juno

For Neuvillette, the month of November was nothing significant to say the least—his job continued, overseeing trials, sorting out documents, meeting with important people, and more workload now that Lady Furina had stepped down from archon hood; so, when you had come into his office one day, talking about how a certain trend spread like fire across Teyvat, Neuvillette was rather intrigued.

It had a weird name—No Nut November—and couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea based on the name alone.

He remembered how you explained to him Fontanians, and people of other nations were to engage in No Nut November which was to participate in sexual abstinence.

Naturally, the idea was all bizarre to him—not because he thought he couldn’t do it but more so the fact that it was natural for humans to engage in intercourse, same goes for his kind as well.

Neuvillette couldn’t see the significance of such a trend, and why humans were participating but who was he to deny your proposal of a challenge?

After all, there was no harm involved, he figured it would help him understand human customs a little better despite the it’s strangeness in nature.

Situated behind his desk, Neuvillette let out a deep sigh, letting the papers in his hand fall onto the wooden desk beneath before rubbing his temples. 

“Stressed, Monsieur?”

A familiar, teasing voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the Iudex’s office.

Neuvillette looked up from his desk, greeted by a friendly figure.

The former was too focused on the case materials before him that he hadn’t realised the presence of another,

“Wriothesley. I’m rather surprised to see you.”

The raven-haired male was clad in his usual attire, heavy obsidian boots sounding with each step taken against the carpeted floors.

“Ah, you’re not the only one.” Wriothesley chuckled, recalling his encounter with Sedene just mere seconds ago, who looked like she had just seen a ghost.

Before Neuvillette could inquire about the sudden visit, the former beat him to it,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here because Sigewinne had given me an errand to run. She got these for you.”

Taking a couple steps closer to Neuvillette’s desk, Wriothesley placed a small box atop the case papers.

Carefully wrapped in an ivory satin ribbon, the azure container was adorned with intricate designs in gold that shone beneath the afternoon sun, neatly decorated chocolates peeked from the plastic window of the lid.

The Chief Justice subtly raised his brows in amusement, he wasn’t one to indulge in chocolate nor was he a sweet tooth but nonetheless, he appreciated Sigewinne’s thoughtful gesture.

“That is very kind, please thank her for me.”

Watching the way Neuvillette’s expression morphed into a naïve smile, Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest,

“Say, Monsieur, have you heard of the craze among young Fontanian adults right now?”

He most likely already knew the Iudex’s answer to the question but what was life without a little teasing?

With how the popular sweet has been making rounds across Fontaine, it would be near impossible for anyone to be clueless about it but at the end of the day, Neuvillette was Neuvillette, probably the busiest man in all of Fontaine which is why Sigewinne had to intervene with the chocolates.

The head nurse didn’t have to physically see the Iudex to tell how much he’s been overworking himself nor was a simple order from her was going to stop him.

So, what better way to disguise a remedy with something simple? Basically akin to administering medication to a pet concealed as a tasty treat

Sexual intercourse was the fastest—and best—way to relieve him of his stress.

Sigewinne hoped for the Iudex to pardon her complete brazenness but he was as stubborn as a rock, and took her orders about resting rather lightly.

Naturally, Neuvillette shook his head with a light chuckle, a tinge of interest seeping its way into his skin,

“I believe I’ve heard her talk about it but the details must have slipped my mind.”

A subtle blush blanketed the Chief Justice’s pale cheeks at the mention of his lover, you. Wriothesley’s lips stretched into a teasing smile—one which the former paid no attention to.

 “Well, would you ever try an aphrodisiac?” At Neuvillette’s baffled expression, the younger male bit the inside of his cheeks, biting back a hearty laugh. 

“An aphrodisiac, you say? Substances that—”

“That increases one’s libido, yes.”

Wriothesley cut him off, tease practically dripping from his tone.

Neuvillette was a man capable of many things, an esteemed individual once he’s in court but when it came to much simpler matters, the Chief Justice was nothing but clueless, especially regarding human customs that are a bit harder to wrap one’s head around.

“I’m afraid I have no such time for trivial things.”

The Iudex shook his head once more, this time dismissively waving a gloved hand at his friend.

He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks deepening into a crimson hue—Neuvillette wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially not in front of Wriothesley but he deemed himself more than capable of maintaining his sexual desires and performances, you were enough proof.

Wriothesley left it at that, his friend may just end up as red as a tomato if he prodded around the topic any further. Needless to say, amusement filled him to the brim, “Alright. It was nice chatting with you Monsieur. I believe Sigewinne also left a small note there—”

The latter looked down at the box. Indeed, there was a small piece of paper neatly folded and tucked beneath the ivory ribbon.

“—do heed her letter.” With that, Wriothesley dipped his chin, sauntering over to the double doors.

Reaching for the handle, the Duke stopped in his tracks, he looked over his shoulder, icy cerulean gaze full of mischief, “Oh, and I hope you two enjoy—the chocolates, I mean.”

With that, he left the office, leaving Neuvillette to his thoughts.

The day went by rather quickly, the azure skies turning into golden hues of oranges and yellows as the sun bid farewell to its people, disappearing below the horizon.

The chocolates from Sigewinne remained untouched on the corner of Neuvillette’s desk, it watched as stars decorated the night sky; though, as the Chief Justice retired for the evening, he grabbed the box of sweets before heading out.

Neuvillette figured he’d share them with you at home.

Greeted with silent darkness, he was suddenly reminded of your words this morning at breakfast:

‘Oh, I have work dinner later, my love; so, I won’t be eating here. We’re celebrating a company milestone.’

Conveniently enough, Neuvillette had already eaten at his office before leaving so he won’t have the pleasure of sitting across an empty seat at the dining table.

Getting ready for the chilly night ahead, Neuvillette changed into his evening attire after taking a warm bath, he donned silken azure pyjamas paired with a fluffy ivory robe.

His silver strands cascaded down the length of his spine, the cerulean bow, and golden hair clips he usually wore were neatly tucked away inside his jewellery box.

Situated on the love seat, Neuvillette casually flipped through case documents inside a brown paper folder.

The fireplace across him was ablaze with hues of oranges and reds, casting a citrine glow upon the dimly lit living room.

As flames danced atop dry wood, the dulcet sound of classical music poured from the record player, filling the space with its tunes.

After minutes of skimming and scanning the documents, he reached for the box of sweets next to his lap, taking time to read Sigewinne’s carefully written note:

Monsieur Neuvillette, I’ve acquired these sweets for you, and her! I figured these would help you loosen up a little so please do not shy away from consuming as much as you want. Make sure to share them with her as well. Enjoy!

Love, Sigewinne

A warm smile spread across Neuvillette’s face, and despite his better judgement of waiting for you to come home and indulge in the taste of chocolate together, he figured one piece wouldn’t hurt to try alone, right?

With the moon high up in the obsidian night sky, you walked down the cobblestone footpath that led closer to yours and Neuvillette’s shared space, the evening breeze gently caressing the apple of your cheeks.

Work dinner had just concluded at Hotel Debord which housed a lovely singer who put on a dazzling performance.

By now, the streets of the Court of Fontaine were more deserted as people retired to their homes for the night, shop owners here and there packed away their respective signage, their stores devoid of any customers.

With each step leading closer to home, you soon found yourself in front of your home, keys jingling between your fingers as you unlocked the front door.

From the entrance hallway, warm hues greeted you like an embrace, hinting at the ablazed fireplace in the living room.

“My love? I’m home.”

You called out to Neuvillette while skilfully removing your shoes, and neatly placed them beside his own.

Met with silence, you figured he either must be occupied with something or must have fallen asleep while waiting for your return.

You sauntered over to the end of the entrance hallway, making your way to the living room, and as you got closer, melodic sounds engulfed your senses—you recognized it, Neuvillette’s favourite classical music.

Turning the corner, you were greeted with a rather interesting sight, a wave of concern washing over you,

“Neuvi—Are you okay?”

Seated on the love seat was Neuvillette, his left elbow propped on its arm rest, face hiding behind his hand.

A deep crimson blush painted his handsome face, intensified by the reds and oranges that the fireplace emitted.

He sat there looking flustered, chest heaving up and down as he took heavy breaths.

Drinking in the view, you noticed documents sprawled across the empty space next to him but what really caught your eye was the intricately designed box resting on his right thigh.

The box had its lid intact yet the loose ivory ribbon draped over his thigh hinted he had previously opened it.

Upon closer inspection, you realised it's familiar packaging, a co-worker had shown it to you the other day, telling you how her and her boyfriend have been dying to try the popular chocolates—chocolates laced with a potent aphrodisiac. 

Your gaze made its way back to Neuvillette—who was still breathing heavily on the love seat—now noticing the prominent tent beneath his silken pants, the azure fabric was flimsy and delicate which left little to your imagination.

Pushing away the impure thoughts that snaked its way into your mind, you kneeled before your lover with a concerned expression,

“My love, who gave these to you?”

Knowing Neuvillette, he most likely consumed the chocolates without knowing its true contents simply because he wasn’t aware of the trivial things that humans indulged themselves in.

He let out a pained groan, shaky and vulnerable as he shifted in his seat,

“Forgive me, ma chérie. This is improper of me.”

With trembling hands, Neuvillette covered his throbbing groin, completely embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state.

Truth be told, he didn’t know what came over him—a chocolate or two was all he had, and the next thing he knew, his skin burned like a thousand suns as blood rushed down, down, down to his cock.

The very core of Neuvillette’s body churned with desire—carnal desire—and as each second passed, each tick of the ivory wall clock, the uncomfortable yearn between his legs grew.

A light sheen of sweat coated his feverish forehead, as though he was experiencing a fever, and whatever this was, it heightened all five of his senses.

From your voice sounding like it dripped with pure honey, all the way to the saccharine scent of your body, Neuvillette was driven mad with lust.

It didn’t help how you kneeled before him, and gently caressed his thigh, a poor attempt of comfort because it brought nothing but waves of icy shudders down the length of his spine. Sensitive.

His body was completely sensitive to any external stimuli, and if you rubbed his leg any further, he might just come undone.

An embarrassing thought.

Neuvillette was pathetically needy. How preposterous, the high esteemed Iudex of Fontaine reduced to nothing but a lust-driven man eager to shove his aching cock deep in your velvety walls.

The subtle buck of his hips against the thick air; the way he swallowed breathless whimpers at your touch; the violent throbbing between his legs, he was beyond irredeemable.

With another grunt, Neuvillette panted out,

“Sigewinne gifted them. Wriothesley had delivered it to my office this afternoon.”

Truth be told, you weren’t surprised. At all.

Standing up from your spot, you walked over to the wall phone. You tried your best to ignore the dainty whimper that fell from Neuvillette’s lips as your warm touch left his thigh, you also tried to ignore how his body involuntarily sought you out—trembling hands reaching to chase your gentle hold.

With glassy eyes, Neuvillette watched as you deftly dialled on the phone, he couldn’t help but trace your breathtaking figure, from the square of your shoulders all the way to the curves and dips of your legs.

Oh, the things he’d do to spread them open, and inhale your sweet essence like a mad man. Neuvillette could practically taste your honey on his tongue, its velvety texture sliding down his throat.

Another groan escaped your lover at the thought of eating you out, his cock rubbed against the fabric of his underwear as it shamelessly twitched beneath his pants.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d be calling given the . . . circumstances.”

Of course Wriothesley knew.

Pure tease dripped from his honeyed voice, most likely paired with a smug smile, and an icy, taunting gaze.

“Why would you give him that?!” 

A chuckle from the other end of the line,

“First of all, I just delivered the present. Our head nurse here bought it. She’s helping Monsieur Neuvillette out.”

You huffed, trying to make sense of Sigewinne’s motives, “By what? Feeding him chocolates with a potent substance?”

You’ve always adored how Sigewinne cared for her loved ones, especially Neuvillette—whatever one’s deal was, she was always willing to help out in her own unique way.

But this . . giving him such a substance without any warning felt like foul play, and not only was Neuvillette receiving the short end of the stick, you were as well.

You weren’t naïve, aphrodisiacs only wore off after one has reached their satisfaction through sexual means, like quenching one’s thirst. 

“You’re making it sound like we gave him drugs.”

“It is drugs, Wriothesley!”

Before you could say anything else, gentle, yearning arms wrapped around your front, caressing your stomach which ultimately caught you off guard.

Neuvillette.

Nuzzling into the junction of your neck just beneath the telephone against your ear, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive spot, soft smacks of his lips loud enough for Wriothesley to pick up.

You bit back a moan, free hand coming up to rest on the wall to support your weight. Neuvillette’s kisses had your legs trembling, it left prominent goosebumps in its wake as he trailed further down to your shoulder blades.

“Hm. Looks like it's time for me to go. Pass on my best wishes to Monsieur Neuvillette.”

And with that, he hung up the phone.

“My apologies, ma chérie. I just—I need you.” Neuvillette sighed, hot breath ghosting over your bare skin, akin to a gentle caress coaxing you into the borders of lust, like a lone finger protruding from the darkness, beckoning you to its endless, sinful void.

“Love—mhm!” You let out a yelp, his hands finding comfort on the curve of your hips, keeping them still as he slotted his clothed cock between your ass.

Neuvillette grinded into you, unshameful and devoid of any decorum.

Placing the telephone back on the wall, your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, just the feel of his hard cock had you embarrassingly wet already.

Neuvillette was different from this, despite his sexual urges, he was never forward with you, he took his time—sensual and sincere, treating you like the finest piece of gold to ever exist.

But saying you weren’t enjoying his brazenness would be a complete lie. Seeing a different side to your lover put you in a rather sensitive state, almost like a virgin bedded for the first time.

Something primal had awoken deep inside his core, and the only way to handle it was to satiate his carnal thirst.

Nonetheless, you tried to get your point across, “Neuvi . . What you’re experiencing is the effect of an aphrodisiac from those chocolates Sigewinne gave you.”

Your words fell deaf on his pointed ears, instead, Neuvillette mumbled some of his own, “I’m sorry . . Ma belle, I promised you about that challenge but it seems I cannot fight my urges any longer.”

Another shaky sigh left his rosy lips.

Challenge? Oh.

Oh.

Even in his lust-driven state, Neuvillette was still thinking about the No Nut November challenge you had proposed earlier this month.

“I’m a man of my word but I need you, my love. Let me break the rules just this once, please?”

Pure desperation coated every word that came out of his mouth. It was thick like honey, and melted on your skin like snow.

God, at this point the stupid challenge wasn’t even on your mind anymore, not when he desperately humped your ass like an animal in heat—quick, little ruts of his hips that soothed the ache a bit better.

Who were you to deny your lover?

The transition from the living room to the shared bedroom was a blur—everything was hasty; desperate hands exploring each other’s bodies; lips sealed together in a rough, passionate kiss; a trail of clothes messily discarded on the floor leading up to the room.

Everything Neuvillette did had you on your toes, completely breathless while trying to mirror his hurried actions.

Normally, Neuvillette would bask in your serene glory, peeling clothes off from your body layer by layer, and decorating your exposed skin with butterfly kisses.

He’d gently stroke your hair, slender fingers weaving through the strands as he takes in your bare beauty.

Now, his tongue swiftly explored your mouth—lengthy and thick—something he has never done before. It dizzied you.

You landed on the foot of the plush mattress with a soft gasp as Neuvillette pulled away. Breathless and flustered, you stared up at him through your lashes, soft pants escaping your kissed lips.

The sight before him made his cock twitch.

How your hair was splayed around your head, mimicking a soft halo, a divine being greater than he.

Neuvillette discarded the last two pieces of clothing—pants and underwear—in one fell swoop, and what came into view undoubtedly had you clenching around nothing.

Standing proud and heavy at the base of his abdomen were his cocks, both painted in a deep vermillion hue, and generously leaking pre-cum.

The sticky pearlescent substance coated his bulbous tips, it glistened beneath the moonlight, beckoning you to wrap your lips around them, and have a feast.

This wasn’t the first time you saw Neuvillette naked nor were you not aware of his kind but it always brought you shock every time, not to mention the faint cerulean scales the underside of his cocks boasted, it was also his sensitive spot.

Stepping out from the puddle of fabric around his ankles, Neuvillette did the same to your undergarments, mindlessly tossing them elsewhere in the room.

A low growl sounded from his chest as he pried your legs apart, his deft hands guided them to bend at the knees while resting the soles of your feet on the edge of the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on full display.

In less than a heartbeat, Neuvillette was on his knees, his eager tongue lapping along the length of your slit, your arousal pooled at the tip of his tongue like sinful honey, the divine taste of your cunt prompting another shameless growl from your lover.

He repeated the movement a couple of times, each lick reaching closer and closer to your sensitive clit, and when he finally reached it with his hardened tongue, you let out a surprised gasp.

“Neuvillette!”

Shocks of electrifying pleasure kissed its way up your spine as Neuvillette tongued at your swollen bud—tight, fast circles, up and down, side to side, he toyed with you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

Your hands immediately flew to his ivory tresses due to his ministrations, it was almost like playing a game of tug of war, indecisively pushing and pulling his, unsure if you wanted more or if you wanted him to stop and slow down.

Lewd, wet smacks of Neuvillette’s tongue mixed with his low growls filled the room, allowing you to bask in the sounds of pleasure your lover unabashedly made. Almost akin to a vicious beast swallowing down its prey.

As your back arched off the mattress, and the grip on Neuvillette’s hair tightening, he pulled away, earning a rather disappointed whine to fall from your lips.

Sweet arousal abundantly coated his lips and chin, bringing warmth to your cheeks.

No one in the room dared to say it but this was the first time your cunt got embarrassingly wet, not that Neuvillette was inadequate in bed per se but you were wetter than usual, and you were confident that he had also noticed.

The glow of his lilac eyes and cerulean feelers were proof enough.

Standing up to his feet, Neuvillette languidly stroked the cock that sat beneath the other one, an immodest gaze raking over your sopping cunt, and how it shamelessly dripped with sticky arousal enough to soil the ivory sheets beneath.

“Are you ready, ma chérie?”

Neuvillette’s lilac stare captured you in a haze, absentmindedly nodding at his words as though you were rendered speechless.

He slowly rubbed the tip of his bottom cock before pushing it past your soaked folds, it eagerly swallowed him in—a loud, shameless squelch filling your ears as he stretched you open further.

Your toes curled at the sensation, hips immediately bucking into him as you moaned his name. The stretch was a pleasurable burn, one that had you rolling your eyes back, and digging your nails onto the sheets a little harder.

Neuvillette was able to easily slip into you, courtesy of the plentiful slick that coated your velvety walls.

Neuvillette stilled as he bottomed out, quick, short pants falling from his rosy lips.

God, you always took him so, so well, he could never get enough of the feeling of warmth wrapped around his cock. You took this time to get used to the stretch, your muscles relaxing to lessen the resistance he felt.

Neuvillette filled you up so well you could almost feel him in your stomach—a thought that had you clenching around him.

One, two, three seconds later, Neuvillette slowly pulled back, letting out a shaky breath at the pleasurable sensation. And with only his cock head inside you, he took no time to slam all the way inside.

You moaned, hands flying to his bare shoulders, immediately marking his pale skin with crimson stripes. Neuvillette unabashedly keened at the clench of your cunt around him, knees buckling as you gripped his cock like a vice, making it harder for him to move in and out.

“Haah! Mhm! Neuvi—right there, my love!”

Colourful moans and whimpers urged Neuvillette on, dragging him further and further to the state of insanity.

“You feel divine, ma belle . .”

The words came out as a choked sob—pathetic and dainty. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead paired with a deep crimson blush that painted his cheeks, if anything, Neuvillette looked absolutely ethereal in this state despite how out of it the aphrodisiacs made him.

Not only were his cocks extra sensitive to touch but he could also perfectly smell the scent of your sex that lingered in the air.

That sweet, sinful aroma he knew oh so well.

It made his head spin.

He tried holding back, he really did but your dulcet moans stroked his growing ego, and the feel of your sopping cunt deliciously sliding against him, the last thread of sanity that held him snapped.

Violently.

As if he saw nothing but bright hues of ruby, Neuvillette picked up his pace, long thrusts quickly turning into short ones as he mercilessly pistoned his hips over and over again, allowing his cock head to reach your sweet spot.

Your fingers raked down the length of his spine—leaving violent ribbons of red in its wake—stopping right at the dimples of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you dug onto the pale skin there.

Neuvillette wasn’t the only one on the brink of insanity with how the underside of his other cock furiously rubbed at your swollen clit with each thrust, it rested at the hood of your cunt, thick and heavy.

“S-so good! It feels so good—ngh!”

The thrust of his hips felt amazing, too amazing to the point where your body started to reject them. Your body entered fight or flight mode, parted knees instinctively closing together which only allowed an inconvenient amount of room for Neuvillette to move with.

Upon noticing the change, he slowed down, sweaty palms resting on either knee, “My love—haah . . Open up for me, would you?”

Winded and weak, Neuvillette attempted to pry your knees apart to no avail considering his mushy state.

“Too much, mon chérie . . I—I can’t.”

Neuvillette shook his head at your words before pulling out, leaving you confused and empty.

From the mattress, you watched as he sauntered over to his side of the bed, grabbing a lengthy, obsidian object that rested against his nightstand.

Before a question could even formulate in your mind, he returned to his spot in the blink of an eye; though, this time, with something in his hand.

A cane—his cane.

The same one he used during court proceedings, in that context, it was deemed a sacred symbolism of his authority as the Iudex of Fontaine.

To use it in such a setting would be borderline blasphemy.

Hovering over your trembling body, Neuvillette placed chaste kisses on each knee,

“Do you trust me, my dear?”

Was that even a question? Of course you did. He wouldn’t harm you and you believed that completely.

With a soft touch, Neuvillette was able to easily pry your knees apart, the scent of your cunt once again filling his senses.

He wordlessly slotted the obsidian cane beneath your knees, its surface cool against your feverish skin, you shuddered at the contrast in temperature.

Neuvillette pushed down on the shaft of the cane, bringing your knees closer to your chest—you also noticed how it kept your legs still, meaning you had no option to close them.

You whimpered at the slight burn the position invited, especially with the cane pressing down on your soft skin.

And once again, Neuvillette sheathed his cock inside your cunt before setting the same merciless pace. Only this time, you wouldn’t be able to deny him.

“Neuvi! Neuvi! Neuvi—aah! Fuck—mhm!”

You held on to the ivory sheets above your head for your dear life as Neuvillette roughly pistoned his hips.

With each relentless thrust given, your body jolted further up the mattress, breasts bouncing in full display for your lover to drink in.

Oh, how he adored the way your naked body moved and reacted to him, so plush and pliant.

Sharp hisses from the bed frame interlaced with the pornographic sounds of your moans, creating a lewd melody for the moon to witness, a sinful song only for the darkness of the night to hear—full of heat and passion.

“Does—ngh! Does it feel good, my love? Will you give in to the—haah! To the pleasure I’m giving you?”

Neuvillette curled over himself, tresses of ivory cascading down to cage your face as he leaned closer to you.

Despite the blur of your vision, you noticed the faint azure scales that decorated the side of his neck along with his pupils becoming more animalistic.

Neuvillette’s draconic features only ever made itself known during his heat; so, this came as a genuine surprise to you. Not that you were really complaining.

His hand remained on his cane while the other found comfort on your hip, subtly guiding your body onto him to meet each thrust.

Neuvillette met your gaze through a glossy stare, you watched as beads of crystalline-like tears formed on the corners of his eyes, eventually rolling down his reddened cheeks.

The sight before you was beyond divine, it wasn’t every day one would see the Chief Justice in such a poor state, his usual expressionless face painted with a colourful expression.

One that unmistakably screamed how lost he was in pleasure: rosy lips parted to let out soft whimpers, brows tightly knitted together, creating a deep crease between his brows.

“Are you close ma chérie? Mhm—aah! Come with me?” Neuvillette breathed out.

It took all of his will power to hold himself up, and keep his hips moving due to immense pleasure weighing on his body like a great burden.

The feeling had him trembling to his very bones, like a yellow autumn leaf braving the evening winds, and no matter how much his brain screamed at him to stop, he didn’t.

The pleasure would be too great of a loss if Neuvillette stopped now; so, he kept going—pounding, rutting, and grinding into you as he chased both your impending orgasms.

You nodded vigorously, throat too dry from all that panting to choke out any coherent words.

The burn of the position you maintained mixed with Neuvillette’s cocks stimulating your cunt sent you into a painful yet pleasurable overdrive.

Without a second thought, you hastily placed your hands between your bodies, blindly seeking out Neuvillette’s other cock, and wrapping your fingers around it. To the best of your ability, you vigorously pumped his shaft, matching your strokes with his thrusts.

Neuvillette shuddered, releasing a loud moan into the damp air.

After a few more quick thrusts, he stilled deep inside you, sealing his lips with yours as you both reached your climax, eagerly swallowing one another’s lewd moans.

Your back arched off the mattress, toes curling, and fingers digging into Neuvillette’s skin as you violently came, the feel of his thick, hot cum painting your plush walls white had your hips bucking into him, begging for more.

Embarrassingly enough, Neuvillette came a lot.

Not only inside you—to the point where it spilled out of your cunt and onto the sheets below—but also on you.

The cock you’ve been stroking spurted thick ribbons of cum on your abdomen, abundantly covering your skin in his essence. He looked at the filthy art that decorated your skin, colourful curses enough to make Fontainians gasp in shock filled his mind.

How beautiful you were marked by him.

“Did I hurt you in any way?” He asked, slowly peeling himself away from you.

Neuvillette made sure to quickly remove his cane from under your knees, placing it flat on the floor before tending to you.

He kissed your sweaty forehead, and pulled your bodies up the mattress with your head atop the fluffy pillows.

“Not at all but I have to say, I was reaaally looking forward to completing the challenge, mon chérie.” You joked, letting out a breathless laugh.

Neuvillette blushed, suddenly remembering how he readily accepted the proposal of your challenge . . What was it again? No Nut November?

“Another year is to be expected, I am determined we will overcome the challenge.”

And you were looking forward to that. Very much so.

You just hoped he wouldn’t consume another aphrodisiac-laced sweet in the coming year so the both of you could actually complete the challenge.

Well, at least you concluded that Neuvillette and aphrodisiacs weren’t such a bad match, right?

Most people who crossed paths with Wriothesley could make a thousand assumptions about him before ever coming to the conclusion that he was the scholarly type. That was, if they were fortunate enough to even catch a glimpse of him in the first place, given that the Duke of Meropide had made it his utmost priority to keep himself as much of a non-entity as humanly possible. A priority second only to making sure he always had a hot beverage on hand, perhaps. 

Upon meeting him for the first time, you could admit—albeit with a tinge of regret over your own superficiality—that you’d been one of those many people. His unkempt hair, haphazardly worn tie hanging loose around his scarred neck, numerous piercings, and muscular build riddled with evidence of past brawls hadn’t exactly given off the impression of an intellectual. Like any other detail of his true character, it was something you had to decode, read between the lines of in order to appreciate the writing in full.

It began when you discovered that the heavy mechanical gauntlets he carried with those powerful arms, seemingly good for nothing but a brutish way to kill time in the Pankration Ring, were a product of his own invention. Countless prototypes had come and gone over the years, with the oldest being created in his teenage years, wandering the unforgiving streets of Fontaine for spare parts. It would have been easy to dismiss the shadows that hung beneath his tired eyes as a result of careless nights indulging in hedonistic desires, until dealings with the Maison Gestion revealed that they instead were born from long hours spent managing all the accounting and documentation for the entire Fortress. What had stood out to you most, however, were the shelves of books lining his office walls. They weren't simply for show, well-kept and organized, not even having the chance to gather dust when he regularly rotated out the stack on his desk every few days. 

Little by little, it became abundantly clear to anyone who gave Wriothesley the attention he so vehemently tried to evade that the laid-back, unsophisticated demeanor his ’s appearance suggested was precisely what he wanted people to assume about him. And that kind of cunning was in of itself another testament to his intelligence.

You considered yourself lucky to have spent enough years with the elusive Duke to learn of his brilliance that he kept shrouded in the sea’s murky depths. And you considered yourself even luckier to know that a mind as sharp as his was infinitely more satisfying to break.

The scent of marcotte, fragrant and brewed to perfection, wafted over your senses as steam rose from your teacup in a wispy dance. It was a bit more saccharine than you were used to—the former Hydro Archon, notorious for her sweet tooth, had taken it upon herself to return the gesture of sending copious amounts of tea to Wriothesley’s residence, just as he’d done for her in the past. Coupled with the two sugar cubes he always added to his cup, you wondered how he was faring with its flavor. If the drink’s excessive sweetness didn’t appeal to him, he showed no signs of it, sipping contently away in his office chair.

You observed him from above where you sat perched on his desk, admiring the concentrated expression on his face as he scoured the book in his hand, worn at its edges from years of use. The second volume of The History of the Decline and Fall of Remuria; you recognized it instantly. It was a piece he always seemed to come back to, no matter how many books made their home in his office.

As expected, it didn’t take long for him to take notice of your stare, pale blue eyes flickering up from the pages to give you an inquisitive look. Regardless of how immersed he seemed to be at any given moment, you knew better than anyone that he never truly let his guard down, alert senses dulling for nothing and no one.

Well, with maybe just one exception.

“What’s with that look?” He set down his teacup to free one of his hands, ruffling his hair in a half-hearted search for any mischievously placed stickers or ribbons. “There’s no way Sigewinne was able to reach this high without me noticing.”

“It’s not that,” you replied, gesturing to the book. For how thick it was, he held it so effortlessly with just one hand, sturdy, taped up fingers cradling it with a care that shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you, anymore. “I just hope you’re not planning to uncover ancient prophecies for another world-ending disaster in there.”

The corner of his mouth curled up at that, morbidly playful. “It’d be nice if the Wingalet was good for more than just a one time use, wouldn’t it?”

You grinned back at him, as if the thought alone wasn’t terrifying to consider. He took immediate notice of how you peered curiously over at the blocks of text he was so engrossed in, and, ever the gentleman, he tilted the book back and angled it in your direction to give you a better look. “Feel like helping out? You can take all the credit when we break the news to everyone that we’re damned for eternity.”

“You say that as if you’d be doing me a favor and not the other way around, Lord Incognito," you joked.

He leaned forward with a click of his tongue, resting his chin on the book’s spine as if to entice you. “Oho? How can I sweeten the deal for you, then?” 

It would be a lie to say that you weren’t interested in the historical work’s contents—though, that was more so just an extension of your interest in Wriothesley himself. Anything that managed to capture his attention so thoroughly, made him tick the way this book seemed to do, was undoubtedly worth exploring, in your eyes. All the books that had passed through his battered hands during his time growing up in the Fortress, all the decades of information he’d familiarized himself with when most teenagers had been out in the overworld, skipping classes for film festivals—you were far more intrigued by those pieces of him than you were by knowledge of the long-lost empire

You took a thoughtful sip of your tea as you mulled it over, enjoying the floral, silky smooth liquid that bathed your tongue before placing your cup to the side and scooting closer to him. “You read, I’ll listen,” you decided. “I’ll focus much better if the words are said in your voice.”

Wriothesley had half-expected the proposal, but that didn’t stop a strange, warm tingle from buzzing at the back of his neck. His stare dropped back down to the book with a bit too much haste, like the earnest twinkle in your eyes may be enough to blind his dulled ones. “Starting to think I should charge for my services.”

“It’s mutually beneficial,” you insisted. “You get an extra pair of ears, and I get to listen to you talk all smart and eloquent for me.”

He cleared his throat, for reasons other than preparing his vocal chords to read out loud. Your request was nothing new, at this point, and not nearly as much of an inconvenience as he played it up to be. Compared to fifteen years of words beyond his comprehension echoing around his troubled, young mind with no one to share them with, compared to loneliness that ran so bone-deep that only cracking them in a fight could temporarily quell it, this was more than a welcome change. A genuine interest in him—not his position, not what he could do for you, just him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. It was simultaneously what he’d always longed for most, and what he dreaded more than anything else in the world.

He adjusted his position with a heavy sigh, not out of annoyance, but quick and easy surrender. Things always seemed to turn out that way, when it came to you. Without any further resistance, he picked up right where he’d left off. “Here, all the theaters and palaces were established in shapes most harmonious, their beams and domes adorned with the most sumptuous and intricate carvings, and centered on a golden palace of towering copper pillars.”

His carefree drawl filled your ears; lazy, low, yet still pronouncing every word with crisp precision, like the slow, steady trickle of a frozen river beginning to thaw in spring’s wake. You pulled one knee to your chest and rested your chin on it, eyes fluttering shut as you indulged in what had quickly become one of your favorite pastimes. He didn’t stumble or hesitate over even a single word, each one spilling from his lips with practiced ease. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it was a result of how often you’d asked him to read aloud for you, or simply because he’d revisited this story enough times for his tongue to know what each sentence would say before his brain even caught up to it.

“The King, resting peacefully at the heart of the palace, listened closely to every melody and every note coming from every corner of the empire,” he murmured, eyes flickering up momentarily to catch a glimpse of your peaceful face. “Upon hearing any discord, the God King would correct it immediately with a pluck of his strings, bringing perfection to the symphony of his empire.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you remarked.

He reached for his teacup again, tilting his head at you with a faux-innocence that didn’t have you fooled for a single second. “I’m flattered you think I could be that efficient.”

Speaking of melodies, as Wriothesley paused to take a sip of his drink, you leaned over on his desk and reached for the bronze record player resting on the far side of it, carefully removing its needle so that the serene, classical tune that had been playing in the background came to a sudden halt. He didn’t have to ask to know why you’d put an end to the ever-present lull of music; the answer lied in how his voice rang out even clearer than before when he placed down his cup and continued reading, nothing but the sound of his own intonations echoing off the lonely, iron walls. Just the way you liked it.

“To keep all the people upon the high water from destroying the symphony of universal harmony, King Remus promoted four humans of great capability to high post,” he continued, wondering if it was the tea he’d just swallowed or the sensation of your eyes locked on him that had his skin feeling so oddly warm. It crept up his nape and nipped at the back of his ears, making him all too aware of his own body and voice in a manner that he wasn’t quite used to. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but awkward in his own skin, trying to picture how his every move may appear through your eyes. “He…shared his power and authority with them, making them his partners in governance the Harmosts for all cities, to eliminate all discordant sounds.”

Wriothesley’s languid tone grew gradually more impassioned the longer he read, as if each sentence pulled him deeper and deeper into the book’s pages until he was experiencing the faded ink words for himself. You didn’t bother to mask the endearment in your eyes as you drank in the sight of him; the mesmerizing shapes his lips formed around each syllable, the unexpected deftness of his calloused fingers, the thick, dark lashes framing his wandering eyes. You began rocking your knee pleasantly from side to side while your other leg hung off of his desk, hovering just above his thigh. 

As he took a brief pause to flip the page, his gaze darted back up to meet yours, trailing off once again when he caught wind of how intently you were staring. He raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Are you listening?” 

“And looking,” you hummed. “You have a really lovely voice, Wrio. Can't get enough of it.”

To say that Wriothesley wasn’t accustomed to praise was both a vast understatement, and a bold-faced lie. It was hard to take the notion that he was deprived of kind words seriously when he was addressed with a title as sycophantic as “Your Grace” more often than his own name. Not to mention the fact that everyone who came to know of his status (largely against his will, he might add) used any fleeting interaction they had with him as an opportunity to inflate his ego like their life depended on it—which, to be fair, they probably believed it did. 

It wasn’t that he found no appreciation in it, particularly when the excessive flattery came in the form of rare delicacies from the overworld, but most of it had no real bearing on him, sugar-coated words sliding off of his broad back like water off the feathers of a duck. Unearned fanfare was equally as meaningless as unearned vitriol; that was the belief he had to live by to avoid being taken advantage of. 

But genuine, honest praise, spoken with affection rather than reverence, given without a second thought or ulterior motive, that was a luxury so foreign to him that you may as well have been speaking in a different tongue. He wasn’t exactly proud of the way it made a heat pool in his abdomen like some kind of touch-starved teenage boy. What overpowered any of those other thoughts, however, was his deep-seated desire to hear more of it. To earn more of it.

He reached for his cup yet again, because he didn’t know what else to do, uncoordinated hand grasping at the air for a moment before he made contact with its delicate handle. “That so?” he managed at last, bringing the rim to his lips. “Cause if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to wear it out.”

“There are faster ways to achieve that than having you read to me,” you pointed out.

Wriothesley all but choked, barely managing to stifle the cough that threatened to erupt in his chest. His fingers tightened around the cup’s handle in an iron grip, holding himself together just enough to swallow down the tea that was doing much more to taunt him than relax him, at this point. 

“Careful!” It came deceptively concerned, he might have actually fallen for it if he hadn’t caught the pleased glint in your eyes. “Don’t burn your tongue, we’ve still got a lot to cover.”

Gently, you leaned forward to take the porcelain cup from his hold, resting your foot on his thigh for support as you did and taking satisfaction in the way his leg muscles immediately tensed beneath your touch. A few stray droplets of tea had splattered onto his hand in his embarrassing blunder. Before the idea had even fully formed in your head, you scooped them up with your fingers and dipped the digits into your mouth, not breaking eye contact for a second as you sucked them clean.

Wriothesley’s adam’s apple bobbed. Once, twice, like he was fighting to keep something far more shameful than a cough from rising in his throat. You leaned back with a smile, swiping your tongue over your lips and making it a point to not remove your foot from where it was pressed against his stiffened thigh. “So,” you said. “The fairways.”

He blinked at you.

“To spread the harmonious symphony throughout the world, he built far-reaching fairways…” you repeated the words he’d left off on with thinly-veiled amusement. It wasn’t like him to shut down this easily. You couldn't pinpoint if he’d gone silent because he was at a genuine loss for words, or because he knew that any attempt at further banter would land him in an even more compromising position than before.

“Oh.” His voice had a weak crack to it when he finally spoke again, setting off a delightful tingle in your spine. That. That was what you wanted more of, what you knew you’d be able to coax out if you toyed with him just right. Grateful for an opportunity to busy himself, his eyes fell back to the forgotten book, taking a bit longer than usual to find the section where he’d stopped. “H-he…” Wriothesley cleared his throat again to get rid of the uneven pitch it’d taken on. “He built far-reaching fairways, which conveyed the melodies as never-ending ripples from Capitolium to every corner that sat above the high waters.”

You let out a murmur of acknowledgement, your expression every bit as calm as before, feigning perfect interest in the historical account as if your foot wasn’t gliding absentmindedly up and down the fabric of Wriothesley’s pants. Every time you inched a little higher, he felt a little less in control of himself, legs itching to jerk inwards and tongue struggling to wrap around even the simplest of terms. He was certain that the flush on his face had to be prominent enough for you to notice by now. His skin was unnaturally warm and prickly all over, the same way he’d felt after taking a swim in the waters surrounding the Fortress, tainted with traces of the primordial sea. Ironically enough, this reddish tint was far more troubling to him than the one that had brought him mere moments from dissolution. 

He shifted around in his office chair, visibly battling the urge to cross his legs in fear of drawing unwanted attention to the growing bulge between them. It was pathetic in a comical sort of way, but he had trouble finding the humor in his current situation when all his focus had to be put into breathing like a normal human being and not like someone who got riled up while reading about the decline of an ancient undersea empire. 

“You seem distracted,” you commented suddenly. It was hardly above a murmur, but it brought Wriothesley’s train of thought to a screeching halt. “Something caught your eye?”

He opened his mouth to answer, only for your heel to drift dangerously close to the tightening spot in his trousers, eliciting a soft hiss from him instead. “Oh,” you giggled, not even bothering to sound surprised by what you were met with. “Got yourself a little problem down there?”

“Got a far more dangerous one right in front of me,” he gritted out.

You dragged the sole of your foot along the outline of his length with just enough pressure to feel it twitch in response. His hips stuttered in protest as you pulled away, chasing after your touch like a moth to a flame. “Yeah? Let me take care of them both, then. So you can focus better, Your Grace.”

Something about the mockery that laced your tone had his heart pumping with adrenaline. So sweet, yet so condescending that even his own title sounded deliciously unfamiliar on your lips. His breath hitched as he watched you slip gracefully from his desk and sink down to settle in between his thighs, not having to speak a word for him to spread them obediently for you. There was already a steady buildup of heat rolling off of him in waves, begging to be set free from the confines of his clothing before it consumed him altogether. The sound of his belt unbuckling as your fingers undid the metal ornaments was almost as thrilling to you as the shaky exhale he released in response. So reactive, even without being touched, akin to a dog that’d been conditioned to heel at the ring of a bell. 

Wriothesley’s gaze broke away from you for just a split-second to cast a glance at the head of the stairs, no doubt double checking that he’d locked the entrance on the lower floor. You smiled to yourself. One benefit to his borderline paranoid levels of caution meant that you never had to worry about anyone invading your privacy when you visited his office. Sliding two fingers beneath the leather strap around his thigh, you pulled it back and snapped it against his skin to draw his focus back to you. “It’s locked, baby,” you reminded him. “I’ve got you all to myself.”

Trusting your reassurance, he gave you a slow, almost shy nod, shoulders relaxing a bit—or, as much as they could relax when your warm breath was fanning out over his skin as you undid the last button of his pants. Your hands dipped beneath their waistband along with that of his underwear, and he lifted his hips dutifully to help you tug them down in one fell swoop. A quiet grunt left his lips as his dick sprang free; he hadn’t anticipated the frankly embarrassing amount of precum that had dribbled out from his tip in such a short time, hitting the cool air of his office and piercing his sensitive skin.

“Looks like you spilled a little down here, too.”

Wriothesley’s lip twitched, betraying his nervousness. “Also your fault.”

“I clean up your messes and this is the thanks I get?” you lamented. “I’d call you cold-blooded but—” You took his cock into your hand, curling around it so delicately that he almost found himself groaning in frustration. “—you’re burning up, huh, baby?”

Before he could muster up a response, you dragged your palm languidly over his slit and spread the glistening, sticky droplets along the rest of his shaft. His breathing picked up immediately, dick jerking in your grip as more and more of his blood rushed south. All it took was a few firm, slippery strokes, and he was hardened to completion. You marveled at the sheer size of him as he swelled in your palm—not just his girth that could hardly be contained by your fingers, but his entire body towering above you, as well. Thick thighs spread wide in his chair to fill up every bit of space, sturdy chest rising and falling with every ragged breath, muscular forearms bulging with veins as he clenched his bandaged fists; all completely at your mercy.

Unable to hold back any longer, you angled his cock upwards and flattened your tongue against its underside, licking a long stripe all the way from his base to his tip. Wriothesley let out a strangled noise, coming close to dropping the book in his hand. It served as a reminder that he was still gripping on to it for dear life, but as he leaned forward in an attempt to place it back on his desk, you intercepted him with a harsh, warning squeeze to his length.

“Who told you to stop?” you frowned. “This is important stuff, right? Keep reading.”

His eyes widened a bit as he shot you an incredulous look, searching your expression for some indication that you were joking. You had to be joking. “Pardon?” he chuckled weakly.

“You can do it, can’t you? Put that big brain of yours to good use.” Your lips moved just centimeters away from the head of his dick as you spoke, puffs of air teasing his glans and fingers trailing up and down his length in a tender touch that was as relieving as it was agonizing. “Go on, Wrio. I’m still listening to you.”

The pages crinkled beneath his thumb as he begrudgingly brought the text back into his view, wondering for what wasn’t the first time if the one person he’d chosen to place his trust into was actually some sort of wicked demon in disguise, sent to torture him for all his past sins. The look you gave him from below was nothing short of ravenous; he’d never guess that such a pretty mouth was preparing to open up and devour him whole. As he struggled to find his place again, he took some comfort in the fact that at the very least, he could use the book to shield his burning face from the dizzying effect your eyes had on him.

“Yet fate's decree was not for even such as gods to defy…” His voice came stable enough at first, that was, until your lips parted to take his aching dick into your mouth at long last. He cut himself off with a sharp huff as the wet heat closed around his cockhead and flooded his senses in a matter of seconds. “T-to…to even attempt to escape destined judgment was a mortal…mortal sin.”

The drawn-out hum you released as his essence flooded your tastebuds was just plain cruel, sending vibrations throughout his cock and adding a light growl to his speech. Just the tip of him felt so hot and heavy on your tongue, throbbing with need in a way that tempted a more sadistic side of you to sink your teeth into him, just to hear what kind of unrestrained cry would follow. But Wriothesley had already experienced enough pain in his lifetime to to last him several more, already been given more than enough reasons to never have allowed himself to be this vulnerable with you. So instead, you puckered your lips to form a plush, slippery ring, adding mind-numbing pressure to your movements as you began to push further down his dick. This time, he full-on moaned for you, long and breathy. It was significantly softer than his usual husky tone, sending a powerful jolt straight to your core.

“Amongst the…the God—ngh—God King's sins, the most terrible was the attempt to—” His pitch spiked unnaturally high as your mouth encased more of his cock with that slick, addictive warmth, tongue tracing up and down over a prominent vein that ran along its underside. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to find his composure again and push through the rest of the sentence; a goal made near-impossible when it felt like you were sucking every last ounce of reason from his system. “Attempt to…pass power that should have been reserved for…for the godly domain to humans.”

Despite the strain lacing his every word, he was doing surprisingly well, all things considered. Which meant it was your cue to turn things up a notch—as a reward for all his hard work, of course, certainly not because you wanted to hear that calm, leisurely flow of his voice crumble into something frantic. Not a crisp, thawing stream, but an overflowing river, crashing and swirling with volatile currents that consumed everything in their path. 

Hollowing your cheeks, you pushed forward inch by inch until you’d taken him halfway into your mouth, creating an air-tight suction and beginning to bob your head. The friction of your lips was almost unbearably good as you dragged them all the way up his cock, pooling hot saliva at his tip, before sinking back down.

Wriothesley dug his teeth into his lower lip with enough force to draw blood, but even that wasn’t enough to suppress his gasp when you repeated the action, spreading that intoxicating slickness until you’d built up a steady, merciless rhythm. Back and forth, back and forth, drowning his cock in wet, hot pleasure over and over. Every time he thought you might pull off and give him a chance to stabilize himself again, you kept going, an obscene squelching sound mixing with his stammered attempts at reading.

“Thus the…the—mmph, fuck,” he huffed in frustration, giving his head an aggressive shake in an attempt to clear it from the thick fog that was gradually blurring all his rational thought. 

At last, your need for air gave you no choice but to come to a halt. He let out something between a sigh of relief and a whine of disappointment as his dick slipped from your mouth, thoroughly coated in drool and spasming pitifully at the loss. Your hands slid up his hefty thighs as you struggled to catch your breath, completely winded from taking just half of his full length. Goosebumps rose on his skin as you traced soothing patterns over the array of scars decorating his thighs, occasionally spreading your fingers as wide as they could to grab hungry handfuls of his flesh and squeeze down.

“Such a big boy, aren’t you?” you cooed. The gentleness of it was directly contrasted by the sharp prick of your nails sinking into his skin without warning, dragging down the flesh of his legs just hard enough to create an exhilarating sting. Wriothesley let out a low, gravelly groan, muscles flexing wildly under your touch like they had a life of their own. The marks your nails left behind faded into a pale pink color almost instantly, nothing like the deep, raised scars that slashed across his skin even in an area as out of reach as his inner thighs. The sight made you soften. Violence had found the most intimate parts of his body long before pleasure ever had.

“Big, beautiful boy,” you murmured, pressing tender kisses to the spots you’d just marked.

He squirmed under your adoring stare, every one of his nerve endings set ablaze over three simple words. It wasn’t solely out of abashment this time, but a warm glow of pride, as well. Regardless of how much bigger he was than you, regardless of how much broader his shoulders were and how he loomed over you at full height, he never truly felt it; that your presence was in any way smaller than his. 

Even when you were lowered between his legs like this, it was still as if he were the one looking up at you, perpetually perched above him on his desk, bending him to your will without having to lift a finger. Even when you spoke formally to him, it always harbored just the right amount of mockery to make his mind melt, putting him in his place with the very title everyone else used to elevate him. With the way he gazed down at you, disoriented and awed with his mouth hanging open, you knew that you were both thinking the exact same thing—he was completely and utterly helpless in your hands.

You continued kneading at his thighs as you leaned back in to press a kiss to his swollen tip, stifling a giggle when it jolted in response. “Stay with me, Wrio,” you whispered. “I still haven’t told you to stop reading.”

Wriothesley stiffened at that, the task you’d given him already completely washed away by the torrents of euphoria rippling through his body. It took him significantly longer to anchor himself even with your mouth off of him, hazy eyes blinking rapidly and brows furrowing together in a rare display of confusion as he struggled to even focus his vision on the pages again, let alone remember which section he’d left off on. 

“Thus, this power and status led to corruption 'nd…and decadence, leading to violence and revolts,” he began, a delicious rasp tinging his voice. His inhale sounded more like a yelp when you took his dick back into your mouth mid-sentence, determined to swallow down every last inch of him, this time. “S-such…such is fate's—mmph—cunning that it uses the very powers…” His recitation died in his throat as your lips glided along the neglected ridges of his cock, sucking him further and further into the velvety heat of your mouth until you reached all the way to his base. Even with your mouth full, your breaths were calm and collected in comparison to his trembling ones. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his stomach as your nose pressed against his abdomen, his trail of dark hairs tickling your skin each time his muscles contracted.

Wriothesley keened as his cock hit the back of your throat, his free hand flying up to his mouth a heartbeat too late to suppress the mortifying noise that caught you both off guard. It was such a primal reaction, entirely involuntary, and it made your core clench with arousal just as much as it made his churn with humiliation. To make matters worse, his loss of control extended to the rest of his body as well, hips bucking up in a fit of pleasure to push himself as deep into you as physically possible.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. You 'kay? Ah, didn’t…didn’t mean—”

His hoarse apologies morphed into another groan, even his own words proving to be too much for the poor man to get a handle on. He felt lightheaded, like all the blood that should have been reaching his brain was pumping straight to his cock instead. His thoughts fluttered around his head in a frenzy, his tongue too heavy and slurred with drool to voice them fast enough before he inevitably interrupted himself again. Mustering all of his strength, he pulled his disobedient hips back in fear of harming you, but you made no move to take your mouth off of him, continuing to suckle your lips for as long as your body would allow. Each time you swallowed around him, a fresh wave of saliva coated his dick, dribbling from your mouth and making his brain go haywire.

“Powers that—ah—that rebel…fuck, feels s’ good.” His hips stuttered on reflex again, much to his dismay, only for you to flatten your hands against his pelvis and shove him back into his chair with a force that left him stunned. The added stimulation to his abdomen ignited a fresh heat within him, every point of contact akin to a razor-sharp needle preparing to to burst the ball of pressure that had built up. “Rebel—fuck. Mm, wait. That's...if y'don't stop 'm gonna—ngh.”

Just as Wriothesley felt himself veer dangerously close to the edge, you finally pulled off of him with a smack of your lips, leaving you both panting in unison. His gloved hand clamped over his mouth to mask the soft, needy whines that tinged his labored breathing, blue eyes half-lidded and glassy, lost in a daze.

“Falling apart on me already, Your Grace?” you pouted up at him. “C’mon, I know you can do better than that. Try again.”

Wriothsley’s head spun, not even having the chance to fully absorb your words before you licked a messy stripe down his cock, swirling your tongue around his thickness like he was the most delectable treat you’d ever tasted. His hand fell from over his mouth to support his other one in gripping the book, unable to keep it within his line of vision, anymore with his energy waning at an alarming rate. Instead, he ducked his head, giving you a perfect view of his face twisted in pleasure. Raw and passionate, nothing like the impenetrable air of nonchalance he typically faced the world with.

“Such…such is fate’s cunning that it…i-it…” He squeezed his eyes shut as you tongued at his glans, relishing in the raw desperation that seeped into his taste. You knew as well as he did that he was extra sensitive around the bundle of nerves, each maddening lap of your tongue making him writhe around in his chair and restart his sentence all over again. It was pure torture, how you made sure to soothe the ache of his cock for just a few precious moments before it came back twice as fierce, never truly satiated.

“Such i-is fate…fate’s mmph. Please, more…that i-it...it—hah—it…it—”

“It, it, it,” you mimicked. “You sound like a broken record, baby. Too dumb to speak, anymore?”

Your taunts should’ve sparked a flame of defiance within Wriothesley, but all they did was fog up his mind even further, lulling him deeper into the bliss of not having to think or speak. All he had to do was take everything you gave him like a good boy. His dick throbbed in your palm, as if responding in place of the man reduced to a stammering wreck above you. Gliding your hand down to his base, you pumped sloppy strokes over the part of his length that your mouth couldn’t cover, overwhelming every last inch of him with an onslaught of stimulation.

“Wonder if everyone can hear how pathetic you sound out there,” you mused between languid licks. “What would they think if they saw their Duke like this? Needy little thing who can’t even form a sentence. Better at using his dick than his brain.”

Wriothesley whimpered low in his throat, a sound so soft and helpless that you never would’ve guessed he was capable of making it. He swallowed down the saliva that began to spill from his lips, stiff fingers fumbling with the pages of his book in an attempt to do as he was told. The ink had become blurred and muddled, words that typically came to him like second nature now entirely out of his reach. They were too complicated to process—he couldn’t process anything anymore except you. The ecstasy of your mouth engulfing him, your hands playing with him like a wind-up toy, your gaze that was practically drilling holes into his skin from below. Something about the vacant expression on his face sent a rush of gratification through your veins. His droopy eyes, perpetually calm and unfazed in even the most dire of situations, now gleamed with lust, pupils blown wide into obsidian moons. His lower lip, swollen and abused by the work of his own canines digging into them, trembled with effort as he tried to find his voice again.

“When the day of…of destiny arrived, Remuria…the g-grand immortal—ngh— city, faced an inevitable end,” he slurred out, that unwavering certainty with which he spoke earlier now nowhere to be found. You purred around his cock in approval, patting his thighs affectionately to encourage him to keep going. 

“Today, the God—God,” he gasped as your tongue found the tip of his cock, gliding under its grooves and bringing dormant, electrifying sensations to life that he hadn’t even known existed. “God King's melody is…hah, God…is played only in Capi…C-cap…fuck—!”

The ruthless roll of your tongue on his cockhead didn’t let up, and before he could stop himself, Wriothesley’s lower half shot up, aching to feel more of the warm cavern of your mouth engulf him. You grabbed hold of his powerful hips without missing a beat, pinning them back to his chair with ease now that he’d more or less gone limp everywhere but his cock. Despite how far gone he was, he still managed to mumble out a weak apology for being so hopeless at controlling his own body.

“Only in Capito—nnn,” he tried a second time, only for it to end in another miserable grunt. He’d pronounced the word without any problems just moments before—well, truthfully, it could've been seconds, minutes, or hours ago and he wouldn’t have known the difference, anymore. What had come to him so effortlessly before now felt like he was trying to grab at wisps of smoke before they dissipated in the air.

Your teeth grazed just barely over the tender skin of his dick as you pulled off, earning a string of broken curses that were a rare indulgence in comparison to his usual decorum. “Big word, huh?” you murmured sympathetically, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin to ground him. “Is it too much for you, baby?”

Wriothesley shuddered. You weren’t sure if he’d even registered what you said, but he nodded, anyway, half-lidded eyes zeroing in on your mouth in a nonverbal plea.

“You can do it, Wrio. C’mon, try one more time for me.”

You had a feeling he would’ve done any depraved, unspeakable thing you may have suggested to him in that moment if only he could feel your dripping, silken mouth enveloping his cock again. It was as if you could see the gears turning in his head like a Clockwork Meka coming to life, responding to your commands only. 

“Ca…pi…to…li…um,” you sounded each syllable out for him. “Not so bad, right? Even you can figure it out.”

Vaguely, in the back of his short-circuited mind, he sensed that familiar burn of humiliation stinging his ears. But compared to how delightfully warm your honeyed voice made him feel all over, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about whatever remained of his pride. 

“Cap—” It felt uncomfortably heavy on his lips, barely breaking through the cage of his teeth, but the way your expression softened as he tried to repeat after you made it all worth it. “Capitolium.”

“Good boy,” you crooned. “Keep it up, you’re almost there.”

Amidst the whirlwind that was wreaking havoc on his head, Wriothesley hadn’t even realized that he’d reached the volume’s final page until you pointed it out. He didn’t even have the chance to fully bask in your praise before your lips were wrapped around him again. You sank down on his cock without hesitation, taking him halfway into your mouth despite the ache that had spread in your jaw after accommodating his size for so long. The dull pang paled in comparison to your determination to keep going until the last fuse in his mind was burnt out.

“The God King's melody is—ngh—is played only in….in C-Capitolium, ‘nd his m-mighty…mmm, mighty reign has ended.”

The filthy slurping sound that followed his sentence as you dragged your lips back to the head of his dick sent a cold shiver up his spine, contrasting the feverish heat of his body so intensely that it gave him whiplash. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest as you sealed your mouth around his tip, already anticipating the final line of text that even you had memorized by now, in part because of the fascination Wriothesley seemed to have always had with it. Whether he himself was aware enough to remember it anymore was what you were truly interested in finding out.

The man jolted as you put all your focus into teasing his tip again, effectively sucking his last shred of sanity out through his cock so that he was operating on autopilot. Even as the book began to slip from his twitching fingers, he carried on mindlessly. 

“Th-th-thusly do the...ah—fuck. Fuck, that’s good, ‘s good,” he babbled. “Please—ah. Thusly do the ancient writers concur — ‘Oceans will…will…’ Ngh.”

Your tongue found his slit, brushing over it a few times with devious, kittenish licks before you dug your tip mercilessly into it, flicking back and forth at an agonizing pace. Wriothesley doubled over, book falling from his hands and hitting to the ground with a heavy thud that was drowned out by the volume of his rambling.

“Oceans will rise—mmm, please. Please, don’t stop. S’ good,” he groaned, voice so thick with lust that he could physically feel it filling his throat, threatening to choke him up. Each word took every drop of his lifeforce to gasp out when all he could think of, all he could feel and see and hear was you. It felt cruel to expect him to pour his attention into anything else. “Rise…rise—ngh. Oceans will rise, empires will…will fa—fuck. Ah, please, ‘m close. Close. Can’t, can’t anymore. ‘S gonna—”

You didn’t need to decode the absolute mess of warnings thrown into his moans to know that he was at his limit. Tonguing one last time at the spongy head of his cock, you coaxed out his climax, thick, sticky seed spilling into your mouth with all the force of water gushing from a broken dam. Wriothesley let out a broken cry of your name, the only word that came easily to him anymore, so uncharacteristically loud and rife with desperation that it had your core clenching wildly around nothing. His dick pulsed like a heartbeat against your tongue as his release spurted out with every shock of pleasure that shuddered through his drained body. You were careful not to swallow too much of it, bearing with the bitter taste so you could put the creamy fluid to much better use.

His pants of relief mixed with raspy, borderline incoherent apologies as he failed to stop himself from thrusting shallowly into your mouth, riding out the last few waves of his high. You kept your hands flattened on his contracting stomach, petting it gently through his climax until he at last collapsed against his chair. His head fell back against the cushion in pure exhaustion, jaw going slack to spill out a dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth.

Carefully, you let his cock fall from between your plush lips, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to its head as it fell against his thigh, still twitching and leaking. Wriothesley’s labored breaths filled the room in place of the symphony of pure sin that had been echoing through it earlier, chest heaving with no signs of slowing down after the intensity of what he’d just experienced. Your knees cried out in relief as you rose from your spot at last, throwing your legs over his muscular thighs and settling into his lap. He quivered slightly as your heat pressed down on his hypersensitive length, all the arousal that had pooled in your core making itself abundantly clear.

Wriothesley’s head lolled to the side, like he was toeing the line between a dreamscape and the waking world, but his eyes fluttered open drowsily when you took his chin between your fingers and guided him to look at you. With his mouth already hanging open uselessly as if he’d forgotten how to close it, you were able to seal your lips to his with ease, rolling out your tongue to spill his own release into his mouth. His expression twisted into a slight grimace as the acrid flavor flooded his tastebuds in a thick sheen, but he lapped it all up without hesitation nonetheless, gliding his tongue against yours to capture every last drop.

As you pulled back to let him swallow, he barely gulped down the mouthful of his seed before leaning into you with surprising urgency, still too uncoordinated to stop his nose from bumping against yours in the process. You indulged him when he let out a soft grumble, not quite ready to lose the bliss of your lips encasing his like a pillow of clouds. The very same lips that had been driving him mad just moments ago, now soothed him right down to his bones.

Regaining a bit of his strength, his forearms rose from where they’d been hanging limp at his sides and wrapped loosely around your waist, a silent plea for you to come closer. Your mouths moved in a deep, lazy rhythm until his need for oxygen interfered with his need for you. The sight of him when you pulled apart was enough to make you wish you could slip your bottoms off and sink down on his sore, spent cock without wasting another second. His pale cheeks, always so lifeless from a lack of sunshine, were tinted with a rosy flush and glistening with beads of sweat that trickled from his forehead. Messy, damp locks of his hair stuck out in all directions, and a content hum rumbled in his throat when you ran your fingers through them, scratching at his scalp.

He blinked slowly up at you as you pet his head in comfortable silence, eyes still very much glazed over with a far-off look in them that stirred something protective in you. He was so out of it, drained and powerless beneath you, trusting wholeheartedly that he was safe in your hands. It was a display of vulnerability that you never would've dreamed of witnessing when you first met him. You wiped the corner of his mouth where pearly droplets of his seed had spilled out, pushing them tenderly past his parted lips. “Good boy,” you murmured, patting his cheek when his tongue swiped over your thumb like a reflex. “You like the taste of milk with your tea?”

Wriothesley swallowed hard, giving you a dreamy nod that he would no doubt be mortified with himself for when he came back to his senses. But right now, the fuzzy afterglow that nipped the edges of his brain was far too pleasant for him to care.

“So,” you began softly, tracing your fingers up and down the triad of scars rippling along his neck and chest. “Found anything worth noting in there?”

Wriothesley tilted his head, still in no state to understand what you were getting at with your question, let alone form a proper response to it. You giggled, tapping the crown of his empty head and gesturing to The History of the Decline and Fall of Remuria, lying forgotten on the floor. A vague sense of recognition flooded his features, and he blinked a few times before giving up and slumping back into his chair with an airy chuckle of his own.

“Mmm…dunno,” he mumbled. “Dunno. Don't 'member anythin’ but you.”

You brushed his silver-streaked bangs back to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, ebbing some of the heat gripping his body like a drop of cool, calming water. 

The moon was well into its tranquil climb up the night sky when you at last heard the long-anticipated click of your front door unlocking. It was so subtle, you were sure to have missed it if you’d actually been asleep like you were meant to have been hours ago. But in your defense, it was your fourth night alone. 

You liked to think that you were used to it by now—you probably should have been used to it by now, with Cyno’s work so greedily calling for him to disappear for days on end, often with little to no warning. But knowing that offered you no consolation when each passing night, his scent faded from your sheets a little more, the lull in your bedroom grew a little bit louder, the space next to you in bed felt a little bit emptier. His absence occupied everything.

Silent as ever, featherlight footsteps padded down the dark hallway towards your bedroom, not making a stop by the kitchen or even the bathroom to wash his sand-speckled face. Straight to you. It was reminiscent of that deceptively calm trod he’d use to corner his prey, sneaking up on targets who weren’t even aware that they were being hunted by a hungry jackal. But now, those footsteps were full of care. Despite the fatigue gripping Cyno’s body, he still found enough strength within him to keep his movements quiet so you wouldn’t stir. If only you’d been asleep to begin with.

Before he could even slip into the room, you were sitting upright in bed, struck with a surge of adrenaline that immediately undid any progress you’d made in falling asleep. 

“Cyno.”

You could see his eyes widen in surprise, even with nothing but the faint moonlight illuminating them through your window.

“Did I wake you?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied. After mulling it over, you added with a soft smile, “So, in a sense, yes.”

You slid out of bed, unable to mask your urgency as you made your way over to meet him in the doorway. Lights flickered to life as you adjusted the oil lamp, flooding the bedroom with a pale glow and bringing you face to face with Cyno for the first time in days. He looked utterly exhausted. Eyes half-lidded, dark circles so deep that you weren’t sure where they ended and where his kohl began. Tousled strands of hair fell into his piercing red gaze, crystallized with grains of sand, sweat, and something you could only assume was dried blood. 

It was to be expected, but that didn’t mean the battered sight tugged at your heart any less. Without him having to say a word, you could tell that he hadn’t gotten a wink of proper sleep since he’d left on his self-assigned mission into the Land of Lower Setekh. Even in the days prior to that, he couldn’t have had many opportunities to rest while investigating the Court of Desolation with the Traveler. Once Cyno put his mind to something, he would follow it through until his very last breath. It was the only path ahead of him, tunneling his vision and clouding his otherwise crystal clear mind. 

The state of the man before you would make most others flinch in fear, but you rested your hands on his cheeks, cupping them delicately. Just like that, something shifted in Cyno. His stony face, hardened by the unforgiving squalls of the desert, mellowed under your palms. Catlike pupils dilated, melting into warm, glowing pools of crimson.

“You look tired,” you whispered, brushing a few silver hairs out of his eyes.

He leaned into your touch immediately, letting a quiet sigh slip out. “I’m okay,” he assured you. “Although…I could really go for some biryani right now.”

It took you a moment, but when you spotted the amused twitch of his lips, you knew exactly what was coming next. Funnily enough, what would normally make you roll your eyes now put you at ease.

“It’s rice to meat stew again, too.”

The smile that had been dancing on his lips broke free at last, making his cheeks swell in your hands. “You really like that one, huh?”

In truth, what you liked most was the proud look that would light up his face each time you giggled at his silly greeting. Except this time, a bit of relief was mixed into his expression as well. Almost like he’d been anxious that his gruesome appearance may have unsettled you, and immediately felt the need to make you laugh as a distraction.

“How could I not?” you beamed. “Hearing it means I get to see you again.”

Cyno’s self-satisfied grin softened into a shyer one, eyes averting suddenly with an awkward clear of his throat. It was ironic to you, how he could spew the most cringeworthy jokes with no ounce of shame, yet lose his composure over such a simple display of affection. Before you could call him out for it, though, he wobbled a bit in your arms, reminding you again of the situation at hand.

“Are you actually hungry? You must be sick of all those flavorless rations you’ve been eating the past few days.”

He shook his head, leaning forward to nuzzle into the crook of your neck without a word. The protruding ears of his headpiece rubbed against your cheek in the process, so you took the opportunity to gently remove the helmet from his head. You knew Cyno must’ve been ravenous, but at this point his exhaustion trumped all, making him forget about anything other than the comfort of your body pressed against his. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, letting a bit of his weight lean into you as he took in your scent. You welcomed it, relishing in every inch of his warm skin as if you were committing the feeling to memory for the next time his duties whisked him away from you. 

Your hand rested on the small of his back, flattened, hungry to feel as much of him as you could. For once, he was selfishly devouring every bit of physical contact you gave him. He slumped against you a bit more, barely restraining himself from collapsing right there. As you stroked along his spine and up to his tense shoulders, your fingers brushed over a fresh scar ripping across his shoulder blades.

Cyno winced subtly when you traced along the jagged line. It felt rough under your touch, already beginning to heal itself, but you could tell it had been deep.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” his answer came a bit too quickly. Without even looking at you, he knew you weren’t convinced, so he continued, “Not anymore. Candace had Doctor Maruf apply some healing balm to it when I passed through Aaru Village.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, still rubbing the pads of your fingers along the wound. “And the blood…”

“Isn’t mine,” he mumbled into your skin. “Most of it, anyway.”

He took comfort in the fact that your body relaxed against his. You finally moved your hand away from his shoulders, instead playing delicately with the long hair swooping out at his nape. It took all of Cyno’s might to pull himself from the shelter of your neck, only because he knew he may very well fall asleep if he stayed like that any longer.

His heartbeat picked up as your eyes met his once more. After days of furious glares directed his way from apprehended criminals, after a lifetime of passing looks on the street filled with fear, mistrust, sometimes even unmasked contempt, he looked into your eyes and was met with nothing but love. Soft and raw and boundless. He never realized how much the stares he got truly weighed on his mind until he was back with you. 

“Good,” you said at last. Your fingers stopped their caress of his hair, and Cyno nearly found himself pushing his body back in search of your touch again. The loss lasted for no more than a moment, however, as you took his hand in yours. His palm was calloused, no doubt carrying a residual ache from the iron grip he kept on his polearm. You almost felt a tinge of jealousy when you thought of that staff of scarlet sands, always by his side in his most perilous moments, always guarding him, even while he slept.

You gave his hands a squeeze. “Let’s get you washed up, then you can have a much-needed rest.”

Cyno paused for a moment. “Oh. That’s…not necessary—”

“You’re in no state to clean yourself, Cyno,” you reasoned. “I’m afraid you might actually pass out before the water hits your skin.”

You chose to leave out the issue of his injury, only because you were certain he’d disregard it even more than his exhaustion. As he opened his mouth to argue, he cut himself off with a wide yawn that he fruitlessly tried to hide behind the curtain of his bangs.

“And I’m not about to let you sleep without a shower so you can turn our bed into the Desert of Hadramaveth.”

He clamped his jaws shut, clearly disgruntled by his own body betraying him like that. Still, he agreed. “Very well.” He gave you a shy nod before adding, “Thank you…my love.”

He was never really able to say those words without stuttering or ducking his head, but that just made them all the sweeter to you. You still remembered the first time he’d let the term of endearment slip, so quiet that you’d thought you’d imagined it at first. But the flustered look on his face had been very real—that was another habit he still hadn’t grown out of. You hoped he never would.

Before you could reciprocate—or worse, tease him for it, Cyno promptly changed the subject as you tugged him towards the bathroom. “How are the gardens coming along?” 

“Really well. Some of the Padisarahs have already begun to sprout,” you chirped. His weary eyes sparkled at that, and you knew he was already envisioning the pudding that would be made with them once the flowers were in full bloom. As you turned on the water and began to sprinkle dried herbs and petals from your garden into the bathtub, you contemplated the topic you planned to bring up next, one that had been nagging away at you for hours. 

“Tighnari actually stopped by around sunset to check their progress. He seemed pleased, too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Cyno tense slightly, already suspecting what you were hinting at with the seemingly offhand comment. If you and Tighnari had met today, then he surely must have passed the news on to you about what had transpired on Cyno’s mission. Cyno doubted his friend would’ve minced his words around you, he was far too straightforward.

There was a spell of silence as you scattered Kalpalata Lotus leaves into the rising water. Then, you spoke up again, confirming his suspicions. “Three hundred arrests in four days,” you mused, almost to yourself. Your tone gave away no signs of frustration, but it wasn’t a secret to Cyno how you felt about this development.

“Well—” he let out a quiet cough. “It had to be done.”

“By you alone? I hadn’t realized the Akademiya was so short on manpower.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he tried to reassure you, though there was a distinct lack of his usual certainty to it. “I’ll carry out my duties to the end, no matter what it takes.”

“That’s precisely why I worry, silly,” you huffed, motioning for him to step in the prepared tub. He kept his head lowered as he undressed, both out of modesty over his bare form, and to avoid what was no doubt a disapproving stare from you. It was clear he had no regrets about the justice he’d delivered—you’d figured that much already—but the toll his duties had taken on him this time wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

Still, you decided not to press the matter any further, at least for now. What Tighnari had said to you earlier that day lingered in the back of your mind, about how lonely Cyno had looked after returning from his mission. Bearing the weight of his responsibilities as a matra was one thing, but the loss of Taj must have been infinitely heavier than anything he’d anticipated when taking on this case. You wanted to ease the burden on his shoulders, not add to it. 

At last, Cyno removed the choker around his neck and slipped into the pool of water, letting out an uncharacteristically vocal sigh of relief. The bath was nothing like the scalding heat of the desert he’d grown used to enduring. It was a welcoming warmth, fragrant with natural remedies that he could practically feel seeping into his bones and revitalizing him. You settled on the tile platform surrounding the tub, scooping some water into your hands and trickling it over his hair.

“Whenever you’re willing…” you began softly. “You can tell me all that’s on your mind. Okay?”

There was a pause, and for a second, you worried that he may resort to old, guarded tendencies and dismiss your offer. Then, he nodded gratefully. “I know. Thank you.”

Satisfied, you squeezed some shampoo into your palm and got to work. Cyno had already been struggling to keep his eyes open, so it was no surprise that the moment your fingers found his hair, his heavy eyelids drooped to a close. He tilted his head back just enough for you to get a look at his content face as you gently began massaging his scalp. You savored the sight of him, knowing that he wouldn’t have been nearly as willing to be pampered like this if he wasn’t too worn-out to protest.

As you took your time detangling each lock of hair with careful attention, he drowsily recounted the non-confidential parts of what had unfolded the past four days. He glossed over the heavier details that he wasn’t quite ready to talk about, instead focusing on his escapades with the Traveler, which to you, sounded like something out of a storybook. There was a noticeable passion that crept into his voice when he talked about the outlander’s battle prowess, almost akin to childlike wonder. It warmed your heart, leaving a fond smile plastered to your face the entire time he spoke.

Grains of sand trickled down his neck and back as you rinsed the last of the rose-scented conditioner from his hair. The way the streams of soapy water glistened on his dark skin was utterly captivating to watch, and when you swept his freshly-cleaned hair to the side to begin washing his body, it was hard not to get distracted by the view. Cyno trailed off mid-sentence, seeming to realize that your hands had stopped their ministrations. He cast a curious glance over his shoulder, surprised to find you observing him with such intensity.

He tilted his head, wondering if you were still fussing over his injury. “I promise, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Your gaze swept over his body, making no effort to mask your admiration as you drank in the toned expanse of his back, muscular shoulders, and lean torso disappearing into the foamy water. 

The word slipped out like a reflex before you could stop it. “Beautiful.”

Cyno’s half-lidded eyes widened. Just as he turned his head away in embarrassment, you caught his cheeks flushing a faint shade of red, much to your delight. He mumbled something incoherent in response, pretending to busy himself with the floating petals that swirled around him in the tub. Grinning at his reaction, you lathered the sponge with soap to begin washing his back. His muscles relaxed under your hands, a soft hum of appreciation slipping out of him as you scrubbed gently at his skin. You were extra careful as you passed over the scar on his shoulder blades, tenderly dabbing around the affected area so as not to break the scab.

The tips of your fingers traced a pattern over the wound, so delicate that it nearly lulled Cyno to sleep on the spot. Once you had washed the residual soap suds away, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in to press a soft kiss over it. He stiffened a bit, then eased up again just a quickly, soothed by the plush feel of your lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered, mouth still hovering over the scar. “Couldn’t resist.”

“That’s alright,” he hesitated before adding, “It…feels nice.”

Smiling into his skin, you placed one last peck to his shoulder before pulling away to continue washing his body. As you reached over to scrub his chest, you could feel his heartbeat pick up under your palms. His tiny sighs of contentment gradually grew more labored. They were deeper, heavier, every now and then releasing as a shaky exhale. It made your nerves buzz with excitement, but you didn’t dare entertain the idea, not when making sure Cyno got some rest as soon as possible was of the utmost importance to you.

The lower your hand wandered, however, the more difficult it became to focus on your mission. You could feel his abdomen expanding under the sponge now, rising and falling with more urgency as you circled his stomach.

A weak grunt met your ears, just barely audible. When you looked Cyno’s way, you found him with his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his eyebrows beginning to furrow, nothing like the peaceful expression he’d sported at the start of the bath.

“Almost done,” you promised him. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

He said nothing, instead sucking in an especially deep breath as the water sloshed around him, knees peeking above the surface and letting you know that he’d complied. Despite how he seemed to have braced himself for your touch, as soon as your hand dipped into the pool to brush the inside of his thighs, a poorly stifled whimper caught you both off guard. It was so high-pitched that you had trouble believing it came from Cyno at first, but the very obvious flush in his cheeks told you all that you needed to know.

Your mouth was practically watering with desire at this point, but still, you tried to restrain yourself, even if you were acutely aware of his hardening length bobbing in the water and brushing against your fingers. “Sorry, my love,” you whispered again. “I know you’re tired. Just a little bit more.” In an attempt to wrap things up as quickly as possible, you began running the sponge over his skin with more vigor. That, unfortunately, only seemed to make things worse for his growing problem, if the way his thighs suddenly jerked inward was any indication.

“N-no,” he swallowed. “It’s not that.”

You paused, hand hovering in place. “Is something wrong?”

“Please...touch me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. One breathless, hushed plea from him, and your resolve was effectively crumbled to pieces just like that. Even so, you refused to jump at the opportunity no matter how badly you wanted to—for his sake, if nothing else. 

“What do you mean, baby? I already am.” You were thankful that by some miracle, your voice came out steady.

It only lasted for a second or two, but you could’ve sworn Cyno’s lips fell into a pout. He knew you were aware of exactly what kind of effect those words spoken in that innocent tone would have on him.

“T-touch me more.” Was all he managed to say. He inched his hips up hungrily, breath catching in his throat when the tip of his dick made contact with your fingers. “Here, please.”

You forced yourself to stay perfectly still—this time, not to test his limits, but out of genuine concern for the spent man. “Are you sure? You really need to get some rest, angel.”

He was still refusing to make eye contact, so you reached out with your free hand to brush his wet bangs out of his face, cupping his cheek and urging him to look at you. His pupils were fully dilated, nothing like the usual sharp slits that could freeze his enemies in place with a single look. The pure desperation in them gave you his answer before he even opened his mouth.

“Need you more. Please, m-my love.”

This time, his stutter was for entirely different reasons, but it made you melt all the same, something between affection and arousal pooling in your gut. With a sympathetic noise, you slid your hand along his pelvic bone before finally curling your fingers around his cock. Cyno’s reaction was immediate. A gasp slipped out of him before he could think to stop himself, head falling back against your shoulder in pure relief.

“Poor thing,” you cooed. “You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you?”

He mustered a strained nod into the crook of your neck. “Ah…missed you.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple, spreading a warm, hazy sensation through his weary mind. “I’m here, baby.”

His length twitched needily in your grasp as you began to pump it. Even with the warm water engulfing you, he felt so hot to the touch, waves of body heat rolling off of him as more and more blood began rushing to the spot where he craved you most. Within just a few strokes, he had grown fully hard, heavy and pulsing in your hand with the tip of his dick peeking out above the water, just enough for you to see.

He sank his teeth into his lower lip, trying to muffle a moan as you picked up the pace with every addictive twist of your wrist. Ripples began to break the surface of the water, both from your rhythmic movements, and the helpless squirms that Cyno couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. He typically prided himself on his self-control, but now, mind clouded with bliss in the safety of your embrace, he didn’t stand a chance.

To steady him, you slid your free hand down his body, trailing over his pecs and earning an adorable hiccup when you brushed over his nipple. It was stiff with arousal, so pert and cute, you couldn’t resist rolling your index finger over the bud. The choked sound that erupted in his throat didn’t disappoint, immediately encouraging you to repeat the action and coax even prettier cries out of him.

“My beautiful boy,” you purred, so close to his ear that it made him visibly shudder. “So strong and brave, keeping everyone safe. I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

Your words were already enough to make his brain melt, but on top of that, you coordinated your hands to pinch his sensitive nipple just as you squeezed down on the base of his cock. Cyno groaned so loud that it echoed throughout the bathroom, immediately overwhelmed by all the different sensations at play. He was too worn out to muster up any kind of verbal response to your praises, and the pleasure coursing through his veins only made his thoughts all the fuzzier. All he could do was tilt his head back uselessly, jaw clenching and hips bucking into your fist.

With his neck on full display, you took the opportunity to latch your mouth to it. His pulse raced wildly under your lips as you pressed slow kisses into his skin, hot and wet and dizzying. You dragged your fingers playfully along the underside of his dick, earning a low, drawn-out whine from him before stopping to pay special attention to its swollen head. You flattened your palm around the tip and began circling rhythmically just as you sank your teeth into his skin. The fresh wave of stimulation caught Cyno by surprise, so intense that it felt as if you’d set his whole body on fire. 

“Oh, p-please,” he gasped. “Good, so good.”

“You’re so good,” you mumbled, swirling your tongue over the patch of skin you’d just devoured. It felt raw and swollen, sure to leave a deep, noticeable mark blooming on his throat in the coming days. “My good boy, always doing his best for me.”

He whimpered something incoherent, your honey-soaked voice wrapping around his mind like a blanket. You knew as well as Cyno did that he’d never taken on his job for glory or acknowledgement, but your praise was an entirely different story for him. He would do anything to hear your sweet words of encouragement. They were enough to wash all the pain, all the burdens of his duties away in an instant.

Maybe it was cruel of you to overwhelm him when he was already so weak like this, but the chance to spoil him without any of his embarrassed protests didn’t come very often. After nibbling on his neck for a bit longer, you moved further down, peppering kisses along his traps and shoulders until you reached his biceps. They bulged even more than usual against your lips, tense from how tightly he was gripping the edges of the tub.

“This is how you protect us, hm?” you marveled, licking a long, languid stripe along the curve of his flesh. “With these big, strong arms.”

Cyno’s muscles flexed eagerly under your tongue, responding to the praise in a way his mouth couldn’t quite manage. Amidst all the water splashing around you, something thicker, stickier began to coat your fingers the more you stroked. Precum leaked out of his flushed head as you paused to thumb at his slit. He practically lurched forward, sure to have come undone in no time if you’d continued teasing it. To his relief you scooped up the oozing fluid, using it to add just enough slickness and pressure to your pumps that was agonizingly good.

“F-for you,” he managed to stammer out. “They’re all for you.”

Even when he was so far gone, he was trying his hardest for you. It simultaneously made your heart swell and gave you a power rush. One of the most powerful men in Sumeru, feared and revered by all, and here he was falling apart in the palm of your hands. 

“My sweet boy. You’re perfect for me,” you crooned, trailing more kisses down his arm to soothe him.

Every pinch to his nipples, every drag of your teeth, every slippery glide of your hand sent a jolt of electricity through his senses. With the way his cock was throbbing, you knew he wouldn’t last much longer. And though you were devouring every little whimper your hands and mouth coaxed out of him, Cyno was having trouble controlling his reflexive thrusts as his orgasm drew closer, bucking up desperately in search for release. So, you moved away from his chest, leaving his nipples swollen and puffy, and instead slid down to press on his abdomen to keep him still.

The added pressure of your hand on his core only intensified the pleasure creeping up on him. He cried out your name, stomach muscles flexing wildly under your palm.

“C-close,” he tried to warn you. “Please, can’t—ngh—hold it.”

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Cum for me, let it all out.”

Cyno shuddered against your chest. All it took was a few more strokes, and suddenly his hips shot up out of the water with a long, broken moan. The sound of it sent shivers down your spine, so soft and sweet, yet so utterly sinful at the same time. You rubbed gentle circles into his stomach as he came, admiring the way his toned abdomen contracted beautifully with each wave of pleasure, spasming along with his cock as white ropes spurted out of him. His seed spilled out from between your fingers, pearly drops splashing onto his stomach and adorning his tan skin.

When the last few shockwaves had rippled through his body, he collapsed back into you, chest heaving. You took in the sight of him as his panting filled the room, not wanting to miss a single detail. His hair was beginning to dry, fluffing and curling up at its ends, draped over his marked up shoulders like snow. White lashes rested atop his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss, forming a breathtaking contrast with the flushed skin of his face.

It took some time for Cyno to get his breathing back under control, but eventually, his lips—swollen and parted just moments ago to let out all the angelic noises that had rung throughout the bathroom—closed at last. You wiped the corner of his mouth with your thumb where a bit of drool had dribbled out, and he blinked up at you sheepishly. His eyes were softer now. No longer blown wide with lust, back to their warm, sleepy red haze from before. 

“How are you feeling?” you murmured, twirling a lock of his hair around your index finger.

Cyno hummed shyly, still not quite back to Teyvat. Mustering all his strength, he leaned up to press a swift kiss to your cheek, leaving himself blushing even more furiously than when you’d had him climaxing into your palm.

“Thank you, my love.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, with you tenderly washing up the mess you’d made of him until he was squeaky clean once more. When he finally rose from the tub on wobbly legs, he tried to insist on drying himself off, only for him to surrender shortly after when you caught him swaying from side to side as if he might fall over at any moment. He grumbled out several more disgruntled “thank you”s, even if it was obvious he was enjoying the attention. You made sure to be extra gentle as you ran the towel over his body—accidentally working him up again was the last thing you wanted when you could practically see his last bits of energy slipping away from him.

Your bed felt nothing short of pure heaven when you and Cyno at last collapsed unceremoniously into it, reminding you for the first time that night of how tired you really were. But as wonderful as the comfort of your head sinking into the plush pillows was, it couldn’t compare to the feeling of Cyno curling up beside you to slot your bodies together, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like you were pieces of a puzzle. The feeling you’d been missing for days.

Just as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep, you were pulled back into the waking world when you vaguely registered the sound of Cyno saying something to you.

“By the way, I wanted to warn you. The other matra may come after me for what I did.”

His words caught you so off guard that your eyes snapped wide open. Before you had the chance to panic, however, you were relieved to find Cyno grinning up at you lazily. 

“Oh?” you played along. “And why’s that?”

“I was resisting a rest.”

You couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed this time, letting your laughter slip out freely, much to his delight. “You spent four days thinking that one up?” 

“You don't think I'm clever enough to come up with it on the spot?” he feigned offense.