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Oswald stole a quick glance in the mirror as he passed, a fleeting image in his periphery that gave him pause to face the reflective surface, something he rarely did. The words of his mother echoed in his memories.
‘Oswald, don’t listen to the other children. You are handsome, and clever, and someday you will be a great man.’
He smiled at the memory of her heavy accent, how he used to wonder as a child why mama sounded so different from him, how Gertrud’s words curled in her mouth like bubblegum twisted and twirled around a finger.
But Oswald could never help listening the other children. He wanted to believe his dear mother’s words, but those seemed to die with the woman who spoke them softly to Oswald every night.
He regarded his reflection with something like disappointment, how sinewy the supposed Terror of Gotham looked in this light, and if Oswald was so worthy of terror, he saw no proof. It was a wonder to the man how he could ever strike fear in the hearts of his enemies.
Oswald leaned his cane against the wall.
“You wretched thing,” He hissed to the heavy object, a constant reminder of his cowardice in the face of Fish Mooney.
Oswald smoothed out his coat, tugged it flat against himself as he could manage. Some kings got soft on their throne and Oswald decided he was no exception. A fully staffed kitchen was more curse than blessing to a man powerless against temptation. He ran his slender hands over silk fabric, such finery that masked the translucent skin it stretched over, Oswald thought he always looked so sickly despite being a rather healthy man.
Oswald followed the lines of his shoulders, tried his best to push them back and jut out his chin to regard what he hoped was regality.
He couldn’t see a thing.
For the main event, Oswald finally brought his gaze to the face he saw reflected back at him. So many jagged edges, a nose broken one too many times by playground bullies that Oswald had eventually lost track, he only knew he hated the crooked line it left him with. His feathery hair such a source of headache in the morning, the jet black locks never wanted to lay flat and the amount of product it took on those days would render it stiff and artificial.
Oswald let out another huff, hands running, smoothing, anything he could do to make a presentable spectacle.
While he worried fabric and product, a different set of hands snaked around his chest, holding firm and stilling Oswald’s own. He felt the careful caress of familiar lips against the shell of his ear.
“And I thought my hands were the only ones that knew you like this.”
Ed’s voice was impossibly lilted in Oswald’s ear, a teasing chuckle replaced any proper punctuation.
Oswald closed his eyes against the sensation of Ed’s rumbling voice, reveling in the way it rang out against his bones. With such decadence so close, it was easy for Oswald to forget everything he had been fretting over just seconds before. But he had to open his eyes sometime, and once again he was greeted with the unsavory reality.
Ed very quickly noticed the change in Oswald’s body language, sunken back and distressed. Ed placed his chin on the other man’s shoulder, forcing Oswald to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Oswald, what’s wrong?”
Edward lowered his hands to the other man’s stomach, wrapping his arms in a tight embrace and ensuring Oswald could not squirm his way from uncomfortable conversation.
Oswald forced a tight smile and inhaled deeply.
“Nothing at all my dearest,” He patted the hands that lay at his waist, “why do you ask?”
Ed frowned, still holding Oswald’s unsure gaze.
“I watched you fuss at this mirror for quite some time. Tell me what’s wrong, Oswald,” he said.
Oswald parted his lips to throw out some blasé response he knew would satisfy his partner, but one quick glance back to his reflection killed any words he may have held. Oswald felt guilty ignoring the strikingly beautiful man that clung to him but a horrible voice in the back of his mind spit poison in place of praise.
‘How could such a man claim to love me?’
‘There must be motive, there must be reason beyond such a disappointing shell.’
Edward let out a small gasp and unraveled himself from Oswald.
“Oswald, how—how could you say such awful things?” Edward asked, incredulous.
He realized too late the hateful words let themselves be heard. He felt Ed’s hands grasp his shoulders, gaze finally torn from the visage he faced in the mirror, but Oswald could not meet the other man’s eyes.
“Os—,” Ed moved his hands to gently cup Oswald’s face, guiding the other man to look at him, “Oswald, please. We both know I will continue to berate you until you answer me.”
Oswald felt tears burn behind his eyes, how weak Ed must think him to be, crying over a simple question.
Oswald took a shuttered breath before he spoke, “I just never realized what you and all of Gotham must see when you look at me.”
Ed made a questioning noise and knitted his brows close together in genuine confusion.
Oswald clenched and unclenched his fists, the movement doing nothing to stall the tears that fell openly onto his cheeks.
“I caught sight of myself in the mirror—that horrid thing—and I understand now what everyone is forced to behold when they see me. All the crooked lines and soft edges, the twisted joints that no longer serve their purpose, I am no more a threat to anyone than a common house cat.”
Oswald spat the last word, trying his best to convey the venom he felt in his veins.
With Ed’s hands still on his face, he turned into the man’s calloused palm, as if hiding his eyes could make it so the other would be ignorant to his vulnerability. Oswald could do nothing to stop the freeflow of tears, he felt the force of it make his shoulder tremble. How badly the kingpin wished he could simply disappear, how Edward deserved someone much stronger than him.
Oswald finally felt Ed’s hands shift, sure his companion would be driven away by such a display of cowardice.
Edward simply smoothed his hands across Oswald’s back, pulling his lover close and rubbing reassuring circles into the deep, violet fabric of his suit jacket.
“Oswald,” Ed pulled him ever closer, knowing how Oswald hated when others saw him cry, “I won’t force you to speak, but I am asking you to listen.”
Ed inhaled deeply, hoping it would encourage Oswald’s short and sporadic breaths the calm themselves. He gently turned Oswald to face the mirror once more, hands placed firmly on the other man’s hips.
“Do you want to know what I see, Oswald?” Ed kept his voice soft.
Oswald shook his head quick and sharp, eyes still wrenched closed.
Ed buried his nose in the other’s hair, inhaling the woodsy smell of Oswald’s styling products, a scent that could bring him back from the grave.
“You are terribly intoxicating Oswald, did you know that,” Edward paused, knowing Oswald would refuse a response, but nevertheless he carried on, “the scent of pine, of cade oil, I cannot help thinking of the night I came across you in thosebwoods. How glad I was to see you stumble helplessly in front of me, a gift from fate and mine for the taking.”
Oswald made a noise like a scoff, finally opening his eyes but settling on his own shoes. He tentatively moved his hands over Edward’s, the touch at least some form of comfort in his embarrassment. Hard as Oswald attempted a pout, he couldn’t hide the way Ed’s tone affected him. The man’s voice flowed down his spine, it poured like syrup into his lungs and he felt his heart fit to burst.
Still though, Oswald remained silent.
Edward was prepared for a fight, and he was nowhere near ready for a ceasefire.
He moved his lips closer to ghost over Oswald’s ear, “You may think we see weakness but you have never been more incorrect. Oswald you are royalty, if only you could see the awe in your subjects’ faces, how willingly they surrender their respect to you and all before you even speak one word to them.”
Ed kept a low gravel to his voice, forcing Oswald to truly focus on every word he spoke.
Oswald allowed a shudder to escape up his spine, as if he had a choice with the weight of Ed’s words in his ear.
“And oh, Oswald. I could spend hours on the finery of your looks, I have never seen such intensity and ice in one man’s stare, but I would happily accept yours be the last I ever regard.”
Ed trailed his fingertips to lightly graze over Oswald’s hands, first the backs, the palms, and anywhere else he could reach.
“I always felt you were more than a man,” Ed rasped, “I mean, how could one man possess such astounding beauty?”
Oswald felt his cheeks burn, the blush creeping quickly up the back of his neck.
“Please Ed, I think you’ve made your poi—”
Edward tsked in a way so familiar to Fish it gave Oswald pause enough for Ed to continue in his flattery.
“Everything about you exudes power, such grace and finery woven into the fabric of your being. I feel I could take you apart, piece by exquisite piece, extract your DNA and find it laced with gold.”
Ed knew only Oswald would find comfort in such an odd expression. This was their love language, talk of carnage and bloodshed could only insight romance for men as warped as they two.
Oswald leaned heavily against Ed’s chest, he found his knees became too weak to depend on thanks to the pretty words pouring past Ed’s lips.
Oswald finally met Ed’s eyes in the mirror, a fleeting plea for the other to stop before he suffocated on the blush that choked him. Ed brought his hands back to Oswald’s hips, once again turning the man to face him.
“Oswald, I am not asking you to accept my praise, I only ask you let me know that you understand how profound my feelings are for you and know I would never lie to you. Do you understand that?” Ed tried to keep his voice unwavering.
Oswald could not trust himself to speak yet, the intensity of Edward’s profession assured the presence of more tears if he tried to answer.
He lifted himself to seize Ed’s lips and grasped at the man’s lapels, searching for the grounding touch of his partner.
Their lips slotted perfectly together and Ed’s hands found their place on Oswald’s lower back, bringing him impossibly close. Both men would swear they could feel the crackle of heat between them, all roaming hands and feverish gasps. Edward couldn’t help the quiet groan that escaped his throat at the feeling of Oswald’s lips parting against his, a delicate swipe of the man’s tongue across his bottom lip nearly brought Ed to his knees.
Oswald wrapped his arms around Ed’s shoulders, a mess of limbs. No way of knowing where one began and the other ended but they wouldn’t have it another way.
Ed was the first to break away, a sweet noise of protest from Oswald that brought a painfully loving smile to his face.
Ed simply kept Oswald as close as he’d been while both men settled their breathing, each of their respirations medled and mixed together.
They shared a home, a bed, and now breath.
Ed brought his hands back to Oswald’s face, delicately swiping his thumb over the man’s eyelid, down the bridge of that perfectly imperfect nose, anywhere he could express his reverence.
“I take it that means you understand?” Ed plastered a haughty smile across his face.
Oswald gave a playful swat to the man’s hands still performing their careful ministrations over his features.
“Yes well, I suppose you make a convincing argument.” Oswald rolled his eyes in a dramatic show of faux annoyance.
Ed’s satisfaction softened into something so warm and sickeningly sweet Oswald tasted honey on the back of his tongue.
“I do love you, Oswald.”
“And I love you Edward, with every gold-woven fibre of my being.”