A/N: If you're reading along, let me know what you think! Don't be a silent reader :)

trace (vestiges)

Initially, Phoenix protests. He pushes away, his face filling with alarmed worry, the memories of Miles' hesitations and reservations clearly flitting through his mind, replaying in the reflections of Miles within dark brown eyes. He puts his hands on Miles' shoulders, trying to ease him to sit down upon the bed, mouth falling open and closed and open again as he scrabbles for words to say.

Miles already knows what he will say. You don't have to, he'll insist the moment his compromised brain allows him to form words. I'm happy doing what we used to.

But Miles regrets. Miles has always wanted to give back the same- no, tenfold, hundredfold- of what Phoenix has given him. So, he does not allow himself to be cowed, no longer timid or embarrassed of this closeness, this contact. It is all he has dreamed about for hundreds of nights, after all.

The scars which litter Phoenix's chest underneath his bathrobe are even more prominent now. Miles runs fingers over the most prominent ones, slipping off the fluffy material from around strong, built shoulders which are unusually compliant in his shell-shocked state; Miles takes advantage of this flustered bewilderment, this torn want, to finally look at the scar which has haunted him ever since his discovery of it a year past.

His lips touch faded scar tissue. It is wrinkled and pale and evident beyond measure, a stark contrast to the firm, taut, tanned skin covering strong muscle. The skin burns under his lips, the crisp scent of soap and Phoenix flooding his senses, almost robbing him of all reason. He manages to retain his wits, however, for as he pulls away, face leaving the chest now exposed in the warm, gentle yellow lighting of his bedroom, he lets his gaze drift upward, catching the sight of that same abused lower lip clenched firmly between straight teeth, nostrils flared and brows drawn together and moist eyes narrowed in want and fear and sorrow and love.

Miles smiles. The scars left by Manfred von Karma over Phoenix's heart sit under where his badge normally rests upon his lapel. They are proof of the man he has always been- this staunch defender of justice who embodies everything Miles had always dreamt of being as a boy.

More than that, however, is that this is Phoenix: the boy who had walked him home and held his hand as children, the man who has waltzed into his life and saved him from the shackles of his demons time and time again.

That face fits perfectly into Miles' hand, a high cheekbone and angular jawline leaning automatically into his large palm, words still failing him. Miles shakes his head, unable to fight back his smile. It's alright, he mouths.

Then, he kneels.

Phoenix tries to pull back, but as Miles rests his head upon the inside of Phoenix's thigh, looking up at him appraisingly, that hesitation ceases, replaced by pure, flustered embarrassment which floods the attorney's cheeks. His dark hair falls back into his eyes as he looks down at Miles, disbelief shining upon every feature as Miles gets to work with lips, hands, touch; bare skin still warm from the shower is covered in gooseflesh as the sash of his bathrobe falls away, and Miles is finally before Phoenix's exposed, unadulterated desire, that red in his ears, his cheeks, his neck, only intensifying under the scrutiny.

It's adorable, Miles thinks, just how much Phoenix Wright's flush matches Miles' usual suit. They truly are a couple of fools to have not realized how they interlock for so long.

The sensation of heat is foreign, unnerving. Although he has imagined this far more times than he would ever admit- image training did have its place, and his fantasies have supplied him with more than enough material to keep him occupied for the time they were apart- to be placed before the task itself still causes him to reel back slightly. If he had thought of performing this act two years earlier, he would have scoffed at the sheer impropriety of it, but the memories of Phoenix's eyes gazing up at him from dark grey curls have never faded from him mind, seared irrevocably upon the inside of his eyelids in his loneliest hours. He knows that Phoenix will be like him- that Phoenix will find this sight of Miles beautiful, too.

So, he shall persevere. Lips drag up sensitive flesh until he captures what needs to be held close at last, and instantly, all thoughts of his dignity, of what this position must look like, of just how Miles Edgeworth has found himself upon his knees like this, fade away, as his attention homes in entirely on the breathless, staggered cry which leaves parted lips, free from the abusive hold of nervous teeth at last. His ears focus entirely upon that sound, his mind racing as he begins to work, his fingers and tongue and teeth moving in tandem with this heat that bucks and trembles and pulses in his mouth, all working together to elicit that breathtaking cry once again.

Finger slide into his hair as he begins to hum, begins to move with purpose, sliding, continuing this motion as if his life depends upon it. Slowly but surely, that wonderful sound becomes more prevalent, resonating into Miles' own core as he increases his speed, his vision blurring, the very air from his lungs dissipating into nothing as he gives his all in this task, causing fingers to tighten and tug and claw, hips rocking and stuttering, cries growing more guttural, more wanton. He does not care that the oxygen is dying in his system, that his mind grows blank as he obsessively chases his goal; it does not matter, for this is his purpose. This is his case, and he is so close to his victory at last.

He just wants to make Phoenix warm, to make this searing heat in his mouth, under his fingers, last forever.

He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to allow air to rush into his lungs, coughing as spittle connects his sore lips to Phoenix's heat, his aching jaw clicking as he allows that brief respite. Glancing up, he can almost feel himself come undone as he finally appreciates the sight before him; seated upon that chair, head lolled over to the side, desperation and wanton need tensing the corded muscle in that strong neck and shoulders, bruised lips parted and bruised and purple in a face so red it looks as if he shall combust-

He cannot wait. He moves in close, swallowing to the hilt, keeping his eyes locked upon that breathtaking image. He does not pull away, even as he watches that handsome face twist and gasp and plead breathlessly- even as dark curls tickles his nose- even as he sees tears slipping out of those eyes who have only ever looked at him, mimicking the tears filling up his own eyes as the strain and the strangeness and the discomfort-

He swallows, and smiles, and leans into the hand which untangles itself from his hair to cup the side of his face in shocked awe. That smile- that motion- that heat from Phoenix's hand-

He hums in contentment. This is not how he would have imagined to find happiness again, but he does not regret it.

That sigh, that joy in Miles' tear-filled eyes, is clearly the trigger. As Miles sinks lower, fingers tighten, grip, tug almost painfully in Miles' hair, a guttural cry leaving a hoarse, shocked throat, the taste of clean skin overtaken as his stomach fills, throat tightening around pulsing desire, a gasping whimper accompanied by trembling, shivering fingers the only evidence remaining at the end. Miles pulls himself away slowly, allowing Phoenix to slip away from his lips, clean and soft and warm, his eyes still focused upon the shuddering man above him.

The taste which lingers upon his tongue is quickly ignored as he sees the bliss from Phoenix's face draining away; extricating himself from the hold that desperately clings onto his face like a lifeline, Miles replaces grey strands with his fingers between Phoenix's own so that he can lift himself up enough to support the other man's limp form.

Phoenix collapses into his arms. Miles holds him tight- does not let him go even for a heartbeat, for as those whimpering gasps of pleasure turn to real, genuine tears, Miles is fulfilled at last. He is more than happy to accept these tears, the floodgates within Phoenix's heart opening after all of his patience, after all of his work to better himself. He cannot imagine what the other man feels, to finally have Miles here- to have finally received after all he has given time and time again.

Miles is ready to give back. He has spent all this time getting ready, saving up every part of his heart to give back to Phoenix Wright. He is ready.

He kisses Phoenix's ear as the other man buries his face into Miles' shoulder, the cloth growing damp as the overwhelmed man finally manages to calm himself down slightly. He pats the attorney's back, rubbing between his shoulder blades, soothing him as the flushed man's skin finally regains a bit of normal colouring, the sweat beaded upon his brow drying alongside the tears which Miles wipes away. Eventually, he pulls away, eyes cast upon the floor as he struggles to find the words to speak.

He doesn't need to, though. Miles takes his hand, gently helping him to his feet and guiding him forward until he himself can sit upon the bed, lacing their fingers together as he stares up at Phoenix's standing, dishevelled form. Squeezing that hand lightly, Miles smiles. "Again?" he asks teasingly, spreading his knees and pulling Phoenix close.

Phoenix's face twists for a moment once again before a wry laugh burbles past his lips. "You're really up for it?"

When Miles nods with a raised brow, his fingers tracing the scars above Phoenix's heart idly, the sheer bliss upon Phoenix's face is proof enough that he has done right by Phoenix at last.