Work Text:
Phoenix Wright knew a lot about his boyfriend-cum-rival.
He liked to think he did, anyway. They’d been through so much together, after all. Changed each other’s lives—Hell, even saved them on occasion. That had to count for something. He’d emerged from all their trials together knowing all kinds of things that L.A.’s foremost Chief Prosecutor would never begin to let on: That he was the biggest dork in existence (though, to be fair, only said Prosecutor thought that that was still a secret,) that he was prone to sleeping with the lights on; that he’d never be absolutely confident in himself, no matter what he said or achieved. Phoenix was glad to know all these things. Is it cheesy to say that he was “honored” to know? Well, he was. He was honored to know that he was trusted with the knowledge of so many little things that composed Miles Edgeworth.
Phoenix was absolutely honored. Delighted. Totally stoked, even, to feel that he was trusted implicitly by Miles, a man who had distrusted people his whole life—often with good reason. But there were sometimes things, little, human things about the man that he couldn’t take. Stubbornness and self-righteousness... and the things Miles did because of them.
Take this example: Just a few months into a fledgling romantic relationship, and Phoenix had taken it upon himself to suggest fun things for the pair to do together. The movies were his favorite. He and Miles both seemed to enjoy themselves, despite the discrepancies in their tastes. Almost without fail, one of them would end up enjoying the film, and the other would be filled to bursting with snarky commentary by its end.
Of course, Phoenix was always bursting with other things by the time two hours and a large soda were finished, so it was another staple of theirs to rush over to the dilapidated restrooms afterwards. Miles would follow Phoenix dutifully as far as the door, but not without smirking that sardonic smirk of his. Once Miles had even asked his companion—laughingly, but still—if he were really so much of a child that he couldn’t wait until he got home. When Phoenix emerged from the room again, and the smirk hadn’t shifted, he hurried to defend himself.
“Just because you don’t... what’s the big problem with it, anyway?” Miles tsk-ed at him. Phoenix couldn’t be sure if Miles really disapproved or if he’d simply remembered the time Phoenix had let slip how much he admired the moue of his lips when he made the sound.
“It’s unsanitary, for a start. And I was under the impression that adults should be able to control themselves. What’s more, it’s practically an exhibitionist—”
“Wait,” Phoenix interrupted, holding back a lungful of laughs, “you think using a public bathroom is exhibitionist?”
The scowl and the glare and the red that had crept into Miles’ face were almost enough to chasten Phoenix. Almost. He was still giggling as he followed his delightfully hardass partner, who had swept past him and out the theater door. When they made it across the parking lot to the shining cherry-red sports car, Miles allowed Phoenix to climb into the passenger seat beside him, but disapproval was still radiating off of him in waves. Phoenix attempted to make it up to him with a moue of his own.
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure how honest he could sound with a breathless giggle tickling the back of his throat, but he did his best. “But... you’re the only one who thinks that way about public bathrooms, you know. It’s kind of crazy. I mean, I know you never have to piss like the rest of us mere mortals, but—”
“Let’s go.”
The words and the car’s acceleration from the parking lot were sharp and fast. Phoenix didn’t really know what to say for the rest of the trip—he’d never really learned how to bandage his boyfriend’s broken pride, after all—so he just watched the scenery as it went by, and said boyfriend, when the mood struck him.
It was this watching that made Phoenix really begin to doubt his parking lot assessment. If it had been anyone else, he’d have said that he was sure that they needed the bathroom. But Phoenix had watched Miles and wondered in the past. They’d shared wine with dinner, drinks at the theater, and—at his urging—slushies at the local convenience store, all several times, and never once had Miles excused himself for the facilities. By that time, he supposed, Phoenix had really begun to believe that he just didn’t. That maybe, by sheer determination and unwillingness to do the “unseemly,” his boyfriend could force his body to reabsorb all the extra liquid it took in.
So, even at that moment, when the great Chief Prosecutor squirmed and flexed his hands on the steering wheel, Phoenix wasn’t sure. He suspected, but he wasn’t sure. Not even when they stopped at his apartment, and he decided to turn around for a last word, only to find that Miles had openly crossed his legs.
“Uh... do you want to come in, or...?”
“No.”
With that, Miles tore off into the night. Phoenix supposed he should have been upset, but the giggles took over again instead as a thought bubbled up to the surface of his brain.
I wonder if that’s why Miles is always speeding.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Such thoughts didn’t want to leave Phoenix alone after that night. Every time he and Miles met, he had to wonder if this would be the day that he’d finally learn the secret; if this would be the time he would be entrusted with another one of the hundreds of disjointed pieces that made up the love of his life. But it was a long time coming. After the movie escapade, Miles seemed even less-inclined to drink anything at all when they were together. He’d also stopped smirking at Phoenix’s weak bladder, which was kind of nice, but also so unlike him that Phoenix began to get a little worried.
Eventually, the thoughts simply evaporated from Phoenix’s mind. More important things—number one: trying to navigate his relationship with Miles past kisses, cuddling and general smart-assery—took their place, and he let that odd little fascination go the way of a certain detective’s salary.
Until one day, that is.
Phoenix had arrived in the Prosecutors’ Office just before noon, thinking to surprise his companion with a lunchtime visit. Miles’ secretary had been kind enough to let him in with a knowing smile and a promise to let Mr. Edgeworth know that he’d arrived the moment the prosecutors’ conference broke. It was a big deal, evidently, and the prosecutors attending couldn't possibly be disturbed for anything less than mortal news. Having spied the blue-and-red chess set standing in a corner of the obscenely large room, Phoenix decided to await Miles there (with the pretense of improving his game, but really to see if he could find any indication of who had crafted those spikey-headed pawns.)
The defense attorney had been waiting for a solid half hour when he heard his boyfriend’s voice from the hallway—but it wasn’t pretty. Where were the deep, assured tones that he was used to hearing when Miles was on the job? Not there, certainly. They had been replaced by the same clipped rushing through words that Phoenix was only ever treated to when Miles was deeply upset or deeply pissed off. The voice approached the door in a rush, too. When its owner entered the room, he practically dashed in, frock coat swirling around his knees, as he decided at the last moment to throw a parting word to the people clamoring outside.
“A moment—just a moment. This matter incorporates some very sensitive information. Sola in camera. Do you understand? I will report back to you within the next ten minutes. Now, please!”
He shut the door behind him, against a few overlapping voices, and the lock might have turned. Phoenix wasn’t sure, what with the light wheezing and the quick, heavy footsteps across the marble floor filling the room. Miles seemed not to have sensed his boyfriend’s presence, but Phoenix felt no particular need to make himself known. Miles was so… oddly focused. He paused when he made it to the drawers in front of his massive window, and wrenched half of the curtain closed; there, he seemed to stop, just for a moment, before leaning down with a quiet groan and drawing something out of the bottom-most drawer.
That was precisely what Phoenix saw come out of the drawer: “Something.” He couldn’t figure out what it was. The thing was similar to objects he’d seen in the past, but didn’t seem to be any one of them: It was like a kind of porcelain bowl, squatter than a vase, with handles and a muted floral pattern and a gleaming gilded rim, and it was cradled between his boyfriend’s noticeably trembling hands. Miles sighed as he touched the thing, again as he set it on the floor in front of him, and—last and loudest—a third time as he undid his belt and his buttons and began pissing into it. Violently, at that.
Now, Phoenix could never be sure what made him laugh. It could’ve been nerves, or actual, bewildered amusement, or the laugh of the insane. But laugh he did, once. Loudly enough for him to slap a hand over his mouth and for the deluge sounding through the room to come to an abrupt halt.
“What?!” Miles snapped, and glared frantically around. Comically, Phoenix thought, but he managed to swallow another laugh. Miles didn’t turn around, or even move to close up his pants, though—Phoenix could tell by the way he held his arm in front of him. “What... who’s there?!”
“It’s just me, you big dork,” Phoenix said, amiably, he thought, but Miles didn’t smile, so he pressed a little further. “So this is what they mean by ‘in camera,’ eh? And here I thought it had something to do with Social Security numbers.”
The prosecutor had been emitting a low, constant, groaning kind of noise since his partner had started speaking, and shifted wildly on his heels. Phoenix had barely finished his thought when he cut in:
“Wright. You’ve got to go. Now.”
“Aww, when did I become ‘Wright’ again?” Phoenix moped. “Besides, it’s clearly you who’s ‘got to go.’”
Phoenix thought he was clever. Miles seemed to think he was the most infuriating thing ever dreamt up by creation. The free hand raking through his hair clearly spoke to that.
“Please, Phoenix... now... I... I really can’t....” Every syllable seemed to take its own Herculean effort to be voiced. “I cannot... wait... much longer... d-don’t come any closer!”
The defense attorney had decided to stand, and had already taken a few steps when Miles ordered him to stop. He didn’t, though. He took a few more steps and planted himself a few feet behind his partner and fixed his gaze on the tense, rosy line of his neck where it emerged from his collar.
“Miles,” he said, careful as the prosecutor’s fingers had been on that gilded china, “this is ridiculous.”
“I’m... plainly aware of that.” Phoenix could feel the shame hissing through his boyfriend’s gritted teeth. “N-now... if you could just... save the rest of your laughs for later....”
“It’s not this... thing,” Phoenix went on, waggling his hand at the “thing” in question. (An old vase? A weird teapot? What?) “I mean... it’s ridiculous that you won’t just go.”
“I... I can’t. Not with someone else here....”
“Can too!”
Miles shifted again, and sighed, hard and deep in his chest, and spoke to the ceiling, “N-no... I can’t. I’ve never been able to.... Not—”
“‘Since you were a child’?” Phoenix supplied, and took another step closer. He barely heard his boyfriend take in a sharp breath through his nose. “We’ve overcome enough of your childhood issues to deal with this, don’t you think?” Miles spluttered indignantly, and, sensing what he would say, Phoenix interrupted him before he could speak. “Is it a little weird? Yeah, maybe. But it’s not ‘indecent.’ It’s not ‘unseemly.’ Everyone pisses.” Another splutter, this time with an air of derision. “What would you prefer I said? ‘Pees?’ ‘Micturates?’”
“Nghh... I’d p-prefer that you... said... nothing.”
“Just do it. Come on, Miles, you’re going to hurt yourself this way!”
“You’re the one hurting me b-by... staying here....” He gasped suddenly, and Phoenix heard the barest tinkle of a stream against waiting porcelain. Taking this as a good sign, he rested his hand on one of the taut shoulders in front of him.
“It’s just me. The guy who’s certifiably head-over-heels for you. And I don’t care. I won’t smirk at you when you’re done, you won’t hear me mentioning this to anyone, and everything will be fine.”
“I can’t, I really... c-can’t....” Miles’ voice wavered between a word and a whine; his shoulder shook a little, and Phoenix leaned forward to whisper into his ear.
“You can. Come on... I want you to.” Phoenix grasped his boyfriend’s other shoulder, and resisted the curious impulse to look down at Miles’ occupied hand. He looked sideways at his face, instead, with its bitten red lips, eyelids pressed tight together, and the black-framed glasses that had fallen halfway down its dignified nose. “No one’s going to be upset with you, least of all me. Come on... you’ll feel so much better....”
For once, it appeared that Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth agreed on something. Miles said nothing, of course, but he seemed to physically acquiesce. He leaned back into the supportive hands just a little, and looked up at the ceiling, and the flood resumed before Phoenix knew what was happening. It was slow, barely trickling against the porcelain at first, but soon transformed into a steady stream singing weirdly from the inside of the vessel. But if there was any music to be had in that moment, it was in Miles’ voice, sighing once more, and whispering something soft and exhausted—maybe “God” or “Gott.” His eyes closed again, gently this time, and a hard shudder passed between his shoulder blades, and Phoenix would have bet real money that his partner would have moaned had he not been there.
It was, as he’d said, totally fine... at first. But as they approached the thirty second mark, Phoenix couldn’t help but feel that it was taking far too long, and, despite all his assurances, he couldn’t bear all this silence but for the piss and porcelain. He had to break in with something.
“So... what brought this on?” Phoenix was gifted with a smile. A mere twitch of the corner of the mouth, yes, but a smile nonetheless.
“A headache... a pot of green Darjeeling... and altogether too many people.”
When Miles finally finished and put his clothes to rights, Phoenix was unsurprised to see the shame that threatened to overtake his boyfriend’s entire frame. It was clear in his downcast eyes and the nervous hand fumbling for the little bottle of hand sanitizer in his jacket pocket.
“Phoenix—”
“Don’t even worry about it. I get it. It’s okay.” Phoenix smiled. He leaned forward for a quick peck on the lips, and Miles managed to look a little less sick. “But... I did have one other question....”
“Wh-what?”
“What do you call that... thing?”
Miles’ eyes fell again, and he muttered something to his shoulder. “Chamber-” something....
“Wait, what?”
“It’s a... chamber pot.” Another laugh shot out of Phoenix, and another glare out of Miles.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but... ‘chamber pot’? Really? Only you, my dear, darling dork. Only you, ‘sola in camera’....”
Slowly, a real smile bloomed over Phoenix’s favorite face.
“Yes,” Miles murmured, “appropriate, is it not?”