Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Notes: Hmm, where to start... this fic's loosely designed to be a companion to Only a Matter of Time and its first and second comment follow-ups. Reading them is not essential to the plot however, but it would explain where Yuuri gets the idea from. Speaking of Yuuri... if he seems too ooc, please let me know. XD;;;
An oh-so-rare warning: this is a kink fic. A gay D/s-type kink fic, to be specific, with touches of others. It's a gay D/s-type kink fic I've worked reeeally hard on. If it's not your cuppa, please go read something else. :)
There was a book about it in the castle library.
There was a book about it in the castle library.
A book without pictures, which made an already difficult topic even more daunting for the young king of Shin Makoku. A picture-less book about it that wasn't a journal. No, someone seemed to have put a fairly strenuous amount of research into the topic and thought it would be a good idea to share what he or she had found.
Since Yuuri was absolutely against getting anyone to help him translate, he managed to stumble through the book over a period of about two months.
Once finished, he felt he should get a medal or something to acknowledge the countless late-night hours spent pouring through dictionaries and fending off everyone's questions -- without freaking out, thank you very much -- about why he was suddenly so fervently studying something he so steadfastly refused to talk about.
Keeping it a secret from Murata was the hardest part of it all. At least Conrad knew when to rein in the hounds. Murata kept prodding. Asking questions. Asking the same questions in different ways, hoping he'd trip Yuuri up. When all else failed, he'd make comments and let out little sighs that, in a strange way, reminded Yuuri of the puppy eyes Greta gave him when she really, really wanted something that he didn't think she should have.
Greta usually won. Murata did not.
Yuuri guessed Murata was probably a right pain in the ass around his birthday.
He also thought, at times, that Murata was more interested in trying to guess what Yuuri was up to than he was in actually finding out the answer.
A month after finishing the book, in between conferences and goodwill tours and paperwork and baseball training, Yuuri managed to gather all his resources and put his plan into action.
That, mortifyingly, had required him to speak to Conrad. In very, very general terms. Terms that included words like "thing" and "stuff" and "you know, stuff", combined with enough fidgeting and face-hurting blushes that Conrad got a very vague -- oh, he hoped it was vague -- picture of what Yuuri was talking about. He promised to give the guards at Yuuri's door instructions not to come breaking down the door, no matter what they heard. But no, he would not give them the night off. And there was no way in hell Yuuri wanted Conrad standing watch.
Thankfully, Yuuri had worked himself up into such a state of nerves beforehand that when the appointed night arrived, no one noticed anything more unusual.
"Shibuya, do you even have any fingernails left?"
Yuuri eyed Murata as they walked from the dining room to Yuuri's rooms -- though since Murata hardly spent any time at the Shinou's temple anymore, they could probably be called "their rooms". "Why do you ask?"
A dark eyebrow raised. "That's one reason," he said with a grin. "You're not usually this high-strung."
He swallowed and laughed nervously, trying to surreptitiously examine his hands. "Ahaha... I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But see?" He held up one hand. "Nails intact."
Murata snorted and shook his head. "Good to know." He folded his arms behind his head. "No studying tonight?"
"N, no." Yuuri was almost looking forward to getting back to the room. Though he died a little inside when the guard greeted him and Murata, giving them both an evaluating look. He didn't know if he could do this.
He let Murata enter first, then took a deep breath as the door closed behind him. As requested, the lamps had been left unlit, and the curtains to the huge windows were closed. After the door closed, the room became utterly dark. Yuuri hovered close to the wall by the door, just listening for a moment, imagining he could see Murata glance around the room.
"Hey, Shibuya, I think the maids skipped your room."
Yuuri took a deep breath and swallowed. "Actually..." his voice shook just a little. Though, given that he had expected to not be able to talk at all, he deemed this acceptable. "I asked them to."
Murata paused; Yuuri could hear his clothing shift as he turned. "I see." The lilt in his voice told Yuuri he was amused and Yuuri cringed, again unsure that he really had the guts to see this through. He inched away from the door, foot searching for the box he had left on the floor earlier. Still, he heard another shift of clothing and this time imagined Murata putting his hands on his hips. "Is this what all the secrecy was about?"
His foot bumped the box gently and Yuuri leaned down to reach inside. His fingers brushed one of the soft silk scarves and he pulled it out, holding his breath as he walked back toward where he thought Murata stood.
Yuuri pulled up short, much closer to his friend's back than he'd guessed. He reached out, starting high and letting his hand come down until it brushed the top, then the back of Murata's head. Murata turned his head slightly, as if to look behind him, and Yuuri tangled his fingers hard into his friend's hair and heard him gasp. "More this than that," he answered. He stepped closer, pressing up against Murata's back. He could feel the tension in how straight his friend held himself. That tension made him nervous; he licked his lips and leaned close to Murata's ear. "If... if you want me to, um, not do something, you'll have to tell me."
Murata stayed very, very quiet for what felt like a really long time; Yuuri stayed put, but the longer the silence continued, the more he felt like letting go and backing away and scrambling to get the maids to light the lamps while he ran off and hid and hopefully died of embarrassment before he had to face his friend again. Remaining there, still, with Murata's fine hair in between his fingers was hard. But he did, somehow. "Trust me," Murata had said. Yuuri was trying to.
At some point, probably only seconds after he had spoken, Yuuri became aware of a subtle change in his friend's breathing; slower, shallower. Yuuri's heart tripped along in quadruple-time as Murata tilted his head back, just a little. "I will."
He nearly groaned in relief, though now he had an all new set of worries. But he just took a deep breath and nodded. "Good. Take off your glasses." Yuuri squelched the little thrill that shot up his spine as he felt Murata comply; he focused instead on the scarf in his other hand. He had to release the other's head in order to grasp the scarf, but he heard the soft pull of breath as he tied the cloth over Murata's eyes and grinned stupidly despite himself. He brushed one hand down along Murata's arm until he found his friend's hand and carefully took the glasses from him. "Okay, don't move."
When Murata nodded, he stepped back, then around his friend at what he thought was about at arms' length, and -- as quickly as he dared -- moved toward the nightstand by the bed. He bumped into the table and cursed under his breath, then heard a stifled laugh behind him. "Oh, shut up," he muttered.
"How long have you been planning this?" He could tell Murata thought this was funny. As glad as he was to have some sort of normalcy at the moment, his heart sank a little. Maybe this was a bad idea, after all.
"Um, a while."
A pause. "I can tell."
Yuuri felt around on the table for the box of matches he had put there earlier and held one of the glasses' ear-thingies between his teeth as he dug out a match and struck it, then lit the pair of taper candles he'd also put on the table. Somehow, he felt better with some light in the room. He set the glasses down beside the matchbox and turned back around.
Murata stood exactly where Yuuri had -- probably -- left him, the black scarf still tied over his eyes. Yuuri swallowed, feeling his mouth go a little dry at the sight, and the knowledge that Murata was actually playing along. His friend had his head tilted to the side and a little forward, as if trying to make up for his lack of sight with his hearing.
Yuuri slipped his shoes off and walked carefully over to him, being as quiet as possible. Murata's brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration, but he still startled slightly when Yuuri took his face in his hands and kissed him. His tongue darted between Murata's lips when he gasped; he felt his friend's pulse spike beneath his fingertips and shivered as goosebumps rose on his own skin. He stroked his tongue against Murata's, slow and lingering; a knot of tension in his back eased when Murata groaned softly and responded in kind. This was something he could do; he'd had plenty of practice. The scarier stuff came later. One thing at a time.
He could feel the halting, hesitant motion of Murata's arms as they came up as if to hold on, then paused; as if his friend was gauging how literally Yuuri had meant his instruction not to move. In the end, he erred on the side of caution, and lowered his hands back to his sides. Yuuri pressed harder into the kiss, his fingertips tightened on the edges of Murata's jaw. Give a reward when pleased, the book had said, and so Yuuri did. He slid his hands up into his friend's hair, held it tightly between his fingers, and pressed their mouths closer until their teeth scraped. He was pleased -- and more than a little turned on -- and bemused when he felt Murata shudder beneath his hands.
When Murata began to kiss back with equal force, Yuuri pulled back, leaving him straining forward for a half second before he caught himself. Yuuri blushed and was glad the blindfold kept his friend from seeing it. He noticed Murata's hands had clenched into tight fists during the kiss, an attempt to keep from moving. Grinning a little while catching his breath, Yuuri ran his fingertip gently over Murata's kiss-damp lower lip. "Hey, Murata?" Even though he'd kept his voice low, it seemed much louder in the darkened room.
"Mm?" The reply sounded as if it had had to be scraped out of Murata's throat.
Yuuri's grin widened, though his nervousness returned. He opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized his first word would have been "um", and swallowed, regrouping. "I want you to tell me what you want me to do next." He held his breath, amazed he'd gotten it all out in one go. The expression on Murata's face was perfect; he half wished he had a camera, then realized how much potential for humiliation there would be in having one in Shin Makoku and changed his mind.
But at his words, Murata's lips had parted a little further, eyebrows rising above the blindfold. His friend swallowed, then, and offered Yuuri an easy grin. "Like what?" he asked, tone matching the grin, both completely fake. "Can you give me an example?"
Yuuri's unkinder self would probably have slapped the grin off Murata's face. But Yuuri couldn't... wouldn't do that. And yet... responding the the most comfortable way meant putting an end to everything, right then and there. He couldn't be outright mean, but he couldn't really be himself, either. He knew Murata's masks intimately by now, having had every one of them used on him. He'd seen when they'd fallen, too, when his friend was just too tired, too upset, or too wrapped up in the moment to maintain them. He was, perhaps, the only person who had had that privilege. He knew full well Murata would have eaten glass before revealing himself to anyone else, even to the Shinou. Especially to the Shinou.
So, watching another facade come up when Yuuri was trying so hard to make this work stirred an unpleasant feeling in his stomach. He couldn't be mean... but the thought of replying forcefully did have appeal, at the moment. Punish for displeasure. And if he were being honest with himself, Yuuri's ire wasn't completely played up, either. He gritted his teeth, then grabbed a handful of Murata's jacket and swung him around until he could push him up against the wall. Unable to see to get his balance, Murata stumbled over a few steps and landed heavily. "No," Yuuri growled, and began to unbutton the collar of his friend's jacket.
Murata brought his hands up, placating. "Wait, Shibuya--"
"Tell me." He toed a line, ignoring the protest. But the candle light let him see a faint blush on Murata's cheek, and he took the chance.
His friend slowly lowered his hands and leaned his head back against the wall. His Adam's Apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. "Kiss me," he whispered.
Yuuri's insides twisted, sending heat straight down between his legs. He licked his lips. He could feel Murata's heartbeat under his fingers. "Louder."
Murata shivered. "Kiss me," he repeated in a more normal tone. "Again. Like you just did."
Yuuri could have taken him absolutely literally; could have started from the beginning and built up. It would have probably driven Murata crazy. But if there was one thing in the world Yuuri Shibuya didn't have much of, it was patience. He needed to get some more, but he thought he'd done pretty well for the last three months. When he heard the strain in Murata's voice, that tiny thread that completely ruined the calm Murata was trying for, he pinned Murata's hands against the wall with his own and kissed him hard.
He felt the backs of Murata's hands pushing against his, as his friend let out a helpless moan. Biting back one of his own, Yuuri pressed more of his weight down, keeping the palms flat against the wall. He broke it abruptly, and groaned against Murata's neck when the other whimpered plaintively. "Shibuya..." he breathed, and Yuuri felt his Adam's Apple bob against his cheek as he swallowed. "I--"
Whatever Murata wanted to say ran up against one of Yuuri's hands in a puff of sound and breath as he covered his friend's mouth. "Request time's over," he said softly, firmly. "My turn."
On to Part 2 (coming soon!)