The feel of Yuuri's body rippling and tensing around him is entirely too much and Conrad's climax falls on him like a lightening bolt, stealing the soldier of his vision, breath, and awareness.
A little death . . .
He understands that now.
When the roaring in his ears and tremors wracking his body cease, Conrad opens his eyes to find himself propped up on one arm, still inside and bent over Yuuri. The young King is shaking beneath him and whimpering faintly--soft, dove-like sounds that would have stirred the older man almost painfully had he not already been spent--and the brunet musters the last of his strength to slowly withdraw from the fragile frame in his arms while murmuring soothing nonsense.
Even without the heat of Yuuri's body, Conrad feels hot--almost burning up inside and out--and he flops down in bed beside Yuuri and pulls the Maou down atop him. His hands roam over Yuuri's bare, sweaty back and he feels hot and compressed, but so, so satisfied . . .
A hand slips up to tangle in Yuuri's hair and he drags the teen down for a deep, hungry kiss. "My Yuuri . . ." Another deep kiss. "My beautiful Yuuri . . ."
He trails kisses along Yuuri's jaw and down to his throat. He feels unsteady and insubstantial and it seems to him that Yuuri grounds him and keeps him from vanishing . . . floating off into the ether.
"My beautiful Yuuri . . ." The brunet lays a biting, sucking kiss on his partner's neck. "I love you so much--"
And then his arms are empty and Yuuri is sitting up, one hand on his throat . . . on Conrad's mark. The look in the young man's dark eyes makes Conrad's stomach sink as dread slices through the lingering glow of their coupling.
"Conrad, promise me, no marks."
He stumbles over the remembrance, guilty but unable to feel any sort of regret. Instead there is only anger and frustration and sorrow and Yuuri's dark, condemning eyes.
Yuuri groans a little as Conrad moves slowly from his body, retreating inch by inch from between thighs that glisten with the older half demon’s seed. He’s still shaking, but Conrad draws him into his arms, and he sighs quietly. It’s nice and peaceful, and the room with quiet with their breathing.
Snuggling in close, he lays comfortably against Conrad’s chest like a wide-eyed, long-legged gazelle, soaking up the heat from the man’s skin. Conrad smells like sweat and sex and something that is maybe a little of both of them and his eyes grow heavy from the gentle touch wandering over his body.
He could fall asleep right now, just like this. His body is worn out, but in a good, well-sexed way. Conrad doesn’t seem quite as tired as him though and pulls him into a deep kiss that causes a pleased hum to tremble in his chest.
Conrad’s lips drift down across his cheeks, his jaw line, linger behind his ear, and then continue on down his neck. He’s sighing softly with sleepy pleasure when he feels a soft sting on his neck, the presence of teeth and mouth that encourages the blood to rise and color his skin. With eyes widening in sudden realization, he pulls away, clasping his hand to the oddly warm spot on his neck.
He looks at Conrad for an explanation, but the soldier looks anything but apologetic.
". . . But I love you."
“But Conrad, you PROMISED!” He rolls off the solider with some difficulty, the soreness in his body already setting in, and reaches for the small mirror on Conrad’s dresser, holding it up and inspecting the stain on his pale skin. Cursing under his breath, he touches the mark again, covering it up with his fingers. “How am I supposed to hide this?”
Conrad flinches and feels as though he's been struck. The reaction should not have surprised him, but it still hurt. A lot. The brunet pushes himself up to a sitting position and stares after his partner with a stricken expression.
"Why do you have to hide it?" he whispers, knowing the answer even as he asks. "Am I something to be ashamed of? Something to be hidden? Yuuri . . . I love you."
Doesn't he understand what that means to Conrad? How dearly every repetition of those unhappy words costs him?
“I know that,” Yuuri says with a sigh, lowering the glass and looking back at the other half demon. “Do you think I would have come here tonight if I didn’t? I care about you, but that’s not the point Conrad.”
He lowers his hand from the bruise on this throat and looks at him. “Does this change things? Does seeing this on me make any difference to you? Because it WILL make a difference to your family. And I don’t want to lose you, Conrad. Do you think they won’t see it? Do you believe Gwendal and Wolfram will believe a story about spider bite?”
..... "Because it does. It always has. And these things don't change just because you want them to." Yuuri leans up and presses his lips to Conrad's gently before moving back.
"I need to go," he says quietly. "Thank you, Conrad. For everything."
And before Yuuri can escape, a tanned hand darts out and grabs Yuuri's wrist. The young King turns, eyes wide with surprise at Conrad's sudden breach of propriety, but the soldier hold him fast and stares at him as though searching for something. At length, he releases Yuuri's hand, almost throwing it away from him, and pulls back, unable to keep the wounded expression off his face.
"You . . . you don't feel anything for me at all, do you?"
Everything . . . He had risked it all for nothing.
. . . At least Julia had had the courtesy to shoot him down before he tried to fuck her.
The thought makes him want to laugh--mad, hysterical, unhinged laughter--but he doesn't.
I am alone.
. . . Always alone.
He stares at Yuuri instead--burning, petrified, made of ice. Can't move. Can't breathe.
'I can't handle this. I really can't. I can't--'
Why is that thought so familiar?
"Where is your child-king now?"
"He deserves far more than to be the second-best choice."
Oh.
. . . Oh, his head hurts. And his heart . . . aches . . . And he can't breathe . . . And Yuuri . . .
"They're gone . . . Gone like your brother, your niece and your friends... gone like Yozak... gone forever." . . . "It is your fault, my boy . . . All the while you were here, you taunted me..."
"I understand." His voice sounds wooden. Mechanical.
Dead.
"I understand . . ." I understand everything now. I understand . . . everything . . .
Conrad looks around him and the bed is too soft and all wrong without Yozak, and the moon is too large, and Yuuri . . . Yuuri is too perfect. Too beautiful. Too impossibly untouchable.
And Yuuri will never love him. Not ever.
Not ever . . .
And this . . .
"I'm going mad."
Tears slip down his cheeks and it doesn't matter because this isn't real. The walls are melting and he is alone and it's all his fault and none of it . . . none of it is real.
A little death . . .
He understands that now.
When the roaring in his ears and tremors wracking his body cease, Conrad opens his eyes to find himself propped up on one arm, still inside and bent over Yuuri. The young King is shaking beneath him and whimpering faintly--soft, dove-like sounds that would have stirred the older man almost painfully had he not already been spent--and the brunet musters the last of his strength to slowly withdraw from the fragile frame in his arms while murmuring soothing nonsense.
Even without the heat of Yuuri's body, Conrad feels hot--almost burning up inside and out--and he flops down in bed beside Yuuri and pulls the Maou down atop him. His hands roam over Yuuri's bare, sweaty back and he feels hot and compressed, but so, so satisfied . . .
A hand slips up to tangle in Yuuri's hair and he drags the teen down for a deep, hungry kiss. "My Yuuri . . ." Another deep kiss. "My beautiful Yuuri . . ."
He trails kisses along Yuuri's jaw and down to his throat. He feels unsteady and insubstantial and it seems to him that Yuuri grounds him and keeps him from vanishing . . . floating off into the ether.
"My beautiful Yuuri . . ." The brunet lays a biting, sucking kiss on his partner's neck. "I love you so much--"
And then his arms are empty and Yuuri is sitting up, one hand on his throat . . . on Conrad's mark. The look in the young man's dark eyes makes Conrad's stomach sink as dread slices through the lingering glow of their coupling.
"Conrad, promise me, no marks."
He stumbles over the remembrance, guilty but unable to feel any sort of regret. Instead there is only anger and frustration and sorrow and Yuuri's dark, condemning eyes.
". . . But I love you."
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Snuggling in close, he lays comfortably against Conrad’s chest like a wide-eyed, long-legged gazelle, soaking up the heat from the man’s skin. Conrad smells like sweat and sex and something that is maybe a little of both of them and his eyes grow heavy from the gentle touch wandering over his body.
He could fall asleep right now, just like this. His body is worn out, but in a good, well-sexed way. Conrad doesn’t seem quite as tired as him though and pulls him into a deep kiss that causes a pleased hum to tremble in his chest.
Conrad’s lips drift down across his cheeks, his jaw line, linger behind his ear, and then continue on down his neck. He’s sighing softly with sleepy pleasure when he feels a soft sting on his neck, the presence of teeth and mouth that encourages the blood to rise and color his skin. With eyes widening in sudden realization, he pulls away, clasping his hand to the oddly warm spot on his neck.
He looks at Conrad for an explanation, but the soldier looks anything but apologetic.
". . . But I love you."
“But Conrad, you PROMISED!” He rolls off the solider with some difficulty, the soreness in his body already setting in, and reaches for the small mirror on Conrad’s dresser, holding it up and inspecting the stain on his pale skin. Cursing under his breath, he touches the mark again, covering it up with his fingers. “How am I supposed to hide this?”
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"Why do you have to hide it?" he whispers, knowing the answer even as he asks. "Am I something to be ashamed of? Something to be hidden? Yuuri . . . I love you."
Doesn't he understand what that means to Conrad? How dearly every repetition of those unhappy words costs him?
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He lowers his hand from the bruise on this throat and looks at him. “Does this change things? Does seeing this on me make any difference to you? Because it WILL make a difference to your family. And I don’t want to lose you, Conrad. Do you think they won’t see it? Do you believe Gwendal and Wolfram will believe a story about spider bite?”
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"I need to go," he says quietly. "Thank you, Conrad. For everything."
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He suddenly feels . . .
Cheap.
Used.
And before Yuuri can escape, a tanned hand darts out and grabs Yuuri's wrist. The young King turns, eyes wide with surprise at Conrad's sudden breach of propriety, but the soldier hold him fast and stares at him as though searching for something. At length, he releases Yuuri's hand, almost throwing it away from him, and pulls back, unable to keep the wounded expression off his face.
"You . . . you don't feel anything for me at all, do you?"
Everything . . . He had risked it all for nothing.
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He sighs shakily and pulls the hand Conrad threw close to his chest. "You will always be irreplacably important to me. Conrad, I, Conrad-"
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He doesn't care.
That's what he's trying to say.
He doesn't care.
And this . . . was all an experiment.
Just a lark.
. . . At least Julia had had the courtesy to shoot him down before he tried to fuck her.
The thought makes him want to laugh--mad, hysterical, unhinged laughter--but he doesn't.
I am alone.
. . . Always alone.
He stares at Yuuri instead--burning, petrified, made of ice. Can't move. Can't breathe.
'I can't handle this. I really can't. I can't--'
Why is that thought so familiar?
"Where is your child-king now?"
"He deserves far more than to be the second-best choice."
Oh.
. . . Oh, his head hurts. And his heart . . . aches . . . And he can't breathe . . . And Yuuri . . .
"They're gone . . . Gone like your brother, your niece and your friends... gone like Yozak... gone forever." . . . "It is your fault, my boy . . . All the while you were here, you taunted me..."
"I understand." His voice sounds wooden. Mechanical.
Dead.
"I understand . . ." I understand everything now. I understand . . . everything . . .
Conrad looks around him and the bed is too soft and all wrong without Yozak, and the moon is too large, and Yuuri . . . Yuuri is too perfect. Too beautiful. Too impossibly untouchable.
And Yuuri will never love him. Not ever.
Not ever . . .
And this . . .
"I'm going mad."
Tears slip down his cheeks and it doesn't matter because this isn't real. The walls are melting and he is alone and it's all his fault and none of it . . . none of it is real.
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