Disclaimer: Does not own.
Anime: Kyou Kara Maou
Title: Cubism
Genre: General/Comfort/Brotherhood/Romance
Warning: OOC-ness
Pairing: Yuuram
Dedication: isumi-kivic [a random gift for you, though I must warn you – this is done in a total of six hours, so the panda-eyed me might have missed a lot of mistakes. And no, this is not part of my assignment. The urgent, I-NEED-YOUR-HELP was just to make sure you'd feel surprised. XD]
Cubism
The first time Gwendal was presented with his portrait – drawn by one blushing but adamantly triumphant Wolfram von Bielefeld – he was struck speechless, both by his youngest brother's sincerity and his strange style of art. His face took on the strangest hue of green and red, quite unsure if he should be blushing or turning tails to escape from this nightmare.
He was perfectly fine with the bold use of earthly orange and purple; preferred it, even, for they made quite a good combination. He was also fine with the rougher-than-usual lining that Wolfram opted for the painting. What really got him going was the fact that portrait-Gwendal was a strange mixture of squares, triangles and a whole nest of other uneven shapes overlapping each other to create a conundrum of mess.
What frightened him even more than that was the fact that HE-WAS-AS-CLOTHED-AS-THE-DAY-HE-WAS-BORN. If the flesh-coloured mess really was him, that is.
But if it really was him, does it mean that that was how he looked like to his youngest brother?!
At that point of thought, Gwendal's brain broke. Whilst Gwendal had always been the kind of person who tries to solve a problem without running away, this was too scary a thing to try to comprehend. He did not care if it means having to avoid it for eternity – there was no way he was entertaining this question. For all he cared, the question can stay holed up in a dark, dark corner of his mind and rot away.
And so, he had stuttered a shivery E-er…th-thank you, eyebrows twitching and blue orbs trained solely on Wolfram's upturned and hopeful face. Beneath his super-imposing office table, Gwendal's fingers twitched with ferocity, engaging in rapid air-knitting and seeking for the small amount of temporary comfort and refuge that came with it.
I-I had free time, is all, his little brother had replied, his already glowing cheeks turning an even darker shade of scarlet. In the following awkward moment of silence, Gwendal noticed (even through the heavy session going on beneath his table) that Wolfram's back was straighter than even a ruler, and tense with something he could not name. The young Mazoku's jaws were tight too, almost crushing, trapping a loose tongue that would sometimes run thoughtlessly when nervous.
The amount of shifting that happened in that few silent seconds rivalled the amount of movement that happened during the Great War. It was a testament to their state of mind in the uneasy blanket of atmosphere that had descended upon them.
At length, Gwendal decided that he should be the better man and take the initiative to shoo his brother out of the room. He was just about to open his mouth, ready with a pleasant excuse as to why Wolfram should be on his way out (something about him having to attend to some yarnballs and sticks), only to have his effort thwarted by the child's abrupt, stiff W-well, excuse me – I should be on my way now.
Wolfram proceeded to avoid him for a full three weeks and only gave up his embarrassed flush when the two of them (and Konrad) had to combine forces to evade Anissina's attempts at hauling them into her laboratory.
Nevertheless, in the wake of that incident, Gwendal found himself hit by waves after waves of remorse and guilt for not paying enough attention to Wolfram to know of the blond's interest in art and painting. For a long time after that, Gwendal was of the opinion that if he had only been more aware, he would have been able to find his little brother a proper tutor – one who is accomplished and prestigious enough to tutor the 26th Maou's Golden Prince. Wolfram might have even turned out to be a very competent artist.
Maybe…just maybe, so Gwendal von Voltaire had thought as he glimpsed similarly strange paintings in his mother's bedroom, a few less occupied hallways, the dining hall, and even Konrad's room (despite being more subdued in colour and smaller in size), Günter's office, the maid's room – even the bloody toilet and Royal baths.
So he had thought. For a long, loooong time.
[1]
It was for Lady Gisela's 129th birthday that this particular party was thrown. Granted, it may have just been another excuse for Lady Cheri to throw more parties, but a valid one nonetheless. The whole of the castle had also agreed that Gisela's efforts had, at times, been under-appreciated, despite her post and position, so this was a good opportunity to show their gratitude.
That, and Lady Cheri was of the mind that Gisela is in need of some free-lovin' attention from male Mazokus all around. Wolfram had tried to object to save his childhood companion, but when his mother had turned to him with an evil I-want-to-dress-you-up glint in her eyes, he promptly shut up and hid behind an apologetic Konrad.
Gisela had tried to talk Lady Cheri out of the unnecessary lavishing, blubbering – for once, not like her strict Sergeant self – that it was really all unnecessary, but to no avail.
The vivacious mother of three had only turned to her, flashed a dazzling smile complete with a pat on the head, and then continued on her way, as if Gisela had not even pled after her. The green-haired healer was left wilting in the wake of the former Maou's wake.
As compensation, Yuuri issued specific instructions that Gisela was to be given full reign over her wardrobe for the evening, and that no one – not even any former Maous, deceased or not (with all the bizarreness in Shin Makoku, Yuuri had learnt to cover all his bases) – were to instruct her on what to wear.
Of course, when he issued this command, he had a certain blond-haired Lady in mind. However, it appeared that his orders had totally flown over said Lady's head, landing, as usual, in a heap at everyone else's feet. There was no denying, though, that half the blame went to Gisela.
The Mazoku healer herself had not been able to resist the Lady's charisma.
At least she had been allowed to choose a dress that she was pleased with. It was a short, strapless, lime green dress that ended just above her knees, but not raunchy at all. Rather, it gave her a pleasantly sweet, formal air, and (most importantly) was easy to manoeuvre in.
Murata approved with a whistle, and got a harsh punch on the arm by Gisela herself.
Anywho, the three residing ex-princes of the Castle knew better than to interfere with the whirlwind of a mother when she was on her party-planning spree. Yuuri and Murata were different, because they had the special immunity that came with being the great Maou and the Daikenja, so they could go around giving certain instructions and orders.
Gwendal, Konrad and Wolfram (especially Wolfram!), on the other hand, were Lady Cheri's children, and thus were directly under her jurisdiction. As such, she may well do whatever she pleases with them, but they be damned if they were going to deliberately offer themselves up for sacrifice by making stupid comments that does not meet Lady Cheri's approval (such as, Mother, I think you should reconsider throwing too lavish a party).
Therefore, regardless of how precious Gisela is, or how close a friend she is, they are not going to risk their hides for her.
In the brothers' defence, they were not in a hurry to have a repeat of their previous perfume-testing session with Lady Cheri, which had happened all because they were silly enough then to tell their mother that they would prefer it if the Lady refrained from decorating the entire banquet hall in glorious pink. The session had left all three of them itching like kittens with fleas, and worse than anything else, it had turned them into walking pheromones for one week straight.
In that one week, animals of all sorts found them interesting and took to hounding their every step.
Of the three of them, Gwendal had it the easiest – he was permanently stuck in his office (fort), after all. All he had to do to avert the animalistic disruptions was to close his office window…which caused him a bit of suffocation from the confused mix of scents, but what was suffocation to relative peace (relative, because there were a few stray birds that were courageous enough to attempt crashing against his window to get to him).
Konrad and Wolfram, however, had it bad. Both being soldiers who has to train their squadrons in the open, they were forced to endure constant flapping of wings, coy rubbings against their ankle, and nudging at their face. During some evenings, it got so bad that the two of them were seen yelling and running with unbearable panic from one end of the training field to the other, trying to escape the unwanted attention.
Not even Wolfram's angry stream of fire could deter the animals, although it did manage to fry a chortling Yuuri who had found the entire episode much too entertaining.
So yes. The trio made sure to shut their trap well this time.
Also, every time Günter tried to object to one of Lady Cheri's suggestions on his daughter's behalf, Gwendal always managed to find a convenient napkin to cork his mouth, regardless of where they were. They did not need any unnecessary casualty this round yet.
Günter must be kept safe...for Anissina when she goes on a rampage looking for guinea pigs.
[2]
Which brought all the occupants of Blood Pledge Castle to this evening of glitter. With Lady Cheri at the helm of the organising troop, one would expect nothing less.
As Gisela did her rounds of greetings (with Murata tagging along) after Yuuri had given his welcome speech and a toast to the lady of the party, the other guests took the liberty to lounge around and to reacquaint themselves with everyone else. Yuuri himself was busy speaking to a few of the nobles who had sought him out to exchange greetings and to talk about certain policies.
Gwendal, on the other hand, had parked himself near the wine table, together with Konrad, keeping an eye on the Maou, the guests and the security of the Castle. Of course, it was also to make sure that should Anissina's latest invention that was on display for the evening – massage-your-shoulder-kun – explode, someone was around for damage control.
"Did you see Günter?" Gwendal glanced sideways at his younger brother, sipping casually from his flute of wine.
Konrad shook his head, brown eyes immediately scanning the hall for any sight of the lavender-haired advisor.
"I think he's in hiding at the moment. Or resting. Either one. Massage-your-shoulder-kun really took a big chunk out of him," he added a moment later, grinning at Gwendal, who shuddered in fear.
"Nevertheless, it's his daughter's birthday party. It would be good to have him out here for a while," the administrator commented, idly playing with his half-filled wineglass. Konrad smiled silently.
Quite abruptly, the sound of Wolfram's laughter wafted over, and both Gwendal and Konrad twisted their head around to see their little brother in a less crowded corner near an open balcony, talking to a redhead whose colour almost rivalled Anissina's. She was slim, and dressed in the most vivid red ever imaginable. Her red hair was long, easily pinned back into a loose loop that cascaded down her back and spilled in little curls around her face.
Such flamboyant colours.
Gwendal sighed, and Konrad understood it immediately as a sign that they should keep a special tab on the lady.
"Wolfram doesn't seem to mind her company though," Konrad mused into his glass, eyes still trained upon the pair who seemed to be enjoying their conversation very much. It was no secret that Wolfram rarely mixed around willingly with the guests during parties, and when a person does manage to get along with him (not many), they normally strike up a long-lasting friendship.
In this sense, Gwendal and Konrad are a little cautious on their little brother's behalf. Beneath Wolfram's ferocity lies an easily-fractured trust, and they want to spare him from the pain of being betrayed and used.
Which was why a few seconds later, Yuuri – distracted – found the two of them sidling over as casually as a cow lumbering after a butterfly.
"Er…constipated much, anyone?"
Gwendal had never before been prouder of his poker face than in that moment. Konrad merely smiled, although it seemed crooked with shock.
"No, Heika. It's – " Konrad started.
"Ah, Wolfram!"
"…yes, Wolfram," Gwendal deadpanned, even as Yuuri closed the short distance between them and the pair. Wolfram and his companion had looked up at the Maou's call, and were both smiling to invite him over.
"Come on, guys. I know what you're up to. It's better to do it openly instead of skulking around like that. You guys can't scout for shit - "
"Language, Heika!"
"– so you should just leave that to Yozak."
Gwendal was not sure if he should be angry at the Maou for being so crass, language-wise, or if he should be happy that Yuuri was absolutely perceptive of his underlings' intentions. He gave an exasperated sigh and joined Konrad and Yuuri as they walked over to Wolfram.
"An introduction, Wolfram?" Yuuri began smoothly the moment he reached the duo, smiling at the lady and automatically linking his fingers intimately with the blond's. An easy blush raced across Wolfram's cheeks as he smiled gently and nodded.
"Allow me to introduce my husband, Shibuya Yuuri, and my brothers, Gwendal von Voltaire and Konrad Weller," Wolfram turned to his husband and family, "and may I present you – Lady Angelina Blanc, daughter of Lord Melchior Blanc, representative from the Blanc Family. She insists on being addressed as Lady Anne."
Gwendal raised an eyebrow. No wonder he did not see Lord Blanc around. He was usually one of the earliest guests to arrive. Gwendal had a grudging respect for the old Mazoku. He was an earth-wielder as well – a very valiant one at that, and was very headstrong in all respects of life.
"Shorter than the mouthful of Lady Angelina," the lady quipped, curtseying briefly as she did so.
Up-close, Lady Anne was a beautiful, fair-skinned woman. Her strong jaw spoke of set determination, very similar to her father's, and her red-painted lips quirked easily into a smile every so often. Her deep-set eyes were an exotic burgundy, almost bordering on deep red, and matched her hair perfectly. It was almost as if she was born for red.
"Merely a matter of names, my Lady. Angelina sounds just as fine," Yuuri remarked winningly, striking a sort of pride into Gwendal. In the nine years since Shibuya Yuuri had first ascended the throne, the 28th Maou had grown by leaps and bounds.
Once, Yuuri would have shyly scratched the back of his head and shuffled his feet in awkwardness in such situations, waiting for his advisors to make up excuses for him. Now, Yuuri carried himself with the confidence and regal of a King, holding his own ground during small talks and political discussions.
"A compliment, Heika? Why, thanks but no thanks. With that sort of name, I'd have died in any mishaps before the search groups even manage to finish calling my name. No practicality at all, my parents," the lady in red humphed sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
Wolfram chuckled with Yuuri, very much at ease. The blond had grown less temperamental with time. His jealousy streaks improved even more after Yuuri had married him three years ago and proceeded to show him just how treasured he was, by bringing him to Earth and registering their marriage with Bob, the Earth Maou, as well.
Legal in both worlds now, Yuuri had whispered to him as the dark-haired King kissed his fair crown in front of his family and the small Mazoku group that had gathered together for the occasion.
"Very well. Lady Anne it is, then," Yuuri approved, to which said lady raised her glass in toast and approval.
"Why couldn't Lord Blanc make it to the party?" Konrad asked, still sizing her up.
"Father's off to settle some trouble in our lands. A bit of disagreement within the villages over some cemetery site."
Yuuri blinked.
"Cemetery site?"
Lady Anne raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, cemetery site."
"What about the cemetery site?" Gwendal was curious too. It was not often that people would start arguing over cemetery sites.
Lady Anne chuckled.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell. The cemetery site's an old thing – situated on the border of two villages, also shared by the two villages. It's been there for thousands of years and everyone was fine with it. About a few months back, however, the shaman of the vi – "
"Shaman?!" Gwendal's eyebrows were in the danger of disappearing into his hairline. Wolfram vaguely wondered if Gwendal would still be Gwendal if the eyebrows really did disappear, and he had no eyebrows to twitch during his constant fits of anger and irritation. Yuuri's tug on his fingers brought his wandering mind back.
"Yeah well, it's a rather traditional village, you see. Anyway, the shaman of the first village had a dream, in which he saw the spirits from the cemetery site complaining about not having enough space to roam anymore. Two days later, the head of the other village had a same dream, with the same mob of spirits as well. So they decided that it was a sign to expand the grounds of the cemetery.
"The problem was, they could not agree on how much land each village should dedicate to this expansion of the grounds. They need it for farming too, you see," Lady Anne shrugged.
Yuuri aah-ed in understanding.
"Not too bad, is it? The situation, I mean?" Wolfram asked.
"Nah. The villagers have always been on good terms. Just minor kinks."
"I see. Now that's interesting," Yuuri wow-ed, taking a deep breath.
"And before we joined the both of you, what were you talking about? We heard the both of you laughing," Konrad began casually. Wolfram took a moment to pin his elder brother with a Konraaaad!-I'm-not-a-kid-anymore! look, to which Konrad shrugged almost imperceptibly and eyed Gwendal, who, in turn, found his wineglass a most interesting item.
Yuuri saw it, snickered, and earned himself a sharp squeeze from the hand he was holding. Ignoring the fierce pout that Wolfram shot at his way, he patted a puzzled Lady Anne on the forearm, "Nothing, nothing. Please, do tell us. It must have been a most interesting subject if you've managed to get Wolfram to laugh."
"Hey, don't talk as if I'm a prick!"
"I didn't!"
"Bullsh - "
"Wolfram! Language!"
"Lady Anne, you have my utmost apologies at this show of inappropriateness," Konrad bowed lightly to a guffawing Lady Anne, unlady-like as it was.
"Oh please, like you're any bet – "
"Aaaanyway," Lady Anne paused to wipe her tears of mirth, shaking her head even as her shoulders still shook with repressed laughter, "I was speaking to Lord von Bielefeld about art. Portrait paintings, to be specific."
"Oh, you mean Wolfram's – "
"Yes, my paintings, He-i-ka," Wolfram stabbed a smile at his husband (and his brothers), sending immediate shivers up their back.
"OK, OK! Geez…what about portrait paintings? You draw as well, Lady Anne?"
She nodded, her smile stretching wide immediately, giving her a most relaxed look.
"Not superbly good at it, but yes. I heard that Lord von Bielefeld draws too, so I was hoping to talk to him on the subject. Don't get many art enthusiasts at home, you know. Father's a bit of an orthodox. He thinks that art is for the lowly courtesans. I'm working on changing his perception. It'll take time, but if I've defeated him in a staring contest before, I can do this."
"E-er…staring contest? What?" Lady Anne was so random that Gwendal just lost her.
"Oh, and for that purpose, I was hoping that Lord von Bielefeld would be kind enough to grant me a request too," Lady Anne piped up almost cheerfully, suddenly clutching Wolfram's unoccupied arm.
"And that would be?"
Gwendal took a moment to gulp at his wine; the conversation had been a pretty long one.
"I'd like you to draw a portrait of me."
For the first time in his life, Gwendal wine-sprayed.
How undignified.
[3]
"Heika…"
"I'm not listening to you, Gwendal. I've agreed to Lady Anne's request, and so has Wolfram, and you know just as well as I do that a Maou does not go back on his words," Yuuri looked away, indicating that the conversation was done and over with. He quickened his steps and glided down the stairs of the Castle, distancing himself away from his administrator, signalling for Konrad to speed up as well.
Gwendal gritted his teeth in irritation.
"Even if this is going to humiliate yourself and our country?"
"Humiliate?" Yuuri's voice took on an edge, and he whirled abruptly to face the earth-wielder.
Gwendal took a step back in alarm. It was not often that Yuuri would look at him the way he did now. The few times he did, it was because Yuuri had felt that Gwendal was being too hard-headed and not willing to allow for other opinions save his own. He had a nagging feeling that he was doing it again.
When Gwendal did not answer him, Yuuri exhaled heavily, looking from his administrator to his Royal bodyguard. Konrad looked troubled, not at all pleased with the rising tension between his eldest brother and his King, who was also his godson.
The young Maou really did not want things to turn sour. He took another deep breath and placed a hand against the brick walls around him to steady himself.
"Gwendal."
Gwendal looked up silently. Yuuri was speaking to him as the Maou, and was demanding for his attention as was fitting.
"You are to join us this afternoon, for the picnic. And you will sit through the portrait-drawing session. This is an order. Do you understand?" Yuuri commanded, ignoring the Gwendal's stiffening.
"Yes, Maou Heika," came the reply, sounding for all the world like a disgruntled child.
Yuuri sighed.
"Gwendal, I hope you know I'm not doing this for fun. I just think that it's about time you realise something. In fact, Konrad too," the Maou added as an afterthought, glancing up at his startled godfather as well.
"What would that be, Heika?" Konrad asked, concerned.
For once, Yuuri did not bother to correct Konrad. He merely stared harder at the chestnut-haired soldier, before answering at length.
"One of Wolfram's best-kept secret."
[4]
Greta smiled in the peace of the flowing wind and fluttering butterflies. Even at the age of 21, she still loved picnics with both her fathers. As she sat on the picnic cloth, surrounded by baskets of food and her memories of people who have cared for her since twelve, she was sincerely happy that she had been given this opportunity to be adopted into the Royal Family.
In her numerous travels throughout the country to learn more of new inventions and science (Greta had been formally accepted as Anissina's apprentice at the age of 16 – the age of consent), she had seen the many unsavoury possibilities of her future had she not been taken in. Never would she have been able to travel around, discussing the potentials of science with the greatest minds in Shin Makoku and their alliances. Never, too, would she have been able to grow into the person that she was today.
For that alone, she was grateful.
The sudden kiss to the top of her head jerked her out of her silent contemplation.
"Papa Wolfram," she smiled gently.
The years had been kind to Greta. She was no longer the child with high-pitched voice who liked running after every shiny item. Her voice had mellowed out into a deep sultriness, and her hair was snatched behind in a wild ponytail that made her look like an exotic native. Soft brown eyes had sharpened into almond-shaped eyes, and her gaze was always sharp and intelligent – just as Wolfram had taught her.
She was also tall – taller, even, than Wolfram himself, but not Yuuri. Wolfram's built will always remain slight, much to his dismay of his soldier-pride.
"You collected the picnic baskets and laid out the blanket," said blond remarked gently, setting down the burden he was carrying to a side and sitting down beside his daughter. Greta smiled, glancing over at the painting tools, and then back to an expectant Wolfram.
"Yes, I did."
"You just got back yesterday, Greta. Shouldn't you be sleeping in today?" the note of concern in Wolfram's voice warmed Greta, and she knew that no matter how old she was, she would always be her father's little girl. And she was happy being that. It was not often that she got to cuddle up to one of her fathers nowadays.
And so she took the opportunity, squirming into Wolfram's side despite being half-a-head taller than him. The blond soldier leant against the tree trunk behind him and shifted to accommodate the sudden show of affection.
"I've missed Gisela's birthday bash already. How can I miss this as well? And you, drawing in the open for the very first time."
Wolfram blinked.
"Gisela told me about it," Greta supplied. The girl twisted her head up to see her father's thoughtfulness etched out on his face when the blond did not reply.
"Do you think they'd notice?" he asked at length. Greta snorted, earning herself a light smack on her forearm.
"Of course they would," she replied, ignoring the brief sting.
"Would they understand, though? I don't think they'd be able to see it the way you did – so long ago," Wolfram said wistfully.
And indeed, it was very long ago, Greta mused.
"Have some faith, Papa. Uncle Gwen and Uncle Konrad, and everyone else are much better than that."
"Well well, will you look at that. My own daughter is giving me advice. Am I old already or what?" Wolfram chuckled, running slender, loving fingers through Greta's tangle of hair, and for a while the both of them shared the whisper of the trees and kisses of the sun, until Yuuri came down to join them with a kiss on Greta's forehead and Wolfram's lips.
It was a quiet family moment, until they were joined by their more boisterous extended family, and then it became a noisy family moment. First it was Gisela and Günter, then an apprehensive Gwendal, followed by Anissina, and then Murata.
Five minutes after Konrad's and Lady Cheri's arrival, Lady Anne appeared, dressed in blazing red.
Wolfram took a brief glance at his husband and daughter – the only two persons to know of his secret so far – and breathed out loud. He pulled out a brush and his palette, ignoring Gwendal's subtle wince, and motioned for Yuuri to set his canvas and the easel up.
"Shall we begin then?" Wolfram asked, smiling when he received a merry nod from Lady Anne.
[5]
Gwendal sat in his bedroom in the dim evening light, sparkling blue eyes trained on his very first portrait painting from Wolfram even though all he could see were indistinguishable criss-crossing lines and random shapes.
The picnic had been a great success, but the one thing that dominated his thoughts now was portrait paintings. He thought about his little brother's painting from the evening: now known as Madam Red, and he thought, too, about his own portrait from Wolfram.
The very first one that his little brother had given to him, stuttering and blushing, in his office, so many years ago.
Looking at it now, he still felt that the painting was a rather mortifying piece – did Wolfram really see him in this light (i.e., naked) all the time? It would be most awkward to ask his married little brother, and Yuuri probably would not like it. No one would have pegged the Maou to be the possessive type, but apparently he was, once he got over the homophobe stage.
But all that aside, he now watched his portrait-self with a new reverence.
He never knew it carried so much meaning.
91 years of living with the blond, caring for him – and yet he never saw the intricacies of his little brother's shows of affection. Gwendal snorted into the dark, putting his head into his hand.
There was a knock on his door. Gwendal hesitated only a second.
"Come in," he commanded – said – in his gruff voice. His head rose slowly as the door opened, and he was surprised to see Wolfram standing in his doorway, looking rather concerned.
Silence prevailed between them for a while, which Gwendal broke by clearing his throat loudly, and then saying, "You've never told us that you could draw that well. Actual portraits. We all thought that you could only produce…these. You only ever showed us and gave us these," as he waved a hand loosely in the direction of his portrait.
Wolfram nodded, leafy green eyes never leaving his eldest brother's face.
The brother who was so much older than him – who was more like a mentor than anything else.
"And yet, I've never given these to anyone other than you all," Wolfram paused for a moment, "It's my secret, aniue."
Gwendal knew that what Wolfram really meant was Cubism is my secret way of telling you all that I love you.
He snorted, startling the Mazoku still standing at his doorway.
"Must you always make things so complicated, Wolfram?" Gwendal asked, and then smiled. Indeed, Yuuri was right. This was one of Wolfram's best-kept secrets.
[6]
When Wolfram slipped back into the Royal bedroom that night, Yuuri was already in between the covers, reading. The moment the blond Mazoku entered, Yuuri looked up from his book.
"You're late. C'mere."
Wolfram grinned and crawled beneath the covers to tuck himself into Yuuri's warm sides.
"Sorry. I wanted to talk to aniue and Konrad."
"You did, didn't you?"
Wolfram nodded even as he pushed his face into Yuuri's neck. Inhaling his husband's scent, Wolfram closed his eyes and chuckled quietly.
"Gwendal berated me. He said I always make things complicated."
"And you do. Can't deny that, can you?"
Yuuri shifted, laughing, when his consort's fingers poked at his sides in vengeance. His hands immediately went up to catch Wolfram's, and he brought them up to his lips to kiss the tips.
"What would you do if Greta never told me about your strange way of showing your love?"
The blond hmphed.
"Then I guess you would never know."
"It'd be rather sad, don't you think?" Yuuri whispered, pushing Wolfram down onto the bed and planting the softest of kiss on his forehead. He squeezed the fingers still trapped within his hold.
"Wolfram."
Green eyes blinked.
"I want you to know that I have never felt more loved than today – when I saw you drawing Lady Anne on canvas."
Because that is blatant proof that I am loved by you.
Note: Lady Angeline is taken directly from Kuroshitsuji. I was too sleepy to think up a new OC.