The Riddler

The particular blend of toxin that he contained in the ampules was fast acting—intending to be used as a way of quickly incapacitating an enemy. Despite this, Jonathan knew that Roman would possess a slight resistance due to his previous exposure, but that did not mean it was not strong enough to fully envelop him.

Adrenaline thrummed a steady beat in Crane's veins. It elicited a razor-sharp focus and forced the crawling concern for his partner to fall to the wayside momentarily as he gave his full attention to the crime lord in front of him.

Crane utilized his momentum to slam Sionis' hand against the way, forcing the gun—Edward's gun—to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. Pleased that he removed the most imminent danger that Sionis possessed, Jonathan pushed the crime lord's body off of him, watching Black Mask stumble away as he slowly succumbed to the toxin.

"I'm going to fucking-" Sionis delved into another series of hacking before he could finish his threat.

Before Jonathan could goad him on, another gunshot rang around the walls of the small space. He would deny the catch of breath if asked as he slid his eyes to the scuffle on the other end of the room. Crane could not stifle the grin at seeing Sionis' firearm shoved into Zsasz's gut.

He knew Edward could take care of himself.

A beat of silence washed over them as shock from both parties set in. The second round of gas poured out of the ventilation grates above them, creating a lovely red backdrop to the violence in the room.

Edward’s eyes stared down at the pistol, and the sudden warmth that coated his hand at the site of the wound. His body quivered from the resurgence of adrenaline and the peculiar sensation and intimacy the moment created. His wide eyes locked onto the man above him, “Not if I kill you first,” he said, voice trembling and soft. The response was much delayed, but it landed where it needed to and struck the appropriate chord.

The Riddler had killed many people over the years. Abductions that landed unfortunate Gothamites into various death traps of his creation or in the spotlight of a crude game of riddles. Some deaths were to make a point or served as a distraction while he made a getaway with priceless artifacts or multimillion dollar artwork. However, all of this was done at a distance or by a hand that was not Edward’s. The control of their life was put in the participant’s hand.

Victor held his breath, but his eyes watered at the exposure to the toxin. Raising the blade again with a determined and unbroken glare, Victor attempted another strike towards the King of Conundrums but another gunshot interrupted him.

The blade fell from his hands as he gripped Edward’s wrist. Zsasz inhaled sharply and fell into a fit of coughs. Another wound sat near the initial from Edward twisting the barrel slightly.

The pain in his shoulder no longer existed. This moment was all that mattered, and all he could focus on.

He understood the high people associated with killing now. Nigma was locked onto the other’s pale, cold eyes and he could read him like a book. The regret, the shock of failure, and the fear of what came next was utterly exquisite.

Edward wasn’t ashamed to admit he wanted more.

He gasped in sync with Zsasz’s sharp breath. Leaning up slightly and his grip tightened around the gun in his right hand. His body thrummed and felt alive in a newfound way.

Shoving Zsasz off of him, he flipped the script and immediately straddled the other man before he could react. His hands flew up to Nigma’s chest and face, but he batted them away as Edward seized him by the throat with both hands. The gun sliding away from their bodies onto the floor.

Inhaling more and more of Jonathan’s toxin, Zsasz’s movements became more erratic and the strangled sounds of him trying to scream, shout, or speak were taken from him.

The blood that flowed from Black Mask's nose contrasted with his pallor as color began draining from his skin. The toxin was clearly taking her hold, and her nimble hands would not ease as she took the criminal into her proverbial choke hold. The compound had also robbed his ability to concoct a snarky rebuttal. What a shame.

While he was backing away, it did not take long for his fragile state to trip on strewn chunk of wood, and Sionis' collision with the concrete floor lacked grace. As Jonathan watched the man who plagued him for so long attempt to skitter away on his palms, Crane could only continue his slow trail towards him.

Despite garnering the respect of most members within the Rogues Gallery and even—to his shock several years ago—Batman himself, Crane knew that the crime lords within the city barely regarded him more than gum adhered to the bottom of their shoe. It was a fact that had plagued Jonathan on more than one occasion due to their presence in his days as a hitman-for-hire, despite lacking the desire to rectify their incorrect sentiments. It did, however, give him substantiated proof of Roman Sionis' worst fear:

Defeat.

Not by another crime lord. Not by Batman.

But by a mere peon that refused to tolerate his disrespect no longer.

Fear led to anger. Anger led to hate. Hate led to suffering. By his hand.

Crane could only sneer at the reversal of power.

A flash of steel caught his mirrored gaze as his eyes fell on Zsasz's discarded switchblade as it rested in a half-folded state on the ground. As Jonathan approached, the glanced at the two bodies writhing next to it. He lamented the fact he could not watch, especially as he noticed Edward's hands fiercely clenching Victor's neck. A flash of heat stole across his gut at the display, but, as he collected the knife, he knew his attentions would have to be drawn back to Black Mask.

Jonathan turned around to the fleeing man. Roman's movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, as his frightened gaze remained on him. The distance between them was not great, only about ten feet or so, as Sionis' ability to move was heavily dampened by the toxin. Crane continued his slow approach, allowing the other to know what was to come as a flick of his wrist fully unfurled the blade in his grasp.

The sadistic glint in his eyes remained unseen behind his mask. He knew Black Mask was effectively crippled, his empire in shreds as his properties and safe houses were destroyed, and his program against the city would eventually be shut down.

It was beautiful.

Crane rarely was able to cut loose like this, but revenge plated a perfect opportunity before him, and he was not one to refuse to dine. His limbs contained an imperceptible tremble as excitement and giddiness coursed through them. The weapon in his grasp gave him a terrible idea, but it would only be an iota of the hell that Roman Sionis had afflicted upon them.

He descended upon Black Mask's frame, straddling his hips. Whatever strength he could muster against Sionis' more muscular limbs were used to pin them under his knees as he rendered the other unable to escape. The toxin continued her gorgeous onslaught, and it stole whatever might that the crime lord could use in an attempt to flee.

Jonathan was almost glad the toxin did not seem to be killing him outright because he wanted him to feel this.

"You declared a war upon us, Roman Sionis," he said, the enthusiasm clear in his loud tone as his right hand grasped a handful of his dark hair. "Woe to you who bleed, for thy blood is forfeit."

Poetic carnage came next.

The event that led to the scar on his face had inflicted him with misery and reacquainted him with old traumas. He could remember every step towards his demise, the cold steel against the back of his head, the sting from the backhand delivered from Zsasz across his cheek, and the brush of Sionis’ fingers against the healing wound that had branded him.

The power had been in their hands for far too long, and now they were ants under Jonathan and Edward’s boots. With each reminder passing through his mind, his hands squeezed tighter and tighter.

Victor’s garbled sounds were deafening. His arms swung wildly to try to remove Edward off of him, and his nails fought for purchase.

He watched the life made from his eyes, shouting down at him in a cathartic sense of liberation.

He wished he could do the same to Sionis.

Victor’s face was swollen and a unique shade of purple when Edward finally pulled his hands away. His neck was bruised and smeared with blood.

Edward’s heart thumped like a war drum in his chest as he sat back against the man’s thighs and caught his breath. He hadn’t noticed that he had been holding his breath.

The guttural scream that ricocheted off of the cement walls caused Edward to turn his head to Jonathan. All he could see at this angle was that he had Sionis pinned down, but the sound of Roman’s anguish was a musical masterpiece.

Rising to his feet, Edward kicked the blood covered pistol away from the corpse of Victor Zsasz before stepping away. His eyes followed where the gold pistol slid to, and caught the glint of a familiar firearm by some debris. It was his gun, and he was proud to have taken it back.

Holding it in his right hand, Edward focused on the work that Jonathan was doing and watched in awe and pride as he enacted revenge for both of them. Edward knew that his torture at their hands led to the inspiration for this, and Jonathan would never understand how profound the display was to him.

The day Edward asked Jonathan to get involved was meant as a show of trust and a want to work together. That had also been the day Edward allowed Sionis to fuck everything up for them. Sionis was the cause of so much stress, mistrust, and tension in their relationship—especially in the beginning.

They overcame it all, and look where it got them.

Edward smiled. A remorseless, brutal grin as he drank in the image and scene. The blood pouring over them, and the unwavering movements by Crane sent a thrill through him as his teeth snatched the inside of his bottom lip.

He had been foolish to be concerned for Jonathan tonight. He was the God of Fear; he didn’t need saving. However, that worry pinched his heart in a way that he finally understood and was forced to come to terms with.

That option was too far gone for Black Mask.

Finally meeting his initial incision, Crane discarded the blade to his side, but Sionis' noises of agony did not subside.

"No trite threats of violence for me, Roman?" he said, digging his fingers into the slit on the corner of his temple. Jonathan tsked, "How disappointing."

Slowly, carefully, he began separating skin from tissue. Crane's ears were still ringing from the earlier gunshot which resulted in the screams falling onto semi-deaf ears. He was pleased at his own anatomical knowledge that ensured the fascia was severed, which resulted in the dermis peeling with ease.

It was not long until Sionis' skin was held in his hands as his vengeful gaze traced along the revealed amalgamation of nerves, arteries, connective tissue, and bone.

It was beautiful.

His thirst for violence mostly sated, he sat on his haunches before standing fully. The toxin ensured Roman remained docile enough to not retaliate as his body writhed below him. Limp skin dripped a steady stream of blood onto the stone ground near his boot.

Looking to his left as he stood over their recent tormentor, his eyes roamed over Edward's blood-covered frame unabashedly. He was pleased that his partner was able to experience the moment with him, and something unfamiliar bubbled within his chest as he took in the other. Jonathan was silent, save for his heavy breathing, as he tension that clung to his limbs dissipated into something far more satiated.

The quiet was broken with the sound of glass breaking.

Crane started as he turned towards the skylight, their worst case scenario dropping in from the roof.

Jonathan's tongue made a disappointed click as he took in the sight of one of the many banes of his existence.

"Batman."

Annoyance was clear within his tone as this was precisely the last thing they needed to interrupt their moment. The Bat's cape unfurled dramatically behind him as he was ready to go on the offense. "Dr. Crane. Nigma. It's over."

Knowing that the vigilante would have to either choose pursuing them or tending to the suffering crime lord, Jonathan made his own decision. "Can it."

Despite its damage and meaning, Edward had processed it but tonight he felt as if he had ascended.

The Colt 1911 in his hand possessed a familiar weight. His thumb idly rubbed the ivory handle. The pads of his fingers reacquinting themselves with the engravings etched into it. The thought of this weapon being used to kill Jonathan filled him with a sensation he was quick to dismiss. The fleeting feeling let a coil of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach as his eyes fell on the blood stained pistol at his feet.

Slipping his gun into the empty holster attached to him, Edward brought his right hand up to the slice on his shoulder. He hissed at the contact, but was pleased that it was not a stab wound like he had initally thought.

Watching with rapt attention, Edward watched Jonathan peel the flesh from Roman's face. The scene was gruesome and horrifying yet he couldn't turn away. The red ichor that poured from the clump of skin in Jonathan's hands, the visage of Sionis faceless, and the wide eyed, shared bloodlust gaze met with Crane was a fantasy fulfilled.

His own eyes expressed something similar as they swept over Jonathan and a slow forming smirk graced his features. The brief moment of indulging himself in the attention from the other was short lived as their gazes shifted to the black-clad figure descending from above.

Edward's jaw clenched at the sight of the Batman. Of all the things to interrupt, of course it had to be now. Holding his head up high, he briefly assessed the situation. If the dark knight wanted to save Sionis, then he would have to let them run; and there was no word from Query and Echo about the program, which meant that that still needed to be aborted. It stung leaving it behind, but if it tipped the scales in the favor of their escape then Edward supposed it was worth the loss.

"We've only just begun." Edward called out before letting his eyes slide over to Jonathan. Once their eyes met, an unspoken word of retreat was sent telepathically, and Edward moved as quickly as Jonathan as they fled towards the doors they entered through.

The harsh sound of metal hitting the doors was easily the failure of a poorly aimed batarang.

They didn't make it far before Query and Echo met them in the hallway, shouting to "Go, go, go'as they turned and moved towards an exit on the side of the building instead. Edward understood most of what they were saying--Red Robin was in the building, interrupted their search of the program, and something about Question and a getaway.

The resurge of adrenaline pushed him after his favored henches, sparing a glance at two towards Jonathan to ensure he was still with them. Everything happened so quickly. Echo shoved open the door at the end of the hallway. A flash of white passed by the opening and the loud squeal of rubber against asphalt caused Nigma's neck to tense.

The back of the van opened and all four of them clambered in as Mark hit the gas pedal, which aided in the slamming of the doors and click into lock. Echo and Query shared a laugh as they ventured up front to join Mark, who was still dressed as a False Facer.

Edward chuckled in unison with them as he leaned back against the body of the van. His hands moved to the back of his head and unclasped the mask hugging against the lower part of his face and removed the mask. His left hand clutched onto one of the roof ribs above him as his gaze fell on Crane.

He would be damned if he spent another night in Arkham.

Sionis' and Zsasz's condition enabled a clear exit, which he was unashamed in taking.

No one bested the Bat, and Jonathan was not foolish enough to try.

Crane followed Edward and his prized henches, not far behind but not wanting to break ahead due to the sudden change in escape plan.

The scent of hot breaks and rubber welcomed him to the exterior of the steel mill. He was quick to toss himself into the back of the vehicle, gripping the rails as he helped swing the doors closed. Adrenaline yelled its sweet rush in his ears as he caught his breath.

Grimacing when he realized he was still clutching onto Sionis' face, he tossed it into the far corner of the bench seat to be dealt with later. His mask and hat were removed next, enjoying the fresh air meeting the condensation on his face. Looking up at Edward as he sat down, he blindly clipped the accessories to his belt.

Part of Jonathan was disappointed at their reunion with Sionis ending early, but as he gazed upon the blood seeping into the green of Edward's suit, he had to acknowledge the reality of their situation.

Zsasz was likely dead.

Sionis was degraded.

The program that had plagued their lives would be shut down in a matter of minutes.

And they were not apprehended.

Despite the interruption, they had succeeded.

Regardless, they had escaped. Neither of them were getting booked for a stay at Arkham and thrown in gray drab.

It had a rocky start, but the whole thing had gone absolutely, undeniably successful.

His grip tightened as the van peeled out onto the road. The pain was beginning to bleed through the shroud of adrenaline and bloodlust that had numbed his body; but Edward intended on riding out those waves until the end.

The particular blend of toxin that he contained in the ampules was fast acting—intending to be used as a way of quickly incapacitating an enemy. Despite this, Jonathan knew that Roman would possess a slight resistance due to his previous exposure, but that did not mean it was not strong enough to fully envelop him.

Adrenaline thrummed a steady beat in Crane's veins. It elicited a razor-sharp focus and forced the crawling concern for his partner to fall to the wayside momentarily as he gave his full attention to the crime lord in front of him.

Crane utilized his momentum to slam Sionis' hand against the way, forcing the gun—Edward's gun—to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. Pleased that he removed the most imminent danger that Sionis possessed, Jonathan pushed the crime lord's body off of him, watching Black Mask stumble away as he slowly succumbed to the toxin.

"I'm going to fucking-" Sionis delved into another series of hacking before he could finish his threat.

Before Jonathan could goad him on, another gunshot rang around the walls of the small space. He would deny the catch of breath if asked as he slid his eyes to the scuffle on the other end of the room. Crane could not stifle the grin at seeing Sionis' firearm shoved into Zsasz's gut.

He knew Edward could take care of himself.

A beat of silence washed over them as shock from both parties set in. The second round of gas poured out of the ventilation grates above them, creating a lovely red backdrop to the violence in the room.

Edward’s eyes stared down at the pistol, and the sudden warmth that coated his hand at the site of the wound. His body quivered from the resurgence of adrenaline and the peculiar sensation and intimacy the moment created. His wide eyes locked onto the man above him, “Not if I kill you first,” he said, voice trembling and soft. The response was much delayed, but it landed where it needed to and struck the appropriate chord.

The Riddler had killed many people over the years. Abductions that landed unfortunate Gothamites into various death traps of his creation or in the spotlight of a crude game of riddles. Some deaths were to make a point or served as a distraction while he made a getaway with priceless artifacts or multimillion dollar artwork. However, all of this was done at a distance or by a hand that was not Edward’s. The control of their life was put in the participant’s hand.

Victor held his breath, but his eyes watered at the exposure to the toxin. Raising the blade again with a determined and unbroken glare, Victor attempted another strike towards the King of Conundrums but another gunshot interrupted him.

The blade fell from his hands as he gripped Edward’s wrist. Zsasz inhaled sharply and fell into a fit of coughs. Another wound sat near the initial from Edward twisting the barrel slightly.

The pain in his shoulder no longer existed. This moment was all that mattered, and all he could focus on.

He understood the high people associated with killing now. Nigma was locked onto the other’s pale, cold eyes and he could read him like a book. The regret, the shock of failure, and the fear of what came next was utterly exquisite.

Edward wasn’t ashamed to admit he wanted more.

He gasped in sync with Zsasz’s sharp breath. Leaning up slightly and his grip tightened around the gun in his right hand. His body thrummed and felt alive in a newfound way.

Shoving Zsasz off of him, he flipped the script and immediately straddled the other man before he could react. His hands flew up to Nigma’s chest and face, but he batted them away as Edward seized him by the throat with both hands. The gun sliding away from their bodies onto the floor.

Inhaling more and more of Jonathan’s toxin, Zsasz’s movements became more erratic and the strangled sounds of him trying to scream, shout, or speak were taken from him.

The blood that flowed from Black Mask's nose contrasted with his pallor as color began draining from his skin. The toxin was clearly taking her hold, and her nimble hands would not ease as she took the criminal into her proverbial choke hold. The compound had also robbed his ability to concoct a snarky rebuttal. What a shame.

While he was backing away, it did not take long for his fragile state to trip on strewn chunk of wood, and Sionis' collision with the concrete floor lacked grace. As Jonathan watched the man who plagued him for so long attempt to skitter away on his palms, Crane could only continue his slow trail towards him.

Despite garnering the respect of most members within the Rogues Gallery and even—to his shock several years ago—Batman himself, Crane knew that the crime lords within the city barely regarded him more than gum adhered to the bottom of their shoe. It was a fact that had plagued Jonathan on more than one occasion due to their presence in his days as a hitman-for-hire, despite lacking the desire to rectify their incorrect sentiments. It did, however, give him substantiated proof of Roman Sionis' worst fear:

Defeat.

Not by another crime lord. Not by Batman.

But by a mere peon that refused to tolerate his disrespect no longer.

Fear led to anger. Anger led to hate. Hate led to suffering. By his hand.

Crane could only sneer at the reversal of power.

A flash of steel caught his mirrored gaze as his eyes fell on Zsasz's discarded switchblade as it rested in a half-folded state on the ground. As Jonathan approached, the glanced at the two bodies writhing next to it. He lamented the fact he could not watch, especially as he noticed Edward's hands fiercely clenching Victor's neck. A flash of heat stole across his gut at the display, but, as he collected the knife, he knew his attentions would have to be drawn back to Black Mask.

Jonathan turned around to the fleeing man. Roman's movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, as his frightened gaze remained on him. The distance between them was not great, only about ten feet or so, as Sionis' ability to move was heavily dampened by the toxin. Crane continued his slow approach, allowing the other to know what was to come as a flick of his wrist fully unfurled the blade in his grasp.

The sadistic glint in his eyes remained unseen behind his mask. He knew Black Mask was effectively crippled, his empire in shreds as his properties and safe houses were destroyed, and his program against the city would eventually be shut down.

It was beautiful.

Crane rarely was able to cut loose like this, but revenge plated a perfect opportunity before him, and he was not one to refuse to dine. His limbs contained an imperceptible tremble as excitement and giddiness coursed through them. The weapon in his grasp gave him a terrible idea, but it would only be an iota of the hell that Roman Sionis had afflicted upon them.

He descended upon Black Mask's frame, straddling his hips. Whatever strength he could muster against Sionis' more muscular limbs were used to pin them under his knees as he rendered the other unable to escape. The toxin continued her gorgeous onslaught, and it stole whatever might that the crime lord could use in an attempt to flee.

Jonathan was almost glad the toxin did not seem to be killing him outright because he wanted him to feel this.

"You declared a war upon us, Roman Sionis," he said, the enthusiasm clear in his loud tone as his right hand grasped a handful of his dark hair. "Woe to you who bleed, for thy blood is forfeit."

Poetic carnage came next.

The event that led to the scar on his face had inflicted him with misery and reacquainted him with old traumas. He could remember every step towards his demise, the cold steel against the back of his head, the sting from the backhand delivered from Zsasz across his cheek, and the brush of Sionis’ fingers against the healing wound that had branded him.

The power had been in their hands for far too long, and now they were ants under Jonathan and Edward’s boots. With each reminder passing through his mind, his hands squeezed tighter and tighter.

Victor’s garbled sounds were deafening. His arms swung wildly to try to remove Edward off of him, and his nails fought for purchase.

He watched the life made from his eyes, shouting down at him in a cathartic sense of liberation.

He wished he could do the same to Sionis.

Victor’s face was swollen and a unique shade of purple when Edward finally pulled his hands away. His neck was bruised and smeared with blood.

Edward’s heart thumped like a war drum in his chest as he sat back against the man’s thighs and caught his breath. He hadn’t noticed that he had been holding his breath.

The guttural scream that ricocheted off of the cement walls caused Edward to turn his head to Jonathan. All he could see at this angle was that he had Sionis pinned down, but the sound of Roman’s anguish was a musical masterpiece.

Rising to his feet, Edward kicked the blood covered pistol away from the corpse of Victor Zsasz before stepping away. His eyes followed where the gold pistol slid to, and caught the glint of a familiar firearm by some debris. It was his gun, and he was proud to have taken it back.

Holding it in his right hand, Edward focused on the work that Jonathan was doing and watched in awe and pride as he enacted revenge for both of them. Edward knew that his torture at their hands led to the inspiration for this, and Jonathan would never understand how profound the display was to him.

The day Edward asked Jonathan to get involved was meant as a show of trust and a want to work together. That had also been the day Edward allowed Sionis to fuck everything up for them. Sionis was the cause of so much stress, mistrust, and tension in their relationship—especially in the beginning.

They overcame it all, and look where it got them.

Edward smiled. A remorseless, brutal grin as he drank in the image and scene. The blood pouring over them, and the unwavering movements by Crane sent a thrill through him as his teeth snatched the inside of his bottom lip.

He had been foolish to be concerned for Jonathan tonight. He was the God of Fear; he didn’t need saving. However, that worry pinched his heart in a way that he finally understood and was forced to come to terms with.

That option was too far gone for Black Mask.

Finally meeting his initial incision, Crane discarded the blade to his side, but Sionis' noises of agony did not subside.

"No trite threats of violence for me, Roman?" he said, digging his fingers into the slit on the corner of his temple. Jonathan tsked, "How disappointing."

Slowly, carefully, he began separating skin from tissue. Crane's ears were still ringing from the earlier gunshot which resulted in the screams falling onto semi-deaf ears. He was pleased at his own anatomical knowledge that ensured the fascia was severed, which resulted in the dermis peeling with ease.

It was not long until Sionis' skin was held in his hands as his vengeful gaze traced along the revealed amalgamation of nerves, arteries, connective tissue, and bone.

It was beautiful.

His thirst for violence mostly sated, he sat on his haunches before standing fully. The toxin ensured Roman remained docile enough to not retaliate as his body writhed below him. Limp skin dripped a steady stream of blood onto the stone ground near his boot.

Looking to his left as he stood over their recent tormentor, his eyes roamed over Edward's blood-covered frame unabashedly. He was pleased that his partner was able to experience the moment with him, and something unfamiliar bubbled within his chest as he took in the other. Jonathan was silent, save for his heavy breathing, as he tension that clung to his limbs dissipated into something far more satiated.

The quiet was broken with the sound of glass breaking.

Crane started as he turned towards the skylight, their worst case scenario dropping in from the roof.

Jonathan's tongue made a disappointed click as he took in the sight of one of the many banes of his existence.

"Batman."

Annoyance was clear within his tone as this was precisely the last thing they needed to interrupt their moment. The Bat's cape unfurled dramatically behind him as he was ready to go on the offense. "Dr. Crane. Nigma. It's over."

Knowing that the vigilante would have to either choose pursuing them or tending to the suffering crime lord, Jonathan made his own decision. "Can it."

Despite its damage and meaning, Edward had processed it but tonight he felt as if he had ascended.

The Colt 1911 in his hand possessed a familiar weight. His thumb idly rubbed the ivory handle. The pads of his fingers reacquinting themselves with the engravings etched into it. The thought of this weapon being used to kill Jonathan filled him with a sensation he was quick to dismiss. The fleeting feeling let a coil of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach as his eyes fell on the blood stained pistol at his feet.

Slipping his gun into the empty holster attached to him, Edward brought his right hand up to the slice on his shoulder. He hissed at the contact, but was pleased that it was not a stab wound like he had initally thought.

Watching with rapt attention, Edward watched Jonathan peel the flesh from Roman's face. The scene was gruesome and horrifying yet he couldn't turn away. The red ichor that poured from the clump of skin in Jonathan's hands, the visage of Sionis faceless, and the wide eyed, shared bloodlust gaze met with Crane was a fantasy fulfilled.

His own eyes expressed something similar as they swept over Jonathan and a slow forming smirk graced his features. The brief moment of indulging himself in the attention from the other was short lived as their gazes shifted to the black-clad figure descending from above.

Edward's jaw clenched at the sight of the Batman. Of all the things to interrupt, of course it had to be now. Holding his head up high, he briefly assessed the situation. If the dark knight wanted to save Sionis, then he would have to let them run; and there was no word from Query and Echo about the program, which meant that that still needed to be aborted. It stung leaving it behind, but if it tipped the scales in the favor of their escape then Edward supposed it was worth the loss.

"We've only just begun." Edward called out before letting his eyes slide over to Jonathan. Once their eyes met, an unspoken word of retreat was sent telepathically, and Edward moved as quickly as Jonathan as they fled towards the doors they entered through.

The harsh sound of metal hitting the doors was easily the failure of a poorly aimed batarang.

They didn't make it far before Query and Echo met them in the hallway, shouting to "Go, go, go'as they turned and moved towards an exit on the side of the building instead. Edward understood most of what they were saying--Red Robin was in the building, interrupted their search of the program, and something about Question and a getaway.

The resurge of adrenaline pushed him after his favored henches, sparing a glance at two towards Jonathan to ensure he was still with them. Everything happened so quickly. Echo shoved open the door at the end of the hallway. A flash of white passed by the opening and the loud squeal of rubber against asphalt caused Nigma's neck to tense.

The back of the van opened and all four of them clambered in as Mark hit the gas pedal, which aided in the slamming of the doors and click into lock. Echo and Query shared a laugh as they ventured up front to join Mark, who was still dressed as a False Facer.

Edward chuckled in unison with them as he leaned back against the body of the van. His hands moved to the back of his head and unclasped the mask hugging against the lower part of his face and removed the mask. His left hand clutched onto one of the roof ribs above him as his gaze fell on Crane.

The particular blend of toxin that he contained in the ampules was fast acting—intending to be used as a way of quickly incapacitating an enemy. Despite this, Jonathan knew that Roman would possess a slight resistance due to his previous exposure, but that did not mean it was not strong enough to fully envelop him.

Adrenaline thrummed a steady beat in Crane's veins. It elicited a razor-sharp focus and forced the crawling concern for his partner to fall to the wayside momentarily as he gave his full attention to the crime lord in front of him.

Crane utilized his momentum to slam Sionis' hand against the way, forcing the gun—Edward's gun—to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. Pleased that he removed the most imminent danger that Sionis possessed, Jonathan pushed the crime lord's body off of him, watching Black Mask stumble away as he slowly succumbed to the toxin.

"I'm going to fucking-" Sionis delved into another series of hacking before he could finish his threat.

Before Jonathan could goad him on, another gunshot rang around the walls of the small space. He would deny the catch of breath if asked as he slid his eyes to the scuffle on the other end of the room. Crane could not stifle the grin at seeing Sionis' firearm shoved into Zsasz's gut.

He knew Edward could take care of himself.

A beat of silence washed over them as shock from both parties set in. The second round of gas poured out of the ventilation grates above them, creating a lovely red backdrop to the violence in the room.

Edward’s eyes stared down at the pistol, and the sudden warmth that coated his hand at the site of the wound. His body quivered from the resurgence of adrenaline and the peculiar sensation and intimacy the moment created. His wide eyes locked onto the man above him, “Not if I kill you first,” he said, voice trembling and soft. The response was much delayed, but it landed where it needed to and struck the appropriate chord.

The Riddler had killed many people over the years. Abductions that landed unfortunate Gothamites into various death traps of his creation or in the spotlight of a crude game of riddles. Some deaths were to make a point or served as a distraction while he made a getaway with priceless artifacts or multimillion dollar artwork. However, all of this was done at a distance or by a hand that was not Edward’s. The control of their life was put in the participant’s hand.

Victor held his breath, but his eyes watered at the exposure to the toxin. Raising the blade again with a determined and unbroken glare, Victor attempted another strike towards the King of Conundrums but another gunshot interrupted him.

The blade fell from his hands as he gripped Edward’s wrist. Zsasz inhaled sharply and fell into a fit of coughs. Another wound sat near the initial from Edward twisting the barrel slightly.

The pain in his shoulder no longer existed. This moment was all that mattered, and all he could focus on.

He understood the high people associated with killing now. Nigma was locked onto the other’s pale, cold eyes and he could read him like a book. The regret, the shock of failure, and the fear of what came next was utterly exquisite.

Edward wasn’t ashamed to admit he wanted more.

He gasped in sync with Zsasz’s sharp breath. Leaning up slightly and his grip tightened around the gun in his right hand. His body thrummed and felt alive in a newfound way.

Shoving Zsasz off of him, he flipped the script and immediately straddled the other man before he could react. His hands flew up to Nigma’s chest and face, but he batted them away as Edward seized him by the throat with both hands. The gun sliding away from their bodies onto the floor.

Inhaling more and more of Jonathan’s toxin, Zsasz’s movements became more erratic and the strangled sounds of him trying to scream, shout, or speak were taken from him.

The blood that flowed from Black Mask's nose contrasted with his pallor as color began draining from his skin. The toxin was clearly taking her hold, and her nimble hands would not ease as she took the criminal into her proverbial choke hold. The compound had also robbed his ability to concoct a snarky rebuttal. What a shame.

While he was backing away, it did not take long for his fragile state to trip on strewn chunk of wood, and Sionis' collision with the concrete floor lacked grace. As Jonathan watched the man who plagued him for so long attempt to skitter away on his palms, Crane could only continue his slow trail towards him.

Despite garnering the respect of most members within the Rogues Gallery and even—to his shock several years ago—Batman himself, Crane knew that the crime lords within the city barely regarded him more than gum adhered to the bottom of their shoe. It was a fact that had plagued Jonathan on more than one occasion due to their presence in his days as a hitman-for-hire, despite lacking the desire to rectify their incorrect sentiments. It did, however, give him substantiated proof of Roman Sionis' worst fear:

Defeat.

Not by another crime lord. Not by Batman.

But by a mere peon that refused to tolerate his disrespect no longer.

Fear led to anger. Anger led to hate. Hate led to suffering. By his hand.

Crane could only sneer at the reversal of power.

A flash of steel caught his mirrored gaze as his eyes fell on Zsasz's discarded switchblade as it rested in a half-folded state on the ground. As Jonathan approached, the glanced at the two bodies writhing next to it. He lamented the fact he could not watch, especially as he noticed Edward's hands fiercely clenching Victor's neck. A flash of heat stole across his gut at the display, but, as he collected the knife, he knew his attentions would have to be drawn back to Black Mask.

Jonathan turned around to the fleeing man. Roman's movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, as his frightened gaze remained on him. The distance between them was not great, only about ten feet or so, as Sionis' ability to move was heavily dampened by the toxin. Crane continued his slow approach, allowing the other to know what was to come as a flick of his wrist fully unfurled the blade in his grasp.

The sadistic glint in his eyes remained unseen behind his mask. He knew Black Mask was effectively crippled, his empire in shreds as his properties and safe houses were destroyed, and his program against the city would eventually be shut down.

It was beautiful.

Crane rarely was able to cut loose like this, but revenge plated a perfect opportunity before him, and he was not one to refuse to dine. His limbs contained an imperceptible tremble as excitement and giddiness coursed through them. The weapon in his grasp gave him a terrible idea, but it would only be an iota of the hell that Roman Sionis had afflicted upon them.

He descended upon Black Mask's frame, straddling his hips. Whatever strength he could muster against Sionis' more muscular limbs were used to pin them under his knees as he rendered the other unable to escape. The toxin continued her gorgeous onslaught, and it stole whatever might that the crime lord could use in an attempt to flee.

Jonathan was almost glad the toxin did not seem to be killing him outright because he wanted him to feel this.

"You declared a war upon us, Roman Sionis," he said, the enthusiasm clear in his loud tone as his right hand grasped a handful of his dark hair. "Woe to you who bleed, for thy blood is forfeit."

Poetic carnage came next.

The event that led to the scar on his face had inflicted him with misery and reacquainted him with old traumas. He could remember every step towards his demise, the cold steel against the back of his head, the sting from the backhand delivered from Zsasz across his cheek, and the brush of Sionis’ fingers against the healing wound that had branded him.

The power had been in their hands for far too long, and now they were ants under Jonathan and Edward’s boots. With each reminder passing through his mind, his hands squeezed tighter and tighter.

Victor’s garbled sounds were deafening. His arms swung wildly to try to remove Edward off of him, and his nails fought for purchase.

He watched the life made from his eyes, shouting down at him in a cathartic sense of liberation.

He wished he could do the same to Sionis.

Victor’s face was swollen and a unique shade of purple when Edward finally pulled his hands away. His neck was bruised and smeared with blood.

Edward’s heart thumped like a war drum in his chest as he sat back against the man’s thighs and caught his breath. He hadn’t noticed that he had been holding his breath.

The guttural scream that ricocheted off of the cement walls caused Edward to turn his head to Jonathan. All he could see at this angle was that he had Sionis pinned down, but the sound of Roman’s anguish was a musical masterpiece.

Rising to his feet, Edward kicked the blood covered pistol away from the corpse of Victor Zsasz before stepping away. His eyes followed where the gold pistol slid to, and caught the glint of a familiar firearm by some debris. It was his gun, and he was proud to have taken it back.

Holding it in his right hand, Edward focused on the work that Jonathan was doing and watched in awe and pride as he enacted revenge for both of them. Edward knew that his torture at their hands led to the inspiration for this, and Jonathan would never understand how profound the display was to him.

The day Edward asked Jonathan to get involved was meant as a show of trust and a want to work together. That had also been the day Edward allowed Sionis to fuck everything up for them. Sionis was the cause of so much stress, mistrust, and tension in their relationship—especially in the beginning.

They overcame it all, and look where it got them.

Edward smiled. A remorseless, brutal grin as he drank in the image and scene. The blood pouring over them, and the unwavering movements by Crane sent a thrill through him as his teeth snatched the inside of his bottom lip.

He had been foolish to be concerned for Jonathan tonight. He was the God of Fear; he didn’t need saving. However, that worry pinched his heart in a way that he finally understood and was forced to come to terms with.

The particular blend of toxin that he contained in the ampules was fast acting—intending to be used as a way of quickly incapacitating an enemy. Despite this, Jonathan knew that Roman would possess a slight resistance due to his previous exposure, but that did not mean it was not strong enough to fully envelop him.

Adrenaline thrummed a steady beat in Crane's veins. It elicited a razor-sharp focus and forced the crawling concern for his partner to fall to the wayside momentarily as he gave his full attention to the crime lord in front of him.

Crane utilized his momentum to slam Sionis' hand against the way, forcing the gun—Edward's gun—to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. Pleased that he removed the most imminent danger that Sionis possessed, Jonathan pushed the crime lord's body off of him, watching Black Mask stumble away as he slowly succumbed to the toxin.

"I'm going to fucking-" Sionis delved into another series of hacking before he could finish his threat.

Before Jonathan could goad him on, another gunshot rang around the walls of the small space. He would deny the catch of breath if asked as he slid his eyes to the scuffle on the other end of the room. Crane could not stifle the grin at seeing Sionis' firearm shoved into Zsasz's gut.

He knew Edward could take care of himself.

A beat of silence washed over them as shock from both parties set in. The second round of gas poured out of the ventilation grates above them, creating a lovely red backdrop to the violence in the room.

Edward’s eyes stared down at the pistol, and the sudden warmth that coated his hand at the site of the wound. His body quivered from the resurgence of adrenaline and the peculiar sensation and intimacy the moment created. His wide eyes locked onto the man above him, “Not if I kill you first,” he said, voice trembling and soft. The response was much delayed, but it landed where it needed to and struck the appropriate chord.

The Riddler had killed many people over the years. Abductions that landed unfortunate Gothamites into various death traps of his creation or in the spotlight of a crude game of riddles. Some deaths were to make a point or served as a distraction while he made a getaway with priceless artifacts or multimillion dollar artwork. However, all of this was done at a distance or by a hand that was not Edward’s. The control of their life was put in the participant’s hand.

Victor held his breath, but his eyes watered at the exposure to the toxin. Raising the blade again with a determined and unbroken glare, Victor attempted another strike towards the King of Conundrums but another gunshot interrupted him.

The blade fell from his hands as he gripped Edward’s wrist. Zsasz inhaled sharply and fell into a fit of coughs. Another wound sat near the initial from Edward twisting the barrel slightly.

The pain in his shoulder no longer existed. This moment was all that mattered, and all he could focus on.

He understood the high people associated with killing now. Nigma was locked onto the other’s pale, cold eyes and he could read him like a book. The regret, the shock of failure, and the fear of what came next was utterly exquisite.

Edward wasn’t ashamed to admit he wanted more.

He gasped in sync with Zsasz’s sharp breath. Leaning up slightly and his grip tightened around the gun in his right hand. His body thrummed and felt alive in a newfound way.

Shoving Zsasz off of him, he flipped the script and immediately straddled the other man before he could react. His hands flew up to Nigma’s chest and face, but he batted them away as Edward seized him by the throat with both hands. The gun sliding away from their bodies onto the floor.

Inhaling more and more of Jonathan’s toxin, Zsasz’s movements became more erratic and the strangled sounds of him trying to scream, shout, or speak were taken from him.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Crane was pleased with the amount of layers his costume possessed as it abated most of the chill Gotham's winter climate carried. Regardless, his time spent outside was short as he followed Edward into the building. He had a vague awareness of the layout of the Mill, but he knew Edward would not appreciate him scampering off to survey the fallen.

Regarding which, Jonathan's experimental sarin seemed to work wonders. While he knew Sionis' men were growing sparse due to the destruction of sections of the city, he did not expect the volume of bodies that met his eyes as they made their way through labyrinthine hallways. Some had already succumbed to the fatal effects of the nerve agent, while others were still clearly at the losing end of a battle with their fears as their bodies writhed on the stone ground.

Crane was itching to take notes, to poke and prod at the mass of potential subjects littering the floor, but he knew he had a job to do.

Kill Roman Sionis.

As they picked their way through the building, their respective gas masks did well to filter the toxin. The nerve agent clearly interrupted various business scenes taking place, as heaps of drugs, cash, or weapons were left unattended as nearby henches fought off the effects of his drug.

Not only for the torture he endured at the man's hand, but the suffering that he forced his partner to undergo. He could lie and state that his motives were solely selfish, but it would seem fraudulent to deny the burning rage that the Black Mask inspired from his decision to touch what was Jonathan's.

Leading the way through the industry plant was akin to a preschool maze handed out at first bell. Unfortunately, Nigma had the displeasure of working here for over a month and grew quite familiar with the halls within.

The echoed screams that bounced off the brick walls caused a shiver of anticipation to run down his spine—perhaps Sionis was one of the fallen.

He knew Jonathan was itching to have the opportunity to study the impact of his sarin on the littered bodies on the ground beneath them. Some of which were still fighting off the effects of the dose that rained down on them through the ventilation—a tactic that was becoming their MO.

The gas mask was appreciated as he recalled the brief, small exposure he had had to a different variety of Crane’s toxin. He couldn’t begin to imagine how this would impact him.

Dismissing Query and Echo to ensure the program wasn’t in the room where Edward had originally spent his time, the pair of rogues continued forward to the main office and headquarters for Roman Sionis.

And ideally his pet, Victor Zsasz, would be joining him—lost in delirium and madness.

Despite possessing very limited complaints regarding his and Edward's cohabitation, engaging with him in their criminal personas reminded Jonathan why he devoted himself to the Riddler in the first place.

Crane trailed behind Edward as they spilled into Roman's office. The exterior had been unassuming, with very little signs indicating it was his primary headquarters. It was likely the intended design in order to avoid drawing untoward attention to malicious parties.

Thankfully, Jonathan's preferred malicious party was more than familiar with the layout, which led to virtually no difficulty in locating it.

Sionis' office interior told the opposite story. Sculptures adorned the perimeter while other art installations were hung on the walls. Filing cabinets and other assorted furniture dotted the area, especially the large wooden desk that acted as a defacto centerpiece to the room. Other evidence of the Black Mask's criminal empire was visible, including a similar assortment of narcotics and firearms that were found throughout the lair. Notably, the room contained no bodies on the ground.

It was empty.

Barren.

No evidence of a hasty exit. No indication of use for the day. Nothing.

Concern shifted in Jonathan's chest, quickly manifesting into a baser instinct.

This wasn’t right. Sionis and Zsasz should be here. Edward knew their routine, the weekly meetings, the hours of operation between good business and evil pursuits.

Nigma went as far as to risking one of his trusted men and having them infiltrate Sionis’ ranks to assist in the eventual plot for revenge that could be concocted by Jonathan and Edward.

Mark had given them good information. There was no doubt about that in his head.

Stopping between the massive wood desk and the luxury seating stationed several feet in front of the wooden centerpiece.

The heat emitting from the back of his skull was a familiar one. One that he could attribute to his calm, collected, composed partner in crime.

Edward turned on his heels to look towards the criminal, who was approaching him in an intimidating, calculated fashion. Nigma held his ground until the use of his title was punctuated on the end of his sentence.

The inability to meet the man’s gaze did precisely what Crane wanted—it made him nervous. The sound of his shoes reminding him of a clock, ticking on and on.

They didn’t have time for this.

“Scarecrow.” He chimed back, narrowing his eyes slightly before looking the other man up and down. “I know how it looks.” He started, taking a step back as the other got closer.

"If the Black Mask is absent," he said, hands falling onto the lapels of Edward's jacket as he stood up fully to tower over the other, "then we have plenty of time for you to explain yourself." He took the final step, using the movement to push Edward flush against the cinder block wall. "I will not tolerate a flawed plan. Least of all from you." He had little time to dwell on the body heat emanating from the other man as he utilized his impressive height to intimidate him.

Jonathan was angry. He knew he was being irrational, especially as he was aware Edward could not foresee the comings and goings of a respected crime lord; however, that did not abate the fury that licked at his chest at their absence. He was not scared, but the concern that their plan had been reduced to shambles was palpable in his demeanor.

He needed an explanation.

Turning his palms out to Jonathan, and raising his hands to face him at hip level. “Jona-“ He tried to warn, but was cut off by the hands grasping his jacket.

Edward couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. His face twisting in an expression of shock and disbelief.

Immediate discomfort and a grunt of displeasure were the immediate responses to his body colliding into the wall.

They didn’t have time for this.

Grabbing Jonathan’s right wrist and pressing the palm of his hand against Jonathan’s chest, “ Are you suggesting I have something to do with Black Mask’s disappearance? Well I don’t.” He spat through gritted teeth as he tried pushing himself off the wall.

A vicious heat rose in his chest as he glared up at the Pharaoh of Phobias. The blood in his veins running warm as he scoffed.

The grip on Edward's lapels laxed slightly, but he did not remove his hands entirely from him. "I think," he said, his tone deceptively sweet, "that this should have been an outcome you accounted for. Were you too de-"

A loud bang resounded through the interior room as the doors to the office were kicked in. Jonathan immediately released his hold on Edward before whipping around, muscles tense as he realized what—or rather who—entered the space.

Crane's mirrored gaze fell upon the precise individuals he was actively hunting.

Roman Sionis had elected to forgo the eponymous mask, opting instead for a self-satisfied expression to contort his features at catching the two of them red-handed. Zsasz trailed behind him with the same look. Both individuals had firearms trained on them, and Jonathan had to tilt his head upwards at the reversal.

"Roman," Jonathan said, the fury that clung to him shifting into something that suit him to hopefully remedy the danger they found themselves in.

Sionis spat, "Did you really think you could outwit me this time? I know all of your tricks, Scarecrow."

This was not one of those circumstances.

The loosened hold was a small victory, but his own grip and pressed hand didn’t slack. Narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw analyzed his words and false tone. “Accounted f-“ He blurted out to interrupt the other. A heated argument brewing on the horizon as his brain steamed with aggressive words to fire at full blast.

However, all of that changed at the loud sound at the far end of the room.

His actions were in sync with Jonathan’s. His hands removed themselves from the criminal as he departed from his immediate space and pushed himself off the wall.

Adjusting the lapels of his jacket, Edward was ashamed by the ice that ran through his veins at the sight of Roman Sionis and Victor Zsasz.

Edward had redefined himself since acquiring the scar on his face, and had become… proud in a way of his journey towards acceptance of it. The symbolism was compared to a phoenix—rising from the ashes of misery and tragedy.

A bitter taste was left in his mouth at the brief flicker of fear that seized him.

The rage he felt that was triggered by Jonathan, was able to be redirected towards the two figures who had become the bane of his existence for too long.

The guns pointed at them caused the fear to bubble back up to the surface, but it fueled the fire in his chest as he glared at Sionis and the gun he held—recognizing it as his own.

“And yours, Riddler.” Zsasz added onto Sionis’ words, calling out the other rogue.

The hesitation, although brief, was easily seen by his trained eyes as a cruel smile pulled across his lips.

Sionis smirked, noticing Edward stepping into view from behind Jonathan. “You just couldn’t keep him away, could you?” His tone manipulative, coercing, threatening as he directed the question to Nigma before focusing his attention back on Crane as he took several calculated steps forward with Zsasz following in sync.

Edward heart stopped at the comment, but he brushed it off confidently. “I can’t control that which is inevitable, Sionis.” Slipping the gold pistol out of its holstered location.

And I don’t control him.

His tone was confident, despite looking down two barrels.

As much as he preferred Sionis and Zsasz to be taken care of with the first course, at least their backup plan would ensure their advantage.

At least, he hoped.

As Black Mask began approaching the pair, Jonathan turned his head briefly to glance at Edward upon Sionis' statement. What an interesting connotation.

"Believe it or not, Roman," Jonathan started, voice all too even for an individual on the wrong end of a firearm, "I am more than capable of exercising my will without another's permission. Unlike your pet." His head turned to the left slightly to indicate his reference to Zsasz, who was trailing behind him as he was wont to do. Crane knew he was pressing their buttons, but he knew he had to string them along until his toxin flooded the area. Additionally, if they wanted them dead as badly as they professed, his and Edward's corpses would have already littered the ground.

The Black Mask was playing with his food, and Jonathan could not begrudge him in the slightest. After all, Crane was guilty of the same.

Jonathan stood up to his full height, knowing any physical movement would be powerless against the other man's fury. Sionis exhaled a grunt of fury at Crane's words before crossing the distance between them in a few short steps. He only took a half-step back before a barrel was shoved underneath his chin and a hand clasped against his neck.

Crane could only raise an eyebrow from underneath his mask. "Touched a nerve, did I?" His hands remained at his sides, knowing it would be foolish to make any move to dose Roman prematurely. He could hear the squeak of Black Mask's monogrammed, leather gloves itching to pull the trigger, but knowing he would regret the rash decision.

It would be a shame to squander the opportunity to torture the Scarecrow. Again.

Jonathan was thankful for the face covering ask he saw spittle fly out of Sionis' mouth as his face mottled red in rage. Tensing his grip on the other's neck, Roman yelled, "I swear to fucking god, Crane, I will flay every nerve in your body."

Crane knew the threat held legitimacy. The burning rage Black Mask exhibited contrasted with the cool ire that Jonathan possessed. It was intriguing, two established personalities within Gotham's criminal sphere, and he hated the disrespect the crime lord offered him. It was an unfortunate consistency of the city's mod bosses.

All the more reason to anticipate his downfall.

"Oh, and before I forget," Roman said, tone turning to ice. "I know of that extra bastard toxin you planned to pump in here."

For instance, the two of them being shot dead.

Nigma caught Jonathan's glance, and swallowed at the knowledge that he'd likely have to unveil that tad bit of information; however, it was meant to convince Black Mask to release him. Edward never had any intent to actually pull Jonathan away from Roman's activities. He'd be a dead man if he had entertained trying.

Unlike Crane, Nigma's face was visible under his mask and the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lip at the other's comment clearly added to the growing rage exhibited by the two approaching criminals.

Zsasz's glare redirected itself to Edward. As Roman advanced on the defenseless Scarecrow, he moved in on Riddler.

Despite what Crane said, there was a mutual respect and control in their relationship. Zsasz didn't mind the leash when it was clipped, but right now? He had free reign, and he was going to ensure that Edward Nigma died this time. Unless that motherfucker changes his mind again, Victor thought to himself.

Edward's eyes locked with Zsasz as the two rogues approached quickly. He side stepped to deflect the stab that would've landed in his gut, but before he could manage a proper counter to the attack Edward's heart froze into a jagged piece of ice.

The chokehold Sionis had on Crane and his firearm shoved against his partner's chin filled Edward with an overwhelming uncomfortable sensation that he hadn't felt in his entire life.

Edward attempted to raise the gun at Sionis, but only started the uplift motion before Zsasz intercepted him.

The moment of shock and concern on Nigma's face was disgusting, but presented a golden opportunity. Shoving his gun in the holster strapped to his thigh, Zsasz grabbed Edward's wrist and brought his hand down to meet his rising knee which resulted in a successful disarming of him and kicking the gun forward away from them and Crane.

Roman could only grin, knowing he had cornered the infamous Scarecrow in his tracks. Digging the muzzle deeper into Jonathan's jaw and forcing his head upward, he said, "I'm going to put you somewhere so remote that not even your fucking boyt-"

A loud crash interrupted his threat as Sionis slackened his hold on Jonathan slightly to turn his body towards the commotion. Jonathan's view was strained as his head was tilted in the air, but a flicker of concern came and went when he noticed the tangle of limbs on the fractured desk. He had to wince internally as he was postive that Edward's back was not fond of directly colliding with-

"That was imported Italian fucking maple, Victor!" Black Mask shouted.

Crane's fingers twitched at the pejorative, growing impatient at the time it was taking Edward's men to distribute the gas. His gloved hand subtly crept toward the pouch on his waist as he steadied his gaze on Sionis.

Zsasz, to his credit, appeared apologetic. "My bad, boss. Got excited." His attention returned to Edward's prone frame.

"That faggot isn't even worth the shipping costs," Sionis spat.

Before he could return his attention back to Crane, Jonathan used the opportunity to knock Roman's hand away, taking the chance that would not arrive again. The gun discharged, causing him to hiss as his ears began ringing. He knocked his head into Sionis' nose before he clenched his fist, breaking the ampule he collected.

A cloud of red gas engulfed the pair, and Jonathan allowed Black Mask to inhale its contents.

"You fucking, gah-!" Sionis coughed.

Sharp eyes caught the trembling of the firearm as he attempted to knock it out of his grasp.

As if on cue, Crane noticed his compound slowly filtering through the air vents on the ceiling.

The gunshot dissipated the shard of ice in his chest, melting into his bloodstream as he turned his head towards the pair. A flicker of dread, relieved upon the lack of Jonathan hunched over or bleeding profusely.

Shifting his gaze up to Zsasz, an uncomfortable memory resurfaced as the criminal flicked his knife open.

Victor grinned like a predator zeroing in on the kill, and stepped forward across the rubble. Despite Edward attempting to move, Zsasz was faster. Straddling him, he batted away the hand that came up towards his face. “I’m going to finish what I started with you, Nigma.”

This had been the exact position when he had been maimed. Same prone position, same knife, and same man. It was fear initially, and a concern for his life, but something else gripped him—rancor.

Indignation at the pure disrespect exhibited towards him.

He was speechless. Words unable to find their way out of his mouth from the enamel prison of gritted teeth. His hands clamped around Zsasz’s pushing back against his hands that were holding the razor. They were locked in a stalemate.

Edward knew that his adrenaline would be able to carry him only so far before fatigue set in. Zsasz had much more strength and force, and it was a matter of time before Edward’s face would be peeled off and his corpse left behind in the rubble.

Risking a glance to his right, the light glistened off of a spot of gold partially covered by the debris from the fight between the two of them. Edward calculated the risk, weighed his options, and decided that the wound he’d suffer would be far more preferable than the alternative.

Shifting his hands and body, Edward let go. The momentum sent Zsasz forward and the blade sunk into Edward’s left shoulder. The wicked laugh above him combined with Edward’s own gasp and groan of pain served as a brief enough distraction for Edward’s right hand to snatch the gun.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Crane was pleased with the amount of layers his costume possessed as it abated most of the chill Gotham's winter climate carried. Regardless, his time spent outside was short as he followed Edward into the building. He had a vague awareness of the layout of the Mill, but he knew Edward would not appreciate him scampering off to survey the fallen.

Regarding which, Jonathan's experimental sarin seemed to work wonders. While he knew Sionis' men were growing sparse due to the destruction of sections of the city, he did not expect the volume of bodies that met his eyes as they made their way through labyrinthine hallways. Some had already succumbed to the fatal effects of the nerve agent, while others were still clearly at the losing end of a battle with their fears as their bodies writhed on the stone ground.

Crane was itching to take notes, to poke and prod at the mass of potential subjects littering the floor, but he knew he had a job to do.

Kill Roman Sionis.

As they picked their way through the building, their respective gas masks did well to filter the toxin. The nerve agent clearly interrupted various business scenes taking place, as heaps of drugs, cash, or weapons were left unattended as nearby henches fought off the effects of his drug.

Not only for the torture he endured at the man's hand, but the suffering that he forced his partner to undergo. He could lie and state that his motives were solely selfish, but it would seem fraudulent to deny the burning rage that the Black Mask inspired from his decision to touch what was Jonathan's.

Leading the way through the industry plant was akin to a preschool maze handed out at first bell. Unfortunately, Nigma had the displeasure of working here for over a month and grew quite familiar with the halls within.

The echoed screams that bounced off the brick walls caused a shiver of anticipation to run down his spine—perhaps Sionis was one of the fallen.

He knew Jonathan was itching to have the opportunity to study the impact of his sarin on the littered bodies on the ground beneath them. Some of which were still fighting off the effects of the dose that rained down on them through the ventilation—a tactic that was becoming their MO.

The gas mask was appreciated as he recalled the brief, small exposure he had had to a different variety of Crane’s toxin. He couldn’t begin to imagine how this would impact him.

Dismissing Query and Echo to ensure the program wasn’t in the room where Edward had originally spent his time, the pair of rogues continued forward to the main office and headquarters for Roman Sionis.

And ideally his pet, Victor Zsasz, would be joining him—lost in delirium and madness.

Despite possessing very limited complaints regarding his and Edward's cohabitation, engaging with him in their criminal personas reminded Jonathan why he devoted himself to the Riddler in the first place.

Crane trailed behind Edward as they spilled into Roman's office. The exterior had been unassuming, with very little signs indicating it was his primary headquarters. It was likely the intended design in order to avoid drawing untoward attention to malicious parties.

Thankfully, Jonathan's preferred malicious party was more than familiar with the layout, which led to virtually no difficulty in locating it.

Sionis' office interior told the opposite story. Sculptures adorned the perimeter while other art installations were hung on the walls. Filing cabinets and other assorted furniture dotted the area, especially the large wooden desk that acted as a defacto centerpiece to the room. Other evidence of the Black Mask's criminal empire was visible, including a similar assortment of narcotics and firearms that were found throughout the lair. Notably, the room contained no bodies on the ground.

It was empty.

Barren.

No evidence of a hasty exit. No indication of use for the day. Nothing.

Concern shifted in Jonathan's chest, quickly manifesting into a baser instinct.

This wasn’t right. Sionis and Zsasz should be here. Edward knew their routine, the weekly meetings, the hours of operation between good business and evil pursuits.

Nigma went as far as to risking one of his trusted men and having them infiltrate Sionis’ ranks to assist in the eventual plot for revenge that could be concocted by Jonathan and Edward.

Mark had given them good information. There was no doubt about that in his head.

Stopping between the massive wood desk and the luxury seating stationed several feet in front of the wooden centerpiece.

The heat emitting from the back of his skull was a familiar one. One that he could attribute to his calm, collected, composed partner in crime.

Edward turned on his heels to look towards the criminal, who was approaching him in an intimidating, calculated fashion. Nigma held his ground until the use of his title was punctuated on the end of his sentence.

The inability to meet the man’s gaze did precisely what Crane wanted—it made him nervous. The sound of his shoes reminding him of a clock, ticking on and on.

They didn’t have time for this.

“Scarecrow.” He chimed back, narrowing his eyes slightly before looking the other man up and down. “I know how it looks.” He started, taking a step back as the other got closer.

"If the Black Mask is absent," he said, hands falling onto the lapels of Edward's jacket as he stood up fully to tower over the other, "then we have plenty of time for you to explain yourself." He took the final step, using the movement to push Edward flush against the cinder block wall. "I will not tolerate a flawed plan. Least of all from you." He had little time to dwell on the body heat emanating from the other man as he utilized his impressive height to intimidate him.

Jonathan was angry. He knew he was being irrational, especially as he was aware Edward could not foresee the comings and goings of a respected crime lord; however, that did not abate the fury that licked at his chest at their absence. He was not scared, but the concern that their plan had been reduced to shambles was palpable in his demeanor.

He needed an explanation.

Turning his palms out to Jonathan, and raising his hands to face him at hip level. “Jona-“ He tried to warn, but was cut off by the hands grasping his jacket.

Edward couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. His face twisting in an expression of shock and disbelief.

Immediate discomfort and a grunt of displeasure were the immediate responses to his body colliding into the wall.

They didn’t have time for this.

Grabbing Jonathan’s right wrist and pressing the palm of his hand against Jonathan’s chest, “ Are you suggesting I have something to do with Black Mask’s disappearance? Well I don’t.” He spat through gritted teeth as he tried pushing himself off the wall.

A vicious heat rose in his chest as he glared up at the Pharaoh of Phobias. The blood in his veins running warm as he scoffed.

The grip on Edward's lapels laxed slightly, but he did not remove his hands entirely from him. "I think," he said, his tone deceptively sweet, "that this should have been an outcome you accounted for. Were you too de-"

A loud bang resounded through the interior room as the doors to the office were kicked in. Jonathan immediately released his hold on Edward before whipping around, muscles tense as he realized what—or rather who—entered the space.

Crane's mirrored gaze fell upon the precise individuals he was actively hunting.

Roman Sionis had elected to forgo the eponymous mask, opting instead for a self-satisfied expression to contort his features at catching the two of them red-handed. Zsasz trailed behind him with the same look. Both individuals had firearms trained on them, and Jonathan had to tilt his head upwards at the reversal.

"Roman," Jonathan said, the fury that clung to him shifting into something that suit him to hopefully remedy the danger they found themselves in.

Sionis spat, "Did you really think you could outwit me this time? I know all of your tricks, Scarecrow."

This was not one of those circumstances.

The loosened hold was a small victory, but his own grip and pressed hand didn’t slack. Narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw analyzed his words and false tone. “Accounted f-“ He blurted out to interrupt the other. A heated argument brewing on the horizon as his brain steamed with aggressive words to fire at full blast.

However, all of that changed at the loud sound at the far end of the room.

His actions were in sync with Jonathan’s. His hands removed themselves from the criminal as he departed from his immediate space and pushed himself off the wall.

Adjusting the lapels of his jacket, Edward was ashamed by the ice that ran through his veins at the sight of Roman Sionis and Victor Zsasz.

Edward had redefined himself since acquiring the scar on his face, and had become… proud in a way of his journey towards acceptance of it. The symbolism was compared to a phoenix—rising from the ashes of misery and tragedy.

A bitter taste was left in his mouth at the brief flicker of fear that seized him.

The rage he felt that was triggered by Jonathan, was able to be redirected towards the two figures who had become the bane of his existence for too long.

The guns pointed at them caused the fear to bubble back up to the surface, but it fueled the fire in his chest as he glared at Sionis and the gun he held—recognizing it as his own.

“And yours, Riddler.” Zsasz added onto Sionis’ words, calling out the other rogue.

The hesitation, although brief, was easily seen by his trained eyes as a cruel smile pulled across his lips.

Sionis smirked, noticing Edward stepping into view from behind Jonathan. “You just couldn’t keep him away, could you?” His tone manipulative, coercing, threatening as he directed the question to Nigma before focusing his attention back on Crane as he took several calculated steps forward with Zsasz following in sync.

Edward heart stopped at the comment, but he brushed it off confidently. “I can’t control that which is inevitable, Sionis.” Slipping the gold pistol out of its holstered location.

And I don’t control him.

His tone was confident, despite looking down two barrels.

As much as he preferred Sionis and Zsasz to be taken care of with the first course, at least their backup plan would ensure their advantage.

At least, he hoped.

As Black Mask began approaching the pair, Jonathan turned his head briefly to glance at Edward upon Sionis' statement. What an interesting connotation.

"Believe it or not, Roman," Jonathan started, voice all too even for an individual on the wrong end of a firearm, "I am more than capable of exercising my will without another's permission. Unlike your pet." His head turned to the left slightly to indicate his reference to Zsasz, who was trailing behind him as he was wont to do. Crane knew he was pressing their buttons, but he knew he had to string them along until his toxin flooded the area. Additionally, if they wanted them dead as badly as they professed, his and Edward's corpses would have already littered the ground.

The Black Mask was playing with his food, and Jonathan could not begrudge him in the slightest. After all, Crane was guilty of the same.

Jonathan stood up to his full height, knowing any physical movement would be powerless against the other man's fury. Sionis exhaled a grunt of fury at Crane's words before crossing the distance between them in a few short steps. He only took a half-step back before a barrel was shoved underneath his chin and a hand clasped against his neck.

Crane could only raise an eyebrow from underneath his mask. "Touched a nerve, did I?" His hands remained at his sides, knowing it would be foolish to make any move to dose Roman prematurely. He could hear the squeak of Black Mask's monogrammed, leather gloves itching to pull the trigger, but knowing he would regret the rash decision.

It would be a shame to squander the opportunity to torture the Scarecrow. Again.

Jonathan was thankful for the face covering ask he saw spittle fly out of Sionis' mouth as his face mottled red in rage. Tensing his grip on the other's neck, Roman yelled, "I swear to fucking god, Crane, I will flay every nerve in your body."

Crane knew the threat held legitimacy. The burning rage Black Mask exhibited contrasted with the cool ire that Jonathan possessed. It was intriguing, two established personalities within Gotham's criminal sphere, and he hated the disrespect the crime lord offered him. It was an unfortunate consistency of the city's mod bosses.

All the more reason to anticipate his downfall.

"Oh, and before I forget," Roman said, tone turning to ice. "I know of that extra bastard toxin you planned to pump in here."

For instance, the two of them being shot dead.

Nigma caught Jonathan's glance, and swallowed at the knowledge that he'd likely have to unveil that tad bit of information; however, it was meant to convince Black Mask to release him. Edward never had any intent to actually pull Jonathan away from Roman's activities. He'd be a dead man if he had entertained trying.

Unlike Crane, Nigma's face was visible under his mask and the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lip at the other's comment clearly added to the growing rage exhibited by the two approaching criminals.

Zsasz's glare redirected itself to Edward. As Roman advanced on the defenseless Scarecrow, he moved in on Riddler.

Despite what Crane said, there was a mutual respect and control in their relationship. Zsasz didn't mind the leash when it was clipped, but right now? He had free reign, and he was going to ensure that Edward Nigma died this time. Unless that motherfucker changes his mind again, Victor thought to himself.

Edward's eyes locked with Zsasz as the two rogues approached quickly. He side stepped to deflect the stab that would've landed in his gut, but before he could manage a proper counter to the attack Edward's heart froze into a jagged piece of ice.

The chokehold Sionis had on Crane and his firearm shoved against his partner's chin filled Edward with an overwhelming uncomfortable sensation that he hadn't felt in his entire life.

Edward attempted to raise the gun at Sionis, but only started the uplift motion before Zsasz intercepted him.

The moment of shock and concern on Nigma's face was disgusting, but presented a golden opportunity. Shoving his gun in the holster strapped to his thigh, Zsasz grabbed Edward's wrist and brought his hand down to meet his rising knee which resulted in a successful disarming of him and kicking the gun forward away from them and Crane.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Crane was pleased with the amount of layers his costume possessed as it abated most of the chill Gotham's winter climate carried. Regardless, his time spent outside was short as he followed Edward into the building. He had a vague awareness of the layout of the Mill, but he knew Edward would not appreciate him scampering off to survey the fallen.

Regarding which, Jonathan's experimental sarin seemed to work wonders. While he knew Sionis' men were growing sparse due to the destruction of sections of the city, he did not expect the volume of bodies that met his eyes as they made their way through labyrinthine hallways. Some had already succumbed to the fatal effects of the nerve agent, while others were still clearly at the losing end of a battle with their fears as their bodies writhed on the stone ground.

Crane was itching to take notes, to poke and prod at the mass of potential subjects littering the floor, but he knew he had a job to do.

Kill Roman Sionis.

As they picked their way through the building, their respective gas masks did well to filter the toxin. The nerve agent clearly interrupted various business scenes taking place, as heaps of drugs, cash, or weapons were left unattended as nearby henches fought off the effects of his drug.

Not only for the torture he endured at the man's hand, but the suffering that he forced his partner to undergo. He could lie and state that his motives were solely selfish, but it would seem fraudulent to deny the burning rage that the Black Mask inspired from his decision to touch what was Jonathan's.

Leading the way through the industry plant was akin to a preschool maze handed out at first bell. Unfortunately, Nigma had the displeasure of working here for over a month and grew quite familiar with the halls within.

The echoed screams that bounced off the brick walls caused a shiver of anticipation to run down his spine—perhaps Sionis was one of the fallen.

He knew Jonathan was itching to have the opportunity to study the impact of his sarin on the littered bodies on the ground beneath them. Some of which were still fighting off the effects of the dose that rained down on them through the ventilation—a tactic that was becoming their MO.

The gas mask was appreciated as he recalled the brief, small exposure he had had to a different variety of Crane’s toxin. He couldn’t begin to imagine how this would impact him.

Dismissing Query and Echo to ensure the program wasn’t in the room where Edward had originally spent his time, the pair of rogues continued forward to the main office and headquarters for Roman Sionis.

And ideally his pet, Victor Zsasz, would be joining him—lost in delirium and madness.

Despite possessing very limited complaints regarding his and Edward's cohabitation, engaging with him in their criminal personas reminded Jonathan why he devoted himself to the Riddler in the first place.

Crane trailed behind Edward as they spilled into Roman's office. The exterior had been unassuming, with very little signs indicating it was his primary headquarters. It was likely the intended design in order to avoid drawing untoward attention to malicious parties.

Thankfully, Jonathan's preferred malicious party was more than familiar with the layout, which led to virtually no difficulty in locating it.

Sionis' office interior told the opposite story. Sculptures adorned the perimeter while other art installations were hung on the walls. Filing cabinets and other assorted furniture dotted the area, especially the large wooden desk that acted as a defacto centerpiece to the room. Other evidence of the Black Mask's criminal empire was visible, including a similar assortment of narcotics and firearms that were found throughout the lair. Notably, the room contained no bodies on the ground.

It was empty.

Barren.

No evidence of a hasty exit. No indication of use for the day. Nothing.

Concern shifted in Jonathan's chest, quickly manifesting into a baser instinct.

This wasn’t right. Sionis and Zsasz should be here. Edward knew their routine, the weekly meetings, the hours of operation between good business and evil pursuits.

Nigma went as far as to risking one of his trusted men and having them infiltrate Sionis’ ranks to assist in the eventual plot for revenge that could be concocted by Jonathan and Edward.

Mark had given them good information. There was no doubt about that in his head.

Stopping between the massive wood desk and the luxury seating stationed several feet in front of the wooden centerpiece.

The heat emitting from the back of his skull was a familiar one. One that he could attribute to his calm, collected, composed partner in crime.

Edward turned on his heels to look towards the criminal, who was approaching him in an intimidating, calculated fashion. Nigma held his ground until the use of his title was punctuated on the end of his sentence.

The inability to meet the man’s gaze did precisely what Crane wanted—it made him nervous. The sound of his shoes reminding him of a clock, ticking on and on.

They didn’t have time for this.

“Scarecrow.” He chimed back, narrowing his eyes slightly before looking the other man up and down. “I know how it looks.” He started, taking a step back as the other got closer.

"If the Black Mask is absent," he said, hands falling onto the lapels of Edward's jacket as he stood up fully to tower over the other, "then we have plenty of time for you to explain yourself." He took the final step, using the movement to push Edward flush against the cinder block wall. "I will not tolerate a flawed plan. Least of all from you." He had little time to dwell on the body heat emanating from the other man as he utilized his impressive height to intimidate him.

Jonathan was angry. He knew he was being irrational, especially as he was aware Edward could not foresee the comings and goings of a respected crime lord; however, that did not abate the fury that licked at his chest at their absence. He was not scared, but the concern that their plan had been reduced to shambles was palpable in his demeanor.

He needed an explanation.

Turning his palms out to Jonathan, and raising his hands to face him at hip level. “Jona-“ He tried to warn, but was cut off by the hands grasping his jacket.

Edward couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. His face twisting in an expression of shock and disbelief.

Immediate discomfort and a grunt of displeasure were the immediate responses to his body colliding into the wall.

They didn’t have time for this.

Grabbing Jonathan’s right wrist and pressing the palm of his hand against Jonathan’s chest, “ Are you suggesting I have something to do with Black Mask’s disappearance? Well I don’t.” He spat through gritted teeth as he tried pushing himself off the wall.

A vicious heat rose in his chest as he glared up at the Pharaoh of Phobias. The blood in his veins running warm as he scoffed.

The grip on Edward's lapels laxed slightly, but he did not remove his hands entirely from him. "I think," he said, his tone deceptively sweet, "that this should have been an outcome you accounted for. Were you too de-"

A loud bang resounded through the interior room as the doors to the office were kicked in. Jonathan immediately released his hold on Edward before whipping around, muscles tense as he realized what—or rather who—entered the space.

Crane's mirrored gaze fell upon the precise individuals he was actively hunting.

Roman Sionis had elected to forgo the eponymous mask, opting instead for a self-satisfied expression to contort his features at catching the two of them red-handed. Zsasz trailed behind him with the same look. Both individuals had firearms trained on them, and Jonathan had to tilt his head upwards at the reversal.

"Roman," Jonathan said, the fury that clung to him shifting into something that suit him to hopefully remedy the danger they found themselves in.

Sionis spat, "Did you really think you could outwit me this time? I know all of your tricks, Scarecrow."

This was not one of those circumstances.

The loosened hold was a small victory, but his own grip and pressed hand didn’t slack. Narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw analyzed his words and false tone. “Accounted f-“ He blurted out to interrupt the other. A heated argument brewing on the horizon as his brain steamed with aggressive words to fire at full blast.

However, all of that changed at the loud sound at the far end of the room.

His actions were in sync with Jonathan’s. His hands removed themselves from the criminal as he departed from his immediate space and pushed himself off the wall.

Adjusting the lapels of his jacket, Edward was ashamed by the ice that ran through his veins at the sight of Roman Sionis and Victor Zsasz.

Edward had redefined himself since acquiring the scar on his face, and had become… proud in a way of his journey towards acceptance of it. The symbolism was compared to a phoenix—rising from the ashes of misery and tragedy.

A bitter taste was left in his mouth at the brief flicker of fear that seized him.

The rage he felt that was triggered by Jonathan, was able to be redirected towards the two figures who had become the bane of his existence for too long.

The guns pointed at them caused the fear to bubble back up to the surface, but it fueled the fire in his chest as he glared at Sionis and the gun he held—recognizing it as his own.

“And yours, Riddler.” Zsasz added onto Sionis’ words, calling out the other rogue.

The hesitation, although brief, was easily seen by his trained eyes as a cruel smile pulled across his lips.

Sionis smirked, noticing Edward stepping into view from behind Jonathan. “You just couldn’t keep him away, could you?” His tone manipulative, coercing, threatening as he directed the question to Nigma before focusing his attention back on Crane as he took several calculated steps forward with Zsasz following in sync.

Edward heart stopped at the comment, but he brushed it off confidently. “I can’t control that which is inevitable, Sionis.” Slipping the gold pistol out of its holstered location.

And I don’t control him.

His tone was confident, despite looking down two barrels.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Crane was pleased with the amount of layers his costume possessed as it abated most of the chill Gotham's winter climate carried. Regardless, his time spent outside was short as he followed Edward into the building. He had a vague awareness of the layout of the Mill, but he knew Edward would not appreciate him scampering off to survey the fallen.

Regarding which, Jonathan's experimental sarin seemed to work wonders. While he knew Sionis' men were growing sparse due to the destruction of sections of the city, he did not expect the volume of bodies that met his eyes as they made their way through labyrinthine hallways. Some had already succumbed to the fatal effects of the nerve agent, while others were still clearly at the losing end of a battle with their fears as their bodies writhed on the stone ground.

Crane was itching to take notes, to poke and prod at the mass of potential subjects littering the floor, but he knew he had a job to do.

Kill Roman Sionis.

As they picked their way through the building, their respective gas masks did well to filter the toxin. The nerve agent clearly interrupted various business scenes taking place, as heaps of drugs, cash, or weapons were left unattended as nearby henches fought off the effects of his drug.

Not only for the torture he endured at the man's hand, but the suffering that he forced his partner to undergo. He could lie and state that his motives were solely selfish, but it would seem fraudulent to deny the burning rage that the Black Mask inspired from his decision to touch what was Jonathan's.

Leading the way through the industry plant was akin to a preschool maze handed out at first bell. Unfortunately, Nigma had the displeasure of working here for over a month and grew quite familiar with the halls within.

The echoed screams that bounced off the brick walls caused a shiver of anticipation to run down his spine—perhaps Sionis was one of the fallen.

He knew Jonathan was itching to have the opportunity to study the impact of his sarin on the littered bodies on the ground beneath them. Some of which were still fighting off the effects of the dose that rained down on them through the ventilation—a tactic that was becoming their MO.

The gas mask was appreciated as he recalled the brief, small exposure he had had to a different variety of Crane’s toxin. He couldn’t begin to imagine how this would impact him.

Dismissing Query and Echo to ensure the program wasn’t in the room where Edward had originally spent his time, the pair of rogues continued forward to the main office and headquarters for Roman Sionis.

And ideally his pet, Victor Zsasz, would be joining him—lost in delirium and madness.

Despite possessing very limited complaints regarding his and Edward's cohabitation, engaging with him in their criminal personas reminded Jonathan why he devoted himself to the Riddler in the first place.

Crane trailed behind Edward as they spilled into Roman's office. The exterior had been unassuming, with very little signs indicating it was his primary headquarters. It was likely the intended design in order to avoid drawing untoward attention to malicious parties.

Thankfully, Jonathan's preferred malicious party was more than familiar with the layout, which led to virtually no difficulty in locating it.

Sionis' office interior told the opposite story. Sculptures adorned the perimeter while other art installations were hung on the walls. Filing cabinets and other assorted furniture dotted the area, especially the large wooden desk that acted as a defacto centerpiece to the room. Other evidence of the Black Mask's criminal empire was visible, including a similar assortment of narcotics and firearms that were found throughout the lair. Notably, the room contained no bodies on the ground.

It was empty.

Barren.

No evidence of a hasty exit. No indication of use for the day. Nothing.

Concern shifted in Jonathan's chest, quickly manifesting into a baser instinct.

This wasn’t right. Sionis and Zsasz should be here. Edward knew their routine, the weekly meetings, the hours of operation between good business and evil pursuits.

Nigma went as far as to risking one of his trusted men and having them infiltrate Sionis’ ranks to assist in the eventual plot for revenge that could be concocted by Jonathan and Edward.

Mark had given them good information. There was no doubt about that in his head.

Stopping between the massive wood desk and the luxury seating stationed several feet in front of the wooden centerpiece.

The heat emitting from the back of his skull was a familiar one. One that he could attribute to his calm, collected, composed partner in crime.

Edward turned on his heels to look towards the criminal, who was approaching him in an intimidating, calculated fashion. Nigma held his ground until the use of his title was punctuated on the end of his sentence.

The inability to meet the man’s gaze did precisely what Crane wanted—it made him nervous. The sound of his shoes reminding him of a clock, ticking on and on.

They didn’t have time for this.

“Scarecrow.” He chimed back, narrowing his eyes slightly before looking the other man up and down. “I know how it looks.” He started, taking a step back as the other got closer.

"If the Black Mask is absent," he said, hands falling onto the lapels of Edward's jacket as he stood up fully to tower over the other, "then we have plenty of time for you to explain yourself." He took the final step, using the movement to push Edward flush against the cinder block wall. "I will not tolerate a flawed plan. Least of all from you." He had little time to dwell on the body heat emanating from the other man as he utilized his impressive height to intimidate him.

Jonathan was angry. He knew he was being irrational, especially as he was aware Edward could not foresee the comings and goings of a respected crime lord; however, that did not abate the fury that licked at his chest at their absence. He was not scared, but the concern that their plan had been reduced to shambles was palpable in his demeanor.

He needed an explanation.

Turning his palms out to Jonathan, and raising his hands to face him at hip level. “Jona-“ He tried to warn, but was cut off by the hands grasping his jacket.

Edward couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. His face twisting in an expression of shock and disbelief.

Immediate discomfort and a grunt of displeasure were the immediate responses to his body colliding into the wall.

They didn’t have time for this.

Grabbing Jonathan’s right wrist and pressing the palm of his hand against Jonathan’s chest, “ Are you suggesting I have something to do with Black Mask’s disappearance? Well I don’t.” He spat through gritted teeth as he tried pushing himself off the wall.

A vicious heat rose in his chest as he glared up at the Pharaoh of Phobias. The blood in his veins running warm as he scoffed.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Crane was pleased with the amount of layers his costume possessed as it abated most of the chill Gotham's winter climate carried. Regardless, his time spent outside was short as he followed Edward into the building. He had a vague awareness of the layout of the Mill, but he knew Edward would not appreciate him scampering off to survey the fallen.

Regarding which, Jonathan's experimental sarin seemed to work wonders. While he knew Sionis' men were growing sparse due to the destruction of sections of the city, he did not expect the volume of bodies that met his eyes as they made their way through labyrinthine hallways. Some had already succumbed to the fatal effects of the nerve agent, while others were still clearly at the losing end of a battle with their fears as their bodies writhed on the stone ground.

Crane was itching to take notes, to poke and prod at the mass of potential subjects littering the floor, but he knew he had a job to do.

Kill Roman Sionis.

As they picked their way through the building, their respective gas masks did well to filter the toxin. The nerve agent clearly interrupted various business scenes taking place, as heaps of drugs, cash, or weapons were left unattended as nearby henches fought off the effects of his drug.

Not only for the torture he endured at the man's hand, but the suffering that he forced his partner to undergo. He could lie and state that his motives were solely selfish, but it would seem fraudulent to deny the burning rage that the Black Mask inspired from his decision to touch what was Jonathan's.

Leading the way through the industry plant was akin to a preschool maze handed out at first bell. Unfortunately, Nigma had the displeasure of working here for over a month and grew quite familiar with the halls within.

The echoed screams that bounced off the brick walls caused a shiver of anticipation to run down his spine—perhaps Sionis was one of the fallen.

He knew Jonathan was itching to have the opportunity to study the impact of his sarin on the littered bodies on the ground beneath them. Some of which were still fighting off the effects of the dose that rained down on them through the ventilation—a tactic that was becoming their MO.

The gas mask was appreciated as he recalled the brief, small exposure he had had to a different variety of Crane’s toxin. He couldn’t begin to imagine how this would impact him.

Dismissing Query and Echo to ensure the program wasn’t in the room where Edward had originally spent his time, the pair of rogues continued forward to the main office and headquarters for Roman Sionis.

And ideally his pet, Victor Zsasz, would be joining him—lost in delirium and madness.

Despite possessing very limited complaints regarding his and Edward's cohabitation, engaging with him in their criminal personas reminded Jonathan why he devoted himself to the Riddler in the first place.

Crane trailed behind Edward as they spilled into Roman's office. The exterior had been unassuming, with very little signs indicating it was his primary headquarters. It was likely the intended design in order to avoid drawing untoward attention to malicious parties.

Thankfully, Jonathan's preferred malicious party was more than familiar with the layout, which led to virtually no difficulty in locating it.

Sionis' office interior told the opposite story. Sculptures adorned the perimeter while other art installations were hung on the walls. Filing cabinets and other assorted furniture dotted the area, especially the large wooden desk that acted as a defacto centerpiece to the room. Other evidence of the Black Mask's criminal empire was visible, including a similar assortment of narcotics and firearms that were found throughout the lair. Notably, the room contained no bodies on the ground.

It was empty.

Barren.

No evidence of a hasty exit. No indication of use for the day. Nothing.

Concern shifted in Jonathan's chest, quickly manifesting into a baser instinct.

This wasn’t right. Sionis and Zsasz should be here. Edward knew their routine, the weekly meetings, the hours of operation between good business and evil pursuits.

Nigma went as far as to risking one of his trusted men and having them infiltrate Sionis’ ranks to assist in the eventual plot for revenge that could be concocted by Jonathan and Edward.

Mark had given them good information. There was no doubt about that in his head.

Stopping between the massive wood desk and the luxury seating stationed several feet in front of the wooden centerpiece.

The heat emitting from the back of his skull was a familiar one. One that he could attribute to his calm, collected, composed partner in crime.

Edward turned on his heels to look towards the criminal, who was approaching him in an intimidating, calculated fashion. Nigma held his ground until the use of his title was punctuated on the end of his sentence.

The inability to meet the man’s gaze did precisely what Crane wanted—it made him nervous. The sound of his shoes reminding him of a clock, ticking on and on.

They didn’t have time for this.

“Scarecrow.” He chimed back, narrowing his eyes slightly before looking the other man up and down. “I know how it looks.” He started, taking a step back as the other got closer.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Crane was pleased with the amount of layers his costume possessed as it abated most of the chill Gotham's winter climate carried. Regardless, his time spent outside was short as he followed Edward into the building. He had a vague awareness of the layout of the Mill, but he knew Edward would not appreciate him scampering off to survey the fallen.

Regarding which, Jonathan's experimental sarin seemed to work wonders. While he knew Sionis' men were growing sparse due to the destruction of sections of the city, he did not expect the volume of bodies that met his eyes as they made their way through labyrinthine hallways. Some had already succumbed to the fatal effects of the nerve agent, while others were still clearly at the losing end of a battle with their fears as their bodies writhed on the stone ground.

Crane was itching to take notes, to poke and prod at the mass of potential subjects littering the floor, but he knew he had a job to do.

Kill Roman Sionis.

As they picked their way through the building, their respective gas masks did well to filter the toxin. The nerve agent clearly interrupted various business scenes taking place, as heaps of drugs, cash, or weapons were left unattended as nearby henches fought off the effects of his drug.

Not only for the torture he endured at the man's hand, but the suffering that he forced his partner to undergo. He could lie and state that his motives were solely selfish, but it would seem fraudulent to deny the burning rage that the Black Mask inspired from his decision to touch what was Jonathan's.

Leading the way through the industry plant was akin to a preschool maze handed out at first bell. Unfortunately, Nigma had the displeasure of working here for over a month and grew quite familiar with the halls within.

The echoed screams that bounced off the brick walls caused a shiver of anticipation to run down his spine—perhaps Sionis was one of the fallen.

He knew Jonathan was itching to have the opportunity to study the impact of his sarin on the littered bodies on the ground beneath them. Some of which were still fighting off the effects of the dose that rained down on them through the ventilation—a tactic that was becoming their MO.

The gas mask was appreciated as he recalled the brief, small exposure he had had to a different variety of Crane’s toxin. He couldn’t begin to imagine how this would impact him.

Dismissing Query and Echo to ensure the program wasn’t in the room where Edward had originally spent his time, the pair of rogues continued forward to the main office and headquarters for Roman Sionis.

And ideally his pet, Victor Zsasz, would be joining him—lost in delirium and madness.

Jonathan could not find it within him to suppress an eye roll at Edward's antics, but some part of him was more than pleased at succeeding at winding the man up. The past several weeks had scarcely seen them together, and the time preceding that displayed Edward nearly at his worst as he recovered from the depravity of Sionis' hand. As much as he teased Edward for his ego, he was delighted to see him returning to his old attitude, as a witty Edward was almost a joy to engage with. His sharp tongue was one of the—albeit many—facets that drew Jonathan to him, and he was more than thrilled to goad him back into their verbal sparring.

It could almost be considered foreplay at this point.

As he followed Edward down the two stairwells, he took great satisfaction in seeing the mild difficulty his partner had in walking as he knew he had a helpful hand in eliciting that outcome.

Jonathan was almost giddy with anticipation at the reveal with his new laboratory space. Not that he possessed any doubt in Edward's ability to curate an adequate space, but Crane has passionate with his research and held anything relating to it to a high bar.

Sterility clung to his senses as they entered the area, and Jonathan felt a foolish surge of affection for the genius next to him upon the sight.

It was almost a carbon-copy of his previous lab if not for the plethora of improvements in the quality of the equipment. Linoleum lined the floors, making any cleanup easy work should experiments get… messy. A large fume hood—a new addition—took up a portion of a wall, and an expansive central island gave him more space to work. As Jonathan began opening cabinets, he found a sizable stock of chemicals already within, and a few questions entered his mind as he continued exploring the space.

Behind the main area of the workroom was a section dedicated to experimentation. A rather eerie-looking adjustable gurney was stationed in the center, and a wicked grin spread across Jonathan's lips as various thoughts flicked through his mind on future sessions he would have with the unwilling subjects that would occupy it. A small cart filled with various surgical implements stood to the side of the gurney, and Jonathan barked out a laugh at the commitment to the sinister atmosphere Edward possessed when furnishing the space.

As he turned to approach Edward, he caught notice of a desk to the immediate left of the entrance with another set of bookcases surrounding it. Jonathan approached his partner, not allowing the other to read his movements for any ulterior motives, before he planted a kiss to Nigma's facial scar.

The research and work Jonathan did was important to him, and who would he be to deny an academic the opportunity to excel? He had snuck into the other’s lab a time or four to take note of everything leading up to this move.

Judging on the laughter and grin on Crane’s face, he’d say he did a good job at pleasing the other.

Smiling, Edward watched as Jonathan made his way over. His eyes assessing him, but made no comment.

The compliment made him blush. A pleasant warmth radiating from his cheeks as he seared the words to memory.

"Who knows? Perhaps we will be able to spend some quality time together in here," Crane said, the back of his hand slightly gliding up Edward's unclothed waist. "Especially since your aversion to my testing facilities seems to have subsided."

It was a pointed observation cocked with a raised eyebrow. It was clear Edward had snooped in his lab to have achieved the accuracy in materials and equipment that he did. Jonathan didn't mind, truthfully, since if any individual had to have access to Jonathan's notes, it would be the genius before him. He knew Edward's trips to his lab would have been short, as he knew the distance he preferred to have, though the reason for such a feeling was lost to Jonathan.

It's not like he threatened to dose him that frequently.

Nigma’s ears took on a tint of red at Jonathan’s words. The undeniable shiver that licked its way up his body at the gentle, subtle touch to his side.

This felt like a dangerous game. Crane’s lab held an aura of dread and uncertainty. The very abundant presence of fear toxin kept him at bay.

And Jonathan Crane loved to throw out the threat of being dosed.

His back connected with a counter as he put a smile on—not allowing himself to glance at the stairs as he was pushed further into the space.

"You'll find difficulty talking your way out of this one, dear," he said, the final word punctuated with his left hand taking a deceptively gentle hold on his waist.

"Sneaking visits into my lab when I'm not there."

A kiss on his neck.

"Pilfering through my chemicals in my absense."

A kiss on his jaw.

The post coital fatigue washed away as Jonathan’s lips greeted his neck. Edward held his breath through the sequence of touches to not give himself away by the rousing thoughts.

Exhaling slowly at the kiss planted on his jaw, Edward leaned back slightly to allow his hands to fall behind him on the counter—his left hand sliding atop Jonathan’s right.

“Avoiding is a bit h-“ His words were cut off as he attempted to repeat his earlier statement. A distracted, poor attempt to talk himself out of it.

Jonathan wasn’t wrong. Edward had expertly chosen the moments and times to sneak away down to the chemist’s lab. All in the best interest—and surprise—for Jonathan Crane.

Edward would elect not to share the information he found about himself in a few notebooks and journals.

Thoughts of the other restraineed to the gurney behind Edward acxoated him, and Jonathan wondered how far he could push this.

"These missteps can be corrected, Edward." His fingers dug into his waist slightly. "A path forward to righting these wrongs. All you have to do is give in."

The words were intoned in Edward's ear, his voice lowering. He recalled the accord they possessed on Jonathan injecting Edward with toxin, but he would hold up his side of the bargain by waiting until Sionis was removed from their lives.

However, he knew that giving Edward positive experiences in his lab should result in the dissipation of that reluctance to spend time here with him. Crane knew he was sacrificing the space he disappeared to when agitated, but seeing Edward's duress under the state of his toxin, preferably more than once, was well worth the tradeoff.

The genius’s eyes shut as the man’s voice danced across his ear, reverberating through him. His hand sliding to the back of Jonathan’s neck—a slight pressure behind it as he sought to keep him close.

Whether Jonathan knew it or not, Edward had developed a particular weakness for Crane. Despite his best efforts of combating it, Nigma quickly realized how susceptible he became especially under the gaze and touch of the former psychiatrist; but there were other instances as well.

It was a trait he was forced to acknowledge under a handful of circumstances—sacrificing his pride to work for Roman to save Crane, agreeing to be dosed in toxin-

A tightness slowly formed in his gut and his body tensed as the thought crossed his mind. Edward was torn between his most basic pulls of desire and curiosity while a part of him feared what Jonathan was implying.

“If you offer a path of righting my wrongs..” Edward started, his fingers on his left hand curling around Jonathan’s hand. “Then guide me, Doctor.”

Despite the anxiety that accosted him standing on the other’s lab, there was a distinct shiver that coursed through him at the closeness they shared.

God.

This man made Jonathan abandon all notions of reason with regard to boundaries in a typical relationship. What they had couldn't be considered the healthiest, but Crane attempted to put a good-faithed effort into what they had. It was moments like these, however, that Jonathan wanted nothing more than to cut loose and remind Edward why he should be horrified of the all-terrible God of Fear. To restrain Edward to the gurney and dissect every little thought he had about him, pump his veins so full of toxin he would crack for Jonathan to stitch back together.

But not now. Or ever.

Peppering kisses down Edward's neck, the hand on Edward's hip traveled down to the waistband of his sweatpants, dipping his long fingers in teasing manner. Jonathan found the purple mark he left earlier, his tongue pressing against the bruise as he savored one of the few rare opportunities to leave visible stains on Edward.

The kisses down his neck caused his mind to buzz, silencing the doubt and trepidation lurking in the shadows.

An audible gasp filled the lab at the simultaneous sensation of the man’s fingers dipping under the waistband of the sweatpants he wore mixed with the slight pain from the pressure applied to the hickey on his neck from their time minutes earlier upstairs.

The tension in his body eased slightly as Jonathan’s move moved down to his chest.

Edward knew he could smell the fear minutely coursing through his veins—like a bloodhound on a hunt.

The toxin reacquainted him with memories, threads of his past, moments of vulnerability that he hoped to stay as far away from as he could.

Jonathan withdrew his attention from Edward's chest as he glanced up briefly at him, a lecherous expression on Crane's face. He kissed a sordid line down to his waist, dropping to his knees and using his hand on the counter as leverage. It was not the most comfortable position on his joints, but he disregarded the discomfort for anticipation as his hands moved to the waistband of Edward's pants.

Freeing Jonathan’s wrist, Edward bit the knuckle of his pointer finger to soften the second moan as Jonathan repeated the action on the other side of his chest.

He pulled his hand away from his mouth as he caught Jonathan’s eyes. The lust reflected in his own gaze as well—a flame that never truly died for the other man.

Even in the moments of frustration and bickering. Even with his neck bandaged from challenges accepted. Even standing in the devil’s den.

It flickered on.

His heart sank into his chest—following Jonathan’s lips as they traversed further and further down his body.

“Fuck, Jon…” Edward’s voice trailed off as his hands moved to rest behind him. His eyes entranced as the older man sank to his knees.

The coil of desire settled in his gut, and he inhaled as his cock met the cool air in the room.

The time his hands spent set behind him was short. The lick he received was met by a hand swiftly capturing locks of Jonathan’s hair.

However, Jonathan would never reveal the extent of such. The difficulty stemmed from both an unwillingness and a lack of articulation, but he opted to show his gratitude in other ways.

Such as now.

Despite having had intercourse minutes ago, an all too familiar knot developed and tightened in the carnal regions of his stomach. The refractory period likely coming and going as soon as Crane put his hands on him.

It was an absolute treat to have the Master of Fear on his knees for the King of Conundrums. The sweetness of which Edward savored and locked into his memory.

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as Jonathan pressed his tongue along his length shushed a moan that likely would’ve shook the walls.

A sly expression draped itself across his face at the other's words. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, tone speaking of promises that Edward should be wary of making. Jonathan returned to his previous ministrations as he took the other into his mouth once more. He traced his tongue over the length in the way he knew Edward liked. Each bob had the head of the other's cock hit the back of his throat, and Crane knew his throat would be moderately sore in the next couple of hours from the abuse he was subjecting it.

However… this experience certainly put a wedge between both of those sentiments.

His hands slammed back onto the table—not prepared for Jonathan to resume. His hips leaned forward, his hands white knuckling the edge of the metal counter.

Jonathan knew exactly how to build him up, tease him, touch him in all the right places.

The knot in his gut grew faster than he anticipated as the man’s tongue drew shapes across his cock. The vibrations coming from him elicited another groan of ecstasy.

His only acknowledgement of Edward's warning was a choked exhale as he continued taking the other man. He sought to serve Edward in the same way he served him with the construction of his lab. The flip in power and quick procession of events was an easy decision since he knew Nigma enjoyed being rewarded, praised, for his efforts.

Jonathan was not a giving man—far from it—but it was difficult to ignore the credit that Edward deserved for this particular gift. Additionally, if Crane gained some amount of satisfaction from giving head, well…

The sounds from Jonathan taking him so enthusiastically, the grip on his hips holding him in place, the sight of him below him, the suddenness of the moment, the intensity of the experience-

Edward came. His voice breathless, and the final sounds that departed from his lips were soft as bliss seized him by the shoulders.

The tension in his body eased as he rode out his orgasm. His hands pried away from the table. The back of his hand wiped away the dampness on his forehead.

His knees shook slightly as he caught his breath, and his muscles ached from the back to back sessions.

Exhaling a small laugh as he stood up, his knees popped grotesquely at the movement. "I'm pleased you enjoyed yourself," he said, only a minor hoarseness afflicting his tone that would dissipate after a few minutes of catching his breath.

“Immensely.” He exhaled, scanning Jonathan up and down before a light smirk decorated his features. The other’s enthusiasm was filed away to be picked a part later. The slight raspiness that trailed after each word spoken by Crane was an intoxicating sound.

“Dare I say you did too?” Edward’s tone was still breathless, exhaustion demanding he find a place to sit and rest. His eyes followed Jonathan’s gaze to his chest, flicking back up to Jonathan’s gaze. He tilted his head up to show off the markings that he had left upon his pale flesh.

In truth, Edward really appreciated the desire Jonathan had to leave his mark on him. The bruises, the hickeys, the crescent shapes in his hips, the red marks down his back, the bites, the blood drawn.. all of it. Edward thoroughly enjoyed the reminders in the mirror, and the pride he was able to witness in Jonathan’s eyes at his efforts, his success.

He liked being claimed, being Jonathan’s.

However. He didn’t want anyone else knowing that he was. The visual of The Riddler delivering crucial information to a panel of rogues only to be interrupted and questioned about a suspicious series of bruises peaking out from the collar of his shirt? Unacceptable.

Did that happen before? Yes, unfortunately it did.

From the mouth and hands of one, Harvey Dent, in a half-remembered drunken night sworn to secrecy.

"I have no clue what you could be referring to," he said, abjectly refusing to acknowledge the truth that Edward's words contained. Jonathan raised an eyebrow at the other's indication of the varied marks he left on him, considering the litany of complaints he received upon bestowing them.

The night had captured Jonathan in an odd mood. While his regular cantankerousness was present, he was far more receptive to Edward's presence. He chalked it up to the lack of time they had spent together in the past several weeks after his partner recovered from the torture Sionis enabled. This had been the first evening they had purposefully spent together in quite some time, and Crane would never admit to enjoying it.

Rubbing his chest gently, Edward crossed his arms as the cold found its way back to him. His eyes scanned the lab in awe of what he was able to create for his partner.

They were men of science, academia, research, learning. They kept their minds sharp and each other on their toes. He was thrilled at the opportunity to give Jonathan more to achieve those things.

Laughing lightly, Edward took a few steps towards Jonathan. "Don't make it sound like a chore, darling." Leaning up, he planted a kiss to the man's cheek.

"I always wish to have you lying next to me." He answered as if it were obvious. "but..." He started, eyes scanning the other's.

"I'll be there if you'd rather stay up and-", he gestured to the lab around them, "-get familiar with your workspace."

"Any experimentation would be best served after a good night's rest on that ridiculously expensive bed of ours," Jonathan mused, approaching the stairs before indicating for Edward to proceed.

Silently appreciating the sight in front of him, he followed the other up the flight of steps, turning off the light before he shut the door behind them. Despite living with each other over the past month, their sleep schedules were so erratic that they rarely retired to bed at the same time. They typically only shared a few hours of sleep together before one of them crawled out to dive headfirst back into their respective project. Jonathan thus appreciated the moment for what it was worth.

He knew he would be enjoying the new bed—not only for activities that have already transpired, but the rest. Jonathan’s bed at his flat… served the designed purpose; however, the occasional squeaky spring and nights with stiff joints served as a constant reminder that they needed an upgrade.

Glancing at the stairs, Edward exhaled. His body was drained in all meanings of the term. His head fell back slightly as he glanced at Jonathan. A sense of pride enveloping the other man—clearly pleased with how he ruined him, marked him, claimed him.

Edward would be lying if he wasn’t pleased as well.

Grasping the railing, Edward led the way. His muscles were tight as they made their way up both flights of stairs.

There was a bubble of warmth brewing in his chest, and sent a buzz to his head at being chosen over the lab. Although there was truth in Jonathan’s response, it was satisfying to have him accompany him to bed.

There had not been many moments lately like this, and Edward truly treasured it.

Until Jonathan made his comment.

Flashing a grin as he approached his side of the bed, “I’m glad you’re pleased.” He hummed, flipping back the covers as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his pants.

Crane was satisfied for now at the state of their bedroom floor. For a man who prided himself on his tidiness, Edward seemed to enjoy the clothing littering the ground. Although, Crane supposed that could be more as a reminder of the thorough devesting they experienced at each other's hand. He glanced at Edward, doing a subtle double-take when he noticed the other's sweatpants meeting the aforementioned collection of articles.

No matter how often it occurred and how frequently he was privy to it, he did not believe he would ever become accustomed to the fact that his partner possessed virtually no shame regarding nudity, especially in front of him. Ignoring the slight heat that always decorated the tips of his ears when he noticed, Jonathan disappeared into the en suite.

As he prepared himself for bed, it was difficult to ignore the recurring fondness that bubbled up whenever he noticed anything Edward placed thought into. From the coordinating linens and decor all the way to one of the his and her sinks that was clearly established for Jonathan's use, it was evident that Edward had been planning this move for quite some time. He knew it was ridiculous feeling this way, but this entire residence set up contained the most thought that anyone had ever placed into something for him.

It was unnerving.

It was appreciated.

Glancing at Jonathan’s sink, Edward smiled to himself before spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his toothbrush. A pleasant warmth coiling up inside him.

Returning as Jonathan was finishing up picking through the littered accessories and bits from their costumes, Edward slipped out of his sweatpants.

His eyes catching Jonathan’s for a brief moment before he departed into the bathroom likely to complete the same routine he did.

The discarded clothes, the constant reminders around him of Jonathan’s presence in this abode filled him with.. a bothersome happiness.

The months they had shared living with each other were among the greatest experiences he had had.

If it were up to him, this arrangement would never change; and he hoped the other was in the same frame of mind.

The bed was the right blend of soft and firm, and Edward knew he’d be sleeping well.

He recalled Edward's complaints vividly.

Nonetheless, he swore he could feel his bones ache for the high-quality sleep he was in for if his insomnia remained staved for the evening.

Brushing his hand over the others briefly, Edward shifted backwards to press himself against the other man. The satisfaction was immediate as his back connected to the other’s chest—the clash of Edward’s body heat and the chill that always clung to Jonathan.

Jonathan could not find it within him to suppress an eye roll at Edward's antics, but some part of him was more than pleased at succeeding at winding the man up. The past several weeks had scarcely seen them together, and the time preceding that displayed Edward nearly at his worst as he recovered from the depravity of Sionis' hand. As much as he teased Edward for his ego, he was delighted to see him returning to his old attitude, as a witty Edward was almost a joy to engage with. His sharp tongue was one of the—albeit many—facets that drew Jonathan to him, and he was more than thrilled to goad him back into their verbal sparring.

It could almost be considered foreplay at this point.

As he followed Edward down the two stairwells, he took great satisfaction in seeing the mild difficulty his partner had in walking as he knew he had a helpful hand in eliciting that outcome.

Jonathan was almost giddy with anticipation at the reveal with his new laboratory space. Not that he possessed any doubt in Edward's ability to curate an adequate space, but Crane has passionate with his research and held anything relating to it to a high bar.

Sterility clung to his senses as they entered the area, and Jonathan felt a foolish surge of affection for the genius next to him upon the sight.

It was almost a carbon-copy of his previous lab if not for the plethora of improvements in the quality of the equipment. Linoleum lined the floors, making any cleanup easy work should experiments get… messy. A large fume hood—a new addition—took up a portion of a wall, and an expansive central island gave him more space to work. As Jonathan began opening cabinets, he found a sizable stock of chemicals already within, and a few questions entered his mind as he continued exploring the space.

Behind the main area of the workroom was a section dedicated to experimentation. A rather eerie-looking adjustable gurney was stationed in the center, and a wicked grin spread across Jonathan's lips as various thoughts flicked through his mind on future sessions he would have with the unwilling subjects that would occupy it. A small cart filled with various surgical implements stood to the side of the gurney, and Jonathan barked out a laugh at the commitment to the sinister atmosphere Edward possessed when furnishing the space.

As he turned to approach Edward, he caught notice of a desk to the immediate left of the entrance with another set of bookcases surrounding it. Jonathan approached his partner, not allowing the other to read his movements for any ulterior motives, before he planted a kiss to Nigma's facial scar.

The research and work Jonathan did was important to him, and who would he be to deny an academic the opportunity to excel? He had snuck into the other’s lab a time or four to take note of everything leading up to this move.

Judging on the laughter and grin on Crane’s face, he’d say he did a good job at pleasing the other.

Smiling, Edward watched as Jonathan made his way over. His eyes assessing him, but made no comment.

The compliment made him blush. A pleasant warmth radiating from his cheeks as he seared the words to memory.

"Who knows? Perhaps we will be able to spend some quality time together in here," Crane said, the back of his hand slightly gliding up Edward's unclothed waist. "Especially since your aversion to my testing facilities seems to have subsided."

It was a pointed observation cocked with a raised eyebrow. It was clear Edward had snooped in his lab to have achieved the accuracy in materials and equipment that he did. Jonathan didn't mind, truthfully, since if any individual had to have access to Jonathan's notes, it would be the genius before him. He knew Edward's trips to his lab would have been short, as he knew the distance he preferred to have, though the reason for such a feeling was lost to Jonathan.

It's not like he threatened to dose him that frequently.

Nigma’s ears took on a tint of red at Jonathan’s words. The undeniable shiver that licked its way up his body at the gentle, subtle touch to his side.

This felt like a dangerous game. Crane’s lab held an aura of dread and uncertainty. The very abundant presence of fear toxin kept him at bay.

And Jonathan Crane loved to throw out the threat of being dosed.

His back connected with a counter as he put a smile on—not allowing himself to glance at the stairs as he was pushed further into the space.

"You'll find difficulty talking your way out of this one, dear," he said, the final word punctuated with his left hand taking a deceptively gentle hold on his waist.

"Sneaking visits into my lab when I'm not there."

A kiss on his neck.

"Pilfering through my chemicals in my absense."

A kiss on his jaw.

The post coital fatigue washed away as Jonathan’s lips greeted his neck. Edward held his breath through the sequence of touches to not give himself away by the rousing thoughts.

Exhaling slowly at the kiss planted on his jaw, Edward leaned back slightly to allow his hands to fall behind him on the counter—his left hand sliding atop Jonathan’s right.

“Avoiding is a bit h-“ His words were cut off as he attempted to repeat his earlier statement. A distracted, poor attempt to talk himself out of it.

Jonathan wasn’t wrong. Edward had expertly chosen the moments and times to sneak away down to the chemist’s lab. All in the best interest—and surprise—for Jonathan Crane.

Edward would elect not to share the information he found about himself in a few notebooks and journals.

Thoughts of the other restraineed to the gurney behind Edward acxoated him, and Jonathan wondered how far he could push this.

"These missteps can be corrected, Edward." His fingers dug into his waist slightly. "A path forward to righting these wrongs. All you have to do is give in."

The words were intoned in Edward's ear, his voice lowering. He recalled the accord they possessed on Jonathan injecting Edward with toxin, but he would hold up his side of the bargain by waiting until Sionis was removed from their lives.

However, he knew that giving Edward positive experiences in his lab should result in the dissipation of that reluctance to spend time here with him. Crane knew he was sacrificing the space he disappeared to when agitated, but seeing Edward's duress under the state of his toxin, preferably more than once, was well worth the tradeoff.

The genius’s eyes shut as the man’s voice danced across his ear, reverberating through him. His hand sliding to the back of Jonathan’s neck—a slight pressure behind it as he sought to keep him close.

Whether Jonathan knew it or not, Edward had developed a particular weakness for Crane. Despite his best efforts of combating it, Nigma quickly realized how susceptible he became especially under the gaze and touch of the former psychiatrist; but there were other instances as well.

It was a trait he was forced to acknowledge under a handful of circumstances—sacrificing his pride to work for Roman to save Crane, agreeing to be dosed in toxin-

A tightness slowly formed in his gut and his body tensed as the thought crossed his mind. Edward was torn between his most basic pulls of desire and curiosity while a part of him feared what Jonathan was implying.

“If you offer a path of righting my wrongs..” Edward started, his fingers on his left hand curling around Jonathan’s hand. “Then guide me, Doctor.”

Despite the anxiety that accosted him standing on the other’s lab, there was a distinct shiver that coursed through him at the closeness they shared.

God.

This man made Jonathan abandon all notions of reason with regard to boundaries in a typical relationship. What they had couldn't be considered the healthiest, but Crane attempted to put a good-faithed effort into what they had. It was moments like these, however, that Jonathan wanted nothing more than to cut loose and remind Edward why he should be horrified of the all-terrible God of Fear. To restrain Edward to the gurney and dissect every little thought he had about him, pump his veins so full of toxin he would crack for Jonathan to stitch back together.

But not now. Or ever.

Peppering kisses down Edward's neck, the hand on Edward's hip traveled down to the waistband of his sweatpants, dipping his long fingers in teasing manner. Jonathan found the purple mark he left earlier, his tongue pressing against the bruise as he savored one of the few rare opportunities to leave visible stains on Edward.

The kisses down his neck caused his mind to buzz, silencing the doubt and trepidation lurking in the shadows.

An audible gasp filled the lab at the simultaneous sensation of the man’s fingers dipping under the waistband of the sweatpants he wore mixed with the slight pain from the pressure applied to the hickey on his neck from their time minutes earlier upstairs.

The tension in his body eased slightly as Jonathan’s move moved down to his chest.

Edward knew he could smell the fear minutely coursing through his veins—like a bloodhound on a hunt.

The toxin reacquainted him with memories, threads of his past, moments of vulnerability that he hoped to stay as far away from as he could.

Jonathan withdrew his attention from Edward's chest as he glanced up briefly at him, a lecherous expression on Crane's face. He kissed a sordid line down to his waist, dropping to his knees and using his hand on the counter as leverage. It was not the most comfortable position on his joints, but he disregarded the discomfort for anticipation as his hands moved to the waistband of Edward's pants.

Freeing Jonathan’s wrist, Edward bit the knuckle of his pointer finger to soften the second moan as Jonathan repeated the action on the other side of his chest.

He pulled his hand away from his mouth as he caught Jonathan’s eyes. The lust reflected in his own gaze as well—a flame that never truly died for the other man.

Even in the moments of frustration and bickering. Even with his neck bandaged from challenges accepted. Even standing in the devil’s den.

It flickered on.

His heart sank into his chest—following Jonathan’s lips as they traversed further and further down his body.

“Fuck, Jon…” Edward’s voice trailed off as his hands moved to rest behind him. His eyes entranced as the older man sank to his knees.

The coil of desire settled in his gut, and he inhaled as his cock met the cool air in the room.

The time his hands spent set behind him was short. The lick he received was met by a hand swiftly capturing locks of Jonathan’s hair.

However, Jonathan would never reveal the extent of such. The difficulty stemmed from both an unwillingness and a lack of articulation, but he opted to show his gratitude in other ways.

Such as now.

Despite having had intercourse minutes ago, an all too familiar knot developed and tightened in the carnal regions of his stomach. The refractory period likely coming and going as soon as Crane put his hands on him.

It was an absolute treat to have the Master of Fear on his knees for the King of Conundrums. The sweetness of which Edward savored and locked into his memory.

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as Jonathan pressed his tongue along his length shushed a moan that likely would’ve shook the walls.

A sly expression draped itself across his face at the other's words. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, tone speaking of promises that Edward should be wary of making. Jonathan returned to his previous ministrations as he took the other into his mouth once more. He traced his tongue over the length in the way he knew Edward liked. Each bob had the head of the other's cock hit the back of his throat, and Crane knew his throat would be moderately sore in the next couple of hours from the abuse he was subjecting it.

However… this experience certainly put a wedge between both of those sentiments.

His hands slammed back onto the table—not prepared for Jonathan to resume. His hips leaned forward, his hands white knuckling the edge of the metal counter.

Jonathan knew exactly how to build him up, tease him, touch him in all the right places.

The knot in his gut grew faster than he anticipated as the man’s tongue drew shapes across his cock. The vibrations coming from him elicited another groan of ecstasy.

His only acknowledgement of Edward's warning was a choked exhale as he continued taking the other man. He sought to serve Edward in the same way he served him with the construction of his lab. The flip in power and quick procession of events was an easy decision since he knew Nigma enjoyed being rewarded, praised, for his efforts.

Jonathan was not a giving man—far from it—but it was difficult to ignore the credit that Edward deserved for this particular gift. Additionally, if Crane gained some amount of satisfaction from giving head, well…

The sounds from Jonathan taking him so enthusiastically, the grip on his hips holding him in place, the sight of him below him, the suddenness of the moment, the intensity of the experience-

Edward came. His voice breathless, and the final sounds that departed from his lips were soft as bliss seized him by the shoulders.

The tension in his body eased as he rode out his orgasm. His hands pried away from the table. The back of his hand wiped away the dampness on his forehead.

His knees shook slightly as he caught his breath, and his muscles ached from the back to back sessions.

Exhaling a small laugh as he stood up, his knees popped grotesquely at the movement. "I'm pleased you enjoyed yourself," he said, only a minor hoarseness afflicting his tone that would dissipate after a few minutes of catching his breath.

“Immensely.” He exhaled, scanning Jonathan up and down before a light smirk decorated his features. The other’s enthusiasm was filed away to be picked a part later. The slight raspiness that trailed after each word spoken by Crane was an intoxicating sound.

“Dare I say you did too?” Edward’s tone was still breathless, exhaustion demanding he find a place to sit and rest. His eyes followed Jonathan’s gaze to his chest, flicking back up to Jonathan’s gaze. He tilted his head up to show off the markings that he had left upon his pale flesh.

In truth, Edward really appreciated the desire Jonathan had to leave his mark on him. The bruises, the hickeys, the crescent shapes in his hips, the red marks down his back, the bites, the blood drawn.. all of it. Edward thoroughly enjoyed the reminders in the mirror, and the pride he was able to witness in Jonathan’s eyes at his efforts, his success.

He liked being claimed, being Jonathan’s.

However. He didn’t want anyone else knowing that he was. The visual of The Riddler delivering crucial information to a panel of rogues only to be interrupted and questioned about a suspicious series of bruises peaking out from the collar of his shirt? Unacceptable.

Did that happen before? Yes, unfortunately it did.

From the mouth and hands of one, Harvey Dent, in a half-remembered drunken night sworn to secrecy.

"I have no clue what you could be referring to," he said, abjectly refusing to acknowledge the truth that Edward's words contained. Jonathan raised an eyebrow at the other's indication of the varied marks he left on him, considering the litany of complaints he received upon bestowing them.

The night had captured Jonathan in an odd mood. While his regular cantankerousness was present, he was far more receptive to Edward's presence. He chalked it up to the lack of time they had spent together in the past several weeks after his partner recovered from the torture Sionis enabled. This had been the first evening they had purposefully spent together in quite some time, and Crane would never admit to enjoying it.

Rubbing his chest gently, Edward crossed his arms as the cold found its way back to him. His eyes scanned the lab in awe of what he was able to create for his partner.

They were men of science, academia, research, learning. They kept their minds sharp and each other on their toes. He was thrilled at the opportunity to give Jonathan more to achieve those things.

Laughing lightly, Edward took a few steps towards Jonathan. "Don't make it sound like a chore, darling." Leaning up, he planted a kiss to the man's cheek.

"I always wish to have you lying next to me." He answered as if it were obvious. "but..." He started, eyes scanning the other's.

"I'll be there if you'd rather stay up and-", he gestured to the lab around them, "-get familiar with your workspace."

"Any experimentation would be best served after a good night's rest on that ridiculously expensive bed of ours," Jonathan mused, approaching the stairs before indicating for Edward to proceed.

Silently appreciating the sight in front of him, he followed the other up the flight of steps, turning off the light before he shut the door behind them. Despite living with each other over the past month, their sleep schedules were so erratic that they rarely retired to bed at the same time. They typically only shared a few hours of sleep together before one of them crawled out to dive headfirst back into their respective project. Jonathan thus appreciated the moment for what it was worth.

He knew he would be enjoying the new bed—not only for activities that have already transpired, but the rest. Jonathan’s bed at his flat… served the designed purpose; however, the occasional squeaky spring and nights with stiff joints served as a constant reminder that they needed an upgrade.

Glancing at the stairs, Edward exhaled. His body was drained in all meanings of the term. His head fell back slightly as he glanced at Jonathan. A sense of pride enveloping the other man—clearly pleased with how he ruined him, marked him, claimed him.

Edward would be lying if he wasn’t pleased as well.

Grasping the railing, Edward led the way. His muscles were tight as they made their way up both flights of stairs.

There was a bubble of warmth brewing in his chest, and sent a buzz to his head at being chosen over the lab. Although there was truth in Jonathan’s response, it was satisfying to have him accompany him to bed.

There had not been many moments lately like this, and Edward truly treasured it.

Until Jonathan made his comment.

Flashing a grin as he approached his side of the bed, “I’m glad you’re pleased.” He hummed, flipping back the covers as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his pants.

Crane was satisfied for now at the state of their bedroom floor. For a man who prided himself on his tidiness, Edward seemed to enjoy the clothing littering the ground. Although, Crane supposed that could be more as a reminder of the thorough devesting they experienced at each other's hand. He glanced at Edward, doing a subtle double-take when he noticed the other's sweatpants meeting the aforementioned collection of articles.

No matter how often it occurred and how frequently he was privy to it, he did not believe he would ever become accustomed to the fact that his partner possessed virtually no shame regarding nudity, especially in front of him. Ignoring the slight heat that always decorated the tips of his ears when he noticed, Jonathan disappeared into the en suite.

As he prepared himself for bed, it was difficult to ignore the recurring fondness that bubbled up whenever he noticed anything Edward placed thought into. From the coordinating linens and decor all the way to one of the his and her sinks that was clearly established for Jonathan's use, it was evident that Edward had been planning this move for quite some time. He knew it was ridiculous feeling this way, but this entire residence set up contained the most thought that anyone had ever placed into something for him.

It was unnerving.

It was appreciated.

Glancing at Jonathan’s sink, Edward smiled to himself before spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his toothbrush. A pleasant warmth coiling up inside him.

Returning as Jonathan was finishing up picking through the littered accessories and bits from their costumes, Edward slipped out of his sweatpants.

His eyes catching Jonathan’s for a brief moment before he departed into the bathroom likely to complete the same routine he did.

The discarded clothes, the constant reminders around him of Jonathan’s presence in this abode filled him with.. a bothersome happiness.

The months they had shared living with each other were among the greatest experiences he had had.

If it were up to him, this arrangement would never change; and he hoped the other was in the same frame of mind.

The bed was the right blend of soft and firm, and Edward knew he’d be sleeping well.

Jonathan's breath hitched as Edward hastily pulled away as a scowl draped upon his sharp features. The bite was a pleasant sensation, despite no pain radiating from the area, and the feeling gave way to images of himself biting Edward in the same area.

He tsked in displeasure at the other's words, his length twitching again at the contact. Despite being denied his finish, Crane could not deny the anticipation that crawled through his veins at the control Edward exuded. He wanted to know how far that control extended, and if there was any possibility of the other enjoying a reversal.

Somehow, Jonathan knew that would be the case, solely judging on his streak of poor decisions that Crane felt like he facilitated.

The thought of being under the other’s thumb was not new. The ideas of such had crossed his mind many, many times.

“I’m not sure if you could keep up though… considering how much work I’m putting in.” He teased, squeezing Jonathan’s thighs before moving up the bed next to the professor to fish the lubricant out of the side table.

He was curious if the other had it in him, and wondered if there would be any consequence to the quip.

The banter was an exciting element to their- this.

His past encounters had been few and far between. There was the rare and occasional fling with Selina—who kept him on his toes and always surprised with each encounter. Aside from her… the relationships he had briefly been in over the last two years were quickly revealed as toxic and unhealthy.

The lack of a commitment made room for all the fantasies he had of Jonathan to run freely.

Oh, how little he knew.

Despite the raised hackles, he rolled his eyes. "I'll add to that collection of bruises I see developing if you maintain that disrespect." Regardless, satisfaction curled in his gut as Edward collected the lubricant, and Crane picked the bottle up from its tossed position on the bed.

A silent sigh of relief escaped him as he freed his tight, confined length and discarded the article of clothing to the side with the rest.

He truly hoped there would be another opportunity to lay with the other man—but he wouldn’t be the one to say it first.

He had to restrain another eye roll at Edward's bait. "That insolence will get the best of you one day," he chastised, uncapping the lubricant as Edward settled a pleasant weight on his hips. After coating the fingers of his left hand, he wrapped his arm around the other, digits trailing to the cleft of his ass as he teased Edward's entrance. Jonathan smiled all-too-sweetly as he pressed his middle finger into his hole, viewing his reactions with a lidded gaze.

Edward inhaled a sharp breath at the cold substance brushing against him, but an undeniable gasp escaped him at the finger that entered him.

That’s what allowed the moan to escape through his parted lips as Jonathan brushed against his prostate. His fingers curled to leave crescent shapes in the doctor’s flesh.

The feeling was fleeting, but fuck was he eager to feel that again.

Before another sound of weakness could get past him, Edward leaned down to capture the man’s lips in a searing kiss. His tongue eager to savor the other’s taste.

He pulled away as Jonathan retracted his fingers—which he immediately missed; however, the sight of Crane prepping himself for him was glorious to witness.

Precum beaded down his length as his eyes observed the gesture from Jon’s right hand. A salacious smirk overtaking him as he rose to his knees to readjust himself.

Edward reached down to grasp Jonathan’s length to guide it to his eager entrance. A ragged shudder washed over him at the feeling of the head of his cock pressed against him.

Watching Edward sink down onto his length, Jonathan anchored his body still, captivated by the enthusiasm the other exuded. He knew he was going to be left unsatisfied from this encounter, but god he wanted the image of Edward impaling himself seared onto the inside of his eyelids.

A groan spilled from Jonathan's lips as his cock met the tight heat of Edward's ass. His lips were parted from the kiss, features glazed with lust. Fingers dug into the soft flesh of Edward's hip, steadying him as he adjusted to Jonathan's size. "You're doing so good for me," he breathed, giving a squeeze as he fought for purchase.

There was more to it though—Originating from an unknown source, scratching an area of his brain that was shrouded in darkness. A tightness developed in his chest as a red tint took residence in his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“I know I am.” He whispered, with a slow and experimental tilt. Edward rolled his hips, gasping at the little and electric sparks of pleasure it sent through him. “Now tell me exactly how it feels.”

It was not lost on him that this was the first time in eons since he had taken something from a human consensually. It sprouted a foreign feeling, something that Crane would rather not dwell on, as he threw his neck back, baring his teeth at the conflicting sensations creeping through his body. "Godlike."

Jonathan hadn't meant the word to escape his throat. A profession of that nature was better off sealed away, but it wasn't inaccurate. His regard for the genius had developed faster than intended, even with his string of plots forming against him. A sordid mix of self-loathing and lust clouded his judgement, the heady combination only aiding his easy acceptance of Edward's advancements. His mind was foggy, a feeling he had not felt outside of abject bloodlust, as the boldness that initially pinged his words melted away to blurred satisfaction.

Tightening his grip on the other's waist, he wouldn't be surprised if a collection of bruises would be left in his fingers' wake. He allowed Edward to set a rhythm, a lidded gaze trailing every part of the other's body, as control was lost for the first time in favor of easy submission.

There was mild surprise in the other not seeking control, but Edward was very pleased that he opted for handing it over to him.

Jonathan’s words—or rather single word response—ran through his system like a wildfire. Godlike.

The word was cemented to memory.

Edward’s eyes darkened with a mix of pride and lust as the word hung in the air.

His eyes surveyed the crumbling man whose neck was stretched out towards the headboard, his hands digging into his skin—the pressure of which sent chills to all the right places as his cock twitched with every ounce of added force.

Meeting Jonathan’s gaze was electrifying. His heady expression utterly beautiful and captivating as he rode him, felt him inside of him.

Jonathan's toes curled against the bed as the knot forming in his stomach began tightening. His hips began meeting Edward's movements halfway--bucking into the man as he matched his rhythm. One of his hands migrated to the other's cock. Using the pre that had leaked onto his stomach as lubrication, he matched jerky strokes in time with their movements, wanting to give Edward even an ounce of the pleasure that he returned.

A few moments of this continued, the pressure in his length mounting as sparks of pleasure reached his extremities. Feeling that he was not going to last much longer, he warned, "Edward… I'm gonna-"

His body was vibrating with pleasure. The movements from Jonathan created a sense of delirium and bliss.

What truly pushed him towards the edge, teetering off the jagged cliff was the hand that met his neglected length.

His head fell back, eyes rolling back as a groan of satisfaction climbed out of his throat. The sounds only grew as Edward’s motions evolved to something more needy. The control and his composure broke at the simultaneous stimuli.

One of Edward’s hands moved to press against the headboard of the bed. The other moved to Jonathan’s shoulder as the man brought him closer, and closer..

His eyes were glossy, glazed over as they shared this moment—bringing each other towards their climax.

It was intriguing that he acquired it so soon.

Crane was normally quick, analytical, and observing when it came to sex, but being victim to Edward's attempt for control stirred something unfamiliar within him that caused many of his rough edges to melt away.

Regardless, the enthusiastic consent to finish inside him drove him over the edge alone. The prospect was intoxicating—utterly hot, even. It only took a few seconds for Jonathan to let go, Edward's tight heat fitting like a glove over him.

He continued jerking Edward off as Jonathan came, a soft grunt leaving his throat. Nails began digging into Edward's hip, hoping, praying blood would not be drawn, and his hips continued thrusting into his to ride the waves of pleasure.

He appreciated the opportunity to try things he had observed—and been subjected to—in other scenes behind closed doors. Selina was always in charge, so this was a delightful change of scenery.

The tension between the two of them had bloomed so quickly. Edward’s attraction to Jonathan was undeniable, and had been a difficult thing to conceal.

What he’d never admit to anyone… The night he believed to have had cracked the Jersey Reaper case and convinced himself of the killer being Jonathan Crane had genuinely filled him with such disappointment and a cold that crept through him at the loss of what could have been.

He was relieved to have been wrong.

Feeling Jonathan’s release inside of him in combination with the continuation of the thrusting and stroking caused his body to tighten around the man beneath him. The nails digging into his skin was the final push that caused him to finish.

Exhaling a shaky breath mixed with a groan, Edward’s hand left Jonathan’s shoulder to join the other hand grasping the edge of the headboard as he leaned forward slightly. His hair falling to frame his face as his eyes shut through the waves of pleasure coursing through them simultaneously.

The entire experience was euphoric, and unfortunately would leave him wanting more.

Crane shifted upwards, his left hand easily supporting his weight, to capture Edward in a gentle kiss. The movement caused him to wilt free of Edward and exhale a soft grunt into the other's mouth.

"Yeah," he breathed, pulling away. "There should be a stack of them on a shelf." He leaned back onto the bed, the recent orgasm causing his limbs to be weaker than desired. "'Door on the right."

The endorphins coursing through his system were not as strong as the ones occurring from a recent feed, but they were pleasant enough as he watched the other man attempt to procure a cloth. A distinct post-coital haze settled over them, making his movements lethargic as the scent of Edward's sweat and their coupling proliferated the air.

Edward’s dark eyes glanced at Jonathan’s lips as the he shifted, and was pleased when they met his.

He felt Jonathan slip out of him—missing the feeling—and a muffled grunt escaped through his lips.

“I’ll be right back then.” He said with a smile, enjoying the closeness. The feeling was intimate, gentle which contrasted to the moment they had just finished sharing.

But it left him wanting more.

Setting his hands on either side of Jonathan’s head, Edward leaned down to capture his lips in a tender kiss.

Pulling away with a smile, Edward moved off of Jonathan. He used the side table to stabilize himself as his legs woke up from their previous position.

Departing to retrieve a towel, he entered the bathroom. His eyes catching himself in the mirror.

The bruises from earlier clashed against his pale skin. His hand trailed across his right hip where red markings bore down to the bone from Jonathan’s grip.

Biting his lip, Edward smirked. Pushing back his sweet slicked hair, he quickly cleaned himself up and wiped the bit of himself that got on his stomach.

Regardless, he refused to allow the conflict to show on his face as his gaze unabashedly followed Edward until he disappeared from sight. Crane pushed himself into a seated position, the post-coital clarity knocking around as his eyes sifted through the collection of clothing on the ground.

Despite finishing just moments ago, he was still left wanting as their night hardly scratched the surface of obtaining what he desired from the other man. Glimpses of fantasies shuffled through his brain.

He wanted to see Edward shivering under his hand, begging for the salvation he could bring him. To see his tousled auburn hair spread on the pillow like a halo around him. See the beads of red that would accumulate on his neck as Jonathan drained the very substance that kept him living.

His arms snaked behind his head which turned to look over Jonathan.

Edward wasn't sure what the extent of his welcome was. Last week, he had pushed well beyond the limits (in his opinion) and now here he was again. Despite these circumstances being significantly better, Edward respected the man's privacy and would go if that was what was requested.

Besides.. a shower sounded wonderful about now.

Entirely too blissed out to entertain any false pretense, he rolled his eyes. "Of course you do not. You started it," he commented, wanting to avoid any conversation that would delve into their individual feelings on one another for the time being.

Approaching the foot of the bed, he surveyed Edward's sprawled frame. Jonathan wrapped a hand around an ankle, instinctively feeling for the pulse point there. "I'm unsure what your plans are, but my shower and bed are open to you for the night."

His lips parted to fire another comment—something along the lines of not seeing Jonathan complain about his advances—but paused as he approached him.

Watching Jonathan’s lithe fingers wrap around his ankle, Edward’s eyes flicked back up to Crane’s.

He kept his expression cool, despite the annoying excitement at the invitation to stay.

“I’ll take you up on that.” He answered with a growing smile. Moving his hands out from under him, Edward sat up—ignoring the pain as lust and adrenaline were no longer present in his body so the pain was no longer masked.

Unfortunately, knowing the man in front of him, he was positive Edward would attempt to seduce him once more.

"Not tonight," he said softly, meeting the bright set of greens that belonged to Edward. "If you need anything, however, do let me know." The last words were his attempt at being flirtatious, not wanting to leave the impression the other was undesired.

The phrase 'not tonight' indicated that more nights would occur like this, and could lead to them sharing a shower together. This interpretation made his blood run warm for a brief moment.

Sliding forward, Edward rose from the bed in close proximity to the other man as his eyes scanned Jonathan's. "And if it's you I need?" Edward teased, letting his fingers brush against the other's hip.

Continued indulgences, if Nigma kept this up.

"Then you would be wise to clue me into that development," Jonathan said, completely unable to help himself as his left hand stabled him on the tall post of the bed. His voice was dripping with honey as he leaned closer into Edward's space, a complacent expression obscuring the uncertainty in his features.

The man’s tone of voice made his own head buzz with want. “I think you have all the evidence you need.” The implication being obvious as his eyes flicked to the other’s lips.

He would deny the exhale that pushed past his lips as Jonathan leaned forward, attributing it to regaining his strength and energy from their previous activity.

Edward’s left hand grasped Jonathan’s hip as his right hand brushed and braced against the bed, not wanting to remove himself from this position and finding stability.

The kiss was exactly what he wanted, and the hidden meaning behind it left Edward wanting more. As a toothy grin crossed his features as Jonathan pulled away.

The fingers on his neck sent a shiver of delight down his spine. Eyes locked onto Jonathan’s, Edward tilted his neck to the left. “I don’t mind if you leave a mark.” His voice was akin to a whisper, as if he was divulging a secret.

Jonathan was careening down a path he was not sure he would make it out of unscathed. Eyes trailing down Edward's neck, he came to a resolution as a beat of hesitance occurred.

He had to stop.

As he enjoyed the vestiges of cologne that still clung to Edward's skin, his gaze returned to the others' as he ignored his mouth watering. "Perhaps we should leave some things to be explored later," Jonathan said, rubbing his thumb lightly on the other's neck before sliding his hand down his chest. He allowed a mysterious quality into his tone with the intent to lessen the blow for Nigma.

It wasn't as though Jonathan was uninterested in the prospect—quite the opposite, actually. He was aware his limitations better than most, and knew that sucking a mark onto Edward would only introduce other problems that were not as easily solved.

A slow smirk formed on his face after hearing the words. The decline didn’t make Edward feel rejected or unwanted; in fact, it left him all the more curious since this was the second comment in a short burst of time that promised more.

Nigma wasn’t a lustful man. His charisma and demeanor gave people the opposite impression, but Edward purely did it for the love of the game—and the attention. However, Jonathan Crane stoked a fire inside of him that he didn’t know was burning.

He welcomed the consumption of himself by the flames.

“You know how to leave a man wanting more.” He complimented softly, enjoying the feeling of contact on his neck before straightening his head to look up at the other.

He chuckled—remembering that that had been the original intent in arriving here. “Offer still stands.” He quipped, brushing his own fingers across the mark he had left on Jonathan.

Visibly pressing his tongue against his canine, Edward looked up at Jonathan once more before letting the hand on Crane’s hip trail along his abdomen to the other hip as Edward departed to the bathroom.

Leaving the door ajar, Edward mirrored similar movements as earlier. His eyes, which looked more blue in this lighting, trailing back over the various splotches of color decorating his flesh.

Setting the towel on the back of the toilet, he moved to turn on the water.

As the water heated up, Edward was left alone with his post-coital thoughts. The undeniable truth that this… brief fling wouldn’t venture outside of this house. Not that Edward was incredibly needy and demanded a relationship after giving his body to Jonathan; but…

He wouldn’t deny the desire of seeing the man more like this, exploring each other, learning more than one can visiting a morgue or crime scene surrounded by police and death.

It was unfortunate conditions—being patient and co-worker, doctor and suspect; but, perhaps that was the catalyst for this to happen.

Pulling back the curtain and stepping into the warm, humid air and hot water, Edward smiled. It was going to be fun toying with the other regardless of what comes out of tonight.

Jonathan's breath hitched as Edward hastily pulled away as a scowl draped upon his sharp features. The bite was a pleasant sensation, despite no pain radiating from the area, and the feeling gave way to images of himself biting Edward in the same area.

He tsked in displeasure at the other's words, his length twitching again at the contact. Despite being denied his finish, Crane could not deny the anticipation that crawled through his veins at the control Edward exuded. He wanted to know how far that control extended, and if there was any possibility of the other enjoying a reversal.

Somehow, Jonathan knew that would be the case, solely judging on his streak of poor decisions that Crane felt like he facilitated.

The thought of being under the other’s thumb was not new. The ideas of such had crossed his mind many, many times.

“I’m not sure if you could keep up though… considering how much work I’m putting in.” He teased, squeezing Jonathan’s thighs before moving up the bed next to the professor to fish the lubricant out of the side table.

He was curious if the other had it in him, and wondered if there would be any consequence to the quip.

The banter was an exciting element to their- this.

His past encounters had been few and far between. There was the rare and occasional fling with Selina—who kept him on his toes and always surprised with each encounter. Aside from her… the relationships he had briefly been in over the last two years were quickly revealed as toxic and unhealthy.

The lack of a commitment made room for all the fantasies he had of Jonathan to run freely.

Oh, how little he knew.

Despite the raised hackles, he rolled his eyes. "I'll add to that collection of bruises I see developing if you maintain that disrespect." Regardless, satisfaction curled in his gut as Edward collected the lubricant, and Crane picked the bottle up from its tossed position on the bed.

A silent sigh of relief escaped him as he freed his tight, confined length and discarded the article of clothing to the side with the rest.

He truly hoped there would be another opportunity to lay with the other man—but he wouldn’t be the one to say it first.

He had to restrain another eye roll at Edward's bait. "That insolence will get the best of you one day," he chastised, uncapping the lubricant as Edward settled a pleasant weight on his hips. After coating the fingers of his left hand, he wrapped his arm around the other, digits trailing to the cleft of his ass as he teased Edward's entrance. Jonathan smiled all-too-sweetly as he pressed his middle finger into his hole, viewing his reactions with a lidded gaze.

Edward inhaled a sharp breath at the cold substance brushing against him, but an undeniable gasp escaped him at the finger that entered him.

That’s what allowed the moan to escape through his parted lips as Jonathan brushed against his prostate. His fingers curled to leave crescent shapes in the doctor’s flesh.

The feeling was fleeting, but fuck was he eager to feel that again.

Before another sound of weakness could get past him, Edward leaned down to capture the man’s lips in a searing kiss. His tongue eager to savor the other’s taste.

He pulled away as Jonathan retracted his fingers—which he immediately missed; however, the sight of Crane prepping himself for him was glorious to witness.

Precum beaded down his length as his eyes observed the gesture from Jon’s right hand. A salacious smirk overtaking him as he rose to his knees to readjust himself.

Edward reached down to grasp Jonathan’s length to guide it to his eager entrance. A ragged shudder washed over him at the feeling of the head of his cock pressed against him.

Watching Edward sink down onto his length, Jonathan anchored his body still, captivated by the enthusiasm the other exuded. He knew he was going to be left unsatisfied from this encounter, but god he wanted the image of Edward impaling himself seared onto the inside of his eyelids.

A groan spilled from Jonathan's lips as his cock met the tight heat of Edward's ass. His lips were parted from the kiss, features glazed with lust. Fingers dug into the soft flesh of Edward's hip, steadying him as he adjusted to Jonathan's size. "You're doing so good for me," he breathed, giving a squeeze as he fought for purchase.

There was more to it though—Originating from an unknown source, scratching an area of his brain that was shrouded in darkness. A tightness developed in his chest as a red tint took residence in his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“I know I am.” He whispered, with a slow and experimental tilt. Edward rolled his hips, gasping at the little and electric sparks of pleasure it sent through him. “Now tell me exactly how it feels.”

It was not lost on him that this was the first time in eons since he had taken something from a human consensually. It sprouted a foreign feeling, something that Crane would rather not dwell on, as he threw his neck back, baring his teeth at the conflicting sensations creeping through his body. "Godlike."

Jonathan hadn't meant the word to escape his throat. A profession of that nature was better off sealed away, but it wasn't inaccurate. His regard for the genius had developed faster than intended, even with his string of plots forming against him. A sordid mix of self-loathing and lust clouded his judgement, the heady combination only aiding his easy acceptance of Edward's advancements. His mind was foggy, a feeling he had not felt outside of abject bloodlust, as the boldness that initially pinged his words melted away to blurred satisfaction.

Tightening his grip on the other's waist, he wouldn't be surprised if a collection of bruises would be left in his fingers' wake. He allowed Edward to set a rhythm, a lidded gaze trailing every part of the other's body, as control was lost for the first time in favor of easy submission.

There was mild surprise in the other not seeking control, but Edward was very pleased that he opted for handing it over to him.

Jonathan’s words—or rather single word response—ran through his system like a wildfire. Godlike.

The word was cemented to memory.

Edward’s eyes darkened with a mix of pride and lust as the word hung in the air.

His eyes surveyed the crumbling man whose neck was stretched out towards the headboard, his hands digging into his skin—the pressure of which sent chills to all the right places as his cock twitched with every ounce of added force.

Meeting Jonathan’s gaze was electrifying. His heady expression utterly beautiful and captivating as he rode him, felt him inside of him.

Jonathan's toes curled against the bed as the knot forming in his stomach began tightening. His hips began meeting Edward's movements halfway--bucking into the man as he matched his rhythm. One of his hands migrated to the other's cock. Using the pre that had leaked onto his stomach as lubrication, he matched jerky strokes in time with their movements, wanting to give Edward even an ounce of the pleasure that he returned.

A few moments of this continued, the pressure in his length mounting as sparks of pleasure reached his extremities. Feeling that he was not going to last much longer, he warned, "Edward… I'm gonna-"

His body was vibrating with pleasure. The movements from Jonathan created a sense of delirium and bliss.

What truly pushed him towards the edge, teetering off the jagged cliff was the hand that met his neglected length.

His head fell back, eyes rolling back as a groan of satisfaction climbed out of his throat. The sounds only grew as Edward’s motions evolved to something more needy. The control and his composure broke at the simultaneous stimuli.

One of Edward’s hands moved to press against the headboard of the bed. The other moved to Jonathan’s shoulder as the man brought him closer, and closer..

His eyes were glossy, glazed over as they shared this moment—bringing each other towards their climax.

It was intriguing that he acquired it so soon.

Crane was normally quick, analytical, and observing when it came to sex, but being victim to Edward's attempt for control stirred something unfamiliar within him that caused many of his rough edges to melt away.

Regardless, the enthusiastic consent to finish inside him drove him over the edge alone. The prospect was intoxicating—utterly hot, even. It only took a few seconds for Jonathan to let go, Edward's tight heat fitting like a glove over him.

He continued jerking Edward off as Jonathan came, a soft grunt leaving his throat. Nails began digging into Edward's hip, hoping, praying blood would not be drawn, and his hips continued thrusting into his to ride the waves of pleasure.

He appreciated the opportunity to try things he had observed—and been subjected to—in other scenes behind closed doors. Selina was always in charge, so this was a delightful change of scenery.

The tension between the two of them had bloomed so quickly. Edward’s attraction to Jonathan was undeniable, and had been a difficult thing to conceal.

What he’d never admit to anyone… The night he believed to have had cracked the Jersey Reaper case and convinced himself of the killer being Jonathan Crane had genuinely filled him with such disappointment and a cold that crept through him at the loss of what could have been.

He was relieved to have been wrong.

Feeling Jonathan’s release inside of him in combination with the continuation of the thrusting and stroking caused his body to tighten around the man beneath him. The nails digging into his skin was the final push that caused him to finish.

Exhaling a shaky breath mixed with a groan, Edward’s hand left Jonathan’s shoulder to join the other hand grasping the edge of the headboard as he leaned forward slightly. His hair falling to frame his face as his eyes shut through the waves of pleasure coursing through them simultaneously.

The entire experience was euphoric, and unfortunately would leave him wanting more.

Crane shifted upwards, his left hand easily supporting his weight, to capture Edward in a gentle kiss. The movement caused him to wilt free of Edward and exhale a soft grunt into the other's mouth.

"Yeah," he breathed, pulling away. "There should be a stack of them on a shelf." He leaned back onto the bed, the recent orgasm causing his limbs to be weaker than desired. "'Door on the right."

The endorphins coursing through his system were not as strong as the ones occurring from a recent feed, but they were pleasant enough as he watched the other man attempt to procure a cloth. A distinct post-coital haze settled over them, making his movements lethargic as the scent of Edward's sweat and their coupling proliferated the air.

Edward’s dark eyes glanced at Jonathan’s lips as the he shifted, and was pleased when they met his.

He felt Jonathan slip out of him—missing the feeling—and a muffled grunt escaped through his lips.

“I’ll be right back then.” He said with a smile, enjoying the closeness. The feeling was intimate, gentle which contrasted to the moment they had just finished sharing.

But it left him wanting more.

Setting his hands on either side of Jonathan’s head, Edward leaned down to capture his lips in a tender kiss.

Pulling away with a smile, Edward moved off of Jonathan. He used the side table to stabilize himself as his legs woke up from their previous position.

Departing to retrieve a towel, he entered the bathroom. His eyes catching himself in the mirror.

The bruises from earlier clashed against his pale skin. His hand trailed across his right hip where red markings bore down to the bone from Jonathan’s grip.

Biting his lip, Edward smirked. Pushing back his sweet slicked hair, he quickly cleaned himself up and wiped the bit of himself that got on his stomach.

Regardless, he refused to allow the conflict to show on his face as his gaze unabashedly followed Edward until he disappeared from sight. Crane pushed himself into a seated position, the post-coital clarity knocking around as his eyes sifted through the collection of clothing on the ground.

Despite finishing just moments ago, he was still left wanting as their night hardly scratched the surface of obtaining what he desired from the other man. Glimpses of fantasies shuffled through his brain.

He wanted to see Edward shivering under his hand, begging for the salvation he could bring him. To see his tousled auburn hair spread on the pillow like a halo around him. See the beads of red that would accumulate on his neck as Jonathan drained the very substance that kept him living.

His arms snaked behind his head which turned to look over Jonathan.

Edward wasn't sure what the extent of his welcome was. Last week, he had pushed well beyond the limits (in his opinion) and now here he was again. Despite these circumstances being significantly better, Edward respected the man's privacy and would go if that was what was requested.

Besides.. a shower sounded wonderful about now.

Entirely too blissed out to entertain any false pretense, he rolled his eyes. "Of course you do not. You started it," he commented, wanting to avoid any conversation that would delve into their individual feelings on one another for the time being.

Approaching the foot of the bed, he surveyed Edward's sprawled frame. Jonathan wrapped a hand around an ankle, instinctively feeling for the pulse point there. "I'm unsure what your plans are, but my shower and bed are open to you for the night."

His lips parted to fire another comment—something along the lines of not seeing Jonathan complain about his advances—but paused as he approached him.

Watching Jonathan’s lithe fingers wrap around his ankle, Edward’s eyes flicked back up to Crane’s.

He kept his expression cool, despite the annoying excitement at the invitation to stay.

“I’ll take you up on that.” He answered with a growing smile. Moving his hands out from under him, Edward sat up—ignoring the pain as lust and adrenaline were no longer present in his body so the pain was no longer masked.

Unfortunately, knowing the man in front of him, he was positive Edward would attempt to seduce him once more.

"Not tonight," he said softly, meeting the bright set of greens that belonged to Edward. "If you need anything, however, do let me know." The last words were his attempt at being flirtatious, not wanting to leave the impression the other was undesired.

The phrase 'not tonight' indicated that more nights would occur like this, and could lead to them sharing a shower together. This interpretation made his blood run warm for a brief moment.

Sliding forward, Edward rose from the bed in close proximity to the other man as his eyes scanned Jonathan's. "And if it's you I need?" Edward teased, letting his fingers brush against the other's hip.

Continued indulgences, if Nigma kept this up.

"Then you would be wise to clue me into that development," Jonathan said, completely unable to help himself as his left hand stabled him on the tall post of the bed. His voice was dripping with honey as he leaned closer into Edward's space, a complacent expression obscuring the uncertainty in his features.

The man’s tone of voice made his own head buzz with want. “I think you have all the evidence you need.” The implication being obvious as his eyes flicked to the other’s lips.

He would deny the exhale that pushed past his lips as Jonathan leaned forward, attributing it to regaining his strength and energy from their previous activity.

Edward’s left hand grasped Jonathan’s hip as his right hand brushed and braced against the bed, not wanting to remove himself from this position and finding stability.

The kiss was exactly what he wanted, and the hidden meaning behind it left Edward wanting more. As a toothy grin crossed his features as Jonathan pulled away.

The fingers on his neck sent a shiver of delight down his spine. Eyes locked onto Jonathan’s, Edward tilted his neck to the left. “I don’t mind if you leave a mark.” His voice was akin to a whisper, as if he was divulging a secret.

Nothing says New Year's Resolution like annihilating your enemies.

The details of their next phase of revenge on Roman Sionis was finally at a close. The planning had been excruciating as both Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane were eager to sink their teeth into the crime lord.

Luckily for them, they would get the opportunity to tonight.

The plan was to go exactly where the program was housed and attacking Sionis directly in the proces. Edward was--unfortunately--intimately familiar with the location: the warehouse where Nigma had worked for a time for the criminal.

Using a page out of Sionis' book, Edward had a few men feigning loyalty to Black Mask. One of which was a closer hench--Mark--and one he trusted far more than any other in this role.

After arguing over semantics, the two men decided that Edward's men would operate similarly to the bank heist months ago and administer Crane's fear gas through the ventilation to knock out everyone in the facility. Jonathan had dedicated some time to adjust his toxin since he was provided one of the False Face masks--ensuring they'd be more susceptible.

Edward had nothing new in his arsenal--except for the gold plated gun that once belonged to Sionis. That was going with him.

Once the gas was released, Edward and Jonathan (and a few of Edward's men) were going to enter the building, steal back the program thus shutting it down, and then killing Roman and Zsasz.

As long as nothing interrupted them from doing such.

Oh, and Jonathan's sarin would be making its debut.

The thought wasn't near as intimidating for Edward since he had his new mask that Jonathan had gifted him.

Exhaling slowly, Edward scanned himself in the mirror. Donning the same outfit he had worn when he blew up the bridges and surge walls to Founder's Island.

His gloved hand trailed down the scar on his face. Digits lingering on the tainted flesh as his eyes flicked to Jonathan's reflection.

Edward was never wrong.

But..

Despite the meticulous planning, concern clawed its way through the reinforced steel of his mind. They were beyond prepared to take the duo and their goons on yet a subtle, quiet fear for the unknown probabilities permeated into his mindspace in the wake of concern for his partner.

It was foolish and unnecessary to feel such weak emotions. Jonathan Crane was more than capable to handle himself.

Labeling the doubts to being nervous, Edward pressed the domino mask onto his face. The gas mask he'd get to use was attached to his belt since there was no need for him to wear it until they got where they were going.

And where was that?

It felt almost like a date.

He was donned in his full regalia—mask and hat included. Various forms of his toxin as attached to his body, ranging from aerosol sprays strapped to his legs, to bombs in a pouch on his side, to the autoinjectors attached to his wrist. He was sure he possessed enough toxin to incapacitate over 100 people, but that did not mean anything if they were unable to even approach his target.

It had been many months since the last appearance of the Scarecrow, and he was eager to make this an incident many would not forget.

Most of all Sionis.

Crane knew Edward was hot for revenge. While their discussions were typically structured, the passion in his voice and intricacy of detail all indicated that he was bursting at the seams to put the Black Mask and Victor Zsasz to their knees. Jonathan did not have many complaints about his plans, as he was also keen on showing that they were not to be trifled with.

A suppressed jitteriness afflicted him as the van he was riding in came to a stop. The feeling did not stem from fear, but from the barely-contained excitement he held at the prospect of finally enacting revenge on the individual who physically tortured both him and his partner.

He possessed a device comeuppance in store for the Black Mask.

His eyes moved to Edward, who occupied the other side of the large van they were in. It felt almost freeing to be able to peer at his partner without him having the ability to meet his gaze due to the one-way mirrors that made up the eyeholes of his mask.

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he parroted the words from their previous heist together.

The drive felt shorter than he wanted it to. His brain was in overdrive—calculating everything, memorizing the exact route they’d take once they got there, mentally preparing for any obstacles.

The Riddler was naturally an anxious man, so yes.. he was a touch nervous.

Jonathan’s words irritated him because he was right, but he refused to let it show.

Unclipping the gas mask from his belt, Edward scoffed. “You need to get your eyes checked.” He joked with a smirk, eyes meeting the mirrored pieces of their mask knowing Jonathan’s eyes were on him. “Anticipation is what you see. My nerves are primed and ready to wreak havoc.”

Rising to his feet, Edward secured the gas mask to his face before flipping the hood up and ensuring he had everything he needed on his person.

Crane understood the reason behind the movement, but he still felt a pang of disappointment when Edward concealed his undyed hair underneath the hood. It was difficult to convey, but Jonathan had a natural predilection for Edward's red tresses. It was a sight that he and he alone was privy to in an informal context, and Jonathan knew he would have to ward off the absurd lament whenever Edward would dye his hair next. Nonetheless, it had nothing to do with the plan at hand.

The plan at hand.

Jonathan had listened to Edward's explanation with rapturous intent; it was simple.

His sarin has was to be flooded into Sionis Steel Mill before they intended to raid the establishment. That ensured that all of Sionis' men were incapacitated in some form or fashion, and he hoped that the crime lord himself would also be subdued, as well. They would shut down the program Nigma had created while also destroying the last vestiges of an empire that Roman clung onto.

But Jonathan knew not to expect everything would go off without a hitch.

After all, even Edward's infallible plans had nasty curves spring up at inopportune moments.

Before their relationship, when meetings were held involving the two of them, Edward’s attention was still always pulled from the conversation to watch Jonathan stride into the building and take his seat. They rarely sat near each other, but there had been times where they discussed topics from across the wide table from one another and even fewer instances of them sitting side-by-side.

The proximity was intimidating and unnerving yet enticing and intriguing.

Before the mirrored eyes on the mask, they would wordlessly challenge one another through their gaze alone. Other times it would be quick witted remarks as the other finished their sentence.

The fear that gripped him by the throat at the awareness of Crane’s presence, sitting behind him. The other leaning forward to whisper words of dread and threat.

Look at how far they’ve come.

Edward slid up his sleeve to check his watch, “Hardly, Jon.” His eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging the other two departing from the front of the van.

He didn’t consider himself afraid or nervous of the upcoming encounter with Sionis, and likely Zsasz as well. Edward was forced to be reunited with them after the brutal events following their discovery of his treachery; and those circumstances are what fueled his revenge and destruction of the man’s empire.

Besides, what was there to be concerned about? They’ll be lying on the floor, consumed by fear, by the time he and Jon finds them.

Jonathan's breath hitched as Edward hastily pulled away as a scowl draped upon his sharp features. The bite was a pleasant sensation, despite no pain radiating from the area, and the feeling gave way to images of himself biting Edward in the same area.

He tsked in displeasure at the other's words, his length twitching again at the contact. Despite being denied his finish, Crane could not deny the anticipation that crawled through his veins at the control Edward exuded. He wanted to know how far that control extended, and if there was any possibility of the other enjoying a reversal.

Somehow, Jonathan knew that would be the case, solely judging on his streak of poor decisions that Crane felt like he facilitated.

The thought of being under the other’s thumb was not new. The ideas of such had crossed his mind many, many times.

“I’m not sure if you could keep up though… considering how much work I’m putting in.” He teased, squeezing Jonathan’s thighs before moving up the bed next to the professor to fish the lubricant out of the side table.

He was curious if the other had it in him, and wondered if there would be any consequence to the quip.

The banter was an exciting element to their- this.

His past encounters had been few and far between. There was the rare and occasional fling with Selina—who kept him on his toes and always surprised with each encounter. Aside from her… the relationships he had briefly been in over the last two years were quickly revealed as toxic and unhealthy.

The lack of a commitment made room for all the fantasies he had of Jonathan to run freely.

Oh, how little he knew.

Despite the raised hackles, he rolled his eyes. "I'll add to that collection of bruises I see developing if you maintain that disrespect." Regardless, satisfaction curled in his gut as Edward collected the lubricant, and Crane picked the bottle up from its tossed position on the bed.

A silent sigh of relief escaped him as he freed his tight, confined length and discarded the article of clothing to the side with the rest.

He truly hoped there would be another opportunity to lay with the other man—but he wouldn’t be the one to say it first.

He had to restrain another eye roll at Edward's bait. "That insolence will get the best of you one day," he chastised, uncapping the lubricant as Edward settled a pleasant weight on his hips. After coating the fingers of his left hand, he wrapped his arm around the other, digits trailing to the cleft of his ass as he teased Edward's entrance. Jonathan smiled all-too-sweetly as he pressed his middle finger into his hole, viewing his reactions with a lidded gaze.

Edward inhaled a sharp breath at the cold substance brushing against him, but an undeniable gasp escaped him at the finger that entered him.

That’s what allowed the moan to escape through his parted lips as Jonathan brushed against his prostate. His fingers curled to leave crescent shapes in the doctor’s flesh.

The feeling was fleeting, but fuck was he eager to feel that again.

Before another sound of weakness could get past him, Edward leaned down to capture the man’s lips in a searing kiss. His tongue eager to savor the other’s taste.

He pulled away as Jonathan retracted his fingers—which he immediately missed; however, the sight of Crane prepping himself for him was glorious to witness.

Precum beaded down his length as his eyes observed the gesture from Jon’s right hand. A salacious smirk overtaking him as he rose to his knees to readjust himself.

Edward reached down to grasp Jonathan’s length to guide it to his eager entrance. A ragged shudder washed over him at the feeling of the head of his cock pressed against him.

Watching Edward sink down onto his length, Jonathan anchored his body still, captivated by the enthusiasm the other exuded. He knew he was going to be left unsatisfied from this encounter, but god he wanted the image of Edward impaling himself seared onto the inside of his eyelids.

A groan spilled from Jonathan's lips as his cock met the tight heat of Edward's ass. His lips were parted from the kiss, features glazed with lust. Fingers dug into the soft flesh of Edward's hip, steadying him as he adjusted to Jonathan's size. "You're doing so good for me," he breathed, giving a squeeze as he fought for purchase.

There was more to it though—Originating from an unknown source, scratching an area of his brain that was shrouded in darkness. A tightness developed in his chest as a red tint took residence in his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“I know I am.” He whispered, with a slow and experimental tilt. Edward rolled his hips, gasping at the little and electric sparks of pleasure it sent through him. “Now tell me exactly how it feels.”

It was not lost on him that this was the first time in eons since he had taken something from a human consensually. It sprouted a foreign feeling, something that Crane would rather not dwell on, as he threw his neck back, baring his teeth at the conflicting sensations creeping through his body. "Godlike."

Jonathan hadn't meant the word to escape his throat. A profession of that nature was better off sealed away, but it wasn't inaccurate. His regard for the genius had developed faster than intended, even with his string of plots forming against him. A sordid mix of self-loathing and lust clouded his judgement, the heady combination only aiding his easy acceptance of Edward's advancements. His mind was foggy, a feeling he had not felt outside of abject bloodlust, as the boldness that initially pinged his words melted away to blurred satisfaction.

Tightening his grip on the other's waist, he wouldn't be surprised if a collection of bruises would be left in his fingers' wake. He allowed Edward to set a rhythm, a lidded gaze trailing every part of the other's body, as control was lost for the first time in favor of easy submission.

There was mild surprise in the other not seeking control, but Edward was very pleased that he opted for handing it over to him.

Jonathan’s words—or rather single word response—ran through his system like a wildfire. Godlike.

The word was cemented to memory.

Edward’s eyes darkened with a mix of pride and lust as the word hung in the air.

His eyes surveyed the crumbling man whose neck was stretched out towards the headboard, his hands digging into his skin—the pressure of which sent chills to all the right places as his cock twitched with every ounce of added force.

Meeting Jonathan’s gaze was electrifying. His heady expression utterly beautiful and captivating as he rode him, felt him inside of him.

Jonathan's toes curled against the bed as the knot forming in his stomach began tightening. His hips began meeting Edward's movements halfway--bucking into the man as he matched his rhythm. One of his hands migrated to the other's cock. Using the pre that had leaked onto his stomach as lubrication, he matched jerky strokes in time with their movements, wanting to give Edward even an ounce of the pleasure that he returned.

A few moments of this continued, the pressure in his length mounting as sparks of pleasure reached his extremities. Feeling that he was not going to last much longer, he warned, "Edward… I'm gonna-"

His body was vibrating with pleasure. The movements from Jonathan created a sense of delirium and bliss.

What truly pushed him towards the edge, teetering off the jagged cliff was the hand that met his neglected length.

His head fell back, eyes rolling back as a groan of satisfaction climbed out of his throat. The sounds only grew as Edward’s motions evolved to something more needy. The control and his composure broke at the simultaneous stimuli.

One of Edward’s hands moved to press against the headboard of the bed. The other moved to Jonathan’s shoulder as the man brought him closer, and closer..

His eyes were glossy, glazed over as they shared this moment—bringing each other towards their climax.

It was intriguing that he acquired it so soon.

Crane was normally quick, analytical, and observing when it came to sex, but being victim to Edward's attempt for control stirred something unfamiliar within him that caused many of his rough edges to melt away.

Regardless, the enthusiastic consent to finish inside him drove him over the edge alone. The prospect was intoxicating—utterly hot, even. It only took a few seconds for Jonathan to let go, Edward's tight heat fitting like a glove over him.

He continued jerking Edward off as Jonathan came, a soft grunt leaving his throat. Nails began digging into Edward's hip, hoping, praying blood would not be drawn, and his hips continued thrusting into his to ride the waves of pleasure.

He appreciated the opportunity to try things he had observed—and been subjected to—in other scenes behind closed doors. Selina was always in charge, so this was a delightful change of scenery.

The tension between the two of them had bloomed so quickly. Edward’s attraction to Jonathan was undeniable, and had been a difficult thing to conceal.

What he’d never admit to anyone… The night he believed to have had cracked the Jersey Reaper case and convinced himself of the killer being Jonathan Crane had genuinely filled him with such disappointment and a cold that crept through him at the loss of what could have been.

He was relieved to have been wrong.

Feeling Jonathan’s release inside of him in combination with the continuation of the thrusting and stroking caused his body to tighten around the man beneath him. The nails digging into his skin was the final push that caused him to finish.

Exhaling a shaky breath mixed with a groan, Edward’s hand left Jonathan’s shoulder to join the other hand grasping the edge of the headboard as he leaned forward slightly. His hair falling to frame his face as his eyes shut through the waves of pleasure coursing through them simultaneously.

The entire experience was euphoric, and unfortunately would leave him wanting more.

Crane shifted upwards, his left hand easily supporting his weight, to capture Edward in a gentle kiss. The movement caused him to wilt free of Edward and exhale a soft grunt into the other's mouth.

"Yeah," he breathed, pulling away. "There should be a stack of them on a shelf." He leaned back onto the bed, the recent orgasm causing his limbs to be weaker than desired. "'Door on the right."

The endorphins coursing through his system were not as strong as the ones occurring from a recent feed, but they were pleasant enough as he watched the other man attempt to procure a cloth. A distinct post-coital haze settled over them, making his movements lethargic as the scent of Edward's sweat and their coupling proliferated the air.

Edward’s dark eyes glanced at Jonathan’s lips as the he shifted, and was pleased when they met his.

He felt Jonathan slip out of him—missing the feeling—and a muffled grunt escaped through his lips.

“I’ll be right back then.” He said with a smile, enjoying the closeness. The feeling was intimate, gentle which contrasted to the moment they had just finished sharing.

But it left him wanting more.

Setting his hands on either side of Jonathan’s head, Edward leaned down to capture his lips in a tender kiss.

Pulling away with a smile, Edward moved off of Jonathan. He used the side table to stabilize himself as his legs woke up from their previous position.

Departing to retrieve a towel, he entered the bathroom. His eyes catching himself in the mirror.

The bruises from earlier clashed against his pale skin. His hand trailed across his right hip where red markings bore down to the bone from Jonathan’s grip.

Biting his lip, Edward smirked. Pushing back his sweet slicked hair, he quickly cleaned himself up and wiped the bit of himself that got on his stomach.

Regardless, he refused to allow the conflict to show on his face as his gaze unabashedly followed Edward until he disappeared from sight. Crane pushed himself into a seated position, the post-coital clarity knocking around as his eyes sifted through the collection of clothing on the ground.

Despite finishing just moments ago, he was still left wanting as their night hardly scratched the surface of obtaining what he desired from the other man. Glimpses of fantasies shuffled through his brain.

He wanted to see Edward shivering under his hand, begging for the salvation he could bring him. To see his tousled auburn hair spread on the pillow like a halo around him. See the beads of red that would accumulate on his neck as Jonathan drained the very substance that kept him living.

His arms snaked behind his head which turned to look over Jonathan.

Edward wasn't sure what the extent of his welcome was. Last week, he had pushed well beyond the limits (in his opinion) and now here he was again. Despite these circumstances being significantly better, Edward respected the man's privacy and would go if that was what was requested.

Besides.. a shower sounded wonderful about now.

Entirely too blissed out to entertain any false pretense, he rolled his eyes. "Of course you do not. You started it," he commented, wanting to avoid any conversation that would delve into their individual feelings on one another for the time being.

Approaching the foot of the bed, he surveyed Edward's sprawled frame. Jonathan wrapped a hand around an ankle, instinctively feeling for the pulse point there. "I'm unsure what your plans are, but my shower and bed are open to you for the night."

His lips parted to fire another comment—something along the lines of not seeing Jonathan complain about his advances—but paused as he approached him.

Watching Jonathan’s lithe fingers wrap around his ankle, Edward’s eyes flicked back up to Crane’s.

He kept his expression cool, despite the annoying excitement at the invitation to stay.

“I’ll take you up on that.” He answered with a growing smile. Moving his hands out from under him, Edward sat up—ignoring the pain as lust and adrenaline were no longer present in his body so the pain was no longer masked.

Unfortunately, knowing the man in front of him, he was positive Edward would attempt to seduce him once more.

"Not tonight," he said softly, meeting the bright set of greens that belonged to Edward. "If you need anything, however, do let me know." The last words were his attempt at being flirtatious, not wanting to leave the impression the other was undesired.

The phrase 'not tonight' indicated that more nights would occur like this, and could lead to them sharing a shower together. This interpretation made his blood run warm for a brief moment.

Sliding forward, Edward rose from the bed in close proximity to the other man as his eyes scanned Jonathan's. "And if it's you I need?" Edward teased, letting his fingers brush against the other's hip.