PW, "Something Like This," Apollo/Klavier, NC-17
WTF is up with this story? It was supposed to be like 1,000 words long, tops, and now it's like 3,500 words and that's just 'cause I got pissed with it and made it be over before it took over my life. It was supposed to be a quick story, damnit!
Anyway. It was a really fun story to write, I was surprised! And just what I needed here at the end of term to distract me from studying shit for my Spanish final that turns out wasn't even ON the fucking final ... anyway.
Enjoy the story! ♥
Something Like This
by mistr3ss Quickly
The fight goes something like this:
"I'm not a 'fucking prude!'" Apollo manages, finally, after Klavier Gavin's fourth (and most direct) attempt at groping him. "I'm just-" His mind swims, too much of that goddamn wine Klavier served with dinner, too much anger and confusion and ... whatever you call the feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach whenever Klavier treats him like he's just another groupie.
The thought of Klavier seducing some nameless, faceless groupie on the sofa Apollo has just gracelessly launched himself off of, just to get away from the damnably tempting hand that was trying to slip into his trousers to play with his personal parts, makes the feeling in the pit of his stomach turn mutinous. Makes him want to throw up.
As does the look on Klavier's face when the older man purses his lips and says: "I suppose you are correct, Herr Prude," his words crisp and bitter, more heavily accented than they are when he's sober. "You cannot be a fucking anything, ja? Not with that stick up your arse, anyway."
The wine slows Apollo's mind just enough that Klavier has a chance to smirk at him, until Apollo catches on. Then he curses, tumbling backwards as Apollo snarls and throws what's left of his wine-glass and all-in Klavier's face.
The wine also slows Klavier's feet. He doesn't quite make it to the front door in time to keep Apollo from storming out, doesn't have the energy to follow after the younger man as Apollo disappears into the night.
~*~*~*~
The following week goes something like this:
You have reached the answering service for the Wright Talent Agency and the office of Apollo Justice, Defense Attorney. Please leave a message at the tone with your name, number, and a brief message, and we will return you call as soon as we can.
"Ah, this is Klavier Gavin, I am trying to reach Herr Justice. I believe he has the number for both my office and cell phones. Please ask him to call me when he can, ja?"
Mr. Wright chuckles from his place on the sofa, his legs draped over the far armrest, arms crossed over his chest. The very picture of laziness.
"Don't delete it," he says, when Trucy puts her homework aside and stands up.
"But Polly said he didn't want to-"
"Yeah, I know." Wright opens one eye and smiles at his daughter. "Only way to save ourselves from hearing variations on the same theme sixty times a day is to make sure he has to hear them, too. He'll get sick of it eventually and make it stop."
Trucy frowns at her father. "All right," she says. "But I'm sick of them already."
Wright laughs. "Me too, Trucy," he says. "Me too."
~*~*~*~
The weekend goes something like this:
"I don't want to know how you got in here, do I."
A smile. A quiet sashay across the room. "Your door was unlocked, Herr Justice. I took it as an invitation."
A sigh. "I told Trucy to lock up behind her. So the door should've been locked."
"Mmm. So?"
A glare. "So go back out, let me lock up, and see what knocking does for you."
Laughter. "Oh my dear Apollo. You are more adorable when sulking than I had imagined."
Half a dozen roses, presented under the defense attorney's nose.
A moment.
"I don't want roses, Klavier. I'm too old and too busy for that kind of thing. Please go."
A mistake: glancing up to see very real hurt, written ever-so-briefly across Klavier's face.
Klavier leaves anyway. Apollo doesn't get up until he's gone, and then it's only to lock the door.
The roses stay, wilting on the corner of his desk.
~*~*~*~
The plan goes something like this:
Dinner at the little deli on the outskirts of the city, where it's quiet and unlikely that anyone they know will see them.
Conversation, about the last cases they've worked on, about people they know, about life in general.
Coffee, afterwards. Maybe discuss what happened at Klavier's flat.
No alcohol, though. Not until they get back to Klavier's flat together and Apollo seems willing. Receptive. Interested in accepting Klavier's apology and allowing Klavier to do all the wonderful things to him that Klavier had intended to do a week ago.
The only snag is how to get Apollo to go to out to dinner in the first place.
~*~*~*~
The reality of it goes something like this:
Klavier goes to bed alone, belly full of the cheap Chinese take-out he bought on a whim on his way home from the deli, his temper still flaring from being stood-up, even after Mr. Wright promised he'd come up with some excuse to get Apollo out where he needed to be for Klavier to sweep him off his feet. He curls up in bed dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts Daryan gave him as a gag gift, years ago, cuddles his pillow to his chest and glares at the wall, too angry to sleep, too tired to stay up any longer.
He's still fully awake when Apollo knocks on his door. Still pretty well pissed off when Apollo looks up at him, shy and fidgeting and damnably adorable, asking if he can come in for a bit.
"I, um. Should apologize," Apollo says, when Klavier leads him into the living room and offers him a seat, the same damn seat Apollo took the last time they were alone together like this with, all temptation and absolutely no chance for satisfaction anywhere on the horizon.
"For?" Klavier says, even though he can think of a few things of the top of his head for which Apollo could (should!) be sorry.
Apollo plays with his bracelet. Nervous. Twitchy.
"I knew you wanted to meet me at DiCamillo's, tonight," he says. "Mr. Wright ... I made him tell me, I could tell he was up to something." He glances at Klavier. Looks back down at his bracelet. "So I'm sorry for not going."
Klavier resists the urge to pitch what his brother used to call a "diva-fit." It takes a bit more effort than he'd expected.
"I see," he says, slowly. "And so you decide to show up now, at ..." A glance at the clock over his television "... eleven forty-five at night?"
Apollo blushes. He's cute when he blushes, which does funny things to Klavier's annoyance with him. Mainly turns it into jelly.
"I just ... I'm sorry."
Klavier rubs his hands over his face. "Herr Forehead," he says, "of all the-"
"And I wanted to know if you maybe wanted to play a board-game or something," Apollo says, all in a rush like he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't just spit it out. "I mean. Um. I know it's late, but ..."
He's pulling a deck of cards out of the pocket of his vest. One of Mr. Wright's, Klavier suspects, from the tattered state of the box. Holding it up for Klavier to see, watching the singer with big brown eyes.
Klavier can't imagine a human being on the planet who could resist such a look. He sits down across from Apollo and gestures.
"Very well," he says. "What are we playing?"
~*~*~*~
The game goes something like this:
It's Gin Rummy, because Klavier refuses to play Go Fish at midnight while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers printed with lipstick kisses while the man he desperately wants to nail sits across from him, glaring at a hand of cards like the game matters when it doesn't, or at least shouldn't. Klavier has four aces and one flush and needs a king of hearts when Apollo's face lights up and the younger man goes out, laying out his cards for Klavier to see that, indeed, he's won.
Klavier shuffles, the second time. Deals both hands and loses within six draws.
"Your cards," he growls, "are marked."
Apollo nearly falls off the sofa, flailing. "They are not!" he says. "I checked them myself! This was the only deck that wasn't marked!"
Klavier finds he hasn't the heart to argue with such sincerity. He gets up and gets himself a beer from the refrigerator, brings back one for Apollo, too.
Two more losing hands, one and a half bottles of beer, Apollo wincing every time he takes a sip of his own. Klavier sighs.
"Herr Forehead," he says, tossing down his losing hand and lacing his fingers together while Apollo collects up the cards and begins shuffling. "What are we doing?"
Apollo looks up at him. "Um," he says. "Playing c-"
"Why are you here, in the middle of the night, drinking my beer like it tastes of piss, and beating me mercilessly at a game I learned to play when I was seven?" Klavier clarifies.
Apollo's face goes a shade of red darker than his suit. "I wanted to apologize," he says, not quite looking Klavier in the eye. "And I wanted ..." A sigh. He looks up, meets Klavier's gaze. "I'm not just a piece of ass. I'm a grown man, and if you're going to, um. To touch me like you did, last time, then you, um. Need to respect who I am."
He hunches in on himself like a turtle, blush traveling up into the roots of his hair. Klavier blinks at him.
"You think that I do not respect you?" he says.
Apollo swallows hard. Then, slowly, he nods.
"You said I was a prude," he says, quietly. "Just because ... because I didn't want to, not when you were drunk. And trying to seduce me. Obviously." He squares his shoulders, the effect only slightly lessened by the way he's still blushing, the way his hands shake, fidgeting with the deck of cards in his hand. "If I'm interested in fucking you, I'll do it without you needing to coerce or trick me into it."
The room goes still. Klavier stares at him, mouth moving, but no words come out. He clears his throat, sits back in his chair.
"Well, Herr Blushy-Blushy," he says, finally. "It seems you win this round, too."
~*~*~*~
The rest of the night goes something like this:
Klavier announces that he's tired of losing at Gin Rummy, so they switch to Go Fish. Klavier wins and Apollo starts smiling, laughs a little when Klavier insists again on shuffling the cards.
The beer in Apollo's bottle slowly dwindles. Klavier gets him another.
Two more hands of Go Fish and Apollo curls his legs under himself, leans on the arm of the sofa. One hand later, he sets down his second bottle of beer and says he's going to rest his eyes until Klavier's got the next hand shuffled and dealt.
By the time Klavier's finished shuffling, he's fast asleep.
He's not very big and doesn't sleep very deeply, so he squirms and complains a bit when Klavier picks him up, grumbles tired threats against Klavier's bare chest when Klavier carries him into the bedroom and dumps him on the bed. When Klavier begins undressing him, Apollo swings a left hook that would have done much more damage were he not drunk and half asleep, shoves Klavier away when the blonde laughs at him and insists I can get undressed myself!
He falls asleep halfway through proving his capabilities. Klavier takes over, stripping him down to his briefs, then curls up beside him, a smile on his face as he drifts to sleep, as well.
~*~*~*~
The following morning goes something like this:
Klavier wakes early to a dream about falling off a waterfall and finds Apollo curled up beside him, eyes closed but eyelids fluttering. He slips out of the bedroom and uses the bathroom, splashes water on his face to distract himself from thoughts of how delicious Apollo looks while sleeping, how sweet and soft and vulnerable he seems, wrapped in soft cotton sheets.
Comes back to bed only to find Apollo watching him, sleep-blurry and yawning but awake, not bolting or fidgeting or shouting.
"Guten Morgen, beautiful," Klavier says, sliding into bed beside him. "Did you sleep well?"
Apollo nods. "Yeah. But 'm in my underwear," he says, pointing to his lap, which is still covered by the sheet. "We didn't, um. Do anything, did we?"
Klavier shakes his head. "Nein. We only slept."
"Oh," Apollo says, sagging a bit. "Good." He turns towards Klavier, smiling up at the older man through his eyelashes. "Thanks."
Klavier leans forward and presses a kiss to Apollo's forehead. "Bitte."
He rests his own forehead against Apollo's, eyes closed, content to be near the younger man, to have Apollo comfortable and relaxed around him, finally, as he'd been before the fight that started it all. The touch of Apollo's palm against his cheek surprises him, but not as much as the touch of Apollo's lips against his own, warm and dry and closed and gentle, almost tentative.
"Baby?" he says, when Apollo pulls away.
Apollo goes crimson. "Sorry."
Klavier grins and pushes him down. "Don't be," he says, moving to straddle Apollo's hips. "Ever."
Under him, Apollo smiles. "Okay," he says. "I won't."
~*~*~*~
The next five minutes go something like this:
Klavier kisses Apollo until he's hard enough that humping the younger man doesn't seem like such a bad idea to him. Humps Apollo until he's made enough of a mess of his shorts that getting naked sounds like a wonderful idea to him, almost as good as getting Apollo naked first.
Which he manages to do, half a second before Apollo bucks and rolls him, ending up on top of the older man.
"Ooh," Klavier says, reaching up to touch Apollo's nipples, which are surprisingly large on his otherwise small body. "Is this a competition now?"
Apollo blushes and bats Klavier's hands away from his nipples. "No, it's just ... you're kind of heavy," he says, like it's some embarrassing confession.
"Ah, true," Klavier says. "But now that you are up there, you surely have a plan, ja? What will you do with me, my dear Apollo?"
Apollo's eyes narrow, even as his face flushes crimson. Despite the way his hands shake as he lowers them, bracing himself against Klavier's shoulders, his cock is still stiff between his thighs, leaking precome into the curls below Klavier's navel.
"Stuff," he says. "Stuff so good it'll make you stop trying to flirt with me like that again. Ever."
One of Klavier's eyebrows lifts in surprise he doesn’t even try to mask. "Oh?" he says.
Apollo nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'm not one of your fans. I don't want you flirting. I want you like this. Horny. For me."
Klavier's cock twitches. He reaches up and cups Apollo's face in his hands, brings him down gently to be kissed.
"You have it," he murmurs against Apollo's lips. "And you always have. I am sorry you did not realize that, before."
~*~*~*~
From there, things go something like this:
Apollo presses himself fully against Klavier's body and kisses the older man, slow and careful but not at all chaste, his tongue slipping into Klavier's mouth to taste and tease until Klavier's breathing hard and moaning softly for him, hands tightening convulsively on Apollo's sides. They roll, Klavier pinning Apollo to the mattress with no trouble, and Apollo laughs into the kiss when Klavier's hair slips down to tickle his face.
They rock against each other when Apollo pushes, moving Klavier off of him enough that he's no longer completely trapped under the man's larger frame. Rub against each other while they kiss, and where it's not frotting, really, nothing desperate or urgent or animal about it, it's still nice, a building sort of pleasure that makes Klavier's heart pound hard against his ribs. It's just rubbing, rocking. Feeling and exploring and indulging, Klavier's moans tickling against Apollo's lips, Apollo's breath coming fast, washing warm across Klavier's cheek.
"My beautiful Apollo," Klavier murmurs, when it starts to be too much-or maybe not enough-and pulls Apollo on top of him. "Tell me what you want, baby. Anything, I'll do it, just name it."
Apollo shivers, eyes going unfocused as he rubs himself against Klavier like a cat, his nipples stiff, his cock leaking. Doesn't brush Klavier's hand away when the older man reaches down to squeeze his ass, pulling him forward in a faster, steady rhythm. Doesn't object when Klavier reaches between them with his other hand, gripping their cocks together, gently until they're a slick mess of precome, sliding smoothly against each other.
He closes his eyes and moves his hips and bites Klavier on the throat, sucks the sensitive skin there until Klavier shudders under him and curses in German, close and desperate and vulnerable. Takes charge of their movements when Klavier's rhythm falters, pushing himself up and thrusting hard, fucking Klavier's hand and Klavier's cock hard enough that Klavier cries out under him and comes, making a mess of himself, semen striping all the way up to his throat.
Apollo smiles, when Klavier looks up at him. Stops thrusting and moves so that Klavier can stroke only him, the sight of the singer's long fingers wrapped around him just as enticing as the feel of it touching him, drawing him closer and closer to completion.
"That's what I wanted," he admits softly, trembling as he nears orgasm. "To see you feel good. Because of me. Just me. I like that. It turns me on."
Klavier stares at him, speechless, whimpering softly as Apollo gasps and stiffens and starts to come, semen and sweat and utter carnal abandon like nothing Klavier's ever seen before, not even in his raunchiest, most detailed dreams.
~*~*~*~
The week following goes something like this:
Monday morning, Apollo meets Klavier in the courtroom, arguing a case in which a woman was apparently stabbed to death by her sister, although her sister swears that's not what happened at all.
Tuesday, midday, evidence comes to light that the living sister's DNA was not found on the handle of the murder weapon, but her alibi turns out to be flimsy and false, shredded after only a few of Klavier's questions.
Wednesday morning, the living sister's neighbor testifies, matching the description of a man she saw leaving the apartment with a photo of the man whose DNA was found on the murder weapon.
Thursday afternoon, Apollo's client breaks down on the stand and confesses everything, sobbing as she points to her former lover (who had been unfaithful to her with her sister) and testifies to his guilt.
Friday, all day, there's paperwork, and lots of it, a note clipped to one of Apollo's folders stating that Klavier will be prosecuting the unfaithful lover for murder, beginning sometime the following week. Beneath that is a hand-written note, an invitation for Apollo to come and watch the proceedings, then perhaps join Klavier for a late dinner at DiCamillo's.
Apollo rolls his eyes and puts the note aside, busying himself with his work until the sun's set outside his window, the work-day officially over. He packs up his things and locks his office, makes his way down to the front door of his building. Isn't terribly surprised to find Klavier waiting for him, holding a second helmet in his hands, an honestly pleased smile on his handsome face.
So much an improvement from the roses and the million-dollar smile that Apollo can't help but smile back, quickening his pace as he crosses the lobby to greet his lover.
~*~*~*~
Their evening goes something like this:
"Your dedication is unbelievable, Herr Justice," Klavier says, handing the second helmet to Apollo and securing his own over his long hair.
Apollo shrugs. "Paperwork," he says, gesturing to his briefcase, held snugly between his knees as he adjusts his chin-strap.
"Indeed," says Klavier. "I have been swamped in the stuff as well, today. Will you perhaps allow me to give you a ride home? A reward, perhaps. Since we have both worked so hard, all day long."
"All right," Apollo says, following him out into the muggy evening air. "Um. Thanks."
Klavier resists the urge to kiss him, right there in the middle of the sidewalk.
"It is my pleasure, Herr Justice," he says, instead, mounting his motorcycle, cock twitching as Apollo does the same, the younger man's trousers pulled tight against the subtle bulge between his legs. The same bulge that rubs against Klavier's backside as Apollo twists, securing his briefcase in one of the bike's leather saddle-bags. Rubs against him again when Apollo turns to face forward, arms sliding around Klavier's waist.
Klavier swallows hard. "Ah. Clinging in such a way might give the wrong impression if we are seen, my dear Herr Forehead," he says. "Perhaps you should-eh?"
Apollo's laughter is quiet, rumbling gently against Klavier's back.
"I didn't think you'd be such a prude about stuff like this," the younger man says, eyes twinkling with mischief, even as his face warms scarlet. "You know. Um. C-considering."
Klavier growls and lets go of the bike's handles, turns and kisses those smirking lips, witnesses and tabloids and professionalism be damned. Apollo lets him for a few seconds, then pushes him gently away, ducking his head shyly as he asks Klavier to just take me home now, please?
Klavier chuckles and revs the engine. "Of course, baby," he says. "You know I can't say no to you."
But as he pulls out into traffic, Apollo clinging to him once again, he smiles to himself.
The younger man didn't specify whose home he wanted to be taken to, after all.
~*~*~*~
From then on, things are something like that.
A little bit of fun. A little bit of hesitation. A little bit of work. A little bit of play.
And as the years pass by, eventually: a little bit of love.
Or, at least, something like it.
Posted on the kink meme here, yay-yay-yay. :D
Anyway. It was a really fun story to write, I was surprised! And just what I needed here at the end of term to distract me from studying shit for my Spanish final that turns out wasn't even ON the fucking final ... anyway.
Enjoy the story! ♥
Something Like This
by mistr3ss Quickly
The fight goes something like this:
"I'm not a 'fucking prude!'" Apollo manages, finally, after Klavier Gavin's fourth (and most direct) attempt at groping him. "I'm just-" His mind swims, too much of that goddamn wine Klavier served with dinner, too much anger and confusion and ... whatever you call the feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach whenever Klavier treats him like he's just another groupie.
The thought of Klavier seducing some nameless, faceless groupie on the sofa Apollo has just gracelessly launched himself off of, just to get away from the damnably tempting hand that was trying to slip into his trousers to play with his personal parts, makes the feeling in the pit of his stomach turn mutinous. Makes him want to throw up.
As does the look on Klavier's face when the older man purses his lips and says: "I suppose you are correct, Herr Prude," his words crisp and bitter, more heavily accented than they are when he's sober. "You cannot be a fucking anything, ja? Not with that stick up your arse, anyway."
The wine slows Apollo's mind just enough that Klavier has a chance to smirk at him, until Apollo catches on. Then he curses, tumbling backwards as Apollo snarls and throws what's left of his wine-glass and all-in Klavier's face.
The wine also slows Klavier's feet. He doesn't quite make it to the front door in time to keep Apollo from storming out, doesn't have the energy to follow after the younger man as Apollo disappears into the night.
~*~*~*~
The following week goes something like this:
You have reached the answering service for the Wright Talent Agency and the office of Apollo Justice, Defense Attorney. Please leave a message at the tone with your name, number, and a brief message, and we will return you call as soon as we can.
"Ah, this is Klavier Gavin, I am trying to reach Herr Justice. I believe he has the number for both my office and cell phones. Please ask him to call me when he can, ja?"
Mr. Wright chuckles from his place on the sofa, his legs draped over the far armrest, arms crossed over his chest. The very picture of laziness.
"Don't delete it," he says, when Trucy puts her homework aside and stands up.
"But Polly said he didn't want to-"
"Yeah, I know." Wright opens one eye and smiles at his daughter. "Only way to save ourselves from hearing variations on the same theme sixty times a day is to make sure he has to hear them, too. He'll get sick of it eventually and make it stop."
Trucy frowns at her father. "All right," she says. "But I'm sick of them already."
Wright laughs. "Me too, Trucy," he says. "Me too."
~*~*~*~
The weekend goes something like this:
"I don't want to know how you got in here, do I."
A smile. A quiet sashay across the room. "Your door was unlocked, Herr Justice. I took it as an invitation."
A sigh. "I told Trucy to lock up behind her. So the door should've been locked."
"Mmm. So?"
A glare. "So go back out, let me lock up, and see what knocking does for you."
Laughter. "Oh my dear Apollo. You are more adorable when sulking than I had imagined."
Half a dozen roses, presented under the defense attorney's nose.
A moment.
"I don't want roses, Klavier. I'm too old and too busy for that kind of thing. Please go."
A mistake: glancing up to see very real hurt, written ever-so-briefly across Klavier's face.
Klavier leaves anyway. Apollo doesn't get up until he's gone, and then it's only to lock the door.
The roses stay, wilting on the corner of his desk.
~*~*~*~
The plan goes something like this:
Dinner at the little deli on the outskirts of the city, where it's quiet and unlikely that anyone they know will see them.
Conversation, about the last cases they've worked on, about people they know, about life in general.
Coffee, afterwards. Maybe discuss what happened at Klavier's flat.
No alcohol, though. Not until they get back to Klavier's flat together and Apollo seems willing. Receptive. Interested in accepting Klavier's apology and allowing Klavier to do all the wonderful things to him that Klavier had intended to do a week ago.
The only snag is how to get Apollo to go to out to dinner in the first place.
~*~*~*~
The reality of it goes something like this:
Klavier goes to bed alone, belly full of the cheap Chinese take-out he bought on a whim on his way home from the deli, his temper still flaring from being stood-up, even after Mr. Wright promised he'd come up with some excuse to get Apollo out where he needed to be for Klavier to sweep him off his feet. He curls up in bed dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts Daryan gave him as a gag gift, years ago, cuddles his pillow to his chest and glares at the wall, too angry to sleep, too tired to stay up any longer.
He's still fully awake when Apollo knocks on his door. Still pretty well pissed off when Apollo looks up at him, shy and fidgeting and damnably adorable, asking if he can come in for a bit.
"I, um. Should apologize," Apollo says, when Klavier leads him into the living room and offers him a seat, the same damn seat Apollo took the last time they were alone together like this with, all temptation and absolutely no chance for satisfaction anywhere on the horizon.
"For?" Klavier says, even though he can think of a few things of the top of his head for which Apollo could (should!) be sorry.
Apollo plays with his bracelet. Nervous. Twitchy.
"I knew you wanted to meet me at DiCamillo's, tonight," he says. "Mr. Wright ... I made him tell me, I could tell he was up to something." He glances at Klavier. Looks back down at his bracelet. "So I'm sorry for not going."
Klavier resists the urge to pitch what his brother used to call a "diva-fit." It takes a bit more effort than he'd expected.
"I see," he says, slowly. "And so you decide to show up now, at ..." A glance at the clock over his television "... eleven forty-five at night?"
Apollo blushes. He's cute when he blushes, which does funny things to Klavier's annoyance with him. Mainly turns it into jelly.
"I just ... I'm sorry."
Klavier rubs his hands over his face. "Herr Forehead," he says, "of all the-"
"And I wanted to know if you maybe wanted to play a board-game or something," Apollo says, all in a rush like he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't just spit it out. "I mean. Um. I know it's late, but ..."
He's pulling a deck of cards out of the pocket of his vest. One of Mr. Wright's, Klavier suspects, from the tattered state of the box. Holding it up for Klavier to see, watching the singer with big brown eyes.
Klavier can't imagine a human being on the planet who could resist such a look. He sits down across from Apollo and gestures.
"Very well," he says. "What are we playing?"
~*~*~*~
The game goes something like this:
It's Gin Rummy, because Klavier refuses to play Go Fish at midnight while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers printed with lipstick kisses while the man he desperately wants to nail sits across from him, glaring at a hand of cards like the game matters when it doesn't, or at least shouldn't. Klavier has four aces and one flush and needs a king of hearts when Apollo's face lights up and the younger man goes out, laying out his cards for Klavier to see that, indeed, he's won.
Klavier shuffles, the second time. Deals both hands and loses within six draws.
"Your cards," he growls, "are marked."
Apollo nearly falls off the sofa, flailing. "They are not!" he says. "I checked them myself! This was the only deck that wasn't marked!"
Klavier finds he hasn't the heart to argue with such sincerity. He gets up and gets himself a beer from the refrigerator, brings back one for Apollo, too.
Two more losing hands, one and a half bottles of beer, Apollo wincing every time he takes a sip of his own. Klavier sighs.
"Herr Forehead," he says, tossing down his losing hand and lacing his fingers together while Apollo collects up the cards and begins shuffling. "What are we doing?"
Apollo looks up at him. "Um," he says. "Playing c-"
"Why are you here, in the middle of the night, drinking my beer like it tastes of piss, and beating me mercilessly at a game I learned to play when I was seven?" Klavier clarifies.
Apollo's face goes a shade of red darker than his suit. "I wanted to apologize," he says, not quite looking Klavier in the eye. "And I wanted ..." A sigh. He looks up, meets Klavier's gaze. "I'm not just a piece of ass. I'm a grown man, and if you're going to, um. To touch me like you did, last time, then you, um. Need to respect who I am."
He hunches in on himself like a turtle, blush traveling up into the roots of his hair. Klavier blinks at him.
"You think that I do not respect you?" he says.
Apollo swallows hard. Then, slowly, he nods.
"You said I was a prude," he says, quietly. "Just because ... because I didn't want to, not when you were drunk. And trying to seduce me. Obviously." He squares his shoulders, the effect only slightly lessened by the way he's still blushing, the way his hands shake, fidgeting with the deck of cards in his hand. "If I'm interested in fucking you, I'll do it without you needing to coerce or trick me into it."
The room goes still. Klavier stares at him, mouth moving, but no words come out. He clears his throat, sits back in his chair.
"Well, Herr Blushy-Blushy," he says, finally. "It seems you win this round, too."
~*~*~*~
The rest of the night goes something like this:
Klavier announces that he's tired of losing at Gin Rummy, so they switch to Go Fish. Klavier wins and Apollo starts smiling, laughs a little when Klavier insists again on shuffling the cards.
The beer in Apollo's bottle slowly dwindles. Klavier gets him another.
Two more hands of Go Fish and Apollo curls his legs under himself, leans on the arm of the sofa. One hand later, he sets down his second bottle of beer and says he's going to rest his eyes until Klavier's got the next hand shuffled and dealt.
By the time Klavier's finished shuffling, he's fast asleep.
He's not very big and doesn't sleep very deeply, so he squirms and complains a bit when Klavier picks him up, grumbles tired threats against Klavier's bare chest when Klavier carries him into the bedroom and dumps him on the bed. When Klavier begins undressing him, Apollo swings a left hook that would have done much more damage were he not drunk and half asleep, shoves Klavier away when the blonde laughs at him and insists I can get undressed myself!
He falls asleep halfway through proving his capabilities. Klavier takes over, stripping him down to his briefs, then curls up beside him, a smile on his face as he drifts to sleep, as well.
~*~*~*~
The following morning goes something like this:
Klavier wakes early to a dream about falling off a waterfall and finds Apollo curled up beside him, eyes closed but eyelids fluttering. He slips out of the bedroom and uses the bathroom, splashes water on his face to distract himself from thoughts of how delicious Apollo looks while sleeping, how sweet and soft and vulnerable he seems, wrapped in soft cotton sheets.
Comes back to bed only to find Apollo watching him, sleep-blurry and yawning but awake, not bolting or fidgeting or shouting.
"Guten Morgen, beautiful," Klavier says, sliding into bed beside him. "Did you sleep well?"
Apollo nods. "Yeah. But 'm in my underwear," he says, pointing to his lap, which is still covered by the sheet. "We didn't, um. Do anything, did we?"
Klavier shakes his head. "Nein. We only slept."
"Oh," Apollo says, sagging a bit. "Good." He turns towards Klavier, smiling up at the older man through his eyelashes. "Thanks."
Klavier leans forward and presses a kiss to Apollo's forehead. "Bitte."
He rests his own forehead against Apollo's, eyes closed, content to be near the younger man, to have Apollo comfortable and relaxed around him, finally, as he'd been before the fight that started it all. The touch of Apollo's palm against his cheek surprises him, but not as much as the touch of Apollo's lips against his own, warm and dry and closed and gentle, almost tentative.
"Baby?" he says, when Apollo pulls away.
Apollo goes crimson. "Sorry."
Klavier grins and pushes him down. "Don't be," he says, moving to straddle Apollo's hips. "Ever."
Under him, Apollo smiles. "Okay," he says. "I won't."
~*~*~*~
The next five minutes go something like this:
Klavier kisses Apollo until he's hard enough that humping the younger man doesn't seem like such a bad idea to him. Humps Apollo until he's made enough of a mess of his shorts that getting naked sounds like a wonderful idea to him, almost as good as getting Apollo naked first.
Which he manages to do, half a second before Apollo bucks and rolls him, ending up on top of the older man.
"Ooh," Klavier says, reaching up to touch Apollo's nipples, which are surprisingly large on his otherwise small body. "Is this a competition now?"
Apollo blushes and bats Klavier's hands away from his nipples. "No, it's just ... you're kind of heavy," he says, like it's some embarrassing confession.
"Ah, true," Klavier says. "But now that you are up there, you surely have a plan, ja? What will you do with me, my dear Apollo?"
Apollo's eyes narrow, even as his face flushes crimson. Despite the way his hands shake as he lowers them, bracing himself against Klavier's shoulders, his cock is still stiff between his thighs, leaking precome into the curls below Klavier's navel.
"Stuff," he says. "Stuff so good it'll make you stop trying to flirt with me like that again. Ever."
One of Klavier's eyebrows lifts in surprise he doesn’t even try to mask. "Oh?" he says.
Apollo nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'm not one of your fans. I don't want you flirting. I want you like this. Horny. For me."
Klavier's cock twitches. He reaches up and cups Apollo's face in his hands, brings him down gently to be kissed.
"You have it," he murmurs against Apollo's lips. "And you always have. I am sorry you did not realize that, before."
~*~*~*~
From there, things go something like this:
Apollo presses himself fully against Klavier's body and kisses the older man, slow and careful but not at all chaste, his tongue slipping into Klavier's mouth to taste and tease until Klavier's breathing hard and moaning softly for him, hands tightening convulsively on Apollo's sides. They roll, Klavier pinning Apollo to the mattress with no trouble, and Apollo laughs into the kiss when Klavier's hair slips down to tickle his face.
They rock against each other when Apollo pushes, moving Klavier off of him enough that he's no longer completely trapped under the man's larger frame. Rub against each other while they kiss, and where it's not frotting, really, nothing desperate or urgent or animal about it, it's still nice, a building sort of pleasure that makes Klavier's heart pound hard against his ribs. It's just rubbing, rocking. Feeling and exploring and indulging, Klavier's moans tickling against Apollo's lips, Apollo's breath coming fast, washing warm across Klavier's cheek.
"My beautiful Apollo," Klavier murmurs, when it starts to be too much-or maybe not enough-and pulls Apollo on top of him. "Tell me what you want, baby. Anything, I'll do it, just name it."
Apollo shivers, eyes going unfocused as he rubs himself against Klavier like a cat, his nipples stiff, his cock leaking. Doesn't brush Klavier's hand away when the older man reaches down to squeeze his ass, pulling him forward in a faster, steady rhythm. Doesn't object when Klavier reaches between them with his other hand, gripping their cocks together, gently until they're a slick mess of precome, sliding smoothly against each other.
He closes his eyes and moves his hips and bites Klavier on the throat, sucks the sensitive skin there until Klavier shudders under him and curses in German, close and desperate and vulnerable. Takes charge of their movements when Klavier's rhythm falters, pushing himself up and thrusting hard, fucking Klavier's hand and Klavier's cock hard enough that Klavier cries out under him and comes, making a mess of himself, semen striping all the way up to his throat.
Apollo smiles, when Klavier looks up at him. Stops thrusting and moves so that Klavier can stroke only him, the sight of the singer's long fingers wrapped around him just as enticing as the feel of it touching him, drawing him closer and closer to completion.
"That's what I wanted," he admits softly, trembling as he nears orgasm. "To see you feel good. Because of me. Just me. I like that. It turns me on."
Klavier stares at him, speechless, whimpering softly as Apollo gasps and stiffens and starts to come, semen and sweat and utter carnal abandon like nothing Klavier's ever seen before, not even in his raunchiest, most detailed dreams.
~*~*~*~
The week following goes something like this:
Monday morning, Apollo meets Klavier in the courtroom, arguing a case in which a woman was apparently stabbed to death by her sister, although her sister swears that's not what happened at all.
Tuesday, midday, evidence comes to light that the living sister's DNA was not found on the handle of the murder weapon, but her alibi turns out to be flimsy and false, shredded after only a few of Klavier's questions.
Wednesday morning, the living sister's neighbor testifies, matching the description of a man she saw leaving the apartment with a photo of the man whose DNA was found on the murder weapon.
Thursday afternoon, Apollo's client breaks down on the stand and confesses everything, sobbing as she points to her former lover (who had been unfaithful to her with her sister) and testifies to his guilt.
Friday, all day, there's paperwork, and lots of it, a note clipped to one of Apollo's folders stating that Klavier will be prosecuting the unfaithful lover for murder, beginning sometime the following week. Beneath that is a hand-written note, an invitation for Apollo to come and watch the proceedings, then perhaps join Klavier for a late dinner at DiCamillo's.
Apollo rolls his eyes and puts the note aside, busying himself with his work until the sun's set outside his window, the work-day officially over. He packs up his things and locks his office, makes his way down to the front door of his building. Isn't terribly surprised to find Klavier waiting for him, holding a second helmet in his hands, an honestly pleased smile on his handsome face.
So much an improvement from the roses and the million-dollar smile that Apollo can't help but smile back, quickening his pace as he crosses the lobby to greet his lover.
~*~*~*~
Their evening goes something like this:
"Your dedication is unbelievable, Herr Justice," Klavier says, handing the second helmet to Apollo and securing his own over his long hair.
Apollo shrugs. "Paperwork," he says, gesturing to his briefcase, held snugly between his knees as he adjusts his chin-strap.
"Indeed," says Klavier. "I have been swamped in the stuff as well, today. Will you perhaps allow me to give you a ride home? A reward, perhaps. Since we have both worked so hard, all day long."
"All right," Apollo says, following him out into the muggy evening air. "Um. Thanks."
Klavier resists the urge to kiss him, right there in the middle of the sidewalk.
"It is my pleasure, Herr Justice," he says, instead, mounting his motorcycle, cock twitching as Apollo does the same, the younger man's trousers pulled tight against the subtle bulge between his legs. The same bulge that rubs against Klavier's backside as Apollo twists, securing his briefcase in one of the bike's leather saddle-bags. Rubs against him again when Apollo turns to face forward, arms sliding around Klavier's waist.
Klavier swallows hard. "Ah. Clinging in such a way might give the wrong impression if we are seen, my dear Herr Forehead," he says. "Perhaps you should-eh?"
Apollo's laughter is quiet, rumbling gently against Klavier's back.
"I didn't think you'd be such a prude about stuff like this," the younger man says, eyes twinkling with mischief, even as his face warms scarlet. "You know. Um. C-considering."
Klavier growls and lets go of the bike's handles, turns and kisses those smirking lips, witnesses and tabloids and professionalism be damned. Apollo lets him for a few seconds, then pushes him gently away, ducking his head shyly as he asks Klavier to just take me home now, please?
Klavier chuckles and revs the engine. "Of course, baby," he says. "You know I can't say no to you."
But as he pulls out into traffic, Apollo clinging to him once again, he smiles to himself.
The younger man didn't specify whose home he wanted to be taken to, after all.
~*~*~*~
From then on, things are something like that.
A little bit of fun. A little bit of hesitation. A little bit of work. A little bit of play.
And as the years pass by, eventually: a little bit of love.
Or, at least, something like it.
Posted on the kink meme here, yay-yay-yay. :D