds into his palm as he leans forward, stroking his hand to the base of Neuvillette’s cock to hold it still. “Hands on my shoulders, sweetness,” he says, thoughtlessly throwing out a pet name he’s only used in the safety of his own fantasies. “And squeeze three times if you don’t like anything I’m doing.”
Neuvillette drops his hands to Wriothesley’s shoulders. “What do you—oh.” And that last word turns into an aching moan as Wriothesley licks up the length of Neuvillette’s cock. Fuck, but he likes that sound, likes the way Neuvillette’s fingers tighten spasmodically on his shoulders. So, he does it again, licking Neuvillette from base to tip with the flat of his tongue, delighting in the taste of his skin, in the soft gasps he elicits.
This second time, when he reaches the tip of Neuvillette’s cock, he flicks his tongue over it, lapping up precum, and Neuvillette makes a soft, broken little noise. He’s so fucking expressive—and Wriothesley wonders if that’s inexperience or something he’s picked up from his books. Either way, it’s a boon; Neuvillette is an easy read as Wriothesley wraps his lips around the head of Neuvillette’s cock and sucks gently, as he pulls Neuvillette deeper and deeper into his mouth.
“Your Gra—” Neuvillette cuts himself off, bending forward, bending over Wriothesley as though he can’t remain upright. “That’s… That’s so…”
If he’s talking, then Wriothesley isn’t doing a good enough job.
He takes Neuvillette all the way to the root, stifling his gag reflex as he goes. It’s been a minute since he’s done this, but he’s pleased to discover he’s still somewhat decent at it, and he swallows around Neuvillette until those panted words turn into gasping moans.
Neuvillette’s fingers dig deeper into his shoulders, and his hips jerk forward, forcing his cock deeper down Wriothesley’s throat, and this time it’s Wriothesley’s turn to moan. The reality of the situation hits him in that moment: he’s got Neuvillette’s cock in his mouth, has it halfway down his throat. He’s going to fuck Neuvillette.
Another moan catches in his throat, and he pulls back, dragging his tongue along the underside of Neuvillette’s cock until it drops from his lips, leaving a trail of precum behind it. He looks up at Neuvillette to find that Neuvillette’s eyes are faintly glowing behind the mask. Which, you know, isn’t great for them, but he finds he can’t care because that’s hotter than anything he’s ever seen in his life.
“You can fuck my mouth if you want,” he volunteers.
Neuvillette keens, rubbing his thumb into the meat of Wriothesley’s shoulder, and Wriothesley takes that as acceptance.
Guiding Neuvillette back to his mouth, he parts his lips, and swallows Neuvillette’s cock again, taking it down his throat in a long, easy stroke.
Another keening moan, and Neuvillette’s hips roll forward, fucking into Wriothesley’s mouth, and, yeah, that’s so good. He’s always loved oral sex, giving and receiving, but especially giving. There’s something unspeakably good about taking someone apart with his mouth, about shattering them into pieces. And, fuck, he wants to shatter Neuvillette. Wants to break him into a million shining fragments, resplendent in his ecstasies and brilliant in his pleasures.
Shame they aren’t in private. Shame he can’t see Neuvillette’s face. But he’ll take what he can get, and he starts an easy rhythm with his mouth. Both his hands curve over Neuvillette’s hips, and he pushes and pulls Neuvillette to show him how to move, how to find his pleasure in Wriothesley’s mouth. When Neuvillette settles into it, it’s hot as fuck, scintillatingly sweet.
Desire burns in Wriothesley’s gut as Neuvillette uses his mouth with aching little moans and fractured gasps, finding his pleasure in and gaining confidence with every thrust. His hands slide away from Wriothesley’s shoulders, driving into Wriothesley’s hair instead, and Wriothesley allows it mostly because he can feel how into this Neuvillette is. Neuvillette clutches at Wriothesley’s hair, urging him into each thrust, taking his pleasures without guile or artifice, and that, too, is just hot as fuck.
They fall into an easy rhythm together, and Wriothesley drops his hand from Neuvillette’s hip to grind against his palm again. More pleasure burns through him, syrupy sweet as it coalesces low in his belly. Each of Neuvillette’s gasping little moans make Wriothesley harder, make him ache even more, but he pays careful attention to Neuvillette’s sounds in lieu of his own mounting pleasure. And when Neuvillette’s fingers spasm in his hair, when his gasps fracture and stutter, Wriothesley tears himself off Neuvillette’s cock. He wraps his fingers around the base of it, squeezing gently.
“Not yet,” he rasps, his voice rough from the abuse his throat has taken.
Neuvillette groans, plaintive and sweet.
“Soon,” he offers as reassurance, nuzzling into Neuvillette’s cock as he unlaces Neuvillette’s shoes. “Off, sweetness.” Neuvillette lifts his feet, helping Wriothesley slide the shoes off, and then Wriothesley tugs at Neuvillette’s pants.
He’s a little surprised when Neuvillette just lets them go, lets them fall to the ground and steps out of them, and he looks up, momentarily forgetting that he can’t read Neuvillette’s face with that godsdamn mask in the way. He wants to tear it off, but that would be the stupidest thing he could do. No one’s going to look twice at two random men fucking each other at the sex party, but they’ll definitely pay attention to the Iudex.
The Iudex who is fucking gorgeous, wearing unbuttoned tail- and waistcoats, who’s naked from the waist down, revealing miles of milky skin and a hard cock that Wriothesley really wants to get his mouth back on. But he wants to get inside Neuvillette’s body even more, so he lifts his hands, beckoning Neuvillette down.
Neuvillette goes, settling astride Wriothesley’s hips, and Wriothesley allows himself an indulgent smile. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he says.
Neuvillette leans close, brushing their mouths together in a kiss that is innocent and chaste and so incendiary Wriothesley thinks he might combust. And then Neuvillette’s fingers are between their bodies, working at the buttons on the front of Wriothesley’s own trousers, brushing against his cock, and Wriothesley clenches every muscle in his body to keep from coming. “Is it so hard to believe I might want this?” Neuvillette asks as he pulls Wriothesley’s pants open. His long, cool fingers wrap around Wriothesley’s cock, and Wriothesley’s head falls back.
“Hard to believe you might want me,” he admits, reaching out to palm Neuvillette’s bare ass, to sink his fingers into the meat of it, to pull Neuvillette closer.
Bowing over him, Neuvillette kisses him, and it’s soft and sweet with a hint of tongue—until that tongue slides into Wriothesley’s mouth, and then it’s hungry and filthy, and it says everything Neuvillette doesn’t. Neuvillette wants him. Neuvillette wants him, wants to be with him, and he wants it enough that he’s willing to take it in a ruined folly surrounded by a horde of other people.
Somehow, that gets Wriothesley even harder. He’s never really been into voyeurism or exhibitionism, but knowing that people are going to be watching them now and getting off on it? Yeah, that’s kind of hot, but mostly because it’s Neuvillette with him, and Neuvillette is extremely hot. Fuck, but he never thought he’d have a chance at Neuvillette and now—now, he’s wasting time getting caught up on what he’s hoped might one day happen instead of enjoying what’s in front of him.
Slipping his hand beneath Neuvillette’s veil, Wriothesley cups the back of Neuvillette’s head and cradles him close. Their tongues meet in a sensual slide, their panting breaths hot on each other’s lips as they kiss. Neuvillette rocks against him, into him, grinding their bodies together as Wriothesley dips his fingers lower, lower to find the tight furl of Neuvillette’s hole. When he does, Neuvillette gasps, jerking against him.
“Okay?” Wriothesley asks in the scant space between them.
“More,” Neuvillette replies, taking Wriothesley’s mouth again.
Wriothesley laughs warmly, pulling Neuvillette harder into their kiss only to break away a second later. “We need some kind of lube, though. It’s not something I carry, so…” He dreads having to turn to someone else, dreads having to turn away from Neuvillette for even a moment.
“How fortuitous that I control Hydro, then.” Neuvillette bites at Wriothesley’s lower lip, and Wriothesley groans, arching into him, clutching at the back of his head, desperately wishing they were both fully naked and in a bed.
Something slick drips over Wriothesley’s fingers, and he groans again. “That’s—That’s handy,” he says.
“Imagine,” Neuvillette drawls, biting again at Wriothesley’s lower lip. “I learned it from a book.”
“I love your books,” Wriothesley replies, which is stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but he’s really fucking glad that Neuvillette reads what has to be the horniest shit on Teyvat.
With Hydro dripping from his fingers, Wriothesley presses one gently to Neuvillette’s hole, rubbing it into tight muscle. Above him, Neuvillette makes a quiet little whining sound deep in his throat, dropping his face into the crook of Wriothesley’s neck. He’s panting, breathing so very hard, and rutting against Wriothesley’s belly as Wriothesley plays with him, as Wriothesley gets him used to the finger against his ass, and, fuck, it feels so good. It all feels so good, like a dream, really, and Wriothesley never wants to wake up.
He reads every hitching breath, every gasp. He measures the tension in Neuvillette’s body with his hands and his lips as they press against Neuvillette’s veil-covered ear. “Easy,” he murmurs. “Slow and easy, just like this.”
Neuvillette doesn’t seem particular interested in slow and easy. No, he grinds backwards, pushing himself onto Wriothesley’s finger until it eases into his body, and then they’re both moaning. Impossibly tight heat wraps around Wriothesley’s finger, and all he wants is to get deeper, but not yet, not yet, he has to take his time, he has to—
Neuvillette, his hands still petting Wriothesley’s cock, rocks his hips backwards and takes Wriothesley’s finger to the second knuckle. “I will not break,” he says, which is so indescribably hot that Wriothesley almost comes.
Gritting his teeth, he forces his orgasm down, reeling himself in as he starts a slow, easy rhythm with his finger. “I know,” he says, groaning as Neuvillette begins stroking him, playing tentative and explorative touches over his skin that have him half out of his mind. “But this is still your first time, and I’m going to treat you right.”
“So good to me,” Neuvillette purrs.
Wriothesley bites at Neuvillette’s ear through the veil, earning a wicked gasp. “All I want is to be good to you, sweetness,” he says, which is probably overplaying his hand, but he doesn’t care, not right now, not with Neuvillette’s hands on his cock and his finger gliding in and out of Neuvillette’s hole.
With each push of his finger, Neuvillette sinks backwards, impaling himself, and hungry little noises fall from his lips. His hands pet over Wriothesley’s cock, stroking lazily—and Wriothesley’s glad for that. Anything more urgent, and he’d almost certainly come. Neuvillette’s gloves are soft and warm, and his cock throbs with every stroke. He teeters on the edge but desperately holds himself back, wanting nothing more than to sink into Neuvillette’s body to paint his insides white. And, fuck, Neuvillette wants it. Neuvillette wants it so much, is moaning sweetly into the crook of Wriothesley’s neck as he fucks himself on Wriothesley’s finger, rolling his hips with more practiced ease, now.
Wriothesley slips a second finger into him, and Neuvillette shudders. With the tips of both fingers, Wriothesley seeks out Neuvillette’s prostate, gently trailing his fingers over it, and he earns a surprised little cry, one quickly smothered. That sound is so good, so gratifying, so Wriothesley strokes him again, again, smiling against Neuvillette’s ear as Neuvillette swallows aching whines of increasing need.
“Don’t come,” Wriothesley says, still stroking, still petting, using this opportunity to work Neuvillette open with gentle pulls and tugs. “Don’t come yet, sweetness. Wanna be in you when you come for me.”
Neuvillette moans, squeezing around Wriothesley’s cock.
“Want to feel you tight around my cock when you finish, yeah?” He spreads his fingers wide, testing the give of Neuvillette’s rim. Unsatisfied, he pushes his fingers deep, bullying Neuvillette’s prostate to gasping moans, and then pulling out to stretch Neuvillette yet more. This has to be good for him, has to be wonderful, has to get him addicted to Wriothesley’s touch, because Wriothesley doesn’t know if he can only have Neuvillette like this once. “Fuck, Neu—” He swallows back the name, not wanting to risk anyone overhearing and knowing. “Want to be inside you so much.”
“Then take me,” Neuvillette says, mouthing at the hollow behind Wriothesley’s jaw. “Take me, Your Grace. Have me.”
Wriothesley circles his fingers against Neuvillette’s rim, pulling it as wide as he can, measuring the softness and openness of Neuvillette’s body. Good, this is good, maybe not as good as it could be, but enough.
“Kneel over me,” he says, pulling his fingers out of Neuvillette’s ass. Neuvillette rises to his knees, and Wriothesley gently knocks his hands away from his own cock. He strokes himself with the remaining Hydro, slicking himself down as he nuzzles against Neuvillette’s cheek. “It’ll be easier if you ride me. Gravity can do most of the work. That good with you?”
Neuvillette mewls, the sound going straight to Wriothesley’s aching cock. “I will take whatever you give me.”
Shit, fuck, but that’s just too much for a man to hear. Wriothesley grasps Neuvillette’s hip in one hand, tugging him into a better position, and his cock in the other. “Like this,” he says, a little hysterical, his whole world narrowing down to the tip of his cock pressing against Neuvillette’s loose, soft hole. “Sink down for me.”
Neuvillette does, lowering himself onto Wriothesley’s cock, his body giving way for Wriothesley’s own, and, fuck, Wriothesley’s going to lose his fucking mind. Neuvillette’s still tight and scorching hot, and he’s moaning as he sinks down, panting, grasping Wriothesley’s shoulders like he’s going to drown without someone to cling onto.
“That’s it,” Wriothesley murmurs, pressing his cheek to Neuvillette’s. “Fuck, sweetness, you feel so good. Take as much time as you need. Don’t force it.”
Neuvillette makes a soft, aching little sound, dropping one hand to Wriothesley’s chest. His fingers fist in Wriothesley’s jacket, clutching, and he lowers himself more, inch by perfect, miserable, elating inch, until they’re both shaking and he finally settles himself on Wriothesley’s lap. Hot breath washes over Wriothesley’s throat as Neuvillette pants, and he’s shuddering in Wriothesley’s arms, trembling like a delicate leaf, and that, too, is so fucking erotic that Wriothesley could literally come.
Being inside Neuvillette is perfect. The tight grip of his ass, the silky muscle, the incredible warmth of him. It’s almost too much, and Wriothesley grits his teeth, unwinding some of the knot of pleasure in his gut. He refuses to go off like an untried teenager. He’s better than that, but Neuvillette is something so close to perfection that it’s a monumental struggle.
“That’s so good,” Wriothesley says, rubbing his thumbs over Neuvillette’s hips. “Sweetness, that’s so good. You’re so good.” He rubs one hand over the small of Neuvillette’s back and then up his spine, petting, soothing, not that Neuvillette seems to need it.
“Like this?” he asks, slowly circling his hips, and Wriothesley chokes as pleasure burns through him. The pull of Neuvillette’s rim against his cock is sweet agony, the slick glide of muscle some erotic destruction. “In the books…”
“’S perfect,” Wriothesley slurs. “Do—Do what makes you feel good.”
He had it in his head to guide Neuvillette, to show him how to move, but now he can’t fucking think. Lifting his knees to brace himself against the ground, he grips Neuvillette’s hip as Neuvillette continues to grind against him in slow circles, gasping into Wriothesley’s neck with each turn.
“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says, like Wriothesley’s name is some kind of prayer. “Wriothesley.” He clutches at Wriothesley’s shoulder, at his jacket, grinding down, and Wriothesley moans into his neck. He’s imagined Neuvillette whining his name more times than he can count, but nothing—nothing—beats the reality of it. The way Neuvillette’s gasping breaths punctuate the syllables, the keening whine the final syllable trails into, the desperation edging it, it’s all so fucking incredible.
Dredging together his thoughts, he gathers Neuvillette closer to him. “Lean forward. Just a little. Just like—perfect.” Bracing himself on one arm, his other wrapped around Neuvillette, he takes them to the ground. Rocks poke into his back, his shoulders, but he doesn’t give a damn about them with Neuvillette tight and hot around his cock and draped across his chest.
Nosing into Neuvillette’s cheek, he finds Neuvillette’s mouth and takes it in a gentle kiss as he starts to move, flexing his hips to drive slow and deep into Neuvillette’s body. A wicked sound claws out of Neuvillette’s throat, one Wriothesley eagerly swallows down. It’s a sweet melody meant just for him, and he has no intention of sharing it.
They move slowly, Wriothesley rocking into Neuvillette in easy strokes and Neuvillette grinding back to meet him. Sure, yeah, he wants to give Neuvillette plenty of time to adapt, but now that he’s inside Neuvillette, he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. Pleasure burns through him, driving him toward orgasms, but he ignores it for the simple ecstasy of taking Neuvillette, of having him.
They break apart only for Neuvillette to brush their noses together, his breath shuddering out of him. “More,” he breathes. “I know you can give me more than this. I want—” He licks his lips, flicking his tongue over Wriothesley’s too. “I want you to—to finish inside me.”
Wriothesley’s whole body jerks like he’s been struck by lightning, like he’s been hit by a bolt of Electro. His hands drop to Neuvillette’s hips, and he holds them steady as he starts a harder pace, a rougher one, and Neuvillette groans.
“Not before you,” he says, urging Neuvillette to cant his hips, to change his position, to adjust until—
The sound Neuvillette makes is obscene and it’s good and Wriothesley wants to hear even more of it. He thrusts back in, nailing Neuvillette’s prostate with his cock, driving all the air from Neuvillette’s lungs with each roll of his hips, and Neuvillette seals their mouths together in another desperate, hungry kiss. Their tongues tangle together, Wriothesley fucking into Neuvillette’s mouth the same way he fucks into Neuvillette’s body, flexing his hips to drive hard and deep as he drinks down Neuvillette’s moans and wordless pleas.
There’s no way he’s going to last long; focusing on Neuvillette instead of himself just ratchets his pleasure up more and more—the heat of him, the tightness of his body, the sounds he makes. They pool in Wriothesley’s stomach, twisting into a knot of pleasure, but not yet, not yet, not until Neuvillette—
Neuvillette whines, grinding himself into Wriothesley’s abdomen, fucking against him, and Wriothesley lets him move, lets him take what he needs until his breath stutters and his muscles seize. And then he’s shaking apart with a long, low moan, wet heat spilling across Wriothesley’s belly. That’s all Wriothesley needs. Neuvillette coming is too much for him; it hits him like a wave, pulling all that building pleasure to its breaking point, and he snaps, too. He drives into Neuvillette’s body a handful more times before he’s coming, before he’s gasping into Neuvillette’s mouth as he comes so hard he thinks he might black out.
They stay like that for a long moment, Neuvillette rubbing himself against Wriothesley’s stomach to eke out a little more pleasure, and Wriothesley boneless on the ground beneath him, staring at the star-speckled sky above and wondering how any of this happened.
“Your Grace,” Neuvillette murmurs.
Wriothesley turns back to him, rubbing his fingers into the small of Neuvillette’s back, and hums with acknowledgement.
“Will once be enough to convince them that we belong?”
And Wriothesley realizes that Neuvillette isn’t asking because he’s worried about blending in. He’s asking because he wants more.
With a grin, Wriothesley captures Neuvillette’s lips in a soft kiss, an easy kiss. “No, sweetness. It sure won’t be.”
Through some miracle, they ward off interlopers as they come together four more times, as Wriothesley shows Neuvillette the ecstasies of sex as best he can on hard ground surrounded by an orgy. They aren’t the first to leave or even the second; they manage to time their departure well enough that few notice them go, and instead of separating, they return to Neuvillette’s townhome, tumbling into Neuvillette’s bedroom, where Wriothesley manages a fifth time before collapsing at Neuvillette’s side, utterly spent.
“I suppose,” Neuvillette says, laying on his stomach beside Wriothesley and trailing his fingers along Wriothesley’s arm, “that we have learned several important things tonight.”
Wriothesley, unsure how Neuvillette is still capable of speech, gives a wordless murmur in response.
“We know that the supposed political dissidents are merely hedonists,” Neuvillette continues, and Wriothesley nods, his eyes half shut. The sun’s probably going to come up soon. He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through the day. “We know perhaps too much about Lady Allard and Duchess Bouchard, if they are receiving invitations to such… events.”
That makes Wriothesley shudder, because he doesn’t want to think of the elderly Allard or even the spry Bouchard in that way.
“And we know now that we are both very much interested in each other.” Neuvillette leans over, pressing a kiss to Wriothesley’s mouth. “Or shall I assume this is one-time thing? An act for the crowds?”
Wriothesley musters up his ability to speak. “Neuvillette, sweetness—”
“Sweetness. I like that.” Neuvillette purrs, the sound distinctly inhuman, and Wriothesley shivers.
“Sweetness,” he says again, softer this time. “You can believe the first four times were for the crowd if you have to, but surely you get that the last was just for us.”
A gorgeous smile blooms across Neuvillette’s face, visible in the pre-dawn darkness only from the glow of his eyes and his rhinophores. “Then you would not be opposed to us courting?”
If he hadn’t just spent hours fucking Neuvillette, that question might’ve arrested all his thoughts. Instead, he rolls toward Neuvillette, bundling him into his arms. “I would like that very, very much,” he says, holding Neuvillette close. “Are we closing this investigation, then?”
Neuvillette chuckles. “I should think we might reassign it to another couple that needs a push in the right direction.”
A grin works across Wriothesley’s face. “Oh, I know just the one.”