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Summary
“Nice club,” Wriothesley said as he slid onto the bar stool beside him, leaning one elbow on the counter. “I like the energy of the place.”
Slowly, the man’s gaze slid over to take him in, and as he turned, Wriothesley could see that Monsieur Neuvillette’s eyes were a striking lilac color, the pupils slit and white. Wriothesley did his honest best not to fidget or let his scent shift too much to one of sudden desire-tinged-anxiety as Neuvillette closed his book.
He was wearing gloves. Black leather gloves.
Series
- Part 1 of Neuvithesley Week 2025
