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Lover\'s Notes and Stealing Kisses	By : Demus Category: +G to L > Kyou Kara Maou Views: 2741 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Lover's Notes and Stealing Kisses
- 1
Yuuri’s breathing was growing heavier as Conrart explored
his body, twisting involuntarily on crumpled sheets. The soldier kept his
touches light, unthreatening, alert for the slightest hint of fear or unease
from his king. The boy’s initial awkwardness faded, slowly but surely, and his
blush of embarrassment gave way to the flush of arousal. Tension of uncertainty
and fright gave way to a rippling fluidity of muscles that flexed with
Conrart’s movements, seeking his touch.

With the first moans that rumbled through Yuuri’s chest,
Conrart became bolder. He began to follow teasing fingertips with the moist
brush of his warm breath, the fleeting caress of lips, a sly lick or nip.

In the weeks since that first night spent together, the two half-Mazoku had taken some time to settle into their
new roles as lovers. Their first action, alien as it might have seemed, was an
enforced separation; Yuuri had taken Wolfram, grumbling all the way, on a
three-day trail ride around Blood Pledge
Castle, in order to break the news
to him before all others. The blushing, stammering king (so cute, so unbearably cute with that red flush and inability to meet
Conrart’s eyes, so heartbreakingly young in his response to a man whose body he
now knew intimately, if only in tiny flashes of a memory that wasn’t fully his
own) had explained his reasons to Conrart in the lazy day after that
frantic night, stating decisively that he at least owed Wolfram the chance to
maul him a little and, more than that, they both needed to re-evaluate their
relationship. So much, along their journey together, had revolved around
Wolfram’s misguided attempts at affection and Yuuri’s total incomprehension of
the blond’s actions. They had to start re-learning
each other as simply friends, and they needed to be alone to do that.

Yuuri returned with a black eye and a melancholy, brooding
prince.

Nevertheless, as a fussing Gunter dragged Yuuri down from Ao and went into full-blown histrionics in Wolfram’s
general direction, Conrart had observed a weary sort of pride in large black
eyes, and noticed that his brother’s step was in fact lighter, bouncier, than
that of a heartbroken young lover. Unnoticed by all but the soldier, Wolfram had
deviated half a pace from his route to the stables to buffet Yuuri’s shoulder
with his own in a friendly, playful gesture that was met by a small smile from
the king and inconsolable wailing from Gunter. Reconciliation, it seemed, was
not a distant dream. Though it was, of course, taken as read that Wolfram’s
fits of pique and temper would be tolerated with a great deal more patience in
the ensuing weeks- for a time, at least.

The second action that the new couple took, as a matter of
courtesy and course, was to officially announce the relationship to Yuuri’s
court. The complete non-reaction that resulted shocked them. Everyone, it
seemed, had felt the whole thing inevitable, to the point of engaging in an
enthusiastic round of gambling based on when the two would confess, who would
make the first move, where the first encounter would happen, and so on and so
forth. It was enough to make poor Yuuri faint dead away from humiliation and
astonishment, and if Conrart had tugged him a little closer than usual upon
catching him, no one but the three maids felt it appropriate to comment (and
then only in hushed voices).

Greta was, of course, delighted that she would still
officially have two parents, but since all three of the brothers had become de
facto uncles anyway, the announcement had little effect on her.

The third order of business was a little more complicated.
They had to become lovers.

Due to the unconventional nature of their coming-together,
both parties found themselves somewhat out of their depth. Yuuri’s youth,
innocence and inexperience left him, in the cold light of day, daunted and
fearful of the prospect of a genuine relationship. Ever-jittery, ever-skittish,
the young king was practically rabbit-like in his uncertainty towards Conrart.
Similarly, Conrart found himself in the awkward position of being the king’s lover
without actually being able to get within several feet of him, unless he wanted
to launch the boy into red-faced stammering idiocy.

The situation was very far from ideal.

All things considered, it was something of a relief for
everyone concerned when Murata pitched Yuuri headfirst into a duck pond, with
an amused glint in his eyes that suggested his action was prompted as much by
his own wish as the Original King’s.

In the weeks that followed, Conrart had thrown himself into
his duties with the single-minded determination of a man who possessed not only
much to think about, but also a sincere and fervent desire to avoid thinking as
much as possible. It was remarkably effective. Conrart barely noticed his own
abject misery until Yozak’s eventual accusation (“Honestly, Captain, you’re moping like a
puppy who’s lost his nose!”), made him realise that missing Yuuri was worse
than missing a limb, was worse than having a dead man’s arm forcibly attached
to his body, worse than knowing he must betray his brothers, his people, his
king and everything that had ever had meaning in his life (and there were few
people, thankfully, who could claim to truly understand that situation). Missing Yuuri, once he stopped distracting himself
and thought about it, was like waking each morning to a dawnless
sky. No, it was like being buried underground, breathing in the moist, cloying
air of a grave whilst the sun rose and fell out of reach- because Yuuri was
living, glowing and shining a whole universe away and Conrart hadn’t even
kissed him goodbye…

Instead he kissed him hello, upon his return.

The image was one he liked to recall whenever he felt lonely
and the night pressed to close about him; Yuuri, his hair plastered to his
face, his clothes clinging to the too-thin, gawky lines of his body, trembling
with the shock of cold water and warm lips. His eyes closed, his head tilted
back, his cheeks rosy as he panted in Conrart’s grip- then the soldier watched
an eagerly-awaited sun rise in Yuuri’s face as he opened dark, dark eyes to
gaze, in undisguised adoration, up at him.

So they became lovers in little, insignificant ways. The brush of shoulders, the touch of hands. Holding gazes
longer, deeper, than before. Tugging uneven hem lines,
straightening each other’s messy hair with a bedroom intimacy that their chaste
bedroom activities did not warrant. Sharing cups and
sandwiches and chairs and chocolates and jokes. Carelessly written
notes, dispatched from Yuuri’s office to wherever Conrart might be- Fear Gwendal may
be trying to bury me alive under paperwork to prevent potential civil war,
advice? or I
can hear you training outside the window or Do you like pie? or My wrist hurts or Come get
me? Conrart kept all of them, all the jagged-edged scraps of parchment that
Yuuri had purloined from the important government documents he was meant to be
reading. It was something like courtship, remaining in constant demand of
attention, and Conrart never wanted to forget a single moment of it.

He kept them hidden from Yuuri.

Wolfram took over Yuuri’s sword training (nobody had quite
managed to work out why, but many suspected a continuing desire from the fiancé
days to give Yuuri a fresh veneer of bruises every week or so), so Yuuri could
continue to learn him as friend and brother. The older brother, however, missed
those training sessions. The king came so marvellously alive in the throes of physical exertion, so impassioned and
vibrant…which more often than not led Conrart to extremely impure thoughts
about his nervous lover, so it was with reluctant acceptance that he yielded
the task at Wolfram’s demand.

And instead, he made sure to apprehend the Maou and kiss him
breathless as often as propriety allowed. He would not be denied his lover’s
blushes. Yuuri was becoming an adept kisser, the honest delight he took from
the simple act was incredibly endearing. It was now slightly unusual to see one
or the other of the couple depart from each other without suspiciously swollen
lips.

And then the royal couple would end sticky, wearying, aching
days with a shared bath and a shared bed.

Which, of course, led to certain other
issues. It was all very well to collapse on top of each other and fall
asleep, but as time went on it became obvious that the state of affairs could
not continue. Morning hard-ons were problematic
enough, and having a wriggly, physically-fit, drool-worthy teenager sprawl all
over you when you were attempting not to hurry or force said teenager into a sexual
relationship…well, it was only so long before one of them cracked.
Surprisingly, it had been Yuuri.

Conrart had been soaking in the bath, minding his own
business as he enjoyed the hot water, when his combat senses had made him very
aware of an intense scrutiny. When he’d looked, however, he’d found Yuuri to be
heavily engaged in rinsing shampoo out of his hair and entirely oblivious.
Shrugging it off as paranoia, he’d returned to what he was doing. Only to have it happen again. And again.
And again.

After the seventh repetition, Conrart had been forced to
confront the king, or admit to himself that he had finally gone insane. Yuuri’s
embarrassment at being found out was only matched by his fervency in returning
Conrart’s kisses and touches, and it hadn’t been long before they were both
screaming out their releases into the muggy, steam-laden air.

No one else had used that particular bathroom since.

So to this. Here, now, with pale
limbs sprawled, twitching incessantly beneath Conrart, attuned absolutely to
his cautious ministrations. Yuuri let out a squeak as a tongue briefly circled
his left nipple, arching up instinctively to meet the warm, wet touch. Conrart
chuckled into his skin. As he kissed his way across Yuuri’s chest, he allowed
his hands to investigate the king’s belly button, tracing Yuuri’s stomach with
a ticklish touch that made his lover chuff out a laugh and squirm. Emboldened
by the reactions, Conrart lapped a meandering path down to the yielding
softness, moving slowly so he wouldn’t startle his lover.

Gradually, as he became accustomed to the newness, Yuuri
relaxed. Conrart had not, up till now, introduced his tongue to the
cat-and-mouse game of sensual exploration. Sex should always be something
natural and safe between them, thus he had resolved never to rush his teenage
lover. Yuuri, so blithe and brash in many ways, was remarkably shy and
sensitive in his sensuality. Though the Maou’s seduction of Conrart had
seemingly erased any trace of his shyness towards Conrart’s naked body, the
intensity and abandonment of actually performing sexual acts with that body
daunted Yuuri, frightened him, and so the physical side of their relationship
progressed as had the emotional; one tiny step at a time.

Daringly, Conrart squeezed Yuuri’s thighs, spreading his
legs a little further apart and following the squeeze with the tender
ministrations of his tongue. A groan answered him. Encouraged, the solider
stroked his fingertips through the curled hair at Yuuri’s groin and lowered his
head, his lips parting to draw the king’s straining erection into his mouth…

With a startled cry, Yuuri jerked away. Conrart sat up,
immediately ceasing all contact with his king. It was with a rueful air that he
examined his lover- Yuuri was trembling, his lips quivering, his
eyes wide and bright with fright. Ah, he was moving too quickly…He reached out
to cup the Maou’s cheek, stroking pale skin with his thumb. “Too
much?”

Yuuri nodded, sniffing a little, then
let himself be drawn into a comforting embrace. The intimate brush of bare skin
anchored and settled him, and his heartbeat began to steady. He reciprocated
the embrace by slinging his arms around his lover’s neck, burying his face into
a bare neck and allowing himself to be coddled, allowing himself to be spoiled.
“Just...a little,” he admitted. Conrart responded by pulling him effortlessly
into his lap, hunching his back so that he could curl up around his king’s
shivering form. A tiny pinprick of cold wetness caressed his neck and he tilted
his head so his cheek nestled against thick black hair. With the tears came a
familiar, awkward, gulping sound of Yuuri’s breath catching with the effort to
calm himself.

Several heartbeats passed.

His composure restored somewhat, Yuuri found himself
slumping in his lover’s hold and nuzzling his nose into smooth, warm skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled, awkwardly.

A sigh ruffled his hair. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“Haven’t done much right either,” the boy
insisted, petulant in his guilty stubbornness.

Through his sensitive scalp, Yuuri felt Conrart’s lips curve
into a smile. “I should have known you’d be bratty in bed, when you are so
tolerant in dealing both with Wolfram and delicate political affairs,” the
soldier teased.

Yuuri snorted. His lips twitched against his will, but he
managed to turn his smile into an indignant huff. Conrart was entirely too
skilled at coaxing him out of his funks, and sometimes he wanted to sulk, damnit.

Without warning, hands that were stroking his back slid
round to his front, grasping his flagging erection and enticing it to full
hardness in but a few caring strokes. Within minutes, he was writhing
wordlessly in Conrart’s lap, his head thrown back, his eyes open but unseeing
as skilled fingertips worked him to a quick, intense climax.

He slumped, exhausted by his orgasm and the release of his
emotions. Conrart pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead, and he found that he
did not mind the fact that the hands that now cradled him were sticky with his
come. The burn of Conrart’s erection against his thigh concerned him, but his
tired fumblings were swiftly halted by the soldier
and he was laid back, protesting, to lie limp on rumpled sheets. He snuggled up
to the long body, making a second half-hearted attempt to see to his lover’s
needs before his wrists were firmly taken in strong (now-dry) hands and a reprimanding
voice sounded in his ears.

Yuuri settled, obediently. “Conrad?” he asked, after a
moment, sleepily pressing his face to the man’s fine throat.

“Hm?”
Conrart’s voice rumbled pleasantly in his chest, making Yuuri squirm closer.

“What was your first time like?”

The hands that held his wrists, thumbs stroking his skin,
tightened momentarily. “Why do you ask?”

Yuuri blinked his eyes open. His nose wrinkled as he thought
about the question, and he was aware of Conrart’s cheek pressing into his unruly
mop of hair. “I’m not sure,” he responded, tentatively, his eyes following as
he rotated his wrists in his lover’s grip.

A heavy silence fell between them, thick and sluggish with
unspoken meaning. The weight of it dragged at the young Maou’s flagging
concentration but the question, once asked, could not be taken back, leaden and
awkward as it might be, so Yuuri resisted the creeping teenage urge to slip
into sleep, his orgasm-exhausted body slowly succumbing to the comfortable
warmth of both bed and lover.

“It might be better,” Conrart posited, breaking into the
quiet with delicate ease, “to discuss this when you are less tired.”

“Conr-” Yuuri’s body chose this
moment to inflict a jaw-breaking yawn on him, effectively disproving his indignant
denial before it had begun. Conrart released one of his wrists and trailed his
hand up over Yuuri’s arm, across his shoulder and down his back in a single
fluid motion, settling heavy on his hip, a motion that was so effortless in its
intimacy that the Maou felt a blush quiver in his cheeks, felt his lax muscles
tighten in tiny, automatic responses to the man’s caress. He swallowed,
heavily. “Conrad,” he tried again, sorting through jumbled emotions and
thoughts, “I...you see, the thing…the thing is, you know everything about me, or almost everything, and I don’t know any-”
his breath hitched and the soldier’s grip strengthened, “anything about you.”

The hand still clasping one of his wrists tightened,
momentarily. It held him for a moment longer, then released and trailed its
fingertips over the soft skin of the king’s inner forearms. “And why that
particularly?” Conrart asked, gently.

“I…It’s as good a place to start as any...” In all honesty,
Yuuri wasn’t fully sure why he needed to know, but he did- Conrart was a century old at least (from what he could work
out) and centuries-old amazing guys don’t do more with virgins than take their
virginity. Not to generalise, but it wasn’t exactly standard for them to stick
around afterwards for the cuddle. Perhaps there was something in the man’s
romantic history that might help explain what attracted him to a gawky,
awkward, naïve teenage king.

Luckily, Conrart didn’t seem to want to press him for his
reasons. Instead, he settled into the mattress a touch more with a contented
sigh, and his cheek lifted from Yuuri’s hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

Yuuri waited. Conrart seemed to be considering his answer
very carefully. He’d probably had a lot of lovers, the young king realised with
a jolt. He was dashing, handsome, courtly, deadly, famous, dangerous…he was a
national hero, the man should have been fighting people off with a stick, but
instead he was here, curled up in Yuuri’s bed with a teenager who was freaked
out by sex and still found kissing in front of people uncomfortable. Surely
that wasn’t normal? Surely there were far more suitable candidates for his
affections?

The soldier shifted beneath him and Yuuri realised he’d
drifted off on one of his insane mental tangents. And it was like waking up to
Conrart, which was his favourite thing, aside from the gap between Conrart’s
eyes and the tingling warmth of that large hand on his shoulder or the first
few notes of his laugh- Yuuri loved, along with all of these things, waking to
Conrart lazy and large like a jungle cat, all sleek muscle and graceful repose.
During the day, during the evening, almost every moment until his eyes closed,
Conrart was the perfect model of an attentive retainer and conscientious lover
but in the first few minutes of waking, he was a languorous, lethargic
creature, tactile, affectionate, relaxed and at ease with sleep-misted eyes and
a small, contented smile. Compared to waking up with Wolfram…or, rather, compared
to not waking up with Wolfram, a
thought which never turned his stomach like the thought of not waking up with
Conrart did.

“My first time,” Conrart said, finally, calling back Yuuri’s
wayward attention, “as I recall it, I was nineteen years old, it was the night
before my first battle, and I was so desperate to lose my virginity that I let
myself be seduced by our Sergeant Major. She was a fearsome woman, but she was
very tactful about my fumbling around.”

Yuuri sniggered, then quieted
himself to consider the new information. “So, you, you did it with a girl first
time?”

“Indeed.”

“Like a normal person,” the Maou mused, nuzzling Conrart’s
chest.

The pause that followed was oddly weighty, tense.

Conrart’s voice was soft with regret when he spoke; “Yours
was unusual in every way.”

And there it was again, that guilt, that guilt again that Yuuri
wished Conrart wouldn’t feel, the guilt he wished he could block out, but it hung
between them in every hesitation, in every pause between the man’s whispered
promises and his careful touch. They’d never really discussed that first night
and the king was unwilling to broach the subject. Conrart seemed to feel he had
committed some sort of unspeakable sin, even if the Maou had been the one to
instigate and direct their coupling. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure how the Maou
felt about the whole situation- he both was and was not Yuuri, they were two
sides of the same coin, disparate and parallel at once. Did that make them two
people? Yuuri was pretty certain that he was
his own person, separate from the Maou, but that didn’t mean the Maou wasn’t
irrevocably him.

Actually, if he thought about it, that first time probably
hadn’t been the Maou’s first time, even though their shared body was a virgin,
but could souls be virginal? They shared a soul, it
was only their conscious minds that differed. And what did that mean for Yuuri and was he actually something very
far removed from a virgin, how many hearts and minds and hands had touched him, or was it him at all they had touched and oh
lord his head hurt, he had to stop thinking in circles…

Conrart startled him with a kiss, effectively shutting his
brain up, for which he was thankful. Trust the man to know exactly what he
needed at any given moment.

When his lips were released with a final swipe of his
tongue, Yuuri slumped back to his lover’s chest. “You’re good at that,” he
commented, dazedly. When Conrart chucked, the king abruptly remembered what
he’d been thinking about. “I, I’ve never regretted what, what yo-we did,” he stuttered, nervously. “Even if it
wasn’t…wasn’t entirely…me…”

The faltering statement made Conrart’s heart jump beneath
his ear, and he nuzzled at it again. “I never thought you’d actually want me
like that,” he confessed. “You’ve got a lot going for you, and I’m not…not
exactly an ideal candidate for a l-lover.” He always
stumbled on the word, with a teenager’s embarrassment.

The hand on his hip began to move, rubbing in slow, soothing
circles. Yuuri quieted, concentrating on the touch, the feeling of it.

“I love you,” Conrart said, softly. “Is that reason enough?”

It wasn’t something they said. They’d never said it, not
ever, not once during their slow weeks of courtship and consummation.

Yuuri gaped at his lover, uncomprehending. Love…love
was…love was, like, forever…

Brown eyes returned his stare, calmly and evenly. Conrart
smiled, warm and rueful, and lifted his right hand from Yuuri’s arm to touch
his cheek. “It’s not something you should fear, or feel obligated by,” he said,
gently. “It is my gift to you, I give it freely with
no expectation of your returning it. I just…You have a right to know why I
become a useless wreck when you are away for even a handful of days. You have a
right to know that my heart is yours to command, and whatsoever you wish of it,
you may have.”

“Conrad-”

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s eyes felt hot and sore, too large for his head, and
he buried them against Conrart’s neck, needing the man’s strength. “I don’t
know what that means,” he pleaded,
cut adrift by the confession

Conrart gathered him as close as possible, cocooning him
inside the embrace. “I know. I know, love, I know.”

The king’s thin shoulders shook with emotion and Conrart
closed his own eyes against Yuuri’s hair. “Go to sleep,” he soothed, tenderly
caressing his young lover’s back. “Just go to sleep.”

*

It was an infinitesimal, torturous climb from sleep on some
days.

Yuuri dragged his eyes open with a wide-mouthed, satisfying
yawn. What he could see of the room without moving was tentatively-lit, soft,
greyish light that meant the sun had yet to fully rise. The bed was too hot to be
entirely comfortable, rich with a familiar, masculine scent and the king
smiled. Conrart.

Military training from the time he was strong enough to lift
a sword meant that it was rare for Conrart to sleep in past dawn and it was
therefore Yuuri’s duty to savour the occasions whenever they occurred. He
wriggled, trying to ascertain his lover’s position without looking, and froze
when he encountered warm weight just behind him. He heard Conrart sigh as they
touched, then the bed shifted as he rolled and Yuuri felt the long body press
close to him, an uncoordinated arm flopping about his waist with disturbing
accuracy.

Well. That hadn’t gone quite as planned. Warm breaths were
being huffed into his neck, making him squirm at their moist touch, and his
wriggling led him to notice something else, something that pushed into his
lower back with familiar and undeniable insistence. Yuuri swallowed hard, then
wriggled again, sliding his hips back until his spine was flush with Conrart’s
torso, and the wayward erection was rubbing up against his buttocks. Conrart
let out another little noise, more grunt than sigh, and tightened his grip. The
young king took several deep breaths, trying to relax, trying to convince his
speeding pulse that he wasn’t in danger, of course he wasn’t, it was just Conrart, the man who professed to love him and
kissed him with such tenderness…

His body seemed unconvinced.

The muscles in his legs kept twitching with anxious tension,
automatically bracing for flight. Yuuri dropped a hand to the limb locked about
him, feeling the recognizable weight and shape of his lover’s arm, stroking
skin he had worshipped with his fingertips until its unique texture, unique
yield, was imprinted upon his mind. Safety,
his instincts told him, Always safety, here,
and his whole body loosened, draining of physical anxiety, slumping heavier
against Conrart and his eager morning wood.

It was still too soon. Too soon to even
contemplate the physical realities of the act. Yuuri’s brow furrowed.
Their relationship, such as it was, was directed by Conrart- naturally, he was
the one with all the experience and the bendier
tongue- but the pace at which it moved was entirely dependent upon Yuuri’s
guarded, whinging comfort zones. Admittedly, they had shrunk some due to his
lover’s…well, his lover, but they cast an even darker
shadow upon the relationship than Conrart’s lingering guilt. That did not make
for a fair, balanced exchange between equals, and Yuuri was nothing if not a
staunch defender of justice.

For Conrart (whom he knew he felt something for, but didn’t want to name those feelings in case they
might flutter away like butterflies rather than be pinned down), for his lover,
he could face his insecurities.

Slowly, infinitesimally slowly, he twisted in the man’s
grip, carefully wriggling free of the tight grip until he could slip free of
Conrart’s arms and turn onto his other side to observe the man. Fine lips were
parted as the soldier breathed long, light breaths. Half of his face was buried
in the pillows, the visible half was slack, at peace.
Yuuri found his eyes drawn to a close study of long eyelashes, quivering
slightly against a tanned cheek, and the long arch of the scar slashing across
his eyebrow. On impulse, Yuuri felt himself leaning down to press a kiss to the
scar, the mark of his lover’s bravery and hardship, then let his tongue flicker
nervously out to taste the skin there, as Conrart had to him the night before.
A sigh made him jerk back, swift in his fear of waking the other, and he licked
his lips, considering. A touch salty, earthy, something like the way Conrart
smelled, but less intense…it was nothing like he’d expected.

Irresistibly, his eyes were drawn down to the incongruous
bulge in the sheets, and he couldn’t help wondering…it couldn’t be so bad,
could it? Conrart had seemed so eager to do it yesterday, before Yuuri’s nerve
fainted pathetically away, it had
felt good, amazing, actually, just overwhelming,
but maybe that’s what sex (his mind still stumbled on the word) should be,
something that you give everything, including your sanity, to. If he was going
to meet the shattering flame of his fears, he must do it head-on, fighting with
the inexorable certainty of water.

And the twenty-seventh Maou of Shin Makoku
was nothing, if not stubborn in meeting his challenges.

Cautious, he lifted the sheets away from Conrart’s body,
pausing when he rolled, with a lip smack, onto his back (possibly in search of
warmth). He was unable to resist sliding closer to admire the broad chest that
he’d revealed- hard and muscled, smooth skin and taut sinews,
he was reaching to stroke with light fingertips before he could stop. He wanted
to press close and rub himself against that body like a cat (they’d done that in the past, too far gone
to control their hands, and it felt incredible, all that weight and power
surrounding him, violent as it thrust against him, stealing his breath and his
reason), he wanted to snuggle into Conrart’s chest and spread his own scent
over the man’s skin.

Blushing furiously at his own urges, Yuuri continued to
stroke with ticklish-light touches, dragging his fingertips over
battle-hardened muscle, light enough to stimulate, light enough to keep Conrart
in dreams. He’d sneakily experimented on the few occasions when he’d caught Conrart
napping and could summon up the courage to touch- he knew how much pressure to
apply and still let the man sleep on. It pleased him to know. He was learning
Conrart’s body as much as Conrart had been learning his.

The young king braced both his hands on firm pectoral
muscles, rubbing at hardened nubs of nipples, and leaned down to nose at the
spot just below Conrart’s left ear, nuzzling into his hairline and flicking his
tongue out again to test his skin. Conrart sighed in unconscious response,
tilting his head away to expose his throat. Yuuri grinned, delighted, and nosed
his way down his lover’s neck to reward him, delivering a lick here, a kiss there. A moment of daring even led him to nip, daintily,
at the softer skin below the strong edge of a jawbone, but Conrart’s answering
shift threatened to bring him up from sleep, so Yuuri carefully catalogued the
idea away for future experimentation.

Somewhat clumsily. Yuuri worked his
methodical way down his lover’s torso. Blood began to thud faster through his
veins, his cock beginning to harden and throb as he immersed himself in the
sight and smell and feel (and for the first time, taste) of his lover. Surrounding himself,
devoting himself entirely to Conrart, what could be more arousing?

Finally, he drew level with the reason for his
determination. He eyed the bulge, some of his nerves returning. It was rare for
him to be eye-to-eye with Conrart’s cock (oh, there was the mental blush again; his body couldn’t spare any real
blood for his cheeks at the moment). Taking a deep breath, he lifted the last
fold of the sheet away.

He stared. It stared back. Conrart’s cock (and how he had measured it with his hands)
was longer than his own, a touch thicker, and it curved up towards the flat
belly as it quivered, flushed dark red and looking almost painful in its
hardness. Yuuri couldn’t quite believe that Conrart hadn’t woken up yet, with this between his legs, it must be aching
by now. And, at the same time, came the thought that it was Yuuri who had inspired that reaction,
had earned it from is careful, devoted worship of Conrart’s body, and two kinds
of warmth flooded the young king; a rush of blood to his own cock that was
enough to make him moan and rub himself against the bed, and a gushing flow of
liquid emotion in his stomach, heated and electric, brimming over and spreading
to the tips of his every finger and toe. He felt light-headed, elated, and
wondered for a moment if he had enough blood to sustain this amount of feeling.

Yuuri swallowed, hard. His mouth felt very empty all of a
sudden, he was almost salivating and,
this close, his nose was filled with Conrart’s unique musky, male scent-
neither pleasant nor unpleasant, just him,
but it made Yuuri’s throat ache for Conrart, made his skin shiver for want of
the man’s touch. He reached out a hand to grasp the base of his lover’s cock,
feeling the familiar heated weight of it, and leaned down, lips parted, to
taste.

The flesh was silky beneath his tongue, smooth and
sensitive, and the taste was…well, it was sort of like the way Conrart tasted
all over, but more, and he lapped
harder at it, trying to pin down the exact composition of it. The pearly
droplets beading the bulbous head were salty, not too unpalatable, and sweeter
than he’d expected, given the bitterness of what he sometimes licked off his
hand when he couldn’t quite be bothered to get up and find a cloth.
Experimentally, one hand still moving at the base, Yuuri wrapped his lips
around the head and sucked.

Conrart’s body jerked, and Yuuri
coughed as his mouth was suddenly filled. Gagging, choking, the young king
jolted back, releasing Conrart’s dick with a popping sound and landing heavily
on his backside with a thump.

Ruefully, he sat back on his hands and looked up into a very
surprised face.

Brown eyes were huge, the pupils dilated in a very
recognisable way, no trace of sleep left in them. The absolute shock on the older man’s face made Yuuri
want to laugh, but he contained the urge. Conrart had sat bolt upright, his
hands grasping automatically for his side in search of a sword that wasn’t
there, and he was panting, his chest heaving.

“Y-Yuuri?” he stammered, eventually, studying his king’s
face.

Yuuri wondered what he was seeing. His eyelids felt a little
heavy, drooping half over his eyes, and he could feel trickles of sweat
covering his body. His cock, between wantonly-splayed legs, was fully erect,
throbbing now, and he saw his lover’s eyes flicker to it and narrow with
focused lust. He gestured, catching Conrart’s attention, blushing as hazy eyes
caught his. “I, er, I just wanted to, er…try?” he hazarded, waving vaguely in the direction of
Conrart’s groin.

Conrart blinked, uncomprehending, then his jaw dropped.
“You…wanted to…try?” he repeated, faintly.

“Uh-huh!” Yuuri nodded, bouncy, growing more confident. “Can
I keep going?”

“…keep…”

He would have to treasure this moment. He’d never seen
Conrart so unmanned, not even when he had three arrows sticking out of him. The
poor man was positively incoherent. Yuuri smirked, uncharacteristically, and
rolled himself to his hands and knees. He crawled forwards, enjoying the hitch
of Conrart’s breath as he looked at him from beneath his fringe, and pushed his
lover onto his back with a casually-outstretched hand. “Yes,” he purred,
lowering his head whilst maintaining eye contact. “Keep going.”

Conrart’s head thudded
against the headboard and he groaned.
Yuuri chuckled low in his throat, making the man writhe beneath him, and began
to experiment with sucking again.

*

Yuuri was purring. There was no other word for it.

Conrart lay in something of a daze, one arm slung about his
ecstatically-wriggling king. Whatever he had been expecting of this morning, that had
not been it. He wondered, vaguely, whether nurturing Yuuri’s sexual confidence
had been the right thing to do. If he could do that whilst he was still nervous and jittery, what in the name of Shinou would he be capable of when he was completely at
ease with it?

He stroked Yuuri’s back, petting him, and let the fading
shock of orgasm lull him into a drowsy, contented state. Yuuri’s technique was
nowhere near perfect, but he more than made up for it with sheer stubborn
enthusiasm. He’d even swallowed.

“Conrad?”

“Hm?”

“Was…are…was that…okay?”

Conrart blinked down at Yuuri’s concerned face. The question
made no sense. “I have never been woken up in a more enjoyable way,” he
replied, after taking a moment to rally his tongue and vocal chords. “It was
wonderful. Thank you.”

Yuuri squirmed with pleasure and rubbed a cheek against his
chest, happy to snuggle. The lack of pressure and slight moistness against his
hip told Conrart that he didn’t need to worry about returning the gesture just yet. “May I ask where that came
from?” he questioned, gently, his voice low and rough.

The body next-to and half-on-top-of him shrugged. “Just…wanted to.”

“Ah?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri ducked his head and mumbled a bit. “Just…wanted to do something for you, like you do stuff for me.”

Conrart glanced down at the dark head in amazement, feeling
emotion yank at his throat and coil
in his belly, settling heavy and hot in his mind as Yuuri yawned, adorably
sleepy.

“C’n we sleep in?” the Maou asked,
drowsily, “I don’ wanna share t’day
w’th ’nyone.”

Conrart marvelled, once again at his lover’s ability to rock
his world to its foundations. “Of course, love,” he murmured, lifting Yuuri’s
head with a finger under his chin to kiss him, full
and sound and slow. “Of course we can.”
- 1
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Lover\'s Notes and Stealing Kisses