PW, "The Slow Ascent after the Sharpest Drop: IV," Apollo/Klavier, R
So I keep promising that I'm going to explain what happened to poor Apollo, then I write the next chapter in the series and ... fail to explain. I SWEAR I WON'T LEAVE YOU IN THE DARK FOREVER, HONEST.
*ashamed*
Not much to say about this one, I guess, 'cept that the parts in past-tense were written exactly backwards, then rearranged as I went along. Oh, and I really want UNC to hire me, someone make that happen, PLEASE. ;_;
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
The Slow Ascent after the Sharpest Drop
Part IV
by mistr3ss Quickly
As an undergraduate, a pre-law major, Apollo had quickly learned the meaning of loneliness, his own shyness preventing him from venturing out of his dorm room for social activities beyond group study sessions at the library and get-togethers with the others in his pre-law fraternity. He'd sat in his room and watched out the window as other young men walked past, laughing and talking and sometimes singing, going out to the bars, to parties. Out on dates with young women.
He'd hated it, at the time. Hated the men, hated the women. Hated himself, for being so introverted.
But it was there, in his lonely little room, that Apollo learned to bury himself in his work. Learned that a busy man has no time to regret, and that a man busy with work goes to bed at night with a feeling of accomplishment. And, as time went by, Apollo was soon a busy man who was going to bed with papers tucked under his pillow, papers with good grades written atop them in dark red ink.
~*~*~*~
Klavier comes home dressed in one of his nice suits, sighing like he's exhausted and smelling like he's spent most of the day in the musty legal library just half a block away from the courthouse. He kisses Apollo on the mouth like he's been wanting to do it all day and says he's missed Apollo, his voice deep and rich like he's smiling when he says it.
"I trust Herr Wright came to check in on you, ja?" he says, stepping away from the bed and moving amidst the sound of shifting fabric, no longer wearing his coat when he settles back down on the mattress beside Apollo. "Your injuries are looking very good."
Apollo nods, forehead bumping gently against Klavier's long fingers as he's checked by the older man. "Yeah. He put salve on all of them, new gauze on the-yeah, that one. He said it looked like maybe it was seeping again, but I think I just slept on it funny."
"Mmm. Perhaps. But we should keep an-ah. Ahem. That is to say, we should be careful of it." A kiss, pressed to the gauze covering Apollo's forehead. "You are healing so well, baby."
Apollo can feel the burns on his face prickling as he blushes. He lifts his hand, the weight of his cast only pulling a little against his sore muscles. Touches Klavier's cheek with the tips of his fingers, careful to keep his cast from bumping against the singer's chin.
"I've had good nursemaids," he says. Then, when Klavier hums and kisses him, on the mouth this time, he adds: "Thanks for taking such good care of me." Gets another kiss for it.
"It is my pleasure, baby," Klavier murmurs, against Apollo's lips. "I want you to be all better."
~*~*~*~
As a new arrival to law school, Apollo had thought the amount of work his seniors told him about had to be a joke. Really, he'd thought, there was no way any teacher would assign the kinds of papers and projects the upperclassmen warned him about. And even if some senile old demon with a chip on his dusty old shoulder did assign such things, there was no way any human being could possibly do them, not in less than a full semester, and not with other assignments from other classes to do as well.
He learned, quickly enough, that he was wrong. Totally wrong.
There were term papers, of course, and presentations, nothing terribly different from what he'd dealt with in his years as a pre-law student, although the grading was much stricter. But in addition, there were tests and debates and stacks of legal jargon to learn, cases to review and issues to consider and by-laws to not only memorize but use, writing out his arguments for his professors to pore over and tear to shreds, before handing it back a few days later. There were late nights and early mornings and the slow, sickening realization that grades weren't all that exciting anymore, Apollo's heart beating faster for a discussion well-executed than it did for a 90%, written across the top of his paper in red ink.
~*~*~*~
Dinner is a simple affair, Klavier preparing pasta and Thai peanut sauce while Apollo keeps him company. They drink iced tea rather than the sweet red wine they used to drink together in the evenings. Klavier says it's because he needs to be sharp enough afterwards to work through some papers he brought back from his office. Apollo says that's fine, he can't drink while taking pain medication, anyway.
Klavier kisses him, when the meal is over. Laughs at him when Apollo tries to help clear the table, intent on doing the dishes. Quiets Apollo's protests with another kiss, insisting instead that they should go and wash Apollo himself, rather than the dishes.
"Surely you will not turn down the opportunity to have your hair washed, my dear Forehead?" Klavier says, running his fingers up the back of Apollo's head, which makes Apollo wince and pull away, suddenly aware of how embarrassingly greasy his hair has become. "I would love to do it, especially now while you are unable to do so yourself."
So Apollo relents and follows his lover into the bathroom, pulls his overshirt off without too much difficulty, the cast on his arm only bumping the burns on his face once or twice. Klavier kisses him on the ear and divests him of his pants and underwear, murmurs to him how very pleased he is to see Apollo healing as well as he is.
"Ah. You have some bruises there, baby," he says, when Apollo winces, tentatively touching himself on the hip. "The scrapes have healed, mostly." He touches the back of Apollo's hand, presses Apollo's palm flat against the ache where Apollo figures the bruising must be the worst. "It was yellow-green, before. But now it is purple and blue." A kiss, pressed to Apollo's temple. "Very pretty."
"It feels okay when I walk," Apollo tells him. "Doesn't hurt or anything."
Gets another kiss for it. "Mmm. I am glad to hear that."
~*~*~*~
As a new attorney, just starting out, Apollo had been horrified by the sheer amount of work his job entailed. Paperwork and interviews and trials and more interviews and more paperwork and turnabouts and arguments and glares and shouts and adrenaline, all of which made his head positively spin.
Which made the paperwork following like a nasty demon even harder to deal with.
He'd learned the true meaning of exhaustion, quickly enough. Not the kind of weariness he'd confused with exhaustion, when he was a student preparing to be a lawyer. That had merely entailed sleepless nights and a stiff neck and blood-shot eyes and maybe borderline malnutrition from time to time when he'd get busy working in the library (where no food was allowed) and forget that eating usually equals energy and strength and an absence of that weird feeling one gets when one's stomach is trying to eat itself inside-out. Out of school and working alongside the men and women he admired and sought to emulate, Apollo had discovered that true exhaustion meant all the things he'd experienced in college, just with a healthy serving of paperwork and stress and fear and stress piled on top, and that those in his field survived it by the grace of God alone.
Which didn't sign papers, instead giving him the gnawing sense of responsibility that got the papers signed, usually within a few hours of his receipt of them.
And, for all the trouble his budding career caused him, Apollo had fallen in love with his work. Or, at least, a strong affection for it. Affection for the clerks and bailiffs and custodians and the nameless people in the crowd, the silly old judge and the way Mr. Wright smiled whenever the judge and clerks and bailiffs were mentioned.
~*~*~*~
To Apollo's surprise, Klavier joins him in the bath that evening, kneeling behind the low plastic stool he bought for Apollo to sit on, hands frothy with shampoo as he washes Apollo's hair. Steam gathers quickly in the small bathroom-Apollo can feel it when he breathes in-but Klavier doesn't seem to notice it, distracted instead by the way steam collects on the inside of the plastic sheath he slid over Apollo's cast before climbing into the tub with him.
"We will have to make sure it dries fully, once you are clean," he says, massaging Apollo's scalp with his fingernails, which are blunt but feel incredible. "I would hate to be scolded by Herr Wright, were you to begin showing signs of mildew."
Apollo laughs softly and leans into his lover's touch, eyes closed to keep out the soap he can feel dripping down the burns on his forehead. It'll still sting, he's decided, even if his eyes are different now than they were, before. It doesn't feel any different when he wakes with sleep-sand in the corners of his eyes, anyway. Doesn't feel any different to cry, which he's done quite a bit of, lately. Early on.
But that was days ago, back when things were still new and different and difficult for Apollo to deal with all at once. And where yes, it's different, sitting still while Klavier bathes him, the touch of Klavier's hands and the closeness of Klavier's body are familiar, and the knowledge that Klavier is nude and wet behind him make Apollo's heart beat a little faster, his cock stiffening between his legs.
"I don't think it'll mold," he says, voice gone breathy as Klavier scratches his way down, towards the nape of his neck.
Klavier hums and cups his hands near Apollo's forehead, dragging his hands back to pull the excess shampoo from Apollo's hair, the suds dripping down Apollo's naked back. He leans forward, reaching around Apollo to reach the shower-head, his chest nudging Apollo's shoulder, erection rubbing gently against the bruising on Apollo's backside.
"Nein, my dear Forehead," he says. "But still. We should get you out of here quickly, ja? Just to be safe."
~*~*~*~
When he finally managed to make the headlines of the morning newspaper, just as his idol had, back in the day, Apollo thought that all his hard work had finally paid off. The truth had come to light. Justice had been served. And he'd won recognition for being the man behind it. Mostly.
Mr. Wright had clipped the front page article and framed it. Hung it up in the office, much to Apollo's embarrassment, the first time Klavier came to visit him there.
"It's, um ... it's not that I'm-"
"Proud? My dear Herr Forehead, why would you not be? It is quite an accomplishment, to win against such odds."
"Well, I guess it is, but. Still."
Klavier had laughed at him. Put an arm around him. Pulled him close enough that their bodies touched, both of them facing the framed article.
"If I were in your shoes, Forehead, I would do the same. I would read it every day, as a reminder."
"A reminder?"
"Mmm. Of how it feels to find the truth."
A smile. One which didn't reach Klavier's eyes. One which made Apollo's bracelet tingle, hot around his wrist.
"How it feels to find the truth without being afraid of what that truth might be."
~*~*~*~
Clean and dry and dressed, they sit together on the bed, Klavier rustling papers while Apollo goes over a card of Braille exercises. Slow, still, but getting faster.
"Any news today?" he says, setting aside the card he's finished and reaching for a new one. "Or are you on a new case?"
"Mmm. No new cases for awhile, I think," Klavier says. "This one will ... verdammt, where did I-oh there it is ... be quite enough to occupy me for now, ja?"
Apollo nods, which makes one of his burns pull, which makes him wince. The bed dips, squeaks, and Klavier's breath washes warm over Apollo's lips, keeping him from jumping in surprise as he's kissed.
"Let's not talk about work now, baby," Klavier says, touching Apollo's cheek, fingers moving up to touch just shy of the places still wet with the salve he put on Apollo's burns, after their bath. "You are still healing and should rest, ja? I did promise Fräulein Wright that I would take good care of you, after all."
"Yeah, but I'm fine," Apollo tells him, setting aside the new exercise card and reaching up. Feeling for Klavier's ponytail. Slipping his hand beneath to squeeze the tense muscles of his lover's neck. "I want to know what's going on, Klavier. I want to help." He swallows. "I can still help, you know."
Papers fall to the floor in what sounds like total disarray, Klavier's body moving like he's intentionally shoved his work off of the bed, even as he kisses Apollo on the mouth, then moves to sit behind Apollo, long legs resting to either side of the younger man's bruised, aching hips.
"I know," he says, sliding his arms around Apollo's waist. "And I will tell you what I know, I promise." One hand splays across Apollo's belly, rubs him gently through his t-shirt. "For now, though, we should be focusing on this, so that you can bury your forehead in dusty old books again, ja?" A chuckle. "I have missed the smell of dust on you, strange as it may be to say so."
Apollo twists, the card in his hand forgotten as he kisses his lover, the pain in his chest strong enough to cover the pull of his burns, the ache of his muscles.
"Me too," he says, turning so that Klavier can kiss him and hold him and murmur to him. "I miss it, too."
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*ashamed*
Not much to say about this one, I guess, 'cept that the parts in past-tense were written exactly backwards, then rearranged as I went along. Oh, and I really want UNC to hire me, someone make that happen, PLEASE. ;_;
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
The Slow Ascent after the Sharpest Drop
Part IV
by mistr3ss Quickly
As an undergraduate, a pre-law major, Apollo had quickly learned the meaning of loneliness, his own shyness preventing him from venturing out of his dorm room for social activities beyond group study sessions at the library and get-togethers with the others in his pre-law fraternity. He'd sat in his room and watched out the window as other young men walked past, laughing and talking and sometimes singing, going out to the bars, to parties. Out on dates with young women.
He'd hated it, at the time. Hated the men, hated the women. Hated himself, for being so introverted.
But it was there, in his lonely little room, that Apollo learned to bury himself in his work. Learned that a busy man has no time to regret, and that a man busy with work goes to bed at night with a feeling of accomplishment. And, as time went by, Apollo was soon a busy man who was going to bed with papers tucked under his pillow, papers with good grades written atop them in dark red ink.
~*~*~*~
Klavier comes home dressed in one of his nice suits, sighing like he's exhausted and smelling like he's spent most of the day in the musty legal library just half a block away from the courthouse. He kisses Apollo on the mouth like he's been wanting to do it all day and says he's missed Apollo, his voice deep and rich like he's smiling when he says it.
"I trust Herr Wright came to check in on you, ja?" he says, stepping away from the bed and moving amidst the sound of shifting fabric, no longer wearing his coat when he settles back down on the mattress beside Apollo. "Your injuries are looking very good."
Apollo nods, forehead bumping gently against Klavier's long fingers as he's checked by the older man. "Yeah. He put salve on all of them, new gauze on the-yeah, that one. He said it looked like maybe it was seeping again, but I think I just slept on it funny."
"Mmm. Perhaps. But we should keep an-ah. Ahem. That is to say, we should be careful of it." A kiss, pressed to the gauze covering Apollo's forehead. "You are healing so well, baby."
Apollo can feel the burns on his face prickling as he blushes. He lifts his hand, the weight of his cast only pulling a little against his sore muscles. Touches Klavier's cheek with the tips of his fingers, careful to keep his cast from bumping against the singer's chin.
"I've had good nursemaids," he says. Then, when Klavier hums and kisses him, on the mouth this time, he adds: "Thanks for taking such good care of me." Gets another kiss for it.
"It is my pleasure, baby," Klavier murmurs, against Apollo's lips. "I want you to be all better."
~*~*~*~
As a new arrival to law school, Apollo had thought the amount of work his seniors told him about had to be a joke. Really, he'd thought, there was no way any teacher would assign the kinds of papers and projects the upperclassmen warned him about. And even if some senile old demon with a chip on his dusty old shoulder did assign such things, there was no way any human being could possibly do them, not in less than a full semester, and not with other assignments from other classes to do as well.
He learned, quickly enough, that he was wrong. Totally wrong.
There were term papers, of course, and presentations, nothing terribly different from what he'd dealt with in his years as a pre-law student, although the grading was much stricter. But in addition, there were tests and debates and stacks of legal jargon to learn, cases to review and issues to consider and by-laws to not only memorize but use, writing out his arguments for his professors to pore over and tear to shreds, before handing it back a few days later. There were late nights and early mornings and the slow, sickening realization that grades weren't all that exciting anymore, Apollo's heart beating faster for a discussion well-executed than it did for a 90%, written across the top of his paper in red ink.
~*~*~*~
Dinner is a simple affair, Klavier preparing pasta and Thai peanut sauce while Apollo keeps him company. They drink iced tea rather than the sweet red wine they used to drink together in the evenings. Klavier says it's because he needs to be sharp enough afterwards to work through some papers he brought back from his office. Apollo says that's fine, he can't drink while taking pain medication, anyway.
Klavier kisses him, when the meal is over. Laughs at him when Apollo tries to help clear the table, intent on doing the dishes. Quiets Apollo's protests with another kiss, insisting instead that they should go and wash Apollo himself, rather than the dishes.
"Surely you will not turn down the opportunity to have your hair washed, my dear Forehead?" Klavier says, running his fingers up the back of Apollo's head, which makes Apollo wince and pull away, suddenly aware of how embarrassingly greasy his hair has become. "I would love to do it, especially now while you are unable to do so yourself."
So Apollo relents and follows his lover into the bathroom, pulls his overshirt off without too much difficulty, the cast on his arm only bumping the burns on his face once or twice. Klavier kisses him on the ear and divests him of his pants and underwear, murmurs to him how very pleased he is to see Apollo healing as well as he is.
"Ah. You have some bruises there, baby," he says, when Apollo winces, tentatively touching himself on the hip. "The scrapes have healed, mostly." He touches the back of Apollo's hand, presses Apollo's palm flat against the ache where Apollo figures the bruising must be the worst. "It was yellow-green, before. But now it is purple and blue." A kiss, pressed to Apollo's temple. "Very pretty."
"It feels okay when I walk," Apollo tells him. "Doesn't hurt or anything."
Gets another kiss for it. "Mmm. I am glad to hear that."
~*~*~*~
As a new attorney, just starting out, Apollo had been horrified by the sheer amount of work his job entailed. Paperwork and interviews and trials and more interviews and more paperwork and turnabouts and arguments and glares and shouts and adrenaline, all of which made his head positively spin.
Which made the paperwork following like a nasty demon even harder to deal with.
He'd learned the true meaning of exhaustion, quickly enough. Not the kind of weariness he'd confused with exhaustion, when he was a student preparing to be a lawyer. That had merely entailed sleepless nights and a stiff neck and blood-shot eyes and maybe borderline malnutrition from time to time when he'd get busy working in the library (where no food was allowed) and forget that eating usually equals energy and strength and an absence of that weird feeling one gets when one's stomach is trying to eat itself inside-out. Out of school and working alongside the men and women he admired and sought to emulate, Apollo had discovered that true exhaustion meant all the things he'd experienced in college, just with a healthy serving of paperwork and stress and fear and stress piled on top, and that those in his field survived it by the grace of God alone.
Which didn't sign papers, instead giving him the gnawing sense of responsibility that got the papers signed, usually within a few hours of his receipt of them.
And, for all the trouble his budding career caused him, Apollo had fallen in love with his work. Or, at least, a strong affection for it. Affection for the clerks and bailiffs and custodians and the nameless people in the crowd, the silly old judge and the way Mr. Wright smiled whenever the judge and clerks and bailiffs were mentioned.
~*~*~*~
To Apollo's surprise, Klavier joins him in the bath that evening, kneeling behind the low plastic stool he bought for Apollo to sit on, hands frothy with shampoo as he washes Apollo's hair. Steam gathers quickly in the small bathroom-Apollo can feel it when he breathes in-but Klavier doesn't seem to notice it, distracted instead by the way steam collects on the inside of the plastic sheath he slid over Apollo's cast before climbing into the tub with him.
"We will have to make sure it dries fully, once you are clean," he says, massaging Apollo's scalp with his fingernails, which are blunt but feel incredible. "I would hate to be scolded by Herr Wright, were you to begin showing signs of mildew."
Apollo laughs softly and leans into his lover's touch, eyes closed to keep out the soap he can feel dripping down the burns on his forehead. It'll still sting, he's decided, even if his eyes are different now than they were, before. It doesn't feel any different when he wakes with sleep-sand in the corners of his eyes, anyway. Doesn't feel any different to cry, which he's done quite a bit of, lately. Early on.
But that was days ago, back when things were still new and different and difficult for Apollo to deal with all at once. And where yes, it's different, sitting still while Klavier bathes him, the touch of Klavier's hands and the closeness of Klavier's body are familiar, and the knowledge that Klavier is nude and wet behind him make Apollo's heart beat a little faster, his cock stiffening between his legs.
"I don't think it'll mold," he says, voice gone breathy as Klavier scratches his way down, towards the nape of his neck.
Klavier hums and cups his hands near Apollo's forehead, dragging his hands back to pull the excess shampoo from Apollo's hair, the suds dripping down Apollo's naked back. He leans forward, reaching around Apollo to reach the shower-head, his chest nudging Apollo's shoulder, erection rubbing gently against the bruising on Apollo's backside.
"Nein, my dear Forehead," he says. "But still. We should get you out of here quickly, ja? Just to be safe."
~*~*~*~
When he finally managed to make the headlines of the morning newspaper, just as his idol had, back in the day, Apollo thought that all his hard work had finally paid off. The truth had come to light. Justice had been served. And he'd won recognition for being the man behind it. Mostly.
Mr. Wright had clipped the front page article and framed it. Hung it up in the office, much to Apollo's embarrassment, the first time Klavier came to visit him there.
"It's, um ... it's not that I'm-"
"Proud? My dear Herr Forehead, why would you not be? It is quite an accomplishment, to win against such odds."
"Well, I guess it is, but. Still."
Klavier had laughed at him. Put an arm around him. Pulled him close enough that their bodies touched, both of them facing the framed article.
"If I were in your shoes, Forehead, I would do the same. I would read it every day, as a reminder."
"A reminder?"
"Mmm. Of how it feels to find the truth."
A smile. One which didn't reach Klavier's eyes. One which made Apollo's bracelet tingle, hot around his wrist.
"How it feels to find the truth without being afraid of what that truth might be."
~*~*~*~
Clean and dry and dressed, they sit together on the bed, Klavier rustling papers while Apollo goes over a card of Braille exercises. Slow, still, but getting faster.
"Any news today?" he says, setting aside the card he's finished and reaching for a new one. "Or are you on a new case?"
"Mmm. No new cases for awhile, I think," Klavier says. "This one will ... verdammt, where did I-oh there it is ... be quite enough to occupy me for now, ja?"
Apollo nods, which makes one of his burns pull, which makes him wince. The bed dips, squeaks, and Klavier's breath washes warm over Apollo's lips, keeping him from jumping in surprise as he's kissed.
"Let's not talk about work now, baby," Klavier says, touching Apollo's cheek, fingers moving up to touch just shy of the places still wet with the salve he put on Apollo's burns, after their bath. "You are still healing and should rest, ja? I did promise Fräulein Wright that I would take good care of you, after all."
"Yeah, but I'm fine," Apollo tells him, setting aside the new exercise card and reaching up. Feeling for Klavier's ponytail. Slipping his hand beneath to squeeze the tense muscles of his lover's neck. "I want to know what's going on, Klavier. I want to help." He swallows. "I can still help, you know."
Papers fall to the floor in what sounds like total disarray, Klavier's body moving like he's intentionally shoved his work off of the bed, even as he kisses Apollo on the mouth, then moves to sit behind Apollo, long legs resting to either side of the younger man's bruised, aching hips.
"I know," he says, sliding his arms around Apollo's waist. "And I will tell you what I know, I promise." One hand splays across Apollo's belly, rubs him gently through his t-shirt. "For now, though, we should be focusing on this, so that you can bury your forehead in dusty old books again, ja?" A chuckle. "I have missed the smell of dust on you, strange as it may be to say so."
Apollo twists, the card in his hand forgotten as he kisses his lover, the pain in his chest strong enough to cover the pull of his burns, the ache of his muscles.
"Me too," he says, turning so that Klavier can kiss him and hold him and murmur to him. "I miss it, too."
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