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 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.]

[theansweris]

Riddler's hand is taken while he listens to Oswald ramble and try to sort himself out out loud in his ever endearing way. He doesn't even try to quiet him with kisses, letting him get it all out until he says he's sure, so sure, uses that silly nickname and then Riddler kisses him, firm and brief.

"All right, you pedant. Are you going to keep fussing and let me blow your mind regardless?"

[hobblepot]

[Pedant earns Ed a dopey, puzzled look while he debates whether or not to feel offended. But in the tingling aftermath of their kiss (one he supposes Ed was dying to shut him up with,) he lets it wash off him, cracking a helpless smile instead.]

Sure - why not. Knock yourself out.

[He answers, tossing his hands into the air. While Ed's enthusiasm is somewhat intimidating, he has benefit from most of it thus far. This, he reminds himself, is what he signed up for, leaving his trust and his pleasure in Ed's capable hands.]

[theansweris]

Pedant is said with utmost fondness and adoration. The next kiss that comes is gentler, not like Riddler so much, intimate without being pure want. And when he draws back, it's the familiar unfamiliar blend of them watching him that watches for a moment before the Riddler's sharp grin appears.

And dives back down to mouth at Oswald's other nipple, lips and tongue and no teeth this time. "Can I, strip you?" He asks between caresses.

[hobblepot]

[There's something about that moment when their eyes catch and neither of them talk, when he drinks in that layered, meaningful look meant for him alone, that shakes something deep inside him. That makes him shake before Ed has even found his nipple, mouthing him soft and wet. He whimpers, sucking his lower lip. His breathing quickens, sharpens.]

...there's not much way around it, is there? [It's not a real question, and for neither the first time nor the last, he finds comfort in the darkness around them, in exploring each other largely by touch alone.] Do what you must.

[theansweris]

Riddler is quick and enthusiastic about stripping Oswald. He doesn't try to look closely (he wants to, but he knows Oswald won't be comfortable with it) and just moves himself about to get Oswald's pants off so he can wriggle his way between his legs. The soft skin of Oswald's inner thighs feels almost plush; Riddler pets it with his hand before moving to curl his fingers firmly around Oswald's hard flesh again.

Like this, on his knees, sitting back mostly on his heels, he can use his mouth of Oswald's chest, a hand between his legs and the other hand- That can grasp Oswald's own, lacing their fingers and holding firmly.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald watches in a daze as his cock bobs free, curving sharply towards his belly, dress pants and his blotted, tacky briefs rasping down his thighs. It's easiest to focus on Ed while it's happening, while anxiety hums under his skin. Until Ed's hands get to his knobby knees and then he has to look away, staring at the wall and telling himself that Ed doesn't need his help anyway, that he's doing just fine.

He rattles under the long fingers smoothing up and down his thigh, and again when they trap his cock, biting back a kneejerk apology. He makes a noise instead, something soft and strained and pleading, squeezing Ed's hand with what's left of his failing strength as he falls apart. He lolls his head back, slack-jawed, his eye slipping into the back of his skull.]

Oh, oh fuck-- [It's all he can say this drunk on Ed, clumsily rocking his hips.]

[theansweris]

"Let go," Riddler whispers. "I've got you, we want it, we want to see, feel, hear, taste, we want you, Oswald." His mouth is hungry over Oswald's skin, wet and avaricious for more. His hand moves steadily, grip tight and damp with sweat and pre-come, urging Oswald on.

[hobblepot]

[Letting go has never been his forte. There's a niggling idea, at the very back of his mind, that he should have it in him to hold out just a while longer, despite his balls pulling tight and every muscle in his stomach and pelvis knotting fiercely. But all it takes is a little encouragement, as if permission was all he ever needed, that velvety whisper in his ear setting him off with a shudder, a keening sigh. He surges in Ed's hand, ropes of come slapping his heaving belly, the sheets. Starbursts of light still popping behind his eye when he has nothing left to give and sinks into the mattress, gasping and boneless.

His grip on Ed's hand softens.]

[theansweris]

Riddler stops squeezing and pulling almost immediately, purely based on his own preferences. He keeps his hand there, warm and holding loosely but not adding any stimulation.

And then he comes up for a kiss. And another. Between Oswald's gasps and around them, kissing his face while he breathes and his mouth when he pauses.

[hobblepot]

[Ed's restraint is a blessing, while he lies there, everything touching his skin feeling sharper and rougher than it is. He's not all there while Ed kisses his face, his sweat-damp forehead, sighing into Ed's lips when he finally catches them - and it's a while before he opens his eye halfway to look at him, taking him in. He holds his gaze with a soft, worn expression on his face, and he couldn't care less about anything else in this moment, about the come sticking to his skin or his nakedness, as he moves his hand to cradle Ed's cheek and kisses him with all the tenderness he's overflowing with.]

[theansweris]

Riddler is gentle, but it's Ed who kisses back, slow and intimate and wanting to make sure Oswald's doing all right down there. He's used to ignoring his body and he's glad for it right now as he brushes the tips of their noses together, giving a small smile.

[hobblepot]

[Ed's breath ghosts his lip, tingling. He hums and nudges him with the tip of his nose.]

...thank you. [He whispers.]

[theansweris]

Ed gives him a very light kiss and leans back to grope for Oswald's discarded underwear for a brief clean up.

[hobblepot]

[He dimly follows the movement of Ed's hand, unsure of what Ed has reached for until cloth grazes his skin, dabbing the slickened dusting of hair trailing his navel.]

It's fine... [He puts a gentle hand to Ed's arm, meaning to still it.] Doesn't matter...

[It would, in the morning, when he'd smell sweat and sex on his skin and embarrassment slapped him awake. But for now, with his head in a blissed-out place he'll hate to leave, all he wants is to touch and be touched and to keep the giddy magic alive, sleep be damned.

Ed has done him a favour, letting him have a taste of something strange and wonderful, and it seems only fair to let him find relief in the way he's surely been aching for. He wets his lips, watching him through his lashes.] Your turn, yes...?

[theansweris]

Ed will clean up later, after Oswald falls asleep again. And he will sleep again, honestly, Ed's surprised he hasn't already collapsed. Probably sheer stubborn keeping him going.

"It's not about turns," Riddler murmurs. "I wanted to. If you want to touch me, you're more than welcome. If you don't feel comfortable with that... well, I've never complained being left to my own devices. So long as I know I have your whole attention." He nibbles on Oswald's lower lip and grins again.

[hobblepot]

You know what I mean.

[He's fairly sure Ed does, from the smile crooking his mouth.] And I am sure you are well aware... that I couldn't give you any more attention if I wanted to.

[theansweris]

Riddler steals another kiss and sits back on his heels, completely unashamed of the fact that he's achingly hard and on display. "My point is: You don't have to touch me. You don't have to do a thing. I'm quite happy to just give you a show if that's more comfortable for you."

[hobblepot]

[Ed moves and the air in the room sweeps over him, cooling the saliva on his skin. His knee jitters.]

Let's put it this way: if you want me, then I am willing. Even curious. I may also be feeling a little dazed. [His gaze flutters to Ed's cock with wonder and uncertainty, daring to linger before he flushes, politely glancing aside. His throat clicks as he swallows.] But, if you have no intention of taking my offer, then I think I'm going to get dressed.

[And by dressed, he only means hitching up his pants and underwear, having neither the energy nor the patience to fuss with his shirt buttons.]

...And I don't even know what that means. [As far as he's concerned, Ed is already putting on a show through no effort of his own.]

[theansweris]

Riddler grins and pounces back down on Oswald, kissing him thoroughly and squirming up close against him. His whole body roll grinds him against Oswald's body and he shivers at the sensation. "I will, definitely, take, your offer," he gasps between breaths and kisses.

[hobblepot]

[Sluggish and sated, he stays down without needing to be playfully wrestled into submission, shivering when they press together, skin on skin. Ed is long and heavy on top of him, filling his senses - Ed at his gasping mouth and Ed's voice in his ears and Ed rubbing up against him, his cock blood-hot, snagging his balls and his belly and riding the crease of his thigh. Oswald shifts, getting his legs out from underneath him. Forgetting himself and his deference to Ed's scars, he clasps at Ed's back, feeling the roll and glide of muscles under his fingers.]

Ah...

[Buried under kisses, he eventually gives up trying to keep up with Ed's ferocious enthusiasm and presents the bare column of his throat. Though soft now, a twanging of nerves suggests that finding his second wind before Ed has finished may not be out of question.]

[theansweris]

Riddler doesn't care about scars. Oswald can grab at him all he wants, cling and feel and touch and in fact he rather likes the way it feels. Ed wants to be uncertain, but it's hard to be anything but overwhelmed with want.

He kisses up along that pale column, gentler here than anywhere else he had been, careful not to mark or hurt, just lavish attention. His hips roll again, pushing along Oswald and drawing a low sound of want from somewhere deep in his chest.

[hobblepot]

[He melts under Ed's lips with a moan, lazily rocking his hips to the slide of Ed's flesh against his, like someone comfortable in their own skin would, anyone other than himself. Even naked, chests heaving and hands pawing, grasping for each other, so hopelessly needy, it's not fucking, not to him. That's too ugly a word. Too far removed from the tenderness of Ed's kisses or the warm, indescribable feeling that floods him when their lips brush together, filling every empty space inside him where pieces of him used to be, whole and unbroken. A feeling like he could trade his riches and ambition away, his whole empire away, just to be held a while longer, belonging somewhere.

Ed loves him.

Ed loves him.

He still hasn't heard the words he's listened for, but he has to believe that it's true.]

[theansweris]

Ed has said it over and over, just never with those three words. He's saying it with the way he lets Oswald stroke his marred back and the way Ed fell asleep on his chest. He's saying it now, with soft, damp kisses and catching one of Oswald's hands to lace their fingers together again, pinning it to the bed, holding it under his weight as he moves.

"Oswald," he whispers into the next kiss. Doesn't stop moving, or kissing.

[hobblepot]

[He twines fingers with Ed, trusting enough in the hand pressing his down that he doesn't have to look at it, his face slack and absorbed with the peace Oswald has only known when he's asleep. From somewhere far away he can hear Ed calling, whispering his name like an incantation, a secret, the sound of it rolling through him, down, down, humming in his balls. He murmurs in answer, breaking a kiss to get a breath in. The fingers of his unpinned hand trail Ed's spine to the small of his back and up again, gentlest over the places where old hurts lie. There's enough he doesn't know about Ed's past. But what he does know has its teeth in him and won't let him go until he has done the only thing he can do: hunt for the man responsible and hope he's still alive to brought to justice, however Ed saw fit.

And what is that, if not an act of love?]