[fic] Brighter

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Title: Brighter
Status: Complete
Author: kiyala
Word Count: 504
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing: Daryan Crescend / Klavier Gavin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Mentions of mansex, swearing, weirdness
Disclaimer: CAPCOM own Phoenix Wright
Notes: Wrote this one a while ago and posted it in my personal LJ, but here you go :D

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God, that voice. Exam tomorrow. Gotta do the grocery shopping before the store closes. So fucking hot.

His thoughts are only semi-coherent, but that’s still better than what Daryan expects of himself. There’s just something—something, fuck if he knows what, that’s different in his life now. Like waking up and finding the whole world’s suddenly a whole lot brighter, but not as obvious.

It’s subtle, creeping into the idle thoughts that keep the silence out of his head. Things like that chick’s hot and feh, I could outdo both those punks on my bike change to thoughts that center on one thing. One person, one place, one moment in time.

And a million different sensations all at once.

Teeth dragging over lips (last night) Hands on each other’s legs, alternating between massaging them gently and kneading them like only one thing mattered in the world (getting off, right there, right then) Long necks and smooth backs covered with bite and scratch-marks (shit, they were both so impatient) Legs wrapping around each other as tight as they could (they were still sore) Letting his head drop back with a low moan when he finally got the friction he needed (sweet fucking hell, Klavier, don’t stop)

“Hi, how are ya.”

He barely catches the disinterested greeting of the girl at the register. The one with a nice rack and a ton of foundation. His eyes pass over her like she’s barely even there as he digs his wallet out and pays for the groceries. She’s a thin, flimsy connection keeping him anchored to the real world. The machine prints his receipt and she gives him the change. He grabs the plastic bag and the connection snaps. He’s tossed back into his thoughts, still jumbled as hell.

He tries to think of other things. Things that aren’t about Klavier’s cock dripping all over the sheets, or the way it looks, feels, tastes. Daryan brings his hand to his face and inhales. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still smell it. His legs carry him home and his steps feel a bit jerky and disconnected, just like his thoughts. He doesn’t care. The plastic bag swings at his side as he walks, his eyes unfocused.

A pair of girls on the other side of the road and watching him—really watching him (the same way he’d watched Klavier undress and get on the bed) but he hardly lifts his head in their direction.

He gets his keys out when he crosses the street to reach his apartment. He stops when he gets to the entrance of the apartment block. In spite of everything, he notices the purple bike before he notices the guy standing right next to it.

“Ah, I was wondering why you weren’t home. I was about to call you.”

Daryan still has the presence of mind to smirk. Just one night of sex and Klavier’s already five times clingier. Go figure.

“Shall we go inside?”

Daryan laughs and leads the way. (fucking stupid question, Klavier)


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