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The alley out back of the Borscht Bowl Club is scattered with broken bottles and the air is thick with stale beer, smoke and rotting trash. Not the kind of spot Kristoph would normally choose to linger in. But the Club itself is unnaturally cold, with a thin sheen of condensation covering the surfaces. The chill eventually sinks into Kristoph's skin and when Phoenix wants to come outside for a smoke, he is glad to follow him. At least it's warm out here.
Under the buzz of a dim neon light, Kristoph lights Phoenix's cigarette.
Kristoph isn't much of a smoker. Usually, he saves his Sobraine's for networking events. A visible marker of class and expense. Giving one to Phoenix could be seen as wasteful, but Kristoph is an aesthete at heart. He enjoys watching the disbarred Phoenix Wright, swaying under the influence of alcohol and stinking of sour sweat, dragging on a luxury brand cigarette.
He's coming to savour being close to Phoenix Wright. Becoming his friend. It wasn't his intention. In the beginning, Kristoph had simply wanted to keep an eye on him. After Wright paid that visit to Misham, Kristoph had been tense, ready to make a move if it looked like Phoenix had figured out who commissioned the forgery. Nothing had come of it, but Kristoph stuck close, just in case. He prefers to visit the Club on the days Phoenix's daughter isn't around. Those are the evenings he plays few poker games, allowing Kristoph to monopolise his time. When his daughter is present, he plays significantly more. Kristoph suspects that he's using the young magician to cheat and keep his winning streak. Perhaps one day he'll uncover how.
It's amusing. Kristoph's actions had Phoenix disbarred for cheating, yet now, it seems, cheating is all Phoenix knows how to do. He could easily have found some sort of legal adjacent work, even with his reputation in tatters; Kristoph can think of a dozen practices that would be happy to pay him a nice consulting fee based on his court record alone. But no. He prefers to earn pennies in a club whose air con bill must be as large as the tips he doesn't earn, often drinking himself into a hole.
Phoenix Wright clearly enjoys humiliation. And Kristoph enjoys watching him be humiliated. All in all, he might be the best friend Kristoph has made in years.
Phoenix is currently rambling on about some mark in the Hydeout the night before, offering bitchy remarks about his fashion sense in order to make Kristoph laugh. The expensive cigarette dangles between his chapped lips, sloppy and slack.
"Careful with that," says Kristoph, taking the cigarette and placing it more firmly between Phoenix's lips. "Don't want to burn yourself. Although a burn mark might remove some of that unsightly stubble on your chin."
"Thanks, mom," says Phoenix. "But I've got it under control."
"Really. I've been watching you mix red wine with vodka all evening when you're not banging on that poor piano. Hardly what I would call under control."
Phoenix gives him a lopsided grin. "Is that why you hang out with me? Can't stand to let me self-destruct in peace?"
"Perhaps I like watching you make a fool of yourself," says Kristoph, returning his smile.
"Glad I'm so entertaining."
"Or perhaps you need someone around to make sure you don't embarrass yourself more than you already have. Hard as that might be."
"God, you're mean," laughs Phoenix. "No wonder I like you."
Kristoph raises an eyebrow. "The feeling is mutual. Unfortunately."
"Just my luck to get someone like you for a best friend." He plucks the half-burnt cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to Kristoph. "Look after this for me. I need to take a piss."
"Charming," says Kristoph, taking it with a faint grimace. He watches Phoenix stumble a little further along the wall, away from the Club door. "Honestly, Phoenix? You can't go back inside and use a urinal?"
"What. You think I'm gonna ruin the ambiance of the alleyway?"
Kristoph watches him nudge down his pants. It appears that he isn't wearing underwear. Is it just today he's failed to fully dress himself or does he always go without? The hairs on Kristoph's arms prickle as he considers it. In contrast to Kristoph's styled hair and carefully pressed suit, Phoenix is nearly always dressed in grubby sweats, ill-fitting and loose. It's slatternly in a way Kristoph finds appealing. Easy access. Easier still if he has nothing on underneath. Ready for a fuck.
What goes on with those poker games in the Hydeout, the nights Kristoph isn't here? The image forms effortlessly. Phoenix losing and offering up his ass to ensure silence, keeping his reputation as a winner intact. Bent over the table, sweats shoved down and rough, dirty hands palming that milky white ass. And no amount of smart remarks allowing him to wheedle out, should he change his mind.
It takes some time for Kristoph to realise that Phoenix is doing little more than standing there. Kristoph's eyes slide from his ass to Phoenix's dick, limp in his hand, then up to his face. Their eyes meet momentarily before Phoenix's flick away.
Ah. Kristoph realises he's been staring. "Problem?" he asks, nonchalantly, keeping his gaze steady.
"I can't go when you're looking at me."
Phoenix sounds a little shaky. Much less playfully confident than he was only minutes before. Kristoph gauges his next step. Although he had no plans for this evening, he's been contemplating this move for some time now. How much lower can he bring Phoenix down? How far will Phoenix let him go?
Quite far, he suspects. Especially now, as he looks at Phoenix standing there, dick in hand and a blush spreading across the back of his neck. He's chewing at his bottom lip under Kristoph's unwavering scrutiny.
Yes. Time to escalate their relationship to the next level. Embrace the opportunity.
Kristoph flicks Phoenix's cigarette away and takes one last deep drag from his own. He grinds it out and walks over to Phoenix, pressing up against his back. There is a soapy smell of detergent overlaid with acrid smoke and the faint sweetness of cheap liquor. Kristoph enjoys the jarring contrast to his own scent of sandalwood and damask rose.
"What're you—," Phoenix gasps, before sharply inhaling as Kristoph slides a hand around his waist, pulling him in tight. With his other hand, he slips down over Phoenix's stomach and knocks Phoenix's hand out of the way. He takes hold of his dick, keeping his touch gentle with a thumb near the tip and fingertips on the shaft.
Phoenix strains, but Kristoph delights in how half-hearted it is. He pushes lightly at the hand on his waist. "Kris. What the hell?"
"You seemed to be struggling to go. And since we are such good friends, I don't mind helping you out." He lowers his chin, resting it on Phoenix's shoulder so he can look down.
Phoenix makes a small, soft, strangled sound. "Don't," he says, alcohol still slurring his words. But he can surely feel Kristoph's half-hard cock, fitting so nicely into the crack of his ass and he shifts, placing the palms of his hands on the rough brick wall.
Kristoph will take that as consent.
"Take your time," he murmurs.
They are practically cheek to cheek and Phoenix's skin is hot enough that Kristoph is sure he must be blushing bright red, but his dick is stiffening in Kristoph's hand. Yes. Humiliation suits Phoenix Wright perfectly.
"It would assist," says Kristoph. "If you part your legs."
Phoenix's breath hitches and, tenuously, his thighs spread. How delightfully acquiescent he is. Kristoph wonders if he's jerked himself off imagining Kristoph touching him. Perhaps not quite like this.
"Kristoph. Stop. I—I really..." He stumbles over his words and stops to take a deep breath, steadying himself. "I really do need to take a piss."
He's fully hard now.
"Well, how are you going to do it when erect, you slut?" Kristoph says with a smile. He punctuates his sentence by curling his hand and sliding up Phoenix's length. It pulls a whining sound from the back of Phoenix's throat. "It's alright," he soothes. "I'll still help."
With his other hand, Kristoph lets his fingers dance across Phoenix's abdomen and down. He moves under Phoenix's tshirt, touching the soft roll of his flesh with a teasing caress. Phoenix squirms and Kristoph places the heel of his hand over his bladder and presses in. Slow.
"Please," Phoenix begs.
Kristoph isn't sure what the please is for, but Phoenix could stop this if he wanted. He doesn't. He only makes a whimpering noise as Kristoph moves in small circles. The sound goes straight to Kristoph's cock, urging him on. He increases the pressure on Phoenix's bladder, slow and steady, grinding in. Muscles tremble under soft skin. Phoenix squirms some more, pushing back against him, so Kristoph holds his dick tighter, keeping him in place.
"Kris," whines Phoenix. "You're making me...I can't. Not both."
"I understand," says Kristoph and allows Phoenix to think whatever he wants about that. Frankly, Kristoph doesn't care if Phoenix pisses or comes. He's interested to see which will be first.
Removing a hand from Phoenix's dick makes him groan, but he soon shuts up when Kristoph slips two fingers into his mouth. Kristoph pushes them in deep, making Phoenix gag, but it doesn't stop him from moaning and swirling his tongue around them.
So. He enjoys having his mouth filled. Kristoph files away that bit of information for another time.
He lets off from kneading on Phoenix's bladder to push his sweatpants further down until they're stretched across the top of his thighs. Phoenix opens his legs a little wider in response.
"Keep still now," Kristoph says as he withdraws his fingers from Phoenix's mouth. He shifts, making room to bring them to Phoenix's ass and strokes over his hole. Once. Twice. Then he pushes inside. Phoenix moans as Kristoph starts to work his fingers inside him.
"Whore. Letting me touch you like this on a backstreet? Anyone could come out here and see you like this. Is this how you make your money on the nights I'm not here? I shouldn't be surprised, you disgusting pig."
Before Phoenix can reply, Kristoph brings his free hand back to his belly and presses in quick. He's forceful, and Phoenix's fingers scrabble on the wall. "Ooh, d-don't. Kris, not there."
"You said you needed to urinate. So go."
Kristoph slides his fingers a little deeper, taking careful note of Phoenix's reactions as he finds his prostate. He rubs precise circles with his fingertips, massaging Phoenix until he feels him start to shake. Phoenix pants like a dog, moaning out as Kristoph works his fingers, pressing in hard.
Looking down, Kristoph can see Phoenix's dick jerking as he kneads his bladder from both sides. He's as rigid as an iron bar. If he wasn't so aroused, he likely would have pissed himself five minutes ago. A bead of sweat drips down his neck and Kristoph turns his head to lick it off.
"Think how good it will feel," he says, dropping a kiss to Phoenix's pulse point and twisting both hands. "If you just let go."
"Fuck," moans Phoenix, throwing his head back. His cock-head glistens at the slit. Whether it's urine or precum, Kristoph can't tell.
"What a bundle of need you are. You're aching for release."
"Yes," pants Phoenix. "But can't. N-not when..."
"Of course you can. You don't have to choose. Just let things slip."
Kristoph works faster, kneading and grinding. Fingers relentless, inside and out, pressing deep into his belly, forcing Phoenix to empty himself.
With a strangled cry, Phoenix comes. His ass clenches with a satisfying rhythm around Kristoph's fingers as he splatters against the wall. But Kristoph doesn't relent. It's not enough. He needs to see it. Needs to force Phoenix to fully empty himself, reduced to putty in Kristoph's hands. It doesn't take long. As Phoenix's orgasm ebbs he starts shuddering and making the most delightful sobbing sounds. With one final press from the heel of Kristoph's hand he begins to piss himself. The stream from his stiff dick spouts upwards and onto his thin tshirt, soaking it in seconds. Kristoph quickly moves his hand out of the way.
"Filth," he whispers in Phoenix's ear. His bladder must be singing with relief.
The stream is strong and soon soaking down through Phoenix's sweats. The warm stench of it is strong; sharp, with too much red wine. It splashes on the concrete, pooling around their feet. Kristoph slowly slides his fingers free of Phoenix's hole and takes a step back. His white loafers are Bontoni and it would spoil the moment if they were to be ruined with a yellow stain.
"What a mess you've made," he says, wrinkling his nose but thrilling inside. How beautiful Phoenix is. His hands remain on the wall, submissively in their place, as the stream stutters to a stop and he struggles to catch his breath. He's trembling with shame. Kristoph takes his Sobraine packet out his pocket and knocks a fresh smoke out. He lights it up and takes a deep drag, allowing the smooth aroma to mask the stench of Phoenix's abasement as he gathers himself.
Next time, he thinks, he's going to make Phoenix release himself on the floor of the men's bathroom, spreading his legs on the broken tiles. Then he'll take the sole of his shoe and grind it—slow—on Phoenix's piss slick cock.
Eventually, Phoenix turns to him. He asks, breathless, "What the fuck was that?"
Kristoph smiles. "Just helping out a friend."