just as you are

Whacking One Out

Wriothesley had the purest intentions when he accidentally walks in on the Iudex whacking one out.

CW: Contains Smut

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It is late enough in the night that Wriothesley doesn't have to sneak through the Opera Epiclese; the foyer is dark and empty, and everyone else has gone home for the day.

He never used to come above ground. He still doesn't make a habit of it but Neuvillette has a tendency to burn the midnight oil a little too often, and Wriothesley knows that his recent caseload has been running him ragged. And so, an offering: one bottle of imported water from the Vourukasha Oasis in Sumeru. Cost him a pretty penny, but Wriothesley doesn't mind. It's nice to dip into his bank account for a selfish reason.

He sighs in relief that Sedene isn't there. She's sweet, yes. She's also as bad as Sigewinne with her knowing glances and waggling eyebrows. "Thank the Archons," he hisses, passing by her empty desk and veering towards Neuvillette's office.

The door opens without a creak, its well-oiled hinges giving way silently. It's a late-night nightcap, all things considered. A nice break, just the two of them, as they wind down. Wriothesley smiles as he shuts the door quietly behind him. He's about ten paces from the door when he hears it—

A wet sound. Soft panting. A quiet, stuttered moan that is distinctly Neuvillette's voice.

Wriothesley's mouth falls open in shock. He—they'd—

Well, I'll be damned. Wriothesley rubs his chin as he steps closer, padding across the floor as quietly as he can.

Neuvillette usually hears him the moment he's within earshot. Or smells him; really there is no hiding from the man, except when he's apparently... very distracted. Distracted in a way that Wriothesley didn't know he indulged in. They've shared heated kisses and sessions of heavy petting, but they've never...

Wriothesley knows that his cheeks are red just at the thought. As it turns out, dating when older is awkward. Even Wriothesley struggles with intimacy, so they've taken their time, is all. Not that he hasn't dreamt of the opposite, not that he hasn't woken up from vivid dreams of coming together, but—

He should leave. It'd be the polite thing to do. He crosses the room instead, thankful for the way that Neuvillette's chair is tilted, angled just so that Wriothesley is partially hidden. If Neuvillette looked, he'd be seen, leaning against one of the hard-backed chairs.

But Neuvillette is otherwise occupied, trousers shucked down to his ankles, hand curled around...

Wriothesley's jaw tenses at the sight of Neuvillette's handsome cock. Inhuman, apparently. Glowing a soft blue in the darkness of the room. Neuvillette sighs as his fingers slide along its length, tracing the delectable ridges that flare underneath the head.

He isn't close enough for a better look but he likes it. Wriothesley always likes these bits of him as embarrassing or awkward as Neuvillette finds them. He supposes that this must be why things have—well, not been slow-going, just... carefully handled. Neuvillette must not want to scare him off.

Rude. Wriothesley wants to taste that cock as soon as possible. He settles for watching instead, telling himself that it's for research purposes.

He takes in the way that Neuvillette touches himself. His grip is lax and slick. He strokes the shaft of his cock with a light touch but squeezes around the head. Thumbs across the slit. Grinds his palm against the spade-shaped tip that Wriothesley finds himself fascinated by.

Neuvillette is tense, he notices, stiff-backed and taut in his chair. He grunts as his hand slides over his length, and though Wriothesley has heard him moan before, it takes a different sort of tone and feel here. It's self-serving, brought on by his own hand, and Wriothesley finds himself half-hard and wondering what Neuvillette is thinking about.