just as you are

Whipped

Neuvillette is, occasionally, a menace, particularly when eating sweets.

--

If there is one thing that Wriothesley can count on when visiting Neuvillette, it's terrible tea.

He doesn't blame him. Neuvillette is a man who prefers plain water but Wriothesley does his best not to judge and teases him only a little. A sip has his nose twitching. Over brewed and a little bitter. Neuvillette hasn't thought about laying out sugar and cream to pair with it.

Wriothesley does not complain. Instead, he places his cup down and reaches for his papers. "So, to work—"

"So soon?" Neuvillette pours himself a cup before setting the pot down. He takes a sip and sighs, seemingly satisfied because he doesn't know any better. Cute. Wriothesley hides a smile behind his hand.

There is also an array of treats set out. "Lady Furina," explains Neuvillette with a wave. "You know how she is with sweets."

Wriothesley doesn't but nods all the same. He isn't privy to the whims of their... former Archon in the same way Neuvillette is but treasures the casual way in which he regards her.

"Has she been indulging in a pity party?" Not that Wriothesley would blame her. Neuvillette hasn't divulged all the details post-flood but he's shared enough for Wriothesley to paint a picture.

Neuvillette huffs, a soft and fleeting sound. He reaches out to snag a cupcake from one of the table trays. "You know how she is with her whims."

This, Wriothesley does know, just as everyone else within Fontaine does. "How is she adjusting?" Neuvillette opens his mouth and Wriothesley already senses an overwrought story building on his tongue. "Wait, hold that thought—tell me later. We have reports that we actually have to go over and the sooner we do that, the sooner we can relax."

A soft hum from Neuvillette as he peels the wrapper away from a pastry, a round and squat thing topped with whipped cream.

Wriothesley straightens a stack of papers and begins to flip through them, carding through the parchment. "There's a lot here. I sifted through it and tried to narrow down the most important bits. Several ships were damaged and—"

Wriothesley looks up and catches sight of Neuvillette. "I—um— compensation for the..." Wriothesley's voice falters.

Neuvillette is busy eating the pastry. Slowly. Carefully. He bites around his fingers, avoiding the messy bits but still manages to dirty them nonetheless.

"Neuvillette," says Wriothesley, unsure if he's trying to capture the man's attention or berate his manners.

"A mess," Neuvillette replies, popping the last bite into his mouth. "These sorts of treats are always a mess—this is why I never..." Neuvillette frowns, surveying the whipped cream that's left on his fingers.

Wriothesley is about to call his name again when Neuvillette's tongue slips out to lap at his fingertips. Long and draconic, split at the tip. Neuvillette thinks nothing of it as it snakes out and curls around his knuckles, letting none of the whipped cream go to waste.

A nightmare. A nightmare. Wriothesley loses all rational thought as he just watches. He thinks of that devilish tongue and all the other sordid things that it has and can do. And it's been a while since they've had a chance to indulge, being that Fontaine just nearly came to an end, so the sight of it strikes Wriothesley like a bolt of Electro.

The paper in Wriothesley's hands crinkles under his tight grip. He shifts in his seat. The room is now unbearably hot. Neuvillette just licks at his fingers and thinks nothing of it, his tongue tracing every joint and dip.

"Mon—Monsieur Neuvillette," he manages to hiss.

Neuvillette blinks. He finally looks at Wriothesley, head tilted to the said, face marred in confusion. He still holds his hand aloft, fingers and claws on display. "Yes? Wriothesley, why the formality?"

Oh, the absurdity of it all. Neuvillette, must not realize.

Wriothesley pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. "You—you know what? It's nothing. Was the pastry good?"

Neuvillette blinks and then smiles, giving his thumb one last lick before wiping his hand against the napkin in his nap. "Exquisite, though that is to be expected. Lady Furina has specific tastes, no?"

"Right. Taste. So, back to work—"

"Why don't you try one?"

Wriothesley pauses again, unable to meet Neuvillette's face because if he does, all he'll think about is that wicked tongue. His heart is already in his throat. Gods, he pines. Especially in the aftermath of recent events.

"Wriothesley?"

"Sorry. Got distracted."

"By?"

You. That tongue of yours. The sinful way that you just licked your fingers.

Of course, Wriothesley doesn't admit any of those things. He clears his throat and says, "This terrible tea." Neuvillette's fond expression melts into another frown. Before he can retort, Wriothesley continues. "Also, these reports. They're—Neuvillette."

Neuvillette is mid-bite into another pastry when he pauses. This one is smaller and he shoves the rest into his mouth. "Oh, would you look at that," he says. "Another mess." There is more whipped cream on his fingers. And this time, it is apparent that Neuvillette knows exactly what he's doing.

Wriothesley wonders if watching is worth the potential heart attack.

Neuvillette laughs, then wipes his hand clean for a second time. "So worked up over merely a tease." He leans over and grasps Wriothesley's chin between his fingers. He kisses him, sweet like the cream and lingering. When he pulls back, Wriothesley follows, nearly falling out of his chair, just barely catching himself on the arm of it.

When he rights himself, he's embarrassed. Neuvillette has pulled away, sitting straight-backed and properly. "The reports, Wriothesley," he says, sipping his tea as if nothing happened, as if he hasn't been a menace this entire time.

Wriothesley rubs at his face, feeling the way his cheeks burn pink. He isn't even annoyed, his heart just skips a beat, desperate for more kisses. He missed this, the soft, quiet intimacy they often share. Wriothesley sighs, hoping they'll get a chance to go back to it sooner rather than later.

"That was cruel," he grouses.

"I don't know what you're talking about," replies Neuvillette, but Wriothesley doesn't miss the slight upturn of his lips.

Wriothesley gives him a pointed look. "So, as I was saying before you so rudely distracted me, these reports show..."

This time, Neuvillette listens intently, reaching out to turn the documents toward him. And then, his hand slips across the table and takes Wriothesley's, slotting their fingers together. And that's how they choose to sort out their work for the rest of the hour.