[001] [Phoenix Wright: JFA] [Matt Engarde] [NC-17]
Title: ‘Part of Me’ or ‘When I Think Abouuuuut You, I Touch Myse-‘
Author: Hyatt
Rating: NC-17 for masturbation
Fandom: Phoenix Wright 2: Justice for All
Characters: Matt Engarde
Warning: Huge, huge, huge spoilers for PW2: JFA, Case 4. Also kindasorta manporn but not. Mostly it’s just a hot guy jacking off. And if this offends your delicate sensibilities… you might not want to read any of my other fanfiction. XD
Disclaimer: I don’t know the Gyakuten Saiban/Phoenix Wright series. Seriously, if I did, I’d have way better things to do than write porn about it.
--
“Do you trust me?”
He’s laying in bed now, his eyes closed, hair fanning out over the pillow. He’s more than a little uncomfortable at the moment; the window is closed (he never leaves his window open at night), and so the ‘refreshing spring breeze’ outside is replaced instead by the unyielding, artificial cold of the air conditioner, blasting in from the vent above the door, making him shiver and causing a small, if nagging, ache between the eyes. And despite how cold it is, somehow he’s still entirely too hot as well, naked body smothered and sweating under the thick wool blankets. That warm hand creeping down his stomach likely doesn’t help. Oddly enough, he finds that he does not care.
“Uh huh,” he replies breathlessly, nodding his head. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying, really; he just knows it’ll keep him from stopping. He hears a quiet chuckle as those fingers linger over his skin, tracing circles along his side, light and airy and ticklish like a feather’s touch.
“Of course you do. Sentimental little fool.” That hand moves, fingers tracing the trail of hair down his stomach, gradually drifting closer and closer to where he really wants them. ”You shouldn’t, you know. You know what I’m capable of. You’ve seen what I can do.” His voice an intimate whisper in his ear, thick with lust and sickly saccharine, sweet like blood and honey. “Or maybe it’s not that at all. Maybe it’s just that you’d tell me anything to get me to fuck you. Well?” His fingers finally curl around his neglected erection, and Matt can’t help it; he moans. “Am I too far off the mark?”
He can’t say that he’s wrong, and he can’t say that he’s right. But he knows the other man well enough to know that ‘No’ will probably get him more than ‘Yes’ will. So he shakes his head.
Matt hears him chuckle darkly, hand simply resting over his cock, not stroking, not moving, just staying there, and it’s almost infuriating. “Well, you know I can’t do that to you,” he says, fingers slowly tracing up the firm column of flesh. “So we’ll just have to make do with what we have, won’t we?” Matt seems about to say something, but just as it’s leaving his lips he feels that hand grasp his cock more firmly, and whatever it is comes out as a choked off moan; it’s just as well, he couldn’t remember what it was anyway, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t important.
His hand moves in steady, confident strokes, up and down the thick shaft, knowing just where to touch, which spots to exploit. He knows his body as well as Matt does, maybe better, and why shouldn’t he? How many hours have they spent doing just this, nights stretching out into what feels like a blissful eternity and yet somehow still not long enough He knows that his stamina only can hold out for so long under such torture, and then it’ll all be over and there will be nothing left for him to do but settle down, spent and sticky, and fall into a fitful sleep, all alone, save for-
“Hey,” he hears him say, hands going still for a moment (and god, the sudden lack of stimulation is almost painful). “I’m taking time out of a good night’s sleep to get you off; the least you can do is stop thinking and enjoy it.”
Fair enough.
And then he’s moving again, and somehow that sudden stop makes the quickening pace feel even better, and he’s fucking that hand now, rocking his hips up, his own fingers clutching the rumpled bed sheets for purchase. Almost… almost…!
The pressure and heat reach their peak, and for a moment body and brain seem to go numb, leaving him aware of nothing but the pleasant euphoria spreading through his veins and the hot spurt of come splattering up his stomach and chest, a few stray droplets catching him in the face. He slumps back onto the mattress, hungry lungs aching in his chest as he gasps for air (when did he forget to breathe?). He doesn’t feel the other’s presence at his side, he never does, but he knows he’s still there, unmoving, silent, and Matt imagines him as almost reverent even though he’s not sure if either one’s capable of such an emotion..
Seconds pass, then minutes, maybe even hours, he’s not sure. But eventually his breathing calms, his heartbeat slows, and for a second, he tries to open his eyes.
“Don’t,” he hears him say. “You know the rules.” One look and I’m out of here, got it? Matt remembers, he’s said it before. But he doesn’t listen. He never does.
His eyes stare dumbly up at the ceiling, and though he doesn’t look, he knows he’s the only one in this bed right now. His hand is still wrapped loosely around his cock, sticky and wet with come, and he wipes it unthinkingly on the sheets. He’ll have them washed tomorrow. He settles onto his side and closes his eyes, drawing the covers up over his neck. Still too cold, still too hot, but he doesn’t quite feel the need to remedy the situation. He’s much too tired now.
Tired, and yet he can’t sleep. It’s too quiet, and Matt doesn’t like the quiet. He knows he broke the rules, knows that he’s alone now because of it, but the silence still is just too much for him. So he asks, calling out into his head.
Are you there?
There’s no response, and the stagnant silence hasn’t gone away. But Matt knows better. When he listens, he can still hear quiet breathing, a steady heartbeat, muffled, as if he’s trying to hide, somewhere deep in his mind. And Matt smiles. He’s there. Of course he’s there. And why wouldn’t he be? His heart, his body, his soul, his everything is something Matt himself breathed life into, his company the only purpose which gives him substance. He is only real in that Matt made him real, and no matter how much he tries to convince Matt that he’s no different from the rest of the uncaring, unforgiving world, with no qualms about dropping him at a moment’s notice, there’s no way one can truly abandon that which made them whole.
“Whatever, dude,” he says, rolling onto his side. “You couldn’t leave if you wanted to."
Author: Hyatt
Rating: NC-17 for masturbation
Fandom: Phoenix Wright 2: Justice for All
Characters: Matt Engarde
Warning: Huge, huge, huge spoilers for PW2: JFA, Case 4. Also kindasorta manporn but not. Mostly it’s just a hot guy jacking off. And if this offends your delicate sensibilities… you might not want to read any of my other fanfiction. XD
Disclaimer: I don’t know the Gyakuten Saiban/Phoenix Wright series. Seriously, if I did, I’d have way better things to do than write porn about it.
--
“Do you trust me?”
He’s laying in bed now, his eyes closed, hair fanning out over the pillow. He’s more than a little uncomfortable at the moment; the window is closed (he never leaves his window open at night), and so the ‘refreshing spring breeze’ outside is replaced instead by the unyielding, artificial cold of the air conditioner, blasting in from the vent above the door, making him shiver and causing a small, if nagging, ache between the eyes. And despite how cold it is, somehow he’s still entirely too hot as well, naked body smothered and sweating under the thick wool blankets. That warm hand creeping down his stomach likely doesn’t help. Oddly enough, he finds that he does not care.
“Uh huh,” he replies breathlessly, nodding his head. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying, really; he just knows it’ll keep him from stopping. He hears a quiet chuckle as those fingers linger over his skin, tracing circles along his side, light and airy and ticklish like a feather’s touch.
“Of course you do. Sentimental little fool.” That hand moves, fingers tracing the trail of hair down his stomach, gradually drifting closer and closer to where he really wants them. ”You shouldn’t, you know. You know what I’m capable of. You’ve seen what I can do.” His voice an intimate whisper in his ear, thick with lust and sickly saccharine, sweet like blood and honey. “Or maybe it’s not that at all. Maybe it’s just that you’d tell me anything to get me to fuck you. Well?” His fingers finally curl around his neglected erection, and Matt can’t help it; he moans. “Am I too far off the mark?”
He can’t say that he’s wrong, and he can’t say that he’s right. But he knows the other man well enough to know that ‘No’ will probably get him more than ‘Yes’ will. So he shakes his head.
Matt hears him chuckle darkly, hand simply resting over his cock, not stroking, not moving, just staying there, and it’s almost infuriating. “Well, you know I can’t do that to you,” he says, fingers slowly tracing up the firm column of flesh. “So we’ll just have to make do with what we have, won’t we?” Matt seems about to say something, but just as it’s leaving his lips he feels that hand grasp his cock more firmly, and whatever it is comes out as a choked off moan; it’s just as well, he couldn’t remember what it was anyway, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t important.
His hand moves in steady, confident strokes, up and down the thick shaft, knowing just where to touch, which spots to exploit. He knows his body as well as Matt does, maybe better, and why shouldn’t he? How many hours have they spent doing just this, nights stretching out into what feels like a blissful eternity and yet somehow still not long enough He knows that his stamina only can hold out for so long under such torture, and then it’ll all be over and there will be nothing left for him to do but settle down, spent and sticky, and fall into a fitful sleep, all alone, save for-
“Hey,” he hears him say, hands going still for a moment (and god, the sudden lack of stimulation is almost painful). “I’m taking time out of a good night’s sleep to get you off; the least you can do is stop thinking and enjoy it.”
Fair enough.
And then he’s moving again, and somehow that sudden stop makes the quickening pace feel even better, and he’s fucking that hand now, rocking his hips up, his own fingers clutching the rumpled bed sheets for purchase. Almost… almost…!
The pressure and heat reach their peak, and for a moment body and brain seem to go numb, leaving him aware of nothing but the pleasant euphoria spreading through his veins and the hot spurt of come splattering up his stomach and chest, a few stray droplets catching him in the face. He slumps back onto the mattress, hungry lungs aching in his chest as he gasps for air (when did he forget to breathe?). He doesn’t feel the other’s presence at his side, he never does, but he knows he’s still there, unmoving, silent, and Matt imagines him as almost reverent even though he’s not sure if either one’s capable of such an emotion..
Seconds pass, then minutes, maybe even hours, he’s not sure. But eventually his breathing calms, his heartbeat slows, and for a second, he tries to open his eyes.
“Don’t,” he hears him say. “You know the rules.” One look and I’m out of here, got it? Matt remembers, he’s said it before. But he doesn’t listen. He never does.
His eyes stare dumbly up at the ceiling, and though he doesn’t look, he knows he’s the only one in this bed right now. His hand is still wrapped loosely around his cock, sticky and wet with come, and he wipes it unthinkingly on the sheets. He’ll have them washed tomorrow. He settles onto his side and closes his eyes, drawing the covers up over his neck. Still too cold, still too hot, but he doesn’t quite feel the need to remedy the situation. He’s much too tired now.
Tired, and yet he can’t sleep. It’s too quiet, and Matt doesn’t like the quiet. He knows he broke the rules, knows that he’s alone now because of it, but the silence still is just too much for him. So he asks, calling out into his head.
Are you there?
There’s no response, and the stagnant silence hasn’t gone away. But Matt knows better. When he listens, he can still hear quiet breathing, a steady heartbeat, muffled, as if he’s trying to hide, somewhere deep in his mind. And Matt smiles. He’s there. Of course he’s there. And why wouldn’t he be? His heart, his body, his soul, his everything is something Matt himself breathed life into, his company the only purpose which gives him substance. He is only real in that Matt made him real, and no matter how much he tries to convince Matt that he’s no different from the rest of the uncaring, unforgiving world, with no qualms about dropping him at a moment’s notice, there’s no way one can truly abandon that which made them whole.
“Whatever, dude,” he says, rolling onto his side. “You couldn’t leave if you wanted to."