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“Do you remember that necklace I wore yesterday?”
“Hm? No?”
“Oh, well it broke, which is so annoying because it used to be my mom’s. I asked this guy if he could fix it, but he wasn’t so sure. Do you think you know anyone?”
“Oh, um, I can’t really remember what it looked like, but I could ask around.”
Eddie was a fucking liar. He fucking lied, like the pathetic liar he was. Like he hadn’t been thinking about that topaz necklace shining in the lamplight and hadn’t been searching up earrings that match it perfectly for your birthday. (Like he hadn't been stalking you ever since he met you.)
He shook his head and listened sympathetically and lied, because if you knew he had been dreaming over and over how that silver chain draped over your neck, just catching your collarbone and gliding across your throat when you laughed, then you would start asking questions that he didn’t want to answer.
Hell, he was even watching you when you broke it. He was just beginning his second sandwich (stalking someone was hungry work, he had come to find) when he caught sight of you snapping the chain and shouting out curses in frustration through his binoculars. Watching you through your windows became his nightly routine. (Although it was your own fault, living across from him like that, with your window just one story below his own. Even if he wasn’t waiting for you every night, anyone could just peek in. It was like you wanted him to watch if anything. Oh, and he was so, so lucky you decided not to darken your living room with curtains. Honestly, what a beautiful interior design choice). The scene of you so unprofessional compared to your usually perfect appearance made him smile, even huff out a laugh.
What started out as a distraction (a cute girl had never bumped into him before, never wanted to willingly be around him before) became an obsession. All his plans for Gotham, all his grand, bat-shaped plans, had been put on pause the moment he caught your eye in the rain and offered you to share his umbrella. You weren’t even wearing a coat and you shivered like a defenceless animal, clutching your arms for feeble support. What was he supposed to do? Ignore you? No, he liked to think he had a bit more grace than that. (Especially for a beautiful woman like you who spoke to him like he wasn’t a reject from an orphanage. Like he was just another normal guy. Like you actually saw him.)
Now, sat across from you in a diner, sipping occasionally on his coffee, you met up a few times since that bump into each other with his umbrella. Still, mournfully for Eddie, the label you had silently agreed on was just friends. (He never remembered agreeing to it, but it was thrust upon him and he would rather that than not have you at all).
Although you had never explicitly done anything, though, something had grown between the two of you— and he was fairly certain he wasn’t making it up. Eddie just felt comfortable around you in a way he hadn’t felt comfortable in a long time. Often he would find himself rambling excitedly and he would almost slip out something about his plans, or the next riddle he had come up with for when the time was right.
He really, really liked you, but, if you knew about The Riddler he wasn’t so sure you’d react in the way he had fantasised about. In the way that had him fisting his sheets and throwing his head back into his pillow, whining out your name in between a mumbled string of curses. Replaying your smile over and over in his mind at godforsaken hours of the night.
When he was finally finding his footing to begin staging his introduction to Gotham as The Riddler, he couldn’t lose you. It was too important that you stay by his side, no matter what you two did together. At first, he only viewed you as a parasite stealing his focus, now you were the drive he needed to keep going. His power source. Even if he had to cut loose everyone else he had ever known, blow up Gotham and its Bat with it, the one thing he had to be sure of was that you would stay his anchor. You would keep him rooted. You weren’t going anywhere.
You giggled and his attention returned back from the future to the present.
“What?”
“You have that...far-away look. It’s cute.” You smiled, finishing your coffee. (You took three sugars and milk, but not if they were cubes, then you would take two sugars. He never found out why, you just did.)
He tried not to, but the heat had already crept up his neck, burning his cheeks. It only caused you to laugh further, but even at his expense, he didn’t care. You called him cute. Of course, he never expected anything from it, but he savoured the moment every time it arose like this one. (Eddie already knew anything you could tell him about your life anyway so there really wasn’t much need for you to trust him with any secret, but he still found himself caught on every word when you leant into him and whispered in a hushed voice some embarrassing story of yours, cheeks burning. Or when, like now, you complimented him and acted all giggly, like you didn't spare those compliments freely and he was one of the lucky ones.)
Just, every little compliment, every grazing of skin, every lingering stare, even when he watched your eyes light up at his text when he spied on you through the window from his own apartment. It gave him…hope. Hope oozed into his chest and stomach, thick, hot and sticky, leaving a gaping hole where the hope demanded to be filled with reality. The reality of what he couldn’t be sure of (but he certainly wouldn’t refuse a kiss.)
“Mhm.” He hummed. “Shame.”
Your blank stare kicked him in the head.
“About your necklace, I mean.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Thanks. I’ll get it fixed. Yellow is my favourite colour.”
His lips flickered upwards into what could be a smile. Every part of you had a place in his head, and that little piece of information stored itself with the rest of your ‘favourites’. Definitely topaz earrings for your birthday then.
“I don’t think I even know your favourite colour. It seems crazy we haven’t been friends for that long— God, what has it been, a month? Two?”
Three months, eight days and— he checked the time on his phone— fifteen hours. But Eddie wasn’t keeping track or anything.
Instead, he shrugged, “I think so. It does seem weird, doesn’t it? It’s like I’ve known you for so much longer.”
“Right? It’s insane. You’re not stalking me are you?” You laughed, such a silly, lighthearted joke but it stoked something within Eddie.
“Oh, I definitely am. How could I resist?”
You snort as you laugh harder, covering your mouth with a hand, and Eddie recalls when you were on the phone with your mom talking about him. You told her you liked his deadpan delivery on jokes, how cynical his humour was, you told her: ‘Eddie makes me smile like I haven’t in a while, mom.’ He had enjoyed himself that night, not even waiting to hit the sheets and finishing himself in the shower, thinking of you.
He joins you with his own chuckle. He, though, is laughing for a different reason.
You would never fully understand how admitting that, how that little sentence made his pulse race. If you were feeling his heart he may have just skipped a beat (or done three beats at once, he wasn’t sure). It wasn’t like he was admitting to anything you would believe, but still, he thrilled himself by leaving little crumbs for you to eat up. Eddie made sure to cover his tracks— you would never know he watched you every night, nor that he bought the same shampoo you used to smell when he got hard, but it made him a little dizzy to think you could just work it out.
You would realise he is such a pathetic, obsessive, liar and he would do anything, kill anyone, for you. Just give him the word. He was yours, wholly yours, you just needed to realise it.
"And my favourite colour is green. Like a...moss?"
"M'kay." You gazed at him, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to shrink or explode behind his glasses. "I can see it. You seem the green type."
"Should I be offended or happy about that?" He was smiling now. Especially when you started laughing again. (Your laugh made Eddie wish he was wearing a wire or something. Just so he could record it, keep it all for himself, away from the cold clutches of Gotham.)
“Y’know, not to sound cheesy, but I think you’ve really made these weeks easier, Eddie. I mean, with my job and—”
“I’m happy to help out a friend.” He almost forced the word 'friend' out of his throat.
“I know you never liked me working there…Thanks, though. You’ve been such a good— a good friend.” Your smile dipped at the corners.
You used to work in the Iceberg Lounge, but after some handsy politician— you had never told him who, but he found out (and trust him, that bastard was first on The Riddler’s hit list)— made a grab for you and you rejected them, you had lost the job for good. Even the thought of you strutting around that place made him a little sick. Every man in there, eyeing you up, all while they had a wife and kids at home. A city they were supposed to protect. Jobs to do.
But no, they would harass you while you tried to do your job. Now you were fired he didn’t want to say he was happy, but it did offer him some perks. For starters, you were safer, more available if he ever called and wanted to hang out. Secondly, it brought the two of you closer. Eddie was always there to help you out with money or anything like that, and you always promised you would pay him back but he never asked you to. (So unrelentlessly kind, another cause of those fantasies he had. How would you pay him back?) Thirdly, when he wanted to see you on a more unofficial basis, you were almost always at home. When he watched you before, your schedule was a bit erratic with the temperament of the bosses in the Iceberg Lounge always needing another girl to replace the last, and you were always gone late into the night. However now, he could get out his binoculars, resume his usual place at his window, and you would always be there in an oversized t-shirt and some socks and panties.
He blinked forcibly, trying not to think about you like that. Eddie refused to get a raging hard-on in a diner, sat just across from you, you leaning in so close he could smell your perfume.
(Chanel No.5, because of course Eddie knew by now. Your dad bought it for you for Christmas since he thought all women liked it and he didn’t know you well. Away in the army for most of his life, then spending the rest of it sinking drinks, your dad wasn’t exactly a pro at buying heartfelt gifts.)
“So, are you gonna stare at that pie all day or eat it?”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”
In front of him was his slice of pumpkin pie. It was the last slice, and you had let out the cutest groan in mock annoyance he would also be stored for future use. He had offered to share, the idea of his lips touching the same fork as you was a dream, but you refused with a grin. You’re too kind, he thought to himself sarcastically when he paid the waitress. Letting him eat that pie all by himself when he knew you wanted a piece. God, you were so easy to read. Adorable.
Eddie picked up his fork and dived it, “last chance to try some. It’s good, I promise.”
You sigh and another one of your famous movie-star smiles works its way onto your face. “Go on then, just a little bit. I’ve got to watch what I eat if I wanna get a new job.” You laugh, but the hand holding the pie covered fork dips slightly.
As he feeds you the pie, your lips wrapping around the fork in a disgustingly graceful manner, he mumbles, “you’re beautiful. Don’t worry about what you eat.”
God, he could die. Eddie could have fucking died. Because he was feeding you pie and some caught on the corner of your mouth and you were brushing some hair behind your ear and you were beginning to blush, staring up at him with those big eyes of yours. He was the one that did that, he caused this. Pride had never been something Eddie had become accustomed to, only getting familiar with the sensation when he became The Riddler, but now it swarmed in his chest, combing with that sickly tide of hope.
“Eddie,” you swallowed the pie and relaxed back into your seat, “you’re too kind.”
“It’s true.” He pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose and blinked, trying not to chew his lip when he said, “you have some pie, just-- no, I can get it, hold on--”
He leant forward and it dawned on him that for the first time he was going to be touching your mouth and his hands were dry and calloused and not as soft and silky as your skin (and fuck his hands needed to stop shaking for god's sake), but it was too late. The cream collected onto his finger and he licked it up, trying not to let all the blood rush to his head-- or his cock-- as he tried to stay focused.
Your tongue darted out, despite his efforts, just in a self-conscious attempt to get any cream still there, and he decides he has actually died and gone to some twisted form of heaven-- or he’s dreaming. Suddenly his appetite isn’t just for his pumpkin pie, but he’s ravenous for you.
At first, you would meet up as friends and you’d go home and he’d watch you wander into your bedroom and draw the curtains. Eddie would be more than happy to feast on your silhouette changing into something more comfortable, usually fitting his dinner in while he stared, took mental notes of your habits, quirks.
But something had changed within him recently, something past pride and hope and hunger, something far more primal. He didn’t want to make you laugh anymore, or impress you, now he just wanted you. He wanted to touch you, feel your skin flushed against his cool fingers, your body open to allow him exploration wherever he wants. Eddie knew he wouldn’t be your first, but you would be his. And who else would he want?
He eats his pie but watches you greedily.
“What are you doing later today?” You asked, somewhat out of the blue.
Or maybe it wasn’t, he was more focussed on your hair falling down your chest, stopping just under your breasts. He loved your hair, it was always so wonderful to smell, so soft.
“Nothing, why?” He lied again.
He would be sitting watching you, looking up which brand sold the earrings he was after, maybe even looking for a knockoff of Chanel No.5 so he could spray it around his room and fist his dick until he sobbed your name. Or he could try that new subway place down the street. So many choices.
“It just occurred to me that you’ve never seen my apartment. It’s nothing to boast about--”
Oh, he knew, but he nodded and hummed like he didn’t have your floorplan posted above his desk.
“--But, I don’t know, I just thought if you want to come over I have some wine and pizza? Unless you have something better to do?”
“I would love to.”
He tried to make the least noticeable gulp he could, wringing his hands under the table. If he was sneaky enough he might be able to grab some panties from your laundry basket, something that excited him just to think about. His skin felt warm, too warm, and his clothes felt too tight. Maybe he was dressed too formal, but to be fair he had just got off work and he was only going to your place for ‘some wine and pizza’. Plus, you invited him.
It wasn’t that far away, he also lived close by. His apartment complex was just next to yours, in fact. (Something he thanked whoever was out there for, as he was given the perfect vantage point to stare into your room. Even without binoculars, any perv could glimpse you through your window, stretching so hard your shirt rode up and exposed your lacy panties, your silky thighs. You put on such a show, sometimes he laughed to himself that you knew he was watching you. A silly thought, really. You didn't even know he lived in the building next to yours.) Eddie, of course, had not told you this and he didn’t plan on it. Maybe if you figured it out he could chuckle as he did and shrug, ‘whoops, how did I not notice? Such a coincidence!’
“And— oh, here we are.” The conversation was cut short when you fumbled in your bag for your keys
“I like your door.” It was dark green with silver numbers. His favourite colour, splashed across your door, his brand marring your doorstep. He shouldn’t find it a turn on, and yet here he was, turned on by the colour of your door.
“Hm— oh, thanks! I did it myself since the landlord never bothered to change it. I think it looks so much nicer than that beige it used to be.”
He hummed and nodded, stepping inside after you when you opened the door. Despite examining your apartment for months, from every angle, it still surprised him how cosy it was. Even though it was small, it made up for its size with charm and a homely atmosphere it seemed only you could inject into spaces. He wondered what you could do to his depraved flat, the chemical smell and fluorescent white lights exchanged for something softer, sweeter.
“Make yourself comfortable, please. I’ll just chuck the pizzas in. Is Margherita good?”
“Perfect.” He smiled— it was hard not to start smiling in your company.
Settling into the couch he didn’t have enough time to fantasize about some other domestic scenario before you were back, sliding up next to him in an instant in a way you had never done in a diner booth. You were almost touching. His heart was racing. He even braved kicking his shoes off, seeing as you had already done the same.
Reaching out, you flicked the TV on and the news flashed before him. You were about to change the channel, fingers twitching when an all too familiar figure appeared on the screen. The Batman. (Bruce Wayne really, he had known for ages, but he couldn’t expose that. Not yet. Eddie hadn’t even made his first debut as The Riddler yet— so much still to be planned, practised and executed.)
“What do you think about him?” You nod to the TV.
He hesitates, pushing his glasses up by the bridge and untensing his jaw. “I think people like to cling to a bit of hope in this city. I don’t agree with what he serves though.”
“What does he serve?”
“Not Gotham. Just the people that control it. The police, the Mayor, the Government. All the...corruption. He thinks he’s helping, but—” He takes a levelled breath. “He’s only fuelling the fire. Real change needs to happen.”
You sighed and snuggled (yes, that was snuggling, wasn’t it? He hadn’t had much practice-- or any at all-- so he had to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Nevertheless, you had your arms wrapped around his arm and your legs were drawn up onto the couch behind you, and your face was resting on his shoulder— and he fucking regrets wearing a jumper because he could’ve felt your skin against his, your breath against him) into Eddie.
“You’re so clever. You have such a way with words. I think you’re right y’know, Gotham needs some real change.”
He stops the corners of his mouth picking up into a broad smile, just letting his heart do all the internal singing and dancing and screaming and jumping for him. As long as he kept a cool exterior, he could fall apart as soon as he was behind his own four walls.
But when you gazed up at him with those eyes, ran your nails up his arm and made a little smile. His mind was taken back to the diner, you staring up at him with his fork in your mouth and some cream caught on the edge of your mouth. Fuck.
“I want to kiss you.” Eddie blurted.
FUCK. God, he was such an idiot, now you would recoil, maybe even start laughing at him, and just tell him to leave. He’d fucked it all up. This was not how this was supposed to go.
His eyes must have been playing tricks on him, because he swore your eyes lidded and, although he was frozen to his seat on the couch, your hands trailed from his arm to his chest.
“You do?”
Well shit. He felt himself nodding of his own accord, hurriedly pushing his glasses further up his nose. His knees spread a little wider and his breathing became shallow.
“C’mere then.” You grinned.
A breath escaped Eddie as he just stared down at you. All breath escaped him— he couldn’t even breathe and maybe he needed his inhaler again and fuck that wasn’t a very cool thing to do when the object of his obsession just said she basically wanted to kiss him and—
Your lips planted onto his and everything…fell away. Stunned, he didn’t push back for a second and you almost drew away, but then his brain kicked into gear and he chased your lips with his own. Leaning down and kissing you with reverence, he ended up pinning you against the couch and falling on top of you, boxing you in.
Fuck, his kisses were almost fervent, unrelenting and enthusiastic. He had countless sleepless nights over your kisses. Hard and warm and soft and (fuck, he had to be dreaming now) your lips tasted just like he thought they would. Better, so much better.
You had to pull away for oxygen, and Eddie was gulping like a fish so he could resume it all as soon as possible, but you placed a hand on his chest. Your giggles made him want to laugh, why were you laughing? Eddie swore sometimes you were the most complex puzzle he had ever tried to crack; he had watched you day and night, he knew your schedule like the back of his hand, he knew where you drove to and all your friends' social security numbers. But why were you laughing?
“I’ve been waiting to do that for a while. Fuck-- as cheesy as that sounds.”
A smile spread to his face, “so have I.” He mumbled.
“Oh, I know.”
Eddie froze. Boxing you in on the couch, arms holding himself upright on either side of your head, he just froze.
A nonchalant hum came out as a guttural squeak. “Funny.”
“Oh, Eddie. I know you’ve been watching me.”
What began as sticky hope, humming pride, fiery passion, melted to a black sickness in the pit of his stomach. Bile began to rise in his throat, but he kept it down. He couldn’t unfreeze himself, analysing your face for a reaction.
“Are you okay?… Edward?”
“You— you’re funny. Really funny.” All his forced laughs were just sloppy exhales.
“I’m not joking.”
“You’re not joking…”
Of course you fucking weren’t. Of course you knew. What kind of girl did Eddie take you for? That first day you had met him when you caught his eye from across the rainy street. Then you knew that was the guy you wanted, glasses steaming up and hair messy and so practical and clever he even brought an umbrella despite the predictions for sun all day. You wanted a smart man— him. You wanted him.
He was so funny and charming and didn’t grab your ass when you sidled up to him in the rain. A perfect gentleman, only a little quiet at first. What was just curiosity at first grew to be genuine interest (and god he was an interesting man.)
It wasn’t a coincidence you had lived next to him for so long. In fact, when you first met him, you were just choosing a place to live in Gotham, but you didn’t tell him that, only that you were born in Gotham (which was true). But when you saw him walk home, trudge into his apartment building, saw his light flicker on and he appeared at the window for a second, you knew the block across (with the huge letting signs crowding the entranceway, honestly it was just calling out to you) would be a perfect fit for you.
By the time you told Eddie where you lived and he began watching you, he was none the wiser, just assuming you had lived there for longer. You had, after all, been born in Gotham. It was a normal assumption to make. And you loved to entertain the ‘perchance’ness of it all (hoped maybe Eddie would even think it was fate. The universe telling him to be with you.)
Why else would you never get curtains installed in your living room? Or be scouting out the views so often only hoping you could catch him staring at you out of his own window. At first, you never saw him at his window and gave up hope altogether of something more, even though you two were still officially meeting up as friends, still.
Then, that one fateful night when you and Eddie had met up a few more times in a diner or cafe, you looked out your window when you were eating a pot noodle and watching some crap tv when you saw him. Binoculars stuck at the windowpane, a biscuit halfway to his mouth. Immediately you turned away and flushed, your heart beating irrationally fast. He was there. He did want you.
(And, fuck, you thought he might just glance and see you, maybe keep a lingering stare, but no. Your man went the extra mile. He got out binoculars and watched you so long he was even so hungry and needed to eat while he did it, his breath fogging up his windowpane.)
You ran into your bedroom, trying to feign casualness for the audience you didn’t want to know you knew just yet. Changing into something more comfortable, a lacy thong and large hoodie Eddie himself had leant you once, you strutted back into your living room, lay across your couch and began thinking dirty thoughts. It turned you on to think you were both so casual on the surface, but in reality, when the rest of the world went to bed, you were playing these little games with him.
Officially, when the sun was up, you were friends who had only spent a month together, just getting to know each other. But unofficially, he would watch you cum on your sofa, while you shouted out his name, alone in your apartment but knowing he was watching. Watching you pant and cry and moan and (fuck fuck fuck) maybe even touching himself in his own flat.
That was almost two months ago.
Ever since everything you’ve done has been calculated, all planned in hope that Eddie would get the fucking message. Because a man doesn’t watch a woman out of his window every night just because he doesn’t like her, right? There had to be something there, all you needed to do was initiate it. Explore it.
“That night when you…looked out the window and you— when you touched yourself, did you know?” He pushed his glasses up again, almost bruising his nose with the force. God, his hands were shaking.
You nodded, the smile only growing on your face. Eddie was turning a beautiful shade of red you wouldn’t mind splashed across your thighs, stomach, chest. Everything he did, every little nervous tic he began to inhabit, falling slightly from the confidence that had inflated him in front of you, spurred you on.
Leaning in, your lips cupping the shell of his ear, he almost flinched until you whispered. “I came because I knew you were watching me. I was thinking of your fingers being there instead of mine. Ever since I’ve wanted you to touch me.” Drawing back, you bit his earlobe softly and giggled.
Eddie’s chest heaved. He thought he might definitely need his inhaler, because you were just there, telling him you wanted him and all he could do was stare at you like you were from another planet. In his eyes, you had never looked more beautiful. He pushed his hands so he wasn’t boxing you into the couch anymore, awkwardly hovering over you, and decided if this was a dream he would let it play out until he woke up.
This had to be a dream. He thought he was living the dream when you caught that cream on your mouth, even when you invited him back to your apartment, but now…Now he really was living out his fantasy.
When he sat back down on the couch, you wasted no time in straddling him yourself, leaning down greedily for another kiss. In between the kisses you found breathless pauses where he tried to speak, half of his words slurred by soft moans.
“How long— oh christ— have you— fuck— known.” His brain was still catching up with reality. You knew he was stalking you, watching you, wanting you. And you wanted to fuck him anyway?
“Ever since that day I looked out the window and masturbated.”
The confidence grew in him again as his hands that had fallen to his side grabbed your hips and planted yourself onto him, you could taste it on his lips.
“And you still wore those little panties? You knew I was watching and—” His own words were making him uncomfortably hard against his jeans, and you wasted no time shifting yourself from his thigh to his lap. The friction made him moan, loud.
“Fuck me, Eddie.” You gasped, already standing up in the process of kicking your pants and panties off.
He was doing the same, thinking about all the times he had fantasized about you, but never feeling it like reality could. His imagination didn’t do you justice. Suddenly, seeing you take your shirt off, bared before him in panties and a bra, butterflies swamped his stomach. (In his fantasies he had never needed to tell you he was a virgin.)
“I…Stop— wait.”
“What? Are you okay?” It was easy to see his hands begin to tremble, red cheeks only flaring further. You sank to your knees, touching his own comfortingly and resting your chin on top of his legs. “We don’t have to do anything yet. I was just getting lost in the moment-- we don't have to fuck, Eddie.”
“No— no,” he blurted, taking your face in his hands to try and stop the shaking, “I do— I do want to fuck you— so fucking bad— but…I’ve never…I never…”
It didn’t take a genius to try and decipher what he was getting at. Your hands on his knees ran up his legs, savouring the soft skin you were feeling. “It’s okay, we can take it slow.” You planted a kiss on his thigh and then reached up to his lips. “What do you want to do first?”
He pulled your face back up to his and kissed you so hard you thought your lips would bruise. So he certainly wasn’t lacking in enthusiasm.
“I don’t know,” he whispered against your lips. You travelled down to his neck, planting soft kisses and nips along every inch of skin you found. He still had his shirt on, but you relished that it was a button-up shirt.
With every button undone, there was something new to explore. He didn't have much chest hair or muscle definition, instead, his stomach was flat and his chest rose rapidly with every pant. You took one of his nipples with your teeth, so softly, just to test the waters. When he threw his head back, the first time he had taken his eyes off you, you delighted in the sound.
“Fuck!” He almost cried it out and then was when you realised you could never bottle these sounds from anyone else. You could never picture he would taste this sweet, be so helpless under your mouth.
You realised you wanted him to cry and sob and babble and beg under that mouth, make his first time so good he wouldn’t be able to have anyone else without thinking of you and how good you were. You wanted to break him and lovingly put him back together. Eddie was so, so incredibly smart, matters of the brain and mind were his forte. But now it was the body, and that was a language you spoke well.
Sinking back down to your knees, you tugged his boxers off to relieve his hard-on that was straining almost painfully. It was leaking with so much precum your eyes lit up.
“You want me to suck your dick?”
Your hot breath fanned his dick and Eddie threw his head back. Pain at the waiting, at the need, but so much pleasure at the sight of you nestled between his legs. He needed you, he didn’t even comprehend what you had said, he just needed you to do something. He nodded frantically.
“Words.”
“I— yes, please, please.” Fuck he was already breathless.
You kissed the tip, licking up the precum with big eyes watching his breathing falter and shutter with each apprehensive moan. Every sound he made, every whine and gasp, just added to the wetness pooling between your thighs. You wanted him so, so, so bad. First, though, you were going to suck his dick and make him cum so hard he wouldn’t be able to see next week.
Taking his dick in your mouth, he watched you and could’ve cum already. He wanted to, but he didn’t want to disappoint you, so he screwed his eyes shut, taking off his glasses and placing them next to him on the couch. Instead of the sight of you, he focussed on the feeling, your mouth so warm and your throat just hitting his tip and swallowing his precum so greedily. A loud whine escaped him when he felt your tongue lick up his shaft while he was still in your mouth. This was so much better than he imagined, so much better than his hand.
Eddie felt you begin to bob your head, sucking and licking, and he wanted to fucking…He didn’t know but he wanted so desperately for you. Soon, if you kept up this pace he was going to cum. The thought of his cum being swallowed by you, or even your soft face so sweet and kind covered in his cum. It made that knot tighten in his stomach, but he kept those eyes screwed shut. If you carried on and he watched you bobbing your head, being so eager to obey and please him? He would cum so quickly, so soon.
You stopped. What the fuck, you just…His eyes flew wide open because he was getting so close and you just…stopped.
“Wha…why did you stop?” He panted.
“Eddie.” It wasn’t that his noises weren’t delicious, and you weren't so close to cumming just from his noise alone (because you were so ridiculously wet), but you wanted to test the water yet again. See how he would shape himself in his new territory. “Look at me.”
“What? Please, please just…” Eddie didn’t know why he grew embarrassed to say it out loud. “Please carry on.”
“Carry on what?” You brought a hand up to start stroking him long and torturously slowly.
He groaned, eyes still closed, “don’t play games, please.”
“Do you want me to suck your dick, Eddie?” You quickened your pace. “You want me to make you cum? You gonna be a good boy and cum for me?”
Your words made his hips jolt, thrusting helplessly into your hand. “Please suck my dick, please, make me cum. I’m so,” he panted and cried, “so, so close!”
“Then look at me. You’ve been watching me like a perv for so long, and you can’t look at me now?”
Eventually, he unscrewed his eyes, looking down at you, breathing heavily. You could’ve orgasmed on sight at the way his green eyes darkened without his glasses, gazing down at you like that, his chest rising and falling.
His hair had fallen from its usual neat side parting and onto his face, clinging to his forehead from sweat. God he could be sexy if he wanted— he was shaking and needy and whining, but you found it so irresistibly hot.
Without any warning you began sucking again, taking his balls in your hands, working harder and faster to get him to cum. His cute whine and groans became loud cries— this man was almost sobbing as he thrust himself into your mouth. Eddie made sure to keep his eyes open this time. Your name fell from his mouth in between curses and pleas, so loud and so needy you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. His dick twitched in your mouth and you tried not to smile, it would interrupt the task at hand.
Guiding one of his hands up to your hair, you showed him with your own hands to push your head up and down his dick. That it was okay. Tonight was about him.
Such a quick learner, so clever, he got the hang of it immediately and thrust so deep into you he could feel your throat convulse around his dick.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck— I’m gonnaaa fucking— hnnnn—” He cried out, tears forming in the corner of his eyes like they were in yours.
Then he came, thick ropes spilling into your throat, still blubbering and crying and begging even when he had no cum left.
Although he had finished, his hand untangled itself from your hair, you pushed your mouth onto his cock again. He gasped at the contact, his dick was so sensitive.
“I already— fuck don’t stop— don’t stop—”
He cried out and began sobbing, tears that were just pricking at his eyes now spilling over to his cheeks. Your toes curled at the sight. This man, Edward Nashton, possibly the smartest man in Gotham, was slowly getting destroyed and it was you. You were the one doing this to him.
Using your hands to fondle his balls again, this time also stroking the inside of his thighs lovingly, you didn’t mess around in pulling a second orgasm from him. Eddie didn’t last long either, making sure his eyes were on you, cumming so quickly you didn’t have time to adjust yourself before you were swallowing his cum for a second time. Then a third, then a fourth. You decided your target of six was a bit too high when you saw the wreck he was in.
He was crying, hands rubbing at his eyes, head lolling and hair all messed in his eyes, only supported by the back of your couch. His thighs were trembling, as were his hands, all of him was shaking. Every feather-light touch you placed up his legs, his chest, made his skin jump, every muscle underneath the skin lurching at the sudden contact. What were once groans and enthusiastic pleas for more became babbled nonsense. He didn’t have the energy to speak anymore, even form a coherent thought.
All he could do was mutter, “thank you, thank you so much, fuck, thank you, thank you, please no more, thank you so, so, so much—” His words slurred into one another like he was drunk.
Seeing him so spent, you decided he had been a good enough boy. To say it was his first time you were impressed. Something warm bubbled in your chest as you watched a lazy smile stretch across his face. You did that. You made him feel the way he deserved.
“Time for bed, Eddie.”
“No, no, what about— what about you— I wanna— you—”
Your thighs were drowning at how wet you were, the slick running down your legs as you stood up, but watching Eddie pant made your heart ache. “I’m fine, I can wait for you. We’ve got all day tomorrow.”
He nodded, he wanted tomorrow with you. Some part of Eddie’s mind echoed something about a meeting (didn’t The Riddler have a meeting tomorrow with his followers? His mind fogged together some memory of needing to stream.) He could honestly not care less, right now he just wanted to go to bed and lay in your arms and smell your hair and never wake up.
Was the dream finally ending, was reality going to smack him in the head that, no, you are still at home using your hands and imagination? Life was cruel like that. Still, he could barely keep his eyes open for long enough to consider the complexities of life.
You were warm. So warm. That night he collapsed onto your bed and allowed you to clean him up before you fell beside him. He was going to say something about making you feel good too, that surely you deserved something in return, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Your duvet was so soft against his skin, not like his apartment, not like that hotel room he was renting for The Riddler to live in. The last thing he remembered was you placing a kiss on his temple and wrapping your arms around him.
He slept peacefully, without a single nightmare, for the first time in years.