Archive of Our Own ^beta

Carrying himself to a slow canter on deft feet, the large mottled beast stalks through the grass tracing a swaying path around the solitary home on the edge of the cliff faced forest. It smells warm, it smells like reprieve from the cold winds blowing outside. The large beast carries on his back swathes of fur but his feet are cold and tired.

Lifting his muzzle to the wind, the beast scents the air. It smells dormant and the cold is turning in. It’s all he needs to come to his decision.

The large beast scents the ground, looking for an opening. What he finds is a window with a crack in it large enough for his muzzle to slip under and push it open. Crawling through the window the large beast finds hesitation in his chest. All is quiet. The beast breathes, a short thing through his nose and then he limps over to shelter carrying with it a trail of iron.

The dark is inviting, a blanket that leaves the heaving beast’s chest to lower and sink into something calm, almost content, but the beast is no fool, there is no contentment in the wild. This is only a reprieve, he thinks, before he’s tucking his nose into his fur and coiling around his aching tired body.

Sipping on his water Neuvillette regards the large creature wrapped in fur tucked beneath his couch. The creature does not move from that spot, but its clear blue eyes peer from behind the darkness and Neuvillette holds its gaze with a matched curiosity.

It has been some time since he’s had the chance to return to his townhome, it is no surprise that someone else has decided to make use of it. Still, Neuvillette thinks with a slow cant of his lashes, the trail of blood is concerning.

There’s broken glass at the bottom of the window, laying across the floor like it was shattered by something with considerable strength. It could only be the doing of whatever is living beneath Neuvillette’s couch.

The creature doesn’t make to move, barely breathes. Neuvillette’s ears are quite good, inhumanly so, but even he is struggling to pick up the gasping breaths of the poor thing. It’s likely injured and yet it’s silent, like it’s used to injury.

Neuvillette’s heart makes a motion that aches.

It’s decided then, Neuvillette will have to coax the creature out from beneath its burrow to try and help it. Neuvillette may not be regarded as sympathetic by the humans of Fontaine, but he is fair to all creatures. This creature with its course black and tipped white mottled fur is no exception.

The creature does not move from its spot that night and when day breaks Neuvillette is begged to return to The Court. For now, he places the creature as a secondary concern and moves to pull himself through the motions of his duties.

The beast’s ear twitches at the sound of the door falling shut. It is a considerable moment before his breathing hollows into something neat and his skin is no longer tingling with the presence of something else in the room.

The beast does not move for some time, but slowly, as the silence persists, he tempts a short venture from his spot. Finding himself in a room that is larger in the daylight, the beast looks around, lashes catching on small details like a fireplace and an open kitchen and a hall that opens into a foyer.

The beast doesn’t dare stalk too far from his couch but he peeks into the foyer and watches the door in complete utter stillness for a large moment. His breath doesn’t dare shift as he stares, waiting.

Nothing happens, absolutely nothing.

The beast moves throughout the house, large figure casting shadows along the walls as evening tempts to crowd the windows through peeking curtains. There are several more rooms but none of them bear food of any kind or better shelter than the couch. The couch is already his, the beast thinks, he will not move from it.

The beast drags itself through a room near the end of the hall, a small room full of tile. There the beast rifles through an open cabinet, only stopping when he finds gauze. The beast is no stranger to injury but when there’s opportunity to heal, it’s smart to take it. He leaves that bathroom with a wrap of white around his arm and continues his meandering of the townhouse.

Stalking through the dining room, peering over the backs of empty chairs, a sound shocks the beast still. It registers quickly, the door handle shifting. The beast pushes past the dining room through the door to the kitchen. His chest beats a panicked rhythm as he crawls beneath couch, digging himself into his pelt in the center of the darkness.

The door opens and heels sound against marble. The door closes and those footsteps draw near. The beast watches those feet enter the room from beneath the couch.

“Ah,” a deep voice with an ancient cadence speaks, “So you’re still here.”

The beast does not dare move, but his eyes follow the line of those shoes as they go to take that seat in the corner. A hand smoothes beneath the man’s thigh as he takes his seat, leg crossing over his knee with a polite arch.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what to do with you.” The voice says.

The beast does nothing.

Neuvillette watches the shadow beneath his couch lie still, stock still, intentionally and purposefully still. He should probably feed it. With a thought, Neuvillette rises from his chair and heads for the bag at the foyer. Moments later he returns to the couch with a plate of chicken breast and gravy, Hotel Debord’s specialty.

Neuvillette stands with the plate, thinking, debating where he should place it. The idea of luring the creature out is tempting, but the desire to actually feed the poor creature is larger. Neuvillette places the plate with a bent knee before the couch. He doesn’t dare peek beneath the trim. He allows the creature this privacy lest he agitate it.

Neuvillette returns to his chair with a couple steps, sinking back into the upholstery with a steady thrum of his heart ringing in his ears with anticipation. He should probably leave him alone to eat but he is perhaps a bit too overzealous with his desire to see the creature.

For a long moment, Neuvillette merely sits there, testing the creature’s resolve for hunger. As the minutes pass, Neuvillette recognizes the creature’s stubbornness and, with the intention to continue another time, concedes his defeat for the night.

“Very well then.” Neuvillette stands. “I will return for the plate tomorrow morning.”

He leaves the room without a glance but he hears the stillness and knows the creature likely won’t move til Neuvillette is tucked into bed.

It is only slightly odd to think about the creature downstairs beneath his couch while Neuvillette lays beneath his covers. He wonders a few things, most of them are of what the creature looks like, some are where it comes from, and one is what it wants from this house. Neuvillette entertains these thoughts as his lashes grow heavy and sleep takes him.

In the morning the plate is clean, entirely clean. Neuvillette sets it in the sink to wash anyways and heads out for the Court without a word. He pays special consideration towards not looking under his couch.

As the day takes the Chief Justice, Neuvillette finds no time to spare for the creature under his couch. It is only as night begins to dawn and Neuvillette is leaving Hotel Debord with a hot meal that he takes the time to think on it. It likely came from the forest and is looking for a place to stay for the coming winter. It could be a hibernating mammal and that could be a reason as to why it is not excessively mobile.

Neuvillette thinks it might be like that as he opens himself into his townhome but he quickly decides it can’t be as he closes the door behind him. A light is on. More specifically, a light in the living room. Neuvillette left in the morning when there was no such need.

Without trepidation, Neuvillette carries himself into his living room, sparing the lit fire a glance before heading to the kitchen for a plate. He sets the creature’s meal out quickly, taking his heels to the edge of the couch without a glance and setting the plate down on his carpet. Like the day before, Neuvillette takes his seat in the corner, crossing his leg over his knee, and waits.

The light of the fire licks over the shadow beneath his couch but its back is turned and there are no blue eyes peering back at Neuvillette. It could be sleeping, hibernating, Neuvillette thinks almost funnily, but he knows of no hibernating creatures with the ability to light a fire.

Curious.

Tonight breeds nothing new. Silence stews between them as Neuvillette picks through his book and after a while he feels as if he is an imposition to the creature’s meal, so he takes himself up to his room and dresses down for bed. He lays beneath his covers, lashes flicking across his canopy, and wonders what kind of creature could be living beneath his couch.

He almost feels like a child with the way his heart gets giddy just thinking on it. It’s truly a mystery and though Neuvillette is fond of them in the paper, he can’t say he’s ever had the privilege of experiencing one of his own. Slowly, his heart calms and the night takes him into the morning.

Neuvillette prepares for his morning trial with a simple routine, passing his fingers through his hair and buttoning the last of his spats before he takes himself to the foyer. This time he does glance into his living room, at the couch with the large shadow. His eyes stall over the clean plate, clean except for the broccoli on the side. It seems our creature is a carnivore.

Neuvillette turns his cheek and pushes out of the door.

That night, returning from a long day, Neuvillette feels daring and using that bravery, he tries to coax the creature out with gestures of his hand and food. All that earns him, however, is a low throated rumble that doesn’t sound appeasing.

It is an animalistic sound, like some type of canid.

Neuvillette’s lips fall as his brows grow pensive looking at the upholstery of his couch. It’s been three days of this and he hasn’t seen the creature even once. Neuvillette supposes that isn’t too strange, it could likely take weeks before the creature deems him a casual presence enough to relieve itself from its new den, but Neuvillette is feeling perhaps impatient.

Neuvillette’s lashes rest on the shadow of fur, black and white mottled together. He thinks he spies a tail from beneath the couch but he can’t be certain. Neuvillette is not intimidated by the creature, in fact it’s quite the opposite. It is more accurate to say he is attracted to the creature solely because it is curious and new. Neuvillette does not have many novel experiences these days, Court life is routine as it must be.

Perhaps that is why he lowers himself to his knees and, like he had before, makes an open gesture with his palm. However this time he is much closer to the shadow. Neuvillette is too tall to peer beneath the trim of the couch but like this he is certain the beast can see much more of him.

Neuvillette’s lips part as he kneels there, feeling bold he says, “I’d like to meet you.”

The creature says nothing, but the sound of a warning begins to rise and with it stands the hair on Neuvillette’s arm. Still, he is not intimidated nor threatened, so he remains perhaps foolishly so. His fingers wiggle.

He doesn’t know why he does it, perhaps impatience, but the movement pushes his hand closer to the trim of the couch, peeking beneath and something blunt nips him.

The flame of the fire dances, casting long shadows over the couch as Neuvillette retrieves his hand. He belatedly registers that he’s just been bit, and quite harshly too. His hand throbs with the pain of it as he brings his palm up to see the curve of the marks left by a maw. Deep rivulets left by sharp canines and yet there is no blood, just perhaps a little bruising from the sudden force.

It was definitely a warning, and since that warning the beast has gone immediately quiet. Neuvillette expects more growling, but there is none. Perhaps because it is so silent, and perhaps because his hand throbs with his clumsiness, Neuvillette feels embarrassed and ashamed.

“I must apologize.” Neuvillette tells the creature, “I did not mean to rush you.” slowly he stands, “I will leave you to your meal.”

Neuvillette takes himself to his room quietly without further word and dresses down for a shower. As the water spills over his back he sets his lashes upon the tile and thinks through his regret. He did not mean for that to happen, it could only have been his fault.

Still, there is no use in lingering on the past, so as Neuvillette shuts off the faucet he represses his shame and turns his attention to something more relevant, like Court.

But as Neuvillette lies in his bed he finds his treacherous mind running away with him. It runs to the creature beneath his couch. It likes this topic very much it seems. Neuvillette cradles it beneath his chin as he sleeps.

Court is mundane and nothing new as Neuvillette returns to his townhome with a fresh meal he himself has never eaten before. He considers the couch as he stands in the doorway to the living room, lashes flicking over the freshly stocked fireplace and the slanted open window leaking a draft before coming back to the couch.

Neuvillette spares no words as he prepares the creature’s plate in his kitchen and when he places the plate on the carpet, he is a polite distance away.

The thought of fleeing afterwards does arise but Neuvillette feels no temptation to do so. Instead he settles back against his chair with a book and simply remains in the creature’s presence. Proximity is a good tool for familiarity.

The fire flickers, spewing choked sounds as the night journeys on. Neuvillette spares it a glance at a particular shift and watches a log chip, burn, and fall into ash. Slowly he returns his eyes back to his book, but not before stalling over the sight of the couch.

The shadow looks larger tonight, perhaps closer as if the food is a real temptation. Neuvillette considers calling it a night but a new thought comes, one he feels more anticipation to try.

Slowly, Neuvillette stands, uncrossing his legs and carrying his book by his side, he takes his muted steps across the living room to the couch. Without a word he turns and leans back into the upholstery. It is a well made couch so it does not give nor is there any indication of something being beneath the couch.

Neuvillette wonders at once how large this creature is or if it is perhaps smaller than he thinks. Though, as Neuvillette looks at the length of it, he figures it is not a very small couch. It fits him and then some long ways and it is quite tall from below.

What covers most of the creature’s shadow is the long trim that nearly reaches the floor.

Neuvillette is shaken from his thoughts by something mystifying and quick. The plate has disappeared from beneath his feet. Neuvillette didn’t notice the creature reach for it but it seems taking the couch has done as Neuvillette intended for it to do.

It gives the creature a newfound sense of privacy while also allowing Neuvillette his proximity.

This should do nicely then for the night, Neuvillette thinks, before returning to his book. The faint sound of chewing is a comfort to the gentle concert of the fire and nightly coos of the outside.

Neuvillette feels himself tire long after the chewing has stopped and with a glance to the grandfather along the wall, Neuvillette resigns himself to retiring for the night. He places a thumb to his chin as he teases his head to the side, relishing in the release and pop of his stiff neck. As he sighs he uncrosses his tired legs and stands.

The flame has grown short, Neuvillette notices. He tends to the fire with the poker, shuffling the logs and breeding more heat to the room. As Neuvillette goes to stand he bumps something off the mantle. It is a small marble Sedene got him for his fish bowl, a decoration she’d said.

Well, now said decoration is running away from him on the floor.

Quickly, Neuvillette gets to his knees, bending over and reaching for it against the leg of his chair in the corner. The sound of rumbling catches Neuvillette by surprise. He slowly raises himself from his bend, sitting back on his knees and slants a glance to the shadow beneath his couch.

Blue eyes peer at him through the darkness. If Neuvillette were still bent over he’d likely be able to get a glance at what it is, but it feels invasive. So he stays there and waits for the noise to stop.

It is silent and Neuvillette still remains on his knees, marble long forgotten. Instead, Neuvillette is distracted by the color of those eyes peering up at him through something dark. It is an odd revelation to think this creature truly does exist, is a being just like Neuvillette only it’s abode is beneath Neuvillette’s couch.

It is odd, perhaps because Neuvillette thought he’d already known that. So why does it feel like he is only just now realizing it?

Neuvillette turns from the couch first, noticing that the creature will not submit in this staring contest, and as the bigger creature with more authority, Neuvillette concedes first. He is not unfamiliar with the ways of the wild no matter how long it has been.

Neuvillette stands without ceremony, ignoring the marble for the creature’s comfort and retires for the night. Before he goes, he shuts the drafty window and continues up the stairs.

In the morning Neuvillette spares a cursory glance over the carpet of the living room, spying for the marble, before he leaves for the Court. He finds nothing. It seems the marble has disappeared. Neuvillette turns back to the door lest he be late.

The day passes as days tend to do, and as night comes Neuvillette returns to the couch the creature has deemed as its den, abandoning his own spot in the corner for the benefits this new one provides. He leaves the plate on the carpet like every night along with a cup of water from Chenyu Vale.

He is feeling particularly generous.

Neuvillette considers making contact today, but the memory of the bite is still fresh and surprisingly the mark is still there. His body has always healed quickly but perhaps the bite was deeper than Neuvillette remembers it being. Despite not drawing blood it did leave a lasting bruise.

Neuvillette does not blame the creature, it is not its fault that Neuvillette dared trespass knowing it was not ready. Furthermore, Neuvillette is no stranger to panic and desperation, no these are natural feelings in the wild.

Oh, how very long it has been since Neuvillette last needed those sensibilities.

Perhaps that is why he feels so tender toward the creature living beneath his couch. It is like a fragment of his past stuck in his present, borrowing his fireplace.

The plate is gone again tonight and the sound of chewing is somewhat less cautious. Neuvillette turns his attention to the end of his novel, determined to finish it tonight before bed.

The flame dances across Neuvillette’s face as the night grows and the heat he feels from it pulls on his lashes. He feels heavy as he sits against the couch, arm braced against the back as he rests his cheek against his knuckle. His lashes stutter across the page he tries to read for a second time.

With a sigh, Neuvillette changes positions. He uncrosses his leg, turning long ways to sprawl out across the cushions as he props up the spine of his book against his stomach. His left hand holds the book steady as his other falls limp, momentarily forgetting why dangling it over the couch probably isn’t the smartest idea.

But no sound comes to remind him.

Neuvillette continues to pass his eyes over the page, mindlessly crossing his ankles and absently curling a toe as the words register. His pinky taps a soundless rhythm into the carpet before falling still as his attention is captured by the book’s passage.

All is quiet. Perhaps that is why Neuvillette nearly flinches at the feeling of something warm and wet touching his hand.

Neuvillette remembers the creature all at once and forces himself to remain limp in case his startling startles it. He doesn’t dare look but with another warm press he realizes what it is doing all at once.

The creature licks the mark he left, as if it feels guilt. Neuvillette finds himself intrigued and perhaps endeared. Poor thing, Neuvillette thinks with a heart moved by such a gentle apology. Neuvillette feels threatened to silence with the gentle gesture, but he abhors the idea of ignoring it and letting it pass.

Neuvillette’s lips part, “Thank you,” he says, “that is very kind of you.”

The sensation disappears but Neuvillette is not disappointed, he is perhaps too excited at the prospect of progress to feel such a thing. Willing himself to be calm again, Neuvillette leaves his hand, figuring this to be a meaningful gesture that Neuvillette is allowed where he is.

He does not move til he has finished his book, releasing his breath as the end of an experience shakes him, and only then does he slowly remove himself from his spot.

Neuvillette turns his cheek over his shoulder, addressing the darkness in the room, “Good night.” He calls and then he takes his leave.

Neuvillette trembles in his bed that night, body shaking with a heart that cannot be still. Perhaps one could assume it is because of the book he read, but truthfully Neuvillette’s mind is encapsulated by the moment he just experienced all on his own rather than by a story told about someone else. It feels like it means something.

Only, as Neuvillette often struggles with, he cannot quite parse that meaning.

He sends himself to bed with that disappointing if not resigned thought. In the morning he does not have time to linger on it, throwing himself out the door in a hurry for a trial that awaits his verdict.

The beast lying beneath Neuvillette’s couch watches him go with a glance of acknowledgement but he does not wait for him to return as that is an unnecessary venture. To be expectant is to invite disappointment and the beast needs neither of those things.

Instead he lies there with his back to the withering flame and waits for it to die before venturing out through the window for more kindling.

Carrying himself on his haunches the beast rifles through the forest line for branches. He retrieves them with only a few meandering glances beyond the horizon, as if anticipating something to appear. All is still and only the breeze blows by.

Satisfied, the beast returns to the townhouse, shuffling beneath the window and rolling over the carpet to lay out his firewood.

The beast chucks it into the dead hearth with a twist of his shoulder before returning to his den. But he lingers at the entrance, lashes flicking across the upholstery where a book rests. It still smells like the man who owns the home, the same man who sits with him every evening and brings food home for him.

The beast doesn’t know what to think of him other than the fact that his presence is unnecessary but otherwise unavoidable. It is his house after all, but they’ve been doing a fine job sharing so far and the beast isn’t looking to move out any time soon.

He feels a little bad about biting the guy. He’s never wanted to be violent but sometimes the sounds make you itch and before you know it someone needs reminding of what you are, a beast, a beast that bites. But the fact that he doesn’t want to bite is probably why he licked the wound.

Apologies only ever ease guilt though as they rarely mend relationships, the beast thinks, because relationships in the wild are conditional and easily shattered.

The beast is perhaps waiting for the nobleman to give up, to get bored, to leave him like he did the night the beast bit him, but that is an unconscious thought. The beast’s mind is too busy with other more important things like survival and hyperawareness to spare his own psyche any mind.

Neuvillette shoulders in through the door, arms full with documents and a meal as he toes into the foyer. The door shuts behind him as he carries himself to the kitchen. He quickly fixes a plate, leaving it on the carpet, before taking himself to his study to work for the rest of the night.

The beast watches the man go, quick on his feet as the sound of a door clicking registers at once. The beast regards the plate for a still moment. Slowly, he slides out from beneath the couch. He throws quick glances to the foyer but no sound or movement sparks, so the beast sits there, back against the trim of the couch, and eats from the plate.

It is quiet for a long while even after the plate is finished. The flame flickers as the night grows colder. The beast nuzzles his cold nose into the fur around his neck and slants a glance toward the foyer where the man had disappeared into a side room. He has not stirred for quite some time.

An idea flickers in the beast’s mind, one that he entertains the image of but doesn’t dare follow through with. The beast imagines wandering up to that closed door and pressing his ear to the wood, listening beyond for sound, for anything.

Perhaps the beast is bored.

The beast then imagines a new line of thought, imagines pushing the door open and walking into that study to see what lies beyond it.

Perhaps the beast is curious.

Then the vision of the beast stopping before that man’s familiar feet appears and the beast halts all thought.

Perhaps the beast is lonely, the author thinks.

The beast disagrees, such a feeling is unnecessary in the wild, and only necessary things are worth the effort.

The beast turns his cheek to the foyer, shuffling back beneath the couch and turning on his side to coil into his belly. The only necessary thing left to do for the night is sleep and sleep takes him quickly.

In the light of the morning to an empty house the beast shuffles out from beneath the couch and meanders, rubbing a shoulder along the wall as he goes. It makes the room feel more familiar that way. He stops before the study, door still closed. He thinks about shouldering into it. The sound of something inside halts him entirely.

The nobleman did not leave. He is still in the house. The beast turns on his heel and makes for the couch.

Pressed beneath the trim, belly stuck against the carpet, the beast breathes through his nose as he listens for sound. Nothing happens for several very still minutes, but around the eighth, that door pulls back. The beast watches the way the nobleman sags as he carries himself upstairs, likely having been in there all night.

The beast releases his breath slowly, sagging into the floor and laying a cheek against his paw.

It seems he will have to wait a little while longer before leaving the couch today.

It is a while later, the beast half dozing, when he hears the nobleman make for the door and eventually pass through it. This time the silence is truly indicative of an empty house. Rather than relief, the beast feels strung taut, like he doesn’t quite trust it anymore.

That day, the beast does not venture out from the couch to meander nor to get kindling, instead he acquaints himself with the feeling of being stuck beneath a couch like it is necessity. Perhaps he does this to remove the impulse to leave that spot when it is not optimal, or perhaps it is the habit nurtured by a chaotic upbringing for the poor creature.

Whatever the case, when the nobleman does return to the couch the beast has not left from, rather than a begrudging allowance he feels encroached upon.

The beast releases a low sound from his chest, one torn from instinct as the scent and weight of the nobleman presses around him. The nobleman listens to him shortly before those legs move and he is placed across the room in his corner chair. The beast decides to be satisfied with it despite the fact that it delays him from eating. Going hungry is not unfamiliar to him, he will wait.

And wait he does, only the nobleman does not move and the beast’s lashes fall upon his sleeping face. He does not trust it, not the first night, but it happens again. On another evening when the nobleman rests across the room, the beast watches him sleep. This night he feels more daring to poke at his plate. The nobleman only wakes when the sun sits upon his face.

The beast doesn’t understand why the nobleman decides to sleep in his chair some nights nor why he chooses to stay in his study on others, but on this night the beast is feeling particularly regulated so when the nobleman places his plate on the carpet, the beast makes no noise and as the nobleman walks to his chair across the room, the beast lets out a displeased sound.

The nobleman stills, back drawing straight despite the pleasant slope of his spine. Slowly he tilts his cheek to the couch. The beast watches those long lashes flick upon him but he doesn’t dare look away, not when blinking means something. The nobleman holds his gaze, strange eyes the beast has never seen on anyone else before flickering in the low light.

The room is quiet almost tense as the nobleman tries to read him. The beast does no favors but he waits, a little certain the nobleman will figure it out.

Eventually, he does. The nobleman leans back on the couch, gentle legs crossing at the ankles and the beast lies quiet. The night continues on with no changes and as the air grows colder the beast expects the nobleman to leave for bed or fall asleep. He doesn’t expect him to start reading aloud.

A tale halfway through spins through the night air, spoken with a voice that has an old cadence and a gentle accent. The beast feels himself grow limp against the carpet as his eyes peer up at the ceiling of his couch den. The nobleman reads his mystery aloud and the beast spares thoughts, not for survival, but for discovery.

It is a fun thing to do, the beast thinks, and that thought in itself is pleasant.

The beast does not know when he fell asleep, but as his lashes rise the sound of birds and the front door shutting greets him. He feels remiss that the fire has died.

Neuvillette returns to his townhome with determination and a book in hand. He thinks this may work well in getting the creature comfortable with his voice. As he’s observed over the past few weeks, it seems consistency works best. Whenever Neuvillette strays from routine unexpectedly, a bit of their progress recedes, but when Neuvillette adheres to it, the beast seems to grow comfortable.

It was a startling moment, to be ushered to sit on the couch by the beast itself, but a valuable one, one that gives Neuvillette the courage to try this.

Sitting on the couch tonight, Neuvillette flicks a finger against the page, returning to where he left off. His tongue passes over his lips as he begins to read. Slowly, over the course of a chapter, his throat grows sore, but easily he sips from his chalice, leaning over the table to place it back.

The movement at first draws a warning sound from below but after the third time it happens the sound is no more.

Neuvillette reads to the next chapter as his throat begins to ache. Preemptively, he leans his hand out for his chalice, lashes lifting from the page momentarily to grasp it. His eyes stutter across the carpet at once. An arching press of black fur peeks out from beneath the trim of the couch.

Neuvillette tries not to stare, tries not to make any shift in the routine motion as he raises his chalice to his lips but the sight alone is enough to steal his attention. It is startling and yet it sends something rapid to his chest, like his heart has wings. What an odd sensation.

When Neuvillette finishes the chapter he closes the book. Leaning over to set it on the table he steals another glance to the carpet but the fur has moved. Neuvillette swallows his disappointment, instead he stands and by the exit of the door he calls out to the creature living beneath his couch.

“Good night.” He says.

A chuff of something sleepy greets him back. It makes his lips twitch.

Lying in his bed staring up at the ceiling, Neuvillette thinks of the progress he’s made. He wonders if this is what connection feels like for the mortals of Fontaine, if perhaps this is how their relationships naturally develop. The idea that he, the Iudex and Chief Justice, is also harboring a relationship of his own sends something thrilling to his chest.

It leaves him feeling giddy. Perhaps this is the beginning to a most wonderful friendship.

That thought follows him through work and through trial as he walks through the Court. Sedene requests he take a break but Neuvillette feels inspired to work through lunch with his newfound excitement.

It gives him the time for an evening stroll, however, he finds himself less inclined to stare out over the natural lands of Fontaine as he does to return home and read to the creature that lives beneath his couch.

Neuvillette returns home shortly. Entering through the foyer he regards the lit fire with half a glance, turning to the kitchen to make a plate. After setting it down he sits atop the couch. Today, after one chapter, fur peeks out from beneath the trim, mottled fur that the light of the fireplace dances against.

Neuvillette can’t help but stare at the shape of it. It lies near Neuvillette’s bare foot. He can feel a natural warmth radiating from it and it reminds Neuvillette that this is a being of its own will and thoughts.

It’s real. Neuvillette isn’t crazy. He never regarded himself as such but the sentiment remains, he’s a little mystified by the proof.

The creature rumbles a low sound, this time it’s not a warning or anything conscious, but instead a snore. The creature is sleeping. Neuvillette blinks, lashes gently kissing his cheeks as he stares. This has meaning, and the understanding of it is being to thrum through Neuvillette’s veins with a restless flutter.

He calms himself terribly quickly, but the impulse to stroke a hand atop the fur grows as the snoring persists. Neuvillette could reach out to cross that boundary, but thought of like that, it feels wrong. This is not his milestone to make. He has already been awarded with this opportunity, this show of momentary trust is enough.

Neuvillette settles back against his couch and picks up his book once again. Despite how much he yearns to connect further, he resigns himself to this gentle satisfaction. Progress, Neuvillette thinks, is proof of effort, and slow as it may be, it deserves a moment to be acknowledged.

The room settles in a quiet concert of gentle snoring and flickering flame as the logs shift within the hearth. Neuvillette feels himself shift against the couch as he lays across, his cheek burrowing into the cushion as he cradles his hand beneath his chest, already comfortably numb.

His other arm falls limp over the edge of the couch, fingertips brushing the carpet. Nothing happens for several moments, and because of that, Neuvillette falls asleep.

As dawn rises, Neuvillette feels his muscles ache, numb and tense. He pushes himself up, rubbing the back of his hand against his cheek. The grandfather ticks against the wall and Neuvillette finds his urgency at once.

He stands quickly, rising up the stairs to tidy himself for the day. Luckily he has time, he will not be late.

He leaves his townhome moments later, lost in thought to the plans of the Court that call to him, so lost that he doesn’t notice the shadow standing at the edges of the living room doorway watching him leave. Neuvillette tears through the routine of his day with an unexpected energy, perhaps fueled by progress.

His feelings are further nurtured by the deeds of a good trial and a just delivery to the kind people who thank him at the edges of the Opera Epiclese. With that, he considers his duty fulfilled, and makes for his townhome.

He enters through the door with a meal in his hand, one he thinks the creature quite likes. He takes himself through the foyer to the kitchen, making a plate and then back to the couch as is now routine. He sets the plate on the carpet, gentle knee brushing as he bends and nearly stills at the sight of fur brushing the edges of trim.

The shadow looks receded, like a wave drawn back, but the fur is too dark to make out any sense of direction. Neuvillette can’t tell what he is looking at. The fact that he is looking at anything at all however is unique and breeds from him a new propensity for nurture he did not realize he had.

Gently, Neuvillette says, “It has been some time since you injured yourself on my window. I hope you will let me tend to it one of these days.”

The fur mound does not speak nor move nor rumble. Neuvillette figures it won’t til he takes his seat atop the couch, so he goes. Still, no sound comes but the plate gets pulled and Neuvillette sees it happen. It’s a quick motion, an easy motion, perhaps too easy for an ordinary animal. Curious.

Emboldened by a good day, Neuvillette carries on with his one sided conversation.

“Perhaps it is rude of me to try to appeal to you without proper introduction.” Neuvillette says, crossing his leg neatly, “My name is Neuvillette, I am the man who owns this house.”

Neuvillette’s lashes settle upon the flame dancing in the hearth. The wood has been replenished again.

The creature does not answer but Neuvillette does not find his desire to speak whither. Instead, without a story to read, Neuvillette tells a story of his own, one of his day. Neuvillette speaks as if the creature can understand him, not entirely aware of the idea that perhaps it can’t.

He is not reminded by any sound of confusion though so he continues.

As the night continues and the grandfather ticks, Neuvillette decides to sleep on the couch again this night, feeling too remiss to leave the creature alone, not when they have made such progress. He lays across the cushions, his cheek pillowed into the armrest as his gentle breathing evens beneath his chest.

Shadows stretch across the wall as a large figure blocks the trajectory of light over the couch. The beast stares down at the sleeping body of the nobleman, silent, for some time.

Slowly, his hand reaches out to brush across the hair fallen across his face. The gentle beast brushes it back against his nape, passing the bed of his nail across soft skin. As the touch ends, a low warmth permeating through his fingertips, he removes himself from his presence, back to where he belongs.

The sun comes and with it an unexpected warmth drapes across Neuvillette’s spine. His lashes peel back, peeking through the light of the sun streaming in through the curtains. He sees the cause for his sudden coziness.

A blanket lays draped across his shoulders, a blanket he most certainly did not fall asleep with. The only one who could have done it lies beneath the couch.

Neuvillette sits up, holding the blanket around his shoulders almost reverently.

“Thank you.” He tells the cushions beneath him. “I will bring you back something warm to repay you.” He tells the answering silence.

Neuvillette takes his blanket with him up the stairs, chest feeling a little full this early in the morning. It is one thing to be given the opportunity to care for another, it is another thing entirely for that care to be returned. This is something entirely new to him, perhaps that is why his heart thrums so quickly as he dresses for the day.

Neuvillette returns with the meal he promised, something with gravy that he thinks the creature likes. Coming from the kitchen he pads over to the couch. He takes a knee as he sets the plate down.

“As I promised.” He says, a little excited to say it.

Neuvillette moves to sit as he is used to, only his lashes linger on the sight of the plate being taken most quickly. Neuvillette’s lip twitches. How comfortable his creature has become. Neuvillette leans back against the couch and reads late into the night. Only the promise of a trial the next day pulls him from his spot and up the stairs to his shower to ready for bed.

His next night however he stays on that couch, no trial could pull him from the cozy doze he finds himself in as he presses his cheek into the cushion, his limp wrist pressing over the edge of the couch. It is a comfortable position, even as he feels his limbs grow numb, it is perhaps for that reason that he finds it so comfortable.

He almost doesn’t notice it at first, the gentle nudging but his lashes pull back and he is certain at once, when he feels the press of something soft rub against his hand. It is like fur but almost softer and beneath it radiates a warmth that reminds Neuvillette the creature truly exists.

Neuvillette wonders if this is intentional, if this means something, but as the moments pass Neuvillette thinks it must because his fingers have not been idle, gently cording through the soft texture, and the creature does not recede. It is mystifying. It builds something in his chest like pride. Neuvillette pets the creature even as his arm grows to tire.

Only as he falls asleep does he cease.

Neuvillette is no stranger to having a sensitive nose, however over the past couple of days he thinks he may have grown nose blind to his dear creature beneath the couch. It is only when he is coming back from the Palais, freshly spritzed cologne applied by his assistant Sedene and passing the romaritime blossoms in bloom does Neuvillette’s nose reawaken to the proper smells around him.

That means when he enters his townhome the scent of dried blood is difficult to ignore, among other things that are natural to the wilderness.

“Perhaps we should bathe you,” Neuvillette muses, hip pressed into the doorway of the living room, “you bring in the smell of the wilderness and while I do not mind harboring you I do not intend on harboring the outside in my living room.” Neuvillette tells the shadow stretching across his carpet, “I hope we can come to some sort of an agreement.” He says, not expecting much from this teasing as he has not received much in turn for his spared words these past few days, he says it anyway, “I’d hate to have to remove you.”

A reply of sound doesn’t come but movement does. Slowly, fur spills out from beneath the couch. Neuvillette expects it to stop there but it doesn’t, and as it spills it grows taller, ever so tall. Beyond Neuvillette’s knees, above his waist, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder the creature stands.

Suddenly, clear water blue eyes in a bed of charcoal are looking directly at Neuvillette and Neuvillette is no longer looking at a creature but at something else entirely.

“So you are a man.” Neuvillette exhales.

A considerably large man with the countenance of a handsome noble. The Court has somehow found its way into Neuvillette’s home, only he thinks this man does not belong to The Court, at least not anymore.

The man stands there, drawing in the light of the lit hearth across the side of him. His presence casts a shadow across the short distance between them.

“I’m a beast.” The man pleads with a voice that sounds deep and unused.

His black lashes do not stutter, gaze firm and unyielding and yet there are not aggressive, they can only be described as tired. Neuvillette’s own lashes sink.

“Who made you believe that?” Neuvillette asks the tall gentleman.

“Someone I—“ tore limb from limb.

But the admittance tastes like shame and the beast finds he doesn’t want to lose Neuvillette’s good opinion, not when he’s the first to have given him his name, a symbol that means something to the beast.

So he chews on the words in his mouth and instead stares, unblinkingly enraptured by Neuvillette’s patient expression. Neuvillette doesn’t burden him to share, tasting his unspoken words with an impassive face.

“Do you have a name?” The patient nobleman named Neuvillette asks, “Preferably one befitting a man.”

The beast thinks.

“Wriothesley.”

He read it in a newspaper once.

“Come then, Wriothesley,” Neuvillette’s tongue cradles the name like it’s important, “you are a man so you will sleep in a bed not beneath the couch.”

It sounds like it could be a chide but coming from Neuvillette it does not read as such, it just feels kind. Wriothesley has not met someone so infallibly kind before. He doesn’t quite know how to deal with it.

“Ah,” Neuvillette says, as if remembering something, “but first we will bathe you.”

Neuvillette guides Wriothesley up the stares Wriothesley has seen so many times but has not dared venture. It opens up a whole new section of the townhouse that he has never before seen. A long hallway and an immediate door to their left. Neuvillette opens the door to that room and steps inside, gesturing for Wriothesley to follow.

Wriothesley enters, lashes flickering across a bed with a canopy and dressers and a window with drawn curtains. Beyond that lies another door, this one Neuvillette also takes him through to a porcelain tub and tiled floors.

Neuvillette plans on cleaning the beast and sending him to bed, Wriothesley thinks, like a man he’d said. There is only one bed from what Wriothesley can tell as they venture past into Neuvillette’s bathroom. That doesn’t seem to bother Neuvillette as he draws him a bath. He wonders if this is another gesture being made simply because he is kind.

Wriothesley has not spent much time sparing his thoughts for things like this though, too focused in recent years on survival, but reading into gestures used to be a way of survival too so he sinks back into it like an old shirt. It fits funny.

Maybe he’s grown out of it, but he can’t seem to feel unnerved by Neuvillette’s kind gestures, even if he should question his motive. The idea that he is simply kind seems to fit well enough that Wriothsley believes it. Or maybe he wants to believe it so he can continue to benefit from it.

The sound of rushing water echos across the room as the tub fills. Neuvillette straightens from his delicate bend over the tub and Wriothesley removes his lashes from the curve of his spine, delivering them to his face turning to him now instead.

“Let me.” He begs, standing in his own space and beckoning Wriothesley to enter.

Wriothesley hears the question even if it registers to him like something old. He steps into it mindlessly, delivering himself to Neuvillette without a word. Neuvillette’s hands raise, reaching for Wriothesley’s fur, but the sight of it sends his heart kicking and he flinches back, waiting for the impact.

Neuvillette stills. The faucet continues to spew.

Wriothesley’s lashes flick over Neuvillette’s face, an expression of concern furrowing his straight brows as he stands there. Wriothesley feels his thrumming heart slowly begin to settle as the silence stretches and nothing happens. Those hands don’t draw close nor do they move away, seeing this, Wriothesley remembers who Neuvillette is, and knowing that, he steps forward into those hands.

He dips his chin, lowering himself to let Neuvillette remove his coat. Those hands are still for a short moment, merely touching him and the fur, before Neuvillette blinks and finds his breath again. Wriothesley feels small as Neuvillette peels the fur from his shoulders. His shoulders feel bare as his shirt is pulled away and his scars lie exposed as his pants are taken.

Wriothesley stands there naked in Neuvillette’s bathroom. He feels his body growing tense despite the fact that he’s decided to let Neuvillette be kind to him, his body is still tight with anticipation.

The beast stares down at the nobleman, daring him to add to the pain he wears, daring him to become a threat. The nobleman merely steps away, gesturing to the tub behind him. The beast heads his gesture like an order because that is the only thing that makes sense to him anymore.

Sinking into the water, the stiff bandage around his arm peels away. Neuvillette fishes it out of the water, setting it aside. The wound has become a scar, just as the beast is used to.

“It is a shame.” Neuvillette says, deep voice spilling into every corner of the bathroom, “I would have liked to treat it before it became permanent.”

The beast wonders if it is unsightly, if maybe that is why, or if maybe it is for another terribly kind reason. He doesn’t bother to ask. The beast does not wonder about unnecessary things.

Neuvillette passes a soft cloth over Wriothesley’s back, minding the scar and sensitive tissue as he goes. Gentle, so very gentle is he as he goes, stripping the dirt and sweat from his skin and chasing it away in the water. As the water grows stale Neuvillette drains it and fills it again.

This time he passes a tentative hand across the crown of Wriothesley’s head and, using his authority, conjures the water through his hair. He figures this to be a better option to the alternative of dunking his head in the tub. He doesn’t think that would end well.

Wriothesley is practically putty in Neuvillette’s hands as he lathers the shampoo in his hair, stripping the oil from his scalp and massaging it down his neck. His head lolls back, jaw loose and slipping. Neuvillette can see his gentle canines, bared not for fear but pleasure. It sends something through him, a thrum, a thrill.

It only takes another pass before Wriothesley’s skin feels clean. He seems to do fine with Neuvillette’s touch, which is perhaps unexpected from how on guard he knows him to be. It is hard to reconcile the creature beneath his couch with this man sitting in his tub.

His body is littered in both scar and muscle and Neuvillette wonders how long he has been distanced from the Court. Living in the Court, even in its dampest places, does not quite breed this level of—damage. Neuvillette wonders again, where this creature comes from and why he came to find Neuvillette’s townhome as shelter.

Though, another part of him finds he does not mind this turn of events. This past month has been nothing short of novel and perhaps thrilling.

Neuvillette thinks, even if Wriothesley is not a large dog, they could still be friends. Though Neuvillette has known to struggle with connecting with the people of the Court, he thinks Wriothesley might be different. After all, he’s not quite of the Court anymore is he.

Neuvillette dresses him in soft clothes, a thin white shirt with buttons and a collar as well as grey trousers that are comfortably scratchy. Wriothesley certainly doesn’t feel like a beast anymore but he knows it’s not the clothes that make you one. Otherwise noblemen wouldn’t wear such fancy stuff.

“Here.” Neuvillette says, opening a palm that Wriothesley recognizes as a gesture he should heed.

He follows Neuvillette to the edge of a sink.

Neuvillette raises an arm, holding what looks to be a tooth brush in his hand. Wriothesley catalogues each movement, notices the way Neuvillette makes no sudden motions and gently offers his hand to Wriothesley’s jaw. Perhaps Wriothesley feels a little plied from the tub, he gives his chin to Neuvillette’s palm with little thought.

Slowly, Neuvillette’s thumb opens his mouth, drawing down his jaw, and Wriothesley’s lashes flutter at the feeling of a gentle bristle being rubbed against his teeth. He would perhaps feel embarrassed if he had any dignity as a man, but Wriothesley has not been a man for some time.

Instead, this registers as a kind if not unnecessary gesture from this considerate nobleman with odd eyes.

Wriothesley feels saliva pull around his tongue as his lashes flick across the nobleman’s face. There is wisdom beneath his eyes, a handsome wisdom that fits a gentle countenance. His nose is strong and his lips thin, his lashes long and his brows straight.

Wriothesley has not seen a man like this before in such a capacity, has never had the opportunity til this one. It makes him feel a little reverent, like he should be grateful to be tended to by such a man.

Neuvillette is gentle with his hands, and attentive with his eyes, his long lashes flicking, cataloguing any expression Wriothesley makes. When he removes the bristle Wriothesley’s jaw grows slack but his eyes do not stray from the lashes that flick to him.

They watch each other for a long moment.

Something tense coils in the pit of Wriothesley’s gut as the nobleman regards him. This staring usually means something, but he thinks it may not mean the same to Neuvillette, not with the way he seems to starve for it. But Wriothesley will not concede, not now with these new rules, not ever.

Neuvillette turns his cheek, then presents Wriothesley to the sink with that gentle hand on his jaw.

“Spit.” He begs.

To Wriothesley it registers as a command. He spits.

“Good.” Neuvillette says.

To Wriothesley that registers as something he’s never had before, praise. His chest makes a foreign motion that draws his lashes back to Neuvillette’s face. That handsome face regards him with an unreadable expression, but Wriothesley thinks he wants to read it as proud.

Neuvillette removes his hand from Wriothesley’s jaw, reaching for a glass on the counter. He presses it into Wriothesley’s hand.

“Drink.” He begs.

Wriothesley draws the lip of the glass to his mouth without looking away from Neuvillette. He drinks, passing it around his teeth before swallowing. He watches the way Neuvillette’s lashes regard his throat and Wriothesley feels something old bristle.

He sets the glass on the counter and backs away. The lashes leave from his neck at once but the damage has been done. Wriothesley turns his cheek.

“Right then,” Neuvillette’s voice fills the room, “to bed now.” He says.

Wriothesley follows.

Wriothesley is afraid to ask how far Neuvillette trusts a beast in his bed but he thinks it as he stares at Neuvillette’s back. And then that back turns and he’s staring at Neuvillette’s face.

“You can sleep.” Neuvillette says, gently, but it still registers like an order and Wriothesley has a thing about authority.

His lips press into a straight line and his body goes taut. Neuvillette’s eyes peel across his face, then, seeing his words having an opposite effect, decides to try something else.

“Come.” He says.

This one is a true order but it’s still gently spoken, like an offer. Neuvillette’s arms are outstretched and open. Wriothesley can taste the scent of comfort coming from his touch. Neuvillette’s touch has only ever felt good. Wriothesley, desperate for more good things in his life, heeds Neuvillette’s command.

His breath slowly leaves him as the shadows of his mind surrender to the pulse of another man, holding him like he is worthy of such a thing, touching him softly like he is unafraid of Wriothesley and his capacity for violence. Neuvillette holds him like he’s been forgiven and Wriothesley forgets it’s not Neuvillette who he’s wronged.

Wriothesley tries to let that thought linger, to remember he has not hurt Neuvillette but the yet is implied within Wriothesley’s very existence and he is so very afraid of repeating his cruelty. He is so very afraid of being rejected from this tenderness. He is so very afraid of being violent.

Neuvillette is not afraid. Wriothesley thinks the authority of Neuvillette’s opinion takes priority over Wriothesley’s own, so he surrenders and he lets himself sleep beneath his gently beating heart with soft hands. Neuvillette’s nails cord through his hair, passing behind his ears with his tender touch. It pulls proof of his contentment from his parted lips.

They wake with the sun and by the time Wriothesley’s lashes peels back, Neuvillette is already up getting ready for work. Wriothesley watches him from the bed as Neuvillette braces his foot against a bench, buttoning up his spats.

As he goes, his hair perfectly styled back with a bow, slowly shifts around his back down his shoulder each time he bends. Wriothesley watches it fall over Neuvillette’s shoulder, brushing his cheek.

Neuvillette straightens, curve of his back bending with his spine as his hair shifts back to where it belongs, brushing over the curve of his thigh where it lays suspended across his back. Wriothesley considers this sight with a heavy attention, not quite sure what to make of it but aware that he is distracted by it.

Neuvillette notices him as he buttons the last button of his spats.

“You’re awake.” He says, figured bracketed by the light shining in from the window behind him.

Wriothesley gives him a hum in response but little else. He goes back to observing him as Neuvillette goes through his routine.

“I’m afraid the Court needs my presence today. I won’t be back til this evening.” He says.

Wriothesley says nothing, used to this already. Nothing has changed, he is still the creature beneath Neuvillette’s couch just this time, he’s in his bed with his shirt slipping open across his chest.

“There is food in the cupboard but I’m sure you’ve found that by now. It makes a little more sense to me how you managed to reach the top shelf now that I know what you look like.” He says.

Neuvillette’s voice is soothing, Wriothesley thinks as he curls into the pillows around him, taking up the warmth Neuvillette left.

Neuvillette regards the creature wrapped up in his sheets with a second glance, finding himself unwilling to pull away and leave just yet. He makes a curious sight. Salt and pepper hair, long black lashes kissing his cheeks as he stretches his large arms out across the mattress.

His shirt makes him look young, the collar hiding his cheek as he burrows into the pillow beneath his head. Neuvillette wonders how old he is, Neuvillette wonders who he used to be, but mostly he wonders who he will choose to be from this day forward.

Will this creature be staying with Neuvillette? He’d thought of it as interesting when he’d first spied him beneath the couch, didn’t think he’d stay around that long really, thought maybe he’d return home one day to an empty living room. But that isn’t what Neuvillette wants really. Though if this is about what Neuvillette wants then he can’t entirely say he knows what that is either.

For now, he heads to the Court and decides to think on it later, satisfied with the knowledge that Wriothesley is tucked away safe and clean in his bed and will remain so when he returns.

Neuvillette enter’s the door of his townhome and there the creature sits, on the couch he’s deemed his den, dressed in Neuvillette’s clothes, with an idle arm draped over the back of the upholstery, looking comfortable, looking like a nobleman, but then those eyes turn to Neuvillette who’s standing in the foyer and something changes.

His figure shifts, his arm moves into himself and he grows smaller, wary, like a nervous animal. It is clear at once that this man is no nobleman, not anymore. He is truly the creature who lives beneath Neuvillette’s couch, but now he lives on top of Neuvillette’s couch so he thinks perhaps that can be rectified.

“Come, sit with me at the table,” Neuvillette calls as he enters the living room, watching the way Wriothesley watches him, “let’s eat together.” Neuvillette invites, striding over to the dining room.

The sound of feet padding softly behind him makes Neuvillette’s lips twitch. For a man as standoffish as he is, he’s pretty obedient.

Wriothesley sits in the chair Neuvillette gestures to, looking around awkwardly and yet he fits Neuvillette’s dining room surprisingly well. Neuvillette sets his plate before him and picks up his own utensils to eat from his soup. He doesn’t have the biggest appetite for meals like this but he figures modeling the behavior for Wriothesley would probably make him feel more comfortable.

As Neuvillette eats, the tension Wriothesley carries rescinds and his hand lifts for his own utensils.

Neuvillette watches Wriothesley eat with a fork and knife, bringing a bite of his cut chicken to his lips, and it hits Neuvillette again that this is the creature that was living beneath his couch. He’s a man, Neuvillette thinks, a fairly handsome and well mannered man who flinches at shadows and presumes threat with every gesture. Neuvillette wonders what happened to him.

They dine in silence. As Neuvillette finishes his meal he gets an idea.

Neuvillette pats at his lips with his napkin before he speaks, “I figured we could finish the book I began reading the other night.”

Wriothesley says nothing but his lashes follow  Neuvillette’s face and his feet trail behind him as Neuvillette goes into the living room. Wriothesley sits in the corner of the couch, legs drawn to his chest as Neuvillette opens the book and turns to the proper page, crossing his leg idly. Neuvillette thinks the distance is curious but if Wriothesley prefers it he won’t say a word on it.

“She strode across the field with her horse…” Neuvillette begins.

Somewhere between the first page and the second Wriothesley has changed positions. He looks more comfortable now, even if his feet are pressed into Neuvillette’s thigh. It had been a slow contact, one Wriothesley seemed to expect to be rejected for, but Neuvillette did not move nor startle and now Neuvillette calms his thrumming heart with an impassive expression.

Wriothesley clutches the throw pillow between his arms, chin resting on it as his lashes flick from the ceiling to Neuvillette’s face as the fire burns through the night.

Neuvillette does not mind the staring, he has grown somewhat acquainted with it since meeting the creature, but now he feels himself curious about it. What does Wriothesley think of when his eyes rest upon the bridge of Neuvillette’s nose? What is so interesting that he keeps pulling his eyes back to gaze on Neuvillette rather than the ceiling he was comfortably zoning out on?

Neuvillette doesn’t think he’d get a response if he asked and he doesn’t want to scare him away from the behavior so he swallows it but, the thought persists. Perhaps one day Neuvillette will find the answer to that question. For tonight, however, the only answer he finds is in what happens to the protagonist of their story.

Wriothesley’s expression sours as the ending nears and Neuvillette feels the same. It’s not a particularly good ending.

“Well,” Neuvillette sighs, “that was unexpected.”

“Foreshadowed.” Wriothesley mutters, “still disappointing.”

Neuvillette’s lashes slant to Wriothesley where he stares at his pillow blankly. He is right, the tragedy was foreshadowed and like Neuvillette he probably still hoped for a better ending. On this, they can agree. And what a thing that is.

Perhaps this is a common practice among people, to partake in an experience and find they share the same opinion on it but this is novel for Neuvillette. It leaves his chest warm with something like gratitude.

“It is indeed a shame.” Neuvillette says. He slants a glance to the grandfather along the wall and feels a little disappointed to admit, “Ah, it appears that is all the time we have for this.” Neuvillette stands, turning his head to Wriothesley who peers up at him through his lashes. Neuvillette makes an open gesture, “Come, let us retire.”

Wriothesley regards his hand for a short moment before abandoning the throw pillow and choosing Neuvillette’s palm. Wriothesley’s bare skin is warm and his hand is thick with callouses. Neuvillette pulls him up with a buried strength. Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide.

Neuvillette wonders if that motion registers as threatening to him. Wriothesley doesn’t appear to be on edge, if anything he looks a little distracted and now he’s staring at Neuvillette harder like he might be able to figure it out just by looking.

Neuvillette turns his cheek, pulling Wriothesley behind him as he guides them upstairs. One day, when Wriothesley asks, he may tell him, but tonight they are silent with each other.

Buried beneath Neuvillette’s sheets, Wriothesley peers at him through his lashes. He watches Neuvillette in the darkness like he is waiting for something to happen, expectant and full of anticipation.

Neuvillette, with a mind that is slowly beginning to understand, passes a hand over Wriothesley’s head. Wriothesley goes limp at the very touch. His lashes bend as the muscles in his jaw loosen at once.

“You may sleep now.” Neuvillette tells the poor creature, “It is just us.” He assures.

Wriothesley watches him beneath his lashes as the silence grows, drifting away from the time Neuvillette broke it with his attempt at comforting words. As the silence draws on, Neuvillette thinks maybe it is the proof of nothing happening that draws Wriothesley into a sense of security.

It is just us, Neuvillette thinks. He wonders if those words helped. Perhaps Wriothesley does not deem Neuvillette as someone he wants in his space like this. Wriothesley is sleeping peacefully, like it does not bother him. If that is the case, then Neuvillette thinks this growing urge he feels to be protective might be alright.

Neuvillette is, perhaps, afraid to nurture this instinct as it is not necessarily human, at least not coming from him it isn’t. But he can’t help it, looking at Wriothesley like this, buried beneath Neuvillette’s sheets with his hands tucked against his face, Neuvillette feels responsible for this sight.

Perhaps that is why he does not sleep that night.

His lashes linger on Wriothesley’s sleeping face and the sun rises when Neuvillette blinks. It is not a problem, not really, Neuvillette’s constitution does not need as much rest as a human does, he does not mind letting Wriothesley have his night to sleep, guarded by Neuvillette’s awareness. Neuvillette does not mind that at all. Oddly enough, it makes him feel important, necessary.

Neuvillette thinks he likes that feeling.

Neuvillette touches Wriothesley like there is no further intention but to touch, as if to connect on some level that Wriothesley does not understand. Perhaps he’s lonely, Wriothesley thinks, idly pressing into the hand that begs him to sleep. Perhaps Wriothesley is too.

To feel lonely is unnecessary as much as it is unavoidable and the downside to loneliness is that it makes previously unnecessary things now necessary. This is how you grow exhausted, Wriothesley thinks.

And yet, he doesn’t mind the touches, nor the closeness. Neuvillette passes a wash cloth over Wriothesley’s neck, carding it up behind his ears and rubbing gentle circular motions like it matters. Wriothesley doesn’t think it does but Neuvillette is thorough anyway. Wriothesley thinks now he might be remiss if Neuvillette were to no longer be thorough about this. And there lies the danger.

Wriothesley can’t crave what he does not know exists but now he knows hands were always meant to be gentle. Bathing is supposed to feel like this, thorough and cleansing. Sleeping is meant to feel like this, like Neuvillette’s palm heavy against the crown of his head, reassuring him that nothing will happen as he sleeps. Eating is supposed to be satisfying and consistent. Company is supposed to be comfortable and accessible.

This is what life is supposed to feel like, and yet, that realization breeds nothing but bitterness in Wriothesley’s mouth.

He can’t expect to keep this, to maintain this. Nothing is meant to last, this is all temporary. Wriothesley hasn’t even gotten to the part of considering whether he deserves it or not, because he knows he doesn’t. This gentle nobleman is merely using his kindness up on Wriothesley to prove to himself that he is capable of being kind. Good for the nobleman but what is Wriothesley meant to do when he grows bored of it? Or when he realizes he can do this without needing Wriothesley?

It keeps him up tonight as he watches the shadows of the moon dance across Neuvillette’s face, a silent gaze full of anticipation. Wriothesley is anticipating for the other shoe to drop. Wriothesley is anticipating for the only consistent formula in his life to reappear and prove itself yet again. Perhaps that’s why he feels bitter.

For a moment, he wishes he could stop anticipating but it’s all he remembers how to do. With no other skills left to protect himself with because the danger is supposedly gone, this is all he has left. So he waits, and the sun rises, and he waits, and Neuvillette’s lashes lift, and as their eyes meet, Wriothesley forgets what he was up all night thinking about.

Slowly, Neuvillette yawns, a wide yet gentle thing that exposes his tongue lying in its bed and pearl like canines that are definitely not human. Wriothesley has the thought for the second time that Neuvillette might not just be a nobleman. His eyes are odd, he’s stronger than he looks, and third case in point, his teeth are sharper than normal.

Wriothesley doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t decide whether that makes him a threat or whether it comforts him that if someone really were to enter the room at night, Neuvillette has it covered. Wriothesley thinks he prefers the second thought, it makes his chest warm and his shoulders loose.

“Good morning.” Neuvillette greets with a deep rumble.

Wriothesley can feel the vibration of it in his teeth.

“Morning.” Wriothesley says back, because he thinks it might make Neuvillette happy.

There’s a thought. If Neuvillette is happy, maybe Wriothesley will get to keep this. That breeds something new, like a challenge, like a desire to be good. Wriothesley doesn’t want to be a beast anymore but he’s not a man either, he lost that privilege. If he has to be a dog to keep this kindness, then that’s what he’ll be.

It’s with that thought that Wriothesley buries himself in Neuvillette’s open palm. Perhaps he’s playing cute. Perhaps he just likes the feeling of Neuvillette’s hand on his face. Either way, his good behavior earns him a gentle smile and it registers as a reward.

“I have a trial today,” Neuvillette tells him with his gentle morning voice, rumbling through the sheets between them. It leaves Wriothesley feeling capable of dozing. “I should get up to prepare for it.”

Ah, and that is a thinly veiled command. Wriothesley should detach himself from Neuvillette’s side, be good, but his mind is heavy with the exhaustion of staying up all night so it doesn’t register as quickly. Neuvillette doesn’t remind him either so Wriothesley eases into the palm on his cheek and breathes through his nose as his lashes kiss his cheeks.

The next time Wriothesley blinks, Neuvillette is gone, at trial supposedly, and the bed is cold where he once was. That registers as something familiar yet entirely new, an ache like loss, tastes like fear. Wriothesley knows better than to let that fester and give in to it. It’s unnecessary. Neuvillette is coming back anyway.

Wriothesley turns his nose into his pillow and huffs.

Water spills over Wriothesley’s hands as he scrubs the remnants of his presence away, drying the plate and hiding it back in the cabinet like it was never used. The sound of the front door handle shifting sends him stiff and still, arm reaching to close the cabinet. He does not move, tense with anticipation.

Then he hears the sound of Neuvillette’s heels ring against the marble. Wriothesley sags with relief. He closes the cabinet without a sound.

“Good evening.” Neuvillette greets as he comes around the doorway of the foyer into the open kitchen.

Wriothesley inclines his head, and rather than respond he watches Neuvillette walk a short path, curious. Neuvillette grabs a water from the ice box and then he is turning on his heel.

“I have some work to do in the study.” He says after noticing Wriothesley’s eyes on him.

Wriothesley says nothing to that but he nods again to show Neuvillette he’s been heard. Neuvillette accepts it without a word further as he disappears into the foyer. Wriothesley stands there a bit uselessly til the sound of another door closing echos and all the anticipation coiled in his body floods him.

Wriothesley sags against the counter with a hand to his mouth as he muffles his uneven breath, heavy with the repetitive thrum of his heart. So much tension and for what? A bad memory surely. Wriothesley decides not to think on that any further, he already knows the answer.

The sun falls behind the clouds as the moon rises and Wriothesley feels his hand go numb where it holds a book on his stomach. His back is stiff from lying on the couch for an uncounted amount of time. Neuvillette remains in his study, the townhouse uncharacteristically quiet tonight.

The only company Wriothesley has is the flickering flame dancing in the pit of the hearth. He stares at it with a bent lash as his heart beats between his ribs.

The motion is loud, persistent, and a little burdening in a way that registers as a bother, a constant reminder that Wriothesley is still alive and yet somehow he doesn’t exactly feel like it. If he thinks on it any further he’ll fear the idea that he’s simply wasting away and he doesn’t enjoy that. Wriothesley doesn’t know what he enjoys these days. Maybe he’ll figure it out if he crawls back under the couch.

Wriothesley stands, a movement that has his stiff back aching but it begs his heart to beat faster and that registers as a familiar thing, maybe he can even think he likes that a little because it’s comforting remembering it’s still beating. He’s still alive, Wriothesley thinks, and this time it feels like an accomplishment rather than a responsibility.

Wriothesley stares at the shadow of the couch, considering with a quiet look. He chews on the inside of his cheek. Something about the look of it bugs him. It used to seem like the safest part of the house but now Wriothesley thinks that title belongs to Neuvillette’s bed. But Wriothesley doesn’t have the pull to go sit in it when it’s empty. Maybe the title belongs to Neuvillette himself.

With a mind that is heavily distracted and relying on instinct alone, Wriothesley finds his body moving on its own. Wriothesley stands outside of Neuvillette’s study, staring at the wood with the same gaze he regards most things, blank and unyielding, perhaps a little anticipatory. He entertains the thought of going in.

There’s no sound through the door, eerily quiet, and Wriothesley wonders if he’s even in there. He stands there for some time, the nerve building, withering, and dying in repetitive cycles before a sound echoes through the wood, one that has him pulling the door back with an almost fearful surge of energy.

Neuvillette stands beside his desk where his glass lies on the carpet, water dampening the color of the red and turning it mauve. Neuvillette’s lashes lift from the cup to Wriothesley and his expression shifts to one of considerable surprise.

“Hello.” He greets, then his lip twitches, almost like he’s glad to see him.

Wriothesley looks at the culprit of the noise for a moment before he walks over and picks the cup up himself. He takes the responsibility for it without a word, habit ruling him in the face of uncertainty. Neuvillette doesn’t protest, instead he thanks him and by the time Wriothesley has left the study he feels a little proud that he went in.

He’d had a fear there, an image of Neuvillette raising his voice at him for the first time, at kicking him out for the sole blunder of encroaching where Wriothesley wasn’t invited. Wriothesley knew it was probably exaggerated but you can never be too sure with these things.

Instinct exists for a reason.

That night Neuvillette sleeps in his study and Wriothesley sleeps on the couch. He doesn’t make any assumptions that he is allowed in the bed without Neuvillette so he resigns himself to an easy thing, like sleeping on upholstered furniture meant for sitting. When his lashes peel back to the sun streaming in and the fire dead in the hearth, a blanket lays across his belly.

Neuvillette must have left already.

Wriothesley turns on his shoulder, dragging the blanket over and tucking it against his cheek. He’ll move when something interesting happens or someone needs him, habit is a lifelong thing it seems.

Wriothesley feels hot and sore the next time he wakes despite winter creeping up along the edges of the window with frost. His body just runs like that and sleeping for so long has brief little consequences. He gets up with a hand wiping across his cheek and searches for water and something to keep the nausea back. He must have forgotten to eat the other day. It happens, he’ll live, however fortunate that may or may not be.

Living another day, whether he truly wants that or not, is simply ingrained in him.

Wriothesley’s lashes linger on the open window, on the wilderness outside. A thought crosses his mind, a thought he’s had and will continue to have til it’s done and dusted from his shoulders. Reprieve, Wriothesley reminds himself. Winter is coming. He’ll wait.

This time when Neuvillette returns Wriothesley doesn’t startle. He thinks about praising himself for that, anything to make his mind a nicer place to be now that he’s living in it more frequently. Today, Neuvillette returns to his study, but he eats with Wriothesley first, which is a nice gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed.

That itch is beginning to bug him though, the one that says he’s in debt and soon he’ll be a burden. But Wriothesley decides he shouldn’t listen to it til Neuvillette tells him it’s true, his word is final authority on that opinion. Wriothesley thinks he might trust Neuvillette more on it anyway.

That’s a thought he thinks he should think more about but it’s easy to trust Neuvillette and Wriothesley is getting tired of second guessing himself. Innocent til proven guilty, Wriothesley reasons through a bite of his chicken and leaves it at that.

It makes him feel like a better person for not suspecting Neuvillette and that thought has him quiet for the rest of the evening, because that’s not right, not really. Wriothesley isn’t a person any more. He’s just some beast from the woods living under Neuvillette’s couch for the winter. However clean he is or well dressed he is doesn’t change that. It is simply the condition Neuvillette requires him to be in to maintain this precarious position.

The door of the study stares at Wriothesley with an impassive face, a dull face without mark or history, unmarred, clean, expressionless. There’s a metaphor in his observation of it in there somewhere but Wriothesley’s still new to the deep thinking world after years of living outside of his head in the wild, so he can’t really tell what it is.

He just doesn’t like staring at this door. He should open it, no he should knock, but beasts don’t knock, but he should be a polite beast. What would Neuvillette prefer?

Wriothesley knocks.

“Yes?” Neuvillette calls through the wood.

It sounds like permission.

Wriothesley opens the door, an easy thing beneath his hand, and enters. Neuvillette’s lashes flick up to him and something melts in his expression. The exhaustion previously there is now completely missing.

“Hello.” He greets.

Wriothesley inclines his head.

“What do you do in here?” He asks with his voice because he is curious.

“Ah,” Neuvillette’s eyes fall to the papers neatly organized around the corners of his desk, “Well,” he begins, “it’s mostly perfunctory paperwork, looking over cases and the like. I have a new trial to prepare for, but this one is particular high profile.”

Wriothesley doesn’t get it but it’s nice to hear Neuvillette’s voice, it’s nice to hear someone talk about something they do understand. It’s a little awe-striking.

Wriothesley circles the desk, lashes flicking over Neuvillette where he sits, dressed down to  his poet shirt and slacks to look over his documents. He’s pretty, Wriothesley acknowledges, but he doesn’t think anyone could disagree with that thought so he doesn’t think much of it.

Settling by Neuvillette’s side Wriothesley looks over the long scribble of documents and cases. He wonders if his is in here. It’s old so it’s unlikely, that thought breeds something like relief.

Neuvillette doesn’t seem to mind that Wriothesley is looking over sensitive information, probably doesn’t think he’ll be a threat with the knowledge anyway as removed from society as he is. The sentiment of trust though is not lost on Wriothesley and that is a nice feeling. Makes him want to get his mouth on something just to keep the saliva from pooling.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had much time these days,” Neuvillette passes a hand down his cheek, pulling at the edges of his eyes.

Wriothesley watches him press at his skin with a slant of his lashes as he bends over the desk to be eye level. Neuvillette’s eyes turn to him. They’re close like this. Wriothesley can smell his breath. He likes it.

Neuvillette watches him back in silence, lashes flickering across his face. Wriothesley wonders what he thinks of these lingering looks, wonders what they mean to him even. Neuvillette doesn’t seem the type to assume but Wriothesley thinks it might make his life easier if he were. Most times he can’t parse his own thoughts.

Slowly, Neuvillette’s expression shifts. He looks amused.

“I wonder how you, with the countenance of a nobleman, ended up beneath my couch sometimes.” Neuvillette says, casually.

Wriothesley understands the words, he knows there’s a compliment in there somewhere but he’s getting stuck on an observation that doesn’t match what he considers to be his reality.

“I’m not a man.” Wriothesley defends, low light of Neuvillette’s study casting long shadows beneath his lashes across his face.

Neuvillette disagrees but he doesn’t think saying such a thing will change his opinion, so he says nothing on it.

Instead, he says, “You are still my friend.”

Wriothesley holds his gaze for a long moment as he parses his thoughts. Neuvillette thinks he might rebuff him, say something like beasts and men can’t be friends but he looks at Neuvillette again, like maybe he knows Neuvillette isn’t quite a man. Perhaps that is why he tilts his cheek, lashes canting away before he turns.

“Alright then.” He acquiesces.

Wriothesley straightens from his lean over Neuvillette’s desk and Neuvillette notices the way his shirt rides up as he goes. He’s quite a large creature, Neuvillette acknowledges, watching him stride across his study with a quiet power hidden in his steady gate. He looks resilient, almost immovable, like he’d be stubborn, but from Neuvillette’s experience he’s quite open to suggestibility, obedient and responsible.

He’s curious is what he is. Neuvillette likes him for more than just that these days.

The sound of his study door closing softly has Neuvillette breathing through his nose and sending his chin skyward. He should finish his documents quickly so Wriothesley doesn’t end up sleeping on the couch again. What a silly sight that was, and yet it was quite endearing at the same time.

Neuvillette called Wriothesley his friend, and while that is how he’s begun to regard him he thinks it doesn’t quite express this instinct he feels drawn to in his stomach. It is not a necessarily human instinct, possession he thinks is far more familiar to his draconian lineage, but that’s what he feels when he sees Wriothesley these days.

That urge to possess him is thick in Neuvillette’s throat, when Wriothesley sprawls across his couch, eats his food, and enters his space. If Neuvillette were not parading around as human perhaps he would have acted on these impulses already, but he doesn’t think that would be easily received by Wriothesley, skittish creature that he is.

No, he sighs, he cannot own Wriothesley, for Wriothesley is not an animal but a man, despite what he may regard himself as. So Neuvillette must tread lightly with this feeling and keep it from affecting his decisions.

The clock ticks along the wall as the sky deepens a darkening hue. Neuvillette stretches his back and stands without further hesitation. He should be adequately done for now. He leaves his study with determination and only halts at the sight of Wriothesley curled up on Neuvillette’s couch.

That feeling steals Neuvillette’s lungs, leaving him breathless. It is a very large emotion, one he has to swallow. The sight of Wriothesley sleeping is not unusual, Neuvillette knows how he sleeps with his hands at his cheeks like he’s protecting his face even in rest, but he cuts such an image that Neuvillette cannot help himself.

His hand reaches for Wriothesley’s hair straying into his face. He dusts it across his cheek with the tip of his nail, gloves left in his study. Wriothesley stirs at the slightest touch, but as his lashes peel back, he doesn’t startle.

“Monsieur.” He mutters.

Neuvillette blinks. He’s never heard such a title fall from his lips before.

“You can call me Neuvillette,” Neuvillette tells the sleepy creature, “We are friends are we not?”

The sleepy creature breathes his reply, “Neuvillette.” His lips deliver and the way his deep voice rumbles the vibration of each syllable makes Neuvillette’s throat dry.

“Very good.” Neuvillette says, passing a hand across Wriothesley’s head like it is second nature. Wriothesley softens beneath it like it is. “Would you like to sleep in a bed tonight?” Neuvillette asks with a quiet voice, mindful of the sleeping flame and the quiet coo of the wilderness through the window.

Wriothesley murmurs what sounds to be assent but makes no motion to move. Like Wriothesley did with Neuvillette’s spilt cup the other night, Neuvillette takes the responsibility from him. With gentle hands, Neuvillette buries beneath Wriothesley’s coiled body and lifts him into his arms. He is a large creature but Neuvillette does not strain.

He is built for lifting small efforts like this.

Wriothesley makes a sound but it is not frightened, perhaps it’s better described as approving or something like a low whistle through his teeth. He grows limp in Neuvillette’s arms as he buries his cheek into the soft fabric of Neuvillette’s collar, gentle breathes sweeping Neuvillette’s hair across his neck. It is ticklish.

The shadows stretch across the wall as Neuvillette carries Wriothesley up the stairs, entering his room with a quiet stride. He gently sets Wriothesley down on the bed but he doesn’t move to release Neuvillette.

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide.

Perhaps he is not the only one with a bit of a possessive streak, or maybe he is misreading this entirely. Still, he does not mind giving in to the gentle tugging, slipping beneath the covers and curling his body around Wriothesley like it is instinct. It pulls from him a breath that leaves him soft in the bed.

The scent of Wriothesley, clean and cared for, delivers Neuvillette to sleep quicker than he’s ever journeyed before.

Neuvillette’s come to expect this sight, Wriothesley sitting on the couch with an arm draped over the back of it and a book in his lap. He looks at ease, comfortable, and he doesn’t startle when the door opens and Neuvillette enters the living room.

His lashes turn from the book but only after a moment as he finishes his page.

“Welcome back.” Wriothesley greets, clear water blue eyes looking up at Neuvillette through charcoal black lashes.

Neuvillette swallows the urge he feels to lean down and, do what exactly? He doesn’t know what the rest of that thought looks like, has never had one quite like it, but he’s distracted from it by the way Wriothesley looks at him full of expectation.

“I’m home.” Neuvillette responds.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide, like that means something to him. Neuvillette thinks it might mean something to him too.

“Come eat with me.” Neuvillette invites, leading the way to the dining room.

Wriothesley stands from the couch, following by his heel.

Distantly, Wriothesley stares at his plate, as if trapped in a memory. Neuvillette doesn’t know how to interrupt it, doesn’t know whether that’s the right approach at all. In matters like these, he finds he often doesn’t know what to do.

It’s not a fun feeling.

He tries not to let that taint how he feels about Wriothesley. It’s not his fault. It is simply the misfortune of his circumstance.

Neuvillette feels that pull that tells him he is curious but he feels too out of his depth to approach it properly. He doesn’t even know what that would look like. Their meal continues in silence.

Luckily, Wriothesley returns and that moment passes like it never occurred. Neuvillette sits on the couch reading to him, the book he’s picked up, aloud. Wriothesley watches him with attentive eyes, black lashes licking across his cheeks every so often. As the flame withers into the night those licks grow longer and Neuvillette’s throat grows tired.

Neuvillette pauses for a short moment, leaning over to reach for his glass. He chases down the ache of his throat with a refreshing sip and when he returns to the couch Wriothesley has that look again. His eyes are glassy, staring off into the direction of the open window like something is beckoning him.

Neuvillette doesn’t know what to do, that feeling perhaps makes him restless, less careful. He closes the book with a sudden sound. Wriothesley flinches, and hard, his cheek turns and Neuvillette witnesses an expression he’s never seen before.

He doesn’t like it, he immediately decides. It’s like he’s looking at Neuvillette but not seeing him. There’s horror in it, fear. Neuvillette reaches for him, ignoring the flinch, and holds him.

“It’s just me.” He breathes, “it’s just us.”

Perhaps he misses Wriothesley when he recedes into his mind like this or perhaps he feels desperate to be seen again. It can be the only explanation for the way he holds Wriothesley’s face between his hands, like it’s important Wriothesley is really looking at him. The book lies somewhere abandoned as Wriothesley blinks clear water blue eyes through the fog of his vision.

“Neuvillette.” He breathes.

Neuvillette’s name has never sounded so sweet.

“Hello.” Neuvillette smiles.

Wriothesley sags.

“Hi.”

“Want to sleep?” Neuvillette asks, thumb rubbing an absent minded mark across Wriothesley cheek.

Wriothesley nods like his head is heavy.

“Alright.” Neuvillette is slow to remove his hands but quick to pull him up by his hand.

Like he did so many weeks ago, Neuvillette leads Wriothesley to his bedroom and tucks him into bed. He cradles his head beneath his chin and begs him to worry no more. Neuvillette nurtures the responsibility he feels, looking out into the darkness above Wriothesley’s crown just to soothe his own concerns.

“It’s just us.” Neuvillette says, and revels in the way Wriothesley sinks into his touch.

The day comes to quickly, stealing Neuvillette from his duty to return to his 500 year old pledge to the Court. It feels unjust somehow, but he can’t plead a case that isn’t entirely unbiased. Perhaps Neuvillette is feeling too partial, but he can’t find it within him to care enough to stop. Wriothesley needs him, he reasons, and puts an end to a silent quarrel no one has begun but himself.

The sun passes through the curtains and when the bed gets too hot, Wriothesley wanders. Now, Wriothesley wakes up on the couch, cold. His lashes stray to the window where it lays open. Memories of the outside flood his mind and with it comes the image of what he set out to do, why he even came to this place—reprieve.

Winter is coming, Wriothesley should wait.

But what if winter comes and Wriothesley is different? What if he can’t do it anymore? The thought of Neuvillette and his gentle hands comes to mind, it takes a little bit of the fight out of him. That thought kicks his heart with fear.

This is what he set out to do, to end that chapter of his life, to make up for what he lost, what they stole from everyone—from Emily. Emily deserves reprieve too doesn’t she?

Neuvillette may consider him a friend but that doesn’t change the fact what Wriothesley is. In the end he must do as beasts do.

Wriothesley shucks the window up with a hand, stepping through it like he did all those weeks ago. Carrying himself on deft feet, shoulders uncomfortably bare save for his thin shirt, Wriothesley pads into the wilderness.

He’d planned to wait til winter ended but he needs to do it now. If not he may never finish this. He fears what Neuvillette is doing to him, he’s changing him, like it’s easy. Like Wriothesley is allowed to change.

Wriothesley knows better than to accept a plead of innocence given to him by the very man who ruled him as guilty.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sedene calls sweetly, “have a good journey home!”

“Thank you, dear.” Neuvillette inclines his head.

He locks up his office as he goes, mind distracted by the thought of Hotel Debord and their specials for the evening. He makes his stop quick and short and then he’s on his way home. Home, he thinks and the image of Wriothesley’s face comes to mind. This is not the first time he’s had such a thought, the certainty of it must be what warms his heart.

Neuvillette pulls on the handle of his townhome, shifting through the door and entering the foyer. He turns his lashes, expecting to find Wriothesley sitting back on the couch waiting for him. Only today he isn’t. Curious, Neuvillette thinks as he turns his head around the corner peering into the kitchen. He doesn’t look to be there either.

“I’m home!” Neuvillette calls, setting down the food on the table as he swings around the dining room.

Wriothesley looks to be nowhere nearby. With a growing suspicion, Neuvillette checks his study, then with a heavy heart, he carries himself up the stairs to the bedroom. The bed is neat and tidy and empty. Neuvillette practically throws himself back down the stairs, to the couch the creature used to live beneath. He gets on his hands and knees and for the very first time, peers beneath the trim. Nothing but empty carpet, not even a shadow.

Neuvillette stands, bending his knee as he straightens. His lashes catch on the sight of the open window, rucked all the way to the top. No, it couldn’t be.

Perhaps it’s Neuvillette’s fault for assuming this would never come to pass. He was so focused on how human Wriothesley looked that he’d forgotten he is just a creature passing through.

Neuvillette presses a hand to the edge of the windowsill pulling away with dust. His scent is strong here, strong in a way only Neuvillette could pick up. It aches something terrible in his chest.

Neuvillette turns his cheek from the window, passing into the kitchen for the bag from Debord. He will not enjoy it if he eats it, it was not meant for him. Neuvillette sets it aside, putting it in the ice box with thoughts he dares not believe in. Hope can be cruel.

Instead, Neuvillette resigns himself to a night of distraction. He looks for a book to read but his eyes only fall upon one abandoned on a shelf. Knowing who it belonged to, Neuvillette picks it up anyway. His thumb passes over the cover. Neuvillette chews on his cheek. For once, this feeling is not new.

He stands there, once again, bereft.

It is sundown when a sound comes from the windowsill. Neuvillette turns his cheek with a quick start, lashes widening upon the sight of him. The creature returns, crawling in through the window with a barely retained whine.

“Wriothesley?” Neuvillette calls, standing from his chair and abandoning his book.

Wriothesley pads over with a hunched back and an avoidant gaze. He visibly favors his right foot.

“Oh my,” Neuvillette’s sorrow thickens his tongue, “come here.” He coos, dropping low to his knee gently as he raises an open and patient palm.

Wriothesley heeds his call, stepping over with a strained gate, a limp Neuvillette notices. He presses his large figure forward, curling in on himself and getting low to his own knees right before Neuvillette. He looks guilty, like he’s afraid of being scolded, but all Neuvillette feels is pity.

“It’s alright,” Neuvillette tells him, pressing his hand to Wriothesley’s warm head, curling his fingers through his hair, “You’re okay now.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Wriothesley pleads.

“I believe you.” Neuvillette says, and rests his case with a gentle nudge, pulling the large creature into his waiting arms and holding him.

Wriothesley grows slack in his embrace, chest sinking with a relieving breath as he sighs into Neuvillette’s open collar, casting goosebumps where he meets skin.

“You did good returning to me.” Neuvillette says, “I am happy to see you home.”

Wriothesley flinches, a barely there motion as if he tried to repress it.

“Do you mean it?” He croaks, voice breaking on a childlike pitch.

“I do.” Neuvillette assures, “Don’t ever feel like you must go again.” He begs, pressing a final plea to the crown of Wriothesley’s head, “Please.” Neuvillette whispers beneath his lips.

A sound comes from Wriothesley’s throat, something broken and painful. Neuvillette offers him privacy and makes no comment even as the noises threaten to continue. Neuvillette merely holds him, rocking him softly in his arms, swaying back and forth, back and forth.

As if taken by instinct, a sound is pulled from beneath Neuvillette’s ribs, a vibration that softens the cries of the creature in his arms, a sound he understands as comforting. Neuvillette’s warm sound swallows Wriothesley’s whimpering and slowly, the fire shifting in the hearth is its only partner in concert.

“There you are.” Neuvillette breathes, cheek pressing into the crown of Wriothesley’s head, “there you are.” He coos, as if the realization is only just now hitting him. “Oh, how I missed you.” He whines, unable to keep these thoughts to himself.

Wriothesley doesn’t beg him to stop, doesn’t remind him to feel embarrassed, instead he grows ever so responsive. A gentle large hand sweeps across Neuvillette’s spine, a gesture of reciprocity. It makes something swell in Neuvillette’s throat, something he has to choke back.

What a feeling, Neuvillette thinks. What a feeling. Oh, how he missed him.

“I missed you too…” Wriothesley breathes the gentle admission with slanted lashes staring off into the cushions of the couch beside them.

His cheek pillowed against Neuvillette’s chest presses forward as he turns the bridge of his brow into Neuvillette. The touch of his lips passing his skin begs Neuvillette to shiver but he makes no sudden movements. The motion of his heart however, is not within his control, beating effervescently harder beneath Wriothesley’s gentle face. He seems to like it, rubbing his cheek and ear into the pattern and sighing, like it tugs the tension from his shoulders with nothing but the very sound of it.

Neuvillette feels his emotions rising, bubbling, and an ever present aching need to express himself claws at his lips, begging to be pressed into Wriothesley’s skin. Instead he takes his hand and rubs his palm across Wriothesley’s shoulders, gently touching him, plying from him his discomfort and easing him still.

“It makes me happy to hear that.” Neuvillette tells his gentle creature. “The only thing that could make me happier is if you would let me treat your leg.”

Wriothesley mumbles something into the curve of Neuvillette’s chest. The vibration of it leaves raised flesh and a shudder through Neuvillette’s body.

“Pardon?” Neuvillette begs.

Wriothesley shifts, chin rising. Those handsome black lashes peel back and Neuvillette gets to see those clear water blue eyes peering up at him with the most gentle expression Neuvillette has ever seen in his entire long lived life.

“If you wish.” Wriothesley delivers his permission between those soft lips.

Neuvillette feels an urge at the very sight.

Instead he smiles, “I wish greatly.” He admits.

Wriothesley’s face merely watches him, gently dazed and staring. He hums, as if he has no opinion on that, or perhaps like he is mending it as he thinks. Slowly, he returns to the position he finds comfort in, pressing his cheek to the thrum of Neuvillette’s heart.

Neuvillette hears him clearly.

“Alright, a moments reprieve.” He allows.

And it is for several moments indeed, before they peel away from that carpet and dancing hearth.

“Come,” Neuvillette says only when the cold is too much to bear, “we shall bathe you again.”

Neuvillette expects some kind of protest but Wriothesley seems to like baths, giving in to the pull as Neuvillette lifts him with an easy motion.

Several moments later, Neuvillette sits in the tub with him. The company isn’t bad, even with their skin pressed up against each other like this. Neuvillette supports Wriothesley’s dead weight across his chest as he lathers the shampoo in his hair for him. Just like that night so many days ago, he is putty, slipping heavy beneath his hands, a content sound drawn from his lips like proof.

Neuvillette rumbles through his chest, a gentle vibration that is instinct and something he cannot control. Wriothesley doesn’t seem to mind it, he doesn’t startle, if anything he grows limp and impossibly weak. Neuvillette can see the strength in his corded muscle, usually rife with tension. He thinks this might be a great feat for the man lying on him.

As the water stills and the heat rises, Neuvillette finds his nerve to ask the question tempting his mind.

“What did you leave for?” Neuvillette’s voice echoes in the small room.

Wriothesley says nothing for a short moment.

Then, an answer, “An itch.”

Neuvillette thinks he can understand that with less words than have been said.

“You said you didn’t mean to.” Neuvillette starts, “What did you mean by that?”

Wriothesley leans his head back along Neuvillette’s shoulder, cheek pressing into his sternum.

His voice is quiet as he admits, “I didn’t mean to put that expression on your face.”

Neuvillette’s hand grows still while his heart grows impossibly tender. With an emotion he cannot begin to name, he curls around Wriothesley’s back, pressing his nose into the divot of his neck.

“I believe you.” Neuvillette breathes, water spilling between them as they shift to accommodate each other, “I forgive you.” He says because he thinks that’s important to say, “I’m glad you came back.” He says because it is the only thing he can think on repeat.

Wriothesley sags in his hold like those words mean something, like they’re important. Neuvillette is glad to have meaning. Being with Wriothesley like this feels like a purpose, almost like he felt 500 years ago when he was tasked with the duty of judging Fontaine. This one he thinks no one has asked of him, not explicitly, but he feels pulled to it just as deeply and he intends to fulfill his obligation to the best of his abilities.

“Thank you.” Wriothesley says, voice choked with an emotion Neuvillette thinks he can feel in his own throat.

Wriothesley’s body is clean by the time their bath water has drawn cold but Neuvillette’s eyes linger on the marks of his knuckles and the bruises mottling his back. Neuvillette wants to implore, wants to fix and resolve whatever fight Wriothesley felt the need to start, but the silence between them as Neuvillette stands between Wriothesley’s legs feels too fragile.

With a feeling he does not have a word for, Neuvillette presses his lips to the bruises kissing Wriothesley’s knuckles. Black lashes stutter across his face, taken back with delicious surprise and subtle reverence.

Not even Wriothesley dares to break the silence so he does not protest, not even as Neuvillette applies his authority along the bruises of his back, willing the tender skin to mend beneath his palm. Wriothesley does not ask but his breath hitches and Neuvillette wonders if it feels for him to receive it how it feels for Neuvillette to give it.

Dressed in Neuvillette’s robe, Wriothesley is guided to Neuvillette’s bed where Neuvillette buries him in his sheets and tucks himself beside him. His hand rubs a motion along Wriothesley’s side, both habit as it is his selfish desire.

Wriothesley grows limp, black lashes softening on Neuvillette’s face. His eyes peer up at him through their charcoal beds, stubbornly refusing to close even as the motions of Neuvillette’s hand rouses him to soften and sink into his pillow.

Neuvillette thinks he’s beginning to see a glimpse of how Wriothesley truly acts, devoid of fear. Perhaps he isn’t naturally obedient like his conditioning makes him seem. Perhaps he’s stubborn. Neuvillette finds that thought to be endearing.

It is only when Neuvillette feels his own lashes pull into a long slow blink, that Wriothesley succumbs, unyielding gaze finally yielding. Wriothesley sleeps with a gentle murmur, head nestled in Neuvillette’s pillow as the moon completes its gentle revolution.

The dawn peaks through the curtains, casting its morning light and filling the chilled room with a breath of warmth.

Wriothesley runs his fingers through Neuvillette’s hair, long strands curling over his fingertips as he stretches his hand down Neuvillette’s back. They’re soft, almost silky and weighted where the strands slip back into the curve of his spine.

A distant rumbling that shakes the bedding between them alerts Wriothesley to Neuvillette’s awakening. His lashes fan across his cheeks whilst his face twitches. The light streams across the side of his nose and as his eyes open, one of his pupils dilate, retracting against the sun’s light into a feline slit. Definitely not human, Wriothesley thinks with a mind that kind of likes it.

“Is it my turn to be pet?” Neuvillette’s voice is full of gravel.

The sound of it begs a shiver from Wriothesley’s spine.

“Would you like it to be?” Wriothesley raises a brow.

“I’ve never been pet before.” Neuvillette admits, but his admittance is spoken so gently that it sounds like he’s never been touched like this in any capacity really.

“I’ll be gentle.” Wriothesley promises, heart feeling full with responsibility.

Neuvillette inclines his head, silver white hair dusting across his face with the motion and getting stuck in his lashes. The permission tastes like something sweet, like it’s going to be addicting. Wriothesley feels anticipation and for once he likes it.

Wriothesley swallows.

His hand resumes from the middle of Neuvillette’s back, passing up the curve of his spine. Neuvillette’s robe is loose at his shoulder, Wriothesley’s touch reveals skin. His lashes linger on the sight, not quite sure what he thinks of it other than the simple fact that it’s novel and beautiful and enticing.

Wriothesley wants to see more, wants to undress Neuvillette completely and see him outside of the water. The image of Neuvillette buried in nothing but his sheets comes to mind and Wriothesley feels something left dormant suddenly awaken.

A vibration pulls Wriothesley from his mind. His eyes stutter over the sight of Neuvillette’s lashes kissing his cheeks. Neuvillette is purring, a true purr that rumbles and vibrates and Wriothesley, who is a stranger to greed, wants to make him make that sound again and again.

Neuvillette knows he should probably be more conscious of the time slipping through the window peeling away down his spine with the dawn’s light, but he too is slowly slipping through Wriothesley’s gentle fingers as his hands card through his hair down his back.

He can’t compare this feeling to anything, for it is entirely novel. He didn’t know he could make these sounds and he had no reference for he is the last of his kind. This closeness feels more tempting than duty but Neuvillette is not entirely lost to his sense of responsibility. Just a little longer, he thinks.

A little longer comes and Neuvillette breathes through the loss of touch he dreads to come. Still, it is he who pulls away, lashes rising on Wriothesley’s face who also looks lost in his own sense of responsibility. It’s an odd thing to think that responsibility might be Neuvillette’s pleasure. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the time to linger on that thought.

“I need to leave soon.” Neuvillette says, an explanation for leaving the warmth of the bed they share.

Wriothesley does not protest but his eyes follow Neuvillette around the room. Neuvillette has never been so aware of someone’s presence before. He doesn’t have the time to make an opinion on it presently.

Routine takes him swiftly as he slips his robe from his shoulders and dresses in the center of his room. He’s just finished his last button on his shirt when he feels Wriothesley standing beside him, patiently anticipating his attention. Neuvillette turns, delivering it to him without a word. He holds Neuvillette’s hair brush in his hands.

“Might I help?” He asks, looking up through his lashes like he thinks he’s overstepping something.

“You wish to?” Neuvillette asks, taken aback by the gesture. Wriothesley nods, a short but sure thing. “I do not see why not.”

Neuvillette takes a seat on the bench at the foot of the bed. Wriothesley moves beside him, tentative hands reaching for his hair at the base of Neuvillette’s neck. Slowly, his fingertips run down the length to the end where he takes the brush through the strands. He holds the hair between his fingers, keeping the brush away from tugging at the rest of it.

Neuvillette wants to ask where he learned to brush hair but the silence feels thick. He doesn’t expect Wriothesley to speak first.

“I had a sister,” Wriothesley begins, low voice almost a whisper, “a couple technically, but she was the only one who really considered me family. I would brush her hair before bed sometimes.”

“You are quite good at it.” Neuvillette mentions.

“I am.” Neuvillette can hear the smile on Wriothesley’s voice. Subtle confidence sounds good on him. “I like this.” Wriothesley admits, “I missed this feeling, I think.”

“What feeling is that, may I ask?” Neuvillette fixes the hem of his shirt with an absent minded hand.

“Taking care of someone.”

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide.

“I can only imagine.” Neuvillette says.

“Really?” Wriothesley’s hand brushes somewhere that begs a shiver down Neuvillette’s spine.

“This is entirely new to me.” Neuvillette admits.

“Poor Chief Justice.” Wriothesley coos, fingers stroking through his hair and tying the strands gently.

Those words spread heat throughout the expanse of Neuvillette’s chest for a reason he cannot parse.

“So you know who I am.” Neuvillette’s lashes kiss his cheeks as the touch grows softer.

“I recognize you.” Wriothesley whispers.

He seems afraid to say anymore. Perhaps he doesn’t want Neuvillette to know who he was in the Court. Neuvillette could imagine he could be anyone. Every one in Fontaine knows of The Chief Justice Neuvillette.

“There.” Wriothesley says at last, “Good enough for the Court?” He asks.

Neuvillette stands, turning to the mirror along his dresser. His lips twitch.

“Very good.” Neuvillette praises.

Wriothesley’s own lips pull back, visibly pleased.

Neuvillette throws on his coat quickly after, doing up the last of his spats and heading down into the foyer. Wriothesley watches him go leaning over the banister of the stairs.

“Good day, Neuvillette.” He calls, like this is habit.

“I’ll be back soon.” Neuvillette calls back, like he wishes it to be.

Wriothesley stands there for some time, lashes lingering on the closed door to the townhome they share.

The sun revolves through the sky, bringing heat across Neuvillette’s spine where he sits behind his desk in the Palais. A knock delivered to his door has his chin lifting, granting permission with a word. Sedene strides in with purpose, before she places a file on his desk.

“What is this?” Neuvillette asks, reaching for the folder.

“About the man who was assaulted.” Sedene reports.

“Yes,” Neuvillette nods, they did get that report just this morning, “he turned out to have a criminal history he was running from. His trial is soon.”

“This is the case he’s linked to.” Sedene says.

“Ah,” Neuvillette says, “thank you, I will look through it.”

Sedene skips away, happy to be doing her job and as the door clicks shut, Neuvillette’s eyes shift to the folder. It is best to get it over with as soon as possible, he’d hate to bring home work.

The sun glares through Neuvillette’s window, hot like it resents him. Without a cloud in the sky, rain begins to pour, blocking out the bitter bite of the sun’s light. Neuvillette stares, unseeingly, at a file he wishes he hadn’t touched. This was not his story to read. He had hoped one day, it would be told to him but now that chance has been stripped away.

Now, at last, he knows who the man living in his townhome is.

Rain spills over the eaves of the townhome, creating a moving concert of sound in tune with the echo of the fire dancing in the living room. Neuvillette can hear both clearly, even sitting at the dining table. His soup sits in his bowl, staring up at him. He has not touched it for some time. Instead, his lashes linger on Wriothesley, as they do most days.

Perhaps Neuvillette should feel frightened looking at those hands, knowing what they’re capable of, but his first opinion has not changed. Wriothesley is no beast. His strength is no threat, and yet it is distracting all the same.

Neuvillette does not understand the consideration he pays it, not entirely, but he knows it is deeply distracting. His lashes continue to pull to the sight of those hands, the easy working of his forearm’s tendons as they pull over the motions of his knife. Neuvillette’s eyes linger on the meat pulling off his fork through his lips, at the glimpse of his tongue before he begins to chew. Neuvillette’s stomach flips. Odd.

Eventually, Neuvillette does return to his soup.

The rain continues to pour, even as they move to the kitchen, cleaning up wordlessly like they’ve done before. Wriothesley stands at Neuvillette’s side as he puts away a plate in the cabinet. He passes by Neuvillette, his fingertips striking a line of heat down his side where his touch plays as casual. It begs a heat, an uncomfortable heat, one that leaves Neuvillette feeling deeply bothered, but he can’t find the desire to push him away or make it stop.

No, this kind of burden isn’t a push but a pull. He wishes he could communicate that with nothing but his eyes because he doesn’t know what words it would take to make him do it again, make it last longer, do it harder.

Neuvillette blinks and the touch is gone. He stands there feeling bereft.

Neuvillette leans back from the cabinet, lashes following Wriothesley as he picks something up along the counter. He wipes a hand over his cheek lashes pulling skyward. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. He hardly understands what this is at all—this tension.

The rain, Neuvillette thinks of, as it spills and spills from the sky like its vein has been cut. Neuvillette knows why it started, he does not understand why it persists. He sits at the couch and thinks of it, with a distant stare stuck on a page he has not turned since he finished it.

Perhaps Neuvillette has not been as aware of his surroundings for a while, because he does not recognize when Wriothesley chose to sit on the carpet by his feet. His back leans against the trim beside Neuvillette’s leg, thumb twitching against his hand as he stares at the fire, lost in his own thought.

The sight takes Neuvillette away from the rain, like it doesn’t matter more than this moment does. Instead, he returns to his book, appeased by the gentle peace that falls over the silent living room.

Moments must pass, for the next time Neuvillette’s attention is stolen it is by the feeling of something familiar tugging at his hand. Neuvillette thinks nothing of it as the creature tugs at the skin of his hand with a gentle bite, that is how dogs ask for attention, so Neuvillette thinks nothing of it when he responds to it properly.

Neuvillette’s open palm shifts through Wriothesley’s hair with an idle caress. A shiver trembles down Wriothesley’s spine, part from the indulgence of an answer to his behavior and part to the simple feeling of Neuvillette’s touch. Wriothesley feels his body go limp against Neuvillette’s leg, cheek pressed into his knee and sliding along his thigh as he falls slack into the pressure on his crown.

Why be a man when this is what being a good pet earns you, Wriothesley thinks with a mind that has only ever earned good touch through being good. But then he has a second thought, as Neuvillette holds him there, steady, with a large and warm hand, a gentle hand, a tender touch, if Wriothesley is the pet then who is petting Neuvillette? As Neuvillette’s hands touch Wriothesley tenderly, he feels just a bit of his appetite for biting leave him. Instead, a new capability forms. Wriothesley turns his cheek and kisses that hand, like he is man and not beast.

Neuvillette’s lashes fall to Wriothesley at the press, a feeling that is not as familiar as teeth. His lashes strike wide at the sight he sees. Wriothesley is a vision on his knees, his cheek pillowed against the plush of Neuvillette’s slack clod thigh as his lashes kiss his cheeks, chin tilting, up, up, up, searching for more touch. His lips pass Neuvillette’s hand, reverent and grateful for a hand that is soft and tender, like such a thing requires proper attention, like such a thing has been sparse in his life.

Neuvillette’s heart makes a motion it has made before, but one it has only ever made for Wriothesley. Whatever this feeling is it is not going away, no, it is only growing, nurtured by the quiet gestures they share and make for each other.

Neuvillette thinks he feels giddy, like he did the first time he met the shadow beneath his couch, the first time he anticipated their friendship. This isn’t quite how Neuvillette thinks human friends act, but neither of them pay much mind to traditional social propriety that constitutes towards humanity now do they.

Perhaps this can be their normal. Perhaps that could be alright.

The sun shifts as winter comes, pulling longer in the sky.

Wriothesley’s eyes follow Neuvillette from across the room. This isn’t atypical but today, there’s an underlying intensity that Neuvillette’s never seen before. It leaves his skin feeling hot beneath his buttons.

He feels caught, like Wriothesley can read his less than appropriate thoughts. Perhaps his eyes have been too lingering. Perhaps he truly has been discovered.

Neuvillette wonders what he would make of it, these thoughts his mind conjures. They’re probably distasteful, probably intruding upon Wriothesley’s sense of peace. Neuvillette doesn’t know how to make them stop, not when Wriothesley’s very attention seems to nurture them. It shouldn’t, Neuvillette knows it is likely not his intention, but it does anyway.

Or perhaps he knows that Neuvillette knows, and that feels infinitely worse. Neuvillette does not want to take this final act of trust from Wriothesley. Perhaps that is why he has yet to say a word of it.

Wriothesley’s lashes strike his face, once, quick, before peeling back to stare again. 

Neuvillette looks at him with promise. It is a quiet thing. It makes Wriothesley chest expand with anticipation. He aches to fulfill that promise.

An old voice that doesn’t sound like Wriothesley begs him a question. What makes you so deserving? A new voice, one that sounds substantially more friendly and intuitive asks a different question. Are you capable? A third voice, one that sounds like Wriothesley asks a final question. Irrelevant, it says, do you want it?

There is only one answer that comes to mind.

If Wriothesley is so busy being a beast, Wriothesley thinks, he will miss out on this opportunity for nurture that he has been granted. Neuvillette, with a voice that does not ask, does not crave, shows a consideration and appreciation towards Wriothesley’s once thought lost propensity for nurture, for affection, for consideration.

Wriothesley has missed this, he thinks with a mind that has been thinking every day for a month. He wants to nurture this feeling.

That decision is what leads him to Neuvillette.

“Shall we bathe?” He asks, as the clock strikes twelve.

Neuvillette pays the clock no mind as he answers, “Lead the way.”

Together they journey up the stairs as they have done before. Wriothesley opens the door to the bedroom then to the bathroom. Tile and marble greet them. Neuvillette draws the bath.

As Neuvillette turns his cheek, away from the tub, he spies Wriothesley’s palm lain out, open in invitation, a perfect mirror of a gesture Neuvillette once offered. Neuvillette looks at it for a long moment, a gentle moment where Wriothesley thinks he holds his breath.

His hand is warm where it slides into his, that hand tugs Wriothesley close, past casual into personal. His stomach flips at the touch of the first button that Neuvillette gives him permission to thumb, pushing it through the hole and undressing his throat.

The sight is striking. Wriothesley has seen Neuvillette nude before, but this feels striking. Wriothesley has never been given control like this before. This is a trust he has never been delivered. How did he get here? Does he deserve it?

Irrelevant, that voice coos, sounding like Neuvillette, do you want it?

There is only one answer.

Wriothesley’s lashes flick up, looking into Neuvillette’s eyes as they stare down at him. His eyes hold all his thoughts, his questions, his reservations as well as his desire. His pupils are expanded, his breath halted, he is playing patient but he is nervous. Wriothesley does not know how to assure him.

Instinct proves him wrong.

Wriothesley’s hand reaches for Neuvillette’s second button. Neuvillette’s lashes pull closed in permission, an animalistic symbol of trust that Wriothesley understands deeply. Button by button he undresses Neuvillette, peeling the Court off his shoulders and revealing scales. They are prettier than Wriothesley’s scars. He thinks the fact that he is seeing them might mean something.

“They’re pretty.” Wriothesley’s tongue runs away with his thoughts.

Neuvillette’s throat makes a sound, one Wriothesley could never imitate.

“I am glad you think so.” He says with his words.

Wriothesley thinks he might not need them, he understands what that rumble meant. Neuvillette is flattered.

Wriothesley finds Neuvillette’s hand, slack at his side and presses it against his own button, relatively lower, pulled away from his neck but he drags the tip of Neuvillette’s finger down the center of his throat just to test how that makes him feel and he marvels at the heat stirring inside him. It is incomprehensible that Neuvillette’s touch registers entirely different from any other on Teyvat, but Wriothesley trusts the proof.

Neuvillette’s lashes settle on the sight of Wriothesley’s silent beg of his button. He exhales as Neuvillette responds with a reverent expression. The button slides through the hole much easier than when Wriothesley did it. Neuvillette only needs one hand. That’s oddly hot. The pressure of his hand going down his navel however is undeniably hotter.

The faucet stops, plugged by the use of Neuvillette’s authority as they stand before each other bare. Their eyes are stuck in a staring contest of a different variety than they have held before, this is something that communicates a slightly different message.

It begs but one question, Can I trust you?

Neither look away, neither feeling the pull to concede or reject it. Instead, as if following instinct, their lashes lower a perfect mirrored gesture.

I do anyway, It says.

The water line rises splashing over the side of the tub as they sit against each other. This time, Wriothesley holds Neuvillette against his chest, a request Neuvillette agreed to without hesitation. It is a completely novel sensation for Neuvillette, to be held in someone’s arms in the water. He can taste Wriothesley’s emotions all around him.

This isn’t the same as when Neuvillette first bathed him and all he could feel was the sensation of fear. Nor the times after where each pass of his cloth seemed to peel that fear away and breed something else like dread, reluctance, anticipation. This tastes different. This tastes determined. This tastes like the kiss pressed into his shoulder means something.

Neuvillette could already feel the shift when Wriothesley invited him first, could feel the shift as they undressed each other, could feel the shift as they locked eyes and submitted to each other. This bath simply leaves no room for misunderstanding. Wriothesley has noticed Neuvillette’s ache and in some way, has felt the same burning pull. This is reciprocation. Neuvillette marvels.

Wriothesley pulls the cloth over Neuvillette’s chest, begging his head back against his shoulder. Neuvillette submits to his easy suggestion. His touch is gentle and refreshing, stealing the sweat of the day, wiping him clean, forgiving him for the dirt he finds, like it does not deter him from pressing his lips to Neuvillette’s skin.

A tongue pulls over Neuvillette’s pulse and his breath hitches. That registers in a way that it could only register to Neuvillette, as a desire to mate, to bond. This is probably not Wriothesley’s intention, he likely does not know about this effect of Neuvillette’s biology at all but by the stars Neuvillette is aware. Oh how he aches.

He should be surprised by his responsiveness to the touch, by his sudden desire, but it is not sudden and that is perhaps why he is not. The only thing he feels is clarity. It all makes sense now. Yes of course. Wriothesley, his dear Wriothesley, is so capable of being his mate. Neuvillette never thought he’d ever face this consideration before, never had any relationships close enough to tempt it.

Perhaps this was only inevitable from the moment he met the shadow lingering beneath his couch. Perhaps this was their natural trajectory. Perhaps Neuvillette can allow himself to want this.

With that thought, Neuvillette turns in the water, ripples shifting around his hips, skin meeting skin and setting his veins alight, charged with anticipation.

Wriothesley’s lashes linger on the sight of Neuvillette’s face turning to his. He flicks a cold nose against Neuvillette’s cheek. Neuvillette’s answer is with a touch of his own, but it’s not a cold nose that greets him, it’s warm lips. Wriothesley, with an ache he has never felt before, tries desperately to reciprocate this touch of men.

All at once, he thinks, he wants to be human. He is tired of avoiding it any longer. He wants this, wants Neuvillette in a way only men can have him, touch him, be with him.

And then Neuvillette purrs.

Oh, Wriothesley thinks, that’s right he’s not human either. The unease in his chest rests at once. Finally, he has met someone like him.

Water spills over Wriothesley’s chest as Neuvillette’s hand travels up his body, sinking around his shoulders, fingers scratching around the base of his head. Wriothesley holds him, thick hands enveloping his naked hips as Neuvillette braces himself over his lap.

Wriothesley’s jaw loosens as Neuvillette sips kisses from him, closed lips polite until propriety is damned by the touch of a tongue. Wriothesley groans, swallowing the muscle behind his teeth with a greedy hunger. He is starving. He finds nourishment at the taste of Neuvillette.

Yes, his chest sings, a heavy thrum that beats in concert with Neuvillette’s pounding heart, yes, yes, yes—a steady rhythm that shakes their bodies, pushing them into each other til threat of collapse. Wriothesley would not let such a thing happen to them. To hold Neuvillette up is his responsibility and he carries that duty with honor.

Their lips part with a wet sound that echoes against the tile of the bathroom. Nothing but the sound of their panting persists in the stillness. Neuvillette’s eyes stare down his nose, focused on Wriothesley’s dilated pupils. Their faces match, cherry flushed and kiss slicked mouths subsisting on each other’s shared breath. They stare, emboldened by an unspoken tension.

They crash back into each other with an animalistic fervor, devouring each other’s sounds and taming the beasts that threaten to beat out of their chests.

The water grows cold but their mouths do not tire. Wriothesley stands at once, an idea teasing him like the touch of Neuvillette’s hair curtained around his shoulders does. Neuvillette groans at the sight of Wriothesley carrying them from the tub to the drawn rug in the middle of the bathroom.

Wriothesley uses the wall to help keep Neuvillette in his arms. Neuvillette’s arousal is clear and a vision all on its own. Wriothesley feels his own beginning to burn. He doesn’t know how to navigate this.

“Tell me what to do,” Wriothesley begs, black lashes looking up, “I’ll be good.”

“Do what you wish to,” Neuvillette tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to his raised head, “you are not mine to command.”

“I want to be,” Wriothesley pleads, muscles twitching where he holds Neuvillette, “test me and I’ll prove it to you.”

Neuvillette’s eyes dilate.

“You need pass no test,” Neuvillette growls, “I already want you.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide, “Do you mean that?” He exhales, breath brushing against Neuvillette’s open lips.

“Entirely.” Neuvillette promises, sealing it with a bruising kiss.

Wriothesley groans. Slowly, he lowers Neuvillette’s legs beneath him, smoothing his palms along the side of his thighs.

Wriothesley pulls away, but only just, as he whispers, “I want you in your bed,” he begs.

“What an idea.” Neuvillette exhales, audibly pleased. “Take me.” He commands.

That registers as a command Wriothesley aches to follow.

Wriothesley places himself at Neuvillette’s feet, as he crawls from the foot of the bed up Neuvillette’s exposed leg twisted in the sheets. His chin dips, lashes pulling low across his cheeks as his lips ghost a hot line over Neuvillette’s thigh. It tickles.

Neuvillette presses his legs together, unable to find any other way to abate the growing burn he feels. Wriothesley’s hand, curled in the sheets moves, pulling up over the bed. It reaches for Neuvillette’s hip, fingers tracing along the edges of his sheets, searching for his skin buried beneath them.

Neuvillette sucks in a breath at the first touch. It stings. Wriothesley’s callouses touching Neuvillette’s bare skin makes him burn.

Neuvillette’s own hand searches for  Wriothesley, for his stretched muscle flexing where he holds himself above Neuvillette, careful not to fall.

Neuvillette’s nails catch on the supple flesh as his fingertips curl around his shoulder. That hand moves, dusting across and feeling the line of scarred skin over Wriothesley’s neck. Neuvillette settles his hand against Wriothesley’s jaw.

Wriothesley tilts his cheek, pressing his lips into the thumb that he finds. Then, lower, Neuvillette’s palm, then even lower, Wriothesley ducks his head under the hand, carding it through his hair, begging to be held.

Neuvillette holds him, and with this granted authority, uses it to pull him close. Neuvillette begs Wriothesley’s lips to his mouth, stealing a sipping kiss with a sound. Wriothesley crowds Neuvillette into his pillows, crawling over his body and pressing him into his bed with his flexing stomach.

Neuvillette moans at the press against his arousal. It burns, he can feel the effect of it in his very teeth. Fuck.

Neuvillette drags an ankle up Wriothesley’s leg, over the bend of his back, pulling him closer, begging to be crowded, to be bullied into his sheets. Neuvillette doesn’t know how else to ask for what he wants other than to moan at the first hint of Wriothesley’s weight pressing into him, at the feeling of his own cock brushing against his thigh.

“Please.” Neuvillette whispers against Wriothesley’s mouth. “Please.” He breathes, feeling oddly desperate.

“Okay,” Wriothesley agrees, black lashes flicking over his face, cataloguing his willingness. “Okay.” He says, more certain, sealing his promise with a firm press of his closed mouth to Neuvillette’s lips.

Neuvillette throws his head back as Wriothesley strokes him. The feeling of his hands is too much and yet not enough all at once. Neuvillette doesn’t have the presence of mind to warn Wriothesley about his anatomy but he needn’t have worried.

Wriothesley’s hand is gentle where it pets him, slick with his authority, as it slides between Neuvillette’s legs. He is gentle and reverent with his touch against Neuvillette’s vent. Wriothesley groans, like he likes it, like he likes Neuvillette.

It begs fire into Neuvillette’s lungs, such gentle touch and Neuvillette is burning with it.

“I want to make you feel good.” Wriothesley’s tender lips say against Neuvillette’s ear.

His presence is all around him, only Wriothesley, all around him. He can’t tell how loud he’s being, can’t tell who he is, where one of them ends and the other begins. It gives Neuvillette the courage to be honest.

“Then kiss me.” Neuvillette groans, handsome voice full of gravel, like he likes that.

Wriothesley is so glad they can agree.

Their lips meet, part, then meet again with a slick and gentle fervor, pulling from each other pleasure.

Neuvillette’s hips work against Wriothesley’s hand, encouraging undulations that are ruled solely by instinct in the pursuit of pleasure. The sight of it is glorious. Neuvillette trapped in a daze of ecstasy has Wriothesley feeling endeared and affectionate.

He presses his encouragement with his mouth into the pulse of Neuvillette’s neck. That earns him the prettiest arch of his spine and sends his knuckle deep inside of Neuvillette’s furnace of a body. The idea that he’s going to be buried in it has his hips stuttering into the sheets.

He tries to wrestle for control, keep himself from embarrassing himself and ending their night before it’s just begun but fuck, this is the first time he’s ever wanted it quite like this. This is nothing like the Fortress, when you’re desperate to share a bed for warmth and a fragile alliance.

This is Neuvillette, the only man who has ever cared to earn his trust like it means something, like he wants Wriothesley to like him. Fuck, he didn’t mean to, didn’t think he would, but he does. He does, he does, he does.

Neuvillette curls his gentle fingers into Wriothesley’s head and Wriothesley goes, with pleasurable duty, he sinks into that hand. Finally, he is capable of something good again. It’s more than he could ever ask for.

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette’s pretty lips beg.

“I’m here.” Wriothesley coos, pressing his presence into Neuvillette with his lips, “I’m here.” He says.

“I want you.” Neuvillette’s lashes peel back, his stare beckoning, begging.

“You have me.” Wriothesley promises, his heart and mind in perfect agreement.

Neuvillette’s ankle slides up Wriothesley’s back, “Yeah?” His pretty lips curl, throat glistening in the low light of the moon.

Oh, Wriothesley thinks, he’s trying to ask for more. And what a good job he’s doing. Wriothesley wonders how far he’ll go with a little encouragement.

Driven by the affection in his chest, Wriothesley says, “Tell me, Neuvillette, you sweet thing, what do you need?”

Neuvillette’s throat works, a whine rippling off his tongue as his hips shake, pushing and pulling like it’s both too much and not enough. His cock leaks against his stomach.

Neuvillette surges for Wriothesley’s lips, stealing his breath for confidence. “You,” he whispers with a firm press, “I need you.” He groans, “Please,” he presses, Wriothesley catches each kiss with open lashes unable to look away from this sight, “Please.”

The Iudex of Fontaine trembles in the sight of voicing his needs. Wriothesley feels his own heart tremble for him.

“Of course,” Wriothesley presses into his lips, delivering his head back to the pillow, holding him there with his tongue, “Good, so good, you did so good.”

Wriothesley slips his fingers from Neuvillette’s vent, lining up his aching cock along his rim and slowly, so terribly gentle, eases in against his quivering muscle. Wriothesley’s own muscles protest where he holds himself still above Neuvillette, biceps tensing and flexing. Neuvillette’s claws tighten against the plush skin as Wriothesley buries himself inside him.

Neuvillette’s ankle presses forth, begging him in til their hips meet and they groan in concert. Neuvillette peers up at Wriothesley, eyes dazed and blown, through his silver lashes. Wriothesley meets his gaze, unyielding, down his nose through his bed of charcoal. They watch each other as their chests beat a shared rhythm in every place their skin meets.

“Do you feel that?” Wriothesley asks, head lowering to feel Neuvillette’s panting breaths across his face, “Do you feel where we connect?”

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide, like that means something important to him. Slowly, his hand releases from the sheets and instead, goes to his stomach. Wriothesley bites his lip at the erotic sight of Neuvillette feeling for Wriothesley’s cock through his own stomach. Through some higher authority, Neuvillette must be able to tell because his breath stutters.

“I feel you.” Neuvillette breathes, “I feel you all around me.”

Wriothesley’s pulse quickens.

“And? Do you like it?” He asks, perhaps insecure.

Neuvillette’s lips stretch into the prettiest grin Wriothesley’s ever seen in his entire life.

“I love it.”

Wriothesley bows over, pressing his lips to Neuvillette’s mouth and swallowing his sound of relief. The motion shifts him inside of Neuvillette and they groan in tandem. The dam of tension breaks and Wriothesley can’t stop his hips from rutting into Neuvillette’s heat, buried up to throat. The sensation is ineffable.

Neuvillette moans at the press, ankle begging for more, further, deeper, harder. Wriothesley, the ever gentle beast, answers to his duty.

The responsibility over Neuvillette’s pleasure alights within his chest a rhythm that he begins, practically bullying Neuvillette into his mattress, just as he commands. Their groans fill the room as their hips meet, press after press like their kisses in the tub. Neuvillette pulls Wriothesley into his mouth, sipping from his lips his sound.

They rut against each other, motions turning frantic with growing coiling need. Neuvillette whines, voice a burden in his own mouth.

Wriothesley groans against his cheek, “I hear you,” he coos, “I know.” He presses his lips to his ear, begging from him, “Come on Neuvillette, let me see you,” he pleads, “let me see you.” His throat whines with each press of his hips, his own pleasure catching up to him

Neuvillette’s cock shifts along the line of Wriothesley’s flexing abdomen and that along with the words pressing into his mind giving him permission to let go, has him tumbling over the edge and spilling into Wriothesley’s skin, just as Wriothesley spills into Neuvillette.

They moan in concert, beating chests panting into each other’s open mouths as they subsist on each shared breath.

“So good.” Neuvillette praises, “So good for me.”

Wriothesley feels his chest split open. He doesn’t mean to but the tears fall from his lashes. Neuvillette doesn’t shush him, he only encourages him. Neuvillette begs him into his arms, curling around him, relieving Wriothesley’s tired arms of their duty and pressing him into their bed with gentle kisses along his face.

“I’m here.” Neuvillette says, mirroring Wriothesley, knowing how it felt to hear it.

Wriothesley grows limp in his arms, like those words hold magic. He turns his cheek, eyes peering up through his black lashes like he’s seeing Neuvillette through to the bone.

“You’re here.” He breathes, hand reaching for Neuvillette’s cheek.

Neuvillette’s lip twitches, stretching across his face. He turns into Wriothesley’s palm, pressing his lips to it, kissing his hand with his lashes stayed on Wriothesley’s eyes, unable to look away.

Wriothesley chews on his lip, as if there is something on his mind that he can’t speak. Neuvillette uses his curiosity to help.

“What is on your mind?” He asks.

Wriothesley’s lips part but no sound comes. A pained noise leaves him, but he tries again.

“Do you regret what we’ve done?” His voice is a broken whisper.

Neuvillette’s lashes strike wide. Without hesitation, he reaches for Wriothesley’s face, holding him between his palms, eyes locked on those clear water blue eyes that shift like they can’t decide which eye to look at.

“There is no one else I would have rather done this with. No one.” He says, firm and kind, “Thank you, Wriothesley,” Neuvillette kisses his cheek, “you made me feel good.”

Wriothesley dips his chin, lashes fluttering as he sighs with relief. Finally, Wriothesley feels satisfied. He finally did good. Perhaps he’s not a beast after all if he’s capable of this.

When the sun rises and the Court begs for Neuvillette, he kisses Wriothesley before he goes, petting his gentle face and tucking the fallen sheets around his shoulders like it makes him happy to do so. Wriothesley follows him down the stares into the foyer anyway, to sip from him a final kiss before he leaves, like it makes him happier to do this than to sleep in. Neuvillette’s chest feels like a sun kissed beach, warm to his toes.

His day keeps his mind regulated and attentive but every soften thoughts of the night before drifts into view and he feels his chest split with affection and anticipation to return home. But the Court must be nurtured as he has done for years so he puts those thoughts aside til the sun dips in the sky. When Neuvillette returns home, there is only one thing on his mind.

Neuvillette stands by the entrance to the living room, hip leaning into the doorway for strength.

“There is something I should tell you.”

Wriothesley looks up from his book, lashes settling across Neuvillette’s face full of determination and something else. Those words never bode well, but Wriothesley thinks this is probably necessary if he wishes to attempt to be a man again. Like most necessary things need, he should make an effort.

“I’m listening.” Wriothesley says, setting aside his book.

“Your case came across my desk.” Neuvillette says.

Wriothesley hears a ringing in his ear that has not rung for some time. His lashes lower as he thinks on how to respond. Perhaps his silence is response enough, for Neuvillette continues.

“There was an assault some weeks ago, he came to the guarde’s to report it, perhaps not expecting he was wanted by us for some time. He was found guilty in my court just the other day and is now seeing out his sentence in The Fortress of Meropide.”

Wriothesley’s hand spasms against his bicep where he’s begun to curl in on himself. Neuvillette falls silent and Wriothesley thinks maybe this is where he’s expected to respond. Truthfully he doesn’t know what to say, where to begin.

“You read my case,” Wriothesley says, “you know what happened.”

“You served your time for the murder of your parents.” Neuvillette says, saying what Wriothesley can’t.

Wriothesley chews on his cheek.

“I am sorry.” Neuvillette exhales.

Wriothesley’s head shoots up immediately.

“You’re sorry?” He blinks, shortly his brow begins to furrow, “What—why would you?”

“It is the fault of the system I perpetuate that forced you to take matters into your own hands.” Neuvillette says, brow furrowed with sorrow and sincerity, “I wish my system could have protected you and your innocence.” He swallows, “I also wish, the Fortress had not affected you as it did.”

Wriothesley’s lashes strike wide. Oddly, he feels exposed, perhaps that’s why his eyes slant away.

Neuvillette takes a knee before him and Wriothesley can’t ignore that gesture for any reason. He looks upon that wise and handsome face looking up at him with sorrow and guilt. Wriothesley wants to eat it for him, assuage it all, rule him as innocent, but he wishes to do the same for himself so maybe he can’t trust that impulse.

“What happened should have never come to pass,” Neuvillette tells him, “but the fact that it did does not taint you, you are no beast.” Neuvillette’s eyes are hard to look away from, Wriothesley doesn’t even try, “You are just a man who the system failed, and I am sorry that it did.”

Wriothesley feels his eyes burn and his nose twitches and he can’t quite keep his expression so neutral anymore. He feels the tears budding in the bed of his lashes and he tastes them as they gather in the corner of his lips. Wriothesley wonders at once how he can get Neuvillette to hold him.

He needn’t even ask, Neuvillette does it anyway.

Wriothesley feels the way he crumbles into Neuvillette’s arms, feels the way Neuvillette holds him like he weighs nothing. It is so extraordinary that Wriothesley chokes back his awe, sounding a little like a laugh. He can’t help it, relief tastes like joy and joy sounds like laughter. Neuvillette’s hand pulls down his spine and Wriothesley breathes.

He turns his cheek into Neuvillette’s neck and presses his lips to the pulse. He feels the effect that has on him. He wants to ask, but they have time. Neuvillette’s admission and acceptance has granted them that.

For once, the beast does not fear the end of winter, for he has found more than just reprieve.