Tea & Paperwork

Baby It's Cold Outside

The season has turned, Wriothesley is cold, and it takes a bit for Neuvillette to take the hint.

CW: Contains Smut.

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It goes like this:

The night is young, Wriothesley has had a little too much tea, and Neuvillette, for once, has no work thrusting him into overtime, so he reads through a thick tome as they rest on the couch.

"So, it's cold."

Neuvillette hums and flips a page, the old parchment crunching as it turns. And that's it, just a soft sound as his eyes track whatever he's reading.

Wriothesley watches him, his arm resting against the back of the couch, palm cradling his chin. His other hand holds a cup of tea that's gone lukewarm because he's forgotten about it, captured by the sight of Neuvillette instead. "Hey," he says, nudging Neuvillette's thigh with a socked foot. "I said, it's cold."

Neuvillette finally looks at him, his expression pinched with mild confusion. "Yes? Wriothesley, it is winter. This first snow is—"

Oh, he's adorable. Neuvillette continues to chatter about weather patterns and how the snow this year has come earlier than the decades prior, missing the entire point. And these are the endearing things about him. Insufferably cute. Wriothesley hides a grin behind his palm as he digs his cold toes underneath Neuvillette's thigh.

"Wow, yeah, imagine the snow bringing in a chill. Wouldn't it be nice if I had a partner to warm me?"

Neuvillette stills and blinks. Then it clicks and his mouth curls into a tiny little 'o'. "Ah. I..." He chuckles softly. "I apologize, Wriothesley. I didn't realize that you were attempting to seduce—"

"Hey. Not everything is about fun times in the bedroom."

"But this is," counters Neuvillette, bemused.

"It doesn't have to be." And it doesn't—Wriothesley is more than welcome to just be in Neuvillette's sphere of presence. It's the little things, those tiny acts of intimacy they often indulge in. Neuvillette is dense to them unintentionally and yet still manages to nail every moment that matters.

Like now. Neuvillette drops a hand to Wriothesley's foot and tugs it into his lap, squeezing the ankle joint. He doesn't even think of it, he just does, thumb rubbing over the jut of bone there through the wool of Wriothesley's sock. "You want it to be."

"Sweetheart—"

"Wriothesley."

"—I always want it to be, but I'm happy to just... have the man, too. If you don't want to—"

"Who said that I didn't?" Neuvillette asks it so casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Wriothesley blinks. "Oh? Tell me more."

They've been practicing this—Neuvillette voicing his wants. He's gotten better, more loose with that beloved tongue of his. As it turns out, it isn't just good for sucking the life out of Wriothesley's cock, it's good at spinning heated words and turns of phrase as well. Neuvillette is quiet with it. Subtle. Wriothesley's past lovers were the loud sort, and not in a good way. But because Neuvillette is a man who only says exactly what he means, it makes all those utterances worth every bit.

Neuvillette's expression softens, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. "As you said, it's cold—"

"Hm yeah, that was mentioned. Several times, I might add."