trace (vestiges)

"We don't have to-"

But the fingers entwined with his own tighten, bringing Miles' hand up to a bruised mouth, the heat from Phoenix's lips searing against Miles' skin. The touch is tender, but tentative; fear is laced in every breath, uncertainty apparent with every shiver, every tremble. And yet, the voice which answers his own quiet disconcertion is calm and confident without a hint of regret. "I want this," Phoenix breathes, voice nearly cracking due to a throat long-since hoarse after nearly an hour spent bringing him undone.

Miles hesitates. Although he has offered this idea more than a few times- all off-handed, more joking than anything, he must admit- he has never truly thought this day would come, that Phoenix would finally succumb to him. He has welcomed Phoenix into himself time and time again, and he does not regret it whatsoever; the feeling of Phoenix intertwining within Miles' own flesh, their searing touches becoming one, is one of the most heady, pleasurable sensations he has ever been giving the opportunity to experience. He has long yearned to provide Phoenix the same kind of warmth, but unlike Miles, Phoenix has only ever been-

He's only ever been with women, he reasons silently yet again, doubting himself for the nth time. Does he really want this? Especially now upon the eve of Miles' departure, is this truly-

A rough, warm hand cups Miles' face, directing the prosecutor out of his thoughts. Dark eyes are creased in pain and anxiety, but the trust which oozes out of every pore cannot be denied; so, Miles take in a deep breath, lines himself up, and finally sinks into the arms of the man he has loved for so, so long.

For a moment, all he can focus upon is heat- heat, and tightness, and Phoenix closing in on him, consuming him, filling him up yet holding him close with such intensity that he cannot even breathe. His entire mind flashes white for a moment as fingers sink into his flesh, gripping on with all the strength he has seen clinging to the defense's desk time and time again, blunt nails creating welts in his skin that shall surely be swollen and bruised come the morn. He shudders, his forehead collapsing onto Phoenix's broad shoulder as those hands reach up to intertwine with dark grey locks, strengthening their grip into a deadly hold as Miles collapses slightly due to the overwhelming heat, his own stomach pressing against the evidence of Phoenix's own pleasure.

Yet, as he hears Phoenix's voice gasp and crack and nearly sob, all he can do is push forward, moving further and further until he has been consumed whole, hips pressing against trembling flesh, each breath ragged and strained as he grows accustomed to what he has always dreamed of.

Phoenix is perfect around him.

Somehow, that makes it all the more gutting.

But he is not here to cry and weep; his tears shall be saved for their departure the next day, for the first-class cabin where he shall hide away in the privacy of his own corner, able to bury his face in a Steel Samurai comic he has packed for the trip to hide away his tears. His own feelings can be dealt with later, for tonight is not the night for that.

Tonight, he shall feast. Tonight, he needs to fill himself up with the memory of Phoenix's flesh becoming one with himself, so that he may survive the drought without the man's presence whilst he is abroad. If the memory of his past time away from Phoenix is anything to go by, he knows he shall have barely a day before the heartache sets in- he needs to make this last.

So, tentatively, he begins to move. There is little he can do but hone in on the way thick, jagged brows furrow and raise in time with bucking hips and breathy whimpers; how could he possibly focus on anything other than the way that discomfort slowly melts into teary-eyed, drooling pleasure, dark eyes finally opening half-lidded in order to look up at him with such love that he can scarcely breathe?

Phoenix does not last long. Miles has already brought him over the edge multiple times this night in preparation; Miles' mouth, the broad, toned expanse of Phoenix's defined stomach and chest, the fatigue in his movements as one hand slips from Miles' hair to cup his cheeks as the movements grow more and more erratic, more and more wanton, are all proof of that. Phoenix does not seem to mind, though; as the fingers still tugging on dark strands move to cling almost desperately onto Miles' nape, then grip tight enough to bruise onto his lean, pale shoulder, Phoenix never pulls away. Even amidst the mind-clouding cacophony of sensation that blinds them both, the defense attorney stares at naught but Miles' face, ankles locking around the prosecutor's waist, a slight smile quirking his lips as Miles slowly succumbs to the pleasure that has been building up for hours within himself, coiled so tight he loses sight of reality when it finally releases.

Miles blanks out. He must; the next thing he knows, Phoenix's fingers stroke his hair, gasping, guttural moans leaving his mouth as he, too, shudders and crumbles upon Miles' abdomen, clenching around Miles until the man has to extricate himself from fear of losing his sanity forever from the sensation. He sits precariously up onto his knees, watching flesh remain open in his absence, hollow, wishing to be joined again.

He wants to. Gods, he wants to- he wants to hold on and never let go, allowing Phoenix to be a part of him forever. He always has been, of course, but the idea of never being apart again is too enticing to bear in this dizzying state.

Phoenix, it seems, feels the same. Once the man finally relaxes, sinking back into a sweat-soaked pillow, all Miles can do is obey when Phoenix takes his hand and brings it to cup the attorney's cheek. Miles happily wipes away tears and sweat underneath Phoenix's eye until the man opens heavy lids to cast a bleary, dazed look at Miles once again. Through lips thick with fatigue and pleasure, Phoenix mumbles, "…wow. Damn. That's what… you've been feeling?"

I've always gotten so much more, he longs to say in response. He knows it is true, that nothing he does will every truly explain to Phoenix just how high the other man can bring him. Still, he knows better than to bring that up now. With a wry, tender smile, Miles chuckles weakly, "Yes, it is, Wright."

For some reason, despite the flush of desire and sweat coating his skin already, it is that quiet, affection use of his name that lights Phoenix's eyes. "Damn. We need to switch it up more often," he rasps out. Then, before Miles can respond, Phoenix holds out his arms, tightening the hold of his ankles around Miles' waist. With an impish smile, he murmurs lazily, "Again?"

Miles flushes, and sighs, and buries his head in Phoenix's chest, relishing and hating all at once just how Phoenix's chuckles reverberate straight through his diaphragm and into Miles' heart, bringing him back to life once again. He does not need to say a word- Phoenix knows that Miles shall happily do whatever it takes to make the attorney smile, always.

This isn't the last. It's the first of many. Miles cannot wait until they can hold each other like this again.