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bigger, better (if you could only get there)

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When he comes out of his post-sex daze, Miles realizes he's still wearing one sock, his wristwatch, - and it's not really semantically correct to say that he's wearing Phoenix, but the man is draped over him like a toga, so he figures it's appropriate.

He groans.


It had been Maya's idea. Things like this usually were, after all.

As he waited at the restaurant- if the burger joint could really be called by that name- he had tried to count back to when he had last seen Wright. It bothered him less than he'd expected- but more than he'd hoped- when he realized he couldn't remember. He supposed it had been just after his disbarment- but he'd just read in the Daily Journal about that being overturned, hadn't he?

He shelved his thoughts when he caught sight of Maya, who was waving enthusiastically from down the street. She'd filled out, Miles mused, the robes of the Master of Kurain no longer making her look like a little girl dressing up in her mother's clothes. And there was some man with her- where was Wright? For everything else, it wasn't like him to-


"Edgeworth!" Maya practically squealed, running across the street to wrap him up in a hug. It did little to promote her as a font of spiritual power, but much towards making him smile.

He watched over her shoulder as the man who was probably Wright crossed the street behind her, waiting for a bus to pass before he did so. Maya released him, following his gaze and giving Miles a knowing smile.

The man pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt- honestly, Miles hadn't thought that Wright's standards for what constituted proper dress could get any more lax, but apparently he'd been wrong- and Miles got his first proper look at him.

Wright had always been so meticulous about shaving- Miles particularly remembered him making them late for work more than once because he just wouldn't leave the house before doing it- and that brought up all sorts of unpleasantly fresh memories of waking up together. Despite making him look like some kind of beach bum- or maybe because of it- the stubble really suited him. The loose clothing didn't hurt, either- especially because, even underneath it, Miles could tell he'd lost weight, gained muscle.

The very fact that Wright looked so unkempt should have sparked all sorts of worries for Miles- he assured himself that it would, just as soon as he got over staring at him.

"Hey," Wright said, his voice lower and gruffer than he had remembered.

"Um, yes, hello," Miles replied eloquently. He hoped his gaping wasn't too blatantly obvious; but judging from Wright's lazy grin, his hope was definitely in vain.

His potential for embarrassing himself further was drastically reduced when Pearl and Trucy- Wright's daughter, and didn't that sound bizarre?- joined them, talking rapidly at each other like they'd been best friends for ages, not just an afternoon. Miles opened the door for them, not looking at Wright when he passed for fear of giving himself away.

Giving away what, exactly, he wasn't sure.


He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep, until he wakes up and Phoenix is no longer with him.

He tries to hide his disappointment in the pillow, but it smells exactly like Phoenix's hair.


Miles couldn't actually remember having agreed to go back to Wright's for a drink afterwards- maybe he hadn't. Given how distracted he was, maybe Wright had kidnapped him and Miles just hadn't realized yet.

It didn't escape his notice that Wright's old office- the same place where Mia Fey died, and wasn't that just a little strange to think about?- had turned into some combination magic warehouse/apartment. The layout was slightly different than he remembered, though- had Wright bought the office next door as well? Yes, they'd knocked out the walls there and there-

Wright's fingers brushed against his when he pressed a glass into his hand, breaking Miles's nervous ruminations on the office's architecture. He sipped it without looking, expecting to pull a face at whatever rotgut Wright blindly grabbed at the BevMo, but he was pleasantly surprised to find Wright's tastes had improved.

And Wright must have noticed that he'd just switched from contemplating the walls to staring into his drink, because he started talking in that recently gravelly voice of his. Miles realized very quickly that he wasn't listening to whatever Phoe- Wright was saying, too lost in watching his mouth move.

And Wright definitely noticed that; he lifted the glass out of Miles's unresisting fingers, stepping closer- had Wright always been this much taller than him?- advancing on him with a new, predatory, horribly attractive smile.

This was all perfectly ridiculous- he was in his thirties, for God's sake, and never once had he been backed up against a wall by anyone. But- dammit- as long as Phoenix- Wright, Wright, for god's sake- stayed over there and didn't come so much as an inch closer, he'd be fine.


So- of course- Wright, wearing his best "I know what you need better than you do" grin- it seemed as if he'd been practicing since they'd seen each other last- he didn't remember it being quite so damnably sexy- deliberately stepped in, insinuating his leg between Miles's without actually touching him, eyes focused in on his lips.

Miles's eyes rolled back, lids fluttering shut, and he gave the smallest of nods before letting the back of his head connect with the wall. He didn't need to see Wright's face to know that he had that triumphant little smile that he always did. It didn't matter, though, because just then Phoenix took his mouth.

This was what he had been thinking about since he had first seen Phoenix on the sidewalk. Miles had always been the aggressor when- before, when Phoenix had been sweet and surprisingly innocent and all at sixes and sevens all the time. Miles wasn't that person anymore- now, he was tired and lonely and oh, and this was just what he wanted now. All he had to do was let it tip over, let Phoenix do this to him- for him- certainly not with him, as his major contribution had been to lose his balance when Phoenix tried to walk them to the bedroom.

Later, when he thought of it, it would seem to go by in stop-motion- his hands entwined in the soft spikes of Phoenix's hair- the hot bright scrape of Phoenix's cheek against his thigh- Phoenix pressing into him, calm and warm and steady- the way his skin looked next to Phoenix's, pale against tan.

It was nothing like he remembered it. He was certain it had never been that good.


Just about the time he sits up, intending to gather his clothing and what remains of his dignity and slink back home, the door of the bedroom creaks open.

"I guess Trucy forgot the dishes, but I figured we could share," Phoenix tells him, looking faintly embarrassed; he's good enough not to mention the way Miles is blushing and staring.

Speechless, Miles takes the mug from him. It's hot, with a good amount of cream and almost no sugar, just like he likes it- not black and syrupy sweet like Phoenix takes it. He watches Phoenix watch him over the rim of his mug, looking for all the world like he's surprised and delighted that Miles is still here- and that's when it hits him.

Phoenix is not the same person he was- he's stronger, calmer, sadder, and that tugs at Miles's heart a little bit- but no matter what else changes, Phoenix is never going to forget how Miles likes his coffee. And even if he loses, rearranges, reconfigures everything in his life, Phoenix will always have a place for him- not as an interloper as he'd always been to his sister, nor as a rival as he'd been to nearly everyone else, never an imposition or something to be worked around. There's a place for him- but more than that, Phoenix is never going to let him get away with not taking it.

That, that right there is why Miles loves him. That realization hits him like a car crash- that he still loves him, despite all these years and his best efforts, and he probably always will. He is torn between wanting to hyperventilate and wanting to run like hell, so he puts down the coffee and buries his face in Phoenix's neck instead, listening to him laugh.

Phoenix's stubble is even longer this morning, starting to curl on itself. Miles wants to ask why he doesn't just go and shave it off- or else grow it out into a proper beard- but then Phoenix is kissing him again, and he decides it would take too long, tedious minutes of talking, waiting while Phoenix shaves or argues.

Miles has lost enough time already.