Socially Awkward

Epilogue

CW: Contains Smut

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"Sweetheart, aren't you supposed to be getting dressed?"

Neuvillette, instead, hovers over Wriothesley, a hand pressed against his sternum, fingers tracing every dip and curve, every notch and scar. Wriothesley feels that touch in his bones. Pleasure sizzles against his skin, tingling its way down his spine, and Wriothesley thinks that is, perhaps, way too early for this sort of scandalous touch.

Neuvillette huffs. That hand drags down, down, and he replies, "If I didn't know any better, I would take that as a complaint."

"No, never, just—oh—" Wriothesley arches underneath him as Neuvillette grinds his ass against his hardened cock. His mouth is curved into a smile. The skin around his lips, his eyes, is wrinkled with affection, with amusement. "Navia," blurts Wriothesley next. "If you're late, she's going to text me—"

"Must you mention her in our bed?"

"—and that means Clorinde will text me right after—"

"Wriothesley, I am trying to seduce you."

Wriothesley knows that. He's trying very hard to not think about it, to not give into it because he's tired, they barely got sleep, and he's pretty sure it's only been a few hours since he last bent Neuvillette in half. A glance at the clock. Five in the morning. Fuck, it's early. But it's been at least four hours, and judging by the aching of his dick, he won't be an entire embarrassment.

Neuvillette leans closer, hanging over him. His hair has grown out a little, curling around his neck, just barely brushing the line of his shoulders. He admitted to laziness. Carving out time to see a barber is too annoying. Wriothesley likes that it can be pulled back into a short little tail, and how he can curl his fingers into it for a gentle yank.

"I didn't think I would have to try so hard," teases Neuvillette.

"You're in a mood."

"Hm, perhaps. I've been busy. You've been busy. After finally having a night together, I find that I also want a morning—"

"Alright, alright, but quickly. I wasn't joking around about Navia and Clorinde."

Neuvillette kisses him with a smile against Wriothesley's mouth. "Good boy," he teases, rolling his hips again, shifting himself until the angle is better, and his hard cock drags against Wriothesley's hip bone.

At least he's ready for this. Just a little bit of lube and the press of Wriothesley's fingers show that he's still soft and loose, ready to be filled. Neuvillette makes a soft, aching sound; his hips stutter as Wriothesley teases, sinking his fingers deeper, spreading them, pulling at his rim with gentle, lazy moments.

Neuvillette isn't patient. He bats Wriothesley's hand away, takes hold of his cock, and slides onto it. It's a slow-going, grinding pace. Wriothesley's fingers dig into Neuvillette's ass cheeks, guiding him onto lazy thrusts.

"Sweetheart," he says, "you feel so good. I'm—hah, this is—"

Neuvillette still leans close. Cups his face and chases Wriothesley's lips for sweet kisses. "A good start to the day," he laughs, his breath warm, a little stale. But Wriothesley doesn't care, all he can focus on is the heat of Neuvillette's ass, and the way he squeezes tight around his cock.

He meets every thrust, dragging his hips down, grinding Wriothesley's cock as deep as he can. "Beloved," he murmurs, pressing their foreheads together, relishing in the warmth, the closeness of their bodies, "I love this. I love you. You're close. Give it to me, Wriothesley."