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]

[Spending all his teenhood and much of adulthood in a cramped apartment with paper-thin walls and a mom who didn't always take closed doors too seriously taught him to be quick and efficient and quiet. In five minutes, he has come into a tissue and cleaned up, though he lingers in the bathroom a while to wind down and cool off, leaning over the sink while re-arranging his sleek leather eye patch and pleased to note that his eyeliner remains unsmudged.

He hobbles back in smelling of hand soap, dropping into the cushions beside Ed with a contented sigh. He looks around a moment, taking in his inheritance.]

You know, I rather liked sharing the bed with you. [Pausing thoughtfully.] I found it... peaceful. Which I really can't say of many things these days. [Catching Ed's eyes, he invites him to weigh in.]

[theansweris]

Ed and Riddler spat at one another for a moment, lose their interest in it and instead lose the jacket and tie entirely, shirt collar remaining undone and vest opened. Mostly comfortable, though he's aware of the conflicting firing of nerves, of anxiety and lust and frustration at each other and a frisson of something he can't quite pinpoint yet.

He still has colour high on his cheeks when Oswald gets back, but he's at least comfortably draped on the lounge, studying a painting on the opposite wall with an intensity it possibly doesn't deserve. He glances as the door opens again and extends an arm to let Oswald tuck in against him.

"This morning? It was- nice." Nice is an understatement. It was the first time his sleep has felt at all restful in a very long time. "Are you inviting me to come and stay with you tonight?"

[hobblepot]

Well, yes - I'd even go so far as to ask, why stop at tonight? [He snorts softly.

If his eye wanders to the slice of skin at Ed's throat after all the fussing and fiddling with his collar (which it inevitably does, lingering,) it's not his fault. He seldom sees Ed when he isn't in full, whip-smart suit, all slick and neat, and can't help reaching out to sweep some invisible fluff from his vest. It's a shameless excuse to touch him and he couldn't care less.]

Space isn't a problem. And there are plenty of pillows and blankets to go around.

[No tug of wars in the small hours of the morning.]

[theansweris]

Clothing is an armour for both of them, in different ways. The collar is open because Oswald opened it and liked it and Riddler wants Oswald's eyes trapped on him.

"I don't sleep well. Or a lot." It's a warning, not disagreement. "But I'd feel better knowing you were there. That I'm not going to wake up and think I'm in Arkham. And you're allowed to just touch," Riddler adds with a smile. "To know I'm really here."

[hobblepot]

[Though he relishes the quality of life and the luxuries he now enjoys, he misses the comfort he found living with mom, falling asleep to the warm press of her back against his on those colder nights when running a space heater for hours wasn't an option. It matters, having someone to come home to, and loneliness and loss have taught him that it's having a loved one that turns a house into a home.]

Well, if you insist... [He teases, with a twinge of embarrassment. Then goes quiet watching the path his hand takes lazily sliding up Ed's body, shifting over his vest and the curve of his ribs to his back.] Yup! You're feeling pretty real to me!

[theansweris]

Whereas for Ed... it's not familiar. At all. But he likes what little he's experienced.

Riddler tweaks Oswald's ear, not too hard, not to cause pain. "You're being ridiculous." He shifts to press a kiss to his temple, eyes closing and just resting there. "Fighting for me is like having sex for chastity," he murmurs.

[hobblepot]

Ow! [It slips out, instinctively. The eye-watering sting he expects to feel isn't there, though, not that it stops him from huffing and managing to sound a tinge offended.] What are you talking about?

[theansweris]

"It's a riddle." Duh. "And that didn't hurt."

[hobblepot]

[He's quick to open his mouth, wanting to point out that riddles aren't very conducive to fostering a romantic mood, but he gets the feeling he'd be told he's objectively wrong and saves himself the effort.] Well -- don't do that again!

[At least it doesn't take much effort discovering what Oswald doesn't enjoy.]

[theansweris]

Riddler doesn't apologise, it's not really a thing he understands, but he nuzzles again and wriggles in close, kissing the corner of Oswald's mouth. "Peace. Fight for peace is like having sex for chastity. Lying with you, here, we feel something like, peace."

[hobblepot]

...oh. [It takes some of the fight out of him, but it's Ed's kisses that he's weakest to, helpless as they tear down his defenses, brick by brick. He hums and leans into him, his heat and his touch.] ...You certainly have a curious way of showing it.

[theansweris]

Riddler hums and steals another kiss from the corner of Oswald's mouth. "You're the only thing in the world that makes us feel peaceful with each other. We'd never been as integrated as the time we spent here with you."

[hobblepot]

[While he can't fully grasp the enormity of the impact he has when he doesn't suffer in the same way Ed and Riddler do, he will always appreciate feeling important, irreplaceable.]

Happy to help. [He strokes Ed's side, flushed with pleasure.] Is there any way I could make things that much more pleasant for you both?

[theansweris]

Riddler tilts his head and regards Oswald, trying to parse out exactly what Oswald's offering and if it's what Oswald means to be offering. "What did you have in mind?"

[hobblepot]

I'm still open to suggestion - it's kinda why I'm asking. [He bobs a shoulder goodnaturedly.] ...Perhaps it's a bit of the whiskey talking, but if you were feeling inclined, I wouldn't mind offering you a hand or scalp massage, the way my mother used to do for me. Who knows - it might even put you to sleep.

[theansweris]

"Well... if you're hoping to lull us to sleep, maybe we should move somewhere more comfortable?" Somewhere that Ed's long legs aren't half hanging off the edges, Oswald won't stiffen up to the point of agony and Olga won't find them and disapprove.

[hobblepot]

Sounds like a plan. [Standing for what he hopes may be the second-last if not the last time this evening, he offers his arm like a true gentlemen simply because he can, the edge of his mouth curling upward.] Both, then? Or would you prefer one over the other?

[theansweris]

Riddler gets up easily and takes the offered arm, shifting their weight to help and keep the weight off Oswald's bad leg. "I have no idea whatsoever, both are wholly unknown to me."

[hobblepot]

Then you're in for a treat.

[The second floor is a long ways up for him, a daunting climb each and every time. Even leaning on Ed - hip-checking him on every other step - he's a little breathless when he arrives at the top. He refuses to pause and keep Ed waiting but he holds off on talking until after they've entered the master bedroom.

Sweat glistens at his hairline while he leans in the doorway a moment.]

...Let's start with your hands. Or the one. [He suggests, shutting the door behind him.] It'll ease you in and you'll see how you feel. However you want to sit or lie down doesn't really matter. Just make yourself comfortable, and I'll take care of the rest.

[He teases the dimmer switch, toning down the brightness in the room to a fuzzy glow.]

Atmosphere, my dear friend, is everything.

[theansweris]

They show their usual patience with moving Oswald. Taking as long as necessary, helping as much as allowed and then pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it to Oswald's hand, to let him clean up.

He takes off his own shoes, eyeing the room for the first time with mind to whether or not they could live in here together. Ed doesn't need much from a space he rests in. He considers the library far more his domain than anywhere with a bed.

The vest comes off and is hung over a chair. He stretches out on the bed, in his shirt and pants and socks and then sets his glasses aside. They're not comfortable to wear face planted in a pillow.

[hobblepot]

[The bed dips lightly as he climbs into it, settling beside Ed. His pulse quickens watching the steady rise and fall of Ed's back; he's beyond delighted to be the one to spoil him in such a personal, intimate way.

Chafing his hands to warm them, he then takes Ed's and lays it over one of his crossed legs, pausing to look up at the back of Ed's head. His fingers hover at Ed's shirt cuff.]

May I?

[Rolling up a sleeve may not be on the level of opening someone's shirt, but asking feels appropriate still.]

[theansweris]

Another moment and Ed rolls onto his back, squirming to get comfortable. "He likes face planting more than I do," he comments softly. "And of course."

His wrists are thinner and bonier than they were, but still strong and only lightly scarred from his years of being active in science.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald lifts his hands away like a guilty man caught in the act, waiting for Ed to quit fussing and relax before guiding him back into place, turning his palm upwards.]

I was wondering when you were gonna come up for air. [Oswald remarks in the midst of gingerly sliding up Ed's sleeve to the elbow. He starts with a few long, easy strokes from palm to wrist to halfway up his forearm, one after another, alternating hands.]

...If I'm pressing too hard or not hard enough, let me know.

[theansweris]

"He likes to sprawl. Face down. Face up. Even asleep he has to announce his presence." He closes his eyes, unable to see without the glasses anyway. He might as well just relax.

Ed's forearms are fairly unremarkable. Pale skin and a single drop scar from where some kind of acid must've splashed above gloves and below clothing when he was back in college.

"Harder is fine. There's a lot of pretty tense muscles and tendons."

[hobblepot]

[Oswald doesn't raise his head.]

I don't doubt it.

[He says, a vicarious tingly pleasure sweeping through him while pushing into Ed's palm and working slow, deepening circles outwards into the meatier parts under Ed's thumb and fingers. The rasp of skin on skin is sharp in his silence; it's hard resisting the urge to fill it when this all feels like something he's getting away with, a forbidden luxury. A whole other side of Ed he's experiencing for the very first time.]

Good?