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]

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?]

[theansweris]

Where the old hurts lie is where he can feel the least, scar tissue numbing the sensations if not the memories. He might not notice anyway, too consumed by other sensations, like their breaths intermingling and the softness of Oswald's skin under his lips. And the pleasant feel of his body where Riddler moves against him, slowing from his frantic need to shower affection and make Oswald feel wanted and instead enjoying the way Oswald's softer body feels against his own, all hard bones and angles.

[hobblepot]

[From time to time he tires and lies still, soft and loose-limbed and permissive. No talk; just the rasping of skin and huffing breaths in between. And while watching Ed for a moment, it's almost inevitable that he drifts in and out of wondering how much Ed is really getting out of this and out of him as he thrusts, his cock hard and seeking while Oswald's remains limp against his thigh.]

I'm sorry -- I'm not...

[theansweris]

Riddler silences him with another kiss, pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking down at Oswald as he moves. "Just touch me," he breathes out. "However you want." Stroking his skin, holding his arms, whatever it is Oswald enjoyed before.

[hobblepot]

[It's a little dizzying how much free reign he's given readily, unasked; so much Ed to explore with clumsy fingers and kiss-stung lips and so much left to learn, inside and out. But there's none of his typical impatience or his desperate hunger for control in the hand he presses to Ed's side. All it is is a gentle urging on his part, an invitation for Ed to roll over and lie back and have his chance to bask in pleasure.] ...in that case...

[He glances from his hand to Ed's face, eyebrows going up.]

[theansweris]

Riddler quirks an eyebrow at him and goes with the gentle push, rolling onto his back and placing his hands over his head, grasping the headboard.

Spread out, naked and flushed and aching hard, he manages to stay still and wait to see what Oswald does.

[hobblepot]

[He's not sure what he was expecting when Ed stretches out, long and lithe and effortless, like a pin up model. But as surely as Ed cuts an impressive figure even seen only in shades of grey, Oswald looks at him, has to look, his gaze sweeping over him with same awe as ever. He nods after a moment, sucking his lip. The erection gives him pause, but fog-brain and boyish determination trump nervousness and he swings his leg over Ed's waist with a graceless jiggle of cock, wondering if stripping down to their skin or their hungry give-and-take would ever feel as ordinary as eating breakfast together.

He immediately finds it hard to put any sort of pressure on his knees and eases himself down over Ed instead, resting on his elbows. Not the most comfortable for him, but a position that allows him to indulge that much more in the sweet little things he's been aching to do: thumbing Ed's hair back into place; kissing his forehead, the soft pulsing at his temple; even just looking at him, into his dark, inscrutable eyes, and letting the moment breathe.

Eventually, he wriggles his way down Ed's body, mouthing him slow, his neck, and collarbone.]

[theansweris]

Riddler is comfortable in his skin, turned on by Oswald's attention as much as anything else, wanting more.

Then Oswald is laying over him, close and stroking back his shower and sweat loosened hair, the small waves and curls that he usually fights back into place. Ed closes his eyes and leans into the little affections, the kisses and the stroking and then he looks up and smiles softly up at Oswald, gaze full of affection.

And Oswald slides down and Riddler moans, arching up into the damp lips.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald nuzzles him, skimming nose and lips between the sleepy, suckling kisses he lays over each of his ribs. It may be his turn to tease, but even belly up with his throat bared like it's begging for a knife, Ed wields a power beyond Oswald's understanding, keeping Oswald on him, drugged on his taste, on the smell of skin and the faint hint of soap.

The muscles around and between his shoulderblades are already cramping but he barely cares enough to roll his shoulders and neck before ducking his head again; it's really only when he backs up and Ed's cock brushes his ass that he flinches and stills, blinking like he's only just realized that it exists.

He looks to Ed, a question in his face.]

[theansweris]

Riddler is not watching. His eyes are closed and he's focused on trying to breathe evenly and trying to not lose himself in too many things at once. He feels when Oswald bumps against him and he gives an audible gasp and moan.

Then looks down when Oswald pauses. He tilts his head slightly, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with want, one eyebrow raised in return question.

[hobblepot]

[He presses his lips together, half-glancing over his shoulder. This is what Ed wants, he tells himself. What he needs. And to Oswald, it's the answer to a question he never thought to ask before tonight. But he's never felt a fever-heat like this, either, simmering under his skin, or the bold, fierce desire to share everything there is to share until they've all fucked out, sluggish and exhausted. Lying on top of Ed, his head spinning even while at his stillest, nothing seems too unthinkable, too impossible.

He shakes his head.]

...To hell with it.

[He shrugs a shoulder, giving a chuckle, a helpless, crooked little smile.] I mean, we've made it this far, didn't we?

[theansweris]

What Ed wants and needs are not the same, but both of them are defined by 'whatever Oswald is comfortable with'.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Riddler admits. "I told you. Only what you're comfortable with."

[hobblepot]

And I am telling you, Ed, that I am giving you permission to take me... [He searches Ed's face a moment, a look of childish hurt knitting his brow.] ...but I'm just making a fool of myself, aren't I?

[He doesn't wait for the answer and gently rolls off him, just like that, hiding his face as he lies back. Making its return is a very familiar urge to disappear through the floor.]

I'm sorry. [He says from behind his hands, wincing.] I... had assumed we were on the same page.

[theansweris]

"Oh." They were not on the same page. They were barely in the same book. "Oswald, no, don't-"

It's Ed who presses close, curling around Oswald's back and tugging him into his arms. Yes, it does happen to press his aching cock up against those lovely, soft buttocks, but he doesn't do anything more. "You're not ready for that. Neither are we. Don't have the patience right now, to make it good." He might not have done that yet, but he knows that it takes time, preparation, supplies they don't have on hand.

"Don't apologise. You've done nothing to apologise for."

[hobblepot]

[He twitches, a hitch in his breath as arms slide around him and Ed pulls himself in, pressed to his back. He goes very still as he listens, wishing Ed's effort to reassure him could soothe the sting of embarrassment. It shouldn't be Ed doing the thinking for the both of them; Oswald isn't really sure how he can when he's the one who has been hard and wanting for long enough.]

...I don't know what's gotten into me. [He's slow to soften into Ed's chest, very aware of his cock nestled against him though he understands now that penetration can't or won't be as spontaneous an event as he thought it might be.] I wanted to help.

[He adds, lamely. While not untrue, it's only part of an explanation he feels the need to offer.]

[theansweris]

"Whatever it is, it won't be us tonight," Riddler teases with a small nibble on Oswald's ear. "I'm sorry, ignore him." The nibble is followed with a kiss. "We won't risk hurting you. Not with this. Not like this." His hands rub over Oswald's chest and belly, trying to be soothing, even if he's not very familiar with how to actually be soothing.

[hobblepot]

[The kiss is vaguely comforting, shivery-hot on the shell of his ear. But it's the feeling of nipping teeth that lingers on his nerves the longest.

He's not sure where the risk Ed is talking about lies when he doesn't at all resemble the company Oswald has kept for the last eight months, but he accepts what he's told, trusting Ed will help him understand some other time, should the desire resurface.

He shivers when Ed's touch passes over places where bullets had punched through him, years apart, his stomach sharply sucking in under his fingers. He slides his hands from his face and catches Ed's lightly, clasping it. Less to stop him and more to acknowledge what he's trying to do. To thank him.

The question of what they do from here weighs heavy on him in the silence.]

...I wouldn't mind lending you a hand and returning the favour. If... that is what you wanted, of course. [He muses aloud, staring at nothing in particular while stroking him with his thumb.] At this point, however, I think we can both agree that it's long overdue.