trace (vestiges)
Finally.
He cannot breathe. He chokes back a sob as his body shudders, mind blanking for what feels like the nth time as another wave of pleasure overtakes him for just a moment before fading away, leaving him keening and wanting more. He cannot breathe, he cannot think, he cannot open his eyes and face the light for all that hovers above his face is already seared upon the insides of his eyelids permanently, the image of dark hair and even darker eyes watching half-lidded and simultaneously hazy and focused all at once as Miles feels himself be pulled, stretched, opened and exposed in a way he's never before experienced-
Phoenix smiles, lips curling up as he leans down, placing a kiss upon Miles' forehead before dragging those lips down to meet the prosecutor's. They're minty, Miles' realizes faintly- still minty, still soft and supple and sweet despite the bruising and the swollen bite marks left from Phoenix's anxiety. Even if they were chapped, though, Miles know he would adore this contact all the same.
Either way, it is warm, and this heat- this touch, this tenderness and closeness and sensation- is all Miles has longed for these past lonely, cold nights. For the first time since he left America, every cell in his body, every nerve ending and fiber in his bones, feels alive.
He loves it. He hates being like this- feeling his legs resting upon strong shoulders, fingers pulling him apart in a way no one ever has, shudders racing up his spine so frequently he cannot remember what stillness felt like- but as he opens his eyes and takes a look at the face which pulls away from his in time with the hands that leave him open and wanting, Miles knows that he loves this.
Phoenix is smiling.
So, he lets out a long, nervous sigh, humming automatically in contentment as a rough palm cups his cheek. "Are you ready, Miles?" Phoenix whispers, his breath intertwining with Miles'.
Cracking a wry smile despite the tears and the sweat covering his face, Miles retorts breathily, "I swear, you're making this take longer than a damned trial."
A glint of humour, of that wry, clumsy, loving, brilliant man Phoenix had so openly been with him a year earlier, begins to grow in his eyes. "Better than being done too soon, though."
Snorting, Miles reaches up to grab Phoenix's hair, pushing back dark locks as his fingers intertwine with them at the roots, massaging Phoenix's scalp as he exposes Phoenix's face. When it is pulled away from his face like this, it is almost as if they are in the courtroom, Miles thinks faintly; after all, he recognizes this dark, heavy-lidded stare from across the court floor, albeit much less dishevelled, much more prim and proper.
Miles quite likes this look, he thinks.
So, as the light coming in through the window fades at last, leaving naught to illuminate their faces but the warm ambient glow from the ceiling, Miles nods, allowing one hand to wipe away the sweat upon Phoenix's forehead with his thumb. "Let's proceed," he murmurs. "I'm ready."
Phoenix's eyes melt into those crescent moons Miles has always loved, darkness disappearing behind straight, thick lashes and laugh lines which form more pronounced crow's feet than he remembers; nestling his nose into Miles' hair, Phoenix reaches down, positions himself, and moves.
It is slow, it is steady, but eventually, the deed is done. He is full. Miles cannot think, his entire mind falling to pieces as every ounce of his attention falls entirely upon this sensation of being touched, being close, being entered and filled up and becoming whole at last. His eyes snap open, dizzy with the overwhelming heat that enters slick and slow and smooth; what greets him is an expression he has never before seen on the other man, a furrowed brow and flushed face accompanied by the most sensually-parted lips he has ever seen, swollen and dark, gasping lightly. Miles almost comes undone by the sight itself, his entire body seizing as he realizes that dark curls have met grey- that they are finally as one.
Phoenix is part of him now.
The attorney shudders at the tension, barking a laugh as he collapses onto his elbows around Miles' head. An open mouth, nipping teeth, a tender tongue, all find their way languidly into the lobe of Miles' ear as he adjusts, as he relaxes, as he feels himself empty and fill, every hair on his body standing on end, every nerve in skin crackling with pleasure. He whimpers as the motions grow rougher, grow more assertive, those hands which he has seen handle evidence so convincingly in court moving to cup his cheeks, neck, shoulders, thighs, flesh, adjusting and readjusting until Miles' eyes roll back, no longer able to bear witness to what is happening.
He does not want to do nothing, though. He is past that, past the former shame and doubt which he had once worn like a mantle. So, he sheds his docility and reaches up, bringing those parted lips back to his so that Phoenix may help him breathe again.
His other hand is occupied by another matter, though. The movement is almost unconscious, automatic; by the time he realizes it, his palm has already settled atop pert flesh, brushing against darkened skin with every motion whilst his fingertips settle atop those scars that have bound them so unequivocally. Phoenix lets out a strangle groan into his throat at this, whispering clumsy, fumbled words of adoration and praise and want as the touch becomes more needy, more insistent, motions growing faster and faster and faster-
Miles' vision goes dark, oxygen-deprived brain shattering into nothing as he hears the words, "I love you so much, you're so beautiful, goddammit, I- I can't- thank you-" being sobbed into his ears. With Phoenix's voice in his ears, there is nothing else he can do. This is all he's ever wanted to hear, after all.
So, he comes undone, arching and losing all reason, his own cries swallowed up by a needy, keening mouth that falls apart in synch with him. He can taste Phoenix's sobbing cries as the man shudders, pressing so deep that Miles can only collapse, boneless and broken as his own high comes down, body slowly growing sensitive to the rapidly-cooling mess upon his skin, his stomach, his thighs. Phoenix continues, however, rocking erratically until he is spent, until he has nothing left in him.
When he finally pulls himself away, Miles does not hesitate. He grabs the towel from the nightstand where it had been abandoned, cleaning himself up. Then, he pulls the other man into his arms, shivering as he feels more liquid pooling out of him. We should go clean up, he thinks. This is silly- I have condoms in the nightstand, we should've-
He is not upset, though. Inconvenienced, yes- he does not wish to leave this languid, thick air, each movement like crawling through a honey-like miasma thanks to his hazy, tingling body- but he is not angry that this mess needs to be dealt with. It is proof of his resolve, and he shall carry that in his heart forever.
A face practically glowing scarlet peers up at him from his own flushed chest as Phoenix finally regains some of his strength. Are you okay? those eyes ask silently, a worried crease slowly forming in his brow as he glances down at the liquid quickly staining the bedsheets.
Miles can only smile, wry and content as he pulls Phoenix down to lay beside him upon the pillow. "It's everything I hoped for, Phoenix."
The use of his first name seems to be the attorney's undoing, the man's eyes snapping open before he hides his face in the crook of Miles' neck. To this, Miles just laughs and pats him on the back, scolding him lightly as he tells the man to help him to the bathroom; as Phoenix carries him, his strength and fortitude so evident despite his own fatigue, Miles simply laughs, his chest rumbling with relaxed, peaceful joy as he lets himself be held by Phoenix.
It's always been a tight fit in the tub with the two of them. Unlike before, however, as he leans back against a broad chest and mumbles praises to the blushing, enamored attorney, Miles doesn't mind that proximity, that closeness, one bit.
