theansweris | DUPLICITY: IC INBOX

"I have some ideas. Involves book switches." Chess books and shelves and wiring the book. It will be amazing and insane.

Riddler's heading out the back, to the shed that he uses as his space, but he pauses and thinks about it. Victor's at work with Ginger, the house is theirs. "Do you want me to wire you up, John? Put you at the mercy of my whim, my finger on a button to light you up?"

"Oooo, that sounds tricky, I like it," he's very encouraging at least? Good friends need to be supportive! Besides who doesn't like a good puzzle?

"Are you doing different switches for Zsasz and Posh-- sorry, Ginger?" did this crazy clown just make a Spice Girls reference? Moving immediately on, "because, I know how to wire a switch to a jack-in-the-box," he suggests helpfully. John is totally not the person to be all 'bro maybe you shouldn't wire your home security for shocks' he's more 'how can we make this fun at the same time?'. Probably not the best person to join Riddler & Eddie amid a downwards spiral, but here he is, trying is absolute best. At least he gets points for effort?

As such, it takes his brain a few seconds to catch up with what Riddler said-- oh, oh. Someone who bothers to listen to the erratic variants of his laughter might be able to glean a little nervousness from the sound. Not anything like fear, more so an uncertainty what to do with the suddenly rather vivid thought.

"Uhm, well--" those are not good words John; he despises when his naivety slips without his intention. A wild-card grin fits into place and his expression shifts towards devious goading. "Is that why you had me bring over that stuff?" he knows it's not the case, but teasing though. "The idea came to you pretty quick, didn't it...?"

"No. Though. Hm." He's thinking about it now, but the more complicated he makes it, the easier it is to interfere with it and gum up the whole thing.

But then John slips and Riddler senses weakness and he hones in, turning on John and crowding close, looking over him. "My mind works fast. You do, don't you? You want me to hurt you. To control the shocks and what you feel."

At least John is relatively sane enough to present the idea that other people may need to get in and out of the house without being dissuaded by a persistent electric bouncer. Maybe not THE reality check someone else would present, but it's A reality check, at least? One hopefully Ginger and Zsasz might appreciate, anyway.

Typically John's poker face is damn near flawless, only tweaked and adjusted by meticulous intention; but he feels like he's holding onto his composure with sweaty hands and he's not quite sure how he wants to spin it. It's been more than once now that Riddler's inspired such eager, pleading compliance in him; maybe it would even be easier if John didn't like it so much. It doesn't matter that he's six feet tall; the right kind of look can bunch his shoulders and make him look away, displaying that weakness that, in another time and place, would have been killed off completely.

"Yeah, okay, you got me. Sounds like my kind'a Friday Night," he tries to play it off casual and snarky, and almost sticks the landing of it. "But to be fair," when he lifts his bio-hazard green eyes they're alight with bottomless, ravenous yearning; like he's dying of thirst and Riddler's got the last of the water on the whole damn earth. Then a small but sharp smile curves his lips, coloring his expression briefly unhinged and manic.

"I always want you to hurt me."

They both stand at six foot, but Riddler and Ed both always stand tall and straight, uncowed by a world that broke them before they could remember. Riddler reaches out to catch John's chin and lift his face up to meet his gaze. "I like your eyes. Like radioactive emeralds. Makes me want to pluck them out and make cufflinks of them..."

It's about as sweet and sentimental as Riddler gets without Oswald's help.

"Come on. If you really want it, convince me and I'll wire you to the back up."

He allows his gaze to be lead by the hold on his chin, fluidly moving as he's inclined without a trace of hesitance. The potentially frightening statement just pulls a crooked grin of puppy-love across his mouth and paints a dreamy look over those adoring green eyes whilst John's heart starts to cantor inside his rib cage.

"Sweet-talker," he says in mostly approving, mock-accusation. "Enough to make a guy go all weak in the knees."

It's plenty sweet and sentimental for these guys.

John should have known it wouldn't be as easy as admitting he wanted it, even if he had been compliant in doing so much quicker than in instances previous.

"What, you wanna hear me say pretty please? Tell you I'll get you off at every snap of your fingers because that's how badly I need you to hurt me?" the taunt melts into something semi-compliant as the idea charms and intoxicates him as he says it.

John was quicker than previous times and Riddler is already giving in easier, tugging John to follow him through to the living room, where his tools presently are.

His words though... Riddler pulls John in close, inhaling and studying his face. "Yesss," he hisses, starting to grin. "That. Exactly that."

He follows as soon as he's inclined, feeling a thrill run its claws down his back as he's taken towards Riddler's neat stash of toys. He didn't expect to get such a pleasing reaction, and it makes him reckless with the sudden spike of heat in his gut.

"Okay," he speaks softly but easily, like he's agreeing to coffee on Tuesday. It wouldn't be unreasonable to doubt his sincerity ( ever, really ) but the very next moment his hand jumps up, fingers curled in save for the extended pinky. "Promise," he purrs, sparing a moment to swipe his tongue across his bare teeth in a feral tick of inner calculation.

"For 72 hours," he adds after a moment, making no attempt to withdraw from the grip that's keeping him close. "I'm sure I can trust you not to get me into too much trouble," it's a sly statement hemmed in a few throaty chuckles. Obviously, any danger created by this impromptu arrangement just adds to the thrill.

"I'm not supposed to be subservient, especially to you... but you've kept secrets for me before."

Riddler pauses and draws back to look John dead in the eye. "Are you... giving me carte blanche for seventy two hours?"

Because that is possibly the sexiest thing he has ever been told if it is. To not steal control, but have it given to him, handed on a platter (electrified, submissive platter) is a headrush and a half.

"I'm not suppose to make decisions. Or write contracts. Or any of the things I almost exclusively do here."

He makes no immediate verbal reply, merely narrowing his eyes and widening his grin. His extended pinky beckons with a few inward curls and he deliberately changes the angle of the cant of his head, keeping his eyes on Riddler's all the while.

"I think exactly what I said," he leans in a little closer, almost like he's drunk, and speaks so his words move the air around Riddler's ear, "is that I would get you off every time you snapped your fingers." His chuckles tangle in his throat, a mangling of thrill and lust and feral delight. Why do the stupid risky thing? Because it's fun, obviously.

...Maybe also because John loves how quickly Riddler took to the idea, like an addict with their choice buzz; no space for hesitation between affirmation and desire. Riddler likes how John's imagination works; approves of his dangerous whims; and John is always starving for the affirmation.

For them, it's not quite the same. Ed wants and craves affirmations but Riddler just wants attention. Admiration. Praise suits him fine, feels good, but it's not the same craving for him. "I'm going to put you in a place where you won't know if you're dying or coming, in pleasure or in pain," he breathes out, a promise high on drugs and endorphins.

And he's got John's whole attention. It satisfies in a way that even the drugs can't touch.

Filthy fucking freak!

His head snaps up, looking around for the source of the voice. "What did you-?"

"Wasn't me," Oswald promises.

His expression is a toxic cocktail of adoration, obsession, and and corrosive desire. It's as though he's being offered ambrosia and would eat it right out of Riddler's palms.

His attention snaps outwards as quick as Riddler, eyes combing the empty space for some hint of something-- but he was already fairly sure what was heard didn't exactly come from outside. That's fine, also valid, just because John can't see anything himself doesn't mean he lacks understanding of the persistence of hallucinations. Being real or not doesn't matter so much as the effect it's having. And yeah, okay, he'd rather not be distracted from this but also, he's got a ~~crazy~~ protective streak for his friends and if he can make this better somehow, he's down for it.

"Excuse me," his gaze sails over Riddler towards the empty space behind them; based on where his buddy's eyes went, that's his best guess for wherever this new interloper might be lurking. "Don't you know it's rude to interrupt people in their homes? No one invited another voyeur, my limit is a hard one."

His attention shifts back to his buddy.

"Jeez, the nerve of these guys," he mutters, seemingly quite offended on Riddler's behalf that... his own brain is spitting unpleasant things at him now.

"I'm not staying to watch," Oswald comments.

"No voyeurs," Riddler promises. "Just a voice that's being a pest. Oswald isn't one for interest in carnal affairs. Not even Ed paying attention right now."

Ed isn't into this. It's a bit much for him. But Riddler is and already urging John to the living room, where there's wires and cords and all sorts of fun things.

"Oh, really? He's not?" he follows along into the living room, still glancing about suspiciously as though there exists some chance he could see the hidden specters, too.

"In that case, can I... ask you something? About Eddie?" he seems to be more shy asking about that then the promise of inflicted carnal sadism in his very near future. His uncertain gaze flickers to Riddler's splay of tools and toys, and shifts to something more curious and and eager.

Riddler pauses and shrugs slightly. "I mean, if you want. I might not answer."

He might answer with his own questions. It's hard to be sure with them.

John doesn't expect a straight answer; that'd be like expecting a cat to bark. He's satisfied with the okay to ask; it;s a touchy issue with alters!

"Do you think... he would let me kiss him?" the words might have retained more uncertainty if he wasn't so distracted by... everything. It's obvious from his twitchy hands that he's getting really tempted to touch something.

So he melts into a cross legged position and sits on them, for good measure. He doesn't bother trying to behave himself so well with everyone, you know.

Riddler hums and then pokes Ed to the fore instead. Ed blinks and looks down, carefully settling to his knees and then sitting on his heels. "Riddler says you want to ask me something?"

Ed really hadn't been paying attention once Riddler started thinking about electricity.

John looks completely dumbfounded when the alters suddenly switch-- his eyes widen like saucers and his mouth opens and shuts a few times before any words actually come out. Apparently his genius brain had failed to throw this possible outcome at him, and while he does play dumb very well this is no performance.

"I wanted to ask him, actually," he grumbles, fidgeting, reaching to scratch absently at the back of his neck. "Sneaky bastard." It's muttered even further below his breath, petulant irritation almost smothering out the tiny glimmer of begrudging respect; touche, Riddler. Touche.

Apparently Riddler being not quite at the forefront is enough to jailbreak John's fidgety hands; he picks up something off the table, turning it in his hands, intensely trying to puzzle it out in a way that has nothing to do with giving him time to think of something to say to Eddie. It doesn't help that the evenings previous promises have his blood running warmer than usual, inclining his thoughts towards... less helpful subjects than he'd like.

He can't help but peek up at his buddy little by little though, unable to repress a smile that crawls across his mouth.

"Hi, by the way. Nice to see ya Buddy, been missin' ya."

Ed isn't demanding like Riddler, doesn't demand total control of when he's touched and how. John's fidgeting and fussing is very natural to him, so he just waits to see what he's going to do and why Riddler booted him out here.

Slowly, John starts to look up, starts to make the effort of connection. "Hi. Well, you know. Been busy. Good to see you."

"So good, right?" he pops back onto his feet and heads over to the couch, flopping down with graceless lanky limbs. "You wanna come sit? It's been forever!" for all his previous nervousness he does seem pretty damn jazzed to see his buddy. It's clear that he likes Eddie just as much, even though his physical relation is with the other alter.

He's. Also being very good at hiding his uncertainty-- if he gets too comfy with Eddie, will Riddler swap their places again? Or will he just tell Eddie what John had asked? Devious, devious Riddle Man!

"Hey, did you see my new tattoo? I showed it to The Other Guy but did you see it too?"

Ed pushes himself up slowly and follows to the couch, twitching at a shout and flopping down next to John, leaning into him. "I did, but if you want to show me, I would love to see it anyway." He looks up, flinches and then smiles at him. "It's really loud."

"Aw, wish I could tell those guys off for ya buddy. No one crosses a friend'o mine more than once," there's a bit of a snarl at the end of his words; a poised viciousness that peeks into his tone and vanishes just as quick. "Maybe this'll help?" He carefully slides an arm around Eddie's shoulder so he can cover one of his ears with his large flat palm.

Yes, yes, he's not actually hearing things, but the brain is tricky about things like this; perception is sometimes easy to manipulate.

"Here, look!" his free hand tugs his purple shirt up a few inches and his pinstriped pants down half an inch, showing the fresh green ink on the hard white line of his hip bone.

"I made the e bigger," he all but purrs, before carefully placing his free hand against Eddie's other ear, so most sounds should be muffled soft. His smile switches from sly to kooky in half a second, and he mouths 'any better buddy?' to continue the illusion of silence. He's also left the inked skin on display for Eddie to take a closer look.

Ed relaxes a little, the hand doing the job because sometimes, for a psychological problem, you need a psychological solution. And thinking that the sound is being blocked is enough for the sound to actually be blocked.

He reaches out, touching the skin with the ink before he thinks about it and presses down to feel the ink, feel the scar tissue. Traces the letters, especially his own 'e' represented in it. He nods at the question and then comes to rest against John's chest, one ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

Some unflattering stereotype of a dude might be a bit tiffed by prospects of being laid turning to cuddles, but affection and attention are too valuable for John to pass up. A wild smile begins to curve the corners of his mouth and for half a second, he almost looks so happy he doesn't know what to do with himself.

John shifts slightly, giving Eddie an easier time reaching for the stylish green ink. It'll be a while before the skin heals well enough to be completely smooth again, particularly because John is a perfectionist who inked himself by hand.

Nerves under a tattoo can also be a funny thing; over-sensitivity is common enough on freshly healing wounds, so it takes little more than the pressure of those curious fingers to send a few shots of pleasing pain spiraling across his senses. He doesn't react too much, aside from a stutter in his heartbeat and a slightly rushed exhale.

He wants to say. Something. But he doesn't want to compromise the trick of perception that has whatever asshole bugging Eddie shutting the hell up. He could ask Eddie to quit with the drugs, but he knows his friend is smart enough to realize that's an option. It's just not an option he wants, which is entirely his choice.

Ed knows he could make it quiet by quitting the pills. Riddler knows it.

But they're here, pressed into John, letting him drown out everything else and Ed's fingers are digging lightly into the ink, pressing firm enough to make it felt without going for outright cruelty in it.

And after a few minutes when he's feeling calmer, he sits up a bit straighter, looks John in the eye and then leans in to give him a soft, chaste kiss on the mouth. "Thanks."

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pathofvigilante - 2020-05-01 23:37 (UTC) - Expand

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theansweris - 2020-05-03 11:28 (UTC) - Expand

DUPLICITY: IC INBOX

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Sorry, the notif for this one didn't happen! I just went to check the thread itself.

No worries dude =D

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