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In the centre of the room, Edward paced before Jonathan, letting his vitriolic outburst spew over his lips, filling the room with a sickening tension that could be slashed through with a knife. Never one to rise to the tempers of his ‘colleague’, he stood, stoic, no visible emotion on his scarred face, body stiff but not tense. Nothing irritated Edward more. Especially considering that at the beginning of his little tirade, Jon had been giving as good as he got. The back and forth was a game for Edward, like chess but with hateful adjectives, which made it so much more joyful.
But underneath his calm and steady surface, Jon’s mind was attempting to wrap itself around the myriad of thoughts that coursed through it. There was something enchanting about the way Edward was able to pace his ranting, hold his breath until he reached the end of his point before inhaling as he spun on his heels, ready to punctuate another sentence with his steps. His anger was brighter than Jon’s, it was flashy, red, artistic. Deeply intriguing.
It was impossible to look away. A performance piece, an insight into the theatre of Edward’s mind. Violent and frantic, intelligent and yet often incomprehensible as his mouth struggled to keep up with the flow of thoughts, evidenced by the way he would often embarrass himself by poorly worded retorts. This specific brand of anger, Edward Nygma’s brand, was something Jonathan Crane would have to admit, if pressed, that he found deeply attractive.
Because while he knew himself to be intelligent, strong in will and very capable, Edward was strong in a completely different way, one that might be difficult for him to combat. The anger that exuded from him, he contemplated, did cause him some distress. In fact, it frightened him. That Edward might lash out, take him by surprise and overpower him, the prospect was intriguing.
And complementing this desire was the fact that Edward was tangibly terrified for his life. Heart rate increased, sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead, his chest heaving, hands shaking, skin flushed. He was enraged, yes, but he was also afraid. He couldn’t stop himself from lashing out, even when he knew that the consequences of his actions could be a punishment from Jon that he might not survive. But there he stood, in the face of his fears, aiming his ire at his apparent friend. It was entirely arousing to Jon.
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This in itself proved to be stressful though. The extent of his interest in Eddie was a fear Jon had to face himself. How deeply he felt for him, cared for him in some respects, appreciated and idolised his work and commitment. He could never debase himself by calling it a crush. This was admiration, lightly tainted by a confusing hue of lust. The first thing that had him, the master of fear, scared.
Edward could sense it, palpable as it was in the way that Jon stared at the floor, avoiding letting his clouded eyes meet Ed’s. Mistaking this for the upper-hand in their little disagreement, thinking his words, his physicality, his righteous intelligence had won him the argument, his ego was boosted, dangerous levels of confidence convincing him to take it that one step further. Feeling emboldened, brash, like the champion, he stepped up to Jon, pushing his face into his, words spat out, anger frothing behind his gritted teeth.
“You are a pathetic excuse of a man…or whatever you consider yourself to be now, Crane. They should strip you of that idiotic doctorate of yours and condemn you to the darkest cell they have. You’ve achieved nothing, nothing of yours has come to fruition, and you stand there taking insult after insult like-”
It was a momentary lapse of concentration, of holding himself back. The outburst was bubbling under the surface, and though he felt he had it under control, Jonathan knew as it rose through his chest that he was no longer able to contain it. Leaning forward, ever so slightly, he let his ragged lips meet Edwards in a soft and tentative kiss, shy and sweet. An interesting alternative to the no doubt expected blow to the face or body that Edward might have been anticipating.
Definitely not anticipated in fact, as Edward stepped back, face in shock before twisting into a scowl, stepping forward again to push Jon hard, palms against shoulders in a rough shove. He let out a grunt, aggressive, tinged with distress. With another thud, he pushed Jon again, this time his shout was louder, laced with frustration, a whine at the end. Three more hard pushes and he had Jon against the wall, where he stood before him, fists clenched, breath ragged. But his eyes were soft, considerate and thoughtful, gazing over Jon who took his punishment with no complaint and now waited for the conclusion.
Braced and willing to accept Edward’s rage at his actions, Jon instead felt his heart briefly stop as Ed’s arms were wrapped tight around his neck and shoulders, a kiss in return being forced upon him aggressively. Worried that he might interrupt whatever thinking process had led Ed to this conclusion, Jon stayed still, silently appreciating the culmination of months of hidden feelings finally erupting into this albeit one-sided, passionate embrace. And as Ed deepened the kiss, his hand pulling at Jon’s hood, the other flat on his chest and keeping him pressed to the wall, Jon realised this wasn’t a fleeting moment of soon-to-be regret, finally allowing himself to touch, to feel, to hold the object of his apparent affection.
Edward Nygma, his lips surprisingly soft, hands nimble and warm, calloused yet gentle, elicited soft moans of pleasure from Jonathan, both of them now groaning into each other. No words, because what words were there in this situation. The anger, anguish even, that led them to these circumstances meant nothing in the moment of tenderness between them. The fine line between hate and love was being blurred by their ever-moving hands and teeth and tongues, hips grinding together in an illicit display.
And Jon was still scared. More so now at the prospect of what would come after. How to explain this. How to encourage it, flame the desire that he might have stirred within Edward. But it could wait. The fear added to the flavour, to the passion, to his love and adoration.