Flat [PG-13; Murata/Conrad]
Title: Flat
Author: worblehat
Genre: Kyou Kara Maou
Pairing: Murata/Conrad
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Done for the 138th prompt at prompt_a_day ("We Are 138" by The Misfits). Contains spoilers.
Word Count: 941
Conrad smiled at the silhouette standing outside beneath the trees. "It seems as if you're always alone, even in the midst of a crowd" he said, stopping just behind the Great Sage.
Murata didn't turn around, his eyes focused on the moonlight, which reflected off of his glasses. The air blew sweetly around the garden in front of him, loose petals swept up easily into the night. Conrad took a step closer and Murata's upper lip lifted into a feint smile. "And you are never in the front, even when you are commanding," he mused. He looked at Conrad over his shoulder. "Why is that?"
"I'm better at being behind-the-scenes," answered Conrad honestly, watching Murata's dark eyes, which were now only half-hidden by his thick frames.
Murata faced him fully, the gravel beneath his feet making a dull sound as he shifted. A distance of five feet lay between them, neither moving to fill it. "Did you come here on purpose or were you wandering aimlessly?" he asked.
"A bit of both," said Conrad, smiling. Murata's hair looked even darker at night, the moon illuminating the part down the middle. He vaguely wished that he had the same sort of relationship with Murata as he had with Yuuri, so that he could maybe muss up Murata's thick, bushy locks. His hands remained at his sides however as he took a half step closer. "Are you enjoying the garden?"
Murata shrugged. "To be honest, flowers are flowers," he said, making Conrad laugh. "My mom is allergic, so I haven't had a lot of exposure to them."
"Shouldn't you treasure them more, in that case?" asked Conrad.
"Interesting logic," said Murata, "but not applicable in this case."
"I see."
They continued to stand, scrutinising each other softly under the light, until Murata spoke again. "It's okay to have doubt, Conrad."
Conrad bowed; it was uncanny how the Sage seemed to know exactly what he was thinking when he sometimes had a challenging time conveying similar things to Yuuri, or even to his own brothers (though perhaps the latter was understandable). "I apologise," he said, standing up straight again.
Murata laughed. "It wasn't as if I didn't deserve it," he said easily, "seeing as it was part of my plan." He looked skyward. "But I had confidence that Yuuri would be able to do what he was chosen for, even if his friend betrayed him." Murata's glasses shone brightly. "He's stubborn like that."
Conrad stifled a chuckle. "What would you have done if it had failed?"
"Nothing," said Murata, voice flat. "I don't have the power to stop something like that."
"But then why -"
"I promised," said Murata, his voice breaking a little, not enough to lead to tears but short enough to catch. Conrad stepped forward almost involuntarily, closing the distance between them completely. Yet once he was there, before Murata, his body did not move. If it were Yuuri, he would have either smiled encouragingly or wrapped one friendly arm around his shoulders. But this was Murata, whose cold voice Conrad could still hear in his dreams sometimes.
"You think too much." Murata's voice broke through Conrad's thoughts and he looked down, raising one hand and resting it on top of Murata's shoulder.
"That might be true," said Conrad, giving a small laugh as he urged Murata closer. "Is there something I should be doing instead?"
Murata smiled. "You're surprisingly good at double entendre," he said, his voice sounding amused. "You're lucky you're trying this on me and not Yuuri."
"Why's that?" asked Conrad, eyes widening when he felt Murata's thin fingertips tracing the line of his jaw slowly.
"Because," Murata answered, his hand lowering to fist Conrad's uniform in one hand, "your efforts won't be wasted with me."
Conrad wasn't prepared for the soft lips that raised to meet his own, or the hesitancy in Murata's movements as he closed his eyes, letting Conrad decide the rhythm between them. Placing his hand at Murata's waist, he drew the smaller boy towards himself, tasting the surprisingly innocent reactions; ran his tongue along the pale neck before kissing the spot just below Murata's ear.
"You're shaking," Conrad observed, keeping the worry out of his voice.
Murata sighed. "It's one thing to remember experiences," he said. "It feels a lot different when you do them yourself."
Conrad let go of him, one hand covering Murata's fist, which hadn't yet let go of his jacket. "You look younger when you're not keeping four-thousand-year-old promises," he said seriously, his eyes teasing just a little bit.
"You think you're so smart," said Murata, releasing Conrad so that he could punch him in the chest. His face seemed clearer, his eyes less troubled. Conrad's hand dropped and he looked over at Murata when thin fingers wrapped around his wrist. "You're free for a walk, aren't you?" asked Murata, cheeks tinged a faint pink.
"Sure," Conrad answered as they began to walk around the grounds.
"Good," said Murata. "Maybe you can explain why you keep staring hungrily at a fourteen-year-old boy."
Conrad faltered. When he put it like that, it did seem slightly off. "I -"
"You can explain after the sex," said Murata casually, winking when Conrad stammered about not wanting to move to fast and pressure and how really, a kiss was fine - more than fine, even.
He forced Murata to stop walking. In Murata's voice, eyes, and words there were hundreds of lives, millions of individual experiences shaping every answer he gave. But when Conrad leaned down a second time, there was on Murata kissing him back, lips singular and warm.
And free.
Author: worblehat
Genre: Kyou Kara Maou
Pairing: Murata/Conrad
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Done for the 138th prompt at prompt_a_day ("We Are 138" by The Misfits). Contains spoilers.
Word Count: 941
Conrad smiled at the silhouette standing outside beneath the trees. "It seems as if you're always alone, even in the midst of a crowd" he said, stopping just behind the Great Sage.
Murata didn't turn around, his eyes focused on the moonlight, which reflected off of his glasses. The air blew sweetly around the garden in front of him, loose petals swept up easily into the night. Conrad took a step closer and Murata's upper lip lifted into a feint smile. "And you are never in the front, even when you are commanding," he mused. He looked at Conrad over his shoulder. "Why is that?"
"I'm better at being behind-the-scenes," answered Conrad honestly, watching Murata's dark eyes, which were now only half-hidden by his thick frames.
Murata faced him fully, the gravel beneath his feet making a dull sound as he shifted. A distance of five feet lay between them, neither moving to fill it. "Did you come here on purpose or were you wandering aimlessly?" he asked.
"A bit of both," said Conrad, smiling. Murata's hair looked even darker at night, the moon illuminating the part down the middle. He vaguely wished that he had the same sort of relationship with Murata as he had with Yuuri, so that he could maybe muss up Murata's thick, bushy locks. His hands remained at his sides however as he took a half step closer. "Are you enjoying the garden?"
Murata shrugged. "To be honest, flowers are flowers," he said, making Conrad laugh. "My mom is allergic, so I haven't had a lot of exposure to them."
"Shouldn't you treasure them more, in that case?" asked Conrad.
"Interesting logic," said Murata, "but not applicable in this case."
"I see."
They continued to stand, scrutinising each other softly under the light, until Murata spoke again. "It's okay to have doubt, Conrad."
Conrad bowed; it was uncanny how the Sage seemed to know exactly what he was thinking when he sometimes had a challenging time conveying similar things to Yuuri, or even to his own brothers (though perhaps the latter was understandable). "I apologise," he said, standing up straight again.
Murata laughed. "It wasn't as if I didn't deserve it," he said easily, "seeing as it was part of my plan." He looked skyward. "But I had confidence that Yuuri would be able to do what he was chosen for, even if his friend betrayed him." Murata's glasses shone brightly. "He's stubborn like that."
Conrad stifled a chuckle. "What would you have done if it had failed?"
"Nothing," said Murata, voice flat. "I don't have the power to stop something like that."
"But then why -"
"I promised," said Murata, his voice breaking a little, not enough to lead to tears but short enough to catch. Conrad stepped forward almost involuntarily, closing the distance between them completely. Yet once he was there, before Murata, his body did not move. If it were Yuuri, he would have either smiled encouragingly or wrapped one friendly arm around his shoulders. But this was Murata, whose cold voice Conrad could still hear in his dreams sometimes.
"You think too much." Murata's voice broke through Conrad's thoughts and he looked down, raising one hand and resting it on top of Murata's shoulder.
"That might be true," said Conrad, giving a small laugh as he urged Murata closer. "Is there something I should be doing instead?"
Murata smiled. "You're surprisingly good at double entendre," he said, his voice sounding amused. "You're lucky you're trying this on me and not Yuuri."
"Why's that?" asked Conrad, eyes widening when he felt Murata's thin fingertips tracing the line of his jaw slowly.
"Because," Murata answered, his hand lowering to fist Conrad's uniform in one hand, "your efforts won't be wasted with me."
Conrad wasn't prepared for the soft lips that raised to meet his own, or the hesitancy in Murata's movements as he closed his eyes, letting Conrad decide the rhythm between them. Placing his hand at Murata's waist, he drew the smaller boy towards himself, tasting the surprisingly innocent reactions; ran his tongue along the pale neck before kissing the spot just below Murata's ear.
"You're shaking," Conrad observed, keeping the worry out of his voice.
Murata sighed. "It's one thing to remember experiences," he said. "It feels a lot different when you do them yourself."
Conrad let go of him, one hand covering Murata's fist, which hadn't yet let go of his jacket. "You look younger when you're not keeping four-thousand-year-old promises," he said seriously, his eyes teasing just a little bit.
"You think you're so smart," said Murata, releasing Conrad so that he could punch him in the chest. His face seemed clearer, his eyes less troubled. Conrad's hand dropped and he looked over at Murata when thin fingers wrapped around his wrist. "You're free for a walk, aren't you?" asked Murata, cheeks tinged a faint pink.
"Sure," Conrad answered as they began to walk around the grounds.
"Good," said Murata. "Maybe you can explain why you keep staring hungrily at a fourteen-year-old boy."
Conrad faltered. When he put it like that, it did seem slightly off. "I -"
"You can explain after the sex," said Murata casually, winking when Conrad stammered about not wanting to move to fast and pressure and how really, a kiss was fine - more than fine, even.
He forced Murata to stop walking. In Murata's voice, eyes, and words there were hundreds of lives, millions of individual experiences shaping every answer he gave. But when Conrad leaned down a second time, there was on Murata kissing him back, lips singular and warm.
And free.