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So. This is new and not at all how he expected this evening to go.
That is, of course, Edgeworth pressing him flush against a wall and kissing him with all the desperation of a parched man upon reaching a desert oasis. Phoenix can’t say he’s faring much better, clinging back like he’s afraid his knees will buckle otherwise. In his own defence, he’s currently operating on a strange cocktail of confusion, pure instinct, and a new spike of adrenaline.
Edge- hmm. Phoenix has just about enough remaining brain capacity to consider that it feels weird to think about him with professional distance like that when he currently has his tongue in his mouth.
Miles, then, he decides with a certain kind of glee.
Miles isn’t touching him anywhere with his hands, which are currently planted against the wall like a cage at about waist height – which is a shame since they’d otherwise be planted against Phoenix’s bare skin. For the most part, Miles has him pinned with the length of his body, which is still pressing into him wonderfully close. Meanwhile, Phoenix’s hands had started on Miles’ shoulders, but have since migrated to a more natural position looping around his neck.
Phoenix kind of wants this kiss to last forever. He mourns the fact that it’s physically impossible to do so.
The need for oxygen forces their lips to disconnect. Thankfully, it doesn’t instantly break the spell. Every bit of electricity continues to buzz insistently through his nervous system, in fact even louder than when they’d been kissing. With the lack of light in the hotel room, Miles stands as more of a silhouette, and Phoenix can’t help but wish he could see his face in high definition.
“Edgeworth-“
Miles’ gaze seems to lock dead onto Phoenix. “Don’t,” he says, voice rough, but somehow also pleading.
(Don’t? Don’t what?!)
Apparently, it’s not ‘don’t continue kissing me’, because Miles reinitiates that activity immediately. Phoenix obviously has no objections. In fact, he’s delighted to find that, for lack of a better term, Miles is being… sloppy with it. Phoenix can’t help but be endeared, especially from someone like him who’s usually so refined and perfect in everything else.
Phoenix is so thrilled to get lost in him. A brief consideration that he might have dreamed up this entire scenario crosses his mind, but then Miles is still kissing him and it’s so raw and desperate and so so real. All Phoenix wants is him and closer. He can’t really even be much closer, but that’s irrelevant.
Somehow, this feels inevitable. Sure, Phoenix hadn’t imagined quite like this, but nonetheless… Miles, Miles, Miles. He’s flowing through his veins already, and his immune system is doing absolutely nothing to reject it. Is there still thunder outside? Phoenix doesn’t know. His own pulse is so much louder…
Maybe he’s entered some kind of hypoxic state of false euphoria. It’s possible, that Miles is kissing him so good his brain cells fried themselves and he forgot how to breathe through his nose. That, or perhaps Miles has some kind of fancy lip balm laced with LSD which might explain why Phoenix feels he could just about float off the floor right now. He almost starts laughing at the idea, but then he feels something unexpected and entirely more distracting pressed up against his thigh.
(Oh?)
(Oh!)
(Oh.)
(Oh…)
“Oh-“ Phoenix thinks he gets out, but it becomes more of a whine as it leaves his mouth.
A lot of things cross his mind in quick succession. To try and untangle it a little, surprise is one of them. Making out is one thing, but this… just from a kiss? Phoenix has no immediate issues with the situation. In fact, he figures he’s about to get there himself quite rapidly at this point, now he knows.
(…Because of me, Miles? I’m flattered. And willing to take responsibility effective immediately.)
So, surprise is one thing, along with the immediate desire that pulses through him like hot syrup.
There is, however, a more uncomfortable feeling too. A voice in the back of his head screaming like they’re crossing into a dangerous territory, something that’s only going to end up badly if they just rush ahead guns blazing.
Phoenix breaks the kiss, almost panting now as he tries to think of any coherent words. He doesn’t get very far, because Miles just takes the opportunity to kiss his jaw. Maybe he means to do it, or maybe it’s hard to aim in such darkness, but either way Phoenix goes pliant almost immediately. His body is a traitor, his neck tilting like it’s an instinct, and Miles takes him up on the offer without hesitation, lips and teeth fixing on his pulse point.
(Eat me. Eat me any time you like.)
Miles finally moves his hands then, too, one of them gripping at Phoenix’s waist. It elicits a shiver, to feel his scalding warm hand against his skin. Finding the position of his own arms more awkward like this, Phoenix somehow manages to manoeuvre one of them between their bodies, and then around Miles’ back, gripping at his silk pyjama shirt for dear life. His other hand finds its way to Miles’ hair, not pulling him, but rather pressing him firmer against his neck.
In truth, they’re completely tangled together like this. Phoenix loves it, every second of it. He’s sure the way he can’t stop his gasps and keens is getting that fact across loud and clear. He can’t help but pull Miles in closer still, like he wants to feel his heartbeat pound against his. If Miles is trying to seduce him at this point, or at least if that was his plan to begin with, then he wins. He’s succeeded. Very much, yes.
Weirdly, the fire that races through him when their hips end up colliding properly is what knocks a bit of sense back into him. His knees really do almost buckle, probably would have if not for the press of Miles’ hands. Even if Phoenix wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now, how could he not be with Miles sucking at his jugular like he can’t get enough? And yeah, the friction is delicious, even through the layers of fabric that still separate them. Not that Miles’ pyjama bottoms are acting like much of a barrier. And, god, the hitched whine Miles makes at the brief contact is possibly the hottest thing Phoenix has heard in his life.
He wants, almost beyond the point of rationality. Shifts his legs apart just a little more so that Miles leans for between them. Subconsciously or not, his hand on Miles’ back pressures him in closer, serving to align them closer still until the length of Miles’ erection pressing up against his turns into more of a constant than a glancing hit. Miles throbs into him like that, and Phoenix just about evaporates.
The escalation, though, burns hot and fast enough to crash him back down. The sensation is more of an immediate gratification, less head-spinning and floating. Whatever they’re doing now- dry-humping, he supposes- is really definitely for sure crossing a line. This is all just so much all at once, like Miles has just detonated a dam without any forewarning. Any more and he’ll end up drowning, they both will. There’s still a chance, at this point, to run away into the bathroom and deal with this the sensible way. Probably.
Phoenix sets his arms on Miles’ shoulders, pushing him back before he overheats any further. “Wait a second-“
“What is it?” Miles is still so close to him, he can feel his breath against his lips. His voice, so low and strained, makes Phoenix shudder down to his bones.
At that moment, lightning flashes outside, briefly casting the room in brightness. It’s just a glimpse, but he sees the intense maelstrom in Miles’ eyes, his mouth so wet and red and so kiss swollen. He’s reverent like this. Phoenix is nearly overcome with the desire to fall to his knees before him… to rip out his very soul and hold it out like an offering.
“I-is this really okay?” Phoenix stutters. It’s not what he was supposed to say. “Shouldn’t we- uhm- talk, or-“
Miles’ hand squeezes his waist hard. “Unnecessary.”
He kisses Phoenix on the mouth again, then. The first is more like a chaste peck, the second pressing deeper. It’s all too easy to submit to. How is it that Miles kisses just like he argues? He leads Phoenix so naturally, almost like he’s twisting him, daring him into making the move to deepen their embrace for himself.
(But we should still slow down, shouldn’t we?)
“Really-“ Phoenix tries again, though it’s hard to speak with his mouth muffled. “I mean it.”
Another kiss comes, to his neck again this time, and Miles’ hand slides firm across his stomach until his fingers slip just around an inch beneath his waistband. “Do you?”
“Hah…” Phoenix gasps, his hips bucking up on their own, searching for more of that heat.
Miles finally leans back a little. “You think too loud.”
Phoenix gulps. “Can’t help that.”
A sigh. “…Do you want to stop?”
“No!” He answers immediately. “I just-“
Too impulsive, Phoenix quickly realises once the words have already slipped out. But honest. It’s not that he doesn’t want this. It’s more that he can’t fully rationalise a world in which Miles Edgeworth storms into his room, kisses him to the point of insanity, and offers a handjob to boot. Or… maybe the possibility of a handjob? Phoenix isn’t entirely sure where Miles is going with this. He wants to find out. He also wants to run into the storm raging outside without stopping to look back over his shoulder.
Miles squeezes his waist even tighter. “Then shut up for once in your life.”
(Well, okay then… Guess I’ll just debate this on my own.)
There’s still a part of Phoenix that knows this is a bad idea. However, that part of him is a lot quieter than the part that really wants Miles as close as possible immediately. It’s not like he really needs to be worried about whether Miles wants this, right? Considering the evidence, it’s an open and shut case.
Some things are quite easy to deduce. The first, clearly, is that Miles is turned on. A lot turned on. However, this isn’t meant to be some kind of romantic confession. If it had been, Phoenix thinks even a guy as aloof as Miles would at least let him get a complete sentence in. No, Miles is being snappy, he wants Phoenix to shut up. This is almost certainly a casual thing, then. In fact, thinking back to what Miles told him at first, ‘I can’t sleep’, this must be more of a distraction. Stress relief, maybe. If Miles really doesn’t want him to speak, then he’s probably here because Phoenix happens to be the only person available within arm’s reach.
Phoenix thinks he’s okay with that. It’s not like he’s some blushing maiden– he’s participated in a few one-night stands before (though, never stone cold sober like this). Not that he ever found those experiences that enjoyable overall, but the double-whammy of ‘single parent’ and ‘night shift worker’ isn’t exactly conducive to much of a love life otherwise. It’s a healthier way to drown out the noise than getting fully drunk, anyway. Probably.
There’s also another thing, he thinks, as Miles’ lips collide hot and heavy against his. Miles can be flighty at the best of times. If Phoenix were to reject him here, he’s almost certain Miles wouldn’t even look at him. He actually is certain that Miles would never initiate a situation like this again. It’s wrong of him, he knows it is, but Phoenix can’t help but clutch to this shred of curiosity. His one and only opportunity. If he knows what it’s like to be with Miles, then that scratch will be itched.
(And then maybe I’ll be capable of focusing again.)
So it’s going to be fine. Everything is great and fine and tomorrow he’ll be able to stand next to Miles, finally satisfied by the memory of how spectacular his cock feels practically sliding against him. What’s wrong with a little grinding between friends? Or… colleagues? Whatever they are at this point.
Phoenix’s brain is out of coherent arguments, at this point. Mmm. Maybe Miles should have tried something like this in court… Maybe he’d have won more of their cases.
With the roughest grasp so far, Miles practically peels Phoenix off the wall and into him. At first, Phoenix assumes it’s for more grinding, and he’s absolutely willing to go along with it. He gasps into Miles’ mouth, rolling his hips with purpose as he surrenders to the heat he feels.
Miles continues to pull, though. Or maybe he’s pushing? Phoenix doesn’t even know, just caught up in the whirl of it. He’s walking backwards, he thinks, before the back of his legs are blocked by something, and then he’s falling down, down, hitting the bed below with a thud. It feels like a miracle that he manages to keep sitting upright.
There’s no respite. Miles follows his momentum, climbing right into his lap. Automatically, Phoenix’s hands clasp at his waist. He has the range to rock up against him like this, but he stays still. Lets Miles find his leverage and grind down on his own accord. He’s content to take what he gets.
Phoenix doesn’t really do it intentionally, but his hands start to wander as Miles’ kisses serve to distract him even more. The angle has changed, since Miles is straddling him and now Phoenix has to tilt his head up to meet him properly. Miles is also getting more deliberate, alternating pressure with a purpose that makes Phoenix think he may have figured out what he responded to the most, though their alignment is less pin-point perfect.
One of Phoenix’s hands slides down Miles’ thigh, the other remaining at his side. The silky fabric feels nice, but it’s also too slippery. Frustration brewing, Phoenix ends up slipping his hand underneath the pyjama shirt, applying a pressured caress from abdomen to hip, his pinkie finger daring to slip just barely underneath the waistband of Miles’ bottoms.
(Revenge tastes sweet.)
Miles gasps into their kiss, rewarding him with a roll of his hips, finding some friction against Phoenix’s stomach. There’s a part of him that really wants to find out what other sounds he can get out of Miles. Thinking about it logically, Miles told him to ‘shut up’, earlier. That stipulation doesn’t mean ‘don’t do anything else’. Phoenix slides his hand back up Miles’ thigh at the revelation, wrapping around to finally squeeze at that ass, pushing him closer in the same move.
(God… I guess this is what years of climbing twelve flights of stairs can do.)
There’s a brief shock of light pain to his lips, and he realises that Miles just bit him. It causes him to jerk back on reflex, separating them just a little. Miles’ forehead remains pressed against his like he has nowhere else to go, though, panting out the most incredible symphony. Phoenix’s lips don’t really hurt, and he doesn’t think Miles drew blood, but he revels in the aftershock sensation of achy tingles. As they continue to catch their breaths, Phoenix keeps his hands mostly steady, though he can’t help but trace idle patterns across Miles’ hip bone, swapping his pinkie finger for his thumb.
Not one to be on the back foot, apparently, Miles’ own hand finds its way to Phoenix’s lower half. Just the ghost of it is nearly enough to drive him insane. He skirts close, so close to where Phoenix really wants him, but retreats instead to toy with his waistband in a similar manner.
“Off,” Miles demands, his low voice cutting through the brief moment of peace.
Phoenix doesn’t argue, though he debates for a moment if that also includes his boxers. He figures removing both is fine, and will only save him more problems later. It’s awkward from this position, especially with Miles on top of him, but he manages to just about squirm his way out of them. Miles at least tries to make it easier, shifting up so it’s more like he’s standing on his knees, which creates just that little bit of extra room. It’s not like the layers were doing much in restraint anyway, but Phoenix still feels a definite relief to let his erection free.
This movement, though, also has the effect of aligning Miles’ crotch ever closer. He can’t help himself. Phoenix’s own sweats and boxers are completely abandoned, only tugged as far down as his knees, in favour of grabbing Miles’ ass with both hands and yanking him forward.
Phoenix leans back as he does it, his core muscles working overtime as he keeps pushing Miles in and in until finally, he’s almost perfectly level with Phoenix’s face. He breathes him in briefly- his scent, his heat, everything- before closing his mouth around the base of the tent in front of him.
Miles immediately lets out a sharp cry that he doesn’t manage to restrain in time. “Fff-“
In some attempt at encouragement, Phoenix squeezes his ass harder, practically kneading it as he sucks a path along that cock. The pyjama fabric obscures almost all of his texture and his taste, but it’s still enough to soothe that empty ache in Phoenix’s mouth. He wants it in his throat, properly. Approximately five minutes ago.
His annoying, rational voice reappears, though. All they were doing before was grinding, and while yes, Miles was the one who asked for him naked in the first place, sucking his dick is a whole other thing. Not that Miles is showing any reluctance, though, as he moves to grab the back of Phoenix’s head in some form of direction. As if he isn’t already salivating enough…
At that moment his strength wanes, and he ends up collapsing backwards until his head hits the mattress. What he’d give to really see Miles right now, looming completely above him… All Phoenix can do is sigh, mourning the loss of having something to do with his mouth.
As a result of their previous position, Miles is situated relatively far up the span of Phoenix’s torso. He’s still close enough to touch like this, thankfully, and Phoenix decides to just go for it, grabbing at the material of his pyjama bottoms to finally work them off. He thinks that’s what he’d been trying to do, before he got distracted.
Miles’ thighs are all lean muscle, but his skin there is almost inhumanly soft, covered in just a slight fuzz. Actually getting those bottoms good and gone takes a bit more awkward manoeuvring, with Miles taking over to peel them down and strip them off somewhere, though he quickly resumes his previous position. Except, this time, he shifts his weight off his knees, so he’s essentially sitting on Phoenix’s abdomen.
Without the light it’s a little harder to keep track, but it occurs to Phoenix then that there’s now nothing between them. His hands reach out again cautiously, as if he needs first hand proof. They slide up the length of those incredible thighs once again, and then– yep. That’s definitely Miles’ ass for real this time. His warm, tight, bare-naked ass…
Phoenix is pretty sure his eyes roll into the back of his head at that moment, hips jolting involuntarily. He’s in a daze, like he forgot his own (pretty neglected by this point) erection. Perhaps if he’d been operating at a higher mental capacity, he would have felt embarrassed about the very real and increasingly likely possibility that he’ll only last a matter of seconds at this point if Miles elects to touch him, he’s so keyed up.
Things are never straightforward with Miles, though. What Phoenix starts anticipating to turn into some pretty fantastic mutual frottage becomes, as Miles shifts backwards, a direct grind of that perfect ass against his cock. His cock which happens to be, at this point, so hard it may as well be made of solid titanium.
Phoenix yelps. Of course he does. There is no other reasonable reaction.
Along with his failure to be quiet, his hips press into it, thrusting instinctively. Miles makes it clear the movement was no accident, his own breath hitching as he rocks back again, balancing himself with his hands planted on Phoenix’s chest. Phoenix’s own hands scramble to support Miles’ hips, pressing tight as he shifts them into just a slightly better position, angling just so until he’s practically sliding between his cheeks.
This might be what heaven is.
Objectively, there are some less ideal parts of this. Not being able to truly see how Miles looks like this is a bit of a bummer, for one. They’re also chafing a little, as the pace of their movement increases. Somehow though, Phoenix is kind of thankful for the slight burn of it, since it helps to hold together the last remaining shreds of his sanity. Miles’ breathing picks up, as he shifts his weight onto his knees again, practically aligning himself so he’s hovering right above-
Phoenix freezes, suddenly extremely aware of what’s about to happen.
It shouldn’t feel like a big deal. By most parameters, they’re already having sex at this point. The damage has been done, so he may as well see it through. It doesn’t really explain why Phoenix’s stomach twists in knots at the idea of being inside him, drowning in an emotion that’s somewhere between intense arousal and terror. At the very least, though, he knows they can’t do it quite like this.
“Hold it!” He half shouts. It’s enough to startle Miles at least, though he doesn’t actually move. “Uh,” Phoenix’s last functional brain cell tries to work overtime, “I just- hang on a second!”
He practically dives off the bed, taking the convenient opportunity to step out of his clothes properly. Now he’s not being pinned, he flicks the lamp on out of necessity, bathing the room in soft light. Target acquired. He digs around in his travel bag like it’s a critical mission, almost crying out with success when he locates his wallet.
There are more pressing matters, though. He’s never been more thankful he doesn’t have that much cash filling out his wallet, making it easy to locate the ‘emergency’ condom he’s had in there for quite a while… He squints at it suspiciously, eyes still adjusting to the change in lighting, as he looks for the expiry date. A brief relief floods through him, when he sees it still has a good year left, and he turns back to the bed.
(Oh fuck.)
Somehow, the full impact of not being able to see each other much hadn’t occurred to him before. Now he can see Miles right there in high definition, kneeling on the bed with an annoyed expression on his face. Naked, with his skin flushed the most beautiful shade of pink… hair a complete disaster… and so, so divine. He looks like something that should be painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Phoenix would even brave his dislike of heights to do it himself.
(This isn’t fair. Nobody looks this hot in real life.)
(…Except Miles Edgeworth, apparently.)
Phoenix holds up the condom wrapper like it’s some kind of trophy, stumbling back onto the bed. He crawls across the mattress cautiously, arriving in what he thinks was roughly his previous position. Something has shifted, though, as though the lights have made everything sharper and solid.
“Uhm,” he tries to break the silence with something, “do you-“
Miles shoots him one of his cold glares, before straddling him again. “Get on with it.”
It’s a lot harder to brush past his bossiness when he can actually see him. Sure, before, it could have just been Miles being Miles, barking out orders because it’s second nature to him. Phoenix isn’t fully convinced, with the way he’s looking at him, that his direction is coming from a place of anticipation. More like… it seems he wants to get this over with as soon as possible?
All the facts contradict each other, though, since Miles is undisputably the one who started this.
It’s the only option, Phoenix thinks. What’s the alternative? Pushing him away? Trying to demand more answers, clarity, when Miles has already made it so clear he has none to give? He wants him so bad. He wants-
Phoenix realises his hands are shaking, as he fumbles with trying to get the condom wrapper open. There’s still a part of him that feels hot, doing this under Miles’ watchful scrutiny, but it’s mostly drowned out with a wave of nerves. Eventually he does get his hands to work properly, enough to toss the wrapper somewhere across the room and roll the condom over his erection. He shudders as he does it, realising it’s the first time he’s touched himself for any sort of relief since they began.
Satisfied apparently, Miles presses at his shoulders, pushing him down so he’s lying completely horizontal again. And Miles looks almost ethereal above him, like something out of a divine revelation. The rise and fall of his chest, the tiniest twitch of his cock, which is very much standing to attention. It would be so easy to get lost forever in this. Maybe Phoenix has always wanted him in some kind of dormant state, the full force of it only now coursing through his body, awake and pulsing in agony for every second longer they remain separated.
When Phoenix’s hands find their way to his ass cheeks again, Miles makes no effort to stop him. He can’t help but let his fingers wander, getting ever so close to that place where he’s most sensitive. Phoenix feels something like delight, as his thumb finally sweeps across the puckered texture of Miles’ rim. Miles shifts in response, like he’s unsure whether to keen into it or not. Surprisingly, Phoenix finds that he’s also already a little slick, and that thought turns his blood into molten.
(Were you… Before you came here…?)
Miles can’t hold off his gasp, as Phoenix dips the tip of his index finger inside as though to check. Not that he’s able to concentrate much on that, overwhelmed with the sensation of just how hot he is inside. This time, Phoenix bites down on his own lip. He won’t last long at all, if this is what he feels like.
For a moment, Phoenix wonders what spurred this. What, did Miles just break a sex toy somehow, and now he’s here for the best short notice replacement available? It can’t just be because of their poor excuse of a ‘kiss’ earlier, which Phoenix can admit to himself now really was a bit closer to a headbutt. Though… that collision had worked on Phoenix at least, hadn’t it? It’s not like he was getting much sleep before Miles showed up at his door, either.
“It’s sufficient,” Miles says nonchalantly.
Phoenix makes a valiant effort to shake his head in disagreement. It’s possible that Miles just likes it rough, but Phoenix doesn’t want to hurt him, especially going into this blind about his limits.
“Do you still have lube anywhere?”
Miles looks annoyed at the question, shifting away to search for something to his side. It’s only then that Phoenix even registers that he’d removed the pyjama shirt at some point, though he has no idea when. Miles is only looking for a moment, before producing a small bottle from the pocket, and then tossing it. Interestingly, it’s still most of the way full.
Phoenix finds himself hesitating again, his heart beating so fast he can almost feel it in his ears. No matter how much Miles insists, he can’t shake the feeling that he looks more like he’s just going through the motions. Or maybe this is normal for him? It’s not like Miles doesn’t kind of have a resting bitch face as it is, maybe that just carries over to his… sexy faces?
It would be wrong of him to not fully consider the key pieces of evidence, anyway. At least one final time before they cross a line:
- The bottle of lube. Not only is Phoenix pretty sure Miles must have used it just before knocking on his hotel room door, but he brought it with him to the scene of the crime. More than enough on its own to establish the mens rea
- Miles has initiated the majority of their escalations so far. He’s also the one who came to Phoenix’s door in the first place.
- Since he directly asked if Phoenix wanted to stop, and continued when Phoenix answered ‘no’, it would be reasonable to accept that as an affirmative answer on his part also.
- In their current position, Miles is quite literally straddling him of his own accord.
In conclusion, Phoenix should have no reason to doubt that Miles wants this. But that doesn’t explain the gnawing pit of guilt in his chest. Maybe… Phoenix knows it’s been a hard day. They’ve had some pretty heavy conversations. Just the night before, Miles was even crying in his arms in the aftermath of a nightmare episode. And there’s that weird spike of fear again. The evidence is meaningless if Miles isn’t of sound mind.
Then again, Phoenix considers that this train of thought might make him a hypocrite. A significant part of his anger during their fight earlier was about Miles trying to make assumptions about what he really wanted.
Phoenix doesn’t even know what to do with it, or what he even really wants anymore. To stop him? To beg him not to stop?
Maybe that’s why. A distraction, maybe a little comfort? Phoenix could never deny Miles much of anything in general, but certainly never that. If this is what he needs right now… If Miles needs him, somehow…
(Who am I kidding? This isn’t about me...)
He resigns himself, then, squeezing a generous amount of lube out of the bottle before abandoning it to his side somewhere. He keeps his contact with his cock as light as possible, a little worried about what too much stimulation might do as he slicks himself up. No matter how ready Miles might think he is, a bit of extra slide is the least he can do. Phoenix, it turns out, is a weak man. And now he’s pliant.
(Your move.)
Miles, for his part, doesn’t waste any further time. The jostle that follows is a little awkward, though that’s not unexpected. If anything, Phoenix might even call it efficient, the way Miles lines back up again. He shudders, feeling the sensitive head of his cock nudge just so against Miles’ rim. All he can do is hold his breath, fist the sheets desperately as Miles finally, finally takes him in, sinking down achingly slowly with the help of gravity.
(FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckhowishesotightfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckMilesEdgeworthshouldbeillegalfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckIthinkImightdiefuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckmaybehe’lldeliveraeuologyatmyfuneralabouthowhisasskilledmewouldn’tthatbefunnyfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckhereliesPhoenixWright:atleasthediedinamomentofpureblissfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckthereareworsewaystogoIguessfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckmayherestinpeacefuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckinfactthismayevenbeashortcuttoenlightmentfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck)
(Fuck.)
Phoenix’s eyes flick open again, though it almost sends him to the stratosphere. Miles sitting right there on his hips, thighs quivering, eyes wide, jaw slack, head tilted back like it might topple off his shoulders… Phoenix’s hands fist into the sheets beside him tightly, holding on for dear life. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep himself still. What he wouldn’t give to sit up properly and bite into that exposed neck… It’s still a kind of torture, though, because Miles is honestly like a vice and so feverously hot. In fact, making it worse, he’s pretty sure Miles is even clenching around him.
He tries, he thinks, to tell Miles to relax. ‘Tries’ being the key word, because Phoenix’s ability to say anything coherent isn’t all there. Instead, he reaches out with his trembling hand, and attempts to stroke soothingly at Miles’ upper thigh. Miles squeezes his eyes closed, then, his breathing still erratic.
A small internal voice wonders if it’s hurting him, but at least Phoenix can see Miles’ erection hasn’t flagged. If anything, that looks kind of painful, all the blood there tinting it a much darker pink compared with his generally paler skin tone. Phoenix thinks maybe a distraction could help, as he lets his fingers drift over to Miles’ groin, stroking the length of him lightly as he runs a thumb across the underside of the head.
Miles rewards him with something like a whine, and the jostle of his hips turns Phoenix white hot. Though, before he can do anything else, Miles grabs him hard by the wrist.
“Too much,” he says, and lets go again.
Of course, Phoenix does what he says, obediently limiting himself to caressing Miles’ hips and legs. In the distance, he thinks he hears the thunder rumble again, but that has nothing on their combined heavy breathing. He has no idea how long they remain still like that for. Phoenix thinks he adjusts to the overwhelming sensation as far as he physically can, any impending orgasm less of an immediate threat, though the overall burning through his entire body only gets worse.
Eventually, though, Miles shifts forward uncertainly, as if he’s experimenting. It’s a noticeable difference to the assertiveness he’d shown just before, pretty much pushing Phoenix wherever he’d wanted. Even the slight, uncoordinated movements feel good, though, and Phoenix can’t help but let out a sigh. That being said, he’s kind of edging on the level of stimulation where it’s so little it’s sort of painful in a not fun way.
Cautiously, Phoenix decides to rock his hips up in a slow, only barely there thrust, which weirdly reminds him of prompting someone’s lines on stage. Miles’ eyes open again, and his glare is so intense that Phoenix feels immediately sheepish, stilling himself as he holds his hands in a surrender pose. Despite that, Miles starts mimicking the movement anyway, finally shifting his weight up and down.
Phoenix is, in some ways, caught up in his own fascination. He’s not sure how, but once Miles seems to relax into it a bit more, he almost looks serene. Though it remains a little tentative, he works himself into a rhythm, a relatively steady rise and fall which is a far cry from their frantic kissing earlier. Phoenix only allows himself to do the minimum, bucking his hips back into it just enough so he’s not lying completely passive, only ever responding to Miles’ own movements. He tries his best to bite back any noise he might have let loose.
It does feel good, he thinks, physically at least. If he doesn’t think too hard, if he doesn’t let himself dwell on the fact that Miles is acting like he wants to scrub something raw inside himself… Considering that Phoenix is literally inside him, maybe it should be strange that it’s the most distant they’ve felt in a long time.
But, well, if this is all Miles will let him have…
His world blurs around the edges. The storm still raging outside, the warmth of Miles’ skin, the heat of his core, the burn in Phoenix’s lungs each time he forgets to breathe properly– none of it feels quite real. It’s like a fog draws over his mind, etching him into some kind of languid state.
In the few misguided fantasies he’d let himself indulge in, years ago now, he’d never imagined it being like this. Some of the scenes he’d pictured were admittedly far too sugary sweet to be real, slow kissing and whispered love confessions under candlelight. But even the angrier ones, like one dream he had where Miles bent him down over the prosecution bench and rammed into him from behind, at least that had been passionate. Phoenix knows, first hand, that sex doesn’t have to be like that. But even his few previous meaningless hookups had seemed more emotionally invested in the experience.
This might be a lot of things, but it’s not love. Whether it’s even desire or not isn’t clear.
Miles, to his credit, continues to look collected as always. Does this even feel good for him? If not for his erection, currently being occasionally ground against Phoenix’s abdomen from this position, what they’re doing might not even be that obvious.
(Should I be offended by that?)
Though, if there’s one thing that Phoenix is quite good at these days, it’s reading people. Miles’ tells are usually some of the easiest for him to pick out, only partially because Phoenix is used to them, but he’s different like this. Surprisingly, he’s a lot more subtle, but if Phoenix concentrates and studies him a little… No matter what peaceful mask he’s wearing, Phoenix manages to notice things, like the twitch of his lip and the way his eyes squeeze.
He's holding himself back from something. But… why? For what possible reason? Phoenix almost laughs at the absurdity.
(Haven’t I given you everything already? There’s nothing left.)
Phoenix kind of wants nothing more than to just go against Miles’ wishes, to tug him down into a hot kiss and drive up into him properly. He doesn’t. Tries anything to not be selfish right now. Maybe he almost wants it over quicker. He knows he’s doomed as is, no reason to delay the inevitable. At least that way he might get rid of some of the looming dread.
When Miles’ facial expressions only increase, though, Phoenix thinks it might be something like frustration. It seems to track. Miles has really picked up the pace now, riding him hard enough that they smack together whenever he comes down. Though Miles’ hard breathing has only gotten louder from exertion, there’s something missing. Phoenix’s best theory is that the angle might be off, which has been a little erratic so far, though it’s not like Phoenix has been given much by way of access to map out Miles’ body so intimately to check.
He tries it anyway, subtly ‘helping’ by adjusting his hips a little, finally digging his feet in the mattress to get some better leverage. He grips onto Miles’ waist just a bit firmer as he does it, though keeping him just steady enough to shift properly, moving as much as he can until… There. Phoenix notices the way his expression loosens, and keeps himself almost completely still so Miles can find it for himself.
Miles somehow looks more surprised, than relieved. Either way, it’s like he’s overcome by the instinct to hump into it wildly, chasing after the better sensation. Phoenix has a better time watching him like that, a bit more like he’s actually enjoying himself than just going through the motions.
Miles alternates his movements like this, between quick bounces and more drawn-out grinds, almost like he can’t decide which feels best. Whenever he loses the angle slightly, he fails to hide the faint whimper that laces his breathing, as he fights to get it back again.
In a really strange way, Phoenix realises it’s kind of like watching porn. Like he came across a video of Miles doing this to himself and decided to jerk off to it (albeit with some kind of high-tech sex toy that feels much better than his hand). He’s objective to this scenario, in the same sense. Miles is hot as all hell like this, but Phoenix still can’t completely dispel the knot of guilt for thinking about him in this way. It feels… voyeuristic.
Apparently, Miles decides that ‘vigorously up and down’ is his preference. He seems to really fall into it, head lulling back again as his breaths become more like strained gasps. Phoenix’s teeth are starting to hurt a little, with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. With the extra stimulation, the potential for ‘imminent release’ is bubbling up again, regardless of how he really feels about it. He wonders if he should give a warning, or if it’ll just be irritating.
At least, with Miles caught up in his own pleasure, Phoenix gives himself a little more leeway to buck into his heat. If Miles minds him doing so, he doesn’t show it. Vaguely, Phoenix notices Miles’ hands plant down on his chest for extra support, and the lava is back swimming through his blood.
But then he just… stops.
Phoenix feels like he might explode. For a second or two, he wonders if he’s been drawn into some kind of display of sadism, like Miles is purposely trying to edge him for some reason.
As the smoke clears, though, he really takes in the way Miles looks.
He’s trembling, almost through his whole body. His head bows forward, and though his hair obscures some of his expression, it looks like he might even be on the brink of tears. Those heavy breaths have nearly reached hyperventilation levels. Phoenix feels pressure, as Miles tries to push himself up again, but his thighs shake with exertion, thwarting his movement. He gets a glimpse of Miles’ eyes, then, glazed over and pupils entirely blown. He’s exhausted.
There’s only a short time to act. More than anything else, even how turned on he is at the vision of Miles, Miles, Miles despite everything, Phoenix’s first instinct is something more protective. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do, isn’t it? Now it’s just a question of what he’ll be allowed.
All Phoenix can hope is that he reads it right, as his hands grip Miles firm, holding him in his place. Trying his best to ignore all the protests of his core muscles, Phoenix pulls off a sit up rep through sheer will power, bringing their faces almost level. Miles looks startled by it, like he was drifting away somewhere just a minute ago. This is the closest look Phoenix has had at his face since they started, and he allows himself just a microsecond to drink it in.
Inhaling deeply, he lets one hand wind around Miles’ back as a steady support, the other trailing down to clutch underneath his thigh. When he starts to really pull, Miles looks at him in something like alarm, squeezing him even tighter with his legs. Phoenix tries, though he’s unsure how successfully, to convey what he means in his eyes. Something like ‘it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m here’.
(How could I ever leave you?)
He takes the slow relaxation in Miles’ muscles as permission, and rolls them as gently as he can. The movement goes broadly okay, though it causes him to slip out. The adjustment to the sudden lack of heat is stark, but he wills his protests down, only letting go when Miles is properly flat on his back.
Phoenix is stunned, just looking down at him from this vantage point. This is something entirely new, never in his wildest fantasies did he think that Miles could be like this. His hair fans out on the sheets like a halo, and there are parts of his body that have turned almost the same colour as that suit he loves so much. Phoenix leans back from his precarious position between his thighs so he’s kneeling. There are parts of Miles, like this, he didn’t get to see before. In particular his entrance, tinted dark at this point and clearly stretched beyond its usual appearance. Phoenix squeezes the base of his cock immediately at the thought, in some attempt to force himself to calm down. All he can do is burn this image into his mind.
Somehow, somewhere, he manages to regenerate one of his braincells and finds the capacity to remember the lube when it catches his eye. Fumbling only slightly, he takes the opportunity to top up, biting hard on his lip to offset the sensation of jerking himself. And Miles… watches him do it. He says nothing, but his legs remain spread and open. Phoenix can hardly breathe. He just seems so vulnerable.
But there comes the uneasy doubt, again. Because sure, Miles was leading the way before, that much is impossible to deny. Right here he looks so out of it, more lost in a haze. Given what’s happened so far, Phoenix isn’t all that certain that Miles is okay with doing it like this, if he no longer has control. But Phoenix can hardly just leave him, either.
He braces himself over Miles slowly, so that they’re almost aligned. “Miles,” he finally says, his throat even more strained than he’d realised after being silent for so long. “Can I-“
One of Miles’ arms makes its shaky way to wrap around his back as if to hold onto him, and his legs seem to part just a little more. Maybe he nods, or maybe he just tosses his head back.
(Well, that’s that then.)
Phoenix reaches between them and lines himself up. There’s almost no resistance, all he can do is slide in until he’s buried to the hilt. At the same time, Miles cries out properly for the first time, his sense of volume control apparently gone. Phoenix can’t help himself. How is he supposed to?
He tries, he really does, to build back into it a little bit, but Miles’ body draws him in like a magnet. And now it’s like Miles can’t stop making those sounds, and all Phoenix wants to do is see what others he can draw out. He’s so much closer like this. It’s all Pheonix can do to resist the urge to lean down and suck at his pulse point. But that would be too far.
“Ah!” Miles’ back arches. “Hah…”
They’re both too worked up for anything slow, now. As it turns out, Miles’ tells like this might be kind of obvious after all. Phoenix figures out exactly where Miles wants him, grinds into him there and only there, revels as he starts to fall apart... Phoenix can tell he’s close, as though he can feel that electric buzz underneath his skin.
The expression on Miles’ face is a little out of place, though. A pit in Phoenix’s stomach drops for a moment, recognising it as something like fear. Somehow he knows, though, it’s not that Miles is scared of him. No, it’s something else, almost like… he’s scared of how good it feels. Like he’s drawn up tight like a bowstring but can’t let himself fire. Toes curled tight over the edge of the cliff, desperate not to fall.
(Fuck it.)
“It’s o-okay,” Phoenix gets out. “You- god Miles, you can let go if you want.” It’s like once he stops holding back, he can’t help but let the words tumble out.
Miles looks like he’s trying to say something coherent. Maybe to tell him to shut up again? Instead, though, his eyes roll back in his head and he just gasps out “Phoenix.”
He almost goes into cardiac arrest on the spot.
“Y-yeah,” Phoenix says instead. “Fuck yes. That’s it. I’ve got you. I’ll catch you when you fall.” His words start to slur, maybe.
A telltale stab of pain in his shoulder tells him Miles is grabbing him extra tight. His other hand is fisted tight in the sheets. Phoenix shifts just a little, reaching down so he runs his thumb over those knuckles. Miles gives in without a fight, letting his hand fall flat. It would be so easy, to lace their fingers together, but there are more pressing issues. Phoenix pulls the hand between them instead, directing Miles down to his neglected cock, which Phoenix regretfully doesn’t have much leverage to stoke for himself like this while maintaining balance.
Miles gets the message, clenching around him even harder the moment he starts to touch himself. The effect seems potent, because all of a sudden he looks like he’s staring down the gates to the afterlife.
“C’mon,” Phoenix exhales. “Let it go. Feels so good. I know you wanna… come on. Miles… Miles!”
There’s a snap of a realisation then, just in time. Phoenix absolutely cannot know what Miles looks like in the throes of an orgasm. It’s not like he can’t already feel Miles behind his eyes like a permanent fixture, but that… How could he possibly look at Miles like that and accept he’ll never see it again? It wouldn’t just ruin him, he’s not sure he’d even survive the experience in the first place.
Maybe it’s cowardice, or the largest act of self-preservation he’s capable of, but Phoenix buries his head in Miles’ shoulder and closes his eyes. There’s a lot he gets without his sight, though. Miles nearly levitates off the bed with it, and perhaps he would’ve if Phoenix’s own body wasn’t in the way. Mmm, he’s very in the way it seems, if the hot spurt of Miles’ release is anything to go by. The sound he makes is something guttural, pitch far out of his normal vocal range.
Phoenix can also feel it, second hand, in the way his muscles contract and pulse. His legs shake of their own accord, too, like Miles is really feeling it through his whole body. It’s almost enough to push him over the edge too. All Phoenix can do is work him through it, let Miles ride out that wave until he’s finally spent.
He doesn’t linger, when he senses the first hints of overstimulation. It feels near criminal, to pull out of such inviting heat, but Phoenix can’t stand to cause Miles any pain. The near pitiful whimper Miles lets out as they separate, though, is almost what does him in. He lets himself look. Just a little.
(…)
It’s all white noise, in Phoenix’s head. Miles spread beneath him, looking completely fucked out, stomach glistening with his own cum. That elastic band feeling creeps up on Phoenix all at once, and his hand is flying down to work his cock with extreme urgency. Realistically, it takes him only seconds, fucking into his fist as he just gazes at the mess he’s made of him, and he snaps with a drawn out groan of his own. He feels it down to his toes, coaxing himself all the way through to the aftershocks until it gets too much.
(Holy-)
All Phoenix can do is collapse over to the side, in an attempt to not cut off Miles’ breathing. He feels like laughing. Or crying. Maybe both? Swimming in endorphins, he lets himself sink into a state of nirvana for less than a full minute. Just long enough to let himself catch his breath. And Miles… Miles! Phoenix wants to kiss him stupid. He almost does, as he lies at his side in some kind of peace, but then the cold hits him.
(I can’t.)
The come down hits him like a wrecking ball. Every part of him that had screamed ‘bad idea’ before, voices he’d mostly managed to ignore, is right back at full, sobering volume.
(What did I just do? Why did we…)
With the return of his conscience, he also regains some further situational awareness. Particularly the unpleasant aftermath sensations. He leans up on his elbow, finding that Miles hasn’t moved yet. In fact, the exhausted haze gripping Phoenix’s mind thins just enough for him to register the way Miles stares at the ceiling, still like he’s bracing for something.
“Stay put,” he says, no idea if Miles is listening or not.
As carefully as he can, he makes to shift out of bed, though his legs feel a little like jelly as he tries to stand up. Resigning himself to the fact he’s going to wake up a little sore, he tries to be as efficient as he can in the hotel bathroom, disposing of the condom and rinsing off his hands. Ideally, he’d rinse himself down in the shower, but he thinks he might genuinely collapse if he so much as tries.
He figures one of the smaller complementary towels will make a decent enough makeshift washcloth, and wets it lightly under the warm water. When he returns to the bed, he finds Miles in the same position, unblinking to the point of slight eeriness.
“Here,” Phoenix offers it tentatively, like it’s some kind of olive branch. “Unless you want me to-“
Miles finally moves, taking it from him. Phoenix decides that watching him will just make it weird, so he turns, taking the chance to retrieve his boxers from the floor and slips them back on. Trying not to make the mattress shift too much, he sits down slowly, before pulling the covers up over his knees.
He can feel it, when Miles discards the towel somewhere, like he’s holding his breath for too long. Phoenix knows. It’s clearly all over him, the stiffness in his limbs, the curl of his fingertips like he’s bracing to push himself up, the flicker of his eyes, now, like he’s calculating the quickest route between his discarded clothes on the floor and the door.
It’s his flight response.
“…Miles,” he swallows hard, “this isn’t me throwing you out.”
Miles jolts, jaw tensing. He doesn’t even look at Phoenix, but he doesn’t move either.
(If he wants to play charades, then I guess I’ll do it his way.)
Almost like a challenge, Phoenix thinks, he shifts the sheets, so that they cover Miles too up to about waist height. It’s enough to get him to turn his head, at least, finally looking at Phoenix directly for the first time. Phoenix half expects him to roll his eyes, or call him ridiculous, or even just scoff.
He doesn’t.
Instead, Miles just rolls over to his side, turning his back to him as he presses his head into the pillow. Phoenix thinks it’s better than nothing, at least. He fails to hide his own sigh, leaning over to turn the lights out again. All at once, as soon as he lies down himself, he’s almost barrelled over by the exhaustion. Vaguely, he realises the storm outside has died down, or else he’s learnt to tune the sound of it out.
Even though Miles is right here, just inches away, the space between them feels icy cold.