(no subject)
Part 2!
Title: Bribery Is Not An Explanation [Part 2]
Rating: NC-17.
Pairings: Diego/Mia + Young!Edgeworth, Hobo!Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: Spanking.
Summary: But he didn’t, merely trembled in place as he was held between pain, arousal, relief, and something that might have been love had Miles had any reference point to compare it to.
“…I didn’t do any casework that night,” Miles finished, staring up at the ceiling. “I went home and masturbated five times in a row, and I probably would have done it more had I not passed out over my desk.”
Wright’s eyes were wide, blue, and incredulous on the other side of the couch. Miles knew it was a… difficult to believe story at best, but considering that one of the members of the story had been murdered and the other one was currently in prison, Miles didn’t feel much shame in sharing it.
Or at least, not too much.
Wright let out a long, low whistle on the other side of the couch, one hand going up to toy idly with the horrendous blue beanie he had taken to wearing now that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore and didn’t have to dress “respectably.” Frankly, Miles remembered that shamble of polyester that Wright had the gall to call a suit and would have debated the definition of “respectable” with him, had he thought it would get it him anywhere.
Wright was different now, Miles thought as Wright mused over his story. Seven years ago, had he told Wright the exact same tale, Wright’s eyes would have bugged out of his head and he would have been falling over himself sputtering with questions. Now, the man on the other side of the sofa was quiet, taking a swig out of his bottle of wine.
“Damn,” Wright said at last, lowering the bottle. “This is going to sound twisted, but… I’m a little envious.”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
Wright snorted, and took another pull of his drink. “Not that being spanked is particularly my thing, but… I probably would have been into it had it been Mia.”
Miles felt himself blush as he rolled his eyes. “So does that suffice?”
Wright offered him a sardonic smile, which suited the man more than Miles would care to admit. This was the first time that he had seen Wright in seven years, since the attorney had been disbarred. Miles had been in Germany at the time, and Wright had never contacted him over it. Miles had known very well what was happening, of course - he had followed the news like a hawk when Wright’s disbarment had been the tabloid frenzy of the day - but Wright had never called and Miles had never initiated, not even knowing how to begin that conversation.
But now, seven years later, the man had managed to rise from the ashes - ha ha, Miles thought - yet again, and Miles had turned up on his doorstep. He had been expecting either a tearful reunion or the door to slam in his face when he had knocked, but Wright merely raised an eyebrow and stepped aside to let his former courtroom rival and lover in.
The former law office was now a mess of magic tricks and piles of laundry, but before addressing anything else, anything at all, Wright had demanded a story.
“Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told me,” this beanie-wearing incarnation of Phoenix Wright had ordered the moment Miles had sank into the stained cushions of the couch. “Tell me something true.”
So Miles had.
And Wright was mulling the story over in his head, one hand gripping the neck of his wine bottle, the other apparently fiddling with something in his pocket. “Well, it’s a true story,” Wright remarked to the air.
“Of course it is,” Miles snapped. “You think I would make something like that up?”
“I don’t think you could make something like that up,” Wright continued, taking yet another drink. Miles couldn’t tell if the man was already drunk, or just extremely good at holding his liquor. “You never were particularly strong on imagination.”
Miles huffed indignantly, but was rewarded by another one of Wright’s disturbingly attractive, sardonic smiles. “So tell me, Miles,” Wright continued, voice deepening to a soft purr, “has anybody ever done that to you since?”
Miles stiffened slightly on his end of the couch. “Done what?” he asked, though he was perfectly well aware.
Wright grinned again, sitting up straighter and finishing off his wine: Miles’ eyes locked onto the slow bob of Wright’s Adam’s apple and the way his careless stubble made his blue eyes look even bluer in the dying light of the day. “Spanked you,” he clarified, obviously liking the way the word sounded on his tongue.
Miles’ breath hovered in his throat for a bit - this wasn’t really the way he was expecting the conversation to turn, but this Wright was different than the Wright he had left seven years prior. This Wright seemed slightly more sinister, more like he would press a verbal slip or slight-of-hand to his advantage, and that he was a man used to taking advantage.
This Wright exuded a darker sexuality, one that was having a much more potent effect on Miles than he would like to admit. “No,” Miles said. “I’ve never even mentioned it to anybody.”
Wright set his empty bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch, overloaded with magazines and bills. “But you still fantasize about it,” Wright said, resting his head lazily in a hand, looking over at him with a slight smirk.
“…no,” Miles said, in an attempt to deflect.
“Liar,” Wright countered, his one hand still fisting something in his pocket-
“You have the magatama,” Miles accused.
Wright’s face split into an unabashed grin, making him look more like his younger self. “Guilty as charged,” he said, pulling the curved rock out of the front pocket of his hoodie.
Miles sighed wearily, slumping back into his seat. “Yes,” he said flatly, knowing full well the power of the magatama. “Yes, I still fantasize about it. To be honest, it’s a bit of a fetish.”
The gleam in Wright’s eyes was positively disturbing. Or at least, disturbing in the way it was affecting. “I could spank you,” the other man volunteered. “I would enjoy it greatly, actually.”
Miles felt himself flush again. “I don’t want you to-“
The denial died in his throat as Wright waved the magatama at him. “This thing still works,” he reminded Miles. “You’re going to finish that sentence and the Psyche-Locks are going to close around you and we may as well not waste our time.”
Miles sighed.
“I figure it’s the least you owe me,” Wright pointed out reasonably. “What, seven years and a disbarment and you don’t even so much as text-“
“You never contacted me!” Miles countered, suddenly realizing how lame that was in the face of everything. Wright had chased after him for years, defended him when Miles was stubbornly against it, and kept on defending him even when Miles was convinced of his own guilt. And here he was, saying that it was Wright’s fault for not contacting him? The boy who wrote hundreds of letters that never got answered that had turned into the man who had become a lawyer just to save him? The man who was his only true lover for years?
Wright’s lip ticked up, as if he had followed Miles’ very rapid train of thought. “No, I didn’t,” he said quietly. “I didn’t contact you when I needed help. I… didn’t think I had to, Miles.”
Sighing, Miles looked away, unable to face him. “I was a coward,” he said softly. “I… was too afraid to make that phone call.”
Wright shrugged. “It’s over now,” he said, leaning back into the couch cushions. “It’s over and justice has been served, shall we say.”
Miles turned back toward the other man. “I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said carefully, unsure of how to proceed. “That’s not why I came.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you or not,” Wright replied. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed about the man, Miles thought wryly, it’s his pathological honesty in matters of the heart. “If I do it’s not going to happen tonight. However, I will say that I haven’t gotten laid in the past seven years and if you want to get on the road to recovery I suggest we make something of it.” Wright quirked an uneven eyebrow at him. “Unless you’re not interested.”
Miles sighed, knowing that the man still had the magatama. “You know I am,” he said grudgingly. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had sex since the last time with you, either.”
“Well, that doesn’t make me feel any better, but you know what will? Spanking you until you come.”
Miles felt his breath hiss between his teeth as he turned his face away again. There was still a large part of him that was hesitant on this, but he had been an idiot and if Wright was even somewhat willing to give it all another shot, then Miles would be an idiot to deny it. Despite the fact that Wright’s fashion sense had managed to go even more down the drain over the past seven years, Miles was still irrevocably drawn to him, like a wasp to jam. It was shameful.
Almost as shameful as agreeing to be spanked for sexual pleasure, but not quite. “Not here,” he said quietly.
“Yes here,” Wright replied impatiently, raising an eyebrow. “This is my house.”
“What if somebody comes in?”
“Nobody will. Apollo and my daughter are out on a case for the day - they won’t be back for hours."
“Your daughter?”
Wright sighed, obviously not in the mood to delve into the subject at the moment. “She’s fifteen, so she’s obviously not mine from birth. I adopted her.”
Miles had to kill a smile that threatened to turn his lips. “Softy,” he said, and Wright smiled, and in it was another flicker of his old self, the one that defended clients for free and then would buy Maya and Pearl all the burgers they could eat.
And then, it was gone again. “Strip,” Wright ordered, not moving from the couch, his hands going to his pockets.
Miles sighed, and stood. “Not exactly the most romantic person on the planet, now are we?”
Now Wright laughed, tilting his head back to do so. It made Miles feel better - this was another thing that hadn’t changed. “You used to call me a bleeding heart, if I do recall.”
“True,” Miles admitted, standing and divesting himself quickly of his tan polo and black slacks, sliding out of his briefs and pulling off his socks. He opted not to sit back down, standing between the sofa and the cluttered glass coffee table, naked and feeling goosebumps roll up his skin in the cool, air-conditioned building.
Wright rumbled in the back of his throat, eyes greedily taking him in up and down. “Seven years down the road and you still look good,” he said appreciatively. He sat up on the edge of the sofa and beckoned him over. “Come here.”
Miles obeyed, and was surprised when Wright grabbed him by the hips and took his flaccid cock into his mouth. Gasping, Miles’ hands shot out and gripped Wright’s shoulders for leverage, feeling slightly lightheaded as blood rushed to his groin, pleasure careening in waves through his body. Wright’s tongue was still talented, his mouth as eager and warm as he remembered - making a soft noise in his throat, Miles ran trembling fingers up Wright’s neck and jaw, looking down to admire the picture of Wright’s lips bulging around his cock, eyes closed in pleasure, cheeks hollowing as he sucked.
In an embarrassingly short time Miles felt orgasm starting to build in his spine, the tell-tale tightening of his ass and thigh muscles, the hitching of his breath. When he was sure he couldn’t take it anymore, Wright pulled away. Miles was left panting, hard as a rock and trembling in the cool air.
Now Wright slid back on the couch, widening his lap and pointing to it.
It was as if somebody else had taken control of Miles’ body as he forced his trembling limbs to do his bidding: Wright had moved to the middle of the couch, so Miles was able to stretch out along it, his hardness pressing against Wright’s thigh, his ass pointed slightly up into the air.
Without warning, Wright’s hand fell with a sharp crack, and Miles jumped at the sudden feeling of pain blending with the pleasure of his erection pressed up against Wright’s leg.
“You really do like it,” Wright said wonderingly, his hand kneading the abused skin lightly. “I can feel you leaking against my leg - my God, Miles, I can only wish you had told me this earlier-“
Miles had opened his mouth to say that he doubted Wright would have taken as much pleasure in this seven years ago when Wright’s hand came down again and Miles cried out, his hands clenching against the sofa cushion.
“How hard do you like it?” Wright went on, pausing once again to squeeze at Miles’ ass. “Do you want to feel it tomorrow? So that every time you sit down you know what happened last night?”
Miles buried his head into the sofa cushions, concentrating very hard on not coming all over Wright’s sweatpants. Another slap made him shudder.
“Hey, I’m asking you questions,” Wright reprimanded, the hand coming down in five quick, hard spanks, making Miles’ body go rigid.
“God yes,” Miles replied, once he was able. “With Mia I was feeling it for a week and it drove me mad, absolutely up the wall, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, I have no idea how I won those trials-“
The blows rained down and Miles shuddered and squirmed under them; his legs flexed and tensed and the pain made his erection die a little bit, only to be brought back to life by Wright telling him to spread his legs of all commands; Miles did, and Wright caressed the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and Miles could feel the cold air on his exposed scrotum and he sunk his teeth into the couch pillow to keep from moaning.
“Mia wouldn’t have done this,” Wright remarked, before his long fingers slapped down along the inner curve of his thigh: Miles had to force himself not to close his legs, as the skin there was even more sensitive than on his ass and it hurt.
“…did she?” Wright asked, and Miles could have sworn he felt time stop as Wright reached out to cup his balls.
“…n-no,” Miles replied, hating himself a little for that stutter, hating himself more for the precome that ran thick and hot down onto Wright’s leg.
“Good,” Wright replied, his hand abruptly rising to strike at the junction where ass met thigh: he ordered Miles up onto his knees so he had better trajectory on that sensitive patch of skin.
Miles’ eyes were watering in earnest, now, and his erection wilted once more as his breath threatened to stall in his throat.
“Stand up,” Wright ordered, but grabbed one of Miles’ hands as it reflectively reached back to rub his abused skin. “Put your hands on the back of your head,” Wright ordered roughly. “Don’t touch yourself.”
Miles let out a shuddering breath and obeyed, forcing himself first to a kneeling position, and then a standing one, lacing his fingers together to rest them on the back of his head, breathing hard and evenly. Wright watched him with an unnamable emotion on his face for a moment, before standing as well.
Miles had a slight height advantage on Wright, but it didn’t feel like much at the moment, what with being naked with his hands on his head and a slow burn in his behind. He was waiting for another semi-degrading order when Wright managed to throw him for a loop yet again.
Carefully, the other man reached forward to cup Miles’ jaw, and tilted him slightly for a deep, soft kiss. Miles felt himself responding in kind, his eyes starting to water again.
“I missed you,” Wright whispered against Miles’ lips. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” Miles replied, his arms aching to reach forward and touch the other man, to apologize for his cowardice and how he was utterly unable to be the support for Wright as Wright had been the support - no, the lifeline for him. But he didn’t, merely trembled in place as he was held between pain, arousal, relief, and something that might have been love had Miles had any reference point to compare it to.
Wright dropped to his knees and pulled Miles in his mouth again, this time twice as feverish as he had been at the first, his head bobbing back and forth, his nails carving little crescent shapes into Miles’ thighs as he dragged the prosecutor forward into his mouth. A moan ripped from Miles’ throat before he could stop it; when Wright reached up and squeezed the reddened skin of Miles’ ass, a second moan joined the first.
Again, Miles felt his cock throbbing hot and nearly painful against the slick movement and suction of Wright’s tongue and mouth, his vision swam and he almost sobbed when Wright pulled away again, sliding back onto the couch, obviously waiting for Miles to reposition himself.
Swallowing a whimper, Miles crawled back over Wright’s lap, feeling the other man’s hardness jab him in the side as he gingerly lay back down over Wright’s sweatpants-clad thighs, hissing as his oversensitive member was pressed between his own and Wright’s bodies.
Wright’s fingers stroked gently over Miles’ abused ass and thighs, and Miles clenched his teeth at the strange sensation. Wright’s other hand drifted gently along Miles’ neck and through his hair.
“Come for me,” Wright said softly. “Miles, I want you to come.”
Miles gasped sharply, even before Wright’s hand came down a final time and he felt himself release, a thin noise rising from his throat as he thrust down hard against Wright’s thigh, feeling spurts of semen against his stomach soaking into Wright’s sweatpants.
When it was over Miles panted, exhausted, seeing stars dance before his eyes and enjoying the latent heat in his behind. Dazed, he pushed back from Wright’s lap and stared into Wright’s hooded blue eyes.
“What about…” Miles asked tiredly, looking down into Wright’s lap, an unusually large wet spot soaking the cloth from Wright’s waist down to his knees.
Wright yawned, something lazy and catlike in the action. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he assured Miles, tiredness seeping into his voice. “I… you took care of me with your little… show.”
Miles felt more color rise to his cheeks - it hadn’t even occurred to him that his flailing might have been enough to trigger Wright as well, but it did make sense.
Wright smiled at his embarrassment and leaned forward once more for a kiss and Miles felt himself positively melt into it, exhausted and sated and so, so, so unbelievably euphoric at rediscovering Wright’s taste after so long.
“Phoenix,” Miles said after they both came up for air, something pained in it that Miles couldn’t quite put into words.
Wright touched their foreheads together, his slack, unguarded expression timeless - he remembered it from seven years ago, he remembered it from fourth grade, he would know it when they both were seventy. “I know,” the other man said quietly. He opened his eyes - so very, very blue - and smiled. “There aren't enough days in a year for all the therapy we’re going to need.”
Miles snorted his laughter, shaking his head. “You’re probably right,” he admitted.
“Come on,” Wright invited, tugging Miles toward his bedroom. “You’re tired.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, and followed.
Title: Bribery Is Not An Explanation [Part 2]
Rating: NC-17.
Pairings: Diego/Mia + Young!Edgeworth, Hobo!Phoenix/Edgeworth
Warnings: Spanking.
Summary: But he didn’t, merely trembled in place as he was held between pain, arousal, relief, and something that might have been love had Miles had any reference point to compare it to.
“…I didn’t do any casework that night,” Miles finished, staring up at the ceiling. “I went home and masturbated five times in a row, and I probably would have done it more had I not passed out over my desk.”
Wright’s eyes were wide, blue, and incredulous on the other side of the couch. Miles knew it was a… difficult to believe story at best, but considering that one of the members of the story had been murdered and the other one was currently in prison, Miles didn’t feel much shame in sharing it.
Or at least, not too much.
Wright let out a long, low whistle on the other side of the couch, one hand going up to toy idly with the horrendous blue beanie he had taken to wearing now that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore and didn’t have to dress “respectably.” Frankly, Miles remembered that shamble of polyester that Wright had the gall to call a suit and would have debated the definition of “respectable” with him, had he thought it would get it him anywhere.
Wright was different now, Miles thought as Wright mused over his story. Seven years ago, had he told Wright the exact same tale, Wright’s eyes would have bugged out of his head and he would have been falling over himself sputtering with questions. Now, the man on the other side of the sofa was quiet, taking a swig out of his bottle of wine.
“Damn,” Wright said at last, lowering the bottle. “This is going to sound twisted, but… I’m a little envious.”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
Wright snorted, and took another pull of his drink. “Not that being spanked is particularly my thing, but… I probably would have been into it had it been Mia.”
Miles felt himself blush as he rolled his eyes. “So does that suffice?”
Wright offered him a sardonic smile, which suited the man more than Miles would care to admit. This was the first time that he had seen Wright in seven years, since the attorney had been disbarred. Miles had been in Germany at the time, and Wright had never contacted him over it. Miles had known very well what was happening, of course - he had followed the news like a hawk when Wright’s disbarment had been the tabloid frenzy of the day - but Wright had never called and Miles had never initiated, not even knowing how to begin that conversation.
But now, seven years later, the man had managed to rise from the ashes - ha ha, Miles thought - yet again, and Miles had turned up on his doorstep. He had been expecting either a tearful reunion or the door to slam in his face when he had knocked, but Wright merely raised an eyebrow and stepped aside to let his former courtroom rival and lover in.
The former law office was now a mess of magic tricks and piles of laundry, but before addressing anything else, anything at all, Wright had demanded a story.
“Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told me,” this beanie-wearing incarnation of Phoenix Wright had ordered the moment Miles had sank into the stained cushions of the couch. “Tell me something true.”
So Miles had.
And Wright was mulling the story over in his head, one hand gripping the neck of his wine bottle, the other apparently fiddling with something in his pocket. “Well, it’s a true story,” Wright remarked to the air.
“Of course it is,” Miles snapped. “You think I would make something like that up?”
“I don’t think you could make something like that up,” Wright continued, taking yet another drink. Miles couldn’t tell if the man was already drunk, or just extremely good at holding his liquor. “You never were particularly strong on imagination.”
Miles huffed indignantly, but was rewarded by another one of Wright’s disturbingly attractive, sardonic smiles. “So tell me, Miles,” Wright continued, voice deepening to a soft purr, “has anybody ever done that to you since?”
Miles stiffened slightly on his end of the couch. “Done what?” he asked, though he was perfectly well aware.
Wright grinned again, sitting up straighter and finishing off his wine: Miles’ eyes locked onto the slow bob of Wright’s Adam’s apple and the way his careless stubble made his blue eyes look even bluer in the dying light of the day. “Spanked you,” he clarified, obviously liking the way the word sounded on his tongue.
Miles’ breath hovered in his throat for a bit - this wasn’t really the way he was expecting the conversation to turn, but this Wright was different than the Wright he had left seven years prior. This Wright seemed slightly more sinister, more like he would press a verbal slip or slight-of-hand to his advantage, and that he was a man used to taking advantage.
This Wright exuded a darker sexuality, one that was having a much more potent effect on Miles than he would like to admit. “No,” Miles said. “I’ve never even mentioned it to anybody.”
Wright set his empty bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch, overloaded with magazines and bills. “But you still fantasize about it,” Wright said, resting his head lazily in a hand, looking over at him with a slight smirk.
“…no,” Miles said, in an attempt to deflect.
“Liar,” Wright countered, his one hand still fisting something in his pocket-
“You have the magatama,” Miles accused.
Wright’s face split into an unabashed grin, making him look more like his younger self. “Guilty as charged,” he said, pulling the curved rock out of the front pocket of his hoodie.
Miles sighed wearily, slumping back into his seat. “Yes,” he said flatly, knowing full well the power of the magatama. “Yes, I still fantasize about it. To be honest, it’s a bit of a fetish.”
The gleam in Wright’s eyes was positively disturbing. Or at least, disturbing in the way it was affecting. “I could spank you,” the other man volunteered. “I would enjoy it greatly, actually.”
Miles felt himself flush again. “I don’t want you to-“
The denial died in his throat as Wright waved the magatama at him. “This thing still works,” he reminded Miles. “You’re going to finish that sentence and the Psyche-Locks are going to close around you and we may as well not waste our time.”
Miles sighed.
“I figure it’s the least you owe me,” Wright pointed out reasonably. “What, seven years and a disbarment and you don’t even so much as text-“
“You never contacted me!” Miles countered, suddenly realizing how lame that was in the face of everything. Wright had chased after him for years, defended him when Miles was stubbornly against it, and kept on defending him even when Miles was convinced of his own guilt. And here he was, saying that it was Wright’s fault for not contacting him? The boy who wrote hundreds of letters that never got answered that had turned into the man who had become a lawyer just to save him? The man who was his only true lover for years?
Wright’s lip ticked up, as if he had followed Miles’ very rapid train of thought. “No, I didn’t,” he said quietly. “I didn’t contact you when I needed help. I… didn’t think I had to, Miles.”
Sighing, Miles looked away, unable to face him. “I was a coward,” he said softly. “I… was too afraid to make that phone call.”
Wright shrugged. “It’s over now,” he said, leaning back into the couch cushions. “It’s over and justice has been served, shall we say.”
Miles turned back toward the other man. “I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said carefully, unsure of how to proceed. “That’s not why I came.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you or not,” Wright replied. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed about the man, Miles thought wryly, it’s his pathological honesty in matters of the heart. “If I do it’s not going to happen tonight. However, I will say that I haven’t gotten laid in the past seven years and if you want to get on the road to recovery I suggest we make something of it.” Wright quirked an uneven eyebrow at him. “Unless you’re not interested.”
Miles sighed, knowing that the man still had the magatama. “You know I am,” he said grudgingly. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had sex since the last time with you, either.”
“Well, that doesn’t make me feel any better, but you know what will? Spanking you until you come.”
Miles felt his breath hiss between his teeth as he turned his face away again. There was still a large part of him that was hesitant on this, but he had been an idiot and if Wright was even somewhat willing to give it all another shot, then Miles would be an idiot to deny it. Despite the fact that Wright’s fashion sense had managed to go even more down the drain over the past seven years, Miles was still irrevocably drawn to him, like a wasp to jam. It was shameful.
Almost as shameful as agreeing to be spanked for sexual pleasure, but not quite. “Not here,” he said quietly.
“Yes here,” Wright replied impatiently, raising an eyebrow. “This is my house.”
“What if somebody comes in?”
“Nobody will. Apollo and my daughter are out on a case for the day - they won’t be back for hours."
“Your daughter?”
Wright sighed, obviously not in the mood to delve into the subject at the moment. “She’s fifteen, so she’s obviously not mine from birth. I adopted her.”
Miles had to kill a smile that threatened to turn his lips. “Softy,” he said, and Wright smiled, and in it was another flicker of his old self, the one that defended clients for free and then would buy Maya and Pearl all the burgers they could eat.
And then, it was gone again. “Strip,” Wright ordered, not moving from the couch, his hands going to his pockets.
Miles sighed, and stood. “Not exactly the most romantic person on the planet, now are we?”
Now Wright laughed, tilting his head back to do so. It made Miles feel better - this was another thing that hadn’t changed. “You used to call me a bleeding heart, if I do recall.”
“True,” Miles admitted, standing and divesting himself quickly of his tan polo and black slacks, sliding out of his briefs and pulling off his socks. He opted not to sit back down, standing between the sofa and the cluttered glass coffee table, naked and feeling goosebumps roll up his skin in the cool, air-conditioned building.
Wright rumbled in the back of his throat, eyes greedily taking him in up and down. “Seven years down the road and you still look good,” he said appreciatively. He sat up on the edge of the sofa and beckoned him over. “Come here.”
Miles obeyed, and was surprised when Wright grabbed him by the hips and took his flaccid cock into his mouth. Gasping, Miles’ hands shot out and gripped Wright’s shoulders for leverage, feeling slightly lightheaded as blood rushed to his groin, pleasure careening in waves through his body. Wright’s tongue was still talented, his mouth as eager and warm as he remembered - making a soft noise in his throat, Miles ran trembling fingers up Wright’s neck and jaw, looking down to admire the picture of Wright’s lips bulging around his cock, eyes closed in pleasure, cheeks hollowing as he sucked.
In an embarrassingly short time Miles felt orgasm starting to build in his spine, the tell-tale tightening of his ass and thigh muscles, the hitching of his breath. When he was sure he couldn’t take it anymore, Wright pulled away. Miles was left panting, hard as a rock and trembling in the cool air.
Now Wright slid back on the couch, widening his lap and pointing to it.
It was as if somebody else had taken control of Miles’ body as he forced his trembling limbs to do his bidding: Wright had moved to the middle of the couch, so Miles was able to stretch out along it, his hardness pressing against Wright’s thigh, his ass pointed slightly up into the air.
Without warning, Wright’s hand fell with a sharp crack, and Miles jumped at the sudden feeling of pain blending with the pleasure of his erection pressed up against Wright’s leg.
“You really do like it,” Wright said wonderingly, his hand kneading the abused skin lightly. “I can feel you leaking against my leg - my God, Miles, I can only wish you had told me this earlier-“
Miles had opened his mouth to say that he doubted Wright would have taken as much pleasure in this seven years ago when Wright’s hand came down again and Miles cried out, his hands clenching against the sofa cushion.
“How hard do you like it?” Wright went on, pausing once again to squeeze at Miles’ ass. “Do you want to feel it tomorrow? So that every time you sit down you know what happened last night?”
Miles buried his head into the sofa cushions, concentrating very hard on not coming all over Wright’s sweatpants. Another slap made him shudder.
“Hey, I’m asking you questions,” Wright reprimanded, the hand coming down in five quick, hard spanks, making Miles’ body go rigid.
“God yes,” Miles replied, once he was able. “With Mia I was feeling it for a week and it drove me mad, absolutely up the wall, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, I have no idea how I won those trials-“
The blows rained down and Miles shuddered and squirmed under them; his legs flexed and tensed and the pain made his erection die a little bit, only to be brought back to life by Wright telling him to spread his legs of all commands; Miles did, and Wright caressed the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and Miles could feel the cold air on his exposed scrotum and he sunk his teeth into the couch pillow to keep from moaning.
“Mia wouldn’t have done this,” Wright remarked, before his long fingers slapped down along the inner curve of his thigh: Miles had to force himself not to close his legs, as the skin there was even more sensitive than on his ass and it hurt.
“…did she?” Wright asked, and Miles could have sworn he felt time stop as Wright reached out to cup his balls.
“…n-no,” Miles replied, hating himself a little for that stutter, hating himself more for the precome that ran thick and hot down onto Wright’s leg.
“Good,” Wright replied, his hand abruptly rising to strike at the junction where ass met thigh: he ordered Miles up onto his knees so he had better trajectory on that sensitive patch of skin.
Miles’ eyes were watering in earnest, now, and his erection wilted once more as his breath threatened to stall in his throat.
“Stand up,” Wright ordered, but grabbed one of Miles’ hands as it reflectively reached back to rub his abused skin. “Put your hands on the back of your head,” Wright ordered roughly. “Don’t touch yourself.”
Miles let out a shuddering breath and obeyed, forcing himself first to a kneeling position, and then a standing one, lacing his fingers together to rest them on the back of his head, breathing hard and evenly. Wright watched him with an unnamable emotion on his face for a moment, before standing as well.
Miles had a slight height advantage on Wright, but it didn’t feel like much at the moment, what with being naked with his hands on his head and a slow burn in his behind. He was waiting for another semi-degrading order when Wright managed to throw him for a loop yet again.
Carefully, the other man reached forward to cup Miles’ jaw, and tilted him slightly for a deep, soft kiss. Miles felt himself responding in kind, his eyes starting to water again.
“I missed you,” Wright whispered against Miles’ lips. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” Miles replied, his arms aching to reach forward and touch the other man, to apologize for his cowardice and how he was utterly unable to be the support for Wright as Wright had been the support - no, the lifeline for him. But he didn’t, merely trembled in place as he was held between pain, arousal, relief, and something that might have been love had Miles had any reference point to compare it to.
Wright dropped to his knees and pulled Miles in his mouth again, this time twice as feverish as he had been at the first, his head bobbing back and forth, his nails carving little crescent shapes into Miles’ thighs as he dragged the prosecutor forward into his mouth. A moan ripped from Miles’ throat before he could stop it; when Wright reached up and squeezed the reddened skin of Miles’ ass, a second moan joined the first.
Again, Miles felt his cock throbbing hot and nearly painful against the slick movement and suction of Wright’s tongue and mouth, his vision swam and he almost sobbed when Wright pulled away again, sliding back onto the couch, obviously waiting for Miles to reposition himself.
Swallowing a whimper, Miles crawled back over Wright’s lap, feeling the other man’s hardness jab him in the side as he gingerly lay back down over Wright’s sweatpants-clad thighs, hissing as his oversensitive member was pressed between his own and Wright’s bodies.
Wright’s fingers stroked gently over Miles’ abused ass and thighs, and Miles clenched his teeth at the strange sensation. Wright’s other hand drifted gently along Miles’ neck and through his hair.
“Come for me,” Wright said softly. “Miles, I want you to come.”
Miles gasped sharply, even before Wright’s hand came down a final time and he felt himself release, a thin noise rising from his throat as he thrust down hard against Wright’s thigh, feeling spurts of semen against his stomach soaking into Wright’s sweatpants.
When it was over Miles panted, exhausted, seeing stars dance before his eyes and enjoying the latent heat in his behind. Dazed, he pushed back from Wright’s lap and stared into Wright’s hooded blue eyes.
“What about…” Miles asked tiredly, looking down into Wright’s lap, an unusually large wet spot soaking the cloth from Wright’s waist down to his knees.
Wright yawned, something lazy and catlike in the action. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he assured Miles, tiredness seeping into his voice. “I… you took care of me with your little… show.”
Miles felt more color rise to his cheeks - it hadn’t even occurred to him that his flailing might have been enough to trigger Wright as well, but it did make sense.
Wright smiled at his embarrassment and leaned forward once more for a kiss and Miles felt himself positively melt into it, exhausted and sated and so, so, so unbelievably euphoric at rediscovering Wright’s taste after so long.
“Phoenix,” Miles said after they both came up for air, something pained in it that Miles couldn’t quite put into words.
Wright touched their foreheads together, his slack, unguarded expression timeless - he remembered it from seven years ago, he remembered it from fourth grade, he would know it when they both were seventy. “I know,” the other man said quietly. He opened his eyes - so very, very blue - and smiled. “There aren't enough days in a year for all the therapy we’re going to need.”
Miles snorted his laughter, shaking his head. “You’re probably right,” he admitted.
“Come on,” Wright invited, tugging Miles toward his bedroom. “You’re tired.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, and followed.