OMG_Maou - YoCon - Love In All Places - PG-13
Title: Love In All Places
Fandom: omg_maou
Pairing: Yozak/Conrad
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Fluff. Sap.
Summary: Love means many things. Yozak ponders a few of them.
When he was growing up, love meant Chichioya and Hahaoya and hugs and bedtime stories. Love was going to sleep and knowing that there were people nearby to watch over you and sing lullabies and sneak you cookies when Hahaoya was washing up and you were supposed to be in bed. Then, when Chichioya died, love meant dusty roads and keeping secrets and sharing a single threadbare blanket while the wind howled and the rain came sleeting down.
In the village, love meant hands brushing against each other, wriggly squiggly feelings in your gut and a blush that felt like it was burnt on. Love also meant the aching muscles and tired joints from hours working in the fields or to raise another sturdy little house. Love was watching the horizon for the grand lord and the wise-eyed boy. Love was stealing apples (not many, just enough to keep two growing half-breeds from starvation until dinnertime) and skipping stones across the placid stream. Love was not-crying when they left and carrying on until they came back and believing that they would come back.
In the early years in the castle, love meant biting your tongue and not picking fights. Dragging himself up at stupid in the morning to run with hordes of sneering, sweaty young nobles - that was love. He can remember the first time someone bled for his love (the popinjay of a courtier's nose had dribbled crimson all over his shirt) and the first time he bled for love (he still maintains Conrad cheated on that drill or even the two of them tripping over the same scabbard wouldn't have caused any injury).
Then, after the war, love meant dreams. Love kept him coming back, dragging Conrad out of his shell even if it meant bruises and scuffles that Gwendal-kakka kept from his uncle's ears for hours of extra paperwork. Love was the reason he took the first assignment overseas and told Conrad more than he should when he came back. Love was being Conrad's support, best friend, drinking buddy and comrade in arms and evading Anissina-san's inventions without hinting at wanting anything more.
Which brings him to today. Today, love is skin on skin, fingers curling, stroking, pushing and the dull fire of blunt nails raked across his back. Love is stolen kisses and under-the-table hand clasping and innuendos that make them laugh and outsiders blink and edge away. Love is lying in hot deep baths and holding each other tight when the nightmares come.
But there's more to love. Love is not-laughing when Conrad, scarlet from toes to scalp and mortified, lets him see the clumsy, crude attempts at poetry. Love isn't fighting over the last towel, but it's making peace after they've both shouted and roared over it. Love is letting Conrad keep an over-protective eye on his king and believing him when he says it's platonic. Love is ignoring Conrad's attempts to impose order on the chaotic aspects of his life and being grateful when he lets you add a little randomness to his.
Love is staying. Love is trusting. Love is accepting that his lover isn't a perfect paragon, that he sniffles and sulks when he's nearly-sick and hogs the covers when he's really-sick. Love is learning not leave wet towels draped over the headboard and cleaning up the smudges of makeup left on the bathroom mirror. Love is easy but requires hard work and determination.
Love is totally worth it.
Fandom: omg_maou
Pairing: Yozak/Conrad
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Fluff. Sap.
Summary: Love means many things. Yozak ponders a few of them.
When he was growing up, love meant Chichioya and Hahaoya and hugs and bedtime stories. Love was going to sleep and knowing that there were people nearby to watch over you and sing lullabies and sneak you cookies when Hahaoya was washing up and you were supposed to be in bed. Then, when Chichioya died, love meant dusty roads and keeping secrets and sharing a single threadbare blanket while the wind howled and the rain came sleeting down.
In the village, love meant hands brushing against each other, wriggly squiggly feelings in your gut and a blush that felt like it was burnt on. Love also meant the aching muscles and tired joints from hours working in the fields or to raise another sturdy little house. Love was watching the horizon for the grand lord and the wise-eyed boy. Love was stealing apples (not many, just enough to keep two growing half-breeds from starvation until dinnertime) and skipping stones across the placid stream. Love was not-crying when they left and carrying on until they came back and believing that they would come back.
In the early years in the castle, love meant biting your tongue and not picking fights. Dragging himself up at stupid in the morning to run with hordes of sneering, sweaty young nobles - that was love. He can remember the first time someone bled for his love (the popinjay of a courtier's nose had dribbled crimson all over his shirt) and the first time he bled for love (he still maintains Conrad cheated on that drill or even the two of them tripping over the same scabbard wouldn't have caused any injury).
Then, after the war, love meant dreams. Love kept him coming back, dragging Conrad out of his shell even if it meant bruises and scuffles that Gwendal-kakka kept from his uncle's ears for hours of extra paperwork. Love was the reason he took the first assignment overseas and told Conrad more than he should when he came back. Love was being Conrad's support, best friend, drinking buddy and comrade in arms and evading Anissina-san's inventions without hinting at wanting anything more.
Which brings him to today. Today, love is skin on skin, fingers curling, stroking, pushing and the dull fire of blunt nails raked across his back. Love is stolen kisses and under-the-table hand clasping and innuendos that make them laugh and outsiders blink and edge away. Love is lying in hot deep baths and holding each other tight when the nightmares come.
But there's more to love. Love is not-laughing when Conrad, scarlet from toes to scalp and mortified, lets him see the clumsy, crude attempts at poetry. Love isn't fighting over the last towel, but it's making peace after they've both shouted and roared over it. Love is letting Conrad keep an over-protective eye on his king and believing him when he says it's platonic. Love is ignoring Conrad's attempts to impose order on the chaotic aspects of his life and being grateful when he lets you add a little randomness to his.
Love is staying. Love is trusting. Love is accepting that his lover isn't a perfect paragon, that he sniffles and sulks when he's nearly-sick and hogs the covers when he's really-sick. Love is learning not leave wet towels draped over the headboard and cleaning up the smudges of makeup left on the bathroom mirror. Love is easy but requires hard work and determination.
Love is totally worth it.