Oswald ran his tongue over his lip, tasting copper.

If he was being honest with himself at this moment, he was happy that Myla had left when she did. A vile implication on this part, but he really was worried that had she stayed much longer, he could have done something far worse than her to be sorry for.

He thought it had been the right time – the right moment – to make that move. After all that flowery business about feelings, and offering her a place in his home, his life. Oswald hadn't expected to be wrong. What he expected least of all was such an adverse reaction from her. Not gentle, sweet, weak Myla. Although, was she really? Oswald let out a dry half-chuckle. My, my...how interesting things had become.

For the longest time afterward, he stared at his hands. For hours it felt like, watching the blood turn a rusted hue, drying within the infinite lines and crevices of his palms. Suddenly, he found himself sitting down, recalling the details of it over and over again – the moment he looked down the see the familiar yet currently uncommon sight of his own blood on his fingertips. Looking up to see that same blood smeared across her lips. At the moment, there wasn't an exact word he could think of to describe the way he felt. Strange, one might suppose, came fairly close. While he thought about that, so entranced by the situation that rendered him unable to even think properly, Myla had jumped past him, looking like a doe in headlights as she rambled off apologies that were just a buzz in his ear. Then she left. One second he looked up to see her concerned and frightened face, but by the next time he glanced up she was gone.

There will be people you meet who set off fireworks and cause lightning storms, while others set off sparks. Sparks that you believe to be harmless, until you remember that sparks can still burn. Myla was the spark that burned. Every moment she was at his side, Oswald felt her slowly, steadily burning away until he felt he could crumble into dust as easily as an ashen log. Searing at his patience, his false charm, his...lust. The desire he had for Myla was a fact, but so far he had managed to play the part of the perfect gentleman in her presence. A sometimes difficult act, when he considered how many nights following their meeting and courtship were spent with his hardened cock in his palm and her name on his lips, imagining how she would feel and sound beneath him as he fucked her. Those were much rosier fantasies than the ones coming to his mind now, which involved teeth and nails, sinking his hands into that thick hair of hers, twisting, pulling. Leaving bruises on her wrists and hips by the time he was finished. The desire to make it reality was overwhelming and desperate urgent.

Oswald looked back down at his hands, realizing he had been shaking ever since Myla left – but it wasn't from anger. His felt his eyes light up as he put a name to what he was feeling. It was hunger. A feeling all too known to him, but never for a reason like this. He stood up from his chair so fast that the kitchen spun around him for a moment. After hastily wiping his hands off on a tea towel, he left the room in search of his trench, calling out for Gabriel on his way to the foyer. For once, he couldn't be fucked to care about the blood on his suit. He needed to clear his head, and he knew just the person to go to.


There were times Edward wished he could be surprised by Oswald's frequently morbid or haggard-looking state of appearance, but this wasn't the first time the man had shown up on his doorstep in such a state, and he was certain it wouldn't be the last. Regardless, he took a few moments to eye Oswald's swollen lip and the blood on his collar with a healthy level of annoyance before inviting him inside.

"What's up, Oz?"

"Thought I'd stop by for a bit. You know. Chat." Oswald hobbled past Edward, taking a seat on the couch.

Edward look skeptical. "Right. Talk." He walked back over to the kitchen,

"Am I not allowed to want to talk to you?" Admittedly, Oswald had come over with fucking in mind, but upon his arrival became aggravated by the fact that it was Myla he wanted to be fucking. He could still fuck Edward, but it wouldn't be nearly as satisfactory with Myla at the front of his mind, with her red dress and long hair and his blood on her lips.

"I suppose you are." Edward sighed, taking a seat in his chair.

"How are things? How's work."Oswald glanced around, avoiding the topic which had brought him there in the first place. Edward's apartment was such a hodgepodge, abet a very tidy one. Sometimes the meticulous order left Oswald tempted to knock something over.

"It's fine. They gave me an intern, but it's….whatever." Edward bit his tongue. "Are you going to tell me what happened, or did you just show up to wipe blood on my couch. Again."

Touching his fingers to his swollen lip, Oswald finally locked eyes with Edward. "She bit me. The girl I've been seeing bit me."

"She bit you? And yet, I'm sensing you aren't too thrilled about it. Such hypocrisy, Ozzie." He tutted. Edward hardly ever walked out from their trysts unscathed, experiencing more deep scratches and bite marks on his frame courtesy of Oswald rather than the average hickies one could expect from a lover.

Oswald rested his face on his palm, looking down at the floor again. "It was more...defensive than sensual."

"Defensive biting." That was a detail which brought Edward pause. "Interesting."

"What." Oswald said sharply, expecting some clever little facet about how this meant Myla was a psychopath somewhere deep down.

"Nothing. I'm simply saying that biting is an odd choice for a first defense." Edward reasoned. "Were her hands free?"

Oswald did not care for his insinuation. "They were, if you must know." He sneered. "I wasn't pinning her down."

"Well, perhaps she thought pushing you would seem too harsh. How did she react to it? The biting, I mean."

"Panicked, apologized."

"Well at least she's remorseful."

"Hm." Some comfort that was. "Do you remember Halloween?"

Edward remembered the man they tortured together on the docks until the sun rose. "Uh, yeah."

"I don't think I told you that I saw her that night."

"Nope."

"Frank invited me this hole in East End for negotiations." He began. "I guess he thought it was smart to show me his products in action. Maybe it was at first, I don't recall. All but then I went outside. The girl happened to be there, and that was lovely until I realized she had been drugged."

That explained quite few things, as well as raised some concerns. "Please say you didn't."

"I didn't." Hissed Oswald. "Honestly, man."

"Proceed, then."

"I took her upstairs. Gabe watched her, Paul found her cousin at another party. They went home."

"Am I missing something from this story? It doesn't seem particularly...eventful."

"She told me...something. On our way upstairs, she said she didn't want to die a virgin in a slut costume."

Edward snorted. "So? That doesn't make it true – she was drugged. But I guess there are those who still 'save themselves'. You know, for marriage, and whatnot."

Of course Edward couldn't be made to understand why that didn't seem like the case with Myla. He hadn't been there to see her the night before, pressed up against Oswald and sending off every signal that she wanted him short of pulling down his zipper. Oswald was definitely regretting that he hadn't taken her up to his room right about now. Tipsy or not, Myla appeared plenty ready and willing, and everything could have been made up for in the morning. God, just the thought that he could have been in bed with her at this very moment instead of Edward's odd apartment, feeling her skin against his, among other things… "I would think a choice like abstinence would be something she would have indulged me in by now." Last night, for example, would have been a prime opportunity.

"This is the girl you're toying with, right? The one who's trying so hard to believe your career is all 'rumors?'" Edward's expression was far too smug for Oswald's liking, but he was allowed to continue. "Believing can only get you so far, though, so maybe deep down she wonders if you would react poorly to her decision?"

The idea of Myla fearing him over something like that was beyond repulsive. "Rumors or not, I have been nothing but kind to her – she has absolutely no reason to think something like that of me."

"Then I guess it won't hurt to ask."

Oswald snorted. "Yes, and while I'm at it, maybe I can also ask about how her parents died."

"You can ask about a person's sexual history without being explicit, or insensitive." Edward felt his patience running thin. Oswald lack of serious relationship experience – or rather, his lack of experience with close personal relationships as a whole – was really showing. "How about you just focus on making up with her, then?"

Fuck. Oswald hadn't been thinking about that. There had never been anyone to make up with before – even with Edward, things always eventually just settled into a truce – and the circumstances between him and Myla were tricky, to say the least. Was it an acceptable thing to show up at her school or work to speak with her? Or does that fall into the category of "creepy" behavior. If only Myla hadn't left the cell phone; this might have been easily resolved if there was an option to call her. Wait – was that a bad sign? Did she mean to leave it behind?

Across the room, the teapot began to whistle on the stove. "At least she's sorry." Edward offered before standing up.

Yes, Myla had definitely looked remorseful – perhaps remorseful enough that she might come to him with a more sincere apology. He rather liked the sound of that – the opportunity to paint himself as a more forgiving, understanding person than he really was.

"You know," Oswald's teeth scraped lightly over his lip as he smiled, "I think she'll be back."