Chapter Text
8pm seemed far too late for a meeting. But this was the time that Phoenix had been given.
As he entered the Prosecutor's Building, he was still just as clueless as to why this meeting had been arranged as he had been when he’d received the message from Edgeworth earlier that day:
“Good afternoon, Wright. I'd appreciate it if you could come to my office at 8pm tonight. Please confirm whether this time suits you.”
No reason was given for either the meeting or the timing, so when Phoenix had replied in the affirmative, he sent a second message probing for details – and was met with radio silence.
It wasn't as if there were any loose ends from that day's trial to talk about; the last piece of evidence that had secured the defendant's ‘not guilty’ verdict had been watertight, and up until then the case against her had already been weak. Everything in the trial record indicated that it was an effortless win for the defence.
In reality, however, Phoenix felt like he'd been fighting for his life throughout the entire trial. And it was Edgeworth's fault – but not for the expected reasons.
Phoenix had long since shored up his defences against the mind games, had thickened his skin against the verbal barbs so that they no longer derailed his train of thought … but he could never have prepared himself for the sight of Edgeworth removing his suit jacket as if in slow motion and carefully laying it on his desk, before going on to give his opening statement as normal.
The effect on Phoenix was much the same as if he'd just watched Edgeworth casually strip down to his underwear; the sight had collided full force with his brain and barged out the rest of his thoughts. He'd spent most of the trial scrambling to gather them back up, only to feel them scurry away again every time he noticed the subtle swell of biceps beneath the immaculately tailored dress shirt, the way the black waistcoat tapered from shoulders to hips, leading downward to the most dangerous view that left Phoenix weak each time Edgeworth turned away from him.
How he had contained that inner turmoil was beyond him, but miraculously, Edgeworth gave no sign that he had noticed anything at all, and the moment the verdict was given and the gavel fell, Phoenix had escaped the courtroom, heart pounding and sweat prickling at his skin, giving Edgeworth no chance to approach him even if he’d wanted to.
Phoenix had never dared let on that from the moment they'd faced each other again, he'd been completely and utterly enthralled. All Edgeworth had to do was let his gaze linger for a little too long from the other side of the courtroom, and Phoenix's brain would melt. Occasionally Edgeworth would saunter out from behind his desk while making his arguments to the court, and every time he passed by the defence’s desk the wisp of his cologne invaded Phoenix’s senses, fogging his thoughts with sharp citrus, decadent florals and depravity. With his resolve already so delicate, it was no great surprise that this most minimal state of undress ended up having a ruinous effect on his ability to think straight.
It just wasn't fair.
But, at the same time, it was absolutely exhilarating.
The only thing Phoenix could think to be glad of was that he hadn't let the truth out, because if Edgeworth had been aware of this particular power available to him, he absolutely would have wielded it without mercy in the courtroom and extended his victorious streak against Phoenix into eternity.
Either that, or he would declare a conflict of interest and they would never face one another in the courtroom again.
Phoenix didn't like that possibility. No more courtroom tension, no more silent, giddy thrills … and no more mysterious invitations to meetings at 8pm.
His shoes echoed against the tiled floor of the empty reception area as he made his way towards the elevators. As the doors closed behind him with a soft whoosh and he was whisked to floor 12, trepidation hollowed out his insides. Even when the elevator slowed and the cold, automated voice announced the floor, Phoenix’s stomach still seemed to be floating upwards as the doors glided open and he stepped out into the silent, thickly carpeted corridor.
He knew where he was going. He had been here enough times before. Edgeworth’s office was only a short walk away from the elevator and stairwell, and yet it felt like it took Phoenix far longer than usual to reach room 1202. He raised his hand to the door – and froze.
Why was he so nervous about this?
What exactly did he think was going to happen?
It's just a meeting, the rational corner of his mind said in exasperation. A meeting! He's salty that he lost again, so he’s scoured the trial record for something to nitpick to make himself feel better. He’ll lecture you for half an hour and you'll get to enjoy staring at him while he comes up with different eloquent ways to tell you how stupid you are. That's all.
The mental kick unlocked his muscles and he finally managed to knock on the door, hoping that at the very least Edgeworth would keep his jacket on during this meeting. If not, Phoenix didn’t fancy his chances of hiding his reaction with nothing but a desk between them.
“Come in.”
The sight of Edgeworth rising from his desk, jacket very much on, tapped a little tension out of Phoenix’s shoulders as he stepped into the office.
“Good evening, Wright. If you could be so kind as to close the door behind you …”
There was nothing but cold professionalism in Edgeworth’s demeanour, but Phoenix couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was closing himself into a trap as he shut the door.
“Evening, Edgeworth,” he said, “Do you mind finally letting me know why you've asked to meet me?”
He had left the safety of the door behind and was about to sit on the sofa, when Edgeworth stopped him in his tracks with a raised hand.
“Don't make yourself comfortable there just yet, Wright,” he said, “I have a question for you first.”
“Fire away.”
“Have you ever played chess before?”
Phoenix blinked.
“Why … why do you ask?” he said slowly.
“I assure you, it's a relevant question,” Edgeworth said, “In fact, it's why I requested you meet me this evening. I was wondering if you'd be interested in a match.”
Was that all this meeting was for? A game of chess? The confusion must have been blatant on Phoenix’s face, because Edgeworth continued without waiting for a response.
“Don't you think it would be refreshing to indulge in a little one-on-one competition?” he said with a smirk, “No unreliable witnesses, no questionable evidence muddying the waters – and no saviours at the eleventh hour. Nothing but your wits up against mine.”
“I dunno, I’d argue you need more than just your wits to win at chess.” Phoenix said, “Kind of sounds like you’re picking something where you know you’ll have the upper hand. I didn’t realise you were so sore about losing the trial today.”
Edgeworth's eyes narrowed.
“I’m not that petty, Wright. Now, do you want to play or not? You’re not obligated to.”
It may have been unexpected, but the prospect of one-on-one time with Edgeworth was appealing. And while it was nothing more exciting than a chess match, it was certainly a step up from a meeting about that day’s trial. Maybe Phoenix could dare to throw in a teasing comment here and there during the game, and gauge Edgeworth’s reaction to see how it lands. If nothing else, maybe it would fluster him enough to balance the scales a little and give Phoenix a fighting chance to win.
“Alright, Edgeworth,” he said, “I'll indulge you. As it so happens, I have played chess before.”
Edgeworth raised an eyebrow, and both of Phoenix’s dropped into a frown.
“What, are you surprised by that?”
“Not at all,” Edgeworth said coolly, “Hopefully that will make for a more interesting match than I'd anticipated.”
He gestured to the chess table near his bookcase, already set up in expectation. “Shall we?”
Phoenix wasn't exactly a connoisseur of chess sets, but even from the other side of the office it was obvious that this one was very different from what he was used to. For starters, he'd never seen a chess set with royal blue and scarlet red pieces before. And those blue pieces … they were awfully similar to the colour of his suit. Was it his imagination, or …
“Shouldn’t these be black and white?” he said as he approached the table, picking up a pawn from either end and studying them closely. The blue pawn was indeed an almost perfect match to the sleeve of his suit jacket. And, come to think of it, the red pawn was very close to the colour of Edgeworth’s suit too.
“Traditionally, yes, but they don't have to be,” Edgeworth said, seeming oblivious to Phoenix’s confusion, “I happen to prefer these colours. I'll play red, by the way – naturally.”
Phoenix probably would have opted to play as blue anyway, but Edgeworth had made the choice for him.
“Must have taken you a while to find a set like this.”
“I had it custom made last year, actually. Have a seat.”
Something equally intriguing and unnerving buzzed in the back of Phoenix’s mind, but Edgeworth’s voice broke through it before that buzzing could take shape into a coherent thought.
“When was the last time you played chess, Wright?” he asked as they took their places opposite one another.
“Not since college, and then it was only because of Larry,” Phoenix said, “He was trying to impress a girl from the chess club and he needed an opponent to practice with. I picked up a few decent techniques along the way – I bet they'll come back to me when we get started.”
“Let's hope they do,” Edgeworth said, “But before we begin … I propose we add some stakes to this match. An extra incentive to win, you could say.”
Phoenix sensed that phantom trap around him again. “What kind of stakes?”
Edgeworth steepled his fingers beneath his chin, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“A forfeit for the loser,” he said.
Phoenix’s heart rate rose, incrementally. “What sort of forfeit did you have in mind?”
“Ah – that would be showing my hand too soon, wouldn't it? The only rules are that the victor decides the forfeit, and we stay above the law. Bear those in mind.”
This could either be horrendous … or incredible. Neither possibility helped to settle Phoenix’s heart.
“I'll move first,” Edgeworth said, “Don't make this easy for me, Wright.”
And so, the match began.
The early stages were fairly inconsequential, played in silence. Phoenix took the safe option of mirroring Edgeworth's moves while he settled in, rules and strategies filtering back in from the distant corners of his memory. His copycat tactic received no comment – Edgeworth’s eyes were narrowed in deep concentration and the faintest line was etched between his eyebrows as he moved, watched, contemplated … moved, watched, contemplated …
Then he slipped up, moving a pawn within striking distance of one of Phoenix’s, and in the next move it was promptly whisked away in triumph.
“Ha! First capture goes to me,” Phoenix said, replacing the fallen red pawn with his own in a not-entirely-gracious flourish, “I bet you weren't expecting that!”
Edgeworth seemed entirely unfazed by the loss, his hand curled beneath his chin as he surveyed the board.
“Well done,” he said softly, “but just how far ahead are you thinking?”
“Well, none of my pieces are at any risk right now … at least, I don’t think they are …”
Phoenix’s eyes skittered back and forth over the board, confidence dissolving into doubt.
“You're right – they're not. Not right now, at least,” Edgeworth said, “However, I'd advise you to start thinking several moves ahead if you want to stand a chance. You wouldn't want to leave yourself open to me, would you?”
The tone in his voice made Phoenix look up, and something rippled deep within his belly when he found grey eyes already staring at him.
“Because if you do,” Edgeworth continued, his voice dropping into a low, silky register that he’d never before used in court, “I can assure you … I will take advantage.”
Surely he didn’t mean for that to sound like … like that … did he?
A flush of warmth crept up Phoenix’s neck and threatened to flood his face. He swallowed as subtly as he could, hoping that somehow the motion would force the heat back down.
“Don’t worry,” he said, although the words nearly didn't make it out of his throat, “I've got a strategy.”
He really didn’t.
Edgeworth cocked an eyebrow.
“Good. Remember, don't make this too easy for me – I relish a challenge.”
Phoenix fought to reset himself. It was nothing; he simply misinterpreted Edgeworth’s tone. Or Edgeworth was just trying to mess with Phoenix’s head in order to win, so he could … get him to file paperwork afterwards, or something like that.
The warmth in his face and neck slowly receded, and he got a grip back on his composure as Edgeworth made the next move. It didn't take long before a blue pawn was captured, bringing them level with each other again. A few moves later, Phoenix saw a chance to apply some pressure …
“Check.”
He looked up with a confident smile, sliding a bishop into place to threaten Edgeworth’s king.
“You saw the opportunity, then,” Edgeworth said, still calm, “The game isn't over though – not by a long way.”
With an unhurried motion, he blocked the bishop’s path with a knight.
“There’s a lot more for me to play with yet.”
Phoenix’s seat had become very uncomfortable, but he forced himself into stillness as he considered his next move. Then he spotted a lonely red pawn on the board, left at risk by the diversion that the check had enforced.
“You're just giving these things away, huh?” he teased, swiping it up with his own knight.
Edgeworth raised his eyes from the board and smirked, tapping a finger to his temple. “I'm looking at the bigger picture, Wright.”
The look on his face made Phoenix’s smile slip as he felt that ripple at the base of his belly again.
In his eagerness to claim the undefended pawn, Phoenix had handed Edgeworth an opportunity to mount an attack elsewhere. The small victory soon felt extremely short lived, and he was forced to switch to damage control. Was that pawn left as bait to distract him?
Before long, the same knight Phoenix had used to capture that pawn was gone too – and the suspicion turned to certainty. It had been a trap, and he'd fallen for it.
Edgeworth’s presence was everywhere on the board. Wherever Phoenix tried to advance he was confronted by another red piece, suffocating any hope of forming a strategy. Edgeworth allowed a couple of his own pieces to fall – a pawn here, a bishop there – but the captures didn't have the same ring of victory as before. If anything, each time Phoenix took something from Edgeworth, it only led to heavier losses for him shortly afterwards.
“You seem to be floundering a little,” Edgeworth said, as matter-of-factly as if he were talking about the weather, “If you're not careful, I'll be all over you before long.”
The mental images that those words sparked in Phoenix had absolutely nothing to do with chess, and the ripple he'd felt before turned into a more decisive stirring. He was forced to shift in his chair, clenching his thighs in the hope that he could suppress the growing problem between them before it escaped his control.
There was no way this was anything but deliberate. It couldn't be.
His next few moves were made out of pure desperation. Thinking ahead no longer felt like an option – he could barely even see what was in front of him anymore – and he made it laughably easy for Edgeworth to claim yet more pieces and advance further towards his victory.
Phoenix made a last-ditch attempt to scrape back some power, by claiming Edgeworth’s queen with his own – in his rush, he failed to notice the bishop lurking in wait at the far corner of the board, and in the next move his queen was gone as well.
“That was clumsy, Wright,” Edgeworth said, barely louder than a whisper. The blue queen was balanced between his fingers, and he tapped it thoughtfully to his lips as he fixed his gaze onto Phoenix, “You're not trying to lose … are you?”
With the ability to speak abandoning him once again, Phoenix shook his head.
“I should hope not,” Edgeworth said, the queen still lightly resting against his bottom lip, “because that wouldn't be satisfying at all.”
Phoenix’s eyes locked onto Edgeworth’s mouth, on the spot the queen was touching, and they stayed there even after the piece was placed to one side. His face burned yet again when he thought about what those lips would feel like against his own, or on his skin, or maybe on …
Oh. Oh, no.
“What's the matter, Wright?” Edgeworth's tone was lightly mocking, “I’m waiting for you to make your move.”
Phoenix made a feeble attempt to check Edgeworth's king again with a lone rook, only for the threat to be eliminated at once by the same bishop that had taken his queen.
His options were running out as the match collapsed into a pattern of Phoenix finding himself in check, barely escaping danger, then losing another piece before being checked again.
Edgeworth's victory was imminent, but when his next turn came he paused like he was deliberating, resting his chin on his joined hands. What on earth could he have been considering? The options for his next move were so clear, even Phoenix could see them, addled as he was. It was plain as day; Edgeworth had all but won …
“Wright.”
Phoenix looked up to find Edgeworth's gaze on him – no, not on him. It was like it reached into him.
“Do you realise that I've noticed the way you look at me in court?”
His breath froze in his lungs. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What exactly was he going to do, anyway – deny it?
Without breaking eye contact, Edgeworth leaned back from the table … and with purposeful slowness, removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair.
The torrent of desire that crashed through Phoenix swept up any capacity for rational thought, leaving nothing but aching need behind. Edgeworth gave a low, contained laugh at the expression on his face.
“There it is,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction, “That's exactly the look I mean. It's like you're starving.”
There was no point in trying to hide it, and Phoenix didn't think he could even if he’d had the presence of mind to. It was all too much to conceal – the quickening rise and fall of his chest, the burning heat in his face, his parted lips and the blatant need in his eyes.
“You want me … don't you?”
He couldn't reply. He couldn't even croak. Had he really been so hopelessly obvious this whole time?
If Edgeworth could see this, what if Phoenix had somehow accidentally telegraphed his other thoughts too? All the mental images, the scenarios he'd crafted for himself, the fantasies …
The need to keep at least something to himself forced his eyes back down, and what he found on the chess board was a perfect reflection of his reality. His king was backed into a corner, and what meagre pieces he had left were completely surrounded. He had been outnumbered, outmanoeuvred and outplayed.
“Go on, Wright. Admit it. I already know – but I want to hear it from you.”
There was only one response Phoenix could think to give.
He took his king, and laid it on its side – his resignation from the match, and the wordless admission that Edgeworth was right.
In a flash of movement, Edgeworth’s hand was covering his, the sudden touch shooting a bolt of desire through him.
“No. That's not how this ends.”
Closing Phoenix’s hand back over the king, he turned it to set the piece upright once again.
“Edgeworth - y-you've won,” Phoenix managed to say, “It's over.”
“Not yet,” Edgeworth withdrew his hand. “It's not over until I've got you in checkmate.”
“But … that's obviously going to happen anyway …” Phoenix gestured weakly at the board.
Edgeworth leaned in, and that intoxicating, sharp-sweet scent came with him to rob Phoenix of his last shred of willpower. He didn’t even realise he was mirroring Edgeworth’s movements, leaning forward and shrinking the gap between them, until he felt the doomed blue king nudge up against his chest.
“I'm not going to be content with your mere surrender, Wright,” Edgeworth said in a dangerous whisper, “I want to conquer you.”
Phoenix could see it now that he was closer – the tightness in Edgeworth’s jaw, the darkness in his grey eyes, the intensity of his own desire. Like everything else, it had been carefully contained and strategically unveiled for maximum effect, while Phoenix had been nudged, teased and provoked into unravelled desperation right from the start.
Edgeworth straightened up and gestured to the board with an open hand, dragging Phoenix into awareness once again.
“Your move.”
Guided by quivering fingers, the blue king moved in the only direction available to it – further into the corner.
Edgeworth responded. Phoenix lost yet more ground. His king retreated again, and was promptly trapped.
There was nowhere left to go, and nothing left to hide.
“Checkmate.”
Mouth stretching in a slow, thin smile, Edgeworth sat back in his chair with his hands joined in his lap, and a flash of clarity burst through the tangle of agitation and arousal that Phoenix's mind had become.
Edgeworth had known this whole time. And he'd planned everything. The match, and everything around it too.
Those looks, those comments that could have been innocuous in isolation, the tones he'd used – it was all by his design. Even the things that had happened before tonight, the moments when he'd get almost-but-not-quite too close in the courtroom, leaving Phoenix entranced by his scent, when his eyes would linger just a little longer than they had to … and when he'd caused an internal tailspin not once, but twice today by taking that damn jacket off. They had all been components of an intentional, strategic seduction.
Miles Edgeworth had been seducing Phoenix Wright. And this wasn't the beginning of it – not by a long way. This was the end.
“So … what happens now?” Phoenix asked, his heart beating so frantically he felt it in his throat.
Edgeworth unclasped his hands and rose smoothly from his chair.
“What happens now, Wright, is your forfeit.”