it overflows
The lights are off. Perhaps that is the only reason that Miles can stomach this disrobing, the actions so jarring that it almost feels as if he is to be sent for ritualistic sacrifice; he shudders and fumbles as his clothes slip off his body, peeling back layers with a dragging unease caused by being so damp from the rain. It is second nature to immediately fold his clothing, but the damp material makes the man immediately regret not having brought a few hangars from the hallway into the bathroom beforehand. Now, however, he fears leaving the tiny, dark bathroom too much to step out into the lighted room.
If he leaves now, he won't come back. The bathroom is too suffocating, too thick with steam and heat, the unshakeable knowledge that just a foot away, the shuffling motions of the other man are leaving him utterly bare, vulnerable. Exposed.
This is ridiculous.
And yet, Miles does not run as his heart longs to do. His body is too cold, and by the way Phoenix's teeth have begun to veritably chatter, the other man is in dire need of warming up, too. So, Miles gulps, hangs his clothing over the towel rack with a grimace, and walks over to the tub, gritting his teeth.
The sensation of entering a bathtub is immediately soothing to him. From the moment his toes hit the water, a sigh of contentment slips past anxiety-bitten lips; the prosecutor pauses, allowing himself to briefly adjust to the scalding heat of the water before finally committing to the motion, stepping fully into the water. The pipes had burst just in time, it seems; with his entry into the tub, the water rises to just below his sternum.
With Wright, the water level shall be just high enough-
He does not know whether it is from the dizzying shame from being so exposed or from the darkness itself, but for a moment, Miles' mind goes completely dark as the tub trembles slightly, the surface of the water ripples, and Phoenix's quiet voice mutters, "Oh- dammit, that's too warm."
I cannot believe this is happening, Miles moans in silent despair, regretting every life decision that has brought him here.
Still, it is too late to turn back now. The other man hisses as one foot enters the tub, then two. Miles closes his eyes firmly shut, as if somehow shielding himself from anything the darkness and steam would not have been able to hide on their own; a shiver runs down his spine at every quiet gasp which slips from Phoenix's lips, the attorney's slow movements and quiet mutters of pain proof enough of just how cold the other man had become. Feeling the water rise further, Miles instinctively draws his knees closer to his chest to give the other man enough space. Please let there be enough room-
As the water sloshes over his body and Phoenix sinks completely into the tub, the most undignified squeak he has ever produced slips past Miles' lips at the sensation of toes brushing against his. "Sorry," Phoenix mumbles awkwardly, "it's more cramped than I thought."
Miles attempts to chuckle, but all that escapes is a pained, wheezing snort. "Indeed it is," he replies brusquely, sitting up as straight as he can. No matter how much he moves, however, the slightest shift causes feet to brush, the action sending jolts of electricity up Miles' spine. Occasionally, knees bump as one man moves around, the bubbles in the tub providing the soundtrack to their pitiful respite.
He hates this. It is uncomfortable. It is uncanny.
And, worst of all, it feels inappropriate.
There is nothing remotely sexual about this situation. He knows this to his very core. This day has been setback after setback, at this point, he is grateful that they were able to draw a bath before the pipes had burst in the first place. And, more importantly, Miles Edgeworth is not a sexual man. How many times has he ignored offers, turned down suitors, rejected handsome men and women alike in favour of pursuing his own goals, completely uninterested in anything another body could provide him?
Yet, in this stifling darkness, Miles grows acutely aware of his own body in a way no relaxing bath has ever before elicited. He covers his chest up with his palms on instinct, then forces them away- his nudity is hidden, but the strangely feminine gesture, hidden by the shadows, is illuminated by Miles' shamed groan. The moment he draws his attention away from the small tub or the sound of bubbles popping idly, he realizes just how cramped his toes are in his attempt to not brush up against the other man- he realizes just how much he longs to extend his legs, to feel the other man's skin against his leg. To truly lounge with Phoenix present, skin-on-skin.
And, for the first time, he notes just how different his physique is compared to Phoenix's size; he has never given it much attention before, but sitting across from him in such a vulnerable way, it is clear that Phoenix's build is so much more powerful than Miles'. Perhaps the other man has taken to exercising while Miles was in Europe. It is not as if he can ask the other man.
It is horrid. It is vulgar. He feels sick, but it does not stop, and he cannot deny his brain from connecting it all together, revealing potential truths which terrify him to his bones.
He doubts he can form any words at all a minute into their soak. A minute is all it takes, but after a minute, all Miles can focus on is his sudden, acute awareness of his core, his head spinning as blood rushes and heat pools in his gut-
I am not aroused, he wants to scream. This is filthy. We're just warming up-
Then, Phoenix lets out a little whimper as Miles accidentally brushes his leaner leg against a firm calf-
Oh God.
He does not know if he faints at some point during their bath. It is entirely possible, as from the moment he hears that tone coming from the attorney, Miles' lips are sealed shut, his breath held in. Perhaps if he does not move, this tension shall dissipate on its own, and they can pretend it has never happened; he tells himself this as he holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on clenching and relaxing his extremities to force circulation back into his limbs. It is all he can do. He certainly can't acknowledge-
Nothing. There is nothing to acknowledge.
The moment the water begins to cool and Miles feels sufficiently warmed up, he spits, "Look away, Wright," in a voice far harsher, far hoarser (far more wanting, but he refuses to acknowledge that) than intended. Then, he practically tumbles out of the tub, grabbing a fresh towel and bathrobe from the stand in one arm and his clothes in the other. Drying off and throwing on the robe are done at lightning-speed, and by the time Phoenix awkwardly sticks his head out of the bathroom, Miles has finished hanging up his clothes in the hallway closet, having willed his desire to dissipate. "Are you done with the bath, Wright?" he says through gritted teeth. "I'd like to attempt to brush my teeth."
Phoenix nods, stepping out a moment later in his own robe and allowing Miles to enter the room. "The water's still not working, but it's better than nothing," he offers weakly. The attorney's eyes remain averted, his hands clutching his clothes awkwardly over his waist in a movement that is so familiar that Miles feels his armour cracking instantly, his own embarrassment and confusion tearing through his veins. To avoid the discomfort, Miles looks away, mumbling a cheap thank-you before locking himself in the bathroom, finally turning on the lights.
His face is flushed, cheeks almost as ruddy as his suit. He understands why, mechanically; his heart races so loudly he fears that Phoenix can hear it through the door, the galloping pace causing his lungs and chest to ache as his body attempts to keep up with the anxiety rushing through him. Although he had warmed up in the bath, his fingers and toes feel strangely cold as he brushes his teeth and washes his face.
Did… did Wright experience the same thing?
A shiver arcs up his spine. He hates it, he tells himself.
It takes him a long time to leave the room. Phoenix does not question why, does not question the willpower and the marks engraved on Miles' hands from having gripped the edges of the sink for too long in pained, frighteningly-foreign arousal, fighting to calm the unwanted desire down.
Thankfully, Phoenix had been prepared for an overnight stay, so Miles has access to the amenities as needed, cheap as they may be. So, once Miles has slipped out of the bathroom and given Phoenix a turn, the two men are prepared for bed, finding themselves sitting on opposite sides of their two beds.
The space between the beds is off-limits, Miles thinks, haggard and weary after such a baffling, trying day. I- I cannot look at him. Not now.
It appears that Phoenix feels much in the same way, for not a word is spoken beyond this. Phoenix turns off the light, and once they are both in bed, Miles sets up the hotel alarm clock for early the next morning. Once that is done, the duo lie down, and Miles shuts off the lamp between their beds, giving them some modicum of comfort within the darkness.
It was just to warm up. That is all.
Phoenix's cheeks are a lovely colour when he is flushed, and his eyes shimmer like Miles had never thought possible when he is flustered. The prosecutor had never noticed it before, nor had he never wanted to. I…
He is exhausted. So, he forces down the urge to roll over onto his side and look at the other man for the rest of the night in favour of sleeping. Whether it is sleep that he wants, or something else which he cannot name, he does not know.