Wednesday, June 19th, 2024, 08:27
Edward overhears Eliza speaking to someone on the phone one night as she lays out on her balcony reading. Above her, Edward is sitting on the edge of the rooftop, legs on the side she cannot see as he peers down at her. He had been about to drop in on her once more, but he heard her phone ring just as he threw his legs over the side. It causes him to pause and swing his legs back around to sit on the edge with his body twisted towards her.
"Eli! Hey, what's going on? Are you doing okay?"
The Riddler's keen ears picked up a touch of worry in her voice but then Eliza squeals and he is taken aback. Continuing to eavesdrop, he listens to the one-sided conversation.
"You're coming home? Eeeeee! I can't wait to see you."
"Dinner? Tomorrow night? Sure! What time?
"Alright, I'll see you then. 6:00! Don't be late!"
"I missed you too! Love you. Bye!"
Once the phone is disconnected, Edward notices that she sits reading again, this time with a lighthearted smile on her face. He continues to watch her from a distance, observing her facial features and expressions.
Who the fuck is Eli?
Thursday, June 19th, 2024, 05:45
The next day, Edward is in the dusky streets wearing pedestrian clothes: a black cap, jeans, hoodie, and sneakers. He waits patiently as Eliza walks from her apartment complex, and he follows her a couple of blocks down the streets of Gotham. She is in a safer part of town and usually walks everywhere she goes.
After about fifteen minutes, she ends up on the patio of a local taco joint, and he watches as she fiddles with her casual outfit and scrolls through her phone. A few minutes later, a tall gentleman in a military uniform with tan skin strolls up. Eliza jumps up, squeals in happiness again, and, unable to wait to give the man a tight hug, she leans over the barrier, a foot popped behind her and holds the new person with a bright smile.
He cannot hear their conversation from his place outside another restaurant next door. He sits catty-corner to them and is merely able to observe their body language and facial expressions. They are very comfortable with one another—nothing explicitly intimate or sexual stands out, though that does not necessarily mean anything.
Remembering the discussion he and Johnathan had in Arkham, he sharpens his eyes at G.I. Joe sitting across from his nurse. They sit outside laughing and cutting up for an hour or so, drinking margaritas and chowing down on tacos. Eliza seems so relaxed, comfortable, and happy. It makes Edward sick. How dare she be happy without him?
Around 8:00, they finish their "date" and then spend another 20 minutes outside the restaurant laughing more, smiling, and high-fiving – gag. Edward's mind is spinning and blank at the same time. Finally, the two hug each other one last time before she kisses the man's chiseled cheek and spins about to traipse off back home. The Riddler stares at them both as they walk opposite of one another, wondering who he needs to follow. While he would right love to stalk and talk with the jughead, he thought it best to ensure the safety of Eliza as she walks home. Although it is not an extended walk, he, of all people, understands how dangerous Gotham can be at night.
Once she enters the apartment complex, he slinks back into the shadows. Despite the desire to infiltrate her home and body again, he was late for a date with a Bat.
Thursday, June 27th, 2024, 22:43
Sitting at her desk, working on a project for patient quality and safety, Eliza types away, fingers clicking rapidly across the keyboard. The night has been silent and uneventful.
A loud clatter and crash outside the apartment makes her blood run cold. That does not sound like Edward. The Riddler is fairly silent, slinky like a fox, and rarely makes any noise when dropping onto her balcony. She has no idea who else would be crashing onto the wide patio at this time of night. With a gulp she grabs a can of mace from her desk drawer and steps quietly to the door where she peers out into the darkness. The neon lights of the apartments across the street provide inadequate illumination to see what the hell is going on. Eliza hears more clattering outside and an agonizing groan.
Stretching out her hand with the mace in front of her she unlocks the door and swings it open with swiftness.
"I'm armed! Who's there?"
" Eliza, it's – it's me."
At the familiar huffy voice, she drops her hand from its protective position, drops the mace, and quickly turns the outside light on. Edward is sitting, back against the railing, looking worse for wear with blood streaming down his forehead and into an eye. His right arm clutches the opposite ribcage, where there is a rapidly growing dark stain enveloping it. He looks terrible: his hat is missing, his tie is loose around his neck, and his lips and nose is bloody separate from his forehead.
Her face is twisted in distress as she runs to the Rogue and drops in front of him on her knees. She places a hand on his cheek and strokes the skin, coaxing his chin up so he can see her. Even in pain, Edward feels rotten egotism that his nurse is being so sweet and caring for his welfare.
"Edward, what happened?"
As she speaks, her mind compartmentalizes into work mode as she examines his face and body sequentially. He is weak, eyes squinted in pain, but alert and oriented.
"Eliza, I ne-need help," his breathing is labored and shallow, and she sees blood streaming between his purple-gloved fingers holding the injured side.
"The Maroni mob, they're after me. They ordered a hit, and I was taken by surprise."
Eliza's body went cold. She wants to help this man, but she worries that whoever is after him is not far behind. Eliza feels that Edward would prevent someone from finding her, but she truly does not even know him still.
"Were you followed. . . ?"
He groans as he tries to move, "They were on my tail, but I managed to shake them. I was closer to here than one of my hideouts."
The nurse looks around nervously—above her, to the sides, and then down over the balcony rail ten stories down to the street. Nothing looks suspicious—thankfully. Eliza inhales shakily and exhales calmly, then nods. She stoops next to the Riddler to take his left arm over her shoulder, his weaker side, and then wraps her arm around his midback to hold his opposite hip.
"Let's get inside quickly. Lean on me."
Edward nods weakly as they stand and then walk, allowing Eliza to take some of his weight. She grunts a little at the added pressure but can handle it for a short distance. It is a messy and difficult walk as they stumble through the apartment and into the protection of her bedroom. They limp and shuffle to the soft bed, and Eliza helps him sit down and then lie down, not caring about the sheets.
". . .Th-thank you. . ."
"You're welcome, Edward. Let me get my supplies."
It is only the moment she is gone before she is clamoring back into his presence with her medic bag and some towels. His side is burning, he is feeling weak, and it is a little hard to breathe. While rummaging through her bag for gloves, she begins to triage him.
"What happened? Stabbed? Shot?"
"Stabbed."
She needs a closer look at the wound.
"We need to get this shirt off."
Despite the situation, Edward cannot miss the opportunity to tease her.
"Oh, Eliza, always so eager to see me undressed."
She smiles and helps him peel the shirt and coat away from the wound, tucks a towel beneath him, then pours saline over the area to help loosen the coagulation.
"I'm glad your sense of humor is still intact."
The nurse examines the area with professional eyes; he is bleeding steadily. She thinks about the potentially damaged structures: left lung, diaphragm, spleen, kidney, and intestines. He is short of breath but not in respiratory distress – no agonal breathing. She thinks he might just be guarding against the pain. She cannot help the pitiful look on her face as she looks from the wound to the rest of his bloodied visage.
". . . I'm tougher than I look, you know."
Eliza nods and slips on a pair of lavender-colored, nitrile gloves.
"I know, Edward. But I worry about you."
He leans his head back on her pillow and takes a deep breath; the smell of linen and her shampoo wafting in his nostrils relaxes him. She worries about him. He lets himself smile.
"Eliza, can it be that you are falling for a Rogue?"
She ignores his charged comment, choosing to stay on the more pertinent topic at hand, but Edward does notice the blush that rouges her cheeks. It is now that he finally sees she has freckles, a light dusting, but they are there.
"I need to get your vitals."
Rummaging through the bag she pulls out a sphygmomanometer, her stethoscope, and a pulse oximeter. Quickly, she places the pulse-ox on one of his right fingers and the blood pressure cuff on his left arm, where she inflates it. Placing the resonator of her stethoscope under the lip of the cuff and over his brachial artery, she auscultates this tachycardic beat. It takes her merely fifteen seconds to find her reading, then deflates the cuff faster than inflating it. She removes her stethoscope from her ears and hangs it around the back of her neck, one end over each shoulder.
"Blood pressure is 85/55, O2 is 97%, and pulse is 122 at rest."
She looks at him seriously, about to say something she knows he will not like. ". . . We need to get you to the ER."
Just as she thought, he argues, eyes snapping open from their resting and then narrowing in defiance.
"Absolutely not."
To his surprise, her eyes narrow equally in an intensity he has not seen before. In a pause, she contemplates his demand and finally relents.
"Fine. I'll do the best I can to treat you. But, Edward –," she touches his hand, "- if your pressure drops any lower, then I need to get you to the hospital. I don't have the equipment needed to keep you alive."
The Riddler studies her face; the burning look in her eyes screams to let her help him. She is worried. She does not want him dying in her hands – on her watch.
He knows she is right, but it pains him more to admit she's right than being stabbed in the ribs. Edward's dangerous look relents and relaxes to an amused chuckle,
"Fine, he waves a hand nonchalantly. "If my condition worsens, I will allow you to take me to the hospital."
The nurse relaxes a bit, relieved to hear his surrender. Redirecting her attention, she focuses back on the wound. She needs to patch him up, stop the bleeding, and get some fluids in him—all of it at once. She prioritizes starting an IV to attempt an intervention at normotension. Luckily, she has a normal saline bag, an intravenous starter kit, and microtubing. After the first apartment infiltration, she grabbed a few things from work in preparation for something like this.
"I need to start an IV. I'm hoping adding more volume to your blood will alter the hemodynamics in your favor."
He nods weakly, trusting her judgment more than most, "Go ahead, whatever must be done."
Regarding his consent with a nod, she retrieves her supplies quickly, gives them a once-over for sterility, and then opens the packages. She applies the blue rubber tourniquet on his bare bicep and then feels for an adequate vein—the antecubital fossa is always the first choice when giving large fluid volumes. Usually, you want to utilize the hand or forearm since the intravenous catheter is more susceptible to bending and damage in such a mobile area. Still, the AC is faster for her to claim in this urgency.
She wipes the area with an alcohol swab, visualizes the bulging vein again, and then inserts the needle. Receiving blood flashback at the hub, she smiles in success and threads the catheter in, throwing the safety needle aside. She attaches the initial line, attaches a saline flush to verify patency, and then tends to prime the microtubing with the saline bag to remove any air from the line. Once done, she hangs the saline bag on her lamp, wipes the hub of his IV, and attaches the tubing, allowing it to drip at 60 milliliters an hour – she will adjust it after she ensures his blood pressure is responding.
"There, let's see if that helps. I'll recheck your pressure after dealing with this damn hole. Let me look at that wound."
Eliza takes a seat on the floor so she is at eye level with the area of concern. The exsanguination has slowed since she had last looked at it.
"It looks like the flow is slowing. That's good; it means it's clotting off. I still don't know if there's any detrimental internal damage," she gives him a pointed look to which he rolls his eyes.
Eliza would need the assistance of radiology scans and a trained radiologist to determine whether any damage occurred to the surrounding structures other than the soft tissue of his muscle and skin. But this is practically combat medicine. She is dealing with the bare minimum here. They can only hope for the best. "I'm going to rinse this wound to see what I'm working with.
Much like the first wound she stitched, she begins the arduous task of cleansing the wound of loose and gross blood, careful not to dislodge the helpful clots. She lets the cool saline rinse down his wound on the towel she placed beneath the area and then begins wiping around the wound with another soaked gauze. Being observant, she notices his brows knitting together.
"Are you doing okay," she queries, not looking up from her work.
The Riddler is gritting his teeth, trying his best not to catastrophize the pain in front of her. His voice is strained but determined, "I'm managing."
She nods and continues her work, "It's a deep stab, Eddie. I still don't know what exactly the full extent is here."
He gets annoyed with her pointed looks and tone as she suggests they really should be going to the hospital, but he lets her have this righteousness. Edward does notice the shortened name and enjoys that, though—he can tolerate her snide remarks.
"It looks like they stabbed and pulled to the side, trying to eviscerate you. You're lucky. . . I think."
Eliza removes her grody gloves, grabs some suture that she filched from work, and pulls the pick-ups and hemostats out again. She really needs to get some needle drivers. Again, much like before, she pours alcohol out on the tools to sterilize them, but this time, she does not have time to do a full hand scrub. She sanitizes her hands and then pulls a pair of sterile gloves to don them once more.
Before beginning, she looks him right in the eye, dead serious, "I'm going to stitch this. It's going to be worse than before."
Edward inhales as deeply as he can with the pain in his side and nods in comprehension. His eyes slip close, and he relaxes. Eliza takes a nerve-soothing breath as well before gripping his skin, approximating the edges, and driving the needle in between the two layers, beginning the first stitch.
The yelp that leaves Edward is not one she has heard from him before, and it pains her to hear it, but she must keep going – once started, there is no stopping this. She has to focus on her own breathing to ensure she does not get upset, either.
"Shhhh. . . focus on me," she coos, working as expeditiously. "You're going to get through this. You're safe, Eddie."
White hot pain is searing like a poker in his ribcage. He does not remember his gunshot being this intense; his brain must have protected him from the pain. But this is almost too much.
"Fuck," he hisses through his bared teeth and arches his head back into the pillow, sweat breaking on his brow.
"I know. I know, I got you. I'm going as fast as I can. Talk to me."
The Riddler is unsure why, but the dinner she had the week prior came to mind. He has been so preoccupied with the mob dealings that he has not had a chance to study the situation further. His mind races to find the name in his memory, tearing his focus from the agony at hand.
"Eli—who is that?" he hisses once more, and he does not know if it is due to pain or jealousy.
Eliza briefly pauses, missing a beat, but then continues working, smirking in response. The envy is apparent in his voice, and she notes that she kind of likes it. Before answering, she throws a few more stitches, letting him sit with his emotions for a few moments longer than necessary.
She catches his frustrated look briefly in amusement before shifting her focus back to his torso, "He's my brother."
Edward's eyes widen from their previous narrowed position, "You're brother? I didn't know you had a brother."
His curiosity is piqued, and he tries to maintain his composure despite the pain. The nurse chuckles as she continues to work, taking a moment to wipe some blood away from her area of work. The saline is soothing to his burning flesh.
"You never asked," she gives him a cheeky grin, returning to her suturing.
The Riddler relaxes, feeling a sense of satisfaction from her response. He is suddenly more relaxed than before, his interest in the woman growing with each new stitch.
"I suppose I didn't. There seem to be things I still don't know about you."
"I'm more than just a nurse, Edward."
Eliza throws the last stitch, ties a knot, and snips the nylon.
"More than just a nurse. . ."
He never considered her likes, dislikes, or life outside of their medical and heated encounters. It is not until now that he realizes how one-dimensional his idea of her is.
Eliza wipes the area clean completely and dresses the wound with dry gauze and Tegaderm. She tells him that she will need to remove the stitches in a week but to remove the dressing in a day or two, to which he nods in agreement.
"I need to check your pressure again," to which she does. "You've increased to 92/69. I think the saline is working."
Edward smiles when she smiles, and he nods in approval.
"Good, that's good."
Eliza reaches a hand out for him to grab, and she helps him sit up, resting against the headboard.
"We should continue to run this drip tonight till the bag runs out. It'll hydrate you and keep your pressure up while your blood replenishes."
Eliza is studying the drip rate of the tubing and adjusts it to a lower, more long-term setting. She checks her watch.
"It will take about eight hours, so you'll have to stay here for the night."
"Already, wanting me to stay over – in your bed no less."
Edward chuckles darkly at the rouging that reaches the cheeks of his nurse. Eliza gulps before turning to walk out the room.
"I-I'll sleep on the couch tonight-"
The Riddler's hand shoots out to grip her wrist tightly as she turns away.
"Stay with me."
The look he gives her makes it hard to deny, feeling hypnotized and mesmerized by his sparkling, emerald eyes. Eliza, sweet Eliza, cannot help but feel pulled into the situation, seeing the burning possession on his face compounded by the vulnerability of his position. The nurse wants to please her patient, and she bites her lip in deep consideration. A small part, in the reasonable part of her mind, reminds her that this man is a criminal, a villain. Even though he was hurt tonight, he very likely hurt someone in return – and she has him lying in her bed.
"Please."
The husky voice sends a shiver down her spine to her toes and back up. He is weak and pale, and his normally kempt hair is in disarray. And, despite the blood still staining his face, he looks normal. He looks like a normal person who needs tender love and care, and her heart aches to coddle him.
"What's wrong? You seem distracted," his voice sweet and curious as he studies her pensive expression.
"Nothing. . . Let me clean up and lock the doors, and then I'll get a rag to clean your face before we sleep."
She said we.
Briefly, he smiles and lets her go to complete her tasks. With her back to him, a haughty smirk crosses his lips, knowing that he is breaking her guard down little by little. While she is away, he pulls his gloves off and stiffly strips to his boxers to be more comfortable before slipping under the covers of her queen-size bed. Edward did not expect anything to happen tonight, but he would be lying if he did not think that the moment was primed for something to occur. Despite the unintended injury, this situation, of course, could work in his favor.
It has been little under two weeks since he inserted himself into her life, and he's already made it to her bed. He did not plan this event, but things have had a way of working in his favor, and he would not waste this time of privacy. After she confirmed Eli's as a sibling, he now feels bolder than ever. She is his for the taking; he wants to ensure she knows it.
After about ten minutes of walking back and forth between the bedroom, the main living area, back to the bedroom, and into her bathroom, Eliza emerges dressed in her night shorts and camisole with a damp rag in her hand and a glass of drinking water in the other. Edward feels himself stir in his boxers, looking at her sashaying towards him in her lavender night set. Her long brown hair is down, hanging around her shoulders, and her face has been washed of any traces of mascara and eyeliner, and he can see the peaks of pert nipples through the thin material of her top.
"Here, let me clean you up."
Eliza Tucker sits on the edge of the bed, legs holding her steady as she leans forward to wipe the old blood from his forehead, eyebrow, eye, nose, and lips. She notices a small cut just past his hairline that she neglected in the urgent situation, but it is scabbed over now with no need to disturb its natural process. The rag is warm and has just the right amount of abrasiveness to loosen the coagulated heme that is collected and dried. Her touch is tender and reverent as she cleans him. When she moves to finish up, Edward grabs her wrist again, looking directly at her as he takes the dirty rag from her palm and sets it on the bed stand.
With a hitch in her breathing, Eliza stares down at the Rogue in her bed, watching as he kisses her wrist, palm, and fingers in thanks. The mutual observation never breaks as they study one another carefully in the silence and protection of her bedroom. Edward knows that he has her nibbling at his bait.
"You look lovely in purple, my dear nurse. It compliments your eyes."
Eliza clears her throat in a nervous tic and brushes a strand of loose hair behind her ear with her free hand.
"Thank you."
"No, thank you for helping me. You always seem to be there for me when I need you the most."
Edward lays the charm on thick, reeling her in on his line. He will do anything to ensure her attention remains solely on him, relishing the idea that no one else has her. And he will not let anyone else have her ever again.
"Come lay down," he commands, voice low.
Unable and not wanting to say no, Eliza obeys and climbs over him to the other side of the bed, being careful to avoid his IV and his freshly stitched wound. Edward, enjoying the show, watches as she crawls over him on hands and knees, belly showing as her shirt rides up and her bottom wiggling momentarily in his vision before she settles in on the other side of him. Her legs slide under the blankets as she settles in next to him, facing him with her head on the pillow, about a foot away from him.
"Comehere," he demands again, gaze narrowing in annoyance at her distance.
Watching as she bites her lip, Edward waits impatiently, wanting her as close as possible. Eliza is thinking – but what is there to think about? The last time they were together, she was in the middle of taking his shirt off before they were interrupted by her blasted pager. There is no reason why she should be hesitant now. Edward maintains his annoyance and points to his side.
"Here. Now."
Eliza ignores the chill that peppers her skin with goosebumps and does what she is told. Her body wriggles as she shuffles closer to the villain in her bed until she rests in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest. Edward's arm wraps around her, holding his possession close.
"There. . . Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?"
She began chewing on her lips again. They would be sore later from her nervousness. Her breathing is steady and shallow as she settles in right next to him, one of her legs resting over one of his.
In the pause, Edward spots the necklace he gave her the week prior. It causes him to smirk once more as his other hand, abundantly cautious of the IV, reaches over to toy with the sizeable emerald that rests between the curve of her breasts.
"I haven't taken it off," she says, voice almost a whisper.
"And you never will," he growls in response.
Even now, Eliza does not understand the nature of their relationship or how quickly she is succumbing to his natural charm and insidious manipulation. He is doing a lot of things that she really does not mind. She does not mind his possessiveness, his jealousy, his desire, his demands. She does not mind when he is gruff with her. His demeanor is scratching a certain fetish itch of hers that not many people can. However, she does not understand just how deep-seated his possession will go. She allows herself to be hooked and reeled in by his sharp barbs.
Edward, careful and ignoring the pain flaring, turns onto his good side to face her, his hand now resting on the curve of her chest.
"You're mine."
Eliza is in a daze. She is conflating his possession with desire and his obsession with romance. Her neurotypical emotions respond appropriately to a situation that should result in mutual adoration and appreciation from both parties. But she does not understand, more like she does not remember in her flaring desire, that sociopaths do not feel love in our sense of the term. They do not feel emotions like she or anyone else does. But her brain is unable to reason with itself amidst the admiration she is developing for the Rogue lying in her bed. She objectively understands that this man is not like her, but her mind is unable to comprehend just how different their thought processes really are.
She shudders, and her eyes flicker close as his fingers begin trailing across the tops of her breasts, feeling the soft skin.
"Do you like the idea of belonging to me, Eliza?"
Edward's fingers continue their movement up one side of her chest to trace around her collarbone and then up her neck. Her mouth falls open at the sensual touch, sending tingles along her flesh and down to her lower belly.
It has been a while since someone has treated her like this. Eliza, being a grown woman, is not opposed to a casual affair or linking up with someone from a dating app for a night; she's done it a few times before. She is also not opposed to dating anyone for the long term either, but no one and she means no one, has ever made her feel like this. No one has ever been able to get the right balance of dominance to her submission. Being someone of dominance and a natural leader in her job, she likes to be taken care of outside of work. Being an ER nurse begets high stress, and she needs someone to relieve that tension -someone to take control. Edward, being the control freak and sociopath that he is, fills this void and then some. It makes for a dangerous combination: someone who wants to be controlled and someone who wants to control. It is not difficult for either one of them to settle into these roles without explicit conversation.
Those who practice Dom/Sub relationships appropriately know to discuss the limits and safe words beforehand. There are no safe words in this relationship, and she does not even think to address it, much like one would forget to find a prophylactic in the throes of an impending sexual encounter. Her body just says yes, and she is listening.
Eliza Tucker does not think to discuss this in the heat of the moment, and Edward Nygma does not care to discuss it at all. He does not care to ensure her safety at his hands—it is not a priority at this time. The priority is his abject and veritable possession of this woman.
Plunging into the abyss, all Eliza can think to do is let it happen.
Edward's hand slips behind her head and into her mass of hair, where he grips it firmly and drags her face towards his. Their breath mingles together, faces inches apart, his hand gripping her hair almost too hard.
"You want me."
The words are both a command and a statement that Eliza does not refute. She does want him. She wants all of him and everything he can give her. She wants to remove the last layers between them and ride him. The danger really is intoxicating; she is becoming addicted, and she has not even had a full dose.
"I want you," she returns, under his spell.
Eliza is hyper-aware of his injuries. She wants nothing more than to have him fuck her brains out, but she knows he is in no condition to do this. He does not have the energy or the stamina to engage in something as strenuous as sex right now. As her womanhood aches, she is aware that he likely cannot engage in much anything at all, even if he wants to. She thinks very carefully about what exactly she wants, what she is willing to do, and what he is likely able to tolerate, given his traumatic damage. Her teeth nibble at her lower lip as she determines her next course of action.
Edward is smug as he allows Eliza to place a hand on his chest and push him back supine. He lets her have this faux control, allowing her to crawl easily atop his waist and straddle him. Her eyes are focused on the wound on his side as she thinks hard about what she is doing. She does not want to hurt him. She wants to make him feel good – to make him feel better.
Careful of her shifting weight, she leans forward and dips her head towards his, her chocolate hair falling in curtains around them both, creating a veil of privacy. Edward patiently waits this time, wanting Eliza to make her own choices. He wants her to want to do this. He wants her to ring her own death knell.
She places her lips on his in a tender kiss, and her fingers toy with the top edge of his boxers. Edward's pomp is abundant as his nurse touches him intimately. She is engaging in intimate activities with a patient – a big no-no. He lets her kiss him as she sucks his lower lip and nips the skin gently. Simultaneously, she dips her pink, wet tongue into his mouth and a hand at the waistband of his bottoms. One of his hands comes up to grip her arm as it snakes lower to his member, ensuring she is unable to change her mind and pull away. One of the hands that so expertly stitches and mends his wounds grips his hardness and hesitates. Her body is frozen for a moment as she thinks a little too hard about what she is doing. Edward shifts his hips forward, giving encouragement, which causes her to relax as she begins stimulating the sensitive skin with tentative strokes.
Edward breaks the kiss, growls, and looks at her heated, "I hope you don't do this for all your patients."
Eliza blushes a bright red but continues, slowly picking up pace.
"No, I don't."
She does not need to negate the lewd comment, but she wants to. She is not a whore – at least not like that. Her wrist picks up the pace as she watches Edward relax his head back against the pillows with his arms behind his head, enjoying himself thoroughly. He grins to himself, thinking how far he has come to this in such a short amount of time. His sweet nurse cares for him in more ways than one, and it shows.
How wonderful!
Eliza suddenly stops and pulls her hand from his underwear, causing Edward to pop up from the pillow, eyes blazing in confusion and irritation. She does not leave him lingering long as she reaches over to fiddle with her nightstand, retrieving some lubrication from it. She wants to do this right. Edward, seeing her goal, grins wickedly.
"Cheeky, little minx, Eliza. You dirty girl."
She shuts him up with her lips on his, sucking and licking his mouth to distract him. Between them, she pulls his boxers down till his member is free from the tight space and quickly places her lubed hand on his shaft. The viscous fluid is cool and slick on him as she grips firmly and squeezes sequentially from base to head and back down. Her palm and fingers are confidently stroking Edward as she breaks their kiss to watch his face. She loves seeing him enjoying himself.
Placing an arm behind his head, Edward relaxes again onto the pillows and lets himself get lost in her touch. His other hand lands on one of her shoulders in a tight grip that tenses intermittently when she makes an especially pleasing stroke. It has been a while since he had a woman touch him so sweetly. Echo or Query would do in a pinch but all three of them being tops made for a confusing, clunky, and frustrating time. He likes Eliza's tentative touch because she completely wants to please him. This allows him to be selfish as she services him.
Bracing herself with one hand, she continues working his member with the other. After a few minutes of this, she leans forward, holding her own weight, and presses her lips to his neck. She suckles and nibbles at the skin around his carotid and then slides down his body slowly. Eliza pauses at his chest to briefly place a kiss on the marred skin, thanking some omnipotent being that he made it through the incident that brought them together. Just as quickly as she pauses, she continues her journey along his torso, breaking moment to moment to observe his skin and the various battle scars that litter it. The edge of her conscience reminds her that some of these are from fighting with the law because he's a villain. She ignores it and keeps pleasuring the dangerous man underneath her.
To Edward's chagrin, Eliza removes her hand from his underwear. He squints at her in disapproval but watches as she shimmies down the bed more and rises to her knees.
"I didn't tell you to stop."
"You didn't tell me to start either."
The Rogue is annoyed by her smart quip. His compliant little nurse is not as biddable as he believes she should be, but his irritation is defused when he feels her tugging his boxers down just past his hips. She does keep him on his toes - she's intriguing. She is so quiet, with a steady calmness always about her; she is deliberate and owns her choices.
But despite the outward appearance of calmness that others see, inside, her race car mind is revving at top speed. Here we see a glimpse:
What the fuck am I doing? I'm about to go down on a fucking Rogue. I must be out of my mind. But he's so hot, and he seems to really enjoy me. He seems to enjoy this. He has not hurt me yet. Yet. There is a chance this could not go in my favor, but I like the idea of having the Riddler in my grasp. Hehehe, I have a near-naked Rogue in my bed. This whole situation is weird. I'm weird. He's weird. What do I expect to get out of this? What do I expect from us? Why am I saying us as if we're together? We're not together. Do I want us to be together? It's not like we can date. We can't go on dates. We can't be in public. Because. He's. A. Villain. A bad guy. A Rogue. A crazy person. Legitimately, medically diagnosed insane. Why am I treating this so calmly? Do I even want to do what I'm about to do?
Abo-fucking-lutely.
Eliza settles on her belly, her head lying lazily on one of his thighs as she lies between them. She gives Edward a pointed look, her eyes sparkling with mischief. One of her hands twirls lazy little circles on his thighs and hips, causing him to shiver in response. She is touching everywhere except where he wants.
"Tell me what you want, Edward."
The Riddler immediately matches her with a devilish look of his own. His body twitches as he smirks down at the tart between his legs. His sweet nurse has become his naughty nurse.
How delightful.
"How explicit do you want me to be with this?"
"I want you to say what you want."
"Fine, I want you to suck my cock."
"How crass of you."
"Well, you asked for it, my dear."
"True, but you are one to be more artful than most."
"Oh, sorry. How about 'please, suck my cock?'"
"See, it's the 'cock' part that's throwing me. Doesn't sound right coming from you."
"Cock, dick, member, penis, johnson, pecker, phallus, manhood, wiener-"
"Okay, I draw the line at wiener."
"For fuck sakes, just get on with it, woman."
Eliza gives Edward a sly smile as he firmly grabs the back of her hair to encourage her to pleasure him. She concedes with a haughty smirk.
"As you command, Mistah Riddlah."
"Please, for the love of my hard-on, never do that voice again."
Darkness within,
Yet a flicker of light.
In shadows, they dwell,
Out of sight.
A chance to redeem,
A soul to mend.
To save them,
Some may apprehend.