Work Text:
That little bit of dirty talk almost ruins their life.
It was just supposed to be a little thing, something throwaway and silly and not meant to ever leave the bed. But Phoenix is near constant, pulling at the threads of it. Phoenix comes up behind them, putting a hand just over the spot on their abdomen above their groin. He nips at their ear, asking if they've been checking.
“Checking what?” Miles asks, vaguely irritated Phoenix would bother them at work.
“Checking your calendar, baby,” he hums. He puts his chin on Miles’ shoulder. “You might be in your fertile window soon.”
Miles feels a rush of blood to their face. They jerk their shoulder backwards, knocking Phoenix off of them.
“Do not start with that!”
Phoenix doesn’t respond besides barking out a laugh, but gives them a kiss before leaving.
Phoenix texts them a screenshot of a calendar, marking the sixth of the month. A small range of dates are highlighted blue, from the eighteenth to the twenty-third. Miles takes a good ten minutes to interpret it, having to open the image and zoom in on the guide.
keep 18-23 open, ok?
Miles almost tosses their phone. Didn’t the man have work to do?
You have no idea when my last period was.
It won’t put an end to it, but it must at least throw him for a loop. He never plays along with these silly things, and hopefully—
Their phone dings.
i’m down there all the time
I have a good grasp
Miles glares at the screen. Ass.
He is persistent with this. Miles will inevitably have much to do during those six days, and Phoenix insists it’s fine, it’s alright, the twenty-second is the day that really matters. It’s a Sunday, which Miles will have off. He did that on purpose.
They elbow Phoenix in the ribs or scowl at him more times than they can count. Phoenix insists on sending them articles throughout the day. Best Sex Positions For Conception. Increasing Your Baby Chances. How To Prepare Your Body For A Safe Pregnancy.
Miles has finished preparing the current case; the only thing left to do is to actually present it in court. There’s nothing interesting going on outside the window of their office. They open the article about positions.
“When it comes down to it, position is not as big a factor in conception—” Miles cringes a little. “—as simply being relaxed. Ultimately, use whatever position you’re most relaxed in.”
Relaxed? They could laugh. They haven't relaxed in years.
But they could imagine Phoenix taking the extra steps, they suppose. Making dinner for the two of them. Putting on that ridiculous playlist he made specifically to put on the radio when Miles drives them. Rubbing their shoulders down with lotion and kissing at their neck. Carrying them to his bed because he wants Miles to be as relaxed as possible, because if they are there’s a much better chance…
Miles presses the back of their cool hand to their warm cheek, trying to will the blush away.
They don't even know if they ever want children, not with how unstable the foundations of their life seem to be; if they were to have children, they would most certainly be adopted. Phoenix would never be interested in carrying a child, and Miles would never, ever want to ask that of him. Biological children could not be an option—because it couldn’t be the opposite, it would never be the right way.
But they wish. They want.
They close the article, and put their head on the desk. Their chest is tight.
Maybe there’s no harm in it, if there’s not even a possibility. Maybe it’s okay to indulge.
Miles opens their phone, tapping at the keys.
My stress levels should be as low as possible, apparently.
What are you going to do to keep me relaxed, Wright?
The absolute flood of ensuing texts makes them smile. The squeeze of their chest releases, just a little.
Phoenix almost glides into their office, excitedly telling them something or some-such about a recent law passed until Gumshoe finally gets bored and leaves, and when he closes the door Phoenix is on them, shoving them to their desk and yanking down their pants to press spit-slicked fingers to their entrance. Miles can only go along for the ride; they have not won a wrestling match with the man to date, and to resist would only result in something getting knocked over.
“Feels a lot more swollen than usual,” he hums, pushing inside with little resistance. Miles holds back the string of insults that threaten to spill out of their throat, instead digging their toes into the soles of their shoes. “Your cunt’s really eager for it.”
Phoenix moves, his fingers are gone and for a second Miles feels the tension in their stomach release.
“It probably aches, doesn’t it?” he coos, rubbing over the small of their back. “Let me help.”
Then hands settle on the crest of their ass cheeks, and something wet and thick and persistent prods against their hole.
Miles has to clap their hands over over their mouth to keep from making an obscene sound that will echo through their office and into the hall where the Chief-fucking-Prosecutor might hear and finally fire them for being a slut on the clock.
The mouth on their rim is warm and soft, and he’s right, it does ache, their muscles are tense and their mind won’t focus on the case files, their cunt wants to be filled and dripping—
Miles comes, too quickly to have gotten fully hard, but it hits them in a consuming wave that has them biting at their own palms to stifle their groans as their knees quiver and threaten to give out. They forget for a moment that they're at work, focused on the feeling of the tongue inside them and the promise that they’ll get what their body aches for. Phoenix finally pulls away, his hands on their hips the only thing keeping Miles up.
“You taste really sweet,” he says quietly, noisily licking his lips. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re already ovulating.”
Miles takes the burst of indignant energy that follows the remark and grabs a paper from their desk, curling it into a makeshift baton as they whip around and bring it down upon Phoenix, whacking him repeatedly. Phoenix only laughs and takes the assault.
Miles doesn’t wait for an invite. They technically don't’t need an invitation, because Phoenix has made it clear they are welcome at any time. But they recognize it for what it is: an ultimatum to Miles that if they want this, they have to come to it. Otherwise, it is an out if they truly are uncomfortable. They don’t know how to actually tell Phoenix just how comfortable they are with the idea. It would probably frighten him; it frightens even Miles themself, and those words just won’t find their way out of their throat.
So instead, they knock on Phoenix’s door.
Phoenix opens it and doesn’t even say hello, opting instead to pull Miles in by the waist, bringing them into a deep, hard kiss that catches them off guard. They almost stumble and have to put some of their weight onto Phoenix to keep upright, a fact he inevitably is delighted with.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbles, that dopey grin on his face. Miles scoffs and rights themself. Phoenix is still the only one to call them that, so he works overtime to fit the words in as many times as possible. It forces Miles’ lips to twitch into a little smile.
They glance over Phoenix’s shoulder. A trail of burgundy rose petals leads from the front door to the hallway and out of sight.
“You’re…taking this quite seriously,” Miles says quietly. Phoenix beams.
“Well, you want to conceive our kid in a romantic setting, don’t you?” He dips one arm under Miles’ knees, swooping them into a carry. Miles gasps and scrambles to wrap their arms around Phoenix’s neck.
Our kid. Miles holds the words in their mouth like a drink of wine. It’s unexpected that it tastes sweet on their tongue.
“I mean, if you’d rather have something a little more quick and dirty, there’s a gas station down the street with an open bathroom…” he muses. “Doesn’t sound like a nice story to tell our kids, though.”
Miles opens one hand and slaps it against Phoenix’s back in admonition.
“‘Kids’ plural,” they harrumph. “Let’s see how the one goes first.”
The petals lead to the bedroom, as they expected, but what they don't expect is the arrangement of candles scattered around the room, flickering softly and adding an ambient, dim light. Miles gives him an incredulous look; Phoenix only presses a kiss to the corner of their mouth.
“Not worried you’ll burn your apartment building to the ground?”
Phoenix doesn’t take the bait. He only sets Miles on the bed gently, crawling on top of them to mouth at his neck. The anxiety suddenly sets into their gut. They can’t really get pregnant, they remind themself. They don't have the anatomy to accommodate.
That… turns their stomach in a different way.
“You don’t have to play along with this,” they whisper.
Phoenix pulls away suddenly, looking at Miles with something that looks like skepticism mixed with incredulousness. “Did you read that article I sent you? You can’t get negative or you’ll get tense. Self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Miles stares at him for a long moment, and almost bursts out laughing. Of course, of all the people in the world, Phoenix Wright would treat it as seriously as possible. Miles puts a hand on the back of Phoenix’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
“I suppose you’re right. I should think positively.”
Phoenix takes his sweet time undressing Miles, kissing at every piece of skin he exposes, rubbing his hands over their shoulders as he peels away their shirt. He even takes the time to fold it neatly before putting it aside. Usually they’re so hurried, Phoenix in a frenzy to get at their body and tossing their clothes without regard. But this is so slow, so soft in nature that they don’t exactly know what to do. What do they do with their limbs, with their head? Are they supposed to just accept the affection foisted upon them?
Phoenix answers the question for them, drawing them into another kiss as he slides their pants and underwear off from around their hips. Hands trembling slightly, they unbutton Phoenix’s shirt as they press their tongue to Phoenix’s lips, politely asking entrance before pushing in to touch at his teeth, to lick into his mouth. They can feel the hesitance in the tension in Phoenix’s shoulders, the reluctance to bare himself. They’ve never talked about it, but they would have to be blind to miss that whenever they fuck, Phoenix is always in as many clothes as he can manage to keep on.
They want to ask, sometimes, if he’s ashamed of his scars—the jagged pale lines that stretch over his chest, upwards to circle his nipples. They want to ask, sometimes—are they not a celebration? A testimony to an endurance Miles themself will never have?
In the end, Phoenix’s hands move to hold Miles’ hips, giving them a squeeze before cupping at their groin, rubbing the pads of his fingers over the sensitive flesh. Miles throws Phoenix’s shirt to the side, a touch of payback for all the wrinkled shirts they've had to endure.
Phoenix’s fingers dip to their entrance, and he goes stock-still for a moment. He pushes in, hole already wet and slick and open for him. Miles bites their lip. Preparing themself in their car was a risk that paid off, it seems. A sharp grin spreads over Phoenix’s face.
“You’re dripping.”
Miles turns away in a pout, folding their arms over their chest. “I don’t exactly get a choice in this. My body knows what it wants.”
Phoenix audibly gulps. Miles has to hold back a triumphant smile.
He doesn’t even give Miles the chance to take his pants off for him, yanking them down and tossing them aside as he hastily grabs his harness and a cock from under the bed, working them up and over his hips and almost tripping on himself in the process. Miles presses a hand to his mouth, stifling a giggle. He watches as he grabs a small vibrator from the table, slipping it inside a pocket in the harness nestled against his cock.
Their heart jumps into their throat. They all but yank Phoenix back on top of them, guiding hands to their thighs to pull him into place. His cock is thick and heavy, bending under its own weight; did Phoenix get a new one? It’s not one Miles has seen before. The thoughts vanish as soon as Phoenix presses the head to their rim.
“Last chance to change your mind,” Phoenix warns, gripping Miles’ thighs tightly. “I don’t think I can pull out once we get going.”
A small thrill runs through them. They angle their hips to push down on their cock, catching just the tip inside them. Phoenix watches raptly.
“You promised you’d give me what I want,” they say, emboldened. Phoenix takes the lead and starts to fill them.
“Of course, baby,” Phoenix breathes. “I’ll give my good girl anything she wants.”
The fit is tight, even after all the preparation they did, burning slightly in a thankfully pleasant way that radiates up their spine in a heady warmth. Phoenix pauses, letting out a long breath as their hips meet. Miles can feel just the tiniest bit of the vibration as he presses into them.
“God, your cunt is tight. You sure you’re relaxed enough?”
“As much as I can be.” And it’s true. They sit somewhere between almost boneless and more keyed up than they've ever been.
Phoenix moves, slowly, gently. Fucking into them in a way he’s never done before. They’re always so rough and hurried, the snail’s pace feels almost unnatural—but the way his cock drags against them, textured veins pressing at their rim, has a tight heat building in them more quickly than they expected.
“Your tits are gonna get so big,” Phoenix sighs, looking absolutely lovestruck. “I’ll massage them for you.”
A chest? It didn’t often cross their mind. The dysphoria centered mostly on their genitals, for some reason. But having soft breasts, even if they were small…
They take one one of Phoenix’s hands by the wrist and pull it up to their chest. Phoenix takes the little bit of fat that resides there into his large hand, gathering it up to squeeze. Miles feels a soft wave of joy run through them.
The image of Phoenix’s hands rubbing at their sore chest, pressing close and murmuring in their ear that he knows it hurts and he’ll be gentle—Miles has to take a slow, deep breath to calm themself down, keep themself from finishing too fast. He’s moving more quickly now, thrusting proper; whatever new cock he has on is hitting the exact right spot with ease.
“W-Will you t-take care of me?” they stammer out. “When I’m…”
Phoenix pushes forward, pressing Miles’ knees to their chest, fucking into them in short, hard thrusts that pound at just the right spot. Miles has to grip the sheets to brace themself.
“I’ll take such good care of you,” he almost moans, his hips jerking against them. “You won’t even h-have to lift a finger.” He’s chasing his own vibrator, and the thought that he’s getting off at the same time—
“Harder,” Miles rasps, pushing their hips back towards Phoenix. “P-please—”
“Oh shit.” Phoenix digs his fingers into Miles’ thighs with an almost bruising grip. “Fuck.”
They've never wanted something so bad before. They want Phoenix to come in them, to make them his, to make their body a ground of creation.
Something warm gushes inside them, filling them. Miles goes still for a moment before orgasm overtakes them like a punch to the gut. The feeling of something in them, something urgently pressing inside makes their vision turn white against their squeezed-shut eyes, a strangled cry ripping out of their throat as nails dig into Phoenix’s skin.
Without thinking about it, they put a hand over their abdomen, just above their groin—just above their womb; they clutch at it, urging in their mind for it to open, open, open.
Their brain feels scrambled, still vibrating in the wake of it all.
“What—What was…”
Phoenix can barely answer, clutching onto one of Miles’ legs for support as he tries to catch his breath.
“Tube…” he pants. “Reservoir…”
Oh. Miles nods loosely. Phoenix had talked about it before, while slightly tipsy and with Miles in his lap. At the time, Miles had turned scarlet and told Phoenix to not get any crazy ideas and not to spend money on such things when he already had a sizable variety of attachments to choose from. If they could, they would go back and slap their past self across the face.
Phoenix finally pulls himself together with a deep breath, his usual silly grin taking its place. He rubs his hands over Miles’ sides.
“Feel good?”
Miles lets their eyes close, a smile slipping past his immediate control. They let their hands fall limply over their stomach. “I have a good feeling about that one.”
He chuckles and gives Miles’ hips a hard squeeze. They can feel Phoenix shift inside them.
“You, uh… I can’t pull out.”
Their eyes snap open. “What?”
“You’re too tight. I can’t pull out until you loosen up.”
Miles thought their face couldn’t turn any redder. Their muscles won’t obey, refusing to relax at their command. “I’m not—I don’t have control of that right now!”
Phoenix laughs, light and breathy. He moves slowly, carefully, taking Miles in his arms and flipping onto the bed, pulling them onto his chest while still inside them.
“It’s fine. Better to keep it in anyway,” he says. “Makes it easier when we go again.”
Miles huffs, placing a hand on Phoenix’s stomach. “Again?”
“Hey, we have to take advantage of this window.” Phoenix puts a cheek in their hair, nuzzling against their scalp. “I promised to fill you up, didn’t I?”
Miles lets their head fall to Phoenix’s collarbone, sweat-slicked forehead to their neck. His pulse thrums gently against their skin.
Maybe it didn’t ruin their life after all.