The Sleep of the Just
folder
+M through R › Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,505
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+M through R › Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,505
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney and I make no money from writing yaoi fanfic
The Ideal Balm
Title: The Sleep of the Just.
Author: Nyarlathotep
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Characters and Pairings: Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright, Apollo Justice/Klavier Gavin, Kristoph Gavin, ensemble supporting cast
Rating: G through NC-17 (this chapter: NC-17)
Warnings for this chapter: Fluff, Hand job/Oral sex, Emotional ambiguity, Very slight creepiness.
Chapter Six: The Ideal Balm
“Ah, Herr Wright, it is a pleasure to see you. Where are Herr Justice and Herr Edgeworth today?” Kristoph was sitting in an armchair near the window when Phoenix entered the room, a large book of what appeared to be nature photography open in his lap. Phoenix nodded to the ward security officer through the narrow, wire-mesh reinforced window, turning as the electronic lock clicked into place.
“Hello Mr. Gavin… Oh, they had other appoin- er…” He paused, blinking. “What happened to your hair?” Phoenix stood, taking in Kristoph’s new appearance, his blond hair which had not been cut since well before his incarceration, now fell in loose waves and curls around his face and neck, cropped just above the collar line of his blue flannel robe.
“I had it cut. I do not wish to resemble the man in those photographs and videos… The glasses were his and that hair also… But do not worry Herr Wright, the doctors assure me that it is not unhealthy to act out such desires.” The blond smiled warmly and Phoenix found that it was not difficult to give an honest smile back; something he never thought would be possible with this man. But it was easy, natural… It was easy to like this Kristoph and not simply pretend at friendliness whilst clandestinely recording their telephone conversations and dinner appointments. The more time Phoenix spent with the new (or in Klavier’s view, the restored) Kristoph Gavin, the more convinced he became that they were in fact doing the right thing…
He’d sincerely expected the opposite… That somehow they had all been duped again; that both the Magical Magatama and Apollo’s superhuman perception had failed and that the nightmare was waiting in the shadows, laughing at their blindness and stupidity, primed to explode in their faces.
But it wasn’t happening… Each meeting with the former defense attorney; the former psycho-egomaniac-murderer-bastard, yielded yet more evidence that the impossible had indeed happened… Kristoph had truly been saved from his madness.
And now he needed to be saved from the calamity that madness had wrought…
“It suits you Mr. Gavin… very well. You look different, for sure. ‘Looks a lot like Klavier did when I first met him… sans sunglasses and obnoxious attitude…’ He chuckled lightly to himself and Kristoph smiled again, a big, happy smile, white and sincere and glowing; a smile that Phoenix had never seen, never even thought the man capable of. He felt his eyes prickle with irrational tears and coughed into his hand, composing himself quickly before taking a seat across from the blond. “You look like you’re mending well… Any idea when that cast will be coming off?”
“In only one and one half more weeks, I am told. The break was not bad, easily set and it has even stopped being painful.” It was so odd to not have to speak to Kristoph through a forest of locks and chains. After the seven years he’d spent following the man, watching and gathering evidence, he had grown accustomed to looking past the visual representation of the monster’s lies since he couldn’t attempt to break them without risking Kristoph becoming suspicious… learning the truth of what he was up to. The one time he’d visited the man in prison, in some kind of misguided attempt to find meaning and closure for a situation that was pure mania and also as he now knew, unfinished; he’d burned himself pretty badly, trying to break those black locks, reckless in his rage at being denied an explanation… Thankfully he’d stopped; excused himself, shaking and pale to the visitor’s lobby, unable for a long time to get the tune of that caged animal’s maniacal, triumphant laughter out of his aching head…
Phoenix now realized why those locks could not be broken. They were the locks holding the real Kristoph inside the prison of his injured mind… They were the essence of the unquantifiable, there without sense or reason. Kristoph simply could not answer his questions honestly. ‘There is no truth or lie to madness… they are one and the same to the insane.’
“I’m happy to hear that, Mr. Gavin. We all want you healed and healthy when we get you out of here.” He smiled, looking away respectfully as Kristoph’s eyes welled with tears, searching his briefcase for the paperwork he’d brought while the man wiped his wet cheeks, murmuring-
“Danke… danke…”
Truly Kristoph was a trooper, having adapted surprisingly well to his completely baffling situation, gracefully accepting help and offering absolute compliance in everything his attorneys asked of him. Phoenix found that even he could not claim such stability, still expecting subterfuge from the former madman, still listening for mockery in his tone and choice of words; still looking for the Devil… But it wasn’t there. There were no lies. The Magatama rested, still and silent in his pocket and the chains and locks remained hidden in whatever spiritual plane they occupied when not needed.
Retrieving the documents he sought, Phoenix glanced up quickly to make sure Kristoph was again composed. “Don’t mention it Mr. Gavin. We’ll do everything we can and we’ll win ok?” The man nodded mutely, offering a faint hopeful smile and Phoenix surprised himself slightly by reaching out, squeezing his former nemesis’ shoulder companionably. “I need you to look over some papers alright, Mr. Gavin? I also need to get a recording of your voice for the court record… I have a theory that might help us out if this actually sees a jurist panel… Will you please read this paragraph aloud?” Phoenix handed him a printout and Kristoph looked it over briefly before clearing his throat.
“Very well, are you recording yet Herr Wright?”
“Just a moment…” Phoenix withdrew a tiny micro-recorder from his briefcase and held it out between them. “Ok, go for it…” he prompted, pressing the record button.
~O~
Outside, the traffic light changed. Cars and busses, trucks and pedestrians began pouring past the window, passing the little café without even seeing it, focused on their destinations, on the close bumpers of other vehicles, on their phone calls and the flat, British-accented voices of their GPS navigation systems…
Apollo watched them float by like the ghosts they almost seemed to be; their voices and footfalls and horns and brakes muffled by the double pane glass and stucco walls; their visages blurred by the greasy hand and face prints of children and clear-tape residue from old fliers and posters, long since torn down.
Inside, the café was quiet. A fork clinked on a blue enameled plate; subdued chamber music ambiguously wafted violas and bassoons in the crisp, neat, climate controlled air. The continuous scrape of graphite on paper paused for a moment, replaced by the oscillating grind of the manual pencil sharpener.
“So, I always wondered… Why did you plead guilty? You know… you… I mean, with the representation you had, you might have been acquitted. I know I could have gotten the forgery charges at least reduced to accessory, based solely on the importance of your testimony against Kristoph…” Apollo pushed a soggy french-fry through his dwindling pool of ketchup, no longer really hungry but still nibbling, still slurping at his milkshake even though it was completely melted.
“I don’t really know… I guess I felt responsible for so much misery… I still do. But my punishment turned out to be very light regardless of how guilty I feel… In the end I don’t think I’ve suffered even remotely enough to atone.” Apollo considered her words as the ever present sketchbook lifted and turned, catching the low angled sunlight coming through the café window as it was held out at arm’s length for a moment. Then the scratching of pencil against recycled drawing paper resumed, Vera’s melancholy gaze never straying from the slowly filling white space and Apollo’s eyes absently following the motions of her hand as it looped bold line after confident stroke across page.
“You can’t go on blaming yourself.” He couldn’t help but think of Klavier and feel like a broken record for just echoing what he’d repeatedly told the guilt stricken prosecutor. “You were just trying to please your father… I can’t speak ill of the departed but I’ll never understand why he pressed you into that… You were just a kid! And with your talent you could have just as easily succeeded as a legitimate painter… I mean you did… eventually.” Apollo scratched the back of his head, trailing off lamely but Vera only smiled a far away smile, pulling her freshly blunted pencil back and turning the sketchbook around for him to see.
It was an odd sort of portrait, depicting the two of them in their respective positions on either side of the café booth as seen from just outside the window, out on the sidewalk. Despite the monochromatic medium, Apollo’s unfinished french-fries looked just as greasy and limp as they did in reality and Vera’s delicate graphite fingertips rested to either side of the large open spiral bound book on the table between them. Apollo didn’t need to check the other details to know that everything in the scene was accurate to nearly disturbing levels of precision. Their facial expressions in the image were curiously placid; both staring intently at the sketchbook in the center of the table, admiring what was clearly the very scene they were now looking at… now living.
Apollo suppressed a shiver. The image made him irrationally nervous and he had to fight the urge to look out the window… to see what? A camera…? Another Vera; all sad eyes and quick hands outside the smudged glass…? ‘Stop it Justice, you’re being absurd…’
“You don’t like it?” He jumped at the sound of her voice, shaking his head and pushing back from the table slightly, offering a sheepish grin.
“Uh, no it’s not that… It’s very well done! You’ve got a great eye, but you already know that… I mean… I just had a weird feeling is all…” He cast about for his wallet and cell phone, checking the time quickly before extracting enough cash to pay for their meal. “Hmm… I really should get back. Klavier’s waiting for me and I know you have your appointment to get to.” Apollo smiled as he stood, pulling on his jacket. “You had better not be late, young lady.” He scolded playfully, mocking Miles Edgeworth’s stern, taskmaster tone.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” The blue haired woman laughed more musically than Apollo would have thought her capable of and it made his own smile broaden to hear notes of humor and mirth in her voice.
“Same time next week?” He stuffed his phone into his pocket and half turned, waiting for her affirmative nod before exiting the cozy diner. Outside he paused to turn up his collar against the slight chill in the coastal wind, glancing furtively in through the window as he strode past.
The scene inside appeared strange without him there to give the plate of cold french-fries purpose. Vera remained motionless, gazing expressionlessly into her teacup. The rippled glass blurred their leaden images upon the sketchbook page, still turned meaninglessly toward his empty seat… a show without an audience…
~O~
When Phoenix wearily pulled open his front door he was prepared to be greeted by the silent amber dimness of the front hall or the muffled sound of an international news channel on TV in the den, maybe the hiss and splatter of the shower…
So, he was happily surprised when the soft strains of Debussy and bright golden light from the kitchen spilled over him as he entered their home, mixing with the scent of cinnamon rolls, (Miles’ secret specialty) and filling his senses. The heavenly smell of sweet bread and spices along with the rich dark undertone of fine coffee perked up his hospital and public-transportation numbed nose. And he sighed in contentment, closing the front door behind him.
Hovering in the kitchen doorway for a long moment, he was even more pleased to observe the baker himself, icing the special occasion treats with a plump pastry bag. Miles was barefoot and, Phoenix thought, almost too sensually attired in only a pair of plaid lounge pants and a T-shirt; both of which Phoenix recognized as really belonging to him. ‘Honestly I remember a time when that man would have been mortified by the very thought of wearing a T-shirt… even as a kid…’
“I always suspected that you were actually born in a barn…” Amusement was just as clear in the former prosecutor’s voice as on his face when he turned, placing the pastry bag on the counter and raising a mug delicately to his quirked lips. Meeting Phoenix’s abashed grin and sheepish hair ruffling, his mocking smirk softened to a smile of genuine affection. “Welcome home, my love. No supper I’m afraid… but I did make these…” He gestured to the generous pan of icing covered pastries as if Phoenix could have somehow failed to notice them.
But Phoenix wasn’t looking at the cinnamon rolls. Strange… He wasn’t usually one to ignore homemade sweets, especially those made with love by Miles Edgeworth but he had to admit, at the moment, the man himself was looking slightly more delicious than even his decadent pastries.
Phoenix didn’t even feel himself move but suddenly his lips slid warm and wet, into their rightful place, against Miles’ lips; his body, no longer weary but charged with an indefinable emotion, pressing the man back and gripping to the solidity of the counter behind him. Coffee slopped and spilled from a cup too hastily set aside and when Phoenix’s fingers smeared through a dribble of icing on the counter, he pulled back from their intense embrace, pink cheeked and smiling. He raised them to his lips but Miles was too swift for him and it was impossible for Phoenix to stifle his groan of pleasure as the sugary tips of his fingers slipped between those perfect lips to be sucked and nibbled clean, warm gray gaze locked intently with his own deep blue one.
Sweetened lips and tongue found his again a moment later and the heat in Phoenix’s belly and groin flared even hotter, his eyes finally falling closed in reverence as the boy he’d lost and followed and finally found; as the prosecutor he’d saved and lost again and finally forgiven; as the man he’d loved his whole life kissed him in their kitchen.
Phoenix managed to switch off the kitchen light as they groped and stumbled toward their bedroom. The coffee maker would turn itself off and Miles’ sweet romantic gesture would be secure under its thick layer of icing for a few hours. Phoenix was more than willing to skip dinner for this kind of dessert and still have plenty of room for breakfast.
“I love you, you know…”
“You always say that when I make you something really high in calories, Wright…” Miles laughed as the attorney now pressing him into their plush, down comforter made a frustrated noise, his face pinching exactly as it had when he was a boy unjustly accused of stealing… Miles pulled that adorable moue down to meet his own amused smirk and whispered against Phoenix’s lips before they pressed and sealed together again… “I love you too, you know… Phoenix.”
It was ridiculous how much they needed each other; no matter how much Miles had tried to deny it when they met again after so many years of vonKarma’s brainwashing and even longer still as he’d betrayed his childhood friend and recent savior, fleeing to Europe like a coward… and even that sabbatical hadn’t cleared his mind about it completely. But after the initial awkwardness and anger between them had subsided… after the Engarde trial it had been much easier to see Phoenix Wright for what he really was; not an enemy… not a hindrance to the perfect justice of criminal convictions… but as a partner… his partner.
And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was nothing weak or pathetic about Phoenix Wright. There was nothing shameful in understanding yourself and going after what you wanted; after what you knew you needed.
Miles Edgeworth still remembered where he was when he finally realized what he wanted; what he really needed in life… On an airplane, over the Atlantic, clawing the armrests of his first class seat and willing with all his might for the damn cursed vehicle to go faster; to get him to L.A. and to Wright’s hospital bedside sooner… That was when he knew; when he finally figured out what Phoenix had known all along.
Love doesn’t warn you… and it doesn’t care what your stupid, rational brain thinks about it. Love seeks relentlessly, hits hard and tears you open wide… a bullet you can never hope to dodge.
Fortunately, there exists the ideal balm for such a wound…
“Nnghh- God, Phoenix… just…”
“Ah… o-oh yes… Fuck Miles…”
“Phoenix… mmnh…”
They were whispering more or less out of habit. Trucy was hundreds of miles away in San Francisco. Still, it almost made their lovemaking more erotic; keeping it quiet, communicating their pleasure and desire more through passionate meaningful touches and expressions, restrained murmurs and hot, sound-swallowing kisses.
Neither of them felt they had the energy for the preparation and time penetrative sex would have required so they simply rutted against each other, lubed hands shoved between their bodies, squeezing their members tightly together as they thrust into the slick tunnel. Phoenix was on top, bearing down on his lover with the kind of intensity that never failed to have Miles chewing his lip and blushing, awed that anyone could worship him the way Phoenix did. It made him strive harder to please, to give more than he ever thought he even had inside; to relinquish his precious control and offer up senseless amounts of the very thing he once believed he’d locked away forever while surviving the vonKarma household; himself.
But Phoenix had found him, dragged him up from that deep well and back into the light.
Their movements were becoming jerky and desperate with mounting pleasure, sparking currents through limbs which contracted to each bring the other that much closer. Tingling heat surged between them where their fingers interlocked and within both their bodies everywhere they touched. Miles was just beginning to feel the warmth in his groin flare; feel it creep into his balls and tighten them up. He was just beginning to feel his muscles all start to tense, moaning as he enjoyed the quivering sensation in his lower belly when Phoenix stiffened and groaned something unintelligible, giving in to a powerful orgasm almost without warning. Miles nearly followed him over, shuddering in pleasure as he felt Phoenix’s cock twitch against this own; felt the hot rush of semen over his fingers and stomach. A moment later, the weight atop him shifted, sliding rapidly down his body and he arched, throwing his arms out to desperately clutch at the comforter as the exquisite wet heat of his lover’s mouth closed over his cock and he finally came, Phoenix’s satisfied growl echoing in his ears and that wonderful, hot throat constricting around him.
They collapsed, sweaty and panting, slipping tiredly between the sheets together in mutual bliss. They smiled and kissed, uncaring of the mess they’d made of their bed and each other…
vonKarma didn’t know a damn thing about perfection…
-TBC!-
Author: Nyarlathotep
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Characters and Pairings: Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright, Apollo Justice/Klavier Gavin, Kristoph Gavin, ensemble supporting cast
Rating: G through NC-17 (this chapter: NC-17)
Warnings for this chapter: Fluff, Hand job/Oral sex, Emotional ambiguity, Very slight creepiness.
“Ah, Herr Wright, it is a pleasure to see you. Where are Herr Justice and Herr Edgeworth today?” Kristoph was sitting in an armchair near the window when Phoenix entered the room, a large book of what appeared to be nature photography open in his lap. Phoenix nodded to the ward security officer through the narrow, wire-mesh reinforced window, turning as the electronic lock clicked into place.
“Hello Mr. Gavin… Oh, they had other appoin- er…” He paused, blinking. “What happened to your hair?” Phoenix stood, taking in Kristoph’s new appearance, his blond hair which had not been cut since well before his incarceration, now fell in loose waves and curls around his face and neck, cropped just above the collar line of his blue flannel robe.
“I had it cut. I do not wish to resemble the man in those photographs and videos… The glasses were his and that hair also… But do not worry Herr Wright, the doctors assure me that it is not unhealthy to act out such desires.” The blond smiled warmly and Phoenix found that it was not difficult to give an honest smile back; something he never thought would be possible with this man. But it was easy, natural… It was easy to like this Kristoph and not simply pretend at friendliness whilst clandestinely recording their telephone conversations and dinner appointments. The more time Phoenix spent with the new (or in Klavier’s view, the restored) Kristoph Gavin, the more convinced he became that they were in fact doing the right thing…
He’d sincerely expected the opposite… That somehow they had all been duped again; that both the Magical Magatama and Apollo’s superhuman perception had failed and that the nightmare was waiting in the shadows, laughing at their blindness and stupidity, primed to explode in their faces.
But it wasn’t happening… Each meeting with the former defense attorney; the former psycho-egomaniac-murderer-bastard, yielded yet more evidence that the impossible had indeed happened… Kristoph had truly been saved from his madness.
And now he needed to be saved from the calamity that madness had wrought…
“It suits you Mr. Gavin… very well. You look different, for sure. ‘Looks a lot like Klavier did when I first met him… sans sunglasses and obnoxious attitude…’ He chuckled lightly to himself and Kristoph smiled again, a big, happy smile, white and sincere and glowing; a smile that Phoenix had never seen, never even thought the man capable of. He felt his eyes prickle with irrational tears and coughed into his hand, composing himself quickly before taking a seat across from the blond. “You look like you’re mending well… Any idea when that cast will be coming off?”
“In only one and one half more weeks, I am told. The break was not bad, easily set and it has even stopped being painful.” It was so odd to not have to speak to Kristoph through a forest of locks and chains. After the seven years he’d spent following the man, watching and gathering evidence, he had grown accustomed to looking past the visual representation of the monster’s lies since he couldn’t attempt to break them without risking Kristoph becoming suspicious… learning the truth of what he was up to. The one time he’d visited the man in prison, in some kind of misguided attempt to find meaning and closure for a situation that was pure mania and also as he now knew, unfinished; he’d burned himself pretty badly, trying to break those black locks, reckless in his rage at being denied an explanation… Thankfully he’d stopped; excused himself, shaking and pale to the visitor’s lobby, unable for a long time to get the tune of that caged animal’s maniacal, triumphant laughter out of his aching head…
Phoenix now realized why those locks could not be broken. They were the locks holding the real Kristoph inside the prison of his injured mind… They were the essence of the unquantifiable, there without sense or reason. Kristoph simply could not answer his questions honestly. ‘There is no truth or lie to madness… they are one and the same to the insane.’
“I’m happy to hear that, Mr. Gavin. We all want you healed and healthy when we get you out of here.” He smiled, looking away respectfully as Kristoph’s eyes welled with tears, searching his briefcase for the paperwork he’d brought while the man wiped his wet cheeks, murmuring-
“Danke… danke…”
Truly Kristoph was a trooper, having adapted surprisingly well to his completely baffling situation, gracefully accepting help and offering absolute compliance in everything his attorneys asked of him. Phoenix found that even he could not claim such stability, still expecting subterfuge from the former madman, still listening for mockery in his tone and choice of words; still looking for the Devil… But it wasn’t there. There were no lies. The Magatama rested, still and silent in his pocket and the chains and locks remained hidden in whatever spiritual plane they occupied when not needed.
Retrieving the documents he sought, Phoenix glanced up quickly to make sure Kristoph was again composed. “Don’t mention it Mr. Gavin. We’ll do everything we can and we’ll win ok?” The man nodded mutely, offering a faint hopeful smile and Phoenix surprised himself slightly by reaching out, squeezing his former nemesis’ shoulder companionably. “I need you to look over some papers alright, Mr. Gavin? I also need to get a recording of your voice for the court record… I have a theory that might help us out if this actually sees a jurist panel… Will you please read this paragraph aloud?” Phoenix handed him a printout and Kristoph looked it over briefly before clearing his throat.
“Very well, are you recording yet Herr Wright?”
“Just a moment…” Phoenix withdrew a tiny micro-recorder from his briefcase and held it out between them. “Ok, go for it…” he prompted, pressing the record button.
~O~
Outside, the traffic light changed. Cars and busses, trucks and pedestrians began pouring past the window, passing the little café without even seeing it, focused on their destinations, on the close bumpers of other vehicles, on their phone calls and the flat, British-accented voices of their GPS navigation systems…
Apollo watched them float by like the ghosts they almost seemed to be; their voices and footfalls and horns and brakes muffled by the double pane glass and stucco walls; their visages blurred by the greasy hand and face prints of children and clear-tape residue from old fliers and posters, long since torn down.
Inside, the café was quiet. A fork clinked on a blue enameled plate; subdued chamber music ambiguously wafted violas and bassoons in the crisp, neat, climate controlled air. The continuous scrape of graphite on paper paused for a moment, replaced by the oscillating grind of the manual pencil sharpener.
“So, I always wondered… Why did you plead guilty? You know… you… I mean, with the representation you had, you might have been acquitted. I know I could have gotten the forgery charges at least reduced to accessory, based solely on the importance of your testimony against Kristoph…” Apollo pushed a soggy french-fry through his dwindling pool of ketchup, no longer really hungry but still nibbling, still slurping at his milkshake even though it was completely melted.
“I don’t really know… I guess I felt responsible for so much misery… I still do. But my punishment turned out to be very light regardless of how guilty I feel… In the end I don’t think I’ve suffered even remotely enough to atone.” Apollo considered her words as the ever present sketchbook lifted and turned, catching the low angled sunlight coming through the café window as it was held out at arm’s length for a moment. Then the scratching of pencil against recycled drawing paper resumed, Vera’s melancholy gaze never straying from the slowly filling white space and Apollo’s eyes absently following the motions of her hand as it looped bold line after confident stroke across page.
“You can’t go on blaming yourself.” He couldn’t help but think of Klavier and feel like a broken record for just echoing what he’d repeatedly told the guilt stricken prosecutor. “You were just trying to please your father… I can’t speak ill of the departed but I’ll never understand why he pressed you into that… You were just a kid! And with your talent you could have just as easily succeeded as a legitimate painter… I mean you did… eventually.” Apollo scratched the back of his head, trailing off lamely but Vera only smiled a far away smile, pulling her freshly blunted pencil back and turning the sketchbook around for him to see.
It was an odd sort of portrait, depicting the two of them in their respective positions on either side of the café booth as seen from just outside the window, out on the sidewalk. Despite the monochromatic medium, Apollo’s unfinished french-fries looked just as greasy and limp as they did in reality and Vera’s delicate graphite fingertips rested to either side of the large open spiral bound book on the table between them. Apollo didn’t need to check the other details to know that everything in the scene was accurate to nearly disturbing levels of precision. Their facial expressions in the image were curiously placid; both staring intently at the sketchbook in the center of the table, admiring what was clearly the very scene they were now looking at… now living.
Apollo suppressed a shiver. The image made him irrationally nervous and he had to fight the urge to look out the window… to see what? A camera…? Another Vera; all sad eyes and quick hands outside the smudged glass…? ‘Stop it Justice, you’re being absurd…’
“You don’t like it?” He jumped at the sound of her voice, shaking his head and pushing back from the table slightly, offering a sheepish grin.
“Uh, no it’s not that… It’s very well done! You’ve got a great eye, but you already know that… I mean… I just had a weird feeling is all…” He cast about for his wallet and cell phone, checking the time quickly before extracting enough cash to pay for their meal. “Hmm… I really should get back. Klavier’s waiting for me and I know you have your appointment to get to.” Apollo smiled as he stood, pulling on his jacket. “You had better not be late, young lady.” He scolded playfully, mocking Miles Edgeworth’s stern, taskmaster tone.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” The blue haired woman laughed more musically than Apollo would have thought her capable of and it made his own smile broaden to hear notes of humor and mirth in her voice.
“Same time next week?” He stuffed his phone into his pocket and half turned, waiting for her affirmative nod before exiting the cozy diner. Outside he paused to turn up his collar against the slight chill in the coastal wind, glancing furtively in through the window as he strode past.
The scene inside appeared strange without him there to give the plate of cold french-fries purpose. Vera remained motionless, gazing expressionlessly into her teacup. The rippled glass blurred their leaden images upon the sketchbook page, still turned meaninglessly toward his empty seat… a show without an audience…
~O~
When Phoenix wearily pulled open his front door he was prepared to be greeted by the silent amber dimness of the front hall or the muffled sound of an international news channel on TV in the den, maybe the hiss and splatter of the shower…
So, he was happily surprised when the soft strains of Debussy and bright golden light from the kitchen spilled over him as he entered their home, mixing with the scent of cinnamon rolls, (Miles’ secret specialty) and filling his senses. The heavenly smell of sweet bread and spices along with the rich dark undertone of fine coffee perked up his hospital and public-transportation numbed nose. And he sighed in contentment, closing the front door behind him.
Hovering in the kitchen doorway for a long moment, he was even more pleased to observe the baker himself, icing the special occasion treats with a plump pastry bag. Miles was barefoot and, Phoenix thought, almost too sensually attired in only a pair of plaid lounge pants and a T-shirt; both of which Phoenix recognized as really belonging to him. ‘Honestly I remember a time when that man would have been mortified by the very thought of wearing a T-shirt… even as a kid…’
“I always suspected that you were actually born in a barn…” Amusement was just as clear in the former prosecutor’s voice as on his face when he turned, placing the pastry bag on the counter and raising a mug delicately to his quirked lips. Meeting Phoenix’s abashed grin and sheepish hair ruffling, his mocking smirk softened to a smile of genuine affection. “Welcome home, my love. No supper I’m afraid… but I did make these…” He gestured to the generous pan of icing covered pastries as if Phoenix could have somehow failed to notice them.
But Phoenix wasn’t looking at the cinnamon rolls. Strange… He wasn’t usually one to ignore homemade sweets, especially those made with love by Miles Edgeworth but he had to admit, at the moment, the man himself was looking slightly more delicious than even his decadent pastries.
Phoenix didn’t even feel himself move but suddenly his lips slid warm and wet, into their rightful place, against Miles’ lips; his body, no longer weary but charged with an indefinable emotion, pressing the man back and gripping to the solidity of the counter behind him. Coffee slopped and spilled from a cup too hastily set aside and when Phoenix’s fingers smeared through a dribble of icing on the counter, he pulled back from their intense embrace, pink cheeked and smiling. He raised them to his lips but Miles was too swift for him and it was impossible for Phoenix to stifle his groan of pleasure as the sugary tips of his fingers slipped between those perfect lips to be sucked and nibbled clean, warm gray gaze locked intently with his own deep blue one.
Sweetened lips and tongue found his again a moment later and the heat in Phoenix’s belly and groin flared even hotter, his eyes finally falling closed in reverence as the boy he’d lost and followed and finally found; as the prosecutor he’d saved and lost again and finally forgiven; as the man he’d loved his whole life kissed him in their kitchen.
Phoenix managed to switch off the kitchen light as they groped and stumbled toward their bedroom. The coffee maker would turn itself off and Miles’ sweet romantic gesture would be secure under its thick layer of icing for a few hours. Phoenix was more than willing to skip dinner for this kind of dessert and still have plenty of room for breakfast.
“I love you, you know…”
“You always say that when I make you something really high in calories, Wright…” Miles laughed as the attorney now pressing him into their plush, down comforter made a frustrated noise, his face pinching exactly as it had when he was a boy unjustly accused of stealing… Miles pulled that adorable moue down to meet his own amused smirk and whispered against Phoenix’s lips before they pressed and sealed together again… “I love you too, you know… Phoenix.”
It was ridiculous how much they needed each other; no matter how much Miles had tried to deny it when they met again after so many years of vonKarma’s brainwashing and even longer still as he’d betrayed his childhood friend and recent savior, fleeing to Europe like a coward… and even that sabbatical hadn’t cleared his mind about it completely. But after the initial awkwardness and anger between them had subsided… after the Engarde trial it had been much easier to see Phoenix Wright for what he really was; not an enemy… not a hindrance to the perfect justice of criminal convictions… but as a partner… his partner.
And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was nothing weak or pathetic about Phoenix Wright. There was nothing shameful in understanding yourself and going after what you wanted; after what you knew you needed.
Miles Edgeworth still remembered where he was when he finally realized what he wanted; what he really needed in life… On an airplane, over the Atlantic, clawing the armrests of his first class seat and willing with all his might for the damn cursed vehicle to go faster; to get him to L.A. and to Wright’s hospital bedside sooner… That was when he knew; when he finally figured out what Phoenix had known all along.
Love doesn’t warn you… and it doesn’t care what your stupid, rational brain thinks about it. Love seeks relentlessly, hits hard and tears you open wide… a bullet you can never hope to dodge.
Fortunately, there exists the ideal balm for such a wound…
“Nnghh- God, Phoenix… just…”
“Ah… o-oh yes… Fuck Miles…”
“Phoenix… mmnh…”
They were whispering more or less out of habit. Trucy was hundreds of miles away in San Francisco. Still, it almost made their lovemaking more erotic; keeping it quiet, communicating their pleasure and desire more through passionate meaningful touches and expressions, restrained murmurs and hot, sound-swallowing kisses.
Neither of them felt they had the energy for the preparation and time penetrative sex would have required so they simply rutted against each other, lubed hands shoved between their bodies, squeezing their members tightly together as they thrust into the slick tunnel. Phoenix was on top, bearing down on his lover with the kind of intensity that never failed to have Miles chewing his lip and blushing, awed that anyone could worship him the way Phoenix did. It made him strive harder to please, to give more than he ever thought he even had inside; to relinquish his precious control and offer up senseless amounts of the very thing he once believed he’d locked away forever while surviving the vonKarma household; himself.
But Phoenix had found him, dragged him up from that deep well and back into the light.
Their movements were becoming jerky and desperate with mounting pleasure, sparking currents through limbs which contracted to each bring the other that much closer. Tingling heat surged between them where their fingers interlocked and within both their bodies everywhere they touched. Miles was just beginning to feel the warmth in his groin flare; feel it creep into his balls and tighten them up. He was just beginning to feel his muscles all start to tense, moaning as he enjoyed the quivering sensation in his lower belly when Phoenix stiffened and groaned something unintelligible, giving in to a powerful orgasm almost without warning. Miles nearly followed him over, shuddering in pleasure as he felt Phoenix’s cock twitch against this own; felt the hot rush of semen over his fingers and stomach. A moment later, the weight atop him shifted, sliding rapidly down his body and he arched, throwing his arms out to desperately clutch at the comforter as the exquisite wet heat of his lover’s mouth closed over his cock and he finally came, Phoenix’s satisfied growl echoing in his ears and that wonderful, hot throat constricting around him.
They collapsed, sweaty and panting, slipping tiredly between the sheets together in mutual bliss. They smiled and kissed, uncaring of the mess they’d made of their bed and each other…
vonKarma didn’t know a damn thing about perfection…
-TBC!-