(no subject)
Title: Persia
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz Glühen/ Kyou Kara Maou crossover
Warnings: yaoi, Angsty
Characters/couples: Mamoru (Omi)/ Yuuri
Rating: M
Notes: Maybe this'll help get Glühen out of my head u_u Post-Glühen.
Persia
Stangled gasps fill the vast hotelroom, carry past the trail of of clothes they've left all the way from the door to the bed, past the endtable where the $300 bottle of wine complete with crystal glasses stands forgotten.
New scars cover his body, one particularly deep one in his shoulder that looks as though it's barely even healed. His hair is dark, since he's stopped bleaching it and Yuuri's lips search for his earring is in vain.
Gentleman, smooth conversationalist, in Armani suit and kashmere scarf. Articulate, always with a friendly smile that draws people in, but is merely a well-practised facade that has nothing to do with the true smile Yuuri knows. But his smell, his smell is still the same after a shower has washed away the expensive cologne Mamoru's taken to wearing.
The sex is raw and rough, has little in common with their gentle lovemaking from years passed.
Mamoru demands in the tone of someone who over time has become too accustomed to giving orders. Too accustomed to it to save the kind undertone of his voice or the compassionate shine in his eyes. He's closed over, just like the skin where his earring used to be.
A moaned “Omi” has him thrusting faster, harder, as the fine silken sheets whisper around them.
* * *
Painfully familiar closeness.
They know it wasn't the wisest of choices, even if they're not willing to call it a mistake. Because a mistake is something you're unaware of as it happens.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow, please?”
Yuuri knows he's being excused. The glimpse at the true Omi is over.
“You're going?” he asks as the other detangles himself from the sheets and begins gathering his clothes.
“I have to. I have a meeting.”
“What kind of meeting?”
Mamoru tilts his head, hands never stalling in the buttoning of his shirt. “Think about it, do you really want to know?”
“Old habits die hard.” Yuuri admits sheepishly, even as he shakes his head. “Maybe these questions are why it never worked?”
“No, it's because I go against everything you believe.” Mamoru's smile is sad, almost melancholic as he answers, making Yuuri once again certain that love was never their problem. “I'll have a car pick you up at 7.”
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz Glühen/ Kyou Kara Maou crossover
Warnings: yaoi, Angsty
Characters/couples: Mamoru (Omi)/ Yuuri
Rating: M
Notes: Maybe this'll help get Glühen out of my head u_u Post-Glühen.
Persia
Stangled gasps fill the vast hotelroom, carry past the trail of of clothes they've left all the way from the door to the bed, past the endtable where the $300 bottle of wine complete with crystal glasses stands forgotten.
New scars cover his body, one particularly deep one in his shoulder that looks as though it's barely even healed. His hair is dark, since he's stopped bleaching it and Yuuri's lips search for his earring is in vain.
Gentleman, smooth conversationalist, in Armani suit and kashmere scarf. Articulate, always with a friendly smile that draws people in, but is merely a well-practised facade that has nothing to do with the true smile Yuuri knows. But his smell, his smell is still the same after a shower has washed away the expensive cologne Mamoru's taken to wearing.
The sex is raw and rough, has little in common with their gentle lovemaking from years passed.
Mamoru demands in the tone of someone who over time has become too accustomed to giving orders. Too accustomed to it to save the kind undertone of his voice or the compassionate shine in his eyes. He's closed over, just like the skin where his earring used to be.
A moaned “Omi” has him thrusting faster, harder, as the fine silken sheets whisper around them.
* * *
Painfully familiar closeness.
They know it wasn't the wisest of choices, even if they're not willing to call it a mistake. Because a mistake is something you're unaware of as it happens.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow, please?”
Yuuri knows he's being excused. The glimpse at the true Omi is over.
“You're going?” he asks as the other detangles himself from the sheets and begins gathering his clothes.
“I have to. I have a meeting.”
“What kind of meeting?”
Mamoru tilts his head, hands never stalling in the buttoning of his shirt. “Think about it, do you really want to know?”
“Old habits die hard.” Yuuri admits sheepishly, even as he shakes his head. “Maybe these questions are why it never worked?”
“No, it's because I go against everything you believe.” Mamoru's smile is sad, almost melancholic as he answers, making Yuuri once again certain that love was never their problem. “I'll have a car pick you up at 7.”