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Neuvillette is a serene, angelic man. In the courthouse, though – his personal domain – he governs, commands, dominates.
Wriothesley, on the other hand, is just a weak, weak man who can’t get enough of it.
He can’t attend every trial – hell; he can barely ever show up with how much work he has back in Meropide – but sometimes, only sometimes, when he’s pent up with stress and needs a tasteful distraction, he escapes his own shackles and books himself a ticket. If he isn’t lucky enough to be on time for a VIP seat high on a balcony, where he can be alone and unseen, then he waits for a better chance.
He’s not there for the trial itself, after all.
He’s there to smirk and lick his lips when Neuvillette talks in that imposing tone of voice, the inflections of his timbre running down the Duke’s spine like shockwaves that quickly spread beneath his skin. He’s there to take deep breaths at the sharp look in that man’s eyes as he scrutinizes and judges those below, gloved hands occasionally crossing beneath his chin, and even less frequently making eye contact with him.
Wriothesley is there, truly, to feel his pants tighten with every word, with every gesture; he’s there to land his hand over the rigid bulge in his pants and wonder how it would feel to have those long fingers wrapped around him instead. He watches the trial – no, he watches Neuvillette – and rubs himself over his pants until his breathing comes out in small puffs, until his collar is damp with sweat, until the judge lays out the sentence with that deliciously commanding voice, and he almost—
“Duke Wriothesley, Lord of the Fortress of Meropide,” Neuvillette cuts short his stupor, sharp crystalline eyes landing on him, “You will stay. Everyone else, dismissed.”
The warden freezes on the spot. Instead of his blood running cold, though, it starts running even hotter, boiling, bubbling in his veins: anticipation. Does Neuvillette know what he’s been doing?
The courtroom empties, yet the judge doesn’t move from his seat. Wriothesley takes a few breaths to calm down – not that it works, no – and makes his way there, hoping that the comically large bulge in his why the fuck are they so tight pants will go unnoticed, because his erection is simply not going down.
As he’s approaching Neuvillette, his sweet scent arises and fills the Duke’s mouth with saliva; he swallows it down and takes a shaky breath before passing by as quickly as humanly possible, to hide behind the rail in front of the judge's seat – that’ll work as a barricade. “Your Honor,” he greets, arms crossed over his chest, “You called for me?”
Neuvillette watches him in complete silence for a while, fingers entwined beneath his chin, his eyes atypically penetrating. The Duke discreetly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, doing his best not to let his nervousness known, yet deep inside he knows it’s obvious, so obvious.
After an entire eternity, Neuvillette stands up, fiddling with the brooch tying his coat together. “Are you aware, Duke Wriothesley,” he begins, coat slipping off his shoulders to reveal a pristine white dress shirt beneath, “That what you were doing warrants punishment?”
Punishment. Yes. Archons; yes, the mere idea makes his fingers tremble over his biceps. He closes them tighter around his arms in an attempt to stop himself from shaking. “You mean watching the trial?”
Neuvillette releases a caustic chuckle, folding his coat over the armrest. Wriothesley’s gaze lands on the curve of his waist, then lower where his boots meet his thighs. It quickly goes back up, though, because the judge spins on his heel to walk towards him. “Public indecency,” he accuses, his gloved hand landing on the rail as he makes a turn, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
A nervous huff and smirk – “Was that a rhetoric?”
He’s going to jail. He’s so going to his own jail to rot for the rest of his life, if it isn’t cut short by a death sentence that Neuvillette may just want to execute himself, because he comes yet closer, forcing Wriothesley to back up against the rail, hands clutching at the wood to keep himself steady.
Their chests nearly touch. Neuvillette’s eyes are sharper than diamonds up so close, his sweet perfume intoxicating, his heat palpable. “Is that your defense?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous, “You know it very well, don’t you? If you tell me the truth, I may lighten your sentence.”
Wriothesley’s heartbeats mingle with his rapid breathing – he can’t tell them apart anymore. He’s dizzy, inebriated by Neuvillette’s power, by his scent, by his voice. It’s difficult to think.
“I was…” He makes a pause, stammering with shame, “I was touching myself.”
Neuvillette takes yet another step closer, hands on the rail right beside Wriothesley’s and his face dangerously close. His breath is fresh, minty, his eyelashes long and glossy, his lips peach-pink and so deliciously inviting. “And why would you do that in my courtroom?”
The power of his voice makes Wriothesley’s knees falter.
"I'm… I'm so horny," he whispers wantonly, no longer able to speak up.
"Oh. Trials arouse you?"
"You do, Your Honor," he confesses.
Neuvillette seems pleased with his answer – his features soften, if only a little. "So you plead guilty, do you?" he whispers back.
In the deranged confines of Wriothesley's mind, there's provocation laced with Neuvillette's voice – and it could very well be derived from lust, like he's actually playing along. Maybe he saw the Duke pleasuring himself and that made him feel hot and bothered too, and that's why he's torturing him, teasing him like this—
"Duke Wriothesley," he hisses, holding the warden's face between his fingers with a nigh electric touch, "I will not tolerate disobedience in my courtroom."
"Mmh–"
"I believe I asked you a question. Answer me."
"I'm guilty," he exhales, "Punish me…!"
Neuvillette releases him with a curt laugh. He moves away from Wriothesley and back to his seat, sitting down with his legs crossed and leaning sideways on the armrest, elbow propped up. He rests his face on his fist and directs his gaze at the Duke once more. "I see you lack manners," he comments, "You must kneel to make such a request."
Wriothesley liquefies inside, his heart thundering against his ribs and a smile threatening to form against his will. He licks it away, dutifully walking past the wooden rail to kneel in front of Neuvillette's seat with his hands on the floor, subject to His scrutiny, face burning profusely. "Your Honor," he breathes out shakily, barely holding on to the syllables he's speaking, "I plead guilty. Please… punish me accordingly."
"What shall I do with you, Duke Wriothesley?" he clicks his tongue, chin tilted up, "It's not the first time you indulge in such lewd behavior. What are you? A man, or a dog?"
Wriothesley's breath feels electric. His pants are tight enough to be uncomfortable, his cock throbbing with the possibility that he was right, Neuvillette knew what he was doing all along and did nothing about it – maybe he even liked it. Drawing self control from his very core, he forces himself to respond: "What do you think I am, Your Honor?"
"You look to me like a naughty dog," he offers, uncrossing his legs to place his foot right over Wriothesley's aching cock, slowly, provocatively. It creates a tentative pressure, making the warden's thighs quiver, a choked moan caught on his throat. "Would you like to be punished as one?"
And then, it snaps – his dignity. Gone, just like that. He ruts harshly against Neuvillette's foot, chanting yes, yes, make me your dog, relishing in the hot sparks that radiate from his rigid cock to coil in his gut, tongue slipping out of his mouth. He's leaking. Archons; he's leaking so much he feels wet.
"My dog, huh," Neuvillette chuckles huskily. He presses his foot down harder, rolling left and right, his touch so intense it makes Wriothesley see stars. "Poor thing… you’re so hard.”
"Mmhn– N-Neuvi— Please— J-Just a little— m-more—!"
He removes his foot, and it feels like Wriothesley's soul goes away along with it. He stays panting, disoriented and dumb, holding himself upright with trembling arms and looking at Neuvillette through a teary, confused gaze.
"Hold it in," he orders, "I want you to come inside me."
Those words alone almost drive him over the edge. With a full body shudder, Wriothesley nods frantically, wordlessly asking permission to please, let me put it in, let me put it in—
"Do you want to be praised, Wriothesley?"
His heart bubbles up his throat. He nods again, unsure but desperately seeking validation and any crumbs of affection from this God of a man sitting in front of him.
"A good dog pleases his owner before getting any treats,” the judge explains, the tip of his boot beneath Wriothesley’s chin to tilt it up. “Show me that you’re good with your mouth before we move on somewhere else,” he adds, his hand lowering to the front of his pants, where he dips two of his fingers into the fabric.
Celestia; he has a pussy.
His thoughts must have made themselves known on his face, because Neuvillette smirks quite smugly then. “Don’t keep me waiting, Wriothesley. I’m in quite the predicament here.”
Neuvillette is wet, it dawns on him.
That was the last nail on his coffin.
Knowing that Neuvillette is really into this – into him – serves as fuel for him to get to his feet, albeit wobbly. He rests one knee between the judge’s legs and inches forward until their noses brush together, his hands circling Neuvillette’s neck, thumbs following the curve of his jaw. Beautiful, is what he is. Wriothesley wants to take him, then take him home, shackle him to the bed if he has to, just to keep him close, to make him stay.
What would it take to make this man his?
“...Wriothesley?”
With a gasp, the warden realizes he spaced out, while Neuvillette stares at him with all the patience in the world but with a hint of curiosity behind his crystal eyes. “...you’re beautiful”, is all he concedes. He swears there’s a tinge of pink blooming on the judge’s cheeks, but he doesn’t allow himself the time to admire. Instead, he presses their lips together and his eyes flutter closed with bliss, goosebumps forming on his skin with the softness of Neuvillette’s mouth.
It’s velvety, humid, small, warm and perfect. Wriothesley licks into it, savoring the judge’s minty taste, moaning when Neuvillette’s own tongue meets his and demands attention. He rubs them together, curls them over, their mouths making sloppier wet noises the deeper he dares explore. Neuvillette licks the roof of his mouth and he retributes by sinking his teeth into a plump lip and dragging out, stealing a choked groan that ends in a sigh when he places his hands on the judge’s sturdy thighs.
Wriothesley doesn’t get how something can be so much yet not enough. There’s a hand on the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, a tongue in his throat, warm thighs in his grasp, yet he can’t help but feel the desire for more, the instinct to kiss harder, to go deeper, to steal Neuvillette’s breath until his eyes roll to the back of his head—
The fingers on his hair yank his head back, and he moans ungracefully.
“That’s—” Neuvillette shudders, “That’s enough.”
“Want… more,” Wriothesley pleads, but the judge doesn’t yield.
“Later. We need to finish up before someone arrives.”
Wriothesley relents because, really, he has no choice. Neuvillette releases his hair and he immediately kneels on the floor again, watching short of breath how the judge stays up and uses his nimble fingers to unbuckle his belt, pop the button open, slowly part the fabric… until he finally lowers it together with his underwear, shaking it down his thighs, and reveals his beautifully flushed cunt dripping with fluids that run down his legs.
Before Wriothesley can ogle and lose his mind over it, Neuvillette turns around to get on his knees on his seat, hands on both sides of the armrest. His hair slides to the side, displaying his perfectly round ass, his deliciously pink pussy just begging to be fucked and the way his sturdy thighs glisten with fluids.
“Come.”
Fuck; he’s almost there, quite frankly.
The warden doesn’t think twice about getting up to sink his teeth into one of Neuvillette’s buttocks, leaving the marks of his teeth at the cost of a loud gasp. Inching closer to that dripping wet pussy, Wriothesley flattens his tongue and drags it up, spreading that sweetly flavored liquid over the flushed flesh. Neuvillette shudders, huffing out small breaths, legs quivering; the Duke takes that as a good sign and holds him by the thighs, sliding his tongue upwards again, deeper this time.
“Mmh— That’s… a good boy…!” Neuvillette praises, sending fireworks through Wriothesley’s veins.
He moves his tongue faster, pushing it in and out, swirling it around the sensitive flesh, his fingernails dipping into the judge’s thighs as he devours his meal heartily, hungrily, deeper, faster, feeling Neuvillette’s insides flutter around his appendage until a disgruntled moan spills from his partner. “Wriothesley,” he calls brokenly, “Put it in… now…!”
In a heartbeat, the breathless warden opens his pants and frees his throbbing, violently rigid cock. He presses the tip to Neuvillette’s wet cunt, lubricating himself by rubbing gently, then harder, and deeper, until his cockhead slips inside that tight heat and his senses collapse. “Ah… ah, fuck; you're so…!” He holds the judge’s hips tightly, pulling away only to push the head in again, then back until it slips out, then back inside, just the tip—
With a groan, Neuvillette pushes his hips back and sheathes himself to the hilt, his ass slapping against Wriothesley’s hips soundly. Whatever remained of the Duke’s self control promptly snaps – he growls, fingers digging into Neuvillette’s hips, his eyes rolling back, hips moving away only for him to brutally thrust back inside and repeat.
His pace is furious, his strength unrestrained, his cock throbbing as it drags against Neuvillete’s tight walls and soaks in his fluids. He slams again and again, heat coiling so sharp in his belly that he breathes pleasure, his entire body seizing with sparks and bliss and euphoria.
"Ah– Look… at you,” Neuvillette chuckles, “Fucking me… like a dog…!”
“Mmh— Ah—!”
Wriothesley’s tongue rolls out of his mouth and he fucks faster, hips pistoning back and forth, his breaths mixed with whines and moans and his body burning with heat, with passion, with sweat and tears of pleasure.
“Nnh– Wriothes— ley,” Neuvillette chokes out, his pussy tightening around the Duke’s cock, “I’m—!”
He clamps around Wriothesley, spasms overtaking him both in and out, his insides burning hot as he climaxes with a silent scream. It’s suddenly too wet, too delicious, too much; the Duke stops moving and grinds tight against his ass. “Ah— Hngh… feels like I’m… melting inside you,” Wriothesley moans, “So good, Neuvillette…!”
He pulls away, and Neuvillette whimpers. Wriothesley doesn’t give him time to digest what’s happening, though, instead holding him by the arm to yank him up and take him into his arms, long legs locking around his hips. He smashes their mouths together, tongues rubbing, his cock pressing into Neuvillette’s tight pussy again. He drives it in with a loud slap and the judge arches into his chest, his head throwing back as he releases a blissful scream.
“Mmm– nha— Again,” he orders, “Fuck me harder…!"
Wriothesley complies, hands firm on Neuvillette’s hips to push him up and down while thrusting hard into him, teeth gritted together, hisses and moans pushed out by his thrumming heartbeats, his sensitive cock throbbing violently inside his partner. He’s so close, so close; he can’t think, he can only fuck and listen to the judge’s screams of I’m cumming again, keep fucking me, until his own orgasm makes his muscles tighten, makes his sounds of pleasure mingle into one loaded growl, makes him push deep into Neuvillette’s womb and cum hard enough to see stars shooting behind his eyelids.
Something happens then… and he isn’t sure what it is exactly.
He feels post-orgasm spasms, feels tissues on his skin, wet lips on his forehead, caresses on his scalp, hears heartbeats whose owner he can’t decide. It’s all a blur until he manages to open his eyes and sees that he’s laying on a couch in some room he’s unfamiliar with – definitely not the courtroom, at least. Wriothesley sits up and puts a hand to his face, a migraine brewing behind his eyes. What the fuck just happened?
“You passed out,” Neuvillette informs. So he said that out loud; great.
The Duke looks to the side and sees Neuvillette approaching him with a glass of water, an apologetic look on his face and his slender build still lacking his coat. This time his gloves are also nowhere to be seen, displaying glossy blue scales that gently glisten under the sunlight as he offers the glass for Wriothesley to take. Somehow, it feels like a gesture of trust.
He holds the item but merely stares at it, casually sneaking a few peeks at Neuvillette as the judge takes a seat beside him, scaly hands curled neatly over his lap. He looks strangely coy. “You’re not thirsty?” he asks with gentleness, his voice as sweet and angelic as is always is outside the courtroom. With a sigh, Wriothesley drinks down the water – Archons; his throat really fucking needed that – then places the glass on the coffee table across from him.
“I’m… terribly sorry, Milord,” the judge finally murmurs.
“What are you apologizing for? I’m the one who… what the hell was it again?” he rubs his temples, eyelids shutting tight, “Public indecency?” Celestia; he really went and fucking did that… again. He cannot trust himself to keep any level of decency when he’s horny.
When Neuvillette doesn’t answer, Wriothesley opens his eyes, just in time to see a scaly hand reaching for his face. The judge’s thumb brushes softly over his scar and feels surprisingly… warm. It pushes a strand of hair behind Wriothesley’s ear, which quickly heats up along with every single inch of his face, because he swears he sees affection in the crystalline kaleidoscope of Neuvillette’s eyes. “...you didn’t receive the sentence for your crime yet, did you?”
“...not yet. What do you have in store for me?” Wriothesley chuckles nervously, “Do I shackle myself and let the guards take me? I won’t even fight back, I promise. Not even kidding; I deserve the humiliation.”
Neuvillette draws open a graceful smile. “That won’t be necessary. I did play along with your antics, after all.”
“Oh, then you’re a criminal too,” Wriothesley teases, snatching Neuvillette by the waist to take him into his lap. Keeping him in a tight embrace, the warden closes his eyes and allows the judge’s comforting warmth to seep into him. “If I may offer a suggestion, Your Honor.”
“Mm. You may speak,” Neuvillette whispers into his skin.
“How about you sentence me to being yours?”
Fingers weave sweetly into his hair, caressing his scalp, before Neuvillette retributes his embrace. It feels like care, and feels like home, like his puzzle pieces falling into place after stubbornly hiding behind his tough boy facade. Neuvillette melts through his ice and settles close enough to his heart that he makes it jump with his next words:
“Please don't forget that dragons don't like sharing, Milord. Your sentence with me is for life."