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One.
The crash from the ceramic dish hitting the floor causes a shriek to reverberate through Apollo’s apartment.
“Jesus, Trucy, I think you just burst my eardrums.” But he’s less annoyed with her and much more so with Mikeko, who has just interrupted movie night by turning his (dollar store) clutter tray into a gazillion little pieces. He grumbles, “Where am I gonna put my fuckin’ keys now…”
Klavier has already produced the broom from the kitchen and is dutifully sweeping up the chaos — the little three-shaped mouth and cat ears are still visible on some shards. “Poor Herr Mikeko’s likeness has been destroyed,” He sighs melodramatically, and Trucy giggles as she rushes over to fetch the trash bin.
The perpetrator has not gotten far from the scene of the crime. Mikeko is stretching out innocently by the balcony door when Apollo plucks him up bodily to scold him, “Naugh-ty!”
But Mikeko just blinks up at him with big, yellow eyes, utterly unfazed. “How’d I get a girlfriend that’s such a little asshole?”
“Apollo,” Trucy pouts, “You know Mikeko is a boy cat. He has a thingy.”
“I’m joking, Truce.” He scratches affectionately at Mikeko’s ears — his crimes are easily forgiven, which is why he’s one of the most notorious criminals in Los Angeles.
The little shards of ceramic tinkle as they slide from the dustpan into the trash. Klavier is on his hands and knees, closely inspecting the floorboards for any stray little specks. It makes Apollo’s heart soar a little with affection; he just did it without being asked. “See, Mikeko?” he guides the cat’s unaffected gaze towards the lawyer on the floor of his apartment, “Klav's cleaning up after your mess. Klav’s a much better girlfriend than you — ”
“Girlfriend!?” Klavier sputters, and his hair comes a little bit undone, falling loose across his shoulder from the force of how hard he whips his head to look at Apollo. He looks utterly bewildered.
Apollo and Trucy, on the other hand, find it utterly hilarious. They both crack up. Mikeko slinks away into the closet to plot his next misdeed. Trucy makes more microwave popcorn.
And Klavier struggles to focus on the action-movie schlock that they’ve collectively picked out tonight, despite how the other two jeer at the two-bit acting and effects.
When he excuses himself to use the washroom, he spends an inordinate amount of time staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Girlfriend. Is Klavier capable of being a girlfriend? Boyfriend, partner, most certainly; this has been thoroughly established. But there’s this weird little feeling tangled up in his stomach; he’s felt it since he was on the floor earlier picking up crumbs of broken ceramic.
His mind wanders to a few years ago, when a friend had once teasingly called him a good girl during sex, and in response he’d teared up and finished almost instantaneously. Admittedly, he’d also raided her closet often, both for drag and just for fun. At the time he thought he just liked being contrarian.
One thing is for certain: the comment earlier this evening has conjured up something he’s kept smothered.
“Didja get lost?” Trucy inquires through a mouthful of popcorn as Klavier returns.
He swings over the back of the couch to land next to Apollo, putting an arm over his shoulder casually. “I was just fixing my face, ja?” Klavier tells her, and prays that his voice isn’t as tight and reedy as it feels like it is. Apollo blessedly doesn’t say anything.
But he does poke at him later that night, after Trucy’s dad has picked her up and Apollo and Klavier are lying in bed together.
“You feeling alright, Klav?”
At this point, Klavier has been staring at the ceiling aimlessly for quite a while. “I’m fine,” he retorts, thinly.
“You sound like me.”
“I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“You think loud. What’s up?”
Klavier’s grunt at first is noncommittal; he isn’t really inclined to dredge anything up, but he is thinking, a lot, and he’s at least wise enough to know that Apollo won’t rest until he talks. So, he crosses his arms delicately over his bare chest. “I… You called me your girlfriend earlier.” The note of tension in his voice is plain.
He hears Apollo’s breath hitch. “Hey,” he starts, and wriggles closer to brush at a loose lock of hair that’s fallen in front of Klavier’s ear, “it was just a joke. I’m sorry, I won’t make it again if — ”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to make it again. That’s not the issue.” Klavier forces himself to turn and face Apollo. He swallows heavily, and continues, “I kind of…liked it.”
Apollo blinks at him, his eyebrows knitting together slowly. “...So what is exactly the issue, then? I’m confused.”
And now, Klavier can’t stop the feeling of tears pricking at his eyes — he feels pettish and whiny and immature. “I’m confused, Hase. Why did I like being called your girlfriend when I don’t not like being your boyfriend?”
Apollo taps his finger against his chin thoughtfully as he watched Klavier across the pillow. He offers, “Well, you don’t have to choose between the two, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“...Huh?”
“Well like — ” Apollo squirms a bit, gesturing with his other hand under the blanket, “Klav, if you feel like you’re a bit of both, you don’t need to pick one.”
“I don’t?”
Apollo closes the distance; his hands find their way onto Klavier’s waist. “Would I lie to you?”
Two.
They’ve discussed the girlfriend thing some more; Apollo has had to tease it out of him, piece by piece, conversation by conversation, like Klavier is a witness. It's not that he's trying to be cagey; it's overall a topic Klavier isn’t particularly versed in, but he’s both unsurprised with Apollo’s knowledge and terribly, terribly indebted to him for his patience.
Like right now. Klavier is fussing apprehensively with his hair in the mirror. His makeup collection is strewn over the counter. He frowns at his reflection. “Schatz, am I being too prescriptivist?”
Apollo looks up from his phone; he’s perched on the edge of Klavier’s bed, watching through the bathroom door as his boyfriend — now, occasionally, possibly, sometimes his girlfriend — preens in front of the sink. “That’s a pretty big word.”
“But am I?” The petulant streak is rearing it's ugly head again — Klavier hates how fraught he’s getting over this.
But Apollo shrugs. “I don’t think so. You just have to... do what feels natural. You’re good at that.”
“Is that what you did?” Klavier’s gaze meets Apollo’s in the bathroom mirror.
Apollo looks relaxed. He’s wearing one of Klavier’s loose-fitting tanks, and Klavier’s eyes float toward the barely-there scars visible along the seam of his chest. It’s almost a little funny; Apollo’s usually the high-strung one, but he's taken this whole new ordeal in stride, like it's second nature. Klavier won’t lie to himself that he’s just a little bit envious.
Apollo pushes off the mattress to pad into the bathroom. His arms loop around Klavier’s waist from behind, and the top of his head is barely visible in the mirror. “Klav, you’re overthinking this again.”
“But I can’t not.”
He feels Apollo nuzzling his forehead into his back. “But try. I’ll love you no matter what.”
Klavier sullenly stares down his own reflection again. The face in the mirror is both familiar and foreign. But the thought of Apollo’s girlfriend, Klavier makes his heart swell.
Three.
“Apollo.”
Their pace is slow, undulating. They're caught— the sheets have gotten twisted around their legs; the fabric of the harness is rubbing into Klavier’s thighs.
But Apollo fucks him unhurriedly. Their hips press together, then part, reunite, reveling in the closeness every time. The smack of skin on skin is ignored in favour of Klavier kissing Apollo like it’s his last day on Earth.
Apollo thrusts right against Klaviers prostate again, and he whimpers.
“You’re so beautiful like this, Klav.” With a snap of his hips, his pace quickens gradually, the rhythm tightening. All the air leaves Klavier’s lungs as he writhes under him. Apollo groans softly, “I love you. I love you. Klavier — ”
Klavier's arms throw themselves around Apollo’s shoulders as they kiss. Apollo is moving harder, rutting the length of the toy deep into him. Klavier gasps into his mouth.
Apollo breaks off to look at him. Their eyes are so close; dark pupils and eyelashes swallow up almost all of his vision. “You close, baby?”
A silent little nod. There's tears welling up.
Apollo rumbles again as he grinds his hips up. He feels the tanned thighs squeezing his waist start to stutter. “There you go, there you go — good girl.”
Klavier weeps as he comes.
Four.
I think I might be coming down with something, is what Apollo thinks when he sees Klavier in his office.
He’s not dressed all that differently than usual. It’s little differences — the kind of thing Apollo picks up on. A bit of mascara, a flick of dark brown pencil at the corner of Klavier’s eyes that makes them seem a bit softer and dreamy. He's swapped the silver rings on his earlobes for a delicate little pair of drop earrings that sway when his head moves.
The cut of the dark button-down he’s wearing is a bit more tapered than usual, as is his suit jacket, both curving inward to hug his waist. When he stands, Apollo sees how the pleats on his slacks make his narrow hips seem a bit wider. It's different — He's ethereal, almost blurred around the edges.
That's all to say, he looks really, really good.
The soft click of his heels on the floor as he stands makes Apollo’s knees feel weak.
“Did you need something, Herr Forehead?” Klavier’s eyes glimmer with something mischievous.
Apollo wets his lips with a woefully dry tongue. “Um. I can't remember.”
Five.
The mattress creaks. Klavier is poised like a viper over Apollo, easy, almost listless; it's driving Apollo utterly insane. His one hand presses into the mattress by Apollo’s head, beckoning him to stare into his face, while his other delicately unbuttons the little red waistcoat, which Apollo knows from previous experience is a near-perfect match with the shade his face is probably turning.
At this angle, he has an excellent view of the sheer, amethyst-coloured bralette underneath Klavier’s blouse. He rolls his hips idly into Apollo’s, his stiffening cock rubbing againt his thigh. The feeling goes right to Apollo’s dick.
“Are you ready for me, liebling?” Klavier purrs, eyes dark. His hair dangles tantalizingly over his face, framing it in spun gold. It's an empty question; he already knows the answer.
Apollo squeaks, and his response tumbles out, “Yes, Ma’am — !”
And Klavier’s sweet, lazy smile suddenly turns predatory. He dives in.
Plus One.
Apollo feels fairly used to the ebbs and flows of Klavier’s preferences. Today, he can deduce, the scales are tipped in favour of Mars.
It’s subtle; it’s always so subtle. Little tells: the way he holds himself, how he sits, how much he frets with his hair in the morning. It has less to do with the little smudge of shimmery green on his eyes today, and more how he puts an arm around Apollo and pulls him close as they walk to his car.
“Dinner?” Klavier floats.
“For my boyfriend?” Apollo replies coyly, and Klavier smirks; bang-on, in more than one way.
His hand is on Apollo’s thigh for the entire drive. They barely make it through the front door before Klavier has Apollo’s pants around his ankles and his back pressed into the wall.
His nose buries into short brown curls as he busies his mouth on Apollo’s cock; he’s trembling, but Klavier’s hands on his hips are stable and unyielding. He knows exactly what to do, after all the practice they’ve had. His tongue swirls around the head, flicking down to lap at his folds before he wraps his lips around his dick again and sucks, and he moans — and that’s the best part; Klavier has been waiting all day to get his mouth on him.
Fingers trace up Apollo’s bare thigh and prod gently at his wet entrance — he spreads his legs just a little bit wider with his pants still around his ankles — they dip in easily. The way they find the right spot so quickly is the result of diligent practice.
Klavier crooks his fingers in time as he laps at Apollo’s clit, and Apollo chokes out a sob of pleasure. His hands fly to Klavier's head and lace into his hair.
“Oh my God — Klavier — I love you. You’re so good. I love you — ”
He comes taut and trembling against the wall as he grinds into Klavier’s mouth, fluttering around the fingers in his cunt.
Klavier keeps amusing himself with Apollo's pussy until Apollo is bucking away from oversensitivity. When he finally pulls off, he looks unbelievably smug; his hair is mussed, and the shimmery green on his eyelids is smeared. He makes sure Apollo is watching as he pops his fingers into his mouth, licking the spend off.
A ragged little sigh escapes from Apollo. “...Should we get dinner?”
“I just ate,” Klavier drawls as he stands. He plucks his phone off the table, and his nails click on the screen as he punches something in, “But I can order — Do you prefer Italian tonight, or Korean? On me.”
Apollo's mouth slowly forms into a grin, and he huffs a breathless little laugh.
“You're such a gentleman, Klav.”