Porn Battle fic #3 (tsubasa)
share the burden
tsubasa reservoir chronicles | touya/yukito | r | +1400 w.
summary: Yukito can read him like desert men can read the curve of a dune.
share the burden
The king of Clow Country has to shoulder so many things.
Yukito can read the worries in the shape of his back when he doubles over a desk to study some map, and in the way he holds his fork at dinner, and in the way his hair falls to his side from running his hands through it.
Yukito can read the king like desert men can read the curved line of a dune and know the weather for the next month. In the same way some people assume Yukito can read the future – it comes naturally, it comes without warning.
He walks into the study through the balcony, knowing that the king is there.
Touya is bent over rolls of parchment, important-looking, peace treaties or new commerce routes, but his eyes are unfixed and Yukito can tell, even at a distance, that he is not really paying attention to that, his mind (and heart) somewhere else.
`You should get some rest, Your Majesty,´ Yukito says, more to announce his presence in the room than because he thinks his advice will be followed.
`I will,´ Touya replies without looking at him, dismissive.
Yukito walks up to him, rests his hands on the back of his chair and peeks over the shoulder to see exactly what papers Touya isn't reading.
`You're still worried about Sakura,´ he states.
Touya draws a long breath and stays in silence for a long time, trusting Yukito to hold it, to know what it means. Touya looks over the balcony, the only landscape at glance is a hint of the immensity of the desert and a soft, icy breeze comes in.
`I just wish I could be there with her. It frustrates that I can't protect her.´
`Do you not trust Syaoran?´
`I do,´ the king says, simply. `That brat cares about my sister, that's all that matters, I guess.´
Yes, Yukito thinks. Sometimes there's all there is to it and a humble archaeologist can love a princess and maybe a king can love his priest.
Yukito places one hand on Touya's shoulder and feels him freeze – he always does that at first, when Yukito touches him, like he is not used to human contact after all, or in wonder that somebody would choose to touch him. The he relaxes, little by little, into the palm of Yukito's hand. He shifts in his chair and throws back his shoulder a bit, so that it's pressed against thin fingers and the touch becomes real even through the layers of his robes.
`You always seem so tired these days, Your Majesty,´ Yukito says softly, lamenting.
He rubs his thumb along Touya's shoulder blade, pressure where there is muscle and soft caresses when he meets the bone underneath, like he is trying to remap the turns and twists of Touya's joints, redraw him.
`Mmm,´ is all Touya comments but Yukito notices that he throws his head back a little (he doesn't rest against Yukito's chest but the ghost of the gesture is there, narrowing the space between them) and he can see now that his eyes are closed.
`You need to let me someone share your worries, support you.´
Yukito's hand darts across and up the line of his shoulder and neck, his fingertips brushing Touya's collarbone. Touya doesn't make any noise but he draws longer, heavier breaths now; there's some restraint there, like he doesn't want to let go just yet, like he is making himself hold on, wait for it.
`And I guess that someone is you,´ he teases, voice finally lighter – bright on the surface, but an undercurrent of something thick and warm and familiar to Yukito. Reserved for Yukito. He slides his hand under Touya's robes and stops when he reaches the place of his heart, fitting over it. Touya exhales, relaxed.
`Well, Your Majesty,´ Yukito tells him in a low voice, as if wary of spies in the palace, `I'm your high priest, it's my responsibility to help you shoulder the burdens.´
Touya catches his wrist; he doesn't push Yukito away, he holds him still, trapped with strong fingers around him, his own skin hot underneath.
`Cut the Your Majesty silliness,´ Touya says and he sounds commanding, the same tone he used when sat on his throne, giving orders to armies and counsellors. `There's no it's my responsibility here between us, no king or high priest, just...´
`Yes?´ His voice comes out shaky and high-pitched.
For a moment Touya looks like he is going to say something else but then he struggles and no sound comes out, as if any other words had burnt inside his throat and now he is in pain from just attempting to voice them. Suddenly Yukito feels the grip on his wrist loosen – Touya lets go.
`Very well,´ Yukito whispers, leaning over the back of the chair until his chin comes to rest upon the king's shoulder. He takes his hand from under Touya's clothes and places it over his thigh. He says: `Touya.´
He calls his name and reclaims it for himself; he follows the king's orders of not letting a word stand stand between them. He kisses the back of his neck. He spreads his fingers over Touya's thigh and watches him push his heels against the floor trying not to move.
With his free hand Yukito pushes the hair off Touya's neck, curling under his earlobe and runs his tongue below the line of his jaw. The king makes a frustrated noise, between a grunt and a whimper and even though his hands are twisted into fists at the arms of the chair, his body bucks up, pressing a few precious inches of skin to Yukito's hand. It's encouraging, the raw need in that noise, because most of the time the king behaves as if he could do everything alone, and Yukito wonders if he really could, and he gets drunk on the feeling of Touya needing him as well was wanting him, loving him.
`Yu. Ki. To.´
His voice breaks into shreds without sense, torn sounds without thought, when Yukito runs his hand upward and places his fingers over his cock, feeling its hardness even through the fabric of his trousers.
Because Yukito can read the king's wishes and desires the way desert men can read the shape of a wayward cloud or the thickness of grains of sand, Touya doesn't need to tell him to rub his hand along his length, flattening his palm and rolling it over – Touya bites his lower lip and Yukito leans in quickly and kisses the tender spot left behind. His weight shifts and the pressure on Touya is, for a moment, too painful and exquisite. The king grabs him by the nape, fingernails digging into Yukito's skin (proud mementos, the fleeting bruises afterwards) and hauls him into a kiss.
Touya doesn't stop kissing him, doesn't let go, like he needs a safety net when he falls. He his writhing in his chair, lifting his hips to meet Yukito's movements on him. He only loosens his grip when he comes, pressing their faces very close together, breathing into Yukito's mouth so that he can feel the long, last exhalation the moment after the release. He keeps still for a couple of seconds then, fingers yet tightly twisted in Yukito's hair, panting, breathing in the warmth between their faces, his cheek damp against Yukito's.
`Yukito,´ he says the name as if he had just learn it, his body finally going limp and soft and honest in Yukito's arms.
`Your Majesty...´ He teases.
Touya kisses the grin off his face, the touch electric and a bit painful, a bit how he imagines it must felt like being struck by lighting. Yukito's hand still rests comfortably, as if touching him was the most natural thing in the world, on Touya's lap. Touya takes it, entwining their fingers together.
`You are right,´ the king says, his voice not entirely recovered, shaky. `I am worried. And I need help. And I'd very much like to share the burden with someone. Thanks.´
Yukito squeezes his hand.
`It's my responsibility,´ he says quietly, watching Touya frown again. He adds: `But it is also my choice.´
Yukito can read the lines on the palm of Touya's hand when his are pressed against it, not because Yukito can see the future, but rather like men in the desert can read clear blue skies into storms and they'd go out in the open and welcome the rain on their skins. And Yukito can read him not because he is the king, but because he is Touya.