by the strange pull

Ungentlemanly

After that very first kiss, Neuvillette goes home and tugs one out in the entry hall.

CW: Smut

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Neuvillette barely makes it back to his home. The door slams shut behind him, rattling on his hinges because he yanks it closed too roughly.

He can still smell him, that damnable scent of tea and leather. He can still taste him too, feel Wriothesley's skin underneath his mouth, his teeth, his hands. He'd responded so well, melting under his grasp, squeezing Neuvillette's hand tighter around his cock as he guided it, hot and desperate.

Neuvillette had an inkling. Their attraction has never been a secret, never been quite hidden, but he didn't think that Wriothesley would so easily reciprocate.

He groans, pressing his forehead against the cool wall. He should have stayed and demanded more. His alpha is unsatisfied, snarling for release, and all that Neuvillette can think about is how Wriothesley would have happily helped. How he wanted to, and how Neuvillette had to pull his hand away to stop him.

Neuvillette was in control—he is old, ancient even, and well-practiced in curbing his desires. Wriothesley's response, though, made him possessive. Had he let Wriothesley take what he wanted it would have been too fast, too hard, full of heated words and later regrets. No, no; Neuvillette will court him properly.

And then he remembers that he was the one who shoved his hand down Wriothesley's trousers to jerk him off and made a mess of his neck.

Neuvillette's cock is still hard and aching, desperate to be touched. He palms at it, pressing down hard enough that it stings, and even that isn't enough to take the edge off. He rarely touches himself. There is never the need for such indulgences, but here and now, with Wriothesley's scent and taste on his mind, Neuvillette has a need, as ungentlemanly as it is.

"The bedroom," he says to himself. "I should—"

He doesn't budge. Neuvillette stands there in the foyer and pulls at his too-many buckles and fastenings instead. Shucks his trousers down just enough to free his cock. He hisses as he wraps a hand around it, stroking once, twice—but it does so little. No, no, all he can think about is Wriothesley kissing him, tongue sweeping through his mouth. Those soft, breathy moans; his fingers digging into the meat of Neuvillette's bicep as he clung to him; the grip of his other hand tight around Neuvillette's fingers as he guided them across his length.

Dangerous. Neuvillette is not a covetous man and yet he wants to consume Wriothesley whole. His alpha roars in his chest, desperate to sink his teeth into that soft spot on Wriothesley's neck in a claim. And Wriothesley—oh, he'd love it. He'd keen so sweetly, back arched, pulling at the sheets as his ass swallows Neuvillette's cock with greed.

Neuvillette tugs at his cock with a grunt. He should've let Wriothesley—

He should not have. He would've never left. He would've hoarded Wriothesley from that point on and made a home in his sheets, old nesting instincts kicking in with a vengeance.

Neuvillette whines softly as his hand slides down the length of his cock and back. Too smooth. He dreams of Wriothesley's rough-calloused fingers. He'd squeeze him just right. Drag a thumb across the slit, all the while mouthing at Neuvillette's neck.

His alpha loves that—that Wriothesley is capable. Neuvillette sees his scars and thinks of the battles he's won, and Neuvillette craves to protect and be protected. It is different for him, too; he is a dragon, not mortal, so his alpha craves many things other than what is standard. Wriothesley is human. Wriothesley is beholden to the typical alpha instincts more so than he, but he showed remarkable restraint, so he'd make for a good partner and good mate—

He can't be thinking that.

Neuvillette strokes his cock instead, thinking of filth and debauchery. He imagines Wriothesley underneath him, curled in the sheets, begging for more. Of Wriothesley's mouth around his cock, suckling at it, his wet tongue dragging along the underside. He'd swallow him down and take him to the root, and then he'd goad Neuvillette for more.

He slicks his hand with Hydro and his eyes slip closed, thinking of this, of Wriothesley's lips spread tight around his length.Wriothesley would touch himself too, hand around his own cock as he chokes on Neuvillette's dick. Neuvillette would hold his throat, feeling the way it'd bulge with a featherlight touch, marveling. He'd finish right into that wet heat, and Wriothesley would swallow it all like the good boy he is.

Then Neuvillette would kiss him, chasing that tang of his own spend with his tongue. They'd kiss and kiss until they were both breathless and gone, and then they'd do it all over again.

He's close. Neuvillette's fantasy is enough to pull him to the edge. He leans against the wall of his entry hall, fucking his hand, the heat in his gut coiling tighter and together. Faster and harder he ruts against his palm— and then he groans as he hisses Wriothesley's name, that pleasure snapping like a taut bow string. He comes, splattering against the wall.

And then the base of his cock swells with a knot, pulling a gasp of surprise from his throat. He hasn't—why did he...? Neuvillette groans as he squeezes it tightly, pretending that he's just buried himself deep into Wriothesley instead. A soft whine. The cool wall against his forehead does nothing to chase away the heat.

He's in deeper than expected for him to pop a knot so easily and unplanned. Like a teenager, he muses, lost as he fumbles about, touching himself. His knot pulses, and though the tight clench of his hand helps ease the ache, Neuvillette's alpha is ragged and unsatisfied.

The heat of the moment bleeds away, leaving the entryway cold and unyielding. Wriothesley was warm, burning, even. If Neuvillette were to call him here, he'd come, tripping over his feet with eagerness. Neuvillette could spend the hours mapping out his scars and choosing his favorites. He could fuss over Wriothesley's busted knuckles and cook him breakfast in the morning.

These aren't just alpha instincts, these are older, deeper, and draconian. Wriothesley is handsome and strong. Virile. The perfect partner. Neuvillette does not nest but all he can think about is bribing Sigewinne for discarded clothing and trinkets to line his bed.

"Our tea dates have always been a game." It'd been a silly thing to say but when Wriothesley looked back at him with want and replied, "So they were dates?", and Neuvillette lost all thought and reason.

"It is okay to want him," he reminds himself. He is just unpracticed. Out of his depth. That's why he'd pulled Wriothesley away when his hand skittered below the belt for feel, opting for heated kisses instead. Easing into this is the best option. "And yet," he muses, looking down at the knot in his hand. Ease into it, indeed.

Neuvillette peels away from the wall with a groan. His knot refuses to stave, clinging to the fantasy of Wriothesley shoving himself onto it. It takes a cold shower and a second orgasm for the blasted thing to go down.

His bed is cold and sterile. Neuvillette is used to the quietness, a lone candle flickering on the bedside table.

"Can I kiss you?"

Wriothesley had been the one to ask, to lean in and seek out his mouth, to rouse the fledgling heat in his chest. It is one thing to desire another. A second for that person to desire you back, but for Wriothesley to act upon it so readily...

Neuvillette touches his lips as he lies in his bed, unable to stop the purring of his chest. Tea, leather, and mechanical oil. He delights in the idea that perhaps the spot next to him might not be empty for much longer.