Author's Notes: Thank you all for your kind reviews and comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter; I know it's been a long wait for this scene.


Part Twelve

Edgeworth looked at Phoenix, eyes wide, surprised and disbelieving. He was barefoot, dressed only in a soft-looking red button down and dark slacks, caught looking unprofessional and relaxed.

Phoenix had planned so many things to say when he saw the prosecutor again. He'd had a whole week to think about his rival, his friend, to consider what he wanted, to imagine and insufferably wait. All his words died on his tongue as they faced each other across the threshold.

Edgeworth finally broke the silence. "Phoenix," he said, softly, like the opening note of a symphony.

That was all it took.

Phoenix had chased after this man his entire life. Had changed his career for him. Worried about him. Trusted him. Been angry at him, hurt by him, overjoyed with him. Everything had always been about Miles.

And he was done waiting.

The suitcase hit the floor as Phoenix stepped forward, lifted his hands to Miles's face, and crushed their lips together.

Miles drew in a shuddering gasp and returned his kiss with equal, desperate fervor. He felt a heady rush, his heart soaring at Miles's response. The hope he'd kept buried, nearly silenced, burst into vibrant song as the prosecutor circled his arms around his back and hauled him inside the hotel room.

"Wait," Phoenix gasped, parting reluctantly to slip back and retrieve his luggage from the hallway. "Okay, now we can–"

He was pushed to the wall in an instant. Miles swallowed his words, chased them away with his tongue, mouth hot and greedy and impatient. A hand slid through his hair and another wrapped around his waist, fingers splayed against his lower back.

After all the hesitant contact, respectful of boundaries; the tentative responses; the yearning for Miles to be closer; to grab hold and just touch – to finally have Miles braced against him felt hotter, better than he had ever imagined. Phoenix arched into him, bodies flush together, all heat and strength and hard, enticing lines. The months of frustration, days spent wondering, hours of aching want: the buildup of years poured out between them with each frantic press of lips. The cathartic release grew into an insistent, overwhelming need.

He let his jacket drop to the floor and fumbled at Miles's shirt, hands shaking, trembling with excitement, each inadvertent brush of his fingers against bare skin electric. He pressed his mouth to Miles's throat, tongue dipping into the hollow, tasting, savoring, collar hastily shoved aside to let his mouth roam.

"D-Don't you dare leave another mark," Miles ordered, the fluttering of his pulse under Phoenix's lips betraying his demand.

Another. Miles had let him do this before, allowed him get close – the thought of Miles's long pale neck, tell-tale bruise hidden under his cravat, proof he'd let Phoenix kiss him, desire him... It sent his blood racing, speeding on a direct line between his legs. Brazen, he nipped at a spot just above his collar bone, worrying the thin skin with his teeth, tonguing, lingering, until Miles's breath hitched and his hips bucked against him. The friction, the unmistakable brush of their arousals against one another, just for a moment, felt incredible.

It was worth the sudden clatter of buttons against the tiled entry floor, another of his dress shirts ruined.

"Careful," Phoenix said, more breathless than reproachful, panting against his newly-made mark. "I didn't bring a lot of clothes, you know."

"If I have my way, you won't need any at all."

Fuck.

His hips rocked forward entirely on their own, responding to those words and that delicious, low cadence in Miles's voice. He kissed Miles again, deeply, scorching. After that kind of provocation, he let his hands slide down Miles's back, beneath his waist, kneading at firm flesh. His mind filled with graphic depictions of what he wanted to do to Miles, with Miles, because now he knew Miles wanted him too.

Warm hands spread across his exposed chest, tender around the last fading bruises, eliciting a low hum of approval from him. Miles's broad palms swept in unhurried circles, teasing, before drifting steadily down. They settled near his waist and rubbed against the heated skin just below his navel. In turn Phoenix dragged his mouth along Miles's neck, slow, and let his tongue trace his ear, breath hot against the sensitive shell. That fine, grey hair almost tickled as he nosed against it, inhaling deeply, lost in the citrusy aroma and, beneath it, the headier, masculine scent of Miles himself.

His remaining clothing had grown uncomfortably tight.

Trails of gooseflesh rose on his skin at the loss of the prosecutor's hands. Miles stepped back: shirt open, face flushed, eyes dark with need. Phoenix etched the image indelibly into his memory, to feature endlessly in every future fantasy.

"Do you want to stay?"

Miles's voice was pitched low and hoarse, knowing the answer but obliged to ask. Even still, there was a note of uncertainty, as if he were afraid Phoenix would leave.

"More than anything," he answered, nakedly honest.

The look on Miles's face – intense, focused, lustful – set his blood thrumming, singing in his veins. He followed the prosecutor into a carpeted suite, shedding his damaged shirt in the hallway, eyeing the shift of muscles across Miles's backside.

An enormous bed took up most of the wall, luxurious for one person, irresistible for two. Their eyes met, the implication clear.

They should probably talk first. Figure out what would happen between them before plunging into intimacy. But – they knew each other. Phoenix wanted this, wanted Miles, wanted everything, for longer than he cared to remember. There'd be no turning back.

He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to Miles's lips, and promptly pushed him onto the mattress.

Miles reclined against the pillows, watched with heated interest as Phoenix toed off his shoes, undid his belt, pushed his trousers to the floor. Left only in his boxers, Phoenix braced his knees on either side of Miles's thighs, arms on his shoulders, hovering above. Miles's hands rose to his flanks, drifted down and over his hips, inviting.

The sight of Miles beneath him, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, sent something primal slinking down his spine. Their mouths met again, tongues tangling slowly, as Phoenix leaned down, bare skin finally meeting, warm and exhilarating. He could feel Miles against him, and it was tempting, so tempting, to just roll his hips endlessly until they were both reduced to shuddering wrecks. He canted forward, enough to brush together through their remaining clothing, to feel the delicious friction, unable to stifle his moan.

Miles clenched his fingers against his back, a pleasured noise escaping his throat, infinitely appealing. Phoenix wanted, needed to hear it again, louder, more frantic.

"God Miles," he murmured, breathless. He pushed the dark red shirt out of the way and ran his palm along the firm line of Miles's chest. Moving slowly, his mouth left a warm, wet trail as he descended that pale torso, completely smooth and deceptively broad.

He dragged his hands along Miles's sides, up over his ribs across heated skin. He brushed his thumbs against pale pink nubs and relished the resulting sharp inhale of breath. His tongue darted against one in wide hard swipes, his fingers circling and teasing its twin. Miles arched his back, breath growing ragged, fingers gripping Phoenix's biceps as he rolled his hips up again, rough and insistent, drawing out a groan from Phoenix.

It felt good, so good, and yet it was not nearly enough.

Phoenix shifted further down Miles's legs, enough to undo the button and zipper beneath him, and curled his fingers under the waistband. A final glance up, to make sure; Miles's eyes were locked on him, grey pools of liquid heat. Asking without words, agreeing without question. His pulse hammering, heart barely contained in his chest at what he was being allowed to do, Phoenix tugged both slacks and fitted boxer-briefs over Miles's hips and pulled them down mid-thigh.

He raked his eyes over the picture in front of him, permanently seared into thoughts, into his very molecules – he'd dream about this moment for the rest of his life: Miles, eyes dark with want, completely bared for him, framed by the deep red shirt spread beneath his shoulders and the darker clothing at his legs. Pale skin, like porcelain, flawless except for the mark, his mark, at his neck. Taut, toned muscles, hard and strong. Silvery hairs neatly nestled around his very obvious arousal.

Beautiful. Mouthwatering. All for him.

Banks had thought Miles a perfect statue, but he was utterly wrong. No statue would breathe so heavily, chest rising and falling in anticipation. Or sport a light flush, the reddish tint on his cheeks spreading down attractively. A statue was motionless, lifeless. Miles was magnificently, wondrously alive, shifting restlessly, a glare starting to form as Phoenix drank him in. Not a statue – but perfect nonetheless.

"Either do something or kindly get off," Miles huffed, blushing, annoyed and growing self-conscious at how long Phoenix simply stared at him.

He couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face. "I think we're both going to do that."

Miles's answering, irritated groan was stifled in a heated kiss.

He slid his palm over Miles's hipbone, tracing that hard, defined line where leg joined body. Teased the light curls. Slipped his hand down to cup gently between Miles's legs, rolling the delicate skin softly, almost-but-not-quite touching where he was wanted most. And Miles – his breath turned into short, shallow pants, eyes closed, fingers digging white-knuckled into the covers, nearly writhing in desperation.

"You have no idea how much I want you," Phoenix breathed, something very close to awe suffusing his voice.

Those eyes opened, just a sliver of grey, and Miles's hand shot to Phoenix's shoulder and roughly pulled him down, cheek-to-cheek, chest-to-chest, all feverish skin and pounding heartbeats. His mouth found Phoenix's ear, warm air ghosting over it as he let out a frustrated noise.

"Then just touch me, Phoenix!"

God. He would hear those words every time he looked at Miles now, every time they faced each other in court, the demanding plea overriding whatever objections Miles pointed out.

Finally, finally, he lightly brushed his hand against Miles, teasing, thrilled at the needy moan Miles let out. He wrapped his fingers around him more firmly, stroking slowly, and kissed him, thrusting his tongue inside to twine wetly with Miles. That desperate, hungry noise reverberated into his mouth, straight into his bones. It galvanized him, his wrist flexing faster, determined to make Miles tremble with want. Miles's hands gripped his back, keeping them close together as he pushed up against him. Phoenix rocked his own still-clothed hardness into the jut of Miles's hip, an erratic rhythm starting to form between them.

He had never been so turned on in his life.

Without warning Miles tensed, his body tightening beneath him. For a brief, startled moment Phoenix thought he had finished already; but Miles rolled them over, spun Phoenix onto his back to reverse their positions. Miles gazed down at him with that hard, arrogant stare that reduced others to ashes – but Phoenix saw the flicker in his expression, desirous, turning into something altogether smoldering.

No; they were far from finished.

Miles dropped his shirt to the floor, a clear signal that his careful control had at last eroded away. He kicked off his loosened slacks and in one swift movement he stripped Phoenix of his last bit of clothing.

Nothing left between them now.

He felt a blush spread across his face as Miles, in turn, looked his fill, his heated gaze almost like a physical touch as it traveled the length of him. And even with his fading bruises he must have looked good enough, appealing enough, because he heard Miles make a low noise, almost like a growl, a sound that set his nerves on rapturous edge. Miles straddled his hips and leaned down onto him, pressed in close and intimate, gloriously meeting him everywhere.

Phoenix roamed his hands across Miles's back and sides, all smooth skin over hard muscle, and felt Miles explore as much of him as his hands could reach: his arms, his chest, his stomach. Each touch lingered, Miles learning every part of him, as though he were something unique and exquisite and cherished. And his pulse nearly skipped a beat as he realized, undeniably, that he meant something to Miles, was worth something, that he might occupy the same special place in Miles's thoughts and heart that his friend had in his own.

Perhaps he was worth everything to Miles after all.

Those heady thoughts were promptly scattered, to be closely examined later, when Miles pressed their mouths together again and gently bit at his lower lip, pulling at it, commanding his attention. The kiss deepened, Miles's tongue dipping in and out almost obscenely, a prelude, perhaps a promise. It was thoroughly distracting.

He was thus caught completely unprepared for the sensation of a hand tunneling around him, warm and unfamiliar and startlingly good. He bucked up wildly, his voice loud and unrestrained, the sensations more searing for their unexpectedness, a retaliation for his earlier teasing.

"Jerk," he muttered, when he could finally breathe again, as he continued to grind against those long, clever fingers. Miles caught his half-hearted glower, and a smirk briefly tugged at the corners of his mouth in return. It was a look unlike any Phoenix had ever seen on Miles, something open and almost mischievous, and he wondered if Edgeworth – Miles – had ever looked at anyone else like that. He had no choice but to kiss that smile.

Miles ran his hands up along Phoenix's chest, soothing, and braced his arms against his shoulders. He circled his hips, deliberate and maddeningly slow. Their arousals brushed against their stomachs, against each other, the friction and sensation achingly, wonderfully good. Phoenix met the next circle, and each one after, rolling his hips against Miles: point and counterpoint, ebb and flow, like a duet, following each other perfectly.

No other fantasy would do now. Phoenix knew he was ruined, spoiled by the decadent sense of Miles sliding against him with his name tumbling from his lips. He reached between their shifting bodies and touched Miles's hardness, touched himself as well. His hand could barely wrap around both lengths; but then Miles joined him, the two of them more than enough. They moved their hands together, stroking along both their lengths, a rough push-and-pull as they still circled their hips.

"Don't stop, Miles, please don't stop," he gasped, babbling, begging, words breathy with desire. His eyes fell shut, his body trembling. He could sense his release building, the chorus of sensation spreading through him. Phoenix felt he could stay like this forever, mind fogged with pleasure: the slip-slide of skin against skin; their mingled moans; their every movement languid and sensual. It was possibly the most erotic experience of his life.

But Miles soon ground his hips one final time, and halted.

"W-Why did you stop?" Phoenix panted, nearly a whine, need obvious in his voice. If they'd just moved a bit more- and Miles had seemed close as well…

Miles indeed was close, lying across Phoenix, his attention focused on the nightstand drawer next to the bed.

He wanted something more. The realization would have staggered Phoenix if he weren't pinned beneath his- his friend, his partner; none of the words seemed enough now. His Miles.

Banks had been crude, had suggested he had been taken by Miles: To feel him moving against you, touching you. What he feels like, deep inside. If- if that was the way Miles wanted to do this…

Phoenix had limited experience here, but he knew what to anticipate. He shut his eyes as the nightstand drawer slammed closed to signal the end of the interlude and he felt Miles lean back. He heard the telling noise of a plastic cap snapping open, and he drew in deep breaths, let the muscles in his legs fall slack as he tried to relax. Nervous, despite himself.

But the expected touch never came.

He grew restless and he opened his eyes, an anxious remark on his lips. Phoenix found Miles still astride him, angled, one hand conspicuously behind his back. The pieces fell into place, an unanticipated, thrilling key change to the music. This time, their time, would be nothing like what Banks had experienced.

"Oh fuck, Miles," he whispered, eyes blown wide, dizzy from the force of it.

That earned him a wry smile. "That was the intention."

There was no possible way Phoenix could simply lie back and wait after that. He sat up, crossing his legs, and earned a scowl as he almost jostled Miles, one that disappeared as he quickly leaned forward and kissed him, long and deep and fervent. Miles resettled onto Phoenix's thighs, eyes closed, an intense, focused expression on his face, mouth absently falling open as he resumed his preparations.

Phoenix found the discarded lubricant and drenched his fingers, the liquid warm and slippery. He ran one hand between Miles's shoulder blades in a slow caress. The other he slipped behind that flawless skin, reached down, and brushed his fingers against Miles's own. Miles's eyes shot open, startled, and locked with his own. Phoenix swallowed hard, and the corner of his mouth quirked up: "Together."

Miles managed to nod, his expression caught between surprise and something warmer, something that made Phoenix flush with warmth. Yes, they would do this together, as partners – in everything.

Phoenix trailed his lips along that broad chest in a distracting line and slid his fingers alongside Miles's, slid into Miles, pushed slowly into him, hot and tight and god, they were really going to do this. The sensation of both of them inside, brushing, stretching – the very thought was overwhelming. And when Miles arched his back, breath leaving him in a soft cry as Phoenix moved his fingers just so, his senses were overtaken by an irresistible, devastating need.

"I- I'm ready," Miles panted, eyes slightly glazed, both hands coming to rest on Phoenix's hips, every finger like a brand on his skin.

"Do you – you have any…" Phoenix trailed off, making a rolling motion with his fingers.

And for the first time since Phoenix rushed forward in the hallway to kiss Miles, the two of them fell completely still as they realized what they were missing.

"You've got this but nothing else?" Phoenix asked, incredulous, gesturing at the abandoned bottle.

He was astounded to see Miles blush, the pink color spreading down his torso. "I hardly expected you to come here. I believed – I would have only the thought of you to keep me company," he said, glancing aside in embarrassment.

Only Miles could remain so articulate while nude, hair disheveled from its peaks, skin flushed and unmistakably aroused. Phoenix found it tremendously appealing. And that suggestive confession: he didn't know it was possible for a new jolt of desire to course down his spine, fuelled by images of Miles taking himself in hand and wishing it was him. His blood rushed, making him so hard it almost hurt.

Phoenix bit his lip, considering. It was difficult to think when all he wanted to do was roll his hips up into Miles. "I'm – the hospital didn't find anything," he said, a hopeful note in his voice.

Miles met his gaze, eyebrow arching. "The same applies to me," he said, matching that tone.

A moment, a heartbeat – and they came together again, skin to skin, hands and lips moving frantically, desperately, hips rocking. They'd exchange proof later; all that mattered now was want and need.

Miles shifted up onto his knees and braced one hand against Phoenix's shoulder. He moved his other over Phoenix, too focused to tease, just enough to make him slick. Phoenix held himself steady as Miles slowly, achingly slowly lowered himself onto him. A push past last resistance, and then – heat, perfect heat and tightness and Miles gripping him, holding him, so hot and close, completely sheathed.

Phoenix had wanted this for so long, this intimacy, wanted everything with Miles. He drew in a shivering, halting breath as he fought against instinct, resisted the urge to simply release. He was going to savor this, lock every moment into his memory, into his soul if he could. The world could catch fire outside and he'd be unmoved, lost only in the exquisite feeling of Miles.

"Ph-Phoenix," Miles breathed, and that little pause, that falter in his name set his nerves alight. Miles was just as absorbed in this feeling, this closeness, as he was. Entire symphonies could be written from the sound of their mingling breaths, their heartbeats, the tension in their muscles taut like strings.

Their position meant Miles had control. Phoenix shifted his hips restlessly, moving just enough to draw out a low moan from them both. He wrapped his arms around Miles's waist and brought their foreheads together, reveling in the scent of sweat and sex and Miles.

"Either do something or kindly get off," he said impishly, gently mocking, letting his hands drift down to cup and squeeze the firm flesh against his thighs.

And Miles – he brought his hands to Phoenix's cheeks and pulled him in for a heated, passionate kiss as he finally rocked forward and slowly back, testing, adjusting. Phoenix buried his face into Miles's neck, a low, needy sound pouring out from his lips between lingering kisses to that long, pale length of skin. Yes.

Miles quickened, hips rolling, a rhythm forming, building, while Phoenix rocked his hips up to meet each movement. His arms wrapped behind Phoenix's neck, fingers toying with the sweat-dampened spikes, and he leaned in for another kiss. His length brushed against Phoenix's stomach with every grind, begging to be touched.

Phoenix wrapped his hand around Miles, stroking in time with their rhythm. He splayed his other hand against Miles's chest and ribs, his thumb rubbing against the pink nub again. The look on Miles's face, the sounds Miles was making, ragged breaths and low-pitched moans, spurred him on. And god, he was the one doing this to Miles, pleasuring him, making him lose control. Phoenix had Miles against him, wanting, needing, the taste of him bright on his tongue, his breath warm against his face, his noises of pleasure driving him mad with desire.

He needed more. Phoenix moved his hands beneath Miles's thighs and pulled them up, and shifted to his knees. Miles was forced to hang on to him, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, as Phoenix pushed up into him. The new angle was perfect – every thrust must have hit that spot inside Miles, the way the man writhed in his arms.

"More," Miles panted, eyes darkened, lips swollen. He moved faster, hips grinding up into Miles over and over, determined to give him more, give him everything.

"Miles," he murmured, breathless, toes digging into the mattress and fingers leaving impressions against pale thighs as he held on tightly with each hard thrust. "I want – want to see you."

Miles pressed close, held onto Phoenix like he was a lifeline, like he would drown if he let go.

He could feel that tightening in his abdomen, aching for release, urging him to lose himself in the wanton expression on Miles's face, in his groans, in the feeling of Miles against him, surrounding him. He pushed into him again and again and again, determined to keep himself right on the edge, an extended crescendo, until Miles found completion.

"Please Miles," he gasped, hips thrusting madly, his arms trembling with the strength of holding Miles up. "I can't– god I, just please–"

Miles arched sharply against him, head thrown back. He tried to say his name, a choked gasp, breath freezing as he clenched down around Phoenix, suspended at the height of pleasure. And Phoenix was utterly lost: nothing could ever compare to Miles coming undone in his arms, shaking with his release.

"Phoenix," Miles finally sighed, falling bonelessly against him.

He could hold out no longer. Phoenix thrust into Miles, hard and fast, again and again, and–

His nerves were flooded with sensation, the pleasure finally too much, cascading down his spine and into every inch of him. He stifled his long, heady moan against Miles's shoulder as he shuddered and trembled and reached his climax, and never had it felt so achingly, beautifully good.

His body slightly twitched from the aftershocks, little ripples of pleasure still coursing through him, the quiet comedown from ecstasy. Miles slumped against his chest, utterly unconcerned about the stickiness between them. Slowly, inevitably, Phoenix softened and slipped out, and he leaned back against the pillows, exhausted. Miles shifted to his side, resting against his stomach on the bedcovers next to him.

For a long, long moment, Phoenix knew only a deep, unfathomable contentment.

The spell of lethargy was broken when Phoenix felt a touch at his temple. He hadn't realized his eyes had closed; when he blinked he found Miles close to him, shifted up onto his elbow.

Miles froze, fingers halted right above Phoenix, as though he hadn't expected him to wake. He looked startled, caught in a moment of sentimentality. Even after this, after seeing everything the other had and touching and tasting and thrilling one another, it was the quiet moments of emotionality that left Miles naked. And he knew not to interrupt, knew to let Miles work through the moment in his own time.

Phoenix merely looked at him, waiting, a soft smile on his lips.

Only a moment more of hesitation, until the expression on Miles's face, tinged with fear, changed into something more resolute and sure. He finished the movement and gently brushed an errant lock of hair back from Phoenix's forehead, and slid his palm down to rest against his cheek. Their eyes met, shockingly intense. It was – Phoenix hoped it was an answer to the question still lingering between them.

He held Miles's palm against his face and craned his head to meet Miles's lips in a slow, languid kiss. There was a different kind of passion in it, tender and steady, intimate in its unhurried course. He'd never tire of Miles's taste, amazed that Miles could return his affections, match him, want him. What began as a confirmation, that this had truly happened, grew into fierce, aching joy, and by the time they parted the kiss felt more like a promise.

It gave Phoenix the courage to speak first.

"I know you were forced to say it. And I know it's a cliché and kind of tacky to say it after – well. But I don't care. Miles, I–"

"It was the truth."

Miles flushed, but he refused to look away. The air around them stilled, heavy with the weight of confession. Miles drew in a sharp breath, the corners of his eyes tightened, his muscles locking him into place. It was a firm stance, rigid and determined, and at the same time the most vulnerable he had ever seen Miles.

The world was silent an instant longer, letting the words echo through his mind and into the most treasured chambers of his heart. And suddenly everything was too bright, too colorful, too full of sound and music and closeness and Miles. He had almost lost this chance, this moment of pure, unadulterated happiness.

He shifted forward to properly pull Miles to him, heart pounding so fast it was liable to leave his body and move to join its partner in the man he – the man he loved.

"Me too," he whispered against Miles's lips, voice shaky with the intensity of it. As Miles eagerly returned the kiss, practically melting against him, Phoenix decided this was the best moment of his life.

When they pulled apart Phoenix saw Miles smiling at him, soft and fond, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing, the joy spilling out, uncontainable. Phoenix sifted his fingers through Miles's bangs, watched the fine strands fall back, adding to Miles's disheveled look. He took a strange kind of delight in seeing Miles like this, less prim and proper and more natural, more open.

"Does this mean we're in a relationship?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

The smile faltered. "Is that what you want?"

And this close to Miles, close enough to feel his heartbeat and see the hope in his eyes, Phoenix understood the question Miles was truly asking: he was making sure Phoenix really did want him. The idea that Miles was unsure, that he was afraid Phoenix would measure him and find him wanting, shouldn't have surprised him so much.

"Yes," he answered simply.

Miles glanced aside. "I put you in danger. You would not have been hurt if I hadn't–"

"We can't help hurting each other."

Sharp grey eyes abruptly met his again, brow furrowed above them. "What–"

Phoenix kept talking, his hands gripping Miles more tightly with each word. "But what matters is that we fight for each other, and that we always return to each other, and most of all, that we – love each other." He swallowed hard. "I know I will, Miles."

Miles stared at him, eyes flitting between his own, searching. At last he laid his head against Phoenix's chest, above his heart, and let his arms circle Phoenix's waist. His breath left him in a long sigh. "As will I."

Fingers gently carding through Miles's hair once more, Phoenix grinned. "I'm taking that as a yes?"

"It's a yes."

They spent a few more moments lying together, breathing softly, taking pleasure in the other's presence, until Miles grudgingly lifted himself off of Phoenix and disappeared into the suite's restroom. Phoenix shifted his arms behind his head, letting all the images he had of Miles play freely across his mind, ecstatic in the knowledge that this was a beginning and not an end. A short while later, Miles leaned around the corner wall and arched an eyebrow.

"Care to join me?"

He nearly tripped over their discarded clothing in his haste to meet Miles in the shower.

After they dragged themselves from the gleaming bathroom, freshly washed, back to the oversized bed, Phoenix curled up against Miles's back. One arm pillowed beneath Miles's head and the other slung low across his waist, bare skin still warm from the water. He could feel the prosecutor's muscles falling slack as his breathing slowed into the deep rhythm of sleep.

Phoenix, holding the prosecutor flush against him, face buried in Miles's hair, finally drifted off into the most contented sleep of his life.