Archive of Our Own

Miles fell to his knees, panting as he gave up. All he could see was frenzied snow rushing at him, and beyond that just a frozen and hostile mist behind which somebody was getting away with murder. It was his fault. If only, somehow, he had been faster, more alert, more prepared - surely there was some way this wouldn't have happened. 

The callous wind threw snowflakes in his face, and they battled his clouds of defeated breaths as he let them out, too fast and too hard. He pulled his scarf over his nose. This was not good. At this rate they'd never make it across the field and back up the ridge where the police had headed up the search.

"Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir!"

"I lost him."

The walkie talkie chirped once, crackled, then sounded again in conclusion. Miles held it closer, unsure if the detective's transmission had been swallowed by the wind.

"I didn't catch that."

Miles looked over his shoulder with a sudden worry and felt halfway relieved to see Phoenix stumbling towards him into the wind, just barely within visibility. Miles waved with his arms to make sure he saw. 

"I sai- I think -- t-- -- worse."

His stomach dropped. The last thing he needed was the signal to give out. And it did seem like the weather was getting harsher by the second.

Phoenix finally tumbled to his knees next to Miles, out of breath and squinting his eyes against the incoming snow. The wind battered them, piercing through Miles's thick winter layers where it caught in folds.

"I don't think we can make it back to the van in this weather," Miles said into the walkie talkie, turning to Phoenix to implicitly address him as well.

"We've got --e forecast - it's no- -- t-- let up -- -lmost midnight..."

"Come on, Wright, we need to get to the treeline at least," he shouted over the wind.

"... -- you?"

"Repeat?" he said, standing up and motioning to Phoenix to follow him to where he was almost certain he would find trees. The determined fury that drove him to chase a man into a developing snowstorm was quickly whipped away with the wind, and he began to wonder if they would die there.

"Where a-- you?"

"I don't know."

The radio chirped and crackled. "-ampsite--"

It fizzled again and beeped.

"You're breaking up," he shouted again, trudging through the snow.

"--a -- -- the campsi-- just on t--"

"Which direction? Landmarks?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw Phoenix much closer behind him than he expected. He nodded to Phoenix, who nodded back. They pushed into the wind.

"--on't know -- -t's helpful, b-- --s a road on t-- other side of the --y-"

"How far?"

"You can understand that?" Phoenix shouted behind him. He turned, walking sideways and sternly shook his head no. He could practically hear Phoenix's unspoken sarcastic remark as his posture shrank in discouragement. Maybe that would be funny later, if they survived.

"No more than two miles, sir."

The detective came through perfectly clearly this time and a bit of Miles's anxiety dispelled. The threat of losing contact still loomed, but it did seem intermittent. He had his phone in his pocket, but using it would mean sacrificing a glove - a risk he wasn't willing to take out in the open.

He couldn't see any landmarks beyond the white, turbulent mist, but the ground sloped towards his destination, and he struggled to remember what it had looked like yesterday before it had been consumed with inclement snow. He hoped he was headed in the right direction.

He looked back at Phoenix again and then continued forward. The snow was beginning to build. He trudged single-mindedly forward, waiting for a tree, a sign, any type of indicator. No more than two miles. It wasn't impossible.

It seemed eternal. Being forced to walk through a snowstorm for all eternity would be an excellent punishment for a damned soul. No more than two miles. How far had they gone already? Just two miles, at maximum. It was possible, technically. 

He turned to look at Phoenix again. He looked miserable, which was appropriate, considering their situation. A very real concern surfaced that he was under-dressed, desperately holding his arms to his body. Miles needed to find shelter or he would have to watch Phoenix die. Not that he would have to live with himself for very long if they got lost.

"Sir?"

"I'm here."

He saw a vague shadow maybe twenty feet to his left.

"Wright. This way!"

He rushed through the rising snow as quickly as he could. As he approached it, he found a long, thin sign, rendered unreadable by the snowfall. He went to it and brushed it off.

"Detective, I'm here. I just found a sign for a Grove Campsite."

“There sh--d be -- cabin --ere, s--”

Miles looked beyond the sign with a starving desperation. He looked at the sign for an indicator of which direction he should head and came up fruitless. 

“Keep an eye out for a cabin,” he called to Phoenix over the storm. Phoenix was fading, clearly not entirely alert, and Miles’ urgency to find shelter increased. He rushed into what he desperately hoped was the campsite and looked around with painful vigilance. Somewhere near there was shelter, and getting there was going to make the difference of keeping them alive.

He couldn’t help but check over his shoulder again. He could carry Phoenix if he needed to, but that wasn’t ideal. And fortunately, it wasn’t necessary, though he was in bad shape.

After a painful series of minutes trudging into the wind, he saw a shadow. A building. Shelter. Staying alive.

“Wright!” he shouted urgently, grabbing him by the arm and rushing towards it.

As they approached, a small cabin materialized. The steps up to the door were piled with snow but still accessible, and Miles pushed up them, dragging Phoenix behind him. He slammed on the door with his fist.

“Los Angeles Police Department! Open the door!”

No answer. He pounded on it again. He turned his head to check on Phoenix again. It was likely it was empty in this weather. He tried the knob and it turned, pushing open and spilling snow onto the unfinished wood floor inside. He gripped Phoenix’s arm and rushed in, slamming the door behind them.

They panted wordlessly for a minute. Phoenix shivered uncontrollably and Miles assessed the cabin interior. Their breaths came out in uncertain white clouds, dissipating quickly in the still cabin. At least the wind chill wasn’t a problem they would have to consider anymore.

“Good god,” Miles muttered under his breath. This was nothing short of a complete train wreck.

“Detective,” he said into the walkie talkie, moving around the one room cabin, opening cabinets and hastily examining shelves. “We found an unlocked cabin and made it inside. If anything we’ll be fine here overnight.”

He looked over at Phoenix for some kind of complaint or sarcastic remark, but he stood shivering in the same spot he had been put in when they had technically broken in. They’d deal with the legal ramifications later.

“Wright,” he barked, drawing Phoenix’s attention.

“That’s good -- -ear, sir! It’s snowing too hard for us to get out so -e’re staying in the van until the storm passes. We’ll ha-- -- -- the rescue teams come get you -- --n as it lets up.”

“W-w-what?” Phoenix mumbled in response half-successfully through his chattering teeth.

“Don’t send them if it’s dangerous. We’ll be fine until morning. There’s firewood here. I think Wright has hypothermia. I’ll email you my coordinates later.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Come here,” Miles instructed, meeting him halfway. 

Phoenix stumbled forward, and it was clear he was too cold to function.

“We’re staying here, at least overnight. You have hypothermia,” he explained, touching Phoenix’s coat to find it soaked. “Take this off, you’ll freeze in wet clothes. I’m going to try and start a fire.”

“If-I’m c-c-cold sh-shouldn’t-t I k-keep-it on-n?” Phoenix slurred, trembling violently.

“If it’s wet, take it off,” Miles said curtly, taking off his own damp outer coat and scarf and hanging them over a rustic chair that served as one of the few pieces of furniture in the sparse cabin. There was a small table, two chairs, and a twin bed with a bare plastic mattress. It was a single room, and what served as the bedroom also played a part as the kitchen and dining room.

Miles went to the fireplace and tossed in a few pieces of firewood that had been stacked in a formation against the wall. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a multi-tool and a lighter, thanking himself for the implausible anxiety that he might need them that drove him to bring them along in the first place. He arranged the wood and whittled shavings to use as kindling. Once he had a sizable pile, he lit it and held his breath for it to catch.

Voila. A fire. Pulling this off meant their likelihood of death just became much smaller. He felt a nagging optimism. It was a huge shame Phoenix was likely too disoriented to be impressed by how he had saved their lives. At least there was later to brag about it.

He pulled the sad, squeaking little bed in front of the hearth and looked up at Phoenix again. He watched Miles, shaking and vacant.

“Come here,” Miles said, flipping his hand towards where he sat in front of the slowly growing fire.

Phoenix managed to amble over with great difficulty and sat next to Miles, who looked at his clothing disapprovingly. He had huge wet spots on his clothes where snow had melted through his coat and it seemed like he wasn’t wearing anything dry at all. Unfortunate. Miles sighed.

“You need to take this off. Anything that’s wet has to come off,” he grumbled.

“A-a-an-” Phoenix stumbled.

“Yes, anything,” Miles punctuated begrudgingly. “There’s an emergency kit in the cupboard, thank god. I’ll get you a space blanket.”

Phoenix clumsily began to undress himself and Miles got up to drag the emergency kit out of the back corner of the cabinet above the sink. Out of curiosity he turned the faucet handle and wasn’t surprised to find it non-functional. It was worth the try, though.

He returned to the bed and put down the kit, zipping it open. Phoenix’s bare back was covered in goosebumps and every hair on his arms was perpendicular to his skin. His pants were undone and he attempted to stand unsuccessfully once, then pulled it off on his second attempt, dropping the damp pants. He looked down at his wet boxers, then up at Miles sheepishly.

Miles looked away with dissatisfaction, tearing open the emergency blanket package. He spread the blanket and put it over Phoenix’s shoulders.

“If they’re wet you should take them off,” he said reluctantly, then paused. “You can have my sweater but you need to roll up the cuffs. They’re wet.”

Phoenix stood up again, rustling the emergency blanket and kicked off his underwear. He pulled the metallic blanket closer around himself like a cocoon. Miles started to take off his sweater, reassuring himself that fulfilling his end of the bargain was far less uncomfortable for him than it was for Phoenix.

“Here,” he said, dropping the warm sweater next to Phoenix on the bed. 

The cold air inside the cabin pricked into him almost instantly and he realized that his undershirt was damp. Great. He knew it was reasonable to want to get it off before it chilled him but he was hesitant to be seen that way by somebody, especially the specific somebody he had with him.

He turned away from the fire, noticing the lack of warmth radiating onto his face even from his distance and pulled off both his shirts as quickly as he could. He separated out his undershirt, checking the outer shirt for moist spots and rubbing his arms against his body in the frigid air. Thankfully the shirt was dry enough and he hastily scrambled into it, but it wasn’t as warm as two shirts. They had the fire, though, and the emergency blankets. In a worst case scenario they had each other, though Miles shunned the thought instantaneously. Now was the absolute worst time to get off on that type of asinine tangent in his own mind.

He looked over his shoulder, remembering his coat and scarf. Crossing the room, he picked up both of the short chairs, one dragging his coat, and arranged them near enough to the fire to hang clothes without obstructing the warmth. He slung Phoenix’s clothes over the empty chair and laid out what wouldn’t fit between the bed and the flame, which was small but had grown comfortable.

He looked over at Phoenix, who was cuddled into the black sweater and silver blanket. He was shivering, but his teeth weren’t chattering. He looked miserable but more alert. From his place on the floor Miles examined Phoenix’s shoes and socks, scattered next to the bed. It was unthinkable that Phoenix had come up the mountain in the middle of winter with just those.

“When your clothes dry off you can put them back on,” Miles explained quietly.

Phoenix nodded.

“How are your hands and feet?” Miles asked, leaning forward intently as Phoenix stuck out his bare feet. 

“You can feel them?” Miles asked, looking for signs of frostbite. 

Phoenix shook his head. “N-no.”

“Move your toes.”

Phoenix obeyed.

“You’re fine,” Miles dismissed, sitting on the far end of the bed furthest away from Phoenix. He untied his boots and kicked them off. His wool socks were dry and the heat packs he had put into his boots that afternoon were still warm. He moved his toes, regretting that it was probably best to keep his warm boots off. He reached into the toes of his shoes and grabbed the heat packs.

He held them out to Phoenix, tilting his head just enough to see where to hold them out. Phoenix looked at it, then reached out hesitantly. Once he had them in his hands his expression changed.

“Oh wow...” he moaned, wrapping his fingers around them and pushing them against his cheeks.

“Those were in my boots,” Miles murmured, standing up to take off his damp pants.

“I don’t care,” Phoenix sighed.

Now in just thermal pants, wool socks, and an outer shirt, Miles finally started feeling the chill in the cabin. He opened the other emergency blanket and wrapped himself in it, pulling his legs up underneath himself and staring in to the fire. After sitting for a while the adrenaline had almost completely worn off and Miles was tired. He poked a hand out of the blanket to feel the fire with less-than-spectacular results.

“Should I move the bed closer?”

“Sure.”

Miles pulled the bed forward, almost knocking Phoenix over as he dragged the side he was seated on.

“What are you looking at?” Miles grumbled as he sat down in the fading spot of warmth he had made earlier.

“You look different without the suit. It’s like you’re practically naked,” Phoenix said quietly, grinning weakly.

“You’re literally naked and you don’t look any different," Miles said, unable to restrain a playfully sadistic smile. "You’ve got the same clueless expression you wear in court and you look just as pathetic."

“Oh shut up!” Phoenix interjected quietly, amused but exhausted.

“Really, though, what were you thinking coming up here dressed like that?” he chided.

“Well I can tell you for sure, I wasn’t planning on falling down a hill!” Phoenix retorted defensively.

“It’s a good thing you did,” Miles said after a thoughtful silence. “We never would have found the murderer if you hadn’t.”

And then I let him get away. Miles thought, dejected. And all critical evidence is being buried. And if the murderer survives the blizzard he may never be found...

He pushed the thoughts away, staring into the fire as Phoenix rested, sitting with his eyes closed. The flame crackled weakly and the sounds of wind howled just outside the walls, pushing in tiny drafts of icy air.

“I told you he didn’t do it,” Phoenix said finally.

Miles had never doubted him. He wasn’t stupid. At this point he knew what Phoenix was capable of, what kind of understanding he had with other people. Sometimes it was like he could see into their hearts.

“You seem confident we didn’t stumble on a copycat killer,” Miles said humorously dismissive.

Phoenix laughed. Somehow, despite the fact that they were both under-dressed, bundled in space blankets in a freezing cabin in a blizzard and having almost died, this felt comfortable. It was nice.

“You can’t deny it, though, stranger things have happened,” Miles continued pensively.

Phoenix sighed, smiling and dropping his forehead into his hand half tangled in the silver blanket. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He lifted his head out of the blanket to stare at Miles with an intense honesty. “Trust me on this one, though.”

Miles returned his gaze gravely. “I do.”

Phoenix glanced away immediately, pensive, and Miles looked back into the fire.

“So what’s your angle for tomorrow?” Phoenix asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my client couldn’t have committed the second murder from police custody, so what’s your angle now?”

“I already told you, a copycat,” Miles stated with a deadpan sarcasm.

“You’re kidding...”

“My angle is none of your business,” he smirked. “I just hope you have the evidence for your angle of ‘He didn’t do it.’”

“He didn’t!” Phoenix reacted. 

He was so predictable. What must it be like to feel such conviction? Miles had never spent a moment of his life without doubt. It was the shadow of his mind, shrinking and growing depending on where he was in the light, but always present.

“I know,” Miles conceded. “Prove it in court tomorrow.”

“You know I will,” he said with determination.

Phoenix himself seemed to be the light. He had no shadows, or none he let others see. Miles wondered what type of thoughts tortured him at night and what moments of regret he replayed over and over in his mind. He wished it was something he could just ask. 

Phoenix was intimately acquainted with his nightmares and anxieties. It only seemed fair that he should also have a moment of vulnerability. Maybe Phoenix couldn’t trust him the same way he trusted Phoenix. Perhaps it was fair to give him that considering how many times Miles had wounded him and he had still fought so hard to get it all back.

Saving their lives in the blizzard was a single step on his path of repayment. Whatever he could do to make it up to him, he had promised to jump to it, chopping down a tree splinter by splinter. 

There were moments of clarity where he was capable of realizing it went beyond that as well. There was no shame in enjoying somebody else’s happiness, taking pleasure in helping a friend, but it was a very difficult and complicated idea to digest.

Pushing even deeper dredged up the intermittent acceptance that Phoenix was his friend. Not colleague or peer. They were friends. Close friends, even. Certainly as close as anyone had gotten to Miles in many, many years. That was the frightening part.

“Do you mind if I lie down?” Phoenix asked, gesturing down the length of the bed with his chin. “I’m exhausted.”

Miles was also tired. What was there for him? He could sleep in the chair, though it would probably never happen. Sleeping on the floor was an option but he might not be able to move his back in the morning and if they had to chase down a murderer again it wouldn’t be possible. He could relegate the chair or floor to Phoenix, which seemed excessively cruel considering he was still recovering from hypothermia.

Of course it was most logical they would share the bed. It was even advisable, considering it as a survival strategy. It wasn’t that strange for two people to share a bed in the middle of a blizzard. After all, they were friends. Close friends, even. That still seemed much too close. And Phoenix was wearing only a sweater. It was the wise choice, though. Unfortunate.

“Yes, but realize we’re sharing this,” he stated, unable to keep the creeping unpleasantness out of his tone of voice.

“Good. I bet you’re warm.”

“All living people are warm,” he grumbled dismissively.

“You say that like you just learned it. You have touched another person before, right?” Phoenix asked, cocking his head smugly and looking at Miles.

“Don’t patronize me,” he growled. “Of course I’ve touched other people before.”

“Bring it in, then,” Phoenix said, waving him over and putting his feet up next to Miles.

“I need to send a message to the detective first,” he said, remembering his promise and fortunate for a real excuse to stall.

“Sure,” Phoenix yawned.

He stretched out as Miles stood up, stepping towards the fire to fish his phone out of the inner coat pocket. He looked over at the clothing, idly wondering if anything of Phoenix’s was dry enough to make him wear. 

Maybe he could give him the thermal pants he had on. He would still have his underwear. Phoenix had nothing but a sweater and lingering hypothermia. Miles sighed.

He unlocked his phone and sent their coordinates to the detective.

We’re going to try and rest. Call <

with any news. Everything is

fine left until morning at this

point.

He turned on the battery saving mode and raised the ringer volume, setting the phone on the floor next to the leg of the bed. He scowled performatively at Phoenix, who watched him listlessly and rolled his eyes in response, grinning. They had debated so many times they could even forego words to argue.

Miles checked the front door. It had a lock but amidst all the chaos he hadn’t even considered something like that. Now that he was able to think rationally he realized there was a murderer out there somewhere. If he knew what was good for him he’d seek shelter as well. Was it wrong to lock somebody out to certain death, though?

The man they pursued was unquestionably guilty of murder. The state would sentence him to execution anyway, or perhaps even something worse - a life with all freedoms stripped, locked away from humanity like an animal until his quiet death in solitude. It might be considered merciful to let him die before he had his justice properly served. Miles went to the door and locked it. He had done his part for justice tonight and couldn’t give anything more. It was time to be a person, just trying to stay alive.

Miles felt heavy. The window quickly darkened as the sun began to set behind the snowstorm. The fire made the room flicker along with it as it slowly became the only source of light and the shadows cast were uncertain and turbulent. Phoenix rested on the bed in a lump and the reflection of the flame off the silver blanket that covered him almost made it shimmer.

Miles crossed the room hesitantly and sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to pull the emergency blanket so it surrounded him completely. It was time to rest. The adrenaline had waned and left only a hollow exhaustion. He leaned over onto his side and rest his head on his curled arm, closing his eyes.

“Come closer, I’m freezing,” Phoenix said, turning his head halfway.

Miles could feel him trembling and forgot he had intended on giving him something to wear. He rolled to his back, coming precariously close to the edge of the bed, and kicked off his thermal pants under the emergency blanket. He threw them on Phoenix.

“Put on some pants.”

Phoenix sat up and looked at the clothing, then at Miles.

“Did you really just give me the pants you were wearing?”

“It’s not like I’m not wearing underwear,” Miles said, glancing away in embarrassment. “I’ll be fine.”

Phoenix looked at him with uncertainty but rustled around under the blanket, putting them on. Miles rolled to his side, so his back faced Phoenix and they had a safe buffer distance between them. He tried to tuck the blanket under his body but there always seemed to be a tiny opening for a frigid finger of winter air to push through and touch his bare legs.

He sighed. He knew what the wise decision was. It wouldn’t kill him. He shuffled so their backs touched, pushing up against his body.

“It’s cold,” Miles justified awkwardly.

“It’s freezing,” Phoenix replied, leaning onto him.

Miles tried not to tense up at the contact. He was the one who had initiated it in the first place. It shouldn’t be weird. It should even feel pleasant - he was the one furthest from the fireplace. It still made his heart race. Phoenix was warm. Miles could feel him breathing. It felt good.

They both shivered against each other, listening to the sound of the fire snapping quietly under the wail of the wind.

“Edgeworth,” Phoenix said softly.

“What?”

“Would it bother you if I get closer?”

Miles thought about it. It would bother him, probably a great deal. He still wanted to be warm. 

“I’m cold,” he said, resigned.

“Me too.”

Miles heard the crinkling of the emergency blanket and Phoenix pulled away, rolling over and leaning his whole body onto him. 

“Sorry,” Phoenix said, pushing his knees into the empty space behind Miles’s bent legs and shivering.

“It’s fine,” Miles murmured.

Phoenix cautiously wrapped an arm around him, trembling as he pushed his face into Miles’s shoulder. It wasn’t fine. Miles hadn’t been touched this way by another person in far too long. What was he supposed to do? This wasn’t a lazy morning with a lover, this was a desperate grab for heat in the middle of a blizzard. 

He inched himself closer to Phoenix’s warm body. He figured it was probably acceptable, all things considered. At the back of his mind he realized he was glad it had to be Phoenix over somebody else. It could have been that loudmouth idiot CSI agent leading the forensic investigation. It could have been the overzealous, cocky rescue team member on the snowmobile who seemed bent on getting himself killed. It could have even been the murderer himself. A close call indeed.

“You’re so warm,” Phoenix said in a near whisper, squeezing Miles closer with his arm and trembling.

It should be comfortable. He knew he should relax when Phoenix wrapped around him, sharing his body heat and putting his warm legs up against his bare skin. It should be bearable, but when he felt the warm breath on the back of his neck he couldn’t restrain a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

He suddenly became far too aware of Phoenix’s body - the soft relaxed muscles of his legs pushed up against his skin, the contour of his chest, gently rising and falling as he breathed onto his shoulder, and his arm, slightly pulled in just enough to keep him close but still restful.

His hand was still, hanging limp near Miles’s chest. Miles tried to ignore it, pushing out thoughts of his fingertips moving closer, sliding one after the other up his chest, spreading his palm over his sternum and dragging it downward... 

His heart was racing. He knew it was cold but suddenly he felt too hot. Phoenix breathed in and out so deeply, gently caressing the hairs on Miles’s neck with the same tense electricity as if he was whispering what he wanted to do to him.

This was now a genuine nightmare. He had lost a criminal, impulsively risked dying in a blizzard, and now he couldn’t keep himself under control enough to do something so simple and necessary as share body heat. It was an advanced level version of the naked-in-court dreams that always seemed to come up before big trials. And it was real.

He wished he could leave. If only there had been two beds they could have lined up in front of the fireplace. He felt his heart pounding in his stomach. He was anxious and nauseated, his body growing tense with the unshakable desperation that Phoenix might touch him more somehow. Just a fingertip. Anything. Anywhere. Please.

This was so wrong. He wasn’t supposed to think about Phoenix like that. He was beyond that. All the nights he had fantasized about Phoenix after seeing him up close as he had passionately defended him had eventually been flushed out. It wasn’t right. He knew it was blatantly taking advantage of his trust every time he dared to think of the ways and places he wanted Phoenix to be in ways that went past friendship. Past close friendship. 

His younger self would have thrown a fit if he could have somehow known this would happen. He had spent so much time wishing he could get closer and now that he was close - too close - it was unbearable. Over time he had moved on, casually faked his own death and completely dismantled Phoenix’s trust, dated other people to drive out loneliness, broken up countless times, and eventually become content with his solitary life. It wasn’t so bad. Except of course when he realized nobody had touched him this way in almost a year.

He was starving for contact. He wanted their idle hands to get to work. He wanted a cheek rested on his shoulder crooning softly into his ear all the things he was doing right. He wanted the tongue that was notoriously sharp in court to be soft in so many places.

His body demanded it. He crossed his ankles just trying to keep from squirming. The nervous heartbeat pounding in his stomach sank. He felt a horrible dread that Phoenix knew and could tell he was so pathetic that he was getting hard just from the modest contact they had initiated out of necessity.

He hoped Phoenix couldn’t tell. He prayed he wouldn’t move his hand to accidentally find something he did not want to find. What would even happen? He knew what he wanted to happen, but that wasn’t likely. Maybe Phoenix would never talk to him again. He hadn’t talked about his interest in men with Phoenix before. Was that even something he could peacefully and comfortably accept? Would he be so close now if he knew?

Now he felt even worse. He had basically lied to Phoenix by not disclosing his sexuality and now he was deriving pleasure from what he had expressed as necessary to their survival. Not that it was pleasant. Miles considered he wouldn’t mind being immediately struck down by god for all this.

He was a complete idiot for thinking Phoenix would want to touch him in unnecessary ways. He wondered if there was some way he could step out to deal with himself privately but the only real options seemed to be making Phoenix aware or getting frostbite in unfortunate places.

Phoenix scooted back away from him and an icy breeze slipped between them, shocking Miles.

“Where are you going?” he asked brusquely. He was relieved to have a break from the overwhelming contact but it came at the sacrifice of the pleasant warmth Phoenix had offered.

“Oh, uh...” Phoenix mumbled. “Sorry. I’m a little uncomfortable.”

“Hm,” Miles grumbled, unintentionally belying his dissatisfaction. So Phoenix did find it unpleasant to be close to him.

“It’s not you!” Phoenix rushed to justify. “I mean, this mattress, and I’m freezing. And I’m kind of sore.”

“It’s fine.”

It was stupid how he could simultaneously want and not want the same thing so desperately. It wouldn’t be uncharacteristic of his entire relationship with Phoenix, though.

He heard Phoenix sigh behind him, shifting forward with his elbow so his chest touched Miles’s back. He pulled the blanket over his head and put his arm back around Miles hesitantly. They lie quietly for a few minutes and Phoenix ran his thumb nail over the edge of his other fingers one by one, over and over next to Miles’s stomach. He wished Phoenix would just touch him instead.

“Stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry.”

“And you know I gave you my pants. The least you could do is help me keep my legs warm,” Miles complained, pushing his legs back towards Phoenix’s and leaning onto him. The cold air had almost instantaneously cooled off his insatiable yearning and while it hadn’t been driven out, his primary concern was keeping warm. He felt the pressure of desire battling against the sensible part of himself trying to survive.

“Sorry,” Phoenix said, even more miserably, wrapping his hand around to touch Miles’s chest. It was almost too intimate but Miles allowed it, though he wasn’t sure for how much longer.

He thought about the case to distract himself. It was always easy to get lost in work. Phoenix had asked him where he planned on going in court tomorrow but he had no idea what the new evidence would bring. Now that they knew who had committed the crimes it was up to him to keep Phoenix in line proving his client’s innocence. He wasn’t wrong, but Miles did seem to need to keep him grounded.

He let out a warm breath and shivered. Phoenix had his hand against his chest innocently enough but it only needed to twitch to provoke him. The gentle pressure would feel so much better if he would only trace down his chest, over his stomach, onto his waist, or further... He was so tired. When this was all over he would have a horrible new experience he could shamefully reimagine when he was all by himself.

He wondered what he could get away with. Would Phoenix let him grab his hand? Maybe he could get closer. He hesitated for a second, then shifted back, feeling Phoenix’s body against him. Phoenix sighed onto his shoulder, pulling him closer almost involuntarily.

That was almost too much. He might as well be teasing him for reactions. Phoenix squirmed his legs away.

“Stop,” Miles said, following Phoenix’s legs, trying to tangle his cold legs into them.

“You stop,” Phoenix rebutted, scooting himself away.

Miles wrapped his ankles around Phoenix’s bare foot, trying to shock him with his frigid skin but Phoenix’s feet were still colder.

“If you’re going to keep to yourself then give me my pants back. I’m freezing.”

Phoenix sighed dramatically, pulling his arm away from Miles and rolling halfway onto his back, covering his face with his hand under the blanket in exasperation.

“You’re right. It’s freezing,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Phoenix rearranged himself, rolling around in an overzealous shuffle that let in too much winter air.

“Don’t do that!”

He shifted to his side, hesitantly leaning up against Miles again.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Miles inched back to press up against Phoenix and froze knowing exactly what he felt against his ass. 

“Edgeworth I’m sorry, it’s not-”

“Please just shut up.”

This was surreal. Was it just a response to the contact or was Phoenix attracted to him? He begged for the latter. Not that it was at all wise to have sex in this condition. Or wise to have sex with the opposing attorney in tomorrow’s trial. Or even wise to have sex with somebody he had escaped soul-crushing feelings towards and didn’t know if he would have his heart broken if he happened to fall for him again.

Phoenix meekly put an arm around him, defeated. Phoenix’s body was tense and the erection he had tried to deny was growing in spite of, or maybe because of the shame.

But Miles knew now he wasn’t alone in his embarrassment, and maybe he wasn’t alone in how badly he wanted somebody else’s hands running up and down his body.

“It’s fine,” Miles murmured dismissively.

Miles tried to keep his breathing even, to not squirm, to stop thinking about all the impulsive things he could do with his body. The softness of Phoenix’s chest as he had relaxed against him earlier was gone. He felt only stiff muscles frozen against him in humiliation. He felt a heartbeat pounding just as uncomfortably fast as his own. A pleasant, exciting warmth hesitantly pressed up behind him.

How easy it would be to release the tension they felt. It didn’t have to be anything elaborate or heartfelt. They could just use their hands and never speak of it again. It didn’t have to mean anything. They had come together for survival and having sex could be just as mundane. It was just a situation where two men happened to want the same thing at the same time.

Miles moved his arm and Phoenix flinched. Their hands brushed accidentally and Phoenix began to retract his but let it rest again. Miles paused for a moment, then reached his hand up to Phoenix’s gently running the very tips of his fingers along the outline of his hands. Phoenix couldn’t suppress a very small gasp, tensing his body into Miles’s. 

He traced back and forth between his fingers, up and down his hand, reveling in the ways Phoenix flexed up against his body with each change of direction. Between his index and middle finger he had leaned his knee forward, on the way down the outside of his smallest finger he pushed his cheek against Miles’s shoulderblade, and running along his now eager palm, he curled into him entirely, letting out a shaky breath.

Phoenix grabbed his hand, weaving their fingers together and held tightly. He was breathing harder now, and trembling slightly. His skin was still cold, but Miles suspected the shivering wasn’t related entirely to the weather. The fire had warmed the cabin with minimal effect but the tension between them suddenly made everything hot. 

He wanted to turn over, to get as close as he could and stay there. He recalled all the old things he wanted to do most. He just needed to face Phoenix and it could all go downhill. A fraught cowardice kept him pinned to the bed. Phoenix ran his thumb once over the side of Miles’s hand and then let it go, keeping his palm flat against his chest as he dragged it across and used it to pull his whole body against Miles’s back. It was just as comfortable as it was unbearable. 

Just move. Just move. Move now. Move your body. Please move. Miles willed himself desperately.

He pushed Phoenix’s arm off. He needed to get himself to move now or they’d sit there contorted in that horrible pressure until one of them decided to do something about it. Maybe it would be hours. He couldn’t survive hours.

Phoenix shied away and Miles used the extra room to roll back, finally facing towards him. What was he supposed to do? Was it too forward to kiss him now?

He sidled his body up to Phoenix’s, tangling their legs together. Phoenix made an anticipatory noise as Miles pushed his hips up against Phoenix’s, two erections meeting unceremoniously through thermal pants and expensive boxer briefs. Their arms found various paths over the other’s body until they were pulled so close they trembled from the tension. They both remained still and quiet, unsure who was going to make the first move. The crunching silver blankets that announced their every movement remained noiseless.

Phoenix finally broke the silence by clearing his throat.

“Um, Edgeworth...?”

Miles waited for him to continue his thought knowing there was no need for Phoenix to confirm his attention. Their cheeks touched, turned opposite directions from each other, and Phoenix spoke almost directly into his ear.

He didn’t continue.

“Um what?”

“I don’t know... I feel like I’m supposed to say something,” he murmured sheepishly.

“Are you objecting...?” Miles asked, suspiciously releasing some of the tension in his arms holding them together.

“No!” Phoenix blurted softly, unconsciously pulling him in slightly closer.

Miles contemplated silently. “Is there something I should know?”

Phoenix shook his head against Miles’s.

“Then don’t say anything,” he said into Phoenix’s ear, shifting his hips upward against him.

Phoenix took a sharp breath in and squirmed as if he was trying to somehow get closer. He brought a hand down and reached up under the bottom edge of Miles’s underwear, spreading his fingers and gripping into the cold skin underneath. Miles leaned back to kiss him gently and was kissed back with desperation.

Every small move one made seemed to draw out an exponential reaction from the other. It was more than Miles ever could have fantasized. The passion Phoenix had for pursuing what he thought was right was just as overwhelming as the fervor with which he ran his hands over Miles’s body. 

He remembered the first time he dreamed about this. When Phoenix had taken his case, he had spoken with such conviction. Miles felt so overwhelmingly alone that night. The words I believe in you were all he had. It felt selfish at the time, but Phoenix had been right. Miles knew he wasn’t wrong to fall for somebody who had such a caring and pure intensity, but he knew it could never, ever happen.

He still knew it was wrong to let Phoenix love him now as Miles rubbed his thigh against his erection, but that sense of recklessness drove him to want it more. Hearing Phoenix whimper this way made him starve for more. He wanted to make Phoenix call his name.

He dragged his fingertips firmly down Phoenix’s back over the sweater he had been so gracious to donate and slipped his hand between their bodies. Phoenix traced his fingers up under Miles’s shirt, gasping as Miles made his way beneath the waistband of the borrowed thermals.

Miles felt a sinister delight as he used his fingers as best as he knew how - wrapped in circles, dragged in lines, gently and firmly - drawing out different gasps and changing the ways Phoenix leaned or pushed closer. This was the way he had always wished to have Phoenix at his mercy.

He wished it had been lighter so he could see the way Phoenix’s body moved under his touch, all the things hidden away by the suit that he didn’t have the courage to look at earlier. He was just a silhouette framed by a flickering orange light, and a feeling pushed against his body and in his hand. Maybe if the fire got warm enough he could undress him less practically later.

Miles stroked him gently, pleased when Phoenix leaned into his hand and tilted his head away breathlessly. He imagined what it was like having the dick in his hand inside of his body and he took a faster pace. Phoenix seemed so easy to please and it just happened that he was the one Miles wanted to please the most. 

Phoenix curled back in to kiss him again and it was as clumsy as if they had been teenagers. Phoenix was ruthless, pressing his lips against Miles’s and never allowing him a second to himself. He delivered kisses wherever he could, the corner of his mouth, above his lip, even roughly on his chin.

Phoenix dragged a hand down Miles’s body, trying to get between their bodies and Miles’s working hand unsuccessfully. He tried again, taking Miles’s warm erection into his hand through his clothes. Their arms clashed and Phoenix had poor success trying to keep a reasonable pace.

“Just wait,” Miles said impatiently, taking his hand off Phoenix to push his hand away.

“I’m not left-handed,” Phoenix apologized halfway out of a moan.

Miles paused for a moment. He wished this could have happened under more favorable circumstances. He looked sternly over what he could see of Phoenix in the shadow of the fireplace. His expression was gentle as he breathed hard, looking up at Miles in a daze. There was no doubt Phoenix had a better view of him and he hoped it was a favorable one.

“Please don’t stop,” Phoenix murmured, closing his eyes and bringing his hand up to Miles’s face in a defeated plea.

Miles would treasure the electrifying memory of those words forever.

“Sorry,” Miles said impulsively, reaching back down to put his hand on Phoenix’s hip, hooking a finger under the waistband. “Take them off.”

“Okay.”

Phoenix pulled off the thermals with very little grace and kicked them aside, rearranging himself under the blanket.

With the moment of pause Miles realized he had lost some of the frenzied momentum. He had a moment to rethink what he was doing. His thoughts had rushed back in, overthrowing the fervid desire that drove him before and chiding him for getting caught up in the moment. It was certainly too late to go back and there was no point in regretting it now when they were only halfway through.

Fuck it, Miles resigned with all too much satisfaction in himself.

He pushed his lips up against Phoenix again clumsily, pulling him closer as they both rearranged themselves to kiss. Miles resumed what he had been doing with his hand, unobstructed by the thermals. Phoenix immediately breathed heavier, each warm, deep breath reminding him of how cold it was in the cabin and how warm their bodies were.

Miles started slowly again, squeezing with firm pressure and using each movement as efficiently as he knew how. Phoenix melted next to him, his body relaxing and the arm he creeped around Miles’s waist was unsure and loose.

Phoenix turned his head up, breathing hard and inching his hand up Miles’s back. His hand finally resting on his neck sitting along his hairline, unsure if it wanted to weave through the hair just above. The hand suddenly retreated, snagging on the emergency blanket and inviting in some cold air as it hesitantly caught Miles’s working hand.

“Hold on,” Phoenix murmured, pulling the blanket up again with his other hand. “It’s getting kind of rough.”

Miles froze immediately. Had he been doing a poor job this whole time? Phoenix lifted Miles’s hand away from his dick, still breathing hard, and brought it up to his face, kissing him on the knuckles with intention as if he had just met royalty.

Oh god, it was so bad he had to stop me, Miles realized in humiliation.

Phoenix awkwardly rearranged himself to bring his other hand up from where it was haphazardly pressed between them to cradle Miles’s fingers gently, pulling them towards his face. He opened his mouth, pushing Miles’s index and middle finger up against the soft end of his tongue, bringing his hand closer to put his lips over them. 

Miles let a small gasp slip out, unable to suppress the shock of the electric pleasure that seized him. Phoenix’s tongue made its own path along the underside of his fingers, back and forth then between, running up further to where they joined at his palm. Miles’s back tensed as Phoenix ran his tongue between his fingers, gently spreading them apart in his mouth.

Phoenix guided Miles’s hand back, working his tongue against the fingers as he pulled them out and kissed his palm. He pushed his tongue against Miles’s palm, moving up slowly and stroking the back of his hand with his fingertips.

When Phoenix took his thumb into his mouth Miles struggled to keep quiet. He couldn’t have Phoenix let on that he liked that as much as he did. His hips ached with yearning each time Phoenix moved his tongue and he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this painfully hard. Of course it wasn’t just any old fling, it was years of his home-canned emotions suppressed and aged, unintentionally popped open the second Phoenix’s body had touched his.

Phoenix let his hand go, cold air nipping the damp skin. Miles didn’t have to be asked what to do next. He knew exactly how to use what he had been given. He needed more than anything to make Phoenix fall in love with his hand, forever bonded to the ephemeral memory of those three wet fingers.

He quickly realized he had very little to work with, but it was more than he had before. The saliva on his fingers couldn’t compare to even the worst lubricant but it was enough to make Phoenix squirm and he used it wisely. He kept his touch light, letting the slightly slick layer on his fingers do its job.

Miles took great satisfaction in Phoenix’s inability to lie still, his uneven breathing, and the way he wrapped his fingers in and out of fistfuls of Miles’s shirt. He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of Phoenix’s tongue over his fingertips as he teased the head of Phoenix’s dick between his first fingers.

He moaned gently as Miles found where he wanted to be touched most and Phoenix took in deep breaths as he sped up, making a distinct effort to be gentle. Phoenix dug his fingers through Miles’s hair, twisting his shoulders and leaning towards him to kiss his face clumsily.

They struggled to find each other’s lips in the dark and Phoenix’s breath was heavy and loud through his nose as they kissed. Miles felt the subtle aid of Phoenix’s spit giving out and hoped he was close. He squeezed more firmly with his fingers and Phoenix cried out softly, desperately grabbing at his hair, his shirt, anything he could get in his grasp.

Miles stroked him faster still, drawing out moans between increasingly strenuous breaths. He was encouraged by the warm air exhaled onto him, brushing past his skin as gently as a loving hand. He had waited so long for this moment that he had eventually abandoned it and now it was panting in front of him as he skillfully used his fingers on it.

Phoenix pushed his forehead against Miles’s cheek, his body now heaving with labored breaths. Miles leaned his face up on Phoenix’s trying to keep the arm pumping between them out of the way.

“O-oh my god,” Phoenix whispered, encouraging Miles to go faster. “Miles.”

He stumbled for a fraction of a second but instantly recovered his pace, reeling with internalized shock. That wasn’t a name he had heard in a while, and never from Phoenix as an adult. It was so intoxicatingly intimate, he wondered how many times he could make him say it. Was he going to call him that all the time now? The thought sickened him with pleasure, imagining the drop in his stomach as Phoenix approached him out of court with that smile. Hey, Miles.

He tore down his indulgent daydream, focusing on making Phoenix come. He wanted to hear his name again and crept his other hand between Phoenix’s legs, rubbing his fingers into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

Phoenix cried out again, this time with less restraint, pushing his hand under the neckline of Miles’s shirt and spreading his fingers hungrily over his back.

Please, please say my name again.

Phoenix leaned his hips towards Miles impulsively, his whole body tensing.

“Ah... M...”

Say it.

“Mm,” Phoenix groaned weakly, pushing his face into Miles’s neck as he came.

Miles blinked, disgusted with himself for being disappointed. This wasn’t love, it was sex. Phoenix panted onto his chest, relaxed with temporary exhaustion as Miles stopped running his thumb and forefinger around Phoenix’s softening dick.

He had semen on his hand now. He wiped it on Phoenix’s shirt and sighed, belatedly realizing whose black wool sweater he was wearing.

They were both quiet. The fire popped behind them just slightly louder than their breathing. The wind continued to groan against the walls of the cabin. The room was warmer now. Miles sighed.

Phoenix was still lying against his neck. Miles could feel the quiet breaths and the flicker of his eyelashes as he blinked every few seconds. He suddenly felt too close. He wanted Phoenix to just touch him and get it over with so they could forget this and ignore each other for the rest of their lives.

“Um,” Phoenix’s voice reverberated next to his chest softly but so much louder than the silence it was jarring. “Thanks.”

Thanks...? You’re kidding me.

Miles didn’t honor the statement with a response. Not that he could even think of how to respond.

“Do you want me to, uh,” Phoenix started, clearing his throat awkwardly and pausing. “What do you want me to do?”

It was all clear now. Phoenix was just another straight tourist caught up in a saucy one-time encounter with somebody just gay enough and just desperate enough to indulge him. And he was so pathetically desperate. Miles was glad it was too dark for Phoenix to see him scowl. Phoenix probably hadn’t ever touched a man this way in his life. If he’d had known in the first place he wouldn’t have tried so hard to please him.

“Do I really need to give you directions? Just touch me,” he said, exasperated.

He rolled his eyes as Phoenix hesitantly leaned away from him to give himself some room. He prepared himself for the worst handjob of his life.

Phoenix moved around under the blanket, then settled. He reached a hand out tentatively, brushing against the end of Miles’s erection as if by accident and then placing his hand on it with more certainty. As Phoenix began to touch him Miles let out a deep breath. Regardless of skill, there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t just enjoy it for what it was.

Phoenix was clumsy, trying to navigate his hand while lying on his arm. He slipped his hand into Miles’s underwear, taking hold of what was inside and stroking with very little coordination. He paused to reposition himself and attempted to continue. 

After a short and somewhat unsuccessful minute, he took his hand away, sighing and relaxing onto the mattress in defeat. Clearly this was it, this had all become too gay, and he couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Miles had assumed he was at least the type to try, though. What a disappointment.

“I’m, uh... Really not that good with my hands,” he said.

What a stupid excuse.

“It’s fine,” Miles murmured, irate and dismissive.

“Can I...” Phoenix stumbled over his words hesitantly. “Would you mind if I... Uh, used my mouth?”

You’re kidding me.

There was no way that was entirely straight. There’s no way somebody who had never sucked a dick would offer to do so in lieu of something less personal. 

“What?” Miles asked sharply, thrown entirely off guard. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean, you told me earlier to take off wet clothes and I don’t know if you knew something about it, or... I don’t know.” 

“You’ll have to forgive me, Wright, I must have missed the unit of outdoorsmanship on oral sex in survival situations,” he said with a sarcasm he realized was entirely too harsh coming out.

Phoenix was quiet, scratching his cheek and lying his head down. “So do you want me to?”

Miles didn’t respond. The answer was please, yes, more than anything, and now, but Miles couldn’t think of a way to reply that didn’t sound desperate. He covered his face with his hands, sighing and rubbing his forehead.

“Okay.”

Suddenly the room was overwhelmingly intimate. Miles realized what he was doing - the full scope of what he was impulsively doing - and felt frozen with fear. This wasn’t just sex. It could never just be sex for him, not with Phoenix. This was a huge and terrible mistake and he had no desire to do anything but aimlessly go directly to its gravitational center where it would rip him to pieces.

The idea of Phoenix doing something so personal made him feel starved to the point of nausea. Sick from all the time he had had to deny how he felt over the years. Sick from the ways he didn’t deserve for Phoenix to be kind to him at all. Sick from the embarrassingly clumsy, half-assed-in-comparison hand job he had the misfortune to have performed.

It would have been better just to lie in their horrible, tangled sexual frustration until they fell asleep or the snow stopped. 

But he wasn’t about to protest.

At its root, it was still just a fling, just impulsive, just sex. If what Phoenix had done with his mouth earlier was any indication of his skill it wouldn’t last long anyway. 

Yes. He wanted this. Without question.

When Phoenix touched him again it startled him, just his fingertips settled hesitantly on his chest, then his whole hand. It was really happening. His heart started to beat quickly again. He put his hand over Phoenix’s without thinking and Phoenix turned his hand over to lace his fingers with Miles’s, leaning in to kiss him.

Almost as if they had forgotten why they had slowed down in the first place, they quickly resumed what they had been doing earlier. They breathed hard as the kissing grew less coordinated and Phoenix struggled to run his hands down Miles’s chest while he pulled the two of them together. 

Phoenix pushed to relocate partially on top of him, then leaned back, looking down at Miles. He stared for a moment and Miles was unsure what he could possibly see in the light of the fire that was worth looking at. Miles pulled at a fistful of Phoenix’s sweater towards himself and leaned his chin up to invite him down to his lips but he resisted.

Miles released the shirt as Phoenix pulled away, inching his legs down the bed and shifting so he was lower. He studied Miles again, then crouched forward to kiss his stomach and slip a hand under his shirt. He glanced up at Miles quickly, then lifted the shirt and kissed his bare skin.

Miles took in a short sharp breath, partially because Phoenix was exposing him to the cold and partially because he felt Phoenix breathing on him as his lips gently pressed onto the soft flesh of his stomach. The first kiss invited more, which were placed more firmly, and each higher up than the last.

Phoenix had nudged his shirt further up as he relentlessly made his way. Miles felt a hot mouth on his chest and freezing air in between his warm breaths. He wrapped his legs around Phoenix, tensing with a frustrated ecstasy as kisses turned to licking and his tongue found more fantastic and exciting places to be.

Miles pushed his fingers through Phoenix’s hair, arching his back and trying to guide him down, further down, where he wanted his mouth to be. Phoenix went up further, caught by Miles’s legs and rubbing his hips pointedly against Miles’s neglected erection as he ran the tip of his tongue up the front of Miles’s neck.

Miles had just enough sense left in him to realize Phoenix was teasing him. Of all the places he had humiliated Miles before, he had the gall to deny him what he wanted and make him wait with something more torturous. It was incredible - really incredible - how definitively Phoenix Wright the moment was, as was the way he knew how to find all the most sensitive and receptive places to lap at.

Phoenix sucked gently on his neck, rubbing his fingers through the remnants of where he had kissed while he was further down. How could it be that those hands had been so clumsy earlier? They seemed so self-assured now, tracing in patterns as skillfully as a seasoned poker dealer distributing cards.

It was too much. Miles needed something more, soon. His well-used fantasies never could have prepared him for what was happening. It was so much more vibrant and overwhelming. Phoenix seemed to know his body already, as if he had kissed his way all over Miles’s chest a thousand times before. Maybe it was just luck, but it was more than Miles reasonably expected.

He felt Phoenix shift his legs away, retreating back down and crouching over his cold stomach. He ran his fingers over the waistband of his underwear, almost taunting the fact that he hadn’t gone any further and laying a single determined kiss just above the elastic. He put a single finger underneath, sliding it over to the side tormentingly slowly and pulling it down gently, just far enough to expose more skin.

The feeling of Phoenix’s breath brushing over his skin was unbearable. Phoenix seemed to be taking his dear time to get under his skin and it was certainly working. He pulled a bit further, pinning his erection down with the elastic as he exposed it halfway.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

Miles sat up on his elbows to glare at Phoenix.

“Is that rhetorical?” he remarked sarcastically.

The light that illuminated half of Phoenix’s face was enough to expose a subtle eye roll and he leaned forward to run his tongue quickly up the exposed portion of Miles’s dick. Miles flinched, gasping in spite of himself. Phoenix took it into his mouth.

You’re kidding me.

Phoenix pulled down the underwear as much as he could from the front, pushing his tongue down further, taking in more.

Oh god.

He had done this before. Without question. Miles felt completely stupid for brushing him off as a blushing bicurious experimenter now. How many men had Phoenix blown in his life? Did they have any idea how lucky they were?

Miles pulled down his shirt and lifted his knees trying to maintain some composure. Phoenix hooked his left arm around one of Miles’s raised legs, gently running his fingertips over the unkempt hair on his thigh as he used his mouth.

Everything felt good. Miles forgot that he had ever felt anything bad, that he had spent years heartbroken about the man between his legs, that he had ever cried over the thought that they would never touch like this. He didn’t dare look at him. If Phoenix saw him staring or made eye contact, he didn’t know what kind of horrible thing he might say.

He just imagined all the ways Phoenix might look beautiful as he was now - painted in half-light, a familiar tender but determined expression, paler than usual from the cold except where the winter drew out a perfectly applied blush. Miles thought about his broad shoulders, the way his short, dark eyelashes were arranged so neatly they framed his eyes as if they had been painted on by a master artist, the way his voice could be so soft it was almost like he was murmuring into Miles’s ear when he was just across the table. It seemed unfair for someone like Miles to have to be around someone so wholly incredible.

The way he knew how to use his tongue was fantastic. His lips and his fingers worked together, always somehow firm enough to be pleasant but soft enough to keep him from getting too close to the edge. He knew what he was doing and he was trying to make it last. And all after Miles had given him the most sloppy, uncomfortable handjob of his handjob career. It made perfect sense that Phoenix had to completely and relentlessly show him up out of nowhere. He let out a trembling breath praying he would have another chance to do better. Just one. At least.

But maybe he just couldn’t compare. He had had a great deal of success with previous partners. He had spent so much time studying perfection and with time sexual expression was not a facet that his perfectionism neglected. He simply loved being best. He loved to be pleasant and wanted and intentionally skilled for no other reason than just to be good at things. He wanted the most handsome, most desirable men to melt under his hands and tell him he was perfect. It was selfish.

All that effort, all that intention, immediately overshadowed by Phoenix. Typical.

Miles wished he could resent Phoenix for it but he was starting to move his head faster and Miles felt everything all at once like somebody was screaming in his ears. It was too much pressure. His breathing grew more desperate and he let it. He wished Phoenix would stop leading him on with his gentle lips and just let him come already.

He wove his fingers into Phoenix’s hair, then abandoned it, gripping at his hand for a second and moving blindly up the arm laced around his leg. He focused all of himself on not saying anything stupid in passion and on the slippery tongue flicking over his dreadfully overeager dick. 

There was a small and cheerful electronic chime from the floor. 

A text message.

The custom alert tone for detective Gumshoe.

“Is that yours?” Phoenix asked, pausing to ask, then running just the tip of his tongue up and down Miles’s erection idly.

“Stop,” Miles demanded, pushing Phoenix’s face away in a sudden panic as he rolled back to get his phone.

Phoenix raised his eyebrows incredulously as Miles looked back at him, bewildered.

“Stop looking at me like that. It’s the detective. With my luck he’s outside the door or somebody is dead,” Miles fretted, unlocking his phone and reading the text.

>Just an update, sir. Didn’t

  want to disturb you with a

  call. Everything is fine. We

  have the heater on in the

  van. Not bad, huh? The 

  CSI head sent in for a 

  dog team for the morning. 

  Can’t wait to see them 🐶

“Ugh,” Miles groaned, slouching back onto the horrible plastic mattress and dropping his phone off the side of the bed. He hoped it was irreparably broken and they would somehow just never find him so he could die there in the cabin.

“Somebody’s dead or he’s outside?”

“Neither - it was completely inane,” he growled, covering his face in abject humiliation. He wasn’t going to get his second chance with Phoenix, was he? It was asinine to think that this was anything real anyway. There was no way Phoenix would want to be around such an inconsiderate ass.

“You need to learn to relax,” Phoenix mumbled into Miles’s crotch, taking his dick back into his mouth.

Why did he have to be so high strung all the time? Phoenix always seemed so level-headed when something rocked the boat, he must hate it when Miles got worked up like that.

“I don’t think I could if I tried,” he replied, more breathily than he wanted to let himself sound.

He heard Phoenix laugh once in a gentle amusement as he began again where he had left off. Why was he so compassionate? Generous? Understanding? Why did he extend all those things to Miles, and so freely, after all the times Miles had rebuked him?

He must be stupid. 

Thank god. Maybe Miles really did have a chance. 

He returned his focus to his body, trying to escape the nagging feelings and all the dangerous concepts that lie just beyond his immediate train of thought. And it wasn’t difficult. Phoenix started slowly but quickly came up to speed where he had left off. He could let himself enjoy this, at least for now. He had the the rest of his life to feel guilty about it.

Phoenix had lost his rhythm over the distraction and seemed to struggle to find the most tantalizing places to push his tongue once again. Every so often he would find a place that made Miles breathe in more deeply or push his leg into him in yearning but he could never seem to replicate it for very long.

Miles closed his eyes and imagined he was somebody Phoenix deserved. Somebody kind and warm and worthy of that unrelenting dedication. He fantasized he was somebody who could express himself appropriately, tell Phoenix how much he meant to him, maybe even ask him out. 

They had had a nice night out and gone back to his place. He had left the window open and all the winter air had come in and consumed everything in his house with its chilling grip. They had drinks on the couch. They kissed and made love. They deserved each other. And they’d do it all over again next Friday - plans firmly cemented in his agenda by his favorite burgundy ink.

Phoenix ran his free hand timidly over Miles’s stomach as his other hand assisted his mouth. He slipped his hand under Miles’s shirt, following a path just under the hem with a few fingers. Miles met Phoenix’s hand with his and they laced their fingers together.

If only life was so simple.

Phoenix lifted his mouth away from Miles’s erection and paused for a second before taking over with his hand and looking up at him in the awkward half-light with what almost came across as shame. He let go of Miles’s hand, resting his palm with uncertainty on the outside of Miles’s thigh.

“My jaw is killing me,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Shocking, considering how much practice you’ve gotten with rambling, he thought to say but immediately decided he had reached his limit with sarcastic remarks.

And Phoenix hadn’t been wrong earlier. He wasn’t great with his hands, not compared to what he did with his mouth, but something about the graceless way he tightened his first fingers at the top of every other stroke was just so genuine Miles couldn’t help but completely adore it. Phoenix kissed him firmly on the legs as he ran his hand up and down the places he had lubricated with his mouth. It was as tender as being kissed on the forehead. It felt almost like love.

He wished it was love.

What would it be tomorrow morning when the police team came to pick them up on their snowmobiles? And after the trial? Next week? Would it ever be love again?

He knew it was wrong. He absolutely could not have somebody like Phoenix. Somehow though, knowing and what went on in his head regardless never seemed to line up. What could he do to keep him in his bed? What was he willing to sacrifice to be perfect for him? It seemed like everything at this point. He would give anything.

What would he give tomorrow, though? Could he even spare enough pride to be kind to him when he had his shoes and coat back on? Could he kill the Demon Prosecutor?

Historically, no. Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be any different. 

But he didn’t want to pity himself anymore right now. He deserved this. He was kind. He was genuine with his words. Phoenix loved him. He loved the way Miles always said what he felt and the way he smiled when they were together. Phoenix whispered I love you into his ear each night they spent in each others’ beds. In his idiotic, saccharine fantasy it was love.

In the back of his mind he mourned the sleep he was about to lose in heartbreak. So it was back to this.

Phoenix paused again and took Miles’s dick back into his mouth. He couldn’t help himself from breathing heavier as Phoenix ran his tongue firmly over and under ridges, still using his fingers on what he couldn’t get inside his mouth. It felt like love.

He felt like this had been going on forever. He couldn’t discern if he enjoyed forever and wanted to stay there or if he wanted to be rid of it immediately. Somehow he yearned for both.

He squeezed his legs into Phoenix’s sides, urging him to go faster, please. Phoenix took the cue and picked up a harder, faster pace. It was almost too much. The world fell away. He wasn’t in a dark cabin in a blizzard in the mountains, he felt like he was nowhere. He was being smothered in a thick, black euphoria.

He was no one. He loved someone. It felt good. It felt amazing. He was so close.

He wrapped his fingers through Phoenix’s, squeezing his hand. Phoenix in return held his hand tighter and moved his tongue even harder. 

Miles lifted his other hand to his face, panting now, and turned his head towards the fireplace, then quickly the opposite way. He didn’t want Phoenix to be able to glimpse whatever expression happened to be on his face by the firelight. Not like this.

He couldn’t keep still anymore. He curled his legs into Phoenix’s body, twisted his back, gripped his fingers in and out of his own hair, anything he could do to channel what was welling up inside him, threatening to break out of his chest with a sledgehammer like somebody would bust through a brick wall. He felt so brittle, so mortal.

And suddenly Phoenix found the precise point that ached to be touched.

Miles cried out softly, unable to keep himself quiet.

Phoenix stayed there, pressed harder, moved faster.

Miles dug his ankles into Phoenix’s sides, gripping the hand on his leg.

Phoenix reacted with speed, with pressure.

It was so much, too much.

He tilted his hips, softly moaning in frustration.

He was so painfully close.

It was warm, slippery, firm, determined. 

His whole body felt like it was contracting. He felt like he was falling.

And then it was ripped open. 

Pleasure. Confusion. A heartbeat pounding in his whole body. The mouth he was coming into.

He squeezed Phoenix between his legs as he recoiled in orgasm, letting out a noise that sounded much more like anger than bliss.

But it felt like love. 

His breath was uneven, shaking, as he relaxed.

It felt so much like love.

Miles dripped back into his body piece by piece like an hourglass running out.

He felt his chest, his upper arms, his thighs, his legs, his hands, his feet. His head would not return. He wasn’t sure if he really was where he thought he was. He hardly felt like a living person anymore, more like a spirit trapped inside a doll, unable to move the floppy cotton limbs he was bound to.

He knew who he was with though, and the body pressed between his legs moved, paving kisses along his stomach through his shirt and pulling his waistband back where it belonged. His hands moved to Phoenix’s shoulders on their own.

He knew where he had climaxed and Phoenix hadn’t spit. He knew it was meaningless, technically. Pragmatic, even. Something about the fact was intoxicating. He felt wanted. There was no reason it had to signify anything and yet thinking about it felt as self-indulgent as any of his sorry fantasies. 

His eyes were closed and he did not open them. His breathing returned to a normal pace. He relinquished his hands as Phoenix came to lie down next to him, scooting uncomfortably close to the edge so they could lie shoulder-to-shoulder on the small bed. Phoenix settled and pulled the layered silver blankets over the both of them. He turned his head to look at Miles as if he could see through the dark if he stared long enough.

“Hey.”

Miles made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Is it... I mean, would it gross you out if...” Phoenix stopped and sighed. “Can I kiss you?”

Miles slowly and silently rolled to his side, lifting his hand to pull Phoenix’s face towards him. Phoenix leaned over into him more quickly than Miles could process and roughly pushed his fingers through Miles’s hair as he kissed him. The fingertips over his scalp felt like little static shocks of pleasure and he tilted his face away from the overwhelmingly warm kiss to sigh in contentment.

He felt like he must be dreaming. Everything felt foreign and intangible beyond the body pressed against him, the stable hand on his back, the lips pressing to his face. It was all so strange and pleasant it had to be imagined. What kind of investigation could have realistically wound up with him sharing body heat with his rival - the man his heart unquestionably belonged to - and end up in a post-coital embrace that felt so impossibly sweet? Maybe the wall would fall away and they would walk out to find their spring wedding. That sounded reasonable.

The more he considered it, the more he knew he couldn’t deny this was reality. Miles thought about where he was, who he was, what had happened earlier in the day. Phoenix decided he was done kissing him and after pressing his lips to Miles’s especially firm and long he relinquished, relaxing back onto the loud mattress. Miles wondered if Phoenix was as confused as he was.

Phoenix leaned over onto his back and sighed very quietly, Miles couldn’t quite tell if it was happy or tired or sad or if it was even any emotion at all. He wanted it to mean contentment, fulfillment, relief. He didn’t trust himself to judge with such burdensome hopes weighing him down.

He realized it was probably polite to say something. If Phoenix was sighing in discomfort or confusion he could reassure him. But what comfort could he give that wouldn’t come off as too clingy if this was just a one night stand? Miles was not a man who made moves until he knew what type of hand his opponent held. He was no gambler, especially not with his own heart. He leaned forward and lifted his head to rest his cheek on Phoenix’s shoulder. 

He breathed out. What should he say? Thanks? He understood now where such a stupid response had come from. He was so tired. He decided he was cognizant enough to trust himself saying whatever might come out. He thought in silence for a moment, then spoke.

“I hate you.”

Oh. Not that.

Phoenix laughed loudly and it echoed faintly off the wooden roof as he pushed Miles in the stomach with his elbow. At least it had gone over well. And it was certainly better than saying what he actually felt.

Phoenix sighed as he calmed down and Miles listened to his heartbeat bumping underneath the purposeful sound of the in and out of his breathing. 

“You don’t really, do you?” Phoenix murmured, cutting into the silence.

“What, hate you?”

The wood in the fireplace collapsed and sputtered. They both breathed deeply, always so close to being in sync but never quite making it.

“Yeah.”

“Of course not, ass,” Miles grumbled.

Phoenix struggled to look down at him and Miles leaned back to accommodate where he seemed to want to move to find him staring. “See, sometimes you say things like that and I’m not so sure.”

Miles was quiet. He backed away from Phoenix, hesitant. He sat up on his elbow, illuminated by the low orange light of the fire and looked down at him.

“I don’t hate you,” he said with an exhausted sincerity. It was the most genuine, unguarded thing he could remember saying in almost a year.

Phoenix studied him for an excruciatingly long moment.

“Okay,” Phoenix conceded.

Miles looked over at the fire. The wood was consumed, glowing red and the flame barely stood up from its bright surface. He should add more. He laid his head back down onto his folded arm. He would. In a second.

“I don’t hate you either.”

“I wouldn’t think that,” Miles rebutted defensively.

“Just so we’re clear,” Phoenix replied with a calm ease.

“Hm,” Miles acknowledged.

He looked over what he could see of Phoenix. His chest rose and fell. His eyes blinked intermittently and changed focus between points on the ceiling. His hands were uncharacteristically motionless on his stomach. He seemed perfect. 

No. He wasn’t.

He was absolutely imperfect. He was clumsy and impulsive and more often than not forewent a portion of the necessary reading before his trials. The number on his business card was crossed off and rewritten correctly in ballpoint pen above the stricken print. He frequently missed the same spot on his left cheek near his ear when he shaved. He had one tooth on the bottom that was noticeably crooked but it was only visible when he laughed - really laughed.

It was all perfectly Phoenix. And in that respect, he was perfect. He was impeccably flawed.

Miles pressed his face into Phoenix’s arm. It smelled like his own closet and detergent but beyond that it smelled like Phoenix. It was uncomplicated - the barely lingering perfume of a cheap deodorant and the scent of his body - but it was comforting. Miles wished Phoenix would just wrap him up in his arms and not let go. Maybe they were done touching for the rest of the night. It would still be cold, though. There was still hope.

Miles moved his legs over next to Phoenix’s to find they were still bare. He would get cold again very quickly if Miles didn’t tend to the fire and he had already had mild hypothermia once in the same day.

Okay. Fine.

He sighed and sat up, trying to keep the emergency blanket as undisturbed as possible while he exited to prevent the cold air from being sucked under. It went unsuccessfully. Phoenix curled his knees up near his chest and let out a tight, uneven breath. With his face to the shadows Miles couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.

“Where are you going?” Phoenix asked as Miles turned to rest his feet on the cool wood floor.

“Adding firewood,” he replied briefly, standing up. 

He walked awkwardly with his arms wound up into each other and pressed to his chest, trying to keep his legs as close together as possible. He watched the floor in front of him and down below the bare skin between his underwear and his socks was prominently goosebumped, all his leg hair puffed out like an angry cat’s tail.

He weaved his footsteps between the clothes on the floor and bent down in front of the fire, taking a moment to draw in the welcome heat from the almost-smoldering wood. He stared into the small pile of ash under the remnants of log hosting the flame and thought about tomorrow. How could he face Phoenix at the trial? He would do his best not to let it show but things were now irreversibly changed.

He sat cross legged in front of the fireplace, tilting over to reach for another piece of firewood. He planted it on top of the ash and lowered it cautiously through the fire with another log which he laid crossed over the first. The fire suddenly brightened, quickly springing forth tall, thin flames that dragged creeping black shadows along the edges of the wood. It crackled joyfully as it consumed the new fuel and Miles sighed, closing his eyes as the heat intensified.

It was possible nothing would change. They would keep their safe distance, their healthy professional rivalry-slash-partnership, their numbers saved in each others’ phones but never called and certainly never texted. But Miles had changed. Or maybe he hadn’t. It seemed like he had never actually fallen out of love in the first place. 

He felt like he had reverted to some sad creature he used to be, but as he imagined himself sitting in front of the fire he saw both the desperately lovesick young man and the cautious, learned one who knew better and accepted it. They both felt appropriate as descriptors but somehow not quite right. He felt like a bizarre paradox, two seemingly conflicting versions of himself occupying the same space. 

The cabin had revealed itself as a liminal place where all possible outcomes for their relationship, from the mundane to the impossible, seemed exactly as likely - and all equally terrifying. What would happen when he crossed the threshold into the snow in the early morning? Would the slots stop spinning as he exited or would he have to wait hours, days, weeks, for fate to reveal itself?

The fire was growing too intense to sit close to but Miles didn’t feel much like moving. The skin on his face was tight and hot but his spine felt like it was leaned up against a solid block of ice. He hesitantly maneuvered himself around to warm his back and he turned away from the fire, everything in the room swimming in a confusing white blur while his eyes adjusted. He looked down at the clothes on the floor in front of him and touched his undershirt with his palm. It felt dry enough now, it was probably fine to put it back on.

He reached down to lift his shirt and brushed through something cold. He glanced at his hand to find a clear wet glint across his palm. Pulling the edge of his shirt out and twisting at the waist to lean towards the light, Miles identified the smear of seminal fluid that he had likely rolled through. He spotted another smaller stain just a few inches away towards his lower back.

He sighed and wiped his hand on a patch of his shirt that he had confirmed as clean, picking up his undershirt to pull over his head. There was no point in wearing it underneath now that his outer shirt boasted an embarrassing signature of what they had done. And he had made the mistake of wiping his hand on the sweater Phoenix wore - his sweater - earlier as well. As he pulled his warmed undershirt down over the first, he reflected that all three of the shirts he had entered with were now marked with the results of their bold stunt.

As he reveled in the comfort of his new warm garment, he scowled at his hand, idly pressing his thumb to his fingers to gauge just how much bodily fluid had been left with him. His hand was still slightly tacky despite his best efforts to foist it all onto Phoenix and he slipped his hand between his shirts to rub his palm on the designated clean side. He touched his palm again and found it unsatisfactory but it was the best he could do.

He considered just how much of his experience he would be taking home with him and swallowed uncomfortably, trying to avoid the lurking thoughts of debauchment that threatened to surface. He would be by himself again eventually, assessing the stains in his laundry room, if he decided to clean them -- which of course he would, because it was sanitary and there was no use throwing out a shirt just because it was stained, and because keeping an unwashed shirt just because it was stained... He didn’t dare. Until maybe he might dare later. He prayed he wouldn’t end up anywhere near an act so stupidly desperate. He was disgusted with himself for even letting the thought exist.

Phoenix let out a shivery sigh, pulling his legs into his body even tighter. Miles had almost forgotten he wasn’t alone and he glanced up at Phoenix who stared at him with his eyebrows drawn together as though he felt guilty. He must be cold. Miles looked at the clothes spread over the floor and wondered if any of it could be used yet.

He tested each article of clothing with the back of his fingers in dissatisfaction, finding it all too wet. Phoenix’s boxers were dry on one side but left a faint shadow of moisture behind on the wood floor when he lifted them. He flipped the damp side up and laid them next to where he sat closer to the fire.

“They’re not dry?” Phoenix asked.

Miles shook his head.

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” he asked, pointing to the discarded thermal pants hanging off the bed.

“I’m too cold to get up and put them on,” Phoenix mumbled tersely.

“Give them to me.”

“Can’t you get them?” he grumbled, pulling the silver blanket over his head.

Miles sighed at Phoenix’s obstinance but ultimately didn’t blame him. He crouched forward, standing up, and stepped through the garments strewn on the floor to pick the pants up off the bed. He turned around again to stand in front of the fire, holding them up between himself and the radiating warmth. He stood for a few minutes, absorbed in the sensation of his skin cooling off as the heat emanating from the fireplace was blocked.

He turned the pants around and stood still again, closing his eyes and breathing in the hot air. It boiled and rose through the cold, brushing against his face like a handful of down feathers dropped over his skin. The pockets of warmth smelled like pine and smoke. It was almost pleasant. He turned around to face Phoenix.

“Wright.”

Phoenix grunted and didn’t move.

“They’re warm.”

Phoenix pulled the blanket away with suspicion to see Miles holding the pants out in his direction. He sat up on his elbow, perking up immediately. Miles lowered the pants and opened them, lifting one leg ostentatiously to suggest he wasn’t about to give them away.

“W-why you--!” Phoenix sputtered and Miles lifted his head to take a mental photograph of the completely priceless look on his face.

“Oh don’t go crying over it,” he said, putting his foot down and smirking, throwing the pants onto Phoenix.

“Dick!” he scolded accusatively, grabbing up the warm pants in desperation.

Miles felt like he could needle Phoenix for hundreds of years and it would never get old. He watched with far too much satisfaction as Phoenix surrendered his secure position under the blanket to hastily pull the clothes on. Once they were on Phoenix settled again, crinkling the blankets in every direction before finally falling still to look over at the silhouette of Miles in front of the fire. Miles looked back at him, arms crossed and legs together for warmth.

“These are great,” Phoenix sighed, closing his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Miles responded, looking away.

“Come back over here.”

“Give me a minute,” he said, once again facing the fire, lifting his hands to warm his palms.

He thought about Phoenix. He thought about the stupid fantasy of their life together. He thought of a situation in which he could heckle him whenever he felt like it. He thought about being driven crazy whenever Phoenix wanted to return fire. He already felt like he was going crazy. It almost felt right.

Miles turned again to look at him. He was curled up under the blanket, staring back at him with a stern, disconcerting focus. Miles sat down, hugging his legs tightly and resting his forehead on his knees to avoid looking back. Away from the fire everything felt cold and his slow breaths out preserved the dissipating warmth lingering on his chest and thighs. He was beginning to get too hot.

He lifted his head again to study Phoenix. He looked uncomfortable but ultimately peaceful, lying with his brows slightly knit and his eyes closed. 

“Has it been a minute?” Phoenix asked, unsuccessfully preventing the irritation from surfacing in his voice.

Miles sighed. “I guess.”

“Come keep me warm.”

Miles rolled his eyes and stood up hesitantly, stretching onto his toes and then leaning back to flex his shoulders. He maneuvered around the arrangement on the floor and past the back of the bed, kneeling onto it with one leg and then lying down next to Phoenix, who rolled over to envelop him in the blanket.

It was a flurry of silver crunching and Phoenix wrapped him up suddenly and tightly, pushing his cold hair into Miles’s hot neck, arms and legs twisting into any place they could find. Phoenix let out a shuddering sigh, stiffly pulling him close and not letting go.

“You’re warm,” Phoenix moaned. His voice was partially muffled as he spoke into Miles’s chest, sending a flutter of elation up his lower back. Would he be opposed to having sex again tonight? No. They shouldn’t. Of course not. Miles swallowed and let his hand make its way across Phoenix’s back.

It felt so steady under his palm, almost guaranteeing to him that it would rise or fall once more, one after the other. He felt the muscles and bones move, the warm air heating his chest, then absent as Phoenix took a breath in, the soft polyester over the fidgeting legs wrapped through his own. It felt natural somehow, like they were two pieces that just somehow managed to fit together.

The day had been so overwhelming. Miles turned the events of the murder over in his head, piecing everything together delicately, step by step. He yawned and relaxed, realizing he was dangerously close to falling asleep. He probably already would have if Phoenix wasn’t moving so much.

“Stay still,” Miles murmured.

“I have to pee like crazy.”

Miles leaned away, sitting up on his arm. He pointed toward the fireplace, then over his shoulder. “Bucket, sink. The sink is probably more sanitary.”

Phoenix snorted in laughter. “Wow, I can’t believe you’re telling me to pee in the sink.”

“You want to go outside? Be my guest,” he said, lying back down.

“I don’t, thanks,” Phoenix replied dryly. “It’s just funny coming from you of all people.”

“Get out of here. I’m sick of your squirming,” Miles said padding the harshness of his tone with a guarded smile, averting his gaze.

Phoenix got up sluggishly and Miles closed his eyes, a single violent shiver running through his abdomen now that he was alone in the cold. He listened to the sounds of the cabin, trying to ignore what was taking place behind him. He also needed to relieve himself but was determined to put it off as long as he possibly could.

“Hmm, the sink doesn’t work,” Phoenix grumbled.

“I tried it earlier. They probably shut off the water in the winter.”

“Excellent deduction, prosecutor,” he said sarcastically, jumping on his toes back to the bed and clambering in next to Miles.

“Don’t touch me,” Miles complained as Phoenix wrapped his hands around his chest.

“What, it’s not like I peed on my hands,” he justified tersely, reaching up to poke his cheek.

“Unsanitary, Wright!” Miles growled, pushing his hand away.

“Sorry, they were all out of hand soap,” Phoenix said in a tone that couldn’t have been delivered with any expression but the most caustic eye roll.

Actually...

Miles sat up, looking to where he had left the emergency supply kit.

“Hey, wait, I didn’t think you were really mad,” Phoenix stumbled, sitting up as well. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Miles raised his hand to shush Phoenix and looked over his shoulder to scowl at the overreaction.

“Did you see that bag from earlier?”

Phoenix shrugged at him.

He looked over the edge of the bedframe and found it toppled over onto the floor. He crawled over to reach for it and dragged it up onto his lap. He rummaged through it, then held a small clear bottle of hand sanitizer out to Phoenix.

“Wow, handy,” Phoenix said, inwardly impressed.

Miles dug through the canvas emergency kit. With all the pockets inside it almost resembled a toolbag and it was completely packed with a surprising variety of extremely helpful survival items. He could kiss whoever made the decision to put the bag there.

“Are you hungry?” Miles said, holding up a square blue package.

“Starving,” Phoenix blurted, eyes lighting up at the suggestion of eating. “What the hell is that?”

“Multi-purpose emergency ration,” Miles read out robotically, angling the package toward the light. He flipped it over and silently read the back.

“...Expiration date, July 2017.”

They shared an uncertain look and Phoenix shrugged. He ripped open the package and a small square bar wrapped in clear plastic tumbled out. He grabbed it and held it up, then brought it up to his face to sniff.

“It’s probably fine,” he justified, holding it out to Phoenix tentatively.

“It’s probably better than half the stuff in my fridge right now,” Phoenix said, shrugging again as he took it. “I mean, if you want I’ll go first to make sure it’s not poisoned or something.”

“Generous of you,” Miles rolled his eyes, then looked at Phoenix. “My understanding is that it takes over 12 hours for symptoms of botulism to manifest.”

“Good to know...” Phoenix looked at the small square in his hand grimly.

He ripped open the clear wrapper with his teeth and made a face as he fished a fragment of plastic out of his mouth. He peeled it open gingerly and Miles observed with caution, taking another bar out of the package to prepare to do the same. Phoenix took a bite and brought his hand to his face to catch the pieces of food crumbling from the bizarrely greasy packaging. He chewed it for a moment.

“Yeah, I mean,” he started, looking at it. “It tastes edible enough.”

Miles peeled open his package and tasted a piece, then shook his head in mild disbelief, conceding it was indeed edible. Not good by any stretch, but it was expired survival food and not a five star restaurant. He took another bite and looked over the package as he chewed.

They ate in silence and Phoenix fished a second piece out of the package in Miles’s hand as he finished the first. Miles put down the package and reached back into the emergency tool bag, procuring a floppy white pouch.

“Water?”

“Please.”

He handed the pouch to Phoenix and grabbed another from the bag.

“Coast guard approved... 5 year shelf life...” he read as Phoenix drank. “Manufactured... 7 years ago.”

“Water expires?” Phoenix said in disbelief.

“I guess so,” Miles said, opening his water and taking a drink. “It tastes fine.”

“We have 12 hours for the botulism to kick in anyway,” Phoenix said with a grin.

Miles rolled his eyes and looked away so Phoenix wouldn’t catch him smiling. He couldn’t help but to marvel again at how comfortable it all felt. Here they were, eating expired rations after a strange and unexpected sexual encounter while they were snowed in on an investigation. It felt like it almost could have been a casual Sunday. 

If they could cultivate this mood in such a hostile environment what would it be like to see him more often outside of work? A dinner date, even? What would it be like if they lived together? His mouth went dry at the thought. He cleared his throat and opened a second ration, brushing the thoughts away.

“Hey...” Phoenix started, then was quiet.

Miles glanced over at him but didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue.

“Is this...” he gestured with his hand between them. “...going to make the trial awkward tomorrow?”

“Only if you make it awkward,” Miles mumbled offhandedly, turning his head to stare into the dark with disinterest.

Phoenix thought silently as he broke off another piece of the dusty bar and chewed it slowly.

“Have you ever slept with anyone from court before?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Miles said, whipping his head around to look over at him, scandalized.

“You have? Seriously?” Phoenix said, laughing in disbelief.

“None of your concern!” Miles said more defensively, avoiding his gaze.

“Please tell me who,” Phoenix said, leaning towards him and squeezing his arm.

Miles rolled his eyes, then laughed briefly and shook his head. “Nobody! Wright. Seriously? Who do you think I am?”

“You just sounded so guilty when you said it! Just tell me.”

“When I meant it was none of your concern I meant just that,” he paused. “I swear to you I have never slept with anyone from court,” he said solemnly, turning to look at Phoenix.

Phoenix examined his face sternly for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Okay,” he resigned in disappointment.

Miles scowled at him in a humorous disbelief. “Have you?”

“Nah,” Phoenix said, looking idly about the shadows cast from the fireplace, then smiling. “I thought about it, though.”

“Who?” Miles asked pointedly, looking at him with suspicion.

Phoenix reflexively shoved a too-large piece of the ration into his mouth and looked away. “Yeah, nevermind,” he said with his mouth full.

“You know I’m an expert at getting witnesses to tell me what I want to know, right?” Miles threatened casually, taking a bite of his bar.

“Unfair! You’ve been in court like a million times with tons of people. With me you could just narrow it down like that,” Phoenix huffed, still chewing. “And you know I’m a crappy liar.”

“You’re a crappy lawyer?” he mocked coolly, pretending to misunderstand. “You should at least try and give yourself some credit for your great effort.”

“S-shut up!” Phoenix retorted childishly.

“Oh calm down, I wouldn’t. I respect your desire for privacy,” Miles said, intentionally obnoxiously full of himself, then paused to think about it more seriously. “Not to mention if you’re really that embarrassed I don’t know if I even want to know.”

Phoenix abruptly let out a loud chagrined laugh.

“Jeeze,” he reflected, smiling sheepishly. “This feels like a really weird sleepover.”

Miles took a quiet drink of water.

“Or a really weird dream,” Phoenix pondered out loud, with an almost pained expression.

Miles glanced over at his coat next to the fireplace to avoid having to look at Phoenix. Is this the type of thing he dreamed about? It certainly wouldn’t be out of place in his own daydreams. He finished the water and tucked the empty package back into the emergency kit.

He had now eaten, drank, slept with and kissed the man he had spent hundreds of hours fantasizing about. He felt oddly content, navigating around Phoenix to lie down. He considered it would almost be nice if the blizzard was too severe for the rescue team to come until later the following day. He wondered what he had to do to arrange for an inconvenience to trap them together again.

Or, he considered suddenly, I could just ask him like a normal person might.

He wasn’t sure. It seemed a bit far-fetched.

He was tired. He recalled being tired when they had pulled into the vista parking where the CSI van had set up camp in the late morning before the clouds had rolled in. Now, all those hours later, it seemed to drag on endlessly. When was the last time he had felt rested? It seemed like he had last left his bed neatly made weeks ago. He guessed it was probably around 8 or 9 pm. He didn’t care to reach for his phone and confirm.

He put the bag on the floor and leaned down onto his elbows, stretching out his legs. Phoenix watched him and brushed the crumbs off the emergency blanket. When he laid down on his stomach and rested his head on his crossed arms Phoenix roused as well, lying down on his side next to Miles. After a few minutes of still silence Phoenix let out a deep breath through his nose, then crept a hand onto Miles’s lower back. Miles was almost too asleep to register the contact but it was undeniably comfortable. He was slipping closer into a dream, a vivid rerun of his earlier fantasy. 

They had had gotten back from a date. Phoenix joked about how somebody so responsible as Miles could forget to close the windows of his own house on the coldest night on record in 15 years. Miles poured two glasses of Cabernet. The wine was left half-empty on the coffee table. Phoenix’s lips tasted like rich alcohol. Their hands went wherever they pleased. His bed was suddenly warm and soft and inviting. They deserved each other.

And it would happen again.

--

It wasn’t a pleasant sleep by any stretch.

Miles had woken 4 separate times to tend to the fire, once to pee, a few more times he had half-woken to adjust himself to sharing a twin bed with another adult, and once he had woken when Phoenix got up to put more wood on the fire. He had stubbornly insisted Phoenix shouldn’t have to do that and it was rooted partially in a sleepy primal desire to care for him but it was admittedly also born from the fear he might put too much firewood in. Even poorly rested he knew Phoenix well enough to presume he might think he was clever enough to make the fire last longer by putting more fuel. However he had been observing Miles before and diligently added an acceptably small amount before returning to bed with him.

The phone rang before the sun rose.

The stark digital clock in the corner of the black screen read 4:38 am. Miles answered the phone before he had the chance to clear his throat and his voice sounded gruff and congested.

“Hello?” he answered without thinking of a more appropriate greeting.

“Sir!” the phone blared. Miles held it slightly away from his head, sensitive to the unexpected noise as he woke up. “You’re okay! I mean, uh, you’re okay right?”

Miles rubbed his eye with the heel of his free hand and looked at Phoenix as he stirred.

“We’re fine.”

“The snow finally quit a few hours ago and some of the guys were getting kinda anxious to get over there on the snowmobiles.”

He knew exactly who was anxious and he felt pity on Gumshoe for having to spend his night trapped with Evel Knievel reincarnated as a misguided rescue agent.

“There’s no reason to risk sending anyone down before it starts getting light out,” Miles said, pinching his eyes shut to prevent the burning tiredness that tingled under his eyelids.

He heard Gumshoe sigh and inwardly thanked him for being such a long-suffering man. As boisterous and hasty as he frequently acted he seemed to possess a completely angelic patience.

“So I guess the only detective around here is on his honeymoon but we already called the county to talk jurisdiction. They were pretty pissed to have LAPD butting in on their homicide again.”

“God... How arrogant can they be?” he muttered. “Certainly they must know their backwater substitute for a police department has no capacity for dealing with a serial killer.”

“No kidding! You tell ‘em Mr. Edgeworth!”

“I’d love to have a word with whoever runs their law enforcement,” Miles continued. “I’m sure if they really understood the scope of this crime they’d beg for us to take the investigation.”

“I’ll get his number!” 

“I look forward to it. When is the K9 unit coming?”

“Not sure but, uh, probably around sunrise. Those guys don’t waste time.”

It was true, and part of the reason Miles loved the K9 units.

“Detective... Please don’t let Mr. Haste convince anyone to start heading down before the light breaks. It would be foolish of them to endanger their lives to get here without an emergency.”

There was a short pause and he felt like he could hear the burden of Gumshoe’s shoulders slouching in disappointment. “Understood, sir... I’ll do my best.”

“You always do,” Miles said without thinking, then flinched inwardly.

“Sir-!” Gumshoe stumbled. “It’s an honor to hear that coming from you! I’ll make it my mission!”

Despite the fact that it had already been his appointed task in the first place, he had now been motivated by Miles’s reassuring words. If there was anyone whom encouragement would make unstoppable it was Detective Dick Gumshoe. Miles felt grateful to have him there and thought he could almost smile despite how groggy and stiff he felt.

“Try and get some rest.”

“Yes, sir!”

“We’ll see you at sunrise.”

“I look forward to it!”

Miles hung up the phone and nearly fell back down onto the bed. It was still dark and had gotten so much colder outside that the effort of his fire couldn’t banish the faint wisps of white air that rose as they exhaled. It was quiet, though. The snowfall had stopped and with it the wind had also left. The only sounds were the fire and the soft noises they made involuntarily. He supposed if he stepped out into the blackness his own breath would still be the only thing he heard, any other noise swallowed by the pillowy snow as the relentless cold pressed into him.

He was content under the blanket, though. Their combined heat had created a comfortable environment - despite the lack of space - and his hand between their bodies was almost illogically warm while his jealous exposed cheeks were cool.

Phoenix had moved while Miles was on the phone but he was still once again. Miles figured he probably hadn’t even woken up. It was so strange to lie next to him, only inches between their noses. His breath was warm and quiet. His body was warm and soft. His entire personality was warm and inviting. Miles felt honored to know somebody as rare as Phoenix, let alone lie next to him.

No, it was much more than honor. It was love. And it was undeniable. He loved Phoenix Wright. Miles wished he could touch him without disturbing him. He wondered what he had to do to make sure he could always keep the gentle contact between the two of them open as an option. He would relax docilely under Phoenix’s hand. He would start arguments just so Phoenix would shut him down with a palm on his shoulder, played like a convenient escape to a dispute to encourage him further. He would sit far too close when nobody else was around. Whatever it took. He prayed he would have the courage.

He decided to start right away, tossing away the concern that he’d disturb Phoenix as he inched closer and rested his cheek against Phoenix’s chest. He felt the lungs and heart inside diligently working and Phoenix breathed in deeply, probably waking up. He brought a hand limply around Miles’s shoulders and settled again.

It would be a few hours before sunrise still and light wouldn’t break until at least 6. 

He had suggested Gumshoe rest before daybreak and decided he should do the same.

It wasn’t hard to fall back asleep when he felt so serene.

When he woke from the cold to find the firewood smoldering again the window was luminescent with a dim grey light. He sat up, yawning and groggy, tightly crossing his arms across his chest. It was almost time to return to the world.

He shifted his legs out from under the blanket to place them on the floor and the freezing air cut into his skin, sending a violent shiver through his body. Phoenix reached out drowsily, bumping into his lower back then reaching around his waist to attempt to pull him back in.

“I’m cold,” he murmured half-asleep.

“Cut it out,” Miles objected, peeling his hand away.

If he laid back down it would just get colder but it was a legitimate temptation. Phoenix probably wasn’t awake enough to consider why he was getting up at all. He knew he needed to stand up as soon as possible or he might give in. Giving himself an ultimatum, he forced himself upright and now that he was on his own tremors arced through his core from one end of his body to the other.

He made his way to the fireplace in as few steps as possible and decided it was probably fine if he put more wood than he had previously. He wasn’t sure how else he was going to manage to get Phoenix to get up if it was cold enough that he could see his own breath. He made sure it caught and the room was illuminated slightly. He rushed back to the bed and accidentally lifted the blanket too high jumping back in. When the cold reached Phoenix he made a tired noise of alarm.

“Sorry,” Miles mumbled automatically as Phoenix wrapped around him in desperation.

They had spent so much of the night twisted in and out of each other it almost felt natural if he could forget who he was tangled with. As he settled with Phoenix’s cheek pressed to his, slightly below where they would have lined up perfectly, he felt euphoric. The soft and willing lips that had been over so much of his skin just hours ago were right there. He could even kiss him if he wanted to. If he dared. Maybe Phoenix wouldn’t move far enough away to have access to his lips, but he could just as easily kiss his cheek, his neck, his shoulder...

But he didn’t dare. It felt too lecherous. Maybe if he was more awake. Miles imagined facing Phoenix and knew he could never work up the nerve to get so close to him as to kiss him. Not if he was looking. Making eye contact with him was like being stabbed in the gut but he wanted it. It hurt in ways he felt addicted to. Even though he always quickly turned away, he always pushed himself to look. Not everybody was worth the courtesy of eye contact but Phoenix was the paramount exception.

Miles sighed. He knew law enforcement was on their way. He knew he may never hold Phoenix in his arms again until the day he died. His stomach soured thinking that it was most likely he would drop this precious thing he held and have to watch it shatter. He leaned back from where he was pressed to look at what he could see of Phoenix. Still too close, he could see Phoenix’s eyebrows knit in confusion and his closed eyes pressed more tightly shut as he brought his hand up to Miles’s shoulder to keep him near.

“It’s getting light out. They’ll be heading down soon,” he said as quietly as he could with his clumsy and exhausted voice.

Phoenix made a face, eyes shut, and made a noise as if he intended to say something but forgot to open his mouth.

“When Gumshoe calls we have to get ready.”

Phoenix sighed. “Mm,” he grumbled with a troubled expression. “Okay.”

He could rest there for a short while waiting for the cabin to warm and then he would get up again. He wouldn’t fall asleep. He would try his hardest not to fall asleep.

Fortunately, Phoenix had decided it was time to wake up and stretched his arms obnoxiously through Miles’s personal space, twisting at the waist as he groaned, then retracting into the blanket. He rolled away a bit and opened his eyes, rubbing his face with both his hands.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled behind his hands.

“Not convincing.”

“No. I am,” he said with a sudden but slow determination.

He pulled his hands away and turned his head to look at Miles.

“This is weird.”

Miles bristled. “You’re welcome to lie in the cold by yourself.”

“What? I’m not--” he paused to squint as he thought drowsily. “It’s not you in particular. I mean it sort of is, but--”

“You’re also welcome to shut up at any time.”

Phoenix laughed. “See? You’re like-- I’m not saying it’s bad, I just...” Phoenix trailed off, looking at the ceiling, then into Miles’s eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t think this is weird?”

“I don’t know,” Miles grumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Is this something you do often?”

“No!” Miles blurted defensively without even stopping to consider exactly what “this” Phoenix was referring to.

“So you have to accept, it’s weird. Unusual. Different.”

“I-” Miles started cautiously, then paused in thought. “That’s true.”

They were quiet again and didn’t look at each other.

“The thing that really throws me off is...” Phoenix paused, realizing he was treading into uncertain territory. “I guess I haven’t seen you this relaxed since we were kids.”

Miles laughed inwardly thinking of what Phoenix must see that indicated he was relaxed - he felt as wound up as ever. But that wasn’t up for discussion. He made a dismissive noise and took in a deep breath slowly, holding it for a second before he silently let it go.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds but detected the imminent risk of falling asleep and forced himself to open them. Phoenix lie a few inches away, seeming to stare through him. It was difficult to associate this peaceful image with the man he was famous for arguing with. To think that Phoenix rested was logical but Miles never imagined it would look like this. 

The shape of his face was truly apparent now that he was neutral - his high cheekbones weren’t softened by a cocky smile or a scowl of disappointment. Miles saw his lips, finally at rest for once, the curve of his lower lip giving him a subtle perpetual pout. No wonder they were so soft, they seemed to possess a secret fullness he never seemed to notice while Phoenix rambled.

His eyes were the same even as they blinked slow and expressionless. They had an alert sheen, like a leisurely house cat who couldn’t be bothered to act but watched the birds through the window just the same. It seemed like at any second he could counter-argue with anything Miles might summon. Even when he was bluffing he always seemed to come to the right conclusion.

He was beautiful.

Miles loved him. Possibly more than anyone else in his life.

He wanted to tell Phoenix but knew he never could. Miles wished he could telepathically relay his feelings to him. He would think “I love you, I love you so much,” and Phoenix would suddenly know. He focused on Phoenix’s eyes.

I love you.

I’ve always loved you.

I know it’s stupid.

Phoenix knit his brow uncomfortably and cleared his throat. Miles’s stomach quivered with nausea hoping he hadn’t just said something unfortunate out loud.

“Are you mad at me?” Phoenix asked, looking at the ceiling.

“No,” Miles asserted suddenly in horror. “Why?”

“You’re...” Phoenix laughed. “You’ve got this look on your face like you’re 3 seconds away from strangling me.”

“No!” Miles echoed again anxiously.

“Good to know,” Phoenix surrendered. 

His gaze was soft and Miles struggled to make sure his was as well but doubted his capacity to do anything but look angry.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Phoenix said, grinning halfway in apology.

“I’m not--” Miles started to deny but gave up. “I don’t mean to look at you like that.”

Phoenix sighed and nodded, meeting his gaze. Miles saw an expression of acceptance and figured he must have at least convinced Phoenix he wasn’t angry if he hadn’t managed to wrangle his relentless leer.

He tried to relax, looking into his eyes, but felt uneasy. He knew he couldn’t close his eyes so he focused on something else and watched Phoenix’s side rise and fall, silhouetted by the golden glow of the fire behind him.

Then the phone rang.

They were on their way. The K9 units were nearly to the crime scene. It shouldn’t be more than an hour. He bid a curt goodbye. 

It was truly over.

He suddenly felt heavy. The implications were too real. He was returning to his life knowing something would have to change and whether or not it would end in disaster was anyone’s guess. His stomach squirmed.

Phoenix sat up and was looking over at him with a weak, sleepy gaze. When Miles noticed he couldn’t help but scowl. It wasn’t fair. This had all been a huge mistake. He wasn’t ready. And yet, at the same time, a piece of him was ecstatic. It urged him. It remembered every word in his journal he had written in lovesick despair and it held him in a chokehold, demanding action. But he didn’t know if he could.

He stood up and picked his clothes off the floor, slinging them over his arm. They were much drier than they had been when he took them off but they were still cold and he knew getting dressed would be unpleasant. He put on his pants and buttoned them, looking out the window. The window was partially obscured by a frame of snow that rounded off the square corners in a small ellipse through which he could see the cobalt sky fading into a dusty yellow at the horizon.

He heard Phoenix stand up and turned his attention back to the room to find him collecting his clothes. He looked up at Miles, who averted his eyes immediately.

“They’re still kind of wet,” he said, disappointed.

“You’ll be fine for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Phoenix groaned under his breath.

“It won’t kill you,” Miles retorted bitterly.

“I’m sure it builds character, too,” he grumbled, standing up with his underwear stretched between his hands by the waistband.

Miles turned his attention away from where he wished he could stare as Phoenix stepped out of the thermal pants he had borrowed. The sound of his feet stomping on the wood floor as he stumbled and his almost inaudible curses at the concept of winter itself echoed bluntly off the wooden walls. 

“Here,” Phoenix said, nudging Miles with his knuckles.

Miles turned and Phoenix held out the pants to him, shivering in his boxers. Miles looked away in discomfort.

“Just keep them on.”

Phoenix was quiet for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t need them.”

“Okay,” Phoenix accepted hesitantly, withdrawing his hand.

“...I would like my sweater back, though,” Miles said slowly, then paused. “If you don’t mind.”

“No! It’s yours,” Phoenix said, already halfway out of it.

Phoenix draped it over Miles’s shoulder and almost hit him in the face as he glanced to investigate why he was being touched. Miles collected his sweater sheepishly and Phoenix gathered up the rest of his clothes off the floor, dropping them in a pile next to where he sat down on the bed. Miles turned the sweater right-side-in and looked over it. The stain was obvious. He sighed. Maybe there was something in the emergency kit he could at least try to clean it with.

He went over and knelt down next to the bag, then sat on his legs, bringing the bag into his lap for a better look. Gauze, alcohol wipes, tissues, emergency water... The best solution was to just rinse it but he couldn’t go out in a wet sweater. He also didn’t want to set the stain or ruin the wool. He held the spot up to where he could see it best in the light and stared at it with displeasure.

Giving up, he put the bag back on the floor and rearranged himself into a more comfortable sitting position. He turned the sweater inside-out and put it on in defeat. Phoenix was unusually quiet and Miles looked over at him. Phoenix looked away quickly and resumed getting dressed.

Miles couldn’t help but stare. His body was hidden behind clothes again now but from the tempting angle next to the bed where Miles sat it upset him how much he wanted Phoenix. He was just a few feet away from being seated between his legs where he could make his way under Phoenix’s shirt and kiss the black hairs on his warm stomach before...

He knew he shouldn’t think that. Even if Phoenix wanted it as well the police team would be there soon. He pulled his knees up closer to his chest and felt nauseous. The emergency rations weren’t sitting well with him and he passively hoped he’d get lucky and actually die of botulism. He knew it had more to do with the repulsive ingredients list and his own anxiety but being dead seemed like it really would solve everything.

He rubbed his face with both his palms and ran his hands over his hair, landing his fingertips firmly in the tense muscles at the base of his neck. His hair was a mess, he was exhausted, and he smelled like sweat and smoke. Emotionally he was just as tangled as he always was and now he figured he probably looked as much of a wreck as he felt.

“I can’t wait to go home and take a hot bath,” he grumbled, lifting his head as he massaged his shoulders.

“Ha, no kidding. Invite me, too,” Phoenix said in amusement, pulling an emergency blanket over his shoulders.

Miles reflexively fired a dirty look in Phoenix’s direction, then immediately turned his head when he realized who he was glaring down for making inappropriate remarks. Phoenix cleared his throat in discomfort as guilt radiated off him right down to his posture.

“I’ll...” Miles started, painfully aware of the mixed signals he was projecting. “...Consider it.”

He couldn’t look anywhere near Phoenix’s direction and looked out the window that faced the west. The sky was a medium blue and the snow he could see resting on the intricate black outlines of bare trees seemed to glow. He had always loved watching the sun rise on fresh snow but now it seemed to hold a tension he didn’t want to process. The way everything looked so soft and new in the golden morning light had been a beauty he could always admire but now it seemed threatening. The world was waking up, and in the world hostility was everywhere.

Miles stood up and put on the rest of his clothes, weaving his scarf around his neck and buttoning his jacket. It was all still slightly damp and he felt stifled in the frigid heavy jacket. He stood in front of the fire hoping he could warm the clothes up a bit to spare his body the effort.

The walkie talkie chirped from his pocket and a muffled transmission came through, then it sounded again as he scrambled to hear.

“Detective?” he spoke into the device.

The walkie talkie beeped again.

“Yeah?”

“I missed that, can you repeat?”

“Yeah. I said we made it into the valley and we should be there in a few.”

Thank god.

“Okay, I’ll wait outside the cabin.”

“Hey now, there’s no reason for you to be out in the freezing cold! I have the location you sent.”

“I don’t trust the accuracy of that data up here. I also dressed appropriately for the weather,” he said, glancing pointedly at Phoenix. “So I’ll be fine.”

“I mean... If you want, sir,” Gumshoe said, sounding guilty.

“We’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, sir. We’ll be there in a jiff!”

Miles turned to look at Phoenix blankly.

“I’m going to wait outside.”

Phoenix stared at the floor. “Alright.”

Miles crossed the cabin in silence and the sound of the heels of his boots on the rough wood floor seemed thunderous. He stepped outside and took in a breath of the freezing air, feeling suddenly awake. As he breathed out a cloud of air, he rubbed his gloves together and looked at the sky. It was getting brighter and the world was about to be swathed in an intense light - sunbeams amplified by the snow.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He loved Phoenix so dearly he would give anything for him. It always seemed to turn out okay in films and romance novels. They were much different from real life but maybe because he felt so strongly he had a better chance. He scoffed at the irrational idealism he had suddenly bought into. He would have to work to win Phoenix’s heart. He might even give every effort within himself and still fail. But maybe it was worth the try.

He looked over his shoulder as the cabin door opened and Phoenix stepped out. Miles inspected him quickly up and down and turned away again.

“Oh god it’s freezing out here...” Phoenix said rubbing his hands over his arms fervently. He stepped closer and put his arms under Miles’s, leaning onto him. Miles shrugged him away.

“Don’t get chummy with me, Wright,” he spat, then realized how cruel he sounded. “They’ll be here soon...”

He could hear Phoenix’s teeth chattering and he resented the painful discomfort in his gut. Why did he always have to say such terrible things? He looked over his shoulder cautiously and Phoenix met his gaze with hesitation.

He turned, crunching through the light snow on the small platform, and loosened his scarf, pulling it over his head. He put it around Phoenix’s neck, tucking the free ends into his jacket and adjusting the folds to make sure they had the most coverage. As he stepped back to examine his handiwork he pulled up the collar of his jacket to cover his own neck. Phoenix looked at him with a bewilderment he was trying his best to contain and when he finally failed he turned his head sheepishly.

“It’s warmer inside.”

“Yeah, I know,” Phoenix replied dryly.

“I’d prefer you not freeze to death,” Miles said, looking at the horizon.

Phoenix laughed under his breath. “You mean that?”

“If you died who would I argue with?” he turned to shoot a playful look at Phoenix, who suddenly flinched at the gesture, stunned. 

He quickly recovered his composure and shifted on his feet. “Come on, I’m sure you’d find somebody.”

They were quiet and each breath out produced a thick white puff of humidity. The distant sound of two songbirds calling to each other echoed through the frozen woods. Miles was beginning to lose sensation in his cheeks. It was almost comfortable.

“I gotta go inside. I’m freezing,” Phoenix surrendered, shaking his head.

“I don’t blame you,” Miles said glancing back at the door. “I don’t mind waiting here, though.”

Phoenix looked at him with a guilty remorse. “Okay,” he mumbled before disappearing into the cabin again.

Miles relaxed and let out a tight breath. Being around Phoenix was so overwhelmingly incredible. He wanted to look at him forever. He figured he could listen to him talk for hours, about anything -- about his office ceiling, about the bus schedule, about dirt -- anything. Granted, he would pretend to be irritated and uninterested, but he wouldn’t dare to leave or tell him to stop.

A faint sound like a chainsaw murmured behind the birdsong and slowly grew louder. They were here. He tried to see if he could pinpoint the direction they were coming from but it seemed to echo from everywhere. Finally, a snowmobile crested over a ridge in the distance, then another. Miles trudged out into the snow in front of the cabin and waved his arms at the three vehicles headed in his direction.

One of them stopped and stood up on the snowmobile to wave back enthusiastically as another pushed quickly in front of the rest in a frantic rush to make it to him. He stepped back through his footsteps to the minuscule porch of the cabin and waited for them to make their way over.

The first arrival was unsurprising. As he skidded to a stop spraying a wall of snow, he nearly flipped off the snowmobile and took huge leaps through the high snow, whipping off his goggles.

“ ‘Action’ Acton Haste here...... Are you in danger?!”

A fantastic start to the morning.

“Everyone is fine, Mr. Haste, there’s no need for... Haste,” Miles cut himself off with distaste.

“Where’s the little guy?” he said, jumping up onto the porch.

“You mean Wright?” Miles asked in disbelief.

“He’s dying of hypothermia, right?”

“He’s fine... He’s inside,” he pointed, narrowing his eyes. “There’s a fire.”

He’s also just about as tall as you are...

“A fire?!” Haste bowled past him to burst into the cabin and there was a shriek.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

“A fire and a heart attack?? Quick, call dispatch!”

Miles let out a long, weary sigh as Gumshoe and the other members of the rescue team pulled up. 

“Haste in there?” the oldest rescue agent asked flatly and Miles acknowledged him with a frustrated nod as the stout man made his way past to go wrangle his overeager junior.

“Sir!” Gumshoe said, bounding up to the steps, then stepping up next to him cautiously.

“Detective,” Miles regarded him. “How did you sleep?”

“You know what? Terrible!” he exclaimed, then grew more quiet to assess him. “Did you spend the whole night thinking you were gonna die?”

“No. Did you?” Miles asked with a sarcastic grin.

“Well, no, but I was worried about you freezing all alone out here...”

“You wouldn’t guess it but the demon prosecutor likes being little spoon,” Phoenix said from the doorway. His arm was linked with Haste as if he was stumbling feebly and needed a strong man to hold him up. In turn, Haste’s elbow was clenched gruffly by his superior who dragged him with impatience.

Gumshoe fumed as Miles looked away in embarrassment. The linked trio dragged past them and towards the arrangement of snowmobiles. Gumshoe walked up the steps and watched them suspiciously.

“Why’d you let him say stuff like that about you, sir? I oughta teach him to speak to you with a little respect,” Gumshoe seethed.

“Detective...” Miles began threateningly, then looked up at him with a pointed look. “How exactly do you think we stayed warm last night?”

Gumshoe looked at his face blankly, then looked over at Phoenix, and back to Miles.

“You mean you...?”

Miles half-smiled with a coy mischief.

Gumshoe burst out in laughter. “Oh, haha! Good one, sir!”

The rescue team looked over as the detective nearly howled with laughter, slapping Miles on the shoulder once before he realized what he was doing and shut up immediately.

“The K9 guys are probably gonna be there when we get back. Missile’s gonna be in his little booties. They’re bringing up breakfast burritos for everyone.”

“I’m starving,” Miles said offhandedly, picturing the dog in tiny black boots. “Fortunately for us the owners of the campsite had the foresight to put emergency kits in so there was this... Bizarre ration food.” He trailed off. “Can you remind me to get in contact with whoever manages this site?”

“Can do, sir,” Gumshoe muttered, scribbling in a pocket sized pad of paper.

He figured he might as well pay for the night he spent there, as well as replace the rations they used, and perhaps even the ones in other cabins that were also expired. They had saved him and the chances they could also save someone else was high.

“Oh, uh, I called up the office to start up a petition to postpone the trial. I figured we could swing it cause we had to get the prosecution and the defense out with a rescue team...”

Miles looked at him with a quiet reverence.

“And the K9 team is bringing coffee but I asked them for a special request. Red eye with two shots. I figure you had a rough night.”

Miles sighed and put his hand on the detective’s shoulder. “You’re a saint.”

“S-sir,” Gumshoe sputtered in shock as Miles avoided his gaze to watch the team get ready to head back up to the investigation site.

Phoenix was getting sent up with Haste and was grinning in conspicuous uneasiness. Miles joked to himself that it was a shame to save Phoenix’s life the night before only to have him fall off the back of a snowmobile and break his neck. However, he had heard Haste brag about his record - he hadn’t let anyone die, not one - and corroborated by his superior, Miles could be amused by Phoenix’s discomfort just the same as he always had. 

He closed his eyes for a second and breathed in the frigid air. It felt like drinking a glass of cold water on a summer day. He was exhausted. If it weren’t for his promise of almost unsafely caffeinated coffee he speculated he would spend the rest of the investigation passed out in the back of the CSI van.

He missed his bed. His soft sheets. His bathtub. His house. His vibrator. His car. His tea set. His pajamas.

He was ready to leave.

He blinked his eyes open as Haste shouted something unintelligible in his direction. Phoenix held onto his waist in terror and looked over at Miles on the porch. Miles met his gaze and held it stoically, then looked away. Phoenix was so wonderful and charming and clever Miles had no idea what he would do without him. He smiled faintly, then lifted his head to look at him again. He couldn’t help but smile a little wider when he saw him.

Phoenix looked startled, lifting a hand to meekly wave. Miles waved back resolutely. Phoenix turned away, looking suddenly afraid. He swallowed noticeably and looked for a second like he might be sick. Maybe the rations were tainted. 

As the snowmobile started to pull away slowly, he looked back at the cabin and Miles met his eyes. It picked up speed and Phoenix finally turned around but Miles didn’t look away.

“I’m ready to go,” Miles said with exhaustion. “Would you do me a favor and put out the fire?”

“Of course, sir.”

As Gumshoe extinguished the fire the cabin grew dark, now only lit by the dim sunlight that filtered through the snow-covered window. He took one last look at it. It appeared almost like it was in greyscale. He examined the cheap plastic mattress on the unfinished wooden twin bedframe and saved the image in his mind.

It was the place he had the honor of kissing the man he loved so deeply for the first time. It had happened, somehow. As Gumshoe came out and closed the door Miles turned the memories over in his head.

Last night had been the first time. He was determined not to let it be the only time. Even if it was just a fling. It didn’t matter to him.

“Ready?”

“Please.”

As they began to drive away Miles took one last look at the place he had fallen in love once again. It was like a painting, sparkling and brushed with gold. They sped up and he turned to face forward. The freezing wind whipped into his jacket and he instinctively moved to pull up his scarf when he recalled where it was. 

He smiled again.

He didn’t know what would happen but he knew he was determined to try.