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Miles wakes slowly. He blinks, trying to clear his vision. When it sharpens, he blinks again, because he can’t make sense of his surroundings.
Last night he’d fallen asleep - finally, after hours of tossing and turning - in his own bed.
Somehow, overnight, he's returned to his childhood bedroom.
The mattress and sheets are the same. The books lining the shelves show the progression of his studies, German and French and Latin and law and law and law and law. Thick curtains block out all distractions.
Even the leather cuffs around his wrist are the same, as are the chains restraining him to the headboard. A familiar punishment for achieving anything less than perfection. And his recent failure was so much worse than getting 96 on a test. His stomach rolls and clenches.
“You’ve slept in, Edgeworth. I see you truly have become lazy without me there to guide you.”
Manfred von Karma. Miles jerks at the words and turns towards the bedroom door. His adoptive father and mentor stands here with a tray in his hands. He offers a shark smile and walks inside.
“I’m sorry,” Miles croaks. His throat is dry - drier, now that his situation is unfolding. “Sir. I was sure I had the culprit, had all the evidence I needed, and then Wright had to - ”
“Shhh.” Von Karma places the tray down on the nightstand. “Here.” A straw is pressed to Miles’ lips. He drinks greedily, thankfully, and the scratchy dehydration at the back of his throat eases. “Your failure was inevitable, of course. You were simply not born into perfection.”
It stings, like it always does. Worse, now that he has lived up to the lowered expectations that had pressed around him for most of his life. Miles closes his eyes and bears the hot shame. “I know, sir, but -,” there’s a hiss from von Karma, and even as the words tumble out of him he knows he’s made his mentor furious, “I can make amends. I swear. I will never make such a stupid mistake again.”
Von Karma lets him stew for a minute. Two. Internally, Miles squirms, wriggling like a fish on a hook. He has spent too many hours being punished to ever show it, though; outwardly, he remains still, keeps taking deep breaths as he looks up at the ceiling.
Finally: “You will have one further opportunity to show me your worth. I do hope you don’t let me down.”
“Thank you.”
There is a knock at the door. Miles spends a fraction of a second wondering who it could be, and then von Karma is walking over to open it. He panics, scrambling up the bed as far as the restraints will allow. He is a grown man. A prosecutor, damn it. His humiliation needs to remain private, a nasty secret between himself and his mentor.
“Ah, punctual as always,” von Karma murmurs, guiding his daughter into the room.
Franziska is both the best and worst person to be here now, and Miles’ heart sinks.
It’s better that it’s her than anyone else because only Franziska could walk into Miles Edgeworth’s bedroom, see his wrists locked to the bed by the man who raised him, and show nothing more than a flicker of recognition. There is a bond between them. An unspoken agreement never to mention anything that happens in the von Karma household. Their shared childhood was intense and demanding in ways that no one else could ever understand. She will take what she sees here to the grave.
It’s worse because she knows. She knows why Miles is being punished. She knows that he’s failed, that he’s left a stain on the von Karma record sheet. She knows him, and that by itself is enough to burn.
“Franziska…what are you -”
Slap. Her leather palm smacks his cheek, the heel of her hand catching his lip and smashing it against his teeth.
“Silence. I do not care to hear what you have to say, little brother.” Franziska scowls down at him. In short motions, she tugs at the fingertips of her glove until she has removed it from her hand. Miles is dazed, still, his head ringing from the slap. His mouth opens easily when she grabs his chin, allowing Franziska to stuff the glove inside. “There. Now you cannot make more of a fool of yourself.”
Von Karma stands next to her by Miles’ bed side. He is smiling in his lofty, superior way; the smile of someone who knows the verdict will be in his favour. Usually, the expression is one that brings reflected pride to Miles. Now, he shivers, like he did the first time he saw it as a nine year old. He is more vulnerable, tied to a bed with a gag in his mouth, than he has been in years.
“You were always destined for failure, Edgeworth, because you were not born into perfection,” von Karma tells him. “Clearly, I adopted you too late in life to shape you properly. So. I will simply try again.” A gracious wave of his hand towards Miles. “Franziska, if you will.”
Nothing about this makes sense. He was expecting a beating. Strikes from the cane or the crop. Grovelling and deprivation until von Karma is satisfied he’s learned his lesson.
This is different. Franziska’s never been involved before.
She’s never tried to unbutton his fly.
Miles protests. He struggles, kicking and twisting his body away from her fingers. He can’t even think about what it means because it is so beyond his comprehension. Beyond what he wants to comprehend. Von Karma moves to the base of the bed and takes hold of Miles’ ankles. He drags him down, drags him flat over the mattress, pinning him down and keeping him there, allowing his daughter - and Miles’ mind reels at that - to finish parting his fly.
She pulls his pants over his hips. Slides down his boxers and exposes his limp penis.
“Papa,” Franziska says. “What should I do?”
Von Karma sighs heavily. “I will assist, as I always must. Franziska, the tray.”
She reaches over to the nightstand and offers the tray to her father. Miles’ eyes widen in alarm as von Karma chooses lubricant and latex gloves. He strains at the cuffs, tries to work the gag out of his mouth; there must be a servant still around to hear him, if only he could shout. Franziska shakes her head and pushes the leather glove deeper into his mouth, almost to the back of his throat.
Von Karma kneels between his legs. His fingers are cold and slippery as they trace between his cheeks. They miss his hole on the first pass, just smearing lubricant around. On the second pass his index finger crosses over the ring of muscle and Miles flinches. Another stroke, more insistent. Miles clenches tight, his asshole, his fists, his eyes squeezing closed. Von Karma laughs softly. His finger circles and teases in feather-light touches. There’s warm breath over Miles’ soft cock, and a dry hand wrapping around the shaft.
He thinks about constitutional law. About the smell of Detective Gumshoe’s coat after an afternoon standing in the sun. About stupid Phoenix Wright, and how infuriating he was in court, how he’s responsible for making him lose a case and - ah, to his horror, his cock stirs. Von Karma uses the distraction to slip a finger inside him, his hand squeezing gently around Miles’ dick.
He ignores it. Blocks out the slow, curling strokes inside him. The wet lips touching his semi-hard cock. But no matter how far away his mind is, his body is still there, still responding sweetly to every touch and kiss. Von Karma fits another finger inside and wiggles against Miles’ prostate; at the same time, his mouth slides over his cock, taking him deep even as it swells and hardens. Miles groans and lets his eyes open.
There’s a silver head bobbing between his legs. Somehow seeing the movement and feeling it combined is greater than the sum of its parts: Miles shivers with desire, his hips bucking up, trying to get closer to the wet heat of von Karma’s mouth. To his disappointment, the opposite happens. Von Karma pulls himself off Miles’ cock in a slow withdrawal that leaves a strand of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening head.
He picks another item from the tray. Miles is breathing heavily through his nose and he inhales sharply as he feels the blunt pressure of a dildo being pushed into his ass.
“There,” von Karma says. “I’ve prepared him for you, my dear.”
Franziska bobs in a curtsey. It’s all so surreal, so untethered from reality; Miles almost feels like he’s floating as von Karma takes off the latex glove and makes room for his daughter on the bed. She straddles Miles, one bare hand and one gloved resting on his chest. Lifts herself up and - his eyes roll back and he moans into his gag as she pushes herself down on to his cock.
“Is this what you imagine Phoenix Wright would feel like?” Franziska hisses. Miles shakes his head, no, don’t, I haven’t, and she laughs, dark and bitter.
Everything is hot and wet, and he’s full, the weight of the dildo heavy and impossible to ignore. Franziska rides him fiercely, fingers digging into his shirt and her mouth parted, lips puffing out pants of air from the exertion of fucking him.
The dildo shifts, is pulled out a fraction then thrust back in. Miles sees stars. The pleasure is so rich it aches, the sensation of being fucked in the ass and Franziska’s cunt gripping and sliding over his cock blending into something immense. His orgasm approaches without his consent, rushing towards him in uneven steps until he stumbles over into a blistering climax. His dick throbs, spilling up into his adoptive sister, pulsing in time with the shivery pleasure.
There’s no respite. The dildo is still deep in his ass, pressing against his prostate. Franziska’s hips jerk and roll as she tries to reach her own climax. With a grunt, she stops; reaches over to the tray and returns with a compact vibrator. It turns on when she twists the barrel, and then she brings it to her clit, sending vicious vibrations down to his overstimulated dick. Miles moans and thrashes weakly on the bed. Her thighs clamp around him, holding him down as she brings herself to a shaky orgasm punctuated with a soft gasp.
The room has a stifled quiet. Heavy breathing. The creaking of his bed as von Karma stands. Miles’ heartbeat thuds in his ears. Franziska climbs off his body and adjusts her skirt down. Gingerly, making sure not to touch his lips or tongue, she removes her glove from his mouth.
He coughs. Licks his lips. “Is that it? Is my punishment over? Can I go now?”
Franziska smiles. She is gentle when she kisses him. “I’ve only just started my fertile period, little brother. You will be stuck with us for a while yet.”