PW, "A Simple Promise Made before Breakfast," Miles/Phoenix, R
I don't know why my crack-drabbles always turn into nearly 2,000-word stories with more plot than crack, but that's what they do and I don't think there's any changing that, so I've given up and here's the story you get because of my whimpering defeat.
It's all for N, who drew Miles being hot and Phoenix wanting to nibble Miles' ear. Oh, and who encouraged me to write this instead of working on my thesis. Damnit. ♥
A Simple Promise Made before Breakfast
by mistr3ss Quickly
It's a secret Miles has kept for over half his lifetime. It's nothing he's ashamed of. It's nothing he relishes the notion of others knowing.
It's part of his routine. It's part of who he is.
~*~*~*~
Phoenix catches him doing it, ten days after they make love for the first time. Stumbles in on him, half-asleep and half undressed with his dick in his hand, his words sloppy and slurred as he stumbles back out of the bathroom, apologizing and explaining that I really gotta pee, Miles, can you like ... leave? Just for a second?
Miles steps out of the bathroom with a roll of his eyes. Leans against the wall while Phoenix relieves himself, the other man punctuating the experience with a gratified sigh, a stupid-happy grin on his face when he finishes washing his hands and opens the bathroom door. Frowns and doesn't kiss back when Phoenix comes over and greets him with the scrub of stubble against his lips, cold-damp hands slipping under Miles' undershirt to touch his bare skin.
"Mornin' handsome," Phoenix says, nuzzling Miles' throat.
"Brush your teeth, Wright, your morning breath is atrocious," Miles counters, doing his best to push his lover away.
Phoenix laughs. "Not 'til I've had coffee," he says, nibbling his way up behind Miles' ear. "Toothpaste'll make it taste funny."
Miles rolls his eyes and pushes Phoenix away. Glares when Phoenix's gaze drops to his nipples-stiff from the man's earlier kisses-to the bulge where Phoenix's touch gave him a partial erection, the expression fierce enough that Phoenix merely grins and gives Miles' cock a squeeze, chuckling as he disappears down the hall to the kitchen.
He's back before Miles expects him to be. Leaning in the bathroom doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, watching silently. Brows furrowed a little, emphasizing the odd zig-zag shape at the far ends.
"I wondered if you did that," he says, when Miles notices him and jumps, startled badly enough that he drops the tweezers in his hands. "Since yours are so short." He smiles warmly when his lover snarls at him, reaches up to rub at his own eyebrows. "Maya always wanted me to pluck mine, or get them waxed. But ... I dunno. I kinda like them, like how they grow. Even if they are a little unusual."
Miles snorts and picks his tweezers up out of the sink. Puts them back in the little leather case they came from and washes his hands, doing his best to ignore Phoenix's steady gaze, weighing on him even when the coffee-pot hisses in the other room, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee wafting down the hall. Tantalizing and rich, even to a staunch tea-drinker like Miles.
"It should no longer surprise me when you display your ignorance of the world around you, Wright," he says, drying his hands and walking past his lover, the man following him into the kitchen like a puppy. "Honestly."
"What?" says Phoenix. "I said I figured you plucked them. Just never asked you."
Miles gives him a withering look. "That isn't what I meant, Wright," he says. "I meant-well, surely you've-"
He stops himself. Frowns at Phoenix, then turns and busies himself, filling the kettle with water.
"Nevermind."
Phoenix's hands, slipping around his waist, don't really surprise him. He'd always known Phoenix to be an affectionate, touchy-feely kind of guy, but the past ten days had taught him quickly that he'd been spared from such displays of affection only out of something like respect, or perhaps a rare display of self-restraint on Phoenix's part. Entering into a sexual relationship had given Phoenix the notion that all kinds of touching was now permitted, and he'd been testing the limits of his new freedom as often as possible, ever since.
"Tell me," Phoenix murmurs, nibbling at the nape of Miles' neck. "Surely I've what?"
Miles sets the kettle down. Rests his hands atop Phoenix's wrists, tipping his head back far enough that Phoenix's nibbling wanders forward, teasing just over the throb of Miles' pulse.
"Contrary to the evidence you present via your behavior in court, you surely did go through law school, did you not?" he says, closing his eyes as he's licked and bitten, the hands under his slipping lower, moving under the waist-band of his pants and underwear to rub at his bare skin.
"Mmm. I did," Phoenix says, moving up to lick the shell of Miles' ear.
Miles does his best not to think about that, but his voice shakes, all the same, as he says: "Then surely you've, ah, heard the urban legend about the, ah-Wright that tickles-one true difference between defense and, mmm, prosecution?"
To his grudging disappointment, Phoenix stops sucking on his earlobe. Licks it once, then rests his chin on Miles' shoulder, fingers rubbing cat-like at Miles' belly.
"Yeah, I've heard of it," Phoenix says. "Actually, I heard about it when I was still-before I changed my major. Mia told me." A nuzzle. A kiss, pressed to Miles' neck. "Defense attorneys grow weird eyebrows. Prosecutors grow weird children." A chuckle. "Thought that was just Mia making fun of me, trying to get me to pluck my eyebrows, too."
Miles turns as best he can without dislodging his lover's grip on him. "That may have been her intention," he says, "but no, it's a well-known legend. One which survives because of its frequently recurring-" he reaches up, feels for the jagged shape of his lover's eyebrow "-supporting evidence."
Phoenix nuzzles into the touch. Smiles contentedly when Miles strokes him, fingers moving back to card through Phoenix's hair.
"Mmm," he says. "That's nice. What were we talking about?"
Miles kisses him. "Nothing, Wright," he says, scratching his nails against his lover's scalp on the next pass.
Phoenix shivers. "Really nice," he says. "And eyebrows. We were talking about eyebrows." He cracks an eye, gives Miles a lazy grin. "Don't tell me you pluck yours 'cause they're weird like mine."
Miles shakes his head. "No," he says. Then, when Phoenix's eyes have closed again. "They're not jagged. Weren't jagged. They were more ... curved. Perhaps like a talon."
His lover hums quietly in answer. Then tenses, eyes flying open, as the meaning of Miles' words sink in.
"Wait," he says. "You-that's why you pluck them?"
Miles shrugs. "I was encouraged to do so at a young age," he says. "Habits are hard to break."
Phoenix frowns. "Why would your dad want you to pluck your eyebrows?" he says. "I mean, I'd think he'd be really happy that his son was-"
"Not my father, Wright," Miles says. "They'd not begun growing in an ... unusual shape when he-until I hit puberty. When I was a teenager."
Understanding lights Phoenix's eyes, his expression morphing quickly enough into one of pity. He opens his mouth, but Miles silences him, fingers prickling against his lover's stubble.
"I was not forced or anything equally dramatic, Wright," he says. "Stop imagining whatever it is your mind has concocted, I assure you it's entirely a fiction of your own creation." He brushes his fingertips across Phoenix's lips when they close with a disappointed flop. Moves his hand to cup the back of Phoenix's neck, playing with the short hairs growing at the nape. "I was interested in conforming with my foster family, so Franziska taught me, in effort to help me fit in better."
Phoenix blinks slowly. Smiles, leaning in to kiss Miles on the mouth.
"That's oddly very sweet," he says.
"You'll keep that opinion to yourself from now on, I trust," Miles tells him, sternly.
Phoenix laughs. "Of course," he says, stealing another kiss. "I don't like getting whipped. I'm a lover, not a fighter."
He kisses Miles once more on the lips. Then on the cheek, moving higher until Miles has dipped his head down, eyes closed as he's kissed where his skin is still raw from being plucked, only a few minutes before. He kisses each side twice, then rests his forehead against Miles'.
"Talons, huh?" he says.
"Mmm," says Miles.
"Any chance I could get you to grow them back? Or try, at least. I know sometimes plucking's permanent."
He's looking Miles in the eye. Completely earnest, lower lip sticking out a little like it does only when he's being stubborn in court. Miles hesitates. Sighs.
"I'll think about it," he says. "But only on the condition that you brush your teeth, your breath really is lethal, Wright. And shave. Kissing you is unpleasant when you're stubbly."
Phoenix perks up, delighted. "Really?" he says.
Miles nods. "Really," he says.
Gets kissed on the mouth, once, Phoenix hurrying off to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later clean-shaven and beaming still. He kisses Miles on the ear and reaches for his favorite cup, fills it with coffee and takes a sip before leaning in to kiss Miles on the mouth.
"After coffee," he says, when Miles makes a face. "I shaved first, I'll brush after my coffee. Honest. It just really tastes bad if I brush before."
Miles rolls his eyes. "You're impossible, Wright."
"I know," Phoenix says. "You'll still let them grow though, won't you? Please?"
Miles turns his back on his lover, busying himself with his his tea. "If you insist," he says. "I don't see how it could hurt."
He's not terribly surprised when he's hugged and kissed, Phoenix's body all but vibrating against his own in excitement. Allows his lover to turn him and kiss him, the flavor of coffee and scent of cheap aftershave overwhelming his senses until he's kissing back just as hard, breathless when the kettle begins to whistle, shrill and demanding.
"Glad I shaved," Phoenix breathes, while Miles pours water into the tea-pot.
Miles sets the kettle back on the stove. Wipes his hands on his sleeping-pants.
"Indeed," he says.
Then he pulls Phoenix close and kisses him, rolling his hips against his lover's suggestively enough that, by the time they've finished with each other, their drinks have gone cold, Miles' lips swollen and sensitive from more than just morning stubble, Phoenix swearing weakly that he loves Miles for more than just a simple promise, made before breakfast.
~*~*~*~
The tweezers stay in their little case, after that. And, after a few years' time, the law school legend begins to change.
Miles Edgeworth never takes credit for the change. Never has to.
Phoenix is more than happy to take credit for it, himself.
It's all for N, who drew Miles being hot and Phoenix wanting to nibble Miles' ear. Oh, and who encouraged me to write this instead of working on my thesis. Damnit. ♥
A Simple Promise Made before Breakfast
by mistr3ss Quickly
It's a secret Miles has kept for over half his lifetime. It's nothing he's ashamed of. It's nothing he relishes the notion of others knowing.
It's part of his routine. It's part of who he is.
~*~*~*~
Phoenix catches him doing it, ten days after they make love for the first time. Stumbles in on him, half-asleep and half undressed with his dick in his hand, his words sloppy and slurred as he stumbles back out of the bathroom, apologizing and explaining that I really gotta pee, Miles, can you like ... leave? Just for a second?
Miles steps out of the bathroom with a roll of his eyes. Leans against the wall while Phoenix relieves himself, the other man punctuating the experience with a gratified sigh, a stupid-happy grin on his face when he finishes washing his hands and opens the bathroom door. Frowns and doesn't kiss back when Phoenix comes over and greets him with the scrub of stubble against his lips, cold-damp hands slipping under Miles' undershirt to touch his bare skin.
"Mornin' handsome," Phoenix says, nuzzling Miles' throat.
"Brush your teeth, Wright, your morning breath is atrocious," Miles counters, doing his best to push his lover away.
Phoenix laughs. "Not 'til I've had coffee," he says, nibbling his way up behind Miles' ear. "Toothpaste'll make it taste funny."
Miles rolls his eyes and pushes Phoenix away. Glares when Phoenix's gaze drops to his nipples-stiff from the man's earlier kisses-to the bulge where Phoenix's touch gave him a partial erection, the expression fierce enough that Phoenix merely grins and gives Miles' cock a squeeze, chuckling as he disappears down the hall to the kitchen.
He's back before Miles expects him to be. Leaning in the bathroom doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, watching silently. Brows furrowed a little, emphasizing the odd zig-zag shape at the far ends.
"I wondered if you did that," he says, when Miles notices him and jumps, startled badly enough that he drops the tweezers in his hands. "Since yours are so short." He smiles warmly when his lover snarls at him, reaches up to rub at his own eyebrows. "Maya always wanted me to pluck mine, or get them waxed. But ... I dunno. I kinda like them, like how they grow. Even if they are a little unusual."
Miles snorts and picks his tweezers up out of the sink. Puts them back in the little leather case they came from and washes his hands, doing his best to ignore Phoenix's steady gaze, weighing on him even when the coffee-pot hisses in the other room, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee wafting down the hall. Tantalizing and rich, even to a staunch tea-drinker like Miles.
"It should no longer surprise me when you display your ignorance of the world around you, Wright," he says, drying his hands and walking past his lover, the man following him into the kitchen like a puppy. "Honestly."
"What?" says Phoenix. "I said I figured you plucked them. Just never asked you."
Miles gives him a withering look. "That isn't what I meant, Wright," he says. "I meant-well, surely you've-"
He stops himself. Frowns at Phoenix, then turns and busies himself, filling the kettle with water.
"Nevermind."
Phoenix's hands, slipping around his waist, don't really surprise him. He'd always known Phoenix to be an affectionate, touchy-feely kind of guy, but the past ten days had taught him quickly that he'd been spared from such displays of affection only out of something like respect, or perhaps a rare display of self-restraint on Phoenix's part. Entering into a sexual relationship had given Phoenix the notion that all kinds of touching was now permitted, and he'd been testing the limits of his new freedom as often as possible, ever since.
"Tell me," Phoenix murmurs, nibbling at the nape of Miles' neck. "Surely I've what?"
Miles sets the kettle down. Rests his hands atop Phoenix's wrists, tipping his head back far enough that Phoenix's nibbling wanders forward, teasing just over the throb of Miles' pulse.
"Contrary to the evidence you present via your behavior in court, you surely did go through law school, did you not?" he says, closing his eyes as he's licked and bitten, the hands under his slipping lower, moving under the waist-band of his pants and underwear to rub at his bare skin.
"Mmm. I did," Phoenix says, moving up to lick the shell of Miles' ear.
Miles does his best not to think about that, but his voice shakes, all the same, as he says: "Then surely you've, ah, heard the urban legend about the, ah-Wright that tickles-one true difference between defense and, mmm, prosecution?"
To his grudging disappointment, Phoenix stops sucking on his earlobe. Licks it once, then rests his chin on Miles' shoulder, fingers rubbing cat-like at Miles' belly.
"Yeah, I've heard of it," Phoenix says. "Actually, I heard about it when I was still-before I changed my major. Mia told me." A nuzzle. A kiss, pressed to Miles' neck. "Defense attorneys grow weird eyebrows. Prosecutors grow weird children." A chuckle. "Thought that was just Mia making fun of me, trying to get me to pluck my eyebrows, too."
Miles turns as best he can without dislodging his lover's grip on him. "That may have been her intention," he says, "but no, it's a well-known legend. One which survives because of its frequently recurring-" he reaches up, feels for the jagged shape of his lover's eyebrow "-supporting evidence."
Phoenix nuzzles into the touch. Smiles contentedly when Miles strokes him, fingers moving back to card through Phoenix's hair.
"Mmm," he says. "That's nice. What were we talking about?"
Miles kisses him. "Nothing, Wright," he says, scratching his nails against his lover's scalp on the next pass.
Phoenix shivers. "Really nice," he says. "And eyebrows. We were talking about eyebrows." He cracks an eye, gives Miles a lazy grin. "Don't tell me you pluck yours 'cause they're weird like mine."
Miles shakes his head. "No," he says. Then, when Phoenix's eyes have closed again. "They're not jagged. Weren't jagged. They were more ... curved. Perhaps like a talon."
His lover hums quietly in answer. Then tenses, eyes flying open, as the meaning of Miles' words sink in.
"Wait," he says. "You-that's why you pluck them?"
Miles shrugs. "I was encouraged to do so at a young age," he says. "Habits are hard to break."
Phoenix frowns. "Why would your dad want you to pluck your eyebrows?" he says. "I mean, I'd think he'd be really happy that his son was-"
"Not my father, Wright," Miles says. "They'd not begun growing in an ... unusual shape when he-until I hit puberty. When I was a teenager."
Understanding lights Phoenix's eyes, his expression morphing quickly enough into one of pity. He opens his mouth, but Miles silences him, fingers prickling against his lover's stubble.
"I was not forced or anything equally dramatic, Wright," he says. "Stop imagining whatever it is your mind has concocted, I assure you it's entirely a fiction of your own creation." He brushes his fingertips across Phoenix's lips when they close with a disappointed flop. Moves his hand to cup the back of Phoenix's neck, playing with the short hairs growing at the nape. "I was interested in conforming with my foster family, so Franziska taught me, in effort to help me fit in better."
Phoenix blinks slowly. Smiles, leaning in to kiss Miles on the mouth.
"That's oddly very sweet," he says.
"You'll keep that opinion to yourself from now on, I trust," Miles tells him, sternly.
Phoenix laughs. "Of course," he says, stealing another kiss. "I don't like getting whipped. I'm a lover, not a fighter."
He kisses Miles once more on the lips. Then on the cheek, moving higher until Miles has dipped his head down, eyes closed as he's kissed where his skin is still raw from being plucked, only a few minutes before. He kisses each side twice, then rests his forehead against Miles'.
"Talons, huh?" he says.
"Mmm," says Miles.
"Any chance I could get you to grow them back? Or try, at least. I know sometimes plucking's permanent."
He's looking Miles in the eye. Completely earnest, lower lip sticking out a little like it does only when he's being stubborn in court. Miles hesitates. Sighs.
"I'll think about it," he says. "But only on the condition that you brush your teeth, your breath really is lethal, Wright. And shave. Kissing you is unpleasant when you're stubbly."
Phoenix perks up, delighted. "Really?" he says.
Miles nods. "Really," he says.
Gets kissed on the mouth, once, Phoenix hurrying off to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later clean-shaven and beaming still. He kisses Miles on the ear and reaches for his favorite cup, fills it with coffee and takes a sip before leaning in to kiss Miles on the mouth.
"After coffee," he says, when Miles makes a face. "I shaved first, I'll brush after my coffee. Honest. It just really tastes bad if I brush before."
Miles rolls his eyes. "You're impossible, Wright."
"I know," Phoenix says. "You'll still let them grow though, won't you? Please?"
Miles turns his back on his lover, busying himself with his his tea. "If you insist," he says. "I don't see how it could hurt."
He's not terribly surprised when he's hugged and kissed, Phoenix's body all but vibrating against his own in excitement. Allows his lover to turn him and kiss him, the flavor of coffee and scent of cheap aftershave overwhelming his senses until he's kissing back just as hard, breathless when the kettle begins to whistle, shrill and demanding.
"Glad I shaved," Phoenix breathes, while Miles pours water into the tea-pot.
Miles sets the kettle back on the stove. Wipes his hands on his sleeping-pants.
"Indeed," he says.
Then he pulls Phoenix close and kisses him, rolling his hips against his lover's suggestively enough that, by the time they've finished with each other, their drinks have gone cold, Miles' lips swollen and sensitive from more than just morning stubble, Phoenix swearing weakly that he loves Miles for more than just a simple promise, made before breakfast.
~*~*~*~
The tweezers stay in their little case, after that. And, after a few years' time, the law school legend begins to change.
Miles Edgeworth never takes credit for the change. Never has to.
Phoenix is more than happy to take credit for it, himself.