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sabinetzinTitle: Moonlighting, Chapter 2
Summary: Miles Edgeworth and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban (Ace Attorney)
Word Count: 860
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, frantic!Edgeworth, cuddlewhore!Phoenix
Pairing: Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright
A/N: So, it seems to be a series now. Watch, as I make stuff up about the law (hey, if they do it in canon, I can do it too)! Thrill, to Edgeworth's inner monologue! Don't, complain about the cliffhanger!
It was times like these that Miles Edgeworth wished that he had a nice, reliable bad habit. He would have liked nothing more than to light up a cigarette or take a shot of whiskey, something manly and serious that would succinctly show his inner turmoil while giving him something to do with his hands. Unfortunately, tobacco made him nauseous, and his flask ruined the line of his suit; so he settled, like always, on a hot cup of tea.
He untangled himself from Phoenix gingerly and crept out of the bedroom. The kitchen was cleaner than he had expected, though the thin layer of dust on the stove said volumes about Phoenix's eating habits. Fumbling around, he quickly found, as expected, that there was no kettle, no tea pot, no tea ball or strainer, and no milk. He did find a faded box of earl grey, stashed behind what looked to be a year's supply of peanut butter, and a chipped coffee mug reading "World's Greatest Dad." He sighed and decided to cut his losses. Microwaved tea was marginally better than nothing.
Edgeworth made a mental note to bring his extra kettle over for situations like this. He thought that there was nothing more distressing than waking up every morning to bad tea. But then he realized he was wrong: nothing was more distressing than the fact that he was seriously considering waking up at Phoenix's apartment every morning.
His thoughts were mercifully interrupted by Phoenix, who padded into the kitchen looking a little bit like the cat who got the canary. "Morning," he yawned, stretching.
"Morning," he answered gruffly, turning back to the microwave to retrieve his cup. Phoenix apparently saw this as an open invitation, wrapping his arms around Edgeworth's waist and pulling him close. "Wright, what are you doing?"
"I thought it was pretty obvious," Phoenix replied, positively nuzzling his neck. "I thought since we didn't-"
"We can't," he said flatly, moving out of his reach.
Phoenix practically deflated. "You don't want to?"
"It has nothing to do with that," Edgeworth snapped. "Did they teach you nothing about conflicts of interest in law school?"
The other man looked somewhat relieved. "There are plenty of ways around that-"
"All of which mean the cases we've been on together can be reopened." He sighed. "It's too risky. We should stop before we-" the words died on his lips, because Phoenix wouldn't stop looking at him like Edgeworth had just shot his dog. Sighing, he pulled Phoenix in for a kiss- anything to get that awful look off his face. "Come by tonight, and we'll talk about it. I have to go to work."
He finally left Phoenix's apartment some twenty minutes later, mostly owing to the fact that he and Phoenix had mysteriously lost the ability to keep their hands off one another. It was a troublesome phenomenon; had he, up until yesterday, been in incredibly deep denial about the fact that he wanted to tear Phoenix's clothing off, or was this a brand new development? And was that all that he wanted? He refused to even consider the other party's thoughts on the subject or the legal ramifications of the whole thing; otherwise, he might have run right off the road.
Edgeworth was on the point of turning back towards his house when he noticed the time. Sighing, he turned toward the Prosecutors' Office instead, hoping his spare suit was still in the trunk.
And he still hadn't had any tea.
--
It was a mercifully slow day in the Prosecutors' Office. His current case, a textbook example of grand theft auto, finished quickly after an unexpected guilty plea. No one from the Criminal Affairs Department seemed to need him- Edgeworth heard something about a raid being planned, but another prosecutor was handling it- so he spent most of the day wrapping up odd bits of paperwork and filing.
At five, he called it a day, locking up his office and heading down to the parking garage. By five thirty, he was pulling into his driveway. Pess got his nightly walk at five forty-five, and Edgeworth got a well deserved shower when they got back. After that, it was time to start dinner. After some consideration, he doubled his recipe, telling himself it wasn't in case Phoenix hadn't eaten. At seven, Edgeworth ate by himself, wrapping up the leftovers and stashing them in the refrigerator.
Seven forty-five found him sitting at the edge of the couch reading, but by eight he realized that he had read the same page six times. At eight thirty, he gave up and called Phoenix's cell phone; it rang and rang, but there was no answer.
At nine, he was worried; by nine thirty, he was upset; upon the stroke of ten, he swore loudly and threw his book at the wall. At ten thirty, he stomped off to bed; at ten thirty-five, the phone rang.
"What?" Edgeworth snapped into the receiver.
A crisp, pre-recorded voice came on the line. "You have a collect call from-" "Um, Phoenix Wright?" "-an inmate at the Los Angeles County Detention Center. Will you accept charges?"
Summary: Miles Edgeworth and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban (Ace Attorney)
Word Count: 860
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, frantic!Edgeworth, cuddlewhore!Phoenix
Pairing: Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright
A/N: So, it seems to be a series now. Watch, as I make stuff up about the law (hey, if they do it in canon, I can do it too)! Thrill, to Edgeworth's inner monologue! Don't, complain about the cliffhanger!
It was times like these that Miles Edgeworth wished that he had a nice, reliable bad habit. He would have liked nothing more than to light up a cigarette or take a shot of whiskey, something manly and serious that would succinctly show his inner turmoil while giving him something to do with his hands. Unfortunately, tobacco made him nauseous, and his flask ruined the line of his suit; so he settled, like always, on a hot cup of tea.
He untangled himself from Phoenix gingerly and crept out of the bedroom. The kitchen was cleaner than he had expected, though the thin layer of dust on the stove said volumes about Phoenix's eating habits. Fumbling around, he quickly found, as expected, that there was no kettle, no tea pot, no tea ball or strainer, and no milk. He did find a faded box of earl grey, stashed behind what looked to be a year's supply of peanut butter, and a chipped coffee mug reading "World's Greatest Dad." He sighed and decided to cut his losses. Microwaved tea was marginally better than nothing.
Edgeworth made a mental note to bring his extra kettle over for situations like this. He thought that there was nothing more distressing than waking up every morning to bad tea. But then he realized he was wrong: nothing was more distressing than the fact that he was seriously considering waking up at Phoenix's apartment every morning.
His thoughts were mercifully interrupted by Phoenix, who padded into the kitchen looking a little bit like the cat who got the canary. "Morning," he yawned, stretching.
"Morning," he answered gruffly, turning back to the microwave to retrieve his cup. Phoenix apparently saw this as an open invitation, wrapping his arms around Edgeworth's waist and pulling him close. "Wright, what are you doing?"
"I thought it was pretty obvious," Phoenix replied, positively nuzzling his neck. "I thought since we didn't-"
"We can't," he said flatly, moving out of his reach.
Phoenix practically deflated. "You don't want to?"
"It has nothing to do with that," Edgeworth snapped. "Did they teach you nothing about conflicts of interest in law school?"
The other man looked somewhat relieved. "There are plenty of ways around that-"
"All of which mean the cases we've been on together can be reopened." He sighed. "It's too risky. We should stop before we-" the words died on his lips, because Phoenix wouldn't stop looking at him like Edgeworth had just shot his dog. Sighing, he pulled Phoenix in for a kiss- anything to get that awful look off his face. "Come by tonight, and we'll talk about it. I have to go to work."
He finally left Phoenix's apartment some twenty minutes later, mostly owing to the fact that he and Phoenix had mysteriously lost the ability to keep their hands off one another. It was a troublesome phenomenon; had he, up until yesterday, been in incredibly deep denial about the fact that he wanted to tear Phoenix's clothing off, or was this a brand new development? And was that all that he wanted? He refused to even consider the other party's thoughts on the subject or the legal ramifications of the whole thing; otherwise, he might have run right off the road.
Edgeworth was on the point of turning back towards his house when he noticed the time. Sighing, he turned toward the Prosecutors' Office instead, hoping his spare suit was still in the trunk.
And he still hadn't had any tea.
--
It was a mercifully slow day in the Prosecutors' Office. His current case, a textbook example of grand theft auto, finished quickly after an unexpected guilty plea. No one from the Criminal Affairs Department seemed to need him- Edgeworth heard something about a raid being planned, but another prosecutor was handling it- so he spent most of the day wrapping up odd bits of paperwork and filing.
At five, he called it a day, locking up his office and heading down to the parking garage. By five thirty, he was pulling into his driveway. Pess got his nightly walk at five forty-five, and Edgeworth got a well deserved shower when they got back. After that, it was time to start dinner. After some consideration, he doubled his recipe, telling himself it wasn't in case Phoenix hadn't eaten. At seven, Edgeworth ate by himself, wrapping up the leftovers and stashing them in the refrigerator.
Seven forty-five found him sitting at the edge of the couch reading, but by eight he realized that he had read the same page six times. At eight thirty, he gave up and called Phoenix's cell phone; it rang and rang, but there was no answer.
At nine, he was worried; by nine thirty, he was upset; upon the stroke of ten, he swore loudly and threw his book at the wall. At ten thirty, he stomped off to bed; at ten thirty-five, the phone rang.
"What?" Edgeworth snapped into the receiver.
A crisp, pre-recorded voice came on the line. "You have a collect call from-" "Um, Phoenix Wright?" "-an inmate at the Los Angeles County Detention Center. Will you accept charges?"
