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.

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[theansweris]

Ed is completely out of the habit of getting ready for bed. It's been years, realistically, since he had the luxury.

"Not saying I will. But might try." He might get a couple of hours before he's up and about again.

[hobblepot]

[He pulls at Ed's fingers from base to tip, rubbing his way up, as though he's trying to work a stubborn ring off.]

Just close your eyes, and whatever happens, happens. If you, Edward Nygma, are able to relax and drift off for a whole minute, then I'll consider it a job well done.

[theansweris]

Ed gives a small huff of amusement, giving another, softer groan at the tugging and rubbing. "Mm. 'Kay."

[hobblepot]

[The alarm clock's display glows red his vision, blurry shapes merging into blurry numbers as he rubs his eye, blinking.

Oswald doesn't know how long he has lain awake, staring hazily into space as the mansion breathes and settles around him. Or how long it was until he knew, really knew, that he's somewhere far from Blackgate; somewhere warm and soft and quiet where he can stretch himself out in all directions and not bump a wrist or foot into a wall. Figuring out why he's still awake is easy enough, though: the tingling fullness in his bladder is impossible to miss.

He sits himself up, slouched, swaying woozily. He looks to the space beside him, a vague memory of Ed and of lying in bed together washing over him. It feels like it was days ago, faraway. He can't even say for sure he hadn't dreamt it the way he dreamt of mother, sometimes, her crooning voice and the touch of her hand so real he'd sob himself awake, his pillow damp under his cheek.

There's a crack of light under the door to the master bathroom; puzzling, maybe even slightly worrying, if he were more alert. But having forgotten it on is possible, he decides, when he clearly hadn't been bothered to change out of his rumpled trousers and dress shirt from the day before. Yawning, he limps to the door and turns the knob without a second thought.]

[theansweris]

Ed had slept a few hours.

He had got up, shuffled about for a bit, read for a while in the library and come back to get another nap. He didn't actually manage a nap, though he was content to just lie quietly, watching Oswald's sleeping face, until he decided to give up and just get up for the day.

It was far, far too early for Oswald to get up. Ed tucked him back into the blankets and decided to use the master bathroom, because he'd been living here for a while and had been using the nicer master suite for washing up.

His shower isn't long. Enough to pink and relax his skin, so he shaved in the shower, lingering a little longer and then getting out. He's careful to be quiet, to not disturb Oswald's sleep (pain is exhausting and Oswald's learning to sleep again without anxiety) and so he decides to dry off in here and then just make his way to his own wardrobe. They can discuss Oswald's suggestion of him staying in the master suite full time over breakfast.

It's these thoughts keeping him occupied while he starts drying. Starts with his hair, towelling it off, stop it dripping down when he gets to his skin and the door opens and the cooler air is what actually pulls him from his own head to look in the bathroom cabinet mirror, back at the door.

Towel half over his head, dressed only in his skin and water droplets.

Ed squeaks.

Riddler lowers his hands from his head and watches to see what the blur in the mirror does.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald stops cold in the doorway, his hand clamped around the knob. He doesn't just look at Ed -- he gawks at him, as if he has grown another head, sleep-fogged and floundering over what to make of that long stretch of skin, seamed and freckled with scars.

His brow furrows, mouth falling open.] Ed...?

[Not just Ed, but more of Ed than he's ever seen or expected to see. Lean and long-limbed, Oswald's gaze helplessly tracing the strong curve of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist into narrow hips--

He quickly glances away, stomach flipping as he backs out and jerks the door shut.

Just outside the bathroom, he's hit by a surge of adrenaline, his pulse racing in his throat. One of many unspoken cardinal rules from Blackgate comes rushing back: don't stare at anyone, especially not in the shower, unless you're asking to be beaten into the floor.

Reeling to the guest bathroom two rooms down the hall, he stops to piss and then wash his hands and face, his bleary-eyed, dripping reflection looking downright mortified. Soap and makeup hisses down the drain. He touches his tongue to his pinkish lip scar, running though dozens of possible scenarios and dialogue options and wishing he could just go back to bed and pretend the glimpse he had of Ed hasn't already burned itself into his brain.

But if Ed is still holed up in the master bathroom on his return, he'll fish out one of his father's bathrobes and knock meekly with it in hand, meaning to offer it in a quasi-apology in case Ed has somehow forgotten to take a change of clothes in with him.]

[theansweris]

"Well," Riddler comments to the mirror. "That was different."

Ed is bright with embarrassment. "He couldn't stop staring at how awful it is."

"Edward, darling, don't be dumber than nature intended. That was not horror, or disgust, or anything other than pure, unadulterated desire. Until he panicked, that was less ideal." Riddler continues drying off and then wraps the towel around his waist.

"Are- are you sure?"

"How is it I'm the virgin and you're the one who can't spot genuine interest when it's staring at your ass? No, never mind, I remember your choices, you're banned from deciding when people want you, you'll just get us in trouble with Oswald. I think he's going to be very jealous and possessive... Come in, Oswald. Ed and I were just talking about you."

Riddlers turns around, leaning back against the sink and watching the door. "I'm wearing a towel, Ed's modesty will be preserved."

[hobblepot]

[Even with the assurance that he won't be flashed on the way in, he enters with his head sheepishly ducked at first, warm, damp air wrapping around him. Eye-contact is uncomfortable, but a necessary evil.}

I apologize. [He passes a hand over his face, wearily shaking his head.] I... I don't know why it didn't occur to me to knock first, but consider my lesson learned.

[Looking down at the robe slung over one arm:]

...I brought you this, in case you needed it.

[It doesn't go unnoticed how comfortable Ed seems leaned up against the sink, inviting attention - and despite his best efforts, Oswald's gaze is drawn to him a second time, drifting over the angles and edges of a body he never thought much about. A body that looks nothing like his own. Ed is threatening in his nakedness, and Ed is beautiful. And Ed is his, somehow, a complicated, dizzying swirl of emotion deepening the colour in his cheeks.

Swallowing, he blinks and looks around for a place to set the robe down.]

I'll let you dress.

[theansweris]

Riddler watches Oswald. When Ed watches, he's shy and almost coy at times, but Riddler is unashamed in his interest and the growing heat in his eyes and body. Rumpled and flushed and uncertain, there's something incredibly beautiful about Oswald and Riddler knows, has known for a long time, exactly what he wants. How much he wants to get his hands on those soft, pale curves.

"I'm not asking you to leave," Riddler murmured.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald turns from where he's hung the robe on a door hook, fixing him a wide-eyed look. A virgin he may be, but he's no fool, feeling the intent in Ed's simmering stare as it raises the hairs along the nape of his neck, pricking his scalp. He shifts his weight, his fingers stirring restlessly at his sides. A man in a standoff.

At some point, one of them would have to make a move.

The door's unlocked. He knows he's free to leave at any moment, he always has been, even if a misplaced sense of something panic-like tells him otherwise. But he's still here, fully awake and sweating through his shirt, remembering Ed telling him about fight or flight, flirting and freezing--] ...Really?

[It's a moment before he huffs a soft, shaky laugh - pure nerves. Raising his eyebrows expectantly, he adds:] ...Right here?

[theansweris]

Riddler pushes away from the sink, stalking forward with his hunter's sway, approaching on Oswald and assuming he won't back up. "Here is doable. Though there's a perfectly good bedroom two steps back. And an even more serviceable bed further back."

His hands come up, one cupping Oswald's cheek, the other resting over his heart. "You really don't realise, do you? What you do to me. What I'd do for you. To you, if you let me." He leans down to flick his tongue on the shell of Oswald's ear. "I was willing to die for you. Me, a diagnosed narcissist, who should only be able to care for himself, would risk dying for you, Oswald Cobblepot. Can you imagine what else I might do for you?"

[hobblepot]

[Oswald stands his ground, dully mesmerized by the ripple and flexing of muscle under Ed's skin as he comes for him, closing the distance. Then Ed is on him, large, warm hands finding their place; Oswald's own stay up and out of the way, hovering anxiously. Flesh, so much flesh for the taking, right at his fingertips.

There's an incredible, fearsome power in Ed's voice alone, velvety-hot at his ear. In the way he pauses, letting Oswald's mind race with possibilities and shivers race down his neck, the rise and fall of his chest sharpening under Ed's palm. He's weakening where Ed's will is strong, his wired little body seeming all too ready to bend to it, to follow his lead.

He licks his lips and lets his eye slip shut, giving himself a moment to think past the roar of his pulse in his ears, to try.]

Show me.

[It slips out like something long-rehearsed, something he has waited a lifetime to say. There's a trill in his guts in answer, a keen sense of nakedness.

It's not too late to take it back.

His eye stays closed.]

Show me what I could have known... had Ed come home to me the night he met her. I want it all.

[theansweris]

Riddler nearly makes a comment about it. Nearly points out that Oswald had chances to say something, that there was the times between.

Ed stops him. Oswald will take it badly and no one will get anything nice and then Riddler will take it out on Ed.

Riddler pushes his hand up into Oswald's sleep mussed hair and tips his head so that he can kiss him, teasing it at first with brushes and hints of teeth before pressing close and deep, like he could taste Oswald's want if he just kissed firm enough.

[hobblepot]

[The hope was to wait for Ed's blessing; for Ed to nod or say a word or even take his hands and place them where he needs them most, saving him the trouble of guessing where is safest. But this waking hunger doesn't care; it wantswantswants, fueled by the fear that Ed might slip like smoke from his grasp before Oswald has burned the shape of his lips and his fingertips into his softened skin and left nothing for the rest of the world. His hands find purchase squeezing around Ed's upper arms, daring to hold him closer.]

Okay... [He says as he pauses to gulp for air. Around him, the bathroom is slowly spinning on its own axis.

He has no idea what Ed has done to him in a few short years, how something so simple as a kiss can put a tremor in his knee. But he's not angry - only awestruck. Overwhelmed by the love he has missed out on.]

It's... very warm in here. Shall we...?

[theansweris]

Ed's blessing is unspoken. He stopped Riddler blowing it all up. He's there now, if not active, or trying to share, he's watching and aware, which is about all his anxiety can deal with. But he's dealing with it to do that much.

Riddler steps closer, backing Oswald towards the bed. "It is warm. You should strip down, it can't be helping that you have all these layers on still." Riddler's fingers move to start undoing buttons.

[hobblepot]

[From hot, smothering air to the familiar draftiness of the bedroom - a chill that's welcome for now, kissing his neck and forehead. Stumbling through the dark still clinging to Ed, he throws a glance over his shoulder, surprised anyway when the backs of his legs bump the bed sooner than he expects. He trips and flops backwards, dragging Ed on top of him - exactly the clumsiness he was hoping to avoid.]

[theansweris]

They move, grasping onto one another, Riddler dipping to try and kiss Oswald again and then they're tumbling onto the bed. Riddler laughs, because it's clumsy and awkward and very much them to not get it hollywood right.

His hands move to grab Oswald's thighs and heft him further up onto the bed, uncaring of the towel slipping from his waist and dropping to the floor. He crawls up Oswald instead, tugging his clothes open so he can rain kisses over his pale skin, up along his body.

[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.