Tea & Paperwork

Slip of the Tongue

Neuvillette decides to give Wriothesley a taste of his own medicine by shoving his tongue down his throat.

--

"I lied earlier, by the way," Wriothesley had said, their mouths just centimeters away from each other. "I think that we should absolutely mix business and pleasure." And he has delivered just what he promised.

There is an order to Wriothesley's game, Neuvillette has noticed. Wriothesley will come to his office with a stack of paperwork, which in itself is not unusual. Neuvillette now knows this is an age-old excuse. Wriothesley can easily have delivered his reports by messenger but chooses to do it personally just to see Neuvillette. Persistent. Endearing. Utterly distracting.

Those reports are then dropped onto his desk. Next, Wriothesley will cross the room to where the Electro kettle is and sets water to boil. He'll agonize over tea leaves even though he picks the same blend every time. He whistles as he watches the clock. Three minutes exactly for the black tea before he strains it and adds a measure of milk and two spoons of sugar. And then, finally, Wriothesley will drop into the chair next to Neuvillette's desk.

Work will trickle by. They'll talk about budgets, inmates, and upcoming trials. Wriothesley sits closer now—close enough that they knock knees.

We should absolutely mix business and pleasure. The thought creeps into Neuvillette's mind every time they share tea. Wriothesley's knee is warm even through his trousers. He leans a little too close when he wants to drag his finger over lists, causing Neuvillette's attention to always waver.

He's tried to flirt. Neuvillette. After watching humans for centuries and never quite caring, he finally tried his hand at it because Wriothesley cannot be ignored. And now, their work dates are just that—dates that drive Neuvillette half-mad as he pretends to pay attention to his job.

And Wriothesley knows. He must. It's all part of this routine he's created as he teases Neuvillette while they file through reports. When they're done, he'll clean his cup and the teapot before putting them away. Right before Wriothesley leaves, he'll make his attack; he'll lean over and nuzzle Neuvillette's temple. He'll whisper something sweet in his ear and then tip up Neuvillette's face for a lingering kiss.

Which will leave Neuvillette out of sorts for the rest of the day. He'll squirm, desperate for more because now that he's crossed the threshold he doesn't want to go back.

Today is much the same. Words blur on the parchment as Neuvillette tries and fails to focus. Wriothesley smells like tea and leather, and it takes everything for Neuvillette to not shove his face right into his neck. Neuvillette needs it. Wriothesley's scent. Old, raging instincts demand that he bathe in it before imparting his own. A claim—just for himself. No one else would know or care, but Neuvillette—

"Neuvillette?"

He blinks away narrowly-slit pupils.

Wriothesley looks at him, mouth tilted into a grin as if he can read his damn mind. "Distracted?"

"Yes," says Neuvillette, knowing there isn't a reason to lie. Wriothesley tilts his head, that grin slowly melting into a smirk that makes heat curl in Neuvillette's chest. And oh, how he desires him.

Neuvillette reaches out and grasps him by the elbow. "Don't act so surprised," he says, dragging his fingers down the length of Wriothesley's arm until his claws meet skin. Gooseflesh raises as they trail down to his wrist.

Wriothesley shifts in his seat, uncrossing his legs. "Look—"

"I think that you misunderstand," cuts in Neuvillette. "I enjoy it, how you try to drive me mad." He nearly laughs at the way Wriothesley's mouth snaps shut. "And you do, might I add. You will kiss me and then you will leave me here, wanting. How cruel."