Phoenix Wright, "For the Common Cold," Miles/Phoenix, NC-17
Art-trade with PseudoNonchalance over at y!gallery, 'cept it's writing 'cause I still can't draw my way out of a paper bag. *laughs*
She wanted either her originals or Miles/Phoenix and, as no originals are talking to me these days, she gets the latter. I hope it's what you had in mind, dear!
For the Common Cold
by mistr3ss Quickly
They're not drunk, the first time, though Miles is groggy from the cough syrup Phoenix brought him after court and Phoenix is giddy with his first paying victory in nearly three months. One kiss of greeting/celebration turns into a grope in the hallway of Miles' flat, which turns quickly enough into a breathless stumble into Miles' bedroom and ends just as quickly in a coughing fit and Phoenix fetching a box of tissues, blushing when Miles glares blearily at the bulge of his erection, pressing at the front of his cheap polyester-blend trousers.
"If this is a hallucination brought on by that foul stuff you made me swallow, Wright," he says, after blowing his nose in what would be an undignified manner, were it anyone else doing it, "I'll have you killed."
"Right," says Phoenix, trying to subtlely adjust himself and failing to do anything more than attract Miles' attention to his crotch. "Have to get you well first, though. Lie down, I'll make soup."
The soup turns out badly enough that it's nearly a month before the second time, and then it's only because Maya begs that Miles goes to see Phoenix, stopping off along the way only long enough to buy the ingredients for a decent chicken-noodle soup and a box of tissues. He arrives to an unlocked apartment and an unconscious Phoenix, neither of which concern him terribly, so he busies himself instead with assembling the soup, jumping only a little when Phoenix appears behind him, fever-sweaty and heavy, leaning.
"If you've got some of that stuff I made you take, I'll take it," Phoenix mumbles pathetically, swaying dangerously when Miles turns to frown at him. "Don' care if it kills me, feel like death anyway."
"Hm, how pathetically poetic, Wright," Miles says. He ruffles the spikes drooping into Phoenix's eyes and inclines his head towards the table. "Over there. Don't overdose, you'll make a mess, and I won't be cleaning up after you."
The medicine does its work well, knocking Phoenix so far into a drug-induced dreamland that Miles ends up eating a bowl of soup alone and leaving the rest in the refrigerator. The soup is good, though, good enough that Phoenix shows up at Miles' office a week later with a grin on his face and two cups of coffee from the good coffee-house two blocks away.
"What's this, Wright?" Miles says, eyeing the cups suspiciously.
"Coffee," Phoenix says. "Well, tea, in your case. I promise I didn't make either of them."
Miles' gaze rises to rest on Phoenix's face. "Why?" he says.
Phoenix shrugs. "Third time's a charm?" he says.
Miles rolls his eyes and calls him an idiot.
He does take the cup of tea Phoenix offers him, though. Takes a sip, sets the cup down. Crosses his office in four long strides and closes the door, locks it with a snap of his wrist.
"Your taste in tea," he says, crossing back Phoenix, "and where to procure it is far superior to your taste in instant soup."
Phoenix doesn't answer. Doesn't set down his own cup, either, so the kiss Miles presses against his mouth is less passionate than it could be, less passionate than the kiss he answers with, after Miles takes his cup away and reaches for the knot in his tie.
"Didn't think you-mmm-did stuff like this at the office," he says, slipping his hands past the waistband of Miles' trousers to squeeze the man's ass.
"Shall I not, then?" Miles says, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips.
Phoenix groans and shakes his head, gives Miles' ass another squeeze as he's pushed back against the smooth edge of the desk. He groans again, this time in protest, when his hands are wrestled roughly from their place on Miles' ass. Starts to complain, the minute his mouth is no longer occupied with kissing, but Miles' glare silences him, Miles' hands busy with his belt and zipper bringing an appreciative hum from him instead.
"Oh god, Miles," he breathes, tipping his head back and shivering at the first touch of his lover's mouth to the head of his erection. "Aah ..."
Miles chuckles softly and draws him in, takes him deep. Swallows around him, hands on Phoenix's hips, holding the man steady as he starts building a rhythm, fast and irregular, swallowing just often enough to reduce Phoenix to a shivering mess within minutes.
"Ah, Miles, I'm close," Phoenix murmurs, just as Miles' jaw is beginning to ache. "I'm-I'm going to-ngh-!"
He comes, fingers tangled in Miles' hair, making a mess of it, cock shoved deep in Miles' mouth. Hums in acknowledgment when Miles leans back and chastises him softly for being too rough, his body slumped bonelessly against he desk.
"Your fault, that was amazing," he says.
Miles clears his throat. "I had gathered as much from your lack of stamina," he says.
Phoenix chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. Go sit in your chair, my turn to make you look bad."
Which he puts forth his best effort to do, licking and sucking and swallowing with all the enthusiasm he's famous for bringing to the courtroom. But it's not until Miles' patience wears thin, his chair shoved roughly backwards as he stands to fuck Phoenix's throat, that Phoenix's true skills surface, one of his fingers slipping back to tease where Miles is most sensitive, barely wiggling inside the prosecutor's body before Miles stiffens and comes, without a sound and without warning, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he empties himself into his lover's mouth.
"And you said I was too rough with you," Phoenix says, a bit hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Miles frowns. "You didn't seem to have any objection," he says.
"To that?" says Phoenix. "'Course I didn't, you're hot when you lose control."
"I did not-"
"I'll be getting some mileage out of that the next time you get sick and can't do more than tease me, I'll tell you that."
Miles rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Wright."
"Swear to God," says Phoenix.
He stands, brushes off the knees of his trousers. Kisses Miles on the lips once before he's pushed away, towards his cooling cup of coffee, Miles objecting softly to kissing something that's so recently been sucking him off.
"Yeah, well it's not the best flavor in the world," Phoenix says, sipping experimentally at his coffee before taking a long drink, "but it is better than that cough syrup I got you. Admit it."
Miles takes a drink of his tea and nods. "Better than your idea of chicken noodle soup, too," he says.
Phoenix laughs. "Probably," he says, mingling his coffee with his lover's tea, taking the man's mouth in a slow, gentle kiss. "Probably."
She wanted either her originals or Miles/Phoenix and, as no originals are talking to me these days, she gets the latter. I hope it's what you had in mind, dear!
For the Common Cold
by mistr3ss Quickly
They're not drunk, the first time, though Miles is groggy from the cough syrup Phoenix brought him after court and Phoenix is giddy with his first paying victory in nearly three months. One kiss of greeting/celebration turns into a grope in the hallway of Miles' flat, which turns quickly enough into a breathless stumble into Miles' bedroom and ends just as quickly in a coughing fit and Phoenix fetching a box of tissues, blushing when Miles glares blearily at the bulge of his erection, pressing at the front of his cheap polyester-blend trousers.
"If this is a hallucination brought on by that foul stuff you made me swallow, Wright," he says, after blowing his nose in what would be an undignified manner, were it anyone else doing it, "I'll have you killed."
"Right," says Phoenix, trying to subtlely adjust himself and failing to do anything more than attract Miles' attention to his crotch. "Have to get you well first, though. Lie down, I'll make soup."
The soup turns out badly enough that it's nearly a month before the second time, and then it's only because Maya begs that Miles goes to see Phoenix, stopping off along the way only long enough to buy the ingredients for a decent chicken-noodle soup and a box of tissues. He arrives to an unlocked apartment and an unconscious Phoenix, neither of which concern him terribly, so he busies himself instead with assembling the soup, jumping only a little when Phoenix appears behind him, fever-sweaty and heavy, leaning.
"If you've got some of that stuff I made you take, I'll take it," Phoenix mumbles pathetically, swaying dangerously when Miles turns to frown at him. "Don' care if it kills me, feel like death anyway."
"Hm, how pathetically poetic, Wright," Miles says. He ruffles the spikes drooping into Phoenix's eyes and inclines his head towards the table. "Over there. Don't overdose, you'll make a mess, and I won't be cleaning up after you."
The medicine does its work well, knocking Phoenix so far into a drug-induced dreamland that Miles ends up eating a bowl of soup alone and leaving the rest in the refrigerator. The soup is good, though, good enough that Phoenix shows up at Miles' office a week later with a grin on his face and two cups of coffee from the good coffee-house two blocks away.
"What's this, Wright?" Miles says, eyeing the cups suspiciously.
"Coffee," Phoenix says. "Well, tea, in your case. I promise I didn't make either of them."
Miles' gaze rises to rest on Phoenix's face. "Why?" he says.
Phoenix shrugs. "Third time's a charm?" he says.
Miles rolls his eyes and calls him an idiot.
He does take the cup of tea Phoenix offers him, though. Takes a sip, sets the cup down. Crosses his office in four long strides and closes the door, locks it with a snap of his wrist.
"Your taste in tea," he says, crossing back Phoenix, "and where to procure it is far superior to your taste in instant soup."
Phoenix doesn't answer. Doesn't set down his own cup, either, so the kiss Miles presses against his mouth is less passionate than it could be, less passionate than the kiss he answers with, after Miles takes his cup away and reaches for the knot in his tie.
"Didn't think you-mmm-did stuff like this at the office," he says, slipping his hands past the waistband of Miles' trousers to squeeze the man's ass.
"Shall I not, then?" Miles says, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips.
Phoenix groans and shakes his head, gives Miles' ass another squeeze as he's pushed back against the smooth edge of the desk. He groans again, this time in protest, when his hands are wrestled roughly from their place on Miles' ass. Starts to complain, the minute his mouth is no longer occupied with kissing, but Miles' glare silences him, Miles' hands busy with his belt and zipper bringing an appreciative hum from him instead.
"Oh god, Miles," he breathes, tipping his head back and shivering at the first touch of his lover's mouth to the head of his erection. "Aah ..."
Miles chuckles softly and draws him in, takes him deep. Swallows around him, hands on Phoenix's hips, holding the man steady as he starts building a rhythm, fast and irregular, swallowing just often enough to reduce Phoenix to a shivering mess within minutes.
"Ah, Miles, I'm close," Phoenix murmurs, just as Miles' jaw is beginning to ache. "I'm-I'm going to-ngh-!"
He comes, fingers tangled in Miles' hair, making a mess of it, cock shoved deep in Miles' mouth. Hums in acknowledgment when Miles leans back and chastises him softly for being too rough, his body slumped bonelessly against he desk.
"Your fault, that was amazing," he says.
Miles clears his throat. "I had gathered as much from your lack of stamina," he says.
Phoenix chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. Go sit in your chair, my turn to make you look bad."
Which he puts forth his best effort to do, licking and sucking and swallowing with all the enthusiasm he's famous for bringing to the courtroom. But it's not until Miles' patience wears thin, his chair shoved roughly backwards as he stands to fuck Phoenix's throat, that Phoenix's true skills surface, one of his fingers slipping back to tease where Miles is most sensitive, barely wiggling inside the prosecutor's body before Miles stiffens and comes, without a sound and without warning, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he empties himself into his lover's mouth.
"And you said I was too rough with you," Phoenix says, a bit hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Miles frowns. "You didn't seem to have any objection," he says.
"To that?" says Phoenix. "'Course I didn't, you're hot when you lose control."
"I did not-"
"I'll be getting some mileage out of that the next time you get sick and can't do more than tease me, I'll tell you that."
Miles rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Wright."
"Swear to God," says Phoenix.
He stands, brushes off the knees of his trousers. Kisses Miles on the lips once before he's pushed away, towards his cooling cup of coffee, Miles objecting softly to kissing something that's so recently been sucking him off.
"Yeah, well it's not the best flavor in the world," Phoenix says, sipping experimentally at his coffee before taking a long drink, "but it is better than that cough syrup I got you. Admit it."
Miles takes a drink of his tea and nods. "Better than your idea of chicken noodle soup, too," he says.
Phoenix laughs. "Probably," he says, mingling his coffee with his lover's tea, taking the man's mouth in a slow, gentle kiss. "Probably."