Into the Depths

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 6: 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓢𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓼

The room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing—ragged and uneven—as they stood pressed against one another. Wriothesley's heart thundered in his chest, his mind still struggling to catch up with his emotions. His hands were trembling as they traced over Neuvillette's skin, as if memorizing the contours of the man he had come to both desire and fear.

Neuvillette, ever the composed one, seemed to sense the storm within Wriothesley. His eyes—those impossibly ancient, yet youthful eyes—bore into him, an invitation and a challenge all at once. The quiet air between them buzzed with the unspoken: the fear, the longing, the unrelenting need to understand what this was, what it could become.

Wriothesley's mind raced, torn between the overwhelming urge to pull away and the undeniable force that had driven him closer, again and again, until there was no more distance left between them. Neuvillette had become more than just a forbidden desire. He was a mirror to Wriothesley's own doubts, his own hunger for something more than duty, more than what he was allowed to have.

"Do you ever wonder what we could be?" Wriothesley asked, his voice rough, the words a reflection of the turmoil he had buried deep within himself. "What I could be to you?"

Neuvillette's expression softened. "I wonder," he said, his hand reaching up to touch Wriothesley's cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "But I don't need to wonder, Wriothesley. I've known for a long time."

A wave of emotion crashed over Wriothesley—something raw and untamed. It was more than just desire. It was a sense of belonging, a need to be connected, to bind himself to Neuvillette in a way that was beyond words. His hand moved to Neuvillette's neck, the motion quick and sure. His fingers brushed against the soft skin, and for a fleeting moment, he hesitated.

But only for a moment.

Neuvillette's lips parted slightly, a small breath escaping as Wriothesley's grip tightened. There was no turning back now. Wriothesley's heart burned with a possessive heat, something primal rising up from the depths of him. His breath hitched as his lips hovered just above Neuvillette's pulse.

"I want you to know," Wriothesley murmured, his voice barely audible, "that you're mine. No one else can have you—not like this."

The words were sharp, almost a declaration, and before Neuvillette could respond, Wriothesley leaned in. His teeth found Neuvillette's skin, just below the ear, where the pulse throbbed steadily—a mark of life, of vitality. The sharp sensation of his bite was deliberate, a claim, a way of marking Neuvillette not as an object, but as someone who was his, in this moment and beyond it.

Neuvillette's breath caught in his throat, a quiet, unexpected moan escaping as the bite sank deeper. His hands gripped Wriothesley's shoulders, pulling him closer, not to stop him, but to bring him even nearer. The connection between them was undeniable, and in that moment, the boundaries between them—who they were, what they were—seemed to melt away.

Wriothesley held Neuvillette firmly, his teeth marking the delicate skin in a way that felt both savage and tender. He could feel the heat of Neuvillette's body beneath him, the way his pulse raced as their bodies pressed even closer. The taste of his skin was intoxicating—salt, heat, something deeper—and Wriothesley's mind spiraled as his own emotions tangled with Neuvillette's.

When he finally pulled back, Neuvillette's skin was marked, a deep, dark bruise blooming just beneath his ear. It wasn't a wound, but a sign, a symbol. The heat in Wriothesley's chest burned brighter as he gazed down at Neuvillette, whose lips were parted in a mixture of surprise and something darker, something he could feel in his bones.

Neuvillette's fingers brushed the mark gently, his eyes never leaving Wriothesley's. "So, this is what you wanted," he said, voice low and knowing. "To claim me."

Wriothesley's gaze darkened, and he nodded. "Not just tonight," he whispered, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Neuvillette's face, his touch gentler now. "Not just in this moment. I want this forever, Neuvillette. I want you."

Neuvillette smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips, and Wriothesley felt the last of his walls crumble beneath the intensity of that gaze. "Then you have me," Neuvillette said, his voice hushed but certain. "I've always been yours, Wriothesley. Always."

And for the first time in a long while, Wriothesley felt a peace he hadn't known he was seeking. There were no more doubts, no more barriers. What had started as something fragile, something uncertain, had now become something undeniable, something deep.

They were no longer just two people bound by duty, by their roles, by their fears. In that moment, they were simply two souls, finally free to be who they were meant to be—together.