Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cold.

When Wriothesley wakes up, it’s cold. It’s cold and dark and he is alone. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise but–

He shivers, feeling the chilling air of Meropide’s pipes against his half naked, sweaty body. Not a trace left of that warm, impossible embrace. Leaning against the metal wall, Wriothesley takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, to steady himself.

Bright, glowing eyes regard him. Full of desire. Full of lo‒

Shit.

Faster than lightning, Wriothesley snaps his eyes open. He almost chokes, his chest heaving. Okay, alright. Fuck, but that. That was a mistake. He shakes his head as if that could disperse the breathtaking vision of... t-the Iudex looking at him like he actually cared.

Yeah, right. As if.

No one has ever given a fuck about him. Out of all people, why would the Chief Justice be the exception?

A hollow, borderline hysterical laugh bubbles from his throat. Is this it? Has he finally lost his marbles? After, what, only five years? But of course, he knows the stories. Has heard them time and time again, like any kid growing up in Fontaine. The horror stories of Meropide. The underwater hell. That drives even the brightest minds insane. And to make matters worse, he’s seen it for himself. Fellow inmates with the most reasonable mindsets crumble into babbling morons.

So maybe five years without sunshine and fresh air can do that to anyone.

Oh, but isn’t this actually hilarious? He’s gotten a glimpse of a brilliant future. A future coming straight out of one of those damn trashy Inazuman light novels. And he doesn't even read those. The downtrodden underdog arriving at the top with a perfect love interest and all that jazz. Ha. Talk about cheesy.

Now the craziest shit was talking to his future self for sure. What the hell.

If Wriothesley didn’t know any better, he’d believe he got drugged. Which admittedly, wouldn't be unheard of. But he keeps himself as far away as possible from that shit. And most clever enough would think twice before messing with him now. But if it wasn't drugs, then he has to have lost his mind. Fuck but all this thinking is making his head ache.

His eyes burn but he fights down the urge to cry. Here, no matter where and when, showing vulnerability is an absolute no no. A true fatality.

CLANK!

His fist throbs, hurts. The metal wall feels solid, cold. Unmoved by his troubles. Or punch. But this is good because it means this is real. The pain is real. The unforgiving darkness his only, true company.

Wriothesley should just write the whole thing off as a stupid wet dream. Weird as hell, sure. Also, the best fucking wet dream of his life? Fuck, yeah. But not the point.

Could blame his horny ass for not having gotten any action in a while now. Except… except it felt too real. And way too intimate. Emotional. He's never experienced something like that. His brain shouldn't be able to fabricate something so raw and tender.

Even now, Wriothesley can still feel, remember Neuvillette's–

Stop. Right there. Idiot.

Sighing, he turns to shuffle back to his bunk, but he feels still too keyed up to go back to sleep. (And because if he went to sleep he’d had to close his eyes again. So, no. Better not risk that.)

Since sleep is out of the question, he has to do something else. Something to get this restless energy out of his system.

At this time of the day, the Pankration Ring is obviously closed, but the Fortress is a huge place and Wriothesley has had enough time to make his own little practice ground in one of the old abandoned pipes deep below.

But first, he should drop by the infirmary. Just to have a check-up and make sure he isn't losing his last brain cells. Surely, the head nurse has some meds to get whatever the hell’s wrong with his mind sorted out. Maybe he even needs a lobotomy. Or at least, a drug to knock him out cold. Heck, he’d even take one of her god-awful milkshakes if it's what it takes to have some nice rest and peace.

Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

Relief floods him as soon as he catches sight of pastel blue, heart shapes and frills. She’s still up. Good. While Melusines have a different circadian rhythm, needing much less sleep than humans, Wriothesley hates the idea of disturbing her rest.

It’s bad enough she has to patch him up during the day more often than not. Even if Sigewinne’s methods look questionable, suspicious even, she does her job well. He trusts her work, and his trust doesn’t come easily. Wriothesley can’t wait to hear his diagnosis and get his prescription that’ll put him out of his misery.

He opens his mouth.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Bright eyes bent into crescents, an adoring smile on her lips, Sigewinne whirls around to face him.

Wriothesley freezes, his words stuck in his throat. His heart one beat away from a cardiac arrest. Nah, he must have misheard her. That, or the Chief Justice is actually right behind him. And wouldn’t that be a funny coincidence? He’s almost too afraid to turn around but does it, anyway. There is nobody. Wriothesley isn’t sure what he’d prefer.

“Oh,” Sigewinne gasps, blinking her huge eyes. “It’s you.” She doesn’t sound disappointed but rather annoyed. As if it were his fault for her to mistake him for the Iudex.

“Yep,” Wriothesley nods, dumbfounded. Her gaze is unsettling as if she could see straight through him. And he bets all his coupons she actually fucking can. It makes him keenly aware of his exposed upper body. His tee must have gotten lost in the future. Wait, that’s bullshit.

“But this is weird.” She skips forward, almost invading his personal space and then she’s sniffing the air. No, she’s… she’s sniffing him?

“You really smell like him!” Sigewinne says with a little frown.

“Smell like who?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, of course!” She chirps, cheerfully. “Ah, but this is wonderful!” Sigewinne grabs his hand and shakes it. “Congratulations.” She beams at him. Her gleeful grin chills him to the bones.

Burning heat rises to his cheeks. Fuck but it tells him she knows.

The horrifying knowledge creeps down his spine, twisting his guts. Collapsing into a chair, he groans as mortification chokes him. He wants to die. But it cannot be true. It cannot. He refuses to believe it. Maybe he's still dreaming. Maybe he hasn't woken up at all and this is just one fucking hell of a dream.

“Shame, he didn't stay with you. Maybe I should take a vacation and visit Monsieur to congratulate him personally,” she prattles on but Wriothesley is barely listening. He’s too busy fighting off a meltdown, face buried in his hands. “After always asking after you, I’m so happy he's finally claimed you. Which means he might visit us more frequently!”

“What did you say?” He peeks at her between the gaps of his fingers.

“Monsieur Neuvillette will visit us more often?” She replies, tilting her head sideways.

“No, no. Before that.” He shakes his head.

Gleeful: “He’s claimed you.”

“Claimed me?” Wriothesley chokes out. “W-wait. You don’t mean–” He cuts himself off, flushing even harder. He can't say it in front of her. Not only because of embarrassment but it’s as if spelled out the whole thing would become undeniably real. Irrevocably true. Not a thing he can deal with right now or ever for that matter.

“His elemental energy is all over you,” Sigewinne supplies ever helpful.

“His elemental energy…” Wriothesley says, slowly, feeling like an idiot who can only repeat whatever is said to him. He needs to get hold of the conversation, control it to his favor and steer it away before any more casualties—namely his last remaining brain cells—turn up. “Stop, please. I just dropped by for a routine check-up ‘coz I felt a lil’ under the weather, y’know. So, not to be rude, head nurse, but I ain’t a fucking clue whatever you’re going on about.”

Whew. There, saved. Now he’d only have to let her fuss over him. Then she’d shove one of those damn milkshakes down his throat. And after kissing adios to his taste buds he might find some rest in all the desolation.

“Did Monsieur Neuvillette not engage in sexual intercourse with you?” Sigewinne taps a finger to her lips, looking at him cutely.

At that Wriothesley cracks. Going to the infirmary had been a mistake. He regrets it with every cell and fiber of his body. “Shit, Sigewinne. You can’t drop something like that so… so casually. Or at all for that matter.”

Technically, he knows the head nurse is far older than she appears, probably even ancient by human standards. She’s definitely seen more shit in her life than Wriothesley could fathom. But he simply can’t discuss his sex life with someone who looks like a six year-old at best. Not that there is much to talk about, except for the wet-dream-slash-drug-trip that is neither but actually happened, apparently. Something to unpack literally never.

“But don’t you humans enjoy s–”

Plap!

This time Wriothesley is faster, reacts just in time to muffle her, pressing two fingers over her mouth. He grimaces. “Do me a favor and never say this word or any related to the matter in front of me again, got it?”

She nods and with a sigh he lets his hand fall away. A mistake.

“Does that include fuck too?” She asks, matter-of-factly.

Wriothesley groans. Drags his hand over his face. He really wants to die. “Yes, especially that one.”

“That’s a pity. When it’s your favorite word,” she sighs.

“No, it’s not.” He can't believe he's having this conversation.

“But why would you say it all the time, then?”

“That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“For all your toughness, you’re surprisingly fussy,” she observes. “That’s why I love humans, you’re so cute,” she giggles.

“Cute? Me?” Despite himself, he chuckles. It's the last word he'd associate with himself but whatever. “Well.” Scratching his nape, he bounces back to his feet. “If there isn’t anything wrong with me, I guess I should go back to hit the hay,” he adds, hoping against hope that the head nurse will tell him he’s been poisoned with some funny mushroom smuggled into the Coupon Cafeteria. It had happened before (the later part, not him getting poisoned… at least until now).

“Don’t worry, Wriothesley. You’re as healthy as a horse.” She winks at him, holding her thumbs up.

“Great.” He smothers a groan. Just great. Waving his goodnight, he turns to leave but then stops in his tracks, remembering a crucial factor he cannot ignore. Isn't Sigewinne super close to Monsieur Neuvillette? Aren't they even something like pen pals? Shit. He's so fucked.

One does not mess with time. Wriothesley knows that much. Most time travel novels end with the same warning. Future knowledge throws the present into jeopardy, going so far as to threaten your own existence. Even if the Chief Justice didn't believe it, the less people knew the better. He remembers the almost panicked expression on his future self “—you’ll know way too much. It might change things.”

“Ah, Sigewinne just one more thing… about the Chief Justice…” He gestures helplessly in the air. “Don't tell—I mean—don’t ask him about it.”

“Why not?” She asks, looking up at him, her expression close to a pout and while he knows better than to fall for her act, he can’t help but feel guilty.

Wriothesley coughs into his fist. Endless mortification was not on his list for today. But life knows no mercy. Of course, it wouldn't go easy on him now. “How do I put this… it's because humans prefer to keep their intimacies private, yeah? It's a very personal matter.”

“Oh, I see.” She nods, her eyes filled with wonder and understanding. “Then I won't mention a peep to him,” she says, winking at him conspiratorially.

But Wriothesley isn't reassured, and her beatific smile doesn't help one bit. It spells—nah, scratch that—screams Trouble. What a menace. “Look, I’m dead serious.” He doesn't know what compels him to say what he's about to say, and he knows he’ll regret it forever but he's desperate and exhausted, and literally fucked out of his mind. “Listen, I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just promise me you will never talk about this incident to him or anyone.” Oh, but he hates this. Having a liability fucking sucks.

Good thing she's at least not a human. Unlike humans, Melusines don’t have hidden motives. Whatever her condition will be, she won’t exploit his weakness. Besides, the Melusines have shown him more goodwill than humans. He will never forget that soup. If he dares to trust someone, it might as well be the Melusines.

“Anything?” A dangerous sparkle flashes in her red eyes. “You’ll really do anything?” Her voice trills with childlike eagerness.

“Within reason, yeah.” He nods, swallowing. This, he thinks, doesn’t bode well.

“Excellent!” She exclaims, clapping her hands before skipping to a Cryo box kept in a corner. After some rummaging, she returns and presses a cute cup covered in stickers into his hands.

Fuck, but he's doomed. It’s a milkshake.

“My latest creation!” Sigewinne announces, proudly. “But I haven’t found any test sub–ahem I mean, volunteers to try it out,” she smiles, sickeningly sweet.

“Test subjects! You clearly wanted to say test subjects, didn’t you?” he growls, accusingly.

“Ehehe.”

“Don’t you ‘ehehe’ me. But alright, so what’s the deal? I’ll drink this and you’ll forget about me and… and the Chief Justice?” He brings the drink of an unidentifiable color to his nose and pulls a face. Madness. This is surely the smell of madness, if madness had a smell.

She shakes her head. “Every day, for as long as you stay in Meropide ” she says, sweetly, twirling one of her short locks and after a pregnant pause she adds, “you’ll have to drink my experi—milkshakes.”

“That’s… just evil,” Wriothesley grits out, horrified. He takes it all back. Trustworthy his ass. Humans or Melusines—it doesn’t matter. They are all the same. Damn backstabbers. But this is a grave he dug himself. Can’t blame anyone but him or his future for the matter.

“Thank you,” she chirps and watches him with eager anticipation.

“I wasn’t complimenting you.” He scowls, but there is no heat behind his words.

Her smile only widens.

“I’ve been through worse,” Wriothesley mutters to himself like an encouragement and closes his eyes. Who knows, with less visual input it might even taste better. He downs the milkshake in one go.

Well, that wasn't so bad.

And then it hits him harder than ten shots of Firewater and he passes out on the spot. Just like he had wished.

A week passes.

Whatever happened prior to it is of no importance. Because this is an essential skill to survive. Focus on the moment and be in the present or you won’t see tomorrow. And Wriothesley is pretty good at letting go of the past.

The days just blur together.

Everything is much the same. He’s just another inmate, just another cogwheel—perhaps better oiled than many, richer than others—in the huge machinery that keeps the Fortress of Meropide running.

No one would miss him if he died today. Maybe the head nurse would shed a tear or two for him, mourning the loss of her lab rat. But that’d be the extent of it. And well, some of his sparring partners from the Pankration ring, while rough-looking, are actually softies. Oh shit, the kids, the kids he’s coaching would definitely be upset. Not to forget Wolsey who always gives him two or more free meals under the argument he looked like a twig upon arriving in Meropide.

Ok, alright. Maybe he's being a tad bit whimsical. But does he trust them? Wriothesley would rather dig his own grave than mule over that question.

He's just returning from another victorious fight, swinging by the infirmary on the way. These past few days, he’s been more often in the ring. It’s the only way he can work off the restless energy bubbling inside him. Must be because of those blasted milkshakes.

If they had a welfare committee—which they obviously don't—he’d be tempted to file a complaint. He isn't just being bullied here, this is true power abuse.

The fight earned him scratches, nothing he can’t deal with himself, but he hasn’t gotten his daily dosage of milkshakes. Just at the thought of it, his face crunches up, his stomach twists in disgust. But he can’t eschew it.

Because Sigewinne knows no scruples. One day he was showering and she popped up from nowhere, holding a glittering cup out for him. It had been late and he thought of skipping his visit to the infirmary. No such luck. So better get it done and over with. Before she hunts him down again in the community showers of all places.

Wriothesley walks into the infirmary, expecting the head nurse to jump scare him at the entrance. Instead of the whirlwind of heart shapes and soft pastels, waves of navy, cerulean sprinkled with gold greet him.

Holy shit! His chest contracts painfully in shock.

He has half a mind to retreat, but it’s already too late. The other figure has noticed him. Well, fuck.

“Chief Justice?” Wriothesley swallows. Hard. He knows it’s rude to stare but his eyes won’t obey him anymore.

Slowly, Monsieur Neuvillette nods.

Beautiful, pretty, ephemeral are all words that do the Iudex no justice. But Wriothesley is no poet. Can’t think of anything better. Shouldn’t think of anything at all. Remembers how soft those lips felt against his own. He shouldn’t remember that either. But it doesn't help that the Iudex looks like he stepped out from that impossible future.

Except, except now that Wriothesley has calmed down from his initial shock, if he looks more closely the difference is like day and night.

Poised, the Chief Justice sits cross-legged on a chair, the picture of untouchable elegance. His presence alone is enough to make the infirmary look like a shit hole. But that Neuvillette, while just as resplendent, was yielding and welcoming like water.

“Apologies. I’m sure this is an unusual circumstance.” He lifts a gloved hand in a placating motion. “Sigewinne had to attend to an urgent matter and asked me to cover for her in the meantime,” he explains, nonchalantly. Like it’s a common thing for the head nurse to command him around. To ask the Chief Justice to be her substitute. But that is Sigewinne for you. A true menace.

And Wriothesley would have laughed if he weren’t being assaulted by a load of unholy memories involving the man in front of him. But this is a Neuvillette who does not know him. Does not love him. And that’s right. That’s how things should be.

Sure, those pretty lilac eyes watch him with concern but they’re not the same. This sort of concern is the stilted, generic kind reserved for the destitute. But that Neuvillette’s regard had been soft, soft enough to make Wriothesley’s heart bleed. No one’s ever looked at him like that. And no one ever will.

However, his body isn’t as easily convinced as his mind. And what might be considered a mild concerned expression as lilac eyes regard him, makes heat creep up his face, hard and unforgiving. Wriothesley remembers the feel of Neuvillette’s tongue in his mouth as they kissed, fervently like there was no tomorrow. Remembers Neuvillette’s want, heady and intoxicating. Remembers his tight hole clenching around–

“Fuck.” Wriothesley slaps himself. He’s flushing furiously like a damn maiden. Whether from embarrassment or desire, he can’t tell. Maybe it doesn’t matter. He’s making a fool of himself, in any case.

Neuvillette doesn’t flinch, but it’s close. His brows knit together. “Apologies. While not ideal, I–”

“Mosquitoes,” Wriothesley says, quickly, hating the look of unease tainting Neuvillette’s features. “Nasty little bloodsuckers.”

“I see,” Neuvillette replies, not entirely convinced. But he relaxes a bit.

Wriothesley suppresses a groan, fights the urge to hit himself again. Mosquitoes? Really? In an underwater prison, thousands of miles below ground? Talk about ridiculous. Usually, he isn’t such a bad liar. Is good at convincing others whatever he wants them to believe.

Yet, Neuvillette doesn't call him out. No, he does something far, far worse. He rises from his chair, ever graceful and approaches Wriothesley, keeping an arm’s length distance between them.

Technically, they haven’t seen each other since his trial all those years ago. At that time, Neuvillette stood far above him. And he'd only gotten a glimpse of him up close before getting escorted down to Meropide. Then, the Chief Justice had been a tall and imposing figure. Wriothesley would have maybe reached only to his chest.

Now, though, Wriothesley has an inch or two over him. And that is fucking weird, feels just as wrong as his memory of their skins pressed together. Fuck, but he can't get a hard on now.

“Unlike Sigewinne, I am no expert in healing, but I should be capable enough to treat your injuries,” Neuvillette offers, calm and so very kind. It clashes with his Iudex persona, so very distant and cold.

“What? Nah, I’m good,” Wriothesley retorts, harsher than he means to. This close, it's a real struggle to keep his wits together. It's hard not to get aroused.

“Nonsense,” Neuvillette shakes his head. “Please, forgive me. I understand your reluctance but I would betray Sigewinne’s trust, if I did not take care of you.”

This is absurd. For a moment, Wriothesley wonders if he didn’t end up in the wrong timeline. In what world would the Chief Justice offer to heal an inmate? An inmate he’d found guilty no less. But he probably has forgotten that case, anyway. Yeah, that’s right. There is no way he–

“Wriothesley?”

“Monsieur… you remember.” Wriothesley’s tongue becomes thick in his mouth. But maybe this shouldn’t be so surprising. “But figures, was a pretty grueling trial, yeah?”

Awkward. It should feel awkward. But Wriothesley has never begrudged Neuvillette. The man has simply done his job. If anything, he actually feels grateful.

“Yes,” Neuvillette considers him for a while and then continues, “but that’s not the reason.”

Wriothesley raises an eyebrow.

“Unprecedented,” Neuvillette supplies, something strange flashing in his eyes. “It’s rare for humans—much less children—to plead guilty,” he says as if this were something impressive. It is not. “No one wants to go to Meropide.”

“Huh.” Wriothesley wants to deny it. But no witty remark comes to mind. This, Wriothesley realizes, is bad. This conversation is a mistake. Because like this he gets to peek through the layers, gets to see glimpses of a future. Suddenly, undeniably tangible.

“Now, could you remove your shirt, please?” Neuvillette’s request cuts through his thoughts, shock rippling down his spine.

“What?” Fuck but this isn’t just bad. This is dangerous for his sanity. Just when he’d calm down, too. Determined, he ignores his dick, twitching with unwarranted interest.

“That would be more conducive to treating you,” Neuvillette explains, kindly, blessedly oblivious to Wriothesley’s plight.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, right,” he says with an ease he doesn’t feel. It’s all thanks to his survival instincts kicking in saving his stupid ass. Running away would be the ideal solution but he has the distinct feeling Monsieur Neuvillette would give chase. So, nope, escaping is out of the question. He has to grit his teeth and leave the panicking for later. Yeah, that’s it. He’ll just postpone his heart attack.

With that in mind, he takes his shirt off and unwraps the haphazard bandages around his abdomen, revealing a few thin gashes crossing his skin. His body is a mess of old scars, of fading bruises and new ones.

Lifting his gaze, Wriothesley expects to find disdain, pity or a mix of both on Neuvillette’s face but he doesn’t see a trace of either. In lieu, his expression is apologetic, and a little soft. A faint pink colors his cheeks. But that has to be a trick of the light.

For a split second, the moment overlaps with his memory. Tender, soft lilac eyes looking at him.

Wriothesley hears Neuvillette speak as if from far away, “Pardon me in advance as this might feel somewhat invasive.” And then gloved fingers are trailing along his wounds, cool Hydro dripping over his scratches in slow, gentle waves.

Wriothesley sucks in a breath. Can’t fight the groan falling from his lips. Remembers immediately those same smooth fingers tugging at his locks as Wriothesley took him in his mouth.

Shit, but Wriothesley wants to cry. This is terrible. He should have gotten laid. Should have looked for a quick fuck some days ago. But at the time the thought didn’t appeal to him. It still doesn’t. That experience in the future has fucked him, literally. He knows sex for the sake of it won’t be enough. Won’t satisfy him anymore.

But mentally ranting does not help. So, he thinks of Sigewinne. Sigewinne with a menacing smile, forcing another distasteful milkshake his way.

“Apologies. Was I too rough?” Despondent, Neuvillette inquires, dropping his hand.

“No. No, not at all.” Wriothesley shakes his head, trying to keep his breath even. He doesn’t know what possesses him but he ends up saying, “Feels pretty good, actually.” Despite himself, he grins, hoping to assuage Neuvillette’s worry.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Neuvillette says, the tiniest of smiles flitting over his face.

Too much.

The expression isn't even remotely sexy. But fuck it's too much. His cock aches. Wriothesley blames his memories. Blames his future past. Something that has but hasn't happened yet.

None the wiser, Neuvillette continues healing him, his fingers tracing over another cut. Cool Hydro knits his skin back together. And yet the touch feels scalding. It goes straight to his dick. Wriothesley bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood, stifling a moan.

If he survives this treatment, he'll have to wank. Wank to his absurd, impossible memories. His cock pulses, already half hard at the prospect. And hell, he wants those fingers on his cock. Wants Neuvillette like he's never wanted anyone before.

Suddenly, Neuvillette pauses, taking in a deep breath. It's brief but Wriothesley catches a slight tremble in his hand, sees lilac eyes glow just like him in his pleasure. And for an insane moment, Wriothesley thinks Neuvillette can smell his desire.

This is it. He can’t do this anymore. Can’t keep this secret to him. He’ll tell him. He has to tell Neuvillette everything.

“Monsieur,” Wriothesley says, his voice coming out in a low rasp. “There is something I need to tell you.” He grabs Neuvillette’s wrist—one frying brain cell away from yanking him closer and press their lips together. This could change, mess up his future—but fuck he doesn’t care about such a nebulous concept. And if they are not meant to be, Neuvillette will pull away, berating him for daring to touch him, the Chief Justice.

But Neuvillette, Neuvillette doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t berate him either. “Yes?” He looks at him, cants his head, expectant.

Wriothesley swallows. Ok, he got this. Worst case scenario Neuvillette will label him a perverted lunatic and sentence him to Meropide. Again. Nothing he hasn’t already been through. Yeah. Easy-peasy. But instead, he hears himself say, “You—you should smile more often.”

Lilac eyes widen.

“It suits you.”

Stunned silence.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! Flirting with the Chief Justice? Seriously? Wriothesley wants to die. He looks at his hand, his fingers still wrapped around Neuvillette’s wrist. With an awkward chuckle, Wriothesley releases him. “Sorry.” Scratching the back of his neck, his eyes dart around, searching for something, an excuse.

There. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“Milkshake,” Wriothesley blurts out. He flits to the corner with the Cryo box, tears it open and grabs a drink. “Man, but I’m addicted to this shit. Tastes like the weirdest fucking thing ever. Sigewinne must be a genius.” He prattles on nonchalantly but internally sweating buckets. “Well, thanks to you, Monsieur Neuvillette, I’m right as rain. Cheers!” He gives an enthusiastic toast. “Send my regards to Sigewinne,” he says and gulps the cursed liquid in one go.

It tastes like [redacted].

Before he’s knocked out cold, he sees Neuvillette’s features morph into something akin to shock. And isn’t it bizarre to see the Chief Justice sprinting towards him in stop motion? As if he actually cares. But maybe, maybe he does. And then the relief of nothing. Just pure darkness.

“Hah, yes…” Above him Neuvillette moans, sweet and breathless. Delicate fingers rake through his hair, those pretty nails scratching Wriothesley's scalp. And Wriothesley groans around Neuvillette’s cock, hard and hot and throbbing with want in his mouth.

Fuck. He wants to choke on it. Wants to devour Neuvillette whole. This Neuvillette who really sees him, eyes glowing bright not just with simple desire but with impossible love.

“Yeah, just like that,” Wriothesley says, but it’s an older version of himself, his voice a low rumble. He's got more of everything: scars, brawn, even wrinkles and greying hair. He embraces Neuvillette from behind, nuzzling into his neck, his teeth scraping over one pointed ear.

And that’s right, he has somehow traveled to the future, Wriothesley thinks distantly. It's absurd. Unbelievable. Should be impossible for the same two people from different timelines to occupy the same place without tearing space and time apart. Huh. What is time anyway? Maybe he should investigate the concept of time more if he gets back. He probably should be worried about that too. How to return to his timeline.

But at this moment, that's not so important.

What captivates, consumes all of his attention is Neuvillette, overcome with pleasure. Pleasure Wriothesley is giving him. His tongue drags over the flushed head, dipping into his dripping slit. A wicked lick that elicits a delicious mewl from Neuvillette who throws his head back and tugs his locks harder—the yank just on the right side of pain, making Wriothesley groan. A pleasant garnish to the jolt zipping straight to Wriothesley’s cock.

And Neuvillette is a fucking vision trapped between them. His eyes and blue thingies in his hair glow submerging everything in a bright blue. Undulating his hips to eke out more pleasure from both sides. Thrusting his cock into Wriothesley's wet mouth. Hydro drips down his legs as his older self finger fucks into Neuvillette's hole.

“I can prove it to you.” His future self had said. Prove that he can trust the Chief Justice. That Neuvillette loves him, Wriothesley, of all people.

Yeah, sure, Wriothesley had thought, wryly. As if it weren’t the most ridiculous thing to say. Being in the future is nuts enough. But not as fucked up as this. Worse, it's actually good. All three of them pressed together in the pursuit of pleasure.

He hates to admit it. Also hates to admit he doesn’t know what to do. But Neuvillette and his future self are nothing if not accommodating. More than that even. So very attentive and kind. He wants it to be fake. Tries hard to search for any hidden motives.

Because he knows humans are never nice just for the sake of it. They always want something. And life on the streets and later down in Meropide have forced him to hone his skills at reading people. But fuck, he can't find the lie. Can’t find it in either of them.

Under the guidance of his older self, everything flows naturally. Usually, he doesn’t like to rely on anyone, loathes not being in control. Not knowing what to do is a fatal flaw. But here it’s easy. And each of Neuvillette’s sweet moans are like a reward for his compliance.

And this is how he finds himself on his knees, sucking Neuvillette to the brink of an orgasm. Neuvillette’s cock is hot and throbbing in his mouth. He can’t believe it. This impossible fantasy. To have the Chief Justice at his mercy. Begging for more. But never demanding it. Although Neuvillette could. Their standings are like heaven and hell. Sure, his future self is the Administrator, nobility and married to the Iudex. But Wriothesley is nothing here.

And still Neuvillette wants him. Loves him. It doesn’t make sense. It’s insane.

‘If someone tells you they love a flower, they love a flower.’ The words spoken in his voice but not by him echo in his own mind. ‘And if someone says they love you, you don’t get a say in that…’

And fuck if that doesn’t hit harder than a punch to the gut. But maybe it’s true. It’s a terrifying thing to admit. However, he feels it with how Neuvillette moves his hips against his mouth, undeniably and visceral. Feels it with how Neuvillette whines his name, his fingers curling in Wriothesley’s hair, tactilely asking for release.

Oh, but he wants to be good. Wants to give Neuvillette anything, everything he needs and more. His own cock strains against the tight confines of his pants, the fabric chafing his sensitive skin. But he ignores it. His desire to see Neuvillette drown in his pleasure far surpasses his own urges.

“...I think we should be a little mean to him… Don’t let him come,” the older Wriothesley says.

Yes, he thinks, what a thrilling, enticing prospect. Even if he regrets it—not getting the chance to taste Neuvillette’s come, to swallow all of his spend—Wriothesley pulls off Neuvillette with a wet pop.

Watching Neuvillette through his eyelashes with unabashed, fervent hunger, he licks his lips and presses a reverent kiss to Neuvillette's weeping cock, glistening with saliva.

“Show him how much you love us, sweetness,” his older self rasps against Neuvillette's pink ear shell.

“Beloved,” Neuvillette makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat. And Wriothesley would assume he's referring to his actual husband. Except, his eyes do not leave him, fix on Wriothesley like he's the center of the universe. That does a weird thing to his heart. Makes heat pool into his belly.

Delicate fingers curl around his biceps and Neuvillette helps Wriothesley up or rather sweeps Wriothesley off his feet, settling him on the bed as if he weighs nothing.

“Fuck, that's hot,” Wriothesley laughs, breathless, feels even more heat coiling in his belly. “You’re hot,” he swallows.

“You should see yourself.” With a smirk, Neuvillette crawls over him, bringing their bodies flush together. And oh, that expression is wicked and sweet, makes Wriothesley's cock twitch with desperate need. Desire churns beneath his skin. He feels like burning from the inside out.

Smooth, knowing fingers wander over his skin, Neuvillette squeezing his muscles, his pecs. Each caress is a revelation. Adds another layer of exquisite agony to his burgeoning pleasure. Makes the last traces of doubt evaporate from his mind. It’s one thing to hear from Neuvillette, they are married. To see the ring gleaming on Neuvillette’s finger. But it’s a totally different thing to actually experience his love.

This Neuvillette knows how to touch him, knows how to drive him crazy, knows his body even better than Wriothesley himself.

A curtain of silver surrounds Wriothesley’s head, as their lips finally meet in a fervent open-mouthed kiss. Neuvillette licks into him like he’s starved for his taste. Neuvillette’s tongue tangles with his own, wet and hot, and Wriothesley wants to drown in it.

No one's ever kissed him like this. As if… he deserved to be loved. As if they were meant to be. Their mouths slot together like puzzle pieces. It’s effortless bliss. Others have demanded he please them. But Neuvillette showers him with affection not expecting anything in return.

It’s too much. Wriothesley doesn’t know what to do with it.

Good thing then, his older self is here too. That Wriothesley leans over Neuvillette and murmurs something so filthy, that has Wriothesley’s heart beat out of his chest, has it hammer louder than the machines of the Fortress.

“Are you insane?” Wriothesley pants, incredulous.

“Don’t worry, Wry,” his older self smirks. “He can take us.”

“I can,” Neuvillette ascertains, proud and flushed. “Unless you rather not?”

“No, I–I want…” Wriothesley croaks, his throat going dry.

“Knew it,” his older self grins, “then place your hands on his hips.”

And Wriothesley does as instructed. His head buzzes with a heady sort of haze as anticipation twists tighter and tighter in his belly. A strangled gasp leaves his lips when his older self brings their cocks together, wrapping callused fingers around them.

“Hydro, sweetness?” his older self asks. And promptly, cool, slick Hydro coats their cocks. They’re identical in length and girth.

This, Wriothesley thinks, should be awkward as hell. It’s fucking weird, sure. But instead of awkward, he feels strangely safe. When has he last felt that? He can’t recall.

“Watch me,” Neuvillette breathes, his voice a silky caress.

And Wriothesley can’t look away, not even if the room were to catch fire.

He doesn't know what gods look like but surely they cannot compare to Neuvillette’s breathtaking looks.

Lilac eyes alight in all possible hues of blue. His back bowed back in a beautiful arch, Neuvillette leans against the older Wriothesley’s chest and he sinks slowly down along their cocks. He chokes on a moan as the tips of their cocks press against his loose, dripping hole.

“Fuck.”

Wriothesley isn’t sure if that was him or his older self. It doesn’t matter. He has to fight the urge to thrust all the way in. Because fuck, this is the worst kind of tease. He bites his tongue. His nails dig into the meat of Neuvillette’s flesh.

Of course, his struggle does not go unnoticed.

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette smiles at him, indulgent and sweet. His hands glide to his face, cupping his cheek. “You couldn’t hurt me, even if you tried,” he assures him.

“How do you even know...?” Wriothesley shouldn’t be surprised, but it still catches him off-guard. It’s like Neuvillette could read his mind.

“It’s because he loves you… me.” His older self pulls Neuvillette’s face towards him, stealing a quick, but hot kiss from him. And shit, that turns Wriothesley on, need clawing in his chest.

“I want to feel all of you,” Neuvillette murmurs and brushes his thumb along Wriothesley’s stubbled jaw. “Give me all you have?”

A shaky laugh bubbles from Wriothesley’s lips. These two are picking him apart by the seams. And he should hate that but… can’t. He cannot when Neuvillette is so sweet and his older self, well, so generous.

“Yes,” Wriothesley rasps, bucking his hips and his older self moves with him in tandem, their cocks slamming into the tight heat of Neuvillette. They both groan.

Neuvillette cries out, his hands grabbing Wriothesley’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. His lithe body shakes with agonizing ecstasy. And Wriothesley feels the shudder ripple through their connection.

It’s the hottest thing Wriothesley has ever heard or seen, shredding his last reservations.

And he dissolves into a creature of pure desire. All three men become savage beyond reason.

“Beloved.” Neuvillette squeezes around them, his eyes rolling back, lost to exquisite bliss.

Wriothesley can’t form a single proper thought. Can't tell left from right apart. Doesn't know anymore who's doing the fucking. Maybe Neuvillette is riding them, hard and fast. Maybe his older self is pushing Neuvillette up and down, unhinged and brutal. Maybe Wriothesley is ramming his cock into Neuvillette's hole, desperate and rough.

It’s, probably, a combination of all.

But it doesn't matter. Wriothesley doesn't care. He can only feel as they race towards a maelstrom of pleasure. Feels the friction of fabric against the skin of his back, the fabric soaked with sweat. Feels the hot, impossible pulse of that other cock pressing against his own erection. Feels Neuvillette clenching around them, harder and harder with each burning thrust.

It is much too much.

He is raw, unfiltered sensation. A conflagration of agonizing ecstasy. Deliriously, he thinks he’s going to come out of his skin. To die.

Neuvillette steals his last breath as they trade hungry, sloppy kisses.

Not a bad way to go. And then Wriothesley opens his eyes.

A bout of vertigo has him reeling. He groans, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. It's cold, dark, and except for his ragged breathing, quiet.

It takes him a moment to process what's going on.

Alone. He's alone in his ‘secret base’ lying on a bedroll.

Yeah, right. After waking up in the infirmary, he'd fled here. And after trashing several of his training dummies, he must have passed out.

Ah, a dream. This time it had been really a dream. Not again.

And fuck but he's so hard, it hurts.

There hasn't been a day he hasn't dreamed about it. That night in the future. In all possible variations. One more debauched than the other.

Yet, despite these enticing dreams he hasn't touched himself since. It's not like he has never fantasized about Neuvillette. But doing so now somehow entailed a myriad of implications he doesn’t want to face.

But this last dream had been worse. Wriothesley blames it on the chance meeting with the Chief Justice today. The head nurse’s ‘substitute’—his ass. He bets his life Sigewinne arranged that encounter just to torment him. How terrifying.

Weren't the milkshakes enough torture?

Apparently, not. Figures.

Before, he could at least reason that the Iudex had all but forgotten him. Such an illustrious figure wouldn't want to be in the same room with him let alone touch him. And that was enough to deflate any of his desires.

Now Wriothesley has no excuses. Meeting Neuvillette in the flesh at the infirmary had been a revelation. Despite his ostentatious garb, there wasn't a trace of that imposing judge aura. No, the man had been nothing but kind, genuinely tending to Wriothesley's injuries.

What would the Iudex get from being nice to a random inmate? Nothing. And yet…

Unprecedented.

Neuvillette's smooth voice echoes in his mind. Neuvillette should have forgotten about him. But he hasn't. He even remembers his name.

His resolve cracks.

Wriothesley slips his hand past his waistband and wraps his hand around his cock, already leaking at the tip. He wants to make it quick. Just to scratch that itch.

Holding his cock in a tight fist, he starts with a rough and fast pace. But it's not enough. His practiced pumps along his shaft do little to alleviate his urges.

Frustrated, he fondles his balls and picks up the rhythm, going even harder, thrusting into his fist. But that only amplifies his agony. He twists in the sheets like one single burning ache.

He needs someone. No, not just someone. He needs Neuvillette. Wants him. Craves him like a drug, like he hasn't craved anyone before.

Oh, how he craves those lips pressed against his own. Shit, but he should have kissed Neuvillette at the infirmary when he had the chance. He’ll never forget their first kiss. How tender and careful Neuvillette had been. Remembers the warmth of Neuvillette’s lips brushing over his forehead. The corner of his eyes. On his chapped lips. Each lingering peck making his skin tingle, taking his anxiety, his uncertainty away.

Sweet heat spreads through his belly at the memory.

He teases the head of his cock, a shudder running through his body at the touch. Good. It feels good. Thinking of Neuvillette makes it so much better. Endlessly, so. Wriothesley ruts into his hand, a groan rumbles from his throat. Close. He’s close. He won’t last long.

It's impossible not to think of smooth, delicate fingers gliding over his skin. Impossible not to remember Neuvillette's mouth deep throating him without choking. Impossible not to think of Neuvillette convulsing around him.

Wriothesley comes with a choked moan, spilling over his belly.

Tears burn at the corner of his eyes, trickle down his cheeks. And he lets them flow. For the first time in a long while, Wriothesley allows himself a moment of weakness. To just let go and feel. There is a strange sort of freedom in that.

He wraps his arms around himself, imagining he’s tangled up with Neuvillette, sinking into his warm, sweet embrace.

That night Wriothesley spent in the future has given him the worst possible thing: a ray of light.

Hope he deserves to love and be loved.

This is possibly Wriothesley’s most deepest guarded secret. No, it absolutely is. To have a connection, real and genuine. He has craved it, still craves it on a visceral level. But he shoved away that clawing need, banned it into the depths of his inner fortress. Because when he discovered the truth about his ‘incredibly generous and caring’ foster parents, his world didn’t just crumble, shattering into countless pieces. No, his world was distorted to be reshaped. And awakened Wriothesley to the unbelievable cruelty in human hearts.

Sure, bad things happen. He’d known that as a kid too. But they always happen to others. He’d been lucky. Well, until he wasn’t.

But that doesn’t mean he has to deny his own happiness in the process. Hope is sure a cruel chain to hold on to. But Wriothesley isn’t a man to run away from a challenge. And he won’t become one now.

Should things go wrong, well, his future self will have to deal with that, he thinks wryly.

“Wriothesley, when will you stop being so reckless?” Sigewinne sighs.

“The day I kick the bucket?” he offers with a cocky grin.

“Very funny,” she huffs and pats his bandages. It’s not a particularly strong hit, but she strikes the most tender spot with scary precision.

Wriothesley inhales sharply and mutters something under his breath.

“Oh?” Sigewinne’s ear twitches. “That can be arranged~” She chirps, cheerfully, blinding Wriothesley with her smile.

He groans into his hands. How could he have forgotten about her insanely good hearing?

“Arranged? You don’t mean–” Her Cheshire Cat’s smile he can see between the gaps of his fingers, tells him enough.

“No, no. You shouldn’t…” He scrubs his face.

“Don’t you want to see him again?” She tilts her head, red eyes fixing him.

“Y’know you aren’t cute at all.” He pinches her nose, dodging her question.

“Rude!” She sticks her tongue out, “that’s not how I remembered raising you.” Huffing, she pats his bandages again. Same spot.

“Sigewinne!” He hisses.

“Yes, Wriothesley?” She blinks at him all cutesy.

“Forget it,” he sighs and pulls his shirt back on. “Well, see ya.” He turns to leave.

“Monsieur Neuvillette would love to be my substitute again.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“And do you know what I’d love?” Wriothesley looks over his shoulder, valiantly ignoring the blush spreading over his face. “For you to stop meddling.”

“But that's my favorite pastime!” Sigewinne squeaks with her arms akimbo, puffing her chest like it's something to be proud of.

“Huh. Maybe it's time for you to look for another hobby.” He shakes his head.

“I could say the same to you!”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Instead of boxing, why don't you also write letters? I’m sure Monsieur Neuvillette would love to hear from you directly.”

Wriothesley chokes. “Yeah? And what makes you think he'd even get my letter? I doubt it would pass through the security check.” He says with a challenge in his voice and crosses his arms.

Triumphant: “Just give me your letter! I’ll make sure he receives it.”

“You wouldn't…!” Taken aback, he uncrosses his arms. “I…” He scratches his nape. “I appreciate your offer but I can't bother him… yet.” Because he doesn't want to base his actions on an event from the future—even if it's now, paradoxically, part of his past—at least not too much.

Wriothesley has tried to gather more information about timelines. For one, to make sure he doesn't need to worry about some ugly time travel consequences. As well as to answer a crucial question: is the future predetermined? Fate actually a thing?

For fun and curiosity, Wriothesley went to a fortune teller.

“Woe is you for the shadow of the Leviathan looms over you! Should you continue down this path, he'll stripe you of your humanity!”

Well, if this didn't sound promising.

He also sought after some researchers. Eagerly, they explained to him a few intriguing and perplexing theories about time but as soon as Wriothesley asked about time travel; they laughed at him.

Eventually he found a little, old book. The name of the author already blurred out. It mentioned some interesting things about time being non linear. That everything happens all at once. The concept of multiverses. And some other mind-boggling theories that had his head spin.

But all in all, this felt like a lead. Something he could work with.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Neuvillette paces in his office.

Tapping his foot on the rug, he glances at the grandfather clock. A quarter past two. It’s still a quarter past two. It had been a quarter past two a half hour ago!

Neuvillette shakes his head and sighs. Starts walking again. Pauses at the coffee table to nudge a flower vase more to the left. Much better, yes. Clasping his hands behind his back again, he resumes his pacing.

After walking a circle or two, he stops again, this time in front of a sofa. Fluffs the pillows and nods to himself in satisfaction. There, looking much more comfortable now.

Eyeing his office, he wonders where best to receive his guest. Should he sit behind his desk? No, that would, perhaps, come across as too distant and unwelcoming. Then maybe he should recline on one of the sofas? But that might give the impression he is slacking and not taking the meeting seriously. And if he were to browse a bookshelf? No, that won’t do either. It might signal he prioritizes his work too much.

What a conundrum. He has so much space but no place seems to be the right one.

Sighing again, Neuvillette keeps on pacing. He is waiting for the Administrator of Meropide to bestow him with the title of duke.

A soft, uncharacteristically chuckle escapes his lips at the thought. While he fought hard for this title, he had struggled equally hard, if not more, to convince the elusive Administrator to accept the honor.

Wriothesley has only agreed on the condition to forgo any fancy spectacle. Although inexplicably disappointed, Neuvillette conceded. (He still regrets his decision a bit.)

He half fears the man of the hour won’t come. But while the soon-to-be duke is many things, he is not someone who breaks his word.

Neuvillette's ears perk up. He hears the heavy footsteps before there is a polite knock on his door.

At his acquiescence, a man of impressive stature enters.

The Administrator of Meropide is so very handsome, his roguish charm only highlighted by his black and burgundy attire.

And Neuvillette cannot hide his delight at seeing him again. There is a heated glimmer when their gazes meet.

Thanks to Sigewinne, Neuvillette has a fair idea of how much trouble Wriothesley must have gone to bring positive changes to a corrupt prison system after becoming the new administrator—self-appointed no less—a few years ago. Since then, a flourishing business partnership between the Palais and the Fortress has been established. And these might be the meetings Neuvillette enjoys the most of all the duties he has to fulfill.

The procedure goes without fanfare. After all documents are signed, photos taken, Neuvillette cannot help himself but inquire with no small amount of hope, “Should you change your mind about the ceremony, it can still be arranged at a later date, Your Grace.”

“Nah, don't tell anyone but I'm allergic to the spotlight.”

“But it would provide you with a great opportunity to acquaint yourself with the Court and–”

“Too bad, I don't give a shit about your elite,” Wriothesley replies cheerfully.

“I see.” Neuvillette nods, still a bit disappointed, but he does understand. This is another thing he likes about Wriothesley. The man doesn't coat his words. Isn't worried about keeping up an image.

“Besides, isn’t organizing a party a pain in the ass? No need to trouble yourself on my behalf, Your Honor.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” Neuvillette assures him, his heart mellowing. He has seen many men rise to power and lose to their ego. But Wriothesley, who has just received the highest title nobility offers, still remains kind and humble.

A shame they must soon part, Neuvillette thinks, but then a sparkle and wisp of frost catch his eye.

A Cryo Vision adorns his coat. Neuvillette is by no means a fan of the Archons, vile usurpers they are. No. But he knows it’s a big deal for humans to be chosen and receive a fraction of tremendous power. Thus, he truly feels delighted that the Administrator of Meropide has caught the eye of the gods.

“Congratulations,” Neuvillette says, extremely pleased. “You have found something you wish to do at last, I see.”

Icy blue eyes widen, brighten with an incandescent glimmer. With a rakish smile, Wriothesley approaches him. He waits one breath, before stepping into Neuvillette's personal space.

Usually, Neuvillette wouldn't allow such close proximity, would be annoyed but with Wriothesley it's different. He welcomes it even. His heart fills with a strange sort of anticipation.

Callused fingers tip his chin up. Wriothesley leans down and Neuvillette’s eyes flutter shut as their lips meet in a sweet caress.

Electro sparks ripple through Neuvillette’s body. Neuvillette gasps and Wriothesley uses that moment to slip his tongue inside of Neuvillette’s mouth. And oh, that makes Neuvillette feel dizzy. Wriothesley tastes overwhelming. Overwhelmingly deep. Like a bottomless ocean made of ardent yearning. As if this man had waited half his life to kiss Neuvillette.

Rain drops collide against the glass of his office windows.

Feeling his knees grow weak from the intensity of emotions flooding him, Neuvillette clutches Wriothesley’s shoulders. And he deepens their kiss, needs more, cannot get enough of that taste.

After what feels like a small eternity, they part, shaking and breathless.

“Monsieur Chief Justice. May I request the chance to court you?” Wriothesley looks at him, gaze filled with hope and no small amount of trepidation.

“Yes,” Neuvillette laughs, thrilled beyond words.

Some years later…

“Of all the ways I expected today to go,” Wriothesley says, raking a hand through his hair as the ley line disruption fizzles out, leaving an unexpected complication.

He’d come up from Meropide to deal with the damn thing, far too close to one of their air intake vents to risk letting it go unattended too long, and deal with it he did.

Except for the complication. Which he can’t deal with. Because the complication is himself.