Given his choice in a career, it was a terrible trait to have. However, the fact remained--exhausted as he may be after a case, as comfortable as a given hotel might prove--Miles Edgeworth had never been able to get a decent night's sleep in an unfamiliar bed.
So when he woke from a sound sleep with the mid-morning sun streaming across a lumpy 'rustic' motel mattress--and a very awake and optimistic Phoenix Wright straddling his thighs and beginning a path of licks and wet kisses down his chest--he realized that he and Phoenix were visiting this cabin far too often.
Although, with Phoenix grinning broadly at him from down by his hips, murmuring "'morning, beautiful" in that voice, he could easily justify this atypical "sleeping in" thing with last night's exertions. Stretching, he yawned once before shoving playfully at Phoenix' shoulder.
"Really, Wright. Don't you ever give it a rest?"
As he made a groggy, half-hearted effort to push Phoenix away, Miles wondered exactly how late it was. Granted, there were no obligations on his time that morning--that was, apart from whatever the grinning idiot attempting to molest him had in mind--but despite years of Phoenix' influence, sleeping remained a rare novelty for Miles. And from the way the sun was glaring from behind those hideous curtains, and with the fact that Phoenix would sleep in even later than usual after a particularly intense evening (when Phoenix twisted to try holding Miles' arms back to keep him pinned, Edgeworth could see that lattice of red welts hadn't faded much), it seemed as if Wright was finally wearing off on him with his "hey, it's morning if it's before noon, isn't it?" nonsense.
Before he could even formulate a protest over the wasted day, Phoenix had successfully pinned him, a bit more weight and far more alertness on his side.
"Come on. You can't lecture me on 'giving it a rest,' Miles. I'm not the one who woke up as insatiable as this," Phoenix said, as--finally satisfied in his ability to wrestle the sleeping--he let go of Miles' arm to teasingly stroke his morning erection.
By reflex, Miles thrust up into Phoenix' light grip. It was tempting to just let Phoenix curl his hand tighter, to smugly lean down and do exactly what they both wanted.
Unfortunately, there were other matters to take into consideration. Fighting from under Phoenix' weight, he complained.
"Phoenix. Honestly, stop it." He couldn't help laughing as Phoenix just growled and rolled to pin him tighter, "No, I'm not being a tease. Wright! Will you just... For the love of..."
Miles sighed, flopping on the mattress. He had to face it, there was no throwing Phoenix off when he was this determined. "Phoenix, I promise I'm not teasing. I just need to use the bathroom. Would you please let me up?"
"I guess I can let you, but just this once. And you're still a tease," Phoenix said, kissing his lover quickly before Miles could complain about morning breath. "You know you'll have a hard time going like that."
Untangling himself from Wright's limbs and the sheets, Edgeworth sighed. "That's all the more reason for you not to encourage matters," he grumbled, already trying to concentrate on corporate law and seismic activity to displace the image of Wright nude and smirking up at him.
"Hey, I could always go out to the ice machine..."
"I am closing this door," Miles said, stepping in to the bathroom, "and providing you're not being murdered, you are going to refrain from shouting anything." Strangely enough, the threat seemed to work. Phoenix held back any "helpful" comments he may have had about freezing showers or summoning mental images of certain nightmarish security guards.
In fact, as he washed his hands, Miles thought that--considering the time it took him to actually calm down--Phoenix had been rather suspiciously quiet.
Prepared as he was for anything, when Miles opened the door again, he wasn't at all surprised to see Phoenix sitting cross-legged amidst the tangle of sheets, looking extremely pleased with himself. The fact his bag had moved about three feet from where he'd left it last night wasn't entirely shocking, either.
"Miles," Phoenix all but purred, "You've really been holding out on me."
Considering the only other things in the bag were clothes and a half-used bottle of lube, it was quite obvious what Phoenix had discovered in his uninvited rummaging. Crossing his arms and frowning at Phoenix sternly, Miles thought absently that this was at least one thing he could say for all these ridiculous scenarios Wright made him enact--Phoenix at least made playing along exceedingly simple.
"I haven't the slightest what you're talking about, Phoenix. However, I don't believe that's the issue here. You had no right to rifle through my possessions."
Phoenix just smirked. "But you clearly packed this particular item for my benefit," he asserted, leaning forward as Edgeworth approached the bed, "Doesn't that imply that it's actually my--"
"Hardly. Phoenix, your notion of what constitutes appropriate behavior never fails to appall me. There was no justification for searching my bag."
He could see Phoenix shift a little from his tone--no doubt already worked up with nervous energy--but Wright still didn't even begin to pretend he was ashamed.
"Of course there was. After all, when were you going to get around to presenting this?" he asked, holding up what he'd discovered.
"This" was something Miles was actually surprised Phoenix hadn't found much earlier. As infuriatingly prying as Phoenix was--and considering his usual childish excitement over any gifts Miles might have picked up in Europe--it was shocking that Phoenix hadn't decided to search his bags at the airport.
"This" was also something he honestly hoped Phoenix would appreciate. There was simply no way he could enter a store like that without living in constant terror that some acquaintance would see him. One could buy collars at pet stores, candles at home d�cor shops, riding crops from any horse tack supplier, and rope from just about anywhere. But reasonably safe anal toys?
He wasn't sure what sort of expression he was making, but from Phoenix' fond, amused smile, he could safely assume he'd been reliving that particular purchase.
"That agonizing, huh?"
"Quite. Rationally, I know any colleagues shopping there would have just as much reason to avoid eye contact as I, but..." he trailed off, shrugging and shaking his head. It wouldn't do to let Phoenix divert his attention. "Phoenix. You're becoming distracted from the issue at hand yet again."
"I kind of doubt I could be distracted from this issue, Miles. Seriously, what is this? Stainless steel?"
"It sanitizes easily, and you can't break it."
"Still upset about the so-called 'art glass,' I see."
"You were the one who emailed my work address with, 'my heart lies broken on the floor, just like my dildo.' While I understand it was an accident--we all know we can accept your inhumanly abysmal luck as a force of nature--the longer I can go without the possibility of explaining 'modern art paperweights' to customs, the better."
"You could always dismiss it as a grapefruit juicer," Phoenix said, before pretending to weigh it in his hand. "Or a weapon. This is what, a pound?"
"Four hundred grams, actually."
"Oooh, do I get a spanking for being off by a hundred grams?" Phoenix asked, expression suspiciously hopeful. Edgeworth had to suppress a smile, still trying to act severe--while he often doubted his ability to treat Wright in the manner he desired, Phoenix was always so endearingly easy to read. Plan in mind, he shook his head again, smirking at Phoenix.
"No. Nor are you getting one for being rusty on your metric conversions--there's approximately four hundred fifty three point six grams to a pound. You will, however--"
"You only have it memorized to one decimal? Miles, you're slip--shit, okay, sorry! Easy, easy on the..."
"It's poor form to interrupt when another is speaking, Phoenix," Miles scolded over Phoenix' protests at nearly being tugged off the bed with a firm grip in his disheveled spikes, "Now shut up, bend over, and hold on to the footboard."
No longer quite so interested in complaining, Phoenix scrambled to comply. The position was an extremely familiar one--the mattress may have been substandard, but the bedframe was remarkably sturdy--so even Wright seemed graceful assuming it. Hands tight on the wood frame, legs staggered wide, back bowed to raise his ass plaintively upward, Phoenix' display was tempting. Despite the submissiveness of the posture, there was still something enticingly cocky and self-assured and just plain Wright about Phoenix' stance. Lightly tracing the marks from last night's little exercise, Edgeworth smiled, loving how Phoenix shivered and tilted his hips a little higher, wordlessly begging.
Standing close behind, watching the way Phoenix' breath hitched whenever he let his fingers stray close to his exposed ass, Miles quickly decided it wouldn't do much harm to alter the plan slightly.
"You know I've told you several times not to act so abysmally cheap, Phoenix," Miles began, stepping away to grab the bottle of lube from his displaced bag, slapping Phoenix loudly across his already-marked buttocks when he whined pathetically and turned to look. "Can't you behave yourself for a minute? Look down and hold still." When Phoenix was finally keeping himself calm and docile--or at least as much as someone so pushy and determined to get spanked was able--Edgeworth moved back behind him, lube in hand.
"As I was saying. For all the trouble you've been this morning, I was still prepared to let you off easy. My plan--before you decided to behave in this manner--was quite lenient. As you know, that quaint little shack this roadside attraction uses as a lobby only offers their oddly food-deficient version of 'breakfast' until eleven. Given how late you made us sleep in, if I let you distract me any further, we'll likely miss it altogether. And, as I'm never enthused to listen to your whining when you've skipped your caffeine addiction--"
"My addiction? Talk about--oww."
"Interrupt again and I'll do that somewhere far more sensitive. To continue, as I don't desire to pull over to the nearest rest stop for hot water served by some fifth-rate high school marching band, I was going to pick something up for us. You, meanwhile--as impatient as you seem to be for four hundred grams of medical-grade stainless steel in your ass--were going to wait patiently for me, with that plug in you."
Apparently having figured out how to stop interrupting, Phoenix didn't respond verbally. But from his soft groan and the way the muscles in his shoulders and arms tensed, he clearly approved of the idea.
"Of course, when I returned, you'd have that 'punishment' you've been begging for from the moment you considered opening my bag. Were you pathetic enough to need to come merely from being slapped around a few times..." he paused--the strangled, barely-checked noise Wright had just made had sounded a little close to his name, but he decided to let the interruption pass, "Well, I suppose I couldn't scold you for that."
As Phoenix obediently remained silent, Miles uncapped the lube, squeezing some into his hand. "But, acting as you have--well, I can hardly be expected to leave in this state," he continued, smirking when Phoenix jolted and moaned at the sudden press of two lube-coated fingers.
Arching back into Miles' quick, rough stretching, Phoenix laughed breathlessly. "So... What, you're going to..." he began, breaking off into a low grunt as Miles mercilessly worked a third finger in, "Ahh, easy... Hah, anyway, so you're gonna fuck me first? Doesn't that seem like you're making it easier on... oh, shit."
Having slicked himself one-handed, Miles had pulled his fingers from Wright's ass, gripped Phoenix' hips with hands slick with lube, and thrust deep.
At first, he could only groan and hold himself still, holding his grip firm, keeping Wright's hips clasped tight against his body. Phoenix was panting raggedly beneath him, tense with the sudden intrusion, head bowed and the muscles in his arms quivering. Miles realized belatedly he probably should have taken a little more time with preparations--Phoenix was painfully tight.
It'd been far too long. After whipping him last night, Miles barely found the energy to nudge a sweaty, shaky Phoenix into a languid sixty-nine. Before that--with one long poker evening after another meeting over the jurist system--they'd been neglecting their relationship more than enough to justify skipping town just to come up to the cabin. Breathing deeply and rubbing slow circles over Phoenix' taut stomach, Miles waited, willing them both to adjust.
Eventually, Phoenix stopped clenching in reflex around him and let out a shaky sigh. Pumping his hips once--a slow, smooth motion--Miles drew a contented moan from his partner. Miles smirked. Sometimes, Phoenix' naive optimism could be so endearing. Stroking his hands up Phoenix' stomach and chest, Miles leaned heavily on Wright's back, digging his fingers tight into his broad shoulders to wrench him harshly in to the vicious thrusts.
"Do you honestly think I'd make matters easier on you?" Miles asked, voice low and rough, "Don't delude yourself for a minute believing this is for your benefit. I am fucking you," he had to resist the urge to laugh at Wright's predictable reaction to his use of that word, moaning pleadingly beneath him, "Merely to order you a soy mocha in a presentable state. You are still not to come until I get back."
"Be quiet. You brought this on yourself."
Bucking back into a particularly sharp thrust, Phoenix groaned again, shaking his head. "Fuck, Miles, it's been too long, and... ahh, please, yeah... And do you really think I have that sort of control?"
Phoenix shuddered, body gripping tight again. Flushing, Miles thought that, despite the usual embarrassment of having to narrate nearly every move, at least it wasn't going to take him long with Wright so needy and responsive. Pulling firmly at Wright's shoulders, he kept thrusting hard into him, working up to a frantic pace completely without finesse. As harsh as he was, as little effort as he put into pleasing Wright--trying to make matters easier by fucking him from behind in an attempt to keep from hitting his prostate, by keeping the sharp motions of his hips jarring and rhythmless--Phoenix was still moaning and writhing desperately against him. It really didn't matter what he did to keep from getting Wright off. The man was always so ridiculously aroused merely from the idea of being used.
As he continued to pump wildly, bowing his head to lick at the gleam of sweat beading the back of Wright's neck, adoring the carelessly loud noises and pleas Phoenix would make in the privacy of the cabin, Miles soon started to feel the familiar tension in the base of his spine. He never had the best endurance first thing in the morning, and with Phoenix so beautifully feverish and heavy with the scent of sweat and arousal, clenching in such tight, rhythmic spasms as if he were also...
"Hmmm...? Ah, no you don't, Wright," he whispered huskily against Phoenix' neck, as he let go of Wright's shoulder to reach down.
"Oh god. Miles, please. Fuck, please don't..." Wright's voice was high, nearly panicked, as he began to let go of the footboard. There was little doubt of his aim--to try to grab at Miles' hand, to push away the sudden, no doubt painful, constricting pressure around the base of his cock. Miles just tightened his grip in warning. Phoenix inhaled sharply, a nervous, frantic noise, and clasped the wood frame again obediently.
"Edgeworth," he begged again, "Miles, really, I mean it. Please..."
"If you have a problem with this treatment, Phoenix, you know what to do."
"I don't care, just please let me co--augh, no, no, god, I'll shut up. Let me, just..."
"Unless you have a legitimate objection, Wright, I'm not tolerating your, ah, whorish begging." He blushed, wondering absently exactly how worried he should be, that he could remain aroused despite saying things like that.
Phoenix seemed to be preoccupied enough to miss the falter. Despite his begging, Phoenix just quietly pressed back against Miles, still visibly cautious of the firm grip around his erection.
Keeping his hand tight--this far along in the game, it wouldn't do to let Wright come, even accidentally--Miles began to thrust again.
"No objections, hmm?" he murmured, amused and somewhat surprised. Given Phoenix' needy, sensualist nature, Miles always half-expected him to call off scenes like this. Yet Phoenix just held the bed frame tighter, hanging his head as if resigned to the cruel handling.
"No. Just... Just hurry it the hell up."
Miles laughed breathlessly, but kept jerking his hips harder against Phoenix'. He couldn't help feeling somewhat guilty for the way he was treating Wright, for the way Phoenix' breath was hitching in soft, pleading sobs. But despite the stiff, wary way Phoenix held his body, as if terrified--despite the way he was shivering and, Miles was distantly mortified, sobbing during sex--Miles could see that familiar and distinctive flush of embarrassed arousal across Wright's neck, the backs of his ears, the top of his shoulders. Irresistible as that skin was, Miles had to lean down and nip across the warm skin of Wright's shoulders, grinning when Phoenix' whimpering was interrupted with a long, desperate moan.
"I could have you like this for days," he breathed against sweat-damp skin. It was so clearly an empty threat. Even as he muttered the words, he could feel the inevitable tensing of his muscles, the way his hands were slipping on Phoenix' hips, damp with lube and sweat. Beneath him, Phoenix pleaded again. His begging was wordless, hopeless.
Two more deep thrusts, with Phoenix squeezing hard and rhythmic around him--no doubt purposefully, just to get him off quickly, to get the torment over with--and he pressed in tight, groaning low as he came. Even as mindless as he was, face burrowed against Wright's shoulder, instinctively trying to muffle his moans despite the remoteness of the cabin, there was no way he could miss Phoenix' continued wild pleading. If anything, Phoenix was only more desperate at the feeling of Miles' grip, firm and unrelenting around his cock, as he was filled with warm pulses of come.
It took some time to collect his bearings, breathing deeply against Wright's damp skin. But even beyond that, he stayed in Phoenix, keeping as still as possible with his hand steady, waiting for Phoenix to stop panting and gasping quite so frantically. At first, uncertain if any further stimulation would only excite Phoenix further, he tried to hold completely motionless as he leaned against his lover. But when Wright kept tensing against him, he couldn't hold back from softly kissing his shoulders and upper back.
"Phoenix, Phoenix," he said soothingly. It was always at times like this that he almost wished he had some of Wright's nerve for using embarrassing pet names. "Calm down. Please don't hyperventilate."
Though he was still panting a little, Phoenix laughed. "So... reassuring," he teased, before moaning again. "Fuck, Miles, you don't understand. I've gotta come."
"I realize that. Phoenix, please don't gasp like that. You'll make yourself pass out."
"I'm trying. Augh, it's not like I'm going to die, I just..."
"Well, quit acting as if this is killing you," Miles snapped, before reconsidering. "Wright, if you can't do this, say your safeword. I couldn't imagine if I made you have a retrograde--"
"Whoa. Okay, okay. Thank you, Coroner Edgeworth, for a mood successfully killed."
"Retrograde ejaculations aren't fatal, Wright. They just divert semen into--"
"Yeah. Okay, you know you really can take your hand off of me now."
Smirking, Miles straightened, letting his softening dick slide out and letting go of Wright. "Well, at least I know to tell you about exploding seminal vesicles next time we..."
"Edgeworth, if you ever--" Phoenix threatened, trailing off with a surprised laugh when Miles slapped his ass playfully, ordering him to stand up.
"Ugh. How many times must I remind you not to say that? Up on the bed. Now."
"Sure thing, pal."
"Wright. I will get in the car and I will keep driving if you carry on with this ridiculousness. No, not like that--on your back, actually. Knees up."
Grinning cockily, Phoenix rolled onto his back, drawing his legs up to his chest. "You're only touchy because you're hot for him. I can do some really good role-play, you know. Maybe Maggey would let me borrow his coat--"
"It would be hard for you to 'role-play' the extra three inches," he interrupted.
As he spoke, Miles had been picking up the plug from where Phoenix had dropped it admist the sheets. It was when he was about to go for the lube when he realized exactly how long--and loaded--that silence of Wright's was.
"Hold it! I didn't... Don't think such... You know what I meant!" he stammered. It just wasn't right that Phoenix was lying there with legs spread, completely exposed, and he was the one blushing.
Phoenix just laughed, and only seemed to be more amused when Miles huffed, telling him he was behaving like a complete idiot.
"It's... It's all part of the role-play... sir."
"Wright, do you want to have an orgasm in the next month or not?"
Finally he seemed to at least attempt to be appear apologetic, though Miles thought the effect was ruined by Wright's smirk.
"I'm sorry, honey?" Phoenix tried, looking a little ashamed at Miles' glare.
"Apology accepted. Honestly. I'm not the one with a thing for younger men."
"I don't know what you could possibly mean by--"
"And their mothers?"
"Ah. Um. So, about this new toy..."
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Miles swatted at Wright's head before leaning over to kiss him. "A complete idiot," he repeated affectionately.
"Guilty as charged," Phoenix agreed happily, "But you put up with it, for my rugged good looks."
"Something like that," Miles said, sitting up again. Picking up the lube, he squeezed a small amount in his hand to coat the cool metal of the plug. A toy like this didn't need much, and Wright was obviously plenty stretched and lubricated--Miles was glad for the patience of age, because if he and Wright had done this as teenagers he'd be hard again already, seeing Phoenix' ass loose and slick with come--but it didn't hurt to be cautious. Phoenix watched him, clearly eager. Despite all the joking around, all the threats about lectures on reproductive maladies, Phoenix was still mostly erect.
"Stainless steel, huh?" he asked again as Miles, satisfied with the lube, edged closer. "Does this mean it's going to be col--right. Yep, guess it does."
Miles snorted, guiding the tip of the plug into Phoenix. "It'll warm up soon enough. It can't be that cold." He hesitated, glancing up at Wright's face. "Is it?"
Shaking his head, Phoenix grinned. "No, it's just a little unusual. Probably just seems colder, after you fucking me like that. Really..." he paused, seeming to consider the sensation, "It feels pretty good."
Smiling at the admission, Miles continued pressing the plug into Wright. Phoenix inhaled sharply as he took the widest point--stretched as he might have been, he still had to be sore after what they'd just done. Miles slid the last of the plug in smoothly after that, smirking when Phoenix gasped again, cock twitching against his belly as his ass clenched around the base of the plug. "Good, hmm?" Miles questioned, stroking Phoenix' ass, nudging the base of the plug to see Wright instinctively tense again.
"Oh. Oh god. Miles, you really can't leave me like this."
Ignoring Wright's plea, he stood up, glancing at the clock. 10:15 gave him plenty of time, provided Wright didn't become too distracting. Picking up his bag to dress in the bathroom--where he'd be considerably less tempted--he smirked down at Wright.
"You know, if you're so fond of the sensation of metal in you, we could always make it colder. A little time in the fridge before I slide it in you..."
"Miles, I'm serious--"
"Or, if you didn't like that, a little time in warm water..."
"Look, I don't need any damn coffee, I need you to get back here," Phoenix protested. When Miles shrugged and repeated his line about legitimate objections, Phoenix tried to sit up. Quickly, he seemed to think better of it.
"I'm going to come any minute here, Miles," he said. Looking back at him--sweating, cock fully hard, face flushed--Miles could see he wasn't exaggerating. Swallowing, he willed himself not to be distracted.
"You could try to show some self-control," he said coolly, trying to look detached while still completely nude, "I think you'll find if you hold still, it isn't nearly so intolerable."
Phoenix began to object again, but, wary of letting his resolve shake, Edgeworth ducked into the bathroom and closed the door.
"Okay, not fair," Phoenix yelled.
Shaking his head, Miles started washing his hands, reassuring himself that he was merely cleaning the lube off and not trying to drown out Wright's complaints with the sound of the water. Little good it did--the minute he'd shut off the tap, having dampened a washcloth to do a perfunctory job of cleaning himself, Phoenix started yelling at him again.
"Phoenix, you are not making me feel guilty," he yelled back, more to convince himself than Phoenix. The way Wright was carrying on, this was quite possibly the worst thing to ever happen to him. Absurd, Miles thought, especially considering the fact that Wright had spent the greater part of last night clawing the bedframe and screaming himself hoarse.
"Well, you should! If you're not going to get out here and jerk me off, I'm doing it myself."
"You wouldn't dare do such a thing," he snapped, grabbing a pair of boxers from his bag.
"Why? What'll you do?"
Miles had one leg in his boxers when he paused, trying to think of something. He actually had not planned out that far. Phoenix apparently meant to bargain, then--usually, he'd take empty threats without complaint.
"Haven't thought out that far, huh?"
Sighing, Miles wondered, not for the first time, precisely who was in charge here. "Of course I have," he defended, pulling his boxers up. "I just hardly need explain myself to you." Going for his pants, he continued before Wright could retort with some juvenile 'yeah, sure' sort of comment. "However, I will tell you that if I see your hand so much as approach your penis, I won't feel nearly so inclined to put myself through the incredible hassle of spanking you."
"Just common sense, Wright," he interrupted as he fastened his belt, trying not to think about how he'd used it the previous night. "After all, the theory behind use of discipline implies that an individual is capable of improving his or her behavior. If you're not able to restrain yourself for a few minutes, after numerous warnings..." he let the thought trail off as he pulled on his shirt, hoping Wright wouldn't question him further. It was already difficult enough, keeping up these ridiculous pretences.
Luckily, Phoenix just muttered something Miles couldn't quite make out before going quiet, apparently accepting the situation. Finally, Miles thought, exasperated.
Dressed, he cautiously opened the door, fully expecting another litany of complaints. He knew he was completely inadequate at treating Wright in this manner he seemed to desire. As resolved as he'd been a few minutes ago, he felt as if he were on the verge of conceding to Phoenix' begging, though logically he knew Phoenix was likely having one of the better mornings of his life. And, when Miles first looked at Wright--legs still temptingly spread, arms stretched up, wrists crossed submissively above his head--he did look as if he was about to say something about his unfortunate situation.
However, something in his expression suddenly changed, and instead of trying to again argue his belief that any further delay from an orgasm would surely put him into mortal danger, Phoenix just smiled crookedly at Miles and shook his head.
"Oh, get over here," he said, sounding nearly as exasperated as Miles had felt a few minutes ago.
Though his initial plan had been to grab his shoes and bolt for the door, Miles sat tentatively on the edge of the mattress, cautious of any stray smears of lube on the sheets. Rubbing his arm, he glanced curiously at Phoenix. "Phoenix, if you actually--mmph!"
Miles flailed an arm out awkwardly to keep from falling, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when his hand landed somewhere reasonably clean, as Wright pulled him into a highly off-balance kiss. While being suddenly pawed up like this certainly interrupted the plan--and put him at risk of having to wash his hands yet again before escaping--Miles couldn't quite find it in him to protest. Phoenix' kiss was passionate and a little rough, tongue pressing eagerly against Miles', and Miles could barely manage the self-conscious realization that he still hadn't brushed his teeth. As absurdly wet as the kiss was, when Phoenix had finally satisfied his need for scraping his tongue against Miles' teeth and broke the kiss, Edgeworth had to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand in a vague attempt to stay presentable. Phoenix grinned, seeming thoroughly amused at the action, and before Miles could point out that it was Phoenix' slobber that was entirely at fault, he spoke up.
"Sorry to interrupt again. But really, Miles. When have I ever been subtle about my objections?"
Raising his eyebrows, Miles thought about pointing out that it made matters considerably more difficult when Phoenix was as vocal with apparently fake complaints as he was with real ones, but instead he merely asked when Wright had ever been subtle with anything.
"Exactly my point," Wright said, "But as the great Miles Edgeworth needs his reports typed up in triplicate..."
He wanted to protest at that comment, but it was difficult to be very offended with Wright kissing him again, this time much less sloppily, but no less enthusiastically. When they broke the kiss, Miles glanced away. After all this time, he was still a little embarrassed under the full force of one of Wright's shamelessly dopey grins.
"Idiot. I love this, and you know it," Phoenix said, voice low in that absurd sex-voice he'd probably got from TV, which Miles found infuriatingly arousing despite the overwhelming cheesiness, "So, even though I'm probably going to come the minute I hear you start the car--and you have no idea how impossibly good this thing feels--yes, Edgeworth, I do really want you to go get that stupid coffee."
Initiating one last deep, wild kiss, Miles brushed his hand through Wright's hair and over the side of his face, following the line of one of those odd crooked eyebrows with his thumb. The fact that he needed reassurance during this was rather pitiful, but having received it, he was even more determined to act out this fantasy of Wright's. Still doing a thorough job of licking over Wright's tongue, he let his hand trail gently over Phoenix' neck and chest before pinching gently at his left nipple. Feeling the way Phoenix tensed a little, the way he moaned into the kiss, Miles suddenly twisted mercilessly as he bit Wright's lower lip. When Miles broke the bruising kiss, Phoenix was wincing and pulling clumsily at his hand.
"That's right. I don't know how I forgot..." he paused, pinching even more cruelly, making Wright yelp, "You're such a pitiful whore, anything would get you off." He let go of Phoenix and stood up, smirking as Phoenix groaned and rubbed the sore, reddened flesh carefully.
"Including, it would appear, being forbidden from getting off," he remarked as he grabbed the room keys and found where Phoenix had thrown his right shoe last night. While he had no doubt he looked as if he'd just spent the morning forcing himself upon some woefully unkempt man, he was running out of time to make it to the lobby. He could always attempt to make himself look dignified in the rear-view mirror.
He was glad Phoenix had a sense of humor about these things, as it was rather difficult to act commanding while tying one's shoes. "Nevertheless," he continued, "as much as I'm certain you're... enjoying... yourself, there is one false assumption under which you've been operating."
Phoenix frowned. "I've been... what?"
Standing near the door, Miles smirked and shook his head. "Phoenix, you've been laying there, thinking I haven't any idea of the difficulty of your little situation. Imagining that I don't know what that plug feels like in you--that I wouldn't know you could have an orgasm just from sitting on it. All this time, you've assumed I've never felt the way the metal fills you, hard and impersonal, and how every time you so much as twitch, the head of that thing will hit your prostate."
Predictably, Phoenix flushed deeply at his words, groaning under his breath as his body clenched around the toy. Miles grinned, amused by how easy it actually would be to have Wright like this for days--occasionally letting up on the poor desperate idiot, but always, always keeping him aroused. It was a tempting idea.
"Okay, now this really isn't playing fair," Phoenix complained breathlessly.
He'd just have to be certain he bought Wright a good, comfortable gag first.
"Maybe not," Edgeworth said, "However, as much as I'm flattered by your estimation of my self-control, I just felt you might enjoy hearing the truth. Consider it, Wright. As many nights I spent in hotels, alone with that purchase... How was it you put it? 'Do you really think I have that sort of control?'"
"Um, Miles, isn't it getting a little late to make it in time? You know, I don't want you to be speeding--"
"Then stop interrupting," he said patiently, opening the door. "And don't look as if I'm doing something unbearable to you. After all, I've given you plenty to think about during my absence."
Phoenix yelled something unflattering in parting, but by then, Miles had closed and locked the door. He leaned against it for a moment, sighing and rubbing his warm face blearily, trying to forget how Wright had looked in there, spread and filled...
He shook himself. The horrifying thought of embarrassing himself in front of some poor barista would just have to be enough to push the thought of Wright nude and swearing at him from his mind. But as he started the ignition, his thoughts traitorously went right back to him, Wright's earlier words about having an orgasm from the sound of a car engine coming easily to mind.
At least the drive was reasonably short, for all the meandering paths the developers had built to create the illusion of total isolation--perhaps he did drive a bit above the posted speed, but he imagined it was no more than what was usual for when Wright wasn't in the passenger seat to complain--and he still made it with a few minutes to spare. Pulling into the small lot, he stopped to brush at his clothes self-consciously and straighten his hair in the rearview mirror. While he felt as if he was wearing a sign that said, "Hello, my name is Miles Edgeworth, and I just locked my naked, horny boyfriend up in one of your rental cabins," objectively he knew he just looked like any generic professional pretending to 'rough it.' Taking a deep breath--then remembering he still hadn't brushed his teeth and digging through the glove compartment for those mints only Trucy seemed to like, but he always seemed to buy--he stepped out of the car.
The barista, who was leaning against the counter and watching the clock attentively, was familiar in a distant way to Miles. Likely, he just knew her from here--probably some unfortunate daughter-of-the-owner type who was forced to spend her mornings clicking a pen next to an underused espresso machine during her summer vacations. He glanced at the clock, too. 10:56. He nearly winced, hating his lack of punctuality.
"I'm sorry," he said smoothly, making the young woman startle and drop her pen. "I hope I'm not too late to order...?"
"Oh, no! Not at all," she said cheerfully, scrambling to grab a cup. "Let me guess--the day's only order for a tall organic chai?"
Miles rubbed his arm awkwardly. They... They really weren't here that often, were they? "Not if the tea is old or--"
"Nope," she said, already filling the order before he could protest, "But, say... Where's your cutie? Mister double-shot tall orange soy mocha?"
There wasn't much in that statement he couldn't have a heart attack over. They were here too often if she remembered Wright's attrocity of a beverage, that chai was probably ancient, and she'd referred to Wright not only as a "cutie," (which, were 'cutie' actually a word, Miles would have insisted she had done an amazing job of completely misusing it) but as his cutie.
"I, ah... I'm actually ordering for him," he admitted. He just hoped she wasn't nearly as desperate for conversation as she seemed.
"Oh?" she asked, pulling another cup off the stack, "I hope he's feeling okay. He didn't fall into some poison-oak again, did he?"
Wincing at the memory of the first--and only--time Phoenix had convinced him to actually go on an 'exciting hike' here, Miles quickly tried to cover.
"Of course not. He's just..." probably humping the sheets right now, Miles thought, before mentally kicking himself. Quickly, he calculated. If she'd worked here long enough to remember the poison-oak incident, she'd probably see right through the obvious lie of 'taking a hike.' "Sleeping in. Again," he added, playing his well-used 'put-upon boyfriend' card. With any luck, it'd divert her interest from...
"Oh, I see. Still asleep, huh? I know how that can..."
"Ah, I don't want to keep you late--how much will that be again?"
The barista just laughed as she finished Wright's drink, and Miles somehow managed to escape with little further mortification--though she did make him promise to give his "cutie" her greetings as he left.
After he'd carefully balanced the drinks on the passenger seat in a manner that he felt was reasonably safe--wishing as he did so that he didn't have Wright's monologue on cars without cup holders ("Tell me. How is this "luxury" without the elegant simplicity of a cup holder?") memorized quite so well--he rested his head against the steering wheel momentarily, trying to make sense of that whole agonizing exchange. Really, cutie? It was as if Wright's razor met an unfortunate end one day, and the next...
Sighing, Edgeworth started the car. As he drove back, he couldn't stop thinking about the barista's innuendo. He supposed it was all harmless enough, provided she--or, for that matter, any other living soul--never figured out exactly what Wright had done to him before he slept in so late.
The return trip was much slower, as Miles drove closer to that snail's pace he was always cowed into when both Wrights were in his car. Largely, he just wanted to ensure the safety of his upholstery, but the entire diversion also hadn't lasted as long as he'd estimated. Wright needed some extra time to himself, Miles figured, to cool down--or at least to do a half-assed job of cleaning the sheets. As he parked and grabbed the drinks, Miles smirked to himself. He'd have to make sure to send Wright out on his own to order one of these days, just to see that clueless flustered little grin he still always seemed to get whenever someone flirted with him.
Pausing at the door to adjust the cups in his hands--eventually giving up altogether and setting them down to pull the cabin key from his pocket--he sighed. The drinks would be cold by the time he was done with Wright, he knew, so he took one experimental sip of his own before opening the door. He frowned. It did taste off.
But he supposed it was a little late to worry about such matters, and considering the sight that greeted him as he came in the door...
"I thought you said five minutes," Wright moaned accusingly.
Perhaps leaving Wright with the parting imagery of himself in some German hotel with that same plug had been a little much, but Miles felt more than justified, seeing Wright so completely immobilized with arousal. At some point, Phoenix had decided to roll carefully onto his side--no doubt to see if the pressure against his prostate was a little more tolerable, which Miles knew from experience it was not--and his hand was tight around the base of his erection. The air in the cabin felt too warm, thick with the heavy scent of sex and sweat, and Miles felt a sharp shock of arousal to see the thick, clear string of precome trailing from the dark glans of Wright's cock. Swallowing, Miles set the drinks down before he dropped them, locked the door, and stalked to the bed.
"You're fully aware I promised no such thing, Wright." Kneeling on the mattress, he pushed Wright harshly onto his back and slapped him. Phoenix arched under him and groaned, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he tightened his grip desperately, another little dribble of precome landing on his stomach.
"I did, however, tell you explicitly to keep your hands off yourself. Can't you listen to a simple request?"
"Oh fuck," Phoenix moaned, voice husky, "Miles, I had to, you know what I'm--"
He broke of with a grunt as Edgeworth backhanded him. "Don't make excuses. Yes, I'm aware what you were attempting to do. Little good it was," he remarked, backing away a little to look at the flecks of precome across Wright's stomach, and swiped his fingers through the small puddle on the sheet.
"Honestly, just look at this," he said, rubbing his fingertips together idly in front of Phoenix. "Getting so aroused over absolutely nothing. Wright, you always amaze me."
When Phoenix--perhaps only unconsciously--licked his lips, Miles smirked. Obliging, he brought his hand down to wipe a little on Phoenix' lower lip, to let Phoenix take his fingers into his mouth to lap them clean. The feeling of Wright's agile tongue curling around his fingers, sliding up to flick against the sensitive flesh between middle and index, made thinking suddenly difficult.
"You really are amazing," he repeated, swallowing as he felt Wright moaning just from sucking his fingers, "Who would ever guess you to be such a complete, flagrant slut?"
It was amusing to hear Wright beg with fingers in his mouth, but soon enough Miles pulled them out, breath catching as Wright scraped them with his teeth. Shaking himself, he wiped the gloss of spit off on Phoenix' stubbly cheek.
"Well, Phoenix," he murmured, "I suppose your intentions were pure enough. After all, for all you've managed to mess up these sheets, you did refrain from having that orgasm you've been whining about."
He moved off of Wright to sit on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. When Wright obediently remained lying behind him--seeming a more than a little dazed with arousal, but grinning hopefully--Miles smirked and patted his thighs in invitation.
"What are you lying about for? You know I've put your punishment off for long enough. Get over here."
In his haste, Phoenix seemed to forget the plug yet again as he sat up, and with a wince, he suddenly began moving far more gingerly to lie across Edgeworth's lap. When he settled, cock pressed slick between Edgeworth's legs and his own belly, Miles petted his back in long strokes.
"You're always much too eager, Wright," Miles said, amused. "It's this habit of yours to jump into things without even considering to think matters through that got you in this position to begin with. And yet, here you are," he tugged at the base of the plug just enough to stretch sensitive muscle, just enough to make Wright whimper, "forgetting yourself once again."
Raising his ass a little, Phoenix shivered. His voice was strained when he spoke. "Miles, I really can't much longer. Please, please..."
"Yes, I can see that much," he teased, still gently rubbing Wright's back, "What do you think it'll take, Phoenix? Four strikes? Two?"
"Hah... You want me to count?"
He pinched Phoenix' inner thigh sharply. "Don't be so horridly clichéd, Wright. Besides," he said, idly tracing light patterns across the inside of Phoenix' thigh and up over his ass, "We both know you'll be a little distracted. You seem pathetic enough to come just from thinking about this."
With that, Miles suddenly drew his hand back to strike Phoenix hard, low on the curve of his buttocks. The sound was loud, nearly startling enough in the quiet of the cabin to make him jump, and Phoenix jolted with a surprised grunt. The head of his cock thrusted roughly--and, given how over-stimulated he was, Miles imagined uncomfortably--against Miles' thigh with the blow, a line of precome dragging over dark twill. Before Phoenix could recover from the first slap, Miles struck again a little higher, viciously enough to make Wright fall forward, his swearing nearly as loud as the sound of his flesh being hit.
Shaking his hand a little, Miles grinned. Using a belt may be easier on the hands, but overall he vastly preferred this--he was able to inflict the pain Wright desired without running the risk of going too far, of causing lasting damage, and with Phoenix sprawled across his lap, squirming and shouting, there was simply no mistaking how much his lover absolutely adored this treatment. But as he started to bring his hand down for a third strike, he had to pause. The hard line of Wright's cock was rubbing a little too deliberately against him. Smirking, Miles pulled his hand away. It was one thing for Wright to take advantage of the force of the blows shoving him against Miles' leg, but to be openly rutting like this? Grabbing Wright's hair again, he wrenched his head back.
"Phoenix, what are you doing? You're humping my thigh--did you honestly think I wouldn't notice?" He twisted a handful of that dark hair in his hand and tugged sharply. Phoenix gasped, fumbling in a futile effort to arch back and relieve the pain.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry--"
"Isn't this how you always act? To just do whatever you please, and apologize later?" Letting Wright go again, Miles pushed him harshly back down. "Because I find that sort of behavior entirely unacceptable. It's one thing for you to be pitiful enough to come from being spanked. As I can hardly expect you to change your nature, I've given you permission to do so much. But behaving as if you have the right to hump my leg?"
Phoenix had carefully moved back into position, hanging his head as Miles scolded him. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, almost reluctantly, as if he had been searching for something else to say to appease Edgeworth. Sighing, Miles petted Wright again, a slow brush of his palm from the nape of Phoenix' neck to his tailbone. Phoenix shuddered under his touch. "Please, Miles, I'm sorry," he tried again when Miles still didn't reply, "I promise, I won't do it again. Just, just... aaah, fuck, fuck yes."
Miles nearly laughed at Phoenix' enthusiasm, smacking again--a bit more lightly--the reddened skin he'd just hit. "Just see that you don't," he said warmly as he lowered his hand once more.
Keeping the blows landing close and hard enough to jar Wright with every strike, Miles could feel his hand was going to get sore from this. But watching Phoenix enjoy himself so thoroughly--sweat beading on his shoulders, skin flushing to an intense red from thighs to back, panting loudly when he wasn't yelling or just moaning--was more than worth it. With every strike, he could see the way Phoenix' ass would clench in reaction, and from Phoenix' feverish begging--hell, from Miles' own experience with that thing--it didn't require any imagination to picture what all that tensing was doing to move the plug in Wright.
It was obvious Phoenix wasn't going to last long at all. Miles brought his palm down relentlessly, trying to end this teasing as quickly as possible, to get Phoenix to finally come. After a particularly vicious slap across already-bruising skin, Miles grabbed the base of the plug, and twisted it sharply.
It was finally enough. Phoenix seized immediately and tensed hard around the plug, voice catching mid-curse. The first pulse splattered mainly against Miles' pants--distantly, he was glad he'd never listened to Wright's "why do you need four pairs of socks for two days?" speeches--and as he brought his hand down ceaselessly, spanking Wright through this agonizingly belated orgasm, Phoenix twisted under him. Groaning low and desperately loud again, his come flecked the sheets.
The moment he'd walked in the door, Miles had honestly been surprised Phoenix had lasted so long. Watching Phoenix shudder violently through this intense orgasm, he was astonished even further. As Wright's spasms subsided, Miles let his hand rest gently on Phoenix' too-warm skin. His hand burned terribly, and he could only begin to imagine how Wright felt, receiving a bruising spanking the morning after he'd been whipped with a belt. But as familiar as Miles was with that boneless slump and that particular contented sigh, he knew he wasn't very likely to hear any complaints.
As busy as he'd been slapping his lover around while watching him come his brains out, Miles only realized belatedly exactly how uncomfortable his pants had become. Despite how awkward he felt hitting him--no matter how consensually--it was impossible not to get aroused when seeing Phoenix like this. Although Phoenix seemed entirely content, Miles felt he needed to gauge exactly how comatose he was before considering doing anything further. He tried to ignore his erection.
And apparently did a miserable job of it. Phoenix made a muffled, inquisitive and noticeably inviting little mumble, pointing out to Edgeworth the fact that he'd been unconsciously pressing himself against Wright's hip the entire time. Miles frowned, wondering exactly when Wright's influence had damaged his self-control so terribly.
It was of little matter. For all Wright seemed to be falling asleep, that questioning wordless noise of his meant that Miles really didn't need that control. Looping a steadying arm around Wright's middle, nervous about him rolling--even if it wouldn't be the first time--completely off the bed, he urged Wright off of him.
"Get up, I want you kneeling in the center of the mattress. Yes, I realize you're tired, don't whine like that. I'm not letting you get a concussion. Up."
Phoenix grumbled again, and put forth the great effort to move his arm about an inch. Stubbornly, he remained a dead weight, slumped lazily over Edgeworth's lap.
Ultimately, Miles wound up hauling Phoenix bodily from his lap, though Wright did manage to hold himself up on hands and knees agreeably enough once they'd moved. Satisfied he wasn't going to collapse--at least not immediately--Miles leaned down to lick across that too-warm skin once before sitting back to unzip his pants, wincing a little at how much of a mess they already were. Still, it wasn't as if they didn't bring their own linens that always desperately needed laundering by the end of the weekend...
Giving up on his clothes, he merely pushed his pants down his thighs partway. He stroked his cock once, slow from base to tip, just enjoying the view. Watching the heave of Phoenix' back as he panted to regain his breath, the way his red, welted ass still tensed a little around that plug... Phoenix was undeniably attractive like this, and Miles was content to jerk himself as he pressed close, breath already coming in short gasps. But as much as Phoenix was still gripping around that thing, Miles had to pause guiltily.
Thinking he should really get that thing out of Wright before he would become too sore, Miles gently rested one hand on Phoenix' lower back, curling his fingers around the base of the plug with the other.
"Phoenix, I should really... I mean to say, are you all right for, um..."
Already gone well through his limit of awkward graphic language for the month, Miles was glad for the interruption. Rubbing Phoenix' back, he tugged gradually at the base, pulling the metal smoothly, almost teasingly, from Wright's ass. As the widest point stretched his over-sensitized muscles again, Phoenix moaned, deep and guttural, the noise trailing on as the last of the plug slid easily from his body.
Miles dropped it on the bed carelessly--everything was coated in lube or come or both already. When he turned at Phoenix' sharp gasp, he groaned under his breath, Phoenix an even greater mess than before. Miles was helplessly and primally aroused as ever to see the evidence of exactly what he'd done earlier, his come trickling down from Wright's stretched hole, over his balls, making him shiver slightly. Miles knew he should ask Phoenix how he felt. He knew he should get something to clean him up. He knew he should be at least halfway considerate.
Instead, keeping one hand braced on Phoenix, Miles quickly resumed jerking off. At least it wouldn't take him long, he justified, and as he pumped himself frantically, he found himself unsuccessfully attempting to dispel the sudden, unbidden urge to just take Wright again. There was no way he could handle it, Miles reminded himself. It was bad enough he was doing this much to Phoenix, masturbating on to his back when he was so clearly done for the morning--when he was so obviously exhausted. To even consider angling his hips just a little differently, to thrust easily in that loose hole, to fuck Phoenix when he was so pliable and sloppy with lube and come and used...
With a broken moan, Miles came, shooting across Phoenix' still-red backside. When he could think again, Miles flushed. He wished he hadn't come thinking of something like that, wished once again that he wasn't so easily aroused by something so degrading--and yet so common--as ejaculating on his lover.
Phoenix, meanwhile, just happily grunted at the feeling of Miles' release. He seemed perfectly content with the whole matter, apparently content enough to decide he was done holding himself up. Unfortunately, he seemed to come to this decision around the same time Miles was, in his post-orgasmic guilt trip, rather dependant on the surface he was leaning on.
With an undignified shout, Miles fell clumsily against Phoenix. Grumbling, he rolled off of Phoenix' back, but kept his arm wrapped around him as tried to find a comfortable position. He could feel Wright laughing a little under his arm, and gently shoved at him.
"Could have made me fall off the bed," he mumbled.
Phoenix just made another one of his agreeing murmurs and flopped into Miles, confusing the concepts of "snuggling" and "smothering" yet again. With a defeated sigh, Miles resigned himself to breathing Phoenix' hair for the next few minutes. Any attempt to push it away was only an exercise in futility.
After a while, Phoenix somehow managed to find even more energy to roll about irritatingly, this time lying on Miles.
"Could you not yawn directly in my face?"
Miles waited patiently. When Wright seemed more interested with finding a comfortable full-body sprawl on his chest than continuing his thought, Miles prodded him gently.
"You'd be more comfortable on the mattress."
"Thank you, 'm fine here."
"I imagined so." Unfortunately. "Remember, we have to leave sometime today. We should really get up, take a shower..."
To his surprise, Phoenix suddenly sat up off of him, but not without a painful elbow to the side.
"That was me, Phoenix!"
"Oh, sorry," he said dismissively, "But I just remembered. My mocha?"
Miles sat up with a grunt, still rubbing his side. "It's likely disgusting by now--that is, more disgusting than usual. But, as I imagine you're determined to drink it regardless, it's right over there," he said, gesturing vaguely. He frowned when Phoenix just sat there, a hopeful, dorky grin plastered on his face.
"W-what? Why are you giving me that look, Wright?"
"Aren't you going to get it? You're supposed to be spoiling poor, beaten me--hey!"
"Please, Phoenix, I've been spoiling you all weekend," Miles countered, crossing his arms.
Laughing, Phoenix gave him a quick kiss before getting off the bed in a surprising burst of energy. "See baby, admitting that wasn't so difficult," he teased. "Ugh, I really had to get out of bed anyway. I'll, uh, be right back."
"You could run a bath for me while you're in there," Miles called after him. "Wright, don't just laugh!"
Sighing, Miles untied his shoes--berating himself as usual for having them on the bed, no matter how filthy the sheets already were--and dropped them on the floor. It took some time to argue with his pants and boxers, so by the time Wright was back out of the bathroom and going for the coffee, he'd just leaned against the headboard.
"We're going to have to get one of those upholstered old-people toilet seats," Phoenix announced, grabbing both cups.
"Please. I have better things to do than comfort you over nightmares about cleaning one of those things. No, leave mine, it tastes off."
"Suit yourself," Phoenix said, hopping up on the bed and sitting by him, one leg casually thrown over his.
"Hey, wait. So you drank some already? You were just hanging out in your car drinking tea, while I was in here suffering... Have you considered that it might have been the bitter taste of guilt?"
"No, I haven't," Miles said factually. "And if you're going to complain about something you asked for, I'm going to insist you attempt to make sense."
Phoenix took a long sip of his drink--either his was halfway appealing, or his standards were remarkably lower than Miles' own--and looked thoughtful. "Hmm. I thought that'd made perfect sense."
"I suspect your friends are a poor influence on you," Miles replied, stretching lazily. He and Wright would get up any minute and take that shower. It was perfectly acceptable to be in bed at this hour provided they were both awake, he reasoned. But as they carried out the familiar motions of the old "hey, they're your friends, too" argument, Miles realized something was still bothering him about this whole ordeal.
When Wright had pulled the lid off his drink and was trying to get the last millimeter of chocolate from the bottom, Miles confronted him.
"One thing, Wright. Why were you going through my things earlier?"
Giving up on the coffee, Phoenix grinned sheepishly. "Oh, that? Well... I kinda suspected it was in there."
"Suspected? You've never even seen it before!"
"Of course I had."
Miles just frowned. "Wright. Explain yourself."
"I kind of searched your bags at the airport. A little. But I'm surprised," he continued quickly, raising his voice over Miles' alarmed spluttering, "You? Giving me a used present? A used sex toy present?"
"When did you... In public..." Miles glared at him. "Wright, you know that's not what it's like."
"I mean, come on. I'm poor, but even I'm not that cheap."
Flustered, Miles tapped his arm idly as he quickly came up with an excuse. "You entrust me with your safety here, Wright. I couldn't use something on you if I weren't absolutely assured you would find it enjoyable."
"You're bluffing," Phoenix said simply, balancing the mostly-empty cup precariously on a pillow. "It's not that I don't appreciate your theory of 'quality control,' Miles, but you know me. You could stick a waffle iron in there, and I'd probably 'find it enjoyable.'"
Reaching over Wright to grab the cup before they had to wash mocha out of the sheets, Miles was about to object to the appalling mental image Wright had just painted. But as he put the cup safely on the floor, he thought better of it.
"I see you feel strongly about this, Phoenix. I apologize. Still, I suppose I can always keep it for myself."
"No, you know, that's really..."
"Oh, it's no trouble. After all," he said, smirking and moving to straddle Wright, "Even someone as cheap as I can afford to buy his boyfriend a waffle iron."