The second time Oswlad wants to kiss Ed, it is a little more private and much more genuine.
Edward no longer insists on calling him 'Mr Penguin' and each murmured Oswald feels like a victory. They have both collected pretty souvenirs from Arkham, proudly displayed just across the room for all to see. Oswald Cobbelpot has even become Mayor of Gotham City, elected not out of fear or bribery but adoration.
If only you could see me now, Mother.
Falling in love was by no means the next obvious step, yet on reflection it would seem oddly poetic. Inevitable. Ed might have even used the word 'fate'.
"I hope you know, Oswald… I would do anything for you. You can always count on me."
For the rest of his life, Oswald will never know how to describe this moment. How can words adequately capture this, these pivotal, precious seconds which go on to define not only his own life, but the life of the city and its many children.
Is it the first domino to fall? The innocent pebble which brings down rocks and disaster upon thousands? The innocent spark that quickly soars into roaring wildfire?
Whatever pitiful words he ascribes to it, one thing is certain - nothing can ever be the same.
The world seems to hold its breath as Oswald finds himself inching forwards, pulled towards this impossible, incredible man almost against his will. The quickly diminishing air between them virtually vibrates as something magnetic tugs Oswald towards his new centre of gravity, and beneath his feet the plates of the earth shift and realign and collide-
Oswald clutches Ed to him as warmth floods his chest, utterly unexpected and joyous and so tender he can scarcely believe it. This can't be- it can't be real. Surely not. Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin cannot be allowed something this beautiful, this precious, this sacred.
I can't be bought yet I can be stolen with a glance.
Oswald has to blink back tears as something heavy sinks into his bones, an emotion beginning to settle like a physical, permanent weight in his chest.
I'm worthless to one but priceless to two.
His fingers spasm against silken shoulders.
What am I?
The world is gold and honey around him and Oswald doesn't dare breath as Ed holds him ever closer.
Love.
It feels like an eternity before they part. Immediately Oswald finds himself longing for that warmth; the further he pulls away, the more he can feel the phantom weight of Ed's arms around him, setting in like an addiction.
I could kiss you right now.
The thought is a rush, adrenaline making his head dizzy with the sheer possibility of such a notion. Now more than a mere phrase, thrown out meaninglessly.
I really could kiss you. I want to kiss you.
Attraction is not an utterly foreign concept to Oswald, yet it has always been removed from any true opportunity. Fantasy or fabrication has never been real, never held the weight of actuality until today, and Oswald could never have prepared himself for the freight train of emotion which would accompany such a sensation.
He can feel that centre of gravity kicking in again, that tug low in his gut whispering to lean forward, just a few more inches-
"I'm sorry, Oswald, but I…" Ed grimaces as he swallows and looks away. "I think I need to rest after tonight's excitement."
"Of course!" Oswald immediately rises with Ed, mentally chastising himself for being so selfish as to think of kissing an injured man. Butch Gilzean will pay for this. "I'm sorry for keeping you up. You must rest."
Ed waves a hand, as if to bat away the words. "You've nothing to apologise for, Oswald."
Even as he says the words, Oswald feels something cold snake around his heart. He doesn't know why but something instinctive wants to refute Ed's statement, as if he has just failed Ed in some secret way and needs to come clean.
For men like you and I, love will always be our most crippling weakness.
Silencing those pinwheel thoughts, Oswald smooths down his suit jacket to settle his trembling fingers.
No, nothing will ruin this for me, not tonight, not-
"Oswald." Ed pauses by the door and casts a gentle smile back at him that makes Oswald's legs feel weak. "Sleep well."
He wants to kiss him every moment of every day after that.
Oswald dreams of kissing Ed in a hundred different ways and places. He imagines reaching for the pepper at the breakfast table and pressing his lips into those dark curls, not yet smoothed and ordered for the day ahead. He dreams of the moments before a press conference, standing on tiptoe for a kiss on the cheek, like donning the last piece of armour before battle.
Sometimes, alone and at night, he will imagine what Ed's lips would feel like against his. What that sharp tongue which can dress down impetuous employees and senators of state would feel like dressing down him. What it would take to make those eyes which he has watched darken in bloodlust turn to him and hunger.
Every morning he wakes from dreams of fire-light and honey. Every evening the ache in his chest burrows deeper to offset the fluttering of his heart. Every day he falls a little further.
How can Ed not know? Surely Oswald is being blatantly, embarrassingly obvious in his affection. He can barely look at Edward without feeling his face heat, heart stuttering at the mere sound of his voice, as if the tax reports he summarises each morning are as mesmerising as love sonnets.
It is agony, those weeks. Loving in silence. Confessing in secret. His heart seems to grow fuller each day and his lungs seize with each breath, each moment spent with him but not with him a fresh torment to match Arkham. Still, he wouldn't change it. Not for the world.
After the hundredth aborted confession, words fizzling out like the rustling of strings, Oswald finally steps out.
"There is something I would like to discuss in a more private setting. Shall we say dinner, at the mansion. Eight o'clock?"
The smile Ed gives him slides through him like butter and, for one blinding second, he hopes. "I'll pick us up a nice bottle of wine."
Life brings you one love, Oswald. When you find it, run.
Of course, limping and wounded as he is, it is no surprise he comes in second place.
I met someone. And I think I'm in love.
If only Ed had merely been missing. The idea of his Chief of Staff lost and hurting and alone had once turned Oswald's veins to fear and adrenaline, now it fills him with spiteful longing. A hostage scenario could have been dealt with. He would have parted with anything to bring Edward home, to recover what was wrongfully stolen from him, wreaked the worst vengeance imaginable-
But instead, Ed had gone willingly. For the petty price of a dead woman's face and love poetry, he had sold himself the lie of a boring, ordinary life. If you wanted Greek tragedy and Shakespearean sonnets, you didn't need to go to her. If you'd told me I would have done anything for you, Ed. I would have given you anything.
Where once Oswald woke from dreams of flame and honey, now he dreams of blood and concrete.
The night Oswald returns from the bloodbath masquerading as the Founders dinner he is so tired; all he wants is to find and lose himself in those arms which are so warm and strong and his-
But instead he walks in on them, kissing like childhood sweethearts and she has the audacity to blush as he meets her eye.
"Oswald. Good evening."
Ed looks the happiest he's ever seen him.
Everything is so awfully wrong; Oswald can barely breathe as he limps up the stairs of the Manor. She is so pure, so innocent, so abhorrently good it appals him.
Ed deserves blood which can boil and iron on his lips. He deserves to be kissed with passion and fire and none of this odious faux sweetness. If only he had been braver, said something sooner, insisted on drinking one of his own hundred bloody wine bottles. But no, he had been a coward and his punishment is one of the cruellest Gotham could have delivered.
Every time he sees that woman, Isabelle or whatever the hell her name is, all he can taste is bile. His fingers twitch for the weight of a knife and with his eyes he traces the exact line it would draw across her oesophagus, scarlet and gushing.
You love him too.
Most insulting of all, it barely takes her two minutes to realise. How can an idiot librarian see what Ed's brilliant mind had missed, what has Oswald done to deserve fate's ire, why must he fight tooth and claw for every single thing that he loves, why can he never just get what he is owed-
I won't let him go.
Well, that settles it.
The bitch has wormed her way so perfectly into Ed's heart that settling things peaceably is no longer an option. Ed has never seen because she has blinded him. Ed's happiness is an illusion and Oswald is the only one who can save him, the only one who sees him as he truly is, sees what he can become.
Warmth and light sharpen to ice and fury, cold and calculating. His mother's advice haunts his waking moments, dogs every staggering step he takes.
Life gives you one love. One chance. Run or lose it forever.
If the little idiot wishes to remain an obstacle then there is no other option than to see to her immediate removal.
This is all for Edward's sake. He will see that eventually. And, after all, he did warn her.
Don't you see, my love? I would do anything for you, Edward. Anything.