[fic update] Piano Man Memory 03: "Kimi" to Iu Hikari

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Title: Piano Man
Author:trenchkamen (via ms_asylum fic-journal)
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban / Ace Attorney
Genre: General, romance, memory, songfic

Memory 03: "Kimi" to Iu Hikari

“I screwed up.”

Edgeworth was stretched out supine on Phoenix’s couch, cravat undone, coat slung over the back of a chair. Pearl was perched on her knees on the neighboring, mismatched armchair, watching Edgeworth in horrified enthrallment. Maya had finally taken the bottle of vodka away from him, though he had only nursed enough to numb his senses and not make himself ill.

“I thought I had put that idiotic, foolish mistake behind me; it was only my second case, I knew the guy was guilty and I refused to see him get off—and now it’s rendering me useless.”

“You’re not useless, Mr. Edgeworth!” yelled Pearl. “Guys need their best friends as much as their girlfriends, right?”

Edgeworth couldn’t help arching his eyebrows as he glanced at Pearl. This was hardly the time to digress into this topic.

“There has to be some way we can nail Kristoph for this forgery before he nails you back,” said Maya. She was clenching her fists, mimicking the motion of pulling something toward herself, bringing it into submission. She looked up. Her hellbent expression was all-too familiar, even given Edgeworth’s relatively limited interaction with her.

Please don’t do anything stupid; even though I don’t know what the hell you could do to Kristoph Gavin, please don’t surprise me.

Hopefully, if anything, she would resort to metaphysical tactics, which as far as Edgeworth was concerned were thoroughly useless anyway. He sighed.

“That’s going to take some careful watching.” Edgeworth ran his fingers over his eyes. “He’s… not an idiot. He’s got the Bar Review Board eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s got… a lot of information on a lot of people.” Not just me. “If I’m not careful he’d bring the entire board down on my head before I could even make an official appeal to a higher court. I’d be disabled before I could even start.”

He swore quietly in German and dropped his head back on the armrest. It had been a long time since anybody had seen him this agitated, and Maya wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Usually Nick could be trusted to sooth Edgeworth’s frayed nerves, but Nick was in a sorry state of his own right now.

“I wound up hurting him,” Edgeworth said quietly. “He’s too pure for somebody like me. Too good.”

“Oh, don’t start this self-loathing fishing-for-compliments crap now.” Maya sat down on the ottoman next to Edgeworth. “Look, Nick is mad about you. Absolutely, madly in love with you. You should have seen him when he thought you were… gone.” Her eyes went distant, staring sidelong at the floor through heavy lids. “…it was like he had closed off his heart to the sunshine of the world.”

A silence. It took Edgeworth a moment to realize how lightheaded he felt. He heard Pearl sniff—hard—and both he and Maya looked at her. Pearl was staring at the floor, leaning on her hands between her knees, lip quivering, glaring back tears.

Maya sighed heavily. “Pearly, we’ve talked about this, remember?”

Pearl jumped up and ran out the door, scooping up her sandals in one hand from the entryway. The door slammed behind her. Maya sighed heavily and stood.

“For God’s sake…”

She started walking toward the door, paused, and turned on her heels, looking back across the room. “Nick, you’ll take care of Mr. Edgeworth, won’t you?”

Edgeworth followed her gaze. Phoenix was leaning in the bedroom doorway, clad in nothing but his idiotic Tabasco boxers and still looking half-asleep. His hair was mussed and falling down around his face without its usual gel. He nodded.

“And when we come back, please be wearing more than just a smile.”

Maya had closed the door behind her before Phoenix or Edgeworth could respond. Edgeworth sighed and rested his head back on the couch armrest, closing his eyes. He heard Phoenix walk over, felt him sit next to him.

“How long were you standing there?”
“Long enough.”

“So you heard…?”

Edgeworth opened his eyes. Phoenix met his eyes for a moment, looked away, nodded. Edgeworth sighed and rested his head back down.

“I don’t know why Pearl is pulling this right now. Seems rather self-centered.”

“Miles, she’s nine.”

“So? When I was nine—”

He stopped, knowing fully well it was a moot point. He sighed heavily and ran his hands over his eyes.

“Phoenix, I’m so sorry. I’d… I’d give up my bar for you in a moment if it would get yours back. But you heard. I can’t strike now, not without knowing everything that happened. I’d lose the only chance I have to help you.”

“It’s the truth, then? You really did forge evidence?”

Miles opened his eyes. Phoenix was staring at the floor, face unreadable.

“I… yeah.” Miles closed his eyes again. “It’s true. Just once. My second trial. I… I really thought it was the right thing to do at the time.”

Another silence. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I—I was embarrassed, all right? Ashamed. I couldn’t change it. I wanted to leave it in the past and move on. And I’d especially be embarrassed to tell you—”

“Did you put an innocent person in jail?” Phoenix was staring at the opposite wall. His eyes were hard. “Just for your win record?”

“What—no!” Miles groaned and ran his fingers over his face. Oh God, here we go. “He was guilty. Absolutely guilty. But under the current system, without that one piece of evidence, arbitrary, lost somewhere in the crime scene, he would have walked… This isn’t a game or a television show. All the clues aren’t out there just waiting to be sewn together. Every scrap of logic tied the crime to him. Any jury would have voted him ‘guilty’. But he was careful, meticulous. Covered his tracks. A professional.”

Phoenix was silent. Miles swallowed.

“…then…” Phoenix finally said, “where do you draw the line? Replacing the ‘truth’ with your preconceptions, putting innocent people in jail—”

“—or letting killers walk free just because there wasn’t enough evidence?” Miles sat up on his elbows. Phoenix was glaring at the ground. “The old trial by jury system, the current evidence-only system… neither one was perfect. Both let killers walk free. Both put innocent men in jail. And you—” Edgeworth pointed at Phoenix, swaying drunkenly up on one elbow. His arm jerked with the movement. “—you know exactly what I mean. Entrapping Tigre into confessing he knew too much about the crime scene by misrepresenting evidence? Matt Engarde?”

Phoenix looked up and glared at Miles, hard. “I never forged anything.”

“I got a confession out of the killer.” Miles sighed heavily. “It’s… it was the last thing I could do. It was something I knew was missing from the scene. I had seen it before, but it disappeared, and I hadn’t taken any proof of its existence before. I only left the crime scene for an hour—I did not have anywhere to put it—and it was gone when I returned. That would have changed everything. A replica of evidence is permissible if you can otherwise prove that object was there, and you make it clear that you are presenting a replica. I… couldn’t tell the court it was a replica. I had no proof it was there but my own observations.” He paused. “I was not going to allow my own carelessness to interfere with the trial.”

Phoenix was silent again. Miles continued, “He confessed to the serial rape and murder of several women, Phoenix. He was a biochemist. Decomposed the bodies in vats of sodium hydroxide, destroyed all traces of DNA evidence. No prints. No secretions of any kind. He wore gloves, carried reagents to all of his crimes to clean up. He was smart. In his confession he admitted several details only known to the police. Please understand. Demon Prosecutor though I may have been, I swear I never forged evidence that had never existed. I swear.”

Phoenix was silent. Miles sighed and rested his head back down on the couch, closed his eyes. It was a long time before Phoenix spoke.

“Thank you, Miles.”

Edgeworth opened his eyes. Phoenix was still staring beyond a spot several yards away on the ground. His brows, though furrowed, bent back; he was seemingly near tears with conflict.

“I… the appeal?” Edgeworth shrugged. “It was my duty. Justice was violated in that courtroom.”

“I also mean for telling me the truth.”

Edgeworth nodded. “Well, I really did not have much choice, given…” He sighed, staring at the opposite wall. “…I’m so sorry, Phoenix. I never wanted to have to explain this to you, because I didn’t want you to hate me, but this whole ordeal ended up hurting you in the end. It’s made me unable to help you right now.”

“…right now.”

“I’m not going to let Kristoph Gavin get away with this. I can bide my time, watch him, if it takes years. I will nail him as soon as I get the chance to strike.”

“As adorable as you are when you play the knight in shining armor, I have the same sentiments and desire to defend myself.” Phoenix kissed Miles on the cheekbone. He leaned over him on the couch, balancing on his forearms. The heat from his stripped body was intoxicating; the scent and closeness made Edgeworth sigh peacefully and close his eyes. “But I’m glad you’re willing to fight alongside me.”

“Always.”

Miles’ smile grew larger as Phoenix kissed his other cheekbone, then started to kiss his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks. His movements were getting heavier.

“The girls may be back at any minute.”

“Hm, I don’t know.” Phoenix started kissing in the crook of Miles’ neck, and Miles groaned, arcing up into Phoenix. His body was already humming in response. “I rather like the idea of you wearing nothing but a smile.”

Phoenix’s phone went off in the bedroom. He pulled back, annoyed, glancing sidelong at the door. Miles arched his eyebrows.

“Steel Samurai ringtone?”

“It’s Maya.”

Phoenix gave Miles a quick kiss before pushing himself off the couch and walking into the bedroom. A moment later, the ringtone stopped, and Phoenix said something inaudible through the wall. Miles closed his eyes and sat back, body still humming with restrained energy, listening to the murmur of Phoenix’s voice through the wall. A barely audible good-bye. A moment later, Phoenix walked back into the room.

He was wearing one of the sleaziest smiles Miles had ever seen in his life. This was only accentuated by the fact that he was still stripped down to his boxers.

“Well, it seems Maya and Pearl have decided to go have a girls’ afternoon around town. Maya was just calling to say not to expect them until this evening.”

Miles wondered if it hurt Phoenix’s face to keep smiling like that. He straightened his cravat and sat up.

“Is she psychic or something?”

“Actually, yes.” Miles resisted the urge to point out that he meant that rhetorically and that anybody with any semblance of awareness could tell what they wanted to do, but after several cases involving the Fey girls Phoenix was as staunch a believer in the metaphysical as anyone at the Psychic Bookstore. “The only stipulation is that we take her and Pearl out to eat wherever they want tonight. Even if we have to dress up.”

“I think we can manage that.”

That damn smile was infectious—especially so, given that Miles was just glad to see Phoenix smiling again. He stood and put his hands in his pockets nonchalantly, hoping he seemed steadier than he felt. He had not realized how much he had drunk in the space of an hour.

“So, what do you suggest we do?”

The next thing Miles knew, he was shoved shoulders-first into the wall and Phoenix was kissing him desperately, untucking his shirt and running his hands up and down Miles’ chest. He unbuttoned Miles’ vest and left it hanging slack on his shoulders. Miles started undoing his cravat before Phoenix had a chance to muck up untying it as he usually did, or stretched it out by pushing his hands too far up under the collar.

“Wait, wait.” Miles grabbed Phoenix’s hands firmly, mumbling breathlessly around kisses. He finished untying the cravat and threw it aside. “Okay, now we’re ready to go.”

Phoenix laughed breathlessly into his mouth, running his hands up under Miles’ shirt, up his torso, up his chest. He slid his hands back out and started unbuttoning the shirt.

“I can’t believe I ever wondered if you were straight.”

“Shut up, Wright.”

Miles arced back into Phoenix’s touch, allowing his arms to go slack so Phoenix could slide his shirt, and with it, vest, off his shoulders. The clothes pooled in a crescent around his ankles. Phoenix grasped Miles’ flanks loosely and stepped back, looking him up and down appreciatively. His right hand ghosted up his ribs, thumb massaging his stomach, up under his arm, and his thumb brushed over Miles’ nipple before Phoenix lifted his hand and ghosted it over Miles’ shoulder and down his back. He trailed his fingertips down Miles’ spine, then pressed on Miles’ back and grasped him tightly to his own chest. Miles paused, lost in the warmth of being crushed so close, bare skin melding, and trailed his fingers down Phoenix’s shoulder-blade. He slid his hands across Phoenix’s back and clutched as well. As they stood within an inch of the same height it was easy, comfortable, to hold each other so close, desperately close, crushingly close, warm skin against skin, cheek against cheek, chests rising and falling together. Hearts beating against each other.

Miles traced his curled fingertips up Phoenix’s neck and grasped his hair, noting how silky and clean it felt without so much gel. He ran it through his fingers, gently pulled Phoenix’s neck back so he could look into his eyes. He remembered, vaguely, being drunk enough to once claim that God had stolen the color of the deepest, clearest ocean from Phoenix’s eyes. He remained convinced.

“Miles…” Phoenix murmured softly. He was subconsciously tilting his head to fit his lips against his partner’s, fingers digging into Miles’ back and crushing them so close together it hurt. Miles dug his fingers harder into Phoenix’s hair, knotting strands around joints, and Phoenix hissed softly. He murmured an apology and loosened his grip. Their breath was mingling, lips parted millimeters from one another. Phoenix gently nipped at Miles’ lower lip, then the top, again, again, nips growing into gulps, deeper and deeper as though he were dying of thirst and Miles was water. Miles caught his tongue up in his own, opened his jaw wider and crushed their mouths together, tasting, drinking deeply as well. They drank, they drank, they drank, desperately, as though they could never get enough, as though they could meld together with the force of desperation.

Phoenix trailed his hands down Miles’ back again, still lapping and massaging Miles’ tongue with his own, and dipped below the waistband of his pants and briefly cupped his arse before bringing his hands around to his front, still under the waistband, and curled his fingers lightly around his erection, stroking softly—hardly touching. A feather touch, a ghost touch. Miles hissed sharply and froze for a moment, hands ghosting over Phoenix’s wrists, stopping him from messing with his belt buckle.

“Bedroom—come on.”

Miles detached himself from Phoenix and stooped to gather up his shirt, vest, and cravat by his feet, straightened, and padded into the bedroom, body humming and hypersensitive to the cold air across his bare skin. As soon as Phoenix closed the bedroom door behind him, dimming the room given the blackout curtains still drawn, Miles dropped his clothes into a careless heap against the wall and grasped Phoenix against himself again. He reveled in the heat the other man’s body provided against his skin, the strongly-beating heart, the rise and fall of breath, the articulation and movement of muscle and bone and sinew beneath soft skin. Phoenix ran his fingers lightly down Miles’ stomach to make him arch back, hypersensitive to the ghost touch, and give Phoenix access to his belt buckle. His fingers messed with it, ungainly, desperate, tugging against the loose end to slacken the pull against the metal tongue, and finally slipped the tongue out of its hole. He pulled the belt out of the buckle—hard—and Miles closed his hands over Phoenix’s wrists, calming his movements to smoothness.

“There.” The belt dropped to the floor. “If I lose another beltloop to you, I will take it out of you forcibly, Wright.”

---------------------------------

“I think I can live with that.”

Phoenix ran his hands up Miles’ torso again, briefly, admiring how stunning he looked stripped to the waist like this, and started undoing his pants. He kissed Miles, drawing him closer with his fingers hooked in his waistband, and got the button free, unzipped the fly. He slid the loose trousers down his partner’s hips, and Miles stepped out of them when they pooled fuchsia around his ankles, now stripped to black boxers and socks. Phoenix stepped back, admiring once again, and smirked. Miles crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“Now what?”

“You’ve missed the sock gap.”

Miles looked down at his feet briefly, then back up, arching his eyebrows inquisitively. Phoenix sighed, arching his eyebrows right back.

“You grew up in Europe. Didn’t you ever watch Coupling?”

“Apparently not.”

“Not even Doctor Who, none of that BBC stuff?”

“I grew up in Germany, and though Germany did produce its own television, much to the shock of the English-speaking world, we did not watch television in our… house.”

His voice trailed off sharply. He exhaled through his nose and stared sidelong at the floor, expression unreadable. Phoenix cringed.

You idiot; stupid, stupid, fucking idiot, Wright—

“Miles…”

Miles looked up, expression still unreadable, tinged with pain. Phoenix felt like kicking himself in the balls.

“I’m… hey, I’m really sorry, I…”

Miles waved his hand dismissively and leaned down to remove his socks, balancing awkwardly on one foot at a time. “Don’t worry about it.” He threw his socks into the corner by his clothes and straightened, sighed. “You’ve helped set me free from a lot of those memories, anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t still hurt you.”

Miles shrugged and crossed his arms. “Well, you can make it up to me, then.”

He was tapping his forefinger against his arm, though a smirk was cracking his stern expression. Phoenix glanced down none too subtly and noted that his erection had not flagged. He looked up and smirked back at Miles, beckoning to him with curled fingers as he backed up until his thighs hit the bed. Miles followed, pushing Phoenix back into the soft comforter with a firm hand on his chest. They kissed awkwardly, breathily, as Phoenix backed himself up the bed until he was fully on it; he continued scooting back, wriggling his back and pressing off with his heels, until he was sinking back into soft pillows, Miles still on top of him. He sighed happily and grasped Miles’ hair, pulling him down firmly into another deep, slow kiss. He slid the fingers of his free hand under the waistband of Miles’ boxers and started to tug them down awkwardly, only managing to pull them half down one hip while the elastic hugged the other waist. Miles laughed silently into Phoenix’s mouth and pulled the boxers down his other hip, and they broke away from the kiss momentarily, both looking down as Phoenix gently pulled Miles’ cock out of the fabric. It sprung away from the elastic band, standing at a full erection, and Miles exhaled in relief as Phoenix pushed the boxers down to his knees. He curled his legs around and peeled his underwear off, throwing it in the corner with his other clothes.

Phoenix looked up; Miles’ gray eyes were half-lidded, pupils dilated in lust. His hair was falling down from its carefully-gelled peaks, some tendrils sticking to the damp already forming on his neck. He had a stunning body: ridiculously-flawless and soft porcelain skin, articulated collarbone, shoulders, and muscle, a hard, slim stomach and narrow waist, neatly-trimmed silver hair surrounding the base of his cock. He was uncircumcised, which Phoenix found amusing to no end; it made Miles more sensitive, more intact, and playing with Miles’ foreskin was amusing. Phoenix was himself the result of a botched circumcision, and had a thick, ugly scar marring the underside of his cock, along the head, decreasing his own sensitivity with unfeeling scar tissue across what was, in most men, the most sensitive area. He had always been horridly self-conscious of this disfigurement, and recalled his anguished anticipation the first time Miles had pulled his boxers off and examined the erection that had sprung free, the furrowed eyebrows and look of concern as he discovered the old wound and ran his thumb across it. Though he was looking aside in shame out of the corner of his eye Phoenix saw Miles look up at him and kiss the scar lovingly for several long, suspended seconds before taking Phoenix’s head into his mouth.

It was the most sublime and intimate expression of acceptance, the most loving affirmation, Phoenix had experienced in his entire life.

“You’re really not very subtle, Wright.”

Phoenix snapped back to the present, realizing he had been staring pointedly at Miles’ cock for several long seconds. He looked up at Miles and smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. Miles was giving him a flat look.

“Sorry. I was just remembering something.”

Miles arched an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Not that I don’t like staring at you.” He kissed Miles softly, fingers trailing down his jawline. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Miles pulled back and smiled softly, fingers playing at the hem of Phoenix’s boxers. “You are too.” He pulled impatiently, but they did not move under Phoenix’s weight. Miles turned his head slightly and looked at Phoenix out of the corners of his eyes, smirking sheepishly. “Take these off.”

Phoenix smirked and lifted his hips, pulling his boxers off and sighing softly as his own erection sprang free of them. He threw them against the wall and pulled Miles’ hips down against his own firmly with his hand on the small of his back. Miles closed his eyes and groaned softly as Phoenix ground up against him, the sensitive undersides of their cocks rubbing together, and threaded his fingers through Phoenix’s hair, kissing him deeply, desperately, as he threaded his other arm under the pillow beneath Phoenix’s head, cradling him. Phoenix hissed in pleasure, threading his arms up under Edgeworth’s and clutching his back, grinding up hard with his hips. A hot, humming knot was already tightening in his abdomen, and every grind sent pleasure shooting up the nerves in his back and stomach, made every nerve in his body hum. He pulled Miles down—hard—so their stomachs were rubbing together, and the hypersensitivity of his skin made Phoenix shudder in pleasure. His eyes rolled back in his head and his breathing became rhythmic, shallow, mirroring Miles’ deeper, halting breaths. He buried himself in the crook of Miles’ neck and started kissing up and down, softly, than harshly, desperately. He felt more than heard Miles groan deeply, felt him shudder.

“Try…” Miles gasped as Phoenix ground up into his hips hard. “—try not to leave a mark.”

“You always cover your neck anyway.” Phoenix sucked deeply in the crook of Miles’ neck to make his point, and Miles moaned softly, drawn-out, thrusting reflexively. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Besides,” Phoenix managed breathlessly between kisses, “I want you to have something to remember me by.”

Miles gave a shuddering, broken gasp, moaning softly again, then suddenly pinned Phoenix’s wrists above his head. He started sucking—hard—against Phoenix’s collarbone, knowing full-well Phoenix was especially sensitive there. Phoenix gasped in shocked pleasure and threw his head back, arcing into Miles. Miles was undulating his hips in maddeningly slow, circular grinds, cresting and ebbing like a wave. He moved down Phoenix’s collarbone, eventually crossing his neck, starting to suck a line up the opposite collar. Phoenix hissed in pleasure. Molten lead surged through his stomach.

“Turnabout is fair play.”

The smile was evident in Miles’ voice. Phoenix smiled in response and arced up into his lips, not caring that he was going to have a line of bruises across his collarbones come tomorrow. He ground hard into Miles, and Miles broke away with a gasp of pleasure. Phoenix smiled impishly at him.

“I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer.” Their chests rose and fell in tandem, breathing heavily. Phoenix broke out of one of Miles’ hands and brushed his partner’s hair out of his eyes lovingly. “So, what do you propose we do?”

Miles stared at him for a moment. Breathing. “…whatever you want.” He rubbed Phoenix’s temple with his thumb. His eyes were clouded with desire and love, a look so rare and cherished Phoenix always found it impossible to look away. Miles wet his tongue and swallowed. “Whatever you want. Today is your day. You choose.”

Phoenix sighed happily and rested his head back on the pillows, closing his eyes. Miles kept brushing his temple with his thumb patiently, lovingly. When Phoenix did not answer quickly, Miles sighed and collapsed against him, resting his head next to Phoenix’s on the pillow, still stroking. Phoenix threaded his fingers with Miles’ free hand and brought it to his lips.

“If I died right now, I would be happy.”

Miles paused. He pushed himself up on his forearm, stared as Phoenix kissed the back of his hand. His expression was indescribable. Clouded by lust, brows bent back as though near tears, near some unspeakably beautiful sadness. He unwove his fingers and stroked Phoenix’s hair, staring at a point somewhere above his hand. His eyes flickered to Phoenix’s. Focused. Stared.

“I love you, Phoenix.”

That near-sadness, burning ache, was contagious. Phoenix blinked rapidly, noting that his eyes were burning.

“I love you, too, Miles.”

Miles kept staring with that same aching, longing expression for a long while. Phoenix sighed and rested his head back in the pillows, closing his eyes in utter contentment. He felt Miles shift his weight off his arm, heard him open Phoenix’s bedside drawer and shuffle through the junk in there. Phoenix knew what he was looking for, but opened his eyes and glanced at him sidelong anyway.

“Looking for something?”

“Your organizational skills are an abomination.”

He finally pulled his curled hand out of the drawer and pressed a crumpled, half-empty tube of lubricant into Phoenix’s palm. Phoenix closed his fingers over it, trying to warm it. It was cold, stiff from misuse. He arched his eyebrows and scratched the back of his head.

“I hope this stuff doesn’t expire.”

“Not in any amount of time you’d keep it around. Besides, I know that even without me at your disposal you keep yourself quite amused.”

“Oh, wow, ice burn.” Phoenix kissed Miles softly and arched his eyebrows. “And for your information, prosecutor, I haven’t been ‘amusing myself’ since the last time I saw you.”

Miles arched his eyebrows back. “Really.”

“I wanted to save up.” He kissed Miles again, deeply. “Besides,” he added, breathless, “nothing compares to being with you anymore.”

Miles smiled to himself at that, fingers still playing over the hand Phoenix had closed over the lubricant. Phoenix pushed himself up on his arms until he was sitting with his back resting against the pillows, and he pulled Miles up by the arms over his crossed legs until he was straddling them, balancing on his shins. The tube was finally warm enough to be pliable, and Phoenix unscrewed the cap and squeezed a dollop into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it. Miles took in a sharp breath; the rubbing was releasing the familiar, volatile smell, and his cock twitched in Pavlovian response. Phoenix’s own erection was straining painfully against his stomach, but he ignored it and pulled Miles closer by the forearm, raising him up on his knees and resting his own head on Miles’ chest. Miles was shaking; he grasped Phoenix’s shoulder tightly, supporting himself. Phoenix supported him with a hand on his side, and slid his dominant fingers behind Miles’ balls, pressing against the nerve just behind in teasing and earning a sudden sharp gasp and nails digging into his shoulder. Miles rose up further on his knees and grasped Phoenix’s other shoulder as well.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Miles swallowed. “Trust me, I will.”

“Right, silly of me to ask.”

Phoenix teased the ring of muscle around Miles’ entrance with a lubed fingertip, and Miles inhaled sharply, fingers tense. He slid his forefinger in slowly, and Miles inhaled softly, shifting, adjusting to the intrusion. He was fully relaxed and trusting, breathing rhythmically, almost meditatively, but he was still tight and God, so hot, almost burning. Phoenix pushed his finger in to the knuckle, allowed Miles to adjust, and pulled out just enough to start pushing in the second finger. Miles moaned softly and took in a sharp breath, stiffening momentarily—Phoenix froze, allowing him to relax, to get used to this—then relaxed, pushing against Phoenix’s fingers until Phoenix was buried to the knuckles again. He pulled out slightly and curled his fingers to stroke the nub he knew he would find there, soft and—ah, there it was—and Miles hissed sharply, digging his nails into Phoenix’s shoulders and moaning as Phoenix continued to rub his prostate. As Miles relaxed more and started to push back, Phoenix started to scissor his fingers as he slid in and out, increasing width of movement until Miles dug his fingers into his shoulder again.

“Okay.” He wet his tongue; his voice steadied. “I’m ready.”

Phoenix desperately wanted to shove himself into Miles now—his cock was burning, straining with the transferred warmth and grasp on his fingers—but he kept still, stroking Miles’ flank with his thumb.

“You’re sure?”

“Wright, you are not that big; I want this. Now.”

“I have no objections to this.”

“You know…” Miles gasped softly, almost disappointedly, as Phoenix pulled his fingers out of him and squeezed more lube into his hands, rubbing it rapidly. “If you can ever get through sex without courtroom references, I will be shocked.”

Phoenix chuckled and rubbed the lube onto his own cock, taking in a sharp breath of pleasure, for all that the lube was still cool.

“Sorry. I can’t resist. Neither can you.”

“I am not nearly as bad as you.”

“Well, if it bothers you so much…” Phoenix grinned impishly, wiped the excess lube on the sheets—which gained a disapproving look from Miles—and leaned back against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. “We can stop.”

“This isn’t funny, Wright.”

“I think it is.”

“You want this as badly as I do.”

Miles was right, of course. Phoenix’s erection was straining painfully, and it was taking every ounce of willpower not to grab Miles by the hips and jam him down on his cock. Phoenix clenched his interlaced fingers.

“We are not playing this game,” said Miles. “This is childish.”

Phoenix just smirked in reply and crossed his arms. Miles sighed heavily and crossed his own arms, still balancing up on his knees over Phoenix’s legs, and tapped his finger against his arm.

“You do realize how idiotic we look right now.”

Miles was still right, of course: two men, naked, in bed together with engorged erections flat against their stomachs, leaking pre-cum, staring each other down. Miles was leaking lube out of his arse. A drop splattered on Phoenix’s knee—hot—and Phoenix’s cock twitched in reply.

“Say you want me.”

Miles sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Oh God, I need your throbbing manhood in me; oh God, oh God, I need you now; I need you to fuck me into oblivion; oh please, oh baby, the thought of this makes me touch myself at night. Is that good enough?”

Phoenix laughed in spite of himself. Miles was damn good at keeping a straight, stern face even now, but Phoenix saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He ran his hand up the inside of Miles’ thigh.

“Not bad.” He pressed the tip of Miles’ head with his finger, swiveled it around lightly. Miles hissed sharply and clenched his forearm. “Maybe needs a little more feeling.”

Miles grabbed Phoenix’s balls—hard—and dug his nails in just deep enough to cause a jolt of pure sensation—pain or pleasure, Phoenix wasn’t sure—up Phoenix’s back. Phoenix yelled in surprise and clenched the sheets as Miles leaned over him threateningly, feral, supporting himself against the headboard with his free hand.

“Fuck me.” Edgeworth’s voice was calm, dangerously quiet. “Now.”

Phoenix squirmed away, but Miles’ grip on his balls tightened threateningly. He swallowed. For all that he was mildly terrified, he had never been more turned on in his entire life.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Miles released him and Phoenix sighed, arching his eyebrows and straightening into a comfortable sitting position, back resting against the pillows. He had not realized how much he had slid down onto his back. Miles was smirking with a self-satisfaction that, in other circumstances, would have been infuriating, but now was just incredibly arousing. Phoenix pulled him over his crossed legs by his hips and held his own cock up at a good angle, steadying Miles as he slowly impaled himself, groaning, the smirk disappearing as his eyes fluttered shut and he lost himself in pleasure. Phoenix’s eyes half-closed; he watched Miles take him into his own body, moaned with the exquisite heat and tightness and smoothness engulfing his cock. Miles eventually maneuvered his legs so they locked around Phoenix’s waist, and sheathed himself to the hilt. Phoenix’s eyes fluttered open, and he stroked Miles’ cheek until he half-opened his eyes. The gray of his eyes was a sliver surrounding a pool of black. Phoenix leaned back and drew Miles down with him, hand threaded through his hair, and kissed him languidly, deeply, then nuzzled his cheek with his own and grasped him tightly. Miles grasped back, fingers digging into Phoenix’s hair. They were crushed together, locked perfectly, close as it was possible for any two people to be.

Phoenix sighed happily and tiled his chin up enough to kiss Miles softly, over and over, as he ran his fingers through Miles’ hair lovingly. Miles kissed him back with equal softness and turned his head to stare at the long mirror bolted to Phoenix’s Ikea wardrobe. Phoenix started nuzzling his neck, kissing, murmuring that he loved Miles, loved him so much, and traced designs on his back, tilting his own head and resting his cheek against Miles’ neck, staring in the direction Miles was. Phoenix knew he would never forget it; it would forever be carved into his mind: the silhouette dimly lit by the ambient light allowed through the curtains, he and Miles crushed so close together, Miles’ legs split wide so no expanse of skin would be denied contact, the articulation and movement of muscle as they settled together, breathed together. Phoenix kissed Miles’ collar and turned his head back to the mirror, resting his cheek in Miles’ neck again.

“We’re beautiful.”

Miles stared at him in the mirror, eyes still heavy-lidded, face unreadable. After a long while he turned, taking Phoenix’s jaw and turning his head with him, and kissed Phoenix on the forehead. He started kissing down his cheekbone, kissed him breathlessly on the mouth a few times, and drew back, drawing out a little bit, staring down at their crotches. He thrust forward with a moan and screwed his eyes shut.

“Move,” he murmured quietly. He drew back and thrusted a little deeper, a little harder. “Move. Move.”

Phoenix grasped Miles’ hips and ground up, hard, synchronizing his movements with his partner’s. Miles had by far the most freedom of movement, but Phoenix met his down-thrusts with a small upward thrust of his own and ground his hips. Miles grasped Phoenix’s shoulders to steady himself and threw his head back, moaning low in his throat, drawn out, as Phoenix thrust up and ground into his prostate. Miles maintained that angle, half-thrusting, half-gyrating, grinding in cycles, and his moaning became rhythmic with their thrusts, ebbing with the wave and crest of their hips. These intimate, unrestrained noises from Miles drove Phoenix mad, and he closed his eyes, moaning himself, a little louder, but still losing himself in the soft sounds of Miles’ ecstasy. To know that he was giving Miles—restrained Miles, tormented Miles, his Miles—so much pleasure and release was too much. They moved together like an ocean system, one fluid body riding on waves, ebbing and flowing, cresting and falling, momentum transferred smoothly from one body to the next.

There is a problem in not masturbating much: one’s stamina decreases, sometimes more sharply than expected. Phoenix already felt himself cresting to the point of orgasm, felt the knot in his lower abdomen tighten exquisitely, all of his nerves along his back and arms and shoulders crackle with potential. He forced it back, bought himself a little time as he was about to go over the edge, but he was still close. He rested his forehead on Miles’ neck, grasping his flanks, and stared sidelong at them in the mirror. Stared at Miles riding him with his head bowed, eyes closed, hips moving in delicious, grinding circles, moans and breaths halting in pleasure. Muscles moving beneath skin, hips and back and arse and oh God that should have waited—

“Miles,” Phoenix murmured. His eyes fluttered shut and he took a sharp breath. Flooding with pleasure to the point of numbness, balancing on the edge, suspended—“Miles, I—ahh…”

Time suspended. Every nerve in Phoenix’s body overloaded, the surface tension broke, and everything flooded over: a torrent of the purest sublime essence crashed through his body, rooted in his abdomen, running along the length of his cock. Phoenix tilted his head back and heard a soft, strangled gasp escape from his own throat. His cock twitched; the last of his semen flowed into Miles, and he collapsed back against the pillows, body humming with residual hypersensitivity.

Miles brushed his hair out of his face. Phoenix opened his eyes, realizing that Miles had stopped moving, and that he was still loosely grasping his flanks. Miles had yet to come; his cock was leaking, but still straining, still unrelieved. Though a sedative was flowing through his body, making him want to fall asleep, Phoenix sat up, drew Miles closer to him, and ground encouragingly, taking hold of his cock. Miles inhaled in pleasure and closed his eyes, briefly ghosting his hand over Phoenix’s, and grasped Phoenix’s shoulders again, moving, grinding almost desperately. Miles was close, at least; Phoenix knew he would not stay erect much longer, and he wanted Miles to feel all the pleasure he could possibly give.

Phoenix grasped Miles’ flank with his free hand, other hand still pumping slowly, skillfully, knowing how to play over Miles’ sensitivities, and rested his forehead on Miles’ shoulder, smiling, free fingers playing up his ribs. It still felt wonderful, but his peak was coming down; it was more of a sustained, pleasurable massage than a building tension he felt now. He closed his eyes in bliss.

“Faster,” Miles whispered. His voice was becoming strangled. Phoenix’s eyes fluttered open, and he obliged, pumping harder, lifting his head from Miles’ shoulder to achieve a better angle. He considered conserving his energy, but Miles’ halting gasps egged him to stroke faster, to give his all in one short burst. The gasps became harsher, more halting, edged with soft, light moans; Miles moaned Phoenix’s name in quiet fragments, and then gasped, breath catching in his throat, froze, head thrown back—

Miles’ body clenched around Phoenix’s cock. Phoenix felt the shudder, the spasms, echoed through his partner’s body. Semen oozed out of Miles’ cock, ran warm down the blade of Phoenix’s hand. Miles’ body finally went slack, gasping, head still hanging back. Chest rising and falling against Phoenix’s.

Silence but for breathing. Phoenix licked the semen off his hand; as unsavory as it tasted, he savored the aspect that was Miles, and tried to lean down to clean Miles’ cock, to no avail; it was impossible to lean that far from this position. He groped blindly for a tissue and cleaned his partner off gently, then threw the tissue into the bedside trash and grabbed Miles—hard—holding him close.

They stayed like that for a long time, shaking, breathing each other in, nerves humming, flooded with drowsy, absolute contentment. Phoenix had long since gone limp, and he finally pulled out of Miles and cleaned all the lube off himself as Miles crawled under the sheets next to him. Phoenix threw the tissue out and crawled under the sheets as well, curling up against Miles, brushing his hair out of his face lovingly. They threaded their arms around each other, Miles’ around Phoenix’s waist, Phoenix’s around Miles’ shoulders, and remained that way, half-asleep, for minutes that felt like hours.

“Okay, that was really good,” Phoenix finally murmured.

Miles laughed dryly. “I would say that is an understatement.” He was tracing designs on Phoenix’s back with his fingertips, playing across the skin like an instrument. “Do you think you’re going to have the stamina to go again?”

Phoenix laughed quietly and brushed his hair back out of his face. “You’re going to have to give me a minute.”

“We have all afternoon.”

“I’m twenty-six; I think I can manage another go or two in an afternoon.” He kissed Miles on the forehead and snuggled closer to him, smiling, soaking in his flushed warmth and musk. “Besides, you inspire me to great efforts. I can move mountains with you by my side.”

“Oh, so sleeping with me now requires some sort of Herculean effort?”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

Edgeworth smirked and rolled his eyes, then closed them, resting his head on the pillow. “Touche, Wright.”

“Yes, I guess ‘sleeping’ with you requires some sort of Herculean effort. It’s hard not to grab you and fuck your brains out.”

Edgeworth gave Phoenix a flat look. It was the look that clearly said ‘You are an idiot’; Phoenix had seen it far too many times in and out of court. He smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head.

“Right.” Miles closed his eyes again and rested his head on Phoenix’s shoulder. “At least I have brains to fuck out in the first place.”

Phoenix punched Edgeworth in the shoulder, half-laughing, and mumbled, “You’re an ass.”

Miles smirked and snorted quietly. “I know.”

They stayed like that for a while, Phoenix smiling and feeling profoundly comfortable and safe for the first time in days, watching Edgeworth doze, still smirking softly. He brushed Edgeworth’s hair out of his eyes and stroked his back, eyes half-lidded, lost in thought.

He had lost his badge. He was a disgraced ex-lawyer. Everything he had busted his ass for was gone. And none of it was his fault.

He still had the people most important to him in the entire world.

Everything is going to be all right, isn’t it?

No matter how long it takes, I can keep going if I have you with me. No matter how dark it gets. The light that is you will always find me in the darkness.

I’m not afraid.

He was already recovering. Phoenix smirked and none-too-subtly bumped his thigh into Miles’ crotch, noting that Miles was already half-erect as well. Miles batted his knee away.

“If you’re going to take revenge on me for grabbing your balls, at least wait until I’m more awake.”

“You seem plenty awake to me.”

Miles opened one eye. Phoenix knew his smirk was sleazy; it was hurting his face, but damned if he could make it go away. Miles closed his eyes and snorted softly, smiling. He shook his head and pulled Phoenix in close.

“Fine.” He wove his fingers through Phoenix’s hair and kissed him, hard. They came up gasping. Miles smirked darkly and rested his forehead against Phoenix’s. “But turnabout is fair play, Wright. This time, I’m going to be the one to take you for a ride.”

----------------------------

I don’t need to rush to the end
I just need to keep going
It’s okay if things unfold
One scene at a time[1]

-----------------------------

“Professor?”

Phoenix snapped out of his reverie so quickly he banged his thigh on the bottom of his desk. Clover rattled, but balanced himself with all the grace of an organic cat, distributing his weight on his paws. His lights were still lit red. Clockwork was chewing a piece of gum, head tilted to the side quizzically.

“Sorry.” Phoenix ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, clearing it. He had stopped talking after saying that Professor Edgeworth’s appeal to the Bar Association had failed, and had abridged other portions of his memory, but he had not realized how long he had paused glossing over this particular segue. A full minute, maybe more?

God, I hope my face isn’t red; it feels like it should be.

“I was, ah, trying to think of where to take this next.” He scratched the back of his head. “There was a period of about… seven years it took everything to gel. A lot of other things happened during that time.”

“Is that when you got married to Professor Edgeworth?”

“Wha—yes.” He blinked; most students did not care enough about their professors to look up their CV or biography on the websites, and it was not something he or Edgeworth talked about as a matter of course during classes. He reflexively twisted the gold band on his left ring finger. “Miles—Edgeworth finished his sabbatical in Europe and moved back to LA, we got married—one of the first gay marriages legalized in Los Angeles, if I recall—I adopted a daughter, a—a lot happened.” He exhaled slowly. “…the rest of the story—for your purposes—well, have you watched the tapings of the first jury trial? The Misham case?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She tilted her head. “You look really different with a hat on.”

“Yeah.” Phoenix ran his fingers through his hair reflexively. And I had more hair back then, too; I should have shown it off more. “I was going through a nihilistic, rebellious phase. Disillusioned, you might say, with the laurels and decorum of a system that had screwed me so hard.” He shrugged. “Besides, there was no point in getting dressed up every day to play cards. It was kind of a break.”

“Oh.”

Phoenix glanced at the clock in the corner of his holo-screen; it was well past 5:00 PM. He sighed and interlaced his fingers, pressing them against his lips as he sat back in his chair. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee.

“The rest of the story occurred in the six months or so leading up to the jurist trial. A lot of my final ideas solidified; a lot of the evidence I needed for that first trial—that first demonstration of its necessity—was collected during that period.”

“Apollo Justice, right?”

“Yes, him. He and his half-sister—my adoptive daughter—have a supernatural ability to sense when people are hiding something. Do you believe in the occult?”

“Well…” Clockwork thought for a moment. “Yes. But some peoples’ ideas of ‘the occult’ are just plain wrong and stupid, so I guess it would depend on what specific aspect you mean. As a whole, psi and what is called the ‘supernatural’, yes.”

“Right. Good. That makes this easier.” Phoenix thought for a moment. “I have never had supernatural abilities of my own. Every time I was able to take advantage of the occult or psi phenomena, it was through somebody else. The Fey family can channel the dead. My ability to see when people are hiding something was entrusted to me through an amulet of their family’s. The ability to read people so perfectly in poker—” Phoenix scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “—truth be told, that was all Trucy. She and Apollo lent me that ability. I worked through them. It was not until I had that opportunity that I could put this into action. That intuition, that ability to see the truth without the physical ‘evidence’ I had to rely on, was integral. I finally had the leverage I needed to reestablish my credibility, break through some boundaries, present reasons that our legal system was fractured. Incomplete. Hindered. Well, it still is now, but it wasn’t all it could be then.”

“But aren’t there people who won’t take that as evidence?”

“Oh yeah. Very much so. And that can be a problem, but… ah. Here.” He sat up, leaned forward. “Maybe it would be easier if I just start off seven years from where we left off before…”

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[1]Yes, Kingdom Hearts is in the house. As if this couldn't get more weeaboo.