Work Text:
It was late night at the Prosecutors Office. Most people had left for the day, but there was light still glowing through one of the office windows. Miles Edgeworth sat at his desk, his signature magenta jacket hanging on the nearby coat rack, toiling over lists of evidence and transcripts of interrogations for his case the next day. It had already been a long day for the prosecutor, but he was determined to have everything perfect and in order for tomorrow’s trial. An empty tea cup sat next to Miles’ stack of paperwork, having already drunk several of them in order to keep himself going. Much to his dismay, even the caffeine circulating through his bloodstream could not keep the words on his documents from blurring. He rubbed his eyes in order to refocus them, but after a few more moments of reading, his vision would become blurry once again. Yawning, Miles set his pen down and stretched his arms out, before resting them on his desk and using them as a pillow.
I am not going to sleep. I am simply resting my eyes for a few minutes.
*
Miles was wandering through the halls of an unknown building. He did not know where he was or why he was there, but he did know that he wished that he was some place else. The corridors were a bit too narrow for his liking, and the building's lighting seemed to be inadequate as the halls were cast in heavy shadow. As he aimlessly explored his surroundings, he was suddenly struck with the realization that he needed a restroom. Badly. He began to run through the unfamiliar passageways, hoping that he would come across a lavatory. Turning a corner, he finally spotted one, internally cheering as he jogged up to the restroom door.
As soon as Miles stepped inside, he discovered that the restroom was a little odd. There were plenty of toilets, but...
Where the hell are the stalls!?
The restroom had its share of patrons (both male and female, he was appalled to find), but none of them seemed bothered by the fact that there was no privacy whatsoever. Normally, that would have been a problem for Miles, being that he was very bladder shy. He always used a stall in public restrooms, never the urinals, in order to ensure his solitude. Due to the fact that his situation was becoming rather urgent, he decided that he would just have to swallow his pride and force himself to go.
Miles walked up to one of the toilets and looked around quickly. Seeing that nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, he quickly unzipped his pants, hoping to maybe finish up before anyone noticed him. Slipping his member out of his underwear and holding it in his hand, he tried to start the stream. Much to his horror, he found himself unable to go. He let out an exasperated sigh as he willed his body to cooperate, desperately wanting relief.
Come on.... come on.... please!!
No matter how much he mentally pleaded, not a single drop came out, almost as if his body was holding back for some reason. Running his other hand through his hair in frustration, he glanced over his shoulder only to realize that everyone in the restroom was staring intently at him.
*
Miles awoke with a start, snapping his head up from his arms.
W-what a surreal nightmare!
As he tiredly rubbed his eyes, it hit him: he really didneed a restroom.
Ah. No wonder I had such a peculiar dream.
Thanking every deity in the universe that he didn't end up wetting himself in his sleep, the prosecutor carefully removed himself from his chair. However, as soon as he got to his feet, a sharp pain shot through the lower part of his abdomen, causing him to gasp and clutch his chair for support.
Oh... oh god. I didn't drink that much tea, did I?!
Waiting a moment for the sense of urgency to subside, Miles straightened up and awkwardly walked out of his office, heading towards the restroom on his floor. He was glad that there were not many people in the building that time of night, as he didn’t want to be seen moving so inelegantly. As he walked down the hallway, the pressure on his bladder became slightly more annoying with each step.
Just a little further, just a little further, just.... what the hell is that?
"That" was a piece of typing paper which had been taped to the restroom door. It bore the following message:
Due to an unexpected main pipe burst, water to all of the floors except the first floor has been shut off. Repairs will be expedited as soon as possible, but in the meantime, please use the first floor restroom. We apologize for the inconvenience. –Building Management.
Miles cursed under his breath as he read the notice. He tried the doorknob anyway, but it was locked. Squeezing his thighs together, he started to panic slightly.
Now, now. No need to worry; I can definitely make it downstairs in time.
Steeling himself, Miles walked briskly to the elevator, inhaling deeply before pressing the button to call the lift up. Due to past experiences, he normally stayed away from the moving deathtraps, opting instead to take the stairs. His situation was quickly becoming dire, however, and he decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. As he waited, he paced the area in front of the elevator doors, realizing with no small amount of irritation that he had already reached the stage where it was impossible to stand still without the pressure becoming nearly intolerable. The elevator was talking a tortuously long time to arrive, causing Miles' thoughts to stray to treacherous places; after all, what if it stopped before it could reach its destination? Anything could happen, such as an earthquake or a power failure. Just as the doors opened with a jarring dinging sound, Miles was struck with the sudden and vivid mental picture of him being found in the stuck elevator, huddling in the corner, shaking and sobbing and sitting in a puddle of his own urine.
Violently shaking his head, Miles made a critical decision. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, take the risk of riding the lift with a full bladder ready to burst. Turning his back on the elevator with an air that might have resembled defiance if he hadn't been uncontrollably squirming, he strode purposely towards the door at the end of the hall that lead to the stairs.
This is a much safer option. I will make it downstairs.
Groaning inwardly, he began to uncomfortably walk down the first few steps of what would be 12 flights of stairs, longing for the sweet relief that awaited him at the bottom.
Unbeknownst to Miles, as he gradually made his way down, a visitor was making his way up to the prosecutor's office. Phoenix Wright stood in the lobby of the first floor, tapping his foot as he as he waited for the elevator to arrive.
Sheesh! Was it all the way at the top of the building or something?
As he waited for the lift, he allowed his mind to wander. He knew that Miles was working late, because really, when did he not? The defense attorney grinned to himself.
You know you've fallen hard for a guy when you find even his workaholic habits endearing.
After a short wait that seemed way too long for the eager man, the elevator doors opened. Phoenix stepped in and pressed the button for the 12th floor, followed by the button to close the doors. As the elevator ascended, he thought more about his impromptu visit: just how long had he and Miles been lovers, anyway? The transition from rivals to colleagues to friends to more than friends was so gradual that the defense attorney had trouble pinpointing the exact moment in which they became lovers. Not that Miles ever used that word; he much preferred the term "partners."
"Partners." Right. Fighting for truth and justice by day, screwing each other like rabbits by night. Sounds like the premise to a late night courtroom drama... I don't see why producers aren't falling over themselves trying to cast us.
He chuckled lightly to himself.
I crack myself up sometimes.
Finally reaching the 12th floor, the elevator doors opened and Phoenix stepped out. He swiftly walked down the hall to Miles’ office and was somewhat surprised to see that the door had been cracked open.
"Miles...?" Phoenix said softly as he poked his head around the office door, expecting to see the prosecutor laboring away at his desk. He blinked a few times when he saw that the office was completely vacant. Scratching his head, he entered the room, wondering where Miles might have disappeared to. After doing a quick survey of his surroundings, he spotted the familiar magenta blazer hanging on the coat rack.
He couldn't have gotten far. Probably just went to the bathroom or something.
He entertained the thought of surprising Miles in the restroom, but decided against it, knowing how private the man was about his... voiding habits.
"Private" doesn't even begin to do it justice. This is the man who turns on the sink tap and the shower tap so that I can't hear him in there. He'd probably die of embarrassment if word got out that he poops just like everyone else....
Phoenix involuntarily shuddered, a remark he made regarding a previous love interest of his easily coming to mind.
Now that's a road I don't want to go down again.
After standing around shuffling his feet for a few moments, Phoenix flopped down onto that "much more expensive, stylish and comfortable than yours" office sofa. He closed his eyes as he waited for his lover to return, hoping that the prosecutor wouldn’t mind the surprise visit. Even though he knew that Miles was working hard on tomorrow’s case, he was thinking that he could talk the other man into taking a break for some dinner. A sly smile crossed his face as he hoped that he might also be able to convince him to engage in some other “activities” as well.
*
As Miles descended the stairs, he found that it was becoming increasingly difficult to walk with each floor that he passed. He grasped onto the handrail as he made his way down, step by awkward step. He had to stop a couple of times in order to maintain control, taking shallow breaths to help him concentrate. The prosecutor knew that the situation was truly desperate when he caught himself fantasizing about just stopping and relieving himself in one of the stairwell corners. Miles mentally slapped himself for the thought; it wasn't as if he could get away with doing that unseen, as he knew that there were security cameras monitoring the staircases. He would never be able to live that down, never mind the fact that the action would undoubtedly reap serious repercussions. It was already bad enough that the cameras had caught him looking so undignified going down the stairs; he didn't need to be hit with a charge for defacing a building that was the property of the state. Grinding his teeth, he kept on stepping downwards, letting out a weak "Oh, thank god!" when the exit finally came into view.
By the time Miles at long last reached the door that led to the first floor lobby, he was nearly crying with relief. He was almost there, the restroom wasn't far beyond that door, all he had to do was turn the doorknob, and...
...it wouldn't budge.
He tried the doorknob once more before rattling it violently, letting out some sort of frustrated noise that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a snarl.
Alright. Calm down.... perhaps it is simply stuck.
Miles shoved his shoulder against the metal door with all his might as he turned the doorknob, hoping against hope that he could manage to pop it open, but to no avail. The door remained closed.
Come on.... come on.... blast it! COME ON!!
Oh, what am I doing?
Trying to budge a locked door.... I am such a fool!
And to think I came all this way for nothing.
Damn it, this door needs to open!
For a moment Miles just stood there seething, trying to will the door open with his glare. After giving the doorknob one last desperate shake, he slid helplessly to the floor as tears of frustration pricked at his eyes. Fear washed over him in waves.
I.... I really can't take this much longer.
A shiver ran down his spine as he clenched his muscles with all his might, goose bumps prickling up on his skin. The tension in his bladder was becoming unbearable, and the only thing he wanted in the world right then was for that door to open. Or for a toilet to spontaneously materialize in front of him. Was that really too much to ask? Miles’ mind raced as he tried to figure out a solution to the situation that didn't involve wetting his pants.
I could make it back up to the second floor and take the elevator down.
Earthquakes. Power outages.
It is only one floor.
Darkness. Trapped.
Drawing his legs towards his chest and resting his forehead on his knees, he realized that he was simply unable to use the elevator, no matter how practical it would have been. He continued to sit there, silently cursing all of the tea that he drank, until a bladder spasm hit him unexpectedly. Gasping loudly, he grabbed his crotch.
Oh god! I’m going to let go right here if I don't do something right now!
Miles quickly made a decision, even though it was getting increasingly difficult for him to concentrate. It wasn’t his preferred choice, but it was better than the risk of humiliating himself in a stuck elevator, and better than the cameras catching him urinating in the stairwell. With a determined look on his face, Miles slowly picked himself off of the floor, although once he stood up, he immediately had to squeeze his thighs together to maintain control. Hunched over and wincing, he awkwardly shuffled over to the stairs, grabbing a hold of the banister. He pulled himself up the staircase, each step a battle between his will and his body. Reaching the landing of each floor was a small victory for the prosecutor, although the pressing need to relieve himself was becoming stronger and stronger. It was not a constant ascent: he did have to pause a few times in order to fight for control whenever a particularly strong twinge crossed his lower abdomen. He groaned loudly as he wearily eyed the flights of stairs above him.
I just have to make it to my office.
There were no video cameras in his office, meaning that there was no chance of anyone seeing him embarrass himself. There, he could relieve himself in his trashcan, in his vase, in the hand-painted porcelain teapot that he had imported from France, anything that wasn't his clothing. Finally, after what felt like eternity in hell to the prosecutor, Miles had made it to the 12th floor door. He practically knocked the door off its hinges, the urgency of the situation having now reached a critical level. He was breathing quickly and shallowly, and he honestly didn’t know if his bladder was going to hold out for the last minute or so it was going to take to walk to his office. Whining at the thought, Miles pressed on, now having to constantly clutch his groin in order to physically keep any liquid from seeping out.
Despite the fact that his bladder seemd to be constantly spasming as he desperately clamped off the impending flow, Miles somehow made it to the door of his office. He pushed the offending door out of the way as fast as he could, the doorknob banging into the wall in the process. Stepping into his office, he slammed the door shut behind him as swiftly as he had opened it, and not a moment too soon; right as Miles heard the door click, he knew that it was too late. Whimpering in defeat, he let his head fall back against the door as the relief that he was so desperate for finally, involuntarily, came to him. He felt his face grow hot as the flow began, a soft moan escaping his lips as the overwhelming sensation of relief washed over him. Even though he could feel the hot liquid run down his legs, and even though he could hear it spill onto his polished hardwood floor, Miles couldn't bring himself to even try to stop the stream. There was no denying that he felt extremely ashamed of himself at that moment (Not even Pess wets on the floor!), but he couldn’t get over how good it felt to just let it go. His eyes fluttered shut in mortified bliss.
Damn it all. I was so close.
After what seemed like full minutes, Miles had completely voided himself. His magenta pants were now completely ruined... it was a good thing that he owned four other pairs, because there was no way that he was going to explain this to the dry cleaners. He sighed deeply, his eyes fully closed, content to bask in the sensation of a no-longer-straining bladder for the time being...
...unitl he heard a soft cough come from the direction of his couch. Eyes snapping open, he quickly turned his head only to see the last person in the word that he wanted to see at that moment. Phoenix Wright, his rival and lover, was gaping at him in disbelief. Miles felt his heart stop.
For a long, painful moment, they just stared at each other, the awkwardness in the air so thick that it couldn't be cut with a mere knife. No, perhaps a chainsaw would be better suited for the task. After what appeared to be some mental debate, Phoenix was the first to break the silence. Somebody had to.
“Miles... now, don't get mad, but that didn't really happen, did it?”
Miles looked down to see the amber puddle pooled at his feet, its scent suddenly becoming extremely apparent. His already-flushed face turned an interesting shade of purple as he fought back the urge to rip his hair out. Instead, he looked back up to meet the inquisitive eyes of his partner, who also seemed to be embarrassed by the situation if the bright red blush streaking across his cheekbones was any indication.
He's embarrassed?
HE'S EMBARRASSED!?
Clenching his teeth, Miles said the only thing he could think of saying in his anger and humiliation:
"What the hell are you doing in my office?"
Scratching the back of his head, Phoenix gave his sheepish response.
"I came by to see if you wanted to go to dinner tonight. I figured that you hadn’t eaten yet, but…" his voice trailed off as his eyes wandered back to the source of Miles’ mortification.
"Get out," The prosecutor demanded suddenly, his voice biting.
"Miles, listen. I-" Phoenix attempted to reason with his lover, but he was cut short.
"I said out!" Miles commanded, his voice cracking slightly as he willed tears of humiliation not to fall until he was alone.
"Look, are you sure you don't want to hug it out? I don't mind getting a little damp, but you can take your pants off first if it would make you more comfor-"
"OUT!"
Phoenix sighed in defeat as he stood up from the couch and headed towards the door. Ever the gentleman, Miles opened the door for him, being sure to hide himself behind it as he motioned for the defense attorney to exit. Phoenix tried to make eye contact with the prosecutor, but the man seemed determined to stare down at the floor. Shrugging, Phoenix stepped over the puddle in front of the door, whispering a quick "I'll call you later" as he walked by. His answer to that statement was the door slamming on him as soon as he exited the office.
As soon as he was truly by himself, Miles buried his face in his hands, choking out the sob that he had only barely been able to hold back. It was strange... his legs felt so cold yet his face felt so hot.
Why did it have to be him?
Being found in a stuck elevator would have been better than this.
Oh, who am I kidding? There was nothing wrong with that elevator.
Damn it! If only I wasn't such a coward!
...I'll be surprised if he doesn't leave me after this.
Deep down, Miles knew that Phoenix wouldn't leave him over something like this. Still, he knew that it would be a long time before he would be able to look that man in the eye again. Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Cringing when he saw that it too was slightly damp, he flipped it open before selecting the first person on his contact list.
"Good evening, Detective." ... "Yes, I realize that it's late!" ... "Look, I need you to bring some items to my office, immediately." ... "A hairdryer and a bottle of Febreze."
Miles' eyes flicked to his wet floor.
"...And a large sponge." ... "If you value your paycheck, it would behoove you not to ask meaningless questions!" ... "I'll buy you lunch tomorrow if you hurry." ... "I'm aware that I have court tomorrow, you buffoon! What I mean is that I'll give you money so you can buy your own food!"... "Fine! I'll take you somewhere after the trial instead, now will you cease your inane objections!?" ... "Yes, thank you, detective."
Miles clicked his phone shut before proceeding to bang his head against the wall.
*
Heaving a weary sigh, Phoenix leaned against the hallway wall. He closed his eyes and recalled what he had just seen: the look on Miles’ face as he unabashedly wet himself in his office, the way his cheeks flushed and his eyes fluttered shut... moaning slightly, Phoenix realized that it was similar to the expression that Miles had whenever he was brought to orgasm.
Only Miles. Only Miles could make peeing in your pants look hot!
He slid his hand down towards his groin, ghosting his fingers over the suspicious bulge that was now there. He exhaled the breath that he had no idea he was holding, slightly disturbed by the fact that he was so aroused by the sight of his lover wetting himself.
Well, I’d better go take care of this... shame that Miles didn't want to "hug it out" like I so kindly suggested.
As he made his way towards the elevator, he couldn't stop a wicked grin from crossing his face as he began plotting ways to make Miles do that again.