Tea & Paperwork

Tender Loving Morning

Fresh off the high of confessing love, Wriothesely wakes up on a lazy morning to Neuvillette kissing his shoulder.

Warning: Contains Smut.

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Wriothesley wakes up to a kiss against his shoulder.

It is too early. He's sluggish, still underneath the fog of sleep. Another press of lips to that aching joint before sliding across the length of it. Here, there, his nape, the back of his neck where baby hairs cling to his skin stubbornly.

"Beloved," comes as a soft murmur tattooed into his skin. Neuvillette. It is sweet and soft, lacking the cool efficiency that usually coats his words. He, too, is still waking up, slotted against Wriothesley's back, clinging to him like a second skin.

Too hot, too sweaty, but Wriothesley doesn't care, burrowing deeper into the sheets. When was the last time they had a lazy morning like this? Never. No, really, Wriothesley cannot recall. Neuvillette rises with the dawn and Wriothesley often finds himself rousing to a freshly brewed cup of tea, and Neuvillette fully dressed, giving him a dry look of amusement.

Today, though, he lingers, unwilling to move from the bed, kissing down the length of Wriothesley's shoulder. "Wriothesley," he says this time.

"'M sleepn'."

A soft laugh against his neck. Neuvillette's breath is hot but the rest of him is cool enough for Wriothesley to wonder if it's too early to make a cold-blooded joke. "Old fish," he mutters, pulling away slightly.

Neuvillette tugs him back. "I thought you would enjoy this."

Oh, he does, but there's one problem. "The alarm," mutters Wriothesley, reaching out blindly for his bedside table. Wriothesley sets an alarm when tucked away in his cot at Meropide. Never at Neuvillette's place because the man himself always wakes him up, but they're here this time, hidden underneath the waters. And Neuvillette stayed over. Rare. He has before but Neuvillette has confessed that he gets antsy when away from his den.

"What time is it? I need to turn it off—"

"Mate," purrs Neuvillette against his ear.

Wriothesley stills. Right. That. What a heated word full of promise. Neuvillette nuzzles his neck, scenting him, prompting Wriothesley to broach the topic. "You're strangely... tactile, today."

"You love me," replies Neuvillette. "I love you, and you love me, and you are my mate."

There is something about the way that Neuvillette says it that makes Wriothesley's bones melt. He's sore and aching from their rough fucking yesterday afternoon in Neuvillette's office, to their slower, sweeter lovemaking deep into the night after. How many times can I squeeze in an 'I love you', teased Wriothesley before pulling Neuvillette inside.

As it turns out, never enough. It didn't matter how many times he'd uttered it, whispered it, cried it out, Wriothesley needed more.

"Are you complaining?" Neuvillette asks this with humor, his voice rose-colored and indulgent. "I thought you would enjoy nesting with me—"

"Nesting?"

"I love the smell of you. I love the taste of you. I love—"

"Getting a year's worth of that, aren't you?"

Neuvillette trails kisses across his jaw until his chin rests against Wriothesley's shoulder. "I've never said it before."

Wriothesley didn't know that. Oh, he didn't fucking know that. It makes sense. Neuvillette knows many, many things, but relationships are not one of them, and their courting has been a strange and silly dance over the months.