Chapter Text
He has been craving it more and more lately. Post coital intimacy; the presence of a strong pair of arms holding him close, lips pressed to his, legs tangled. Sweaty contentment. Miles cannot have any of that - but he can have this.
Miles idly flips through the various listings. He hasn’t done this before. More to the point - he hasn’t ever felt such a pressing urgency to, not only get off, but do so by help of an audience.
His mid-thirties, Miles wagers, is as good a time as any for such an experiment. If he disguises his voice; if he gets off quickly—
Miles pauses, his eyes catching a rather forlorn looking little advertisement. Standard font, black and white, as nondescript as you can get - the person who made it likely needs the cash.
And Miles Edgeworth certainly has the funds…
Besides, this is charity - this is him being charitable.
Miles dials the number, enters his credit card information, and waits. Should he start..? He should probably start…
Just when Miles has a hand around himself, there is a click and a soft inhale before he hears a voice.
“Evening, stranger… what can Daddy do for you?”
The tone is playful. It is sultry. It is…
“Richard..?!”
“M-Mister Edgeworth?!”
Miles might have dropped an uncharacteristic ‘shit’ just as he ended the call, the colour draining from his face. His erection, however, has no such qualms or reservations on the matter, and remains stubbornly stiff with interest.
Just as Miles is wrapping a questioning hand around himself again, cheeks aflame, his phone decides to ring. Already well aware of the only person it could be, he picks it up, giving the caller ID a cursory glance.
Detective Gumshoe.
“Shit.”
Fumbling with one lubed hand, he attempts to press ‘decline’. Except, for reasons known only to irony and suffering, Miles Edgeworth’s thumb slips and—of course—nudges ‘accept’.
Shit.
The invention of touch-screens is yet further proof for Miles to discount the existence of any kind of a God. Or at least not a kind one.
“Mister Edgeworth..?” Dick’s voice is soft. Faltering. It’s nervous.
Miles gives his cock a greedy squeeze at the root, still at war with himself.
“What was it you needed?” he finally spits.
“Hey, c’mon, that’s my line,” the voice on the other end croons weakly. When Miles doesn't immediately answer, the detective continues. “Never thought that ad would attract someone like you, sir…”
The ad in question, though humble in its own way, had also sported a tagline. One that they are both well aware of, and which hardly needs bringing up.
Still, apparently Dick can’t quite help himself.
“Do you... still want me to call you a Good Boy?” he chances.
There is a further five gruelling seconds of silence before Miles growls, “I’m hanging up now—”
“—Even when you hung up the first time, you would’a been charged for ten minutes..!” Dick entreats. And when Miles remains on the line, hurriedly adds, “so… I mean, you could at least get your money’s worth..?”
A terrible idea. Fraught with potentially dire consequences for their working relationship.
Miles squeezes himself again, a sudden eager thrill dampening any and all logic.
“M-My money’s worth..?” he finally replies.