fairhearing

Just collecting these into one place so they won't get lost into the ether someday. PxE, of course, as Deus vult.

(I will never stop being amazed and honored that I was one of the founding fillers of THE Kink Meme. It's like touching God's toenail, or something.)

Rating: R
Kink: "NaruMitsu, rape recovery. (Preferably, Naru being the abused party.)"

At first the police department had been loath to allow Prosecutor Edgeworth to assist with the investigation. It was still a crime in media res, after all, and a particularly sensitive one besides. Kidnapping cases always were. But one of the department detectives had managed to persuade the chief to let him on as a special favor.

It turned out to have been the right choice. Prosecutor Edgeworth had found the place, an abandoned warehouse basement by the old city harbor, before the missing persons report had even been fully processed. Yes, Edgeworth had been fast, fantastically fast -- he had worked for two days without eating, or sleeping, or talking to anyone.

Very few, however, believed he had been fast enough.

Even with six police officers working together, it was almost impossible to force the heavy rusted warehouse doors open more than a crack. But Edgeworth managed to shove his way through anyway. The pocket of his overcoat caught on a crooked nail halfway through; he jerked it away with the sound of ripping fabric.

"Phoenix!" he shouted into the bare chilly room. "Phoenix!"

His voice echoed. Phoenix, Phoenix.

"Sir." Detective Gumshoe had made it in. He was panting. "Should we check upstairs?"

"No." Edgeworth's eyes darted around the room. "No, he would be here. You, Sergeant, take your men and search the east side. Detective, come with me. Every door," Edgeworth told them, fumbling to turn on his flashlight. "Every box, every corner, everywhere. Go."

Soon faint calls of "Hello!" and "Mr. Wright!" filled the warehouse. Edgeworth pried the lids off packing crates and climbed into them to comb through the shredded newspaper within; Gumshoe shot the lock off a supply closet and the two of them searched it from ceiling to floor.

Both were keenly aware, though neither would mention it, of time. How it had already been almost three days. How it might already be too late.

And then at last Edgeworth almost tripped on it: a shallow indentation on the floor, about three yards square, almost invisible in the dust. He ran his hands along it until he felt it: a clasp, attached to a handle.

Gumshoe knelt down to help him, and the two of them working together just barely managed to lift up the heavy oak trapdoor. The moment it slammed open onto the ground, Edgeworth jumped into the pitch-black space beneath.

"Wait a second, sir!" Gumshoe called after him, but Edgeworth didn't hear.

For a moment there was only blackness, and his own harsh breathing in his ears, as Edgeworth felt around for the switch of his flashlight. Then light flooded the crawlspace, and he could see at last.

"Oh," he whispered, when he could finally speak.

"Sir?" Gumshoe was leaning down, calling after him. "Sir, are you all right?"

"Yes, I -- I'm fine. I'm fine. I... He's here."

"What! He is? You found him, Mr. Edgeworth! I knew you would, I just knew it! Hey, boys! Hey!"

"No." Edgeworth's voice was sharp. "No. Don't call anyone over yet."

"What?" Even in the darkness, Gumshoe's shocked expression seemed to come through. "Why? Is... is he...?"

"No." Edgeworth faltered, and he had to try again. "No, he's alive."

"Well, then, let me help you, sir!"

"No. No, stay there. I'll tell you when I need you. Stay there."

Gumshoe must have continued to protest, but Edgeworth was no longer listening. Carefully he placed the flashlight on its side, on the floor. Somehow, that made the light slanting across Phoenix Wright's bruised and naked body a little less cruel.

"It's okay," Edgeworth whispered, as he took off his coat. "It's going to be okay." He didn't know what he was saying. He was babbling nonsense. But Wright's wet eyes were watching him from above the thick cloth that gagged him, and he was trembling uncontrollably, and Edgeworth couldn't think straight; he couldn't think at all. He could only draw Wright gently into his overcoat, falter for only a second at the muffled sound of pain, take out the Swiss army knife Franziska had given him last Christmas and saw through the ropes that bit into Wright's wrists so tightly that the skin there was raw and almost bleeding.

Then the gag. Wright made no noise at all when it fell away; he only stared at the floor, breathing. Then, very slowly, he lowered his head, as though it were a great weight, and buried his face in Edgeworth's shoulder.

And when his shoulders began to shake, and muffled broken sounds to escape from his throat, Edgeworth didn't move, or try to soothe him, or call for Gumshoe -- did nothing that might turn shock into shame. He only kept one hand on the coat's lapels and the other on Wright's back, all the while whispering the same meaningless, useless words that he could not, even so, stop himself from saying: "it's okay," and "you're safe," and "I'm here."

Rating: NC-17
Kink: "Phoenix/Miles breathplay with Miles topping."

In the beginning Miles was just trying to keep Phoenix quiet. Even though it was seven-thirty, and not even the staunchest of workaholics were roaming the prosecutor's office, they couldn't take any chances -- not with the sight they would make, should anyone stumble across them: Phoenix straddling Miles's lap, hands braced back on Miles's naked thighs, crying out every time Miles drove into him.

And Phoenix was still so tight. Miles had to grip him by the hips and pull him down hard each time, and each time, Phoenix thrashed his head, gasped open-mouthed, made a broken animal sound when Miles's cock finally buried itself all the way to his balls. But then he got louder, and louder, and Miles, without thinking, clapped a hand over Phoenix's mouth, gritting his teeth as he fucked him harder. It wasn't until he felt fingers scrabbling at his arm that he realized Phoenix couldn't breathe.

Miles hastily took his hand away.

"Ah," he muttered, stopping his thrusts. He held Phoenix still with one arm. "Sorry."

Phoenix didn't answer for a second, still gasping for air. Then he managed to speak.

"Again."

Miles looked at him, squinting to see in the near-dark. "What?"

"Do it again," Phoenix answered softly. He ground against Miles. "Please."

For a second Miles said nothing. Then he pulled out slowly. And as he pushed back in, he grabbed Phoenix by the hair, crushing one hand against his mouth.

Phoenix cried out something muffled against his palm.

"Like that?" Miles whispered. "You like that?"

Phoenix's eyes were wide and desperate as Miles thrust faster and harder, holding Phoenix's head tight against his hand. It was crazy and it was dangerous and it was so hot, it was so hot as Phoenix started to thrash crazily, clawing at Miles's arm. Then there was a warm splash against his belly -- Phoenix was coming, his body stiffening, his eyes rolling back in his head.

At last Miles released his mouth. And with the sound of Phoenix's desperate, heaving breaths, he came: teeth gritted, almost growling as he bucked so hard that his chair half-tipped over. The both of them fell back onto the desk, where they finally lay, unable to speak, gasping in the darkness.

***

... man, I miss these GQLFs now. god damn it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

froggie.livejournal.com

Wow, both really intense.

And that second one is fucking steamy hot.

zurelily.livejournal.com

Wow. I loved both to pieces; the first one for being tragic, and the second one for being hot.

Thank you! <3

(Sorry if I make no sense, it's 2 AM here... I need to sleep.)