Work Text:
The invitation came in a peacock blue, square envelope, addressed by hand. No return address. It was obvious why as soon as Jim opened it. Oswald probably feared that he would have thrown it straight into the trash if he knew that it came from him. Like the last time. Although at least he had controlled himself enough not to let Oswald see him do it. He should do the same thing now. Open the grey lid of the kitchen trash can and drop it in. Again. Hadn’t Oswald leaned by now? Did he expect more because he had helped Jim to his apartment that night? Because he had led him to Fish? Because he apologized? Not something he would have done while sober. But it was good he did, he supposed. Chip off a tiny streak of guilt from his soul, for all the good that would do him. Associating with Oswald was advantageous. Idealism didn’t blind him anymore. He didn’t skirt away from the festering ugliness that he didn’t want to face anymore. He was done. Fuck it.
So why hadn’t he thrown out the invitation yet? Why would he go to a fundraiser for the joke that was Oswald’s campaign? Going to some society affair had never been his idea of a good time, even when he had been obligated to let Barbara drag him along on her arm to that miasma of fake smiles, forced politeness, and sharp tongues that were these so called parties. Although the liquor would be top notch. That might carry him through. But he could drink here. Or at his local bar. Less fuss. No elbow rubbing. Forced interactions. Having to face Oswald again.
He looked over the invitation. Silver grey with white lettering. Generic “You are cordially invited…” content. No extra message for him. The last one had been hand delivered. This one Oswald just tossed into the mail like all the rest. Like he didn’t much care if Jim went or not. Except that the lack of return address had ensured that Jim would open it out of curiosity. And the writing on the envelope bore a familiar, left handed slant.
Jim tossed the invitation on the counter. The trash bag was full, anyway.
`````````````
“Welcome, Mr. Gordon,” the hostess said with a mechanical smile, checking off his name from the party list at the entrance.
“Thanks,” he said, passing by her into the house.
He didn’t know why he’d kept that invitation or why he was really here out in the Palisades on a Saturday night in Oswald’s fancy house surrounded by Gotham’s elite. An hour ago, he had been sitting on his couch, watching TV, but that slip of paper sitting on the counter kept nagging at him. He’d kept the envelope, too, more out of laziness than anything. He was bored. This was something to do. Good booze. And Oswald would be happy to see him. He did keep needing Oswald’s help. Antagonizing him further would be counterproductive. And… Well… That was all there was to it, wasn’t it? So here he was. The ballroom was as grand as the rest of the house. Checkered red and white tiles. Carved, Baroque ceiling. Arched windows all around the curved space. Delicate, glass wall lamps Of course, Oswald would turn out to have a rich dad. Maybe he could spare that million dollar bounty for Mooney. Jim may not have delivered her in person, but he had as good as. But what would he do with the money, anyway? As long as his bills were paid, he didn’t much care.
Waiters with wine glasses milled around the guests. Jim grabbed a glass, downing it in a couple of gulps, then made for the bar set up to the left side near the entrance. He didn’t have much else to do here. Except possibly snoop around the house, but that wasn’t his style. And that he doubted he would be alone for long. Given Oswald’s fixation on him, someone had probably alerted him to his arrival, so it was only a matter of time before had to greet his host and pretend to know what he was doing here.
Sure enough, half a glass of whisky later, Oswald’s familiar voice piped up beside him.
“Jim.”
Jim turned his head, lowering the glass. Oswald stood a few feet away, a grin on his face. The grin was pleasant, delighted, much more sane than the bloodthirsty one he’d borne down upon Jim as that crazed mob hoisted him aloft like some blood stained hero. Jim liked this one better.
“Evening, Oswald.”
Jim nodded at him. His gaze lingered on those pretty lips, like it always did.
“I must admit, I am a little surprised to see you here. Delighted, of course, but I thought for sure, you would ignore my invitation.”
An unspoken “again” hung between them.
“I wasn’t sure if I was coming myself, to be honest.”
That was diplomatic enough, wasn’t it?
“Well, I’m glad that you did.”
Oswald stepped a little closer. That eager expression was back on his face, yet it lacked the puppy dog quality that he had always exhibited back when Jim had been a detective. His look was more distant now, slightly guarded against Jim’s displeasure. After leaving him in Arkham, Jim couldn’t blame him. And this is what he had wanted, right? For Oswald to keep his distance and not salivate all over him like Jim was the answer to his prayers?
“Nice house you’ve got here,” Jim said, taking another sip of whisky.
“Thank you. Father was very proud of it. I would love to give you a tour later, if you want. I’d offer to do it now, but I can hardly desert my own party so early in the evening.”
Even now, Butch, who had shown up behind Oswald a few moments ago, was holding a couple of political looking types at bay a few feet away from them. Oswald had probably instructed him not to let their chat be interrupted. So even now, as Oswald ran a mad campaign for mayor and all that had happened between them, Jim was still his priority. Jim downed the rest of his glass.
“It looks like you have some hanger-ons waiting on you right now,” Jim said.
Oswald turned in the direction that Jim indicated with his gaze, frowning at the disturbance. He didn’t want to cut their conversation short. Seeing Jim probably made his whole night. Which meant that they probably should. What Jim should do was excuse himself and sneak out. He’d shown his face. Oswald couldn’t be miffed at him for rebuffing him again. It would be better to waste the rest of his night on cable shows and beer than muse on how bizarrely attractive Oswald was no matter how homicidal and deranged his actions continued to get. But damnit, it was nice for someone besides Harvey to be happy to see him. Why Harvey continued to put up with him, he would never know.
“It appears that I have to go be a good host,” Oswald said, voice frosty with frustrated disappointment. “Will you be sticking around?”
“You don’t expect me to?”
“Like I said, I didn’t expect you to show up at all. You don’t seek my company for idle socializing. You’ve made an appearance, so, please, if you wish to leave, don’t let me stop you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re baiting me to stay or trying to get rid of me.”
“I’ve never wanted to be rid of you.”
There was no guile in his tone, only blunt truth.
Jim turned over the empty glass in his hands. A flash of teetering sidewalk before being caught by shorter, skinny body clouded his mind.
“If that wasn’t true after I threw up on your shoes, I guess it doesn’t make any sense for it to be true now. I’ll stay.” He raised his glass. “You stock some good stuff.”
He turned back toward the bar, feeling Oswald’s gaze and raw and hot on his back.
Despite his body’s urging and the unremitting dullness of the party, he didn’t get drunk, only imbibing enough to keep the restlessness and headaches at bay. He wanted his wits about him, and he wasn’t so far beyond caring that he wouldn’t mind embarrassing himself in front of this many people because he got inebriated. Besides, he’d lose all the brownie points he had just scored with Oswald by showing up, and wasn’t that the reason why he was in this self-congratulatory fanfare to begin with? Oswald made his way around the room, not that Jim was monitoring him too closely. About an hour in, he gave a speech filled with bombastic proclamations about making Gotham safe again and having zero tolerance for monsters and how he would carve out the corruption in his beloved city. Jim zoned out most of it, slipping out through a pair of glass doors onto a stone terrace, letting the crisp, autumn air distract his nerves and his thoughts slip away. Light pollution from the city crept into the night sky even here, leaving only a few stars to twinkle down at his seeking eyes. He squeezed his hands in his pants pockets, an involuntary spasm that he tried not to analyze. Muffled voices from the party reached his ears, but he ignored them. Soon, a jaunty jazz tune began to play as the speech ended. He ignored that, too. This side of the house faced nothing but woodland, the hustle and bustle of the big, busy city lying to the other side. Just as well. The stillness of being the only person within view in this deepening darkness felt truer. Freer. He stayed out there, purging his mind of everything save the inescapable beat of the music behind him and the breeze rustling the leaves in front of him, sinking into the familiar heaviness that always pulled at his insides whenever he opened his eyes.
“Jim?”
Jim turned in his seat at Oswald’s voice. Oswald was stepping out through the doors, shutting them behind him. Jim couldn’t see the party crowd anymore, only a couple of employees picking up.
“Is the party over?” Jim asked.
“Yes.”
Oswald crossed his arms over his chest, squeezing them tightly like he was cold. It had gotten chillier since Jim had come out here. His skin pricked a bit in discomfort, but he hadn’t wanted to move.
“Butch says that you’ve been out here for hours,” Oswald said.
“Do you have him keeping tabs on me?”
“No, but I do have a security system and you’re the only person out here. I told you if you wanted to leave, you could leave.”
“I like it here. It’s quiet.”
“It’s also cold. If you insist on sitting out here, I could get you a blanket or something so that you don’t freeze.”
Jim frowned.
“You’d let me?”
“You’ve hardly needed my permission so far.”
“But the party is over now. Shouldn’t you be kicking me out?”
The light was dim out there, but Jim could have sworn that Oswald rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Jim, you can stay the night if you want. Although I don’t recommend that you stay here the whole time, because it’s going to drop down to 40 tonight.”
“You’re giving me a room?”
“Is that a yes?”
Oswald had begun to shiver.
“Maybe.” Jim stood up. “We should get back in. You’re cold.”
Oswald frowned at him. Was he perplexed by Jim’s concern or by his non-committal answer? Either way, he didn’t say, only turned to return inside. Jim followed him.
He squinted a bit at the brighter light in the ballroom. Oswald dismissed the few employees that remained, assuring them that clean up could wait until the morning. It being a genteel, society affair, there wasn’t much to clean up, anyway, mostly stray glasses and crumbs. Oswald led him down the cavernous space to the corridor, then up the main stairs to the second floor. Jim barely noticed the elaborately carved black oak panels lining the stair and corridor walls, too intent on the person before him. Oswald had lowered his arms to his sides as the chill had left him in the comfortably heated interior of the house. His hair gleamed jet black in the warm light from the wall lamps lining the hallway.
“Which one is your room?”
Jim’s voice broke a stillness between them. Oswald stopped, pausing for an overly long while before turning around, bewilderment and astonishment and something that looked enough like hope to fuel the mad urge that had birthed Jim’s question. Yet hesitation was intermingled, too, rendering Oswald’s voice quieter than usual as he replied,
“My room?”
“Yes.”
Jim stepped forward so that there was hardly a foot between them. They had been this close numerous times, exchanging barbs, threats, negotiated deals. But Jim had never reached up and placed his hand on Oswald’s shoulder before. Never touched him gently, his fingers barely pressing down, sure that he shouldn’t be doing this and that he was invading Oswald’s space, yet seconds ticked by without Oswald throwing him off. Valerie was probably done with him and he really needed someone who didn’t begrudge his presence to want him right now.
“What are you doing?” Oswald asked, frowning at Jim’s hand with no less confusion.
Jim started lifting his hand, leaning back to move away, but Oswald grabbed it, keeping it fixed on his shoulder. His fingers were cold, yet his eyes were just the opposite.
“Is this a joke?” he asked, anger sharpening his voice.
Jim shook his head.
“No.”
“You’ve never shown any indication of liking me like that. Or liking me at all.”
Oswald’s fingers squeezed, hard.
“Look, I haven’t given this any thought. I just don’t want to be alone.”
He hadn’t meant to say that last part. But he was tired and Oswald wouldn’t let go of his hand and Jim was secretly glad for it.
“So you… You’re coming on to me because you think that I’ll let you have sex with me so that you can feel less lonely.”
It sounded even worse when Oswald put it like that.
“I’ll leave you alone, okay? I just thought you might want to since I’ve gotten the impression that you’ve been crushing on me pretty hard for a while.”
Oswald shut his eyes, shaking his head, the aggravation on his face fading a bit, but it was still there.
“That would be one way of putting it, yes. But I’m not having sex with you.”
A hope that he didn’t realize he’d been harboring fizzled away inside Jim. That had been his own fault.
“Okay. I’ll leave. You’ll have to give me my hand back, though.”
But Oswald held on.
“I don’t have sex.”
Now it was Jim’s turn to be confused.
“At all?”
“No. Let’s just say that the thought of it doesn’t appeal to me and leave it at that. So if that’s all you want, you can leave, but sex isn’t the only way to chase away loneliness.”
“You want to hold my hand the rest of the night?”
Oswald wasn’t looking at him anymore. He seemed hesitant.
“I would like to hold you.”
“You mean cuddle?”
“Yes. And, well…”
Oswald slid his free hand behind Jim’s head, pulled him down, and kissed him. It was a quick peck, like a sampling taste. It didn’t seem to warrant the amount of concentration in Oswald’s eyes.
“Is that the first time you’ve kissed anyone?”
Oswald stood a little straighter, as if he were wrapping his dignity around him.
“Yes. And if you’re going to make fun of me, you can leave.”
“I wasn’t. I just don’t want to assume anything. I’ve already assumed too much, apparently. Did you like it?”
“Did you?”
“It was a little short.”
Oswald kissed him again, but he just stood there, not moving. Jim leaned in a little, shifting his lips a bit. Oswald followed his lead for a moment, then moved away.
“No tongue, please,” he said.
“Okay. Did you like that?”
“Not that much.”
So, no sex and no kissing. He did like cuddling, at least.
“Anything else you want to do?”
There was something else. It hid behind Oswald’s eyes, uncertain.
“We shouldn’t be doing this out in the hall,” he said, turning away and pulling Jim behind him as he continued down the corridor to a closed door.
The room was spacious, yet too small to be the master bedroom. Although it hadn’t even been a year since his father died. It might still be too soon to push past his grief.
“So,” Jim said as Oswald shut the door. “What else do you want to do?”
Oswald had let go of his hand. While he liked being able to move his fingers, the lack of bodily contact wasn’t exactly welcome.
“You’d probably consider it foreplay. I don’t want you to get sexual thoughts in your head when you’re with me.”
Oswald didn’t look at him as he said this, instead fiddling with the door and pulling back the bedcovers. He seemed cagey and apprehensive, more vulnerable than Jim had ever seen him save for the standoff where he had said that Galavan killed his mother. Jim should have kept his mouth shut. He should have left instead of lingering on the terrace and putting them in this awkward position. He didn’t understand where Oswald was coming from, but he was clearly uncomfortable with sex, and Jim couldn’t clamp down on every sexual thought that came into head, could he? Sometimes, they just happened, unbidden.
“If you—“
Jim stopped himself from finishing his question. Asking to leave now, just like that, after he’d pushed Oswald this far and Oswald was fixing the bed would be cruel. And he’d been cruel enough.
“Tell me what it is that you want and I’ll tell you if I think it’s sexual.”
“I think I’d rather get in bed first. See how that goes. And you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. This isn’t what you came here for.”
“I didn’t—Wait, do you think I came to the party just to have sex with you?”
“You’ve never made any gesture toward me without looking for something to gain. I couldn’t figure out why you came without asking for anything. Observing the social niceties with me has never been your priority with me. But then this happened. If I’m wrong, please, I would love to know it.”
Oswald’s usual haughty, self-assured tone crept into his voice as he spoke, raising a guarded wall over his expression, yet Jim saw it crack in his eyes. Shit, why didn’t Jim just leave when he had the chance to? What had he been hoping to gain, anyway? Since when had he had sex just for the sake of having sex? Sure, he had technically done so with Valerie, but that had been her decision, not his. He hadn’t thought that one through at all, either. His insides ached and his head hurt and touching someone made the pain go away. Even if it was only for a few hours, any night of sleep uninterrupted by opening his eyes to the darkness of his own soul was heaven. For Valerie, it had only been a night of fun. No harm done on that count save for his own disappointment, although, come on. They didn’t even like each other, anyway. It would never have worked out. He just hated being alone. But what about now? A relationship with Oswald other than the weird, business type one that they had now? Of course not. Now he had been the one looking for some, if not fun, a distraction, a balm to calm the restlessness of his touch deprivation, yet this meant so much more to Oswald. This wouldn’t be simply a night of fun to him.
“I didn’t come to your party for sex,” Jim said. “I’m not sure why I came, but it wasn’t that. I didn’t even think of it until we came back into the house.”
Relief washed over Oswald’s face, subtle though he strove to make it. He nodded, more to himself than to Jim, holding the sheets in his hands.
“Well, I’m glad that’s cleared up.”
That made one of them. Jim was more confused than ever.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
Oswald met his eyes as he replied.
“No. Do you?”
Yes.
No.
“Not like this.”
Frustration tightened Oswald’s brow.
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Look, let’s stop going in circles. We’ll be here all night getting nowhere. I want to not be alone and to hold someone because it’s been too long and I don’t like it. It doesn’t have to be sex. I just want to touch someone. And you actually want to be around me. What do you want?”
“I want to hold you and for you to hold me. And a friendship that you will never give me, so I’ve stopped asking for it.”
“Are you in love with me?”
Oswald lungs expanded with a long, weary sigh.
“Truthfully, Jim, I don’t know what I feel for you anymore. I just know that I want to be near you.”
That sounded like love to Jim, but sometimes he wasn’t sure if he knew it to be true or if he had merely been working off a textbook definition his whole life. Or if they were talking about the same kind of love at all.
“Okay.” That response warranted more than an “okay”, but he didn’t know what else to say. “Well, um… Let’s get into bed, then.”
Oswald examined him for a long moment, scrutinizing Jim’s face so hard that Jim feared giving himself away, but then Oswald pulled back the covers an extra inch.
“Okay,” he said, and took off his jacket. “We should probably have some ground rules. That sounds so horribly structured, but there are places where I don’t want to be touched.”
“I wasn’t expecting any differently.”
Following Oswald’s lead, Jim placed his jacket on the back of chair, atop Oswald’s. Their jacket lied spooning together, shoulder to shoulder. Huh.
“Nothing below the waist. I mean, feet is fine, but not, you know.”
“Yeah, got you. What about the clothes?”
Oswald removed his vest.
“Pants on. Do you have an undershirt on?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m not sure if I want to be topless, but I want some skin contact.”
Me, too, Jim almost said, but bit his tongue. No need to bring up how much skin contact he had wanted.
“That’s fine,” he said instead. “Sounds good.”
They finished undressing in silence, until they only wore their pants and undershirts, then it was time to stare at each other awkwardly again. Oswald sat down on the bed, sliding atop it to lie on his back. Jim approached from the other side and climbed atop the mattress. It sank pleasantly under his weight, yet not so much that he felt that he might lose himself on it until he met Oswald’s eyes and his breath caught in his throat. What the hell am I doing? resounded in his head for the thousandth time, but it was ten awkwardnesses too late. He slid on the bed until he was even with Oswald, then they reached for each other together, their hands bumping in mid-air. They mumbled apologies, placing their hands on each other’s waists, Oswald’s a little higher up Jim’s ribs. A slight yet palpable coolness from his fingers soaked through Jim’s shirt. He wished the layer gone, but swiftly shoved the treacherous thought away. This was fine. It was nice. If it would stop being so damn awkward, it would even be enjoyable. They crossed embarrassed glances at first, then Oswald ducked his head. Avoiding his eyes, Jim thought, until Oswald’s face pressed against his neck, lips pecking at his skin, tender and curious. After a couple of touches, he stopped.
“Is this okay?”
The softness of his voice against Jim’s skin, the slightest gusting of his breath, drew a gasp up Jim’s throat.
“Yeah.”
Jim raised his hand up Oswald’s back to his nape.
“Is that,” he continued, “what you meant by foreplay?”
“Some of it. I didn’t plan on doing that.”
Oswald’s lips brushed against Jim’s clavicle as he spoke, breath warm like breakfast honey.
“I like it.”
“And it doesn’t… It doesn’t make you—“
“No.”
Not yet, anyway. But his body knew the difference between sex and cuddling. He would never abuse Oswald’s trust like that. Who knew why Oswald even trusted him anymore.
Oswald touched his lips to Jim’s neck again, resuming his gentle exploration. Jim placed his right hand, which had lied curled on the pillow, atop Oswald’s head, and weaved his fingers in and out of the product stiffened strands, destroying that appalling, flat hair style that Oswald had adopted for his new politician persona. His usual punk hairdo, odd as it was, suited him much better. Especially the strands streaking across his forehead, accentuating his sharp nose and his prominent cheekbones. He’d usually force such a train of thought to a harsh stop, but that train had already run off with no breaks. He stroked up Oswald’s shoulder with the other, fingers catching on the strap of his top for a moment before continuing down his arm. Oswald shivered as Jim’s thumb trailed inside the hollow of his inner elbow, hand tightening on Jim’s waist.
“You okay?” Jim asked.
“Yes. New sensation, I suppose.”
Oswald pressed his nose to the bare portion of Jim’s chest right below his throat, breathing him in. His right hand began to move up Jim’s back, stroking as slowly as his lips, his movements filled with curiosity. He had never touched anyone like this, had he? Jim resumed rubbing his arm back to his shoulder and down his spine, which arched under his touch, leaning into his hand. Oswald shifted on the bed, and then both his hands were on Jim’s chest. They sat there, fingers fully splayed and still, for moments that stretched with the thumping of the clock on the wall behind him. Jim’s chest pushed into those hands with every breath he took.
“I watched you sleep,” Oswald said, his head a little away from Jim so that his breath was but a soft murmur. “At Ed’s apartment after Galavan’s men beat you. I watched you breathe, making sure your lungs weren’t gurgling, that you didn’t wince in pain from a broken rib. I should have been asleep, as well, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“You probably thought I deserved that beating.”
“Best let bygones be bygones. Or we’ll be here all night sinking into recriminations. I certainly didn’t want you dead or injured.”
Jim touched the bullet scar on Oswald’s shoulder.
“I wasn’t going to shoot you.”
Oswald thumbs rubbed his chest, one right over his heart.
“You don’t need to lie to me, Jim. I expect nothing but blunt honesty from you.”
“Were you going to shoot me?”
The clock ticked on.
Oswald laid his head on Jim’s curled up arm.
“No.”
Jim’s free hand moved swiftly, of its own volition, covering the area above Oswald’s heart, pressing hard so he could feel that beat in every nerve of his hand. He had once regretted keeping this heart beating. His great mistake that kept hounding him and regaling him with illicit smiles no matter how firmly Jim sought to extricate himself from him. The mistake that reminded him to much of his own dark soul, that cackled and celebrated what Jim rightfully shamed and abjured in himself, what he should never have succumbed to. Oswald had been so easy to blame, to toss aside once he was done with him for the greater good, if it had ever been for the greater good. Hadn’t it all been for him all along? Didn’t he know better now that a respectable face mattered nothing to him? Could he have really killed this man, who had begged for his kindness, who lied trustingly in his arms providing comfort that Jim had no right to ask for, especially from him?
“How do you not hate me?” Jim asked.
“What?”
Oswald raised his head level with Jim, but now it was Jim who didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“I’ve treated you like shit the entire time we’ve known each other. Why invite me here? Why didn’t you kick me out the moment I came on to you?”
Oswald’s raw gaze bore into him, but he wouldn’t look.
“Because you always come around. You claim that you don’t need me, yet you always do. And I’ve lost too many people not to grab on when you offer me something that I never thought you would. I know there probably won’t be a repeat, and you’ll probably feel dirty about it tomorrow, and I won’t hear from you for months, but I’ve taken much worse than the likes of you. And, well, you did apologize. You might be too drunk to remember. I never expected that. Or this. So I wonder what else might be coming that I don’t expect.”
Jim looked at him, meeting eyes both serious and merry at the same time.
“I’ll probably disappoint you.”
He disappointed everyone in the end.
“Well, it’s not like you haven’t done that before.”
Jim shook his head. He laid his hand back on the curve of Oswald’s back.
“I really don’t get you sometimes.”
“Makes us even, then.”
“I guess.”
Oswald slid his right hand down Jim’s side, then over to his back, his touch firmer than before. His left remained on Jim’s chest. As he settled his head back by Jim’s right arm, Jim gazed at his mouth, which had smiled at him so cheekily just a moment ago. He wanted to kiss it, kiss him, his own lips tender with the urge, but Oswald hadn’t enjoyed it before. He weaved his right hand back through Oswald’s hair, angling his head up a little, and kissed the side of his face. Oswald gasped as Jim stroked down his cheek with his lips, but didn’t protest or push him away. Jim stopped before reaching his mouth and traced a path up to his forehead. Oswald’s hand curled on Jim’s shirt.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Oswald murmured when Jim moved back.
“Are you saying I proved your point?”
Oswald flashed him a knowing grin.
Jim’s lips quirked upwards. He was enjoying himself. He might have had more fun if they’d had sex, but he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t intended for there to be much talking or hashing things out. Just skin contact and satisfying his annoying curiosity for this beautiful man who wouldn’t stop flirting with him. Just scratching an itch while escaping his loneliness. But this… He groaned with the urge to escape from the undeserved trust in Oswald’s eyes, aching and restless, yet at the same time, he felt more comfortable than he had in months wrapped in the scent and warmth of a man who really should know better than to forgive him, and yet was kissing his arm, then grabbing his hand from his back and kissing it, too, regaling each finger with a gentle caress, playful, the understanding between them setting him free from his earlier fear. Guilt stung in Jim’s gut at the affection in those sweet kisses. Oswald might not know how he felt about him, but he felt something desperate and fierce, or he would never have allowed Jim to touch him. Yet what did Jim feel for him? Contempt until all to recently. The comfort of convenience. Barely acknowledged lust unwelcome to either of them. He didn’t deserve this affection. Not from a man who he had left to rot in a cell with a mad scientist. Among other things.
He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t allow this. But he didn’t want to leave. His headache was gone. His body felt light. Only when Harvey was there to chase the demons away could he breathe with such calm despite the growing discomfort of his shame pressing at the back of his throat. And even Oswald must have his limits. Being abandoned in the midst of such intimacies might be too much to bear. Jim would certainly be pissed about it.
Shutting his eyes against the cacophony of confusion gnawing inside him, he shifted down on the bed and nestled his face on Oswald’s left shoulder. His eyes slid closed. Oswald’s warmth filled him up, skin to skin. Oswald paused in his kissing for a moment, then resumed, nuzzling Jim’s palm. Jim didn’t move. He didn’t want to move anymore. Giving himself up to Oswald’s caresses, he rested in uninterrupted sleep for the first time in days, lulled by the forgiving beat of Oswald’s heart.
``````````````
Dim light met his eyes as he opened them. The moistness of sweat suffused his forehead where it pressed onto Oswald’s chest. They were lying in bed together. That had happened. He couldn’t even blame it on alcohol. Soft fingers trailed through his hair, barely skimming over his scalp. His heart thumped on Jim’s skin. He thought that he had heard it in his dreams, a gentle rhythm in the background. The feeling of wrongness soured his mouth, yet it faded into confusion as his body refused to move from the absolute comfort enveloping him. He hugged Oswald to him, arm pleasantly dragged over his back. He would gladly lie here forever and not face anything ever again, banishing the pain of living and fading away. He closed his eyes.
“Jim?”
Oswald’s chest thrummed against Jim’s cheek at the softly spoken name.
“Mm…”
“I have to go the bathroom.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“Physically, you kind of are.”
Jim’s hand had tightened on Oswald’s back. Oh. Jim released him, signing wearily as Oswald moved away from him. His own bladder wasn’t happy, but getting up was such a chore. Easier to just lie here and wait for Oswald to come back. Footsteps announced Oswald’s return a short while later. They stopped beside the bed. After a while, Jim opened his eyes and found Oswald regarding him with a soft smile and happiness in his eyes. Guilt poked Jim again.
“What?” he asked, tensing a little.
Oswald shook his head.
“You’re welcome to keep sleeping, of course, but I’m afraid I have a busy day ahead, so I’m going to need to prepare for it.”
“Oh. Right.”
Jim sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
“I can have breakfast sent up here, if you like.”
Breakfast. In Oswald’s bed. These last few hours were surreal.
“Um… Well, I’m awake now.”
The words Could I have breakfast with you? formed on his tongue, but they wouldn’t come out. They stared at each other for an awkward moment.
“Or…” Oswald said.
Jim sat up straighter.
“I’m having breakfast downstairs now,” Oswald continued.
“Yeah. Sure. Breakfast downstairs. I’m starved.”
Not really, but he could eat. With someone. When was the last time that he’d had breakfast with anyone?
“Great,” Oswald said, smiling again. “I’m so glad.”
`````````````````
Pancakes, bacon, tater tots, toast, and scrambled eggs laid spread on the table between them. It felt more for Jim’s benefit, for Oswald had only served himself a couple of slices of toast and some scrambled eggs so far, along with a tall glass of orange juice. Jim wasn’t complaining. He had heaped pancakes, bacon, tater tots, and eggs on his plate and was making his way through them like a starving man despite his appetite barely stirring. But he didn’t need an appetite to want to eat. And eat. He couldn’t decide which was worse. Wanting to eat everything in sight or having to begrudgingly stuff something in his stomach after six hours of zero appetite.
“How did you sleep?” Oswald said, munching on a piece of buttered toast.
“Great. How about you?”
“Great.”
Oswald smiled.
“So then—“
“Did you—“
“I’m sorry,” Jim said.
“No, it’s fine. You talk first.”
“Okay. Um, did you enjoy it? Last night?”
“I did. Did you?”
“Yes.” Much more than he had expected to. “I really did.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Since you want me to be honest, I am.” Jim turned the fork over in his hand. “I haven’t done anything like that in a long time. It wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“We had established that.”
“No, I mean… What we talked about. You kissing my hand.”
“You falling asleep on my chest.”
Jim nodded. He took a sip of coffee, hoping that the hot liquid would give some semblance of order to his scrambled thoughts.
“From my part of things,” Oswald said, “I only ever hoped for a civil word from you and for you not to treat me like crap, so I’m still a little in shock. I thought you might run off in the middle of the night.”
“I decided I put you through enough shit as it is.”
And why would he leave when he had felt more comfortable than he had in months?
“Like I said, you keep surprising me.”
He wasn’t the only surprised one.
“So this campaign,” Jim said, changing the subject before things got even weirder. “I never pegged you for the political type. You’ve always preferred to pull the strings behind the scenes.”
“I hadn’t originally envisioned it, no. But my aspirations remain the same.”
“To dominate Gotham?”
Oswald cast him a sharp look.
“To ensure that my home city thrives. And, yes, I am an ambitious man. You, of all people, can’t fault me for that.”
“Why me of all people?”
“You aspired to a higher position yourself once. Although it seems that you are no longer interested.”
A brewing headache pressed behind Jim’s eyes.
“Things change.”
“Yes. I understand that quite well.”
A shadow crossed Oswald’s face. Jim looked down at his plate, recalling a half formed memory of Oswald and him exchanging condolences in his apartment months ago. He still wasn’t sure if that had been real or an inebriated dream.
“But it’s not greed, Jim. Or need for the spotlight. I was perfectly satisfied letting others be the public face of Gotham.”
“A public face that still answered to you.”
Oswald replied with a coy smile before he grew serious once more.
“Yes, ideally. Only that turned out to not be the case last year, with... disastrous results.”
He paused, slipping both hands under the table. From the pained fury that overtook his face for a moment, Jim guessed that they were balled up into fists. He didn’t need to specify what those disastrous results were. For Jim, it had meant a murderous force running wild in the city and nearly the loss of his soul, but for Oswald it was the death of his mother.
“Galavan’s takeover can’t be allowed to happen again,” Oswald said, raising his voice, eyes fierce and glistening. “That was my fault. I let my guard down. And we all paid for it. Mayor James is weak. You can’t pretend that he’s good for Gotham. You tried to take him down yourself once. If I’m mayor, when I’m mayor, I’ll have eyes on everything. I’ll be able to build Gotham a better future.”
Jim downed the last of his coffee.
“Good reasons. But what happened, it wasn’t just you who let your guard down. It’s not all your responsibility.”
Oswald shrugged.
“Still. I don’t want to risk anything. And I can do some good. I know what you’re thinking. You rode high with dreams of riding Gotham of corruption.”
In another life.
“But that’s how the system runs,” Oswald continued. “Not just in Gotham.”
“I’ve gotten the point by now. Trust me, if I were looking to take you down, I wouldn’t have spent the night here.”
Jim sank back in his chair. Half a portion of eggs sat on his plate, but his stomach rebelled against eating it. He felt itchy. Restless. Missing the taste of alcohol on his tongue. He glanced at Oswald, frowning at the look of concern on his face. Shouldn’t he look happy that Jim had finally fallen in line and given up on going against him?
“What?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Oswald shook his head slightly.
“I was merely wondering if that was why you haven’t returned to the GCPD.”
“Didn’t you tell me once that it was a thankless job?”
“Yes, but why should my opinion matter? It seemed the most important thing to you.”
Jim reached for the coffee pot. If he couldn’t have liquor, he could at least smother himself in more caffeine.
“Like you said, thankless job. I don’t have to take orders now. Don’t have to get up early in the morning. I’m free to do what I want, when I want.”
“Sounds freeing.”
Jim clung to the coffee cup, missing the lacking ingredient.
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“So is bounty hunting all you intend to do now? You are marvelous at it, of course, but I would think a man like you wouldn’t be satisfied with only that.”
“It’ll do for now.”
Jim stuffed more egg into his mouth, chewing automatically, the flavor not as vibrant as it used to be a few minutes ago. Oswald’s gaze felt heavy on his face, measuring him. The comfort of a shared breakfast began to trickle away. What was he doing here, anyway? Looking for a connection with Oswald? What the hell for? Was he this desperate? Yes, you are, a treacherous voice whispered. He shoved it away, put his fork down, and placed his hands on the table to get up.
“Speaking of bounty hunting, I have been wondering,” Oswald said.
Jim paused.
“You haven’t collected any bounty from me for Fish Mooney,” Oswald finished.
Jim relaxed his arms.
“I didn’t catch her.”
“But you still delivered her to me. One might argue that fulfills the required stipulations.”
“I suppose. So, what, you’re giving me a million dollars?”
“If you want. You do have a right to it. But you don’t sound enthusiastic. You surprise me. You ran off after her so quickly after I set my bounty.”
“Yeah, well, I reconsidered. What am I going to do with a million dollars, anyway? Keep it. I’m sure you need it with the campaign.”
Oswald’s frown grew more perplexed as Jim spoke.
“So you are seriously turning down a million dollars?”
“Yes. I mean, I’ll take it if you keep insisting, but I don’t need it. And I don’t want to take money from you.”
Oswald’s face pinched in a miffed expression, so Jim quickly added,
“I’d feel awkward. Especially after last night.”
“Oh.” Oswald’s expression lightened, then grew bemused. “You do remember that the money is for a bounty and not for, you know.”
Jim shut him up with a dry look.
“That’s not what I meant. And it’s not like I had sex with you.”
“There are people who charge for cuddling services.”
“There are?”
“Hmm.”
Oswald grinned behind his glass of orange juice.
“Have you used them?”
Oswald lowered his glass, shooting Jim a stern “really?” look.
“Did we not establish last night that I was new to that?”
“Right.”
“Besides, the monetary transaction aspect of it makes it feel weird.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want to have money, especially not that much money, between, well, whatever we are now.”
“Alright. I won’t make you a millionaire. But feel free to ask for it whenever.”
Jim let the subject lapse into silence, then finally stood up.
“I should leave you to get ready. It’s almost 9.”
Oswald turned to look at the small clock on the mantel, which read 8:46.
“Oh. I’d lost track of time. I’m not even dressed yet. Let me walk you to the door.”
It was a short walk, during which nothing was spoken and Jim kept wishing that their shoulders would brush together while still keeping a proper distance between them.
“I’ll see you around, then,” Oswald said when they reached the front door. His face was nothing but smiles, yet Jim caught a glimpse of wistfulness in his eyes, the tone in his voice expecting nothing but a hello sometime in the future.
I know there probably won’t be a repeat and you’ll probably feel dirty about it tomorrow and I won’t hear from you for months…
Jim opened his mouth, right hand twitching at his side, yearning to rise and touch Oswald’s skin, feel the reassuring warmth of his cheek in the palm of his hand, but he reached for the doorknob instead, as ashamed of his inability to reassure him as of his wish to do so.
“Yeah, I’ll see you,” he said, words sticking in his dry mouth, and left, squinting against the glare of the sun reprimanding him from behind the grey clouds.
`````````````````
Harvey wasn’t at his desk when Jim dropped by the GCPD. Nor did he answer the phone when Jim called him. He left a voicemail asking if Harvey wanted to go out for drinks tonight, then went straight to the his usual bar, which Valerie had finally decided to leave alone, and holed up in one of the booths. After calming the ache behind his eyes with a glass of whisky, he went home, showered, and tried to stamp out any thoughts about missing being at Oswald’s place. Harvey was free that night, so they met up back at the bar, a favorite of both of theirs.
“So what happened to you last night?” Harvey asked after they both settled in with twin glasses of beer.
“What do you mean?”
“You sounded a little weird on the phone. Like something’s on your mind.”
“Nothing’s on my mind.”
“Come on, Jim. At some point, you have to tell me something. It’s all take and no give here. Did you see Valerie again?”
“No, not… not her. I went to Penguin’s party. I thought it might be best to stay in his good graces and not rebuff his invitation again.”
“When was the first time?”
Crap, he hadn’t told Harvey about that.
“When he reopened Fish’s club. He had a party. That day when he showed up at the precinct, that’s what that was about. So I went this time. Showed my face.”
He shook his head, hiding behind his glass. No way was he telling Harvey what else happened between them.
“It’s just weird,” he continued. “I should be used to it, I guess. A violent mobster running for mayor.”
Harvey shrugged.
“That’s Gotham for you. Although this one is a first. He probably wants more power or wants to see pictures of himself everywhere. Probably got a taste for it after the Wanted posters.”
The memory of Oswald’s determined face as he spoke of building Gotham a better future flittered across Jim’s mind.
“Yeah, probably,” he murmured.
“It works out great for you, though. You’ll probably be back to free favors whenever you want them now that you made nice with him at his party.”
Jim stared at his left hand on the table, which Oswald had kissed mere hours ago. Made nice. One way to look at it.
“Can you just,” Harvey continued, “send some of that good will in my direction? Just say it’s for you. I’ve got a couple of cases that Barnes keeps riding my ass about.”
“Sure. He’s going to have a heart attack when Penguin gets elected.”
Oswald was sure to throw enough money around to guarantee it.
“No shit.” Harvey chuckled at the thought. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he uses the portrait they’ll put up in the precinct for target practice.”
Jim laughed too, but only at the image of Barnes’ angered frustration, not projectiles being aimed at Oswald’s face. That part wasn’t appealing at all.
````````````````````
Sleep came easily that night, yet he awoke at four in the morning to a dark room and restless eyes that wouldn’t stay shut. His wall clock ticked on the opposite wall, its cadence so familiar that he hardly even noticed it most of the time, yet the difference in rhythm from Oswald’s clock made it unpleasantly loud. He passed a hand over his eyes, shoving them closed, groaning in annoyance as his mind went down the same rabbit hole of despair it did every single night, past shame and transgressions alighting in his soul as sharp and unbearable as the day that he’d committed them, only growing more rotten as time went on. Flinging himself onto his stomach, he squashed his eyes closed and shut out everything save for that damned ticking.
He opened his eyes again a couple of hours later. The room was still dark, the clock still ticking away. He shut his eyes, ignoring the sweat on his temple.
He got lucky the third time. Sun shone through the window from an unusually clear, blue sky. Coffee. He needed coffee. He pushed himself upright, grabbing the clock from the wall as he went, yanking the battery out before throwing it in the trash. He got a digital one later, one that wouldn’t hammer at his exhausted skull with a cadence that just was not right. He followed a couple of leads on another of Strange’s fugitives, drank, ate a couple of slices of pizza, ignored the urge to call Oswald, and drank again.
At 7:49, he stared at the walls of his apartment with the numb urge to do nothing.
At 8:16, he forced his legs to stand up and grabbed his keys.
At 8:18, he got into his car and shut the door.
At 8:21, he finally turned the key in the ignition and put the car in Drive. He drove around, aiming for nowhere.
At 8:40, he got on the bridge heading out to the Palisades. No conscious thought process guided the action. He simply wanted out of the honking and jams of city traffic. Across the bridge, the view through his windshield opened up, tall buildings giving way to fields and finely manicured front lawns as he swept into the most prized suburban area of the city’s elite. He could stop by and visit Bruce. That would give him an excuse to be here other than wasting gas and time that dragged on and on, never ending fast enough. Yet he rolled right past the intersection that turned toward Wayne Manor. He kept going five, ten more minutes, then turned, not right, but left into a small street that ended at a wrought-iron gate and a tall fence that only the resourceful and monumentally stupid would dare cross. A guard stopped him at the gate, his well-tailored suit and blunt demeanor making his mob employment abundantly clear.
“Is Penguin in?” Jim asked.
“Just got in half an hour ago. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
He, and the other two men backing him up, stepped away to let him pass. They didn’t even call up to ask if Oswald was okay with him being there. Oswald must have left instructions that he always be admitted. That could hardly been the case two days ago, before what they did. Jim tapped restlessly on the wheel, anxious and angry and upset at his own weakness, but he was already driving up and parking by the house, nodding to another guard, who simply nodded back as if Jim owned the place and wasn’t just visiting for the second time because Harvey was busy tonight and he had nowhere else to go. And he didn’t want to cuddle with Harvey, anyway. He passed through the heavy, oak doors, down the dimly lit foyer, and up the engraved staircase leading to the bedrooms.
I’m upstairs, he texted Oswald, in no mood to see the campaign circus that had become the downstairs floor or to run into any more criminals than he absolutely had to. I shouldn’t be here at all, he thought, but when had such thinking ever stopped him? What did it matter what he should or shouldn’t do? He was here. He wanted to be here. Doing what he wanted wasn’t hurting someone, for once.
I’ll be upstairs in a bit, Oswald replied. Please make yourself at home.
And Oswald wanted him here. He was actually wanted somewhere. Sure, Harvey wanted him back at the GCPD, but Jim wasn’t fit to wear the badge anymore. He was tarnished. Broken. He’d only sully it like he had already done too many times before. Even in a town as bent and broken as Gotham, that badge still must mean something good, something honorable, and Jim had stopped being that so long ago that he could barely remember the shadow of that man who actually believed that he could come into a cesspool this deep and do some good without twisting his soul out of all recognition.
That damn, oppressive ache began to burn under his skull. Shit. Maybe Oswald had alcohol in his room.
He searched. No alcohol. That had been too much to hope for. Well, good for him. He shouldn’t have any. Jim didn’t keep any in his room, either, although only barely. But he wouldn’t drink in bed. Being too tired to get up and go all the way to the kitchen for a drink at least helped stop him sometimes.
He slumped onto the bed, exhausted. His eyes shut, but the ache behind his eyelids pressed on unabated. He looked around the room, desperate for some distraction. The coverlet he lied on had been washed recently, the light scent of detergent clinging to the fabric, so he didn’t even have Oswald’s scent to distract himself with. A couple of books lied atop the dresser tucked against the wall. Jim pushed himself out of bed to grab them. A history of Gotham and a Calvin and Hobbes Collection. He lied back down, thumbing through both books before putting the history one down and sticking with Calvin and Hobbes.
A few dozen panels elapsed before Oswald pushed open the door.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” he said, an apology on his upturned lips. “There were quite a few things needing my approval.”
Jim put the book down, taking note of the last page he had been perusing.
“Don’t worry about it. I probably should have called ahead.”
He sat up on the bed. Should he stand? Hug Oswald? Kiss him? No, Oswald didn’t like kissing. What was the protocol here?
“I admit, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Oswald said, slight awe in his voice as well as his face, eyes bright with barely restrained joy. He had folded his hands in front of him, left hand covering his right, pressing just enough to denote nervousness to the discerning eye.
“I didn’t expect to be back so soon. I didn’t really plan to come here.”
Jim got to his feet. He took a step forward, then another. That was all that it took for him to be mere inches away from Oswald, who gazed at him with silent expectation. Not quite caution, yet not far from trust, either. Jim reached for his hands just as Oswald raised his left, bumping midway.
“Sorry,” they each murmured, all embarrassed apology, but Jim finished his motion and took Oswald’s right hand, encapsulating it in both of his own. This hand had beaten Galavan right in front of him. Yet his own had pulled the trigger that killed him. The first time, anyway. Oswald slid his left hand on Jim’s neck, brushing up his face, tugging him down to nuzzle his cheek against his own. Like my aunt’s cat, Jim thought, yet all comparisons to felines deserted him as Oswald kissed his earlobe.
“Is it safe to assume that you want to stay over?” Oswald asked, breath so pleasantly soft and warm that Jim would have to be a masochist not to answer in the affirmative.
“Yes.”
He kissed Oswald’s right palm, burying himself in Oswald’s skin and the blood that would always linger on both their hands no matter how hard they scrubbed, no matter how desperately Jim had once sought to look away. The blood was all that was left of him. The embrace of a murderer was all that remained to him now. Even this man, victim of his treacherous self-hate, was more than he deserved. His forgiveness stung the cuts lacerating his soul, yet he didn’t have the strength to turn away from the comforting balm that it offered his exhausted heart.