I'm gonna make it bend and break, say a prayer and let the good times roll...
I have no excuse. doumeki made me do it.
Title: Playing with Fire
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou
Rating: PG-13 or R.
Genre: Crack with romance of crack
Characters/Pairings: Murata/Shouri
Wordcount: 1,111
Description: Murata is Murata. Shouri has no chance. Dedicated to doumeki, the love of my life and my crack enabler.
Disclaimer: I don't own KKM. God, I am so sorry.
***
Shibuya Shouri is not sure, but he kind of thinks his brother’s friend is maybe hitting on him. Granted, his experience with people hitting on him is mostly limited to the bad dating sims he plays on his computer, so maybe he’s just way off base. But.
For example. Yuuri goes missing for what is probably the tenth time this week. Well, for him. It’s probably the tenth time this month for Shin Makoku, which is still pretty dire, but no one else is really getting into the search-and-rescue mood this time around. “We need to go save him,” Shouri insists, because really, these people would let his poor, defenseless demon king brother die if left to their own devices. Shouri struggles out of the fountain, picking a lily pad off his shoulder. “Why isn’t anyone packing!?”
Everyone looks at him with faint smiles on their faces. His brother’s friend steps out of the fountain with a benign expression. His hair is dripping over his glasses. “Shibuya’s Older Brother,” he says, because god-or-demon-king-or-whatever forbid he call Shouri by name. He reaches over and picks another lily pad off of Shouri’s head. “Your glasses broke.”
So that’s why everything’s fuzzy.
“That isn’t the point,” Shouri says. “We need to-”
His brother’s friend interrupts him, reaching for his face, tugging Shouri’s glasses free, and handing them off to a blurry passing form which may or may not be a shrine maiden. Shouri gapes and completely loses his train of thought.
That. That. He’s dense but he’s not that dense, right?
“You need to calm down,” his brother’s friend murmurs in a low, amused voice. Soaking wet hair is pushed off of Shouri’s forehead. Someone chuckles. It may or may not be Konrad. Shouri really doesn’t like not seeing, especially when something like this is going on in front of all these people.
“Give me my glasses back, Friend of My Brother,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Once they’re fixed,” his brother’s friend tells him. “Besides, Shibuya doesn’t need rescuing, for once… though I guess that depends on your definition of peril. He’s getting his portrait painted by Wolfram today.”
“Then why did you-”
“Ulrike wanted to speak to you.”
“How in the world was grabbing me by the hand and yanking me into my parents’ bathroom appropriate!?” Not to mention clinging to him in such a way once they broke water.
There are more chuckles. Some of them probably belong to his brother’s friend, who now has a towel-why all these shrine maidens obey him is beyond Shouri’s scope of comprehension-which he throws over Shouri’s head. “I got you here, didn’t I?”
***
“That’s sort of just what Murata does,” his brother tells him between mouthfuls of curry. “He’s not really evil. He’s just kind of… Murata.”
Shouri’s still not sure what prompted him to share his woes with his brother, but this is a little bit encouraging, in that his brother doesn’t think his friend’s behavior is particularly odd.
Then again, his brother also thinks Wolfram is just his very good friend. His very obsessive, very good friend. Who apparently sleeps in his brother’s bed in some frilly pink thing, when he bothers sleeping in anything at all. Because very good friends do things like this in Shin Makoku.
And speaking of frilly pink things, Shouri blanches as his brother’s friend waltzes out of the kitchen in a pink, ruffled pinafore apron. “Who wants seconds? Maybe if you’re good, Shibuya’s Older Brother, I’ll give you something nice~!”
“Oh, I’ll take seconds,” Yuuri says, holding his plate out for more, not even blinking at the apron.
Okay, in retrospect, his brother is a worse judge than he is of normal behavior.
***
This… this thing… is getting completely out of hand. “I want you to stop this,” he demands in his best I-am-older-than-you-and-will-be-Maou-someday voice.
Unfortunately, his brother’s friend seems to be immune to such things. His glasses glint and he leans his face very close and smiles pleasantly and asks, “Or what, Shibuya’s Older Brother? You’ll punish me?”
“Well. I’ll.” It’s sort of difficult to be coherent with someone in your face, worrying his lower lip with his teeth and with his eyes glimmering behind his glasses and his hair tousled across his forehead and all. “Maybe.” Oh lame. Lame. He’s in college. He’s going to be Maou. He needs to get his act together yesterday. Or at least as soon as his brother’s impossible friend gets out of his personal space.
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that someday… Shou-chan.” And while Shouri is gaping, his brother’s friend takes a few steps back, taking his glimmering eyes and swollen lower lip and purring voice with him. Bizarrely, Shouri’s heart is pounding and the tips of his ears may be a bit red though he’s really praying he’s imagining that part. “I’ll look forward to it~!” He saunters away, leaving Shouri in the middle of the street feeling completely defeated.
***
So okay, apparently his brother’s friend was hitting on him, if his hand under Shouri’s shirt is any indication. “What are you-not here!” It really should be not at all, but he has to work with what his brain is willing to give him at the moment. “Yuuri could be home any minute! Hey!” Shouri hisses frantically.
His assailant only grins. “You have such a brother complex, don’t you? You really think he’d mind? He could learn a thing or two.”
This is one of those moments when Shouri can actually believe this person is several thousand years old with the corresponding experience to draw on, because nothing else could possibly explain the reaction Shouri’s body is having to what his hands are doing. He shudders and bites his lip and tries to tell himself he’s valiantly resisting as he lets his shirt be slipped off. “We really should-”
“So could you,” his companion continues in a low, amused voice, and there he goes again with the glinting eyes and the corners of his mouth curved up and really, Shouri is only human, after all. Well, not exactly, but who’s keeping track anyway?
“You are completely crazy, Friend of My Brother,” he announces, which would sound more emphatic if his voice weren’t breathy and he wasn’t doing his best to divest said friend of his brother of his uniform jacket.
“You’re still calling me that?” he asks, clearly entertained. His hand creeps down to Shouri’s lap and this is absolutely not happening except it obviously is, so he might as well enjoy it. “I’m a bit rusty, but I suppose I’ll see if I can make you scream it.”
Title: Playing with Fire
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou
Rating: PG-13 or R.
Genre: Crack with romance of crack
Characters/Pairings: Murata/Shouri
Wordcount: 1,111
Description: Murata is Murata. Shouri has no chance. Dedicated to doumeki, the love of my life and my crack enabler.
Disclaimer: I don't own KKM. God, I am so sorry.
***
Shibuya Shouri is not sure, but he kind of thinks his brother’s friend is maybe hitting on him. Granted, his experience with people hitting on him is mostly limited to the bad dating sims he plays on his computer, so maybe he’s just way off base. But.
For example. Yuuri goes missing for what is probably the tenth time this week. Well, for him. It’s probably the tenth time this month for Shin Makoku, which is still pretty dire, but no one else is really getting into the search-and-rescue mood this time around. “We need to go save him,” Shouri insists, because really, these people would let his poor, defenseless demon king brother die if left to their own devices. Shouri struggles out of the fountain, picking a lily pad off his shoulder. “Why isn’t anyone packing!?”
Everyone looks at him with faint smiles on their faces. His brother’s friend steps out of the fountain with a benign expression. His hair is dripping over his glasses. “Shibuya’s Older Brother,” he says, because god-or-demon-king-or-whatever forbid he call Shouri by name. He reaches over and picks another lily pad off of Shouri’s head. “Your glasses broke.”
So that’s why everything’s fuzzy.
“That isn’t the point,” Shouri says. “We need to-”
His brother’s friend interrupts him, reaching for his face, tugging Shouri’s glasses free, and handing them off to a blurry passing form which may or may not be a shrine maiden. Shouri gapes and completely loses his train of thought.
That. That. He’s dense but he’s not that dense, right?
“You need to calm down,” his brother’s friend murmurs in a low, amused voice. Soaking wet hair is pushed off of Shouri’s forehead. Someone chuckles. It may or may not be Konrad. Shouri really doesn’t like not seeing, especially when something like this is going on in front of all these people.
“Give me my glasses back, Friend of My Brother,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Once they’re fixed,” his brother’s friend tells him. “Besides, Shibuya doesn’t need rescuing, for once… though I guess that depends on your definition of peril. He’s getting his portrait painted by Wolfram today.”
“Then why did you-”
“Ulrike wanted to speak to you.”
“How in the world was grabbing me by the hand and yanking me into my parents’ bathroom appropriate!?” Not to mention clinging to him in such a way once they broke water.
There are more chuckles. Some of them probably belong to his brother’s friend, who now has a towel-why all these shrine maidens obey him is beyond Shouri’s scope of comprehension-which he throws over Shouri’s head. “I got you here, didn’t I?”
***
“That’s sort of just what Murata does,” his brother tells him between mouthfuls of curry. “He’s not really evil. He’s just kind of… Murata.”
Shouri’s still not sure what prompted him to share his woes with his brother, but this is a little bit encouraging, in that his brother doesn’t think his friend’s behavior is particularly odd.
Then again, his brother also thinks Wolfram is just his very good friend. His very obsessive, very good friend. Who apparently sleeps in his brother’s bed in some frilly pink thing, when he bothers sleeping in anything at all. Because very good friends do things like this in Shin Makoku.
And speaking of frilly pink things, Shouri blanches as his brother’s friend waltzes out of the kitchen in a pink, ruffled pinafore apron. “Who wants seconds? Maybe if you’re good, Shibuya’s Older Brother, I’ll give you something nice~!”
“Oh, I’ll take seconds,” Yuuri says, holding his plate out for more, not even blinking at the apron.
Okay, in retrospect, his brother is a worse judge than he is of normal behavior.
***
This… this thing… is getting completely out of hand. “I want you to stop this,” he demands in his best I-am-older-than-you-and-will-be-Maou-someday voice.
Unfortunately, his brother’s friend seems to be immune to such things. His glasses glint and he leans his face very close and smiles pleasantly and asks, “Or what, Shibuya’s Older Brother? You’ll punish me?”
“Well. I’ll.” It’s sort of difficult to be coherent with someone in your face, worrying his lower lip with his teeth and with his eyes glimmering behind his glasses and his hair tousled across his forehead and all. “Maybe.” Oh lame. Lame. He’s in college. He’s going to be Maou. He needs to get his act together yesterday. Or at least as soon as his brother’s impossible friend gets out of his personal space.
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that someday… Shou-chan.” And while Shouri is gaping, his brother’s friend takes a few steps back, taking his glimmering eyes and swollen lower lip and purring voice with him. Bizarrely, Shouri’s heart is pounding and the tips of his ears may be a bit red though he’s really praying he’s imagining that part. “I’ll look forward to it~!” He saunters away, leaving Shouri in the middle of the street feeling completely defeated.
***
So okay, apparently his brother’s friend was hitting on him, if his hand under Shouri’s shirt is any indication. “What are you-not here!” It really should be not at all, but he has to work with what his brain is willing to give him at the moment. “Yuuri could be home any minute! Hey!” Shouri hisses frantically.
His assailant only grins. “You have such a brother complex, don’t you? You really think he’d mind? He could learn a thing or two.”
This is one of those moments when Shouri can actually believe this person is several thousand years old with the corresponding experience to draw on, because nothing else could possibly explain the reaction Shouri’s body is having to what his hands are doing. He shudders and bites his lip and tries to tell himself he’s valiantly resisting as he lets his shirt be slipped off. “We really should-”
“So could you,” his companion continues in a low, amused voice, and there he goes again with the glinting eyes and the corners of his mouth curved up and really, Shouri is only human, after all. Well, not exactly, but who’s keeping track anyway?
“You are completely crazy, Friend of My Brother,” he announces, which would sound more emphatic if his voice weren’t breathy and he wasn’t doing his best to divest said friend of his brother of his uniform jacket.
“You’re still calling me that?” he asks, clearly entertained. His hand creeps down to Shouri’s lap and this is absolutely not happening except it obviously is, so he might as well enjoy it. “I’m a bit rusty, but I suppose I’ll see if I can make you scream it.”