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cavalierious-whim · 1 month ago

Text

Heat (Wriolette, NSFW)

Wriothesley has been Neuvillette's platonic heart partner for just long enough to catch feelings.

'Lord Over Me'

5.4k

omegaverse

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"Others would think that you want to tame me." Neuvillette's voice is a quiet purr that, like a match, sparks a flame in Wriothesley's gut.

The hand against his sternum is light, but the implication is heavy; Neuvillette hangs over him, pinning Wriothesley to their bed with an impressive amount of strength. Any other alpha would bear their teeth in a bid for dominance. Any other alpha would roll them over in a tangle of limbs and force submission from their omega.

(But not Wriothesley. No, no, there is a delicious heat to pleasing a partner, in just heeling and giving them exactly what they want. It isn't as if Neuvillette doesn't bear the brunt of his own instincts. For all his talk, he's still needy, still has his moments where he can barely function beyond the thought of Wriothesley's cock spilling deep inside of him, but—)

"Is that what you want, beloved?"

Wriothesley blinks, realizing that Neuvillette has asked him a question. His throat is dry. Words are hard because he's too busy choking on the ruddy scent of Neuvillette's preheat. And fuck, he's happy to help with this. Neuvillette is his friend, his—

Not mate. Never mate, no matter how sweetly the endearment of beloved drips from Neuvillette's mouth. Wriothesley knows that he's different, knows that Neuvillette regards him with a fondness reserved for him alone, but still, Neuvillette is still the emperor, the Hydro Sovereign, a dragon—

For all the affection he has for Wriothesley they are not cut from the same cloth, secondary genders aside.

Still, Wriothesley lets himself imagine it. Makes helping Neuvillette through his heat less of a suffering thing, and more a wild fantasy to indulge in.

"I—"

"You know that I like it when you use your words, Wriothesley."

Neuvillette's quiet request is a trap; genuine, yes, but he'll use the answer as a relentless tease for however long Wriothesley is doomed to warm his bed.

"I would never," Wriothesley finally breathes. Tame Neuvillette, he means. Fuck, he wouldn't; he's an alpha who just wants to please, and if that means submitting to the omega of his desire then by all accounts that's what he'll do. Neuvillette's wild, mad dominance is something to be cherished, to be relished. It'll speak of a job well done, and the alpha in Wriothesley's chest will just steep in the praise, getting off on the high of being so good.

Neuvillette hums. Scratches through the hair on Wriothesley's chest, and thumbs over a nipple that peeks out from his half-opened shirt. "You want to be tamed instead," muses Neuvillette, the skin around his eyes creasing as his mouth curls into a subtle but effective smirk. “You invite it even, crave it. You would let me take and take and take as I wish.”

Always, thinks Wriothesley. Pinned to that bed, he thinks, Always because I’m yours, burning underneath Neuvillette’s sharp look, and the graze of his claws across Wriothesley’s chest.

A soft churring of content as Neuvillette’s hand slips between the fabric of Wriothesley's undone shirt to squeeze at the taut muscle of his chest. “How well our desires align which is why you'll always be so dearly beloved to me.”

Dearly beloved, he calls him, tenderly enough that Wriothesley can imagine it, at least. Neuvillette is fond of him, sure, but in a way that a child likes a toy; they are close friends, companions, but when it comes to things like this, Neuvillette is very articulate in the way that he demands pleasure. And there's trust there, Wriothesley knows it—but, but—

No, his alpha is okay with this. Wriothesley’s alpha preens when Neuvillette's hand dips lower, lower to brush against the bulge of his erection still trapped in his trousers.

"Clothing," muses Neuvillette, hooking a finger into Wriothesley's waistband for a gentle tug. "Technically you are part of my harem. Should I demand that you wear only a silk robe when in my presence? Or—and this is a thought—remain entirely naked for my sake?"

That's the heat talking. Wriothesley's helped Neuvillette through several at this point, and he's learned to recognize what is off-kilter language for the man. Neuvillette will be embarrassed later and apologize, cheeks blushing pink, but now, right now, there is no hesitation to his teasing; to his wants and needs, or the way that he slings a leg over Wriothesley's hip, settling across him properly.

Neuvillette is barely dressed, clad in one of those damnable silk robes he was just talking about, and nothing else. He hasn't lost himself yet. His scent has shifted, and the room smells like ocean water, like salt caught on the breeze and Romaritime flowers, but it's still muted, still just on the cusp of boiling over.

Still, Neuvillette is keyed up. He drops his hips, grinding his ass against Wriothesley's cock, already leaking a mess of slick, and the lack of mortification shows how close he is to slipping.

"Sweetheart," murmurs Wriothesley, "can I touch? Can I—" His hands hover there, just shy of Neuvillette's hips. He knows he doesn't need to ask, that it isn't required, but it's a small act of service that makes his alpha burn hot in his chest with need. He wants to hear the request, wants to have it melt into his skin, stoking his arousal.

Neuvillette knows this. He sighs, his expression softening. "Sweet boy."

He does not bring others to bed, even during times of need. Neuvillette's told him how he holds off for as long as possible, how he'll ignore his cycles until he cannot anymore. "It's a matter of balance," he's said. "I must remain impartial and taking a partner, even in a functional sense, still spells favor whether I mean for it to or not."

Wriothesley also knows that he used to employ Clorinde's help when it eventually became too much to bear. And then Navia's too, with her and Clorinde together, but that was years ago, and now, now, it's only him, only Wriothesley.

("I have a need of you," Neuvillette said to him once an eon ago, and those words drowned Wriothesley's fate deep underneath ocean waters. "It makes sense. We are friends, and you are not put off by my commanding nature. We are suited for each other." And yes, pragmatically they are, but a man can only be a fuck buddy for so long before catching feelings, and gods they're lucky that Neuvillette's need for control, and Wriothesley's determination for answering that call outweighs any unwieldy thoughts of love. But, but—)

"Have I lost you again?" Neuvillette's question is like a knife through Wriothesley's thoughts.

Sharing a heat with Clorinde was once in a blue moon, and entirely professional. Wriothesley's talked about his own experiences about this with her and Navia. "What do you mean he teases you?" Clorinde asked, almost appalled by the thought of it as she clutched her non-existent pearls. Apparently, fucking Neuvillette was a one and done deal with her. Maybe it'd last a little longer with Navia helping, but when Wriothesley recounted tales of being pressed into the bed for days at a time, of being wrung so dry that he literally couldn’t form a knot anymore, Clorinde nearly dropped her tea.

So. There's that. Compatibility, he thinks because that makes it easier, right?

(No, but that's a problem for Wriothesley and his hand later. He's fine jerking off in his room after the fact to the fantasy of being more.)

There's a sharp, stinging tug at Wriothesley's hair. He hisses softly, but Neuvillette's fingers do not loosen. No, he leans forward, his weight hot and heady. "Wriothesley," he purrs, and oh, the burn of Wriothesley's scalp under his grip is a delicious, grounding thing.

"Sorry, I just—I was thinking."

"Thinking?" Neuvillette's gaze narrows, but his pupils remain blown wide by arousal. "Of what?"

That's a trap. Archons, that's the worst trap of all.

Wriothesley licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. The answer is simple because at the end of the day, he's still an alpha. Neuvillette is still an omega nearing his heat, and the scent of his need and slick is so thick in the air that it blankets them. Yes, Wriothesley wants to please. Yes, that's what drives his alpha; to see his mate happy and tended to, but the thought of breeding him, of watching Neuvillette's belly swell with a clutch makes his cock twitch and harden to the point of near pain. It's instinct. He needs that, specifically that, because fuck, it's still part of his purpose.

"Ah, yes." Neuvillette's mouth curls into a smile, and Wriothesley knows he can smell his desire. "Such an alpha when you want to be."

"Sweetheart."

There, he finally manages to utter a word, as hoarse as it is.

Neuvillette clicks his tongue, shifting over him until he's spread out across Wriothesley's prone body properly. "My alpha," he says, and fuck, fuck, that's— "No one else's, yes? Mine and mine alone."

"Yes." Wriothesley finally swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yes, only yours."

There's a joke there, probably, something that Clorinde would regale about being knot-headed and a part of Neuvillette's harem, but Celestia above, Wriothesley doesn't care, not when Neuvillette's scent is thickening, and he's clawing at him like a beast in—well—heat.

Neuvillette's fingers leave his hair to curl around Wriothesley's face, knuckles dragging over scarred skin. Then he takes hold of Wriothesley's chin sharply, teasing the swell of his bottom lip with a thumb. That pad catches against chapped skin. "This," says Neuvillette. "I want your mouth first, beloved."

As if he'd say no. "Yes,” croaks Wriothesley in response. “Yes, like this.” Finally, finally, Wriothesley touches him, hands curling around Neuvillette's wide hips to guide him up.

There's soft laughter that drips from Neuvillette's mouth as he settles over his face. That laughter dissolves the moment Wriothesley's mouth finds the swollen folds of his vent, forgoing his cock entirely. Neuvillette moans, jerking overtop him.

Wriothesley groans at the taste of his slick, decadent and thick. Then up, up, to where his cock has slipped from his vent, thick and hard. Wriothesley kisses over its length, tongue lapping at the ridges just beneath the head. Neuvillette moves, shifting for a better angle, until Wriothesley can reach and wrap his fingers around his cock. A quick stroke. A thumb that drags across the slit, feeling the wetness that pools there.

"Wriothesley," hisses Neuvillette, squirming over him. "I'm—"

Neuvillette almost begs. He won't, not quite yet, but gods, he nearly does, and what that does to Wriothesley. He doesn't mean to tease Neuvillette, no, he just wants to take his time and savor tasting him, but Wriothesley also knows that Neuvillette is nearing his limit.

What a sweet, torturous thing. Neuvillette hates his cycles because he doesn't trust others to see this part of him, or the way that he loses all inhibitions. Others would take advantage; others would mate him, using that weakness to bind them together.

(And yes, Wriothesley's teeth ache to sink into supple flesh, but he'd never. Fuck he wants to, but—)

Even Neuvillette struggles with this. Later on, he'll pet over Wriothesley's swollen scent gland, making it all the harder to not. But Wriothesley is good. He's so, so good, and he's able to hold off, relishing in just the dream of it, which is precisely why he's here, and no one else.

Neuvillette will claw at him. He'll demand and beg to be bred and mated, and Wriothesley will do neither—at least not in the way both of their instincts demand.

"Beloved." Neuvillette's gaze is hot, blazing. He watches Wriothesley in almost a predatory way, in a way that demands a claim, and oh, how well Wriothesley's alpha responds to that.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart."

Neuvillette still holds his jaw and a bruising grip. His thumb presses against Wriothesley's mouth, slipping between his lips, tamping his tongue down. "This," he mutters, half-mad with lust, more on the cusp of his turning heat than he's been the entire night. "This, Wriothesley, around my cock."

That, he can do. "Of course," he says. "All you have to do is ask, and I'm yours."

Neuvillette has enough awareness to scoff, but that sound melts into an aching thing of pleasure as Wriothesley angles Neuvillette's cock towards his mouth. Wriothesley's lips seal around it, sucking the head right between his lips. His tongue swirls around those ridges, dragging across every single one, pulling a deep moan from the back of Neuvillette’s throat.

Fuck, he could die a happy man like this, choking on his omega's cock, making him feel good.

Wriothesley's hands slip to Neuvillette's waist, then his hips. He pulls at Neuvillette, guiding him to take his pleasure, to sink his cock deeper and deeper. Neuvillette looses a strangled sound when the tip of his cock finds the back of Wriothesley's throat. Like this, his vent brushes against Wriothesley's chin, a tease of a touch that leaves Neuvillette desperate for more.

"And these," he demands, latching around one of Wriothesley's wrists to pry it from his hip. "These," he repeats, fingers slipping between Wriothesley's, smooth skin against calloused as he tugs that hand between his thighs, "inside of me."

Wriothesley could laugh. Instead, he suffocates on the taste of Neuvillette's cock, on the smell of his heat and arousal. His gut burns. His own cock is hard in his trousers, trapped against too-tight fabric.

He's a good alpha, so he does as Neuvillette asks, shoving two fingers straight into the wet heat of Neuvillette's cunt. Wriothesley would rather take his time, would rather drag his knuckles over slick and swollen folds until Neuvillette properly begs to be fucked, but that wasn't what was asked of him.

Later, he'll get what he wants. Later, Neuvillette will be a mess—a demanding mess, but a mess nonetheless, riding Wriothesley's cock as he begs to be bred. Neuvillette hates that part of himself, hates losing his nature, of falling into his instincts, be that's why they are so well suited; Wriothesley takes pleasure in giving him everything that Neuvillette asks for. It isn't about him, it's about his omega, his—

Wriothesley forces that next thought to derail. Instead, he focuses on his task, on swallowing around the tip of Neuvillette's cock. He curls his fingers, brushing them against the part of Neuvillette's length still inside his vent, and oh, the sound the Neuvillette makes is enough to make Wriothesley pop a knot right then and there.

Neuvillette groans. He curses, deep and throaty, as his fingers slide through Wriothesley's hair again. There's that sting once more, the pleasure-pain of Neuvillette's claws scraping over his scalp, of pulling at his thick and coarse locks.

Wriothesley's cock aches to the point of near pain, but he can hold out. He moans, his jaw slackened as he tries to bob his head. The angle makes it hard for leverage, so the hand still on Neuvillette's hip tugs gently, trying to encourage Neuvillette to fuck his mouth.

"You—Wriothesley—" A soft, fluttering sound of want bubbles up from Neuvillette's throat. He takes the hint, drawing his hips back before rolling them against Wriothesley's mouth.

His cock slides deep, bullying Wriothesley's throat. For any other alpha, this wouldn't do. Another alpha would toss Neuvillette off and reverse their positions, but Wriothesley just moans; he moans and purrs, and pulls at Neuvillette's waist, demanding more.

All the while he fucks Neuvillette on his fingers; two, then three, then a fourth, his pinky sliding right into that searing heat. The tightness is divine. Wriothesley can't wait to get his cock in there too, to fuck his omega full of come, but this, this is—

Neuvillette's hand curls around Wriothesley's throat, his palm resting against. The hold is light, gentle. "Alpha," he whispers, awestruck, high on his lust. "My beloved alpha, I can feel myself here. I wish you could see how well you take me."

Wriothesley does what little he can to bob his head. He drags his tongue against the underside as Neuvillette's grip on the back of his hair tightens.

"Stay like that. Just like that. I want—" Another roll of Neuvillette's hips, this thrust harder, sharper, leaving Wriothesley to force himself not to gag.

Breathe through your nose, he tells himself, but fuck, all he can think about is the weight of Neuvillette's cock against his tongue, and the way that Neuvillette's vent squeezes around his fingers.

It'll take nothing for him to come. The moment his cock is inside Neuvillette, he's going to pop a knot, spilling immediately. Neuvillette will laugh, will tease, will demand more, and oh, Wriothesley will give it to him.

Another thrust into his mouth scatters Wriothesley's thoughts. His nostrils flare, and his eyes water. He's hazy-brained on the lack of oxygen, at the way that Neuvillette still pulls at his hair. That one hand still on Neuvillette's hip digs in, but it's nothing like Neuvillette's claws, nothing like those pinpricks of pain, of pleasure.

"Fuck," curses Neuvillette, his head tipping back. "Fuck, you feel—" And then a soft whine as his face pinches with pleasure. It's so rare to see him like this, so unrestrained, but Archons above, Wriothesley loves it.

Soon, he'll be a keening mess, a sight that only Wriothesley gets to see, that only he's trusted with. For all Neuvillette's distaste of losing himself, he never seems to mind with him. No, he relishes it, leans into it, and that's why it's harder and harder for Wriothesley to separate himself. With every cycle they share, Wriothesley just falls deeper and deeper into love—

Now is not the time for that.

Now is the time to make sure that his omega gets everything that he asks for and more. That's what Wriothesley gets off on, that's what satisfies his alpha; acts of service for one man and one man alone.

Neuvillette's close, Wriothesley can tell by the way his cock twitches, and how his insides seem to milk his fingers. His movements lack grace, all stilted thrusts of his hips as he shoves his cock into Wriothesley's mouth over and over.

Pleasure snaps with a hot, heated utterance of Wriothesley's name. Neuvillette spills into his throat and Wriothesley doesn't just swallow, he feasts, gorges on the taste of him, devouring that thin and watery come.

Neuvillette still seems frazzled. Even with his grip on Wriothesley's hair loosening, even as he pets through Wriothesley's hair, mussing his bangs back from his sweaty brow, Neuvillette still seems keyed up.

He waits until his cock is half-softened to pull from Wriothesley's mouth. "Show me," requests Neuvillette, even though he knows his seed is long gone. Still, Wriothesley puts on a show of opening his mouth, tongue lolling out to show that he swallowed every drop.

A sweet, pleasant smell fills the air. "So good to me." Neuvillette's thumb sweeps over Wriothesley's mouth again, considering the mess he could've made. Later. Oh, later, he'll definitely spend himself across Wriothesley's face, marking what's his.

"Are you—" Wriothesley grunts softly, wriggling slightly to get the kink out of his neck. He'll happily let Neuvillette sit on his face all day, but he isn't getting younger, and there are limits to the angles he can bend himself in.

"Not quite," replies Neuvillette, already knowing his question. He leans back, scooting down until he's settled across Wriothesley's hips again. "It won't be long, but—" His gaze tips down to the obvious bulge of Wriothesley's cock. "There's enough time to enjoy this before I lose myself entirely."

"Wait, wait—"

Neuvillette does, to his credit, pause, hands hovering over the opening of Wriothesley’s trousers. He gives Wriothesley a tilted look. Lets his pink, forked tongue dart out and lick his lips. "If you wish to wait, then I will make it so."

Meaning he won't let Wriothesley come for a long and proper time, which is equally not great.

(But also good. Really, it's fine. He's there to help, to do what his omega wants, and if that's to drag him to the edge time and time again until he's a bleary, begging mess, then so be it, but—)

"Just a second, that's all. Let a man try to keep his dignity. If you don't give me a moment, I'm going to finish the moment I’m inside—"

"Which is the point, I assure you."

Oh.

Neuvillette's gaze sharpens. His hand might as well be a weapon as he brushes over Wriothesley's clothing, deftly undoing his trousers to free his length. The touch is scalding, almost too much, and Wriothesley has to screw his eyes shut to not spill into his palm.

"Trying so hard," muses Neuvillette.

"I—I'm—sweetheart."

"You want to come inside of me."

Wriothesley moans, arching in the bed as Neuvillette strokes his cock once, twice.

"What a good boy, waiting for me."

That's worse. That's making this so much worse, and Wriothesley has to dig his feet into the mattress to keep himself from tipping over the edge. "Neuvillette—"

"Is that what I am to you? Neuvillette.” His tone is rounded by amusement.

"Please."

Neuvillette hums, his grip loosening, but the touch still remains. Another stroke of Wriothesley's cock, this one softer, his thumb dragging over the slit, churring at how wet it is. And then down, to the swell at the base, where Wriothesley's knot is already halfway there, ready to lock itself inside his vent.

"Wriothesley," says Neuvillette, leaning close, his free hand moving to drag through Wriothesley's bangs once more. Lazy. Slow, the tips of his claws creating the most delicious friction, just enough to distract from the hold he has on Wriothesley's cock. "Beloved, what am I?"

"My Sovereign."

A good, safe answer, but not what he's looking for. Neuvillette presses for more. "And?"

Wriothesley swallows. "My omega. My—fuck, please, just—"

Neuvillette is quick, so, so quick to sling a leg higher over Wriothesley's hip. "There we go," he says, the grip he has on Wriothesley's cock tightening again. "That's what I wanted to hear."

He tilts the tip of Wriothesley's cock towards his vent, the head sliding across folds so slick it's a miracle that Neuvillette hasn't flooded anything. "Alpha," he purrs, sinking down, down, down, and then: "My alpha. My beloved, my—"

Neuvillette is strong enough that even a rolling grind can bruise Wriothesley's hips. Wriothesley clings to him, hands finding purchase in the divots of his waist. He moans, meeting Neuvillette's movements, thrusting his cock up and deep until his knot is there, right there.

"Mine," hisses Neuvillette, tossing his head back, dragging his claws down Wriothesley's sternum, his chest, his belly. "All mine, always mine."

This, Wriothesley thinks, is divine. This must be as close to ascension as he'll ever get, Celestia be damned. Neuvillette levers himself up and down, whispering filth about being bred, about how he wants a clutch, about how he was made to wear Wriothesley's claim, to bear his children.

His heat must be rising. Neuvillette says these things unbidden and freely, and fuck it has to be his cycle talking with the way that Neuvillette's gaze keeps flickering across Wriothesley’s neck.

It takes no work for Wriothesley’s knot to sink in. Neuvillette's wet enough, slick enough, needy enough that only the right angle is all that it takes, and once it's settled, once it's locked into place, Neuvillette lets loose a strangled keen that's going to haunt Wriothesley's wet dreams for a decade to come.

"Yes, yes, just like that," he begs. "Wriothesley—beloved, you're—"

The thing about an omega in heat is that they just come and come and come. Neuvillette's already there, his vent squeezing Wriothesley's cock like he'll die if he doesn't get bred full. He works his own cock, stroking it until he's fully hard again, a vision of rapture as he sits astride Wriothesley's hips.

"Perfect," Neuvillette tells him. "So good, so perfect, you're everything that I need."

Wriothesley spills. He thrusts, arching in the bed, and spills deep into Neuvillette's vent with a long, drawn out cry of his name. His alpha's pleased. Fuck, that's all his alpha wanted—to hear that his omega has been satisfied, that he's given him what he needed.

"Archons—"

Neuvillette snarls at that, making Wriothesley bite his tongue. "Sovereigns," he amends. "My Sovereign. My omega, my—"

Mate. Fuck, at least Wriothesley doesn't say it aloud. But it doesn't matter because he blinks and catches sight of Neuvillette's face which is red and ruddy, and full of barely contained arousal. He must smell it, Wriothesley's desire. He still hasn't come again, squeezing at his own cock as he watches Wriothesley with an unreadable gaze.

Then, Neuvillette leans forward and tucks his face into Wriothesley's neck. He inhales. Presses his nose right to that aching, swollen scent gland, and inhales so deeply that Wriothesley wonders if Neuvillette might choke on his pheromones.

"Beloved," he purrs, teeth grazing the scarred skin of Wriothesley’s neck, directly next to that spot. "My alpha, tell me what you want."

For you to bite. To feel the sting of your teeth as they lock deep, and we tip over the edge together to worlds unknown.

"For you to come," he says instead, taking the higher road, which is exactly why Neuvillette trusts him with his most vulnerable moments. "Come on, sweetheart, let me feel you come again, this time squeezing around my knot."

"Wriothesley—"

"I'm already inside of you. I've already come. You're full of my seed—don't you want it to take?" It's filthy dirty talk that makes his alpha preen, and it seems to soothe Neuvillette's raging instincts as well.

Neuvillette whines softly, fucking his hand, grinding back against Wriothesley's cock as he drags himself closer, closer—

And then he's coming, spilling against his hand, and all over Wriothesley's belly. It's wet. Watery. Smells like the ocean. Wriothesley scoops some up and brings it to his mouth for another taste, and fuck, if Neuvillette's heated expression isn't worth the days of bruising to come.

But then Neuvillette's expression clears slightly. The scent of his heat is thicker, but he's more aware, less sluggish as he leans against Wriothesley. Usually, this is when he pulls away to wipe down and grab some water before his cycle comes back with a vengeance.

This time, Neuvillette remains close, purring as he combs his fingers through Wriothesley's sweaty bangs. His gaze flickers to Wriothesley's neck again. Lingers. Wriothesley tells himself again that it's all talk and no play.

But then Neuvillette asks, "How many years have we been doing this?"

Wriothesley has to think. It's been long enough that he doesn't know the answer, that he knows when Neuvillette's cycles are on their way. He swallows, words thick in his mouth, but Neuvillette saves him the trouble of an answer.

"A curiosity, that is all," he continues, thumbing over Wriothesley's scent gland.

This touch is new, and it lingers, Neuvillette petting over his neck like he's trying to commit the feel of it to memory. A dastardly thought. Wriothesly's throat bobs against the pad of his thumb, which results in a momentary pause, and a soft, genuine smile from Neuvillette.

Wriothesley isn't a fool. There's something there, something stretched between them that they refuse to openly acknowledge. But it’s there. Friends don't fuck like they do. Clorinde's commentary about the clinical nature of how she used to help Neuvillette through his heats is proof of that, but this, what they do is…

"My omega," says Wriothesley, maybe a little stupidly. It's one thing to say it when Neuvillette goads him too, but in the aftermath of sex, in the quiet moments when they're locked together, and they're lazing in the sheets, it feels different.

"My alpha." Neuvillette's response comes off as smug. "My Wriothesley. My—"

That thought isn't finished because Wriothesley's knot has gone down enough for his softening cock to fall free with a squelch. Neuvillette panics, instinct taking over as his hand flies between his legs. He shoves his fingers in to keep Wriothesley's semen from dripping out, unable to bear the thought of their hard work going to waste.

(Which it will. Semen is mostly water, Wriothesley's learned, and Neuvillette can fling it away with a flick of his wrist. Pregnancy is of little concern, thank the gods because Wriothesley doesn't think he would make it through these heats whilst having to wrap it up. Something, something alpha instincts. He has them too, even as warped as they can seem from an outside perspective. Plus, it distresses Neuvillette to not properly be filled, which means he hasn't done his job, which means—)

"Water," says Wriothesley, forcing himself to think clearly. He sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed. "A quick shower—"

"No."

Wriothesley starts, his brow furrowing

Neuvillette settles back into the sheets, uncaring of the mess that he's leaking around his fingers. Again, unusual, but Wriothesley isn't going to complain. It's a sinful sight, seeing Neuvillette's fingers shoved into his vent, Wriothesley's spend wet and creamy around them.

"Wriothesley, come here."

He goes, like a puppet on a string, slipping back into those covers because Wriothesley cannot deny Neuvillette a damn thing. His alpha churrs the moment that Neuvillette drapes over him, tucking against Wriothesley's side. Wriothesley's instincts are soothed when Neuvillette scents him, dragging his nose over every inch of skin that he can reach.

But.

"Are you nesting? Why are you nesting? Why—"

"Let me have this, beloved. I never… I never ask for this, so let me indulge, please."

Neuvillette's weight is heavy against him. He's gone quiet, pressed against Wriothesley's side, face shoved against his temple. Right, then. Wriothesley can weather this. Wriothesley will, because he has no other choice, but fuck it this doesn't feel like a thing that mates do, not friends that occasionally fuck.

"Your rut, Wriothesley." It isn't a question. Neuvillette's words are hesitant, though, like he's picking his way around broken glass. "The next time, I wish to—"

No, no, no. There are two lines they haven't crossed. Wriothesley spends his ruts alone and Neuvillette has never voiced an interest in them beyond inquiring about how he's feeling right before and after. And the other is—

Neuvillette tilts Wriothesley's face towards his. "Beloved," he murmurs, tracing his bottom lip with a thumb in a way that's far more intimate than Wriothesley shoving his cock inside of him.

They do not kiss. Bite at each other, yes. Leave marks, yes. Mouth at skin, at nipples, at hips and cocks, surely, but this is another line they drew so long ago, an unspoken rule that they wordlessly agreed upon. Once, Neuvillette called all of this contractual, but even then it felt wrong, and he's never mentioned it again.

"You heel so well for me," he muses, cupping Wriothesley's face with tender affection. "I joke about taming you, but—"

"You can, Neuvillette."

"I want to claim you, beloved." A pause as Neuvillette angles Wriothesley's face just so. "Can I? Will you let me?"

He should say no. They should both say no because this would open a can of worms when it comes to the Court of Fontaine, and Wriothesley isn't sure that he can stomach it. But Wriothesley is an alpha who just wants to serve his Sovereign, who will, in the end, give Neuvillette whatever he asks of him.

Neuvillette does not tame him. Neuvillette kisses him, and it's a soft, hesitant thing because—and it hits Wriothesley right then—Neuvillette must have never kissed another before now. It's a little sloppy. There's too much tongue for something so sweet, the forked tip of Neuvillette's flicking over his bottom lip for a taste.

But it's a claim. It's as much a claim as Wriothesley painting the insides of Neuvillette's vent white; as breeding him through his heats, and lingering about in the off times to make sure that he bathes and eats.

Wriothesley shows him what to do, licking into Neuvillette mouth, swallowing his moans as he guides that sweet kiss into something lazy and deep and loving, because that's the scent that leaks from Neuvillette's pores; not heat and desire, but slow-boiling affection tempered by saccharine contentment.

His alpha has never been more settled, and when they nap after, tangled together, foreheads touching and sharing a pillow, Wriothesley doesn't think he's ever slept so well.

#fanfiction #fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin #genshin fanfiction #cavalierious fanfic #wriothesley/neuvillette #wriolette #wriothesley x neuvillette #omegaverse #a/b/o

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cavalierious-whim · 1 month ago

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Reactions to... getting unexpectedly hugged

"Well, this is new."

"You don't need to be afraid, I'm not leaving."

"Oh no, please don't cry. See, I'm hugging you back, please stop crying."

"This is one way to say hello."

"Hmm, it seems that I did miss this."

"Wait... are we doing this? Right now?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, okay. This is nice, I guess."

"What am I supposed to do now? Do I hug you back?"

"Great, now I'm crying too."

"Woah. You're catching me off guard here."

"Did I miss a memo? What's going on?"

"I guess this is alright."

"That's enough, please back off."

"Okay, okay. What do you want?"

"Didn't expect that, but I'll take it."

"Whoa! Um, okay... so this is happening. Hi?"

"Oh! I can't breathe, I can't... please let go!"

"Stop hugging me like this in public. You're ruining my reputation.”

"If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak up on me like that."

"What's happening? Am I being attacked?"

"Okay, uh, well, now I don't know what to do with my arms. This is fine, right?"

More: Reactions to... Masterpost

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#cavalierious prompts

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cavalierious-whim · 1 month ago

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Cropped because of shark dick <3 Full piece available to patrons though ^^ Some SidLink for the night market~

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cavalierious-whim · 1 month ago

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No Greater Pleasure (Kavetham, NSFW)

Alhaitham adores Kaveh.

'Blueprints For Love'

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"Oh, you love this, don't you?"

Yes, yes he does. He loves the way that Kaveh's hand combs through hair before gripping it tightly; loves the slight sting of it when he tugs, and the soft, biting curse Kaveh lets loose when Alhaitham moans in response.

"Haitham," murmurs Kaveh, nails scraping across Alhaitham's scalp. The base of Alhaitham's spine tingles. He moans again, suckling on the hard cock resting on his tongue. "Fuck, you—" A soft, keening sound as Kaveh stares. "The way that you swallow me down is—"

Alhaitham pulls off and kisses the tip of Kaveh's cock. "You spend too much time with pointless words."

"Pointless?" Kaveh barks laughter—but then it melts into a moan as Alhaitham curls his tongue around the head of his cock. "It's—it's—no, you love the praise."

Obviously, but that isn't and shouldn't be the point. Alhaitham is very clear with his wants and needs, yet Kaveh's tone is always full of wonder. There should be no shock and awe to it. Alhaitham isn't just unlikely to, he'd never slobber over another's dick.

He shoots Kaveh a pointed look. "I love you," he says, thumbing over the slit of Kaveh's cock. "And this, I suppose, but only for you, Kaveh."

"I—that's—" Kaveh's expression is a hot thing, and fuck if that doesn't make Alhaitham's dick twitch.

"I adore you," he continues, tilting his face just so, until his nose is pressed against Kaveh's length. A kiss there, a tongue tracing that thick vein running from base to tip.

"Enough to swallow me down?"

Alhaitham hums softly. "Yes."

"Enough to choke on my cock?"

Oh. Alhaitham swallows. He blinks, his eyelashes fluttering against his high cheek bones, and he nips at the sweaty skin of Kaveh's groin. But, but—

"Yes." Another kiss to the base, then the shaft, then the tip. "Yes, of course, Kaveh."

It's a sort of worship, in a way. Alhaitham has never much believed in gods, but he believes in Kaveh, so he swallows his cock down without a thought. Pulls it deep into his mouth until the tip hits the back of his throat, and he's gagging slightly.

Kaveh's fingers are back in his hair again. "Oh, that's—I didn't mean—"

But he did, and so Alhaitham does, swallowing around him, moaning as Kaveh's cock twitches against his tongue. He sucks, bobs along Kaveh's length until spit pools at the corners of his mouth, and he's a drooling mess.

And yes, he loves this; loves taking Kaveh's cock deep, loves the way that it bullies his throat. Loves the way that it lays there, heavy on his tongue, and loves the taste of the precome that drips from the tip. Alhaitham swallows, drowning in the heady scent of him, in the way that Kaveh cries out, and paws at his hair.

Alhaitham adores this man, and he tells Kaveh this over and over, in so many ways. It isn't his fault that Kaveh might as well be deaf and blind. It isn't Alhaitham's fault that he can literally have a mouthful of his dick, and Kaveh will still seem surprised.

Kaveh arches in the bed, bracing his feet against the the soft mattress. "Haitham," he moans. "Haitham, I'm—"

It's music to Alhaitham's ears. He doesn't even need to be fucked to get off; he just needs Kaveh's cock in his mouth, crying out his name. Taking care of him is what Alhaitham wants. Kaveh works hard and gets so little in return, but this—this, he can do, this he wants to do.

Because fuck, if Alhaitham doesn't love him. Adoration has never come easily to him, but with Kaveh, it's as natural as existing.

"Wait, wait, I'm—" Kaveh shoves Alhaitham off his cock with an almost violent push. Then he's left there, bright-eyed in the sheets, his chest heavy, and cock heavy against his stomach. Kaveh licks at his lips. "Sorry, I was going to come."

Alhaitham still leans over Kaveh's lower half and squeezes at his thighs. "Which was the point," he drawls, his voice raspy from his throat being fucked.

"I want—" Kaveh's throat bobs because he's still so bad at being selfish, at voicing his desires. "Wouldn't you rather—"

"This isn't about what I need, Kaveh. Tell me what you want. I'll give it to you."

"Fuck me," curses Kaveh. And then, after a pause he laughs. "I mean, I want to fuck you, not—Alhaitham—"

"So it's my full name now?" Alhaitham teases him, leaning forward to lick a stripe up the length of Kaveh's cock.

"Wait, that's—"

"I'll go back to sucking you off unless you give me something else to do."

"Haitham."

Better, but still not enough. Alhaitham hums, dragging his tongue around the head of Kaveh's cock, and through the slit to lap at the mess that leaks from it. "Let me take care of you, Kaveh. Aren't I your darling husband?"

"Haitham." Kaveh's voice is a cracked, tight thing that makes Alhaitham smile against his cock. "Come here and let me fuck you. I'd rather come inside of you properly, not your mouth."

Alhaitham shifts, sliding up the length of Kaveh's body until he's settled over his hips. "That's all you had to say," replies Alhaitham, cupping Kaveh's cheek sweetly. Then, he drops his hips, grinding their cocks together, which just makes Kaveh melt into the sheets like a puddle of water.

And really, that's the gist of it; Alhaitham will give and give and give, if it means that Kaveh feels better because there is no greater pleasure than taking care of his partner. Surrendering to the sheets together with shared heat and touches is just a nice bonus.

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cavalierious-whim · 1 month ago

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Softened (Haikavetham)

Alhaitham comes home from a late night at work to find Kaveh cooking.

'And They Were Roomates'

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The entire being the Acting Grand Sage thing was supposed to be, as its title implies, temporary.

Alhaitham pulls a hand down his face, letting out a defeated groan. Piles upon piles of paperwork. Endless files and folios line his desk in haphazard stacks. Old graphite that's been sharpened to nubs, fulled quills and ink-stained parchment—

"I've picked up his worst habits, it seems," he muses, thinking of Kaveh's mess of a drafting table back home—which is, in his husband's words, organized enough.

Alhaitham blinks and lets that thought stew a bit, the husband part. Marriage for tax benefits might've been a flimsy excuse to finally give into what he's wanted for ages, but as it turns out, that sort of bond isn't the easiest to pattern out.

Honeymooning was bliss. Kaveh is…well, he's Kaveh, but in a muted and affectionate sort of way. Alhaitham had underestimated how much he'd miss him on a normal day, let alone one bogged down with work until late into the night.

Alhaitham's gaze shifts to the clock that tick ticks on the wall. It's nearly midnight. He rubs his face again. "This can wait," he mutters.

The paperwork, he means—which no, it really can't.

At the same time…what's an extra morning? He's been pulling an inhuman amount of hours and, frankly, the Akademiya owes him one. What was meant to be a short stint is veering close to a tenured position; at this point Alhaitham's been slogging through reports for years now.

"Tomorrow, then," he says, closing up the current folio in front of him. "The—" He sniffs as he reads. "—monthly budget reports for the agricultural programs won't dissolve overnight."

He hopes, at least. Sumeru's seen worse, but that's a problem for tomorrow, thinks Alhaiham as he stands and shoulders his bag.

The smell of something…mildly burning fills the air the moment Alhaitham steps into his home.

He hears Kaveh curse from the kitchen, a soft utterance that comes as a shock. It's well after midnight now, and Alhaitham expected him to be tucked away in their bed.

Instead, he finds Kaveh flitting about the kitchen in a sauce-stained apron, beating away a soft pile of smoke with a pot holder. It makes for an amusing sight. Alhaitham watches, leaning against the doorway, as Kaveh yanks a pot from the active burner, hissing a curse again.

"You know," drawls Alhaitham, "you can just turn the flame lower."

Kaveh shoots him a rude gesture in lieu of meeting his gaze. "The recipe wasn't very clear. What exactly is medium-high heat? Wouldn't it be one or the other? It isn't entirely ruined, at least. Seems edible enough." A pause as he leans over the stove to peer into the pan. "I think so. It doesn't look so terrible."

Alhaitham crosses the room and takes pity on Kaveh, draping himself against Kaveh's back. "Husband," he teases, mouth next to his ear, "what's the occasion?"

Because while it isn't strange for Kaveh to be awake this late, it is so for it to be a reason unrelated to work. And cooking? Kaveh doesn't cook. Kaveh doesn't even reheat things already cooked by another. He only boils water for coffee and the occasional tea, and even that has gone not-so swimmingly from time to time.

Kaveh scoffs. "Must there be one?"

"With you? Most likely."

"Well, there isn't." Only Kaveh could have a tone that is both sharp and acerbic, as well as affectionate. After a moment, he continues with, "I just thought it might be nice to greet you with dinner. You've been working a lot and coming home late, and I know that it's…it's draining to come home and just do…more. But I'm here and I'm your husband. I had time, so I found your grandmother's old cook book and…" Kaveh gestures vaguely to the pan.

Oh.

Warmth swells in Alhaitham's chest. They're still getting used to this sort of intimacy and it doesn't come easily for them. It was easier when they never thought about it, when they ignored it—the little things came naturally to them. But this, there's a learning curve.

"Kaveh," says Alhaitham, pressing his nose against Kaveh's nape. His hands find Kaveh's waist, and he guides him to turn around. "How sweet of you."

"Why do you sound annoyed?"

"I'm not—"

"You—"

"I'm tired, Kaveh, but not annoyed. Never annoyed, not with you."

Kaveh's expression is a half-turned tilt of his lips. "You're always annoyed with me. Annoyance is your constant state of being."

Perhaps. Still, this was sweet. This small act of service makes Alhaitham's breath hitch, and his chest too-warm, and it just reminds him of how much he loves Kaveh.

Alhaitham leans forward, bracketing Kaveh against the edge of the counter. His forehead falls to Kaveh's shoulder, and he just rests there, soaking up the feel of him. He is not usually so emotional. Something so small and normal shouldn't affect him so, but oh, Alhaitham feels like he's going to combust.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of Kaveh's neck, and the soft skin there.

"I'd wait until you taste it," replies Kaveh, raising a hand to comb through Alhaitham's hair. "You know that I'm no cook. I can barely make coffee."

"Doesn't matter. I'll eat it."

"That doesn't imply enjoying it—wait, what're you—"

Alhaitham nips at Kaveh's neck, an affectionate but biting dig of his teeth. It's easier to hide that he's softened so much to the point of being sappy this way. But Kaveh knows—he must by the way that he sighs and tugs at Alhaitham's hair. And even Alhaitham isn’t immune; the pressure of his mouth wanes into a kiss that lingers.

"Come on, you fool. It'll be worse if it gets cold."

The reality is: Kaveh isn't a great cook.

The best part is: Kaveh isn't a terrible one either.

Alhaitham smiles around a mouthful of the surprisingly serviceable curry, that warmth in his chest pleasant as it settles.

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cavalierious-whim · 1 month ago

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As I Read (Zhongchili)

Childe makes a new request of Zhongli.

'A Study of Dynamics'

BDSM AU

1.1k

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"It's work," admits Zhongli after a long effort on Childe's part to get him to open up.

He is unused to this. Not being vulnerable, no—through their shared contract, Childe has seen him at his most, but this is different, this is—

A relationship is different, and this is a newfound thing fluttering hot in his chest. Zhongli is not inexperienced, but it's been a long time since he's let someone so close. His time in the scene, his chosen position of lording over others was all to maintain a careful distance, so he is rusty with this, with opening up.

Childe is patient, impressively so, but persistent, chipping away at Zhongli while he makes dinner.

"Just work?" asks Childe, pressing a little further. He sits at the table, face cradled in his palm, watching Zhongli cook. The needling is soft-handed, much like the way that Childe guides him through scenes.

Maybe that's why Zhongli eventually crumbles, maybe that's why it's easier, in the end, to give in to the question, and open up.

(Aside from the more obvious point of wanting to—the want of it means little if the comfort of doing so comes harder.)

"Recent jobs have been…" Zhongli sighs. "Childe, I hate bringing my work home."

"I don't blame you," replies Childe, "but I also know that your line of work is incredibly stress-inducing."

Crime scene clean-up isn't for the faint of heart, and even for Zhongli who is decades into his craft, it never gets easier. He's worn thin by the macabre, by the careful handling required, and there comes a point where it hits a head and becomes overwhelming.

In the beginning, being a Dom was a much-needed outlet but over time Zhongli craved giving up control, craved being taken care of instead of—

"You can talk to me," continues Childe, cutting through his thoughts. And then, softer, he asks, "Would a scene help?"

It would. It certainly would, but that isn't actually what Zhongli wants. No, he wants to explore the intimacy that their newfound closeness promises. A different sort of warmth, a different sort of comfort, more rooted in having a partner, versus a dom.

Zhongli swallows thickly. "Yes, but…"

"But?"

"I would rather just…eat and retire for the night."

He finally looks at Childe, whose throat bobs. "You want to stay over." Not a question, just a statement. And Zhongli would have not mentioned it had he not known it would be welcome. Childe's mouth twitches into a beautiful, rare smile, and he says, "Yeah, that's—that would be great." And then he clears his throat, doing his best to not look too eager. "If that's what you want."

Zhongli snorts and plates their food, and dinner after that goes swimmingly.

Later, once they've washed and are dressing down, Childe sits at the edge of his bed.

"I have an idea," he says, but his tone is alarmingly hesitant—enough so that it gives Zhongli pause. "I know that the contract we entered stipulate swapping our usual roles—"

"Childe."

"—also, I've told you to stop calling me that in private, but back to the point: would it help for you to slip back into…?" Childe trails off and plucks at imaginary threads on the bedspread. "With you, I'd be willing. To go back, I mean."

Oh. Oh. Not that Zhongli hasn't thought about it, but he's never broached the topic. Initially, their contract was one of trust and intrigue; he'd never expected Childe to take a step back for him. It's a precarious thing. Childe rarely had good experiences from what little Zhongli knows, and what little Childe has shared, and he isn't about to push him for more clarity on that.

Still, to be offered the reins of such control, to be told that he's willing to be leashed again—Zhongli stands there gaping, his fingers caught in the buttons of his shirt. "It shouldn't be for only me," he eventually says. "You know that we should both—"

"I do, Zhongli. With you, I'd—"

"Ajax."

"So now, you use my name." Childe sighs.

Zhongli looks at him critically, but Childe isn't tense; he's relaxed, and gives him those puppy dog eyes that just make Zhongli’s chest tighten. He undoes a button of his shirt, and then another. "Alright," he says. "Not a scene, though."

Not a properly planned one, at least. To others that would be a red flag, but Childe knows what he means. Zhongli craves something soft, something that doesn't need negotiation. For now. Later, they can—

Oh, later, what a thought.

"Stay there," Zhongli requests. He finishes undressing under Childe's watchful gaze. Childe is good for him, hands folded in his lap as he remains perched at the edge of the bed. Zhongli takes his time stripping down, and then washing up in the bathroom, testing Childe's patience.

Childe is still there once he flits back into the bedroom wearing his pajamas, hands still tucked against his lap. The sight of it is calming. Not-so arousing, but it wouldn't be a stretch were they to plan something more proper. This, though; this will offer Zhongli something to take his mind off his stressful days, to let all that tension leak into the ether.

He climbs into Childe's bed, peeling back the covers. "Come here, Ajax," he purrs, motioning for him to follow. "Do you remember that time you made me rest my head in your lap?"

Childe laughs as he crawls across the comforter, still dressed in his day clothes. "Don't think I can forget that. You liked it."

"And so will you. Head down. Rest and relax."

"Zhongli—"

"I thought you wanted this. Do you not?"

Childe's mouth tightens, but at the annoyance of the question being asked, not the insinuation of it. "Resting is nice. Resting sounds great, actually."

Zhongli huffs as Childe settles across the sheets, his cheek cradled by Zhongli's thighs under the covers. "You are not the most patient, Ajax. I know you'll squirm."

"I'm—"

"Be good for me as I read." The implication of a reward doesn’t need to be voiced. Zhongli brushes Childe's bangs back, considering his handsome face. "You know your colors."

"Yeah," replies Childe, his tone soft, buttery. He's already slipping as Zhongli combs through his hair.

And really, it isn't about the obedience of it; Childe is often stressed by his work too, and Zhongli has noticed the recent tension in his being. He truly wishes for this to be mutual in all ways. A little control, Childe relaxing underneath his hand; it's easy for Zhongli to get swallowed up by it and almost forget about his book entirely.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #genshin smut #patreon #fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #writing commissions #genshinimpact #open for commissions #patreon writer #zhongli/childe #zhongchili #childe/zhongli

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