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kinkfest2009-06-04 08:55 pm
lenainverse.livejournal.com) wrote in kinkfest2009-06-04 08:55 pm
Entry tags:
Still Frame [Kyou Kara Maou, Conrart/Shouri, PG]
Title: Still Frame
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lenainverse
Rating: PG
Warnings: Kiss, implied brother complex
Prompt: Conrart/Shouri; desperation; "I've always known you're you"
Word count: 759
A/N: Thanks toparsnip_chan for her lovely beta, and the title. <3
Conrart's knock is distinctive, a gentlemanly, tentative sound that makes Shouri cringe. Conrart enters without a response, and Shouri locks his eyes with his computer screen and denies Conrart whatever reaction he must be seeking.
Conrart is nosey, at night especially, with the rest of the house abed and his duties delayed until sunrise. Conrart’s visits became more frequent as Yuuri entered high school, giving him less time for travel. Their mother wouldn’t hear of putting the one who named her precious youngest in a hotel, and so the spare futon arranged in the living room has become Conrart’s second home – just a few pieces of wood and plaster between him and Shouri’s family. He tends to pace at night, rarely sleeping, his footsteps sending little creaks along the floorboards when the house is quiet enough.
He always wants to know more, as if getting to know Shouri will somehow bring him closer to Yuuri. For his part, Shouri knows that getting to know Conrart would surely bring him closer to Yuuri, and that is why he allows Conrart inside at all. Looking up from his computer screen is optional. There’s no need, because he already knows, too well, the way Conrart is looking at him.
Shouri knew it the moment he first met Conrart by the way his eyes moved. Always calculating. They looked at him in that familiar way, cataloging the differences between him and Yuuri. For that, Shouri hated him immediately. Worse, it wasn’t Shouri’s family name that made Conrart do that; he simply did it to everyone.
All others in the world were, for him, a living comparison to Yuuri.
Still, they shared a goal. Conrart never lets Shouri forget it, his blatant words and burning looks driving the point straight into Shouri’s chest, as if there were a chance of him ever forgetting. Yuuri’s safety is everything, and if Shouri can imagine nothing else to agree on, that is enough.
It isn’t unusual for Conrart to stand behind him, comfortable in the silence, bathing in the glow of Shouri’s computer screen. There is only so much light Shouri allows while working, or playing, on his computer, and Conrart seems to find this intriguing. He’d commented on it more than once.
When, eventually, Shouri turns, he intends either to command Conrart to leave or to demand to know how Yuuri was faring. That is their system, played out and then reset until the next night.
Tonight, though, he does neither. Conrart is wearing Shouri’s shirt again, and it is as if the act of turning and seeing that white shirt against the backdrop of darkness is enough to make everything he’d built come loose at once.
“Why did you come here?” Shouri demands. “Yuuri is what he is, and I’m not him. I don’t need your protection.”
Conrart doesn’t budge. “I know.” His eyes are shadowed, but Shouri can feel them staring.
Turning away, Shouri spins in his chair, the feeling almost like vertigo. “Then why?”
“Because,” Conrart says, his voice full of maddening calm, “you’re not Yuuri.” And then he is directly behind Shouri, spinning the chair slowly, as if his words are explanation and permission at once.
It isn’t the words that make Shouri rise from his chair, it’s the idea that he has to prove it. Conrart’s arms fit around him (they would be far too long for Yuuri’s slim frame) and his mouth is perfect sliding over his, hard and almost frenzied, with none of the careful control that defines Conrart's usual bearing. This is something Conrart hasn’t shared with Yuuri, Shouri knows, because neither of them would dare. It’s a thought that nags at him, unwanted but persisting until he starts to wonder if, maybe…
No. Shouri moves with the thought rather than speaks it, pushing Conrart away. It’s him who stumbles though, and Conrart just stands there with his infuriating poise. Shouri scowls because it will have to be him who speaks.
“I’m not him.”
“You already said that.”
So he did. But it’s still as true as it was then, even more so. What has changed is the look in Conrart’s eyes, gone from gentle to thoughtful, from accepting to…less so.
“Then leave.” Shouri turns, his throat aching from the thought of what he’s done.
There’s a moment where nothing moves, not even the air because Shouri’s holding his breath. And then the floorboards creak and the door closes and Shouri knows that he’s gotten just what he asked for.
Author/Artist:
lenainverseRating: PG
Warnings: Kiss, implied brother complex
Prompt: Conrart/Shouri; desperation; "I've always known you're you"
Word count: 759
A/N: Thanks to
parsnip_chan for her lovely beta, and the title. <3Conrart's knock is distinctive, a gentlemanly, tentative sound that makes Shouri cringe. Conrart enters without a response, and Shouri locks his eyes with his computer screen and denies Conrart whatever reaction he must be seeking.
Conrart is nosey, at night especially, with the rest of the house abed and his duties delayed until sunrise. Conrart’s visits became more frequent as Yuuri entered high school, giving him less time for travel. Their mother wouldn’t hear of putting the one who named her precious youngest in a hotel, and so the spare futon arranged in the living room has become Conrart’s second home – just a few pieces of wood and plaster between him and Shouri’s family. He tends to pace at night, rarely sleeping, his footsteps sending little creaks along the floorboards when the house is quiet enough.
He always wants to know more, as if getting to know Shouri will somehow bring him closer to Yuuri. For his part, Shouri knows that getting to know Conrart would surely bring him closer to Yuuri, and that is why he allows Conrart inside at all. Looking up from his computer screen is optional. There’s no need, because he already knows, too well, the way Conrart is looking at him.
Shouri knew it the moment he first met Conrart by the way his eyes moved. Always calculating. They looked at him in that familiar way, cataloging the differences between him and Yuuri. For that, Shouri hated him immediately. Worse, it wasn’t Shouri’s family name that made Conrart do that; he simply did it to everyone.
All others in the world were, for him, a living comparison to Yuuri.
Still, they shared a goal. Conrart never lets Shouri forget it, his blatant words and burning looks driving the point straight into Shouri’s chest, as if there were a chance of him ever forgetting. Yuuri’s safety is everything, and if Shouri can imagine nothing else to agree on, that is enough.
It isn’t unusual for Conrart to stand behind him, comfortable in the silence, bathing in the glow of Shouri’s computer screen. There is only so much light Shouri allows while working, or playing, on his computer, and Conrart seems to find this intriguing. He’d commented on it more than once.
When, eventually, Shouri turns, he intends either to command Conrart to leave or to demand to know how Yuuri was faring. That is their system, played out and then reset until the next night.
Tonight, though, he does neither. Conrart is wearing Shouri’s shirt again, and it is as if the act of turning and seeing that white shirt against the backdrop of darkness is enough to make everything he’d built come loose at once.
“Why did you come here?” Shouri demands. “Yuuri is what he is, and I’m not him. I don’t need your protection.”
Conrart doesn’t budge. “I know.” His eyes are shadowed, but Shouri can feel them staring.
Turning away, Shouri spins in his chair, the feeling almost like vertigo. “Then why?”
“Because,” Conrart says, his voice full of maddening calm, “you’re not Yuuri.” And then he is directly behind Shouri, spinning the chair slowly, as if his words are explanation and permission at once.
It isn’t the words that make Shouri rise from his chair, it’s the idea that he has to prove it. Conrart’s arms fit around him (they would be far too long for Yuuri’s slim frame) and his mouth is perfect sliding over his, hard and almost frenzied, with none of the careful control that defines Conrart's usual bearing. This is something Conrart hasn’t shared with Yuuri, Shouri knows, because neither of them would dare. It’s a thought that nags at him, unwanted but persisting until he starts to wonder if, maybe…
No. Shouri moves with the thought rather than speaks it, pushing Conrart away. It’s him who stumbles though, and Conrart just stands there with his infuriating poise. Shouri scowls because it will have to be him who speaks.
“I’m not him.”
“You already said that.”
So he did. But it’s still as true as it was then, even more so. What has changed is the look in Conrart’s eyes, gone from gentle to thoughtful, from accepting to…less so.
“Then leave.” Shouri turns, his throat aching from the thought of what he’s done.
There’s a moment where nothing moves, not even the air because Shouri’s holding his breath. And then the floorboards creak and the door closes and Shouri knows that he’s gotten just what he asked for.
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Was he trying to make Conrart feel guilty by putting Yuuri between them? It was like Shouri was trying to tell Conrart to go and be with his brother instead. Shouri's so insular. Isn't that funny where Shouri is so closed, Yuuri is so open?
Anyhow, great job with this! Everything's so complicated!
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