FIC: Fix You (1/?)
Ok.. i haven't posted in forever, but I had the urge to write again, and under the encouragement of others, decided to post. I hope that this works right, as I haven't posted a story in LJ in forever. Hope you like it. Feedback is always appreciated, but if you flame me, I will send minions to get my revenge.... lol.
Title: Fix You (1/?)
Author: Cleo_Kitty
Rating: R
Fandom: Batman Begins.. sans batman
Pairing: Crane/ OFC (aaaaccckkk!! not an OFC!!!)
Disclaimer: I make no $ from this and all I own is the characters of Dru and Angela.
Type your cut contents here.
The first thing she can feel is the pain. Exploding across her shoulders and radiating down her back. White-hot streaks of fire crisscrossing over her spine. Her arms ache from the bonds that hold her so high that only the tips of her toes scrape on the rough cinderblock beneath her. She tries to open her eyes but feels only the oily smooth leather crushing her eyelashes. The leather straps hold her crossed arms behind her back so completely that even as she struggles to shift the position of her shoulderblades, they practically cry out in pain. The steel bonds around her wrists cut into her flesh and she can feel the blood already starting to ooze down slowly, winding around her elbow and into the inside of her forearm. She can almost hear the subtle drip, drip, drip as the drops hit the concrete floor.
She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the next lash, but it doesn’t come. At least not yet. He waits, agonizingly letting the minutes pass between them. The man in the mask never gives the satisfaction of being able to see one step ahead. Perhaps he will deliver another stinging strike of the whip, or maybe he will just stop altogether. He might change implements or maybe just kill her this time. Though the leather mask blinds her, she thinks she can see the glint of his knife in the darkness. A long and silvery blade-what some might consider a dagger-with a handle of knots that seemed to writhe together at the hilt. She had seen it in other dreams. But never his face. Always covered in a cowl of shadows, only the silver sparkle of his eyes glow in the darkness.
SSSSNNNNAPPP! The spindly tails of the whip whiz through the air and connect with the top of her thigh brutally, drawing blood instantly. She cries out, in surprise more than pain. Suddenly he is behind her, his breath warm and wet at her ear, whispering, “Filthy whore.” His teeth bite into the fleshy bit of her earlobe. “A slave shall not speak or cry. It will be all the worse for you, little one.” The even, serene quality of his voice never wavers, an unsettling tone that is both scary and calming.
She bites her lip, barely noticing as he releases her wrists from the bonds above. He lets her gently down, allowing her to find her footing on the crude platform, before pushing her hard at the center of her back, sending her sprawling facedown on the floor below. She tries to get to her knees, but he only laughs and uses his boot to force her flat. “Worthless slut… falling down so clumsily before your Master. “ She could only whimper in reply, the dull ache in her back making her weak. His laughter at her pain reverberates in all directions, filling her ears with sharp, pounding blows that hurt her almost as much as the tails of the whip.
**********************************************
Dru sits up fast, a gasp catching in her throat. Beads of sweat roll down her forehead and blur into her eyes. Her heart beats fast in a grueling rhythm that she can feel in her head and her breathing is labored in her chest. As it slows, she turns over, looking at the glowing green numbers of the clock beneath the television. 2:35. Only ten minutes since she’d finally closed her eyes. She covers her face with her hands as the tears begin to roll down her face. It had been like this for months. Sleepless nights, lying awake, staring at the clock. Lying on the couch, afraid of the mass of covers and fluffy recesses of her bed. Closing her eyes only to wake up ten minutes later in the throes of the same dream. At first the dream had frightened her-a faceless man commanding her every move. The burning slashes made by his whip. She would wake up and still be able to feel the steel shackle around her wrist or the scratchy concrete brick still cutting into her skin. Never knowing his face, only his voice and the piercing crystals of his eyes. At first she was afraid that the dream would come, now she was more afraid it wouldn’t. In any case, she couldn’t take this sleeplessness much longer.
***********************************************
The blaring siren of the alarm startles her so badly that Dru tumbles from the couch. Her eyes are swollen from crying away another night. She must have finally fallen asleep around 5:30, but now it was 6 and she had to get up for her 8 o’clock class. In the last few weeks, she’d had a total of maybe 12 hours of sleep. But she doesn’t have time to think of that now. The real world is calling. She yawns and creeps slowly into the kitchen, rubbing her abused back. This sleeping on the couch shit was getting old fast. But at least she could channel surf all night.
“Awake already?” Angela swept cheerfully into the room, as usual. Dru’s roommate was a morning person--- a fact which had annoyed her since they moved in together as freshman at Gotham University two years ago.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should’ve slept longer. You look like hell.” Angela winked at Dru as she ducked into the refrigerator. “Have you been having trouble sleeping again?”
“Again? I never stopped.” Dru plopped down on a stool and picked at a slice of leftover pizza. “I’m starting to get used to having no sleep.”
“You know, you should really see a doctor. It can’t be healthy to sleep so little.”
“He’ll just want to give me a sleeping pill.”
“And what is so bad about that? I take one every night. It really helps.”
“It’s the sleeping that I’m afraid of.”
***************************************************************
“Miss Flynn!” Dru was vaguely aware of someone calling her name when she woke up with a start. A small dribble of spit clung to her lip as she sat up, realizing that she was not in her bed, but in her 8:00 Psych class. “Are you quite comfortable or would you like for me to call maintenance to bring down a cot?”
“Uhmm…” she stammered, trying not to yawn. Against her will, her eyes are drawn to look up into the cold stare of her professor. “I’m sorry, Dr. Crane… I just haven’t slept very well.”
“I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but my dear, that is YOUR problem. If my lectures bore you, feel free to take your F and leave.”
“No. I’m not bored… just-“
“Good.” He turned abruptly and continued his lecture as if the interruption had never occurred. Dru sat up and leaned back in her desk, grasping her pencil as if it would hold her consciousness. Her cheeks still burned with the embarrassment of being reprimanded by Dr. Crane. He had this way of talking to her that made her feel small and stupid. The class was comprised of at least 50 people and to be called out in front of all of them was humiliating.
Dru lingered on the edge of sleep for rest of the hour, her eyes glancing at the clock every few minutes, willing the time to pass quicker. It wasn’t that she didn’t’ enjoy the class. Well, she enjoyed Dr. Crane anyway. He scared her to death, but there was something about him-his youthful arrogance, the slope of his cheekbone, the transparent, emotionless glare of his eyes. So much like the eyes of another…
In the midst of her reverie, the class had ended and almost everyone had filed out of the room, leaving her behind. Dr. Crane stood at his desk, gathering papers into his briefcase . Dru took a deep breath and rose slowly from her seat, grabbing her books and pencil; throwing her still-open bookbag over her shoulder and making her way towards the door. As she passed his desk, he didn’t look up, but kept on examining the paper in his hand. She felt she should say something and just stopped and stood silently before him.
“Did you have something to say, Miss Flynn?”
“I--- uhm--- I wanted to apologize for falling asleep. It isn’t you.”
“You’ve no need to apologize to me. It is your grade that will ultimately pay the price for your midmorning nap.”
“But-“
“Good day, Miss Flynn.” He swept past her quickly and was out the door before she could finish her thought.
“A last hope,” she whispered, the words dying in a whisper on her lips.
***************************************************
Her fingers shake as they move towards the doorbell. She was certain that he would think she’d lost her mind the moment he saw her. The downpour had begun when she’d stepped out her door and continued as she walked across town to his apartment. Her hair clung in twisted tendrils to the sides of her face and down her back. The black eyeliner that she always painted so carefully around her eylids, ran in murky streaks down her face, leaving her blue eyes peering out of two black holes. Swallowing hard, she presses the bell, pushing her hair back self-consciously. “Dear God, what will I say?” she murmured. Her question is soon answered as the door opens. “Dr. Crane… hi.”
“Miss Flynn,” he stammers, “what are you doing here?”
“Well I… I had a question.” Her face burns with embarrassment. “I was wondering if you could help me.”
“Of course. My office hours are clearly posted beside my door in the psychology department, feel free to make an appointment.” He starts to close the door, but Dru finds herself catching it.
“Please, Dr. Crane. I won’t take up much of your time.” The pleading sadness reflected in her eyes must soften his resistance, as he steps aside and holds the door open for her.
Her eyes drift all over the room, taking it all in. Everything in his apartment seems to be too large. An enormous fluffy couch opposite an entertainment center that takes up an entire wall. The windows look down over Gotham in a magnificent view of the city. A distant crackling makes her turn around to see a huge oaken fireplace, burning warmly behind her. “Take a seat, Miss Flynn-“
“Dru, please. “
“Alright, Dru.” He motions to a severe looking chair by the fireplace. “Forgive me for saying, but you look a bit… disheveled.” He holds out a towel to her. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
She tries to speak, but comes up empty. She looks up at him as he stands there looking down on her. She notices that he looks nothing like the Dr. Crane she knows. This Dr. Crane has traded in his suit and tie for worn blue jeans with a small hole in one knee and a worn black tee-shirt. His crystal gaze is even more startling without the barrier of lenses. His hair falls in a mess of loose waves around his face. “Well-“
He raises his eyebrow in a puzzled glare. “I really don’t have time-“
He’s startled when she rises from her chair, dropping the towel behind her and staring into his gaze. She steps closer and runs her fingertip down the ridge of his cheekbone. “I’m-I’m so…” She inhales deeply, smelling the sandalwood sweetness of his skin, her lips so close to his. “Please, doctor…” Her watering eyes angle up to his. He stares coldly, but makes no move to back away, even when she winds her arms around his neck and buries her head against his throat. “I’m so afraid,” she whispers, her lips brushing the crest of his jawline.
“And what are you afraid of, little one?” The question reverberates, echoing in her ears. The change in the light is almost immediate. Darkness falls around them like a sheltering veil.
“Afraid to close my eyes…afraid to open them.”
“Vous n'avez rien à craindre mais se craindre.” The words are a quiet whisper as he traces a fingertip across her collarbone. In a first show of emotion, he pulls her tightly against him. “I can fix you.”
The kiss crashes against her mouth. Not a clean, controlled kiss, but savage and warm. He caresses each lip with both of his, nibbling gently and then using his tongue to open her mouth. She inhales sharply and he uses the distraction to deepen the kiss. Warmth and safety crawls around them, a soft breeze kissing their skin. She feels his arms around her and then she is off of her feet as he takes her down. She looks into his eyes and becomes aware that the world around her is changed. Lying back into a bed, surrounded by candlelight that seems to writhe and boil like lava around them. She can’t remember the point at which her clothes vanished, but as dreams often do, the circumstances and people change so fluidly that one never sees it coming. All she can remember is the spicy smell of him surrounding her, intoxicating her senses. The promise of safety with every caress of his fingertips. Though he has only two hands, she can feel them everywhere. Her legs wind around his waist in a tangle, and he pulls her against him. The gentle suckle of his lips against her nipple make her moan breathlessly. He makes no rough movement, but enters her slowly so that they seem to absorb into one another. He cradles her head to his chest, kissing her hair and rocking her tenderly. “Relax and let me save you.”
The atmosphere around them begins to shift and from far off she can hear the thunder. He winds his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back and kissing her throat with soft caresses, then gentle bites. He tangles his fingertips into her hair tighter, making her arch her back painfully. The gentle rotations of his hips seem to speed up as he forces his cock further into her. His voice drops to a raspy growl in her ear, “I’ll fix you.” The words that were such a comfort before are now spoken with a dose of venom that make her blood run cold. “I’ll fix you, little one.” With a bony hand splayed in the center of her chest, she’s thrown backwards, knocking the breath from her body.
Lightning crashes, lighting up the room in an instant and everything is changed again. Again she lies in the barren room, the cold concrete against her back. His blue eyes are shadowed in the darkness again and she can’t see him. Only her body can feel him as he thrusts into her so hard as to rip her in two. “There is beauty in the breakdown,” he hisses into her ear as he pins her down, his hands leaving angry bruises around her wrists.
“This is not what I want,” she whimpers, thrashing her face away from his poisonous kisses.
“Fucking whore!” he shouts angrily, his hand meeting her cheekbone with an audible smack. “No one gives a fuck what you want!” And with that he pulls her up to look him in the face. “Just a scared little whore,” he growls evilly. The lightning illuminates the mask for a just a moment-the blue eyes blackened beneath a cowl of burlap.
Title: Fix You (1/?)
Author: Cleo_Kitty
Rating: R
Fandom: Batman Begins.. sans batman
Pairing: Crane/ OFC (aaaaccckkk!! not an OFC!!!)
Disclaimer: I make no $ from this and all I own is the characters of Dru and Angela.
Type your cut contents here.
The first thing she can feel is the pain. Exploding across her shoulders and radiating down her back. White-hot streaks of fire crisscrossing over her spine. Her arms ache from the bonds that hold her so high that only the tips of her toes scrape on the rough cinderblock beneath her. She tries to open her eyes but feels only the oily smooth leather crushing her eyelashes. The leather straps hold her crossed arms behind her back so completely that even as she struggles to shift the position of her shoulderblades, they practically cry out in pain. The steel bonds around her wrists cut into her flesh and she can feel the blood already starting to ooze down slowly, winding around her elbow and into the inside of her forearm. She can almost hear the subtle drip, drip, drip as the drops hit the concrete floor.
She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the next lash, but it doesn’t come. At least not yet. He waits, agonizingly letting the minutes pass between them. The man in the mask never gives the satisfaction of being able to see one step ahead. Perhaps he will deliver another stinging strike of the whip, or maybe he will just stop altogether. He might change implements or maybe just kill her this time. Though the leather mask blinds her, she thinks she can see the glint of his knife in the darkness. A long and silvery blade-what some might consider a dagger-with a handle of knots that seemed to writhe together at the hilt. She had seen it in other dreams. But never his face. Always covered in a cowl of shadows, only the silver sparkle of his eyes glow in the darkness.
SSSSNNNNAPPP! The spindly tails of the whip whiz through the air and connect with the top of her thigh brutally, drawing blood instantly. She cries out, in surprise more than pain. Suddenly he is behind her, his breath warm and wet at her ear, whispering, “Filthy whore.” His teeth bite into the fleshy bit of her earlobe. “A slave shall not speak or cry. It will be all the worse for you, little one.” The even, serene quality of his voice never wavers, an unsettling tone that is both scary and calming.
She bites her lip, barely noticing as he releases her wrists from the bonds above. He lets her gently down, allowing her to find her footing on the crude platform, before pushing her hard at the center of her back, sending her sprawling facedown on the floor below. She tries to get to her knees, but he only laughs and uses his boot to force her flat. “Worthless slut… falling down so clumsily before your Master. “ She could only whimper in reply, the dull ache in her back making her weak. His laughter at her pain reverberates in all directions, filling her ears with sharp, pounding blows that hurt her almost as much as the tails of the whip.
**********************************************
Dru sits up fast, a gasp catching in her throat. Beads of sweat roll down her forehead and blur into her eyes. Her heart beats fast in a grueling rhythm that she can feel in her head and her breathing is labored in her chest. As it slows, she turns over, looking at the glowing green numbers of the clock beneath the television. 2:35. Only ten minutes since she’d finally closed her eyes. She covers her face with her hands as the tears begin to roll down her face. It had been like this for months. Sleepless nights, lying awake, staring at the clock. Lying on the couch, afraid of the mass of covers and fluffy recesses of her bed. Closing her eyes only to wake up ten minutes later in the throes of the same dream. At first the dream had frightened her-a faceless man commanding her every move. The burning slashes made by his whip. She would wake up and still be able to feel the steel shackle around her wrist or the scratchy concrete brick still cutting into her skin. Never knowing his face, only his voice and the piercing crystals of his eyes. At first she was afraid that the dream would come, now she was more afraid it wouldn’t. In any case, she couldn’t take this sleeplessness much longer.
***********************************************
The blaring siren of the alarm startles her so badly that Dru tumbles from the couch. Her eyes are swollen from crying away another night. She must have finally fallen asleep around 5:30, but now it was 6 and she had to get up for her 8 o’clock class. In the last few weeks, she’d had a total of maybe 12 hours of sleep. But she doesn’t have time to think of that now. The real world is calling. She yawns and creeps slowly into the kitchen, rubbing her abused back. This sleeping on the couch shit was getting old fast. But at least she could channel surf all night.
“Awake already?” Angela swept cheerfully into the room, as usual. Dru’s roommate was a morning person--- a fact which had annoyed her since they moved in together as freshman at Gotham University two years ago.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should’ve slept longer. You look like hell.” Angela winked at Dru as she ducked into the refrigerator. “Have you been having trouble sleeping again?”
“Again? I never stopped.” Dru plopped down on a stool and picked at a slice of leftover pizza. “I’m starting to get used to having no sleep.”
“You know, you should really see a doctor. It can’t be healthy to sleep so little.”
“He’ll just want to give me a sleeping pill.”
“And what is so bad about that? I take one every night. It really helps.”
“It’s the sleeping that I’m afraid of.”
***************************************************************
“Miss Flynn!” Dru was vaguely aware of someone calling her name when she woke up with a start. A small dribble of spit clung to her lip as she sat up, realizing that she was not in her bed, but in her 8:00 Psych class. “Are you quite comfortable or would you like for me to call maintenance to bring down a cot?”
“Uhmm…” she stammered, trying not to yawn. Against her will, her eyes are drawn to look up into the cold stare of her professor. “I’m sorry, Dr. Crane… I just haven’t slept very well.”
“I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but my dear, that is YOUR problem. If my lectures bore you, feel free to take your F and leave.”
“No. I’m not bored… just-“
“Good.” He turned abruptly and continued his lecture as if the interruption had never occurred. Dru sat up and leaned back in her desk, grasping her pencil as if it would hold her consciousness. Her cheeks still burned with the embarrassment of being reprimanded by Dr. Crane. He had this way of talking to her that made her feel small and stupid. The class was comprised of at least 50 people and to be called out in front of all of them was humiliating.
Dru lingered on the edge of sleep for rest of the hour, her eyes glancing at the clock every few minutes, willing the time to pass quicker. It wasn’t that she didn’t’ enjoy the class. Well, she enjoyed Dr. Crane anyway. He scared her to death, but there was something about him-his youthful arrogance, the slope of his cheekbone, the transparent, emotionless glare of his eyes. So much like the eyes of another…
In the midst of her reverie, the class had ended and almost everyone had filed out of the room, leaving her behind. Dr. Crane stood at his desk, gathering papers into his briefcase . Dru took a deep breath and rose slowly from her seat, grabbing her books and pencil; throwing her still-open bookbag over her shoulder and making her way towards the door. As she passed his desk, he didn’t look up, but kept on examining the paper in his hand. She felt she should say something and just stopped and stood silently before him.
“Did you have something to say, Miss Flynn?”
“I--- uhm--- I wanted to apologize for falling asleep. It isn’t you.”
“You’ve no need to apologize to me. It is your grade that will ultimately pay the price for your midmorning nap.”
“But-“
“Good day, Miss Flynn.” He swept past her quickly and was out the door before she could finish her thought.
“A last hope,” she whispered, the words dying in a whisper on her lips.
***************************************************
Her fingers shake as they move towards the doorbell. She was certain that he would think she’d lost her mind the moment he saw her. The downpour had begun when she’d stepped out her door and continued as she walked across town to his apartment. Her hair clung in twisted tendrils to the sides of her face and down her back. The black eyeliner that she always painted so carefully around her eylids, ran in murky streaks down her face, leaving her blue eyes peering out of two black holes. Swallowing hard, she presses the bell, pushing her hair back self-consciously. “Dear God, what will I say?” she murmured. Her question is soon answered as the door opens. “Dr. Crane… hi.”
“Miss Flynn,” he stammers, “what are you doing here?”
“Well I… I had a question.” Her face burns with embarrassment. “I was wondering if you could help me.”
“Of course. My office hours are clearly posted beside my door in the psychology department, feel free to make an appointment.” He starts to close the door, but Dru finds herself catching it.
“Please, Dr. Crane. I won’t take up much of your time.” The pleading sadness reflected in her eyes must soften his resistance, as he steps aside and holds the door open for her.
Her eyes drift all over the room, taking it all in. Everything in his apartment seems to be too large. An enormous fluffy couch opposite an entertainment center that takes up an entire wall. The windows look down over Gotham in a magnificent view of the city. A distant crackling makes her turn around to see a huge oaken fireplace, burning warmly behind her. “Take a seat, Miss Flynn-“
“Dru, please. “
“Alright, Dru.” He motions to a severe looking chair by the fireplace. “Forgive me for saying, but you look a bit… disheveled.” He holds out a towel to her. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
She tries to speak, but comes up empty. She looks up at him as he stands there looking down on her. She notices that he looks nothing like the Dr. Crane she knows. This Dr. Crane has traded in his suit and tie for worn blue jeans with a small hole in one knee and a worn black tee-shirt. His crystal gaze is even more startling without the barrier of lenses. His hair falls in a mess of loose waves around his face. “Well-“
He raises his eyebrow in a puzzled glare. “I really don’t have time-“
He’s startled when she rises from her chair, dropping the towel behind her and staring into his gaze. She steps closer and runs her fingertip down the ridge of his cheekbone. “I’m-I’m so…” She inhales deeply, smelling the sandalwood sweetness of his skin, her lips so close to his. “Please, doctor…” Her watering eyes angle up to his. He stares coldly, but makes no move to back away, even when she winds her arms around his neck and buries her head against his throat. “I’m so afraid,” she whispers, her lips brushing the crest of his jawline.
“And what are you afraid of, little one?” The question reverberates, echoing in her ears. The change in the light is almost immediate. Darkness falls around them like a sheltering veil.
“Afraid to close my eyes…afraid to open them.”
“Vous n'avez rien à craindre mais se craindre.” The words are a quiet whisper as he traces a fingertip across her collarbone. In a first show of emotion, he pulls her tightly against him. “I can fix you.”
The kiss crashes against her mouth. Not a clean, controlled kiss, but savage and warm. He caresses each lip with both of his, nibbling gently and then using his tongue to open her mouth. She inhales sharply and he uses the distraction to deepen the kiss. Warmth and safety crawls around them, a soft breeze kissing their skin. She feels his arms around her and then she is off of her feet as he takes her down. She looks into his eyes and becomes aware that the world around her is changed. Lying back into a bed, surrounded by candlelight that seems to writhe and boil like lava around them. She can’t remember the point at which her clothes vanished, but as dreams often do, the circumstances and people change so fluidly that one never sees it coming. All she can remember is the spicy smell of him surrounding her, intoxicating her senses. The promise of safety with every caress of his fingertips. Though he has only two hands, she can feel them everywhere. Her legs wind around his waist in a tangle, and he pulls her against him. The gentle suckle of his lips against her nipple make her moan breathlessly. He makes no rough movement, but enters her slowly so that they seem to absorb into one another. He cradles her head to his chest, kissing her hair and rocking her tenderly. “Relax and let me save you.”
The atmosphere around them begins to shift and from far off she can hear the thunder. He winds his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back and kissing her throat with soft caresses, then gentle bites. He tangles his fingertips into her hair tighter, making her arch her back painfully. The gentle rotations of his hips seem to speed up as he forces his cock further into her. His voice drops to a raspy growl in her ear, “I’ll fix you.” The words that were such a comfort before are now spoken with a dose of venom that make her blood run cold. “I’ll fix you, little one.” With a bony hand splayed in the center of her chest, she’s thrown backwards, knocking the breath from her body.
Lightning crashes, lighting up the room in an instant and everything is changed again. Again she lies in the barren room, the cold concrete against her back. His blue eyes are shadowed in the darkness again and she can’t see him. Only her body can feel him as he thrusts into her so hard as to rip her in two. “There is beauty in the breakdown,” he hisses into her ear as he pins her down, his hands leaving angry bruises around her wrists.
“This is not what I want,” she whimpers, thrashing her face away from his poisonous kisses.
“Fucking whore!” he shouts angrily, his hand meeting her cheekbone with an audible smack. “No one gives a fuck what you want!” And with that he pulls her up to look him in the face. “Just a scared little whore,” he growls evilly. The lightning illuminates the mask for a just a moment-the blue eyes blackened beneath a cowl of burlap.