trace (vestiges)

Miles' bathroom is more than big enough for the both of them. Miles washes his face, attempting to push the attorney away; Phoenix refuses to move, however, his warm presence never leaving Miles' side as if to silently say, I'm still here, don't worry.

With his hair drooping into his eyes, Phoenix looks simultaneously too young and too old to bear this many wounds upon his flesh. When Miles finishes washing his face, the other man takes it upon himself to dry Miles off; he speaks in low, rumbling tones, his voice soothing and sensual, a far cry from the loud, imposing lawyer which Miles usually sees in court. "I'm kind of relieved, you know," he says, a chuckle spilling from his lips.

Sniffling, Miles glares at him, his embarrassment still threatening to overflow; he has half a mind to kick Phoenix to the curb on instinct for witnessing his weakness like this, although his heart wants nothing more than to hold the other man close and never let him go. "For what, Wright?" he replies. His voice is far hoarser than it had been during their meal, rubbed raw by his choked-back sobs.

The amount of adoration in Phoenix's smile should be illegal, Miles thinks. "For a long time, I didn't think you cared," he says softly. "I know why now- it was von Karma, and it was complicated- so to see this reaction…" He pushes his hair out of his eyes, touching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Is it bad to say I'm kind of happy to see you be worried about me?"

His mouth falls open, then closes shut. What can he possibly say? How in the world can he scold, fight, bother Phoenix, when this man looks so genuinely contented to be by his side?

So, Miles sniffles again and turns his gaze towards the broad, sculpted torso in front of him. The lighting the bathroom provides is, for better or for worse, perfect with which to see the other marks which line Phoenix's body. There are many scars there- too many to count, in all honesty. His fingers run across each line and gash, tracing each connection between scar tissue and supple skin as Phoenix quietly explains the source of every injury ailing him.

He is absolutely flabbergasted by the end of it. Aside from- no, even including- the assault from von Karma, the majority of Phoenix's wounds have been made by accidental-life-threatening situations which were completely avoidable, and the fact that Phoenix has made the same mistakes multiple times is more than a little harrowing to think about. "…Please tell me you know better than to hold up decisive evidence in a violent culprit's face now."

Phoenix snorts. "Don't worry, I've learned my lesson."

Miles hangs his head in his hands, absolutely exhausted. This is a day off, is it not? We shall order catering for dinner, and until then I will sleep, he thinks, emotionally rung out to dry. He has not visibly wept in what feels like years, and the wave of exhaustion which crashes into him now that those tears have dried, now replaced by utter incredulity, cannot be explained. He needs time to come to terms with this; he needs time to wrap his mind around the fact that Phoenix truly means it when he says that everything he has done in life has lead him back to Miles.

He fought against von Karma head on outside of the courtroom, too. He did it for me.

It just… doesn't seem real.

His itinerary for the day shall help him recuperate a little, though. When he voices these plans to Phoenix, the man nods, seemingly on board. Then, his fingers slip under the collar of Miles' bathrobe, much to his dismay; Miles does not have a chance to protest, however, for those deft fingers make quick work of what little protects Miles, exposing his own chest within the blink of an eye.

Callused fingers explore the divot in his collarbone tenderly as Phoenix murmurs, "Feeling better?"

"I- um- what-"

A quick look proves that Phoenix, for one, is feeling much better, and suddenly Miles is struck yet again by his absolute helplessness at this absurd situation. "Wright, I am going to shower and then I am sleeping-"

"Great plan, let's go!" the other man replies cheerfully.

Saying no was never in the cards, it seems. Phoenix turns on the shower and loses his clothes, disrobing Miles while the prosecutor splutters and fumbles, desperately trying to find some logic in this scenario. Before he knows it, Miles has been ushered underneath a scalding spray, his spacious shower suddenly far smaller than he remembers thanks to the other man's presence. Once he is actually aware of his surroundings, he has half a mind to kick Phoenix out; he does not want the other to catch cold, though, and Phoenix is gentle in his ministrations as he washes Miles' hair, shoulders, back, carefully ensuring no suds fall into Miles' eyes.

A man of Phoenix's stature should not be this tender, Miles thinks. "You're too good at this," he says gruffly, staring hard at the tiled wall to avoid looking at Phoenix- or Phoenix's visible excitement- in any way, shape or form. It stirs up more than a little jealousy- more than a little heartache- to think again of how much more experience Phoenix must have in this department.

He hears Phoenix laugh, his voice echoing in the bathroom. "Aw, jealous?"

"N-no-"

But those hands which wash Miles' hair and skin moves to cup his face, and that soft smile grows a bit as Phoenix leans in, his forehead slicked with dark hair pressing against Miles'. Miles' eyes widen in shock as he realizes just how pink Phoenix's cheeks appear, the flush not stemming from the heat of the water. "I'm with you, as long as you'll have me. I told you."

Miles does not know what to say- all he can do is reach up, placing trembling fingers flat against those two horrifying scars which mar Phoenix's flesh. I know. Even if his heart cannot fully believe it yet.

That seems to be response enough for Phoenix. The man's eyes fall, water dripping down his skin, painting him in a surreal glow as the light filtering through the mosaicked glass door of the shower illuminates the rivulets covering his strong, firm body; then, he himself falls, Miles watching in wordless, dizzy surprise as Phoenix's knees find intentional purchase upon the floor.

All he knows then is heat, strong hands propping him up, the rushing of blood throughout his body hot enough to burn him from the inside out. He bucks and crumbles and collapses, any shred of dignity falling away to pieces as he comes undone thanks to skill he never knew Phoenix possessed. And when it is over, when he can finally breathe once more, Phoenix pulls away, Miles slipping from swollen lips that are curved into the most satisfied smile Miles has ever seen, not a hint of white liquid in sight.

He cups Phoenix's face. Phoenix's Adam's apple bobs, then Phoenix leans into that touch. His eyes half always been so big, Miles thinks- big, and wide, and full of earnest conviction-

And now, Miles will never be able to disassociate those eyes from the image of a straight nose buried into grey curls, melting Miles to pieces.

Miles almost topples out of the shower after that, boneless and languid and desperate to cool his head down. Phoenix follows him out, laughing and grinning with teeth so bright it hurts to look at; when Miles finishes dressing himself and climbs back into his bed, determined to pretend what had just happened was naught but a hallucination caused by the heat and steam, Phoenix merely shows up with a towel around his neck, laying his head on Miles' lap, almost feline in his contentedness.

Miles wants to kick him off, for he does not yet know how to deal with this shame and guilt swirling up in his chest (he knows theoretically that he should be reciprocating, but that hurdle is so high and he just isn't ready) no matter how much he tries to maintain his façade of calm. Phoenix looks so at peace, however, so he lets the other man rest. When Phoenix asks him silently for a kiss before Miles returns to his book upon the nightstand, Miles obliges. It is slightly bitter, he realizes- too late does he understand why, but Phoenix looks so happy that he merely fights down his terror at this uncharted territory for himself and tries his best to focus on his reading.

He doesn't do a great job of it. It is far too easy to get distracted with drying Phoenix's hair so the man can sleep. The sight of Phoenix settling into Miles' bed for a nap is wondrous, though; the knowledge that the man no longer has to lay on that lumpy, bedraggled couch in his office is enough to ease Miles' nerves for the rest of that tranquil morning. They can address everything else later.