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Before Gumshoe had moved in, the fancy silver appliances in Edgeworth’s kitchen had mainly been for show. He was a busy person, too busy, some would argue, and life only grew more eventful by the day. Even when he wasn’t thwarting attempts on his life or making sure his partner didn’t cause too much trouble (merely the requisite amount), crime stopped for no man, not even Miles Edgeworth. He ordered dinner in most nights, grateful that he lived in Los Angeles, where there was no shortage of quality cuisine from a wide and varied range of cultures. Just because he was busy didn’t mean he lacked standards, and if Gumshoe’s reactions to many of the meals Edgeworth procured for them were to be taken at face value, the detective’s standards, by comparison, were sorely lacking.
Before Gumshoe had come to live with him, Edgeworth had never seen the delicate juices of a foie gras been so wasted before, but as little droplets of flavor had trickled from the corner of his lover’s mouth, Edgeworth had found himself wanting nothing more than to lap up the leaking liquid, to make sure nothing went to waste, and to taste the flavour of duck mixed with Gumshoe’s skin.
It was just as well there was nothing restraining him anymore. They knew who they were to one another.
Back at his mentor’s house in Germany, von Karma had enlisted the services of a live-in chef. It had made sense, of course: there had been more people to keep fed. His mentor and Franziska and her elder sister — who kept to herself and her husband and child and her husband’s parents in a separate wing of the house. And then there was the matter of providing enough sustenance for the entire retinue of staff…
Despite how much Edgeworth enjoyed such services, employing a personal chef was not practical for a one-person household, or even two. So he continued his usual patterns: simple breakfasts and dinners for two when he had the time to make them, delivery for most other meals of the week.
Or, to put a finer point on it, everything continued in its regular pattern until the day he’d tasked Gumshoe with cleaning his kitchen after work.
Edgeworth was a stickler for cleanliness, and Gumshoe knew well his preferences for wearing outside clothes inside the house: that is, that Gumshoe didn’t. Edgeworth took good care of Gumshoe, of course; he’d taken him to the same luxury sleepwear store he purchased his own pyjamas from, and had allowed Gumshoe to choose as many different items as he so desired. He’d been particularly besotted by a fleece-lined nightgown in much the same shade as his overcoat, and had proclaimed that it felt like being ‘wrapped in a blanket of marshmallows’, which struck Edgeworth as ridiculous both in concept and in comfort. But given the size of the smile the item had put on Gumshoe’s face, Edgeworth had bought him two.
Of course, Edgeworth was of the opinion that sleep clothes were for the bedroom, so when Gumshoe completed his chores, he would most often complete them in the nude. Edgeworth could not find himself to be upset, however; the thought of seeing Gumshoe nude always made him feel a peculiar sort of warmth.
The man had a habit of looking very comfortable standing there without any clothes on. It was a bit unnerving at times, but also strangely amusing. He looked almost comically large when doing such an activity, a fact that he seemed unaware of every now and then. The most striking feature though was the sheer mass of his torso. If this were any other person, they might have simply stood there, staring and trying to figure out how they got there; Edgeworth couldn’t help but notice, as his eyes roamed down Gumshoe’s form, how toned and defined his forearms were. Even his thighs, as well.
This was a trait he had never really understood before, nor appreciated until now. He supposed it was part of their charm for someone like himself – that people like Gumshoe didn’t seem to have any qualms about nudity.
There was one thing Gumshoe seemed to take great pleasure in, however, and that was the responsibility of cooking dinner. When Edgeworth returned home late, he often found Gumshoe already starting to cook in the kitchen, fancy silver appliances put to work at last. As if reading his mind, Gumshoe turned back towards him with a cheeky grin upon his lips, and said, “You gonna stand there all day?”
Gumshoe’s voice sounded like honey – just as enticing as any sweet treats Edgeworth ever had the chance to sample. It was something he found himself wanting more and more, and something that left him feeling oddly warm and content.
It was a rare occasion indeed when he wasn’t.
But this wasn’t the time for his thoughts – Gumshoe was waiting expectantly for a response, and Edgeworth felt impossibly rude when he failed to produce a single sound.
Fortunately, though, Gumshoe appeared to understand what was going through his boss’s mind, and quickly changed gears, instead asking another question. “You hungry? I’m whipping us up some dinner.”
“I don’t know,” Edgeworth murmured.
In truth, he was more interested in knowing Gumshoe’s plans for tonight than he was actually eating. After all, he would rather spend quality time talking to Gumshoe over food than eat it alone.
Edgeworth sat down at the kitchen table and Gumshoe moved over to the kitchen island, reaching for one of the many knives laid out there. “How’s about I give these carrots a chop and and go check on the chicken, hm?”
Edgeworth smiled faintly, his heart filling with warmth as he watched Gumshoe set to work chopping vegetables, humming happily. There were so many things Edgeworth adored about this man, even beyond his obvious physical attributes– his kindness, his sense of humour and his willingness to try anything, no matter how outlandish the plan may be. His loyalty to the people who mattered most to him, whether they were clients or friends or fellow prosecutors, always showed itself when he was forced to make decisions he normally wouldn’t make.
And his dedication to his work was commendable. No matter how many times Edgeworth questioned it or questioned the man himself, however, he had no trouble accepting that he truly cared for the people he helped.
Perhaps even more importantly than those qualities, however, was that Gumshoe loved food; in fact, the mere thought of having a proper meal was enough for the detective to practically glow. He was not one to be overly sentimental, but that didn’t mean that Edgeworth didn’t catch him smiling from time to time when he’d think nobody else was paying attention.
As he watched Gumshoe begin to slice tomatoes, Edgeworth began to think about their current predicament in regards to their relationship. He knew he should consider it as serious as it currently appeared, but it didn’t occur to him that it could end up being something that lasted forever.
But putting distance between them didn’t feel right. He wanted more than anything for them to continue on this path, where they were slowly learning more and more about each other. The idea of letting things end was unsettling, and not just because he wished to protect his heart.
He also knew that he would never allow any harm to come to Gumshoe. If there was one thing that Edgeworth had learned from spending countless days with Gumshoe over the past months, it was that the man was far too stubborn to ever let anything happen to him.
Despite the unconventional manner in which their relationship had started, it had done his soul much good to finally learn to trust again, the warmth in his chest making his heart threaten to burst out of his rib cage.
It took him a moment to identify the feeling, but when he did, he could no longer deny it.
Happy. He was finally happy.