#This is deadass the first work I've ever posted outside of the HG Realm ever

[wrightaboutthat]

Unnecessary Yearning ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~

Summary: "You should have heard him talking about you after the Steel Samurai case! He kept saying 'Wright...Wright...Wright' over and over!"

Stricken with new feelings, Edgeworth attempts to carry on with his work and make do. Only, visions of a certain attorney lead to methods turning a little less than professional.

Written from Miles' POV.

Tags: Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Longing, Arousal, It's what the kids call, Denial, Mr 'I'm saddled with unnecessary feelings' Edgeworth lol like YEAH OKAY SIR, How's that going for you, Canon Compliant, Yearning

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! This is my first work in the Ace Attorney fandom. Glad to be tipping my toes into the universe, and super excited to finally be writing the boys. Thank you so much for reading! <3

You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]

It’s going to be a long night. My brain feels utterly thick and heavy from all which weighs down on me: evidence to sift through, cases to win, and losses to be recuperated. The latter two earn a stiffening of my figure, bits of bitter venom surging through my veins to match. I try not to mull over them too much however, what with all the deeper implications they carry. No; far too complex and far too unnecessary.

I instead focus on the present, focus on the current matters that await within my office. My silver gaze momentarily scans the various files atop my desk, before drifting over to my stewing tea. I straighten a bit, attempting to hone in on the delightful fumes, the tantalizing call of work to be done..

...But still, does my mind feel oddly muddied. Unsurprisingly, a scowl furrows my face as a result. 

Walking to grab the warm tea, I momentarily turn my attention towards the world beyond my window. The lights of the city below glimmer and flash as activity bustles on. The last bits of setting sunlight cast dramatic colors upon the horizon. Unfortunately though, as I continue to stare, something else tantalizingly flashes within the reflective sheen. Or someone else, rather.

Him. Him.

Ahh. The man who rose from the ashes of my past. The man who viciously inserted himself back into my life. The man who dared to make me question my own reality. So he’s to blame. He’s the culprit. He’s the reason behind the present strangeness. He was indeed the trigger behind previous emotional oddities, so it only makes sense that he’s tormenting me now.

...Or does it?

My frown grows- particularly when the swirling imagery doesn’t fade away. In fact, it grows all the more detailed, all the more vivid. It’s like my brain genuinely teases me for a few fleeting moments, letting me see him and all that he is. That sickeningly corny grin on his face. The way he sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair. The image of him behind me, slamming us into the very surface providing such visions...

I startle something terrible, backing away with a bubbling mixture of revulsion. How unexpected and heinous. How dare he. How dare he affect me so. How dare he insert himself into my workplace where he’s not welcome. 

And how ludicrous that I let him.

I clench my jaw and walk back to my desk, fingers knotted through my hair. There’s work to be done. There are matters to attend to. There are things that call for my attention. And none of them should deal with him.

But they do. Dammit, of course they do; with my subconscious stumbling from their presence, they scream the loudest of all. They dare to surge to the forefront. Because while case papers are visibly scattered before me, while knowledge swims within, he’s there in front. Flashing before my trembling vision, waltzing to the tip of my subconscious, and settling in the worst possible manner between the apex of my thighs.

No...

This cannot be happening. There’s no possible way this can be happening. I try to think of something else, anything else. All the work that needs to be done. That vile security guard from our case prior. But I can almost hear him chuckle at my lackadaisical efforts. And thus, does my strangely bewitched body mewl in delight, persuading me to hopelessly swell further.

I fume and begin to walk around the room, hoping to shake it off. Perhaps laps will serve me better. Perhaps getting my blood flowing will pull it from more problematic locations. But alas, I see him, I hear him, I feel him. I begin to bulge something terrible against my pants, the tight fabric no longer comfortable. It’s painful even, especially with all my movement, chaffing and rubbing atrociously.

But I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to fall into such vile acts. I don’t want him to hold such power over me.

And yet...

It’s like he materializes behind me, his hands gently yet firmly grasping my hips. He stills my furious stride, before I can practically feel his breath against my ear.

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

I grit my teeth. I want to argue. I want to deny it. But when I feel his hands starting to guide mine, when I’m lead to the fly of my pants, I really have no objections to his point. I can feel his grin against my neck then, and I can’t help myself; I shudder despite the rampant denial.

I still try and stop. I still try and hesitate. But the more I wait, the more painful it gets. The more I stall, the more vivid the visions become. A confusing and overwhelming mixture of emotion bubbles up then. I’m furious, but desperate. Appalled, yet curious. I consider things just a second more...

And then I’m deliciously coaxed; with my back facing the window, with my body towering over my desk, I unzip myself and allow the product of his doing to spring free.

The typical groan of relief departs my throat, but it’s hushed, captured as I bite my lip. A second later, my brow furrows something fierce, continuing to dance between enjoyment and revulsion.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” I can picture him saying, leading to a furious blush and stronger swell. Would he say such a thing? I cannot be certain, yet all rings clear within my subconscious. So much so that I growl at him.

“Shut up, Wright...”

“Yeah yeah. Now shhh,” he murmurs back through reveries, “Just enjoy yourself, Miles.”

Miles.

My name, so rarely uttered, growled off his lecherous tongue...

My eyes roll, and I grasp myself then. I wrap my fingers around the taut, soft skin. I firmly grab the stiffness was as he likely would. And it takes every bit of my power to not release a growling groan into the quietness of my office.

My office.

My eyes, slick with both a furious and midnight sheen, fly back open at the notion. I stare at myself in horror, stare at how utterly erect I am. All because of him. All because of him. 

I grit my teeth; how long will this dreaded back and forth go on? And which side will come out on top? Naturally, I careen for the reasonable, for the chaste maturity. But unfortunately, and unbelievably, my mind is no match for my body. My mind is no match for his spell. Because just as my grip lessens, he manifests behind me once more.

“I worry about you. You work way too hard, Miles,” he subconsciously murmurs in my ear, his vocals deeper and more honeyed than usual.

“Wright...”

“I like you saying my name like that,” he chuckles, and I can almost feel the flick of his tongue against my earlobe, “But I like you putting all your troubles to the side even more. So relax, dammit. Don’t be such a hardass...”

His tease, his care, his sultriness...It’s all too real. It all feels too real. I release another growl of frustration, but feel myself being tugged into the rabbit hole further. I begin to relent, begin to cave, allowing his very image to guide me down and down and down.

And so when I finally begin to move, when I finally begin to pull and tug, it’s entirely his essence.

He works me. He strokes me deeply. He topples my body towards the awaiting mahogany desk. Though I wish to deny it, though I wish to bellow in protest, it feels...utterly incredible, like it never has before. It’s intense, and electrifying, and unbelievably arousing. Once more are my eyes rolled away from view, noises of pleasure circulating around my chest. I have to fight against them, swallow them down, but yet again, does the attorney come out on top. The vision of his fingers, of his work, naturally pulls a centered vocalization from my lips.

“Wright...” I growl, “Wright...Wright...”

I’m rewarded with his voice in my ear once more. “Just like that...Fuck, Miles...”

My stomach clenches; would he even stoop to such naughty vocabulary? Would he even dirty his softer tongue so? Hearing it feels forbidden, yet so very divine. My hips practically buck, riding the reverie and falling deeper.

“Wright...Wright...Wright...”

The passes become harder, faster. His name grows louder, deeper. My mind falls grayer, darker. But of course, similar patterns are followed. Of course, the tug-of-war that is my reality is suddenly yanked in the opposing direction once more.

Because a series of loud raps on my door yanks me far harder than my own hand, startling me something terrible. My head whips up towards the mahogany barrier just in time to hear the reason, the culprit.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”

Magma still burns in my veins. Evidence still twitches betwixt my fingers. His voice still moans in my brain. So very quickly, despite it all, do I bellow back to the damned detective.

“NOT NOW.”

Despite the fire I’m standing in, I can feel the saddened deflation on the other side of the door.

“B-but, sir...”

“PAYCHECK, GUMSHOE,” I snarl, attempting to instill as much threat and as little waver as possible.

He whimpers like a gloomy pup, before finally, thankfully, backing away.

“Y-yes, sir...”

His footsteps depart, but a bit of my fantasy is stolen along with him. It’s like pieces of foggy bliss are yanked out the door and down the hallway, loosening my grip on myself and the situation. Am I safe? Am I free from them?

As if to taunt, I feel myself twitch, and he manifests once more. I feel him again: the heightened movements of his panting chest against me, the ragged groans in my ear, the twinge of his teeth against my neck...

No. Safe from Gumshoe’s interruption perhaps, but still locked deep in the throes of Wright’s intrusion. How utterly strong he is. How much of a hold he has on me...

“Nngg...”

I groan in both frustration and persistent arousal. I want to stop. I want to latch on to the interruption and calm back down. But I can’t. I’m transfixed. He has me.

“Accursed attorney...” I growl through my teeth.

Right on cue, I can see that smug grin of his, sending droves of new warmth barreling down my body. And thus, does the cycle begin again. It only takes a few strokes to fully get back into it, but then I’m unimpeded, unshakeable beneath his spell. The angry, shaky breaths manifest once more, and my hips are coaxed back into movement.

I’m what they would refer to as “pent-up” I suppose, everything zinging to life at the thought of that damn man. His energy, his confidence, his very essence...

My lips curl into a snarl, coupled with the tightening of my hand. Anger and disgust towards the situation does no good; in fact, it only serves to amplify. And as such, I’m thrown into an endless loop, the fiery emotions driving me higher and higher. The more I push away, the more he pulls. The more he pulls, the higher the inferno roars. I’m practically jerking, practically trying to fight against the inevitable. But it’s no use.

I can see myself furiously pounding him into the very desk I’m leant upon. I can picture him folding me over the couch and having his way with my sorry form. I can imagine my angry body knelt before him, marveling in what I’m about to consume...

My entire lower half gives a mighty quake, and I tighten in a plethora of places. I’m going to finish. He’s going to make me finish. My ebony-soaked eyes reel about my surroundings, before flashing with a realization. I need to capture the evidence. I need to halt its sullying path. I need to be utterly inconspicuous about this.

So in perhaps the last allowed second of logical thinking, I snatch a handkerchief off my desk and blanket it over the incrimination. And there I hold as I utterly plummet into flames. My face wretches, my muscles tense, and consequently, comes a most forbidden hiss.

“Phoenix!”

And out it all spills. My anger, my deeper complexities, those wretched feelings...It floods against my fingers and into the handkerchief, my vision flashing white with every sharp burst. My jaw clenches something terrible, the temptation to yell through the release so very tantalizing. But I stay hushed. I manage to keep it contained to shivering grunts and rolling snarls. Instead, my body takes the brunt, my hips jutting with each intense crest. My legs begin to liquify, and my form begins to shake, so with a final spurt, do I collapse forward on my desk with a hand, the wretched evidence in the other.

I heave and gasp through the aftershocks, straining for normalcy to return. I claw my way down from the mountain, trying to get away from the outrageous act. It’s very difficult to do so when I can picture him stroking me into utter completion, whispering lecherous praises and deeper affections into my ear...

I straighten myself and slam my hand on the desk, disgust desperately surging through my veins to block it all out. One look at the soiled handkerchief and my equally dirtied hand amplifies this, my face contorting into a deep scowl.

I was really just enraptured by my urges like some hotheaded grade schooler. I really just turned my place of work into a place of dirtied fun. I really just pleasured myself because of him.

Because of Phoenix Wright.

Damn him. Damn him damn him damn him...

My clean hand comes to capture my face, my fingers harshly grasping my temples. I take a moment to hide away from it all, perhaps in a better attempt to deal with the rampant feelings flowing through. Regret, disgust, anger...But where the icy emotions exist, as do the fiery still, to my dismay. Deeper desire, longing, yearning...

I’m no better off from such an act. The more primitive urges are satiated, yes, but I’m still atrociously in limbo, atrociously in the middle.

I tuck myself back in, clean my hand with tissues, and throw the wretched handkerchief away. I focus on adjusting my attire, on straightening my cravat, on re-composing myself...

...Yet I still find myself unable to do much else than stand with both hands leant against my desk, deep in thought and emotions. I heave a harsh sigh, trying so hard to make sense of it all.

How did this happen? Why did seeing him after all these years lead to this? How could I be so foolish? I doubt we’re really even considered friends, and he’s certainly not...mine.

My eyes widen at the mere thought, before I force further bile to manifest. No. He’s not. And he won’t be. He’s my rival, if anything. Nothing more. Perhaps I was simply carried away by the excitement of our banter, the passion brought to the table. Perhaps my body simply craved an outlet for stress and tension. Yes.

But despite the logic that presents itself, despite the perfectly sound explanation, I still can’t move. I still can’t put it aside and simply get back to work. Nor can I rid my thoughts of that idiotic, passionate, absurd, torturous man.

Dammit indeed.