Chapter Text
You know that, if he really wanted to, Edward could easily overpower you. That’s what makes his whole current.. predicament even more entertaining to you. Endearing, almost, with how he’s staring up at you, brows furrowed. Trying so hard to have control.
(He’s not physically imposing, by any means. The layers and mask add baggy, bulky depth, a menacing sort of heaviness, but when he’s stripped of them, he’s surprisingly slight. Still tall, though. But that doesn’t really matter when he’s horizontal—)
So, it’s nice to have him like this. Underneath you. Knees on either side of his waist, straddling, watching with a tilted head as he struggles to form words.
Usually that’s so much less difficult, for him. He always has so much to say. Yet here you are, leaving him speechless. Here he is, cheeks scrunching up as you shift your weight.
(Purposefully push your ass back against his erection, with only boxers to soften the blow.)
“I.. I thought you wanted…”
“Mmm?”
You lean forward a little, then, fingertips tracing along his cheek, his jaw. His glasses are on the nightstand, abandoned early on for the sake of their own wellbeing.
(His dignity. He got so cranky whenever you laughed about them fogging up, called it cute—)
“Th.. this isn’t what I pictured..” He continues, shifts, squirming and huffing, and your eyes glitter. “..when.. when you said you wanted to see me.”
“What do you mean?”
Head cocked, playing coy. Trailing your hand down his chest, letting your nails dig, just slightly. Enough for him to feel. To let out a noise between a grunt and a whine.
"I meant-" Edward clears his throat, and your eyes follow to motion of him swallowing, half-lidded, which makes him lose his already slippery train of thought, sliding right through his shaking hands. "I mean—"
“Do you mind it?” You ask, soft and still with a teasing lilt. But it’s sincere, too. “This?”
The man, with his smooth features so beautifully twisted, flushing, grumbles. When he tilts his head back against the pillows more, his gaze fixes pointedly on your shitty popcorn ceiling. He’s mumbling.
“Sorry?” Your expression is neutral, but there’s mirth peeking through the curtain. Waiting. “Didn’t quite catch that.”
“You..” Grinding his teeth, huh? You heard his jaw click. That bad? "You don’t.. don’t normally.. You usually prefer-"
“Oh, honey,” you start, and both hands are cupping his cheeks now. Making him look at you. They’re so warm in your fingertips. “This isn’t about me right now.”
(It had been initially, maybe. But there was something so good about having him like this. Surrendering. And you know he enjoys it too. You both got more than enough out of moments like this. Plus it was a change of pace. Broke up the monotony.)
Edward’s eyes are on you, and, well, that might be your favorite shade of green, you think. Not too bright but not dull, either. So much life in them.
“I…”
It’s amusing to watch him wrestle with himself, really, truly, it is. There’s a battle going on in there, one of wits, emotions broiling, and you know that as much as he doesn’t want to relinquish control, he also.. does.
(Which is why he’s still very much turned on. Making little noises whenever your hips roll backwards. Breathing like that.)
“It doesn’t have to be, uhh.. if you’ll pardon the vulgarity,” you smirk, and he’s glaring, but it’s blazing with need more than annoyance. “.. and the pun, which is unintentional.. this hard, y’know. You can just.. let go. There’s no shame in it.”
(There was never any shame between the two of you. Perhaps earlier, when the waters were choppier, murky, everything new and fresh and uncertain, but now? Now, besides Gotham being Gotham, and the inevitable future, it was.. relatively smooth sailing. Freedom.)
His pupils are wide, blown out, wanting. And it’s such a striking sight. You have a polaroid of him, somewhere, tucked away safely, like that. Shirtless and wide-eyed. When your hand slides up to run your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, the ring of color only gets smaller. Needing. You can see the muscles in the juncture of his neck and shoulder working as he thinks. Chews on his response.
“… I.. guess not.”
Winner, winner. Everyone gets a trophy.
“See? Isn’t that nice?” Your nails catch in his hair, then, a blunt scrape to his scalp making him groan. “Being good?”
That noise that leaves him is so much louder, almost pitiful.
(You’re going to take that and run with it. Use it to your advantage. Because you’re not stupid. And, oh, are you resourceful.)
“You’re being so good, Eddie,” you continue, and when tug at soft strands wound through your digits, he keens, exposing more of his neck to you, whether purposefully or not. It had been your intent, though. Always good to have goals. “Listening all.. nicely. Thinking about me, my needs.. so kind of you.”
You can feel him trembling.
“Such a good boy.”
The hiss of oh fuck that leaves his lips is harsh, embarrassed, as his hips buck up underneath you, and your grin is that of someone who knows.
(Because you do. You know. The first time you’d ever fooled around with heat and intention, he’d ate you out like a man starved, bit your thighs so hard it throbbed, left them mottled for weeks. But when you’d gripped the back of his head and whimpered out something about him being a good fucking boy, he’d came. Without his hand or yours on him, moans muffled between your legs, all over the sheets, shaking and desperate. Face burning and eyes glazed over when he surfaced. The rest was history. Even with the post-orgasm haze, you knew you had to save that rather sweet little morsel of information for later use.)
“Yeah,” you drawl as you watch his chest rise and fall, so pretty and pleased with yourself. “Yeah, you are. My good boy.”
You like that? you want to ask, but you refrain. You’ll tease but not too much. He was still self-conscious, and if you pushed too much, it would have the.. opposite of the desired effect. Because I do.
“So…”
Edward is staring, hard. You can tell he’s trying so much to focus, hold back any sounds he can. His breathing is a wheeze when he finally speaks, words slurring. Attempting to stay even.
“Want you-“ A grunt. "Want, ah, want you to—"
You shouldn’t interrupt, it’s rude, but, you don’t want him to get lost, like this. Trip over himself. So your hand is at his jaw. Thumb stroking his chin fondly as you hum.
“Want me to what?”
(Use your words.)
“Can you…” A pink tongue, darting out to wet his lips. “… can you just.. sit..”
Your lips stay put, despite the sour sugar on your tongue.
“I am sitting, Ed.” You wiggle your hips a little bit as if to punctuate, remind him. “…pretty comfortably, as a matter of fact.”
“…Clocks.. clocks and I have them in common.”
So that was it, then? This is what you were doing? He wanted to play with you. Even when he was so clearly wanting. Both of you had been edging.
“Not.. hands..”
His dick is right there. You can feel it. Especially with how he keeps moving so restlessly. Maybe he’s not doing it on purpose. Could just be nerves, reflexes.
“..not.. time..”
…or not.
“… what..” Breathing. Trying not to get lost in the sensation of your hand bracing against his sternum, so warm, inviting. “…what am I?”
You’ve gotten good at this, with time, practice. It was almost too simple. But cute how much he held onto the habit. It meant a lot to him.
“A face?” Pause. Grin. “…sit on your—?”
“Yeah,” Edward says, whines, your nails biting. "Yes. Yes, yes, ye—"
“You could have just said that from the get-go,” you say, cutting across him, light in your eyes dancing. “A “please” goes a long way too, y’know.”
But you take pity on him, even when he mutters something you can’t make out, sour, and you’re dismounting. Satisfied when he makes a pathetic sort of sound but doesn’t even move. Just stays put, hands outstretched, pleading—
With your hand pressing to the wall, you’re there, above him. Smiling down at him. Brushing at his bangs, so affectionately.
(He’s twitching, at that. Hoping you don’t notice.)
“Sit,” he says, and even if it’s so close to commanding, you can tell it’s more of an ache. “Not.. not hover, no, no, no, just, sit.”
So you do. And the first drag of his tongue doesn’t give you any warning, any grace period. It’s frenzied how he laps at you, delving, sucking, the noises.. obscenely wet and loud.
Just like his moans.
You should last longer. Before everything, all this, you did, it was never this right, enjoyable, it took more, but now.. Now you had him. Even if he didn’t have the finesse, he was alive, intriguing, and fevered. The fervor made up for anything that he lacked when it came to technical ability. He was learning, too.
“You… you’re so… good..” You slur, in between little shudders, muscles aching with the effort of not fully dropping onto him. Crushing. Your voice sounds horrible, awful, stupid, unsexy, in your opinion, like this, but you can feel Edward jerk underneath you, his groan louder. “… my good boy.”
(He’s not even palming himself. That’s the crazy part. Just nosing your clit, tongue curling, hips canting.. But his hands are on you. Holding you. Pulling. This worked up over nothing.)
“..what.. d-do you get out of this, exactly?” You ask as your vision swims, fingers flexing, thighs burning. Edward hums against you, and, oh, maybe that was actually a breathless sort of laugh with how it vibrates, makes you clench. “…you should.. should touch.. want you to-“
(He’s clicking his tongue. You know he’d be wagging a finger if he could. His head does shake, like he’s disagreeing, chastising, but it only gives him better access to you. And the pressure on your clit is targeted, ripping a whine from your throat, the coil in your gut so close to snapping—)
Not in the position to make demands, maybe.
You don’t even realize one of his hands his snuck down, seeking, wormed its way close to you, two long digits pawing at your folds before sinking. Going too deep when coupled with his mouth doing that. His groan makes it even more apparent that he found what he was looking for, and you’re tumbling over the edge with a cry of his name.
It’s all you can do to remain in place. Not collapse, spent, trembling, and you know his underwear are shoved aside and his fingers are wrapped around his dick, then. Because he’s making that noise. The one he does so sweetly and specifically when he’s jerking off, impatient.
(It’s cute.)
"Ed-" The pace of his hand picks up, and you almost want to pinch his cheek. Adorable. “Edward.”
Beside him, leaning in, taking inventory. His face is flushed, lips and chin slick and shining with you, and his eyes are shut. With how much his face is scrunched, the depth of the creases in his brows, you’d think he was in pain.
(Close, probably. Really close. It never took him that long.)
“Hey,” you say, still dizzy from your own climax. When your fingers wrap around his wrist and make him still, he whimpers. “Hey. L.. Listen to me.”
His eyes are wide and open, then. Irises nonexistent. But he is listening. Even if you can feel him itching to continue.
“…you couldn’t.. do that while you were eating me out?”
Your tone is light, far too casual, eyelashes kissing your cheeks as you blink, long and slow.
(He looks at you like a trapped animal.)
“We could have came together,” you continue, features and tone shifting into a pout. “Both of us.”
Oh, yeah. He’s desperate. Straining. You can see his Adam’s apple tense and flex as he gulps. His grunt is so sticky.
“…but you didn’t want that, did you?”
Edward shakes his head, again, frantic, breathing harshly through his nose as he squirms.
“…so tell me what you do want.”
(If he’s even able to form a coherent sentence.)
“…Inn… nngh, inside.”
The tilt of your head changes directions, deepening. Your gaze flicks to his dick, slick with precum he’d so courteously spread, back of your hand bumping it. Satisfied when you feel him twitch, it jump.
“You going to.. elaborate?”
Something leaves his lips, frustrated, teeth gnashing. A word that sounds close to whore.
You hum.
“…I could leave you like this,” you say, smile fond. So sweet. “You brought your stuff, right? I could.. hmm. Tie you up all nice, cover your mouth, keep you here.. waiting..”
Edward lets out a curse and a sob.
“..or you could be nice. Be good, again, and tell me what you were.. planning.”
(This is so much better than a solo session, really. Much better than any of the toys in your dresser, your hand, his voice over the phone, stronger, an ego boost—)
“…Insideofyouuuu.”
Your lips quirk, ears perking up at the jumbled mush of syllables.
“…what was that?”
There’s a growl that follows, exasperated and wanting, and your giggle just makes his scowl deepen, face burning.
"You—" Is he panting? “You- you know what I said. You hh.. h-have good hearing.”
(Aw, a compliment? Flattering.)
“Pretend I don’t,” you say, grip on his wrist still firm, teeth working at your lower lip as your other hand thumbs at his jaw, his lips. Which twist, defiant. “Paint me a picture.”
“I want to finish inside of you,” he spits out, like he’s spilling a secret. "Just wanted to come inside—"
(What an artist.)
“Then..” Your pupils are blown out, and you’re surveying him like a cat, balancing, on the verge of pouncing. “..what’s stopping you?”
There’s a beat of silence. Both of you staring at one another, the air between you heavy. You let go of his hand and before he can do anything, move, you’re moving to straddle him. Then you’re wrapping your hand around him, guiding him to your entrance, and in one swift (clumsy) motion you’re sinking down on him. Letting him bury himself in wet heat as you both laugh breathlessly.
There’s a slight stretch, adjustment, and when his hips jerk, it makes your sigh snag in the back of your throat, warping into a whine.
(He had whined so loud the first time you ever did this, sounded borderline emotional about how tight you are, fuck, so tight. Scrambled to get his bearings as you, full and flushed, stuttered out something about him being pretty cool, too in a moment of nerves, needing to fill the silence with a reply.)
“Th.. that better?” You manage to ask as you just sit there, enjoying no longer being empty, pleased with the show before you. The one you have front row tickets to. Him, so red and starstruck. Looking at you like you’re holding his very heart in your hands. “You feel better, baby?”
Edward groans. So fun and easy to play with. Quick to become putty with a simple pet name.
(Cute.)
“Move,” he grunts, catching the darkness in your eyes, the downturn of your lips, displeasure. Remedies with his hands squeezing your hips, apologetic. “Mm.. move, please, pleaseplease, sorry, just need—"
Release? Absolution?
“What would your followers think, seeing you like this?” Your voice is soft as you rise up a little before dropping, rolling, the sound of skin on skin so indecent. But you could make it worse. “Begging, like that, underneath someone so small and meaningless?”
His eyes bulge, mouth opening to snap back with some sort of clever retort. It makes it so much more rewarding, adds fuel to the fire. When you start to establish a rhythm he’s gritting his teeth, nails biting. And your chuckle is so obscenely giddy it makes his head spin.
“Nashton,” you say, having his chest punch out another wounded sound with a well-timed rock of your hips, purposefully clenching. "Edward. Eddie. Ed, baby. I’m gonna need some feedback, here—"
“Not faaair,” he whines, not seeming to mind. "Not.. you shouldn’t, sh-shouldn’t be so—"
(Composed? Bad? Good?)
Your teeth are flashing and you feel him throb within you, so desperate.
“I know,” you reply, soothing, bracing your hands agains his chest, throat feeling tight when he mumbles your name with eyes closed, so reverent he sounds like he’s praying. "I know, I know, but we bring out the.. hhah, best, in one another, so—"
You’re on your back, in a flurry of movement, your squeak downright humiliating, and he’s above you, and it’s his turn to grin. Victorious.
(He’d done that on purpose, the fucker. Said your name like that, knowing the power it held. For leverage. So he could do this.)
“I can play too, you know,” he drawls, admiring, a hand hovering above your cheek, your forehead. Inches away but not touching. Just savoring the heat emanating from your skin, rolling off of you in waves. “Th.. think you forget, sometimes.”
“Never forget-” you start to say, but he’s suddenly fucking into you deep, hard, and the noise you let out is half unholy, half blissed out. He’s found that spot, gummy tissue, making your eyes cross. And he just laughs.
(But it’s so wet sounding. Dazed. Skin on skin, your hand leaving marks on the back of his neck as you try to find purchase by twisting in his hair, lips colliding so quickly it hurts. You hear your teeth clack against his.)
Edward comes when you lick into his mouth, tongue hitting the roof, slurred baby’s and good boy’s swallowed, his moans echoing into yours.
He could easily pull out. But he doesn’t. Just fills you up, stays there, keeps clumsily working little circles against your clit as his thrusts get shallower and he softens. You don’t think you can come again, really, but you feel good. Close.
Then his teeth sink into your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, and you do come.
(Again. Harder than before. Something to be said about that, maybe.)
“Idle lips,” he mumbles into your throat as you shudder, the stimulation almost too much. “Know what they.. say about.. hah.”
(You do. But it’s not important right now. Not when he’s still inside you, eyes rolling as you flutter around him with residual pleasure.)
You definitely need to shower now.
Edward just stays in your bed when you ask him to come. Doesn’t respond, but doesn’t look like he’s going to go, either. It’s a step up from him just tucking himself away, putting on his glasses, leaving, but still.
(Domesticity is nice, sometimes. Whether it makes sense or not.)
His eyes follow you as you head into the bathroom, you note. Tired, as a man who’s just blown his load is, but still keen. Shining in a way that’s far too affectionate.
You’re scrubbing at your face when you feel arms snake around your waist from behind, and, even if you know he can be a sneaky bastard, it still startles you how light he is on his feet.
(He just chuckles. You grumble.)
“Bought you more deodorant, before I forget about it. Probably already saw, though.”
It’s an offhand remark, as his hands wander. Blatantly palm at your chest that he’s seen dozens of times, now.
He makes a questioning noise, chin that’s resting on top of your head shifting as his head cocks. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s furrowing his brows.
Ah, you think, inwardly smiling. He didn’t notice, then.
“When… did you..”
“You said something about it a few days ago,” you reply evenly, conversational, avoiding his eyes and whatever it is they’re holding. “And I thought about it while I was out, so..”
(Too much.)
“I can.. pay you back—"
Your nose wrinkles and you lightly swat his arm, ignoring the noise he makes, the way you swear you feel him poking you.
“Nope. Thanks, though.”
Just looking out for him.
(His throat feels.. oddly raw. Like something is trying to crawl up the back of it. Clawing.)
"Is—"
“It’s aloe,” you cut across him, feeling his grip on you tighten. “Right kind, yeah?”
“…Yes, but that isn't what I was going to ask.”
It’s strange seeing him like this, exposed, in an intimate setting that’s not.. sex-related. Some of his hair is already wet, sticking to his forehead, cheeks, the roundness of his face looking so relaxed. Vulnerable. Human.
(It can’t last. Won’t. Something has to give, eventually, and you know what’s coming.)
“..you can have some of my shampoo, yeah. But only if you use the conditioner, too.”
His mumble about greasiness makes you scoff, no real annoyance behind it.
(You can do it, though. If you tried hard enough. Be patient. Last.)
Especially when the payout was.. this.
Patience is a virtue, after all.