Tea & Paperwork

Nothing But a Rutting Fool

Neuvillette is uncharacteristically handsy in the rafters of the Pankration Ring.

CW: Contains Smut

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The heat is oppressive in the Pankration ring, and even more so in the eaves of the upper levels that overlook it.

Wriothesley sticks a finger into his collar and yanks at it. "Warm," he murmurs as Neuvillette tilts his face to track the movement.

"Heat rises," purrs Neuvillette against his ear.

Right. That. Certainly nothing to do with Neuvillette plastering himself against his back, or the arousal that spears through Wriothesley's gut as a result. Neuvillette's chin rests against his shoulder. His hips are flush with Wriothesley's ass, an obvious erection nestled against it.

Rarely is Neuvillette like this. It's usually Wriothesley tugging him into corners to do the untoward, and even then, Neuvillette doesn't usually give in. Maybe a kiss. Hesitant touches or knuckles brushing smooth skin along Wriothesley's hemlines. Neuvillette still burns red at the sight of that damned couch in the hall, the one they fucked on one late night at the Opera Epiclese.

"Beloved." Neuvillette's voice is low and dangerous. Heady. Lustful. Wriothesley wants to ask but his tongue is too dry, caught up in the feel of Neuvillette grinding against his backside. "You should be down there," he murmurs next, nosing at the sweaty skin of Wriothesley's nape. At least he pulled off his jacket. At least his sleeves are rolled to the elbows, but Wriothesley tells himself to pull off the waistcoat next time too, just in case Neuvillette feels bold again.

"Wanted to watch today," says Wriothesley, his words slow and stilted as his brain struggles to do just that. The fighters in the ring are nothing but out-of-focus spots as his vision blurs when Neuvillette's hands curl around the sharp jut of his hip.

He chuckles, his breath hot against Wriothesley's jaw as his tongue slips out to trace the edge of it. One of Neuvillette's hands tugs Wriothesley's shirt from his trousers. "What if I wanted to watch you, hm?" He asks it casually, as if his hand hasn't just pressed flat against heated flesh, as if he isn't feeling up Wriothesley in an incredibly public venue.

Wriothesley looks to the side. They're the only ones up here, the rest of the spectators several levels below. "They aren't watching," continues Neuvillette, nipping at the shell of Wriothesley's ear, amused by how easily he's caught him. "Besides, don't you typically enjoy this?"

"I—look, I have my moments, but they aren't usually—"

"Usually what?"

"We aren't usually so—"

"Public?" Neuvillette hums against his ear. "Wriothesley, that is a lie."

Yeah, it is, and that's part of the fun of it all, trying to push Neuvillette to his limits when it comes to personal displays of affection.

"I'm the boss here. I've gotta be professional."

"Professional." Neuvillette laughs against his ear and the sound of it makes Wriothesley wonder, yet again—is something wrong?

Neuvillette seems in control of his facilities despite his wandering hands—Oh. Wriothesley shudders as Neuvillette's hand slips into his trousers. His mouth dries as a finger traces the length of his hard cock, and Wriothesley barely bites back a moan.

"I'll stop." Neuvillette breathes in Wriothesley's scent, kissing his temple, his ear, the curve of his throat. "Say the word and I'll stop, you know that."