Contact 17: Red-handed
Chapter 17: "It's not what it looks like!"
“Okay, I’ll teach you,” Yuuri says. He sticks both hands out to Conrad, palms up. “Put your hands on top of mine, and hold ‘em there with our palms barely touching.”
Conrad does so, and although part of Yuuri’s mind knows that he’s being childish, and it chides him for making Conrad indulge his whims so often, still... Well, Conrad seems to be having fun as well, and that’s all that matters, right?
The other part of his mind, that very same childish part, cackles evilly at the thought of surprising Conrad with the full force of the absurdity and randomness of this Earth game before he explains the rules. He makes good on this before he can think too much and back down.
Smack!
“Gotcha!”
Conrad jerks his hands back with a gasp. “What was--?”
“That’s it, the whole game! You take turns trying to slap each other’s hands. Here, I’ll be on defense this time.” He sticks his hands out again, palms down. “You try to hit me, and I try to pull back before you can.”
Yuuri fixes his eyes on their hands, concentrating on the way his palms hover over Conrad’s. He feels the warmth emanating from below; memorizes it in preparation for when it will disappear. At the first touch of cool air, his reflexes kick in and he pulls--
“Ow!” It’s too late. “Aw, man... I should have known you’d be good at this, with your crazy monster reflexes...” Yuuri sighs and shakes his stinging hands. He cricks his neck and composes himself. “All right, one more time!”
“STOP!”
It’s Wolfram’s voice. They turn toward the blond prince to see him herding curious onlookers out of the banquet hall. The onlookers themselves are all, if not fleeing from Wolfram’s fiery wrath, staring wide-eyed and drop-jawed at their Maou and his companion. Yuuri remembers, then, that they’re not alone, but rather hosting a small dinner party that should have long been over, but for the few stubborn guests who refused to leave before they got a word in with the Maou.
“Out, out! Everyone out!” Wolfram continues his red-faced shouting until everyone has left. Even the most indignant of the lords and ladies cannot stand against his explosive anger.
Yuuri thinks that he should be grateful for Wolfram’s assistance in ending the party that was boring him to death, except that something must be very wrong for him to suddenly burst out like that. And that “something” is probably Yuuri’s fault. And he’s going to get a tongue-lashing he’ll never forget. And maybe a fireball or two lobbed at his head, depending on how bad it is.
Wolfram slams the door in the face of the last evicted guest, then turns to pin Yuuri with his glare. “What in the world are you two doing with your hands? Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is? And you dared to do this in public, no less!”
“What’s inappropriate, Wolfram? Red hands? Did you want to play, too?”
“Don’t drag me into your depravity, you unfaithful-- You cheater!”
“I am not a cheater!”
Conrad smiles and says to his little brother, “Yuuri has been very faithful. But of course you are welcome to join us for a game of ‘red hands’ if you would like.”
Wolfram blanches and physically recoils. His lips curl up as he shakes his head in disgust. “You guys are sick.”
“No, Wolf, it’s not what it looks like - not that I know what you think it looks like, but whatever it is, that’s not it! I mean, it’s a game, see, where you slap--”
“Just get a room.” He wrenches open the door, slams it, and stomps down the hallway in exasperation, leaving the lovebirds to their sick, sick game.
Yuuri is confused. Very confused. “What... what just happened here?”
Conrad is still smiling. His grinning lips are, in fact, starting to look more and more devious every second. “You said it yourself. It’s a game where you slap.”
“But it’s just the hands! What the hell could a slap on the hand mean? Gunter would have told me if it meant something. I didn’t even drop a knife or a spork or whatever!”
“Gunter is a bit older, you see, and too proper for hand-slapping...”
Yuuri narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Spit it out, Conrad. What are you trying to say?”
“I believe you just propositioned me.”
“Oh. Oh god, no.”
“And I accepted.”
“Oh, shit. We did this in public?” Yuuri gives in to the urge and buries his head in his hands. His cheeks are burning up. He’s never going to live this down. But then he freezes as it hits him, and he jerks his head back up. “Wait a minute, Conrad... You find this amusing, don’t you? You’re laughing at me!”
Conrad shifts his eyes away, looking to the side in faux-innocence. But oh, that damnable little smirk gives him away.
“Pervert,” Yuuri says, and he slaps Conrad’s hand once more in mock-anger.
Conrad smacks him back just as playfully.
In the morning, their hands are suspiciously red, and rumors abound throughout the castle.
“Okay, I’ll teach you,” Yuuri says. He sticks both hands out to Conrad, palms up. “Put your hands on top of mine, and hold ‘em there with our palms barely touching.”
Conrad does so, and although part of Yuuri’s mind knows that he’s being childish, and it chides him for making Conrad indulge his whims so often, still... Well, Conrad seems to be having fun as well, and that’s all that matters, right?
The other part of his mind, that very same childish part, cackles evilly at the thought of surprising Conrad with the full force of the absurdity and randomness of this Earth game before he explains the rules. He makes good on this before he can think too much and back down.
Smack!
“Gotcha!”
Conrad jerks his hands back with a gasp. “What was--?”
“That’s it, the whole game! You take turns trying to slap each other’s hands. Here, I’ll be on defense this time.” He sticks his hands out again, palms down. “You try to hit me, and I try to pull back before you can.”
Yuuri fixes his eyes on their hands, concentrating on the way his palms hover over Conrad’s. He feels the warmth emanating from below; memorizes it in preparation for when it will disappear. At the first touch of cool air, his reflexes kick in and he pulls--
“Ow!” It’s too late. “Aw, man... I should have known you’d be good at this, with your crazy monster reflexes...” Yuuri sighs and shakes his stinging hands. He cricks his neck and composes himself. “All right, one more time!”
“STOP!”
It’s Wolfram’s voice. They turn toward the blond prince to see him herding curious onlookers out of the banquet hall. The onlookers themselves are all, if not fleeing from Wolfram’s fiery wrath, staring wide-eyed and drop-jawed at their Maou and his companion. Yuuri remembers, then, that they’re not alone, but rather hosting a small dinner party that should have long been over, but for the few stubborn guests who refused to leave before they got a word in with the Maou.
“Out, out! Everyone out!” Wolfram continues his red-faced shouting until everyone has left. Even the most indignant of the lords and ladies cannot stand against his explosive anger.
Yuuri thinks that he should be grateful for Wolfram’s assistance in ending the party that was boring him to death, except that something must be very wrong for him to suddenly burst out like that. And that “something” is probably Yuuri’s fault. And he’s going to get a tongue-lashing he’ll never forget. And maybe a fireball or two lobbed at his head, depending on how bad it is.
Wolfram slams the door in the face of the last evicted guest, then turns to pin Yuuri with his glare. “What in the world are you two doing with your hands? Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is? And you dared to do this in public, no less!”
“What’s inappropriate, Wolfram? Red hands? Did you want to play, too?”
“Don’t drag me into your depravity, you unfaithful-- You cheater!”
“I am not a cheater!”
Conrad smiles and says to his little brother, “Yuuri has been very faithful. But of course you are welcome to join us for a game of ‘red hands’ if you would like.”
Wolfram blanches and physically recoils. His lips curl up as he shakes his head in disgust. “You guys are sick.”
“No, Wolf, it’s not what it looks like - not that I know what you think it looks like, but whatever it is, that’s not it! I mean, it’s a game, see, where you slap--”
“Just get a room.” He wrenches open the door, slams it, and stomps down the hallway in exasperation, leaving the lovebirds to their sick, sick game.
Yuuri is confused. Very confused. “What... what just happened here?”
Conrad is still smiling. His grinning lips are, in fact, starting to look more and more devious every second. “You said it yourself. It’s a game where you slap.”
“But it’s just the hands! What the hell could a slap on the hand mean? Gunter would have told me if it meant something. I didn’t even drop a knife or a spork or whatever!”
“Gunter is a bit older, you see, and too proper for hand-slapping...”
Yuuri narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Spit it out, Conrad. What are you trying to say?”
“I believe you just propositioned me.”
“Oh. Oh god, no.”
“And I accepted.”
“Oh, shit. We did this in public?” Yuuri gives in to the urge and buries his head in his hands. His cheeks are burning up. He’s never going to live this down. But then he freezes as it hits him, and he jerks his head back up. “Wait a minute, Conrad... You find this amusing, don’t you? You’re laughing at me!”
Conrad shifts his eyes away, looking to the side in faux-innocence. But oh, that damnable little smirk gives him away.
“Pervert,” Yuuri says, and he slaps Conrad’s hand once more in mock-anger.
Conrad smacks him back just as playfully.
In the morning, their hands are suspiciously red, and rumors abound throughout the castle.