[Fic] Ace Attorney: As The Body Tells It
Aug. 7th, 2014 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mllelaurelFandom: Ace Attorney
Title: As The Body Tells It
Characters: Apollo Justice, Klavier Gavin
Pairings: Klavier/Apollo
Rating: E/NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Apollo's Perceive can't help but sense arousal, along with the normal lies and nervousness tells. (Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme)
Perceive: It's more than just for lies.
So we all know that Apollo uses his abilities to see twitches when ppl are lying/nervous...but what about how ppl react during arousal?
Anon was thinking that either, Apollo's ability to see his partner's tells in an aroused state either:
A) really gets him off and so he likes to tie and blind fold his partner so that he can get full study of their body.
B) makes him unable to focus on the whole act because he keeps zeroing in on specific points on hiis partner, so his partner blind folds /ties Apollo up so that Apollo can be present in the act.
I would love either scenario to be Klapollo :)
Apollo is getting better at screening out random people’s tells. He couldn’t care less if the woman in line in front of him, at Starbucks, isn’t actually busy tonight, the way she’s telling someone over the phone, or if the man wondering if he’s accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, on his doorstep, at five in the morning, is nervous. Probably over the thunderclouds in Apollo’s eyes, at being woken up on one of his rare days off. Hell, if he paid that kind of attention to everyone, if he couldn’t turn it off, he’d be left unable to watch a freakin’ movie. Most actors aren’t method enough to convince themselves their character’s inner world represents the actual truth.
It’s the people he knows better, the ones he has a reason to care about, that are the problem. He knows when Herr Wright has drunk one of Trucy’s last sodas and is trying to wriggle out of it. When Prosecutor Blackquill is milling around the office just to see Athena, instead of stopping by for a forgotten file, like he claims. When Athena herself clasps Widget, as though for good luck, but really to hide the mood on its digital face.
He knows what Klavier looks like, when he’s vulnerable. The way he gazes upward, eyes hidden. The way he unconsciously bares his throat, even in moments when he’d rather huddle in and find his armor. He knows, as well, how that vulnerability translates to the bedroom, the line of his jaw relaxing, eyes shading a deeper blue.
Klavier’s the reason he first realized Perceive extended beyond lies and unease, and boy was that awkward. Looking at the prosecutor, from across the courtroom, right after the verdict was announced, and realizing that the way his lips parted, the way he swallowed so very deliberately, had nothing to do with exertion. Stranger still, to realize that he, Apollo, was the one causing these reactions.
Guess some people just had a fetish for having their asses kicked legally. Well, Klavier was in for a string of very exciting afternoons, if that was the case.
Not that Klavier’s alone in it, exactly. Not like Apollo’s own mouth doesn’t go dry, when he thinks about the cocky grin on the prosecutor’s face, when he actually manages to trip up Apollo’s logic, or the way his pointing finger seems to beacon to Apollo, suggestive. Apollo’s just not as obvious about it.
He hopes…
Apollo has to work not to notice it, after that. All it takes is a small gesture, the prosecutor leaning his elbows on the stand, and Apollo’s eyes narrow in on him. Everything else disappears, as Klavier inhales sharply, and there’s something almost terrifying, in using your eyes to Perceive and finding your subject looking right back at you, equally intent. A taste of his own medicine, Apollo supposes.
“Trying to catch me in a contradiction, are you, Herr Forehead?” Klavier asks, as recess is called, and Apollo has to look away, before he turns crimson. “Ach, it’s like that, then, is it?” And he finds himself pressed up against the wall, Klavier’s mouth hot against his, ringed fingers tangling in his lapels. He loops his arms around Klavier’s waist, pulls him closer, and they almost miss the trial being called back in session.
“Later,” Klavier whispers in his ear, and Apollo’s determination to focus on his refreshingly boring client could practically count as a superpower, in and of itself.
***
Later can’t come soon enough, but when it does… oh, when it does, Apollo makes sure to enjoy it. Klavier’s body spread out under him, hips flush against his, grinding slow and deliberate. Pinning Klavier’s wrists to the headboard. “Keep them there,” and the grin Klavier flashes him in return is all heat and challenge, as his fingers curl around the bars.
“Ja, mein Herr.” Like he’s not planning on turning the game around, when Apollo least expects it, but that’s part of the fun. He’s never predictable. Neither of them is, only Apollo has an advantage. Isn’t afraid to cheat, as Klavier would call it.
It’s not exactly rocket science, being able to tell that Klavier’s turned on, right now, naked and posing, every inch of golden skin on display. Klavier knows he’s gorgeous, luxuriates in it, and it’s not like Apollo can complain, knowing the sheen of sweat on Klavier’s skin, the hardness of his cock, that’s all for him. He did this. Apollo Justice. And that’s a hell of a thing.
“Close your eyes,” he says, and Klavier’s eyelids drift shut on command, his eyelashes a light, sandy frame, just above his cheekbones. Apollo watches those eyelids flutter for a moment, imagining, anticipating, and holds still. Lets Klavier’s wildly inventive mind do all the work for him.
He keeps his touch light and teasing, at first, fingers brushing over Klavier’s thighs, ribs, belly. He knows he’s tickling, and Klavier is ticklish. Payback in kind for the countless times Klavier’s done it to him, but when Klavier squirms, it isn’t just to get away. Not from the way his back arches. It’s like he doesn’t care how Apollo is touching him, so long as it’s Apollo and touch. His head rolls back, baring his throat again, and Apollo goes after it like a hunter, mouth hungry for the taste of warm skin and the drumbeat of Klavier’s pulse against his lips. Here, Apollo can feel every noise Klavier makes before he hears it, catch every vibration.
Klavier’s heartbeat is rapid, his breaths ragged and eager. Apollo moves down, kissing a trail from his throat all the way to his chest. He can almost taste the sunlight in Klavier’s tan. “Fuck, you’re hot.” Like Klavier doesn’t know that already, but Apollo saying it still has an effect. Apollo feels him inhale sharply, the sound of it caught in his throat, diaphragm hollowing out, then expanding.
“Apollo.” And yeah, Apollo gets it, because it’s not like Klavier saying his name like that doesn’t do a number on him.
“I’ve got you,” Apollo says, voice low, and then his mouth closes over one of Klavier’s nipples, tongue stroking against the raised flesh.
Klavier’s hands tighten around the bars of the headboard, knuckles going white, silver rings flashing. Apollo’s eyes are drawn to those rings, spotlights in miniature. He knows what skin and metal taste like, together, when those fingers are in his mouth, salt and tang, a smoky sort of warmth.
“Baby, please.” Down he goes, until he can see the muscles in Klavier’s thighs shift and contract. Kisses his hipbone, open-mouthed, leaving a mark where no one but him will ever see it. Wraps his lips around the head of Klavier’s cock, tracing the ridge of it, before moving further down still, to the heavy curve of his balls.
Klavier’s extra sensitive there. Most guys are. He hisses at the slow drag of Apollo’s tongue, toes curling and bunching in the sheets, in Apollo’s ever-present peripheral vision. His voice nearly cracks, when Apollo’s mouth engulfs him, one testicle at a time, gentle and thorough.
This is the moment when Klavier’s composure finally breaks, hands leaving their post, burrowing into Apollo’s hair. Apollo could have predicted as much, from the way his body was tensing, but he lets Klavier get away with it, for just a few seconds, before pulling up.
He loves those hands in his hair. Can’t get away from the fact. The tug and solid weight of them, the slight sting, the undertone of a fight for control, telling of Klavier’s need for him.
“Cheater,” he says, but Klavier’s cheating gives him an excuse to step up the game.
Klavier’s bedroom contains all kinds of fun surprises, along with a few things Apollo can’t even identify. It’s easy enough to find a length of hemp rope, just under the bed. It’s purple and well-worn in. Soft to the touch, while still retaining that hint of roughness. Klavier grins again, as Apollo wrestles his arms back against the headboard, lashes them to the bars. His knots are sloppy, unprofessional, but they’ll do, for now.
“Maybe this will keep you still.” One more thing… Some kind of scarf. Black silk. Maybe belonging to some girl Klavier had brought home long ago, or maybe here just for fun. Apollo ties it over Klavier’s eyes, taking care not to snag the other man’s long hair.
Something in Klavier’s shoulders relaxes, when the blindfold comes down. He breathes, in, then out again, chest rising and falling. Peaceful, and utterly beautiful.
Apollo rests their foreheads together, for a moment, kisses him, close-mouthed, then gets back to what he was doing.
Klavier’s cock is slick with precome, and he can’t help but buck into Apollo’s mouth. Apollo makes a mock-annoyed noise around it, and tries to relax, feels it rub against the back of his throat. Remembers what it feels like, when it’s Klavier’s mouth on him, hot and hungry, and feels his own cock twitch in response.
There’s a bottle of lube in easy reach, convenient, easy to work one-handed. The stuff feels slippery and cool on Apollo’s fingers, and Klavier shudders as Apollo slides one of those slick fingers over his perineum. His body arches again, from his hips all the way to his shoulderblades, bowstring-tense and pliant, all at the same time, inviting Apollo in.
He doesn’t need to be overly-gentle with Klavier when he’s doing this. Gentle’s not what Klavier wants, not when he can piston himself down onto Apollo’s fingers, up into his mouth, singer’s voice going hoarse. A rattle of headboard bars tells Apollo when he’s found what he’s looking for, and he twists his wrist, curls his fingers, keeps going for that spot with a vengeance, spurred on by Klavier’s cries.
Klavier’s tight and soft around him, muscles pulsing and releasing, the rhythm of it making Apollo’s head swim. ‘Love you like this,’ he wants to say, but in the absence of words, he just lets himself sink into the rhythm set by Klavier’s impatient hips, till his mouth is all but flush against Klavier’s pubic bone, then up, and down again, rapt, forgetting to breathe through his nose, the way he should.
There’s a very subtle difference in the way Klavier’s abs tighten when he’s straining against his bonds, and when he’s about to come. This time, it’s both at once, a flurry of nigh-imperceptible signals, and a cry of Apollo’s name, as Apollo finally breathes and smiles.
***
Other days, it doesn’t go so smoothly. Days when Apollo can smell the Santa Anas in the wind, with his shirt plastered to his back and the roar of traffic lingering in his ears, long after he’s stepped inside. When his bracelet grinds into his wrist and his eyes burn with every quirk of a stranger’s eyebrow, every twitchy elbow, every drumming set of fingernails. Their lies and worries, dreams and nightmares whisper to him, leaving him oversensitized, overstimulated, just plain over.
It doesn’t happen all that often anymore, but ‘not that often’ isn’t ‘never.’
Days like this, Klavier usually finds him on the living room couch, in the dark. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes when Klavier brushes his hair back from his forehead, touches his fingertips to Apollo’s eyelids.
“Migraine?” he asks, and Apollo almost says yes, because it’s close enough, but he shakes his head. He shakes it again, when Klavier asks if something happened. In his mind’s eye, he can see Klavier’s lips drawn into a thin line, eyes alert with worry.
“Known bug,” he says, and hears Klavier exhale, feels the couch next to him dip and an arm slide around his shoulders. It should add to the too much of everything, but the air conditioning is on at full blast, and Klavier’s touch grounds him, bringing him down from the heat and noise of the day.
***
He wakes again, later that night. Late enough that Klavier’s lying next to him, sprawled out on his stomach, instead of in his workshop, trying to pull a song out of his head, or in his office, stewing over a case. The window’s been opened, and the night air smells of ocean and green things.
Klavier stirs, when he feels him get up, blinking his way out of sleep.
“Feeling better?” His voice is muzzy and warm, like hot chocolate on a winter night, back in Wisconsin.
In the glow of the digital clock, Apollo can see the sheets Klavier’s draped over himself tent ever-so-slightly. Not a full erection yet, but definitely the beginnings of one. Must have been quite a dream. “Looks like you’re feeling pretty good,” he muses.
Klavier laughs, finds Apollo’s fingers in the dark and pulls Apollo to lie back down. “And who’s to blame for that, hmm?”
Apollo rolls his eyes as Klavier flicks on the bedside lamp. It makes his skin look kind of orange, but Apollo can still admire his musculature, as he stretches. He can’t help the contented sigh, which escapes when Klavier kisses the space right below his ear, or when Klavier’s hands skate over his shoulders, pressing down right where they meet his neck.
“Relax,” Klavier whispers, and right on cue, Perceive flares up again, illuminating every drop of sweat on Klavier’s brow, highlighting his every breath. He tries to ignore the pulse of it, to focus on Klavier’s touch, but even that threatens to fall away beneath the onslaught of information.
Klavier shifts his weight onto his elbows, when he’s about to move. His lips purse slightly, when he drops a kiss to Apollo’s navel. Apollo wants, so badly, to just relax for him and enjoy it, but it’s still too fucking much.
Klavier’s hands fold over his eyes, as if to say ‘guess who?’ and it's blissful, immediate relief.
“Do you trust me?”
“I’m not falling off of any logs for you, at four in the morning,” Apollo grumbles.
Klavier trails a finger down his spine, making Apollo shiver. “Then trust me enough to make you feel good.”
Apollo swallows, and nods. Of course he trusts Klavier. How could he not?
Klavier rummages under the bed, pulling out that familiar black scarf. The silk feels watery-cool on Apollo’s face. Splatters of light still filter through it, but it’s enough not to see in detail anymore. Klavier’s fingertips slide just under the cloth, brushing over his cheekbones, playfully tapping the bridge of his nose.
“Roll over,” Klavier says, in a low, quiet voice which still leaves Apollo weak in the knees and easily suggestible, if he lets it. The sheets are smooth and body-warmed beneath him, and he shifts and shuffles until he finds a cooler patch.
Apollo feels the gust of Klavier’s breath a fraction of a second before the touch of his lips, as Klavier leans in to kiss his shoulder. The warmth of it seeps into him, makes him smile into the pillow under his chin.
He’s not exactly surprised, when Klavier pulls his arms behind his back, lines them up in parallel. His shoulders strain, then adjust, as lines of rope settle along his wrists and forearms. Klavier threads the ends through, the whole mass of it smooth and secure, like twist-textured fingerless gloves.
Klavier shoves another pillow under his hips, making Apollo flush and squirm, suddenly aware of his ass pointing upwards, as though Klavier’s putting on a show, with him as the centerpiece. He’s been doing a pretty good job of ignoring his own dick, so far, but it won’t be ignored for much longer.
That better not be his pillow it’s rubbing against. Hell if he’s putting his face on that, afterwards.
“I’m still here.” Klavier says, even as Apollo feels the warmth of his body withdraw, hears the rumble of another drawer being opened. “I wish you could see yourself like this.”
“Why, so I could die of embarrassment and leave you all the money I don’t have?”
He can practically hear Klavier roll his eyes. “Ja, Herr Forehead. This is all an embezzlement scheme, on my part. It’s how I’ve made the rest of my fortune, didn’t you know?” A night breeze picks up, outside, darting in through the window, cool air whispering over Apollo’s skin. It’s joined by another spot of coolness, right against his opening, slippery wet and swiftly followed by what feels like a strip of rubber or cellophane.
“Is that a-” Klavier doesn’t reply, only presses down lightly, stretching the dental dam and spreading the lube around. “Oh, God!” If Apollo could still see, his vision would have nearly doubled, even before the first touch of Klavier’s tongue on his ass.
How can it feel this intense, even through the barrier? Like silk and liquid fire, and the pounding of blood, and he doesn’t even know what noises he’s garbling, right now, as Klavier’s tongue strokes over him, then darts inside.
It’s a little like being fucked, but not really, and his body opens up to it, unquestioning. Klavier’s mouth is open, small vibrations cascading over Apollo’s skin as he hums, too quiet to be heard. “Please, please, please,” and he can’t gulp in breaths of air fast enough, can’t think, can’t bring himself to mind, as Klavier’s hand closes around the base of his cock, stroking up, too slow to be anything but maddening.
“Come on!” He strains against the ropes, feels them dig in, and even that feels good, rough and exciting, like the climax of an action film, or the culmination of a tense, uncertain trial.
Klavier’s eyes must be hazy and midnight blue, right now, his pupils blown, the muscles in his arms trembling slightly, the arch of his throat laid bare against Apollo’s hip. As lost as Apollo is feeling right now, and there’s comfort in that, both of them affected instead of just one, together in this.
One of Klavier’s fingers dips beneath the barrier, tracing the edge of his hole, where it’s tender and sensitive. Not even pressing in, just there, massaging him open, ever so slightly, as the hand on Apollo’s cock speeds up, at long last.
Apollo’s eyes squeeze shut beneath the blindfold when he comes, pink and white light dancing on the backs of his eyelids, knees nearly slipping out from under him.
***
He looks up, blinking, after, and all he sees is the smile on Klavier’s face, luminous and unguarded. For some, a smile can be a different sort of tell. Even Klavier’s own take on a certain flat edge, when they’re meant for the magazines. But right now, even Perceive wouldn’t find a hidden motive. This smile is joy, plain and simple, making something inside Apollo’s chest stutter and melt.
The body never lies, as honest as the man he is with, and when Klavier smiles, it lights something inside Apollo as well. He braces his hands on either side of Klavier's shoulders and matches him, grin for grin. The night is young, and he's looking forward to finding out what else their bodies can tell one another.
Title: As The Body Tells It
Characters: Apollo Justice, Klavier Gavin
Pairings: Klavier/Apollo
Rating: E/NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Apollo's Perceive can't help but sense arousal, along with the normal lies and nervousness tells. (Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme)
Perceive: It's more than just for lies.
So we all know that Apollo uses his abilities to see twitches when ppl are lying/nervous...but what about how ppl react during arousal?
Anon was thinking that either, Apollo's ability to see his partner's tells in an aroused state either:
A) really gets him off and so he likes to tie and blind fold his partner so that he can get full study of their body.
B) makes him unable to focus on the whole act because he keeps zeroing in on specific points on hiis partner, so his partner blind folds /ties Apollo up so that Apollo can be present in the act.
I would love either scenario to be Klapollo :)
Apollo is getting better at screening out random people’s tells. He couldn’t care less if the woman in line in front of him, at Starbucks, isn’t actually busy tonight, the way she’s telling someone over the phone, or if the man wondering if he’s accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, on his doorstep, at five in the morning, is nervous. Probably over the thunderclouds in Apollo’s eyes, at being woken up on one of his rare days off. Hell, if he paid that kind of attention to everyone, if he couldn’t turn it off, he’d be left unable to watch a freakin’ movie. Most actors aren’t method enough to convince themselves their character’s inner world represents the actual truth.
It’s the people he knows better, the ones he has a reason to care about, that are the problem. He knows when Herr Wright has drunk one of Trucy’s last sodas and is trying to wriggle out of it. When Prosecutor Blackquill is milling around the office just to see Athena, instead of stopping by for a forgotten file, like he claims. When Athena herself clasps Widget, as though for good luck, but really to hide the mood on its digital face.
He knows what Klavier looks like, when he’s vulnerable. The way he gazes upward, eyes hidden. The way he unconsciously bares his throat, even in moments when he’d rather huddle in and find his armor. He knows, as well, how that vulnerability translates to the bedroom, the line of his jaw relaxing, eyes shading a deeper blue.
Klavier’s the reason he first realized Perceive extended beyond lies and unease, and boy was that awkward. Looking at the prosecutor, from across the courtroom, right after the verdict was announced, and realizing that the way his lips parted, the way he swallowed so very deliberately, had nothing to do with exertion. Stranger still, to realize that he, Apollo, was the one causing these reactions.
Guess some people just had a fetish for having their asses kicked legally. Well, Klavier was in for a string of very exciting afternoons, if that was the case.
Not that Klavier’s alone in it, exactly. Not like Apollo’s own mouth doesn’t go dry, when he thinks about the cocky grin on the prosecutor’s face, when he actually manages to trip up Apollo’s logic, or the way his pointing finger seems to beacon to Apollo, suggestive. Apollo’s just not as obvious about it.
He hopes…
Apollo has to work not to notice it, after that. All it takes is a small gesture, the prosecutor leaning his elbows on the stand, and Apollo’s eyes narrow in on him. Everything else disappears, as Klavier inhales sharply, and there’s something almost terrifying, in using your eyes to Perceive and finding your subject looking right back at you, equally intent. A taste of his own medicine, Apollo supposes.
“Trying to catch me in a contradiction, are you, Herr Forehead?” Klavier asks, as recess is called, and Apollo has to look away, before he turns crimson. “Ach, it’s like that, then, is it?” And he finds himself pressed up against the wall, Klavier’s mouth hot against his, ringed fingers tangling in his lapels. He loops his arms around Klavier’s waist, pulls him closer, and they almost miss the trial being called back in session.
“Later,” Klavier whispers in his ear, and Apollo’s determination to focus on his refreshingly boring client could practically count as a superpower, in and of itself.
***
Later can’t come soon enough, but when it does… oh, when it does, Apollo makes sure to enjoy it. Klavier’s body spread out under him, hips flush against his, grinding slow and deliberate. Pinning Klavier’s wrists to the headboard. “Keep them there,” and the grin Klavier flashes him in return is all heat and challenge, as his fingers curl around the bars.
“Ja, mein Herr.” Like he’s not planning on turning the game around, when Apollo least expects it, but that’s part of the fun. He’s never predictable. Neither of them is, only Apollo has an advantage. Isn’t afraid to cheat, as Klavier would call it.
It’s not exactly rocket science, being able to tell that Klavier’s turned on, right now, naked and posing, every inch of golden skin on display. Klavier knows he’s gorgeous, luxuriates in it, and it’s not like Apollo can complain, knowing the sheen of sweat on Klavier’s skin, the hardness of his cock, that’s all for him. He did this. Apollo Justice. And that’s a hell of a thing.
“Close your eyes,” he says, and Klavier’s eyelids drift shut on command, his eyelashes a light, sandy frame, just above his cheekbones. Apollo watches those eyelids flutter for a moment, imagining, anticipating, and holds still. Lets Klavier’s wildly inventive mind do all the work for him.
He keeps his touch light and teasing, at first, fingers brushing over Klavier’s thighs, ribs, belly. He knows he’s tickling, and Klavier is ticklish. Payback in kind for the countless times Klavier’s done it to him, but when Klavier squirms, it isn’t just to get away. Not from the way his back arches. It’s like he doesn’t care how Apollo is touching him, so long as it’s Apollo and touch. His head rolls back, baring his throat again, and Apollo goes after it like a hunter, mouth hungry for the taste of warm skin and the drumbeat of Klavier’s pulse against his lips. Here, Apollo can feel every noise Klavier makes before he hears it, catch every vibration.
Klavier’s heartbeat is rapid, his breaths ragged and eager. Apollo moves down, kissing a trail from his throat all the way to his chest. He can almost taste the sunlight in Klavier’s tan. “Fuck, you’re hot.” Like Klavier doesn’t know that already, but Apollo saying it still has an effect. Apollo feels him inhale sharply, the sound of it caught in his throat, diaphragm hollowing out, then expanding.
“Apollo.” And yeah, Apollo gets it, because it’s not like Klavier saying his name like that doesn’t do a number on him.
“I’ve got you,” Apollo says, voice low, and then his mouth closes over one of Klavier’s nipples, tongue stroking against the raised flesh.
Klavier’s hands tighten around the bars of the headboard, knuckles going white, silver rings flashing. Apollo’s eyes are drawn to those rings, spotlights in miniature. He knows what skin and metal taste like, together, when those fingers are in his mouth, salt and tang, a smoky sort of warmth.
“Baby, please.” Down he goes, until he can see the muscles in Klavier’s thighs shift and contract. Kisses his hipbone, open-mouthed, leaving a mark where no one but him will ever see it. Wraps his lips around the head of Klavier’s cock, tracing the ridge of it, before moving further down still, to the heavy curve of his balls.
Klavier’s extra sensitive there. Most guys are. He hisses at the slow drag of Apollo’s tongue, toes curling and bunching in the sheets, in Apollo’s ever-present peripheral vision. His voice nearly cracks, when Apollo’s mouth engulfs him, one testicle at a time, gentle and thorough.
This is the moment when Klavier’s composure finally breaks, hands leaving their post, burrowing into Apollo’s hair. Apollo could have predicted as much, from the way his body was tensing, but he lets Klavier get away with it, for just a few seconds, before pulling up.
He loves those hands in his hair. Can’t get away from the fact. The tug and solid weight of them, the slight sting, the undertone of a fight for control, telling of Klavier’s need for him.
“Cheater,” he says, but Klavier’s cheating gives him an excuse to step up the game.
Klavier’s bedroom contains all kinds of fun surprises, along with a few things Apollo can’t even identify. It’s easy enough to find a length of hemp rope, just under the bed. It’s purple and well-worn in. Soft to the touch, while still retaining that hint of roughness. Klavier grins again, as Apollo wrestles his arms back against the headboard, lashes them to the bars. His knots are sloppy, unprofessional, but they’ll do, for now.
“Maybe this will keep you still.” One more thing… Some kind of scarf. Black silk. Maybe belonging to some girl Klavier had brought home long ago, or maybe here just for fun. Apollo ties it over Klavier’s eyes, taking care not to snag the other man’s long hair.
Something in Klavier’s shoulders relaxes, when the blindfold comes down. He breathes, in, then out again, chest rising and falling. Peaceful, and utterly beautiful.
Apollo rests their foreheads together, for a moment, kisses him, close-mouthed, then gets back to what he was doing.
Klavier’s cock is slick with precome, and he can’t help but buck into Apollo’s mouth. Apollo makes a mock-annoyed noise around it, and tries to relax, feels it rub against the back of his throat. Remembers what it feels like, when it’s Klavier’s mouth on him, hot and hungry, and feels his own cock twitch in response.
There’s a bottle of lube in easy reach, convenient, easy to work one-handed. The stuff feels slippery and cool on Apollo’s fingers, and Klavier shudders as Apollo slides one of those slick fingers over his perineum. His body arches again, from his hips all the way to his shoulderblades, bowstring-tense and pliant, all at the same time, inviting Apollo in.
He doesn’t need to be overly-gentle with Klavier when he’s doing this. Gentle’s not what Klavier wants, not when he can piston himself down onto Apollo’s fingers, up into his mouth, singer’s voice going hoarse. A rattle of headboard bars tells Apollo when he’s found what he’s looking for, and he twists his wrist, curls his fingers, keeps going for that spot with a vengeance, spurred on by Klavier’s cries.
Klavier’s tight and soft around him, muscles pulsing and releasing, the rhythm of it making Apollo’s head swim. ‘Love you like this,’ he wants to say, but in the absence of words, he just lets himself sink into the rhythm set by Klavier’s impatient hips, till his mouth is all but flush against Klavier’s pubic bone, then up, and down again, rapt, forgetting to breathe through his nose, the way he should.
There’s a very subtle difference in the way Klavier’s abs tighten when he’s straining against his bonds, and when he’s about to come. This time, it’s both at once, a flurry of nigh-imperceptible signals, and a cry of Apollo’s name, as Apollo finally breathes and smiles.
***
Other days, it doesn’t go so smoothly. Days when Apollo can smell the Santa Anas in the wind, with his shirt plastered to his back and the roar of traffic lingering in his ears, long after he’s stepped inside. When his bracelet grinds into his wrist and his eyes burn with every quirk of a stranger’s eyebrow, every twitchy elbow, every drumming set of fingernails. Their lies and worries, dreams and nightmares whisper to him, leaving him oversensitized, overstimulated, just plain over.
It doesn’t happen all that often anymore, but ‘not that often’ isn’t ‘never.’
Days like this, Klavier usually finds him on the living room couch, in the dark. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes when Klavier brushes his hair back from his forehead, touches his fingertips to Apollo’s eyelids.
“Migraine?” he asks, and Apollo almost says yes, because it’s close enough, but he shakes his head. He shakes it again, when Klavier asks if something happened. In his mind’s eye, he can see Klavier’s lips drawn into a thin line, eyes alert with worry.
“Known bug,” he says, and hears Klavier exhale, feels the couch next to him dip and an arm slide around his shoulders. It should add to the too much of everything, but the air conditioning is on at full blast, and Klavier’s touch grounds him, bringing him down from the heat and noise of the day.
***
He wakes again, later that night. Late enough that Klavier’s lying next to him, sprawled out on his stomach, instead of in his workshop, trying to pull a song out of his head, or in his office, stewing over a case. The window’s been opened, and the night air smells of ocean and green things.
Klavier stirs, when he feels him get up, blinking his way out of sleep.
“Feeling better?” His voice is muzzy and warm, like hot chocolate on a winter night, back in Wisconsin.
In the glow of the digital clock, Apollo can see the sheets Klavier’s draped over himself tent ever-so-slightly. Not a full erection yet, but definitely the beginnings of one. Must have been quite a dream. “Looks like you’re feeling pretty good,” he muses.
Klavier laughs, finds Apollo’s fingers in the dark and pulls Apollo to lie back down. “And who’s to blame for that, hmm?”
Apollo rolls his eyes as Klavier flicks on the bedside lamp. It makes his skin look kind of orange, but Apollo can still admire his musculature, as he stretches. He can’t help the contented sigh, which escapes when Klavier kisses the space right below his ear, or when Klavier’s hands skate over his shoulders, pressing down right where they meet his neck.
“Relax,” Klavier whispers, and right on cue, Perceive flares up again, illuminating every drop of sweat on Klavier’s brow, highlighting his every breath. He tries to ignore the pulse of it, to focus on Klavier’s touch, but even that threatens to fall away beneath the onslaught of information.
Klavier shifts his weight onto his elbows, when he’s about to move. His lips purse slightly, when he drops a kiss to Apollo’s navel. Apollo wants, so badly, to just relax for him and enjoy it, but it’s still too fucking much.
Klavier’s hands fold over his eyes, as if to say ‘guess who?’ and it's blissful, immediate relief.
“Do you trust me?”
“I’m not falling off of any logs for you, at four in the morning,” Apollo grumbles.
Klavier trails a finger down his spine, making Apollo shiver. “Then trust me enough to make you feel good.”
Apollo swallows, and nods. Of course he trusts Klavier. How could he not?
Klavier rummages under the bed, pulling out that familiar black scarf. The silk feels watery-cool on Apollo’s face. Splatters of light still filter through it, but it’s enough not to see in detail anymore. Klavier’s fingertips slide just under the cloth, brushing over his cheekbones, playfully tapping the bridge of his nose.
“Roll over,” Klavier says, in a low, quiet voice which still leaves Apollo weak in the knees and easily suggestible, if he lets it. The sheets are smooth and body-warmed beneath him, and he shifts and shuffles until he finds a cooler patch.
Apollo feels the gust of Klavier’s breath a fraction of a second before the touch of his lips, as Klavier leans in to kiss his shoulder. The warmth of it seeps into him, makes him smile into the pillow under his chin.
He’s not exactly surprised, when Klavier pulls his arms behind his back, lines them up in parallel. His shoulders strain, then adjust, as lines of rope settle along his wrists and forearms. Klavier threads the ends through, the whole mass of it smooth and secure, like twist-textured fingerless gloves.
Klavier shoves another pillow under his hips, making Apollo flush and squirm, suddenly aware of his ass pointing upwards, as though Klavier’s putting on a show, with him as the centerpiece. He’s been doing a pretty good job of ignoring his own dick, so far, but it won’t be ignored for much longer.
That better not be his pillow it’s rubbing against. Hell if he’s putting his face on that, afterwards.
“I’m still here.” Klavier says, even as Apollo feels the warmth of his body withdraw, hears the rumble of another drawer being opened. “I wish you could see yourself like this.”
“Why, so I could die of embarrassment and leave you all the money I don’t have?”
He can practically hear Klavier roll his eyes. “Ja, Herr Forehead. This is all an embezzlement scheme, on my part. It’s how I’ve made the rest of my fortune, didn’t you know?” A night breeze picks up, outside, darting in through the window, cool air whispering over Apollo’s skin. It’s joined by another spot of coolness, right against his opening, slippery wet and swiftly followed by what feels like a strip of rubber or cellophane.
“Is that a-” Klavier doesn’t reply, only presses down lightly, stretching the dental dam and spreading the lube around. “Oh, God!” If Apollo could still see, his vision would have nearly doubled, even before the first touch of Klavier’s tongue on his ass.
How can it feel this intense, even through the barrier? Like silk and liquid fire, and the pounding of blood, and he doesn’t even know what noises he’s garbling, right now, as Klavier’s tongue strokes over him, then darts inside.
It’s a little like being fucked, but not really, and his body opens up to it, unquestioning. Klavier’s mouth is open, small vibrations cascading over Apollo’s skin as he hums, too quiet to be heard. “Please, please, please,” and he can’t gulp in breaths of air fast enough, can’t think, can’t bring himself to mind, as Klavier’s hand closes around the base of his cock, stroking up, too slow to be anything but maddening.
“Come on!” He strains against the ropes, feels them dig in, and even that feels good, rough and exciting, like the climax of an action film, or the culmination of a tense, uncertain trial.
Klavier’s eyes must be hazy and midnight blue, right now, his pupils blown, the muscles in his arms trembling slightly, the arch of his throat laid bare against Apollo’s hip. As lost as Apollo is feeling right now, and there’s comfort in that, both of them affected instead of just one, together in this.
One of Klavier’s fingers dips beneath the barrier, tracing the edge of his hole, where it’s tender and sensitive. Not even pressing in, just there, massaging him open, ever so slightly, as the hand on Apollo’s cock speeds up, at long last.
Apollo’s eyes squeeze shut beneath the blindfold when he comes, pink and white light dancing on the backs of his eyelids, knees nearly slipping out from under him.
***
He looks up, blinking, after, and all he sees is the smile on Klavier’s face, luminous and unguarded. For some, a smile can be a different sort of tell. Even Klavier’s own take on a certain flat edge, when they’re meant for the magazines. But right now, even Perceive wouldn’t find a hidden motive. This smile is joy, plain and simple, making something inside Apollo’s chest stutter and melt.
The body never lies, as honest as the man he is with, and when Klavier smiles, it lights something inside Apollo as well. He braces his hands on either side of Klavier's shoulders and matches him, grin for grin. The night is young, and he's looking forward to finding out what else their bodies can tell one another.
