Work Text:
Zsasz was still laughing, giggling in a quiet voice while he leaned over the bar at Oswald’s. It seemed like no time had passed since the days they met so often in the old mansion just outside the city; where they passed so much spare time together talking in the darkness of the house when no one else was awake. The amber glow of the fireplace seemed romantic when Oswald remembered it. He closed his eyes trying to block out the thought, embarrassed at himself.
He stared at the reflections of Victor’s rings in the glass counter, trying to subdue his smile and mostly failing. He had missed talking to Victor, or anyone since he got back, with his only other friend still in Arkham. It was a strange kind of limbo he lived in now, trying to return to his old life when everything was so different.
He had thought for a while that Victor might not come back. Oswald could see the lines of yet another set of scars disappearing under Victor’s shirt cuff, marks on the back of his wrist that were new and raised and unfamiliar. He wanted to ask about them but stopped himself, instead glancing between them and the silver jewelry that decorated Victor’s hands, listening to the details of his story as he continued.
His voice reminded Oswald of midnight radio; dream-like, sleepy, but with the cadence of Zsasz’s intonation keeping him from sounding bored. It was nice, and again Oswald had to stop himself from saying something strange or unwelcome along those lines. But he really had missed him, and as much as he tried to stop himself, when Victor finally looked up at the end of his anecdote Oswald let only a few seconds hang in the air before telling him so, in a much sadder voice than he intended.
Another short moment passed. Victor gave a smile that lightly scrunched up one side of his face in a way Oswald found endearingly childlike.
“I missed you.”
The amused tone caught Oswald off guard. He had no idea what his own expression was like as he stared in slight apprehension at Victor’s face, waiting for him to say something else and deflect the whole thing. Instead Victor continued.
“We used to talk all the time. I used to stay for weeks at your old place. Mostly to be first in line for a new contract… but also just to talk.” He smiled again, bobbing his head to one side.
“You know I always gave you first place anyway, if you were there or not.”
“I know,” Victor mused, raising his smooth brows and finally standing up straight, reaching for his jacket that lay across the counter. ‘D’you need a ride home?’ he asked, walking around to the public side of the bar, standing to wait by Oswald’s seat for the answer.
It was approaching 4am and Oswald had sent everyone else home hours ago. He considered that declining and calling a cab might be the polite thing to do. But when he opened his mouth he found himself stuck before finishing the ‘no’ of his planned ‘no thank you’, and trailing off to a nervous silence that he quickly replaced with, “Sure, actually… yes,” and a hurriedly added, “thank you, Victor.”
They walked across the near-empty parking lot out back, Penguin feeling the chill of the autumn air sweep across his face and lightly sting his eyes. Though it was a calm night, after days of heavy storms the ground still shone with small rivers running between puddles. Only when they approached the vehicle did he register that Zsasz had picked up a motorcycle helmet at some point before they’d left the building, and his stomach flipped with dread and an unexpected, fearful thrill.
“Oh,” he said simply, freezing in place when they were near to the bike.
“…Is this okay?”
Oswald knew he had to reply but was still wildly unsure. For all that he wanted to walk back inside and call a cab, he could equally see Victor standing in front of him with unusual patience; the embarrassing pull of human contact tugging at Oswald from those warm brown eyes, stark and huge in the low light of the parking lot.
“I’ve never, uh…” Oswald started to falter, looking over the bike warily before Victor’s body blocked his field of view and the helmet was being held up towards him.
“You should take it if you’re coming along, since I only brought one. Not that I think you’ll fall off, but…” He said the last sentence with feigned graveness, smiling lopsidedly again after a second. Oswald felt his heart speeding to an uncomfortable pace, making him certain Victor could hear it too. He inhaled deeply and picked the helmet up from Victor’s hands, not ready for the weight of it and feeling somewhat more afraid with every passing moment.
“Or… I could just call you a cab?”
“No, no this is fine.” Oswald lied, though excitement still bubbled in his chest alongside steadily rising fear. Victor seemed to believe him, starting the bike and driving it up next to Oswald, suppressing the urge to laugh at the way its proximity made him jump. With the helmet finally on, the sounds of the city were muffled and dull in Oswald’s ears. He climbed on to the back of the bike with difficulty, grateful that Zsasz couldn’t see his ungraceful attempt.
Victor described as best he could how Oswald should sit, though still reached back and gently moved his ankle to better explain. Oswald was getting increasingly more embarrassed, partly wishing he could give up and decline after all, partly thrilled that Victor had even offered. It was strange and giddying and even more so when his hands were taken and placed on Victor’s hips and he was told to hold on and not let go. A wave of apprehension moved through him as the engine grew louder. He resisted the painful urge to hug himself tightly against Victor’s back. He couldn’t lie to himself, he desperately wanted to feel safe and the thought brought on more nausea, along with the realization that this was the first time he’d ever touched Victor at all. Victor, who he had to pretend he didn’t find alarmingly sweet every time they interacted, who he had definitely imagined being so close with, though he tried not to remember now.
As they moved off, Oswald knew he was barely keeping himself together. He somehow remembered to tell Victor they were heading to his old apartment; he had some belongings to pick up. New, icier winds chilled his hands into numbness after only a few minutes and he worried that he might lose his grip, holding as tightly as he could to the body in front of him. His hands curled fearfully around the fabric where Victor’s jacket ended, trying to squeeze some of the lost sensation back.
He found welcome relief at the first stop light, ruined only by the fact it couldn’t keep them still forever. Oswald could hear his heart louder than before thudding inside his chest with a frantic semblance of rhythm. It was made worse when, while waiting for the traffic to pass, Victor reached back again, turning round as far as he could and placing a hand briefly on Oswald’s leg. A gesture of reassurance, it seemed. Oswald wanted more than anything to put his own hand over it and plead for them to stop. But the moment was over too quickly, and with the smallest sound of distress he instead tried to hold on tighter to Zsasz’s clothes.
Grey tower blocks and occasional shapes of neon flashed by them on either side, Oswald not daring to look at them fully for fear of losing balance. When they rounded a sharp corner he found himself letting out an involuntary yelp in the most cracked voice as his body dipped horribly close to the asphalt. Once they were upright again he shifted forward without a moment’s thought and closed the distance between himself and Victor, moving one hand at a time to tightly grip around his waist as their bodies pressed together entirely. He tensed up with indignity but found he couldn’t move back, fear keeping him in place as much as his own quiet desperation to just be close.
The rest of the ride was calmer but filled with some dread at having definitely overstepped the line of personal space. He found his fingers were less numb at least, having stolen warmth from Victor’s body, though it made him blush again when he realised it. In his absent and worried thoughts Oswald didn’t notice they had reached his apartment building, and only when the engine was cut was he able to uncurl his fists and sit back, waiting for Victor’s incredulity or annoyance, or ridicule.
Instead Victor stepped off with a look of concern and waited beside him, though Oswald’s gaze was fixed on the road. Two hands reached towards him and removed the helmet on his behalf. He truly felt like disappearing into the air, wishing he could just end this interaction and apologize later. The thoughts must have been plainly visible on his face as Victor asked sincerely Are you okay? though his tone inferred he could guess the answer.
Penguin only shook his head slightly but quickly, trying to apologize, his hands going up weakly in front of himself with open palms that were trembling. He noticed his breaths were coming out shaky like sobs but was powerless to stop it. He got down off the seat unsteadily and as fast as was possible, doing so on the opposite side to where Zsasz stood.
“Don’t be crazy, I’m the one who’s sorry… I had no idea you’d be so shaken up like this.” He moved as he spoke but got around the bike slightly too late to help Oswald down and came to stand by him on the street instead.
“Nonsense, really I— I thought I’d be fine and…” Oswald nervously dusted off his suit jacket and adjusted his tie, his collar, trying to look less dishevelled, “… I am so sorry, for all of that.”
“It’s completely fine.”
Victor’s words were slow and deliberate. As if to force Oswald to believe him, his next move was simply stepping closer and hugging the Penguin tightly to himself, one arm moving to the small of his back, the other hand up by his shoulder. Oswald froze for a moment, a startled gasp escaping him when his cheek met the warmth of Victor’s neck.
“Victor…”
Eventually his own body remembered it was supposed to hug back and he moved his arms to wrap around Victor’s waist, clinging nervously, unsure what else to do but breathe.
“It’s really okay.”
Oswald could feel the soft vibrations of his voice as Victor spoke. He was afraid to move his head for fear he might break them apart. He couldn’t risk ending the intimacy he found himself loving more than he cared to admit. “If I’d known you were so afraid, Oswald…”
At those words his eyes opened in protest and his tone began as confrontational, “I was not af—! Uhh,” He paused quickly, “Okay, I’ll admit I was… quite scared.” He gave up, ashamed at his sudden comeback and completely overwhelmed by Victor’s body being held against his own. He was listening to him breathe, feeling the expansion of his chest push gently against his own, knowing for certain now Victor would be able to feel his rapid heartbeat. He didn’t know why Victor would suddenly hold him like this when words were enough, but something had made him decide in the moment that this was the thing to do. Whatever the reason, Oswald wanted never to move apart, turning his head to press more fully against Victor’s neck. His hands moved slightly higher and squeezed more firmly, trying to get across that he wasn’t ready to let go. His face was noticeably pink and flushed and Victor could feel the heat rising against his skin, moving to rest his own cheek on Oswald’s head.
Victor wasn't a person who second guessed very often. He waited to see Oswald’s response for long enough, and when he could feel nothing but the steadying breath against his neck and the hands clutching at his back he decided there was no point wondering any longer. Slowly he placed a kiss to Oswald’s cheek with barely parted lips, pressing gently and lingering as long as he thought he could. His smile was impossible to hide when Oswald gasped softly, drawing back after a second to look up at him, though his hands remained on Victor’s jacket.
There was nothing in Victor’s face to suggest an explanation, looking into Oswald’s eyes as calmly as ever. A few seconds passed before Oswald tried to speak.
“Why did you…? Victor, I…” he trailed off uselessly, glancing up at the eyes in front of him and then back to Victor’s lips, still incredulous. He was thinking it might have been a joke. Though it wouldn’t have been so in-character, it was the only realistic option and Oswald’s face started to sink into a look of upset and disgrace. He pulled back more, uncomfortable with the lack of answer, feelings of hurt rising in him coldly like a sudden illness.
Victor only relaxed his hold around Oswald’s body, letting him move back.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke flatly but his eyes were soft and concerned. “I thought maybe you’d like me to kiss you. I shouldn’t have. I’ve just really wanted to, for a long time…”
Oswald watched him say it and blinked rapidly, another blush spreading over his face.
“… and it felt right, just then.”
Victor let him go with another apology and made to step back, but Oswald almost stumbled forward in response. “What? No, I didn’t mean— ah— ” he struggled to find the words, still convincing himself of what he’d heard. “Really?”
There was an extended silence from Victor who just nodded his head with raised brows, hoping that would be clear enough. He let himself laugh after a while, seeing Penguin’s expression change from a tragic to a more relaxed one, and smiled as he leaned in slowly. Their faces just nearly touching, both of them holding each other again, they stood in otherwise perfect stillness while the cold October air tried to squeeze between them. It was after 4:30 in the morning. Cars and trucks still rumbled past at the same pace as in daylight, but they felt as distant to Oswald as the heavy clouds drifting overhead.
As much as he wanted to kiss Victor he didn’t want to be the one to make the decision. He was still irrationally nervous, still quietly afraid for what felt like no reason at all. Or rather because he’d never had to make this decision before. But Victor’s hand trailed up slowly to rest against his cheek, and when he parted his lips they were met by Victor’s own before he could decide to speak or to make any other movement. The hand on his face stroked him softly. He couldn’t tell if he was about to cry or not, unable to think, standing almost motionless but for the gentle closure of his lips against Victor's.
He was grateful Zsasz was prolonging this; just the same gentle pressure of his mouth and the warm touch of his fingers, stretching out over passing seconds. His usual impatience was entirely absent. When their lips parted Oswald gave a breathless sigh.
“Victor—” he wanted to say, but in trying he only brought the tears in his eyes to the edge and they soon spilled over. Closing his eyes tightly Oswald tried to stop himself crying any further. Victor pulled back far enough to focus on his face. It pulled at his heart unexpectedly, like watching a small animal in distress. But he found himself equally warmed by it too, a physical heat washing over him, unable to focus on anything but the notion that Oswald was so pretty when he cried. He felt his lips turning dry and licked them reflexively, still staring.
He only remembered himself when Oswald reopened his eyes after some time, tears leaving his eyelashes clumped unevenly.
“Please, don’t stop yet.” His breaths were still shaky and apprehensive but he smiled widely for a moment, clearly overwhelmed, clearly tied up in emotions. He would never have tried to instigate this; never have dared to assume Victor might have feelings for him beyond vague amusement at his company. He was even too distracted to be mortified by his own tears. It was surreal to be living out a secret, hopeless wish in the middle of the street on what was supposed to be another uneventful night. Nothing particularly good ever happened to the Penguin that he didn’t spend a long, painful time working and planning for. And yet Victor pulled him closer then and kissed his damp cheeks, tasting the salt on his skin and gently wiping away the remaining tears with his thumbs.
Oswald felt almost empty, in his stomach, in his head, as if he might easily be picked up and carried away by the wind like a small bird. Victor’s lips parted against his own, still so softly and carefully, and Oswald felt his tongue for the first time, hot and damp against his mouth. He let Victor lick and taste his own gently moving lips before finally opening more, reciprocating more fully, trying to kiss him the way he’d imagined so many times over and over, when the idea had been nothing more than impossible pining after a strange assassin he’d managed to get on his side.
He had never hoped to get this far, only gone over what it might be like in this impossible scenario. In a world where Victor had any real care for him, or even loved him; where it didn’t matter what he looked like and who he was at all, and they could be together somehow. He had never thought of a context. It was only a pipe dream. He’d imagined himself in Victor’s arms so many times, holding each other on his couch by the fire. He had thought of Victor’s cold silver rings bumping against his ribs from under his shirt. He’d imagined the warmth of Victor’s thighs underneath his own, Victor moving inside him, the intense heat between his legs from being fucked by him and what they might sound like together when he’d whimper and Victor might cry out softly when they came.
But for all of this he was still shy and apprehensive, and overwhelmed by just being kissed, and only an hour ago he'd been overjoyed to be Victor’s friend with no real notion that they might ever be so close.
Rain started to fall then, strangely lukewarm despite the chilling breeze, and Victor pulled away with reluctance, slowly getting himself to stop after placing small kisses against Oswald’s lips, his cheekbones, his jaw and then his lips again. He smoothed a hand against Oswald’s hair, running his fingers through it after a moment and undoing many of the spikes, making them lightly fluffed up in places and flat in others. Oswald just stood in nearly stunned silence, his neck lightly strained from reaching up for so long. He wanted to say something appropriate but was utterly lost.
“We should probably go inside,” he admitted eventually. When Victor started to ask if he should leave, Oswald looked up nervously and shook his head, adding without thinking,
“I don’t want to be alone.”