Fic: The Accident (PG-13), part 3
Title: The Accident
Author: genkisakka
Pairings/Characters: Yuuri/Wolfram, Conrad, Gunter
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romantic comedy
Part: 3/4
Warnings: boys kissing boys
Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maoh isn’t my world, I’m just playing in it.
Summary: Yuuri just wanted Wolfram to stop hogging his bed…
Author’s note: A plastron is a sort of protective torso covering worn under a fencing jacket, not that I’ve ever fenced in my life (thank you, Google). Also, I’ve taken some artistic liberties regarding Saralegui; I haven’t watched season 3 yet, so I have no idea if he really has cousins or not. ^_^;;
The third time… well, Yuuri couldn’t completely blame it on Conrad, but the nobleman had certainly set the whole thing in motion. Bad enough he had to cancel their baseball practice for some stupid military thing with Gwendal and Josak, but then he had to go and spring his little surprise on Yuuri without any warning.
“But I don’t have fencing lessons until tomorrow,” Yuuri said as they approached the hall where Gunter trained his young king in the sword arts.
Conrad smiled in an indulgent way that Yuuri found both comforting and annoying. “Your Majesty was just saying the other day how he wanted to improve his swordsmanship before the next festival,” Conrad said. “I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to receive some extra practice.”
Yuuri sighed. “I suppose,” he grudgingly agreed. “But isn’t Gunter busy with the preparations for tomorrow’s banquet?”
“He is,” Conrad said, opening the door for Yuuri, “which is why I found you another instructor for this afternoon.”
A slender blond figure in white fencing garb turned at the sound of their voices, and Yuuri stopped dead just inside the doorway. “You have GOT to be kidding me,” he sputtered.
Wolfram’s glare could have set the air itself on fire. “Conrad, I thought you said I would be training one of your new cadets,” he spat. “Not some incompetent wimp who barely knows which end of the sword to hold.”
Yuuri made an inarticulate noise of outraged protest. “Now, now, Wolfram, is that any way to address His Majesty?” Conrad chided, placing a restraining hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I told you I was in need of your considerable talent to train a person of vital importance to our nation’s security. Surely that describes our king perfectly, does it not?”
Wolfram gave Yuuri a disdainful glance. “Surely our nation’s security is best left to experienced soldiers, rather than some clumsy, weak, naive human child!”
Nothing made Yuuri lose his temper more quickly than Wolfram calling him human in that scornful, condescending tone. He pulled away from Conrad and stomped toward the prince with teeth bared in rage. “That’s HALF-human,” he roared, “you… you uptight, arrogant, girly looking jerk!” Yuuri felt the Maoh deep within him stir in response to his fury. Apparently Wolfram could sense it too, because his haughty expression faltered a bit, and he took a half-step backward, much to Yuuri’s satisfaction.
“Enough!” Conrad’s sudden, sharp command was enough to cow both boys into silence and dissipate Yuuri’s ire. “Yuuri, you will change into your fencing gear and meet us back here. Wolfram, you will work with His Majesty for a minimum of one hour, at which time Gunter will relieve you.” Conrad leveled a piercing gaze at his brother and another at his king. “Am I understood?”
Yuuri bowed his head sheepishly. “Sorry, Conrad,” he mumbled. His godfather was one of the kindest, most patient men he knew, and Yuuri felt incredibly guilty when his actions pushed Conrad far enough to upset him.
The king entered the changing room - really more of an alcove separated from the main room by a curtain - and quickly stripped off his clothes. He could hear Conrad speaking gently to Wolfram. Yuuri normally didn’t approve of eavesdropping, but it wasn’t like he could close a door or plug up his ears, so he moved as close to the curtain as he could without revealing himself and listened while he put on his fencing gear.
“Wolfram, must you always be so hard on His Majesty?” Conrad admonished. “He is doing his best to be a good king.”
Wolfram was silent for a moment before replying. “He still isn’t taking it seriously,” Wolfram said. “He thinks being king is some kind of game that he can stop playing whenever he wants.”
Yuuri had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting out his defense. That stupid snob! Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him! He gritted his teeth against the lump welling in his throat. Why the hell should he care what Wolfram thought, anyway? Conrad supported him, which was what really mattered to Yuuri.
Proving Yuuri’s point, Conrad countered: “Do you really believe that? Consider how many times Yuuri has risked himself to save his people and his kingdom. I would say those are the actions of someone who takes his responsibilities very seriously.”
“Does he?” Wolfram kept his voice low, but Yuuri could hear the prince’s struggle to contain his anger. “Certainly he has helped us, when he was here and had no way home. But every time he gets the chance, he abandons us and goes back to his human world as fast as he can. We never know when… or if… he will return.” Wolfram paused before adding, so softly Yuuri almost didn’t hear him:
“How can we rely on someone so fickle?”
Yuuri backed away from the curtain and sank onto a nearby stool, holding his plastron with shaking hands. Wolfram’s question had cut through him as surely as one of the prince’s elegant sword thrusts. The idea that Wolfram truly believed his king to be an unreliable flake was unpleasant enough; what was worse was that Yuuri wasn’t sure the prince was completely wrong.
It’s true that whenever I’m pulled back to Earth, I feel… relieved. Yuuri winced at that unflattering truth. Ever since he had accepted his destiny as Maoh, he had been forced to deal with a host of complications and hardships that made the pressures of his earthly high-school-student life seem soothing by comparison. It was almost too easy to fall back into the routine of classes and schoolwork and meals with his Earth family, and each time, a small, selfish part of him did indeed hope that he would never have to leave Tokyo again.
But the important thing is that I always do return, Yuuri thought fiercely. He was as much mazoku as he was human, and he had made a vow to become Maoh and protect his ancestral homeland. He was not the kind of person to break a promise, no matter what Wolfram thought of him.
Yuuri gave himself a little shake and pulled on the plastron. He wanted to tell Wolfram, I will never turn my back on this country, or on any of you. But he knew Wolfram well enough to know that words alone wouldn’t be enough to sway him. If he were to gain Wolfram’s trust, Yuuri’s actions would have to match his verbal resolve to become the strong, brave, dedicated king that Shin Makoku deserved.
Yuuri fastened the closures on his fencing jacket and picked up his mask and foil. He took a deep breath and stood as straight and tall as he could manage before pushing the curtain aside. Conrad and Wolfram were standing close together, Conrad with his hand resting on his younger brother’s shoulder in a comforting way. Wolfram’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he caught sight of Yuuri.
“Oh… your fencing clothes are black,” he said.
“Ah, yeah,” Yuuri said with an embarrassed laugh. “That was Gunter. You know how he is, always making sure I have style no matter what I’m wearing.”
Wolfram smiled a little. “Black does suit you,” he said, without the least trace of sarcasm. Yuuri recognized the peace offering, and responded in kind:
“Hey, Wolfram, I’ve been having a hard time with my counterattack - it’s way too slow and clumsy. Can you help me?”
“Of course,” Wolfram replied. Conrad smiled approvingly, gave Yuuri a small, silent wave, and exited the hall. Wolfram noted his brother’s departure with a brief nod, then donned his protective mask. Before following suit, Yuuri added with a grin:
“Don’t go easy on me, OK?”
Wolfram snorted, but Yuuri could hear the smile in his voice as he replied:
“As if I would.”
***
Yuuri pulled off his mask and sank onto one of the long wooden benches lining the practice hall, mopping his dripping face with a towel. “No fair,” he groaned as Wolfram sat primly beside him. “You worked just as hard as me, and you barely broke a sweat.”
Wolfram shrugged. “I’ve had more practice, so I have more stamina,” he said. “It will get easier for you eventually.”
Yuuri smiled, enjoying the unusually relaxed atmosphere between them. “You’re a good teacher,” he said. “You explain things clearly, and you’re more patient than I would have thought.”
Wolfram made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. “Well, you were more competent than I expected,” he admitted. “Though I think I can take credit for the improvement in your strikes during that last match.”
The king grinned; Wolfram had barely bested him five touches to four in their final bout. “That’s my personal best to date,” Yuuri enthused. “Won’t Gunter be surprised when I try that parry on him!”
Wolfram looked around. “Speaking of Gunter… wasn’t he supposed to be here by now? I thought Conrad said Gunter would relieve me after an hour, and it’s already been at least two.”
“Really? I had no idea we’d been sparring for so long,” Yuuri said. He yawned and stretched before bounding to his feet. “Thanks a lot, Wolfram,” he said with a respectful bow. “I appreciate your help, and I had fun, too.”
“It was no trouble,” Wolfram said with a similar bow. He paused, then added in a rush -
“I would be happy to practice with you again, if you’d like. That is, if Gunter wants a break or you want extra training or…”
Is he blushing? Yuuri’s heart pounded a bit harder at the thought. No, he told himself, Wolfram’s cheeks were probably still flushed from exertion.
“I would like that very much,” Yuuri said, beaming. “Maybe at this time next week?”
“That would be fine.” Wolfram looked as if he had more to say, but at that moment Gunter rushed into the hall.
“Your Majesty, my deepest apologies for keeping you waiting!” Gunter bowed deeply. “There were some issues with the seating at tomorrow’s banquet that needed my attention.” Gunter glanced at Wolfram, his ebullience dimming a bit. “My thanks, prince, for acting in my stead as His Majesty’s instructor,” he said politely.
Wolfram pressed his lips tightly together and gave a curt, silent nod. Gunter and Wolfram did not get along well; still, Yuuri was dismayed by how quickly Wolfram had reverted to his usual distant, haughty self.
“The banquet should be fun, right, Wolfram?” he said with as much good cheer as he could muster. “It’ll be good to see our friends from Small Shimaron again. Gunter, you’ve seated Sara with me and Wolfram, right?”
“Of course,” Gunter replied. “And one of the reasons I was delayed is that I received word that King Saralegui is bringing some additional guests - two female cousins of his, I believe - and I had to rearrange things to ensure they would be seated close enough so that you could become better acquainted.” Gunter chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think he is hoping to forge a much more familiar alliance with Shin Makoku.”
Yuuri flinched. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with a nervous laugh. He dared an anxious glance at Wolfram; sure enough, the prince’s expression had turned murderous.
“If that is his intent, it would be an unforgivable insult, as he knows you are already engaged,” Wolfram spat. “I trust you will set them straight, Yuuri?”
Gunter’s eyes took on a mischievous glint that sent a chill up Yuuri’s spine. “Oh, I’m sure His Majesty will extend his guests every courtesy within his power to make them feel welcome,” he said. “His Majesty would not want to cause offense to our allies, after all.”
“Of course not,” Yuuri agreed. “I’m sure Sara is just giving his cousins the opportunity to travel abroad. It will be interesting to meet his relations, don’t you think?”
Wolfram clenched his teeth. “I had no idea you were so eager to meet every female in that idiot Saralegui’s family,” he growled. “Are you thinking they’ll all be as beautiful as he is?”
Yuuri rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Wolfram, don’t be ridiculous,” he said.
Wolfram threw his gloves on the floor. “Oh, so now I’m ridiculous for expecting my fiancé to refrain from associating with attractive single women who are looking to marry royalty?” he snapped. “Excuse me for caring about silly things like that!” With that, he blond whirled and stomped toward the door. Yuuri glared at Gunter, who was still smirking at Wolfram’s tantrum, and shouted after the departing prince -
“Wolfram, wait!”
“Get stuffed, you cheating wimp!” Wolfram shouted back. Yuuri chased him down the hall and up a flight of stairs, managing to grab his arm just as Wolfram was entering the salon he often used for painting.
“Let me go!” Wolfram yanked his arm away and tried to slam the door in Yuuri’s face, but Yuuri managed to slip into the room before the door closed.
“Get out!” Wolfram shouted, stamping his foot and looking every bit the Little Lord Brat that Anissina teasingly called him.
“Why are you acting this way?” Yuuri’s voice cracked with frustration. “I couldn’t care less about Sara’s cousins…”
“I said GET OUT!” Wolfram grabbed a paint tube off a nearby table and threw it at Yuuri. It glanced off the king’s shoulder, leaving a few flecks of yellow paint on the dark fabric of his jacket. The sight prompted Yuuri to abandon his half-hearted attempts at reason and give his own temper free rein.
“Dammit, this jacket was brand-new!” he growled, seizing the nearest object he could find - a sponge floating in a bucket of rinse water - and hurling it at Wolfram. It hit the prince in the chest with a squelch, marking the pristine white with a brownish-gray splotch.
“How dare you?” Wolfram squawked. His hands scrabbled through the assortment of paints and tools on the table, coming up with a tube of red. He uncapped it and squeezed a blob into his palm, advancing on Yuuri with deadly purpose.
“Just try it,” Yuuri hissed, arming himself with a paint tube he found on the tray of Wolfram’s easel. He unscrewed the cap and threw it aside, holding the tube in front of him with both hands and pointing it like a gun at his rival. Wolfram threw himself at Yuuri with something of a battle yell, and Yuuri gave the tube a quick, sharp squeeze, sending a ribbon of bright blue paint spattering over Wolfram’s torso and thighs. Yuuri tried to turn his head away from Wolfram’s swing, but the prince still managed to connect his paint-filled hand with the side of Yuuri’s head. The sharp, oily fumes made Yuuri cough, giving Wolfram the opportunity to push the glob of paint deeper into Yuuri’s hair.
With an outraged howl, Yuuri shoved Wolfram into the easel, which clattered to the floor. Yuuri squeezed a generous amount of paint into his hand, tossed the tube over his shoulder, and dove on top of Wolfram while the prince was still rising to his feet. Yuuri smashed paint into Wolfram’s blond hair and smudged it across his forehead. Wolfram snarled, caught Yuuri’s offending hand and pushed it back into Yuuri’s own face, marking the king’s nose and left cheek with a bright blue handprint. The paint fumes tickling Yuuri’s nostrils set off a violent sneezing attack that stopped Wolfram short. Yuuri sank back on his heels, glaring at Wolfram between outbursts of sneezes, and the prince unexpectedly burst into laughter.
“I don’t see [achoo!] what you find [a-CHOO!] so funny [achoo] about this [a-choo] situation [AAAAH-CHOO!],” Yuuri gasped. He tried to swipe the paint off his nose with his sleeve, but succeeded only in spreading it further over his skin.
“You should see yourself,” Wolfram chortled. “Your nose is completely blue… and that patch of red over your ear! You look absurd.”
“Look who’s talking,” Yuuri grumbled. “You’ve got blue hair, did you know that?”
Wolfram stopped chuckling and gingerly touched his paint-coated tresses. “That’s going to be difficult to remove,” he winced.
“You asked for it,” Yuuri said darkly, pointing to his own red-splotched hair.
“I suppose I did,” Wolfram agreed with a half-smile. He rose and held out a hand to Yuuri, who hesitated for a second before taking it. Wolfram pulled Yuuri to his feet, and the king let loose another violent sneeze that knocked him off balance. Yuuri grasped Wolfram’s upper arms to steady himself, and Wolfram reflexively grabbed Yuuri’s forearms, pulling him closer. Wolfram flushed slightly and quickly released Yuuri as soon as his balance was regained.
“You should wash that paint off before it makes you sick,” Wolfram said, pulling a lace-edged handkerchief from his sleeve. “Here, I’ll try to get rid of the worst of it for now.”
He held the handkerchief up to Yuuri’s face and began dabbing methodically at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri could feel a blush spreading across his own face in response to Wolfram’s ministrations, not to mention the prince’s proximity. Wolfram smelled of paint and bran soap and burning matches, and he kept biting his lower lip in concentration. The sight made Yuuri feel flushed and tingly and uncomfortable all at once, like his skin was suddenly too tight for his body. There was no thought, no question, just an undeniable impulse to act. Yuuri caught Wolfram’s hands in his own, pressing them both to his cheeks.
“Yuuri, what - ” Wolfram began, but Yuuri kissed him before he could finish. Wolfram’s lips were every bit as soft and warm as Yuuri remembered, and they moved against his in a way that sent sparks through Yuuri’s midsection. Wolfram had tensed at the initial contact, but quickly relaxed into the kiss with a muffled sigh. He slid one hand along Yuuri’s jawline, cupping the back of Yuuri’s neck and pulling himself closer to Yuuri, whose breath caught at the feel of Wolfram pressing against him.
Unfortunately, his stupid nose chose that moment to interrupt with another string of sneezes. Yuuri sensed them coming and quickly pulled away from Wolfram, burying his face in his jacket sleeve as they exploded from him. When he lifted his head again, Wolfram was hovering over him in concern. Yuuri smiled sheepishly.
“I… ah… sorry… I wish that hadn’t happened,” he said. He immediately realized his verbal misstep when he saw the color drain from Wolfram’s face.
“Wait, Wolfram, I didn’t mean -” Yuuri said, reaching for Wolfram, but the prince backed away from him.
“I should go clean up before this paint dries further,” he said. Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut and he managed a jerky nod as Wolfram darted around him and out the door.
Author: genkisakka
Pairings/Characters: Yuuri/Wolfram, Conrad, Gunter
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romantic comedy
Part: 3/4
Warnings: boys kissing boys
Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maoh isn’t my world, I’m just playing in it.
Summary: Yuuri just wanted Wolfram to stop hogging his bed…
Author’s note: A plastron is a sort of protective torso covering worn under a fencing jacket, not that I’ve ever fenced in my life (thank you, Google). Also, I’ve taken some artistic liberties regarding Saralegui; I haven’t watched season 3 yet, so I have no idea if he really has cousins or not. ^_^;;
The third time… well, Yuuri couldn’t completely blame it on Conrad, but the nobleman had certainly set the whole thing in motion. Bad enough he had to cancel their baseball practice for some stupid military thing with Gwendal and Josak, but then he had to go and spring his little surprise on Yuuri without any warning.
“But I don’t have fencing lessons until tomorrow,” Yuuri said as they approached the hall where Gunter trained his young king in the sword arts.
Conrad smiled in an indulgent way that Yuuri found both comforting and annoying. “Your Majesty was just saying the other day how he wanted to improve his swordsmanship before the next festival,” Conrad said. “I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to receive some extra practice.”
Yuuri sighed. “I suppose,” he grudgingly agreed. “But isn’t Gunter busy with the preparations for tomorrow’s banquet?”
“He is,” Conrad said, opening the door for Yuuri, “which is why I found you another instructor for this afternoon.”
A slender blond figure in white fencing garb turned at the sound of their voices, and Yuuri stopped dead just inside the doorway. “You have GOT to be kidding me,” he sputtered.
Wolfram’s glare could have set the air itself on fire. “Conrad, I thought you said I would be training one of your new cadets,” he spat. “Not some incompetent wimp who barely knows which end of the sword to hold.”
Yuuri made an inarticulate noise of outraged protest. “Now, now, Wolfram, is that any way to address His Majesty?” Conrad chided, placing a restraining hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I told you I was in need of your considerable talent to train a person of vital importance to our nation’s security. Surely that describes our king perfectly, does it not?”
Wolfram gave Yuuri a disdainful glance. “Surely our nation’s security is best left to experienced soldiers, rather than some clumsy, weak, naive human child!”
Nothing made Yuuri lose his temper more quickly than Wolfram calling him human in that scornful, condescending tone. He pulled away from Conrad and stomped toward the prince with teeth bared in rage. “That’s HALF-human,” he roared, “you… you uptight, arrogant, girly looking jerk!” Yuuri felt the Maoh deep within him stir in response to his fury. Apparently Wolfram could sense it too, because his haughty expression faltered a bit, and he took a half-step backward, much to Yuuri’s satisfaction.
“Enough!” Conrad’s sudden, sharp command was enough to cow both boys into silence and dissipate Yuuri’s ire. “Yuuri, you will change into your fencing gear and meet us back here. Wolfram, you will work with His Majesty for a minimum of one hour, at which time Gunter will relieve you.” Conrad leveled a piercing gaze at his brother and another at his king. “Am I understood?”
Yuuri bowed his head sheepishly. “Sorry, Conrad,” he mumbled. His godfather was one of the kindest, most patient men he knew, and Yuuri felt incredibly guilty when his actions pushed Conrad far enough to upset him.
The king entered the changing room - really more of an alcove separated from the main room by a curtain - and quickly stripped off his clothes. He could hear Conrad speaking gently to Wolfram. Yuuri normally didn’t approve of eavesdropping, but it wasn’t like he could close a door or plug up his ears, so he moved as close to the curtain as he could without revealing himself and listened while he put on his fencing gear.
“Wolfram, must you always be so hard on His Majesty?” Conrad admonished. “He is doing his best to be a good king.”
Wolfram was silent for a moment before replying. “He still isn’t taking it seriously,” Wolfram said. “He thinks being king is some kind of game that he can stop playing whenever he wants.”
Yuuri had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting out his defense. That stupid snob! Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him! He gritted his teeth against the lump welling in his throat. Why the hell should he care what Wolfram thought, anyway? Conrad supported him, which was what really mattered to Yuuri.
Proving Yuuri’s point, Conrad countered: “Do you really believe that? Consider how many times Yuuri has risked himself to save his people and his kingdom. I would say those are the actions of someone who takes his responsibilities very seriously.”
“Does he?” Wolfram kept his voice low, but Yuuri could hear the prince’s struggle to contain his anger. “Certainly he has helped us, when he was here and had no way home. But every time he gets the chance, he abandons us and goes back to his human world as fast as he can. We never know when… or if… he will return.” Wolfram paused before adding, so softly Yuuri almost didn’t hear him:
“How can we rely on someone so fickle?”
Yuuri backed away from the curtain and sank onto a nearby stool, holding his plastron with shaking hands. Wolfram’s question had cut through him as surely as one of the prince’s elegant sword thrusts. The idea that Wolfram truly believed his king to be an unreliable flake was unpleasant enough; what was worse was that Yuuri wasn’t sure the prince was completely wrong.
It’s true that whenever I’m pulled back to Earth, I feel… relieved. Yuuri winced at that unflattering truth. Ever since he had accepted his destiny as Maoh, he had been forced to deal with a host of complications and hardships that made the pressures of his earthly high-school-student life seem soothing by comparison. It was almost too easy to fall back into the routine of classes and schoolwork and meals with his Earth family, and each time, a small, selfish part of him did indeed hope that he would never have to leave Tokyo again.
But the important thing is that I always do return, Yuuri thought fiercely. He was as much mazoku as he was human, and he had made a vow to become Maoh and protect his ancestral homeland. He was not the kind of person to break a promise, no matter what Wolfram thought of him.
Yuuri gave himself a little shake and pulled on the plastron. He wanted to tell Wolfram, I will never turn my back on this country, or on any of you. But he knew Wolfram well enough to know that words alone wouldn’t be enough to sway him. If he were to gain Wolfram’s trust, Yuuri’s actions would have to match his verbal resolve to become the strong, brave, dedicated king that Shin Makoku deserved.
Yuuri fastened the closures on his fencing jacket and picked up his mask and foil. He took a deep breath and stood as straight and tall as he could manage before pushing the curtain aside. Conrad and Wolfram were standing close together, Conrad with his hand resting on his younger brother’s shoulder in a comforting way. Wolfram’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he caught sight of Yuuri.
“Oh… your fencing clothes are black,” he said.
“Ah, yeah,” Yuuri said with an embarrassed laugh. “That was Gunter. You know how he is, always making sure I have style no matter what I’m wearing.”
Wolfram smiled a little. “Black does suit you,” he said, without the least trace of sarcasm. Yuuri recognized the peace offering, and responded in kind:
“Hey, Wolfram, I’ve been having a hard time with my counterattack - it’s way too slow and clumsy. Can you help me?”
“Of course,” Wolfram replied. Conrad smiled approvingly, gave Yuuri a small, silent wave, and exited the hall. Wolfram noted his brother’s departure with a brief nod, then donned his protective mask. Before following suit, Yuuri added with a grin:
“Don’t go easy on me, OK?”
Wolfram snorted, but Yuuri could hear the smile in his voice as he replied:
“As if I would.”
***
Yuuri pulled off his mask and sank onto one of the long wooden benches lining the practice hall, mopping his dripping face with a towel. “No fair,” he groaned as Wolfram sat primly beside him. “You worked just as hard as me, and you barely broke a sweat.”
Wolfram shrugged. “I’ve had more practice, so I have more stamina,” he said. “It will get easier for you eventually.”
Yuuri smiled, enjoying the unusually relaxed atmosphere between them. “You’re a good teacher,” he said. “You explain things clearly, and you’re more patient than I would have thought.”
Wolfram made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. “Well, you were more competent than I expected,” he admitted. “Though I think I can take credit for the improvement in your strikes during that last match.”
The king grinned; Wolfram had barely bested him five touches to four in their final bout. “That’s my personal best to date,” Yuuri enthused. “Won’t Gunter be surprised when I try that parry on him!”
Wolfram looked around. “Speaking of Gunter… wasn’t he supposed to be here by now? I thought Conrad said Gunter would relieve me after an hour, and it’s already been at least two.”
“Really? I had no idea we’d been sparring for so long,” Yuuri said. He yawned and stretched before bounding to his feet. “Thanks a lot, Wolfram,” he said with a respectful bow. “I appreciate your help, and I had fun, too.”
“It was no trouble,” Wolfram said with a similar bow. He paused, then added in a rush -
“I would be happy to practice with you again, if you’d like. That is, if Gunter wants a break or you want extra training or…”
Is he blushing? Yuuri’s heart pounded a bit harder at the thought. No, he told himself, Wolfram’s cheeks were probably still flushed from exertion.
“I would like that very much,” Yuuri said, beaming. “Maybe at this time next week?”
“That would be fine.” Wolfram looked as if he had more to say, but at that moment Gunter rushed into the hall.
“Your Majesty, my deepest apologies for keeping you waiting!” Gunter bowed deeply. “There were some issues with the seating at tomorrow’s banquet that needed my attention.” Gunter glanced at Wolfram, his ebullience dimming a bit. “My thanks, prince, for acting in my stead as His Majesty’s instructor,” he said politely.
Wolfram pressed his lips tightly together and gave a curt, silent nod. Gunter and Wolfram did not get along well; still, Yuuri was dismayed by how quickly Wolfram had reverted to his usual distant, haughty self.
“The banquet should be fun, right, Wolfram?” he said with as much good cheer as he could muster. “It’ll be good to see our friends from Small Shimaron again. Gunter, you’ve seated Sara with me and Wolfram, right?”
“Of course,” Gunter replied. “And one of the reasons I was delayed is that I received word that King Saralegui is bringing some additional guests - two female cousins of his, I believe - and I had to rearrange things to ensure they would be seated close enough so that you could become better acquainted.” Gunter chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think he is hoping to forge a much more familiar alliance with Shin Makoku.”
Yuuri flinched. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with a nervous laugh. He dared an anxious glance at Wolfram; sure enough, the prince’s expression had turned murderous.
“If that is his intent, it would be an unforgivable insult, as he knows you are already engaged,” Wolfram spat. “I trust you will set them straight, Yuuri?”
Gunter’s eyes took on a mischievous glint that sent a chill up Yuuri’s spine. “Oh, I’m sure His Majesty will extend his guests every courtesy within his power to make them feel welcome,” he said. “His Majesty would not want to cause offense to our allies, after all.”
“Of course not,” Yuuri agreed. “I’m sure Sara is just giving his cousins the opportunity to travel abroad. It will be interesting to meet his relations, don’t you think?”
Wolfram clenched his teeth. “I had no idea you were so eager to meet every female in that idiot Saralegui’s family,” he growled. “Are you thinking they’ll all be as beautiful as he is?”
Yuuri rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Wolfram, don’t be ridiculous,” he said.
Wolfram threw his gloves on the floor. “Oh, so now I’m ridiculous for expecting my fiancé to refrain from associating with attractive single women who are looking to marry royalty?” he snapped. “Excuse me for caring about silly things like that!” With that, he blond whirled and stomped toward the door. Yuuri glared at Gunter, who was still smirking at Wolfram’s tantrum, and shouted after the departing prince -
“Wolfram, wait!”
“Get stuffed, you cheating wimp!” Wolfram shouted back. Yuuri chased him down the hall and up a flight of stairs, managing to grab his arm just as Wolfram was entering the salon he often used for painting.
“Let me go!” Wolfram yanked his arm away and tried to slam the door in Yuuri’s face, but Yuuri managed to slip into the room before the door closed.
“Get out!” Wolfram shouted, stamping his foot and looking every bit the Little Lord Brat that Anissina teasingly called him.
“Why are you acting this way?” Yuuri’s voice cracked with frustration. “I couldn’t care less about Sara’s cousins…”
“I said GET OUT!” Wolfram grabbed a paint tube off a nearby table and threw it at Yuuri. It glanced off the king’s shoulder, leaving a few flecks of yellow paint on the dark fabric of his jacket. The sight prompted Yuuri to abandon his half-hearted attempts at reason and give his own temper free rein.
“Dammit, this jacket was brand-new!” he growled, seizing the nearest object he could find - a sponge floating in a bucket of rinse water - and hurling it at Wolfram. It hit the prince in the chest with a squelch, marking the pristine white with a brownish-gray splotch.
“How dare you?” Wolfram squawked. His hands scrabbled through the assortment of paints and tools on the table, coming up with a tube of red. He uncapped it and squeezed a blob into his palm, advancing on Yuuri with deadly purpose.
“Just try it,” Yuuri hissed, arming himself with a paint tube he found on the tray of Wolfram’s easel. He unscrewed the cap and threw it aside, holding the tube in front of him with both hands and pointing it like a gun at his rival. Wolfram threw himself at Yuuri with something of a battle yell, and Yuuri gave the tube a quick, sharp squeeze, sending a ribbon of bright blue paint spattering over Wolfram’s torso and thighs. Yuuri tried to turn his head away from Wolfram’s swing, but the prince still managed to connect his paint-filled hand with the side of Yuuri’s head. The sharp, oily fumes made Yuuri cough, giving Wolfram the opportunity to push the glob of paint deeper into Yuuri’s hair.
With an outraged howl, Yuuri shoved Wolfram into the easel, which clattered to the floor. Yuuri squeezed a generous amount of paint into his hand, tossed the tube over his shoulder, and dove on top of Wolfram while the prince was still rising to his feet. Yuuri smashed paint into Wolfram’s blond hair and smudged it across his forehead. Wolfram snarled, caught Yuuri’s offending hand and pushed it back into Yuuri’s own face, marking the king’s nose and left cheek with a bright blue handprint. The paint fumes tickling Yuuri’s nostrils set off a violent sneezing attack that stopped Wolfram short. Yuuri sank back on his heels, glaring at Wolfram between outbursts of sneezes, and the prince unexpectedly burst into laughter.
“I don’t see [achoo!] what you find [a-CHOO!] so funny [achoo] about this [a-choo] situation [AAAAH-CHOO!],” Yuuri gasped. He tried to swipe the paint off his nose with his sleeve, but succeeded only in spreading it further over his skin.
“You should see yourself,” Wolfram chortled. “Your nose is completely blue… and that patch of red over your ear! You look absurd.”
“Look who’s talking,” Yuuri grumbled. “You’ve got blue hair, did you know that?”
Wolfram stopped chuckling and gingerly touched his paint-coated tresses. “That’s going to be difficult to remove,” he winced.
“You asked for it,” Yuuri said darkly, pointing to his own red-splotched hair.
“I suppose I did,” Wolfram agreed with a half-smile. He rose and held out a hand to Yuuri, who hesitated for a second before taking it. Wolfram pulled Yuuri to his feet, and the king let loose another violent sneeze that knocked him off balance. Yuuri grasped Wolfram’s upper arms to steady himself, and Wolfram reflexively grabbed Yuuri’s forearms, pulling him closer. Wolfram flushed slightly and quickly released Yuuri as soon as his balance was regained.
“You should wash that paint off before it makes you sick,” Wolfram said, pulling a lace-edged handkerchief from his sleeve. “Here, I’ll try to get rid of the worst of it for now.”
He held the handkerchief up to Yuuri’s face and began dabbing methodically at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri could feel a blush spreading across his own face in response to Wolfram’s ministrations, not to mention the prince’s proximity. Wolfram smelled of paint and bran soap and burning matches, and he kept biting his lower lip in concentration. The sight made Yuuri feel flushed and tingly and uncomfortable all at once, like his skin was suddenly too tight for his body. There was no thought, no question, just an undeniable impulse to act. Yuuri caught Wolfram’s hands in his own, pressing them both to his cheeks.
“Yuuri, what - ” Wolfram began, but Yuuri kissed him before he could finish. Wolfram’s lips were every bit as soft and warm as Yuuri remembered, and they moved against his in a way that sent sparks through Yuuri’s midsection. Wolfram had tensed at the initial contact, but quickly relaxed into the kiss with a muffled sigh. He slid one hand along Yuuri’s jawline, cupping the back of Yuuri’s neck and pulling himself closer to Yuuri, whose breath caught at the feel of Wolfram pressing against him.
Unfortunately, his stupid nose chose that moment to interrupt with another string of sneezes. Yuuri sensed them coming and quickly pulled away from Wolfram, burying his face in his jacket sleeve as they exploded from him. When he lifted his head again, Wolfram was hovering over him in concern. Yuuri smiled sheepishly.
“I… ah… sorry… I wish that hadn’t happened,” he said. He immediately realized his verbal misstep when he saw the color drain from Wolfram’s face.
“Wait, Wolfram, I didn’t mean -” Yuuri said, reaching for Wolfram, but the prince backed away from him.
“I should go clean up before this paint dries further,” he said. Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut and he managed a jerky nod as Wolfram darted around him and out the door.