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1.
“Wright.”
“Miles” he hummed against his lips.
“Wright.” He repeated back, tone completely opposite from Phoenix’s own.
“Miles” Smiled Phoenix —still against his lips— amused, as he pressed another kiss to his boyfriend.
Miles glared at the man as he kept kissing him. The hand on his left cheek kept trying to force his face sideways, so that the man currently slobbering him could aim his attack more accurately.
Miles sighed.
“Wright, I really need to finish this.”
“You are in bed, Miles.” He answered as he placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Miles sighed again, but for a different reason now. He knew this was Phoenix’s way of telling him that Wright and Edgeworth have already been hung by the door and now it was Phoenix and Miles's time.
But sometimes he had to become Miles Edgeworth, full name, even outside of working hours because incompetent detectives messed up reports with vital information and sent key testimonies due revision past the hours Edgeworth worked.
Still, this previously stated information didn’t seem to deter his partner from his objective, who just pressed his lips harder, as if the prolonged contact would entice him to finish earlier.
Which, well, it was enticing— he was enticed to just, not review it now, but then when he thought about the consequences of going to court tomorrow morning, not having read his case completely and failing to deliver justice in its most candid form…
No. Not happening.
But then he glanced to the side. Phoenix had that expression on his face, the one with his eyes closed gently, not scrunched shut. His lips weren’t pursed in an exaggerated motion, but softly lifted in a smile, the one he always wore when he was sated and content and,
Well,
Drunk.
He knew he wasn’t actually drunk. Phoenix had come directly from his agency to the prosecutor’s office so they could head to Phoenix’s apartment. They had eaten dinner, watched some weird documentary about bees and then went to bed, all of that together, no alcoholic beverage present.
But Miles had noticed in the short time they’ve been together (together together, not to be confused with the time they had been together but not quite a little before Phoenix had gotten his badge back, two very different phases in their relationship) that Phoenix’s expression sometimes resembled the one he wore when he was tipsy, borderline on drunk.
Especially when Miles kissed him.
He had heard of the term being drunk on kisses and he had never understood it. Miles had, in his thirty four years of life, been in numerous relationships,(Numerous being three serious ones and two flings, five was a number, ergo; numerous) and even though he had enjoyed kissing and participating in heated rendezvous he had never experienced a drunken stupor from kissing .
Well, maybe he had never experienced it before.
The lips that were determined to continue began a small trail downwards, from the corner of his lips to the side of his chin.
What happened with Phoenix was… something else. He felt a shudder through his spine as he remembered the first time they kissed— not the messy nervous first one, the one with too many words unsaid, but the first sequential series of kisses that came after— they had been…
Another shudder.
Yes, verily… Ergo.
But he hadn’t felt drunk— Phoenix, on the other hand. God , his expression looked right like it did now. His eyes shut lightly, eyelashes brushing gently on his blushing cheeks— he just knew that if he were to open his eyes his pupils would be blown wide and unfocused. Phoenix looked drunk, and Miles wondered, putting aside that it was technically impossible to get inebriated on kisses, how would it feel?
He felt his breath stutter as the lips touched his jaw.
“Wright, I really have to— Wright—“ the tone in his last call lacked the chiding intensity it used to have, and instead was uttered breathily. He felt a bite just under his ear and he couldn’t help turning his head slightly, unconsciously giving the other man more room to explore. He turned— as helpless as a sunflower turned towards the sun— to face him more easily. The hands holding the pending reports lowered slowly, without him meaning it, as a tongue licked the bitten spot.
“There’s time tomorrow morning…” Phoenix whispered against his skin before raising his head and kissing him. Properly kiss him. Miles couldn’t help reciprocating, couldn’t help the small gasp as Phoenix bit his bottom lip. “…right now it seems I’ve got to remind you that you, Miles, are in bed.” He smiled against Miles’s mouth as he took the papers now barely held in his hands and placed them expertly on top of the nightstand.
He kissed him again, and again, and as Phoenix moved to lay on top of him Miles felt his vision blur— he wasn’t sure if it was because Phoenix took his glasses away (did he? When? Did he even had them on? He couldn’t remember) or something else, but then it hit him.
Ah he thought to himself maybe it feels like this
“Wright…” he sighed against his lover's mouth as he felt hands sneaking below his pajamas. “Phoenix—“
Ah he thought to himself again.
Maybe he understood a bit better now.
It seemed that there would have to be time to review tomorrow.
2.
He was drunk.
Not in that foolish kiss-drunk way he was still hesitant to believe as real. Actual four-to-five-to-maybe-more-glasses-of-champagne-in drunk.
It took him quite a long time to get over the denial, but after so long, after managing to leave behind the need for perfection, he could admit now that most work galas were, in fact, boring and he did not really enjoy them; Phoenix’s complaints have only been useful in cementing that fact.
And because of that, he and his partner had partaken in little games to have time pass faster and make everything more interesting (something he would have never done in the past). Although the game of I spy had been entertaining at first, after the first dozen rounds and two glasses of champagne it became a bit monotonous.
A weird type of clue-like game ensued after— with Phoenix naming an older man wearing a butterscotch colored button up as ‘Coronel Mustard’ and a lady in a blue gown as ‘Mrs. Peacock’— they tried to bluff arguments of who in the room would most likely commit a murder judging by looks only. (‘Miss Scarlet’— the older lady with a red feathered fan and burgundy fur coat— had been decided as the culprit, thanks to the impressive resting bitch face that seemed cemented on her face) The game ended when the old butterscotch dressed man came to chat with them and Miles accidentally— already four glasses in— addressed him as Coronel. Miles' face burned into such an aggressive shade of red he could have stolen the ‘Miss Scarlet’ title.
Stealing another glass of champagne to drown his embarrassment, Phoenix and Miles made their way out into the balcony where their third game transpired.
He felt the sting of Phoenix’s fingernails as he scratched his scalp. He sighed against the lips currently against his.
Well, he was having fun— would that mean it counted as a game? Phoenix would vote yes.
God he was so drunk.
His back was pressed against one of the balcony columns, the one further away from the public eye, casted in shadows and hidden from view. They were acting like teenagers, this was goddamn seventeen year old behavior. Phoenix’s tongue slipped past his lips and Miles met him halfway with his own.
Well, he guessed the two didn’t have the chance to be teenagers together, so maybe he would let it slide this time. (The champagne was doing the decision making Miles would have noticed had he not been so goddamn inebriated.)
Phoenix fingers forced him to turn his head with a pull of his hair and Miles couldn’t complain as he angled the next kiss. His hands found Phoenix’s tie and pulled him closer. He felt the vibration of the other man’s grunt against his lips as their chests pressed together.
Phoenix pulled back for a second and Miles made a sound of complaint in his throat involuntarily before chasing after his lips. If Phoenix wanted to breathe he should use his nose he thought. He felt the vibrations of Phoenix’s chuckle and it soon turned into a groan as Miles bit his bottom lip.
There weren’t many thoughts crossing Miles' mind at the moment. The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d rather die than stop kissing the man pressed against him.
Another thought suddenly made its way into his mind, and Miles tried to argue with it. He was not drunk because of the kisses. That was not the reason for his dizziness, it was not the reason he felt this… this hunger . It was not because of the kisses it was—
“Phoenix—!” He gasped as the other man slotted his right thigh between his.
He was not drunk on kisses—
—But goodness he was addicted.
Okay. Alright. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he admitted it in his head; he didn’t feel drunk on alcohol alone.
3.
It was a rare occurrence, Phoenix being the one to stop.
Miles tried to pull the man back in, back on top of him where he should be, but Phoenix only laughed and gave him a last peck as he sat back on the couch.
“It’s nine twenty six.” Phoenix said as he brushed his tousled hair back, and Miles frowned at his words.
“So what?” He didn’t know why the hour would do anything to do with them stopping. Miles tried to pull the man back in by pulling his shirt, but Phoenix slapped his hands away.
“It’s about to start.” He chided and Miles scrunched his nose in confusion. Phoenix made the same face he made when he saw a cute puppy on the street, like it was the cutest thing he had ever seen. Miles' head was literally empty, he felt a tingle on his lips and the small of his back felt uncomfortably sweaty. “You warned me you’d have my hand on a platter if you missed it because of me. So a promise is a promise.”
He blinked twice at his boyfriend as he tried to remember what would be so important so late into the evening, so important it made Phoenix develop a sense of responsibility. It was useless, his mind felt like a fog, he could only look at Phoenix kiss-swollen lips as he licked his.
“Come on! Sit up and get your head out of the gutter, Maya is about to call anyways, do you have your Phone nearby?” Phoenix laughed as he began looking for it. Miles made a face at his words and shook his head before slowly rising to a sitting position. He heard Phoenix yelp as Miles' phone began ringing. “Whoops, I was sitting on top of it, sorry.” Phoenix muttered as he gave him the device.
Incoming video Call…
Maya Fey
Miles stared at the called ID for a few seconds before answering.
“IT’S THURSDAY, WHOOOOOOOP!” Exclaimed Maya, almost making Miles jump from the volume. He frowned in confusion before it hit him.
“There you go Miles, I already put the channel for you.” Phoenix said, throwing the TV remote next to him on the couch. “I’ll go make your nasty salty popcorn for you.” Phoenix gave him a swift peck before heading towards the kitchen.
“Miles, you okay?” He heard Maya ask through the call, and Miles' scrambled brain finally remembered what was supposed to happen today at 9:30. He saw the global studios logo pop up on the screen, “It’s samurai Thursday, chin up!”
His weekly phone call with Maya where they reacted to the new episode of Platinum Samurai. How could he forget?
“Yes, sorry I’m a bit—” Drunk. But not really. He shook his head before looking at her through the screen. “Never mind. It’s about to start.”
“Gotta get your head in the game, Miles! The preview for this one was mind blowing!” She cheered and Miles placed his phone against the books on the table so that Maya could see him properly through the camera.
The episode began, and Miles was surprised when his brain didn’t manage to process the first few minutes of dialogue. Soon, Phoenix plopped next to him with two bowls of popcorn, one salted and one sugary, and began scrolling his phone as he ate from his bowl, and his concentration seemed to slip every time the man beside him chuckled at something on his screen.
Thankfully, soon enough the plot managed to hook him back into the program, and he could enjoy it without his mind drifting towards the memory of his boyfriend's lips every two minutes.
As the credits rolled Miles' gaze drifted towards Phoenix, who was now deep into slumber next to him. His Phone was barely clutched in his hand as it played a video on loop. He must have fallen asleep sometime during the episode. He turned back towards the phone and spoke with Maya for a little while longer, and after he hung up his attention went back to the sleeping man beside him.
He felt a smile tug on his lips as Phoenix scrunched his nose in his sleep. He gently leaned forwards, placed his hands on Phoenix’s cheeks and kissed him awake.
Phoenix made a hoarse sound in his throat before he hummed happily and smiled against his lips.
“Mornin’” He whispered as Miles pulled back. He chuckled.
“Let’s go to bed.” He whispered back.
“What?” Phoenix's head turned to the side in confusion, it reminded Miles of a dog who heard a mysterious squeak. His eyes then widened slightly before he spoke. “Oh, the samurai! How did it go? Did he win?”
Miles shook his head with a laugh.
“Kind of. Come on, bed.”
“Carry me.”
“No.”
Later, after the two were tucked in bed, Miles' mind still couldn’t help going back towards his boyfriend. His lips, specifically.
His mind noted that addiction was often associated with alcoholism.
Shut up, he thought to himself.
4.
February 14th was one of the busiest days of the year for the Wright family. Namely because of Trucy Wright’s Valentine’s day show extravaganza!
Or so did the seventeen year old put it.
And if Trucy was busy that meant that Phoenix was busy. And Miles had soon discovered that by establishing an emotional relationship with the man, he had also chained himself into the chain of command and service, so now he was also busy on the 14th.
The weeks leading to it were absolute mayhem.
Trucy had explained to him once the logistics of exploiting the earliest celebration of the year so she could have a solid fund to plan the rest of it. Miles had applauded her maturity at the time.
As he burned himself while gluing a glittery pink heart to the seam of a cape he cursed Valentine’s day and everything that came with it.
Miles hadn’t anticipated just how much exploitation Trucy Wright was capable of and truly, planning for eight different shows in the same day— each with their own props and decorations— sounded like a tad too much. Phoenix had warned him about the two weeks leading to Valentine's Day, how he took them off work to prepare them and help Trucy practice her tricks.
Worse of it all is that as much as he actually wanted to help, the one night he stayed over at the Wright’s apartment he woke up the next day to find that his cravat had been accidentally drenched in glitter and for the next ten hours it kept tossing sparkles all over his office.
“Yeah, maybe you might want to stay at your place because something like that is bound to happen again if you come over.” Phoenix winced after Miles told him over the phone. Miles sighed and resigned himself to twelve nights of solitude at his own place.
His bed felt way too big without cold feet making their way to steal his warmth under the covers and no matter how much tea he drank throughout the day he just couldn’t satisfy that unknown craving he had.
So that’s what brought him to knock on the Wright’s front door at twelve past seven in the afternoon the next day.
“Miles?” A confused Phoenix answered the door. He would have laughed at the fact that multiple heart shaped stickers were plastered all over his face had he not been so focused on justifying his presence there. He raised the bar of his suitcase to bring attention to it and the other man looked at it curiously.
“These are multiple changes of clothes. I’m leaving them here so that in case something happens to one part of my outfit I have a replacement without having to go back to my house. Permanently.” Miles said, never breaking eye contact with Phoenix. There was a nervous twinge in the back of his mind, one that screamed at him to retreat.
The twinge was squashed like a bug as Miles saw the massive grin forming on Phoenix’s face. The man surged forwards to kiss him and Miles melted into it.
Yes, this was it. His craving? It was Phoenix. His mind concluded in a daze.
Later, when his face was also covered in heart shaped stickers— courtesy of Trucy, he found out— and he was helping glue damn glitter-y hearts on a cape, he realized as he watched Phoenix help Trucy keep her legs up in the air for a trick that demanded her to make a headstand, that he wanted to help Trucy prepare for every single show, not only Valentine’s.
He would blame it on inebriation— despite the fact that the only thing his lips had touched lately had been Phoenix’s own— as to why his next words stumbled out of his mouth;
“We should move in together.”
Stump!
“Ow…” Winced Trucy. “Wait, what did you just say?” She jumped from the floor, discomfort completely forgotten, a wide smile on her face.
“Uh—”
The chair Miles was seated on almost stumbled backwards as Phoenix nothing short of jumped on top of him to kiss him.
Ah, well. He thought a little later as the two Wright’s hugged him like their lives depended on it. I do feel kind of drunk right now.
5.
Miles looked down towards Phoenix, dumbfounded. Phoenix's big eyes blinked back at him, waiting.
“Excuse me?” He asked through a dry throat.
“Do— do you not want to…?” Phoenix's voice lost a little of its volume with every word that he said, until Miles could not hear them at all anymore.
He felt dizzy. He was having a hard time interpreting what his senses were picking up. He felt like he had drank a whole bottle of tequila single handedly with how little his brain was processing what was happening right now.
Miles made a mental list of things that had happened today to ground himself. They got off work, they went back home— their home, now that all of Miles boxes were unpacked and his lease had finally expired— to shower, they dropped off Trucy at Jinxie’s house, went to dinner, were interrupted by a call from the precinct— an important politician had been murdered and they requested the chief prosecutor to take the case tomorrow, ergo, him— they gave him the report of the current case, They’ve gone back home, they’ve gotten ready for bed, he began reading the case report for tomorrow, he said something and then Phoenix had said—
Miles felt his throat close up.
“I want to marry you.”
Phoenix, who was laying sideways across the bed, his head on Miles' lap, blinked. Probably waiting for an answer, and probably not expecting the answer Miles managed to get out.
“The victim of this case was almost decapitated.”
Phoenix pursed his lips and Miles for a second dreaded that he would start crying.
But then he burst out laughing.
Miles felt his face heat up but he wasn’t sure why.
“Okay! Alright, I get it, we’ll have this conversation later.” Phoenix laughed.
“No! Wait a goddamn second—” Miles said, accidentally slapping the autopsy report against Phoenix’s face who winced. Miles paid no mind to that and just continued flailing the brown envelope around as he spoke. “You can’t just— say things like that and then not— not… elaborate! You can’t say something like that out— of nowhere!”
“It wasn’t out of nowhere! Also please stop moving that thing around, you’ll hit me again— You said... Well, that and I just blurted what I was thinking!”
“What? ” What did he say? He used all his working brain cells to rewind their conversation.
Miles had been reading the report and Phoenix asked something.
“So? Obviously guilty?”
What had he said back?
“Superficially, yes…” He had muttered before frowning. “Seems like there’s more to it though, because this witness seems suspicious as well…”
That doesn’t scream marry me at all. What else did Phoenix say?
“Oh! Fun, right?” He had asked, raising his eyebrows.
And then he had answered—
“‘Well, it’s not as much fun when you aren’t defending.’” Phoenix quoted, interrupting his inner trail of thought. “You said that it’s not as much fun without me and…” He trailed off as he toyed with his fingers.
Miles felt his eye twitch.
“You heard me say that and you decided to propose?” He exclaimed and Phoenix paled.
“Wait— I didn’t propose.” He muttered back.
Miles wailed his arms in the air and looked around, as if he were hoping some mysterious third entity could explain what he did if not exactly what he said.
“Well— then what was that?” He asked, looking back down at him.
“I was just— making conversation— I can’t just propose like that—! We have to like, talk about it, right?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whether you want to marry me or not? For starters?” He said as if it were obvious and Miles felt all the tension leave his shoulders.
“Phoenix…” He whispered, voice really soft all of the sudden. “Of course I want to marry you.”
Phoenix's eyes went wide and he leaped forward so he could sit on the bed.
“You do?!” He asked.
“Of course!” Miles scoffed.
Phoenix looked at him for a long while, and Miles swore he could hear the wheels of his head turning and whirling.
“You don’t— You don’t think it’s too soon? You literally just moved in, like, last week.” He stuttered through the question and Miles rolled his eyes.
“Just finished moving in. I’ve been moving in for the last three months.”
“And— and— I don’t have a ring…!”
Miles smiled.
“We can get those later.”
“And you really don’t think it’s too soon…?”
“I think we’ve lost enough time already.”
Phoenix continued to look at him, eyes wide, grin slowly stretching across his face.
“Miles— Miles!” Phoenix exclaimed and Miles felt his smile widen as Phoenix spurted towards him to kiss him. “Marry me. God, please, marry me.” He asked against his lips, and really, it was more a clashing of teeth with how much they were smiling against each other.
“Yes.” He laughed. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Phoenix made a noise in the back of his throat as he kissed him again, and again— but then he pulled back and shook his head.
“Shit — you have that trial tomorrow morning, you have to be Edgeworth and get ready— We can— I can wait…” He said between clenched teeth, disappointed. Miles looked at him and then tossed all the papers to the floor, startling Phoenix as he pulled him back into a kiss.
“No. Tonight I’m just Miles.” He muttered before deepening the kiss and Phoenix melted back into him.
For the first time in his life he didn’t care about not preparing his trial to the maximum the night before. All he cared about was kissing Phoenix and riding this high of happiness that intoxicated his whole being.
He would just figure out the case tomorrow morning.
After all, his fianceé has done that more than once.
+1
Miles didn't stop kissing him as he worked the door open behind him. He couldn’t. The lock finally gave in and he pulled Phoenix through the door by the lapels of his suit. Phoenix broke the kiss for a second, Miles guessed it was to ensure that the door behind him closed properly, and as soon as he confirmed it he turned his face back towards him.
Miles pulled his husband—
God, his husband— Miles doesn’t think he will ever tire of calling him that —
—back into a bruising kiss.
He felt Phoenix’s fingers untying his cravat and once it was off, his mouth attacked the newly exposed flesh of his neck.
“Phoenix—” He sighed as teeth scratched his skin, and soon enough hands pushed him until he fell back on the bed.
Like the expert that he was, Phoenix kept trailing kisses along his skin, and with every touch of his lips Miles felt dizzier, felt his mind getting foggier and foggier— Each kiss burned his skin and incapacitated every motion that wasn’t dedicated solemnly to him, to his husband.
He had not drank much at the reception, knowing he wanted to remember every single detail of this day, but even knowing that, he had never felt more drunk than at this moment.
Miles had long decided, no matter how much people insisted, that getting drunk on kisses was just not possible. Had he almost been proven wrong? Yes, he had been close to admitting it true in the past, but he had been confused.
Getting drunk on kisses was not what happened to him. Miles got drunk on something else entirely, something that was his only, so of course people wouldn’t understand like he did.
His husband (Husband!) moved back to kiss him with bruising force and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him.
Miles Edgeworth got drunk on Phoenix Wright. With every action he did, with every word he uttered, with every feeling he shared with him, Phoenix Wright intoxicated every one of his senses, inebriated every trail of thought. Every time this man loved him he sunk deeper and deeper.
It wasn’t the kisses. It was the man giving them, and Miles Edgeworth— he was a thirsty man, and all he ever wanted to drink for the rest of his life was Phoenix Wright.