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Edgeworth's face has gotten so pale that he's apparently resorted to wearing powder foundation, which does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he's very obviously dying from blood sickness. When he starts gnawing on his own bottom lip out of hunger, Phoenix just gives him the same accusatory look as he does in court when he wants an answer and isn't going to let Edgeworth worm his way out of it. "I haven't really had time," Edgeworth explains tersely. "Between investigations, court, and my own private affairs..."
Phoenix watches Edgeworth explain himself, then looks at the scattered paperwork on his desk with the same measured gaze.
"I have supplements," Edgeworth goes on, "but the relief they provide is temporary. And going to the blood bank is - is a time commitment I can't always afford."
"Hm," says Phoenix, and nothing else. It's a lame excuse, but it's also not his business if Edgeworth doesn't like going to blood banks. Phoenix himself doesn't like to think about it: a stranger's neck against Edgeworth's lips, slick and salty and viscous; the foreign taste of someone else's blood in Edgeworth's mouth; unfamiliar residue caught in the back of Edgeworth's throat afterwards, clinging to his tongue like wet paper - no, Phoenix doesn't like to think about it.
Edgeworth stands from the office sofa where he'd been examining a case file, smoothing out a crease that isn't there. "I suppose I should take my leave. Now that it's come to my attention, it occurs to me that I should probably correct my condition enough to look presentable, and I need to get going if I'm going to commit another two hours to a feeding."
"Two hours?" Phoenix repeats.
"The time adds up fast. Between driving there, parking, waiting in line, filling out paperwork, feeding, paying -- "
"You could just drink from me," says Phoenix without really thinking about it.
His brain catches up with his mouth approximately three full seconds too late.
"—what?"
Edgeworth stares at him in open affront, as if scandalized to the marrow by the idea of drinking Phoenix's blood. Phoenix frantically back-tracks through excuses to defuse his own bad play: "I mean, it seems like it’d be a waste of time to go all the way to a blood bank, right? I’ve been bitten before, so I don’t mind.”
"You have experience being a thrall?" Edgeworth says incredulously.
Okay, well, it sounds bad when you put it like that. "My… ex-girlfriend was a vampire," says Phoenix. “She used to feed from me all the time.” He watches Edgeworth mentally forward-track from ex-girlfriend to the girl from the trial last year to Dahlia Hawthorne and tries not to wince.
"You are far too kind to extend such an offer without expecting any manner of reciprocation," says Edgeworth at last.
Phoenix snorts. "It takes maybe five minutes for a vampire to feed. I don't mind, seriously."
Edgeworth looks down at the case file he'd been reading, measuring; back at Phoenix, measuring.
"If you want," Phoenix adds quickly. "The office is pretty empty."
"Right now?" Edgeworth says in disbelief.
"Sure," says Phoenix. "It's easy and takes five minutes."
He watches Edgeworth hesitate, watches the thought visibly snag somewhere behind his eyes. Shit. Phoenix is doing something wrong here, isn't he? Of course he is; who in their right mind offers their blood to someone like that without any modicum of self-restraint or dignity? Edgeworth is looking more and more uncomfortable by the second, and Phoenix is suddenly sure he's crossed a line. What was Phoenix expecting from offering Edgeworth his blood? What did he think was going to happen - ?
"Or not," says Phoenix quickly, turning back to the files on his desk. "I thought I'd offer. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I said anything." Stupid, stupid, stupid -
" - Wait," says Edgeworth. His voice comes out taut and thick, dragged rough around the edges in a way Phoenix has never heard before. "...Are you sure it's really okay?"
Phoenix blinks. "Um, yeah," he says. "Of course. Just don't overdo it, you know? I don't want to be sucked dry."
Edgeworth huffs. "Contrary to popular belief, Wright, I do have some modicum of restraint. I won't leave a mark on your pretty neck, if that's what you're worried about."
That and other things - wait, pretty? "Not that I'm doubting your self-control," Phoenix says quickly, "it's just that it would look bad for me to be showing up to court with a giant vampire bite..." (Pretty?) Shouldn’t he be worrying about infection or blood loss? (Pretty?)
"I know what I'm doing," says Edgeworth like a statement. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Edgeworth knows what he's doing, full stop. Phoenix doesn't know why he expected anything else. "Very well. Let's proceed."
"...proceed?" Phoenix repeats dumbly, already hating every possible interpretation of the word.
"Yes," says Edgeworth, abandoning the open file on the table and heading straight the Wright & Co. bathroom. "I'd rather not get blood on your office floor."
"Oh," says Phoenix. "Right. Yes. Let's go."
Shit.
Shit.
This is such a bad idea.
Edgeworth touching his neck.
Drinking his blood.
This is such a bad idea.
Phoenix gets up from his desk and goes in after him.
The Wright & Co. bathroom is dim. There isn't even a fluorescent light, just an ancient orange lightbulb, which might make this easier since Phoenix can't really make out Edgeworth's face. Edgeworth turns the lock on the bathroom door with a steady click. "So no one will see," he says quietly.
Holy shit this was a bad idea.
"People will get the wrong idea at this rate," says Phoenix in what he hopes is a tolerably upbeat tone of voice. Edgeworth averts his gaze and takes a step closer. He doesn't disagree.
Holy shit this was a bad idea.
Phoenix glances in the mirror; he is not going to survive having to stare at himself while Edgeworth sucks on his neck, or Edgeworth biting him in the office bathroom, or Edgeworth getting any closer to - never mind, never mind.
"Alright," says Edgeworth, and before Phoenix can try to parse the intonation of that, Edgeworth steps closer and curls his lip to reveal a pair of pointed gleaming fangs (holy shit) and then says "Sorry. Excuse me," in the way he does when he's going to do whatever it is anyway, and then like it's nothing at all, he brushes the pad of his thumb over Phoenix's shoulder (holy shit), dragging one fingernail up the side of his neck towards his ear lobe (fuck), and then exhales hot breath onto the skin just above Phoenix's collarbone (Phoenix is going to die in this bathroom one way or another).
"You've done this before?" Edgeworth asks quietly.
Phoenix swallows and prays Edgeworth can't see his throat working. "Yeah, lots of times." Though certainly never like this, in a dimly-lit office bathroom with his court rival. "You sure you know what you’re doing?" Phoenix asks, like his only concern is Edgeworth leaving a mark on his (pretty?) neck.
"I'm sure. But you might want to close your eyes," says Edgeworth. Yeah, what if Edgeworth shut the fuck up about closing his eyes when Edgeworth's mouth is less than an inch away from Phoenix's neck.
"I'll be fine," Phoenix says calmly.
"It's not pleasant to watch, and if you get squeamish - "
"I'll be fine," says Phoenix's voice again. He still sounds like he's functioning, thank god.
"Alright," says Edgeworth. His fingers ghost along Phoenix's pulse point, feather-light. He parts his lips and, at the last second, Phoenix closes his eyes.
Edgeworth's fangs breach the skin easily; Phoenix tenses for a moment, because those things are still fucking sharp, then gradually relaxes. Once the skin is open, Edgeworth latches his lips on the spot he picked, just above where Phoenix's shoulder and neck meet, and starts sucking slowly. No rush. No hunger. No raw need for blood, just a caprice of his, Phoenix guesses. Which is a welcome surprise, and very different from what he'd gotten used to with Dollie - she would always rush, trying to get as much blood as possible in the shortest span of time available, and it would hurt like hell, usually make him dizzy for a few minutes afterwards. Edgeworth, on the other hand, is slow and gentle, pinching around the small punctures with his teeth and sucking slowly. It's not an unpleasant feeling at all; actually, it's kind of soothing - warm and heavy in a strange, foreign way - and Phoenix catches himself thinking that with his eyes closed and his head being cradled delicately in Edgeworth's hand, he could probably fall asleep just like this.
That is, until he feels something absolutely going south. In every sense of the word.
The heat cursing from the small wounds on his neck is pooling low in his gut, coursing through his blood and sending it to places his blood really shouldn't be going right now. Edgeworth continues feeding, mercifully oblivious to his thrall's newfound problem, and Phoenix swallows heavily. Fuck, fuck, no no no, he's not about to get hard from having his blood sucked, absolutely not, he's a lawyer, for Christ's sake, that would be completely inappropriate and unacceptable, not to mention depraved.
Phoenix clenches his jaw and tries to think about something else - he's out of milk at home, so he'll have to buy some as soon as possible, and since he's at it he might as well do some actual grocery shopping, he can't keep living off takeout and instant noodles -
Phoenix can't help the small gasp that leaves his throat when Edgeworth pricks at the wound again. He immediately presses his lips together, because he can feel a moan threatening to slip past his teeth, and that truly cannot happen. Jesus, that will be truly awful to explain. But it's when Edgeworth's tongue presses onto the skin, wet and warm, that Phoenix feels his dick twitch in his pants. He tilts his head back, legs parting almost involuntarily, and he has to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from making any embarrassing noises.
Edgeworth pinches at the wound with his teeth to draw out more blood, tongue darting out, and Phoenix whimpers. Ice climbs down his spine when he realizes he actually made that sound out loud, and Edgeworth immediately stops, pulling back with a slight gasp; Phoenix shivers as cold air meets the wet wound.
"Wright?" says Edgeworth's voice. Phoenix turns to see Edgeworth's lips covered in his blood. It's difficult to tell in the bathroom's low light, but Edgeworth's complexion seems much better; he looks younger, somehow. He looks less like a carcass on the third day of decomposition and more like a pale, fair young man with delicate porcelain skin. Phoenix isn't sure whether Edgeworth looks more or less like himself like this.
"Wright," says Edgeworth’s voice again, firmer this time. "Are you okay?"
Phoenix may not have taken a breath in almost five minutes, now. God, he hopes his face isn't red. "I'm fine," he manages, and his voice holds steady, thank god. "Just - um - adjusting."
"If you're feeling any discomfort or pain - “
"I'm not," says Phoenix hurriedly. "Seriously, it's fine, just keep going."
Edgeworth's eyes narrow. His irises are so dark that the pupils vanish, just one large absence behind the lashes. After a moment of scrutiny that makes Phoenix's skin prickle, he exhales. "Very well. But I think I've had enough for now."
"Oh," says Phoenix. "Okay."
Edgeworth dips his head back down and sucks the wound a bit more, tonguing at the sensitive skin in a way that feels more tender and gentle than hungry. Phoenix’s back snaps up straight.
Edgeworth pulls away. “Sorry,” he says, with a curve to his mouth that says he’s very unsorry, actually. “I have to close the wound. It should be fully healed within the hour, so you don’t need to worry about marks.”
“Thank you,” says Phoenix’s last remaining brain cell. “Are you sure you’ve got enough?”
"I really just needed to bring down my complexion. As you said, this was vastly more time efficient than going to a blood bank. And I feel much better." Edgeworth gives a curt nod. "You have my thanks."
Phoenix can feel his own face smiling. He shifts his legs, trying to hide the obvious tent in his pants. "Don’t mention it. Just ask if you ever need more," he says in a rush, and unlocks the bathroom door and pushes it open. "Any time."
"You're very kind," says Edgeworth. "And your... enthusiasm.... is appreciated." Then he clears his throat, wipes a stray smear of blood from his chin, and walks right out into the office without another word.
For a long moment, Phoenix just leans both hands against the sink and stares down at the cracked porcelain. His neck burns pleasantly where Edgeworth bit him. Outside the bathroom, he can hear the faint rustle of paperwork, the quiet scrape of Edgeworth turning a page, like absolutely nothing unusual has happened. He swears on the spot that this will be the last time he ever lets himself get aroused in the Wright & Co. Law bathroom, with or without Miles Edgeworth present.