Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room is grey, lit only by the white glow of artificial lamps. Shelves line the walls, filled with bottles, vials, books and tools, like a laboratory, but with an examination table standing alone in the middle. 

Neuvillette isn’t sure if he is still in Fontaine. The technology around him seems to mix machines from the Research Institute with Sumerian designs. One certain thing however, is that he shouldn’t be here, strapped to this examination table.

He woke up like this, restrained, naked, and legs open and firmly attached in stirrups. His arms are also tied up, rendering him virtually unable to move. He can barely bend his neck enough to look at the machine between his legs that has been violating him for what feels like hours.

The machine is box-shaped, for lack of better description, and is equipped with a mechanical arm ending with a tip that was shoved inside him while he was asleep. He shakes in his bindings once more, trying to get some leeway, anything to free himself. In vain.

He’s had time to wonder about his situation. Waking up like this, his connection to the Primordial Sea and the Hydro element cut… Who can do that? Subduing a Dragon Sovereign in possession of his full Authority…? There aren’t many culprits possible, and all of them are terrifying.

He’d rather not dwell on the aching loneliness of being locked away from his birthright once more, the reality of his situation more overwhelming for now.

The mechanical arm pushes in deeper, and he groans in discomfort and shame. He’s so deeply and utterly violated, and his anger doesn’t even grant him the strength to break free.

The gag in his mouth is just as offensive. Wide enough to keep it open, the shape occupies most of his palate. Any sounds he could make are effectively muffled, but he doubts this is the only use for such a specific shape of gag.

Why on Teyvat can’t he feel the water around him? 

The machine stills, something stings inside him briefly, and he jerks with a cry. What is going on? Is it some kind of powerplay? Why not just rape him if his abductor puts him in this position? What is the goal there? He squirms again, trying to pull away from the machine.

The thing moves again, changing angle and aiming at his prostate dead on. Neuvillette chokes, biting on the gag, fists clenching. His muscles tense. The machine doesn’t move, pressing relentlessly. Neuvillette shakes his head and tries to breathe in slowly. When the machine finally moves, he realises with deep shame that his cock is hardening.

Whoever is doing this to him will pay for this humiliation.

A door creaks open, the sound of footsteps breaking Neuvillette’s mental struggle against the machine. He turns his head but can’t glimpse at his abductor yet. He only hears the ruffling of papers and the beeping of screens.

A scientist definitely.

Neuvillette’s breath stops when he finally sees who the stranger is. Shivering in barely concealed worry, he has to come up with an escape plan as soon as possible. Because the other option would be to stay with the Doctor. 

Neuvillette knows of the Doctor’s deeds. He has seen documentation from the old House of the Hearth, his experimentations. He knows what the Doctor’s capable of, and empathy and kindness are certainly not amongst his qualities.

The Doctor reaches for a screen, the beeping breaking the silence, and the thing inside Neuvillette stills and changes form, its length growing. A strangled, surprised shout escapes him and he struggles again with how deep the thing reaches into him. Nothing has ever penetrated him quite so far.

It stills at some point, fortunately, but it doesn’t pull back, leaving Neuvillette deeply uncomfortable. He jerks up when the same brief sting surprises him. What is going on, he wants to know. He’s not just raped, this is an experiment. But what for?

The Doctor approaches him, but he doesn’t even acknowledge him. He simply keeps flipping his pages and turns his gaze towards Neuvillette’s crotch. Neuvillette struggles anew when a hand slowly reaches his half hard cock to gather some of his come leaking from the tip between two fingers. The Doctor tests the texture between his index and thumb, rolling the liquid with a thoughtful hum.

Neuvillette’s anatomy is unique, neither dragon nor fully human. And his come is too liquid by human standards. But surely, that can’t be what intrigues the Doctor so much?

The machine is still there, too deep.

Finally, the Doctor looks at him. “How does this body of yours work?”

Neuvillette frowns, incensed by this impudence. Abducting him and forcing him into this situation to ask this ?

The Doctor unclasps the gag, and as it’s pulled away, Neuvillette sees the opening in the mouth. It’s made so he can be force-fed without taking it off. The Doctor intends to keep him here long term. 

“How dare you capture me!” Neuvillette snarls in a rare show of anger. “Release me this instant!”

the Doctor briefly laughs, absolutely unbothered. “And what if I don’t?”

Neuvillette can’t reply to that.

“You see, I made a useful discovery recently, thanks to the Petrichor Mass Hallucination incident and one very unfortunate vishap by the name of Scylla.” The Doctor tilts his head. “Remurian spells and seals combined with my own genius were quite useful in creating shackles for a Hydro Sovereign.”

This shouldn’t be enough, Neuvillette screams in his head. The genius of the Doctor must be off the charts to be able to come up with something so strong capable to cut his connection to the Primordial Sea. This shouldn’t be possible!

“Asking again, now. How does this body of yours work?”

Neuvillette growls, the sound inhuman. “Die.”

The Doctor chuckles, the deep rumble of his voice resonating with Neuvillette’s dread. He turns to the side to roll a cart closer to the examination table.

“A shame you don’t want to cooperate. But do not fret. I can find the answers myself.” He grabs a scalpel, cleaning it with a sterilised lotion and then following with the skin of Neuvillette’s belly. “The internal sensor wasn’t precise enough anyway, cutting you open will be much faster.”

Neuvillette blanches. Could it be bluff? The Doctor approaches the scalpel calmly, not overly slow but clearly not in a hurry. One hand moves Neuvillette’s cock away from his lower belly while the other flattens the surface of the skin.

This can’t happen right? Not without some kind of anesthesia.

Neuvillette is tied under the chest but he’ll move too much if he’s cut open like this.

Surely it can’t be?

The first incision barely stings, the movement that comes after hurts. 

“Stop, I-” The scalpel stops, a fine line of blood trickling down his hips. “I will talk. What do you want to know exactly?”

Staying alive in one piece is more important if he ever wants to see his husband again. 

The Doctor calmly puts the scalpel away, a delighted smile on his face. For the first time in his long life, Neuvillette is afraid.

“Tell me. You look quite human, but my sensor,” he taps the machine still whirring inside Neuvillette, “can’t see exactly what’s going on inside. Maybe a too pure concentration of Hydro disturbs it. What I caught, however, is that you have no intestines or digestive system.”

Neuvillette frowns and, resigned to his fate, he sighs. “Since my Authority was returned to me, I am now a being of hydro first and foremost. I do not have a digestive system because I do not even need to eat. But if I do, everything I ingest will be turned into water that I will expel.”

The Doctor hums. “Fascinating. So what is the use of your rectum then? A remainder of your time as a human?”

Neuvillette winces. He is a private person by nature. And talking about this, naked, tied up with what he knows now is a sensor inside his ass is clearly not a situation where he wants to be forthcoming.

“I am… for lack of better terms, intersex. What looks like a human digestive system is actually part of my reproductive organs, ah-” He winces as the sensor pricks him again. “I can’t tell you more as I do not know more.”

He’s lying but there is no way he’ll reveal his relationship to Wriothesley and how they’ve been contemplating the idea of having a family of their own one day.

“Any relationships where you received?”

Neuvillette remains quiet, an air of offense on his proud face. 

“Staying silent won’t do anything, and you know perfectly well who I am and what I can do to you while you’re in this state.”

Neuvillette sighs and turns his head, annoyed.

“Yes, I have been receiving. But I use my Authority to reject the creation of life so it can never take. This is more of a precaution, as I do not actually know if I can get pregnant.”

How he wishes he’s sterile suddenly, because this conversation doesn’t bode well for him at all.

The Doctor smiles, a creepy thing that tears shivers down Neuvillette’s spine. “I'm glad we can trust each other. What you told me is exactly the same as what we found in this Meropide nurse’s files.”

In an impressive show of strength, Neuvillette struggles to get upright as much as he can, shaking the table and showing his teeth with a snarl. “If you hurt Sigewinne, I shall-”

“Hm? No.” The Doctor shrugs. “Why would I want people to know I’m interested in you? Silly dragon.”

Does it mean that no one knows he’s been abducted yet? How long has it been? Wriothesley said he’d be busy at the Fortress for the next few days and would probably not be able to see him, but surely the Maison Gardiennage or Sedene would tell him if the Iudex did not show up to the Palais Mermonia?

How long until the alert is given?

“How does reproduction work for your kind?”

Neuvillette must stall as much as he can. He doesn’t want to answer, which helps in some ways, but the Doctor’s threats aren’t empty. If answering can avoid some unnecessary pains, he supposes that’s not a bad trade. But each new question brings its share of dread and Neuvillette fears to understand where it’s going.

“Are you supposed to receive a male’s semen to fertilise the eggs inside you?”

Is he supposed to have human babies or eggs? He does not know. Everything is instinct for him. He wasn’t born with some kind of manual on Sovereigns, he was born alone and human. But… maybe having eggs sounds natural to him?

The questions keep coming, overwhelming and spinning in his head. Is he supposed to receive eggs from a male specimen or shall he receive sperm to fertilise what he has already? Hydro vishaps aren’t ovipositors and the females receive sperm to conceive with their own eggs, and then they eject a solid egg that she covers until hatching. But Neuvillette isn’t a vishap… He frowns, unable to recognise this emotion rising slowly but surely inside him. He knows what will happen, he knows but he doesn’t want to believe it, cannot wrap his mind around it. This whole conversation is a promise of what kind of nightmare he’ll be subjected to.

But why?

Without warning, the sensor suddenly retreats and he sighs in relief, finally empty from the offending intrusion… only to be cut off by the gag being put back in place.

“It’s a shame you’re the only sovereign I could subdue, but it’s amazing that you have a humanlike body and that you’re the one governing life. I’m sure you will be a perfect subject.”

The Doctor smiles as he grabs a tray and places it distractedly on Neuvillette’s belly. The cold of the metal is sharp against his skin. He squirms away, raising his head to see what is going on… and he feels a hand grabbing his cock.

The pressure is steady, not painful, but not reassuring by any means. The Doctor holds his cock clinically, his thumb and finger retracting his foreskin. It is invasive already and Neuvillette is scared to know what’s next. He squirms away, in vain, but the Doctor doesn’t even notice him. He simply takes a swab and cleans the tip of his dick, moving in circles around the head.

He then takes a syringe on the tray and tests it before inserting it into the hole. Neuvillette struggles anew. Nothing shall be inserted in there, especially if he doesn’t know what it is! He shouts through the gag but the Doctor holds his dick firmly, a smile lifting the corner of his lips.

“If you move too much, I could miss and hurt you seriously.”

The threat is clear, but there’s no way Neuvillette can just endure and-

The syringe penetrates his dick and soon, cold, viscous liquid fills him. Once the syringe is empty, the Doctor pinches the tip of his dick and waits. It stings but it doesn’t hurt. Actually Neuvillette feels his cock getting more and more numb. When the Doctor finally releases him, he glimpses at his dick to find the hole dilated.

There’s no time to panic as the Doctor grabs a catheter next and plunges it into the dilated hole. Neuvillette groans in discomfort. There’s no pain, once again, but the fullness is foreign to him, the easy slide disgusts him as if it was a betrayal of his own body.

He gasps in shame when the tube finally reaches deep enough and lets his urine flow freely. 

“Oh? Colorless urine? How peculiar.”

Closing his eyes, face turned away, Neuvillette would rather not see or hear. The Doctor chuckles again as he leaves his dick finally alone, the catheter closed and not linked to a collection bag as Neuvillette would have supposed. After all, the point of those things is to not bother about natural needs anymore…

“You’re all set up now.”

Shame. Deep shame fills him. His cock doesn’t feel like his own anymore, and he dreads to learn about the next thing he’ll be forced to endure. The Doctor has taken the tray away, back to him, busy with something.

Neuvillette should stay calm and try to find a way to escape. He can’t just stay here and wait for the mad man to… to create eggs. This is the plan of a lunatic, and there is no way Neuvillette can accept this. But how can he escape? The shackles are, despite his hatred for the man, a marvel. They can break his connection to his own element too efficiently.

He cannot move, cannot act, and how can he stall if he cannot even speak? The Doctor barely pays attention to him, there’s no way to distract him.

The Doctor turns back to him and reaches for his gag. He doesn’t take it off, no. He only opens the front and pours a vial directly inside Neuvillette’s throat. The part inside his mouth goes too far in his mouth for him to try and block it away. He swallows, in fear.

Then they wait.

The Doctor grabs his notes, pen in hand, one eye on his screens. “Collection of genetic material is needed first. In order to gather the purest sample, I’ll first proceed by cleaning the urethral conducts of the subject.”

He’s a subject . And isn’t that terrifying.

Neuvillette squirms in his bondage, an uneasy feeling growing inside his bladder. It’s like a burn, an itch inside his dick that he can’t shake away. He needs to pee. He shivers in humiliation.

“The diuretic I gave you is pretty strong, don’t try to fight it.”

Neuvillette shakes his head, fighting against this new level of treatment. He won’t surrender. He has to fight back. He already replied to the questions earlier; he cannot also give up on his dignity.

“Oh so you wanna play this game?” the Doctor sighs. “You’re aware that it is closed right? What do you think will happen if I don’t open it?”

The Doctor knows Neuvillette has no control over his own bladder anymore. The Doctor can choose when and if he can empty himself and this enrages him as much as it shames him.

His abductor is a scientist, that’s certain. A mad one, but he’s also a sadist.

The clock is ticking and Neuvillette slowly understands that he’ll have to beg to have the right to even pee and that breaks something in him. Eyes filling with tears of shame he struggles anew in his bonds, his bladder is so full, his dick burns in what is the weirdest sensation of fullness he has ever felt.

He whines, pitifully. Please, he wants to say. Please open it.

The Doctor laughs again, a hand slowly caressing his belly until it presses against his bladder. “Do you want to urinate?”

Neuvillette chokes on his shame and nods. But even then, the Doctor waits some more just to see him in pain. When he finally opens the catheter, Neuvillette sighs in relief, the tension arching him slowly drifting away.

He can’t even get offended as the Doctor gathers some in vials for testing. “Colorless and odorless?” He says with surprise. “And barely warm too. Very interesting. I wonder, is it close to water in composition?”

A tear escapes Neuvillette’s eye.

He must endure. He must hold on until the right moment, he must wait for an opening, a seal getting loose, anything. He must not despair, despite the shame. He can endure. He must endure.

“Now, let’s gather what I need.”

There aren’t many ways to gather genetic material as the Doctor put it, hence why Neuvillette isn’t overly surprised when he grabs another tool and inserts it in his ass. This one is probably one of those new pleasure toys he’s seen in some specific Fontainian shops. To think he’d be acquainted in these circumstances…

The toy buzzes suddenly, the vibration a weird sensation. The Doctor moves it against his prostate and Neuvillette arches in a long bow, muscles spasming and toes curling in forced pleasure. His whole body trembles against the assault, his brain disconnected, overwhelmed.

It’s so brutal in its pleasure that it hurts. Eyes scrunched up, he chokes on his gag. He needs air or he’ll die, he must breathe or he’ll die, he-

He comes by surprise… and to his shame.

His cum slides down the tube, too liquid to stick to the sides, to be directly received into small vials, and finally, as he can barely hold his shouts, the device is turned off.

Tension leaves his body, and he sags in relief. He’s not naive enough to think he’ll be left alone. But he hopes it’ll be enough to keep the mad man busy for a long while.

“Your sperm is very liquid,” the Doctor says with a frustrated sigh. “I hope it won’t be a problem.”

Neuvillette would tell him to fuck off if he could.

He’s left alone after that. And he doesn’t know how he should feel about it. His spent dick is still filled with the tube, closed now. And the Doctor didn’t even pull the device from his ass. He’ll be back and will rape him again. Neuvillette knows.

Until he can escape, this is going to be his new routine.

A wave of anger overwhelms him. He who usually finds his emotions hard to understand, he finds that now they’re very clear. Boiling together are the shame, pain, despair and fear, but above all, anger is the strongest. He’s never felt such strong ire towards someone.

He cannot wait to be saved by someone. He has to do something now.

The door creaks open, and Neuvillette closes his eyes, ready to endure another session. 

“The sample was too liquid. You need to produce more sperm.”

Neuvillette shoots him a glare that goes completely ignored.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Neuvillette frowns in surprise as the Doctor pulls the device out… and comes back with a syringe.

Neuvillette pulls away, in vain, when he sees the syringe too close to his crotch. There’s no way he wants this there, he-

The Doctor grabs his balls firmly in one hand and, with careful ministrations, slowly empties the syringe inside. Neuvillette whines. It burns. The hold is uncomfortable but the product itself burns. It spreads like a numbing sensation and an itch at the same time, something overwhelming all of his thoughts.

He cannot breathe.

The Doctor releases him when he’s done, observing for a second, and then he moves away, busying himself with his screens.

Neuvillette keeps squirming, the discomfort not abiding. He arches, tries by any means to get some friction but nothing works, nothing helps. It’s overwhelming in the most insidious, painful way. Biting on the gag, he shakes his head, whines and pleads.

Is he going mad? He feels like his testicles are so inflamed they’re swelling. What did the madman inject him with? What kind of crazy thing is he doing to him?? There’s no way he will “produce more sperm” if his balls fall off because of the burn!

“Oh.” The Doctor moves back to stand between Neuvillette’s legs. “It seems I underestimated your body’s capacity to adapt.”

He chuckles and flicks Neuvillette’s balls unkindly, tearing a shout from Neuvillette. Uncaring of his discomfort, he grabs them fully and squeezes.

“Do you feel how swollen they are?” Neuvillette squirms, crying in pain. “That’s because you’re so receptive to it. My drug was only supposed to kickstart a higher production, but here you are…” He inserts the plug back into Neuvillette, taking care to stimulate his prostate as he keeps hurting his balls. “With swollen balls and getting off on that pain, you’re eager I’d dare say, to give me all I need to properly breed you.”

Neuvillette arches off the table, muscles taut with the onslaught of sensations. He’s hard, painfully and shamefully hard, but screaming in pain as the burning sensation mounts like a tidal wave, drowning him in a pleasure he cannot reject.

He comes with a long shout, filling the bag with way more cum.

“That’s good. But not enough.”

Neuvillette blinks tears away, screaming anew as the tool inside him doesn’t stop.

Thrashing in his restraints, losing his mind, he wonders briefly if this is how he dies. The pain is becoming some kind of twisted pleasure, the burn only appeased by his orgasms, torn forcefully from him. The Doctor’s hold on him hurts even more, he doesn’t let his balls go, forcing him back on the table as he pulls in and out the tool to make him go crazy.

It’s too much, but also not enough, he cries and shouts and screams.

The Doctor suddenly slaps his balls in one loud hit, and Neuvillette comes with a muffled gasp, tears streaking down his face unrestrained.

Only then does it stop.

The Doctor leaves the toy inside his ass, unbothered, and he finally releases Neuvillette’s tender, swollen balls. They still itch and burn, but he’s so keyed up, in so much pain and exhaustion that it almost becomes an afterthought.

The Doctor inspects the bag with a thoughtful hum, visibly pleased. Then he turns back to Neuvillette and looks directly at him for the first time.

“Your reactions are quite entertaining. I did not expect to enjoy working on you so much.”

Neuvillette wishes he could hold back his tears; he doesn’t want to give this man the satisfaction of seeing him break even more. But those are big words from someone who’s trying as hard as they can to gulp air from their nose so they don’t pass out.

His muscles are still spasming, and he can feel his anus retracting against the tool as if he was sucking it inside. The Doctor left it positioned so the handle grazes his swollen balls. Shame. His spent dick lies limp against his belly, the last drop of semen trickling down the now closed exit. So much shame. 

Neuvillette waits to be alone for his tears to flow freely. How foreign it is, when usually his emotions only overflow the skies.

He is proud of who he is. The Hydro Dragon Sovereign, heir to the Ancient Seas’ Authority. And here he is… naked, tied up and sealed, being experimented on…?

He’s being raped.

When the Doctor comes back too soon―it will always be too soon―when he turns on the toy again and hits him, Neuvillette doesn’t care about his tears anymore. As new orgasms are torn from him with excruciating pleasure, he cries. As he moans and begs, he cries.

It becomes a hellish routine where time has no hold on Neuvillette anymore. 

He supposes that he is fed at least once a day, maybe twice, so he tries to count with this base. He’s only fed through the tube in his gag, the thing unceremoniously plugged when it’s time. And then he’s forced to swallow water until the Doctor deems it enough. The taste isn’t revolting, but it has a lingering unnatural aftertaste that worries him.

His every day torture becomes the “milkings”, as the Doctor calls them. It enrages Neuvillette to no end, being treated as such, being subjected to this… Being utterly powerless.

According to what Neuvillette caught from the mad scientists’ observations as he talks into his recorder, Neuvillette’s genetic material’s composition is too different from a human and as such he needs to study it. His only hope for now is that it takes too long to analyse and he can get rescued in time.

He swallows, uneasy. He has to be rescued on time.

He must endure despite the new tools, despite the new humiliations and the new pains. Every day gets worse. Since the first day where he was injected with something to produce more, he hasn’t felt like his body was his own. And he’s ashamed when he feels the swollen and heavy things dangling between his legs. But at least now they don’t hurt anymore… only when they’re stimulated with the Doctor’s new toy.

Neuvillette knows he shouldn’t feel ashamed, that his dignity is still intact, that he is a victim. But the way he’s tortured and treated worse than livestock is taking a toll on him.

For now he’s lying, breathless, blissfully alone. The Doctor’s new device finally stopped, but it’s still uncomfortable around his balls. He is unfortunately getting used to the forceful penetration in his ass, which breaks him, but the new… case wrapped around his balls is a proper nightmare. It’s tight around them, constricting them in an almost painful cage after the injections from the first day, and it’s linked to some kind of Electro device.

Every time it’s turned on, it hurts like hell, electricity running through his body mercilessly. Combined with the prostate stimulation, it drives Neuvillette insane, screaming and in tears, stealing orgasm after orgasm as he slowly loses his mind.

He doesn’t even know the use of all this. The Doctor said at first it was to produce more sperm but surely there is enough by now? Is it sadism to break his will? If it’s some kind of mad man’s plan, he doesn’t know and it drives him crazy-

He tries to breathe in deeply, to calm down. At least this device isn’t turned on too often, because Neuvillette is certain he could die of overuse.

He must endure. He is Neuvillette, the Iudex of Fontaine. He’s the Hydro Dragon Sovereign and husband to Duke Wriothesley, Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide.

He can hold on, he must hold on.

The tool in his ass turns on again, moving in and out with a low buzz, grazing his prostate softly. He arches in pleasure, toes curling as his cock hardens with arousal. His eyes roll in their orbit and he moans despite himself, his precum leaking into a collection bag. After the torture his balls went through, this one feels like a lover’s caress.

He whines, hurt, plaintive.

How he misses his Wriothesley.

He isn’t rescued before the torture proceeds to the next stage.

It’s just another day when he’s woken up by the water suddenly choking him.

And then it’s the same ritual of begging to pee with pitiful sobs. Everytime he begs like this, he loses something of himself. He knows he must compromise to survive, but he’s not sure he can look at his reflection without turning away in shame now.

Being forced to beg for one of the most basic needs is… an ingenious way to ensure someone’s submission.

The notable change this day is that the Doctor doesn’t make him beg for too long. Or worse, he doesn’t tickle his dick or presses on his bladder like he sometimes does to humiliate him even further. 

No, Neuvillette feels unexpectedly drowsy after the feeding, so much that he barely reacts when the Doctor checks that his cock isn’t inflamed around the catheter. This time he doesn't remove it to clean it up. The first time he did it, Neuvillette remembers, he was horrified at the feeling of emptiness inside his dick… and how much he wanted it back in.

The hole in his cock is large… So much that he is afraid that a pen could slide right in, and that’s a terrifying thought.

He struggles to keep his eyes open now. The feeding tube is removed, leaving him in a lethargic state where he cannot even lift a finger. He feels that he’s untied, but he is unable to react and soon… he just falls asleep.

He wakes up on all fours, tied up again. His hips and torso are lying on support bars, tied to it, while his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles are tied to the flat surface of the table. He tries to move his head, but it’s also tied to a support holding him around the forehead.

He has no freedom of movement left at all. Not even his hips, attached so firmly that he’s sure he will bruise. And his legs… are indecently wide open. He must offer a perfect view to the door behind and, flushing in shame, he almost hopes that whoever rescues him won’t see him like this.

The mighty sovereign, ready to be bred.

Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to him.

He suddenly hears some shuffling behind him but he cannot see, and that terrifies him even more. He’s pretty certain that the Doctor is silent on purpose.

He jerks brutally when a cold, viscous liquid drips between his cheeks, making him shiver. Two fingers gather it and spread it around in slow circular motions. It’s such a clinical way to do it. Soulless. It’s calculated to relax his muscles and it works. The fingers enter him and, with a rhythmic pulling in and out motion, they do their work. Neuvillette clenches his fists, wills himself to move away, in vain.

He hates this. He hates that he’s being treated with such care, but he’s also relieved he isn’t ripped open every time. Oh, how he wishes he could be anywhere but here, forced to open his most intimate place to… this.

“The subject is ready for the first session.”

Neuvillette snarls- 

… and whimpers under the sudden intrusion.

“There there, no complaining.” The Doctor pats Neuvillette’s head with disinterested care. “I’m certain you will enjoy it soon enough. I made this one just for you.”

Neuvillette chokes, processing the stretch his ass is going through. This is not like the sensor. The sensor was invasive, the machine used to milk him was humiliating, but this one feels… different.

“It is a dildo, I took the liberty of making it big enough so you’d feel it properly.”

Neuvillette whines as the head slowly, oh so slowly, slides inside him. It is much wider than it needs to be if the purpose was just to inseminate. But of course, the Doctor wants to break him.

“And inside this dildo, I fixed, hm,” the Doctor marks a pause, deep in thought, “let’s say I fixed a breeding pump.”

He pats Neuvillette’s head again, full of contempt.

“When you orgasm, your reproductive ‘uterus’, I use that term loosely given your one of a kind anatomy, will open up and this pump will be activated to fill you.”

Neuvillette frowns. 

“Indeed, you may be discovering this. But after much experimentation, you do have what I would call a ‘dragon-uterus’ that only opens when you’re in a state of intense euphoria.”

The dildo is halfway in and Neuvillette fights his instinct to squeeze it out, unless it hurts him more. Why is it so thick .

“So, if you do get pregnant, I suppose it’s because you enjoyed it, hm?”

Like hell he’ll enjoy it. Anyone would be forced to come after so much stimulation on his prostate and erogenous zones. Neuvillette, despite his strength, has a human body for the most part. He can’t be expected to resist this!

He chokes, whole body trembling as the dildo continues its long way down and finally, it sits deep inside. He feels… impaled. It must be as long as the sensor he thinks. Enough to reach the entrance of his uterus then. The shape is weird, or maybe designed specially so it presses on his prostate so well.

Muscles tensing, cock hardening, he whines. It’s so big.

It pulls away before plunging back in, the force of the motion choking Neuvillette as it gains progressively in speed. He doesn’t have time to get used to it, the motions soon pounding into him and his prostate in a cold, mechanical way that makes him moan in surprise and distress.

He has to resist, he has to! But his nerves are on fire, his body is struggling in its bounds, squirming under the relentless assault that only becomes faster. It’s so deep, it’s so big, and it hurts in such a delicious way he whimpers in confusion.

His emotions are swirling in his head in a mix of fear, rage and pleasure that he fights back, until the Doctor’s hand wraps around his hard cock and jerks him off with way too much expertise and contemptuous disinterest.

His whole body shakes as he comes in a long moan.

Almost immediately, a powerful spurt of water forces its way deeper inside him, making him jerk violently and shout in surprise.

“Oh, the pump’s strength must have been set up slightly too strong.” The Doctor tilts his head, falsely concerned.

Neuvillette can’t understand anyway. He’s moaning, the brief pleasure of an orgasm quickly overwhelmed by this weird and unpleasant sensation of being filled through his ass. He can feel his stomach growing big, the spurt ceaselessly filling him with…

Oh.

Oh no.

The sudden realisation makes him cry uncontrollably.

“I replicated your sperm and managed to make it more potent.” the Doctor explains as he’s reading his screen, uncaring of Neuvillette’s breakdown as he’s assaulted. “It is actually considerably more complicated than this, but you wouldn’t understand.”

A whine, plaintive, broken.

Neuvillette gasps in relief when the pump finally stops, leaving him bloated and his stomach swollen. He winces as he's plugged unceremoniously, and despite him pushing it back, it doesn’t bulge.

Then he’s left alone, quietly crying.

It fails.

The Doctor checks Neuvillette the day after. He uses the sensors from the first day as well as some ultrasound machine. He knows what to look for but he doesn’t find it.

So he tries again. A second time, a third time.

Neuvillette doesn’t want to count after this.

It fails every time. He’s invaded, assaulted, and then cleaned of the remains swelling him, and it starts again. 

When he’s not being bred with his own sperm―and that is a kind of horror he’ll have to come to terms with―the Doctor milks him. He always needs more material, he says. But Neuvillette suspects this is all sadism and a way to ensure he breaks apart.

After a new, spectacular failure that leaves Neuvillette almost leaking from the plug because of how full he is, the Doctor’s calm finally cracks, delighting Neuvillette.

Despite everything, he can still win this. He won’t get pregnant, he will try his damndest to make it hard on the mad man.

“Still no sign of fertilization,” the Doctor says in a controlled voice to his recorder. “Could it be that for this species, like humans, the psyche plays an important role in the conception?”

He flips his note, his fingers dancing on the paper.

“Triggering a heat-like behavior like for animals could maybe make a more favorable condition for conception.”

Neuvillette blanches. Heat? Like for animals? That’s not something his body can do. Not something his body should do. He certainly does not want to .

Still, it seems that the Doctor finds this idea his only solution for the time being. He prepares a new vial that he injects in Neuvillette’s arm. Then he waits for a few minutes and bends towards Neuvillette. With two fingers he spreads the skin of his eyelid to check his pupil and he smiles, ominous.

“Very good. Let’s wait now.”

Wait Neuvillette does. Powerless, as a slow deep burn starts washing over him, tensing his body. His muscles spasm uncomfortably, and he bites the gag brutally, suddenly thirsty beyond reason. 

His breath is short, he struggles to gulp enough air, and he groans.

What is this urge? He’s never felt this before. The deeply rooted instinct that orders him to bend, to present his ass and open it wide in invitation for someone, or anything, to sheathe their cock inside him.

He wants to be so full he cannot move anymore; to be restrained, to be impaled by the thickest cock he could wish for, and filled with so much cum he looks nine months pregnant.

His body wishes for it so bad, and his brain only whispers to accept it.

“I didn’t expect the drug to be quite so effective. You look ravaged and desperate.”

Neuvillette moans in pleasure as the Doctor’s lubed fingers probe his ass with a detached touch. He hums.

“With time you’ll see. I will have what I want.”

There are no breaks for Neuvillette. His body betrays him in the most awful ways, convincing his own mind that he should just submit and enjoy it. The drug―is that even a drug or something worse?―is so potent he can barely think, all that matters is raising his ass as much as he can and begging.

He wants something deep inside, he needs something. A long thick cock. Yes. That would quell his thirst, that would put out the fire burning in his veins.

He whimpers. He needs it so badly it hurts and why isn’t the Doctor breeding him?

Neuvillette shakes, he clenches his fists, plunging his nails into his palm. No. No, he must not cave in. Whatever his body tries to make him feel, he must not enjoy it.

The dildo machine grazes his rim, and he tenses in fear. He doesn’t know how he’ll resist if the machine is turned on right now. He doesn’t want to admit it…

The head slowly slides in, its slick head grabbing the rim of his ass delicately. Neuvillette bites the gag, bracing himself for the penetration, but he finds that he cannot. Instead, the contact relaxes him, and as he welcomes the new intrusion with moans of satisfaction, he wonders why he wanted to fight this.

The cock is thick, perfectly moulding itself to him, reshaping his insides anew to make itself at home. And his body is so pliant, the cock so perfect when it reaches his prostate that it  makes him sing in soft moans and hushed whimpers. Neuvillette’s eyes are dazed, teary, and blissful.

Why did he want to fight this?

Why when the delicious thick cock is finally deep, so deep. He is impaled, but how amazing it is. He cannot move, he can just take and offer himself, ripe for the taking. The cock rubs in perfect spots as it pulls in and out, relentlessly reminding him how much he loves this. He’s so hard, he’s never been so hard because he’s never felt so right . He is a sleeve, made to be used.

If he comes, will he feel the spurt of the pump once again piercing him? Will he get swollen like last time? He’s hoping so hard that this time it takes. He cannot wait to experience again the wonderful sensation of his own come forcefully injected inside him where it will find a safe place. 

Finally he’ll be bred, he’ll become the home of a new life.

He can’t wait to grow big and round, when finally he won’t be bloated by cold sperm but the heavy weight of-

No.

He screams in horror and pain.

No no no.

He must fight this. Please, please he needs it to stop.

He snarls, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Before it’s too late, please.

Please, Wriothesley, please… save me .

It fails.

Relief washes over him, but hidden somewhere in his mind, he hears a whisper he doesn’t want to listen to. 

Disappointment.

There are two more attempts after that Neuvillette can remember with certainty. His moments of lucidity are becoming more and more scarce, the drug too potent and confusing him. He’s changing too. He cannot say how, it’s more of an instinct, but something is happening to him and he just hopes that it is reversible.

Neuvillette is a being of hydro, the element of change, life, and adaptation, but at this very moment he almost wishes he had been geo, unmovable and enduring.

“Fecondation with the subject’s own sperm led to no notable results. After further studies, I’ve come to the conclusion that the material is incompatible with the subject. Additional testing with other life forms will allow me to conclude whether the subject is sterile or not.”

After a pause, the Doctor puts his recorder away. Neuvillette hears him move, busying himself on his shelves. “Oh, but I have an idea.”

Neuvillette feels the prickle of a syringe and tenses, already knowing where this will go. He doesn’t want this again. Losing himself like this is truly terrifying. Coming back from it is always a hardship, a no-return trip where parts of himself are irremediably lost.

The Doctor left, but already the drug is taking effect. It’s faster to flare up now, so vicious. It starts like hunger, deep in his belly, growling and burning. It spreads from his cock and balls first, making it uncomfortably hard around the now familiar intrusion. It burns like an itch he needs to scratch and makes him want to bend in submission. The worst is when it reaches his entrance. It’s when the urge is so strong that he would do anything just to be violated, because everything burns so much inside that anything entering would be a cool relief.

He’s relieved he has a gag at this stage. Because he starts losing his mind at this moment, when the need is so strong that he could beg for it. He would take anything, even in his mouth. He salivates for a cock, for something thick enough to choke him and silence his brain.

Please, he wants to beg. He wants something so deep in his throat, spurting cum directly into his stomach while his ass is bred so thoroughly he stays gaping for days.

He whimpers.

No… No, that's not something the Iudex Neuvillette, Chief Justice of the Court of Fontaine, would want. He doesn’t crave this, he-

A chuckle interrupts his mental dilemma.

“Have you seen how you’re squirming now? Raising your ass like this?” The Doctor shakes his head, amused.

He doesn't say more as he busies himself with whatever new thing he found. Neuvillette can’t see but he is in no position to care, way too focused on grasping at the last threads of his sanity.

Breed me, please, breed-

NO.

He roars, the scream so sudden the Doctor startles and laughs. “You shouldn’t fight so much, it only hurts more.”

The breeding machine wires up in a mechanical sound, and Neuvillette sighs, tears of relief pooling in his eyes. He doesn’t want this, but it’s the only way to alleviate the pain.

The head of the dildo slides in so easily this time, the mushroom shape making itself at home. Oh this feels so good. The thick girth moves in long drags, always slowly at first, grazing his prostate in delicious teases of what’s to come. He rolls his eyes and sighs, the tension of the fight receding to enjoy the sweet sensation.

Neuvillette clenches his fists, unable to hold back his moans. He can’t, it’s too good. He feels so right. When the dildo finally reaches deep inside, he sags, at peace. The shape, before so invasive, is sitting inside him as if it always belonged there. As if it should never leave.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Wriothesley. His mind whispers, but it’s washed away too quickly as the dildo pulls back and slams back in.

There is no struggle anymore from this point. Only deep and thick pleasure obscuring his mind in a whirlwind of moans and begs. The dildo is fast enough to make him tremble, but it only teases for now, makes him receptive to the sweet torture.

It slides so well, dragging against his walls, making itself at home in what used to be a tight passage. Neuvillette is in bliss and out of breath, whining in soft little cries. It always takes a bit for the machine to properly angle itself towards his prostate, but once it does, he sings the most beautiful song of pleasure. 

Shaking all over, his back arching, he begs for more. Harder .

“Are you a whore now?” the Doctor’s voice whispers in his ears. “Or simply so eager for a good breeding?”

The words shake him to his core. A breeding, yes, he wants to be bred so well. He- He comes with a loud moan, litanies of begs following it. It isn’t enough, he’s still burning, he needs more, it must not stop, it-

His prayers are answered. The dildo keeps hammering into him, ensuring his full sweet submission. Eyes dazed, rolling in their orbit, the overstimulation is setting in surely but Neuvillette doesn’t mind. All that matters is that he’s being bred, so thoroughly, so deeply, it’s all so good and so perfect he never wants to get off this table.

The pump starts, as powerful as the other time, it hits him hard inside and he whimpers like an animal in heat.

He’s being bred! 

Soon he’ll grow fat and heavy with life. He will be so happy.

No he won’t.

No he won’t!

Neuvillette groans, tears of pleasure morphing into pain. He doesn’t want this, he- The pump doesn’t stop.

Why doesn’t it stop?

He shakes, uncomfortable as his belly swells so fast. It’s heavy, too heavy and the pump doesn’t stop! He will explode, why doesn’t it stop? He chokes, flailing uncontrollably. It starts to hurt, but his brain is still wired for pleasure and he doesn’t know how to react. 

The Doctor grabs Neuvillette’s hair and, seeing a spark of sanity in his eyes, smiles widely. “Do you want to know what I am pumping you with this time?”

Neuvillette closes his eyes, tears streaming down his face. Between moans he gasps, breath cut short. No he doesn’t want to know. He’s suffering enough as it is, and the humiliation of taking pleasure in this is one nail too many on his coffin.

The pressure grows inside him and he’s coming again, overflowing the catheter with always more come.

“It’s vishap’s sperm.”

Neuvillette screams, powerless, in pleasure, hurt, angry and desperate.

“I selected an adult one, captured it and milked it. Those creatures are large , do you think you can hold everything in your body?”

Please, he wants to beg. Please no more.

“Aw, yes he can,” the Doctor makes a cooing noise, “because you’re made for this, right?”

Neuvillette’s stomach is big. So big, and he can’t even say that he hates it. He adores it. He’s so full he finally feels perfect. Releasing his hair, the Doctor moves away from him towards his desk.

He must look pregnant with such a swollen belly.

Shame burns deep inside him. The breeding pump finally stops, a large plug is inserted to force him to keep everything inside. 

Neuvillette struggles to breathe between his sobs. Once more, he completely lost himself, enjoying the torture, wishing for it to continue even! What has he become? A whore? An animal in heat, only there to be bred over and over again?

The Doctor grabs his notes, turning the pages slowly. Then he turns on his recorder, and Neuvillette wishes he wasn’t able to hear.

“Words of stimulation, specifically degradation, seem to have an effect on the subject’s pleasure. It could potentially help conception.” A pause. “The vishap sperm has been successfully implanted, the subject’s belly has considerably swollen to the point of making him look six months pregnant. Despite the strain, it doesn’t seem to be too uncomfortable for the subject.”

Neuvillette sobs softly, all fight gone from him. What has he become?

The Doctor chuckles. “The subject’s body has been greatly altered due to the repeated use of the heat-inducer. He now produces natural lubricant.”

A wail.

Neuvillette will hate water by the time he’s out.

He cannot stand it anymore. Waking up with a slap, being given only a few minutes to gather his bearings before the feeding tube is turned on? That’s no way to live. But he swallows as much as he can, his annoyance growing. He doesn’t want to drink that much, he doesn’t want to be fed like he’s an animal, he doesn’t want this… and he wants what comes after even less.

His bladder fills up, the catheter is closed, and it burns.

If only the Doctor could come in soon to relieve him… A wish that still stings with sharp humiliation.

Tears fill his eyes as time passes and no one comes. He can’t swallow another drop and it spills through the gag, almost choking him. But it seems to trigger some kind of mechanism and the water thankfully stops.

His relief is only short lived though, as the need to pee grows even stronger with his focus entirely there. He whimpers, shaking. Surely it’s not good for his health to be left like this for so long?

The door creaks open and with it comes the familiar footsteps. The Doctor doesn’t say anything, he removes the water tube from Neuvillette’s gag and closes it, not letting him gulp any more air than necessary.

Neuvillette hopes, he hopes so badly that this is the moment where the Doctor starts his sadistic torture to break him, by touching his cock, pushing on his bladder. Once he jerked him off just so he would come and pee simultaneously, all the while telling him he was a good whore .

There is no way Neuvillette will ever admit it was one of the best orgasms of his life.

Though maybe he’d change his mind if the doctor could relieve him this instant. Alas, the Doctor passes by to stand behind him, leaving Neuvillette confused and desperate. A finger touches his hole suddenly, and he jerks in surprise, trying to pull away. 

“Hm. Desperation makes you wet,” the Doctor mumbles. “What a fascinating creature you are, made for breeding truly.”

A series of… testing follows then. Leaving Neuvillette alone with his tears and whines. 

The Doctor tests the resistance of his rectum: does the lubrication also soften or dilate it? Or does it simply ease the way in? He pushes his fingers against the rim, tugging at it. Gently at first, with one finger, and then with more force and more fingers. Neuvillette chokes in pleasure, the stimulation only adding to his desperation.

“The texture of this slick is very peculiar…” the Doctor says to himself. “I need to-” 

The Doctor trails off, moving away to ruffle through his desk to find some vials. He places one under Neuvillette’s rim and massages it deeply to squeeze out enough slick to fill it. When it doesn’t work fast enough, he also jerks off Neuvillette, who sobs in utter desperation and need. Please, he wants to scream. Thick globs of slick leak out and he hopes so hard that it will be enough. That he can finally be relieved.

But it is not the time yet. A cold, metallic thing suddenly slides inside him and his breath catches. The sensation is surprising, sharp but not painful and it doesn’t go too deep inside. As a matter of fact, half of the thing sits outside, resting against his ass…

“We’ll gain so much time now that you can self-lubricate. I’ll have to see if that’s a recessive gene awakening or something else.”

The Doctor busies himself with his notepad, shuffling through the pages. “The embryo created during the last experiments didn’t stay alive. After testing, it seems the lack of freshness of the material could be responsible. Use of other types of insemination-”

Neuvillette doesn’t care, he groans and screams, the pain unbearable.

“Stop bothering me,” the Doctor snaps, irritated and finally looking at Neuvillette. “What a useless thing you are, to interrupt me like this.”

Neuvillette clenches his fists, trying to hold onto his anger, but the Doctor finally opens the catheter and he sighs in blissful relief.

“Behave now,” the Doctor adds with a sneer. “I’ll be back in a few hours when you’re ready.”

Ominous.

Neuvillette must stay calm. Whatever comes, he must endure and survive. Until now it was hell, but he managed, he will manage. He has to manage. For his husband, for Sigewinne and her sisters, for Fontaine even.

He breathes in and out, as much as he can with his gag.

He must not try to imagine what will happen. Until now, getting ready only served to fuel his panic. It’s better not to imagine, but he must steel himself and his mind.

The Doctor can and will invent worse until he’s broken and obedient, full of eggs for him to experiment on. How long has it been now? How long until Wriothesley finds him? He must not be far. Neuvillette has no idea how he could find him, where he is even, but surely, Wriothesley will find him.

He has to. Before it’s too late.

How he longs for the embrace of his husband. The soft warmth of his smile when they lay together in bed, open and vulnerable for each other. How he wishes he had not ended up here…

He hears a sudden click from behind, then a wiring sound. He frowns and jerks in surprise as the thing left inside him seems to… grow wider?

Is he being stretched?

He tenses. The stretch itself isn’t too big, just shy of being uncomfortable, and it has surprisingly stopped for now. Neuvillette clenches his fists. Is he being stretched because something even bigger will be used on him? Until now the Doctor didn’t bother with that kind of preparation, he was doing the bare minimum so Neuvillette wouldn’t tear. The sensor and the breeding pump were big, certainly, but after so many uses, Neuvillette was able to take them with no trouble. 

He doesn’t want to think too much about this new constant in his life.

The Doctor said in a few hours… What would he be like after a few hours?

The answer is simple. After a few hours of this slow, progressive enlarging, Neuvillette’s hole is gaping, large enough for someone’s hand to fit. It is now fully uncomfortable, and it would have been very painful if it hadn’t been done so slowly.

But why does it have to be that large?

The Doctor comes back to feed Neuvillette yet another vial, and another drug injection in his arm. Then he adjusts the different restraints. He tightens some, adds and removes others. The position itself doesn’t change for Neuvillette, still on all fours, but the table is lower now. The supports under his hips are moved under his pectorals, and his thighs are now restrained, leaving his belly free… which doesn’t bode well.

Even his catheter, which usually hangs forgotten, has been carefully stuck along his thigh, the extra length cut short.

Neuvillette frowns. Shelves and desks are rolled all around him, seemingly further away from his isolated table. The Doctor is humming as gets busy, waiting patiently for the drug to kick in.

It’s still as awful as usual. And with such a gaping hole, Neuvillette wants to beg for even bigger this time. He groans and startles when the Doctor suddenly kneels at his level, a wicked smile on his face as he checks his subject’s dilated pupils.

“I’d rather not be here when our friend makes your acquaintance,” he says conversationally, moving around to jerk him off. “I heard that your kin can get pretty territorial with their mates.”

Neuvillette blanches.

His… kin?

What…

The Doctor keeps jerking him off, Neuvillette confused in a whirlwind of freezing fear and burning pleasure building up.

Certainly, he wouldn’t. 

No.

That can’t be?

There’s suddenly a roar from outside the room, a vishap’s mating growl.

The Doctor will leave him at the mercy of a vishap in rut of all things. This is how he dies. Neuvillette flails, trying to escape. This is not real. This can’t be real, this is a nightmare from which he’ll wake up.

Neuvillette can’t breathe, can’t process. A vishap. He’s going to be raped by a vishap. By a vishap!

But to think of how big it will be inside him…

Neuvillette screams. He must fight. He must not let the drug trouble his mind. It’s a struggle he keeps fighting. The Doctor’s hand on him is too expert at wringing pleasure from him, his fingers too used to grabbing his balls, still so big and sensitive, and Neuvillette moans against his will. 

“You are ready now.” The Doctor pats his ass, taking the stretcher out. “Have fun.”

Left alone, Neuvillette whines. He’s so hard, leaking, and ripe for the taking. The vishap just needs to slide in, to nest inside his gaping hole, and they’ll both feel amazing.

The stomping of the beast’s steps is getting louder, shaking the ground.

There will be no breeding if he’s eaten! Neuvillette wants to scream. It’s too dangerous, he’s going to be ripped to shreds. How could a vishap recognise him with his authority locked away from him?

“Relax, Monsieur.” The voice comes from the walls. The Doctor has already left of course. “It’s been declawed and it’s muzzled.” 

Is that supposed to make it easier? How preposterous. Vishaps are huge. Muzzled or not he’s going to be impaled!

“And it’s only a young one. I don’t want you to die before you give me what I want, hm.”

Sick.

The Doctor is sick and crazy. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but how could Neuvillette even imagine such an unnatural and disgusting thing? It’s so deeply wrong, it’s a proper nightmare in which Neuvillette can barely fight, his body betraying him as it burns from need and the primal desire to be bred.

The drug washes his reason away wave after wave, leaving him hard and salivating at the idea of finally being filled as he deserves.

The vishap doesn’t pounce as soon as it enters the room. It sniffs around noisily, its breath heavy and his steps a bit sluggish.

Neuvillette is tense with fear, fists clenched as he tries to hold onto the last threads of his sanity. A fresh, humid snoot presses against his balls with curious huffs and Neuvillette jerks violently with a helpless… and loud moan?

The gag isn’t closed.

That’s why he can hear his voice so much more clearly today.

Can the vishap interpret his sounds?

Neuvillette swallows, uneasy. Will he unintentionally encourage it with his voice…? He chokes on a sob, shaking with need, and his mind on fire. Will he, against his will, moan in such a way that he will seduce the animal even more?

Coiled in fear and excitation, Neuvillette never thought he’d be torn between such extreme feelings. Eager to be touched, eager for the snout to push further, to reach along the crack of his ass…

When the Doctor said the vishap was muzzled, Neuvillette expected a cage, but he cannot feel anything of the sort so he supposes its mouth has only been wrapped… He doesn’t give much more thought to it though, too busy feeling. His balls, so sensitive since their first mistreatment, are now a perfect source of pleasure. The vishap is almost tender in its affections, sniffing his crotch curiously, pushing his snout against the soft skin.

Oh… how Neuvillette wishes it could lick him, how he wishes he could move to offer himself better. He should present for a good mate. He whines, pitifully, squirming as much as he can, and the vishap roars its answer.

It understood his need.

A long wet tongue laps at his balls, making Neuvillette startle. His breath catches, not ready. The vishap is cleaning him off, dutifully licking his balls and his crotch from all sides in relaxing and smooth motions. 

Neuvillette sighs in pleasure. Who cares if the vishap is muzzled or not, in the end. The texture of the tongue is cat-like but not abrasive, the coarseness of it satisfying after days and days of no touching. It wraps around his cock too, lovingly, hugging in such a tight grip that Neuvillette arches with a moan, begging for more.

He could come like this, there is no doubt. Licked so well by a tongue as thick as his wrist, cherished even, like the small young mate of a giant beast. The lapping and licking last for a while, and no parts of Neuvillette’s body are ignored. His stomach, his torso, and even his face get a lick, but the vishap’s interest clearly lies between the globe of his ass, where Neuvillette keeps leaking.

This is where the vishap buries his snout and tongue, groaning and growling in delight as its tongue makes itself at home. Neuvillette moans, unrestrained and too far gone already. He trembles with pleasure, offering another big gulp of warm slick to his mate. 

The vishap licks with urgency, starved for more, and uncaring of Neuvillette’s flailing when the sensations are too much and he begs for a reprieve. The slick tastes perfect for the vishap, and hearing and feeling how eager its mate is to please only encourages it more. 

Eyes rolling in pleasure, Neuvillette shakes like a leaf, voice breaking in whines. He’s being… a good mate. He has to give more to it then, he must please it. 

He’s never felt anything like this before, the slow rising of his pleasure and the non-intrusive fullness. After all the previous torments with the Doctor, this is painless ecstasy. He’s floating, his whole body relaxed with the deep caress of this vishap drinking from him to quench its thirst. And Neuvillette is only too happy to provide. He chokes, he sobs in pleasure, sighing when his prostate is grazed, flailing when the vishap understands it will get more slick if it pushes there longer.

So good, it’s so good, he’s so good. He is drowning slowly, forgetting that he’s bound, ignoring the wrongness of it all, simply enjoying. He moans loudly, his own whorish sounds foreign to him, but why should he care? He’s loving it and he should show his appreciation to his mate.

His first orgasm takes him by surprise. One second he whines, low and lascivious, and the next one he tenses up like a bow before releasing in a silent shout. He barely has time to enjoy it that the vishap is back at it, licking all the slick that gushed out.

Everything is nice but Neuvillette wants more. He whines, low and needy, submissive. Please he wants to beg, please he needs to be filled. He’s been such a good mate, no? Feeding the other and offering himself so obediently?

The vishap groans with urgency. It is excited too, which is a relief. Neuvillette was afraid that he wouldn’t be recognised as a potential mate with his Authority locked.

Speaking of… why is his Authority locked?

The vishap interrupts his line of thoughts as its giant bloody paws slam the table next to him. But at no point the pain the creature went through crosses Neuvillette’s mind, already lost with the ecstatic hope that finally he’s getting bred.

It takes some time for the vishap to place itself, the position is made easier with how the Doctor angled Neuvillette though. The beast dwarfs Neuvillette easily, his giant shadow falling over him, its head so close to Neuvillette that he can feel its breath and hear its grunts. It starts rutting against the curve of his ass and lower back, until it unsheathes a large cock that falls on Neuvillette with a heavy bump.

Neuvillette whines, quiet sobs of need racking his body.

Oh! The cock is so long it reaches the middle of his back! How he needs it inside him yesterday. There is no way he won’t be fertilized with such a massive cock. 

He needs it so badly, please please please…

No he does not.

The penetration is nothing like Neuvillette imagined. The vishap moves back and tries to enter him once, twice, and the third time its cock finally catches his rim and it slides in with one smooth motion, so deep that Neuvillette cries out in pain and confused relief.

It hurts like hell, and he will most probably tear. It’s so big and so long, he can feel it in his stomach. Maybe it actually reaches his stomach. Does he already look pregnant? It’s nothing like a human cock or the machines. It’s the biggest and thickest thing he’s ever taken and it’s all moist and cold. It’s a straight cock with a pointy head, it’s weird and novel and just enough to shut Neuvillette’s brain off.

The vishap doesn’t fuck like a human either. It doesn’t move back to slam back in repeatedly. It only does it once, as deep as he can and Neuvillette shakes with the shock of the thrust as the table trembles and his restraints creak with the pressure. After it doesn’t move back anymore as little hooks on his cock catch Neuvillette’s rim and seal them together until the mating is complete.

It stings but it’s almost forgotten with the overwhelming assault of everything else. After it locks them both together, the vishap relentlessly plunges in, shaking the table, choking Neuvillette, searching for its pleasure. Neuvillette will bruise, and it hurts, but he can only cry in pleasure as his prostate is hit constantly and his insides are stimulated in brand new ways.

Tears flow freely down his cheeks, his eyes roll in pleasure, moans are ripped apart from him. He’s caged by the vishap, safe in a wild embrace where he’s powerless and submitting to his baser instincts. He’s hard and leaking, no better than the beast fucking him, and he doesn’t even think of why he shouldn’t beg for more.

His insides are rearranged to fit the vishap, and Neuvillette is only too happy to oblige. The thrusts are too many, too much, and he comes hard and fast in a long scream.

The vishap doesn’t care about the human’s pleasure however, it only takes and takes. Uncaring of the mess its mate is in and only encouraged by the wet hole he’s thrusting in and the whorish moans of his prey.

Neuvillette is nothing more than a sleeve, suffering through the pounding, his whole body learning the pleasure of this twisted pain.

There is no need to think or worry. He moans and moans, begs for more with the sweetest sounds. The sounds that his mate cannot resist. He’ll be a good mate too, open and ready. A perfect hole to pound until it’s full, until he’s a dragon unmoored and drifting in an ocean of sensations, mind lost to the currents.

The vishap stills suddenly, and a wave of cum fills Neuvillette so deep he chokes, eyes widening. It’s so brutal, the spurt is so strong, he flails and screams as he feels his stomach inflating painfully. Combined with the cock already distorting it, he looks pregnant already. 

The vishap takes a long time to come. It’s not a one time thing like humans, it lasts for a long time, stopping by intervals. During this time, it stays mostly still, sometimes tugging on the hole but the mates stay stuck together. Neuvillette tries to breathe, to gather his bearings, he’s exhausted and shaking.

He came another time while he was fucked, he’s unsure when. He cannot feel anything below his hips, his hole too numb now around the girthy cock… but he feels his heavy belly. Despite all, he sighs, his body is relaxing as it receives the vishap’s offering.

He closes his eyes, chokes on a sob when the vishap moves too roughly, and the beast licks his back in silent apology. It almost… feels nice. He’s so tired now, satisfied and so big… His eyes close for a short rest. 

After a while, the vishap retreats with sluggish steps. Neuvillette gasps as he’s suddenly empty and the cum leaks from his ass onto his balls, falling with loud moist sounds between his legs. He winces.

He hopes he’ll get plugged quickly so he doesn’t lose too much.

“You should see yourself.” The Doctor’s voice resonates in a speaker. “Don’t fall asleep while you’re fucked so well, little whore, it would be very impolite.”

Neuvillette frowns. His mind is too full of white noise to correctly process what’s said to him. He is exhausted, he needs to rest, he-

The vishap’s steps retreat, only to be replaced by… more footsteps. Neuvillette freezes. There’s another roar, different.

“The next one should be easy for you to handle.”

As the same dance repeats, Neuvillette finds that he cannot even scream or beg anymore. Drooling just like the beast fucking him, moaning like an animal in heat, there’s not much left of the Iudex of Fontaine after this. Only the shell of a man, fuller than humanly possible, leaking cum from a gaping hole made to pleasure wild beasts.

He passes out when the third vishap enters the room.

Neuvillette doesn’t want to wake up.

As a matter of fact, he never wants to wake up.

He wishes to be  a thousand leagues under the sea, swimming in the vast darkness, surrounded by the cold waters he loves so much. He is resting on the seafloor, alone, hidden in the weeds.

But he opens his eyes to a white, cold ceiling and he holds back a sob. 

He’s lying on his back again with his neck, torso and arms tied to the table. His legs are attached in stirrups again, and his belly… is round.

It’s not as big as Neuvillette feared. He distinctly remembers that when the… when he… He swallows and takes a deep breath. When it happened, he remembers that his belly was much, much bigger. He wonders what happened but he’s glad it’s back to a… more normal size, as if it was the early stage of a pregnancy. He takes a deep breath in, trying to hold back his tears.

He must not think about what happened. 

He will never think about it.

Tears break free to stream along his cheeks, unrestrained. He breathes in, struggling because of the offensive gag. There’s nothing he can do except hope, and even this becomes harder by the day. Even if he’s saved, what happened will never be washed away. His body has suffered damages that he isn’t sure can be fixed. He’s a stranger in his own body, suffering through an endless string of traumas. Enduring being born in the wrong body, having his birthright as a Sovereign stolen, and now, even this human body that he struggled to come to love cannot be left to him?

He’s tired. So tired.

Where is Wriothesley? Why is he taking so long? Why isn’t he here already to save him?

He’s no stranger to loneliness but it never used to hurt this much.

What will happen to him? Will he even survive this?

A hand suddenly pats his head and Neuvillette freezes. How could he not have heard or felt the presence of the Doctor? He struggles to move away but the Doctor only pats him more as he turns to enter Neuvillette’s field of vision.

“There there now, it wasn’t so bad. You’re healthy and in one piece. And if the records are to be believed, you didn’t dislike it,” he adds with a mocking tone.

Neuvillette closes his eyes, pained, and hopelessly hoping he could hold back his tears.

“There is no need to feel so bad. After all, the experiment was a success.”

The Doctor’s hand slowly moves towards Neuvillette’s round belly, where it stays like a lover’s touch.

“Congratulations on your pregnancy, Monsieur.”

Chapter Text

From then on, things change.

The injections are the first things to go. The Doctor entirely cuts them to monitor Neuvillette’s vitals carefully, and as his mind completely clears up from the drugged fog, it strikes him how deep he was gone at times, and how he was never really lucid until today. Which is a frightening thought.

But there’s just no strength left in him to fight back, even just in his head. His pride is in shambles, broken beyond caring. Things have irremediably changed, he has changed, but he’s not ready to make his peace with it. 

For now, he endures the endless blood samples, the measurements of his elemental resonance ― which is almost impossible with the shackles but the Doctor tries. He suffers through the echography and the invasive internal checks of the sensor but after all he went through, they are almost nothing.

There is a stark contrast in the Doctor’s behavior. The man is a sadist, but it is obvious that his humiliations had a point, because he barely addresses Neuvillette now.

Neuvillette blinks as his gag is roughly opened and the tube of water shoved inside. The Doctor gives him a second before starting the water, and there’s no choice but to focus on swallowing without choking. It’s too much water, as always, but the Doctor doesn’t care.

There is also no need to beg for the catheter to be opened anymore now. After this one time when the Doctor was too focused on his research, he forgot to open it and was interrupted by Neuvillette’s soft begging. Furious to have lost his momentum he had decided to finally attach the catheter to a collection bag.

Neuvillette is expecting anytime now that the water feeding tube will be permanently affixed to his gag and turned on at regular hours.

He has no agency, no worth beyond what’s growing inside him. He is less than cattle.

“How are you feeling, has anything changed since yesterday? Anything your instincts are dictating you to do?”

Neuvillette doesn’t fight back, he answers. His voice is rough and his throat hurts from disuse. It’s hard to speak.

When the Doctor gets his answers, he puts the gag back and he leaves Neuvillette alone. He has no idea how long it lasts, how many days or weeks he’s been here. The light never turns off, his eyes hurt with the brightness so bad, he’s tired and afraid he’ll never see other colors except the white of this cursed ceiling.

He doesn’t dare say it but… after all the hell he went through, the constant milking, the breedings and the vis-

He breathes.

After all this, being left alone is strangely nice and comforting. No more stimulation of his treacherous body, no more humiliations, no more begging to be filled like a mere animal. He wouldn’t mind if it could last for a bit longer.

He can hope.

Days pass. 

Maybe.

Or was it a few hours?

He’s fed water again, and Neuvillette obediently swallows. The tube is removed. He sighs.

Maybe he’ll fall asleep again until-

He frowns. There’s a sudden warmth spreading from his belly.

He squirms, an uneasy feeling sitting in his gut. His balls are heavy, and his dick itches. He groans. He isn’t warm, no, he is burning from inside. He tenses, the familiar dreaded sensations creep back through his veins setting his nerves on fire. He arches in his bonds, already the cool wet sensation of slick drips from his fluttering hole. He is empty.

His cock twitches, hard and leaking against his belly. He needs something inside him, his hole spasming around nothing, he’s going crazy. If he could just have a cock or anything to sate his need, just…

The gag comes off suddenly and Neuvillette bites his lips because he is afraid he’ll moan.

“What is happening to you?”

Neuvillette shakes his head, tensing in his bonds, trembling. He’ll go crazy if he isn’t fucked, this burning aching need comes from too deep. His own instincts are screaming for him to submit.

“Please…” he rasps, voice rough, “Please…”

His cock bounces against his belly, an angry red.

“You want to be fucked?”

Neuvillette closes his eyes in shame. “I’m so… so empty. The drug is-”

The Doctor chuckles, moving away to reel in the breeding chariot. As he sets it up, he continues, “Do you think I drugged you with the water this morning?”

Neuvillette frowns. There’s something not quite right happening right now, but he finds that he doesn’t care enough compared to the gratification that could come if he starts begging now. Fingers test the resistance of his wet hole and he sighs, squirming in small aborted motions to get more. It’s not teasing, and as soon as the Doctor judges him wet enough, he installs the dildo right at the entrance and Neuvillette holds his breath in excitement.

It slowly moves right inside, sliding perfectly with Neuvillette’s natural lubrication.

“Aah… Please, please deeper…” he whispers, shame long gone with his reason.

Aside, the Doctor turns on his recorder. “The use of the heat inducer seems to have created or awakened a recessive trait in the subject. He exhibits a natural need to be bred, as if he was in real heat.”

He pauses, chuckling. He accelerates the machine, careful not to hit too deep and risk hurting the embryo inside Neuvillette.

“Y-Yes… That’s- Oh…” 

“Ah, mighty Iudex,” the Doctor sighs. “You were made to be bred, you enjoy it. And I appreciate your dedication to science.”

He is Neuvillette, the Iudex of Fontaine, Hydro Dragon Sovereign and husband to Duke Wriothesley, Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide.

He must not forget this.

Whatever happens to him and whatever schemes are used to break his mind, he must not forget the most important things.

That he is loved so dearly, that someone is coming for him. He just needs to endure until then.

He just has to survive.

There have been no new occurrences of the hunger coming back to burn him, which is a relief. Still, he is now aware of the lurking threat. There’s no way to know if it was triggered by something the Doctor has done, the only sure thing is that it was an instinct. A primal need to be bred and throw all reason into the wind.

What has been done to him exactly? He’s afraid to discover the details, afraid to learn all the consequences of this never-ending torture session. But for now, he’s alone, and it’s better.

His belly, before so big, is back to a slight bump. According to the Doctor, it means his body has absorbed everything and soon it will grow again as what’s inside grows bigger. It’s normal. 

Nothing about this is normal but if at least the thing inside isn’t there to kill him, he supposes that’s a small mercy. He probably shouldn’t say “thing” though, shouldn’t he? It’s… a child. Or at least an embryo right now. If it lives… and he hopes it does not, but if it does, what will happen?

What will it be?

He shivers. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

Something is wrong.

Neuvillette wakes up, drowsy but with his heart in his stomach. Something is wrong. He frowns, whining through his gag.

There’s no warmth preceding the need to be fucked, no itching of his cock, just a deep sense of impending threat. Something terrible will happen and there’s no telling how he knows that, he just knows.

He struggles in his bonds, a sharp pain suddenly piercing through his stomach.

He’s leaking.

Something is leaking from him.

Is he-

His eyes widens and he groans in pain. He’s losing the… the thing? Shaking his head, he doesn’t know how to feel right now, he’s scared. If it dies, will the Doctor do the thing with the vish-

He sobs, body arching with cramps, voice filled with fear.

The door slams open, and the Doctor rushes in between his legs to gather what’s leaking. Neuvillette struggles anew, he can’t help it. A stranger is doing something to his progeny, he’s stealing his baby. He must fight for it, he-

The sting of a needle, and all the tension is gone. Neuvillette falls back on his table, unable to move. What is going on? His thoughts are slurred, everything is blurry. Has he been drugged again?

The Doctor sits between his legs, still mumbling about something Neuvillette can’t understand. He shudders when something is inserted inside to spread his hole wider. He doesn’t even tense as the Doctor carefully gathers everything in sampling recipients, only twitches when his prostate is accidentally grazed.

It’s only when the Doctor leaves that he understands what just happened.

The thing is gone.

Neuvillette whines, long and plaintive, tears gathering and escaping his eyes in fat droplets. He shouldn’t be sad, he should be relieved but it hurts. Something hurts.

The sovereign test subject is fascinating. 

Keeping him contained is a struggle admittedly and has challenged most of his resources but he hasn’t met anything that could resist him so far.

But even his patience is being put to test right now. 

The egg doesn’t take. As a matter of fact, no eggs can take as long as his subject is cut from his Authority over Hydro.

His tests have shown that the eggs placed under Hydro energy died, the ones under the resonance of two Hydro vishaps survived longer. It is only fair to assume that only the Authority of the Sovereign can sustain his own eggs inside his own body.

What a conundrum.

With a sigh, the Doctor leaves his desk to turn towards his subject. He is a shell of the Iudex of Fontaine, which is good. He didn’t spare his efforts subduing and breaking the dragon, using all kind of sadistic torture methods he usually has very little care for.

The Doctor fetches the feeding tube and opens the gag without preamble, he lightly slaps the subject’s cheek to wake him up so he doesn’t drown. How ironic it would be of the Hydro Sovereign to die choking on water.

His subject is tired, but he doesn’t fight anymore and his eyes are hazy but not dead yet. He isn’t broken. And nothing is more dangerous than hope; it makes the subjects willing to rebel and it only causes troubles.

He cuts the water and closes the gag mechanically, thinking.

There is a way.

Neuvillette waits in anguish for the next torture.

At first, he was terrified the Doctor would use the same method to knock him up again. But after a few days ― or was it less? More? ― he breathed. 

Being clear-minded had its peaks. He is aware of his situation and must control himself not to succumb to panic but he can also listen. And the Doctor tends to be verbose when he records his experiments.

No embryos and no eggs can survive inside him. 

Which is a relief and a hope in itself. It would be foolish to think it will make the Doctor release him or lose interest, but certainly it will stall him enough so Neuvillette can be saved.

The door creaks open and Neuvillette wonders briefly if that sound, so specific, will haunt him for the rest of his life. What if he returns home plagued with nightmares that turn him violent or catatonic? 

He hopes to be freed, but he is scared to discover in what state he’ll be.

The Doctor doesn’t do his usual check up. He stands next to Neuvillette, observing him silently, the hint of a smile lifting the corner of his lips. Neuvillette frowns, weary. The silence stretches and with it, a heavy blanket of dread.

“You must have understood by now that no eggs can survive in your womb.”

Neuvillette flinches, tension coiling his muscles.

“I hesitated telling you about this because, as you must be aware, hope is something truly troublesome.” He shakes his head. “But I want you to know what I’m going to do now.”

He dangles a little bag of colorless liquid in front of Neuvillette.

“You’ve become quite acquainted with this.” He chuckles. “It helped you awaken some of your recessive vishap genes and made you into a perfect little breeding thing.”

Neuvillette should protest. But the fear paralyses him, freezing what little fight is left in him. He dares not think more. 

“Ah, I see you understood.” the Doctor tuts at him as he fills his syringe with a hefty dose of the drug. “You’re not fighting me anymore, you have come to terms with your condition. But in there?” He taps his forehead, “It’s thinking too much still.”

The Doctor empties the syringe.

“And we cannot have that.”

Neuvillette shakes in fear, looking at the liquid disappearing into his body too fast. Is that his last moment of cognizance? Is that the last time he will see with his own eyes, conscious of who he is? Is that the last spark of himself before he becomes a mindless beast driven by the need to be fucked and bred…?

“I will break you until nothing of you is left.” the Doctor says conversationally as he fills another syringe and empties it. “Until you are nothing more than a breeding cow, happy and stupid.” He pauses, chuckling. “Only then, will I unseal you so you can carry your eggs to term for me.”

The Doctor caresses Neuvillette’s cheek with fake tenderness, cold fingers ripping shivers of fear from his victim.

“I wanted to say goodbye, Monsieur,” he smiles, as if nothing was more entertaining than breaking a man, “Enjoy your last moments of sanity.”

Everything is going according to plan.

The Doctor writes the results of today’s observation, keeping a close eye on his subject. Neuvillette is in pain right now, which is normal given the heavy dose of hormonal stimulants and drugs he was injected with.

He’ll stay like this for a few hours, begging and crying, and when he starts forgetting why he’s not supposed to beg, then only, will the Doctor hook him on the machines.

He’s a scientist, not a sex toy manufacturer, but with this subject, he had to be resourceful. As long as he can keep the subject in control, anything works. 

The Doctor has no interest in anything remotely sexual, like most of their segments in any case. Intercourse and reproduction are things found in the living world, basic needs or recreational activities, he couldn’t care less. That’s why he is mildly amused by his subject’s reactions. Who would have thought that dragons could be reduced to this? With some mere awakening of some recessive genes.

Looking at his notes, the Doctor smiles. He’s one step closer to creating the perfect body, free from the main segment who killed all of them. A body half-vishap and half-human, enduring and long lived, with maybe authority over Hydro.

Pain, endless pain, and pleasure.

This is so confusing.

Everything is so confusing.

He’s just one giant ache, crying and festering with forced pleasure. Prisoner of a body that he slowly came to hate. Stranger in his own home.

He cries out as the machines are removed. How long did he spend hooked on those torture devices? Who knows? He loses all semblance of time when he’s drugged like this.

He is… Neuvillette.

He is the Iudex of Fontaine. Every day he wakes up to sit on the chair of the Opera House to render his judgments.

He is husband to Duke Wriothesley. His lover, his lovely mate. Where is he? Why can’t he hear him call for help?

There is something freeing in just giving up.

There’s no pain anymore.

It’s comfortable even.

Lying on his back, legs wide open and hole wet, happily welcoming the dildo pumping inside and out… Slowly, in delicious sensations that curl his toes and arch his back. He’s so hard, he has been for a while he thinks, but it’s almost irrelevant compared to the slow pleasure of being massaged so deep, so carefully.

Today, the Doctor said they’d only play with his ass. The Doctor made machines so he won’t be bored, he said. The toy can become bigger, or longer, some can change while they’re inside. Some can even get cool or warm. The Doctor also said it’s important to keep him focused on his sensations, so he always provides a lot of them.

He’s not always lying on his back to receive. The Doctor moves him also so he’s on all fours, his cock encased in a pump that keeps hugging him so tightly. Those days are a lot, because he comes many many times. The pump feels too good when he has a plug inside his ass. He comes so much that once, he even filled the collection bag through the tube in his dick.

The Doctor had whistled, impressed, and said he was a cow being milked. Neuvillette isn’t sure that’s a compliment, but the tone was affectionate, so maybe he’s wrong.

He is Neuvillette.

He is husband to Duke Wriothesley.

He- 

The gag comes off. 

But he dislikes the emptiness in his mouth now.

Before he could just bite, suck, it was almost reassuring, it was comfortable. He didn’t have to speak, and wasn’t actually expected to. But now he’s lost.

His displeased whines must do something because soon he’s presented with a nicely shaped fake cock. It leaks with some liquid he knows is water. It’s the tasty one that makes him feel good. He opens his mouth, showing his tongue in hopes that it’s shoved right in.

The Doctor chuckles and gives that to him with an affectionate pat on his head. 

He loves this so much. Even when it’s shoved roughly in his face and chokes him, even when he cries and struggles to breathe, he knows afterwards he’ll drink the water he loves. He moans, whorish sounds that he doesn’t realise he’s making, and he sighs as he’s fucked by the machine from behind.

If he sucks well, sometimes he’s rewarded with the sleeve around his cock.

He cannot wait.

He is…

Neuvillette blinks at the ceiling and gasps a mouthful of air.

Where is he again? What is going on-

“Aah, what-”

He moans suddenly, arching in pleasure as the machine fucks him harder. Panting, he tries to keep hold of his thoughts, it’s been too long since he could resurface only for a bit.

Biting his lips, Neuvillette tries to keep quiet. He can’t let the pleasure win again.

“Oh? Still fighting?”

Neuvillette whips his head to the side, his protests cut by a long whimper as he comes. His eyes roll in their orbit, his body tensing like a bow before releasing. The machine slows down but keeps going at it, sending him progressively but surely, into overstimulation.

“P-Please…”

Neuvillette chokes. “Please, s-stop…”

The Doctor tilts his head, amused. “And rob you from the pleasure you keep begging me for? Tut tut, I can’t do that.”

He grabs a needle, filling it with the same product as always. Neuvillette sighs, teeth clenched as he tries not to moan again.

“Here, have some more.” the Doctor pats his torso in fake affection. Noticing how Neuvillette suddenly flinches at the gesture, he reiterates.

“Hm.. sensitive, are we?”

Neuvillette tries to jerk back, but he already drowns under the drug’s influence. He can’t hold back when the Doctor pinches his nipples suddenly, both hands on his chest. He pulls, rolls the numbs under his fingers, spreads them around the areolas. Neuvillette shakes. Flails. His body is on fire.

“Oh, oh, more!” Trembling all over, he begs. “Harder, please, more!”

The Doctor chuckles. “So polite, still. How cute.”

The machine is still going at a slow pace, and the pleasure must be unbearable after an orgasm, but still, Neuvillette begs for more. The Doctor pinches harder, torturing the nipples until they’re red and puffy, until Neuvillette cries like the whore he’s become.

Time stretches until there’s a sudden relief in his chest. The itching sensation he’s felt for days now is abating as the Doctor keeps pinching his nipples. Eyes rolling, Neuvillette doesn’t realise some drool leaks from his mouth, he’s too overwhelmed.

“Aaah, yes, yes, please more, please…”

It all becomes incoherent garbles afterwards, of Neuvillette moaning as he’s pushed to another trembling orgasm. The machine still doesn’t stop, but it slows down again. When The Doctor pulls away from his chest, Neuvillette whines plaintively.

“The subject started lactating. It bears the question: will the babies look more human or dragon, given vishaps do not breastfeed.”

Hearing Neuvillette’s soft whines, the Doctor shakes his head with an amused smile. “Ah, the things you’ve made me build to keep you in check,” he sighs.

He is…

…

… Who is he again?

His breasts grow.

Just enough so he can feel them hang. They’re still small, in line with his svelte form. But they itch, oh how they itch. The nipples burn almost all the time and no amount of fucking, or getting his cock pumped, can alleviate the itch.

It’s okay because feeding time just ended and soon he’ll be set up for milking. It’s always how it goes now. During the rest time, he’s plugged with something not as big as usual that sometimes buzzes at low intensity. It’s very pleasant and it lulls him to sleep.

But after he’s fed, it’s much better. Feeding always arouses him, the need crawling like an old friend. So he presents his ass for more, tries to beg so his cock gets some attention, and now he can even show off his little tits so they’re milked.

The first few times the man taking care of him used his hands and fingers. It was rough and slightly painful but he doesn’t mind. He’s told he’s just a bit sensitive. Now the man hooks him on a machine. It still hurts a bit when the suction is too strong, and it leaves his tits swollen and tender, but when he’s fucked deep, he doesn’t mind. It feels so good.

He’s told the milk will be for his children, so it’s important to accept the treatment. If he orgasms many times during the sessions as a result, he can’t complain.

“Do you like this?”

He nods, a sigh of pleasure as he’s finally hooked on the milking machine. He gasps, the start is always too intense, but soon he relaxes in his bonds, sagging, only held up by the support bars holding him on all fours. He hopes his breasts grow more so he can  produce all the milk for his babies. He’ll be a good… a good mother? 

It seems wrong to say.

The cock in his ass suddenly accelerates and hits his prostate dead on. “Aah, deep… oh- so…”

“Better like this. No need to think. Do you want more?”

He nods frantically, hoping he’ll get his cock pumped today. The man says it’s done often because he doesn’t need his cock anymore but even if it’s true, he tries to be good so he can beg for the sleeve as a reward.

When his cock is encased in the pumping sleeve, it feels so nice. Tight and tenderly loved. Sometimes the man even plays with his balls. At first he didn’t like it because his balls are too big and very sensitive. But he’s told he produces more milk when he’s happily bred, and to make him happy, he needs to be stimulated in all sorts of ways.

So he learns to love when fingers roll his balls, when they’re hit with a paddle, or when some electric shocks sting them. It was hard at first and he remembers crying as he orgasmed, but now he can’t imagine it without the added sensations, it’s just too good.

Everything is so simple, he just needs to obey and he’s always rewarded. When he doesn’t like something, he just needs to trust his caretaker. He always ends up liking it.

He’s being trained, and if he does well, he’ll be able to receive the eggs he craves so much.

He loves it here.

The Doctor smiles as he closes the door to the cell he just put the subject in.

He is slowly waking up and soon, the Doctor will put him through the last test. The ideal point of mind-breaking was reached some time ago, but for the sake of perfection, he allowed himself a bit more time before unshackling the dragon.

Now, the subject is stirring, completely free to move. He wears the suppressing shackles on his wrist, neck, and ankles sure, but they’re not linked to each other. He could get up and run. He could even try to feel his power right now and he’d find enough to try to break free probably. Certainly not enough to subdue the second harbinger though.

But there’s no spark of life, and no hope in the subject’s eyes. 

He wakes up and blinks, confused. Sitting naked on a blanket right on the hard floor, he looks like a newborn fawn. Utterly lost and almost cute if it wasn’t for the catheter hanging from his limp dick and the way his swollen breasts leak.

Speaking of, the subject raises his hands to his breasts, to alleviate the itch no doubt. But from behind his spot, the Doctor presses a button to make his voice heard.

“Do not touch yourself.”

The subject jerks up, looking for the origin of the voice, but he obeys, squirming in place.

Then the Doctor waits. He waits until the subject whines, arching his back, trying to rub his nipples on the cold floor, but there too, the Doctor orders him to stop. He obeys.

What a good thing.

The Doctor presses the button again and speaks clearly. “Do you see the cock fixed on the floor?” A nod. “If you blow it well enough, it will give you water for today. It’s the only way you will get any.”

The subject moves slowly towards it, but doesn’t touch it yet. He awaits further orders, good. “You can start.”

The subject’s licks are tentative at first, unsure, but he’s been rewired to be a sexual creature, a breeding livestock. He’s been deepthroating fake cocks for weeks now in order to get water while he’s bred or milked. He’s good at it now.

It doesn’t take long for the subject to be fervently licking and sucking the cock, giving his best to get the water that doesn’t come… because the Doctor is the one controlling the flow.

Unaware of this detail, the subject keeps sucking, hollowing his cheeks, working it twice as hard when nothing comes, but never stopping. That’s the most important. He starts whining however, little sounds he hopes will help the water flow to him. Silly creature. He could summon it right this instant if he wasn’t so deep in his folly, sucking a cock and hoping for food.

“Deepthroat it and hold the position.”

Kneeling on the floor, naked ass raised and dick so far in his throat, the subject offers a lewd sight. The Doctor thinks briefly, with a laugh, that if he doesn’t manage to breed him, at least he’ll have a good whore to sell out in the shadiest parts of Teyvat.

He releases the water suddenly, the subject chokes in surprise but still, he holds up and moans as the water blissfully flows down his throat.

“I’ll come in. Keep your position.”

The water will stop shortly, but it’s enough for what the Doctor has planned next. Inside the cell, he pulls a chair from the side and places it directly behind the subject, close to him but with enough space to sit.

Legs crossed, he waits another minute until the water stops. The subject doesn’t move his mouth, obediently staying put.

“Good. Keep it in there.”

The Doctor pushes against the subject’s ass with his pointed shoe, he’s answered by a muffled sound.

“Pull your ass cheeks apart with your hands, and hold.”

He chuckles. He shouldn’t be having so much fun in an experiment certainly, but he can’t help admiring his work.

“I will push my shoe in your disgusting wet hole, and you will fuck yourself on it like the whore you are. And keep your mouth busy, I do not want to hear your voice.”

It takes a second for the subject to obey, but not because he’s fighting. He needs a bit to adjust his position. He has very little margin to move, ass up and head on the floor. Still, he valiantly tries. The Doctor doesn’t help in the slightest, but at least he keeps his foot still.

The subject is so eager for it, it’s almost surprising. Who would have known? In no time, the pointy shoe is shining with slick. The subject can’t get it inside, or just barely, but that’s expected, and still, he tries. All the while keeping the fake cock in his mouth. And the most impressive part? He’s hard while doing it. He can even see the precum leaking inside the closed catheter.

The Doctor smiles. He really outdid himself there.

“Stop. Turn around and kneel before me.”

The subject obeys, releasing the cock in an obscene slurping sound. He moves sluggishly, his movements hindered by his hard cock hanging between his legs uncomfortably.

It’s weeping pathetically.

“Clean my shoe.”

The subject looks up to him, confused for a second. He looks to the side to grab the blanket but he’s stopped.

“No. Lick it clean. It’s your slick after all.”

As the subject lowers his head to get to his task, the Doctor can’t contain his satisfaction. He laughs briefly. What a perfect subject! What a good experiment! Perfectly docile, so obedient and so needy.

And dutiful too! He licks with attention, careful not to miss one drop. And since he wasn’t told he could use his hands, he keeps only his tongue. Soon the shoe looks sparkly clean and the Doctor chuckles.

Impressive that this whole test was achieved with no additional drug. Truly!

“Do you want to be bred? To have your sore tits and your pathetic little cock milked?”

The subject whines, nodding frantically, but doesn’t voice his begging. He has been non-verbal for a while now, a very good sign. The Doctor stands up and opens the door.

“Then, crawl to the bench in the other room and show me how much you want it.”

The Doctor follows him slowly, observing all of his reactions. When it’s time to stand up to climb on the breeding bench, the subject looks at him for permission that is granted with a nod.

The subject knows how to position himself. On all fours, hips and torso held by the support bars, and he even places his wrists and ankles in the usual restraints. But today, there is no need for attaching him. None at all.

He whines softly, eager and impatient. With his new freedom of movement he raises his ass up, hoping to entice the Doctor into moving. But seeing that it doesn’t work, he changes strategy and arches his back, showing off his little leaking tits. He looks almost proud of them.

The Doctor wonders if the humiliating words haven’t made themselves at home in his head. He did praise the leaking breasts, the milk being quite a discovery in terms of scientific research.

He smiles. “Don’t move.”

And indeed, there is no fight, only profound eagerness and willingness to cooperate as the Doctor approaches the fucking machine first. A ridged dildo one, that isn’t much different from a vishap. He laughs at the joke. It’s smaller though, no need to turn his subject into a gaping hole, it would be problematic to keep the eggs inside later.

Once the machine is turned on, starting at a slow pace, he puts a sleeve around the hard cock, fixing it around his balls so it doesn’t fall. The catheter goes through a hole, and he attaches it back to the collection bag. He doesn’t intend to come back for a few hours or maybe days. He’s too busy creating the eggs.

Speaking of not bothering with menial tasks… He turns around to grab the cock gag. He doesn’t even need to ask, the subject’s mouth is wide open already. He smiles as he sets it tight, then affixes the feeding tube on it. It will turn on at regular intervals.

And last comes the milking pumps and collection bags for the breasts. The milk is too rare to be wasted, and the more he keeps the drug and the suction session going, the bigger the production and the breast size. It would be a shame not to take this opportunity.

Once the Doctor has finally finished the set up, he crosses his arms. He stays a few minutes to check that no machines are malfunctioning. 

The subject is happy.

Stupid and happy. 

Moaning through his gag in ecstasy as he’s fucked, milked and pumped. Less than an animal.

“Well. When I said you were like a breeding cow, I did not expect it to become quite so true.”

When the Doctor finally succeeds in creating the eggs, he doesn’t waste time and immediately prepares for the insemination process.

The subject is perfectly ready, a little doll unaware that freedom is at the tip of his fingers. He could be offered a way to leave and still, he’d stay just to be filled with the eggs he’s been awaiting for so long.

The Doctor checks one last time that the subject is correctly attached, that the bottom part is slightly raised for gravity to help with the eggs. Then he rectifies that his legs are spread enough to accommodate the growth of his belly. He forgoes sexual stimulation and various tools however. The subject was stretched and brought to orgasm earlier so he’d be more pliant, but there will be nothing else. The Doctor needs to focus on the eggs and if they’re properly received in the womb.

He grabs the pump and carefully slides it inside the subject’s hole. It’s a long hose, flexible, not too large. It’s cold from the lubrication, but the Doctor ignores the subject’s discomfort and squirming as he slides it carefully inside, always deeper and careful to observe through the ultrasound screen.

The opening to his womb is larger after the orgasm and drug he gave him, but that won’t be enough. The Doctor clicks on some buttons and the hose shifts inside the subject body, its shape morphing to slide right inside the opening before catching it. The subject groans in pain, but that’s nothing to worry about. Once the Doctor is sure the hose is perfectly placed inside, he attaches the rest of it to the table so no amount of pushing from the subject can dislodge it.

He smiles, amused. The subject is whining softly, which makes sense. The hose in his womb must be quite painful. He turns back to pull over the egg cart. Soon the subject will be too busy moaning to feel pain anyway.

He opens the container of carefully crafted eggs. They are small, barely the size of his palm, and they have a distinct blue color reminiscent of the hydro vishap energy. There are around twenty five, maybe more, all perfectly viable if given the proper nourishment. 

The Doctor doesn’t expect all of them to survive, especially given that vishap eggs cannibalise each other during their growth. If half of them survive, the experiment will be a success. The subject will live with a huge belly until hatching, impractical for his everyday life, but it’s not as if it’s a problem since he lives lying down on a table and fucked into stupidity. The more subjects to experiment on, the faster he will get his vessel.

After one last check on every piece of machinery involved in the process, the Doctor finally turns it on.

Slowly, one egg is pulled inside the hose, making its way towards the womb. The subject winces at the first breach but doesn’t struggle as it goes up. The Doctor chuckles when the squirming gets a bit more agitated. The egg must be pushing against his prostate. This will be complicated for him to endure, given that this first egg only takes long minutes to join the womb.

It will last for hours, and chances are that the subject will be absolutely wrecked after all eggs are safe inside him.

Oh well, it’s not as if he cared about his well-being, anyway.

During the long hours of the whole process, the Doctor barely pays attention to his subject. Only his vitals to ensure he doesn’t die before he accepts all the eggs. It is infinitely amusing however, to see the great Iudex of Fontaine reduced to this on his experimentation table. Crying, moaning like a whore, pleasured into overstimulation, even if it falls more toward the painful side at times.

He could have felt bad about the time it took, a whole afternoon, but at least the subject’s belly has time to grow with the eggs. He can’t imagine what kind of pain stretching the skin so much in such a short time it could be.

He stays a long time after the procedure is done to ensure everything is well. And when he can safely say that all the eggs are in place, he pats the subject’s belly with a wicked smile.

Soon.

He moans softly as the plug inside him starts vibrating. 

Drowsy still, he blinks his eyes open as he hears familiar movements around him. It must be morning then because the plug is only turned on a bit before feeding time. 

His caretaker turns on the water feeding tube before he checks his catheter and collection bag, then he checks his ass. The plug almost never leaves him. It’s nice to never feel empty like this. 

His breasts aren’t touched during sleep time either, so when he wakes up they’re always tender and swollen. His caretaker likes to pinch him until he squeals, he says it’s amusing to see his reactions. He usually does it for a few minutes, or until he cries, before using the pump.

When he’s all at ease, being pumped, pleasured and fed, he becomes perfectly relaxed for his caretaker to begin the checkups. He palps his belly, carefully. He inserts something instead of his plug sometimes too, it stings a bit and it’s unpleasant when it gets too cold or too hot, but it doesn’t last very long. Just enough to make him squirm, but he focuses again soon enough on his breasts being milked, or his cock tenderly cared for in the sleeve.

All of this to check if the eggs are growing well. He wants them to grow well, so he does everything he’s asked to do. He should not move, so he stays lying on his side almost all the time. It’s not as if he could move anyway, he’s so big now he cannot see his legs past his belly.

He still hopes that the eggs won’t grow much more, because it’s tiring. He dozes most of the day. His caretaker says the eggs are responsible for this, that he should sleep and listen to him and all will be fine. Once he said in his recording machine that the eggs would soon eat each other and it made him panic.

His caretaker had to give him some medicine to calm him down and since then he’s fucked by the plug almost all the time. Orgasms keep him relaxed and blissed, and his caretaker says it’s good for the eggs to be calm.

He can be good for his eggs.

He’s been set up on a more comfortable table where he can lie down the whole day now, with cushions and a light blanket. The caretaker comes sometimes to stop the breast pump or start it again, to give him a bigger dildo ― but it’s nothing too big, with the eggs they must be careful ― and when his caretaker feels like it, he even puts his dick in a sleeve so he can come. 

Once it’s time to sleep, the caretaker comes back and sets him up to sleep.

He wonders how long the eggs will take to hatch.

It’s so weird.

It’s been a long time since his caretaker came to check on him.

He has water regularly, so he can’t complain, but his breasts are hurting a bit now. Usually… they are taken care of more often, he thinks. But he’s not certain. It’s hard to think… He is very tired. He’d like to sleep too but the plug vibrates a bit too strongly for him to rest. Sometimes it’s as if a long time has passed between two thoughts. Maybe. He’s not sure. It feels like an eternity but he-

He moans through the feeding tube, the water has a nice taste. He must drink for his eggs, that’s important…

There’s a loud bang outside, he vaguely wonders if his caretaker is back.

Why does he hear so many voices… Why are they shouting?

Oh, that’s not his caretaker?

“Neuvillette!!”

Chapter Text

Wriothesley stands at the foot of his and Neuvillette’s bed, hollowed out and empty. Exhaustion weighs heavy on his eyes, and he leans against the bedpost, barely able to keep standing. The last few months have been agonizing, and now that Neuvillette is home, is tucked into bed, he can finally breathe. But he doesn’t breathe easy.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t wipe from his mind the image of Neuvillette on his hands and knees attached to all those strange contraptions. Can’t forget the way Neuvillette had cried and begged to be returned to them when Wriothesley had freed him. In the end, after wrapping Neuvillette in his own jacket and turning him over to Chevreuse for protection, Wriothesley had searched the otherwise empty facility for a sedative.

Thankfully, no one else saw Neuvillette conscious. No saw his… situation. The gardes under Chevreuse’s command dealt with other concerns while Wriothesley and Chevreuse herself dealt with Neuvillette. Wriothesley trusts Chevreuse, as much as he trusts anyone. He’d tried to hide the situation at first, but Chevreuse had touched his elbow and said, “This isn’t the first victim of sexual crimes I’ve dealt with.” She’d treated Neuvillette with respect and dignity, and so far no rumors have escaped about his sorry state.

A state Wriothesley doesn’t understand.

He rakes a hand through his hair, staring at his sleeping husband, unmoored and uncertain of himself. They’ve kept Neuvillette sedated. Even now, there’s a glass of water beside the bed with a sedative dissolved into it. Wriothesley hates it, but in the six hours it’s taken to bring Neuvillette home, he has realized how changed Neuvillette is. 

During brief moments of lucidity, Neuvillette hasn’t spoken a word nor gazed on Wriothesley with anything resembling recognition. He’s urinated on himself twice, and when they tried to help him walk, he’d crawled instead. 

Revulsion heaves in Wriothesley’s stomach. Bile climbs his throat. He’s not disgusted at Neuvillette, could never be disgusted with Neuvillette, but he has a directionless disgust and anger he doesn’t know what to do with.

The Knave has promised to deal with… everything. She’d tried to explain that the Doctor wasn’t the real Doctor, just a shadow or a clone or a puppet. His kidnapping Neuvillette interfered with the Knave’s own plans, has compromised whatever activities she’s engaged in for the Fatui’s benefit, and Wriothesley trusts she’ll mete out a fitting punishment to whatever the Doctor is, clone or not. But as a result, he won’t see justice served. He won’t be able to dole out his own version of justice.

With a heavy sigh, Wriothesley pushes away from the bedpost. Neuvillette is deeply asleep and Wriothesley needs to shower, but he doesn’t want to leave. If he turns his back, Neuvillette might disappear again, and he couldn’t bear that. Not a second time.

It’s irrational, but he shuts and locks the bedroom door before stripping off his clothes and taking the quickest shower of his life. When he’s clean, he pulls on soft sleeping pants and then stands beside the bed once more, not sure what to do with himself. 

For all he knows, Neuvillette has been violated repeatedly, relentlessly, these past months and won’t want someone else in bed with him. But Wriothesley is weak and selfish and has missed his husband so much.

He eases into the bed next to Neuvillette, sitting against the headboard, and inches closer.

Neuvillette is changed, not just in his behavior but in his body as well. His breasts are full and leaking milk, his stomach is large, distended and round as though he’s pregnant, and Wriothesley has a deeply uneasy feeling about both these things. He has the Doctor’s own records of his misdeeds, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to read them. Not yet. There are answers there, but Wriothesley just wants to be close to his husband. He wants to hold his husband, but that might be too much for Neuvillette.

His heart aches. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what happened and doesn’t know what to do, and he despises this impotence.

Sinking down in the bed, he brushes his fingertips through Neuvillette’s hair and along one rhinophore. Neuvillette mewls in his unconscious state, and Wriothesley snatches his hand back.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Not about touching Neuvillette and not about the whole damn situation.

Tipping his head back against the headboard, he closes his eyes.

Wriothesley wakes with a start, heart pounding. Sunlight filters through the drawn curtains, there’s a body next to him, Neuvillette’s body is next to him, but something isn’t right. For a long moment, he hangs in a strange liminal place of unknowing, and then Neuvillette whines, and everything comes crashing back.

The laboratory, the machines attached to Neuvillette, the machine fucking Neuvillette, Neuvillette’s inability to recognize him or communicate.

Shit. Shit . 

He pushes himself up, reaching for Neuvillette. “Neuvillette—” 

Neuvillette whines again. He’s on his stomach, one hand clutching at his pillow. The other hand is busy between his legs, two of his fingers fucking into his ass as he grinds himself against the bed. He doesn’t acknowledge his name, but he does turn to Wriothesley, opening his mouth and letting his tongue hang out. His eyes are glazed and dark, and Wriothesley knows that expression. He’s seen that expression on Neuvillette’s face so many times when they’ve come together, and it’s always been a source of joy. Now it makes him ill.

“Neuvillette,” he says again, at a loss. He hesitates and then reaches for Neuvillette, touching his fingers lightly against Neuvillette’s shoulder, not quite able to reconcile what he’s seeing.

Neuvillette keens. His eyes flutter shut, and he whines as drool drips down his face, and he fucks his fingers harder into his ass. Panting whines punch out of his chest, and desperation creases the corners of his eyes. He grinds harder into the bed, whining helplessly.

Swallowing hard, Wriothesley withdraws his hand. “Neuvillette… what do you need?” he asks, throat dry. “I need you to tell me.” 

Neuvillette doesn’t. Neuvillette can’t. Neuvillette is too far gone, and Wriothesley is seized by the horror that he might never have his husband back. He might have this empty shell, instead, the mighty Iudex reduced to this, never again to laugh with him or talk with him. The Doctor didn’t just change Neuvillette. He destroyed Neuvillette. 

Neuvillette whines, high and reedy.

Maybe that fucking machine and those contraptions on Neuvillette’s breasts weren’t just some torture. Maybe they were a necessity. Maybe Neuvillette is so far gone that he needs them, craves them, has to get fucked and filled by something. It’s terrible to even think, but Wriothesley has always been a practical man, and that seems, in this awful moment, the most practical conclusion. 

“I need you to tell me,” Wriothesley says, raw and whispering. “I need…” 

Neuvillette doesn’t tell him. Neuvillette doesn’t say anything. He continues to fuck his ass as he grinds into the bed until he comes. His eyes flutter shut, and he coos with obvious relief. 

Wriothesley is disgusted by his own relief. That he doesn’t have to touch Neuvillette, that he doesn’t have to help, that he doesn’t have to listen anymore to those needy sounds he used to love.

A low whine fills the room, and Wriothesley closes his eyes, his heart breaking. The awful, wet sound of Neuvillette’s fingers fucking into his ass starts again. The bed creaks as Neuvillette rocks into the mattress. 

Wriothesley throws himself out of the bed, his throat seizing. His vision tunnels, filling with black specks. He’s going to be sick. 

Neuvillette wails, confused and despondent, and that only makes Wriothesley’s stomach heave. He can’t stay here. He can’t deal with this. He should be stronger, he’s not the one who clearly went through hell, but he can’t cope with the fact that his husband is very much gone, that the person in that bed may no longer be Neuvillette. But he can’t leave someone, anyone, to suffer, not like this.

Stumbling to the wardrobe, Wriothesley opens their drawer of toys and digs through it until he finds a dildo Neuvillette has always enjoyed. His stomach heaves again as he walks blindly back to the bed and presses the dildo into Neuvillette’s hand.

Maybe a better man would stay and give Neuvillette what he so clearly needs, but Wriothesley isn’t that selfless. Maybe Wriothesley is the monster, but he can’t stomach the idea of being with Neuvillette right now, not because of his need or the changes in his body, but because Neuvillette isn’t here .

Neuvillette rolls to his back and, without hesitation, pushes the dildo into his ass. 

Wriothesley turns away, covering his mouth with his hand to muffle an agonized sound. He reaches the door, still locked from the previous night. He fumbles the catch, finally getting the knob unlocked, and then he’s in the hallway, gasping fresher air.

He barely makes it to the guest bath before he’s violently ill.

Sigewinne arrives from the Fortress that afternoon.

“It’s bad,” Wriothesley warns her, even more wan and exhausted now than he was the previous night. All day, he’s listening to Neuvillette pleasuring himself ceaselessly, moans of ecstasy interspersed with warbling confusion. He’s debated drugging Neuvillette with more of the sedative but hasn’t been able to decide whether that’s the more moral, the more ethical, course of action.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” Sigewinne replies.

Wriothesley wishes she had been here yesterday, but wishing changes nothing. “I don’t know that it matters,” he admits, letting her inside. He grimaces as he shuts the door behind her. “I… I had to sedate him.” He couldn’t bear to let Sigewinne see Neuvillette in that state.

“Is he dangerous to himself?” she asks, alarmed. “I was able to review most of the Doctor’s notes, and they didn’t lead me to believe he’d hurt himself.”

If she’s read the Doctor’s notes, then she’s probably aware of everything going on, but that doesn’t make talking about it easier. He has to, though. “No, he’s not a danger to himself. He’s just…” Wriothesley closes his eyes. “He woke up in a… an altered state. He…” 

“He’s behaving like an animal in sexual heat,” Sigewinne volunteers. She speaks gently but with matter-of-fact directness. 

Wriothesley curls in on himself, pressing his face into his hands. “Yeah.” He drags his hands down his face. “Sigewinne, it’s horrible. He… If he wants to stop, he can’t, but I can’t tell what he wants. In some ways, it’s like watching someone without any impulse control, like a child who’s just been told not to touch a hot pan reaching for it anyway. I don’t…” His voice breaks. He hasn’t cried yet, and he doesn’t want to start crying now. Not in front of Sigewinne. Or anyone else, even Neuvillette. “I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t know what else to do, so I sedated him.”

Sigewinne reaches out, taking his wrist in her hand. “You did the right thing.”

Did he? He doesn’t know. But Sigewinne’s comfort means a lot to him. “Thank you.”

Wriothesley leads Sigewinne to the master bedroom, where Neuvillette sleeps, naked beneath the sheets. He is still, his breathing steady, and he looks peaceful. “Should he be awake for this?” Wriothesley asks. “An exam while he’s asleep is invasive, isn’t it? Shouldn’t he know what’s being done to him?” 

But even if Neuvillette is awake, Wriothesley isn’t sure he’ll understand an exam.

“This won’t be invasive,” Sigewinne says.

Wriothesley hangs back, standing at the foot of the bed to keep out of Sigewinne’s way. She’s the nurse, she’s had hundreds of years of experience at this. He’d just be a nuisance to her. He’s probably a nuisance anyway, hovering the way he does, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She takes Neuvillette’s temperature, his blood pressure. She gently presses on his abdomen and his swollen breasts. She places her hands on him and is still for a long, long while. Probing with Hydro, Wriothesley assumes.

Minutes crawl by. Neuvillette doesn’t stir, and Sigewinne remains still, her brows drawn tight. Finally, she pulls back and sighs, slouching forward until she pulls herself upright. Her expression is solemn when she turns to him.

“Let’s talk outside,” she says, and he follows her out of the bedroom. There’s no real point in it, since Neuvillette is still asleep, but maybe it’s better he can’t hear her verdict.

They depart from the bedroom, and Wriothesley shuts the door behind him. The sedatives are strong enough to keep a horse knocked out for hours. Neuvillette should have another thirty minutes of unconsciousness, but Wriothesley doesn’t want to risk him waking up sooner and overhearing any of this.

“Is it all bad?” he asks.

Sigewinne’s expression remains somber. Grim, even. “That depends on your perspective.” He hates that careful wording. “How much have you read of the Doctor’s notes?”

“Very little,” Wriothesley admits. “I didn’t understand a lot of it.” He’s an engineer, not a physician. 

Sigewinne takes a deep breath. “From what I understand, the Doctor has significantly altered Monsieur Neuvillette’s physiology.” Wriothesley’s stomach knots into a kernel of arresting dread. “He tapped into latent aspects of Monsieur Neuvillette’s draconic nature.” She’s dancing around something, but Wriothesley doesn’t know enough of the situation to anticipate her. 

“Sigewinne,” he says, almost pleading.

“He’s pregnant, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley staggers, catching himself on the wall. He can’t even form the words to ask her if she’s serious. The shape of the world bends around him, warping into something strange and terrifying and utterly unknowable. But he did know. The lactation, Neuvillette’s shape. He knew.

“That’s not possible. He—Neuvillette is—” 

“Dragons are not humans, and the Doctor has changed him. Made him more of a dragon and less of a human,” Sigewinne says. She doesn’t reach out to him, and he’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could stand her touch. This isn’t her fault, but she’s the one bearing this news, and he doesn’t want her comfort. “From what I can tell, the pregnancy is healthy. He’s healthy.”

Wriothesley wonders if he might be sick again.

“There are about twenty eggs—” 

“Stop,” he says, hoarse. “Not right now. Let me digest this first.”

She nods. “Alright.” She hesitates. “Do you want the rest?” 

No. But he needs to know Neuvillette’s state. “Yes.” He draws himself upright, bracing for the rest of Sigewinne’s bad news.

“From what I’ve read of the Doctor’s notes, he used some kind of drug to lower Monsieur Neuvillette’s inhibitions and capacity for reasoning to control him. It also—” She grimaces as though in apology. “—had the end result of making him more draconic. It has changed him deeply, Your Grace, and I’m not sure it can be undone.” 

Wriothesley wants to scream. He wants to break something. He wants to beat himself bloody, or someone else, or the Doctor. This is the same deep-seated loathing that sent him after his foster parents, the desire to rid the world of someone little better than a roach. The Doctor really has destroyed his husband. There’s nothing Wriothesley can do.

“For the time being, Monsieur Neuvillette will need your support,” Sigewinne says. “We need to go through the Doctor’s notes in greater detail, but, right now, you’re right that he’s like a child. He needs you.” There’s a sharpness to her words and an almost dangerous look in her eyes.

Wriothesley understands what she’s not saying. If he can’t step up and help Neuvillette, the Melusines will do it for him. They’ll take Neuvillette away. “I can be here for him,” he says, because he can’t lose Neuvillette when he’s only just got him back.

“Can you?” Sigewinne asks softly.

He’s terrified and he doesn’t know what it means to be a caretaker, but he’ll do whatever it takes. He nods. “I can,” he says, firmer this time. 

A tentatively, hopeful smile blooms on Sigewinne’s face. “Yes, I think you can, too.” The smile falters. “You will need to provide him everything , he needs, Your Grace. And I do mean everything. His physical appetites—” 

“I can’t have sex with a man who can’t tell me he wants me,” Wriothesley protests, as disgusted by the thought as he is having this conversation with her. “Or maybe it’s that he can’t say no.” He winces. “Neuvillette is in no state to consent. I can’t do that.”

Sigewinne crosses her arms. “If you can’t give him what he needs, Your Grace…” 

The back of Wriothesley’s throat burns. “I can,” he says again. “I’ll figure it out. If he needs… This is part of those changes, isn’t it?” 

She nods. “Vishaps are the closest living relative to dragons, and they go through heat cycles. I think part of what the Doctor did was use that drug to trigger a permanent heat.”

Wriothesley swings back toward visceral rage. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette’s Authority should clear the drug out of his system slowly, over time, and that should abate. This will get better. I just don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Alright,” Wriothesley says, even though it’s not, even though everything is broken and may never be right again. Worse, this time, he can’t do anything about it. He has to trust the Knave to deal with the Doctor appropriately, but he’s never been particularly good at trusting others to do the right thing. “Alright.” He clenches hands into fists, shuddering once, trying to let go of the violence. “I’m committed, Sigewinne. I’ll do everything I can.” 

He sees Sigewinne out and returns to the bedroom, where Neuvillette is sloughing off the remains of his sedative. When he opens the door, Neuvillette is on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed, looking plaintively over his shoulder and whining in clear and obvious distress.

Shit.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sex that fills the bedroom and trying not to gag. He promised Sigewinne he’d do everything he can. Reaching over his head, he pulls off his shirt and discards it as he approaches the bed. A cold sweat breaks over his skin. His heartbeat throbs in his ears. He doesn’t think he’s breathing quite right.

Shit .

Neuvillette trill, his lips parting as Wriothesley approaches. He widens his knees, reaching back with one hand to pull the globes of his ass apart. His hole is slick with fluid, gaping, and Wriothesley can’t help but remember all the other times Neuvillette made himself ready like this. But, fuck, it wasn’t like this.

“I know what you need,” he says, trying to pretend it is like those times, trying to pretend they’re playing a game.

This shouldn’t be hard. Neuvillette needs this physical intimacy, and Wriothesley has always been so very happy to give Neuvillette everything he needs. Even now, Wriothesley wants to give Neuvillette everything. 

He eases himself onto the bed, and Neuvillette scrambles around, presenting himself.

This shouldn’t be hard. Taking care of Neuvillette should be easy. Should be something Wriothesley wants to do.

He reaches for his pants, hooking his thumb into the hem. His cock hangs limp and soft between his legs. A sight that has historically been exquisitely erotic, Neuvillette stretched out in front of him, open and ready, can’t inspire even the smallest drop of his desire. He promised Sigewinne he’d figure this out, but he knows he’s not going to get hard.

A confused trill issues from Neuvillette, who glances over his shoulder to give Wriothesley a watery-eyed, pleading look.

“I’m sorry,” Wriothesley says, shuffling off the bed. He can’t look at Neuvillette, too disgusted with himself. “I’m sorry.” He fishes the toy out of the covers and leaves it by Neuvillette’s knee, fleeing the bedroom yet again.

He has a new caretaker.

His new caretaker isn’t as good as the old one. His new caretaker doesn’t know to pump his breasts. They’re so swollen and tender that moving hurts. His new caretaker doesn’t know to fill him with a plug at night or fit a sleeve over his cock. His new caretaker doesn’t put a dildo in his mouth so he has something to suck.

He thinks his new caretaker might fuck him, but then his caretaker gives him a dildo that’s too small to be fun and runs away.

His new caretaker runs away a lot.

He doesn’t think his new caretaker loves him like his old caretaker did. If his caretaker loved him, then he would have a plug or the sleeve or one of the machines. If his new caretaker loved him, he’d be full and content. Instead, he sucks his own fingers and ruts into the bed and whines hopefully.

His new caretaker finally pumps his breasts. It’s not the same as when his old caretaker did it. He isn’t on his hands and knees, isn’t plugged and full with a sleeve on his cock. His new caretaker makes him lay across his caretaker’s chest as he fits a strange new pump to his breasts. It’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t like it. But when the pump goes to work, the relief is so sweet that he’s instantly hard.

He rumbles happily, sucking his fingers and wishing for the machine that fucked him. This new caretaker isn’t good at all.

His new caretaker settles him against his chest again, the next time his breasts get pumped. He sucks his fingers and grinds his ass against his caretaker’s lap and the bed. He wants more, but his caretaker doesn’t give him anything except that dildo. 

His caretaker settles him against his chest again and again. He doesn’t like it, but he gets accustomed to it. This caretaker’s body is warmer than his table ever was, and sometimes his caretaker does something strange with his voice. He doesn’t remember the word for it, but it’s not talking, it’s something else. It’s a rising and a falling, and it’s soft and quiet, and it lulls him to sleep sometimes.

His caretaker settles him against his chest, attaches the pumps, and then puts his hands on his waist. He startles. His caretaker hasn’t ever touched him like this before.

His caretaker does that strange thing with his voice. His caretaker’s thumbs move, rubbing in small circles against his hips. He isn’t full, and nothing is pulling on his cock but his own hand, but that feels nice. That feels good.

Trilling, he arches against his caretaker’s chest, shifting restlessly to press into his caretaker’s hands. 

His caretaker keeps rubbing.

Slowly, he stops stroking his own cock. His hand still. He sinks against his caretaker’s chest and turns his face to press it into his caretaker’s neck. When he breathes in, he inhales a scent that isn’t cold and sterile. 

He likes it. It’s warm and welcoming. It’s familiar.

Drink. Not water, too hot to be water. Water that screams? No, the water doesn’t scream. He doesn’t like the hot water, but he remembers it on his tongue, acrid and sharp. There’s a word for that sharpness. He knows it but he can’t remember it.

There’s much he can’t remember.

Mellow and soft. Warm, supple. There’s a word for that, too. For something that wraps around flesh and bends with it. Not clothing, he remembers clothing. Something more specific than clothing.

His head hurts, and he doesn’t like it, so he cries and cries and he learns something new. When he cries, his caretaker holds him, strokes his hair, and does that thing with his voice where it rises and falls, rises and falls.

He thinks he should cry more, but that makes him feel bad. He should be better than that. For the eggs. He can’t cry too much, or he’ll upset the eggs. But maybe the eggs like the rising and the falling, too.

His caretaker’s hands are on his thighs, his stomach. They’re rough and warm. He likes when they run over him as much as he likes when his caretaker pumps his breasts. Maybe he likes it more. He likes pushing his face into his caretaker’s neck. He likes the way his caretaker smells and how he sings and how he touches him. 

He likes this caretaker more.

Bergamot.

Leather.

Wriothesley .

Wriothesley holds him as he pumps the milk from his breasts. Wriothesley sings to him and pets him gently. His caretaker has a name and that name is Wriothesley, and Wriothesley smells of bergamot and leather and machine oil, and that’s important because Wriothesley works with machines, because Wriothesley is a builder and a creator of things, because Wriothesley is clever and smart and wise.

With Wriothesley , he is safe and cared for, he is cherished. With Wriothesley , he doesn’t need to worry about his eggs, he and they are protected. With Wriothesley , the world is even simpler and easier to understand, even though Wriothesley asks him to do more than his old caretaker ever did, but he doesn’t mind because it’s Wriothesley who’s asking. 

Sometimes, Wriothesley reads to him, and it’s like the singing only it lasts longer, and Wriothesley’s voice is smooth and wonderful. It curls around him and leaves him dreamy soft, soothed. Relaxed. He drifts to the sound of Wriothesley’s voice without hearing Wriothesley’s words until one day he realizes he should listen. Wriothesley is important. What Wriothesley has to say is important, too.

— Fortress —

— Meropide —

— Sigewinne —

The endless fog that fills his mind clears just a little bit. Clears just enough. Wriothesley , the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.

Wriothesley , his husband.

And him, the Iudex of Fontaine, the Hydro Dragon Sovereign. Him, Neuvillette. 

They’re sitting in bed after Wriothesley has pumped Neuvillette’s breasts, Neuvillette curled in Wriothesley’s lap and Wriothesley petting his hip with one hand as he reads a letter from Sigewinne aloud. This was Sigewinne’s idea, that she should write to Neuvillette by way of Wriothesley and Wriothesley could read those letters. She thought it might be familiar and grounding to Neuvillette.

He’s almost done with the letter when Neuvillette begins to keen softly, a reedy and high-pitched sound. 

“Hey, shh,” he says, rubbing his thumb into Neuvillette’s belly in a way he’s learned offers comfort. “Shh, I’m almost done and then we can pump your breasts again.” He’s pretty sure that’s not the problem. This sound is different. Alarming. He goes back to the letter, reading it from where he paused. Neuvillette’s keening grows louder.

Wriothesley trails off. “Not interested in hearing from Sigewinne today?” he asks.

Neuvillette goes rigid against him, starts panting heavily. 

“Shit.” Wriothesley tosses the letter aside and curls himself around Neuvillette, shifting his husband so he can look into his face, terrified this is some new development, an absent seizure or something equally horrible. 

But instead of the dazed, vacant glaze so common in Neuvillette’s wide eyes, Wriothesley’s finds keen awareness. “S… Si…” He croaks the sounds, the broken syllable catching in his long-unused throat. “Sige…” Tears gather in his eyes and spill down his cheeks in mighty rivers, and he wails, agonized.

Wriothesley’s heart shatters. He clutches Neuvillette to his chest, closing his own eyes as they also overflow with tears. Rocking Neuvillette back and forth, he presses his face into Neuvillette’s hair.

“Sigewinne,” he says, his voice just as hoarse as Neuvillette’s. “Yeah, Sigewinne. That’s Sigewinne’s letter.”

He’d thought Neuvillette coming back to himself would be a wonderful moment, but Neuvillette wails in his arms, scratching weakly at Wriothesley’s shoulders. Miserable cries tumble out of him, each one savaging Wriothesley harder than the last, leaving him torn and shredded. 

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it’s not. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” The words become a mantra. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Outside, rain hammers the windows.

“I’m here, Neuvillette. I’m here. It’s me, it’s Wriothesley. I’ve got you.” 

“Wri…” The tattered remains of Wriothesley’s heart clench. “Wriothesley…” Neuvillette’s arms wind around Wriothesley’s neck, and great, horrible sobs wrack his body. He clings to Wriothesley as he weeps, and Wriothesley cries into his hair, holding him as he whispers empty words.

It’s not okay. None of this is okay. Maybe one day it will be, but it’s not right now, and while Neuvillette is safe, he should’ve been safe before, too. He wasn’t. Wriothesley failed him. Wriothesley failed. That hurts, it hurts so much, and what hurts even more is that he doesn’t know that he should allow himself to be hurt. Neuvillette’s in a worse situation, Neuvillette went through hell, and now Neuvillette has to live with the consequences. By comparison, Wriothesley has no right to pain.

That doesn’t stop him from sobbing into Neuvillette’s hair.

They cry themselves to sleep, wrapped around each other at the head of their bed. Wriothesley’s sleep is dreamless but too short. He wakes, miserably tired, to urgent, needy sounds from Neuvillette. Still in the shelter of Wriothesley’s arms, Neuvillette writhes against him. His shirt has ridden over his hips, his milk has soaked the fabric, and he whines pitiably. 

Wriothesley props himself up, gazing down at Neuvillette’s face, and finds Neuvillette’s gaze cloudy and distant again. In the light of day, with Neuvillette rubbing all over him, last night feels like a dream. But it wasn’t. For a minute, he had Neuvillette back, and that gives him hope.

“Shh,” he says, gathering Neuvillette close. His hand smooths down the curve of Neuvillette’s spine. “Shh, it’s okay. I can get the pumps for you.” 

Neuvillette clutches at Wriothesley’s shirt, using his considerable strength to push Wriothesley to his back on the bed.

Fear stabs through him, and Wriothesley fights against the instinct to throw Neuvillette off him, hating that he has to fight this battle at all. He thought he’d overcome it. Maybe these months apart have weakened his resolve. Maybe it’s Neuvillette’s current state. He gets ahold of himself, grasping Neuvillette’s hips as Neuvillette straddles him and grinds down.

Wriothesley squeezes his eyes shut. “Neuvillette.” He shudders with a mounting revulsion. “Neuvillette, I can’t. I can’t do this with you when you’re not in your right mind. I can’t.”

Neuvillette’s hands, grasping the front of Wriothesley’s sleeping shirt, ease. He presses his palms to Wriothesley’s chest, still making those urgent sounds as he grinds down. “Wriothesley,” he says.

Eyes flying open, Wriothesley sucks in a surprised gasp. 

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says, a hint of clarity in his glassy eyes. “Mate.” He tips his head to the side. “Mine?” 

Wriothesley surges upward, grabbing Neuvillette in a tight embrace, relieved beyond words. He cried too much last night to cry again, but his eyes burn as he holds his husband tightly. One hand slides around the back of Neuvillette’s neck, pressing Neuvillette’s face into the crook of his shoulder. His other hand glides over the small of Neuvillette’s back.

“Yours,” he says. “Fuck, I’m yours, Neuvillette. Your husband, your mate, whatever you need me to be.” 

Neuvillette whines, grinding into Wriothesley’s lap.

Gently, Wriothesley tightens his fingers on the back of Neuvillette’s neck. Not to hurt, just to hold him tighter. “Alright,” he says. “This time… I can do this for you this time.” The hand on the small of Neuvillette’s back curves lower, over his ass. “Not everything you need, but some of it.” 

He’s soft still and he doesn’t think he could get hard for Neuvillette like this, even with Neuvillette recognizing him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to have that kind of sex with Neuvillette, not without Neuvillette’s express permission, not without being able to navigate that together. But Neuvillette always liked his fingers more than their toys, and fingers he can do. Neuvillette still knows him. 

Neuvillette remembers him.

With a quiet, breathless laugh, he glides his fingers along the crease of Neuvillette’s ass. There’s slick, tacky liquid dripping from Neuvillette’s hole that’s nothing like Hydro, but Sigewinne has already explained this. Vishaps produce slick like this, and now Neuvillette is more like them. It’s strange, but he’s expecting it, so he’s not alarmed and he doesn’t pull back.

He does brace himself, though, expecting more disgust. It doesn’t come.

Relieved, Wriothesley circles his fingers against Neuvillette’s rim, loose from the dildo. Neuvillette is hot and soft under his touch. 

With a pleased keen, Neuvillette arches his back and pushes his ass against Wriothesley’s fingers. “Mate,” he says with satisfaction, breath hot on Wriothesley’s shoulder.

More tension drains out of Wriothesley’s body. Neuvillette might not be entirely mentally present, but enough of him is here.

His touches are tentative and exploratory. He realizes quickly that Neuvillette is far more impatient than he ever was before, but he doesn’t let Neuvillette push him too fast. This isn’t upsetting to him, but he’s not exactly having a good time. It’s clinical. Perfunctory. He eases a finger into Neuvillette’s ass, and he grimaces at the sticky heat of it. Nothing about this is erotic. He doesn’t want it to be. Not yet.

Neuvillette rumbles happily as Wriothesley glides his finger in and out, pulling back to push a second one in alongside the first. Neuvillette’s body gives easily, as though accustomed to something much larger. He adds a third finger.

Churring, Neuvillette rolls his hips, fucking himself on Wriothesley’s fingers as Wriothesley sort of just sits there. There’s none of the Electro arousal he associates with intimacy with Neuvillette. 

Wriothesley closes his eyes and lets Neuvillette rut against him, completely disconnected from what they’re doing. Neuvillette uses him, grinding against him, taking his pleasures until he comes with a reedy cry. Wriothesley wonders if he should be disgusted with himself.

Draping himself against Wriothesley’s chest, Neuvillette lifts his face and nuzzles against Wriothesley’s cheek, scenting him. “Mate,” he says, dropping his hands and reaching between their bodies.

Wriothesley, intuiting Neuvillette’s intentions, releases him quickly and grabs at Neuvillette’s wrists. “No,” he says, drawing back. “No.” 

Neuvillette frowns, his eyes glassy, distant. “Mate,” he says again, flexing his hands. He could break free of Wriothesley’s hold, but he doesn’t. “ Mate .”

A grimace sours Wriothesley’s expression. “I’m not mating with you.” 

Neuvillette warbles.

“No,” Wriothesley says. He needs this line. Clings to this line. He’d never respect himself, if he… if they… “No.” 

Tears fill Neuvillette’s eyes. “Mate?” he asks, sounding lost.

“Mate,” Wriothesley says. “But no mating.”

Neuvillette begins to cry, withdrawing. He climbs off Wriothesley’s lap and moves away from him, hunching in on himself, looking small and sad. “No mate?” His voice is so soft.

He doesn’t know how to fix this, doesn’t know how to comfort Neuvillette while maintaining his own self-respect. “We can’t,” he says, reaching for Neuvillette.

Neuvillette pulls away, laying down on the edge of the bed and curling into a tiny ball. “No mate.”

Wriothesley is confusing. Wriothesley is his mate, but Wriothesley won’t mate with him. 

Wriothesley makes him walk around the bedroom on his feet.

Wriothesley makes him wear clothes.

Wriothesley makes him hold a glass to drink his water.

Wriothesley makes him stand in the hot water.

Wriothesley points at things and says words and waits and waits until he repeats the words. He doesn’t like repeating the words. Every time he does, he thinks someone might hurt him. Using his words isn’t right. He shouldn’t have words. But Wriothesley wants his words. It’s strange and…

And something. He doesn’t remember the words. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like Wriothesley forcing him to speak. 

More and more, Wriothesley makes him talk. He has to say “please” before Wriothesley will give him the water. He has to say “thank you” before Wriothesley will take the empty glass back. He has to say “bathroom” instead of just whining urgently and looking at the bathroom door. He has to say “towel” and “soap” and “shampoo” when they’re in the shower. He likes the shower, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He likes a lot of what Wriothesley makes him do, once he remembers why it matters.

Sometimes, remembering why it matters hurts.

People drink from glasses. People use the bathroom. People take showers. When he remembers that he’s people, he remembers that he’s Neuvillette . He doesn’t like remembering he’s Neuvillette . Being Neuvillette hurts. Being Neuvillette is strange and it makes him cry. It makes him remember things he was happy to forget.

He likes remembering that he’s Neuvillette when Wriothesley pumps his breasts. He likes remembering he’s Neuvillette when Wriothesley holds him astride his lap and fingers his ass until he comes.

He doesn’t like remembering he’s Neuvillette when he asks Wriothesley to fuck him and Wriothesley says no. 

At first, he doesn’t understand. Wriothesley says no and it hurts. He doesn’t like the rejection. Wriothesley is his mate, but he isn’t Wriothesley’s mate. Neuvillette is Wriothesley’s mate. But the more he uses his words and walks on his feet and drinks from a glass, the more he begins to understand and the less he wants to be Neuvillette .

When he isn’t Neuvillette , he doesn’t understand that his body was violated over and over against his will. When he isn’t Neuvillette , he doesn’t understand that he was stripped of his dignity, experimented on, and transformed without his consent. When he isn’t Neuvillette , he doesn’t feel embarrassment and self-loathing and disgust and shame.

He doesn’t like the embarrassment and self-loathing and disgust and shame.

And he doesn’t like when Wriothesley turns away from him.

“Wriothesley,” he says, reaching for his mate. It is the middle of the day. He remembers enough of Neuvillette to know Wriothesley shouldn’t be home in the middle of the day. Wriothesley is the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide, but he has been home for so many days, taking care of him. Of Neuvillette . “Wriothesley,” he says again, not caring that Wriothesley is here instead of at the Fortress, because he aches and he burns. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs. His breasts are empty, but he wants Wriothesley to put his mouth on them.

He wants so many things from Wriothesley. Neuvillette is horrified by so many of these wants that it’s better to simply be him instead. 

Wriothesley sets down his book. Wriothesley takes his reaching hand and draws him closer. He likes being close to Wriothesley. He likes smelling Wriothesley. He wants to be even closer to Wriothesley. He wants to be so close to Wriothesley that Wriothesley is inside him because Wriothesley is his mate.

He climbs onto Wriothesley’s lap. Now, when he wants Wriothesley to touch him, he has to ask. He has to use his words. Using his words is still hard. He can’t always find them and make his tongue bend around them. But it’s getting easier. “Touch me, Wriothesley,” he says, rubbing his cheek against Wriothesley’s. “Touch me, Wriothesley, please.”

Wriothesley puts his hands on his hips. 

He isn’t wearing his shirt, and Wriothesley is only wearing pants. Shredding those pants wouldn’t be too hard. Then he could touch Wriothesley’s cock. But when he reaches for Wriothesley’s pants, Wriothesley takes his hands and puts them on his shoulders instead.

“Touch me,” he insists, pressing as close as he can to Wriothesley. His swollen belly, full of eggs, makes it hard to be too close. He wants Wriothesley bent over his back, fucking him from behind. He wants Wriothesley’s cum dripping down his thighs.

Neuvillette hates wanting these things so much, but he likes them. This is how he should be.

Shouldn’t he?

Wriothesley touches him. Wriothesley puts his hand on his cock, pumping like the sleeve once did, but this is better than the sleeve because it’s Wriothesley’s hand, warm and rough. Wriothesley puts his hand on his ass, pushing his fingers inside. He fucks himself on Wriothesley’s fingers and into Wriothesley’s hand, and it feels good. It feels very good. But Wriothesley’s cock would feel better.

“Wriothesley, please,” he whines, pawing at Wriothesley’s shoulders as he comes. 

The orgasm isn’t as good as he wants it to be.

He drops his hands toward Wriothesley’s pants.

“No, Neuvillette,” Wriothesley says. “I can’t when you’re like this.” 

He doesn’t want to understand but he does.

I can’t when you’re like this.

If he were Neuvillette , Wriothesley could.

I can’t when you’re like this .

If he feels the shame and disgust, Wriothesley could.

Wriothesley makes him walk around the room.

Wriothesley helps him remember stairs.

Wriothesley reads to him in the living room.

Wriothesley makes dinner with him in the kitchen.

Wriothesley pumps his breasts and fucks his ass but only with his fingers.

I can’t when you’re like this. 

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like Wriothesley saying “no” to him. Wriothesley never said “no” to Neuvillette . He’s starting to understand why, though. Neuvillette had something that he doesn’t, and it has to do with the shame and the disgust. He doesn’t want to confront that. He doesn’t want to confront those things.

I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this I can’t when you’re like this

Wriothesley wraps him in a jacket and takes him into the back garden. Soft white flakes fall from the sky and land on his fingers. He licks them off.

Wriothesley brings him flowers.

Wriothesley reads him stories of love and adventure, of fact and history, of change and growth and becoming.

He is changing again, he realizes. But this time, he controls his changing. This time, no one is forcing him. He gets to decide how much and when. If he can choose the changing, maybe becoming Neuvillette wouldn’t be so bad, especially if it means he can have sex with his mate, with Wriothesley.

He finds himself awake in the middle of one night, watching Wriothesley sleep. He doesn’t ache the way he so often does, his breasts mostly empty and his cock unusually soft. The world is cool and quiet under a blanket of midnight silence broken only by Wriothesley’s steady breathing.

“I am Neuvillette,” he whispers to Wriothesley. 

Wriothesley doesn’t stir, but that’s okay. For now, this is just for Neuvillette to know.

Chapter Text

Something’s different. Something’s changed. Neuvillette has changed. Wriothesley isn’t sure exactly when it happened, but Neuvillette listens to him more closely, speaks more often, and tries to do things on his own. He still seeks Wriothesley’s permission for some things, especially when he needs to use the bathroom, but he no longer needs to be coaxed into walking on his feet or speaking.

Nor does he beg Wriothesley for sex. When he’s desperate and needy, which isn’t as often anymore either, he asks Wriothesley to touch him. If that’s not enough, he picks up his toy, and Wriothesley gives him some privacy. 

Maybe it was that day two weeks ago that everything changed. That day, Neuvillette picked up his toy and hesitated like he was embarrassed to have Wriothesley nearby. Yeah. It was probably that day, now that Wriothesley’s thinking about it.

He leans his head against the edge of the claw-footed tub he’s laying in, staring at the ceiling. Neuvillette rests against his chest. Bathtime is a treat because Neuvillette prefers baths to showers, and Neuvillette has earned this luxury. He hasn’t touched himself in nearly six hours, poured himself his own glass of water when they had lunch, and didn’t complain about walking up or down the stairs. 

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says.

“Mm?” Wriothesley tips his head forward. 

Neuvillette watches him. “I have a question.” He’s gotten so much better about speaking, though he still struggles to find the right words. His sentences are small and simple things, and though Wriothesley misses the way Neuvillette used to speak sometimes he’s more relieved that Neuvillette speaks at all. It’s so nice to hear Neuvillette’s voice. 

“I have an answer.” Wriothesley lifts his hand to the back of Neuvillette’s neck, rubbing thumb and forefinger into the base of his skull.

Purring, Neuvillette settles more heavily across Wriothesley’s lap. His own hands are curled around his pregnant belly.

Wriothesley has come to terms with this physical change. Emotionally, he’s not quite there yet, but it’s not like Neuvillette’s been up for that conversation. It’s not like he wants to have that conversation.

“Do I…” Neuvillette trails off, his brows knitting. His jaw tenses, flexing with frustration as he searches for his words. Wriothesley waits patiently. Finally, Neuvillette asks, “Do I disgust you?”

Oh. Well. They’re having this conversation.

“No,” he says immediately. “No, you don’t.” He drops his hand to Neuvillette’s shoulder to pull him closer and envelopes him in a loose hug. “Of course you don’t.” 

“But you won’t have sex with me,” Neuvillette says. “I am me , but you won’t have sex with me.” 

There’s more to unpack in that sentence than Wriothesley understands. So much is going on in Neuvillette’s head that Neuvillette just can’t communicate, and it frustrates them both, not just Neuvillette. It’s not worth trying to puzzle out Neuvillette’s meaning, though. As much as Wriothesley knows Neuvillette, so much has changed that it’s much better to ask Neuvillette easy questions than to make guesses on his own.

Unfortunately, this conversation doesn’t have a lot of room for easy questions.

“Can I ask you a question instead?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette nods.

“Do you want to have sex with me or do you need to have sex with me?”

Neuvillette makes another frustrated noise. “Hard,” he says. “Too hard.” He curls around his belly, and Wriothesley doesn’t stop him. He does tuck up his legs, cocooning Neuvillette just that much more with his own body. “They are the same, aren’t they? Wanting and needing.” 

Rubbing Neuvillette’s back, Wriothesley shakes his head. “When you first came home, I think you needed sex on a biological level. You craved it, even though you weren’t in your right mind. The who, the how, that didn’t matter to you.” Wriothesley takes a deep breath, hoping he’s saying this right. “But it’s always mattered to me. The fact that you weren’t in your right mind mattered to me. If you want to have sex with me—” 

Neuvillette sits abruptly, twisting to face Wriothesley. “I do. I do. I am me , even though it hurts to be me.” His eyes are bright with unshed tears. “Do you understand?” 

Sighing, Wriothesley cups Neuvillette’s cheek, rubbing over the arch of his cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m not sure I do. And I’m so sorry. But you don’t disgust me.”

“Then why ?” Agony coats Neuvillette’s words. “I want you. I want to be with you again.” He studies Wriothesley’s face, searching his eyes. “Are you… ashamed of me?” 

“No!” Wriothesley rocks forward, wrapping his arms around Neuvillette. “No. Sovereigns, no. I—” He drops his head to Neuvillette’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He’s had months to figure this out and he’s put it off over and over in his own head. “I could never be ashamed of you. But, Neuvillette, we found you…” His throat threatens to close up. 

Even now, he can picture that scene so clearly in his mind: Neuvillette with a cock in his mouth, pumps on his breasts, a sleeve around his cock, a dildo pounding into his ass. Neuvillette hooked up to all these things like a sick experiment, like an animal.

“I don’t understand how you could even want sex after that,” Wriothesley says quietly. “And I know. I know that’s not my decision to make, but I—” 

“You see me as the man you rescued,” Neuvillette says. “But I am not him. Not anymore.”

Shit, that guts him, because Neuvillette is right. 

Picking up his head, he nods. “You’re right,” he says, voice rough. “You’re not him, and I was making decisions for you. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“It wasn’t.” Neuvillette smiles tentatively. “You don’t mind that I’m different now?” He touches his fingers to the swell of one breast.

Wriothesley has touched Neuvillette’s belly so many times, as much for Neuvillette as for himself. Caressing Neuvillette while pumping his breasts has helped Wriothesley grow comfortable with Neuvillette’s changes on a physical level. It’s no hardship to rub one palm over Neuvillette’s pregnant stomach. “You’re still you,” he says. “You’re still Neuvillette, no matter how your body’s changed.” 

Neuvillette’s smile grows. “Then you don’t mind the—” His smile goes stiff. 

“Neuvillette?” Wriothesley cups his jaw. “What’s wrong? The pregnancy? The eggs? No, of course I don’t. You didn’t…” 

Neuvillette’s smile has faded into an expression of stark horror. “How much?” he asks. “How much do you know?” 

In that moment, Wriothesley wants to lie. He wants to tell Neuvillette he doesn’t know anything at all. But he’s not a liar, and he’s not about to become one, not to the man he loves most in the world. “I read the Doctor’s notes at Sigewinne’s request.”

Neuvillette is rigid in his arms.

“I know everything.”

The light leaves Neuvillette’s eyes.

“Shit.” Wriothesley catches Neuvillette as he slumps, as he goes boneless and borderline catatonic. “ Shit .” Maybe he should’ve lied. Maybe he should’ve kept the truth to himself. But relationships can’t be built on lies, and if he knows, he can better support Neuvillette. Right?

Doubt gnaws at him as he bundles Neuvillette close and rises from the tub, as he dries them both off, as he carries Neuvillette back to the bed. He takes solace in the physical, in dressing Neuvillette once more, in brushing his hair and holding him close. He doesn’t stop to wonder if he’s made a mistake. Doesn’t let himself wonder. When Neuvillette is comfortable, he throws himself into work. Managing the Fortress from his home with Neuvillette has been challenging, but he won’t abandon his husband, won’t leave him, not again. He has help, he has his chain of command and Sigewinne, and he’s managing, and the work keeps him busy. Keeps him from thinking about how he might’ve really fucked up by telling Neuvillette the truth.

The next several days are miserable. Neuvillette doesn’t come back to himself. He doesn’t speak, barely drinks, refuses to get out of bed. He won’t even crawl like he did at first. Wriothesley has to carry him to the bathroom at regular intervals to avoid accidents. It’s agonizing, but Wriothesley tells himself that this is surely normal. People backslide when they’re recovering, and Neuvillette has so much to recover from.

This is normal.

It’s okay.

Everything will be okay.

He’s so afraid it won’t be okay.

On the fifth day, Neuvillette sits up in bed, looks over at Wriothesley, and simply begins to weep. Wriothesley abandons his work and climbs into the bed, wrapping Neuvillette in his arms. He’s figured out the sad truth: when Neuvillette is the most himself, he’s crying. Considering everything he’s gone through, that makes sense.

For a long time, they just hold each other. Neuvillette’s tears give way to wracking shudders, and Wriothesley holds him tighter, trying not to cry himself. Neuvillette needs his strength.

When Neuvillette’s shudders subside, Wriothesley says, “I don’t think less of you for any of it. And if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“Is there anything left to talk about?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley squeezes him gently. “How you feel about everything, maybe. The one good thing about me knowing is that you don’t have to relive any of it. We can talk around it.” 

 Neuvillette shoulders shake as he exhales heavily. He’s quiet, quiet, quiet, until abruptly he says, “I liked so much of it.”

That catches Wriothesley by surprise, and he has to fight down a reaction of horrified disgust. Neuvillette doesn’t need that. Neuvillette needs support. Curiosity will serve him better than any polarized reaction, anyway. 

“That doesn’t upset you?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley grimaces. “It makes me feel a lot of things. Maybe upset is one of them. But I want to understand what you liked and why. Not because I want you to justify yourself. Because I genuinely want to understand.” 

There’s another long stretch of silence between them, one that isn’t comfortable. Wriothesley forces himself to sit in it anyway, to keep his own peace, to let Neuvillette figure out what he wants to say.

“I didn’t like it at first,” Neuvillette says. “And there were moments…” He swallows audibly. “There were bad moments. Scary moments.” His arms wrap around his round belly. “But in the end, I liked being full.”

“Because of the drugs?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “No. Because it felt good. It feels good. Everything felt so good. The Doctor was cruel, but he also cared for me, in his own way. He met all my needs.” Neuvillette pauses. “He changed my needs. I will always hate him for that. But he met my needs, too. What is worse is…” He shifts in Wriothesley’s arms, restless, and Wriothesley loosens his hold. When Neuvillette doesn’t pull away, he draws his husband close once more. “Now that I’m me , I know I shouldn’t like any of it.”

Shame. This is about shame. 

“The space between how I feel and how I should feel… is bad,” Neuvillette says.

Wriothesley’s throat squeezes. His eyes burn. He holds back his tears and his anger and his frustration. Neuvillette doesn’t need those things right now. “No one can tell you how you should feel, Neuvillette.” 

“Shouldn’t I hate all of it?” Neuvillette asks. “Isn’t it bad that I don’t?”

Fuck. “I don’t know,” Wriothesley says. “I really don’t know. Maybe a doctor has that answer, but I don’t. But I think it’s alright for you to feel however you do.”

Neuvillette makes a thoughtful noise, a little distressed. “I don’t like feeling both of these things. It will get better?” 

“I don’t know the answer to that either, but I think it has to get better.” Wriothesley believes that, too. He’s not inherently an optimist, but in this situation, he’s damned if he’ll be anything else. Everything will get better. Neuvillette will get better. “Maybe recovery won’t look the way either of us wants it to, but you will recover. It’ll get better.”

Neuvillette churrs. “You really don’t hate me even though I’m happy like this?” 

“I could never hate you,” Wriothesley says, tipping Neuvillette’s face up so their eyes meet. “I—” 

“You don’t have to lie,” Neuvillette says, eyes soft. “It’s fine if you don’t want me anymore.” 

Wriothesley’s heart seizes. “I never said I don’t want you.” He smooths his hand over Neuvillette’s jaw, sinking it into his hair. “I didn’t want to have sex with you because you didn’t know who I was. Because I didn’t know if you wanted it. No other reason.” Gently, he tips Neuvillette’s head back even more. “I still love you with everything in me, Neuvillette. What you look like is a small piece of why, but it’s not the entire reason why.”

Bending his head, he presses a kiss to Neuvillette’s lips. It’s soft and it’s chaste because part of him does still hesitate. Not because of how Neuvillette looks but because it’s so important to him that Neuvillette consciously makes the decision to pursue intimacy with him. A small part of him is still afraid that he won’t be able to reciprocate physical intimacy in the way that Neuvillette wants. He’s terrified his own fear will get in the way. But he wants Neuvillette, and he loves Neuvillette, and he’ll never stop wanting or loving Neuvillette.

Long fingers curl in Wriothesley’s shirt. Neuvillette’s lips part with a soft sigh, and he returns Wriothesley’s kiss. It’s a delicate meeting of mouths, a gentle back and forth brush of lips on lips. It’s the first real intimacy they’ve had in months. Wriothesley doesn’t count the way he’s touched Neuvillette just to satisfy him. This is different. 

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette kisses the corner of Wriothesley’s mouth. He sucks Wriothesley’s lower lip between both of his. “Wriothesley.” He shifts in Wriothesley’s lap, straddling him. With Neuvillette’s belly between them, it’s hard to tell, but Wriothesley is pretty sure Neuvillette is hard.

He’s half hard, too.

“Wriothesley, I very much want to have sex with you,” he says, whispering the words against Wriothesley’s lips.

For the first time in months, Wriothesley believes this is coming from a place that isn’t primal, instinctive desperation. For the first time in months, Wriothesley is willing to reciprocate. Wants to. Needs to. For himself as well as for Neuvillette, to prove to Neuvillette that all these superficial changes to his body aren’t a problem for him.

“That’s good to hear,” Wriothesley says, smiling faintly. “Because I very much want to have sex with you, too.”

Neuvillette’s eyes widen. They alight with desire, and Wriothesley’s mouth goes dry. He hasn’t been able to think about Neuvillette with any carnal interest since he brought Neuvillette home, but now? Now his cock twitches as it fills. Hunger churns in his own stomach, a gnawing need.

Sliding his hands over Neuvillette’s thighs, his hips, Wriothesley takes him by the waist to tug him a little closer. “We’re going to have to get creative,” he says, grinning and biting at Neuvillette’s lower lip.

“We have always been creative,” Neuvillette reminds him, laughing, and his laughter is like music. He presses another kiss to Wriothesley’s lips, carding his fingers through Wriothesley’s hair. He’s warm, he’s so warm, and his stomach is a comforting press between them as their lips part. “I want to see you, though,” Neuvillette breathes.

 “Doable.” Wriothesley’s thumb presses against the swell of Neuvillette’s stomach. His tongue flicks against Neuvillette’s lips, and Neuvillette’s taste is different. It’s not as fresh mountain spring as it was before everything. It’s sweeter, thicker. Wriothesley likes it, and he chases that taste with his tongue.

Neuvillette moans softly, parting his lips to let Wriothesley’s tongue into his mouth.

They play like that, trading long, languorous kisses, slowly familiarizing themselves with each other once more. Wriothesley’s hands wander Neuvillette’s hips and waist, his belly and the small of his back. Neuvillette strokes through Wriothesley’s hair, down his neck, and over his shoulders. Just touching Neuvillette, exploring him, is indescribably erotic. Relearning the feel of him and discovering small changes. Neuvillette’s skin is softer than it was before, his body more plush and giving. Maybe that’s because of his pregnancy, but Wriothesley likes the difference. Likes how he can sink his hands into Neuvillette’s skin and grip him hard and steady.

He wonders how else Neuvillette has changed and is thrilled to realize the idea of discovery excites him. He wants to pour over every inch of Neuvillette’s body, wants to uncover all his new mysteries.

One hand lifts, and he takes Neuvillette’s face gently with his palm as he breaks their kiss. They’re both panting, and Neuvillette’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy, but he’s fully present. He’s here . 

“Can you lay down on the bed for me?” Wriothesley asks, pressing his forehead to Neuvillette’s. “Is that okay?” 

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette runs his hands over Wriothesley’s shoulders, smiling. “Everything is okay with you.” 

“But if it’s not…” 

“I will tell you.” He touches Wriothesley’s face, pressing his thumb to Wriothesley’s lips. Wriothesley can’t stop himself from licking it, from dragging his teeth across the pad of it. Neuvillette makes a quiet sound of pleasure, a sound that goes right to Wriothesley’s cock. “Trust me to know my own limits.” 

He does trust Neuvillette. He always has, and he can’t stop trusting Neuvillette now. “I do. I will,” he promises. “Lay down for me.” 

Neuvillette withdraws, though not before Wriothesley gives one last lick to the pad of his thumb. Wriothesley’s hands linger on Neuvillette’s body for the simple pleasure of touching him as Neuvillette rises to his knees and then settles on the bed. He eases himself down, shimmying into the comfort of the blankets and the mattress, lazy and content.

Propping himself on one elbow, Wriothesley bends his face to Neuvillette’s neck. He nuzzles into the crook of it, trying to make the same kind of soft, rumbling sounds he remembers Neuvillette making in the past. The mimicry isn’t perfect, but Neuvillette exhales and relaxes even more, tipping his head to the side to give Wriothesley the length and bend of his throat. He murmurs wordless praise, and Wriothesley presses closer to him, presses his hips against Neuvillette’s thigh. He rocks lazily against Neuvillette, his cock pushing into Neuvillette’s skin in a slow rhythm. Desire simmers in his veins, the heat of it banked for now as his lips find the curve of Neuvillette’s shoulder and then the line of his collarbone.

One of Neuvillette’s hands works around Wriothesley’s body. It smooths over Wriothesley’s back and then into the hair at the base of his skull, petting through the short strands there. “Wriothesley,” he breathes, his back arching off the bed as Wriothesley pulls his lips lower.

He maps the swell of Neuvillette’s breasts with his mouth and his tongue, following the soft curves of Neuvillette’s body until Neuvillette is panting softly beneath him. There’s a curious taste to Neuvillette’s skin as Wriothesley presses suckling kisses to the giving flesh of one of Neuvillette’s breasts, a lingering sweetness. He wonders if all of Neuvillette is sweeter now, and he groans quietly, grinding his cock into Neuvillette’s thigh. 

Gently, he runs his free hand up Neuvillette’s side, stroking over his ribs to one of his breasts. His thumb traces the swollen underside, and Neuvillette makes a quiet noise of surprise but not dislike. 

“We haven’t pumped you recently,” Wriothesley says.

Neuvillette exhales a shaky breath. “Perhaps that can wait?” 

Wriothesley fits himself closer to Neuvillette, his cock aching against Neuvillette’s thigh. “Maybe I’ve got an idea.” He flashes Neuvillette a quick smile, lifting Neuvillette’s breast even more, and then wraps his lips around the engorged nipple.

Neuvillette’s back comes off the bed, and his fingers fist in Wriothesley’s hair. He cries out, a surprised keen but not a pained one. Stilling, Wriothesley waits for some indication for whether he should stop or continue, his lips lax around the nipple in his mouth.

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says quietly, plaintively. His hand presses gently against the back of Wriothesley’s head, unspoken encouragement. 

Parting his lips, Wriothesley laves Neuvillette’s nipple with his tongue, pulling over it slowly. Neuvillette jolts beneath him, gasping. He whines, and Wriothesley does the same thing a second time, a third. On the fourth swipe of his tongue, he wraps his lips around Neuvillette’s nipple and suckles with the tiniest amount of pressure. Neuvillette is so sensitive, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. But Neuvillette responds with a long, aching moan.

“You… you don’t have to…” Neuvillette moans again, his fingers scratching over Wriothesley’s scalp.

Those eager reactions make Wriothesley harder. Precum drips from his cock as he suckles on Neuvillette’s nipple, the weight of Neuvillette’s breast heavy in his palm. Instead of answering, he keeps suckling, his mouth pulling slowly against Neuvillette’s nipple.

Something sweet drops onto his tongue.

Neuvillette gasps, shuddering, and Wriothesley goes still. He sucks again, stronger this time, and liquid dribbles across his tongue. Neuvillette moans, hips shifting restlessly, as Wriothesley lets the liquid flow over his tongue and down his throat. It’s thin and watery, but there’s an unexpected sugary-sweet flavor. He has no idea what breast milk is supposed to taste like, but he likes this, likes what Neuvillette has produced, and he suckles a little harder.

The moan that breaks from Neuvillette is a siren’s song.

Pushing himself up more, Wriothesley adjusts himself until he can suckle Neuvillette’s one breast and stroke his thumb over the other, working the nipple back and forth until it, too, produces a steady stream of milk? Water? Nutrient-rich Hydro? He doesn’t really care what it is as he turns his mouth to Neuvillette’s other breast.

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette whines, shifting against the bed, against Wriothesley’s hip. “You needn’t—” 

But Wriothesley has no intention of pulling away. He drinks from one breast and then the next until the liquid thickens somewhat, more like a rich broth than thin water. It’s warm, yeah, but it’s still refreshing, like drinking from a sun-warmed freshwater stream. And he wants Neuvillette to understand that, no, he doesn’t need to do any of this. He wants to do it. Wants to lavish attention on Neuvillette’s body, wants to worship it and the man within it. Neuvillette is comfortable with these changes, likes these changes, and Wriothesley has already grown used to them. Now, he wants to make sure Neuvillette knows that he’s comfortable, too, and that Neuvillette is still beautiful to him. Still desirable to him.

Sovereigns, Neuvillette will never be anything but desirable to him.

Wriothesley suckles harder, pulling more liquid into his mouth and swallowing eagerly. He releases Neuvillette’s breast, smoothing his hand down and over Neuvillette’s belly, stroking over it with long and lingering caresses.

Beneath him, Neuvillette writhes. His fingers clutch at Wriothesley’s hair, tugging gently, and he mewls plaintively. 

Wriothesley’s hand rubs over the underside of Neuvillette’s stomach, drifting lower and lower until he can wrap his fingers around Neuvillette’s cock. Neuvillette is rock hard, slick with precum, hot as a brand against Wriothesley’s palm. As he strokes his hand down Neuvillette’s length, Neuvillette arches, back bowing, and he cries out Wriothesley’s name with a tenor that tells Wriothesley he’s on the edge.

Suckling harder on Neuvillette’s breast, he starts a brisk pace with his hand. Neuvillette’s hips snap into the touch, rolling in a perfect rhythm. He keens and whines, fucking hard into Wriothesley’s hand, and Wriothesley, suddenly, can’t stand the idea of not having Neuvillette’s cum in his mouth.

Pulling back, still stroking Neuvillette, he takes in the sight of his husband sprawled across the bed. Reddened cheeks, milk leaking from his breasts, round belly, hard cock in Wriothesley’s hand. He’s beautiful. He’s stunning. He’s everything Wriothesley wants and adores and loves.

Wriothesley slips down the bed, bending to press open-mouthed kisses to Neuvillette’s pregnant belly. His lips brush across Neuvillette’s skin, tender caresses he hopes will convey all his sentiments. That he wants to love Neuvillette for the rest of their lives, that he wants to cherish Neuvillette and whatever young grow inside him. No one is more important to him than Neuvillette is, and he would lay down his own happiness in service of Neuvillette’s every time.

Settling between Neuvillette’s legs, Wriothesley eases one over his shoulder. 

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette pants, pushing himself onto his forearms. “Wriothesley, you—” 

But Wriothesley already has Neuvillette’s cock in his mouth, and Neuvillette’s words break into a needy whine. He falls back to the bed as his hips arch, driving his cock deep. Wriothesley relaxes his throat as quickly as he can, letting Neuvillette fuck deep into him, letting Neuvillette find the pleasure he’s so desperately chasing. 

Precum drips onto his tongue, and it tastes so similar to Neuvillette’s milk. Spring-fresh, sun-warmed, sweet with a familiar, underlying bitterness. 

He wants Neuvillette to come for him. He wants to be inside Neuvillette. He wants so much, with a desperation that borders on madness.

He swallows around Neuvillette’s cock, one hand curved over Neuvillette’s belly. Neuvillette’s hand finds his, too, and he laces their fingers, clutching at Wriothesley as he thrusts hard into Wriothesley’s mouth and down his throat. Wriothesley takes it, almost certain that Neuvillette is barely coherent now. Instinct drives his husband, and Wriothesley is more than willing to take that instinct, however rough and violent it may be, in service of Neuvillette’s pleasure. 

Suckling, licking, he lavishes Neuvillette’s cock with attention, his own aching as he grinds it into the mattress beneath him. He’s so hard he hurts, his mind cloudy with the need to be inside his husband, but not yet.

“Please, please,” Neuvillette whines, squeezing Wriothesley’s hand harder. “Close, I’m so close, I’m…” 

When Neuvillette comes, it’s wonderful, it’s perfect. His cock is deep in Wriothesley’s throat, but not so deep he can’t taste the freshwater sweetness of it. He suckles on Neuvillette through Neuvillette’s orgasm, prolonging it for as long as he can, making Neuvillette writhe on the sheets beneath them both until Neuvillette collapses with what he hopes is a pleasant exhaustion. 

“Please,” he whines again, his grip on Wriothesley’s hand relenting. “Inside me, I—” 

Wriothesley sits up, leaning over Neuvillette, mindful of his stomach, and presses a kiss to his parted lips. “Don’t hold back.”

“You might not… you might not like what I want to say.”

Wriothesley’s heart breaks, just a little. “Neuvillette. I love you with everything I am. Trust that I won’t reject you, yeah?” 

Neuvillette swallows, eyes wet with unshed tears. “I… I want you inside me to… to breed me.” 

And, see, the great thing is that Neuvillette has nothing to worry about, because that goes straight to Wriothesley’s cock in a way that’s incredibly unexpected. “Yeah?” he asks, low and husky, brushing his lips across Neuvillette’s. “You want me to breed you? Fill you up with even more eggs?” 

Neuvillette’s eyes go glassy and dark. He clutches at Wriothesley’s shoulders, whining urgently. “Yes, yes.”

It’s amazing how hard that makes Wriothesley, how desperately he wants to get into Neuvillette and fuck him to satisfaction. He wanted to curve behind Neuvillette’s back, the two of them on their sides, and fuck his husband to another two or three orgasms, but Neuvillette wants to see him. 

“Then climb onto my lap again,” Wriothesley says, pulling away. He places a guiding hand on Neuvillette’s shoulder, urging him up. Neuvillette moves quickly, all but scrambling to his knees. 

He’s astride Wriothesley a moment later, hands clutching Wriothesley’s shoulders once more, his eyes dazed. “Please,” he whimpers.

“I’ve got you.” Wriothesley runs his hands over Neuvillette’s thighs, his ass. He dips one hand between Neuvillette’s legs, his fingers finding Neuvillette’s hole. Slick fluid drips from Neuvillette’s skin, thick and viscous and tackier than the Hydro they used to use. While the Hydro ensured lube was never an issue for them, Wriothesley can admit to himself that this is the most delightful of Neuvillette’s changes. “One day, I’m going to eat you out,” he says, pressing two fingers into Neuvillette’s loose hole.

Neuvillette’s eyes flutter shut. His head falls back. He moans, low and sweet.

“I’m going to put your legs over my shoulders and lick all this slick off your skin. I’m going to fuck you with my tongue and then a dildo until you make more of it. Then I’m going to lick that up, too, before I fuck you.” 

Neuvillette keens, fingernails pricking at Wriothesley’s skin, cutting deep crescents into his flesh. “Yes,” he moans. 

“But today, I’m just going to breed you full.” Shit, this is so hot. Wriothesley doesn’t get why it’s so hot, but it is. It really fucking is. “I’m going to fill you with all my cum.” Neuvillette sobs, grinding onto Wriothesley’s fingers, and Wriothesley’s cock aches in time with his pounding pulse. “Make sure all those eggs are fertilized for you.” A little wail spills from Neuvillette, making Wriothesley impossibly harder. 

Neuvillette’s fucked himself with the dildo so frequently that his hole is already loose and soft, which means Wriothesley doesn’t need to spend much time preparing him. That doesn’t matter to him. He wants to take his time preparing his husband, and he pushes his fingers deep to pull them over Neuvillette’s prostate. 

Whining, Neuvillette rolls his hips into Wriothesley’s touch. His cock, spent just moments ago, is already stirring, hardening. He’s always had a short refractory period, but it’s even shorter now, and that, too, is something Wriothesley really likes. More opportunities to wring orgasms from Neuvillette, more opportunities to satisfy him over and over until he’s boneless and exhausted. 

There’s a small fear that he won’t be able to satisfy Neuvillette ever again, but he shoves that from his mind. This can be a test, one of many, to prove out the hypothesis that Wriothesley can still satisfy his husband. 

 Deeper, Wriothesley presses his fingers deeper, pulling them over Neuvillette’s prostate again, again. Neuvillette bucks against him, head lolling forward until he leans against Wriothesley’s shoulder, still clutching him. He whines, rutting against Wriothesley as best he can with his stomach between them. 

“Please, please. Wriothesley, please.” 

Wriothesley finds Neuvillette’s cock with his free hand, rubbing his knuckles back and forth over the hardening shaft, teasing his husband until Neuvillette is half out of his mind with it, until his pleas become senseless whines for more. Only then does Wriothesley take his own cock in hand and push it slowly into Neuvillette’s ass.

It’s good. Oh, Sovereigns, it’s even better than he remembered. Neuvillette is hot and tight around him, clenching even tighter as Wriothesley flexes his hips to push deep. Filling Neuvillette like this feels like coming home, like completion. He curves one hand around the back of Neuvillette’s neck, holding him close as he pants hot breath on Wriothesley’s shoulder. 

“That’s it,” Wriothesley croons. “You’re taking me so good.” Neuvillette mewls, shifting backwards, taking Wriothesley deeper still. “Fuck, Neuvillette, you feel so good.” 

Neuvillette’s hands pull down Wriothesley’s chest. “Feels… feels so…” He turns his face into the curve of Wriothesley’s neck, raking his teeth over Wriothesley’s skin.

Groaning, Wriothesley grips Neuvillette’s hips. He urges Neuvillette to move, letting him take the lead. “You wanna bite me?” 

Neuvillette’s only answer is a high-pitched sound of need.

“It’s okay,” Wriothesley says, panting. His hips flex and roll, pushing his cock deeper into Neuvillette’s ass. Fuck, but Neuvillette is so hot. He’s a furnace squeezing Wriothesley so good. “Bite me, Neuvillette. It’s okay. I want it.” 

Neuvillette bites gently, not breaking skin, just holding it between his teeth, and a jolt of pleasure ricochets through Wriothesley’s body. His cock twitches inside of Neuvillette, and Neuvillette keens. He doesn’t bite, though. He continues mouthing Wriothesley neck as they move together, Neuvillette bouncing on Wriothesley’s cock as Wriothesley fucks him. Wriothesley’s hands urge Neuvillette back and forth, adjusting the angle of their bodies until each rock of Neuvillette’s hips has Wriothesley’s cock hitting his prostate. 

As Neuvillette’s muffled cries grow louder, Wriothesley reaches between them. He takes Neuvillette’s cock in hand, stroking in time with the rocking of their bodies, and Neuvillette sobs his name into the crook of his neck. 

Wriothesley loses himself in the back and forth, in the slick glide of his cock inside of Neuvillette and Neuvillette cock across his palm. He’s missed this, has missed being in Neuvillette’s arms and being with Neuvillette, and now he has it, he feels so complete. Like this, he knows everything is going to be okay between them. There will certainly be more setbacks, but they’re together. They’re together .

He clings to Neuvillette, mindful of his pregnant stomach, clutching Neuvillette to him as Neuvillette nips and nibbles at his throat. “Bite me,” he says again, desperate for it, needing it, needing to give Neuvillette something that doesn’t matter to humans but certainly must matter to dragons.

Neuvillette whines.

Wriothesley strokes his cock harder, faster.

Neuvillette’s body seizes. He gasps, presses his mouth to Wriothesley’s throat, and bites as he comes. He spills into Wriothesley’s hand, his body a vice around Wriothesley’s cock, and it’s been so long and it feels so good that Wriothesley can’t hold on. He doesn’t want to hold on. He comes with a low moan, too, his cum filling Neuvillette’s ass. He wanted to give Neuvillette more orgasms, but the pleasure of being with him was just too much. All of it is too much, the aching pain in his throat, the twitching pleasure of his cock, the vice-like heat of Neuvillette’s body.

Wrapping his arms around Neuvillette’s shoulders, he sags back against the headboard. “My love,” he murmurs, petting over Neuvillette’s hair, mindful of his rhinophores. He’s never liked Wriothesley petting them after sex. “My husband.” 

“Mine,” Neuvillette replies sleepily, lapping at Wriothesley’s neck. He’s bleeding, but he doesn’t care. It’ll stop soon enough, and the pull of Neuvillette’s rough tongue feels so nice. “Yours.” 

“Mm.” Wriothesley closes his eyes, exhaling heavily. “I love you so much, Neuvillette.” 

Neuvillette rumbles. “I love you, mate. Husband.” He lifts himself up, resting his forehead against Wriothesley’s. “My Wriothesley.” He hesitates, swallowing hard. “I… Perhaps this is not the best time, but I am relieved you truly aren’t disgusted by me.”

“Never,” Wriothesley says, pressing both hands to Neuvillette’s stomach. “Never.”

“We will need to talk about this.” Neuvillette folds his hands over Wriothesley’s own.

Wriothesley gives him a lopsided smile. “In the morning,” he says.

“In the morning,” Neuvillette agrees.

They don’t talk about the eggs in the morning. They don’t talk about the eggs for the next several days. Not because they’re avoiding the topic but because they’re too busy rediscovering each other. They air out the bedroom and work together to do the laundry, they spend time reading aloud to each other in the evenings, and they delve into the broadsheets in the mornings. Neuvillette slowly wraps himself around current events but is largely relieved that he doesn’t need to participate in them quite yet. Wriothesley explains that they’ve concocted an elaborate farce to cover for his absence, that the Chief Justice is currently recovering from an illness both protracted and unexpected, unique to his species. The farce is closer to the truth than Neuvillette suspects most people realize.

A week later, as he and Wriothesley settle in for a quiet evening in their sitting room, Neuvillette decides he’s ready to broach the topic of his eggs. There is, of course, no subtle way to bring up the conversation, so Neuvillette decides to be direct.

“Is now an appropriate time to discuss my pregnancy?” he asks.

Wriothesley, who has been tinkering with a cuckoo clock, looks up from the mess he’s made of their coffee table, visibly surprised. “Now?” He looks at all his work.

“Perhaps not,” Neuvillette says.

“No! No, I mean. Now’s fine. Unexpected, but fine.” Wriothesley laughs, wiping his hands on a towel and rising from the floor. “There’s probably no perfect time anyway, right?” He eases onto the couch, draping his arm across the back in blatant invitation, and Neuvillette immediately slides across the couch to lean against his side. “Where do you want to start?” 

Neuvillette tucks his feet beneath himself and rests one hand on his stomach. “I admit that I’m not sure.” He’s been ruminating on this topic in his quiet moments, late at night when he lays awake, and early in the morning, when he rises before Wriothesley, but he has come to no profound revelations. “Perhaps… Do you think it strange that I don’t resent this pregnancy?” 

Wriothesley’s chest catches. “I don’t know that my opinion about your feelings counts for much,” Wriothesley replies. “Is this where I ask you how you really feel?” 

“You’ve been reading too many books on psychology,” Neuvillette drawls, tipping his head back so he can look at Wriothesley’s face.

Wriothesley grins down at him. “A few, here and there.” They both know Wriothesley’s been consuming plenty of books on how to help someone process and deal with the kind of trauma Neuvillette has endured, but Neuvillette isn’t ready to talk about most of the details. Not yet.

The pregnancy is harder to avoid. 

“How I really feel…” Neuvillette laces his fingers together and leans his head on Wriothesley’s shoulder. “Sometimes, I wonder if my feelings are confused from the Doctor’s… treatments.” He licks his lips. “The drugs as well as the experiments. That these things have made something unreal real.” His brows draw together. “But that seems a critique on the nature of reality rather than my feelings.” 

“Sounds kind of like you don’t know if your feelings are real,” Wriothesley says.

“Yes,” Neuvillette agrees. “Yes, I suppose that is a not inconsiderable part of the current situation. Do I feel the way I do because those are my genuine feelings or because the Doctor has changed me and forced me to feel this way?” He reaches for Wriothesley’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

Wriothesley gives him a little squeeze. “So, then, how do you feel? Real or otherwise.” 

Neuvillette hesitates. Words clog his throat, and fear paralyzes his lungs. Wriothesley has been so patient with him, so understanding, but now he wonders if they haven’t had this conversation yet out of an unconscious need to avoid it. Or, perhaps, out of Neuvillette’s own fear of rejection. He lowers his head and closes his eyes. Despite himself, he tenses, and he regrets sitting so close to Wriothesley, now. There’s nowhere for him to hide. 

“Neuvillette?” 

“I’m afraid you will ask me to give up the pregnancy,” Neuvillette says at last. “Or that if I want to keep these eggs, you will reject them and me.”

“Well, shit,” Wriothesley says. “Shit,” he says again. “I don’t really know what to say to that.” 

“I’ve hurt you.” Which is the last thing Neuvillette wanted, but honesty compelled him to tell Wriothesley the truth.

Wriothesley squeezes his hand again but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, kind of,” he says, and Neuvillette trills mournfully. “It hurts that you think I’d reject you, Neuvillette.” 

“Would you? If I wanted to keep the pregnancy?” 

“I—” Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath. “Shit.” He lets out a quavering laugh.

Gravity is suddenly too much. Neuvillette droops. “I understand, of course. The eggs aren’t yours, and the method of their creation is wholly unpalatable. Asking you to live with such a thing is—” 

“I didn’t say I’d reject you,” Wriothesley says softly. He pushes a bunch of pillows against the arm of the couch and then swings around, resting against them and pulling Neuvillette against his chest. Pliant, Neuvillette allows this, too desperate for the comfort to reject it. Wriothesley wraps his arms around Neuvillette’s shoulders and presses a chaste, reassuring kiss to the curve of Neuvillette’s neck. “You want to keep the eggs, don’t you?” 

Neuvillette stares at his own hands. “I do,” he admits in a bare whisper. “And that must seem horrible to you.”

“No,” Wriothesley says. “It doesn’t seem horrible. But you know that’s not your only option, right?” 

“You’re suggesting I terminate them.” Neuvillette presses his hands to his stomach, his eyes losing focus, his breath coming in shallower pants. This terrifies him, and he doesn’t know if that terror is a genuine emotion or one the Doctor cultivated within him, which terrifies him even more.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Wriothesley replies ever so gently. “This decision? It’s wholly yours, Neuvillette. What you want to do is up to you.”

Neuvillette makes a soft noise of protest. “You’re my mate.”

“I am, but I…” Wriothesley’s body trembles. “I wasn’t involved in this. So, at the end of the day, my opinion is mine, and I’ll give it to you if you want it, but the choice is yours. I swear to you that I only wanted to remind you that you do have a choice. Not keeping them is one choice. It’s also not the one you have to choose.”

Neuvillette rubs his belly, the gesture protective. “When I think about keeping the eggs, I don’t know if that desire is from some instinct the Doctor has awakened within me, primitive and purely about survival, or if it’s because I truly want them. I am, after all, the Font of all Waters. Creating life is well within my purview and portfolio, and I have…” He smiles, soft and warm. “I have always wanted children of my own. The Melusines are wonderful, of course, but I… I have wanted to create, with my own body. Something that, before the Doctor, would have been nearly impossible.” Wriothesley is quiet behind him, and Neuvillette’s skin prickles with unease. “You don’t like this explanation.” 

With a heavy sigh, Wriothesley rests his head on Neuvillette’s shoulder. “It’s not that. It’s more… I guess I don’t understand it. I gave up on having a family a long time ago. Didn’t think I’d ever find someone I’d want one with, and after, you know, everything with my adopted parents…” He shrugs. “I’ve always thought I’m too fucked up for kids.” 

Neuvillette turns in Wriothesley’s arms, going to his knees on the couch between Wriothesley’s legs. “You aren’t,” he insists. “You would be a wonderful father.” His smile is sad. “Though now I fear I’m trying to convince you to support me. I have no desire to terminate this pregnancy, Wriothesley.” 

Reaching out, Wriothesley cups Neuvilletet’s cheek. “Alright, then,” Wriothesley says.

“It cannot be so easy,” Neuvillette says.

Wriothesley’s smile is also sad. “It isn’t. It won’t be. I’m scared, too. Everything the Doctor did to you makes me so fucking mad, and my fear is that I’ll hate whatever hatches from those eggs. Hell, Neuvillette, we don’t even know what’s going to come out of them.” 

No, they don’t. Neuvillette’s expression falls, and he looks away. “Perhaps I’m being shortsighted. Perhaps termination…” 

“I’m not trying to talk you into anything you don’t want,” Wriothesley says. “This whole situation is a whole lot of fucked up, right?” Neuvillette nods, glancing at Wriothesley, whose expression is fierce but fiercely protective. “I hate that we’re having this conversation. I hate that you have to make this decision and that we have to be worried about what those eggs might turn into. But if you want to keep them, then I’m going to do my godsdamn best to support you, you hear me?” Wriothesley drops his hand and takes both of Neuvillette’s, bearing them to his lips to kiss Neuvillette’s knuckles. “I love you, Neuvillette. I love you , and I want to be with you, no matter what. The rest… we’ll figure it out.”

Neuvillette brightens, his rhinophores lifting off his head. “You are genuine,” he says.

With a snort and a little roll of his eyes, Wriothesley leans forward, taking Neuvillette in a hug. “Of course I am.” 

“You will help me with this.” 

“I will.”

Transcendent happiness fills Neuvillette, an effusive joy that belies understanding. For the first time since escaping the Doctor, he is incandescently happy. “Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely, and he falls into Wriothesley’s arms as he begins to cry. His happiness turns to relief, and he weeps with it before swinging back to joy, whereupon he takes Wriothesley’s face in his hands and kisses his him repeatedly until Wriothesley, too, is laughing.

“Sigewinne’s coming by tomorrow,” Wriothesley reminds him. “To check in on you.”

“I will let her know my decision,” Neuvillette says. He pauses. “Our decision?” 

Wriothesley smiles at him. “Our decision,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to Neuvillette’s mouth.

Sigewinne finishes her examination and steps back, standing at the side of the bed with an expression that has dread creeping down Wriothesley’s spine. If she had good news, it would’ve spilled out of her. Her silence is telling.

“Sigewinne,” Neuvillette says, prompting.

Sigewinne removes her gloves, stuffing one into the other. “You’re very healthy, Monsieur,” she says, her sudden smile nowhere close to reaching her eyes.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, Wriothesley knows exactly what she isn’t say. And Neuvillette knows it, too. His expression stiffens.

“But, I’m afraid the eggs…” She glances briefly at Wriothesley before looking back to Neuvillette. “Your eggs aren’t.” 

Wriothesley eases onto the bed. He stayed out of it to give Sigewinne her space. Now, he folds himself around a frozen Neuvillette. 

“What do you mean?” Neuvillette asks, sounding terrifyingly fragile. Wriothesley wraps an arm around Neuvillette’s shoulder as if that will protect him. “What do you mean, Sigewinne?” 

Sigewinne is a good nurse, a compassionate one. She clasps her hands in front of her and meets Neuvillette’s eyes when she says, “The eggs are all already gone, Monsieur. They are, all of them, stillborn. There’s no life in them.” 

The howl that claws out of Neuvillette’s throat is inhuman and terrible. He collapses in on himself, crumpling around his stomach, and Wriothesley folds himself over Neuvillette’s back, clinging to him as if that will help. It won’t. Nothing will. 

Neuvillette howls again, the sound so horrible and full of pain that Wriothesley… Wriothesley has so many directionless feelings and he doesn’t know what to do with any of them. Shared grief. Anguish. Regret. Fury. So much fury at the Doctor. He wants, not for the first time, to find where the Harbingers have locked the Doctor up, for he’s surely not dead, and he wants to tear the man to pieces. 

“What do we do?” Wriothesley asks, because Neuvillette is in no state to ask anything. “How does he…” Wriothesley flounders. He doesn’t know anything about birth, never mind birthing eggs.

Sigewinne’s expression is pained, now. “I think they’ll come naturally. Right now, his Authority is trying to revitalize them.” She glances aside, and Wriothesley figures out what she isn’t saying. Neuvillette’s Authority is trying to undo the destruction it wrought. 

Neuvillette sobs, his whole body shaking, and Wriothesley bundles him closer. 

Sigewinne continues, “If it doesn’t work, they’ll come on their own.”

“Will it work?” Wriothesley asks, sharper than he means to be. He rocks back and forth, taking Neuvillette with him, and Neuvillette turns into him, sobbing against his chest.

Sigewinne’s rhinophores droop, and he has his answer. “No,” she says quietly. “I don’t believe it will.” She reaches for her bag. “I’ll go, Your Grace. Monsieur.” She gives them both a bobbled little bow, as if either of them has ever stood on ceremony, and slips out the door. She doesn’t shut it, but it doesn’t matter. A minute later, Wriothesley hears the front door open and shut, and then they’re alone in their grief. 

His own pain is a surprise. He meant what he told Neuvillette just yesterday: he’ll support Neuvillette in his choice, but he hadn’t wanted the eggs. Hadn’t wanted the reminder of what Neuvillette went through, certain he’d blame whatever creatures hatched from the eggs for Neuvillette’s pain and suffering. The eggs’ deaths should be a relief. Instead, he aches for them, for whatever they might have been, for the lives he and Neuvillette will never get to meet. And he aches for Neuvillette, whose body heaves with each awful sob.

Neuvillette who only wanted to create life, to cherish it and nurture it.

Outside, rain pours.

Inside, Wriothesley rocks Neuvillette back and forth until Neuvillette’s gasping sobs subside, until Neuvillette is terrifyingly still. Another fear grips Wriothesley: that this was too much, that Neuvillette has retreated into himself and given up entirely.

“Neuvillette?” 

“What’s the point?” Neuvillette asks. He leans his head back, resting it on Wriothesley’s shoulder, staring with empty eyes at the ceiling. “If the eggs have died, what was the point of any of it? Of suffering the way I did?” 

Wriothesley swallows. He has no answers.

“What’s the point of surviving that destruction, that remaking, if the eggs are already dead? If my Authority is…” Neuvillette’s laughter is hollow, and he presses his hands to his face as he begins to weep again. 

Gods, there are no answers, but he desperately wishes he had at least one. He scours his mind for something, anything, but what is there to tell someone who has just lost not one child but many? There is no comfort for this loss.

Wriothesley presses Neuvillette’s face into his throat and rocks him. “I’m sorry,” he says, because there’s nothing else to say. “I’m so very sorry.” 

Neuvillette is a ghost for the next week, drifting silently through life. He doesn’t speak, not even when Wriothesley addresses him directly, and Wriothesley is terrified that he’s slid back to some point just after he was saved. But he walks. He drinks. He gets out of bed and moves around. He just doesn’t engage.

The books all tell Wriothesley it’s important to give Neuvillette support but that Neuvillette also needs space, so Wriothesley balances this as best he can by checking in with Neuvillette twice a day. Neuvillette doesn’t reply to him. Wriothesley isn’t alright with that, but nothing can be done, so he deals with it.

That doesn’t make it easy. Nothing about this is easy.

Wriothesley is alone in the sitting room one afternoon and he snaps the end off a screwdriver. Neuvillette won’t talk to him, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he has to be alright with everything that’s happening, that he has to be supportive and understanding, that he can’t be angry and upset and hurt, too. He shoves himself out of the armchair and rakes his hands through his hair, stalking across the sitting room.

He’s doing everything he can, and it’s not enough, and no one’s checking in on him. No one’s asking him how he’s doing. It’s not about him, he’s not the one who went through hell, but this is hell.

Neuvillette appears in the sitting room doorway, wearing nothing more than a long sleeping shirt. He stands there, and Wriothesley stares at him, wondering if this is how people begin to hate each other.

“I’m tired,” he says, the words clawing out before he can help them. “Neuvillette, I’m so tired. I’m doing everything I can, and it’s not enough. I’ve given up three months of my life—” He laughs bleakly, placing one hand on the back of the armchair and leaning heavily against it. “When do I get to be angry? When do I get to break down?” 

Neuvillette stands there for a long, long time, watching him and saying nothing. Finally, softly, he says, “I’m sorry, Wriothesley.” 

Those words cut Wriothesley open. He goes to his knees at Neuvillette’s feet, rests his forehead against Neuvillette’s thighs, and sobs out the poison of his grief and the resentment that has begun to fester. Neuvillette’s fingers slide into his hair, petting gently.

“This happened to both of us, didn’t it?” Neuvillette asks.

Wriothesley shakes his head. No, this happened to Neuvillette. But, maybe, there’s a kernel of truth in what Neuvillette is saying. Wriothesley wasn’t tortured and violated and broken for months, but he’s had to put Neuvillette together in the aftermath, and that has been its own torture. 

“I think,” Neuvillette says softly, threading his fingers through Wriothesley’s hair, “that we can both hurt. There is room for both of us to feel pain.” Slowly, Neuvillette kneels at Wriothesley’s side. For the first time since all of this started, Neuvillette embraces him.

Sagging into Neuvillette’s arms, Wriothesley wipes at his eyes. “I should be stronger. This isn’t… I shouldn’t…” 

“Today, we can grieve for what you lost. Tomorrow, we will grieve for what we both lost. Both of us have lost things in this.” Neuvillette rests his cheek on Wriothesley’s head. 

“What if you go away again?” Wriothesley asks.

Neuvillette makes a thoughtful sound. “I can’t promise that I won’t. But I will do my best not to. I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

Wriothesley’s arms wrap around Neuvillette’s waist, and they stay on the floor until Wriothesley’s knees begin to hurt.

They’re doing better. They are. Over the next week, they talk not just about what Neuvillette went through, but Wriothesley’s pain when he realized Neuvillette was gone, his desperate search and overturning of Fontaine, of his horror when they finally recovered Neuvillette. They share their pain. Neuvillette does everything he can to make room for Wriothesley, to let Wriothesley hurt, too. It’s not easy. Sometimes, Wriothesley shares pains that Neuvillette wants to retreat from, pains that cut into Neuvillette, too. But there is an even deeper intimacy in this sharing, and he won’t let the Doctor take it away from him. 

With time, it gets easier. Talking about what he went through gets easier. Hearing Wriothesley’s perspective and about the aftermath gets easier. 

They set aside two hours each day to have these conversations, and they usually take up all the time. It’s not to compartmentalize but rather to ensure they are both in the right headspace. There is no judgement between them. Or, at least, they both try to minimize moments of judgement and then work through them. It’s not easy, but they share a goal: to love each other better.

Neuvillette has built a nest for these conversations, a pile of pillows and blankets in the coziest corner of their sitting room. This is a new instinct, and of all his new instincts, he likes this one the best. It has improved him, he thinks as he settles into the comfortable pile, supporting his belly. 

During the Doctor’s numerous tortures, he ran from the truth. Now, he forces himself to acknowledge it: the eggs inside him are dead. He can grieve their deaths. He should grieve their deaths. He will not run from it. There will be more sadness when he finally lays them, but that sorrow is for later. He lets it pass through him, for now, and he smiles at Wriothesley as Wriothesley joins him, sitting across from him.

“Hey, love,” Wriothesley says. They trade kisses, a part of this ritual. They start and end with kisses, a way to reaffirm to each other that they both are still very much in love.

“My mate,” Neuvillette replies.

Wriothesley settles in the pile of pillows, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “I’ve got something I want to talk about,” he says. “Do you? Do you want to go first?” 

Neuvillette shakes his head. “No. Please.” 

Wriothesley clears his throat. There’s a nervous energy about him that Neuvillette has grown used to. Wriothesley, who is unpracticed in these conversations, is as uncomfortable talking about his feelings as Neuvillette is. They give each other space, always, patiently waiting. 

Finally, Wriothesley says, “It’s about the eggs,” which is a prevarication. They’ve talked at length about the eggs, and while Neuvillette isn’t at peace, he is better.

“That’s fine,” Neuvillette says, reassuring. He takes a steadying breath all the same. Just because he’s better doesn’t mean this is easy. 

Wriothesley nods. “I was thinking about how much you wanted them, right? And how upset you were when Sigewinne told us they weren’t viable.” He rubs his hands together, worrying them. “I’ve… I’ve been thinking about this a lot, actually, so I don’t really expect you to respond immediately. Alright?” 

Neuvillette lifts a brow. This is quite a bit of prevarication. Wriothesley is rarely so verbose. “Alright.” 

“You really wanted these eggs,” Wriothesley continues. “Want these eggs.”

Yes, Neuvillette had wanted them. Does want them. The pain of not being able to have them even while carrying them is intense. 

“And, more than that, you want a family. One that’s really yours.” 

Neuvillette inclines his head. He has the Melusines, of course, and they are wonderful daughters, but it’s not quite the same. 

“So,” Wriothesley says. “So. I’ve been thinking.” He shifts, clearly uncomfortable. Then he bows his head, closes his eyes, and says in a rush, “What if we adopt?” 

A trill of surprise escapes Neuvillette before he can stop it. These more animal sounds embarrass him when he is in his right mind, and he prefers to minimize them when he can. 

“I know that you’ve essentially adopted the Melusines,” Wriothesley’s saying, “and that the eggs fulfill a biological need to create life, and that adoption doesn’t do that. But if you want a family, and since we don’t know how the eggs work or if you could have more eggs, maybe we could…” He loses steam. “We could adopt.” 

He wants to say no. The word is on his lips almost without his control, and he swallows it back at the last possible second, with his mouth already open to speak it.

“It’s alright if you hate the idea,” Wriothesley says, finally looking at Neuvillette again. “I understand. Lots of people want biological children so much that adoption is hard to consider. And if you’re there, then—” 

“Perhaps,” Neuvillette says gently, “you should not speak for me?” 

“Sorry.” Wriothesley lapses into silence. 

And Neuvillette immediately feels badly for his words no matter how kindly they were delivered. “Don’t make excuses for me, either.” He sighs. “Can I ask for time to consider your question?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” But Wriothesley looks so defeated.

Neuvillette places his hand on Wriothesley’s knee. “Let me be truthful with you: there is a part of me that doesn’t want to adopt. I have the Melusines, and they already fill that niche for me. But more than that, I am concerned I wouldn’t be able to love a human child.” With his free hand, he holds his belly. “I was in love with my eggs. I want them so very much. A human child… Would a human child simply be a replacement? Would I resent that child for not being my own?” Tears burn Neuvillette’s eyes, and he lets them fall. “I could not do that to a child, but I think this is an impulsive reaction. Let me consider your question.” 

Wriothesley’s smile is tentative. Hopeful. “I get it,” he says. “You’ve heard me on this topic before. I’m so afraid I’d make a shit dad.” He laughs, mirthless, but it’s not a cruel sound. “Take the time you need. We have time. We can wait.”

Neuvillette squeezes Wriothesley’s knee. “Thank you.” 

Wriothesley has returned to work now that Neuvillette is self-sufficient and no longer retreats into himself. They both trust Neuvillette not to lose himself if Wriothesley isn’t there, which gives Neuvillette plenty of time to think, as he promised Wriothesley he would.

He has found pleasure in these last few weeks in planting and growing flowers. So far, only the smallest of buds have emerged from the dirt, but they give him hope. Just as they grow fresh, so must he.

In the interest of embracing newness, he has given much consideration to Wriothesley’s proposal. It’s true that he has always wanted children of his own body, and there is always the possibility that he can make more eggs. Sigewinne has come by again. She believes he will now be plagued by an estrous cycle and produce eggs regularly, but she isn’t sure. This is unprecedented ground. Not only is he a Dragon in human form, but he has been experimented upon so much that he is now less human than ever. No one can say what he really is, not anymore, perhaps not even the Doctor.

So, perhaps he will make more eggs. Perhaps a human like Wriothesley could even fertilize them. They don’t know, and they won’t know until everything happens. Sigewinne has offered to draw up a plan for a prospective estrous cycle, and he’s allowed it, keenly aware of how carefully she didn’t call any of this an experiment.

Creating fresh eggs, eggs that Wriothesley might be able to fertilize, fills him with an aching sort of hope. There is a slim chance, for even Sigewinne admitted cross-species fertilization is unlikely, that he could in fact have a child from his own body. He wants to cling to that hope, but he knows better than most the danger of false hope. 

If he clings too much to this and his body doesn’t produce eggs, or if they can’t be fertilized by a human man, then he will almost certainly turn to resentment and bitterness. To hope too strongly is too cruel a thing.

The alternative is not having children at all, to deny himself entirely. He has the Melusines. Should they not be enough? But he didn’t raise them, they were never babies and children in need of rearing. Innocent souls that needed instruction, yes, and he guided them, but they emerged into the world fully formed with their own, unique cognition. He wants too strongly to raise a child up from infancy, he realizes, to help mold a mind into the best version of itself, to give someone every opportunity. 

Not having children at all would be anathema to him.

Then he must either hope for his eggs, and hoping, as he has already figured, could destroy him, or he must accept Wriothesley’s proposal.

In the quiet, alone with his plants, he admits to himself that he is afraid. Not just that he could never love a human child the way he has loved his eggs, but that he could never love any child again. Sometimes, he sits in the sitting room window, rubbing his belly and singing to his dead children, and he loves them so much his heart aches. These eggs should have been an impossible gift, the thing that made all of the Doctor’s torments worth it. Instead, he’s been left with yet one more horror.

Maybe it’s better this way. Better that the eggs are already dead. Maybe he put too much hope into them, too much expectation. There are human children who collapse under the weight of their parents’ expectations, and he doesn’t want to do that to any child.

Would he do that to an adopted child? Weigh them down with his expectations? What are his expectations? What does he want from a child, and is he right to want anything? How can he be a parent when he doesn’t remember his own, if ever he even had them? And what of Wriothesley’s own fears?

But Wriothesley has insisted his past pains can be overcome.

Neuvillette wonders if he can overcome his own pains or if a human child would forever be a reminder of these lost eggs. How unfair that would be to any child.

He tries to imagine what a human child would be like. Perhaps not an infant, but a toddler. A creature that can barely manage their own limbs, teetering through the house on unsteady feet while making barely understandable demands. They would need to wrap the sharp corners on a few tables to prevent the child from knocking their head. There are cords, too, that would need to be tucked away so no overeager fingers pull at them.

And would it not be at least pleasant to have a child cling to his pants, riding on his foot as he went from cryobox to cabinet to pour himself water for breakfast? Would it not be somewhat adorable to see Wriothesley toss a child in the air, catch them, and then coo with delight?

As he moves through his home, he imagines a child following him, asking to be picked up. He imagines holding them in his arms, and their sticky hands on his face, for children, he has read, always have sticky hands. He imagines a child climbing into the bed he shares with Wriothesley on lazy weekend mornings and reading to a child before bed. He stands in the bathroom and pictures bathtime with rubber ducks and bubbles, him and Wriothesley both in a tub with their child, rubbing them clean.

He finds himself, one afternoon, standing in front of the empty guest rooms. He has always meant to furnish the room and turn it into a small library to expand the one in the sitting room, but he’s never had a chance. Now, Neuvillette lingers in the doorway and imagines a bright, plush carpet. Walls painted a cheerful, sunny yellow. A crib, a rocking chair. A box full of stuffies and other toys. 

He lays a hand over his stomach, over the eggs that will never be, and he thinks, for the first time, of the future.

“Wriothesley,” he says that night as they sit at the dining room table and Wriothesley eats his meal and Neuvillette sips on water. 

Wriothesley looks up. “Yeah?” 

“I think I would like to adopt,” Neuvillette says, and Wriothesley’s face explodes in the most beautiful smile Neuvillette has ever seen.

Chapter Text

Neuvillette wakes in the middle of the night to a persistent pressure low in his abdomen and sweat coating his skin. His cock is hard, and he’s hot and flushed. Groaning, he rolls from his side to his back, one hand pressing against the side of his stomach. Slick drips along his thighs, and his hole clenches on nothing. Empty. He’s so empty.

Fear seizes him. No. No, he’s not that person. He’s not that mindless creature existing only to be filled. He’s not. 

And he isn’t. He breathes deep and realizes the needy ache within him isn’t an all-consuming madness. But it is extremely pressing.

“Neuvillette?” Wriothesley’s voice is groggy, thick with residual sleep.

Neuvillette whines, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wriothesley rolls over. In the darkness, he finds Neuvillette’s hand and takes it in his own, lifting Neuvillette’s knuckles to his lips. “What’s going on?” 

Neuvillette takes several shallow breaths as a wave of need crashes down on him. “I don’t know,” he says. “I feel—I feel like I did before. When I was…” It’s still hard to talk about, but he tries. He tries so hard. “When I was with the Doctor.” He’s scared, he realizes. He’s as scared as he is aroused, terrified he’ll lose himself to the looming intensity of his own need.

Squeezing Neuvillette’s hand, Wriothesley presses closer. “It’s okay, right? I’ve got you, and you’re still with me. You’re not going anywhere, Neuvillette.”

Wriothesley, brilliant Wriothesley. Of course he knows, of course he sees through Neuvillette’s fears. “I don’t want to,” Neuvillette assures him, gasping as another wave of pure, vibrant desire crashes over him. 

“Can you tell me what you need?” Wriothesley asks.

What does he need? He isn’t sure. There’s a clawing urgency alongside the arousal, a pressing need to do something , but he doesn’t know what it is. “I…” He groans, rolling toward Wriothesley. 

Without hesitating, Wriothesley draws him close. Wriothesley’s free hand presses against the small of Neuvillette’s back, and Neuvillette wants it lower, wants those long, rough fingers pushing into him, fucking him, filling him, spreading him open so he can lay his eggs.

Oh. This is about the eggs. They need to come, and he needs to lay them. A sudden grief overwhelms him, the knowledge that they’ll be stillborn, but that’s not enough to dampen his arousal.

“The eggs,” he says, pushing himself to his knees. Wriothesley rises with him, steadying him. “They’re coming. It’s the eggs.” As he settles, the eggs inside him shift, pushing low against his pelvis, and Neuvillette sways forward with a low moan.

Wriothesley catches him. “Shit. Shit, I… Alright. Eggs.” He exhales a shaky laugh. “The Doctor’s notes didn’t have anything in them, so… We’re gonna make this up as we go.” 

Neither of them is particularly prone to improvisation, preferring orderly plans, but needs must, and Neuvillette has many needs that simply must. He groans softly, resting his forehead against Wriothesley’s shoulder. 

“There are so many,” he says, already uncomfortable from the amount of slick dripping from his hole. “This will be…” He pants, clutching at Wriothesley’s shoulders as an egg shifts inside him, pushing low in his pelvis, settling between his legs. The ache in his cock grows, and he burns with need and equal measures of shame and confusion. His ass clenches, and he is once more consumed by the feeling of emptiness and the need to be filled. This must be some kind of instinct, but he doesn’t know what to make of it. “This will be a mess,” he concludes, gasping, rolling his hips against Wriothesley’s.

“Then let’s not do this here,” Wriothesley says. “Come on.” He slides off the bed, pulling Neuvillette with him.

Whining softly, keening, Neuvillette follows Wriothesley to the bathroom. Each step is miserable, his knees buckling as the eggs, all twenty of them, continue to shift inside him. They are dead. This shouldn’t be pleasurable. He shouldn’t be hard and panting. But he is, and he is ashamed of it. At least he’s somewhat used to this miserable cocktail. Familiarity breeds contempt, but not enough to quash his erection.

Wriothesley pauses in the bathroom’s doorway, considering the room. Neuvillette stands at his side, trembling. One of the eggs slips lower inside him, and he collapses onto Wriothesley with a keening moan, grasping wildly at his arms. Grabbing him, supporting him, Wriothesley leads him to the claw-footed tub. “In,” he says, and Neuvillette climbs in, still dressed. He goes to his knees, shaking, and Wriothesley peels Neuvillette’s nightshirt over his head.

Naked, Neuvillette continues trembling, but he’s not cold. Fire burns through him, his cock throbbing. With a groan, he bends over, grasping the side of the tub.

Wriothesley turns on the taps, adjusting the temperature, and then stoppers the tub. A lukewarm water licks over Neuvillette’s toes, his ankles, his heels. 

“I read water helps pregnant women,” Wriothesley says, stripping off his pants. “Maybe it’s the same?” 

Neuvillette gives a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “I do not know.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Wriothesley climbs into the tub at Neuvillette’s back, rubbing his hand down Neuvillette’s spine, the warmth of his touch electric.

Crying out, Neuvillette’s back bows. He collapses against Wriothesley’s chest, still gripping the edges of the tub, and the eggs shift within him again. “More,” he gasps. His skin aches to be touched, and only Wriothesley will do.

“Anything,” Wriothesley says, and for a moment Neuvillette wants to cry. They’ve both suffered so much, gone through so much, and Wriothesley is still here. Neuvillette survived hell itself, came back broken, hasn’t been capable of doing much to support Wriothesley’s own pain, and Wriothesley remains at his side.

Many times, Wriothesley has expressed a belief that he doesn’t deserve Neuvillette. Right now, Neuvillette isn’t sure that he deserves Wriothesley. But love is not about what one does or doesn’t deserve. Love isn’t a scale to be balanced. 

Wriothesley’s hands cup Neuvillette’s breasts, pinching his engorged nipples, and Neuvillette sobs with relief. Milk spills from his tits and onto his belly, dripping into the water surrounding them, but the relief is exquisite. He sags against Wriothesley’s chest, his hips rolling, sloshing water along the side of the tub as Wriothesley palms his breasts. He coaxes more milk out of them, until what was thin and watery runs thick.

“Good?” Wriothesley asks.

“Yes,” Neuvillette pants, but it’s not enough. His cock aches, and the pressure in his abdomen builds. He needs these eggs, the last vestiges of the Doctor’s touch, out of him. “More.” He pulls away from Wriothesley, getting to his knees between Wriothesley’s thighs once more. This feels better, the pressure easing somewhat. “Wriothesley, more. I need…” He shudders, his cock twitching. “Stroke my cock. Please.” 

Wriothesley scrambles to his knees, plastering himself across Neuvillette’s back. “I’ve got you,” he promises, and though this is terrible and strange, Neuvillette believes him. Wriothesley will always keep Neuvillette in the shelter of his arms, and it’s there Neuvillette will always be safe.

Warm hands rub over Neuvillette’s stomach, and Wriothesley’s continued acceptance of him, of all of him, eases some of the anxiety churning in his gut. Wriothesley strokes lower, one hand wrapping around Neuvillette’s cock, and Neuvillette groans. 

“Like this?” Wriothesley asks, pumping his hand slowly.

Neuvillette whines, pleasure cutting through him. It’s a knife from his stomach to his sternum, laying him open and vulnerable and desperate for more. “Harder,” he demands, clutching the edges of the tub. The plaster cracks beneath his grip, but he barely notices except to think they can buy a new tub later.

Wriothesley’s fingers tighten around him, and Neuvillette cries out. The need building within him is so strong it hurts, but he forces himself to embrace the agony of it as Wriothesley strokes his already too-sensitive cock. Precum drips down his length, and Wriothesley smears it across his skin to make stroking him easier. 

Every pull of Wriothesley’s fist sends sweet agony through Neuvillette’s veins. He gasps with it, his hips jerking in time with Wriothesley’s hand. Pleasure builds and builds deep within him, a fire gone out of control, until he’s so hot he can’t think past the feeling of Wriothesley’s hand and the ecstasy of it, until he’s finally coming. 

The porcelain crumbles beneath his hands, and he releases it before it can cut him, his legs skating wide as his body seizes. The pulsing pleasure is so good, and he doesn’t think he should feel this way, not right now. But what he really feels and what he should feel are rarely aligned these days.

“Wriothesley,” he gasps.

Wriothesley keeps stroking him, pumping his cock, and it’s far too much. Neuvillette writhes, trying to escape Wriothesley’s grasp, his back arching as pleasure echoes through him. More cum dribbles from his cock as his body goes slack.

Something presses against his rim from the inside, and he reacts instinctively, squeezing internal muscles to push down on the eggs inside him. He groans, grabbing at Wriothesley’s wrist and the back of his neck. Clinging to Wriothesley, he focuses on the weight against his rim, and he squeezes again, pushing. 

The egg breaches his rim, stretching him wide, and it feels so good, it feels too good, it’s even better than Wriothesley’s cock inside him. He sobs, pushing the egg the rest of the way out. It plops into the water, splashing his thighs and ass, and the relief of having it out is eclipsed only by the aching arousal burning through him and the miserable realization that he has more of these dead things to lay.

With that first egg out of him, others tumble lower, filling him from the inside, and Neuvillette jerks almost violently as they knock into his prostate and roll against it. He mewls, and Wriothesley wraps around him.

“I’ve got you,” he says, his arms under Neuvillette’s, supporting him. “Keep going.” He rests one of his hands on the swell of Neuvillette’s belly, applying a gentle pressure that has Neuvillette crying out with pleasure. “Keep going, Neuvillette. You can do this.”

He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to lay these eggs in front of Wriothesley and reveal the depths of his shame, but he can’t stop himself. He needs them gone before they turn septic inside of him, even if he doesn’t want to do this in front of Wriothesley. 

Pulling against Wriothesley’s hold, he shakes his head. “Go,” he manages as another one of the eggs presses down on his rim.

“Not a chance,” Wriothesley replies. “We’re in this together.” 

Tears burn his eyes, relief and mortification, and he clutches at Wriothesley’s wrists. “Together.” 

Pushing out the second egg is easier work. It comes all at once, and his cock hardens almost immediately with its passing. The pleasure of it is so good he could cry, so he does, tears tracking down his cheeks. He sobs with the third, and wails with the fourth. He comes again with the fifth, and a third time with the sixth. 

He tries to count their passing, but his mind turns foggy and thick with pleasure. With each he pushes out of him, his stomach seems to contract, but he isn’t cogent enough to do any kind of volumetric math about it. Instead, he cries as he comes two more times with two more eggs, his cock limp and pathetic between his legs.

Wriothesley holds him. Wriothesley supports him, whispering words of encouragement without any trace of disgust. “You can do this,” he says. “I’m with you, I’ve got you. We can do this together.” 

Neuvillette pushes out more eggs, the stretch and flex of it making his rim burn. His pelvis begins to ache, and he feels a brief kinship with child-bearing humans, even if this is only a fraction of the pain of human childbirth. He groans and shudders through more orgasms, through orgasms that tear him apart from the inside and leave him disgusted with himself. These should be live children, but he’s coming over corpses, over the culmination of all the Doctor’s twisted experiments.

Worse, he likes it. The deepest parts of him exult in every egg laid, delighting in finally doing what he was made to do. 

His thighs shake and tremble. His knees hurt. The cushion of water isn’t enough to protect him from all his pains as he lays yet more eggs. His nails break the skin of Wriothesley’s wrists, and his knuckles scream in protest of his intense grip. Still, Wriothesley encourages him, whispering praise against his ear and kissing away the tears tracking down his cheeks.

Hiccups catch in his chest from all his sobbing, and Wriothesley presses one hand between Neuvillette’s swollen breasts. “Deep breaths,” he says.

He can’t take deep breaths, only shallow ones as he comes so hard he thinks he might be sick. The eggs roll inside him, grinding down on his prostate, and he comes yet more, until the pain in his cock is miserable and all his muscles burn. Agony radiates from his abused hole, and he whimpers as he leans his head on Wriothesley’s shoulder.

“Almost there,” Wriothesley says, and this time, he’s right.

Neuvillette bears down, and one last egg slides out of him. It hits the water hard, and Neuvillette’s legs give out. He sinks down, and Wriothesley goes with them. The water must be filthy, but he is too exhausted to care. Turning in Wriothesley’s arms, he goes boneless against Wriothesley’s chest.

Wriothesley wraps his arms around him.

Abruptly, all at once, overwhelmed and confused, aching with pain and lingering arousal, Neuvillette begins to cry. 

“Shh, shh,” Wriothesley murmurs. He bundles Neuvillette in his arms and rises from the tub. He dries them both off as Neuvillette stands there, shaking, still crying. Shock. He must be in shock, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He lets Wriothesley carry him back to their bed, lets Wriothesley tuck him into it. “The eggs,” he says through his tears.

“They can wait,” Wriothesley replies.

“But—”

“You’re more important.”

That makes Neuvillette cry harder. Those were supposed to be his young, his children, and they’re dead, they’re afterthoughts, they’ve been abandoned in lukewarm bathwater. He sobs for his children and for himself, for everything he’s lost, and Wriothesley holds him through it all.

Eventually, his tears subside. For the first time in months, he is well and truly empty. His stomach is still round and distended, but he feels hollow. His body aches with residual pains and arousal, and he lifts his face to Wriothesley’s. 

“Wriothesley,” he says, and Wriothesley knows him so well. Wriothesley rolls them to their sides, cradling Neuvillette in the crook of his arm, and kisses him. The kisses are soft and chaste. There’s no heat in them, and they provide a blanket of comfort. With his mouth on Neuvillette’s, Wriothesley wraps him in protection and warmth, easing the worst of the lingering arousal, banking it until it’s just the familiar, dull ache of a body too used.

When Neuvillette pulls back, Wriothesley lets him go, still just holding him.

In the darkness, in the stillness, Wriothesley begins to sing. Neuvillette, who has never bothered much with human music, is surprised to recognize the song. It’s a child’s lullaby. It’s the song Wriothesley sang to him when he was out of his mind, when he was hurting and lost within himself. It’s the song that brought him back. This, Neuvillette thinks, is what it means to be safe.

Over the next few weeks, Neuvillette’s body changes, but not as much as he expects it to. His breasts are no longer painfully swollen, but they will never again be flat pectorals. His belly shrinks day by day, and Sigewinne believes he could tone it flat again, but it’s still large enough that a human might think him in the fourth month of pregnancy. The layers of his robes hide the swell well enough, and so he returns to work, first one day and then two, slowly building to a full week. 

Sigewinne is convinced this will be the new normal for him, these softer features. She believes he will continue to have heat cycles like a vishap, and that his higher libido is a permanent fixture. But that libido doesn’t stay ravenously high. It subsides to the point where it matches Wriothesley’s, who was always more sexually inclined than Neuvillette, and they find that this change, at least, encourages their relationship in new and wonderful ways. They have sex more often, yes, and in creative places, but there’s a revelatory intimacy in it, in being close to Wriothesley, in wanting Wriothesley as much as Wriothesley wants him.

They share a curiosity for this heat cycle Sigewinne believes will persist. Neuvillette is apprehensive, but Wriothesley surprisingly optimistic. “If you’re as insatiable as you were when you first came home, we’ll have a problem,” Wriothesley says, laughing in a way that tells Neuvillette that Wriothesley considers this a minor problem, a mere inconvenience. “But we’ll figure it out. As long as we’re together, we’ll figure it all out.” 

Together, they muddle through their complicated emotions, maintaining their daily conversations in the nest Neuvillette built in the sitting room. He builds a secondary one in the bedroom and sometimes retreats there when he is feeling unmoored from himself, but he always comes back. He has resolved to himself that he won’t leave Wriothesley like he did for that one week, not ever again. He won’t abandon his mate. They won’t abandon each other, and they don’t.

For all they’ve gone through, they manage to forge their shared agony into stronger bonds of trust, of resilience, of trust. Of love. 

Neuvillette has never felt so loved as he does in these weeks, even when he and Wriothesley are separated by their work and their obligations. He is loved. Despite everything, because of everything, he is loved all the more.

 Perhaps, he thinks one evening as he sips his water and waits for Wriothesley to come home from work, there is more than enough love for him to share, too. Perhaps love is not so finite a thing that it can be used up. Perhaps he didn’t give all of it to the eggs he does still occasionally mourn. There is more love to be had. He has more to give.

When he returns home the next night, he does so with a large envelope, tied shut with a simple white string, in his hand. Undoing that string will change their lives. He doesn’t beat Wriothesley, who is already in the kitchen, barefoot and casual, when Neuvillette enters, still holding that envelope. 

Wriothesley spares it only a brief glance as he tosses spices onto whatever he’s making for his meal. Neuvillette has tried to understand human food and palates many times over the centuries, and each time has failed. “That looks important,” Wriothesley observes.

“It is,” Neuvillette says, unwinding the string. Perhaps he should wait, but he is giddy with excitement. He removes a thick sheaf of papers from the envelope, holding up the cover page so Wriothesley can read it. “This,” he says, “is our adoption application.” 

Wriothesley stares at him for a long moment before barking out a laugh. He holds up a hand, turning to the small table in their kitchen where they often take breakfast, and he holds up an envelope of his own, tied with a simple white string. His smile could light the night sky. “This must be what we’re doing tonight.” 

“Yes,” Neuvillette replies, his heart too full for words, with love for his husband and hope for the future. “Yes, it certainly is.”