by the strange pull

Tattoos of Life

Neuvillette touches Wriothesley's scars and realizes he's in love.

--

"Wait, isn't that your fancy shampoo?"

Nevillette pauses. Wriothesley's face is half-obscured by the steam of the shower but Neuvillette makes out the arch of his brows as he looks at the jar in his hand. Neuvillette's gaze shifts, taking in the tempered glass. "I... well. I only have the one kind."

A statement of fact. An ill attempt at teasing, but the point of the matter is that Neuvillette still tries.

And yes, it's fancy. Pale blue and shimmering, like a robin's egg. Neuvillette's hair is thick and voluminous, but the strands are thin. It requires a lot of work to keep it in good condition, so only the finest of soaps find their way into his bathroom. Worth the money, he reasons, not that he thinks much about cost.

Wriothesley, though, must. Even as a Duke, even with a title, money is something that he lacks having diverted a large portion of his pay to the Fortress instead. Commendable. Neuvillette knows that despite enjoying the finer things, Wriothesley is perfectly fine with settling for less for the sake of others. "I prefer a lived experience," he'd said once. "It isn't about the baubles, yeah?"

His lived experiences could fill a book. Not for the first time Neuvillette has thought to pen them but his bitter-old and draconian instincts crave for him to squirrel Wriothesley away. Only for him. This side—only he gets to see.

Wriothesley would likely agree.

"I left some of my own," he says, cutting into Neuvillette's thoughts. "The last time I was here, I—" Wriothesley cuts himself off with a frown as he pokes around the shower.

Neuvillette hides a smile, leaning against the tiles, watching. How does he explain to him that he used it? That he wanted to drown in Wriothesley's scent in his absence? Every drop of it is gone, lathered into silky strands that Neuvillette would shove his nose into later. He may have a tighter rein on his alpha but even he is prone to missing his—

His brain pauses. Neuvillette's mouth parts and he licks his lips, reminding himself that it's okay to think of Wriothesley as a mate in the confines of his thoughts. And gods, it is delicious—the thought of it. Many nights are spent ruminating about the potential completion of his being. Hence the shampoo. The desperate sighs loosed in his bed as he chased the remains of Wriothsely's scent that clung to the pillows.

"It was used." As Neuvillette admits it, his alpha purrs, delighted. He presses the shampoo into Wriothesley's palm, eager for the sentiment to be returned. "And so, it's your turn to abuse my property instead."

Wriothesley chuckles as he uncaps it. "Is that what you did? Weren't you going off about how dry the ends of your hair have been lately?"

"Yes. Easily trimmed off and worth the bother if it means going to sleep surrounded by your smell."

Neuvillette isn't an unfeeling man, but his brand of affection is carefully measured. Blunt, yes—but never quite so plainly stated. His explanation lacks his usual, verbose monologuing as he awkwardly attempts to string together his feelings.

For Wriothesley it comes easily. Or seems to. He always smells pleased the moment Neuvillette steps into his space. Quick to pull him close, to get his hands on him; quick to thumb over his hip bones, to nip at Neuvillette's throat, to inhale his scent. Quick to whisper sweet nothing in his ear as he pets his hair.

Neuvillette is out of his depth, woefully unpracticed when it comes to matters of the heart.

And Wriothesley knows that, used to his skirting around the main point. This time he stands there, surprised, cheeks flush with a hint of pink. "I—well, that's...Hah."