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"Wriothesley, I don't believe you've ever shared what these scars denote." Neuvillette hummed, tracing the two matching scars on his chest, both leading down from the nipple and to a straight horizontal line.
Wriothesley froze. The silence of the nighttime bedroom, lit only by a lamp on the bedside table, suddenly turned suffocating at those words.
"They look surgical, rather than those produced by injury. What are they?" His scaly finger oh so carefully felt along the lines, and the Duke didn't reply.
His heart had stopped.
He thought those scars had healed enough to be invisible.
He looked down at his own chest, Neuvillette half draped over him. The scars were faint, but there nonetheless.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he-
He couldn't. It closed again and Neuvillette frowned, lifting his finger from the skin.
He'd not told anyone for so long.
For years now, since before he'd even gotten to the Fortress in the first place as an inmate, he'd been stealth. Nobody knew except Sigewinne, and she'd only found out when he got a bad injury across his chest and had to tell her about any operations or surgery he'd had.
That was years ago. It had been years. He didn't... he didn't know how to do this.
He didn't prepare for this.
He didn't think this day would come.
Well, he knew he'd tell Neuvillette eventually. He wanted to. Even if he'd had the surgeries, he was on the hormones, and he was practically indistinguishable from a cis man, he wanted to tell him at some point.
But he didn't think it was now.
His palms were sweating.
He stared at the scars, and Neuvillette sat up, concern on his face.
"Wriothesley? Are you okay? If it's a difficult memory, you don't need to share."
No, he wanted to-
Actually.
Did he want to tell him?
Did he want to do this?
His heart was too fast. He corrected his own posture, glancing away.
He remembered back then, back when he hadn't hidden it. When he couldn't, just after he'd found out himself.
His mind summoned memories of abuse hurled at him, of hands grabbing and words stabbing through his very core.
Of being scared to use a public toilet, of being scared to change clothes anywhere other than home, than whatever pile of bricks he called a house. Of mirrors being his curse, his own face not fitting.
His mind spiralled.
What if... what if Neuvillette was like them? What if the people of Fontaine, or the citizens of the Fortress, what if they hated him? What if it got out? He couldn't control all of them. He was strong, and he could make a few of them shut up quite easily, but there were hundreds in the Fortress. He couldn't...
He couldn't handle that alone. And that's what he was, alone. He'd been alone since he became himself. One person knew, and she didn't exactly get it.
He didn't notice his breathing speeding up until Neuvillette put a hand on his bare collarbone in an attempt at comfort and he physically recoiled, being brought back to his body and hating it.
The chief justice frowned and Wriothesley stood up from the bed, searching for his shirt and tugging it back on.
He buttoned it back up, still trying to catch his breath, and he heard Neuvillette move around.
Tears pricked at his eyes. He had an awful sinking feeling in his chest, one that permeated through his bones and made a home there. His own fingers dragged through his hair, then grabbed and stayed, as he tried to breathe. Tried to calm himself down.
He felt a hand hover over his shoulder and not touch, and he turned his head.
Neuvillette's face was a blur through the tears, but Wriothesley could see how close he was and he didn't know how to feel.
He wanted to hold him. He desperately needed comfort, but he didn't want to be reminded of his own body, of the skin he was trapped in that was not his own. A cobbled together attempt at fixing something placed upon him like a curse, this skin felt like his own, but only because he'd changed it.
The scars on his body sometimes worked to make him feel better. Most of the time, they did. But now...
Right now, they felt fresh, like he'd woken up from surgery without a drop of painkiller.
He blinked and tears fell and he hated himself for it. He knew it was wrong to think this way, but his life, his upbringing, had forced him to. This world had forced him to be scared of crying, if he was to be a man. He'd realised who he was and gained a new set of fears that came out to play whenever he felt wrong: don't cry, don't sit wrong, don't speak in a high voice, don't care about anyone. Be cold. Be ruthless.
He felt Neuvillette's cold, scaled fingers against his face, gently wiping his tears. It made him jolt.
"I don't mind if some stories are meant to be kept secret. If this is too much..." Neuvillette muttered, insurmountable care and comfort in his voice.
"I..." He managed, and Neuvillette nodded.
"I'm listening."
"I... I'm..." His jaw quivered as he tried to say something, say it, say it, you coward!
He gave up, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.
He leaned forwards and found his forehead against Neuvillette's shoulder, his own broad shoulders shaking.
His best kept secret. It had to stay that, just for a little longer. Just a little bit longer. It couldn't come out yet. He couldn't come out yet.
He put his arms around Neuvillette, and he felt the chief justice's hand rake through his hair, pointed fingernails serving to scratch and massage his head, exactly the way he liked it.
He sighed, his shoulders relaxing despite the tears still wetting the chief justice's white shirt, and Neuvillette's other hand rested around his waist. Wriothesley paused and moved it upwards with his own hand. He didn't like how his waist felt right now.
Neuvillette didn't mind. He just put his arm around Wriothesley, rubbing his back, and kept brushing his hair through his fingers.
"I'm sorry." The Duke mumbled, and the dragon hummed in reply.
"It's okay. Not every secret must come to light, not here. You may hide anything you wish, and I won't take offense. They are your secrets, and I am lucky to know any of them already. To demand more is pure greed."
They stood there in silence for a bit, the only noise being Wriothesley's short breaths as he tried to stop crying.
When he finally regained his composure, Neuvillette smiled. The Duke stood up straight, sighing and wiping his eyes.
"Sorry for freaking out. I just... difficult secrets, yeah?"
"I understand difficult secrets."
"You do?"
Neuvillette nodded and held a hand up, blue scales shimmering.
"This is a secret to all but five? Maybe six people? The public believe I'm just an elven race of some sort. My pointed ears and extended age have contributed to such rumours. Not many know what lies beneath my gloves."
He paused, then smiled.
"Not many but you."
Wriothesley stared at the scales, and nodded.
"You get it, then."
"I believe I do 'get it'. Except for the fact I don't know exactly your secret, but then it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"
Wriothesley hummed and Neuvillette put his arms around his neck, bringing their faces closer.
The warden smiled and put his own arms around the judge's waist. This felt better. This felt right.
If he stayed here, he could distract himself. Forget about how he felt a second ago.
At least, that's what he thought, but then Neuvillette's flat chest bumped against his and it came back with a vengeance.
He felt himself cringe away, letting go of his love and pulling away from the arms around him. He stepped back.
Shit, he felt like he was sinking. And he felt terrible about it. Neuvillette had done all that to calm him down, and just that had sent him off again? Fuck.
Creases of concern appeared on Neuvillette's face, and his eyes scanned Wriothesley for any injury.
The Duke just stood there for a second, his hands clenching and unclenching just to give him something to focus on and his jaw tight in discomfort.
He glanced out of the darkened window, and then at the floor, and then he looked down at his own chest and he felt sick.
He liked being strong. It made him feel good. He liked keeping his body muscular, trained to look like this. That included having a large chest, it was part of the deal. It just... Well, he knew that at some point there hadn't just been pectoral muscles there. He knew that at one point he'd had breasts there, and at times like this, those muscles that were in their place looked all too familiar through the low collar of his shirt.
He shuddered and looked around, and Neuvillette tilted his head.
"Can I help? Is it anything I can work to alleviate?"
"Um... yeah. Do you have, uh, a baggy shirt? Or jacket? Or- something baggy. I don't wanna see my chest."
The dragon nodded, walking over to his chest of drawers, and began looking through piles of shirts, his fingers flipping past fabrics of various colours.
"I have a dress shirt of mine that I accidentally bought two sizes too big. Here."
He held a folded white shirt up to Wriothesley, who took it and held it up. Yes. The fabric was fairly thick, and it was big. Good.
"Do you mind me changing here?"
"Not at all. Do you want me to look away?"
He paused. He didn't think he'd ask that, but... he appreciated it.
"Yeah. Please."
Neuvillette nodded and turned away, walking over to the window and looking out into the night.
Wriothesley took his shirt off. It was too tight, clinging to all the parts he didn't want to be clinged to.
He had to avert his eyes from his own bare chest as he slipped the soft white shirt on, and once he had it on he sighed in relief, fiddling with the overly fancy collar.
"Okay, you can look again."
Neuvillette turned back to face him and smiled.
"Better?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
The sleeves were long, and also a bit too big, so he rolled them up, exposing his forearms.
He looked down at himself.
Yes, this was better. His forearms were strong, and his hands were large, and his chest was hidden, and he felt like himself.
His heart felt like it could relax.
He smiled and looked up when Neuvillette's socks came into view.
The dragon looked happier now, less concerned. His eyes were soft and his mouth was pulled into a gentle smile, and his hand brushed against Wriothesley's, like he was telling him he wanted to hold him but didn't want to push.
"You look happier." Neuvillette muttered, and Wriothesley nodded.
The Duke intertwined their fingers, and Neuvillette pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Are you happier?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I'm just- I... mm." He gave up on speaking, and Neuvillette nodded as if he understood and kissed him again, gently and quietly as if he was whispering that he knows what he meant to say.
"You look lovely in my shirt. Maybe you should wear formal wear more often."
Wriothesley laughed quietly.
"Too many layers."
"It'll keep you warm against your cryo. I think that makes sense."
The Duke hummed and pulled Neuvillette close, burying his face in his neck. His stubble tickled, and made the dragon shiver.
"I'd look like a twat."
"I take offense. Those are my clothes."
"You don't look like a twat. You look like you're made for those clothes. You were born in evening wear."
Quiet laughter filled the room and Wriothesley planted gentle kisses on his love's neck.
"Plus, I don't just sit still all day for a job. I have work."
"I also have work."
"Yeah, but it's mainly a desk job. I have to stop fights and fix machinery and all that."
"And get your hands filthy and get oil all over your face because you're such a stereotypical manly brute?" He poked his side.
Wriothesley paused, gripping Neuvillette's shirt. He forced a casual chuckle into the skin of his neck.
"You think?"
"Yes. You're the main character of a detective novel. You take names and- and all that nonsense. And you always wear wraps on your hands in case you get into a fight, and you're perpetually sipping tea in your dark, lonely office, and you smell like a wet dog whenever you get home from work. You're man prototype."
The warden felt a sort of warmth in his chest. It grew and enveloped him, and he stayed silent for a bit. Neuvillette relaxed into his arms after a second.
Stereotypical manly brute.
He'd take it. It was better than nothing.
He smiled and began kissing the chief justice's neck again, fiddling with the long white hair that fell across his fingers.
Neuvillette hummed.
"My, my. Did I say something good? Do you feel better now?"
"Yes, yes." He kissed the pale skin again, and again, interrupting his own speech.
"You said something perfect. I..." kiss kiss "I feel much better."
"Wow. To flatter the Duke of Meropide... lucky me."
"I don't think it's luck."
Kiss Kiss
"I think you just always have the right words."
His hands roamed, gripping Neuvillette's waist then sliding up his back and holding his neck as he himself brought their eyes to the same level.
Neuvillette was smiling at him, with those beautiful pink eyes of his.
He was perfect. He was so perfect. Wriothesley was so lucky.
"If I always have the right words, can my next ones be "time for bed"? I find myself getting rather tired, since it's past midnight now."
He nodded, and backed up, pulling Neuvillette by his hands.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up, his arms going around his love and his eyes closing.
Hands came to be in his hair, brushing locks through them and folding grey through black.
He sighed contentedly and opened his eyes again to find Neuvillette watching him with such adoration in his eyes, it made his heart flutter.
"I love you, Neuvi."
"I love you, too, my dear."
He grinned and let go, lying down properly and shuffling along.
Neuvillette got in as well, turning the lamp off, and a moment later Wriothesley felt him climb on top of him, head fitting in the crook of his neck.
"Neuvi, you're heavy. I'll be crushed."
He heard a mumble somewhat along the lines of "weighted blanket" and sighed.
"Okay. You're not a blanket, first off, but okay."
He let his own arms curl around the weight on top of him and he felt hair tickle his face. Blue horns dimly glowed in the dark room and he smiled.
"Love you." He whispered again.
Right in his hear, low and quiet,
"I love you too."