Almost
Pairing: MuraWolf
Rating: Nc17
Warnings: PWP/Moderate Angst
Beta: melusine474
This is a prize fic for diorama23 who took part in the kkm_wolframfans' 2011 Birthday Event.
Her prompt was: "A Murata/Wolfram PWP, no angst or bagging of Yuuri.
Okay, some angst I can allow. But no Yuuri bashing and with hopeful ending? Pretty please with a cherry on top ;) Just food for thought."
AN: I tried to make it not too angsty. (See, she didn't want angst originally, but then I begged and she agreed that a little was okay...) I also have a secret love affair with these two so I was SO HAPPY to be given the excuse to write this. I hope you enjoy!
Murata's skin was smooth and the color of tea with cream and it was almost what Wolfram wanted. The Sage's eyes were softer without glasses. Less accusing. And his hair was long enough to grab. To twist.
To hurt.
The Sage made the sweetest sounds when Wolfram hurt him just enough. Just enough for both of them to forget. Wolfram's fists were pale in the darkness of the Sage's hair. The darkness of his eyes.
Wolfram paused. "How much can you see without them?"
"Enough," the Sage grinned and arched his still clothed body forward until it almost touched him. A pout. "And here I thought we would be skipping straight to the fun part this time. Don't tell me you came all the way to my study to talk about my glasses, Wolf--"
"Don't."
The Sage frowned. "Sir Belefield, then." He shook his head. "Shibuya ended your engagement seven years ago, you'd think you'd be able to hear your own name without it ruining the mood by now."
Wolfram glared. "I hate you."
"You wish you hated me," the Sage leered. "You wish you could--"
Wolfram kissed him. It was the only way to shut him up. It was satisfying, swallowing the Sage's words. His own thoughts. Focusing on heat and touching and the way the other boy clung to his shoulders even though Wolfram's grip in his hair should have been enough for both of them.
Seven years. Had it really been so long? So short? Wolfram spent so much time not thinking about his wimp... His Majesty.
His Majesty. His Majesty. His Majesty.
His king. Nothing more.
Not even friends now because it was just too much.
At least for now. At least until friendship could be enough for both of them.
Everyone had given him such pitying looks. All of them. Every time His Majesty had found another princess to make eyes at. Another woman to dance with at a ball.
Everyone except the Sage. The Sage had given Wolfram all kinds of looks, but none of them had been pitying.
For at least a year Wolfram had been convinced the Sage was joking. Some cruel prank. But then the looks had continued. On and on and there was more. The way the Sage went out of his way to visit him. The way he knew-- even better than Wolfram did himself at times-- when the loneliness was too much. When arguing with a perverted sage was better than the emptiness inside.
And then one day Wolfram had been the one to find the Sage. Looking back, Wolfram was still surprised the Sage hadn't made some smug remark. Teased him. Instead there had only been a look of shock and hope so honest that Wolfram could almost believe that there was something real behind the Sage's lecherous gaze.
After that the friendship had come easier. Arguments had turned to discussions about history and politics, and now when the Sage teased him Wolfram teased back instead of getting angry. Most of the time.
In a rush of motion the Sage had him back against a bookshelf, volumes rattling and filling the air with old smells. "I can tell when you disappear inside your head, Sir Belefield." The Sage's lips were red. Eyes dark and angry and bright. "It's hardly appropriate, given the circumstances."
Wolfram almost apologized. Instead he glanced at the locked door. "I thought that was the theme with us. 'Hardly appropriate'".
"You're the one who wants this secret," the Sage snapped. Raised a hand to cup Wolfram's cheek. "I'd slap you in a minute if you'd accept."
"Don't be stupid." Wolfram blushed. "That's nothing to joke about."
The Sage half-laughed and shook his head, lowering the hand that held Wolfram's cheek to his belt instead. The sound of the buckle coming undone was loud over Wolfram's heartbeat. His too-quick breaths as the Sage tugged his trousers down to his knees and knelt to nudge the barely contained bulge of Wolfram's erection with his nose. Hot breaths.
And then Wolfram's hands were tight in that black hair again. Green eyes locked with black as the Sage ran his tongue against the thin black fabric of his underwear, tracing the head and sucking just enough that Wolfram could feel the hot wet of his mouth seep through. The Sage's hands were warm on his thighs, thumbs brushing the base-- his sack-- just enough to make Wolfram's hips jerk forward in spite of himself.
The Sage made a pleased noise and touched him lighter. Open-mouthed kisses that barely had enough pressure to differentiate one press of lips from the next and when Wolfram tugged his head forward he only moved those teasing kisses to a hipbone.
"Tease," Wolfram managed to hiss between breaths. "Just..."
"Just what?" The Sage smirked and licked a long swipe from the base of Wolfram's covered cock until he reached the tip. "Mmm?" he prompted, the tip of his tongue still pressed right against the slit.
Wolfram's knees buckled and he cursed, right hand loosing its grip on the Sage's hair in favor of steadying himself against the shelf behind him. "Murata..."
"Close enough," the Sage purred and tugged one of the knots holding Wolfram's underwear free. And then his mouth-- throat--gods-- so much heat and pressure and hands squeezing and pulling and eyes still locked on his.
Wolfram could hardly breathe as he watched the Sage's head rise and fall over his cock. As he watched the Sage's lips get redder and his shaft get wetter and disappear over and over and over again into that mouth. So impossibly good. Impossibly close...
The Sage seemed to know how close he was even though Wolfram was sure he hadn't made a sound and suddenly that mouth was no longer on him. No longer on him.
Wolfram growled and shoved the other boy down to the rug, pressing their bodies closer until Wolfram was practically lying on top of him. Mouths together again as Wolfram tried to wedge a hand between them to undo the Sage's buckle. There was no way that Wolfram would let the Sage watch him come undone without making sure that he wasn't the only one.
The Sage's gasp when his hand found naked flesh had to be one of the most satisfying sounds that Wolfram had ever heard. It was good that the Sage was just as hard as he was. Wanted whatever this was at least as much as Wolfram did.
It didn't take them long to finish. Half-stifled cries and shuddered breaths. The shameful realization that Wolfram would be spending another evening alone washing dried come out of his uniform.
The Sage made a squished noise beneath him and Wolfarm rolled over to lie on his back on the floor beside him. The ceiling was patterned with the stars. Constellations the way they had been when the Sage had first lived in this world. When he was the Great Sage and fucking a king who looked too much like Wolfram for any of this to be coincidence.
Wolfram covered his face with the hand that wasn't sticky and nearly laughed.
"What?" The Sage's voice was close to his ear. So close that Wolfram could feel his breath. "Laughter wasn't exactly the response I was going for, you know."
"Would you be here if I didn't look like him?" Wolfram froze. He could feel the blush spreading to his cheeks. The fear in his gut. Why had he said it? Why had he said it when he knew-- didn't want to hear the answer.
For a while the Sage said nothing, then, "I could ask you the same question."
Wolfram uncovered his face to look in sad eyes. "I don't know."
The Sage's mouth twisted into a small smile. Then he raised a hand to trace Wolfram's eyebrows. The bridge of his nose. Lips. "I should be glad that you're jealous. It means you care enough to be jealous, after all." The Sage sighed and took his hand away. "The person who I was, who felt that way for Shinou, is dead. I was a different body-- different mind too, in many ways. I've lived and died a hundred times since then, Sir Belefield. You're attractive. You resemble him. But I do not find you attractive because you resemble him. Everyone has a 'type' of person, a gender, that they find attractive. I won't deny or feel shame for finding you beautiful, Wolfram." He chuckled. "And I won't blame you for being a rice queen, either."
"Rice queen?" Wolfram frowned. The Sage could be so infuriating. How could he say such... embarrassing things and then laugh at his own jokes to references that Wolfram didn't understand?
The Sage waved away his question and shifted, propping his head on an elbow to look down at Wolfram. "Someday that part of you will die too. Cells are always dying... replacing each other... healing over and over again. I'm glad you loved Shibuya. Shibuya is a wonderful king and a wonderful man but he couldn't love you. Not the way you need to be loved. It's no one's fault. You wouldn't be this you without having loved him but... someday that old you will finish dying and maybe you'll learn to love someone else."
Wolfram had to close his eyes. To get away. To stand and fumble on his trousers. Hands shaking. Why was everything shaking?
How had the Sage managed to stand so fast?
"I'm leaving," Wolfram tried, edging toward the door. Not thinking about the things the Sage had said. Not thinking.
The Sage's hands were soft on his cheeks. Pulling him into a kiss that was soft and slow and just too much.
"It will only be you, you know," the Sage breathed when the kiss slowed into nothing. Just shared breathing and still-shaking hands rigid at his sides. "I'm not like Shibuya. I don't love easily. I don't share." A final kiss. "And I won't take you for granted, either."
"Why?" Why did it sound so much like a sob?
He could feel the Sage's smile even without opening his eyes. "Because I know you're the same."
-----
Rating: Nc17
Warnings: PWP/Moderate Angst
Beta: melusine474
This is a prize fic for diorama23 who took part in the kkm_wolframfans' 2011 Birthday Event.
Her prompt was: "A Murata/Wolfram PWP, no angst or bagging of Yuuri.
Okay, some angst I can allow. But no Yuuri bashing and with hopeful ending? Pretty please with a cherry on top ;) Just food for thought."
AN: I tried to make it not too angsty. (See, she didn't want angst originally, but then I begged and she agreed that a little was okay...) I also have a secret love affair with these two so I was SO HAPPY to be given the excuse to write this. I hope you enjoy!
Murata's skin was smooth and the color of tea with cream and it was almost what Wolfram wanted. The Sage's eyes were softer without glasses. Less accusing. And his hair was long enough to grab. To twist.
To hurt.
The Sage made the sweetest sounds when Wolfram hurt him just enough. Just enough for both of them to forget. Wolfram's fists were pale in the darkness of the Sage's hair. The darkness of his eyes.
Wolfram paused. "How much can you see without them?"
"Enough," the Sage grinned and arched his still clothed body forward until it almost touched him. A pout. "And here I thought we would be skipping straight to the fun part this time. Don't tell me you came all the way to my study to talk about my glasses, Wolf--"
"Don't."
The Sage frowned. "Sir Belefield, then." He shook his head. "Shibuya ended your engagement seven years ago, you'd think you'd be able to hear your own name without it ruining the mood by now."
Wolfram glared. "I hate you."
"You wish you hated me," the Sage leered. "You wish you could--"
Wolfram kissed him. It was the only way to shut him up. It was satisfying, swallowing the Sage's words. His own thoughts. Focusing on heat and touching and the way the other boy clung to his shoulders even though Wolfram's grip in his hair should have been enough for both of them.
Seven years. Had it really been so long? So short? Wolfram spent so much time not thinking about his wimp... His Majesty.
His Majesty. His Majesty. His Majesty.
His king. Nothing more.
Not even friends now because it was just too much.
At least for now. At least until friendship could be enough for both of them.
Everyone had given him such pitying looks. All of them. Every time His Majesty had found another princess to make eyes at. Another woman to dance with at a ball.
Everyone except the Sage. The Sage had given Wolfram all kinds of looks, but none of them had been pitying.
For at least a year Wolfram had been convinced the Sage was joking. Some cruel prank. But then the looks had continued. On and on and there was more. The way the Sage went out of his way to visit him. The way he knew-- even better than Wolfram did himself at times-- when the loneliness was too much. When arguing with a perverted sage was better than the emptiness inside.
And then one day Wolfram had been the one to find the Sage. Looking back, Wolfram was still surprised the Sage hadn't made some smug remark. Teased him. Instead there had only been a look of shock and hope so honest that Wolfram could almost believe that there was something real behind the Sage's lecherous gaze.
After that the friendship had come easier. Arguments had turned to discussions about history and politics, and now when the Sage teased him Wolfram teased back instead of getting angry. Most of the time.
In a rush of motion the Sage had him back against a bookshelf, volumes rattling and filling the air with old smells. "I can tell when you disappear inside your head, Sir Belefield." The Sage's lips were red. Eyes dark and angry and bright. "It's hardly appropriate, given the circumstances."
Wolfram almost apologized. Instead he glanced at the locked door. "I thought that was the theme with us. 'Hardly appropriate'".
"You're the one who wants this secret," the Sage snapped. Raised a hand to cup Wolfram's cheek. "I'd slap you in a minute if you'd accept."
"Don't be stupid." Wolfram blushed. "That's nothing to joke about."
The Sage half-laughed and shook his head, lowering the hand that held Wolfram's cheek to his belt instead. The sound of the buckle coming undone was loud over Wolfram's heartbeat. His too-quick breaths as the Sage tugged his trousers down to his knees and knelt to nudge the barely contained bulge of Wolfram's erection with his nose. Hot breaths.
And then Wolfram's hands were tight in that black hair again. Green eyes locked with black as the Sage ran his tongue against the thin black fabric of his underwear, tracing the head and sucking just enough that Wolfram could feel the hot wet of his mouth seep through. The Sage's hands were warm on his thighs, thumbs brushing the base-- his sack-- just enough to make Wolfram's hips jerk forward in spite of himself.
The Sage made a pleased noise and touched him lighter. Open-mouthed kisses that barely had enough pressure to differentiate one press of lips from the next and when Wolfram tugged his head forward he only moved those teasing kisses to a hipbone.
"Tease," Wolfram managed to hiss between breaths. "Just..."
"Just what?" The Sage smirked and licked a long swipe from the base of Wolfram's covered cock until he reached the tip. "Mmm?" he prompted, the tip of his tongue still pressed right against the slit.
Wolfram's knees buckled and he cursed, right hand loosing its grip on the Sage's hair in favor of steadying himself against the shelf behind him. "Murata..."
"Close enough," the Sage purred and tugged one of the knots holding Wolfram's underwear free. And then his mouth-- throat--gods-- so much heat and pressure and hands squeezing and pulling and eyes still locked on his.
Wolfram could hardly breathe as he watched the Sage's head rise and fall over his cock. As he watched the Sage's lips get redder and his shaft get wetter and disappear over and over and over again into that mouth. So impossibly good. Impossibly close...
The Sage seemed to know how close he was even though Wolfram was sure he hadn't made a sound and suddenly that mouth was no longer on him. No longer on him.
Wolfram growled and shoved the other boy down to the rug, pressing their bodies closer until Wolfram was practically lying on top of him. Mouths together again as Wolfram tried to wedge a hand between them to undo the Sage's buckle. There was no way that Wolfram would let the Sage watch him come undone without making sure that he wasn't the only one.
The Sage's gasp when his hand found naked flesh had to be one of the most satisfying sounds that Wolfram had ever heard. It was good that the Sage was just as hard as he was. Wanted whatever this was at least as much as Wolfram did.
It didn't take them long to finish. Half-stifled cries and shuddered breaths. The shameful realization that Wolfram would be spending another evening alone washing dried come out of his uniform.
The Sage made a squished noise beneath him and Wolfarm rolled over to lie on his back on the floor beside him. The ceiling was patterned with the stars. Constellations the way they had been when the Sage had first lived in this world. When he was the Great Sage and fucking a king who looked too much like Wolfram for any of this to be coincidence.
Wolfram covered his face with the hand that wasn't sticky and nearly laughed.
"What?" The Sage's voice was close to his ear. So close that Wolfram could feel his breath. "Laughter wasn't exactly the response I was going for, you know."
"Would you be here if I didn't look like him?" Wolfram froze. He could feel the blush spreading to his cheeks. The fear in his gut. Why had he said it? Why had he said it when he knew-- didn't want to hear the answer.
For a while the Sage said nothing, then, "I could ask you the same question."
Wolfram uncovered his face to look in sad eyes. "I don't know."
The Sage's mouth twisted into a small smile. Then he raised a hand to trace Wolfram's eyebrows. The bridge of his nose. Lips. "I should be glad that you're jealous. It means you care enough to be jealous, after all." The Sage sighed and took his hand away. "The person who I was, who felt that way for Shinou, is dead. I was a different body-- different mind too, in many ways. I've lived and died a hundred times since then, Sir Belefield. You're attractive. You resemble him. But I do not find you attractive because you resemble him. Everyone has a 'type' of person, a gender, that they find attractive. I won't deny or feel shame for finding you beautiful, Wolfram." He chuckled. "And I won't blame you for being a rice queen, either."
"Rice queen?" Wolfram frowned. The Sage could be so infuriating. How could he say such... embarrassing things and then laugh at his own jokes to references that Wolfram didn't understand?
The Sage waved away his question and shifted, propping his head on an elbow to look down at Wolfram. "Someday that part of you will die too. Cells are always dying... replacing each other... healing over and over again. I'm glad you loved Shibuya. Shibuya is a wonderful king and a wonderful man but he couldn't love you. Not the way you need to be loved. It's no one's fault. You wouldn't be this you without having loved him but... someday that old you will finish dying and maybe you'll learn to love someone else."
Wolfram had to close his eyes. To get away. To stand and fumble on his trousers. Hands shaking. Why was everything shaking?
How had the Sage managed to stand so fast?
"I'm leaving," Wolfram tried, edging toward the door. Not thinking about the things the Sage had said. Not thinking.
The Sage's hands were soft on his cheeks. Pulling him into a kiss that was soft and slow and just too much.
"It will only be you, you know," the Sage breathed when the kiss slowed into nothing. Just shared breathing and still-shaking hands rigid at his sides. "I'm not like Shibuya. I don't love easily. I don't share." A final kiss. "And I won't take you for granted, either."
"Why?" Why did it sound so much like a sob?
He could feel the Sage's smile even without opening his eyes. "Because I know you're the same."
-----