PSL 03: tact from me is like blood from a stone

[theansweris]

Riddler takes them out to try and calm Ed down.

Away from the house and temptation and messy emotions, Ed does start to settle again, until he's quieted down and able to function again. Riddler's relieved and lets Ed pick the lock on the framing shop, letting himself in and acquiring what he needs and letting himself back out again with no sign of robbery. It's possible it might take them months to realise it ever happened.

Ed, being the sentimental one, is satisfied with this.

Riddler is not.

He spends a while acquiring his present. It's not as valuable as it could be, but he's satisfied. And that's enough for them to go home and get changed into more casual clothes and settle on the bedclothes with a book. He might sleep. He might not. Either way, he could be quiet until morning.

Comments

[hobblepot]

[He's pressed into bed in a daze, tense but unresisting, struggling to keep up with Ed's fingers as they twist and tug and air licks his sweaty skin. The finer details are lost in the dark: scars of his own, the goosebumps already sweeping over thin, heaving ribs and pebbling his nipples. Still, what Oswald can see of Ed - the suggestion of Ed's shape, outlined by the bathroom light shining at his back - is enough to make his stomach swoop, jacking a fresh wave of adrenaline into him.

There's fear there, too, in the lust-drunk eye he turns on Ed's face. Fear of the unknown; of being hurt; of not being enough, always. He knew it would happen, that his hang-ups and misgivings would try and wedge themselves between him and Ed and wrench them apart. But he's made his choice and he grips Ed harder, bitten nails biting into his shoulders. Surrendering to him and holding him to the hope that he'd be well cared for, made to feel as safe and as loved as he desperately needed to be.]

[theansweris]

Riddler gets another good grip on Oswald's thighs and hefts him up the bed again, then slides his hands higher to get a handful of flesh and squeeze, groaning happily as he does so. "You feel so good under me," he murmurs. "You going to let me strip you off? Kiss all over your skin? Press us together?" The next words die on his tongue, when Ed reminds him that Oswald will not be happy with a riddle right now and it might kill whatever spell Oswald is under and if the spell breaks...

Oswald might want to stop. And Riddler does not want that.

[hobblepot]

[He shivers, sucking in a hissing breath though his teeth and grasping for something else to hold onto, white-knuckling the bedsheets.]

Anything -- [A muscle flexes in his jaw] -- I don't care...

[It's the need talking, of course, the hot, heavy ache low in his guts, while the rest of him is tightly wound and ready to jump out of his own skin. But he knows what he said, heard himself just fine, and it might be as close to fuck me Ed or Riddler will ever get to hear.]

[theansweris]

Riddler isn't going to try for much. he wants too much, everything, now, so he instead goes for something simple and easy and now. "I had a thought, when you were dead and I was medicating to see you, that I should've taken on other duties as part of being your Chief of Staff. When you were strung out and wound up, that I should've crawled under your desk and let you have my mouth until you were relaxed and shivering and boneless in your chair."

He kisses over one collarbone, the mirror of where his own scars sit and then down, fingertips lightly brushing over one nipple.

[hobblepot]

[His eye flutters open, regarding Ed in bemusement and drunken wonder - and somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware enough to suspect that this conversation would catch up to him later, when he was at his clearest and most vulnerable to embarrassment.]

I wouldn't... [Words form on the tip of his tongue and scatter, dissolving at the press of Ed's lips, the lightning chasing Ed's fingertips. He flinches, makes a noise in his throat, teeth sinking into his lip.]

[theansweris]

"You wouldn't?" Riddler looks up, smiling at Oswald and dipping his head, the tip of his tongue just barely touching the peak of his nipple. "You wouldn't- what, Oswald? Have let me? Have asked?"

He exhales over the damp skin. "There's no one to hear you but me." Olga sleeps in the servant's quarters and if her snoring doesn't wake her, nothing will.

[hobblepot]

[He's never had any trouble expressing his anger, his sadness; they pour out of him, filling a room. But he's never shared his pleasure before, never could, and it feels strange now, an uneasy sort of strange, laying this side of him bare to be judged by someone else. His breath quickens.]

Asked -- [He gasps it out, like a confession.] Wouldn't have asked.

[And he'd like to think he wouldn't have let Ed either, not comfortable or ready to have Ed show his thanks that way, or for him to feel like he'd need to.] You already went... above and beyond the call of duty.

[theansweris]

It's not about what really would've happened. It's about the picture that Riddler's painting with Ed's experiences and their combined imagination and knowledge. A picture of lust and need just to titillate.

"I wouldn't have made you ask." He uses his tongue again, firmer, to see if it gets more response, or if he should try somewhere else.

[hobblepot]

[A reluctant, miserable sort of whimper escapes him.]

Ed... [he pants] ...for fuck's sake... [But there's no real heat to it, no bite, his frustration as powerless as he is while he squirms, on edge.]

[theansweris]

Next time, Riddler promises to himself, to Ed, mostly himself. Next time he'll play more, work out more, but now he applies his mouth with more pressure, hints of teeth and a suggestion of a suck and pushing his hand down and into Oswald's pants. There's not really any finesse, just want and curiosity and a lot more lust; he actually moans when he manages to get his hands around hard, heated flesh and squeeze.

[hobblepot]

[Even before Ed has taken him in his fist, Oswald is already unraveling, trembling with the sharp, sweet thrill of teeth and tugging lips. He can barely keep his eye open, staring, dully stunned, at Ed bent over him, as if it's someone else's life unfolding. Someone less skittish, more used to giving up their body to pleasure. But it's happening, really happening, his fly jerking open with a sound so loud in the dark and Ed's hands really plunging into his briefs, closing around him. A muscle jumps in his thigh and he arches into the press of Ed's mouth with a wounded moan. His mind whites out. And if Ed didn't have all his attention before, he does now, holding it hostage, as he locks up and forgets how to breathe, unsheathed and oozing precome already.

Oswald tightens his grip around the sheets, a rippling of tendons around his knuckles. It's about as much as anyone could hope to brace themselves.]

[theansweris]

Riddler moans when Oswald does, applying teeth a little more enthusiastically and hand going tighter, stroking firmly and wanting to feel, to experience, hungry for new sensations and knowledge and right now he needs to know more about Oswald. How he sounds when he finds release, how his body reacts, how his mouth tastes afterwards.

His tongue drags next, over the skin he bit. His thumb rubs firmly at the frenulum, his body rolling with the sheer want he feels.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald whines, twisting as Ed works at him, killing him slowly. He's not only unfamiliar to this world of touch and with his own body to know how to direct Ed to get the most out of every technique at his disposal, but he's too raw for his stinging kisses and the thumb strumming him senseless. The sharp uptick in intensity sucks the breath from his lungs.]

Don't do that...

[He gasps, his face tightening. Yet he only throbs harder in Ed's grip.]

Slow, slow down.

[As far as he's aware, there's no getting pain and pleasure to play nice in the bedroom and he'd rather keep the former out of it, as much as possible.]

[theansweris]

Riddler's not sure what he's not meant to do... and he's inclined to just trying everything one by one until Oswald protests but Ed whispers at him, argues and he looks up at Oswald. "Don't do what?" He asks it breathlessly, hand squeezing and relaxing, but at least not tugging, not rubbing.

[hobblepot]

[He sags into the mattress, breathing and breathing through parted lips. His face softens, relaxes.]

No more teeth... [He says to the ceiling, able to gather his thoughts after far too much effort.] And none of that... thing you were doing with your thumb.

[theansweris]

"Teeth bad? Teeth too good?" He presses a kiss on damp skin. "Thumb bad? Thumb too good?" He wants specificity, Oswald.

[hobblepot]

[He groans, a furrow deepening between his brows. It feels like he's being quizzed.]

Could we just skip the biting entirely? Please. [Nipples, to no surprise, are more tender than lips or necks or the softness under his jaw, and had he been nipped any harder, he could've easily pushed at Ed, snapped at him.] Thumb-wise, I'd much prefer a lighter touch, if at all. It isn't... unpleasant so much as it is a little intense for my liking. [He shifts restlessly, biting his lip.] Now, if you don't mind --

[theansweris]

No biting. Riddler is a little disappointed, but decides he can live with it. He apologises with kisses, wet, slow ones over Oswald's cest, up his breastbone and throat and chin to kiss him full on the mouth before he tries to reply. "Back off and slow down a bit, then?" He can admit his enthusiasm could be... overwhelming.

Psychotic. Obsessive. Dangerous.

"I just want you so badly," he murmurs.

[hobblepot]

[With the way Ed smothers his chest and neck and lips with open-mouthed kisses, his voice rumbling against him, Oswald can almost believe the people of Gotham were climbing over each other to get at him and that Ed had slashed and gutted his way through every last one just to have him all to himself. His body is greedy for his touch, arching into it again, and he can feel what's left of sense and reason slip away from him as his hips budge on their own, pushing more of himself through the tightness of Ed's fist.

In his more lucid moments - fewer and farther between now, his focus pulled to the hard, ropey pulse between his legs, and to the tingling in places he's never thought about - it all seems all so ridiculous, so unbelievable he could laugh, if it didn't also scare him. He hears himself, sees his hand reaching to curve around the nape of Ed's neck, but he doesn't feel like himself; not when he never imagined he'd come to a point where he'd not just be willing to fuck and be fucked but that his body would want it so badly it hurts a sick, cramping hurt. And still, he can't even ask, the words clotting in his throat like he's afraid of what might happen if he's honest.]

Please...

[He's trying.]

[theansweris]

Don't do too much, please do more, it's a bit frustrating if Riddler's honest, because it's sending very mixed messages and he know which ones he wants to believe are the real ones but he can't be sure. And he doesn't want this to be his only chance.

"Please do that, yes? Please don't back off, no?"

One word. Yes or no. He tightens his grip and he wants, he wants so badly it hurts (his heart hurts, but his cock hurts more, the air is cold and sharp and the fabric of Oswald's pants to usually soft, but it almost prickles) but he's trying to give Oswald a way to clearly state what he wants. "I want to make you come undone," he promises, surging up and only just stopping himself biting Oswald's ear, turning it to a wet kiss instead.

[hobblepot]

[Eye closing, he tilts into his kiss, sighing.]

...Do it. I submit to you. All of me. [He rasps, barely above a whisper; a voice he can barely recognize.

It hangs in the air for a moment.] I want you more than I've ever wanted anything... and yet, I'm fully aware that were I to give myself even half the chance, I'd find a way to talk myself out of it. Find... some reason why I cannot or should not have this, or... simply convince myself... that everything you have allowed and invited me to experience was purely out of pity.

[He gasps out a laugh past the knot in his throat. A sad, wry laugh.]

...It's silly, isn't it?

[theansweris]

Riddler kisses Oswald with all the want and heat he's feeling. He grasps the back of his neck and kisses him like he might be able to convey even a fraction of how much he wants Oswald if he kisses him just right.

As he breaks it, slow and lingering, he leans on his elbow and catches Oswald's hand with his free one, guiding it carefully to between his own legs, biting his lips to bite back a moan when he encourages oswald to just feel, briefly. "Does that feel like pity?"

[hobblepot]

[Despite having permission, there's a hesitation to lay his hand where it has never been and would never freely wander, his own breath catching softly at the feel of Ed in the dark: thick and fever-hot, as real as anything else he has felt. It has a way of putting things into perspective - and when he draws back, his nerves are popping with anxious energy and he's more awake and aware than he's been the entire night.]

...point taken. [He gives a nod and lays back again, blinking up at the ceiling.] It's... quite impressive. [Daunting.] ...If you don't mind my saying so.

[theansweris]

Riddler's relieved that Oswald moves his hand again, because it's too much, far too much for him, not until he can shut down some other inputs to avoid a meltdown.

And then, he actually blushes. Grins, but blushes, and nuzzles Oswald's cheek. "Well, thank you. I don't expect you to do a damn thing with it if you're not feeling sure." He kisses him again. "Now, stop fussing, and let me blow your mind, right?"

[hobblepot]

[He hums, eagerly meeting his kiss, Ed's cheek warm against his. It's reassuring that no demands are being made of him, though he expected nothing less than for Ed to accommodate him, his needs and concerns.]

I assure you, there is nothing short of a stiff drink, or three, perhaps, that could make me any less of a jittery bundle of nerves... and yet, here I am, still thinking about it!

[He claps hands to his face and laughs into them, incredulous, his mind already blown several times over.]

I... cannot believe I am saying this! But I simply do not care. I don't care! [He repeats, chuckling giddily, like a man on the cusp of a scientific discovery, shaken top to bottom by some groundbreaking revelation. But he sobers, cautiously reappearing from behind his hands to gaze long into Ed's face, dreamily and not all there, a look that says Ed is his world and everything in it. His fattened pupil has all but swallowed his iris.]

I want you. [His voice is softer around the edges.] All of you. ...I have no idea what you did to me, or how you pulled it off, but what I can tell you as of this very moment... is that it doesn't get much surer than this, friend. [Slowly, he probes for Ed's hand and finds it, squeezing.]