Foolish Pride
Pairing: Phoenix Wright x Miles Edgeworth
Summary: Miles finds Phoenix after 7 years. Their reunion is not quite how Phoenix expects it to be. Takes place just before the Apollo Justice cases. Warning: Spoilers till end of AJ, rape.
Written in response to a prompt on the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme on Livejournal: I want to see someone choking Edgeworth with his cravat. Maybe during or before rape. and a later comment: Brownie points if you can somehow work it into being Phoenix believably. Challenge yourselves anon! I like challenges. :D
This was not how he expected their reunion to be - if he had expected to meet him again at all, to begin with.
All those months, turned years, of letter writing, maintaining a facade of well-being and good cheer... crumble around him, like the countless balls of letter paper of penned and abandoned drafts he tosses towards the waste basket in frustration, as his eyes catch sight of him.
Clothed in a suit, dark red - the colour of grape juice, eternal cravat around his neck, elegance that age never took away, silver hair neatly framing a clean-shaven face, he stands out like a sore thumb in this hole. He is part of the elite in the legal industry. He doesn't belong here, not in his company.
"I was told that if I'm looking for a good game of poker, the best man plays here."
His voice resonates to his very bones, leaves them tingling. Yet, his stare is blank as he deadpans, "That man's busy playing the piano tonight."
He turns in his seat to face the black-suited, white-teethed demon welcoming him with its open, laughing mouth. It is probably the first time he has chosen it over a game of cards.
His fingers take a moment to find the right keys.
The other's fingers take the same time to find his shoulder.
He jerks at the touch, standing abruptly, violently whirls around.
Their eyes meet.
He scowls - a facial expression he has only picked up these recent years.
The other senses it, the difference, his ire. He sees it in those grey eyes - how they struggle not to dart away to the side as they so often do.
But the other doesn't run away. He is strong. His strength is one reason he attracts him and holds his admiration. Yet, he wishes that for this one time, he would turn and flee and forget ever seeing him.
His hands rise, furiously grabbing his dark red collar, fingers brushing over white silk.
The other doesn't flinch, steadily holds his gaze.
"I didn't want to see you." His voice is cold with frost.
I didn't want you to see me... not like this.
He would have been crying, except, he has shut himself to caring for so long, he's not sure he remembers how to.
"You said in your letters that you were doing well." The other's tone is accusatory. How dare he be!
"I am." He brings him closer, returns in his face. Was. Until you came and saw me.
"Wright..." And he shudders at his name on the other's lips. It stirs memories he wants to forget, wants to remember. "...Let me help you."
Haunts his dreams, haunts his nightmares.
"I don't need your help!"
"I know how it feels to be trapped in darkness. I was there before. And at a point when I thought I should have been dead, you came and saved me… Let me repay--"
His hand moves swiftly from dark red, fingers closing over the link to white silk.
The other's breath hitches as he's forced to stop mid-sentence.
His fingers draw further back, pulling harder at the cloth.
He smiles. Lazy. Predatory. A smile he sees, copies, and uses over the card table.
Because it unsettles his opponents.
As it is unsettling him.
His mouth opens in an attempt to speak, but all that comes out are embarrassing squeaks.
He crushes his open mouth, harshly shoves his tongue in. It is the first kiss they share in years. It's not brimming with warmth, slow and sensual, as he had imagined it would be. The softness of the other's lips is but a fleeting note, quickly overwhelmed by the sensations on his tongue – from feeling, tasting, re-familiarising, sucking, enveloping, completely.
The other claws at his arms, by second weakening. But it is only when he has drunk his fill that he releases him with a last lick over his lips.
The thin breaths draw a frown, make him loosen his vice-like grip on the other's cravat. Slightly.
He watches as the other drinks in air, parted lips swollen moist, hooded eyes refusing to look at him, brush of rose-pink stark on pale cheeks, silver hair incandescent, bathed in the warm glow of tungsten lamp.
The image travels right to his groin.
And suddenly, his face is buried in that dark red of his favourite drink.
The other gasps a strangled cry as his fingers tightens over fabric once more.
He drinks deeply, the other's smell, too familiar. They call upon a forgotten past, memories he has been trying to repress, because he could never return to them.
A sudden anxiety, hunger, that he cannot seem to hold down.
He pushes the other into the nearest surface.
The resounding CLANG that results makes his mind register briefly that it is the piano. The other's hands leave smudges as they press on the polished surface. His hands finally leave his cravat - one hand hugs him around his shoulder to hold his back pressed against his chest, as the other flies rapidly over belt and zipper.
The other is panting hard for air, breathless, quite incapable of resistance, as he pushes away the hindering fabrics, pulling him into a better position. He feels every shuddery breath drawn in, feels the violent shivers that wreck his form.
"W-wrigh..."
The other twists his head around. He is still shivering.
He averts his eyes, gaze flicking downward to watch his hand slide over curve of smooth unmarred skin in an intimate caress that ends at the hipbone.
"I-I want you too… But not like--"
this
Was lost, drowned, in a ear-piercing, heartwrenching scream.
He breached him.
Tear, tore, torn.
The scream drags as he thrusts, then breaks into broken, high-pitched cries.
Too long, too soon, he spills into him.
And then, they're two helpless bodies, collapsing ungracefully over a piano that softly protests the abuse of its keys.
Teardrops fall, splatter splatter, onto the white and black keys.
He can't still the shaking in his hand as it leaves his hip to wrap around him, hugging him close, tight.
They are both crying.
"I couldn't accept it."
It is a long moment before he finally breaks the silence, his voice no louder than a whisper.
"Maybe so much of it was chasing after you that I hadn't realised how much the rest of being a defense attorney meant to me. Until I lost my badge. It hurt... so much... so much it became easier to suppress the pain by stopping to care. I was walking through the courthouse, sitting in empty courtrooms, seeing myself at the defense stand, seeing you, and sometimes, Gavin's little brother, in the prosecutor's bench across, thinking how I wouldn't be able to continue chasing the truth as I had promised you, how I had failed to properly live your dream. I spent days sitting in the office remembering Mia and her words. Every little thing she said to me. They were suddenly crystal clear. How a defense attorney should believe in their client, and always put on a smile in front of them, and never cry till it's truly over. And then, I cried."
Pressing his face into the other's shoulder, his shoulders heave, tears staining the other's jacket an even deeper red...
He feels a light touch on his hand - brush of fingertips that become a whole hand and spread fingers gently covering over his own.
"It's not over yet…"
He cringes. The other's voice was an effortful whisper, hoarse and raw.
"It'll be alright."
Regret, pain, guilt.
He should be the one comforting him after what he has done!
"Let me help you."
He nods wordlessly. The other isn't able to see the movement, but he is sure he can feel it on his back. He has no idea how he can help, but he says he can, and he trusts him.
He relaxes his embrace as he feels the other attempt to turn - but his step falters and he is sliding down. His stomach clenches as he quickly hugs him close once more.
Slowly, he turns him, careful as though handling a precious porcelain doll.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm so sorry."
The other looks up at him, gaze steady, unreadable.
He sees, too clearly, the tear-stained cheeks.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so--unf!"
That kiss, slow, warm, intoxicating, is just how he imagined it to be when he finally meets the other again.
6th July 2008