Archive of Our Own

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Miles Edgeworth doesn't usually confide in others when he takes an assigned case. If he does, it is with the other necessary figures of justice involved: the officers, the detectives, the coroner, the forensic specialists.

 Truthfully, it's always simply for his benefit. To gather clues and evidence, pieces to a puzzle he would be determined to solve on his own. That was the way his mentor raised him. Other opinions can alter and slow the streamline to a guilty verdict. The streamline to success. Thus, you work alone. 

At least… that was the way he used to think. Before that one man waltzed into his life again, transforming Miles' entire view of justice and turning it upside down. He shoved his foot in the door, snapping Miles out of the robotic, dazed cookie cutter routine he hadn't realized he had fallen into. 

Phoenix Wright defeated him in court. 

No, that isn't the way to put it. Phoenix Wright, only a rookie defense attorney at the time, spoke for the justice Miles unknowingly had fallen away from. He bluffed, he trembled, he yelled; hell, he smiled when he made trivial mistakes, but nonetheless, Phoenix Wright prospered. The only constant with that odd, unexpected man was a determination within his blueish brown irises that never faded, even when the thoughts behind them were clueless, at a complete loss of hope. That determination, a will to see every side of a situation and protect the innocent, never, ever went away. Not when he was desperate enough to call a bellboy into court, not when faced with a faulty testimony from a clown…

Not when he sat across the glass from Miles himself in the detention center, unpinning his badge from his suit coat and placing it against the invisible pane for Miles to see. And see Miles did, vision trailing from the gold and into that abyss of determination above his shapely nose. His eyes were so close, only a few feet away, so vibrant and radiating delicate care. And worst of all, they were completely locked with Miles’ own. He really didn't understand the way Wright turned the job of serving justice into a powerful mindset, but as he grew to know his colleague better, he also grew to admire those stunning, heterochromic painted eyes of his. 

...the pride and will in those eyes, of course. The color has... little to do with it. Of course, of course.

Thinking it simple admiration for a man that shares a similar passion for justice, Miles often found himself observant of said man. More aware of his presence than others in the room. Upping his outer appearance with a quick posture check and a breath held in his chest for a better impression whenever Wright was around. His gaze is always so drawn to Phoenix Wright that on rare occasions, he'll lose his focus on the current subject. Sometimes it isn't even a result of thinking to himself, " What would Wright do? " in correspondence with his work. It's nothing but thoughts of just. Him. His care. His commitment to the comfort of others. 

The commitment was always most obvious with the way he protects that young Fey girl and her even younger cousin as if they were his world. That moment after the Nickel Samurai incident, when said Fey girl was safe, when Phoenix Wright practically launched himself into Edgeworth to embrace him in overflowing gratitude. Miles, usually just when he's tired, will trail off to that memory the most. Highly unusual behavior in a professional environment, the way Phoenix had hugged him in that defense lobby. Miles had never been held so tightly, not in a long time.  Had had another man, another person with their face buried into the crook of his neck.

Good lord. Miles was insistent and happy to help Phoenix. He could tell Phoenix was caught in a gutter, lower than he had ever been yet. Help was the one thing Miles owed him, sitting at the top of the endless list of things Phoenix deserved. 

But, for some reason, instead of reminiscing that tender moment for it’s emotional weight, sometimes Miles would find himself thinking about the feeling of Phoenix’s chest pressed up against his own. In that moment he was blank, ridden of the ability to think. 

In hindsight he wonders if his pulse was pounding roughly enough for Wright to feel through the thin fabric of his cheap dress shirt. Because when Miles thinks about it now, his heart does exactly that. Pound. Meaninglessly flutter. How could it not? That other man with his breast to his, grasping the fabric of his coat with tender ache, and mein gott . Miles will never forget the way the hair on his arms and neck stood on end at the feeling of Wright's hot breath huffing onto his neck in relief. 

The way Phoenix thanked him and sent the gentle vibrations of his voice to skate along the side of Miles’ head, making Miles feel like he was going to melt. He can't remember if Phoenix’s lips grazed the shell of his ear or if he simply wanted it enough that he conjured up a false memory  of it,  but it suited his longing to be handled in such a way again. It fueled his… admiration and confidence in asking Phoenix for help or insight in his work, as he valued Phoenix’s perspective. Make him feel starved, cause his body to desire, to yearn for more . 

More companionship, yes, but he needed the warmth of skin. The thought of Phoenix’s physical touch did something to him. Something different from his usual encounters. The thought makes it difficult for Miles to focus, fall asleep. Filter out the... erm, unprofessional thoughts that any average man can attest to having. Even the faint memory of Phoenix’s whisper in his ear makes Miles hot : his hands ache to be busy, his stomach swirls in such a way, his pants feel the slightest bit tighter as he gets an... an-

"Nnrg," he grunts, surprised at the clock just above his stove. It's nearly 4. He'll be here soon . He turns the dial on his stove to a higher setting, causing the flame under the kettle of water to grow and bring the water to the proper temperature at a faster pace. 

He had been gifted a set of herbal tea samples he hadn't heard of a few months prior, and he was feeling adventurous enough to brew some today. Being a connoisseur, he's aware that different teas should be brewed at different temperatures, as it can disrupt the flavor within the blend, but he was willing to take the risk of accidentally allowing the water to grow too hot, today. He was pressed for time, after all.

The teas were interesting. They came in a wooden box that he can only guess was crafted by hand, swirls and vine-like designs chiseled into the light wood. Each tea was separated in their own compartment and labeled with distinct pictures of individual pieces of art, varying in styles and mediums. 

The tea tempting his curiosity the most today was a tea named ‘ Twitterpated ’. The printed artwork looks like it was originally done in chalk pastels. Two bluebirds perch next to each other on the thin branch of a bush, pressed against each other above the centerpiece of the artwork: a red, red rose. A bit corny, he has to admit, but it didn't matter much to him as long as the flavor was satisfying. This was what attracted him in the first place, anyhow. 

The description provided with the teas claims it to be a rich black tea, blended with mild spices and... petals? Not from the obvious rose, but from a flower he had not heard of, no less. Not only that, but he found it odd that there would be flowers in a spicy black tea, or vice versa. He enjoyed his spicy teas, and occasionally he'd indulge in the flavors of hibiscus, lavender, rose, the typical flower tastes, but never both at the same time. He is still learning to take risks and live ' on the edge ', as Miss Fey would put it, and this seemed like a small enough baby step.

Phoenix Wright is coming to his apartment today to discuss a case Edgeworth had been weary of. Phoenix isn’t even the role of the defense, but Miles really values his opinion nonetheless. Wright just spots details no one else, not even Miles himself, would notice. No less than an expert. And because of this ability to see the truth, the good in people, Phoenix has effectively put the real criminals behind bars and more importantly, protected those that deserve to be protected. 

Miles knows he has a lot to learn from Phoenix about justice--how it is not just the act of catching and sentencing suspects and treating cases as open and shut, but protecting the innocent. Taking what the defendant, the witnesses defending the defendant, have to say without simply preparing to respond with a counterargument. He wants to do his job right, and learning Wright’s way of perceiving things is valuable in doing so. 

The kettle on the stove begins to hiss, prompting him to click the stack of papers in his hands on the dark wood of the table and mosey out of his chair to tend to it. 

As if it were on cue, as Miles removes the kettle from the heat, he hears a knock on his door. He pulls off the oven glove on his hand (it's not entirely necessary to wear one when handling the kettle, but it only takes one burn to scare someone into being a little over-precautious) and goes to greet that significant man at the door. He doesn't show it, but his heart is definitely fluttering as he opens up the doorway. 

Phoenix. Phoenix Wright. He looks... bright. Summer-y, would be an accurate way to describe it. The man hated the cold, so he always felt and looked a bit more chipper during the warmer months of the year (not that Miles was keeping track, or anything). He's rather casual: a pair of jeans and sneakers, the flashiest thing on his body being the silver watch on his wrist. He's got a clean, white button-down, untucked of course, with thin, pastel blue stripes to decorate it. A blue that's certainly not as loud as that blue suit he wears in court. 

However, he still pulls the attention of Miles directly to him as if he were wearing that odd suit. Part of the reason being the way the shirt seems to fit very nicely, hugging his chest, but not entirely. He rocks on his feet in the doorway, his dorky brown briefcase strapped to his back with his hands in his pockets and sleeves rolled up. The most distracting thing is the small smile that appears on his face the moment he registers that the door is open. 

"Hey, Edgeworth."

"Hello, Wright. Come on in." 

This wasn't a completely foreign scenario, Phoenix visiting to discuss work. It just didn't happen very often. He knew where to place his shoes, he didn’t feel the need to tiptoe. There was some familiarity, but not much. Miles still felt a need to treat him like a guest. 

"You caught me in the middle of making tea. Would you like some?" Miles already knows the answer to this question, and the answer is no, demonstrated by Phoenix’s polite shake of the head and “That's okay, thank you though,” as he took a seat at the table. It was simply a courtesy, despite the fact that Phoenix likely wouldn’t have thought twice about it. If Miles remembers correctly, Phoenix is more of a coffee man, but the caffeine wouldn't be practical so late in the day. 

He retrieves a plastic water bottle from the fridge instead, tossing it to the other man. Phoenix jerks, not mentally prepared for an impromptu game of catch, but he stretches his arms out, miraculously catching it as half of his body falls off the chair. He at least prevented it from landing on the table and flinging the court record into the air. He raises a recovering thumbs up. Miles smirks, pouring the steaming water over the freshly bagged tea leaves before he joins Phoenix at the table with his cup as it brews. 

"So, what's this case about?" Phoenix asks, peering over the organized papers laying neatly in front of the seat opposite to his own. He tries to read them upside down without picking them up. The last time he had tried that, he may as well have committed a crime, because Miles had snapped at him for disregarding the way things were organized. More funny than traumatizing, but better safe than sorry. 

"Two women, their names Mika Raphony and Tara Belle, attended a metal concert last Friday night. While Miss Raphony was using the restroom, she was shot dead in one of the stalls. The arrested suspect is a recently outed trans woman, going by the name Bella Sings. She is still registered under the name ‘Pierre Sings’ legally, though." 

To further explain, Miles begins to sift through his organizer, giving Phoenix transcripts of testimonies given in court earlier in the day and photo samples of all the evidence. It was a handicap being unable to present the physical evidence like the pistol or the fatal bullet, but evidence was always kept at the precinct, so he expected as much. He was planning on requesting extra analysis on the physical evidence, anyway.

Phoenix reads over another witness’ testimony-- it’s delivered by a frail man that saw Miss Belle outside of the venue when she retreated to call the police. Overcome with shock, he tried to aid in helping her calm down and provide information to the operator. Miles waits patiently and takes a sip of his tea once it has cooled enough.

 It's intense as the liquid first hits his taste buds, just as intense as the deep red color the drink had adopted. Miles had had his fair share of strong teas, but this one still startled him. It was very spicy, and the taste of the unfamiliar flower was prominent. As foreign as it was, though, it was still quite pleasant. It filled his body with warmth like a sip of red wine, and he wasn't sure, but it might've been enough to make his mouth water a little. He decides he enjoys it and doesn't hesitate to take more sips as he and Wright delve into the case.

They go back and forth as Miles gives his mock-opening statement, Phoenix starting off relatively silent but asking more questions as he learns more information. 

"So it was a .38 revolver, and Belle heard the gunshot from outside the bathroom. Sings was arrested as a suspect because Belle reported her, assuming she was a man walking out of the women’s bathroom. And Sings only claimed to be trans after the accusation.” Phoenix has his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thinks out loud. His lips are puckered at the side, and he opens one eye to look to Miles for confirmation. Miles nods and crosses his arms across his chest. There’s a tightness that wasn't there before beneath his ribs, creeping around his lungs and making him feel slightly short of breath. He decides to try and relax, leaning back into his chair. 

“Yes. And the police are suspicious of Sings’ claims, because if it weren’t for her transgenderism, she would have no reason to be in the women’s restroom that night. Belle saw her leave shortly after the sound of the gunshot and rushed in to find Rophony’s body after she was waiting in the hallway for an unusual amount of time. Sings may have a made up alibi.”

“Does Sings even have a motive?” 

Miles grumbles, tugging at the sleeves of his thin sweater. Perhaps it was a mistake to wear longer sleeves, because he feels the faint beginnings of sweat start to form at the seams of the top. It was only early spring, though…

“Background checks on those involved didn’t show any connections between the victim and the defendant.” 

Phoenix hums, a thought resting on his tongue. He waits a few moments before he speaks up, giving himself time to assure himself that he’s confident in his own claim.

“I don’t think Sings is guilty. That witness didn't even see the actual murder, and Belle is the only one connected to the victim. Plus, if it was a .38, would Belle even be able to hear it at a metal concert? It all seems too easy.” 

Miles snorts, cocking an eyebrow at his peer over his teacup. “Things are never easy with you,” he snips with a smirk, taking another sip of his tea. Phoenix curls his lips back at him and shrugs.  

“Sure, but it’s never caused me trouble.” Phoenix props an elbow onto the table, leaning into his hand, chin cradled in his palm. His arms are... tough. The cocky slide of his voice paired with half-lidded eyes lights a low flame at the pit of Miles’ naval. A flame that doesn’t die within a few seconds like it usually does. He’s acting , Miles reminds himself. He is oblivious to the presumptuousness of his posture.

“You should know better than I that you could not be more wrong,” Miles jokes, rolling his eyes in response, which makes Phoenix laugh. It’s always such a pleasant sound, that laughter. A pleasant show of a genuine smile and joy, and whenever Miles was graced with it, it filled him with fantastical warmth.

Well, every other time it did.

Uniquely this time, though, it seemed to make him sick. He lurches.

“Um. Miles, are you alright? You look... hot.”

Miles chokes at the phrase. He freezes, feeling his jaw clench at the discomfort of losing the small breeze coming from the few pieces of paper folded in his palm. He had been fanning himself and hadn’t even realized. Phoenix giggles again nervously. “Sorry. Lack of a better word. You look a little sick.” 

“I’m alright. I’m sure I just made a poor choice of clothing today.” He partly means it, but only because he tends to believe that if he pays no mind to his weaknesses, they’ll go away. He would rather not fear for his health, anyway. Phoenix knits his brows, concerned at the way Miles’ breathing rapidly begins to fall heavier and the hair along the border of his scalp starts to wet itself with sweat. 

“Maybe you should change. Or at least take that shirt off before you overheat.” Phoenix steers with nothing but angelic intent, this is clear. His worry grows, and it projects directly onto the weaker Miles. Miles’ arms grow goosebumps at that intense stare drilling into him, the suggestion-- no, the command he had just been given to remove his shirt, even if that command was for the better of Miles himself, for care.  Those delectable blue-brown eyes pump into his bloodstream a will for Phoenix to come to his aid. For those eyes to be inches away from his face. To feel those palms grab the fabric of his sweater and ruin the way it’s neatly tucked into his trousers. Take it off for him. 

Oh god.

Miles begins to panic, trying to push his feelings deep and out of the way so he could figure out why on Earth his breaths were shallow and shuddering. Was it some sort of virus? Was he having a heart attack? No, these were no symptoms of a heart attack. Anxiety? Allergies? 

That possibility startles him. He winces as he speaks, unnerved between breaths. 

“ What was in that tea? ” he coughs, scooting his chair back and moving himself away from the mug. Miles brings a hand to his chest and uses the other to form an iron grip on one of his own thighs. 

The mug was a little less than half empty already, and he liked his tea strong, so the tea bag remained in the mug as he drank. The squeak of his chair across the floor makes Phoenix jump up, pushing his own chair back with the momentum of his legs alone. He circles around the table hurriedly and kneels down on the hardwood, leveling his height with Miles, who remains seated. The panic spreads in the air, because Phoenix is jumpy, overwhelmed with the speed at which the situation became more concerning. 

“Edgeworth, talk to me. Do I need to call an ambulance?” He hovers his hands near Miles, trying to help without bursting Miles’ valued personal space. He darts his head around the room, looking for a solution until his eyes lock on his water bottle. He had already drank from it, but desperate times aren’t forgiving. He grips with enough force for it to crinkle as he aggressively presents it to Miles. “Drink this. I’m going to call someone.” 

Miles shakes his head violently in protest. He wasn’t ill. This wasn’t sickness. Nine-one-one couldn’t possibly be necessary. Phoenix isn’t convinced, observing Miles sitting still yet sweaty and breathless enough to trick someone into thinking he had just run a marathon in a turtleneck and sweatpants. He’s aware Phoenix won’t take no for an answer, swallowing a few gulps of water and doing his best to take deeper breaths. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I think it’s passing.” He still struggles, but less so. Fearful that Phoenix may continue to be stubborn, which is very likely, Miles urgently sifts his mind for reasons why. Why he was vulnerable and shaky in the seat he had not left for at least half an hour. The food he ate, the sleep he got the night before, what he drank-
The tea. The ingredients. 

That flower.  

“That flower,” he blurts. 

Phoenix blinks, squints his eyes and retreats back to Miles, gently grabbing a hold of his forearms and placing them in Miles’ lap. The feel of Phoenix’s soft fingertips against Miles’ hot, flushing skin sends electric shocks through every nerve in Miles’ body, causing him to jump more violently than he usually would. He had become wildly sensitive. He thinks I’m crazy!

“Don’t go crazy on me yet, Edgeworth. What are you talking about?” Phoenix holds Miles’ arms a little tighter, and Miles chokes back a breathy sound in the back of his throat at the touch. Phoenix purses his lips, more worried than ever now, reaching his hand up to feel the heat coming off of his colleague’s damp forehead like a careful mother checking for a fever. 

This brings his face closer. So close that when Miles opens his eyes, the abyss of determination he fawns over lies directly in his gaze. The problem is that determined gaze is focused entirely and directly on him. He feels his stomach curl with a desire to get close enough to feel Phoenix’s own breath, his sharp sighs of concern on his collarbone. “Miles, you’re burning up.”

Miles.

Miles. 

He may be dying right this very second, but what he wouldn’t give to hear that name roll off the gorgeous lips of Phoenix Wright once more. 

The realization comes quick, after that. 

Phoenix’s touch, Phoenix’s eyes, Phoenix’s voice; those stimulating words that drove him absolutely mad . The hottest section of Miles’ body, he notices, is the raging flush of his cheeks, violating a face twisted with lust. Every part and thought and fantasy of the man before him conjures in his brain, fogging nearly every other idea. He tightens his limbs, fighting against his own body.

He was really, really aroused. 

How fantastic .

His body was reacting to something, an allergen, a poison maybe, and he feels himself continuously unravelling into a bigger pile of infirmity. And now, on top of that... just when he thinks he’s at his weakest...

Miles swallows what’s left of the moisture in his mouth, eyes widening as he discreetly tries to cross his legs. His pants are darker and help keep him undisclosed, but they certainly don’t help the wave of shame that still crosses over him as he grows more and more hyper aware of his hardening member.

He needed Phoenix away from him. Now.

“The tea I drank. I’ve never had it before.” He tries to tear his eyes away from their mutual eye-contact, he really does, but the sight of Phoenix’s tender lashes and handsome face a mere few feet away from his own is addictive. 

“There were petals from a flower I’m not familiar with. That may be the cause.” Phoenix looks back and forth anxiously between Miles’ eyes as he processes the information. He squints, confused.

“You can drink flowers!?”
“WRIGHT!”

“Right!”  He leaps up and rushes for the kitchen cabinets.

The second his source of unrelenting shame is out of his bubble, Miles trips over his ankles as he launches himself out of the kitchen chair and toward his living room. He needed a cover up. A blanket, blanket, blanket--good lord, anything to hide the growing tent in his lap. He’s disoriented for a moment and grateful Phoenix hadn’t noticed that he’d fallen, and then proceeds to rush to the closest end of the loveseat sofa in the living area. A blanket is neatly draped over the back of it, just like always, and he groans a noise of relief. 

Ripping the blanket from where it calmly rested, Miles frantically wraps it around himself, shifting to find a natural, but comfortable position to sit in that will aid in hiding his erection, just to be safe. His mind is swarming with ideas, but none of them are solutions. He thinks back to similar situations he had experienced in the past. How did he get it to go away? What did he do when he was just a boy in school, having to think of something fast before walking up to the front of the classroom to present? There had to be some method, he thinks. 

To his misfortune, a lot of his childhood, especially the awkward pre-teen days, had been suppressed fairly well, and it wasn’t like he was able to think straight anyhow. He certainly felt like an awkward pre-teen, that’s for sure.

Miles whines, pulling his knees to his chest and dragging two hands down his face. Covering his eyes and hiding himself from the world does him no favors, because he fails to notice when Phoenix returns. 

“Glad to see you’re looking more comfy, but aren’t you hot?” he states abruptly from behind the sofa.

 Miles quite literally yelps in surprise at the comment and the delicate tap on his shoulder Phoenix used to catch his attention. He has that familiar wooden box of teas in hand. “This was on the counter. Is it one of these?”

“Chills. And yes, that one,” Miles spouts. He’s nearly recovered from the startle and the static radiating from where Phoenix’s hand touched his shoulder. Unfortunately, the world was not finished yet, because out of all the other seats Phoenix could have taken, he decided to take the seat right next to him. 

Miles isn’t sure if there’s a god out there, but he prays anyway. Prays that Phoenix won’t expect to sit close enough so that the both of them could read the wooden box and Oh god in heaven, he’s showing me the box. He expects me to read the information on the box while I’m saddled with an illness, an erection, and stuck with the world’s most stunning man leaning into my curled up body, brushing his thighs against m-

“Which one did you drink? I’ll look at the pamphlet… thingy,” he says, opening the box and exposing the assemblage of aromas into the air. 

Miles tries to remember. If he wasn’t already flushed and embarrassed, this next confession certainly would make him such. Hopefully it doesn’t push him over the edge.

“.... Twitterpated ,” he mumbles. Phoenix must acknowledge that Miles feels humiliated trying to admit his incredibly tacky choice, because even after eyeing the rosy artwork that paired along with the blend, Phoenix decides to avoid teasing Miles at all. Though, it would’ve been impossible for him to not smile at least a little. He hums a gentle chuckle.

Miles turns his head away at that, burying half of his red face in his knees. Even the sound of Phoenix’s low, soothing hum was enough to make Miles bite the inside of his cheek, feeling his member twitch and throb under his blanket camouflage, begging to take over. His arousal wasn’t dying down at all. His breaths are at least a bit slower now that he has himself situated, but they still shudder. And he can feel every minute movement Phoenix makes as he opens the decorative piece of paper listing all the ingredients, scanning for the particular tea in his efforts to try and solve Miles’...situation. 

“It looks like...it’s called the ‘ Hazakura Moon ’? The flower. Know anything about it? Doctor ever tell you to avoid it?” 

Miles keeps his face turned, shaking his head. Phoenix clicks his tongue, resorting to plan B: online research.

It’s quiet for a few moments as Phoenix unlocks his phone (he did eventually upgrade to a smartphone, but that was a while ago, and he’s about half a decade overdue to get a new one. It runs VERY slow) and snails his way into the web browsing app and waits for it to load. Miles didn’t like to admit he was spoiled, but good lord, could his ancient phone load any slower?

Phoenix reads his face without even having to look, because he laughs out loud, responding to a quip Miles never made out loud: “If it does what it’s supposed to, I’m not gonna replace it.” 

“If I grow terminally ill in the next few minutes, Wright, I’m blaming you.” He knows it’s suicide, but Miles flips his head back around as he speaks just to see that amused, happy smile on Phoenix’s face once more. His heart flips. 

They watch intently at the blue loading bar and aimlessly spinning circle in the middle of the article’s screen, waiting for answers. Apparently he had already navigated to the flower’s online encyclopedia page, and as soon as it loads, they will have their answers. 

“Okay! I got it, hold on.” He pulls the screen closer to his face, leaning back into the other end of the sofa, releasing Miles from his gentle and terribly arousing prison of close contact. He releases a shuddered breath as Phoenix continues. 

“‘ The --okay, I’m not gonna bother to try and read the Latin name-- ‘but more popularly known as the Hazakura Moon, is a rare flower native to the northern mountains of Japan and other parts of East Asia. ’” He hums, perking his eyebrows and hums in a, “the more you know,” attitude, his interest being lassoed in. 

“ ‘It typically blooms in late winter or early spring, making it one of the few flowers in the world that are very resilient in the cold. It’s petals are --yadda yadda yadda don’t care don’t know anything about flowers just give me the dirt I need,” he rambles to his phone, swiping his thumb rapidly across the screen and scrolling deeper into the article. 

“AH! ‘Consumption’. Found it. ‘While it is difficult to confirm, early humans residing in the temperate climates of East Asia may have utilized this flower as a medication or supplement for both health and religious or superstitious reasons. Its petals were crushed to make perfumes and incense, as well as consumed in things such as hot teas. ’ Yep, this is what we need.”

“Would you just read it already?”

A giggle. He doesn’t know why, but Phoenix seems to find a little bit of enjoyment in his state of vulnerability. Every glare, snap, or shaky huff Miles attempted to shoot him was brushed off with a smile or a snarky remark up until now. Not that Miles was complaining, but…

“ ‘Because of the flower’s unique blooming period, right before the spring solstice, it was believed to have properties that endorsed flourishment. It brought good luck, blessed the crops to help them flourish in the summer and fall, as well as encourage... fertility. ’” Phoenix slows, almost as if his eyes were reading faster than his mouth could speak. He darts his eyes quickly toward Miles for less than a second, clearing his throat and attempting to continue as if he hadn’t choked up. 

“‘ The flower may very well be extinct, as there has been little public research done on the plant, and the only living ones are under the protection of the locals. However, from word of mouth and texts from the period, the Hazakura Moon allegedly causes very unique side effects, those of which would make it a symbol for fertility and ... uh... intercourse b - between married couples. ’ Um-” 

Phoenix swallows, and for the first time that night, it’s Phoenix’s face that turns a bright red, only growing redder as he struggles to read. 

“ ‘It was traditional for the couple to share a glass of elixir containing the essence of the Hazakura Moon among other things at the end of the ceremony, as the flower was known as ... ah… Wh... When consumed it makes the consumer , er-” Phoenix’s ability to voice the words on the screen slowly becomes unattainable. Not that he could read the screen anyhow, with his hands shaking the way they are. Miles grows impatient. 

"...What."

Phoenix sets the device at Miles’ side as delicately as one could. “I... can’t read this. I think you should.” 

Miles has a very, very strong feeling that he knows what he’s about to read, but he hesitates, fearful that he may be correct. He doesn’t dare pick up the phone, trying his hardest  to decipher the mystery emotion plastered on Phoenix’s face. Phoenix is frozen, sitting with his hands in his lap, his right leg bouncing with tension. His eyes dart from Miles and the other side of the room multiple times, and it isn’t until Miles notices the way Phoenix’s anxious gaze glances downward that he scrambles for the phone and really, really starts to panic. It couldn’t possibly-

He picks up where Phoenix left off.

“...the flower was known as a powerful aphrodisiac, sometimes referred to what can be translated as ‘the universe’s stimulant of love.’ If consumed, one is rumored to experience extreme arousal within the reproductive system, and usually very quickly as well. The consumer, even without any sort of stimulus, will start to feel hot and thus perspire more than usual. They’ll flush in the face and rapidly develop a shaky shortness of breath, as well as, most notably, an overwhelmingly desperate desire to orgasm. This effect encouraged the eternal connection between two lovers and was celebrated in hopes of reproduction and children to pass the traditions of the society onto. The Hazakura Flower, in its time before endangerment, was often gifted to newly wed couples in celebration of their love, allowing for days and sometimes weeks of continuous interc-”

Miles couldn’t take any more, and he couldn’t disintegrate into a pile of shameful dust any more than he already had, no matter how much he wished he could. He gently tosses Phoenix’s phone into the empty space between them, bouncing it softly on the maroon cushion.

“I apologize. I... I sincerely apologize,” he mutters. He doesn’t even have the energy to express the dumpster fire that is inhabiting his brain out in the open. “It was gifted to me, I... I had no idea-”

“Hey, no. I-It’s okay.” Phoenix’s voice is reassuring. It’s trembling and infested with flustered stuttering and hiccups, but nonetheless, it is Phoenix’s honey, reassuring voice. He interrupts himself, swallowing and waving his hands out in front of him.  “I. You-...neither of us knew.” He struggles to maintain eye-contact, chewing his lip as his face and ears only grow redder and redder. “I’m just glad you’re not... dying.” 

The worst part about it all is that the embarrassment all but alleviates Miles’ arousal. He can barely look at Phoenix for more than a moment. The image of Phoenix flushed, sweating, stuttering and shyly raking his brain for words, which had been well beyond lapsed. It had already been burned into his brain. It was attractive, it was enticing, dare he even admit that it was downright adorable. Whatever it was, it tightened that coil in his stomach, his smothered cock no longer fantasizing, but demanding. Throbbing for something he couldn’t have.

“I have to disagree. I may not be literally dying, no, but…” Miles was never good with words when put on the spot. What could you expect in a situation like this?
“If it makes you feel any better... um. I didn’t notice you were…”

“Please,” Miles whines. “Please stop.”

“Yeah…” 

Miles can’t actually tell how long the silence goes on for. He could sit and count the number of ambient ticks coming from the clock on the wall if he wasn’t so desperate to rid himself of the ability to think. And Phoenix Wright, the ‘ never easy ’ Phoenix Wright, continues to sit on the other end of the love seat, shifting awkwardly in ways Miles can’t see with his face buried in the blanket. 

Why hasn’t he left? What is he doing?

Unable to take much more, Miles finally whimpers, annoyed at how helpless Phoenix was making him feel by staying. 

“Must you really force me to say it out loud, Wright? I won’t ask you to stay. Clearly I have... b-business to take care of alone-” 

Phoenix darkens into a deeper shade of crimson, spluttering and unable to keep his hands still. 

“W-Wait, no!” His tenor cracks, giving his protest no more power than the roar of a lion cub. But as pathetic as it sounded, the idea of Phoenix protesting at all makes Miles knit his eyebrows and pop his eyes open, still hesitant to look over at his colleague. 

Phoenix looks just as utterly clueless as Miles. He doesn't seem to understand why he spoke out, either.  He scrambles his words and tries to string them in different orders, but nothing makes sense, causing him to pull his hair and sigh, releasing his pent up tension and attempting to give up. 

“Did you… want any help?” 

Miles’ neck nearly cracks as he whips it up, bulging eyes communicating his uncertainty about the words that had just escaped Phoenix’s lips.  Phoenix is now the one that jumps, a hand reaching to scratch his scalp bashfully as he turns away. 

“P... pardon?” is all Miles can say, and if he doesn’t sound like a complete and utter fool-

“I know! I know it’s weird. I know,” he splutters, squinting his eyes shut and shaking his hands. “I said, uh, do you want help?” 

He swallows in between his words, obliviously disclosing the difficulty he has trying to face Miles Edgeworth again. Is it good hearted? Is it shameful? “If you don’t, it’s totally fine and I can go, but.” 

The abyss of determination peeks at Miles out of the corner of Phoenix’s eyes, making contact for the first time in multiple minutes at least. It was clumsy, his manner of asking, sheepish, but not without a clear goal. There was no discord or fickleness in that look. Miles could see it. “...I wouldn’t mind helping you get out of this. I- If you wouldn’t.”

He wouldn’t mind? He wouldn’t. Mind.

Nonsense, Miles thinks to himself, caught in the first sliver of confidence he had finally felt since the moment Phoenix arrived. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” are the words that ring loudly in Miles’ temples. He comes to a definite conclusion:

Bullshit. You want to get involved. 

“And why is that?”

It’s a question he doesn’t expect Phoenix to answer right away, his intuition having his back yet again as Phoenix chokes. 

“Well…” he trails, releasing a light sigh. “If you want a brutally honest answer…” 

Phoenix turns to face Miles on the sofa, keeping his distance but pulling one of his legs up, perching his chin atop his knee. It's a mimicry of Miles, the same defense mechanism of curling in on oneself. The only thing that differentiates the two is Phoenix’s other, sprawled out leg. Open to insane possibilities, risks. Sometimes with disastrous consequences. But with enough will, capable of  attempting anything. 

“I, ah. Have sort of dreamed about something like this. For a while now, actually.” He smiles weakly to himself. “A long while. I’d be stupid if I didn’t admit that I think I’ve fallen for you. And... well, when I look at you right now,” he motions with one hand toward the disheveled prosecutor, “I see a golden opportunity. Those feelings are making it a little hard to cope with how much I really, really want to fuck you right now.” 

He articulates the bold statement in a tone Miles had yet to hear on Phoenix’s tongue. It was a tender manner of speaking, saddled with undertones of boyish excitement and the attentive lust of a fully grown man all at once. Miles is stiff. 

“Th- that’s only if you’re seriously interested though. I’m... I’m not the one in a tough spot right now.” He laughs nervously to himself as he prepares for rejection, processing his knee-jerk decision to outright confess with Miles a lustful mess in front of him. He respectfully tries not to stare at the arousing sight, wondering if he’d ever see what was hidden under that teasing blanket on Miles’ lap. “I... don’t want to take advantage of you, obviousl-”

“Phoenix.”

The first name jolts through the attorney’s spine. He has no idea what intentions are behind that stern baritone voice, but his useless nerves betray him and cause his hesitant erection to grow and his heart to race and flutter. Flutter like the lids of Miles’ warm, silver eyes as they open, locked on Phoenix as if he were a target. Miles finally relaxes his posture, leaning back into the other end of the sofa with that accursed blanket still draping his crotch. 

“I want you too. In more ways than one.” 

Phoenix watches as Miles’ hand starts to graze the seam of the blanket knowingly, causing Phoenix to bite his cheek. “If I’m not mistaken, I think we share similar desires, here.” 

The answer to his lust is practically being spoon fed to him, but Phoenix still hesitates. All he’d have to do is say yes, but he wanted the real Miles to accept his desires and fuel his needs. Was this him?

“We do. But you’re... under the influence? I think? I really don’t want to screw this u-”

“Phoenix.” That first name again. “I’ll have you know that I’m not intoxicated in any way.” 

Miles pants, looking that gorgeous man up and down and watching as he shyly creeps closer. He can feel the aggressive want surfacing from within Phoenix as he makes his way toward the other side of the couch. Phoenix sits up on his knees, entranced by the prosecutor’s voice like a sailor losing himself at sea, slowly losing his composure. 

“All this aphrodisiac is doing is amplifying the feelings I've already been holding. The only problem I have right now, Phoenix, is the empty space between you and I.” His eyes darken, pressing. “The last thing I want your mouth to do is talk to me.” 

He grazes a thumb over Phoenix’s parted lips.

Phoenix is close enough to lean over the other man, his shirt hanging from his chest and steadying himself as Miles’ legs wrap around one of his own, further entangling the two. 

Miles hasn’t changed in the last few moments. His face is still flushed, sleeves rolled up from the heat, shallow breaths with as much control as his own two hands, which find themselves exploring Phoenix’s torso the longer Miles is expected to wait in his lustful frustration. They travel down his sides, around his shoulders and up his chest, until finally Miles' right hand yanks a fistful of Phoenix’s untucked shirt downward, encouraging Phoenix’s libido to let go, to fuel his desires. To take this golden opportunity that Phoenix Wright had described it as himself.

“Fuck me. Please.” 

This opens the latch, breaks down the final wall dividing the two and flooding their Earth. 

Phoenix nearly falls limp as he’s dragged down, slipping only a light gasp and a “Miles,” groaning as it rolls off his tongue. Immediately, their lips connect. There’s a small clunk of forehead hitting forehead, faces initially smushed in ways that weren’t comfortable. It certainly isn’t seamless. 

But Gott im Himmel, is it rewarding.

The blanket that once protected Miles is now only serving to get in his way, frustrated that his wanton body continues to stay smothered instead of exposed. He loosens his grasp on the collar of Phoenix’s shirt, pulling away and wrenching the blanket from in between them.

Miles hadn’t had the chance to observe himself yet, so when both mens’ attention is drawn to his exposed, but unfortunately still clothed cock, they’re both impressed. 

Thank goodness he had decided to use that blanket beforehand, because one look at the strained fly of his pants and one would know, would see just how painstakingly hard Miles had become. It was more than Miles had ever been in his life. Throbbing, twitching, large for the matter. Never had he lost so much control or built up so much tension that he could see such a clear outline of his own desperate member through his undergarments and dark pants, on top of it. It’s vain, he’s aware, but he quickly looks back up to Phoenix in hopes of a promising reaction. 

Phoenix’s eyes are wide, already panting and visibly restraining his hands. His gaze doesn’t tear away from the sight. 

“H… Holy shit,” he mutters, skin flushing a darker pink as he continues to process the events unfolding. His brain is lit up, a circus of lights and alarms, stimulations, yet void of words. He stares dumbly, swallowing. 

“You’re really…wow.” There may be few words in his inner monologue and fewer in his speech, but this is only due to the flood of fantasies swarming in his brain. Not just imagining how much better that cock would look completely exposed in thick air, but what it would feel like to grab it. Pinch it. Taste it and stroke it. What sort of sensual, gorgeous reactions Miles would have to his touch. What Miles would do to him in return.

Miles hums proudly, amused that he had found yet another way to render the man before him speechless. While Phoenix holds his hands back, admiring the view, Miles speeds things up and ropes Phoenix in more, grabbing one of his wrists and guiding an eager palm to his length, permitting Phoenix to grope, to grab. After all, the only thing Miles wants in the world right now is to be touched. Stimulated. Used as a toy, for all he cared. 

Phoenix willingly takes the opportunity,  brushing his palm gently over Miles’ crotch, then suddenly, stroking and pressing what he could of the outline of Miles’ dick through the fabric. Miles’ back arches below him, hissing with delight and breathily asking for more.

His fingertips wander, delicately tracing seams of Phoenix’s white linen as his crotch is palmed by the tanner man. Miles feels terribly primal and terribly impatient, his jugular so full he’s afraid it’ll explode along with everything else inside. But he holds himself in, forcing himself to savor the most electric caresses he’ll feel in his lifetime and promise to himself that he’ll never forget the image of Phoenix leaning over him, already growing breathless and furiously red from groping alone.

Phoenix adopts a moderate and steady rhythm, pushing and grasping along with the occasional jerk of Miles’ hips. Phoenix’s neck starts to sheen, convincing Miles already that that loathsome shirt concealing the attorney's chest needed to come off, and now. 

Miles caresses up Phoenix’s back and around his neck, playfully feathering out the collar of the garment and unbuttoning it starting from the top. Miles barely makes it two buttons down before Phoenix grabs him by his own neck collar, tugging him upwards. This allows for easier access--not just to Miles’ soft lips and warm, tempting mouth, but to the opening of those tight trousers, aggressively snaking his hand past Miles’ layers of clothing and gripping his throbbing length without anything protecting it from him. 

Phoenix doesn’t do this completely irrationally, using his other hand to rake the silver hair on the back of Miles’ head, forcing that disheveled handsome face against his once again and tasting that first guttural, baritone moan with his tongue. Miles melts into the new position, eyes fluttering shut and blindly resuming the removal of Phoenix’s shirt when his hand is guided back to that stately chest. His hands tremble, hardly stable with the sensation of Phoenix’s rough fingers playing with the length and skin of his cock, teasing him. 

“Eager, aren’t we? Usually you're not so easily persuaded,” Miles purrs, slipping words where he should be taking breaths between kisses. 

Phoenix pulls his mouth away, trailing it around Miles’ jawline and leaving a path of more sloppy kisses leading to the ear. Miles stiffens, shoulders jumping to his neck and unable to fiddle further with the button-down. Phoenix removes his hand from underneath Miles’ tightly silken briefs and desperately fiddles with the rest of the buttons as efficiently as he can while blinded. He kisses Miles’ neck roughly, greedily trying to leave a mark as a compensation. The prosecutor’s whine can only be from being overwhelmed, as the lack of attention being given to his cock is a twisted tease, but the sucking and biting of Phoenix’s irresistible mouth is nothing short of heavenly.

“I can’t help it. You look so hot right now.”

Phoenix shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, discarding it onto the floor. Miles watches with perverted eyes, his head propped up against the arm of the sofa. He trails the red airbrushed along Phoenix’s shoulders--they’re broader when they’re nude--and dark torso. It isn’t as toned as his arms or legs, but it's so charming, so easily lovable and desirable. So perfectly shaped for Miles to reach out and press his hands against tenderly, his cold fingertips making Phoenix wince. Nonetheless, Phoenix places his own hands on top of Miles’, silently begging to ‘ please, keep touching me, ’ before reaching to grab the other man’s shirt and pull it over Miles’ head. 

Chests bare, Phoenix lies Miles back down, pressing into him. Skin on skin had never felt so marvelous, never as good as it was now with Phoenix holding his weight on top of him and lapping the sweat on Miles’ neck, rubbing his own bulge against Miles’ own. He breathily sighs with each short thrust, absorbing every one of Miles’ swallows and huffs of gratitude at the friction. He croons into Miles’ ear, humid breath causing Miles to shudder. 

“Is this good, Miles?”

Words come slowly, but sounds are immediate, as Miles groans happily and jerks his hips forward without control into Phoenix’s groin. Miles nods as if his answer wasn’t already clear. 

“Extremely. You’re so good, Phoenix,” he huffs. Miles’ empty hands grow anxious, fondling with anything they can reach. Grip Phoenix’s tough shoulders, tug Phoenix’s coal-colored hair in plea, reach lower, lower to fondle with Phoenix’s ass and pull him closer in desperation. “You’re irresistible.” 

Miles’ electric fingertips skim the length of Phoenix’s bare skin, which is so charged with excitement that Phoenix squirms with delight. He whines. It’s the first of the many erotic vocals that Miles hopes to squeeze from the noirette, but nonetheless, it drives him crazy. He roughly gropes Phoenix’s plush ass with both hands, speeding up the tempo at which the two men dry hump eagerly. His stomach starts to coil. He couldn’t possibly already-

“Fuck, Miles ,” he hears, causing his breath to hitch. The voice is so slow and satisfactory, yet so familiar. And best of all, it was real . Phoenix’s kind and persuasive voice falling weak at the mention of Miles’ own name is what sends him over. 

Not even nude and barely a few minutes in, Miles digs his fingernails into the small of Phoenix’s back, curling his toes and throwing his head back over the arm of the sofa in a blissful, breathless orgasm. A short and strained, “Nngh!” escapes his throat as he comes against Phoenix’s body with nothing but a few pieces of fabric preventing him from spilling his climax onto the other man’s skin. 

This is enough for Phoenix to figure it out on his own, slowing his movements as to not overstimulate his partner. 

“Did you… already?”
Miles nods, feeling every beat of sweat and breath in the after-sensitivity. But he isn’t concerned. Phoenix’s panting is interrupted by a giggle. 

“That’s powerful stuff, if you finished that quickly.”

Miles doesn’t move, looking far down at the still existing, noticeable tent at his crotch. He’s still throbbing, looking up at Phoenix with the same strong hunger as if he hadn’t climaxed at all. He meets Phoenix’s eyes and cocks an eyebrow. 

“Who said I was finished?” 

Miles doesn’t wait for Phoenix’s confused reaction to hoist himself up into a sitting position and off of the sofa. He yanks Phoenix up by the arm, dragging the stumbling shirtless man to the room that had everything in store: his bedroom. He seats them both onto the clean, white bed comforter and crawls over Phoenix, close enough to be straddling his lap, but not quite. He’s filled with an after-glow and a primal excitement for more. More.

“I need more , Phoenix. More of you and your beautiful wanton body.”

The praise makes the already frustrated attorney blush, both at the words and the involuntary twitch of his cock at Miles’ approval. 

“I’m not going to be finished until I’ve seen and touched every inch of you. Do you hear me?” His silver tongue drives Phoenix up a wall. Phoenix winces, clenching his jaw and grunting as he shoots his hands to his fly, perhaps with more excitement than he intended to show. It was time Miles treated the desperate dick he so quickly abandoned.

“Then touch me, dammit,” Phoenix bites, not easing his frustration any more by eyeing Miles’ robust chest, pale skin hiding none of his overwhelming desire to fuck. When those silvery, lustful eyes glint back at Phoenix’s disparity, Miles tries to approach his lover, but is stopped by a hand, now free after Phoenix had already gone and removed his jeans. Phoenix’s hot handprint pressed into Miles’ chest prompts Miles to look down, eyes widening at what he was being kept from. 

Out from under his waistband, Phoenix dives his free hand into his briefs, pushing the fabric down and slowly pulling out his hardened length in a tease. He bites his lip at the discomfort of the cold air, but looks back up at Miles as he gives himself one slow, presenting stroke, squeezing a drop of precum from the tip of his dick.

“Only if I get to see you, too.”

Miles obliges, quickly reaching for his own crotch and anxiously fiddling with it. It was about time he stripped, he thought to himself, as his trousers had grown far too uncomfortable and tight after being so hopelessly horny for as long as he had been. And it was going to be of no help to him to wear pants when he longed to see his own cum splattered onto the other handsome man, wasn't it? Splattered on his chest, on his face, on his hands--Miles didn’t care. He would take all three if Phoenix would have him. 

As he kicks his briefs off of his ankles, he looks back to the already exposed man, who had removed his as well and leaned back against the pillows and headboard. He watched Miles continue to underdress, stroking himself at the sight and panting.

Good god , what Miles would give for Phoenix to have him.

Without hesitation or the constraint of his clothing, Miles reaches over to the man, grabbing his arm and spinning him so that his legs hang over the side of the bed. Miles lunges to the floor, kneeling on the carpet in between Phoenix’s thighs and holding them with enough force that Phoenix nearly loses his balance, steadying his arms behind him on the mattress. The sudden change in pace lights him up, wide eyed and astounded at the sight before him:

Miles, arms hooked underneath his legs and face mere inches from his flushed, bare penis. Miles looks back up at him, making sure Phoenix is watching as he pants in between his tough legs. Phoenix swallows, searching for a response. Though, his nervously knit eyebrows and bitten bottom lip do the talking for him. 

“Is this alright?” whispers Miles, purring against the outline of Phoenix’s quads and leaving a trail of short, tender kisses on his inner thigh. They travel upward, further, further. 

“B-but… you’re still-”

“You’ve already done so much for me. Don’t you think you deserve a little reward?”

Phoenix’s breath hitches, hesitating for a moment. He has something burning the tip of his tongue, but it takes him a few seconds to release it. 

“C-can I hold your head, then?” 

Miles lowers his eyebrows, causing Phoenix to raise both his hands in startled defense

“I promise I won’t push you! Sorry, I should’ve been clearer,” he yelps. Miles averts his eyes, silently debating the request. Phoenix sighs through his nose and smiles softly. He spins his finger in a lock of Miles’ bangs tenderly. This gets the other man’s attention. “I just... want to play with your hair. And hold it out of the way for you. You look really good, and I want to see you.” 

Never in his right mind did Miles think he would be getting butterflies the same time as he made love, but here he was, blushing like a fool at the gentle touch of Phoenix in his hair and unable to look eye-to-eye. 

“Have you always been this difficult to say no to?”

Phoenix’s expression turns to grin, perhaps stroking his ego a tad. 

“Gee. I’m not sure.” He runs his fingers along Miles’ scalp, letting the hair fall from his palm as he cups the side of Miles’ jaw. “But with the way you’re leaning into my hand like that, I don’t think you want to say no, anyway.”

“I’d be a fool to refuse you.” As he assures, the prosecutor trails a finger down Phoenix’s leg as he shuffles forward, grabbing his own erection as he brings the other man’s to his lips. 

He begins by kissing the tip, feeling just how edged he had left the tanner man prior. Phoenix whimpers, hand shyly tugging at the silky silver hair that much tighter. Miles gives a hearty swipe of the tongue up Phoenix’s length, lapping up the drips of precum already wetting his cock. The warm tease of Miles’ tongue makes Phoenix frustrated, especially as Miles starts to use it more creatively: he drips a string of saliva into his open palm, lubricating to stroke himself and flick the underside of Phoenix’s head with his tongue at the same time. When he’s had his fix of Phoenix’s sensitive squirms, he finally answers the man’s pleas, guiding the dick into his mouth. 

“Ah!” Phoenix chokes, bringing a hand to his mouth and biting down on his pinky finger. He shudders as he watches Miles’ lips take his dick further and further in until he reaches the base, flicking his lashes open and returning his gaze. 

It’s horribly erotic, that picture of Miles: looking down at him with a cock in his lips. As his head starts to bob, his tongue works magically from the inside of his incredible mouth. He jerks himself off simultaneously, creating a chain reaction of humming genially around Phoenix’s dick and Phoenix lurching his head back, gripping the sheets to keep himself from thrusting into Miles’ warm orifice on his own. 

“Oh my god, Miles,” he gasps. This was the way Miles Edgeworth took on challenges. Eagerly, stoically, confidently. He’d investigate every nook and cranny like he’d suck every inch and pore of Phoenix’s twitching cock. Phoenix has to push himself to keep his eyes open and absorb Miles without missing even a second of how beautiful he looks. But it's difficult with the way Miles consumes his cock, sucking and wetting and humming enough that Phoenix could break, fall backward weakly with moans growing louder, more thankful.

By now Miles has a string of fluid drooling down his chin, making his work sloppier, wetter, euphoric for the receiving party. His thundercloud eyes begin to water, not experienced with how deep Phoenix’s dick was going into his throat. But the pollen is still raging through his body, giving him all the strength and eagerness to take as much as he possibly could, regardless of the way he gags. Phoenix groans, holding his lover as delicately as he can. It’s the least he could do in return for the amazing things Miles was doing to his dick--amazing enough that he starts to lose control of his vocals in high, shaken moans and eager words such as, “faster,” “so good,” “fuuuck,” and of course, his favorite:

“Miles!” he gasps, letting go of the man’s hair and giving him the option to retreat. “You, Miles-- hnng! I’m right there, I’m gonna-” 

Miles pulls himself away as Phoenix comes, crying out and spurting his seed onto Miles’ chest. Phoenix controls his spasms enough to watch as he paints Miles with cum, pleasantly surprised to watch as Miles flips his own head backward, breathily moaning as he himself releases at the same time. 

He milks himself to the end of his orgasm, panting heavily and letting his head go limp, resting it against Phoenix’s damp thigh. They both lie still, save for the occasional ticklish twitch that comes with cooling down. 

Phoenix looks down at his partner, still too weak to truly smile. 

Miles' hair is a mess--the first Phoenix has ever seen it this way. Sweat still continues to run down the sides of his crimson face and in his hairline, which multiple strands of his bangs have been caught in. Not even five minutes before Phoenix didn’t think there was any way for Miles to look more beautiful, but he realizes he’s wrong when Miles opens his eyes, turning his head up. His lips are parted and his eyes are half-lidded, so when he meets Phoenix again, looking up, a hot flame lights itself in Phoenix’s chest as Miles darts out his tongue to taste the streak of cum running just past the corner of his lips. 

As gorgeous as Miles looks this way, Phoenix remembers to be somewhat of a gentleman and reaches out to wipe away his mess with the back of a hand.

“S-sorry, aha. Got a little distracted.”

“No need. I assume you enjoy the view?” 

Phoenix shudders. “I do .” 

He does. That view is immaculate, watching Miles Edgeworth stand himself up from his knees and place himself back onto the mattress, running a quick pair of hands through his hair and swiping the cum littering his thigh away with a thumb. What’s even more eye catching is up his thigh, where Miles’ cock remains invincible, still erect and begging, hotly asking for more. More.  

This is only proven to the noirette as Miles kneels one knee onto the sheets, bridging himself over Phoenix’s lap and poking his spoiled thumb between parted lips, earning a promising ‘mmph’ that proves this isn’t over. 

Phoenix eagerly takes the finger in his mouth, curling his tongue around Miles and sucking every drop of his seed down his own throat. He places his own hand atop of the other man’s as it occupies his mouth.

When it's clean, he pulls the thumb away and looks to Miles for a response, only to see that Miles' eyes couldn’t look anywhere but Phoenix's dick. The dick he thought he had just satisfied. There isn’t a hint of concern in his expression at all, though. 

“If I wasn't so sure of my own neediness, I'd have to assume you were the one that fell victim to that accursed tea, hm?" Miles crawls himself next to the other man, playfully toying with the tip of Phoenix's dick with a pointer finger, which had already grown hard once more. "Haven't you had enough of me?" he asks, coyly and through a small smile. 

Phoenix shivers, watching in awe as Miles tears him into shreds, poking different spots and trying his lucky stars for another go. Phoenix just giggles bashfully, hourglassing his hands over Miles' waist and hips. 

"I don't think I can have enough. God. " He hesitates, thumbs tracing the V of Miles' hips as Phoenix gets the opportunity to simply admire the delicate body before him. "You're so gorgeous. I fucking love your body." He had had countless fantasies wondering what it would look like in the past, and nothing even comes short to the real thing. Miles Edgeworth and his beautiful, fuckable figure--sexier than anything Phoenix could've imagined. Especially that flushed, begging cock of his. It seemed that, just like their heights, Miles was just a bit bigger, or longer, Phoenix could tell. Longer, paler, but just as sensitive, providing, and as willing as Phoenix's thick. 

He feels nails dig into his shoulders.

"D... Don't stare, Wright," Miles pleads, cloudy head beginning to clear but growing embarrassed at how he was still stuck in the firm grasp of the flower. Phoenix hums a bit of laughter, not tearing his eyes away from his temptation, his jewel on display. Still erect, still asking.

"Oh no. It's not wearing off, is it?" he complains, cheekily. He wraps his arms round Miles' ribs, pulling him into his lap and burying his nose into the crook of his neck. He speaks into Miles' shoulder. "I don't wanna be done." 

Miles sighs through a smile, running his nails through Phoenix's spikes. Perhaps the flower was having less and less of an effect--he had already climaxed twice--but at this point it was solely organic. Phoenix's true colors have shown him to be an erotic but incredibly eager man. Miles had him wrapped around his nimble, prosecuting finger.

He brings his face to Phoenix's head.

"Will you ever be, my little rabbit? -Oh!" He trills into Phoenix’s scalp, breath scattering across the area of his head and particularly enjoying the way Phoenix tenses beside him, goosebumps down his soft, flushed back and neck. He expects Phoenix to grab at him, yes, but not in the way that he does. 

Miles’ croons do something to Phoenix, already desperate, excited at far beyond measurable levels. His heart had thumped with joy until that last line, where Phoenix lost a bit of himself. With the libido of a spring bunny and the strength of, well, a man, which he is nothing but, Phoenix grabs Miles under the armpits, grunting and throwing his body back first into the mattress, leaving Miles lying vulnerably under him. Miles’ eyes bugging out, Phoenix dives into his lips once more, passionately prodding his mouth with a rough and curious tongue.

Miles snakes his arms past Phoenix’s neck, moaning against the other mouth and arching his back at the sudden sensations. Not that he was anywhere near disliking it--the wonderful taste of Phoenix being forced into him was already making his stomach churn and his dick twitch under the handsome navel pressing into it...

Phoenix’s bold hands probe, bound to the dedication of taking every inch of Miles for himself. He takes advantage of Miles’ cat-like arch and swoops under with an arm, reaching for his behind and groping his ass aggressively. My god, the number of years he had longed for that. Miles ‘ mmmph! ’s pleasantly against his lips, stroking Phoenix’s locks and back in praise and a request for more. Phoenix pulls away, short-winded and entranced at the now-helpless man below him.

He grins.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he laughs, growing more giddy at the way Miles smirks in response. Phoenix plays with him more, surprising him again with another playful squeeze. Miles moans lowly in his throat, digging the back of his skull into the bed. 

“God, fuck …” Phoenix starts, steadying his groping to a steady rhythm, trying to grasp as much as he can, the soft plush of Miles’ ass spilling out between his fingers. “I love your ass, Miles. I-” 

His fingers slip just far enough that Miles whimpers, swallowing a needier sound inside his throat and tugging tighter at the black hair in his grasp. 

Phoenix’s lips part, curiously watching the way Miles’ lower lip quivers as he brushes a finger delicately over his entrance.

“I haven’t done what you asked yet, have I?”

“Fuck me. Please.”  

“I’m afraid that’s true.”

There’s a tense silence. Phoenix moves to his elbow, brushing a hair out of Miles’ face with a need indescribable. 

“ Please tell me you have materials,” he begs, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.

Miles knows what he’s asking for, of course. But the look on Phoenix’s face--so boyish and excited as if he were a child in a candy-shop--would make it hard for anyone to believe that the candy he innocently desired was, well, the water-based lube hidden in the back of Miles’ sock drawer.

He can’t help but laugh beneath the man, bringing a loose back-of-the-palm to his mouth and flipping his head back at Phoenix’s giddiness. In return, Phoenix’s eyes light up at the sight, the sound of Miles’ pleasant laughter making him all the more attracted, eager, and in love with the idea of stealing third base.

“It’s in the top drawer of my dresser, you goon.”

Phoenix bursts into a beam, hoisting himself up and making a quick trip to the specified location like a puppy at the word ‘outside’. Miles rolls over on his side, propping his head up with his elbow resting on a pillow. 

“You’re awfully excited.” 

Phoenix giggles shamelessly. 

“How could I not be? I’m about to bang the hottest man alive ." He opens the drawer. "Ooh, classy. The sock drawer. Got any sexy garters in here?” 

Miles rolls his eyes and shakes his head ruefully with a smirk as if the other man could see him. Phoenix digs into the back, likely ruining the color coordination of the drawer, but Miles couldn’t care, as watching the elation unfold across the room was all he could pay attention to.

“Are you sure you even have the patience for that?” he snarks.

Phoenix turns around, bottle in hand and using his torso to bump the drawer closed. 

“Fair. Besides, I’d probably just want to rip them back off anyway,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows in such a way that it provokes another smile from the prosecutor. He leaps onto the bed, taking a seat on his ankles and flicking the cap off the lube with his thumb. “Here, lay on your back. I’ll be gentle, I promise. Unless you prefer I don’t, of course.”

Miles sighs through his nose, smiling and shaking his head lightly as he flips himself over. He watches as Phoenix drizzles the clear, thick fluid into his palm and rubs it between his fingers. He pours a lot , Miles notices. They make eye-contact as Phoenix sets the bottle down without closing it and reaches for Miles’ hand. Miles cocks an eyebrow as Phoenix transfers some of the lube into his hand by intertwining their fingers for a moment.

“You should... masturbate. W-while I prep you, I mean.” His heterochromatic stars of eyes are averted as he says this, his ears starting to glow as he suggests. He darts his eyes to and back away from Miles, honestly trying to stay looking, but the sight of Miles on his back, legs already open for him and hand slicked with fluid is too flustering for Phoenix’s own good. He adores it, regardless, however. “I want you to feel really, really good.” 

Miles’ heart thumps and his cock flinches, ready to be smothered in a slippery mess as soon as Miles can stop staring with hearts for eyes at the other man. Warmth and praise humidify the atmosphere, the soft glow of safety and jitters enough to build a man and melt him all over again in a constant loop of desire. Not waiting for a response, Phoenix gently grips the dough of Miles’ thigh and nudges it upward, asking Miles to hook a knee over Phoenix’s shoulder for easier access. 

Miles does it in a daze, ultimately deciding to let himself go, relax. He releases any tension in his shoulders and closes his eyes and he feels a finger gently rub the outer ring of his hole. He does as instructed, bringing his slicked hand to his dick and wetting it with a few long, slow strokes as he feels Phoenix slip a single finger inside of him. 

His breath hitches at the initial insertion, trying his hardest to keep tension at a low as Phoenix carefully approaches two-knuckles deep.

“Is this okay?” Phoenix asks, assuring himself of Miles’ comfort. He watches as Miles swallows and nods, feeling him loosen around the first finger. He curls his finger, spinning the tip inside and pressing against Miles’ walls while being mindful of his fingernails.

“ Mmmng, Phoenix,” he sighs, closing his hands into gentle fists like an infant on the brink of dreaming. He savors the feeling of a foreign hand playing with his smooth insides, as it had been so long since he had last experienced such. He knew his way around himself, obviously. He wasn’t a man completely without freetime. But the sensation of being explored, learned by another being was bliss. Especially when that other being was a man he loved incredibly, and ached to be held by for a long, long time. It still felt like a wonderful dream.

“I’m going to add another finger, okay?”

Miles churns the tip of his cock between his own two fingers, flicking with each movement and feeling the urge to buck his hips start to rise within him again. He doesn’t open his eyes, turning his head to the side and into the sheets--now bunched up and wrinkled beneath his limbs--and nods.

Phoenix slips a second finger in, earning a rewarding, “ ahh, ” as Miles’ ass is stretched further. Not to be full of himself, but Phoenix’s crotch begins to throb once more as Miles strokes himself at the mere width of two fingers and an occasional scissor, because it can only promise amazing things to come with the much, much wider diameter of his cock.

“ Shit, Phoenix. You feel incredible. ”

Phoenix smirks at that, watching the prosecutor grow more and more breathless at his touch. 

He decides to be a little less gentle, inching his fingers around in search of Miles' prostate by keeping track of what movements seem to make Miles squirm the most, and curling his fingers roughly when he finds that wonderful spot.

“ Ahh! Fuck, Phoenix,” he passionately moans, colvulsing and gripping the white sheets in his hand near his ear. “Phoenix, more, ” he pleads.

“More?” Phoenix mirrors. He lets his open hand walk up Miles’ chest, a minute drop of lube swishing between his thumb and pointer finger. He reaches for Miles’ nipple, gently caressing and pinching it. Miles chokes at this, trying his best to relax himself as he’s supposed to but failing miserably. It just feels so amazing . 

“More,” he repeats, speeding up the pace at which he jerks himself off. He knows it’s dangerous without how fired his hormones are, but he can’t possibly care. 

Especially when Phoenix takes his request to heart, pinching the now-erect nipple between his fingers as he forcefully shoves a third finger inside him, making Miles hiss and yelp at the sparks in play. Phoenix curls and straightens his appendages over and over, loosening and fingering Miles while watching in awe at the usually so-stoic man unraveling before his eyes. 

“Phoenix!,” he gasps, curling his toes and arching his back. His eyes are squeezed shut, and there’s hair creeping into his mouth and plastering itself against his lips. His breast, his prostate, and his cock all slick and stimulated at once. Within his repeated huffs and whines, he grips Phoenix’s wrist with his open hand like iron and drills into him with desperate, lustful eyes.

“Enough,” he breathes, loud enough for Phoenix to freeze. “Stop. Please, we need to start.”

Phoenix smiles cheekily, pulling his hand away from Miles’ grip and promptly reaching for the lube without missing a moment of those foggy silver irises. 

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” 

Curse him.

“Because… I won’t last long. Please.”

It’s less of a demand, which is what he intends it to be, and more of a whine, a whimper. Phoenix has no objections, his own dick already stone and eager. He doesn’t even ask, but Miles continues. 

“Hurry up and fuck me, Phoenix. Please. I beg of you.”

Somehow, when Phoenix hears these words, they’re different from the way he had heard them earlier that night. At first he didn’t notice, but Miles’ voice held a sort of control to it back then, a responsibility. A ‘fuck me, or I will die.’ And as incredibly arousing and incaptivating as it was, this time, Phoenix realizes, is the rawest vulnerability he had seen Miles in yet.

Not a, ‘fuck me, or I will die,’ but a, ‘Phoenix, I need you to fuck me, or I will die.’

And how could he possibly say no to that?

His cock now slathered in lube, Phoenix lifts Miles’ other leg over his shoulder, shuddering at the faint whine he hears from the other man as he first presses the head to Miles’ entrance. Miles reaches his hands far to Phoenix’s hips, the two guiding each other into penetration.

“Fuuuck. Miles,” Phoenix groans, gutturally as he slips inside. He holds still as Miles’ ass reaches the base of his cock, his full length inside, letting Miles adjust. He peels his eyes open to see Miles with his head flung all the way back, chest heaving as he gropes Phoenix’s upper thighs. He feels so full, eyes threatening to roll back into his head. They sit for a moment, rubbing each other reassuringly with tender fingers.

“I’m going to move now, is that okay?”

Phoenix’s honey-milk tenor sends a wave of heat through Miles’ figure. Irresistible.

Miles nods breathily. He would give every piece of himself to Phoenix if he’d just ask. He hears Phoenix smile softly, carefully pulling himself outward and making room to thrust back in once more. 

Miles strains a melted moan, the friction of Phoenix’s cock both stuffing him tight and grazing his walls making him squirm in the most delightful way. His head is rid of everything except Phoenix, the shocks zipping from every nerve ending through his body, and a desperation for climax, that flood of dopamine, the feeling of warm seed filling inside of him and splattering against his body. The body that he saw as weak, frail, helpless until the other man walked into his life. With each thrust, his vocal chords loosen and rid themselves of care, letting Miles lose himself in a hot, pink heaven atop his mattress.

“You feel so amazing, Miles.”

“I cannot stand the thought of less of you, Phoenix.”

“I’m moving faster.”

“Please, keep saying my name.”

“ Miles. ”

Through shuddered breaths and slaps of skin against skin, they adopt a pace of addictive, boundless penetrated fucking with involuntary bucking of the hips and clenches, feeling blood flood to their slick groins and tingles of static kiss every inch of their bodies. With every thrust there’s a whine, a gasp, a cry begging for more, regardless if there’s presence of words. Nails dig into skin, mouths grow dry from open jaws and passionate breaths. And what power they’d have if only they weren’t two men, if they were flexible enough to meet at the mouth and communicate with swipes of the tongue that shout, “I love you,” “I’m yours,” “Take me.”

Miles gets that familiar clench in his abdomen, thanking his lucky stars that his body was allowing for a third plateau in one night, tightening his jaw and groaning in the back of his throat. He flexes his legs, pulling Phoenix in closer, deeper with his knees as he curls his toes, approaching climax.

“Nn, I’m-” he swallows, “I’m, mm, I’m going to-” Miles mumbles, hardly able to finish his sentences. At the notice, Phoenix starts to pump faster, using his arm strength to pull Miles by the hips for a rougher thrust. He shivers, heard easily through his responsive moan, grasping at the air to reach a finish.

“Miles, please, please say my name when you do. Fuck, please, ” he begs, a weak crackle to his desperate voice as he does so. Miles stiffens at that, Phoenix’s whimpers burning themselves into his brain as he rises higher, higher-

“ Shit! Phoenix, I’m-” his legs flex, locking Phoenix inside of him as he climaxes with eyes rolled shut and slightly parted lips.

“ Phoenix! ”

Cum spurts and drips from his member, a surprising amount for the third time, draping his sensitive nipple and area of his chest. It leaks.

His name paired with the extraordinary enchantment of Miles clenching tightly around him drives Phoenix to the edge, thrusting a mere few times more into the cramped orifice before he follows after, coming inside the man with a loud, pleasured moan that rings around the bedroom. 

Slowly but surely, the two release their grips on skin, sheets, hair--whatever there was to grasp in the heat of orgasm--and part, Phoenix pulling out of Miles’ full ass and toppling onto him, the two of them breathless and hot, skin damp and searing as they bask in the glow. 

Phoenix falls back into his home base: the crook of Miles’ neck, panting heavily through a weak, but oh so genuine grin.

“That…” he huffs, “was incredible. ”

Miles nods, still raking his brain for even a smidge of his vocabulary, which is usually so full. To show he concurs, he sidles through Phoenix's hair, stretching his neck down to plant a delicate kiss onto the attorney's forehead. Phoenix sighs dreamily, cartoon hearts practically floating out of his ears and popping every which way. He nuzzles his nose into Miles, the two of them content with silence and slowing heart rates.

They don’t do much for a while after. Miles, now with a clear head, expects awkwardness and discomfort, and maybe there would have been if it wasn’t with the man lying next to him. Surely the sun had set, and surely if it was another, he would be lying alone, perhaps already showered and asleep or even grasping at strings without the reinforcement Phoenix provided against that accursed flowery tea.

Phoenix... goodness. The amount that Phoenix provided.

Not only had Miles’... primal needs been helped, but he had been pampered. In his own home, Phoenix offered to help clean up, let Miles take the first dip under the shower head, cook some sort of dinner (“Wright, should I really trust that you have enough cooking experience not to set fire to my kitchen?” “Ha Ha. I’ll brew you more of your love-y tea if you keep it up.”) and overall stick around. Many of these offers were left in vain, though, but not because they were insincere. For whatever reason, instead of shriveling into a blanket of shame at the post-intimacy with someone new, Miles couldn’t allow himself to let the man go. 

He insisted Phoenix stay, wrapping his arms around bare skin and holding the humid connection together. It’s a force controlling him, a will of avoiding being alone that he wasn’t aware he had. He was so used to watching others go without concern, little care about whether or not they would return to him.

But Phoenix was different. God, was he different. It was a different hurt seeing the freckled skin of flushed back muscles instead of a face, which is far more capable of giving the attention Miles really needed.

The sound of sidling skin against the white silk sheets is halted as Miles grabs Phoenix’s wrist, actions already pleading on their own for the man to stay. Phoenix turns his head, peering down at Miles with hair in his face and head buried within the feather pillow below him.

“Miles…?”

“Don’t go.”

Phoenix’s lips part, pausing thoughtfully until he lies himself back down, brushing the silver hair out of the other man’s eyes. He expects to see dread in sunken eyes, a sight that wasn’t uncommon with Miles, but for the first time in a while, after everything the night brought, there was instead a glimmer of hope. Miles didn’t helplessly watch him go--hell, he wasn’t going to allow it--hoping Phoenix would return to him. 

“I’m not leaving. I promise,” Phoenix whispers. He reaches downward, gently grabbing a slightly swollen and pale hand and bringing it to his lips. Before he kisses it, he looks up, meeting with Miles’ eyes his heterochromatic blue. “You want... more than what just happened, right? Are we...”

Miles pauses, then sighs through a smile. At the sound, Phoenix’s lips curl as he kisses the back of Miles’ hand.

“I believe we are on the same page,” he assures. Phoenix scoots closer, pulling Miles into a firm hug and pressing Miles’ temple against his beating heart. “I think I could live without that tea, though.”

“Awww, what? I thought it was fun.”

Miles chuckles to himself, ghosting a finger along Phoenix’s torso.  “I don’t need any aphrodisiac to be attracted to you, Wright.” 

Phoenix stiffens, perking up and heart-eyes widening, giggling bashfully. He is well aware his pulse can be felt by the other man through the skin of his chest, but he can’t bring himself to care. There’s silence for a few moments, until Phoenix, looking up at the ceiling, speaks out, bluntly. 

“I like you.”

Miles swallows, cocking an eyebrow and doing his best to sneer from the very top of his eye.

“What are we, children?” 

Phoenix shrugs, a smirk on his face.

 “Well, no, but it’s what I’ve wanted to say since we were, I’m pretty sure.”

“...You’re joking with me.” 

Phoenix closes his eyes and flips his head back.

“I’m not. It’s a little ridiculous, I know,” he laughs. He shifts, intertwining one of his legs with Miles. It’s getting rather stuffy under the covers, but he doesn’t care. “This isn’t a dream, right?” Miles rolls his eyes.

“Even if it wasn’t, how am I supposed to prove that to you?” 

Phoenix purses his lips in thought for a moment, then beams. 

“Welllllll… if it were a dream… you could wake me up by turning it into a wet dr-” He earns a light slap on the ribs. 

“Oh, behave. You’ve had enough,” Mies snickers.

“I felt you hitting me! It’s official. Not dreaming.” 

It’s so... natural . The sound of breaths, the atmosphere. Miles doesn’t feel alone. There isn’t a blank space where Phoenix should be, both literally and figuratively. He was there. Phoenix was there, and he didn’t feel guilty lying next to him with the weight of his feelings holding him there. 

Miles mumbles. It’s soft and almost indecipherable, but enough for Phoenix to feel the vibrations of his voice, the emotion running through his veins.

“I love you.” 

Assured, unafraid of coming onto Miles too quickly, chasing him away, overwhelming him with his want, Phoenix breathes away his walls, blowing them down without any fear. 

“I love you too. Can we…”

Miles scoots upward, aligning the two mens’ faces. Phoenix continues. 

“Can we make this a thing? I mean... us?” 

Loving glances and a genuine smile of relief. Miles was never good with words, sometimes even with a simple yes. He had no problem abandoning such communication, leaning in and-

Being interrupted by the shrill sound of a MIDI arrangement of the Steel Samurai theme. It’s blasting from an uncaring cell phone tucked into the pocket of Phoenix’s dark washed jeans, abandoned on the floor. Miles’ jaw clenches, slightly annoyed but responsible enough to brush it off. 

Phoenix on the other hand grows bug-eyed, meeting Miles’ gaze in a silent and profuse apology. He scrambles across the sheets, leaping himself off the bed and feeling around for the cell phone. When he eventually discovers it, he swipes the green button on the lit up touch screen to pick up the call, eagerly tucking himself back into the bed to shelter his nude body from the cold. 

“H-Hey, Maya,” he answers. He sounds concerned, but only for his own well-being. 

“Nick! What the heck! Where are you?” The voice on the other end is loud and exaggerated.

“I’m still at Edgeworth’s. We ah...” His eyes trail to the naked Miles lying next to him, a hand reaching to cover his blushing neck as if the girl could see. “We lost track of time. Sorry about that.” 

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it, bub! Two HOURS? It’s past dinnertime! You said you’d be home to make some grub for me and Pearly! What are you guys even doing!?” 

“Yeah... uh. See, about that-”

“Actually, nevermind, you can tell me when you get home. Your apartment is so boring and I’m HUNGRYYYY!” 

Phoenix glances back to Miles, wondering if he can hear the conversation on the other line. He prays to himself that he can’t, because if Phoenix tells the truth, he knows Maya’s reaction was going to be anything but calm. 

Though, she was also hungry, so he supposes Maya is going to be loud and obnoxious anyhow. There really wasn’t an easy way out, but he still loves her. Not unless he decided to leave for the night, which was not an idea he planned on entertaining. 

“Yeah, uh. About that, Maya. I don’t think I’ll be home tonight. You can make some frozen pizzas, if you wan-”

“WHAT? Nick, please don’t tell me you got hit by a bus or something. What hospital are you in?”

“Hey hey hey! I’m not in the hospital. ” He runs a hand through his spikes. “Jeez. You have no faith in me. I’m fine. I’m just… going to stay at Edgeworth’s for tonight.” 

All that can be heard is the sound of the phone line crackling and the faint voice of Pearl in the background. He can’t understand what she’s saying, and it isn’t likely that Maya is listening anyway. 

“...why?” 

Phoenix doesn’t answer. He planned on it, but his throat chokes up and he feels his ears go red again. Hopefully Maya was smart enough to put two and two togeth-

“HOLD ON. DID YOU...” 

“I’ll explain to you later, Maya, goodby-”
“ARE YOU AND EDGEWORTH GONNA BAN-”

“Pearls is right there, Maya. Goodbye,” he says, frantically ending the call and putting the phone face down onto the mattress. Miles watches in confusion at Phoenix brings his knees to his chest and curls up, slightly embarrassed. “She’s too smart.”

“Who, Miss Fey?”

“Unfortunately.” 

The cell phone buzzes shortly after, but Phoenix was expecting this. He flips it over, reading the notification. 

‘My’ [6:57 P.M.]

YOU owe me an explanation when you get home tomorrow

and also dinner

but otherwise, OW OW ;)

HAVE FUN TIGRE

He sighs into his knees, groaning. Phoenix is at least thankful that he doesn’t have to deal with her until tomorrow. He’s also even more thankful that Miles either isn’t aware that someone already knows, or he doesn’t mind. That blows at least a little relief over him, at least until he knows for sure. 

However, Phoenix wasn’t about to have an amazing night plagued by worry. Walls had been broken, confessions had been made. He turns to Miles. His...partner.

“Dinner?” he asks, a tired smile painting his lips.

As Miles looks over at that man, Phoenix Wright, he is suddenly reminded of everything he had been offered, everything prior to the simple idea of dinner. A gentle hand to hold, an attorney’s badge pinned against the glass with that determination Miles loved. Here he was, being offered the simple gift of Phoenix Wright before him once again, even after feeling as though Phoenix had given all that he could. But he continued to give. Dinner? What a fool.

What a fool Miles Edgeworth was, that is. 

He admires the tanned man--no, his boyfriend -- a few seconds longer, heart pounding.

“I’d like that.”