Work Text:
Yuuri had always thought of Wolfram as passionate. The words loud, loyal, and maybe a touch dramatic also came to mind when it came to describing him, although he’d never dare say that last part aloud.
Whether it was Wolfram's questionable devotion to painting bizarre abstracts (“Wow, this Eldritch horror piece does look pretty awesome,” Yuuri had once said, earning himself a deadpan glare and a flat response of, “It’s a painting of Mother’s garden.”), or his alarmingly casual declarations of willingness to die for king and country (common enough among soldiers, but far more intense coming from Wolfram), he did everything with absolute conviction. Most of all, there was his earnest, steadfast dedication to always being at Yuuri’s side.
And though it had taken time to admit, Yuuri had grown to find his intensity rather endearing. But this was something else entirely.
It started small.
Wolfram's posture had always been impeccable, but lately he'd carried himself with an unnatural rigidity, as if he was expecting an ambush at every turn. At first, Yuuri tried to wave that off considering how castle life often made people on edge. But Wolfram's words had sharpened too, and unnecessarily so, even for him.
Then there was the moment when Yuuri had lightly touched his arm in the corridor, where Wolfram jerked away so quickly that it left Yuuri wondering if he'd somehow learned a new element entirely and shocked him.
Hoping to ease the strange tension, Yuuri had suggested they go riding together, but Wolfram, without missing a beat, replied, “I’d rather ride into battle.” And Yuuri couldn’t even bring himself to be mad. That actually sounded kind of cool.
Initially, Yuuri assumed he must have done something to offend him, something he frequently managed unintentionally. But Wolfram's irritability wasn't reserved for him alone. He'd become equally harsh with his men, all bark and bite where he was usually strict but fair. His orders came with relentless severity, his praise practically non-existent. Just a few days ago, Yuuri caught himself wincing sympathetically from his study as Wolfram's fierce reprimands echoed up from the training grounds below.
Even at night, Wolfram had changed. He no longer tossed restlessly but instead laid stiff as a board beside him. Normally Yuuri would have counted his blessings: finally, a full night's sleep without being kicked off the bed. But something just felt off.
The following night, Wolfram didn’t show up to bed at all.
“Are you alright?” Yuuri asked the next morning, genuinely concerned.
Wolfram gave a single, pitiful cough. “I’m sick.”
It wasn't convincing, but Yuuri decided not to press further.
Then came the bath incident that confirmed Yuuri’s suspicion that something was definitely up.
Yuuri, in a moment of investigative bravery, casually offered to wash Wolfram’s hair. Though instead of his usual scoff or bewildered acceptance, Wolfram seized his wrists and hissed, “Get your hentai-loving hands off me, you reprobate.”
Too stunned to even begin denying it, Yuuri blurted out, “How do you even know what hentai is?”
Wolfram glared darkly. “The Great Sage told me.”
They spent the remainder of the bath in awkward, tense silence, with Yuuri desperately trying not to picture Murata elaborately describing graphic animated pornography to Wolfram, whose sensibilities to something like that were likely as delicate as a sickly Victorian child's encountering sour candy for the first time.
The situation finally came to a head at breakfast, where Wolfram blatantly ignored Yuuri's greeting and snapped at poor Doria for bringing lukewarm tea.
When Gwendal attempted to reprimand him, Wolfram, who almost never talked back to his eldest brother, didn’t even blink before snapping, “Don’t speak to me unless you want your ponytail singed right off.”
What drove Yuuri insane was that no one else appeared fazed. Everyone acted as if Wolfram’s behaviour was perfectly normal, and it was decidedly not. Once again, Yuuri felt like everyone around him was in on a secret he wasn't privy to.
By mid-morning, he'd reached his breaking point.
He and Conrart were tossing a baseball back and forth in the training yard, an impromptu break from court duties that had become one of Yuuri’s rare moments of normality. Back when 'normal' still meant something, anyhow. These days, it was just a pleasant echo of a life he had since left behind.
Yuuri squinted into the sunlight, catching a fastball, then hesitated.
“Hey, Conrart,” he asked tentatively, “did I do something to offend Wolfram?”
Conrart caught the ball mid-air, giving Yuuri a patient, thoughtful look before his lips curled into an amused smile. “No, not exactly.”
Yuuri frowned. “Are you sure? He’s been… kind of… odd.”
Conrart chuckled softly, throwing the ball back and forth a few more times in contemplative silence.
Finally he said, “He's in heat, your majesty.”
Yuuri blinked, entirely unprepared for that revelation. “He’s in what now?”
Conrart lobbed the ball back, casual as ever, as though he'd said nothing unusual. “Have you not been paying attention to Günter’s lectures again, your majesty?”
Yuuri furrowed his brows, trying to remember anything Günter had ever said on the topic.
Actually… maybe there had been a lecture (or several) about demon physiology, most likely back when he first arrived in this world. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled that Günter seemed to have tried to repeat the lesson more than once after catching on to Yuuri's unfortunate habit of zoning out at exactly the wrong times. It didn’t help that Günter’s long-winded, clinical tone, even when lecturing on bizarre topics like demon mating rituals, had made it far too easy to mentally check out every time.
“Wait,” Yuuri finally managed after a while, the pieces slowly falling into place. “I… I thought all that stuff was theoretical or something Günter made up to keep me awake.”
“It’s very real,” Conrart said patiently. “Full-blooded demons experience heats. It's entirely natural; mood swings, irritability, hypersensitivity. The things you’ve been noticing in Wolfram.”
Yuuri’s voice dropped, cautious and wary. “So… he's not mad at me?”
“Well, that depends,” Conrart said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Have you done anything lately that may have provoked him?”
Yuuri mentally replayed every interaction he thought could have possibly upset Wolfram over the past week: he’d declined a dance at the last ball (in his defence, he had been distracted by the incredible red velvet cake they were serving that night and gave his response with his mouth completely full, which was probably off-putting enough for Wolfram anyway), accidentally complimented a visiting noblewoman’s hair right in front of him, and maybe laughed a bit too hard when he got hit by a training dummy.
He muttered something unintelligible and fidgeted nervously with the ball.
Conrart’s patient, bemused smile deepened. “I think perhaps it’s best you speak with Wolfram about this yourself.”
“Good luck,” he said. And with an encouraging pat on Yuuri’s shoulder, Conrart walked away, leaving Yuuri groaning softly.
That was never a good sign.
Yuuri did not seek out Wolfram as Conrart had advised him to.
Instead, Murata found him slumped over his desk in the study, surrounded by a pile of documents he clearly hadn’t read.
“Let me guess,” Murata said, easing into the seat across from him. “You’ve just discovered that demons go into heat and now you’re wondering whether you’re morally, politically, or emotionally obligated to sleep with your fiancé.”
Yuuri lifted his head slowly, eyes hollow. “He’s in heat,” he said flatly, like the words themselves might change meaning if he kept repeating them.
“Yes,” Murata said. “He’s in heat.”
“What does that even mean, ‘he’s in heat’?!” Yuuri blurted, his voice tight with disbelief.
“It means exactly what it sounds like.”
Yuuri stared at him, looking no less confused than when he'd first heard the news. “Isn’t being in heat some sort of weird animal thing?” he asked after a moment, his voice cracking nearly two octaves higher.
Murata frowned. “Sort of, but it’s not exactly the same for demons,” he said in a tone not particularly reassuring. “Alright, let’s start from the top. Do you remember what it means when a demon goes into heat?”
Yuuri let out a nervous and unconvincing laugh. “Sort of.”
“So that’s a no,” Murata deadpanned. He folded his hands on the table. “When a full-blooded demon goes into heat, it means their body has decided the conditions are ideal for bonding with a mate. Not just any mate, it has to be someone they see as a long-term partner. It’s biological, emotional, and tied to their sense of safety.”
Yuuri struggled to wrap his head around it. His only real point of reference for ‘heat’ was what animals went through, and didn’t that usually mean they were trying to reproduce?
Leaning in, he asked cautiously, “Wait. Does this mean Wolfram wants to, like… get pregnant or something?”
Murata just stared. “What? No. Demon males can’t get pregnant. Did you not pay attention to anything Günter said in your biology lessons?”
“You know I tune him out most of the time.”
“That’s not a good thing, Shibuya.”
Trying to salvage some shred of dignity, Yuuri said, “Uh, mating during heat has something to do with, like… alphas and betas, right?” He furrowed his brow, visibly unsure. “And I’d be the big alpha wolf here, right?” he added, genuinely concerned, because Wolfram definitely didn’t give off non-alpha energy, and if Wolfram was the alpha in this scenario, Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what that meant for his own ego.
“Yuuri, those dynamics were debunked by modern science years ago, they’re basically pseudoscience at this point. Have you not been paying attention to Earth biology either?”
Yuuri visibly deflated even further, frustration creeping into his voice. “Look, I stopped my Earth education at a high school level. Forgive me for not being up to date on the ins and outs of the animal kingdom.”
Murata conceded with a shrug.
When it was clear he had nothing helpful to add, Yuuri groaned and buried his face in his arms. “And why is no one else in heat? Wolfram seems like the only one losing his mind.” He asked.
“This might come as a shock, but I’m not a Wolfram expert,” Murata replied, ignoring Yuuri’s indignant glare. “But if I had to guess, in his case, the stress of following you on your death-defying royal misadventures probably suppressed his natural cycle. Demons only enter heat when their body feels secure enough to form a bond.”
Yuuri stared at him. “So you’re saying I stressed him out so badly for so long that he couldn’t want to have sex until now.”
Murata gave a small smirk. “I mean… it did keep your mind off it.”
Yuuri slumped further. “Fair.”
There was a long pause, and then Yuuri sighed. “What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to… to be his mate now? Is that what’s expected? What does that even mean?”
Murata lit up with the unmistakable glee of someone who was enjoying this far more than he should have. “Well, for starters, no one expects you to do anything. However, mating with Wolfram means bonding him to you for life. Emotionally, politically, physically. There’s no do-over. You can’t change your mind later. And I probably don’t need to remind you that you’ve loudly, publicly, and repeatedly declared that you’re not into men, so that probably doesn’t help your situation.”
Yuuri groaned again, face-first into his papers.
Murata leaned in. “Or maybe you are into him, and you’re just a coward.”
Yuuri peeked up with a flat glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I live for this,” Murata said brightly. Then standing up, he gave Yuuri a firm pat on the shoulder. “But seriously, you should talk to him.” He made it to the doorway before tossing over his shoulder, “Good luck!”
Yuuri half-heartedly threw a pen at him as the door closed.
Yuuri had rehearsed the conversation at least six times in his head. He’d planned to sound confident. Mature. Maybe even suave, if the stars aligned.
Instead, he found himself standing outside Wolfram's door, frozen like a statue. Wolfram had been staying in his private quarters lately, avoiding their shared royal chambers entirely, and he couldn't quite shake the mild annoyance.
He raised one knuckle mid-air in hesitation.
He knocked. Weakly.
No answer.
He knocked again.
After a pause, Wolfram’s voice rang out, crisp and irritable. “What.”
Yuuri flinched. Great start. “It’s me,” he said.
Another pause.
“Come in,” Wolfram said, carrying all the warmth of someone allowing a guest in out of legal obligation.
Yuuri stepped inside and immediately regretted it. Wolfram was perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, wearing a loose robe, delicately sipping a cup of tea with an air of theatrical annoyance and glaring at him like he was the one who interrupted a perfectly nice evening.
“Hey, I just…” Yuuri cleared his throat. “Wanted to talk.”
“Oh?” Wolfram raised a brow. “Are you here to unsubtly ask why I haven't been sleeping in our room? Again?”
Yuuri turned bright red. Okay, so maybe he had asked about it. A few times. More than a few times, if he was being honest. “Wha—no! I mean—I wanted to know how you're feeling. Murata told me you're, uh… going through something.”
Despite his sardonic done, Wolfram's expression flickered, a hint of fondness breaking through his irritation before he caught himself. Under different circumstances, Yuuri's complete lack of subtlety when it came to him would've been amusing.
He snorted, the brief softness vanishing. “Did he also tell you it's none of your business?”
“… I thought we should at least talk about it!” Yuuri said, the words coming out louder and more defensive than intended as a nervous heat crept up his neck. “I mean, if you’re in… heat, shouldn’t we—shouldn’t I do something about it? I feel like this should sort of be… my business, too. Right?”
Wolfram blinked at him with an unreadable expression. Then he laughed, sharp and humourless. “Do something? Like what? Throw yourself at me out of pity? Obligation?”
“That’s not what I—!” Yuuri struggled, gesturing helplessly. “I thought maybe… you’d want me to help. Or something.”
Wolfram stood, crossing the room with deliberate calm. Yuuri's stomach tightened at how Wolfram's expression had shifted, his eyes narrowed. Then suddenly he was closer, carrying a sharpness in his gaze that made Yuuri's pulse quicken, and not in a good way.
“You've spent years denying our engagement,” Wolfram said, voice cutting. “At every opportunity. You made it perfectly clear to the court, and to me, that you weren't interested in men, or a future with me, for that matter. And now you're asking what you can do about my heat.”
Yuuri’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Because… well, what Wolfram said wasn't entirely true. Sure, Yuuri didn't usually find himself attracted to men. But Wolfram was the most beautiful person Yuuri had ever seen, and he'd seen plenty of attractive people in his time here. He'd noticed, too, probably for longer than he wanted to admit, how Wolfram had grown even lovelier over the years. The way his eyes sparked when he was angry. Then there was how Yuuri kept catching himself staring at the shape of his mouth—
Nope. That spiral could wait until he wasn’t actively getting chewed out.
After an awkward silence, Yuuri said, “So what can we do about it?”
Wolfram shook his head. “We?” he echoed with a bitter laugh. “I have no intention of bonding with you.”
Yuuri flinched. The words hit harder than he expected, blunt and final. He stood there, mouth half-open, genuinely speechless.
He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to even say. He thought he’d have to talk Wolfram down from this. Maybe gently convince him to wait, or maybe even get a physician involved. He hadn’t expected to be… rejected.
Unless… did Wolfram have someone else in mind to share his heat with?
The thought landed like a sudden weight in his stomach. Yuuri knew he'd been dense about their relationship—excruciatingly so, even by Murata's standards. But in his defence, he’d spent the first few years of his reign being thrown into another dimension as only a teenager, battling ancient forces, navigating politics, and trying not to die. Things like sex, romance, and grappling with his sexual orientation crisis hadn’t exactly been one of his top priorities.
Now, though… now he was older. Wiser. Marginally more stable. And very aware that his fiancé wasn't just ridiculously attractive, but also someone he genuinely cared about. Someone who, despite everything, had stayed, still choosing to orbit Yuuri's chaotic existence.
And Yuuri didn't want to lose that. Didn't want to lose him.
Which meant… what, exactly? That he liked Wolfram? Wanted him? He wasn't sure. Probably. Fine, more than probably. The only thing he knew for certain right now was that the thought of someone else being the one Wolfram looked at with that mix of admiration and fond exasperation made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
Though honestly, wouldn’t it make sense if Wolfram had given up? Moved on? Maybe he had grown tired of waiting, fallen for someone else, but felt obligated to stay beside Yuuri for politics and accepted he would remain effectively single and loveless for the rest of his life.
“You think I’ve fallen for someone else but feel politically obligated to remain effectively single and loveless with you, don’t you,” Wolfram said flatly, breaking the long silence of Yuuri’s internal emotional spiral.
Yuuri swallowed. “Uh, so are you coming back to our room tonight—”
“Get out,” Wolfram said.
Yuuri stood there a moment longer, then gave a small nod and left the room without another word.
The next day, Murata found Yuuri waiting for him in one of the quieter rooms of Shinou’s temple. The room was Murata's personal space, usually reserved for reflection or tea and occasionally, Shinou’s unsolicited badgering.
And there Yuuri was, hunched over a table, and from the looks of him, he’d been stewing there for a while. Honestly, Murata would’ve been surprised if Yuuri wasn’t here. If anything, he was long overdue for a Wolfram-induced spiral.
Yuuri peeked up when he heard footsteps. “Murata,” he said miserably. “He rejected me.”
Murata blinked. Then snorted.
“This isn’t funny!” Yuuri flailed.
“It’s a little funny,” Murata said, sliding into the seat across from him, the scene unfolding already reminiscent of the day before. “But more than anything, it’s predictable. He doesn’t trust you.”
Yuuri sat up straighter, scandalised. “After everything we’ve been through?”
“As a friend? Sure. As a good king? Definitely. But not as someone who might actually care for him enough to take him through something as intimate and important as his heat,” Murata clarified.
Yuuri's face fell. The words hit too close to what Wolfram had said last night with that cold little laugh and the scathing way he'd looked at him like he was offering charity. “… Right. Okay. That’s fair. I think.”
Murata gave him a flat look. “You think. Might I remind you, yet again, that you've spent years insisting you weren't serious about your engagement and very publicly shut it down too many times to count. But the moment anyone else shows interest in him, you look like you're one insult away from declaring war. And you won't end the engagement either, because you 'don't want to lose him.' I'm beginning to feel like a broken record here.”
Yuuri's face went hot. When Murata laid it out like that, it sounded… pretty bad. He scratched the back of his head. “Okay, yes. But still. He's stayed by my side all this time, even when I've been… me. Doesn't that mean anything? Isn't that enough?”
“No, Yuuri.” Murata let out a sigh. “Being used to having him around because it's convenient isn't the same thing as choosing him. When demons go into heat and bond with a mate, they're marked by that person, scented, recognised. It's not something that fades.”
Yuuri frowned. “That’s kind of intense.”
“Perhaps,” Murata said. “Which is why most demons only go through with it if they’re completely certain. And why Wolfram wouldn’t risk himself being marked by someone who’s spent years announcing that they didn’t want him but kept giving mixed signals long after that. More importantly, if you change your mind later, he’ll be the one left with the consequences. In demon society, that’s not something people forget. He’ll be made a social pariah.”
Yuuri went quiet, his expression folding in on itself.
Murata leaned in. “You’re feeling guilty. That’s a good start. Now let’s dig into that.”
Yuuri groaned. “I’ve avoided this stuff for over a decade. I survived four kingdoms’ worth of disasters, multiple magical catastrophes, and three more cursed objects that Shinou somehow didn't account for. Why does this have to happen now?”
“Because you and Wolfram have both run out of distractions and his body recognises that,” Murata said cheerfully. “Now, let’s start simple again. Do you actually understand what Wolfram sharing his heat with you entails? What that means in practice?”
Yuuri's brows knitted. “I mean, like we talked about before, isn't it just some animal biological need to, you know, have sex? What else is there to it?”
Murata suppressed a smile at how completely unaware Yuuri seemed of his own lack of hesitation at something he would have absolutely been beside himself over in the earlier years of their engagement. Still, he had to make sure Yuuri fully understood what he was asking for.
“First of all, don’t ever tell Wolfram you’ve been comparing him to an animal. Second, yes. Since a demon’s heat means they’re biologically and emotionally ready to bond, it means, if it’s with you—crazy, intense, wildly emotional demon mating sex. With Wolfram. A very male Wolfram. Have you given any thought to that important last detail?”
Yuuri fidgeted in his seat. He had thought about it, actually. For quite some time. Long before this whole fiasco started, he'd often found himself drawn to the way Wolfram looked when he was breathless and dishevelled after training drills, at how his legs had grown longer and leaner over the years, his waist still trim and narrow in a way that made Yuuri want to—
“Ahem,” Murata coughed, loudly.
“Right. Yes. I know,” Yuuri blurted. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”
“You’re okay with that,” Murata parroted, flatly. “Well, that saves us some time,” he said, fully expecting to have to hold Yuuri’s hand through a gay panic. He smiled to himself, perhaps Yuuri wasn’t all that hopeless after all. “Does Wolfram know about this?”
Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Of course not. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Wolfram, I’ve secretly been attracted to you for years but didn’t want to admit it because I don’t want you to leave me and I've been a mess worrying about it’?”
Murata just stared at him. “Yes. That. Exactly that.”
Yuuri buried his face in his hands. “He’d think I’m a pervert.”
Murata removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your fiancé, who would lay down his life for you without question, has laid down his life for you, who’s still sticking around despite your mental gymnastics… would think you’re a pervert. For being attracted to him.”
Yuuri nodded, completely serious. “Exactly.”
Murata let out a long breath. “Run me through your logic.”
Yuuri shifted uncomfortably. “It's just… how do I even begin to tell him that I've actually been thinking about him like that? He'll think I'm some kind of creep who's been having… weird thoughts about him this whole time while acting like we're friends."
“While secretly being attracted to him. The man you’re engaged to. The one you've been sharing a bed with for years.” Murata supplied, trying very hard to keep a straight face.
"Yes!” Yuuri said desperately. “He thinks we're best friends.”
Murata had to bite the inside of his cheek. The sheer audacity of Yuuri thinking he'd convinced anyone, let alone Wolfram, that there wasn't something happening between them was almost impressive. The entire castle had been watching their slow-motion romantic disaster for years. Other nations, even. Definitely Saralegui, who still enjoyed poking fun at them.
“Yuuri,” he said carefully. “You realise Wolfram is in love with you, right? He's been in love with you for years. Openly and publicly. He hasn't exactly been shy to announce it. Do you really think he believes you're just friends?”
“Yes?” Yuuri said, though it came out more like a question now. He'd always assumed Wolfram made those sorts of passionate declarations to ward off persistent suitors, the same way he'd passionately announce anything he felt strongly about. Then, “Look, I don't want to ruin what we have. If I say something now and it comes out wrong, or if it's too much… I don't think I could handle him leaving.”
After a moment of silence, Yuuri looked up. "Murata, what do I do?"
Murata could only stare back at him. The fact that Yuuri had made it this far in life while being this oblivious was nothing short of miraculous. He found himself letting out a long exhale, leaning back in his chair. “Well, seeing as the issue is that Wolfram is unconvinced you’ll be a suitable mate due to your… being you—”
“Hey,” Yuuri cut in, indignant.
Murata didn’t pause. “All you have to do is show him you’re serious. About him. About being with him, both emotionally and physically. That you understand what taking him through his heat means. That you’re not going to be fickle with your feelings or your engagement anymore. Just be honest. Tell him how you feel, how you’ve been feeling for a long time. Say to him what you just said to me.”
Yuuri groaned into his hands. ‘All you have to do’, Murata says as if he wasn’t asking Yuuri to upheave his relationship with Wolfram, permanently altering it and possibly ruining it for life.
“What if I don’t do anything? Will it just… go away?” He asked.
“No, it doesn’t just pass like he’d caught a cold. What will happen is that he will probably have crazy, intense, wildly emotional demon mating sex with somebody else,” Murata said.
Yuuri felt a sharp twist inside. “I don’t want somebody else to have crazy, intense, wildly emotional demon mating sex with Wolfram.”
Then, after a moment, he ran a hand through his hair with a resigned sigh. “Do you think he’ll forgive me for making him wait this long?”
“He might. But this isn’t about forgiveness,” Murata said, more quietly now. “This is about whether you’ve figured out what you actually want, and whether you’re brave enough to say it.”
“This is going to suck, isn’t it.” Yuuri murmured.
Murata smiled, lacing his fingers. “For you? Tremendously.”
Yuuri didn’t even bother to pretend he wasn’t thoroughly distracted at his next council meeting. He missed lunch, skipped training with Conrart, and never got around to taking Ao for a trot. Instead, he returned straight to his chambers, shut the door, flopped onto the bed that had been distinctly missing Wolfram for well over a week now, and stared at the ceiling.
Every now and then, he muttered something like, “scent-marking, really?”, or stood up to kick the bedpost.
He hated that Murata had a point. He hated that Wolfram had every reason to doubt him. But most of all, he hated how much it hurt. Not just the rejection, though that really, really sucked, but it was also the look on Wolfram's face that wouldn't leave him. The look he gave like he'd expected this. Like Yuuri letting him down when it came to their relationship had become so routine that Wolfram had stopped seeing him as someone he could rely on for something that mattered.
It shouldn’t have bothered him this much.
Except it really did.
He got up, wandered to the window, and stared out dramatically like someone in a stage play. Maybe he was in a tragic play. Maybe Shinou was bored again, somehow got his grubby spirit-hands on one of Murata’s shoujo novels, felt inspiration strike and had written this one just to mess with him.
He paced. Then stopped, then paced again. Then, eventually, he slumped onto the floor with his head in his hands.
The thing was… Yuuri did want Wolfram to feel like he could choose him.
But for that, he needed Wolfram to see that he wasn’t just some indecisive coward who couldn’t get his act together, to the point where he wasn't even considered a viable option in the first place. He needed to find a way to show Wolfram that he was someone worthy of his trust, and maybe even something deeper than that, despite all the time Yuuri had spent fumbling around and avoiding doing anything about the state of their relationship.
He missed how Wolfram used to look at him, fiercely and honestly, with that completely earnest, unabashed kind of devotion that used to overwhelm him. The way he looked at him when he’d said, “Then I’ll fall with you,” instead of the thinly veiled looks of disappointment as of late.
Yuuri had come to terms a while ago that he was attracted to Wolfram, so that wasn’t the problem. Now, he thought as he sat on the ground, what hit him was the weight of what bonding actually meant: being recognised as Wolfram's, and Wolfram as his, permanent and intimate in a way that went beyond just physical. Being there for Wolfram’s heat meant something that would follow them both for the rest of their lives.
And… the thought didn't scare him. If anything, it felt right.
He thought about waking up every morning to Wolfram's hair catching the sunlight like a halo. For the next several decades, the idea of seeing those ridiculously pretty green eyes narrowing at him fondly, the way Wolfram would cross his arms at him when he was trying not to smile, or bit his lip when he was thinking, or looked flushed and beautiful in their private baths—
And being bonded to all of that and more, irrevocably.
Yuuri stood up from the floor, heart pounding with something that felt like clarity, or at least panic-fuelled resolve.
He wanted that. He wanted Wolfram to know he could be a good mate. That he was someone worthy. Someone Wolfram could choose. Someone who wouldn't back away anymore.
So Yuuri did what any emotionally compromised monarch with a romantic crisis would do: he started planning something ridiculous that was almost certainly going to backfire.
Yuuri had made up his mind.
He was going to prove, once and for all, that he was serious about being with Wolfram. That meant navigating the maze of demon courtship rituals with care, and absolutely not accidentally offending Wolfram by doing something minor like sneezing the wrong direction, and somehow having that imply he wanted him exiled to live out his days with Adalbert or some other similarly grim fate.
Unfortunately there was already one problem. Yuuri didn’t know anything about demon courtship. But he had an idea of stuffy-Victorian era courtship, he thinks. Mostly based off of the movies his mother made him sit through. And that should be similar enough, right?
His first attempt was straightforward and traditional: a gift. Surely one couldn’t mess that up.
Yuuri had gone out of his way to procure an offering Wolfram was bound to like. A practical gift for a practical guy, a token that acknowledged his interests and was a meaningful symbol of his intentions.
Yuuri presented Wolfram with a small, finely decorated bucket filled with fresh bearbee droppings. The finest.
“It reminded me of you,” Yuuri said earnestly.
Wolfram stared at the bucket for a while, then at Yuuri. “Excuse me?”
“It’s—it’s for paint,” Yuuri said quickly. “Your artisan paints. They’re made from this stuff, right? I thought it would be—I thought you’d like it.”
Wolfram pursed his lips. “You’re telling me excrement reminded you of me.”
Yuuri winced. “That’s not what I—okay, yes, but not like that!”
Wolfram walked away.
The bucket was relocated to the stables.
His second attempt was a heartfelt poem. He thought it couldn’t be that hard. How many ways could there be to say “I like you a lot actually and regret every dumb thing I’ve ever said to you over the past decade to indicate otherwise” in flowery language?
Yuuri quickly found that he was very bad at this. Attempting poetry in a second language (third, if you counted his shaky English) whose grammar he still butchered on a regular basis was, in hindsight, perhaps not his brightest idea.
Despite that, Yuuri slipped the note under Wolfram’s door. It was returned, corrected in red ink.
He had started writing again when Murata walked in unannounced, took one look at the state of his desk, and said, “This is sad, even for you.”
Yuuri grumbled, burying his face in his arms. “I’m trying, okay?”
Murata raised a brow. “Are you trying to court him, or just exhaust him into submission?”
“I want him to know I’m serious,” Yuuri said.
Murata leaned against the desk, looking mildly entertained. “Then maybe stop treating this like one of your brother's awful dating sims where you throw everything at the wall and see what sticks, and start treating it like your entire romantic credibility is on the line.”
Yuuri slumped lower in his chair.
“Yuuri,” Murata folded his arms. “Just talk to him.”
Yuuri fell quiet. Then he let out a long sigh.
“You’ve spent years keeping him close while letting him think it didn’t mean anything. And now you’re scared it might be too late to show him it did,” Murata said. “Tell him that.”
Yuuri rubbed a hand down his face. “This is the worst.”
“No,” Murata said cheerfully. “This is character development. Now go. And leave your pen, please don’t write any more of this.” He said, going through Yuuri’s drafts on the table.
“Hey,” Yuuri said, indignant. But, yeah, he got it.
Then he stood up, resolute, and resigned himself to the inevitable.
Yuuri found himself once again standing in front of Wolfram’s personal quarters, staring at the door with a mix of dread, anticipation, and the painful awareness that this conversation was more than likely going to irreversibly change everything between them. Or maybe even ruin their relationship, especially after how badly he'd fumbled it last time, which he was sure Waltorana would be delighted by.
He raised his hand and knocked.
“I said not to let anyone through,” came Wolfram’s unmistakably irritated voice from inside.
Fantastic. Off to a stellar start once again.
The two guards stationed outside exchanged a look of sympathy, clearly torn between their prince’s fury and the king’s authority.
“It’s me again,” Yuuri called.
A pause followed. Longer than before, enough to give Yuuri's gut a twist of anxiety.
Then, finally, “Come in,” Wolfram said, his voice unusually tight.
Yuuri stepped inside, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The room was heavy with a rich, floral scent, thick and unfamiliar, clinging to the air. It caught in his lungs, disorienting in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe a new cologne? Something from Cheri? Whatever it was, it was definitely new.
Wolfram was perched at the edge of his bed, wearing a shorter robe that barely clung to his frame, his skin slightly damp. Despite the casualness of the pose, there was nothing relaxed about the tension in his shoulders or the way his fingers gripped the teacup.
“Well?” he asked, voice carefully composed.
Yuuri swallowed, nerves catching in his throat. “Hey, Wolf,” he began. “I need to talk to you.”
“About what? The threatening letters you've been sending me?” Wolfram asked as he remained unmoved, though there was the faintest hint of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey,” Yuuri protested weakly. Those poems may have been horribly written, terrible in execution and generally a bit misguided in its entirety, but still, they'd come from the heart!
But before Yuuri could get himself sidetracked, he opened his mouth to start again, closed it, then felt a sudden rush of vulnerability crash over him. He held Wolfram's gaze and managed, “No, it's… about us. I’ve been thinking about us. And I need to say something. Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”
Wolfram’s spine straightened. His expression didn’t change, but there was a noticeable shift in his posture.
“I think I like you,” Yuuri blurted without preamble. “A lot. Okay, maybe more than a lot.”
Silence.
Yuuri's heart hammered as he waited for something, anything. But Wolfram said nothing, watching him in a way that was maddeningly difficult to read.
He'd half expected fireworks, or at least some kind of emotional upheaval. Instead, he was met with a wary look that made him falter. Though there was a brief flicker in Wolfram’s eyes, he only raised a brow at his declaration, which wasn't exactly encouraging.
“I want to be with you, Wolf.” He pushed on despite the response, or lack thereof. “Not as just friends, and, well… accidental fiancés. I'm serious. I've… actually wanted this for a while. I didn’t know how to say it—”
Wolfram cut him off in a voice firm but not cruel. “Yuuri, you can’t expect this to erase everything. You’ve told me for years that you weren’t interested. That our engagement was a mistake, and I wasn’t someone you could want.”
Yuuri flinched, gaze falling to the floor. “I’ve stopped saying those things, you know. I haven’t said anything like that for a very long time. I thought…” he shifted, “Maybe that would have been enough to show I’d changed and grew out of thinking that way.” He hesitated. “But I know that doesn’t undo what I've said in the past.”
Wolfram didn’t respond to that, and the silence stretched between them. Then he narrowed his eyes, and Yuuri understood his quiet as one of expectancy.
“Look, I know I've said horrible, stupid things. I was scared. I was just a stupid teenager with a stupid good-looking fiancé—” Wolfram scoffed, an unimpressed sound softened by affection. “—and I didn't know how to handle any of it. I'm honestly still scared now, but for different reasons. Not about wanting you, but about whether you'll believe me. Or whether you might even think I'm only saying this now because of… what you're going through right now.”
He took a step closer when Wolfram looked away. “But I'm not. I've been thinking about you like this for longer than I want to admit. I just didn't know if it was too late to say anything. If… I'd already missed my chance a long time ago.”
There was still hesitation in Wolfram's expression. Yuuri could see the doubt still lingered, but there was also something else too.
Before Yuuri could continue, Wolfram said, voice quieter now, “I know.” His features softened, though the tension beneath them remained.
Yuuri blinked.
The words took a moment to register.
Several seconds passed before he found his voice. “Wait. Wait a minute. How did you know?”
Wolfram gave him a flat look that read 'are you serious', and said, “Yuuri, you're not exactly a subtle person.”
“Wait, wait, wait. But—” Yuuri sputtered, his brain struggling to catch up. His face tinged pink with a mix of embarrassment and shock. “I thought—I mean, I was sure you didn't notice. You still thought we were only friends, or—”
“Friends,” Wolfram repeated, his tone impossibly dry with exasperation and disbelief.
Yuuri continued. “I mean, yeah, I thought I'd been hiding it! You couldn't have known how I felt—”
Wolfram looked at him for a long, incredulous moment, then cut his flustered rambling off with deceptive mildness, “Would you like me to tell you how I know?”
Unfortunately, Yuuri recognised that tone too late as the one Wolfram used right before he was about to make someone look ridiculous. “I… sure.”
“Where to begin,” Wolfram started, and Yuuri quickly regretted inviting this. “In the past few years, I've caught your stares, felt your hands lingering—neither of those done discreetly, I might add. And you somehow always manage to appear beside me whenever I'm speaking with someone even vaguely attractive, most of whom are my distant relatives—”
Yuuri grimaced at that, but Wolfram continued without mercy.
“—When we dance, you hold me far closer than what's socially acceptable, to the point of public indecency. Lacking decorum as it is, I allow it because the scandalised letters Uncle sends me afterward are hilarious. Then there's what you've been doing at night, with the way you cling to me—”
Yuuri's face turned a spectacular shade of crimson.
“—not to mention the way you press yourself against me when you wake up stiff in the morning, as though you forget I generally rise earlier than you.”
“Alright, alright, I get it!” Yuuri choked out, mortified. “Could've left that last one out.”
“I'm only illustrating my point.” Wolfram stated evenly.
He paused, then continued with a gentler voice. “There’s also the way you smile at me when you think I’m not watching. How you make sure I'm on the side of the bed closer to the fire in winter, even after I’ve told you countless times that my element keeps me warm. You grew your hair out simply because I'd said it looked nice, though you complain every time it sticks to your skin in the summer.”
He stopped again before adding, “do you remember last month, when I said I was quite fond of those crepes from Earth? Then, conveniently after that, you'd promptly overstocked the castle until I was sick of the sight of them?”
Yuuri scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. Yeah, he remembered. Wolfram mentioned particularly enjoying the one with vanilla ice-cream, and… maybe he’d overdone it a little in ordering a few trucks worth. And perhaps he’d done this sort of thing an embarrassing number of times.
“You’ve done similar things an embarrassing number of times.” Wolfram said, and Yuuri groaned internally.
Then, his face softened into warmth. “But most importantly, you’re still here with me.”
For a moment, Yuuri remained quiet.
He blinked, feeling a bit overwhelmed, the creep of a sting behind his eyes threatening to spill over. He let out a soft laugh and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, voice rougher now, somewhere between wonder and regret. “If you knew all along… why did you wait?”
“Because I needed you to say it,” Wolfram replied. “To figure it out on your own, and to mean it. I would’ve waited as long as it took, no matter how dense you were. I can't share my heat with you based on assumptions. I needed to know you chose me.”
Yuuri let out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing with the release of tension he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying. There was something bittersweet in the knowledge that Wolfram had always seen what he hadn’t been brave enough to admit. It wasn’t regret exactly, but he felt something close enough, a kind of mourning for the time they’d lost.
“Though, I must admit,” Wolfram added, “I hadn’t expected you to be that dense. But then again, considering this is your first proper relationship, I figured it would take a while for things to fall into place. You were still quite young when we met, after all.”
Yuuri's cheeks flushed with a twinge of self-consciousness. He hadn't been that much of a clueless kid. Actually, scratch that. Maybe he was, considering it led to this point. Then he said, “Weren’t you considered young too?”
Wolfram gave him a flat look. “Being eighty-two still gives you a bit more life experience than fifteen.”
“That’s… fair,” Yuuri said.
A beat passed.
Yuuri stepped closer, this time taking a seat next to Wolfram on the bed. His heart was pounding again, a mix of nerves and anticipation twisting low in his stomach. He glanced down at their hands, at the space between them, and then back up at Wolfram’s face.
His throat worked once before he managed, “Wolf…”
Wolfram turned to him, waiting.
Yuuri swallowed, the weight of what he was about to say anchoring him in place. “I want to spend your heat with you.”
Wolfram’s eyes narrowed, still searching Yuuri’s face for any trace of hesitation. Slowly, he set his tea aside on the nearby table and reached out, lacing their fingers together.
“I understand what it means,” Yuuri continued, emboldened with Wolfram's hands in his. “That… that this means I’m choosing you, we’ve chosen each other, until death do us part and all that.”
Wolfram, unfamiliar with human wedding vows, looked puzzled by the declaration. It was uncharacteristically intense, even for Yuuri, but he didn’t pull away or comment on it.
“And I also understand that this means we’ll be having crazy, intense, wildly emotional demon mating sex,” Yuuri added, very seriously. “I get it, that bonding is permanent for the both of us. And I don't mind, as long as it's with you. Because I care about you. A lot. A stupid, ridiculous amount.”
After his heartfelt confession, Wolfram only looked at him, his brows furrowing now and then as though sifting through Yuuri’s words one by one. The quiet lingered and Yuuri’s heart seized, convinced he’d said something wrong, or that he’d misjudged the moment entirely.
But then Wolfram blinked slowly, his lashes lowering in thought. As his posture eased and the guarded tension in his jaw loosened, his expression grew tender.
He exhaled, and Yuuri held his breath.
Then a small, incredulous smile touched Wolfram’s lips. “Alright,” he said.
Yuuri’s heart skipped. “Alright?” he echoed.
A rush of nervous excitement surged through Yuuri’s chest, that and there was also the gnawing anxiety that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing next, but for now, it didn’t matter. Wolfram was saying yes to him, despite all his antics over the years.
“Yes, alright,” Wolfram confirmed. “Come back in an hour. And tell the guards outside to leave.”
Yuuri blinked, still a little dazed. “Wait, why?”
Wolfram stood up and brushed past him without another word, pulling the heavy doors open. “Just trust me.”
Yuuri spent the better part of the hour pacing the length of the royal chambers like a man awaiting trial. The last time he'd stared at a clock this intensely, he was preparing for his high school entrance exams. And if Shinou had any mercy left in him, this wouldn’t end similarly in disaster with Shouri yelling in the background about how he never tried hard enough.
The second the minute hand struck the hour, he bolted out in a fast walk (read: a run) straight to Wolfram’s wing. And the moment he entered the corridor, there was that scent again, growing stronger the closer he got.
His skin prickled. Maybe it was just nerves. Yuuri tried to convince himself that was all it was, but something instinctive warned him otherwise. That scent, ridiculous as it sounded, could only be some bizarre demon mating thing. It was absurd and yet undeniably real and impossible to ignore anymore. Either way, by the time he reached Wolfram’s door, left just barely open, his breath had already gone shallow.
He pushed the door open and stopped.
The room was filled with that same heavy warmth, only much more intense. Rich and dizzying and almost suffocating, it flooded his lungs and scrambled his thoughts. A heat stirred low in his stomach, sharp and sudden before his mind could catch up.
Wolfram lay sprawled across his bed, flushed and trembling, the sheer robe clinging damply to his skin. His legs were parted, his breaths quick, eyes glassy with need. His eyes focused on Yuuri’s the moment he entered, wild and glazed with heat.
“Close the door,” Wolfram said, voice raw.
Yuuri shut the door behind him, fumbling the handle a little too quickly. “Holy shit,” he breathed.
“Yuuri,” Wolfram said, and just the sound of his name spoken like that sent a spark through his body.
He didn’t remember crossing the room. One moment he was frozen by the door and the next he was crawling onto the bed toward Wolfram, drawn in by urge and need. As he drew closer, Wolfram’s breath hitched and his legs parted further instinctively.
Yuuri hovered above him, heart racing in his chest. Wolfram’s heat rolled off him in waves, drawing him closer without a word.
“Last chance to leave,” Wolfram warned, voice cracking.
Yuuri swallowed. He shook his head. “I’m not leaving.”
Wolfram’s hand reached up, fingers gathered loosely in Yuuri’s shirt. “Tell me you want this.”
Yuuri’s hand ran up the side of Wolfram’s thigh, he’d wanted this, fantasised about it too many times to count. “I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted you for… for so long that it’s stupid.”
A breathless laugh broke from Wolfram’s lips, strained and shaky but still so full of endearment. “I know, wimp.”
Yuuri leaned in until their foreheads pressed together. “How are you still even holding back? I feel crazy just being here and it’s been barely a minute.”
Wolfram exhaled shakily. “The tea. Gisela gave me something to help hold it off, but it’s wearing off fast. I need another dosage every hour.”
Yuuri didn’t have a chance to process the idea of hourly demon herbal tea heat suppressants before Wolfram surged up and kissed him.
It was messy, unpractised, breathless. Their hands tugged at clothing, grasping skin. They moved together, gasping, clinging with an intensity Yuuri didn’t even know he had in him.
Yuuri kissed back, fierce and full of everything he didn't know how to put into words. His hands wandered, hesitant at first, then growing bolder, over Wolfram’s neck, his waist, his thighs.
It hit him then… that this was real, Wolfram was his to touch and to hold. Yuuri’s hands grew urgent, desperate, roaming Wolfram’s body with barely restrained need. He found the knot at Wolfram’s robe and pulled it loose with trembling fingers, a low groan escaping into Wolfram’s mouth as his palms met bare, fever-hot skin for the first time.
Wolfram’s fingers clawed at his shirt. Yuuri sat up just enough to shrug off his jacket, but Wolfram chased him, pressing hot, desperate kisses to his mouth, his throat, his collarbone, undoing his buttons with shaking hands.
“Take it off,” Wolfram rasped, his hands already at his belt.
Yuuri did. Shirt, shoes, belt, trousers, his mind slipping away right along with them.
When he returned to the bed, Wolfram’s legs fell open without hesitation, his robe tossed to the ground. He reached up, dragging Yuuri back down with a soft, desperate sound, and Yuuri let himself be drawn in without resistance.
“I need you,” Wolfram whispered. “Now.”
“Yeah,” Yuuri replied hoarsely. “I’m here.” He kissed, mouth wet and warm along Wolfram’s nape, across his chest, tasting salt and heat. His hand slipped lower, coaxing Wolfram’s thighs further apart. Wolfram gasped and arched.
Yuuri’s fingers found him slick and ready.
“I did have an hour to myself,” Wolfram said, managing a wry smile.
Yuuri laughed softly into his shoulder. “Of course you did.”
“Take me,” Wolfram said. “Please.”
“You’re sure?” Yuuri murmured.
Wolfram’s jaw clenched. He nodded once, firmly. “I’ll kill you if you stop now.” And, honestly, Yuuri believed him.
He positioned himself and then—finally—lined up the head of his cock and pushed in slowly.
“Ahh—yes!” Wolfram arched up with a loud moan at the fullness, at the friction, the overwhelming relief of finally, finally being wanted without hesitation.
“Oh god,” Yuuri muttered, barely able to think. The heat, the tightness, the scent, it was all so much at once and sliding into Wolfram’s pliant body felt so natural and so good. He held still once he was fully inside, trying to breathe, to think. “Oh my god, Wolfram.”
Wolfram’s thighs trembled. His fingers dug into Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri stayed still, allowing Wolfram time to adjust into the overwhelming sensation of being filled.
Then, Wolfram whimpered. “Move.”
Yuuri obeyed. He rocked into him, building rhythm slowly. Wolfram gasped with every motion, his hands tightening against Yuuri’s shoulders, heels digging into his back.
“More,” he begged. “Please—I need—more.”
Yuuri’s restraint snapped. He thrust faster, harder, chasing the pace Wolfram’s body seemed to crave.
Wolfram moaned his name. “Yuuri—Yuuri—”
Every sound, every twitch of his hips, drove Yuuri deeper into frenzy. He gripped Wolfram’s thighs, drove into him, lost in the rush of it.
“Oh god, Wolf, I—” Yuuri cried out in his sudden climax, fingers clutched Wolfram’s thighs hard enough to bruise.
Wolfram made a soft noise as he felt his insides being spilled with Yuuri’s cum. He watched Yuuri’s eyes glaze over in his release.
Yuuri panted, leaning his head against Wolfram’s shoulder as he ground his hips against him. “Sorry,” he gasped. “That was… fast. I didn’t mean to—”
Wolfram let out a breathy laugh. He turned Yuuri’s head to his own, planting a kiss on his lips. “Don’t apologise,” he said. “See.”
Yuuri looked down, confused to see that his cock was still very much hard. “Huh,” he said.
“My heat,” Wolfram said. “Will sustain us until I’ve had my fill.”
Yuuri swallowed.
“Now,” Wolfram’s voice was breathy and low, his eyes darkened as he reached down to Yuuri’s unfaltering erection. “Fuck me again.”
Yuuri saw his life flash before his eyes.
Oh, he thought. So this was what crazy, intense, wildly emotional demon mating sex looked like.
Wolfram wasted no time. He grabbed Yuuri’s shoulders, and before Yuuri could process it, he was on his back, straddled with Wolfram on his lap, his movements wild and eager, driven by something primal.
Yuuri leaned back on his elbows as he watched, enraptured by the way Wolfram guided himself down inch by inch, his hands trembling as they gripped Yuuri’s thighs. Oh my god, that’s so hot, he thought. Yuuri couldn’t help but grab his hips, those stupid slim and pretty hips, and thrust up to meet him.
Wolfram let out a loud groan, losing himself to the feeling of being full again until his ass was pressed flush against Yuuri’s lap. He flexed his hands around Yuuri’s shoulders as he attempted to adjust to the sensations racing up his spine.
“God, you’re so tight, Wolf,” Yuuri rasped, his fingers digging into Wolfram’s sides.
Then, Wolfram started to move. Slow at first, but the need quickly overtook him. Giving himself to his heat, he began to bounce in earnest on Yuuri’s cock in frantic, erratic motions, his hips rising and dropping with reckless urgency. Yuuri gripped his thighs, breathless, barely keeping pace as Wolfram moved like a man possessed by the very heat flooding his body.
Wolfram’s cock slapped against Yuuri’s stomach with every frantic bounce, and of course it had the nerve to be perfectly shaped too, because apparently even that was beautiful. Yuuri groaned and reached to stroke him, matching the rhythm of Wolfram’s movements—
“Yuuri, yes!” Wolfram cried, his fingers clinging to Yuuri with bruising intensity as he fucked himself on Yuuri’s cock. Each thrust drew sharp gasps, raw moans, and choked sounds of overwhelming need. Each roll of his hips slamming Yuuri against his sensitive spot over and over again.
Yuuri watched, head propped against the headboard, eyes glazed with desire, lips parted in stunned silence as Wolfram rolled his hips in erratic movements, taking and taking and taking him fast and deep.
“You—look so good like this,” Yuuri groaned at the obscene sight. “I’ve thought about this,” Yuuri breathed, hips snapping into Wolfram, driving all the way inside him. “For years—your mouth—the way you’d look when you let me—”
Wolfram arched with a sharp cry as Yuuri’s hand quickened around him, cutting Yuuri's words off, his hips jerking, spurring him to move faster and faster and then Yuuri thrust once, deep, hard, and he came with a ragged gasp, spilling his cum across Yuuri’s stomach.
Yuuri let his hand fall, thinking maybe Wolfram needed a second to catch his breath, only for Wolfram to grab him by the shoulders, voice low and wrecked with hunger. “Don’t you dare stop,” he rasped, eyes dark with need.
Caught somewhere between arousal and a healthy dose of fear at Wolfram’s unrestrained look, Yuuri’s pace built, unrelenting now, driven by instinct. Wolfram clawed at the headboard, his fingers digging into the wood for support, thighs trembling as Yuuri thrust deep again and again.
Yuuri snapped his hips hard against Wolfram’s ass and gasped, “Close… I’m close,”
Unable to hold himself back, Yuuri came hard, spilling into Wolfram as his mind blanked with the force of it. It was like something inside him snapped, driving him to thrust deeper, to finish with a fierce, possessive need.
“More,” Wolfram rasped, his voice wrecked and urgent, hips shifting greedily to meet Yuuri’s faltering rhythm. “More.”
“Yes,” Yuuri breathed, the word rough and raw as he felt his instincts take over.
They moved again. Yuuri pressed Wolfram back into the mattress and lifted his legs over his shoulders. With fingers digging into Wolfram’s hips, he rolled forward, burying himself to the hilt and then settling back into the dizzying pace of their earlier fucking.
“Ah—Yuuri—Yes!” Wolfram cried, his voice reduced into babble as his body twisted against the sheets.
Yuuri gripped his thighs tighter and adjusted again, folding Wolfram beneath him. He plunged deeper, watching the way Wolfram clawed at the sheets, his eyes unfocused and mouth slack with pleasure.
He held him steady, snapping his hips in a relentless rhythm. From this angle, he could see everything: his cock disappearing into Wolfram’s slick heat, the way his rim fluttered and stretched around him, over and over. The sight alone made Yuuri groan, spurring him to move faster, harder, driving into Wolfram until he was reduced to breathless chants of “yes, yes, yes,” trembling beneath him.
Wolfram came again, streaking semen across his abdomen, his body clenching tight around Yuuri even as he finished, squeezing him so hard it was almost impossible to keep going. But Yuuri couldn’t stop, not with the impossible heat gripping him, not when Wolfram was shaking beneath him and still begging for more. With a strangled cry, Yuuri came again, spilling deep inside, and still, his hips didn’t stop moving.
Wolfram was unravelling, overwhelmed and utterly consumed by his heat. He cried out each time Yuuri struck his sensitive spot, body trembling, voice cracking, eyes rolling back. And still, it wasn’t enough.
Yuuri came again.
Then again.
Every time they came, every time they stopped to breathe, it only gave way to another wave of need.
“More—” Wolfram breathed.
And Yuuri gave it to him.
Wolfram was on his hands and knees now, face buried in the sheets, while Yuuri pounded into him from behind, driving into him with a punishing rhythm that blurred the line between pleasure and delirium.
Yuuri gripped his hips firmly, fingers digging into the trembling muscles of his thighs as he thrust hard and fast. Wolfram was barely coherent, voice cracking, “Yes, Yuuri—fuck me, more—”, lost to the intensity of how each thrust sent sparks of white-hot pleasure through his overstimulated nerves. Yuuri was beyond thought, lost to the pace his instincts set, his hands flexing against Wolfram’s waist with a near desperate strength.
Wolfram was wrecked, sobbing, his knuckles white where he twisted the sheets. His legs shook violently under the force of Yuuri’s thrusts, his body trembling with every impact. The sheer trust in Wolfram’s surrender sent Yuuri spiralling, driving him harder, deeper, desperate to give him everything he had.
“You feel so good, Wolf,” Yuuri rasped against his ear, breath hot against sweat-slicked skin, sliding in and out of him with ease.
It didn’t take long for Wolfram’s body to give in again, with his eyes rolling back, jaw slack, tongue loose as he moaned, the tremor of another orgasm ripping through him. Wolfram’s thighs gave out beneath him, collapsing with a shudder, but Yuuri caught him without missing a beat, holding him up as he kept driving in.
“Yes, Yuuri—yes—” Wolfram cried, his voice breaking as he rocked back to meet each thrust, “Keep fucking me—yes—”
Yuuri pushed deep, bottoming out with a groan, and came again. He pressed his hips flush, grinding as if to bury himself further in Wolfram’s body, spilling his cum deep inside.
Wolfram on his back, on his stomach, on his knees, on his side—cried out, begged, whimpered, came until his voice broke and his body shook with every aftershock. He screamed through each release, vision blurred, unable to form coherent thoughts as Yuuri fucked him through climax after climax.
They collapsed forward together, Yuuri’s weight holding Wolfram to the bed. And then, with a shiver, Wolfram felt Yuuri move again. Slow, at first. Then deeper. Yuuri’s mouth found the nape of Wolfram’s neck and bit down, hard enough to draw a gasp. His grip tightened around Wolfram’s wrists as he thrust deep, their bodies gradually regaining momentum back into their earlier desperate pace.
Wolfram gasped into the sheets, drool pooling beneath his cheek, his body helpless under Yuuri’s renewed onslaught. Yuuri drove into him hard, their hands locked tight, pinning him down as his cock slammed into him again and again, unrelenting. Wolfram could do nothing but take it, mouth open, breath ragged, the overwhelming pleasure inside him building past the point of control.
He could feel the cum leaking out of him, slicking his thighs as Yuuri thrust in deeper, harder, stretching him open with punishing strokes that drew out tremor of pleasures until Wolfram was left whimpering, overstimulated and shaking. The bed slammed into the wall, again and again, the knocking loud enough that some distant, half-buried part of Yuuri’s brain noted the entire castle could probably hear, but he just didn’t have it in him to care. The air was thick with heat and scent and the sharp slap of skin on skin. Sound and sensation blurred together, until Wolfram was just trembling nerves and burning need.
Yuuri followed moments later with a groan, hips pressed flush, spilling deep inside. His whole body trembled, head dropping against Wolfram’s shoulder, breath catching in his throat.
Seconds later, Wolfram came again with a choked sob, unexpected and overwhelming, his cock twitching as he pulsed another load between their bodies, the heat inside him finally beginning to die down. His arms gave out, and he collapsed fully, barely conscious as Yuuri carefully eased out of him.
Yuuri had barely managed to move, pushing himself up with trembling arms before slumping beside Wolfram, both of them too exhausted to speak or think.
They lay tangled together in the aftermath, their bodies slick, muscles spent and nerves raw. The silence that followed was thick and breathless, the only sound the ragged rise and fall of their chests.
Eventually, Yuuri exhaled hard, the sound shaky and drawn. “Wow,” he said, voice hoarse. “That was… an insane first time.”
Wolfram gave a dazed hum, still flat on his back, eyes half-lidded. “Oh. Right. I forgot about that.” He blinked slowly, as though the memory was only now catching up to him. After a pause, he added, “You did great,” and gave Yuuri a solid pat on the chest.
Yuuri blinked at him. Then laughed, short and disbelieving. “Thanks, I guess.”
They lay in sticky and heavy silence. Comfortable, despite everything. The sheets clung unpleasantly to their skin, but neither of them had the energy to move just yet.
After a moment, Yuuri turned to look at him. “Hey, Wolf.”
Wolfram cracked open an eye. “Hm?”
“Please don’t freak out,” Yuuri said, automatically making Wolfram narrow his eyes. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t just my post-crazy demon sex brain talking, but…” He leaned in a little, nervous but sincere, “… I think I love you.”
A beat of silence.
Yuuri’s heart stuttered.
Then Wolfram smiled, slow and sleepy-soft. “I know,” he said. He leaned in to kiss him, gentle, lingering, and just a bit smug.
Yuuri laughed, his chest so full it felt like it might burst. “Hey,” he said, mock offended. Then again, more seriously, more surely, he said, “I love you, Wolfram.”
Wolfram shifted, groaning at the dull ache. He turned toward Yuuri, his expression tender in a way that made Yuuri's breath catch. “I love you, wimp,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Yuuri laughed again, the sound breathy with exhaustion, and pressed their foreheads together for another kiss, slow and smiling against each other’s mouths.
“Ugh,” he muttered, pulling back with a grimace as the state of the sheets caught up to him. “The sheets are disgusting. I’m going to draw a bath.”
Wolfram let out a long, relieved breath. “Please do.”
Yuuri staggered to his feet, legs wobbly and brain still blissfully scrambled. Wolfram followed a moment later, moving with a satisfied sluggishness as the last haze of heat finally faded from his limbs.
They had a long, hot bath. And with a little energy left to burn, some more sex because, why not.
The next morning, breakfast was an odd affair.
Yuuri fidgeted in his seat, acutely aware of every glance cast in his direction.
Yeah, they knew.
It became undeniable when he had received congratulatory shoulder pats from nearly everyone: guards, maids, the staff, and especially the entire medical wing trailing behind a far too smug-looking Gisela. Gwendal gave him a pat on the back, too. That one was the most jarring.
As he'd passed through the corridor, hushed murmurs carried up from the courtyard. Josak was leaning against a pillar, spinning a coin pouch with one finger as a group of soldiers surrounded him. “Told you so,” he said smugly, as they groaned and dropped coins into the swelling pouch.
Yuuri flushed and kept walking. The last time this many people had celebrated him was when he was riding back through the city gates after saving the kingdom from its eighth interdimensional crisis. But now that he thought about it, quelling Wolfram’s heat might’ve ranked just as high in averting a national catastrophe.
Wolfram, on the other hand, was basking in the attention.
Cheri had descended the moment he entered the room, wrapping her youngest son in a teary embrace and covering his face in kisses while loudly congratulating him on the sex, right in front of the entire family. Including Waltorana, who had of course decided today was a good day to visit.
Yuuri tried not to imagine his own mother doing the same. He was certain he’d die of shame on the spot.
Wolfram, who was so often strict and traditional, was somehow completely unbothered by this. Shameless, even. He’d always had a baffling ability to be conservative about things like nobility etiquette and napkin folding while also being the kind of person who’d sleep in a sheer negligee or call the king a moron to his face in public. Apparently, this was no different.
Yuuri groaned quietly, trying to eat his breakfast with some semblance of normalcy. Across the table, Murata was valiantly trying to maintain his composure but failed every time Yuuri looked up. Why was he even here? He never came to breakfast at the castle. Yuuri was convinced Murata had made a special trip just to bask in this moment and claim credit for the outcome.
Fine, Yuuri thought begrudgingly. He’d send him a fruit basket tomorrow.
Wolfram, meanwhile, was glowing. Positively radiant. And ravenous. He devoured his meal with such intensity that Yuuri watched in awe as he transformed, mid-bite, from a feral animal to perfect gentleman. After daintily wiping his mouth, Wolfram stood, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek before heading off.
Yuuri rubbed the spot, smiling faintly. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
Murata also passed by on his way out, but not before leaning down to whisper, “Congratulations on the sex, Shibuya,” with the smuggest grin known to man.
Waltorana, not missing a beat, raised his drink in salute and returned to calmly cutting his eggs and bacon like it was just another pleasant day.
Yuuri groaned into his hands.