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“I don’t usually drink this much,” Edgeworth explains, leaning with his back against the wall. The hallway is done up with string lights, giving the space a warm glow. It’s quieter out here, away from the din of the party, and Edgeworth looks relaxed and happy, one of Gavin’s over-proof cocktails in hand and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Phoenix thinks it’s a look that suits him pretty darn well, would like to see it on him a little more often.
“Yeah, I kinda figured,” Phoenix admits with a lopsided grin. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you drunk, even.”
Edgeworth’s brow crinkles, like maybe he’s trying to remember. But then he gives up on it, saying, “I have to admit, it’s been an enjoyable evening.”
“You didn’t think it would be?”
“I don’t always do well at functions such as this, as you well know.”
Phoenix leans against the wall beside him, bumping their shoulders together. “Nah, I think you do alright.”
Edgeworth snorts, but he doesn’t argue, making to take another sip of his cocktail. It takes him a few tries to get his lips around the tiny straw, and Phoenix finds it unreasonably adorable, but also probably a sign that it’s time to call it a night.
“I should probably get going, though,” he says, “I have to pick Trucy up from Athena’s tomorrow morning. You want to walk out with me?”
Edgeworth straightens, considering, then nods sharply. “Yes, that seems like it would be wise.”
Phoenix eases the drink out of Edgeworth’s hand and finishes it himself, forgoing the straw to tip back the glass. Edgeworth frowns, but when Phoenix puts a hand on his shoulder he lets himself be guided down the hall, back to the party. They say their goodbyes to Edgeworth’s colleagues, then make their way together down the stairs.
Outside, Edgeworth stops abruptly on the concrete walkway, turning back to look up at the building.
“What’s up?” Phoenix asks, walking back over to him.
“I seem to have forgotten my jacket.” He runs a hand over his bare forearm, then turns to Phoenix. “I drove in this morning.”
“You should not be driving home,” Phoenix says, shrugging out of his jacket.
“Agreed. What are you doing?”
Phoenix holds out the jacket. “I’m offering you my jacket.”
“Ridiculous,” Edgeworth says, waving a dismissive hand. “I suppose I should call a cab.”
“Take the damn jacket,” Phoenix says, friendly. “Your goosebumps have goosebumps.”
Normally Edgeworth would refuse, but the alcohol’s making him compliant, and he actually is a bit cold. And above all, it would be unkind to leave Phoenix holding out the jacket like a fool, so he relents and lets Phoenix slip it on over his arms, smooth it over his shoulders. The fabric is of a lower quality than he’s used to, but it’s warm, and it smells pleasantly of Phoenix’s cologne.
“Thank you, Phoenix, I appreciate the gallant gesture.”
Phoenix, already smiling fondly at the sight of Edgeworth looking so incredibly out-of-character in the cheap blue blazer, lets out a pleased laugh.
“And may I ask what’s so funny?”
Phoenix shakes his head, still grinning. “I just love that you’re drunk but you’re still using words like gallant.”
“Why should my vocabulary suffer?” Edgeworth asks, then fumbles at his pockets until he remembers he’s not wearing his own jacket and therefore does not actually have his phone on him. “Bloody hell, I left my cell phone upstairs as well.”
“Why don’t you just come back to my place?” Phoenix offers. “I’m like ten blocks away, we can just walk. You can pick your car up in the morning.” He pauses, struck with a sudden idea. “And maybe you can give me a lift over to Athena’s?”
“Aha, an ulterior motive,” Edgeworth grumbles, but he begins walking in what he believes to be the direction of Phoenix’s apartment. He’s validated when Phoenix falls into step beside him.
The walk takes a good twenty minutes, which they pass in easy conversation. When they arrive at Phoenix’s building, Edgeworth’s nearly forgotten they even had a destination to begin with.
“The place is kind of a wreck,” Phoenix warns, unlocking the door. “Prepare yourself.”
It’s actually not that bad--cluttered, but there are some available flat surfaces around the room, so it’s not the worst Edgeworth’s ever seen it. Phoenix kicks some boxes aside as they enter, clearing a wider path to the couch.
“Do you want me to pull out the sofa bed?”
Edgeworth shakes his head, lowering himself onto the couch. It’s not much to look at, but it’s incredibly comfortable. “I believe I’ll be fine as is.”
“Alright, let me grab you a pillow and blanket.”
Phoenix disappears down the hall, and Edgeworth lets his head to fall his shoulder. God, the jacket smells so completely of Phoenix. It’s not even that he particularly likes Phoenix’s cologne, he’s just come to so thoroughly associate the smell of it with the man himself. How long has Phoenix been wearing this particular scent, Edgeworth wonders. He can’t seem to recall a time that Phoenix didn’t smell exactly like this distinctive combination of cedar and bergamot.
“Here ya go,” Phoenix says, pulling Edgeworth from his thoughts. He tosses the blanket and pillow on the couch and says, “I think I’m gonna hit the hay, I’m pretty beat. I’m supposed to pick Trucy up at ten, so I’ll wake you around nine?”
“Very well. Thank you again.”
“No problem, Miles,” Phoenix says, his smile warm and fond. “See you in the morning.”
Then he retreats to his bedroom, and Edgeworth waits until he hears the door click shut behind him before pulling the lapel of Phoenix’s jacket to his nose. He inhales deeply, imagines pressing his face to Phoenix's neck and breathing in this same scent.
Edgeworth has long ago accepted that while clearly Phoenix loves him, it is not and will never be a romantic love, and he has packed his own such feelings into a box, never to be opened, never to be considered. But here, in Phoenix’s apartment, wearing Phoenix’s clothes, it’s easy for him to imagine that the weight of the jacket is not merely an article of clothing but is instead the weight of Phoenix’s arms around him, that the scent filling his nose is not day-old cologne but the fresh, warm scent of Phoenix’s skin.
If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Phoenix coming up behind him, wrapping strong arms around him, pressing soft lips to his neck. He can imagine Phoenix’s grip tightening, possessive, Phoenix’s fingers skirting over his chest and Phoenix’s erection pressing hard against his ass. He can imagine Phoenix’s hand trailing lower still, palming over him. He glances down the darkened hallway, hears no movement from Phoenix’s bedroom, and with judgement clouded by alcohol he allows himself to do just that, pressing his palm hard against his growing erection.
It’s a bad idea, he knows it is, but he’s been suppressing these thoughts for so long that it’s like a floodgate opened, and now that he’s started he doesn’t want to stop. He pulls down his fly, eases himself out of his slacks. He’s already hard, and it’s easy to slip back into fantasy. He thinks Phoenix must kiss the way he does everything else--with enthusiasm, with passion. He imagines Phoenix pressing him against the wall, claiming his mouth.
He imagines Phoenix behind him, slipping his hand into his slacks, fisting his cock, and he thrusts up into his own hand, imaging it’s Phoenix’s. Phoenix bending him over this very couch, sliding slick fingers inside of him, stretching him open. Phoenix over him, all around him, pressing into him.
He presses his nose to the jacket, breathing in deeply, and pulls his hand over his cock, enjoying the slow drag. He thrusts into his own fist, imaging how Phoenix would feel inside of him, filling him up. He works his hand faster over his cock and imagines Phoenix slamming into him, fucking into him so hard the couch shakes with it, thudding rhythmically against the floor, so loud the neighbors can hear.
He imagines licking the sweat off of Phoenix’s collar bone, he imagines sucking the head of Phoenix’s cock into his mouth, he imagines curling his fingers against Phoenix’s prostate. He imagines every filthy, perverted thing he’s ever wanted to do with Phoenix--to Phoenix--and he comes with a strangled cry, forgetting for a moment where he is, who is just down the hall.
He’s breathing heavy and he closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He strains his ears, praying he didn’t wake Phoenix, and is relieved when there’s silence down the hall. This was a phenomenally bad idea, and that point becomes more apparent as he realizes he’s going to have to go to the bathroom to clean up. The walk down the hall is mortifying, as he’s overwhelmed by the knowledge that at any moment Phoenix might appear from his room, might catch him covered in his own ejaculate.
But he makes it to the bathroom undetected and then beats a hasty retreat back to the couch. He moves so quickly, is so focused on getting back to the living room and pretending like the entire episode never happened, that he doesn’t notice that the door to Phoenix’s bedroom is ajar.