Tea & Paperwork

Sunspot

Neuvillette notices that Wriothesley now has freckles.

--

At first, Neuvillette thinks that it is a trick of the light.

They share lunch at Café Lutece, a rare indulgence. Neuvillette enjoys his privacy, their privacy, even if there are plenty of times in which his instincts demand for him to show Wriothesley off.

But, occasionally, they have a little bit of time to waste. Wriothesley will stroll into his office with pure intentions, give him a sweet kiss, and then steal Neuvillette away for a lunch break. Sedene lets him. Sedene ignores Neuvillette's pleas of how much work he has, or upcoming trials, or—Sovereigns forbid—concerns over proprietary because what kind of Chief Justice is in love with a criminal?

The answer is Neuvillette, but who doesn't really matter, it's the why. He can never say no. It's embarrassing how easily he falls into this trap, enthralled by any scrap of attention that Wriothesley will give him.

And so, the lunch. Neuvillette finds himself a little needy after weeks of late nights and not enough of his mate. They sit side-by-side, knees knocking together. Wriothesley laughs and sips his tea, shooting Neuvillette the widest smile known to man.

Neuvillette is in love. He's so, so, in love, and he leans over to press close to Wriothesley because he's too far away. Just a little bit of discreet scenting. Wriothesley will tease him later about the rather public nature of it, but sue Neuvillette for disliking the lewd looks others give him.

Wriothesley is handsome. Wriothesley loves him, and Neuvillette should be unbothered. He knows that Wriothesley only has eyes for him, but there's nothing wrong with a gentle nuzzle. Just to feel Wriothesley's weight against him. Just to leave a little bit of himself behind.

Humans can't tell the difference, but Neuvillette can.

Wriothesley turns to him as he leans close and Neuvillette's eyes rake over his face, taking in every crease, every fold, every—

Neuvillette's hand darts out and cups Wriothesley's face. Wriothesley stills, mouth falling open. This is unusual. Neuvillette will share lunch with him in public, but to touch him so openly, to tilt his face and thumb over his cheek to feel the skin there, is out of character.

"Sweetheart." Neuvillette's thumb rubs hard enough for Wriothesley to grab his wrist, stilling it. "Neuvillette. What are you doing?"

"I'd thought there was something on your face, but it won't—"

Wriothesley gapes at him. Then he bursts into a full-bellied laughter, tugging Neuvillette's hand from his face. "Sweetheart," he says again, and this time it's teasing enough to leave Neuvillette giving him an unamused frown. "Don't give me that look. You're just—Archons—" Neuvillette snarls softly at that, prompting Wriothesley to roll his eyes. "You're adorable, you know that?"

"Wriothesley, I fail to see what you are trying to convey—"

"You're talking about my freckles, right?"

Neuvillette blinks. Freckles. Wriothesley now has freckles, sweet, soft sunspots dotting his face as a result of him spending more time above ground. Sovereigns above, Neuvillette is dumb.

Wriothesley reaches out, sweeping his thumb across Neuvillette's mouth.

Neuvillette jerks, batting his hand away. "Wriothesley."

Soft laughter falls from Wriothesley's mouth. "I thought I'd try to rub that frown away—"

"Wriothesley."

Wriothesley gives him the dopiest, goofiest smile, one entirely unbefitting the terrifying Administrator of Meropide.

"It's you, you know."

Neuvillette blinks. "I beg your pardon?"

"The freckles." Wriothesley hums softly, dragging his knuckles across his own cheek as he thinks. "And before the freckles, I was getting mildly sunburnt. A little pink around the gills—"

"I fail to see what any of this has to do with me," says Neuvillette with a huff.

"It's because I keep coming up here to see you."

Oh. Again, Neuvillette feels rather stupid at that moment. Wriothesley is the Lord Incognito, used to stealing away inside. "Beloved—"

He stops when Wriothesley tugs Neuvillette's hand to his face, turning it over and pressing a cheek against the back of it. He nuzzles Neuvillette's knuckles and says, "This is what you wanted, right?" Quiet. Amused. Neuvillette is embarrassed, but lets Wriothesley douse himself in his scent.

"I—yes."

"Easy-peasy. Feel better?"

"Yes. I don't appreciate your teasing, though."

Wriothesley smiles against his hand, threatening to kiss it. "I'm not, sweetheart."

He is. But when Wriothesley kisses the first of his knuckles, Neuvillette doesn't stop him. Nor does he for the second, the third, the fourth, or even the back of his palm.

This amuses Wriothesley. "Want to try kissing the freckles away?"

Neuvillette snorts. "Do you think it'd work?"

"One way to find out."

Neuvillette is well aware that Wriothesley just wants a kiss, but he's letting Neuvillette build that bridge to cross. He cups Wriothesley's cheek, thumb sliding over the arch of his cheekbone, rubbing at those sweet little sunspots burned into his skin because he can't stand to be stowed below ground any longer.

"Sweet boy," says Neuvillette with a soft chuckle. "I'd rather you keep them, I think."

Wriothesley's mouth curls, pleased with this. "What about a regular kiss?"

It is not that they have never kissed in public, it is just that Neuvillette heavily dislikes the attention. Even now, people stare in quiet curiosity. So rarely are they this overt, this lost in each other.

Neuvillette is soft at that moment, though. His chest is warmed by the sun on his face, and the affection that adorns Wriothesley's face, tattooed into his skin with time.

"You're purring, sweetheart," says Wriothesley then, leaning across the space, pressing their foreheads together.

This is what Neuvillette wanted; this closeness, the rush of Wriothesley's scent filling his nose, his being. How can he not purr when he is so content? Those curious glances melt away in favor of Wriothesley pressing a kiss on his forehead.

Neuvillette catches him by the chin before he can pull away. Tilts Wriothesley's chin and gives him a kiss; a slow and sweet one that lingers long enough that their server has to politely clear her throat when she comes with a refill of tea.