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The man pops up like a bruise: always following a blow. The gruesome purple marring never fails to bloom when a strike lands hard enough. It’s only a question of when it will come.
Sometimes the pain of the bruise outweighs that of the punch.
Edgeworth isn’t surprised to see the man on his doorstep; he was expecting the bruise, after all. Von Karma’s scowl is no different from the one that typically paints his face, but the set of his shoulders screams indignation.
“You are never to let that man get the best of you,” von Karma offers in lieu of a greeting, voice deceptively even.
Edgeworth isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the judge or the defense attorney. He supposes it doesn’t matter. “What was I meant to do,” he sighs, stepping aside to allow the older man into his apartment. “It was a valid objection. I was practically feeding answers to the witness.”
Von Karma slinks into the center of the foyer, his shoes and cane landing in a triple thump with each step. It’s always worse, when he’s like this, all outward calm and composure.
Edgeworth tries again. “I apologize, sir.”
Von Karma steps toward the hallway mirror and picks up the ceramic chess piece decorating the console table below it. As he rolls the small object between his fingers, he looks up into the mirror, locking eyes with Edgeworth behind him. Edgeworth clenches his fists.
“I raised you to win,” von Karma replies at last, voice steady and tone neutral. “I raised you as my son. A beneficiary of my legacy.”
He raises his eyebrows in the mirror, waiting on some kind of acknowledgement. It’s all Edgeworth can do to nod.
“You understand,” von Karma muses. His eyes leave Edgeworth’s as he nods and tucks his chin to his chest.
It feels as though Edgeworth’s body is encased in gelatin when von Karma whips the ceramic chess piece at the mirror, shattering it into pointless shards of glass at his feet. Loud silence follows, and Edgeworth watches immobilized as the man’s shoulders heave with his breath.
“A fucking penalty.” His shoulders jerk under a single biting laugh. “A fucking…“
Without warning, von Karma turns on his heel and lifts the arm bearing his cane and whips the lacquered wood at Edgeworth’s fair cheek, landing with a—
Edgeworth catches the cane on instinct, two inches from his face. The impulse had once been trained out of him. It seems to have made its return. He feels the coldness of the cane beneath his palm as if it were someone else’s, as if he were watching the moment in memory.
Red-hot vitriol drips from von Karma’s face, his mouth mangled into a terrifying scowl as he rips his cane from Edgeworth’s hand.
“Do you think that I cannot do whatever I please to you?” he roars, shoving Edgeworth back against the wall and pinning him with a hand around his throat. “I raised you, I housed you, I gave you your career.” His nostrils flare, and Edgeworth dare not flinch, even as the man grips tighter at the base of his neck. “You will repay me with obedience.”
“I apologize, sir,” Edgeworth offers again, failing to keep the tremble from his voice. Repentance, deference—they’re the only things that work when the man is like this.
Von Karma lets his hand fall from Edgeworth’s neck. “Moronic, ungrateful bastard.” Edgeworth doesn’t dare stand from his position against the wall. “Why shouldn’t I hit you? You bovine dope.” He lifts his cane to trail the tip against Edgeworth’s cheek softly. “Hm? It isn’t as though there’s anything in there to damage, no?”
“There isn’t, sir,” Edgeworth spits. He screws his eyes shut in preparation for the blow.
Von Karma taps the end of the cane against the space between Edgeworth’s eyebrows. “Open them,” he chides.
No sooner than Edgeworth has opened his eyes does von Karma wind back and lash his cane hard against the man’s cheek. Edgeworth’s head jerks to the side under the stinging blow.
“Look at me,” von Karma instructs, jarringly gently. “Eyes on me.”
The moment Edgeworth’s attention is turned forward once more, von Karma chokes up on his cane and delivers two more agonizing blows to Edgeworth’s cheek. It takes everything in Edgeworth not to wince or cry out.
Von Karma strikes his other cheek without warning, and tears swell in Edgeworth’s eyes. “Eyes on me,” he mutters once more before continuing to crack strokes of varying intensity against Edgeworth’s raw face.
Edgeworth stands resolute against the pain, willing his tears not to spill, grinding his teeth against his shouts. When von Karma finally lowers his cane to the ground once more, Edgeworth’s face is blazing hot and utterly raw. Even without the mirror, he knows the skin has broken in multiple places.
It’s still better than some of the other times, though; it’s better than broken bones and deep gashes and hospital beds. Something like gratitude washes over Edgeworth. Because the sting in his face, the ache in his jaw—they’re the feelings of mercy.
“Thank—thank you, sir,” Edgeworth stutters. He'll be done now. Edgeworth's taken it, and von Karma will be done now.
Von Karma smiles as he brings a cold palm up to stroke Edgeworth’s blazing cheek. “You always were a disgusting sycophant.” His smile drops as he grabs Edgeworth by the collar and throws him to the ground. Edgeworth catches himself with his elbows, shooting pain traveling up his arms. Glass shards decorate the floor around him.
“You’ll never learn,” von Karma growls as he crushes a boot down on Edgeworth’s back, flattening him to the ground. “You’re as pathetic as you are stupid, boy.”
Edgeworth’s sob finally breaks through as he feels the handle of von Karma’s cane working under the waist of his trousers, prodding firmly at the flesh of his ass.
“Shall I put this where you’ll really feel it?” von Karma increases the pressure on Edgeworth’s back, forcing more of his weight onto him. “Maybe then you’ll remember not to make a fool of the von Karma name.”
Edgeworth wants to shout no, to break free from under the man’s boot, to run away and never return. It would do no good; it never has before.
Von Karma steps off the man and drops his cane only to crouch beside Edgeworth, using both hands to yank his pants down to mid-thigh. The exposure is mortifying. Edgeworth can feel the sharpness of glass beneath his bare hip.
Even sharper, though, is the stretch of two spit-slick fingers jabbing into him. Von Karma fucks his fingers in and out of Edgeworth for no more than fifteen seconds, scissoring them intermittently, before pulling them out—as if that counts as prep, as if Edgeworth isn’t still going to tear. Von Karma stands, legs bracketing Edgeworth’s.
He’s not naive enough to think it’s von Karma’s cock he’ll be taking.
“Stop crying, imbecile.” Edgeworth hadn’t noticed the continued tears flowing from his eyes. “You’ve asked for this. I must do this to make you better.”
And maybe part of him did ask for this, when he didn’t fight hard enough against that objection and the voice in the back of his mind noted that’s going to bruise.
Von Karma presses the blunt foot of his cane against Edgeworth’s hole. There’s no lube, no narrowed head, and barely any prep. For a moment Edgeworth thinks the cane won’t be able to penetrate him at all. But then blinding pain radiates from his hole as von Karma jabs the thing inside him. Edgeworth’s hands scramble for purchase against his slick floors, tiny shards of glass lodging themselves in his palms.
“Fuck!” Edgeworth yells. His brain has no bandwidth left for self-preservation; there’s only the gut-wrenching pain of the cane forcing its way deeper inside of him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He can’t think. He can’t feel anything except the pain. “Stop, fuck, please!” he cries. “Stop.” There’s no telling where the bottom of that cane has been—courthouse bathrooms, filthy sidewalks, pools of dead men’s blood. Inside Edgeworth, too, twice before. And now it’s in him again, forging its way into his hole, leaving nothing but agony in its wake.
And then von Karma tips the cane just so, the rubber foot pressing right into Edgeworth’s prostate, and it’s not as though the pain is gone but rather partnered, paired intrinsically with a pleasure that shoots right up through Edgeworth’s throat. He moans against the cold floor, stinging cheek pressed hard into the tile. “Fuck, no,” he sobs. “Please. Stop. Fuck.” He moans again, so loudly there’s no hope von Karma hasn’t noticed.
But the pleasure is pain, too, twisting his cries into sick acceptance of this violence, thanking the man for this abuse.
“Are you enjoying this?” von Karma spits. “Little faggot writhing on the floor like that, you like it?”
“No,” Edgeworth cries, moaning. “Please stop, I promise I’ll try harder, I’ll do better, I’ll do anything.”
Von Karma works the cane in and out of Edgeworth swiftly, punching it back in with every thrust. “Don’t lie to the man who owns you, boy.” He delivers a swift kick to Edgeworth’s balls, knocking the cane with his boot at the same time, and the pleasure-pain is so excruciating that Edgeworth’s mind goes entirely white.
He thinks he might have come. He might be sobbing, and his arms might be littered with nicks from the glass. And von Karma might be pulling the rigid cane from his hole, but everything is just white.