Chapter Text
Phoenix
A comforting weight presses against Phoenix's bare chest. He isn't fully awake yet, limbs loose and relaxed, eyes unwilling to open. He inhales deeply, familiar notes of cedarwood and fabric softener filling his nose. He dips his chin, burying his face into his bed-mates hair.
"Mmph'nix," said bed-mate grunts, his breath ghosting Phoenix's neck.
"Hmmm?" Phoenix continues diligently nosing along his scalp, stopping to inhale deeply when he discovers an unexplored spot every few seconds.
"What are you doing?"
Forget being a lawyer, Phoenix imagines himself a cartographer. This is much more important work. He wants to chart and record this man's entire being— starting with his head. He's irritated its taken him five years of their relationship to start on this body-map, but better late than never. Phoenix runs a hand through soft hair, breaking up the knots so it's easier for him to nose into the crown of his head.
"Phoenix?"
He's committing the feel of every strand of hair to memory, every sleep induced sweat damped patch; the salt and scent of it intoxicating.
"Phoenix, enough."
His methods are scientific and exact. Who else will study this if not him? Surely he is the leading expert and the only one capable of mapping this particular skull. If anything, it's his obligation to do this. For science.
He lingers a little longer when he reaches the shell of an ear, brushing his lips against delicate, paper-thin skin.
"Wright!" a frustrated huff sounds before the man pushes against Phoenix's chest, shuffling to the opposite side of the bed.
"Map," Phoenix whines, shivering at the loss of contact.
He gathers the strength to crack his eyes open. His vision swims, adjusting to the low light before his sights land on a vaguely man-shaped mass of pink silk.
"Map?" The man-shaped mass sounds unimpressed, "Phoenix dear, you aren't making much sense."
"You," Phoenix replies eloquently.
"Sorry? Its too early for your nonsense, I'm not a map, I'm- oh no…"
Phoenix pouts, "Hm?"
"Oh God, you don't have amnesia again do you? Why where you trying to eat my hair just now? Do you know where you are?" He pulls himself closer to Phoenix, hands pressed against his forehead and cheek, "Do you know who you are? Who I am?"
Phoenix can't help but preen at the attention, happy at the return of skin contact, "Mi-iles…" He sighs dreamily.
"Christ," Miles slumps face first into Phoenix's chest. He lets out a muffled sigh before turning his head so his cheek lies flush against Phoenix's sternum, steely eyes flicking across his features, "Do I even want to know about this map business then?"
Phoenix offers a lazy smile in response, distracted by the tufts of hair that stick up around Miles' ears. Phoenix is proud to be partially responsible for his partner's disheveled appearance.
"Pretty," Phoenix lifts a hand to card his fingers through Miles' thick locks. There are a few white strands Phoenix likes to keep track of. He finds them charming, their subtle nature hidden among the gray majority head of hair. There's a couple new ones compared to the last time he checked.
"Mmm," Miles murmurs, leaning into Phoenix's touch, "What time is it?" He pulls himself away, twisting around towards his bedside table. He turns back with a pinched frown, "There are two hours until our alarm goes off, damn it Wright."
"Stay."
"You very well know once I'm awake I can't stay in bed," Miles rises, wrestling with the duvet that's twisted itself around his legs, "It's fine, I can get a head start on those performance revie— ah!"
"No," Phoenix cuts off Miles' words as he grips his wrist and tugs him back down with force, "Stay."
Miles flails, falling unceremoniously besides Phoenix once again. Now he's in his forties, there's not much fight left in him. He's quick to accept his fate, lifting his head in Phoenix's direction, "Will I ever get more than one word out of you at a time this morning?"
Phoenix cups Miles' face.
"No."
"Neanderthal," Miles mutters affectionately. He tilts his head, pressing his lips to Phoenix's palm. His eyes flutter close, "If only you were this monosyllabic in the courtroom, would've made my life much easier."
Ignoring the jab, Phoenix places a gentle kiss to Miles' nose, drawing back so he can get a full view of his partner. A rogue sliver of morning light breaks through a crack in their blackout curtains, spilling across Miles' face. Phoenix has already memorized the angle of his cheekbones, the lines of his nose and the grooves of his thin lips; he takes this opportunity to revise his features again.
The crows feet around his eyes have deepened over the years and the crease between his brows less pronounced. Phoenix fights the urge to press a kiss to his forehead, wishing he could frame this moment— the drying track of drool down his chin, his face molded perfectly against Phoenix's palm, his silvery lashes splayed against pale cheeks.
Now he thinks about it, a photograph wouldn't be enough. He'll just have to wake up tomorrow and stare at him some more, repeating the process until his image is burned into his retinas.
Miles suddenly shuffles closer, ducking out of the light.
Phoenix shifts his hand down, fingers dancing around his shoulders, then his ribs to finally find its resting spot in the dip of his waist. He plays with the hem of Miles' silk shirt before slipping beneath the fabric. He palms at the soft padding of skin and fat around his hips, brought on with age and a slowing metabolism.
Phoenix grows bolder, tracing the bumps of his vertebrae as his hand travels up his spine. Miles shudders involuntarily as Phoenix presses into his shoulder blades.
He's touched Miles everywhere, seen every part of him, tasted a good portion of him. But, being able to explore something as unassuming as his scapula, to massage the surrounding skin, being allowed to do so, fascinates him to no end.
It thrills him to feel his partner relax at his touch. That, due to Phoenix's wandering hands, Miles' favorite sleep shirt has rucked up to his chest, exposing his torso and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
He loves seeing Miles in this state; Fuzzy with sleep, face clear of stress or worry.
He also loves Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, all hard lines and sharp words.
There's Papa Miles, his other love who read a young Trucy to bed whenever he was in LA, suffered with Phoenix through her teenage phases and cried with him the first night she moved away for college.
Finally, boyfriend Miles, his lover, his partner in every sense of the word—in crime, in work, in life.
Except, boyfriend doesn't feel right anymore. Partner, for the first time, too small to encapsulate what they are.
He pulls Miles closer, rolling the word husband in his mind. It doesn't light something possessive in his chest like he thought it would, nor make him flinch. The word doesn't feel new either; there's no need to make space for it in his head— he realizes the idea's been living there a while now.
Marriage. He's been afraid to think about it if anything.
He knows Miles' stance on the topic and Phoenix tucked away the notion of vows and weddings in a forgotten corner of his mind. He's happy to be together in whatever capacity Miles is most comfortable with— at least he thought he was. Besides, they're committed to each other in every way that matters, aren't they? Who needs a silly piece of paper, the tax benefits, Trucy and Pearl as their bridesmaids, Maya as his best woman, Miles in a tux— shit. He didn't know this was something he's been craving. His mind can't help but wonder now he's opened this Pandora's box.
Husband, he thinks as Miles' frigid toes press against his ankles.
Husband he aches to whisper as Miles tucks himself under Phoenix's chin.
Husband— the word grows bolder in his mind as he imagines the exchange of golden bands.
"Shh you're thinking too loud," Miles grumbles, swatting at his chest.
Years of compartmentalizing come in handy as Phoenix swallows the lump in his throat, shoving down his thoughts, "How do you know I'm thinking?"
"Oh good, he can talk in full sentences," Miles untucks himself from Phoenix's chin, squinting up at him, "I don't know, I can just tell. I can almost hear those unused, rusty gears churning away in that head of yours."
"You're so mean," maybe he isn't as good as compartmentalizing as he thought, his mind chanting, you have to marry him, "I'm breaking up with you."
"Ah, good," Miles ducks his head so his face is buried into Phoenix's throat, his next words muffled: "I'll finally be able to sleep without being sniffed to death."
Phoenix gasps, offended. He bursts into action, snuffling into Miles' hair again, breathing obnoxiously loud as his partner squirms in his grip, clawing fruitlessly at his chest.
"Please, let me have one last sniff before we part!" Phoenix wails, moving on to press his nose into Miles' neck, licking and biting at his pulse point.
"You've just had ten of them, release me you hnng-" Phoenix grins wickedly, teeth scraping skin, kisses peppered along the column of Miles' throat, drawing out moans trapped between pleasure and frustration, "Ph-Phoenix, if you dare leave a bruise I-" he gasps as Phoenix bites hard into the hinge of his jaw. Miles flings himself away, scandalized, "Wright, you- you animal. If there is so much as an indent you're done for. I have a meeting with that German ambassador today and I cannot give him any reason to—"
They probably look insane, Phoenix thinks. The revered Miles Edgeworth, hair in disarray, clothed in a co-ord pink outfit— rumpled now, a pale shoulder exposed— scolding him within an inch of his life, all the while Phoenix beams unapologetically.
On the rare occasion Miles takes up a court case, Phoenix makes the effort to sneak in and observe. He'll always sit in the eye line of the prosecutors bench, fighting a grin once he's inevitably spotted. There will be a crack in Miles' resolve, not that anyone but Phoenix could notice, but it's there. Its in the way his eyes widen a fraction, allowing his gaze to linger on Phoenix. He'll fuss with his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose or take them off to wipe clean just so they can hold eye contact for a second longer. The moment inevitably shatters when Miles' attention snaps back to the opposing council.
That's when Phoenix's mood sours.
He thinks, that should be me Miles is shouting at. That should be me he's pointing at, slamming his fists at, scowling and smirking at. How dare that defense attorney shrink away, look fearful or angry. They should be happy, blessed even for Miles Edgeworth to be tearing into them.
Therefore, unable to get his fix through work, Phoenix likes enraging his partner for the sake of it at home. He derives more enjoyment out of it than a sane person probably should. Additionally, a running theory of Phoenix's suggests Miles enjoys yelling and bossing him around; his irritating nature beneficial for both parties involved.
The concept that a couple shouldn't go to bed angry has never applied to them. Being angry is when they do their best work.
It's why now, especially now, as Miles goes on about some long suffering German ambassador, teeth marked spots of skin glowing red, Phoenix smiles.
There's no real heat behind his words as Miles, with his perpetually cold toes, slots his legs neatly between Phoenix's thighs mid-rant; His smile only broadens.
"-I hear that his dog died too. Don't even get me started on that dog-" Phoenix hasn't uttered or digested a word in four minutes, "-it was Gavin that told me…" Miles trails off, giving Phoenix a once over and scowls, "For fucks sake, you're not even listening to me are you?"
Phoenix dopily shakes his head from side-to-side.
Miles shoots him a withering look before hauling himself out of bed. He's still grumbling under his breath as he stalks into their en-suite.
The door is left wide open, providing Phoenix a full view of the dawning horror on Miles' face as he stares bug eyed into the mirror, taking in the hickeys littering his skin. He prods gingerly at the biggest offender on his jaw, the mark too high for even his stuffy jabot to cover.
Husband Phoenix thinks as Miles swears at him, storming out to raid their daughters vacated room for concealer.