Chapter 3: Wolfram's Dilemma

Wolfram stared at the field laid out below him, shifting forward on the window seat carved into the ancient stone sill and absentmindedly discarding the book he hadn't been reading.

The Maou was below, fencing with Weller-kyo, his black jacket discarded for shirtsleeves, his face flushed and sweaty. Weller, in contrast, was as cool and calm as a cucumber, even from this distance. The blonde demon spared a second for pea-green envy – he should have been the one down there, practicing with his fiancé, encouraging him, challenging him, teaching him all the young half-blood King needed to know for his own protection, but he'd refused to, at the very last moment turning Yuuri's earlier request over to his own half-brother, unable to contemplate even another minute spent in close contact with a Demon King who was acting entirely out-of-character.

"Tsk!"

The Mazoku pressed his fingertips to the rippling panes of ancient glass hesitantly, the coolness of the surface a pleasant contrast to the swirling heat of his own emotions.

He was so confused. On edge, as if Yuuri had decided suddenly to turn his dull, comfortable world at an odd angle and leave it there, dangling, fingertip to cliff edge.

So hungry, for the public kisses he'd been given had only whetted his appetite for intimacy. He had consciously claimed he'd long since given up any real hope for loving touches from Yuuri – why bother to torture himself now longing for something he was never going to get?

(Though he hoped anyway, of course, and why lie to himself like that? Of course he hoped! He'd hope till he was dead somewhere in a ditch. They were both living, breathing people in close proximity to one another, weren't they? They were in a 'relationship', by Shinou's Grace, that gave them every opportunity to be private and…and together and…and Yuuri might…Yuuri had…

Yuuri had kissed him.)

The blonde brought his hand to his mouth, remembering the feel of each of those confusing, soul-destroying moments. He had not realized that such long-awaited warmth could leave behind such a sense of desolation when it passed. But he was always moth to flame, unable to resist.

Below him, the King and Weller-kyo stepped apart, laughing, blunted swords to their sides. The dark head tilted, mid-comment, and curious eyes turned upwards, sweeping the façade of Blood Pledge, as if he knew in some arcane manner that his fiancé watched over him. Wolfram ducked instinctively; Yuuri mustn't know he cowered here, gazing after him like some lovelorn ass. His pale fingers clenched in self-derision – a year ago, he'd have been shouting for the Maou to notice him; hell, a year ago, he'd have been down there, jealously claiming his right to teach Yuuri all about swordsmanship, all about anything, anything at all.

And now he was reduced to hiding, for those kisses had completely unmanned him; had torn away his defensive anger and left him….

So sad, for it must be a jest or a foolish conspiracy or some new way for His Majesty the Maou to make use of him. He was a tool, was he not? A soldier: a shield, a sword, a thing that functioned only to guard their precious King in his most private of moments. Even Yuuri admitted the practical truth of that, so why taunt him so unmercifully when he'd finally gotten used to his real position?

(He'd kissed before, several times with several people. He'd flirted with the possibility of going a little…further. But he'd never forgotten to breathe altogether, nor failed to remember his circumstances or who might watching. He'd always worried about how it might appear or what might be said about him later….always before, and now decidedly not. When Yuuri kissed him, his fine, gentlemanly sense of propriety was just so much ash in the wind and he bowed before a force greater than all his petty worries and simply gave in…)

(Pervert!)

And why hadn't his brothers said a thing about these random, increasingly passionate, extremely public kisses!? What did they know about this whole topsy-turvy situation that they weren't telling him!? Even Gunter had kept his normally loquacious trap shut, only winking at a still-dazed Wolfram half-way through the State dinner last night, the most recent Maou-assault Wolfram could remember – could never forget. That was weird, weird, so odd, and it must be Yuuri's doing…but why!? Why!?

"Stupid wimp!"

He didn't know what to do, how to react. It had been twice now in three days and this newly incomprehensible Maou only smiled sweetly at him afterwards and continued on his merry way, leaving a stunned Wolfram in his wake.

"Ungh! Idiot!"

The blonde wrapped his arms around his middle, hugging himself, and leaned forward, the glass of the window pane now downright cold against his flaming forehead, steamy green eyes unwavering on the dark head busy below him. They were at it again, dulled practice swords clashing, Weller steady in his advance while Yuuri fell back.

(Yuuri should rest now; he was getting tired, his face red and cheeks puffing. If Wolf were down there right now, he would've called a halt five full minutes ago. The wimp can't fight well when he can't breathe, Brother – why don't you ever remember that? Don't you see?

[Always pushing, that Weller. Always pushing himself in between.]

…If he were the one down there with Yuuri, he'd take a minute or two right now to show Yuuri some new footwork, so the wimp could have a short break. It worked every single time, like clockwork – Yuuri came back refreshed and then he'd manage to retain the feint or angle or whatever it was Wolf had decided was the actual lesson du jour. Of course, that was because he understood the limits of the new recruits, which Weller did not, because he was the one saddled always saddled with training the rookies, whereas Conrad only had seasoned troops to deal with in his elite squadron.

…If he was down there, with Yuuri, he could be doing his job instead of creeping around like some weak-willed, lovesick idiot.)

[Useful. Wanted. Needed.]

It tore at him, not knowing, for Wolf was used to being certain of his path. He had a mission: protect Yuuri. He had a purpose: give his all, if need to be, to protect the doubly-precious Maou, keep him safe and smiling and focused on Shin Makoku. Surely, it had been made apparent to him by that ass Murata, the reincarnated Great Sage, that this was his only available role at this point, his only option. When Yuuri had returned unexpectedly, after all Shin Makoku had given up hope of ever seeing their beloved King again, their years-long 'accidental' engagement had never formally been resumed…but then again, as Murata pointed out, it had never been specifically ended, either. Not by Yuuri, at least.

It struck Wolfram, still reeling with joy at having Yuuri once more by his side, a mere arm's-length away, that the oddly somewhat-more-savvy-and grown-up Maou found it useful to have a shield between him and every match-making mama in Shin Makoku and that he, Wolfram von Bielefeld, was especially convenient for that purpose, being already inured to the role. As for him, how could he object to any of it when it kept him near the one he loved? He'd been so grateful for the chance to even see Yuuri again - how could he say 'no' when it meant that Yuuri needed him? When had he ever been able to say 'no' to Yuuri?

(The Sage had said so, that his role would be 'different'...this time. He'd nearly thought the Sage had meant 'different' in a way that meant marriage, but no, of course not, it was never what he hoped for, was it? But if Yuuri wanted it, if he was comfortable having Wolfram that close, all the time, then how could he protest against it? He was his King's soldier, first of all)

Yuuri wanted only that from him – his loyalty, his protection…his role. The Maou's unswerving mien of friendship only spoke silent volumes to an off-balance Wolfram, finally dousing the infinitely tiny spark of hope that he had nurtured all the way through Yuuri's long absence. He'd silently given up, after a while, all for Yuuri's sake. He'd given in, admitted defeat, and would go when he was asked to, head high and without a single word against it - so why in Shinou's Name was the Maou messing with him now? They had settled this over the passing months without ever even bothering to put it into actual words – why stir him up again when he'd finally accepted his limitations?

Wolfram's knees were a handy place to bang his head. He only wished they were harder so he could derail his thoughts altogether. He was supposed to be here in his studio in order to get away from Yuuri-the-strangely-affectionate-Maou, so why was he spending his stolen time gawking at Yuuri from a distance and lapping up the sight of sweat-curled hair and flexing forearms? Perhaps because his half-formed, half-Demon Fiancé of three years ago had transformed, Maou-like, into a handsome, broad-shouldered, virile King. Of course he was lusting. He'd lusted mightily when Yuuri was just adorable; why not admit this 'new' Maou made his – and every other blue-blooded Royal fiancé contender, ill-bred hussies that they were – knees go totally weak?

Wolfram gave up on the banging eventually and rested his chin on his knees instead, wrapping his arms around his shins to keep his balance. In the corner of his eye, the Maou had laid down his practice sword and was collapsed fully in the grass, laughing up at Conrad.

[Oh, me. Look at me like that, Yuuri.]

Wolfram closed his infernal eyes, damning them for being watery, for seeing that from a distance; damning himself for hiding up here when he could've been down there, smiling back at his laughing fiancé.

"Stupid…." The tan buckskin of his trousers caught the moan, as well as the seeping moisture.

True, sometimes he lost it. The old jealousy swarmed into his bloodstream and made him see red; the old need for acknowledgement, acceptance, affection. He hadn't managed to excise it from his heart entirely, even with no fuel to feed the fire. And his was a passionate nature; how could he help it, being a fire-wielder? But he was getting better little by little – he was. And Yuuri would think it was very odd if Wolf didn't react as he always used to when the stupid females crawled all over him – and Yuuri shouldn't look too closely at what he didn't want to see.

So…he'd ignore this latest kiss, just as he'd managed to turn a blind eye to so many other things since Yuuri's return. It meant nothing; it was only that Yuuri was finally paying attention to his maturing physical needs, that was all, and Wolfram happened to be handy and available…and attractive enough, he supposed, to not turn Yuuri off completely.

Besides, who else was Yuuri going to kiss other than his fiancé, after all? It wasn't like Wolfram had ever tolerated willingly the bevy of voluptuous available females who constantly invaded Blood Pledge. Certainly he did not now, when Yuuri was even more at risk of being taken advantage of by some traitorous harpy! So…those random kisses meant nothing deeper – it was merely Yuuri practicing to be an fully-fledged adult and Wolfram had happened to be the one lucky enough to be the dummy.

"Wimp!"

His knees steamed gently as he raised his blonde head sharply, nodding to himself.

"Pervert!!"

{….And the memories of those kisses – those wonderful, soul-destroying, cock-throbbing kisses – well, they would keep him warm at night when Yuuri moved on, as inevitably he would. Wolf should be grateful for that. Yes, he should. Except that he wasn't; no, not at all. He was angry.}

So angry he could cry.