[oneshot] Only a Matter of Time
Title: Only a Matter of Time
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Yuuri/Murata
Genre: Um. More Smut. D/s hints.
Words: 2,200
Notes: Very, very rough. I really need to tweak this. This one was very tough to write. :d So, please, if you notice anything that's off, point it out. ♥ This one's for sora_ishida and reversedhymnal.
In retrospect, volunteering to help Shibuya bring his powers under more conscious control had not been one of Murata's better ideas.
The impetus had been innocent enough. After the episode with the mudpuppet bearbees, the Maou's inner circle had decided that it would have been less risky if Shibuya had been able to use his power to neutralize the maseki power long before Greta or anyone else had gotten hurt. Murata had spoken with the darker side of the king's personality twice before, and given his abilities, naturally was the most qualified to serve as teacher. Even taking into account his more-than-platonic relationship with the king. On the surface, the plan seemed flawless.
Except, someone had forgotten to take into account the fact that the more-than-platonic relationship was reciprocated. Big mistake.
He had suggested using the Shrine as it presented an opportunity for few, if any interruptions. They were at least a twenty to thirty minute ride from any dire castle emergency. And the Shrine Maidens were circumspect enough to leave them alone unless there was a clear danger to Shibuya -- or himself, but the focus was more toward the king.
"This is hard."
Murata had a mind to agree, but knew better than to encourage him. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know," he replied as Yuuri flopped back onto the grass. "But I think you're almost there." They had managed to get the fountain water to make spectacular spirals in the air, but when Yuuri attempted to use it to attack, his resolve had faltered. Murata had no particular affection for the ruthless, justice-dispensing.... personality, for lack of a better word, but he did respect it. And that part of the king would have attacked him with no hesitation; would have trusted them both to keep Murata from coming to harm.
Yuuri folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the perfectly blue sky. "Yeah, but how long until I'm able to do it without your help?" Dark eyes flicked over to meet Murata's. "Hey, aren't you tired?"
He was, but the longer they stayed sitting, the less Murata would be inclined to admit it. "Mm, not very," he said. "You've been doing most of the work, I'm just here to help you keep control of it."
"Sorry it's not going so fast."
Murata shook his head and gave into the urge to lay out on the grass as well. He propped himself up on his elbows as the sun warmed his back. "We have all day, unless the castle calls," he reasoned. "There's still the afternoon." He grinned. "If we don't have progress by then, I'll just have to keep you here until you figure it out. Like the girl in Rumplestiltskin."
Yuuri poked him hard in the shoulder. "Pick a different fairytale. One where I'm not the girl."
Laughing, Murata set his glasses off to the side and pillowed his head on folded arms. "Mm, I'm not sure I know any that would suit you."
"HEY!"
"There's the Ice Queen, where the girl goes to rescue her friend, but then you'd still wind up being the damsel in distress, just a boy."
"Why can't I be the hero?!" Yuuri rolled over onto one side, peering down between the strands of hair that fell over Murata's face. "I don't need to get saved all the time!"
Murata closed his eyes, thinking to rest them for a moment, still grinning. Really, it was too easy to rile up his friend. He was worse than Sir von Bielefeld. "Mm, which is why we have to get your power more under your control."
"Feh." Yuuri poked him once more for good measure and Murata could hear him sit up. "Okay, I'm going to try again."
"Okay." Murata was having a hard time convincing himself to get up, too. He could absolutely function this way, though. There wasn't anything he needed to move to do. "Whenever you're ready."
"Are you sure you're not tired?"
"I am saving my strength for when you least expect it, Shibuya."
"I hate you."
"I know." Murata lifted his head to blow him a kiss and heard the other sputter. "Maybe you'll get a real one when we're done."
"Who wants a kiss from you?"
Murata laughed and felt his own maryoku rise as he touched the other's mind. I could name a few people.
He didn't have to see Yuuri to know he was flailing. "You'd BETTER not!!"
Murata turned his head to keep Shibuya from seeing how unusually stupid his grin had become. Without any reaction to feed the argument, Yuuri sighed, loudly, and shifted slightly closer to him before calling on his power. Murata's grin faded as he, too, settled in to concentrate. After an entire morning of working with Yuuri's maryoku, he was more than used to the the way it moved; cautious at first, then with increasing strength and confidence as Shibuya became more sure of himself. That, of course, was what they had to work on. The battle with Soushu should have given the other every reason to have faith in himself; even an ego complex would not have been out of the question. But no, the humility remained. Murata set his brain on auto-pilot and began to occupy his thoughts with ways he and the others could get Shibuya to stop being so insecure.
He felt the sudden switch a half second before Shibuya's hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head up. Uh-oh. "Were you seeking to make me jealous?" Shibuya breathed beside his ear, and Murata's eyes flew open as a shiver coiled at the base of his spine. Damnit.
He closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the way his scalp was tingling. There is no need for you to be out, he said, calling on a little more of his maryoku to begin the process of breaking Shibuya's power down.
The hand in his hair pulled back more, just skirting the edge of being painful. Shibuya slid his tongue behind his ear and Murata's concentration wavered. "I thought that was what you two had been attempting." Teeth closed on his earlobe, a tiny pressure that he almost missed; he should have missed, but the gasp came anyway. "Well, you succeeded."
And failed... in the long run, Murata argued and his head had started spinning. If he couldn't convince Shibuya to come back to himself, he would have to take it all down, pull it all apart, and they'd be back to square one. But breathing had become much more difficult in this position. He bit his tongue against a whimper when the other grasped his chin and forced his head to turn, and look up into slit pupils.
"I intend to make the best of said failure."
Murata felt his power spiral out of his grasp as Shibuya leaned forward and closed his teeth on the tendon standing in sharp relief on the side of his neck. He dug his hands deep into the lawn as his whole body jerked, instantly feeling as if he'd been set on fire. The hand on his chin fell away but the other held him fast, holding tighter as he tried to move his head. He had not... not been expecting this. Though his last coherent thought as the teeth pulled away and the sharp, aching pain set in, was that Ulrike should have been the one to teach Shibuya.
His hair slid through the other's fingers as Shibuya let him go; head dropping unresistingly down against his forearms. He shuddered as a fingernail traced the marks, scratching lightly over already over-sensitized skin. "I could make this permanent, you know." Shibuya's voice sent a surge of heat straight between his legs, and his fingers clenched harder in the dirt. "I would just need a reason." The tongue returned to the back of his ear; he moaned softly, self-control utterly failing.
"Do I have a reason, Murata?"
His skin seemed much, much too small for his body and dirt pushed up under his fingernails as his eyes threatened to roll back in his head, and no matter how much he panted air out of his lungs, he couldn't make his vocal chords work properly. Shibuya grasped his shoulder and rolled him onto his back, cupping one hand against his cheek. "Well?"
Murata's hands felt wet, filthy and cold as Shibuya pressed one wrist into the ground above his head. "No," he whispered, and tilted his head back easily as Shibuya's mouth claimed his.
His lips bruised beneath the other's, breath struggled in and out until his head spun for reasons it hadn't before. When faced with the same passion, knowledge and strength, coupled with new lack of hesitation to employ them whatsoever, Murata felt something within himself snap. Shibuya wouldn't have to touch him at all; a whispered command to come would be more than enough.
But Shibuya never chose to utter it. As he pulled back from the kiss, his free hand worked first at his jacket, then his shirt, baring his skin to the sunlight layer by layer. Murata shivered and reached up, sliding his dirt-stained fingers up into hair twice its usual length. He saw a smile pull at the corner of the other's mouth and laughed despite himself.
The hand around his wrist tightened, pressing down harder as Shibuya shifted position and hovered over him. "There is nothing in this country I do not own," Shibuya murmured. "Including you." Had he been in a more coherent mindset, Murata might have argued that. Despite the best efforts, they were all transitory; only one being could claim to live forever. Something in his face must have betrayed his thoughts, for Shibuya's lips pulled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Shall I prove it to you?" He trailed his fingernails over an exposed nipple and Murata's back arched into the fleeing, intense touch. When he replaced the nails with teeth, Murata cried out, the sound high and sharp in the empty courtyard.
Shibuya flicked his tongue over the now-hardened skin, making Murata squirm, hips thrusting up at empty air, though the body they sought was not so far away. "Who do you belong to, if not me?"
"We don't have time for thi--ngh!!" Murata's breath caught in his throat as a harder, longer bite clamped down on his other nipple, sending one leg kicking out and up to try and throw Shibuya off. He felt his eyes glaze over despite the struggle, his breathing coming in short, shallow breaths as his erection strained against his pants.
Shibuya laughed low against his chest. "You said before we had all day." His free hand reached between Murata's legs and squeezed, forcing out another moan. Murata's unrestrained hand gripped the other's shoulder, rapidly beginning to not care about keeping his voice under control.
"You..." he licked his lips. "You know who..." Another squeeze, harder this time, and an answering groan. "Think about where we are." Shibuya's fingers suddenly wrapped around his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
"I don't give a damn about your past lives," Shibuya growled. "I am asking you, Murata Ken. If not me, then who?"
His body burned, a dull throbbing ache spreading out from under the other's hand. Strung tight, trembling from Shibuya's teasing and rough touch. "I..." He hesitated, and felt the searing hot breath as Shibuya mouthed his erection through his clothes. "Haa... no one! No one... uhn... please!" he blurted out, unthinking, back bent painfully as his voice carried and the heat disappeared.
Shibuya let his wrist go, slowly, as he tugged on Murata's belt and quickly slid his pants down, bunching the fabric around his ankles as he spread Murata's knees apart. His breath caught in a half-sob as Shibuya lowered his head, mouth closing around his cock and not bothering with pleasantries, sucking hard. Murata let his head fall backward as the pleasure began to build, his focus narrowing into nothing but the feel of the mouth rising and falling.
A familiar presence touched the back of his mind and Murata froze as recognition dawned, then came, hard, with a strangled cry.
He barely felt Shibuya moving, then moving him, pulling his clothes back up and shifting positions until he sat beside Murata's hip. He dimly realized he hadn't moved his hand from above his head, though Shibuya had long since released it. He flinched slighly as fingers threaded through his hair, gentle this time, and a rare smile graced normally stolid or angry features. Murata blinked up dazedly, watching as the slit pupils changed back, as the hair shortened to its usual length. Shibuya slumped over, eyes closed as his head landed on Murata's half-bare chest with a "thump". Murata breathed shallowly, heart still racing from the orgasm and sudden shock of adrenaline, and turned his cheek to rest on the crown of Shibuya's head.
Shivering and uncomfortably exposed in the sunlight, Murata promised himself he would go speak to Ulrike about taking over Shibuya's training. Just as soon as his legs stopped feeling like jelly.
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Yuuri/Murata
Genre: Um. More Smut. D/s hints.
Words: 2,200
Notes: Very, very rough. I really need to tweak this. This one was very tough to write. :d So, please, if you notice anything that's off, point it out. ♥ This one's for sora_ishida and reversedhymnal.
In retrospect, volunteering to help Shibuya bring his powers under more conscious control had not been one of Murata's better ideas.
The impetus had been innocent enough. After the episode with the mudpuppet bearbees, the Maou's inner circle had decided that it would have been less risky if Shibuya had been able to use his power to neutralize the maseki power long before Greta or anyone else had gotten hurt. Murata had spoken with the darker side of the king's personality twice before, and given his abilities, naturally was the most qualified to serve as teacher. Even taking into account his more-than-platonic relationship with the king. On the surface, the plan seemed flawless.
Except, someone had forgotten to take into account the fact that the more-than-platonic relationship was reciprocated. Big mistake.
He had suggested using the Shrine as it presented an opportunity for few, if any interruptions. They were at least a twenty to thirty minute ride from any dire castle emergency. And the Shrine Maidens were circumspect enough to leave them alone unless there was a clear danger to Shibuya -- or himself, but the focus was more toward the king.
"This is hard."
Murata had a mind to agree, but knew better than to encourage him. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know," he replied as Yuuri flopped back onto the grass. "But I think you're almost there." They had managed to get the fountain water to make spectacular spirals in the air, but when Yuuri attempted to use it to attack, his resolve had faltered. Murata had no particular affection for the ruthless, justice-dispensing.... personality, for lack of a better word, but he did respect it. And that part of the king would have attacked him with no hesitation; would have trusted them both to keep Murata from coming to harm.
Yuuri folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the perfectly blue sky. "Yeah, but how long until I'm able to do it without your help?" Dark eyes flicked over to meet Murata's. "Hey, aren't you tired?"
He was, but the longer they stayed sitting, the less Murata would be inclined to admit it. "Mm, not very," he said. "You've been doing most of the work, I'm just here to help you keep control of it."
"Sorry it's not going so fast."
Murata shook his head and gave into the urge to lay out on the grass as well. He propped himself up on his elbows as the sun warmed his back. "We have all day, unless the castle calls," he reasoned. "There's still the afternoon." He grinned. "If we don't have progress by then, I'll just have to keep you here until you figure it out. Like the girl in Rumplestiltskin."
Yuuri poked him hard in the shoulder. "Pick a different fairytale. One where I'm not the girl."
Laughing, Murata set his glasses off to the side and pillowed his head on folded arms. "Mm, I'm not sure I know any that would suit you."
"HEY!"
"There's the Ice Queen, where the girl goes to rescue her friend, but then you'd still wind up being the damsel in distress, just a boy."
"Why can't I be the hero?!" Yuuri rolled over onto one side, peering down between the strands of hair that fell over Murata's face. "I don't need to get saved all the time!"
Murata closed his eyes, thinking to rest them for a moment, still grinning. Really, it was too easy to rile up his friend. He was worse than Sir von Bielefeld. "Mm, which is why we have to get your power more under your control."
"Feh." Yuuri poked him once more for good measure and Murata could hear him sit up. "Okay, I'm going to try again."
"Okay." Murata was having a hard time convincing himself to get up, too. He could absolutely function this way, though. There wasn't anything he needed to move to do. "Whenever you're ready."
"Are you sure you're not tired?"
"I am saving my strength for when you least expect it, Shibuya."
"I hate you."
"I know." Murata lifted his head to blow him a kiss and heard the other sputter. "Maybe you'll get a real one when we're done."
"Who wants a kiss from you?"
Murata laughed and felt his own maryoku rise as he touched the other's mind. I could name a few people.
He didn't have to see Yuuri to know he was flailing. "You'd BETTER not!!"
Murata turned his head to keep Shibuya from seeing how unusually stupid his grin had become. Without any reaction to feed the argument, Yuuri sighed, loudly, and shifted slightly closer to him before calling on his power. Murata's grin faded as he, too, settled in to concentrate. After an entire morning of working with Yuuri's maryoku, he was more than used to the the way it moved; cautious at first, then with increasing strength and confidence as Shibuya became more sure of himself. That, of course, was what they had to work on. The battle with Soushu should have given the other every reason to have faith in himself; even an ego complex would not have been out of the question. But no, the humility remained. Murata set his brain on auto-pilot and began to occupy his thoughts with ways he and the others could get Shibuya to stop being so insecure.
He felt the sudden switch a half second before Shibuya's hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head up. Uh-oh. "Were you seeking to make me jealous?" Shibuya breathed beside his ear, and Murata's eyes flew open as a shiver coiled at the base of his spine. Damnit.
He closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the way his scalp was tingling. There is no need for you to be out, he said, calling on a little more of his maryoku to begin the process of breaking Shibuya's power down.
The hand in his hair pulled back more, just skirting the edge of being painful. Shibuya slid his tongue behind his ear and Murata's concentration wavered. "I thought that was what you two had been attempting." Teeth closed on his earlobe, a tiny pressure that he almost missed; he should have missed, but the gasp came anyway. "Well, you succeeded."
And failed... in the long run, Murata argued and his head had started spinning. If he couldn't convince Shibuya to come back to himself, he would have to take it all down, pull it all apart, and they'd be back to square one. But breathing had become much more difficult in this position. He bit his tongue against a whimper when the other grasped his chin and forced his head to turn, and look up into slit pupils.
"I intend to make the best of said failure."
Murata felt his power spiral out of his grasp as Shibuya leaned forward and closed his teeth on the tendon standing in sharp relief on the side of his neck. He dug his hands deep into the lawn as his whole body jerked, instantly feeling as if he'd been set on fire. The hand on his chin fell away but the other held him fast, holding tighter as he tried to move his head. He had not... not been expecting this. Though his last coherent thought as the teeth pulled away and the sharp, aching pain set in, was that Ulrike should have been the one to teach Shibuya.
His hair slid through the other's fingers as Shibuya let him go; head dropping unresistingly down against his forearms. He shuddered as a fingernail traced the marks, scratching lightly over already over-sensitized skin. "I could make this permanent, you know." Shibuya's voice sent a surge of heat straight between his legs, and his fingers clenched harder in the dirt. "I would just need a reason." The tongue returned to the back of his ear; he moaned softly, self-control utterly failing.
"Do I have a reason, Murata?"
His skin seemed much, much too small for his body and dirt pushed up under his fingernails as his eyes threatened to roll back in his head, and no matter how much he panted air out of his lungs, he couldn't make his vocal chords work properly. Shibuya grasped his shoulder and rolled him onto his back, cupping one hand against his cheek. "Well?"
Murata's hands felt wet, filthy and cold as Shibuya pressed one wrist into the ground above his head. "No," he whispered, and tilted his head back easily as Shibuya's mouth claimed his.
His lips bruised beneath the other's, breath struggled in and out until his head spun for reasons it hadn't before. When faced with the same passion, knowledge and strength, coupled with new lack of hesitation to employ them whatsoever, Murata felt something within himself snap. Shibuya wouldn't have to touch him at all; a whispered command to come would be more than enough.
But Shibuya never chose to utter it. As he pulled back from the kiss, his free hand worked first at his jacket, then his shirt, baring his skin to the sunlight layer by layer. Murata shivered and reached up, sliding his dirt-stained fingers up into hair twice its usual length. He saw a smile pull at the corner of the other's mouth and laughed despite himself.
The hand around his wrist tightened, pressing down harder as Shibuya shifted position and hovered over him. "There is nothing in this country I do not own," Shibuya murmured. "Including you." Had he been in a more coherent mindset, Murata might have argued that. Despite the best efforts, they were all transitory; only one being could claim to live forever. Something in his face must have betrayed his thoughts, for Shibuya's lips pulled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Shall I prove it to you?" He trailed his fingernails over an exposed nipple and Murata's back arched into the fleeing, intense touch. When he replaced the nails with teeth, Murata cried out, the sound high and sharp in the empty courtyard.
Shibuya flicked his tongue over the now-hardened skin, making Murata squirm, hips thrusting up at empty air, though the body they sought was not so far away. "Who do you belong to, if not me?"
"We don't have time for thi--ngh!!" Murata's breath caught in his throat as a harder, longer bite clamped down on his other nipple, sending one leg kicking out and up to try and throw Shibuya off. He felt his eyes glaze over despite the struggle, his breathing coming in short, shallow breaths as his erection strained against his pants.
Shibuya laughed low against his chest. "You said before we had all day." His free hand reached between Murata's legs and squeezed, forcing out another moan. Murata's unrestrained hand gripped the other's shoulder, rapidly beginning to not care about keeping his voice under control.
"You..." he licked his lips. "You know who..." Another squeeze, harder this time, and an answering groan. "Think about where we are." Shibuya's fingers suddenly wrapped around his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
"I don't give a damn about your past lives," Shibuya growled. "I am asking you, Murata Ken. If not me, then who?"
His body burned, a dull throbbing ache spreading out from under the other's hand. Strung tight, trembling from Shibuya's teasing and rough touch. "I..." He hesitated, and felt the searing hot breath as Shibuya mouthed his erection through his clothes. "Haa... no one! No one... uhn... please!" he blurted out, unthinking, back bent painfully as his voice carried and the heat disappeared.
Shibuya let his wrist go, slowly, as he tugged on Murata's belt and quickly slid his pants down, bunching the fabric around his ankles as he spread Murata's knees apart. His breath caught in a half-sob as Shibuya lowered his head, mouth closing around his cock and not bothering with pleasantries, sucking hard. Murata let his head fall backward as the pleasure began to build, his focus narrowing into nothing but the feel of the mouth rising and falling.
A familiar presence touched the back of his mind and Murata froze as recognition dawned, then came, hard, with a strangled cry.
He barely felt Shibuya moving, then moving him, pulling his clothes back up and shifting positions until he sat beside Murata's hip. He dimly realized he hadn't moved his hand from above his head, though Shibuya had long since released it. He flinched slighly as fingers threaded through his hair, gentle this time, and a rare smile graced normally stolid or angry features. Murata blinked up dazedly, watching as the slit pupils changed back, as the hair shortened to its usual length. Shibuya slumped over, eyes closed as his head landed on Murata's half-bare chest with a "thump". Murata breathed shallowly, heart still racing from the orgasm and sudden shock of adrenaline, and turned his cheek to rest on the crown of Shibuya's head.
Shivering and uncomfortably exposed in the sunlight, Murata promised himself he would go speak to Ulrike about taking over Shibuya's training. Just as soon as his legs stopped feeling like jelly.