fanfiction
(Sorry to those who saw this twice; I'm trying hard not to do the flooding thing, so I waited a few days between.)
This is sort of a prequel to a (as yet untitled) WolfYuu fic I'm working on. I was trying to get my thoughts in order, and all of a sudden this ficlet popped out. I have no idea how that happened. ^_^ I’m sort of experimenting here with the writing style (note the utter lack of dialogue), so please give comments and critique. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Title: Threshold
Author: lenainverse
Rating: R (for sexual thoughts, allusions to masturbation)
Pairing: Wolfram/Yuri
Genre: Angst/Drama
Chapter: One-shot
Summary: He didn’t understand it and he did his best to deny it, but in the end the only thing that could ease his burden was acceptance.
Comments: The fic takes place over the better part of a year, which might or might not be apparent (but it is in the “sequel”). No spoilers I can think of. Not Beta read…so edits are welcome and appreciated!
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There are some forces which, no matter how strongly one opposes them or how vehemently one denies them, simply cannot be eluded.
Like Fate. It was Fate that Yuri was born into his family; Fate that brought Yuri to the Great Demon Kingdom; Fate that made him a King; and Fate, with a bit of help from Lady Celi’s perfume, that gave him a fiancé.
But it was not Fate that made Yuri love Wolfram. That was a force of a different kind; a force just as powerful and inescapable. It has many names and many forms, but no one who has experienced it will deny that it consumes your every thought, your very being. Its adamant and irrepressible nature might even cause it to be mistaken for Fate, but it is, in one way, obliging where Fate is constant.
Falling in love is a feeling, and as such it is rarely subject to one’s whims and wishes. Loving someone, however, is a purposeful act - you choose to devote yourself to them or you choose not to.
So, then, it was not Fate that made Yuri love his fiancé. It was his choice.
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It all started, innocently enough, with a look. Yuri hadn’t meant it to be anything other than it was intended to be…and, in point of fact, he hadn’t intended it at all. Wolfram simply caught his eye, and not in the way that particular expression is usually meant.
It was a flicker of sunlight that drew his attention, if he were to be honest. The flicker just so happened to direct his gaze to Wolfram, who was standing with a hand casually resting on his hip, listening to his eldest brother going on about security or some such thing. Yuri had been doing that as well, but his attention tended to wander when conversations took such an uninteresting and tactical turn. And whatever the reason, the sunbeam or his boredom, Yuri had found his gaze lingering on the blond soldier.
Soldier…he rarely thought of Wolfram that way, but that was what he was. His blue uniform was proof enough of that, but the rank was something Wolfram had earned by training, if his build was any indication. He had a lithe stature, but there was power in his motions; even in his stance. Wolfram had lifted him before, so Yuri knew exactly how strong he was - even if he hadn’t personally seen the way Wolfram’s muscles moved beneath his skin.
Oddly, Wolfram’s face seemed to speak of something far different. His features were soft, elegant. Perhaps “beautiful” was the wrong word; it was too effeminate, really. Yuri knew that people sometimes described Wolfram using feminine terms, but he’d never looked at Wolfram that way…after all, Yuri’s mother had dressed him up as a girl when he was young, and he’d never think he could be mistaken for female. But even though Wolfram was very obviously a male, he was striking all the same. If he wore rags instead of his uniform, Yuri suspected that his face and bearing alone would distinguish Wolfram as nobility.
“Beautiful” wasn’t the right word at all, then. Wolfram was…regal. The handsome Prince, right out of a children’s fairy tale. Yuri was certain that, although he was the King, he would never fit his role as well as Wolfram fit his former one. He might not be a Prince anymore, but he still very much looked the part - and acted it, too.
As if hearing Yuri’s thoughts, Wolfram snapped his head around a bit to look at Yuri, their eyes meeting momentarily. The expression Wolfram wore was part irritation and part questioning glance, and Yuri could practically hear him thinking, ‘what are you looking at, you wimp?’
Yuri looked away quickly, feeling a flush rising on his face. He didn’t know why he was blushing; it wasn’t as if he were thinking what Wolfram thought he’d been thinking…what Wolfram would like him to have been thinking…
He knew how this must look from Wolfram’s perspective; Yuri had been practically staring at him, albeit not for the reason that Wolfram probably had in mind.
Yuri knew how Wolfram felt about him. He’d said as much, after all; more than once. And Yuri cared for Wolfram, he truly did. But he knew that there was a fundamental difference between love for a companion and the feelings he would have for a lover. Just because he hadn’t experienced the latter yet didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be able to recognize it when it was there. It would be…obvious. Instant. Effortless. And there would definitely be attraction.
Not in the same way that Wolfram was attractive, mind you. It would be different, just like the love would be different. He couldn’t think of exactly what those differences might entail, he only knew that the feeling would be so distinctive that he would know it. Surely.
As he mentally rejoined the conversation, Yuri tried hard not to look back in Wolfram’s direction, and tried harder to pretend he couldn’t feel those green eyes on him. But between one moment and the next, an awareness was formed that hadn’t been there before.
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He’d noticed it instantly, in spite of the fact that the change was rather subtle. But it took quite some time for Yuri to figure out why it bothered him so much.
It wasn’t as if he minded Wolfram looking at him; he was used to that. He had gotten used to being the focus of attention much of the time - it was, he had found, another part of being a King. But something in Wolfram’s eyes was changed. The glances he gave held a meaning that Yuri couldn’t quite grasp, and it didn’t even seem to be the same meaning every time.
In the beginning, it seemed to be more of a test, a competition of who would look away first. Yuri never won, the purpose in Wolfram’s eyes making him shift his gaze and swallow nervously. But it was never long before their eyes met again, leaving Yuri to wonder whether, in Wolfram’s mind, there was ever truly a victor.
Gradually, although Wolfram’s looks now no longer held a challenge, Yuri found himself both anticipating and dreading the inevitable moments when their eyes would meet. He would feel this tightness, and then he would look up and find his eyes locked with Wolfram’s. After a while, he found himself glancing up to find that Wolfram wasn’t looking at him quite yet, but it never took more than a few seconds before he did so. The light Wolfram’s eyes was a bit different when that happened.
The impact changed with the circumstances, but it was always immediate. Yuri didn’t know what to call it, but he’d often wondered if Wolfram somehow knew about the nervous fluttering in his stomach or the sudden dryness in his mouth. He never asked, but when the blond gave him that small, knowing smile, Yuri was certain that he did.
It wasn’t long before Yuri found that he wasn’t so quick to look away anymore. Again, he couldn’t give a reason, but was it really important, compared with the pleasant shiver that washed over him, somehow warming him from the inside?
Finally, after weeks and months of meeting those eyes across rooms and tables and over the clash of swords, Yuri realized what made those lingering stares so potent. When those green eyes captured his, there was heat there. And, even more startling, that fact was not so much uncomfortable as it was…intriguing.
That thought was pushed aside, but never so far that it could be forgotten entirely. The awareness within him had become a question.
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There was something fascinating about the way Wolfram held his water goblet. The impatience that typically accompanied his movements was nowhere to be seen as he slowly slid his hand beneath the bowl, the stem between two tapered fingers, cradling the glass so gently that it seemed as though it might slip from his grasp. Beads of condensation, disrupted by his touch, ran down the back of his hand as he brought the goblet to his lips. Yuri had followed their path until they had disappeared down the sleeve of Wolfram’s shirt.
What was it that made the touch so mesmerizing? Or, perhaps a better question would be: why was Yuri still thinking about it now, as he prepared for his bath?
Yuri examined his own hands, his thumbs running along the calloused tips of his fingers. Wolfram could have calluses, too; but from swordplay rather than baseball. He found that idea difficult to incorporate into his image of the blond; Wolfram’s hands, Yuri always imagined, would be softer than his. But stronger, more insistent.
The jacket buttons Yuri was fumbling with…Wolfram’s hands would have unfastened them in such a refined way. His fingers would never tremble; his touch would be bold, demanding. But would his actions be leisurely and deliberate like with the goblet, or rash and impetuous?
Slowly, Yuri decided. With teasing, enticing movements, making sure the cloth whispered against Yuri’s skin as it was undone and fell from his shoulders. And when those hands brushed against the skin of Yuri’s chest, they would be warm and leave a tingling feeling behind them as they trailed a path down his stomach, exploring him…
Touching him…
A fog engulfed him then, the steam of the bath seeming to reach out and swallow him whole. Images flowed through his mind and he gave them no thought except to amplify the feelings that accompanied them.
When the haze lifted, the question was gone. Not answered, not completely. But it was now less an ambiguous question, and more a curious inclination.
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It was a demonstration of proper greeting etiquette, but Yuri couldn’t concentrate on the which knee Wolfram knelt upon or the timing of his graceful bow. All that mattered was the way Yuri’s hand was captured between Wolfram’s thumb and fingers, the way Wolfram’s soft, warm lips grazed the back of his hand, the way those long eyelashes fluttered as Wolfram’s eyes raised to meet his.
There was nothing proper about that greeting; how could Yuri be expected to concentrate on anything other than the heady rush that swept through his mind or the throbbing of his pulse in his ears?
Most distracting of all was that look that Wolfram was still giving him even as he rose, slowly dropping their hands, his thumb softly dragging across the back of Yuri’s fingers. There had been so many looks exchanged between them, and yet none had carried even close to the weight and significance of this one. It was as if Wolfram could hear the pounding of Yuri’s heart and feel his mind reeling with bewilderment, as if he knew exactly why Yuri couldn’t break the lasting eye contact or say something to dispel the feeling that had settled between them.
Yuri no longer bothered to argue with the images and thoughts that streamed through his mind, so it wasn’t all that troubling when he began to muse over the feeling that those lips would elicit as they roamed freely over his skin. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips as he wondered if he would be bold enough to do the same. He imagined that the feeling would be incomparable, and the taste delectable.
He was only superficially bothered and not at all surprised that curiosity had evolved into truth.
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Upon opening the door to his bedroom, the only thing Yuri saw was a pair of green eyes. He froze in the doorway, meeting Wolfram’s impossibly confident gaze across the candlelit room. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. The alluring invitation in Wolfram’s eyes told Yuri his thoughts as clearly as if they were Yuri’s own. Perhaps they were.
It was an offer and a request; he could provide answers to the uncertainty. He could make real what, until now, had been fantasy for both of them.
Yuri knew he could stop it from happening. All it would take would be a shaky smile or a blatantly false excuse, and then everything would continue to be as it was. He could just keep on…pretending.
Then, he would never know how those hands would feel as they ran down his skin, or whether that lock of Wolfram’s hair would tickle his face as they lay together, or if the scent that followed would be musky or bitter…or whether the scent would even matter.
He wanted to know.
The door latch clicked shut behind him as he entered, willingly leaving the rest of the world outside. In that room, behind the closed door, truth became reality.
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Notes: So, whaddaya think, sirs? Different from my usual writing, but it was sort of fun to try something new. Please let me know your opinions…thoughts, suggestions, and concrit are all welcome!
And yes, the “sequel” will be a WolfYuu Lemon. ~_^
This is sort of a prequel to a (as yet untitled) WolfYuu fic I'm working on. I was trying to get my thoughts in order, and all of a sudden this ficlet popped out. I have no idea how that happened. ^_^ I’m sort of experimenting here with the writing style (note the utter lack of dialogue), so please give comments and critique. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Title: Threshold
Author: lenainverse
Rating: R (for sexual thoughts, allusions to masturbation)
Pairing: Wolfram/Yuri
Genre: Angst/Drama
Chapter: One-shot
Summary: He didn’t understand it and he did his best to deny it, but in the end the only thing that could ease his burden was acceptance.
Comments: The fic takes place over the better part of a year, which might or might not be apparent (but it is in the “sequel”). No spoilers I can think of. Not Beta read…so edits are welcome and appreciated!
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There are some forces which, no matter how strongly one opposes them or how vehemently one denies them, simply cannot be eluded.
Like Fate. It was Fate that Yuri was born into his family; Fate that brought Yuri to the Great Demon Kingdom; Fate that made him a King; and Fate, with a bit of help from Lady Celi’s perfume, that gave him a fiancé.
But it was not Fate that made Yuri love Wolfram. That was a force of a different kind; a force just as powerful and inescapable. It has many names and many forms, but no one who has experienced it will deny that it consumes your every thought, your very being. Its adamant and irrepressible nature might even cause it to be mistaken for Fate, but it is, in one way, obliging where Fate is constant.
Falling in love is a feeling, and as such it is rarely subject to one’s whims and wishes. Loving someone, however, is a purposeful act - you choose to devote yourself to them or you choose not to.
So, then, it was not Fate that made Yuri love his fiancé. It was his choice.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It all started, innocently enough, with a look. Yuri hadn’t meant it to be anything other than it was intended to be…and, in point of fact, he hadn’t intended it at all. Wolfram simply caught his eye, and not in the way that particular expression is usually meant.
It was a flicker of sunlight that drew his attention, if he were to be honest. The flicker just so happened to direct his gaze to Wolfram, who was standing with a hand casually resting on his hip, listening to his eldest brother going on about security or some such thing. Yuri had been doing that as well, but his attention tended to wander when conversations took such an uninteresting and tactical turn. And whatever the reason, the sunbeam or his boredom, Yuri had found his gaze lingering on the blond soldier.
Soldier…he rarely thought of Wolfram that way, but that was what he was. His blue uniform was proof enough of that, but the rank was something Wolfram had earned by training, if his build was any indication. He had a lithe stature, but there was power in his motions; even in his stance. Wolfram had lifted him before, so Yuri knew exactly how strong he was - even if he hadn’t personally seen the way Wolfram’s muscles moved beneath his skin.
Oddly, Wolfram’s face seemed to speak of something far different. His features were soft, elegant. Perhaps “beautiful” was the wrong word; it was too effeminate, really. Yuri knew that people sometimes described Wolfram using feminine terms, but he’d never looked at Wolfram that way…after all, Yuri’s mother had dressed him up as a girl when he was young, and he’d never think he could be mistaken for female. But even though Wolfram was very obviously a male, he was striking all the same. If he wore rags instead of his uniform, Yuri suspected that his face and bearing alone would distinguish Wolfram as nobility.
“Beautiful” wasn’t the right word at all, then. Wolfram was…regal. The handsome Prince, right out of a children’s fairy tale. Yuri was certain that, although he was the King, he would never fit his role as well as Wolfram fit his former one. He might not be a Prince anymore, but he still very much looked the part - and acted it, too.
As if hearing Yuri’s thoughts, Wolfram snapped his head around a bit to look at Yuri, their eyes meeting momentarily. The expression Wolfram wore was part irritation and part questioning glance, and Yuri could practically hear him thinking, ‘what are you looking at, you wimp?’
Yuri looked away quickly, feeling a flush rising on his face. He didn’t know why he was blushing; it wasn’t as if he were thinking what Wolfram thought he’d been thinking…what Wolfram would like him to have been thinking…
He knew how this must look from Wolfram’s perspective; Yuri had been practically staring at him, albeit not for the reason that Wolfram probably had in mind.
Yuri knew how Wolfram felt about him. He’d said as much, after all; more than once. And Yuri cared for Wolfram, he truly did. But he knew that there was a fundamental difference between love for a companion and the feelings he would have for a lover. Just because he hadn’t experienced the latter yet didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be able to recognize it when it was there. It would be…obvious. Instant. Effortless. And there would definitely be attraction.
Not in the same way that Wolfram was attractive, mind you. It would be different, just like the love would be different. He couldn’t think of exactly what those differences might entail, he only knew that the feeling would be so distinctive that he would know it. Surely.
As he mentally rejoined the conversation, Yuri tried hard not to look back in Wolfram’s direction, and tried harder to pretend he couldn’t feel those green eyes on him. But between one moment and the next, an awareness was formed that hadn’t been there before.
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He’d noticed it instantly, in spite of the fact that the change was rather subtle. But it took quite some time for Yuri to figure out why it bothered him so much.
It wasn’t as if he minded Wolfram looking at him; he was used to that. He had gotten used to being the focus of attention much of the time - it was, he had found, another part of being a King. But something in Wolfram’s eyes was changed. The glances he gave held a meaning that Yuri couldn’t quite grasp, and it didn’t even seem to be the same meaning every time.
In the beginning, it seemed to be more of a test, a competition of who would look away first. Yuri never won, the purpose in Wolfram’s eyes making him shift his gaze and swallow nervously. But it was never long before their eyes met again, leaving Yuri to wonder whether, in Wolfram’s mind, there was ever truly a victor.
Gradually, although Wolfram’s looks now no longer held a challenge, Yuri found himself both anticipating and dreading the inevitable moments when their eyes would meet. He would feel this tightness, and then he would look up and find his eyes locked with Wolfram’s. After a while, he found himself glancing up to find that Wolfram wasn’t looking at him quite yet, but it never took more than a few seconds before he did so. The light Wolfram’s eyes was a bit different when that happened.
The impact changed with the circumstances, but it was always immediate. Yuri didn’t know what to call it, but he’d often wondered if Wolfram somehow knew about the nervous fluttering in his stomach or the sudden dryness in his mouth. He never asked, but when the blond gave him that small, knowing smile, Yuri was certain that he did.
It wasn’t long before Yuri found that he wasn’t so quick to look away anymore. Again, he couldn’t give a reason, but was it really important, compared with the pleasant shiver that washed over him, somehow warming him from the inside?
Finally, after weeks and months of meeting those eyes across rooms and tables and over the clash of swords, Yuri realized what made those lingering stares so potent. When those green eyes captured his, there was heat there. And, even more startling, that fact was not so much uncomfortable as it was…intriguing.
That thought was pushed aside, but never so far that it could be forgotten entirely. The awareness within him had become a question.
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There was something fascinating about the way Wolfram held his water goblet. The impatience that typically accompanied his movements was nowhere to be seen as he slowly slid his hand beneath the bowl, the stem between two tapered fingers, cradling the glass so gently that it seemed as though it might slip from his grasp. Beads of condensation, disrupted by his touch, ran down the back of his hand as he brought the goblet to his lips. Yuri had followed their path until they had disappeared down the sleeve of Wolfram’s shirt.
What was it that made the touch so mesmerizing? Or, perhaps a better question would be: why was Yuri still thinking about it now, as he prepared for his bath?
Yuri examined his own hands, his thumbs running along the calloused tips of his fingers. Wolfram could have calluses, too; but from swordplay rather than baseball. He found that idea difficult to incorporate into his image of the blond; Wolfram’s hands, Yuri always imagined, would be softer than his. But stronger, more insistent.
The jacket buttons Yuri was fumbling with…Wolfram’s hands would have unfastened them in such a refined way. His fingers would never tremble; his touch would be bold, demanding. But would his actions be leisurely and deliberate like with the goblet, or rash and impetuous?
Slowly, Yuri decided. With teasing, enticing movements, making sure the cloth whispered against Yuri’s skin as it was undone and fell from his shoulders. And when those hands brushed against the skin of Yuri’s chest, they would be warm and leave a tingling feeling behind them as they trailed a path down his stomach, exploring him…
Touching him…
A fog engulfed him then, the steam of the bath seeming to reach out and swallow him whole. Images flowed through his mind and he gave them no thought except to amplify the feelings that accompanied them.
When the haze lifted, the question was gone. Not answered, not completely. But it was now less an ambiguous question, and more a curious inclination.
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It was a demonstration of proper greeting etiquette, but Yuri couldn’t concentrate on the which knee Wolfram knelt upon or the timing of his graceful bow. All that mattered was the way Yuri’s hand was captured between Wolfram’s thumb and fingers, the way Wolfram’s soft, warm lips grazed the back of his hand, the way those long eyelashes fluttered as Wolfram’s eyes raised to meet his.
There was nothing proper about that greeting; how could Yuri be expected to concentrate on anything other than the heady rush that swept through his mind or the throbbing of his pulse in his ears?
Most distracting of all was that look that Wolfram was still giving him even as he rose, slowly dropping their hands, his thumb softly dragging across the back of Yuri’s fingers. There had been so many looks exchanged between them, and yet none had carried even close to the weight and significance of this one. It was as if Wolfram could hear the pounding of Yuri’s heart and feel his mind reeling with bewilderment, as if he knew exactly why Yuri couldn’t break the lasting eye contact or say something to dispel the feeling that had settled between them.
Yuri no longer bothered to argue with the images and thoughts that streamed through his mind, so it wasn’t all that troubling when he began to muse over the feeling that those lips would elicit as they roamed freely over his skin. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips as he wondered if he would be bold enough to do the same. He imagined that the feeling would be incomparable, and the taste delectable.
He was only superficially bothered and not at all surprised that curiosity had evolved into truth.
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Upon opening the door to his bedroom, the only thing Yuri saw was a pair of green eyes. He froze in the doorway, meeting Wolfram’s impossibly confident gaze across the candlelit room. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. The alluring invitation in Wolfram’s eyes told Yuri his thoughts as clearly as if they were Yuri’s own. Perhaps they were.
It was an offer and a request; he could provide answers to the uncertainty. He could make real what, until now, had been fantasy for both of them.
Yuri knew he could stop it from happening. All it would take would be a shaky smile or a blatantly false excuse, and then everything would continue to be as it was. He could just keep on…pretending.
Then, he would never know how those hands would feel as they ran down his skin, or whether that lock of Wolfram’s hair would tickle his face as they lay together, or if the scent that followed would be musky or bitter…or whether the scent would even matter.
He wanted to know.
The door latch clicked shut behind him as he entered, willingly leaving the rest of the world outside. In that room, behind the closed door, truth became reality.
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Notes: So, whaddaya think, sirs? Different from my usual writing, but it was sort of fun to try something new. Please let me know your opinions…thoughts, suggestions, and concrit are all welcome!
And yes, the “sequel” will be a WolfYuu Lemon. ~_^