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Taking a swig of his grape juice, he says bitterly for what must be the fifth time this night, "Some father I am."
The blond watches as he puts the green bottle on the floor by his side. The other man always gets like this with the first raise of the white roll to his lips. He's angry with himself for buying it, for setting a bad example for Trucy. Soon after, once his high sets in, Phoenix cares far less about it. He always rationalizes that there are worse drugs be could be doing, that at least he's not smoking it in front of his daughter.
Kristoph listens to him repeat his defense over and over and over again. Phoenix lights the joint with a cheap, old magenta Bic he carries in the pocket of his hoodie. He inhales deeply, the white paper turning red as it burns down. The smoke fills his lungs as he holds the harsh smoke in. Kristoph waves his scarred hand when it's offered to him. He opts for a Sloe Gin Fizz on nights like these.
"Your loss," Phoenix croaks, exhaling.
"I'm sure it is."
"This kid I get this from—you know where People's Park is? Kid's a part of that gang there, I think. He has good stuff." Phoenix frowns, takes another pull, and continues, "I hope he and Trucy never meet. I think he's a part of that gang across from People's Park."
"So I've heard." Kristoph has to wave off the offer again.
The other man scrunches up his nose, cracks his jaw, settles back in the lawn chair on Kristoph's back porch only to lean forward and blow the ashes from the tip of his joint.
It's strange watching Phoenix get high. Usually he's mellow, much more laid back; when he smokes, he doesn't stop moving, like he's antsy or paranoid, although he isn't. Kristoph deals with it, keeping his eyes attentive from his seat at the patio table, listens to him repeat things he's already said.
Phoenix grabs his bottle of grape juice and nearly spills some on Vongole's pristine beige coat when he tries to pet her with the same hand. Phoenix snickers despite Kristoph, says something that sounds like "juice dog" as if it's the funniest thing in the world.
Kristoph takes a sip of his drink. "You wouldn't find it so funny when you're the one paying for her grooming," he chastises. Phoenix laughs some more and ends up choking on his juice.
The joint, half-smoked, bobs from Phoenix's lips as he manages to hoist himself out of the lawn chair. Kristoph cringes when the other man almost steps on Vongole's tail. She's lucky tonight, what with Phoenix's narrow misses. Next time Phoenix comes over, Kristoph resolves, he's leaving her in the house.
"You need to loosen up, Kristoph," Phoenix coughs out in a cloud of smoke, putting the bottle on the table. He pulls a chair close to Kristoph's and falls heavily into it. "You're too much of a stickler. —no, don't take that as a compliment."
Kristoph merely tilts his head in partial amusement.
"C'mere." Phoenix leans forward and urges Kristoph to do the same. Phoenix's eyes are that telltale bloodshot red, the blond notices as he for once does as the other man says.
"If you have some sort of conspiracy theory to share," Kristoph begins lowly, "I have no want to hear it."
"Whahuh? No. No, no, no." Phoenix shakes his head vehemently. "Not this time. I'm going to get you high. Loosen you up, just this one time."
Kristoph snorts. "I don't think so, Wright."
Phoenix grabs the pale drill of hair hanging over Kristoph's shoulder and tugs him forward, close enough so their noses are touching. Phoenix's breath smells like grapes and the underlying, odorous burn from the rolling paper as he says, "Just one time, okay? I promise I won't tell your rocky rolly kid brother so he can keep on thinking you're a square."
"Teenagers these days rarely use that term anymore," Kristoph responds. His fight or flight instinct has already kicked in, yet he doesn't pull away from Phoenix. Instead he lets his heart beat with uncertainty. "They stopped using it even before you and I were children."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Wordsmith." Phoenix leans back a bit and takes another drag of marijuana. "It's almost spent," he remarks after a moment, looking at the remainder of his joint, "we'll have to shotgun. Don't want you burning your pretty little lips."
Kristoph's ice-blue eyes narrow at the insinuation.
"You suck, I blow."
"Pardon me!?"
Phoenix gestures to the joint. "I'll show you." He places the lit side in his mouth, to Kristoph's distaste. He notices the browned end poking from Phoenix's lips and raises a manicured eyebrow.
The next moment he feels Phoenix's hand gripping his hair tightly as he's being kissed by the other man. —No, not kissed; their lips are touching, but Phoenix has his eyes open and is blowing out. Kristoph realizes this was what he meant by his earlier remark, and hesitantly parts his lips, sucking in the smoke Phoenix blows out.
Kristoph hasn't smoked a thing before this. He coughs in Phoenix's face, the smoke billowing out of his mouth in grey-white puffs. He notices Phoenix chuckling when he's finished, the paper still protruding from his lips.
Red-faced, he says, "Let us try this again." Phoenix shrugs in a "suit yourself" way.
This time Kristoph is the one holding Phoenix by the back of the head. He inhales deeply, pulling the smoke into his lungs, not his throat, the way he's seen Phoenix do time and time before. Kristoph is dizzy by the time he lets it out.
He licks his lips. "More."
Phoenix's expression is amused now as he blows into Kristoph's mouth in short puffs. Kristoph grows light-headed, though he keeps sucking at Phoenix's lips. He parts from Phoenix, exhales. Sucks again.
Finally, Phoenix is the one to push him away. Kristoph is panting as he watches Phoenix spit the wet nub of the joint onto his bone-white patio table.
His head is spinning, pleasantly, unpleasantly. Kristoph can't tell.
"Spent, Kristoph," Phoenix tells him. He pokes at its remains. "Unless you want to eat the roach?"
"Ew," is the most eloquent response Kristoph can muster.
Phoenix's hands are back in his pockets, replacing the lighter. He leans back and asks, "How you feeling?"
"Light. Heavy." Kristoph pauses. "We kissed."
The other man shrugs. "Not really. I don't kiss like that."
"How do you kiss, pray tell?"
Phoenix gives him a half-smile. "Not like that."
Kristoph laughs so abruptly that Vongole jolts awake with a growl. Phoenix joins him in a fit of giggles shortly after.
It hurts his lungs—his chest feels constricted from smoking, so he unbuttons his vest, still chuckling. He undoes his tie. Phoenix is watching him.
"Your nipples are hard," Phoenix remarks.
Kristoph brings his hands to his chest. Indeed, his nipples are hard points and poking at his dress shirt. "It's chilly. Are you chilly? I'm a bit chilly."
"A tit bit nipply? Is that how it goes?"
The blond snickers. "I haven't the slightest."
"Let's go inside," Phoenix suggests. He doesn't wait for Kristoph as he takes his grape juice from the table and heads indoors. Vongole follows him like a predator.
Kristoph removes his spectacles to rub at his eyes. What is he doing, actually letting his hair down, so to speak, with this man he resents so much? They aren't real friends, far from it. Yet he's allowing himself to become so chummy with Phoenix, indulging in the other man's one habit, and is enjoying it.
He truly must be stoned.
Kristoph swallows down the rest of his drink and finally enters his own house. His head feels fuzzy as he lets out an unbidden hiccoughed giggle. Phoenix looks up at him from the couch; he's taken off his black hoodie is in his white undershirt instead. Kristoph eyes the locket around the other man's neck.
"Weren't you cold?" Kristoph asks. He kicks off his house shoes and sits next to Phoenix, wondering where Vongole's wandered off to.
"That was you," Phoenix says. "I think? You're called Titty Nipples now, or something."
Kristoph snorts. "What nonsense…" He plucks his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and throws his arm over his eyes. Kristoph already feels as if he's riding on a merry-go-round; his blurry vision makes things no better, but it's more comfortable with his glasses off.
"No, you're Titty Nipples. I could've sworn it." Kristoph jumps slightly when Phoenix's hot palm glides over his chest. His finger stops over a nipple, still hard from the earlier cold. "See? Titty Nipples. It's like a porn name."
"Wright… take your hands off of me."
Phoenix chuckles. "Titty, it's one hand."
"Stop calling me… 'Titty'," the blond mumbles as he pushes Phoenix's hand from his person.
"You say it like a schoolgirl!" Phoenix laughs all too heartily. He sobers in a heartbeat. "Earlier you were wondering how I kissed."
Kristoph shakes his head. "I asked," he says, "I did not wonder."
"What's the difference?"
"…I've no idea."
Phoenix laughs first, shortly followed by Kristoph. He quite enjoys Phoenix's laugh tonight; it's deep, solid. Catchy. Had he not been high at the moment he would have loathed it, same as he loathes Phoenix Wright himself.
Kristoph slumps sideways on the white couch, sitting at an awkward angle, not entirely resting on the cushions but not entirely propped up, either. The room is a spinning blur once again.
He hears Phoenix shifting beside him. The next moment the couch is creaking as Kristoph is pushed horizontally, and Phoenix, without his beanie, is above him. Something that could only be Phoenix's crotch inscribes slow circles against his left hip. Kristoph grants him a sidelong glance with no lack of annoyance.
"Wright." His voice is a warning.
"I don't know," Phoenix answers Kristoph's non-question. "I kind of want to fuck you."
It's no joke; Phoenix's cock is hardening against his hip. Kristoph hears the other man's sandals hit the carpet with a soft thud. He closes his eyes tiredly and laughs to the point where he's shaking the couch they're laying upon. Phoenix is serious, at least for the moment. Kristoph finds it hilarious.
"Let's do it, Kristoph. Titty. Whichever you prefer."
Kristoph's laughing turns to unattractive snorts even as Phoenix tugs his dress shirt from the waistband of his slacks. He even helps the other man unbutton it. The situation is so absurd that he can't even object. He isn't sure he wants to stop him, just to see if Phoenix would, in fact, fuck him, given this chance.
Phoenix helps him turn onto his back. Kristoph can't make out Phoenix's features without his glasses, but he knows for sure that the other man isn't looking at his face. Phoenix touches his chest again, though this time there is no fabric in the way.
"Why do you think our nipples are so small compared to women's?" he asks, using a thumb to roll the hard bud. Kristoph shrugs.
"Perhaps it's due to the fact that with men they're useless?"
"Oh, yeah. Breastfeeding and all. Must be tough."
Kristoph doesn't answer. Phoenix leans down to lick and suck the nipple he isn't toying with, the stubble of his chin grazing Kristoph's sensitive skin. It's a different sensation, that's for sure, though he can't say he finds it arousing just yet. He isn't even sure he finds the prospect of sleeping with Phoenix all too appealing, but he's going to do it anyway, if only to have this experience to lord over him in the future.
Phoenix bites him.
That makes him moan out loud. Phoenix keeps scraping his teeth over Kristoph's nipple; this Kristoph could get used to. He even likes it when Phoenix literally nibbles his way up to his throat, when the pink path of bites are passed over by Phoenix's stubble. Kristoph touches his face.
"Scruff McGruff," he murmurs. "Take a bite out of crime."
Phoenix starts, then shakes his head. "What?"
"Those old commercials for children made by the Crime Protection Council, with that Detective dog, McGruff, and his nephew. The nephew was Scruff. Do you remember?"
"No."
Kristoph snorts again. "It doesn't much matter. Ignore me. I found it ironic…"
"Ironic, huh…"
Phoenix bites him again, harder than earlier, below his right ear. Kristoph hisses that it's going to leave a mark, though Phoenix is too caught up licking and biting him. He turns his head and rubs his rough chin against Kristoph's cheek.
Belatedly Kristoph notices Phoenix grinding against him, that he himself is getting hard. Maybe he can go through with this after all. He reaches for the waist of Phoenix's sweatpants.
"What's ironic about it?" Phoenix asks, hips shifting beneath the other man's hands. Had Kristoph not known better, he would believe that Phoenix suspects him of something.
"That you bite. That you have scruff."
"It's not really that ironic. I mean, your dog's the same way."
Kristoph looks at him over the rim of his glasses. "Oh, 'Mr. Wordsmith', do excuse my unforgivably lax grasp of irony. This isn't a particularly clearheaded night for me; you see, a dear friend got me high against my will."
"Oh. Right." Phoenix leans down to kiss at Kristoph's Adam's apple. "Just as long as I know that you know what irony is. Unlike that old song. You know the one?"
"Yes, Wright." Kristoph silently hopes Phoenix doesn't decide to sing it.
As he pushes Phoenix's sweatpants down, Phoenix says, "It's ironic that she doesn't get what's ironic, don't you think?"
"Yes, I really do think."
Phoenix snickers at this, then stops as Kristoph's hands roam over his exposed skin. "Wait. We're fucking?"
"I don't fuck like this," Kristoph says, mimicking Phoenix's statement from earlier. It doesn't go unnoticed.
"So how do you fuck, pray tell?"
"I have no idea. Fucking men is out of my realm of expertise."
Phoenix is in a fit of stuttering laughter when Kristoph kisses him, sloppy and just at the corner of his mouth. The former attorney accidentally blows a raspberry against his lips as he tries to kiss him back, which brings about more giggling. He apologizes at Kristoph's stern look.
"I'm not used to this, Kristoph. I've only been with a guy once before," he admits, "so I feel kind of funny. I was on the bottom. I hope I do this right. I remember a lot of what to do but it's weird, thinking I'm about to fuck you. Or you fucking me. I never really thought of you this way. Having sex. I don't know."
"Why are you whispering?" Kristoph asks when Phoenix is through with his torrent of words. He doesn't care, particularly; it's only because Phoenix's breath and stubble hitting his ear is giving him the shivers, arousing him, that he asks.
Again, Phoenix says, "I don't know. Let's go to your bedroom."
Kristoph feels less than inclined to get up from the couch but Phoenix forces him to anyway. He's led through the hallways of his own home as quickly as if he were the one taking Phoenix there. It crosses Kristoph's mind that Phoenix shouldn't be so intimate with the layout of his home like this. Has he snooped through it before?
Kristoph's blue eyes narrow suspiciously at Phoenix's back. For a moment, anyway, before they drift down to Phoenix's exposed ass. The other man hadn't even bothered to pull up his sweatpants.
"How lovely."
"Are you complimenting your own home?" Phoenix asks incredulously. "I know you're obsessed with appearances, but that's vain even for you."
Kristoph replies, "I was referring to the moon." He raises an eyebrow. "Bicycling works wonders, I see."
"I was told by a friend that too much bicycling could lead to erectile dysfunction."
Phoenix practically throws Kristoph onto the bed without ceremony or question. He pulls off his clothes in a rush and joins the blond.
"You seem to have no problem at the moment," Kristoph remarks, keeping his hands to himself.
Phoenix begins to undo the other man's slacks, ignoring the shirt save for pulling it up, out of the way. He's hard, and Kristoph is getting there.
"I bike shorter distances now because of it. You think I'm being paranoid, Kristoph?"
As his pants and briefs are pulled altogether from his long legs, Kristoph half-shrugs. "Do whatever makes you feel secure."
"Yeah."
He jerks as Phoenix's mouth suddenly engulfs his cock. There's no preamble, no warning, only the feeling of Phoenix's stubble as it scrapes against Kristoph's thighs when the other man dips his head. Whomever Phoenix was with before didn't bother to teach him a thing in this department, Kristoph believes. Maybe he'd never given—or possibly even received—oral sex before. Phoenix is no good at this. There's no suction, no teasing movements of his tongue, merely a hot mouth sliding over his shaft.
Kristoph feels himself grow impatient instead of aroused as the time ticks by. "That's enough, Wright."
"Guess it's not my forte," he replies with a lick of his lips. "Sorry. This is weird."
"You've said as much. Why not stop?"
"I can't," Phoenix says simply, as if Kristoph is supposed to understand without further explanation.
Kristoph takes a moment to look the other man over. Phoenix, despite his horrendous eating habits, has a fine body to him, most likely from his need to bicycle everywhere. Broad-shouldered, strong musculature… Kristoph isn't especially attracted to the body hair, though there is nothing to be done about that. Phoenix is a man.
Phoenix rubs at his eyes, combs through his limp spikes with his fingers. He appears tired to Kristoph, more like he's ready to fall asleep than he is to have sex. "Do you have lube?"
"Finished with the foreplay so soon?" The blond shakes his head. "No. I don't often host dry women."
"Huh. Lotion?"
"Wright," says Kristoph, almost appalled, "do you not know how to read? Hand lotion is for external use only. External."
"Can't we just disobey the lotion's rules? It's not like you'll get a yeast infection or something."
"The word of the label is absolute." Kristoph pauses briefly. "Also, I would like to note that my chosen hand lotion is of the highest grade and absorbed quite well. It relieves even the driest of skin without leaving an oily residue."
"You're like a commercial."
The blond gives him a look. "The point here, Wright, is that it would be inadequate as a sexual lubricant."
Phoenix reaches for the nightstand's top drawer regardless, though Kristoph kicks his hand away before he manages to catch the handle. "Kristoph, do you want to fuck or not?"
Kristoph wonders about that himself.
Again Phoenix rubs his eyes. "Fine. What do you masturbate with?"
"My hand."
"Huh?"
"I masturbate with my right hand." Kristoph waves the fingers of said hand at Phoenix. "This one. Other times," he adds, lifting up the other hand lazily, "this one joins in. —Ah, there is a chip in my polish…"
Phoenix slides over, right on top of Kristoph. He stops when he reaches the blond's hands and rubs a rough, stubbly cheek against the newly raised palm like a cat petting itself with its lazy master's hand. Kristoph has the impulse to thread his fingers in the other man's hair and pull, just to see the reaction.
"I mean, do you use anything." Phoenix makes a jerking gesture with one loose fist. "For the longer sessions."
Almost proudly, Kristoph replies, "No. When the mood strikes I can be a veritable font of Cowper's fluid."
"Dammit, Kristoph, you know you have to use layman's terms when I'm high."
"Pre-ejaculate."
"Great," Phoenix says, though his voice sounds less enthusiastic, "we'll use that." When Kristoph remains still, Phoenix nudges him. "Start jerking off."
"You do realize the position we're currently in?" The blond looks down his person, half-covered, inconveniently, in Phoenix.
Phoenix gives a hum and says, "I get it. Lazy."
Then Kristoph lets out what is supposed to be a discreet "Ah," as the former lawyer shifts minutely, grips Kristoph's shaft and presses a thumb against the tip of his cock. "Wright—"
Phoenix moves again; a nose nuzzles his jaw, a cheek scritches against his throat. Kristoph can feel Phoenix's lips curl against his Adam's apple. Into what? A smirk? Smile? Kristoph wonders if Phoenix feels as if he's won.
Kristoph realizes that Phoenix is much, so much better with his hands than with his mouth. He strokes Kristoph's cock from base to tip, twists slightly, thumb teasing the ridge of the head and frenulum. Mouth agape, Kristoph rolls up into Phoenix's fist, hears himself let out pathetic little sounds of want. The weed must be the cause; he's never, ever sounded so weak or needy.
"You weren't kidding about that Cow fluid," Phoenix marvels, still pumping away at Kristoph's cock. "You're dripping all over my hand."
On normal days he interjects when Phoenix says things incorrectly or uses non-words; though this day, when Kristoph is stoned out of his mind, allowing Phoenix Wright to jerk him off and enjoying it, both men can agree this is no normal day. Standard rules no longer apply.
He watches Phoenix uncurl his hand, splayed fingers connected by a web of wet, viscous strings. Phoenix scissors his fingers as if it's the most fascinating sight he's ever seen. Eyebrows drawn together, Phoenix dips down to sample the pre-cum from Kristoph's leaking cock.
"Hmm."
Phoenix slides a shoulder beneath Kristoph's right leg. He's surprised to find himself going along with this so easily, allowing Phoenix to spread over his asshole lubrication which his own anatomy provides.
"Wright," Kristoph says, and again it sounds unlike him, almost whining, although he feels he should be allowed a little whine since Phoenix is prodding at his most hidden opening with a wet knuckle, then a fingertip. He lets out a gasp when his cock is pumped again, as if Phoenix is trying to pull water from a well.
"I want to fuck you, Kristoph. Like properly fuck you, 'til you're this incoherent, babbling mess."
"You want to fuck me into you?"
"Yeah." Kristoph clamps his leg onto Phoenix's shoulder when a finger slips into him, thick and foreign and curious. "Yeah."
Kristoph's insides rebel against the intruder, trying to push the finger out, out, out. Phoenix listens for a moment, pulls out a bit. He's frowning as if he's unhappy, though about what Kristoph has no clue. Phoenix won, has breached the gate of Castle Gavin. Game over. Continue?
Phoenix's cock nudges the small of his back, needy and hard as stone.
No, perhaps Kristoph is the winner. He may be in a submissive position, but he is victorious. Kristoph has something Phoenix wants, and wants badly.
Alternatively... it could be the weed.
Kristoph relaxes a bit; however much Phoenix has smoked, he's trying to make this good. He's got a look of concentration on his face like a determined little boy trying his best to solve a puzzle. His middle finger is in past the second knuckle and he's looking for--
"The prostate," Kristoph says, then reaches down for Phoenix's hand. "Transverses the urethra. Press towards..." Correct terminology escapes him, then. He can only remember that it isn't posteriorly, as that's towards the back, as in "posterior," the behind, where Phoenix has his finger as the moment.
"Around here..." Phoenix muses as Kristoph angles his hand, "When did you learn all this anatomy?"
"I found it helpful during investigation," Kristoph replies. "Ah--That must be it. Ah."
Ah.
Phoenix's cock twitches when he lets the word slip. He jerks Kristoph again, then presses two fingers inside.
Kristoph is at a loss for words. It's like pure electricity is coursing through his sex, and he has to grip Phoenix's wrist like a lifeline.
"That's what I remember. Eyes rolling into the back of my head. I thought I was gonna pass out," Phoenix tells him. "Wait 'til I put my dick in you."
He stops just short of shoving a fist between his teeth to keep from moaning.
Kristoph can feel the pre-cum that's dribbling onto his abdomen get wiped away. When he's finally able to crack open his eyes he sees Phoenix appearing just a little dazed and slicking his cock.
"Don't you dare ask me if I'm ready," Kristoph finds himself growling, "and fuck me like you mean it... Phoenix."
Phoenix chortles at this even as he positions himself. "Suit yourself. But you make me feel like we ought to have a safe word. 'Titty,' maybe. 'Gin.'"
His neck bows back as Phoenix pushes into him. His cock is thicker than Kristoph thought, not at all lubricated enough, and penetration wasn't easy for either one of them, he supposes, since Phoenix stops trying so hard to push inside and makes an undecipherable face.
Despite protesting earlier, Kristoph gestures toward the nightstand. "Lubrication in the second drawer. Please."
He hates what he sounds like, like a sniveling little slut, but now he's determined to go through with this. Kristoph isn't the type of man to let plans fall apart halfway through.
"You lied to me," Phoenix says. Kristoph hisses a little when Phoenix pulls out of him. He grabs the bottle from the drawer and says, "This is the good kind, too."
A sharp exhale of breath when Phoenix squeezes out entirely too much gel into his palms. "Don't waste it," he admonishes, but the annoyance at how much Phoenix used fades when the lube, wet and cold, is spread in and around his anus.
"Four fingers," Phoenix murmurs. "I wonder what it'd be like to fist you."
He doesn't know if it's because he's still high, but the more Phoenix talks about doing these things gets him impossibly harder. Kristoph knows he's letting his composure slip. Part of him doesn't care.
"Have we kissed yet?" he asks, sincere. Phoenix is right in his face, watching him with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "I can't remember."
Kristoph pulls Phoenix down, both fists buried in black spikes, pries the other man's slackened jaw open with his tongue, like he's going to consume Phoenix mouth first. The stubble against his face and the roughness of his lips feels so foreign but good, very good, and he's coaxing Phoenix's tongue into his mouth when he's spread wide open with cock. It burns and he's throbbing, but Kristoph makes himself accept it because this is what Phoenix wants and this, laying on his back and choosing to let Phoenix inside him, this is power, this is control.
He laughs into the other man's mouth. Phoenix doesn't even know the leverage he's just surrendered.
"Wright," Kristoph groans, because that's what he wants to hear, "Phoenix..."
The gutteral sound he gets in return unexpectedly arouses him.
"I'm glad you smoked with me," Phoenix says to him, head to Kristoph's collarbone. His body is arched in such a way that Kristoph's thighs are tucked against his sides, his own legs tucked underneath his body so his thrusts punctuate up, almost hitting Kristoph in just the right spot. Even not, the in and out drag is wonderful despite sounding so moist and lewd, slap-slapping of naked flesh echoing through Kristoph's bedroom.
Kristoph palms and tugs at his balls, rubs his perineum. He can almost feel Phoenix inside, almost. His smirk breaks into a whimper. He doesn't like the sounds he makes, but Phoenix must, because soon he's bucking into him the same way and wringing more from him.
"I'm doing okay," Phoenix tells himself aloud, or tells Kristoph, or maybe asks Kristoph with the wrong intonation.
When Phoenix slips out Kristoph reaches for his cock; God, he wants it back inside, Wright left him gaping and open and he is minutely surprised that he's enjoying this just as much as Phoenix is.
"Ride me, Kristoph," Phoenix says, falling backwards onto the bed.
Kristoph pushes himself up onto all fours; Phoenix looks as if he's ready to light up another joint instead of fuck him.
He doesn't want to see Phoenix's face, so when he straddles him Kristoph is facing away, hair undone and falling past his shoulders. It takes a couple of tries before he can accurately ease himself onto that thick cock, but he manages. Kristoph decides he prefers this position, being on top and able to control things like depth and speed and angle and force, using blessed gravity to his advantage.
Kristoph turns to look at Phoenix over his shoulder. He's blissed out, arms folded beneath the back of his head as he lays recumbent. There's sweat standing out on his brow, on his chest, armpits, matting hair.
"Tell me you like this," Kristoph orders, "Say that you enjoy fucking me."
"You don't know how great you feel," Phoenix murmurs, and Kristoph's groin tingles with excitement.
He slows, circling his hips and grinding down. Kristoph can't believe how damp he's gotten the bedsheets. He doesn't think he's stopped leaking since the two of them began. Funny how the body works when the mind is mildly disconnected. Absently Kristoph wonders if sex like this is why his darling brother so readily cavorted with both men and women. He also wonders if it's abnormal for thoughts of Klavier to pop into his head during such an inappropriate time...
"Why'd you stop moving?" Phoenix jerks his hips upward and pets--pets--Kristoph's back.
"Why did you? Go on."
"I want you doggystyle," Phoenix says, "I want you down on your hands and knees, and I want to come inside you."
Better judgment would normally tell him that this is an incredibly unsafe practice, even though he knows Phoenix and knows he's had nobody since the day they met. Worse judgment tells him to do it.
Kristoph bites his lip, gets into position. Soon after he feels the warm wetness of what he can only assume is Phoenix's tongue wriggling into him and he simultaneously melts into the mattress and pushes back into that stubbly chin for more.
"This doing anything for you?"
"Very much..."
"More to add to next time."
Before Kristoph could ask about 'next time' Phoenix is fully inside him again, fingers digging into his hips and fucking him, rough and fast and dominating, a complete 180 from how passive he was moments ago. He's wringing out cries from Kristoph's throat that he didn't know were even there. He may have even tossed in some German.
The sheets are pulled from their neat tuck and held tight in Kristoph's fists. Phoenix is ramming him like a jackhammer and Kristoph's coherency is failing him. The only thing he can think to do is hold on.
"How about this?" he pants, "Do you like this?"
"Y...yes...!" Kristoph stops trying to suspend his disbelief. Whenever he feels one way, Phoenix always, somehow, turns it around. No wonder he had been so popular in court.
Yanking on his hair, Phoenix slows, thrusts forcefully, and sings his orgasm in harsh grunts. He mumbles something into Kristoph's buzzing ears before thrusting lazily, cum sticky between them as he pulls out.
Kristoph protests; he's close, so close now. Just a bit more.
"Roll over," Phoenix tells him quietly, and when he does Phoenix's hand is on his dick and deftly jerking him off, sucking at the head of Kristoph's cock poorly but it doesn't matter now, it's enough stimulation to make him seize up and come with a hitch in his breath, semen spattering half in and half out of Phoenix's mouth.
Phoenix is painted a pearly white on his cheek and seems okay with it. Kristoph searches for something to wipe his face with that isn't one of his sheets, though now they're filthy enough to warrant a change, especially where Kristoph sits. Shortly he uproots a corner; what was one more stain?
"Gavin, Gavin, Gavin," Phoenix mutters, "you dirty birdie. Thanks for indulging me."
"You needed it, I suppose," Kristoph says dismissively. "Single dad syndrome."
"DILF syndrome is more like it," Phoenix chuckles, but at Kristoph's blank stare, informs him, "'Dad I'd Like to Fuck.' It's an acronym from this old movie..." He waves his hand. "Never mind. These sheets are really comfortable. I feel like I'm in a fancy hotel."
Kristoph sighs when Phoenix crawls up to him and lays down by his side. "Making me, what? Your high-class escort?"
"I wish I could afford a hooker like you." Phoenix frowns, then says, "That was compliment... I don't know. Telling someone they're anything like a hooker comes out wrong. Right?"
"Yes. Though... thank you."
"I could pay you in piano."
"My brother's name means 'piano,'" Kristoph responds absently. He desperately needs a shower to get the smell of Phoenix off of his skin.
"We should give you a professional name. Kristoph Gavin: Ace Escort. Ass Escort. Something along those lines."
"I get it, Phoenix."
Phoenix hovers over Kristoph for a moment before he leans over to kiss him. It's not altogether unpleasant, but he doesn't expect it, not now that all is said and done. Now, with no expectations, it seems too intimate. How rich it would be if Phoenix goes and falls for him.
"...I'm going to have a shower. You can stay overnight, if you'd like."
Might as well let him have a little fantasy.
With a shrug, Phoenix asks, "Can I smoke another joint?"
"Is that necessary?"
"Kristoph, what kind of stupid question is that?"
What kind of stupid question indeed.