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Wriothesley knows he made a mistake when Neuvillette’s nostrils flare. “Your Grace,” he says, slightly breathless. “You seem to be … worked up.”
That’s the Iudex: finding the most delicate phrasing for the most crass sort of thing.
He’s gone down on Neuvillette before. Neuvillette has come down his throat before. Wriothesley has gotten achingly aroused from this before. But this is the first time Wriothesley didn’t have the self-control to keep from jamming the meat of his palm against his crotch and grinding so hard that he’d dampened the seam of his pants while he sucked Neuvillette off.
He should have realized he would absolutely reek.
“That’s one way to put it,” Wriothesley says lightly, because what else can he do but joke? “What can I say? You’re a turn-on, Chief.”
“A ‘turn-on’. Is that so?” Neuvillette gazes down his body at Wriothesley with his inscrutable neutral expression before his focus drops. His slit pupils dilate slightly.
He’s looking at Wriothesley’s pants. Wriothesley’s cunt tingles. His underwear is sticking to his entrance. The attention just makes it worse.
Neuvillette’s attention returns to Wriothesley’s face, which is growing warm from the sharp attention. Neuvillette tilts his head slightly and says, “Will you allow me the honor of—ah. ‘Going down’ on you?”
Oh. Neuvillette isn’t much of a blusher, and maybe his bluntness gives away how new he is to this, but damn. That straightforward manner always gets Wriothesley with a one-two punch - one to the heart and the other to his crotch. Fuck, getting asked like that should not be such a turn-on. “Yeah,” Wriothesley says on impulse, breathless with desire. “Yeah, please—“
He’s a moron. They've talked about Wriothesley’s anatomy, but Wriothesley was not expecting guests and he’s a day out from a shower. He hasn’t taken a razor to his bush in years. What if Neuvillette gets a pube stuck in his teeth or something? But Neuvillette smiles that brief, excited smile he gets when he’s invited to participate in something he never thought he would share with someone else, and Wriothesley’s concerns wash away like sand in a tide. “Just let me get these out of the way.” He sits back to divest himself of his pants and underwear in one unceremonious go.
Wriothesley’s underwear tugs his pubes, slick clinging to slick as he pulls it down. Neuvillette pauses in the middle of resettling on his knees, nostrils flaring again. His lips part slightly, making him look like a cat that caught a particularly interesting scent. His sharp gaze flicks from Wriothesley’s face to his crotch and back again. “I have never done this before,” he says, firm but soft. “You will tell me if I do anything you find unpleasant?”
Will he? Wriothesley hasn’t had many people’s teeth this close to his crotch. It’s taking a lot of trust to let Neuvillette down there to begin with. And he’s put up with a lot of unpleasantness, to the point that sometimes Wriothesley isn’t sure what he considers unpleasant. Nonetheless: Wriothesley opens his mouth to say ‘I will.’
What comes out is “I’ll try.”
Trust is a bitch. Wriothesley hates how it makes him honest. He braces for a stern look, a demand for more palatable ‘honesty.’
But Neuvillette merely nods. His gaze drops down, and Wriothesley relaxes, trying to not think too hard about the swell of emotion that easy acceptance gives him.
Neuvillette gently settles his soft, regal hands on the insides of Wriothesley’s upcocked knees. He runs them up Wriothesley’s thighs, parting them like silk when Wriothesley successfully overcomes the passing urge to resist the pressure.
Wriothesley feels his swollen labia part as he willingly spreads his knees for Neuvillette. His cock, small though it is, is hard and throbbing; the cool air hitting it makes Wriothesley clench, and a mild frisson of pleasure follows. His cunt is so wet he can feel a bead of slick escape and roll down towards his asshole. This is what you do to me, Wriothesely thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s not sure if it’s a joke or if it’s sincere, and the last thing he wants is to say something that will distract Neuvillette.
Neuvillette simply looks. Wriothesley can’t see his expression. He wonders for a bewildering moment if his anatomy is a puzzle Neuvillette has never before encountered, if he should offer guidance, but the Iudex makes a thoughtful humming noise. He runs one gloved thumb over Wriothesley’s labia, catching on the curling, damp hair, before crooking it, slipping into the wet crease, and tugging towards his thigh, exposing Wriothesley just a little more.
“Oh,” Wriothesley breathes, stunned by the intensity of pleasure generated by this small gesture of interest.
“Hm,” says Neuvillette. He takes his other hand off Wriothesley’s thigh, catches his cascading hair with a thumb and forefinger, and sweeps it back over his shoulder. Wriothesley glimpses a canine caught on a pale lip before Neuvillette breathes deep, bends close, and presses the tip of his tongue into Wriothesley’s slit.
Wriothesley hears himself split open under Neuvillette’s tongue with a soft, wet noise; he feels it catch and pull against the front wall of his cunt, retreating with a delicious tug as Neuvillette flattens his tongue and drags it up and over Wriothesley’s cock.
Wriothesley gasps explosively and throws his head back as pleasure rocks up his body like a wave. It’s all he can do to not thrust his hips into Neuvillette’s nose. “Ah, that’s—that’s good,” he groans, forcing himself to complete the thought. He doesn’t want to have to reassure Neuvillette just now when he’s doing just right.
Neuvillette hums. The vibration ripples through Wriothesley’s cock like being tickled. He lavishes attention on Wriothesley’s cock, closing his lips over the tip. His mouth is hot and wet and his tongue is divine; every stroke, every touch is a jolt of heat from Wriothesley’s cock to his spine. Wriothesley stops resisting the urge to rock his hips up, rhythmically riding the pleasure. Neuvillette huffs sharply through his nose, but he holds steady, letting Wriothesley press hard and pull back, increasing the intensity of the waves of sensation.
Then he feels pressure on his slit again. Neuvillette is pressing a thumb against his entrance.
It’s obscene how easily Wriothesley parts for the invading digit. Neuvillette’s tongue stutters and his thumb twitches deeper at the wet squelch that greets the intrusion.
Neuvillette jerks his head back. “Your Grace,” he pants, voice strained with a tone Wriothesley has never heard from Neuvillette before tonight.
If Neuvillette was going to say anything, Wriothesley doesn’t care what it is. “Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, more, keep it up, Chief—nngh!”
He breaks off into a keen as Neuvillette’s tongue sinks into Wriothesley, deeper than his thumb. As deep as it can go, it seems: Neuvillette’s nose presses firmly into the base of Wriothesley’s cock.
The pressure he applies to Wriothesley’s g-spot is nothing short of heavenly.
“Fuck!” Wriothesley grinds his butt down into the covers, shoving himself hard against Neuvillette’s tongue. Neuvillette grunts; his thumb slips free of Wriothesley, but soon both his hands have snaked under Wriothesley’s thighs and gripped his hips with incredible force. Neuvillette is so much stronger than he looks, and hasn’t that always been a little bit of a turn on? The idea that Neuvillette has the strength to be a threat has always made Wriothesley’s blood sing more than he cares to admit.
Neuvillette curls his tongue, pulls it back like he’s taking a taste. Wriothesley hears him swallow—fuck, that’s either incredibly hot or terrifying.
A blast of warm breath against his cock sends a shiver up Wriothesley’s spine. Neuvillette is sighing.
“Delicious,” he murmurs, his voice a rumble against Wriothesley’s privates. And then his tongue splits Wriothesley open again.
Did Neuvillette just say he was delicious?
Wriothesley has never come from being eaten out before, but he thinks this might be another first for him. Neuvillette’s tongue scrubs over his g-spot over and over until Wriothesley is panting in short, sharp breaths, toes curling at either side of Neuvillette’s head; his nose bullies Wriothesley’s cock with every tonguestroke. Wriothesley’s entire consciousness has narrowed to the space between his legs; he can feel a tight knot of pleasure unfurling below his navel, slowly at first, but faster and faster, until he teeters over the edge of the heartstopping cliff of orgasm.
Wriothesley decides not to fight it. “Chief,” he pants. “Chief—N-Neuvillette—!”
The Iudex’s name stretches into a groan as Wriothesley loses himself in the plunge. He digs his fingers into the covers as if to keep himself from flying away; he arches his back to force Neuvillette’s tongue deeper until he can barely stand the intense bliss, taut and trembling, frozen by pleasure.
The balance tips. Wriothesley gasps, shoves his heels into the sheets, and snaps his hips off the bed, too fast: he nearly dislodges Neuvillette in his suddenness.
But Neuvillette chases him. Wriothesley hears himself make an embarrassing wail as the Iudex clings close, keeps his mouth on Wriothesley. He strokes the flat of his tongue from Wriothesley’s slit to his cock, and it’s so much—
Wriothesley clenches and something comes out of him—spurts out of him, really.
Oh god, he’s squirting. Wriothesley didn’t even know he could do that.
He’s squirting right into Neuvillette’s mouth.
“Fuck—s-sorry—!” But Wriothesley clenches again, and more comes out, and his mind goes staticky with overstimulation. He drops his head back with a gasp, helpless to do anything but ride it out.
Neuvillette seems happy to come along for the ride as well, at least. He’s more in charge of the ride than Wriothesley is. He’s stroking his tongue over Wriothesley’s slit, teasing Wriothesley into clenching again and again; he presses his mouth close and swallows everything down.
His grip on Wriothesley’s hips only relaxes when Wriothesley finally bucks himself out, collapses on the bed, and groans, “Stop! Stop, stop, enough.” Wriothesley throws an arm over his eyes, panting for breath. His temples are wet; did he actually cry from pleasure? Holy shit …
Wriothesley lets out a burst of laughter.
“Wriothesley?”
Wriothesley peeks out from under his arm to see Neuvillette up on an elbow, wiping at his chin with the palm of one hand. There’s a worried divot between his brows. “Are you all right?”
“I should be asking you that. I almost drowned you.” Wriothesley scrubs his arm over his temples hurriedly and pushes up on his elbows, and smiles to show he’s joking. Well. Exaggerating, anyway.
“Drowned me?” Neuvillette tilts his head to the right, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “Are you referring to your … ejaculate? That would hardly be enough to drown anyone, much less me. On the contrary, it was quite a delightful experience that I would gladly repea—Your Grace!?”
Wriothesley can’t help himself. He covers his face with a hand, but he’s too giddy to hide a squirm of embarrassment, his awkward relief, and the intense sensation of being unquestionably, deeply enjoyed. It all comes out of him in another burst of laughter that’s dangerously close to a sob.
“I’m fine,” Wriothesley gasps. “I’m fine. More than fine. I’ve just never come that hard before.” Apparently it’s pretty different with someone who cares about him as a person. “Never squirted before, either. You liked that?”
“Is that what it’s called?” Neuvillette sits up; it seems he caught every drop, because there isn’t a drop of fluid on him anywhere else. “Yes, I very much enjoyed it. An exquisite flavor, if I may say so myself.”
“Oh my god.” Wriothesley bites his lip, but he’s grinning from ear to ear behind his hand. “I guess that works out, then. That kind of thing isn’t to everyone’s taste.”
Neuvillette smiles. He offers a hand to help Wriothesley sit up, and Wriothesley takes it as a gesture of gratefulness rather than out of need. “In this matter, I assume that only my taste is in question.”
“True,” Wriothesley admits. He feels his ears getting red. “You’re a treasure, Neuvillette. You know that?”
Neuvillette blinks once. “What makes you say this now?”
Everything. Nothing. Wriothesley admits to himself once again that he’s in love with the Chief Justice of Fontaine. That this socially awkward, serious minded, and evenhanded, beautiful man makes Wriothesley’s heart pound at both the most appropriate moments and the most inappropriate ones. He’ll never deserve this, but hey, he’s not the judge, is he?
He cups his hand around the nape of Neuvillette’s neck, tugging him closer; he kisses the corner of Neuvillette’s mouth and turns his head so that they’re pressed cheek to cheek.
“Just glad that you appreciate the rain so much,” Wriothesley murmurs.
When Neuvillette lets out a belated, soft wheeze of laughter half a minute later, Wriothesley doesn’t think his heart could ever be more full.