(Ficlet) The Cutting Room Floor: Weird Science
Title: Weird Science
Author: agent0fchaos
Proofed: pressure_hinges
Continuity: Chapter 10 of A Better Class of Criminal
Character/Pairing: Jonathan/Thomas
Rating: NC-17 (slash!)
Summary: Their first night together after Jonathan's four month incarceration
I promised you porn between these two. I keep my promises :)
The Cutting Room Floor:
Weird Science
Straddling Thomas's thighs, Jonathan teasingly held up the canister containing the fear toxin, irritated that Thomas's dark eyes were hungrier for it than him. This wasn't the case when they had first met, before he had mastered the toxin into its gas form. He never wanted to experiment on Thomas, but the young man could get to him like no other human being had ever been able to before and Jonathan was helpless against him. Now it was time for a little revenge.
"Did you miss me at all?" Jonathan asked, ignoring the wild look in Thomas's eyes.
"Yes," Thomas replied curtly, his eyes never leaving the silver cylinder.
"You know," said Jonathan as he ran his free hand down the center of Thomas's chest, the black vintage Ghostbusters ringer tee covering the skin Jonathan truly longed to touch. "We haven't seen one another in nearly four months."
"I wrote you twice," Thomas replied, unable to stop his hips from arching when Dr. Crane's slender fingers pulled at the empty belt loops of his black cargo pants.
"Yes, thank you for those," said Crane dryly. The first letter had almost been pure Thomas, stickers decorating every free inch of the paper that declared many the salacious act he wanted to perform on and with Jonathan, complete with margin doodles of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It almost brought a tear to Jonathan's eyes, save for the post script that asked if he had hidden any fear toxin about the city and if so, would he please tell Thomas? He promised to keep them safe, really he did. The second letter could hardly have been called a letter, it was more like a frantic telegram, a threatening plea for Crane to please break out of Arkham. Recognizing the addict's voice, Jonathan chose not to write back.
"They just don't compare to actually being with you," added Jonathan, scowling when Thomas began to chuckle under his breath. "OK, I can do without the laugh track."
"I'm sorry," Thomas replied, falling silent and into a wide eye pout. Crane bent his head, unable to look at Thomas in the eyes right at this moment. His feelings were on display, he had shown incredible vulnerability over the last twenty-four hours during his desperate pursuit of this shadow of his once...was true love melodramatic? Yes, yes it was, but Crane had no other alternative vocabulary to describe Thomas, not when he had been away for so long, even after spending endless hours contemplating the nature of their relationship, Jonathan was still at a loss for words.
"Don't be sorry," said Jonathan in a low voice, tilting his head and looking at Thomas through sad, heavy lidded eyes. "Just be you."
Exhaling a brief, humorless laugh through his nose, Thomas weakly smiled. "I'm trying."
Sighing, Jonathan lifted his shirt collar up to his face, covering his nose and mouth as he rigidly sat back and straightened his arm away and down from him, aiming directly for Thomas's unflinching face. At the last moment, Crane took hold of one of Thomas's hands and twined it with his free hand against his chest, closing his eyes as he released the toxin.
Jonathan felt Thomas's fingers clench down on his own, tightening as they laced together and grabbed at the front of his shirt, flexing in synch with his deep breaths, desperate to inhale as much of the toxin as possible. Even for a man of science, able to observe a grown man tear himself apart under the influence of his drug with coolness only associated with sociopaths, Jonathan could not bring himself to watch the rapturous fervor Thomas took on when he inhales the toxin.
When he felt the fingers go slack in his hand and a heavy silence blanket the room, Jonathan opened his eyes and stared down at Thomas, staring up at him. His dark eyes were lucid, still and completely focused, zeroing in on Jonathan's blue eyes. With his free hand, Thomas yanked down Jonathan's shirt from his face and in one fluid motion sat up and brought his lips against Dr. Crane's. Abandoning all of his reserve, Jonathan raised his hands to Thomas's head, feverishly running his hands through the younger man's hair, raking his nails against his scalp, rubbing the pad of his thumbs behind Thomas's ears. Drawing moan after moan from his Dr. Crane, Thomas broke from his lover's full lips and moved onto his ear, taking the lobe into his mouth to suck on, nibble, even bite playfully, and speaking in an undertone whisper.
"I did miss you," he said in a clear, sound voice, devoid of his pitchy, schizophrenic mania. "I wanted to go home so bad."
Home. For Thomas, home was a word either used as a weapon or a reward. As a reward, Thomas referred home as Jonathan's old apartment, mere steps away from Jervis's front door but oh so far away for the now homeless Jonathan. As a weapon, when he was angry and in the mood for a good tantrum, Thomas knew how to get under Dr. Crane's skin by describing his mother's ramshackle of a house as home. That place was never home to Thomas, and Jonathan knew it.
"We'll find another home, I promise," said Jonathan, confident in his role as caretaker. His slender hands roamed down Thomas's shirt and fingered the waistband of his pants. As soon as he felt the bony fingers at his collar once more, Jonathan pulled up on the hem of Thomas's shirt, briefly breaking contact with him to remove it before crushing together once more, a deep chuckle coming from Thomas as he expertly unknotted Jonathan's tie, discarding it with two fingers as it slid from one end of Jonathan's collar to the next. Too impatient for Thomas's teasingly slow fingers, Crane assisted in the unbuttoning of his shirt, four arms and hands pulling at the fabric until it joined Thomas's tee on the floor.
Taking full advantage of what he knew only too well the fear toxin's effect on Thomas, Jonathan wrapped his arms around the other man's torso as he bent down to run his tongue up from Thomas's naval to the center of his collarbone. Wrapping his thin arms around Jonathan's shoulders, Thomas hissed as Jonathan clamped his mouth around Thomas's nipple.
The brain was, for the most part, a total mystery, especially when it came to mental illnesses like schizophrenia, Thomas's diagnosis. Jonathan never quite understood why the fear toxin gave Thomas a heightened sense of self, the world around him suddenly glowing at the edges, every nerve and sense amplified, lighting up his brain like Christmas.
Jonathan alternated between biting to the point of Thomas hissing in pain, and licking his apology, worrying the nub with the very tip of his tongue. Sliding his right hand around from Thomas's back, he pinched and pulled on the other nipple, feasting on the guttural moans escaping Thomas's mouth.
"Dr. Crane," Thomas breathed hotly as he took hold of Jonathan's right hand and slid it down his belly and onto the fly of his pants. Grasping the front of Thomas's pants, Jonathan groped the rock hard erection he felt under the fabric, drawing out a series of breathless gasps from Thomas until he had the pants unfastened and hanging off Thomas's slim hips.
Prostrating himself, winding his arms tightly around Thomas's hips for balance as he hungrily took the cock in his mouth, eagerly enveloping Thomas to the base until the tip was hitting the back of his throat. Thomas raked his nails across Jonathan's bare back, loudly moaning in time with Crane's depraved tongue stroking up and down his length.
As Jonathan saw the situation, it was a credit to his brilliance that Thomas was encountering a heightened experience, given that it was his skills in the bedroom and the laboratory that allowed such ebullience for his lover. Crane figured that Thomas's addiction to the fear toxin was, in a way, an addiction to him. How very flattering.
Through heavy lidded eyes, Thomas saw two fingers raise before him and opened his mouth to them, ravenously sucking on them until Jonathan felt they were adequately moistened. Jutting his hips forward when he felt a slim, insistent finger enter his backside, Thomas bent at the waist, leaning against Jonathan's back, opening himself to the deft finger as it stretched him, soon joined by another.
Shaking his head against Jonathan's back, gnashing his teeth with a strangled cry as he came, Thomas licked at the sweaty, salty skin as his hands expertly delved around Dr. Crane's waist and removed his belt, tossing it to the floor before rising up to thrust against the invading digits, his palms flat against Jonathan's back as Dr. Crane finished him off with a thorough tongue bath.
Jonathan straightened himself, keeping his index and middle fingers inside Thomas as he used his free hand to pull Thomas's head down for a desperate, greedy kiss. One kiss turned into two, and two turned into an all out assault on one another, twisting and turning their heads as they made sure to leave no inch of skin untouched, voracious cries of lust escaping either man's lips.
"Now, Dr. Crane," Thomas panted. "Now, now, now."
Thomas had never been able to quite relate what the fear toxin did for him, other than express his profound gratitude with sexual favors, of which he was more than happy to give as the intensity of every sensation could only best be described as mind blowing. He had told Dr. Crane once that everything looked filmy, with little sparks on the edges of every object he saw. Every thought was clear as crystal, something he only briefly experienced in early childhood before schizophrenia clouded over his mind, tarnishing all hopes for pure lucidity. But as for the sensations he felt under its stronghold, Thomas could never make Dr. Crane understand that fully. It was a consciousness all unto himself.
Removing his fingers, Crane and Thomas hurriedly disrobed before pouncing on one another once more, pressing their bodies together as they ran their hands all over the other man's flesh, Crane resting his hands on either side of Thomas's head, his elbows pointed outward, holding Thomas's head in place as he continued to devour Thomas's lips, tongue, nose, cheekbones and eyelids.
Thomas gripped Dr. Crane's hipbones, his fingernails digging into the skin as he roughly pulled Jonathan closer against his body. Taking the not so subtle hint, Jonathan leaned his body against Thomas's, who arched back until his head was touching the pillow. Agilely sliding his legs out to the side, Thomas bent his knees up and spread his legs wide apart. Settling between them, Jonathan gave Thomas a wry smirk.
"You're so obscene."
"Mmhmm," Thomas hummed, gripping Dr. Crane's shoulders tightly as he nudged the tip of his cock at Thomas's entrance, pushing in ever so slowly, watching Thomas knit his brow, moistened his parted lips as a groan pulled from his throat. Jonathan couldn't believe he had survived over three months without this while he was in Arkham; and how Thomas survived nearly two years in that hell hole was beyond him. Jonathan vowed that if he ever got caught again, he would drag Thomas along for the ride. Purely to have him at close range for many a dark corner tumble.
Pressing down against Thomas, Jonathan pushed in deeper, through the ring of muscle and back out again only to thrust in again with greater force. Thomas raised his legs to Jonathan's shoulders, rolling his head back against the pillow as he cried out when Dr. Crane buried himself deeper inside of him. Alternating between rapid, shallow thrusts, long, languid strokes and deeply penetrating slams until he was unable to stop himself from mercilessly grinding against Thomas, months of sexual frustration behind each and every thrust.
Screwing his eyes shut tight, Thomas squeaked a barely audible, "Jonathan," prompting the final push Jonathan needed, driving home into the blissful climax, releasing those months of forced abstinence in one moment of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Shortly thereafter, Jonathan lay on his back with Thomas curled under his arm.
"You know I thought you were dead," Thomas said softly, his head tucked in the crook between Jonathan's shoulder and neck.
"I know."
"Again," stressed Thomas testily.
"I know."
"I ought to just kill you with my bear hands now, save myself the trouble of going through this again."
"Stop," Jonathan said none too firmly, kissing Thomas atop his head as he ran his fingers lazily through Thomas's hair. "I'm here now."
"For how long?" Thomas whispered, his eyes starting to dart around aimlessly. The toxin was wearing off and Jonathan could see tears starting to well in Thomas's wide, dark brown eyes. It was the last physical side effect of the fear toxin that neither man could explain. Jonathan said nothing as the tears rolled down in silence until Thomas tried to laugh them away, brushing them with the back of his hand before wrapping a protective arm around Dr. Crane's midsection. "I just don't want you to leave me again, Dr. Crane."
"Monkey," Jonathan chuckled, using the pet name he had given Thomas years ago. Holding his knuckle under Thomas's wet left eye, gently removing the last bead of tears, Jonathan pressed his lips together as he stared down at Thomas. "I will just have to take you with me wherever I go, then, won't I?"
Contented with this response, Thomas rewarded him with one of his wide, vivacious beams, the kind Jonathan had longed to see every day he spent in Arkham. Tucking his head under Dr. Crane's chin, Thomas closed his eyes and said no more on the matter.
The end
Author Notes:
- The brain is a mysterious thing and NOBODY knows how it all functions completely. Crane's toxin has been known even in the Conicverse to give different people different reactions, even be ineffective. So with schizophrenia with bipolar tendencies already going on with Thomas's brain it isn't completely out of the realm of possibility that he would have a different reaction, an even more heightened sense of awareness & clarity. And because while Crane was away he was on NO meds he is desperate to get something that'll just stop the racing, nonsensical thought process he has to live with day in, day out. OK, enough babbling from me...this was technically just porn. LMAO.
- Crane calls Thomas 'monkey' because of his inability to sit still & crazy agility.
Author: agent0fchaos
Proofed: pressure_hinges
Continuity: Chapter 10 of A Better Class of Criminal
Character/Pairing: Jonathan/Thomas
Rating: NC-17 (slash!)
Summary: Their first night together after Jonathan's four month incarceration
I promised you porn between these two. I keep my promises :)
The Cutting Room Floor:
Weird Science
Straddling Thomas's thighs, Jonathan teasingly held up the canister containing the fear toxin, irritated that Thomas's dark eyes were hungrier for it than him. This wasn't the case when they had first met, before he had mastered the toxin into its gas form. He never wanted to experiment on Thomas, but the young man could get to him like no other human being had ever been able to before and Jonathan was helpless against him. Now it was time for a little revenge.
"Did you miss me at all?" Jonathan asked, ignoring the wild look in Thomas's eyes.
"Yes," Thomas replied curtly, his eyes never leaving the silver cylinder.
"You know," said Jonathan as he ran his free hand down the center of Thomas's chest, the black vintage Ghostbusters ringer tee covering the skin Jonathan truly longed to touch. "We haven't seen one another in nearly four months."
"I wrote you twice," Thomas replied, unable to stop his hips from arching when Dr. Crane's slender fingers pulled at the empty belt loops of his black cargo pants.
"Yes, thank you for those," said Crane dryly. The first letter had almost been pure Thomas, stickers decorating every free inch of the paper that declared many the salacious act he wanted to perform on and with Jonathan, complete with margin doodles of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It almost brought a tear to Jonathan's eyes, save for the post script that asked if he had hidden any fear toxin about the city and if so, would he please tell Thomas? He promised to keep them safe, really he did. The second letter could hardly have been called a letter, it was more like a frantic telegram, a threatening plea for Crane to please break out of Arkham. Recognizing the addict's voice, Jonathan chose not to write back.
"They just don't compare to actually being with you," added Jonathan, scowling when Thomas began to chuckle under his breath. "OK, I can do without the laugh track."
"I'm sorry," Thomas replied, falling silent and into a wide eye pout. Crane bent his head, unable to look at Thomas in the eyes right at this moment. His feelings were on display, he had shown incredible vulnerability over the last twenty-four hours during his desperate pursuit of this shadow of his once...was true love melodramatic? Yes, yes it was, but Crane had no other alternative vocabulary to describe Thomas, not when he had been away for so long, even after spending endless hours contemplating the nature of their relationship, Jonathan was still at a loss for words.
"Don't be sorry," said Jonathan in a low voice, tilting his head and looking at Thomas through sad, heavy lidded eyes. "Just be you."
Exhaling a brief, humorless laugh through his nose, Thomas weakly smiled. "I'm trying."
Sighing, Jonathan lifted his shirt collar up to his face, covering his nose and mouth as he rigidly sat back and straightened his arm away and down from him, aiming directly for Thomas's unflinching face. At the last moment, Crane took hold of one of Thomas's hands and twined it with his free hand against his chest, closing his eyes as he released the toxin.
Jonathan felt Thomas's fingers clench down on his own, tightening as they laced together and grabbed at the front of his shirt, flexing in synch with his deep breaths, desperate to inhale as much of the toxin as possible. Even for a man of science, able to observe a grown man tear himself apart under the influence of his drug with coolness only associated with sociopaths, Jonathan could not bring himself to watch the rapturous fervor Thomas took on when he inhales the toxin.
When he felt the fingers go slack in his hand and a heavy silence blanket the room, Jonathan opened his eyes and stared down at Thomas, staring up at him. His dark eyes were lucid, still and completely focused, zeroing in on Jonathan's blue eyes. With his free hand, Thomas yanked down Jonathan's shirt from his face and in one fluid motion sat up and brought his lips against Dr. Crane's. Abandoning all of his reserve, Jonathan raised his hands to Thomas's head, feverishly running his hands through the younger man's hair, raking his nails against his scalp, rubbing the pad of his thumbs behind Thomas's ears. Drawing moan after moan from his Dr. Crane, Thomas broke from his lover's full lips and moved onto his ear, taking the lobe into his mouth to suck on, nibble, even bite playfully, and speaking in an undertone whisper.
"I did miss you," he said in a clear, sound voice, devoid of his pitchy, schizophrenic mania. "I wanted to go home so bad."
Home. For Thomas, home was a word either used as a weapon or a reward. As a reward, Thomas referred home as Jonathan's old apartment, mere steps away from Jervis's front door but oh so far away for the now homeless Jonathan. As a weapon, when he was angry and in the mood for a good tantrum, Thomas knew how to get under Dr. Crane's skin by describing his mother's ramshackle of a house as home. That place was never home to Thomas, and Jonathan knew it.
"We'll find another home, I promise," said Jonathan, confident in his role as caretaker. His slender hands roamed down Thomas's shirt and fingered the waistband of his pants. As soon as he felt the bony fingers at his collar once more, Jonathan pulled up on the hem of Thomas's shirt, briefly breaking contact with him to remove it before crushing together once more, a deep chuckle coming from Thomas as he expertly unknotted Jonathan's tie, discarding it with two fingers as it slid from one end of Jonathan's collar to the next. Too impatient for Thomas's teasingly slow fingers, Crane assisted in the unbuttoning of his shirt, four arms and hands pulling at the fabric until it joined Thomas's tee on the floor.
Taking full advantage of what he knew only too well the fear toxin's effect on Thomas, Jonathan wrapped his arms around the other man's torso as he bent down to run his tongue up from Thomas's naval to the center of his collarbone. Wrapping his thin arms around Jonathan's shoulders, Thomas hissed as Jonathan clamped his mouth around Thomas's nipple.
The brain was, for the most part, a total mystery, especially when it came to mental illnesses like schizophrenia, Thomas's diagnosis. Jonathan never quite understood why the fear toxin gave Thomas a heightened sense of self, the world around him suddenly glowing at the edges, every nerve and sense amplified, lighting up his brain like Christmas.
Jonathan alternated between biting to the point of Thomas hissing in pain, and licking his apology, worrying the nub with the very tip of his tongue. Sliding his right hand around from Thomas's back, he pinched and pulled on the other nipple, feasting on the guttural moans escaping Thomas's mouth.
"Dr. Crane," Thomas breathed hotly as he took hold of Jonathan's right hand and slid it down his belly and onto the fly of his pants. Grasping the front of Thomas's pants, Jonathan groped the rock hard erection he felt under the fabric, drawing out a series of breathless gasps from Thomas until he had the pants unfastened and hanging off Thomas's slim hips.
Prostrating himself, winding his arms tightly around Thomas's hips for balance as he hungrily took the cock in his mouth, eagerly enveloping Thomas to the base until the tip was hitting the back of his throat. Thomas raked his nails across Jonathan's bare back, loudly moaning in time with Crane's depraved tongue stroking up and down his length.
As Jonathan saw the situation, it was a credit to his brilliance that Thomas was encountering a heightened experience, given that it was his skills in the bedroom and the laboratory that allowed such ebullience for his lover. Crane figured that Thomas's addiction to the fear toxin was, in a way, an addiction to him. How very flattering.
Through heavy lidded eyes, Thomas saw two fingers raise before him and opened his mouth to them, ravenously sucking on them until Jonathan felt they were adequately moistened. Jutting his hips forward when he felt a slim, insistent finger enter his backside, Thomas bent at the waist, leaning against Jonathan's back, opening himself to the deft finger as it stretched him, soon joined by another.
Shaking his head against Jonathan's back, gnashing his teeth with a strangled cry as he came, Thomas licked at the sweaty, salty skin as his hands expertly delved around Dr. Crane's waist and removed his belt, tossing it to the floor before rising up to thrust against the invading digits, his palms flat against Jonathan's back as Dr. Crane finished him off with a thorough tongue bath.
Jonathan straightened himself, keeping his index and middle fingers inside Thomas as he used his free hand to pull Thomas's head down for a desperate, greedy kiss. One kiss turned into two, and two turned into an all out assault on one another, twisting and turning their heads as they made sure to leave no inch of skin untouched, voracious cries of lust escaping either man's lips.
"Now, Dr. Crane," Thomas panted. "Now, now, now."
Thomas had never been able to quite relate what the fear toxin did for him, other than express his profound gratitude with sexual favors, of which he was more than happy to give as the intensity of every sensation could only best be described as mind blowing. He had told Dr. Crane once that everything looked filmy, with little sparks on the edges of every object he saw. Every thought was clear as crystal, something he only briefly experienced in early childhood before schizophrenia clouded over his mind, tarnishing all hopes for pure lucidity. But as for the sensations he felt under its stronghold, Thomas could never make Dr. Crane understand that fully. It was a consciousness all unto himself.
Removing his fingers, Crane and Thomas hurriedly disrobed before pouncing on one another once more, pressing their bodies together as they ran their hands all over the other man's flesh, Crane resting his hands on either side of Thomas's head, his elbows pointed outward, holding Thomas's head in place as he continued to devour Thomas's lips, tongue, nose, cheekbones and eyelids.
Thomas gripped Dr. Crane's hipbones, his fingernails digging into the skin as he roughly pulled Jonathan closer against his body. Taking the not so subtle hint, Jonathan leaned his body against Thomas's, who arched back until his head was touching the pillow. Agilely sliding his legs out to the side, Thomas bent his knees up and spread his legs wide apart. Settling between them, Jonathan gave Thomas a wry smirk.
"You're so obscene."
"Mmhmm," Thomas hummed, gripping Dr. Crane's shoulders tightly as he nudged the tip of his cock at Thomas's entrance, pushing in ever so slowly, watching Thomas knit his brow, moistened his parted lips as a groan pulled from his throat. Jonathan couldn't believe he had survived over three months without this while he was in Arkham; and how Thomas survived nearly two years in that hell hole was beyond him. Jonathan vowed that if he ever got caught again, he would drag Thomas along for the ride. Purely to have him at close range for many a dark corner tumble.
Pressing down against Thomas, Jonathan pushed in deeper, through the ring of muscle and back out again only to thrust in again with greater force. Thomas raised his legs to Jonathan's shoulders, rolling his head back against the pillow as he cried out when Dr. Crane buried himself deeper inside of him. Alternating between rapid, shallow thrusts, long, languid strokes and deeply penetrating slams until he was unable to stop himself from mercilessly grinding against Thomas, months of sexual frustration behind each and every thrust.
Screwing his eyes shut tight, Thomas squeaked a barely audible, "Jonathan," prompting the final push Jonathan needed, driving home into the blissful climax, releasing those months of forced abstinence in one moment of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Shortly thereafter, Jonathan lay on his back with Thomas curled under his arm.
"You know I thought you were dead," Thomas said softly, his head tucked in the crook between Jonathan's shoulder and neck.
"I know."
"Again," stressed Thomas testily.
"I know."
"I ought to just kill you with my bear hands now, save myself the trouble of going through this again."
"Stop," Jonathan said none too firmly, kissing Thomas atop his head as he ran his fingers lazily through Thomas's hair. "I'm here now."
"For how long?" Thomas whispered, his eyes starting to dart around aimlessly. The toxin was wearing off and Jonathan could see tears starting to well in Thomas's wide, dark brown eyes. It was the last physical side effect of the fear toxin that neither man could explain. Jonathan said nothing as the tears rolled down in silence until Thomas tried to laugh them away, brushing them with the back of his hand before wrapping a protective arm around Dr. Crane's midsection. "I just don't want you to leave me again, Dr. Crane."
"Monkey," Jonathan chuckled, using the pet name he had given Thomas years ago. Holding his knuckle under Thomas's wet left eye, gently removing the last bead of tears, Jonathan pressed his lips together as he stared down at Thomas. "I will just have to take you with me wherever I go, then, won't I?"
Contented with this response, Thomas rewarded him with one of his wide, vivacious beams, the kind Jonathan had longed to see every day he spent in Arkham. Tucking his head under Dr. Crane's chin, Thomas closed his eyes and said no more on the matter.
The end
Author Notes:
- The brain is a mysterious thing and NOBODY knows how it all functions completely. Crane's toxin has been known even in the Conicverse to give different people different reactions, even be ineffective. So with schizophrenia with bipolar tendencies already going on with Thomas's brain it isn't completely out of the realm of possibility that he would have a different reaction, an even more heightened sense of awareness & clarity. And because while Crane was away he was on NO meds he is desperate to get something that'll just stop the racing, nonsensical thought process he has to live with day in, day out. OK, enough babbling from me...this was technically just porn. LMAO.
- Crane calls Thomas 'monkey' because of his inability to sit still & crazy agility.