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“Gods.” Wriothesley groans into the hollow of Neuvillette’s throat as orgasm takes him, teeth skating over bone and pale flesh. Neuvillette is strong above him, breath coasting in ragged pants over Wriothesley’s cheek as he finds release.
The night is old, and dawn already creeps along the curtains, and teases light upon the floor. Wriothesley sighs against the corner of Neuvillette’s mouth, chin tipped up by lithe fingers, clawed, for a kiss that meanders into the lines of simple touch, without intentions of taking with drugging pulls.
“We could stay like this. Enjoy the morning,” Neuvillette murmurs against Wriothesley' s cheek as they both settle on their sides. Wriothesley’s breath hitches, as Neuvillette stays inside him, knot grazing his prostate sweetly, cruelly.
“We also promised Clorinde and Navia lunch at Debord,” Wriothesley reminds him, settling.
He shivers, as Neuvillette’s fingers brush over the burl of his waist, and dip down to press over the soft skin below his navel, feeling where he’s seated deep inside. Wriothesley moans, low, eyes fluttering shut, as he falls into the feeling of pressure, both inside and out. He loves this; being filled so wholly, until his thoughts become hard to grasp.
“It’s only four. We have time. Much of it.” Neuvillette punctuates each part with a suckling kiss to Wriothesley’s neck, lingering at his scent gland where jaw and ear meet. “I can ravage you.”
Despite the tremor that sends through Wriothesley, he laughs a little. “After two years, you still surprise me.”
“I could talk more. Wax on, my husband.” But Neuvillette is smiling, and Wriothesley feels his lips as they turn up against his pulsepoint. “Or we could enjoy each other.”
That’s a temptation; a great one. Pleasure runs hot through their bond. It knocks on the back of Wriothesley’s mind, an invitation of sorts, and he lets Neuvillette in, to sense his desire in return. Neuvillette purrs, low in his throat, pleased.
“I want to stay like this. Feeling you,” Wriothesley admits softly as Neuvillette rocks shallowly into him.
They don’t chase orgasm this time, but savour the closeness of being so intimately connected. Morning calls for it, and as of late, Wriothesley has warmed to the sensation of being so divinely filled. Now, he runs his fingers over his belly, feeling where Neuvillette sits inside him for himself.
Neuvillette moans, a melodic thing, pushed against the shell of Wriothesley’s ear, as Wriothesley moves, taking him deeper. His knot catches against Wriothesley’s rim, and slick ruins their sheets beneath them, but they both hardly care for it.
“I’ve thought of it often…” Neuvillette starts, slowing. He rests a foot between Wriothesley’s, their ankles knocking together. He places a hand over Wriothesley’s, over his abdomen. “Our home is quiet, is it not?”
Wriothesley hums, agreeing. “We could get a pet. Not a vishap, though.”
“No, they are wild things.” Neuvillette’s laugh is deep, and Wriothesley has to turn his mouth to the side to taste humour for himself. “Too destructive.”
“It’s more than that,” Wriothesley admits. He’s felt it in their bond, and in their moments of intimacy.
Their touches have lingered and they’ve stayed together in the after much longer, as if hoping Neuvillette’s release would take. The desire for a child has been there, in the backs of their minds, and they both know it. They just simply haven’t found it necessary to bring those needs to the forefront.
“Two years is still young in comparison to the centuries we’ll have,” Neuvillette thinks aloud. His fingers play over Wriothesley’s belly, soothing strokes. Wriothesley does much the same, fingers tracing the scales on Neuvillette’s forearm. “Is it not too soon to be thinking of children?”
“Maybe, but we’ve known each other long enough before marriage. We waited very long.” Wriothesley closes his eyes. A touch of anxiety runs through him, not for himself, but for the vastness of the future, and how long their lives will be together. It’s something he still struggles to grasp, morality still a thing his mind cannot let go of now that he shares Neuvillette’s lifespan. “There’s a chance I can’t have children naturally. We know this.”
Neuvillette makes a small sound in the back of his throat; a churr of sorts. A soft kiss is left on Wriothesley’s shoulder. This talk, too, has become more common. Wriothesley is not upset, by any means. His mate is a dragon, and there are other means.
But still, the thought of sharing a natural heat, calling of his physiology, with Neuvillette, is special. It’s something Wriothesley still wants…
Wriothesley’s upbringing was harsh, and before marriage, he made a point to undergo full assessments. Dominant Omegas were treated much more harshly on the black market, and his parents had been cruel, trying to sell him at the highest bidder to an Alpha who deemed him fit enough as a breeding partner. There was always a chance the distress of it all would cause Wriothesley to struggle with conception, but Sigewinne, in all her efforts, couldn’t clearly confirm or deny the chances.
“It’ll be a few more years before I develop a clutch,” Neuvillette starts. He tucks his nose into the space between shoulder and neck, breathing in Wriothesley’s scent. “Perhaps we could try. Even then, we will still have a clutch, if the need arises, later. Not all is lost.”
Oh, that hope is a sweet, sweet thing.
“We could?” Wriothesley reaches up, and cups Neuvillette’s jaw, arching back to take a kiss. Neuvillette grasps Wriothesley’s hip, keeping him still as he tries to rock back. “Not every Omega is so lucky to have an Enigma.”
Neuvillette’s laugh is a puff of air. “I am a Sovereign, no Enigma.”
“You’re close enough.” Wriothesley nips at Neuvillette’s lower lip.
Too drugging is the pull of tongues over teeth paired with the softness of lips. Wriothesley sighs into the kiss, turning over, to slip his leg between Neuvillette’s. The morning air is chilled, telling of spring. He lightly pushes against Neuvillette’s chest, flat-palmed, and Neuvillette goes easily, laying on his back.
Wriothesley enjoys this; taking the reins. He lays astride hips, narrow, and rocks back, feeling the sturdiness of Neuvillette beneath him, and the hardness of arousal pressing against the cleft of his ass. Wriothesley watches Neuvillette fall into pleasure, lavender eyes fluttering shut, and white lashes grazing cheeks, as he takes one draconic length in hand, and eases it inside him.
“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette’s hand settles at Wriothesley’s waist, sharp nails digging into muscle. Wriothesley shudders, prerelease leaking onto the soft skin of Neuvillette’s belly as he falls forward, forearms on either side of Neuvillette’s head, careful to not catch on white hair fanned across the sheets beneath his weight.
Slick and remnants of release ease Neuvillette into Wriothesley perfectly. Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath, head tipping back as he sinks down onto Neuvillette. It burns, just a little, but it’s perfect. This length is more draconic, and ribbed, dragging along tender muscle as Neuvillette begins to move.
“Just like that.” Wriothesley sits up, having to, and lets his palms rest flat on Neuvillette’s thighs behind him. Like this, Neuvillette is deeper inside him, at the perfect angle, and they begin a rhythm, a little hurried, a little desperate, for release.
Pleasure snaps quickly in Wriothesley’s belly, just before Neuvillette’s thrusts turn uncoordinated, and he comes hot inside him. Wriothesley falls into Neuvillette’s arms in the after, content to be laid on his side, Neuvillette’s knot spreading him wide. This cock is bigger, and his knot, locked deep inside Wriothesley, is bigger, too. It hurts a little, and tears burn at his waterline. But this is a saccharine sweet pain, and one that promises pups, if they are diligent enough.
Wriothesley finds it hard to speak, thoughts drifting with each small movement of Neuvillette inside him. Still, tears burn across his waterline, at the feel of Neuvillette’s hand resting on his belly. There’s so much hope there, and it overwhelms him, to feel Neuvillette’s authority wash over him, seeking and soothing at once.
“We have time,” Neuvillette reminds Wriothesley softly, sensing that anxiety as it streaks through the aftershocks of desire. “Much of it.”
“We do.” Wriothesley sighs, and tucks his nose into Neuvillette's neck, nosing at the scent gland there, just above their mating bond. Here, he smells the sea and salt and brine on a warm summer’s day.
Still, he wishes his heat would come sooner.
—
Spring doesn’t take long to come, and with it, Wriothesley waits until the second week of March. It rains, but the air is more humid than icy, and the sea brings in warm-dappled skirlings of wind into the Court.
When Wriothesley struggles to leave their bed so early in the mornings, and begins to take Neuvillette’s handkerchiefs and cravats with him to work, subtly tucked into the pockets of his own coat, he knows it won’t be long.
And when the fevers start, a shudder of hot and cold beneath his skin, he knows he must take leave.
“You’ll be alright, Your Grace,” Sigewinne tells Wriothesley as he fills out forms for sick leave in the medical bay of the Fortress.
It’s quiet and thank Celestia the inmates have behaved. There are no other souls here, save for a few men who’ve caught the flu with the change of the season. No one sees the sun down here, but the air circulation systems still carry germs.
“Nothing gets past you.” Wriothesley gives her a tired smile. He’s been on edge all morning, and every scent that isn’t Neuvillette has left him reeling and nauseous. Sigewinne isn’t one to freely give him comfort. She knows him too well for that, so the fact that she offers it now means that she can see the change in him this time around for herself as clear as day.
“If you need anything, the clinic is always open.” She makes a small sound in thought, tapping her pen against the desk. Wriothesley turns the page and signs at the very bottom. These forms are routine at the beginning of spring, and he’s done this enough times to simply skim over it all. “Though, i can tell Neuvillette’ bond has done you well. You’re in exceptional health.”
“Yeah?” Wriothesley finishes signing, and pushes the pages across the desk to her. “Was I not before?”
“Not at all.” She doesn’t seem phased by Wriothesley’s sigh. “Your lungs were closer to a smoker’s and your cholesterol was high, despite a balanced diet.”
“Now?” Wriothesley almost doesn’t want to ask.
“All is well.” The smile she gives him is genuine and bright, as she takes the papers and files them away. “Neuvillette is the very life of Fontaine, after all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.”
Wriothesley knows she’s right, but still, at times, Nevuvillette’s Sovereignty is a staggering thing, even after two years of marriage and settling into a mating bond with such strength behind it. It’s overwhelming, and just the thought of it has him standing. He worries at the golden band upon his finger, finding grounding in it, and stands, letting Sigewinne lead him out.
“I’ll send word when it’s over, if anything is needed.” Which is also so very part of Wriothesley’s routine. His heats haven’t always been so steady, and bonding was what returned him to a biological centre of function.
“You’re in good hands.” Sigewinne, bless her, is clinical as ever in tone, after years—no, centuries—of caring for Omegas and Alphas in the Fortress. This isn’t her first time handling heat suppressants, scheduled sick time off, and other means needed for inmates and Gardes alike to care for themselves.
Wriothesley says his goodbyes when they reach his office. He packs files and sensitive material in his briefcase, fully planning to take it home with him. He can’t help smiling, knowing Neuvillette is likely doing the same, now that Sigewinne called the Palais.
As he heads to the elevator, he hopes that the midday Aquabus back to the Court will be swift.
—
Home is warm, and as soon as Wriothesley sees Neuvillette making tea—Chamomile and lemon, his preferred blend when everything else has him wrinkling his nose in disgust—he drops his coat and briefcase in the hallway, with little elegance. He toes off his shoes, and falls into Neuvillette’s arms.
“Is it that bad?” Neuvillette asks softly, breath fanning against Wriothesley’s hair. He kisses over Wriothesley’s mating bond, shown beautifully with no tie in the way. He’s dressed down in simple clothes, loose and white cotton.
“Yes.” Wriothesley shudders as another wave of heat passes through him. It’s a restless sort of fever, and he doesn’t want to stand still like this. He wants to move. Do something. Anything. “I just…I need you. Need to get into bed.”
“My clothes are in the hamper, if you wish to use them. They’re clean.” Neuvillette stands back, sensing Wriothesley’s agitation, and turns to pour tea into a mug. “Here. I’ll make dinner.”
“I was meant to,” is Wriothesley’s weak protest. It falls on deaf ears, of course.
Neuvillette’s pheromones are thick and heady in the bedroom. Wriothesley can feel the humidity in the air. Neuvillette’s already showered, and the scent of lavender soap clings to everything.
He wants to bury himself beneath the sheets and breathe it all in. He wants Neuvillette over him, and inside him, while he presses his nose into lavender-riddled sheets—
“Right.” Wriothesley takes in a deep breath, and it shakes as he exhales. Already, thoughts turn fuzzy, and he doesn’t altogether enjoy the feeling of losing sense of his mind. It’s natural, he reminds himself. Still, after years of fending for himself, it’s hard to come to terms with.
“The same as last time, yes?” Neuvillette kisses Wriothesley on the cheek. Lightly upon his lips. Wriothesley tries to take more, but Neuvillette draws back. “You can still think, so get settled. Shower. Make the bed for us, and I'll bring dinner.”
Dinner is made quickly, but Wriothesley still showers, and washes the day from himself. He towels his hair dry, and catches the aroma of chicken soup. He waits for Neuvillette to come back, all while tucking cravats, ties and gloves into the corners of their bed, and beneath pillows. He doesn’t want to cling to Neuvillette’s clothes, but they help bring his scent into the room, and he lies down, curled in the sheets, breathing in. Heat burns beneath his skin now, despite the lukewarm shower, and arousal curls tight in his belly.
He’s never prepared for a heat with purpose before, but they did this time. They’ve always been careful with protection. Now, though, that won’t be needed, and Wriothesley whines. Keens and sinks teeth into Neuvillette’s pillow, as desire lances through him, white-hot at the thought.
He’s going to be bred.
Emptiness claws through Wriothesley, and he presses a palm flat against his belly. It’s as if his body knows what’s coming.
Heats have been easy to manage with suppressants. Before Neuvillette, he’d weathered out his cycles within a day of incessant heat. Now, cycles are longer, over five days, and the heat builds and builds and builds until he’s taken Neuvillette’s knot for instincts to be sated.
This is overwhelming, though. Every sensation is heightened; the drag of sheets against damp skin, goosebumps rising. Wriothesley can’t take a breath that’s deep enough to sate starving lungs, and he pants, as he lets the heel of his palm drop lower, to press against his groin. Arousal manifests hard between thighs, and slick, dripping from his hole and down his taint. He’s a mess, and he doesn’t even hear Neuvillette when he comes into the room with two bowls of soup, too lost in fever.
“Oh, Wriothesley.” Neuvillette doesn’t sound pitying in the slightest, but rather, reverent. He gets to his knees at Wriothesley’s side of the bed, face to face, and brushes hair back from his forehead. His fingertips are laced with Hydro, cooling. “Dinner can wait.”
“Please.” Wriothesley angles his mouth to Neuvillette’s fingers, and takes them into his mouth, suckling. His tongue drags over the pads, tasting Hydro as it manifests.
“You have me.” Neuvillette’s scent grows darker. It’s cloying, and it permeates the room and their bedsheets. Wriothesley’s mouth waters. He swallows around Neuvillette’s fingers. Bites down on his knuckles, softly, teasing and so very asking.
Wriothesley is loath to let go of Neuvillette’s fingers, but the sweet taste of his lover’s tongue, split, is much more satisfying. Neuvillette undresses, easily undoing the buttons of his own leisure clothes. Wriothesley is thankful for not dressing. He’s too hot, and the sheets are stifling as is beneath him.
“What a sight you are.” Neuvillette gets to his knees between Wriothesley’s legs, fingers pressing into inner thighs, and wandering in. Wriothesley almost comes as lithe fingers warp sound his cock. Neuvillette’s other hand wanders lover, fingers brushing through slick and tracing his rim in languid circles.
“Yours.” Wriothesley digs heels into the mattress and cants hips up, until Neuvillette’s fingers tease at penetration. He sobs, when those fingers move away, to press hard against his taint instead. “Neuvillette, please.”
“What do you need from me?” Neuvillette ducks low, eyes turning dark, as he mouths at Wriothesley’s cock. He digs the tip of his tongue into Wriothesley’s slit to taste release, and Wriothesley gasps. “Use your words, my love.”
A soft purr builds in Neuvillette’s throat, and Wriothesley feels those vibrants through the heat of Neuvillette’s mouth as he sinks down onto him. Neuvillette’s nose brushes the patch of hair at the base of his cock, as he swallows around him.
Wriothesley can’t think of anything else besides the press of that draconic tongue to the underside of him, and those fingers, as two finally ease into him, with sweetly no resistance.
“More,” Wriothesley gets out, eyes falling shut as Neuvillette’s fingers crook up, just-so over his prostate. “I need more.”
They’ve done this before in heats and ruts past. They’ve taken each other to the edge of insanity to get the truth of passion desired to tumble from tongues, but this time, there is so much more to look forward to. There’s a weight to this heat—it’s all sharp edges, and it isn’t dulled by suppressants or contraceptives. Wriothesley’s mind isn’t clearer, but his instincts call for something that has been dulled in the past.
“Breed me.”
And that…That is what Neuvillette had been waiting to hear.
Neuvillette’s strength is something Wriothesley isn’t most familiar with, outside of rough seasons of ruts and being fucked hard into days of pleasure. But Wriothesley knows Neuvillette has always held back, but tonight he doesn’t. He takes Wriothesley by the hips, and pulls him closer. The bed moves a little with the suddenness of the action, and Wriothesley makes a soft sound of surprise, reaching out to take hold of Neuvillette’s wrist.
Wriothesley’s world turns, as Neuvillette guides him to his hands and knees, and then teeth are sinking into the crook of his neck, over their mating bond and the silvered scar there.
“Fuck.” Wriothesley sees white for a moment, as pleasure scorches through their bond. This is all Neuvillette. All his passion and his want and his desire.
Wriothesley wants to drown in it.
Mating is much like a dance. Wriothesley lets Neuvillette take him, the current pulled by the moon, and it doesn’t take much preparation for Neuvillette to sink into the heat of his body. The stretch of accommodation burns, but Wriothesley wants more. He hardly pays the discomfort mind, sinking his face into the sheets, arching his back more, prostrating himself before his mate.
“Mine.” Neuvillette breathes possession into Wriothesley’s ear, sharp fangs grazing over soft skin, where ear meets jaw. “My mate.”
Heat takes Wriothesley, and he remembers little. Their sheets are sullied with slick and release, and he drowns in the scent of their pheromones, combined; dusked and leather and sweet fertility. At least, that’s what he hopes for.
Neuvillette takes turns knotting Wriothesley, and then pulling out in the after, to sink his second cock into him, spilling slick in after. It’s meant for the passage of a clutch when laid, and nothing more, but it gives Wriothesley a sense of fullness while Neuvillette finds his bearings.
It’s perfect heat, in every sense.
Wriothesley takes kisses from Neuvillette, and breathes in his air. He feels Neuvillette's breath break upon his lips as orgasm takes him. It all turns into a haze of pleasure, and at some point Wriothesley realizes he’s crying. He presses his face into Neuvillette’s shoulder, and lets the salt of tears mingle with the iron taste of Neuvillette’s blood as he renews their bonding mark, sinking teeth into the crook of his neck.
Five days pass, and Wriothesley heat wanes, until it’s nothing more than slow pulses of release. Each orgasm coaxed from him by Neuvillette's tongue, his cocks and his fingers wrings Wriothesley dry, and fever turns into a smouldering ember come the following weekend. They bathe, tender touches softened and no longer fuelled by need.
“When do you think we’ll know?” Wriothesley asks, the lap of water against their sides echoing in the bathroom. Outside, it rains, and it’s far from Neuvillette’s doing. It’s peaceful. Soothing.
“Your scent will change.” Neuvillette kisses his shoulder, his touch idle and fingers smoothing over Wriothesley’s thigh. He noses at Wriothesley’s neck, just above his scent gland, and Wriothesley sighs in bliss. Even with the worst of his heat abated, pleasure is easy to stoke in his belly. “We’ll feel it, I think. Through our bond.”
“That’ll be something.” Wriothesley places his hands atop Neuvillette’s, and closes his eyes. “Dragons or pups?”
“Pups.” Neuvillette sighs, and sits up a little. Lets Wriothesley sit up as well so he can slick hands with oil and press fingers into Wriothesley’s lower back, kneading at weary muscles. “If you were to take my clutch, we’d have fledgelings. Little things.”
“Don’t you find it strange that we call our children pups?”
“With how society is structured, no, but I have always wondered. Betas don’t even give it a second thought, it’s simply…” Neuvillette pauses in thought, and presses his thumbs gently into Wriothesley’s upper back, between the shoulder blades. It feels heavenly and it’s divine. “Your kind follow the nature of wolves, so it’s only common sense to adopt their terms for children, even if they aren’t truly dogs of any kind.”
“It’s interesting,” Wriothesley agrees, voice low, as Neuvillette’s fingers brush over their mating mark, raised skin and silvered, at his nape. “Neuvillette, could we—”
“Yes.” Neuvillette doesn’t need to be asked for pleasure, that’s something Wriothesley is keenly knowledgeable on. Their bond heats with sultry interest again, and Wriothesley groans a little, as Neuvillette fills out, pressing against his back, at the cleft of his ass. “Always.”
They don’t bother drying themselves. Neuvillette pulls Hydro from their bodies, and lets it drop into the bath, and they fall back into clean sheets, freshly changed, to indulge.
—
A month passes, and nothing changes. Wriothesley takes up reading, and finds that pregnancy is usually sensed in the first or second month after conception. Neuvillette visits more often in the weeks following his heat, taking Wriothesley to Sigewinne’s checkups in the infirmary, and then scenting him to high heavens and back once they are in the privacy of Wriothesley’s office.
Evenings are spent tangled together, and they fall asleep with Neuvillette filling Wriothesley, knot seated deep. Wriothesley knows that when it finally takes, he’ll miss this intimate closeness and warmth.
They find out in Spring, just shy of three months after his heat. While in a meeting with Sigewinne, Wriothesley makes tea; a new blend of lǜchá from Chenyu Vale. Black teas are strictly off the table for him, and one cup of green tea is all he’s permitted.
Wriothesley’s never been one to feel nauseous, even after skipped meals when busy, or when suffering from a lack of sleep due to being on his feet for long hours, so when he lifts his freshly brewed cup to his lips and feels his stomach turn over as soon as he catches scent of the honey he’d stirred in—a strong, woody smell, that’s usually soothing— he knows something is truly not right.
“Sorry, I—”
Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath, and closes his mouth. He needs to go, now, and get as far away from that godforsaken tea, as soon as possible. Thank Gods the guest bathrooms allocated to his office are adjoining, and he doesn’t have to go up the stairs to his rooms.
He’s hardly sick, and his eyes burn as his stomach clenches again. Bile burns the back of his throat, and he groans.
“It’s alright.” Wriothesley hears Sigewinne. Hears the bathroom door close behind her. A small hand rests on his shoulder, soothing. She doesn’t rub his back. She knows that he hates it, and it only makes him feel worse when he is sick. “You’ll feel better in a bit.”
“Just get rid of the tea. Don’t take it to—” Wriothesley shakes his head, and stops talking. He rests his cheek on the back of his hand, holding the toilet seat. He’ll have to take a shower. Wash his entire body and disinfect the office, to get rid of all traces of the scent of that tea.
“I’ll do that.” Sigewinne sighs. Rests against the sink, arms folded.
“Your thoughts are loud, dear Head Nurse.” Wriothesley spits into the bowl, and flushes. He stands, shaken, and goes to the sink, to rinse out his mouth. The water is cold, but not cold enough, so he draws on his Vision, chilling it. It feels good, and he drinks a little, to soothe his throat.
“You usually love tea.” She doesn’t say more, and Wriothesley knows it’s because he pales at the mention of it. “We should do a test. You were due one in a few days, either way.”
“A good idea.” Wriothesley doesn’t particularly love these checkups, but for male Omegas, the best way is through a blood test. Keeping track of the hCG in his blood is more reliable, and he’d rather know than rely on faulty tests that the general Court uses.
“Neuvillette hasn’t sensed a thing?” Sigewinne asks as they step out of the bathroom. She opens the main door, and fresh air—as fresh as it can be—comes in.
“It’s been a week since we’ve seen each other,” Wriothesley reminds her. They’ve been incredibly busy, and truly, have reached a point of waiting to see what happens. Neuvillette is territorial and protective, yes, but duty called him to oversee a slew of trials at the Epiclese. And Wriothesley’s work kept him just as busy.
Trust the one time they were able to part from one another, their child would make themselves known…
“We’ll do a test, and see if things have changed, then we’ll send you home.” Sigewinne doesn’t phrase it as a suggestion or a question, and Wriothesley doesn’t have the strength to fight her.
He washes up, and changes into new clothes. Brushes his teeth. He’s half worried the taste of spearmint will make him sick again, but surprisingly, it settles his stomach enough for him to go with Sigewinne to the infirmary.
Blood tests are inconvenient, but Wriothesley weathers it, looking anywhere but at the needle drawing blood from him. He listens to the whirr of the generator, keeping fridges with medication in them running. Hydro wielders are exceptionally good at healing, but for flu season, medicine is used in tandem, to stop quicker spreads.
Two hours later, Sigewinne comes back. Wriothesley puts paperwork aside that he’d brought with him, looking up expectantly, his heart in his throat.
“Your levels have changed.” There’s a little light in her eyes that tells Wriothesley this is good news. She puts his paperwork down over the documents he’d been looking at, and points to a little section at the very right.
426 mIU/mL stares back at Wriothesley, and he realizes what that means.
“We can officially confirm that you are expecting!” she announces, clapping her hands softly. She’s beaming as she taps the paperwork with her pen. “You were sitting at less than five milli-international units per milliliter in the first month, which was…” she sighs, “unusual to say the least. We think it has to do with Neuvillette. His authority is quite potent, and could have altered the results slightly. Bonding with an Enigma, in a sense, makes things more complicated and grey in certain areas.”
“That’s…” a relief? A shock? These past few months have made Wriothesley feel as if their time of trying had come to an end. He’d made peace with waiting for Neuvillette’s clutch, but now… “Good.”
“It was a long wait.” Sigewinne is gentle, sitting on the bed next to him. She gives him a small hug. “Shall we call Monsieur Neuvillette and let him know?”
“I should go, actually.” Wriothesley doesn’t get up too fast. His stomach isn’t quite settled, and the smell of ammonia didn’t do him any good. He gathers his paperwork and takes the lab report with him, slipped into a manilla folder by Sigewinne. “Do I have any meetings to attend this afternoon?”
“One, but I’ll ask Estienne to shift them up for you.” Sigewinne follows Wriothesley to the elevator, a small skip in her step. “Be safe, your Grace!”
—
Neuvillette catches Wriothesley’s scent before he sees him. Their bond pulls taut with something Neuvilette can only begin to pinpoint as excitement, as he walks down the narrow hallway behind the Opera Epiclese’s main stage. Hearings are hardly held here unless they are of great importance and open to the public. He is exhausted, and it’s only early afternoon.
“Wriothesley, you weren’t expected until—”
“Friday, I know.” Wriothesley takes Neuvillette’s hand, warm, and pulls him to the makeshift office around the corner. Neuvillette hardly uses it, except for rest between sessions, and he pulls Neuvillette in.
Wriothesley takes Neuvillette’s briefcase from him, and pushes papers into his hands.
“Wriothesley, I dont—”
“Read over them.” Wriothesley, rather uncharacteristically, worries his fingers against the skin between thumb and forefinger, waiting.
Neuvillette does. He finds bloodwork and results for hormone levels, mapping back two months, and then…
“Oh.” Neuvillette lets the papers flutter to the floor, and takes Wriothesley into his arms. He kisses him, softly, on the cheek, and drops to his knees. He kisses Wriothesley’s thigh. Presses his forehead to Wriothesley’s abdomen, and churrs, softly.
“Can you feel anything?” Wriothesley asks, voice soft. He brushes fingers through Neuvillette’s hair, idly. Neuvillette loves Wriothesley for this; for not startling at such creaturely tendencies, and the strong urge to scent, regardless of where they are.
Neuvillette takes a glove off, and untucks Wriothesley’s shirt, slipping his hand beneath silk, to press his palm against that soft space beneath his navel. Wriothesley gasps a little at the cold.
“I know it’s unpleasant,” Neuvillette says, turning to leave a kiss on Wriothesley’s wrist. Hydro beneath the skin is a prodding sensation. It’s strange, to say the least, and Neuvillette himself knows this from when Sigewinne examined him.
There’s a flicker of life, and Neuvillette gasps, surprised, as he feels it. There’s a small heartbeat, fluttering and fast beyond Wriothesley’s own, and a subtle hum of warmth that makes itself known through their bond.
“I feel it.” Wriothesley’s voice is unsteady, quavering with emotion. “Is that…?”
“It is.” Neuvillette gets up, and holds Wriothesley close. They stay like that, holding one another, swaying softly. “They took long enough.”
Wriothesley’s laugh is an inelegant snort. “Do you think they’ll be just as much a late comer as me?”
“Considering we’ll need all the rest once they’re here, I'd hope so.” Neuvillette sniffs a little, waterline burning as tears well in his eyes. “We’ve done well, haven’t we?”
“We have.” Wriothesley thumbs beneath Neuvillette's eyes, brushing tears away.
Neuvillette noses at Wriothesley’s temple, and confesses, “I’m terrified.”
“Only a little.” That’s enough to soothe them both.
“We’ll do our best.” Neuvillette is determined.
“We’ll need to do one thing, though.”
“Oh?” Neuvillette frowns a little. Wriothesley’s scent turns bitter and sickly, and it only turns that acrid when he’s incredibly upset or ill.
“The green tea.” Wriothesley swallows thickly. “We’ll have to get rid of it. Clean the house.”
“Is that how you found out? Tea?” Neuvillette sighs, running hands down Wriothesley’s arms and up again. “Black tea was enough of a loss for you. But to have no tea.”
“Sigewinne suggested chamomile. Lemon and ginger. No honey.” A shudder pulls through Wriothesley, and the nausea he feels strikes right through the bond, enough so for Neuvillette to feel ill himself. “It was not a good morning.”
“My love.” Neuvillette pushes pheromones into the air, and when it's thick with salt and warmth, he feels Wriothesley’s nausea ease.
“We have a lot to do, I think, but for now can we go home? Rest?” Wriothesley breathes in Neuvillette’s scent, and sighs. “It’s been a week, and I don’t think I'll be able to stay away so long from you again.”
And it makes sense, painfully so. Neuvillette’s presence, his scent and his warmth, are what soothes Wriothesley most.
“We have far too many days of leave not claimed. I say we take them, and focus on our home. A nest, for us to rest in.”
“That sounds perfect. Nice.”
It is. Building a home, and framing their lives around a new life brought into the world is important. Previous and something coveted. And how loved they will be, when they are here.
Their walk home is accompanied by a fine drizzle, and perhaps it’s because now they both will be a little less alone in the world. Love's company has finally been given; a family.