[Fic] Bad Habits--Lusca/Guys
Hi, community! I just played Enzai this Monday, and I come bearing fic!
Bad Habits
Author: Chaser/iroh_fancier
Fandom: Enzai: Wrongly Accused
Pairing: Lusca/Guys
Rating: NC-17/M for explicit (and—gasp! shock!—consensual) sex.
Word Count: About 3,000
Warnings: None, unless mild forms of self-abuse such as nail biting are triggers for you.
Summary: Even the best lawyers lose cases sometimes. Thankfully, Lusca has a cute tsundere to verbally slap some sense into him when these times happen.
Notes: I just played Enzai and quite enjoyed it—despite my usual dislike for rape-as-kink plots. :/ Lusca/Guys is definitely my OTP (though I love Belbet/Guys and Evan/Guys, too), but this is my first time writing either of them, so I'm definitely still learning. Critique is more than welcome and encouraged.
Lusca's courtroom face was cool, unflinching, impassive as a fortress wall. This was true whether he was taking notes or answering a question—and whether he was winning or, more rarely, losing.
Today was one of those rare days. From his place at the defense's table, Guys watched his employer and lover swipe his heavy pen over the notepad, following the regular prosecutor's words with his usual calm and measured handwriting. At rest on the polished wood, the fingers of his left hand subtly twitched. Guys noticed, though none but the keenest detective would have; Lusca wanted to chew on his nails. In the last month, he had nearly worn them down to nubbins. Past nubbins; Guys was sick of it. And he'd told his partner so when he slapped the older man's hand away from his mouth at breakfast.
"Oi, moron. Forks go in there. Eggs go in there. Crepes go in there. Hands don't."
"Not now, Guys." But Lusca had picked up a cigarette instead.
Guys groaned as he lighted it. "Great. Now you're going to stink when I kiss you. But I guess that's better than having you bleed all over your sleeves." When Lusca only grunted he'd sighed and cradled the long pale hand to occupy it. "Dummy. It's a hard case. Don't blame yourself because you're not making a miracle."
Lusca also sighed, exhaling a thin little stream of smoke. "He's innocent, Guys. You of all people should appreciate what that means." And stubbing out his cigarette in the middle of his plate, Lusca had stood and strode into the lavatory to wash, leaving Guys to clear away the leavings.
"I'm not your servant," his assistant had shouted at the closed door, but it stayed shut. "Stupid Lusca."
He was still irritated, though a year at Lusca's side had taught him to keep his expression just as firm as his lover's during a trial—even when his lover was pissing him the hell off (which he did with amazing frequency). By now, Lusca's left hand had stopped its twitching. It now rested sedately at Lusca's side as its twin swept the air before him, emphasizing each point with just the right amount of control and grace. His posture was firm but relaxed, his blond curls bound neatly at the nape of his neck , revealing just a few inches of pale skin above his scarlet cravat. Guys swallowed down a gulp as he remembered trailing sharp little kisses along Lusca's collarbone the previous evening. There was no denying it, regardless of his mood: Lusca was sexy when he was on the job.
"Your honor," he said evenly. "The honorable prosecutor's case against Sergeant Dussart is entirely unfounded. Not only has my esteemed opponent failed to present a solid argument, he has constructed a series of events that stretches credibility and the imagination. Admittedly, my client had the motive to murder Monsieur Farouche. The man was his best friend, and he had confessed to having an affair with my client's wife. He also had the means—as an officer, he possessed several sabers and knives, and who in Paris does not know of his hot temper and the pistol he kept tucked into his belt?" Here Lusca spread his arms wide, in a gesture Guys had come to recognize as one of openness, benediction and honesty—one that even seasoned justices couldn't help but trust.
"However, Sergeant Dussart lacked the final point in this triangle of guilt: opportunity. On the night of Monsieur Farouche's murder, he was drinking at the Golden Sun Inn—a fact that was noted by several patrons." He swept his hand in the direction of the court's benches, where many of the patrons in question perched with furrowed brows and sweaty foreheads. With a sudden surge of sympathy, Guys recalled that they were, to a person, Dussart's friends. He swallowed again, immediately pushing away thoughts of Vallewida, Evan and Io. Imagining any of them (again) in Dussart's place was a distraction he could not afford.
Lusca went on. "The innkeeper noted that my client left the premises exactly as the bells of Notre Dame chimed one a.m.; Monsieur Farouche's landlady said that she heard a struggle in her border's rooms at half past the hour. The chief of police has testified that he walked all three paths between the tavern and the victim's flat and traveled them by carriage, and at no point—" he shook both hands empathetically "—no point did he arrive before the time of the murder. The distance between both buildings is simply too great. I also remind your honor that none of the cab drivers on duty that night recall picking up a man matching my client's description. These facts, combined with a missing murder weapon are more than enough to exonerate the good sergeant of any suspicion. In short, your honor—" Guys felt his stomach tense as Lusca leaned in, as if to whisper a secret to the judge. "My esteemed opponent's case is, to quote Shakespeare, so much sound and fury. I implore your honor to rule in favor of an innocent man—and to remember the consequences of not doing so on the last occasion an innocent man stood in these august chambers."
Guys could not control his blush as Lusca indicated him with a turn of his head. His partner's determined expression, the way his blue-gray eyes were as bright and serene as the surface of a mirror, the way he had been working so hard without breaking a sweat—Guys' cock stirred in his trousers. Lusca had no idea how horny he got watching when watching him work.
"The defense rests, your honor." And with that, Lusca turned and strode back to his table with the poise of a man who knew he had just won. Sucking in a breath, Guys shifted his weight slightly. Dammit, when had trials become a turn on?
"The defense has presented a strong argument," the judge responded, looking severe as always; Guys wondered if they taught them how to look like that at judge's school, or wherever people went to learn how to do that kind of thing. "And, as always, I applaud him for his meticulous research and dedication to his client. However, monsieur, a few inconsistencies in the prosecution's case that can be accounted for by a driver's poor memory or a detective's slow legs does not convince. I hereby sentence the accused to a life term. Bailiff? If you will remove the sergeant from the court."
Lusca inclined his head respectfully, as he ever did even when winning. Meanwhile, Sergeant Dussart remained calm and silent as a uniformed guard took him by the arm. Guys gave him credit for that, remembering his own weeping and shouting four years ago. At his left, Lusca had stayed the bailiff and was speaking to his client, so close and low that he might as well have been whispering. Guys heard him all the same.
"I'm sorry, Anton." Guys was pretty sure that Lusca's way of sounding both firm and reassuring at the same time was something they didn't teach in lawyer school. "We weren't able to get enough evidence to win this time, but I'll fix that soon." When his client gave him a skeptical look, he responded with a smile. "Don't worry. Retrials are possible to win—Guys will tell you that."
"Huh?" Guys blushed as Dussart looked at him expectantly. "Oh, uh, yeah. Lusca's right. I wouldn't be here without him." He did his best to smile appropriately—with calm assurance, not with a giant grin; this wasn't a circus, after all, as Lusca never stopped telling him.
"All right." And though Dussart was a gruff man, he returned the gesture.
"We'll visit within the week," Lusca promised as the bailiff steered his client from the room. The court was clearing now as Lusca approached the prosecutor to shake his hand and exchange the usual pleasantries. Suspecting that Lusca wouldn't approve of him shooting the man a fig, Guys chose to gather up their papers as the two congratulated one another on a case well-argued.
As always, Lusca retained his self-assured expression from the courthouse's halls to the carriage waiting in the street outside. As soon as the driver had closed its doors, however, his shoulders and his expression fell. Sighing, he slumped against the velvet cushion and pulled out his cigarette case.
"Lusca…" when his lover's response was the flick of a match, Guys reached out and tapped his knee. "Oi, oi. Relax. We'll win the retrial."
But Lusca shook his head. "You know there are no guarantees."
"Yeah, but this isn't like what happened to me. We'll find more evidence or more witnesses and we'll get him out."
Lusca just gave him a look. "And you know it doesn't always work like that."
"Mou, don't go fishing for complements! Because I'm not going to give them to you." But his lover only puffed away, looking miserable. "I let him down. Especially when the situation—" he waved his cigarette, at a rare loss for words. "It's a man's life," he said at last. "And I didn't work hard enough."
Guys hated comforting people. For one thing, he wasn't good at it. For another, it embarrassed him—mostly for himself, but for the person he was trying to comfort, too. He especially hated comforting Lusca. It made him feel like a wife or a mistress. For another thing, Lusca didn't need that sort of thing. God damn it, he was Lusca, the best lawyer in Paris! What could he or anyone say that was better than that?
Nothing. Of course. Then again, there were other ways to comfort people—ways that worked better and were a lot more fun.
Lusca blinked as his young lover straddled his thighs. "Guys?"
"Jeeze, are you really so vain that you need someone to tell you you're great, or something?" Lusca gulped as Guys' fiddled with the knot of his cravat. "Do you think a crappy lawyer could do this?"
"Guys—" Lusca's complaint ended in a gasp as Guys grazed his hardness along his lover's thigh.
"Is-is that from—?"
"Yeah, it's from watching you talk. It's—it's not like I'm a pervert or anything, but the way you move and talk in there shouldn't be legal."
Extinguishing his cigarette against the back of his case, Lusca shifted his arms around his lover's waist. "I really do that to you?"
Guys licked his lips. "Uh, well don't give yourself airs or anything, but…yeah." Having finished with the cravat, his hands moved down to Lusca's belt. He caressed the smooth leather before sliding it through the polished buckle.
"Well…thank you." Guys was powerless to hide his shiver as Lusca's lips brushed his hair.
"Mmm," Guys purred. The belt parted, giving him full access to the buttons on Lusca's dark trousers. "Hey, you remember the last time you lost a murder case?"
"You know the answer to that."
"Right. So you also remember what we did to make ourselves feel better, right?"
Lusca's blush spread down to his neck. "You want to do that—we're in a carriage!"
"We've got half an hour before we get home. And it's not really any different from doing it on the couch—just bumpier. Come on. If I don't get off, I'm going to be pissed off all afternoon, and if you don't get off, you're going to mope. This way, neither of us is going to be miserable."
Lusca chuckled as he ruffled Guys' hair. "Well, since you put it that way…"
"Touch my hair like I'm a kid again and I won't put it anywhere." Guys grumbled. But he kissed Lusca's lips anyway, before sliding his hand into Lusca's trousers. His lover was already hard as he pulled him out, and a few caresses along his length made him fully stiff.
"I wouldn't…mm..m… dream of it," Lusca gasped as his hands made fast work of Guys' trouser front. "Oh, God."
"Yeah. But you know, last time we did this after a trial, we didn't really do what we wanted." To demonstrate, Lusca slid his thumb over the tip of his lover's cock, making his lover shiver. "We both wanted someone else's hands on our dicks, remember?"
Nodding, Lusca returned the gesture. "Is this all you think about when we're in court?"
"Pretty much." Guys kissed the corner of his mouth.
"No wonder I can never read your notes."
"Oi, if you want readable notes, teach me how to write better, jerk."
"I think I can teach you a few more things."
"Oh, really?"
"Mh," Lusca agreed before capturing his lips with his own. His fingertips ghosted down the side of his partner's cheek, down his neck and side, onto his hardness. "Want to see?"
It started out slowly, despite their excitement, each trailing kisses across his lover's face as hands explored back and hip, thigh and finally arousal. Guys groaned and tightened his hand around Lusca's shaft as his partner cupped his balls and squeezed.
"Lusca…" he moaned, and his hand began to move in slow, firm strokes, just as the lawyer liked. Lusca whispered his name through clenched teeth as he returned the gesture. As the carriage bumped and jostled over the cobblestones, their strokes became firmer and faster, their kisses deeper and more insistent.
"Whoever—" Guys gasped as Lusca's teeth grazed his earlobe. "Mh. Whoever comes first cooks dinner tonight."
"My Guys is a tyrant." Lusca laughed as Guys' fingers sped up. "It's a bet."
A bet Guys had no intention of losing. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his weight and began opening the buttons of Lusca's shirt. The movement destabilized him just long enough for Lusca to grab his rear and squeeze.
"Aha!"
"H-hey! No fair!"
"Ohh?" Lusca winked and gave his lover's rear a hard slap. That was all it took. Throwing his head back, Guys came hard with a yelp that he knew the driver had to have heard.
"Son-of-a-bitch!"
Lusca chuckled and nipped his lip as he stroked his lover through to completion. "You spoke too soon."
"Mh. You jerk…mhh…" Guys sped up his touches as warmth spattered onto his trousers. "Not letting you get away with that."
"Oh, really?"
Smirking, Guys pressed his lips to the dip in Lusca's collarbone and bit. His lover shuddered, stiffened and let out a small, strangled cry as he coated Guys' palm in heat. Sighing in frustration and pleasure, Guys inched forward and tucked his head against Lusca's neck as his lover caressed his back and teased his hair. The road bumped beneath them, strangely matching their heartbeats.
Guys was the first to speak. "Fine. So I'll cook tonight. But if you keep pouting, I'm going to really kill you. And then I'm going to have to get another lawyer—a really, really good one, because like hell I'm going back to prison. So just realize you're great already so I don't have to go to all that trouble."
This got Lusca to laugh—a real laugh, not the fake, shallow one he usually did when he wasn't in a good mood. Finally.
"Excellent. I'll have escargot and a Caprese Salad to start, then onion soup, then poached salmon and potatoes, and for desert—"
"Glutton." Guys trailed two fingers through his lover's curls. "Fine, if it gets you to stop biting your hands already. Look, just don't worry, all right? You know how scared that stupid prosecutor is of us when we really get into an investigation—especially when we call in Jose and Evan?"
"Don't call Monsieur Jacquard stupid. I wasn't kidding when I called him a worthy opponent."
Guys sniffed.
"Still, it is annoying when he wins, I'll give you that." Lusca pulled his partner into a close, tight hug. "Thanks for that, Guys."
"Well, somebody has to keep you from hitting the liquor whenever things get tough. After dinner, we'll go talk to Jose and Evan again. Maybe they'll find something we missed. Like a weapon or—at least another suspect."
Lusca nodded. "Well after dinner."
"Huh?"
His partner chuckled. "You say you get turned on listening to me speak in court. You should know by now that once isn't enough when you get me started, especially when I lose."
Guys hummed thoughtfully. "So, you mean you're going to need more cheering up when we get home?"
Lusca winked. "Only this time, let's cheer each other up in bed."
Bad Habits
Author: Chaser/iroh_fancier
Fandom: Enzai: Wrongly Accused
Pairing: Lusca/Guys
Rating: NC-17/M for explicit (and—gasp! shock!—consensual) sex.
Word Count: About 3,000
Warnings: None, unless mild forms of self-abuse such as nail biting are triggers for you.
Summary: Even the best lawyers lose cases sometimes. Thankfully, Lusca has a cute tsundere to verbally slap some sense into him when these times happen.
Notes: I just played Enzai and quite enjoyed it—despite my usual dislike for rape-as-kink plots. :/ Lusca/Guys is definitely my OTP (though I love Belbet/Guys and Evan/Guys, too), but this is my first time writing either of them, so I'm definitely still learning. Critique is more than welcome and encouraged.
Lusca's courtroom face was cool, unflinching, impassive as a fortress wall. This was true whether he was taking notes or answering a question—and whether he was winning or, more rarely, losing.
Today was one of those rare days. From his place at the defense's table, Guys watched his employer and lover swipe his heavy pen over the notepad, following the regular prosecutor's words with his usual calm and measured handwriting. At rest on the polished wood, the fingers of his left hand subtly twitched. Guys noticed, though none but the keenest detective would have; Lusca wanted to chew on his nails. In the last month, he had nearly worn them down to nubbins. Past nubbins; Guys was sick of it. And he'd told his partner so when he slapped the older man's hand away from his mouth at breakfast.
"Oi, moron. Forks go in there. Eggs go in there. Crepes go in there. Hands don't."
"Not now, Guys." But Lusca had picked up a cigarette instead.
Guys groaned as he lighted it. "Great. Now you're going to stink when I kiss you. But I guess that's better than having you bleed all over your sleeves." When Lusca only grunted he'd sighed and cradled the long pale hand to occupy it. "Dummy. It's a hard case. Don't blame yourself because you're not making a miracle."
Lusca also sighed, exhaling a thin little stream of smoke. "He's innocent, Guys. You of all people should appreciate what that means." And stubbing out his cigarette in the middle of his plate, Lusca had stood and strode into the lavatory to wash, leaving Guys to clear away the leavings.
"I'm not your servant," his assistant had shouted at the closed door, but it stayed shut. "Stupid Lusca."
He was still irritated, though a year at Lusca's side had taught him to keep his expression just as firm as his lover's during a trial—even when his lover was pissing him the hell off (which he did with amazing frequency). By now, Lusca's left hand had stopped its twitching. It now rested sedately at Lusca's side as its twin swept the air before him, emphasizing each point with just the right amount of control and grace. His posture was firm but relaxed, his blond curls bound neatly at the nape of his neck , revealing just a few inches of pale skin above his scarlet cravat. Guys swallowed down a gulp as he remembered trailing sharp little kisses along Lusca's collarbone the previous evening. There was no denying it, regardless of his mood: Lusca was sexy when he was on the job.
"Your honor," he said evenly. "The honorable prosecutor's case against Sergeant Dussart is entirely unfounded. Not only has my esteemed opponent failed to present a solid argument, he has constructed a series of events that stretches credibility and the imagination. Admittedly, my client had the motive to murder Monsieur Farouche. The man was his best friend, and he had confessed to having an affair with my client's wife. He also had the means—as an officer, he possessed several sabers and knives, and who in Paris does not know of his hot temper and the pistol he kept tucked into his belt?" Here Lusca spread his arms wide, in a gesture Guys had come to recognize as one of openness, benediction and honesty—one that even seasoned justices couldn't help but trust.
"However, Sergeant Dussart lacked the final point in this triangle of guilt: opportunity. On the night of Monsieur Farouche's murder, he was drinking at the Golden Sun Inn—a fact that was noted by several patrons." He swept his hand in the direction of the court's benches, where many of the patrons in question perched with furrowed brows and sweaty foreheads. With a sudden surge of sympathy, Guys recalled that they were, to a person, Dussart's friends. He swallowed again, immediately pushing away thoughts of Vallewida, Evan and Io. Imagining any of them (again) in Dussart's place was a distraction he could not afford.
Lusca went on. "The innkeeper noted that my client left the premises exactly as the bells of Notre Dame chimed one a.m.; Monsieur Farouche's landlady said that she heard a struggle in her border's rooms at half past the hour. The chief of police has testified that he walked all three paths between the tavern and the victim's flat and traveled them by carriage, and at no point—" he shook both hands empathetically "—no point did he arrive before the time of the murder. The distance between both buildings is simply too great. I also remind your honor that none of the cab drivers on duty that night recall picking up a man matching my client's description. These facts, combined with a missing murder weapon are more than enough to exonerate the good sergeant of any suspicion. In short, your honor—" Guys felt his stomach tense as Lusca leaned in, as if to whisper a secret to the judge. "My esteemed opponent's case is, to quote Shakespeare, so much sound and fury. I implore your honor to rule in favor of an innocent man—and to remember the consequences of not doing so on the last occasion an innocent man stood in these august chambers."
Guys could not control his blush as Lusca indicated him with a turn of his head. His partner's determined expression, the way his blue-gray eyes were as bright and serene as the surface of a mirror, the way he had been working so hard without breaking a sweat—Guys' cock stirred in his trousers. Lusca had no idea how horny he got watching when watching him work.
"The defense rests, your honor." And with that, Lusca turned and strode back to his table with the poise of a man who knew he had just won. Sucking in a breath, Guys shifted his weight slightly. Dammit, when had trials become a turn on?
"The defense has presented a strong argument," the judge responded, looking severe as always; Guys wondered if they taught them how to look like that at judge's school, or wherever people went to learn how to do that kind of thing. "And, as always, I applaud him for his meticulous research and dedication to his client. However, monsieur, a few inconsistencies in the prosecution's case that can be accounted for by a driver's poor memory or a detective's slow legs does not convince. I hereby sentence the accused to a life term. Bailiff? If you will remove the sergeant from the court."
Lusca inclined his head respectfully, as he ever did even when winning. Meanwhile, Sergeant Dussart remained calm and silent as a uniformed guard took him by the arm. Guys gave him credit for that, remembering his own weeping and shouting four years ago. At his left, Lusca had stayed the bailiff and was speaking to his client, so close and low that he might as well have been whispering. Guys heard him all the same.
"I'm sorry, Anton." Guys was pretty sure that Lusca's way of sounding both firm and reassuring at the same time was something they didn't teach in lawyer school. "We weren't able to get enough evidence to win this time, but I'll fix that soon." When his client gave him a skeptical look, he responded with a smile. "Don't worry. Retrials are possible to win—Guys will tell you that."
"Huh?" Guys blushed as Dussart looked at him expectantly. "Oh, uh, yeah. Lusca's right. I wouldn't be here without him." He did his best to smile appropriately—with calm assurance, not with a giant grin; this wasn't a circus, after all, as Lusca never stopped telling him.
"All right." And though Dussart was a gruff man, he returned the gesture.
"We'll visit within the week," Lusca promised as the bailiff steered his client from the room. The court was clearing now as Lusca approached the prosecutor to shake his hand and exchange the usual pleasantries. Suspecting that Lusca wouldn't approve of him shooting the man a fig, Guys chose to gather up their papers as the two congratulated one another on a case well-argued.
As always, Lusca retained his self-assured expression from the courthouse's halls to the carriage waiting in the street outside. As soon as the driver had closed its doors, however, his shoulders and his expression fell. Sighing, he slumped against the velvet cushion and pulled out his cigarette case.
"Lusca…" when his lover's response was the flick of a match, Guys reached out and tapped his knee. "Oi, oi. Relax. We'll win the retrial."
But Lusca shook his head. "You know there are no guarantees."
"Yeah, but this isn't like what happened to me. We'll find more evidence or more witnesses and we'll get him out."
Lusca just gave him a look. "And you know it doesn't always work like that."
"Mou, don't go fishing for complements! Because I'm not going to give them to you." But his lover only puffed away, looking miserable. "I let him down. Especially when the situation—" he waved his cigarette, at a rare loss for words. "It's a man's life," he said at last. "And I didn't work hard enough."
Guys hated comforting people. For one thing, he wasn't good at it. For another, it embarrassed him—mostly for himself, but for the person he was trying to comfort, too. He especially hated comforting Lusca. It made him feel like a wife or a mistress. For another thing, Lusca didn't need that sort of thing. God damn it, he was Lusca, the best lawyer in Paris! What could he or anyone say that was better than that?
Nothing. Of course. Then again, there were other ways to comfort people—ways that worked better and were a lot more fun.
Lusca blinked as his young lover straddled his thighs. "Guys?"
"Jeeze, are you really so vain that you need someone to tell you you're great, or something?" Lusca gulped as Guys' fiddled with the knot of his cravat. "Do you think a crappy lawyer could do this?"
"Guys—" Lusca's complaint ended in a gasp as Guys grazed his hardness along his lover's thigh.
"Is-is that from—?"
"Yeah, it's from watching you talk. It's—it's not like I'm a pervert or anything, but the way you move and talk in there shouldn't be legal."
Extinguishing his cigarette against the back of his case, Lusca shifted his arms around his lover's waist. "I really do that to you?"
Guys licked his lips. "Uh, well don't give yourself airs or anything, but…yeah." Having finished with the cravat, his hands moved down to Lusca's belt. He caressed the smooth leather before sliding it through the polished buckle.
"Well…thank you." Guys was powerless to hide his shiver as Lusca's lips brushed his hair.
"Mmm," Guys purred. The belt parted, giving him full access to the buttons on Lusca's dark trousers. "Hey, you remember the last time you lost a murder case?"
"You know the answer to that."
"Right. So you also remember what we did to make ourselves feel better, right?"
Lusca's blush spread down to his neck. "You want to do that—we're in a carriage!"
"We've got half an hour before we get home. And it's not really any different from doing it on the couch—just bumpier. Come on. If I don't get off, I'm going to be pissed off all afternoon, and if you don't get off, you're going to mope. This way, neither of us is going to be miserable."
Lusca chuckled as he ruffled Guys' hair. "Well, since you put it that way…"
"Touch my hair like I'm a kid again and I won't put it anywhere." Guys grumbled. But he kissed Lusca's lips anyway, before sliding his hand into Lusca's trousers. His lover was already hard as he pulled him out, and a few caresses along his length made him fully stiff.
"I wouldn't…mm..m… dream of it," Lusca gasped as his hands made fast work of Guys' trouser front. "Oh, God."
"Yeah. But you know, last time we did this after a trial, we didn't really do what we wanted." To demonstrate, Lusca slid his thumb over the tip of his lover's cock, making his lover shiver. "We both wanted someone else's hands on our dicks, remember?"
Nodding, Lusca returned the gesture. "Is this all you think about when we're in court?"
"Pretty much." Guys kissed the corner of his mouth.
"No wonder I can never read your notes."
"Oi, if you want readable notes, teach me how to write better, jerk."
"I think I can teach you a few more things."
"Oh, really?"
"Mh," Lusca agreed before capturing his lips with his own. His fingertips ghosted down the side of his partner's cheek, down his neck and side, onto his hardness. "Want to see?"
It started out slowly, despite their excitement, each trailing kisses across his lover's face as hands explored back and hip, thigh and finally arousal. Guys groaned and tightened his hand around Lusca's shaft as his partner cupped his balls and squeezed.
"Lusca…" he moaned, and his hand began to move in slow, firm strokes, just as the lawyer liked. Lusca whispered his name through clenched teeth as he returned the gesture. As the carriage bumped and jostled over the cobblestones, their strokes became firmer and faster, their kisses deeper and more insistent.
"Whoever—" Guys gasped as Lusca's teeth grazed his earlobe. "Mh. Whoever comes first cooks dinner tonight."
"My Guys is a tyrant." Lusca laughed as Guys' fingers sped up. "It's a bet."
A bet Guys had no intention of losing. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his weight and began opening the buttons of Lusca's shirt. The movement destabilized him just long enough for Lusca to grab his rear and squeeze.
"Aha!"
"H-hey! No fair!"
"Ohh?" Lusca winked and gave his lover's rear a hard slap. That was all it took. Throwing his head back, Guys came hard with a yelp that he knew the driver had to have heard.
"Son-of-a-bitch!"
Lusca chuckled and nipped his lip as he stroked his lover through to completion. "You spoke too soon."
"Mh. You jerk…mhh…" Guys sped up his touches as warmth spattered onto his trousers. "Not letting you get away with that."
"Oh, really?"
Smirking, Guys pressed his lips to the dip in Lusca's collarbone and bit. His lover shuddered, stiffened and let out a small, strangled cry as he coated Guys' palm in heat. Sighing in frustration and pleasure, Guys inched forward and tucked his head against Lusca's neck as his lover caressed his back and teased his hair. The road bumped beneath them, strangely matching their heartbeats.
Guys was the first to speak. "Fine. So I'll cook tonight. But if you keep pouting, I'm going to really kill you. And then I'm going to have to get another lawyer—a really, really good one, because like hell I'm going back to prison. So just realize you're great already so I don't have to go to all that trouble."
This got Lusca to laugh—a real laugh, not the fake, shallow one he usually did when he wasn't in a good mood. Finally.
"Excellent. I'll have escargot and a Caprese Salad to start, then onion soup, then poached salmon and potatoes, and for desert—"
"Glutton." Guys trailed two fingers through his lover's curls. "Fine, if it gets you to stop biting your hands already. Look, just don't worry, all right? You know how scared that stupid prosecutor is of us when we really get into an investigation—especially when we call in Jose and Evan?"
"Don't call Monsieur Jacquard stupid. I wasn't kidding when I called him a worthy opponent."
Guys sniffed.
"Still, it is annoying when he wins, I'll give you that." Lusca pulled his partner into a close, tight hug. "Thanks for that, Guys."
"Well, somebody has to keep you from hitting the liquor whenever things get tough. After dinner, we'll go talk to Jose and Evan again. Maybe they'll find something we missed. Like a weapon or—at least another suspect."
Lusca nodded. "Well after dinner."
"Huh?"
His partner chuckled. "You say you get turned on listening to me speak in court. You should know by now that once isn't enough when you get me started, especially when I lose."
Guys hummed thoughtfully. "So, you mean you're going to need more cheering up when we get home?"
Lusca winked. "Only this time, let's cheer each other up in bed."
