Work Text:
Phoenix lies down on white sheets in Amsterdam. Says things like "Yeah. There. C'mon. Miles. Fuck. Right there. Miles ." A little direction: When he's so far up his own ass he's no good in Phoenix's. Miles says things like "Be quiet" and it's so good Phoenix drools onto a pillowcase he's sure has a higher thread count than his annual income. And it's so good that in the shower after, even with his brain fucked out of his skull, he thinks we could've been good . And it's so pitiful it makes him angry. He lets himself melt down into a puddle under a man he cares about more than he's allowed to. He tries to cool down into something solid in time to make his flight home.
Kristoph Gavin pushes Phoenix Wright down on sheets in LA and they are cool, solid, cold. Kristoph won't tell him to shut up. Phoenix won't say anything. He's not bad. Oh Kristoph is bad. But he's not uncoordinated. The sex isn't bad. Phoenix might enjoy it if either of them relaxed. If they weren't watching each other the whole time. If they could make eye contact that wasn't calculating. If things weren't cat and mouse. Wolf and lamb.
Sex with Miles is a global war. Sex with Kristoph is a game. Somehow the second one is more to lose.
So Kristin gets off. Gets up without a hair out of place. One hair out of place. One long, blonde hair. One long, blonde hair Phoenix finds on his pillowcase in the morning. One long, blonde hair Phoenix flushes down the toilet. One gray pillowcase Phoenix washes with his gray pants, gray boxers.
He watches his laundry swirl and thinks This is bad. And he's not good with Miles either, but he could've been. In some life it all worked out. Phoenix can't see a way this ends without Kristoph eating Phoenix's heart out. Without Phoenix ending up a rusty red-brown stain.
So he goes back and goes back and dines out and puts out. He learns nothing and convinces himself this time he'll learn something. He's having another glass of wine. Mouse. He's a step away from catching a criminal. Cat. He's letting all the sad, gooey parts fall out in conversation; He's drawing in sympathy, no, pity . Lamb. The cat gets the cream and the wolf eats the lamb alive while the lamb dreams of ripping through the belly of the beast. And despite being the one that isn't digesting, the lamb's stomach turns, because he starts to enjoy it.