by the strange pull

Making Eyes and Pheromones

Neuvillette has a rare urge to mark up Wriothesley for the entire public to see.

CW: Contains Smut. 

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There is little that bothers him and yet, today, the sight of Wriothesley's open collar drives him mad.

Neuvillette stares, his gaze washing over Wriothesley's form. Handsome, he's always so handsome with that damnable crooked grin, and the slight hunch of his shoulders as he leans down. But his collar—it's open more than usual, an extra button undone.

Wriothesley scratches at the skin on display idly, looking over a stack of papers that a Garde just handed him. Neuvillette tracks the movement like a predator, like Wriothesley is his—

"If you take a picture it may last longer," drawls Sigewinne from Neuvillette's side.

He startles, and when he meets her face, Sigewinne shoots him a grin that just knows—knows that he doesn't want her to know, knows things that shouldn't even be thought of. Neuvillette pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. "Miss Sigewinne—"

"Oh don't you Miss Sigewinne me, Monsieur. I know the look of an alpha in—"

"I beg of you to not finish whatever it is you're about to say."

Sigewinne does so anyway. "In desperate need," she says, just a little too loudly.

So rarely does Neuvillette's alpha flare in his chest but Miss Sigewinne comes close to coaxing it out. "Miss Sigewinne," he begins, only for her to talk right over him.

"I get it, you know? One handsome guy pines for the other handsome guy—"

"Sigewinne."

"—A little keyed up. Hot and bothered. And look at him, all that skin on display." Sigewinne laughs and waggles her eyebrows. "You know if you wanna sneak off to his office I'm more than willing to cover for you."

"I do not want to do that. I will not do that," replies Neuvillette tersely.

"Oh boo," sighs Sigewinne, visibly deflating. "You're no fun." Then she reaches up and punches at his bicep. "Still, you're making eyes and pheromones. Get all of that under control, even if it's some like necking or—"

Neuvillette turns away and leaves before he can hear the rest of what Sigewinne says. Absurd. Absurd. He doesn't need Sigewinne's unwarranted relationship advice and yet—

His eyes still linger, tracing the edge of Wriothesley's collar, sweeping over the swell of his pectorals and down the line of his collarbone. He sighs again, quietly reigning back the instincts that rage through his veins, and everything seems to fall back into place.

At least until a pretty little thing rests her hand against Wriothesley's arm.

#

Wriothesley falls against his desk with a thud, legs spreading the moment Neuvillette slips close. "Sweetheart—"

"Don't," hisses Neuvillette, shoving his face into the crook of Wriothesley's neck. He inhales deeply, choking on his scent, drowning in the smell of leather, tea, and machine oil. This is what he's addicted to, this is what he craves.

"Hey." Wriothesley tilts immediately and without question, the line of his neck on display. His fingers curl into Neuvillette's hair and he tugs. "Are you okay?"

"That woman," murmurs Neuvillette, nuzzling sweaty skin, chasing with a forked tongue for a taste.

"Woman? Neuvillette, what woman?"