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"What would happen if I kissed you, Wright?"
The question is an abrupt segue from one topic to another, but as soon as it's spoken, the concept of further conversation is effectively banished from Phoenix Wright's brain.
Edgeworth is looking at him, weight disproportionately settled on the elbow perched between them and against the top of the couch. He cradles his glass of wine with the same hand, and, all in all, Edgeworth's sprawl would be an easy friendly-casual had his gaze not been very pointedly fixed on Phoenix's mouth.
A long moment passes.
"Hm?" Phoenix squeaks as the cogs in his brain creak into motion again. "Sorry, uh...what was that?"
"I said," Edgeworth repeats patiently, "what would happen if I kissed you?"
Phoenix's laugh is a breathless gust of nerves, because this isn't happening. Clearly too much grape juice over dinner. "Are you drunk?" he jokes.
Edgeworth raises his eyebrows at the wineglass in his own hand, leans over to deposit it on the coffee table. "No," he says firmly. "It was a sober question."
"Oh," says Phoenix. Blinks. Then thinks about it. "O-oh."
"Are you thinking about it?"
"N-no!" Phoenix stammers defensively, oddly horrified to see Edgeworth watching him with this look of...wry cunning, and when did stuffy old Edgeworth learn how to make faces like that!? "...Okay, m-maybe...maybe a little bit, but why--" It's an obvious question with an even more obvious answer, and had they been in court, Phoenix would never hear the end of it, but he needs to ask anyway. "...Why do you ask?"
Edgeworth takes a moment to reply. "I would have thought that to be obvious," he says, and his tone is ambiguous -- not disappointed, per se, but not...well, not seductive either.
Seductive. Phoenix could strangle his own brain for the word, but something is brushing his upper-arm now, and, upon further investigation, it is Miles Edgeworth's thumb.
Not that the rest of Edgeworth's hand is any less significant -- it's certainly there, against his shoulder, all five fingers attached -- but Phoenix knows Edgeworth's hand. It's rested on his arm before. They've even hugged for chrissakes, physical contact is not a radical statement between them, but thumbs -- and the sort of light pressure Miles is applying with his right now -- are certainly...well, they're without precedent and need to be--
...Wait, Miles!?
"Edgeworth!" Phoenix blurts, as though verbally correcting his panicked inner monologue somehow absolves his secret crime of overfamiliarity.
"The reason I asked," Edgeworth explains in a rush, "is because if I had it my way, Wright, I'd be kissing you right now."
And in what universe does Miles Edgeworth have the right to look him in the eye and say things like "if I had it my way Wright I'd be kissing you right now?" Phoenix wants to bury his face in his palms and howl, but not as much as he wants to keep staring into the face of his friend. His best friend, the best rival he could have ever asked for, his dearest, dearest--
And somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Pearl gushing about that romantic comedy she saw the other day with Trucy, how the lovers were "just caught in each other's eyes!" and this must be what she meant, because Phoenix can't look away -- this is a moment -- they're having a moment -- and everything is completely and totally--
"Wright," says Edgeworth. He's frowning. "Say something." His eyes flick uncomfortably away.
It's this familiar sign of unease that jars Phoenix from his stupor, and he fastens his hand over Edgeworth's before Edgeworth can misinterpret his silence. "Miles," he begins, "I--"
Edgeworth visibly startles. "Miles," he repeats with wonder.
"E-Edgeworth!" Phoenix practically shouts his correction, feeling his cheeks blaze. "Miles Edgeworth!"
Edgeworth's mouth twists into a poorly-composed frown. "Speaking?"
"Edgeworth," Phoenix starts again, hand tightening on Edgeworth's knuckles, "I..." He wets his lips nervously. "Should we..." He isn't breathing anymore, heart skipping in his throat. "Do we need to...talk about this? Is that what you...?"
Edgeworth jerks his head to the left, then back again. "No," he says. "I'd be perfectly happy with less, ah. Talking."
Phoenix's breath leaves him in a rush. "Okay good," he says, leans forward, and kisses him.
It's by no means Phoenix's first kiss, but it might as well be, because this, he realizes, is the only one that's ever really mattered.
Because he has his closed mouth pressed against the Chief Prosecutor's. His best friend.
He is kissing Miles Edgeworth.
No amount of fantasizing could account for the sensation of closeness, the chaste warmth shifting into sweet red wine on Edgeworth's lips. The reassessing of proximity as that first kiss turns easily into a second that is a little more. How Miles' hand leaves his shoulder to press open at the top of his spine, how beautiful Miles' cheekbone feels against Phoenix's palm.
And Phoenix has done his share of fantasizing over the years. More than is probably healthy, in fact.
He doesn't have the presence of mind to whisper any kind of sweet nothing, simply tilts his head for a third kiss and pulls Miles' face as close as he dares. Miles inhales to his lead, a small noise melting open in the back of his throat, and Edgeworth's voice has never been fair, should have always been considered illegal in any court of law for as much as it destroys Phoenix, and now Phoenix realizes he needs to hear it again, more, in ways he hasn't yet.
"Is this," Phoenix pulls back to breathe, heart hammering in his ears, "what you had in mind?"
Edgeworth's eyes are hazy. "More," he says simply, and Phoenix can't tell if he means it as an answer or a command, but he'll take it either way.
Phoenix scoots closer on the couch until he can wrap his arm around Miles' shoulders, which Miles allows, hand withdrawing to rest on Phoenix's collarbone. This time it's Miles who closes the distance between them, and this is wonderful, Phoenix decides. Miles in the circle of his arms, Miles kissing him with a hand over his heart, Miles opening his mouth to him, yielding in perfectly sweet ways no one would ever assume possible of the cutting Chief Prosecutor.
He could do this all day.
So he does for some time, relishing in the soft sounds, the pervading warmth that feels golden and giddy and good. So good that he's mesmerized, and it takes Miles peppering his face with light kisses to get him to slow down at all.
Phoenix swallows, butting his forehead gently against Edgeworth's. "Mm...sorry."
Edgeworth's laugh gusts over his smile. "Whatever for?"
His laugh is contagious. "I should have known I'd get carried away."
Edgeworth shakes his head for the second time that night. "I am a willing volunteer," he says. Then adds, "I've always liked getting carried away by you...Phoenix."
Phoenix feels his face flush in a slow bleed, and he pulls back so he can better see this man in front of him, so he can hold his face between his two hands. "Miles," he says, and this time it's not a mistake.
Miles exhales in a sigh. "Yes."
"You look so..." There's no other word for it. "Happy."
Miles' smile twitches wider. "Well," he says, "I've been wanting this to happen for quite a while now, so I must admit that I'm feeling a great deal of relief."
"Quite a while?" Phoenix repeats, then finally gives into the urge, presses a hand over his own eyes and groans. "Edgeworth, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for years, what have we been doing this whole time!?"
Edgeworth laughs, settles his hand comfortingly on the back of Phoenix's neck. "Defending the truth from corruption? Clearing your name of slanderous accusations?" The timbre of his voice grows warmer still. "You were also raising a daughter."
"Yes, but I wanted to do all of that and make out with you!"
Edgeworth snorts fondly. "I daresay there will be plenty of opportunity to make up for the lost time."
Phoenix's fingers slice open a fraction so he can meet Edgeworth's eyes. "Really?" he says. "You're not just saying that?"
Edgeworth's eyebrows lift in elegant superiority. "I like to think myself a man of my word," he says, thumb tracing a possessive line across Phoenix's neck. Phoenix shivers. "If you have any evidence to the contrary, by all means submit it for further and fair examination."
"Hmm," Phoenix considers, gripping his chin pensively. "Well, I can think of a few things I wouldn't mind you examining further."
Edgeworth frowns again. "Oh," he says, troubled. "What seems to be the--" He stops and his cheeks glow suddenly pink as Phoenix's innuendo hits. The furrow in his brow deepens. "Oh."
"Are you thinking about it?" Phoenix grins. Seeing Miles Edgeworth flustered in court has always played strange games with Phoenix's heart, but seeing him here, now, blushing like an innocent schoolboy is--
"Yes." Edgeworth clears his throat and passes a hand distractedly over his mouth. "Most nights, admittedly."
Phoenix Wright has undertaken a great deal of damage over the course of his storied career as a defense lawyer, but not a million warnings from the highest of judges could have prepared him for those four words from the prosecution.
At least this time Miles is there to hold him while he recovers.