just as you are

Too Much of Teasing

Wriothesley teases a little too much when it comes to offering up kisses.

--

Wriothesley is impressively strong.

He holds Neuvillette's chin in a tight grip. "Sweetheart," he murmurs lowly, softly, and though Neuvillette has often expressed his displeasure at the pet name, heat pools in his gut nonetheless.

Wriothesley tilts his face towards his. Smooths his thumb over the rise of his cheekbone, the callused pad catching against his soft skin. Wriothesley is close—close enough to feel his breath, warm as it fans over Neuvillette's mouth, and oh, Neuvillette finds himself wanting. His heart skips a beat. His gut tightens as he leans closer.

A kiss is expected and Neuvillette squirms in anticipation. Wriothesley drags that thumb across Neuvillette's bottom lip, teasing the seam of his mouth. Neuvillette kisses it, which makes a smile bleed across Wriothesley's face, wide and genuine.

And then Wriothesely pulls away just enough to kiss Neuvillette's forehead instead.

The disappointment is palpable. Neuvillette lets loose a soft wine that would, otherwise, embarrass him. But this is Wriothesley, and Wriothesley gets to see him at his best and his worst, so Neuvillette lets himself pout. And, perhaps it's childish, perhaps it's a silly thing to be vexed by, but Neuvillette is a covetous, needy creature even on his best days.

"That look," laughs Wriothesley. "There's no need—"

"No need?" Who is Wriothesley to tell Neuvillette what he does and does not need?

Wriothesley's mouth twists into a knowing smirk. He taps at his chin and pulls away entirely to pour out a fresh cup of tea. He takes his time with it, pressing his nose to the cup for a deep inhale, and then takes a long, drawn-out, and savoring sip.

Neuvillette behaves. For now. He sits there and wills himself to be patient. Finally, Wriothesley puts the cup down and leans again into his space.

"Is this better?" Wriothesley is delightfully warm against Neuvillette's cool skin. He cups his cheek, and presses his nose against Neuvillette's temple, nuzzling at his hairline.

A soft kiss is pressed there, gentle enough to leave Neuvillette wanting more. Then, his fluttering eyelids as Neuvillette sighs, sinking into the Wriothesley's comfortable weight against him. Wriothesley's lips are chapped. Neuvillette knows that he'll taste like tea and citrus, and he is already tilting his face to seek out to taste it.

Wriothesley stills him again, Neuvillette's chin pinched between his thumb and knuckle.

"Wriothesley—"

"What's the rush?"

There is no rush. Logically. But when it comes to all things Wriothesley, Neuvillette has learned that nothing about their courtship has rhyme or reason. Neuvillette wants things that he's never before considered. He is bereft and lonely without Wriothesley by his side, and he craves his taste, the feel of his mouth against his, the way that he moans when Neuvillette's tongue slips between his lips—

"I merely want a kiss," says Neuvillette rather diplomatically. "Isn't this a tea date?"

Wriothesley laughs. "Emphasis on the date, huh?"

"Wriothesley—"

"Beloved," says Wriothesley, then, throwing Neuvillette's wild card back at him. He smells like leather and machinery. Those sweet, fruity oils found in his tea blends. The cream and sugar that he decorates his brews with.

Neuvillette's mouth parts in anticipation as Wriothesley tugs his face close and—

Plants a kiss against the tip of his nose.