Making Me Nervous [Kyou Kara Maou! | Murata/Wolfram | R]
Title: Making Me Nervous
By: worblehat
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Pairing: Murata/Wolfram
Rating: R
Summary: Prompt was - Kyou Kara Maou, Wolfram/Murata: mistaken identity - "I'm sick of being told I look like him!"
Notes: Written for springkink. Self-beta'd.
Word count: 2,647
"Wolfram, I need you to-" Yuuri stopped mid-sentence, blinking at his friend. I forgot he dyed his hair again he thought to himself before smiling in greeting. "Oh, Murata. Where'd Wolfram go?"
"He's right behind you," answered the Great Sage, a noticeably wide smirk on his face.
Yuuri's brow went up in suspicion, leaning in a little closer and scrutinising the face he was pretty sure he couldn't trust half the time but did anyway. "Why are you grinning like that?"
"No reason!" said Murata helpfully, placing one arm on Yuuri's shoulder and turning him around to face his fiancé.
"Yuuuuuuuriiiiii!" shouted Wolfram, face red and sword already drawn. "Why are you comparing me to him?! I don't look like that at all!"
Murata watched only briefly before turning and chuckling to himself, catching Yuuri's feeble protests of: "It was a mistake! Mistake! I didn't get enough sleep last night!"
-
Murata fully expected the confrontational hand on the wall, blocking his path to the kitchen. He smiled at Wolfram, who grunted in annoyance.
"Dye it back."
Murata blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your hair," said Wolfram with disgust. "Dye it back to its natural colour."
"You don't think I look better as a blond?"
"That's not the point," said Wolfram, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the door frame..
"So you do think it looks better," said Murata in wonder, reaching up to tug at the strands of his own hair, inspecting them.
"I only look at Yuuri's hair!"
"But Shibuya's not here," said Murata, pointing to himself. "I am."
"I don't care!" Wolfram's cheeks reddened. "I can still use my memory to remember his."
It was difficult not to laugh at the excessive pout now on Wolfram's face, but Murata managed to conceal his laughter. He stepped forward and grabbed Wolfram's hand, glasses glinting in the near-darkness of the hall.
"Let go!"
Murata tugged - much harder than he looked capable of doing - and settled one reluctant hand of Wolfram's onto his head, holding the fingers apart and sliding them through his hair.
"W-What are you doing, weirdo?" asked Wolfram, attempting to take his hand back.
"Letting you feel my hair," answered Murata as if this was something everyone did, and Wolfram was the weird one for questioning it; keeping his hold firm. He leaned in, chuckling gently when Wolfram let out a surprised screech at the unexpected proximity of their faces. "Is it nice?"
Wolfram glared; how did Murata manage to be so annoying so easily? "How would I know?!” he asked out loud.
"Because you're touching it." Murata reached up with his other hand to drag his own fingers through Wolfram's hair; his eyes widened. "Wow, yours is a lot nicer! How do you get it to be this soft?"
"...Beauty secret," said Wolfram avoidantly, looking off to the side; his heated anger temporarily cooled by the compliment, making Murata chuckle appreciatively.
"It doesn't feel any different than your hair," admitted Wolfram begrudgingly, letting his fingers touch a little more. He'd never think of doing this on his own, but if Yuuri was going to cheat on him at every opportunity, then he should at least be allowed to feel someone's hair! After all, it was only hair. It wasn't as if it was something more sexual or anything like th-
"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed when Murata's hand slid down to his chest.
"Feeling your pulse?" asked Murata, disinterested in the question: far more interested in where his hands were heading, which was slowly but steadily downward.
It was difficult, but Wolfram forced himself to focus. "That's not how you take someone's pulse, idiot," he said. “You have to feel their wrist or neck.”
"Oh?" Murata paused before letting his hand slide lower, to Wolfram's stomach. "Then I'm just fondling you, I guess."
"You what?!" Geika is bold... Wolfram took a few moments to adjust to what was going on: he wasn't a cheater; he was the one in charge! So why was it he was simply standing there, staring at the mischievous brown eyes watching him in annoyingly obvious amusement?
His fingers tightened in the dyed blond hair.
"Let...let go," he said, his voice shaky. His mouth was dry; his heart pounding. He didn't like it. These kinds of reactions were reserved for Yuuri! He probably picked this up from spending so many centuries with that pervert Shinou, thought Wolfram with more than a little irritation.
Oblivious of the comparison, Murata's fingers snaked between Wolfram's jacket and belt, tugging him until their hips met. With their bodies touching, Wolfram could tell that Murata had something minty earlier; he did his best not to think about anything past this thought, especially nothing involving tongues. I don't want this..., he said, closing his eyes. Well, I do, but not from him...
"You're so much cuter close-up,"mused the Sage.
"Shut up!" The situation was slowly solidifying into something Wolfram had no trouble recognising; the unease grew, especially with his own physical reactions to Murata's touch that were getting impossible to control, especially when Murata started massaging his temple just there, causing warm, settled feelings to pool happily in Wolfram's stomach.
Eyes still closed, he pictured the Maou: Yuuri's hands reaching out to touch him, Yuuri's smile, Yuuri's dark brown eyes...
...Which glimmered behind thin glasses, dark hair growing out a little shaggier, his smile more knowing; Murata's higher laugh sounding through his head. He blinked, horrified at how quickly his mind had gone from one to the other.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, gazing intently; watching for any indications that maybe this was nothing more than a prank. Maybe I have nothing to worry about...
Murata didn't answer, giving another gentle tug to Wolfram's belt and smiling - his smile the only thing visible before Wolfram felt the soft-yet-unmistakable press of lips against the side of his mouth. He pulled away as best he could, one hand fisted at his side while the other remained frozen in Murata's surprisingly soft locks; he tried to push him back but Murata held steadfast, grabbing the thick brown belt more firmly.
"I asked you a question!" Wolfram shouted.
"I know."
"So...answer it!" Wolfram fisted Murata's black shirt, eyes rimmed with anger - though whether at himself or at Murata was becoming less clear to him. Maybe he wasn't a complete traitor in mind, but the way Murata was acting made him want to see how far this would go. ...And if being reincarnated made a person any better at intimate relations.
He did his best to force himself back to the present and leave his more inappropriate thoughts behind. "You know I belong to Yuuri," he said. Just because he couldn't seem to find it in him to pull away, maybe Murata would; after all, he and Yuuri were friends, weren't they? He wouldn't jeopardise that just for something like this...would he?
Murata's gaze didn't falter, but it was difficult not to notice the distinct hint of sadness that flashed across the dark eyes. "I know that, too," he said, his voice forcibly cheerful, a smile plastered onto his lips. "But I wonder if Shibuya actually wants to own you."
"Of course he does!" said Wolfram defensively. Inside his mind, the doubts he sometimes had resurfaced; he loved Yuuri, completely and unreservedly. But he didn't always feel like the love was returned in the same way. They were good friends and Yuuri was extremely loyal, but that same desire to lose oneself in another person was something that Wolfram was pretty sure only he was feeling most of the time.
And he was content with that; being at Yuuri's side meant more to him than simply sublimating himself with his desires to do things that would leave the Maou blushing for at least a week. But, still...he wanted more; he couldn't help it.
Murata had never come to mind as a replacement, really; over time, Wolfram had accepted him as Yuuri's friend and stopped wishing for his demise (as much). The Great Sage knew how to press his buttons - so did most others in the castle, but Murata's teasing was the kind that really tested Wolfram's patience - and it made sense that he'd never come to mind in a sexual capacity. But, looking at him now, Wolfram could see that if he hadn't known him better, Murata could be seen as attractive; intelligent, devious, maybe even a little charming when he wanted to be. He wasn't Yuuri, but-
He jumped when Murata's hand moved, letting go of the belt - no, undoing it, realised Wolfram, eyes wide.
"Stop."
Murata acted as if he hadn't heard, another hand moving to Wolfram's jacket, undoing the buttons and exposing the bright skin beneath.
"I said to stop!"
The walls were colder than Wolfram remembered, making him shiver as Murata pushed him back against the nearest one. He hissed, the sound drowned out by the low tone of Murata's voice.
“What if I don't want to stop?” asked Murata, his cheek warm and so close yet also inaccessible unless Wolfram moved deliberately.
“...What do you mean, what if you don't-”
Murata's leg slipped easily between Wolfram's and rubbed upward, against the growing erection. It kept moving, using just enough pressure to make Wolfram fully hard before shifting; and then Murata's own hardness was pressing back, his breathing slow but heavy as he pressed it against Wolfram's, rubbing experimentally.
Wolfram hissed and Murata sighed against his cheek; Wolfram froze when he realised a warm hand was around him, palming the traitorous part of his body that wanted more of this. He jumped when Murata's thumb traced around the tip, his head hitting the wall behind him and he winced. Murata's lips were soon on his, quieting him as his hands continued to work, unbuttoning and unzipping, until both their bodies were aligned.
Wolfram looked down, Murata's fingers scratching somewhat-less-than gently across his torso. Murata's chest and stomach were even paler than his own and Wolfram briefly entertained notions of chocolate or something syrupy to give him a little more colour; and to possibly lick away. He didn't move, enjoying the way Murata was looking at him while stroking him beneath his clothing; contenting himself with gasping, blindly allowing Murata to guide his hand to his cock, each boy stroking the other. Wolfram kept his other hand where it was, gripping the fake blond hair tightly; doing his best to at least keep his mouth chaste, if not his more nether regions.
“You're going to give me a headache if you don't loosen up a little,” said Murata, eyes focused sharply on Wolfram's features. He leaned in, breathing warmly against Wolfram's mouth, making him shiver.
“Stop...distracting me,” gasped Wolfram, making sure to sound as if he was merely waiting for this to be over. “Shouldn't have...dyed it...in the first place...”
Murata laughed - except this time it was different than his usual cheerful laughter; this was darker and more patient, less scheming and more lustful. “I don't mind looking like you,” he said, drawing nearer, cheek pressed unevenly against Wolfram's.
“Well, you should.” The hand on his cock moved faster, almost making Wolfram lose his balance. “I'm tired of people calling out to me with your name.”
“Looking like this has its advantages,” murmured Murata, thrusting forward into Wolfram's hand, impatient for the blond to move faster.
“Like what?”
“Like...if I take off my glasses when I'm touching myself the way I'm touching you,” continued Murata confidentially, “and watch myself in a mirror...” Murata's tongue was wet, his mouth biting and hot as it sucked relentlessly at his neck, then licked the shell of Wolfram's ear, making the blond feel both excessively cold and hot at the same time. “...It's like I'm watching you instead.”
The words, coupled with the way he'd spoken them against his ear - low, but discernibly intense - made Wolfram gasp, eyes wide to the ceiling as he came, shooting in thin blasts across Murata's hand. He barely paid attention when Murata's hand covered his, guiding him to keep moving until he too was shuddering, whispering Wolfram's name just once in a way that seemed to shoot straight to Wolfram's chest, lodging itself there and making his heart waver just the slightest bit. He settled for releasing the hand in Murata's hair and wrapping it around the other boy's neck, gripping his shoulder tightly.
“...If you don't let go soon, someone will probably find us,” said Murata gently. “I can hear them putting out plates for dinner.”
Wolfram felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He knew he'd lingered a little, closing his eyes and breathing in, getting used to Murata's scent; but...had it really been that long? “Sorry,” he muttered, letting go and starting to re-dress himself, watching Murata out of the corner of his eye doing the same.
When they were done, Wolfram looked at Murata, who looked back at him - not smirked, not smiled, but really looked. Wolfram almost didn't know what to do; he wasn't used to Murata being serious with him, unless it was about something to do with Yuuri or Shin Makoku. He'd sometimes thought that if he could get Murata to be serious just once, he'd be able to one-up him somehow - to shove it in his face later, or show him he wasn't as clever as he pretended to be. But standing there in the empty hall, Wolfram felt nothing but captivated: seeing the thousands of years looking back at him from young eyes, a silent undercurrent of longing behind the wisdom.
“Murata, I-”
“We should head to the dining room,” said Murata, smiling. “Don't want to decide things on an empty stomach.”
Wolfram's words froze in his mouth and he nodded; Murata was giving him time to think it over. He walked alongside him and through the doors, taking a seat next to Yuuri and sighing.
I'm in trouble.
-
“Hey, Murata!” said Yuuri waving over. “Can you help me with-”
“Hmm?” asked Wolfram, looking up from the book he was studying on the veranda.
“Oh! Wolfram...” Yuuri's voice descended into panic. “I'm s-sorry! I knew it was you! I was just...it was a joke! Ahaha! See? No reason to resort to violence...”
“It's fine.”
“...Eh?” Yuuri blinked. “What do you mean, 'it's fine?' You almost pulled off my arm last time! And you threatened to-”
“I don't care,” said Wolfram. “But if you mix me up with Conrad...”
“I won't!” promised Yuuri.
Wolfram smiled. I'm so going to hell.
-
“Dye it back.”
Murata blinked. “What?”
Wolfram looked at him, face serious. “You don't need it anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“The mirror, too,” said Wolfram. “Get rid of it.”
Murata stared. “You mean-”
“Be back here at midnight,” said Wolfram, walking away. “But only if you're back to normal.”
-
From the bushes, Yozak gave a manly nudge to Conrad's chest, then pointed at the two forms currently making out. "Did Wolfram finally give up and make a clone to satisfy his lustful desires?"
Conrad laughed. "The dark-haired one looks like Geika."
"But he's not wearing his glasses," said Yozak.
"Wolfram probably told him to take them off."
"Ah."
From the extremely secretive bushes behind them, Guenther grinned manically. Finally - this is my chance! He stood, hands clasped to his chest as he headed towards the castle. "Oh Heika~!"
By: worblehat
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Pairing: Murata/Wolfram
Rating: R
Summary: Prompt was - Kyou Kara Maou, Wolfram/Murata: mistaken identity - "I'm sick of being told I look like him!"
Notes: Written for springkink. Self-beta'd.
Word count: 2,647
"Wolfram, I need you to-" Yuuri stopped mid-sentence, blinking at his friend. I forgot he dyed his hair again he thought to himself before smiling in greeting. "Oh, Murata. Where'd Wolfram go?"
"He's right behind you," answered the Great Sage, a noticeably wide smirk on his face.
Yuuri's brow went up in suspicion, leaning in a little closer and scrutinising the face he was pretty sure he couldn't trust half the time but did anyway. "Why are you grinning like that?"
"No reason!" said Murata helpfully, placing one arm on Yuuri's shoulder and turning him around to face his fiancé.
"Yuuuuuuuriiiiii!" shouted Wolfram, face red and sword already drawn. "Why are you comparing me to him?! I don't look like that at all!"
Murata watched only briefly before turning and chuckling to himself, catching Yuuri's feeble protests of: "It was a mistake! Mistake! I didn't get enough sleep last night!"
-
Murata fully expected the confrontational hand on the wall, blocking his path to the kitchen. He smiled at Wolfram, who grunted in annoyance.
"Dye it back."
Murata blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your hair," said Wolfram with disgust. "Dye it back to its natural colour."
"You don't think I look better as a blond?"
"That's not the point," said Wolfram, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the door frame..
"So you do think it looks better," said Murata in wonder, reaching up to tug at the strands of his own hair, inspecting them.
"I only look at Yuuri's hair!"
"But Shibuya's not here," said Murata, pointing to himself. "I am."
"I don't care!" Wolfram's cheeks reddened. "I can still use my memory to remember his."
It was difficult not to laugh at the excessive pout now on Wolfram's face, but Murata managed to conceal his laughter. He stepped forward and grabbed Wolfram's hand, glasses glinting in the near-darkness of the hall.
"Let go!"
Murata tugged - much harder than he looked capable of doing - and settled one reluctant hand of Wolfram's onto his head, holding the fingers apart and sliding them through his hair.
"W-What are you doing, weirdo?" asked Wolfram, attempting to take his hand back.
"Letting you feel my hair," answered Murata as if this was something everyone did, and Wolfram was the weird one for questioning it; keeping his hold firm. He leaned in, chuckling gently when Wolfram let out a surprised screech at the unexpected proximity of their faces. "Is it nice?"
Wolfram glared; how did Murata manage to be so annoying so easily? "How would I know?!” he asked out loud.
"Because you're touching it." Murata reached up with his other hand to drag his own fingers through Wolfram's hair; his eyes widened. "Wow, yours is a lot nicer! How do you get it to be this soft?"
"...Beauty secret," said Wolfram avoidantly, looking off to the side; his heated anger temporarily cooled by the compliment, making Murata chuckle appreciatively.
"It doesn't feel any different than your hair," admitted Wolfram begrudgingly, letting his fingers touch a little more. He'd never think of doing this on his own, but if Yuuri was going to cheat on him at every opportunity, then he should at least be allowed to feel someone's hair! After all, it was only hair. It wasn't as if it was something more sexual or anything like th-
"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed when Murata's hand slid down to his chest.
"Feeling your pulse?" asked Murata, disinterested in the question: far more interested in where his hands were heading, which was slowly but steadily downward.
It was difficult, but Wolfram forced himself to focus. "That's not how you take someone's pulse, idiot," he said. “You have to feel their wrist or neck.”
"Oh?" Murata paused before letting his hand slide lower, to Wolfram's stomach. "Then I'm just fondling you, I guess."
"You what?!" Geika is bold... Wolfram took a few moments to adjust to what was going on: he wasn't a cheater; he was the one in charge! So why was it he was simply standing there, staring at the mischievous brown eyes watching him in annoyingly obvious amusement?
His fingers tightened in the dyed blond hair.
"Let...let go," he said, his voice shaky. His mouth was dry; his heart pounding. He didn't like it. These kinds of reactions were reserved for Yuuri! He probably picked this up from spending so many centuries with that pervert Shinou, thought Wolfram with more than a little irritation.
Oblivious of the comparison, Murata's fingers snaked between Wolfram's jacket and belt, tugging him until their hips met. With their bodies touching, Wolfram could tell that Murata had something minty earlier; he did his best not to think about anything past this thought, especially nothing involving tongues. I don't want this..., he said, closing his eyes. Well, I do, but not from him...
"You're so much cuter close-up,"mused the Sage.
"Shut up!" The situation was slowly solidifying into something Wolfram had no trouble recognising; the unease grew, especially with his own physical reactions to Murata's touch that were getting impossible to control, especially when Murata started massaging his temple just there, causing warm, settled feelings to pool happily in Wolfram's stomach.
Eyes still closed, he pictured the Maou: Yuuri's hands reaching out to touch him, Yuuri's smile, Yuuri's dark brown eyes...
...Which glimmered behind thin glasses, dark hair growing out a little shaggier, his smile more knowing; Murata's higher laugh sounding through his head. He blinked, horrified at how quickly his mind had gone from one to the other.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, gazing intently; watching for any indications that maybe this was nothing more than a prank. Maybe I have nothing to worry about...
Murata didn't answer, giving another gentle tug to Wolfram's belt and smiling - his smile the only thing visible before Wolfram felt the soft-yet-unmistakable press of lips against the side of his mouth. He pulled away as best he could, one hand fisted at his side while the other remained frozen in Murata's surprisingly soft locks; he tried to push him back but Murata held steadfast, grabbing the thick brown belt more firmly.
"I asked you a question!" Wolfram shouted.
"I know."
"So...answer it!" Wolfram fisted Murata's black shirt, eyes rimmed with anger - though whether at himself or at Murata was becoming less clear to him. Maybe he wasn't a complete traitor in mind, but the way Murata was acting made him want to see how far this would go. ...And if being reincarnated made a person any better at intimate relations.
He did his best to force himself back to the present and leave his more inappropriate thoughts behind. "You know I belong to Yuuri," he said. Just because he couldn't seem to find it in him to pull away, maybe Murata would; after all, he and Yuuri were friends, weren't they? He wouldn't jeopardise that just for something like this...would he?
Murata's gaze didn't falter, but it was difficult not to notice the distinct hint of sadness that flashed across the dark eyes. "I know that, too," he said, his voice forcibly cheerful, a smile plastered onto his lips. "But I wonder if Shibuya actually wants to own you."
"Of course he does!" said Wolfram defensively. Inside his mind, the doubts he sometimes had resurfaced; he loved Yuuri, completely and unreservedly. But he didn't always feel like the love was returned in the same way. They were good friends and Yuuri was extremely loyal, but that same desire to lose oneself in another person was something that Wolfram was pretty sure only he was feeling most of the time.
And he was content with that; being at Yuuri's side meant more to him than simply sublimating himself with his desires to do things that would leave the Maou blushing for at least a week. But, still...he wanted more; he couldn't help it.
Murata had never come to mind as a replacement, really; over time, Wolfram had accepted him as Yuuri's friend and stopped wishing for his demise (as much). The Great Sage knew how to press his buttons - so did most others in the castle, but Murata's teasing was the kind that really tested Wolfram's patience - and it made sense that he'd never come to mind in a sexual capacity. But, looking at him now, Wolfram could see that if he hadn't known him better, Murata could be seen as attractive; intelligent, devious, maybe even a little charming when he wanted to be. He wasn't Yuuri, but-
He jumped when Murata's hand moved, letting go of the belt - no, undoing it, realised Wolfram, eyes wide.
"Stop."
Murata acted as if he hadn't heard, another hand moving to Wolfram's jacket, undoing the buttons and exposing the bright skin beneath.
"I said to stop!"
The walls were colder than Wolfram remembered, making him shiver as Murata pushed him back against the nearest one. He hissed, the sound drowned out by the low tone of Murata's voice.
“What if I don't want to stop?” asked Murata, his cheek warm and so close yet also inaccessible unless Wolfram moved deliberately.
“...What do you mean, what if you don't-”
Murata's leg slipped easily between Wolfram's and rubbed upward, against the growing erection. It kept moving, using just enough pressure to make Wolfram fully hard before shifting; and then Murata's own hardness was pressing back, his breathing slow but heavy as he pressed it against Wolfram's, rubbing experimentally.
Wolfram hissed and Murata sighed against his cheek; Wolfram froze when he realised a warm hand was around him, palming the traitorous part of his body that wanted more of this. He jumped when Murata's thumb traced around the tip, his head hitting the wall behind him and he winced. Murata's lips were soon on his, quieting him as his hands continued to work, unbuttoning and unzipping, until both their bodies were aligned.
Wolfram looked down, Murata's fingers scratching somewhat-less-than gently across his torso. Murata's chest and stomach were even paler than his own and Wolfram briefly entertained notions of chocolate or something syrupy to give him a little more colour; and to possibly lick away. He didn't move, enjoying the way Murata was looking at him while stroking him beneath his clothing; contenting himself with gasping, blindly allowing Murata to guide his hand to his cock, each boy stroking the other. Wolfram kept his other hand where it was, gripping the fake blond hair tightly; doing his best to at least keep his mouth chaste, if not his more nether regions.
“You're going to give me a headache if you don't loosen up a little,” said Murata, eyes focused sharply on Wolfram's features. He leaned in, breathing warmly against Wolfram's mouth, making him shiver.
“Stop...distracting me,” gasped Wolfram, making sure to sound as if he was merely waiting for this to be over. “Shouldn't have...dyed it...in the first place...”
Murata laughed - except this time it was different than his usual cheerful laughter; this was darker and more patient, less scheming and more lustful. “I don't mind looking like you,” he said, drawing nearer, cheek pressed unevenly against Wolfram's.
“Well, you should.” The hand on his cock moved faster, almost making Wolfram lose his balance. “I'm tired of people calling out to me with your name.”
“Looking like this has its advantages,” murmured Murata, thrusting forward into Wolfram's hand, impatient for the blond to move faster.
“Like what?”
“Like...if I take off my glasses when I'm touching myself the way I'm touching you,” continued Murata confidentially, “and watch myself in a mirror...” Murata's tongue was wet, his mouth biting and hot as it sucked relentlessly at his neck, then licked the shell of Wolfram's ear, making the blond feel both excessively cold and hot at the same time. “...It's like I'm watching you instead.”
The words, coupled with the way he'd spoken them against his ear - low, but discernibly intense - made Wolfram gasp, eyes wide to the ceiling as he came, shooting in thin blasts across Murata's hand. He barely paid attention when Murata's hand covered his, guiding him to keep moving until he too was shuddering, whispering Wolfram's name just once in a way that seemed to shoot straight to Wolfram's chest, lodging itself there and making his heart waver just the slightest bit. He settled for releasing the hand in Murata's hair and wrapping it around the other boy's neck, gripping his shoulder tightly.
“...If you don't let go soon, someone will probably find us,” said Murata gently. “I can hear them putting out plates for dinner.”
Wolfram felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He knew he'd lingered a little, closing his eyes and breathing in, getting used to Murata's scent; but...had it really been that long? “Sorry,” he muttered, letting go and starting to re-dress himself, watching Murata out of the corner of his eye doing the same.
When they were done, Wolfram looked at Murata, who looked back at him - not smirked, not smiled, but really looked. Wolfram almost didn't know what to do; he wasn't used to Murata being serious with him, unless it was about something to do with Yuuri or Shin Makoku. He'd sometimes thought that if he could get Murata to be serious just once, he'd be able to one-up him somehow - to shove it in his face later, or show him he wasn't as clever as he pretended to be. But standing there in the empty hall, Wolfram felt nothing but captivated: seeing the thousands of years looking back at him from young eyes, a silent undercurrent of longing behind the wisdom.
“Murata, I-”
“We should head to the dining room,” said Murata, smiling. “Don't want to decide things on an empty stomach.”
Wolfram's words froze in his mouth and he nodded; Murata was giving him time to think it over. He walked alongside him and through the doors, taking a seat next to Yuuri and sighing.
I'm in trouble.
-
“Hey, Murata!” said Yuuri waving over. “Can you help me with-”
“Hmm?” asked Wolfram, looking up from the book he was studying on the veranda.
“Oh! Wolfram...” Yuuri's voice descended into panic. “I'm s-sorry! I knew it was you! I was just...it was a joke! Ahaha! See? No reason to resort to violence...”
“It's fine.”
“...Eh?” Yuuri blinked. “What do you mean, 'it's fine?' You almost pulled off my arm last time! And you threatened to-”
“I don't care,” said Wolfram. “But if you mix me up with Conrad...”
“I won't!” promised Yuuri.
Wolfram smiled. I'm so going to hell.
-
“Dye it back.”
Murata blinked. “What?”
Wolfram looked at him, face serious. “You don't need it anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“The mirror, too,” said Wolfram. “Get rid of it.”
Murata stared. “You mean-”
“Be back here at midnight,” said Wolfram, walking away. “But only if you're back to normal.”
-
From the bushes, Yozak gave a manly nudge to Conrad's chest, then pointed at the two forms currently making out. "Did Wolfram finally give up and make a clone to satisfy his lustful desires?"
Conrad laughed. "The dark-haired one looks like Geika."
"But he's not wearing his glasses," said Yozak.
"Wolfram probably told him to take them off."
"Ah."
From the extremely secretive bushes behind them, Guenther grinned manically. Finally - this is my chance! He stood, hands clasped to his chest as he headed towards the castle. "Oh Heika~!"