Turnabout Spanking
 

(for BangBang)

The defense attorney let out a sigh of relief when the Judge announced that the trial was to be resumed tomorrow morning at 10. That gave him just under eighteen hours to think of a way out of the corner the prosecution had rather expertly backed him into. For a moment there, he'd thought it was all over. His late mentor Mia Fey's words of never giving up and believing in your client until the end were sometimes all that kept him going in situations like this.

Thankfully, he had managed to draw attention to there being a witness that the prosecution hadn't considered. If they testified tomorrow, then maybe- just maybe- he would have a chance.

Man, I'm beat. He thought as he arrived back at the office.
Phoenix Wright was no longer really a rookie, but after days like this he sometimes still felt like one.
He was grateful that Maya had cleared off to get some late lunch with Pearls, because all he really wanted to do right now was clear his head for a couple of hours and get his thoughts in order.
He needed to think of a plan for tomorrow.

The office was considerably darker, more macabre, than it had appeared years ago, before Miss Mia Fey's unfortunate end. Or rather, that may have been the young attorney's first assumption, given the overwhelming sense of, well... There was a word for it in languages of old, bit not to the barbed haired man. Not that he could focus on anything other than his case getting further and further out of reach and control... Closer and closer to slipping out of his hands and forcing his luckless client's head down the toilet.

In short, there was a sense that the office hadn't been empty before Wright had arrived. An powerful warmth.

A masculine aroma had overtaken everything, even the treasured insense burners that the Fey sisters were so fond of. Of Italian musk cologne and of strong, dark coffee.

Blacker than a moonless night.

In the corner of the room, by the window and it's pale blinds, shards of red cast boxy chunks along the room, glowing like fire in the dim; like a demon lying in wait of a hapless traveller.

"The prodigal son of the Weight Agency returns..." A deep voice, smooth as java, murmured in the dark, "leaving a trail of devastation in his wake." A faint swallow echoed soon after.

Wright recognised the familiar aroma of dark coffee and cologne before he even noticed the three telltale red bars of the prosecutor's visor glowing in the dark.

His hand froze on the light switch near the doorway, the light of the office not yet turned on.

"Prosecutor Godot," he began, after a few moments of disbelief. He turned the light on when he had collected himself enough to, the light of the room confirming the mysterious prosecutor's identity, not that he couldn't tell. No one else he knew spoke in the way that the masked man did. Everything he said, he seemed to say as if it had some profound meaning. Wright didn't know much about his newest opponent in court, but something about him unnerved him. From their first encounter, Wright had had the clear sense that the coffee addict had some sort of bone to pick with him beyond his duty as a prosecutor.

"W-What are you doing here?" He asked, his confusion apparent in his voice but also his expression. Unlike the prosecutor, the defense attorney was not particularly skilled at hiding his feelings. For a moment he wondered if Godot had some sort of limitless supply of coffee that he kept on his person, since he was sure there had been none in the office. Then he realised that pondering that was unimportant compared to the a more obvious question, one that came out of his lips a moment later, in a more startled way than the young defense attorney would have liked:
"How did you get in?"

The coffee-connoisseur smiled and tapped his nose at the flustered attorney's question, and murmured mellowly, "They say the secret of good magic is another magic."

Godot was leaning against the wall, the lights from the city outside bathing him in yellow-orange shards. There was no need to tell Wright that he had managed to sweet-talk,
or rather, deeply unsettle, his way past the landlady of the offic building that the Wright and Co office currently let their premises from. Nor the fact that by the very
same little old dear he had now been gifted with with a spare key to the property indefinitely. That secret would forever remain near his heart; together with the smell that
had taken him when he first entered. The scent of that sweet, justice-seeking kitten that he had lost only years ago... His visor's red light glowed a deeper, darker hue -
like old blood. Inner resentment of himself, obscured sorrow, growing more profound, brewing like the bitterest, and blackest of coffee, had brought him here like a lost dog
after some scraps. Looking for something to settle his stomach - just as Diego wanted to settle the torment in his heart.

Why he was here, Godot did not truly know himself. Something was growing inside himself like a percolator filling to the brim, constantly at risk of overflowing, oozing over,
causing brown-black chaos. Staining everything. He was irked - embittered, in fact. Frustrated to the point of no return.

At Diego Armando.

And to see that young attorney just scraping by for his clients had awakened the latent defense attorney inside the confines of Godot's prosecutor guise. He knew that deep
inside his dislike of the kid was at best misplaced. A man didn't place his faith in other men to protect what he believed in. What he loved.

Even so...

Hell; he needed to take that kid's beans off the heat before they burned.

"Just testing the water of the competition, Trite," he patted his hip pocket, with its pilfered key safely stowed, "So, Mr oh so just-or 'trussed' and Trite.... have your
client's prison visiting hours been set?" the toffee-tanned man grinned wryly, "After all, that's all you can do for their defense, if your moves in court today are your best..."

Wright eventually let out a long sigh. Godot seemed to be a man incapable of speaking plainly, of just saying what he meant. Everything he came out with was in a code that Wright felt like he only had a fraction of the solution to. Beyond that, there was also his face. His manner. He had an air of confidence, and he often wore a self assured smirk on his face. But Wright could tell that the mask Godot wore was hiding more than just his eyes. It seemed to act like a barrier to the young defense attorney getting any sort of hold on the other man's true intentions and feelings.

"I would have thought that a prosecutor like you would want me to do badly in court tomorrow," Wright pointed out, not sure why he was engaging the man instead of demanding that he leave. He supposed that his natural curiosity prevented him from doing that without first getting some answers. This felt like a rare opportunity to talk with the mysterious figure who had entered his life recently in an environment other than the courtroom. He wasn't too optimistic that he'd get any answers though.

"I don't think you came here just to intimidate me, but I doubt you've got any friendly advice for me either." His words had a slight ring of sarcasm to them. Wright had a habit of being slightly snarky when exasperated and tired, and he was both just now. The trial had been gruelling, and frustrating, and despite wanting to know more about why Godot was here, his mysterious methods weren't exactly easy to deal with.

"Why do you act like I've done something to you?" He finally asked, after a beat of silence. It was the question he really wanted to know the answer too. It had bothered him since their first meeting. He didn't know when he'd get the chance to ask it again either. "I've never met you before in my life, but there's something about you... You don't act like you're just my opponent in court."

"Half the thrill of the chase for the lone wolf is the strength of the prey," Godot smirked, his visor dead set on Wright, fixing the younger man in red head lights, "a man needs a challenge."

The big man with hair poisoned white continued on, "I want to beat you myself. With these hands," he raised big tanned palms, still warm from the mysteriously vanished cup of java, and then lowered them again as he moved from his casual lean against the wall, his luminous gaze set on Wright, "I'm not gonna let another man pop that cherry."

The brat was asking a lot of questions... heh. The cat had a bit of bite to him. That snark talk brought Diego out of himself, irked him, excited him, and spurred him on.

"Hallelujah...!" he exclaimed, clapping his palms together once before giving his answer, "Now you're thinking straight," Godot made a gun gesture and placed a duo of blunt fingers to one temple, "I do have some advice for you... but it surely isn't friendly. Advice that does any good never is."

Looks like the kid was catching on.

Wright's words briefly caught Godot off-guard. Made him more aware of that sorrow inside. He smirked again, this time it was more to himself than Phoenix. Laughing at himself. Albeit bitterly.

"A defense attorney on the defensive. You're doing better right here with me than you did in the entire case today, Trite... you get stage-fright?" The prosecutor shook his head, and moved forward towards the other man. The more he thought about how utterly cornered and defenseless the spiky-haired man had been, the more it burned Armando up like flames on petrol. The class that had been started at the tutelege of the gorgeous Miss Fey had long since been dismissed, and Wright had been playing hookey for too long. Muddling through trials on what seemed like sheer luck. Relying on that and that alone. It was time for a change. The cram school bell was ringing. The tall man's big hands flexed.

Detention with Mr Godot was starting.

As usual, Godot's answers to Wright's questions just raised more questions in the younger man's head. He decided then and there, that despite his curiosity, whatever advice- friendly or unfriendly- that the mysterious masked man had to offer him was not worth the headache. He would probably take all night trying to decode it, and he had less than twenty-four hours to build a strong enough case to win the trial tomorrow.

The spiky haired defense attorney sighed and placed a hand on the back of his neck, his eyes had been closed in thought. When he opened them, he noticed that Godot had taken a few steps towards him. He jumped a little, despite himself, his rather expressive face betraying his surprise.

"I'm not sure I want your advice," Wright finally said, hoping that he sounded more confident than he felt. The burning fire that seemed to fuel the mysterious prosecutor... It was something that Wright couldn't ignore whenever he spoke to Godot, and he found it all the more intimidating now that they were alone.

"I can win this case on my own."

Could he? He hoped he could. He believed in his client and he would work his hardest, pull an all-nighter, and find whatever evidence or testimony he could to prove their innocence. But he'd done that for the trial today and had only just scraped through it. The prosecution was at a definite advantage in this case, and Godot was a prosecutor... But no. It felt wrong. Wright's instincts told him that whatever ace Godot had up his sleeve, this 'unfriendly advice', was something that he didn't want.

"There is nothing we receive with more reluctance than advice, Trite," the prosecutor answered, before Wright declared his stand-alone statement, "Heh... you've come this far, and you still think that way, hm?" Godot's smirk twitched a tad.

He could do it alone? In this new age of the law and the time-strained judicial system, in the defense business... that just didn't cut it. Never did.

Godot had learned that the hard way when he was first starting out.

Throughout university. He'd made friends with some great guys. They'd banded together through the want of justice... and sometimes more. Back when Diego was a young fella, he played with kittens and kats alike. With a libido and
heart as big as his, it was no surprise.

On the other side of the coin... as a prosecutor; in that field... the grass was no greener, not fuller... but far more withered. With many in the same industry he had met, however briefly, he had found the journey to justice was no longer a necessity.

The bitter taste in his mouth could not be erased by his coffee.

Long story short - you couldn't get anywhere for your client if you waded in the dark alone.

Wright should have known that better than anyone with those sweet little Fey sisters at his side all this time. It was what made him. That irked Godot further taking righteous offense on the Feys' behalf.

Seemed like that porcupine kid was having doubts...

A moment of madness.

And Godot had just the thing to steer a little lost lamb back on the right path. His smirk grew wider, somewhat wolfen, "Looks like you need a lesson after all."

The tall, olive-skinned prosecutor stalked forward, pushing his empty mug of java across Wright's computer desk as he brushed past it, and raised a hand as if to strike the younger man.

Instead, he grasped Phoenix's lower arm like a vice, the blue suit bunching between long fingers. Before allowing the younger guy to ome to grips with his grip, the prosecutor fell back, still, seating himself in the middle of the burnt leather sofain the centre of the office, taking Wright with him. Or rather, right over well-muscled, suit-clad thighs.

Wright realised after he said it, that his words had been a bit thoughtless and hasty. Of course, even without Godot's 'advice', whatever that might entail, he would never really be alone in the courtroom. Sometimes, when the prosecution had him backed into a corner and the judge and the courtroom audience and sometimes even the witnesses were against him... He almost felt like he was battling alone, but a turn to his right and he'd see Maya or Mia by his side. They were so important to him, as a lawyer and as a person, he didn't know what he would do without them.

Just as he was reconsidering his choice of words, he caught a glimpse of the older man's smirk and felt a strong grip on his arm. Godot cut an imposing figure, the irregular visor aside, and it was no surprise that he was apparently a physically powerful man. More so than Wright, who had never exactly been the athletic sort. He wasn't out of shape or anything- he ran around so much during investigations that he couldn't afford to be- but he was no match for the sudden forceful action of being grabbed, then pulled forwards.

"Wha-What?!" The young defense attorney let out an exclamation of surprise at being tugged, rather ungracefully over the man's lap. The sudden closeness and undignified position making his face flush. He had never had a good poker face. "Hey!"

He had no doubt that it was a very deliberate action by his unwelcome guest, but in the moment or two that it had happened in, he had not yet fully understood the reason for it. The suddenness of it all scrambling his logical capabilities. Even with the shock though, he did catch on soon after the initial confusion. Although he thought, 'surely not' as soon as the thought came to his head of what this position could mean.

Taking the younger man's moment of confusion to his advantage, the goatied gent took a pause to adjust Wright to his liking; spreading his toned thighs that were clothed in suit trousers tailored to the broad and firm contours of Armando's body as the rest of his attire, fitting his strong body like a gucci glove. He pressed his left hand upon Wright's back, firmly forcing the kid's body down, coaxing his belly to the floor, which only served to raise the seat of his pants higher than his spiked-head.

A swift tug at the back of Wright's pants hiked the blue material up high, wedging the material between buttocks, teasing their shape into view even beneath two layers of cloth.

A bronzed hand lay upon those upturned buns for a time, and the visor glowed a menacing crimson as its red light illuminated the spines of Phoenix's dark hair.

"Good advice is like a useful tool," the prosecutor breathed, raising his arm, "-it just requires a willing hand to make it work... And this hand is more than willing."

With that trademark smirk that bore the brief peek of pearl white teeth, Godot brought his outstretched palm crashing down like a slab of concrete that slammed onto the hapless defense attorney's upturned rump.

The entire office block seemed to almost tremble with the resonance of the strike.