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It all started with a new pair of boots.
After a week of intense deliberation, he decided to treat himself. Winter was slowly ebbing away, not that it did much to placate the Southern California heat, anyway, but his old loafers were worn and scuffed beyond repair. He had had the pair since he started law school. With his influx of a prominent winning streak in the courtroom, and with the Holiday season having come and gone far too quickly, like it always did, he made an impulse decision for a pleasure he rarely allowed himself to partake in.
He spoiled himself.
Well, a new pair of shoes was the most he had given himself since buying his infamous blue suit, but even that was partly a gift from Mia as a graduation gift for passing the bar (not that he had a couple thousand now to drop, for chrissakes. He's just grateful she paid for a third of it...)
But these boots weren't designer, not outrageously overpriced or something he'd been eyeing for weeks. He found them online, presented along with some jean ad for some specialty apparel retail whatever while doomscrolling, and as his mind went back to his ragged Oxfords, how he'd given an ample amount of gifts this holiday season, and, hey, he'd been doing pretty well for himself. The price was reasonable, so with a mental shrug he checked them out online and promptly went to sleep.
He'd almost forgotten about them until they'd shown up outside of his apartment two weeks later, all packed up neatly in a little cardboard box. He wasn't in a rush to try them on, carefully slipping them from the box and shoving his foot into the shaft. They were definitely snug, but comfortable enough. Phoenix viewed this more as a one-time necessity, if anything. It's been years since he got new shoes, and now that he was a hotshot in the Los Angeles legal tabloids, why not? He wasn't one to shop, and even his fashion choices had to go through Miles or Maya more often, and even before it was through Mia. But he's happy enough with this purchase.
The next day, he doesn't think much of them as he gets ready for work. He pauses to admire himself, but it's only a brief respite in his morning routine. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten how tedious it is to break in stiff boots, especially since today's case had him and Maya trudging all around town for their current investigation, from the Police Department, back to the office, to the scene of the crime three miles away, back to the office, back to the Police Department, then to the Prosecutor's office for more documents and to give his partner a quick peck on the cheek (receiving a gruff in return). By the end of the day, Phoenix was dead tired, his legs feeling like jelly holding his torso.
The only part of the day he's been looking forward to is dinner at Miles'. It's become routine now, settled comfortably in their lives, unspoken but warmly expected. Miles calmly prepares dinner, soft ambient music ebbing into the kitchen as Phoenix enters the home. Phoenix practically lives here now, anyway. A year into their relationship, they are still unsure about the more complicated details. Miles was always skittish when it came to the big discussions: moving in together, potential further commitments, any talk of the future in general. But when they finally disclosed themselves to each other, when they had that long talk about commitment and how they were ready for a solid relationship, Miles had only asked for one thing; to take things slow.
And slow they had been. Phoenix had no complaints about it. After Miles' abrupt... absence, many things were said that he can't take back. He's just relieved he can still be in his life, can still come home at the end of the day and wrap his arms around his lover as he stirs a delicious-looking sauce over the stove. Phoenix will wait until the heat death of the universe if that's what Miles would want for things to move any further, as long as he's happy. As long as he's safe.
Phoenix nuzzles into the crook of Miles' neck, squeezing his arms tighter around his waist, groaning a low sound of content into his skin. Miles reaches a hand up, lacing his fingers between his."Most people knock before entering another person's home," he hums, his eyes never leaving his task.
Phoenix squeezes tighter, peppering kisses along his neck, "Too tired. I felt like breaking and entering." Tonight, soft jazz envelopes the kitchen. Phoenix always preferred it over the classical schmutz, something about it more warm and electric when he's with Miles. Exciting.
Slow. Slow, Phoenix. He chastises himself like retracting a rabid dog on a leash. They'd had mind-melting sex more times than Phoenix could count (although he remembers each time very vividly, just to help him fall asleep each night), but he didn't want to pounce on him right the second Phoenix threw his arms around him. The tender moments were his favorite, these small passing phases where they could just be docile and domestic.
That didn't make it any easier for Phoenix to keep his wanton gaze off of Miles, however.
They eat in the docile atmosphere, Phoenix's hand lightly grazing over Miles' as they share their pleasantries, discussing their ongoing cases, engaging in that brief banter over frivolous notions that makes Phoenix giddy; No, Wright, putting "Gubernatorial" would not make you win at Scrabble alone.
But he's still aching everywhere. After washing the dishes, Phoenix can't help the gaping groan that leaves his chest as he finally reclines on the couch, every muscle throbbing in an eased staccato, blood pumping to help quell the lactic acid draining. Phoenix rests his hands over his eyes, finally feeling his legs again. The other end of the couch sinks with Miles' weight, and suddenly his feet are in his lap. Those god-forsaken boots are pulled off his feet, relief ebbing away all the tension in his arches. Phoenix lazily opens his tired eyes, a teacup wafting with steam sitting on the end table next to his boyfriend. The sight is like a gothic painting, steam wafting behind Miles, looking at him so tenderly.
Miles' hands run over the tops of his ankles, "Long day?"
Phoenix hums an affirmation. "Got new shoes."
"I see that," Miles peels off his socks, dropping them by his boots before beginning an impromptu foot rub. Phoenix doesn't quell the profound rumble in his throat, sighing in bliss as his muscles loosen. "You're typically supposed to break them in before wearing them all day at work. Especially if you don't have a car." Of course, a lecture, but the retort dies in Phoenix's mouth when Miles' thumb digs into his arch.
It wasn't the first time Miles had given him one of these heavenly massages. Phoenix never really thought much about people touching his feet until Miles offered to help him relax one night. It was actually quite a common thing now; Phoenix would flop onto their couch after a long day, and Miles was there, ever dutifully helping him. Phoenix had gotten used to being pampered by Miles in everyday life so often he didn't question it, not even when Miles refused to have the favor returned. Another time, he'd murmur back, Someone needs to take care of you since you can't do it yourself.
As those long, slender thumbs press into the ball of his left foot, Phoenix can't help but allow himself to sink into the cushions, his eyes feeling wonderfully heavy and his limbs utterly melting, his whole body a ball of butter left in the sun. They sit like that for a few minutes— Miles lovingly rubbing his feet and Phoenix groaning into his elbow. It's heavenly; all the knots in Phoenix's feet melt away. The silence is soothing, numbing him to pleasurable stillness. Which is why he almost jumps when Miles speaks into that soothing silence: "The boots are quite nice."
...It's a bit of an odd comment, looking back on it. Miles didn't often comment on his attire unless it was constructive criticism of the sort, in that sardonic Edgeworth-ness to it. But in the moment, Phoenix merely chuckles, "You think so?"
There's no quipped remark back, no affirmation. He only nods, digging those delicate fingers deeper into his flesh. Phoenix open-mouthed groans into the air when Miles hits a particularly deep knot. He inhales sharply— Miles is going in deeper tonight. His movements are slower, more careful and precise. As if he needed every square inch of his hands to run over him, to feel, to pleasure, to worship—
Phoenix realizes that he's been quiet for the past couple of minutes now. Small noises emit from Mile's throat, ever so meek, the same kind of trembling whimpers that would emit whenever Phoenix would tease him with his tongue ghosting along his cock to make him squirm.
In fact, now that he thinks about it carefully, Miles had always had this sort of fetish. Not the foot thing, although Phoenix didn't mind if he wanted to explore that more. But the fact that Miles liked to be... useful. Always rubbing his shoulders when they reclined on the couch, always having dinner prepared for him as soon as he walked through their door, even if Miles himself wasn't hungry. Always preparing a cup of tea if he was sick, always offering to wash his hair when they'd shower together, always being the one to initiate warming his cock and swallowing to completion, even if it meant Phoenix couldn't get hard again. Phoenix's pleasure was Miles' pleasure.
And something stirred deep.
"Do you like this, Miles?" Phoenix asks lazily, keeping his voice even. Miles faintly looks up, moving to tend to Phoenix's other foot.
"Hm?" He prompts quietly. His gaze is only on Phoenix's long toes, lost in pleasuring him... or his own pleasure. Phoenix smirks, suddenly wanting to test a new hypothesis. He trails his free foot up Miles' chest, pinning him in place. Phoenix had never been actively aroused during their little late-night massage sessions until he realized Miles may have been doing it more for himself. And Phoenix was always one to pry, especially with Miles.
"Do you like this?" Phoenix's voice goes low, bordering on rasped and sultry, "...Making me feel good."
Miles only huffs, lightening the press of his thumbs, "Of course I like making my partner feel good," but that's when Phoenix sees it; the bulge straining between Miles' pressed thighs. And suddenly he remembers-- how Miles would scurry off to the bedroom when they finished, the light flush of his cheeks when he excused himself. Phoenix never thought much of it, too caught up in the blissful fatigue, but now, now he sees it. Miles' handsome features are soft in the warm light, muscles in his jaw loose for once.
Phoenix narrows his eyes. He presses his foot to the bulge, smirking in delight at the way Miles' body goes stiff. Miles finally releases his other foot, clutching the arm of the couch. His breath hitches that same way it does when Phoenix runs his hands over his bare ass, when he'd graze his fingers through those silver locks and tug.
Miles watches Phoenix, wary but wanting. Like he'd just broken the last Psyche Lock. "But you like it, right?" He presses his foot harder to emphasize the point, and Miles groans. Jesus. "You seem more excited today. You like to take care of me... but you never let me take care of you," Phoenix sits up, foot still planted right on that bulge. Miles ever-so-lightly bucks his hips up for more friction, biting his lip to suppress another groan.
That familiar defensive glare returns, as if he wasn't getting turned on from Phoenix stepping on his dick. "So what if I do?"
"I just want to understand more," Phoenix adds softly. Miles was so easily embarrassed, ashamed to voice what he wanted for his pleasure. A slight tug of guilt overcomes him. "You do everything for me. I want you to feel good, too."
Miles scoffs, then bites his knuckle when Phoenix presses just a smidge more. "You're- You're overthinking it."
Phoenix rolls his eyes, "Two weeks ago, you held my cock in your mouth for hours, and you didn't even let me return the favor."
"Because you didn't need to," Miles breathes. Phoenix scooches up to sit upright fully, eyeing him quizzically and expecting more. Miles understands, running his thumb idly over Phoenix's foot, "It's called Service Submission. I... find pleasure in making you feel good."
Oh. Phoenix tries to wrap his head around it; all of the massages, all of the times Miles sucked him dry, even when he just got back from the gym. All of the times Miles rode Phoenix to the fucking stars because Phoenix was too tired to go another round, because he wanted to be used. Used.
Phoenix feels a chill go up his spine. He nudges closer to the other end of the couch, running his hand over Miles' thigh when he's close enough, the boots still sitting on the floor between them. There was that familiar, electric tension there like always before they got raunchy, but Phoenix wanted to understand more. He wants Miles to feel good. "Tell me more?"
Usually, Miles hates it when he asks that. He's always been a tough egg to crack, especially in bed. But Phoenix pushes with that slight authoritative tone he uses so well, the kind reserved for pushing the witnesses in court or telling Maya no to dinner. Miles looks down at the floor, pursing his lips. Phoenix loves it when he's like this- when he wants to be good, but that rebellious side of him tries to make him silent, like the brat he was. "Is it, like, sexual altruism?"
Miles shakes his head, "No. It's- I find pleasure in giving pleasure."
Phoenix grabs Miles' chin gently, tilting his head to face him, "Miles," he prompts. He palms Miles through his khakis, smiling as he sighs from the pleasure. "You just like to be useful, huh?"
"It's- I like to be... useful, yes," he grinds out. Phoenix feels that familiar, melting heat push to his core, and he wants more, more, more Miles.
"Tell me how you like to be used," Phoenix prompts. He's thrilled when Miles squirms as Phoenix undoes his belt, sliding the zipper down ever so slowly. Miles' hands are perfectly at his sides, clutching the ends of the couch. Perfect. "You wanna be my toy? Just for me?"
Miles bucks his hips up again, "Yes," he breathes, nails digging into the fabric of the couch, "Yours- yours."
Phoenix moves even closer, mouth awfully close to Miles' ear. His voice is low, even, and dark, "Tell me. What kind of toy?" His hand cups Miles' balls through his boxers, smiling as they pulse in his palm, "You wanna suck my cock while I sit at my desk? While I have meetings all day, where anyone can see you?" Phoenix finally snakes his hand under the waistband of his briefs, relishing in the shaking sigh Miles releases when he closes his fingers around the shaft, "Or should I make you sit on my lap for hours with that little cage around your cock... stuck for hours, keeping me warm..."
"Phoenix," Miles whines when he finally begins to pump his member. His wrist jerks languidly, making Miles just croon. Phoenix feels like a million fireworks are setting off in his lower abdomen, straight in the seeds of his belly up to his heart.
He nibbles on his earlobe, "You just like being a little housewife, right? Always serving me..."
"N-no," Miles stammers, but his face is still beautifully crimson, still tugging at the cushions and writhing into Phoenix's hand. "Wanna- wanna be used-" He's loving this, and if Phoenix were to add just a little more fire to his words alone, he was sure to come soon.
"No?" Phoenix chides, licking a stripe up his warm neck, "So just a toy, then. An object," he's not entirely sure where all of this is coming from, maybe from the spur-of-the-moment horniness brought on by the foot rub, and every memory of Miles running off to the bedroom to rub one out after. Or maybe it's this image right here: how easy it is to reduce Miles to a writhing, wanton wreck begging for more, to be silenced and squished beneath Phoenix's heels-
And Miles moans, a beautiful, shameless, slutty wail that borders on a scream. Phoenix digs deeper, just a bit more of a push to strike gold, "Yeah, you like that?" Miles nods dumbly, and Phoenix wants to rip him apart. "Tell me, baby. Tell me how you want me to use you."
His hand speeds up, oozing pre-come helping ebb the friction as Phoenix's wrist moves in double-time, only making Miles whine and beg more like a ravenous puppy. His lips flap loosely, pleas and unchaste begging spewing shamelessly, "Please- I'll do- I'll do whatever- anything you want- hah! - make me- make me yours-"
Miles wants to be used; that much was evident. But he wants to be told what to do, he wants to be mitigated to the role of a servant, he wants to be humiliated and stepped on and useful, useful, useful-
Phoenix's eyes fall on his pristine new shoes, sitting right there between them, how Miles had been eyeing them like the finest of jewels, how he had run his tongue over his teeth when he pulled them off of Phoenix, and the next image that thrusts itself into Phoenix's head makes him begin to rut into Miles' thigh, his hand on fire from how rigorous it begins to twist and pull.
"Would you lick my boots, Miles?" he asks, the words leaving his tongue on fire as they leave his lips, "Would you clean them while I had them on, worshipping me on your knees?-"
The guttural scream that Miles lets out almost makes Phoenix jump. Hot, sticky ropes spill into Phoenix's hand and then some. Phoenix didn't even register that last bit of what he was saying- a part of him would've taken it back, but he didn't expect that to be the trigger that made Miles wail from warm, intoxicating euphoria. Miles throws his arms around Phoenix, panting into his neck as waves of pleasure course through him, Phoenix whispering praise into his hair as he rides out his high.
When it's over, Miles leans back on the couch, basking in that satisfied post-orgasm glow. "Wow," Phoenix can't help but chuckle, "...That escalated."
Miles nods, snuggling up against Phoenix, "I told you what pleasures me. It's just what... gets me going, I suppose."
"Yeah, but," Phoenix is still half-hard from the whole ordeal, but he's still not able to wrap his mind around what he was saying, what he was fantasizing. "Was... what I said ok?"
Miles looks up, silver eyes peering from beneath his bangs, smiling. "I ejaculated, didn't I?"
"Ugh, just say came like the rest of us," Phoenix groans, but he laughs.
Phoenix's eyes drop to his boots again, still new and shiny, gleaming in the soft lighting of the living room. "...So you really like the boots, huh?"
Miles dips his head again, groaning as he hides into Phoenix's armpit. "It's nothing," but there's the dead giveaway in the crack in his voice that makes Phoenix chuckle.
"You were practically drooling over them, babe. I've never seen you get worked up so quickly like that," he cards his fingers through his hair, humming in delight as Miles melts into the touch, "Is that part of the Service Submission?"
Miles brings a hand up, delicately running his fingers over Phoenix's pectorals through his black tee, "Yes. And, full disclosure, they're part of... a fantasy, I've always had."
Phoenix's smile brightens. "What kind of fantasy?"
And from the way Miles' face melts into a beautiful, rosy crimson, he knows he's in for a treat. Miles speaks slowly and carefully, as he always does when exposing something personal and vulnerable about himself. But his voice wavers, excited and wanting. By the time he's done explaining his little sexual fantasy, Phoenix's cock is fully hard, libido rocketing straight through the roof.
Miles notices Phoenix's straining erection. "Ah, I'm sorry about that," he apologizes with the cadence of accidentally spilling a glass of water. "Allow me," and as Miles sinks to his knees, nestling himself between Phoenix's large thighs and utilizing that skillful tongue he knows how to work so well, Phoenix melts back into the couch, his brain is already beginning to form a plan for the next time they want to play.
. . .
Phoenix never, in a million years (even after going through the war that was law school, even after he was able to finally find Miles Edgeworth again, even after surviving numerous murder attempts in his short career), thought he'd be able to reduce Miles Edgeworth to this: an object to be used.
The fire in front of the couch provides just enough warmth and light to envelop the room in what it needed to be: deep and sultry. His laptop sits on his thighs, a glass of Rye sitting next to him to help him finish his work. He takes the drink, stirs the ball of ice to clink against the glass before crossing his ankles, infamous leather boots shining against the fire. His footstool makes a small noise from the movement, the heavy weight of Phoenix's feet on his back making him shake.
Oh, he looks perfect like this. Naked on all fours, sweat beading on his forehead, and bangs falling to conceal those precious eyes. The rubber gag was all Phoenix's idea, but Miles moaned in delight as he put it around his head, just to hear those beautiful, intoxicating noises pulse from behind his lips.
The soft humming begins now and again, the plug nestled deep inside of Miles, making him writhe and moan around the gag. Phoenix tries not to let it go on for too long- he'll play it again every twenty or so minutes, pressing the app on his phone to mitigate the vibration little by little.
Phoenix had given him a run-through for what he planned to start with tonight, and from the way Miles had pulled him in to one of the sloppiest, heartfelt kisses of their lives, he'd gotten the green light to go ahead and take control.
"Miles, dear," Phoenix croons down at him, excitement coursing through him as he pushes the app and increases the frequency ever-so-slightly, "Don't move, alright?"
"Hnggh," Miles whines around the gag. The vibration was just enough to keep Miles blissfully pleasured, but needing more. It was lovely: the Demon Prosecutor, silenced, nothing more than a stool for Phoenix's feet. Phoenix downs the rest of his glass, savoring the dark taste of whiskey burning his throat, and he resists every urge to take himself out and feed him to Miles right there. But they weren't finished yet; Phoenix still had quiet a bit of work to finish, after all.
It's only been around an hour and a half, and he's amazed Miles has been able to hold the position for so long. But this is his wish, his fantasy that he's been so afraid of sharing with any of his other partners. They'd engaged in BDSM scenes many times (Phoenix is just lucky to have found a partner as freaky as he is), and it turned him on even more at the fact that Miles loved being dominated. The juxtaposition of their daily lives and the secret roles they played when alone- Miles Edgeworth, the smooth, calculating, menacing prosecutor during the day, but a plaything at night, made Phoenix's mind melt. Miles found this as a way to relax, letting someone relinquish his responsibilities and make him shut up for a bit. But when he gave himself to Phoenix, he gave up everything. And Phoenix always knew to take good care of him.
Phoenix, with great effort, returns his attention to his work, typing away languidly as Miles moans beneath him. He only had one more report to fill out, but he wasn't in a hurry to finish, with the mouth-watering sight in front of him giving him all the more reason to prolong his duties. Tonight, there's no music- Phoenix only wanted to hear the whimpers emanating from around the ball gag, frothing that sweet mouth with wanting.
If he could, he'd take a picture right here to savor the memory- Miles being the perfect footstool for him. But he prefers to relish in the moment. And this definitely won't be the last time they explore this.
Another half hour goes by, and thankfully, Phoenix is finished with the report by the time he notices Miles' arms shake from two hours of holding Phoenix's weight. Phoenix shuts his laptop, kicks his feet off of Miles, relishing in the way he whines from the sudden absence. "Good," Phoenix huffs. His cock begins to strain against his sweatpants when Miles doesn't move, waiting for the next order. Oh, God.
"Up on your knees, baby. Face me." Miles makes a noise of affirmation, shuffling to kneel between Phoenix's legs. He gives him a minute to regain the feeling in his arms, rubbing the carpet burn from his knees. But his eyes are glassy, full and debauched so beautifully that Phoenix knows he's enjoying this more than he is, somehow. But, just to make sure...
Phoenix diminishes the pulse of the vibrator to a low, pleasurable thrumming and gingerly unclasps the ball gag, removing the rubber intrusion and wiping the stream of saliva that falls from Miles' mouth. He rubs his thumb over Miles' cheek, the touch electrifying, "Give me your color, baby."
Miles fixes his jaw, running his tongue over his teeth to regain the feeling in his mouth. "Green," he finally rasps. Phoenix nods, tugging on those molten-silver locks, just enough to be comforting but authoritative, the way Miles loves.
"Good boy," Phoenix whispers, sighing as Miles melts into the touch. "I would give you your treat for being such a good footstool, but... look," he points down to his boots, still sparkling clean, since he'd disinfected them thoroughly for this occasion. But he tuts, just to keep that role of the dissatisfied master (hopefully, he still has some of his chops from his acting days), "Look at my boots, Miles. Look at how filthy you've made them. Is that acceptable?"
Miles bites his lip, looks down at the shining boots, not a speck of dust on them. But he takes in a ragged breath, as if Phoenix had run his hot breath over his cock. "No, sir," he says obediently, and the way he looks at Phoenix, as if he were the only person in the world, as if he were a god to be worshipped all their living days. Phoenix exhales, blood going straight to his cock.
Phoenix places a foot on Miles' thigh, planting it there with a commanding step, giving one simple order: "Clean them."
And Miles does. He holds Phoenix's foot in his hand, planting a deep kiss on the toe of the shoe. He peppers more kisses across the leather, so wanton, so sinful. Phoenix palms himself, eyes twitching when Miles finally uses that talented tongue to lick across the shining boot.
Oh, God, Phoenix almost feels faint. His head lolls back on the couch, relishing in the worship. He watches through hazy eyes as Miles licks his boot, kissing the sole between lathering licks. He moans as he runs his tongue over every crevice of the shoe, the most sinful thing Phoenix has ever seen Miles do. He was like an acolyte worshipping his god, his maker, his master. Phoenix bites his knuckle, exhaling.
"The other one, now," he commands, thrusting his other foot in Miles' face. Miles doesn't even hesitate to grab the shoe, groaning into the leather as he runs his tongue over and over and over everywhere. He makes out with the sole of the shoe as if his life depended on it.
Phoenix isn't sure how much longer he can take. He takes his phone, slowly increases the thrumming of the plug to the highest setting. Miles yelps, mouth smushed against Phoenix's boot. Phoenix plants his other foot against Miles' exposed erection, snugged tightly in the cock ring. "You like this, huh?" Phoenix's mouth is on fire, a bulge of degrading, humiliating proverbs ready in his throat, "You like being my little bitch? Do you get off on worshipping my boots?"
"Please," Miles whines, going onto his hands to thoroughly worship the boot. Phoenix presses harder, unmercifully stepping against Miles' throbbing dick. Miles, on his hands and knees, licking Phoenix's shoes. Phoenix groans into his palm.
"Bootlicker," Phoenix sneers, bobbing his foot against Miles' erection, relishing how he slowly ruts against his sole. He wouldn't come without permission- not that he could, anyway. "You'd do anything I told you to, huh? You'd clean the floor with your tongue if I made you." Miles moans again into his shoe at the thought, and Phoenix can't take it anymore- he frees his cock from his sweats, trying to jack himself as slow as possible to relish the scene.
"Fuck," Phoenix breathes. This is everything and more than he'd expected- he never knew how depraved Miles was, how much he enjoyed being talked down to and treated like a slave. "I think you deserve your treat now, baby. Such a good bootlicker..."
Miles whines, setting his foot back to the ground and rising to face Phoenix's full, throbbing cock. He runs his hands over his thighs, squeezing the prominent muscle. Miles had always loved Phoenix's meaty thighs, how they bulked from years of riding around LA on his dingy bike. Phoenix lifts his hips so Miles can tug the sweatpants off (he's thankful now that he'd been free-balling just for this occasion), tugging them over the boots and flinging them across the room. Miles' mouth waters at Phoenix's jewels, his musk wafting into his face.
Phoenix tugs on his hair, shoving his face into his exposed crotch. "Go on. Get a good whiff of your master," Miles' nose nestles between both of those musky, heavy sacs, Phoenix's throbbing dick resting in his hair. Phoenix almost goes cross-eyed when Miles huffs, closing his eyes and sniffing his balls. Miles takes a sac into his mouth, running his tongue over the taut skin and sucking like his life depended on it. Phoenix grips his hair tighter, mashing his face into his balls, "Good boy, fuck. That's a good boy... get that tongue everywhere."
Miles hums, moving to lavish the other sac with glorious worship. Phoenix sighs, nails scratching across Miles' scalp as he tugs harder. Eventually, he yanks his head back, grabbing the base of his cock and waving it enticingly. Miles, like the good bitch he is, sticks his tongue out, eyes foggy and needing more, more, more. Phoenix growls. "You wanna be useful, Miles?" He nods, shifting his weight on his knees from the friction of the plug. Phoenix chuckles darkly.
"Then be useful. Worship my cock."
And Miles does. Phoenix shoves him down onto his throbbing dick, tongue lavishing each vein, each tender morsel of skin with great care. He sets his own pace, Phoenix encouraging him with a hand on the back of his head, up and down, up and down. A hand moves to massage Phoenix's balls, and he hisses through his teeth, clutching tighter. He calls him everything: a bitch, a slut, a slave, a cock-hungry whore.
Because, on nights like this, Miles is all of those things. And he loves it. He loves it.
Spit floods from Miles' mouth as he bobs his head. He clutches his fingers around the meat of Phoenix's thighs, restraining against every impulse to touch himself as the plug continues to assault his tender sweet-spot. Phoenix reaches both hands up, clutches Miles' head, and gives a brief warning before shoving him down.
Phoenix fucks his throat like how he fucks his ass- rough and fast. He relishes in Miles' gags, choking on his fat prick, clawing at his thighs. Spit dribbles from his mouth like a fucking waterfall. And that's when Phoenix feels it- the rutting of a heavy, throbbing cock against his boot.
Oh, it's so fucking hot. Miles, having his throat fucked like a toy, rutting against his shoe like a dog. Denied every pleasure until he receives permission. And Phoenix begins to approach the point of no return. "Gonna come, baby. Drink it all. Drink your master," he growls, shoving Miles down so his nose nestles in the forest of black curls before he shoots down his throat. Phoenix moans, blinding hot pleasure flowing through every crevice, every nerve in his body. Miles chokes as hot, pulsing sperm flows down his esophagus. Phoenix is sure he's never screamed so loud from a blowjob in his life.
He releases Miles, basking in the afterglow from his orgasm as Miles sits back on his heels, coughing and regaining his breath. Phoenix relaxes back into the couch, shutting his eyes from how mind-meltingly good that throat-fuck was. Miles was always so skillful with his mouth, always ready to open and be used...
Miles whines beneath him. Phoenix opens his eyes with the nonchalance of someone who has not just face-fucked his boyfriend into oblivion. Miles gives him those puppy-dog eyes, begging with his whines as he grabs Phoenix's foot, maneuvering to place it just above his poor, aching cock...
Phoenix coos, "Aw, does my little bitch need to come?" Miles nods, biting his lip as the vibrator continues to thrum. Phoenix sighs, bends over, and removes the cock ring with a snap. He presses harder on the purple cock, "No hands. Whatever mess you make, you have to clean up-"
He doesn't even get a chance to finish when Miles grabs his foot and begins rutting against his shin, jerking his hips like a rabbit. Phoenix chuckles, runs a hand through his head like soothing his pet- his pet. "Good puppy," Phoenix finds himself saying- testing the waters, but from the way Miles speeds his thrusts, he's gotten the go-ahead to explore further. "Such a good puppy, taking what you're given. Good little mutt."
Miles rests his cheek on his knee, moaning into the muscular skin. Phoenix pets his hair again, voice smooth and rich like honey, "Should get a collar for you. Make everyone know you're mine."
And it happens. Miles wails, hot ropes spilling over Phoenix's boot. Phoenix can't even register what just happened, his vision a lucid haze from what he said. He quickly puts the vibrator to a halt. In his awe, Miles heeds his promise, going on his hands once more to lick his own spend off of the pristine boot, making it shine once more. Phoenix is half-hard again just from that.
Phoenix hoists Miles up onto the couch, his eyes droopy and hazy. Phoenix rises, stalks to the kitchen, and runs a washcloth in warm water to clean his hands before returning to wipe down Miles, offering him a glass of water. Miles mumbles his gratitude as he sips from the glass, Phoenix carefully cleaning his softening member. He nestles himself into Phoenix's neck, letting himself be held so tenderly as Phoenix kisses his sweaty forehead. "You did so well, baby. Was that ok?"
Miles rears his head up, kissing Phoenix's cheekbone, "It was perfect. Thank you for that."
"Are you kidding? You gave me one of the best orgasms of my life thanks to your little kink. I should thank you."
Miles sighs, snuggling deeper under Phoenix's arm. "I always forget what a talented actor you are."
The fire continues to shine on them, comforting their exhausted, admittedly still aroused bodies in the silence. They sit like that for some time before Phoenix remembers something vital.
"So... you like the idea of a collar?"