𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐘𝐔𝐄𝐍 teas permeates his apartment, leaves steeping arduously in the pot that boils over his stove. upon a mother of pearl inlaid tray does he adorn a series of light blue saucers, cups, sugar cubes, cucumber sandwiches, and the pot itself. though it is an early morning hour - he knows his lover to wake for this, and neuvillette hopes to stir him indeed. so with careful claws (for at home, he wears nothing but wriothesley's shirt and an apron - this too, a tactical choice), he hefts the tray - and makes for the bedroom.
slim hip nudging the door aside, he enters the darkened room with little fanfare. illuminated by the slats of sunlight beneath the dark curtains and his own horns, neuvillette places the tray upon wriothesley's nightstand, and swoops downwards - ever so graceful. hands placed gently upon the pillow next to his head, the starlight of silken tresses cascade about them, and with them - neuvillette descends, peppering a sweet kiss to the stubbled curve of his lover's jaw, the shapely stroke of his cheekbone, and then the fluffy curl of an ear.
❝ it's time to wake up, your grace. ❞ he murmurs, whisper soft and smoothing a hand down the younger's side. then - he turns towards pouring the tea, a perfect cup - an artform, learned just for wriothesley. ❝ today is your big debut, after all. ❞
