He's just . . . being stealthy. Stealth is an important quality for a soldier to hone. His father would be proud.
... I can't even convince myself that that's true.
Shaking his head a bit ruefully, Conrad unlocks and pushes open the door to his chambers and allows it to falling closed heavily, stealth be damned. It has been a surprisingly good morning. He'd woken in a warm bed a bit before dawn and dressed himself in his regular uniform. It was only a bit loose, but that was enough to concern him. He'd have to step up his training routine. That was made even clearer when his run with Yuuri left him slightly winded.
Still not all the way back . . . But remembering the sleepy, tousled-looking Yozak he'd pecked on the cheek before leaving to wake their Maou took away a lot of the frustration that might have once accompanied that thought.
It was the thought of said redhead that eventually lured Conrad back to the Palace come evening, risking being sighted by his personal, well-meaning barnacle. Lawrence was a good soldier and a rather nice fellow, but he'd been . . . hovering over Conrad all day. After about two hours of that, he'd finally chased the younger man off with an order to go on patrol, and was hard pressed not to breathe a sigh of relief when he acquiesced.
Conrad spent a glorious, Lawrence-free hour among the guard and the soldiers before he was forced to endure a more orderly review of the men with the rather-annoyed looking private back and tailing him like a second shadow. Most of his time after that was spent seeing what had become of things in his absence and allowing himself to be seen. It had been . . . informative, among other things. But it had also eaten most of his day, which meant that Lawrence's reports would probably have to wait until tomorrow.
And, given the way Lawrence had been hovering over him like a dragon with only one egg, that is currently fine by Conrad. ... Especially when there is a perfectly lovely man waiting to drag him off to a party.
Conrad kicks off his boots, relishing a bit in the racket he's making, and wonders with vague amusement if it's sad that--at this point--he'd prefer a crowded, claustrophobic wall of noise and people to Lawrence's sharp, assessing eyes watching his back every moment of the day.
Yozak would probably laugh at him.
Speaking of which . . .
The redhead's things are here in the small organized clutter the larger man tended to be his wake . . . at least he thinks those are Yozak's things . . . (What are all these boxes?), but there is no sign of the man himself. After pausing for a moment to stretch his toes and crack his ankles, the brunet heads towards the bedroom.
"Yozak? You left half the guard with hangovers, you know."
When there is no response, Conrad pushes the door open and peeks into their room curiously, seeing nothing but more boxes for a moment. "What are you doing in here?"
The he opens the door enough to see the blonde standing in front of the dresser, adjusting her stockings.
Conrad blinks.
The woman is bent over as she adjusts her clothes in a pair of rather . . . excitable-looking shoes . . . and for a very confusing moment, Conrad thinks he's staring at some long-lost Stoffel-compelled kin of his mother. Then the woman looks up at him coyly through long lashes, giving the brunet a brief glance of her painted face.
Klapt and Hertz's jovial greeting and knowing smirk from this morning suddenly flash in his mind--"We've got a REAL surprise for you tonight, Taichou!"--and the man stares at the woman in front of him.
. . . Merciful Maidens of the Shinou . . . They bought me a whore.
The rouge is a little stubborn; he'll need to scrub thoroughly with water before it'll come off. Yozak gives up on it for the time being and turns to himself in the mirror, investigating his stockings. For tight, clinging thigh-highs, they're actually quite comfortable. He picks at them, tucking some of his loose hair back up under his wig again as he thinks. He wouldn't mind wearing these to the party under his normal leggings--only to break them in, of course--but his normal leggings are already so tight, and these might just make it worse...
He hears the door opening in the sitting room, but pays no attention, opting instead to focus on his dress. It really needs to see a seamstress; his muscled chest is almost peeking out through the top. And the support isn't that great, either, considering his lack of breasts. He's made do with some leftover padding from the mission, but that will only keep it up for so long. He stares critically at his chest in the mirror and almost wishes he was back in that female body. Almost.
"Yozak? You left half the guard with hangovers, you know."
"Good," he mutters to himself, cupping his imaginary breasts. "I couldn't think of a better welcome-home present."
He smoothes down the fabric hanging around his false hips as the door opens and Conrad says, ""What are you doing in here?"
Yozak looks over to give his lover a coy smile...and pauses as he sees the look on Conrad's face. That is look of a man who clearly is'nt sure what exactly he's looking at.
He immediately snatches up his new golden fan from the table and waves it in front of his face to hide his silly grin. He can't help it; the look on Conrad's face is just so perfect...
Yozak flutters his eyelashes as he half-hides behind one of the bedposts. He pulls back his skirts a bit, flashing a generous amount of leg, and says in a falsetto, "Modelling. Do you like it~?" ♥
Conrad can't help but stare until the whore woman abruptly grabs a gold face and snaps it open in a bizarre show of modesty. He feels heat stain his cheeks and looks away. Why in the world does he feel like the one who's indecent here?
The lady of the evening shifts, sidling up towards a bedpost and Conrad turns, blushing redder at a flash of well-sculpted thigh. "Modelling. Do you like it~?"
"I . . . um . . ."
.... Thigh. He knows that thigh. And that voice. Conrad's shoulders slump and chuckles slightly at his own stupidity as he turns back to face the other man.
"Saints, Yozak, I thought you were a wh--woman. I mean, a stranger."
He's blushing. If Yozak wasn't trying so desperately to stay in character, he'd burst out laughing. Getting Conrad to blush can be a challenge sometimes, but it's always worth it.
"Saints, Yozak, I thought you were a wh--woman. I mean, a stranger."
...oh.
Yozak snaps his fan shut and drops his skirts again with what might be the makings of a pout. "Well, that's the point," he says, heading back over to the tea table to change out of his clothes. The severe heels cripple his normally confident stride, forcing him to take smaller, more lady-like steps.
That he confused Conrad is good; the brunet knows Yozak better than anyone. But Conrad wasn't fooled, and therein lies the problem. He knows that if he can just perfect his technique and fool Conrad, he can fool anyone...if he can just make his act perfect...
"What gave me away?" Yozak asks as he unzips his dress and shimmies out of it. "Hair? Chest? Voice?"
Conrad begins to pick through the chaos Yozak has made, curiously inspecting the items for a moment. "I know you," he replies, resisting the urge to stick his finger in the rouge and touch the silky powder.
As if anyone else would have those thighs. He feels a tug of purely selfish pleasure at having such a splendid-looking lover.
The brunet turns away from the make up to smile slightly at the redhead. "Where did you . . ." And there his voice trails off.
Yozak is . . . not appropriately clothed. How a man that broad-chested manages to squeeze into a corset is beyond Conrad, but he looks . . . beautiful . . . even in those shoes.
He doesn't know he's moving until his fingers alight on the heavy ribbing beneath the fabric and then he stops. He and Yozak haven't . . . The taut laces feel almost rough under his fingers and Conrad is very glad that his hair is falling forward to conceal his expression, since he isn't sue what he's feeling right now, let alone if he's emoting it. His fingers hover for a moment near the strings binding the vestment together.
Damn. So it was his mannerisms that gave him away again. It's good to know, but those are the hardest to change. He's going to need to take extra care the next time to act like anyone but himself. And one of these days, he will succeed. Someday...
"Where did you..."
This is a very fine dress, Yozak thinks as he folds it up carefully and puts it back in its box. He has to take care and make sure to preserve its life, and it isn't until after he's secured the lid on his treasure again that he realizes Conrad isn't going to finish that thought.
"Where did I what?" he asks, tugging off his wig and dropping that somewhat less ceremoniously into its box.
Then he feels the very light pressure of fingers on his back and tenses ever-so-slightly.
He had not been expecting that.
Yozak looks over his shoulder. Conrad is standing barely a foot away, his hands resting lightly above the laces of Yozak's corest. The redhead stares at his lover's lowered head, unsure of what to do.
"...Do you need help?"
He ought to nip this in the bud, gently shrug off Conrad's hands, and possibly go into the bathroom to change. His head tells him that this situation can only lead to disappointment. His other head begs to differ. Strongly.
Somehow, part of him had hoped Yozak would say no. At this rate they'll be late to the party. People are waiting on them. And this . . . is probably a really bad idea.
But it's been a long time . . . And just helping him take of the corset can't hurt, right? He carefully undoes the knot at the top of the corset. The cords come undone and Conrad gently loosens the laces, slowly opening the back of the corset as his hands move down.
He exhales slowly through his nose. "Do you know when they're starting?"
The corset loosens inch by painful inch, and Yozak fills his lungs and breathes deeply as the thing comes undone. His corsets are invaluable for helping him further shape and sculpt his body--not to mention being fun to wear every now and again--but they are not easy to breathe in. He catches the garment as it falls off of his body and steps out of it, carefully placing it back in its box. This one very nice and easy to wear; if he takes care of it, it could hold up for many missions to come.
That heavy, awkward atmosphere still hangs over the room, though. Yozak stares down at his pile of gifts without really seeing them. But he's very, very aware of Conrad's breathing, the lack of words, and the ghost of the other man's fingers against his skin.
Yozak closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment.
"Whenever we get there, I guess," he replies at length. He bends down, kneeling close to the floor and out of Conrad's reach, to untie his crippling shoes. "Can't have a party without the guests of honor."
Conrad watches him for a moment and his fingers twitch with a strong desire to reach out and just touch him and not have to worry about fear or awkwardness or regret . . . But Yozak is out of his reach.
And right now, that's probably for the best.
The brunet turns away and begins to undo his his cuffs. It will get easier, he reminds himself. Like Chichiue said: 'Walk before you run, boy.'
It's damn frustrating though.
"Then we should get ready. From what I've heard, Yuuri invited the entire garrison and half the town." Conrad studiously avoids looking behind him, focusing instead on the small buttons of his shirt as he walks over to the wardrobe. "Where did you get all this stuff anyway?"
"Your mother," Yozak says with a smirk, rolling off his stocking and lobbing them into the box on the table, followed by the garter belt. "She sent a little bit of everything. Skirts, corsets, wigs, makeup...everything I need. Didn't even have to ask for it. ♥"
His only regret is that she didn't send it earlier; he would have spent today trying out his new costumes instead of doing that pesky 'job' thing.
He pulls on his pants before standing again and walking over to the box of...'goodies.' He should probably put these under the bed with their first box of toys. Out of sight, out of mind.
Yozak pulls out Conrad's gift and holds it up with a smile. "Don't worry. She didn't forget about you."
He strips off his jacket and then turns to see what Yozak is holding up. His eyebrows lift in interest and he approaches to take the red fabric in his hands for inspection. It's heavier than it looks . . . and soft.
Conrad smiles. "Silk cotton blend..." Expensive.
It's perfect: something that he likes that he never would have gotten himself.
"Hahaue has impeccable taste." He folds the robe and places it on the bed before returning to the wardrobe to dig out his formal jacket. "Do you like what she did to the room?"
"I'm having a little trouble tracking all my things down, but I do," he assures Conrad, packing his new clothes away neatly. He'll hang them up properly tomorrow. He removes his own robe and their matching towels from the 'Goodies' box before hefting it up and storing it under the bed. Someday, he'll pull it out again. And when he does . . . well, Yozak just smirks privately at the thought.
"I'm going to wash up," he says, checking out his reflection in the mirror over Conrad's shoulder. His makeup is fading, but it's definitely still there. "Won't impress anyone out there with a face like this."
Conrad looks over curiously to see Yozak tucking something under the other side of the bed and makes a note to go snooping later. He removes a pair of pants from the drawers of the wardrobe. "I like your face," he murmurs, checking to makes sure that the crease is straight.
"Why, thank you," Yozak chuckles. He pecks Conrad on the cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick stain behind. He smiles and grabs the strongest face cleanser he can lay his hands on before heading to the bathroom, towels and robe in tow. Five minutes later he strolls out again, face slightly pink from vigorous scrubbing. His nails are still pink, though, and there's no help for that. He'll just have to wait until the lacquer chips off.
Unfortunately, he doesn't usually attend these kinds of parties as a guest. Yozak eyes his everyday tunic, still strewn across one of the chairs, and immediately dismisses it. His new disguises are certainly out; he just took all of his makeup off. His old uniform is lost somewhere in an attic in the Nameless Village for all he knows. Yozak chews his lip slightly as it dawns on him that he really has nothing appropriate to wear.
Conrad shoots the other man a slightly annoyed look. He's had enough lipstick smears on his face to know one when he feels it. Yozak sways out of the room--does he even know that he does that?--and Conrad turns back to the finding proper pair of pants. The lipstick will come off with a little bit of rubbing alcohol.
He rummages around for a moment more and then turns to inspect his boots, wondering if he'll have time to shine them.
"What are you going to wear?" Yozak calls from the bathroom.
"Formal uniform." He eyes the boots critically. ... A quick polish certainly couldn't hurt them. . . . But where the hell is the shoe polish? ... And where are his good cufflinks for that matter?
Conrad eyes the mess on the vanity with distaste. "Great . . ."
That tosses out the polish idea anyway. It'll take him long enough to sort through that without adding anything else to his to-do list.
He changes pants and tucks in his undershirt. "You have one here too, you know," he calls after a moment. Conrad shrugs on his jacket and pulls a belt out of the open wardrobe. "It's in here next to mine."
"I do?" Yozak makes his way to the dresser, removing a second dress uniform and peeling off the protective paper. His eyes light up as he recognizes his old uniform, looking as crisp and clean as the day he took up his new job and put it in storage. How did it get here?
Oh well. It doesn't matter much. He selects a dress shirt out of the closet and starts dressing. His uniform jacket is a little tight around the midsection. Yozak eyes his stomach suspiciously. Looks like he's going to have to add a few more sit-ups to his exercise routine.
He changes into uniform pants and begins cleaning up the mess on the dresser, looking for a comb. He frowns at the mess; he'd been so excited about his new disguises that he'd been careless and allowed his things to get jumbled. He closes the open compacts and jars of paint and stacks them carefully to one side of the vanity. Something golden catches his eye while he's organizing.
Yozak holds out a pair of shiny cufflinks to Conrad. "Aren't these yours?"
Really.
He's not.
He's just . . . being stealthy. Stealth is an important quality for a soldier to hone. His father would be proud.
... I can't even convince myself that that's true.
Shaking his head a bit ruefully, Conrad unlocks and pushes open the door to his chambers and allows it to falling closed heavily, stealth be damned. It has been a surprisingly good morning. He'd woken in a warm bed a bit before dawn and dressed himself in his regular uniform. It was only a bit loose, but that was enough to concern him. He'd have to step up his training routine. That was made even clearer when his run with Yuuri left him slightly winded.
Still not all the way back . . . But remembering the sleepy, tousled-looking Yozak he'd pecked on the cheek before leaving to wake their Maou took away a lot of the frustration that might have once accompanied that thought.
It was the thought of said redhead that eventually lured Conrad back to the Palace come evening, risking being sighted by his personal, well-meaning barnacle. Lawrence was a good soldier and a rather nice fellow, but he'd been . . . hovering over Conrad all day. After about two hours of that, he'd finally chased the younger man off with an order to go on patrol, and was hard pressed not to breathe a sigh of relief when he acquiesced.
Conrad spent a glorious, Lawrence-free hour among the guard and the soldiers before he was forced to endure a more orderly review of the men with the rather-annoyed looking private back and tailing him like a second shadow. Most of his time after that was spent seeing what had become of things in his absence and allowing himself to be seen. It had been . . . informative, among other things. But it had also eaten most of his day, which meant that Lawrence's reports would probably have to wait until tomorrow.
And, given the way Lawrence had been hovering over him like a dragon with only one egg, that is currently fine by Conrad. ... Especially when there is a perfectly lovely man waiting to drag him off to a party.
Conrad kicks off his boots, relishing a bit in the racket he's making, and wonders with vague amusement if it's sad that--at this point--he'd prefer a crowded, claustrophobic wall of noise and people to Lawrence's sharp, assessing eyes watching his back every moment of the day.
Yozak would probably laugh at him.
Speaking of which . . .
The redhead's things are here in the small organized clutter the larger man tended to be his wake . . . at least he thinks those are Yozak's things . . . (What are all these boxes?), but there is no sign of the man himself. After pausing for a moment to stretch his toes and crack his ankles, the brunet heads towards the bedroom.
"Yozak? You left half the guard with hangovers, you know."
When there is no response, Conrad pushes the door open and peeks into their room curiously, seeing nothing but more boxes for a moment. "What are you doing in here?"
The he opens the door enough to see the blonde standing in front of the dresser, adjusting her stockings.
Conrad blinks.
The woman is bent over as she adjusts her clothes in a pair of rather . . . excitable-looking shoes . . . and for a very confusing moment, Conrad thinks he's staring at some long-lost Stoffel-compelled kin of his mother. Then the woman looks up at him coyly through long lashes, giving the brunet a brief glance of her painted face.
Klapt and Hertz's jovial greeting and knowing smirk from this morning suddenly flash in his mind--"We've got a REAL surprise for you tonight, Taichou!"--and the man stares at the woman in front of him.
. . . Merciful Maidens of the Shinou . . . They bought me a whore.
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He hears the door opening in the sitting room, but pays no attention, opting instead to focus on his dress. It really needs to see a seamstress; his muscled chest is almost peeking out through the top. And the support isn't that great, either, considering his lack of breasts. He's made do with some leftover padding from the mission, but that will only keep it up for so long. He stares critically at his chest in the mirror and almost wishes he was back in that female body. Almost.
"Yozak? You left half the guard with hangovers, you know."
"Good," he mutters to himself, cupping his imaginary breasts. "I couldn't think of a better welcome-home present."
He smoothes down the fabric hanging around his false hips as the door opens and Conrad says, ""What are you doing in here?"
Yozak looks over to give his lover a coy smile...and pauses as he sees the look on Conrad's face. That is look of a man who clearly is'nt sure what exactly he's looking at.
He immediately snatches up his new golden fan from the table and waves it in front of his face to hide his silly grin. He can't help it; the look on Conrad's face is just so perfect...
Yozak flutters his eyelashes as he half-hides behind one of the bedposts. He pulls back his skirts a bit, flashing a generous amount of leg, and says in a falsetto, "Modelling. Do you like it~?" ♥
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The lady of the evening shifts, sidling up towards a bedpost and Conrad turns, blushing redder at a flash of well-sculpted thigh. "Modelling. Do you like it~?"
"I . . . um . . ."
.... Thigh. He knows that thigh. And that voice. Conrad's shoulders slump and chuckles slightly at his own stupidity as he turns back to face the other man.
"Saints, Yozak, I thought you were a wh--woman. I mean, a stranger."
... Did he cover that up well enough?
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"Saints, Yozak, I thought you were a wh--woman. I mean, a stranger."
...oh.
Yozak snaps his fan shut and drops his skirts again with what might be the makings of a pout. "Well, that's the point," he says, heading back over to the tea table to change out of his clothes. The severe heels cripple his normally confident stride, forcing him to take smaller, more lady-like steps.
That he confused Conrad is good; the brunet knows Yozak better than anyone. But Conrad wasn't fooled, and therein lies the problem. He knows that if he can just perfect his technique and fool Conrad, he can fool anyone...if he can just make his act perfect...
"What gave me away?" Yozak asks as he unzips his dress and shimmies out of it. "Hair? Chest? Voice?"
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As if anyone else would have those thighs. He feels a tug of purely selfish pleasure at having such a splendid-looking lover.
The brunet turns away from the make up to smile slightly at the redhead. "Where did you . . ." And there his voice trails off.
Yozak is . . . not appropriately clothed. How a man that broad-chested manages to squeeze into a corset is beyond Conrad, but he looks . . . beautiful . . . even in those shoes.
He doesn't know he's moving until his fingers alight on the heavy ribbing beneath the fabric and then he stops. He and Yozak haven't . . . The taut laces feel almost rough under his fingers and Conrad is very glad that his hair is falling forward to conceal his expression, since he isn't sue what he's feeling right now, let alone if he's emoting it. His fingers hover for a moment near the strings binding the vestment together.
". . . Do you need help?"
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Damn. So it was his mannerisms that gave him away again. It's good to know, but those are the hardest to change. He's going to need to take extra care the next time to act like anyone but himself. And one of these days, he will succeed. Someday...
"Where did you..."
This is a very fine dress, Yozak thinks as he folds it up carefully and puts it back in its box. He has to take care and make sure to preserve its life, and it isn't until after he's secured the lid on his treasure again that he realizes Conrad isn't going to finish that thought.
"Where did I what?" he asks, tugging off his wig and dropping that somewhat less ceremoniously into its box.
Then he feels the very light pressure of fingers on his back and tenses ever-so-slightly.
He had not been expecting that.
Yozak looks over his shoulder. Conrad is standing barely a foot away, his hands resting lightly above the laces of Yozak's corest. The redhead stares at his lover's lowered head, unsure of what to do.
"...Do you need help?"
He ought to nip this in the bud, gently shrug off Conrad's hands, and possibly go into the bathroom to change. His head tells him that this situation can only lead to disappointment. His other head begs to differ. Strongly.
"...if you could unlace me, that would be nice."
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But it's been a long time . . . And just helping him take of the corset can't hurt, right? He carefully undoes the knot at the top of the corset. The cords come undone and Conrad gently loosens the laces, slowly opening the back of the corset as his hands move down.
He exhales slowly through his nose. "Do you know when they're starting?"
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That heavy, awkward atmosphere still hangs over the room, though. Yozak stares down at his pile of gifts without really seeing them. But he's very, very aware of Conrad's breathing, the lack of words, and the ghost of the other man's fingers against his skin.
Yozak closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment.
"Whenever we get there, I guess," he replies at length. He bends down, kneeling close to the floor and out of Conrad's reach, to untie his crippling shoes. "Can't have a party without the guests of honor."
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And right now, that's probably for the best.
The brunet turns away and begins to undo his his cuffs. It will get easier, he reminds himself. Like Chichiue said: 'Walk before you run, boy.'
It's damn frustrating though.
"Then we should get ready. From what I've heard, Yuuri invited the entire garrison and half the town." Conrad studiously avoids looking behind him, focusing instead on the small buttons of his shirt as he walks over to the wardrobe. "Where did you get all this stuff anyway?"
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His only regret is that she didn't send it earlier; he would have spent today trying out his new costumes instead of doing that pesky 'job' thing.
He pulls on his pants before standing again and walking over to the box of...'goodies.' He should probably put these under the bed with their first box of toys. Out of sight, out of mind.
Yozak pulls out Conrad's gift and holds it up with a smile. "Don't worry. She didn't forget about you."
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Conrad smiles. "Silk cotton blend..." Expensive.
It's perfect: something that he likes that he never would have gotten himself.
"Hahaue has impeccable taste." He folds the robe and places it on the bed before returning to the wardrobe to dig out his formal jacket. "Do you like what she did to the room?"
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"I'm going to wash up," he says, checking out his reflection in the mirror over Conrad's shoulder. His makeup is fading, but it's definitely still there. "Won't impress anyone out there with a face like this."
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Unfortunately, he doesn't usually attend these kinds of parties as a guest. Yozak eyes his everyday tunic, still strewn across one of the chairs, and immediately dismisses it. His new disguises are certainly out; he just took all of his makeup off. His old uniform is lost somewhere in an attic in the Nameless Village for all he knows. Yozak chews his lip slightly as it dawns on him that he really has nothing appropriate to wear.
"What are you going to wear?"
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He rummages around for a moment more and then turns to inspect his boots, wondering if he'll have time to shine them.
"What are you going to wear?" Yozak calls from the bathroom.
"Formal uniform." He eyes the boots critically. ... A quick polish certainly couldn't hurt them. . . . But where the hell is the shoe polish? ... And where are his good cufflinks for that matter?
Conrad eyes the mess on the vanity with distaste. "Great . . ."
That tosses out the polish idea anyway. It'll take him long enough to sort through that without adding anything else to his to-do list.
He changes pants and tucks in his undershirt. "You have one here too, you know," he calls after a moment. Conrad shrugs on his jacket and pulls a belt out of the open wardrobe. "It's in here next to mine."
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Oh well. It doesn't matter much. He selects a dress shirt out of the closet and starts dressing. His uniform jacket is a little tight around the midsection. Yozak eyes his stomach suspiciously. Looks like he's going to have to add a few more sit-ups to his exercise routine.
He changes into uniform pants and begins cleaning up the mess on the dresser, looking for a comb. He frowns at the mess; he'd been so excited about his new disguises that he'd been careless and allowed his things to get jumbled. He closes the open compacts and jars of paint and stacks them carefully to one side of the vanity. Something golden catches his eye while he's organizing.
Yozak holds out a pair of shiny cufflinks to Conrad. "Aren't these yours?"
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