(Untitled)
[Day 14, 5:34pm]
After my encounter with the Shinou early in the morning, it is my first impulse to leave the castle, but not as he had suggested. I had thought instead to chase after Greta as I had originally intended. However, I somehow find myself lingering in random places, telling myself that I am waiting for a chance to sneak into Yuuri's ( Read more... )
After my encounter with the Shinou early in the morning, it is my first impulse to leave the castle, but not as he had suggested. I had thought instead to chase after Greta as I had originally intended. However, I somehow find myself lingering in random places, telling myself that I am waiting for a chance to sneak into Yuuri's ( Read more... )
There is only a slight hesitation before darkness moves and light disappears into black hair and angry, almost cold eyes. He doesn't take note of the difference at first, opening his mouth so that brash words spill out to cover the abrupt clench that seems to center itself somewhere under his ribs.
"I came out here to be alone. If you're here because my guards are gone, Heika, you'll need to..."
It is the stillness that catches his attention; the lack of the usual expression of slightly wounded distaste that Yuuri wears when he calls the other boy by title that makes his words trail off into silence. For a minute, he only stares, and then the reality of the way Yuuri stands and the length of his hair hit Wolfram hard. He starts to step back, but something stubborn deep within him only allows for half a pace before his back straightens and his shoulders square and he pushes aside the memories of the way things had gone the last time he faced Yuuri this way.
"I can leave, if you wanted to stay here tonight, Heika," he has to wonder where those words came from, they aren't at all the explanation concerning why he was here that had hovered on the tip of his tongue. But now they've been spoken, and there is no taking them back, so he waits for whatever response Yuuri gives, meeting the expressionless eyes with a challenging stare and refusing the shiver that threatens to race down his back.
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“Indeed, are you spending the night alone, Wolfram?” he says coldly. “I’d hate to think that I interrupted anything.”
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"You think I have so little respect for Mazoku traditions as that?" The question is spit out, practically flung down between them, the words that follow falling in hard, loud challenge. "It was never I that made a mockery of our engagement. I was not the one who would have willingly given up if it came to another making challenge for the right to wed.
"You think there's someone hiding?" He turns, marching toward the single other door in the place, flinging it open so hard it swings back to rebound against the wall with an alarming crack. "No one here."
Another quick, furious length across the floor and he shoves at the two beds, still pushed together from the last time they were there, until a bit of space opens between them. He yanks the blankets askew, and then reaches for his sheathed sword where it lays on the floor; it had fallen when he pushed at the beds, propped at the end of one before that. Not pulling the blade free, he sweeps it hard and fast under each bed before tossing it aside and straightening to again face Yuuri with a toss of his head.
"No one under the bed," his voice is slowly growing higher in pitch and volume, and now he walks toward where Yuuri stands, watching his antics with an expression akin to that one would wear at the tantrum of a child. His rage crests, and he stops a little distance from Yuuri, eyes narrow as his hands rise to the open collar of his shirt.
"Not a mark to be seen," he says, fists seizing tighter in the fabric then jerking violently apart in a move that sends buttons flying to bounce off the floor with a brief clatter like a sudden storm. "Not one to offer any testimony to your distrust.
"I have been nothing," he's yelling now, face flushed and breath heaving from his chest, "nothing, but faithful..."
His voice cracks on the last word, and he locks his teeth tight shut and stands rigid and quivering, gaze pointed somewhere over Yuuri's shoulder, drawing fierce, shaking breaths through his nose.
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“I know that,” he says, taking a quick step forward and grabbing Wolfram’s wrist. “I KNOW THAT.” With a sharp sweep of his arm, he sends Wolfram skidding backwards towards the wall. “But obviously everyone else does not. If the SHINOU approaches me about you, what do you think everyone else believes? We do not have the luxury of anonymity, Wolfram. Every action we make is watched, every weakness noted to use against us.”
“You are aware of the continuous inquiries I have gotten on my availably status since this engagement began, and how they stopped showing up after the ball. But are you AWARE that they have started appearing again?”
Three quick steps take him to Wolfram and he slams his hands into the wall near the boy’s head. “You are one of my greatest weaknesses, Wolfram. I do not think clearly when it’s about you.” Wolfram tries to look away and he grabs his chin, forcing his eyes back. Wolfram is …. beautiful. Even angry and upset as he is, he’s still the beautiful creature he has sworn to protect, still the same prideful boy he chastised what seems to long ago.
Gentling his hold on Wolfram’s face, he runs a fingertip down his fiance’s cheek, feeling the muscle twitch. “Mine,” he whispers fiercely, and leans in closer.
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"The Shinou..." he begins, outrage spurring his speech, palms pressed tight against the wall behind him, but he doesn't have the chance to say more. Again he's overridden, and once more he finds his eyes wide by what he hears.
"They've started," this time he takes a step away from the wall, anger poured into motion as much as words, but he gets no further. The Maou is stalking toward him, and he's retreating that single tread before he fetches up against the wall again, flinching at the sharp slap of Yuuri's palm on the surface.
“You are one of my greatest weaknesses, Wolfram. I do not think clearly when it’s about you.”
Those words tear through every bit of indignation he feels; rip a hollow place in his chest, confirming his own thoughts of being more a hinderance to Yuuri than he could ever be a help. Unwilling to let his front crumble in front of the Maou, he drops his head, but a hard hand curls around his chin, forcing his face up once more. His pride makes his anger flare again at not being allowed the chance to hide his shamed distress and he meets the Maou's stare with hot, indignant eyes.
When the touch on his chin relaxes, he steels himself for the dismissal he expects to come, dredging up every bit of bitter fury he's ever felt to keep himself from giving in to the urge to shake and cling like the last leaf of autumn refusing to give way to the winter. He is more than that, and he will not give the Maou the opportunity to think any less of him. The finger that runs down his cheek makes him twitch, but he holds his eyes open and doesn't let himself lean into the sensation.
"Mine."
His breath catches, every thought of the moment before scattering like parchment caught up in a strong breeze. The ferocity of the whisper forces him back, tighter against the wall, an uneven point digging into a spot just beside his shoulder-blade. Unable to take the intesity of the Maou's stare, his eyes fall closed as his thoughts reach for something, anything, that will pull him back to stable.
For his entire life, he had been the little prince, the baby; given anything he could ever desire, but nothing he had ever really wanted. He was humored, pampered, left with no responsibility other than to amuse himself, and never given the chance to prove himself the way his brothers had. He hated it, and sometimes he hated everything it had made of him.
His eyelids lifted, and the gaze that met Yuuri's was desperate. This, he wanted; this, he wasn't going to give up, no matter how selfish or weak it was.
He lifted his hands away from the wall, not realizing that he'd pressed them into fists until one hovered on each side of Yuuri's face.
"Yours," he whispered through a tight throat, unfolding his fingers and letting them come to tangles in the longer hair, holding on urgently as parted, submissive lips brush soft across the Maou's mouth.
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Running his fingertips over Wolfram’s belly, he grosses a hand over the boy’s hip before his hold tightens and he pushes his lover back against the wall. Wolfram’s mouth falls open a little at the impact and he follows, pushing his tongue wetly between lips and teeth. There is little resistance at his intrusion, and he encourages Wolfram’s head back a little, exploring to his satisfaction until he’s fully reacquainted with every damp corner.
Of its own, Wolfram’s mouth is hot and almost sweet to the taste, as though the boy as been consoling himself with some sort to candy, and the thought almost makes him smile if it didn’t grate on him that Wolfram had need of consoling. So he presses closer, causing Wolfram to make some sort of small, half-voiced noise that encourages him to keep kissing the boy deeply while inching Wolfram’s shirt further down off his shoulders. It’s not doing much good there anyway, with half the buttons lost.
This is the first time this side of himself has been around for this. How far they’ve come from that first time where he scolded Wolfram for his pride. With that in their past, he expects he intimidates Wolfram a little, whether it’s his power or the current situation, and it takes a few sharp bites at the boy’s soft lower lip before Wolfram will start kissing him back like he means it. Oh to be so awe inspiring.
Shifting his hold a little so that his hand slides into the small of Wolfram’s back, he releases the boy’s mouth with a sudden and wet smack, burying his face in Wolfram’s neck and sweeping the blond hair aside. He wants him. He wants him. Teeth, lips, and tongue attack the pale column of flesh, days of frustration and anger plus his mere presence do not a happy Maou make. Nor do they bode well for gentleness, and he marks Wolfram with a vengeance, leaving a bright red trail in his wake that has his little consort gasping in his hold.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he growls against Wolfram’s neck, shifting again and rubbing against his poor little fiancé. “Do you burn for me?”
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The depth of Yuuri's kiss makes his knees weak, and he's grateful for the support of the wall and the body pressed insistently against his own. The noise he makes is caught up in the final, fractured fragments of his thoughts from only moments before, and as the sound fades so does everything that is outside of this moment; separate from slick sensations of Yuuri's mouth on his and the demanding hands that pull the fabric of his torn shirt away from his skin.
After that first twist, his fingers slide out of the Maou's hair, the feathery length against the backs of his hands reminding him of everything he has to be wary of; that this is Yuuri, and yet not. Teeth catch his lower lip, taunt his current passivity with stinging, almost cruel bites. Now his tongue pushes back, and he shifts to the balls of his feet, returning the kiss with abandon. His fingers twitch, scramble against black fabric in search of something to hold onto, and finally curl around the top edge of the high collar on each side, anchoring him against the vertigo that steals his balance.
Then the Maou's hand is in the curve of his lower back, and pulling him up and closer and their mouths are apart and all he can do is gasp and pant at the stinging scrape of teeth on the side of his neck. Flame seems to run down every nerve, racing from each bitten point at his throat, and he's almost certain he can feel the tips of his hair throwing sparks.
"Do you want me to touch you?"
The growl against his skin makes him whimper, heat coiling, twisting, then surging downward and making his hips buck as the Maou shifts against his body.
"Do you burn for me?"
"Yes," the word is a choked, strangled noise that emerges just before he bites down hard on his lower lip. His eyes are closed, the skin beneath them flushed a rich scarlet to match the marks branded into the side of his neck by the Maou's mouth. He moans at another deliberate shift from the Maou, then releases his lower lip, the indents from his teeth visible.
"Yes," this time, more a hiss than a word and he rolls his head to the side, panting. "Yes, Hei--," a gasp, "Yuuri!"
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He transfers Wolfram’s arms from his clothes to laying around his neck so that the pretty boy still has something to hold on to while his hips press their bodies together rhythmically. “Wolfram,” he says, his eyes never leaving the young demon’s face even as his hand slips between then so start working the buttons on his black uniform jacket. “So beautiful, Wolfram.”
Capturing his fiance’s bright cherry kissed lips again, he gracefully strips off his dark jacket and lets it pool like a liquid shadow on the floor before a swift kick sends it spinning out from underfoot. This time Wolfram kisses him back enthusiastically without hesitation and he encourages it, rewrapping his arm around the trim waist and holding him against him.
Tongues twist together, wet and thick, and he feels Wolfram’s body tremble in his arms as he steals the breath from the boy’s body. The hand on the small of Wolfram’s back drifts down indecently and he gropes the blond demon’s ass, causing a sharp gasp that breaks the kiss.
“Is there a problem?” he asks, looking at Wolfram’s wide green eyes a moment before his expression softens a little. “I am still him, Wolfram. Yuuri.” He takes one of Wolfram’s hands in his own, entwining their fingers. “Always,” he whispers, brushing his lips over Wolfram’s, “Alwaysalwaysalways,” and kisses him deeply again.
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He shakes against Yuuri's body, clinging tight and unable to let go of the last of the hesitation that would allow him to utterly give up control the way the Maou demands of him with each touch. The words he's heard are Yuuri's, yet the voice is different, and it makes him shiver. The fingers tangled with his own flex, and his eyes shift to meet those of the Maou. Somewhere, deep under the colder, harder black there's a hint of Yuuri's softness, and seeing it is enough to convince him to meet the hips that press unrelentingly forward.
"Always," he echoes as the tremors that had gripped him melt away and his hands again tangle in the ink-black spill of Yuuri's hair.
His lips part on a little sigh, and his eyes flutter closed as he gives himself up to the need that makes his pulse speed, and the hands that are there to catch him as he falls.
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The moment the tension drains out of Wolfram, he knows that the boy has made his decision, and chases the little flit of tongue he sees when Wolfram sighs softly. He doesn’t give his fiancé a change to change his mind. Releasing his hold on the fair demon’s mouth, he latches onto Wolfram’s throat like a vampire, though not biting down quiet hard enough to break the skin. With an appreciative hum, he runs his hand down the curve of boy’s back and then slips it between them.
The metallic rattle of Wolfram’s belt as he loosens it sounds loud in the room where the only noise has been their breathing and quiet words (punctuated with small sounds from Wolfram). Catching a startled gasp from Wolfram with his mouth as the boy's hand tighten in his hair, it’s only a button or so and a forceful tug that sends a cascade of blue fabric slipping down Wolfram’s legs and pooling at his feet.
“This is okay,” he murmurs against Wolfram’s ear as he runs his hands down the boy’s body. “We’ve done this before.” His hand rests gently for a moment over Wolfram’s heart and then starts to tease in rose colored nipple under the pad of his finger. “Wolfram.”
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His back arches, a soft gasp escaping lips that feel swollen from the Maou's earlier assault. It seems somehow obscene to be standing there nearly naked and, but for Yuuri's hand, only able to feel the fabric of his fiance's clothes against him. His hands untangle from Yuuri's hair, smoothing slowly through the knots before dropping to rest lightly on Yuuri's hips.
"Yes," he agrees mindlessly with Yuuri's words, humming an appreciative sound when fingers continue to explore his skin.
Growing impatient now, his hands bunch in the fabric of Yuuri's shirt, and he pulls it up to slip his fingers beneath. Light touch skims up Yuuri's sides and he splays his hands over the rise and fall of his fiance's ribs.
"Please," he says, pushing closer and twisting against Yuuri, trying to fit himself up against the Maou's hips with a whimpering plea. "Please."
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His dark head dips lower, sucking on the long cords of Wolfram’s neck and flicking his tongue at his collarbone like an adolescent panther with cream. Their standing position does not lend well to tasting every inch of his fiance’s fair skin, but there will be time for that later. His hand on Wolfram’s hip slides down, marveling at the smooth feeling. The boy’s underwear is soft too, but he likes his skin better, and pulls the last barrier of material down (and at one part, up and over before down), nudging it down his thighs.
There just seems something distasteful of using spit to ease his lovely intended’s pain, and he reaches down between them instead, gathering the few drops of fluid from Wolfram and spreading it thinly over his fingers. The makeshift lubricant is so precious that he doesn’t risk it rubbing off on Wolfram’s skin before he gets where he wants to be, and so uses the heel of his palm pressed into the curve of the demon’s back to guide his way between Wolfram’s legs. There is a soft grunt and Wolfram’s body jerks forward against him, rising up on tiptoe to escape the invasion while trying to move his legs apart a little more to let his finger in.
“My shirt,” he commands, mouth against the panting boy’s ear. “Remove it.”
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Eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed open, and he presses shaky kisses down the line of Yuuri's jaw as his fingers flex and release their grip and his hands move to the buttons on Yuuri's shirt. He works at the fastenings, gasping and fumbling at one point, when Yuuri's fingers twist inside him. It's all he can do to force weak knees to make him stay upright, and the second he has the last button undone, he pushes the shirt off Yuuri's shoulders as far as he can. Then he locks trembling arms around the Maou's neck, lowering his head to keen against his lover's collarbone as he pushes back against the steadily mounting insistent pressure of Yuuri's touch.
"Yuuri, I ca--" his voice hitches, a shudder sliding down his spine as his hips sway, unable to choose between the pleasant friction of Yuuri against him, or the demand to open himself further to Yuuri's fingers. Lost to words, he voices a breathless, pleading moan instead, hands curling and nails digging red crescents into the skin of Yuuri's back.
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Wolfram trembles in his arms, the demon’s slender body starting to take control as his control wavers, and the Maou considers for a moment driving the boy higher until he’s near tears, sobbing and begging for him. But he doesn’t like the risk he runs at the fire demon finishing before he can even get in him, and pushes Wolfram’s shoulders back against the wall before withdrawing his fingers completely from their fiance’s body. The blonde demon whines loudly in protest and he bathes the young man’s neck with his velvety tongue, momentarily soothing his frustration while he reaches down and releases himself from the black uniform trousers he wears.
“Brace yourself,” he purrs into Wolfram’s hair, running his hand down his fiance’s skin while one hand rests securely at his waist. “Now.” In one quick motion, he slings his arm under Wolfram’s knee and lifts one long, shapely leg up and out to the side, fitting himself up against the gasping boy and between his legs. He thrusts, burying himself hard and fast, Wolfram holding on for dear life.
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His breath is harsh, desperate, like someone just released from the icy threat of drowning; he clings to the lifeline Yuuri offers, wrapping his leg over Yuuri's hip. His back curves, and his mouth finds skin, teeth clenching on the point where Yuuri's neck and shoulder join. The whimpers that still escape him are muffled, and slowly the shock of Yuuri's entry into his body eases.
His hips shift, heel pressing hard into Yuuri's lower back as his mouth comes free of Yuuri's skin with a soft, wet noise. Gasping breath plays across the damp, red spot before he lifts his head and licks clumsily at the edges of Yuuri's ear.
"Please," it's a breathless little plea, body moving restlessly in its trap between Yuuri and the wall, shudders gripping him as he pulls his head back. Wide eyes beg for things he can't put into words, wet, red lips parted; their color matching the deep flush on his cheeks.
"Please, Yuuri," this a desperate wail as he twists, panting and shivering as sweat slides over slick skin.
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Wolfram’s teeth are sharp and hard imbedded into his shoulder, and the boy’s hold on his hair unrelenting. But he likes it that way. They are no dainty creatures come together for sanitary petting. He longs for hot flesh and half voiced screams, for possessive, demanding hands, armed with short blunt nails, and the frantic bucking of finality that sends fire through his veins. Wolfram is a good, strong boy. He’ll hold out to the last.
So he waits, letting the pain subside, saying nothing, but sliding his hand around Wolfram, fingertips lingering at the sharp arch of his back. He can feel Wolfram start to relax before the boy can tell him so; can feel a second heartbeat thundering against his chest and when the almost frantic clench of those inner muscles eases off.
”Please.”
With strong arms wrapped fully around his fiancé, he leans them back a little, using the wall to help balance the quivering man-child that he too, this half of him, is laying claim to tonight. Patience waning, he licks his lips, dampening them, and then flickers his tongue out over Wolfram’s panting, parted lips, teasing. “Pretty,” he hisses, his breath fanning over Wolfram’s face. “And all mine.”
He could look at Wolfram for a long time, observing this delicious fey-like treasure with the tenacity of a lion inspecting his meal before he gobbles it up. But Wolfram starts wiggling around, trying to get some sort of relief, and he swings back in a smooth motion, drawing out of the boy before pushing back in hard, reveling in his fiance’s stuttered cry.
Again, powerful and confident, grinding against the smaller body in his arms in the spaces between so that Wolfram is never unaware of him, forced to accept him completely or split in two.
With half held breaths, he adjust's Wolfram's arms to around his neck. "You had better hold on," he warns his lover with wicked delight as he presses closer to that shivering, sweating body. "You'll enjoy this."
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