by the strange pull

A Scent to Placate

Wriothesley and Neuvillette postpone work meeting for a blow job in the middle of an empty corridor.

CW: Contains Smut

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Today Wriothesley finds himself on edge.

It is usually Neuvillette who is worn thin and ragged, the weight of his title heavy across his shoulders. The Fortress of Meropide is a well-oiled machine when everyone behaves but once in a while... Well. People truly test his patience and while Wriothesley is a well-conducted man there is only so much he can do to reel back his alpha.

Wriothesley drags a hand down his face, massaging his temples. "Archons, I'm too tired for this," he mutters. No amount of tea can fix his annoyance, not even the special leaves imported from Liyue. A cup of the brew sits on his desk growing cold by the second.

He glances at his pocket watch. "A little more than an hour." Wriothesley bites at his lip, doing the mental math. "I can grab some lunch before our meeting."

It can't come soon enough. If there's anything that will calm the mild rage that crawls through his being, it'll be Neuvillette. And yes, it'll be business—but business conducting with lingering fingers and knowing smirks is the best kind. Wriothesley thinks that he can sneak in a kiss or two.

His alpha rumbles at that, delighted by the idea of the chase. A mild one. A little push and pull until they both give in, setting those instincts aside to eat each other's face. Wriothesley has a handkerchief, one that Neuvillette leant him. He never gave it back. It smells like him and Wriothesley's put it through the wringer for the past few days.

Right now a headache brews. He plucks it from the breast pocket of his vest and shoves his face into it, drowning in the salty brine of the ocean. His alpha doesn't rear, it purrs, instantly soothed. Gods, he's so gone. Desperate. Pining. "An hour," he murmurs. He'll survive.

Food. Right, right. He tucks the handkerchief away and rises from his chair.

Lunch will do him good.

#

Wriothesley does not get lunch.

Instead, he leaves his office and on the way to the cafeteria, catches sight of Neuvillette. He blinks. Reaches out, curls his fingers around Neuvillette's forearm to still him. Moments later they find themselves several corridors away, far from prying eyes.

"You're early," mutters Wriothesley, tilting his face to press it against Neuvillette's neck and inhales. Unfettered alpha. Salt-ocean and parchment. Neuvillette. Wriothesley sighs, all the tension that's coiled tight beginning to ease. He noses at his gland, calming by the moment, and Neuvillette just lets his scent loose, leaking unrestrained.

"I had a spare moment so I checked on the seal." Right. That's a thing that happened. Wriothesley would rather have a headache over a migraine, so he thinks of anything other than the Primordial Sea breaking loose.

Neuvillette's hand slips underneath his vest and settles against the small of Wriothesley's back. Even through his shirt, Wriothesley can feel the heat of his palm. Searing. Grounding. That hand rubs circles against the sweaty cotton and Wriothesley just arches into the touch.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No." A pause. "Not really." No one else is around. And not that either of them cares, but there isn't much of a risk. Wriothesley sighs against Neuvillette's neck, kissing it just to the side of that gland. "Just stressed up to my eyeballs. And I've missed you. We've been so busy that we barely get to see each other and I know that we have a meeting but—"