Blood Rush
A/N: I actually was not expecting a flood of reviews when I started writing this story; but it is nice to see some readers who are fond of this smut. Thank you for the lovely reviews. :D
Chapter Ten: Jerome Valeska's Advice
"It's simple. You simply act as if you don't know anything; ignorance can be bliss. Ask anyone around here," said Jerome, flopping himself down onto the old, living room couch.
Fresh from a shower after tossing the hatchet over the Arkham Bridge and cleaning up in Mr. Cicero's trailer, he wasn't too worried about the Family finding Lila Valeska. Haley's Circus had its own primordial problems; nobody in the family would want to involve police, due to their narrow-minded outlook on the Cirque Du Freak from the next city over. Jerome felt truly relaxed for the first time in his own home, knowing that he wouldn't have to listen to his mother bitch at him over trivial things; he slowly circled the half empty glass of Pineapple Rum, utterly calm.
It was his sister, however, who was giving him a headache.
It wasn't an act. Deedee was paranoid. She had spruced up Lila's bedroom spotlessly, whipping out the cleaning supplies and all the chemicals harder than she ever did when Lila asked her to pick up around the house. She was tossing shit out of the bedroom; Jerome watched with a raised brow when a whole nightstand came flying out of there, smashing into pieces. It was old, for what it was worth; and it would never have stood another two years with Lila's rocking. Deedee might not have regretted assisting in matricide; but she absolutely did not want anyone to discover that either of them had taken part in it. Jerome could hear her breathing heavily in the room.
"I AM NOT WORRIED ABOUT ME!" Deedee's voice—oddly shrill like her mother's—"I'm worried about the Circus turning on us! I'm worried about the fuckin' GCPD having a very good forensic team and being able to pick up evidence that I might have missed! I know neither of us would rat on the other. But do you—" she poked her head out of Lila's bedroom, hair falling over her face, coming loose from her tight bun on top of her head—"realize just how quick people can turn on each other when they're under the microscope!?"
Jerome took a drink collectively, eyeing her down.
"Do you see me panicking?" he said.
"Not the point. Mr. Cicero—that ol' deadbeat dad of mine—He suddenly comes out of the blue like a fuckin' superhero, and you just suddenly trust him. Why? Why would he? He'd cover for you, why—?"Deedee frowned at Jerome's passive expression on his face.
To get a reaction from him, anything that could match her high strung energy, Deedee released a cry of frustration and threw a dirty rag at him. Jerome ducked as the wet washcloth smacked the wall with sheer force. Jerome stared at her.
"Will you stop being so infuriatingly calm?" she cried out.
"You're starting to lose your cool, Deedee," said Jerome.
"Yes. Join me, won't you?" Deedee remarked hotly, throwing her elbow-length, yellow gloves to the floor.
"Cops are dumb," said Jerome with a shrug. "Do you realize how much has happened in Gotham since we stepped foot in the city? Deedee…" She just kept cleaning. "Deedee..."
More shuffling around the bedroom.
Jerome sighed, placing his glass on the coffee table, and he strode into Lila's bedroom to see Deedee pulling the fitted sheet off the mattress.
"Delilah."
She was moving fervently, as if the cops were headed there now. As Deedee made to deposit the sheets on the floor, Jerome caught her around the waist with one arm, stopping her from throwing anything else out of the bedroom. Her face was beet red from the strenuous exercise, sweating heavily through the spaghetti strap tank top. Jerome heard her about to start her furious tirade— "Do not call me that fucking name"—and he groaned, shoving her hard onto the bare mattress.
She landed on her back, staring at him incredulously. Shock. Jerome said nothing, even when he climbed on top of her.
"I don't have time for this," said Deedee irritably. "Off, Jerome."
"You're not listening to me." Jerome said.
"I said 'off', Brother," repeated Deedee.
"And I said," Jerome growled, leaning forward to meet her annoyed gaze, "Sister…you're not listening…to me."
Didn't he understand the importance of what she was doing? Saving face? Even if Mr. Cicero did keep his part of the bargain, to let them clean up and shower off Lila's blood in his shower, Deedee still had that nagging voice in her head that said that Jerome had trusted such a kind man way too easily as an easy out. Although she could appreciate his level of calm, he didn't understand the pressure on her shoulders. He was the middle child (technically). If the police learned of the crime, they almost always blamed the oldest. They'd assume she had the worst grudge—They wouldn't be wrong. Deedee frowned at Jerome.
"Get. Off." Deedee said warningly.
"Make me…" Jerome breathed, smiling widely at her.
Deedee considered fighting him; but he was significantly stronger than she. She didn't want to fight him, not even playfully. She wanted to clean Lila Valeska's bedroom; but right now, Jerome had her pinned to the bare mattress, sitting on top of her. Jerome clicked his tongue,
"Have a drink with me, Deedee."
"I don't want a drink," said Deedee with a sarcastic smile. "I'd like you to get up."
"You're so uptight," said Jerome. "The point of killing Mother was to give you some peace of mind. You don't sound peaceful."
"Up." Deedee demanded.
"I do like the way you try to control things," Jerome continued. "It's cute."
"Up." Deedee repeated.
He didn't budge. Deedee, done waiting, threw a hand up and wrapped her fingers around his throat and shoved him to the side. Jerome fell onto the floor, landing with a small thud. He let out a chuckle. They might have changed the dynamic in their relationship, but they could still fight like siblings.
"Ooh," Jerome's voice came from below. "That really took me back to childhood."
"You can be so annoying," said Deedee. She scooted to the edge of the bed, passing a tired hand over her face. She glanced over the side. "Sorry if I hurt you—Oh!"
Jerome reached up, grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her down with him, landing on top of him. She let out a giggle. Jerome silenced her laughter when Jerome's tongue parted her lips, pulling a sharp breath from her—Surprise. Deedee returned the kiss; his hands snaked around her hips, keeping her close. Jerome muttered against her lips, "I said I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"
"You did," Deedee answered.
"I need you to relax, do you know why? You're giving me a headache." Jerome said. "I can tell when you're stressed, do you know how?"
Deedee shrugged. Jerome, as if she answered him, nodded; he placed his fingers gingerly along the muscles of her shoulder blade, indicating the stiffness, "Right here. You're tense. I like to keep things light and amusing. Funny, if you will."
"Not everything is a joke, Jerome." Deedee removed his hands from her back, getting to her feet.
"Au contraire," Jerome remarked, and he followed her out of the bedroom and into the living room. "Everything is a gas. I actually thought your furious tirade on the bedroom was funny, right up until you started to ignore me, honestly."
She was in the kitchen, pouring herself a drink. Jerome hopped onto the counter.
"See, you get lost in that head of yours. Block me out. You shouldn't do that."
"Well, one of us has to be the responsible sibling, shouldn't we?" Deedee said, capping the vodka bottle. "I'm the eldest."
"So you keep reminding me," he added. "But you also have the worst temper."
He capped his hand over her glass, once more having to stop her from moving so much so she'd meet his gaze, albeit it was spritzed with agitation. His tone took a serious note, "The more that you try to take control, O eldest sibling of mine, the less you will have."
"What, d'you read that in a book somewhere? Mark Twain?" Deedee retorted with a half shrug.
"Jerome Valeska," he quoted intently. "Life is more entertaining if you learn to stop taking it so seriously."
With that, he removed his hand. She took a long drink from her glass, finishing it off.
"Ya get it?" Jerome said, trying to drive home his point.
"I get it," said Deedee calmly.
"Fantastic," said Jerome.