Kisses

From the first, Phoenix had known that Edgeworth was the ultimate tease. The persona suited the man perfectly; he always looked good enough to eat- with his silken silver hair, his crisp magenta suit- and denying his defense attorney "friend" anything other than a friendly pat had seemed to be part of a cruel game he played.

Phoenix used the word "friend" loosely, because he knew one didn't have to physically consumate to be involved.

The fact that Edgeworth was impossible to talk to made it hard to resolve the situation in the beginning; because as soon as the word,

"Miles-" was out of his mouth, Edgeworth seemed to anticipate what Phoenix was about to say; and he would frown, purse his lips and say,

"I'm busy, Wright, can it wait?" And that, as they say, would be that.

It was a little while after that fateful Christmas that Phoenix got his wish- 14th of January, 7:06 pm, Phoenix remembers exactly, but if asked he would never admit to it. There was a tiny sprig of mistletoe left hanging in his apartment; after all, cleanliness – at the very least, absolute, perfect, shiny cleanliness- was Edgeworth's thing.

They had been sat on Phoenix's lumpy couch; donated from his grandmother when he had first moved into his apartment. Phoenix had been wringing his hands, knowing that the mistletoe was up there: obvious as a neon light in the pitch black of night. It was telling him to kiss Edgeworth, and he knew it; but he wasn't sure how to go about it.

The other man had easily sensed his tension; but for all his shrewd observation and intelligence, Edgeworth hadn't quite understood what Phoenix was getting worked up about. Instead he had just narrowed his eyes, keeping himself quielty alert for whatever outburst he was about to have to endure- what ever rambling was about to issue from that inconceivable mouth.

Phoenix debated whether he should give some indication of the fact that he was about to kiss Edgeworth, or whether he should simply do it and remove the chance of the prosecutor running away.

The more he thought, the more scared he became. The more the silence stretched.

Phoenix had been sweating. He had felt the lightest trickle squirming down the back of his neck and he had to fight the urge to cringe, or scratch his neck like he usually would.

At Edgeworth's raised eyebrows he was forced to try and communicate in some way.

"Miles- mistletoe." He had whispered, almost incoherently. Edgeworth had smiled gently; trying not to smirk, not to mock him.

"Are you introducing us?" He had asked; then nodded amicably at the mistletoe, and the gesture was almost too much for Phoenix; he almost burst into a fit of laughter, but just about managed to contain himself.

He had edged closer. Just a little closer. A little more...

Just within reach...

And then he had gently pressed their lips together in the most chaste of kisses; and decided that actually, it wasn't that difficult at all, and Miles had softer lips than he could ever have imagined.

After that first time, they became much, much more frequent.

Their kisses were often stolen in passing moments; in Phoenix's office, on a doorstep, an empty courtoom. There was always so little time, and the hurry made them all the more heated, more passionate.

To Phoenix they were like a drug; an addictive sweetness he could no longer live without.

And the long wait, had, of course, made them taste all the sweeter.

Phoenix is sure Edgeworth planned it that way all along- but he'll never say so, because he knows Edgeworth will simply bring up their first kiss to embarrass him and avoid the truth.

Not that Phoenix would really mind. He cherishes the memory as much as he would anything tangible.