icebergloungers | the devil came down from Georgia

"He s-s-sees the ghost." Jonathan finished as he took in the state of Edward. Family argument, one assumed. Not an unusual sight around here. Sometimes he wished his father had been that simple. That it had just been beatings. It was cruel in a way, yes, but there was a simplicity to it that made it less frustrating and confusing.

It was strange to once again envy Edward, even as he stood in the drizzling rain with a bruise face. It was quite the habit.

Jonathan put his hands into his pockets and then pulled out ten dollars, holding it up for Edward to see. "Hungry?"

Edward looked at the note that Jonathan pulled out and then took a step closer for an even better look. Whatever it was he saw or whether he already knew and simply wanted to be dramatic, he made a show of drawing his conclusions, turning his head to face Jonathan. "Falcone already. Oh, my. How quick you further your career, Mr Crane. Truly impressive."

If not worrying. He shrugged, deciding that he didn't have much to lose and the drizzling was really dampening his mood. He wanted to get inside somewhere. "What are you feeling, Jonny? If you pay, I'm all yours."

Wording. Purposeful.

"I need money." Jonathan elaborated as he started to walk ahead of Edward, assuming the other would soon catch him up. "F-Follow." He was going to eat some fried chicken but he didn't feel like stuttering over the two very difficult words in such a stupid way so he found it would be easier to just guide Edward along.

"He th-thrusts his fists against the p-p-- shit." Jonathan huffed in annoyance, still mumbling to himself. He was going to fucking master this shit, even if it killed him. Then Falcone's goons would at least have one last thing to laugh at. He wasn't allowed a better dealing area until he didn't sound like fucking Porky Pig. "He th-thrusts his f-f-f-"

Edward walked next to Jonathan because he felt the 'follow' was slightly condescending. All right, he was still a little bit behind him due to the other boy's unduly long legs, but not everyone could be built like a stork. He listened to him practise, not commenting on it.

Although he did think about the research he had done into stuttering - because of course he'd researched it by now. Finally he sped up for a few steps, enough to move ahead of Jonathan, which allowed him to stand in front of him and look at him. "You're too tense here."

He reached up with his hands, placing them on Jonathan's jaw. Gentle pressure as he massaged them in small circles. "Relax. Smooth your jaw. Your lips. Your tongue."

Jon couldn't have reeled back faster if he fucking tried but someone was touching his face. That was weird, right? That wasn't just him. It was strange to touch a guys face. "Watch it, son!" Fucking hell. He huffed and threw his arms out, looking at Edward like he was insane. "You can just s-s-say advise."

But of course not, it was Edward. He had to interact, he had to have center stage and he had to command that same focus and attention from Jonathan.

"Christ." Rolling his eyes, Jon just gestured ahead again. "F-Fucking loony, boy."

"Son, boy... Call me 'cheat' next, really hone in on those daddy issues." Edward rolled his eyes, more in self-deprication than anything else and perhaps due to the words he still heard echoing. Whatever. He'd not be broken by it. At the very least, he'd always put himself back together.

There was something darkly humorous to it anyway. "I like touching you, daddy-o." He'd simply go for it. "You can't blame a boy for trying. I don't believe in holding back."

"No sh-shit." Jonathan rolled his eyes as he stopped in front of the first place he saw that seemed open and served food. It was just some cheap looking dive that did fried chicken but that was all he was after. He pushed the door open and held it open for Edward, knowing he was probably happy not to be rained on.

"Order f-for me and you can order whatever." Jonathan didn't feel like stuttering over his order to some night shift teen so he gestured at what he wanted and tapped it so Edward saw. This place had good value so yeah, he was getting fried chicken and some fries.

Once he walked inside, Edward turned to the window to get a glimpse of his reflection. He scowled in disapproval and reached up to adjust his hair so it'd better hide his bruised face. He licked his bloody lip, looking very obviously self-conscious for the moment. Still, he caught Jon's order and he nodded, heading up to the counter.

"The jumbo fried chicken and fries combo. And a coke." He wasn't hungry himself, but he was in for a long night, so he figured coke was the way to go. As he waited for their order, he leaned against the counter and looked at Jonathan, wondering what he looked like to him now. His hair was not done, he was tired and bruised, he was not the image he preferred to present himself as. "Thanks for the invite, Jonny. I was about to consider much worse alternatives."

Edward was self conscious. That was interesting. He was unhappy with how he looked and there was an element of shame there. Embarrassment. It was strange to see, not the Edward he was used to, but he found himself appreciating it as much as his intelligence. He wore vulnerability well. Jonathan handed the cash over to the guy behind the desk and took his change, coming to stand by Edward as he watched his order get deep fried. Nice.

"I don't mind." He liked company sometimes, in his own way and within his own terms. He looked away from his order and to Edward's face, not sure if it was something worth commenting on. Probably not. He made eye contact with him and half smiled. "He th-thrusts his f-f-fist against the p-p-post..."

"Posts. Plural. And a plural on those ghosts too. Apparently we're dealing with a very aggressive believer in the supernatural." Edward looked back at Jonathan, since this was the longest he had actually maintained eye contact with him. And what eyes they were.

"He thrust his fists against the child and still insists it's all a lie." He chuckled darkly, finding a bizarre liking of his take on the old rhyme.

His chicken was done and he took his order, walking over the dirty table in the corner and sitting down. He waited for Edward to sit before he properly got started on eating. "He th-thrusts his f-fists against the ch-child and s-s-still insisssts it's all a lie." Jonathan stammered finally before he made a small, amused noise and ate some chicken. Well it wasn't rolling off the tongue any better but it was an interesting way to talk about ones difficult home life.

It was the weekend, there was no school tomorrow and no reason for either of them to hurry off anywhere to Jon took his time eating. "Come to my p-p-place."

Edward took a sip of his coke and watched Jonathan, raising his eyebrows at that offer. Or request. Order? Honestly, the minimalist way of speaking left a lot up for interpretation and he kind of enjoyed that ambiguity. "Hm. My momma's always warned me against going home with my stalkers."

His lips twitched into a smile and he tilted his head to the side. "But then, she's married to an absolute cretin, so what does she know? Clearly not a good judge of character."

Edward considered himself to be an excellent judge of character. That was why he knew he shouldn't go anywhere with Jonathan. He also knew his own character fairly well, however, so he already knew he would come with him.

"A s-stalker is more dedicated. Observer." Jonathan corrected as he admired Edward's caution. Better survival skills than he expected but he could see the temptation and the inevitable acceptance that would come. "I have drink, weed, b-books."

So what else could Edward possibly need? He smiled, unable to help himself. It seemed weird and not really possible that Edward could and would come home with him but he was and ... it was exciting. He had no idea why but it truly was.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts." Jonathan said to himself and didn't even notice that he didn't stutter once as he said it. He was too focused on Edward.

Edited 2024-05-03 21:17 (UTC)

The stutter was definitely less obvious right now. Maybe it was because he had food, maybe that forced him to actually relax his jaw and mouth enough. Maybe it was him. Edward took note, as he always did, and decided to see it as flattery, as he often did as well. "My observer then. I'm sure mom couldn't possibly object to that. Much more dignified."

He drank from his coke and also took note of how quickly Jonathan was decimating that chicken. He'd not have much time to make up his mind. Inevitable. "I'll come with you. What's the worst that could happen?"

He wondered.

Edward was fortunate that only he lived in his place and that his father wasn't there or it would get very bad. It always did. Jonathan lured them home, it was his job since he was 8. The experiments were more important than anything else. It dominated their entire world. Edward would have been perfect for his father, he would have broken him easily.

He was glad he didn't ever get to. Edward was his. Or, at least, in a small way - in his dreams - he was.

Jonathan finished his chicken in record time and wiped his hands on a napkin, tossing it into the trash. "It's nothing sinister. Relax. It's just better than the rain."

"Nothing sinister? At all? Shame." Edward wondered where Jonathan's mind went when he fell silent the way he had as he finished the chicken. Such intensity on his face. What was going on inside his head? He could have made an educated guess, but he could not know for sure. Jonathan was not the easiest to read. "But sure, I'll relax. Anything is better than a drizzly Narrows back-alley."

Not that he'd have elected to sleep in one of those. Jonathan offering his place was still an excellent alternative. "I know you bought me a drink, Jonny, so, just for the record? I need at least three before I put out."

"I have b-booze at home." Jonathan smirked for a moment before he got up decisively and waited for Edward to do the same. He stepped out of the chicken shop and the rain was even harder now. God, Gotham was fucking awful. If he had a better truck, he couldn't have made it to somewhere a bit nicer but he supposed this shitty mob city was at least entertaining.

And he had Edward, of course.

"He thrusts his fists against the p-posts and s-s-still insists he s-sees the g--ghosts." Jonathan mumbled to himself, surprised it was flowing better now. Maybe Edward touching his face had strangely achieved something. "I didn't always s-s-stutter." Jon told Edward, out of the blue. He didn't know why but he said it. He just didn't want Edward to think he was incurable.

"Sometimes onset by traumatic circumstances, isn't it?" So, yes, he had no issue with showing that he had done his research. He walked next to Jonathan, arms loosely wrapped around himself and the rain making his hair wet enough to simply cling to his face. A typical Gotham night, no doubt. "I didn't always--"

He frowned, rethought the statement and then rephrased it. "I used to be an ugly little nerd."

Sometimes he still felt that. Perhaps not that ugly, but certainly charmless. At least he remembered experiencing it. Not that long ago that he'd discovered he had charm and that he'd put effort into learning how to use it.

"You could never be ugly." Jonathan stated like it was pure fact, with no stutter or stammer at all. It just didn't click in his head. Perhaps not as handsome as he styled himself now but no way could Edward have been like him. Ugly and repellent. "Ch-Changes are not always a bad th-thing."

He wondered if he could ever have an experience like Edward and find himself suddenly being more attractive or have better posture, maybe suddenly all that social stuff clicking. Maybe one day he could be normal. But did he want to be? He wasn't sure. It seemed like a lot of energy.

"You're reading about s-stutters. Uns-s-surp--" Fuck. "Of course."

"I'm not trying to surprise you. I could if I wanted to." Perhaps he would later. Edward was beginning to have a pretty decent idea of how Jonathan could be surprised. "You are a puzzle, so I'm figuring you out."

It was a rewarding thing to do. "People are all like puzzles, but most have fewer pieces than you. Ugliness is relative, by the way. Beauty is subjective. But, trust me, by and large there wasn't a single person seeing my hidden beauty before I hit my growth spurt."

It hadn't mattered much to him then. "It wasn't a big deal, I didn't care about how I looked." He looked at Jonathan from the side, a smirk on his face. "That was before I realised how much I'd love having sex."

Jon sometimes loved that because of his stutter, he could just stop talking and no one could really question why. Well, they could but he could always say it was the stutter. That meant he could silently contemplate Edward having sex as he headed through the alleyway to his apartment. He assumed Edward got a growth spurt and got laid within the first week. A boy like that, seeking validation. It made total sense.

"I'm here." Jonathan gestured at the shithole he lived in. "Forth floor. We walk."

Did Edward still have a lot of sex? Probably. It was likely a good way for him to get positive attention... then again, there wasn't a big dating pool in a high school. Was there? He didn't like the idea of Edward fucking his way through school.

"I kind of like it. The way you talk. Obviously I understand what necessitates your approach, but it's snappy." He snapped his fingers to underline his statement, entertaining himself, if nothing else. Always a prime objective. "Authoritative. I always feel like you're ordering me around. I'm not saying there's not a part of me that wants to rebel, but it also gets me all tingly inside."

He mused out loud, taking Jonathan's reluctance to speak much as all the more reason to keep talking. "You couple that with all the 'boy' and 'son' and you'll have me on my knees calling you daddy without hesitation, if you know what I mean." Probably not. Made it all the more fun.

He walked up the stairs a little behind Jonathan, not minding the workout. Good for the posterior.

"Too easy." Jonathan knew Edward was a flirt, it didn't translate to actual affection and interest but he did like the tease. He had some good fodder for his next shower. His mind had a habit of just going elsewhere. "Keep moving, s-s-son."

The staircase reeked of smoke and mould, the usual Narrows smell, and he moved swiftly up the stairs to avoid running into any of his neighbours. He had a goal and he didn't need distractions or disruptions.

He pulled out his keys and unlocked his room, pushing it open for Edward to come in ahead of him. And then he realised, strangely, that he was letting Edward into his apartment and it was messy and unpleasant. It was dark, it smelled of bleach and weed and their were books on every surface. Where would Edward sit? Would he be repelled and leave? Once Edward inside, he locked the door and moved to turn on some lamps. "I j-j-just moved."

"Riddle me this, Jonny. Is anything too easy as long as it's worth having?" Edward felt that he was well worth any amount of effort it took to get him, even if said effort was none whatsoever.

Edward stepped into the place and looked around, not really surprised by what he saw. Smelled basically like Jonathan, like an underground library where someone smoked weed and cooked meth. Seemed about right. He inspected it with interest anyway, mostly focusing on the books. "So I gather."

He didn't wait for any invite, he started organising the books into more logical piles and freeing up surface space without any hesitation, as if he had every right to do so. "Living alone. I envy that."

"It has advantages." Jonathan agreed as he started to move some stuff off his armchair and then walked across to his kitchen. There stood his different bottles for different occasions and he felt like today was a shitty whiskey day, not a shitty spirits day. He grabbed the bottle and walked back over, setting it down on the coffee table. "I lost my f-f-family. S-Six months."

He looked at the coffee table and saw his father's journal was still open and beside it was his own sketches and formulas. He grabbed both and swiftly set them on the floor by his armchair.

"My m-mother was ... eight years ago. F-Father th-this y--year." His stutter was getting worse again, the subject of family seemed to knock him back a step. "D-Drink?"

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