First post (with fic)!
Hello, all! I am stoked that there is finally a Joker/Scarecrow community.
Title: An Immodest Proposal
Author: Claudia
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Joker/Scarecrow (Nolanverse)
Disclaimer: All characters are owned solely by their respective copyright and trademark holders. The author does not own the rights to any of the characters mentioned within. No money has been made from this.
Summary: The Joker wants something from the Scarecrow; the Scarecrow wants something in return.
Note: Originally written for the Batman Kink Meme, now with minor revisions.
***
Dr. Crane pulled the chain to turn on the lone light bulb that barely illuminated the grimy basement he now called home. He hung his jacket on the doorknob. Something rustled in the far corner of the room; Crane paid it no attention. This place was infested with rats. They must nest in the walls; Crane had already used dozens of them in his experiments, and there were always dozens more. He carefully removed the box of macaroni and cheese from the circle of mouse traps that protected it and set a pot of water to boil on his Bunsen burner.
Crane hated the shivery, unsettled feeling he sometimes brought home with him after a deal. That leftover adrenaline, that fight-or-flight instinct still fluttering in one corner of his mind. The paranoia. He wasn't ready to take off his mask just yet.
"A watched pot never boils, Dr. Crane."
Crane stiffened, then turned slowly. The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Some vulgar specimen of muscle-with-no-brains, perhaps, who thought he could get the upper hand on his employer? He peered into the shadows, making out a vague human form.
"I hope you're making enough for two."
Dr. Crane rotated his wrist, reassuring himself with the familiar weight of the toxin canister. "I wasn't expecting any dinner guests tonight."
Crane's makeshift bed creaked as the man stood up. He took two strides into the light, and Crane smiled underneath his mask. So, finally we meet...
"Hi." The Joker grinned.
"I'm honored to be in your presence," Crane remarked dryly.
The Joker gestured broadly to their surroundings, knife in hand. "Nice place. Could use a little color." He took a few more steps toward Crane.
Crane resisted the urge to step backwards. He had seen the Joker on television, and in a grainy, black and white video still printed in the newspaper, but none of that could compete with seeing him in the flesh. The vibrant white and red smears of face paint, the silver glint of his knife's blade.
The Joker tapped his chin. "You know... I've been thinking."
Crane cocked his head.
"I've been thinking... things have been so boring lately."
"Boring?"
"Yeah. Don't you get tired of the same old routine, day-in, day-out? What do you do, doc? Make a few deals, come home, loosen your tie, sit down to a nice home-cooked meal? Is that really living?"
Crane smirked underneath his mask. He couldn't help but be fascinated by the Joker. In another life, maybe, they could have had something. The Joker could have been his most noteworthy case, the one that would have catapulted him beyond his mediocre job at the asylum and into the annals as one of the greats of modern psychiatry. "What else is there for men like us?"
"Men like us. Men.... like us. Listen, doc. I came here because I want to make a deal."
"I'm listening, Monty."
The Joker laughed, a wild, musical cackle that seemed to echo off the walls. "A sense of humor. I like you. Now, listen. Small time robberies? They just aren't taking the edge off any more. I need something... bigger. And you can help."
Crane cocked his head.
"I know you're not dealing drugs all by your little old self. I know you're working with the Russian. What I want from you... is the dirt."
"Why should I endanger my operation?"
"Oh, you wouldn't be endangering anything, trust me."
Crane huffed a laugh through his mask.
The Joker smiled. "The Russian is just the first step. I'm gonna get 'em all where it hurts. Gotham will practically thank me. And it'll mean guys like us won't have to share, anymore. No more mob skimming the top off our hard-earned cash. No, listen. All I want from you is information."
"All right." Crane's gaze locked onto the Joker's. "On one condition."
One corner of the Joker's mouth curled in anticipation of a smile. "What is it? Wanna hear about my mother? Wanna know how I got these scars?"
"Some other time."
"Well, what is it, doc? Your wish is my command."
"Take off your clothes."
"What?"
Crane smiled with satisfaction. Was that a flash of surprise he just saw in the Joker's eyes? "You heard me."
The Joker shrugged off his jacket. "Wanna give me a physical?" The tie and belt came next. Then the shoes. Crane didn't move. "Wanna see if the carpet matches the drapes?"
"Something like that."
The Joker laughed, shucking off the rest of his clothing. "Ta-da!"
Crane eyed the wild, dark blonde thatch of pubic hair, the thickness of the Joker's semi-erect penis, the strong thighs, the flat stomach. "Come here."
The Joker closed the distance between him and Crane, smirking. Crane shivered as the Joker brushed against him. "Are you going to have your way with me, doctor?"
Crane swallowed thickly, throat feeling tight, his muscles coiled in anticipation. "Blow me."
The Joker cupped the bulge in Crane's trousers, then unbuckled his belt and slowly pulled it out of its loops. "I suppose you don't get laid often, do ya?"
Crane barely breathed. "No."
The Joker pulled his zipper down and popped the button on his trousers. His rough, ragged calluses felt delicious as his fingers trailed through pubic hair and down the length of Crane's straining cock. "That's what hookers are for."
"Not for me."
"Mmm." The Joker nuzzled Crane's neck, where burlap met the soft fabric of his shirt. "I think you should be naked, too. It's only fair."
"Okay." Crane made no move to undress himself. His nerve endings were singing with sensation, his cock pulsed with need, and the Joker's fingers positively burned where they brushed over his skin.
"Hmm," the Joker said, neglecting Crane's cock in favor of unbuttoning his shirt. He pushed the shirt over Crane's shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "Freckles. I like that."
Crane blushed underneath his mask. The Joker pushed his trousers down, then groped his buttocks. "Why so tense? You're like... a virgin at the prom. Do I make you nervous?"
Crane cleared his throat. "I think I recall telling you to blow me."
"What about me, huh? What about my needs?" The Joker slipped his arm around Crane's waist, crushing their bodies together. With his free hand, he pulled off Crane's mask and tossed it aside.
Crane stared at him, wide-eyed, face flushed, hair tousled.
"Oh, doc, you're even more beautiful in person." He ground his hips against Crane. Crane squeezed his eyes shut, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. Then, the Joker's lips were against his, and the Joker's hot, wet tongue slipped between them. Crane turned his head, feeling the smear of the Joker's makeup against his cheek, the texture of bumpy scars. "Yeah," the Joker huffed against Crane's ear.
The Joker hauled Crane over to the lumpy, threadbare futon mattress that Crane had elevated off the floor with milk crates. With surprising gentleness, the Joker settled him onto it. "Now... where were we?"
After a second's hesitation, Crane found his voice and steeled his gaze. "Blow job."
"Yeah..." The Joker crawled between Crane's legs, demonic smirk painted across his face.
Crane fought to keep his eyes open as the Joker's mouth engulfed the head of his cock, red lips forming an 'O', then stretching as the Joker went down. Crane felt his cock rub against the hot, slick ridges on the inside of the Joker's cheek. He groaned. He was too close, already.
The Joker sucked noisily as Crane fought to keep his control and failed, bucking his hips. The Joker let Crane's cock fall out of his mouth. "You like that, huh?"
Crane swallowed. "Did I tell you to stop?"
The Joker glanced around the room. "Well, doc, I hope you have lube, otherwise, this is going to get ugly."
"I didn't say you could fuck me."
"Well, no, you didn't say it with words... but I know a guy who wants to get fucked when I see one. And you... want to get fucked."
Crane licked his lips, deliberating only a moment. "There's vaseline in that box by the foot of the bed."
The Joker chuckled and leaned over to rummage through it, finding the jar after a few seconds. Crane started to roll over, but the Joker grabbed his leg. "Uh-uh. I want to see your pretty face."
Crane's chest felt constricted. He glanced across the room at his mask, resting atop the pile of his clothing. How could he have let this situation get so out-of-control? Sticky fingers pushed against his asshole and Crane spread his legs wider, hoping to make the penetration as painless as possible. It had easily been fifteen years since he last found himself in this position-- not since he was an undergrad. He tried to breath deeply, but the panic clutching at his chest would not let him.
"Relax, Scarecrow." Crane's gazed snapped back to the Joker. The Joker smiled, more like a baring of teeth. "I want this to be good for you."
The Joker rammed his cock into Crane's ass, hips thrusting and driving immediately. Crane grit his teeth and arched his back, squirming with the pain and intrusion. The Joker shifted his weight over Crane, changing the angle of his thrusts and no doubt enjoying the pain and the panic playing across Crane's face. Crane clutched at his shoulder with one hand, digging his nails in, and the Joker groaned. Crane caught a fistful of hair at the nape of the Joker's neck with the other hand, wound it around his fingers, and pulled. Crane felt the skin break under his nails, finally, and the Joker grunted, letting his weight pin Crane as his hips churned out his orgasm.
The Joker recovered quickly and pulled out, shifting to kneel between Crane's legs. He stared into Crane's eyes, panting, licking his lips. Crane noted the way his makeup had run, then looked down at himself. He was splattered with milky droplets, the Joker's sweat and makeup mixed together. He stroked himself, relishing the dull burning in his ass. "Blow job."
The Joker leaned down and took Crane into his mouth, not wasting any more time taunting or teasing him. Crane bucked his hips, working out a rhythm to counter the Joker's hard, frantic sucking. His orgasm hit him hard, and he tasted blood as he bit his tongue to keep from crying out. The Joker sat back up, then leaned over Dr. Crane. His eyes bore into Crane's as he spat out the semen, splattering Crane's chest. He wiped at the dribble that hung off his chin, then smeared it across Crane's cheek.
Without a word, he crawled off the bed and walked to the Bunsen burner. Crane watched as he dumped the box of pasta into the pot. The Joker turned back and peered into the shadows where Crane still lay. "Where's your spoon?"
***
Title: An Immodest Proposal
Author: Claudia
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Joker/Scarecrow (Nolanverse)
Disclaimer: All characters are owned solely by their respective copyright and trademark holders. The author does not own the rights to any of the characters mentioned within. No money has been made from this.
Summary: The Joker wants something from the Scarecrow; the Scarecrow wants something in return.
Note: Originally written for the Batman Kink Meme, now with minor revisions.
***
Dr. Crane pulled the chain to turn on the lone light bulb that barely illuminated the grimy basement he now called home. He hung his jacket on the doorknob. Something rustled in the far corner of the room; Crane paid it no attention. This place was infested with rats. They must nest in the walls; Crane had already used dozens of them in his experiments, and there were always dozens more. He carefully removed the box of macaroni and cheese from the circle of mouse traps that protected it and set a pot of water to boil on his Bunsen burner.
Crane hated the shivery, unsettled feeling he sometimes brought home with him after a deal. That leftover adrenaline, that fight-or-flight instinct still fluttering in one corner of his mind. The paranoia. He wasn't ready to take off his mask just yet.
"A watched pot never boils, Dr. Crane."
Crane stiffened, then turned slowly. The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Some vulgar specimen of muscle-with-no-brains, perhaps, who thought he could get the upper hand on his employer? He peered into the shadows, making out a vague human form.
"I hope you're making enough for two."
Dr. Crane rotated his wrist, reassuring himself with the familiar weight of the toxin canister. "I wasn't expecting any dinner guests tonight."
Crane's makeshift bed creaked as the man stood up. He took two strides into the light, and Crane smiled underneath his mask. So, finally we meet...
"Hi." The Joker grinned.
"I'm honored to be in your presence," Crane remarked dryly.
The Joker gestured broadly to their surroundings, knife in hand. "Nice place. Could use a little color." He took a few more steps toward Crane.
Crane resisted the urge to step backwards. He had seen the Joker on television, and in a grainy, black and white video still printed in the newspaper, but none of that could compete with seeing him in the flesh. The vibrant white and red smears of face paint, the silver glint of his knife's blade.
The Joker tapped his chin. "You know... I've been thinking."
Crane cocked his head.
"I've been thinking... things have been so boring lately."
"Boring?"
"Yeah. Don't you get tired of the same old routine, day-in, day-out? What do you do, doc? Make a few deals, come home, loosen your tie, sit down to a nice home-cooked meal? Is that really living?"
Crane smirked underneath his mask. He couldn't help but be fascinated by the Joker. In another life, maybe, they could have had something. The Joker could have been his most noteworthy case, the one that would have catapulted him beyond his mediocre job at the asylum and into the annals as one of the greats of modern psychiatry. "What else is there for men like us?"
"Men like us. Men.... like us. Listen, doc. I came here because I want to make a deal."
"I'm listening, Monty."
The Joker laughed, a wild, musical cackle that seemed to echo off the walls. "A sense of humor. I like you. Now, listen. Small time robberies? They just aren't taking the edge off any more. I need something... bigger. And you can help."
Crane cocked his head.
"I know you're not dealing drugs all by your little old self. I know you're working with the Russian. What I want from you... is the dirt."
"Why should I endanger my operation?"
"Oh, you wouldn't be endangering anything, trust me."
Crane huffed a laugh through his mask.
The Joker smiled. "The Russian is just the first step. I'm gonna get 'em all where it hurts. Gotham will practically thank me. And it'll mean guys like us won't have to share, anymore. No more mob skimming the top off our hard-earned cash. No, listen. All I want from you is information."
"All right." Crane's gaze locked onto the Joker's. "On one condition."
One corner of the Joker's mouth curled in anticipation of a smile. "What is it? Wanna hear about my mother? Wanna know how I got these scars?"
"Some other time."
"Well, what is it, doc? Your wish is my command."
"Take off your clothes."
"What?"
Crane smiled with satisfaction. Was that a flash of surprise he just saw in the Joker's eyes? "You heard me."
The Joker shrugged off his jacket. "Wanna give me a physical?" The tie and belt came next. Then the shoes. Crane didn't move. "Wanna see if the carpet matches the drapes?"
"Something like that."
The Joker laughed, shucking off the rest of his clothing. "Ta-da!"
Crane eyed the wild, dark blonde thatch of pubic hair, the thickness of the Joker's semi-erect penis, the strong thighs, the flat stomach. "Come here."
The Joker closed the distance between him and Crane, smirking. Crane shivered as the Joker brushed against him. "Are you going to have your way with me, doctor?"
Crane swallowed thickly, throat feeling tight, his muscles coiled in anticipation. "Blow me."
The Joker cupped the bulge in Crane's trousers, then unbuckled his belt and slowly pulled it out of its loops. "I suppose you don't get laid often, do ya?"
Crane barely breathed. "No."
The Joker pulled his zipper down and popped the button on his trousers. His rough, ragged calluses felt delicious as his fingers trailed through pubic hair and down the length of Crane's straining cock. "That's what hookers are for."
"Not for me."
"Mmm." The Joker nuzzled Crane's neck, where burlap met the soft fabric of his shirt. "I think you should be naked, too. It's only fair."
"Okay." Crane made no move to undress himself. His nerve endings were singing with sensation, his cock pulsed with need, and the Joker's fingers positively burned where they brushed over his skin.
"Hmm," the Joker said, neglecting Crane's cock in favor of unbuttoning his shirt. He pushed the shirt over Crane's shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "Freckles. I like that."
Crane blushed underneath his mask. The Joker pushed his trousers down, then groped his buttocks. "Why so tense? You're like... a virgin at the prom. Do I make you nervous?"
Crane cleared his throat. "I think I recall telling you to blow me."
"What about me, huh? What about my needs?" The Joker slipped his arm around Crane's waist, crushing their bodies together. With his free hand, he pulled off Crane's mask and tossed it aside.
Crane stared at him, wide-eyed, face flushed, hair tousled.
"Oh, doc, you're even more beautiful in person." He ground his hips against Crane. Crane squeezed his eyes shut, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. Then, the Joker's lips were against his, and the Joker's hot, wet tongue slipped between them. Crane turned his head, feeling the smear of the Joker's makeup against his cheek, the texture of bumpy scars. "Yeah," the Joker huffed against Crane's ear.
The Joker hauled Crane over to the lumpy, threadbare futon mattress that Crane had elevated off the floor with milk crates. With surprising gentleness, the Joker settled him onto it. "Now... where were we?"
After a second's hesitation, Crane found his voice and steeled his gaze. "Blow job."
"Yeah..." The Joker crawled between Crane's legs, demonic smirk painted across his face.
Crane fought to keep his eyes open as the Joker's mouth engulfed the head of his cock, red lips forming an 'O', then stretching as the Joker went down. Crane felt his cock rub against the hot, slick ridges on the inside of the Joker's cheek. He groaned. He was too close, already.
The Joker sucked noisily as Crane fought to keep his control and failed, bucking his hips. The Joker let Crane's cock fall out of his mouth. "You like that, huh?"
Crane swallowed. "Did I tell you to stop?"
The Joker glanced around the room. "Well, doc, I hope you have lube, otherwise, this is going to get ugly."
"I didn't say you could fuck me."
"Well, no, you didn't say it with words... but I know a guy who wants to get fucked when I see one. And you... want to get fucked."
Crane licked his lips, deliberating only a moment. "There's vaseline in that box by the foot of the bed."
The Joker chuckled and leaned over to rummage through it, finding the jar after a few seconds. Crane started to roll over, but the Joker grabbed his leg. "Uh-uh. I want to see your pretty face."
Crane's chest felt constricted. He glanced across the room at his mask, resting atop the pile of his clothing. How could he have let this situation get so out-of-control? Sticky fingers pushed against his asshole and Crane spread his legs wider, hoping to make the penetration as painless as possible. It had easily been fifteen years since he last found himself in this position-- not since he was an undergrad. He tried to breath deeply, but the panic clutching at his chest would not let him.
"Relax, Scarecrow." Crane's gazed snapped back to the Joker. The Joker smiled, more like a baring of teeth. "I want this to be good for you."
The Joker rammed his cock into Crane's ass, hips thrusting and driving immediately. Crane grit his teeth and arched his back, squirming with the pain and intrusion. The Joker shifted his weight over Crane, changing the angle of his thrusts and no doubt enjoying the pain and the panic playing across Crane's face. Crane clutched at his shoulder with one hand, digging his nails in, and the Joker groaned. Crane caught a fistful of hair at the nape of the Joker's neck with the other hand, wound it around his fingers, and pulled. Crane felt the skin break under his nails, finally, and the Joker grunted, letting his weight pin Crane as his hips churned out his orgasm.
The Joker recovered quickly and pulled out, shifting to kneel between Crane's legs. He stared into Crane's eyes, panting, licking his lips. Crane noted the way his makeup had run, then looked down at himself. He was splattered with milky droplets, the Joker's sweat and makeup mixed together. He stroked himself, relishing the dull burning in his ass. "Blow job."
The Joker leaned down and took Crane into his mouth, not wasting any more time taunting or teasing him. Crane bucked his hips, working out a rhythm to counter the Joker's hard, frantic sucking. His orgasm hit him hard, and he tasted blood as he bit his tongue to keep from crying out. The Joker sat back up, then leaned over Dr. Crane. His eyes bore into Crane's as he spat out the semen, splattering Crane's chest. He wiped at the dribble that hung off his chin, then smeared it across Crane's cheek.
Without a word, he crawled off the bed and walked to the Bunsen burner. Crane watched as he dumped the box of pasta into the pot. The Joker turned back and peered into the shadows where Crane still lay. "Where's your spoon?"
***