"Proof" by Chuckismyhero

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I'm surprised nobody has written one like this yet.
"Edgeworth, I–what are you doing?" You raise an eyebrow as Miles Edgeworth scrambles about. The reason? Evidently you've walked in on him in the midst of the indulging of his guilty pleasure. The guilty pleasure?

Well, now that you know there is one, you don't plan on leaving until you find out.

"I–er, well..." His expression completely reminds you of a kid caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. It only makes you all the more curious as to what it is, exactly, that he's hiding. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprising you!" From the looks of it, Edgeworth isn't used to getting surprised visits. He's currently snatching everything remotely colorful off of his desk and throwing them into its drawers. At last he rests, seconds later, with his hands holding something in his lap, hidden from view thanks to the desk. You've never seen him so scattered. Unfortunately you didn't see what he was hiding as he was in the process of doing so, other than that it was colorful.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?!"

"Yeah, but then it wouldn't be a surprise! Why, are you... busy?" The suggestive undertones of your statement cause him to scowl even more darkly.

"If I said yes, would you leave me alone?" You roll your eyes. He can be so impossible sometimes. Especially when he's being defensive.

"Actually I'm pretty sure I would want to know what you were busy doing."

"That's none of your concern."

"So you ARE doing something~." You step much further into the room, now fairly close to his desk. In hopes of breaking him, or at least staring him down, you narrow your eyes and look into his. However out of sorts he may be, he still easily dominates you with his gaze. You shift uncomfortably and opt for sitting in the chair instead. Neither of you say anything for what feels like hours, the silence thick and tense. "... Are you gonna tell me?"

"... To put it bluntly, no."

"Well, why not?! Is it a secret~?"

Edgeworth is almost twitching in frustration. Who needs interrogators when there are people like you in the world? He sighs. "What did you come here for, __Y/n__?"

"... Oh my damn. Is it porn? Miles Edgeworth, are you hiding porn?!" You don't even let him respond before going off on a tangent, "of all the things... Edgeworth, I must say, I'm disappointed in you–wait a second..." Just when he thinks it couldn't get any worse; "It isn't gay porn, is it?!" He would retort. Really, he would. If he wasn't so shocked and insulted, he would say something in his defense, but it's one of those rare occasions where his words have escaped him. He can only sit there with a disgusted expression on his face. "Oh no, you're gay, aren't you? All the good ones are, after all..."

"Were you dropped on your head as a child?" Sadly his question goes unheard as you begin to really upset yourself.

"Edgeworth, are you gay?!"




For dramatic effect, you put your hands to your cheeks. "It all makes sense now! The weird obsession with Phoenix Wright, the tea and crumpets gimmick, the–"

"... No."

"What?" In all your excitement you've forgotten that you actually asked him something.

"I said no, I'm not gay." Another silence ensues. This time, it's your turn to be shocked: shocked that he answered you, shocked that he looked you in the eye when he did, his gaze so intense that it almost knocked you out of your chair, and still some slight lingering doubt, nevertheless.

With a hoarse throat, you finally find words, "then... why do you never show interest in women?" Now that you've been knocked back down a few rungs on the ladder of... well, whatever ladder he wants to feel superior on, Edgeworth is sitting up straighter, looking down at you again.

"I don't have time for them." His face is subtly smug when he answers. The sudden turning of the tables doesn't sit well with you as you clamber to find some way to turn them back. At last, an idea comes to your head.

"... Prove it."

"Excuse me?"

It catches even you off guard, but he does nothing to hide in his now wide eyes that he obviously was not expecting that. You swallow as butterflies fill your stomach at the thought of your implications.

Wait, butterflies?

Perhaps you've gone too far.

"... Sorry, Edgeworth. That was a bit much." Your abrupt resignation is a bit out of character, but you're starting to weird even yourself out. You stand, now self-conscious, and turn, stepping quickly towards the door. As you do, you hear something clatter to the floor, but don't bother looking, with the exception of the small Steel Samurai figurine that hits your foot. It isn't until you're touching the handle of the door that a hand firmly grips your forearm.

Edgeworth spins you around, slamming your back against the door almost painfully. You're about to yell at him, remind him that you said you were sorry, but his face and body are suddenly far too close to yours for him to just be angry. "It's too late, __Y/n__... to walk away and take it back..." His hot breath taunts your senses as it surrounds your ear.

Neither of you move: you simply stand there, reveling in the contact of his cheek on yours. His hands pin your wrists against the rough mohogany. You can only guess what images are running through that virginal head of his, and hope they are as not-virginal as the ones running through yours.

And he hasn't even kissed you.

He moves his head so that your noses are touching, and your lips are less than a centimeter apart, but he has yet to take the next step.

"Miles..." His agonizingly slow pace is tempting you to close the gap, but even with half-lidded eyes and a fogged mind, you know that it's on him.

"You want me to prove it?" Edgeworth's mouth touches yours when he speaks; it's almost too much. "Fine, then..." He hovers above you still, and it crosses your clouded brain that he's... hesitant?

As if he read your thoughts, he pushes himself forward the last fraction and collides with you roughly, satisfying your newfound craving. His lips smash against yours with so much force that you feel sandwiched completely between him and the door. Every possible part of his body is against you as his hands release yours and move up almost frantically, his fingers coming to rest grasping your jaw with the tips on one side grazing your ear. You bring your hands to the back of his head, running them up the underside of the subtle cowlick in his hair.

He breaks away seconds later, but only for a moment. You hear more than just fireworks when he leans into you and initiates a second round. This time, his tongue pries your lips apart, feeling up your own as you moan, your legs feeling less steady with each swirl of his tongue against yours. It tastes, he tastes, even better than you imagined.

His hands are back on your hips now. He pulls them closer to him and bends down slightly, causing friction. You jerk your head up and interrupt the battle his tongue was clearly winning, unable to contain the gasp arising from your very core. Clearly unhappy at the break, Edgeworth snaps your head back to his level mid-gasp and resumes searching every corner of your mouth. It gets to the point where you begin to feel light-headed from lack of breath before he finally pulls back.

The air tastes bitter and unpleasant compared to what your taste buds have just been exposed to. It's almost surreal: Miles Edgeworth just kissed you, and kissed you better than any other man ever has. The feel of his mouth, untainted by none except you, was enough to make your legs give out.

Edgeworth grabs one of your hands and sweeps it slowly down his torso, seducing you even further until it rests near the crotch of his pants. Your eyes widen as he presses the back of your hand against him. He hisses, his forehead still pushed to yours, and opens one eye.

"If I were gay..." He says, his voice low and coarse, "a woman like yourself wouldn't be able to do this to me."

Up until that point, you were a bit confused as to how kissing someone was proof of heterosexuality. Now, it's all become clear. You swallow what's left of his taste and inhale deeply, taking in his scent.

"Actually... that's proof of nothing..." You reply in between pants, "It could be... a cover... or a fake..." Edgeworth doesn't understand until you finish your statement. At last your breath returns to you enough for coherent sentences. "I'll have to see proof with my own eyes... Are you busy now?" Then he smirks and begins to unbutton his vest.

"Not yet."

Well I read somewhere that Edgeworth is supposedly a Steel Samurai fan. If you didn't get the implication that he was like playing with the figurines or something adorkable, then... well, I just explained it.

Yeah. Review. 8D;

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