Sure hope I'm tagging this right
Characters: Xelloss, Edgeworth, Grif and Sion.
Setting/Location: Some lucky inn!
Date & Time: Day 0, dawn.
Warnings: This is filthy, perverted stuff.
Summary: I have no idea how to summarize this!
The bed was uncomfortable.
Edgeworth opened his eyes wondering if he had fallen asleep in his chair--an unusual occurrence, though perhaps a little less unusual these days. There was always more work in the summer; a startling number of murders were often committed while college students were out of school for the break period, for whatever reason, and it was possible the nice weather made people feel more inclined to kill one another. Or perhaps it was merely a product of the heat. Either way, Edgeworth had been burning the long-past-midnight oil of late, but almost immediately he realized this was not his office, nor was he at his desk, back twitching from acute pain at the base of his spine. (He would, eventually, stop working so late--when he no longer had work that needed to be done, despite the hour.)
Rather, the bed was uncomfortable because it was not a bed.
It appeared that it was, in fact, a person. A person with three arms. Three arms?
Edgeworth blinked, raising himself up on one arm, unwilling to panic so quickly--there was always the possibility that this was a dream, though the less groggy he became, the more unlikely that seemed. His palm was against something hard, like a bone, and then it slipped against something soft, and whatever--whoever--was beneath him grunted, as though he'd punched them in the stomach. Possibly because he just had.
Setting/Location: Some lucky inn!
Date & Time: Day 0, dawn.
Warnings: This is filthy, perverted stuff.
Summary: I have no idea how to summarize this!
The bed was uncomfortable.
Edgeworth opened his eyes wondering if he had fallen asleep in his chair--an unusual occurrence, though perhaps a little less unusual these days. There was always more work in the summer; a startling number of murders were often committed while college students were out of school for the break period, for whatever reason, and it was possible the nice weather made people feel more inclined to kill one another. Or perhaps it was merely a product of the heat. Either way, Edgeworth had been burning the long-past-midnight oil of late, but almost immediately he realized this was not his office, nor was he at his desk, back twitching from acute pain at the base of his spine. (He would, eventually, stop working so late--when he no longer had work that needed to be done, despite the hour.)
Rather, the bed was uncomfortable because it was not a bed.
It appeared that it was, in fact, a person. A person with three arms. Three arms?
Edgeworth blinked, raising himself up on one arm, unwilling to panic so quickly--there was always the possibility that this was a dream, though the less groggy he became, the more unlikely that seemed. His palm was against something hard, like a bone, and then it slipped against something soft, and whatever--whoever--was beneath him grunted, as though he'd punched them in the stomach. Possibly because he just had.