KKM Two Steps Forward

The next night it was Yuuri who started it. With time and opportunity, he'd learned his fiancé was quite susceptible to the heat of a mouth pressed against his sensitive nape. And his ears, into which Yuuri stuck his tongue with great panache, were particular yielding to pressure and moistness – any touch within the delicate whorls made Wolfram tense and then melt, a reaction Yuuri savoured every time. Yuuri's first aggressive foray progressed from that point, producing the expected results. In the end, neither had the fortitude to make it to the bed.

Wolfram was beneath the Maou this time, a golden creature caught helpless in the clutches of a determined Demon King—or so Yuuri fantasized, before he chuckled at his own pretensions. This was Wolf, after all, and he was far from helpless.

All the lamps and candles were lit, blazing away in the room the maids had tidied 'just so' that morning, for the two occupants of the King's bedroom were too careless to extinguish them in their hurry. The dancing flames showed up their fading love bites from previous nights in all their Technicolor glory, casting a warm glow over the barely-there marks made by last night's frantic fingers, radiating dark across the white skin of bared hips; highlighting the purpling hickey from this morning blooming over one of Wolfram's rosy nipples. Without mercy or decorum, the steady flames illuminated the dazed emerald of eyes alternately wide and clenched tight; the fan of Wolfram's dark lashes fluttering furiously as Yuuri suckled him; the pale hands fisting the fringed edges of the rug cushioning his arching back and thrashing head.

In moments, a thoughtful Yuuri had rolled them over so he could be the one taking the brunt of the hard stone floor beneath the woven wool. Wolfram complied and found himself astride, just as he'd been the night previous, though this night he was in far more submissive a mood, only nipping lightly at Yuuri's already half-nibbled throat and running vaguely curious palms across the flat abdomen below him, whilst allowing the Maou's busy hands to roam wherever they pleased. When the Maou fumbled saliva-slick fingertips at his entrance, his languid fiancé only sighed softly, taking them in with pale eyelids at half-mast and slim shoulders sagging.

Wolfram was tired. Well nigh exhausted. There was a small rebellion brewing on the Francashire border. Conrad and his men had disappeared in that direction a week ago with hardly a pigeon since. Gwendal was currently ensconced in his own castle, the Great Sage with him, going over every peace treaty ever written that concerned pirates and squatters, for Caloria's salty bastards were menacing the 26th Maou's pleasure cruise and Mama's note requesting aid was unusually terse. Yozak had gone in that direction on Yuuri's orders, with a hand-picked gang of 'rough-and-ready sailors', to ensure the fragile truce stayed afloat. Sometime very soon, the Maou himself would have to follow, in one direction or the other, and throw his formidable maryoku into action, to settle matters for once and all.

In the meantime, Greta was ill, along with half the children in the sprawling castle town. Gisela was tearing out her hair, running here and there and missing Gunter badly. The Maou's faithful advisor had returned to Earth – one last photo shoot was necessary to honor the remainder of his contract - and he wouldn't be back for several more weeks.

All the cares of the kingdom thus fell to Yuuri – and by extension, his fiancé. In reality, the brunt of its day-to-day cares landed on Wolfram, who was at least experienced with the exigencies of ruling.

Yuuri helped, as much as he was able. He'd the will, if not the experience. And it seemed, when push came to shove, he did have a good memory for Gunter's lessons after all, but that was still insufficient when compared to Wolfram's lifetime of noblesse oblige. It was the ex-Prince who sent word for additional healers and arranged for Gisela to receive the ingredients she needed for a vaccine. It was the 'selfish loafer' who kept the soldiers stationed at Blood Pledge organized and occupied; who signed the bills of lading for the groceries to keep the Castle fed and victualled; who met with the worried townspeople and the petty diplomats and the Human traders. The Castle ran smoothly but Wolfram von Bielefeld was run ragged, instead.

He believed it was a test of sorts, devised by the Sage and his elder brothers and perhaps Gunter as well. If he was to be Consort, then he would be de-facto ruler, working alongside Yuuri, tackling the greatest challenge of his lifetime: the care and nurturing of Shin Makoku, his beloved homelandg. He and Yuuri would run in harness, leading the people, carrying them safely, ensuring that all the children-human, half-demon and full-bloods-would have what he hoped for his own progeny.

It would take time, he knew. He and Yuuri were not quite comfortable yet, even as attuned as they'd become through physical pleasure. He knew that, regretted it, ignored it and carried on. He wasn't sure what else to do about it, anyway, or if there was any point when Yuuri still held some part of himself back.

He'd not realized this immediately. It had taken weeks, even months, before Wolf knew without a doubt that Yuuri hadn't been completely honest with him the night of the second—the real-Proposal. It was the bleak look glinting in his black eyes at times, the occasional pause before he spoke, the briefest of hesitations that halted momentarily the hand the young Maou always reached out to him. Barely noticeable – not noticeable at all, in fact – till one realized it was there, that miniscule distance.

Wolfram still couldn't quite identify it properly, though at first he thought it was Yuuri's old Earth-born dread of 'homosexual' relationships. The word itself meant nothing to him, even after Conrad had carefully explained its implications, but he accepted its power over his own life. He'd spent years fighting this faceless enemy, unsure if his weapons were effective, terrified of repercussions he couldn't even imagine. Years, only to believe he'd finally triumphed; that Yuuri had fully accepted Shin Makoku's ways as his own.

But that couldn't be true, could it? Yuuri had not been born here—through no fault of his own-and Shin Makoku still amazed and frightened him daily. How could he possibly be used to their customs and culture in just a few short years? It was impossible! It took years to learn all the various intricacies of social interaction alone, much less the nuances of the languages and dialects.

No one, and especially not Yuuri, an indifferent student at best, could hope to be fully cognizant of all that this peculiar culture entailed without years upon years of exposure.

Wolfram figured he'd deliberately deluded himself, perhaps because he'd so wanted to believe in the wonderful feelings that had miraculously risen up in his 'accidental' fiancé. After all, to Wolf it was much like that: one moment they were 'very good friends', the next they were lovers—and still 'very good friends'. Or perhaps he hadn't lied to himself at all – everything Yuuri did these days practically shrieked his deep and abiding love for his future Consort. And Wolf was not blind nor dumb nor in any way stupid – Yuuri did love him, but…

Yuuri did love him, but it was 'in spite of', not 'of course'. He must've had to take a huge leap of faith to do so, Wolfram believed. That he had done so at all was the real miracle; he wasn't sure he could've managed the same thing, in Yuuri's shoes. What little he had seen of Earth's relationships—other than Lord Shoma and Jennifer-san's marriage-had not impressed him. And clearly Yuuri's elder brother did not set a good example.

So, Wolfram decided, perhaps this was more than just a simple test of how well they could work together under pressure – perhaps it was a chance to discover if they could find enough middle ground to be comfortable with one another for a lifetime. A Mazoku lifetime.

Wolf had realized recently—in the midst of battalion drills, actually—he'd not ever really thought about the future in any serious manner. Oh, he'd daydreamed and wished and wanted, hoped for and chivvied along, but not once had he thought beyond the declarations of mutual love (had they even managed to do that yet?) and actually considered the practicalities of what would happen after.

His Yuuri had chosen to live a Mazoku life on his sixteenth birthday. By rights, he should live as long as Wolfram but…Yuuri was aging much faster than Wolf expected. He was seventeen now, in Earth years, almost eighteen, and in Mazoku time those three short years brought him nearly twenty years closer to death. If he continued to mature this way, Wolf would lose him to grim death in less than two hundred years – perhaps much less. That was naught but a blink—a drop in the bucket. Not even the halfway mark through Wolf's own life, should he take after his own long-lived forebears. And it could be far, far sooner than that, if Shinou hated his faithful servant – that he might be widowed and bereft of his reason for living.

And he would be King.

Greta would've passed, as well, by that time. Her brown curls would wither to grey; her bright eyes would close. Conrad, too. And Yosak - both of them balanced now on the double-edged sword of their birthrights; both would fall, inevitably. Jennifer-san and Shouri-sama and perhaps even his own dear Mama, who'd lived a long, long life already.

Wolfram would be trapped here, then, forced to exist without his mate, his child, his family.

"Wolf-chan?" Yuuri poked him, tickling, the seduction derailed by his own unusual lackadaisicality. "Hey…?"

Wolfram grunted, shifting uneasily. He and Yuuri had better have more children soon or he wouldn't be able to carry on for those two or three hundred unbearable years after the worst had happened. Shinou didn't exactly approve of people who took their own lives in order to be with their loved ones, no matter how soppily romantic the idea. If he did something that foolish, the Original King might just leave his soul hanging in limbo for a very long time.

Limbo was not a place Wolf wanted to be again, not if he could help it. Been there, done that and hadn't enjoyed the scenery. Besides, his problems were here and now, not some two hundred years distant.

…And right this very minute there was the urgent issue of his adorably handsome betrothed, who'd ceased his loving ministrations altogether and was staring up at Wolf, clearly puzzled.

"Hey? Are you okay, Wolf-chan? Am I hurting you?"

"Um…" Wolfram raised his arms over his head, arching his spine, and rolled his head on his stiff neck to get the kinks out, yawning and stretching in a long, slow languorous motion—like a great pale feline, just waking from a nap. The elegant action showed off the lean line of his flanks and the subtle ripple of muscle under satin skin. Yuuri gulped visibly and snatched his hands away quickly, attempting to hide them under his flushed chin. "No…" Wolf admitted. "Ahh! Ummm. Tired, Yuuri."

"…Wolf?"

"Mmmmnn. Just sleepy."

Yuuri's dark eyes went very wide, but that was the only the visible sign of his surprise. He set his hands against his fiancé's shoulders without a word, gripping them to hold him steady while he eased himself out from under Wolf. In seconds, he'd slid one arm around Wolf's waist and with the other helped him up to stand on the soft plush of the floral carpet, waiting patiently while his fiancé shook the cramps from his knees.

"Come on," he said, smiling and urging Wolfram toward the bed. "Time to go to sleep, eh?"

Wolfram let his head rest against Yuuri's broad shoulder, nodding. He was disappointed, of course, but a haze of exhaustion had finally overcome him-against his will-and it seemed there was not a thing he could do about it.

"I'm sorry, Yuuri," he mumbled. "I guess I must be more tired than I thought I was. I'm sorry…I wanted…"

"Eh, no problem, Wolf-chan. Let's just get some shut-eye, okay? Tomorrow's another long day."

Wolf was snoring before his head hit the pillow, soft snuffling sounds and muted honks that made Yuuri grin. He settled his fiancé under the covers with care, carefully drawing them up over pale shoulders and fluffing the mass of pillows that were scattered around Wolf's tousled head.

"Sweet dreams, Wolf-chan," the Maou whispered, waving a hand to extinguish the candles and bank down the fire still roaring merrily in the hearth. "Sleep well, okay?"

But the young Maoui didn't climb in beside his fiancé, tired though he was. He threw on his bathrobe instead and tiptoed to the broad wooden doors of the bedroom, easing one open with a cautionary finger to his lips.

"Your Majesty!" The soldiers posted on either side snapped to attention.

"Shhh! His Excellency's asleep. I'm going to my study for a bit, okay? You don't need to follow me."

"Oh, but, your Majesty," the two guards looked at each other, shared anxiety in their eyes. They couldn't allow his Majesty go unescorted, or course, but neither could they abandon his Excellency Lord Wolfram, the Consort-to-Be. Yuuri regarded them for a silent moment and then heaved a long-suffering sigh, waving his hands in mute acceptance.

"Fine. One of you come with me and one of you stay here, okay?" Yuuri shrugged good-naturedly; this was the best he could come up with, even if this was getting to be a nightly ritual these days. These army guys should know this by now! Even Yuuri understood the theory of protecting one's exposed backside!

"Of course, your Majesty!"

Honor satisfied, the guards performed some arcane form of 'rock, paper, scissors' to decide who would do what and soon enough a patient Yuuri was padding off down the hallway, followed by his faithful shadow. The one who followed him paused for a quick moment at the intersection of the main hallway and an arterial passageway and shared a word with the two others posted there, resulting in one of them rushing back the way they'd come, off to keep the soon-to-be Consort's lonely sentry company.

Yuuri grinned at their haste – these men were Wolf's personal guard and he could easily tell whom they wished to protect more of the two of them. His Honey-chan was a popular guy! Still, he could trust the one accompanying him with his very life, no matter what happened. Wolf would expect no less from these intrepid young-and-handsome fire-wielders. They'd die sooner than allow either Wolf or Yuuri to be molested, and proud to do so.

"Will you be needing anything else, Heika?"

Sangria had materialized outside the study by the time he arrived, a tea tray balanced in her hands. Yuuri thanked her for the courtesy and assured her there was nothing else he required as he politely opened the door for her – he merely wanted to get some extra study time in whilst Wolf-chan was sleeping.

"And here is the latest pigeon-post from his Excellency the Sage, Heika. He says he'll be back next week and Lord von Voltaire with him."

Not a word was said about a maid reading His Majesty's mail before he did; Sangria had become Yuuri's midnight secretary with no fuss at all. Yuuri smiled at her.

"That's great, Sangria! I just hope we survive, eh? Muddling along like this without them is really hard, isn't it? Not even Anissina's here and, with Greta as sick as she is, we really miss her."

"That we do, Heika, but you and Lord Wolfram are doing just fine in the meantime."

"Really?" Yuuri flushed with pleasure. "You think? But it's Wolf-chan doing all the real work, Sangria – I'm kind of useless."

"Oh…no, your Majesty," Sangria grinned right back at him, mischief in her fine eyes. "Not at all. It's nice, actually, having just the two of you for us staff to worry about. We maids really appreciate it."

"Um, yes, I guess," Yuuri nodded, thinking maybe she meant that less people in Blood Pledge meant less cleaning and food preparation. "Less work, huh?" he hazarded, taking an educated guess. "Laundry and cooking and-and stuff?"

"No, sir," Sangria replied promptly. "Less drama. Even the staff needs a break every now and then and this is just like a mini-vacation for us."

Yuuri chuckled, following Sangria as she laid the tray on the corner of his wide desk. It was entirely true, since without Gunter and Cheri-sama and Anissina around – and with Greta not feeling well – it was very quiet at Blood Pledge right at the moment. Just he and Wolf-chan, with no one to interrupt them or chase them around with frightening bits of magical metal – or to separate them into different places, he stuck behind a pile of paperwork and Wolf out on the castle grounds, training.

No one to crawl into their bed at night during a thunderstorm, either. Greta's fever had finally broken with the new medicine Gisela had devised, but she was still too worn out to go wandering the halls at night, looking for the two of them. They'd each spent their fair share of hours watching over her, but now she was on the mend and a maid popping in periodically to check up her was more than sufficient.

Nope, it was just him and his fiancé. Rattling round this huge Castle with no one to bug them.

And there were also these books here in this leaning pile, Yuuri remembered abruptly, which he had to at least skim through before the hour was up. And those papers over there – the requisitions and the trade agreements – they had to be dealt with. He'd stuff to sign and work to do, and there were never enough hours in the day.

If he had time left over, he'd start wading through the scrolls on maritime law and the Codification of Shin Makoku's Laws on Piracy and Unlawful International Trespass. And he'd have to read Murata's note first thing, 'cause there might be something in there to help them…to help Wolfram, who'd been landed with this mess just as much he had.

"Good night, Heika. Don't stay up too late or his Excellency will be angry with you." Sangria nodded and smiled at Yuuri's abstraction, gently shutting the door behind her, allowing Yuuri the barest glimpse of the gorgeous blond boy in blue who stood guarding it.

Why were Wolf's guards all so handsome? Yuuri wondered, sitting down at his desk and hauling the stack towards him with a grimace. And why did they bear such an eerie resemblance to their gorgeous leader? Now Yuuri couldn't help but think of his own gorgeous Wolf-chan, sprawled out in some unlikely position, probably taking up all of his bed with those long arms and legs of his.

Bare legs. Naked arms. And that beautifully buff person, all cream and pale and rose-tinted, golden, and emerald-gilt, and just plain glorious. That weary body, Yuuri reminded himself sternly; Wolfram, no matter how exhausted he might be from training or chasing Greta, had never once denied Yuuri his husband-to-be's rights.

He felt so guilty – which was why he was here, long after 'official' Maou bedtime, boning up on Shin Makoku's rules and regulations, precedents and customs, just so he could give Wolf-chan even a tenth of the help he should be giving him. Who was the real Ruler here, anyway? Not him! He just had shitloads of power, but no actual finesse or expertise when it came to ordering the right amount of potatoes (they looked like potatoes) to feed three hundred people or the right way to tell the Mayor that another decorative, honorary fountain was completely unnecessary, as they already had five at Blood Pledge alone.

Wolf could do these things, though. His Wolf could, Yuuri knew – and did, till he was practically passing out on his feet from the effort. And handle Greta, too, reading her endless stories, wiping her down when she was sweaty with fever, coaxing her to eat and drink a little when she claimed no appetite. His Wolf was downright amazing, Yuuri decided-all the time, but never more so than now, when it was just the two of them.

And as long as he buckled down and did his part; tried his best and his damnedest, than it would be alright. Yuuri could justify being here in Shin Makoku, being with Wolf-chan, forever. He'd be the best Maou he could be.

"Come to bed, wimp."

Papers fluttered madly into the hushed air of the study. Books cascaded onto the floor in an untidy heap that would instantly give the absentee Gunter a nosebleed.

"Arrghh! W-Wolfram! You startled me, damn it!" Yuuri leaped three feet in his chair, and yelped.

His quill was now likely half-way across the room, leaking ink on some massive old tome Gunter absolutely treasured.

"Yeah, so? You shouldn't be awake anyway, Yuuri." Wolf-chan tossed his head irritably. "Come to bed, wimp. Now."

"But!"

"Now."

Wolfram required no extra emphasis in his voice; the tapping foot and glinting eyes were quite enough. In a rush, Yuuri rose, abandoning his labours and the god-awful mess on the floor, and made his way to the doorway where his fiancé waited.

"Sorry! Did I wake you?" He realized that was a stupid thing to say pretty much immediately. "I mean – did you sleep? You were really worn out, Wolf-chan. I was worried."

Wolfram slung an arm through Yuuri's, tugging him though the open doorway.

"Come on. Back to bed now, wimp." Yuuri noticed he avoided the question, but contented himself with the memory of Wolf-chan snoring his head off—what? An hour ago? Two?

A nod from the Consort-to-Be dismissed the guard, who blushed faintly at the sight of Wolfram's revealing nightgown, and Yuuri was marched back down the corridor to his room by his impatient fiancé. Wolfram didn't ask Yuuri what he'd been doing in the middle of the night or really say much at all, though Yuuri spent the entire time they spent walking back babbling on about what he'd learned in the last two hours – a breathless, confusing explanation of orders, writs and code numbers, legalese and jargon. His betrothed only pressed himself against the Maou's side like a friendly cat; his free hand trickling through the Maou's mussed black locks, till Yuuri was quite happy to hurry along beside him.

The staunch von Bielefeld Blues took up their positions gratefully, one on either side of the Maou's bedroom doors, when at last they reached them. They sighed with heartfelt relief when the big wooden slabs were shut and barred from the inside.

"Wolfram? Are you feeling any better?"

Wolf didn't bother to answer; Yuuri was herded under the covers instead, the bathrobe stripped ruthlessly, and then his fiancé clambered in beside him, shedding the cumbersome nightgown as he went.

"Wolf-chan?" Bustling action at one in the morning didn't erase big, dark, raccoon circles under green eyes, though. Yuuri was still concerned. He cocked his chin and prodded Wolf for an answer.

"Mm-hm, wimp. Much. Now, stop asking; I'm fine." The answer was snippy, but the eyes weren't. Not at all—they were warm and loving, and Yuuri grinned, immensely relieved.

"Oh. Good."

The Maou was snuggled against immediately, warm hands sliding across his chest to pull him tighter. Yuuri tensed, unsure as to Wolf-chan's intentions. If there was going to be sex, then he'd have to (very regretfully) say 'No, sorry,' as totally insane as that might be for a seventeen year old young man. Wolf-chan needed his rest, to put it simply. Yuuri was damned well not going to take advantage of him again—nope, not at all.

Absolutely not.

"Um. Good."

But his fiancé only draped on slim leg over Yuuri's thighs and settled in for the duration, eyes closed. The candles blinked out at Yuuri's silent command, scented smoke wafting under the canopy, and Yuuri finally relaxed after another few endless minutes of anxious waiting to see if Wolf-chan was…interested. One never knew with Wolf-chan, really.

"What? You afraid I'd want something, wimp? You're not up for it?"

Yuuri was almost asleep himself when the acerbic question jolted him out of his comfortable daze. Guiltily, he blushed in the dark, not knowing how to answer. It wasn't like he ever held back or anything, so how could he explain to Wolf without hurting his feelings?

"Uh. Erm?"

His shoulder was nipped and then Wolf shook his golden head impatiently, the silky tendrils brushing Yuuri's bared shoulder.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, wimp," Wolf chuckled. "I just wanted to know you were here."

"I'm here!"

A grateful Maou slid a cozy arm around his cuddly fiancé, pulling him closer. He smiled softly at the canopy he couldn't see above him.

"I'm very much here, Wolf-chan."

A rustling pause and then Wolfram lifted his head for a brief moment. Yuuri felt the soft brush of cool lips across his cheek as Wolf kissed him—ittybitty pecks of affection, which resounded so much the larger within.

"Then make sure you stay here, wimp," Wolf ordered. "That's all I really need."

Yuuri grinned harder, wider, brighter. It was amazing the canopy didn't catch fire, the glare was so strong—but then, it was his fiancé who threw around fire with such great abandon; Yuuri was stuck with boring old water.

"…Yeah." The word was the grin, visible. "Go to sleep, Wolf-chan, alright?"

"G'night, Yuuri," Wolf sighed contentedly. "Love you."

One more quick kiss from Wolf to his fiancé's forehead, smooth and unlined on a fresh face full of youth, and then Wolfram was asleep again in an instant, spawling.

"Love you, too, Wolf-chan," echoed Yuuri, shifting so that he could curl up around his lover, so that every part of him that might touch could.

Soft blond tresses—silvered in the waning moonlight-tickled his nose, and Yuuri breathed in the precious scent of 'my fiancé' gratefully, terribly pleased he'd gotten some more work done before sleeping, and more pleased yet that he now actually understood the complexities inherent in Section A, Paragraph 33, lines 56 through 104 of the Shin Makoku Code of Maritime Law, Piracy chapter. Happier still that Wolfram had retrieved him from his dreary, dull study or he probably would've ended up sleeping there, instead. So much better to be all tangled up in each other, warm and content. They'd still be like that in the morning, too-Yuuri was certain, for Wolf-chan was pretty much cured of his troublesome nocturnal habit of painful thrashing, gradually gentled by his slowly-learning-to-be-patient husband-to-be.

His soon husband-to-be, Yuuri exulted silently. Four more weeks and they'd tie the knot officially, once and for all. It was hard to wait patiently at this point, but he knew they'd an awful lot of work to do before it actually happened, not the least of which was this prerequisite 'trial time' together. The Ten Aristocrats (minus Wolfram, of course) had really gone out of their way in their efforts—this time-to ensure their willful Maou really, truly meant to marry his long-term, long-suffering fiancé, but Yuuri could be patient, he supposed, if he had to. It wasn't as if he had the greatest track record—he really couldn't blame them for being skeptical.

But if Wolfram von Bielefeld was the prize in Yuuri's crackerjack, then he'd learn to curb his impetuous nature, even if it took five hundred years.

And he'd every intention of being around in five hundred years—but he'd damned if he'd still be single!

END