Work Text:
“Of course, baby,” Oswald says lazily down the phone, and Ed looks at anything but the man he lays against as to not show the bad twitch to his lips. The large, strong hand that keeps him close to Oswald’s even larger, even stronger body has a wandering quality. His thumb rubs circles against his side before it slides down to his hip, before back up again. Ed is tempted to pull it back down every time it leaves. “Y’get that sorted and I’ll drop off the cash for you, sweetheart, alright? Thank you, baby. See you at work.”
Ed doesn’t say anything when the phone is lowered and Oswald’s attention is refocused on him. There’s lips in his hair and all he manages to do is sigh. The hand leaves his body, but as much as Ed is now angry, mad, disgruntled - something - at Oswald, he catches the wrist and pulls it back. He needs the touch, the protection. But he’s also upset with him, for whatever reason it is now, and Ed keeps his hand awkwardly splayed when Oswald tries to hold it.
“What is it, pretty boy?” Oswald asks. Ed shrugs. The chest his head rests upon breaths heavily and he likes the rhythm, the beat, the beast it belongs to. He’s not much, really, when he compares himself to the man by him. He knows he shouldn’t. But he’s a scrawny little thing, always one missed lunch from his ribs bulging out of his chest. He doesn’t know how he manages it, no matter how many times he tries to put on muscle, he’s left stick thin and unremarkable. A gorgeously thick finger from the hand that once held the phone brushes a strand of his ginger hair out of his eyes. “Come on. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” Ed says, moving his head to hook it under Oswald’s chin. He thinks it’s nothing. He can get like this, resentful or superior or whatever, and he can’t always pin a reason into it. Oswald hums, a gravelly noise that shouldn’t be soothing, but Ed melts against him. He lays his arm across Oswald’s stomach and holds it there, the skin scarred and warm. There’s hair that leads down under his silken pyjama bottoms. Ed has a matching pair somewhere in a set of draws, but now he lays barren. “When’s work?”
“Y’ain’t gotta worry, gorgeous, not ‘til tonight,” Oswald says, tilting Ed’s chin up to look at him. “That’s what you’re upset about?”
“No,” Ed says. Oswald kisses the corner of his mouth. His nose presses into his cheek and he almost giggles at the pressure. It’s a nose he loves, it’s large and it’s beautiful. Everything he loves about Oswald is large, because you can’t love a man like him and not expect grandeur. Outside of him, his form and his body, it’s his voice and his love and the way he shows it. Oswald kisses his jaw. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“That’s okay, handsome, y’don’t have to,” Oswald says, “y’tell me if you want me gone.”
“No,” Ed says instantly and there’s a slight laugh by his cheek as lips press against it, “stay with me.”
“Always, my dear.”
Ed nuzzles further against him. It’s protective, it’s warm. He’s both of those things. He needs Oswald, in some strange sense of the word, as his brain tries to unfold emotions from reactions away from confusion. A soft breath of air escapes his lips.
“You’re cold,” Oswald says as he pulls Ed closer to him, and Ed shrugs. The covers that loosely wrap his body are worth more than his kidneys, soft against his bare skin. Every inch of the room is bathed in lavish purples or the richest of golds, always against a black backdrop. It’s dark even with the light fighting through the drawn curtains.
This room, the one he had woken in many times before, is larger than his entire flat. It’s a run down little place that he used to share with Chuck, until he was run out of town by Vengeance. Ed’s teeth grind together.
Why is it that they only got Chuck? Is Ed not good enough? Ed has never thought of himself as such, it only made sense. He was weak, scrawny. Tiny, in comparison to others who go against the shadows. All he has is what sits between his eyes. He frowns.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Ed asks. Oswald practically laughs, and Ed is about to know why he’s upset. Yet, he makes no effort to fight away when Oswald pulls him up to lay him directly across his body. One hand firmly holding the small of his back, the other pulling the covers over the both of them as if Oswald had never seen Ed’s naked form. He smiles and lays his ear to his heartbeat.
“How’d y’get that idea? You’re the smartest guy I know. Look at you, y’haven’t got caught once. I ain’t able to say the same,” Oswald says, his voice a low rumble of admiration and adoration.
“Still.” Ed positions his chin on Oswald’s chest in order to look at every scar on his face, smell his breath. It’s cigar smoke and liquor. “You got caught, you’re smart.”
“Not like you. You’re something else, gorgeous, y’know you are.” Oswald kisses the tip of Ed’s nose. He smiles with a small exhale. “Is that what’s up?”
“I just feel so… nothing, compared to you, everyone you work with. Even compared to Chuck.”
“What, the kite guy?” Oswald says it with so much indignation that Ed has to laugh, stifled by Oswald’s neck as he buries himself into it. The other hand rests in his hair, running fingers through it in the way only Oswald is allowed to touch him - with love. Nobody can come close to him in the way Oswald can. The body he loves is so warm under himself and the covers, but Ed is grateful. Oswald is often warm, he is often cold.
“You’re plenty,” Oswald continues with a whimsy to his voice, “y’outsmart anyone who even looks at you, pretty boy, y’don’t have to fight if y’can trap ‘em.”
A hand wraps around Ed’s wrist entirely and his face feels flushed. Oswald lifts it up and presses his palm to his cheek, forcing Ed to look up at him, if not to just see the smile that he can feel. His gold teeth shine despite the lack of light.
“You’re so strong,” Ed says, breathlessly. It’s his last argument, and it doesn’t even sound like one. He’s on the brink of giving up, but he never really wanted to get far into a fight about this.
“You’re so smart,” Oswald says, “and y’ain’t ever allowed to forget it, I like you too much to let y’think you’re not. It’s one of the things I like most about you, your brains.”
Ed breathes out in relief. It’s a stupid thought, really. There’s a scratched canvas of a man beneath him, a work of art, and he sees that in himself. He’s still mildly upset, but not with Oswald. Sometimes, maybe, but not now. He’s too beautiful right now, ready to fight for him. Always ready to fight for him.
“What else do you like about me?”
“Your ass is pretty cute,” Oswald says, and Ed smiles. There is not a shift in the air, but there is a new comfort. It’s reassuring, Oswald not fleeing when this conversation occurs. It’s new. Ed likes it. He likes him. He barely thinks before he speaks, in a moment like this.
“I love you,” Ed says, casually, and fully, and for the first time. Oswald doesn’t yell, shove him away, build walls around himself because it’s ‘too early’. In fact, Oswald just unlinks his hand from Ed’s wrist, hooks it under his chin, and presses their lips together. They simply stare at each other for a few moments before Oswald speaks.
“I love you, too.”