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Miles’s study looked like a man had built a little kingdom out of focus: neat towers of case files, a single lamp doing its best to keep the moonlight from stealing the margins, the steady scratch of a fountain pen that sounded almost ceremonial in the quiet. And the man himself, still half-dressed with courtroom attire, was seated at his desk with the posture of a man who had learned to be always prepared, every movement and thought precise as he read the trial preparations for the next morning.
But, unfortunately for him, Phoenix Wright was straddling his lap like a very smug cat who thought he owned the place. Ever since they had grown close again, Phoenix had become clingier than a puppy, insisting on being in the same room as Miles almost every time they were out of court. This inevitably led to heavy weight on Miles’s lap almost immediately after he sat down to work.
The desk lamp hummed low as it haloed Phoenix’s face, making his hair look like a smear of midnight tucked itself behind his ears and turning his eyes into something warm and bitter and impossible to ignore—coffee, if coffee could laugh, Edgeworth thought. He twined a finger through the loosened cravat at Miles’s throat as he played with it as though it was amusing that it was still there. Up close, he looked uncharacteristically young and completely unafraid of being soft.
His touch was featherlight as he pressed his mouth to the furrow between Miles’s brows, clearly intent on interrupting his concentration.
“You read too much, you know that?” Phoenix commented, staring down at him with that smug, entirely unrepentant expression he saved for private hours. “Why do you need so much preparation, anyway? You know you'll kill it in court tomorrow.”
“Wright,” Miles muttered without looking up, fountain pen still moving. “Some of us take our jobs seriously.”
“And some of us,” Phoenix countered, nipping at his jawline, “are conducting very important research.”
There it was—one of Phoenix’s signature schemes, which usually appeared when the man was bored or wished to be particularly annoying.
Miles exhaled through the nose, the tiniest conceding sound as if pretending to be annoyed. “If this is another excuse for—ah—” His voice stuttered as Phoenix rocked his hips down just so. “...—for distracting me, it won’t work.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Phoenix's grin grew feral, “I think it’s working just fine. I’m just testing a theory.”
Miles arched a brow, still scribbling notes, though his hand had begun to slow in curiosity. “...A theory, you say?”
“Mmhm.” Phoenix kissed the corner of his mouth, murmuring low. “That you can’t resist praise. The right kind, anyway.”
Miles went very still at that. His pen stalled mid-word. “…Nonsense. Whatever makes you think that?”
The other man stopped, staring down at him with those insufferable puppy-dog eyes. “Well,” he started, tracing a lazy line down the side of Miles’s neck, before tugging the cravat a little further. The motion was small, domestic, intimate in a way that should have been illegal.
Miles huffed at that.
“You always get all quiet when I compliment you. And you also get tighter—” The glare Miles gave Phoenix would have killed a lesser man on the spot, but Phoenix just smiled. “—when I do it during. So, let's just say I'm connecting the subtle hints here.”
Miles made a sound that was part huff, part something softer that he refused to name. The paper before him suddenly became very important and very small. “If you're gonna be vulgar in my office, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.” He ignored the desperate little kisses that were being pressed to his jaw after that, like Phoenix's way of apologizing was based on touch and stupidity. “And I fail to see how your poor ‘connecting’ skills involve me.”
“Uh-huh.” Phoenix kissed down his throat, warm and deliberate as Edgeworth glanced away at his papers again. “Let’s see. ‘You’re gorgeous, Miles.’” He tried, voice fake-velty and soft.
Nothing. Miles hummed absently, jotting down a date in the margin of his paper like Phoenix hadn’t said a word.
Phoenix smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. “Okay, not that one. How about…” He paused, a mischievous smile creeping across his lips as he contemplated his next words. “You’re brilliant. A genius. Nobody else comes close.”
Miles blinked, and then, to Phoenix’s utter disbelief, he snorted. “Finally admitting it, are you? I should frame this moment.”
Phoenix groaned, hiding his face on the curve of Miles’ neck. “Nope. Nooo. Not meltdown material. Just ego fuel.”
Miles looked entirely too pleased with himself, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Raising his gaze, Phoenix felt a new wave of bravado. “Fine, another one. You’re such a pretty boy, Miles.”
And just like that, the spell broke. Immediate scowl, like Phoenix had called him something gross instead of ‘pretty.’ “Don’t.”
Phoenix blinked, surprised at the sudden reaction. “What? Why not?”
Miles glared at him again. “It’s what petty, condescending men say when they mean to humiliate me. Try again.”
Phoenix blinked, looking slightly disappointed, then scribbled something invisible in the air with his finger. “Okay, okay... ‘Pretty boy’ rejected.”
Miles shoveled the pen back into his hand like he was restoring order. For a fraction of a second, the office was entirely paper and breath and lamp-light. Then Phoenix’s voice lowered, warm and sweet as hot chocolate.
“You’d make perfect husband material, you know.”
Miles’s pen stopped once again, before side-eyeing him like he’d been handed a legal brief written in lipstick. “Is this some kind of half-baked proposal?”
Phoenix shrugged innocently. “Not yet.”
Miles considered it for a moment, clearly amused. Then, against all odds, he let a small, reluctant smile leak free. “Good, because I'm hoping for an actual ring when it happens. Next,” he said, and the curtness couldn’t quite hide the way his fingers twitched to tuck a stray curl behind Phoenix’s ear.
Phoenix’s answering smile was all teeth and mischief, even as he hummed at the gentle caress against his hair. “Fine,” he drawled, tilting his head and biting playfully at the sharp line of Miles’s jaw. “But if you’re asking me to take it seriously, don’t blame me when I go harder on you.”
The air crackled with a dangerous heat, making Miles's stomach clench in anticipation, even as his mind screamed for composure. Phoenix’s hand slid higher, deliberate and intoxicatingly slow, anchoring him as it slid underneath his usually-vested shirt and fell on top of his chest, waiting. Miles, who had always prided himself on control, felt the balance of power tip like scales knocked out of alignment.
“Do you want me to stop?” Phoenix asked suddenly after a short while, and though his eyes gleamed with wicked delight, his voice hid an underlying care, gentled by the small piece of conscience he always kept for Miles alone.
Miles blinked, surprised at the sudden question. Control flickered, then settled into something near a smile, slightly amused at the gentle shift. “No,” he said, almost reluctant, as if admitting to ‘not being against it’ was shameful in its own way. “Continue.”
Phoenix’s grin turned feral in the best possible way before Miles continued, “But if you are going to be crass in my office, do try to be efficient about it.”
Phoenix chuckled darkly, leaning in until his breath warmed the shell of Miles’s ear. “Efficient, huh? I don't know about ‘efficient,’ but I'll definitely make it good.” He pressed a slow, reverent kiss to the edge of Miles’s jaw, teasingly lingering before rocking his hips forward in a rhythm that left no room for pretense.
His voice dropped to a sultry murmur as he tried once more. “You’re such a good boy for me. Letting me— ah!— Fuck, Miles…” A groan escaped his lips as he felt Miles arch his hips in eager response to his own, drawing him in deeper.
The fountain pen slipped from Miles’s hand and clattered across the desk.
Phoenix froze in triumph, pulling back just enough to study the man beneath him. Miles’s cheeks were flushed crimson, his ears burning with heat that contrasted with the usual cool air of his office. His lips parted in a thin, desperate line like he was swallowing a sound he could not allow himself to make.
“…Interesting,” Phoenix whispered, sly and gleeful, a wolf scenting blood. “Strong reaction. ‘Hypothesis supported,’ I would say.”
“W-Wright—” Miles began, but his protest broke on a sharp inhale when Phoenix leaned in again, lips teasingly ghosting across the shell of his ear. “God, you're absolutely ridiculous-”
“Don’t talk like that. You always feel so good around me, sweetheart. I miss it so much, even now. I love those sweet little noises you make…” Phoenix murmured. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
Miles could hardly believe the sound that escaped his lips: a soft whimper, raw and completely unguarded. His hands instinctively clutched at Phoenix’s hips, as if electrified, fingers digging in and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, desperate for more contact in a way that would usually make him want to kill himself for allowing such thoughts.
Phoenix’s eyes lit with pure, wicked delight. “Ohhh. Direct hit.”
“Of course not,” Miles hissed, voice trembling, pitched too low to be steady and to try to hide the vulnerability beneath it. “That was… a coincidence.” His dignity frayed with every shallow breath, every betraying tremor of his fingers.
Phoenix tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Coincidence? No. I think we’ve established a pattern, actually.” He cupped Miles’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. His smirk softened into something molten, dangerous in how raw it was. “You’re beautiful when you let go.”
Miles’s breath caught audibly. He tried to glare, tried to summon the sharp edge of the prosecutor everyone feared, but Phoenix saw the shiver roll through him, saw the way his lashes fluttered and eyes closed shut when Phoenix slid his hand down to press in between both of their bodies.
Miles’s own hands betrayed him — sliding up Phoenix’s thighs, dragging him flush until there was no space left to hide behind. His voice was ragged, low, and trembling with warning that had lost all its bite.
Phoenix kissed his jaw, his hand moving teasingly against the undeniable bulge in Miles’s slacks. “You sound so sweet, baby. You know that?”
Miles’s head fell forward against Wright’s shoulder with a choked noise he clearly hadn’t meant to let out.
Phoenix grinned against his throat. “Oh, that’s the one. Case closed.”
Miles’s nails dug into Phoenix’s thighs, somewhere between fury and surrender, hips thrusting up in an involuntary rhythm. “Wright, if you don’t stop this absurd—ah—methodology—”
Phoenix cut him off with a kiss, laughing against his lips. “You’ll what? File an injunction? Too late, Your Honor. Evidence admitted. This is the best case I've ever done!”
Miles groaned, tugging him closer, dignity unraveling by the second as every tight, upwards thrust rocks the chair. “…You are insufferable.”
Phoenix smirked, licking into his mouth in that disgusting way Miles hated. “Maybe. But you are really fucking good. And I love you.”
That broke something inside Miles. Another whimper escaped him—high, helpless, so unlike the polished control he held in court. His head fell back against the chair, exposing the delicate line of his throat like the sweetest offering Phoenix had ever seen.
And Phoenix, with the triumphant certainty of a man who had just won the most significant cross-examination of his life, knew he had found the right button. So, of course, he tried another.
“You’re mine,” Phoenix panted, kissing up Miles’ throat, his jaw, his gasping mouth, groaning as he felt the man grinding against him. He immediately wrapped his hands around him as some sort of reward. “All mine. Look how beautiful you are, fuck—”
Miles’s composure cracked like glass. His pen lay abandoned on the desk, his papers scattered by their movement, chair groaning in protest. His hand gripped Phoenix’s thigh in a desperate clutch, jaw tight against another involuntary sound.
“Oh my god,” Phoenix whispered, a mixture of astonishment and pleasure flooding through him, and Edgeworth swore he was actively trying to be as insufferable as possible. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s not about the ego or the looks…” He kissed him fiercely, pulling back only to murmur, voice thick with desire, hand never stopping. “It’s when I tell you you’re mine. You’re so fucking sweet, baby. Holy shit.”
Miles looked like a man awaiting execution: flushed, lips parted, pupils blown wide with something dangerously close to desire. “…Wright. If you ever repeat this outside this room—”
“Relax,” Phoenix teased, brushing their noses together in mock affection even as he felt himself start to slowly grind against him involuntarily. “This is strictly confidential evidence.”
“Confidential—” Miles’s protest broke into a groan as Phoenix rolled his hips again. His glare was ruined by the way his breath hitched, his cravat hanging loose, dignity in tatters. “Fuck, stop doing that…”
Phoenix leaned in close, smile widening at the rare curse escaping Edgeworth’s lips, voice soft and taunting all at once. “Mhmm. Come on, love. Let go for me.” Phoenix hissed, his own hips moving against Miles's, watching him unravel like a beautiful work of art. “You love this, don’t you? Love being reminded that you’re mine.”
Miles nodded slightly, words failing him, face flushed with arousal and shame. His hands were everywhere, clawing at Phoenix’s thighs and back, hair spilling down like curtains to cover his reddened face.
“Say it,” Phoenix demanded, voice rough, slowing the rhythm purposefully just to get his point across. “Tell me. I want to hear it.”
“I— fuck—” Miles choked out, whining at the loss. “Love it—love you—Phoenix, please…”
Phoenix groaned, pure ecstasy searing through him at the sound of Miles begging, ruined and wrecked beneath him, with no witty retorts or fake insults for the first time ever.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises, hand sliding down to stroke over Miles’ cock again, hot and leaking against his own pants. “You’re doing so good for me. All pretty like this—”
Miles cried out, his whole body trembling, helplessly grinding up against Phoenix’s hand and cock both. Phoenix cursed against his neck, hips snapping harder, coaxing more broken sounds from the man he loves more than life itself.
Miles’ breath stuttered as he felt himself suddenly shatter. He let out a strangled groan as he came, fingers twisting into Phoenix’s shirt before yanking him into a kiss so fierce it knocked half the case files to the floor.
Phoenix laughed against his mouth, triumphant, moving his own hand to jerk himself off as he followed his lead right after, spilling into his own pants with a broken whine.
They both stopped, panting, as Phoenix let his head fall forward to rest against the slope of Miles’ shoulder, trying to catch their breath.
In that suspended moment of silence that came afterward, the world outside faded away. The only sounds that filled the room were the soft rustle of the curtains, fluttering in the warm breeze from the open window, blending with their quickened breaths. Time seemed to halt, the chaos of their surroundings dimmed, leaving just the two of them tangled in each other's arms, lost in a breathless silence that felt both like an ending and a beginning.
“...Guess the defense rests its case,” Phoenix joked breathlessly, his voice a teasing whisper that curled against the soft fabric of the man beneath him. He clung to Miles, whose body felt impossibly warm against his, utterly relaxed yet firm under his weight.
A wince crossed Phoenix’s face as he finally registered the uncomfortable stickiness that clung to their clothes, a consequence of the passionate moment they’d just shared. He was not in a hurry, being pretty content to stay there with him, but his brain was already telling him off for dirtying his own courtroom pants like that. This kind of stuff was expensive to clean off…
Miles attempted to glare at him after recomposing himself, even if just slightly, but the effect was dampened by the way his pupils were blown wide with a mix of arousal and disbelief. His cravat was askew, pants obviously damp, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed him, revealing breathless vulnerability.
“Don’t go thinking highly of yourself, for this,” Miles panted, though his voice wavered. “You’re not in charge, Wright.”
Phoenix leaned in, a playful smile stretching across his face against the warmth of Miles’ neck, feeling like the sun had decided to shine just for them. “No, sir,” he replied teasingly, and the way Miles stilled beneath him sent a delightful thrill through his veins; he might need to explore a newfound theory in even greater depth tomorrow.
“...God, you’re gross,” Edgeworth murmured, though there was no real heat to it. “Get off of me, these pants are dry-wash…”
He only clung tighter, though, humming low in his throat as he threaded lazy fingers through Miles’ now-messy hair, whole body heavy with contentment. “More like dry-hump, to be honest,” he giggled.
“Very funny, Phoenix.”
He didn’t make any real effort to push the other man away; instead, his hand glided over Phoenix’s back, drawing out another contented purr from him, already seemingly in heaven just for being called by his first name. “I assume your theory is over now?”
Phoenix paused, a bright grin painting his features as he looked down at Miles, his eyes bright with unspoken affection. “Sure. Only if you admit I was right, though.” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against Miles’ cheek with a hint of mischief as if trying to annoy him again. “Didn’t know science could be this hot, you know…”
Miles sighed dramatically, his voice softening as he leaned into the caress. “Your… deduction skills are better than I thought, yes…” A sudden playfulness took over as he firmly tugged Phoenix back by his hair, resulting in the man letting out a yelp, their eyes locking with an intensity that made Phoenix’s breath hitch. Miles’ hand traced gently down Phoenix’s cheek, a tantalizing touch that felt like a promise, as he leaned back to rest his head against the chair. “...But you’re clearly not very far from being into it yourself.”
That statement merely coaxed a sly smirk from Phoenix as he tilted his head into Miles’ palm, relishing every second of their entangled intimacy. “Maybe. But really, you have no idea how hard it is to figure out what gets you going.”
Miles huffed, the sound mingling with a soft chuckle as he gazed up at Phoenix, charmed despite himself. “Well, if you have any other theories, I guess you’re welcome to try them out.”
Contemplating for a moment, Phoenix’s expression morphed into one of pure mischief, a devilish smile creeping onto his lips. “I might have one, actually.”
Edgeworth hummed, sleepily glancing towards the side as he took in the mess left of his desk, clearly not completely bothered by it yet.
Phoenix only smirked. “Well, I love sitting on your lap,” he paused, stifling laughter bubbling up as he decided to push the boundaries a little further, “—daddy.”
Miles stared up at him, in pure silence, before actually shoving him off his lap like he just offended him. “OUT.”
Phoenix landed softly on the rug, laughter bursting forth as he scrambled back to his feet. “Okay, okay, bad variable!” He tried to regain composure, though his jelly-like legs made it difficult.
“Alright, my final trial,” he announced, his tone turning earnest. He cupped Miles’ face in his hands, his expression softened with a sincerity that made his heart race. “You’re mine, Miles. And I’ve never, ever felt more lucky to be next to someone. I love you.”
In that moment, Miles’ entire demeanor softened, his eyes glistening as the words enveloped him, stripping away any lingering walls. He lovingly wrapped his arms around Phoenix, grip fierce but filled with tenderness—no retort, no sarcasm, just a blend of heat and relief coursing through him. “I love you too,” he whispered back, the admission laced with a vulnerability that resonated deeply.
Phoenix smiled down at him, sliding his hands to hug his neck with all the love he could muster. He knew how hard it usually was for Edgeworth to name his own feelings out loud.
“Well, I guess my theory was a success,” he commented, gently dragging his fingers through Edgeworth’s hair, trying to smooth it back the way he liked it.
Miles smiled, nuzzling into it. “Guess so…”
“Conclusion: you’re addicted to being cherished, sex or not.” Phoenix declared, his voice light yet filled with affection. Miles groaned playfully, burying his face against Phoenix’s stomach, embarrassed heat creeping back to his cheeks.
“I loathe you,” he grumbled, though the love in his voice couldn’t be mistaken. Phoenix kissed the top of his head, smug yet tender.
“Correction. You love me. And my research.”
“...Actually, I think I would prefer a bath right now.”
Phoenix chuckled, a bright, infectious laugh that echoed in the cozy study, as he pulled Miles to his feet. “Yeah, that too, I guess,” he replied, glancing back at the disarray of papers and forgotten coffee cups strewn across the desk and chair. Then he glanced down at their slightly disheveled selves. “I wonder what you’ll wear to court tomorrow, though. With those clothes…”
Miles arched an eyebrow, a bemused expression crossing his face. “What do you mean? I’ll just grab another pair. You’ll do the same, right?”
Phoenix’s mouth opened for a second as if he didn't know what to say. “...You… have another pair?”
He fixed Phoenix with a hard, incredulous stare. “Don't tell me you…”
Before he could finish, though, Phoenix turned on his heel, practically sprinting toward the bathroom like the conversation was done. “Anyways! Bath!”
Miles looked at him go away, sighing in disbelief as he followed suit. “What don't I do for this man…”