Chapter 22: A Soft Spot For Fish
While Oswald chewed out Butch for going behind his back and causing unnecessary drama and frustration for him, Sylvia went upstairs to take a bath.
Water shot out of the faucet and while the tub filled, Sylvia undressed, lit violet and maroon tinted candles (lavender and rose petal scented, respectively), placing each on a golden circular plate around the bathroom, including the sink, and on the counters. As she struck the match, she idly admired the burning flame for its heat and beauty, a little pyro coming out before she quickly lit the wicks before the flame started creeping to her skin.
While she blew out the match, a pair of knuckles tapped the oak door.
Still dressed in her bath robe, but mindful of whomever was standing in the doorway, Sylvia glanced over her shoulder to see Oswald, who appeared less than merry about the recent events. Not that she could blame him; the whole thing that happened with 'The Sirens' and Mr. Boris had been completely unnecessary, and had all been a ploy for Butch to gain Tabitha's attention, even if it was a little underhanded and sloppy.
"Bath time came early," He cared to note as he closed the door.
Sylvia observed him, a little half smile reached the corner of her lips when she noticed just how haggard and frustrated he appeared. For lack of a better euphemism, the lecture he'd given Butch really did ruffle his feathers.
"It's only eight."
Oswald raised his eyebrows at her, and he glanced at the wooden little clock that sat on the counter just beside the sink, noticing that what she had said was a fact—he hadn't realized how much time they'd spent down at the night club! The whole night had been stolen away from them, it seemed.
"Come here."
Oswald heard her soft timbre and met her eyes; they beckoned to him.
He walked over to where she stood, and once meeting her by the side of the tub, Sylvia lifted her hands to his face, her thumbs softly caressing along his cheek bones; the tips of her other fingers gently massaged the back of his head.
"The night isn't over."
"What else is on your agenda?" She asked curiously, tilting her head slightly. "What could you possibly have left to do?"
"I wasn't joking when I said I was going to pay a visit to your stray."
"You mean 'Demetri'."
"Yes, I was referring to him."
"Visiting hours are over."
"And you think that will stop me?"
"Of course not," Sylvia assured, as she lowered her hands from him to turn off the faucet. "But the hospital's security is fucking strict. You may be able to walk in with a machine gun and threaten to slit a patient's throat with a scalpel, but god forbid you want to visit someone past six o'clock. They'll just turn you away."
"No one turns me away."
"Well, they will insist."
"Why do I get the feeling you're trying to protect him?"
"I'm not being protective by any means. I'm just being honest; the Gotham General Hospital staff are anal about visiting hours."
"I suppose you're right."
"I am right. Now, stop fussing over your tedious agenda, and join me."
He smiled at her motherly tone, watching her turn from him so she disrobed and then stepped into the bath tub. She mumbled something he couldn't hear, probably how hot the water was, since as she submerged her lower half, her chest and neck became flushed with pink before him. Perhaps it was the temperature of the water…or maybe it was her modesty, realizing that she was bare naked in front of him while Oswald was still fully clothed.
He didn't really have to think twice about her suggestion, so he undressed, placing every article of clothing neatly on top of the counter as he did. It was his turn to blush when he realized he was standing in full nude in front of Sylvia…they'd been married for a time, and it was always an embarrassing fact that he could suddenly become so self-conscious when he stood in front of her.
That seemed to be a trait they both shared.
As he slowly sank in the tub, all of him for save his shoulders were submerged and hidden beneath the array of bubbles. Sylvia waded over to him, her legs straddling his as she sat on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck, peppering him with a few soft kisses before reaching his lips.
Oswald returned every one of them.
"We don't get many of these moments anymore," She murmured once the kiss broke naturally. "Have you noticed that?"
"I have. Does it bother you?"
"It bothers me, but it's kind of necessary."
"Meaning?"
Sylvia shrugged and said softly, "With wealth and luxury comes the inevitable responsibility. Honestly, I miss the old days…"
Oswald frowned: "You mean, when you and I were still working for Fish?"
"I don't miss the verbal condescension," Sylvia said lightly, rolling her eyes as she thought of the times when Fish would roll out some apathetic musing about Oswald, being her nobody Umbrella Boy, and herself being 'only a barmaid'. "But I do miss the days when you and I went home, ate dinner, and didn't get any of this extra drama that came with being top dog."
Oswald considered this, and he sent her a small, understanding smile. Yes, he remembered those days, all right. They sat like this for a moment in silence: Her arms resting casually around him, her hands lightly stroking the nape of his neck, while he cradled her hip in one hand, the other delicately grazing over her lower back. Soft kisses in the silence.
"What are you going to do when you find Fish Mooney?"
"You know exactly what I plan on doing."
"She spares your life, and you shoot her dead?"
Oswald blinked, for the very fact that he was certain he heard something in her voice. What was it?
"I'm gathering from your tone that you disagree with that plan."
"It's not that I 'disagree'," She uttered quietly.
"Well, you're not in agreement with it, so one can only guess that you're on the opposite side of the fence."
"You and I both know that there isn't just one side of Fish. She's more complicated than what people realize."
"You'd prefer that she stay alive and torment us with her existence?"
"Of course not."
"So, what are you implying?"
"She spared you for a reason," Sylvia reminded. "Perhaps in her greater scheme of things, she doesn't want to kill you. Maybe she wants to…you know…impart some wisdom, or—"
"You think she wants to make an alliance?" He questioned skeptically.
"Well, is it so far-fetched?"
"Honey, after what happened with Delilah, Demetri—now Fish above all people—I'm starting to think you have a soft spot for her."
"I'm not getting soft. I'm trying to think out of the box—outside of my own fucking paranoia," Sylvia explained defensively. "Maybe she wants more than just to cut off my head and shoot you in the fucking face. Maybe after dying, she's realized there's more than just vengeance on the brain. Why come back from the dead, back to Gotham, just to settle the score? Fish can be petty, but she's more than that."
Oswald sighed again, but this one was more exasperated than skeptical.
He purposely moved Sylvia off him and said firmly, "I pushed her off a building, made myself the Penguin, and you shot her mother on stage just to prove a point. She doesn't want an alliance; she will want to settle the score."
"How can you be so certain of that?"
"I know how she thinks."
"What—and I don't?"
"I was with her every day since I had started working for her. If anyone knows Fish, it would be me."
"And that makes you the subject matter expert?"
"Are we going to argue about this now?"
"There's nothing to argue about. You knew a side of Fish that I didn't, but I also knew a side of her that you didn't have privy to know. We can agree to that, but to not even consider the possibility that Fish isn't just out for some petty revenge is nothing like you."
"Are we even talking about the same person?"
"I'm just saying: try to consider that you may be thinking about this all wrong."
"Do you think I am?"
"No, but it's something to consider."
Oswald exhaled patiently, sinking into the water all but his nose and eyes as he tried to assuage his irritation with Sylvia's insistent remarks of Fish's possible innocence. There was no way that the Fish Mooney he knew would want anything more than revenge for suffering all that he and Sylvia had imposed upon her.
After a moment had passed during which neither person spoke, Sylvia moved closer to him. He sat up when she did.
"I can't explain why I feel the way I do. I admit that Delilah and Demetri's betrayal have done something to me…made me soft, doubtful—whatever…but there was a point in time when I would have done anything for that woman. Now, I know the moment you set yourself in her ranks that you were ready to push her out of Falcone's chain, but there was a time where I actually did love Fish." Sylvia gestured to herself, adding, "A part of me—however small and insignificant—still misses her.
"When she died, I was happy, because I knew that it would push you wherever you needed to go, but there was a part of me that died with her. When I heard that she was back…I don't know…I guess I was hopeful because maybe it's like a second chance? It's hard to explain…"
Oswald looked at her, listened to her. He could see her internal struggle with the reality of the situation. They spoke of Fish being complicated…Sylvia Cobblepot had her beat when it came to complication. Sylvia moved closer to him, hesitating before she sat on him again.
"Does any of that make sense?" She asked uncertainly.
"It does. However, I do believe you're blinded by the past."
"I'm nothing without my memories of her—the good, the bad…the ugly. I'm not saying 'don't kill her' when you get the chance, but if there's the slightest part of you that doesn't shoot her on sight, then try to follow that piece. If not for Fish, and not for yourself, then do it for me, okay?"
Oswald nodded.
"If a part of me doesn't kill her instantly, I will follow it. Just for you." He vowed.
"Kiss on it?"
Sylvia tenderly kissed him; he returned it, lovingly.
Then the kiss became harder, feverish. It was soft and steady like the ripples along the river bend, and in a matter of minutes, there were waves of passion.
Breathless whispers, desperate moans. Above the bubbles and the surface, Sylvia and Oswald were passionate lovers, tongues entreating, enticing. Below the bubbles, Sylvia's hips slowly gyrated, her swollen petals grinding against Oswald's hard, stiff cock.
"I'm horny as hell," She whispered, nipping Oswald's bottom lip, "but it's amazing how water makes it dry."
"You're telling me," He agreed, letting out a small laugh when she kissed his nose.
"I want to take this to the bed."
"By your lead, Pigeon."
Sylvia grinned from ear-to-ear, and she stood; the water fell from her shimmering body, the light of the lamps and candles gleaming off like highlights on an illuminated body of water. As breathtaking as Sylvia's wet, naked body appeared and as happy as Oswald could be to stare at it all day, he was anxious to shove her face down in the soon-to-be dampened sheets and comforters, and take her.
Sylvia grabbed a towel from the rack, drying off as well as walking to the bedroom, throwing it behind her; Oswald chuckled, catching it, and following her mannerisms. Stepping over the threshold of their master bedroom, Sylvia sat on the edge of the mattress, then hoisted herself into the middle of the bed, beckoning Oswald with a sly smile of her own.
Like a moth to a flame, he was magnetized.
"Do you want to close the do—"
Sylvia interrupted him with a passionate kiss, her hands caressing his face and eagerly subduing him.
"Fuck the door," She giggled. "They know not to come up here by now, if they know what's good for 'em."
She meant the staff, of course.
And she wasn't wrong; the staff didn't venture upstairs unless they were summoned. And they never were.
Oswald moved on top of her, already feeling empowered as she quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, her body pliant against his own. He felt a little smug about how her body was already thrusting against him, her thirsty cunt grinding against his stiff member, eager for friction.
Hands groped; fingers spread. Bodies were sheen with a mixture of sweat and dampness from the bath.
Oswald grabbed a handful of her hair, wrapping the locks around his fist twice, pulling back so her head followed the movement, her soft neck exposed to him. He pecked her flushed skin, licking her sweet spot between her shoulder and jaw line; he felt her shudder underneath him.
Her hips settled into a needy grind, purposely humping the shaft of his cock so he was forced to feel the dampness of her pussy, the noticeable swollen clit that longed for contact.
"You're a hungry one, aren't you," He breathed, but even as he said it, he couldn't hide his own desire.
When Sylvia shamelessly showed him just how much she craved his attention, it was hard to ignore her wordless pleas. What she wanted, she could speak; what she craved and needed, her body did the talking for her.
Unable to tease her any longer, Oswald moved inside of her; the head of his cock slowly sliding between the petals. Her soft moans became sudden needy whimpers. He watched her eyes close tightly, her bottom lip tucking between her teeth, as she felt every vein of his girth slide inside.
She craved speed; her hips grinding against him. Insistent.
"Easy, Pet." He whispered into her ear.
"Mm-mm!"
He grinned.
"Nice and slow."
Sylvia opened her mouth to protest; he grabbed the opportunity to silence her with his own.
He rested his weight on her, pinning her hands to the mattress on either side of her pillow; their fingers, interlaced.
He took his time, slowly moving in and out of her slick entrance. A few times, Sylvia would try to tempt him to go at a faster tempo, but he wanted to treasure this—her naked body, the way they were so close and intimate.
He had noticed, too, that their precious moments together—alone—were, indeed, too few and far between. He didn't want to rush it.
When there was no sign of pushing the tempo, Sylvia relaxed and while she didn't push him to move faster, Oswald was content to feel her body relax into his pace.
"Good girl." He praised, and she beamed in the middle of their kiss.
Soft, slow, and tender.
Even as they tenderly kissed, Oswald could feel himself getting closer. Just as she was showing signs of reaching that climax. The muscles that gripped him contracted, and threatened to make him lose control.
"Fuck…" He moaned.
Sylvia rolled her hips against his, and he felt that tiny numbing, electric shock that promised a strong orgasm to come. She lifted her head and eagerly nipped his jaw. Apparently, they were on the same page.
He quickened the pace, and as the pace became faster and harder, their sex became rougher. Oswald sat up, thrusting his cock into Sylvia so hard that her head hit the headboard a little too hard.
"Oh, god, are you okay?" He quickly asked.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" She laughed it off, reaching up and bracing herself against it.
It didn't take long. In the next few minutes that passed, Sylvia was forced into an orgasm, and her pussy clenched down on him so hard that it made Oswald come right after.
Moans became soft sighs; breathlessness, panting.
Sylvia remained on her back, looking up at the ceiling as she smiled in bliss. Oswald lied down on his side, letting out a deep exhale as he smiled in the same way.
"Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?"
She smiled beautifully: "More times than I can count, but I don't mind hearing it again."
Oswald and Sylvia grinned at one another, shared one more kiss, and slowly fell asleep in each other's arms.