It’s not often that Oswald is injured these days, a facet of his younger years he doesn’t miss. With the reopening of the Iceberg Lounge under more… legitimate circumstances, the Bat has left him alone. Until tonight.
Though the Lounge may front as a legitimate business, Oswald still has his fingers in nearly every pie in Gotham City. Drugs, brothels, gambling rings: he does it all. The Lounge brings in a pretty penny for him, but Oswald’s power spans far beyond what that particular establishment encompasses. In fact, Gotham’s criminal underbelly would cease to function without him. Oswald learns from his mistakes, and after his final exile he had ensured that he was too integral, too indispensable when it came to keeping this city running to ever be fear being ousted again.
His carefully crafted hierarchies ensure that no one is certain about precisely who they are working for. Only the major players are aware that he is the puppet master. Oswald has their loyalty, a guarantee hard won when he committed to tirelessly scraping up dirt on every last one of them. He now possesses enough blackmail to end any attempt to overthrow him before it even starts. Oswald built his current position on his own merit, but it would be remiss to say that he had not utilized Edward’s strategic mind when restructuring his empire. With Edward’s assistance in the later stages of his retaking of the city, he had become invulnerable. He was bulletproof, untouchable. No one had laid a finger on him in five years’ time.
Until the Batman.
The brute had torn through six armed guards and forced in the door to his office, demanding Oswald’s cooperation as he hunted down the supplier for a dangerous new stimulant hitting the streets. Oswald was well aware of its existence; he’d been importing it by the boatload. Batman needn’t know that, however.
Unfortunately for Oswald, the Bat had somehow managed to piece together the connection between the drugs and himself. The man must have been in a particularly foul mood, because Oswald’s stubborn non-compliance and refusal to give up the guise of being a legitimate businessman had resulted in a broken arm and several busted ribs.
The ribs had gone first, giving way under the Bat’s gauntlet as he held Oswald against the wall and demanded information. Oswald had stared deep into the eyes behind the cowl as the blows brought with them an audible crack, lips tightening but eyes unblinking, refusing to make a sound as he glared into that hideous mask.
Perhaps the night had not been a total loss, because the Bat seemed shaken by Oswald’s display of control. He was no stranger to pain. The man had roughed him up some more, turning him and pressing him face first into the wall. Batman made his demands once more in that low voice, spoken directly into his ear as he twisted Oswald’s arm up his back.
It was only when another, louder snap sounded through the room that he backed off.
“Are you quite finished?” Oswald had asked coolly, cradling the injured arm delicately as he tried to assess the damage.
“You really don’t know anything,” he’d said, seeming to be shocked, perhaps even with a hint of remorse.
“I’m not going to tell you either way after that little power play. Try ‘please’ next time,” Oswald had snidely recommended, sweat forming on his brow as the adrenaline from the initial shock began to wear away and the pain set in. He needed to go home, have Edward tend to his injuries. Yet what was most important right then was demonstrating passivity to the Bat, solidifying his innocence. The caped crusader hummed, staring at his boots for a moment.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who you think it might be?” he tried, asking as though he already knew the answer. Oswald’s stubborn silence and the daggers he cast with his eyes only solidified how pointless the question had truly been at that stage. The Bat swept out of the room without another word.
Immediately afterward, Oswald had staggered to his desk and picked up the phone.
“Dez, could you bring the car around?”
Edward meets him at the door with a concerned expression on his face, eyes quickly focusing on the way Oswald is cradling his right arm. Oswald had instructed Dez to call ahead and ask Edward to meet him at the house, wanting to avoid Edward giving him the third degree on the car ride back. It would only have frustrated Edward to be incapable of doing anything about Oswald’s condition, causing Oswald frustration in turn as he attempted to ensure Edward that he was fine despite Edward being unable to assess his injuries himself. He’s made that mistake before. It only ever ended with Edward fretting overmuch that Oswald was understating the extent of his injuries. Though to be fair, he usually did. It was far better to have someone else phone ahead and ask Edward to be ready to receive him at the manor.
“What happened?” Edward snaps, coming around to Oswald’s left side to swiftly shuffle him to the couch. The angry furrow of his brow and his snarled words are contrasted sharply by the gentleness of his touch as he guides Oswald to sit. Edward is instantly fussing over him, unbuttoning his jacket and carefully pulling it over the injured appendage, folding it over the back of the couch once it’s off.
“The Bat paid me a visit at the Lounge, seemed to have it in his head that I’ve something to do with the business of dealing drugs.” Edward instantly stills, body tense despite the complete absence of motion as his face contorts, no doubt trying to determine out the flaw in their design.
“I was careful,” Edward mumbles to himself, “how did this happen…?”
He rises, fingers twisting together as he stalks over to stand in front of the fire, his back turned to Oswald. Yet Oswald can still picture the way Edward presses his hand to his mouth when he gets like this. Edward twists on his heel almost the instant he gets there, facing Oswald and rushing back as though he’s forgotten something, rage twisting his face. “I need to know what he knows!”
Oswald takes Edward’s hand in his good one, “Can it wait until after you’ve patched me up?” Edward instantly diffuses, refocusing on the task of tending to Oswald as quickly as flicking a switch.
“Of course,” he says, standing and pressing a kiss to Oswald’s forehead as he rises. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Oswald harshly replies, holding Edward’s hand tighter as he turns to go. Oswald takes a breath, forces his voice to soften, “You’re right, we need to discuss how this complicates things.” Edward pauses in turn, searching his face and then nodding. Oswald lets go of his hand as he leaves to fetch their first aid kit.
Edward returns in less than a minute with a large box, sitting next to Oswald on the couch and placing it between them. He pops the lid and grabs an alcohol wipe to start, brushing over a cut on Oswald’s brow he hadn’t even realized he’d incurred.
“He could tear it all down,” Edward whispers, wiping the blood from Oswald’s forehead and tossing the wipe in a nearby bin.
“I know, Eddie. We need to find out what he knows, and how he came to know it.” Edward unbuttons Oswald’s shirt, and Oswald does his best to help Edward maneuver both his shirt and undershirt off.
“I won’t let you down,” Edward promises. A promise he’s kept without fail the five years they’ve been together. Over the next fifteen minutes, Edward meticulously tapes his ribs (which he judges as merely bruised and not broken) and puts his arm in a splint. Oswald can tell it’s not the only thing he’s thinking about, but they retire to bed despite the elephant (or should he say ‘bat’?) in the room. As Edward lays beside him, Oswald can almost hear him thinking.
Something must be done.
A week later, Edward calls in an anonymous tip to the Batman, a bite sized morsel of truth to draw him in, supplemented by even clearer instructions as to where exactly he should be and when in order to catch The Penguin with his pants down (so to speak). Oswald is not pleased with Edward’s choice of disguise, but he admits there’s some merit to the idea. They frequently travel with both beautiful men and women (sometimes both) on their arms to discredit the idea that there is a meaningful commitment between them outside of Edward’s routine visits to the Iceberg.
No one ever takes any of the pretty faces they call their entourage seriously, though Edward has a penchant for recruiting women that are deceptively dangerous. In contrast, Oswald generally opts for overt displays of force in the form of large and muscular guards, keeping the beauty and muscle separate. For these reasons, Edward had determined that the best way to trick the Bat was to play the part of Oswald’s consort for the day. The assumption this position generally garnered would lead to the Bat’s assessment that he was not a threat; a means of hiding in plain sight.
While there’s no question that it’s a brilliant idea, the thought of Edward going out where everyone can see him dressed like this… well, a very large part of him wants to wrap Edward in his jacket and drag him home and away from prying eyes. He looks—for lack of a more accurate comparison—like an expensive whore. A deep purple shadow frames his eyes in place of the usual mask or glasses, a dark color to match carefully applied to his lips. The shirt he wears is relatively modest, but his snakeskin miniskirt easily draws the eye away from his chest to travel down those mile long legs delicately encased in fishnets all the way to his purple pumps. His hair is loose and soft, curling sweetly without any product in it to prevent his natural texture from breaking through. Oswald is getting hot under the collar just looking at him, and the idea that other people are also looking—
“Relax,” Edward says, taking Oswald’s good hand in his own and forcibly unclenching his fingers. “No one is looking at me, they’re too worried about the Bat dropping in on our heads.”
“You’re ridiculous. Besides, they know he’s coming,” Oswald says, squeezing his fingers.
“That only makes the anxiety worse,” Edward explains, as though it is a matter of fact. He looks hurt, but Oswald quickly becomes distracted by something even more pressing before he can inquire further. He’s caught Alex staring at Edward’s backside, immediately glaring daggers at her over Edward’s shoulder until she looks up and catches his gaze. She jumps and averts her eyes, looking suitably cowed. Oswald should be happy about his ability to make others cease staring without even saying a word, but he’s more unnerved that he doesn’t possess the ability to prevent them from beginning.
“Right,” Oswald bites out, casting his gaze around the warehouse.
“He’s here,” Edward whispers, looking up at the rafters behind Oswald, “make it convincing.”
“We’ll be home before you know it,” Oswald leers, pawing at Edward’s ass as he draws him in closer. “Now give us a kiss.”
Edward puts his hands on Oswald’s shoulders, wrapping one leg behind Oswald and sensually dragging the heel of his shoe up his calf. Oswald slips his fingers up the side of his thigh until the tips disappear beneath the short skirt. He hears the Bat drop, because that’s when the shooting begins. Oswald immediately pushes Edward off and makes a break for the car, sending up a prayer that the Bat won’t see through Edward’s disguise.
Edward feigns tripping as he runs, nearly overcompensating and actually injuring himself. His shock makes the acting more genuine, at any rate. Edward hears the gunshots cease, then the tread of heavy steps behind him. He shakes, and that’s real fear he’s feeling, even if the rest is an act. Edward stays on his knees, shielding his head with his arms as he trembles. The Bat likes them pathetic, he’s noticed.
“Oh my god, p-please don’t hurt me,” he begs, stuttering through the phrase to make it convincing. “I-I called in the tip, I just wanna help.”
“That was you?” Batman says softly, gently grasping Edward’s shoulder. He flinches, and that was real too. It’s more of an effort to force himself to relax into the touch afterwards. The Bat has to think he trusts him, that this goes both ways.
“Yeah, that stuff they’re selling, it’s horrible. I know a couple of boys that got hooked, and—and it’s just terrible!” Edward sobs at the end there, wiping at his dry eyes. The Bat crouches next to him and rubs his back soothingly. That’s when Edward knows he’s got him.
“Tell me what you know.” Edward sniffles pathetically, and something about this reminds him of the time he’d fooled Lee Thompkins. He shakes the memory loose and forces himself to meet the Bat’s eyes.
“What do you know already? You wouldn’t have roughed up Penguin if you didn’t have something, and I don’t want to waste your time.”
Batman tells him everything, and the information he shares allows Edward to pinpoint exactly where their weak links are. He wants to congratulate himself on a job well done, but it will have to wait until he gets back to safety with Oswald.
“If there’s any evidence you can point me to that will help convict Penguin, I desperately need it. Without hard evidence, he’s never going down.”
“Help me up?” Edward asks sweetly, “I’ll take you to the other warehouse. I’ve only been hanging off Penguin’s arm for a few days now, but I know this city like the back of my hand, and I know exactly where the stuff you’re looking for is. You should be able to get everything you need there.” Batman helps him to his feet, and Edward takes his first step.
He cries out loudly and makes as if he’s going to fall. The Bat, predictably, catches him.
“I twisted my ankle,” Edward says, wobbling on one heel and holding onto the Bat’s shoulders for support. He hasn’t really, but it’s crucial to his getaway that the vigilante falls for it.
“I’ll carry you,” he grumbles, reluctantly lifting Edward. With both of his hands occupied, Edward has his opening.
“Getting carried by a guy with biceps as large as my thighs is a long time fantasy of mine, so thanks for that,” Edward quips, wrapping his arms around the Bat’s shoulders so he can slip the taser from the flowing sleeves of his shirt. The other man remains stoic, but unsuspecting. Edward jams the taser under the cowl and into his neck, holding on tightly to the other man’s shoulders as he falls so he can keep it pressed there.
They hit the ground as Batman convulses, and Edward counts in his head. He doesn't want to fry his brain—that’d be no fun at all—but he does need to make sure the Bat is down long enough for them to complete their plans. He pulls away, slipping his heels off and making his way back to the car once he’s satisfied. Tempted as he is to remove the cowl and reveal the identity of the man beneath the mask, it feels like cheating. No, he’ll puzzle it out on his own one of these days.
Oswald keeps his eyes locked on the warehouse doors, the car running while they wait. He has no idea how long this will take, but he hasn’t seen anyone emerge. However, knowing that doesn’t quell his fears that the Bat had taken Ed down and slipped away to secure his informants. Oswald itches to grab his umbrella, run inside and ensure that Edward is alright. He bites his knuckles instead.
Finally, the doors open. It’s Edward, heels in hand and a smirk on his face. It went well, then. Oswald is awash with relief at the sight of him, throwing the door open. Edward slides in, dropping the pumps on the floor, and Oswald pulls him into a tight embrace, crushing Edward to his chest. Neither of them have pulled a stunt that risky in years.
“Are you alright?” Oswald asks, pushing Edward away by the shoulders to look at him. He brushes Ed’s loose hair away from his face; the dark makeup around Edward’s eyes is making it difficult to tell if they’re bruised.
“Everything went exactly according to plan,” Edward gushes, grinning maniacally. Oswald likes the way he looks right now: riding an adrenaline high and most likely gloating internally about outsmarting the Bat with little more than a skimpy outfit. It makes him downright irresistible, and so Oswald kisses him, pulling them flush.
“Ozzie, wait a minute,” Edward says, ducking his head to break the kiss. “We need to exterminate a few rats before the Bat gets up from his catnap.”
“You’re right. Of course,” Oswald says, loosening his hold on Edward’s hips. “Tell Dez our first stop.” Edward opens the divider and leans forward to speak with her. Oswald catches Tommy’s address, and he isn’t surprised in the slightest. It was only a matter of time with that one. Edward closes the panel and returns to Oswald’s side, pressing against him and setting a hand on Oswald’s chest.
“So, here’s what I found out—”
Edward doesn’t bother changing. Dez has already seen him in this get-up, and the only other people who will witness it are going to be dead very shortly. However, he does put the heels back on. It looks a little ridiculous to be walking around without them in his fishnet stockings. Edward circles his quarry, knife dragging along the back of his shoulders, heels clicking on the floor with each step.
“We know you talked,” Oswald says, examining his nails and feigning disinterest in the proceedings.
“I didn’t say nothin’!” Tommy exclaims. Edward grabs his shoulders from behind, fingers digging in painfully as he leans down to whisper in his ear.
“Lying is only going to make this worse for you.”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t say shit! You gotta believe me, Penguin. I’ve been nothing but loyal.” Edward brings the knife to his throat.
“I swear, I swear! Get your crazy boy toy offa me!” Edward laughs darkly.
“You don’t recognize me?” he asks, coming around to stand in front of him.
“I don’t take the time to memorize all the sluts Penguin keeps around, no.” Oswald backhands him hard without a second thought, and Edward can’t stop laughing. It’s a little flattering, knowing he can still pull off fishnets in his late thirties. Another part of him gets that same old thrill from seeing Oswald rise to his defense. Seeing him hurt someone was always a bit of a turn-on for him, but when he did it for Edward... well, that was something else entirely.
“I assure you, I’m much more important than that,” Edward starts. He slips into Tommy’s lap, straddling him. This he needs to see up close.
“Riddle me this...” he says, rolling the ‘r’.
The penny drops. Edward leans in, watching Tommy’s expression transform as the realization that he has fucked up quite badly dawns over his face.
“When I’m metal or wood, I help you get home. When I’m flesh and I’m blood, in the darkness I roam. What. Am. I?” Edward says, tapping his knife on the man’s chest three times to punctuate every word of his question.
“I never liked you, you fucking bitch,” he hisses, spitting in Edward’s face.
“That’s not an answer,” Edward growls, plunging the knife into Tommy’s shoulder. He screams, and Edward vacates his lap, knife in hand.
“The Bat,” Oswald picks up as Edward passes him the knife. “We know you squealed. Confirm who the other informants are and we’ll make your death a quick one.”
Edward fully expects him to talk. After all, the man had no qualms about selling Oswald out to the Bat, aka the very same man who is currently trying to flush out Gotham’s underworld. That includes men like Tommy. Ratting on his friends should prove no different, and Edward considers himself to be very knowledgeable on the subject of betrayal. He’s been on both sides of it often enough.
“He’s gonna take you down, you sick freak. Then maybe someone normal can be in charge!” It’s an old wound, but Oswald doesn’t react. He’d accepted the title of freak long ago.
“You’ll talk,” Edward says evenly, standing beside Oswald. He contemplates their next move, idly wondering just how long it would take to strangle someone with their own intestines. Oswald might be better about the name calling now, but it simply can’t go unpunished as far as Edward is concerned. Freak was Oswald’s word, not this boring, ignorant gangster’s.
“Tell you what, I'll sing if you can it and suck my fuckin’ dick instead!” Tommy bites out. Oh crud, Edward thinks. That will prove to be a fatal mistake. He steps aside to watch.
Oswald lunges, screaming and stabbing the absolute moron at least two dozen times in a frenzy before he finally backs off, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. Edward had been hoping to draw that out; it hadn’t taken Oswald very long to kill him at all. He’s less accurate with his left hand, Edward notes, coolly observing the carnage as Oswald staggers away from the corpse. Less accurate, yes, but still deadly. Edward feels giddy at the sight. Oswald losing his temper isn’t a setback, he decides, they’ll just have to be even more careful with the next one.
“Apologies,” Oswald pants, closing the knife and slipping it into his pocket. “I couldn’t let him say that to you... I just can’t.”
“I appreciate it,” Edward says, tugging Oswald closer by his tie and kissing him. “Just be more conservative with the next few, hmm?”
The other rats are far more forthcoming, confirming the extent of the betrayal. The Bat doesn’t appear at all during the proceedings, and they’re able to tie every loose end before dinner. Edward is remarkably efficient. Even better, they have a great deal of fun doing it. Whoever said you can’t mix work and pleasure? They exit the last stop on their itinerary for what will hopefully be their final car ride of the day as they head home.
Consequently, Edward does nothing to stop their kisses from escalating into more. If he’s being honest, he may have intentionally provoked their currently predicament. Their seatbelts have long been off, Edward crammed into the door beneath Oswald, one heel lost to the floor of the car.
“I want you,” Edward pants, head tilted back to bare his neck for Oswald.
“What, now?” Oswald asks, breaking away from his task of covering every inch of Edward’s pale throat with kisses. He can’t deny that the events of the day have definitely gotten his blood up, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to manage what Edward wants in this confined space.
“Oh, most certainly not now. Once we’re home. We’ve had a very successful day, and I’m—I’m really in the mood,” Edward says, laying a hand on Oswald’s cheek. “What do you think?”
Oswald takes note of the fishnets for the thousandth time that day and nods. “I’m in the mood as well.”
“You look lovely,” Oswald says, pressing Edward back into the mattress. It’s definitely an improvement over their—admittedly spacious—backseat. Edward brings a leg up around his hip and tugs Oswald down against him.
“I love watching you work,” Edward says, squeezing Oswald’s biceps. “It’s beautiful.”
“Did he hurt you?” Oswald asks, pulling Edward’s shirt off and laying kisses on one shoulder, then across his chest to the other.
“The Bat? No, not at all,” Edward says, beginning to unbutton Oswald’s shirt. “But those heels were murder on my feet.” Edward had discarded them the second they were through their front door with a look of disgust.
Oswald laughs, watching Edward’s face as he works on the shirt, “They were your idea.”
Edward mumbles something no doubt scathing, then says, “You know, he treated me very compassionately, which I didn't expect from him. Turns out he’s kind to others when he’s not busy being surly and punching us. Offered straight away to carry me.”
“I carry you,” Oswald grumbles. Edward finishes with the shirt, carefully pulling the sleeve over Oswald’s splint.
“Yes, and every time you do I’m too nervous about the prospect of you hurting yourself to properly enjoy it.”
“I take offense at that, my leg isn’t nearly as bad as it once was,” Oswald grouses.
“That’s because I pester you until you take care of yourself. One of us has to worry about your health,” Edward counters. Touché. Oswald kisses him in lieu of attempting a counter-argument.
“Point taken. You’re very considerate of me, love.” Oswald stands at the side of the bed, unzipping his pants and pushing them down his legs along with his underwear. “Would you consider helping me out with this?” Edward licks his lips at the sight of him.
“I’d be happy to,” Edward says, voice low and husky. “Come here.” Oswald crawls up the bed and presses Edward back with more deep kisses, waiting until Edward is arching against him to unzip the skirt and pull it off. Edward is currently wearing the bottom half of a lingerie set, fishnets held up by delicate straps connected to what would otherwise be plain black underwear—if it weren’t for the lace trim. Oswald briefly wonders if he possesses the patience to tie Edward into the matching corset before they truly begin, but then Edward is hooking his fingers into the underwear, and that is not what Oswald wants right now. Oswald takes hold of his hands and presses them back beside his head, kissing him as he links their fingers. He keeps his weight on his left hand, wondering if Edward misses the feeling of being pinned to the mattress as much as he misses the feeling of holding him down.
“I want you to leave those on,” Oswald says.
“And I want you to tie me up,” Edward counters, smirking. “Why don’t we compromise and do both?” Oswald forgets about the corset entirely.
“Hedonist,” he mutters, kissing Edward again and rutting his hips down against him. It’s a fantastic idea—he wishes he’d thought of it first.
“Oh, Oz,” Edward moans, thighs coming up around his hips to guide him into doing it again. Collecting himself, he nibbles on Oswald’s ear. “Don’t pretend you aren’t one as well. Besides, you like me this way.”
“Actually, I love you,” Oswald corrects, kissing Edward’s throat.
“I love you, too,” Edward replies, eyes dark and shining. “Get the cuffs.” Oswald leans over the side of the bed and rummages through their nightstand for a moment. When he has what he needs, he takes Edward’s wrists and secures them to the headboard with a pair of leather cuffs.
“Good?” Oswald asks, moving back to straddle Edward’s chest.
“Never better,” Edward chirps, that wild and desperate look in his eyes already beginning to form. “You needed my help with something…?”
“Open your mouth,” he demands, heat pooling in his gut when Edward instantly obeys. “You want it?” he asks, taking himself in hand.
“Yes,” Edward answers fervently, trying to lean up and taste him despite being firmly pinned to the mattress by the weight of Oswald sitting on his chest.
“Kiss it,” he says, moving forward enough that Edward can reach him while still having to strain for it. Edward kisses the head of his cock, and then down the length of it, chaste presses of his lips to every available part of him. Oswald quickly tires of it and fists his hand in Edward’s hair, pulling him off. “Open.”
Edward sticks his perfectly round, pink tongue out as he does, waiting patiently with his mouth open. Oswald lets the head of his cock sit on his tongue for a moment before pushing inside. Edward can’t take the entirety of him at this angle, but that’s perfect for what he has planned. He pulls out. Predictably, Edward closes his mouth and swallows before obediently opening his mouth again. He wraps a hand around Edward’s throat.
“Keep your mouth open.” It’s a challenge, but he thinks it’s one Edward will enjoy. Edward’s eyes go wide, but he nods eagerly. Oswald removes his hand from Edward’s throat. He slaps Edward’s cheek with his cock a few times to test his resolve before pushing inside. Edward can comfortably take him about halfway at this angle, and before long drool is dripping from the corners of his mouth as Oswald uses him. He pulls out after every thrust, watching Edward’s mouth remain open as he waits for Oswald to fill it. Edward tries to swallow around him every time, but Oswald quickly leaves, teasing. Soon, Edward is no longer patiently waiting for him, chasing his length every time he pulls out. Oswald takes pity on him.
“What do you want?” Oswald asks, as thoroughly bored with teasing Edward in this manner as he imagines Edward is impatient with being teased.
“Fuck my face,” Edward says.
“What was that?” Oswald mocks, lifting a hand to his ear.
“Please fuck my face, Mr. Penguin.” Edward begs so nicely, how can Oswald deny him anything?
“Better,” Oswald tells him, fisting his hand in Edward’s curls and pushing back in between those pretty pink lips. Edward chokes on his cock as he forces it deeper, tears pooling in his eyes despite the fact that they’ve barely started. Oswald doesn’t pull out this time, thrusting into Edward’s mouth with abandon as he gags on his length.
“Good?” he asks, giving Edward a moment to breathe and respond.
“Go harder, I can take it,” Edward says, sitting up as far as he can to take Oswald’s cock back into his mouth. Oswald moans, pressing Edward forward until his nose is touching Oswald’s stomach.
“Ed... you’re incredible,” he pants, holding Edward there a moment longer, feeling him gag around his cock before Oswald lets go of his hair. Edward pulls off, red in the face and gasping for air. Oswald pushes him back until Edward’s head is flat against the mattress. He shuffles forward on his knees and forces himself into Edward’s throat again as he kicks pointlessly underneath him, helpless to push him off. Edward’s hands strain at the cuffs while he chokes on Oswald’s cock, gasping violently for air when he finally pulls out.
“Still good?” Oswald asks, a little concerned that Edward couldn’t quite stop himself from fighting back.
“Keep doing that,” Edward says, his voice raspy. “Please, please keep doing that, sir.”
Oswald continues this treatment until Edward’s face is beet red, chest blushing as well. The tear tracks on his face mix with his saliva and sweat until Oswald can’t even tell which is which any longer. He holds Edward down underneath him, forcing him to swallow around his cock and only letting him up to breathe at his discretion. He pulls out of Edward’s hot mouth, noting how Edward still obediently keeps it open for him, his sweat-slick chest heaving. Oswald runs a hand through Edward’s hair, pushing his wet curls off his forehead. His glasses are fogged, but Edward still looks up at him through them.
“Good boy,” he says. “You can close your mouth.” Edward immediately does so, swallowing hard. Oswald sits back on Edward’s stomach. His knee is not particularly happy with the events thus far, but Edward deserves a reward. He absently runs a hand down Edward’s chest, tweaking a nipple. Edward jolts, gasping under him.
“Do you think you deserve a reward?” Oswald asks, flicking Edward’s other nipple with a blunt nail.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” Edward says, voice sounding absolutely wrecked as he pulls at the cuffs meaningfully. “I’m at your mercy.” Heat flares in Oswald’s gut; Edward did always know exactly what to say.
“Good answer,” Oswald says, running his hands down Edward’s thighs and snapping the bands at the top of the fishnets. “Would you like for me to eat you out?”
“Yes!” Edward shouts, snapping his mouth shut afterwards. Oswald smiles as he watches Edward attempt to rephrase his enthusiastic answer into something less telling, clearly flustered. “I mean—yes, yes please.” Oswald moves away, fishing the lube out of the drawer and then laying on the bed beside Edward. Oswald makes sure he’s situated comfortably before gesturing at him.
“Come on then, ride my face.” Edward scrambles to get on top of him without the use of his hands, then oh-so gingerly lowers himself to sit on Oswald’s face. Oswald watches as he takes a deep breath, almost as if to ground himself, before resting more of his weight on Oswald. He’s too careful, Oswald thinks. Edward doesn’t weigh much and Oswald would certainly let him know if he was hurting him. Under normal circumstances he’d remind Edward of these facts, but if he does a good enough job pleasuring him then Edward will naturally relax more into the position. He spreads Edward’s cheeks and gets started, pulling his panties aside.
Oswald’s technique is good, or maybe it’s just good for Edward. Either way, everything he does to Edward’s ass is tailored to please him and only him. A major benefit of being Oswald’s only sexual partner. Oswald is well aware of exactly what buttons to push to make him come undone, and the best ways to push them. At this stage in the game, he can focus on what his ministrations are doing to Edward more than he needs to focus on executing them properly.
Edward’s grip on the headboard is white-knuckled. He’s breathing heavily, rocking down against Oswald’s tongue harder with every pass as he relaxes into the sensation. Oswald presses deeper and feels the full-body shudder that goes through him, watches as it rocks his slight frame. Before long Edward’s thighs are trembling around him as he moans so sweetly. Oswald slicks two fingers with lube and slips them into Edward’s already sloppy hole.
“Oh,” Edward gasps, sinking down onto them. Oswald continues teasing Edward’s rim with his tongue as he works his fingers in and out of him, scissoring them and spreading Edward apart. He crooks them and torments Edward’s sweet spot for a while before adding a third finger and giving him the same treatment. Edward gives way to them easily, pushing back against the intrusion with abandon and moaning his name. Oswald works in a fourth and watches as Edward stills, calming his breathing and adjusting. He shifts his grip on the headboard, and Oswald waits until Edward is moving again, clenching around him. Edward is more careful now as he works himself back onto Oswald’s fingers, eyes screwed shut in concentration.
“Look at me,” Oswald says. Edward’s eyes snap open at the command, locking with Oswald’s. They look black behind his smudged lenses, every trace of that soft brown color gone as his pupils dilate to the extreme from arousal.
“You’re so handsome,” Edward says, the words spilling out of his mouth recklessly, like he hadn’t intended to give voice to them. He ducks his head, breaking away from Oswald’s stare. His face was already red, so Oswald can’t tell if he’s blushing or not, but his hunched shoulders scream embarrassment as he tries to make himself smaller. Funny that he’s only being shy now, seeing as he’s currently hovering over Oswald with four fingers up his ass. Oswald rolls his eyes and slides up so that he’s sitting with Edward straddling his lap, catching Edward’s lips with his own.
“Thank you,” Oswald says. He truly does appreciate the compliment. Edward nods and buries his face in the crook of Oswald’s neck, hiding his expression. Oswald hates it when he does that. “Do you want to ride me?”
“You know I do,” Edward says, sounding exasperated. Oswald removes his fingers and swats at his ass. “Ow—fine. Yes, Ozzie, please.”
“Look at me,” Oswald tells him again. Edward hesitates, pulling back and cautiously meeting Oswald’s gaze again. There are fresh tear tracks on his face—so that’s why he was being shy all of a sudden.
“Is something wrong?” Oswald asks. It’s not the first time Edward has done this, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If he’s hurting in any way, Oswald wants to know.
“I’m just so lucky to have you,” Edward says, mouth pressing into a firm line the way it does when he’s trying to keep himself from emoting. Oswald locks their lips together again, breaking that tension and kissing him deeply.
“Likewise,” Oswald says, “I love you, you gorgeous, brilliant man.” Edward laughs and smiles, more tears spilling over. He closes his eyes and then pushes their mouths together, inching forward until he’d pressed against Oswald as tightly as he possibly can be without the use of his hands. Oswald works on unclipping the panties from the fishnets, pulling them down Edward’s pale thighs when he’s through. Edward shuffles on his knees to allow Oswald to remove them entirely, kissing him fervently all the while. Taking hold of himself, Oswald presses the hand of his injured arm to the small of Edward’s back.
“Look at me?” he requests softly, breaking the passionate kiss. Edward complies, watching him intensely as Oswald presses the head of his cock up against him. Edward sinks down in one long, slow slide until he’s straddling Oswald’s lap, clenching around him as he tries to relax again.
Everything after that is tight heat and the black of his eyes as Edward starts to move, body rolling against Oswald’s as he rocks on his cock. Oswald rests his hands on Edward’s thighs, only dimly aware of the texture of the fishnet stockings beneath his palms as he raptly watches Edward’s every expression, hears his every gasp and moan. His attention never wavers. Oswald isn’t sure he could tear his gaze away if he tried, too enraptured by the look on Edward’s face as he bounces in Oswald’s lap, eagerly being taken. Before long Edward’s gasps become cries, and his cries become a mantra of Oswald’s name.
“Oswald, Oswald, please, please touch me,” Edward begs, desperately fucking himself on Oswald’s cock though it’s not quite enough. He’s at Oswald’s complete mercy like this: hands cuffed, his neglected cock receiving only a small amount of friction as it jumps between their stomachs.
“Shhh… I’ve got you,” Oswald assures him, wrapping a hand around him. It only takes a few gentle pulls before Edward is wailing loudly, doing his best to keep looking at Oswald like he’d asked him to. His hips push frantically into Oswald’s hand as he comes, convulsing around Oswald’s cock so tightly that Oswald has to bite his lip painfully hard to hold himself back, the nails of one hand digging into Edward’s thigh and tearing his fishnets in their grip. Edward pants afterwards, still holding Oswald’s gaze and rocking gently on top of him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. After a moment, he looks puzzled.
“Did—did you come?” Oswald smirks and flips them. Edward bounces as they hit the mattress, Oswald still buried deep inside of him and still very, very hard. He immediately picks up where they left off, pounding Edward into the mattress. This time, Edward whines from the overstimulation, eyes screwed shut and mouth twisting.
“Oh dear,” Edward gasps, pulling his elbows together to cover his reddened face. “Please, please come inside me—oh, oh, oh.” Oswald has been on the brink since he felt Edward climax around his cock, but he truly feels himself tipping over the edge now, pulling out and holding the base of his cock. Edward sighs in relief, despite missing the fullness of having Oswald inside him. He then moves his elbows away from his face to look at Oswald, his expression one of confusion once again.
“I’m going to come on your face,” Oswald answers, though Edward had never asked anything. Then again, Oswald isn’t asking either. “Look at me,” he demands for the last time, shuffling up the bed, cock in hand. Edward meets his stare evenly and opens his mouth. With a few short strokes Oswald is coming hard, painting Edward’s glasses with his release. Edward does manage to catch some in his mouth, but his face quickly becomes a mess. Oswald rests a hand on the headboard, working himself until the last of it is dripping down Edward’s throat and onto his chest. He removes Edward’s glasses, pressing the lenses against his lips.
“Lick them clean.” Edward’s tongue darts out, sweeping over them in broad strokes that eventually give way to little kitten licks. Oswald watches the bright pink flashes of it with rapt attention, putting the glasses away on the nightstand once he’s satisfied and instead sucking Edward’s tongue into his own mouth as he bends and kisses him. When he’s through ravishing Edward’s mouth and licking the traces of his release from within it, he undoes the cuffs. Edward’s hands immediately dart out to wrap around his shoulders, pulling Oswald down into another deep kiss. Oswald rolls, holding Edward around the waist and pulling him half on top of himself, letting him take the lead. Eventually Edward unlocks his hands from behind Oswald’s neck, running his thumbs over his cheekbones and brows and then cupping him behind the ears with both hands. Edward breaks from his lips and places a kiss to the tip of Oswald’s nose, plus one kiss to both cheeks.
“Thank you,” he says. Oswald will never tire of the many ways Edward has of thanking him. However, this particular adventure was only made possible by the man he loves.
“No, thank you,” Oswald emphasizes. Edward rolls his eyes.
“How’s the arm?” he asks, running his fingers down the splint.
“Fine,” Oswald says, though the effort of manhandling Edward around their bed had put some strain on it.
“And the ribs?” he prods.
“Hardly noticed them.” They’re also sore, but he’ll live.
“Excellent,” Edward says, cuddling up to Oswald’s good side. There’s still come on his face, throat, and chest. Oswald wipes it off with a corner of the bedsheet and calls it a night. When he’s finished, Edward sighs and settles his head on Oswald’s chest, his ear hovering an inch from Oswald’s heart. Oswald strokes his back in circles and hums, enjoying the afterglow.
“You were so sexy today,” Edward mumbles, playing his fingers over Oswald’s chest. Oswald laughs.
“Says the man wearing fishnets.” Edward sits up at that, gesturing down his toward his legs.
“You don’t think they’re ridiculous?” he asks shyly.
“No, of course not. Why would you think that?” Oswald says, sitting up against the headboard and pulling Edward into his lap so those gorgeous, fishnet-clad thighs are straddling him again.
“You said that earlier,” Edward accuses, pointing a finger and jamming it painfully into Oswald’s sternum.
“I did not!” To be fair, he can’t recall when he might have said something like that earlier; it had been a long day. Edward, however, forgets nothing. It’s both a blessing and a curse. “I must have meant the situation, not you. Ed, I would never mean you.” Edward looks pensive for a moment, then nods.
“That makes sense, I might have misunderstood,” he decides, looking sheepish. Oswald is happy to have that clarified, but that’s not enough. It worries him that a statement which must have been innocuous on the surface would make Edward feel insecure about his looks.
“You look breathtaking in them. I was ready to start fending off suitors with my umbrella all day. I apologize for whatever it is I said that made you think I meant something contrary to that,” Oswald says, letting Edward know without a doubt what he really thinks of today’s attire (seeing as how his behavior in bed wasn’t telling enough for him). Edward gives him a lazy smile and a slower kiss, and Oswald takes the opportunity to run his hands over Edward’s thighs again.
“How do you feel about a round two?” Edward whispers seductively, pressing his cock into Oswald’s stomach. He’s half hard already. Oswald rolls his hips up into Edward, nearly managing to press back inside without the use of his hands. Edward gasps and rocks back, eyes going wide with surprise.
“Try to keep up,” Oswald smirks, fingers digging into Edward’s hips again.
“You tore them, you know,” Edward complains, gesturing at the defect in the fishnets. He pouts adorably, and Oswald quickly seizes that pouty bottom lip in a kiss.
“I’ll tear them off you,” Oswald growls, flipping them to make good on his promise.