As the nightmare's warm grip was suddenly replaced by cool air, a sound escaped Edgeworth's throat, something between a whine and a whimper. He choked it off almost immediately, but the damage was already done. Shame heated his face again, and he frowned up at his companion, worrying his lip.

The Corinthian was good at this. Too good. Not only did he hold all the cards here, he was clearly aware of that fact and not at all above exploiting his advantage. It wasn't simply the physical control he was exerting, though that was definitely a factor. It was the mental, the knowledge that Edgeworth couldn't risk offending or hurting him by reasserting himself with enough force to take back control of the situation.

And it was the simple, undeniable fact that Edgeworth didn't want to. Taking control would mean putting an end to...something that was beginning to appeal to him in ways he didn't yet understand.

After a long pause, Edgeworth finally dropped his gaze. Asking--or worse, begging--was not an option for him. Not yet. So he fell back on his challenge, looking up at his partner and cocking an eyebrow in mimicry of the expression he'd worn only moments before.

"Giving up so easily, Corinthian?"