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Phoenix blames Miles. If he hadn't saved Phoenix from a burning building two weeks ago by picking him up like he weighed nothing and carrying him out of said burning building, Phoenix wouldn't be struggling like he was now.
Admittedly Miles hadn't been happy with Phoenix for a good while after. In fact, he had been downright furious—cussing him out as he laid in the hospital bed, breathing into an oxygen mask.
Believe it or not, Miles' fury was not the source of why he was currently struggling.
Miles' fury he could handle—and he had. He had bought his boyfriend expensive flowers as an apology and made himself look as pathetic as possible to make Miles get over his anger. It had worked, eventually.
But he was still struggling.
Because truth was, in that moment—when Miles had wrapped his arms around him and lifted him off the ground—Phoenix had realized something about himself.
He really liked being picked up and carried.
Maybe it stemmed from childhood trauma, maybe it was completely normal, or maybe Phoenix was just a freak. Either way, he needed to experience it again, and he didn't know how.
He kept falling down to get Miles to help him up, but the man just offered a hand and pulled him to his feet. On his fifth try Miles had frowned and said, "Maybe you have a brain tumor?" So Phoenix stops.
But even as his attempts cease he can't stop thinking about it, and the itch grows almost unbearable. He keeps picturing Miles' strong arms, the effortless lift, the way he hadn't hesitated for even a second. How he had held Phoenix like he was something precious and light—and not a fully grown man who regularly insisted he could take care of himself.
So he keeps thinking about it, trying to come up with some more elaborate schemes. Faking an injury was too obvious, and might anger Miles further. Fake fainting was too risky. Purposely getting stuck in high places would have been the way to go if Phoenix wasn't terrified of heights.
He takes to the internet to ask instead.
The internet is no help. Reddit tells him to just ask, and he stumbles over several suspicious-looking links that take him to site for fanfiction tagged strength kink and carry kink. One user tells him "Fall asleep in his arms and hope for the best."
He closes the laptop with a sigh. "Ask," he huffs under his breath. "Sure, I'll just ask Edgeworth to carry me around like a Victorian lady with a sprained ankle. The man would never let me live it down."
So he keeps denying himself, while occasionally flirting with the idea of telling him the truth. Each time Miles passes him and light fingers skate over the back of his neck he thinks, now, now is the time! Collapse in his arms, pretend your legs stopped working, trip and fall like a damsel in distress!
Then Miles would disappear, sauntering out of the room, while Phoenix was left staring after him with a stupid look on his face and an internal monolog that sounded like a Jane Austen protagonist on crack.
He knows he's being ridiculous, and deeply embarrassing about the whole thing. But that knowledge doesn't stop him from yearning.
It's not even about the physical act—it's the feelings the act itself had invoked. While he had felt helpless, there was also a heady rush of safety, and comfort. Miles had moved with purpose—no hesitation, like Phoenix's weight wasn't even a factor into his decision. He hadn't stopped to ask if Phoenix was okay with it, he had just done it. And Phoenix—dazed and dusted in soot had thought to himself, Oh no, I'm in trouble.
Now here he was, two weeks later. Spiraling into a psychosexual purgatory over it.
Phoenix bites his finger nails as he stares at the wall in front of him, contemplating what to do next. He can't go on like this, he realizes. Something has to give, and preferably not his sanity.
In the end, Phoenix doesn't have to do anything. His laptop gives him away.
"What the hell is a carry kink?" Miles asks. Phoenix's back goes ram rod straight.
"Uh, I don't—that's—huh?"
Miles takes off his glasses and looks at him. "I was typing in car wash into your laptop to find the nearest one and it autofilled in carry kink. What the hell have you been looking at?"
Phoenix is beet red. "Must've been a typo."
Miles gives him an unimpressed glare. "Really?"
Phoenix swallows, then exaggeratingly hits his forehead. "Ah! Yes, Maya and I were talking about kinks and we wanted to know if that existed. You know? Like people being turned on being carried around. I was like, no way that's a thing! And Maya was like, oh, it totally is. So I looked it up."
He lets out a nervous little laugh as Miles keeps staring at him.
"You were discussing kinks with Maya?" He repeates, wrinkling his nose. "Is that not just a tad bit inappropriate?"
"She started it," Phoenix blurts out. "Besides, she's an adult. It's natural for her to be—curious."
He cringes at his own choice of words. Miles hums.
"I suppose. And what did you find?"
Phoenix blinks. "Huh?"
Miles folds his hands under his chin and stares at him.
"Did such a kink exist?"
"Oh! Uhm," Phoenix clears his throat. "Sure did. Not me though, I'm normal."
Miles gives him an amused look. "So this other tab opened for a reddit thread where someone was saved from a burning building by their partner, isn't you then?"
Fuck.
"Being carried like that awoke something in me. How do I tell my partner that I want to be carried like that again?" Miles reads, aloud. Phoenix's face is on fire. He flies to his feet and shuts the laptop with a smack.
"You weren't supposed to see that," he whispers, humiliation burning a hole straight through him. Miles leans back in his chair and looks up at him with a little smirk.
"You know, they had it right," he says, standing up and rounding the table to come face to face with Phoenix. "You could have just asked me."
Phoenix doesn't dare meet his gaze—eyes locked on his feet. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
Miles cups his face and leans in until their foreheads touch. "For?"
Phoenix swallows. "Being such a freak."
Miles laughs then, and it's not mocking or derisive. "You're not a freak, Wright. In fact, I'm very flattered."
Phoenix looks up at him then. "Really?"
Miles leans forward and kisses him. Phoenix's breath stutters and his hands come up to cup Miles' neck. Miles' arms circle Phoenix's waist and he pulls him closer. Phoenix opens his mouth and melts against Miles when he can feel his tongue slide against his own. He moans into the kiss, pulling Miles closer.
He lets out a yelp when Miles shoves him back, and he collides with the hard wall. Before he can ask Miles why he did that, the other man is on him like butter on bread—sucking and biting his neck. Phoenix arches into his touches, head falling back against the wall and eyes fluttering close. He can feel Miles attack the buttons on his shirt and when they're all undone he strips out of it and let it fall to the floor. Miles' fingers find one of his nipples and he gives it a little pinch. Phoenix moans, clinging to Miles for all he's worth.
"I have an idea. And you can say no," Miles whispers into his ear—low and seductive. Phoenix is ready to agree to anything as long as he keeps kissing him. "I'm gonna get you naked, I'm gonna prepare you, then, I'm gonna lift you up, pin you against the wall and fuck you while holding you up. You can wrap your legs around my waist and cling to me as much as you want. I will hold you up with my strength. I promise I won't drop you. How does that sound?"
Phoenix nearly blacks out at the mental image of it and he mewls into Miles' mouth as he kisses him—needy and desperate. Miles chuckles.
"I need to hear you say you want it," he says, trying to sound stern, but it does come off a little breathless and high-pitched as Phoenix's hands roam over his body.
"Fuck, Miles. I want it. Want it so bad. For you to hold me up while you fuck me. Please!"
"Fantastic," Miles purrs and drops his lips to Phoenix's clavicle to suck a bruise into the skin.
He strips out of his own shirt and pants, leaving only his boxers on as he turns all the attention to Phoenix. Phoenix is flushed all over, red to the tip of his ears and panting. He clings to Miles as Miles brings their mouths together again in a passionate kiss. Miles' hands goes to Phoenix's pants and he undoes the button and fly before shoving them down. They hit the floor and Phoenix steps out of them before kicking them to the side.
"Turn around," Miles orders and Phoenix does as he's told with no protest. Miles wets his fingers with a generous amout of oil he grabbed from the table and pushes one inside Phoenix. Phoenix moans and spreads his legs, leaning his torso against the wall and pushing his ass out.
Miles opens him up slowly, playing with his rim before inserting a second finger. He twists and turns the digits, moving them in and out and crooking them. Phoenix lets out a shout when he grazes his prostate, knees trembling. He is fighting to keep standing, and Miles soon takes pity on him.
"Turn around."
Phoenix turns back around and Miles takes the opportunity to strip out of his boxers. Miles grabs him around the waist and lifts him up. Phoenix grunts and hooks his legs around Miles' waist. Miles presses him up against the wall, then moves his arm to hook around his thighs. Phoenix pants, staring up at him with pupils blown and a dazed expression. It's not easy, but Miles manages to guide his cock forward, sinking in to the warm tight heat of Phoenix. Phoenix throws his head back and keens. Miles gasps like the air has been punched out of his lungs.
"Fuck, Phoenix!"
Phoenix clings to him as Miles starts moving his hips. His arms shake with the effort it takes to hold Phoenix up, but Phoenix doesn’t seem to notice. He is on cloud nine, surfing on the high of being picked up and pinned to the wall. He feels so small like this—light. Miles drives into him, hitting his prostate over and over. His toes curls and heat starts coiling in his stomach and at the base of his spine. Miles has hardly even done anything, but the position is such a turn on for Phoenix he almost sees double.
"What a sight you make," Miles coos, out of breath. "You're being such a good boy. So easy for me to pick up and man handle. Is that what got you so riled up? Knowing I'm strong enough to take you?"
Phoenix doesn't even know anymore. Maybe a bit. Mostly it was the feeling of someone being there to take care of him, and that he wasn't a burden for it. Miles had done a lot over the years to take care of him, but that moment of him lifting Phoenix up had been special. Because Phoenix didn't feel like an anchor weighing him down.
It's the same now. But it's not just the position they're in—it's the way Miles hadn't even hesitated fulfilling his weird little kink. The way he didn't view Phoenix's wishes as a burden.
"I like doing this because it makes you feel lighter, " Miles whispers into his ear. "The way you settle into yourself. You've convinced yourself you're too much, Wright. Too heavy, too big, too broad. But you're not. You're not too much for me to handle. I'll pick you up as often as you want me to. Even if it's just to carry you around the living room, I'll do it. Whatever weight you're carrying, I'll help. As you can see, I'm strong enough."
Phoenix clamps down on Miles' cock and comes with a choked off groan. He can feel Miles stiffen as his own orgasm hits him and he buries his face in the crook of Phoenix's neck.
Phoenix can feel Miles tremble against him, and he unhooks his legs to stand on his own. Miles leans in and kisses him.
"Was that okay?" He asks, a little shyly. Phoenix grins.
"It was perfect."