Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2020-09-03
Words:
2,581
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
42
Kudos:
706
Bookmarks:
84
Hits:
3,588

My Kingdom For a Kiss (Upon His Shoulder)

Summary:

Apollo lets Klavier come along with him when he visits his favourite record store. They make a surprising discovery.

Notes:

Hello this is very, very soft. I love these two a great deal.

Jove is singing the song "Lover, You Should've Come Over", which was originally written and performed by Jeff Buckley. It seemed very fitting.

Work Text:

  It wasn't a date.

  Apollo was really sure it wasn't a date.

  It was two colleagues who had spent a number of years teasing each other over their wildly different tastes realising, oh, hey, you like this one thing I like? Cool. And that thing happened to be little independent record stores with cranky owners who only put up with customers with a great deal of muttering under their breaths.

  Prosecutor Gavin met him in the parking lot of the strip mall. At this point in their acquaintance - friendship? - Apollo knew him well enough to be able to recognise him even with the shitty disguise. He had a straw hat on his head and board shorts; a loose-fitting tank top that exposed way more skin than was necessary. He could almost hear Frank, the record store owner, complaining about how he didn't have no flip-flops on his dress code sign because it should be common sense.

  "Herr Forehead," Prosecutor Gavin said in greeting. He handed Apollo a paper cup that was slick with condensation. "Here. A smoothie. Traffic was good and I arrived too early, so," he shrugged, a languid gesture that always made Apollo feel clumsy in comparison, "Prost!"

  He leaned over and knocked Apollo's paper cup with his own. Apollo frowned a little, wondering about the weird tension he felt when Prosecutor Gavin mentioned turning up early; the man was slightly on edge. Probably worried someone would recognise him. There's like, zero shade because LA is the worst and planting trees is too hard.

  Apollo took a sip of his drink. "Oh. Hey, this doesn't have milk in it!"

  Prosecutor Gavin rolled his eyes. "Ja, natürlich. You are lactose intolerant, nein?"

  "Uh, yeah, but I told you that, what? Once? When you wanted me to try your birthday cake."

  Apollo remembered it vividly because Prosecutor Gavin had held out a spoonful of ice cream cake, taken from his own plate, and offered it to him. He'd been so fucking tempted to lean across and let the other man feed him, damn the consequences. Instead, he'd blurted out he was lactose intolerant and threw down the files he'd brought all the way across town before running out the door.

  "Mm, I would be a poor excuse for a prosecutor if I was not able to recall things, no matter how small or insignificant." He tried to run a hand through his hair but encountered his hat and he huffed an embarrass laugh. "Or have you forgotten what it is like to go up against a competent rival, Herr Forehead? Should I spend more time in court and less time making my music?" He nudged him with his shoulder. "Just say the word and I will dedicate myself once more to the law."

  His face was getting hot. Apollo hunched over and slurped up some of his smoothie. "Come on, let's go inside. Frank's gonna hate that we have drinks but he might turn a blind eye because it's me."

  Frank absolutely didn't turn a blind eye. Prosecutor Gavin and Apollo had to stand just inside the doorway and drink their smoothies in a rush, rubbing and their heads as brain freeze struck. Once their cups were empty and carefully disposed of, Frank let the two of them step further inside the store.

  It was cramped. A winding maze, the aisles haphazardly carved out from the shelves and boxes. The first time he visited, Apollo had gone home and read up on fire codes; he'd been so horrified, it took him another three months to gather the courage to come back. As they walked through the store, they had go in single file. With his back to him, Apollo could only hear Prosecutor Gavin's excitement -  a soft, tumbling stream of English and German mixed together.

  "So, yeah, here's where I usually start," Apollo eventually said, having led him to about half-way through the store. "I've found some really cool '80's punk and, uh, some New Wave as well. Frank told me he was big in the scene at the time. I think he pretty much bought one of everything, even if it was some single pressed by a DIY record label in an abandoned warehouse." Apollo looked around at the boxes of records piled up to chin height - Prosecutor Gavin's chin height, even. "If I thought about it for too long, I'd probably get depressed."

  "You think about everything for too long." Prosecutor Gavin told him. He already had an early Go-Gos album and was checking the track listing. "If I find something I like, can I listen to it before I buy?"

  Apollo showed him the back corner of the store where there were two private listening 'booths': particle board walls dividing the space with a threadbare curtain you could draw across to muffle the sounds of other customers. Each one had a chair, a small record player and some headphones that were probably older than they were.

  Prosecutor Gavin gave him a thumbs up and they parted ways for a while. Apollo returned to the front of the store where Frank's newest stock had come in and just been left. It would stay there until the next shipment, at which point it would be pushed further back, and so on and so forth.

  Most of it was part of the vinyl revival, so otherwise mainstream stuff just now on a record. He kinda wanted to ask Prosecutor Gavin if he was going to re-release any of the Gavinners' albums on vinyl; when he looked up, Apollo could see he was deep in focus, searching through early 2000's folk rock, and he didn't want to interrupt him.

  He couldn't stop watching him, actually. Probably because it was always nerve-wracking, introducing someone to something he really liked. It made him feel vulnerable and itchy and like his entire identity was on display. Which was really dumb. Apollo Justice wouldn't cease to exist if Prosecutor Gavin didn't like a record store. It just felt like he would.

  The other man was thankfully unaware of the existential crisis that gripped Apollo. He'd taken his hat off - after a stern glare and Frank tapping his cane on the dress code sign - and now awkward strands of white-blond hair were curling over his forehead; Prosecutor Gavin would bat them away with a distracted hand, only for them to fall back down again a moment later. It was nice to see him relaxed, honestly: his posture was loose and open, and it didn't make his bracelet twinge just to look at, not like when he pretended to be casual in the interviews Apollo definitely only watched because they were on at the gym. His fingers flicked through records, pausing, occasionally, so he could read the title. Blue eyes were narrowed; they darted across record sleeves, sharp with concentration.

  Apollo's breath was caught in his throat and his cheeks were red. He'd stopped searching the box in front of him because he'd had a really huge, obvious realisation and couldn't move.

  I'm in love with Klavier Gavin.

  Suddenly, Klavier exclaimed: "Oh, mein Gott!" And, "Herr Forehead, come here!"

  Frank tapped the other board, the one with the store rules on it. No shouting! Apollo apologised and hurried over to where Klavier stood.

  "Look," he said. He freed the record he'd found from the ones on either side of it, and then Apollo was staring into a black-and-white photo of his father's face.

  Jove Justice - Live in Berlin.

  He rocked on his feet. Klavier grabbed his arm with a worried expression.

  "Oh, my god. Klavier, that's... that's him."

  Apollo took the record out of Klavier's hands. On the front of the album it was Jove by himself, playing an acoustic guitar and singing into a standing mic; he had sweat dripping down his face and his bangs were limp where they fell over his forehead. He flipped the record over and saw the track listings - I don't know any of his songs, this is meaningless to me - and there was another photo of Jove, this time sitting down to play. A bit blurry but still visible was the rest of the band, including a very young, very pregnant Thalassa Gramarye.

  He ran his fingers over her face. "Trucy will love this."

  Klavier laughed. His eyes were so bright, it was hard to look at him. "As much as I enjoy making a Fraulein happy, I must confess, it was your reaction I was more interested in seeing."

  Apollo swallowed. He knew that whatever he said was going to be heart-wrenchingly sincere, just as much as he knew he wouldn't be able to stop it from coming out. "Klavier, this... this means the world to me. Thank you."

  "It was my pleasure, Herr Forehead." And Apollo's knees went a little weak at how Klavier sounded saying that, warm and flirtatious and completely earnest, just like him. A golden hand curled around his own and gave a slight tug. "Come, I want to listen to the man who gave you your Chords of Steel."

  He was a little dazed, to be honest. Between finding his father's album and the rough feel of Klavier's palm against his own, Apollo floated through the twisting aisles of the store, unable to do much more than let the other man lead him towards the listening booths. Klavier invited him to take the seat and then drew the curtain across again and sank down to his knees.

  "Would you like to do the honours?" Klavier asked, indicating the record player.

  Apollo nodded. He lifted the plastic dust cover. Carefully, extremely carefully, slid the record out of its sleeve. He placed it on the platter, and started the turntable; moved to lift the needle and then paused. Frank only had a pair of battered, over-the-ear headphones: they wouldn't both be able to listen to the album at the same time.

  "Oh! Ein Moment." Klavier patted his pockets and pulled out a pair of wireless earbuds. He held them out for a few seconds, looked at the record player, then put them away with a sheepish little blush. From his other pocket he dragged out a knotted jumble of earphones, and untangled them as quickly as possible. "Here."

  Apollo plugged them into the output and squished the earbud in, trying to ignore how intimate it was to share headphones, or how warm Klavier was, pressed up next to him. He made sure the turntable was on the right speed, then put the needle in the groove. Silence. Faint hissing which dissolved into the loud cheers and applause of an audience.

  "Hallo," a ghost said, "ah, danke, danke. Wie gehts, Berlin? That... is the extent of my German. Entschuldigung." Laughter. "Oh, there's that, too. OK. Let's go."

  Soft, plucking guitar notes. Then, chords, lush, strummed; the song picking up and the drums kicking in. The crowd cheered again. Jove Justice breathed deeply into the mic and started singing. "Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners." Another breath. "Parading in a wake of sad relations, as their shoes fill up with water."

  Every part of the recording was haunting. The melody, the eerie lyrics; hearing his father sing through time and space and death. But, it was undeniably beautiful, so much so that Apollo's chest ached. Jove's voice was smooth and well-controlled: he dove down deep into his register and then leapt back up, all the way to a falsetto. Each verse slowly built as Jove sang, becoming brasher, angrier until it climaxed in words he practically spat out. Then, the chorus washed it all away, left lingering regret and desire in its place.

  Oh lover, Jove sighed, you should've come over. Cause it's not too late.

  Klavier had his eyes closed as he listened, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows the only sign that he wasn't deep asleep. His fingers tapped very softly on the side of his thigh, as if he couldn't possibly stay still and listen to music, so he was trying his best not to be distracting. Their heads were close, tied together by the earbuds they shared; some of Klavier's hair was tickling Apollo's ear, and the man's breath was warm on his cheek, smelling of the smoothie he'd drunk so quickly earlier.

  Distantly, Apollo heard the recorded audience clap and whistle over the ending notes of the song, but Klavier's eyes were opening. He was confused at first - looking very much like someone waking from a dream - but then he seemed to recognise Apollo, and he smiled the stupid, genuine smile that made Apollo's heart twist and turn behind his ribcage.

  I want to kiss him so much it hurts.

  Apollo's tongue darted out without his permission, touching itself to his lower lip and wetting it. Klavier's eyes dropped to his mouth and he went oh in perfect surprise. In his ear, the audience had settled back down, and a new song began, faster than the first; he wasn't really paying attention. He was moving forward, millimetres at a time, his breath caught in his lungs with hope and terror. The tip of his nose brushed Klavier's and the other man tilted his head, just enough to make the angle work.

  And then their lips met. Pressed into each other, faintly sticky from their sugary smoothies, and then the kiss broke apart. Apollo's heart raced. I kissed him. I kissed Klavier Gavin, oh my God. He kissed him again. Klavier's mouth yielded this time, falling open enough to catch Apollo's lip between his own. Apollo raised his hand to Klavier's cheek and touched it with his fingertips, too scared to hold him closer in case it broke the fragile bubble of whatever this was. Klavier covered the hand with his larger one, and then moaned as Apollo's palm cupped his cheek.

  More kisses, each one distinct with a beginning, middle and an end. The gentle, teasing stroke of Klavier's tongue, and Apollo gasping and chasing after it, I didn't know I was allowed to use tongue. A giddiness was bubbling up in him as he kissed and kissed and kissed Klavier. It was light and wonderful and expanded out and out, making him feel enormous and like he weighed nothing at all.

  Their lips were swollen and their breaths short and panted when Frank yanked open the curtain and cleared his throat. He tapped his cane against the sign on the wall: no making out in the listening booth!

  Klavier paid for the record and Apollo did not meet anyone's eyes, not Klavier's, not Franks, not the teenage boy who was definitely laughing at them in the heavy metal section. They walked out of the store and stood around awkwardly as Klavier put money back in his wallet.

  "Uh, here, this is for you, Herr Forehead." He pushed the record into Apollo's hands.

  "Oh! Thank you. I... I could have -"

  "Nein. A gift." He paused. Twirled a short bit of hair in his fingers. "I'd like to do this again."

  Apollo nodded. "Yeah, of course. We can come back, any time. Well, maybe give Frank some time to cool off? He's really touchy about -"

  "I want to kiss you again."

  To Apollo's immense relief, Klavier decided to do just that. Right there, in the middle of a strip mall parking lot, one earbud still stuck in his ear and the other dangling down and over his shoulder.