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"Wright, if you think I'm going to let you paw me up at your excuse for a workplace, you're crazy."
Midnight, and the Borscht Bowl Club was vacated save for two men. This wasn't an entirely different state of affairs from the whole of that evening--a depressing amount of the night had Phoenix sitting around discussing the new waitress' love life; only five bowls of soup and no hands of cards served--but, Phoenix thought, it was entirely more pleasant.
Now, if he could only convince Miles of the fact...
"Come on. Door's locked, no one's here," he murmured lowly as he pulled an objecting Edgeworth onto his lap, resulting in a discordant sound as Miles grabbed desperately at the piano for balance, "You can be as loud as you like..."
While it was a good thing Edgeworth had also mellowed out over the years, it was also still incredibly surprising to see that annoyed "don't try it, Wright" expression shift so easily into something smug and mischievous. All he could do was groan as Miles suddenly straddled him and ground their hips together.
"Please. We both know who always makes that ungodly racket."
Moving to hold Miles' hips tight, pressing their bodies close together, Phoenix found himself leaning back into the piano. He could argue with Miles--though he was more talkative on average, he wasn't the one who aroused the curiosity of the mob that one time in People Park--but it was easy to give in to the temptation to let Edgeworth take control. Honestly, he wasn't picky as long as someone was getting screwed on a piano bench: letting Miles palm his cock roughly through his pants and letting a line of playful bites ghost over his neck just wasn't anything he was about to raise any objections over.
The bites veered up his jaw to his ear, and Miles sucked his earlobe teasingly, hand resting heavily on Phoenix' neck, no doubt just to feel the racing pulse. His hat was already pulled off, and Miles was starting to trace wet circles over the delicate skin behind his ear, and whispering things with shiveringly hot breath like, "Nevertheless, I told you I'm not letting you grope me in some sub-arctic no-star health code violation," and trying to stand up.
Though he was still disoriented from the last few moments, Phoenix shook himself. This was solid objection material--while he expected Miles to be a tease, there were limits to human decency. Tightening his grip on Miles' hipbones, nearly bruising, he kept the man roughly pinned on his lap. "You're kidding. You think I'd let you run off now?"
Miles licked his lips, pale skin flushed and eyes half-closed, and he had to take a steadying breath before attempting to pull away once again. "You're not fucking me on a piano, Phoenix."
Continuing to hold him roughly, Phoenix grinned when Miles only panted and let him press their bodies harshly together as he dug his fingers in. As laid-back as he was--and as much fun as it happened to be to let this man boss him around--there was no doubt that he really didn't get to see this side of Miles enough.
"And why not? You've fucked me on a piano before," he pointed out, daring to let go of one hip to unbutton Miles' pants, despite the indignant look he received.
Sometimes, he wondered why Edgeworth bothered to do that little dignified cough thing before speaking. It really wasn't as if that cough said "go ahead and bend me over whatever's handy" any less than a rough voice.
"That was in front of a piano, not on top of it. And it was your piano. A marginally better locale than some chef's yard sale trophy with crates of empty bottles in our way."
He drew the zipper down slowly, rubbed Miles' erection with ghosting light strokes through those ridiculously expensive boxers. "Some argument. We'll be 'in front of' this one, too; and even with all these bottles, it's not like you'll be spraining yourself falling over any hula hoops."
Miles scowled at the memory, but considering he was tilting his hips to let Phoenix' hand push further down his pants, it seemed as if he might finally be willing to listen to reason. Still palming Miles through the soft fabric, Phoenix glanced over at the offending empties. He smirked. What was it they say? 'Reusing is better than recycling'?
"If you're so adamant about not being 'groped in a no-star restaurant,' though..." he pulled his hand away, grinning and going to unzip his hoodie as Miles gave an involuntary little moan of disappointment, "I don't need to touch you at all."
Miles narrowed his eyes. "What are you on about?"
"Don't worry. You're still getting fucked," he said casually, unzipping his pants just enough to pull his dick out, almost laughing when he saw Miles flush. Those glares of Edgeworth's were always a bit less effective when his face was warm with arousal.
"You do realize that genital-anal contact is still considered 'touching,' correct?"
At that, Phoenix had to falter. "I... You talk sexy coroner's report so well," he grumbled. "But I'm still not going to touch you. To put it in your words," he joked, reaching down to grab one of the empty bottles with a smug grin, "It's going to be 'penetration with a foreign object.'"
For a moment, Miles just started at him. "You are crazy," he eventually commented, clearly wanting to say more but at a loss for words. Phoenix would have been worried about putting Miles entirely off the idea of screwing in the Club, would have considered laughing it all off as a joke, but considering the impressive bulge in Miles' boxers and the way he was sizing that bottle up...
Phoenix shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say this is only about a seven on our 'crazy sex' scale."
"I almost hate to think what you consider a ten."
"Easy. The only thing I'd call a ten would be that time in San Mateo with--"
"I thought we all agreed we'd never talk of that again," Miles quickly interrupted.
"You mean you agreed," Phoenix countered, still smiling widely at the memory and the way Miles always reacted to it, "We thought looked good, you sure seemed to have fun, and I'll bet if you and I went out there tomorrow and--"
"What part of 'never again' do you not understand?"
Laughing, Phoenix leaned up to kiss the little crease on Miles' nose. "Sure, baby, sure," he agreed, "But I still say--"
"I still say I'm going to continue to interrupt you until you return to your senses."
Gesturing with the bottle, Phoenix smirked. "'Until I return to the idea of shoving a bottle up your ass,' you mean."
It always surprised him how heavily Miles could blush sometimes, especially considering some of the things he came up with. "Something like that, unfortunately," Miles agreed, already beginning to push his pants down despite his hesitant words.
Grateful and a little shocked that Miles was seriously going to go through with this, Phoenix pulled him into a wild, deep kiss. After all, this would give him far better memories of this place...
Letting Miles go, he set the bottle down, holding it firmly in place between his thighs. He was glad he'd known Miles was going to visit him late at the Club and for his eternal optimism about his ability to get laid, as he went for the lube hidden in his pocket. Squeezing some out on his hand, he then gave the tube to Miles without a word.
Conscious of Miles watching, he slowly pumped his hand over the neck of the bottle, slathering it with lube.
"I said I'm not touching you, and I'm serious, Miles. You want any prep, you take care of it."
Even if they stopped right now, just seeing that full-body shudder would have been enough. As Miles coated his fingers with lube, he stated again that Phoenix was certifiable; that he had no clue how he let himself be talked into these things. In response, Phoenix only smiled an absent, "that's nice, baby" sort of smile, and continued giving a thorough handjob to the recycling. "Make sure you do a good job," he drawled, "I'm enjoying the show."
The pants bunched around his knees restricted Miles' movement, but luckily, thought Phoenix, not the view; he watched raptly as Miles shoved two fingers roughly into himself, eyes closed and with an expression of complete concentration. He hadn't even noticed his hand was still on the bottle until a moment later, when Miles opened his eyes slightly and looked at him, amused. "Wright, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were compensating."
Phoenix blushed, letting go of the bottle. For good measure, he took the lube back from Miles and squeezed extra around the top before setting the lube down and taking his cock in hand. Apparently satisfied, Miles drew his fingers out of himself, wiped them fastidiously on a just-in-reach napkin (ignoring Wright's pleased, "aren't you glad this place is 'negative-star' enough for paper napkins?"), and gripped at Phoenix' shoulders.
"I assume I'm allowed to touch you?" he joked, shifting his kneeling position on the bench to sit back against the bottle.
Grabbing the middle of the bottle with his unoccupied hand to make sure it was steady--with the juice bottle's wide shoulder, there was little danger of it going too deep, but it never hurt to be cautious--Phoenix laughed. "Do I ever object to being 'pawed up?'"
"No, I suppose not," Miles agreed, before taking a steadying breath and sinking back slowly. He winced for a moment, breath coming out as a sharp exhalation as the rim of the bottle stretched him.
Without thinking, Phoenix let go of himself to stroke Miles' thigh. "Breathe, Miles," he encouraged.
Miles sank down a little further and stopped, clenching his fingers hard into Phoenix' shoulders. "I'm alright, it's just..." he gave a somewhat pained rueful grin, "Well, it's not precisely designed for this." With a deep sigh, he visibly relaxed before looking at Phoenix sternly. "But aren't we supposed to keep our hands to ourselves, Mr. Wright?"
Phoenix quickly drew back. "Sheesh. Isn't this my crazy idea?"
"Heh. You just," Miles paused, breath hitching; past the early discomfort, he'd just tilted his hips, and Phoenix knew that slightly glazed look when he saw it, "have never had any restraint."
"Maybe," he admitted, shrugging slightly before starting to leisurely jerk off again. "But I've always followed through with my plans. Go on, fuck yourself," he finished, punctuating the command with a quick twist of the bottle.
Miles moaned roughly, letting go of one of Phoenix' shoulders to start stroking himself as he began a steady rhythm, lifting and falling back on the bottle. "Yes, I forgot that the more insane... ah, god, don't do that while I'm talking... the plan, the more determined you are."
He just grinned and twisted the bottle yet again. Miles was unbelievable: still completely dressed, save for his hiked-down pants and slightly hiked-up shirt; head bowed, hair falling into his face, strands beginning to stick to the beads of sweat forming on his forehead; the muscles in his arm flexing as he jerked himself, those in his stomach and thighs clenching as he raised and lowered on the glass. His pace was almost immediately frantic, stroking rapidly, breath catching and coming out in low grunts.
Phoenix sped his hand as well, thumbing roughly over the head. "Jesus, Miles," he moaned, "Shit, you're so... You could almost give a guy a complex, the way you're..." he trailed off, speechless, as Miles--Miles--spat into his hand and started pumping himself even quicker, the wet noise obscenely loud in the empty room.
Desperately, he tried to match Miles' frantic pace. Though it was still as frigid as ever in the club, he felt feverish; the hoodie becoming almost unbearably warm, his shirt starting to cling with sweat. Watching Miles fuck himself on a bottle that he'd drank out of an hour ago wasn't exactly something he'd ever thought of in his spare time--fucking Miles on the piano bench, on the poker table, in the stairwell, on the cases of beets; sure, all the time, but never this--and now that he was actually seeing it happen, he wondered how he'd gone so long without at least imagining it. At the rate Miles was taking this, the show was going to be over soon; Phoenix watched while he could, breath catching a little every time Miles twisted back to take the bottle's neck.
A few more thrusts and Miles looked up again, his assessing gaze so uncharacteristically open with pure animal desire. "You love watching this," he accused, rough but affectionate.
"Well, obviously," he breathed.
Suddenly, Miles reached back, grasping the bottle with a smirk as he started shift position. Phoenix was prepared with a good "if you stop now, so help me," but Miles leaned forward and kissed his jaw. "Down, Tigre, I'm just giving you a better view."
Phoenix rolled his eyes. "I thought we discussed how completely not sexy that name--oh sweet god."
While he'd been distracted by Miles' atrocious idea of a pet name, Edgeworth had moved--right into pushing Phoenix back against the piano (and thank god it was already out of tune, because even Phoenix knew falling on the keys like that couldn't be good for it) and straddling him again, pressing his cock hard against Phoenix'. And as Miles was leaning heavily against his chest, one arm around him for balance and head against his shoulder, he could see down Miles' broad shoulders, down his back, down to...
Miles thrust his hips once against Phoenix, like a demand for attention. "Says the man who once asked my secretary if 'Sweetie' was in."
"Hey, he put me through. And that's different," Phoenix defended, sounding more than a little distracted, still looking down over that freckled shoulder.
Another hard slide of Miles' erection against his own and a sharp bite to his collarbone, and he'd completely forgotten the argument. "Shut up, Phoenix," Miles murmured, and before Phoenix could think coherently enough to point out that he started it, he sucked hard at Wright's shoulder, worrying the skin with his teeth.
"If you get the bottle," he purred, apparently pleased with the mark he'd left, "I'd have a hand free."
Up to that point, Phoenix hadn't been too sure what to do with his hands other than grip white-knuckled at the edge of the bench, determined to show that he at least had a vague idea of restraint. He hadn't exactly minded seeing Miles with one arm bent back, supporting the weight of glass during those thrusts, but he didn't need to be asked twice to take over. "You had me at 'hold the bottle,'" he said, reaching around.
Stroking his now-free hand down hard over their cocks, Miles gasped out a "Worst... paraphrasing I've... ever heard," broken by Phoenix' immediate thrusts with the bottle. He groaned and started pumping them together at a frenzied rate, apparently rendered mindless by the complete lack of hesitation Phoenix showed in fucking him with a juice bottle.
For his part, the little amount of thought Phoenix could manage was still caught up with complete and utter disbelief. Miles was really jerking him at work, palm slick with their mingled precome; really licking and biting and sucking at his neck so carelessly, it would likely force him to tell Apollo exactly why Miles Edgeworth made so many mysterious appearances at the Wright Anything Agency, despite the past year of vague allusions having been so fun; Miles was really--
With a last thought of, "I'm actually fucking Miles Edgeworth with the damn recycling," he gave in, groaning loudly into the still air of the club, twisting the bottle one last time as he came wildly against Miles' cock. Miles followed almost immediately, thrusting once more with the hot splatter of come slicking the way between them before he shot, gasping, across Phoenix' shirt.
Miles' hips twitched involuntarily against him a few more times, but otherwise, save for panting to catch their breath, they sprawled motionless. Phoenix thought absently that he'd like to rub Miles' lower back--he had to be sore, after all that--but he didn't think it'd be terribly appreciated if he let go of either the support of the bench or that of the bottle. Settling for nuzzling and kissing Miles' tousled, sweat-damp hair seemed an acceptable enough compromise.
Eventually, Miles tilted his head to lazily, slowly kiss him back.
"God, I love you," Phoenix murmured between wet, fumbling kisses; "You're amazing, just perfect."
"Mmm. You're pretty... astonishing... yourself. Now, am I going to have to drive home like this?"
Phoenix sighed. "I was waiting until you said you were ready. We don't all just go around town ripping bottles out of--"
"Continue with that thought, and..." Miles let his threat descend into a grunt as Phoenix gently began easing the bottle out of him. Though Phoenix took it slowly, the mouth of the bottle still came out with a wet noise and, from Miles' wince, no little discomfort.
Setting the bottle down quickly, he hurried to sit up and wrap his arms tightly around Miles, finally getting a chance to work the tense muscles of his lover's lower back with one hand. "You're okay?"
Miles shook his head, smiling slightly--as if despite himself--at Phoenix' concern. "I'm perfectly fine. I'll just be fairly sore for a few days."
Phoenix made a vague noise of agreement, commenting that at least it wasn't as if that would much change the usual state of their sex life. He laughed when Miles winced once more after pulling away. "This... Our clothes... I can't believe I let you do this," he stammered, wiping himself off quickly with the napkin left in reach before pulling his pants up, aiming to grab more from the nearby table.
Sitting up with a stretch, Phoenix took the handful of paper napkins Edgeworth shoved at him. After righting himself and zipping his pants, he wiped the come off his shirt languidly.
"I don't see what you're so upset about. See?" he asked, zipping up his hoodie before standing, "Good as new."
Miles crossed his arms and frowned, looking as uncertain as ever about Phoenix' idea of cleanliness, but he submitted to Phoenix' lazy hug and the whispered logic that Trucy would be sleeping when they got home; barring getting pulled over by the cops (and Miles did blush at the suggestion) no one would be the wiser. But glancing over Phoenix' shoulder, he had to glare again.
"And we're going to have to dispose of... that," he grumbled, extracting himself to look for something to gather the soiled napkins and the offending item.
"Why bother?" Phoenix asked lazily, shoving some of the garbage, much to Miles' horror, into his sweatshirt pockets, "After all, you've already wiped all the fingerprints--okay, please don't kill me."