Sixteen-
Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Phoenix/Larry/Miles
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Blissfully oblivious, mildly confused, Larry put his own bottle of beer down, all the better to make lazy hand gestures that made Phoenix blush and flinch all at once. "I mean, I know how it works with a chick and all," Larry said, idly pumping two of his fingers in and out of his fist with a serenely goofy smile, "but neither one of you is a chick, Nick. I mean, as far as I know."

"That's true," Phoenix said weakly, eyes darting from side to side. "Oh, say, isn't that somebody I thought was dead, I'd better just nip over and say hi--"

"So where do you put it, Nick?" Larry asked, sliding his fingers out of his fist and pointing at Nick with both hands. The gesture looked horribly, overtly sexual to Phoenix, particularly when Larry pulled his hands back and started absently beating his index fingers against each other, like fleshy swordfighting, or--Phoenix yanked his mind away from that thought so fast that it made him dizzy. Larry frowned. "Where does it go?" he repeated petulantly, rubbing one finger against the other and making Phoenix whimper.

"You don't really want to know, Larry," said Phoenix, already knowing it was no good.

Larry scowled at him. "Sure I do," he said. "I gotta know, Nick. It's for science."

"Science?" Phoenix repeated helplessly.

"Sure, Nick!" Larry said, breaking out into his sunniest grin. "Doesn't that sound great? I heard some guy say it in an old movie once!"

"Yeah, Larry," Phoenix said. "Sounds great." And then, in an attempt to take advantage of Larry's absurdly short attention span, "What movie was it?"

"Dunno," said Larry, his grin fading back into that foggy scowl. "Don't remember. So where does it go, Nick?"

Phoenix shut his eyes, and took a long, long swallow of his beer, blindly held up two fingers to order another round, and then explained, slowly and fumblingly, dropping into a choking whisper at one point. By the end Phoenix was bright red all the way up to his hairline and sweating a little and he was sure, absolutely sure, that he was never going to be able to look Larry in the eyes again, even if Larry did forget this entire conversation within ten minutes.

"Oh," Larry said thoughtfully. "I've done that."

Phoenix's eyes flew open. "What?" he said, aghast.

"I've done that," Larry repeated, nodding furiously. "I mean, with a chick. She had a sloshy waterbed and I ended up kinda missing. Boy, was she mad, Nick! I'm so glad she didn't speak English 'cause she was probably calling me really bad names."

By the end of this little speech (amazingly long, for Larry) Phoenix was gaping. Also desperately wishing for another beer. Maybe twelve. Maybe some bleach. To drink. As a chaser. "Uh..."

"But I guess it's okay when it's a guy's, huh?" Larry blissfully concluded, and took another swig of his beer.

"I guess so," Phoenix said, nearly choking. Larry was silent, avidly finishing off his beer in order to get to the new one that had just magically appeared at his elbow, and after a moment Phoenix let himself relax. They were rapidly approaching the outer limits of Larry's ability to think consecutively and if Phoenix was just quiet for two more minutes--

Abruptly, Larry frowned. "So then, if that's where the first one goes, where does the other one go?" he asked, pointing one of those horribly suggestive fingers at Phoenix.

Phoenix immediately wheezed in another noseful of beer. Oblivious to the coughing that followed, Larry mused, "Do you need a third guy or something? But then where does the third one go? You can't have a fourth guy, Nick, that's just silly. Beds don't come that big!"

"Silly," Phoenix gasped, swiping his dripping nose against his sleeve.

Larry fell silent again, but this time his silence was punctuated with a lot of finger-wagging, most of which made Phoenix mildly nauseated, particularly when Larry began carefully folding his fingers about each other like origami. "Seven," Larry finally announced. "And a padded floor."

By this point Phoenix was almost resigned to the fact that this evening could not get any more embarrassing. "Seven what, Larry?" he said weakly.

"It'd take seven guys to make a full circle and have a place for everyone to put his," Larry said, decisively. "You can trust me, Nick, I'm an artist. I know angles!"

Phoenix, discovering that he had never been so wrong in his life, made a little moaning noise and hid his face in his crossed arms. "So if you ever need five more guys, you just come to me, Nick, I can set you up," he heard Larry say, with his usual beaming goodwill, and despite only being on his second beer Phoenix contrived to pass out.