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cavalierious-whim · 1 year ago

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Of Handjobs and Geniuses (ScrewTio)

Dr. Ratio finds himself bored at an event and drags Mr. Screwllum to a dark and quiet corner.

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“So tell me��just how functional is fully functional?”

A fool’s question for most but Veritas isn’t a fool, he’s a genius, so he’s allowed this one consideration.

“Question—”

Insufferable, Veritas thinks, the way this man talks, both in that dull, dry tone and the way he thinks about it long after Screwllum takes his leave. Too polite, too proper, too—

“—is the level of functionality concerning my genitalia important for this specific moment?”

No. Yes. No. It isn’t Veritas who drags his hand down a chest, tracing the hemmed edge of a flimsy tunic. He may have pulled him into a dark corner but it is Screwllum who has the wandering touches, who is far more interested in the lithe shape of his form.

“I do think that the question is apt when considering any future plans.”

“Future plans? We have barely executed this one, as poorly formed as it is.”

Poorly formed is a kind descriptor—but Screwllum is like that, isn’t he? Too kind when it comes to humanity, endlessly curious about what it is that makes humans tick. There is no plan, only action and reaction. Veritas found this particular space station event rather boring so the natural order of operations was to find a new puzzle to solve.

“Are you complaining?”

“I can only point out the rather ill-timing of your arousal.”

Veritas feels the smirk melt right off of his face. “I would have expected a man as learned as you to be better at dirty talk, but, then again, perhaps I should remind myself that a computer is only that—a computer. Absolute boner killer.” It nearly pains him to say boner, but there are times when a more crass wording is warranted.

Screwllum’s expression cannot physically change but somehow, ever-so-slightly, Veritas picks up on the change in his demeanor. “Question: If your arousal is… killed—” Veritas snorts at that. “—then I ask for you to explain this.”

Veritas stops laughing when Screwllum’s hand drops to the front of his trousers. His gloved hand sweeps across the tented front, just the barest tease of a touch. This, Screwllum is better at, this soft-handed touch that makes his cock twitch in his clothing. All those thoughts of terrible dirty talk and ill attempts at flirting melt into the shadows that cloak them, and Veritas finds himself bracing against an old cargo container to keep himself upright.

“You aren’t unhandsome, despite being a mechanical windbag.”

“I would question your taste in potential partners—”

“You wouldn’t if you knew me better. Truly, Mr. Screwllum, you’re the most normal of the lot.”

There is a pause. The soft whirring of Screwllum’s inner workings is easily heard when pressed so close together. “And yet you insult—”

“Your dirty talk, yes. Abysmal. Tell me, Mr. Screwllum, have you ever fucked a man?”

Screwllum tilts his head, the tassel of his monocle swinging gently. “Answer: I am, in fact, fully functional in any capacity you so wish, and it may interest you to know that I am not entirely unpracticed.”

There is something funny about the thought of Screwllum sleeping with other people. Not strange—no, Veritas expects it, almost. One cannot observe humanity without considering every inch and corner of humankind. Figuratively and literally. Still.

“I feel that I should inform you that it is in ill taste to inflate your—”

“You will find that I haven’t inflated anything yet.”

A joke. Veritas finds his mouth curling, annoyingly endeared—but it lasts only a moment before the annoyance settles in. “Your hand,” Veritas murmurs.

“I shall remove it—”

“I didn’t say that.” Were Screwllum a man he’d have a half-lidded gaze—Veritas knows that. However, there is a question that is needling his scholarly brain. “What do you get out of this?”

Another pause. That soft, whirring sound that Veritas finds strangely soothing. “Question—”

“Must you frame every sentence in such a way?” Veritas has no idea if that is a quirk of Screwllum’s programming or merely a preference.

Screwllum huffs, a soft hiss of laughter that sounds almost foreign. “Dr. Ratio—” Really, he should call him by his name considering the hand that brushes against his cock, but Veritas doesn’t correct him. “—do you think that I am incapable of experiencing pleasure?”

What a curious thought. “Can you?”

“Rebuttal: What is it that you constitute as pleasure?” Screwllum’s knuckles press harder against Veritas’s clothed erection. “Many would assume that a being such as myself would be unable to experience arousal—as you clearly did. But then I must ask: What is pleasure? Is it not merely the act of feeling enjoyment? Satisfaction? These are things that I am well acquainted with, being a genius of many achievements.”

What a dick, thinks Veritas. But, takes one to know one he supposed, and he’s more than willing to admit that he isn’t the kindest man in this galaxy.

“And does this bring you pleasure? Touching me?”

“I always enjoy watching my partners come undone. There is… pleasure in that, and it has fueled my indulgences through the years.”

Veritas gives him a too-sweet grin that is mostly sarcastic. “And is this an indulgence?”

“Yes—and do not give me that look. I am incapable of lying.”

That sounds like a lie but it’s a concern for another time. Veritas finds it difficult to think with Screwllum stroking his cock through the thick fabric of his trousers, that gentle brush of his knuckles having turned into a proper squeeze.

Veritas leans against the cargo container, legs parting as Screwllum bends closer. It’s weird to have a partner who cannot kiss you, who has no mouth, lips, or eyes to betray emotion, but Screwllum’s hands work perfectly fine, deft as they are when pulling at the opening of Veritas’s trousers.

“Here?”

“Are you not the one who pulled me into this corner?” Screwllum seems genuinely unconcerned, and Veritas still does nothing to stop his hand from dipping between fabric and his heated skin.

Veritas hisses as Screwllum’s wrist brushes the spot just below his navel. “Cold,” he blurts, that metal hand a sudden reminder that Screwllum is not a man—at least not in the traditional sense.

Thoughts are lost. He’d teased Screwllum about potentially inexperience but Veritas finds himself woefully wrong. Not quite practiced—no; Screwllum’s movements are jerky and odd, but he watches Veritas closely and is a very, very quick learner. The movements of his hand smooth out and he gives Veritas’s cock a stroke from base to tip that leaves him breathless.

Screwllum’s hand is still cold, even through his glove, but the heat of Veritas’s skin clings to that fine, smooth leather, and the more that Screwllum jerks his cock, the hotter the space in his trousers burns.

“Question,” says Screwllum then, with the absolute worst timing. “Is this adequate?”

Adequate, he asks. Veritas could punch him but he isn’t in the mood to break his hand, and something tells him that it would only amuse Screwllum further because the question is a damned tease.

There are two options: he doesn’t answer, proving Screwllum right or he does answer, also proving Screwllum correct. A no-win situation. Screwllum has backed Veritas into a corner with the sort of ease that he hates being impressed by, and normally he’d blame the computer bits and programming, but Screwllum proves himself time and time again that he’s clearly more than a machine.

Screwllum thumbs over the tip of his cock. “Observation: You’re wet.”

“You’re a fool—”

“And hard,” continues Screwllum, pulling his cock from his trousers properly. It’s dark enough. He’s covered by Screwllum’s form so that those passing by aren’t likely to see. “Good heft. You fit in my palm well enough—”

“Must you narrate?”

“No,” admits Screwllum. Veritas has the distinct thought that he would be smiling had he lips or smirking. “But it annoys you, so I am far more inclined to do so as a result.” He punctuates the thought with another twist of his hand, and Veritas finds himself biting back a moan.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Screwllum leans in too close for something that’s more akin to rivals-with-apparent-benefits. Smells like metal and machine oil, and Veritas finds that he can’t get enough. Another stroke of his cock, this one slow and languid as Screwllum watches the way Veritas reacts as if he’s researching for a paper. Another sweep of his thumb across the tip of Veritas’s cock—and then Veritas is coming, spilling against that damnable leather glove, stunned stupid by his quick and sudden orgasm.

Screwllum has the decorum to clean him up, politely yanking a handkerchief from his breast pocket to drag it across Veritas’s softening cock. And then he looks, studying his come that rests in his palm. “Observation—”

“I swear to the Aeons, if you comment on my semen—”

Screwllum does not. He offers him a boon by way of laughter instead, a deep sound that sounds far less tinny than the rest of his words. Then he tucks away that handkerchief, and then Veritas’s cock. “This was fun,” he says then, quietly, as he fastens Veritas’s trousers. “About what you said earlier—future plans. I am amenable to another tryst if you so wish, though I would kindly ask that it doesn’t take place in… a corridor. I enjoy sharing dinner first, at least.”

Veritas blinks. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Screwllum steps back and readjusts his glove. “I think not,” he says dryly. “Merely a meal between colleagues, followed by a potential nightcap.”

“For research purposes, I assume,” finished Veritas, pulling himself upright on wobbling legs.

“If that is your preferred dynamic.”

Veritas rubs his forehead, too rung out to think about quipping back with a double entendre. Another time. Another—well, that’s the question at hand, isn’t it? “You’re annoying, aren’t you?”

Screwllum tugs his lapels straight and even. “I’ve been called worse, I assure you. Besides, you’ll find that petty insults of such a nature do little to harm me.”

Of course.

“That being said…” Screwllum trails off and clears his throat. “Dinner would be nice. I am surrounded by geniuses, yes, but I rarely share the company of someone so… effortlessly himself.”

Veritas grunts and drags a hand through his hair. “Consider me intrigued enough to oblige. Your phone, please.”

Screwllum seems surprised by how easily he gave in. Veritas ignores it, adding his contact and handing the phone back. “Don’t call. Only text if it’s to set a date. Otherwise, you’ll be left on read, or worse—blocked. My patience is thin and you’re lucky that you’ve held my attention longer than most.”

Screwllum hums and pockets his phone. “Noted.”

Veritas is about to brush by him when Screwllum reaches out. Metal knuckles brush across his cheekbone, still warmed by the heat of his own skin.

“Grease,” says Screwllum, dragging his thumb over the spot. “Likely my fault. I apologize.”

Veritas’s heart skips a beat. Oh, no, no, no, this is a mistake—but his bed has been made and it’s time to lie in the sheets. He knocks Screwllum’s hand away and leaves, barely offering him a wave of his hand.

Later, Screwllum sends him a text message thanking him for the company because he is, at his core, an absurd gentleman.

And, against all reason, Veritas chooses to answer.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #hsr #honkai star rail #Srewtio #Screwllum/Dr. Ratio #HSR smut #hsr fanfic #HSR fanfiction #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail fanfiction #honkai star rail smut

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cavalierious-whim · 1 year ago

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Adulation (NeuWrioLette)

Part of 'by the strange pull'.

Wriothesely has a bad day, rests his head against Neuvillette's lap, and gets off to being called a 'Good boy'.

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Wriothesley is keyed up for a lot of reasons.

Too many new intakes, the death of their Archon, a—what he will assume—to be a brutal rut looming on the horizon; these are the things that have wrung him tight to the point of agitation. It took him snapping at Sigewinne to realize he needed a break.

The option is obvious. There is only one place Wriothesley will find peace, despite what the average person would think, and it’s between the legs of his partner.

“Beloved,” says Neuvillette, his fingers combing through Wriothesley's coarse hair. Just to pet it. Nothing untoward. And Wriothesley just sits there on the ground, cheek resting against Neuvillette’s thigh as he works.

Sedene says nothing. She drops off a stack of papers, sighing at the sight of him, but turns on her heel to leave after Neuvillette gives his thanks. His hand leaves Wriothesley's hair to shuffle through reports, unable to put an end to his day early.

Still. It is quiet. Neuvillette is dressed down on the couch, jacket tossed over his desk chair, and the topmost buttons of his collar undone. Wriothesley too, having tossed his jacket onto an arm of the coat rack haphazardly the moment he slipped through the door. Neuvillette is mostly muscle but his thigh is soft, and Wriothesley relaxes against it.

Neuvillette had not asked questions. “I need you,” said Wriothesley, and Neuvillette’s response was immediate as he pulled him close. Then he’d moved to the couch and folded Wriothesley against his lap before resuming whatever he was working on.

Alphas… do not behave like this. And there is a part of Wriothesley that still hesitates but the comfort of Neuvillette’s fingers pulling across his scalp smooths out any doubt that lingers in his mind. Neuvillette’s scent is not commanding. It’s sweet, and Wriothesley drowns in it, lax in his lap.

Neuvillette eventually speaks. “Good boy,” he says, and oh, what that does for Wriothesley. He has never… This has never…

Wriothesley's throat bobs as he lies there against Neuvillette’s lap, soaking up the praise. Neuvillette likely didn’t think about it; he praises him plenty—particularly when chock full of Wriothesley's cock. But never like this. There is something more raw and intimate about this, with Neuvillette’s claws against his head.

Neuvillette purrs gently. He smells proud as he pets Wriothesley's hair, content that his partner came to him. The sound of it eases Wriothesley's tightly-rung alpha. The smell of him, the way his claws scrape through the strands of his hair—Wriothesley feels the tension bleed from his being.

And the praise is…

“Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley tilts his face up to find Neuvillette watching him carefully. “You heard what I said, yes?” Neuvillette knows that he did, he can sense those minute changes in the air and smell Wriothesley's calm. But Wriothesley also knows there is a satisfaction in hearing it, an instinctual need to know that your mate is well taken care of.

He snorts softly and kisses Neuvillette’s thigh through his trousers. “Yeah.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

Neuvillette hums. “Are you comfortable?”

Wriothesley smiles, his eyes fluttering closed. “Mhmn, yeah.”

He loses himself in the feel of Neuvillette’s fingers. “I’m sorry that I have to work. I won’t be long.”

“No, it’s—fine. This is fine. I like this.”

Neuvillette’s hand stutters slightly. “So good to me,” he says softly, as if Wriothesley is the one giving him a gift. And then, another gentle, “Good boy.”

A soft rumble rolls through Wriothesley's being. He just… relaxes, letting his mind blank, dozing in Neuvillette’s lap. It’s nice. For once, his alpha brain shuts down. He doesn’t think about the Fortress, or his paperwork, or inmates and squabbles. All that fills Wriothesley's mind is Neuvillette’s hand combing through his hair and that beloved scent of ocean salt water and parchment washing over him.

He barely hears the rustle of papers. Neuvillette shifts slightly, leaning to the side table to notate something on a report. His other hand never leaves Wriothesley's scalp, that comfortable weight persistent. Wriothesley doesn’t know how long he dozes but eventually, he blinks awake, and now Neuvillette cradles a book in his lap.

There is no longer sunlight filtering in from the windows. Sedene must’ve come in and lit the oil lamps—which, Wriothesley will definitely not hear the end of. Him, in Neuvillette’s lap, purring as he was pet so sweetly. Yeah, she’ll be teasing him for decades.

But Neuvillette still sits there, comfortable. He reads, still combing through Wriothesley's hair, tracing his scalp with the sharp tips of those claws. Wriothesley realizes that this must be comforting for him too, not just the quietness of it, but that he submits so well that, and that Neuvillette gets to take care of him.

It is part of their nature to want to fuss over their partners, and Wriothesley is thankful that despite the push and pull of their alphas, this is something they have never struggled with. Yes, his alpha would rather soothe Neuvillette—but it relishes in the same care turned back. Wriothesley kneeled between his legs because he wanted to, not because it was expected.

He should treat him. Neuvillette. He still pets his hair with that book resting in his lap as he turns a page every few moments, and Wriothesley should definitely take care of him too. Wriothesley tilts in his lap and Neuvillette’s hand pauses.

“Beloved?” he murmurs, looking down.

Wriothesley kisses the meat of his thigh. And then his groin, where that thigh meets his hip. Neuvilllette’s gaze turns half-lidded and sharp. “Wriothesley,”

“I want to take care of you,” replies Wriothesley as he nuzzles Neuvillette’s half-hard bulge. So quick to rise. He smirks against that length and bites at it through Neuvillette’s trousers, alpha rumbling in his chest, pleased.

“Oh?”

“Didn’t you call me a good boy? Lemme show you.”

Neuvillette’s gaze is a dark, heady thing that sets Wriothesley's blood boiling with desire. He sighs, leaning back against the couch cushion, spreading his legs wider to accommodate Wriothesley easier. His fingers tighten in Wriothesley's hair as he tugs him close.

“Greedy,” teases Wriothesley as he tugs Neuvillette’s trousers open. “You usually hate doing anything here.”

His office is too public, too prone to others walking in. But, here and now— “It’s late,” says Neuvillette groaning when Wriothesley's hand dips into his clothing. Then, a soft hiss, when his cock is freed, already dribbling precome at the tip.

“And you want this,” says Wriothesley as he strokes Neuvillette’s length once, twice.

He gives Neuvillette no time to answer, dipping forward to seal his lips around the head of his cock. Neuvillette arches against him, hips jerking as his length sinks deep into Wriothesley’s mouth. Wriothesley takes it in stride, moaning around him, fingers digging into his thighs to hold on.

It only spurs Neuvillette on. He cups Wriothesley's face between both of his hands. “Look at you,” he says, thumbing across the arch of the bone there to where his lips are sealed around his cock.

Wriothesley knows he’s a vision, what with the way that Neuvillette cannot stop staring at him. And Wriothesley stares back, lashes fluttering against his face as he blinks slowly and sinks the entire way down his length. A choked sound bubbles from his lips around heated flesh when the tip bullies the back of Wriothesley's throat. He loves this, sucking him down, the weight of Neuvillette’s cock against his tongue, the heady taste and smell of him.

Scent glands right there, right at Neuvillette’s groin, leaking that spiced smell that fogs Wriothesley's head. Neuvillette strokes his hair reverently and brushes his bangs back to take another look. A soft growl of pleasure. A gentle, rolling buck of Neuvillette’s hips, unable to keep himself from sliding through Wriothesley's mouth.

“You take me so well,” he tells him. “What a good boy.”

Wriothesley moans, bobbing his head, pushing and pulling against Neuvillette’s cock. Good boy—what a thought, but it’s a thought that sings through his veins. His alpha is satisfied. He wants to do this, wants to be—

“Perfect,” hisses Neuvillette in a punched sound as Wriothesley swallows around his dick. “Wriothesley, you’re perfect.”

It is a good day when Wriothesley can pull those sorts of sounds from Neuvillette’s throat. He pulls off and suckles the tip, his tongue tracing around the crown. “Want to fuck my mouth?”

“I—”

“You could.” Wriothesley's lips curl around the words sinfully and he knows that Neuvillette has been caught hook, line, and sinker. “I could swallow you deep and you can just hold me there and watch. You know I like a firm grip.”

Neuvillette’s nostrils flare. His alpha purrs, his chest rumbling, and Wriothesley's scalp stings as he tugs his face back into position. Wriothesley could pull away; he could kiss anywhere else and nibble at that damned scent gland, but he plays along with his goading. He swallows Neuvillette’s cock again in one fell swoop, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks.

This time, Neuvillette bucks into the tight heat of Wriothesley's mouth harder. And hand slips around the back of Wriothesley's head to press flat, holding him there as Neuvillette feeds his length deeper. Wriothesley sputters around him, drool pooling in the corners of his mouth, but he behaves, he’s—

“Fuck.” It is a rare thing for Neuvillette to curse. “You feel—” Another roll of his hips and a soft groan. Neuvillette’s face is flushed pink and sweat beads along his usually pristine brow. “Your mouth feels good, you always feel so, so—Perfect boy.”

The praise sinks deep into Wriothesley's gut and settles in. Pleasure burns through him. Wriothesley's cock is hard too, pressed against his tight trousers. Later. This is about Neuvillette, about being that perfect mate he claims he is. Neuvillette lets him move, rising and falling against his cock. Wriothesley’s fingers stroke the rest. Neuvillette’s grip on Wriothesley's hair is so tight that he feels the tingle of it in the base of his spine.

Neuvillette comes too soon, praise on his lips, telling Wriothesley what a perfect, perfect mate he is. Come splashes against his lips, salty and acrid. Wriothesley still smirks and makes a show of licking it away, cleaning up every last drop.

This was supposed to wind them down, to relax them—but there is nothing relaxed about the arousal that is pungent in the air. Neuvillette’s grip has loosened but his claws refuse to leave those coarse strands. A claim. His instincts demand to keep him close, to have one hand on Wriothesley at all times, which Wriothesley is not unopposed to.

“So,” he begins, pulling back. He holds Neuvillette’s still-hard cock in one hand, and sweeps through an errant glob of semen, bringing it to his mouth. “Your place or mine?”

“Incorrigible,” murmurs Neuvillette, tracing Wriothesley's bottom lip with his thumb. “Come here.”

Wriothesley lifts himself, straddling his lap on the couch, leaning close enough to drown in Neuvillette’s scent. He smells like sin and love. Wriothesley moans, tilting his face to snip at the scent gland on his nape, desperate to sink his teeth in properly.

Neuvillette grasps him by the chin and tugs his face close for a heated kiss. Their tongues tangle and swirl about, and Wriothesley cannot taste enough of him, desperate for more, desperate for—

A squeeze against his cock brings Wriothesley's thoughts to a halt. “Even here,” whispers Neuvillette against his mouth. “Even your cock is good for me, hm?”

Wriothesley grinds against his hand, nearly tumbling right over the edge at just those words. Neuvillette kisses his temple, nuzzling the skin there. He drags a thumb down the length of Wriothesley's clothed erection, the pressure teasing.

“Are you going to come like this? I’d like to see it, you, rutting against my hand so sweetly gone. Beloved, show me.”

Neuvillette cups his tented cock and Wriothesley moves against his palm. More praise drips into his ear; good boy’s and so perfect for me’s dragging Wriothesley to his end so effortlessly. He comes, kissing away those words, swallowing them down as Neuvillette pets his overstimulated dick through his orgasm, trousers annoyingly in the way.

What a mess. Wriothesley grunts, forehead dropping to Neuvillette’s shoulder. “That was—”

“Do you feel better?” asks Neuvillette.

Suddenly, the room feels too quiet as he strokes the smooth skin of Wriothesley's cheek. And not bad quiet, just… Arousal still clings to the air and everything feels tilted. Wriothesley clings to him, arms curled around Neuvillette’s neck.

“Yeah.”

Neuvillette hums, letting Wriothesley take his fill, touching him, scenting him, and biting his neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Not the sex. Not even the way he needed to settle, but whatever it was that got him to that point. He always asks Wriothesley this and never expects an answer. “Just a shit day. The usual.” Wriothesley pulls back and grins. “But my alpha took care of me. Isn’t that nice?”

Neuvillette huffs, half-amused. “Hard not to when you come in begging for it. Sedene—” Wriothesley cringes. Right. He’d rather not think about her. Neuvillette laughs and kisses his brow. “Come. Let's clean up and retire for the night.”

Wriothesley stands on shaky legs, steadied by Neuvillette’s hand against the small of his. His alpha churrs, pleased and content. Neuvillette notices how his scent changes and leans in to take a whiff. Says nothing else, just kisses that swollen gland against Wriothesley's neck before pushing him towards the wet bar.

He manages to towel off before Neuvillette gets impatient. The walk home, though, is lazy, full of wandering hands and stolen kisses under the moonlight. And yes, he feels better—Neuvillette always makes him feel better. Wriothesley counts his blessings with every step that they take, melting all the more when Neuvillette dips close to tease him with more praise.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #omegaverse #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #alpha/alpha #wriothesley/neuvillette #neuwriolette #by the strange pull #neuvillette/wriothesley

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