[Fic] Ace Attorney: Ask A Stupid Question
Jun. 7th, 2014 12:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mllelaurelFandom: Ace Attorney
Title: Ask a Stupid Question
Characters: Apollo Justice, Klavier Gavin
Pairings: Klavier/Apollo
Rating: E/NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: ‘What do you want?’ is one of the vaguest questions in the world, as far as Apollo is concerned. Here there be kink, of the dirty talk and D/s variety.
It’s been going well so far - at least until Klavier leans toward him, all bedroom eyes and secret smiles, and asks what is, in Apollo’s opinion, one of the stupidest and most annoying questions in the world.
“What do you want me to do now, Herr Forehead?” And Apollo’s brain freezes up. Not because he doesn’t want to be here, or because he doesn’t know exactly where this is going and look forward to it immensely. It’s just too broad. One of those questions where you’re actually supposed to read your partner’s mind, to come up with the exact perfect direction for the night to take. He wants too many things, all at once, and he can’t put any of them into words, and dammit, he is a lawyer! Public speaking is supposed to be his thing. Not that this is public- Oh God, thinking of the two of them like this, with Klavier’s hands sliding under his untucked shirt, fingers ghosting over his sides, just a hair away from tickling, while curious strangers watch-
Right. Now Klavier is giving him that concerned look, like he’s getting ready to ask if Apollo’s all right, and ‘are you sure you’re okay with this; we don’t have to if you don’t want,’ and Apollo has to fist his hands in the other man’s jacket and kiss him, hard and desperate, because the one thing he doesn’t need is this gentle, in retrospect kind of sweet worry, and he really doesn’t need a well-meaning lecture on self-esteem or speaking his mind. If Klavier tries that, he’s putting his coat back on and walking out, right now.
‘What do you want?’ is a gateway to asking for something stupid, or second-guessing yourself and settling on whatever’s the easiest. Or perhaps to actually blurting out what you do want, and seeing that look on your partner’s face, even if what you asked for isn’t that weird, but it sure as hell isn’t what they had in mind.
He can feel Klavier’s mouth curve into a smile against his. “Ah, I see how it is. How about this, then? I will tell you everything I would like to do to you, and you just stop me when I get to the good part.”
Apollo snorts. “Figures you’d like hearing yourself talk.”
“Have I ever denied it?” Klavier’s laughter is warm and rich. “Though I must say, I like the sound of your voice just as much. I wish you could hear yourself from across the courtroom. So bold and fearless. You are far too good at making the opposition think you’re flying by the seat of your pants, but every last word is thought out. Just as the best melody speaks to the audience as though it was written right on stage, all for them, no matter that you’d actually spent weeks composing it, and you know, in your heart of hearts, that the bridge still sounds like it was farted out by a mule.”
‘Evidence is everything,’ Apollo doesn’t say. They both know who’d organized his mind so well. “Mule farting,” he says instead. “Very sexy. If I wasn’t seduced already, I’d definitely be panting for it now.”
Klavier laughs. “Now that’s what I like to hear. And you know what else I like hearing?” He leans in, his breath gusting over Apollo’s ear, and Apollo’s own breath hitches. “I want to hear you scream when I fuck you. Loud and raw, and too far gone to be self-conscious about it. Ach, I would be a fool to gag you, lovely as you’d look with your mouth forced open and your teeth clenched down around something. One of your own ties, perhaps,” he toys with the length of cloth around Apollo’s neck, pulling it taut, “or a strip of leather-
“You like the idea of that, do you? The smell and taste of leather. Perhaps the feel, as well?” Like Apollo can help it! Leather and Klavier are hopelessly mixed together in his head, at this point, with that jacket, and those boots, and the gloves he wears when he rides his motorcycle.
Klavier sinks his hands into Apollo’s hair, close to the scalp, fists it and pulls, and it doesn’t sting at all, only makes his throat arch and his eyes roll back in his head. “Ja, like that. Just like that.” Apollo’s back is flush against him, and he can feel the other man’s arousal. Lips on his bared neck, teeth grazing lightly. “I want to twist your arms behind your back, till you’re straining against me.” He’s strong. Apollo knows he wouldn’t be able to break his hold, even if he wanted to. “Cuff your wrists to keep them there. Standard-issue handcuffs would be easy enough to obtain. ...But no, those could damage your nerve endings. I’ll have to think of something else.
“You have lovely wrists, you know. It’s hard not to watch them, when you gesticulate.” Klavier lifts one of those wrists to his mouth, lips on the curve of Apollo’s palm, tongue carefully tracing the vein. “So beautiful.”
Apollo doesn’t expect it when Klavier runs his fingers along the edges of his bracelet, slides it off after a brief, searching look. He doesn’t expect to be okay with it, with how naked he feels without it, skin underneath sweaty and sensitive, unused to air or touch. With how much he trusts this man.
“I want-” It’s Klavier’s voice that catches, this time, like he’s struggling with something he desires, and hah! How does that feel, Herr Done It All Prosecutor? “I want you on your knees in front of me.” And Apollo’s suddenly defenseless, all sarcasm gone from his mind. Nothing left but Klavier’s voice and need, like gravity, like a tidal wave. “Your hands behind your back, your eyes looking up at me- ja, just like you’re looking at me now. All black, barely any brown, Gott, you’re so desperate, I can tell. Far-gone enough you’ll do anything I say. Anything I suggest.”
Apollo proves him right, sliding off the bed and kneeling, resting his cheek against Klavier’s thigh. The sleek cloth of his pants feels cool to the touch - presumably because Apollo’s face is all but on fire. “Gut,” Klavier breathes, barely audible. His hands card through Apollo’s hair, stroke the sides of his face. One outstretched finger traces down his throat, just a hint of pressure and fingernail, and Apollo doesn’t know whether he wants to arch into it or flinch away. Ring-clad fingers slide just past his lips, and he kisses them, tongue darting out to taste body-warmed silver and tanned skin, draws those fingers into his mouth and hears Klavier’s sharp intake of breath.
Klavier keeps touching him, never lets go of him, which is good, because Apollo feels like he might die, if left alone right now. Arms around him, pulling him up, so that his knees are at a ninety degree angle. He doesn’t remember how he managed to lose his tie and vest, or where Klavier’s jacket has gone, for that matter, but the feel of Klavier’s teeth on his ear while the other man loosens his buttons, one at a time, that has been permanently etched into his mind.
“And now, schatzelein,” Klavier whispers, voice husky, “you must do something for me. Strip for me. All of your clothes.”
Something kicks over in Apollo’s brain, and he imagines himself naked at Klavier’s feet, while the prosecutor is still completely dressed, and it’s too much, too vulnerable, makes him shiver all over- and all the while he’s so hard it’s painful. Turned on enough that he knows he’ll come if he moves wrong. Any friction at all is a danger. His trousers, the floor, oh holy God, he’s going to come in his pants, still dressed, and that’s worse than any kind of nudity.
His hands shake as he unzips, shucks every bit of clothing far too quickly for it to be either efficient or titillating - though going by the dusky look in Klavier’s eyes, he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Eyes on me,” Klavier tells him, as though that’s any kind of question right now, and he cups the back of Apollo’s head, slides an arm around him, pulling Apollo toward him, into a kiss. He unbalances - or maybe the taller man lets him unbalance - goes sprawling into a laughing Klavier's lap. Shifts up so that he's leaning over him, kisses him properly, feels Klavier's hands sliding down his back, fondling his ass, warm and sure of themselves. A single finger delves between his buttocks, stroking there lightly, and Klavier raises an eyebrow, as if to ask ‘is this all right?’ As if they haven’t done that dozens of times before!
Apollo arches toward him. Please! And Klavier pulls back, teasing. “Ah-ah-ah, not so quickly. Do you think you get to enjoy yourself, while I’m still clothed?” he says, removing the rings on his right hand.
Apollo’s fingers are already unbuttoning his silk shirt, before Klavier is done talking, careful not to snag or tear the cloth, and Klavier’s smile is lazy and sharp, all at once, as he reaches over to the nightstand, slicks his fingers from a pump bottle, works one finger inside him, slowly.
“Undress me,” he says, locking gazes with Apollo again. “You will not come until you’ve completed this task - and if any of my clothes wind up having to go to the dry cleaners after this, you will not like the result.”
He’s supposed to concentrate while Klavier is doing this? How? That one finger moves inside him carefully, feeling him out, and Apollo bites down on a soft moan, as his inner muscles gradually begin to give way. He reaches for the hand Klavier isn’t using, unbuttons his cuffs, slides the sleeve down Klavier’s shoulder, kissing the skin and gasping into it as it’s bared.
Klavier’s zipper is next and, again, how is he supposed to do this, with his own body in the way, without Klavier letting him change positions? A second finger joins the first, and Klavier is definitely smirking, as Apollo shifts up on his knees, driving those fingers deeper inside himself, oh, fuck, pushing Klavier’s pants down as far as they will go. At least Klavier is helpful here, kicking them off once they’re past where Apollo can reach. He’s not wearing any underwear, but that’s not exactly surprising, for either the setting or the tightness of his clothes. His freed cock juts up, the head of it brushing against Apollo’s belly. Apollo can’t resist taking it in hand, feeling the silky-slick hardness of it, pushing back the foreskin - and now Klavier’s the one letting out a long, ragged noise.
The fingers inside him pull back, almost all the way out, then drive in again, re-angled, and Apollo’s vision blurs as he cries out.
“Ah, looks like I’m on the right track.” Klavier sounds smug.
Focus, focus… Apollo tries to think past the jolts of pleasure still echoing through his nerves. He nudges at Klavier’s socks with his own toes, till they come off, and now Klavier’s left in nothing but a crumpled shirt, hanging off of one arm, and the ever-present G necklace glimmering against his chest. He looks raunchy as hell, and ridiculously pleased. “Herr Forehead, your determination knows no bounds, even here.”
“I can’t- with you like that. Unless you want me to rip it.”
Klavier laughs. “Now there’s a thought. Maybe another time.” Klavier’s fingers slide out of him, and Apollo whimpers at the loss. His hands fumble on the final button, and Klavier’s shirt goes sailing across the room.
“I’m not doing the necklace and I’m definitely not doing your earrings,” he manages, before Klavier’s mouth covers his again, and Klavier’s lube-free hand finds one of his nipples, pinching and tugging hard.
“Please, Klavier, I’m begging you!” And he’s never, not in a million years going to live this down, is he? Fuck. If Klavier chooses to tease him more, now, to ask what he’s begging for, Apollo swears he will- He’s not even sure what he will, but by God, he will!
The head of Klavier’s cock nudges his asshole, and Klavier’s hand on his hip is all that’s keeping Apollo from jamming himself down on it all at once, in a single movement of friction and light.
“Shhh, shatzi, shhh… You’ll have yours soon enough. Just don’t hurt yourself.” The hand on his hip guides him down, down, and he’s still controlling Apollo’s every movement, the smug bastard. Apollo groans at the stretch of it. The head is always the - nngh - hardest part, and once that’s in, the rest is a swift, breathless slide into madness.
Klavier doesn’t give him time to breathe, once he’s inside, rocking up into him, hard and fast, making Apollo keen, deep in his throat, as he rises and falls to meet him. So deep, fuck, he can almost taste it, feel it behind his teeth, at the roof of his mouth. So full he can’t think of anything else.
Klavier doesn’t touch Apollo’s cock till Apollo is already close, seconds away from exploding with sensation, mind coming apart in a shower of sparks and neurons, just from being fucked. Klavier’s hand is warm, slightly rough with guitar calluses, his touch firm and gentle. A couple of strokes is all it takes for Apollo to pulse in his grip, coming hard, suspended in a single glorious, overwhelming moment, coaxed out and lengthened by Klavier’s fingers. His mouth feels dry in the aftermath, the back of his throat raw, like he’s been shouting.
Klavier is still moving inside him, sending oversensitized aftershocks rippling through him, making Apollo moan with every rough slide and nudge. It’s good and it’s too much, all at the same time. It floods him with tenderness for the man beneath him, makes him pivot his hips, oncoming exhaustion be damned, makes him squeeze down deliberately around him, just to watch the pleasure and shock of it playing across Klavier’s face.
Apollo’s legs are trembling, about to give way, when he feels Klavier surge up into him one last time, muffling a groan against Apollo’s neck. Only after that does he allow himself to pull free and collapse against Klavier in a great heap. He can hear Klavier murmuring endearments in a mishmash of languages - pretty sure some of those aren’t even real words, but what’s words, right now?
“Gott, how are you this-? You exist.” And that is the dopey-est grin Apollo has ever seen in his life.
“R-really? I haven’t noticed.” His voice is still a little shaky. All of him is still a little shaky, and clingy, scrubbed right down to the flesh. Klavier rubs his back, one-handed, strokes his hair, until the shivers subside.
“How’re you doing?”
Apollo’s eyes are starting to drift shut. “Good. You?”
“I’m perfect. Couldn’t be better.”
“Egotist.”
Klavier kisses him again, nips his ear. “Would you rather I say you were perfect? I could, but then I would be entering territories too sappy for even me.”
Apollo wrinkles his nose to cover his smile. “Yeah, okay, cut down on the mushy stuff. That was good, though. Really, really good.”
“You certainly sounded like you were having fun. If only you were so obedient and responsive in the courtroom.”
“Shyeah, dare to dream big.” He’s this close to asking ‘so you didn’t think me wanting that was strange?’ but Klavier had been the one to suggest it. Had clearly gotten off on it, too, so maybe Apollo’s neurotic streak can take a break for a change.
“So, what else do you want to try?” he asks instead.
Klavier tsks at him. “Oh no you don’t. It’s your turn, this time, Herr Forehead. Fair and square.”
“What if that was what I wanted?” Ugh, that sounded sulky. Re-do, re-do! “Okay, fine, how about this? I want to suck you, next time, with your hands in my hair like that. The way you had them for a while. Yeah.” He feels ridiculous. How does Klavier do this part so easily? Talk about it so easily? “I want to see how long it takes till you can’t talk anymore, cause shutting you up? Yeah, that’s how I know I’m doing it right. “And maybe we could try the handcuffs thing, like you said. Or just your hands, pinning me against the bed, or the wall, or…”
And so many other things! In some of the fantasies flashing through his mind, he’s the one shoving Klavier against that wall, pushing those long legs apart, biting down right where his neck meets his shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Listening to the very noises he makes come apart, words to not-words, to wordless cries. So many things, God. Too many to deal with, all in one night. He wants so much with this man, and no lie, that scares him a little, even when he’s not tired and coming down from a high.
He looks up, and Klavier’s eyes are several shades darker, deep ocean instead of sky. “Keep going.”
Apollo makes a face. “Later. Geez, what I really want right now is to pass out for a bit.”
“Well, if that’s what you need, Herr Greis.”
“I’m two years younger than you, asshole. And if you say you’re up for anything more right now, I say your testimony’s full of shit.”
“Oh, but in twenty minutes…”
“In twenty minutes, I’m going to kick your ass. ...Which I’m starting to think you’re begging me to do.”
“I could beg prettier.”
Now it’s Apollo’s turn to smirk. “I know you could. Also? You’re not allowed to use ‘Objection’ as a safeword.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“It reminds me of my job. And also my boss, who’s practically my dad.”
“Has Herr Wright patented the word without my noticing it? Nein, I do not think so.”
“...Actually, maybe total boner kill is okay, for a safeword. Fine.”
“I win.” Klavier rolls them over, so that his head is on Apollo’s chest. The weight is a secure, comfortable one.
“Thank you,” Apollo says, quiet and honest.
Klavier tilts up his head to kiss Apollo’s chin. “It was my pleasure. You’re lovely, when you’re all mine, like that. Lovely at all times, but especially then.”
“Sap,” Apollo says again, breathes in deep, feeling his muscles tense and relax. He’s a lucky guy, not that he’s gonna say it. Not unless he wants the rock star to crow about it for weeks. Klavier’s hair falls loose, brushing against his chest, almost ticklish. It’s going to be a tangle, come morning, Apollo thinks, but he’s already falling asleep. He’ll think about tangled hair, scattered clothing and hot showers later. Now is for Klavier’s hand resting on his arm, Klavier’s face nestled in his shoulder, Klavier’s breaths, even and falling into rhythm with his.
Title: Ask a Stupid Question
Characters: Apollo Justice, Klavier Gavin
Pairings: Klavier/Apollo
Rating: E/NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: ‘What do you want?’ is one of the vaguest questions in the world, as far as Apollo is concerned. Here there be kink, of the dirty talk and D/s variety.
It’s been going well so far - at least until Klavier leans toward him, all bedroom eyes and secret smiles, and asks what is, in Apollo’s opinion, one of the stupidest and most annoying questions in the world.
“What do you want me to do now, Herr Forehead?” And Apollo’s brain freezes up. Not because he doesn’t want to be here, or because he doesn’t know exactly where this is going and look forward to it immensely. It’s just too broad. One of those questions where you’re actually supposed to read your partner’s mind, to come up with the exact perfect direction for the night to take. He wants too many things, all at once, and he can’t put any of them into words, and dammit, he is a lawyer! Public speaking is supposed to be his thing. Not that this is public- Oh God, thinking of the two of them like this, with Klavier’s hands sliding under his untucked shirt, fingers ghosting over his sides, just a hair away from tickling, while curious strangers watch-
Right. Now Klavier is giving him that concerned look, like he’s getting ready to ask if Apollo’s all right, and ‘are you sure you’re okay with this; we don’t have to if you don’t want,’ and Apollo has to fist his hands in the other man’s jacket and kiss him, hard and desperate, because the one thing he doesn’t need is this gentle, in retrospect kind of sweet worry, and he really doesn’t need a well-meaning lecture on self-esteem or speaking his mind. If Klavier tries that, he’s putting his coat back on and walking out, right now.
‘What do you want?’ is a gateway to asking for something stupid, or second-guessing yourself and settling on whatever’s the easiest. Or perhaps to actually blurting out what you do want, and seeing that look on your partner’s face, even if what you asked for isn’t that weird, but it sure as hell isn’t what they had in mind.
He can feel Klavier’s mouth curve into a smile against his. “Ah, I see how it is. How about this, then? I will tell you everything I would like to do to you, and you just stop me when I get to the good part.”
Apollo snorts. “Figures you’d like hearing yourself talk.”
“Have I ever denied it?” Klavier’s laughter is warm and rich. “Though I must say, I like the sound of your voice just as much. I wish you could hear yourself from across the courtroom. So bold and fearless. You are far too good at making the opposition think you’re flying by the seat of your pants, but every last word is thought out. Just as the best melody speaks to the audience as though it was written right on stage, all for them, no matter that you’d actually spent weeks composing it, and you know, in your heart of hearts, that the bridge still sounds like it was farted out by a mule.”
‘Evidence is everything,’ Apollo doesn’t say. They both know who’d organized his mind so well. “Mule farting,” he says instead. “Very sexy. If I wasn’t seduced already, I’d definitely be panting for it now.”
Klavier laughs. “Now that’s what I like to hear. And you know what else I like hearing?” He leans in, his breath gusting over Apollo’s ear, and Apollo’s own breath hitches. “I want to hear you scream when I fuck you. Loud and raw, and too far gone to be self-conscious about it. Ach, I would be a fool to gag you, lovely as you’d look with your mouth forced open and your teeth clenched down around something. One of your own ties, perhaps,” he toys with the length of cloth around Apollo’s neck, pulling it taut, “or a strip of leather-
“You like the idea of that, do you? The smell and taste of leather. Perhaps the feel, as well?” Like Apollo can help it! Leather and Klavier are hopelessly mixed together in his head, at this point, with that jacket, and those boots, and the gloves he wears when he rides his motorcycle.
Klavier sinks his hands into Apollo’s hair, close to the scalp, fists it and pulls, and it doesn’t sting at all, only makes his throat arch and his eyes roll back in his head. “Ja, like that. Just like that.” Apollo’s back is flush against him, and he can feel the other man’s arousal. Lips on his bared neck, teeth grazing lightly. “I want to twist your arms behind your back, till you’re straining against me.” He’s strong. Apollo knows he wouldn’t be able to break his hold, even if he wanted to. “Cuff your wrists to keep them there. Standard-issue handcuffs would be easy enough to obtain. ...But no, those could damage your nerve endings. I’ll have to think of something else.
“You have lovely wrists, you know. It’s hard not to watch them, when you gesticulate.” Klavier lifts one of those wrists to his mouth, lips on the curve of Apollo’s palm, tongue carefully tracing the vein. “So beautiful.”
Apollo doesn’t expect it when Klavier runs his fingers along the edges of his bracelet, slides it off after a brief, searching look. He doesn’t expect to be okay with it, with how naked he feels without it, skin underneath sweaty and sensitive, unused to air or touch. With how much he trusts this man.
“I want-” It’s Klavier’s voice that catches, this time, like he’s struggling with something he desires, and hah! How does that feel, Herr Done It All Prosecutor? “I want you on your knees in front of me.” And Apollo’s suddenly defenseless, all sarcasm gone from his mind. Nothing left but Klavier’s voice and need, like gravity, like a tidal wave. “Your hands behind your back, your eyes looking up at me- ja, just like you’re looking at me now. All black, barely any brown, Gott, you’re so desperate, I can tell. Far-gone enough you’ll do anything I say. Anything I suggest.”
Apollo proves him right, sliding off the bed and kneeling, resting his cheek against Klavier’s thigh. The sleek cloth of his pants feels cool to the touch - presumably because Apollo’s face is all but on fire. “Gut,” Klavier breathes, barely audible. His hands card through Apollo’s hair, stroke the sides of his face. One outstretched finger traces down his throat, just a hint of pressure and fingernail, and Apollo doesn’t know whether he wants to arch into it or flinch away. Ring-clad fingers slide just past his lips, and he kisses them, tongue darting out to taste body-warmed silver and tanned skin, draws those fingers into his mouth and hears Klavier’s sharp intake of breath.
Klavier keeps touching him, never lets go of him, which is good, because Apollo feels like he might die, if left alone right now. Arms around him, pulling him up, so that his knees are at a ninety degree angle. He doesn’t remember how he managed to lose his tie and vest, or where Klavier’s jacket has gone, for that matter, but the feel of Klavier’s teeth on his ear while the other man loosens his buttons, one at a time, that has been permanently etched into his mind.
“And now, schatzelein,” Klavier whispers, voice husky, “you must do something for me. Strip for me. All of your clothes.”
Something kicks over in Apollo’s brain, and he imagines himself naked at Klavier’s feet, while the prosecutor is still completely dressed, and it’s too much, too vulnerable, makes him shiver all over- and all the while he’s so hard it’s painful. Turned on enough that he knows he’ll come if he moves wrong. Any friction at all is a danger. His trousers, the floor, oh holy God, he’s going to come in his pants, still dressed, and that’s worse than any kind of nudity.
His hands shake as he unzips, shucks every bit of clothing far too quickly for it to be either efficient or titillating - though going by the dusky look in Klavier’s eyes, he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Eyes on me,” Klavier tells him, as though that’s any kind of question right now, and he cups the back of Apollo’s head, slides an arm around him, pulling Apollo toward him, into a kiss. He unbalances - or maybe the taller man lets him unbalance - goes sprawling into a laughing Klavier's lap. Shifts up so that he's leaning over him, kisses him properly, feels Klavier's hands sliding down his back, fondling his ass, warm and sure of themselves. A single finger delves between his buttocks, stroking there lightly, and Klavier raises an eyebrow, as if to ask ‘is this all right?’ As if they haven’t done that dozens of times before!
Apollo arches toward him. Please! And Klavier pulls back, teasing. “Ah-ah-ah, not so quickly. Do you think you get to enjoy yourself, while I’m still clothed?” he says, removing the rings on his right hand.
Apollo’s fingers are already unbuttoning his silk shirt, before Klavier is done talking, careful not to snag or tear the cloth, and Klavier’s smile is lazy and sharp, all at once, as he reaches over to the nightstand, slicks his fingers from a pump bottle, works one finger inside him, slowly.
“Undress me,” he says, locking gazes with Apollo again. “You will not come until you’ve completed this task - and if any of my clothes wind up having to go to the dry cleaners after this, you will not like the result.”
He’s supposed to concentrate while Klavier is doing this? How? That one finger moves inside him carefully, feeling him out, and Apollo bites down on a soft moan, as his inner muscles gradually begin to give way. He reaches for the hand Klavier isn’t using, unbuttons his cuffs, slides the sleeve down Klavier’s shoulder, kissing the skin and gasping into it as it’s bared.
Klavier’s zipper is next and, again, how is he supposed to do this, with his own body in the way, without Klavier letting him change positions? A second finger joins the first, and Klavier is definitely smirking, as Apollo shifts up on his knees, driving those fingers deeper inside himself, oh, fuck, pushing Klavier’s pants down as far as they will go. At least Klavier is helpful here, kicking them off once they’re past where Apollo can reach. He’s not wearing any underwear, but that’s not exactly surprising, for either the setting or the tightness of his clothes. His freed cock juts up, the head of it brushing against Apollo’s belly. Apollo can’t resist taking it in hand, feeling the silky-slick hardness of it, pushing back the foreskin - and now Klavier’s the one letting out a long, ragged noise.
The fingers inside him pull back, almost all the way out, then drive in again, re-angled, and Apollo’s vision blurs as he cries out.
“Ah, looks like I’m on the right track.” Klavier sounds smug.
Focus, focus… Apollo tries to think past the jolts of pleasure still echoing through his nerves. He nudges at Klavier’s socks with his own toes, till they come off, and now Klavier’s left in nothing but a crumpled shirt, hanging off of one arm, and the ever-present G necklace glimmering against his chest. He looks raunchy as hell, and ridiculously pleased. “Herr Forehead, your determination knows no bounds, even here.”
“I can’t- with you like that. Unless you want me to rip it.”
Klavier laughs. “Now there’s a thought. Maybe another time.” Klavier’s fingers slide out of him, and Apollo whimpers at the loss. His hands fumble on the final button, and Klavier’s shirt goes sailing across the room.
“I’m not doing the necklace and I’m definitely not doing your earrings,” he manages, before Klavier’s mouth covers his again, and Klavier’s lube-free hand finds one of his nipples, pinching and tugging hard.
“Please, Klavier, I’m begging you!” And he’s never, not in a million years going to live this down, is he? Fuck. If Klavier chooses to tease him more, now, to ask what he’s begging for, Apollo swears he will- He’s not even sure what he will, but by God, he will!
The head of Klavier’s cock nudges his asshole, and Klavier’s hand on his hip is all that’s keeping Apollo from jamming himself down on it all at once, in a single movement of friction and light.
“Shhh, shatzi, shhh… You’ll have yours soon enough. Just don’t hurt yourself.” The hand on his hip guides him down, down, and he’s still controlling Apollo’s every movement, the smug bastard. Apollo groans at the stretch of it. The head is always the - nngh - hardest part, and once that’s in, the rest is a swift, breathless slide into madness.
Klavier doesn’t give him time to breathe, once he’s inside, rocking up into him, hard and fast, making Apollo keen, deep in his throat, as he rises and falls to meet him. So deep, fuck, he can almost taste it, feel it behind his teeth, at the roof of his mouth. So full he can’t think of anything else.
Klavier doesn’t touch Apollo’s cock till Apollo is already close, seconds away from exploding with sensation, mind coming apart in a shower of sparks and neurons, just from being fucked. Klavier’s hand is warm, slightly rough with guitar calluses, his touch firm and gentle. A couple of strokes is all it takes for Apollo to pulse in his grip, coming hard, suspended in a single glorious, overwhelming moment, coaxed out and lengthened by Klavier’s fingers. His mouth feels dry in the aftermath, the back of his throat raw, like he’s been shouting.
Klavier is still moving inside him, sending oversensitized aftershocks rippling through him, making Apollo moan with every rough slide and nudge. It’s good and it’s too much, all at the same time. It floods him with tenderness for the man beneath him, makes him pivot his hips, oncoming exhaustion be damned, makes him squeeze down deliberately around him, just to watch the pleasure and shock of it playing across Klavier’s face.
Apollo’s legs are trembling, about to give way, when he feels Klavier surge up into him one last time, muffling a groan against Apollo’s neck. Only after that does he allow himself to pull free and collapse against Klavier in a great heap. He can hear Klavier murmuring endearments in a mishmash of languages - pretty sure some of those aren’t even real words, but what’s words, right now?
“Gott, how are you this-? You exist.” And that is the dopey-est grin Apollo has ever seen in his life.
“R-really? I haven’t noticed.” His voice is still a little shaky. All of him is still a little shaky, and clingy, scrubbed right down to the flesh. Klavier rubs his back, one-handed, strokes his hair, until the shivers subside.
“How’re you doing?”
Apollo’s eyes are starting to drift shut. “Good. You?”
“I’m perfect. Couldn’t be better.”
“Egotist.”
Klavier kisses him again, nips his ear. “Would you rather I say you were perfect? I could, but then I would be entering territories too sappy for even me.”
Apollo wrinkles his nose to cover his smile. “Yeah, okay, cut down on the mushy stuff. That was good, though. Really, really good.”
“You certainly sounded like you were having fun. If only you were so obedient and responsive in the courtroom.”
“Shyeah, dare to dream big.” He’s this close to asking ‘so you didn’t think me wanting that was strange?’ but Klavier had been the one to suggest it. Had clearly gotten off on it, too, so maybe Apollo’s neurotic streak can take a break for a change.
“So, what else do you want to try?” he asks instead.
Klavier tsks at him. “Oh no you don’t. It’s your turn, this time, Herr Forehead. Fair and square.”
“What if that was what I wanted?” Ugh, that sounded sulky. Re-do, re-do! “Okay, fine, how about this? I want to suck you, next time, with your hands in my hair like that. The way you had them for a while. Yeah.” He feels ridiculous. How does Klavier do this part so easily? Talk about it so easily? “I want to see how long it takes till you can’t talk anymore, cause shutting you up? Yeah, that’s how I know I’m doing it right. “And maybe we could try the handcuffs thing, like you said. Or just your hands, pinning me against the bed, or the wall, or…”
And so many other things! In some of the fantasies flashing through his mind, he’s the one shoving Klavier against that wall, pushing those long legs apart, biting down right where his neck meets his shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Listening to the very noises he makes come apart, words to not-words, to wordless cries. So many things, God. Too many to deal with, all in one night. He wants so much with this man, and no lie, that scares him a little, even when he’s not tired and coming down from a high.
He looks up, and Klavier’s eyes are several shades darker, deep ocean instead of sky. “Keep going.”
Apollo makes a face. “Later. Geez, what I really want right now is to pass out for a bit.”
“Well, if that’s what you need, Herr Greis.”
“I’m two years younger than you, asshole. And if you say you’re up for anything more right now, I say your testimony’s full of shit.”
“Oh, but in twenty minutes…”
“In twenty minutes, I’m going to kick your ass. ...Which I’m starting to think you’re begging me to do.”
“I could beg prettier.”
Now it’s Apollo’s turn to smirk. “I know you could. Also? You’re not allowed to use ‘Objection’ as a safeword.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“It reminds me of my job. And also my boss, who’s practically my dad.”
“Has Herr Wright patented the word without my noticing it? Nein, I do not think so.”
“...Actually, maybe total boner kill is okay, for a safeword. Fine.”
“I win.” Klavier rolls them over, so that his head is on Apollo’s chest. The weight is a secure, comfortable one.
“Thank you,” Apollo says, quiet and honest.
Klavier tilts up his head to kiss Apollo’s chin. “It was my pleasure. You’re lovely, when you’re all mine, like that. Lovely at all times, but especially then.”
“Sap,” Apollo says again, breathes in deep, feeling his muscles tense and relax. He’s a lucky guy, not that he’s gonna say it. Not unless he wants the rock star to crow about it for weeks. Klavier’s hair falls loose, brushing against his chest, almost ticklish. It’s going to be a tangle, come morning, Apollo thinks, but he’s already falling asleep. He’ll think about tangled hair, scattered clothing and hot showers later. Now is for Klavier’s hand resting on his arm, Klavier’s face nestled in his shoulder, Klavier’s breaths, even and falling into rhythm with his.
