Work Text:
Miles Edgeworth has a book in his hands, a blanket on his lap, and a vibrating plug nestled between his folds. It pulses in succession, a few beats more intensely than it had before, and his eyes pinch shut with a shuddering mewl. His body quivers, a singular set of tremors that mirrors the vibe, and he lets his head settle back against his cushy pillows.
The OB had said it almost casually, offhanded, as they were wrapping up their last visit. “First-time parents often get concerned,” she’d said, as though the barista had gotten her coffee wrong, “because it feels like a heat, and they think, ‘oh no, something’s wrong with the baby.’ But you don’t have to worry. Unless there’s a lot of blood in your discharge or it feels like Baby’s stopped moving, there’s nothing to worry about.” Then, she smiled and turned the door’s handle. “Really, it’s just another way your body is getting ready to have another family member in the house.”
Nothing to worry about, my ass. Miles had slept on the nursery floor for two nights in a row, curled in a pile of swaddling blankets and tiny onesies and fat frog plushies. Phoenix was kind enough to blow up the air mattress for him around 10, after he realized that Miles would likely not be coming to bed that evening, and curled around him after 11 when Miles finally fell into his arms, a blubbering mess about how the baby wouldn’t be able to survive without color-coordinated socks. Phoenix merely smiled at that and wrapped his arms around Miles’ nearly-full-term belly, where the baby placed a series of sharp kicks to his palm. Miles could feel him chuckle against the back of his neck. On the second night, Trucy joined them, spread out like a starfish and somehow taking up more space on the mattress than either of them combined. Phoenix hissed through his teeth all night as she squirmed around, kicking the small of his back in her sleep. (Miles felt it was nearly close enough retribution for all he was going through.)
The third morning was… well.
Miles’ velvety ears twitch as his breathing picks up, feeling another round of pulsing throb upwards from his core. His book lays abandoned on the bed (not that he’s really sure when he dropped it), and he carefully crests his hand over the bulge of his stomach, down to where his neglected cock throbs between his thighs.
Only… it doesn’t reach. He fondles what he can of his tummy, stretched taut and heavy, but can’t get much further beyond that.
His mind fogs as he tries to rock onto his side, perhaps to find a pillow or toy or something to sate his need, but, alas. He is nothing but thoroughly pinned under the weight of his gravid body. A whine slips from his throat, uncontrolled. Need drips from the crown of his head to his warm, swirling core like sweet honey.
Yes, that’s it. It’s deeper than mere want. There’s a need, like hunger, like he’s starving, simmering just under his skin. The need to be pinned, mounted. To be filled.
The need to be bred.
He whines again, his lips curling around a name (his name, though he was in the kitchen at the moment and cruelly playing with that damned remote), and he wants so badly it burns.
***
Phoenix is halfway to the bedroom before he realizes he’s even turned around. He gives his head a short little shake, glances down at his hands—half-empty plate in one hand, spatula in the other—and he sighs through gritted teeth.
Nothing to worry about, my ass.
He doesn’t remember very much about Miles’ first heat, or the subsequent ones that they spent together after getting together. He knows that Miles gets a little more vulnerable and a lot more comfortable asking for unusual things. He loses his voice, sometimes, only communicating for more through sharp keens and panting whines. He knows that Miles turns into a pliant, doughy thing whenever that time of the year rolls around, and he knows that this feeling kicks up in his chest that tells him to fawn, to pamper, to cater to his every whim.
That, Phoenix knows, is not unusual.
There’s a soft mewling Phoenix from their bedroom. Phoenix presses his hips against the kitchen counter, hissing through his teeth at the minimal relief it gives him.
See, he’s not used to being so… needy. Desperate. Sure, he gets this feeling whenever Miles whines for him or rubs his ass against his bulge, but that’s a relief all on its own. Phoenix is used to tending to Miles’ needs, and then, when the urge does wash over him, hastily sating it with kisses or a heated session of grinding together in bed, always with the reins firmly in his hands.
But this is different. If he stands still for too long, he feels his skin start to crawl, starts to picture himself with his teeth over Miles’ neck, starts to picture thrusting into his warm, wet hole, picture filling him up and pumping deep inside, Miles mewling for more as he hovers over him—
There’s a long, keening whine, and Phoenix is mortified to admit that it came from him.
There’s…
His hands tremble.
No. No. Food first. Feed him.
Toast on the plate, smeared with butter.
Turkey bacon on the side.
Miles, folded over the counter…
“Phoenix,” he cries, eyes sparkling with tears yet to fall. “Please…” He traces a wide hand down the span of his back, thumbing at the divots above his hips. Creamy white thighs rub together as Miles squirms, slick practically dripping out of him. Phoenix gives his pert ass a squeeze, and Miles keens.
“Phoenix… Phoenix, Phoenix!”
Phoenix rubs himself against the cleft of his ass. Breed him. Breed him. He doesn’t know when he lost his pants, doesn’t know where he left his shirt, doesn’t really care. He adjusts, thrusting slowly between Miles’ soft thighs, pins his wrists down as he wiggles back to meet his thrusts.
“What would they think? Back in the US?” He leans close to Miles’ ear and snakes one hand around to toy with his supple chest. “The Chief Prosecutor begging to carry the disbarred attorney’s baby?”
Miles makes a sound in the back of his throat, his cute cotton tail twitches, and another leak of slick rolls over Phoenix.
“You wanna go back like that, huh? Wanna show them your fertile body, baby heavy on your hips? Is that what you want?”
He feels his ears twitch against his cheek, Miles nodding frantically against the counter.
“They’ll all know what you did. That you bounced on my cock like the good little bunny you are.”
He leans down, licks a hot stripe up the line of Miles’ throat, and he cries out.
“My bunny. That’s what you are, aren’t you?”
Phoenix groans. He was clenching his jaw; he hadn’t realized. His hand snuck past his waistband, and he gives another hapless squeeze before withdrawing, pressing shaking palms against the counter.
He wasn’t going to be able to survive breakfast at this rate.
There’s another soft, panting call of his name, and all the hairs on his arms stand on end. He fumbles with the remote, his only solace the mewling he heard as he increased the power. His tail flicks back and forth, ears pressed back.
Breakfast. Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast.
With a full plate, he stumbles back to the bedroom in a haze and sets the food down gently on the bedside table. Miles is straining in the bed, hips quivering, arms draped above his head in an alluring frame. He lazily turns his head at the sound of Phoenix setting the plate down, eyes glassy and unfocused. His lips don’t tremble, exactly, but he does look like he’s just about to cry as he murmurs and whines.
“Ph-Phoenix…” He arches his back, then, his robe falling loose over his shoulders, the edges clinging to his hard nipples so it doesn’t slip all the way off, and Phoenix is nothing but a slave to his temptations. His eyes unconsciously trace the curve of his soft breasts, ending in a tantalizingly-secret peak underneath his robes.
Phoenix blinks slowly, hypnotized. He’s never been so… hungry.
His thighs fall open for him, his hips thrusting up in short little bumps, desperately seeking friction against nothing. Oh, how he wants to give him a thigh, a mouth, a tongue…
Phoenix reaches for the remote in his pocket and turns the vibrating plug off. “Let’s… eat.” Miles whines, pleading, and Phoenix simply gives him a knuckle to teethe on. His eyes go hazy, lids drooping, as he satisfies himself with Phoenix’s digits.
His eyes open again in surprise as Phoenix replaces his fingers with a slice of buttered toast. He chews, brows wrinkled, as though he doesn’t realize what he’s been given. “Okay, baby?” Phoenix murmurs, so close to his ear that his lips brush the shell.
Miles doesn't say anything, of course, with his mouth full and his hands desperately grabbing at Phoenix’s shirt and shoulders to pull him down.
His fingers wander over Miles’ wanton body, brushing his knuckles against nipples and hips and dancing his way down to that sweet little plug. He traces a fingertip around it, teasingly, temptingly, before pressing it in a little further. Miles mewls, his hips canting up like a puppet on a string.
“If you eat your breakfast,” he whispers, “I’ll give you a real treat.”
Miles’ whine catches in his throat at that. His eyes grow wide, watery.
Food wasn’t as big of a concern during a heat. They “feasted,” so to speak, in the weeks before, and then generously made up for it after the passioned fever. But this “psuedo-heat” was a different beast altogether. Miles had to keep feeding himself and the baby, and since he really was in no mind to do such a thing at the moment, it fell to Phoenix to do it well enough for the both of them.
Miles, thank goodness, chewed up the toast in his mouth, giving Phoenix a pleading look as he swallowed.
Breed him. Take him.
He rests a hand softly on his warm, firm belly. “Good boy,” he whispers, rubbing gentle circles into his skin. “My pretty boy.”
Miles takes the rest of his food in turn, slowly and surely, giving a little whine every once in a while that forces Phoenix to roll his hips against the bed. There’s some merit to the idea that patience makes the reward all the sweeter, but frankly, Phoenix thinks that’s a load of crap.
He eats the last of his fruit and curls his tongue around Phoenix’s fingers before he can pull them away.
Temptation, temptation. Phoenix finds himself between Miles’ thighs, nuzzling against his warm, milky chest, dizzy at the smell. He kisses down the valley between his breasts, fondling them softly as Miles hisses, and traces his lips along the line of Miles’ stomach. “You carry our baby so well, don’t you, honey?” He pushes against Miles’ stomach at that, just barely, and kisses the lines where his hipbones used to be so crystal clear.
“Y-yes,” he moans, holding his arms above his head, hands gripping the pillow like a lifeline.
Phoenix presses a kiss to his mound, traces his thick hands over soft, plush thighs. The squish is hypnotic, watching how the skin molds around his calloused fingers. Then, he grips the base of the plug, teasing it in and out of Miles’ hole, clenching around it like he’ll just combust if it’s not inside of him. He whines when Phoenix finally slips it out. “Yeah, you do. Just the most wonderful little—”
— Broodmare—
Phoenix presses his lips to Miles’ folds, his eyes half-lidded at the drunken euphoria that washes over him at the taste, at the feeling that pools into his stomach. Faintly, he hears Miles moan, feels his thighs tense and flex around his head, but Phoenix doesn’t care, can’t care, not while his fingers are circling Miles’ slick hole, while his tongue is curling around his twitching cock. He softens his lips into a small o and sucks, the lightest pressure, at the same moment he slides a finger inside of Miles.
There’s no resistance at all, and Phoenix’s eyes roll. Miles cries out, tensing in a helpless little arch that barely even gets him off the bed. Phoenix sucks again as Miles’ hips cant up, up, needing friction like air.
That’s when he notices it. His cute, cottony tail, twitching with energy.
Phoenix pulls his hand away from Miles’ thigh. He wastes no time in wrapping his now free leg around Phoenix’s shoulders, but right now, Phoenix has bigger fish to fry. He snakes a hand under Miles’ ass, feeling for that sensitive little appendage…
The squeaking yelp and the sudden clench around his fingers tells him he’s found what he’s looking for. Miles slaps a hand over his mouth, and Phoenix glances up at him, straining over the curve of his stomach. His face and eyes are pinched shut, eyebrows furrowed, as though he’s fighting to keep himself from screaming aloud.
And, well. That won’t do at all, now will it?
Phoenix carefully slides another finger in alongside the first, pumping his hand at a controlled pace (or, at least, as controlled as he can be). Then, he flattens his tongue and slowly laps against Miles’ vulva, tracing his way between his folds. Miles is always delicious, but he’s somehow even sweeter like this, leaking and trembling and crying out with moans of pleasure.
His dick throbs. He doesn’t just want attention, he craves it, this insatiable hungry lust inside of his stomach, in the feral parts of his brain. He presses in a third finger and nearly cries at the tense, quivering clenches he gets in return. All he can hear is the shlick of his hands, the panting of his lover. All he can taste is the salty-sweetness of Miles. All he wants is more.
It’s really too much for a man to bear. He scrambles up onto the bed, one hand protectively on Miles’ stomach, and the other planted just beside his head. He feels a growl forming in the back of his throat, but he tamps it down with hot, open mouthed kisses. Miles desperately licks at the inside of his mouth, and Phoenix’s whole back shudders when he feels his hot entrance against his cock.
Still, though… he knows that if he gives in now, he could lose control and hurt the baby—or worse, hurt Miles. It takes more self-control than he thinks he has to stop himself from sheathing inside of him. Instead, with a whine in his throat, he rolls his hips forward, grinding gently and firmly against Miles’ swollen folds.
“Guh— God, Phoenix…” Miles doesn’t normally say much during times like this. His hands grip the back of Phoenix’s neck, the nape of his hair, clawing deep and pulling him down. “Phoenix, Phoe- Phoenix.” His head falls back, soft and delicate, against the pillow, and the sharp line of his throat lights up. Drunk, under Miles’ control, Phoenix drops his lips to the tendon there, nibbles his way up to Miles’ jawline, sucks a mark under his jaw, beside his collar bone, on every inch in between. Miles whines and fusses until Phoenix bites, a soft growl rising up without his control, and he stills, arms going limp around his neck. He gently licks over Miles’ new marks, hips still pressing forward against that warmth between his partner’s thighs. His hind brain, to his surprise, is winning, and he’d happily work himself to completion right here, finding friction against Miles’ slick entrance, his whines sauntering through his skull and coaxing him ever closer to the edge.
He moans, deep and low, as his head tilts toward the ceiling. My mate. Mine.
Miles squeaks underneath him. “Phoenix, I— Please, Phoenix—”
Phoenix Brain is, unfortunately, out of commission. He bends his neck down and traces the softest kitten licks to Miles’ throat, sucks his earlobes between his teeth and nibbles, all while Miles’ moans sweeten his cravings like nectar. Miles arches his back, and Phoenix keens at the feeling of Miles’ swollen breasts against his chest.
He’d never taken too much stock in ‘hormones.’ They just never really affected him like the books said they would.
But when Miles’s mouth falls open, crying in soft little jolts, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, he—
He wants— He wants to flip him over, to mount him and fuck and fill him until he’s sure he’s carrying his baby, until they have proof that— that Miles is his, that he’s Miles’s—wants to grab him by his hips until he’s bruised with Phoenix’s fingertips, wants to—
There’s a pinch of tiny, sharp teeth, to his shoulder, and Phoenix’s hips stutter forward as the haze clears. He freezes, teeth gritted, and blinks until his vision centers itself again on—
Miles, panting and sweating underneath him. Phoenix can still hear his heart beating in his ears, that hard-hitting thrum of drum beats. His chest quivers with every steadying breath he takes. He’s marked with proof all over, already, in the way the bags under his eyes have faded, in the way his sharper edges have smoothed, in the way the baby settles heavy on his hips.
His hand rests on Miles’ swollen stomach.
Gentle, Phoenix. Gentle.
As he draws back, Miles keens, and Phoenix’s heart swells just a little. Then, as Miles’ hips tilt up, delicately presenting himself, Phoenix leans down, pressing a kiss to his sternum, his collarbone, his cheek.
Then, he slowly thrusts inside of Miles, and, oh, he never thought Miles could sound sweeter.
Miles curls inward as he meets Phoenix beat-for-beat, his fingernails digging into Phoenix’s back so hard that he’s sure he’ll have marks when they’re done. Phoenix keeps one hand steady on Miles’ stomach, the other planted beside him, resting on his elbow. He drives in slow at first, reigning in every ounce of his self control, because Miles is precious, tender, and needs to be treated with care. He clenches around him like he needs it, too, like all he could ever want is to be marked by Phoenix, and Phoenix has to take every precaution not to just sink into Miles with every thrust.
It’s hot, heady, and yet, Phoenix’s every sense is pinprick-sharp. The taste of Miles, still lingering on his lips. The sound of every hitching breath, that little squeak Miles makes on the back half of every thrust. The velvet warmth around his cock, the silken fabric under his skin, the sharp, grounding ache of fingernails. None of it compares to the way Miles looks right now, his hair splayed out like a broken halo, his face red with exertion and shining with sweat. His brows are pinched, needy or pained, and his soft lips open in a breath.
“Phoenix…”
Phoenix bends his head, sucking Miles’ bottom lip between his own. He kisses him softly, like pressing his lips to a flower head, even as Miles reciprocates with heady hunger. One of Miles’ hands has slipped, gently cupping Phoenix’s face, and Phoenix places his own right on top. His breathing picks up, his eyes screw shut, and Phoenix knows he’s close, desperately close, on the verge of screaming.
But today is the day for being gentle, tender. Today is a day for loving his pregnant partner so very softly.
Phoenix pulls his hand away from Miles’, snakes it down his chest to pinch his nipples, cup his breasts. Miles arches again, panting out little ‘ah, ah, ahs’ with every desperate thrust.
And then, just like that, it’s all over. Miles tips over the edge beautifully, pressing both his hands to the mattress and tugging on the sheets like he’ll fly away if he doesn’t. He can only get the first half of Phoenix’s name out before he goes quiet, but Phoenix doesn’t mind, not while his clenching, quivering entrance is milking him to completion. The moment Miles’ head limply hits the pillow is the moment Phoenix hits his peak. He groans as he thrusts deep inside, limbs trembling as he finishes deep inside, and his hips twitch forward on nothing but momentum. His hand finds Miles’ in the post-orgasm haze, and they curl their fingers together, anchored tight as their minds come back to their bodies. Phoenix flops on his side next to Miles, breathing heavy as he curls protectively around him, rubbing his stomach with his free hand.
Miles’ chest shudders with every breath he takes, eyes slowly blinking open and staring at the ceiling. Phoenix can’t help but watch him, his tail thumping against the bed over and over as his heart rate steadies to something a little more reasonable. Then, he sets his hand on top of Phoenix’s, resting gently on his baby bump.
Phoenix nuzzles against his soft, swollen breasts, presses kisses over every little bite he left behind in his earlier fever. He shifts up, nibbling and kissing along Miles’ collarbones. Miles returns the favor softly, twisting his fingers in Phoenix’s hair, combing it back and arranging it to be neat and orderly. He presses soft kisses all over Phoenix’s face: on the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes; between his eyebrows; behind his earlobes; beside his jaw. He licks a tiny spot, just over where he bit down on Phoenix’s shoulder earlier, and nuzzles into his neck.
He sighs, peeking over Miles’ body to glance out the window. It was beautiful out, really. If Miles was up for it later he’d show him the work he was doing in the garden.
He feels a little kick against his palm. His breath hitches.
Miles chuckles, a breathy thing that wheezes out of his nose. “Baby’s active,” he whispers, returning his hand to where it was earlier.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he blurts out, overwhelmed by the tightening in his chest. Miles has to know, surely, has to have noticed the way his heart tripled in speed every time he saw him, the way his wagging tail became a hazard any time he was in the same room with him.
Miles huffs again. “Mhm. You’re only saying that.”
“No, it’s true, it’s true.” He kisses Miles face, twice, then down his neck. “I love everything that’s stayed the same.” He cups Miles’ breasts in his hands, gently as Miles hisses from sensitivity, and kisses over each soft, warm mound. “I love everything that’s changed.” His nose traces down Miles’ sternum, trailing his lips down until he’s kissing along the dark line running down Miles’ stomach. “I love everything you’re doing for us. Carrying our baby so well.” There’s another kick, right under his lips, and Phoenix can’t help but laugh into Miles’ skin, pressing another soft kiss right there.
Miles has himself propped up on his elbows just to see over the curve of his stomach. “And do you love how I’m currently unable to fit into any of my own clothes,” he asks in a deadpan voice.
“Are you kidding me?” Phoenix grabs him by the hips and admires the squish under his fingers. “That’s my favorite part. Why do you think I own so many pairs of sweatpants?”
Miles cracks at that, laughing as he leans back and extends his arms. “Come here.”
Phoenix obliges, laying his head on Miles’ soft chest as Miles’ hands card through his hair.
“You are too kind. I love you.”
“Not kind enough, I think.” Phoenix takes his hand and presses a kiss to his thumb’s knuckle. “But I love you, too. And I’m glad you ate.”
“I… ate.” Miles raises his head a half inch off the pillow and spots the plate on the bedside table. “That’s… right.” Then, his eyebrows slowly draw together, as though he’s just realized something. Phoenix watches his pupils dilate and smiles to himself. “Oh… Oh dear lord, did we really just destroy the nest?” He leans left, right, in quick succession, staring at the pillows cast about the room, at the sheets torn from the corners of the bed. “Oh, God, Phoenix, we have to— go get the clean sheets, please, I have to get everything ready.”
He watches Miles attempt (and fail) to sit up three or four times before finally offering him a hand, letting Miles grab onto his forearm and gently pulling him up. He slides out of bed, waddling off to the bathroom, a hand splayed across his stomach. Phoenix strips the sheets and folds up the comforter before tossing the dirtied laundry in the wash and grabbing the fresh set.
Miles is fresh and his hair fluffy after Phoenix finishes smoothing out the last corner of the new sheets. He’s wearing his big, soft robe now, instead of his sheer one, and Phoenix wraps his arms around him from behind, pressing his hands into the underside of his stomach and kissing along the line of his shoulders.
Miles traces a finger down the bed. “Oh, but now it doesn’t smell like us…”
“Want me to find some old shirts?” he jokes.
“Please. And the blankets from before, and— and some of the baby’s plushies, so they’ll smell like us, too. They’ll be relaxing when he finally comes.”
Phoenix chuckles before pressing a final kiss to Miles’ forehead. “Okay, hon.”