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Oswald woke up gradually, not with a start or a jump, but with a quiet sigh as he leaned toward the warm hand that was stroking his hair.
Once he actually opened his eyes, he was met with a shock.
He was in Ed Nygma’s cramped apartment, dressed in borrowed pyjamas and still wrapped with bandages. And Nygma, the gawky creature that he was, was perched at the edge of the mattress as if it were a cliff-face, petting Oswald’s hair.
Oswald was suddenly breathless with alarm. Despite Ed’s violent history, he clearly wasn’t a real threat to Oswald, but that didn’t make him any less unsettling as a person.
“My god,” Oswald muttered.
Ed did not stop stroking his hair. “Good morning.”
”You want to tell me why your hand is in my hair?”
“You were tossing in your sleep when I came to check on you,” Ed explained, smoothing his palm over the slight mussing he’d caused. “You woke up for a moment. You were upset.”
“And?” Oswald demanded.
“You said your mother used to stroke your hair when you couldn’t sleep. You asked me to do it.”
Embarrassment flushed through Oswald, along with guilt that he had asked a near-stranger to do something he’d previously only shared with his mother. “Well, clearly I don’t remember that,” he said, hiding the waver in his voice, “So perhaps you ought to stop.”
Ed removed his hand. He didn’t look abashed or hurt. In fact, he didn’t look much of anything, except maybe curious– annoyingly curious, as if maybe he was waiting for Oswald to do something incredible. “Did you dream about her again? Your mother?”
“I did,” Oswald replied, not in the mood to dance around Ed’s questions.
“Do you want me to sing her song for you?”
A pang hit Oswald in the chest. The remnants of his dream were stuck in his head and he wasn’t inclined to dwell on them. “I don’t want to think about her,” he said, “Not right now.”
“How about a distraction then?”
Oswald sighed and stretched in bed, although it didn’t feel as satisfying as he would’ve hoped. “Sure,” he muttered. “Have you got any more Mr Leonards?”
“No,” Ed said with genuine regret. He pursed his lips. “I could make you French toast?”
The idea of food made Oswald’s stomach turn. “God, no.”
“Television?”
“No.”
“Truth or dare?”
“No.”
“I’m all out,” Ed said. “Let me think.”
As Ed mused, Oswald listened the sounds of the city outside the cheap single-glazed windows of the apartment. Faint chatter and shrieks, tires on wet asphalt, multiple distant sirens overlapping... Gotham.
“Would you like me to kiss you?” Ed asked.
Oswald hauled himself up on his elbows, shoulder twinging. “Excuse me?”
“I haven’t been kissed many times, but in my experience, it’s quite the mood lifter.”
Oswald stared up at Ed.
“It releases oxytocin and regulates the heartbeat. Plus the saliva exchange stimulates the immune system to produce antibodies, so in theory, it might even help protect against infection. You didn’t take very good care of your injury in the woods.”
“What,” Oswald said flatly.
“It’s called cross-immunotherapy,” Ed carried on. “The saliva thing.”
“Do you realise what a horrible sales pitch this is?”
Ed looked both surprised and disappointed by this revelation. “No, I didn’t realise that.”
Oswald lolled his head to the side. “Thank you for the offer, friend,” he said, “But I’ll give the kissing a miss.”
Without getting up, Ed leaned over to the cabinet, his body looking longer and taller than it had any right to. “What about Connect Four?” he suggested. “I think I’ve got a set in here somewhere.”
“Sure, fine,” Oswald said, too tired to bicker.
Ed rummaged through the cupboard. “Do you not like kissing?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Well, I don’t do much of it.”
“Really? I was under the impression that you were quite the social fellow.”
“Social, perhaps. Romantic, perhaps not.”
Ed slid the game out from a stack of clutter.
“Besides,” Oswald muttered, sitting up fully, “If I wanted a distraction like that, I hardly think I’d bother with something as bland as kissing. I imagine I’d prefer the full deal.”
“Sex?” Ed asked, brandishing the Connect Four.
“Sex,” Oswald said distantly, feeling an odd prickle go down his spine as he said the word out loud. It was not something he had any experience with. And he’d never been tempted before. But Ed had opened a door in his mind, and suddenly at this inconvenient moment, he had the urge to find out how effective a distraction it might be from his car-crash of a life.
Daydreaming about sex, he scolded himself, wanting to laugh. Maybe your inhibitions are lowered. Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe Ed drugged you again.
“Do you want to be red or blue?” Ed asked, the game set balanced on his lap.
Oswald ran his tongue over his lower lip and plainly said, “Would you sleep with me?”
Ed looked ruffled. “Right now?”
“Just theoretically. Am I somebody that you would sleep with?”
Ed pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger, and nervously said, “Yes.” But before Oswald could respond, he insisted, “I haven’t liked anybody like you before. You know, ah–” He gestured at Oswald, and Oswald wondered which of his traits Ed was making reference to. (Gothic. Headstrong. Murderer. Male.) “I have a bit of a pattern with people I like, you see, and you don’t fit into it. But if we’re talking about you specifically, as an isolated case, then–”
“Ed,” Oswald said.
“Yes?”
“Please stop.”
“Oh,” Ed said. “Will do.”
“I’m not propositioning you,” Oswald reassured.
He looked at Ed, who was still perched at the edge of the bed dressed in his soft green sweater, a lock of hair curling loose over his forehead, his ever-bright eyes fixed right on Oswald.
Oswald swallowed, and chose to be bold. “Actually. Yes, I am.”
Ed set the box down on the floor. “Would there be kissing involved?”
“Why?”
“I think I’d like to kiss you,” Ed said carefully, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of himself and this was a puzzle he was still figuring out.
“Well, I think I’d like you to get me off,” Oswald said.
Whilst he was used to hearing confidence in his voice, he’d never heard himself sound self-assured about anything vulgar before. He’d hardly spoken about anything of the sort, even in passing, except for when he reassured his mother that there was no minx or Jezebel.
The curious light in Ed’s expression got curiouser, and without a word he took his shoes off and drew his legs up onto the bed.
“Yes,” he said simply, answering the question that Oswald hadn’t asked.
Oswald tried not to shiver. Sex. All right.
Ed took off his sweater– which was a shame, because it looked very soft and Oswald had wanted to touch it– then folded it up and set it neatly at the foot of the bed. Were they going to have to fold up Oswald’s borrowed pyjamas when those came off, too?
Soon, Ed was climbing cautiously on top of him, pushing him back against the mattress until he was laid flat again.
“Ideally, you’ll let me know if I hurt you,” Ed said.
The combination of being weighed down beneath Ed’s body and the notion of being harmed had Oswald’s hackles raising. “Why would you hurt me?”
“Your injury,” Ed nodded at Oswald’s bandages. “And your leg.”
Sensible reasoning. Oswald scorned his own nerves. This was Ed. He may have been able to fumble his way through a couple rookie kills– ‘three, in total’, he had proudly disclosed– but he’d be delusional to think he had any real chance of hurting Oswald.
“Are you okay?” Ed asked.
Oswald swallowed back his amusement. “I’m fine, thank you.”
A smile split Ed’s face, too quick and too toothy, glittering with admiration. “Excellent. Kissing, then?”
For a moment Oswald just looked at Ed. He was freshly shaven, still wearing his glasses, and his cheeks were faintly pink. He smelled good from close up. “Kissing,” Oswald agreed. “A limited amount.”
Ed paused and Oswald could see the cogs turning delicately in his mind as he figured out the best way to go about things.
It wasn’t something that Oswald had the patience for, so he initiated instead, craning up until their lips met. Somehow Ed managed to be startled; his first response was more of a bump against Oswald’s mouth than a coordinated kiss, but his lips were warm and soft and soon he was sinking into the kiss with the same delighted intrigue he’d shown while he watched Oswald mutilate Mr Leonard. He’d mentioned being kissed before, but clearly that wasn’t going to stop him from treating this like a fascinating new experience.
Oswald chose not to mention that this was a learning experience for him too– not because he wanted to collect data from repeated trials as he assumed Ed did, but because he’d only been kissed once before, by a curly-haired waiter at Fish’s club whom he’d gotten tipsy with after hours. For a first kiss, it had lasted an extraordinarily long time, but Oswald had been hazy from the Merlot and distracted by the way the man tasted like cocktail cherries.
But Oswald didn’t feel hazy right now. And Ed didn’t taste much like cherries.
He tasted of mouthwash and chapstick, and Oswald was quite clear-headed.
With practicality in mind, he paused to take Ed’s glasses off then looped an arm over the man’s shoulder to bring him closer. He made a pleased sound and cautiously began to lick into Oswald’s mouth. Oswald tried not to reel from the feeling of their tongues sliding together, somehow hotter and wetter than he’d expected, and slower too. Ed wasn’t rushing. He seemed to be cataloguing, because each tiny movement he made felt testing. Still, it was easy for Oswald to get swept up, his cheeks heating and his racing thoughts quieting down as the kiss deepened. It was almost a full five minutes before he noticed Ed’s erection against his hip, and another few seconds before he processed his own.
No reason to dawdle, he thought. Experimentally, he rocked up against Ed, frictive through his pyjamas. Ed returned the favour as if on automatic, but still seemed absorbed in the kiss.
Oswald, meanwhile, wasn’t paying much attention to their mouths anymore. He was focused on the twin sensations of pleasure and discomfort as he arched up against Ed and accidentally tugged at his stitches in the process, a natural consequence of tensing his muscles.
With some subtle tweaking, he found a better setup: grasping Ed’s hip to pull him down instead of having to move up towards him. The urgency was building now, heat and impatience prickling under Oswald’s skin, and Ed was murmuring something against his mouth but neither of them were putting much effort into breaking apart.
“Logistics,” Ed was saying.
“What?”
Still breathless and braced above Oswald, Ed repeated, “Logistics. Configuration. How are we doing this?”
“That’s a broad question.”
“Do you–” Ed began, losing confidence, “Do you want me– in you?”
Oswald let out a burst of laughter and said, “You’re not putting anything in me.”
“Other way around, then?”
“Why does anything have to go inside anywhere?”
Ed’s face was a mix of nervous and indignant and it was entertaining to look at, especially from close up. “That’s how I’ve had sex before, with women, and that’s how I’ve liked it.”
“So,” Oswald began, sliding his hands up to Ed’s waist, “All you’ve gleaned from sex is that you want penetration to be a part of it?”
“No,” Ed defended. “I don’t know.”
Oswald gave him a quick kiss to calm him.
“What do you like, then?” Ed asked as they broke apart.
Oswald hesitated and the silence carried on long enough to be suspicious. He had nothing to say.
He gripped at Ed’s middle and rolled them over so they were both on their sides, facing one another. It pulled at his stitches again, and he silently gritted his teeth until the two of them were settled and he felt some relief from the stinging pain.
Ed didn’t notice Oswald’s discomfort, seeming delighted at the unexpected change in position. “Okay,” he said slowly, “What are we doing?”
“Get undressed.”
Ed did as he was told, shedding layers until Oswald struggled not to stare at what had been revealed: the pale pink of Ed’s bare flesh, the half-awkward half-graceful lines of his body, the faint insinuation of muscle and bone beneath his skin. And then Ed was helping Oswald take off his pyjamas too, hands delicate as he dodged his bandages.
It didn’t feel monumental to be nude in front of Ed. Oswald had never felt much of anything about his own body, and Ed had already seen him naked anyway.
And Ed didn’t leer. He folded up their clothes as if on automatic, then looked at Oswald expectantly, waiting to be guided like he was the less experienced of the two of them.
It was pure luck that Oswald had overheard a lot about sex at Fish’s club, and he had some semi-fledged plans. He might’ve been abashed about having to think about this if he were with anyone else, but Ed seemed to have made a home in awkwardness to the point where embarrassment didn’t exist to him, and that boded well for Oswald.
“You trust me, don’t you?” Oswald asked, knowing that the answer was yes. “Will you do what I ask you to?”
“Within reason,” Ed said, eyes glinting like the whetted edge of a knife. And in that moment, Oswald didn’t see the docile Ed who had obeyed everything he’d said so far. Instead, he saw a flicker of the man who had presented him with a switchblade and condemned Mr Leonard to being butchered, the man who had recently turned himself into a successful (if novice) triple-killer, the man who was finally getting a taste of his own savagery for the first time in his life... and that was worlds more attractive than trust alone.
He thought of what Ed had said about liking penetration, and fought past a suffocating blush to declare, “I want your cock between my thighs.”
A frown marred Ed’s face. “Not inside–?”
“No,” Oswald said, patting his arm. “Let’s just put that trust into action and try it, shall we?”
After a moment of suspicion, Ed agreed with a grin.
Oswald nodded. “So, have you got– I don’t know, some oil or something?”
“Ah! Hang on.” Ed leaned over to the table and plucked a small bottle from his medical tin. “Lubricant.”
“Why do you keep that in your first aid box?”
“It has surgical uses,” Ed said as he laid down again, drawing attention to the weird grace of his body as he moved. “Stops the patient experiencing excessive internal tearing and pain when tools are inserted. I used it on your wound.”
Oswald glanced uneasily down at his own bandages, then at the bottle in Ed’s hand. “That’s extraordinarily off-putting,” he said, but he decided that he was not going to be affected by this. “Give it here.”
Ed passed the lube over, and Oswald tipped some into his hand and reached to smear it between his thighs. It felt odd to be so slippery there, and apprehension crept over him as he processed what he was doing.
Ignoring his racing heart, he glanced at Ed’s erection; it was pink and hard against his belly, and although it wasn’t dissimilar to Oswald’s own, it still looked different enough that he found it jarring. He bit the bullet and reached to take Ed in his still-lubricated hand, stroking up and down the length of him tentatively. Ed shut his eyes.
He fit well enough in Oswald’s hand, and although the angle wasn’t perfect he already seemed to be enjoying it a lot after only a few pulls. Oswald gave a tighter stroke, slowing the drag of it and twisting his wrist slightly, and a quiet hiss escaped Ed’s mouth.
Oswald distantly remembered that this whole exercise was meant to be for him, but for some reason the idea of his own pleasure felt irrelevant. Not nonexistent, but unappealing to pursue, be it now or later. In a way, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be part of things at all except for the purpose of making Ed come. It was hard to get a clear view of his own feelings, he mused as his fist moved over Ed’s cock, working up a rhythm. The bottom line was that he was happier paying attention to Ed.
But Ed interrupted his efforts after only a minute, blinking his eyes open and stuttering, “I should touch you. Do you want me to touch you?” He looked like he’d only just remembered that Oswald’s dick existed and was determined to make up for the neglect.
Oswald stopped his strokes. He had to admit that he was aroused, urgently so, but it felt faraway and difficult to connect with, as if trapped behind glass. “In a minute, maybe,” he said.
“Would you let me kiss you again?” Ed asked.
After a moment of hesitation, Oswald leaned in to catch Ed’s lips with his own. He hadn’t planned for kissing to be a major part of this but he was developing a soft spot for it. He drew Ed closer so that their bodies pressed together, his erection accidentally nudging Ed’s hip in the process.
The feeling of skin on skin startled Oswald and he jerked his head back out of reflex. As if to reassure him, Ed kissed his cheek, but Oswald didn’t want to encourage any condescension and turned his head to bring their mouths together instead. He let Ed suck his lower lip into his mouth, the kiss turning easy and wet. With their bodies so close, he cast aside his hesitation and deliberately rubbed up against Ed. It was a subtle, blind movement, and that made it easier to forget its significance. Ed’s own cock was wedged between them too, thick and heavy and leaving their bellies smudged with lube, and Oswald made use of the slick spots for better friction. He tried to arch his back without disturbing his stitches and realised that he could carry on like this, if he wanted, maybe till he came– but he’d made a commitment, and wanted to finish what he’d started after making such a mess between his thighs.
He ran a hand from Ed’s ribcage to his hip, hoping to get his attention, but the man didn’t open his eyes.
“Remember what I said before?” Oswald prompted.
“I remember,” Ed rasped, blinking his eyes open. He started to reach for himself but Oswald beat him to it, guiding Ed’s cock to his thighs and encouraging him to push into the slick heat there, adjusting their positions until they were settled with barely an inch of space left between them. Oswald squeezed his thighs together to give some pressure around Ed’s cock and–
Ed made a faint strangled sound, breathy and satisfying to Oswald’s ears.
“Is this close enough to what you wanted?” Oswald teased.
Ed didn’t reply, only tried to wriggle his hips in the tiniest of movements, either instinctively or because he wasn’t sure what he might be allowed to do.
“Move,” Oswald murmured into his ear.
Ed didn’t waste time. He shifted again, testing the sensation, before pushing decisively between Oswald’s thighs and starting up a rhythm, some vague parallel of penetrative sex. His stiff cock was pressed snugly at the top of where Oswald’s legs parted, brushing his balls, and the solid heat of it made Oswald squirm impatiently in response, seeking his own stimulation.
Ed noticed, despite how distracted he seemed to be by the wet enfold of Oswald’s thighs. He inched his hand towards Oswald’s erection and said, “Will you let me–”
“Yes,” Oswald said with a confidence that he did not feel. He nuzzled against any part of Ed he could find– his neck, his shoulder, anywhere he could hide his face as Ed crammed a hand between their bodies and finally started to stroke him.
The angle was even more strained than when he had first touched Ed, and it was only a few unskilled tugs with Ed’s dry hand, but it still felt like too much too fast. Oswald clutched at Ed’s waist to brace himself against the feeling, realising that a lifetime without intimate touch had left him ridiculously sensitive, and that this would probably make him come in about twenty seconds if he let it happen. Ed worked the base of his shaft, quickening, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, the impending stirrings of orgasm already licking at him. He tried to keep himself together but he felt helpless, and Ed’s hand felt so good, and it had only been seconds–
“Stop,” he gasped, “Not yet, stop it.”
Ed let go immediately, and moved back, trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong.
“I’m okay,” Oswald said, trying to loosen his desperate grip on Ed’s waist. “Don’t touch me yet, on second thoughts.”
“Why not?” Ed asked. “Problem?”
“‘Problem’?” Oswald echoed breathily. “Yes. It’ll be over if you do that to me again.” Aiming to conceal his embarrassment at his own lack of self control, he made an attempt at playfulness and squeezed his thighs around Ed’s cock, which was still partially tucked between his legs. “So wait, if you can contain yourself.”
Ed made a quiet sound under his breath. “What do you want me to do then?”
Oswald edged his hips closer to give Ed some friction, and watched Ed furrow his brow, already distracted by his own arousal. This was an unusual brand of power to hold over another person, being able to produce such strong responses with such ease.
Oswald decided to be bold, because awkwardness didn’t exist here with Ed, and because Ed was so very fun to play with.
“For lack of a better phrase,” Oswald said, sliding his hand down Ed’s hip to cup at his buttock, “I want you to fuck my thighs.”
“Okay–” Ed rasped, but his voice was so hoarse that it hardly made a sound. He swallowed and tried again. “Okay.”
After adding some extra lube, Ed tentatively began to push in and out of the slippery warmth of Oswald’s thighs, gaining confidence when Oswald pulled him closer with one hand still cupping at his ass.
The slide of his dick between Oswald’s legs was a satisfying tease, close and intimate without touching Oswald’s cock or being inside him. As Ed’s pleasure became more obvious, Oswald decided to be incautious once more, and let himself rub up against Ed’s belly as Ed moved with him. He was sore under his bandages and he had some minor concerns about making a mess of the dressing, but he let go of all of that, focusing on the heated and sticky pleasure of the moment instead.
It still seemed like more of a sensory experience to Oswald than a sexual one. He felt confusingly detached from his own arousal, like his body and his brain weren’t communicating, but he was still enjoying everything he felt, regardless of how far removed the experience was from what he’d expected. It wasn’t like a TV lovescene or a porn clip, and it certainly wasn’t anything like how the brutes at Fish’s club had described their sexual exploits.
It was near-silent, and shaky, and subdued. It was the feeling of Ed’s chest rising and falling where it was pressed against Oswald’s own, and the soft puffs of his breath against Oswald’s cheek. It was shared body heat and a reduction in sensation where Oswald’s chest was tightly bandaged up to protect the wound below his clavicle. It was the press of Ed’s stomach against his cock, and the weight of Ed’s own length between his thighs, the friction unobtrusive even as they picked up the pace.
Oswald’s stitches twinged again, and in his distracted state he forgot to stifle his noise of pain. Ed noticed and faltered, but Oswald clutched him tighter.
“I’m fine,” Oswald said, gritting his teeth past the degradation of having to reassure Ed that he was okay for the second time. “Please don’t stop, I’m really–”
“I know,” Ed said, and the huskiness of his voice made Oswald shiver.
He urged Ed closer by the hip, seeking purchase but not wanting to over-strain his own muscles. He could already feel his whole body getting tauter from head to toe, and his own breaths felt like more like an uneven flutter than a real rhythm. He wanted Ed’s hand around his cock again, but he wasn’t sure if it was still too soon to come, or how much of a delay there might be until Ed would catch up.
“Ed, how much longer–”
“However long you want,” Ed said, sounding more factual than soothing, “You don’t have to hurry up or slow down.”
Oswald tried not to take offence at being treated like he was clueless. “No, how much longer for you?” he pressed, searching for the right words. “How much longer till you come?”
Ed didn’t reply immediately, only giving a strained couple of thrusts, the only sound in the room being his laboured breaths until he said, “I don’t know.”
Oswald tutted and muttered ‘never mind’, then leaned to catch Ed’s mouth with his own. It was imprecise and their breaths were clashing, both of them panting at different speeds, and after a few seconds they made the mutual decision to give up.
Oswald could feel Ed’s precome leaking over the delicate skin of his inner thighs, and he found himself compelled to reach behind himself, blindly touching the place where Ed’s dick was peeping out. Ed gasped, startled at the sensitive touch, and his cock drew away for briefest flash before it reappeared in another thrust. Oswald made an effort to press his thighs tighter together around the thick impression of Ed’s length, and he felt Ed’s breathing falter and his movements become stilted, then there was a sudden splash of heat over Oswald’s fingers and the backs of his thighs. For about half a second, he was bewildered, before he processed that Ed was whimpering in relief and it sank in that Ed had come first.
Fascinated, he touched the wet mess on his own skin as Ed gave a few last thrusts, come dripping onto the already sweat-dampened sheets beneath them. Oswald quite liked the gentle lull of the moment as Ed’s movements slowed, but he was concerned that he’d lose his confidence if they fell into stillness, so he sought out another kiss from Ed.
“Can you touch me now?” he said against the spit-wet warmth of Ed’s lips. “With your hand?”
Ed obliged. It was clumsy at first, owing to his post-orgasm tiredness, but just like before, the feeling of his hand was plenty, and this time Oswald let the sensation overtake him instead of restraining himself.
He was acutely aware of what he must look like right now, face flushing red and scrunched up, but he assured himself that he was too close to Ed to be seen properly, not to mention that Ed wasn’t wearing his glasses.
Ed’s strokes were quick now, tighter, and no longer clumsy, and Oswald’s voice was cracking around a whine. As his muscles tensed up and his stomach coiled, his wound twinged, but he ignored the discomfort, knowing that Ed would gladly sneak him more painkillers if he asked.
They kept up this cresting flow for about a minute total, Ed’s arm working frantically between them, before Oswald jerked and came in his hand with a choked-off moan, eyes shut tight and a shudder wracking through him. For a brief interval, time blurred, and his only focus was what he was feeling: the sensation of Ed’s hand giving a couple more gentle strokes, smooth from the natural lubrication of come but sensitive after his climax; the sound of his own shaky breaths levelling out; the scent of his and Ed’s sweat mixing; the lingering taste of Ed’s lips on his own. There were no sights– his eyes stayed shut and he decided he liked it that way, blocked off from unnecessary stimuli.
He felt his body slump into exhaustion, glowing but limp, and noticed the pressure on his stitches easing as the tension left his body.
When he blinked his eyes open, Ed was watching him again, just like when he’d first woken up.
“Was that better than French toast?” Ed asked.
For a moment, Oswald thought he’d had a stroke.
“That was my first suggestion, earlier,” Ed said, sounding less confident, “For a distraction.”
On any other day, Oswald would’ve mocked him, but he found his rough edges softened. He felt grateful to Ed for making him feel better, even in the sticky aftermath where things were starting to get uncomfortable.
A tiny part of Oswald wanted to confess that Ed had just been part of a major event in his life, but mentioning virginity loss would surely cause a strong reaction and Oswald didn’t want to deal with that... not to mention that virginity was a pointless construct with no real markers, and considering the way his interests usually leaned, ‘the first time I had sex’ might end up being as insignificant as ‘the first time I had sushi’. (Although to be fair, he had enjoyed the sex more than the sushi.)
“It was fine,” he said, aiming for playful, but his voice came out croaky and it made his tone hard to read. “It was very good,” he admitted, feeling like he was sharing a secret as he spoke.
Ed smiled and squirmed with what Oswald could only describe as glee. “I liked the, um,” Ed began, then hesitated. “Logistics,” he finished, echoing his earlier words. “Your thighs. Nice. It felt nice.”
The terminally polite creature inside Oswald nearly said ‘you’re welcome’ before he stopped himself, realising how stupid it would sound. He was struck by how inept the two of them were at talking about this.
“I know this was mostly for you, but thank you,” Ed said, successfully making everything even weirder.
Oswald patted Ed’s hip by way of reply, suppressing the urge to laugh because he didn’t want to put any more stress on his injury. Instead, he laid there looking at Ed instead, finding the man’s face a lot more interesting now that everything was enhanced with the comfortable haze of endorphins. Ed’s blush was fading, but there was still a faint gleam of sweat on his skin and his pupils were blown.
It felt like a spell for a brief period. The afterglow was just as novel as the sex had been, and Oswald appreciated the satiny tint that the world was currently overlaid with, and the way his body felt heavy enough to sink into the mattress.
But then, of course, Ed had to disrupt the mood after barely two minutes by checking Oswald’s bandages, probing at them.
“You’ve bled a little, but it hasn’t soaked through. Do you feel any tightness? Any discomfort?”
“Discomfort?” Oswald said dryly, glancing down at Ed’s hand. He was getting drowsy but that wasn’t going to stop him from being annoyed. “Yes. Paws off.”
“Apologies,” Ed said, withdrawing his hand. “Was I hurting you?”
“No. You were irritating me.”
Oswald expected Ed to look offended after that, but Ed just smiled again, and Oswald couldn’t decide whether he found that more or less off-putting.
He wasn’t in pain but he had to admit he was getting uncomfortable in more ways than one. The mix of lube and come between his thighs was going cool and tacky, and that wasn’t even mentioning the damp spots on his stomach and hand. Aside from when urgent situations called for getting drenched in blood or sweat, Oswald preferred to be clean at all times. He frowned.
“I’ll get us a washcloth,” Ed said cheerily, apparently having read his mind.
He only noticed how tired he was when Ed disappeared to the bathroom and he finally dropped the social mask he didn’t realise he’d been wearing. As Ed rummaged in the cabinet and ran the tap, Oswald curled up and rubbed his forehead with his clean hand, his muscles feeling heavier by the second. He’d only woken less than an hour ago but his sleep had been fitful and he would’ve slept a lot longer if he hadn’t been disturbed by nightmares.
The mattress dipped as Ed sat on the bed again, and Oswald blinked rapidly to force himself into alertness.
Ed apparently noticed his drowsiness, because the man’s voice was soft when he spoke. “Don’t move,” he said, laying a hand on Oswald’s good shoulder. “Do you still want me to clean you up?”
“Mmhm.”
Ed moved closer and acquiesced, and Oswald let himself relax and detach from his surroundings while Ed swiped at him with the damp cloth. He hardly noticed himself drifting back to sleep, and fortunately, he didn’t dream at all.