[RLs 20 and 21: Sex at the Chateau Marmont/Sex in Paris]

[samuraiprosecutor]

Now that I have your attention...

So, ages ago I planned and started an Edgeworth-only RL in which Edgeworth gets laid. Whoo! Unfortunately I never finished it, but when this new, somewhat related RL came up I decided to finish up the other and post them together for some heavy contrast. The first took place during Phoenix's vacation in February, the weekend before Phoenix returned home. As such, Edgeworth was still wearing his cast at the time, and was just beginning to realize the attraction he was developing toward his friend.

The second took place starting at about 1pm comm time, or 10pm Paris time. Because of the time the Hakuna Matata virus began I had to flub a few details, namely saying that the cafe Edgeworth frequents stays open very late, and that an exponentially increasing tourist trade prompted the Paris of the future to keep many of the tourist attractions open much later than usual.

Rating is equivalent to R, and RLs contain mansex. You have been warned. ♥

Sex at the Chateau Marmont
He was young; shy of too young, but just barely. A lithe body, more lean than Miles preferred, and he moved with an eager sort of grace that would have made him seem even younger.

Though his eyes made up for it. Older and more experienced than the rest of him (or, at least, than the rest of him appeared to be), they offset his flaws. Miles felt an answering flare of heat when the man gave him that look accompanied by that challenging cock of one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

Miles led him into the bedroom, where the man (he had introduced himself as Damien, a name Edgeworth had immediately determined was too ridiculously stage to utter) wasted no time in crawling onto the bed and leaning back languidly against the covers (thick and richly embroidered down comforters - along with the soundproof walls and the discretion of the staff, the luxuriant beds were one of the main reasons he continued to use this as one of his specific-purpose hotels.)

There was no hurry in Miles' manner as he carefully removed his jabot (a drawn-out task when done one-handed) and laid it across one of the chairs in the room's small seating area. He took his time removing his sling, his jacket, his vest, hanging what needed to be hung; slowly divesting himself of his clothes until the man on his bed was positively pouting.

Miles gave him a self-satisfied smirk as he settled himself gently on the bed. The man looked him over and returned an appreciative smirk of his own; Miles wondered how genuine it was. He was well aware of his own attractiveness (perfection to be strived for in all things). Yet he guessed the gesture was mostly for his benefit, the sort of response learned by all those whose livelihood depends on their client's ego; a look born of little-to-no real lust and practiced by all such professionals, from pórnoi to geisha. Its effect was undeniable, and the man held his eyes for a few moments before Miles pulled his gaze down to his chest, which was still covered by a tight, black Armani shirt.

"You're falling behind. Do try to keep up." The tone wasn't gentle or teasing, and the man blinked owlishly then grinned.

"In a hurry?"

"Yes."

A wider grin, and laughter danced in his dark blue eyes. "Well, I'm not. I prefer a job done well to one done fast. You get the best results that way." His eyes traveled up Miles' body again, openly appraising. "You look like a man who's used to the best, and you're damn well paying for the best, so how about we do this right?"

"Do you advise all your clients of their preferences?"

"...The customer is always right," he conceded genially, though anger hid in his dark eyes and subtly tensed muscles. Edgeworth ignored the reaction in favor of grabbing a condom from the nightstand and tossing it on the bed beside his 'guest.'

He indicated his cast with a terse nod. "You'll have to put it on." The man complied silently, stripping off his clothes and applying the condom after Edgeworth obliged him with a few pumps of his good hand. Finally satisfied, Edgeworth laid back against the luxuriant pillows and looked up at the man expectantly.

The escort prepped him quickly, efficiently. His dextrous fingers worked at the tight ring of muscle while he took Mile's member in and tongued the shaft diligently. He was talented, that couldn't be argued; trained through experience or naturally skilled, perhaps both. His intentions were clear and Edgeworth gave a mental nod of approval before closing his eyes and allowing him to do what he was being paid for, as quickly as he was capable of.

Miles was silent as the man entered him, quiet as he rocked in and out with increasing speed, and the escort followed his cue. The only sounds in the room were deep, ragged panting and the steady squeaking of the bed. Miles listened to it idly, some distracted part of his mind tracking the mounting frequency and correlating it with the growing tingling in the small of his back. He was getting close but it wasn't enough.

"I paid for soundproofing. Use it," he finally declared, his voice gravelly and harsh. To his credit the escort responded as bid, filling the room with moaning and an occasional desperate whimper that raised gooseflesh on Miles' skin. Miles drank it in, pressing harder into his thrusts, but found shortly that it still wasn't enough. That last peak was out of reach.

Eventually he let his eyes slip shut again and resorted to fantasizing. The likenesses of actors, co-workers, even several members of that damned community floated before his mind's eye, one at a time. Their faces were all twisted with lust, eyes closed and mouths open, skin glistening with sweat, and he could feel his release approaching.

When Wright's face appeared, his expressive eyes dark with need and his voice keening hungrily in Miles' ear, his heart quite literally stopped. Before he could banish the image his climax slammed into him, harder than he could ever recall. It stole his breath and drew a choked cry from his dry throat, and the escort followed him with an almost surprised look on his features.

After it was over Edgeworth gave them only a few minutes to lay there. Once he'd recovered enough to move he rose from the bed. "You may use the facilities. Be quick about it." The escort obediently retrieved his clothes and entered the bathroom, and by the time he emerged Edgeworth was wearing briefs and holding out a roll of cash from the room safe. The man accepted it politely, though he gave Edgeworth a questioning glance before he left.

Edgeworth cleaned up hurriedly once he was gone, then retreated to the hotel bar until closing time.



Sex in Paris
He really was exquisite. That fact hadn't escaped Edgeworth's notice over the past weeks, but tonight, as he again met those striking blue eyes for a few, brief moments, it was made abundantly clear. Edgeworth leaned back in his chair; the uncomfortable wrought iron served to heighten the restlessness that had been building in him all evening, and the stranger's sharp gaze and broad shoulders weren't helping matters.

So, despite being years out of practice (aside from a few clumsy acts of desperation early on, Edgeworth's prior encounters had been the sort that one only needed money to obtain) he flirted openly, radiating his customary air of confidence as he sipped slowly at his cabernet and cast appraising glances at the stranger at the next table. The prospect of making a fool of himself never crossed his mind, and the man's fixed gaze spoke of nothing but approval.

As Edgeworth's empty wine glass clinked softly on the bistro table the stranger slid casually into the seat across from him.

"Good evening." His voice was soft, his accent almost lilting. He began the conversation in English; Edgeworth didn't bother to correct him, simply responded with a polite nod. A small, eager smile broke over the man's thin lips. "You've been here several weeks now?"

"Over a month, actually."

"Yes? How I missed you those first weeks, it's a mystery." Edgeworth smirked at that, amusement clear in his eyes, and said nothing. His companion's pale cheeks flushed slightly and he continued in a less assured tone, "You've seen the sights, non? The Tower, the Louvre... Jardin du Luxembourg is nearby, you must have seen that one."

"I have," Edgeworth replied. His eyes traced the strong line of the man's jaw, down his throat, to where his neck met his shoulder and disappeared under his finely knit navy shirt. He finally raised his gaze to the man's eyes, again admiring their deep blue hue. His companion met the stare.

"Then you know the beauty of the gardens. I take my evening stroll there. I was on my way there, once I leave here." A pause, and an enticing uncertainty in his eyes. "You would like to join me, Monsieur?"

There was no hesitation. "I would."

--

The gardens were beautiful, as always. Despite his interest in his companion's loping gait and perfect waist Miles mustered enough attention to listen dutifully to Henri's excited discourse on the statues they came across. By the time they'd reached the lake, though, Edgeworth's interest was rapidly waning, diverted to more immediate concerns. As Henri watched couples stroll along the lake's edge, Edgeworth watched Henri.

A minute later he leaned in, shoulder barely touching shoulder and his lips mere inches from the man's ear. "Your apartment is close?" He punctuated the question with a sharp nip at the skin of his neck, below the earlobe. Henri started, made a confused and wholly intoxicating sound, and finally nodded.

--

The walk was short and silent. The building was a high-rent one. They took the elevator up to a studio apartment, larger than Edgeworth expected and with undoubtedly thick walls. As they entered he smirked at the setting. 'Studio' obviously held a double meaning in this case: numerous paintings were scattered throughout the apartment in various stages of completion. Most were male portraits, though a few were abstracts or landscapes in pastels. Henri skirted them expertly as he made his way across the room, and Edgeworth followed, joining him as he lowered himself onto the bed.

Henri reached for a small remote on the night stand and pointed it at a complex sound system on the far wall, but Miles didn't give him the chance to use it. With one hand he pulled it from the man's suddenly slack grip; the other hand he slid under the man's shirt, teasing his side until the remote was discarded on the floor and both hands could be devoted to the urgent task of tugging the navy shirt over his head.

The body that was revealed was more than suitable. Edgeworth paused to admire the man's broad chest and tight abdomen. A thin trail of dark hair circled his navel and continued down to dip promisingly below his waistband, and the long hair that had framed his face was now in wisps around his head.

After allowing him time for frank admiration, Henri reciprocated, eagerly pulling Miles' shirt off. They reached for each other's belts simultaneously, began to crawl toward the headboard as they removed pants, briefs, their mouths exploring each other's skin while their hands were pleasantly busy.

Eventually Henri fumbled blindly in the nightstand, finally coming up with a condom and a white tube. Miles decided the roles for him, snatching the condom from him and working his way down the man's belly, his mouth preempting any protests while he slipped the condom on. The man was already hard and hot in his hands, and Miles grinned against his salty skin.

Their preparation was quick, Henri's thick fingers spreading him easily, and the position was decided without words. By the time his companion pressed smoothly into him and began a slow pace, they were reduced to loud, labored panting, punctuated by even louder moans. Miles curled over him, alternating nips and a bruising grip with licking and light, teasing tweaks of his nipples. He rode his hips roughly, drawing desperate groaning from the man's throat with every stroke, and was rewarded with fingers roaming down his back, around his waist, closing tightly over his shaft.

It wasn't long before they were both close. Their pace quickened; Miles breathed deeply of the heady musk of sex, lost himself in the burn of friction and the pressure building at the base of his spine and eyes that seemed all too familiar. One stroke went impossibly deep and he moaned wantonly, "Right there, right..." Another stroke, and he pressed down onto it with all the force he could manage, "...right, keep right th-"

That was it. He squeezed his eyes shut as every muscle in his body clenched, and as lust-clouded blue eyes flashed through his mind a choked, "Oh god Wright," was ripped from his throat.

Henri came moments after. Still trembling spasmodically, Miles lifted himself off of him then rolled onto the bed, lying bonelessly beside him. Henri watched him, his face wearing the expression of a man attempting to decipher a phrase of slang from a language he's not fluent in.

Miles only smirked in response.