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

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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From:

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.

From:

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?

From:

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?"

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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...?

From:

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.

From:

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.]

Edited Date: 2020-01-06 03:32 am (UTC)

From:

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.

From:

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.]

From:

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.

From:

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.]

Edited Date: 2020-01-06 06:13 am (UTC)

From:

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.

From:

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.]

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.]

From:

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.

From:

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.]

From:

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.

From:

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.]

Edited Date: 2020-01-07 02:16 am (UTC)

From:

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.

From:

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.