Tea & Paperwork

Green-Eyed Boy

Wriothesley is tired of seeing others hang off of Neuvillette so he proposes a late-night fuck on one of the hallway couches.

CW: Contains Smut

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Neuvillette doesn't even notice.

The woman leans a little too close under the guise showing him something on a report. She feigns tripping, apologizing as her ample bosom brushes against his forearm. Her shirt is low-cut, the line of her cleavage in full display, contradicting the more conservative style most women adopt in Fontaine.

Neuvillette is too kind, reaching out to steady her by the elbow. "Miss, watch it," he says, resulting in the woman cooing and fawning as she thanks him for his supposed heroism.

Wriothesley is not a jealous man, and yet—

"You know, for all the teasing about Melusines being naive," says Sedene from his left, shooting him a wry grin. "It's insufferable, isn't it?"

"Is this a common occurrence?"

Sedene blinks placidly. "Would you feel better if I said no?"

No, he would not. "You're terrible at lying," says Wriothesley.

"Then I suppose I should tell you there's a whole gaggle of women—"

"On second thought, don't."

It is a little condescending when Sedene reaches out to rub Wriothesley's shoulder, even if she means to comfort him genuinely. "For the record, he's never noticed anyone's attempts at flirting. Not even yours."

Well, that's true. Wriothesley hides a laugh by clearing his throat. "Right. Oh, look, this report. Was this a good trial?"

Sedene rolls her eyes but Wriothesley finds himself eased. And, it's not as if Neuvillette will run off with another. There is, at least, that.

#

So, now that Sedene has said it, Wriothesley sees it everywhere.

Women and men, older and younger folk, and even a Melusine, of all things. And Neuvillette is just... too fucking polite, all genteel propriety as he unknowingly gives into their whims. Fingers ghosting arms as he steadies someone after an errant step. Leaning in as they point to something he must look at. Mutters of fuzzies in his hair as a person reaches out to touch.

Wriothesley may or may not have snapped a pen in half. He may have casually crafted a knife out of Cryo, running his finger down the edge, and definitely didn't think about slitting a throat or two.

It is late now. The Opera Epiclese is quiet, running on one step below a skeleton crew. Wriothesley finally catches sight of Neuvillette strolling through the halls with a folder in his hand.

"Wriothesley—Oh."

Wriothesely tugs him into a dark hallway that's been empty since lunchtime. He boxes Neuvillette against the wall, pressing close and yanking his face down for a biting kiss. Neuvillette stiffens, but then gives in, tilting his face back to nip at Wriothesley's mouth.

"Not to complain," he drawls when he pulls back, "but should I remind you that we're in the middle of the Opera Epiclese?"

Wriothesley tries to kiss him again but Neuvillette holds his face firmly. "Let them watch," he finally says, turning to bite at Neuvillette's fingers. "Maybe they should. All day I've—"

"All day you've what?" Then, Neuvillette's nose twitches, having caught a scent. He leans close, inhaling near the juncture of Wriothesley's neck. "Beloved," he murmurs, "there is nothing to be jealous about."