Smutty KKM Fic: Into the closet
Title: Into the closet
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou
Pairing: Wolfram/Yuuri
Rating: Smut
Summary: Um... there is no plot. There's just smut. Takes place sometime in the future -- Yuuri and Murata have both finished high school and Murata is attending university.
"This is it."
Wolfram looks over Yuuri's shoulder as he opens the door. "You must be joking." His voice is light, but incredulous at the same time and Yuuri is about to say something, something blistering and perfect in retaliation, but it's not necessary because Wolfram moves forward into the apartment past him and trips over the genkan, barely catching himself in time.
"Be careful! Geeze Wolfram. It's like my mother's; you have to take off your shoes before you enter." Yuuri manages to toe off his shoes and climb over Wolfram who is still sprawled on the floor to make it inside of the apartment.
Wolfram pushes himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the genkan and takes off his shoes. "This is nothing like your mother's house, Yuuri."
Shrugging, Yuuri watches as Wolfram pulls off his jacket, hanging it on the rack near the door. He rolls the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows.
"The whole place is the size of your bedroom at your mother's."
"It's not that small. The bedrooms are behind that wall." Yuuri says, waving toward the traditional screen doors to his left.
Wolfram almost looks disappointed, Yuuri thinks when his fiance walks up to him. "It is too that small."
"I think it's sort of neat." Yuuri crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out. "I mean, I've heard about traditional houses, but spending so much time in America when Shori and I were little made my mother fall in love with Western style houses. I've never lived in a traditional Japanese style house."
He's not looking at Yuuri as he inspects the apartment, sliding open the door to one bedroom and sticking his head inside the room. "It's empty. This is what your 'salary' as Maou goes toward?"
Giving up, Yuuri kneels by the wall. If he goes to sit under the kotatsu he'll never want to move again. "The Great Sage's as well, and it's only part of it. Besides, it's not a salary so much as an export business. We bring over unique goods from Shin Makoku for the Earth Mazoku and the Earth Maou buys them off of us. We use that money to keep up this apartment. Murata also uses some more of it to pay for university, and I..."
Wolfram looks suspicious. "You what? You aren't buying gifts for women here, are you?!"
Laughing, Yuuri leans forward to grab Wolfram's wrist. "No. Mostly I just buy manga and baseball cards. Come here."
Yuuri does not think that it's cute when Wolfram pouts. "There's no where to sit, Yuuri." Except it sort of is.
He tugs on Wolfram's wrist again until the blond gives in and kneels in front of him. Wolfram's pulse jumps under Yuuri's fingers, a staccato beat that's now familiar and warm to him. "It's not that bad sitting on the floor."
"It's bizarre," Wolfram says, and Yuuri can feel each word as he leans forward to press their lips together. The kiss is smooth and comfortable and their lips slide against each other. It's like curling up in the library with Wolfram pressed into his side as they read or soaking in the tub until their fingers wrinkle and the water turns cold. It's like all those things, but not, because the kiss has an edge of desperation at its corners clawing to come forward and consume them.
Fingers dig into Yuuri's shoulders, too hard to be a caress and Yuuri knows that he'll have bruises when he tries to look at them tomorrow, but he doesn't care. He lets Wolfram push him back until his head cracks against the wall. The sound distracts Wolfram enough that Yuuri can push him back in turn and Wolfram is so surprised that he ends up sprawled out across the tatami mats, blinking up at Yuuri in confusion.
"I've missed you, Wolfram," Yuuri whispers as he leans down over Wolfram. "Your brother makes me work too much."
Wolfram's lips turn up in a smile and he reaches out to pull Yuuri back against him. "Is this why you brought me to this closet?" He's close enough that the words brush the the hair near Yuuri's ears, and Yuuri shivers. Instead of answering, he leans down and presses open-mouth kisses against the pulse in Wolfram's neck, sucking and licking until Wolfram is squirming under him and biting down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning.
Hands grab the edge of his shirt and yank it up and Yuuri finds himself tangled in the stretchy material. He has to stop what he's doing to pull the shirt the rest of the way off and throw it across the room. When he looks down, Wolfram's eyes are mostly closed and only a sliver of green is visible beneath dark blond lashes. Wolfram's tongue darts out, drawing Yuuri's attention to his kiss bruised and swollen lips.
"Here," Wolfram breathes. He reaches his fingers up and runs them along the edge of Yuuri's jaw until he can slide them through Yuuri's hair and force him down for another comfortable messy kiss.
"Fuck!" Yuuri gasps as Wolfram drags his teeth along Yuuri's bottom lip, and jerking, he grinds his hips down. Wolfram is hard and Yuuri wants, oh how he wants, to feel the slide of Wolfram's cock in his hand. Wolfram's fingers aren't stopping though. They move down his neck and over his ribs until they slip past the edge of Yuuri's jeans and slide all the way to the front. Yuuri can feel the goosebumps rise along the path that Wolfram's fingers take, and when whey actually brush against his cock, Yuuri sighs.
"God, you're hard," Wolfram says, but the words are lost somewhere in the space between them because Yuuri can only hear the blood rushing past his ears. His jeans are being pushed down around his hips, and Wolfram slides feet up until he can push the denim material down around Yuuri's ankles. They've learned economy in their movements, quickly undressing when they've snatched moments.
It's an urgency, a sense of now that's taken over. Now now now now. Desperate to come, to be consumed, and used, harshly or delicately, it doesn't matter. Yuuri's fingers move to the top button of Wolfram's trousers. They're both gasping for each breath, and their messy kiss has deteriorated into barely shared breathing. Wolfram's fingers come up and slide past Yuuri's slick lips and Yuuri tries to focus on sucking on them, sliding his tongue across and between the digits as they press against the back of his throat. It's almost like sucking Wolfram off, but it's not and Yuuri wishes that his lips were stretched around the head of Wolfram's cock instead.
He moans, his hips jerking forward again when Wolfram pushes him off, struggling out of the pants that Yuuri finally managed to get loose. Pulling his fingers out of Yuuri's mouth, Wolfram presses them to Yuuri's entrance, pushing his middle finger in up to the second knuckle. A grunt and sharp exhalation of breath follows as Wolfram's finger then fingers move slowly in and then out over and over.
Yuuri winces, the spit already drying and he grabs Wolfram's other hand and sucks on those fingers giving Wolfram the chance to switch hands. "You've got to do better than that," Wolfram grunts, and Yuuri reaches out with one arm out to try and grab the small squeeze bottle of baby oil on the kotatsu trying to not think of why Murata had left it there. He's stretching as far as he can and when his fingers graze the oil, Wolfram twists the fingers in his ass. "Fuck, Wolfram!" His voice breaks and he clutches the bottle in his hand.
The gasping break in his voice betrays the calm that Wolfram is trying to show. "That's what we're trying for, wimp." He grins, lopsided and beautiful, and Yuuri brushes damp locks of hair out of Wolfram's eyes before he overturns the bottle squeezing at least half the contents over Wolfram's fingers.
It's always beautiful watching Wolfram slide his fingers over his length, the fingers dragging his foreskin down over his head exposing the glistening tip so different from Yuuri's cock. His fingers fist in the shirt that they never managed to get Wolfram out of, wrinkling the fabric. Wolfram's hand is on Yuuri's hip, guiding him and Yuuri sinks down, stretching around Wolfram as he enters him. It's just past the edge of painful; he's grinding his teeth, pleading with his eyes for Wolfram to do something.
"Yuuri," Wolfram's voice cracks. "Yuuri," he says again, and he lifts his hips up off the tatami mat pushing in, slowly, and his gaze locks with Yuuri's.
He wants to say something. To curse or gasp, but his tongue sits heavy in his mouth and all Yuuri can do is lift himself up off Wolfram's cock before Wolfram is pushing up and using his hand on Yuuri's hip to guide him back down, hard. His breath rushes out and he's cursing, as they slide into a practiced rhythm, Yuuri rocking and Wolfram thrusting up. Wolfram's fingers dig into the skin of his hip, pressing hard against the bone.
Yuuri's hand reaches for his cock and strokes down his shaft and he looks down at Wolfram. His shirt has twisted most of the way up his chest, one dusky nipple visible surrounded by pale, white skin. He bites down on the guttural scream that wants to escape from his throat and the bitter tang of blood bursts across his tongue. Their movements are harsher and louder and slicker and oh fuck, "Wolfram!"
He comes sticky and wet over his chest and Wolfram smiles slamming up into him faster and harder, and Yuuri swears that Wolfram's nails are going to leave deep red scratches across his hips and back, and Wolfram comes, Yuuri's name falling from his lips over and over in a mantra as he drags in huge breaths as if he hadn't been able to breathe since they got to the apartment.
Yuuri thinks that maybe neither of them had.
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou
Pairing: Wolfram/Yuuri
Rating: Smut
Summary: Um... there is no plot. There's just smut. Takes place sometime in the future -- Yuuri and Murata have both finished high school and Murata is attending university.
"This is it."
Wolfram looks over Yuuri's shoulder as he opens the door. "You must be joking." His voice is light, but incredulous at the same time and Yuuri is about to say something, something blistering and perfect in retaliation, but it's not necessary because Wolfram moves forward into the apartment past him and trips over the genkan, barely catching himself in time.
"Be careful! Geeze Wolfram. It's like my mother's; you have to take off your shoes before you enter." Yuuri manages to toe off his shoes and climb over Wolfram who is still sprawled on the floor to make it inside of the apartment.
Wolfram pushes himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the genkan and takes off his shoes. "This is nothing like your mother's house, Yuuri."
Shrugging, Yuuri watches as Wolfram pulls off his jacket, hanging it on the rack near the door. He rolls the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows.
"The whole place is the size of your bedroom at your mother's."
"It's not that small. The bedrooms are behind that wall." Yuuri says, waving toward the traditional screen doors to his left.
Wolfram almost looks disappointed, Yuuri thinks when his fiance walks up to him. "It is too that small."
"I think it's sort of neat." Yuuri crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out. "I mean, I've heard about traditional houses, but spending so much time in America when Shori and I were little made my mother fall in love with Western style houses. I've never lived in a traditional Japanese style house."
He's not looking at Yuuri as he inspects the apartment, sliding open the door to one bedroom and sticking his head inside the room. "It's empty. This is what your 'salary' as Maou goes toward?"
Giving up, Yuuri kneels by the wall. If he goes to sit under the kotatsu he'll never want to move again. "The Great Sage's as well, and it's only part of it. Besides, it's not a salary so much as an export business. We bring over unique goods from Shin Makoku for the Earth Mazoku and the Earth Maou buys them off of us. We use that money to keep up this apartment. Murata also uses some more of it to pay for university, and I..."
Wolfram looks suspicious. "You what? You aren't buying gifts for women here, are you?!"
Laughing, Yuuri leans forward to grab Wolfram's wrist. "No. Mostly I just buy manga and baseball cards. Come here."
Yuuri does not think that it's cute when Wolfram pouts. "There's no where to sit, Yuuri." Except it sort of is.
He tugs on Wolfram's wrist again until the blond gives in and kneels in front of him. Wolfram's pulse jumps under Yuuri's fingers, a staccato beat that's now familiar and warm to him. "It's not that bad sitting on the floor."
"It's bizarre," Wolfram says, and Yuuri can feel each word as he leans forward to press their lips together. The kiss is smooth and comfortable and their lips slide against each other. It's like curling up in the library with Wolfram pressed into his side as they read or soaking in the tub until their fingers wrinkle and the water turns cold. It's like all those things, but not, because the kiss has an edge of desperation at its corners clawing to come forward and consume them.
Fingers dig into Yuuri's shoulders, too hard to be a caress and Yuuri knows that he'll have bruises when he tries to look at them tomorrow, but he doesn't care. He lets Wolfram push him back until his head cracks against the wall. The sound distracts Wolfram enough that Yuuri can push him back in turn and Wolfram is so surprised that he ends up sprawled out across the tatami mats, blinking up at Yuuri in confusion.
"I've missed you, Wolfram," Yuuri whispers as he leans down over Wolfram. "Your brother makes me work too much."
Wolfram's lips turn up in a smile and he reaches out to pull Yuuri back against him. "Is this why you brought me to this closet?" He's close enough that the words brush the the hair near Yuuri's ears, and Yuuri shivers. Instead of answering, he leans down and presses open-mouth kisses against the pulse in Wolfram's neck, sucking and licking until Wolfram is squirming under him and biting down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning.
Hands grab the edge of his shirt and yank it up and Yuuri finds himself tangled in the stretchy material. He has to stop what he's doing to pull the shirt the rest of the way off and throw it across the room. When he looks down, Wolfram's eyes are mostly closed and only a sliver of green is visible beneath dark blond lashes. Wolfram's tongue darts out, drawing Yuuri's attention to his kiss bruised and swollen lips.
"Here," Wolfram breathes. He reaches his fingers up and runs them along the edge of Yuuri's jaw until he can slide them through Yuuri's hair and force him down for another comfortable messy kiss.
"Fuck!" Yuuri gasps as Wolfram drags his teeth along Yuuri's bottom lip, and jerking, he grinds his hips down. Wolfram is hard and Yuuri wants, oh how he wants, to feel the slide of Wolfram's cock in his hand. Wolfram's fingers aren't stopping though. They move down his neck and over his ribs until they slip past the edge of Yuuri's jeans and slide all the way to the front. Yuuri can feel the goosebumps rise along the path that Wolfram's fingers take, and when whey actually brush against his cock, Yuuri sighs.
"God, you're hard," Wolfram says, but the words are lost somewhere in the space between them because Yuuri can only hear the blood rushing past his ears. His jeans are being pushed down around his hips, and Wolfram slides feet up until he can push the denim material down around Yuuri's ankles. They've learned economy in their movements, quickly undressing when they've snatched moments.
It's an urgency, a sense of now that's taken over. Now now now now. Desperate to come, to be consumed, and used, harshly or delicately, it doesn't matter. Yuuri's fingers move to the top button of Wolfram's trousers. They're both gasping for each breath, and their messy kiss has deteriorated into barely shared breathing. Wolfram's fingers come up and slide past Yuuri's slick lips and Yuuri tries to focus on sucking on them, sliding his tongue across and between the digits as they press against the back of his throat. It's almost like sucking Wolfram off, but it's not and Yuuri wishes that his lips were stretched around the head of Wolfram's cock instead.
He moans, his hips jerking forward again when Wolfram pushes him off, struggling out of the pants that Yuuri finally managed to get loose. Pulling his fingers out of Yuuri's mouth, Wolfram presses them to Yuuri's entrance, pushing his middle finger in up to the second knuckle. A grunt and sharp exhalation of breath follows as Wolfram's finger then fingers move slowly in and then out over and over.
Yuuri winces, the spit already drying and he grabs Wolfram's other hand and sucks on those fingers giving Wolfram the chance to switch hands. "You've got to do better than that," Wolfram grunts, and Yuuri reaches out with one arm out to try and grab the small squeeze bottle of baby oil on the kotatsu trying to not think of why Murata had left it there. He's stretching as far as he can and when his fingers graze the oil, Wolfram twists the fingers in his ass. "Fuck, Wolfram!" His voice breaks and he clutches the bottle in his hand.
The gasping break in his voice betrays the calm that Wolfram is trying to show. "That's what we're trying for, wimp." He grins, lopsided and beautiful, and Yuuri brushes damp locks of hair out of Wolfram's eyes before he overturns the bottle squeezing at least half the contents over Wolfram's fingers.
It's always beautiful watching Wolfram slide his fingers over his length, the fingers dragging his foreskin down over his head exposing the glistening tip so different from Yuuri's cock. His fingers fist in the shirt that they never managed to get Wolfram out of, wrinkling the fabric. Wolfram's hand is on Yuuri's hip, guiding him and Yuuri sinks down, stretching around Wolfram as he enters him. It's just past the edge of painful; he's grinding his teeth, pleading with his eyes for Wolfram to do something.
"Yuuri," Wolfram's voice cracks. "Yuuri," he says again, and he lifts his hips up off the tatami mat pushing in, slowly, and his gaze locks with Yuuri's.
He wants to say something. To curse or gasp, but his tongue sits heavy in his mouth and all Yuuri can do is lift himself up off Wolfram's cock before Wolfram is pushing up and using his hand on Yuuri's hip to guide him back down, hard. His breath rushes out and he's cursing, as they slide into a practiced rhythm, Yuuri rocking and Wolfram thrusting up. Wolfram's fingers dig into the skin of his hip, pressing hard against the bone.
Yuuri's hand reaches for his cock and strokes down his shaft and he looks down at Wolfram. His shirt has twisted most of the way up his chest, one dusky nipple visible surrounded by pale, white skin. He bites down on the guttural scream that wants to escape from his throat and the bitter tang of blood bursts across his tongue. Their movements are harsher and louder and slicker and oh fuck, "Wolfram!"
He comes sticky and wet over his chest and Wolfram smiles slamming up into him faster and harder, and Yuuri swears that Wolfram's nails are going to leave deep red scratches across his hips and back, and Wolfram comes, Yuuri's name falling from his lips over and over in a mantra as he drags in huge breaths as if he hadn't been able to breathe since they got to the apartment.
Yuuri thinks that maybe neither of them had.