Stille Nacht

Stille Nacht
By: TheGoddessofDeath

A/N: Written for the kink meme. The requester asked for consensual vonKarmacest.

The church bells toll across the quieting town, a silent snowfall making its presence known amongst grass blades and rooftops. There are carolers outside the von Karma manor gate, singing by the light of the lamp post, familiar tunes that her sister had taught her when she was young and was now teaching her seven year old daughter. Franziska counts the chimes, makes out the words of those soothing melodies as she listens to her niece squealing beneath the tree in the living room, pawing through her presents from Mama and Auntie Frani and Grandpa Manfred, and even one that had come overseas from Uncle Miles.

"Now now, Anneliese," she hears her sister say to her daughter as she wiggles her way through the brightly wrapped boxes. "Christmas is tomorrow. It's bad luck to open more than one gift on Christmas Eve."

Manfred is sitting in his chair, watching his eldest daughter and granddaughter with feigned interest, his cognac and pain in his right shoulder demanding most of his attention. He hated Christmas. Every year that damn memory came back, that gunshot ringing in his ears and his shoulder bothered the hell out of him. "Eleonore, let the girl open her damn gifts if she wants to."

The eldest female in the room shoots her father a disapproving look. "Father, how many times do I have to tell you to watch your language around Anneliese?"

He snorts, taking a sip of his alcohol. "Franziska," he says and she is there in a flash, not even having to be asked twice. He pats his thigh and she knows what to do, taking her long skirt into her hands and kneeling down on the floor next to him, laying her head upon her folded hands that found themselves perched on his thigh. His large hand strokes her sky blue hair with a gentle fondness, and she sighs happily.

Eleonore gives her sister and father a look, one akin to disgust. She was sure they only did this to torment how imperfect she was, and how much more preferred Franziska was in Papa's eyes. She picks up a gift and hands it to her daughter, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "We'll come back and open the rest tomorrow, Mausi. But for now let's just open this one, hm?"

"Leaving so soon?" was all Manfred could manage to say, swirling the burgundy liquid in his goblet with one hand and continuing to stroke Franziska's hair like one would a cat with the other.

There is no reply for a moment, just a look of disdain throw his way. "It's getting late. Anneliese needs to get to bed or else Santa Claus won't come."

The young girl is inclined to agree with an enthusiastic nod of her head as her mother offered her her coat. After she has slipped it on, however, she runs to her grandfather and throwing her arms around his torso. "I love you, Grandpa," she says with her cheek cuddled to his stomach. Manfred groans, containing a sigh as he raises his hand a moment from Franziska's hair and pats his granddaughter on the head like one would when praising a dog.

The goodbye between Franziska and her niece is almost identical, though the elder female manages a slight hug back. "Behave for your mother," she mutters into the girl's ear and she smiles, giving her aunt the traditional kiss on each cheek.

Once Manfred and Franziska watch the other half of their family walk out into the cold, probably to compliment the carolers and sing a few bars with them, the male sets his alcohol on the table beside his chair. "Promise me, my dear Franziska, that when you become a mother that you do not bow to her level of foolishness."

"Yes, Papa," the teenager says softly, leaning into his touch as he cups her cheek with appreciation, almost as if to say good girl.

The rest of the evening is spent in silence, Manfred draining his goblet of his evening treat (and to get that damned pain to ease off) while Franziska watches the fire that had been built hours ago dimming down to embers.

The bells across town toll midnight and Franziska turns her head to listen to them count out twelve strikes. Manfred groans and stands up, leaving his goblet on the table. The morning maid would find it and wash it out. It was, after all, a daily routine.

"Franziska," he says, demanding her attention and she looks up to him with her blue eyes. "Time to retire. Come."

Without a word she rises, follows him up the staircase and down the hall to their rooms. Hers is first, so she curtsies to her father and smiles slightly. "Goodnight, Papa."

Manfred only groans again, sighing softly as he turns and walks off to his room, shutting the heavy oak door behind him.

Even though it is Christmas, she wastes no trivial feelings on the matter. She engages in her regular night routine: washing her face, brushing her teeth, changing into her nightgown before brushing her hair.

As she tries to settle down to sleep, she hears her father in the other room groaning in his discomfort, and she pays it little mind... until it gets louder.

Franziska looks to the clock on her nightstand and sighs. It's a little bit past one, and she knows that her father absolutely loathes it when he's disturbed at night but she's curious as to what ails him so.

So she creeps to his bedroom door and opens it slowly without any sound.

He's laying in bed, clutching at his right shoulder with his left hand and trying desperately, it looks like to tear the thing off.

"Papa!" she cried without knowing herself, shrinking back when he sits up, eyes wild.

His eyes narrow when they see her, and he growls. "Franziska! How many times do I have to tell you-"

"No, no, I know Papa," she reassures, braving herself to walk into the room and to her father's bedside. "You just sounded like you were in so much agony..."

"Memories, child. Nothing more than damnable memories," he admits, unable to look at her. She always did look so beautiful in the moonlight. Just like her mother, and yet so different.

Timidly she approaches, undoes the top half of his nightshirt buttons and pulls it apart to bear his chest to her. She pays it little mind, she just wants to see what the problem is. Though she will admit, she had always wanted to see her father's gorgeous body.

There's a jagged scar marring his right shoulder, almost looking as if a gaping hole had been sewn up by a ten year old. The skin surrounding it is red from her father's grasping and clawing, and she traces it with her finger. "Papa, what happened?"

"Nothing worth noting," Manfred reassures his youngest daughter. "An accident before you were born." Well, it was only half a lie. It had been an accident.

Lithe fingers reach over to turn on the bedside lamp, a dim light illuminating the room. Manfred sees her better now: her curves accented by the muslin of her nightgown, the way her touch is so soothing to him it's almost like menthol. Only three more days and he was out of this mess forever, he could go on with the rest of his life...

What catches him completely off guard is the kiss his daughter places to the scar. It is tender and sweet, and he seeks her eyes with his own as she lifted her head. There are no words to speak; their gazes say everything.

It happens quickly and without much thought: their heads incline to meet each other, lips touching softly. At first it's innocent, sweet, meant to quench intrigue. Franziska has been waiting for this opportunity for months, perhaps even years. Manfred has been watching his daughter mature the past few years, taken an interest to her blossoming beauty and wishes to taste that perfection he has molded her into for sixteen years.

Once they note no resistance, no objections, it only continues. Franziska lays her top half on his chest, arms on either shoulder as her lips are drawn to his again. Deeper and deeper it spirals, arousal rooting itself in the pit of their stomachs and branching outward. Oh, he tastes of the finest alcohol that only he would ever have a taste for, and she tastes of some mild peppermint tea.

They both want more, the young female climbing atop her father completely and lets him look her up and down. Hands begin to push at her gown and she gladly pulls it over her head, leaving her only in her panties.

She can feel her father below her, hardening as she rubs subtlety on the bulge. Manfred's eyes roll back in his head as he grips her hips, grinds up against her and growls. "I hope you plan on finishing what you start."

All Franziska does is offer him a smirk, another kiss and a nod. "I plan to, Papa."

There's no more talk between the two of them. Sometime during a kiss, Manfred had released himself from his pants and his daughter wasted no time lowering herself onto him. Feeling him inside her, completing her... now that was perfection.

Their dance continued: hot and needy, hands and mouths grabbing at each other as Manfred filled his daughter to the hilt with every timed thrust and she threw her head back, hair plastering to her sweaty forehead. What pushes him over the edge is how beautiful she is, how much she wants him and he stills her hips with a final thrust.

His offering she takes willingly, hands splayed on his chest as his fingers dig into her hips. When she feels his completion coating her insides and that familiar warmth of orgasm washing over her body, she slowly lowers herself to his chest and kisses him again.

There is no way he will let her leave his side tonight. Manfred covers her and himself with the thin sheet, still warm from their lovemaking. He's grateful to her: she got the pain in his shoulder to subside enough to sleep.

The next morning it's the phone that awakens him, and he answers it with little hesitation. "Von Karma speaking," he starts. There's a silence, a smirk crossing his features and he nods to himself. "Understood. I'll be there by this afternoon."

Franziska awakens when she doesn't feel him in the bed anymore, and she looks up to see him already dressed in his work outfit and packing a suitcase. "Papa, what are you-"

"I have to go to America," he says before she has time to finish, slamming the suitcase shut. "They say that Miles Edgeworth killed a man."

The girl is trying to process his words, sitting up to bear her breasts to the morning air. She knows better than to question or protest his actions, and she smiles softly to him. "I understand, Papa. Be safe."

Manfred looks to his youngest daughter, wants to go over and kiss her and tell her he loves her but he knows he cannot. For some reason, he knows he'll never set foot in this room again once he leaves it. And for that he's almost grateful.

So without another word he turns and leaves, shuts the door behind him and she waits until she hears his footsteps recede into nothing before she bursts into uncontrollable tears.