It had been a quiet ride back to the apartment above his office, and if he were honest with himself, while he was certain that his rival had been entirely lost in his thoughts as usual, it had been more difficult on his end to prevent himself from simply dozing off in Edgeworth's car. Between the heated leather seats and the muted roar of the exhaust, it had been nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. He had entertained himself briefly by watching the man switch gears, fascinated yet again by the fact that the prosecutor owned such a flashy car. Even armed with the knowledge ahead of time, he couldn't peg Miles Edgeworth for being a car guy. Maybe he just had money to burn.
Following the spectacle of finding a body in his trunk, it appeared as though the man in red had decided he was properly done with imports, even though he had obviously retained his preference for the ostentatious. It even still had that new car smell everyone raved about. Like anything else associated with the prosecutor, his car was perfectly maintained, spotless and expensive. Phoenix felt awkward as he sat there, as though he were some kind of an intruder in his childhood friend's personal universe. If he were a gambler, he'd have bet that the man didn't have many passengers during his day to day business. He was surprised that he'd at least pulled the protective paper off of the floor mats.
Upon arrival, as the prosecutor expertly threaded the vehicle in between two beaters nestled against the curb, Phoenix found himself suddenly nervous. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Edgeworth slipped the car into neutral and jerked the parking brake backward, knowing that he had precious few seconds to contribute to what was about to happen. He knew what he would do if he were in the same situation with a girl, but... Although the idea of being with Edgeworth didn't bother him as much as he might have expected it to, he allowed himself to attribute his hesitation to all of the extensive baggage between the two of them. After all, it wasn't as though the man was unattractive, but... For all intents and purposes, the man had been dead a scant few weeks ago. It was simply too bizarre for Phoenix to sort out all at once, and he lacked the energy to do so besides.
Still, he found himself a bit disappointed at the prospect of walking back to his apartment alone, if for no other reason than to maximize the amount of time he could actually have the physical reassurance of being able to see his friend alive. He supposed it was a little childish and greedy to want to hold onto him like a favorite blanket, comforted by his mere existence and now the added bonus of Edgeworth having admitted feeling more than just an old sense of camaraderie, but he was too tired at this point to fight it. After everything they had gone through this evening, it probably wasn't the worst thing he could have asked, anyway. At this time yesterday, he was still confident that his friend deliberately avoided him out of spite or resentment. The last few hours had been such a whirlwind he was content to hold on to what was left of it for fear of it slipping away.
He turned to the man in the driver's seat and only then realized that Miles was waiting patiently for him to come to a decision, car purring as it idled beneath them. His gaze was steady but his hands were flattened against his thighs and Phoenix fought the urge to smile for a moment. If he waited long enough, he bet that the flat hands would soon turn to fists, even longer and one would migrate to clutch at the man's left elbow. He was comforted by the fact that the unflappable demon prosecutor seemed at least as nervous as he was about all of this. "Uh," he began lamely, quickly losing confidence as the words tumbled from his mouth, "you wouldn't mind walking me to the door, would you?"
A delicate silvery brow rose slightly and Phoenix suddenly felt his resolution crumble, shamed by his neediness. The prosecutor simply smirked, however, and pressed the ignition button to cut the engine. "Afraid of getting kidnapped, Wright?"
The defense glared at the prosecution, though there was no heat in it. He had gotten used to reading between the lines when Edgeworth spoke, and it was as much of an agreement as he was going to get. As they exited the vehicle, he took care not to fingerprint the window when he closed the door. The car probably cost more than a few year's rent as far as he could assume, and he felt obligated to treat it with reverence, despite knowing full well that the prosecutor probably had a full team of detailers at his disposal. He paused to hear the chirp of the alarm being set, and as the other man rounded the front bumper, he impulsively reached out and held his hand.
Whether it was out of affection or simply his way of trying to keep Edgeworth from disappearing again, he couldn't tell. He was grateful, however, when the other man laced his fingers between the attorney's instead of pulling away. He wasn't sure if Edgeworth was purposefully being lenient with him because of the emotional trauma of the evening or if this was something new as well, but for now he was content to follow his instincts and see what happened. If it worked well enough in court, he supposed, it could probably work here, too. Edgeworth had never let him properly fail before, at least not since his initial epiphany over Dee Vasquez's cross-examination. He prayed to whomever would listen that his friend would keep him afloat now as well.
As they reached the door, Phoenix's belly flipped uncomfortably while he weighed his options. On the one hand, he could invite the other man in, knowing full well the implications of doing so. Even so, they were likely both exhausted and he would probably only irritate his friend with his request. On the other hand, he could leave him go and hope that the progress they had made tonight would stand on its own. Either way, he was fearful that if he reached out tomorrow, he would discover that it had all been a wonderfully terrible dream, serving only to remind him of the pain of losing his dearest friend all those months ago. When Edgeworth attempted to pull his hand away to leave, Phoenix held tight, and tugged the man back toward him.
Reminiscent of when Miles had shocked him to his very core by making the first move, the defense attorney tilted his head and gently kissed the other man. Despite their lengthy discussion, he felt the prosecutor jump slightly under his ministrations before righting himself. The contact was chaste and gentle, ending with a soft smack of separation. The concept of maintaining any sort of contact with, much less kissing Edgeworth was still so bizarre to him that, while the sensation was definitely not unpleasant, Phoenix found himself more tempted to do it again just to see if it was something real. Despite knowing full well that the prosecutor was well and truly human, it was difficult not to think of him more as a concept, an untouchable paragon that remained above petty interactions like holding hands or kissing.
Still… he pressed his lips together momentarily, trying to digest the feeling of the intimate action.
"One for the road?"
A quiet baritone chuckle laced the air and he felt the tip of Edgeworth's nose bump his own before the man kissed him fully, the chill of the night air still lingering on his nose and cheeks as he pressed into the attorney. Despite the incredulity of the situation as a whole, Phoenix felt himself smiling as he obliged his rival, keeping his own pace gentle and exploratory. The man wasn't half-bad, he mused, but who was he to talk of experience, anyway… They both paused as they parted, sharing a meaningful glance, and then they separated.
Edgeworth turned and descended the stairs. Phoenix watched him with mild interest as he unlocked his car and swung himself into the driver's seat, closing the heavy door as quietly as he could manage. The attorney's hand idly groped behind him for the doorknob despite his attention being focused on the sports car until he could no longer see the tail lights in the distance. When he finally found it, he turned, somehow surprised when it refused to open. Oh, the lock, duh...
His hands fiddled in his pocket to find his keys and he let himself in, feeling as though he was seeing his living room for the first time. He wasn't sure what time it was but was certain it was quite late, and he knew that Maya would be sleeping soundly in her bedroom by now. He closed the door behind him and hung his keys on the hook next to the door frame, wondering why his hands were shaking so much. His feet kicked his shoes off on the rubber mat on the floor as if he were moving mechanically and he padded across the small apartment to his bedroom, eager to get into bed.
What…the hell just happened?
What had his life turned into, all of a sudden? Six hours ago, he was miserable and enduring a party in his own office that he didn't even help plan, much less endorse. His heart had been dark and his soul had been heavy with regrets and anger. He had gone through the day half-heartedly, and if he could remember half the phone calls he had taken for client consultations, he would be impressed. It was all a blur. The "party" had been...well, something, and at the time, he didn't really have the heart to tell Maya that he wasn't feeling it. He was sure his face had said everything his mouth hadn't, anyway… The only thing that had brought him a minute amount of comfort as he'd slammed back some shots was that Miles Edgeworth had looked at least as miserable as he was, and the party was for him to begin with. He remembered feeling a little guilty that he was happy all the attention was on his friend, for once.
His thoughts flipped briefly to the heated argument the men had shared amongst themselves while the crowd fretted over them in the background. He winced. He knew that he had certainly said things that he really didn't mean, had been venting all of the anger and sadness that he'd kept pent up over the last year. Edgeworth had certainly returned the heat in kind, and Phoenix sighed, hoping that he, too, was just blowing off steam. Somehow, things always just sounded worse when he said them…
When had he left? Three shots in? Four? He couldn't remember. He didn't drink often and remembered how quickly the alcohol had seemed to sneak up on him. He only knew that he had found his opportunity as everyone had called for speeches to welcome back their beloved "demon prosecutor" and he had slipped out the door, unheeded by the crowd. Wanting to be away from the noise and the false smiles and the insulting celebration in and of itself, he had quickly picked a direction and simply started walking, stopping only when he had hit a dead end with a bench. It hadn't been long before Edgeworth had found him lost in thought, and then everything was flipped on its head...
His room was a stark contrast to the man with whom he had just spent the evening. While it wasn't exactly slovenly, he took in the few clothing items strewn about the floor with mild concern, judging himself by a previously nonexistent standard. Yanking his sweatshirt and shirt up over his head in one movement, he tossed them haphazardly toward the hamper, shuddering against the air on his newly bare chest. Edgeworth was meticulous enough that he probably even made his bed every day, and Phoenix found it a little strange that he now had a reason to even be thinking about that kind of thing.
He took a look at himself in the small mirror propped up on the single dresser. While it was true that he had done a lot of slacking off since he had begun mourning his best friend's death, he had always tried to at least keep himself in some kind of respectable shape. It had been easier in high school and college, he remembered, when the gym was free and the competition for the dating pool was fierce enough to motivate him. Now, he supposed, his lack of driver's license did the trick, and he found himself wondering if Edgeworth would find him attractive. Again, he shook his head at such a question, never having expected to have to consider it.
Still, the man did make the first move... That had to count for something, right? The prosecutor said that he'd spent a year reforming himself and still decided to come back and pursue Phoenix. While he had teased the man about making up for almost two decades of absence, he supposed he'd never been desirable enough to anyone else for them to spend a year in isolation to completely overhaul their personality and then fly halfway across the world to surprise him with a kiss and an offer of rebuilding their relationship from scratch. Hell, his last serious girlfriend hadn't even liked him, much less pulled off a stunt like that. A wave of self-consciousness washed over him and he turned away from his reflection, inexplicably shy.
If nothing else, it was one hell of a start.
As his hands undid his belt and he dropped his jeans to the floor, he found his thoughts racing, reviewing the events of that evening. Who could have anticipated something like...well, any of this? He kicked his jeans toward the hamper as well, failing to care about the belt or his wallet or anything else other than climbing into bed. His socks and boxers were the last to go and, with one last glance to ensure his door was locked, he laid gracelessly onto his mattress and pulled the covers up to his chin. His head was still swimming a bit from the shots that he'd tossed back and he grimaced for a moment, wishing he hadn't overdone it.
What happened now?
As tired as he was, the question gave him pause. What happened now? It wasn't as if things would magically transform into a cozy relationship and they would go on dates and hold hands and everyone would cheer for them. He tried to imagine sitting in a nice restaurant across from the prosecutor, wondered what small talk they would have and if it would be as painfully awkward as he seemed to think it would be. Did the man even like restaurants? He stared at the ceiling, suddenly struck with the notion that despite nearly twenty years of effort to find his long-lost friend, he had no idea what the guy actually liked, aside from tea, the Steel Samurai, and yelling at Phoenix in the courtroom.
Boy, doesn't that just scream romance? He sighed, lamenting how complicated his life had gotten, and allowed his eyes to slide shut. Instead of trying to plan so far ahead, he reminded himself, as usual, of Mia's parting advice to him. "When you feel stuck, try looking at things from another angle..."
He considered the man himself. Although he had never genuinely searched for it before, it was easy to acknowledge that the prosecutor was certainly attractive. The man had been blessed with symmetrical features, clear skin, nice bone structure... From an artistic standpoint, he could have been model material. He'd heard the rumors, of course, of just how many sought after the prosecutor. He'd lost count of how many women, and even some men, who he had overheard speaking in hushed tones and giggles as Edgeworth had passed by in the courthouse, speculating about who he'd be interested in and would he be a good kisser and is he a top or a bottom… He blushed, unused to thinking of his friend so inappropriately. Even he had entertained the idea on rare occasions, more out of curiosity than anything, but it had always been easy to assume that the man had someone he'd simply kept as private as everything else in his life…
His thoughts wandered briefly to what might be hiding under all the frills and fabrics that seemed to consistently encase his childhood friend. He recalled the way the cravat had felt crushed within his fist and he entertained the thought of removing it (how does it even come off?) to reveal more alabaster skin. Perhaps he could undo a few buttons, then? The artist in him expertly manipulated the image in his mind and he cocked his head, considering the image.
Wouldn't look right with the sportcoat... Just like that, his thoughts produced an image of Edgeworth clad in his crisp white shirt, top few buttons undone so that his collarbones played peek-a-boo, sultry stare behind the man's bangs. Even so, it still looked strange with the prosecutor's vest, and so he did away with that, too. Now we're getting somewhere.
It was odd to imagine the man even that casual, having never seen him in anything but strangely formal dress even as children. As he thought about what he might look like, however, stood—sitting?—yes, sitting in front of him, shirt slightly undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, socked feet crossed at the ankle... His mind was on a roll now, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling something stir within him. Okay, where's he sitting, Phoenix?
He was sitting on the couch in the living room, reclined comfortably, head back and pillowed by the upholstery. The lighting was low and the sounds of the city served as an ambient orchestra outside, matching a sort of metropolitan soundtrack to the building tension in the room. It was...late summer and warm, and there was a terrific thunderstorm outside. As lightning flashed, it reflected the prosecutor's skin in gold.
The defense attorney could envision himself watching, fixated, as Edgeworth's long, manicured fingers would reach up, popping each button apart, maddeningly slow in his actions. As he fantasized about each agonizing inch of pale flesh that the man revealed to him, he was somewhat surprised to feel a familiar pull in his loins and he indulged it, allowing his thoughts to run away with the vision. Soon, Miles Edgeworth was sitting in front of him with his shirt laid open and his chest bare, clad from the waist down in his tailored pants and socks, staring him down with the same predatory glare he used when he had Phoenix on the run during a trial.
He knew that he had a bad habit of falling fast and hard for his romantic interests, had tried in the past to prevent it when he saw it coming, but truth be told the prosecutor's actions that night had addressed a need within him that had been ignored for far too long. Even though Phoenix was still a little unsure about the whole situation, he allowed his hand to sneak between the sheet and the comforter, going back to what he could conjure up in his mind. He felt his manhood jump beneath his palm as he stroked it slowly, relishing the feel of the soft sheets separating his hand from his swollen flesh. It wasn't so farfetched for him to act first and think later…
Why should this be any different? Can't hurt to try…
What would he do, when faced with that? Surely if they continued the way things went tonight, it was inevitable, wasn't it? He tried to think of what Edgeworth would be like in such a situation. He could see the man standing gracefully and flexing his toned shoulders so that his shirt slid along lightly muscled arms, fingers nimbly catching the garment to drape it across the arm of the couch. Having so recently gotten a taste of the man, Phoenix's lips trembled with the memory of the gentle power he'd felt behind the kiss and wondered what it would feel like if he could embrace the body he envisioned before him, could press his mouth against that slender throat and feel the flesh and blood quiver beneath him. He chewed his bottom lip and questioned whether Edgeworth would allow him to push him back down onto the couch and admire him further. He wasn't positive he would take no for an answer and his fantasy adjusted accordingly. Even in his mind, Phoenix could almost feel the heat coming from Edgeworth's body as he pressed lightly against the man's shoulders to guide him back down onto the couch.
His thoughts then took him to his knees in front of the man, hands reaching for the leather belt secured around a trim waist. Even in his imagination, things were mostly silent, punctuated only by the sounds of quiet gasps and his own panting. He made quick work of the belt but remembered the torture the man had put him through with his dress shirt and so he paused to sample the soft skin on the prosecutor's belly, nipping gently along the waistline of his pants. He let his hands roam freely, feeling out the various dips and swells along the man's torso, delighted to hear the growl barely suppressed in the back of Edgeworth's throat. It was easy, then, to imagine trailing his eyes up the muscled body so he could see the desire in the other man's eyes as he undid the button on his pants...and then, ever so slowly, the zipper...
His breath caught in his chest as his palm pressed harder, fingers lightly clasping around his fully erect member, and he slowed his actions, wanting to truly savor the feeling. He could imagine tugging the other man's pants down to reveal...what would he wear? He felt a grin cover his face as he quickly conjured the image of Edgeworth in briefs. Absolutely not. Boxers? Too sloppy... He squeezed himself lightly and thought of the prosecutor's hips clad in black, clingy boxer briefs, dark fabric seamlessly painted across muscular thighs. Red pants gave way to ivory skin, and even in his own fantasy, he gazed at the other man's erection straining against the spandex and felt a flutter of nervousness.
Bet he'd make me fold his pants before I did anything else...He snorted to himself and brought his hand back up, sliding it properly under the sheet and reaching further down to cup himself. His back arched off of the bed as he rolled himself against his palm, unwilling—unable—to stop himself at this point. Fantasy Miles threaded his fingers through Phoenix's hair just as his real counterpart had done on the bench earlier, grabbing a fistful of ebony spikes and encouraging him further. It was easy to indulge him in his mind, easy to believe that he liked whatever the attorney had to offer, and he imagined that as he brushed his lips along the distinct outline in the expensive compression shorts, he could smell musk and cologne and testosterone.
He gasped quietly to himself as he gripped his manhood tightly and began to stroke himself as he continued the image of Edgeworth spread before him, lifting his hips off the couch as Phoenix peeled the shorts from his body, ivory skin flush with anticipation. He tried to think of what it would feel like to tease Miles with his mouth, tried to imagine the sounds the other man would make when he gave him just enough to entice him but not enough to take him all the way. He wondered idly if he liked the same things that Phoenix liked, or if he had his own set of mysterious desires. How easy would it be to find them out?
He tried to think, then, of what it would feel like when he finally slid the other man's weeping arousal between his lips, finally giving him what he ached for, and he began to stroke himself in his fantasy as he did in his bed. It felt right in his head to try to fit as much of the man as he could, using his free hand to cover what he couldn't swallow. He could nearly feel the way that Edgeworth's fist unwittingly pulled the back of his hair as he urged him along, frustrated with the pace, too proud to beg but willing to risk it with his actions.
He could almost feel the heat of the other man's thighs against his cheeks as he thought about it, could almost hear the deep growling baritone of the other man's voice urging him to go faster, could almost taste the salt and the sweat and the bitter jewel that slid out from the tip of the prosecutor's manhood and he reached down with his other hand to squeeze his testicles as his pace quickened.
The more he allowed himself to think about it, the more he wanted to know how accurate his fantasy was. Would Miles end up being vocal as he lost control over himself? Would he remain stoic, offering only a hitch in his breath as warning before he found his climax? Phoenix bit back a moan as he entertained both possibilities. He was at a frantic pace now, driven by the vision of Edgeworth's head tossed back in ecstasy, shaft pulsing against his tongue as he hit his limit. He had just enough time to imagine himself clambering up into the other man's lap so that the prosecutor could wrap his hands around Phoenix and stroke him aggressively, leaning forward to whisper filthy nothings into his ear.
That's it, Wright... Give me what I want...
The attorney's breath left him as he came, biting the inside of his cheek to keep quiet and shooting thick white jets onto his own belly. It had been a long time since his last release and it felt almost endless, leaving him dizzy and spent in its wake. It was all he could do to keep the top sheet from resting in the mess he had made and he awkwardly maneuvered it off of himself, reaching for a dirty t-shirt to clean himself up. As he wiped absentmindedly at his body, he finally glanced at the alarm clock glowing red on his night stand.
3:17, huh? Tomorrow's gonna be rough...
Physically and emotionally exhausted, he chucked the dirty t-shirt into the hamper and crawled back into bed, still wobbly and euphoric. It was a strange and unexpected turn of events, to be sure, but for the first time in nearly a year, Phoenix Wright fell asleep smiling.