To My Lover (I'd Never Lie)
It's the weight of her on top of him that grounds him, tells him this is real and not one of Ed's dreams, fantasies, wants. He's been pushing those down down down but right now - ever since the kiss, really - for the first time, he's not sure where he ends and Ed begins. There's a balance they've never had before, a sort of peace that calms them, that brings the both of them to silent agreements.
Riddler thinks - no, knows - it has something (everything) to do with Lee. Ed's been pushing only to protect her, screaming and yelling louder than ever, the fear of Lee ending up dead being something Riddler could almost smell, something he could taste on the inside of his mouth. For a while, it almost made him want to vomit; this constant reminder of Ed's weakness. Now, though, he's used to it. Riddler tries not to read into that too much.
He knows he should've dealt with this quickly and swiftly; should've cut her throat right there on the Riddle Factory stage. Ed would've been drowned to deep submission once again - even more, he would've been more than compliant in his rage with nothing left to anchor him, no morality to strive for. But, when he thinks about it, he's suddenly not so sure about the true depths of Lee's morality. Something in her shifted ever since the virus, especially once she put a bullet in Sofia Falcone's head. She's not above killing anymore - at least those she thinks deserve it, even though she advocates against weapons - and after asking him to rob banks, she's definitely not above crime in general. Jim Gordon be damned.
He likes it. Likes how she's starting to embrace the darkness that's running through her veins, how she's built herself into something - someone - more. He calls her a queen every chance he gets, liking how it rolls off his lips and how it gives her the smallest of reassurances that she enjoys - visible in the way her posture changes the tiniest bit every time - for she truly has become royalty, one he's found he'd have no problem bowing down to, kneeling for, pledging lifelong allegiance to.
He knows he'd rob fifty banks for her in on night if she asked.
Lee does a quick job of taking off his jacket and he loosens his tie while she unbuttons his shirt, his hat falling off to the side. He returns the favor by helping her out of her shirt and undoing both of their pants. Lee's lips keep finding Riddler's, and when he moans he can't exactly pinpoint where it comes from. She swallows the moans, biting his lips and smiling into the kiss. It makes him grin, too, a small chuckle escaping him, and he can feel her shiver. He moves his lips down her bare throat, nibbling and sucking, leaving every mark possible. Lee's hands pull him up as close as she can, pulling at his hair, digging her nails into his neck.
It's the violence, the brutality of their movements, the pain that really gets him going. Riddler revels in it, and he knows Ed does, too.
Lee has a problem catching her breath, but her voice is surprisingly strong, though still barely above a whisper as she whispers his names over and over, falling off her lips like a prayer: Riddler, Edward, Ed.
His hands tighten on her hips hard enough to bruise, but Lee doesn't even flinch. Her hands are all over him, leaving scratches and red lines, even drawing blood. He likes that; the marking, knowing that his lips and his teeth made the lines of hickeys down her neck, that only her fingers would ever match the lines on his body, that only his hands fit on the bruises on her hips.
Lee pushes him to lie down as her hands go over him again, this time up his torso, and he gets a full look at her. At one point, she put his hat on. He appreciates it a lot more than he probably should. Lee smirks as if she knows. She probably does.
Before long, her hands are on his neck. He closes his eyes as she presses down, taking in the feeling of it. He should probably be surprised at the trust he has in her to not actually choke him on the spot (but in the back of him mind - not as back as he would like - he can hear Ed yelling: I WOULD LET HER I WOULD LET HER I WOULD L-), but he's already lost in the pleasure he feels.
"Say the words, Ed." Lee asks. He can't look at her, his eyes closed, but he knows she's still smirking, and wishes he could kiss it right off, smudging away what's left of her lipstick.
She squeezes harder. "Say the words."
He manages to shake his head, smirking right back.
He feels her lean down. "Say the words, Riddler."
I love, I love, I love y-
Lee's hold looses and he uses the leverage he has to turn them over, his lips immediately falling on hers. His throat aches, but it's a pain he finds pleasurable even as he's catching his breath, and a part of him can't wait to see the bruises were going to appear. The prints only her hands would ever match. He tries not to get his - Ed's, his - hopes up, knows that just because she's marked him and claimed him doesn't mean she loves him. But she will, and each day she's closer to it; he can see it on her face, on her smile, feel it in her look and her kisses and in the way she touches him, the way they fuck.
He plants kisses down her body and then back up to her neck, leaving more marks as he tugs and nips at her skin. She moans, getting louder as she can suddenly feel him and his hands everwhere, her eyes rolling back in the immense pleasure. Riddler - Ed, both - smirks as he watches her, revelling in the power he has over her, accepting the power she has over him. He leans in, kissing her deeply to swallow every single sound she makes as he finally settles inside her, before he moves his lips to the shell of her ear, his fingers tracing the skin of her throat like a ghost, teasing.
He feels her shiver as he speaks, his voice still hoarse. "Not until you say them first." he says and Lee opens her eyes to look at him. It's a look she's never given him before and he knows - knows - she's close; in every meaning possible. She brings her palm to his cheek, caressing carefully - so different than the rest of their movements - and pulls him in for another deep kiss. When they break apart, their foreheads are touching, they're breathing each other's air. There's a metaphor, a meaning, in there somewhere. He decides not to focus on it now.
Instead, he continues to focus on her, on helping her break and apart and then re-mold herself into what she's meant to be, letting out whatever's been hidden inside her and embracing it to reach her full power, her full potential; to never have anyone question her being a Queen.
He kisses her one last time and, under him, she falls apa-
No.
Under him, she comes together.