At first Conrad assumed
it was a trick of the light, pushing shadows along the edges of the corridor, as
candles flickered and waved in their ornate, wrought-iron holders.
Shadows didn't sneeze, though, or give off an almost palpable aura of energy.
Within seconds, the familiar resonance of that energy reported to Conrad exactly
what was going on; or rather, who was going on. As he neared a coat of armour, he made sure to tread lightly, keeping quiet right up until the last
moment when he poked his head around the statue and said, "Good afternoon, Heika!"
"Aah! Conrad! You almost gave me a heart atta–ah-ah-!” Yuuri scrunched up his
face and then let out a much louder, rapid-fire round of sneezes. "It's so dusty
back here," he added with a snuffle, rubbing his nose, but then he froze in
place when he noticed Conrad's expression. Yuuri blinked, a slow red flush
sliding over his smooth features.
Conrad didn't need to ask why; he himself blinked, numerous times, trying to
locate his voice that had momentarily abandoned him. He groped for what to do
next. It was one thing to tease Yuuri, another to sneak up on him – in the name
of training him to keep his guard up at all times, of course – but this...
This was something else.
"Ah. Um. It's not what it looks like." Yuuri was red to the ears now. He did not
meet Conrad's eyes.
"It looks like you're wearing a skirt," Conrad needlessly pointed out, more for
his own benefit than anything – he was sure Yuuri was aware of this, but he was
having a hard time coming to terms with it himself.
Yuuri swallowed. "Y-yeah."
"Forgive me for my ignorance, Heika, but why are you wearing a skirt?" It was a
short one, too, in soft grey wool with fine silver thread woven at the hem in a
criss-cross pattern. Very pretty. Very girly. With no small measure of effort,
he drew his eyes up to Yuuri's face.
"Ah, that? Yeah, that was – well, see, Murata and me were arguing and we – he –
said we could settle it easily, but there was a price for the loser, and he had
this skirt – don't ask me where he pulled it from, you know what he's like – and
he said I had to, because I'd, you know, lost – and he was really pleased about
all this. Sometimes, I think I dislike that guy." Yuuri folded his arms over his
chest, substituting indignation for embarrassment.
"Hm, not much of that made sense,” Conrad said with a frown. “But let me try to
decipher. You and Geika were involved in a debate of some kind, so he enriched
the argument with a stakes." Conrad's frown finally turned into a slow smile.
"Ah, I think I see now. You lost the wager, and wearing the skirt was Geika's
terms?"
If Yuuri's shoulders dropped any lower they were in danger of setting up
residence in his biceps. "Yeah, that's about the half of it."
"If you lost the bet, Heika, then you should definitely wear the skirt."
With an almighty sigh, Yuuri hunched further in on himself, curling his arms
around his waist self-consciously. "Yeah, yeah, I guess you're right. Why are
you always right?"
Conrad only beamed at Yuuri's rhetoric, pleased by the familiar tone and the way
Yuuri's mouth did this odd little purse afterwards. There were still remnants of
the little boy in that expression – the boy Conrad had kept a surreptitious
watch over throughout the years. It startled him now how at odds the look was
against the broadening shoulders and slowly filling build of the young man
standing before him. Yuuri was growing so fast, so frightfully fast. He'd be
careening into adulthood in no time and Conrad knew that if he didn't keep one
eye on Yuuri at all times he might miss it. Marks of the man Yuuri would become
were becoming more evident with each visit to Shin Makoku; not to mention his
sense of self-worth, which was starting to blossom nicely, if slowly.
It was incredible to watch. Conrad only hoped there would always be a place for
him beside that terrific man.
"Anyway, I thought I told you not to be so formal around me," Yuuri continued,
absently picking at the waist of the skirt. Lamp light reflected off the small
bejewelled zip-pull as it jiggled on its hinge, casting a dot of red over the
soft grey material. "Especially not around the castle." He glanced down at
himself again and winced. "And definitely not while I'm wearing this."
Ah, yes, Conrad was more than aware Yuuri disliked pomp, but Conrad himself
liked to wind Yuuri up too much to change old habits. "Sorry about that, Yuuri,"
he answered, drawing out the name, smothering a smile as Yuuri's eyes widened
before he averted them. It was a wonder Yuuri even bothered to call Conrad on
the name thing – it seemed he only got embarrassed when Conrad obliged him. "If
I may ask, do you plan to linger here all evening? It's getting late and the
castle halls are growing chilly."
For the first time since their encounter, Yuuri let out a sound of relief. "No,
I can go back to my rooms now. I only had to do a circuit of the castle."
"All the way around?" asked Conrad.
"Yeah. That was the other condition."
"Well, I think I shall have to congratulate Geika on his imagination."
"Hey, I thought you were on my side!" Yuuri's brows dipped.
"Always." Conrad offered a little bow as an underscore. "But this is still
highly imaginative."
"Ugh!" Yuuri shook his head, then leaned closer and lowered his voice, even
though they were already speaking in hushed tones. "Conrad," he implored, "I
need you to check if the coast is clear."
Humouring Yuuri, Conrad looked left and then right, then double-checked both
directions for good measure and to put Yuuri at ease. He already knew the halls
were still; over the years, Conrad had honed his senses to pick up even the
slightest disturbance in the atmosphere. Those senses had helped him out of
various scrapes in the past, a few of which had involved Yuuri, but he didn't
want to think on those now.
"It appears you're free to make a run for it."
"You're enjoying this, too, aren't you?" It wasn't a question, for which Conrad
was glad – he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep a straight face. A small part of
him wondered if he'd be able to give an unwavering answer, the thought of Yuuri
running in the skirt taking centre stage in his mind and refusing to exit the
scene.
“Okay, I'm going for it.” Before Conrad could raise an eyebrow, Yuuri darted out
from behind the armour, heading down the shadowed hall in the direction of his
rooms. “Hurry, Conrad!” he called over his shoulder. The skirt fluffed out
behind him, riding up as he ran, revealing the backs of skinny, cream-white
thighs.
Pushing that image from his head, Conrad took chase, catching up to Yuuri as
they rounded the corner at the end of the hall, making a frantic dash for
Yuuri's door.
Yuuri fumbled with the handle, snapping his head left and right to check nobody
had spotted them. Reaching around Yuuri's waist, Conrad put his hand over
Yuuri's and pushed the handle down. As he did, he breathed in the rich tang of
oranges, from the potion Yuuri preferred to use to wash his hair.
Now was not the time to be noticing such things. Conrad opened the door,
ushering Yuuri inside.
Once safely in his rooms, Yuuri let out a grateful groan. “I'm so glad that's
over!” Turning to Conrad, he beckoned him further in. Although Conrad had been
in Yuuri's chambers countless times, he still found himself steeling his
movements whenever he was there. The whole space smelled of Yuuri – masculine,
slightly adolescent, and familiar, with a hint of that orangey hair-tang and
something rich that Conrad knew was the deodorant brand Yuuri liked from Earth.
Underlying it all was the distinct, natural scent that was Yuuri, homey and
warm; it embraced Conrad's senses, not letting go.
“I'll just get changed.” Yuuri's words cut into Conrad's thoughts and scattered
them, something Conrad was glad about. Wide black eyes lingered on Conrad's face
for a few moments, remnants of his earlier flush rising once again in Yuuri's
cheeks, before he made his way to a chest of drawers and retrieved a fresh pair
of black trousers.
Carefully averting his eyes, Conrad seized the chance to reinspect the door
locks and hinges, making double-sure they were sturdy and impenetrable. All the
while, he was acutely aware of the shifting of feet over soft carpet, the smooth
swish of light wool, the odd click of Yuuri's bones as he moved. Conrad was in
the process of twisting the key back and forth in the door lock when Yuuri next
spoke.
“Uh...” When Conrad turned, a mixture of mortification, apology, and bitter
irony was playing on Yuuri's features. It wasn't lost on Conrad that he was
still wearing the skirt. “We have a problem.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Conrad had a bad feeling about this.
“Er, it's this stupid skirt,” Yuuri explained. “I, uh. I can't get the zip
undone.”
“Oh, well then shall I have a look at it for you?” It wasn't like Conrad
couldn't offer. A part of him wasn't sure whether he was glad about that or not.
“Er... if you don't mind. It's jammed, I think.” Yuuri took a small pace towards
him, but it seemed like that was as far as he was willing to go.
Taking the closing step, Conrad immediately lowered himself onto one knee,
focusing on the zip, rather than the cut of Yuuri's hipbone beneath the fabric,
the point where skirt ended and bare thigh began. Giving the red-jewelled zip a
tug, then another, Conrad realised he was going to have to use both hands; every
time he tugged, the material rode up Yuuri's legs and that just wasn't good.
“Excuse me, Heika,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. His fingers were
too large to be toying with such a small device, but Conrad endeavoured to
release Yuuri from his fate. With his free hand, he pinched the bottom of the
zip and stretched the fabric taut, then tried coaxing the pull down once again.
No luck.
Short of unsheathing his sword, Conrad was at a loss. “It's certainly jammed
tight,” he said, glancing up at Yuuri. Oh, that wasn't a good idea – Yuuri was
staring down at him, his black eyes large and fathomless like the night, his
mouth relaxed, soft-looking and a little wet.
“Can you fix it?” he asked, a hint of hope in his unsteady voice.
“I'll need to take a look at the other side.” Conrad looked away as he said it,
unnaturally unnerved.
“The other... side?”
“It seems some material has got caught in the zip from the inside.”
“... oh.”
“Would you like me to call a seamstress?” It was Conrad's last hope. Surely
there would be someone in Shin Makoku more adept at this sort of thing, who
would be willing to make a late call for the king.
“N-no, it's okay. I don't want you to go to all that trouble.”
Conrad didn't point out it would be more of a burden to the seamstress than he.
“So you want me to, uh, lift it?” Yuuri swallowed audibly. “I mean, the skirt,
that is?”
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” Even as he said it, Conrad's mind
unhelpfully reminded him of what he was about to face. There was nothing good
about this idea, but it was too late to take back his words.
Yuuri's right hand was unsteady and moist with sweat – Conrad could clearly see
the dampness of his skin, the shake of his fingers as he slowly hitched up the
wool at the front.
Momentarily closing his eyes, Conrad hardened his resolve before forcing them
open again, thinking only of the task at hand, not of how he was kneeling before
Yuuri so closely he could almost taste him, or how he was reaching towards the
sumptuous curve of his thighs. There had been times in the past that Conrad had
come to face legions of men across the battlefield; he had marched countless,
gruelling miles towards an uncertain end, where pain and death balanced
precariously on the swipe of a sword's edge. Right then, with Yuuri's breath
quickening to match his own, the tightening taking place in his gut was of a
similar nature, though not quite the same.
At that moment, Conrad rather regretted the scant cut of the customary royal
underwear Yuuri had been asked to wear. In his peripheral vision, he was well
aware of the black silk covering Yuuri's groin, a stark, hugging V against his
pale skin.
As expected, a bunched section of wool was twined within the teeth of the zip,
right at the top. Conrad's sword was too large to use to work the material out,
so he started picking at it with his short, blunt fingernails, trying not to
listen to the staccato thudding in his ears, or the rapid hushing of Yuuri's
breath above him.
“The material is stuck fast. I need to pry it out. Please hold still, Heika.” It
wasn't an effort to speak, but it was an effort to keep his tone both
light and steady.
“Right,” Yuuri said. “Right.”
Glancing up, Conrad saw Yuuri now had his eyes shut, his mouth pursed, his brow
furrowed in something like discomfort. Or was it restraint? Conrad wasn't sure –
didn't want to ponder it; he wet his lips and bent to his task again, leaning in
close and trying to wedge the corner of his fingernail under the trapped wool.
“C-Conrad...”
Conrad let out a sharp breath against Yuuri's thigh, his concentration shot.
Sitting back on his heels, he asked, “Yes? Are you all right?”
“I – yeah. Sorry.”
“We'll get it open, don't worry.” If only Conrad could heed his own words, stop
the proximity from getting to him. He'd been close to Yuuri before, many times,
but never like this, in such a surreal, wholly personal manner.
Returning to the zip, Conrad doubled his efforts, trying to dislodge the wayward
wool, trying not to zone in on anything else in the surrounding area. It wasn't
until a minute later that he thought he felt something in his hair, almost
imperceptible so that at first he wondered if he imagined it. Freezing in
position, Conrad held still as Yuuri slowly, gently threaded his fingertips
through his hair at the top, testing the strands curiously, brushing further
back. The sensation set Conrad's scalp tingling – never had he been touched in
such a way. Shivers swept lower, down his neck, traversing all the way down the
length of his spine to his tail bone.
Conrad knew if he let his mind wander it would go places it shouldn't, lead him
to thoughts he should not harbour about his charge – about the king.
Instead, he pretended nothing untoward was happening, gritting his teeth and
tugging more viciously at the underside of the zip.
It was no good. No good at all. Yuuri's unbidden ministrations were too damn
distracting, those shivers were still snaking through Conrad in waves, as if
somehow Yuuri's hesitant fingers were playing him on the inside.
“Heika,” Conrad whispered.
“Yuuri,” Yuuri whispered back.
“Yuuri,” Conrad amended. “What are you doing?”
“... I don't know.” Yuuri's voice was so quiet Conrad had to strain his ears to
hear him. “I just...” The touch of his fingers shifted down, to around Conrad's
ear, feather-light and aimless, then back, where Conrad kept his hair shorn
close to his head.
Closing his eyes – the zip, the room, the palace, forgotten – Conrad found
himself in a state of suspended animation, unable to move, allowing Yuuri to
touch him, letting the stream of Yuuri's wonder wash over him in a cool slide.
He was not aware of either he or Yuuri leaning closer, but somehow Conrad could
now feel not only Yuuri's hand at the back of his neck, but also Yuuri's groin
brushing against his shoulder. The rise at the front stole the breath from
Conrad's lungs, but he was careful not to alert Yuuri to it, clenching every
muscle in his body.
Letting his hand drop, Conrad curled one arm around the back of Yuuri's thighs,
and laid his head against Yuuri's hip, his cheek settling on soft wool, the
solid, sharp jut of a hipbone apparent beneath. Yuuri's muscles fluttered like
they were statically charged.
“We can't.” It was out before Conrad realised he'd even spoken.
“I know.” There was a hint of defeat, but also challenge. “Why not?”
“Because you are engaged to my brother, and you are the king.”
“Neither were my own choice, though.” It was a weak protest and Yuuri knew it.
“I know you're right,” he added, lifting his warm, baseball-roughened palm from
Conrad's neck, fingers brushing once again through Conrad's hair as he did so,
as if he wanted to hold on to the texture a moment longer.
As if acting in a mirror, Conrad lifted his head, drew back his arm and settled
it over his lap, half to conceal the slight shake of his hand and half to
conceal the firm push of his erection at the front of his trousers. Yuuri was
the only person who could render him so unsteady. The ache deep in the pit of
his stomach lurched and curled, wanting out, wanting Yuuri.
Everything about this was inherently wrong. How Conrad leaned forward a
fraction, before stopping himself. How he wanted to break the unspoken rules,
claim something for his own.
But no, he didn't have the right to do that. He was there to protect, not take
advantage.
Taking a step back, Yuuri pulled roughly at the waist of the skirt, tearing the
fabric at the seam so that it broke apart in his hands. The skirt hung loosely
around his hips, before Yuuri grasped it and held the fabric to him as if
clutching a lifeline, covering the stiff arousal Conrad was all too aware of,
the evidence of their closeness.
“If that'll be all, Heika,” Conrad said, his mouth parchment dry all of a
sudden, “then I shall leave you to your rest.”
“It's not all,” replied Yuuri, weary and resigned. “But okay. I'm sorry about...
Can we – are things all right between us?”
Conrad turned his mouth up into a smile he hoped Yuuri took as reassuring. “Of
course they are.”
Sparing Yuuri the embarrassment of eye contact, Conrad rose to his feet, not as
steadily as he'd have liked, and bowed low. “Good evening, Yuuri.”
“Night, Conrad.”
“I'll call you for practise tomorrow morning at seven o'clock.” The door seemed
a mile away, but once there Conrad paused. “Forgive me.”
“There's nothing to forgive, don't be silly.” Yuuri's voice followed Conrad out
into the hall.
Closing the door with a soft snick, Conrad turned and leaned his forehead
against the gilded front, taking a moment to collect himself. The baths were
calling him, desperately – he needed to wash and take care of his erection, even
if it cost him a lot of guilt to indulge in what his body was screaming for,
even if it wasn't an entirely satisfying release.
There were no sounds forthcoming from within Yuuri's chambers, though there was
an essence of tension that remained almost tangible. Conrad imagined if he
opened the door again Yuuri would still be standing in the centre of the room,
holding the grey wool to him, looking bewildered and a little wild, unutterably
beautiful in the fading evening light.
But Conrad knew if that happened he would go to Yuuri, and this time he might
not be able to stop, so he pushed himself away from the door and made his way
along the hall, down the staircase and across the foyer, letting himself out to
cross the courtyard to the pools.
As he walked, he fancied he could feel eyes on him, following his progress from
a window high up in the palace.
Conrad watched the ground, not looking up until he was inside the bathing
houses, alone once again.
* * *
He immersed himself in hot, steamy water, to wash the lingering scent of Yuuri's
body from his skin, to burn off the ghosts of Yuuri's touch.
Conrad uncorked a navy blue bottle and poured out a small amount of liquid soap
that smelled vaguely of almonds. Rubbing the soap up over his chest and
shoulder, he began to work up a lather, reaching far back behind his neck as
well.
What had transpired ate slowly at him, nibbling the edges of his resolve to put
it out of his head. How on Shin Makoku could he forget the run of Yuuri's
fingers, the heat of him, the want plainly radiating from him, the roiling
confusion that had only added a certain spice to the whole situation?
But that didn't mean Conrad wasn't going to try. He had a purpose, a duty to the
king, and nothing could interfere with that, lest he jeopardise Yuuri's safety.
That was the last thing Conrad wanted. He would rather die first.
When the heavy cherrywood doors creaked open, Conrad assumed an attendant had
called to check on him. Rinsing off the bath potion, he turned to address his
visitor – he only needed a few more minutes and his head would be clear, he was
sure.
The words of welcome died on his lips when he saw who stood, pale as moonlight,
at the edge of the wide pool. Steam rose up into the atmosphere, distorting
Yuuri's face slightly, but it didn't conceal his worry or apprehension.
“Are you all right?” It was the best Conrad could manage. He made sure he was
sitting low in the water, thankful for its concealment.
“I, uh, yeah,” said Yuuri. He had changed into loose blue trousers of a soft,
flannel material, and an Earth-style t-shirt of black cotton that had a white,
jagged emblem on the front. “No, not really. Are you?”
Although Conrad knew he should, he couldn't lie to Yuuri. He had once, for a
long period of time, deceived the young man. Those endless, excruciating weeks
had cut him up inside, cut him to the bone, as had the knowledge he had broken
Yuuri's heart.
Instead of admitting that no, he was not all right, Conrad offered Yuuri a
sympathetic smile, one he could barely muster, but muster he did.
Looking down at his bare feet, Yuuri sighed. “What a mess, eh?”
“I don't believe it's as bad as you think,” Conrad offered. He didn’t add that
he’d been living with his feelings – and ignoring them, for the most part –
pretty much ever since Yuuri had shown up in Shin Makoku. Conrad knew that would
only make matters worse. “We've done nothing to compromise your position. If we
let it lie here, I can't see any reason to worry.”
“Can we let it lie here?” Yuuri asked, dropping to a crouch beside the
pool. “Because Conrad... I'm not sure if I can. These things – they're the types
of things that don't disappear, and I just know the next time I make a speech or
your mother compliments my trousers or Wolfram-” he fumbled, “-or Wolfram yells
at me about something or other, or Greta asks where you've gone riding – I just
know I'll say something stupid and cause you trouble.”
“Yuuri,” Conrad said, managing a genuine smile, “you're rambling.”
“Er, oh yeah. Sorry.” Yuuri let out a little laugh. “I think that's partly your
fault, you know.”
Sliding across the floor of the pool, Conrad was careful to keep his hips below
water level as he approached the edge, where Yuuri was now lowering himself to
his knees for a more comfortable position. Stopping at the side, Conrad rested
one hand against the cool tiles, staring up into Yuuri's face.
“Sometimes people feel inappropriately for other people–”
“Oh God, is this the talk?” Yuuri asked. He let out a groan. “Conrad, out of
everyone, I least expected you to give me that talk.”
“'The talk'?”
“Yeah, you know – the talk.” Yuuri waggled his thin black eyebrows as he
spoke. It would have been comical if the conversation was about anything else.
“I'm afraid I don't follow.”
“Oh. Never mind, then. Must be an Earth thing. Or maybe you just have a
different name for it here.” Yuuri paused and then his eyes widened. “Please
don't ask me to explain it!”
Conrad nodded slowly. “All right. As I was saying, sometimes people feel
inappropriately for other people. It's not easy, but there is a choice. You can
set irrevocable things in motion and risk hurting others and yourself, not to
mention losing the friendship you had. Or, you can work through it and move on.”
Silence, for a long moment. Then, “I see what you mean.” Yuuri's mouth tilted
up, but it wasn't a smile, more an expression of bitter-sweetness. “But there's
something I don't understand about this, and about what you said in my room
earlier.”
He had to go reminding Conrad of what had happened at the palace. “Oh?”
“Yeah, the 'inappropriate' thing.” Yuuri picked at a thread on the hem of his
t-shirt. “Why is liking someone so bad? Sure, you might be... a bit older, but
if I'm old enough to be the king of a large country like this, I don't see why I
can't have the choice who I'm – er, you know.”
“A logical argument,” Conrad conceded. The bath was cooling now, as was the
evening, the mellow air bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin. The
steam had cleared for the most part, leaving an unhindered space between them
that was smaller than was perhaps wise. Conrad pressed on. “But there is still
the factor of my brother.”
“Wolfram,” Yuuri whispered. “He's a great guy, when he's not yelling at me or
putting me in a headlock, or accusing me of eyeing up the servant girls...” He
smiled fondly and scratched the back of his neck, staring off for a second.
“Wolfram and I could be really good friends, I think. Maybe we already are.”
“You are officially bound. A contract was drawn when you slapped him and picked
up the knife.”
“Why is that the only thing anyone remembers about us!” Yuuri sighed, sobering.
“I know. But I don't think Wolfram would be happy if he knew I wasn't happy, if
I was pushed into an actual marriage. An engagement isn't being married. It's a
gesture. At least, on Earth it is. There isn't any official legal stuff until
you actually marry them.”
“It's a gesture my brother takes very seriously, as does everyone else here. As
do I,” Conrad added.
Putting his head in his hands, Yuuri let out another, more dismal sigh. “So
basically, the situation is as bad as I think. No matter what I do or
say, I'm stuck. I can't be with–” He broke off and took a deep breath. Conrad
saw the tensing of Yuuri's shoulders, watched him steel himself. “I can't be
with the person I want to be with. That's it, then. This is how it'll be.”
There was no adequate answer, no tempering words to offer. Conrad stared at
Yuuri, for once feeling completely useless, looking up into the face of an
anguish that mirrored his own. It wasn't lost on him how much effort it had
taken Yuuri to admit that to him – how hard it was for teenage boys from Earth
to admit anything of the sort. It made Conrad simultaneously thrilled by Yuuri's
openness with him, and saddened that he couldn't give Yuuri what he wanted.
“Conrad?” It was spoken softly and Yuuri looked away, not meeting his eyes.
“Yes?”
“If this is how it's going to be, then can I make one request? Just one – just
for tonight.” Raising his head, letting his hands drop to his lap, Yuuri finally
met Conrad's gaze.
Conrad wasn't sure whether he should bid Yuuri to go on, wary of what this
request may be. Eventually he nodded.
“Can I – I mean, can we – kiss?” Yuuri blurted. “It's just I've never... not
properly. If it's just once, then it'll be better than never, right? I don't
want to die without ever doing that.”
“You won't die without ever kissing anyone,” Conrad assured him, though the very
thought of someone else being granted that honour sent a rush of fierce heat
through him. “Also, you must be aware, Yuuri – once might make things worse.”
“Maybe.” Silence, during which Yuuri seemed to battle with himself. After a
minute, his mouth tugged up at one corner. He was nervous, but Conrad knew Yuuri
was also courageous, so it hardly surprised him when Yuuri finally said, “I'm
willing to risk it.”
It was a massive risk. Colossal. But really, was there any way in the world to
deny him this? Conrad could deny himself – he had done so on many occasions over
many years. But Yuuri was a different matter. Conrad wanted to keep him safe,
yes, but he also wanted to make Yuuri happy.
One indulgence. It almost sounded simple. In practice, Conrad knew it would be
another story.
“Yuuri,” he began, but wasn't given the chance to finish.
Yuuri slid his legs out from under him and pushed himself off the edge of the
pool, sinking down into the water with a faint splash, not seeming to care a
whit he was still fully clothed. He inched closer to Conrad, until they were
sitting directly in front of one another. The water was seeping up Yuuri's
t-shirt to his chest. Conrad stared at his mouth, the luring curve at the
corner. That mouth parted; Yuuri flicked his tongue out to moisten his lips.
Then he was reaching out, through the water, as if in slow-motion.
Conrad caught Yuuri's wrists and at that moment of contact, that sharp,
unforgettable moment, something within him broke into a billion pieces; he drew
Yuuri unceremoniously to him, releasing his wrists to curl his arms around
Yuuri's thin, tense frame.
Conrad found himself with an armful of the one thing he wanted more than
anything. A hot, breathing armful that squirmed as Yuuri arranged himself so
that he was straddling Conrad's lap. Conrad's nakedness was making itself
apparent, but it was too late to think on that now. The wet material of Yuuri's
t-shirt clung to him so closely he might as well have not been wearing it –
Conrad could feel each defined rib, the faintest brush of peaked nipples beneath
damp cotton, the rapid rise and fall of Yuuri's chest.
For a terrifying split-second, Yuuri looked unsure. Then he locked his arms
around Conrad's neck, bringing their faces close, so close Conrad could smell
the sweetness of Yuuri's breath.
“If it's just one time,” Yuuri murmured, voice hitching. “Just this once...”
“Just this once,” Conrad echoed, and against his better judgement, he took a
taste.
A moan passed from Yuuri's mouth into Conrad's, vibrant and low and perfect in
the quiet bathing room. The arms around Conrad's shoulders tightened, as did the
clench of Yuuri's legs around Conrad's thighs. The curve at the corner of
Yuuri's mouth, the one Conrad had fixated on before, felt unusual and a little
chapped. He learned it first with his lips and then with his tongue, before
swiping over the fleshy curve of Yuuri's lower lip.
“Ahh... Conrad...” The words played between them as they broke apart.
Technically their one time was over, but it definitely wasn't done. Yuuri's
mouth was open, ready and expectant for Conrad's next kiss, for his tongue,
ready to push back and move with him. Yuuri rocked his hips a little, getting
into the rhythm of the kiss with his entire body, sending out little groans that
shook through Conrad like a multitude of thunderclaps.
Mind careening, Conrad held Yuuri and wondered if he'd ever let go, now he had
him. Sliding his hands down Yuuri's back, Conrad hooked his fingers up under the
hem of the wet t-shirt, pushing it as he ran his fingertips over the notches of
Yuuri's arched spine, then out to stroke up to his shoulder blades.
He felt Yuuri's hands on the sides of his face, then up through his hair,
clutching wildly as if for balance. With a sucked in breath, Conrad embraced the
pain as Yuuri clenched his fingers in his hair. Without breaking contact, Conrad
smoothed his lips down over Yuuri's chin, to his jawbone, breathing along the
ridge.
Tilting his face up, Yuuri bared his throat, an invitation if there ever was
one, and one Conrad accepted with an unquenchable desire. He gently scraped his
teeth along the pale column of Yuuri's neck, eliciting shudders and moans that
worked their way sinuously through him to his cock. He ached to thrust upward,
every movement Yuuri made testing his will and restraint. The only thing Conrad
could do was focus on the space above the neck of Yuuri's t-shirt, the dip where
throat met collar, lick along the bone, savour the salt-fresh taste of Yuuri's
skin.
“I want you,” Yuuri breathed, his voice coming out rich and sure and unlike the
gangly, perpetually embarrassed teenager Conrad knew. “Ohh... ungh.” Ah, then
the old Yuuri was back, no doubt realising what he'd said. Conrad almost laughed
– if he'd had mind, he would've.
Working his way back up to Yuuri's mouth, Conrad was aware they had taken things
too far – way too far – and yet when Yuuri crushed his lips against Conrad's, he
witnessed himself go against his better judgement once again. It was a day of
failed resolve.
As Yuuri bore down on his lap, Conrad thought he might die. There was a violent
shudder all of a sudden, Yuuri going quite still, quite rigid in his arms, his
kiss halting, his breath ceasing. Then, he let out a long, low groan that
wavered at the end, and Conrad knew, right then, that Yuuri had come, that he'd
reached the end of the tension Conrad himself could feel wound tight in his
groin.
“Please,” Yuuri whispered, although to what Conrad wasn't sure. The next one was
breathed hotly against his cheek, close to his ear. “Please...”
Squeezing Yuuri hard, Conrad surrendered to his fall, bucking his hips and
gritting his teeth and biting back a curse as hot, white sensation wracked
through him, burned in his stomach, twisted his body as if his spine was drawing
out of him in one vivid, wrenching rush.
Through it all, Conrad was aware of Yuuri panting against him. Yuuri held on to
him until Conrad was still, until his senses had plummeted back down to land
around him, until the floor of the pool came back up to meet them.
“Wow,” Yuuri murmured against Conrad's neck.
“That was more than just a kiss.” Conrad couldn't stop himself from following
with the question that now swirled in his head. “Yuuri, are you happy? Was that
enough?”
There was a pause.
“What do you think?” Yuuri replied.
It'll never be enough, thought Conrad. “It will do.”
“Yeah,” agreed Yuuri, straightening up and managing a groggy smile. “It'll do.”
His cheeks were suffused with a blush of both exertion and his customary Yuuri
shyness.
“You should go back to the castle,” said Conrad, making no move to let go of
him. “You have a long day of meetings ahead of you tomorrow.”
Yuuri chuckled. “As long as they don't expect me to wear a skirt, I'll be all
right.”
A laugh bursting from his throat, Conrad released him and urged Yuuri towards
the edge of the pool. “You need to change before you catch a cold. I don't want
Gunter leaping down my throat for letting you go around the castle damp.”
“Ah, yeah. Okay.” Hoisting himself up, Yuuri climbed out of the pool. He went to
the nearest table and picked up a plump, soft towel, then carried it back to
Conrad. “Here.”
“Thank you.” Conrad accepted the towel, rising and quickly securing it around
his waist.
“So, if we're still on for practise tomorrow?”
“But of course.”
With one last flash of a smile, Yuuri turned and headed out, his feet pattering
on the tiles, fading until Conrad couldn't hear him any more.
Just one time, he thought to himself. It had been more than 'just one
time'. It had been everything.
Conrad knew, if nothing else, they'd always have that.
~Fin~ |