Priorities
By Kay
Disclaimer: Why don't I own KKM? (cries)
Author's Notes: Conrad/Yozak SLASH here, buoys and gulls. Of the angst variety, no less, and it has reminded me that I can't write Conrad worth shit.
But thank you so much for reading. I appreciate it so much. (blush)
Yozak tastes like dry, ridge-mounted earth and hardship at first contact, all those years of breathing sweat and blood soaked into the corners of his mouth-- but only at first contact. Underneath that, like brightness breaking through the clouds, there's the taint of laughter and warmth of sunshine, a burning sort of strength that speaks of looking down into Hell and snorting at the unimpressive view.
Conrad likes that. Likes it because, as is painfully obvious, he lacks that extra underlying flavor that would make kissing himself a pleasure-- or so he's been told the handful of times he's allowed such an occurrence. Conrad can sometimes taste a hint of what Yozak gets from him, and none of it is soft or strong or anything like laughter. Rather, Conrad takes-- sometimes brutally, unexpectedly-- because he's desperate and he needs, even though he doesn't mean to, and there's too much bitterness from the regretful words that still linger unvoiced around his tongue.
Being anything important to Conrad is an awkward place to be, but Yozak doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he pulls the soldier closer. Grins wider. Trusts when he shouldn't, and that's something that could get him killed. Conrad is torn between wanting to keep that dangerous bond and shaking Yozak, hard, for doing something so stupid as to anchor himself permanently to Conrad's side. Friendship? Brothers in arms? A warm body at night?
Conrad would settle for making sure Yozak lives to see another day.
The funny thing is, though, that Yozak understands. He knows where Conrad's sword lies first and foremost, he gets it that Conrad's duty-- and his life, his purpose, his most intense wish-- belongs to protecting Yuuri. He acknowledges it and doesn't demand too much more than Conrad can afford to give, which is very little to begin with, anyway. No one else has done that. Not like Yozak.
And sometimes Conrad feels so useless those handful of nights when he shares his bed with the warm, blanket-tangled bundle of orange hair and firm muscle. He'll stay awake for hours just listening to Yozak breath and dream, and watch the pale slips of starlight sigh through the windows and waft over the bed, and feel utterly helpless because if it came right down to it, really, even after all Yozak has given him and all the times he's held Conrad up and all the strange bursts of deep-rooted affection Conrad feels for him and the way Yozak kisses and the flutter of his heartbeat against Conrad's hand, when it comes down it, when it really hit's the bottom--
'I won't look to your safety first. And you deserve better than that.'
He only tells this to Yozak once, and only once. In a tavern made of more dirt than walls, blearily sinking into drink in an uncharacteristic slump-- Conrad doesn't even remember half the things he says, but none of them are pretty. Neither is Yozak, though, and that somehow makes it okay. Tonight is for them. At least until he's needed again.
"It's just as well," Yozak says that night, and traces faint circles over the fabric that hides a mark on Conrad's shoulder he himself made, "that I can take care of myself."
"I'm sorry." Conrad catches his fingers weakly, unable to bring himself to look into those awfully bright blue eyes. "I… didn't…"
"But you did," Yozak says, and kisses him like hardship and blood, the sun and the laughter and his love.
End