Tea & Paperwork

The Other Kind of Work Meeting

After weeks of being too busy with work to see each other, Wriothesely books a meeting with Neuvillette for a booty call.

CW: Contains Smut.

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"Your schedule for the day," says Sedene as she drops a folio onto Neuvillette's desk.

He hums, finishing his note, the last letter curled at the end by his penmanship. "Ah, thanks Sedene." She nods and keeps standing there, bobbing back and forth on her heels. Neuvillette looks at her, pen held over paper. "Yes?" he prompts.

"I... well, Monsieur Nuevillete, if you need me to hold your appointments around mid-afternoon—"

"Why would I need you to hold my appointments?" He pauses, thinking. "I don't have standing appointments today, now that I think of it."

"Aside from The Duke, of course."

Neuvillette knows, for sure, that he doesn't have a meeting with Wriothesley. It's a point of contention at this point. They've both been too busy to even share a cup of tea, let alone handle anything work-related. Wriothesley has been sending his reports by way of low-level Fortress guards, and Neuvillette has sent his replies via agents of the Marechaussee Phantom. A nightmare. Neuvillette finds himself mildly agitated by the separation, far too used to his mate's antics.

Wait.

He clears his throat, choosing to ignore the intrusive thought. "The Duke?" he asks.

"Oh? His Grace didn't inform you?"

He did not. Neuvillette rubs his chin. "It must be of importance," he replies. "I see. Well. No need to clear my schedule. I don't think he'll demand much of my time."

Sedene blinks, her face morphing into something more akin to amusement. Neuvillette, decidedly, does not like that look, but says nothing, waving her off. She curtsies and leaves, and Neuvillette knows that he won't hear the end of her teasing about it later.

But. He smiles behind his palm. At least he'll see Wriothesley. That alone makes it worth it.

#

The thing about it is that Wriothesley doesn't schedule meetings through official channels.

He's a regular sight at the Opera Epiclese, coming and going as he pleases, the only man allowed to barge into Neuvillette's office without knocking first—something that still annoys Sedene. And she judges him for it—judges them both, actually, her mouth pulled into a small downturn every time that Neuvillette waves off Wriothesley's eccentricities.

And she knows better, which is why Wriothesley struts into Neuvillette's office with a grin on his face, saying, "Sedene told me she's cleared your schedule for a bit."

Because of course, she has. Neuvillette holds up a finger as he finishes reading over a report. "It must be important," he eventually says as he turns a page. "I can't think of the last time you booked a proper meeting with me."

Wriothesley groans, dragging a hand down his face. "You know how busy it's been. With the Archon dead and you all..." He waves at Neuvillette vaguely. "Primordial waters, people freaking out about the stability of Fontaine, blah, blah— it's all a recipe for a nightmare. Headache-inducing. I'm drowning in reports."

Neuvillette finally looks at him overtop the stack of paper in his hand. "Yes," he says dryly. "Reports."

Wriothesley snorts. "Right. Sorry. Anyway, as you know it's been impossible to find even a moment to come see you. I miss our midday smooches—"