I dedicate this fic to my poor dog, who has to listen to me singing Radioactive at the top of my lungs.

WARNING: this chapter contains graphic description of dub-con, a.k.a., not exactly consensual sex, a.k.a. RAPE. And definitely non-consensual breathplay. Please, if you're triggered by such things, be careful.

Four

Gavin's apartment was not very far from the Detention Center, and the emptiness of the streets was almost welcome; Miles could not abide the thought of being seen in that car, with that man. His distinct choice of suit worked against him, and he hunched forward in an attempt to make his cravat look less conspicuous – one that seemed to amuse the blond.

From the moment they chose their destination to the moment Gavin opened his apartment door, there had been no conversation. This suited Miles just fine; maybe, if they didn't talk, he could go through with this and forget it afterwards. Maybe he would be able to just go with the flow—

"Do you want a glass of wine?" Gavin asked. No such luck. "Or perhaps scotch? Unfortunately, it's too late to put some music on, but I believe I have candles in reserve—"

He stopped talking as Miles fixed on him a cold glare. A snort, and then the defense attorney was pushing up his glasses.

"No setting the mood, then?" he asked playfully.

"You and I know what we've come here to do," Miles spat. "Spare me the small talk."

Gavin laughed, an unpleasant sound if there was any. He edged closer to Miles, moving languidly; his hand ran along the prosecutor' arm, setting off pockets of panic inside his skin.

"I just wanted to make you feel comfortable," Gavin lied, "but since you seem to be so eager—"

And he kissed Miles.

It was nothing like the kisses Miles had shared before; it could hardly be called a kiss. Gavin's grip on his shoulder left him with no room to move as Gavin's tongue thrust inside his mouth, not so much exploring as taking control, trying to devour what he had to offer. No corner of his mouth went untouched, and, when Gavin finally backed away for oxygen, Miles' lips stung from the edge of teeth he had used.

"Good," the defense attorney said with a clinical tone, his eyes fixed on the prosecutor's mouth, and there was no helping the shudder that crossed Miles' spine like an electric charge.

There was no reason to protest – no place to run – so he ignored the disgust growing like mold around his heart and started doing the logical thing.

He had already thrown the cravat away – placed it carefully in a coffee table, in fact – when Gavin approached him again, seemingly entranced by the curve of his neck. Miles' hands stilled as those fingertips touched his pulse point, the man's eyes burning with enough focus to drill a hole into it.

"Let's take it into the bedroom," Gavin said, but his tone was distant.

…Wherever the man's mind had gone off to, it was back by the time they crossed the threshold to his room, as he pressed Miles into the wall and started kissing his neck, while unbuttoning his vest. Over Gavin's shoulder, Miles had a good vision of the room; it looked a bit like a picture in a furniture store catalog, everything clean and sharp and so neutral it hurt the eyes.

Of course, he thought absently, Gavin's fingers concentrating on the buttons of his shirt. He would not expose himself in a place anyone could enter.

The touch of a hand against his right nipple brought him to attention.

"You do not seem very invested, Edgeworth," Gavin pointed out with a darkly amused smile.

The effectiveness of Miles' glare was undermined by Gavin's fingers pinching his nipple; the shock of that abrupt pain – the shock of the ghost of pleasure he felt – brought forth a groan from his lips. The defense attorney seemed very satisfied by it, by the blush on Miles' cheeks.

"Is this your first time, Edgeworth?" he asked, manhandling Miles into getting off his suit; the von Karma in Miles' head whined when everything was thrown unceremoniously on the floor, but that voice was silenced by the contrast of the fabric of Gavin's clothes against bare skin. "Have you had sex with men before?"

"I fail to see—" A gasp as Gavin pinched his other nipple. "—I fail to see how this is relevant."

Gavin's hands were working his belt now – it seemed the man was intent on seeing him naked before undressing himself. The hands slithering down his hips sent all kinds of warning signs to a body which wanted desperately to flee.

"Of course it's relevant," Gavin said, pressing his lips against Miles' collarbone. "How am I supposed to know what I should or should not do without knowing how experienced you are? Besides…" His hands – still clammy and cold, despite the flush overtaking the man's face – held Miles in place by the chin. "…are you truly in a position to be arguing relevance?"

Miles pushed Gavin aside angrily, but the defense attorney's arms closed around him in a vice-like grip. He was pressed against the wall, Gavin's body bearing down on him; his pants were shoved down, and a sinuous hand cupped one of his cheeks roughly through the thin material of his boxers. Gavin's teeth bit the prosecutor's collarbone with almost enough strength to draw blood.

The thought of Phoenix Wright was persistent, bittersweet. Miles wanted to remember him, remember who he was doing this for, but mixing that man – either the attorney or the pianist – with that situation, with that room, with those arms—

"Have you ever had sex with men, Edgeworth?" Gavin asked, between bites to his collarbone. He was sucking and worrying the skin between his teeth – it would leave a mark— "or is this the first time?"

Miles' pants were pooled around his ankles, trapping him under the gaze of those drilling eyes; he could not seem to find where to place his hands. He couldn't even lift his gaze from the floor.

"There – there have been others," he confirmed, his voice hurting inside his throat. "Few, tho—aaah."

Gavin's mouth had shifted from his collarbone to his left nipple; much to his horror, Miles felt his groin stir at the luxurious touch of the man's tongue. Gavin's suit seemed to be everywhere.

"'Few, though'," the defense attorney completed with a chuckle. He started lavishing the other nipple with the same attention, and Miles was unable to suppress a convulsive movement – likely the result of wanting both to arch away and closer. "Only this can explain a skin as sensitive as yours."

To hear that mouth spewing such clichés made Miles' knuckles itch, but worst of all was to feel himself starting to respond in a terribly familiar way.

He tried to remind himself such reactions were normal – how many times he had sat through psychology conferences about victims of rape – but he'd never had his body so at odds with his mind – and just the thought of that, the thought of losing control like that, was enough to make him feel like a boulder had caved in his ribcage, and—

—and he was being manhandled again, tripping over his pants as Gavin led him to the king-sized bed. In a second, he was thrown there, legs splayed – in the other, Gavin was removing his shoes and socks like a babysitter minding a child.

Miles realized he had to regain some measure of control – some way of stopping himself from diving headfirst into a panic attack – and he heard his own voice when Gavin touched the magenta silk of his boxers:

"You're far too well-dressed for this."

A calm that was not his – brought, perhaps, from his father's legacy –, washed over him as he took in the slight widening of Gavin's eyes, the mouth curving in an insincere smile.

"Very well," the blond said, hands turning to his tie.

The ritual of the defense attorney's undressing was much more careful and gentle than his own, but Miles still felt a dark satisfaction in seeing him off his suit at last, casting away his polite lawyer farce. That satisfaction did not, however, make the knowing smile Gavin sported while uncovering his well-toned chest any easier to bear, nor did it soften the touch of his hands as he threw his shoes away and settled on the elastic band of Miles' boxers.

Neither of them spoke as Gavin pushed down the last barrier between himself and the prosecutor's nudity.

Instinct led Miles to close his legs – and Gavin's hands opened them again, spread them forcibly in a wanton position. A thought of what Franziska would think if she saw him like this clung to his mind with a vengeance, bringing an unwanted blush to his cheeks.

He could not help but feel weak when Gavin leaned back, taking in his whole body with a clinical eye.

"Beautiful, certainly," he said… and Miles could see the shape of his erection straining the gray fabric of his boxers.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to run, but knew he could not run, so he unthinkingly moved to the next step – maybe, if he did one things at a time, that nightmare would be over before he realized it.

"How do you want to do this?" he forced himself to ask, even though it was obvious – by the way Gavin loomed over his body like a threat – how things were going to end.

Busy as he had been fighting his many second thoughts, the prosecutor had not noticed Gavin was lost in reverie until his voice had the man startled; it was surprising to see him lean back for a second, as if trying to get back on track.

Then an unpleasant smile crossed the man's face.

"One can hardly call it proper sex without a bit of foreplay, isn't that right?" His smile grew wider. "Besides, I cannot waste such an opportunity to gauge your skills."

Slowly, ominously, Gavin lowered his own boxers.

"Suck me, Edgeworth."

Miles bit his lip.

Gavin's cock wasn't that different from the ones he had had experiences with; it was thick but average-sized, and Miles knew, from looking at it, that he had taken bigger into himself. The way it bobbed in front of him, however… Miles had always asked himself how could someone not relish oral sex, the feeling of bringing your partner to completion with nothing but your mouth. Now he guessed he had the answer.

Gavin tapped it against his cheek.

Despite his revolted stomach and shuddering spine – cold sweat descending in rivulets down his back – he moved steadily forward, and, gripping Gavin's cock by its base, pushed the head inside his mouth.

The defense attorney's breathy sigh was strangely gratifying, and the position he had chosen fit him well; on all fours in bed, mouth working to take Gavin in, he could not see the man's face unless he looked up. The hands that gripped his shoulders could be anyone's; the cock he was currently wrapping his tongue around could be Dieter's, his first, who had had the same built and that skin kissed by the sun.

The balls he caressed with his fingers could almost be—

"Your – ah! – technique is better, but you – you lack Wright's eagerness."

Miles stilled.

Against his better judgment – against all rational thought – he risked a look at Gavin.

Who was smiling like the cat that ate the canary. "Why, Edgeworth, you seem surprised. Hasn't he told you about me?"

Ignore him, he told himself firmly. He's just trying to get under your skin. Ignore him.

"I am surprised myself… I would have thought he would have told you, of all people. Or maybe not? Maybe he didn't want you to know anyone else had seen him like that."

Maybe, his mind agreed. Maybe Wright didn't want me to know because he was in the same position that I—

Because he—

"Though, of course, I am assuming…" And Gavin leaned down, closing a hand over his jaw and forcing his head up. "Have you ever had him like that, Edgeworth?"

And that bitterness, that confused mosaic of chances he'd never taken and things he'd never said, the tentative touches that could never lead anywhere and the gazes held just a minute too long, that feeling of being so close and so far, the hurt beyond belief and the apologies that had cluttered everything else when there was no way to shape the intensity of those feelings into words– it was nothing he'd ever meant for anyone to see, let alone Kristoph Gavin. He had felt naked and vulnerable before but it was nothing compared to the trembling of his body as he muttered a slow:

"No."

No. I wanted to, of course I wanted to, and we were close enough for it, once – but I was too broken, and I thought I didn't deserve it, and I ran from it in the worst of ways. When I came back, all the steps forward had backtracked and the gap was too wide and – and you showed up before I could bridge it.

Gavin's expression had all the characteristics of vindictiveness, but there were some nuances of it – the downward turn of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes – that painted something else behind the malice. When he grabbed Miles' hair, the following kiss had more force than necessary.

"Have you never seen him like that, then?" he asked, his voice strained, as he pushed Miles back down, pressed his length against Miles' face. "All those years, and nothing like that ever happened?"

He didn't seem to be waiting for an answer, as he himself pushed the head of his cock past Miles' lips, thrusting in and out with little care for his well-being.

"Ah! – Edgeworth, I can't even begin to tell you – what you're losing." Miles tried to relax and not choke, barely managing it, and every word seemed to be branded into his skin. "It seemed like his face was – oh – was made to look – to look – to look thoroughly fucked – oh, yes."

Gavin shifted, pulled Miles' closer until his cock started touching the back of the prosecutor's throat. Miles gagged, coughed, and, when Gavin finally took his length out, started retching, each movement shaking the whole of his chest and throat as strands of saliva dribbled down his chin. There was hardly any time to recompose himself; he was being pulled up again, a kiss extracted from his tired swollen mouth. Gavin bit into his abused lower lip, and this time the strength was enough to draw blood.

Then Gavin rose, left the bed towards the nightstand.

Miles wanted to curl into himself and disappear; he knew well what that sound of shuffling meant for his future. He felt raw, open too wide, and wanted to retract and rebuild, to put on his suit and cravat and try to make that body come back to what he was used to think of as Miles Edgeworth. He saw himself getting up – saw himself grabbing his clothes, putting on his pants and shoes, getting the cravat and leaving, walking away from that bed forever.

But Wright.

But Wright.

Had Gavin been lying? Had he been telling the truth?

If he'd been telling the truth – had Wright been willing? Or had it been like—

Oh God, if it was anything like this, I swear Gavin's going to suffer, he promised himself savagely as he felt the mattress budge from added weight, as Gavin's arms enveloped him from behind and he was pushed flush against the defense attorney's body.

"You're doing very well," Gavin said, in a voice brimming with obviously fake sympathy. "Very well. Just take it easy now – let me do the work."

The dry sound of an opening lid.

The cold slimy touch of a finger going inside.

It was like Gavin was trying to make up for the brutality from before, as the finger worked gently inside of him, caressing and exploring with none of the hunger the defense attorney must have been feeling – if the erection poking his cheeks was anything to go by. It took Miles a moment to understand why – Gavin pressed a second finger – and there was more exploring, scissoring motion, and the man crooked his fingers and touched there – damn it, the bastard was trying to make him hard.

And succeeding.

A shock of sensation ran through his whole being, bringing forth another groan from his lips, and the smile Gavin muffled against his skin did nothing to help fade the aftershocks of pleasure. A third finger slipped easily inside; back turned to Gavin, Miles was brought back to nights in Germany, exploring his sexuality in ways he had never been allowed to when he should have. The pleasure of being filled – one he had very easily realized the appeal of.

"Perhaps you should go on all fours."

Perhaps, if they had started the night like this, Miles would have felt ashamed – wouldn't have wanted to be caught in such a lewd position – but right then, he just wanted everything to be over as soon as possible. He bent, ass in the air, cock flushed and more than half-hard, all open and inviting Gavin in.

It wasn't painful – Gavin didn't bury himself to the hilt at once, and the extra lubrication provided by the condom helped ease the way. It wasn't painful to be held as Gavin started slowly thrusting in and out, shifting with every thrust in order to find the best angle.

It was painful to listen to the creaking bed, as he tried to focus on something else – tried to pretend it wasn't him this was happening to. Each sound brushed across like a knife that, instead of cutting him from this world, only brought him closer to that reality where he was in Kristoph Gavin's bed, letting himself be fucked like a whore in exchange for a piece of paper.

The thrusts grew in force and speed, and more often than not they hit that spot – little ripples of pleasure weave through him, build up and up and up – Miles' cock bouncing back and forward with the movement—

"I don't understand."

—suddenly Miles felt Gavin pull out – and then he was being manhandled again, pushed back and forward till he was lying on his back, legs raised and supported by Gavin's shoulders while he lined up again. Gavin's glasses were askew, his lenses dirty; the look in his eyes was wild.

"You are beautiful," he said between teeth, and pushed inside – all at once, and this time it was really painful. "There is no denying it, but he doesn't go for beauty alone."

He started thrusting, fast and deep, with no thought to please, apparently no thought at all; Gavin was grimacing, his eyes bulging, and Miles couldn't help but ask himself if he'd looked like that when he was murdering Gramarye.

"You are definitely skilled—," a sigh, a muffled groan, "and you feel good, but it's not – it's not that – otherworldly," another muffled groan, a trembling oh from Miles' own lips when the length inside of him brushed off his prostate—"not special enough, and you say you have never been together—"

He's talking about Wright, Miles thought, only half-hard now, being rocked back and forward without a shred of control, feeling like he should have planned this better.

"So why," and Gavin's voice was rising, "why is he that hung up on you?!"

And Gavin's hands – Gavin's clammy, cold hands –, closed around his neck fast like a biting snake.

Before Miles could react and shake him off, those fingers were already digging into his windpipe – pressing the veins on his neck – Gavin's hips holding him in place – pushing Miles' arms downward with his elbows – and there was no leverage to kick him away – couldn't get enough strength to push – he couldn't breathe– and it shouldn't be so hard to think but those little ripples of pleasure had become waves – he couldn't breathe – and Gavin kept thrusting back, wouldn't stop for a second, hitting his prostate relentlessly –

"He's mine– do you understand? – do you understand – aah – I'm not letting you – play with my possessions – and he – can kid himself otherwise – but – ohhh – he's mine!"

This is how I'm going to die. This is how I'm going to die, strangled in a bed with Gavin's dick inside my ass. Oh, please, if there's a God out there, don't ever let Franziska find out about this.

His whole body felt light – even as the desperation ate inside his chest – ohhh – Gavin kept yelling – and he inhaled – exhaled – inhaled – exhaled – inhaled – and no relief – dancing spots – aaah – his body detached, drowning, and he was – needed to stay awake – he thought he was about to – and Gavin screamed—

And the air entered his lungs the moment his body gave up and came, harder than he expected, blotting all senses out except the bliss and the even more powerful euphoria of breathing and breathing and breathing and getting enough air.

Hands curled protectively over his throat, he barely noticed when the pressure of Gavin's body suddenly lifted, as he pulled out with a swift motion that brushed against sore muscles and even sorer skin. Miles couldn't see Gavin's face – couldn't summon the will to ask him just what the hell he had meant to do.

The answer was obvious.

He was busy measuring the fingerprints at his neck, wondering whether his cravat would hide them properly, when Gavin rose, all silent and sullen like a child who hadn't gotten what he wanted… or like a poker player who had accidentally revealed his hand. A towel was wordlessly thrown at Miles; another, tied around Gavin's waist as he moved to the en suite bathroom.

And then Miles found his voice.

"I'm not going to let you have him."

Gavin halted in the doorway. Slowly, he glanced back.

Miles' voice was rough and hurt, and his body felt like something that wasn't his – but he held Gavin's gaze all the same.

"If you want him, you're going to have to go through me."

They stood staring at each other for a moment longer, the words (spoken and unspoken) twisting the air with the tension they created.

Then Gavin turned his back on him, entered the bathroom.

His voice echoed as he replied: "Perhaps I will."

...I feel like this sucks, but, then again, I feel that way about everything I write, so who knows.