In the Closet

by llamajoy

"For the last time, I'm telling you that's just a rumor."

Klavier Gavin was obviously not convinced, toying with the twirly end of his hair. (God, Apollo hated the way he played with his hair. It was so... well, it was distracting. First the hair, then he'd start fiddling with his earrings. It was hardly Apollo's fault he couldn't stop staring at the prosecutor's hands.) He said, "Herr Forehead, I still believe you are delusional. How you can live with Herr Wright, and not know this, I will never understand."

Apollo put down his Playstation controller with finality. "They're not sleeping together," he insisted. Soul Calibur could wait; dispelling slander and finding the truth was obviously more important. "Surely you don't listen to all the rumors you hear in the courthouse."

"I often find that even the wildest rumors are based on kernels of truth, ja?" How many beers had they had? Not that many; Gavin's consonants were still sharp, and his vowels were right where they should be-- still speaking recognizable English. His hands, though, his hands must have been drunk, because his palm was flat and warm on Apollo's knee, and Apollo had had enough to drink that he hadn't protested.

The defense attorney made a valiant attempt at sanity. "What about the rumor that we're sleeping together?"

Klavier didn't say anything, but his raised eyebrow spoke eloquent volumes, just the same (and without the distracting Europop accent). And there he went with the earrings again.

Apollo tried again. "Okay, fine. If they're actually sleeping together, surely there will be some

decisive evidence

, right? That's what we'd need to prove this in a court of law."

Klavier made a noise that was just a little too close to a giggle to be entirely sober. "So know we are to take Herr Wright's sexuality to trial? Surely the American court system is not so--"

"Upstairs." Apollo lurched to his feet, nearly upending the bag of Doritos. "Mr. Wright's bedroom is upstairs. If we find any evidence, then it'll be upstairs--"

"So it is a bet?"

"No-- it's justice."

"You are on," Klavier said, grinning. "Let's go, Justice."

"Hey that's kind of my line," Apollo started to protest, but suddenly it was more important to see who could get up the stairs faster, and they were both breathless and unsteady on their feet by the time they managed the second floor. Okay, so more than a few beers.

"All right then. So... what are we looking for?" Apollo tried to brace himself on the doorjamb but realized he was leaning on Klavier's shoulder instead. He cleared his throat. "Um."

"Incriminating evidence," the prosecutor twirled his hair, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose Herr Wright would be the sort to leave condoms in the bed?"

Apollo tried not to look as scandalized as he felt. "Well surely not! I mean, he's got a daughter. Even if he were sleeping with Mr. Edgeworth, he'd want to be discreet about it."

"So in other words, we'll find nothing obvious." Klavier made a great show of turning down the covers on the double bed. Nothing more unusual than... sheets! And stripy pajama bottoms, neatly folded under his pillow. Klavier beamed. "So endearing, really. I have not tidied my pajamas under my pillow like this since I was a boy."

"Probably because you don't wear pajamas," Apollo said, under his breath.

Klavier narrowed his eyes. "I thought you didn't believe rumors, Herr Forehead?"

"Hey, what's that?" It was a fairly lame attempt to change the subject, but something had caught Apollo's eye-- that turned out to be a sock, a black business sock, shoved down beneath the sheets.

"Aha!" Klavier wiggled an eyebrow. "This could be our proof of a liaison. Whose sock is it?"

"Honestly, I feel ridiculous." Maybe the beer buzz was wearing off. "It's probably Mr. Wright's sock. I could believe he's that much of a slob."

"Hm, ja. If it were Herr Edgeworth's, it would probably have been paired with its mate, and neatly folded." He chuckled at his little joke. "Now if we had found a pair of briefs--"

Apollo felt himself blushing hotly. "C'mon, Gavin, don't tell me you're enjoying this. I thought we were in pursuit of justice, not... cheap thrills."

He lifted a shoulder, cocking his head. "I only mean, underwear would be a likely sign of passion, would it not?"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation." It was no use, he couldn't stop blushing, so he busied himself by peering into Wright's walk-in closet. Maybe in the dimmer lighting, his embarrassment wouldn't be as obvious? "Hey, maybe if we found out Mr. Edgeworth leaves a spare suit in here, that might be our evidence."

"Good thinking! Glad to see one of us still is using his head." Klavier rested a hip against the closet door, leaning in after Apollo. "I see a veritable array of black hoodies," he said, with a rock star's dismay for less-than-fortunate fashion. "Ach, the man must have one for each day of the week!"

Apollo caught his breath. "Hey, I think there's a blue suit back here. Maybe from back in his defense attorney days? Maybe--"

Downstairs, the front door made a very alarming noise: that is to say, it opened. And then closed again, definitively.

"T-tell me that's Trucy back from her magic show," Apollo whispered, frozen in place, blue lapel still in his hand.

Klavier shrugged helpfully. "That doesn't sound like the fraulein," he said, "unless she has a bad cold."

Sure enough, it was a male voice-- worse, male voices. Very familiar ones. From downstairs. Headed upstairs. Apollo's mind raced. How was he going to explain to Phoenix Wright why he and Klavier Gavin were in his closet? God, the cheesy jokes that would ensue, defense attorneys in the closet. Oh well, we're drunk, we're just being stupid--

"I thought that would never end," Wright was saying, out of breath. Just from one flight of stairs?

"Mm," Edgeworth agreed, his voice oddly muffled. "For once, Wright, I'm in total agreement."

Abruptly Apollo realized that the matter was far more serious than he thought, and (in the same moment) that he'd stumbled upon far more decisive evidence than he'd been prepared to deal with.

By the grin and the light in his eyes, Klavier had drawn the same conclusion, and realized the verdict was in his favor. He ducked inside the closet and pulled the door most of the way to, behind him. "How is this for your proof, Herr Forehead?"

"Ssh!" Apollo couldn't quite think straight; he blamed Klavier's cologne. Expensive, and European, and damn, the closet was much smaller than he'd thought, now that the door was closed. "Do you want to get us caught?"

If Klavier had an answer to that (and Apollo had a sneaking suspicion that he did, and that he wasn't ready to hear it), he didn't get a chance to say. The bedroom door opened, and there was the unmistakable sound of... well, of kissing. Long, involved, I've-waited-all-night-through-the-world's-most-boring-dinner-party-just-for-this kissing.

Apollo's ears burned. TMI, he thought, followed shortly by: Oh God, what am I doing here?

"Trucy?" The hiss of a belt being pulled swiftly from its belt loops; the solid clunk of the buckle hitting the ground.

"Magic show." One shoe, chucked in the vicinity of the closet. Then the other one. "Till at least ten-thirty."

"Really, Wright, some father you are-- nnmph--"

The mattress protested, albeit briefly, and the blankets rustled under what was presumably a sudden moving weight. Apollo was thanking his lucky stars that neither man had noticed the fact that the bed had been turned down-- or the single sock just lying there, for Pete's sake.

"So." Klavier's whisper suddenly at Apollo's ear made him jump, clinging to the nearest hoodie to keep his balance. "There is room for us to sit, I think, if we don't move too fast."

Apollo blinked. Underneath the pleasant tang of beer, Klavier smelled of leather and whatever aftershave that was. And designer shampoo. And Doritos. Apollo wanted to laugh, or maybe something else, but he busied himself trying to parse Klavier's words. "...What?"

Klavier waved a hand, the gesture cut short by the rows of clothes that they stood sandwiched between, so he rested his hand on Apollo's shoulder instead. "It seems to me we are stuck here for... ah, the time being. Or we are as good as caught! So we may as well... enjoy the show, ja? Better get comfy."

It wasn't just Apollo's imagination, was it? Klavier licked his lips, and his smile... wobbled a bit. Apollo tried to take a deep breath, and couldn't quite manage. Outside, there was a long, enthusiastic moan that was incontrovertibly Wright's.

Apollo sat down (rather more suddenly than he meant to), his head buzzing and his clothes too tight. Right, well, nothing to do but make the best of-- make the best-- He groaned, and rubbed at his burning face. "This is some sick dream, isn't it?" he said, hopefully. "Any minute now I'm going to wake--"

"--Wright, if you don't--"

"Haha, hang on, right there--"

"Dammit, Phoenix--"

Apollo sort of... whimpered. "It's bad, isn't it."

"What is bad?" Klavier, still managing a fair approximation of his usual smile, had sat down beside him, or rather around him, somehow, maneuvering both pairs of their legs in the small closet interior. Despite the little space, they weren't touching in any way-- and that was somehow worse than if they'd been crammed belly to belly, or wrapped around each other.

"How hot it is. They are. ...I am. I don't know."

Klavier was infinitesimally closer, somehow, without moving. He spoke against Apollo's ear, again, but it did not feel like an accident of their shared confines. "Which one do you think is on top?"

Apollo stared, mortified. "Y-you can't be serious."

"I am always serious!" His grin was more than mischievous. "Think I could get a decent recording of them on my cell phone?"

Phoenix Wright was panting a barely recognizable version of Edgeworth's name, and for his part, Miles Edgeworth's silence was really very telling. Apollo couldn't help it, he was thinking of-- of lips and tongues, God-- and pants around ankles, and-- and whose--

And beside him Klavier was twiddling with the end of his hair, and Apollo had had all he could stand.

"Stop that," he whispered vehemently. He put his hand over Klavier's, and maybe no other skin in the history of skin had felt quite so maddeningly warm. "It drives me crazy."

"Could be we are both a little bit crazy, ja?" Klavier said, throatily. "To be here--"

Apollo thought he might go mad if he didn't, so he leaned closer and kissed him. It was a very good thing that the lawyers in the bedroom were making a fair bit of noise, as Klavier did little to quell his hungry moan, and Apollo lacked the presence of mind to admonish him. It was scorching, and they kissed until Klavier's hands found their way under Apollo's vest (and Apollo's hands themselves were none too innocent).

"Why didn't you tell me?" Klavier said, when they broke apart, kissing a tantalizing line from Apollo's jaw to his earlobe.

"Tell you-- nngod-- tell you what?"

"That you like it risky?" Those guitar-calloused hands were trailing promising circles over Apollo's ribs, over his hipbones, along the fly of his slacks. "Or is it the voyeurism?"

"Hey, I'm not the kink, here," Apollo said, but his argument was not have compelled any court of law, as he was at that moment doing his level best to get into Prosecutor Gavin's pants.

Said Gavin chuckled softly, and his breath was maddeningly ticklish against Apollo's throat. "So you say, Herr Forehead, but I think I know better." His hands (those hands!) found what they were looking for, and Apollo's hips lifted involuntarily, pushing him back against Klavier's chest.

"Quit with the-- with the 'Forehead'," Apollo managed, his pulse and his breath surging against the white-hot tide of sensation. It was better than he'd ever thought it would be, not that he had ever thought about this before, not that-- Klavier's metal rings were hot and his fingers were deft, and Apollo lost his train of thought. "I have a name, you know."

"Ja." The bastard was practically humming, an innervating counterpoint with the wordless, breathless sounds from the bedroom. "And such a name, too." He wriggled behind Apollo, silent testimony of his own arousal undeniable between them. It was just about the last piece of evidence that Apollo needed to close the case, beyond a shadow of a doubt-- helplessly, finally, decisively.

"Ah, here comes Justice," Klavier whispered against Apollo's neck, and he did, and the whole thing was just so hot and so humiliating that he couldn't say a word.

(And thinking about it in retrospect, it was probably a good thing, too, or the famed Chords of Steel might have made an appearance, and given them both away.)


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