ARGH!! Sorry to all those who when to read some yummy Gavincest and found Edgeworth angst instead. -.- It's fixed now.
His hand slid along his shaft, torturously slow and so light he almost couldn't feel it at all. He didn't trust his fingers to close, gripping him tight and shattering the delightful illusion that the hand was not his. He didn't want to feel the scrape of calluses or short, unpolished nails.
And besides, his brother would never be so crass as to get straight to the 'point'.
---
Twenty minutes earlier.
---
"Verdammen, Klavier!" Kristoph cursed, jumping to his feet and away from the sudden cascade of scalding coffee pouring off the end of the table.
"I'm sorry!" He scrambled for paper towels and came up with only empty rolls. He'd been having a really, really bad week. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"… I know." Kristoph sighed, pushing the oval glasses up his nose and stalking over to the cabinet to retrieve the last roll of towels. "It's just… Did you have to spill it on my breakfast?"
Klavier looked at the coffee-soaked toast and bit his lip. Kristoph tossed him a couple of sheets and he started automatically wiping it up. He'd had enough practice over the last couple of months that it seemed almost like breathing.
And then Kristoph sank to his knees, and for a minute Klavier's heart stopped.
The elder brother bent over onto his hands and knees, rocking slowly back and forth as he cleaned up the spill. His white shirt came untucked and rode up just a bit, revealing a strip of pale skin at the small of his back, hinting at the long, cat-like curve of his back, pushing his rear up, blue pants pulled tight against firm flesh. Over and over, he stretched out and pulled back, rhythmic and slow, the muscles of his back moving under the thin fabric, thighs tensing and releasing, almost as if he were pushing back instead of forward…
"Mausi, if any of this drips on me, I shall have to hurt you, ja?" Kristoph sing-songed, perfectly cheerful and perfectly oblivious to all the horrid, horrid things stampeding through his little brother's head.
---
Behind his eyes, Kristoph looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and smiled, dark tongue darting out to run across his kiss-bruised lips as he ran his palm along his cock, never touching him enough to give him any real satisfaction. Even in his imagination, he was always a tease.
One of these days, when Kristoph was on his hands and knees, pushing his ass in his brother's face and pretending it was innocent, pretending both of them didn't know exactly what was going on, he was going to Kristoph what it was like to be tormented like that. He was going to grab his hips, tear off his pants and just fuck the ever-living daylights out of him, and then leave him aching and sore on the kitchen floor just before he came. See how he liked that.
He'd probably return the favour.
He bit back a groan and tightened his grip, ignoring the familiar skin and letting his imagination run wild.
---
Fifteen minutes earlier.
---
He tossed the very last of the paper towels into the quickly filling wastebasket and sighed. It really wasn't his fault he dropped the plate, too. It was so hard to walk normally when your dick is doing its damnedest to make daily life as awkward as possible. Thank Gott for baggy pyjama pants.
He had to find his own apartment. Everything Kristoph did these days seemed almost like a deliberate attempt to drive him insane. He turned corners to find himself nose to nose with him, half-naked and dripping, fresh out of the shower and smelling like expensive shampoo. He stumbled out of his bedroom in the morning and found him sucking the insides out of a sausage. He woke up in the middle of the night and walked by his open door only to glance in and see him stretched out on top of his covers, laptop sometimes still whirring away on his stomach, normally pristine curls brushed out and tumbling over his bare shoulders like some sort of bizarre modern day Sleeping Beauty. He spent half the time half hard and the other with his hand down his pants trying not to feel guilty about wanting to fuck his only living relative.
"I'll be back soon." Kristoph ruffled his hair, dragging him out of his thoughts and making him jump guiltily. "And then we will have breakfast together. How about that, hm, Mausi?"
"Uh…" Klavier coughed, pressing a little closer to the counter in an attempt to hide the growing bulge in his pants. "Perhaps it would be easier if you just ate alone, ja? Then you wouldn't have to come back until after court?"
Kristoph shot him an odd look, doing up the buttons of his jacket. "Surely you don't expect me to carry around the groceries all day. That would make trial very awkward."
"Then don't get groceries today." Why did Kristoph have to stand so close to him, where he could smell his aftershave and that damnable shampoo? "We can survive another few days, can't we?"
"Not the way you keep destroying things." Kristoph smiled, almost amused, and brushed the hair out of Klavier's face, with no idea what the heat of his fingers, the feel of his skin, did to him. "You must be growing again, to be so clumsy. You'll be even taller than me soon, and then I won't be able to call you Mausi any more, will I?"
"You shouldn't call me that now." He grumbled, fighting the blood rushing to his face. Little Mouse wasn't something you called your brother, no matter how small.
Kristoph ignored the comment, letting the palm of his hand rest against his brother's cheek for a moment, apparently ignorant of the growing blush. Klavier couldn't look at him, not now. At times like these, Kristoph reminded him unavoidably of their mother, serene and beautiful and sad. It reminded him of what they were, blood kin, born of the same gentle mother and the same kind father. They had the same face, the same eyes, the same hair, right down to the tight spiral of curls. At best, what he felt was narcissism, at its worst, incest. It was wrong, and it was disgusting, but… Kristoph was the only one who really loved him. The only one who cared about more than his music and the glimmering thing which was Klavier Gavin. He couldn't help but return the feeling, warped as it was.
Kristoph's hand dropped, and he turned and marched away towards the door. "See you, Klavier. Try not to break anything while I'm gone."
"Ja." He swallowed, trying not to stare at the slight sway of his hips. "Er… Kristoph?"
He looked at him expectantly over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob. One step away from disappearing through the door and into the outside world, full of danger and strangeness and dreadful possibilities. Working at the Prosecutor's office, he knew all too well how often a normal goodbye could turn out to be the last. There was nothing guaranteeing that, if Kristoph walked out that door, he would ever come back. He shouldn't leave any room for regrets.
"… It's nothing." He looked away. Kristoph was better off not knowing. "Have a nice day."
There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet. He could feel Kristoph's concerned caring eyes on him and didn't dare turn around. The image of his brother on his hands and knees played over and over inside his head, and he gripped the edge of the counter. Kristoph had better leave soon, or he might do something really, really stupid, say something telling or even worse, grab him and just…
And then the door opened, and the door shut, Kristoph's footsteps fading away down the hall, and as soon as they were safely away and gone his hand was already pushing down under the waistband of his pants.
---
Klavier liked to think that he was a dominant personality. He liked to imagine himself completely in control, seductive and predatory, turning his normally stoic big brother into a lump of quivering, moaning, horny jelly, completely at his mercy. He liked to think that he could break Kristoph's incredible control, make him scream and cry and beg the way Klavier did, when they were children and he didn't know what 'pride' meant yet. He wanted them to switch roles, if only for a little while. And they did, almost every night inside his head.
But some part of him was never convinced by those fantasies. They were always slightly out of character, unreal. That was a good thing, most of the time. Then he could pretend that it wasn't about Kristoph, not really. He wasn't really jerking off to the idea of slamming into his brother's body, willing or no. It was all about the power, and somehow that was ok. It was less wrong.
The good ones, though, the ones that made his hips buck and his toes curl, they were the ones he could believe. The ones he could see happening. Maybe he did that something stupid, maybe he pushed Kris a little too hard, maybe he just felt like knocking him down a peg, it doesn't really matter. He pushes Klavier to the bed, pins him down or lets his hands wander, over his shoulders, his back, tangling in their identical hair. Kristoph has him, not the other way around, as dominant and controlling in the bedroom as he is beyond.
He let his head fall back, almost glad of the spike of pain that shoots through his head as it hits the wall behind him. He pushed his finger in deeper, squirming and hissing. It didn't hurt, especially not with the lube, and he wouldn't notice even if he did, but he's pretending that it's more than just his finger, much, much more. He doesn't touch his cock, save for the occasional 'accidental' brush. It's always been 'One thing at a time, Klavier, one thing at a time', and this can be no different. He'll happily torture himself, if only to maintain the illusion.
---
Ten minutes earlier
---
It was like it always was, desperately fast and aching, aching. He was desperate to come and finally get that image out of his head, his brother on his knees, the sliver of flesh and the smell of coffee still lingering in the air. He couldn't do this, couldn't go through every day unable to look his brother in the eye, desperate for him to leave the room so he could relieve some of the pressure. Something had to change.
He dropped to his knees, one hand so tight on the edge of the counter his knuckles turned white. He didn't close his eyes. Kristoph waited there, on the insides of his eyelids, beautiful and terrible and taunting. He couldn't give into it, not that easily. He couldn't let his brother down like that. He struggled to keep his mind blank, even as he pulled moans from his own throat with a brutal flick of his wrist.
"Kris…toph…" He groaned, the sounds just sounds, empty and meaningless. "Mein Gott, Kristoph… Ich will Sie so schlecht..."
The Kristoph hiding inside his head where Klavier wouldn't let him be grinned, leaning forward and running his hot tongue along the tip of cock, and the guitar callus didn't even matter. He was going to make record time, no more than a minute after Kristoph waltzed out the door and he was already on the verge of oblivion, pathetic, disgusting thing that he was.
"Kristoph…" Bruder... Mein Bruder... "Verzeihen Sie mir, KRISTOPH!!"
---
One finger became two, stretching him carefully, almost gently. Kristoph would be gentle. He hated wasting anything, especially pain. The pleasure would always outweigh the sting, no matter how far they went.
Kristoph's lips brushed against the shell of his ear and he moaned, clutching desperately at the sheets. It wasn't real, it wasn't real, but Gott, it felt like it. He could almost smell his brother's shampoo, almost feel the spiral of his hair entwined with his own. He couldn't help but buck back against the fingers inside him, desperate for contact, desperate for anything at all.
His self control started to slip. His free hand found its way to his aching erection, wrapping around it and tugging hard in time to the rhythm of his hips. Just a little more friction, and maybe…
A hand slapped his away.
---
Five minutes earlier.
---
He was going to come. Just a couple more pumps and that was it. He would clean up his mess and get about his day and it would be like none of this ever happened. Nothing would remain but the image burned into his mind, right alongside a thousand others. He had a never-ending supply of fantasy material, increasing every day. He never, ever got bored.
Gott, he was so close…
He heard the door thrown open, heard Kristoph's baritone voice asking him what was wrong, what happened, why did he scream his name, and by the time he reacted it was already much, much too late. He struggled to stand up, turn away, stumbled and fell, his hand still down his pants. He wanted to run, he wanted to flee, he wanted to sit there and finish what he started while his brother stared at him in shock, wanted to see if the expression on his face was pleasure or disgust but didn't dare to do anything but sit there and try not to weep.
And then he felt his brother's hand heavy on his shoulder and his breath hot in his ear, and suddenly his world was turned upside down.
---
"Not yet, Mausi." Kristoph's tongue darted into his ear, hot and wet and real, his fingers prying Klavier's away. "I know you have a head start on me, but try and hold on for just a little longer, ja?"
"Scheiße, Kristoph, bitte." He couldn't breathe fast enough, letting Kristoph pull his hand away only to entwine it in his, clutching him tight enough that it had to hurt. "If you're going to… To… Then just do it, please, enough of these games. Touch me, please…"
"Nein." Kristoph pulled back, tearing their hands apart, and again it was as if he wasn't even there, hidden behind the pyjama bottoms tied around his head. "You can't give me a show like that and then not continue, Maus. When you're ready, I'll take you, but not before."
"I'm ready!" He groaned, knowing how needy, how weak he sounded and not giving a damn. "Verdammen, Kristoph, BITTE!"
"Fine, then. I suppose you've earned it." He heard Kristoph smirk, and then suddenly Kristoph was all over him, hot and hard and better than any fantasy he'd ever had.
---
He had Kristoph all wrong. He thought his hands would be smooth, but they were as rough as his, a lifetime of pens and paper cuts and endless hours typing away leaving their mark on his perfect, beautiful hands. He didn't tease or taunt, pressing him face-first into the kitchen floor and sinking into him with barely a moment's hesitation, as needy and hard as he was. He did scream, and he did cry, but he was never at Klavier's mercy. He could have been, if Klavier had been able to summon the conscious thought to do anything about it. Kristoph's control was as shattered as his, and he was in no way gentle. He hurt him, and he hurt him, and he hurt him, but with each thrust and each growling animal bite and with each red mark left by those manicured nails, it got better. Kristoph took him for all he was worth, and Klavier gave it gladly.
And through it all, Kristoph whispered in his ear, never letting him forget who he was, his brother, the only one who'd ever loved him, the only one who could ever love him. His little mouse. He wove their hair together, and it became impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.
---
The tile had grown warm under him, sticky with drying sweat and come. It would hurt to sit up, but it would hurt to do that anyways. He couldn't even begin to think about cleaning it up, not when he could still feel Kristoph's seed trickling out of him.
He felt a tug and tried to turn his head, wincing as their tangled curls pulled against each other. A moment of awkward detangling, fingers combing through golden hair that could have belonged to either of them or both, occasionally brushing Kristoph's and struggling not to get distracted, and they were free, separate entities once again.
Kristoph smiled at him from behind the resultant curtain of mess, laughing and shoving Klavier's hair back from his face. It wasn't the gesture of a brother, had never been, he realized. Kristoph's affections had never been brotherly, not really. There had always been that undertone of… something else.
"Kristoph…" He whispered, his voice hoarse and painful. "Were you… Did you… know?"
"Of course, Mausi." The elder chuckled, fingers twirling absently through his hair. "I know you think that you are sneaky, but you are not. Why do you think I never said anything about the blushing and the clumsiness and the, er… die Erregtheit you developed every time I came close?"
He flushed, turning his face away and only earning more laughter. If he had known the whole time, the way Klavier felt about him, then…
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Kristoph paused, letting his hand trail down his shoulder, tracing over the livid red marks his own fingers had left. He was gentle now, careful not to cause him any pain. It was almost odd to think that the soft creature who followed those tracks had also made them.
"I was waiting."
"For what?" He turned back, looking into Kristoph's eyes, the same blue as his, fuzzy and a little out of focus behind his glasses.
"For you to be ready. For me to be ready. For the perfect moment." He half shrugged, more relaxed that Klavier had seen him in years. "There was only one chance to make this beautiful."
Klavier smiled. That was the Kristoph he knew. 'One thing at a time.' 'Make it perfect.'
"Kristoph?" He rolled onto his side, tucking his face into his brother's shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist, holding him as close as he'd always wanted and as close as he'd never dared.
"Ja, Mausi?" Kristoph draped his arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer and shifting him up off the cold, hard floor and onto his warm chest.
"Ich liebe dich." They were just words, words anyone could say to his brother. But for them… For them, they meant something else.
"I know, Klavier. I love you, as well." For them, they meant that they would always be together, no matter what. They were brothers, and they were lovers. They couldn't get any closer.
The next time Kristoph walked out the front door, Klavier wouldn't have any regrets.
Speaking of which…
"Um… Kristoph? Don't you have court?"
"…Scheiß."