SAPPHIRE WATER, RUBY FIRE

Author's Note:

First chapter! Oh yeah, I'm definitely out of the track. Hope this chapter is long enough for you. BTW, if you have the Celine Dion's song called 'I'm Your Angel', listen to it while reading the Maou x Wolfram part (the first part). Just a suggestion here.

Disclaimer: I don't own KKM.

CHAPTER 1: NIGHT'S WALTZ

The air was sweet and warm, wrapping him in a comfortable embrace. He sighed, relishing the way the wind blew, parting his hair and ruffling his clothes. The grass beneath his bare feet was moist and green, forming a soft, lush carpet. White petals were showering down from the sky, and he reached out to catch one….

"Wolfram…."

The whisper was raw with passion and longing, and Wolfram shuddered in his half-sleeping state. It was too nice, the feeling was too nice. He did not want to wake up, to open his eyes and find out that the person who called him with such desire was not Yuuri. Perhaps he could pretend, for a moment, that it was Yuuri who called him like that.

'As if he would,' Wolfram muttered bitterly in his mind, feeling the familiar pain wrenching his heart, squeezing it painfully. He bit his lower lip until it drew blood, willing himself not to cry again.

How many times had he curled up on Yuuri's bed, letting his tears run silently as he watched the other boy slept?

A warm hand ran through his hair, making him shiver slightly. The touch was feather-light, tender in its every move. He was lying on someone's lap. Who? He did not dare to see, still. He wanted too savor the moment, to imagine—even hope—that he was lying on Yuuri's lap, being caressed by the boy.

The hand was combing his hair, stroking it, and the voice was whispering soothing words. Sleep was going to overtake him again if he had not been careful. The peace he felt…it was overwhelming. Before he realized it, the tears he had been holding were running free, wetting the person's lap. He kept his eyes closed still, letting the bottled-up emotion stream out of his whole body. Sobs rocked his lithe form, each one louder than the previous one. The person simply put another warm hand on his shoulder, leaning onto his ear, hushing him quietly, whispering comforting words all the way. The other hand sometimes strayed from his hair to wipe away his tears, warm skin brushing his pale one.

"Hush, little wolf," the voice soothed. "Don't cry…. I'm here for you. Remember?"

He could not help but nodded between his tears. He knew that voice. But whose voice was it?

"I've seen, little wolf. All the pain you have gone through. I've seen it, through the eyes of my previous body."

Ah, a story he knew too well. Had he heard it somewhere?

"I was pathetic that time. But not now. I have been granted a new body, separated from my old one, physically and mentally. I am no longer a mere sub-consciousness." There was a strain in the voice when it said that sentence. "Now I am truly here."

The stranger picked Wolfram up, therefore causing the warm hands to leave his hair and shoulder. Wolfram opened his eyes in protest immediately when he felt the warmth leaving his body, only to be greeted by the sight of the Maou, looking down at him, a wistful smile on his lips. Then the Maou stood up, carrying him bridal-style. His cheeks heated up, the mortification of being carried like a woman, yet still….

The Maou leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, before kissing the wet remnants of his tears away. Wolfram blushed, averting his eyes, for the very first time realizing that they were on the shore right below the cliff where the Blood-Pledge Castle lay. The castle was up there, illuminated by the silver moon. A question hammered onto Wolfram's brain, forcing him to think logically.

"Yuuri?"

The Maou seemed to freeze when he heard that name. His dark brows furrowed, and for a minute—still in his hazy state—Wolfram felt the fear of starting the Maou's rage. Yet the frown was soon replaced by a forlorn expression, so sad that Wolfram could not help but feel guilty. The blonde dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry…," he whispered.

A historic moment. The very first time Wolfram von Bielefeld admitted that he was sorry from the very bottom of his heart. Even the Maou was taken aback, yet soon he smiled softly at the boy in his arms.

Wolfram could feel his cheeks heating up at the sight of the Maou's smile. Yuuri never smiled at him like that. That smile…it made him feel special, as if he had been the only one who could see it, as if the smile had been for him truly and only. No, Yuuri's smile was equally warm, yet he directed it to everyone, sharing his happiness with every single person. Yuuri was too kind, too kind that his kindness hurt Wolfram.

When it came to Yuuri, somehow nobody was special. Even enemies were friends. There were no differences between a person to another for the Soukoku.

That hurt him. A lot.

The Maou spoke up, cutting Wolfram's train of thoughts. "You should come back," the taller boy said, somehow with a hint of regret and pain in his tone, that Wolfram could not help but wish to wipe away that sadness completely. Such a great being should not be allowed to be sad, especially over someone who was as pathetic as he was. This person carrying him was definitely not Yuuri, yet he could feel some kind of strange connection between them. "Your fiancée might realize that you are gone," the Maou said again, this time not looking at him.

"Why are you doing this?" Wolfram demanded suddenly, all the questions he had been holding pouring out from his mouth. "What about Yuuri now that he is without your power?"

The Maou's eyes narrowed, and Wolfram winced. "You care about your fiancée too much," the Maou registered him coldly. Then his expression went soft again. "Shibuya has to find his own power," he said slowly, looking straight into Wolfram's emerald eyes with his deep, dark ones. "He cannot depend on me forever. He has power, yet with me within him, he will never realize its existence, buried deep within."

Wolfram clutched at the Maou's shirt. The very same which Yuuri usually wore. "Then what about you?" he asked, the stubbornness coming back to him. "You are still the Maou."

The Maou smiled, and suddenly Wolfram felt pathetic under the other boy's intense gaze. He was helpless within the Maou's embrace. His temper left him, his sharp words he had trained so well escaped out of the window. He was like a child, begging for warmth and affection, only to find those waiting for him within that embrace.

He simply could not resist.

"You will see, little wolf, you'll see," the Maou said, placing another kiss on his forehead. He noticed how the Maou seemed to savor his skin, kissing him in every given opportunity. Always tender, warm, somehow different from the cold rage he had been used to.

'He is just like me,' Wolfram thought as the Maou unfurled his wings, magically not ripping his shirt. 'We hide behind the same mask.'

The Maou tightened his grip on him before finally soared to the sky. Wolfram could smell his scent, the smell of mint, mixed with lavender and the salty scent of the ocean. 'He smells like lavender, and mint…,' the blonde mused. Out of instinct, he looked down, the whole ocean spread before him, and he gasped at the sight.

"Beautiful," he breathed in awe.

"Just like you," the Maou said softly, causing the blonde in his arms to blush.

A few strong flaps of the black wings, and they were on the balcony of the King's chamber. Wolfram expected the Maou to lower him down, but no, not yet. The Maou gave a glance at the still sleeping Yuuri, before entering the room silently, Wolfram still in his hands.

He stopped when he was at the edge of the bed, at Wolfram's side of the bed. There was an awkward pause there, as if filled with hesitation. Yet before Wolfram could do something, anything, the Maou kissed his forehead tenderly, in the same time slowly lowering him onto the soft mattress, never breaking their contact. Wolfram's back met the bed, and the Maou released him. The blonde nearly protested aloud, yet the Maou leaned in dangerously close, before whispering into his ear huskily, "See you tomorrow, little wolf."

Several long strides, then the Maou was gone through the balcony, leaving the still-stunned Wolfram in the room.

XXX

Shibuya Yuuri woke up with his head throbbing like mad.

His body felt strange to him, as if something had gone missing. He was tangled with dozens of sheets and blankets (not that it was unusual), yet there was definitely something unusual there, something missing in the scene, also in his body.

Oh. He got it. Wolfram was not there.

He touched Wolfram's side of the bed. It was still warm. The blonde just left. 'Perhaps for the bath,' he concluded, yawning widely. 'But that doesn't explain what's so unsettling with my body.'

He walked to the mirror, studying himself on the smooth reflective surface. Nothing was wrong. Only him, clad in his pajamas.

Yet something was unsettlingly…light…, as if something had set free from his person.

He recalled his previous dream. Not a very pleasant one, he had to admit. Why would he dream of Maou leaving his body? Of that powerful being to gain a body of his own? He had to admit it was scary. Or perhaps it was for the better of him? Of both of them? Then again, why was Wolfram with the Maou in his silly dream?

Why was Wolfram crying in the Maou's embrace?

He shook his head, deciding that the strange dream had affected him far more than he should have allowed. Yet the sight of Wolfram crying, especially in the Maou's protective, even possessive embrace, then the accusing, hurt look the Maou sent him…. It was enough to throw him off the track.

What were those pangs in his heart? Guilt, sadness, and…jealousy?

Yuuri snorted. Him? Jealous of Wolfram? Impossible. It was Wolfram's part to act as the jealous one. Not him. Besides, Wolfram never cried. He was strong and prideful, and could take care of himself.

Yes. He was just too affected by his…nightmare, that was all.

Still hesitant, Yuuri made his way toward the bath, somehow unsure of himself far worse than what he thought possible.

XXX

Wolfram stared at the droplets of water slipping off from his fingers. The water and steam was lavender and mint-scented, just like what he had requested. He wanted to relish in that scent, pretending the warm water was the Maou's embrace.

It was not like he had gotten over Yuuri. It was just he had always thought the Maou as a part of Yuuri. Yet he had seen that night, how different the Maou was with the wimp he had known too well. The Maou's embrace was strong, passionate, easily lulling him into a hazy state of peacefulness and fulfillment. The affection the Maou radiated was…honest, nearing to Yuuri's own.

"Wimp," he whispered, recalling Yuuri's smile, the light the dark-haired boy radiated. A smile tugged on his lips, a wistful smile, to be exact.

"Don't call me a wimp!"

If Wolfram von Bielefeld had not been a trained soldier, he might have died at that moment from a heart-attack.

"Yuuri!" he shouted indignantly. "What in Shin'ou name are you doing here?!"

There was a splash somewhere in the huge bath, signing that Yuuri had already entered the bath. Wolfram could hear the pout in his voice. "Taking a bath. What else?" Yuuri replied from somewhere through the thick steam.

An awkward silence followed later on, before finally Yuuri spoke up in surprise, "Nee, Wolfram, don't you smell that the water is scented by a different incense than the one the maids usually use?"

Wolfram reddened immediately. "I requested this incense! Don't you dare to complain!" he yelled in faked annoyance, simply to hide his embarrassment. He would not admit the real reason beneath the incense, not for another million years.

Yuuri sniffed the air. "It smells nice," he said lightly. "Like lavender and mint."

Somehow, the sentence brought an impact on Yuuri's brain. He replayed a scene of his previous nightmare, where Wolfram was carried bridal-style by the Maou. There was a sentence, more like being thought by Wolfram instead of being said aloud.

'He smells like lavender, and mint….'

He shook his head ferociously, trying to shake the sentence, and the image, off his head. 'Nah, it's just a dream,' he assured himself. 'Just a coincidence.'

To test his hypothesis, Yuuri asked cautiously, "Do you always like lavender and mint, Wolfram?"

XXX

Wolfram raised an eyebrow in slight shock. 'What kind of question is that?' he questioned himself, wondering what the hell was wrong with the 27th Maou who was practically sharing a bath with him. What should he do? Admit that he just liked it from the previous night? 'Never 'till the hell freezes over,' Wolfram snorted inwardly. Instead, he opened his mouth and said, a little harsher than what he intended, "Not your business, wimp."

"I was only asking! And don't call me wimp!" Yuuri protested from the other end from the bath, trying to save whatever dignity he had left.

Wolfram snorted. "A wimp is a wimp to the end," he stated simply, climbing out of the bath.

Yuuri's next sentence stopped him. "Wolfram, have you ever cried?"

The question was simple and pure, yet it left Wolfram stunned on his spot, eyes wide and mouth agape, finding himself at loss of words. "Yes," he finally replied harshly. "Yes, I have. For many times."

Then he left without even a single glance.

XXX

The sun was shining in its brightest that afternoon, and Wolfram could feel the heat beating down on his skin. He had given up his cobalt blue jacket for quite a long time, now only clad in a thin white shirt and trousers. His soldiers were just as sweaty as he was, panting with each swing of their sword.

"Harder, you fool!" Wolfram shouted, meeting his training opponent's sword with a terrifying clang that would make any sentient species wince. The blonde soldier was exceptionally full-spirited that day, if not a little vengeful in his every move. His opponent, an unlucky soldier, fell down onto the dusty ground, the tip of Wolfram's sword pressed on his shoulder.

"Get up!" Wolfram ordered, sheathing his sword, sending the fallen soldier a murderous look. "Go and train yourself!"

The soldier gave a terrified whimper and scampered away, desperate to get away from the angry prince. The others stared at Wolfram in silence, as if afraid he might have exploded anytime.

Wolfram was about to call the next unlucky soldier when a soldier ran toward him, babbling and panting all the way. "Wolfram-kaka!" the soldier said, finally stopping in front of the frowning prince. "There is somebody looking for you at the front gate! When we refused to let him in, he simply did something with magic that I have never seen before! Some soldiers were lightly wounded and some was unconscious. Gwendal-kaka and Weller-kyo are heading there! Kaka, you better go quickly!"

Wolfram's frown deepened. "Has the Maou heard about this?" he asked the soldier. 'A person looking for me?'

"Not yet, Wolfram-kaka!"

"Good. Don't let him know first," Wolfram said, striding briskly toward the front gate of the Blood-Pledge Castle. His mind was in turmoil. Who would be searching for him? Who was that person that he could incapacitate the soldiers alone?

XXX

The thirteen-year-old girl was just walking nearby when she heard the explosion.

Out of curiosity, she went to check what it was, only to find a soldier running past her at top speed, shouting Wolfram's name all the way. She stopped, looked, then walked again to investigate.

Wolfram. One of her fathers. The more impulsive and dominant one of the two, yet actually he was kind and soft inside. Greta always wondered why Yuuri failed to see that.

Three years had passed since Yuuri adopted her, and Greta had grown attached with all members of the Blood-Pledge Castle. Anissina, Gwendal, Gunther, and—of course—her ever so gentle and mild uncle, Conrad Weller.

Conrad and Greta had become close since he found Greta walking into his room by mistake one night. She had been searching for Yuuri and Wolfram, yet all she found was Conrad. Instead of telling her which way was the King's chamber, Conrad had asked her to stay, reading her a story until she fell asleep.

Soon they had walks around the garden, some games, and even small picnics. Usually the picnics would start when the sun had set. Conrad would set up a small tent in his or her room, and she would bring a basket full of dinner and books. They would have their 'picnics' together, laughing and chatting about everything, anything.

She was thirteen-year-old now, yet that particular activity never reduced as she grew.

Smiling at the memory, she arrived at the front gate, only to find a person wrapped in a hooded cloak standing there, with the guards scattered around his feet

Sharp, dark eyes fixed themselves at her from beneath a hood. She took an instinctive step backward. Her eyes traveled onto the bodies of the soldiers lying around the stranger, all motionless on the ground. "Who…who are you?" she asked, terrified, as the stranger approached her.

"Greta!"

She turned, finding Conrad running toward her and the stranger. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been dead by then. "Don't touch her!" Conrad shouted, his calm composure gone, replaced by blazing anger. His sword was unsheathed, ready to attack.

From the corners of her eyes, she could see the stranger raising his hand, muttering something. A ball of light formed on the stranger's hand, and her first instinct was to shout a warning.

"Uncle Conrad! Don't!"

XXX

There you go! The first chapter! Faster than what I expected. I like Greta's part and Maou's part. What do you think? REVIEW, PLEASE!

Aqua Alta