#in which wriothesley is your husband and you share a morning together

[boundinparchment]

In Trenodia

Long-distance marriages are difficult. But you and Wriothesley always manage to make time for one another. Female Reader/Wriothesley. Second scene is implied to occur after Act 4 of the Fontaine Archon Quest. Song for title inspiration - 'In Trenodia' by VV. CW: smut, breeding kink if you squint, oral, cunnilingus MINORS DNI. RATED EXPLICIT. On AO3 here.

After routine confirmations of invoices and goods, along with small talk from the surface, you were escorted to your husband’s office.  As you were every visit.  No one, not even the Duchess, was exempt from protocol.

By now you knew every guard’s name and face and remembered their troubles from the last time you visited.  It wasn’t easy to live in the depths, let alone work in them.  You knew the other side, what it was to be without, and you easily understood the toll separation took.  Words from you might not soothe, not entirely, but expectation danced on every face and you saw it as your duty to bring what reassurance and reprieve you could.

The guards sent word ahead of your arrival, naturally, so you did not expect to surprise Wriothesley nor be interrupted while you were there. 

Years ago, the large imposing doors frightened you. You had not expected the Duke himself to want to speak to you.  In hindsight, it made sense: you were a small vendor directly supplying him.  He had been so impressed that your honey did not taint his tea beyond recognition.  Wriothesley was instead immediately interested in how your methods varied from those used by the companies that mechanically processed the liquid as well as other beekeepers.

Moments like those left you lighter than air.  But they also managed to claw at the wound that never truly closed.  One you were used to nursing in the later hours of the night.  Distance made the heart grow fonder, of course; it also served as a chasm that would never be truly crossed.

Now was not the time for such melancholy, you reminded yourself.

As you entered Wriothesley’s office and the guard closed the doors behind you, you could make out the faintest familiar notes from the phonograph.  With a large jar of liquid gold tucked under your arm, you climbed the stairs and crested just as Wriothesley looked up from his paperwork. 

The weariness under his eyes and in the thin line of his mouth faded, barely visible as he laid eyes on you.

“You have impeccable timing, my love,” he said as you approached, lips quirking into a soft smile.  “Just when I was about to take a break.”

You rested the jar on the desk, the contents almost glowing from the way the light passed through the contents, and leaned over to meet him for a kiss.  Your heart jolted, as it always did, at the sensation of his soft lips on yours and at the scent of his shaving cream. 

Wriothesley stood and stretched for a moment, rolling his shoulder as he rounded the desk.  He picked up the jar with a single hand to examine it and held it up to the light. 

“Darker this year.  How was the yield?  Did you have any trouble harvesting?”

You shook your head. 

“Monsieur Lockwood’s Rainbow Roses were quite the feast for the hives.  The taste is mild enough but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued.  You carefully took the jar from his grasp, opened it, and dipped your finger into the honey, extracting just enough to sample.  Wriothesley’s hand, large and warm, encircles your wrist and guided your finger to his mouth.  He licked methodically, savoring every drop as his eyes closed for a moment in thought.

When he opened them again, you caught the faintest hint of hunger mingled with astonishment.

“Floral without being over-powering.  Refreshing, even.  My compliments to the hive.”

“I’ll be sure to give them your praises,” you laughed as you closed the jar and set it aside.

Wriothesley’s hands found your face, the rough pads of his fingers ghosting over your skin.  He lowered his head to brush his nose against yours, a playful smirk on his face.

“I can think of only one gift sweeter than any honey you bring me,” he whispered.

“And what would that be, Your Grace?”

“You.”

This time, the kiss you shared was deep, eager, and full of longing.  Your arms wrapped around his neck as you tasted the last remnants of honey when his tongue brushed yours and elicited a low moan from deep in his chest.  Wriothesley maneuvered you against the desk and then reached for your legs, lifting you to the surface with ease and hiking up your skirt to settle between your legs. 

Hours later, when duty could no longer be pushed aside, Wriothesley would escort you back to the passageway to the surface.

You would leave with flushed cheeks and sticky thighs, with only memories of his laugh and loving gaze to ease the ache in your heart until your next visit.

You hadn’t anticipated the possibility of another outcome. 

After all, you were married to a man sentenced to live in exile, to work in the shadows and support those sentenced to a different life than one provided on the surface.  When he told you of the circumstances, how he came to be prisoner and then warden, he wiped away your tears before they could spill and you understood that he held a love far larger than himself.

He was not a man of sentimentality, your Wriothesley; he was a man of loyalty, of action.

So, one morning when you spotted the figure walking up the path to your humble home (modest by most standards of Fontaine’s highest rankings of nobility), your heart immediately leapt into your throat and stayed there, like a stone.

Were you hallucinating?

Surely not.

You would know that hair and gait even through the beekeeping veil currently clenched in your hands.  The report of recent events arrived with your morning post and you were keen to set to work.  If you worked, you could not worry about the murmurs of Fatui presence, the recent trial with a Harbinger, nor your cook’s mumbling about the prophecy you grew up hearing.

Wriothesley was working on a solution, one that only solidified his sense of duty to the nation that gave him a second chance. 

His gray eyes skimmed over you from heel to head as he drew closer in the cresting morning light, golden rays catching the fastenings of his overcoat.  You couldn’t even get a word out of your mouth before he cupped your face and kissed you, ardently, thumbs brushing just under your eyes. 

“Wriothesley—” you gasped, his name nothing more than a rush of air when the kiss broke and you were wrapped in his arms, his presence sturdy, warm.

When you pulled away, you could see the fine lines from lack of sleep, the way worry had settled into the corners of his mouth and the hardness of his eyes.  He hid them well but he always lowered his metaphorical mask around you, just enough for the truth to peer out.

“I had to deliver a report to the Chief Justice in-person.  It didn’t make sense to come all this way only to not see you,” he said softly.  “They’ll just have to forgive me for breaking protocol to see my wife at least one more time.”

His expression softened and his gaze traced over you the way an artist’s brush touched canvas.  Wriothesley pried one hand from your hat and bringing it to your lips.  “Your Grace.”

Your face grew hot as you held his gaze and you couldn’t help but match his smile.  How long had it been since he’d been up here, on the surface, at your too-empty home?

“I was going to check on the hives and fields before breakfast.  Care to join me?”

“Nothing I’d love more.”

At this hour, the hives were quiet, as were the fields.  The sky was finally beginning to turn from inky blue to orange, gold, and pink beyond the lines of trees surrounding the property.  A new morning, full of potential, even if the colors were slightly different for him.

You weren’t sure who turned first, who initiated the slow kiss that only seemed to deepen with every passing second.  Time itself seemed to stop when you tugged slightly on Wriothesley’s tie to bring him down into the tall grass.  He complied, arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him as the soft blades beneath you gave way.

“Adventurous this morning, aren’t you, my Duchess?” Wriothesley teased above you, his knee nestled in the perfect spot between your legs.

“Mmm, more like taking advantage of the opportunity while we have it,” you replied, smiling as you reached up to kiss him.

Your body reacted to him like metal in a thunderstorm every time, instantly aware of your own needs, overwhelmed by the love that flooded your heart.  Distance was difficult for ordinary couples and the decision to continue, to marry, hadn’t been easy.

But this sensation, moments where you were the only two in the entire world.  It made all the struggles worth it. 

“Sunlight comes with you everywhere, makes you almost glow…” he whispered.

You reached for him, pushed his coat from his shoulders and made quick work of his shirt buttons, exposing his scarred chest.  In return, the stays of your dress were pulled apart, the fabric pooling at your waist and revealing your breasts, nipples hardening in the slight morning chill.

“I can’t remember the last time I smelled grass.  Smelled flowers, wild flowers not yet cut.  Nothing smells the same down there, where the sun can never reach…always smells like burnt metal.”

His mouth was hot on your skin, hungry but tempered as his teeth grazed the column of your neck and his lips found your breasts.  A jolt ran through you from heart to core as he flicked his tongue over your nipple and then sucked, just enough to elicit a gasp from you.  His free hand traced the curve of your other breast before he switched, tongue swirling gently.

Your hands found purchase in his black and gray hair, mussing it further as he worked downwards and pushed your skirts up to your waist.  He gazed up at you through his lashes as he pushed aside your panties, fingers dancing along your folds and finding you slick and swollen.

“Beautiful,” he breathed against your thighs, the words tickling your sensitive flesh.  His tongue brushed your lips and he moaned softly.  “Tastes as exquisite as it looks.”

His hand parted your folds a little further and his tongue returned to stroke you.  You arched your back as he swirled circles against your clit, a familiar sensation sitting low in your belly to stoke the throbbing ache deep inside you.  Your fingers in Wriothesley’s hair tightened as you pulled slightly in your eagerness, unsure if you wanted him to stop or push you over the edge.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace, I wouldn’t finish you so quickly,” Wriothesley teased.  “But I do want to savior you.”

True to his word, you never peaked.  But he did keep you on the precipice, eternally aware of the white-hot heat searing through your veins and your ever-growing need to be even closer to him.

Wriothesley only pulled away after pressing one finger into your wet heat and kissing your clit with a flick of his tongue.  You looked towards him, craning your neck to find your essence across his jaw and chin, glistening in the morning light.  His gaze was lost for a moment, memorizing you. 

After all, you never knew when the next time to see each other would come.  You might be able to predict and show up with a jar of honey and steal hours of his time.  Or, as you were this morning, you might be informed of events beyond almost anyone’s control.

You watched as Wriothesley freed himself from the confines of his trousers and positioned himself above you again.  He brushed himself against your wet folds, back and forth, and he groaned.

“I love that sound.  So wet for me…”

Your eyes never left his as he pressed into you, slow and steady, and buried himself to the hilt.  Deep inside, your walls were already squeezing.  Both of you let out a sound that begged the other to hold on a little longer.

You craned your neck up as Wriothesley bent down, foreheads pressed together and eyes fluttering shut as he withdrew entirely before starting with slow, deep strokes.

“Need this to last,” he whispered against your lips.  “To feel every inch of you around me.”

His composure slowly slipped away as you tilted your head and kissed him, sweet and full.  You wrapped your arms around him, hands finding his shoulder muscles.  One of your feet, devoid of its shoe, rested at the top of his thigh; just before he could pull out entirely again, you pushed him deeper inside of you. 

“I want to feel you even when you’re gone,” you murmured.  “So I have something to tell me this wasn’t just a dream.”

More words sprung to your mind but they were washed away by the fire building within you.  Wriostheley grunted as your walls squeezed slightly, begging him for more.  You caught a mischievous glint in your husband’s eyes when he pulled back slightly and reached for your foot.  He gently folded your leg and pressed it against you, giving him a better angle.

“I have a better idea.”  He wriggled slightly and you gasped as he twitched deep inside you at the perfect spot.  “I’ll come right here…fill you up over and over…”

He sped up his pace, your breathing ragged as your scents mingled with the grass and wildflowers.  The coil deep in your belly tightened and you felt everything else fall away as your toes curled and white-hot heat threatened your entire existence.

“Wriothesley—"

Light exploded across your vision as you shuddered and convulsed around him, underneath him.  It was too much and not enough all at once, your hips bucking as Wriothesley helped you ride out the aftershocks.  He twitched again, burying his face in your neck as he released inside you.

He pulled away only enough to push your hair out of your face and grin down at you, eyes bright.  His face was flushed and his hair absolutely ruined but backlit by the morning sun, he looked almost otherworldly. 

“I’d like that,” he said softly.  “To see you carry my child.  Our child.”

You wriggled your hips again, your bodies still coupled.  Wriothesley hissed and shifted his weight slightly to keep you from moving.  He was just as sensitive as you were and you couldn’t help but grin up at him.

“If you keep that up, we’ll be here all morning, Your Grace.”

“Good.”