"Why did you bring me this, Phoenix?" Miles asked. His head tilted in childish confusion as he reached out a small hand to accept the dandelion.
Phoenix scratched at his head, bright and eager, too-long sleeves covering his fingertips. "It was a flower growing wild and free, and now it wants to be with you," he said with a sheepish little smile.
"Hmm. Thank you, Phoenix." Ever studious, Miles carefully and seriously pressed the dandelion in a book, layered between two sheets of notebook paper. "But I don't have anything to give you," he said, straightening up, his little forehead furrowed in thought.
"You don't have to give me anything!" Phoenix protested hurriedly.
"How about this?" Miles's face took on a resolute expression, cheeks dusted with a faint pink. "Close your eyes, Phoenix."
"Why?" Phoenix scrunched up his nose adorably in confusion.
"It's a surprise."
"Okay. Is it a leaf?"
"No. Why would I give you a leaf?"
"Well, if I was a tree, you could be my leaves and keep me company," Phoenix said, closing his eyes. A second passed, and then two—and something touched his cheek, warm and soft.
When he opened his eyes, Miles was looking away, blushing furiously. "I hope you liked it," he said shyly.
A slow smile spread across Phoenix's face. "Thanks! It's perfect."
"Kiss me."
"Whatever you say, dear," Miles says with an affectionate eyeroll, tangled together in their bed with their limbs loosely thrown over each other. He indulgently kisses Phoenix on the jaw, on the ear, everywhere but the lips.
Phoenix chases after him with a soft whine.
"Oh you," Miles says fondly. "You never can get enough of kisses, dear. You're addicted to them."
"Not half as much as you," Phoenix grumbles adoringly.
"You think so?" Miles asks, and Phoenix can hear the fire of challenge igniting in Miles's voice, and dimly he wonders if he should back down. But after all, he has never known how.
"I know so," he says instead.
Miles gives him a look, and Phoenix internally winces at—at whatever he's in for. "Be careful of what you claim without evidence, Phoenix, dear," Miles says with a terrifying little smirk. "I'm afraid I'll have to. . . prove you wrong."
Phoenix's eyes widen as Miles produces a tie—his own pink courtroom tie, no less. "Um," he squeaks.
"Trust me," Miles says, way too calmly. "You'll appreciate this."
"Thanks, I really. . . really. . . super-duper appreciate you," Phoenix mumbled weakly, holding out his badge and magatama in a drug-induced delirium.
Miles reached out and took Phoenix's trembling hands in his own, gently steadying them. "It's nothing," he said, his too-bright eyes contradicting his words even as he said them.
"Nooo you got here so. . . so quickly. . . You mus—must've moved mountains. You're the best!" Phoenix grinned, a sprawling, feverish grin.
"I couldn't have done anything else. The whole time, thinking of you swallowed by the river. I could hear it. . . a ceaseless rumble of water in my ears, calling me here."
"Wow, that's. . ." Phoenix seemed to be at a loss for words. "sucks." He finished with a groan. "Sorry. Words."
Miles sighed. "Don't be sorry. Knowing you, it was just the thing you'd do. Always heroic. I'm just. . . ." He trailed off. Perhaps it was the fever or the delirium or the close call with death, fostering an intimacy that made him throw caution to the winds. His hands tightened on Phoenix's burning ones even as he flushed with embarrassment, and the words came tumbling out. "I just didn't want you braving all the snow and cold winds alone."
"Miles. . . ." Touched, Phoenix caught Miles's coat sleeve and tugged him close.
"Yes?" Miles asked, determinedly meeting Phoenix's eyes and staring him down with sincerity.
Phoenix didn't seem to notice. "I'm glad you're here with me," he murmured deliriously. "Love you," he sighed, laying back on the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed.
Miles smiled then, a light blush creeping into his face. "I'll take care of the case and Iris," he promised. "You stay here and rest." On an impulse, he brushed his lips against Phoenix's feverish forehead, a sweetly affectionate kiss carrying all the relief and longing he hadn't dared put into words. It couldn't hurt, he reasoned. It wasn't like Phoenix would remember it the next day.
As Phoenix drifted to sleep, lulled by warm hands on his own and soft lips against his forehead, he thought that his dive into Eagle River had all been worth it.
"Do I have to fall into another river to get you to kiss me?" Phoenix gasps, his hands bound above his head (by his own courtroom tie!), the ends wrapped around the headboard. "Miles," Phoenix groans. "Miles, please, I didn't mean it. . . ."
The infuriating man in question busies himself inspecting the bindings tethering Phoenix's ankles to the bedpost, then gives a satisfied nod. Phoenix tugs experimentally at the bindings. He can move a little—enough to arch off the bed, but not much. He gulps. He looks at Miles towering over him.
Miles grins at him. He slowly, menacingly leans toward him, just far enough to barely brush their lips together—the faintest teasing touch, then just as slowly he pulls back. He smirks as Phoenix cranes his neck, straining to follow, his mouth just out of reach.
"Now now, patience, dear" Miles says. He teases him until Phoenix is straining against the bindings, his breath coming in needy gasps.
"Please Miles," Phoenix pants. "Please. . . all I want is you. . . ."
"All I want is a straightforward case," Miles groaned despairingly at the smirking witness, one Mr. Tad Cooper, freshly revealed to be a false identity. "No twists, no surprises, and no last-minute turnabouts!" Miles gritted his teeth as the facts suddenly reoriented themselves and the evidence took on new meaning. His brain flew through the possibilities at lightning speed, discarding impossibilities and arriving at. . . .
From across the courtroom, Phoenix winked obnoxiously at him.
Ever the professional, Miles nodded stiffly in return.
After the case, Miles cornered Phoenix. "Congratulations," he forced out through clenched teeth. "That was. . . brilliant work. I'm. . . glad you found the true culprit and brought him to justice."
"Aww, is that any way to congratulate a guy?" Phoenix teased, stretching his luck beyond all reason, and inexplicably fidgeting with his briefcase.
"What other congratulations do you require?" Miles crossed his arms and tapped a finger thoughtfully. "I suppose. . . I could buy you dinner."
"I'm just teasing. Although. . . ." Phoenix suddenly sounded incredibly anxious. "If you wanted to get dinner, I'd love that. Erm. Together, I mean," he stuttered out, and abruptly Miles realized that all his confidence had been a bluff. A wild and desperate bluff, by the looks of it.
"You would? Then. . . yes." Miles looked up to see Phoenix tearing up. Alarmed, he hurriedly backtracked. "You—You don't have to. . . ."
"No! No, I do want to! I'm just so, so happy. Can I hug you?"
"You. . . may." Miles awkwardly allowed Phoenix to throw his arms around him.
And as Phoenix pulled back, Miles caught his hand. His heart was hammering in his throat, and his brain was hurling a thousand cliches a minute: carpe diem, fortune favors the bold. . . .
He heard his own voice saying, smoothly, calmly, if a bit too loudly, "Then I shall pick you up at seven." Like the perfect gentleman, he watched himself give a courtly bow and press a kiss to the back of Phoenix's hand, while the other man spluttered and stared.
"Right. Seven," Phoenix repeated, dazed.
"And don't expect you any special treatment in court just because I'm taking you out."
"Wow, I'm getting all the special treatment today," Phoenix gasps as Miles delicately lays a trail of kisses along Phoenix's jaw, his hands tangling in his hair, soothing yet unforgiving, holding Phoenix firmly in place as he struggles to turn his head and catch his mouth.
Miles smirks and darts away, warm lips tracing up Phoenix's jaw and tugging at his earlobe. He runs a hand lovingly through the disheveled spikes. "Aren't you cute when you're impatient," he taunts, and gets a glare in response. He works his way down Phoenix's chest, hands roaming down his sides, reveling in the angles of his ribcage tapering into smooth muscle at his waist. His pink tongue flicks delicately across Phoenix's sweaty skin, licking and sucking, leaving little bruises across his chest, drawing desperate moans from Phoenix's throat as he arches into his hands and kisses.
Miles draws back and slowly, reverently runs a hand up and down Phoenix's sculpted chest. "Look at you, all spread out for me. Aren't you just the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?" he coos making eye contact with Phoenix all the while. "I'm going to take such good care of you," he whispers, a little breathlessly.
Beneath him, Phoenix lay disheveled and debauched, moaning piteously, and Miles's vision goes hazy. Phoenix seems to glow against the sheets, his hair a halo around his face, and Miles thinks that he has never looked lovelier.
The morning sun caught Miles's face in profile, rendering it in soft, lovely colors and surrounded by a halo. The man aged like a fine wine, or a timeless cliche, Phoenix thought, filled with vague envy. He himself had aged like a used car: creaky, battered, worn, his hairs streaked with white.
"You mean your body worked hard all these years to house the brilliant person you are," Miles interjected, and Phoenix realized he'd voiced that thought aloud. Miles rose and stood behind Phoenix, gently rubbing his aching back with loving hands. "It suffered terrible injuries in the pursuit of truth and justice, yet it always housed the fire of your passion and your compassion."
Phoenix shivered as Miles's hot breath tickled his ear. "Miles," he breathed.
"It was the fortress for dozens of the innocent and the wrongly accused. I love your body and all the marks it bears if your brave and noble deeds," Miles continued, wrapping his arms around Phoenix and holding him close.
"It's been years since I've been in any life-threatening peril," Phoenix remarked. "Since you became chief prosecutor, actually. I know you had a hand in that."
"Yes, well, it's not a defense attorney's job to have regular run-ins with dangerous criminals," Miles protested. A shadow crossed his face, and he looked away, haunted. "For years, I watched from across the ocean while you skirted the edges of a spider's trap. Each close call was one too many, and I was powerless to help. Each time we said good-bye, not knowing if I'd ever see you alive again. . . It just about killed me. . . and you. I promised myself that if you were dead set on being a fortress, I'd be your moat."
"Miles. . . I'm here now. I made it."
Miles stood still with his arms around Phoenix's chest, grounding himself in Phoenix's solid, living weight in his arms, his nose buried in Phoenix's hair, inhaling his scent of dollar-store shampoo and an unmistakable musk. "Every day, I worried for you, and every day, I was grateful when you returned," he murmured, his breath hitching. "Now I'll thank your body for serving you and keeping you safe."
"Miles, dear? I love you too." Phoenix relaxed into the warm arms holding him, sighing contentedly and allowing Miles to press ragged kisses into the nape of his neck.
Miles's teeth on his neck sends him writhing, desperate and equally ineffectual. Yet even now, Miles tortures him, squeezing to hold him still, playing him until Phoenix lies a begging, babbling mess under him.
Desperate tears spill from Phoenix's eyes.
Miles gazes at Phoenix, beautiful, shining Phoenix, his wrists chafed and his face tear-streaked, and Miles thinks his heart might burst. With a stricken cry, he finally captures Phoenix's lips in his own and aggressively parts them, Phoenix eagerly twisting up to meet him, like a drowning man for a breath of air. Miles's tongue pushes hot and wet into Phoenix's mouth and a wordless groan escapes his throat, and he drinks Phoenix in and swallows his sobs.
Minutes pass, with Phoenix lying shuddering in his arms. "Phoenix, love, are you alright?" Miles asks with real concern.
"Please kiss me," Phoenix whimpers, and Miles complies: sweet, gently-lapping kisses fluttering against his lips while he reaches up and blindly unties his wrists. He releases Phoenix's bound ankles and helps him sit up, then sits next to him and carefully wipes them both clean with a warm washcloth. He covers Phoenix's face and hands with soft little kisses as he gently rubs ointment onto his wrists, while Phoenix's breathing gradually calms.
"I had that coming, huh?" Phoenix sighs happily, tucked into Miles's arms and nestled in the curve of his body, their breaths mixing warmly together.
"You did," Miles confirms. "Making a claim without evidence. You left me no choice but to investigate."
"But is the evidence conclusive?" Phoenix asks, quarrelsome even when debauched within an inch of his life.
"You're incorrigible," Miles says. "What will I ever do with you?"
Phoenix hums pensively, "I guess you could take me by the hand and stay with me for all time," he murmurs drowsily, his thoughts dissolving into sleep. "Or you could hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea."
