KKM 'On the Other Side' Part 1
The Mazoku on Yuuri's lap strained in desperation, the ridge of his back arched in an unbelievable curve, his long pale throat exposed as his head lolled back in a drunken fashion. He was perspiring heavily; the sweat a mist of translucent beads on flushed, fine-grained skin, dampening his striking hair to the color of antique gold and trickling down his heaving flanks in pearly droplets.
He breathed like a winded racehorse, in quick pants and long, drawn-out gasps that were amazingly erotic to the gasping young man bucking frantically below him. And he didn't stop, not once, not ever, raising himself again and again on the hardened, cum-slicked shaft his lover offered him, falling back so that the firm globes of his ass ground painfully against the bones of his fiancé's narrow pelvis and his soft thighs split so wide apart Yuuri was sure he'd snap in half. Neither was Wolfram von Bielefeld silent about his desire, gurgling Yuuri's name as the dark-haired boy met him more than halfway on the descending rush, moaning his need and his satisfaction deliriously as he slammed into the welcome impact like a feral animal.
They spoke in grunts, moans and little hissings, as lovers do.
It had been hours, seconds – forever-- that Yuuri's fiancé had been engaged in this rocking, spine-shattering dance, his features gradually losing their sharpness and gravity and slowly sliding into a sensual mask of undiluted desire: long black eyelashes aflutter, moist lips parted, the intense and intelligent green of his eyes hazy and focused on nothing but his lover's eager face below. Only a moment before this endless moment he'd had that golden head bent down over his fiancé's flat belly, those lascivious pink lips stretched tight around Yuuri's cockhead. And only a moment before that eternal moment Yuuri had shivered through the Mazoku's sensuous and tactile exploration of flat berry-brown nipples and the planes and indentations of his youthful chest, the curves and whorls of his reddened ears, the length and corded muscle of his tanned neck. And his mouth, of course, gaping and ravaged, taken by sharp teeth, soft lips and a devilish tongue. A demon had lured his hapless victim securely into his sensuous grasp; a succubus loomed above Yuuri, wild and chaotic in his fiery magic.
It was elemental, purely so.
All of Yuuri, in fact, had gladly suffered Wolfram's avid attentions, until the Maou whimpered in abject need and shoved his fiancé away in desperation, struggling for both breath and composure.
But there was no room for composure, at least not in what remained lucid of Wolfram's overheated mind.
They'd started this very quickly – or rather, Wolfram had, literally attacking his fiancé before the door to their bedroom had even slammed shut. The determined Mazoku had Yuuri's black dinner jacket stripped off him in seconds and then was on to the fastening of Yuuri's slacks, undoing the catch and zipper in a way that rubbed his blunt knuckles against the Maou's defenseless privates, his velvet tongue all the while travelling the curve of the Maou's flinching shoulder through his fine cotton shirt, sliding without remorse or hesitation to the black-haired boy's sharp collarbone and the firm line of his jaw. Yuuri moaned, unable to bite the sound silent, and the manicured fingers of his fiancé became punishingly rough as they tore off Yuuri's white button-down.
Wolfram shucked his own blue jacket and high-collared tunic with a frantic hand, shrugging out of them as fast as possible so he could get to the buttons of his own uncomfortably strained trousers. Freed from the royal thong of nobility, the azure wool of his uniform pants sagging down hips white as cream, Wolfram's uncircumcised cock sprang out readily from a nest of wheaten curls, successfully capturing all of Yuuri's dazed attention for all the two seconds his beautiful 'Honey-chan' gave him to catch his breath and get ready.
Immediately, the Mazoku had pressed his mostly naked torso against Yuuri's quivering frame with all his considerable heat and hunger; had gotten as close to his semi-shocked, semi-hard and semi-speechless fiancé as he could possibly manage, undulating his pelvis meaningfully and blowing devilishly into Yuuri's red-hot ear; swiveling the bones of his urgent hips against the sputtering Maou in a way that clearly indicated he wanted something and wanted it now – something only the Maou could give. There was no doubt in Yuuri's stupefied mind that the 'something' Wolf-chan wanted would be far more satisfying than the quick, bloodless peck he'd given his fiancé before breakfast.
Wolfram wanted. Yuuri reeled at the ramifications of the concept and fell back against the wall by the tall armoire, his black eyes wide as saucers as his slightly shorter fiancé proceeded to kiss him within an inch of his life, twining rough-smooth hands into Yuuri's tumbled black locks and holding his head steady, locking lips as if they'd never be parted—would die of kissing, sharing their last breath together. Wolf-chan was hard as the proverbial rock – had probably been so all day, the Maou realized, trembling --- and then Yuuri found he couldn't think coherently at all with that gorgeous erection sawing so insistently into his own responsive crotch, grinding with lush intimacy against Yuuri's own rapidly rising arousal.
He'd given in to the unstoppable force of his demon fiancé without so much as a contrary syllable, wordlessly allowing Wolf to finish forcibly stripping the both of them and then guide him aggressively towards their bed.
There was something about those hands--tender and needy, calloused and gentle--that convinced the hesitant Maou to lie back without question and let Wolf have his way; some gleam in those feverish and determined green eyes regarding him so seriously that ripped away all of Yuuri's natural reticence and shyness and tossed it casually into the nearest waste can as so much rubbish. Wolf-chan obviously wanted to love Yuuri; desired it so strongly he'd not even the words to express it, and thus Yuuri ducked his head and gave in submissively, rolling over on his back and showing Wolf his belly, just as he nearly always did when it came anything his fiancé might desire.
Yuuri wasn't terribly experienced at the art of love, though they'd done it more times than he could count using all digits. He wasn't sure if he was any good at it yet, but he wanted to be, for Wolfram. Thus, he poured all his youthful energies into returning Wolf-chan's steamy-hot caresses, in the comfortable knowledge he'd get better with practice, and feeling positive that one day he'd manage to give his lover back a full one hundred percent of the incredible, unearthly pleasure given him.
But even Yuuri – young, horny, deeply in love, the greatest Maou ever - could not match the level of his fire-wielding fiancé's elemental desire. Wolfram had triumphed over the situation in moments, his quick, sharp movements dominating all that came after. He'd clambered atop the now naked and very willing Maou, putting hands and mouth everywhere he could reach and contorting his slender body to touch anything that remained hidden, and claimed all that lay quivering beneath him for his own. Yuuri contented himself at first with groaning his delight and stroking bared skin revealed to be soft as an infant's, running soothing palms down the heaving ridges of Wolf's ribs and kissing his fiancé with bashful fervor whenever that flushed face came near enough to kiss.
Wolfram blushed daintily when he was touched in return, when tentative, untrained fingertips mirrored his own greedy invasion of Yuuri's body. It was like being fondled by raw electricity, he found; it made him shake and shiver and filled his body with a humming, thrumming fire that obliterated any remnants of his natural, noble reserve. It was nearly unbearable to stay sane and yet he craved such madness, and threw himself against Yuuri's mouth and fingertips and torso wholeheartedly, blindly accepting his own weakness and struggling to give his Yuuri back even a tenth of that unparalleled pleasure.
The teenage Maou was full of a breathless admiration the entire time; his fiancé, so beautiful that he could rouse the dying, was even more stunning in the throes of passion. Wolfram was as fierce in love as he was in combat, forceful and expedient and utterly overwhelming, gentle to his captive. There was no way anyone – any woman – any other being - could ever match him, Yuuri was convinced. And it seemed Wolfram was out to prove the boundless depths of his desire this night, for Yuuri had never in his life or his sometimes lurid teenage imagination received such devoted and lewd service as he did then.
Those enticing lips were starving, it seemed, for the taste of fresh young Maou; that long scarlet tongue was champion at swirling and sucking, for it engulfed Yuuri entirely, quivering tip to humid hilt, and Yuuri was treated to quite possibly the best blowjob in the universe, till his mind went spastic and a pouting Wolf gagged on the briny spurts bubbling up and overflowing down his swallowing throat. He pulled away at that very last throbbing moment, leaving the black-eyed boy beneath him jerking uncontrollably on the bed, grimacing as he filled Wolf's hard fist with his cum.
But it wasn't over; by no means was it over. Absolutely not. Yuuri's shaking hand was grabbed, clenched fingers forced apart and wrapped swiftly around his fiancé's own sticky erection and then dampened further with the remains of his own slimy cum. Then his hand was somehow entwined with his fiancé's and together they probed that place Yuuri knew from raw and recent experience signified heaven and hell and all that actually mattered to the insatiable beast that rose inevitably from between his twitchy thighs. He was erect again in seconds, scent and flesh and green eyes charming him into full tumescence.
Wolfram sheathed him abruptly; took him, consumed him—very nearly raped him, except that Yuuri was more than willing. Wolfram was tight, like a Temple Virgin, and hotter than all the levels of hell. Yuuri nearly swooned.
Yuuri was lost to reason then, completely, babbling out words that made no sense but still managed to express Wolfram's paramount importance in Yuuri's life; his incredible, edible sexiness; the well-known and undeniable fact that Yuuri would do absolutely anything to have him and to keep him, up to and including dying for love. Emerald eyes seething with sweet, hot emotion turned toward Yuuri's idiot expression and the Maou found himself sat upon very hard while he was still struggling to articulate how much Wolf made him happy. The sudden, enveloping pressure hurt like the dickens at first and the Maou had to move fast to get his fingers out of the way and back where they should be, wrapped tight around his lover's heavy cock.
He didn't know much – most of it was book-learning – but after the initial moment of adjustment there was an instinctual urge to move. Very gently, so slowly that Wolfram snarled at him and nipped him hard on one shoulder, Yuuri did just that. He rocked his pelvis as the waves play with a boat in a bay: teasing, playfully, with only a bare minimum of their power. And then he lost control over the situation – if he'd ever had it – for the green eyes glittered and Wolfram clenched around him and then pushed himself up on bony knees, pulling almost entirely away for one single heart-stopping moment and then forcing himself down, down, till their pubic hairs mingled blonde-on-black and Yuuri's jaw dropped smack on his damp chest in a grunt of pleasure. And then Wolf grinned maniacally, grunting as well as he scaled the rigid tower of Yuuri's passion and causing his fiancé to completely forget how to inhale, gliding down slow as liquid satin at the penultimate moment, only to rise again, endlessly, endlessly, till they were both ensnared in a rhythm older than the hills and as sturdy and everlasting as the stone walls around them.
Slam! The bones of their boyish hips knocked together. Wolf winced almost imperceptibly and daintily adjusted his seat. Slam! Yuuri went up farther to meet him this time, ass off the bed in his beckoning arc, inhaling a great draught of sweet oxygen as he did so, all abruptly exhaled when Wolfram swiveled hard back down onto his flinching abdomen. There was stuttering pause as Wolf-chan's hands clenched at numbing blow of Yuuri so deep inside him, nails biting sharply into palms roughened with swordplay, and then sighed with relief when Yuuri grabbed him and effortlessly hauled him upright. He murmured vaguely at the kindness and then shrugged out of the Maou's grasp to repeat the whole process, newly born trails of tears trickling down his determined face.
It wasn't pain exactly, Wolfram acknowledged; it was more like being born again and again, with all delightful violence that entailed. He'd wither into dust without it.
Yuuri wouldn't allow such violence, instinctively afraid that his ever-reckless Wolf-chan would injure himself with this vaguely masochistic enthusiasm. When Wolf plummeted the next time there were loving hands to catch him, grip his upper arms firmly and guide him as he rose and plunged.
Some part of Wolfram-the-Arrogant was tempted to fight those hands; he desired proof, above all, that Yuuri wanted him badly enough not to care about the usual courtesies. But there was also the romantic and the practical to consider – if he were torn and bleeding by the end of this, Yuuri wouldn't touch him again for days; if he cooperated, he could allow himself to be cared for, to be treasured – to be loved.
They moved as one, in silent agreement, meshing together ever faster to the inaudible beat, and the slick walls that held Yuuri so jealously close now tightened and rippled in time to the intoxicating rhythm. Wolf began to hum - or purr or growl - deep in his chest, his lashes drifting nearly shut, lambent green slits of sinful satisfaction, and Yuuri could not look away, nor even blink, watching Wolfram. The Maou was entranced, quite literally, and there was none other that could ever hope to ensorcel him the way his fiancé did.
There were no words left in either of their heads to properly describe the sensation. Slipping and sliding, stumbling blindly ever closer to the brink, only to dance back, shimmy, and allow this blatant carnal taunting of the senses to continue. Flying low, dipping wingtips in the magma flow—oh, so pretty; pulling back, their inchoate kisses strung together with saliva, only to bloom again as the darkest rose in the garden.
There was blood on Wolfram's lip as he lunged.
Were they one? Were they two, only molded by time and circumstance and serendipity so seamlessly together the edges were no longer apparent? Had it always been like this, simmering livid just below the flawed surface of daily activity, and it was only now that they could truly see their conjoined image? Or was this fate, forgone and ordained, and all their petty dissimilarities only a fog obscuring a mountain of immense proportions, everlasting and obdurate? It mattered not: this was flesh pounding flesh, fluids gathering like storm clouds, all awareness of why? or what if? deleted in the scorching mirage of one body, one heart.
But even the greatest wave crashes…eventually. Yuuri grunted in displeasure at the sneaking realization he was far too close, and far too soon. He hadn't enough experience to hold it all in for this long. He'd cum if he wasn't careful and he was positive Wolf-chan wasn't ready yet, no matter how ecstatic he might appear. His demon fiancé had a sensual endurance rivaling the longevity of Conrad's smile and could go for hours after Yuuri was reduced to wheezing with effort and pleading only for the chance to sleep and recover. He desperately shut his eyes to block out the vision above him in a dashing last-ditch effort, gritting his teeth and knowing full well that if he gazed any longer at such a Wolfram he'd shoot his load immediately and then it would, indeed, be all be resoundingly over.
Shibuya Yuuri didn't want it to be over – he wanted Wolf to be happy. Even if that meant some modicum of control.
"Yuuri!"
Wolf wasn't having it, this sudden and stupid restraint of his fiancé's. He wrenched his upper arms out of Yuuri's grip and leaned in, agitated, still writhing, still rocking. He grabbed at Yuuri's chin with slick fingers and gripped it, holding it steady for a lengthy and very sloppy kiss that screamed 'Look at me!' The breathless, almost-at-his-limit teenage Maou simply had to. He cracked his dark eyes open, gazing up through tangled lashes at the flushed, damp beauty who had him enthralled in every way known to man or Mazoku, and was overcome once more simply by the way Wolfram was watching him.
It made the black-haired boy pause, though his hips still moved with the rapidity of a machine-gun, tossing Wolfram high and catching him in the cradle of his pelvis. It washed over Yuuri like warm honey, the heavy sweetness tangy and fresh, never cloying.
His chest felt full to bursting, happiness bubbling up through his very cellular structure, tickling him from the inside, in delicious counterpoint to the intoxicating rush of heat that surged through his groin. Yuuri nearly laughed aloud, clamping his mouth shut against it only because Wolf-chan was notoriously touchy and probably wouldn't react well if his lover guffawed at a time like this. Besides, this was no laughing matter. He was going to cum.
"Damn…it! Yuur-riiii!"
The menacingly lovely demon shouted through gritted teeth, deliberately taking the throbbing cock that caressed him even deeper. He clenched his ass cheeks in retaliation for Yuuri's inattention and Yuuri's eyeballs bugged out.
He'd been right, hadn't he? Oh, shit!
"Ahhhnnngh!"
It was a strangled cry of frustration.
"Oh, please, Wolf!"
Yuuri's hips roiled, seeking the return of that delicious slide of slick flesh against flesh but he was held captive at his most vulnerable juncture, unable to move.
"Stop…. godsdamned… thinking!" Wolf-chan roared, jabbing his forefinger at Yuuri's scrunched-up face. "Look…at…me!"
The green-eyed youth flexed his supple spine in emphasis and the movement shivered down his sweat-slick torso and reverberated against the wickedly sensitive member buried deep inside him. It throbbed and Yuuri choked and gasped and snorted, overcome by it being Wolfram atop him, it being Wolfram who wanted—and he being fortunate enough for that to ever happen in any world the gods dreamt of.
"Look at me, Yuuri—only me," Wolf pleaded, and the jab of the accusatory forefinger became the softest caress across Yuuri's parted lips.
Yuuri giggled foolishly, the high nervous sound trickling out his nostrils. How could he not look when his Wolf-chan was so demanding? How could he possibly do anything else?