Command of Silence: oneshot drabble

Title: Command of Silence
Author: Nyarlathotep
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney/Apollo Justice Ace Attorney
Pairing: Kristoph /Klavier
Warnings: Domination/submission, Some German, Incest, Lashing (the hitting with a leather strap or belt kind)

Command of Silence

Direction. “Turn around-”

Compliance.

Praise. “Yes, good-”

“Hands on the wall- no, further apart- yes like that-”

The situation is completely new, but so familiar that you’re very hard pressed to believe it's not simply another daydream...

The dimmed lamplight falling haphazardly across tanned skin, incandescing the slight elevations of vertebrae and rib, gleaming off shoulder blades and hips, accentuating the curve of slightly paler buttocks and lean thighs, all the way down to in-turned knees... swallowed by the soft folds of black denim that pool there... too surreal.

A fantasy… forbidden and alluring.

Every inch is perfection, each bright line, a gilded invitation to ruin. Your own and also his...

And you’re almost amused to note that it's obviously not the first time either of you have imagined this- burned the image of the other onto the insides of your eyelids in the small hours, with that insufficient manual proxy.

However, you must pride yourself on the knowledge that he had readily offered to play any game you wanted when you'd finally curled your fingers tight into that soft mass of spun gold and forced him to meet your gaze- your lips- your teeth-

Your fingers at his throat-

He had dropped to his knees when you commanded it, and proceeded to pleasure you in ways you had always suspected he would be talented at...

He curls his fingers into the wall... anticipating, knowing the object in your hand, afraid and excited. Nervous lips jumbling English and German. “Kristoph- Kristoph please- bitte- bitte- Oh God- Bruder mein Gott...Kristo--”

The sound is truncated, clipped off in a hiss as white teeth grind with the first touch of the lash, flaxen mane in a complete shambles, curling wild between and around indrawn shoulders... medium length now- He's growing it out to match yours...

He's so yours, so very willing, so like you always knew he would be and you have to smirk at that whimper... that curse in strained German as you lay another screaming welt down across the firm, pale globes of his ass and the backs of trembling thighs.

“Silence, Klavier.”

You pause when the flushed angry stripes number ten and perspiration has begun to stream in a rill down the natural channel created by the muscles in his back, blooming upon hunched shoulders and heaving sides, the soft hair at the nape of his bowed neck in sweat-damp ringlets.

And you find that you cannot help but be impressed with your brother's resolve to obey. He had not uttered another sound since your order, stiffening and expelling harsh breaths through his nose and clamped teeth but obstinately refusing to break, so lovely… so much tougher than he looks.

His tear brimmed eyes roll back, puffy lips parting in a near silent gasp as your breath tickles his ear, murmuring- about how pleased you are with his display of willpower, while pressing in from behind to rest fully against his still shuddering body, placing your scarred hand over his perfect one where it rests against the wall and relishing the heat rising off his tormented flesh, radiant even through your clothing, the way he tenses against you in aroused discomfort as the reddened and stinging wheals chafe against the folds of fine wool suit cloth.

It is a struggle not to echo him though, when his resolve shatters in the next second, a haunting keen rising from some place deep and carnal at his root when you drag the nail of one elegant finger along the crease of his hip- and you know, without looking that his sex is rock hard and straining, know it by the desperate roll of his hips, the maddening erotic clench of his naked ass against your still covered groin, and by the strangled sound escaping his throat, the flush and quiver of his body.

Just as you know, while burying your face against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and soap and cologne, -your cologne- that you’re every bit as tense and wanting, just like in all your favorite dreams of him.

And in all his favorite dreams of you.

“Gott Kristoph- Bitt- ahh.. Oh God.. Please, Kris…”

He’s nearly crying with frustration as you finally take him in your hand, encircling his shaft and circumscribing the swollen head with one slow revolution of your thumb as he tenses and shivers, eyes clenching shut and fingernails scraping through the paint and into the plaster. You gently drag the very edge of your thumbnail through the tiny slit, spreading the generous accumulation of slick fluid and-

That’s all it takes for him to buckle, chest and cheek now flush against the wall with your weight at his back, now forcing him into your tightened hand with a calculated surge of your hips, teeth digging into the junction of his neck and shoulder, more than hard enough to bruise- and you feel him seize and twitch and spill out with a sob of relief and agony and pleasure and shame and love…

He crumples as you release him, falling to his knees with a sigh and turning to again please you with his beautiful mouth and to uphold your command of silence.

~end