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"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Wright, but isn't the whole point of a filing cabinet to get all this stuff into some kind of logical order?"
"What are you talking about?" Wright ambled up behind him, peering over Apollo's shoulder to get a better look at the jumble of documents piled into the top drawer. "I have a system, see?" he said. "If it looked important at the time, I threw it in here. If not, it went in the bottom drawer, and if I couldn't decide, I put it in the middle. Totally logical."
Wright reached around to grab a handful of envelopes, ignoring Apollo's squawk of protest when he found himself pinned to the side of the cabinet by the warm, solid frame pressed against his back. He would have written it off as nothing if not for the familiar twinge at his wrist, the one he'd come to recognize as 'Phoenix Wright is up to something. Again.'
Once he'd been freed, he put out his hand. Wright passed him the bottom envelope without a word, eyes already scanning over one of the others.
"I-is this an electric bill?"
"I dunno." Wright shrugged. "Looks like it—what's the date on the postmark?"
"October," replied Apollo. "Thinking of paying it?"
"Maybe. Which October?"
"Uh, let's see." He squinted at the smudged ink, trying to make out the number. "Twenty, um, twenty-three?" he guessed. How exactly did Wright keep the power on?
"Ah, good to know," Wright said. He plucked the envelope from Apollo's hands, knelt down, and shoved it unopened into the overstuffed bottom drawer. After a moment's consideration, he dropped the rest of the envelopes he was holding in after it and slid the drawer shut. "That wasn't so bad," he said. "Grab the next batch and pass them down—we'll be finished in no time at this rate!"
Apollo pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back the urge to dump the entire drawer's contents over Wright's head and see what he had to say about that.
"Something the matter?" Wright asked, still on the floor—still kneeling on the floor, hands resting on his thighs, blue eyes wide as he gazed up at Apollo from under that stupid hat. "It is awfully stuffy in here, don't you think?"
A perfect picture of the last time he'd seen Wright on his knees rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind, lasting just long enough to make the office feel a little too warm before another, more insistent pinch from the bracelet chased it out again. He undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie, grateful for the unexpected diversion. It was already shaping up to be a trying day, and the last thing he needed was to get caught with an awkwardly-timed workplace erection.
God, he could see it now—'Sorry, boss. Something about the way you pretend moving all of your paperwork from one side of the office to the other actually accomplishes anything really gets me going.'—and Wright would just shake his head with that obnoxious half-smirk of his like he'd already won. To be honest, Apollo was pretty sure Wright had won whatever game they were playing the first time they’d spoken alone in the courthouse, and he'd just been along for the ride ever since.
Back in reality, Wright was rising to his feet, peeling off his rumpled sweatshirt in a single fluid motion. He tossed it to Apollo, who caught it and began to fold it without thinking, his hands working on autopilot as he watched Wright start to turn away.
"I guess I'll take that as a yes," he said, eyes lingering on Apollo's exposed throat. "Mind if I open a window?"
Apollo shook his head. The office did still smell faintly of burnt hair after one of Trucy's new tricks had misfired the previous afternoon—she'd stomped off in a huff when he offered to draw her some new eyebrows, and he hadn't seen her since. Maybe the fresh air would help both of them concentrate, if they made it that far. Wright seemed to be having some trouble.
"Come give me a hand—stupid thing's stuck again," he said, giving the top of the window another shove. It didn't budge.
The problem was obvious, once Apollo managed to tear his attention from the flex of Wright's shoulders under the thin fabric of his shirt long enough to address it. He leaned over and flicked the latch, and the window slid open without further resistance.
"It helps to unlock it first."
"Oh." Wright bit his lower lip, the look on his face somewhere between amused and contrite. "Guess I'm a little distracted today."
Distracting would be a better word for it, thought Apollo, absently rubbing his wrist. It was starting to feel sore where the bracelet touched his skin, the way it did after facing off with a difficult witness. Very strange. Even considering Wright's flexible relationship with the truth, it didn't make any sense for there to be a reaction every time the man so much as looked at him, unless—Wright gave his arm a friendly squeeze, and the corresponding jolt snapped the whole frustrating morning into perfect focus. Gotcha.
"Are you seriously trying to get out of cleaning the office by seducing me?"
"Polly!" Wright backed away, hands up, the very picture of innocence. "Of course not! That's probably unethical!"
There was no tell this time—the lie was too obvious. Wright wanted to be caught, his poker face already slipping into a wide, lazy grin.
"Why? Is it working?"
Apollo weighed his options. On one hand, almost ten years worth of investigation reports, trial briefs, and tax returns, most of it in Wright's impenetrable scrawl, scattered in haphazard piles over every available surface as if the place hadn't been enough of a firetrap already. On the other, Wright himself, now sprawled across what little space remained on the office sofa, making no effort to hide that he was undressing Apollo with his eyes, and—you know what, screw it. He'd never liked paperwork anyway.
He closed the distance between them, taking care not to knock anything over, and settled himself astride Wright's lap. It took some readjusting to get comfortable, but he figured it out, wrapping his arms around Wright's neck and leaning down until their foreheads were close enough to touch.
"I don't know, Mr. Wright. You tell me."
Wright tilted his head back just enough to catch Apollo's mouth in a kiss, hard and hungry. He smelled like soap and dust from the little storage closet, a sharp reminder that it was ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning and they were supposed to be working. Apollo decided not to think too hard about why that was kind of a turn-on as Wright's hands found his waist and yanked his shirt loose, sliding up and under to hold him in place.
Apollo was the first to pull back, trying to remember how to breathe. Not that it mattered much when Wright slipped a hand down to palm him through the front of his pants and he forgot all over again. Wright didn't let up, taking advantage of the distraction to rise to his feet, arms tight around Apollo to support him. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around Wright's waist, trapping his cock in between their bodies so every step Wright took sent a jolt of pleasure through him. It would have been great, had he not taken a glance over his shoulder to see where they were going.
"Please not on the desk," he grumbled. "I spent hours getting those case files together." That, and his little desk in the corner was the one place he could go when he needed to pretend he had a normal job at a normal law firm with normal people. He suspected that getting bent over it by his sort-of boyfriend, sort-of boss would not only make a mess of his neatly stacked manila folders, but shatter what few delusions of professional respectability he had left at this point in his career.
He could feel the low rumble of Wright laughing against his skin.
"You worry too much," he said, but relented anyway, lowering Apollo back to his feet. "Go turn the sign around."
Apollo blinked, caught off-guard by both the sudden lack of contact and the apparent non sequitur. Had he done something wrong?
"The sign, Apollo." Wright's tone was patient, but the little twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Go flip it so it says the office is closed, and lock up while you're at it. If you're planning on taking me to bed, I'd prefer it if nobody bothers us." Twitch, twitch. "Unless, you know, you're into that. I guess I shouldn't assume, huh?"
"I, uh—that's, I mean—" Apollo began, but whatever thoughts he was trying to pull together were scattered when Wright reached out and patted him on the ass.
It could have been funny, maybe even sweet at a stretch, but Wright being Wright, it was mostly just patronizing.
"Ugh, never mind!" he said, huffing out an irritated sigh as he made his way to the office door, and he wondered if it was too late to drop all that paperwork on Wright's head after all.
He took a deep breath and reminded himself that yes, Phoenix Wright was kind of an asshole, but he had his good points too, and yes, he actually did kind of like the guy, or his heart wouldn't feel like it was going to explode because he was pretty sure he just got invited into his bedroom and maybe that meant something.
Or maybe not, he thought, sliding the deadbolt into place with a sharp click. As far as he could tell, the only thing Wright enjoyed more than fucking him was fucking with him, maybe because if he didn't, Apollo might finally figure him out.
He made it back without catching any further snickering, so at least he probably wasn't blushing like an idiot. That in and of itself was a troubling sign that their nameless arrangement was becoming routine, at least until Wright found a new and exciting way to confuse him. Like, say, taking Apollo by the wrists, leading him up the back stairs, and pulling the bedroom door closed behind them. If the heat creeping over his face and up the back of his neck was any indication, now he was blushing like an idiot, and he wasn't sure if that made things better or worse when Wright pulled him into a close embrace.
"I don't know if you know this," Wright said, pausing to punctuate with a pair of kisses to the side of Apollo's neck, "and I'm a little worried that letting you in on the secret will ruin it—" another, teeth and stubble grazing his skin, making him shiver "—but you are really cute when you're mad."
His hands slid lower, pulling Apollo flush against him, and when he spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper. "I try to behave, most of the time," he said, warm breath on Apollo's ear almost as distracting as the light fingers trailing up the back of his thigh and over the curve of his ass, "but some days I just can't help myself."
There was no warning, just a sharp nip to his earlobe, eliciting a startled gasp and a shot of 'yes, please' straight to his dick, followed by wet heat and the barest flicker of Wright's tongue, and Apollo couldn't help but squirm. This was new, and kinda weird, but the kind of weird that was working for him.
Wright pulled away just enough to look Apollo in the eye. He started to raise a hand, then seemed to think better of it, letting it fall back to his side. "So now that you know the truth, can you forgive me?" he asked.
Apollo wasn't sure if the flutter at his wrist was the bracelet reacting or just his own racing pulse, but all it took was one look at Wright's hand, the way his fingers flexed and curled into a loose fist, and it was clear this wasn't about the paperwork. He froze, not sure whether he was supposed to play along or if Wright really was enough of a sucker for punishment to want the truth here and now.
"That depends," he said, after a moment's thought. "Are you sorry?"
Wright didn't say anything, just flashed that familiar bittersweet smile and leaned in to change the subject with another kiss. As much as Apollo wanted to complain that that wasn't an answer, he didn't stop him. Things were complicated enough between them. That conversation could wait. Indefinitely.
He pushed Wright down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, tugging upwards on Wright's baggy t-shirt—Big Raj's House of Chicken and Waffles, real professional—until he took the hint and shifted to let Apollo pull it up over his head. Even though they'd done this more than once over the past few months, it unsettled him to realize he'd never actually seen Wright naked.
So far, no complaints.
He sat back, tracing Wright's collarbone with his fingers, letting them skim over a faint scar just below, where the skin was raised and shiny. Burned, probably, Apollo thought, although the pattern was strange—two near-perfect circles, set about an inch apart, like it hadn't been an accident. This wasn't the time to ask, though, and Wright wasn't offering, so he moved on. It was easy to let himself linger over the sprinkling of coarse, dark hair across Wright's chest instead, enjoying both the feel of it under his fingers and the contented noises Wright was making low in his throat. When he turned his attentions lower, lightly raking his blunt nails over Wright's bare stomach, Wright shivered, arching up ever-so-slightly into the touch.
Apollo didn't want to move, not when he could feel Wright's erection rutting up against him, Wright's hands digging into his thighs, just close enough to tease. What he did want was to lean down and pin Wright's wrists to the bed, to press into his body and grind his hips rough and frantic until both of them were spent, but there were two fatal flaws in that otherwise stellar plan. First, he didn't have a change of clothes at the office, and he couldn't be sure the spilled coffee excuse would work on Trucy twice if he tried to borrow any of Wright's. Second, there was something different about this time—not just that they were in a real bed, which was admittedly a nice change from the usual, ah, overtime on the sofa downstairs—and Apollo wanted to know why.
"Take off your pants?" he said, annoyed at how the hesitation in his voice turned the command into a halfhearted suggestion at best. This kind of thing was why nobody ever took him seriously, he was sure of it.
Wright didn't seem to care, however, nudging Apollo off of him before sliding his grey sweatpants down over his hips, then scooting back to sit upright against the wall as he finished kicking them off.
"Aren't you going to get undressed?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "This seems unfair."
Apollo thought about that for a minute, and decided that it was unfair, which was why he was going to enjoy it as long as possible.
"I took my shoes off," he said. "Does that count?" He wiggled his toes for emphasis, but Wright remained unmoved.
Apollo took advantage of the extra space the bed provided, resting his head on the gentle curve of Wright's stomach while he drew lazy patterns with his fingertips against his skin. It was fun to toy with Wright a little, to feel him strain and protest at the barest brush of Apollo's hand against his cock, to run his tongue up Wright's hipbone and watch him try to repress the little shudders that ran through his body. That was what he wanted, after all, to see Wright come undone.
So he did it again.
Slower this time, savoring the taste of sweat and salt, and he was rewarded with another twitch. Once more, now with teasing little bites—Wright liked that kind of thing, didn't he—and Wright let out a strangled gasp. Satisfied, Apollo Justice, sex god, pushed himself upright, wearing his best cocky grin. He even got to enjoy his minor victory for almost two entire seconds before he realized that something wasn't right.
It was clear that Wright hadn't been trembling in anticipation like he'd hoped. If anything, his bug-eyed expression and shaking shoulders seemed to indicate that Apollo's efforts had backfired. Even with one knuckle hastily stuffed into his mouth, Wright was fighting a losing battle, and one look at Apollo's crestfallen face was enough to push him over the edge into bright peals of uncontrollable laughter. The back of his head hit the wall, hard, which only seemed to make the whole thing funnier, and no amount of mortified disapproval from Apollo could settle him down.
"That tickled," he said, once he was able to form the words without collapsing back into giggles. "You looked so serious, too. I thought I could hold out until you got bored, but you just kept doing it."
Apollo stared, not sure whether he was disappointed in himself for misreading the situation so badly or annoyed at Wright for letting him. Either way, he'd heard more than enough, and decided it was time to take matters into his own hands, where by 'matters,' he meant 'Wright's cock,' because if that didn't shut him up, he was declaring the day a lost cause and going home for a cold shower.
Once he had Wright's undivided attention, he settled into a comfortable position and picked up where he left off. Well, almost, now that he was armed with the knowledge of Wright's secret weakness. It was impossible to resist brushing his lips against Wright's hip one last time, impossible not to start laughing a little himself when Wright tried to jerk away with an indignant squeak, impossible for his stomach not to drop when Wright caught Apollo's chin with his fingertips so he could look him in the eye.
"That wasn't very nice," he chided.
No, but that's what you get for mocking me, Apollo thought. "You're right," he said instead. "Let me make it up to you."
He lowered his head and licked his lips, taking Wright into his mouth before he could lose his nerve. In his limited experience, this was more straightforward with Wright than it had been with his girlfriend back in college, being more familiar with the equipment and all, but he was still getting the hang of it. He started up a jerky, bobbing rhythm, running through the list of things he needed to remember over and over in his head. Lips over teeth. Breathe through your nose—breathing's important. Maybe I should be using my hand on the part I can't reach. Am I coordinated enough to do that? Ow, crap, too far. Stupid gag reflex. Okay, maybe it would be better to slow down a little before his hands got in front of his brain and he wound up smacking himself in the mouth. Again.
His concentration was broken by long fingers tangling in his hair, the gentle press of a thumb smoothing back his spikes. He couldn't pretend to guess what was going on in Wright's head, but it felt like a good sign. Of course, he'd felt that way a minute ago too, and how had that worked out for him?
He glanced up at Wright's face, and the flash of anger he'd felt at the thought of Wright still playing along for the chance to lord it over him later flooded out of him as quickly as it had risen.
Wright wasn't laughing anymore.
His head was tipped back to rest against the wall, eyes closed, lips parted, and it was all the encouragement Apollo needed. He decided to try something a little different, one hand still fisted around Wright's cock while he kept his mouth closed around just the head, and pushed his tongue flat against the drawn skin below. Wright groaned, and Apollo could feel him trying to keep still underneath him. For the first time today, Apollo was in complete control of the situation, and that suited him just fine.
He started simple, moving just his tongue—back and forth, over and around—watching Wright carefully for any cues he could pick up on. It was easier to read him than Apollo thought it would be, the way he hissed and tightened his hand in Apollo's hair almost enough to hurt whenever Apollo found something he liked. If he really concentrated, time seemed to slow down, and he thought he could see Wright's pulse fluttering just beneath the skin at his neck, urging him on.
This was way less intimidating when he took it one step at a time, and once Apollo was satisfied he had a few guaranteed moves to fall back on, he pushed further out of his comfort zone. Wright's hips jerked—hard—at Apollo's first hesitant strokes along his length. He gasped out an apology, and the break in his voice cut straight to the ache of Apollo's own arousal. Thoughts of Wright curled around him—mouth hot and unrelenting on his lips, his neck, his throat, hand down his pants, presentability be damned—well, they weren't unwelcome, but they weren't helping him focus either.
Apollo could tell Wright was getting close. He could feel it in the tightening of Wright's stomach and thighs and hear it in the shallow rattle of his breath. It was an amazing feeling, knowing that he had done this. No matter how Wright managed to aggravate him between now and the next time, he could never take that away. He reached up, found Wright's hand where it was clenched in the sheets, and gently folded their fingers together. Wright's eyes snapped open at the touch, watching Apollo watching him, and it didn't take much more to bring him over the edge.
"You don't have to—" Wright tried to warn him, but it was too late. His whole body seemed to seize, his grip on Apollo's hand desperate and painful as he shuddered out his orgasm. It was hot and bitter on Apollo's tongue, and he forced himself to swallow down all of it.
Wright leaned back, taking a moment to catch his breath. There was a softness in his expression, something in the curve of his fading smile that Apollo had never seen before.
"You are full of surprises," he said, almost to himself. Then, "Here," offering the half-empty glass from the nightstand, which Apollo eyed skeptically.
"Really? That's where you're going to object to putting your mouth?"
Wright was laughing at him again, but Apollo had to admit the man had a point. He took a long drink, wrinkling his nose at the lukewarm water anyway, and let it rinse the lingering taste of Wright from the back of his tongue.
"Better?"
Apollo nodded, returning the glass to the little table.
"I thought so." He swiped his thumb over Apollo's lips and pulled him down to lie half on top of him, one arm slung around his waist to hold him close. "Now what's with the face?" he asked.
Apollo flushed. It wasn't that he minded Wright's uncommon display of affection—it was nice to feel like his efforts had been appreciated. Still, he feared the effect it might be having on his suit.
"You're all sweaty," he complained. "What if we get a client later? I'll look indecent."
"As I recall, keeping your clothes on was your idea," Wright said, reaching between them to tug at Apollo's tie. "Why don't we do something about that?"
It wasn't a graceful procedure—too many hands fumbling with too many buttons, Wright getting distracted, ducking in to nip at his collarbone before he could even get his shirt off—but with determination and a lot of strategic wriggling, they managed. Whether his clothes were any better off in a crumpled pile at the end of the bed than they had been while he was wearing them, Apollo wasn't sure, but Wright was doing his best to take his mind off of it.
Apollo hadn't considered that Wright had never really seen him naked either. Not like this, anyway, stretched out alongside him with their legs tangled together, his erection pressing into Wright's hip, though Wright didn't seem to mind. His attention was occupied elsewhere.
"What?" asked Apollo, not sure whether to start feeling self-conscious at the way Wright was taking him in, fingers brushing back and forth across his throat and over his chest in a gentle almost-reverence.
"Hmm?" Wright stilled, eyes flicking back up to meet Apollo's. "Oh, it's nothing."
Apollo was still deciding whether or not he believed that when Wright spoke again.
"There's something I'd like to try," he said. "I could be wrong, but I think you'll enjoy it."
"That depends." Apollo had a few suspicions, some less worrying than others. "Are you going to tell me what it is?"
"Eventually," said Wright, and despite his breezy tone, Apollo could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a nervous gulp at the end of it; without the bracelet, he couldn't be sure. "Mind turning over to lie on your stomach?"
Apollo did as he was asked, heart thumping in time with the dull throb of his dick. He could feel Wright's hands rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades, then dipping lower, in broad, teasing strokes up his inner thighs.
“Try to relax as much as you can,” he said. “And tell me if it hurts. It isn’t supposed to.”
Apollo nodded. He had a pretty good idea of where this was going, and it appealed to him enough in theory. In practice, however, even with Wright’s touch driving him to distraction, there was enough that could potentially go wrong to give him pause.
“Just, I don’t know, go slow, would you? I’ve never done this before,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Wright replied, voice bright with enthusiasm. “Neither have I!”
The loss of one of the warm hands caressing his back followed by the sound of wood sliding on wood caught Apollo's attention, and he glanced over in time to see Wright pull a small, clear tube from the nearby drawer. Wright must have mistaken Apollo's surprise at his earlier statement for disapproval, because he hesitated with a frown.
"What? I don't judge what you keep in your bedroom."
"You've never even seen my bedroom," grumbled Apollo.
It was true. Before today, their relationship of sorts had been confined to the empty office downstairs. The idea of Wright pressed up against him in his too-small bed or drinking morning coffee across the kitchen table from the second chair that had never been used had always seemed ridiculous. Too domestic, too familiar for a man that kept him at arm’s length when he wasn’t fighting him or fucking him. Now, though, as unpredictable as Wright’s behavior had been, Apollo didn’t know what to think anymore.
"Huh. You're right." Wright seemed to relax. "In that case, no promises."
A latex glove was next out of the drawer, and Wright pulled it onto his left hand with an exaggerated snap, making Apollo jump.
“For having no idea what you’re doing, you sure came prepared,” he grumbled.
“Hey, I never said I had no idea,” said Wright, pouring a generous squirt of lube into the palm of his gloved hand. “It’s amazing what a person can find on the internet these days.”
Apollo couldn't even be annoyed that once again, Wright was one step ahead of him. Not when he could picture Wright at the office computer, casually browsing Gay Sex for Dummies with his usual bored expression while Apollo sat researching evidence law not ten feet away and none the wiser. That was just unfair.
"Did you find the gloves online too?" Apollo asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Wright shook his head. "Nah, I got them from Ema a couple of weeks ago."
"You what?!"
"I told her they were for an experiment and she got that look in her eye and gave me an entire box."
"Really." Apollo’s voice was flat. As much as he wished Wright was just making a bad joke, he could picture that conversation just a little too clearly to believe it.
"She also gave me a lecture about the scientific method, but I kind of tuned that part out,” Wright added. “Sorry."
Apollo groaned and buried his face in his arms. This wasn’t going how he’d hoped, but about as well as he’d expected.
"You don't feel very relaxed,” said Wright, not unkindly. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Funnily enough, he was. “Only if you promise not to tell me next time you decide to crowdsource my sex life. I don’t think my heart can take it.”
“I won’t make a habit of it.”
He spread Apollo's legs apart to sit between them, leaning down to press a kiss to Apollo’s shoulder. Apollo tried his best to relax like Wright had asked him to—eyes closed, deep breaths, pushing everything out of his mind but the heady pulse of his arousal and the feeling of Wright’s fingers on his skin.
“Will you trust me?” Wright asked, hands hesitating just before the point of no return, and Apollo didn’t even need to see him this time to recognize another loaded question.
In all the time they’d known each other, for Apollo, the answer never changed. “For now.”
Wright’s answering laugh was sharp and hollow, but he didn’t falter. With one hand he traced Apollo’s hipbone, the gentle touch a welcome distraction from the odd sensation of a single finger slowly pressing into him.
“Am I hurting you?” Concern in Wright’s voice. Maybe Apollo had tensed without realizing it.
“Keep going,” Apollo said, keeping his tone level. He only needed some time to adjust—at least that’s what he hoped. “I’m not going to break.”
Wright pulled back a little, curling his finger as he moved, and Apollo took in a stuttering breath as the feeling he’d been trying to ignore suddenly shifted to a much more agreeable sort of strange. He felt Wright tense at his reaction, fingers digging in where they’d been resting on his hip. He didn’t stop, though. If anything, he took it as encouragement to start picking up the pace, and Apollo found himself trying and failing to swallow the low, desperate sounds that kept threatening to escape him as Wright settled into a steady, insistent rhythm.
“Should I, um, more?” the question was ragged around the edges, and really, even if he wasn’t already halfway gone from what Wright was doing to him, hearing what he was somehow doing to Wright would be more than enough reason to nod his eager assent.
The discomfort was different this time: less of a burn, more of a dull ache that quickly faded, leaving only a sense of fullness. Even that was only a temporary distraction, once Wright started up again in earnest, curling his body over Apollo’s to cover his neck and shoulders with urgent, needy kisses, dick half-hard again already and pressing down into Apollo’s thigh.
Apollo wasn’t sure when he’d risen to his knees, one hand braced against the wall to let him rock his hips back into Wright’s hand—anything to maximize the heat and friction. The small part of him that could still almost string two thoughts together was aware of Wright guiding his other hand up between his legs, and the rest of him didn’t need to be told twice what to do.
It was almost embarrassing how little effort it took—a few quick, jerky strokes in time with Wright's frantic thrusts, and he came with a shout, coating his hand and splattering his chest.
In the aftershocks, he was vaguely aware of Wright's fingers sliding out of him, and Apollo couldn't help wincing at the strangeness of the feeling. Sweat had left his bangs plastered to his forehead, and Wright pushed them back with his free hand. He leaned in to brush a kiss to the bared skin there, then stood.
"Stay there, I'll be right back," he said.
Apollo was too exhausted to argue, or do anything more complicated than roll onto his back and wait for his legs to stop trembling. He could hear the sound of running water, and a moment later, something warm and wet hit him in the face with an unappealing splat—a washcloth, he realized, once his panicked clawing got it off of him. It was nice of Wright to spare him a thought, sort of, and he got himself cleaned up as best as he could. A shower would be in order before Trucy got home, but right now all he wanted was to curl up in Wright's bed and enjoy the warm, loose feeling in his muscles and the sound of the rain outside.
Soft footsteps behind him announced Wright's return. He flopped back down onto the bed with over-exaggerated gusto, and then, without prompting, or even any kind of warning, wound his arm around Apollo’s shoulders to draw him in close.
Apollo froze, trying to keep his breathing measured. What was—was this a thing now? Since when did they cuddle, after? Part of him was ready to throw in the towel, tell Wright that it had worked, he’d gotten to him, let him laugh at Apollo until he was red in the face for being naive enough to hope—
Unless—and even today, as strange of a day as it had been, he almost didn’t dare to wonder—what if it wasn’t some kind of trick? Could he trust his instincts long enough to ride it out?
"It's a good thing the neighbors are used to hearing you shouting the place down at all hours,” Wright said, pulling back Apollo’s attention before he could spiral deeper into dangerous questions and impossible outcomes, “or they might think something inappropriate was going on."
Apollo muttered something unkind in response, but there was no bite to it, and Wright only chuckled, soft and low. His eyes were closed and his expression serene as he absently stroked Apollo’s hair—it would have been everything Apollo thought he wanted, before he knew better, and that alone made the whole scene almost too suspicious to bear.
As if that made him want it any less.
It was why, against all logic and reason and self-respect, he kept coming back. At first it had been desperation, then curiosity, then sheer, stubborn pride. But now? He couldn’t walk away, not without the answers to all those loaded questions. Not when he had one of his own.
This was it. All in.
“What do you want from me?”
Shame rose up to color Apollo’s cheeks as soon as the childish words left his tongue, but the harsh reaction he was braced for didn’t come.
Instead, Wright turned his head just enough to look him in the eye, and there was an earnestness there, a genuine sincerity in his unwavering gaze that Apollo had only ever seen on old recordings. It felt like a lifetime ago, now.
“Whatever you’ll give me,” was his quiet reply, and then, “It’s probably more than I deserve.”
It was the closest Wright had ever come to an apology, probably the closest he ever would. Apollo didn’t know what to say—he could barely wrap his head around the enormity of Wright’s words, which was bad, because Wright wasn’t finished.
“Every man has an igniter inside him. I told you that once, I think.” He looked away, finally, and that made it even harder, somehow. “I tried to account for every variable, control every outcome. There was no room to get sloppy, not against Kristoph—” and here, the sharp fragments of ice punctuating the other man’s name were enough to send a shiver through Apollo.
“I never stopped to consider that you would be the spark.”
It was too much. It had to be a strange and painful dream—he’d wake up damp and aching, haunted by a truth that couldn’t be. Still, something gave him pause: a key piece of testimony, obfuscated by innuendo and understatement. So now that you know the truth, Wright had said, can you forgive me? There had been something more to it then, something Apollo couldn’t place. Was this the missing piece?
“Apollo?” Wright was watching him again, eyes wide. “It’s not like you to be speechless.”
“Oh! I, uh—”
What could he say to all of that? His first instinct was to press the unfamiliar advantage. After all, it wasn’t often that Wright was in a sharing kind of mood. Maybe if he asked the right questions, Apollo could begin to understand why, if this was how Wright had felt for however long, he’d had to be so…him about it.
Then again, whether he’d admit it or not, Wright had made himself vulnerable, and putting him on the defensive now might be all it took to make him close off for good.
“I understand,” was what he finally settled on, unwilling to test the limits of this fragile peace between them. “Uh, I think. Mostly.”
“Oh. Good,” said Wright. “Then one of these days, you can explain it to me.”
Up close like this, Apollo didn’t need the bracelet to see through the dismissive air Wright wore like armor. The truth was in the little things—maybe had been from the start, if Apollo had known what to look for. There, in the nervous tension finally slipping from his muscles and the frantic pounding of his heart, the evidence was undeniable.
Half of him wanted to complain that this all could have been so much easier if either of them had been willing to put their cards on the table, admit they had wanted the same thing all along, but the triumphant elation bubbling up through his chest cut short any temptation to dwell. With newfound confidence, he pulled Wright down to kiss him again, and Wright wrapped his arms around him to kiss him back with such ferocity that both of them were left wild-eyed and breathless.
It was strange, but Apollo was finally sure, in a way he’d never been before about much of anything when it came to Phoenix Wright. Whatever they were, whatever it was they were trying to be, they’d get there.
One step at a time.