(no subject)
Title: On the Outside, Part 4 (Finale?)
Author: frenchroast
Pairing: Wayne/Crane
Rating: PG-13 to R, depending how sheltered you are.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Batman/Bruce Wayne, Dr. Jonathan Crane/the Scarecrow or anything else. I am a terrible thief and would happily steal them if I could. I also have no idea who invented the toaster, but I don't see why Bruce couldn't be related to them.
And I'm debating whether to continue or not. Thoughts? Comments? (Pleeeease?)
Previous installments:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
As the hands of his watch approached half past eight, the Scarecrow arrived early for his Halloween rendezvous; he reveled in the shadows cast by the ruins of the Wayne manor. The remnants of the mansion were filled with the ghosts of past years even as a lone crane overlooked the site; the rebuilding had already begun. The Scarecrow’s eyes searched the ruins as he made his way to the Wayne family cemetery on the edge of the grounds, ever ready for any trap the Bat-Man had waiting for him. This time, the good doctor had more than fear gas to aid him; the Bat-Man had bested him physically the last time, but the scythe the Scarecrow now carried would be more than adequate in a fight.
Several yards ahead, he noticed a dark figure standing next to a white tombstone shaped...somewhat like a toaster...illuminated in the half moon-light. He approached slowly, but was surprised to realize after a few paces that the figure wasn’t the Bat-Man. It was Bruce Wayne accompanied only by a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Dr. Crane’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped forward, and he knew exactly what he wanted.
As Bruce leaned forward to place the flowers on the tomb adjacent to the larger, illuminated, toaster-shaped one, the Scarecrow leaped, forcing him to the leaf covered-ground. The attack caught him off guard, and before he knew it, he was pinned at the foot of the toaster tomb.
“Dr. Crane,” Bruce said in a half growl, struggling to free himself from the grasp Jonathan had on him. A punch connected with his attacker’s jaw, but the Scarecrow had the sharp edge of the scythe pushing against Bruce’s throat.
“Why so formal, Mr. Wayne? We’re about to become much,” here he paused for a moment for dramatic effect, “much more than friends.”
A look of fear flashed across Bruce’s face, which only made Jonathan’s grin widen all the more. He had anticipated this for so long, and here the opportunity had presented itself as the holiday were Christmas, and not Halloween.
“What do you want, Crane?”
The Scarecrow shook his head. “It’s Halloween. I’ve given you your trick; now it’s time for my treat.” With that, he wrested Bruce up against the large toaster tomb which bore the name of one of Bruce’s distant great uncles; Bruce remembered briefly a family story involving the invention of toasters, but considering he was now at the mercy of Dr. Crane, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with.
“You’re sick, Crane. You need the antidote to your hallucinogen,” Bruce said. “We can go now and-“
“I don’t care to be returned to Arkham as someone I would’ve been in charge of treating three weeks ago, Bruce.” Keeping the scythe at Bruce’s throat, Dr. Crane reached around the front of Bruce’s waist and pulled at the buckle, undoing it with some difficulty, but finally, the belt was off and Bruce’s expensive pants fell to the ground. Jonathan reached up the millionaire’s shirt and ran his hand over Bruce’s smooth abs, then he reached back and undid his own belt buckle. Seconds later, Bruce screamed. Being taken was so completely different from taking; he’d never known sex could feel like this, and it evoked fears even Ducard hadn’t been able to unearth.
Bruce clung to the toaster tomb as Jonathan clung to him and tried to think of other things, like England, but this was impossible. He’d never thought his next meeting with the Scarecrow would turn into this, and he never thought he’d actually...and even as he was raped by Dr. Crane, Bruce realized the clever doctor didn’t know he was Batman. But the thought flew to the back of his mind as Jonathan built up a rhythm, the two men merging together, and for a few seconds, the Scarecrow was hero and Batman, the villain; Bruce’s body shook with the thrill, but Jonathan was growing more and more uneasy, and finished quickly.
He kept the scythe at Bruce’s throat even as Bruce put his clothes back on, but if he’d known Bruce’s thoughts, he’d have known there was no further need for it. But the Bat-Man has broken his appointment, or seemed to have, and this made the Scarecrow nervous. He left in haste, knocking Bruce out with the flat side of his scythe.
******
Late the next morning, Bruce awoke, slumped against the large tomb, to the sound of his cell phone. “Bruce Wayne,” he mumbled.
“Where are you?”
“Rachel? What time is it?”
“You’re thirty minutes late for brunch, and Gordon was getting worried. Are you okay?”
“What? Of course. I just...” he paused, noticing the chrysanthemums strewn about, and near presence of the toaster-shaped tombstone. It had really happened. “I just lost track of time out here in the cemetery.”
“Bruce, it’s not healthy to spend all your time out there.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way. And Rachel?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let Gordon eat all the toast.”
Author: frenchroast
Pairing: Wayne/Crane
Rating: PG-13 to R, depending how sheltered you are.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Batman/Bruce Wayne, Dr. Jonathan Crane/the Scarecrow or anything else. I am a terrible thief and would happily steal them if I could. I also have no idea who invented the toaster, but I don't see why Bruce couldn't be related to them.
And I'm debating whether to continue or not. Thoughts? Comments? (Pleeeease?)
Previous installments:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
As the hands of his watch approached half past eight, the Scarecrow arrived early for his Halloween rendezvous; he reveled in the shadows cast by the ruins of the Wayne manor. The remnants of the mansion were filled with the ghosts of past years even as a lone crane overlooked the site; the rebuilding had already begun. The Scarecrow’s eyes searched the ruins as he made his way to the Wayne family cemetery on the edge of the grounds, ever ready for any trap the Bat-Man had waiting for him. This time, the good doctor had more than fear gas to aid him; the Bat-Man had bested him physically the last time, but the scythe the Scarecrow now carried would be more than adequate in a fight.
Several yards ahead, he noticed a dark figure standing next to a white tombstone shaped...somewhat like a toaster...illuminated in the half moon-light. He approached slowly, but was surprised to realize after a few paces that the figure wasn’t the Bat-Man. It was Bruce Wayne accompanied only by a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Dr. Crane’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped forward, and he knew exactly what he wanted.
As Bruce leaned forward to place the flowers on the tomb adjacent to the larger, illuminated, toaster-shaped one, the Scarecrow leaped, forcing him to the leaf covered-ground. The attack caught him off guard, and before he knew it, he was pinned at the foot of the toaster tomb.
“Dr. Crane,” Bruce said in a half growl, struggling to free himself from the grasp Jonathan had on him. A punch connected with his attacker’s jaw, but the Scarecrow had the sharp edge of the scythe pushing against Bruce’s throat.
“Why so formal, Mr. Wayne? We’re about to become much,” here he paused for a moment for dramatic effect, “much more than friends.”
A look of fear flashed across Bruce’s face, which only made Jonathan’s grin widen all the more. He had anticipated this for so long, and here the opportunity had presented itself as the holiday were Christmas, and not Halloween.
“What do you want, Crane?”
The Scarecrow shook his head. “It’s Halloween. I’ve given you your trick; now it’s time for my treat.” With that, he wrested Bruce up against the large toaster tomb which bore the name of one of Bruce’s distant great uncles; Bruce remembered briefly a family story involving the invention of toasters, but considering he was now at the mercy of Dr. Crane, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with.
“You’re sick, Crane. You need the antidote to your hallucinogen,” Bruce said. “We can go now and-“
“I don’t care to be returned to Arkham as someone I would’ve been in charge of treating three weeks ago, Bruce.” Keeping the scythe at Bruce’s throat, Dr. Crane reached around the front of Bruce’s waist and pulled at the buckle, undoing it with some difficulty, but finally, the belt was off and Bruce’s expensive pants fell to the ground. Jonathan reached up the millionaire’s shirt and ran his hand over Bruce’s smooth abs, then he reached back and undid his own belt buckle. Seconds later, Bruce screamed. Being taken was so completely different from taking; he’d never known sex could feel like this, and it evoked fears even Ducard hadn’t been able to unearth.
Bruce clung to the toaster tomb as Jonathan clung to him and tried to think of other things, like England, but this was impossible. He’d never thought his next meeting with the Scarecrow would turn into this, and he never thought he’d actually...and even as he was raped by Dr. Crane, Bruce realized the clever doctor didn’t know he was Batman. But the thought flew to the back of his mind as Jonathan built up a rhythm, the two men merging together, and for a few seconds, the Scarecrow was hero and Batman, the villain; Bruce’s body shook with the thrill, but Jonathan was growing more and more uneasy, and finished quickly.
He kept the scythe at Bruce’s throat even as Bruce put his clothes back on, but if he’d known Bruce’s thoughts, he’d have known there was no further need for it. But the Bat-Man has broken his appointment, or seemed to have, and this made the Scarecrow nervous. He left in haste, knocking Bruce out with the flat side of his scythe.
******
Late the next morning, Bruce awoke, slumped against the large tomb, to the sound of his cell phone. “Bruce Wayne,” he mumbled.
“Where are you?”
“Rachel? What time is it?”
“You’re thirty minutes late for brunch, and Gordon was getting worried. Are you okay?”
“What? Of course. I just...” he paused, noticing the chrysanthemums strewn about, and near presence of the toaster-shaped tombstone. It had really happened. “I just lost track of time out here in the cemetery.”
“Bruce, it’s not healthy to spend all your time out there.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way. And Rachel?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let Gordon eat all the toast.”