Tea & Paperwork

Playing House

Wriothesley gives Neuvillette his first 'Welcome Home' smooch.

--

As promised, Wriothesley receives a key to Neuvillette's townhouse shortly after his impromptu breaking and entering.

Wriothesley expected for it to go like this: Neuvillette, because he dislikes public displays of affection, and the gossip about their relationship, would go to a locksmith alone, either later in the day, or early in the morning. He'd pay the person handsomely to make a spare, quietly, and discreetly. And then he'd gift it to Wriothesley privately and away from prying eyes.

What Neuvillette does is this: He takes a half-day off—the morning—and asks Wriothesley out to brunch. Not unusual in of itself; they often grab meals together at various local cafés, even if Neuvillette is a little more private. So they meet for crêpes and crisp, fresh water, and then Neuvillette takes Wriothesley to the locksmith in person, telling the woman there that he needs a spare key to his home made.

She blinks, her mouth falling open. And then she nods, setting to work, and Neuvillette doesn't even bribe her to keep her mouth shut, he just stands there, waiting politely as she grinds metal with an expert eye. And when she's done, he thanks the woman for it politely, hands her the payment, and then gives the key to Wriothesley right there in her shop.

Their fingers brush, lingering and sweet. "For you," he says to Wriothesley, his face pulled into the softest, fondest expression, "as promised. Please make yourself at home whenever you wish." Then a kiss to Wriothesley's forehead, still holding his hand between cool and clawed fingers, and oh, this is—

It makes Wriothesley's chest tight. It feels real, not that it never has, but there's something about Neuvillette being so open about this that makes it hit differently. Warmth flows through him. Wriothesley responds by cupping his cheek and pressing their foreheads together with a chuckle. "Sweetheart, I—"

Wriothesley would tell him that he loves him, but that's a can of worms that he's too afraid to bring up, and the sales floor of a locksmith is definitely not the right place. But this confirms it, those feelings he's been tossing around as of late. Wriothesley is hopelessly, relentlessly in love with this man. The whole nine-meters. All the book phrases, the tide pulled to the shore, the stars glittering back, all the nonsense that Wriothesley's ever read and shaken his head at; it's all very real.

Neuvillette pays no mind to his hesitation. "Unfortunately, we have to part for the day. I have trials to oversee, and I know that you have paperwork. But..." He frowns, looking almost forlorn, and Wriothsley would do anything to kiss away that wrinkle between his brows.

"No, no, you're right. And, message received. I'll see you later?"

Neuvillette hesitates. "Don't be a stranger," he says then. "Never be a stranger."

This time, a kiss to the back of Wriothesley's hand. Neuvillette nuzzles his fingers, dragging his face across his knuckles. Scenting him. He doesn't want to separate either, but duty calls and his Authority comes at a price. Wriothesley is okay paying it.

Once Neuvillette is gone, Wriothesley shoots the locksmith a look, who immediately busies herself.

"I saw nothing, Your Grace," she says, flipping through work orders.

"Nah, you saw that. And it's okay that you did."

Neuvillette is picky, so the fact that he chose to make a show of it... Wriothesley rubs his chin and smiles. It'll be a good day.

#

So, because Neuvillette had a plan, Wriothesley hatches one of his own: He's going to break in the key (and not Neuvillette's home), and make him dinner. He's conspiring with Sedene; she agrees to send an immediate message using the Marechaussee Phantom detailing when Neuvillette leaves the office, which in turn will prompt Wriothesley to finish and plate the meal for his arrival.

It isn't fancy. Wriothesley is no great cook, and he ordered take-out that he's reheating on Neuvillette's stove, but it's the thought that counts, right? He's taking that request of not being a stranger seriously, and making himself right at home.

He thinks Neuvillette will be pleasantly surprised. Domesticity doesn't come easy to Wriothesley, but this... this he can do. He wants Neuvillette to come home to a partner, he wants to be that partner, he wants—

Wriothesley wants so many things that he didn't know he did. But there's an opportunity now, a chance to settle down and just... exist. Together. In the same space. And no, he cannot feasibly leave Meropide—at least not yet.

Maybe one day. Until then, he'll just... use his key, reheat food, and pray that Neuvillette isn't too tired to indulge a little. Yeah, just... that. Wriothesley stares at the clear soup simmering on the stove, his mind wandering.

Neuvillette arrives home not long later, as promised by Sedene's carefully penned letter.

The door clicks shut behind him gently. He loosens his robe and shrugs it off with a sigh, too tired to even hang it up properly, laying it across the back of a chair and a messy pile. Then his cravat, leaving him dressed down in his trousers and shirt.

Wriothesley watches from the entryway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Neuvillette is usually so put together, so seeing him slowly pull himself apart is strangely... soft. Endearing, that Wriothesley is allowed this sight. His eyes only.

Neuvillette stills as he's pulling off his spats, one leg propped up on a bench as his fingers tug at the fastenings. He sniffs and tilts his head, his gaze falling onto Wriothesley.

"Welcome home, sweetheart. I thought you'd like a home cooked meal, so I let myself in."

"A home-cooked meal." Neuvillette laughs, resuming his task, his fingers fumbling as his distraction sets in. He knows that Wriothesley is a terrible cook.

"Are you making fun of me?"

Neuvillette ignores the question, moving to his next leg and tugging off that spat until he's bare-footed. That, too, is a strangely, domestic sight. Neuvillette isn't the type to pad around, toes out and soles bare.

"I would never," he replies when he finally crossed the room to where Wriothesley is. Neuvillette presses a hand against his side and pulls at him until Wriothesley his flush against his chest, Neuvillette's nose buried into his temple.

"Hey," says Wriothesley, taking hold of Neuvillette's cheeks and cradling his face, tilting it towards him until their mouths are close. "Welcome home."

Neuvillette is caught by that. Wriothesley hums softly, thumbing over the rise of his cheekbone, and then kisses him. It's a sweet kiss, nothing untoward, just the gentle press of their mouths together. It lingers, yes, but it isn't deepened; Neuvillette just smiles against Wriothesley's face, holding him by his chin to keep his face still.

"Beloved," he murmurs, "did you really cook for me?"

"If by cook, you mean turn on the stove and reheat, then yes."

Neuvillette laughs at that, a deep and rich sound. "Sweet boy." Another quick press of his lips leaves Wriothesley pink to his ears.

When Neuvillette pulls away, he scents him, like he so often does, rubbing his cheek against Wriothesley's. It's the little things, these soft moments. Standing close together, sharing touches, and kisses, and Neuvillette doing his weird dragony-things. He purrs—purrs—as he rubs against him, and soaks up Wriothesley's scent.

That key burns a hole and Wriothesley's pocket as he, too, thinks this is home.