Archive of Our Own

Three weeks.

Twenty-one days.

Five hundred and four hours since Phoenix had last felt Edgeworth's hands on him—fingers digging into his hips, nails scraping down his spine, that infuriatingly precise mouth pressed against his own… Not that he was counting.

(He was absolutely counting.)

Edgeworth’s life had dissolved into a storm of obligations after the "Skye&Gant" shameful trials: meetings that bled into dinners, case files that multiplied like rabbits, and phone calls that stretched into the witching hours. He always returned home exhausted—tie loosened, cuffs undone, the sharp edges of his composure worn thin—only to collapse into bed before Phoenix could even roll over and steal a kiss. And, by the time the sun rose, Miles was already gone, leaving nothing but the faintest impression on the mattress and the scent of cologne.

Phoenix tried to be patient. Really, he did. But by the second week, his skin itched with the need for contact, and his body was humming like a live wire. 

And by the third, he was done waiting.

—

The prosecutor’s office was, as always, immaculate — a little kingdom of sharpened pencils, color-coded files, and unreadable calm. Miles was mid-sentence in a paper, dictating notes with the precision of a metronome, when the door flew open with the dramatic flair of a courtroom objection. And there was only one person who never knocked. 

The prosecutor’s head snapped up, pen freezing mid-air, his mask of professionalism slipping for the barest second. "Wright—!" He shot up from behind his desk. "You cannot just barge into the prosecutor’s office like—"

Phoenix cut him off by slamming a massive desk calendar onto the stack of briefs. The thwack sent a few post-its fluttering to the floor, the coffee ring on Miles’s desk suddenly looking pathetic in comparison. "We need to talk," he announced.

Edgeworth exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he could ward off the headache—and the other things—Phoenix brought with him. "Good lord. What now?"

Phoenix didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned across the desk, close enough that the citrusy notes of his cologne (the one Miles claimed to dislike but always inhaled a little too deeply) wrapped around the prosecutor like a challenge. His fingers brushed the edge of a case file, deliberately pushing it to the side. 

"Three weeks, Miles," he murmured, voice dropping into that low, rough register that made Edgeworth’s grip tighten on his pen. "A whole month of you avoiding me. You do know what that does to me."

Edgeworth didn’t even flinch, though the muscle at his temple ticked. His gaze flicked to the disordered papers, then back to Phoenix’s eyes—dark, hungry, and knowing. He only arched a brow at the sight. 

"Perhaps you could channel that energy into something useful. I hear chess clubs are very welcoming to—"

"Wrong answer," Phoenix interrupted, grinning like he’d just caught the witness in a lie. He dragged the desk calendar toward them both, flipped to the current month, and stabbed at the page with a pen. "We’re scheduling this."

Edgeworth blinked. "…Scheduling what?"

"Sex," Phoenix said bluntly, teeth flashing in a slightly shy smile, suddenly aware of how insane he sounded. The softness of it made Edgeworth hate him. "Quickies, make-outs, whatever we can fit in. I don’t care if it’s ten minutes in your stuffy office or five in the courthouse bathroom. But we’re putting it on the damn calendar."

The words landed like a sucker punch. Miles’s composure flickered, the faintest pink creeping up behind his collar. "You cannot be serious," he murmured, low and scandalized, but Phoenix heard it clear as day: the reluctant note of arousal tucked between the outrage.

"I’ve never been more serious in my life," Phoenix shot back. He grabbed the pen and circled Tuesday at 12 PM in thick red ink. "Here. Post-trial stress relief." He circled Friday at the same time. "Another lunch break quickie." Then Sunday evening, Thursday night, and the following Saturday. "I’ve some free time these days. What about yours?"

Miles had his arms crossed, glaring down at the calendar. It was covered in sloppy handwriting and little doodles—tiny hearts, badly drawn scales of justice, and what looked suspiciously like a stick-figure wearing a dog collar.

"Wright." His voice dropped into that low, dangerous register that usually made juries quake. "This is preposterous."

Phoenix grinned, uncapping a red marker. "Come on, it’s efficient. Look, we'll make it this way—blue for trials, green for client meetings, and red for—" He paused to draw another heart. "Sexy time."

Miles’s fingers curled into fists. "You cannot possibly expect me to… to pencil in intimacy of all things."

"Why not?" Phoenix leaned against the desk, smug. "You pencil in depositions. You pencil in cross-examinations. Why not me?"

The look Miles gave him was blistering. "…Because you are not a deposition, Wright."

Phoenix smirked, leaning in just far enough for his voice to brush like heat against Miles’s ear. "Oh, not with that attitude."

Edgeworth’s ears went crimson. His hand tightened imperceptibly around his pen, like it might snap. "You are—" His voice cracked faintly, the faintest tremor of betrayal against his composure. "—incorrigible."

"And you love it." Phoenix circled a Saturday with three hearts and scrawled DATE NIGHT: NO EXCUSES. "Besides, it’s not like we have time to be spontaneous. Your caseload is insane, my office is a mess—if we don’t schedule it, we’ll never get to—" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "...discuss cases."

"Wright!" Edgeworth groaned, scandalized. "You cannot simply—this is outrageous! I have meetings—"

Phoenix cut him off by slamming his hand down on the desk, eyes blazing. "Then move your meetings, Miles. You think the defense waits three whole weeks for justice? No. And I’m done waiting to see you. I know you want it too," his voice dropped into self-doubt at the end, half embarrassed at himself but dead-set on hiding it. "And you will make time for me."

The prosecutor huffed in fake annoyance, but the way Phoenix was looking at him—like he was already naked, like he’d memorized every tell, every flicker of reaction—made his throat go dry. 

"Your timing is atrocious; you do know I'm working for three now. And I imagine I won't have to remind you whose fault is that?" He bit out, but his voice lacked its usual bite. "I have obligations."

"So do I," the man shot back, grin sharp as a blade, ignoring his boyfriend’s ‘telling’ for him to catch a hint. "But you know what? I make time for the things I want." His gaze dropped to Edgeworth’s mouth, lingered. "And right now, I want you."

Edgeworth’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched against the ruined pen, his body reacting before his mind could lock it down—pupils dilating, throat tightening. Phoenix saw it, because of course he did. The bastard always saw it. And he grinned. 

Checkmate.

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged, until Edgeworth exhaled sharply, defeated. "You’re vulgar and stubborn," he muttered, ignoring the way the attorney’s grin grew wider, but there was no real bite to his words. He snatched the pen from Phoenix’s hand and pulled his own meticulously organized planner toward himself to compare. "...Fine. But if we are going to do this, we’ll do it right." 

Ten minutes later, the scene was pure chaos. Edgeworth had his printed schedules fanned out like case files and three highlighters lined up in perfect parallel. Phoenix lounged in his chair, his ridiculous coffee-stained calendar open, doodles of gavels and hearts spilling into the margins. He watched, amused, as Miles scanned the dates with the intensity of a man reviewing evidence.

"Impossible," Edgeworth finally said, voice tight. "I have hearings Monday through Thursday, your client’s consult on Friday overlaps with my only break, and Saturday is closing arguments." He grimaced. "And a deposition on Sunday. There isn’t a single free hour."

Phoenix leaned back in his chair, groaning dramatically. "You’re telling me I have to go seven whole days without getting laid? Miles, baby, that’s a cruel and unusual punishment."

"You make it sound as if this is my fault," Miles snapped, glaring at him. "Need I remind you that you took on three pro bono cases this month?"

"Yeah, because I have a heart," Phoenix shot back, pointing the marker at him. "Sorry for not being a soulless prosecutor."

Miles’s eye twitched. "That is not—!" He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is not a courtroom. I refuse to argue semantics over—" He gestured vaguely at the red hearts scrawled all over the calendar. "—Over this."

Phoenix smirked, leaning forward. "You know, if I were you, I'd be more worried."

"About what?"

"That if you don’t give me something," Phoenix purred, voice dropping to a rough whisper, "I’m gonna get desperate." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, gaze locked onto Edgeworth like a predator sizing up prey. "Show up in the middle of the day. Lock your office door. Bend you over this big fancy desk of yours and—"

The pen clattered out of Miles’s hand. His ears went crimson. "You wouldn’t dare!"

Phoenix grinned like he’d already planned it. "Try me."

There was a long pause. Miles fiddled with his pen, clearly weighing the very real possibility that Phoenix was not bluffing. Finally, with a muttered curse, he snatched the calendar.

"Fine. We will… improvise."

Phoenix’s eyes lit up. "That’s the spirit!"

Miles’s jaw worked as he flipped through the pages. He jabbed at a slim rectangle of time between hearings. "Tuesday. Lunch hour. Forty-five minutes."

Phoenix gasped like he’d been given a gift. "You’re penciling in a quickie?" He let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn, Miles. You do know how to make a man feel special." He grabbed a red marker and scrawled a heart over the time slot, big and messy. "...Our first real quickie! How romantic."

Miles’s glare could have cut glass. "...Do not call it that."

"What else would you call it?" Phoenix laughed, uncapping the marker with his teeth. "‘Efficient coitus’? ‘Scheduled debauchery’?" He stopped to stare at him, eyes fond and teasing at the same time. "Miles Edgeworth, scheduling sex like it’s a legal brief. God, I love you."

Miles ignored him, flipping to Thursday. "We could… theoretically…" He tapped the page, reluctant. "If we wake an hour earlier…"

Phoenix made a face like he’d been asked to drink sewer water. "Morning sex? Miles, I am not showing up to court looking like I just got railed against a headboard."

"You look like that regardless," Edgeworth muttered, glancing to the side as if this talk was below him, but his pen hovered over the page, uncertain.

"Yeah, but sex hair is a whole different beast." He pointed out. "People will know."

Edgeworth’s cheekbones flushed. "You are so goddamn—"

"Admit it," Phoenix purred. "You like the idea of me walking into court all rumpled, smelling like you."

Edgeworth’s pen snapped.

Phoenix grinned. "There it is." He reached across the desk, fingers brushing Edgeworth’s wrist as he pointed a date—just a graze, but it sent a shiver up his spine. "Friday. Between my consult and your prep meeting. Around… 15 minutes? Plenty of time."

"Plenty?" Edgeworth’s voice cracked. "That is not—"

"Plenty," Phoenix interrupted, dragging another heart over the box. "You’re a machine, Miles. I’ve seen you destroy a witness in twenty minutes flat. You think I can’t make you beg in fifteen?"

Edgeworth’s breath came faster. His pen hovered over the page, trembling. "That is hardly the same thing!"

"Same skill set," Phoenix said breezily, drawing another heart.

By the time they were done, the once-clean calendar looked like a battlefield of neon highlights, hearts, arrows, and panicked notes in Miles’s tiny, precise handwriting.

Phoenix leaned back in his chair, smug and glowing. "See? Easy. Timing, coordination, stamina. It’s just like trial prep, but way more fun."

Edgeworth stared down at the page like it had personally betrayed him. "…I despise you."

"No, you don’t." Phoenix didn’t bother arguing. He had evidence. Instead, he pushed to his feet, slow and deliberate, until he was looming over Edgeworth’s shoulder. His breath was hot against the prosecutor’s ear, his voice a rough purr. "You just spent twenty minutes negotiating fuck times like a plea bargain. Admit it—you’re into this."

The flush that spread down Miles’s throat betrayed him entirely. He straightened, brittle with indignation. "You are insufferable."

"And you love me," Phoenix countered, so smug it hurt.

Edgeworth’s mouth opened, some razor-sharp retort poised on his tongue. Phoenix didn’t let him finish. 

He gripped Edgeworth’s chin, tilting his head back just enough to press their mouths together—hard, possessive, the kind of kiss that left no room for objections. Edgeworth made a choked sound, palms slamming against the desk for balance, but Phoenix was already crowding him, hips pinning him against the wood. The edge dug into the prosecutor's thighs, the friction only making him arch into it.

"Nn—Wright, stop—" Edgeworth’s protest broke into a gasp as Phoenix’s hand slid down, fingers digging into the firm curve of his ass through his slacks. "Not here—"

"Exactly here." Phoenix’s voice was a dark chuckle against his jaw. "Desk sex, Miles. I'm tired of watching you pretend to be untouchable at work." His thumb traced the crease of Edgeworth’s thigh, dangerously close to where he was already half-hard. "You’ve got a deposition in an hour. Plenty of time to get you nice and ruined before you have to go play the ice king in court."

Edgeworth’s breath hitched, his body reacting before his brain could lock it down—hips twitching, thighs parting just a fraction. "This is inappropriate—"

"So’s the way you’re arching right now." Phoenix bit down on the shell of his ear, just shy of pain. "But you like ‘inappropriate’, don’t you? All that precision, all that control—" His fingers tightened, kneading. "—and yet here you are, dripping for me like my good boy."

A broken sound tore from Edgeworth’s throat. His pen, forgotten, rolled off the desk and hit the floor with a useless clatter.

Phoenix groaned, grinding against him. "God, listen to you," his free hand slid up and down Edgeworth’s thigh, teasing. "Mr. Precision, Mr. Discipline—coming apart because I touched your ass." He nipped Miles’s lower lip, coaxing another broken noise out of him while keeping up the annoying, smug grin Miles hated. "Tell me I’m wrong. Go on. Cross-examine me, baby. I’m here to make your work fun."

Edgeworth’s hands curled into fists against the desk, knuckles white, his body trembling with the effort not to give in. His voice came thin, ragged, furious: "You are absolutely impossible."

"And you’re soaked for me." Phoenix’s palm pressed harder, savoring the way Edgeworth’s breath stuttered. "Face it, Miles. You wanted this the second you let me in your office."

And when Phoenix’s hand slid up the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to the evidence of just how undone he was, Edgeworth let out another helpless, damning whimper.

…But then he rallied. Who does this dog think he is to try to pin the High Prosecutor against his own desk? 

His hand suddenly shot up to grab Phoenix by the tie, yanking so hard it made Phoenix choke on a gasp. Miles’s eyes flashed, dark and dangerous, his breath hot against the lawyer's lips.

"Do not mistake my silence for compliance," he snarled, voice low and cutting. "You swagger in here like a stray dog, deface my documents, manhandle me like some—some common thug—" His voice dropped, venomous and dark. "And you think you’re in charge?" He tugged the tie tighter, forcing Phoenix to bend until their mouths hovered an inch apart. "Pathetic."

Phoenix’s cock throbbed at the word. His bravado faltered, his smirk breaking into a needy little laugh as he saw the cruel edge in Miles’ eyes come back. He could fall in love all over again just from it. "You love it, sweetheart."

Miles’s lip curled. "Do I?" His hand slid down Phoenix’s chest, slow and deliberate, until he cupped the bulge in Phoenix’s boxers. He gave it one cruel squeeze, just enough to make Phoenix gasp, the table creaking beneath them. "Then prove it. Prove you’re not just a mutt rutting on my desk."

Phoenix groaned, thrusting shamelessly into his grip, his hands scrabbling against Miles’s waist. It was almost funny how easily he broke the second Edgeworth took the rails. "God—Miles—"

"Pathetic," Miles repeated, savoring the way Phoenix broke on the word. He shoved papers aside with ruthless precision, scattering evidence briefs to the floor, and bent the man forward until Phoenix’s hands splayed over the wood for balance. "You wanted to fuck me on my own desk? Fine. But you’ll take it my way."

Phoenix swallowed hard, already trembling with need, already nodding even as his body pressed back in surrender. "Y-yeah, sir. Your way."

Miles smirked, cool and cruel, even as his own control frayed. He leaned in, biting at the curve of Phoenix’s shoulder, whispering hot against his ear: "Good boy."

Phoenix gasped, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, his cock aching against his boxers, untouched and leaking. "God—Miles—please—"

"Not yet." Edgeworth pulled him back again like he was a doll, sending papers fluttering to the floor. "On your knees."

Phoenix’s breath left him in a rush. "What—?"

"You heard me." Edgeworth’s voice was steel, his eyes glinting with something feral. "If you want to act like an animal, you’ll behave like one." He gave Phoenix’s cock another punishing squeeze. "Now. Kneel."

Phoenix’s legs nearly gave out. "Fuck—"

"I said now."

Phoenix hit the floor with a thud, his pulse roaring in his ears. Edgeworth loomed over him, cravat slightly askew, lips swollen from kissing, but his expression was pure, cruel satisfaction. "Hands behind your back."

Phoenix obeyed, his cock straining against his zipper, precome already dampening the fabric. "Miles—"

"Quiet." Edgeworth stepped closer, his polished shoe pressing down cruelly on Phoenix’s crotch, pinning him in place and making him whine. "You wanted a quickie?" His fingers tangled in Phoenix’s hair, yanking his head back. "Then you’ll take what I give you. When I give it."

Phoenix’s mouth fell open, a desperate sound spilling out as Edgeworth’s other hand traced the waistband of his own slacks. "Please—"

"Since you asked so nicely…" Edgeworth’s voice was silk over a blade. He unzipped his own pants with slow, deliberate precision, freeing his cock. "Open."

Phoenix parted his lips a bit too fast, tongue already wet and waiting. Edgeworth didn’t make him beg—he just fed him the first inch, watching with dark amusement as Phoenix moaned around him, hollowing his cheeks.

"That’s it." Edgeworth’s grip tightened, that cruel smirk showing in his face again. "Take it like the needy dog you are."

Phoenix groaned, his entire body trembling, his own need forgotten under the weight of Edgeworth’s control. "Nngh—Miles—"

"Quiet," Edgeworth said, thrusting deeper. "Or I’ll make you start over."

Phoenix whimpered, his cock leaking onto his own pants, his mind reduced to nothing but the wet heat of his boyfriend and the ownership in his voice.

Edgeworth pulled back just enough to smirk down at him. "Pathetic." His thumb brushed over Phoenix’s bottom lip, smearing spit. "But mine."

Phoenix’s hips jerked, his body aching for more. "Yours. Fuck, Miles, please—"

Edgeworth tsked. "All in good time." He reached down, stroking Phoenix’s cock once—once—before pulling away. "First, you’re going to make me come. And then, if you’re very good…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "I’ll let you fuck me over this desk like the desperate little slut you are."

Phoenix’s vision nearly whited out at the thought.

Edgeworth’s laugh was dark, triumphant, as he guided Phoenix’s mouth back to his cock. "Now. Work."

A few minutes later, the office already looked as though it had been ransacked. Phoenix was a mess—lips swollen, knees bruised from the carpet, his cock still half-hard and leaking into his boxers as he panted against Edgeworth’s thigh. He looked up, dazed and wrecked, when Edgeworth finally pulled free with a wet pop. "M-Miles—"

"Enough." Edgeworth’s voice was rough, his fingers still tangled in Phoenix’s hair as he tucked himself back into his slacks with deliberate slowness. "You’ve had quite enough for one day, haven’t you?" His thumb dragged over Phoenix’s bottom lip, smearing spit and precome, marking him. "Gross."

Phoenix whimpered, his hips jerking uselessly, his body still begging for more. "C’mon, just—just a little—"

Edgeworth’s laugh was a dark, satisfied thing. "Greedy dog." He gave Phoenix’s hair one last sharp tug before shoving him back. "Clean yourself up. You’re dripping on my floor."

Phoenix groaned, pressing his forehead against Edgeworth’s thigh like a man denied his last meal. "You can’t just—fuck, Miles—"

"I can. And I did." Edgeworth stepped back, adjusting his cuffs with infuriating precision while Phoenix stayed on his knees, trembling. "And you loved it."

The office was, of course, a disaster. 

Case files littered the floor like confetti, Edgeworth’s once-pristine desk now a crime scene of scattered papers and ink smudges. The calendar lay open, its neon hearts and lewd doodles glaring up at them like evidence. Phoenix’s tie was undone, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his lips red and used. Edgeworth wasn’t much better—hair disheveled, collar askew, bite marks blooming along his throat like a guilty confession.

After most of the hour had passed, Phoenix finally hauled himself to his feet, his legs unsteady. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, back to grinning like a man who’d just won a case on a technicality. "Efficient use of time," he mused, snapping the calendar shut with a smirk. "Productive meeting. Educational, even." He winked. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Don’t simply go back to acting smug now," Edgeworth’s glare could’ve frozen hell. "You are banned." His voice was raw, his fingers twitching like he was itching to strangle something—preferably Phoenix. "From this office. From my desk. From—" He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his cheeks flushing darker. "From existing in my presence like this."

"Aw, c’mon, babe." Phoenix leaned in, close enough to breathe him in—expensive cologne and sex and the faint metallic tang of Edgeworth’s bite on his own lip. "Admit it. You had fun."

"I had work." Edgeworth’s hand shot out, shoving Phoenix back a step. "Which you have now ruined."

"Nah, I improved it." Phoenix’s grin was all teeth as he crowded Edgeworth against the desk, caging him in. "Face it. You like me better when I’m on my knees for you." He dropped his voice to a filthy whisper. "Or bent over your desk. Or—"

"Out." Edgeworth’s voice cracked, his body betraying him with a shiver. "Get out, Wright, before I—"

"Before you what?" Phoenix purred, his hand sliding up Edgeworth’s thigh just to annoy him. "Gonna punish me again, counselor?"

Edgeworth’s breath hitched. "I am going to destroy you."

"Promises, promises." Phoenix stole a kiss, quick and entirely too sweet for what they just did before Edgeworth could stop him. When he pulled back, Miles was flushed, lips parted, his pulse hammering in his throat. "See you tomorrow, baby."

Edgeworth made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t." Phoenix winked, already sauntering toward the door, the calendar tucked under his arm like a trophy. "Here again tomorrow, 12pm sharp. Wear something easy to ruffle."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Edgeworth slumped back in his chair, his body still humming, his mind racing. His desk was a disgrace. His clothes were a disgrace. The way his cock twitched at the thought of tomorrow was a fucking disgrace.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply.

Then, with a muttered curse, he reached for his phone—and rescheduled his lunch break ‘deposition.’

Tuesday. Lunch hour. Forty-five minutes.

They had agreed—or contracted—to use the time in Edgeworth’s office. Edgeworth had even silenced his phone. Phoenix, naturally, had doodled three lopsided hearts around the hour in the calendar and scrawled MILES BREAK (MANDATORY) in red marker, because of course he had.

The office was locked, blinds drawn, the air already thick with the scent of leather and expensive cologne and the promise of something far less professional.

"We have forty-five minutes," Miles said crisply, glancing at his watch. "That includes undressing, the act itself, and redressing. We must be efficient."

Phoenix grinned like a man who’d just won a bet, hands tugging at his tie to loosen it like he couldn’t shed the suit fast enough. "I like how you call it ‘the act itself.’ What is this, a legal deposition?"

"This is a deposition," Miles snapped, tugging at his jacket. "We are deposing each other. Now stop talking. Time is wasting."

"Fine," Phoenix cupped himself through his slacks, his grin widening as Edgeworth’s breath caught. "Less talking. More—"

"Wright." 

Hands pushed on Phoenix’s chest, shoving him backwards toward the prosecutor's desk, which had clearly been cleaned off of all actual important paperwork beforehand. He laughed, low and rough, as Edgeworth crowded him backward, making his ass hit the desk with a thud and sending a stack of briefs sliding to the floor.

"Ack! Weren’t those important—"

"They were irrelevant." Edgeworth was on him in a second, his mouth crashing into Phoenix’s before the words were even out. No finesse. No buildup. Just need, hot and messy and urgent, straight into tugging at belts and buttons with all the grace of two men sprinting toward the same finish line.

Wright shoved an entire stack of useless files to the floor to make up more space, and the sound of fluttering paper was drowned by the groan that left him as teeth caught his lower lip. He nearly tripped trying to kick off his shoe mid-kiss, bumping into the desk again, now hard enough to rattle the pen holder.

"Forty-one minutes left," Miles muttered into his mouth, hands already working the attorney’s belt open like a man disarming a bomb, but without sliding it off fully just yet. "All because you kept talking."

Phoenix pulled back just long enough to breathe a laugh, sweat already gathering at his hairline. "You’re rushing—"

"Of course I’m rushing. We have forty minutes." Miles shoved him harder against the desk, every inch of his precision bent toward ruthless efficiency.

The attorney gasped, arching into the pressure, grinning around another tease even as his pulse raced. "God, you’re so hot when you’re neurotic."

Miles huffed, jerking Phoenix’s tie tight enough to choke a gasp out of him. "Stop complimenting me and get on with it."

Phoenix melted, his hips rolling back in a slow, deliberate grind that made Edgeworth's breath stutter. The friction sent a jolt through both of them, his own cock already leaking against his slacks, Miles’ grip on his tie tightening until the silk dug into his throat. 

"Yes, sir," Phoenix gasped, the words dripping with fake submission and real need.

The honorific hit Edgeworth like a cross-examination he wasn't prepared for. His fingers twitched against Phoenix's collarbone before he recovered, spinning the attorney around with enough force to make the desk creak. Phoenix's chest hit the wood with a thud, his breath leaving him in a rush as Edgeworth's palm hit against his thigh, the sound echoing like a gavel in the empty office.

"Smartass," Edgeworth hissed, his voice rough with something dangerously close to pride, and the way his usual elegant wording kept failing every time he lost his composure would have been funny if it wasn't hot. His hand printed red on Phoenix's leg, the mark blooming like evidence as he leaned in, his mouth hot against his boyfriend’s ear. "You think you're clever? Talking back when you're the one who begged for this?"

Phoenix bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, his hips already rocking back in silent demand. "C’mon, Miles," he taunted, breathless, "you love it when I talk back."

"I love it when you listen." Edgeworth’s hand cracked against Phoenix’s thigh again, the sound sharp in the quiet office. "Now be a good dog and stay."

Phoenix shuddered, his fingers clawing at the wood. "Ahh, Miles—" he gasped, his voice breaking. "You know you can't say stuff like that…"

Ignoring him, Miles’s hands found the hem of Phoenix’s shirt, working it open with brisk, impatient jerks. He paused to take in the sight of the man sprawled over his desk, bare-chested and flushed, the tie still tangled around his throat like a leash, looking wrecked just from being degraded. His skin was slick with sweat, his cock already weeping against the mahogany. 

"We need to hurry," Miles muttered, the countdown now a physical thing, "I still have a meeting right after this."

Phoenix laughed breathlessly, pressing his chest to the cool wood. "You’re the one who scheduled this one, babe."

"And you’re the one wasting it." Edgeworth’s hands were everywhere, making the attorney melt against him. "Spread your legs."

Phoenix obeyed, his knees shaking as Edgeworth’s fingers traced the crease of his thighs. "God, Miles, you are so—"

"Quiet." Edgeworth’s zipper was a slow, deliberate sound, the drag of metal teeth. "You wanted this fast."

Phoenix turned around (because of course he wanted to be able to see his boyfriend’s pretty face), to now lay on his back, taking advantage of the position to pull the man down with him until their chests were pressed together—Wright's bare, Edgeworth's still hidden by his waistcoat and undershirt. He pressed flat against the polished wood, palms braced. "I want you," he breathed, the words ragged and ridiculous. He’d be embarrassed of himself if he wasn't so damn into it. "Now."

Miles’s mouth thinned. "You were the one with the calendar, Wright." He hooked his fingers in Phoenix’s belt and tugged hard, finally ripping it free. The sound of leather against wood snapped like a verdict as it was thrown onto the floor, abandoned. "You know you have me scheduled."

The man smirked under him, clearly pleased by his reply. "Mm, I knew you couldn’t say no to planned ‘meetings,’" he purred. Phoenix’s boxers and trousers dropped in a sloppy heap, and he quickly kicked them off, knees shaking where his legs were tangled with Miles’, cock leaking hungrily and red.

Miles was taking his time with his own zipper, the slow, attentive motions somehow more intense than any hurry. When Phoenix’s briefs followed the rest of his clothing, Miles paused one more time, eyes raking him like a man cataloguing exhibits: hair mussed, chest heaving, the smear of spit against his upper lip. A control flickered over his face—and then he smiled, the barest, cruel angle to it.

"Strip off your shirt too," Miles pulled on the open shirt still hanging from his boyfriend’s shoulders, the only thing keeping him from being completely bare. Just that exact, small thing that left Phoenix raw and obedient.

Phoenix helped, yanking off the last layer immediately like an overexcited puppy. "Happy?" he panted, voice silly and breathless.

"Not yet." Miles's hand slid down, wrapping around Phoenix’s cock, stroking once before pulling away, fumbling with the lube he had purposefully left on his table that morning. Phoenix groaned, his hips jerking up, chasing the touch again even as Edgeworth huffed. "Can’t stop humping yourself silly even now, can you?"

Phoenix didn't let him talk again. He surged up, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was all teeth and need. His hands were everywhere—one tangled in Edgeworth's perfectly styled hair, the other yanking at the prosecutor's cravat like he was tearing through a witness's alibi. "Less talking," he growled against Edgeworth's lips, "more fucking."

Miles's teeth sank into Phoenix's lower lip, accidentally harder than he meant to, until the copper tang of blood flooded his mouth and he pulled away immediately, clearly worried. "Shit, honey, I—" His voice cracked, his hand already reaching to cup Phoenix's face, thumb brushing the bead of blood on his lip with guilt.

But Phoenix didn't flinch. He melted, his body going boneless against Edgeworth, his cock twitching violently against the prosecutor's thigh. "Holy fuck, babe," he gasped, his voice wrecked, his hips already grinding for more friction. "Do it harder. I can take it, please…"

Edgeworth recoiled like Phoenix had just suggested arson in a courthouse. His hand dropped from Phoenix's face like it was contaminated, his breath coming fast. "You're—you're bleeding—" His voice was raw, his eyes darting to the red smear on his own thumb like it was evidence. "This isn't—we can't—"

Phoenix didn't let him finish. He surged forward, his mouth crashing into Edgeworth's again, his nails digging into the back of the prosecutor's neck hard enough to make him hiss. "Bite me again," Phoenix demanded against his lips, his voice a filthy whisper, his tongue tracing the seam of the prosecutor’s mouth. "I want to taste it when you fuck me."

Edgeworth's entire body locked up, his cock aching traitorously against his slacks. "You're insane," he snarled, but his hand was already tangled in Phoenix's hair, his fingers tightening despite himself. His mind raced—this is dangerous, this is wrong, this is—but then Phoenix moaned, low and needy, his hips rolling against Edgeworth's thigh, and something primitive in him snapped.

"You asked for it," he growled, his voice rough with self-loathing as his teeth found the sensitive skin just below Phoenix's ear. He bit down—hard—but not hard enough to break skin. His free hand pressed against Phoenix's sternum like he was trying to hold him back even as he marked him. "You're going to regret this."

Phoenix's answer was a broken sound, his entire body shuddering, his fingers clawing at Edgeworth's shoulders. "Fuck! Yes—" he gasped, his cock leaking through his pants, his voice rough with need. "Again. I need—"

Edgeworth's breath came in ragged bursts, his mind screaming at him to stop even as his body arched into Phoenix's touch. "You need?" he repeated, his voice trembling, his lips brushing the fresh mark on Phoenix's collarbone. His hand shaking, he traced the reddened skin, his stomach twisting. "You need me to hurt you, Wright?"

Phoenix's answer was a desperate, needy sound, his hips jerking against Edgeworth's thigh. "Yes, fuck, yes—"

His hand fisted in Phoenix's hair, yanking his head back—not to hurt him, but to see him, to make sure he was okay, even as his teeth found Phoenix's throat again. "You have no idea how goddamn reckless you are…" he started, but Phoenix cut him off with a desperate, needy sound, his body arching into the bite.

Phoenix's laugh was dark, breathless, his eyes black with want. "Mm. More," he taunted, his voice rough, his hips jerking against Edgeworth's thigh. "Or are you too scared to leave a mark your precious coworkers might see, boss?"

That did it.

Edgeworth's hand fisted in Phoenix's hair, yanking his head back as he bit his way down Phoenix's throat, his teeth leaving a trail of red marks. Phoenix's breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers clawing at Edgeworth's shoulders, his cock throbbing with every sharp sting. "Please—" he begged, his voice breaking, "Just…"

"Enough." Edgeworth's mind short-circuited. His free hand pushed back slightly at Phoenix's chest, trying to breathe properly. "...T-thirty-two minutes," he muttered against his throat as he finally glanced down at his watch again. 

Phoenix huffed, trying to breathe through the haziness of the sting still on his throat. "You're not even naked yet!"

"Then hurry!"

"Don’t tell me to hurry, you’re the one lecturing—"

They both froze when Miles’s desk phone rang. A shrill, piercing ring that shattered the moment.

Miles stared at it in horror. "...That could be the judge’s clerk."

Phoenix, panting, hair a mess: "Ignore it."

"I cannot ignore a court clerk!"

The attorney grinned, dragging him down for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. "Then answer it," he murmured against his lips. "Tell them you’re busy. With me."

Edgeworth’s control shattered.

He grabbed Phoenix by the throat—not roughly, just enough to pin him away from him and against the desk—as his other hand snatched the receiver. "Edgeworth's office," he barked, his voice clipped and professional despite the way Phoenix's fingers were now tracing the waistband of his slacks.

Phoenix didn’t waste a second.

The moment Edgeworth’s attention flickered toward the phone, he struck, switching their positions. A sharp shove sent him stumbling back against the desk as Phoenix crowded him; his grin all teeth as he worked at the buttons of Edgeworth’s waistcoat. The prosecutor’s voice was clipped, too professional, but his body betrayed him—tensing and buzzing like a live wire, his breath coming just a little too fast.

The sight of Miles multitasking, voice clipped into a conversation about calendars and court dockets while his shirt gaped at the collar and his pants were ruined, sent a new, filthy warmth through Phoenix. He leaned in, mouth hot against the line of Miles’s throat as he freed him from the waistcoat.

Miles’s voice rose half an octave. "Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be there at two sharp." He glared at Phoenix, who was openly grinning, mouthing ‘thirty minutes!’ while tugging on his belt to pull his pants down.

The phone was kept balanced between his ear and shoulder, his voice measured with fake calm and professionalism. "Yes, I’ll review the witness statements personally… no, that won’t be a problem at all." 

He sounded like the model high prosecutor, every syllable clipped and perfect like it always was.

…Which was hilarious, considering Phoenix was already on his knees, spreading the lube over his fingers and pressing them between Miles’s thighs.

"Yes, again, s-sir," Edgeworth stuttered into the receiver, his voice straining as Phoenix's fingers traced the inseam of his slacks. "I'll have those briefs to you by two—" His words cut off with a sharp inhale when Phoenix popped the button of his pants, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet office. 

The fabric slid down Edgeworth's hips, pooling around his ankles. Phoenix didn't waste a second at the opportunity, now practically groping the other man like he was trying to make him break. 

Edgeworth’s breath hitched, his free hand flying back to bat Phoenix away, the attorney ducking under his arm and pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his hip while squeezing his thigh like he didn't want to let go.

"Of course, I understand the—ugh—urgency," Edgeworth bit out, his free hand slamming onto the desk for balance as he felt lips trailing higher. His thighs trembled as Phoenix's fingers teased at his boxers, his breath warm against the growing damp spot on the fabric.

"Talk pretty, counselor," Phoenix murmured, his voice a filthy whisper as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Edgeworth's boxers, tugging them down just enough to expose him. His cock was already hard, flushed and leaking, and Phoenix groaned, his thumb swiping over the tip before pressing his slick fingers against Edgeworth's entrance.

The prosecutor’s breath caught, his voice cracking as he tried to maintain professionalism. "I—I'll review the witness statements personally—" His free hand flew back, trying to switch them again, but the other man just grinned, his lips brushing the inside of Edgeworth's thigh as he circled his fingers against his entrance, not pushing in yet.

"You gonna let me in," Phoenix purred, his breath hot against Edgeworth's cock, "or do I have to beg for it?"

Edgeworth's entire body jerked, his knuckles whitening around the phone’s receiver. "You are crazy!" He whispered, his voice a rasp, but Phoenix cut him off with a slow, deliberate lick up the underside of his cock.

"Fourty-five minutes, Miles," Phoenix reminded him, his fingers pressing in just enough to make Edgeworth's hips twitch. "Clock's ticking, babe. I won't do it unless you say yes."

Miles's answer was a broken, needy sound, his free hand tangling in Phoenix's hair—not to push him away, but to anchor himself as his body betrayed him. "Fuck, fine! Y-yes," he gasped a bit too loud, his voice wrecked, before realizing the phone caught it. "I-I mean—Yes! I'll ensure the documents are filed—ah—promptly, of course. Yes." He glared at Phoenix, "we wouldn't want another annoying lawyer damaging our reputation."

Phoenix didn’t answer. He just thrusted one finger inside, slow and deep, and Edgeworth’s entire body locked up, his free hand slamming onto the desk.

"Yes," Miles gasped into the phone after the clerk stopped babblering, though his knuckles went white on the desk edge. "I quite agree with your assessment. It’s… mm—most… uh…" he paused, the steady pumping of Wright’s fingers inside him making him feel stupid all of a sudden. "...smart. A smart decision, certainly…" He shot him a murderous side glance, mouthing, Stop this right now. Don't go so deep. 

Phoenix mouthed back: Twenty-eight minutes.

Then he slid in a second finger, working Edgeworth open with deliberate, maddening slowness. "So fucking tight for me," he murmured against Edgeworth's skin, his breath hot as he curled inside him, finding that spot that made Edgeworth's breath hitch.

"All while you're talking about jury instructions," Phoenix whispered, his voice a filthy purr as he scissored his fingers deeper. "Fuck, you're hot when you're lying to your clerk."

Edgeworth's hand flew back as he whined, trying to still the overwhelming sensation, but Phoenix caught his wrist this time, pinning it to the small of Edgeworth's back. The position forced him to arch harder against the desk, his breath stuttering as Phoenix's fingers thrust deeper.

"Stay still," Phoenix ordered, his voice rough, and Edgeworth whimpered, his cock leaking onto the polished wood.

Phoenix curled his fingers inside, searching for that friction, and when Miles almost kicked back from the sudden spark of pleasure, Phoenix just smirked. He anchored Edgeworth harder against the desk, adding a third finger with slow, patient strokes, stretching him open until the tight ring of muscle eased with a delicious give.

"I—I'll—" Edgeworth's voice was a wreck, his body trembling as Phoenix's fingers stretched him. "I'll circulate that—fuck—memo—" His words dissolved into a choked sound as Phoenix's fingers bottomed out, his free hand gripping Edgeworth's hip to keep him in place. "By…—ah—My apologies, sir, that was very rude of me," Edgeworth struggled, his voice breaking as Phoenix's fingers twisted inside him. "By the… the end of day, I mean—"

Phoenix leaned in, his lips brushing Edgeworth's ear. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice low and approving. "Now let's see if you can keep talking while I fuck you open."

He rocked his fingers gently, then found a rhythm that made Miles’s jaw clench. The desk hummed with the low electricity of two men stealing minutes from the world.

Miles’s sentences came out clipped and professional, but each phrase was punctuated now by a hitch of breath, a stifled curse. Wright wondered if the other person on the line was just incredibly stupid or too scared to say anything about the noises. "Y-yes, no problem. I’ll oversee that. Absolutely." The prosecutor’s poise lined each sentence like armor, but his hand betrayed him as it tightened around the receiver, white-knuckled, while the other tangled in Phoenix’s hair as if to anchor himself.

Phoenix pressed closer. He used his hip to rub his cock against the hollow of Miles’s ass, relishing the shudder that traveled up the other man’s spine. "Imagine if they knew," he whispered, hot and wicked against Miles’s ear, his voice low enough to be untouchable by the clerk on the line. "Their perfect prosecutor, draped over his desk, slick and begging for some good-for-nothing lawyer... Wouldn’t you love that headline?"

Edgeworth’s knees nearly buckled. He covered it with a cough. "Y-yes. I’m listening," he croaked into the receiver. The person on the line kept droning—something about jury instructions—oblivious to the way Phoenix's fingers slid free with a wet sound, leaving Edgeworth empty and aching.

Phoenix stood, his cock throbbing and leaking, already lined up as he pressed Edgeworth down over the desk. His chest hit the wood with a thud, his breath hitching as Phoenix's hand splayed between his shoulder blades. 

"Hold that thought," Wright murmured, his voice dark with promise. "And the phone."

Edgeworth's fingers clenched around it like he was told, his mouth closed shut as Phoenix pushed in, just one brutal thrust that made the desk creak. The prosecutor's breath left him in a rush, his free hand scrabbling at the wood as Phoenix bottomed out, his hips grinding deep.

"Mmph—fuck," Phoenix purred, low and dark, his voice a velvet blade against the shell of Miles’ ear. "That’s it. Take it like a good boy. Let them hear how well you listen when I’m inside you." His hips rolled deep, slow and deliberate at first, letting Edgeworth feel every ridge, every throb of his cock stretching him wide. The prosecutor’s breath hitched, his body tensing, but Phoenix just chuckled. "Uh-uh. No hiding. Not when you’re dripping for me."

Edgeworth’s voice cracked over the phone, his words dissolving into a needy whimper as Phoenix pulled back—just enough to make him feel the absence—before slamming home again, harder this time. Miles’s hand slapped flat against the desk. His eyes squeezed shut. He managed a strangled, "Y-yes, that’s… an excellent suggestion," into the phone while Phoenix ground in deep, the desk creaking beneath them.

Every thrust after was brutal, controlled only by Phoenix’s need to make him break. He leaned over him, his mouth hot against his ear. "You’re taking me so well," he growled, his hips snapping forward, each thrust punctuating Edgeworth’s broken sentences. "Look at you. Leaking like a slut while you pretend to take notes. Bet you’d let me fuck you right through the entire call, wouldn’t you?"

Edgeworth’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hips canting back into Phoenix’s touch despite himself, his voice a wrecked murmur into the receiver. "Y-yes, of course. Th-that sounds perfectly—nngh—reasonable—"

Wright’s laugh was a low, filthy thing, his hand sliding around to wrap around Edgeworth’s cock, already leaking and desperate. "You’re still trying to sound like you’ve got a single brain cell left, babe?" His teeth grazed the nape of Edgeworth’s neck, his voice dropping to a filthy whisper.

Edgeworth’s body betrayed him, his hips rocking back into Phoenix’s thrusts, his voice a wreck. "I’ll—I’ll be sure to—ah—look more into it, of course, without Skye, it will be harder, but…"

Phoenix’s breath was hot against his ear, his voice a dark whisper. "God, you’re clenching so hard for me. You're gonna come just from talking shop while I fuck you stupid?"

Miles shook his head violently, mouthing Don’t you dare. But Phoenix just angled deeper, snapping his hips until Miles’s voice cracked mid-sentence before moving him into the position he wanted—sprawled over the desk, one leg kicked out, cravat still hanging loose like he was Phoenix’s favorite dress-up doll.

"No, I—I mean yes, I’ll ensure the record is—mmm—is accurate—" Edgeworth’s voice was a wreck, his body trembling, his cock leaking against his own mahogany desk.

The person on the other end of the line was still blissfully unaware, droning on about schedules and deadlines, while Edgeworth’s knees trembled and his body ached with need. Phoenix stroked him in rhythm with each thrust, his voice a filthy murmur. "That’s it… take it…" His lips brushed Edgeworth’s ear, his breath hot. "You’re dripping for me, Miles. What would the judge think?"

His grin was wicked, his thrusts harder now, deliberate. "Don’t you dare hang up," he breathed. "I want you to cum while you’re still their perfect little prosecutor on the line."

Miles’s eyes flew open, horrified, shaking his head frantically. "N-no—" he gasped, his lips trembling. "I meant, yes—the record will be… meticulously reviewed."

Phoenix kissed the back of his neck, teeth scraping. "Yes?"

Edgeworth’s breath hitched, his knees locking as Phoenix’s thumb pressed against the slick head of his cock, smearing the wetness in slow, maddening circles. "P-please—" he begged, the word torn from him before he could stop it, his voice a raw, needy crack.

"Please what?" Phoenix’s teeth grazed the tendon of his neck, his thrusts turning sharper, each snap of his hips driving Edgeworth’s chest harder into the desk. The wood groaned beneath them, the sound obscene against the clerk’s monotonous voice. "You want me to stop?" His free hand fisted in Edgeworth’s hair, yanking his head back just enough to press a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. "Or do you want me to fuck you through this call, Miles? Let them hear how well you take orders when you’re full of cock."

And then Miles broke. The combination of Phoenix driving him into the desk, the lube-slick stretch, the filth whispered in his ear—he came with a choked cry, horror flooding his system—but Phoenix’s hand mercifully clamped over his mouth, muffling the broken sound that tore from his throat as his orgasm ripped through him. 

The caller finally paused at the muffled sound. "…Mr. Edgeworth? Are you alright?"

Miles, still shuddering, dragged his voice back up from the wreckage. "P-perfectly fine," he rasped, forcing composure like a mask. "Thank you for your… thorough report. I’ll see to it until this afternoon."

He slammed the receiver down before they could reply.

By the time Edgeworth slammed the phone down, his face was flushed, his hair a mess, and his entire body vibrating with the kind of outrage that only came from being thoroughly, embarrassingly undone. "You insufferable bastard. I nearly—"

Phoenix kissed him hard, swallowing the rest. "Shh. Clock’s still ticking." He pulled out slowly, lewdly, letting Edgeworth feel every inch of the withdrawal, his cock glistening with the evidence of what he’d just done. 

The prosecutor’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to strangle him. He glanced at his clock anyway. "Thirty-nine minutes and forty-two seconds," he bit out, his voice trembling with fury. "You absolute—"

Phoenix just grinned, lazy and satisfied, as he collapsed into Edgeworth’s chair. He stretched, his muscles loose and satisfied, while the other man sagged against his desk, his knees still weak, his body aching in the best possible way.

"See?" Phoenix wheezed, his voice rough but smug. "Under forty-five. Efficient."

Edgeworth groaned, dragging a hand over his face like he could erase the last hour. "This is a travesty," he muttered, his voice muffled. "A complete and utter…"

Phoenix leaned forward, catching his wrist and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, his lips still wet from them making out. "It’s a victory," he corrected, his grin sharp enough to cut.

Edgeworth peeked at his watch through his fingers, his expression horrified. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t." Phoenix grinned, tapping the face of Edgeworth’s watch with his free hand. "Also, we’ve still got three minutes. You sure you don’t wanna go for round two? I promise I’ll let you top this time."

Edgeworth’s face went from mortified to apoplectic in half a second. "Du bist ein verdammter Irrer," he snarled, and if looks could kill, Phoenix would’ve been a very dead man.

Phoenix just winked. "That’s German for ‘yes, please,’ right?"

Edgeworth grabbed the nearest legal pad and hurled it at his head.

Friday. Lunch break. Ten minutes.

The calendar didn’t lie—between Phoenix’s last-minute consult with a client and Edgeworth’s prep meeting with the judge, there was exactly ten minutes of overlap, at least if they started now. Ten minutes, and Phoenix was already crowding into Miles’ space, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.

He leaned against the desk, grinning like the devil himself. "So. Ten minutes. Think you can handle it?"

Edgeworth didn’t even look up from his paperwork. "Wright," he said, voice dry as old parchment, "intimacy is not a sprint."

Phoenix smirked. "Last Tuesday, you said forty-five minutes was already pushing it. Now it’s ten. C’mon, babe, adapt or die."

Edgeworth finally lifted his head, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to stave off a migraine. "You are deranged."

"And you love me for it." Phoenix leaned in, tugging at Miles’s cravat. "Clock’s ticking."

Edgeworth exhaled sharply through his nose, checking his watch with the precision of a man counting down to an execution. "Nine minutes, fifty-two seconds," he said, like it was a personal affront. "This is absurd."

"Absurdly hot," Phoenix corrected, crossing the table to get closer to him before pulling Miles into a kiss so the man wouldn't launch into a lecture.

Edgeworth made a sound that was half protest, half surrender, his hands coming up to shove at Phoenix’s chest—but then his fingers curled into the fabric of Phoenix’s shirt instead, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, messy and hungry, Phoenix’s tongue sweeping into the prosecutor’s mouth like he owned it. His body arched into the touch as he stood up, the usual composure unraveling with every second.

Phoenix’s hands were everywhere—one tangled in Edgeworth’s hair, the other sliding down to grip his hip, pulling him flush against the line of his cock. "Fuck, you’re already hard," he murmured against Miles's lips, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Guess you do like a challenge."

Edgeworth’s breath hitched, his body betraying him as he rocked into the man's touch. "This is unprofessional," he managed, but his voice was already thick with need, his usual sharpness dulled by the way Phoenix’s teeth grazed his lower lip.

"Yeah?" Phoenix’s grin was all sin as he walked Edgeworth backward until his thighs hit the edge of the desk. "Good thing I’m really good at improvising." 

Phoenix’s fingers were already at Edgeworth’s belt, working the buckle open with the same effortless precision he used to dismantle a witness on the stand. The leather hissed as it slid free, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet of the office.

"Nine minutes now?" Phoenix murmured, his voice rough with anticipation as he palmed Edgeworth through his slacks, feeling the way the prosecutor’s body reacted instantly—hard, desperate, already aching for more. "Better make them count, babe."

Edgeworth’s response was to grab the front of Phoenix’s shirt and yank, buttons popping free and scattering across the floor like shrapnel. Phoenix laughed, low and breathless, as his boyfriend's mouth crashed against his, teeth clashing in their haste. The prosecutor’s hands were everywhere—shoving Phoenix’s jacket off his shoulders, dragging at his tie, his movements frantic, almost angry, like he was trying to punish Phoenix for daring to start something they couldn’t finish.

Wright groaned as if he had just seen god. His hands found Miles’ hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he ground against him, the friction maddening through the layers of fabric still between them. "You’re such a hypocrite," he teased, his lips brushing Edgeworth’s ear as he reached for the prosecutor’s zipper. "All that talk about dignity and professionalism—"

"Eight minutes," Edgeworth interrupted, his voice tight with need as Phoenix’s fingers finally freed him, wrapping around his cock with a firm, possessive grip. His head fell back, his throat exposed, but his eyes snapped open, locking onto the clock on the wall like it was the only thing keeping him anchored. "And you’re one to talk about hypocrisy, Wright. You’re the one who—nngh—who started this!"

Phoenix chuckled, stroking him slowly and deliberately, his thumb swiping over the slick head of Edgeworth’s cock. "Yeah, yeah. But you’re the one who likes it." He dropped to his knees, his breath hot against the damp cotton of Edgeworth’s boxers. "Now shut up and let me work."

Miles’s breath hitched as Phoenix’s mouth closed around him, wet and hungry, his tongue swirling in ways that made the prosecutor’s fingers tighten in his hair. It was almost annoying how into it the attorney was. "Seven minutes- I can’t be the only one getting off!" he managed, his voice already wrecked, his hips jerking forward despite himself. "Wright, fuck—"

Phoenix pulled back just enough to speak, his lips slick and swollen. "Quit narrating the timer, you’re ruining the mood." His tongue flicked out, tracing the vein along the underside, and Edgeworth’s breath stuttered. "Relax, Miles. We’ve got plenty of time."

"I’m ensuring accuracy!" Edgeworth snapped, but his protest dissolved into a broken moan as Phoenix took him deep again, his throat fluttering around the tip. The prosecutor’s fingers twisted in Phoenix’s hair, his body trembling with the effort of staying upright. "You—ah—you insufferable—"

Phoenix laughed around him, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to the other man's core. His free hand slid up to grip Edgeworth’s hip, his fingers digging in as he hollowed his cheeks, taking him to the root with a low, approving hum. The sound was obscene, the wet, sloppy noises of Phoenix’s mouth filling the office, mixing with Edgeworth’s ragged breaths and the distant, muffled sounds of the courthouse beyond the door.

His body tensed, his orgasm coiling tight in his gut. "Phoenix, I—fuck—"

Phoenix pulled off with a wet pop, his lips swollen and his eyes dark with hunger. "Not yet," he stood in one fluid motion, his own cock straining against his slacks. He didn’t push Edgeworth down. Instead, he grabbed the prosecutor’s wrist and pressed his palm against the bulge in his pants. "Feel that? You’re not the only one who’s close."

Edgeworth’s breath hitched as Phoenix’s fingers fumbled with his own belt, freeing himself with a rough, impatient tug. The moment his cock sprang free, Miles's hand was on him, stroking once, twice, his grip firm and demanding. 

"This is extremely inappropriate," he bit out, but his voice was already thick with need, his usual precision dissolving under the heat of Phoenix’s skin.

The other man groaned, his head falling back as Edgeworth’s fingers worked him with the same relentless efficiency he brought to every cross-examination. "God, you’re—" He cut himself off with a needy whine as he felt Miles’s thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock, his hips jerking forward into the touch. "Okay, fine." His voice dropped to a rough murmur, his lips crashing against Edgeworth’s throat. "Shut me up. I get it."

Edgeworth made a sound that was half laugh, half growl, his fingers tightening in Phoenix’s hair as he yanked him into another kiss—this one sharp enough to bruise, his teeth nipping at Phoenix’s lower lip. "No words," he hissed against his mouth. "You’ll waste seconds."

Phoenix’s fingers curled around Edgeworth’s cock, their strokes falling into sync—hard, desperate, but controlled. "You’re impossible," he growled against Edgeworth’s lips, his voice rough with something between frustration and devotion, the kind of tone that said he’d long since stopped fighting this. His free hand slid into Edgeworth’s hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt his head back, exposing the sharp line of his throat.

Edgeworth’s breath hitched, but his grip on the man didn’t falter—his thumb swiping over the head of Phoenix’s cock in slow, deliberate circles, drawing out a broken sound from him. Their mouths met again, this time slower, deeper, like they were trying to steal more than just kisses—like they were trying to own them. His strokes grew firmer, his rhythm relentless, the wet heat between them building into something unbearable.

Phoenix’s hips jerked into the touch, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Fuck, Miles…" His voice was wrecked, his fingers tightening in Edgeworth’s hair as the prosecutor’s lips trailed down his jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear.

The friction was maddening, the slick sounds of their hands working in tandem filling the office with an obscene rhythm.

"Six minutes," Edgeworth breathed against Phoenix's mouth, his voice already unraveling at the edges. "Think you can handle that, Wright?"

"Mm, I love when you talk dirty to me," Phoenix chuckled, low and dark, his breath hot against Edgeworth’s ear. "You’re such a control freak," he purred, his thumb pressing harder, his own hips snapping into the other man’s grip. "Even now."

Edgeworth's face flushed darker, but his hand didn't slow. If anything, his strokes grew more desperate, his thumb swiping over the damp tip of Phoenix's cock in a way that made his breath hitch. "Is this your version of flirting?" Miles bit out, his voice rough with frustration—and something else, something that sounded dangerously close to need.

Phoenix pulled back just enough to look down between them, his breath catching at the sight of them—slick and flushed, leaking against their tangled hands. The dim office light cast long shadows over the sharp lines of Edgeworth's body, the way his muscles tensed with every stroke, the way his thighs trembled as Phoenix's thumb traced the vein throbbing along the underside of his cock.

"Look at us," Phoenix murmured, his voice rough with awe. His hips rolled forward, his cock sliding through Edgeworth's grip, the friction making his breath stutter. "Fucking hell, Miles. We're a mess."

Edgeworth's answer was a broken sound, half groan, half laugh, as his grip tightened almost painfully around Phoenix. His breath came in sharp gasps as his fingers dug into the other man’s hip, his strokes growing rougher, more demanding. The friction between them was maddening—slick and hot, sliding against each other in a rhythm that was all desperation and no finesse. 

A stack of case files teetered dangerously as Phoenix's elbow caught the edge of the desk, sending papers trembling like they were about to spill.

Edgeworth's head snapped up, his gray eyes flashing with something between professional horror and personal offense. "Wright," he hissed, his voice a whip-crack of warning.

Phoenix bit his lip to stifle a laugh, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. The movement made his cock jerk in Edgeworth's grip, and the prosecutor's fingers tightened reflexively, his strokes turning punishing. "C'mon, Miles," Phoenix teased, his voice rough with amusement, "they're just papers."

"Don't you dare," Edgeworth’s free hand shot out to steady the stack with the same precision he'd use to salvage a crumbling testimony. His hair was a mess, his cravat half-undone, his shirt slipping down his arms—he looked ruined, and Phoenix had never seen anything hotter.

"Four minutes," Edgeworth bit out, his voice tight with frustration, his hips stuttering as Phoenix's thumb pressed against the slick head of his cock. His face was flushed, breath coming in ragged gasps, and his usual composure shattered into a thousand pieces.

Phoenix grinned, wrecked and breathless but still smug as hell. "Plenty of time," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Edgeworth's ear. "You're such a perfectionist. Good thing I love that about you, hm?"

Edgeworth's answer was a broken sound, half groan, half growl, as his grip on Phoenix's cock bordered on painful. His thumb swiped over the damp tip, his strokes growing erratic as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. "If you ruin my filing system—"

Phoenix cut him off with a sharp thrust of his hips, his cock sliding through Edgeworth's grip in a way that made the prosecutor's breath hitch. "I'll buy you new folders," he promised, his voice dark with amusement as he rushed his own pace. "Now come on, Miles. Let go."

The words seemed to snap something inside Edgeworth. His body tensed, his cock pulsing in Phoenix's grip as he came with a choked cry, his release spilling hot and messy over their tangled hands. 

And just like that, the sight of Miles coming undone—his muscles locking, his breath ragged, his usual self-control gone—was enough to send Phoenix over the edge. He came with a groan, his hips jerking as he painted Edgeworth's fingers with heat.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the office were their ragged breathing and the quiet tick of the clock counting down the last few seconds.

Edgeworth sagged back into his chair, his body boneless and his hair sticking to his forehead. He glared at the ceiling like the universe had personally wronged him, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath.

Phoenix flopped across Edgeworth's lap like a satisfied cat, his body warm and heavy. He pressed a quick, smug kiss to the prosecutor's jaw, his lips curling into that infuriating grin. "Two minutes to spare," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "Told you my closing arguments were fast."

Edgeworth's glare could've frozen the sun, but his fingers were already carding through Phoenix's messy hair, ruining his own attempt at looking stern. "Unbelievable," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "You realize this was highly unprofessional, Wright?"

Phoenix nuzzled into the crook of Edgeworth's neck, his breath hot against the prosecutor's skin. "Yeah, yeah," he said, sounding entirely unrepentant. "But admit it—best ten-minute recess you've ever had."

Edgeworth exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening briefly in Phoenix's hair before smoothing it down like he was trying to fix him. "I refuse to dignify that with a response."

"Mm-hmm." Phoenix pressed one last kiss to Edgeworth's throat before reluctantly sitting up. He adjusted his shirt with exaggerated slowness, his grin never fading. "So. Same time tomorrow, counselor?"

Edgeworth's eyebrow twitched. "Absolutely not."

"Aw, c'mon—"

"No."

Phoenix pouted. "Not even if I bring coffee?"

Edgeworth's expression softened just a fraction. "...What kind of coffee?"

Phoenix's grin turned triumphant. "Your kind. Black, bitter, and with that weird European sugar you hoard like a dragon."

Edgeworth's fingers twitched toward his cravat, straightening it with a huff. "...Fine. But only because I was going to take a break anyway."

Phoenix barked out a laugh, standing up and buttoning his shirt—badly. "Sure, sure. Totally coincidental." He leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're such a softie, Miles."

Edgeworth's hand shot out, grabbing Phoenix's tie and yanking him back down for a quick, softer kiss. "And you," he said, voice low, "are a menace."

Phoenix grinned against his lips. "Your menace."

Edgeworth shoved him away—but he was smiling. "Out, Wright. Before I change my mind."

Phoenix sauntered toward the door, glancing back with a wink. "See you tomorrow, your honor."

The door clicked shut behind him. Edgeworth sat there for a long moment, touching his fingers to his lips before muttering, "Insolent jackass," but his voice lacked its usual bite.

And when he checked his watch, he definitely wasn't counting down the hours.

Thursday night. Post-trial.

The apartment was wrapped in the kind of quiet that usually came after a trial that had stretched both men to their limits. The only sounds were the creak of the bedframe and the quiet rustle of fabric as Phoenix collapsed onto the mattress with a groan, his suit jacket discarded somewhere between the front door and the bedroom. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his tie loose around his neck, and his hair was a mess from running his hands through it one too many times during closing arguments.

"God, your arguing today was brutal," Phoenix mumbled, rolling his head to the side to watch as Edgeworth moved around the room with the slow, deliberate precision of a man who was bone-tired but still refused to cut corners. "You had that witness sweating like he was the accused."

Edgeworth slid into bed beside him, his movements stiff with exhaustion. His cravat dangled half-undone from his collar, his cuffs were unbuttoned, and the usually immaculate prosecutor looked deliciously rumpled—his hair slightly disheveled and his face flushed from sleepiness. "If you had properly prepared the expert testimony—"

Phoenix let out a groan, rolling onto his side to face him. "Don’t start. I’m too tired to fight," he complained, his voice rough with fatigue. But then his hand found Edgeworth’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "But I’m not too tired for this." His grin turned lazy in that annoying way.

Miles gave him a flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "Wright, it is nearly midnight. We have been in court since nine o’clock this morning. My legs feel like lead, my brain is mush, and if I have to hear one more ‘objection sustained’ I may actually scream."

Phoenix didn’t let that deter him. He scooted closer, his body pressing against Edgeworth’s side as his hand slid up to rest over the man’s chest. He could feel the steady, exhausted thump beneath his palm. "C’mon," he murmured, his voice dropping to something softer, warmer. "No timer. No schedule. Just us."

Edgeworth’s breath caught; his shoulders stiffened, then melted with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like surrender. He tilted his head back, eyes closing briefly. "You are… relentless," he muttered, his tone a threadbare mix of fondness and fatigue.

Phoenix’s smile turned smug. "Mm. That sounded like consent."

Miles cracked an eye open. "It sounded like resignation."

"Tomato, tomahto." Phoenix’s fingers slipped under the edge of his waistcoat, undoing buttons one by one with lazy precision. "You really should’ve seen this coming. I mean, you invited me home, Edgeworth."

"I invited you to sleep," Miles corrected, though his voice had lost all bite.

"I’m working on it," Phoenix said, grin softening as he tugged the fabric aside, revealing his dress shirt and the elegant line of a collarbone. "You’re a terrible influence, you know that?"

Edgeworth gave a quiet huff—not quite a laugh, but close. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"Hey, I’m innocent," Phoenix murmured, leaning in until their noses almost brushed. "Mostly."

"Tell that to the witness you badgered until he cried," Miles said dryly, though his hand had already come up to rest against Phoenix’s jaw, thumb brushing just below his lip.

Phoenix’s voice turned into a smile against his skin. "You liked it."

Edgeworth’s breath hitched, his body tensing for just a second before he exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. His lips twitched, like he was trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. "...Fine," he conceded, his voice rough with resignation. "But briefly."

Phoenix’s grin turned triumphant. "Mm. My favorite kind of briefing," he teased, his fingers already working at pulling off the man’s shirt. The fabric parted under his touch, revealing the sharp lines of Edgeworth’s collarbone, the smooth expanse of his chest. "You’re such a pushover, babe."

Edgeworth let out a quiet huff, but he didn’t stop Phoenix as his hands slid his shirt off his shoulders, letting it pool on the bed between them. "And you’re stubborn," he muttered, but there was no real heat in it—just the tired, fond exasperation of a man who had long since accepted that Phoenix Wright was a force of nature.

Phoenix’s fingers traced the lines of his ribs, his touch light but possessive. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to the base of Edgeworth’s throat. "But you love it."

Miles’s breath stuttered, his head falling back as Phoenix’s lips trailed lower, mapping out the dips and planes of his chest with the same meticulous attention he gave to his case files. "This is not how I intended to spend my evening," Edgeworth managed, though his voice was already thickening with something that wasn’t just exhaustion.

Phoenix chuckled against his skin, his teeth grazing Edgeworth’s nipple just enough to make his breath catch. "No?" he murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on Edgeworth’s hip, pulling him closer. "What did you have in mind, then?"

Miles’s fingers tangled in his hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there. "Like I said, sleep," he said, but his body arched into Phoenix’s touch, betraying him. "Just sleep."

Phoenix’s laugh was a low, rough sound as his lips found his rival’s again, the kiss slow and deep like he had all the time in the world. "We’ll get there," he promised, his voice a dark murmur against Edgeworth’s mouth. "Eventually."

Edgeworth let out a quiet, broken sound—half protest, half surrender—as Phoenix’s hand slid lower, his fingers teasing at the waistband of Edgeworth’s slacks. "You are impossible," he breathed, but his hips rolled forward, chasing the touch.

Phoenix grinned against his lips. "And you’re mine," he whispered, his voice rough with satisfaction as he finally, finally got his hands on what he wanted.

They leaned in, kissed softly, slowly, finally free of all that frantic stopwatch energy. Phoenix sighed into it, warm and heavy, already half-asleep against his boyfriend’s mouth. Miles let himself breathe for the first time all day, letting himself melt into it, his fingers carding through Phoenix’s hair with a gentleness that surprised even him. His thumb traced slow circles against Phoenix’s temple, grounding them both in the quiet. And then—

The hand on his chest went limp.

Edgeworth pulled back just enough to blink down at him. "…Wright?"

Nothing.

Just the steady, even rhythm of breathing and the deadweight of a man who had, in fact, kissed himself to sleep mid-makeout.

Edgeworth stared, his fingers frozen in Phoenix’s hair. A beat of silence. Then, quietly: "You cannot be serious."

Phoenix’s face was pressed against his collarbone, his breath warm and even, his lashes dark against his cheeks. A thin line of drool was already forming at the corner of his mouth.

Edgeworth exhaled through his nose, half exasperated, half amused. "...Unbelievable."

He shifted carefully, easing Phoenix back onto the pillow while trying not to wake him. The man let out a soft, protesting murmur—something between a whine and a purr—before immediately rolling toward the warmth like a cat seeking sunlight. His tie was somehow still looped around his elbow before Miles eased it loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair a complete disaster. His mouth curved into a faint, stupidly satisfied smile, like he’d won something.

Edgeworth adjusted the blanket over his shoulders, smoothing it down with practiced ease. His fingers lingered for a second, brushing over the dip of Phoenix’s collarbone before pulling away.

Phoenix mumbled something into the pillow that sounded dangerously like, "world record…" and Miles huffed out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

He stayed like that for a moment longer—just watching. The way Phoenix’s brow still furrowed slightly, even in sleep, like his brain couldn’t fully shut off. The way his stubble caught the lamplight, the way his chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. The way he took up so much space, even unconscious—limbs sprawled, tie askew, utterly shameless.

Edgeworth’s fingers twitched, resisting the urge to fix him. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Phoenix’s temple. His voice was quieter than he intended, rough with something he’d never admit to.

"You insufferable man," he murmured.

Phoenix didn’t stir.

Neither of them got past first base.

And yet, the next morning, Phoenix grinned over coffee and said, "Technically? That counts as foreplay."

Miles nearly choked on his toast.

Saturday afternoon. Five minutes.

It wasn’t even supposed to happen. They were meant to be doing paperwork in Miles’ office — tax returns, bills, generally deeply unsexy errands.  Edgeworth adjusted his cravat as he droned on about quarterly deductions, his voice dry as old parchment.

Phoenix Wright had been pretending to listen for the last twenty minutes, his chin propped on his fist, his gaze fixed somewhere between the wall and the sweet, sweet oblivion of a nap.

Then his wristwatch chimed. A quiet, insistent ping—like a match struck in the dark.

Phoenix didn’t move at first. His fingers stilled on the receipt he’d been absently crumpling, his thumb tracing the edge of the paper like he was debating its structural integrity. Then, slow as syrup, his posture shifted. Shoulders rolling back, tie loosening with a tug that made the silk hiss against his collar. Edgeworth didn’t look up, but his spine prickled. He knew that silence. Knew the way Phoenix’s brain worked when he got that look, the one that said I’m about to ruin your life and you’re going to let me. 

"As I was saying, if we file the—"

"Y’know," Phoenix interrupted, voice dropping into that low, rough register—the one that made Edgeworth’s spine lock up like a vault. "Technically, we’ve got five minutes before your staff comes back."

Edgeworth didn’t even look up from his papers. "And what, pray tell, does that have to do with anything we’re doing?"

"Nothing." Phoenix's fingers moved to his tie again, the silk whispered as it slid free, and his fingers didn't stop there—they moved to the top button of his shirt, undoing it with practiced ease. The fabric parted just enough to reveal the sharp dip of his collarbone, the hint of something more. "Just saying—it'd be a shame to waste them."

"Wright," the prosecutor said, his voice dangerously calm, "we are not making a category out of this."

Phoenix's smirk was slow, knowing, as his fingers moved to the next button. His shirt fell open another inch, revealing the smooth plane of his chest, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. He leaned in further, close enough that Edgeworth could smell the coffee on his breath, the darker note of something else—something that made his stomach tighten. 

"C'mon, Miles," he murmured, his voice roughening. "World record. Five minutes flat." His breath ghosted over Edgeworth's jaw, hot and promising. "Sub-five if we really push it."

Edgeworth's fingers twitched around his pen. "This is idiotic," he muttered, but his eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. The second hand ticked forward, mocking him.

Phoenix didn’t answer with words. He stood, the chair scraping back, and rounded the desk in two long strides. His hands hit the armrests of Edgeworth’s chair, caging him in. The scent of him—coffee, leather, and something hungry—filled Edgeworth’s lungs. Phoenix’s mouth hovered just above his, close enough to taste but not close enough to take. "Time’s wasting, boss," he whispered, his voice a sinful promise. "You gonna waste it arguing, or you gonna let me win?"

Edgeworth’s breath hitched. His hands lifted, then grabbed Phoenix by the hips and yanked him forward. The crash of their mouths together was bruising, desperate. Phoenix groaned into it, his fingers tangling in the man’s hair, tilting his head just right to deepen the kiss. 

Five minutes.

Edgeworth’s hands were everywhere, memorizing the dip of Phoenix’s waist, the way his ribs flared under his palms, the sharp gasp he let out when the man’s teeth scraped down his throat. His collarbone. The sensitive spot just below his ear that made Phoenix’s back arch, his fingers clenching in Edgeworth’s hair hard enough to sting. "Fuck—" Phoenix hissed, his voice breaking, and Miles laughed before biting down just hard enough to make him whimper.

"Mm, told you I’d win," Phoenix purred, but his words dissolved into a moan as Edgeworth’s mouth found the pulse point at his neck, his teeth sinking in just shy of pain. And god, he loved it.

Edgeworth pulled back just enough to smirk, his lips wet, his eyes burning. "You wish."

The lock on the office door clicked shut.

They started like men possessed.

Phoenix struck first—shoving Edgeworth back against the desk with enough force to send a stack of case files sliding to the floor. His mouth crashed into Edgeworth’s like he was trying to steal the man’s next breath, his fingers already working at the buttons of Edgeworth’s waistcoat. A button pinged off the lamp, but neither of them so much as blinked. Papers went flying, pens scattered, but neither of them cared.

"Four minutes, forty-two seconds!" Miles hissed against Phoenix’s mouth, already fumbling at his belt.

Phoenix laughed into the kiss, breathless and wild, his own hands busy trying to tear off Miles’s waistcoat in a way that wouldn't get him in trouble later. "Stop narrating! You’re killing the mood!" The words dissolved into a gasp as Edgeworth’s teeth grazed his lower lip, sharp and possessive. "You’re so—nngh—bossy—"

"This entire enterprise is mood-killing!" Edgeworth shot back, but his voice was wrecked, his usual composure shattered under the weight of Phoenix’s body pressing him down onto the desk. 

He laughed, breathless, as he wrestled with Edgeworth’s belt. "Oh, now we’re racing?" His fingers fumbled, just for a second, but Edgeworth’s sharp smirk told him he’d noticed. "Don’t smile at me like that. You’re already behind." He finally wrenched the leather free with a triumphant grin, only for Edgeworth to bite into his collarbone.

His hands locked around Phoenix’s wrists hard. "Of course. I won’t lose to the likes of you," he growled, and then he flipped them, using Phoenix’s own momentum to pin him beneath him on the desk. The impact sent a pen holder clattering to the floor, but neither of them spared it a glance. Phoenix’s back arched as Edgeworth’s teeth found the pulse point beneath his jaw, biting down just shy of pain. "Three minutes, fifty seconds. Try to keep up, Wright."

Phoenix bared his teeth in a grin. "Oh, I’ll keep it up—" He bucked his hips, rolling them just right to make Edgeworth’s grip falter. "—right into first place." His free hand shot down, palming Edgeworth through his slacks with a pressure that had the prosecutor’s breath hitching. "Tick tock, counselor."

Edgeworth’s eyes darkened. "Cheating already?" His fingers tightened around Phoenix’s waist, but his own hips betrayed him, pressing up into the touch. "Typical." He leaned in, his lips brushing Phoenix’s ear. "But if you think that’s enough to win…" His teeth closed around the shell of Phoenix’s ear, just shy of biting down. "You’re delusional."

The attorney’s laugh was half-moan, his fingers scrambling for purchase on Edgeworth’s shoulders. "Fuck, you’re so annoying—" His voice cracked as Edgeworth’s hand slid up his thigh, thumb pressing in just there— "Fuck—cheating—!"

"All’s fair," Edgeworth shot back, voice rough, his usual composure cracking under the weight of Phoenix’s body pinning him down. "And you’re distracting me."

"Good." Phoenix grinned, rolling his hips a bit too needily while grabbing him. "Means I’m winning."

Edgeworth’s grip on Wright’s wrist twisted, his thumb pressing into the pulse point hard enough to make Phoenix’s fingers twitch. "You talk too much," he growled, his free hand sliding down, not to tease this time. His fingers wrapped around Phoenix’s cock through his slacks, squeezing and rubbing against it roughly. "If you spent half as much energy focusing as you do running that mouth—"

"I’d still be winning," Phoenix shot back, but his voice was already rough, his hips jerking into Edgeworth’s grip. He twisted, trying to flip them again, but Edgeworth anticipated it—shifting his weight just enough to keep Phoenix pinned. 

"C’mon, Miles," he taunted, "you’re slipping. Almost three minutes left and you’re still—nngh—" His words cut off into a gasp as Edgeworth’s teeth sank into the tendon of his neck, sharp and possessive.

"I multitask," Edgeworth murmured against his skin, his hand working Phoenix’s cock with deliberate, maddening strokes. "Unlike some people, I don’t need to put all my effort into one thing at a time."

Phoenix’s laugh was breathless, his back arching off the desk. "Oh, fuck you—" His free hand shot between them, fumbling with Edgeworth’s belt buckle. "If you’re so good at it, prove it." His fingers slipped, the metal clinking against the desk, and Edgeworth’s smirk was infuriating.

"Pathetic," Miles purred, his grip on Phoenix’s wrist tightening just enough to make his fingers twitch. "You’re losing, Wright. Admit it."

"In your dreams," Phoenix growled, but his voice was wrecked, his body trembling under his lover’s touch. He yanked, and this time, he flipped them, slamming the man back against the desk with a satisfying thud. The impact sent a stack of files scattering, but clearly neither of them cared. Phoenix straddled him, his hands pinning Edgeworth’s wrists to the wood. "Three minutes left," he panted, grinding down just to watch his breath hitch. "And I’m still ahead."

Edgeworth’s eyes burned, his lips curling into something dark and hungry. "Overconfident," he bit out, but his hips rolled up, meeting Phoenix’s movement with a friction that made them both groan. "You always were your own worst enemy."

Phoenix’s fingers curled around Edgeworth’s cock, his grip firm and demanding. "Let’s see who finishes first," he taunted, his thumb tracing the sensitive ridge with just the right pressure to make Edgeworth’s breath stutter. His own hips rocked into Edgeworth’s hand, his strokes rough, uneven, desperate.

Edgeworth’s lips curled, his voice a low, dark growl. "You’re going to lose." His thumb pressed into the slit of Phoenix’s cock, smearing the wetness in slow, deliberate circles. "Again."

Phoenix’s grip tightened, his rhythm faltering for just a second. "Not. Happening." His breath hitched as Edgeworth’s fingers twisted, his thumb dragging down the underside of his cock. "Fuck—" His hips jerked, his strokes growing sloppier, more frantic.

The desk creaked in protest. The clock ticked on, oblivious.

"Two minutes!" Miles barked, hair falling in his face.

Phoenix gasped, laughing even as his back hit the desk. "We’re not racing the Olympics, Miles—"

"Yes, we are!" Miles snapped, biting his throat like he was punctuating an objection.

And then— disaster.

Phoenix, in his haste, knocked his elbow into the half-full mug of coffee sitting on the edge of the desk. It tipped, splashing across the wood, soaking into the scattered files, and, worst of all, drenching the front of Edgeworth’s trousers in a dark, spreading stain.

Both of them froze, hands still wrapped around each other. The air between them was thick with something more than just tension.

Edgeworth’s eye twitched. "Wright."

Phoenix’s fingers uncurled with visible reluctance, his grip slipping free as his hand fell to the desk. "Uh. Yeah. That’s…" He glanced down at the mess, then back up at Edgeworth, whose expression was somewhere between murderous and mortified. "…Bad."

Miles stared at the spreading stain in horror. "You absolute cretin. These were original transcripts!"

Phoenix, red-faced, panting, half-naked, still dared to grin. "Okay, but… you’re still mine for another—" He checked the time, his grin widening. "—one minute and fifty seconds*."

Miles groaned something in German that sounded like both a curse and a prayer, shoved the soggy papers aside, and pulled Phoenix back down with a snarl.

"Fine. But when this fails spectacularly, it is on your head."

And fail it did.

They got close, so close,but the frantic pace, the coffee, the distraction of Miles hissing about "irretrievably damaged evidence" in the middle of Phoenix riding his hand half-clothed… It was too much. When the timer buzzed on Phoenix’s watch, they were both still panting, sweaty, unfinished, glaring at each other like opposing counsel.

Phoenix collapsed forward, hiding his face against his boyfriend’s shoulder, laughing so hard he nearly choked. "God, this was so bad."

Miles buried his face in his hands. "I loathe you."

"Sure you do," Phoenix murmured, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Edgeworth’s jaw, slow and smug and completely unhurried. His breath was hot, his voice a sinful purr. "Next time? Seven minutes. Lucky number."

The man’s hands dropped to Phoenix’s hips, his grip bruising. "There will not be a next time."

Phoenix just kissed him again—deep, lingering, deliberately untimed—and when he kissed back, it wasn’t out of competition.

(And if Edgeworth’s fingers did tighten on Phoenix’s waist, pulling him just a little closer… well. Some victories didn’t need a timer.)

2:17 a.m. Miles’s apartment.

The room was wrapped in that rare, delicate quiet that only existed deep into the night—soft, heavy, almost sacred. Even the faint red glow of the alarm clock felt out of place, like it didn’t belong in a world this still. 

Phoenix stirred first. Half-asleep, he rolled closer without thinking, his body searching for warmth that was already there. His face found the curve of Miles’s shoulder, and he sighed against his skin—a quiet, content sound that seemed to melt right into the dark.

"Mmm… hey," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. His fingers traced idle patterns against Miles’ chest, slow and unthinking. "You awake?"

"No," Miles muttered into the pillow, but his voice lacked its usual bite. He didn’t pull away.

Phoenix grinned against his skin, his breath warm. "Liar." His hand slid under the blanket, not with any real intent—just lazy, sleepy exploration, fingers curling against the dip of Miles’ waist.

Miles cracked one eye open, glaring blearily into the dark. "Wright. It’s the middle of the night. We have court in—" He squinted at the clock, then groaned. "Six hours."

"Plenty of time." Phoenix’s voice was soft, his lips brushing Miles’ collarbone. "C’mon. No rules. No clocks. Just this."

Miles exhaled sharply, torn between exhaustion and the way Phoenix’s fingers were tracing slow, maddening circles against his skin. "We’re too tired for..." He cleared his throat. "...For anything elaborate."

Phoenix chuckled, his breath ghosting over Miles’ throat. "Who said anything about elaborate?" His hand slid higher, warm and heavy against Miles’ chest. "Just… this."

Miles blinked, his objection dying on his lips when Phoenix’s mouth found his, slow and sleepy and perfect. The kiss was slow, half-formed by sleep—soft, lingering, the kind that carried no urgency, no intent. Just warmth and soft breaths. Miles kissed him back with that same quiet ease, his thumb brushing the edge of Phoenix’s jaw like a habit.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence between them felt warmer somehow, less like absence and more like presence. Phoenix nuzzled against him, his hand curling lightly against Miles’s chest.

"You’re impossible," Miles murmured against his lips, but his hand still found Phoenix’s waist, pulling him closer.

Phoenix hummed, his kiss deepening just a little. "Mm. You love it."

Miles didn’t argue. He just kissed him back, slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world.

And maybe, for once, they did.

The kiss lingered, soft and unhurried, their breaths mingling in the dark. Phoenix’s fingers traced the line of Miles’ jaw, his thumb brushing over the sharp angle with a tenderness that felt almost foreign—like something they didn’t usually have time for. Miles’ hand, still warm from sleep, slid up Phoenix’s back, his palm pressing between his shoulder blades, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

The attorney sighed into the kiss, his body heavy with sleep but his mouth moving with quiet intent. He nipped at Miles’ lower lip, just enough to make the prosecutor exhale sharply, before soothing the sting with another slow press of his lips. "You’re tense," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. "Even now."

Miles made a low sound, something between a hum and a laugh. "I’m always tense." 

Phoenix smiled against his mouth. "Yeah," he breathed. "But not with me." His hand slid down, his fingers tracing the curve of Miles’ waist, then lower, to the dip of his hip. It wasn’t teasing this time; it was grounding. Reassuring. A quiet reminder that here, in this small pocket of night, Miles didn’t have to hold himself so rigid.

Miles’ breath hitched, his lips parting under Phoenix’s as his hand found the back of Phoenix’s neck, his fingers tangling in the messy strands of his hair. The kiss deepened, like they were memorizing each other— the shape of Miles’ mouth, the way Phoenix’s bottom lip was still scoring a little scar from all the biting, the way they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle neither of them had realized they’d been missing.

Phoenix pulled back just enough to press a kiss to the corner of Miles’ mouth, then another to his jaw, his stubble scraping lightly against his boyfriend’s smoother skin. "You ever just…" he murmured, his lips brushing his ear, "wake up and realize you’re happier than you thought you’d be?"

Miles stilled. His fingers tightened fractionally in Wright’s hair, his breath warm against his temple. "No," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Not until you."

Phoenix’s heart did something stupid in his chest. He didn’t say anything. He just kissed Edgeworth again, slower this time, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head, his fingers carding through his hair. Miles melted into it, his body relaxing inch by inch, his lips parting with a softness that made Phoenix’s chest ache.

They stayed like that for a long time: kissing, touching, breathing each other in. No rush or timer. No need to be anything but this. 

Phoenix’s hand eventually found its way under Miles’ shirt, his palm warm against the smooth plane of his back, his thumb tracing the ridge of his spine. Miles’ own hands mapped the familiar lines of Phoenix’s shoulders, his fingers pressing into the muscle there, grounding them both.

When they finally pulled apart, it was only to press their foreheads together, their breaths syncing up in the quiet dark. Phoenix’s lips curved against Miles’ temple. "We should sleep," he murmured, though he made no move to let go.

Miles hummed, his voice rough with sleep and something softer. "In a minute."

Phoenix grinned, his hand sliding down to lace their fingers together, their joined hands resting between them. "Yeah," he whispered. "In a minute."