Work Text:
Phoenix approaches the door to the Chief Prosecutor's office, knocks three times, then enters anyway. As usual, Miles is at his desk and frowning at his laptop. The tea beside him has probably gone cold by now, Phoenix notes with much fondness. Always hard at work, his Miles. He takes a moment to bask in his lover’s presence -- much like Miles is basking in the dying light streaming from the tall windows behind him -- before he disturbs the quiet peace.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Miles doesn’t even spare him a glance, though the crease between his eyebrows softens.
“You’re early, Wright. The reservation isn’t for another two hours.”
“Well,” Phoenix says, stripping off his suit jacket and depositing it onto one of the couches, “you know…”
“I don’t. Enlighten me.”
He’s still nose-deep in his work, occasionally glancing at the case files beside him, but not at Phoenix. That won’t do. Phoenix strolls over, looking around the office and attempting nonchalance. He’s always taken with the grandiosity of this new place, though some things never change: the framed outfit on the wall, the tea and chess sets, and -- most importantly of all -- his prized Steel Samurai figurine. It’s a comfort to know that, despite his life-changing promotion, he’s still the same Miles. The one Phoenix knows and loves.
Phoenix reaches his desk and leans against it, right by Miles’ chair, in the hopes that this might finally get his attention. It doesn’t.
“I missed you, is all.”
Miles lets out an exasperated sigh, though Phoenix knows it’s not directed at him. “I missed you, too, but I would prefer to get this matter settled before I leave the office.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll leave you alone. Can I get my ‘I missed you’ kiss, though?”
There’s another sigh, much softer this time, as Miles swivels his chair. He pauses, his hands freezing in their reach for Phoenix’s embrace, and stares. Finally.
“What on earth are you wearing?”
Phoenix does his best not to preen as Miles’ eyes rake over his brand new waistcoat. It's a fine shade of periwinkle and, paired with his midnight blue slacks and crisp white dress shirt, Phoenix knows he's quite the sight. It’s nice to have a three-piece suit that fits him so well, especially after so many years of casually throwing on anything in his closet. He adjusts his new silk tie and tips Miles a wink.
“I’m going for a new look. Fancy, huh?”
Of all the reactions he’d been expecting, Miles’ cheeks coloring in a matter of seconds hadn’t been one of them. Interesting.
“It’s… very nice, yes.”
Very interesting, but Phoenix doesn’t dwell on it for very long. He swoops down for his long-awaited kiss, taking Miles’ face into his hands to draw him closer. It’d been a miracle just to convince him to leave work earlier than usual today, and he may or may not have arrived earlier to cajole him into leaving even sooner. But Phoenix would gladly settle for lounging around his office and stealing extra kisses until he finishes his work.
When Miles’ hands start to wander, Phoenix leans deeper into the kiss with growing excitement. This is starting to feel less like ‘I missed you’ and more like ‘I need you,’ and he’s happy to keep it going for as long as he can -- before Miles remembers that he has work to do, that is. As if the thought had jinxed it, Miles pulls away. But not for the reason Phoenix had assumed.
Instead of turning back to his desk with a curt ‘nice try, Wright,’ he’s slowly rubbing the fabric of Phoenix’s waistcoat between thumb and forefinger, his head tilted slightly.
“The fabric is quite nice,” he murmurs, though his tone clearly says ‘how did you afford this?’
“Hey, I’ve been saving my pretty pennies. Can’t be looking shabby when I make my grand debut as the Chief Prosecutor’s trophy husband.”
Miles snorts loudly, and Phoenix silently counts that as a personal victory. The bigger victory, of course, is that Miles’ hands are still wandering along his waist. With how snugly everything is tailored, it’s no wonder he can’t keep his hands off the nice cut of his figure. A thrill runs through Phoenix’s body as Miles’ hands slip lower, as if he's about to cup his behind, but then they rise to squeeze his sides again. With a sly grin, Phoenix guides those hands gently back down and around.
“If you’re gonna get handsy, you should start here.”
Miles starts slightly and looks flustered, as if caught in an unexpected daze. As soon as Phoenix releases his hands, they twitch upward, as if drawn back to the lovely texture of the waistcoat. Realization strikes Phoenix so hard that he has to bite back a laugh.
“Oh -- oh, my god. Wait. You’re really into this waistcoat, aren’t you?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miles sputters. His face is as red as his favorite suit, and he refuses to meet Phoenix’s gaze.
His shyness is so cute that Phoenix wants to pinch his cheeks, but he knows he’ll end up sleeping on the couch if he even dares. Still, he’s got him cornered and he’s not going to let him off so easily.
“Admit it!”
“It’s… very flattering on you,” he mumbles, inspecting his own knees with apparent interest.
“Yeah?” Phoenix’s grin turns sly again, and he reaches out to lift Miles’ chin up. “Why don’t you flatter me some more, then?”
Miles’ eyes lock onto his and narrow behind his glasses, like storm clouds brewing in a gloomy gray sky. They’re as inscrutable as the weather itself, and Phoenix never knows if he should duck for cover or wait for sunshine. But that’s half the fun of knowing and loving Miles Edgeworth.
Phoenix runs a thumb along his bottom lip, and the clouds darken.
Oh, he’s got a storm coming.
He yelps in surprise as he’s lifted and thrown back onto the desk -- Miles had launched from the chair so quickly that he hadn’t even registered it until he’d come down hard onto the smooth wood surface. The next sound he makes is muffled into a kiss as Miles pulls him in. His hands are at his waist again, gripping him hard, and his lips move to trail kisses along his smooth jaw. Phoenix takes a moment to thank his past self for shaving this morning, but that’s about the last coherent thought he has before Miles’ mouth moves to his neck.
“Careful, careful,” he hisses, gasping as Miles sucks hard at the tender skin beneath his ear. “Y-you’ll -- ah! -- leave a mark!”
Miles’ composure is slipping fast, as though the tension tightening his shoulders and creasing his brow have finally been released. He strips off his coat as though shedding that same tension, then his hands fly back to hold and grip and squeeze. He’s been waiting as long as Phoenix has, after all, and it seems he’s just as eager to prove how much he’s missed him.
Phoenix’s lips are caught up again, and they part for the tongue that slides against them. Miles’ hands, which had been clutching his waist, suddenly disappear. The sharp sound that follows makes Phoenix realize that he’s unzipping the front of his slacks. His hands fly to his own eagerly, fumbling at the button and zipper with trembling fingers. He’d certainly not been expecting this, of all things, from his prim and proper boyfriend. But he isn’t about to complain -- office sex had always been a fantasy of his that he’d never expected Miles to indulge.
He leans back on his hands, heart pounding as he watches Miles draw out his cock. He’d gotten so stiff so quickly, and Phoenix glows with pride knowing that it’s all because of him. Miles is panting, his glasses slipping down his nose as his eyes roam over Phoenix's body. A hand slides up Phoenix’s thigh to rub against the bulge in his pants, coaxing him into full hardness before slipping his cock free of his briefs. Phoenix groans low in his throat as slender and graceful fingers start to stroke his shaft.
“Th-the waistcoat really did it for you, huh?” Phoenix says between small gasps. His attempt at banter falls flat, and Miles doesn’t hesitate to pounce.
He leans forward to kiss him, spreading his legs wide enough to slot himself between them.
“Quiet,” he whispers against his lips. “You talk too much.”
Phoenix is reduced to groans and heavy breathing as Miles pumps him faster. A thumb brushes his leaking head, smearing precum onto slick fingers and smoothing the glide up and down. Struggling to keep his cool and reciprocate, Phoenix reaches down clumsily until he finally finds Miles’ cock. The moment he grips it, Miles lets out a throaty moan into his ear.
The slide of Miles’ hand feels so good that Phoenix never wants it to stop, but as his gasps hitch higher and higher, he realizes he’s far too close to the edge. Miles sounds about the same, his breath coming fast and ragged against Phoenix’s neck. God, he feels so good, but Phoenix’s brain flounders to the surface just in time.
“W-wait, hold on!”
Miles’ fingers slow to a halt, and he pulls away to frown at him. His glasses are so askew that it’s almost funny, but the stark hunger in his eyes and the deep red flush of his cheeks make Phoenix think twice about laughing.
“Yes?”
“We’re, uh...” Phoenix gestures vaguely at the space between them. “We’re gonna make a mess if we keep at it.”
Miles adjusts his glasses and raises one slender brow.
“Yes.”
Phoenix blinks. “Huh?”
“I want to make a mess of you.”
Well. Phoenix certainly doesn’t need any further convincing than that. He nods slowly, swallowing hard as Miles devours him with his eyes. They move from his lips down to his torso, then rest between his legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he speaks.
“Touch yourself, Phoenix.”
Miles’ voice takes on the low and intimate tone Phoenix has come to eagerly anticipate, and his hand flies to his cock without hesitation. This is Miles’ bedroom voice -- the one that commands him with no more than a whisper in the dark. The one that melts him into useless putty in the palms of firm and deft hands.
He strokes his shaft slowly, looking to Miles for his approval.
“Good,” Miles says softly, and Phoenix shudders.
Any and all praise from this man never fails to tear down his spine and send tingling bursts of heat throughout his body. He’d learned this one night after Miles had crooned in his ear that he’d felt so good inside him -- after which Phoenix had come almost immediately. That praise is what he craves, those soft words dripping from sweet lips like the finest honey. His hand moves faster now, and he leans back to prop himself up on one elbow. Miles deserves the best view of him -- laid out and displaying his body beneath the waistcoat he’s so taken with.
“Very good,” Miles breathes, one hand sliding up to squeeze his thigh, the other squeezing his own cock. “You’re so good for me, Phoenix.”
Phoenix groans weakly, unable to stop the broiling heat that builds so quickly in his groin. He wants to last longer for him, wants to be good for him, but how can he possibly hold back? Miles is absolutely feasting on the sight of him, as if that alone is enough for him to pleasure himself. Pride bursts in Phoenix’s chest at this, and threatens to burst elsewhere as he crests the edge of ecstasy.
“I-I’m gonna…” he chokes out, but can hardly stutter the rest. Miles pounces again.
“Hm? Complete sentences, Wright. Don’t tell me you’re breaking already.”
Phoenix whines high in his throat, his cock dribbling precum and dangerously close to spurting. If Miles’ praise has him on his knees, his teasing scorn has him knocked flat and completely stunned. He struggles to keep his composure, to keep Miles’ eyes on him, to be good for him. He wants to be so good for him.
“I’m gonna come,” he pants, “I’m so close, p-please, I --”
Miles’ voice is just barely a whisper, but the power behind it seizes Phoenix’s insides and yanks hard.
“Come, Phoenix. Come for me. I want to see it.”
Phoenix unravels completely, biting his lip to muffle a cry as he comes hard. After a few seconds of comedown bliss, he struggles to sit up again and sees that his stomach is splattered. The nice light blue of his waistcoat is stained with darkening splotches and streaks of white.
Suddenly he’s grabbed by the collar and hoisted up completely, and then Miles’ lips are everywhere -- his mouth, his jaw, his neck. Phoenix clings to him in a daze, whispering sweet nothings until he hears that familiar finishing moan vibrate against his throat
When Miles finally pulls away, Phoenix finds that his front has become an even bigger mess. Miles is miraculously immaculate, because of course he is. Phoenix would sigh if he weren’t so out of breath.
“Well,” he says between pants, “there goes my new outfit.”
“I'll pay the cleaning bill,” Miles mumbles, looking slightly mortified. “And I'll buy you a dozen more waistcoats.”
Although Phoenix tries not to let Miles waste money on him needlessly, he supposes that this is a special exception. And who can say no to more waistcoats? He runs fingers lightly over the stained and dripping surface of his own with a wicked grin.
“And mark your territory on all of them, huh?”
Miles glares at him in the middle of wiping himself with a tissue, then sets about getting his appearance back in order. Phoenix is too busy lounging in the afterglow to move, instead watching with lazy eyes as Miles smooths his hair into something resembling ‘I did not just fool around in my office, what are you talking about.’
When he finishes, he shoots Phoenix an impatient look and tugs at his sleeve.
“Come, we need to hurry and get changed or we’ll be late to dinner.”
“And whose fault is that?” Phoenix sputters, struggling to his feet and trying to get himself in order with trembling fingers. He’s lucky he’d worn pants of a darker color than usual, but his waistcoat will draw far too much attention before he can dive for cover into Miles’ car.
As he unbuttons it, he notes the teasing smile on Miles’ face. The gray clouds behind his glasses have cleared, and Phoenix basks in the dawn even as the dusk settles around them.
“Next time, bring a spare.”