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[DOUJINSHI] Dynamite Wolves (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2009-03-19T04:08:49Z

This is hands-down my favorite Zoro/Luffy doujinshi of all time. I remember seeing a few low-quality scans of it once, nowhere near the whole thing. Somebody was selling it one day on luffyzoro_yaoi, and I jumped at it. It's been my favorite ever since! Since I posted the few scans I found, whenever a Zoro/Luffy thread pops up on /y/, there's great interest in this, but unfortunately I've never been able to track down anything more.

So I figured, hey, time to fill the void myself.

Many, many thanks to asphodel who did a shitload of hard work for this. I owe her so much!

Enjoy!

Title: Dynamite Wolves
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: NC-17, NSFW

Scanlation team: skuldchan and asphodel

SCANLATION
Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

RAW
Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

[challenge] The Very, Very, Very Strongest (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2009-03-13T08:38:23Z

Somebody on onepieceyaoi posted one of these things for Chaka/Pell that was amazingly written, so I decided to take a stab at doing Zoro/Luffy!

Hooray for 50 one-sentence snatches of Zoro/Luffy goodness! You can tell through the gratuitous abuse of punctuation that brevity is not one of my strong points. ...I think this is why I suck so badly at writing Zoro/Luffy.

Title: The Very, Very, Very Strongest
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Warnings: spoilers up to halfway through the Impel Down arc

for 1sentence, set epsilon

PRE-GRANDLINE
07 One
He tells himself that the month is almost up--there's but a few days left--he looks up at the voice addressing him, but doesn't recognize that the boy standing in front of him is the man who will change his life forever.

39 Torn
Luffy grips the edge of the small longboat and watches in silence as Zoro takes the blow, blood pouring forth from his chest; for some reason, Luffy feels as if he's been torn in two.

01 Motion
Luffy rockets himself forward with a cry of, "ZORO!" and delightedly he and first mate fly together to the other end of the Merry, landing with a happy, loud crash.

17 Vision
Luffy is perched on the edge of the crow's nest, Zoro watching his hair blow in the breeze; he wonders what future his captain sees for all of them when he gazes silently into the horizon.

49 Hunger
Luffy's been eyeing his plate for the past five minutes, and all it look was a single glance away for Zoro to return to find the rest of his dinner inside someone else.

***
35 Sudden
It's almost sudden--Luffy slings an arm around his neck and smiles, a touch and a look that recalls the reason for all his recent sleepness nights on the ship.

42 Bother
Luffy leans against Zoro, an innocent smile on his face--privately, Zoro realizes that the feelings he's been harboring for his captain all this time don't bother him at all.

08 Thousand
Luffy slides into his embrace, naturally, easily, as if this was the thousandth, not the first time they've done something like this.

15 Hold
Zoro's arms tighten around his captain, and he is not surprised when he cranes his neck toward Luffy and two wet, rubbery lips meet his.

24 Now
Now that he knows what holding Luffy feels like, he realizes that he will never be able to let go.
***

38 Wash
Sanji kicks the laundry basket in his direction, and Zoro looks inside, bewildered--those aren't his clothes--"Yours and the captain's," Sanji says with a knowing smirk.

LOGUE TOWN TO WHISKEY PEAK
36 Stop
Zoro stops, freezes, his gaze riveted by Luffy in the stocks atop the execution tower; he calls out them, and apologizes for dying.

31 Book
Luffy stares curiously over his shoulder at the book and tries sounding out a word--that's when Zoro realizes that Luffy can barely read, so he sits his captain on his lap and starts to teach him.

47 Harm
"I want something big like this too someday," Luffy says, running his fingers along the scar across Zoro's chest, "something so I know what this must have felt like."

20 Picture
Luffy shows the drawing to him proudly; he wouldn't have recognized anything about that haphazard collection of lines had it not been for the green, distinctly round shape of a marimo.

22 Mad
He knows there's no reasoning with Luffy when he's mad, so he pulls out his swords--it's time to see which of the two of them is the strongest.

ARABASTA TO ASUKA ISLAND
10 Learn
All is silent except for the breathing of all around him--stone, earth, Mr. 1, Luffy somewhere faraway--Zoro sheaths the Wadou Ichimonji, he's learned it--how to cut through metal.

33 Never
Zoro watches as Luffy sleeps, his skin flushed pink from the fever; "Never scare me like that again," Zoro says quietly, ruffling Luffy's sweat-dampened hair.

23 Child
Luffy lifts the bowl and dumps its entire contents down his mouth; it's not too much of a stretch for Zoro to imagine a younger, smaller Luffy doing exactly the same thing.

19 Soul
"He's the man who'll be the world's greatest swordsman!" shouts Luffy as he stares at Zoro's silhouette against the red moon, and he knows his words to be true from somewhere in the depths of his soul.

48 Precious
They've already ruled out treasure, but Zoro can't help the throbbing vein in his forehead as Luffy takes forever to decide which is most precious to him--his first mate, or that steak that Sanji just laid on the table.

SKYPEIA TO OMATSURI ISLAND
14 Command
Bottles fly and smash, laughter echoes around the room, and he stands firm with blood running down his face from a cut in his forehead, blood running into his shirt from cuts on his neck and back; he will not fight, because his captain has given the command.

45 Naked
He brings a sponge across his back, leaning forward slowly to wrap his arms around the rubbery body and slather it with kisses; Luffy laughs, returning his swordsman's embrace--he loves being naked, wet, and soapy in the bathtub.

29 Safe
"What happened with Baron Omatsuri?" he asks, but instead of receiving an answer, Luffy only holds him tighter.

46 Drive
Zoro eyes Luffy's back, his captain's fishing rod dangled over the side of the ship; he goes back to his training, grunting with exertion as he counts three hundred lunges--he's strong, but still not strong enough, not strong enough until he knows for sure that he has the strength to make all of Luffy's dreams come true.

16 Need
Unable to sleep, Luffy presses an ear against Zoro's chest, listening to his first mate's heartbeat--he needs to be stronger if he's going to protect all his nakama from here on out.

WATER 7 to ENIES LOBBY
26 Goodbye
He stands next to Luffy as he cries, as Usopp disappears into the shadows of the city and the crew makes ready to pack up and leave the Merry behind forever; slowly, Zoro reaches a hand forward and places it on Luffy's shoulder--it's cold comfort he knows, but all he's allowed to offer.

44 Wall
All they can see in the darkness ahead of them is the tidal wave of Aqua Laguna, so Luffy folds his arms across his chest and turns to Zoro, "Hey, how much is two times 108?"

41 Power
Their 300 pound cannon shoots into the solid tidal wave; it is dark, cold, raining, and they are racing against time...and just for one moment, as Rocket Man hurtles them in the hole they have created, they turn to each other and smile--together, they feel like the most powerful men in the world.

12 Wait
He is lying amidst the rubble of Enies Lobby; Usopp shouts at him to get up and on his feet--his nakama are waiting for him--he strains, closes his eyes and tries with all his might, but his body won't move.

02 Cool
"That is so cool!" exclaims Luffy at the end of Zoro's story detailing his fight with Kaku; when he looks into his captain's eyes, they're practically sparkling with admiration.

21 Fool
"I knew I shouldn't have followed you," Luffy protests, crossing his arms across his chest as he and Zoro stare over the roofs of a part of Water 7 that they swear they just saw fifteen minutes ago.

28 Fortune
Robin flips to a new page in her book, "We're all very fortunate we've crossed paths with Luffy," with a quiet smile she looks up from her reading, straight at Zoro, and says, "Especially you."

06 Gentle
Even though he has a 300 million beli bounty on his head, when he sleeps in Zoro's arms, Zoro can't help but to ruffle his hair--gently.

THRILLER BARK
25 Shadow
The giant body of Oz fills his vision--he talks like Luffy, even feels like him--and that leaves him with only one thought in his mind: take back Luffy's shadow!

11 Blur
Zoro watches Luffy fight, his captain a blur as he starts about the rubble of Thriller Bark, the steam of his sweat trailing him as he throws himself at the giant, shadow-swollen Moria.

03 Young
Zoro takes one last look at the figure of his unconscious captain--he's too young to die--and he takes a deep breath and steps out toward the forest, the bubble that is the sum of the suffering Luffy endured in his battles on this island ship moving with him.

09 King
He puts his both hands forward, pushing past the memory of the small fraction of Luffy's pain that Kuma had let him taste; this task is his and his alone to suffer, for Luffy must be the Pirate King.

34 Sing
The singing goes on, but quietly Luffy slips away from the group dancing on the tables and pulls up a chair beside the bed and watches Zoro sleep, completely unaware of how close he came to losing him.

05 Wrong
Luffy peers at him, knowing that something is amiss and asks simply, "What's wrong, Zoro?"

27 Hide
"Nothing," Zoro replies, silently grateful that the shitty cook hasn't said a word to Luffy about what transpired between him and the Paw-Paw Shichibukai on Thriller Bark.

30 Ghost
Zoro knows that Luffy's not afraid of ghosts, so he knows that when he dies, he might be able to haunt the ship so that he and Luffy can still be together, in whatever strange way that would be.

32 Eye
Luffy's eyes close slowly and he drifts off to sleep, murmuring to himself as he slumps to the side against Zoro's shoulder.

43 God
Zoro doesn't believe in God--he's been to a sky island and seen one felled--but with Luffy quietly snoring in his arms, there's something to him that almost seems...divine.

SABAODY ARCHIPELAGO TO IMPEL DOWN
37 Time
Zoro watches soundlessly as Luffy send the World Noble flying with a punch, sliding the blade of Shuushui free from its sheath--Luffy's done it again this time.

04 Last
Luffy falls to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes as he beats his fists against the ground, defeated--he wasn't even able to save a single one of his nakama, not even Zoro.

18 Attention
Luffy turns in the direction of that familiar voice, that familiar figure, his arms thrown up towards the ceiling of the third floor of the great gaol; Zoro shouts, "I'm here to save you!" and Luffy's never been happier in his life to see Zoro safe and sound.

13 Change
Zoro changes into someone else--someone different--but Luffy's disappointment is quickly replaced by relief as he recognizes the figure and cries, "Bon-chan!"

...AND BEYOND
50 Believe
Zoro doesn't know when he started believing, when he knew for sure that Luffy's dream was going to be achieved--maybe it was the first time they kissed, the first time they made love, the first time they fought together--or maybe it was the first time they met.

40 History
It's written in the history books and well-known throughout the world that the Pirate King and his first mate, the greatest swordsman in the world, were not only the closest of friends, but also the very best of lovers.

*~*~*~*~*
crossposted to 1sentence and luffyzoro_yaoi

[DOUJINSHI] Primal (One Piece)

2009-03-10T07:17:50Z

I was supposed to be writing the big gay lawyers over the weekend, but I ended up doing this instead. Oh, my love for One Piece, you will never wane.

Anyway, here's Primal! I decided to scanlate this for completion's sake, but also because I love the fact that it centers on Sanji and Robin. There's a little bit of Zoro/Luffy scattered here and there (it's definitely implied that they're a couple), and it references "Happy Happy," so why the hell not?

So after this, I think there are going to be two more in the pipeline. I have convinced rubysp720scans to scan in Grand Soul (mmm, more Zoro/Luffy smex), and the script and cleaning is already done for Dynamite Wolves. ...and then there's nothing. Nothing. I kind of like the sound of that.

Title: Primal
Circle:: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: implied Zoro/Luffy
Rating: G

Scanlation team: skuldchan
(Yup...just me this time.)

SCANLATION
Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

RAW
Download: MegaUpload

[DOUJINSHI] Anti-Regret (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2009-02-13T05:10:16Z

I've had the translation for this one lying around for a bit. Some of the poetry Tekunoroji wrote in here is a little hard to translate--hopefully I did all right while still keeping true to the gist.

This is definitely of my favorites!

I think I'll be doing "Primal" next, since it references "Happy Happy" a little bit. :3

Title: Anti-Regret
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: NC-17

Scanlation team: skuldchan
Scans courtesy of: rubysp720scans

Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

[DOUJINSHI] Rapid Strike (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2009-02-06T07:59:25Z

Many, many thanks to asphodel for getting me a royal load of Royal☆Garden doujinshi for Christmas. She was also nice enough to scan and clean this one for me, so many kudos to her!

This has actually been released before, but I wanted to redo it because the previous scan was terrible quality and the translation was only so-so. I think this might officially mark my endeavor to scanlate every single Royal☆Garden doujinshi that I can get my fangirl hands on that hasn't been done competently already.

...holy shit. So yeah...Dynamite Wolves, Grand Soul, Primal, and Anti-Regret are in the works. ...not necessarily in that order though.

Title: Rapid Strike
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: PG

Scanlation team: skuldchan and asphodel

SCANLATION
Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

RAW
Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

Please feel free to redistribute

[FIC] Safe and Sound (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2008-12-09T09:31:09Z

Wrote this one on the plane on the flight back from D.C. while totally awake but severely sleep-deprived. Why is it that I always am inspired to write when I should be doing other things? Ah well, I let this sit on the back burner for almost a month, because I find that fanfiction, like wine and scotch, are better when aged a bit. I guess this means that when I finish all my WIPs, they'll be the BEST THING EVER. ¬_¬ Right? Right.

I'd just like to say now that I don't think my writing style goes well with the type of manga/anime that One Piece is. I tried and tried so hard to make this more Oda-ish, and you can see that I failed pretty colossally. I conclude that One Piece just doesn't translate very well into text, at least not the way that I write text. (Now if I could write the same way that Royal Garden draws ZoroLu, then that'd be something.)

Without further ado, I give you my first and long overdue attempt at ZoroLu. Hopefully not my last, but I have a Big Gay Lawyer longass WIP waiting in the wings and I do not want to disappoint myself by never finishing it.

Title: Safe and Sound
Series: One Piece (Thriller Bark Arc)
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Warnings: NSFW, spoilers!

*~*~*~*~*

The Thousand Sunny bustled with its usual sounds of industry—the clatter of pots and platters from Sanji’s kitchen, the occasional muffled explosion from Usopp’s factory, and the rhythmic clang of metal from Franky’s weapons development laboratory. The captain of the Sunny had climbed the rigging and was perched below the crow’s nest atop the mainsail, gazing ahead, silently watching the horizon where the sea met the sky, somehow alert and ever-curious about a panorama which to everyone else on the ship never seemed to change, and so held little of interest.

The hours of the afternoon wore on to early evening as the sun began its descent, reflecting golden rays across the ocean and bathing the skyline in a soft pink glow that was slowly beginning to recede to night. There was a short flurry of movement around the ship—Usopp emerged on deck, his long nose smudged with soot. Nami came out from the library, a forgotten quill tucked behind her ear. Robin, who had drawn up a chair in the grass earlier in the day, noted the fading light and decided to move her reading inside where the tempting smells of Sanji’s cooking were beginning to waft out from the small kitchen chimney.

Feeling as though it were probably time for him to stir from his slumber, Zoro opened an eye. He almost started, his one open eye confronted by Luffy’s unblinking stare just inches from his face. When did he…?

“What?” Zoro said, recovering quickly. Relaxing, he closed his eyes again and folded his arms behind his head. “Can’t a guy get some sleep around here?” He more felt than saw Luffy’s answering grin.

“You’ve been sleeping all afternoon already, Zoro.”

Zoro snorted. “So? Is there something wrong with that?”

Luffy’s reply came a beat later than he expected it. “Not really.”

“Then what’re you looking at?” was what Zoro wanted to say, but he thought better of it as he felt Luffy shift, moving to sit next to him, folding his legs with a great rustling of grass.

Luffy chuckled. He leaned close to Zoro and then ducked away quickly as the brim of his straw hat poked Zoro in the side of the head and the man reached a hand up to swat him away. “You smell like grass now,” Luffy observed.

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’ve spent the past three days sleeping on deck.”

Zoro frowned. Why was Luffy counting? “So what?”

“Nothing,” replied Luffy simply with a shrug, and seemed to leave it at that. There was a second of stillness and then Luffy, bored, began to fidget. He rocked side to side, his shoulder and his knees knocking into Zoro with an infuriatingly regular rhythm.

So much for being left alone, thought Zoro glumly as he sat with his captain pitching and rolling into him harder and harder, each little collision bringing with it the salty smell of sea spray and the ocean breeze—Luffy’s unique scent.

“Stop it.”

Luffy continued.

“Stop it!”

Luffy stopped when Zoro, no longer able to feign sleepiness, swiveled and put an arm around his captain’s shoulders. Luffy grinned, and let himself be drawn into his swordsman’s embrace. If he noticed that Zoro held him tighter than usual, or that there was a twinge of agony in that way that both of his swordsman’s hands came to clutch and stroke his back, the future Pirate King said nothing, but only smiled wider, wrapped his arms around Zoro’s torso, and tried to match the intensity of his partner’s embrace.

The silence of the ship seemed to close around them. They hadn’t noticed the cessation of the ship’s sounds before, but now it was all too plain—the only sounds breaking the quiet the creak of Adam wood and the whisper of the wind through Nami’s mikan trees. The smells from Sanji’s finished meal were stronger than before, but it seemed that the two men—the captain and his first mate—only smelled the grass and the sea.

No words passed between them as they met in a kiss with just a few short, simultaneous movements—a shift of weight, a hand moving to the back of a neck. Moments passed before they parted, Luffy with the same giant grin, unchanged from before their kiss. Zoro had long since stopped wondering how it was that Luffy could kiss and smile at the same time. He chalked it up to his rubbery, body, though some part of his mind knew that couldn’t be the whole answer.

Wanting another, Luffy leaned in again, only to be pushed away. Luffy pursed his lips in a pout. “What?”

“Do you want to get yelled at by Nami again?” Zoro asked.

“But she went inside!” Luffy protested.

“Usopp, then.”

“He went inside too.”

“Everyone’s inside?”

Luffy nodded and then prodded Zoro in the chest. “How come you didn’t notice?”

“Asleep, remember?” said Zoro with a snort. Luffy looked at him skeptically for a moment before wrapping both arms around his shoulders.

“I think we’re safe,” said Luffy with a rare conspiratorial grin and then he threw himself backwards, almost hurling Zoro headfirst onto the grass. There was a dull thump as both bodies hit the deck, and half of a strangled protest coming from Zoro before the wind was subsequently knocked out of him.

Zoro pushed himself onto his elbows, feeling a vein in his forehead throb, but Luffy only laughed, defusing any scathing remarks the swordsman might have had about remembering that there was only one of them who was made of rubber. Zoro couldn’t help the growing of a small, wry smile as Luffy grinned up at him, both arms hooked behind his neck. Luffy’s rose from the grass, and they met halfway to finish what the captain had begun. It was not quite desire that radiated from Luffy as he wound both arms and legs tightly about his swordsman, but something more natural and easy, as if the movements he made came not from what he wanted but from what and who he was—unhindered by calculation, pure and simple.

Clothing was shed—Luffy’s shirt, now with fresh grass stains, and Zoro’s too, alongside it. The smile on Luffy’s face faded slightly as he placed a hand on Zoro’s chest, the man still sporting fresh bandages from their adventure on Thriller Bark, though bandages were nothing new to either captain or swordsman. But for a moment there seemed to be a flicker of concern in Luffy’s eyes, a hesitance in his fingers as he traced from side to the other, the oft-traveled terrain of Zoro’s old scars, and also some that would surely be new.

The look on Luffy’s face brought Zoro back to that moment of judgement, standing between the towering Bartholomew Kuma and his unconscious captain. The Shichibukai’s trial of pain had been nothing short of hell itself, though that had been far easier to bear than the thought that Luffy himself had not just borne all that pain moments before, but through every difficult encounter he’d been in, and without a single moment’s hesitation. What pained him more than Luffy’s suffering was that he, even as Luffy’s crewman, as his swordsman, and his first mate, had been unable to prevent it, or even to lighten the burden. He had not been and still was not strong enough.

“You okay?” the words came out so softly that Zoro half-believed that he might have imagined them. He looked down to Luffy, who had once again broken out into a shining grin.

Zoro snorted. “I’ve had worse.” He grabbed Luffy’s hand, twining his fingers with his captain’s and diverting his attention. “It’ll take more than that just to scratch me.”

“I know,” Luffy said, his touch still lingering on Zoro’s bandages long after he let Zoro strip him of his shorts, and he moved to return the favor.

Sex between Zoro and Luffy was a simple affair—effortless and straightforward. They followed their bodies, moving in ways that came naturally to the two of them, operating mostly on instinct and the connection they shared between them that transcended all attempted inspection. Without much preamble Zoro rolled Luffy onto his stomach, kissing a straight line down his captain’s spine where he settled a wet kiss at the small of his back. Luffy twitched, and with a small, private smile, Zoro planted a loud raspberry there. Luffy laughed, so Zoro did it again.

They played, moving in concert. Zoro pushed forward, resting some of his weight on Luffy. Luffy in turn, pushed back against him, his body both strong and pliant as Zoro entered him. They were sweaty already by the time they started to sway, Luffy with his head bent down toward the grassy deck and Zoro buried in the crook of his neck—kissing, licking, biting. They grunted and groaned, sliding against one another, the sounds of their love-making cutting through the lap of waves across the Sunny’s hull as the seas bore them ever forward. The sun had disappeared by now and the ship’s lights had come on, but the deck was still empty save for the two men on the starboard side, wrapped around each other, for the moment in their own little realm where the worries and cares of the larger world didn’t reach them and the future seemed to hold nothing but the promise of the endless adventures they could conquer together.

Luffy came first, but still moved with Zoro until the swordsman too, had finished. Panting, Luffy heaved himself up and tackled his first mate to the ground, winding Zoro again, though he hardly seemed to mind the second time. He reached over to brush away an unruly lock of hair from his captain’s face before pulling him into a fierce hug. Luffy responded with like enthusiasm, stretching his arms out and winding them around Zoro several times.

It seemed all too short a time they shared in each other’s arms before they heard the creak of the dining room door opening, and the sounds of silverware scraping ceramic and the buzz of mealtime chatter escaping the doorway. The distinctive figure of the ship’s navigator and resident cartographer placed her hands on her hips.

“Luffy! Zoro! If you want dinner, then the two of you will get up here right this minute!”

The pair on the deck started and there was the sound of Luffy’s arms snapping back to their regular length.

“And for heaven’s sake, put some clothes on! You boys are disgusting! There are perverts and young, impressionable minds on this ship.”

“Who? What?” came the sound of Franky’s voice from inside, followed quickly by Brook’s “Yohoho—!” chuckle that was cut short as if someone had just boxed him across the skull.

“What’s going on, Nami?” said Chopper’s voice curiously. His shadow approached the doorway, but Nami waved him away and shut the door with a resounding slam before further damage was done.

For a few seconds, Luffy and Zoro were alone again. Zoro let out a sigh of relief; he had half-expected Nami to come marching down there and throw them into the ocean or something. Luffy’s stomach responded by grumbling and gurgling rather loudly.

“Zoro,” he said, as if something had just occurred to him, “I’m really, really, really hungry.”

“I know. I heard.”

Luffy unwound himself and bounded across the deck to pull on his clothes. Stretching, he practically bounced up to the stern of the ship, throwing the door open and leaving Zoro to dress himself at a more reasonable pace.

The swordsman shook his head, a wry grin once again crossing his face. Picking up his swords, Zoro climbed the stairs to the dining room, where the sounds of Luffy’s laughter were already beginning to carry beyond the door.

*~*~*~*~*

[DOUJINSHI] Peace Corps (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2008-12-07T19:45:54Z

Continuing the release of Royal☆Garden doujinshi. This one's an excellent follow-up to "Reckless Bebop," as it's takes place right at the end of the Arabasta arc. :D

I'm still really sad that Tekunoroji has moved to doing Reborn instead of One Piece. ;__; Maybe she'll be inspired by the recent events with Kuma and do another one? ...probably not. ._. Let me go cry quietly in my corner now.

Title: Peace Corps
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: PG

Scanlation team: skuldchan, dthnix23, and skuldnoshinpu
Scans courtesy of navo05

Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

Please feel free to redistribute

[DOUJINSHI] Reckless Bebop (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2008-12-02T07:15:07Z

More Royal☆Garden! My favorite Zoro/Luffy circle, can't get enough of them. :D This one took a while, mostly because "Still More Move" and "Happy Happy" took precedence unexpectedly. I guess this clears up my schedule for translating the rest of "Anti-Regret."

If I recall correctly, this was the first Royal☆Garden book that I ever stumbled on. Found it at the Umeda Mandarake for 100 yen. BEST ONE DOLLAR I HAVE EVER SPENT IN MY LIFE.

Many thanks to all those who helped in this endeavor, especially asphodel. She put many hours into cleaning, and she doesn't even watch One Piece or ship Zoro/Luffy. She has my deepest gratitude.

Title: Reckless Bebop
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: NSFW

Scanlation team: skuldchan, asphodel, dthnix23, and skuldnoshinpu
Scans courtesy of sanni_kyou

Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

Please feel free to redistribute

[DOUJINSHI] Happy Happy (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2008-11-27T01:29:01Z

Putting this one out was a bit of an adventure. I had pretty much a finished draft by the time the Neuroscience conference rolled around, but I needed my editor, skuldnoshinpu to look at it. He did it during one of the nights of the conference. Awesome! I figued that once the conference was done, I'd be able to get home and just put this out there. Unfortunately, a couple days later, towards the end of the conference I find out that somebody's done it already! D: *dismay* They had made a couple of errors in the translation which I notified them about, and thankfully this didn't balloon out into any drama. *phew* (I'm allergic to internet drama.)

Anyways, the two of us collaborated on putting out a second version, so here we go! :D Major props to dthnix23, the original scanlator, for even doing the hard work like editing out the sound effects, which I am too lazy to do.

Hooray, more Royal Garden doujinshi! :D

For those of you wondering, I am also working on "Peace Corps," "Reckless Bebop," and "Anti-Regret" because the world cannot have enough Royal☆Garden.

Title: Happy Happy
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: PG-13

Scanlation team: dthnix23, skuldchan, and skuldnoshinpu
Scanning and cleaning courtesy of rubysp720

Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

Please feel free to redistribute

[DOUJINSHI] Still More Move (One Piece, Zoro/Luffy)

2008-11-03T05:40:32Z

So this is what I've been doing today instead of the real work I should've done over the weekend. Oh well, the night's still young! There's still time for me to get a couple of things started before I walk into lab tomorrow!

At any rate, those of you following my regular blog know how I've been kicked back into my One Piece obsession...and along with that comes my never-ending love for ZoroLu. There really isn't enough ZoroLu out there. So this is my little contribution, from hands down, my favorite Zoro/Luffy circle ever, Royal☆Garden (aka. Tekunoroji). Their portrayal of the ZoroLu relationship is so spot-on that I'm not even trying to write ZoroLu fic. Why should I? Somebody's already done it perfectly. I guess that's why I've been concentrating on doing doujin scanlations instead. :D (I currently have a finished first draft of "Happy Happy" I sent off to my editor. Hopefully you guys will see it within a couple of weeks?)

Okay, enough blather. More ZoroLu!

Title: Still More Move
Circle: Royal☆Garden (Tekunoroji)
Series: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Luffy
Rating: PG (just kissing)

Scanlation team: skuldchan and skuldnoshinpu
Scans courtesy of Ohara One Piece Yaoi Fansite

Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

Please feel free to redistribute

[DOUJINSHI] Christ (Guilty Gear, Sol/Ky)

2008-10-31T04:26:22Z

My first scanlation!
I actually finished this about half a year ago, and then never got around to actually shrinking the pictures and converting them into the correct (PNG) format. Call me a lazy ass. Since I'm sick and at home, I figured I might as well actually get this done before working on other translations I've been wanting to do.

Anyways, I first picked this one up randomly at the Umeda Mandarake in Osaka the summer of 2004. Took it home, read it, and instantly fell in love with it. I love how the artist is able to capture the subtleties of Sol's expressions, and I also loved her clean, simple style.

I hope you guys like this too.

Title: Christ
Circle: Serenade (Yuu Shizuki)
Series: Guilty Gear
Pairing: Sol/Ky
Rating: R

Scanlation team: skuldchan, skuldnoshinpu, asphodel

Download: MegaUpload | MediaFire

Feel free to redistribute.

[FIC] I Want to Believe (1/3) (Ace Attorney, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-04-29T08:35:24Z

Whew. I can't believe it's been two months since I've last posted any Phoenix Wright-related fic. Given how often my brain still flies off into Gaylaywerland these days, I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner. Times flies faster than my brain does, apparently.

Anyways, in case you've been wondering what I've been up for the past few, silent weeks, my siamese headcanon twin, kiyala, and I have been preparing this:

standmy_ground

In other words, we've been writing down and plotting our headcanon. We've even given it a name. Our "Still Worth Saving//stand my ground" universe is supposed to cover everything that happens in the Phoenix Wright series that you don't see the games: the backstory, the reading between the lines, the development of Phoenix and Miles' relationship, and what happens to them in the seven year gap between Trials and Tribulations and the first Apollo Justice game, and maybe even beyond. Needless to say, we've done a lot of plotting and a lot of planning to bring this thing to fruition. (Including a full timeline, the unspoiled version of which you get to see here.)

Anyways, kiyala and I have crossposted this annoucement in various forms to every single place known to mankind, so I'll cut the chatter short, and give you the first part of the little three-part story arc I wrote about the events that set the main plot behind Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney in motion:

Title: I Want To Believe (Part One)
Part of the SWS//smg universe
Word Count: 704
Pairings: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Time: April 30, 2019
Rating: G
Warnings: spoilers for AJ:AA

(Edgeworth had barely gotten to his front door when he heard his phone ringing already...)

*~*~*~*~*

crossposted to every single place on the planet

[FIC] Day Still Young (Phoenix Wright, Edgeworth/Phoenix)

2008-02-28T08:59:36Z

I'm glad I'm not the only person with romance and love as a kink. ~~Proof that I'm a lonely, old spinster!~~ This was written for this prompt in the Phoenix Wright Anonymous Kink Meme:

Now here's something rare. Are you up for the challenge, anon? :3

Often when Edgey is portrayed as the instigator in the bedroom, he's all RAWR and sly and devious and full of lust. However, I want to see the opposite... I don't want him to have sex, I want him to make love. With Phoenix. In a very soul-shary slightly bashful but completely intense way.

Don't you want to see him be all caring and enamoured and head over heels too? It would be so beautiful. ;__; Let's have him instigate a very rare but tender expression of his lovey feelings.

I did my best to rein in the sap levels so I don’t look back on my writing years later and realize that I read like a bad Harlequin novel, but I think I may have gotten carried away anyway. I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with something more creative than wake up, roll over, make love, but I think morning!sex is one of the most romantic things ever. :3 So that’s what you get!

(Original thread is here. The text has been revised and edited from the original.}

Title: Day Still Young
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Edgeworth/Phoenix
Warnings: graphic sex, NSFW

*~*~*~*~*

It was nearly dawn when Edgeworth woke up. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked in the almost darkness, lifting his head off of Phoenix’s shoulder and rolling over to peer at the clock that sat on the nightstand. Half an hour until sunrise. Gently, so as not to awake his slumbering partner, Edgeworth slipped out of bed, goosebumps rising on his skin as his feet touched the cold wooden floor. He padded the short distance to the massive French windows and quietly drew the floor length curtains aside, flooding the room with soft, pre-dawn light. Leaning with one shoulder against the glass, Edgeworth folded his arms across his chest and peered outside, staring past his shadowy reflection to gaze at the green valley spread before him and the cottages which dotted the foothills—a small, tranquil village tucked away in middle of the Swiss Alps. Edgeworth propped the side of his head against the window, his warm breath slightly misting the glass before him as he raised his eyes to the mountain peaks where the horizon was just beginning to blush a demure shade of pink. Edgeworth watched on, heedless of the passing time as slowly the sky shifted from muted, grey-tinged tones into a brilliant morning blue. Just as the edge of the sun peeked over the mountains, he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder.

“Morning,” Phoenix said groggily. He nuzzled his Miles, giving him a kiss on the back of the neck, just below the hairline.

“Good morning,” Edgeworth replied, leaning back and returning Phoenix’s kiss before relaxing into his embrace as two arms came to wrap around his middle. “Did you want to go back to bed?” Edgeworth asked, turning to regard Phoenix and noting that his eyes were still heavily lidded with sleep.

“No,” Phoenix replied, his voice a quiet, but stubborn murmur. His grip around Edgeworth’s waist tightened. “Don’t want to waste my time with you by sleeping,” he said, burying his nose into Edgeworth’s hair and giving him quick, light kisses.

Edgeworth smiled. “Okay,” he said quietly. “No going back to bed, then.”

Edgeworth put his hands over Phoenix’s, and he watched the sun rise, bathing the village in light and casting shadows in the forest as the small town stirred and the first adventurous travelers in the Swiss countryside ventured out onto the streets, heading for the mountain trails. From their tenth floor hotel suite, Edgeworth watched as little by little the pastoral village woke, relishing the quiet babble as businesses opened for the day and people emerged from their houses—a scene and sound so different from the buzz and rush of where Phoenix lived and worked—where Edgeworth was moving back to, sometime soon. He was about to make a remark to that effect to Phoenix, when he caught the sound of a little snore at his right ear.

“Phoenix,” Edgeworth said, turning slightly to regard his lover with a stern gaze. “Are you dozing off?”

Phoenix jerked his head and blinked, looking at Edgeworth in mild confusion, taking a little too long to respond. “No,” he replied. “Jus’ resting.” He settled into a content smile and gave Edgeworth another squeeze.

It was not often they were able to find a few days’ free time between Edgeworth’s teaching responsibilities and Phoenix’s erratic client schedule to take a vacation together, and instead of enjoying the view from their window, Phoenix had dropped off in a doze. Edgeworth did his best to keep from rolling his eyes or reprimanding his partner.

“Well, I heard you snore just now.”

“Oh.” Phoenix wrinkled his nose. “Sorry, Miles.”

Edgeworth made a soft sound like a snort. “Phoenix, you are going back to bed.” He extracted himself from Phoenix’s embrace, and prodded the defense attorney toward their bed.

“Bed,” he repeated, voice firm, when Phoenix wasn’t shuffling backwards fast enough.

“Okay, okay,” Phoenix said, putting his arms up in mock protest and giving ground as the prosecutor advanced on him.

Finally feeling the edge of the mattress at the back of his legs, Phoenix toppled backwards, but not before he grabbed Edgeworth and dragged the former prosecutor down onto the bed with him as he bounced in the sheets with a playful laugh. They moved toward the middle of the bed together, finding themselves a more comfortable position to lie amongst the pillows. Phoenix wrapped both his arms around Edgeworth’s shoulders, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Not letting you go now,” Phoenix said, almost childishly, as if there was a danger that his Miles might simply disappear at any minute.

But Edgeworth had no such intentions. He smiled and rolled over in Phoenix’s arms, rustling amongst the blankets until he was nearly nose-to-nose with his lover. His arms came up between them and clasped themselves around Phoenix’s neck. Edgeworth closed his eyes and held his breath, his grin fading from his face as he thought of how unfortunate he was to only be able to spend a few short weeks with Phoenix each year, each morning waking in his arms adding to the dreaded reality of having to wake up cold and alone again in a few days’ time. Edgeworth opened his eyes, remembering to breathe, and gazed at Phoenix, burning into his memory the image of his partner—Phoenix with his eyes closed, his face peaceful, his expression one of pure contentment. Edgeworth sighed and surrendered to Phoenix.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his lips barely moving as he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” And then he leaned forward, ever so slightly to close the distance between them.

The kiss started a slow, languorous brush across Phoenix’s lips. He stopped and felt Phoenix exhale quietly. Edgeworth closed his eyes and repeated the same movement again, opening his mouth and nuzzling Phoenix as he tugged gently on his upper lip. Phoenix arched into him and lifted a leg to wrap around him, shifting his hips to bring them together. Edgeworth pulled away briefly, gazing warmly into Phoenix’s blue eyes, before pressing himself close again.

“I love you,” he whispered. He rushed forward and kissed Phoenix again before he had the chance to answer.

It didn’t take much coaxing for the second kiss to come alive—for it to start as just a simple movement against Phoenix’s mouth and then spread to his shoulders, his back, and his waist. And the next thing Edgeworth knew was that he was kissing Phoenix with his whole body, wrapped around him so tightly their chests rose and fell together with each gasping breath they drew, clasping each other as tight as they could. Edgeworth pushed against Phoenix and Phoenix pushed back just as hard, bringing one hand up to cup Edgeworth’s cheek.

Phoenix’s mouth quirked upward in a small smile. “I love you too.”

He’d hardly finished his words before they met again, and the kiss picked up exactly where it left off, building to such intensity, it left Edgeworth quivering, straining from the effort to press himself even closer to Phoenix, even though they were already touching everywhere and such a feat was near impossible. Hands wandered as the two men groped feverishly—grinding and moaning into each other as they kissed, skin pressed flush against skin. Phoenix moved, nibbling at the corner of Edgeworth’s mouth and then down his neck, where he paused to place a gentle bite on Edgeworth’s shoulder. Edgeworth’s breath hitched and he hooked a knee around Phoenix’s waist, arching into him.

Long overdue, the kiss finally spilled over, and unable to contain himself any longer, Edgeworth shifted his weight, rolling Phoenix onto his back. They parted, their faces flushed, sweat beading on their brow, their lips bruised. Phoenix opened his eyes, breathless, his gaze flickering to his Miles’ eyes. Edgeworth thought he saw Phoenix nod once, and without any further exchange, he moved, knowing what to do.

Phoenix followed every one of Edgeworth’s movements as the light-haired prosecutor retreated downwards, carving a path of wet, hot kisses down his torso before he curled deft fingers around the waistband of his boxers. Edgeworth lifted his head to stare at Phoenix before taking his boxers off entirely, maneuvering them around his full erection before pulling them down to his ankles where they fell off the bed.

Phoenix stretched languidly, even more aroused by the way his Miles was staring at him. Phoenix grinned, bucking his hips once for Edgeworth’s benefit.

“Your turn,” Phoenix then murmured, glancing significantly at the bulge tenting out his lover’s underwear.

“Yes,” Edgeworth breathed. “My turn.”

He crawled back up the bed, one knee on either side of Phoenix, crouched over him like the gentle predator he was. “If you say so,” he said quietly and let Phoenix lift arms to his waist and strip him. He kicked his boxers onto the floor somewhere behind him.

There was nothing more that Edgeworth loved about Phoenix than his eyes, his stare, and the honest emotion often reflected therein. He was attracted to the way they flashed when Phoenix was in the courtroom, the way they softened when Phoenix gazed at him in their bed, and most of all the way they rolled up and fluttered closed when they made love. They were now filled with overflowing desire and want, boring into Edgeworth with such ferocity that he almost shivered in anticipation. Edgeworth mirrored Phoenix’s look with one of his own—one that sent one of Phoenix’s arms reaching beneath the pillow, searching for their bottle of lubricant. After a few seconds of fumbling, Phoenix found it and opened it, spreading an ample amount of clear jelly over his fingers. Smiling, he beckoned his lover hither with a finger.

Edgeworth obeyed. He did his best not to think about the fact that one morning he was going to wake up, and there would no longer be the warm body of Phoenix Wright slumbering beside him. If he woke up stiff there would no longer be anyone to mitigate his desires—he would just have to take care of that in the shower by himself, wishing that he was half a world away from where he really was, and that the water pouring over his back was another kind of heat enveloping him. So Edgeworth closed his eyes with Phoenix’s fingers wrapped gently around his erection, lubricating his length. This was not a feeling he would have the luxury of knowing in the mornings for much longer. He thrust into Phoenix’s hand, moving his hips slowly, lazily, as he opened his eyes again watched Phoenix smile and lick his lips, perhaps hoping he’d had the foresight to give his lover a blowjob before lubing him up.

After a more few strokes Edgeworth whimpered, shivering, and pulled out of Phoenix’s grasp, reaching for the bottle of lubricant. It wouldn’t do any good for Phoenix to finish pleasuring him first, not when there was much more to do still ahead of them.

Edgeworth squeezed lube onto his fingers, glancing down at Phoenix, who just seemed to be content enough to be able to gaze at him. The silent happiness reflected in Phoenix’s eyes tugged at Edgeworth’s heart, and he promised himself that there would come one day, and all days from then onward, he would never wake up in the morning without Phoenix by his side.

“Are you ready?” Edgeworth asked.

Still smiling, Phoenix nodded. “Always,” he added, so softly that Edgeworth almost didn’t hear him.

He climbed back down the bed and Phoenix lifted his knees, closing them coyly as Edgeworth knelt, shooting his lover a wry smile—Phoenix knew exactly how much he enjoyed parting his legs. Edgeworth pushed Phoenix’s knees apart and moved forward to settle between them, finding Phoenix’s entrance and tonguing it lightly—drawing a gasp from the dark-haired defense attorney—before inserting a finger.

“Mmm,” Phoenix murmured, spreading his legs even further. He pushed downwards slightly, seeking more invasion. “More.”

Edgeworth put three in at once and watched Phoenix’s eyes squeeze shut and his mouth open, breathing one silent gasp.

“Yeah, just like that,” Phoenix said, his voice a strained whine.

Slowly, Edgeworth probed and stretched, taking care to ensure that Phoenix was relaxed and sufficiently slippery before he squeezed another bit of lubricant onto himself and spread it quickly. Bracing himself against Phoenix, Edgeworth guided himself in, first nosing tantalizingly at his entrance before pushing in steadily, rocking his hips slightly as he went. Phoenix lifted his legs up to wrap around Edgeworth’s waist, pushing him deeper. Edgeworth paused to draw a breath. He gazed at Phoenix who was lying against the sheets, his cheeks flushed, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, a desperate shine in his eyes as he waited impatiently for Edgeworth to start moving, one arm curled on the pillow he rested his head on, the other already between his legs, stroking himself lightly. Leaning forward and bending down, Edgeworth placed his mouth over Phoenix’s waiting lips and began to move.

Their rhythm was something primal, something they didn’t have to think about to feel—something they simply knew—and whether it was something they shared between just the two of them or whether it was something shared with the whole world, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were moving as one, that they were as close as two people could physically be—kissing, loving, making love. Phoenix didn’t seem to mind that Edgeworth had almost pushed him up against the bed post, and Edgeworth didn’t seem to mind that the bed was squeaking loudly and shaking with their efforts. He wanted to wake up every morning with the ferocity of this feeling, the feeling of loving Phoenix Wright so much he wanted to drive him into the wall or pin beneath his weight forever, so neither of them would ever be able to leave the bed and they would be free to spend the rest of their lives together, this close.

Edgeworth heard Phoenix calling his name and he lowered his head, letting Phoenix wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him down. Edgeworth kept moving, thrusting in and out with his hips, pushing with his legs, seeking more of the warm, wet constriction of Phoenix’s muscles, trying to find a space and a time to be wrapped so much—this much—in Phoenix Wright it hurt. Edgeworth buried his chin somewhere around Phoenix’s shoulder and stayed there, gasping as they swayed together, and ignoring the demands of the rest of the world, Phoenix’s breath at his ear in hoarse whispers, crying, “Miles, Miles, Miles, Miles,” over and over again.

Phoenix was the one who came first, his breath catching, in one long moan of “Mil—aaaah!” and he shuddered, his body freezing as he released and spattered their chests with drops of thick, warm liquid.

Edgeworth moaned, still moving against Phoenix, increasing his pace as he felt Phoenix close around him, squeezing him impossibly tight. “Almost there,” Edgeworth managed to gasp when Phoenix had stopped shaking, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he could. He closed his eyes, moved for a few more seconds in quick, deep strokes and then he arched and came as well, buried within Phoenix as he emptied himself, shaking with bliss as he turned his head to the side, his lips moving soundlessly against Phoenix’s neck.

Phoenix moved first after they’d both collapsed to the bed together, running the back of his fingers along his Miles’ cheek and gazing at him fondly. Edgeworth returned the look, wondering how he was going to get by, by himself for the next few months. He rolled to the side, pulling out of Phoenix, and wiping them both off lazily with a tissue from the nightstand before settling down to find a comfortable position beside his lover. Together, Phoenix and Edgeworth lied on the bed, sharing the same pillow, their fingers twined between them. It was warm, even on top of the sheets, and Edgeworth smiled, closing his eyes as he shifted to rest his cheek against Phoenix’s shoulder.

It was Phoenix who first broke the silence to speak. “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

“Shh.” Edgeworth lifted a finger and placed it over Phoenix’s lips. “We still have some time.”

Phoenix shook his head and frowned slightly, wrapping fingers around Edgeworth’s wrist. “But when will I get to see you again?”

Edgeworth paused. “It’ll be soon,” he promised.

“And when will we get to do this every day?”

“Soon,” Edgeworth replied. He nudged Phoenix’s shoulder with his nose and placed a kiss there, looking up at his lover. “Soon, I promise.”

Slowly, Phoenix nodded, reluctant. He would not have given up his Miles for the world, which meant that his only other choice was to wait, and make the best out of it until the former prosecutor’s European sabbatical was over with. He was sure the years would pass by in a flash. But until then, they would have their few, happy weeks together.

Phoenix rolled over, letting go of Miles’ wrist and cupping Edgeworth’s face in both his hands. “I love you, Miles,” he said earnestly, rolling Miles onto his back and bending over to kiss him tenderly.

Wrapping arms around his back and traversing the smooth skin he felt there, Edgeworth pulled him close and hooked a leg around Phoenix’s knees.

“Let’s make love again,” Phoenix whispered with a mischievous grin when they parted. He rubbed noses with Edgeworth. “Besides, it’s my turn.”

“Was once not enough for you?” Edgeworth chuckled, brushing back a stray lock of hair from Phoenix’s forehead. He pushed himself off the bed to meet Phoenix halfway.

“Day’s still young, I guess,” Phoenix said quietly, closing his eyes and parting his lips.

Edgeworth arched into Phoenix’s kiss, bringing his other leg to wrap around Phoenix’s legs as they both fell back down to the bed. For the second time that morning since the sun had first cast its rays above their tiny little Swiss village in the mountains, Miles Edgeworth had to remember to breathe as he surrendered to Phoenix’s desire—his desire.

*~*~*~*~*

Crossposted to narumitsu and igiari

[FIC] Bet You'll Feel Nuts (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-02-17T07:45:27Z

I saw this prompt a couple of days ago and decided that it had to be written in the comment box, LIEK NAO. I usually don't write things that aren't supposed to be taken seriously, which is why I love the fact that the Phoenix Wright Anonymous Kink Meme is making me come out of that shell and out of my normal comfort zone. I think I like it!

Written for this prompt in the Kink Meme:
Phoenix dancing nekkid. Not like a sexy dance but something very silly.

I... dunno how Edgeworth reacts. :/

I realized after writing this that the request wasn’t for anything sexy at all, so blame my P/E bunnies for getting carried away and wanting something sexy and silly at the same time.

(Original link to thread is here. Text has suffered some edits since then.)

Title: Bet You'll Feel Nuts
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: crack, NSFW

*~*~*~*~*

Miles Edgeworth got to enjoy certain perks once he finally convinced Phoenix Wright to move into his condo with him. There was the pleasure of waking up beside him every morning, climbing into the shower with him, and passing on some fashion and style tips to oft poorly-dressed defense attorney. All in all, Miles felt that he'd been doing a good job of bringing some class and culture into Phoenix's life, which was why he was so surprised to find that when he walked up to his door after a long day at the District Attorney's office that the blaring bass beat that had been annoying him ever since he set foot in the courtyard was coming from his very own home. Perplexed and concerned, Edgeworth shoved the key in the lock and swung the door open. He immediately regretted it. His speakers, his beautiful Bose Acoustimass home theater-grade speakers, were being abused in such a way to play the most obnoxious, rude song he'd ever had the misfortune to be forced to listen to.

"What is the meaning of this?" He shouted, but could barely hear his own voice over the din. "PHOENIX!"

Toeing off his shoes quickly and dropping his briefcase to clap two hands over his ears, Edgeworth wandered into his living room.

"PHOEN--"

Edgeworth froze, and his jaw dropped open.

*~*~*~*~*

I want you smothered, want you covered, like my Waffle House hashbrowns...

One of the many perks that Phoenix Wright got to enjoy, after the very persuasive Miles Edgeworth dragged him off to live in his lavish Marina Del Rey condo, was that Edgeworth stayed at work late fairly often, which meant that Phoenix had hours in the evenings to do all the things that he loved to do that Miles would never have approved of. This included jumping on the bed, double-dipping into the salsa, eating cereal for dinner, and playing his favorite songs on repeat at maximum volume on Miles' expensive sound system. And if the timing and mood were also right, Phoenix sometimes indulged in dancing around the house after a shower, completely naked, with only a wet towel as a prop, imagining himself to be the sexiest lawyer on the planet. It was glorious. And Edgeworth didn't know a thing.

Comin' quicker than FedEx, never reach an apex...

Phoenix mouthed the words, shaking his ass to the beat, the towel slung around his shoulders as he strutted his stuff in the living room, wrapped in the fantasy that Miles was at home, not at work, and Phoenix was putting on the show of a lifetime--just a short prelude to the lapdance of a lifetime. It would be a long time before it happened of course, given how prim and proper and terribly repressed Edgeworth was, but Phoenix was working on him slowly, and until he'd crack all the layers of Miles' cold exterior and interior, he'd have to settle for the fantasy. At least he was getting in some good practice in the meantime.

...just like Coca-Cola stock you are inclined to make me rise an hour early...

Phoenix made thrusting motions with his hips, unwrapping the towel and holding it at both ends, dancing and moving with it with a giant grin on his face. He moved his shoulders to the beat, swinging the towel from side to side the way that he sometimes saw models do on the catwalk on TV, catching one end of the towel as he reached the end of the imaginary runway and did a little spin, showing off the assets of Phoenix Wright, attorney at law, to an imaginary audience.

...just like Daylight Savings Time...

Phoenix flashed a winning, mischievous grin, not missing a beat to his lipsync.

“Do it now.”

Then he turned around, and the chorus died on his lips. His grin quickly faded into a look of utter, embarrassed horror. The salsa was still out, and it was getting warm. He hadn't washed the dishes yet, and the sheets were still mussed from him jumping on the bed briefly on the way from the closet to the bathroom. And worst of all, he had no clothes on, was flapping in the breeze half-erect, he was singing one of the tackiest songs known to man, and had failed to notice that his boyfriend had walked in the house and possibly been staring at him for minutes already.

"Oh my god," Phoenix wanted to say, but the words never made it out.

*~*~*~*~*

Edgeworth tried to make a sound, not that it would have done him any good. Phoenix had his back to him, and was completely wrapped in the music, or the dancing…probably both. There was nothing he could really do to get Phoenix's attention—perhaps somewhere deep inside him, he actually didn't want to—so he just watched, his initial look of incredulity changing into something more akin to a look of smoldering desire with each shimmy of Phoenix's ass. Edgeworth had never seen anything so sexy in his life as Phoenix dancing with a towel. Naked. In his living room.

Edgeworth hadn't even noticed how his body had responded to his boyfriend's hips wiggling back and forth in some lewd, innuendo-filled motion, until Phoenix had turned around and stalled, his pelvis thrust forward, a look of disbelief on his face. Edgeworth had never seen anyone turn that red that quickly, but his own realization of his erect state made him flush a shade that almost matched Phoenix.

Phoenix stood there, frozen, a terrified, panicked look in his wide eyes, as he cast about for some sort of excuse, some sort of explanation for why this was happening, but nothing came to mind as to why he was naked, and dancing to a song whose lyrics mostly consisted of, 'you and me baby ain't nothing but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.' There were simply no words for this sort of moment. Miles strode forward in the middle of Phoenix's panic, and suddenly there seemed the distinct possibility that the one in the house with no clothes on was going to get thrown out into the street. It wasn't until Edgeworth was almost in front of him that Phoenix looked down and noticed that Miles was sporting an erection that was practically begging to be let out of his pants.

Edgeworth prided himself on being quick to think on his toes, so he shot a predatory grin at Phoenix—a rare one usually reserved for bedroom purposes only—and ran a thumb along the naked defense attorney's lower lip before backing away and finding a seat on the armchair in the corner of the room. Edgeworth folded his arms across his chest.

"Get on with it," he said. He couldn't quite be heard over the ruckus of the Bloodhound Gang, but the movement of his lips got his words across.

This couldn't be for real. Shooting Miles an uncertain look, Phoenix picked up the song again just as the chorus was ending. He was dreaming, and totally unprepared to boot! His routine had to be refined, he had more moves he'd wanted to experiment on, but now Miles was home from work, still in his suit and his jabot, and he was telling Phoenix to 'get on with it.' Taking a deep breath, Phoenix worked himself back into the beat. Now was not the time to blow it, metaphorically speaking. If he didn't want this evening to end in disaster, he was going to have to deliver like a pro. It was a little bit like walking into court with a half-assed, bullshit case, except this time Miles Edgeworth was judge, jury, and prosecution.

Love, the kind you clean up with a mop and bucket…

Phoenix started by slinging the towel back over his shoulder. He took a wide step to the side to give Miles a good view of his cock, and rubbed his hands across his torso and stomach before moving again. He noticed a gleam in Edgeworth's eye—a glint of lust—and that was all Phoenix needed to find his groove again. It seemed that Miles wanted him—Miles wanted him a lot.

Hieroglyphics? Let me be Pacific I wanna be down in your South Seas, but I got the notion that the motion of your ocean...

Phoenix gave Miles his smartest, sexiest pout as he mouthed the lyrics, running his hands over his lips as he sang. He turned to the side, nipping on his fingertips and sucking on his digits before he turned back again, making sure that he had Miles' complete and undivided attention. With a grin and a raise of his eyebrow, Phoenix grabbed for one end of the towel, whipping it off to his side in one fluid movement that was pure, unadultered drama. He struck a pose, pointing a finger in Miles’ direction as he kept in perfect time with the lyrics.

So if I capsize on your thighs high tide...

Phoenix grabbed the other end of the towel and danced with it, stretching it out in front of him and behind him as he moved from side to side with the music, turning his back on Edgeworth to ensure that he had a full, unobstructed view of his ass. Phoenix bent over and arched right back up again, twirling to face Miles. There some ridiculous mix of horror and want written all over Miles' expression, and though Phoenix would have preferred more of the latter than the former, this was something he could work with.

Please turn me on I'm Mister Coffee with an automatic drip...

With a saucy grin, the kind that Miles usually rolled his eyes at, Phoenix tossed Edgeworth his towel. It landed on his lap, but Miles hardly flinched, or even moved at all, except when Phoenix blew him a kiss while shaking his hips and he saw Miles’ arm, folded at his chest, fall into his lap as his hands crept beneath the towel and he stroked himself. Yes, that was supposed to be the desired effect. Success. Phoenix gave his boyfriend a satisfied grin and danced tantalizingly close, leaning over the armchair almost close to enough to kiss Edgeworth before taking a few steps back again—just out of reach—and running his hands down the insides of his legs.

And then we'll do it doggy style so we can both watch "X-Files…"

This was far from over, despite the fact that Miles' desire was rapidly gaining priority over all else in his mind. For a second Phoenix was afraid that Edgeworth might just heave himself up off armchair, tackle him to the ground, and try to fuck him on the spot, which wasn't the game plan. There was supposed to be a lapdance before that happened.

Phoenix approached as the second verse segued into the chorus, and he undulated, moving his entire body as he perched himself over Miles, lifting one leg and leaning on the armrest to to give him a tantalizing view of his now fully erect cock. Phoenix turned around, wiggling his ass over Miles' lap and occasionally giving his sac a little shake when he turned to face Miles again. Edgeworth looked so red he might explode, but still Phoenix danced, feeling like the sexiest, most desirable person on earth as he sang along to his favorite song about sex.

You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel. Gettin' horny now!

The music continued, Phoenix danced like he’d never danced before, while Edgeworth still stroked himself. Eventually the song faded out, and it was finally quiet enough to talk. Phoenix spread his legs apart, and lowered himself onto Miles’ knees.

“Well?” he asked.

“I want you,” Miles said, his voice tight as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Right. Now.”

“Hmmm…” Phoenix teased, pausing as he seemed to consider the proposal. The music started over again. Edgeworth let out an audible groan of frustration.

Ha-Ha! Well now, we call this the act of mating…

When the music started, Phoenix started bobbing his head and moving his shoulders to the beat. He pressed a quick kiss to Edgeworth’s lips before he hooked his hands around the back of Miles’ neck, waiting for that perfect timing to lean in close and whisper:

“I’d appreciate your input.”

*~*~*~*~*

Crossposted to narumitsu and igiari

[FIC] The Roughest Roads (Epilogue) (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-02-11T08:44:05Z

I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who read this and has been incredibly patient with me. Thank you. I'd like to thank everyone who's given me input, and some awesome alternative (MUSE, Arcade Fire, stellastarr*) and independent Los Angeles artists (The Deadly Syndrome, Castledoor) who have really inspired me to write with their music.

And last of all, thanks to everybody who believes that Phoenix and Edgeworth have a happy ending. (Apollo Justice? What's that? Hobohodo? I know not of what you speak.)

Title: The Roughest Roads
Epilogue
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: spoilers for PW2

*~*~*~*~*

“Mr. Nick! Mr. Nick!”

Phoenix looked up from his reading as the door opened and little Pearl Fey burst through the doorway, waving a white envelope back and forth in Phoenix’s face.

“You got a letter, today!”

“That’s wonderful, Pearls,” Phoenix replied, feeling his heart leap at who the letter was likely from.

“I think it’s from Mr. Edgeworth, but I don’t know how to read his name,” Pearl said, biting her lip in hesitation before thrusting the letter at Phoenix with both hands.

“Thank you for bringing it to me,” Phoenix said fondly, with a nod.

“You’re welcome!” Pearl beamed back at him, a happy look on her face.

She tried peering over Phoenix’s shoulder as he opened the envelope, nearly ripping it clear in half in the process, and unfolded the letter inside. It was then that Pearl looked up, catching a stern look from Phoenix.

“Are you going to read it to me, Mr. Nick?” Pearl asked innocently.

“Letters are supposed to be private, Pearls,” Phoenix replied. “It’s a letter for me, after all.”

“Oh.” Pearl looked completely crestfallen and for a moment, Phoenix was afraid she might start crying. “Is…is it from Mr. Edgeworth at least?”

“Yes, yes it is from Mr. Edgeworth, and I’ll tell you what it says when I’m done reading,” Phoenix said, in his best attempt to prevent a storm of tears from the youngest Fey spirit medium.

“Um, okay!” Pearl said, considering his words and perking right back up again. She smiled. “I’ll just go clean in the other room then.”

“Thank you, Pearls,” Phoenix said as Pearl closed the door behind her, but not without another curious glance at the letter.

Phoenix had barely gotten through the salutation when the door opened again, and Pearl poked her head back into his office.

“Promise you’ll come back out when you’re done and tell me what Mr. Edgeworth said,” Pearl said, a determined pout on her face.

“I promise, Pearl,” Phoenix assured her, knowing full well how futile it was to argue with her.

Pearl paused, critically assessing whether or not she thought Phoenix was telling the truth. Deciding that he probably was, she nodded with satisfaction. “You promise!” she said, and closed the door again.

Phoenix breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he’d just narrowly averted disaster. He picked up the letter, written in Miles’ neat, careful script, and began to read.

Dear Phoenix,

How are you? The classes here at the University of Freiburg are almost at an end. It’s very satisfying to see another generation of young aspiring criminal attorneys about to take the first step in their careers. I think only about half of them want to be prosecutors, so it looks like a few members of the class might be meeting each other again in the courtroom as prosecution and defense in the next few years. Many of the first years taking my Criminal Law and Ethics class have also asked for a letter of recommendation from me for their internships, though I wish they wouldn’t refer to me as “The American Professor” in their off hours.

I have a few commitments early in the summer: a case I am prosecuting in June and another trial I would like to observe in July, but after that I am free until classes start afresh with a new batch of law students in the fall. I think I can spare at least two or three weeks in August to come home.

I hope you’re doing all right, and that the two Fey girls, Maya and Pearl, are taking care of you. I hope they don’t get you into any more troubling cases, but if I know you, you’re probably the one who goes around looking for trouble.

Perhaps for the Christmas holidays I can fly you over here—the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest, is stunning in the winter. It gets awfully lonely and quiet here at night sometimes, especially after Pess has already curled up for the night, and it’s just me and a book in bed.

As much as I enjoy teaching and examining the particulars of criminal law here in Europe, I miss you, Phoenix. I miss you a lot. The days can’t pass quickly enough for my three-year sabbatical to be over, so I can come home to you. Until then, we may just have the phone, and the occasional few weeks of holiday I can take off.

Please give my regards to Maya and Pearl Fey.

I’ll see you again in August, and if I can, maybe even before.

I miss you and I love you.

Miles Edgeworth

Phoenix set the letter down on his desk, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Miles,” he said quietly, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. Blinking quickly, he picked up the letter again, and read it a second time.

~*~

The End

*~*~*~*~*

And why don't we move ourselves up the road?
I don't know which turn was wrong,
But the roughest roads are the ones that take us home.
- The Deadly Syndrome, “Emily Paints”

*~*~*~*~*

crossposted to narumitsu

[FIC] The Roughest Roads (5/5) (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-02-11T08:40:23Z

I must apologize again to everyone who's been kept waiting for this one (or actually to anybody who's still waiting for other things I haven't gotten around to finishing). They say that time flies when you're having fun, but they seem to have mentioned that time also flies when you're busy as hell.

Anyways, hopefully this will do as a sort of reverse birthday present to everybody this year who gave me the awesome birthday gift of GAY LAWYERS. It really doesn't get better than receiving gay lawyers in multiple forms for your birthday. Thank you everbody, for making it officially the gayest and most lawyerly birthday I've ever had. I love all of you.

I hope you enjoy this, it's kind of amazing when I think about how long I originally planned this to be, and how long it's ended up being. I guess that just goes to show that gay lawyers will do whatever gay lawyers damn well please.

Title: The Roughest Roads
Part Five: Take it From Your Heart
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: graphic sex, spoilers for PW2

*~*~*~*~*

It was dark when Phoenix finally returned to the offices of Wright and Co., but Phoenix didn’t feel like turning on the lights. Across the way was the Gatewater Hotel, and that gave off all the light he needed. Maya and Pearls were already asleep, curled together on the giant king-sized bed in the suite that Pearls had thoughtfully reserved for them. They were safe now, and for that Phoenix was thankful. Slowly, he put down his things and sank into his couch, closing his eyes. The past few days had been a series of emotional rollercoaster rides, beginning with Maya’s abduction after the Hero of Heroes award ceremony, and continuing with Miles’ reappearance as the prosecuting attorney of the case, followed by the flurry of investigations that left most of Phoenix’s memory a blur of late nights and heart-pounding trials. Phoenix had barely gotten any sleep in days, but somehow he was still awake now—maybe because his nerves were still trying to recover from the harrowing sequence of events that had been his whole week. If he went to sleep now, Phoenix wondered whether he would wake up in the morning and feel as if the past few days had just been a nightmare.

Phoenix sighed and opened his eyes. He could barely see the silhouettes of the bookcases in the reception area, the only light filtering in was the light through the window of his office, and even then the Gatewater’s warm, yellow glow was partially obscured by blinds. It was almost silent in the office—Phoenix couldn’t remember the last time he appreciated the silence, and he simply sat, reclining into his couch, letting its cushions support him, and listened to his own heartbeat.

He’d been unfair. A frown crossed Phoenix’s face as he thought of his meeting with Miles, when they bumped into each other for the first time in a year, just a few days ago at the precinct. It seemed like weeks had passed since then. Phoenix hadn’t missed the hurt in Miles’ eyes when he’d spoken in chill tones to the prosecutor, even though Phoenix had been sure then that he was walking in a dream. But the initial shock of realizing that Miles had returned had been quickly replaced by anger and resentment. What right did Miles have, of all people, after writing that note, after being absent for an entire year, to suddenly appear again and want to help the investigation—to pretend that nothing had passed between them and they were friends again? All the same, the hurt had been there—the only real emotion in Miles’ eyes that Phoenix had ever been able to read reliably. Phoenix had almost, almost softened then, but he’d had more pressing matters to attend to.

The past few days had given him very little time to think about Miles, but somehow the man kept creeping into his thoughts in the small hours of the morning, when there were dark shadows under his eyes, when Phoenix was busy looking through his files and preparing for the next day’s case. His mind would start to wander and occasionally he thought of Miles doing the same thing in his office or in his study with his dog, Pess, curled up in a ball at his feet as he bent over his desk, a cup of tea in his hand. Phoenix hadn’t really decided whether or not he wanted Miles to be a part of his life anymore until just earlier that day, when standing opposite him in the courtroom, Phoenix realized that of all his friends, he trusted one Miles Edgeworth the most. Indeed, without him, Phoenix knew wouldn’t be sitting in his office now, enjoying for the first time in a long time, the quiet and the dark.

A knock on the door shattered the silence, and Phoenix looked up, startled. He almost rose out of the couch, but found that he couldn’t quite summon the effort. He settled back into the sofa.

“Come in,” he said. “The door’s open.”

Light flooded in from the hallway. Phoenix had been expecting either Maya or Pearls come to berate him for leaving them unattended in a hotel where just a few days ago there’d been a murder, but instead of either of the girls there was another familiar silhouette in the doorway.

“Have a seat,” Phoenix sighed, and shifted over to make room on the couch.

Phoenix expected Miles to say something about the darkness, maybe insist on turning on the lights, but the door swung shut without a word passing the prosecutor’s lips. After a moment, Phoenix felt Miles’ weight settle into the couch. Phoenix turned toward Miles, more feeling rather than seeing him there. It was quiet enough that if he tried hard, he thought he could hear the sound of Miles drawing breaths. But then again, it might have just been his imagination.

Phoenix watched as Miles’ figure leaned his head back, and rested against the couch cushions. He felt ashamed at how he’d treated Miles earlier, how he’d spoken to him when they’d first met at the precinct. Miles had been nothing but helpful to the case, and it was he who had sent Gumshoe to track down Maya, he who had arranged for De Killer to testify in court. He wouldn’t be here now without Miles.

Phoenix swallowed nervously and took a deep breath. There were words that he suddenly needed to get off his chest.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, realizing how incredibly pathetic his voice sounded when he wasn’t in the courtroom, standing behind the defense’s bench. He struggled to put everything else into words, but nothing that didn’t involve more stammering came to mind.

“Actually, I think I should be the one saying that, Wright,” said Miles. There was a wry and softly reassuring quality to his voice. “I think I have more to be sorry for than you ever will.”

Phoenix heard Miles heave a sigh. They sat together, still and unmoving in the darkness for what seemed like a small eternity. It was not a comfortable silence—although Miles wasn’t looking at him, Phoenix still felt like he was somehow still being scrutinized. Finally, he came up with something to say.

“I want to thank you too. I…I don’t think I would have made it through today without you.” Phoenix felt a little better, having said that aloud. It was hard to admit that, hard to admit that after a year of trying to forget about Miles, about the short, but happy weeks they’d spent in each others’ company last year, that he’d still needed the man when push came to shove in a tight situation.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Miles replied. “I just wanted to help.”

There was another long silence. Phoenix hadn’t heard his voice at all in the space of a whole year, but he recognized the tone of crushing neutrality, the words falling from Miles’ lips like he’d tried not to invest too much time or feeling into speaking them. Phoenix glanced again in Miles’ direction. The prosecutor still had his head tilted up toward the ceiling, but it was too dark in the office to see what kind of expression he wore on his face. Phoenix wondered if he’d be able to read it even if he could see. Phoenix wanted to reach a hand over, to put his fingers somewhere on that dark figure, to grasp Miles’ hand or pull at the fabric of his sleeve, just to know that Miles was real, not some shadow or dream who’d disappear again once the lights came back on. Phoenix stopped, his hand hovering in the air halfway between them before dropping silently, helplessly, to the couch. Phoenix clenched his fist and just sat with his head lowered. What would be the good of finding Miles’ again if he might just vanish again, on a whim? Phoenix hoped he’d have the courage to ask some of his question before his chance might pass.

“Well, Wright. I think I should probably be on my way now.”

Phoenix heard Miles move, his burden lift from the couch, and he reached a desperate, blind hand out into the black. He felt the fabric of his Miles’ jacket. “Wait. I have a question for you.” There was a moment of silence, but Miles made no more move towards the door. “Please,” Phoenix added softly, when there was no response.

“What is it, then?”

“I want to know how you knew to find me here.”

Miles exhaled quickly, a short, abrupt laugh. “Lucky guess, Wright.” Then his voice returned to its usual stony frost. “Is that all?”

“No,” Phoenix said, keeping his grip firm on the edge of Miles’ coat. He felt that maybe, it was time for him to speak frankly. “But I’m afraid to ask you because I might not get a straight answer.”

“Sometimes you never know until you try,” Miles replied. He moved, and Phoenix felt the couch sink again under his weight. It gave him a little reassurance.

Phoenix closed his eyes. He hoped he wasn’t overthinking his words. He hoped they weren’t going to choke him. And above all, he hoped that Miles, who held the answers to all his questions, would answer them. But he also knew that there were things in this world that even Miles Edgeworth might not know, especially it came to things about himself.

“You were gone for a year,” Phoenix began. It wasn’t a question. He paused, expecting a scathing remark.

“Yes,” Miles replied simply, his voice impassive, leaving Phoenix with no choice but to forge onwards.

“Where were you?”

Miles paused. “Everywhere, I suppose. But mostly in Europe. Germany, Switzerland, France, a lot of places.”

Phoenix had always envied that Miles could speak about living in other countries like they were trips to the corner market. Miles had lived in places that Phoenix could only dream of.

“Why did you come back?”

“I have some business that needs to be taken care of.”

“Oh.” Phoenix fell silent. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what this business of Miles’ was, because it could either have meant that he was staying, or that there was another flight out of Los Angeles waiting for him the next morning. Phoenix didn’t want o think about the possibility of the latter. He couldn’t believe that even after a year, he still wanted Miles. He still wanted everything to go back to the way they had been before Miles had disappeared. After all that time, Phoenix still felt…

“Why’d you leave?” Phoenix had tried to hold it back, but the question had just escaped on its own. “Why’d you leave and not say anything?” Something swelled inside Phoenix and he felt powerless to stop it. It was too late. He heard his voice growing desperate and rising in volume, but he was just as helpless here as with the words tumbling from his lips.

“God, Miles, a phone call or a letter or anything! Anything at all to let me know you were alive and all right!” Phoenix drew a gasping breath, realizing his voice was wavering. He sank back down into the couch and buried his face in his hands, feeling pathetic. He’d only been with Miles for three months—hardly a commitment. So why couldn’t he let go?

“Why couldn’t you tell me to my face you wanted to leave me?” Phoenix said quietly, his voice barely a whisper to hide the fact that it might crack if he spoke any louder. He kept his head down, afraid that he might see something resembling contempt on Miles’ face, even in the dark. But Miles only answered him softly.

“I think I was afraid,” Miles said, each word spoken with a painfully slow effort.

“Of what?” Phoenix asked.

“I was scared that…” Miles trailed off for a moment. Phoenix waited patiently, holding his breath so he could hear Miles’ voice, which suddenly seemed very quiet and small. “I think…I think I was scared that if I talked to you, I wouldn’t have the courage to go anymore.”

Phoenix lifted his head and gaped at Miles, but couldn’t see his expression.

“I think I needed to be away from you,” Miles continued, “but I was afraid you’d keep me here.”

Phoenix felt his jaw drop slightly, as he stared at the figure of Miles in disbelief. “That’s it?” he asked. He watched as Miles turned his head to the side, seemingly staring at the floor.

“I also hoped it would be easier on you,” Miles added.

“That sounds like an excuse,” Phoenix said, after a pause.

“I know,” Miles replied. He sounded disappointed, whether with himself, with Phoenix, or both, Phoenix wasn’t sure.

“But it sounded like a good one at the time,” Miles said. “I think that was very selfish of me, and I’m sorry.”

Phoenix sat in stunned silence. He didn’t know what sort of answer he’d been expecting, but certainly not the candid words that Miles had spoken. Miles was proud, a little arrogant at times, and he hated admitting his own shortcomings more than anything. Phoenix curled his fingers around Miles’ arm. He had every right to be angry, and he had the feeling that Miles understood that. He could stand up, walk out right now, and know that Miles would never blame him for doing it. And that was also the reason that kept Phoenix in his seat, his hand keeping its firm grip on Miles. Miles could have left at any point during their exchange, he could have left right after he’d finished speaking, but he hadn’t moved an inch.

“So what now?” Phoenix asked. He searched Miles’ face, his eyes adjusted to the darkness ever so slightly.

“I don’t know,” Miles replied in a voice so worried and uncertain that Phoenix would have never believed they’d be coming from a man such as Miles Edgeworth.

“Are you staying?” Phoenix asked.

Slowly, Miles shook his head. Phoenix closed his eyes, blinking quickly. His breath shuddered a little when he exhaled.

“Then why are you still here?”

Phoenix froze as he watched Miles’ figure reach a quivering hand forward, floating in the space between them for a moment before Phoenix moved, catching Miles’ hand in his.

Before he knew it, Phoenix had pulled Miles forward and somehow, Miles was in his arms. It felt nice to have a body to hold again, one that was holding him just as tightly. Phoenix closed his eyes and squeezed, breathing deeply as he turned his face into Miles’ hair.

“I missed you.” Where the words came from, from him or Miles, Phoenix couldn’t tell, but they were there, and someone had spoken them. Phoenix’s hands scrabbled at Miles’ back, he couldn’t quite hold him as tight as he wanted to.

“I missed you so much.”

Miles’ hands moved up to cradle the back of Phoenix’s neck, to run his fingers through Phoenix’s hair. His lips found Phoenix’s jaw and ran across his cheek, searching, searching for something.

Phoenix took a slow breath and his mouth found Miles’ mouth, and he threw all caution to the wind. He didn’t care that Miles—his Miles—might not be staying, he only knew that he wanted him so badly, and that Miles was wanting him too, maybe even wanting him back, and that was all that mattered. Phoenix shut out all other thoughts and kissed Miles long and hard, recalling the days of over a year ago, when Miles would come out of his study, and press a kiss to Phoenix’s lips.

They dipped into each other, pushing against each other and trying to crush themselves as close together as possible, their breath hitching as their bodies shivered, craving contact. They parted briefly after long moments spent touching and groping, and Phoenix reached a hand between them to slip Miles’ jacket from his shoulders. Instead of trying to push them back together, Miles hands found the shirt tucked into Phoenix’s pants and lifted, pulling the shirt out and then sneaking under it, desperate to find skin. Miles shrugged his jacket off somewhere on the floor. Phoenix wound his fingers around Miles’ jabot, surprised when it came away, that he’d managed to remember how to undo it at all.

Between hungry, oft misplaced kisses, they managed to shed their shirts, which was as far as they got before Miles pushed Phoenix to the couch, settling on his waist. There was very little that Phoenix could see in the dark, but he smiled and remembered that this was like it used to be in Miles’ bedroom, only that somehow Miles had turned softer, warmer. Maybe that was his imagination again.

Phoenix was reaching an arm around Miles’ shoulders to pull him down for another kiss when the back of his fingers brushed past Miles’ cheek and came away surprisingly wet.

“Miles,” Phoenix breathed, “are you…?”

“Yes, but I don’t care,” Miles said, and then he bent down to place a kiss on Phoenix’s lips that kept him from saying anything more.

Phoenix let Miles’ weight bear down on him and push him into the couch. He responded by looping his arms Miles’ neck and pulling him close. Phoenix honestly given up on ever seeing Miles again, the prospect of tracking him down to write another fifteen years worth of letters too daunting, so he had chosen to face the reality of Miles’ departure instead. But here was Miles in his arms again, and Phoenix was surprised to find that his body still remembered what it was like to hold another man, and that he still remembered what it was like to aroused by Miles’ hips grinding into his. Burying his face in Miles’ neck, Phoenix found that he hadn’t forgotten how arousing Miles’ scent was, and that his desire for the prosecutor hadn’t waned over his year-long absence either.

Phoenix felt Miles’ fingers at his belt, so with some rearranging some shuffling, Phoenix managed to get his pants and boxers off, and kicked them some feet away on the floor. Almost everything felt the same, as if the intervening year had never happened, only that Phoenix felt a little older than he’d been before, and Miles was a little a different now than he used to be in bed. Phoenix briefly wondered what it was that Miles had found on his trip that had prompted his return, and what instinct it was that told him to seek out Phoenix Wright in his office late at night, but Phoenix hoped there would be time for talk later. He hoped that there would always be time.

Phoenix felt Miles’ hands grasp his tie, deftly undoing the knot before working on the buttons of his shirt. Settling for just Phoenix’s skin, Miles ran his hands over the smooth planes of Phoenix’s chest, every touch careful and gentle, like he was exploring something long forgotten, but also very familiar. Miles moved to cup Phoenix’s face and there, running his thumbs over Phoenix’s cheek, Miles spoke.

“I’m glad I haven’t lost you,” Miles said. He bent down to press a soft kiss to Phoenix’s cheek. “I didn’t want to find myself only to discover that I’d had to give you up.”

Phoenix smiled. He placed a hand over Miles’, caressing his knuckles gently. “Just tell me the next time you need to go on a trip, okay? I promise I won’t keep you.”

“Okay,” Miles replied.

They stayed like that for a long time, Phoenix and Miles with their foreheads pressed together, Miles’ hands cupping either side of Phoenix’s face, Phoenix’s hands covering Miles’, their eyes closed, their breathing mingling between them. They communed silently until Phoenix finally made a movement, his hands brushing along Miles’ arms as he reached for the buckle of Miles’ belt. Suddenly there wasn’t enough time in the world for Miles to push his trousers down to his knees and lift his weight off Phoenix. When he settled back down again, and Phoenix placed his hands on Miles’ hips, there was just skin and nothing else for Phoenix to feel beneath his touch.

“Miles,” Phoenix said, softly, fondly, as his fingers traveled up Miles’ thigh and brushed the inside of his leg before coming to wrap around his arousal. He gave Miles’ cock a few experimental tugs, which drew a whimper from the prosecutor.

“Miles, I have a request.”

“What?” Miles replied, breathless. He shifted his hips and groped about on his own to find Phoenix’s cock.

“I want to be inside you,” Phoenix said, without a hint of hesitation—simple and straightforward. The fingers around Phoenix’s shaft froze, and for a moment Phoenix thought that maybe he’d been too bold. Then, slowly, he thought he saw Miles nod.

Years later, Phoenix would look back on the night and remark on its horrible awkwardness and his own embarrassing inexperience, while noting that neither he nor Miles seemed to have minded at all at the time. Floundering about for a few seconds for how to properly begin, Miles took charge when it became clear to him from Phoenix’s clumsy attempts that he had no idea what to do.

“Here,” Miles said, sliding off where he’d been sitting and instead crouching over Phoenix’s legs. “It might be a good idea to try this first,” he said, running his lips over the head of Phoenix’s cock as he spoke.

Phoenix’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he pushed himself against the couch armrest, tensing as Miles’ tongue wandered along his entire length before taking him into his mouth. Phoenix thought he was going to come—it had been so long since he’d last been touched this way—especially when one of Miles’ hands moved from cupping his balls to press against his perineum. Phoenix cried out, a short whine accompanied by a shiver that shot straight up his spine and shut down his brain. His tongue lapping liberally at the sensitive tissue beneath the head of Phoenix’s cock, Miles paused, and Phoenix managed to catch a breath. He watched as Miles’ silhouette moved closer to him again, straddling his hips and learning forward. Phoenix felt rather dense about this particular flavor of sex, but there were still some things that seemed to be common sense.

“Don’t you need some…um…”

“I’ll be fine,” Miles said quietly.

Phoenix tried to protest some more, but Miles placed a finger on his lips.

“I’ll be okay,” Miles assured him. He grabbed Phoenix’s erect cock with his hands and positioned himself over it, guiding the hard length slowly into him. Phoenix felt Miles’ weight sink down and put a hand on his waist to help support him, but Miles seemed completely in control the situation. Phoenix hissed a few times as he slid past Miles’ tight ring of muscle, and a few times Miles paused and took a few deep breaths. Phoenix almost abandoned his desire, but every time Miles stopped he continued again after a few moments, settling ever downwards until finally he had all of Phoenix inside of him.

The tightness, the feeling of Miles’ arms planted on either side of his head, the weight of Miles on top of him—it was unbelievable. It was a completely different feeling from being engulfed in Miles’s mouth, but Phoenix found he liked it just as much.

“How do you feel?” Phoenix asked, running a hand over Miles’ thigh.

“I feel fine,” he said. He adjusted himself a bit and then Phoenix heard him gasp. “Start moving,” Miles said. “Just start moving.”

Miles’ weight shifted, sliding up slowly before coming back down, and together they groaned from the feeling. It took a few tries for them to coordinate an unsteady rhythm, Miles moving up and down while Phoenix thrust his hips upward, trying to meet Miles at precisely the right time. He managed it for the most part, and didn’t care much when he didn’t—when he and Miles fell out of sync because no matter how he or Miles moved, it still felt good. Miles’ breath hitched in short, shallow gasps that sometimes gave way to whimpers or throaty grunts that Phoenix had difficulty telling apart from his own. Belatedly, Phoenix realized he probably ought to be helping out Miles more, and reached a hand forward between Miles’ legs, found his arousal, and wrapped his fingers around it.

Their sounds filled the little dark office of Wright and Co., where just a room away was a desk, still untidy, littered with files and the carpet was barely illuminated in strips of yellow light that peered in through the slats of the blinds. Phoenix still couldn’t make out Miles in the dark, but he didn’t need to—the touch, the weight, the presence that hovered somewhere above and the sensation of warmth that wrapped around him was somehow wholly reminiscent, even though to the best of Phoenix’s memory, he’d never been here with Miles before. Their voices echoed off the ceiling and the walls, and from time to time Miles would bend down, still hot and sweaty, and stay there, breathing, moaning, whispering into Phoenix’s ear while he moved.

“Phoenix,” Miles groaned, and Phoenix felt him shiver. “Phoenix,” he said again, not even finishing his words before having to take another breath.

Phoenix could think of nothing to say in response, the only sound coming from his lips a strangled, high-pitched gasp, and he wished he had another hand apart from the one on Miles’ hip and the one around his cock, to drape across his back and hold him. It made the little office seem a bit more like home, to be breaking in the couch in such a way with Miles, though Phoenix yearned for comfort of Miles’ bedroom—mainly his soft sheets and his cushions.

Phoenix was lost imagining the two of them in Miles’ house when Miles finally tensed and came, still murmuring Phoenix’s name, and squeezing him tightly with every quiver of his body.

Then Miles stopped, still catching his breath, and Phoenix sat up, heaving them off the couch and lifting them both together as he toppled Miles over backwards. Miles wiggled into a more comfortable position and Phoenix shifted awkwardly with him until they found themselves pressed together again. Miles lifted his legs and Phoenix braced them against his shoulders. He closed his eyes, drew back, and pushed forward.

“Mmm,” Miles whispered, bringing up a lethargic hand to wipe some of the sweat from Phoenix’s brow. “Take your time,” he murmured quietly, but it wasn’t long before Phoenix came too, thrusting in as hard as he could, both his hands firmly gripping Miles’ hips.

It seemed like forever before Phoenix was able to draw breath again, and he leaned down, resting his weight between Miles’s legs. Already he could feel Miles’ fingers in his hand, stroking his scalp lazily. It was a long time before Phoenix was able to think of anything but the pleasure of everything they’d just done.

“Miles,” Phoenix said, lifting his head slightly. He couldn’t see it for himself, but in his mind, clearly pictured Miles’ smile. He still remembered the way Miles—his Miles—looked after sex, his pale skin flushed red with the lingering excitement, some strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, and he looked satisfied, content.

“What?” Miles asked.

“Nothing,” Phoenix replied. “I just wanted to say your name.”

There wasn’t enough room on the couch to fit them both side by side, so Phoenix had to settle for lying on top of Miles and resting his head against the prosecutor’s chest. Phoenix closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Miles’ beating heart, letting its steady rhythm lull him into a doze.

“Can I ask you a question?” Miles asked, after a long, comfortable silence had passed.

“Sure,” Phoenix said. He turned his head to press a small kiss to Miles’ skin. “What is it?”

“Can I call you ‘Phoenix?’”

Phoenix grinned. “Haven’t you always been?” he replied.

Miles was silent, then he leaned over to kiss Phoenix’s forehead and lingered there for several seconds.

“Yeah,” Miles said, “I guess I have.”

They laid on the sofa like that—Miles with his arms around Phoenix, and Phoenix contentedly sprawled on top of Miles—until early in the morning when the Los Angeles skyline lightened with the dawn and gradually the little law office of Wright & Co. began to grow brighter and brighter. Phoenix was the one who woke up first and lifted his head to watch Miles Edgeworth sleep. Hours later, Miles woke and he blinked sleepily at Phoenix for a few seconds before his brow furrowed almost immediately in concern. Phoenix cocked his head to the side curiously, wondering what it was Miles was so worried about, but smiled, in his best reassuring way, and rested his head once again, on Miles’ chest, missing a smile from Miles that might have recalled the carefree days of years long past, when they both had been nine years old.

*~*~*~*~*

crossposted to narumitsu

[FIC] Love and Longing (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-01-28T09:40:33Z

For ~~Frodo~~ The Phoenix Wright Anonymous Kink Meme! I think I actually wrote this about a week ago...and I'll probably be another week until I finish all the requests I want to do for the kink meme, because I have a biostats test on Friday and a concert I'm going to Thursday night. (Let's just say my Thursday study time is shot, which means I'll need to know what I'm doing by Wednesday night. Oh dear.) And the pile of awesome kinks just keeps getting higher and higher.

That said, in terms of kinks, LOVE IS THE GREATEST KINK OF ALL!

I'd like to see Phoenix/Miles actually dealing with the phrase "I love you."

I've always visualized their relationship as pretty much an unspoken thing that never gets explicitly discussed, even during sex. Like, it's not that important to them to establish things, you know? But maybe one day something unsettles Phoenix and he feels the need to say it. I don't know.

Can you tell how lonely and single I am by the kinks I pick to write about?

(Original thread is here. The text has been edited since.)

Title: Love and Longing
Series: Phoenix Wright
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: sex, so NSFW

*~*~*~*~*
There were three little words that Phoenix had always wanted to say, but somehow they’d never had the opportunity to slip out. Or maybe they were never said because they’d never felt the need to be voiced.

Phoenix smiled when he woke to the sensation of warm fingers traversing his torso, tracing random paths across his skin, winding in long, wandering journeys from his chest to his abdomen and further down still.

“’Morning,” Phoenix murmured, propping himself up on an elbow.

“’Morning,” came the quiet reply, accompanied by one of Miles’ soft smiles, the kind that Phoenix had never seen outside of the privacy of their own moments.

Phoenix wanted to say it then, as he reached a hand down to brush Miles’ hair out of his eyes, as his hands wandered to cup Miles’ cheek fondly, as Miles leaned into his caress, his eyes closing. Phoenix stilled, stretching the moment on for as long as he could. Then it ended, just as suddenly as it had begun, and Miles opened his eyes again, pressing a kiss to the tips of Phoenix’s fingers before turning his attention back to other parts of his body, which apparently had been awake longer than he had.

Phoenix had considered letting those words slip out in the middle of sex. He wondered what it would be like for him to dig his fingers in Miles’ hair and just let those words escape in the same easy way that he murmured “Miles, Miles, Miles,” over and over again. He wondered what it would be like to press against Miles from behind, slipping inside him slowly while he simply breathed the words into Miles’ ear. Phoenix wondered if he should say them the times when Miles insisted on tying his wrists to the bedpost, or if he should whisper them to Miles’ lips when their kisses parted and they were sometimes left gasping for breath. Maybe it was just all right to leave them unspoken between them, because even if they weren’t floating in the air, Phoenix could see them reflected in Miles’ every smile, and feel them every time Miles laid his head down on his chest and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Phoenix wanted to say them when Miles lowered his head and opened his mouth, but he lost the chance when his breath hitched, when his entire body tensed and all thoughts—words and otherwise—fled his mind.

They climbed into the shower together sometime after Phoenix had come, calling Miles’ name and Miles, still aroused had just given him a satisfied smile and pulled him up to give him a kiss. Phoenix said it in his head when he got to his knees, the warm water from the shower cascading over his back as he nuzzled Miles’ member, giving its underside a playful, lazy lick with his tongue before he took it inside his mouth, and stifled all the words that he was thinking he might say.

He thought of saying them as he toweled himself off, as he watched Miles rummage through the closet for a fresh shirt, the towel around his waist falling to the floor. Miles turned around again and grabbed for it quickly. Phoenix wanted to say it then, to embrace Miles from behind and whisper those words into the back of his neck.

Phoenix thought of it all during breakfast, all during the ride to work, and all during the day when he sat in his office chair, chin propped up on his arm as he stared out his window without really seeing, just elsewhere, in a world where he woke up by Miles’ side every single morning, and saying those three words all the time didn’t seem like such difficult thing.

Phoenix rehearsed how he might finally say it. He tried it rushed, he tried it proud, he tried it soft and warm and maybe in the middle of tears, and every way he tried, it sounded great, it sounded acceptable, it sounded almost like it should, but it never quite sounded right. Phoenix was in the middle of writing it down on paper, in capitals, in cursive, in his regular, barely legible scratch, when the phone rang and he jumped, dropping the pen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me.” Miles’ tone was stiff, business-like, even if the words he said somehow weren’t. “I’m going to have to stay late tonight, so don’t wait on me for dinner.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll just take the bus, then.”

“Are you sure?”

Phoenix smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just don’t push yourself too hard tonight, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” Phoenix paused before he put down the receiver. He could have said it there, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like he ought to say it for the first time over the phone, because that was almost like cheating, and also because he wanted to see the look on Miles’ face when he finally did.

The apartment was quiet when Phoenix got home, and he spent the rest of the evening on the couch listening to music, his hands folded behind his head, wondering if he’d ever say those three words to Miles at all. Would anything between them change, if he just said three little words? Would anything between them change if he didn’t?

He must have drifted off to sleep, because it was dark outside and he was still on the couch when he heard the key turn in the lock. A moment later the door creaked open and Miles stepped through, a look of concern on his face as he set down his briefcase and his keys, shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it up in the closet.

Miles cracked a small smile when Phoenix stirred, rubbing his eyes.

“’Evening,” Miles said, taking his shoes off and loosening his cravat.

“More like ‘night,” Phoenix corrected softly as he yawned and rose from the couch, making his way to where Miles stood. “It’s pretty late already.”

“I know,” Miles said, with a tired, tight sigh. “But work is work. It’s been a pretty frustrating day.”

Phoenix grinned. He leaned forward and hooked his arms around Miles’ neck, and gave him a short, small kiss. Phoenix pulled away. He breathed, he blinked. And suddenly, everything fell into place.

“Well, I love you.”

Miles chuckled. “Nick, you sure know how to make a guy feel good after a long day.”

Phoenix shrugged. “I do my best, I think.” He laughed and leaned in for another kiss—this one longer, fuller, deeper—and when he parted from Miles, they still held on, arms wrapped around each other, their foreheads pressed together, for the moment, content just to rest.

Phoenix closed his eyes. “I love you.”

Silence.

A heartbeat.

“I love you too.”

*~*~*~*~*

Crossposted to narumitsu and igiari

[FIC] The Roughest Roads (4/5) (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-01-26T08:55:13Z

I was probably supposed to update this about two weeks ago, so sorry for the wait. I'm more hosed with work this quarter than I was expecting. I hate how real life gets in the way of t3h gheyness sometimes. :( Stupid real life. I think another reason this was so long in coming was because I had to rework this entire chapter.

Apologies to all of you whom I have kept waiting!

Title: The Roughest Roads
Part Four: Nobody Cold, Nobody Warm
Series: Phoenix Wright
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: sex, spoilers for PW1 and PW2

*~*~*~*~*

Most of the month of March passed like a blur to Phoenix. There was very little worth remembering about the weekdays, because Monday blended into Tuesday, Tuesday bled into Wednesday, and Wednesday was just the same as the previous two days had been. Nothing happened in the offices of Wright & Co. during the weekdays except that every time he dragged himself in, Mia’s desk got dustier and dustier, and the entire place seemed a little more forlorn.

Phoenix spent most of his days on the couch, either watching television or reading a book—nothing about law, just something he picked up from the shelves of the bookstore on his walk from the bus stop. Sometimes he’d put on some music and think about Miles, Mia, Maya, or anyone who had come into or touched his little world recently. He thought about the past, he thought about the future, and he thought about the present, and how amazingly content he was to just be Phoenix Wright, attorney at law on occasion, and Miles Edgeworth’s secret boyfriend. Phoenix had never had any lofty goals for himself—he’d never wanted to be rich, or famous, or the best defense attorney in the state—he’d always just wanted to be. And Phoenix was perfectly happy being where he was now, watching the weekdays go by and waiting for the weekends.

It was early one Sunday evening when Phoenix pushed Miles up against the kitchen counter, the urgency of cooking dinner overtaken by the urgency of sex; some half-prepared ingredients of a mushroom risotto in the works still left sitting out as the two men abandoned their project. Miles barely had the presence of mind to move the knife off the cutting board, shoving it toward the center of the counter and scattering a pile of neatly chopped chanterelle mushrooms while Phoenix managed to wrestle his pants down to his knees.

Phoenix took Miles’ half-hard cock in his hand and gave it a few experimental strokes with his hand before bringing the tip to his lips. Phoenix licked the underside of the head of Miles’ cock with his tongue before glancing up with a smile to regard Miles, whose cheeks had flushed a muted shade of pink.

“Hurry up,” Miles said as Phoenix paused, his voice tight with desperation.

“Don’t rush me,” Phoenix said lightly as he acquiesced, slowly taking as much of Miles as he could into his mouth while trying not to smile. This was not the first time they’d ever made dinner together, but there was something undeniably sexy about Miles being domestic—Miles bent over the cutting board a knife in his hand, Miles measuring cognac and cream—that made him irresistible.

Phoenix swallowed when Miles came with a sharp cry a few minutes later, and then grinned, giving Miles’ backside a little pinch as he finished up his work, licking Miles clean. He stood, took Miles in his arms and pressed a wet and sloppy kiss to his mouth.

“Still hungry, Wright?” Miles asked archly, his cheeks still tinged a little red when they pulled apart.

“Starving,” Phoenix replied with a grin, placing his hands on Miles’ hips for emphasis.

“Good,” Miles said, kissing him on the cheek. He reached across the counter and deposited a bag in Phoenix’s hands. “Make some rice.” He gave Phoenix’s bum a light slap and shooed him off in the direction of the stove.

Within minutes of finishing dinner and dumping the dishes unceremoniously in the sink, Phoenix found himself turning in early, wrestled down to Miles’ bed with his pants left on the floor some feet back in the hallway, and a very aggressive public prosecutor trying to pin his arms behind his back. It was with a rather ungraceful movement that he flopped on the bed and bounced a little, his shirt already slipping from his shoulders, and Miles leaning his weight into his back to keep him pressed down. It wasn’t too much of a struggle for Phoenix escape from Miles’ grasp and drag him down too, where the grappling ceased and turned into a whole different kind of scuffle.

Phoenix lied in Miles’ arms for a very long time after they’d had sex again (for the third time that day) and drifted in and out of sleep as slowly the clock advanced. When Phoenix woke again it was way past the hour that Miles usually drove him home.

“Wright.”

Phoenix stirred and shifted a little, wanting desperately for that not to be Miles trying to wake him up.

“Wright,” Miles repeated, more insistently. “I know you’re awake.”

Phoenix groaned. “I am now,” he said, hoping that Miles wasn’t going to kick him out of bed this much past midnight, or worse, tell him to go do the dishes. Phoenix rolled over and threw a tight arm around Miles’ middle, hoping that might convey the message that there was no way he was going to be getting out of bed for anything; the dishes and the workweek be damned.

Miles heaved a tiny sigh, but made no move to extract himself from Phoenix’s possessive arm. “You know,” he said quietly, after a moment, “I haven’t heard of you taking any cases lately.”

Phoenix shrugged, yawning. “Haven’t been feeling it lately, I guess.” Phoenix lifted his head. “What about you?”

Miles shook his head slightly. “Me neither. The rearrangements at the District Attorney's Office and the police force are keeping me occupied, after all,” said Miles with a wry smile. “There’s paperwork to be filled out, politics to be played.” Miles’ tone of voice seemed to indicate he didn’t particularly care for either of those things.

“So am I sleeping with the future Chief Prosecutor then?” asked Phoenix, a stupid grin on his face, pleased by what a scandal that would be. He imagined the newspaper headlines and the rumors that would inevitably fly around the Los Angeles courts if something like their relationship were to be leaked under those circumstances, and Phoenix had to admit to himself he kind of liked the idea.

“I don’t think so,” Miles replied firmly. He gave Phoenix a stern look as if he knew exactly what was going on inside the defense attorney’s mind, and then added softly, “and I think that’s for the best.”

“That’s a pity,” Phoenix murmured. He snuggled closer to Miles, leaning his cheek against Miles’ chest and almost drifted off into sleep with the soft feeling of Miles’ fingers beginning to draw patterns on his back. He was awakened once more when Miles finally spoke again.

“Wright,” he began. “I…I think I’m going take a vacation.”

“Hmm?” Phoenix pulled himself out of his doze. “Vacation?” he echoed.

“Yes, a break. I think it’s about time I took one; I think I need to get away from everything for a while.”

Phoenix smiled. Miles Edgeworth, taking time off? He could scarcely believe what he was hearing; it was almost too good to be true. He gave Miles a good squeeze. “Great! Where are we going then? And when?”

There was a moment of long silence before Miles replied. “I…don’t know,” he finally said.

“You know where I want to go?” Phoenix said. He looked up at Miles, and felt Miles’ shoulders shrug in response. “I want to go to the beach.”

“You know the beach is just five miles that way, Wright,” Miles said, lifting an arm and pointing vaguely west. “You can go anytime you want.”

“Not that beach,” Phoenix said. “I mean other beaches, like the ones that take a little driving to get to. The beaches around here are no good.”

“Nobody goes to the beach in March, Wright.”

“I know,” Phoenix said simply. “That’s why we’ll be the only ones there.” Phoenix nudged Miles with his nose. “Don’t you think that’d be nice? Just the two of us and the ocean.”

“Yeah,” Miles replied quietly, leaning his head against Phoenix’s for a moment. Then he turned and pressed a kiss to Phoenix’s hair. “Let’s go,” he said.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Really?” Phoenix said, lifting his head to gaze at Miles, an excited look in his eyes.

Miles nodded. “Really,” he said. “We can go tomorrow.”

Phoenix simply grinned and settled himself further into Miles’ arms. He couldn't help but to imagine what it would be like actually traveling with Miles—just the two of them. It took a while but he finally did drift off to sleep, a ghost of a smile lingering on his face as he left Miles Edgeworth still awake, staring at the ceiling and drawing light circles on his back.

*~*~*~*~*

Phoenix spent the next week with Miles, trekking up the California coastline on
Route 1 in a rental car. Phoenix suggested taking the Maserati, but Miles had refused—there was no way his precious, newly-fixed baby was going on a roadtrip. They stopped whenever and wherever they wanted, spending two days wandering the picturesque, palm-lined streets of Santa Barbara before heading north again. The drive took them up the edge of the ocean, along winding verdant roads that dropped off suddenly to cliffs overloading the Pacific. It took them the better part of a lazy, easygoing day to drive up to Monterey Bay where they stayed for the next two days in a luxury hotel right on the edge of the beach, wandering up and down the coastline in scarves and jackets—too cold to lounge on the beach but just right for that morning and evening walk. They then spent a day in San Francisco before swinging south again, taking their sweet time on the drive back to Los Angeles.

Phoenix thought he’d never been happier. There were things—small, almost insignificant things about Miles he’d never seen before the trip that were now burned into his memory. He’d seen Miles sitting in the shade of a palm tree with the sea in front of him, relaxing in just a pair of khakis and a white polo. He’d seen Miles silhouetted by the sunset, framed on one side by the white spray of waves crashing into rocks, and he’d been in Miles’ arms late at night, lain awake while the other man slept, seen the lines around Miles’ face vanish, and kissed him on the forehead tenderly, because Miles asleep, unguarded, was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

It was a reluctant parting, when Miles, still a little sunburnt from their travels, dropped Phoenix off at his apartment at the end of the trip. Phoenix hadn’t really given much thought to the fact that they’d hardly spoken of the troubles in their lives during their entire vacation. It seemed to Phoenix as if Miles was simply being quiet about it, but he figured that now that he was closer to Miles than he’d ever been before, Miles would be opening up to him any day now. Surely, Phoenix thought with certainty, as he dropped his luggage in his living room and collapsed wearily onto his couch, Miles would start talking to him soon.

It was just a few days after the conclusion of their dreamlike trip that Phoenix found himself surprised to be awakened by a loud banging sound from the direction of his living room.

Phoenix groaned and rolled over to grab at his alarm clock, thinking that maybe it had been the culprit of making that infernal racket. Huh, eleven o’clock in the morning. Couldn’t be his alarm. It was set to go off at noon.

The banging came again, and belatedly Phoenix realized there was someone at his door. He rolled out of bed and scrambled for his pants. That better not be Miles at the door, he was supposed to be at work. Plus, Phoenix hadn’t cleaned the place in more than two months. Miles would be furious about the filth, even if all he wanted was a quickie during an early lunch break.

“Can you call before you stop over next time? The place is a mess,” Phoenix said, throwing his door open. He was stunned for a moment to see not Miles there, but instead Detective Gumshoe.

“It’s you!” Phoenix exclaimed finally, after casting about unsuccessfully for something more dignified to say. He suddenly felt a little too naked as he stood in the doorway in just his pyjamas. Phoenix certainly hoped Gumshoe wasn’t on business, he’d certainly done nothing to warrant a visit from the police precinct, except for maybe fraternizing with the opposition, but his last case with Miles had been a month ago. It couldn’t have been illegal for him to go on a private holiday with the prosecutor. That seemed ridiculous. “Well, what do you want?”

“Hey, pal! What a way to treat someone who just came all the way from the Prosecutor’s Office to bring you something!”

“Oh,” Phoenix stammered, opening his door wider to allow Gumshoe into his apartment. He had no idea what in the District Attorney’s Office might be urgent enough for Miles to send the detective rushing to his apartment in the middle of the day, but he supposed he was about to find out.

“Come on in, I guess, and uh, have a seat. It’s kind of a mess in here, though.” Understatement of the century. Phoenix gestured to the couch, half of which was occupied with his dirty clothes. But Gumshoe didn’t even seem to even notice as he took a seat and immediately looked right at home next to the pile of laundry and the mismatched couch cushion.

“So, what’s brought you all the way here?” Phoenix asked, deciding to skip the formalities and cut right to the chase. He grabbed a chair from the kitchen area, the only other seat available in the apartment.

“Bad news, pal,” Gumshoe replied.

Phoenix frowned, he did not like the sound of bad news, especially coming from the detective’s direction. And Gumshoe certainly looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than Phoenix’s apartment.

“What?” Phoenix asked with concern, his imagination conjuring up all sorts of horrible possibilities why Gumshoe was sitting in front of him.

“Found this note in Mr. Edgeworth’s office this morning,” Gumshoe said, unhappily. He dug around in the pockets of his trench coat and fished out a note. He opened it and handed it to Phoenix.

Phoenix snatched up the note immediately, not that he really needed to, to have already read the simple words in Miles’ elegant script:

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.

Phoenix flipped the paper over to check its other side. That was it.

“What the—what does this even mean?!” Phoenix exclaimed, jumping off his chair to stare again at the note, as if maybe it would change what it said if he shouted or stared at it long enough. “If this is a practical joke I swear…” Phoenix clapped a hand to his forehead, as the expression on Gumshoe’s face failed to change. The situations that Phoenix had been imagining not a few moments ago took a turn for the worse.

“Oh my God, Miles, what…has he… don’t tell me you found his…” Phoenix kept waiting for the detective to burst out laughing, and tell him he’d only been kidding, but he never did.

“No, no, no, nothing like that...” Despite shaking his head vigorously, Gumshoe still failed to be reassuring.

“Then what…what’s going on, you have to tell me,” Phoenix stared again at the note. If he hadn’t known Miles’ handwriting so well, he would never have believed he’d written the note.

“I think he’s just gone, pal,” Gumshoe said simply with a shrug to show that he was just as confused as Phoenix was about the matter. “He’s left everything as it is, it’s just that he’s…gone.”

“That’s impossible,” Phoenix said. He was going to have none of it. “He’s not gone,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not like Miles at all. He just doesn’t pick up and…go! We just got back from a…a—well, he…he just doesn’t leave everything and just go without telling anyone.”

Gumshoe blinked. “Well, I think he has, pal.”

“Prove it! This has got to be a joke, but it’s not funny.”

Gumshoe shook his head, his frown deepening. He stared at the ground at his feet and spoke slowly. “I checked all international outbound flights out of LAX this morning, soon as I found the note and made it back to the precinct. He’s gone,” said Gumshoe simply. “Look, there was a Lufthansa flight this morning, 7:35am, direct from here to Stuttgart. His name was on the manifest. He checked bags, went through security, showed at the gate and everything.”

Phoenix sat back on down on his chair, stunned, not really feeling that it was beneath him at all. “You’re lying,” he breathed, crumpling the note in his hand. “There’s gotta be some mistake. The Prosecutor’s Office probably just sent him on a business trip or something. He’ll be back before the week’s out, I’m sure of it.”

“A business trip to Germany?” Gumshoe asked, sounding skeptical. “I was hoping you’d know something about it,” he said. “You are the closest person to Mr. Edgeworth, after all.” Gumshoe frowned. He looked at Phoenix and then back at that spot on the floor. He sat there in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, before he finally rose and clapped a hand on Phoenix’s back. He stopped after doing that twice, realizing that he wasn’t making the situation any better.

“His ticket was a one-way,” Gumshoe said quietly.

“You’re joking again, right?” Phoenix murmured, staring through his wall and not seeing it there at all. “Miles…he can’t—“

“I checked his office and everything. He’s left everything just the way it was. No instructions or anything.”

“Then that means he’s coming back,” Phoenix reasoned, his voice sounding suddenly a little mechanical and desperate, even to his own ears.

“There was just that note and a letter of resignation,” Gumshoe said, ignoring Phoenix’s words.

Phoenix lifted his head, and stood, grabbing Gumshoe’s coat by the lapels. He could hear himself shouting but he didn’t care. “Do you have the letter? I need that letter! I need it, now! Have you read it?”

Gumshoe shook his head, his eyes wide, looking a little scared. “That’s private material, pal, between only him and the Chief Prosecutor. I don’t get access to that kind of stuff.”

Feeling a sudden spurt of violence, Phoenix let go of Gumshoe and hurled Miles’ crumpled up note, still in his fist, against the wall. It sailed through the air, bounced off a wall, and rolled into a pile of garbage that overflowed from the can.

“I…I can’t…”

Feeling like it was about time he made his exit, Gumshoe started edging toward the door.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Gumshoe said, suddenly remember something. He fished in his pockets again. “Here.”

There was a clinking of metal, and Gumshoe handed a small ring of keys to him. “Mr. Edgeworth probably meant for you to have these,” he said. “They were left on his desk with your name next to them. I hope he means you and not some other ‘Mr. Wright.’”

Phoenix closed his fingers around the keys, but he didn’t quite feel them in his hand. Mr. Wright? Was that all he’d been to Miles even after…?

“I hope he comes back, pal,” Gumshoe said with a sigh. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets once more and made for the door.

Phoenix stayed on his chair, staring off into space, stunned.

“Well, who am I to say? I’m just a regular detective. I dunno the sorts of things that go on Mr. Edgeworth’s brain. Wish I did, but I don’t. I think you, of all people, would be able to say whether or not he’s coming back. I hope he does, I think I’m starting to miss him already. Working with the other prosecutor’s just isn’t the same.”

Gumshoe opened the door and gave Phoenix one last look. Phoenix barely registered that maybe he should be looking back. “I’m sorry, pal. I think I know how much he meant to you.” And then the door shut.

Phoenix hadn’t had a single violent outburst in years, not since that time he’d suddenly, unable to control himself, shoved Pharmacology major Doug Swallow over an argument about Dahlia when he’d just been a third year at Ivy University. Since then he’d figured he’d gotten a better hold of himself, but it all seemed to melt away in the reality of Miles—his Miles—gone.

In a rage, Phoenix tossed the keys at the walls too, not even satisfied at the sharp clank they made against the wall and when they dropped to the floor. Phoenix couldn’t accept it. He ran over to his garbage can and kicked it over, sending it bouncing and rolling out of his kitchen. Slowly, Phoenix’s anger dissipated as he stood in the middle of his apartment, looking for something appropriate and satisfactory to throw, and he sank into the couch and stared at his walls for a very, very long time.

Phoenix hadn’t even realized he’d started crying until he first heard the sound of his own sob, and then followed it up with another, and another.

*~*~*~*~*

The day didn’t feel all that different from the usual Southern Californian mild, blue-skied, sunny day, but somehow even the bus seemed a bit subdued as Phoenix climbed on at the stop near his house, a pit of dread in his stomach as he paid the fare and sat down in the back, watching the city pass by through the windows. Phoenix had convinced himself that Miles’ disappearance was probably just some giant practical joke, or a test that Miles concocted some random evening to try his devotion. Well, Phoenix wasn’t planning on failing.

He let himself into Miles’ condo with the keys that Gumshoe handed him the day before, expecting to be surprised by something, someone, anything at all, but only silence greeted him as he stood in the doorway to a silent, empty house. Normally he would have heard a bark already, and the scrabble of four paws on hardwood floors, but there was nothing. So Pess had gone too, then. Phoenix slid his shoes off as he entered and placed them neatly on the floor, a habit that Miles’ had long since trained into him.

“Hello?” Phoenix called. His voice echoed back softly from the walls and the ceiling. “Miles, I know you’re here!”

Phoenix took a breath. Nothing was out of order. Nothing was unusual. He made his way down the hallway and pushed open the bedroom door, half expecting to see a Miles-shaped lump asleep in the bed, but the bed was unoccupied, the blankets and sheets still looking as if they’d just been freshly made.

“Miles?”

Phoenix checked the study next. Empty. Then he opened all the cupboards in the kitchen, looked on the dining table, ran his hands over every flat surface, and rummaged through every drawer in Miles’ desk, but still he found nothing—nothing that seemed to indicate that Miles had gone anywhere, except that the only noises in the house were the ones Phoenix made. There was nothing scrawled anywhere, no instructions, no notes, no phone numbers. Not even the pad of paper by the telephone looked like it had been touched in days.

Taking a break from his frantic search of the house, Phoenix took a seat on Miles’ couch, the one that he disliked, the one that was overstuffed, too comfortable, too decorated and found that, as he sat down and its cushions folded around him, he didn’t mind it so much anymore. Maybe because it smelled like Miles did. Maybe because he’d fallen asleep here before, his head leaning against Miles shoulder. Maybe because he’d let Miles spread his legs on it once, and watched Miles’ eyes flutter shut when he brought his lips to his cock.

Phoenix stayed on Miles’ couch as the morning wore on into afternoon, and eventually the sun started its descent beneath the horizon. He sat in darkness when the night came, and still he didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the coffee table, his mind somewhere faraway. When Phoenix came to, opening his eyes, groggy and disoriented, the sky was beginning to brighten, and his stomach was grumbling something fierce. For having sat in the same couch all day and all night, he was surprisingly tired.

Phoenix shut and locked the door behind him, stuffed the keys somewhere deep into his pocket and resolved not to think about them again. The streets were almost empty as he climbed aboard one of the first morning buses headed east, back in the direction of his own apartment. His couch was filthy, he hadn’t taken out the garbage in two weeks, and he couldn’t remember the last time he took a vacuum to his floor, but when he made his way up the stairs and stood in front of his own door and its crooked, mismatched numbers, his place suddenly seemed very welcoming. Probably because it was home.

*~*~*~*~*

Phoenix did not like being dumped. He supposed it was because he was the kind of guy who fell easy and fell hard—a trait that he and Larry Butz seemed to have in common, only that Larry always seemed to bounce right back into his usual self when a girl left him, while Phoenix was shaken for weeks. His last relationship with one Dahlia Hawthorne hadn’t ended without scars and a long period of brooding, but Phoenix didn’t think he’d ever recover from being left in the dust, again, by Miles Edgeworth. This time hurt more than it did the first, maybe because he and Miles had slept together and practically lived together on the weekends, and still Miles had disappeared with hardly a trace.

The weather in spring was mild and dry—the temperature warm and almost unchanging as the days went by one by one, and Phoenix stopped counting the passage of time. There were days when he was in the office, days when he wanted to go somewhere else instead, and days when he spent all his time in the apartment, in just his underwear and waited for something—anything—to happen that would break the monotony.

It was one weekend afternoon near the end of spring when Phoenix came home from the supermarket, trying to carry more bags than he had hands for, when he found Gumshoe loitering near his door, for all the world looking like some shady drug dealer. Phoenix wondered exactly what it was the detective needed his large overcoat for, it certainly wasn’t doing him any good in the strong Southern Californian sun.

Gumshoe seemed to perk up when Phoenix made his way up the stairs. Phoenix figured that anything that Gumshoe smile was either bad news for him, or something stupid from straight out of left field.

“You sure take a long time at the market, pal,” Gumshoe remarked as Phoenix opened the door and he helped move the groceries from the hallway into the apartment. “Got news, finally,” Gumshoe said, handing Phoenix his bags as he carried them into the kitchen. “Managed to track him down.”

“That’s nice,” Phoenix said in a tone that was neutral, distant.

“You have no idea how many favors I had to call in to get on the trail, man. But I finally—“

“That’s nice,” Phoenix said again. He was doing his best not to look annoyed, but from the way Gumshoe’s eyebrows shot up it seemed that he was doing a bad job of it. “Look, I hate to tell you this,” Phoenix said, trying to keep his voice mild, “but I don’t really care.”

Gumshoe suddenly looked at Phoenix as if he just sprouted another head or turned entirely green. “But, but…I found Mr. Edgeworth.”

“I don’t care,” Phoenix said. There was some emotion welling up in his chest, something that made his eyes sting and made it hard for him to breathe. Phoenix didn’t recognize the feeling so he called it anger, because it was the fastest and most expedient way for him to deal with it. “I don’t care about your precious Mr. Edgeworth.”

Gumshoe blinked in silence. He looked absolutely dumbfounded.

“He’s gone,” Phoenix said simply, digging a bottle of ketchup and a pack of franks out of his grocery bag and putting them in the refrigerator. “And I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing with himself.”

“I thought you and Mr. Edgeworth were best—“

“Well, you thought wrong,” Phoenix replied.

Gumshoe seemed confused as he stood in Phoenix’s living room, wondering silently to himself if he’d remembered certain details wrong about the nature of the relationship between Mr. Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright. “But Mr.—“

Phoenix slammed the refrigerator door. It generated a sound that was less startling or terrifying than he had hoped, but the bottles in the door did make a muffled rattling sound. Gumshoe stopped in the middle of his sentence, his mouth hanging a bit open, and stared at Phoenix with wide eyes. Phoenix had the notion that Gumshoe’s surprise might have something less to do with the fridge door and more with the look on his face. Phoenix’s heart was pounding in his chest, and his face felt very red. He was also probably glaring at the poor detective.

“Don’t ever mention his name again.”

“Who? You mean…”

“I don’t want to hear about him,” Phoenix turned his attention back to putting away his groceries. He hoped Gumshoe would take the hint.

The homicide detective spent the next few moments still in Phoenix’s living room muttering to himself and scratching his head as if he were trying to figure out the meaning of a very important clue on a crime scene.

Finally, Phoenix’s patience ran out. He hated being rude, but he figured there was going to be no other way to the drill into the detective’s head the idea that he had moved on with his life (yes, that was something he had to do) and that Miles had obviously decided to move on with his as well.

“Do me a favor, Gumshoe,” Phoenix said, when there were no more groceries left to put away, “and don’t ever mention him in my presence. I really, really don’t give a damn.”

Gumshoe raised an eyebrow in consternation. It looked for a moment like he was about to say something, but apparently thought better of it. He decided it wasn’t worth it getting into a fight with Phoenix Wright, who was a lawyer after all, and at the moment, a lawyer indiscriminately slamming doors.

“All right, pal,” Gumshoe said, looking rather crestfallen. “Guess I’ll just be going then.”

“Thank you,” Phoenix said.

“Yeah…no problem,” Gumshoe shrugged and then turned around to leave. “Be seein’ ya around, pal.”

And then the door shut and Phoenix was left alone in his apartment again. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Phoenix stared at the worm, grey linoleum of his floor.

“You bastard,” he muttered after several long minutes of thoughtful silence. He got out of his kitchen and dumped himself on his couch.

“I’m over you.”

Phoenix picked up the remote control and switched the television on. There were better things for him to be doing with his time than to be brooding over spilt milk, than over lover who had left him without so much as a phone call, a message, or a reason.

The next day, Phoenix went back into his office, dusted off Mia’s desk, vacuumed the floor and went through some of her old files. A heatwave was beginning to settle over Los Angeles.

It was a hot, stuffy morning in the middle of June, and a warm, lazy wind was blowing through the city, when Phoenix walked into his office and found himself face-to-face with a squinty, disagreeable doctor. A squinty, disagreeable doctor who apparently hired the services of a spirit medium named Maya Fey.

*~*~*~*~*

crossposted to narumitsu

[FIC] The Roughest Roads (3/5) (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-01-12T03:59:29Z

I keep thinking that I'll get the next chapter out quickly, but something or other always gets in the way. Maybe it's my own laziness, maybe it's because I really ought to have my biostats homework done by now. At any rate, here's chapter three! Things are building up! Things are coming to a head! And of course, we all know where this is going. This is also the first chapter not to actually have sex in it.

Sorry, guys.

Title:The Roughest Roads
Part Three: Loneliness Be Over
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Warnings: worksafe, spoilers for PW1 (and eventually, PW2)

*~*~*~*~*

Phoenix wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been feeling like taking cases the past few weeks. Perhaps it was Miles’ reluctance and unease about his own position rubbing off on him. The man had been working as hard as he’d ever been, but something had changed about his demeanor, something that Phoenix vainly wanted to think of as Miles placing more importance on their relationship than on his work, but something niggled at the back of Phoenix’s mind, some undercurrent he’d felt the past weekend that would soon rear its ugly head. What it was Phoenix couldn’t be sure, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the majority of the feelings between him and Miles were things left unsaid, things they’d never laid plain. The likelihood they might come to differing conclusions should they ever decide to have an honest and frank discussion about it was rather frightening to Phoenix. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he didn’t want ever be in court again without Miles there too, somehow. And it was that which kept Phoenix with Miles, no matter how difficult or infrequent it was to reserve any chunk of the prosecutor’s time.

Phoenix wouldn’t even have taken the case if his office hadn’t been feeling terribly quiet and lonely of late, and if the girl, Ema Skye, and her situation hadn’t reminded him so much of Maya, who’d left him shortly before he reconnected with Miles. Ema had also mentioned hearing his name from what she’d called “the Edgeworth murder case,” and that name was one of the few things that piqued his interest immediately these days. There had been no chance he was going to turn down the case once he'd found out that Lana Skye, the girl’s older sister, was the Chief Prosecutor of the district, and that Miles’ car was the scene of the crime. That had struck Phoenix as having its own delicious coincidence. Despite having a personal stake in some of the evidence, Miles had been assigned to the prosecution, which meant to Phoenix that his natural position in this case would be on the defense.

Phoenix had nearly jumped at the chance at finally having a legitimate excuse—not something flimsy like, “I was lonely eating lunch by myself”—to visit Miles’ office. Granted, tagging along with him was a female high school student who seemed, if possible, a bigger fan of Miles Edgeworth than he was, but an excuse to visit was an excuse to visit.

Phoenix hadn’t been quite sure what to say of Miles’ office in the beginning, partly because Ema was busy staring at and scientifically investigating nearly everything (in a way that would only pass as science in her book), and partly because he was overwhelmed by the color of it all. Phoenix had never heard of anyone decorating their office to match their attire, but he’d learned over the weeks that Miles sometimes had strange and slightly off ideas of what was fashionable and what wasn’t, and that it was not supposed to be questioned by anyone. If this was the type of interior décor that Miles considered soothing, it was certainly alarming if nothing else to every other person on the planet. But Phoenix wasn’t ever going to say anything about it. There were things out there worth putting his neck on the chopping block for, but this wasn’t one of them, so he kept his mouth wisely shut.

Phoenix probably should have been glad that he’d brought Ema along, because she was the one who pointed out the chessboard Miles had in his office. He probably would have missed that charming detail. So Miles was thinking of him even during his work hours? Even if it were for just a few minutes a day, Phoenix felt a little reassured. And it made him feel just a few degrees warmer.

Having a young, impressionable high school student with him also seemed to spare him the majority of Miles’ wrath at finding the one person he’d given instructions never to appear in his office, in his office. It was certainly a far cry from being professional, but he managed to squeeze some information out of Miles with Ema there than he might not have otherwise alone, even if they had been lounging in Miles’ living room with all the scotch in the world.

It was not until long after the sun had gone down the night before the trial was slated to begin, that Phoenix had gathered enough courage to seek out Miles alone. He’d seen Ema off home already with assurances that her sister would be defended to the best of his ability, despite the fact that all odds and evidence—and even her own confession of guilt—seemed to be against her. Phoenix wouldn’t even have been able to get into the building (strictly speaking that wasn’t true, the victim’s ID would probably have gained him entrance, but not only was that bad form, it was also illegal) had he not bumped into Detective Gumshoe exiting the building.

“Hey, it’s you!” Gumshoe exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised, and then his expression shifted and he suddenly looked as if he didn’t want to bump into Phoenix just then. “You still running about, pal? Trial’s tomorrow, you know.”

“I know,” Phoenix replied, wondering himself why Gumshoe was here of all places. He was not supposed to be assigned to this case. Phoenix had the feeling that despite not being on the case on paper, Gumshoe was still running errands for Miles.

“I’m here to see Mi—uh, Edgeworth,” Phoenix explained. He knew that the good detective was probably his only legal ticket into the building, save for calling up Miles himself and probably getting an earful and a rejection over the phone.

“Hm…I don’t think Mr. Edgeworth wants to be bothered at the moment, he’s got quite a bit of work to do tonight. I don’t think he’s up for discussing evidence either,” Gumshoe added, looking unsure.

“I know, but I have to try,” Phoenix said, trying his most persuasive voice. It had worked against the Judge a few times in court, why not against the detective as well? “If it doesn’t work, then I’ll just go home. I have work to do myself, anyway.”

Gumshoe seemed to be considering his options. Finally, he heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Here, I am,” he muttered, “laying myself under the bus again. All right, I’m not supposed to do this, and I don’t think Mr. Edgeworth would approve at all, but I’ll help you out, pal. Just this once.” He walked Phoenix to the entrance of the building and swiped his card. The door clicked open.

“Thanks,” Phoenix said with a smile and a nod, “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah? Well, if Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t show up in court tomorrow, I’ll know who to go after.”

“Yeah…thanks…” Why did everybody think he was always the one up to no good? Phoenix heaved a mental sigh and opened the door, finding himself in a darkened, vast hallway. The Prosecutor’s Office was completely silent, save for the elevator which announced in a loud and ghostly voice, “going up” when he stepped into it.

The door to Miles' office was slightly ajar, casting a sliver of golden light into the dark corridor. Phoenix knocked timidly and pushed open the door slightly. Just as he suspected, he was quite possibly the last person Miles wanted to see at the moment.

“What is it?” Miles barked from his desk, looking up as the door creaked open. “What the—what are you doing here, Wright? I don’t have time for you right now.”

Phoenix blinked. He saw papers scattered all over Miles’ desk. It looked liked a hurricane had gone through that area of his office, dumping all sorts of files and photographs onto his desk and a part of the floor beside it. The small chessboard which had been the proof of Miles’ occasional workday distraction had been moved off to a corner of the windowsill in favor of a large stack of papers. Miles was just wearing his white button-up shirt and his wine-colored slacks, his suit jacket and black vest draped neatly over one end of his couch. Miles’ hair looked as if he’d been running his fingers through it all evening. Before he could get out from behind his desk, Phoenix had slipped in and closed the door with a firm click.

“I just have a few—“ he began, but Miles cut him off.

“I am not at liberty to discuss evidence with the defense,” Miles snapped, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand and shaking them a bit to emphasize his point. “Go somewhere else to do your investigating.” Glowering at Phoenix, Miles fell silent and went back to his work, as if glaring also at the papers in his hand might make them reveal their secrets.

“I’m not here for questions about evidence,” Phoenix said. He decided that since Miles hadn’t taken any physical measures, to shove him out of the office, his presence might be tolerated provided he stayed silent and out of the way. Too bad he wasn’t planning on either of those things. The couch seemed welcoming, so Phoenix took a seat, taking care to steer clear of Miles’ discarded clothing should they end up wrinkled in the morning and he be blamed. He wondered idly if Miles slept here sometimes, just as Ema had imagined earlier that day.

“I just want to know how you’re doing,” Phoenix said simply. “I’m worried.”

There was a long moment of silence as Phoenix watched Miles closely, and then the prosecutor put down his papers.

“If you must know, Wright, you are driving me completely insane.”

“Oh,” Phoenix said. Well, what was he supposed to say in response to that? Maybe he was supposed to leave, but he wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. Somehow he doubted that Miles was as insane as he claimed to be, despite the state his office was in.

Miles reached over to the other side of his desk and leafed through another stack of papers. “Why did you take this case, Wright?” he asked. “You’re making my life twice as difficult as it usually is.”

Phoenix thought about it a moment and shrugged. “I don’t know. Ema found me because her sister went to law school with Mia. I couldn't say 'no.'”

“Oh, of course. And do you feel sorry for every teenage girl who comes through your door with a sob story?”

“She’s the second! Only the second!” Phoenix protested.

Miles looked up from his work, giving Phoenix a hard stare. Phoenix sighed, and Miles pulled out a single sheet of paper, apparently having found what he’d been looking for.

“Given that there’ve only been two, I suppose the answer is ‘yes,’” Phoenix admitted reluctantly. “And I object,” he grumbled, “to your implication that I’m some sort of rotten lecher preying on the innocent.” Miles was the only person he was sexually attracted to at the moment, though Phoenix supposed he had a couple of friends who wouldn't mind being in the situation of being surrounded by young girls at strange times.

Miles smirked but didn’t reply. The expression disappeared quickly as he pulled out a pad of paper from a drawer in his desk and grabbed the nearest pen, an expensive looking thing, and put it in his mouth, chewing on its tip. Phoenix hoped it wasn’t one of those liquid ink fountain pens, because Miles would probably throw a fit (and blame him) if he spilled ink over his precious shirt and his files. There was another silence as Miles took the pen out of his mouth and began scribbling furiously on the notepad.

“So why are you on this case then?” Phoenix asked, when he’d felt the silence drag on long enough. “Why are you letting everyone push you around?”

The scribbling paused for a moment. “I am on this case because it was assigned to me, Wright, and prosecutors such as myself do not have the luxury of picking and choosing our cases.”

“Right, Miles. So damned if you do and damned if you don’t, then.”

Miles raised an eyebrow and went back to his notepad. “That would be an accurate abbreviation of the situation.”

“So why are you letting everyone push you around?”

“Wright, I am not letting—“

“Yes. Yes, you are. There are three options in your position, Miles. T-H-R-E-E.” Phoenix held up his fingers and counted them off. “You can decline the case and everyone talks about you behind your back. You can take the case and everyone keeps talking about how you probably framed Lana Skye for the crime in order to clear the way for your own promotion. Or you have door number three—you can quit.”

Miles slammed down his pen, looking near the end of his patience. “Bravo, Wright. Brilliant idea. Somehow I fail to see how abandoning the Prosecutor’s Office puts me in any less stable of a situation that I’m already in. I also fail to see how partnering with you will quell the rumors currently flying around as is.”

Phoenix frowned. He hadn’t even brought up the idea of Miles becoming a defense attorney. Was that what was really on his mind? If he had more time on his hands, he probably would have taken out a few moments to feel touched. Making himself a mental note to maybe bring that up later, Phoenix realized he’d never considered the situation from Miles’ point of view before. It was true, Miles’ record as a prosecutor was already so stained he probably wouldn’t be doing himself any favors by suddenly switching sides. If anything, it would probably cast an ever darker shadow on all of his previous cases.

“Well, at least,” Phoenix grumbled, “you wouldn’t have to listen to them all day.”

“Somehow I still doubt that,” Miles replied acidly. He set down his work to pour himself some cold tea from his teapot. He drained his cup and then poured himself another. “Besides, I don’t think being a defense lawyer is as thrilling for Phoenix Wright if Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth isn’t shouting objections in his face all the time.”

Phoenix grinned, wondering how it was that sometimes Miles could read the thoughts in his head, and how, in return, Miles was completely opaque to him. “Maybe,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe not.”

Miles snorted. “You are the world’s worst liar, Wright.”

Phoenix shot Miles the same sort of look he always shot Maya whenever she was misbehaving. Unfortunately for him, Miles was impervious, and also not paying much attention.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Phoenix said, after a moment. He had let Miles lead the conversation in a roundabout for a while. It seemed to have loosened Miles’ tongue a bit, because he certainly seemed more suited to talking than he had been just a few minutes ago.

Miles set down his teacup, a hint of exasperation in his voice. His diversionary plan had obviously not worked out very well. “I’m fine, Wright,” he said. “If there’s anything I can’t handle, I’m sure you’ll be the first person I call.”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix responded, suddenly picturing Detective Gumshoe, sounding not at all as if he believed anything Miles had just said.

“Phoenix Wright, I am a prosecuting attorney. I am trying to make a case against a superior of mine I’ve worked with for the past few years, and that case has to be trial-ready by tomorrow morning. Unless you want me to collapse from exhaustion in the courtroom, I suggest you leave me alone and go home.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. If you please.”

“But what about you?” Phoenix gestured around him. “And all of this?”

Miles looked like he was about to hurl his cup and the teapot, still half-full, in Phoenix’s direction if he didn’t start make moves toward the exit.

“If you really want to talk about it,” Miles said finally with a resigned sigh, probably realizing that violence was only going to make the situation worse, “then we’ll talk about it in three days, after this whole affair is finished, for better or for ill, and not one second before. See you in court tomorrow, Wright.”

With a heavy sigh, Phoenix heaved himself off the couch. So much for interrogating Miles about the situation. Somehow, no matter how he tried, Miles always won his arguments in the end, leaving him with just the same unanswered questions as when he started. He wondered how Miles managed to pull it off each time. Trying to not to let on how disappointed he was, Phoenix grinned. Well, at least he was the one winning in court.

“Prepare to have your case smashed to smithereens tomorrow then, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Unlikely, Mr. Wright. The defendant has already confessed to all criminal charges.”

“Those are crimes I’m certain she didn’t commit,” Phoenix retorted with bravado, though in reality he had no idea whether or not there was any evidence to prove that.

“Now there’s a thought,” Miles said with a smirk. “Or is it just your naivety talking? That’s something you’ll have to prove in court tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Phoenix replied.

“Hm, yes.” Miles walked over to the chess table in his office and rifled through some manila folders as if something had just occurred to him. “I’ll tell you one thing before you go, Wright,” he said. Miles paused, the folder open in his hands, looking straight at Phoenix with a very serious, piercing expression. “Things in this case aren’t as they seem,” he said quietly.

“You can say that again,” Phoenix replied, though he wasn’t quite sure exactly what Miles had meant.

Miles’ brow furrowed. “Something about this case stinks of a rat.”

“What is it, then?” Phoenix asked. One thing was for sure, Miles knew much more about this case, and the defendant, than he did.

“Even if I knew,” Miles said, a small smile on his face, “I wouldn’t tell you. If we start seeing it in court, then I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. Goodnight.” And Miles turned back to his work

“Goodnight then,” Phoenix said with a sigh, opening the door and suppressing an urge to roll his eyes at Miles’ cryptic remarks or maybe rush him and to see if sex would loosen his tongue sufficiently to spit out everything he knew about the case. Knowing how tight-lipped Miles was when he wanted to be, Phoenix somehow doubted that even the best of blowjobs would get him anything more than his name, which he knew already.

Phoenix was just about to shut the door when a thought occurred to him. “Miles,” he said, poking his head through the doorway again. “Do you ever sleep on that couch?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“And when you wake up, do you have sofa hair?”

“Get out, Wright and goodnight, before I call security.”

*~*~*~*~*

In the end, Miles had been right. That case had stunk, all the way up to the Chief of Police himself. Such were the politics of power and ambition, Phoenix supposed as he watched Ema reunite with her sister Lana, which, from what Phoenix gathered, was the first time in many years that she’d smiled. In the end, who was it that paid the price for Gant’s games? Ema certainly, who had almost lost her sister. Lana even, who had given up nearly everything to protect her younger sister from Chief Gant. There was also Jake Marshall and Angel Starr, their careers ruined, dismissed as detectives as part of a cover-up that stretched all the way to the higher echelons of the police force. And there was Miles too, his entire career tarnished from the beginning by Gant’s falsified evidence.

Clearing Lana of charges of murder, that was a relief. It was good to see the sisters together again, even for a short time. It was good to see Miles as well, and know that had Miles not had the other half of the evidence list, they would have never uncovered the truth behind the case and resolved SL-9. In the end, they had done it together, which to Phoenix seemed a good cause for celebration, though Miles, for some reason, certainly didn’t seem to be in the mood.

It was not two days after the case ended that Phoenix woke up in the middle of the night to find the other side of the bed empty, and Pess absent from his usual spot at the bottom of their feet. Rubbing his eyes, Phoenix peered at the clock on the bedstand. What in the world was Miles doing up at four in the morning? Phoenix listened for any sounds coming from the bathroom—the most likely place for Miles to be at this hour if not in bed—but heard nothing. He could either go back to sleep or go and investigate. Settling on the latter, Phoenix rolled out of bed and opened the bedroom door, padding silently on bare feet down the hallway. There was light coming from the living room. Miles was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in his hand and bottle on the coffee table, staring off into space, with Pess curled up on the floor below him.

Phoenix made a small coughing sound, and Miles turned around with a start.

“For Pete’s sake, Wright, don’t scare me like that.”

Phoenix grinned, taking a seat in the armchair and propping his feet up. “I had no idea Miles Edgeworth was afraid of me.”

“You surprised me is all,” Miles said, taking a sip of his wine. “Now wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

Phoenix’s grin just widened.

“Anyway,” Miles continued, “I couldn’t sleep. That’s why I’m out here.”

“Thinking?” Phoenix asked, his grin fading into a more serious expression. “Care to tell me? You promised,” he added.

“Hm, how I wish I didn’t do that,” Miles said, taking another sip of wine. “Oh, would you like a glass too? They’re in the cupboard.”

“Don’t change the subject, Miles, and no thank you, I’m all right. Just tell me what’s bothering you, and what I can do to help.”

Miles sighed. He sat in silence for a very long time, not at all liking the idea that someone else was trying to squeeze words out of him he didn’t want to say. “I’m concerned about a lot of things, is all. And I don’t think you can help me at all.”

“Is being a prosecutor one of those things you’re concerned about?”

Miles paused and then nodded slowly, his expression reluctant. Squeezing personal thoughts out of Miles Edgeworth was like squeezing water out of a stone. Phoenix wasn’t sure he could actually do it, but knew he had to anyway.

“Well, you can look at it this way,” Phoenix said, feeling almost as if he was explaining something to a courtroom. “It all boils down to this. You don’t have to be a prosecutor. You don’t have to be the victim of circumstance. This case ties it all up nicely. You were fed false evidence in the SL-9 trial. Now we know it’s not your fault. None of the rumors about you out there hold any water. You turn in your letter of resignation, clean out your office, and you never have to see any of those bastards even again. And then you’re free and you can do whatever you want. Hell, if you want to be a defense attorney like you always planned to be, you can come work with me.” The office could use another body and a little less dust, Phoenix added silently.

There was a long silence from Miles. “Wright,” he said finally, “sometimes I wonder how I ended up with a simpleton like you.”

Phoenix bristled a little indignantly. He didn’t’ mind if Miles needled him now and again, but he felt he ought to have proven already, if not in just the past few days, that he was anything but stupid. By himself Miles certainly could not have orchestrated the downfall of the Chief of Police. It had been through the combined efforts of the both of them that they’d exposed Gant’s corruption. Surely he deserved more credit than that.

“If anything, you’re overthinking things,” Phoenix insisted. “Sometimes digging yourself out of a situation is just that simple. Honestly, Miles, you just need a clean start, and there are always more options than you imagine there to be.”

Miles seemed to be considering his words, so Phoenix pressed forward.

“It’s the best way to cut ties. I know you became a prosecutor because for your father. I know you were trained by Von Karma, and in the end, he was the guilty one in DL-6. And what better way to wash yourself of the entire affair than just to up and leave? Nothing’s stopping you, Miles, except yourself.”

“And you just want me to forget? Just forget all that’s happened in the last fifteen years?”

Phoenix sighed. He supposed he could say the same things about Miles being a simpleton, but for the sake of the seriousness of their discussion, he refrained.

“No. You don’t have to forget, you just have to move on.”

“Move onto what? Edgeworth and Wright, Attorneys at Law?”

Phoenix frowned. He didn’t like the way Miles said that so dismissively. It was a serious idea! And a nice one at that. “It’s a start,” Phoenix grumbled.

“And I don’t suppose you’ve thought of other alternatives, Wright?”

“Well, if you want to keep prosecuting, you can,” Phoenix said, not quite wanting to admit to Miles outright that he really enjoyed the thrill of being with him in court. It wouldn’t matter whether they were working together or fighting tooth and nail for every argument, he’d become a lawyer to find and be with Miles again. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t.”

Miles heaved a sigh, settling down his wine glass and rubbing his temples. “I don’t know, Wright, I just don’t know.”

Phoenix got up and moved over to the spot on the couch next to Edgeworth and sat down. “I promise you, Miles, if you leave the Prosecutor’s Office, everything will work out in the end.”

“Not if your financial situation is any indication.”

“Hey!” Phoenix protested. “That’s irrelevant! Besides, I have all I need.”

“Hmm. Really?”

Phoenix nodded, leaning back against the couch. “I guess it doesn’t take much to keep me happy. Just think about what I said, okay Miles?”

“About leaving.”

Phoenix nodded again. “And choices.”

“And choices,” Miles repeated.

Phoenix grinned. “Okay, now can we go back to bed? I’m a bit cold.” He put an arm around Miles’ waist. If Miles wanted to play the quiet game, that was fine. But Phoenix Wright had his input too, and he was glad that at least Miles was willing to listen to his advice, even if he was going to brood about it later. “Come on, Mr. Prosecutor.”

“Sometimes, Wright,” Miles said wryly, turning in Phoenix’s arms to regard him, “you confuse more than anything else.”

Phoenix pulled Miles to his feet. “I’m sure everything will work out in the end.” Miles was always the type to overanalyze everything. All it took was a little discussion for him to realize how simple the situation really was. And he’d feel better after talking about it a bit. His constant overthinking made him a brilliant lawyer in court, of course, but it also seemed to be holding him back. Miles just needed time to think, and Phoenix resolved to be there every step of the way. He hadn’t come so far to be a defense attorney for nothing.

For the first time in a very long time, Phoenix realized that there was something—someone—he cherished. Someone he wanted to take care of, and he was sure that given time, Miles would open up to him. He’d already seen glimpses of the nine-year-old boy he’d known in fourth grade. And one day, maybe Miles too would remember that once there had been a boy like that.

They climbed into bed, Phoenix into his side and Miles opposite him, and they met, arms wrapped around each other—kissing, holding, touching—somewhere in the middle.

*~*~*~*~*

crossposted to narumitsu

Now I'm off to try some of that Celebrator doppelbock I bought a while ago from BevMo, and maybe do some drunken math.

[FIC] I'd Like to Say Hello (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-01-11T06:04:32Z

Taking a break from The Roughest Roads for something I wrote for the Phoenix Wright Anonymous Kink Meme. I think posting fic is kind of how I put off my statistics homework. This going to bite me in the ass later, but that time is not now! Mwa ha ha ha ha! This was written for the prompt:

I like to think that when Edgeworth was a teenager, he defied von Karma's strict rules and got a sexy tattoo on his rump <3 I dunno what of.. maybe a rose or something? ...Or maybe a phoenix :B

Anyway... he feels ashamed of it now and always wears his pants to cover it during sex, which frustrates Phoenix.

So, Anon... I want Phoenix trying to get Miles' pants off!! X3

Nothing to get Skuld's writing juices flowing like ASS TATTOOS.

(Original thread is here. The text has suffered some edits since then.)

Title: I'd Like to Say Hello
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: NSFW

*~*~*~*~*

Phoenix shot Miles Edgeworth one of those looks that meant that not only was he terribly unimpressed by the general mood, he was actually kind of turned off.

“Miles!” Phoenix protested, “I can’t give you a proper blowjob if you insist on keeping your pants on!"

Edgeworth glared back at him. “Actually, I think you can. It’s never stopped you before.”

“Take your pants off,” Phoenix said, in his firmest tone. He was not going to brook any arguments this time. It absolutely wasn’t fair that each time they’d had sex so far he was always the one who had to pick up his clothes, while afterward all Miles had to do was zip his fly and tuck his shirt back in. One of these days, Phoenix was going to catch Edgeworth with his pants down—quite literally—or maybe just rip them off in sheer frustration.

“No,” Miles replied.

“Well, why not? We’re alone in my office for heaven’s sake!” Thankfully Phoenix had the foresight to snap the blinds shut before the whole affair had begun, or the guests at the Gatewater Hotel would be getting an eyeful of steamy defense attorney/prosecutor action right now. “It’s not like anybody’s going to see. Besides, you'll have enough time to pick your clothes back up afterwards.”

“No means no, Wright!”

Phoenix wondered what sort of logic gave Miles Edgeworth the right to decide the rules when he was the one on the receiving end of the services.

“Fine, just your pants then.”

Phoenix’s skin was starting to prickle, he was unfortunately still turned on, but it was chilly in his office at this time of the year, and he wanted to get on with it before he broke out into goosebumps all over and his dick went limp, but he’d also decided that Edgeworth was going to drop his pants or bust. Two could play at the stubborn game, and Phoenix had the feeling he had the upper hand when it came to curbing his desires. Or at least, being able to masturbate alone in his office when it came down to it.

“I’m not taking off my pants, Wright. I have to go back to work afterwards.”

Phoenix failed to see how Miles’ afternoon schedule had to anything at all with his trousers, but there was something Miles was obviously hiding from him. Before he had the chance to say anymore, the scene turned dark and chains clanked into place all around the maroon-clad prosecutor. Phoenix had to admit that was a first. One giant lock, a bunch of chains, and one still-aroused Miles Edgeworth. Phoenix groaned inwardly. Just his luck, and he didn’t even have any evidence to present. He briefly considered just ignoring whatever it was that Miles was hiding and getting on with the blowjob, because he was still horny as hell.

No, Phoenix told himself firmly. He was not going to let Edgeworth walk all over him. He was going to put his foot down. It was going to be pants off for the uppity prosecutor, or nothing at all.

“Come on, Miles. What are you hiding? Is there something on your butt you don’t want me to see?”

If Phoenix hadn’t been watching Edgeworth closely, he might have missed the reaction. For a moment, Miles’ eyes widened and his skin paled a shade or two before he quickly regained composure. “Of course not, it’s just faster this way.”

Phoenix’s mouth opened in a small ‘O.’

“You do!” Phoenix exclaimed in surprise. “You’re hiding something, and it’s on your ass!”

Edgeworth immediately flushed a shade that almost matched his attire. “I am not!” he retorted indignantly. “I can see we’re getting nowhere today, Wright,” he said, beginning to zip his fly back up. “I’m going back to the off—”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Phoenix had never been very good at wrestling or anything like that, but he was willing to bet that he could beat Miles. Especially with the man’s pants already undone around his hips.

Phoenix lunged. Miles took a step back and turned to the side. Phoenix flew through the air and almost landed face-first on his couch. In the moment that Phoenix was scrabbling not to face-plant himself, Edgeworth took his chance and turned for the door.

“Aha!” Phoenix shouted. He twisted and reached an arm out, managing to wrap his fingers just around the waist of Edgeworth’s pants and gave a horrendous tug just as he lost his balance and landed with an “oof!” on the sofa.

Miles stopped in his tracks, a horrified look on his face as he turned his head slowly to regard Phoenix with a look of pure terror.

Phoenix lifted his head and saw the psyche-lock shatter, and the chains surrounding Edgeworth retreat. Then he shifted his gaze and stared at Miles’ ass, which he’d never had the chance to see before, up close and personal.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix gasped. There was a tattoo on Miles’ right buttcheek. A tattoo of a red-gold phoenix rising from the flames of a fire. “Oh my god,” Phoenix repeated. “You have a…on your ass…”

“Satisfied?” Somehow Edgeworth still managed to snap despite blushing furiously. “Are you happy now? Enjoying the view?”

Phoenix blinked and considered the tattoo for a moment. “It’s very nice, actually,” Phoenix concluded. “Surprisingly detailed. Probably done by someone with a lot of skill. When’d you get it done?”

Edgeworth frowned. Phoenix thought he was going to snap at him again or else muscle his way out of Phoenix’s grasp, but neither happened. Instead, still blushing, Miles turned away. “While I was being trained under Von Karma in Germany. I was a teenager, okay? I was feeling rebellious and decided to get a tattoo where no one could see.”

“…of a phoenix.”

“It has nothing to do with you!” Edgeworth’s head snapped around and he glowered at Phoenix. “Nothing at all,” he insisted. “Now let go of me.”

Figuring that Edgeworth probably wasn’t going to try make a break for it, Phoenix let go of his pants and huffily Edgeworth hopped back, his trousers about his knees and took a seat beside Phoenix on the couch.

“There, now you’ve seen it. Can we move on?”

“Hmm,” Phoenix grinned, stroking his chin and appearing to consider this new information.

“If you ever tell anyone, I’ll—”

“And why would I do that? When you’ve got a perfectly nice representation of myself inked on your—“

“It’s got nothing to do with you!” Edgeworth insisted for the third time. He seemed to be rather emphatic about pushing this point home. “It’s just coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Miles replied, but he didn’t sound as sure about as the previous two times he said that. Phoenix figured he’d let that slide, for now. There’d be plenty of time to explore that later.

“Now come on,” Phoenix said, getting to his feet and pulling Miles up with him. Edgeworth’s blush had faded, but came back full swing when Phoenix got to his knees, one arm wrapped around Edgeworth’s waist and the other taking his half-hard arousal and giving it a few experimental strokes.

“I think I’m going to enjoy exploring some of this new evidence,” Phoenix whispered with an impish grin, before taking the head of Miles’ cock in his mouth.

The prosecutor whimpered. “D-D-Don’t think you’ve seen the best of me, Wright.”

Phoenix grinned, closing his eyes and licking a trail along the underside of Edgeworth’s cock, from hilt to tip. He paused there, gazed at Miles, and then took the entire length of the prosecutor in his mouth.

Edgeworth whined, bucked his hips, and let out an involuntary cry of surprise when Phoenix gave his right asscheek a pinch.

*~*~*~*~*

crossposted to narumitsu

[FIC] The Roughest Roads (2/5) (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-01-09T07:11:58Z

Title: The Roughest Roads
Part Two: You in My Arms
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: sex, NSFW, spoilers for PW1 (and eventually, PW2)

*~*~*~*~*

Phoenix was forced to admit to himself that he felt rather daft. The offices of Wright & Co. were empty and quiet with Maya gone back to her village to continue her training, and there was very little for him to do during the day apart from staring out his window. After a while he’d always feel a little guilty peeping in on the people staying at the Gatewater Hotel, except on those occasions when he caught them peeping back.

He tried reading some of Mia’s advanced law textbooks, but not only was he unable to make head or tail of the subtleties of intellectual property law (a branch he’d heard was very lucrative), he always wound up with a headache not even an hour into reading the same paragraph over and over again. At times like that he wondered if he would have done better pursuing a title like, Phoenix Wright, Master of Fine Arts in Art History. Being an art historian (whatever that really meant) was probably like being a defense attorney in many ways—both involved some serious acting confidence and bluffing when he could think of nothing else to say—and on the plus side, art historians had less lives on the line as a result of their profession. He’d probably be making just as much money in that field as he was defending his clients, though there might be something to be said about reaping the rewards of exonerating an innocent client that couldn’t be said about staring at art pieces all day.

With a sigh, Phoenix Wright closed another of Mia’s old textbooks, On International Patent Law, unfortunately just as cryptic as all the rest, and planted his elbows on his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d been spending most of his afternoons the past week resisting certain stupid urges like booking cruises and resort getaways for Miles and him that he couldn’t afford (maybe he could sweet-talk Miles into paying for it), or planning vacations to exotic and dangerous places he’d always wanted to go, but somehow he couldn’t imagine Miles in the middle of Madagascar or the Amazon rainforest.

Even during his lunch hour (which was actually whenever during the day he got hungry) he was overtaken by the whimsy of showing up at the Prosecutor’s Office with a nice sandwich for Miles from the deli around the corner. But Miles had told him the first time he’d voiced that particular thought that he was under no circumstance ever to show his rookie face in the Prosecutor’s Office or let on to anyone, including whatever under-aged female aids he was employing at the moment or in the future, that they were involved in a sexual relationship. When Phoenix, dismayed, had asked why, Miles had clammed up instantly and given Phoenix one of his sternest glowers and simply said that he preferred to keep his professional life and his personal life strictly separate. At the time Phoenix had wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly true, given that Miles brought Pess with him to his office at least once a week. Phoenix figured he’d best wait for a more opportune moment to present that particular piece of evidence if he didn’t want to be sleeping in the figurative dog house.

Some afternoons Phoenix wondered if he’d done any growing up at all since that one incident in his junior year of college at Ivy University, when he’d unwittingly landed himself behind the defendant’s stand in a murder case. The betrayal of his then-beloved Dollie had hurt him—forced him to learn his lesson and grow up a little, or so he’d thought. He was already twenty-four years old for crying out loud, and what he wanted more than anything in the world at the moment—besides to call up Miles at work and beg him to take the rest of the afternoon off—was to climb to the very tallest point of Mt. Hollywood, stretch his arms out to the sky and proclaim to the entire city his love for Miles Edgeworth. The thought was both thrilling and embarrassing at the same time.

Love it was that he felt for Miles, or so Phoenix had decided after spending one long day at his desk pondering the question. He was in love. He was riding that proverbial roller coaster and having the time of his life. He’d tried admonishing himself, telling himself it was just infatuation, just elation at having reconnected—in more ways than one—with his childhood friend of fifteen years ago, but the butterflies in his stomach, the clenching of his chest, and oftentimes, the tightness in his groin told him otherwise. He’d tried chalking it all up to lust, but that didn’t make sense because he’d never been attracted to men, or even just one other man before, so his attraction to Miles could only be explained by that mysterious, enigmatic, poetic thing called “love.”

Having reached that particular logical destination, Phoenix had accepted the answer and not bothered to think of it anymore, his mind quickly wandering to better places, like fantasizing what it would be like to hide himself under Miles’ desk and give him a pleasant surprise when he walked into the office. He would never really do it of course, because he was afraid of Miles throwing a fit, dumping him on the spot, and calling security, but he could still dream.

Phoenix spent the rest of the week whittling away the time in one way or another, even taking an afternoon out to meet and reject a request for his services. Phoenix was starting to get a bit tight when it came to his finances, but not desperate enough to defend someone whose guilt smelled to high heaven. He left his office still in high spirits early Friday afternoon, despite having not received one single call all week from Miles. He ended up drifting to sleep on his couch later that night with the television on, but was woken up bright and early at eight o’clock in the next morning by the honk of a red Maserati, the infernal ringing of his cell phone, and four crystal clear words through the receiver which sent him scrambling out the door.

“I’m outside your apartment.”

It was a weekend just past the middle of February, and it was chilly as Phoenix pounded down five stories of stairs without a jacket on.

*~*~*~*~*

“Miles! Oh god, Miles…”

Phoenix gasped, his legs spread wide open, his pants discarded somewhere across the room, his boxers not too far away. Afternoon sunlight was filtering through the thin white curtains, lending Miles Edgeworth’s hair an unearthly glow. Phoenix sat on the edge of the large armchair in Miles’ living room, fingers curled around the back of Miles’ neck, trying his hardest not to force the prosecutor’s rhythm, but so far doing a very bad job of it. Miles was sitting on his own floor, leaning forward, one hand wrapped around Phoenix’s cock as he lapped along its length, the other between his legs, pumping furiously at his own arousal.

Phoenix had no idea what he’d been doing to distract Miles from his work. Out of nowhere, Miles had come from his study room to give Phoenix a blowjob when he’d just been sitting quietly on the armchair in the living room reading a bestselling suspense novel. Phoenix strongly suspected that it had very little to do with him overall and more to do with Miles, his urges, and having a convenient outlet just waiting for him in his own living room. Well, maybe it was also partly because Phoenix Wright, when lounging about in just a tight t-shirt and loose pajama pants was one drop-dead sexy defense attorney.

“Oh, Miles…yes…” Phoenix’s hissed, his hips bucking of their own accord. He let go of Miles as he tensed and came, his entire body shuddering. Miles hastily swallowed his seed, a bit spilling from the corners of his mouth when Phoenix collapsed, boneless, nearly sliding out of the armchair.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Wright,” Miles growled, wiping the corners of his mouth with a thumb, glaring.

“I know, I know,” Phoenix said, unable to keep a contented grin from spreading across his face. It had been just about five weeks ago (he was counting) since the first time he’d knelt at the foot of Miles’ bed, but it seemed like he’d been doing this forever. “Here,” he said, sitting up and pulling Miles to his feet. He turned Miles around and pushed him onto the armchair.

Phoenix glanced up at Miles with a grin, his head positioned perfectly between the prosecutor’s legs. “Now how about I finish you off?”

*~*~*~*~*

After Miles’ short break in the afternoon, Phoenix gave him a happy, sloppy kiss and went back to his book, skimming the next few chapters just to see if he was right about what the ending was going to be. Miles made some tea and wandered back into his study, shutting the door and not reemerging until sometime after the sun had gone down and Pess left the ottoman Phoenix was resting his feet against to scurry to the study and scratch at his master’s door, whining for food.

“Feel like something fancy, Wright?” Miles asked, wandering into the kitchen with Pess at his heels, watching his every movement very closely as he reached into the cupboard to scoop a bowl full of kibble. “My treat,” Miles added, when Phoenix started off his couch to protest that he couldn’t afford any place deemed “fancy” by Miles Edgeworth. Fancy to Phoenix was any restaurant that had actually spent time and money on interior décor that he’d have to sit down at in order to have a meal.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I can hardly refuse, can I?” said Phoenix with a grin

Within the hour they arrived at an opulent hotel a block away from Santa Monica beach, cramming themselves into an elevator headed up to one of the west side’s trendiest and hippest dining scenes. Stepping into a crowd packed with well-dressed, successful young twenty and thirty-somethings and the occasional television celebrity, Phoenix immediately got the feeling that he didn’t belong; at least not at a rooftop restaurant which boasted a name as pretentious as “The Penthouse.” He felt only marginally better when the maître d' showed them to their table, tucked discreetly away in a quiet corner, surrounded on two sides by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. Phoenix had to work to keep his jaw from dropping when he saw the prices on the menu.

“How often do you come here?” he asked softly after the waiter had filled their glasses with their house merlot and left them the rest of bottle. Phoenix looked around. This certainly didn’t seem like the type of place Miles Edgeworth would frequent, despite the fact that his red sports car certainly seemed to fit in with the rest of the Ferraris parked outside the hotel.

“Not too often, actually,” Miles replied simply, his expression unreadable.

“What if someone sees us here?” Phoenix asked. “I mean,” he added after a moment, “someone you know.”

“Oh, no one from the Prosecutor’s Office comes here,” Miles replied coolly. Phoenix raised a questioning eyebrow. “They prefer quieter places, in Beverly Hills for example,” Miles explained.

Phoenix nodded, trying to look as if he understood. Of course, Beverly Hills. How silly of him to think that all self-respecting prosecutors dined at five-star hotel restaurant/lounges (now that was another level of snobbery, calling the establishment a “restaurant/lounge”) on the edge of the Pacific Ocean.

Phoenix was doing his best not to look like completely uncultured swine and call the waiter over to ask whether or not he could get a menu in English, when he glanced up and noticed Miles staring at him.

“You don’t like it here,” Miles said.

“No, no,” Phoenix answered quickly. “I mean,” he added, “it’s just—“

“To be honest, I don’t like it here either.”

Phoenix raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

Miles turned his head to look out the window, propping his chin up with one elbow on the table. “And it’s dark outside so the ocean view this place boasts is useless anyway.”

Phoenix found himself with a giant grin on his face as Miles turned back around to give him a small smile. “Well, I hope the food’s not much to complain about.”

“That it’s not,” Miles replied, and raised his glass. Phoenix raised his glass too, and the two toasted silently.

The rest of dinner passed surprisingly comfortably, though Phoenix had to keep himself from breathing an audible sigh of relief when the valet pulled up at the front of the hotel with Miles’ Maserati. He thought he saw some heads turn in the crowd waiting to get into the elevator to the restaurant(/lounge), and was distinctly embarrassed that he was getting into a car that drew that much attention. Miles seemed used to it however (“what in the world is he compensating for?” Phoenix wondered), and paid no mind to the eyes glued enviously to him and his vehicle. The ride back was mostly a silent one, with Phoenix leaning comfortably back into his seat as he let his mind follow the rising notes of Beethoven’s Fidelio Overture.

It was one of those talkish sorts of nights when they returned to Miles’ place, greeted happily by Pess who ran up to them both, licking their hands and pawing their legs in welcome. Miles then disappeared for a short while into his study again to finish up some paperwork while Phoenix returned to the armchair and finished up his book—he’d been right about the ending all along, of course—and then they retired to the bedroom, given each other some reprises of their activity from earlier that afternoon, and fell into bed, lazily climbing into the covers.

“Hey, Miles,” said Phoenix, after the glow had worn off and his brain resumed function, “what are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean, ‘now?’”

“Well,” Phoenix said, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbow to have a proper talk, “I mean, you…you became a prosecutor for your dad, right? And for yourself too, I guess, ‘cause you thought that you might’ve…you know...but really, that’s not true anymore, so…”

“Wright, can you or can you not construct a full, coherent sentence or do I have to drag one out of you?”

Phoenix wanted to reply that he would love for Miles to drag one out of him all night long, but he was actually trying to be serious, so he took a breath and started over.

“What I’m trying to say is, are you going to keep being a prosecutor or not?”

Miles blinked and looked slightly taken aback. His expression hardened and for a second it seemed that Phoenix was being scowled at quite ferociously, but then Miles softened and averted his gaze.

“A prosecutor, I suppose,” Miles replied quietly, after another moment of silence. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve been trained as one all this time, after all.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to stick with it if you don’t want to,” Phoenix shrugged. “I mean, Von Karma was the one who trained you anyway, and in the end he was the one who, uh, well…” Phoenix trailed off to silence. He’d never met Mr. Gregory Edgeworth before, so it felt a little disrespectful talking about his death when it was not even a quarter of an ago that he’d just had sex—oral sex, but still sex—with his son.

“I don’t think anyone would blame you if you decided you needed a change of scenery.”

The light from the streetlamps, peeking in through the cracks in the blinds made it easy to see Miles’ expression and he looked rather troubled. Phoenix pressed on, doing his best to be reassuring and encouraging. He wasn’t quite sure if he was doing a good job of it, but the only way from where he was, was forward.

“Come on, Miles. Tell me that ‘The Offices of Edgeworth and Wright, Attorneys at Law’ doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

Miles snorted. “Only in your dreams, Wright,” he muttered, but Phoenix just chuckled and threw an arm around Miles’ middle, scooting closer in order to cuddle. Miles Edgeworth liked to put up the pretense that he did not like to do insipid things like cuddle or spoon, but Phoenix had the sinking sensation that he actually did, and it was his job to break down that barrier, so he hung on and slowly, the body in his arms began to relax.

“We haven’t really talked about it, you know.”

“Talked about what?” Miles said, turning his head to the side to regard Phoenix with a look of annoyance.

“The DL-6 incident.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Von Karma was the one who killed my father, the one whose scream I remembered, the one who...”

Phoenix felt Miles’ body shudder in his arms, so he gave him a well-meaning squeeze.

“Well, I was innocent in the end,” Miles concluded tersely. “What’s done is done, and that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s it, huh?” Phoenix said softly. He reached a hand up between them to brush Miles’ hair out of his face and turned it into a caress, running his fingers softly down Miles’ cheek. Miles shivered at the contact and drew back slightly, a guarded look in his eyes.

“So that’s how Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth deals with his past? Sweeps it under the rug and pretends that everything is all right?” Phoenix said, searching Miles’ gaze, hoping he wouldn’t shut him out. Not again, not this time. Phoenix let his arm drop around Miles’ waist again. “You can talk about anything you want with me, Miles, really,” he whispered. “You can trust me.”

“I don’t need to talk about it, Wright. I’m fine.”

“You can cry in front of me if you want, too.”

“I don’t need to cry about it either.”

“Now that I don’t believe,” Phoenix said.

“That’s too bad for you then,” Miles said, shrugging a little and leaning his cheek on Phoenix’s shoulder.

There was a long silence and Phoenix lowered his eyes, staring at the strong, sculpted shoulders of the body lying beside him. How many times had he seen Miles in court, that square, confident set to his shoulders? Now, up close, they seemed much thinner. Phoenix ran a gentle hand up and down Miles’s back.

“I just can’t believe that you don’t want to talk about it,” Phoenix said quietly.

“I’m not a talking kind of man.”

“Anything I can do to help then?”

Miles sighed and shifted, reaching an arm across Phoenix’s chest. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Phoenix frowned. “Doing what?” He didn’t understand what it was that Miles wanted him to keep doing, so he fell into silence, closing his eyes and realizing with dread that he had been with Miles for going on five weeks, and not once had they had a conversation about Miles Edgeworth at all.

“You’ll understand someday,” Miles murmured. Phoenix felt his weight lean into his shoulder, shifting for a more comfortable position.

“And someday you’ll talk to me,” Phoenix said quietly, under his breath. Miles gave no indication that he’d heard anything at all, and eventually Phoenix closed his eyes, rested his head against the pillow, and drifted off to a fretful sleep.

*~*~*

crossposted narumitsu

[FIC] The Roughest Roads (1/5) (Phoenix Wright, Phoenix/Edgeworth)

2008-01-05T20:22:56Z

BRAINS! The Phoenix/Edgeworth bunnies have been eating my BRAAAAAAAAAAINS!

Title: The Roughest Roads
Part One: Breaking Silence
Series: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth
Warnings: sex, NSFW, spoilers for PW1 (and eventually, PW2)

*~*~*

Phoenix wasn't quite sure when he'd stopped being "Phoenix" and started being "Wright." He also wasn't quite sure when "Miles" had become "Edgeworth," but he would have hedged some heavy bets that it was the first time he'd stood opposite the then so-called Demon Prosecutor in a court of law. He'd known very little of the DL-6 incident then, and even less why it had been tied to the disappearance of his fourth grade friend and the role it played in how the young Miles Edgeworth, defending one of his best friends from his classmates over a case of stolen lunch money, eventually became one of the youngest and most talented prosecutors ever to set foot in the District Court of the County of Los Angeles.

At first glance, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth seemed to simply be an older version of his former fourth grade self. He had the same confidence, the same poise and composure that he'd carried around the classroom at the age of nine. His voice had deepened, the look on his face more arrogant, but upon closer inspection, something more important had changed about him, and that was what had chilled and disappointed Phoenix Wright, Attorney at Law, when he'd first taken his place behind the Defense's desk: Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had grown cold and ruthless. The rumors were true then, Phoenix concluded; the name “Demon Prosecutor” well-earned. There was no underhanded tactic that he did not try—including tampering with witness and withholding evidence—to attain that guilty verdict and preserve his perfect record in court.

And then Phoenix had felt so terribly lost, the figure of the nine-year-old boy he'd been following becoming nothing but a pale memory in the face of the reality of the Demon Prosecutor. He'd never even gotten to ask his most burning questions before suddenly he was sitting opposite Edgeworth again, a large pane of bullet-proof glass between them, and all of Phoenix's questions could have been summed up nicely in just a few words: "Did you do it?" Even then he'd believed that neither the nine-year-old boy, nor the talented prosecutor sitting in front of him was capable of homicide, and on Christmas no less.

Phoenix's faith had not been misplaced. With the long-overdue resolution of the DL-6 case, he found himself both discoverer and destroyer of a good portion of Miles Edgeworth's secrets, and from there it had been a cakewalk—compared to the rest of the case—to figure out what must have been going in his old friend's mind in those fifteen years they’d lost touch.

Seized by a sudden passionate impulse and still feeling (not so differently from certain times in his youth) as if he was being a little naïve, Phoenix Wright climbed on a westbound bus one clear but blustery Sunday afternoon shortly after the start of the new year and ended his journey in front of the gate to a community of luxury condominiums in upscale Santa Monica.

“Who is it?” said Edgeworth’s voice over the intercom as Phoenix pressed the button for his apartment.

“I-it’s uh...” Phoenix started hesitantly, realizing belatedly that he might not be welcome on what could be Edgeworth’s only day off.

“Is that you, Wright?” There was a pause as Phoenix waited, wondering if he just ought to start searching for the nearest bus stop to take him home. “Well, come on in then.”

And then the gate buzzed open, and Phoenix made his way to unit H, nearly turning away when he heard the staccato, sharp barks of a dog from behind the door. He must have made some mistake. The door opened a crack just as Phoenix was turning away to have another look around the complex, the sound of scrabbling feet against wooden floors and Edgeworth’s sharp voice, bringing him back.

“Get in before Pess runs outside.”

Phoenix unthinkingly obeyed, stepping inside as Edgeworth bent down, holding onto short tan and red-furred dog by the collar. He guessed that was the dog that Edgeworth had just called Pess. Phoenix waved at it, and in response it charged at him and then jumped away, retreating a safe distance only to bark up a storm at him.

“Just have a seat, Wright, and he’ll calm down.”

Watching the small shiba inu carefully, Phoenix tried not to look like he was afraid of the thing latching onto his ankle and took a seat on Edgeworth’s couch, finding himself slightly uncomfortable not only being sniffed by an aggressive dog but also because he found the couch itself a bit too large and too decorated for his tastes. As he sank into it he felt as if it was going to open up and swallow him whole, maybe even on verbal cue if Edgeworth issued the order in a proper tone of voice. He swallowed nervously, all the words he prepared earlier during the bus ride suddenly sticking in his throat, and he stared nervously after Edgeworth as he crossed from the kitchen to the armchair adjacent Phoenix's overcushioned couch, a steaming cup of Darjeeling in each hand. The dog, staring after its master, abandoned Phoenix to curl up at Edgeworth’s feet.

"Something to say, Wright?" Edgeworth asked after a few moments of silence of Phoenix floundering around, making small noises in the back of his throat, starting words a few times but thinking better of them.

Phoenix grinned nervously and scratched his head. "I, uh, haven’t seen you since the trial ended, so I figured I'd just drop by..."

"Wright, I hope you know you're expected to call someone before just dropping by."

"I, uh, forgot," Phoenix replied, hoping that Edgeworth wouldn't realize that the thought had not actually occurred to him because he'd rushed out of his apartment on a whim and had to run nearly two blocks in order to catch the bus.

"Hmm..." Edgeworth said, taking a sip of his tea and looking at Phoenix in such a way that it made the poor man feel like he was a piece of fresh evidence being examined by the prosecution.

The look continued for a few moments until Phoenix was afraid that if it continued any longer, Edgeworth would snap and tell him, point blank, to spit it out, and if that happened, he would either choke on, or worse, spit his entire tongue onto the coffee table. And that would look terrible sandwiched between his cooling cup of tea and the latest issue of National Geographic. So Phoenix took a deep breath and summoned the look he usually wore for his best bluff in court. He straightened his shoulders, sat up, and smiled what he thought was dashingly.

"I want to know if we can be friends again."

Phoenix watched as the stern look on Edgeworth's face softened, and with a shaky, unsteady hand, he set his teacup on the saucer with a clink of china. Suddenly Edgeworth's brows crossed and for a second it looked as if Miles might rebuff him, but then the prosecutor picked up his teacup again and nodded.

"I think it's about time," he said simply.

Phoenix collapsed into the couch, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He grinned.

"For a second, I thought you were going to kick me out of your house. Or just say 'no,'" Phoenix said, feeling as if he'd just found a key piece of evidence or an important contradiction in a witness's testimony.

Behind his teacup, Edgeworth simply smiled, and in relief, Phoenix laughed.

*~*~*~*~*

It was almost two weeks later when Phoenix Wright found himself in Miles Edgeworth’s bed, surrounded by his scent, lying on his silk sheets (in his favorite shade of maroon), and being kissed his lips, which were warm and hinted—just slightly—of the thirty-year Glenfiddich they’d been enjoying just earlier on the couch. Phoenix was surprised by the insistency with which Edgeworth was pressing his weight into him against the bed, but more so by his response to Edgeworth’s hands which were creeping up his shirt and roving gently over the planes of his stomach. Normally he would have tried to push the offending hand away, because he was rather ticklish, but instead (perhaps by influence of the scotch), he found himself responding by wrapping his arms around Edgeworth’s shoulders and kissing him back with a strange enthusiasm.

Phoenix felt rough hands unbuckle his belt and begin to push his pants down before he realized what was happening and he disentangled himself from Edgeworth for a second, a look of fear briefly crossing his face. He’d never seen Edgeworth with that wolfish, predatory grin on his face, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. Or a trick of the darkness. Or just the scotch.

“I’ll be gentle,” Edgeworth said, his voice quiet as he pushed Phoenix’s pants just past his bottom and decided that was all he needed for now.

In response to the feel of Edgeworth’s fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his boxers, Phoenix reached up and drew Edgeworth down to the bed with him, closing his eyes and kissing whatever parts of him—chest, neck, cheek, lips—that were in reach. Never in his wildest dreams had Phoenix ever have figured that one day he’d land himself in the type of situation where he would be aroused while a man slid hands up his shirt and down his pants, but here he was in Miles Edgeworth’s arms, kissing him for all he was worth. Life was full of surprises, he supposed as he helped Edgeworth scoot his boxers down.

“You know,” Phoenix whispered, his lips parting from Edgeworth’s just far enough for him to speak, “I had no idea you were—“

“Shut up, Wright.” Edgeworth pinched his ass, making Phoenix squirm, cutting off the rest of his sentence. Gently, Edgeworth placed a finger over Phoenix’s lips and then moved down, one arm wrapped around his waist the other supporting his own weight as he bent over Phoenix’s body, nuzzling and nipping at his neck, his collarbone, his shoulders, the planes of his chest…

Closing his eyes and enjoying the sensations, Phoenix thought back to Edgeworth as a child and the way he organized the pencils in his pencilbox during recess when he didn’t feel like going out to play. He thought about Edgeworth’s books, organized by subject and then by author, and his living room which was impeccably decorated according to all the latest styles in interior design and home furnishings. There was the matter of his personal fashion sense and the fact that he had never, ever heard Edgeworth speak of any women in his life—the clues were all there, but Phoenix had just never bothered to put the information together.

And then there was the matter of his own feelings. Had his own pursuit of Miles Edgeworth for the past fifteen years just been a telltale sign of…

Phoenix bit back a moan as Edgeworth ran a hand on the inside of his leg and he spread them as far apart as his pants, still clinging about his thighs, would let him. There was one thing left nagging him that Phoenix, seizing the moment before he forgot again, decided to get out of the way.

“C-Can…” he began uncertainly as the fingers of Edgeworth’s right hand wrapped around the base of his erection.

“What?” said Edgeworth, pausing to look at Phoenix, perhaps with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. Phoenix had trouble telling.

“Can I call you ’Miles’ again?”

There was another pause. “…Yes,” came the answer from somewhere just below Phoenix’s waist.

“Oh good,” Phoenix said, his voice wavering as he felt Edgeworth’s fingers move and hot breath envelop the head of his cock, “I was afraid that—“

“Shut up, Wright.”

Then Edgeworth took a good part of Phoenix’s length into his mouth and Phoenix stopped thinking entirely.

*~*~*~*~*

It was almost noon the next day when Phoenix opened his eyes to stare blearily at a blank wall, painted in a tasteful light shade of beige. He pushed down a wave of disoriented panic before remembering that he was in Miles’ bed and the smell surrounding him was Miles’ smell (mixed with a bit of dog). He hadn’t really expected himself to let Miles do that to him last night, but what he really couldn’t believe was that after Miles had licked him clean, he’d gotten hard again and returned the favor almost immediately. Apparently he hadn’t been too shabby at it because Miles hadn’t complained, and it hadn’t been too long before he came as well.

Phoenix rolled over, expecting to see Miles sleeping next to him, but he found the other side of Miles’ bed occupied instead by a small furry body who raised its head to look at him and whine before settling back to sleep. Groaning, as last night’s memories came flooding back to him, Phoenix buried his head in the pillow and pulled the blanket over his head trying not to disturb Pess. What was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to say? Was Miles even home? It was a Saturday, he couldn’t have gone to the Prosecutor’s Office, could he? Not on a weekend; not when he’d left a very confused defense lawyer still sleeping in his bed.

“Wright!”

Hearing the voice, Phoenix poked his head above the blankets staring in the direction of hallway and the sound of light footfalls.

“Wright! I heard you move in there!”

The door, just slightly ajar, opened all the way and Miles Edgeworth stood there in a striped button-up shirt and dark slacks, glaring at Phoenix and the small part of him that was showing above the edge of the covers. Phoenix gulped, wondering whether he was going get thrown out of the house, or if Miles might be gracious enough to give him a ride home.

“Get up; it’s almost noon. I made breakfast and it’s getting cold with you lying there all morning.”

Phoenix blinked. Breakfast? It took a moment for the concept to register and then Phoenix was out of bed in a flash, rolling out from beneath the blankets, planting both feet on Miles’ chilly hardwood floor but managing not to jump from the shock of the temperature difference.

Perched around Miles’ kitchen counter Phoenix had a simple breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs, realizing that he was starting to do things like stare at Miles’ ass when he bent down to get the milk from the bottom shelf of the fridge. He felt himself blush when Miles turned around, averting his gaze quickly and staring at the center of his plate where he speared some egg with his fork. He missed a small smirk cross Edgeworth’s face.

*~*~*~*~*

It was late Sunday night before Phoenix was finally on his way home, speeding across town in the passenger seat of Miles’ garishly red Maserati. He had done his best not to make a face when Miles had taken him down to the parking lot and pointed out his car, his other baby (first in his mind was obviously Pess. Phoenix figured he could settle for third, for now). How much did a prosecuting attorney make these days to not only to be able to afford a two bedroom condo, but also an upscale Italian sports car? Phoenix was pretty sure that the price tag on the car started somewhere in the six-digit range. At least it was a smooth ride.

With the eastbound interstate 10 clear, Phoenix had to practically hold onto both sides of his seat to avoid being splattered against the back of the car by the acceleration as Edgeworth gunned it from Santa Monica all the way to Downtown Los Angeles.

“Um…thanks for the ride,” Phoenix said shakily as he got out of the car, feeling as if he’d left the majority of his innards somewhere back on the highway around the 110 interchange. Had they just violated at least ten traffic laws? His memory was a bit fuzzy when it came to what speed the cutoff for reckless driving was, but he was pretty sure that Miles had just been toeing that line. Show off.

“So when…uh,” Phoenix continued, “when do I get to see you again?”

It sounded like a stupid question now they’d spent two consecutive evenings together. It might have been three if it weren’t for the fact that tomorrow was a Monday and Phoenix needed a change of underwear so badly that Miles was starting to get turned off by the smell that emanated from his boxers.

“When I’m free again,” Miles replied, his expression unreadable. “I’ll give you a call, Wright.”

“Sure,” Phoenix said, trying to hide his disappointment. He had no idea when Miles was going to consider himself free again, if that wasn’t just his convenient excuse for dumping someone. “I guess I’ll see you around then. Bye.” Not knowing what else to do he waved. Miles just nodded and drove off.

With a sigh, Phoenix trudged the five flights of stairs up to his apartment. The ‘5’ on his door had long since peeled off, and the ‘0’ and ‘3’ were mismatched and peeling at the corners, a symptom of the condition of his apartment in general, but at least it was home. He opened the door, left his shoes in a pile at the door, and collapsed on his couch (he’d found it on the street the day he moved in), resting his head on a cushion that almost matched the color of the couch’s upholstery (he’d found it at a thrift store). Phoenix rolled over, staring in his despair at the dirty laundry that littered the room and wondered how long it was going to be, if ever, Miles called him again. Two weeks, maybe, and that was an optimistic estimate.

Phoenix was dead wrong. Miles phoned in less than one, and again on a Friday night. Luckily, Phoenix Wright was an optimist and a hopeless romantic and had brought with him to his office that day, a weekend’s worth of clean clothes.

*~*~*

crossposted to narumitsu

[FIC] Rain (Samurai Champloo, Mugen/Jin)

2007-12-28T19:59:24Z

So this is what I get for writing things and then putting them on the back burner. I started this as a 100-word drabble almost two years ago and since then it's gone through a couple of directionless rewrites every couple of months, but I was never really satisfied with anything enough to really post. It's taken some music, some boredom, my knee injury last January, and some winter holiday cleaning-up-of-LJ-entries just now (with a healthy dollop of boredom and restlessness) to figure out where this is going and what it wants itself to be. I think the lesson to be learned here is not to try to force this thing into what I want it to be, because it obviously wanted to be shorter and more lyrical than I originally anticipated.

Title: Rain
Series: Samurai Champloo
Pairing: Mugen/Jin
Warnings: sex, NSFW

Rain. Drops of water streak my glasses and thunderclaps shake the sky as I make my way through the meadow, searching left and right through tall, wild grasses for that tuft of dark, unruly hair. Heavy drops of rain fall onto my head and drip down the nape of my neck, soaking my clothes, soaking my skin. The horizon is dark, the scene before me just as dark. I continue walking, running, seeking.

I'm cold and wet, and it reminds of the time I stood outside of a brothel in a rain not so different from this, staring at a woman I thought I'd grown to love, aching for the feel of her body in my arms. She was sweet, gentle, tragic, and so soft when I felt her skin beside mine, and I pressed myself against her. She was so kind, so resigned. I would have given anything to keep her.

We parted ways on a day of clean, damp mist.

Rain. Lightning flashes and I think I see a shadow lying spread-eagled before me, a flash of red and sun-bronzed skin in a scene of mottled grey. There's no mistaking that figure, that unfortunate collection of stick-like limbs topped with that mop of disheveled hair. Suddenly my stomach launches into my throat and my pulse begins to race--maybe he's dead. Maybe we're still being followed by the Shogunate, maybe they have an assassin more skilled that that poor blind woman, Sara. I almost turn around back to the barn where Fuu is staying for the night, only half-expecting her to still be there, curled up in sleep in a bale of hay. I shake off the dread, school my mind and my body to serenity as I walk--slowly, quietly--to where I see him lying down in the grass, his eyes open, staring up at the sky.

He hears my approach and he speaks to me, to the clouds overhead, to nobody and nothing in particular. He blinks once, twice.

"I hate the rain."

Grass and mud squelches beneath my knees as I sit beside him, close enough to hear his words, distant enough to be ignored if he pleases. "So I do," I say, casting my gaze to the horizon. I don't need to ask to know that he's thinking of Sara.

He wanted her all to himself from the beginning. He wanted to be the one to best her, to beat her on her own ground with her own rules. He wanted to wash her blood off his sword in the rain, because he'd found an opening in her defense. He wanted to fight to the death and be the one left standing. And for all that, all he got in the end was a broken and blind woman, who had handed him his victory, and left him with nothing but her tears and her words that he struggled to understand.

Rain. Two women who had shaken us. Two women whom we once met in the rain.

I open my eyes only to realize they were closed, that I'm soaked through and dripping, that I'm shivering and cold, that Mugen's stopped staring at the sky and is looking right through me.

"C'mere," he says suddenly, and a lanky arm shoots up to cup the back of my neck and bring me down.

I let him kiss me, I let myself kiss back. I let him run warm lips over my chest, I let his fingers play around the cloth at my waist, I help him peel my clothes from my shoulders. He tries to keep me warm because I'm cold and naked, because he can see the goosebumps all over my pale skin, but his skin is just as wet and slick as mine. Mugen is as cold and naked as I am, lying in the grass, his pants pushed down to his knees. We're both just as soaked at the other.

I move to straddle his hips, stepping out of my hakama. I sink myself down slowly, my hand guiding him inside, my eyes watching him intently. He averts his eyes from my gaze, to stare at the hands he's resting on my hips, firm fingers gripping me as I stop and settle. He sits up and we wrap our arms around each other, maybe because we simply need to be held, or maybe because we need to hold, so he can buck his hips properly against me and I can push properly against him. I can't tell, I never could.

I ride him while the rain keeps falling all around me, the sound of water pounding the meadow grass intensifies in my mind. I lose the sensation of the rain dripping from the ends of my hair and onto my back, I lose the feeling of rivulets of water carving their way down my chest, and I all I feel is the warmth beneath me, the fire of Mugen's hands on my cold skin, jerking me with every push and thrust.

I hear his rough voice telling me I'm sexy with my hair wet, with my skin pale against the dark, stormy skies. I see him grinning at me, and I tell him to shut up.

I pray for the rain never to stop.

It's long time before Mugen bites my shoulder, before I bury myself in his hair, our fingers bruising each other's skin--his gripping my hips with ferocity, mine clawing at his back. We collapse in the grasses, and the storm keeps pounding down. We shiver together, a tangle of limbs, no warmth to be had between us. He reaches a hand up to takes my glasses off, tossing them off somewhere behind him. I glare at him and make a mental note not to let him put any of his clothes back on until he's found them again. He looks at me, like he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it. He sinks back into the grass, one arm around my waist, the other behind his head, and closes his eyes.

The rain lifts eventually, slowing to a drizzle and then fading completely. Together, we shiver, and gather our clothes.

We've lied to each other today. Actually, we both love the rain.

*~*~*~*~*

Now that this is out of the way, I can go back to writing that Phoenix/Edgeworth that's eating my brain.

[FIC] 情無限: Love Beyond Limit (Jade Empire, Ming/Sky CF)

2007-04-15T09:13:49Z

I think I've been working on this for almost two weeks, which I think is a personal record for how long I've spent on a piece of pure, unadultered, plot? what plot? smut. I'm not sure whether or not that's something to be proud of.

So the Wikipedia entry on Jade Empire actually lied to me about what happens to Sky at the closed fist ending. Of course, by the time I wrote this I already knew that, but I'm still sort of miffed at those Wiki-editing clowns for getting my hopes up. >/ Oh well. Thankfully I write fic, which means I can (slightly) alter canon to fit my own nefarious purposes. Bwa ha ha ha ha!

This fic would like to thank hazard_us and skuldnoshinpu for egging me on and putting evil ideas into my head. They're both pretty darn evil.

Title: 情無限: Love Beyond Limit
Series: Jade Empire
Pairing: Furious Ming/Sky (closed fist)
Warnings: explicit sex, not worksafe

*~*~*

The Empire. The city lights lit in concert as dusk approached, illuminating limestone-paved streets. Lanterns bobbed back and forth in the light breeze that blew through the city, lending their glow to the citizens as they went about their evening’s business. From a high balcony carved into the rock face of the floating Imperial Palace Emperor Ming surveyed his dominion, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the scene below him. Order. What he observed pleased him. To a traveler from any other corner of the Empire the Imperial City seemed no different than it had been five years ago—the city was peaceful, clean, filled with all the usual types of bustle, noise, and commerce expected of a city of its vast size. To a newcomer the city still amazed, farm hands journeying from remote villages still gazed upon the streets with widened, astonished eyes; to the citizens of the Empire, the Imperial City embodied wealth, opportunity, sophistication, and the privilege of living in the presence of a god.

The palace’s shadow hung always in the sky above the city, watching over the Empire through rain, shine and snow. Every morning the people stepped out of their residences and raised their heads to see the seat of the Empire’s power floating over them, the ever vigilant sentinel that assured them that as long as they were strong, resourceful, and self-sufficient, the opportunities and avenues they dreamed about would open up before them. That was the promise that drew the young, bold, and staunch men and women from remote corners Empire to part from their homes and seek their destiny in the Imperial City.

As darkness fell and the stars began to shine, Ming turned away from the balcony. The halls of the palace were well-lit, the stone walls polished to shine by lantern light. His footsteps barely echoed in the vast corridors of the upper chambers of the palace, where not even his personal servants or the highest ranked courtiers dared tread without permission—the private courtyard of Emperor Ming the Enduring Light.

The Emperor’s residence was intimate, small by the standards of the other halls occupying the palace. It was not like the great Hall of Heavenly Purity that the ill-fated brothers, Emperors Sun Hai and Sun Li had occupied during their respective rules. Upon ascending the throne Ming had ordered those apartments evacuated and they stood now empty, disused, a reminder of their futile struggles against him, and how it was their very actions that had brought him to power. The Emperor’s chambers, the Forbidden Courtyard, as it was known in the palace, was a simple cloister with but four rooms surrounding a small garden—just big enough for the Emperor and one other.

“Welcome home.” The door had barely creaked open when the voice spoke from somewhere deep inside the room, hidden in the shadows of candlelight. Aside from the Emperor himself, the only other allowed to freely enter or exit the Emperor’s residence was the Prince Consort, Death’s Hand, Sky.

Sky rose from his desk as Ming entered, bowing his head slightly in greeting. “My Emperor.”

There was a moment’s pause before Ming spoke. “That is an appropriate greeting for anywhere else in the palace, Prince Consort, but here, unnecessary.”

Sky cracked a wry smile. Of all the things that had passed in the five years since Ming had seized the Water Dragon’s power, Sky had not lost his sense of humor, nor his penchant for flirting with danger. “Very well then,” he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “My love.”

“That is more acceptable,” Ming replied, his tone detached, neutral. He eyed the pile of papers scattered about the surface of Sky’s desk. “Reports?” he asked. “Anything of note?”

Sky shook his head. “Well, the Guild is in civil war again and there are rumors of a gang of bandits forming at Liang Mountain in the eastern provinces. Other than that, the Empire’s running smoothly.”

Ming considered Sky’s news carefully. Guild maneuvers were important to him—the Guild made up the majority of the underground, and it was vital to keep that particular facet of the economy under strict watch at all times. Sky’s informants had kept good relations with the current Guild Master up until his recent poisoning. Since Gao the Greater’s death five years ago, the Guild had been in continuous turmoil, and no Master had sat at the head of the organization for even a year before somehow—by murder, accident, or apparent suicide—turning up dead.

“And who are we supporting?” Ming asked.

“A man by the name of Qiu. He’s a clever one, but not enough to be a threat. He also has the support of roughly half of the Guild’s men, which may mean he’ll last longer than most.”

Ming nodded. There was no whisper, no word spoken in the entire breadth of the Empire that was too soft, too quiet for Sky to hear. Sky was his eyes, his ears, and his hand, which extended further into the darkness than he, as Emperor, could travel. Sky’s informants worked everywhere in the Empire, in the Imperial Army itself, in every village no matter how remote, in every shadowed corner of every city. If dissent, rebellion was spoken Sky would know of it, and the voice would be silenced the very next day, if not before. In the cities, the people watched their words carefully. The rule of a god-emperor left nothing to be desired—the Empire’s citizens were wealthy and comfortable in the protection their rulers. And if someone they knew were to disappear without a trace, well, they must have done something wrong to incur the wrath of the Lotus Assassins, or worse—the notice of Death’s Hand.

The title of Death’s Hand and the name of Sky himself were feared throughout the Empire, far more than the shell of Prince Kin had once been. People quaked at the mere mention of the Prince Consort, and everything that was evil, every friend or family that went missing, the citizens attributed to the work of Death’s Hand and his Lotus Assassins. Of the Emperor himself, the people spoke only in reverence, believing that his power and his wisdom had nothing to do with the underhanded tactics of his consort, though perhaps in their hearts they secretly believed otherwise.

“And the mountain bandits?” Ming continued.

“We’re watching them closely,” Sky replied. “If they grow too large, we will crush them.”

Ming nodded again. “And who exactly are these bandits?”

“Officials, mostly. Disgraced civil ministers and officers of the Imperial Army. In other words,” Sky finished, “the incompetent and the discontent.”

“That makes them extra dangerous.”

“I have my most skilled men watching them,” Sky said simply.

“Do not underestimate them,” warned Ming, his voice containing a hint of cold steel. “Peasant bandits are one thing, former officials are an entirely different matter.”

“Have you ever known me to be outwitted by anyone?” Sky asked.

Ming considered this, and then slowly shook his head. He approached Sky, shrugged off the outer layer of his Imperial robes and threw them on Sky’s chair. “No,” he replied evenly, placing a finger on Sky’s chest. “You alone I trust, but not anyone else, and that includes the men under your direct command.”

“Very well,” Sky replied. “If this escalates I assure you,” he said softly, slowly, “I will take care of it.” He gazed at Ming, his eyes reflecting a cold, hard flame. “Personally.”

Sky’s voice trailed off in a hiss, and the air grew quiet, tense—sinking with a thick, momentary silence. Something was felt wrong, something was missing. Sky rushed to fill the space between them and Ming met him halfway, a powerful hand cupping the back of his head as they crushed their lips together in a voracious, thirsty kiss.

Strong hands sat on Ming’s shoulders, curling around the collar of his last layer robes and peeling them away. Ming ripped the sash from Sky’s waist and reached under his vest, pulling on his garment so forcefully that it momentarily threw Sky’s shoulders back and parted their kiss. Sky shrugged his clothing off, discarded it on the floor. They were half-naked now and again they seized each other with rough hands, arms wrapping around each other’s necks and shoulders, so better to press themselves together—to squeeze, grasp, and bruise—to touch, to feed the heat that had risen so suddenly within them both.

Their ferocity was almost ritual; the Water Dragon’s power had not quelled Ming’s physical desire, quite the contrary. Ming's senses had become sharp, salient. He could hear voices where Sky heard only silence, he could see further beyond the horizon than Sky's mortal vision would ever pierce, and in love, of all things, Ming's feelings had intensified and Sky, though mortal, had become something that Ming needed—as companion, confidant, and lover. The pleasures of the flesh Emperor Ming felt most acutely, every stroke of Sky's hand, every touch of Sky's mouth was a pleasant sting of sensation—his gift and his curse. Night after night the Emperor lay with his consort and still, long after they had finished exploring every surface of each other's skin, long after they had already memorized the most sensitive, most erotic parts of their bodies, Ming found that he did not—perhaps could not—tire of their activities. And if Sky tired of it he said nothing, and every night he devoted himself as much, if not more, to the private pleasures of his Emperor and his love.

Though he did not need sleep, Ming discovered that he was most contented at night, when in the solitude of their own rooms he could hold Sky when he slept, guarding jealously over his slumber, watching over and ensuring his peaceful dreams. And on occasion Ming would enter those dreams himself, pour a portion of his essence into Sky's mind and there too they would lie together amongst the charred, ashen ruins of the Two Rivers School as simple men—just Ming and Sky—and watch in silence as imaginary white clouds passed the heavens quietly by.

Sky moved first, pressing a knee between Ming’s legs and forcing him backwards into a pillar, one of the supports of their small home. Sky started at Ming’s jaw, biting the bone there as he moved down, his tongue washing over the curve of Ming’s neck, lapping up the beads of sweat that had just begun to form there. Sky traveled slowly, his hands caressing Ming’s sides as he moved further and further down, past the last fringes of Ming’s tattoos at his shoulders, past the firm, toned pectorals, down the stomach and then further to his waist. Ming’s trousers fell to Sky’s deft hands as he sunk to his knees, glancing up once at his Emperor before reaching for his prize. Ming’s lidded gaze stared back at him in wordless assent, bringing one finger to caress Sky’s cheek before he nodded.

Sky started with Ming's shaft, pressing a kiss to the reddish, veined skin there before moving down. He opened his mouth around Ming's balls, lips caressing the curvature of the loose, wrinkled skin. When he moved on he let his hand take his place, cupping, stroking as he licked a trail along the underside of Ming's length, stopping when he reached the very tip. He took the whole head into his mouth. Sky sucked, one hand moving to grasp the rest of Ming's arousal, the other reaching boldly behind Ming's sack to finger his perineum. Ming's knees buckled as Sky caressed that spot, his fingers gracing it with just the barest touch as he suddenly took the entirety of Ming's length into his mouth. Slowly Sky withdrew, his tongue working the underside of Ming's shaft, the little nub of flesh where the two halves of the head joined--a place on Ming particularly sensitive to that sort of stimulation. With a smile Sky continued lapping there, one hand wrapped around the base of Ming's cock, pumping it in time with his rhythm.

Ming gave out a most unregal whimper as he felt every subtlety of Sky's ministrations, every echo of Sky's attentions from just a moment before, the touches reverberating, overlapping, building inside him until the brink of climax. And then Sky stopped, stroking lightly between Ming's legs, tongue wandering lazily over the surface of Ming's shaft. He waited.

Ming's eyes shot open, incensed, desperate. His breath was coming only in deep, shuddering gasps. His chest heaved, his eyes blazed with anger, desire, almost madness. He stared at Sky and the rogue stared back, licking his lips as he whispered his challenge to his Emperor.

"Finish it," Sky said. And then he found himself thrown onto the floor, his fall stopped only by the cruel jerk of his arms twisting behind his back.

Ming summoned skeins of fabric from out of the air—deep, rich scarlet silks cold as ice. They wound themselves tightly around Sky's wrists, coiled up his arms and wound around his shoulders, spreading his over his body a chill that he found strangely exciting. He was hauled to his feet a short distance to his desk and pressed to its surface. A brisk wind from nowhere blew all the papers onto the floor and prickled his skin as Ming forced him down, divested him of the rest of his clothing and ordered him to spread his legs.

Sky groaned as he felt Ming's cock press against his entrance, still wet and warm from his own saliva. His stomach fluttered as a firm hand settled on his hips, steadying him as he felt the beginnings of Ming’s intrusion. It was quick, Sky barely had time to wince before Ming fully sheathed himself. Ming paused there, fingers caressing the cloth wound tightly around Sky’s arms, admiring his lover beneath him, bound and helpless to his whims. Sky turned his head to look at Ming, noting the smirk on his lover’s lips.

“I think you could a use a little more,” Ming whispered. Tendrils of red silk slithered around his shoulders and twined around his neck. They crawled up further, caressing his cheek gently before winding around his eyes, enveloping him in darkness.

“Perfect,” said Ming. Sky waited, it was a terrible, long silence. He moved against Ming inside him, but the bonds at his wrist tightened their hold, and he stopped struggling.

Finally Ming started moving in short, efficient strokes. Strong hands gripped Sky’s waist, moving him along with Ming’s erratic rhythm, pulling him to meet the apex of Ming’s every thrust. It was a swift affair, and neither of them spared the effort for the little pleasures. There was no hand that snaked around Sky’s waist to pump at his erection, there were no words spoken between them, just the raw, occasional grunt and the sound of quick, shallow breaths.

Ming’s eyes rolled back into his head as he closed them, his chest heaving with exertion as he moved them both, his fingers digging hard enough to into Sky’s skin to bruise. His desire was building again from where Sky had last left him, taking its time. Frustrated Ming hurried, speeding up the timing and the strength of his thrusts, almost pulling completely out of Sky with each stroke. The desk shook against the power of their joining, creaking as Ming buried himself over and over again and Sky moaned, arching his back and tightening around Ming’s shaft.

Ming came, his voice a low groan as he bent forward and bit Sky’s shoulder, burying himself in deep in his lover’s scent as he twitched with each wave of ecstasy. Sky’s arousal was beginning to grow painful, what filled him did little to bring him to climax and littler still, he was sure, to fulfilling all of Ming’s needs. There would certainly be more to follow.

Sky found himself being jerked to standing, Ming’s voice behind him, his breath hot against his ear. Ming kissed him, worshipped his neck, biting at the skin as he spoke, his voice soft, sibilant. “The bed,” he said simply, arms circling around Sky’s shoulders as he pressed them close, let his lover feel the solid evidence that no, their activities this night were still far from over.

Sky was handled roughly to the bed and dumped in its blankets, his cock caressed by slick, satin sheets, drawing out a few drops of precum before sure hands turned him around. With a gentle touch from Ming, his bonds disappeared and he could see again. Seizing his chance Sky pulled Ming down to him, hands cupping his face as his legs wound around Ming’s middle, luring him close.

They stayed like that for a short while, limbs wound around each other in a knot of arms, legs, and lips, before their brief respite grew too long and their play grew too heated. Ming rolled on top, his arms spread out on either side, fingers tightly tangled with Sky’s. Ming paused, glanced to either side and sat up, openly admiring the naked, aroused body beneath him. Sky was still hard, the tip of his erection damp with a thick, clear liquid. Ming extended a hand to the air and summoned the blue sash that Sky customarily wore around his waist.

“I’ll have you,” Ming hissed as he bent down for a kiss, “just the way I want you.” He brought both of Sky’s wrists above his head and tied them together with the strip of cloth. He blinked and the ends of Sky’s restraints anchored themselves to the bedpost. Sky pulled on them, but they barely gave an inch.

Ming put a hand under Sky, supporting him as he tilted him up. Sky’s legs settled on Ming’s shoulders as Ming aligned his erection with the tip of Sky’s entrance. He entered slowly this time, for there was no fluid between them to ease the process and he wanted to take his time. Sky twitched with every inch that Ming buried himself, biting his lip to keep from crying out in impatience.

Together they moved, Sky pushing against Ming’s thrusts as hard as he could, his hands tied above his head and his legs dangling from Ming’s shoulders. Ming pushed forward and drew back in deliberate, deep strokes. He moved in slow, measured thrusts, sinking into Sky and then rising again, their breaths mingling in the space between them when they drew close. Desperation made them move faster, the need to bring this to a satisfactory end made them moan throaty gasps that blossomed from where deep inside their chests and rattled them on its way out. Encouraged by his lover, Ming finally wrapped his fingers around Sky’s member, spreading his precum along its entire length and as he worked it in time with their breaths.

The bed seemed to move with them, the sheets sliding back and forth with their motion, unbridled, wild like the winds that swept the palace. Ming drew out their coupling, slowing and almost stopping when he felt Sky get too close to climax, suddenly starting faster and rougher than before when Sky’s frustration reached almost to the levels of fury, glaring at his lover to pick up the pace.

Sky came first when he couldn’t hold it anymore, with a strangled cry and a final push against Ming. He curled up, his cum splashing all on his stomach and chest, mixing with the slick of his sweat. Ming came again shortly thereafter, when Sky was falling from the ecstatic twitches of his orgasm, his passage closing tightly about Ming’s cock and urging him to climax as well.

As Ming pulled out, the sash that bound Sky’s wrists fell, loosening automatically. Sky threw it aside as Ming rolled to the bed beside him. He wiped up the milky drops that covered Sky’s chest, bringing his fingers to Sky’s mouth before tasting it for himself.

Wearily, Sky settled in Ming’s arms as their bodies cooled, the sweat from their exertions disappeared, and the air grew chill from the nightly breeze that wafted through their chambers. As Sky drifted in and out of dozing he fought to remember if there was a time that he hadn’t been encircled by Ming’s protective arms, and though he knew there was, it seemed distant, unimportant. He was Death’s Hand now, serving his Emperor and his Empire, with all the Lotus Assassins for him to command. It didn’t seem so much to him then, as if his life could have taken any other course.

As the nighttime hours passed the fire in the fireplace burned low and despite their weariness, Ming and Sky slept little, Sky never leaving his Emperor’s embrace. He listened to the sounds of Ming’s heart, a steady, solid beat that he knew would be constant, abiding, as enduring as the Wall itself. As long as the Empire stood, Ming would be there, eternal and unchanging like all the other gods who populated the heavens. Thinking of it kept him up at night, even nestled so close in the arms of his dearly beloved. One day—Sky knew—he would die, and the one place the Emperor’s power could not extend was to the man who slept every night by his side. What then? Beset on all sides by potential enemies, without him, Ming would be alone.

Sky shifted, worry written all over his face. He closed his eyes, but sleep would not come to him.

“Something’s on your mind,” Ming said, suddenly. His fingers worked the knot of the ribbon that held Sky’s hair up, and when he did away with that, he combed through Sky’s hair gently, down all the way to the ends which fell somewhere below his shoulders. Ming bent low to meet his consort face-to-face. “Tell me,” he said fiercely, “I would do anything for you.” It was a confession Ming made rarely, even in the privacy of their own bed.

Sky paused, working up the courage to speak. Ming waited patiently, his eyes sharp, searching Sky’s gaze and drawing, willing the words to spill forth.

“I’ve often thought to myself,” Sky began, “what will you do when I die?”

A small smile crossed Ming’s face. He nodded slowly—once, twice. “I have thought of it often as well,” he replied earnestly, “perhaps about as much as you. There are many options,” Ming continued, his voice a quiet murmur, “and I have thought them all through.”

Ming wrapped a warm, tattooed arm around Sky’s shoulder and pressed a heavy kiss on Sky’s mouth. He whispered his response, his lips barely hovering in the space above Sky’s, his voice so muted that Sky could barely hear the answer.

“When you die, my love, it will be a torment only my presence can ease. I will take your spirit and bind it to your armor, and you will always be at my side and serve me forever.”

Ming rolled on top of Sky, pressed his weight into his mortal lover. Insistent hands cupped Sky’s face and pulled them together. They parted minutes after, chests heaving—panting, living, lusting.

Sky lifted his eyes to gaze at Ming, the first rays of dawn lending a holy, orange-gold light to the scales of the tattoos that covered his shoulders and arms. Sky searched his Emperor’s dark gaze and there he found order, symmetry, fate. His hands wandered up Ming’s sides, stroking smooth skin in hallowed reverence.

“I serve only you,” Sky whispered.

*~*~*

crossposted to jade_empire

[FIC] 子夜四時歌：春 (Jade Empire, Sky/Ming OP)

2007-03-31T17:21:38Z

This all started when I beat the PC version for the first time and was subsequently craving some ‘Jade Empire yaoi,’ so I did a search for exactly that on Google. Irony of ironies, my own blog turned up as the first hit. I took that as a sign that there was a void that needed to be filled, so here I am filling it.

This piece was originally supposed to be just one part of four, but hell, who am I kidding? The only reason I started this at all was the lack of Ming/Sky smut on the internet. The original four part fic was supposed to expand a bit on their leadership of the Guild (with more gratuitous references to "The Water Margin") as well as include appearances by the other NPCs of the game, but I've sort of given up and realized that if I wanted to do that, I probably would've started with that, and not with the pr0n.

So here you go. Pr0ns. :3

Title: 子夜四時歌：春 ~ Song of Four Seasons Midnight: Spring
Series: Jade Empire
Pairing: Sky/Furious Ming (open palm)
Warnings: explicit sex, not worksafe

*~*~*

For a moment, Sky looked bewildered. The door hadn't seemed so high up just seconds ago. He took a look around. His cup was overturned, on the floor, in one piece but sitting in a pool of wine. A chair—probably his chair—was also on the floor, legs facing up. And he was—oh. Sky breathed a little word of realization as he got his bearings.

"All right, get up." Furious Ming stared down at his lover, shaking his head. "It's about time we called it a night." He bent down and offered Sky a hand. "I think you've had too much to drink," said Ming as he swing Sky's arm over his shoulder and helped him stagger to his feet.

"Goodnight, boys," Ming said on his way out, waving at the four Guild lieutenants that Sky had affectionately dubbed his 'Minions of Chaos.' For Chaos, they were surprisingly honorable, intelligent, and well-meaning men, sipping their wine discreetly as they bid their leaders (who they had affectionately dubbed the ‘Princes of Disorder’) a good night as they beat an unsteady retreat back to their chambers. In the back of his mind, Ming tried very hard not to think about exactly how inebriated he was. He hadn't even noticed Sky's sudden descent to the floor until he heard the loud ground-shaking thud and the clatter of the chair, but since he'd at least noticed before Sky did, that meant that he was the more sober of the pair and therefore it was his job to get them back to their rooms before they ended up sprawled on top of each other someplace rather embarrassing—someplace rather public.

"You're drunk," Ming said, as they made their way about the corridors of the Guild Hall near Tien’s Landing that had once belonged to Gao the Greater.

Sky snorted. "Nonsense. You're drunk too."

"My being drunk," Ming said slowly, pausing between phrases to make sure he was constructing them right, "doesn't make you...any less drunk."

Sky stopped, one arm still slung around Ming's shoulder. He leaned back, narrowed his eyes, and gave Ming a discerning look. "Of course it does," Sky said, so matter-of-factly that Ming couldn’t come up with a proper response, and with a sigh just let the matter drop.

"But least I can walk," Ming finally remarked after a long silence, as if walking made all the difference.

"I'm walking too."

"That's because I'm helping you," Ming replied, "if you haven't noticed yet."

"Oh, trust me," Sky said, a grin spreading across his face, "I've noticed." Then he lurched forward and Ming had to do his best to steady the both of them as they continued stumbling about the halls.

“I'll have you know," Sky continued after it seemed that they were heading in the right direction, "that if I put my mind to it, I think I can outdrink Black Whirlwind." His words slurred a bit as they spoke, and it took Ming’s brain a few extra seconds to figure out exactly what it was Sky was trying to say.

"…And you'd be dead by morning,” concluded Ming, after some thought. He figured the only man he knew who could possibly outdrink Black Whirlwind was Henpecked Hou, who had unfortunately given that up some years ago.

"Ah, but not if I played my cards right," Sky said. "You want to make a bet?”

"I would," Ming replied, "if it weren't for the fact that you already fix most of the betting around here."

Sky shrugged. "Only most. I like to leave some things to chance."

"I think chance would leave me with two dead drunkards on my hands."

Sky groggily regarded Ming for a moment. "Are you implying I’m going to die of drink?"

"Yes," Ming said, "yes, I am. That man's consumed enough wine to flood the Imperial City. You, at most, would only flood a district."

“But my Minions of Chaos bring me such great wine," Sky protested. He was starting to look a little steadier now, though not by much. “Besides,” he said, sobering a little, “it’s not often I find myself in company I trust enough to get drunk with.”

Ming was relieved that their rooms were just a corridor away, it was rather embarrassing to be helping a reeling, drunken Sky back to their rooms, and even worse that Sky insisted on speaking to him by breathing directly on his neck and ear. Ming knew he was red, and he thanked the fact that wine looked roughly the same on him as blushing did.

"I think I come up with some of my best plans after a few bowls."

"I hope you think differently when you're sober," Ming replied. He steadied Sky, opened the door to their chambers, and helped him through. "There." Ming dumped Sky unceremoniously on the bed with a giant flop, but the wine had gotten to him too and he didn’t react fast enough to dodge the arms that wrapped around his neck and pulled him down after.

"You're not going anywhere," Sky whispered, his eyes glittering with amusement. He pulled Ming close for a kiss, and Ming didn't resist.

"Your head's going to be throbbing like a drum in the morning," Ming said with a smile when the kiss finally broke.

"Hmm," was Sky's only reply. He rolled over, pinning Ming beneath him and buried his face in his lover's neck, nibbling gently at the skin of Ming’s jawline.

"Your ass too," Ming smirked, his hands coming to Sky's waist and untying the knot of his belt.

Sky paused. “Now what was that?” he asked softly. “If you want me, you’ll have to fight for me.”

Ming’s eyes flashed. “Done.” Before he even finished speaking, Ming grabbed a handful of blue cloth around Sky’s waist and pulled.

When Sky had had their bed assembled and installed in his room—on the highest floor of the Hall—for solid two days the lower ranked Guild members had talked only of one thing: what in the heavens did Sky need with a bed large enough to fit six? And when Ming had asked him, in private, why he seemed to tolerate such rumors, Sky had simply laughed and shrugged.

“That’s answer even a child could figure out,” he had replied. “…An older child, I hope,” he’d added after a moment’s pause.

Sky rolled away, quickly before Ming had gotten a good enough grip to divest him of his clothing. Ming had rolled the other way, and they crouched facing each other, just a few feet away, ready to spring, waiting for the other to make the first move.

There were only three cardinal, unbreakable rules on the giant bed that Sky referred to lovingly as, “The Ring.” Touching, rolling, or falling out of the bed was considered out of bounds, and therefore an instant forfeit. The second rule was that only the knees or higher body parts were allowed to bear weight in the Ring (standing was forbidden, the canopy hung too low to allow it), and last was that three taps or ten seconds, whichever came first, signaled surrender. Anything and everything else was legal.

“Nice,” Sky said, searching for Ming’s next move, “going for the pants.”

“Could’ve locked your knees up,” Ming replied. Sky’s pants hadn’t escaped the initial attack completely unscathed, the sash he wore around his waist was lying between them, and they were beginning to slip down one hip, which meant he had to act soon or suffer a blow to his mobility.

Sky lunged, Ming rolled, and they met again moments later—grappling, pinning, wrestling—as pillows and sheets flew off the bed amidst the scuffle. Ming saw an arm swipe at him and he ducked to the side, swinging a leg around Sky’s waist and trying to lock him down. Sky rolled into him and kept going, pressing him to the bed with his greater bulk, but in the process Ming had somehow managed to twist most of himself free, and was making progress in dragging Sky back down to the bed.

Clothes were somehow lost in the row, blankets shoved onto the floor in a mass exodus away from the two writhing bodies at the bed’s center. Minutes later, Ming ended up with an arm pinned against his side by the inside of Sky’s thigh, and something pressed into his lower back that most certainly was not Sky’s knee.

Ming tapped the bed three times and the weight sitting on him got up and rolled off. Ming freed his arm and turned to the side, Sky immediately spooning up behind him, wrapping possessive arms around his waist. “You win,” Ming conceded.

“I do,” Sky said, his voice sounding both amused and satisfied. He graced Ming with a consolatory kiss. “And what was that you said earlier?”

Ming began grumbling a response but then he paused mid-sentence as a particular thought occurred to him.

Ming turned to regard his lover. “…You’re not drunk at all are you, Sky?”

Sky laughed. He nuzzled Ming’s neck. “Ah, my last, inebriated Spirit Monk, you are correct.”

Ming was speechless. “H-How?”

“The key,” Sky explained smugly, “lies in not making a face when drinking that restorative potion.”

“You cheated,” Ming accused with a scowl, nevertheless returning the little kiss that Sky placed on his lips.

“Technically, no. If I was really as drunk as I led you to believe, you would have won for the same reasons I just did.” Ming muttered something under his breath, but Sky continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I merely led you to believe I was drunk and I think the fact that this charade went on for so long is a good indication of exactly how much wine you’ve consumed.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Sky chuckled, cuddling Ming closer and letting his hands wander a little below the waistline. “I’ll let you make good on that in the morning. But for tonight, love, you’re all mine.”

It was tempting to give in, to give Sky what he wanted. Guild business was keeping him busy, and they hadn’t had the time or energy recently to do much when they finally found themselves together. There was no good reason not to, and hadn’t Sky earned his reward after all, for being such a fine actor?

So Ming surrendered. He closed his eyes, let his mind settle and focus on the touches that ran the length of his body. He let Sky hold him, stroke him, let Sky press wet kisses on his neck and his shoulders, biting and growling playfully. It was rare for Sky to be at a loss for words, they were the main tools of his charm, but in bed Sky was all moans and murmurs, punctuated only by the occasional short instruction. Ming turned in Sky’s embrace, facing his lover and wrapping tattooed arms around his shoulders, pulling them together for a lazy, languid kiss.

They shed the rest of their clothing—whatever had been spared in the preceding tussle—and abandoned them in a far corner of the bed where they would serve no more distraction. Naked now they twined together, skin pressed flush against skin. One of Sky’s legs locked around Ming’s waist, pinning him down firmly as Sky captured his lips again.

The kiss didn’t last long, more insistent desires had risen to the forefront of their minds. Sky’s hand reached between them and wrapped strong fingers around Ming’s sex, stroking slowly. Ming arched into that caress, his hips rising to meet Sky at the apex of every stroke, encouraging further and more detailed attentions. Patiently Sky waited, focusing only on his lover and his needs. He brought Ming to the brink of climax and slowly let him sink back down, still unsatisfied.

“Wha—“ Ming began to protest, but a finger on his lips cut him short.

“Shh,” Sky soothed. “Just not yet.” He gave Ming a roguish wink, but the spirit monk remained unplacated. Ming said nothing, but from the frustrated looks he was shooting his lover, Sky knew he would be getting his due, and more, come morning. If that was the case, might as well make the best of it.

“Turn around,” Sky ordered. Ming obeyed, turning onto his stomach and waiting for Sky.

Sky paused for a moment, openly admiring the intricate dragon that graced Ming’s back. It almost seemed to move of its own will in the dim, flickering candlelight, rising and falling with each of Ming’s breaths. The dragon moved with Ming when he fought, with each strike, each ripple of the muscle and taut sinew of his back, the reason why Sky loved so much to watch him fight. It was why when Ming was training the Guild men in combat, Sky would always find a reason to stand on the sidelines and follow Ming’s agile, elegant movement.

Ming squirmed with impatience, shaking Sky briefly from his reflection. Sky acquiesced, bending down to Ming’s shoulder and placing a kiss there. He trailed kisses down Ming’s spine until he came to the hip. Ghosting his lips over the skin there, he gripped Ming’s waist firmly and pulled him to his knees. Ming let out a muffled whimper as Sky’s mouth traveled even lower, spread him, and tongued his entrance lightly—just enough to tease.

There was a moment’s pause and Ming looked over his shoulder, wondering what why Sky was taking his time.

“Relax,” Sky said in response to Ming’s questioning look, and without more preamble Ming felt a gentle finger probe and enter him.

Sky worked him delicately, taking great pains to prepare him properly. Half of it was that he cared for Ming’s wellbeing; there was a time reserved for wild, unbridled sex, but in the confines of their own bed with the whole night ahead of them, they could afford a few moments of tenderness. The other half of Sky’s patient attention was that he loved to see Ming writhe beneath him in frustration. It wasn’t often that he held the spirit monk completely under his thumb, moaning into the pillows and jerking his hips in pleasure, and Sky was going to enjoy every moment of it.

Finally when Sky deemed Ming ready, he pulled out his fingers and guided his own shaft to Ming’s entrance. He placed one hand on Ming’s hip to steady himself, and then closed his eyes and pushed in.

Ming grunted, holding his breath as he tensed, pushing back against Sky’s intrusion. He forced himself, little by little to relax, breathing forcefully when it hitched somewhere deep inside his chest. He whimpered a little when Sky stopped, fully buried. And then together, slowly, they began to rock.

Ming’s fists curled in the sheets, gripping for purchase as he thrust back against Sky, trying to meet the older man’s rising rhythm. Their movements now were governed by nature, by a force as old as heaven and more ancient than the Empire, as primal as the first mortal beings that walked the land. To Sky, it seemed perfectly natural to slip a hand around Ming’s hips and stroke him as well, for Ming’s pleasure was just as important to Sky as his own. Likewise for Ming, it did not seem strange for him to moan, to push against the chest that crouched at his back, to seek contact—skin to skin—with Sky, to slide against him and move with him, the man he loved.

They spoke silently as they coupled, with looks and touches. Ming bent low, turned his head as Sky’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled them close for a kiss. Ming came with a strangled whimper, Sky nuzzling his neck and trailing a kiss to his throat. They stayed like that for a few moments, and then Sky hauled him up and held him in his arms, burying his nose in Ming’s hair. The night was still young, Ming’s drink was wearing off, but they started again, Ming wrapping his arms around Sky’s neck and settling, lowering himself on his lover’s erection which had hardly waned at all so far during the night.

When they were done they cleaned each other off, hands and mouths wandering all over until the candles sputtered low and the only light in the room came from the light of the moon. They lay in each other’s arms and talked quietly—Guild business, memories, plans, promises. They laughed, satisfied, Ming especially content as he settled himself on Sky’s shoulders in wonder that the hardships they had suffered three years ago already seemed to far away, melted into the past.

Three years ago. Three years ago since he’d died at the hands of the man he had called ‘Master’ for all his life. Three years ago since Sky’s heart had been crushed a second time. Three years ago in the summer, the blizzard winds whipping the broken stones of Dirge when they first swore oaths to each other in hushed tones, speaking only of ‘the end’ because it was too much to hope for a beginning.

“And here we are,” Ming murmured, a little amused as he thought back on his life as a student of Master Li at the Two Rivers school. “I don’t think I ever would have thought that I’d end up sleeping in a man’s bed as one of the two leaders of the Guild.”

“Hmmm,” Sky said sleepily, roused out of a doze by Ming’s voice. “I find that life is a little more interesting when it tosses you some surprises.”

“Never thought you’d ever have a man in your bed either, Sky?”

”Can’t say it crossed my mind as often as my other options,” Sky admitted. He heaved a quiet sigh and shifted a bit, finding a more comfortable position but maintaining the possessive arm he had slung around Ming’s waist. “But now, I wouldn’t give you up for the world.”

“The entire world?”

“Well…” Sky paused in thought. “No,” he finally concluded, “I would much rather have the last spirit monk in my bed than the entire world. This bed couldn’t fit it all anyway.”

Ming snorted. He could see Sky’s sleepy grin, even if he wasn’t the right position to turn and see it.

Ming’s eyelids were beginning to droop heavily, and he felt sleep creeping up on him unawares. Sated and weary, he decided to succumb to sleep. “Goodnight, Sky,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, love,” Sky replied, emphatically nibbling on Ming’s ear. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your revenge in the morning.”

“Count on it.”

Sky chuckled. “I always do.”

And they drifted off to a peaceful, dreamless sleep as cool spring winds wafted through their chambers, carrying with them the smells of a coming rain and the promise of many, many years together.

*~*~*

crossposted to jade_empire