Phoenix Wright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
attorneyatlol) wrote2008-04-15 04:45 am
attorneyatlol) wrote2008-04-15 04:45 am
Entry tags:
[RL: Edgeworth's Apartment - Tuesday Morning, April 15th [Tied up!Virus] | Phoenix; Edgeworth]
((OOC: MEGA BACK-DATED to the end of the tied up virus. April 15th, Tuesday morning. Oh, and, uh... icon somewhat appropriate? The thread is entirely SFW.))
Phoenix never figured out what stirred him from sleep. It was unusual for him to wake up on his own. The last few mornings he had been treated to rude awakenings by an ornery prosecutor who seemed to think he could keep his usual routine without consideration for his unwilling roommate; the fact that both men were irritable until they had their tea and coffee only served to make the first couple hours of the day more unbearable.
It was with that in mind that Phoenix took this rare opportunity to enjoy the warm embrace of the Tempur-Pedic mattress before the alarm went off (and God, did he hate that damned alarm and its relentless buzzing. How Edgeworth resisted slamming it against a wall Phoenix didn’t know). Eyes still blissfully closed, he shifted on his stomach, nuzzling the pillow with his bristly cheek as he hugged it closer. If there was one thing he could admit to enjoying about sharing a bed with Edgeworth it was that everything from the cotton sheets (Egyptian cotton, Edgeworth’s voice chided his thoughts) to the down comforter felt incredibly wonderful. He smiled very faintly as a contented sigh answered his own and he resolved to surrender himself to sleep once more when a thought, half-formed and hazy, suddenly occurred to him.
The vicinity of the other sigh was rather close. Perhaps a little too close.
Curiosity creasing his brow, Phoenix slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear the remnants of sleep, and tried to focus on what was before him. Eyebrows, nose, lips…
Upon recognition, his eyes immediately snapped open to find Edgeworth’s face mere inches from his own.
His first instinct was to roll away; his second was to shove the other man as he had done to Phoenix on the second day they had spent together. What he did was stay put, however. It wasn’t every day one could see Miles Edgeworth in such a state of relaxation, after all, and although his face was silhouetted against what little light filtered in from the balcony doors, Phoenix’s eyes were adjusted well enough that he could make out some finer details: dark, thin eyebrows that curved into an arch instead of their usual frown; a thin nose that ended in a blunt point; lips slightly parted as warm air passed in another sigh that grazed Phoenix’s shoulder, causing goosebumps.
There was a noticeable lack of worry lines or wrinkles of any kind save for a single crease that separated his cheek and his mouth. Phoenix smiled slightly. Under the circumstances, it seemed out of place, a flaw in an otherwise perfect portrait of contentment. Turning on his side, he slid his hand from under the comforter and placed it gently against Edgeworth’s cheek. The skin was warm beneath his own, soft and pliable, and the wrinkle disappeared flawlessly as he drew his thumb back and held it there. Several seconds passed as he sleepily marveled at Edgeworth's features.
And then he watched his hand, as if of its own accord, slowly travel back until it met Edgeworth’s jaw. He allowed it to linger for a moment, uncertain, before he slowly traced the bone with his index finger. He swallowed against the dizzying constriction in his throat, a throbbing which he unconsciously recognized as his heartbeat, and dragged his gaze back to Edgeworth's face.
Where he was, what he was doing, and who he was with—it hit him suddenly and with severe force. His mouth went dry and he quickly pulled his hand away as if it had been burned, the pounding moving to his face, his head, burning with each beat. He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling.
After several seconds of mind-reeling bewilderment, he ran his hand over his face, eyes unblinking, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.
“What am I doing,” he whispered.
Phoenix never figured out what stirred him from sleep. It was unusual for him to wake up on his own. The last few mornings he had been treated to rude awakenings by an ornery prosecutor who seemed to think he could keep his usual routine without consideration for his unwilling roommate; the fact that both men were irritable until they had their tea and coffee only served to make the first couple hours of the day more unbearable.
It was with that in mind that Phoenix took this rare opportunity to enjoy the warm embrace of the Tempur-Pedic mattress before the alarm went off (and God, did he hate that damned alarm and its relentless buzzing. How Edgeworth resisted slamming it against a wall Phoenix didn’t know). Eyes still blissfully closed, he shifted on his stomach, nuzzling the pillow with his bristly cheek as he hugged it closer. If there was one thing he could admit to enjoying about sharing a bed with Edgeworth it was that everything from the cotton sheets (Egyptian cotton, Edgeworth’s voice chided his thoughts) to the down comforter felt incredibly wonderful. He smiled very faintly as a contented sigh answered his own and he resolved to surrender himself to sleep once more when a thought, half-formed and hazy, suddenly occurred to him.
The vicinity of the other sigh was rather close. Perhaps a little too close.
Curiosity creasing his brow, Phoenix slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear the remnants of sleep, and tried to focus on what was before him. Eyebrows, nose, lips…
Upon recognition, his eyes immediately snapped open to find Edgeworth’s face mere inches from his own.
His first instinct was to roll away; his second was to shove the other man as he had done to Phoenix on the second day they had spent together. What he did was stay put, however. It wasn’t every day one could see Miles Edgeworth in such a state of relaxation, after all, and although his face was silhouetted against what little light filtered in from the balcony doors, Phoenix’s eyes were adjusted well enough that he could make out some finer details: dark, thin eyebrows that curved into an arch instead of their usual frown; a thin nose that ended in a blunt point; lips slightly parted as warm air passed in another sigh that grazed Phoenix’s shoulder, causing goosebumps.
There was a noticeable lack of worry lines or wrinkles of any kind save for a single crease that separated his cheek and his mouth. Phoenix smiled slightly. Under the circumstances, it seemed out of place, a flaw in an otherwise perfect portrait of contentment. Turning on his side, he slid his hand from under the comforter and placed it gently against Edgeworth’s cheek. The skin was warm beneath his own, soft and pliable, and the wrinkle disappeared flawlessly as he drew his thumb back and held it there. Several seconds passed as he sleepily marveled at Edgeworth's features.
And then he watched his hand, as if of its own accord, slowly travel back until it met Edgeworth’s jaw. He allowed it to linger for a moment, uncertain, before he slowly traced the bone with his index finger. He swallowed against the dizzying constriction in his throat, a throbbing which he unconsciously recognized as his heartbeat, and dragged his gaze back to Edgeworth's face.
Where he was, what he was doing, and who he was with—it hit him suddenly and with severe force. His mouth went dry and he quickly pulled his hand away as if it had been burned, the pounding moving to his face, his head, burning with each beat. He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling.
After several seconds of mind-reeling bewilderment, he ran his hand over his face, eyes unblinking, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.
“What am I doing,” he whispered.