Work Text:
He was Yuuri’s husband, Prince Consort. And he could not have felt any worse.
Yuuri sat on the bed in his pyjamas looking awkward and so very afraid, doing his best not to make eye contact. Only sixteen years old, Yuuri was a child.
And for all that he was treated like one by his brothers and by other mazoku Wolfram was decades older than Yuuri.
This wasn’t what Wolfram wanted at all, not so soon, but it was too late now. Circumstances had pushed them into this situation. Wolfram’s brothers had insisted and Yuuri was always quick to relent when it came to Conrad, even if his bewilderment and confusion was plain to all.
Wolfram sat next to Yuuri, careful not to make any sudden moves and he carefully took Yuuri’s hand, which was trembling. Someone had to do something, and he didn’t think it would be his husband, this boy-child, his beloved.
Slowly with care he leaned forward and he watched as Yuuri's dark eyes fluttered closed and Wolfram gently kissed Yuuri on the cheek.
Wolfram pulled back and watched as Yuuri opened his eyes in relieved uncertainty. He didn’t know what his mother had told Yuuri, or the Great Sage but Wolfram only took what was freely given, nothing less.
“Not yet, Yuuri. Only when you’re ready.”
Possibly never.