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Title: Blue Silk Boxers
Characters/Pairings: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Rating: G
Warnings: FLUFF EVERYWHERE
Summary: Phoenix and Edgeworth are domestic with each other. For Macey! :3



At precisely seven forty-five at night, Phoenix Wright unlocked the door to Miles Edgeworth's apartment, kicked it open with one foot while packing three paper bags full of groceries in his arms and the keyring in his mouth, and stumbled into the foyer with all the grace of an intoxicated buffalo. Down the hall he then progressed, inching carefully, for fear of dropping the groceries; he was only halfway to the kitchen when Miles burst from it and hurried to relieve him of one of the bags.

"What took you so long, Wright?"

Phoenix sighed and followed him back into the kitchen to begin the task of putting away the food. "I get a little lost in the grocery store. And it's Phoenix now, remember?"

"Hm."

"Don't 'hm' at me--you promised!"

"Very well. Phoenix… any child could resolve that shopping list in half the time it took you to do the same."

With a playful shove, Phoenix retorted, "You don't have a child, though, do you? You've got me, and that means you have to wait for your milk and eggs like a good boy."

A smile flickered around Miles's lips as he returned to dicing potatoes for dinner. He chopped roughly, feigning irritation Phoenix saw through immediately, and said, "Let us not forget the electric bill. It's due tomorrow."

"It's endearing, how you think I can afford to take care of your bills for you."

"They're our bills," Miles said, pointing his knife at Phoenix, "until your blue silk boxers get out of my clothes hamper."

Phoenix leaned over the counter and stole a baby carrot from the pile near the stove; Miles swatted at him, but missed. "They wouldn't be in the hamper if you washed the laundry today."

"I have been in court all day and I'm making dinner."

"Beef stew! From the looks of it?"

"Yes--but that's hardly the point…."

Despite blowing a raspberry in response to Miles's words, it wasn't long before Phoenix had gotten the laundry started and the two had enjoyed their well-prepared beef stew. Without much complaint, Phoenix also busied himself in tending to the dishes. It had taken him a few weeks to learn the precise locations Miles had set aside for every piece of his cookware, but he'd finally managed well enough to Miles's specifications--and much to his own surprise.

In reality, the entire situation surprised him when he let himself stop to think about it. There had been no formal invitation--no "let's move in together," not even a decision made in the heat of the moment or over one too many beers. Phoenix had simply followed Miles home one night and stayed until their shared court appointment two days later. The bold action hadn't been called into question, and so they remained now, four months down the road.

With the dishes washed and carefully put away, Phoenix went to look for Miles, and found him sprawled on the bed, still in his khaki pants and wine-colored button-down, snoring softly. Such a sight offered a sort of unspoken permission to join in the restfulness, and so Phoenix stretched out alongside him, one arm innocently encircling the other man's waist.

In no time, the two were sound asleep, the laundry and bills long forgotten.

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August 2012

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