Author: tigersilver
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wolfram/Yuri
Word Count: 908
Summary: In some situations it is better to be receptive to happiness; that's the way of the Mazoku. And infinitely better to close one's eyes and bear down before one is blinded by fire. And that is the way of patient Yuri, willing fiance to a willful fire daemon. For la_prime...and a few other people. I'm pretty certain.
Yuri can't actually see Wolfram at the moment, but he can feel him, and his fiancé is a very sensuous demon, no question. And he's seduced Yuri into that same treacherous territory, too, the little devil.
It's the pink silk nightgown, is what, and it's clearly all crumpled up high on Wolf's hips, dragged there by the same slim hard fingers that searched out Yuri's most private areas just a few minutes ago, dipping in, coated with oil. What Yuri feels is not fingers now but a definite…ahem! What he feels is all man, excepting they're both Mazoku…or something like that. But neither of them female. No—no definitely not!
He can't see, as it's dark in their bedroom, but he sure can feel. And sniff, and then blink at it, sideways, puzzling it over: the idea he'd fallen through a toilet to another world, and then fallen through a mental rabbit hole in this new one and been cast away into the sea of love with a male. Shocking! Sensual, too. Wolf is all about the meticulously sensual, and now he's dragged Yuri into it, with maybe a little bit of kicking-and-screaming along the way, but then again, that's probably to be expected. No—he's beguiled Yuri, and all of him, all the parts of him, Demon and human, are…well.
Yuri would never think when just looking at him, dressed in military drab, back ramrod straight and pert nose raised higher up than any uppity schoolgirl's, but it's there. In Wolfram…it's there.
Wolfram, for all his slenderness, for all his willowy looks, is solid as they come, a real slugger. His dick is just like the rest of him, deceptive. Wreathed in pale gold furring, with balls sac delicately suspended beneath, but then straightforward and direct above, for all the hints of rosy blush and pale-skinned lustre. Oh, but Wolfram's beautiful, really, and Yuri's never known a man—or daemon—or person—as beautiful as his own fiancé. Not one, not in all his days, or nights, on Earth or here, in this land he calls home. And he just likes the chance to look, sometimes. The opportunity to stare and stare and then maybe gaze into green eyes (like jade, from his Japan) and marvel, just a bit, at the vagaries of fire and water, mixed with magic.
But now it is about those—the atmosphere is definitely steamier than it was a moment ago—but it's also about torque, and sending it home. 'It', being Yuri's back-teeth gritting, abdomen-clenching, bearing-down-upon-it urge to go where Wolfram will lead him…and that will be home, he's fairly sure. His fiance's all about 'home' in the long run, in the home run—excuse the pun, but Wolf's funny like that. He's a homebody, and he wants Yuri to be same, really. Yuri doesn't mind it, not so much.
There's a lot he's learnt not to mind. Still?
There's this constant startlement, this mind-bending view, when coming across a pink swathed soldier fast asleep, curled up tight and sweet in a lump in his bed. Their bed, pardon; Wolfram is quite irate if it's not referred as owned by the plural 'We', the Royal 'We'. Their bed, then, and that's…that's okay, now. It's been made that, hasn't it? By way of skin and spit and…other wettish stuff, mingling. It's been made 'theirs', and Yuri has been made Wolfram's, as much as it goes the other way round.
But the pink? Why pink? It blinds the eyes, the pink of that nightgown. Even coming across by light of a lone candle, Yuri will jump and bite back a gasp. It's frightfully deceptive, clothing a body toned and able, capable and strong like iron—and Yuri's Wolf is an iron magic lion of fire, and he will not back down, no, not ever. It's only that it's just as so many other things are here, in Yuri's new world: strange. Very strange, and not what he's used to, excepting he's finding he's quite elastic, and maybe even bendy, and Wolf's certainly bending in with a will.
He closes his eyes, as there's no use trying to see, or even peer back over his shoulder. He'd like to, very much, as Wolfram is a sight to see, always.
Yuri gasps, biting down hard upon a pillow instead. Yes, bendy. There's something about the feel of silk sluicing cool-sweet over their twinned hips while moving, there's something about knowing he's being fucked near senseless by a daemon wearing a pink nightgown that results in mental acrobatics of the most amazing kind. It's—
It's the smell of attar of roses, rising from the sheets and Wolf's bath oil. It's the scent of Wolf. Which Yuri can't wrap words around but wishes to, ever so much, so he could replicate it, and scent every room in his lonely lovely huge castle with it, for those days his fiancé is ranging out the countryside on tour of duty and he's left alone…lonely. It's the feel of someone driven deep inside him, and striving to go deeper—deeper—that is what is Wolfram has done to him. Made a hole in Yuri, and then filled it.
Banishing the twingey little bits, the painful uncertainties, the niggling smallest darknesses, and bringing in the light. Yuri cannot help but be glad he can't see, right now, this second, for surely if he could, he'd be…blinded.