Edward isn't used to someone greeting him in the morning as if he's just escaped death narrowly. He really isn't used to anyone ever looking at him the way Oswald is right now, with his face so enraptured. Nobody looks at him like that. Well. He supposes, no one but Oswald.
He's unsure how he feels, but there is heat rising in his face and he swallows, an ever so slight smile on his face as he feels his forehead tingling from the kiss. Edward can relate, to an extent. He remembers the first time he has gotten to wake up after kissing Ms Kringle and even though she had gone home the night prior, the memory had been enough to make him ecstatic. And now, with Oswald? That same feeling of incredulity and perhaps it's so much more poignant. Because this is Oswald. A man who knows him, who's even made him to a large degree. Loving him and wanting him. It's its own kind of high.
He pulls away slowly, feeling something clench up in his chest as he takes him in and wonders what he did to deserve him. He sniffs and blinks his eyes clear, his smile quirking wider.
"Well enough," Oswald says, finally - quiet, as if not to wake someone - though it took him long enough to drift off with his head swarming with thoughts. He's woken up hard; not unusual but a little awkwardly timed with company around and he shifts position just enough to keep a polite distance between them, not wanting to spoil the moment. "And yourself?" His eyebrows lift. "Were you comfortable?"
He had only shared a bed with mother before, weathering out the coldest of nights lying back to back while listening to their tiny space heater in its death rattles, the mattress creaking when either of them would shift or cough. If he rolled around or snored or mumbled in his sleep, he didn't know; she had never complained.
"Quite comfortable." Edward hadn't slept very deeply, but he very rarely did, too much on his mind, but he had slept well. Certainly better than the night before, after everything that had occurred and his overall confusion, making him try to figure out what all of this even meant. "I was going to get up to see about breakfast, but I didn't want to leave you."
For one thing, he hadn't wanted Oswald to wake up without him. For another, he had wanted to stay with him a while longer, holding him as he had all night.
"Can you hand me my glasses or am I too ugly with them on?"
He smiles a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, touched by Ed's consideration even though he knows he wouldn't have had it any other way. A smile that falls a little at the self-deprecating joke.
"Don't be silly, Ed." He turns and stretches to grab the glasses off the night-table, offering them. "You just have such lovely eyes; it's really a crime to hide them behind these things."
"You are the one with the remarkable eyes. Mine are just dark." Edward unfolded his glasses and put them on, blinking a couple of times as he adjusted. Then he lifted his head so he could look at Oswald properly, reaching out to cup the side of his face with one hand. "Look at you."
His eyes were beautiful, just as he had told him tomorrow. "What would you even call that colour? Sea-green? It's so rare, green eyes." His favourite colour, as he had stated before. "They show what you are like. Unique, strong. Admirable."
Only his mother could lay it on so thick and not stir his suspicion. He couldn't trust anyone else in Gotham to mean what they say, to not have an angle, but Ed's shaping up to be an interesting case in many ways - testing Oswald's trust in him and his honesty while he forever struggles between allowing himself to bask in the full pleasure of a rare compliment and feeling a twist of awkwardness. The words 'freak' and 'monster' seldom leave people's mouths these days but he can see it in their faces. No one talked about his eyes, about his smile; to others he was either a man to be feared, a king, or a means to an end -- no in betweens.
The hand cradling his face is so much easier to fall for and he does, reaching irresistibly to touch it.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ed Nygma." Snorting, his eyes glinting with playful secrets. "Oh, and you're welcome." He throws in a wink for good measure, yesterday's eyeliner and mascara faintly smudging his eyelids.
"Welcome to keep staring into your eyes?" Edward would have been less enthusiastic, but the truth of the matter is that, to him, Oswald is perhaps the most remarkable man he has ever met. Oswald might not have his mind for riddles, puzzles or his memory, but he is gifted in so many ways that Edward is still learning from. There is no exaggeration when he expresses his admiration, even if it is about his eyes.
That still doesn't stop him from thanking him drily now. "Gee, thanks."
With a roll of his eyes he still has to smile at the wink, shaking his head, but leaving his hand on Oswald's face and resisting the urge to try and fix his make-up.
He hums, a low pleased sound in his throat, and just keeps his smile on, its cheeky edge fading away as they lie there in silence a moment, their gazes holding. He strokes Ed's arm, fond. Wondering what dreams Ed enjoys, what runs through his mind when he looks back at him through lidded eyes. Just another riddle - and maybe one best left a mystery.
He doesn't want to miss a minute of being with him, of drinking in his affection like a dying plant. All the time in the world would never be enough; it wouldn't have been for mother, and it wouldn't be for Ed. But no one and nothing would ever take Ed from him, not without a fight; he'd tear into their throats with his teeth if he had to. But that's a thought for another time - and he wills it away, trying to figure out what's meant to happen next. Or if he even needs to have it all sorted out, like just another one of his affairs in Gotham.
The dull throbbing in his cock hasn't gone away and he's reluctant to assume that Ed would be comfortable having anything to do with it, even if he had shown a bolder side the other night. It's not a moment, now, that he feels like running the risk of complicating. Though the thought of leaving bed for even a short time and leaving Ed waiting - if he'd wait for him at all - is a painful one.
It takes Edward longer than it perhaps should have to even notice the state of Oswald's cock, but after all the talk of eyes, that's what he has focused on more than anything else. But finally he does look down and he is perceptive, famously so. Of course he takes note and of course he tries to think what the best response would be. With how skittish Oswald could be, Edward knows better than to risk too much boldness.
"Do you want a hand?" The tone is suggestive, but he hopes that he could balance on the edge of being outright sleazy. He wants to sound seductive, of course, he doesn't want Oswald to feel dirty in any way. "Because I'd be willing to lend you one."
Oswald rears his head back, blinking owlishly at him.
"Um--"
He's heard that sly, conspiratorial tone before, the smirking edge to it -- but never used on him. And it's baffling. With his hawkish nose and hunched shoulders and his foot twisted out to one side, his was not a look that invited desire and he had made his peace with that a long time ago, turning his sights onto other things. More attainable things. But here was Ed flipping his world upside down with a simple offer, a simple show of interest not in what his mind could offer but what his body could, and Oswald flounders, his mouth opening and closing and shaping itself around an answer he hasn't settled on yet.
"Wait..." He lets out a sharp breath of a laugh, holding up a hand. He can feel his ears burning. "So let me get this straight - you're telling me that this is something you... want to do?"
"Well." Edward lets out a laugh himself, slightly breathy and more than a hint of suggestiveness. "The way I understand it, Oswald, I'm afraid that there is nothing straight about it."
A play on words, of course. He is who he is, after all. It doesn't surprise him anymore now, Oswald's incredulity. The man has clearly never in his life believed that someone could find him desirable. Edward can relate, even if he has long since found much more confident parts of himself. Still, he understands.
"If you let me, I would love to touch you." A deliberate choice of words, giving control entirely to Oswald. "This is what I'm telling you. I love you. I want you. I want whatever you are willing to give."
Gay, queer, or neither -- it had never crossed his mind to slap a label on himself or his feelings. Ed, first and foremost, is Ed; that he's a man had no bearing on anything. He loved Ed and Ed loved him - and for now that was enough, that was all that mattered. But in other ways it's not so simple, even if his body has already made up its mind, aching to be touched. He's still not sure what Ed's eagerness - a readiness as if he's stepping up to any other task as chief of staff - says about him. And less about what his own willingness to even entertain Ed's invitation says about himself. All he knows is that his guts are in knots but he hasn't heard a no out of his own mouth yet. And Ed's still waiting patiently, careful.
Finally, he shakes his head, tossing up a hand in a helpless sort of shrug. "Well, you're the expert," he laughs shakily, still in disbelief - and it's as confident a 'go ahead' that Ed would be getting out of him.
"...that makes me sound a lot more experienced than I actually am," Edward felt it necessary to point out. He was fairly sure that Oswald didn't mean to make him sound promiscuous, but the implication was there. Still, he wasn't offended, instead he just shook his head and shifted a little on the bed, closer to Oswald. He leaned forward and kissed him, while his hand touched the other man's good leg, slowly sliding up his thigh. He was still giving him time, just in case he changed his mind.
But finally his hand was undoing Oswald's trousers and he pulled back from the kiss to catch his eyes. "Are you hard for me?" As his palm was already pressed against said hardness.
For all Ed's effort to gently ease him into things his touch is raw and electric, lighting up his brain like a slot-machine - and he moans faintly into Ed's lips, tensing as those skimming fingers find his fly and tease it open. And when Ed palms him and sends a snap of adrenaline through his spine - his hand shockingly hot through his briefs- , he realizes just how little power and money mean here, with Ed. He stares, helplessly, barely breathing under Ed's long, focused look. Under the weight of a gaze that peels him back and leaves him trembling and keenly naked even while still dressed.
Somewhere along the way he finds his voice, finds the cheekiness to try and challenge the claim Ed's staking on him even while his pulse sharpens between his legs.
"I hate to burst your bubble," he clears his throat, swallowing, "but this had nothing to do with you."
"Then I'll have to make sure that it has everything to do with me now." It is really just logic, isn't it? Edward has a certain craving for approval and attention, no doubt. He wanted the undivided focus and as it turns out, there is a lot of focus to be gained when holding a man's erection. Not exactly a surprising twist, but nonetheless fascinating.
He feels him harden under his attention, the movements of his fingers. He knows what he's doing, of course, not having been with another man doesn't mean that he hasn't had plenty of time to experiment by himself. It certainly seems to be doing the trick.
"I want this to be for me, Oswald." So he will make sure it is.
It doesn't take much for the sureness of Ed's grip or the rasp of fabric on flesh with every shifting movement to get to him; he feels precome leaking hot, blotting his underwear, a misplaced twinge of embarrassment with it. The flush staining his neck deepens. He's never been seen like this before.
"And then what?" He presses, escaping Ed's look - any hint of judgment on his face - by closing his eyes. He breathes through the heavy ache twisting his guts. "Seeing as you seem to have given this some thought."
Ed might be waiting for him to give in, he's realizing, to squirm and needily buck his hips for more. It isn't so different, this, from any other power-game; only it's between friends, at least. More strange than fun, for the moment.
"...then we were going to have breakfast." Because whatever his tendencies toward a game built around dominance and submission may be, it's not where his mind currently is. He wants to pleasure Oswald and, yes, he wants him to experience that pleasure as something that is tied to him, but there's no big plan behind that. It almost feels like a shortcoming, now that he feels under Oswald's scrutiny, but finally he just leans in and kisses him, trying to keep it sweet instead of demanding. "I want you to want me."
It's said against his lips, while his fingers tighten around him just a little, never veering too close to painful. That can wait.
He curves a gentle hand around the side of Ed's neck.
Breakfast - not the answer he was expecting but a nice idea, one that almost normalized the idea of waking up tangled in each others' arms, warm and rested and aching with a different sort of hunger. But it could wait.
The brush of Ed's lips is all he needs for now, the way it fills the hollowness in his chest with a glowing, giddy magic he feels somehow too young and too old for. He smiles, helplessly, into the kiss, eyes still shut when Ed pulls away to talk.
"Well..." A soft stuttering breath slides out of him - the beginnings of a laugh, almost - when Ed's hand closes a little tighter around him. "I'm here, aren't I?"
He licks his lips, quiet and expectant. His lashes tremble faintly.
"You are here," he repeats in agreement, his own smile unwavering. He's not even aware that he's smiling, especially not like this. Soft, not cunning, almost a little sheepish, which isn't an attribute he'd have liked to see tied to himself. But it suits him well enough, fits the mood of the day, especially now that Oswald no longer seems that intent on suspecting a trap.
The words are taken into consideration immediately, even if for how it's just his hand that moves along him, thumb swiping over the tip, just as his tongue quickly darts out to touch Oswald's lip, right before he leans in for another kiss.
The tongue-flick is more startling than the sweep of Ed's thumb over raw nerves and he rears his head back, eyes blinking his open to the sight of Ed's smile. Thankfully, he isn't given long enough to decide whether being licked offends him or not because they're bumping noses, chins, and kissing again - a slow burn, a gentle wearing down of his defenses - and all is as it should be again. He digs his fingers lightly into Ed's skin, stroking him with his thumb.
"It's a start..." A beat. "Although I would not be opposed if you were to slip your hand in." There's a nervous flexing of muscles in his throat. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."
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He's unsure how he feels, but there is heat rising in his face and he swallows, an ever so slight smile on his face as he feels his forehead tingling from the kiss. Edward can relate, to an extent. He remembers the first time he has gotten to wake up after kissing Ms Kringle and even though she had gone home the night prior, the memory had been enough to make him ecstatic. And now, with Oswald? That same feeling of incredulity and perhaps it's so much more poignant. Because this is Oswald. A man who knows him, who's even made him to a large degree. Loving him and wanting him. It's its own kind of high.
"I trust you slept well, then?"
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"Well enough," Oswald says, finally - quiet, as if not to wake someone - though it took him long enough to drift off with his head swarming with thoughts. He's woken up hard; not unusual but a little awkwardly timed with company around and he shifts position just enough to keep a polite distance between them, not wanting to spoil the moment. "And yourself?" His eyebrows lift. "Were you comfortable?"
He had only shared a bed with mother before, weathering out the coldest of nights lying back to back while listening to their tiny space heater in its death rattles, the mattress creaking when either of them would shift or cough. If he rolled around or snored or mumbled in his sleep, he didn't know; she had never complained.
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For one thing, he hadn't wanted Oswald to wake up without him. For another, he had wanted to stay with him a while longer, holding him as he had all night.
"Can you hand me my glasses or am I too ugly with them on?"
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"Don't be silly, Ed." He turns and stretches to grab the glasses off the night-table, offering them. "You just have such lovely eyes; it's really a crime to hide them behind these things."
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His eyes were beautiful, just as he had told him tomorrow. "What would you even call that colour? Sea-green? It's so rare, green eyes." His favourite colour, as he had stated before. "They show what you are like. Unique, strong. Admirable."
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The hand cradling his face is so much easier to fall for and he does, reaching irresistibly to touch it.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ed Nygma." Snorting, his eyes glinting with playful secrets. "Oh, and you're welcome." He throws in a wink for good measure, yesterday's eyeliner and mascara faintly smudging his eyelids.
Isn't it great to have such a charming mentor?
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That still doesn't stop him from thanking him drily now. "Gee, thanks."
With a roll of his eyes he still has to smile at the wink, shaking his head, but leaving his hand on Oswald's face and resisting the urge to try and fix his make-up.
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He doesn't want to miss a minute of being with him, of drinking in his affection like a dying plant. All the time in the world would never be enough; it wouldn't have been for mother, and it wouldn't be for Ed. But no one and nothing would ever take Ed from him, not without a fight; he'd tear into their throats with his teeth if he had to. But that's a thought for another time - and he wills it away, trying to figure out what's meant to happen next. Or if he even needs to have it all sorted out, like just another one of his affairs in Gotham.
The dull throbbing in his cock hasn't gone away and he's reluctant to assume that Ed would be comfortable having anything to do with it, even if he had shown a bolder side the other night. It's not a moment, now, that he feels like running the risk of complicating. Though the thought of leaving bed for even a short time and leaving Ed waiting - if he'd wait for him at all - is a painful one.
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"Do you want a hand?" The tone is suggestive, but he hopes that he could balance on the edge of being outright sleazy. He wants to sound seductive, of course, he doesn't want Oswald to feel dirty in any way. "Because I'd be willing to lend you one."
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"Um--"
He's heard that sly, conspiratorial tone before, the smirking edge to it -- but never used on him. And it's baffling. With his hawkish nose and hunched shoulders and his foot twisted out to one side, his was not a look that invited desire and he had made his peace with that a long time ago, turning his sights onto other things. More attainable things. But here was Ed flipping his world upside down with a simple offer, a simple show of interest not in what his mind could offer but what his body could, and Oswald flounders, his mouth opening and closing and shaping itself around an answer he hasn't settled on yet.
"Wait..." He lets out a sharp breath of a laugh, holding up a hand. He can feel his ears burning. "So let me get this straight - you're telling me that this is something you... want to do?"
Sneaking in a work tag...
A play on words, of course. He is who he is, after all. It doesn't surprise him anymore now, Oswald's incredulity. The man has clearly never in his life believed that someone could find him desirable. Edward can relate, even if he has long since found much more confident parts of himself. Still, he understands.
"If you let me, I would love to touch you." A deliberate choice of words, giving control entirely to Oswald. "This is what I'm telling you. I love you. I want you. I want whatever you are willing to give."
the best kind of tag :D
Finally, he shakes his head, tossing up a hand in a helpless sort of shrug. "Well, you're the expert," he laughs shakily, still in disbelief - and it's as confident a 'go ahead' that Ed would be getting out of him.
:D
But finally his hand was undoing Oswald's trousers and he pulled back from the kiss to catch his eyes. "Are you hard for me?" As his palm was already pressed against said hardness.
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Somewhere along the way he finds his voice, finds the cheekiness to try and challenge the claim Ed's staking on him even while his pulse sharpens between his legs.
"I hate to burst your bubble," he clears his throat, swallowing, "but this had nothing to do with you."
Had.
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He feels him harden under his attention, the movements of his fingers. He knows what he's doing, of course, not having been with another man doesn't mean that he hasn't had plenty of time to experiment by himself. It certainly seems to be doing the trick.
"I want this to be for me, Oswald." So he will make sure it is.
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"And then what?" He presses, escaping Ed's look - any hint of judgment on his face - by closing his eyes. He breathes through the heavy ache twisting his guts. "Seeing as you seem to have given this some thought."
Ed might be waiting for him to give in, he's realizing, to squirm and needily buck his hips for more. It isn't so different, this, from any other power-game; only it's between friends, at least. More strange than fun, for the moment.
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It's said against his lips, while his fingers tighten around him just a little, never veering too close to painful. That can wait.
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Breakfast - not the answer he was expecting but a nice idea, one that almost normalized the idea of waking up tangled in each others' arms, warm and rested and aching with a different sort of hunger. But it could wait.
The brush of Ed's lips is all he needs for now, the way it fills the hollowness in his chest with a glowing, giddy magic he feels somehow too young and too old for. He smiles, helplessly, into the kiss, eyes still shut when Ed pulls away to talk.
"Well..." A soft stuttering breath slides out of him - the beginnings of a laugh, almost - when Ed's hand closes a little tighter around him. "I'm here, aren't I?"
He licks his lips, quiet and expectant. His lashes tremble faintly.
"You are allowed to move, by the way."
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The words are taken into consideration immediately, even if for how it's just his hand that moves along him, thumb swiping over the tip, just as his tongue quickly darts out to touch Oswald's lip, right before he leans in for another kiss.
"The right kind of movement?"
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"It's a start..." A beat. "Although I would not be opposed if you were to slip your hand in." There's a nervous flexing of muscles in his throat. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."