Work Text:
(art by Kuno!)
Metallic eyes scanned the crowd gathered in the Viola Hall of the Gatewater Imperial Hotel. A truly ghastly room, if Miles could voice his opinion on it. It felt far too grand for its own good, as if it was trying to over compensate for something. But he couldn't exactly complain, he supposed, as he was only even here for the prosecutor's office's annual charity event. And as chief prosecutor, he had very little choice but to attend (especially since, yes, he did help organize the event. But at the time it had felt like he was moreso just there out of obligation than actually contributing).
Well, he supposed when he really thought about it, there was always one thing - or, rather, person - that made coming to these events just a little worth while.
He took a sip of his champagne as he glanced towards the hall's entrance for the twentieth time that night. Phoenix had told him to just go ahead without him. "I can get a ride from Larry, or order a taxi. I just don't want to leave you waiting for me to get ready."
What did this entail? The prosecutor truly had no idea. This wasn't the first event they had gone to together, and Phoenix always just wore his usual blue suit (despite Miles's constant insistence that he buy the attorney a proper suit for events). Maybe he was going to do something different with his hair? Or maybe he had some sort of errand to run first.
All Miles knew was that it had been about half an hour since he had arrived, and he was managing to grow antsy. His husband's impatience was rubbing off on him, it seemed.
He was just about to pull out his phone, ready to call the extremely late man and ask him where he was, but the clicking of heels approaching him drew his attention away from his pocket and up to the source. He had managed to survive this long without anyone approaching him, and he was praying that he could last a little longer. At least until his husband arrived.
But when the prosecutor looked up, trying to prepare himself for some abhorrent conversation that would surely be purely about himself, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. If he was taking a sipping of his champagne he would have started choking.
Phoenix Wright, his wonderful husband, was the source of those heel clicks. Because he was wearing a dress. A dark royal blue dress that fit far too perfectly, hugging his hips and chest and every curve on him. The deep v-cut and slit that ran up all the way to his mid thigh only seemed to be for the purpose of showing off as much skin as possible (which was only made more apparent by the open back that the dress had). With the feather boa and the lace tights as the cherries on top of the outfit, the defense attorney had magically become the picture of beauty and elegance, a far cry from his usual suit and, put kindly, plain character.
(art by Vale!)
And it was a miracle that Miles hadn't snapped his champagne flute in two due to the vice grip he had upon seeing his husband.
The smile Phoenix wore when he finally noticed the prosecutor only seemed to complete the entire look. It was just his usual beaming smile, a smile that radiated love and was reserved for Miles and Miles only. But it made the prosecutor's heart pound so hard he was worried it would suddenly burst right out of his chest.
"Miles!" Phoenix called out when he was closer to his husband, "Sorry I'm so late, it took me longer to get ready than I thought. Apparently applying eyeliner can be a real pain in the ass," He chuckled. Although, admittedly, Miles didn't really register most of what the other man said. He was far more focused on keeping his eyes above Phoenix's shoulders, at the very least.
"… Miles?" The attorney waved a hand in his husband's face. Shit, he hadn't broken him, had he? "Hey, are you okay? You're really red right now."
Thankfully, the hand in his face helped snap Miles out of his trance. He allowed himself one quick glance up and down Phoenix's figure before locking his eyes on the other's face. "What are you wearing?" Even he had to wince at how harsh the question had come out, completely unintentionally. Hopefully he could will back some of the blood flow to his brain so he could think rationally again.
At the very least, Phoenix didn't seem upset by his pointed tone. He just chuckled again, his eyes now holding a teasing glint. "Straight to the point as always. Well, I figured, since this was a charity thing, my usual suit probably wouldn't cut it for the occasion. But when I found this old thing in some box in the back of the closet, it just seemed like too good an opportunity to wear this. I don't exactly get invited to these fancy events as often as you do, after all."
"This old thing," which insinuated that the attorney owned this dress for some time now. "I-" Miles quickly cleared his throat. "I've never seen you wear… Anything like this."
"Ah, yeah, this was some impulse purchase a long time ago." Phoenix shrugged. "I think not long after the Will Powers case? He paid me really well, and when I saw this dress I thought, 'What the hell?' Although Maya was on my case for a few days about using that money for clothes instead of food…" That smile from before was back on his lips as he did a little twirl to show off every inch of the outfit. "But, hey, I think it was worth it."
Miles would have agreed. He would have said that the dress was extremely worth it, that he looked utterly gorgeous in the dress, the pinnacle of beauty. But his brain had become mush, molasses, pudding and jello. Not a single coherent sentence was able to form properly, just a tangled mess of words - and most of those should not be spoken aloud in a public setting such as this. Imagine talking about how much you want to please your partner at a charity event.
He must have been too silent for too long, however, because he blinked and suddenly Phoenix was standing closer, waving a hand in his face again. Miles, somehow, was able to comprehend that the other man had painted his nails a midnight blue for the occasion.
"Miles?" The attorney's voice cut through the rest of the mental fog, "Seriously, are you feeling alright?" He put a hand to the prosecutor's forehead. "You're not running a fever, are you?"
Miles reeled back - he felt like a child being coddled by their parent. "Wh- Y- Yes, yes, of- of course I'm alright, I-" He took a breath to hopefully calm his racing heart and his racing mind (a fool's errand for both objectives, it seemed). "Yes, you're correct, the… The outfit was worth the purchase." Oh, if only he could figure out how to say anything else without every deplorable thought spilling out like rushing water. Phoenix deserved to know exactly how he felt.
But, evidently, his words seemed… Enough. In all honesty, the prosecutor wasn't entirely sure what to make of his husband's reaction. He appeared to be satisfied, happy even, backing away with a smile. But the smile had just a little too much canine, there was a glint in his blue and brown eyes that Miles couldn't figure out. He wasn't entirely sure how he should be comprehending his husband's face at the moment.
"Well, I'm glad someone agrees," Phoenix chuckled, before he hooked an arm around Miles's elbow. All the prosecutor could really focus on was the heat slowly radiating into his skin with an electric spark. God, what did this man do to him? "Now, I know you like being a wallflower so much, but I'd hate for people to talk about how unsociable you are. So, shall we get into our roles?"
Miles simply nodded - it was the most he could do at the moment. He was only now remembering that yes, indeed, they were at a party, hosted by the prosecutor's office. All of his colleagues and their guests were here. He wasn't exactly one to care much about gossip and how he was perceived by outsiders. But his years as the fabled Demon Prosecutor taught him that people would always talk about anything they wished if it meant they could chew on gossip. He'd rather not be the center of whatever sort of words they held anymore.
He would then be forever grateful that Phoenix was such a social butterfly. The prosecutor could keep up a conversation when it came to work, sure. But the moment that any sort of small talk started happening - "So, Mr. Edgeworth, what do you like to do in your free time?" - he became a deer in the headlights. And that, thankfully, was where Phoenix Wright came in. He could spin any conversation towards himself with the grace of a prima ballerina. Being a defense attorney, any of Miles's prosecutor colleagues prodded him with questions about his work, some that Miles even had to bite his tongue with how rude they were ('Seriously, who asks an attorney why they would ever take on a hopeless case?'). But no matter how rude they were, he'd never complain about basically being an accessory attached to his husband's arm.
For tonight, Phoenix's outfit was often the primary topic of conversation, mostly from the women, who complimented the sparkles in the fabric and absolutely had to know who did his makeup - he did, apparently, a skill picked up from when he did theatre in college (sometimes the prosecutor forgot that his husband had been an art student before switching to law). There were some people giving disapproving glances towards the attorney, but a quick Demon Prosecutor glare managed to keep their retorts to themselves. Hell would freeze over before he let anyone chastise the most gorgeous person in this hall.
But it seemed that being the most gorgeous person also had its downfalls. Well, one, to be precise, and really it was the prosecutor's own problem: Phoenix Wright was distracting. To the highest degree.
Miles was no stranger to sudden bouts of attraction towards his husband. Their first intimate night together had started because Phoenix had decided to wear a sweater vest Miles had gifted him. It had fitted the attorney… Far better than Miles could have ever predicted. How could he have been expected to hold himself back?
But now, that sudden bout was deeper, burning hotter than any other pleasure he'd felt. He felt like he needed to physically restrain himself lest he do unspeakable things to his husband in the middle of a glorified ballroom. Or, more preferably when he thought about it, have unspeakable things done to him. Phoenix seemed to choose to draw away from attention when he could help it, but tonight he held an air of power all over himself, and Miles Edgeworth is a weak man when it comes to the defense attorney.
But it doesn't help when the husband in question was doing everything in his power to drive him to such a point.
It started with small, innocuous things; a subtle smoothing of the prosecutor's cravat; an accidental brushing of hands; even little glances with eyes half-lidded ("bedroom eyes", Phoenix had said they were called). Miles wasn't truly sure if he could say that any of these gestures were on purpose or purely accidental.
And then he received the biggest crash to his system.
A couple they were chatting with was just walking away, leaving Phoenix laughing about something or other and Miles willing himself to at least give them a wave goodbye (a truly grueling task when that hand then wanted to latch itself to his husband's hip and pull him closer). He couldn't even recount what the conversation was about with how distracted he had become.
Suddenly, lightning crackled under his skin as he felt a gentle grip on his chin. Firm fingers tugged his head so that he was staring right at the man beside him; the world seemed to zero in on sharp eyeliner and freckled skin and lips that would surely leave behind black stains on his skin - oh, a dangerous thought for this moment. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing, if any of his senses were still functioning. It was nothing but Phoenix Wright, smiling, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Enjoying yourself, handsome?"
Was Miles having a heart attack? Maybe, he must have been, he was sure his heart had stopped once those words, low, sultry, tantalizing, had hit his ears (at least he knew that his hearing still worked). Phoenix had to know what he was doing. Surely he wasn't oblivious to the pull he had on Miles's heart. How, especially now, any touch, any word, would have him submitting with disgusting ease.
All the prosecutor could really do was stand there, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a dying fish. He was sure his face was an impossibly bright shade of red; he could feel the warmth buzzing across his skin. He probably looked like an utter moron right now, and if anyone from the office were to see him they'd probably try to make a comment the following day at work. He couldn't find the thought process to care. In fact, the only thoughts in his head were of Phoenix, of being somewhere private, and the acknowledgement that his growing problem between his legs had gotten, surely, noticeably worse.
He should probably fix that, shouldn't he?
The prosecutor managed to find enough inner strength to pull himself out of his husband's grasp, much to Phoenix's - and his own - surprise. He hurried off with only a muttered "Pardon me," setting his now entirely empty glass on the nearest surface to keep both his hands free. He had a vague idea of where the bathroom was: around one corner, down a hallway, past a couple of hotel rooms he didn't want to think about the contents of (he'd seen a couple of pairings sneak away during the event).
When he finally found the bathroom it felt like a breath of fresh air; a sanctuary from the onslaught of heat straight to his gut. He leaned against the sink counter, quickly taking his glasses off to set them aside, while his fingers gripped the marble surely hard enough to crack it. Because he needed the strength to will away all of the depraved thoughts flooding into the forefront of his mind.
Phoenix, in that dress, perfect, elegant, on his knees in front of the chief prosecutor, or standing imposing above him, commanding Miles to do all sorts of things that could never be said in a public space; things that he would surely go blood red in the face if he ever tried to say them aloud, even in private.
That seemed to be the direction his thoughts were consistently going, in fact. His husband exuded so much confidence, such power, just one word and he was sure he would submit easily.
Miles groaned, he sighed, he set his glasses down on the sink counter before splashing his face with water. He simply just needed a breather; a moment away from that man, and he'd once again be calm enough to join the event without making an utter fool of himself. Really, the only issue keeping him from returning sooner was the problem in his pa-
"Honey?"
The prosecutor startled at the sudden voice. He shouldn't have been so surprised that Phoenix followed him into the bathroom, he supposed. Of course his husband would be worried and followed after him, especially with his sudden and rash disappearance. He just wished he had a little more time to… Calm himself down.
"Ah, Phoenix," Miles cleared his throat and set his glasses back on his face. "My apologies for running off how I did. I was… Simply just getting overwhelmed." A reasonable excuse considering his aversion towards such large gatherings (even if it has gotten better over the years).
The attorney's heels clicked as he walked closer; Miles hoped his face wouldn't burn more with each step. "Ah, yeah, that makes sense. You've never been the greatest with people," Phoenix chuckled.
"Astute observation as always, my dear."
"I have my moments," Phoenix shrugged, an amused smirk touching his lips. One that made Miles attempt to swallow the lump in his throat that formed as his husband stepped ever closer, until he was trapped between the other man and the porcelain sink behind himself. Cornered like some wild animal.
"But…" Phoenix started. A hand reached up to graze the prosecutor's cheek bone with its knuckles. "I don't think it was the people that had you running off in a hurry, hm?"
'Damn him.' "Ngh- No, of- Of course not. What other reason could there even be?"
A hum. Disbelieving. Miles had half the mind to ask if Phoenix was possibly carrying that strange rock with him somehow. But ignoring the logistics of where it would even be kept when Phoenix didn't have a bag of some sort with him, Miles knew that, unfortunately, his husband knew him far too well.
He'd also been told he was a fairly easy person to read, especially nowadays with his past walls practically crumbled away.
"Well…" Blue and brown eyes trailed lower, lower on the prosecutor's body, until he could feel shame bloom across his face when the evidence the attorney was looking for surely came into view. "That is a pretty good reason, don't you think?"
'Damn him.'
Miles was entirely exposed. Figuratively stripped down with the evidence of his emotions on full display. All he could do in the moment was avoid eye contact, try to keep himself calm. Try to will away his erection and be saved the embarrassment.
And the worst - or maybe the best - part of the situation was that it was, slowly, growing painfully obvious that he was enjoying every second of this. Of being under Phoenix's observant gaze, of being unraveled and undressed. The two of them were already about the same height, but the attorney's heels made him a few inches taller, enough that he was now slightly looking down at his husband.
It was powerful. Dominating. It pinned the prosecutor in his place.
It was perfect.
A shiver ran up Miles's spine, paralleling Phoenix's hand trailing down his chest, his stomach, each inch of skin touched leaving a fiery warmth behind, until it eventually stopped at his belt. A rational voice told him that this was highly indecent, boarding illegal, and certainly an offense that would warrant them both losing their badges if they were caught.
But the gentle clinking of metal and the accompanying unzipping of his fly drowned out that little voice. When Phoenix's eyes met his as he slipped off one of his gloves, a silent question in them, he didn't hesitate to give his consent. The moment was too heated to let it fizzle out into smoke.
He was sure he'd nearly cut his lip with how hard he bit down on it to keep back any sounds as Phoenix's hand slipped into his slacks and cupped around his erection. It was borderline embarrassing how sensitive he was, even before getting so worked up. It took whatever strength he had left to keep himself from moving his hips.
"Oh, baby…" Words spoken with a soft purr into his ear, Miles nearly lost his composure, "How long have you been all worked up like this?"
"Since-" Miles let out a breath, quick, barely effective in keeping his voice steady. "Since you arrived…"
"And you didn't say anything? I'm sure I could've been so helpful, even if it would have been a bit difficult in this outfit." The attorney's hand pressed just a tad harder, his thumb brushing along Miles's length. Phoenix knew every little tactic that would make his husband twitch and lose any restraint he was trying to hold on to. He was pulling a string so tight within Miles and it was threatening to snap.
(art by Kuno!)
"And- Ngh-" Miles's hand gripped his husband's bicep for some sort of anchor. "And have you "help" in a public space-?"
Just the slightest bit more pressure; Miles's hips twitched, just an inch, but it was enough to bring a smirk to his husband's lips. "I wouldn't say it's all that public, baby, it's just a bathroom. And you look like you won't be able to hold for much longer."
Oh, of course he'd phrase it like a challenge, because he knew the prosecutor wouldn't be able to turn it down. Miles grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the counter until his knuckles turned white. "It's a bathroom with- hng- multiple stalls in a spacious hotel, it's a mi- miracle no one else has come in here."
Phoenix hummed. His eyes flickered over the prosecutor's face, his chest. Possibly looking for any sign of a bluff. He wasn't a master at reading people like their daughter and Apollo, but poker certainly aids in learning how to read people. And with Miles, evidently, being such an open book, it didn't require much practice.
It was probably the reason he pulled his hand out of the prosecutor's pants with a hum. Miles prayed his husband hadn't heard the whine he tried to swallow back.
"No, you're entirely right. I know I'm pretty lucky but that lucky streak will probably break eventually." Phoenix chuckled, teasing threaded through every inch of the sound. "All our close calls in your office are sure to catch up to us, right?"
Phoenix tugged his other glove off to quickly wash his hands, before slipping them both back on while Miles fumbled with his belt. "Alright, I should get back out there. I'm sure it already looks suspicious that we've both been gone for so long, but I'm sure I can spin some kind of excuse." He chuckled, "I work best on the fly."
Miles almost huffed out a retort as he finally got his fly zipped up, but a kiss to his jawline was quick to choke up any words that tried to form. "Don't take too long in here, okay honey?" Phoenix giggled. a sound that was reserved only for when he was being particularly cruel with his teasing. It left a shiver coursing through his spine.
And as quickly as his husband came, Miles was alone in the bathroom once again. An embarrassingly disheveled mess stared back at him through the mirror; his shirt was now untucked from his pants, his vest wrinkled; a few strands of hair, especially in his bangs, were out of place, undoing nearly an hour of work he had spent this afternoon. His face was a shade of red to rival his usual work suit.
The biggest offender was the obvious problem in his trousers his husband had decided to leave him with. The prosecutor let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan, a sigh, and a possible growl caused by his pure frustration. Phoenix was, unfortunately, a very clever man, he knew what he was doing by provoking his husband so much; by reaching his hand into his trousers.
How was he possibly expected to face any of his colleagues and their peers with such a tenting issue?
And that was the attorney's entire plan. All because Miles had managed to become weak-willed in his age. How was he supposed to solve this issue?
He blinked, as a thought crossed his mind. A depraved thought, surely, but definitely an effective solution to his problem.
No one was in the bathroom with him, miraculously, and he had a feeling no one would be coming in any time soon. He had complete privacy in this moment. He couldn't waste it now.
Miles locked himself away into one of the stalls and leaned against the door with a deep sigh. 'I can't believe I'm about to do this…' was the main thought that ran through his mind as his fingers drummed a slightly broken rhythm against the plastic stall door. There were really only two solutions to the situation: just leave his erection alone in the hopes that no one noticed and it hopefully went away on its own eventually (the issue with this being that Phoenix would certainly prevent this), or pleasured himself in a public bathroom stall.
And he knew what his choice was as he unbuckled his belt and pulled himself out with a shaky sigh. "Damn that man…" The prosecutor mumbled under his breath, his hand wrapping around his cock. Damn that man and his relentless teasing, his glancing looks, his electric touches. That damn dress that he'd only now chosen to wear.
Miles' lip became caught between his teeth in an effort to hold back his groans, while his hand sped up its movements. Fueled by how the royal blue fabric hugged every curve that his husband still had; the deep v-cut that nearly reached his naval and barely covered up his chest. "Just some old thing" was a comment that should have been considered a sin with how false it was. Surely over a decade old at this point, that dress would now be the subject of many fantasies and wet dreams to come.
Fantasies like the one drawing him closer to the edge. Phoenix Wright, knelt above the prosecutor's face, grinding down on his husband's tongue as if it was the only thing Miles was good for (with how many times the chief prosecutor lost to that man, maybe pleasuring his husband was his only skill; he would certainly never object to this). Miles could perfectly imagine his tongue gliding through every fold and the sharp taste of his husband. Being between those thighs strengthened by years of cycling was his favorite place to be, and he had done the song and dance of "eating Phoenix out" (as Phoenix had once called it) that he could feel the phantom sensations as if they were really happening.
All topped off with the skirt of the dress draped around him and darkening his vision.
Future him might consider it a little ridiculous that pieces of fabric stitched together were what caused him to spill into his hand with a stifled moan. Present him was simply trying to come down from one of the hardest orgasms he had ever brought upon himself. A part of him even wished he hadn't came so soon, as now the fantasy was over. The prosecutor gave himself a few moments to settle down, catch his breath, before grabbing some toilet paper to clean himself off.
As he tucked himself back into his pants and readjusted his clothing, whatever disappointment he felt was replaced with snuff satisfaction, knowing that he had gained the upper hand in this little game the pair were playing. Phoenix had left him here in the hopes of embarrassing him in front of the prosecutor's office. He must have not expected Miles to actually solve his problem himself.
Walking back into the main hall, he was obviously asked questions about where he was, he had been gone for a while! Something came up, am important phone call he had to take. No one had apparently seen him head directly towards the bathrooms, and when it came down to it, everyone knew not to question Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. He was just thankful that it meant he wouldn't waste time in trying to find his darling husband.
Although he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that it barely took long to find said husband. Phoenix was chatting about something or other to someone Miles didn't recognize. Possibly a plus one from one of his colleagues, or maybe he just didn't know the people in his own office as well as he had assumed. It didn't exactly matter, the person still spotted the prosecutor coming closer and greeted him with a smile, making Phoenix turn to face his husband. And Miles could see it, that moment where the attorney wore a victorious smirk, sharp eyes hungry to catch Miles in a state of frustrated disarray that he needed to hide.
The victory quickly melted away when he realized that Miles looked as pristine and put together as he always did. It took all of the prosecutor's inner strength to not mimic the smirk Phoenix had just been wearing.
"Apologies for being gone so long, my dear," Miles hummed, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist. "I suddenly had my hands full with a personal matter." He had to hold himself back from how awful that innuendo was. Thankfully, at least, by this point whoever Phoenix was talking to and left and it was just the two of them.
"That's- Perfectly alright," A smile to hide his disappointment, to keep up an appearance to anyone nearby. "You'll have to tell me about it later."
"Of course, when we get home."
"Of course."
In the moment of silence between the two, Miles managed to catch ear of music being played, and the sight of couples dancing near the band playing. An idea came to mind. He pulled away from his husband, just enough to extend a hand out the other man, his other hand resting on his chest, lips turned up in a soft smile that held a teasing edge.
"Would you care to dance, my darling?" Certainly a harmless invitation to most. But both knew this was another move in their strange game of chess (even stranger than the match where Phoenix had ended up entirely stripped).
Phoenix looked at Miles' hand as if it would bite him at any second. A move he had to carefully think through. And his response was to take the hand, to accept that this would not be a simple dance between husbands. "Why certainly."
Miles led the other man to where the other couples were dancing, and guided him into a slow waltz (one of the two dances that he knew Phoenix could handle, outside of what the attorney called "prom swaying"). One of his hands rested on the small of the other's back, only a few inches above his ass, and the prosecutor had to hold back a chuckle from the stutter in the other man's breath.
"So," Phoenix started as they gently spun across the floor, "About that little problem you had earlier. I'm surprised you look so put together after that."
"Well, I had decided to take the problem into my own hands." Miles hummed a little, "Hand, to be exact," He corrected. If Phoenix was drinking something, the way he sputtered insinuated he would have started choking on it.
"Wh- Miles Edgeworth-Wright, did you-"
"The problem had been dealt with," Miles nodded with an entirely knowing smirk. "Let's simply leave it at that."
His husband's eyes wide, his mouth agape, he looked like he'd been told that Maya Fey was going vegan, or that Larry had finally stopped his skirt chasing antics. In short, something entirely unbelievable.
"You didn't."
"Is it really so hard to believe?"
The attorney leaned in close, enough that the pair could whisper and not be heard by anyone else. "That you gave yourself a handjob in the men's bathroom of the Gatewater Hotel? Yes, it really is."
Miles could feel his cheeks grow warmer at the boldness of the statement. "Well, I think all of the evidence you need is right in front of you." And, surely much to Phoenix's dismay, it was true. His eyes glanced over every inch of his husband, and not a single one was out of place. It made him huff, his eyes narrowing, the need to fight back against this personal injustice obvious in his entire expression.
"I hope you don't think you've won just yet, darling." A shiver ran up the prosecutor's spine in tandem with a gloved hand running up his neck from his shoulder, resting as the name of his neck to lightly grab the strands of hair there. "The night is far from over."
It certainly was. Edgeworth wouldn't dare to admit it, lest it be some sort of white flag he'd be waving, but he couldn't wait for this event to be over. He had some thoughts running through his mind that he was hoping to experience well into the twilight.