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Fontainian summers aren’t particularly brutal. By most measures, they’re quite mild. But this one has been unrelentingly, oppressively, miserably hot, and Wriothesley, who isn’t accustomed to such extremes, is pretty sure he’s dying. Meropide’s air is conditioned by design; too much humidity below the sea’s surface is a precursor to all sorts of dangers, so the Fortress tends to be pleasant—if dry—regardless of the temperature above. Since he’s been with Neuvillette, since he’s started spending most of his nights in the Court, he’s begun to realize how lucky he and the other exiles are down in Meropide.
He drags himself across the Court, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, his jacket left abandoned in Meropide along with his tie. He’d forego his vest, too, if that wouldn’t cause a small scandal. Just going out without a jacket is dangerous enough, but even with his Cryo Vision pumping icy magic through his veins, his back is soaked with sweat and he thinks he might combust.
“It’s too damn hot,” he mutters to himself, raking a hand through his hair.
He’s going to get an earful from Neuvillette, too. He knows this. Is braced for it. He’s half-dressed by all measures, not anywhere near as put together as his station demands. It’s like the whole of Fontaine thinks dukes don’t feel temperature like everyone else.
Groaning, he pushes his way into the Palais Mermonia. He waves half-heartedly to the gestionnaires who recognize him, gives Sedene a much more genuine greeting, and then trudges into Neuvillette’s office.
All the windows are open, begging for a breeze to pass through, but the air has been dead all day, and no one expects that to change any time soon. Neuvillette himself is in a state of remarkable undress, wearing only his blousy white shirt, his stole and jacket abandoned, his hair braided back from his face into an elaborate ponytail, and he—
Wriothesley draws up short of Neuvillette’s desk.
Neuvillette pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, his brows raised. “Your Grace.”
“Monsieur.” Wriothesley stares at the popsicle and then at Neuvillette. “Hot?” he asks, amused.
“Miserably,” Neuvillette replies dryly, and then he slides that popsicle back between his lips, and Wriothesley discovers that the weather isn’t the only source of torment.
He stands there, a little stupidly, watching Neuvillette suckle the rounded tip of his popsicle, his tongue curling around it before his lips pull it deep, and he wonders why he’s being tortured like this.
Clearing his throat, Wriothesley eases into one of the chairs facing Neuvillette’s desk. “I didn’t think you’d like flavored ice.”
The popsicle pops out of Neuvillette’s mouth, and Wriothesley’s cock twitches with a not inconsiderable interest. “It is made from my private stock of Snezhnayan water,” Neuvillette replies, no small amount of disdain dripping from his tone. He’s never liked flavored ice. Doesn’t really care for any flavored liquid, really. But he claims Snezhnayan water, especially Snezhnayan glacier water, is the equivalent of candy. Wriothesley believes him.
Wriothesley also believes that watching Neuvillette suck a popsicle between his lips is a unique kind of hell that should only be reserved for the worst of men. But, then, he’s done some pretty heinous things, so maybe he deserves this. Deserves to be stuck in Neuvillette’s office, watching Neuvillette slide a popsicle over his tongue, between his lips. Watching Neuvillette hollow his cheeks to suck with a quiet hum of pleasure.
He wants to be that popsicle, wants his cock heavy on Neuvillette’s tongue, but he’s here for a meeting, and even though it’s nauseatingly hot, they do have work to keep on top of. He wants to be on top of Neuvillette, driving into that soft, hot body. Let them overheat from their exertions; he can use his Vision to cool them back off.
Neuvillette pulls the popsicle slowly from his mouth and licks the length of it, from base to tip, but he doesn’t look at Wriothesley when he does it. No, he turns over some docket on his desk, skims his finger across the page, and then passes it to Wriothesley. “The amended budget proposal,” he says.
Taking the docket, Wriothesley settles back in his chair and tries very, very hard to focus on the numbers the gestionnaires have proposed in place of his own. He’s immediately annoyed that they’re suggesting he cut the budget for repairs in half, but more than that, he keeps catching sight of Neuvillette’s plush lips working around the length of the popsicle.
Growing uncomfortably hard, he shuffles the papers and tries very desperately to focus on them. But Neuvillette pulls the popsicle deep between his lips, deeper than is necessary if he’s just trying to eat the damn thing, and Wriothesley can’t help but imagine his cock in Neuvillette’s mouth instead. The wet heat of him, the pliant curling of his tongue sucking his cock to the back of his throat every time.
There’s no chance that Neuvillette is doing this deliberately. Even now, after several months together, Wriothesley’s usually the one to initiate intimacies. On those rare occasions that Neuvillette does, he’s fairly direct. Sucking a popsicle like it’s a cock is—well. Sure, it could just be Neuvillette enjoying a cool treat on a hot day, but people don’t lick popsicles like Neuvillette is dragging his tongue up this one, slowly, sensually, his eyes drifting toward Wriothesley as if to measure his reaction and then darting away. But Neuvillette doesn’t play games like this. This can’t possibly be an attempt at seduction, and Wriothesley returns his gaze to the papers.
Neuvillette makes a small little noise in the back of his throat, aching and sweet, just like he does when Wriothesley pulls his nose to his groin, and the papers crumple in Wriothesley’s hands.
“Something wrong, beloved?” Neuvillette asks, flicking the tip of the popsicle with his tongue. If it wasn’t for the earnest concern in his eyes, Wriothesley would’ve assumed, in that moment, that Neuvillette is truly fucking with him. But Neuvillette isn’t like that, doesn’t behave that way.
Wriothesley gives him a tight smile. “Not at all. Just annoyed that the Maison Cardinalice doesn’t seem to think we need to do repairs in Meropide.”
“I noticed that as well. Would you like me to speak with them?” He taps his popsicle against his lips, and Wriothesley can’t help but recall two nights ago when he tapped his cock against those plush lips, smearing cum across them while Neuvillette looked up at him with glazed eyes and flushed cheeks.
Fuck. His cock grows harder, aching in his pants, and desire curls between his legs. Across from him, Neuvillette’s eyes go a little wide and then a little soft.
“Beloved,” he says.
Wriothesley sets the papers down, leans over Neuvillette’s desk, catches his wrist to pull the popsicle away from his mouth, and kisses him hard. Neuvillette’s lips are cold beneath his, slick with Snezhnayan water, but he doesn’t give a damn. His fingers curve around Neuvillette’s jaw, holding his face as he takes and takes with a needy, demanding kiss, one that Neuvillette meets after only a moment’s hesitation.
Their cool tongues tangle together, pushing into each other’s mouths as Neuvillette gasps, moans. He tears his mouth away, tipping his head back, and he manages, “Wriothesley,” in the most delightfully strained voice.
Wriothesley plucks the popsicle from Neuvillette’s fingers, drops it in a nearby teacup, and bites Neuvillette’s lower lip. “If you want something cold in your mouth, sweetness, I can provide that.”
“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says again, scandalized this time. “We are—the door isn’t—”
Grinning against Neuvillette’s mouth, Wriothesley kisses him again. Slower this time. Sensual. He chills his lips and tongue with Cryo, making their kiss even colder than the popsicle must’ve been, and Neuvillette moans. “You’ve been working me up since I got here,” he says, his voice low, a rumble in his chest. “I won’t last long—just enough to give you a treat.”
Neuvillette makes an aching sound, and Wriothesley takes that as permission. He pushes away from Neuvillette’s desk, hurrying around it, only to bend over Neuvillette in his chair and take his mouth in another kiss before he can protest.
Cryo chills Wriothesley’s fingertips as he touches Neuvillette’s jaw, his throat. He gives Neuvillette enticing little caresses as his tongue fucks lazily between his lips as if the office door isn’t unlocked, as if they have time for slow, leisurely lovemaking. They don’t, but the idea of sliding his cock, infused with Cryo, into Neuvillette’s tight, hot body has its appeals. Maybe tonight.
Dropping his hands to his pants, Wriothesley pulls apart his belt, his laces. His pants sag around his thighs as he lifts his mouth from Neuvillette’s.
“Have a taste, sweetness,” he says, cajoling, applying a gentle pressure to the back of Neuvillette’s head.
And Neuvillette, sweet and staid Neuvillette, pushes his chair back and goes to his knees at Wriothesley’s feet, and it’s the sexiest thing Wriothesley has seen in a very long time. Neuvillette looks up at him through the heavy fall of white lashes, and Wriothesley’s hard cock grows harder still. It aches. He aches. His breath comes faster, and he slips one hand along Neuvillette’s hair, grabbing the base of his ponytail.
A moan spills out of Neuvillette, and he rubs his cheek against Wriothesley’s thigh, his eyes already glassy, distant. Those pretty eyes turn to Wriothesley’s cock, still tucked behind his pants, and Neuvillette pulls it free with light touches. Even his fingertips are hot, burning against Wriothesley’s cock.
Cryo spills through Wriothesley’s veins, and he centers the chill magic on his cock as Neuvillette sways forward as though drugged. His plush lips part, and he moans as he licks the head of Wriothesley’s cock.
“Good,” Wriothesley purrs, gripping Neuvillette’s ponytail harder. “Is it cool enough for you?”
Neuvillette braces his bare hands on Wriothesley’s thighs. “Better than the popsicle,” he says, and he wraps his mouth around Wriothesley’s length, pulling the tip of it between his lips.
Groaning, Wriothesley watches him fixedly, watches the length of his cock slide deeper into Neuvillette’s mouth as his cheeks hollow and he sucks delicately. Neuvillette is so rarely messy about blow jobs, but that makes the whole thing somehow more indecent. The fastidious Chief Justice on his knees, trying to remain decorous, slowly losing his own inhibitions as he sucks on Wriothesley’s cock… Wriothesley licks his lips.
“Take more of me, sweetness,” he says, urging Neuvillette closer.
With a little moan, Neuvillette sinks further down Wriothesley’s cock. His snow-white lashes flutter shut, dusting his cheeks, and Wriothesley groans, too. When Neuvillette draws back, sucking around his length, he leaves Wriothesley’s skin glistening with saliva. The air around him feels hot for how cold his cock is as Neuvillette laps at his tip, licking up precum. Then he slides back down Wriothesley’s length, taking him deeper, deeper, and his mouth is so soft and scorching hot.
Fuck, but Neuvillette feels good, feels some kind of divine, as he presses his nose to Wriothesley’s stomach. His throat works around Wriothesley’s cock, rippling and spasming, and that’s so good, too. Is too good. Wriothesley’s hips roll, driving forward, choking Neuvillette just a little more on his cock, and Neuvillette whines ever so sweetly. His clawed fingertips catch in the fabric of Wriothesley’s pants.
Chuckling, Wriothesley tugs at one wrist, lifting those claws out of the fabric. “Mind the clothes, sweetness,” he says gently, his voice low and rough. “We don’t want to let anyone know what we’re up to, do we?”
Neuvillette moans, and, fuck, the sound reverberates up the length of his cock, settles like sweet fire in his belly, and Wriothesley sucks in a sharp, aching breath. His fist tugs at Neuvillette’s hair, dragging him up the length of Wriothesley’s cock, and Neuvillette makes the most obscene sound at the back of his throat. He grabs at Wriothesley’s hips, and Wriothesley can’t help but laugh again.
“Greedy.”
He thrusts forward, sharp and deep, and Neuvillette goes soft under his hands, jaw slack. Wriothesley’s cock drags against Neuvillette’s tongue, hits his soft palate, slides deeper, and they both groan as Neuvillette’s throat works and tears spill from his eyes. Saliva drips from his mouth, and Wriothesley thumbs it away, starting a rhythm that’s rough but shallower; Neuvillette doesn’t mind choking on his cock, but that’s not what he wants, not right now. Wriothesley wants the glide of his cock over Neuvillette’s tongue, wants to drive himself into the incredible heat of Neuvillette’s mouth.
He continues to channel Cryo through his body, and when he touches the edge of Neuvillette’s lip, cold radiates from his skin. A smile curves his lips; Neuvillette, meanwhile, looks delirious, drunk on the treat sliding into him.
“Harder, sweetness,” Wriothesley says. “Suck me harder.”
Neuvillette does, his lips tugging against Wriothesley’s cock as Wriothesley fucks into his mouth, as pleasure builds at the base of his spine. Neuvillette whines and moans, and more tears spill from his closed eyelids like little icy diamonds.
Breathing heavily, one hand braced on the edge of Neuvillette’s desk, his other still wrapped around Neuvillette’s ponytail, Wriothesley takes his pleasures from Neuvillette’s mouth. He works himself harder, faster, staring at where his cock vanishes between those sweet lips. The heat of the day has nothing on the heat of Neuvillette’s mouth, and it’s so good it’s almost divine.
“Good,” he breathes, finally letting his own eyes drift shut as the pleasure grows and grows. “Fuck, Neuvillette, that’s so—” He gasps, the words catching in his throat, as he stumbles closer to the edge of his pleasure, as Neuvillette suddenly surges forward and takes him to the root, swallowing rhythmically around his length.
He comes with a soft groan, holding Neuvillette against his stomach, his cock twitching as it spills down Neuvillette’s throat. Neuvillette doesn’t let him go, either. No, he continues to suck on Wriothesley’s cock, pulling more ecstasy through him, making him twitch and gasp as yet more cum drips out of him.
Only when Wriothesley releases him and says, “Enough, sweetness,” does Neuvillette pull back. Wriothesley’s cock drags over his lips as he blinks open his eyes and smiles, and, fuck, that’s enough to have him half hard again. He’ll never stop wanting Neuvillette.
Gently, he curves his hand around Neuvillette’s jaw and sinks his thumb between reddened lips. Neuvillette turns into his touch, suckling on his thumb. Just to be cheeky, he sends Cryo there, too, and Neuvillette shivers.
“Good?” he asks, rasping.
Neuvillette smiles, releasing Wriothesley’s thumb. “Just the treat I wanted.” He begins to rise, and Wriothesley helps him, steadying him while he finds his feet. “Shame about the popsicle, though.”
They both glance at it. It’s well on its way to melted within the cup.
With a laugh, Wriothesley rights his pants and presses an icy kiss to Neuvillette’s sweaty temple. Even the Hydro Dragon Sovereign can’t stand this heat. “Come to Meropide tonight, then. It’s much more comfortable there.”
Neuvillette’s smile turns sultry. “Perhaps I shall,” he says.
But he does, of course, and perhaps it’s luck, but it rains heavily that night for the first time in several weeks. What a shame no one will know how much Wriothesley had to do with that.