Wriothesley lazily runs his hand down Neuvillette’s side, fingers brushing over the faint, rising marks along pale skin. There’s a satisfied hum in his throat, low and gravelly. “…Tch. Look at you.” He tilts his head, eyes half-lidded but glinting with pride. “All marked up. Can’t say I wasn’t thorough.” He glances down at the bite on his own arm and smirks. “You got your revenge, though. That one’s gonna stay a while.” Then softer, his voice losing some of the teasing edge—just warm now, grounded. “…You okay?” His fingers pause, lingering on Neuvillette’s ribs. “Too much?” But even as he asks, he presses a slow kiss to Neuvillette’s shoulder. “…You’re still beautiful like this. Maybe more so.”