The One You're With

Precarious (The One You're With part 2)
by Tsutsuji
Fandom: Kyo Kara Maou!
Pairing: Conrad/Murata. Implied one-sided Conrad/Yuuri; implied Shinou/Murata.
Rating and warnings: NC17, pwp, yaoi, bondage, dominance&submission, sensory deprivation, angst, UST.
Wordcount: 2295 or so.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings are the property of Tomo Takabayashi and associates. I'm not them and nobody pays me to write this stuff.

Inspired by the KKM Kink Meme request for "Conrad/Murata, blindfold, dominance - anything as long as Conrad's on top" and further inspired by the prompt "Restraint" (from Drabble123's "sex" table, but not written as part of a claim for that community).
~~

They begin the same way they have every time since Conrad accepted this task. Murata arrives at Conrad's door, knocks softly and enters, closes and locks the door behind himself. They greet each other casually with smiles and friendly words, as if it is not the deepest hour of night, and as if Murata has not just slunk through every shadow to get here from the temple unseen. He walks over to where Conrad sits waiting for him, and they fall silent for a moment, watching each other as if to affirm once more that they have each agreed to this.

"Any last minute requests, Geika?" Conrad asks with his warm, disarming smile, as if he's offering Murata a choice of treats at a picnic.

Murata considers the question seriously, though. It will be his last chance to ask for anything between now and dawn.

"Not this time, thank you, Weller-kyo," he says, shaking his head and returning the smile.

Then he bows his head slightly, takes off his glasses - the gesture that has become the signal for the moment he becomes Conrad's.

The first time, he stood there awkwardly with them in his hand, unsure of where to put them, or what to do next, suddenly realizing this was the present and that he was only a Japanese schoolboy after all, and the past, no matter how vivid in his mind, could give him no guidance for this. That time, after staring at him silently for several heartbeats, Conrad gently took the glasses from his hand and set them aside. With his vision obscured and with Conrad's hands tentative but determined on him, everything else became perfectly clear.

This time, Conrad stands up after setting Murata's glasses on the table by the bed, and walks around behind him. He doesn't move except to raise his head a little, to make it easier for Conrad to place the thick, black cloth over his eyes and tie it behind his head. Instantly, his other senses seem heightened, all fully attuned to Conrad: his clean-washed scent, and the quiet rustle of clothing as he moves, and the touch of his hands drifting through Murata's hair, over his shoulders and down his back and sides, as if measuring the shape of Murata's body within the unrevealing black uniform jacket and pants.

Conrad leans down behind him and brushes his lips against Murata's hair; the swordsman's strong arms come around him lightly, a teasing sort of almost-hug from behind, palms sliding across his chest, and left hand falling lower to brush the front of his thighs under the hem of his uniform top.

Then Conrad places his hands on Murata's arms just below his shoulders. He feels hot breath on his ear, braces himself for the touch of tongue or teeth there, but instead hears a soft command.

"Hands behind you, Ken-chan," Conrad says, pulling his arms backward.

Murata complies, but squints his eyes more tightly behind the blindfold in the first real rush of anticipation. He is not surprised to feel another length of fabric wrapped and tied securely around his wrists.

"Not too tight, is it, Ken-chan?" Conrad asks, his voice lilting as if he must be smiling.

"Not at all, thank you, Weller-dono," Murata says, trying to keep his voice light, but he's sure Conrad is observant enough to notice that it's already a little shaky with the first flush of arousal.

Conrad pulls away, and in the dark, Murata waits.

~~

Sometime not much later, Murata has discovered that it is not at all easy to balance on tiptoe in stocking feet, with one's hands tied behind one's back, and blindfolded besides.

Conrad stands directly in front of him with one finger under his chin to coax him up, but that's not enough to support or steady Murata in this position. He guesses that Conrad is leaning down toward him, but only slightly, and he knows he's supposed to try to reach up and find Conrad's mouth with his, blindly, by feel and sound, without toppling over. Conrad stays still, waiting for him. Murata feels his way up and forward awkwardly, following the feathery touch of hot breath on his face, and barely, barely touches Conrad's lips with his. Conrad teases him, holding back just out of reach, keeping him in place with that one single fingertip, until Murata grunts a little in frustration.

Murata feels Conrad's lips curve in a smile when he finally lets him make full contact, after that revealing sound escapes him. Wobbling a little, he tries to clasp onto Conrad's lips with his own, partly because he wants the touch by now, badly, but also for balance.

Conrad responds by biting his lip, then sucking it in hard, making Murata whimper with even greater need as the sudden sensation goes right to his groin. That doesn't help him balance any better, though, and he wobbles more on the balls of his feet and tries to clamp onto Conrad's mouth harder, the only real point of contact between them - knowing it's a bad idea even as he does it.

Conrad lets him get away with it for a second, makes a little disapproving sound, then suddenly moves his hand, grabbing Murata by the throat instead. Fingertip and thumb press up under his jaw, forcing his head up higher and making his blood pound in his ears. He's still on his toes, though, still has to try to keep his own balance, knowing there's nothing behind him and if Conrad lets him go suddenly he'll fall - and he still wants the kiss, and more.

With his other hand, Conrad opens his uniform top and reaches inside, quickly finding and twisting a nipple, sharp enough to bring tears to Murata's eyes under the blindfold and make him whimper again. This loosens his grip on Conrad's mouth, and Conrad takes advantage of this by thrusting his tongue inside, hard and deep, teeth and lips bruising Murata's lips. Just when Murata recovers enough to start sucking on the invading tongue, Conrad pulls away and, still holding him up on tiptoe precariously, turns to kissing and biting his jaw and face and lips, leaving Murata gasping.

The pressure on his throat makes his head swim, making it even harder to keep his own balance. He struggles against the bonds on his wrists in spite of himself, instinctively trying to throw his arms out to steady himself. Conrad must feel or see his struggle and laughs softly, a cool, velvety sound in Murata's blind darkness. The hand under his jaw hurts and the blood rushes in his ears, Conrad pinches his nipple harder, but the worst agony is how hard he is and how he can't do anything about it.

Just before things start to fade to black from lack of blood and air to his brain, Conrad's grip loosens and begins caressing his throat instead. This allows him to drop a little so that he's solidly on the balls of his feet again, but he totters, and this time Conrad steadies him in place, holding him there. The hand on his chest shifts, too, spreading over his body, slipping around under the jacket, falling lower to clutch around his ribs and the point of his hip. Instinctively he pushes upward against it even though this threatens his balance again. He moans, quite consciously this time, recklessly revealing his desperation even though he knows it might do more harm than good, and might get him less of what he wants rather than more.


Conrad, on the other hand, can barely suppress the shudders that rise up from the base of his spine, and barely holds back on the sharp, white hot desire that courses through him from the feeling of having Murata's body pliant in his hands like this, and at the sight of the boy struggling and still lurching toward him, need revealed in every movement and sound. He presses his face and lips to dark hair damp from the exertion of merely staying upright, rubs his rough cheek against the boy's soft face, and laps at his throat.

He didn't know he could do this, doubted the wisdom of his own choice when Shinou gave him this task, and didn't understand how it could be a reward as well, but he has thought many times since then that, as he once said, the Great Sage sees what others miss. Murata, at least, must have seen this need building inside of him, when he thought he had even hidden it from himself.

Conrad grips his right hand in Murata's thick black hair, ignoring the fact that the texture and curl of it is different than what his hand anticipated and desired. He breathes in the scent of Murata's skin, clean and salty, exotic with flavors from the other world where he was born. With his left hand, he tugs and bunches the black uniform jacket and the slim, young body beneath it, and then reaches lower.

Murata's hardness fits so nicely into his hand, pressed through layers of restricting fabric, and the sound Murata makes is so desperate and pleading it makes his throat hurt. He doesn't wonder if Murata is thinking of the memory of another hand claiming him in the same way, just as he doesn't think of another body all dressed in black, as young and slim but slightly more athletic, that he would touch this way if he could.


Murata stumbles, trying to spread his legs a little, blindly and desperately encouraging the groping hand even though he can barely hope to stay upright on his toes if he does so. He's held up now only by Conrad's right hand in his hair at the back of his neck, pulling his head back, and by the swordsman's left hand maddeningly squeezing his cock and balls through his pants. He wants to scream, but he hasn't even been told to beg yet, so all he can do is gasp and make wordless sounds and squirm helplessly. There's no point hiding his need, after all. He can only sense dimly and hopefully, through the hint of a tremor in Conrad's touch and through his heightened sense of smell and taste and by the rough sound of rasping breath in his ear, that Conrad must be as intensely aroused as he is.

They agreed without speaking of it, at the very beginning, to play this game without words, allowing each other the tricks of their own minds; so Murata always wears his school uniform, but never calls out Conrad's name in the soft voice and foreign accent that he knows would echo the one in Conrad's imagination; Conrad always fondles and possesses him always with his left hand, but never makes the soft commands that he knows Murata remembers from a life long past. So now, Murata does his best not to cry out a name in some ancient form of speech when Conrad finally, finally wraps his right arm around his body and steadies him, then opens his trousers and thrusts his other hand inside.

Somewhere along the way, Conrad had dropped to his knees, and now presses Murata's whole body to himself, murmuring against his skin, licking and nibbling where his fingers pinched before, twirling a blindingly sensitive nipple between teeth and tongue. Murata gasps, and almost begs then with Conrad's hand stroking him so slowly and steady; it's not nearly enough to answer the fire building at the base of his cock.

"Do you want to come now?" Conrad asks, lips feathering the skin below his ear. "Or later, on your back with me inside you?"

"Now!" Murata cries before he thinks, undone by the soft voice and the words and the simple permission to speak. He feels Conrad's smile just before his hand tightens and speeds up. It's too late to wish he'd waited instead.

The black darkness behind the blindfold turns to a burst of white, and for just one moment, all the memories and desires of the past disappear along with the present into a timeless wave of sweet release. Then gradually he's aware again, of Conrad's strong arm and body wrapped around his, of Conrad's hand wet and sticky on his thigh, and of cooler air almost welcome on his exposed and overheated skin.

Conrad gives him a moment to breathe, ear pressed against his chest to listen to his racing heart. When it starts to slow toward normal, he reaches behind Murata and twists the bonds holding on his wrists, and at the same time licks his collarbone. In an instant, the fire in Murata's over-eager adolescent body is lit again. He'll be hard enough to come again by the time Conrad lays him down on the floor and spreads his legs and fucks him, he realizes with a rueful smile. He already made his choice, though, and if there's one thing Captain Weller knows, it's the art of restraint, which he practices as well on another body as he does within himself. It wasn't the wrong choice, though; Conrad knew this, which must have been the real reason for his smile a moment ago.

It only means he'll have something more than the detailed story of the encounter to take back to the temple and offer to Shinou later.

~~The end~~