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~***~
Yuuri was about nineteen when he gave in. That was six months ago. Yes, okay, he’s a late bloomer.
It was inevitable. Wolfram was beautiful, and it didn’t really seem to matter to his unruly hormones that Wolfram was a boy. No, not a boy, a man. With Yuuri almost twenty, he was a man and so was Wolfram. More so, in fact, Wolfram had been considered an adult for over sixty years by weird mazoku custom.
Yuuri tried not to think about that too much. At sixteen, mazoku looked barely twelve, though, thankfully, they didn’t accept mazoku as soldiers until they were fifty. He had no idea why sixteen was considered so important. Mazoku rites of passage were random and didn’t follow the same rules for maturity in humans on Earth or Shin Makoku. As far as Yuuri was concerned, it was much more about tradition than any logic.
He knew a few mazoku around their late teens and, in his opinion, they weren’t any different from an average ten-year-old human child. Yuuri shuddered to think that Wolfram got his first steel sword at that age. The nervous twitch Günter developed when Wolfram was about was a major clue. Günter had been Wolf’s first sword tutor.
Not that Yuuri felt like an adult now at almost twenty.
He always supposed that when he hit that magical date, he’d wake up and feel all mature and wise and know all. But he was starting to suspect that life didn’t work that way. He really should have worked that out earlier. Just look at his brother! Shori was hardly an example of great maturity. And, then there was Murata. His friend had four thousand years of memory and still prided himself on juvenile pranks.
But, now, even Wolfram looked like an adult. He’d grown taller, almost as tall as Yuuri, and his shoulders wider. And still, just like any other mazoku, in fact, more than most mazoku, Wolfram’s face was delicate, refined and...well, “pretty” was the word he used, only in his head, mind you.
A pretty, gorgeous guy.
All thoughts of maturity aside, with Wolfram being eighty-five and Yuuri nineteen...physically they were well matched, or, at least, that was what Conrad said one time. Conrad was always the first to say positive things about their engagement, and at times, Yuuri found him overly optimistic, especially in the early years. Yet, in this, Yuuri agreed with his godfather.
In a small part of Yuuri’ head, the idealistic, romantic part (‘yes, I am a wimp’) where he believed in destiny and fate and the innate decency in people, he felt that it couldn’t be a coincidence that they had met at the exact right instance in their lives. Wolfram, a full-blooded mazoku, and him, well, mostly-human with his tiny amount of mazoku blood magnified by the power of the Maou.
Murata would sometimes say something about fate when he was in one of his peculiar, philosophical moods, or when he’d been crowing over the DNA results Yuuri had volunteered blood for. Murata had been fast-tracked doing his masters in molecular bio-something at the University of Tokyo long-distance without even trying.
He’d volunteered up samples with only a little blackmail and a huge dollop of guilt-tripping. Yuuri was drawing the line at giving Murata any other bodily fluids. “It’s for science!” Pervert. “Mazoku don’t get cancer and it’s pretty rare for humans with one eight mazoku heritage. So, this might lead us to an answer. A cure for cancer! You’ve got such a rare DNA combination.” Oh okay, make me feel bad.
“You’ve got my blood, skin, and hair, Murata. That’s all you’re getting from me!”
So, anyway, he and Wolf were matched now, would most likely, if things continued, live out their lives matched.
This led him back to the eternal problem that had been frustrating him. Wolfram didn’t seem that interested. It didn’t make sense. Back in the early days when Yuuri was wary of having a boy share the same bed as his, Wolfram would try relentlessly to seduce him, or so it seemed, sleeping naked with him, giving him those hopeful long looks. It was for only a little amount of time. Yuuri’s protests stopped Wolf quickly (not quickly enough for Yuuri at age fifteen, but it stopped, thank heavens).
And so when Yuuri started to talk to Wolfram about sex, contrary to expectations, it didn’t really go anywhere.
“So, do you have many wet dreams?” He’d asked.
“Wet dreams?”
“Oh, ha ha,” hand to head. “It’s an Earth expression. You know...dreams about...girls and-
“I don’t dream about girls!”
“Well, no.” Of course you don’t. “But you know...people you like. Guys?”
“I don’t like anyone.”
“Yeah, but like-”
“It’s you I love, Yuuri.” Wolfram looked at him, face swiftly going from fierce to shy and then sweet.
Oh. After the warm fuzzy glow had faded inside, and the smile had gone, he couldn’t well ask if Wolfram dreamt of him, though he really wanted to know. It would seem vain, and weird, and...just weird.
Yuuri was never good at talking about these things, not even in the casual way that the guys at school would in the baths after baseball. And, certainly, nowhere near the way Murata would talk. The things Murata would say, he’d learn more about human sexuality in the time he’d been his friend ‘Do you have to say that, Murata? Who says that? I’m eating. You are such a pervert!’ than in that one day he’d snooped into Shori’s computer files, and Shori had a lot of hentai. A lot.
But Yuuri had to keep trying.
“How far have you gone...with someone?” he asked Wolfram sincerely.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Yuuri. Pay attention, Günter will test you about this tomorrow.” Wolfram pointed to the page they were on.
“Yeah, I know.” Pause. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”
“What? No! I’m your fiancé.” Shocked face.
“Yeah, I know but before we were engaged.”
“No, I was only eighty-two when we met, Yuuri.”
“So...you have never done anything with anyone...like more than a kiss?”
Wolfram’s tone was appalled. “What type of a question is that? I’m only eighty-five. Mazoku would never take advantage of someone so young.”
Okay, it really wasn’t that young. Yuuri could only conclude that Wolfram was a prude. Even more so than Yuuri was. He’d at least kissed a girl when he was twelve. A stupid dare on a school field trip, but, still, it was a kiss. Wolfram hadn’t even kissed him...and they had been engaged for almost five years! You’d think Wolf would try considering how much more they were getting along. Didn’t he notice that Yuuri wasn’t sidling away from him in bed anymore? Didn’t Wolf see that he spent a lot of the time in study staring at Wolfram’s lips-- thinking all types of inappropriate thoughts? ‘Shut up, Murata stop giving me ideas, pervert.’ That he spent way too much time than was healthy in the bathroom jerking off? Well, Wolfram wouldn’t know about that, but he should have guessed. He’d given Yuuri his privacy.
Three months turned to six months and then onto a year--one long, frustrating year with no progress at all.
If patience were a virtue, an English saying that Conrad loved, Yuuri was practically an angel. There had not been a single sign that Wolfram wanted him that way.
It made no sense!
Wolfram was the one who’d always wanted physical affection. Yuuri had thought, when he had come to his major revelation, that it wouldn’t be long before Wolfram would pick up on his signals and jump him, and then, well, he’d let things go as they would naturally.
Yuuri was way too much of a wimp to try anything, not the first time. Knowing his luck, he’d gravely offend Wolfram’s house by placing a hickey in the wrong part of the body, or kissing Wolfram while wearing a wrong coloured shirt. He was still running into all these cultural differences, booby traps for the innocent.
Perhaps, his signals weren’t clear, or he had missed something obvious about romance in Shin Makoku. He vented to the one person he knew he could trust and who wouldn’t tease him, well, other than Wolfram.
“I just want to kiss him!” He’d sneaked out early from morning tea with Wolfram and Lady Celi (shudder), so he could have some private time with his godfather. There were plenty of other opportunities but, that day, he was feeling particularly miserable, and he needed to talk to someone immediately.
“He’s very young, Yuuri,” Conrad said softly.
“Well, yeah. I get that. He’s...” a virgin like me. “...not any better at this than me, but I’m starting to think he doesn’t like me. Like that.”
“Oh, he likes you. He loves you. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone love you as much as Wolfram does.”
“Yes, but not as a king, but you know...really loves me.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Give it a year or so and both of you will,” Conrad gave him a secretive grin “find much happiness in your union.”
Sadly, Yuuri didn’t feel comforted by Conrad’s assurance, and, besides, what was with the timeframe?
“A year? I can’t wait that-“
“You’re late with your appointment with Brother, Yuuri.”
Yuuri turned to see the person they were discussing who had arms crossed, green eyes giving Yuuri an indulgent, put upon look. They were now almost the same height; Wolfram had caught up to Yuuri’s growth spurt from three years ago and was only slightly shorter.
Conrad walked over and gave his young brother a pleasant nod. “We’re finished here, Wolfram.” Wolfram returned Conrad’s smile. It was small and genuine. Their relationship had come a long way over the last few years.
Seeing Wolfram standing next to Conrad, it suddenly hit him that Wolf would end up taller than Yuuri, just like his brothers. Which, he in no way was jealous of. Yuuri was bigger than that, figuratively speaking. Really!
“Okay, okay,” He gestured to Wolfram placatingly; glad Wolf hadn’t overheard. His gestures were more habit these days since Wolfram had relaxed more and was less prone to making drama, or, maybe, it was because he was more relaxed?
And off they went.
Yet another day being whisked from one appointment to the next. He probably should pay much more attention to those daily details, but Wolfram seemed to live for it. And...as Günter said once, a good leader delegated to those who were best suited. And if there was a prize for keeping Yuuri on time and dressed, Wolfram would get the trophy, car, and the holiday...and not one of those crappy holidays to Mount Fuji or Okinawa but one to Australia or Fiji, all expenses paid for.
Wolfram was really good at what he did. And he really seemed to enjoy it...in a Wolfram-type of way, and Yuuri really, really wanted to kiss him. Confident and happy Wolfram was hot.
They turned into the south wing, and Yuuri took an opportunity to study his fiancé. His gaze slid over Wolf’s features, from his soft blond hair to green clear eyes, from high aristocratic cheekbones and pretty lips. He looked immaculate as he always did, in his blue uniform. Today, Wolfram was wearing a plain cravat, not the lace one, but white cloth in a neat knot kept in place by the familiar blue gemmed brooch, a Bielefeld family heirloom. The fabric on Wolfram’s jacket and pants was pressed perfectly in a way Yuuri had never been able to figure out in a world without irons. Wolfram’s long legs and long thigh-high boots looked amazing.
Yuuri’s heart jumped, and he lost a little breath. Wolf was so gorgeous.
Wolf turned and gave him a quizzical look. “We’re going to be discussing the border dispute up near Radford. The idea you came up with last night for a resolution wasn’t bad. You should tell Brother.”
Yuuri tried to stop his excitement.
“Uhh, okay?” He dragged his hand over his hair ruefully. “Oh yeah that...the border dispute.” Wolfram shook his head, only slightly annoyed and then gave him a concerned look, making Yuuri feel very giddy.
“Pay attention, Yuuri! We’ll retire earlier tonight. You need your sleep.”
Yuuri nodded, and Wolfram gave him another odd look before they kept walking.
It wasn’t such a terrible thing, to kiss his fiancé, was it? He was sure his parents did way more than that before they were married. Not that he ever thought about his parent’s engagement in detail. ‘What? Murata, how would I know?!’ Yes, even considering they had a two-week engagement.
Honestly, he was the only normal person in his family. It was just his luck he’d find himself in the least normal job on two worlds.
Could anyone blame him for being so confused?
~***~
“I smell the scent of frustration,” Murata practically sing-songed in their waste-of-time weekly meeting. Not that Yuuri would ever dare say that out loud, especially near Wolfram. He needed to hear the gossip of the castle. What the heck did Murata do anyway?
“Well, this truce hasn’t been exactly easy.” Why were people always so quick to fight?
“Oh, no. You mistake me, my cute and innocent friend. Sexual frustration.” Murata’s face went wide in his ‘Aha… I know something you don’t know, and I’ll tell you in gross, juicy detail after I string you along for a bit’ look.
“You need a hobby, Murata,” he said flatly.
“No time, between serving the kingdom and assisting the king in his divine duties,” Murata said piously.
“My sex life is none of your business,” Yuuri snapped.
Murata’s face lit up at his annoyance and he snorted like what he said was the funniest thing ever. It probably was to him. Murata always took a weird interest in the strangest things. “You’re king, Shibuya. Everyone knows. Well, maybe not your fiancé, but everyone else knows.”
“Really, knitting is a good place to start. Gwendal can give you lessons.” Not that Murata would need them. He knew how to do everything. He’d probably be able to teach Gwendal a thing or two. Yuuri thought of the lopsided horse-lamb that was given to him a few months back, maybe not.
“As a good friend, I thought I’d let you into something that might have passed your notice.” Murata lowered his head and then scooted his head closer over the table and whispered conspiratorially. “Mazoku age a little differently than humans.”
“No, really? Next thing you’ll be telling me that koalas eat flesh.”
Murata rolled his eyes. “To narrow it down, the average male mazoku doesn’t reach puberty until their late eighties...your fiancé is still...well, emotionally he’s on your wave length. Actually, emotionally, he’s probably ahead of you.” Murata laughed. “But, sexually, he hasn’t quite got to that point.”
“Huh?”
“Yuuri,” Murata’s voice went gentle. “He hasn’t entirely reached puberty yet.”
Later, when he’d gulped down some water, Yuuri said, “It actually explains a lot. I mean...the way he acted when Greta suddenly took an interest in boys. I think Conrad had to talk to him about that. Oh God...he’s always seen me as mazoku and not human.” Murata raised one eyebrow at him. “Or, maybe, he does know. Maybe, he’s always known.” Distantly, he knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop himself. He covered his eyes, feeling so mortified. “Maybe he was trying to please me...oh crap. This changes everything.” He shook his head, hand still clamped over his eyes as if he could block out the embarrassment. Then, another horrible thought hit him, and he pulled his hand away and looked at Murata. “I’ve seen him naked...and umm...he’s umm...”
“Mature looking?” Murata said evenly.
“Yeah.”
“Mazoku physiology is very different. It takes a while for the batteries to charge up the finished product, so to speak.”
Yuuri put his hand over his eyes once more. “I can’t believe you described it that way.”
“Well, I could explain it physiologically-”
“No..no...it’s okay. I know the basics.” He waved his hand to stop Murata from starting. He’d already heard way too much, and his friend had a habit of going into way way too much detail.
“So late eighties?” He gave Murata a dismayed look.
“Usually, for males, it could be anywhere between eighty-five to ninety-five years. Strangely, it’s the same with half-mazoku. You’ve got much more human DNA even though you age like a mazoku.”
Thankfully, Murata kept it at that. He didn’t want to think of all those ‘tests’ Murata and Jose had wheedled him and Shori into for science. Yuuri never wanted to see another needle again.
“Ninety-five...” Yuuri repeated, stuck on that.
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t meet him when he was in his sixties?” Murata said optimistically and then added. “Fire users have a reputation for early sexual maturity!”
“Really?”
“Yep. But it’s not true. It’s a myth. Three separate studies from the Royal University here have debunked it.”
The sound of his head hitting the desk was loud in the ensuing silence.
And, of course, Conrad, Gwendal, Günter, and Murata as well as Greta and Wolfram remained his constant. Family, friends, and advisors, there to pick him up when he fell.
Wolfram...well, he stayed the same, too, driving Yuuri wild with being gorgeous on top of the usual irritation he felt because of Wolfram’s fussy and nagging habits. But that was Wolfram. He wouldn’t be the person he loved if he didn’t irritate, amuse, and frustrate Yuuri the way he did.
With great and valiant fortitude, Yuuri did his best to accept that it was going to take time before he’d get that kiss he wanted. He had the soul of a king. He would endure!
Now that he was noticing Wolfram more, he could see how much he’d grown in just a few years, the last stretch before he reached full maturity. Again, he wondered why it was that sixteen was the age of adulthood here with such a long life. If he remembered and had the patience to deal with Murata’s weirdness, he’d ask.
It certainly didn’t mean age of consent. Apparently, that was eighty-five.
Now that he thought of it, he understood more why Günter had had a meltdown when Wolfram took it upon himself to share a bed with Yuuri. Conrad really must have trusted Yuuri to allow it. Well, it helped that most of the time Yuuri was screaming murder every time Wolf came near him.
What would Wolfram have done if Yuuri had taken advantage? For anyone knew back then, he could have been an evil lecher and would Wolfram have said “no”? It was sobering to think about. And it showed how much trust Wolfram had in him.
Those thoughts were on his mind as he watched Wolf sleeping one morning, his hair had grown longer and now framed his face, long eyelashes brushed against soft skin as his eyes flickered beneath his lids and his hand, loosely balled, twitched. ‘What are you dreaming, Wolf?’ he thought affectionately.
As if he could hear his thoughts Wolfram opened his eyes, green eyes still sleepy and yawned. “What are you staring at, wimp?”
Yuuri smiled. “Why wouldn’t I stare? You’re beautiful.”
Wolfram blinked and gave him a slight disbelieving look before exhaling, rubbing his eyes.
“You have that meeting with the ambassador.” And thus began the day.
“I want you,” Wolfram said, somehow without opening his lips and continued to trail kisses down Yuuri’s chest.
“Yeah,” he said oh-so-intelligently. Even in a dream, his vocabulary sucked, but it didn’t stop Wolfram from kissing him and that’s all that mattered.
He woke up plastered against Wolfram with the sky outside their window shaded pink in the pre-dawn. Wolfram wasn’t naked and there was a distinct lack of rainbows, but he couldn’t miss the fact that Wolfram was hard underneath his nightgown and humping him and that, instantly, pushed all thoughts of rainbows away.
Yuuri froze, confused and turned-on, and just when he’d decided to push Wolfram away gently (for which he should be given a medal for patience) Wolf’s eyes opened. They looked at each other for a minute, as Wolf’s sleepy eyes came to alertness.
“Umm, good morning. Good dream?”
Wolfram’s face went red. Yuuri couldn’t help but brush a hair back on his pretty face, caressing the soft skin of Wolf’s cheek when, in a flurry of warm skin, legs, and slippery silk, Wolfram was on top of him and kissing him like it would save his life. Hot and sweet and Yuuri was in nirvana.
Maybe he hadn't woken up, but this didn't feel like a dream.
Yuuri was just getting into it, his hips taking on a mind of their own, when Wolfram pulled back and then scrambled clean across the other side of the bed. They stared at each other, and Wolfram bit his lip and hung his head in a way that Yuuri didn’t like.
“Sorry?” Yuuri offered in the silence feeling lost and bewildered. He must have done something wrong, and he wanted to hug Wolfram in apology, and, yet, he was afraid that would just make things worse. Instead, Yuuri clutched the blanket around him, the way he wanted to hold Wolf.
“Don’t be.” Wolf’s voice was small and terribly sad. “You’re not at fault. I should have resisted. This is...it’s very new.” Wolfram pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around himself. “We need to wait.”
Oh God. “I’ll marry you today!” Yuuri said eagerly as he got up on his knees ready to rush off and arrange it. He was sure Murata would help out.
Wolfram shook his head in exasperation.
“No, not that. It will take years to set up a state wedding. Why should we wait for that? I meant we should wait until my Awakening Ball. Mother already knows and she’s started preparations. However,” Wolfram went on with a small smile and firmness in his tone, “We’ll definitely start wedding arrangements after that.”
Awakening Ball? That familiar dread of all the weirdness of Shin Makoku gripped him, and gripped him hard.
“The what?”
Naturally, Murata was there. He’d barely turned up to half of the weekly royal advisory meetings before this, but his sage friend had an uncanny knack for showing up when Yuuri least wanted him to, which was whenever the list of meeting items covered anything in Yuuri’s personal life.
Murata gave him an innocent shrug in response to Yuuri’s narrowed glare. Did the guy have Yuuri’s room bugged magically? He made a mental note to find out later. It wouldn’t surprise him.
“An April ball should do,” said Günter looking over his large and, in Yuuri’s opinion, way over-crowded appointment book.
“Sounds suitable,” Wolfram said turning to Yuuri with barely concealed enthusiasm. Lady Celi clapped her hands in delight in the background. Gwendal looked as awkward as ever and Conrad gave them a warm smile.
Really, if Yuuri didn’t know any better, he’d think that this was some practical joke played on him. A joke that Murata had talked, blackmailed, and bribed everyone into. But, Wolfram wasn’t really the practical joke type, particularly when it came to these personal matters. Nor was Gwendal.
Maybe Murata brainwashed them? Murata shrugged once more as Yuuri gave him another useless glare.
“Yuuri?” Wolfram asked. A slight edge of uneasiness was now in his voice.
“Umm, sure. April sounds good.” Really, after all the things he’d gone through in this kingdom, he shouldn’t be surprised.
“It’s an old-fashioned practice! How was I supposed to know he’d want it?” Murata protested with a smile which really didn’t mesh with his declaration of innocence.
Yeah right, an old-fashioned practice that Lady Celi inflicted on Gwendal and Conrad. What were the odds it would happen for Wolfram? What were the odds that Murata didn’t know what was coming?
What’s more, Yuuri couldn’t picture Gwendal or Conrad being excited for their own ball. He could barely imagine Gwendal tolerating it. He really couldn’t believe Wolf wanted one. Wolfram usually hated being the centre of attention.
“An ‘Awakening Ball’!” Yuuri said in disbelief. He buried his head in his hands and then looked up and said faintly, more to himself than to his amused friend whose eyes were definitely laughing at him. Murata wasn’t even bothering to hide it. “Who does that?”
Who’d want to advertise the fact that, ‘Heh, I can now jerk off!’ Those things were personal, not an excuse for a state ball. He knew Wolf was all about tradition, but this was embarrassing and Wolf had a low threshold of shame. Why would Wolfram even consider it?
“It’s a long and proud tradition,” Murata said and then grinned. “Also, a really good excuse to get drunk and score. You should know, Yuuri. You’ve already been to two of these balls.” Murata leaned his chair back so it was balancing precariously on the two back legs, hands on the back of his head, both of Murata’s eyebrows were raised at him like he was a particularly slow puppy.
“What?”
“Remember the ball in Lady Elizabeth’s honour last Spring?” Murata circled his finger and crashed the front two legs of his chair back down.
Yuuri gritted his teeth at Murata’s carefree manner. Seriously, one of these days Murata was going to fall over while saying something particularly silly and Yuuri would laugh his head off...after making sure Murata was okay.
Murata cocked his head at him expectantly, and oh yeah, Lady Elizabeth’s ball.
Yuuri cast his mind back to the hundred or so balls he’d been to; Elizabeth had been to many of them.
“I go to a lot of balls, Murata.” And host most of them.
“It was the one where I hooked up with the Radford twins.” Murata’s eyes misted over in happy remembrance.
“The brother and sister with matching jewellery?” They were very sparkly and blue, and the girl’s tear-drop pendant had been sitting between her cleavage. It took a lot of self-control for Yuuri not to look too hard. The ball had barely finished before he’d seen Murata leave with one twin on each arm, both looking sickeningly enthralled, hanging off Murata’s every word.
The twins had been Murata’s favourites for a few months, which was longer than most of his ‘playmates’. That was Shori’s acid euphemism to describe whoever Murata took an interest in. Privately, Yuuri squirmed to see how casually Murata fell into and out of those affairs. Yuuri knew he was being unfairly judgmental. Nobody ever got hurt when Murata moved onto the next pretty face which caught his eye, and he kept on good terms with his old lovers.
Yuuri didn’t know how Murata did it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
“Yup. That was Lady Elizabeth’s Awakening Ball.”
Oh! That explained why Wolfram had been particularly scowly when he’d danced with Elizabeth. Twice. And now that he thought of it, the name was familiar; for some reason, Yuuri had gotten the idea it was some type of debutante ball.
“How do they even work out when girls are... No, no, pretend I didn’t ask,” he said as a wicked light entered Murata’s eyes.
Murata shrugged in mild disappointment, and then continued.
“And then there was Lord von Christ’s cousin, Young Lord Eduard. You know? The one with the cute dimples and the lavender curls.” Another fond smile. Didn’t Murata ever get bored with his conquests?
“Yes, yes. Okay. Fine. But I really don’t get it.”
“Nothing really to get. It’s just a mazoku excuse for a party, a way to announce that the guest of honour is available for courting.”
“Wolfram is not available,” Yuuri said, perhaps a little too heatedly.
A very slight smile escaped Murata, and his eyes fixed on Yuuri keenly. “Hmm...don’t worry, Shibuya. He isn’t really my type.”
Wolfram should be everyone’s type! Was Murata blind? He gaped at Murata.
With a lofty wave of his hands and a quirk of a smile, which was fondly affectionate, Murata added, “Lord Wolfram is an idealist in love, and I make it a personal policy not to steal from friends I care for.”
Yuuri was surprised. It was rare when Murata sounded that honest, but, then, the moment was broken when Murata leaned forward and asked conspiratorially.
“So, all those pent-up hormones, huh? Four weeks to wait. It must be torture. How about that sperm sample?”
Yeah, Yuuri was happy to sign documents and try to keep the aristocrats from killing each other. Better yet with Wolfram mostly absent. He was sure Gwendal and Günter had had a part in that. It was hard concentrating on treaties when his eyes had kept drifting to the blond sitting next to him.
So, for many days, he hardly even got to see Wolf. His fiancé would be asleep, limbs flung all over the bed as usual as Yuuri got in at some ridiculous late hour from doing paperwork with Gwendal. Then, Yuuri felt like the walking dead, not able to appreciate anything other than the sweet, sweet oblivion of sleep.
Wolfram would be asleep in the morning when Yuuri left for morning runs. Any time they were together and awake, like with lunch with Greta, or in some group meeting, there was little chance of anything happening, certainly not the kiss he so badly craved or even much talk.
Strangely, that’s what he missed the most, their alone times where they could just talk.
So, with that in mind, Yuuri wasn’t that impressed to find Wolfram talking alone with Murata when he swung by early for their meeting.
Wolf was standing on the other side of the desk, bowing his head in a deferential manner that seemed odd while holding a curious little wooden box.
“Hello, Shibuya. You’re here early,” Murata said cheerfully with his trademark borderline smile, the one that Murata used when he was teasing Yuuri. There was nothing strange about that, but the half-guilty look on Wolfram’s face, faint pink wasn’t so normal.
Well, nor was Wolfram being in Murata’s office alone. Murata and Wolf got along well enough, but Yuuri wouldn’t precisely call them friends, and definitely not ‘let’s hang out’ type of friends.
“Gwendal had to run off early. Anissina…,” Yuuri explained in one word. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Wolf. What have you got there?” He pointed to the box.
Wolfram held the box tighter and looked even guiltier, if that was possible. It only got Yuuri more curious and worried. He glanced over at Murata searching for clues.
“Aromatherapy oils and scented candles,” Murata offered calmly. Wolfram nodded mutely in agreement. “The shrine maidens make them. They are renowned for their quality, and Lord von Bielefeld was keen to obtain them.”
“Oh...what for?”
Wolfram broke from his weird stupor and said hesitantly, “For massage. I want to give you a massage when we...when we...” Wolfram trailed off, not quite able to meet his eyes.
“Oh, yeah...good,” Yuuri stumbled out with a weak smile, and sudden embarrassment made his tongue glue. “Good,” He repeated again.
“Well,” Murata said to break the mortified silence. Murata’s tone was polished and professional with a thick undercurrent of amusement. Pervert. “I believe Lord von Bielefeld has another appointment now.”
“Yes,” Wolfram leapt in eagerly and bobbed his head in Murata’s rough direction. “I’ll be going. Thank you, Your Eminence,” Wolfram clutched the box to his chest. “I’ll see you at dinner, Yuuri.”
Wolfram exited the room hastily.
Murata’s face was covered by a huge smile and Yuuri said with what was supposed to come out authoritively, but it only sounded petulant. “Not a single word!”
The nobility, and Yozak had often pointed out it was only the nobility who had these crazy ideas, ‘too much money and time and not enough common sense,’ and for his sanity, he had to believe it. Anyway, the nobles present were a funny mix of prissy and overly forward (for Yuuri) in their approach to Wolfram’s...err… awakening, and he could go another lifetime without hearing anymore sexual innuendo, especially the ones directed at him that he had to politely smile at.
“You are a lucky man, Your Majesty. The Bielefeld’s are famed for their lively natures.”
For some reason, Wolfram didn’t find any of it embarrassing –quite the opposite. Wolfram lapped up the attention, even tolerating Lady Celi’s enthusiastic attentions with far more patience.
It was odd.
Yuuri had about four dances with Wolfram alone and not once had anyone hit on Wolfram, which was his concern after Murata’s words earlier about ‘courting availability’. Even Murata’s one dance with Wolfram was restrained, well at least for Murata. All in all, Yuuri was almost enjoying himself.
It wasn’t until about half way through the ball that the penny dropped. It was Lady Meredith, pretty with dark blonde hair kept in braids tied up with a tiara-like crown with flowers who came by to give Wolfram her respects. Yuuri plastered on a smile for her. For the longest time, he’d enjoyed Meredith’s friendship. She was fun and always laughed at his jokes and, in the early days, he’d danced with her often. It wasn’t until much later that he’d worked out she liked him...really liked him. Okay, Yuuri was often slow but Wolfram had been particularly rude to her and oddly quiet after any event where she’d been present, and he’d eventually noticed.
Of course, he’d noticed how pretty Meredith was. But, even back then, he wasn’t that interested in her, not in a ‘girlfriend’ way...and it wasn’t even Wolfram’s wrath that was the entire reason, as he’d worked out much later. Meredith was fun, but he didn’t want to encourage her. It wouldn’t have been fair, but it was never easy for Yuuri to put some distance up. He liked her, and he was pretty crap at pushing anyone away.
This time, she curtseyed to him with a polite “Your Majesty,” and, having done her duty, she walked back down away from the royal dais without a backward glance. It was...well, odd and Yuuri felt curiously hurt. And it was Wolfram’s smile, a little too triumphant as she left, when he realised why Wolfram had wanted this ball in the first place.
“Don’t scowl, Shibuya. This is way more fun than having Lord von Bielefeld pee on you.” Murata had popped out of nowhere and then continued without waiting for a response. “He’s territorial, isn’t he?”
He looked over to Wolfram, who, fortunately, hadn’t heard, now happily talking to Lady Elizabeth. “Don’t say things like that,” he hissed, but, as he looked across to where Meredith was talking to some other Ladies, he added mournfully, “I thought she liked me.” And, now that he was paying attention, he noticed that none of the girls who usually came to talk to him had come near him the entire night.
It had always been girls, well, women as all had been a little older than Wolfram. The “I don’t like boys” he used to yell at the top of his lungs might have been a bit of a turn-off for any of the guys who liked guys who were in court (and there was no shortage of them, Murata attracted a few).
So, where did that leave Wolfram? Did they think their engagement was a political match? Probably, he thought glumly. He’d never realised how much damage he’d done to Wolf with his public tantrums. Of course, he was confused back then. Yuuri couldn’t be sorry about that, except that he’d been careless when it came to expressing it. He’d always tried to be mindful of others, or thought he had.
All that time, the kingdom had seen Wolfram as too immature for him, which was all kinds of a joke. It was him who’d been childish. No wonder Wolf had been insecure and jealous. All that time, Wolfram waited for him patiently (well, mostly) to catch up. He really didn’t deserve to be even a little annoyed that he’d had to wait this past year.
Murata’s words broke him out of his thoughts.
“Oh, they liked you. They liked your crown just fine,” Murata said the brutal words oh so casually and then with a bright smile. “Heh, cheer up. Think of what comes after.” Murata gave Wolfram an appreciative one-over and then looked at Yuuri and winked.
Yuuri couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or jealous. He settled for plain horror. “Murata!”
Murata held one hand up innocently, the other holding a flute of bright pink wine. “What, he’s way hotter.”
And though Yuuri had to give Murata a fierce look on principle, he didn’t disagree. After all, he thought as Wolfram, tipsy and relaxed, threaded his hand in his and squeezed. It was true.
“You ate too much, “Wolfram chided as his fingers easily undid the various ties and buttons on his cravat tucked into his dress uniform. Yuuri would offer to help, but he wanted to admire the view.
“It was good food.” He sighed in memory and rubbed his tummy.
“Of course, I’d have nothing less. We should bathe,” Wolfram said, in a sudden change of topic.
“But it’s comfy here,” he whined. And it was. Yuuri wanted Wolfram down beside him. Him and his soft hands and long legs...and....
With a pained sigh, Wolfram came over and offered his hand. “I want you clean.”
“I feel cle....” Wolfram’s face stopped Yuuri short. His fair skin was red and his eyes shy.
“Okay,” he said agreeably, and let himself be led to their private bath.
The bath was hot, and he didn’t mean the temperature. It was sharing it that made it so intense. Yuuri wanted to touch Wolf’s long legs and skin. It drove Yuuri wild.
Wolfram was efficient, discouraging his touches. Not a ‘I’m angry don’t touch me,’ way but a teasing, ‘just wait a little longer.’
“Okay, I think we’re clean enough,” Yuuri said, his inbuilt need for cleanliness would never beat Wolfram. The mozaku made baths a ritual with a hundred types of bath salts and soaps for every type of occasion. Wolfram passionately loved his baths.
Once more, it was Wolfram pulling him up. Which wasn’t a surprise. Wolfram had been doing this for years, in many different ways.
When they were dry and clothed side by side, nervous back in their bed and with the candles their only light. Sweet anxiety fluttered around his stomach and Yuuri asked nervously.
“Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” Wolfram’s voice was raspy. His eyes fluttered shut when Yuuri brushed his thumb across his lips, and then up one cheek.
“Can I kiss you?”
Wolfram nodded and, before Yuuri could work out what to do next, Wolfram scooted close, hovering over Yuuri. He only had time to register the warm breath on his cheek before Wolf kissed him.
The kiss was chaste at first, only a dry press of lips. Then, as Yuuri relaxed, it deepened, wet, awkward and hungry.
Yuuri buried his hands into soft hair as Wolf slowly sank on his side next to him, both still kissing. Wolfram was beside him, face to face. Yuuri could feel the heat clean through the silk nightgown.
Wolfram shivered, moaning into his mouth. It was only natural for Yuuri to glide one hand down along Wolf’s waist to luxuriate in the heat soaking through, his forefinger tracing along the raised ornate stitching and across to the delicate seam.
Wolf drew back, his breath heavy. “Is it always so intense? I feel like I’m going...it feels so good.”
Yuuri shook his head. His hand unsteadily grasped Wolfram. “I don’t...I don’t know. I’ve never-”
His words were swallowed as Yuuri was pushed flat on the mattress and taken once more in another kiss. He could feel how hard Wolf was as he ground down on Yuuri’s hips. Breathing was becoming difficult, and Yuuri’s hips involuntarily searched for more friction.
Those perfect lips disappeared abruptly as Wolfram stopped to unbutton Yuuri’s shirt. Any attempt Yuuri made to help was battered away with a huff.
Okay, Yuuri was more than happy to let Wolf lead. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
He studied Wolfram’s face. Enthralled. Wolf’s skin was flushed red, his lips pink, a tip of a tongue poking out as Wolfram focused on his task, one corner of his lips bitten down in determination.
Wolfram’s face was cute, and Yuuri dug his fingers into the mattress, so he wouldn’t upset his plans. He could tell this was something Wolfram wanted to do at his own pace.
At last, all his buttons were undone, and he’s pulled up swiftly as they were wrenched from his shoulders. Yuuri suppressed any urge to giggle. His feelings were all over the place, reeling from fear to eagerness and back again. He was very glad that Wolfram knew what he was doing.
It helped when Wolfram picked up one of his hands and nuzzled it, a warm brush of lips and Yuuri moved further away from nervous to damn eager.
Yuuri’s pants were yanked down, and then pulled off one by one, a tap on his leg to tell him to move each leg and then the pants were tossed aside on the floor.
Wolfram’s determination was such a turn-on. Yuuri thrived on it. He’d never own up to it, but Yuuri was happiest when he got Wolf’s full attention, even when it came with nagging. It had been that way for years, perhaps sometime after Wolfram saved him from falling into that crevasse, maybe earlier.
Now, Yuuri was naked, bare, hot, and he fought the urge to cover himself up while Wolfram gazed at him slowly. Yuuri’s excitement would have been obvious, and he could see it in Wolf’s eyes, how his lips parted as the gaze continued.
“Wolf...” He trailed off. Maybe, he should do something now, but he felt hesitant.
Wolf inhaled slowly, just like he did before he began sword practice and nodded to himself.
“Stay there,” Wolfram’s voice allowed no disagreement, not that Yuuri would dream of it...just as long as Wolf came back and kissed him again, or did something...anything.
Wolf was off the bed and over at the dresser in a flash, nightgown still on as he rustled around in the drawer.
Yuuri closed his eyes for a moment and resisted touching himself, though his body was screaming for it; Wolfram’s slow preparation had him on edge.
“What?” He asked as Wolfram returned with a set expression and a small bottle in his hand. Was this the massage oil that had come from Murata?
“You’ll see.” Wolfram gave him an uncertain look, breaking that calm aura he had on and revealing that he was just as nervous as Yuuri felt. Strangely, that also relaxed Yuuri. He wasn’t alone in this uncertainty. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
As if Yuuri would.
“I would have done this for you years ago,” Wolfram said quietly and pulled out the stopper and poured it on his hand while straddling Yuuri’s thighs. “Except...His Eminence told me to wait until I was ready...and he was right. It’s so much better this way, and I’ve been practising of late.”
“Since when have you-“
He groaned as Wolfram’s warm, slick hand slid up and down his erection and panted as Wolf did it again. The question in his head vanished, and he grabbed hold of Wolf’s thighs through the soft pink fabric and shoved the night gown up, so he could almost see the base of Wolfram’s erection, his hips ground upward, wanting to feel more.
Wolf again battered his hand away, and he let go of the night gown. Wolf gave him a heated look, half annoyance and half...lust. Oh God, bossy Wolfram was such a turn-on. Who knew?
In a flash, Wolfram pulled his night gown off. He was naked underneath, no g-string to be seen. Wolf’s cock was erect and dark pink, and a little thicker than his own. Yuuri’s hand flexed, imagining how it would feel under his hand. Would it feel like his own? Would it be as hot to the touch, or warmer?
Wolfram was always warmer and it was probably his imagination, but Yuuri could swear he could feel the heat radiating off him like fire. Or, maybe, it was that the furnace was coming from inside his own body. Who knew? Yuuri wasn’t thinking too clearly.
Pouring more of the oil on his hands, Wolf moved up on his knees. Yuuri’s eyes grew big as he saw where he was placing the oil and, then, realisation hit him with a frightened thrill.
“You don’t have to!” Oh, but he wanted Wolfram so, so, badly.
Wolfram’s eyes opened, having closed as he’d touched himself so intimately, and, oh heaven, Yuuri would never get that image out of his head.
“No, but I want to. If you want to?”
“Yeah...okay.” Yuuri knew he should sound smoother and say something sexier, but, to be fair, he didn’t think Wolf was up for much conversation. Yuuri certainly wasn’t. Wolfram pressed his oiled fingers into himself again and then placed one hand against Yuuri’s hip.
“Move back and lean up against the headboard.”
Yuuri was sure he’d moved at warp speed as he shifted back. His head banged against the solid engraved timber with a thud. That might leave a small bruise in the morning but, at the moment, that was the last thing on Yuuri’s mind.
Wolf placed his hand on his right shoulder, and holding the base of his cock (‘Oh God. I’m going to die right now’) he slowly, slowly sunk down onto Yuuri’s erection, pushing him into tight heat. He might have made a small, high-pitched whine.
Wolfram’s eyes were closed in concentration. Forehead creased as he clutched Yuuri’s shoulders tightly. It was Wolf’s nails digging into him that kept him from flying apart straight away.
“Are you...good?” Yuuri managed to wheeze out.
Wolfram’s eyes opened, and he nodded. “Don’t move...just give me time.”
Yuuri spread his hands over Wolfram’s bare chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. Oh, God. So much skin...so much naked, smooth skin and heat. By all that was holy, Yuuri wanted to move so badly, so badly, he thought he’d honestly die if he didn’t, even though he didn’t want to hurt or let down Wolf.
Seeing Wolfram right there, erection half-hard and naked and trembling was testing Yuuri’s limits.
Wolfram was biting his lips and the way his soft hair was sticking to his face was hot...so very, very hot… and with Wolfram’s clenching rhythmically around his cock, he knew he couldn’t last.
Yuuri had to move.
But...,he needed to hold on, for Wolf. So he could make it good for both of them, so he could show Wolf how much he meant to him. But, oh, this was his first time, and he’d been ten seconds away from coming the moment Wolfram first touched his cock...and now and now.
Yuuri panted and dug his nails into the soft pad of his hands. The pain only made it slightly more manageable. He willed himself to hold on because, if he didn’t, then Wolfram would give him that look, and he’d never have sex again. Before, he could complete that half-hysterical, muddled notion the Maou was in his mind, pushing forward from his subconscious. The Maou didn’t say anything, not that that was unusual, but he could feel what the Maou was feeling...and it was half lust and delight.
And then, then, everything was okay. Everything was fantastic. Amazing. Brilliant.
Where before, holding back was like holding on with the tip of his fingers on a ledge into the abyss...of hot melting want, now was...now was… Yuuri groaned as Wolfram heaved a sigh and then moved up and down and up and down. Yuuri could hold on. It was still just as intense, but now he had a new, super-sex power, and it was incredible. The Maou smugly agreed.
“Wolf...Wolf...” Wolfram leaned forward and kissed him, and moaned into his mouth. Wolfram was riding him fast now, and Yuuri’s hands were glued to Wolfram’s sweat soaked thighs, gripping them hard, feeling the muscle work fluidly beneath and Yuuri decided that Wolf’s thighs were his latest, best, and favourite thing about him.
Until Wolfram started to stroke himself, that was even better, and Yuuri’s heart stuttered as he watched.
“Yuuri!” Wolfram said with a strangled gasp and stilled, and Yuuri felt it when he came.
“Well, of course,” Wolfram said in the overly-confident way that Yuuri knew was two parts show. “I’m a noble and heir to the Bielefeld house, the oldest and first mazoku clan to give allegiance to the crown and the most esteemed in the kingdom. I scored as the strongest fire wielder at the capital’s martial academy in almost two generations.”
Wolfram finished and Yuuri paused, waiting for more. He knew Wolfram’s speech of personal prestige by heart now so he was waiting for Wolfram’s list of military accomplishments and academic achievements, or more about the venerable Bielefeld lineage and feats of some of his ancestors, many of whom had been Maou, or important war generals. Instead, there was only silence.
“Yeah, but you’re amazing, Wolf.” Yuuri brushed his hand across Wolfram’s chest and snuggled closer. “Just you. I wouldn’t care if you were the gardener or the son of a tavern keeper.”
“Don’t be preposterous,” was Wolfram’s immediate reply but there was a catch to his voice and Yuuri knew he had touched him.
“It’s you I love,” Yuuri said. His heart feeling full, he planted small kisses over Wolf’s cheek and brow to strengthen his words.
Wolfram swallowed and held him tighter.
Yuuri didn’t think he could be any happier, and he drifted off to sleep, looking forward to giant pink heart-shaped roses when Wolfram’s question brought him back to instant alertness.
“Yuuri? Why does His Eminence want me to collect samples of your virility?”