Voiceless

Title: They Call it Passion

Pairing: Wolfram X Yuri

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: fits with the rating of M my friends. A reward for all of you who made it this far.

Summary: Wolfram is angry, but is it because Yuri forgot about him? Did that have a secret meaning that Yuri didn’t know, or was Wolfram being himself? Was he just being difficult again?

Chapter Number: #32

Author Note: I keep noticing that I keep putting “it’s” even when I don’t mean “it is” (along with several other bothersome typos). I know the difference, but I get ‘ happy. So, please, forgive me. I write quickly so you get updates without having to wait for ten rough drafts to go by. I know those things can be irritating, even though they are little, but to error is human, and this is a fanfic, not my informative speech, persuasive toulmin argument speech, and not my toulmin argument paper.

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Wolfram had spent the following four days angry. The first night he’d slept in his own room unaccompanied, but on the three after that he’d slid into Yuri’s room unannounced late at night while Yuri was unaware. During meals he had stayed silent and hardly spoke to anyone. He spent more of his time with his soldiers than he did shadowing Yuri, and that made the king nervous.

He hadn’t meant to forget about Wolfram, but he didn’t expect it to have such a negative effect on him. Part of him wanted to shout that Wolfram was simply overreacting, but another part of him screamed that there was something more to it. Something that he was either over looking or had never seen to begin with. He’d asked Conrad if he’d noticed anything out-of-the ordinary, but he said that everything seemed normal. Even Wolfram’s sulking was normal. Yuri had trouble believing it. Despite that, Wolfram was unapproachable. He’d snap at him or ignore him. There was nothing he could do, and he was worried about it.

The last time Wolfram had sulked so badly was the last time (that he remembered) the maou had come out and…He didn’t even want to think about it. He had no control over what the maou did, and if the maou got angry and hurt Wolfram again he didn’t know what he would do. He had a strong feeling that he’d either find a new palace in the demon kingdom, or a small shack for that matter, and live out the rest of his days there as a hermit, or just return to Earth.

He didn’t know that that was what Wolfram was trying to do. Not to get Yuri to leave, but to draw out the maou. He hated the way that the sight of the maou made him weak. He was disgusted with himself every time that he thought about his weakness when the maou had come to apologize. Wolfram wanted to provoke the maou, for better or for worse, so he could stand up to him.

He’d done his best. He’d ignored what Yuri said to him, he distanced himself the best he could without worrying anyone by locking himself away. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore Greta, and therefore didn’t bother trying, but he spent more time with his soldiers regardless. They needed the work anyway.

The maou was resting, Wolfram decided. And the only way to awaken him would be to cause trouble. He didn’t want to cause real trouble, he didn’t want to die or get injured, but he wanted to attention. He felt that, surly, if he called off his engagement the maou would come, but when he’d started to say it one night, he became tongue tied and horrified. His engagement couldn’t be joked about or taunted. It was out of the question. He could not conceive of it.

On the fifth night, while Yuri was asleep, Wolfram tried something else. He tried asking. Greta had chosen to stay in her own room of her own will, giving Wolfram the perfect opportunity. He felt that it was his last option, so while Yuri was fully asleep, Wolfram gathered his courage and moved closer on the bed. He sunk his teeth into his lip for a moment and thought of what he’d say if the maou did awaken. What then?

Wolfram whispered for the demon king, the true demon king, to wake up. He asked to speak with him. He muttered quietly that he longed to see him again, even though he feared every twitch Yuri made. He was surprised that he was able to suppress his scream when Yuri’s eyes shot open. They weren’t his eyes. They were serpent like. It was the maou that was looking up at him coldly.

The maou sat up slowly, stiffly, as if he were lying on a bed of concrete rather than down. Wolfram backed away, but did not stand from the bed. The eyes of the demon king looked straight through him, pierced him, and he was unable to speak or look away. The maou said nothing. He waited patiently for Wolfram to speak. At least he appeared patient. Perhaps, Wolfram thought, he’d been listening all along. Watching and waiting to arrive. Maybe he knew everything. Every thought in his head and every fear that he had.

“You,” Wolfram breathed. It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t feel as if it were a statement. Maybe it was just a fragment. They both knew, Wolfram felt, that it wasn’t necessary for him to elaborate.

“Why have you called for me?” The maou asked, his voice sounding harsher than Wolfram had expected. “I am no pet that comes when called, but your persistence has become something which cannot be ignored and I am still indebted to you for my crimes. What do you need from me?” His voice left no room for games or leads, and Wolfram had nothing to say. There weren’t any words for what he felt. He just wanted to see him and not be afraid, yet he was afraid. He could feel himself trembling and couldn’t release the lip he’d captured between his teeth. “Answer!” The maou shouted with intense ferocity. Wolfram jerked, released his lip, and stared at him with his mouth open and silent. “Answer, Lord—”

“I wanted to see you,” Wolfram managed to say without a stutter or a pause, but that was all that would come. The maou closed his mouth and stared at him with glaring eyes that looked through him to his soul. “If I’m going to marry Yuri,” Wolfram said, his voice shaking only slightly. “I can’t be afraid of any part of him. Even if you’re not him, you’re still a part. I have to—” He could say no more. It wasn’t from fear; it was because there was a mouth being forced against his own almost painfully. He moved to pull away, but there was a hand on the back of his head that forced him closer, and another that began to pin him. “No,” Wolfram whimpered softly the instant that the mouth withdrew. He could feel the fear at the back of his throat and felt his legs trying to press closed but unable with a torso between them.

His words were lost in the night air. The maou was hardly listening as he stripped Wolfram of his sword and tossed it towards the doorway. He hadn’t worn his nightdress that night, he stayed in his uniform, but that merely slowed the maou’s progress. He ignored Wolfram’s cries as he began stripping him of his clothes. Wolfram tried to shove him away, but with no avail. The demon king ignored him, and when he’d fought too much those piercing eyes locked with his holding a warning of pain and Wolfram fell back against the bed. He didn’t want any more pain than what was going to happen. He didn’t need broken bones or bruises to alert Yuri in the morning. If that was when the maou would decide to disappear.

All that the maou left on him was his shirt, but Wolfram dared not to attempt to cover himself. He lay still, staring at the ceiling that was too dark to see and trying to disconnect his mind from his body. There would be pain he didn’t want, there would be horror he didn’t want to relive. Each time he felt the maou’s hands caress his skin his memory of the attack burst in his brain. He swallowed hard when the maou moved his mouth towards his ear, a shiver coursed through him that made his eyes water with what was similar to tears, but different in many more ways. There wasn’t a sting associated with them, it was more of a feeling of belonging. It felt right to have tears in his eyes.

“Let me,” the maou commanded. It sounded almost like a question, but the inquiry did not leave room for a negative response. He pressed his lips against Wolfram’s before the blonde could reply (not that there were any words in his mind to answer with). The maou ran his tongue along the crease of Wolfram’s lips gently and he made no movements besides that. Wolfram told himself that that was the reason why he opened his mouth to allow him in.

Slowly the kiss became more intimate and Wolfram felt something inside of him snap and recoil like a string of fabric pulled too taut. He began to play along, as if acting out a scene in a play. His tongue began to join the game that the maou’s had begun. His hands had risen from their lithe position at his sides. One caressed the maou’s cheek and the other grasped him around his shoulders. Like the tears that were still present in the rims of his eyes, the reaction, the passion he was feeling, the desire…it all felt right. It felt proper. Why did he have to force himself to accept it? Why not accept it for what it was and share in the ecstasy. The maou offered for him to take part. The maou ordered him to. Wolfram was in no position to disobey the demon king. Rather than conforming and allowing it to be called rape, Wolfram pressed himself against the warm body above him and called it passion.

The maou seemed to know what to do, so Wolfram allowed him to take lead. He didn’t feel any fear when his legs were pushed apart and he was forced backwards onto the bed. He felt no fear, but he felt something that resembled it. It was anticipation mixed with wonder. What would it be like since he’d consented? Would it be painful, or would it be glorious? In reality, it was a bit of both.

The instant the whimper of discomfort escaped his throat the maou began to kiss him again, occupying him more with the passion of the kiss than with the burning pain within him. It was easily ignored when there was something positive reassuring him. There was no fear, and Wolfram discovered that the emotion plaguing him was security. He felt safe with one of the maou’s arms around his back and the other roughly running through his hair consoling and heartening. It felt right this way.

When the thrusting began the maou’s attention shifted lower, one of his hands caressing Wolfram’s length delicately in a way that was almost like teasing, but granted enough pleasure for the tiny hitches of pain to become lost on their way to Wolfram’s brain. He thrust gently into the warmth of the hand, his shyness dissipating with each bout of pleasure that exploded in his brain when something inside of him was nudged and pressed on. He panted softly, feeling the warmth of the maou’s breath on his throat as he leaned his head back on the pillows.

It was right this way, having the thrusting within him controlled—gentle and considerate. There was nothing breaking, nothing bleeding that he could recognize, and the only thing that was weeping was weeping from intense bliss. Rather than screams, moans were making his throat turn raw. The maou had attempted to silence him with kisses and with touches, but it was fruitless and he didn’t try any harder. Everyone said that the Demon King was generous, a paragon of compassion, but they had no idea.

The thought made Wolfram laugh, even from deep within his elation. He had to make no movements, no efforts, and the Demon King rewarded him excessively with pleasure atop pleasure. He was permitted to lay back and allow hands to stroke him, to pump him, all he had to do it return was lay still and allow something pleasantly warm thrust deep within him, something that gave more pleasure than pain now that his body was finished fighting.

He was kissed silent the instant he felt his climax nearing. The intense feeling was overwhelming and the only way Wolfram knew to release it was through sound. He felt that if he suppressed the urge to moan it would cause a vacuum that would make the world implode. It was all contradiction. The maou kissing him to make him go quiet, but stroking him firmer and pressing that secret spot inside of him that sent him into unnatural realms of bliss and elation in concoction with a hand that stroked his hair so seductively. He couldn’t help but be noisy, but he was willing to kiss so pleasantly if that was what the merciful king wanted.

He wound his arms around the maou’s shoulders and pressed their chests closer, his mouth locked over top of the king’s, both of their tongues sliding across the other’s as a warm hand constricted around Wolfram and a warm body constricted against the maou. It was right this way. It was passionate. It was unity, the unity that belonged between a man and his fiancé. To feel the warm breath of his lover against his throat and to have warmth envelop him from head to toe was liberating. The small cry of pain he emitted when the burning turned to a searing sting was given volume only by a final climactic moan that was not opposed or withheld in the lightest form.

Wolfram ran his fingers through the maou’s damp hair as the rest of him lie limp on the bed, unable to conjure any energy beyond what was used to blink and breathe. The maou looked at him with the same ferocious intensity, but Wolfram met it without fear. There was nothing to be afraid of…it was only Yuri’s passionate side. The side that did what Yuri was too afraid to do.

The maou stayed with him long enough to extract himself from Wolfram’s body and arms and to redress himself. After that he was gone and Yuri lay unaware and asleep at Wolfram’s side. Wolfram stayed conscious long enough to realize that he didn’t care to redress. All he wanted was to slide beneath the sheets and dream.

And, as usual, he got what he wanted.

~Alice Von Wonderland

Closing Note: Ah a long chapter with a bit of a lemon and a bit of oddity. It is my reward to you all for sticking with me for thirty plus chapters and continually reviewing and favoring it. I hope you found this chapter to your liking.

Until Next Time

Alice Von Wonderland