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One.
It’s a dark thing to watch a man drown in his own blood and laugh, but Ed’s mind was burnt black a long time ago and there is no turning back now. He continues to laugh, let’s the shadows take over, eclipsing his heart, relieving him of his control. It’s safe to be out of his mind when he laughs, he’s so untouchable no one could hope to take advantage. The glee and relief overwhelms him, his shadows dancing like flickering flames.
“I’m glad you find it amusing,” Oswald sneers, but there’s a knife-edge glint in his eye and a smirk hiding behind his lips, and Ed knows he’s pleased. Oswald’s face has small droplets of blood spattered across, like a new set of freckles coloured in vibrant red.
“Did you know that freckles were called angel kisses because they protect the skin from UV light and, by association, sunburn, and are therefore considered a blessing.” The words tumble from his mouth like a high-speed chase, but their subject is unimportant. What matters is the confusion on Oswald’s face, the shaking of his head, but also the way he smiles. Like despite everything, Ed has done something entertaining, or even endearing. Ed has been looked at a lot of ways, but never quite like that.
Oswald turns back to the dead body, looking over it like he's admiring his work. Ed admires it also, the blood swirls appearing like a dancing pattern, order and chaos and something in between.
“Dear Mr Leonard, the mess you’ve made,” Oswald tuts reproachfully, gesturing at the blood splatters around them with the still dripping knife. Oswald gently rubs his thumb down one side of the blade, catching the blood on his alabaster skin. Without hesitation, he brings his bloodied thumb to his lips, pushing inside.
Ed watches, a mix of horror and exhilaration in his chest as Oswald tilts his head, seeming to consider the taste. The image is dark and dirty like an alleyway murder executed in a midnight storm, overspilling gutter water turning from brown to red.
“Do you often…Taste them like that?” Ed asks, his voice coming out considerably lower than he'd intended. Some of the blood had smeared onto Oswald's bottom lip, and it takes everything in Ed's power not to stalk forward and lick it off. This isn't supposed to be about that, he's supposed to be learning from The Penguin, not lusting after him.
But fire licks at his side and he craves the things he shouldn’t.
“Sometimes.” Oswald turns back to Mr Leonard's body, seeming to address him. “On special occasions. And this, my friend,” Oswald taps Mr Leonard on the nose with the tip of his knife, a spot of blood smearing there and startling Ed into a giggle. “Is a special occasion.”
Oswald finally seems to notice the blood on his lip, his tongue peeking out two run across it, a tantalizing display that makes Ed's breaths come harder, faster. The flames are engulfing him, and he needs something to put them out.
“Does it taste nice?” Ed wonders aloud, trying to pull his mind back from the void even as its sucked in.
“Why don't you find out yourself?” Oswald offers him the knife, and when Ed takes it their fingers brush, electrifying nerve endings until Ed is wracked with full body shivers. Hot and cold, what a contradiction.
Ed runs his own thumb down the blade, copying Oswald’s movements and bringing his thumb up to taste. It's slick like gun oil, flavour salty like a dying man's tears, yet biting like a bullet. It sets fire to something inside Ed, lighting him up. Oh yes, he definitely understands why Oswald would want this. It's like having liquid power rolling across your tongue, swallowing thunder down your throat. It's addictive.
Ed moans around his thumb, pleasure unbridled because he knows Oswald is the one man in the world who truly understands.
Oswald laughs and Ed turns his head. The man looks glorious, high on blood and filth the way so few understand. But those people don't matter. How could they when their light is too bright and dreary, and darkness feels so good.
“I hope that was as educating as you’d expected, Edward. Perhaps I may have gotten a little carried away,” Penguin smirks, his expression not one bit sorry. Ed likes it.
“It was perfect,” Ed breathes, trying desperately to calm the rise and fall in his chest as he looked over this beautiful man. He should clean up now. That’s the next logical step. He’ll go to the kitchen, grab the bucket, the bottles, and the sprays. He'll get to work, on his knees removing the blood from every surface. He'll pack up what he can, dispose of the evidence. He'll dismember the body, prepare it for some inconspicuous travel into the GCPD, where he'll dissolve it without further issue.
But for now he just watches and listens as the Penguin gestures at Mr Leonard, explaining the forces required for the severity of his wounds and different techniques when slitting a man's throat. He's content to learn what he can, outlining his own knowledge on the subject and asking for Oswald's input, which he gives gladly. He's happy, satisfied.
For now.
Two.
Edward pushes his glasses up his nose awkwardly without letting his plastic bag fall from his fingers. His muscles strain as he pulls his other load up the stairs, the bag was already heavy before he’d added the extra weight. With each step, the body-bag hits the wooden stairs, a groan emerging from its confines. It curls Ed’s lips out, sets his eyes crinkling.
For a second, he is reminded of an interesting case from a while back when a man had been dragged across concrete while being held out the door of a car. Whole chunks of flesh had been ripped from his side, leaving a bloody trail behind him. The smell had filled the street, tingeing the city’s roads with death.
Ed didn’t think anyone noticed the change.
He shakes his head to disperse the image. He needs to concentrate on the delightful image of right now. There is no room for nostalgia.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” Ed assures the bag, almost at his floor. He makes his way up to his apartment, dragging the body-bag all the way, plastic twisting like a rope in his other hand. He reaches the door, the large metal slate welcoming after a long day, ice cold water on a sweltering day. He looks down at his hands, occupied as they are, and sighs.
“Mr Penguin?” He calls, knocking on the door with his elbow. “Oswald? It’s me, Ed. Could you open the door, please?”
Silence.
Huffing to himself, Ed transfers the contents of one hand to the other, rooting around in his pockets for his keys. Locating them, he pushes his apartment key into the slot, only to find the apartment already unlocked. Grumbling murderous things to himself, he slides the door open before regathering his bags and making his way inside.
There’s a tell-tale lump in his bed, a puff of feathery hair poking out from the top. The lump slowly moves as Ed drags the body-bag in, the sound of the man inside’s incessant whining obviously disturbing him. Penguin’s red eyes and sharp nose pokes over the top of the covers regarding him like a bird might when perched atop a high wire, examining the streets below.
“Hello Mr Penguin,” Ed greets, a touch of irritation edging into his voice. Why hadn’t Oswald helped him when he asked? Ed has gone to a lot of trouble to keep the man safe and warm, all he’d needed was for him to open the door.
“What’s that?” Penguin asks, ignoring the social protocols that follow greetings apparently.
“What’s what?” Ed asks back, stomping his foot down on the body-bag as it tried to squirm away. The resulting scream is thrilling. It’s so nice to hear.
“What’s in the bag, Friend?” Oswald inquires. Ed frowns. He thought they were past all that, fake smiles and faker terms, but apparently not. No matter, things will surely pick up after he reveals what’s in his two bags.
“Oh. This is for tonight’s dinner.” Ed waves his plastic bag gleefully. “It’s Chinese. I assume you’ll be eating it.”
“And the other bag?” Oswald prompts, clearly losing patience fast. Fickle bird caught up in fickle things, equally freed and caged by his restlessness.
“Well, that,” Ed grins down at the wriggling body-bag, twisting on the hardwood floor, “Is our entertainment.”
A moment, precious and conserved, each looking at the other for a response, daring and cajoling in equal measure. The apartment grows quiet, the only sound coming from the body-bag’s broken sobs. Then, together, Oswald and Ed laugh. It’s gravity; easy to fall into.
“So, who is he then?” Oswald asks, throwing back the covers and getting to his feet. He seems remarkably healthier now, Ed notes happily. Matter is nothing if not reconstructing.
“No idea,” Ed admits brightly, not discouraged in the least. Not knowing something is rare for a man like him, and he drinks moments like there up like an alcoholic in the evening. “He’s more for me, though. He spat at me while I was walking down the street.”
Little, no-good lowlife didn’t know his place. Ed will soon remedy that.
“Well, as long as I get to play, that’s fine,” Oswald shrugs, hobbling up beside him. Walk like a broken man, and they’ll never see a threat until the knife three inches embedded in their throat.
“Of course! It’s about time I learned to share my toys,” Ed laughs. Setting the food down on the table, Ed gathers a chair in his arms to bring into the room, dumping the body-bag on it shortly after, a perfect tableau captured in flashing neon green light.
“Help me!” Comes a muffled shout, the body bag trying to squirm out of Ed’s hold.
“Is he even tied up in there?” Oswald asks, crossing his arms and leaning back on the footboard of the bed.
“There wasn’t time,” Ed negates with a shake of his head. “You might want to make sure the door is locked. Just in case.”
Rolling his eyes, Oswald takes the keys from Ed’s outstretched hand, shuffling to the door with his heavy, hobbling steps. Broken China; beautiful.
“Help! Help! Help!” The muffled shouts continue.
“Have some patience!” Ed tuts. “Or at least some dignity!” Oswald’s shuffling steps come back, stopping beside him as they survey the bag together. “So, how should we do this?”
“We could knock him out and then tie him up?” Oswald suggests.
“No, then we’d have to wait for him to wake up again,” Ed says with a shake of his head.
“Then, do you have a gun?” Oswald asks with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, seemingly aggrieved and disgruntled, but still with that addictive spark in his pale eyes.
“Oh, yes! I do!” Ed replies excitedly, hopping up to go to the drawer he keeps it in, snatching it up before racing back.
“What is this?” Oswald asks in disgust as he places it in his waiting hand.
“A gun!” Ed exclaims, confused at Oswald’s behaviour.
“It’s tiny,” Oswald sneers.
Coming from him.
“Well, it’s all I have,” Ed tells him, crossing his arms in annoyance.
“Fine,” Oswald sighs, rolling his eyes again before cocking the gun and levelling it at the bag. “Well, go on then.” Ed hastens to comply, moving to the bag and unzipping it quickly, pleased at the man’s wild, reddened eyes as he pulls the folds of the bag back.
“What is this? What’s going on?” The man rambles, looking around disorientedly.
“Wow. Original,” Oswald remarks dryly, gesturing with the gun that the man should raise his arms. Control is a colour, and Oswald wears it better than anyone Ed knows.
“Who did this? Was it Jerry?” The man spits.
“What?” Oswald asks, narrowing his eyes.
“It was Jerry, wasn’t it? Oh, I bet it was him, this just has Jerry written all over it. If he thinks that I’m going to-”
“Who the fuck is Jerry?” Oswald asks, cutting off the man’s rambling.
“I- Well-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Oswald dismisses, shaking his head. “Go ahead.”
Nodding to him, Ed rummages around the room until he locates the electrical tape, grinning as he maneuvers the man’s hands behind the back of the chair. Odd how one man’s restraint seems to set another free.
“For propriety’s sake, would you please tell us your name?” Oswald asks in the meantime, raising an eyebrow at the man.
“J-Jeffrey,” the man stutterers out. “Jeffrey Carlton.”
“Well then, Mr Carlton,” Oswald greets with a polite nod that makes Ed snicker. “I think it’s for the best that you sit back and relax. It will most definitely be the last time you do so.”
With Mr Calton now secured, Ed steps back to Oswald’s side admiring their subject together. Ed rocks back and forth on his heels, the excitement to get started bubbling over like water in a pot, frothing and puttering as he resists the urge to jump up and down on the balls of his feet.
“So, what are we going to do to him?” Ed babbles, his eagerness making the words tumble off his tongue too quickly.
“Well, he’s your man. How about you decide?” Oswald suggests.
“Really?” Ed questions, staring down at Oswald with a world of wonderment in his throat, the full weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. Ed hums as he thinks, running through the choices in his head like a new and improved roulette wheel.
“Ed,” Oswald prompts, an electric thrill running down Ed’s spine at hearing his name from Oswald’s tongue once more. Ed wonders what it would sound like as a scream.
“I’m thinking an experiment in blood loss and exsanguination,” Ed muses. “My professor’s notes on it at GCU had several inconsistencies. I’d rather find out the truth from the source.”
“Then, it’s decided,” Oswald crows, smiling that pleased smile that makes something deep and satisfying stir in Ed’s stomach. “Did you have a particular method in mind?”
“Perhaps the removal of a limb?” Ed proposes. “But first, I want his tongue.”
“To eat?” Oswald frowns.
“What? No! To shut him up, of course,” Ed pauses, staring at Oswald intently. “Is that what people do; steal peoples tongues and then eat them? Do you do that? Should I do that? Do I get to cook it first, or am I supposed to eat it raw?”
“No, Ed,” Oswald rolls his eyes. “I was merely offering you an opportunity to profess to any inclinations of cannibalism. No judgement if you want to give it a try.”
Ed wrinkles his nose in distaste. A few drops of blood here and there is one thing, but actually eating someone? Ed would vomit his guts out in two minutes flat.
“Better not,” he answers vaguely. “Now, let’s get to work.”
Unsurprisingly, Mr Carlton’s tongue is easy enough to cut into. The main problem is his incessant movement, wriggling in his chair while tossing his head to evade the knife’s approach. In the end, Oswald relinquishes his hold with a sigh, standing back.
“You’ll have to secure him for me while I work around you,” he instructs.
“Okay,” Ed agrees readily, moving forward to cover the man in the approximation of a bear-hug, clamping a hold of Mr Carlton’s jaw to keep it from moving. Ed notes the strength in the bone, wishing he could crush it to dust in his grip. Perhaps another time.
Everything is all fine and dandy, Edward only having the man’s horrid breath to contend with, but then the solid line Of Oswald’s chest presses against his back and Ed begins to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. His mind drops and flies in an eagle’s swoop, spiralling as he tries to concentrate on Oswald explaining how to remove a man’s tongue and not how incredibly close they are to each other.
Like butterfly wings beating together, they touch then pull away, only to touch again with increasing force.
Ed gasps as Oswald makes the cut, salivating at the rolling line of first blood. He stares intently as blood fills Mr Carlton’s open mouth, spilling over the edge of his bottom lip in a slow-motion time-lapse that sends Ed into the abyss. Scarlet spills over Oswald’s pale hand and Ed’s definitely not concentrating on his task anymore, watching as the blood beads at the edge of Oswald's palm, face turned up like a target board for the near deafening drip as the bead gains in volume and is pulled down by Earth’s gravity. It lands right on Ed’s bottom lip, and it’s second nature for Ed’s tongue to poke out and swipe it away, chasing the taste with a hum.
This time, it tastes like a forest fire, burning up Ed’s insides until he’s a burning cinder, breathing and living but lusting after one more drop, one more taste. Ed’s eyes flutter open to meet Oswald’s rapt gaze, and he realizes Oswald has been watching the entire time. Ed wants to push up onto his knees, take Oswald’s face in his hands and share the taste of a soon to be deadman between their lips, see if he notices the difference, see if it curdles desire within him like it does himself.
“You have a bone saw, correct?” Oswald’s sharp voice breaks the silence.
“Uh, yes, I, um, I believe so,” Ed nodded, blinking rapidly to clear his foggy brain as he quickly scarpered to retrieve his equipment.
When he turns back, Oswald’s hand is clean.
The removal of Mr Carlton’s right leg is fairly uneventful, choked gurgles the only form of protest the man can manage. They leave him to spill into a Tupperware container, turning to finally make progress on Ed’s other procured bag. The Chinese food has gone cold during their adventures so Ed quickly heats it up in the microwave, returning to Oswald with the food as they set up camp in front of Mr Carlton’s slowly draining body.
“What are you going to do with the body?” Oswald asks, his tone sounding more curious than worried. Perhaps he trusts Ed enough to know that he has a plan for this kind of thing, especially after the disposal of their previous exploit.
“I think melting it with acid will do nicely. No harm in repeating old tricks when it does wonders for clean up.” Ed looks up from his food carton in surprise as he hears Oswald laugh, sweet and dark like blackberries, smiling along even though he isn’t quite sure what Oswald finds so humorous. He turns back to Mr Carlton, cocking his head at the slumped body and remainder of the limb where it is severed mid-thigh. “Do you think he’s dead yet? Or merely unconscious?”
“I’ll check,” Oswald announces, placing his carton on the floor before standing up.
“No, please, let me,” Ed stands too.
“No, no, I can manage,” Oswald dismisses with a flapping hand, shuffling forward to take the man’s pulse, two fingers pressed to his neck. Ed doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly very jealous of Mr Carlton’s position; at Oswald Cobblepot, Penguin and kingpin of Gotham’s mercy, a king’s hand at his throat and all attention focused solely on the contact. “No pulse,” Oswald reports. “And he’s not breathing. I think it’s safe to say he’s gone.”
“Fun,” Ed chirps, wriggling in his seat in excitement as Oswald joins him once more. “The blood is darker now. He’s losing oxygen,” he notes, filling the silence. “Funny how death makes everything-”
“Ed,” Oswald interrupts. “Shut up.” And, with a haste Ed has never seen from the other man, his face is swept up by firm hands and soft lips are pressed against his own, surprisingly gentle after all the harshness they’ve spouted, surprisingly deep after blood splatters and crimson stains, surprisingly perfect after-
“Ed.”
Ed blinks, coming back to reality to see his friend-turned-roommate staring at him intently. “Are you okay? You stopped mid-sentence.”
“I’m… fine,” Ed replies wearily. “Sorry, where was I?”
But he isn’t fine, and Ed begins to wonder if perhaps he’s cut too deep into this artery already.
Three.
“What do you have there, Ed?”
Ed almost spills the entire contents of his container over the floor, smashing his sandwich between the side of it and his palm as he quickly moves to grip the Tupperware with two hands. He sighs at the smooshed contents of his sandwich, carefully placing the container down before trying to salvage what was left of his lunch.
“Ed? Are you going to answer me?” Lee prompts. Ed frowns at her. Lee’s a bit like a mercy kill, giving into someone’s pleading rather than rebelling against it.
“Lee, if you really have to ask that question, then I have to question your position as the Medical Examiner in this fine establishment,” Ed huffs, finally turning to meet her gaze as he takes another bite of his sandwich.
“I know it’s blood, Ed,” Lee rolls her eyes before smiling indulgently, perplexingly paradoxical, “I just want to know where you got it.”
“Oh, it’s, um…” Ed blinks twice, wracking his brain for the best answer. Computer binary code flashes before his eyes, and he breathes again. “It’s pig’s blood. At least, I believe it is. I’m going to run some tests after I’ve finished my sandwich.”
“Well, don’t wait too long,” Lee warns. “Also, you spilt some on your sandwich, you should probably throw it out.”
Ed frowns, looking down to scrutinize the splash of red adding colour to his otherwise dreary snack. “It’s just a drop. It should be fine.”
“Really?” Lee asks incredulously. Ed nods reassuringly and she shrugs, turning to exit the way she came.
Ed waits until she has left before taking another bigger bite of his sandwich. Really, the blood only makes it taste better.
Four.
“Hurry up, Ed! I want to take a shower!”
Ed’s hand slips as he huffs an annoyed sigh. For all of Oswald’s kingly behaviour, he seems to have the patience capacity of a four-year-old.
Ignoring Oswald’s continued pounding on the door, Ed sweeps a hand over his chin. The side of his jaw stings like sunburn, and Ed examines his fingers, the crimson liquid colouring his skin confirming that he had, in fact, cut himself with the razor.
Ed sucks his fingers dry without a thought, rotating rapidly when the bathroom door bangs open. Oswald stalks in, arms crossed furiously over his chest.
“Have you no consideration?” Ed screeches, removing his fingers to gesture his hand widely. He’s a disturbed lioness, demanding atonement or further blood will be shed. “I’m bleeding because of you!”
“Yes,” Oswald purrs, eyes seeming transfixed on the cut as he takes a step forward.
“I have work in less than an hour, and you are incapable of letting me get ready in peace,” Ed continues to berate as Oswald stalks forward. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Huh?” Oswald asks, blinking slowly before finally focussing on Ed’s gaze. A trance is broken, a watch smashed, and all is right in the world. “Sorry… I was distracted. I’ll leave you in peace now.” Ed catches a flash of white in his mouth, and it stirs something in his stomach that he doesn’t understand. It occurs to Ed that he craves Oswald in a way, and Ed wonders how he can be addicted when he’s never had a taste.
Then, as suddenly as he’d appeared, Oswald is gone, footsteps retreating into the main room. Ed huffs, reaching to grab a towel to wipe the rest of the blood away.
Oswald may be king, but that didn’t stop him from being the strangest man Edward has ever met.
Five.
“I must say, it’s not the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Ed asks. “I thought you would like it.”
“I’m merely stating that if you continue at the rate you’re going, there is a chance you could be found out,” Oswald reasons. He truly is the wisest of the wise. “At least promise me that you won’t get rid of him at work this time. I don’t want that Medical Examiner sniffing you out.”
“I won’t,” Ed promises. “Now, can we get to work, or are we to leave the poor man waiting?” In perfect sync, the pair turn back to regard the man struggling in what Ed has now titled ‘The Death Chair’, cries muffled by a gag soaked in snot and tears.
“I have to say,” Oswald purrs, “Tears do add a certain flavour that we’ve been missing so far.”
“And here I was thinking that you’re a sweet tooth,” Ed jokes, grinning down at him.
“Oh, I definitely am, but if it’s savoury; I go salty,” Oswald replied, licking his lips suggestively. Ed blinked, shuffling his feet against the tidal wave of heat flooding his cheeks.
“Yes, well, I was thinking that it’s your turn to choose again. I even smuggled some extra equipment from work home in case you wanted to… branch out.” Ed pulls the bag into view, setting it down at the wailing man’s feet.
“Actually, I was thinking we could go a little more hands on this time.”
Ed frowns. Bloodlust is Oswald’s forté, Ed had seen the look of hunger in his eyes, knew what it meant. That’s why he’d brought this stranger here in the first place, an attempt to satisfy Oswald’s cravings and his own with them.
“Could you elaborate?”
“Well, asphyxiation is a rather effective method don’t you think? Such a satisfying...” Oswald continues to speak, but the words are lost in no man’s land as Ed's eyes are eclipsed by Kristen’s storm in October skin, her flat eyes, loose hair. How she’d slid down the wall like a nauseous man, how her weight was no longer hers to hold.
“No,” Ed’s hand suddenly has a knife in it, and its point is pricking the man’s skin, barely drawing blood.
“Come now, Ed,” Oswald rolled his eyes, stepping forward in an attempt to retrieve the weapon.
“No,” Ed swerves out of the way, finger swiping through the meagre coating of blood before licking it away. He’s shaky like an earthquake, dread dripping like sweat from his pores. Oswald lunges, and their determination turns to them scrapping, both fighting for a hold.
Ed gasps as metal slices through his palm, quickly drawing his hand back to assess the damage. A trail of his blood leaks out, dripping onto the floor in sunray splatters.
“Oh no.”
Ed has never heard Oswald sound so much like a dead man.
+One.
“It’s just a scratch, Oswald,” Ed assures him, looking up before reeling back in shock. “Oswald? Are you okay.”
A frantic tornado and he is the wind, chasing after Oswald like he wants to sweep him up.
“Oh, Ed,” Oswald’s bent at the middle; a folded dollar bill, clutching at himself like he’s coming untethered. “Why did you have to do that?” More strained than a tightrope about to snap, and Ed watches as he falls to his knees, bent over the floor.
A gasp escapes him, spilling from his throat as Oswald’s tongue runs across the hardwood, licking up Ed’s blood with a knee-weakening groan. Ed kneels down in front of him, giving into gravity as he calls Oswald’s name like a mantra.
Oswald arches his neck, looking up at him. His eyes are almost entirely pupil, all pale colour drowned out to black. Then he grins and Ed realizes the mistake he’s made.
“You just had to keep bringing people here. Letting them bleed all over the place.” Oswald huffs a laugh. His voice is mellowed and smooth like melted chocolate, contrasting the sharp, oh so sharp, teeth. They shine and gleam, and oh, Ed’s most definitely going to die tonight. “Do you know how hard it has been? Trying to restrain myself? It’s unnatural.”
Ed retreats, shuffling back. Oswald goes with him.
“But I did it, held myself back. For you, Edward.” Ed sucks in a breath. He’s never been so terrified, but at the same time, his mind is alight. A different world has opened its door to him and he’s stumbled through to new territory. And Oswald is just as delicious as ever, darkness dancing in his eyes, bloodied lips against white as snow skin, a shadow of laughter that makes Ed’s heart sing.
“But I bet you never knew how tempting you are.” A hand slides up Ed’s thigh and arousal stirs like a waking dragon. “ You’ve no idea how much I’ve craved you, how good you smell. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” Oswald groans, his head tipping forward to lean on Ed’s shoulder.
Ed whimpers, a helpless, hunted rabbit. Surely he should run, hide away. But Oswald is so close, and this is everything Ed needs; Oswald telling him that he’s wanted Ed as much as Ed has wanted him.
“There’s something about you that makes me feel alive again,” Oswald whispers, and his head turns, lips ghosting against the skin of Ed’s throat, and he’s already a deadman so Ed doesn’t bother to fight. “You’re wondering something,” Oswald murmurs, dragging a tongue over Ed’s skin, and Ed whines as he feels himself harden. “You have a question. Ask it.”
“Why did you drink blood in-front of me?” Ed asks.
“That’s not your question, Ed.”
“W-why did you…” Ed closes his eyes, squeezing out the world of horrors, sheltering himself in his eyelids. “I’ve craved blood. Ever since the first drop. I… I need it. Why did you... make me like this.”
“I didn’t make you like anything, Ed,” Oswald tells him. “I only told you to try some to see what you’d do. You got yourself hooked.”
“B-but…” Ed's head screams denial like a siren.
“Shh, Shh. It’s okay, Eddie.” A hand runs through his hair and Ed shivers like it’s mid-December. “And don’t worry. I won’t do anything without your permission. I want you to trust me.” Oswald pulls back, and he seems to take all the air with him. Ed lunges after it, chasing oxygen like a man underwater, clamping his hands on Oswald’s shoulders. Oswald grins, eyes sparking with fireworks.
“What do you want, Ed?”
“Kiss me,” breathy and shaky, because he craves it so much, his guts wrenching with desire so encompassing, it breaks his heart valves and tumours his brain. But he is made whole again as lips meet his own, pulling him in like a changing tide, swallowing his fear until there’s only lust left behind. Oswald clambers onto his lap as Ed sucks his tongue, too afraid of Oswald fangs to allow himself to explore his mouth. Oswald rocks his hips, grinding down, and Ed hisses as he breaks the kiss to throw his head back.
“Don’t, Ed,” Oswald pleads, short and choppy like waves on rocks. “Your neck, it’s so… I can’t…”
“Does it hurt?” Ed asks, but it’s not cowardice, simply caution; he wants to be prepared.
“No,” Oswald assures, and Ed exhales slowly.
“Then do it,” Ed instructs, bucking his hips up to meet Oswald’s. “Bite me.”
“Ed, I can’t. Once I taste you… I won’t be able to stop. I’ll drain you,” Oswald laments.
“Then make me like you,” Ed tells him, staring into his eyes. “I already crave blood as it is. And I don’t want you to leave. Besides, I’m sure there are a number of advantages to being a vampire.”
“Are you sure, Ed?” Oswald asks. “The process can’t be reversed. You’ll stay like this forever.”
“Good,” Ed affirms. “Although I do have one request.”
“What?” Oswald asks, his eyes so fixed, Ed believes they would allow him any wish he could voice.
“Fuck me while you do it,” Ed says. Oswald hunches over with another groan, and Ed is shocked to see Oswald’s fangs extend even further, his nails sharpening into claws.
“S-sorry,” Oswald stutters, “J-just, w-when you-” Oswald exhales slowly as all his muscles spasm. “W-when you talk like that, it… it makes it… So-so much harder to r-resist.”
“We’d better hurry up then,” Ed decides, gently guiding Oswald off his lap so he can stand. Oswald stands too, clamping a hold of Ed’s wrist.
“S-sorry,” he apologizes, “but it feels like if I let you go, I may well suffocate and die.”
“Okay,” Ed shrugs, letting Oswald tag along as he fetches the lube from the nightstand. Oswald pushes him down onto the bed with an animalistic growl, and it skewers Ed like a lamppost through the heart. Oswald rips away Ed’s clothes until only odd scraps of fabric are left, leaving Ed essentially nude.
“Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you are,” Oswald breathes. Ed very nearly bites through his tongue because, surely, he does not deserve such praise from the king of a city overrun by shadows. Oswald takes the lube from his hand, and a finger is pushing at his entrance a moment later, the claw thankfully receded for now. Ed relaxes as much as he can, arching his back at the shiver-inducing sensation of calloused skin brushing his inner walls.
“More,” he pleads, words tumbling almost dream-like. Two is more uncomfortable, and Ed struggles to tether his mind long enough to adjust to the sensation.
“Tell me what it’ll feel like,” Ed requests. “When you bite me.”
“Like the fucking best wet-dream you’ve ever had,” Oswald purrs.
Ed’s mind helpfully conjures the image of a rather recent episode of bear lucidity where Oswald had taken him over the dining table in a fit of passion, kissing him senseless as he thrust with abandon. Ed had awoken with a cry, barely noticing the come soaked into his pyjama bottoms as he checked Oswald was still asleep.
Ed groans at the memory, finally relaxing around Oswald’s fingers, so much so that Oswald slides another finger in, the three pistoning in and out with sweat-inducing pleasure.
“Please! Please!” Ed cries, not entirely sure what he’s asking for. But Oswald seems to understand and, in the space of a minute, he removes his fingers and replaces them with his lubed up cock.
“Are you still certain you want to do this?” Oswald asks.
“Yes,” Ed nods. He’s never been surer of anything in his life.
Oswald enters him, and it’s fucking cloud-nine.
“Oh God! Oh God!” Ed’s torso twists as he struggles to contain the heat boiling under his skin, his cock pulsing with need as Oswald slowly fills him. The stretch is deep, and should be painful considering Oswald’s size, but the room is tossing and turning like a nightmare, and Ed’s mind is repeating a litany of Oswald is inside me, Oswald is inside me, Oswald is inside me.
“Can-can I… b-bite you, now?” Ed looks up and Oswald’s teeth are clenched, fangs extended fully, his eyes swimming with want even as he holds back the current.
“Yes!” Ed cries, arms flinging around Oswald’s shoulders to bring him closer. “Take it all.”
Teeth pierce his flesh, and Ed has never known bliss before now.
He comes instantly, untouched and unbridled, the liquid spattering both their chests.
“Don’t stop,” Ed tells him, and Oswald doesn’t, instead rocking into Ed as he drinks from his throat. The neon lights are swimming and Oswald blurs in and out of focus, but it feels better than anything Ed’s ever come close to, so he swallows it down as Oswald swallows him whole. Ed’s cock doesn’t soften, still hard as a rock as Oswald’s pace increases, pounding into him with every suck. Ed is swearing more than he ever has in his life, all eloquence demolished under Oswald’s attention. Ed’s legs wrap firmly around his waist, urging him on even as his consciousness begins to slip away, melting into a puddle like a snowman built in summer.
“I think you’re ready, Ed,” Oswald tells him, moving away from Ed’s neck.
“Ready for what?” Ed wants to ask, but the words come out slurred and fuzzy like caterpillars. A wrist is presented to him and Ed blinks at it in a stupor.
“Bite, Ed,” Oswald instructs.
“I’m not… I’m not strong enough,” Ed tells him.
“You are,” Oswald insists. “Just ignore that nagging voice that tells you to stop. Bite down as hard as you can, and don’t let go.”
Ed holds his breath and bites.
Blood flows across his tongue like the sweetest juice, so much better than anything else he’s ever tasted. He swallows without hesitation.
“Good boy,” Oswald murmurs, and Ed glows, sucking the skin to retrieve as much of the liquid as he can. The bite isn’t nearly as deep as Oswald’s was, and the blood soon begins to clot until all that’s left to taste is already coated on Ed’s tongue.
Ed can feel a stirring in his stomach, something evolving, changing, distorting.
“More,” he pleads, voice ending on a hungry whine. Oswald smiles, Ed’s back curling to accommodate the smaller man leaning forward.
“Here,” he bares his neck in a wolf’s surrender. Ed doesn’t pause this time, teeth tearing into Oswald’s neck with newfound ease. This time, Oswald groans, once again clawed hands gripping the back of Ed’s head in encouragement. As Ed sucks, he felt his second orgasm build, spurred on as words spout from Oswald’s mouth without rhythm. “Please, God, fuck, Ed, yes, please, please, Ed, fuck, oh, fuck, please, please, please, I’m- I’m-”
Oswald comes with a shout, some of the liquid seeping down Ed’s thighs, and Ed tumbles over with him, not pausing in his drinking, but rather riding out the two sensations together.
“You have no idea how hot you look with blood all over your face.” Ed pauses, looking up at Oswald with a furrowed brow.
“I could say the same thing to you.”
Oswald huffs a laugh, but it soon turns into a groan as he pulls out of Ed, more come dripping down Ed’s thighs as a result. “Here,” Oswald swipes a finger through it, “How does this taste.”
Ed sucks Oswald’s finger into his mouth, contemplating the flavour scrupulously. “I’m afraid it’s only the second best thing I’ve tasted tonight,” Ed laments. Oswald laughs, sitting up as he smoothes a hand over his neck. When he reaches the dark mark Ed has left, he stops in his tracks, a breathy “oh,” escaping his scarlet-stained lips.
“What’s wrong?” Ed asks. Oswald hushes him, tipping Ed’s head back to examine his neck.
“Oh,” he repeats, the breathy tone sending Ed’s mind down a rabbit hole of worry.
“Oh what? What’s going on?” He asks.
“It all makes sense, now,” Oswald smiles, and Ed finally feels he can relax.
Still…
“Do you mind clueing me in?” he asks.
“You were wondering why you’ve been acting so strangely? Well, I think I just found the answer.”
“And it is?” Ed prompts after a beat, set abuzz with impatience.
“You’re my True Mate, Ed.”
Ed blinks. Then blinks again.
“Okay… Elaborate for me, please?”
“True Mates are basically soulmates. It happens when a vampire meets another vampire, or a human, it doesn’t matter, and they’re drawn to each other immediately. When they’re human, if they’re in close proximity to the vampire, they can start to turn without even needing a bite, having blood cravings and exhibiting other vampiric behaviours. And when I turned you, the mark I left didn’t heal or disappear. It stayed, just like how your mark stayed on me,” Oswald gestures to his neck. “They’re bond-marks.
“So… What does this mean?” Ed asks, the pair rolling onto their sides to regard each other comfortably.
“Well, a number of things, really. But the best thing is that it means that we can feed on each other again. Whenever we want to really,” Oswald explains, propping his head up with his elbow.
“Neat,” Ed remarks. “So I’m a vampire now, huh?”
“Undoubtedly,” Oswald replies.
“Does this mean I can never eat Chinese food again?” Ed asks.
“Are you kidding? How many times have you seen me eat anything? The only difference you’ll find is that whatever you put in your body which isn’t blood will be about as nutritionally beneficial as a single grain of rice.”
“But that means I’m going to need blood again soon, right?” Ed asks.
“Luckily, you’ve already chosen your own blood vending-machine,” Oswald cocks his head to the other side of the room and Ed turns to see the trussed up man from before, still blubbering to himself quietly. Ed had quite forgotten he was there.
“You think of everything, don’t you,” Ed commends, pressing a soft kiss to Oswald’s mouth.
“Seems we bring out the best of each other,” Oswald replies, pulling Ed into the cocoon of his arms. Ed hums appreciatively.
For no truer words had ever been spoken.