Fic: when I was
Title: when I was
Summary: Miles is going.
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban
Word Count: 729
Rating/Contents: PG, angst
Pairing: Miles/Phoenix
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For the uniforms/military kink square on my
kink_bingo card. Stretching: we are doing it. One more!
The office hardly feels like it's his anymore. The files and books are long since gone, filed in the lockers and libraries from whence they came. The chess set has been given away and his Steel Samurai maquette carefully packed; by the end of the day, there won't be any trace of him left.
Phoenix- the famous Phoenix Wright of the infinite turnabouts and second chances, who turned up out of nowhere to help- takes off his beanie, rubbing a hand through his spiky hair. "I can't believe you're actually going."
"I go all the time," Miles says lightly, turning to the wall and pulling down his jacket. "I don't know why you're surprised."
"You've never given up your office before," he points out. "It's different."
Miles doesn't respond, fiddling with the backing to the frame. "Can you get this out? I can't seem to lift the catch."
Phoenix pauses. "Are you sure you don't mind me touching it?"
"Come now," he says. "It's just-" Words fail him. The symbol of the person he used to be, the livery of his former mentor, the uniform that separated him from the rest of the world for so long. "It's just a jacket."
"If you say so," Phoenix replies. He does something with his thumbnail and the backing comes right off; he pulls back the mat, and it's right there between them. Phoenix gently picks it up, holding it to him.
Miles turns to wrap up another teacup. "You can just place it in the-"
"Put it on."
"Phoenix," he says, turning around, and his voice only sounds a little desperate. "I wasn't a good person when I wore that."
Phoenix's eyes are shaded. "I was."
Miles sighs; he's never been able to resist Phoenix, not if Phoenix wanted anything from him at all. "Lock the door."
As he watches Phoenix go, he wonders if it even fits anymore, if this is just going to end in embarrassment, like everything else. He takes his jacket off and folds it over the arm of the couch, setting his waistcoat on top of it. "Hold it up for me," he tells Phoenix, who's still cradling it; Phoenix very carefully shakes it out, holding it open so Miles can slip his arms into it.
He's surprised to see that it still fits just fine, the sleeves settling against his arms just so. It's more complicated than he remembered; he has to pull his cravat out of the way to button it up. It's a cheat, just like everything with von Karma, the waistcoat just a pair of panels attached to the jacket proper. The stiff collar rubs against his neck, and suddenly it's just like it was, the smell of it, the itch. He pulls the cuffs down self-consciously, the motion bringing back so many memories, thoughts of being twenty years old and so, so arrogant, so sure he was so far past perfect that no one could touch him.
Phoenix is watching him, completely rapt, his eyes trained on the jacket. There comes the moment when Miles can't pretend to be busy anymore, when he's fussed over every button and adjusted every seam. He drops his hands and just stands there awkwardly, waiting for Phoenix to make his move.
After an eternity, Phoenix speaks, stepping towards him. "You don't know how many times I saw you and wanted to do this."
Miles waits for it, whatever Phoenix needs from him. He has no idea what it is, whether Phoenix wants to punch him or fuck him or both.
He knows which one he deserves.
But Phoenix just walks over and slips his arms around Miles's waist. He steps in close, pulling Miles to him, tight enough that the cravat is crushed between them. Miles doesn't even know what to do, pulled in so many directions that he can't even name them all.
Finally, uncertainly, Miles lets his arms tighten around Phoenix, drawing him even tighter, so he can feel how the buttons and piping of the jacket press into both of them.
They stay like that for a long time.
Phoenix is the one to pull away first. He looks Miles hard in the eyes before leaning forward and kissing him, just once, intense and slow. "You always looked like you needed it."
Miles doesn't know if he'll ever be ready to admit how much he did, how much he does. "Thank you."
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/330989.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Miles is going.
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban
Word Count: 729
Rating/Contents: PG, angst
Pairing: Miles/Phoenix
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For the uniforms/military kink square on my
kink_bingo card. Stretching: we are doing it. One more!
The office hardly feels like it's his anymore. The files and books are long since gone, filed in the lockers and libraries from whence they came. The chess set has been given away and his Steel Samurai maquette carefully packed; by the end of the day, there won't be any trace of him left.
Phoenix- the famous Phoenix Wright of the infinite turnabouts and second chances, who turned up out of nowhere to help- takes off his beanie, rubbing a hand through his spiky hair. "I can't believe you're actually going."
"I go all the time," Miles says lightly, turning to the wall and pulling down his jacket. "I don't know why you're surprised."
"You've never given up your office before," he points out. "It's different."
Miles doesn't respond, fiddling with the backing to the frame. "Can you get this out? I can't seem to lift the catch."
Phoenix pauses. "Are you sure you don't mind me touching it?"
"Come now," he says. "It's just-" Words fail him. The symbol of the person he used to be, the livery of his former mentor, the uniform that separated him from the rest of the world for so long. "It's just a jacket."
"If you say so," Phoenix replies. He does something with his thumbnail and the backing comes right off; he pulls back the mat, and it's right there between them. Phoenix gently picks it up, holding it to him.
Miles turns to wrap up another teacup. "You can just place it in the-"
"Put it on."
"Phoenix," he says, turning around, and his voice only sounds a little desperate. "I wasn't a good person when I wore that."
Phoenix's eyes are shaded. "I was."
Miles sighs; he's never been able to resist Phoenix, not if Phoenix wanted anything from him at all. "Lock the door."
As he watches Phoenix go, he wonders if it even fits anymore, if this is just going to end in embarrassment, like everything else. He takes his jacket off and folds it over the arm of the couch, setting his waistcoat on top of it. "Hold it up for me," he tells Phoenix, who's still cradling it; Phoenix very carefully shakes it out, holding it open so Miles can slip his arms into it.
He's surprised to see that it still fits just fine, the sleeves settling against his arms just so. It's more complicated than he remembered; he has to pull his cravat out of the way to button it up. It's a cheat, just like everything with von Karma, the waistcoat just a pair of panels attached to the jacket proper. The stiff collar rubs against his neck, and suddenly it's just like it was, the smell of it, the itch. He pulls the cuffs down self-consciously, the motion bringing back so many memories, thoughts of being twenty years old and so, so arrogant, so sure he was so far past perfect that no one could touch him.
Phoenix is watching him, completely rapt, his eyes trained on the jacket. There comes the moment when Miles can't pretend to be busy anymore, when he's fussed over every button and adjusted every seam. He drops his hands and just stands there awkwardly, waiting for Phoenix to make his move.
After an eternity, Phoenix speaks, stepping towards him. "You don't know how many times I saw you and wanted to do this."
Miles waits for it, whatever Phoenix needs from him. He has no idea what it is, whether Phoenix wants to punch him or fuck him or both.
He knows which one he deserves.
But Phoenix just walks over and slips his arms around Miles's waist. He steps in close, pulling Miles to him, tight enough that the cravat is crushed between them. Miles doesn't even know what to do, pulled in so many directions that he can't even name them all.
Finally, uncertainly, Miles lets his arms tighten around Phoenix, drawing him even tighter, so he can feel how the buttons and piping of the jacket press into both of them.
They stay like that for a long time.
Phoenix is the one to pull away first. He looks Miles hard in the eyes before leaning forward and kissing him, just once, intense and slow. "You always looked like you needed it."
Miles doesn't know if he'll ever be ready to admit how much he did, how much he does. "Thank you."
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/330989.html.
comments over there.