Author's Note: They're baaa-ack! Harley is being a little too enthusiastic about the fact that it's Jonathan's birthday, and the Joker makes his birthday wish come true. Cillian Murphy's birthday really isn't until May 25th - he'll be 33 - but I can't help when I get ideas, okay? (Think back to my Christmas special posted in March hahaha.) To ShadowsCorpse525: you oughta like this one.
6:07 ante meridiem.
BEEP-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-BEEEEEEEEEEEP. . .
Jonathan Crane's electric blue eyes snapped open as he flinched violently, awakened by the incessant and annoyingly high-pitched whining of the digital alarm clock on his nightstand. Groaning in protest, he reached over and hit the snooze button. He lay there on his back for a few moments more, sighing heavily as he reflected on what day it was.
Birthdays. Oh, how Jonathan hated them. The very idea of aging was nothing less than a threat to the Scarecrow's reign of terror. Each day, the doctor's life neared its end, and both members of the dual personality within his mind certainly did not want it to do so - especially Scarecrow. Besides, the entire concept of celebrating getting older was completely ridiculous - there was no rhyme or reason to it whatsoever. It was days like these that Jonathan wished he had gone into the study of man's fascination with the day of his birth instead of fueling his own obsession with fear and its damaging effects on the individual conscious.
Finally, he sat up, stretched, and yawned. Throwing the sheets aside, he swung his legs to the left, and rested his feet onto the soft carpeted floor of his apartment bedroom. He was just about to stand when the sight of an all-too familiar object on his nightstand made him pause. He thought he had felt a brush of wet lips across his own in the night as he slept, but he couldn't be sure. . .
Smiling, Jonathan picked up the playing card and flipped it over, already knowing its value: a joker. A message was written on its surface in black ink, the quivering, untidy handwriting a welcome sight: WHY SO SERIOUS? LET'S PUT A SMILE ON THAT FACE!
It was an invitation - and Jonathan knew exactly what it was for.
Just then, a deep rasping voice whispered something in the back of his mind.
Happy birthday, Jonathan.
And the same to you, Scarecrow.
Looking forward to tonight?
Oh, you have no idea.
- - -
An hour later, the freshly-showered, routinely clean-shaven and well-dressed physician strode smoothly into the much-used conference room. He had arrived fashionably late - a normally unheard-of occurrence in Jonathan Crane's book.
The extremely loveable Harley Quinn opened her mouth.
"Sing to me, and I gas you," Jonathan snapped threateningly.
Feeling slightly hurt, Harley brought her teeth together with a loud clack - she certainly didn't want any of Crane's deadly fear toxin passing between them.
Jonathan's lip curled smugly as he perched himself in his chair: he was safe.
Or so he thought.
Grinning suddenly, Harley left the room in three of her graceful, acrobatic flips, returning a minute later. She carried a small white cupcake with vivid blue icing and a single lit candle in its center.
"Oh, fuck," Jonathan muttered, feeling his cheeks flame at the unwanted attention he was receiving as Harley sailed around the table toward him, humming the tune to "Happy Birthday" in a contented manner under her breath.
This could not be happening. He wasn't sure if his already fragile nervous system would be able to handle it if it was - he was simply too young to die.
"I picked the frosting out myself - I thought it would match your eyes." The girl jester winked flirtatiously at something out of Crane's line of sight.
Without warning, a pair of purple-gloved hands slapped down onto Jonathan's shoulders from behind. The thumbs belonging to the appendages gently messaged the back of his neck. Jonathan had not seen their owner yet that day, so this kind gesture was especially thrilling.
Warm breath that was rancid yet sweet tickled the hair beside Crane's ear as its producer murmured softly, almost conversationally, "She's, uh - right, y'know. Although I think your eyes are brighter. They've got this, this, uh. . .spark of, uh, intelligence in 'em. Don't they, b-"
"Don't say it," Crane warned - but too late.
"-irthday boy?" the Joker finished, smiling wickedly as he ran his tongue reflexively over his own lips with a wet smacking sound.
Jonathan moaned and put his head in his hands.
The others chuckled, most all of them thinking that Crane had done this out of embarrassment. Only Joker knew better - he had seen Jonathan break out into a sweat - and he wished for nothing more at that moment than to be sensibly able to press Jonathan's throbbing erection to his own.
Crane managed to wearily lift his head again as Harley set the cupcake down almost reverently on the table in front of him.
"Well, go on - make a wish!" she encouraged.
Sighing in defeat, Jonathan closed his eyes. Ever since he had met the Joker, Crane had wished for the same thing every year - and it always came true.
Taking an exaggerated deep breath, Jonathan blew out the candle. Harley cheered, the others clapping politely as Crane opened his eyes, Joker giving his shoulders a firm squeeze before removing the candle from Jonathan's cake and settling down lazily into a chair as he licked the icing from the still-smoking taper.
"So. . .how old are you, Doctor?" the Penguin inquired, smirking slightly.
Jonathan blushed, his gaze dropping to the floor as he admitted sheepishly, "I stopped counting at twenty-three."
Even he was able to laugh along with the others then.
Crane was just beginning to relax when Harley announced, "Time for presents!"
Jonathan groaned as the she-jester placed six brightly-wrapped packages of varying sizes and shapes in front of him. Each was yet again in that "matching-his-eyes" blue.
"Well - open them!" Harley thrust a parcel into his hands; she was beginning to sound slightly impatient with his utter lack of enthusiasm.
Sighing again, Jonathan complied with Lieutenant Harley's orders - if grudgingly.
The first was from the Penguin: a no-doubt very expensive eyeglasses case carved from ivory; the cornfield scarecrow engraved upon its surface was inlaid with shiny mother-of-pearl. (And not a bad likeness either, Scarecrow murmured approvingly from the recesses of Crane's consciousness.)
From Two-Face was a dark green sweater vest - Jonathan recognized it as one Dent had given to him for Christmas the previous winter (he had probably just stolen it back and rewrapped it) but decided not to comment on it.
Catwoman's gift was what appeared to be a pair of black driving gloves - closer inspection revealed tiny adhesive fibers woven into the nylon fabric. The femme feline had included a short note that read: For scaling walls. Maybe we could scour the rooftops sometime - surprise Batman! Crane doubted it: that damned winged creature of the night was not easily apprehended - and besides, heights made Jonathan uneasy.
Harley's present was a slim sewing needle and black thread, also with a note: For when that hideously ingenious mask of yours is in for repairs! -Luv, Harley Q.
Poison Ivy's gift to him was a thick textbook entitled Great Snarling Geraniums!: Terror-Inducing Plants and How to Employ Them.
The Joker had simply given him another playing card.
- - -
That evening, Jonathan walked back into his apartment, smiling in relief that the dreaded day was almost over as he set his presents down onto the counter. He then removed his suit jacket, sweater vest and tie, absentmindedly laying them next to the gifts.
Carrying his cupcake - he still hadn't eaten it - over to the table, Jonathan was just about to sit down when he noticed the full wineglass teetering precariously on the table's edge. Frowning - he had not poured himself a shot of alcohol yet that day - Jonathan moved the vessel safely to his place setting, situating his birthday treat next to it. Sinking wearily into his chair, Jonathan pulled out the new playing card, mulling over its scrawled message aloud: "SOMETIMES THE ANTICIPATION IS BETTER THAN THE GIFT ITSELF - BUT NOT THIS TIME."
Crane continued to stare blankly at the words, puzzled and unable to decipher their meaning. Then it clicked.
A pair of familiar gloved hands suddenly appeared on his biceps from behind as a certain clown's breath whistled through his ear again. "Ah, a cupcake for a cupcake - and what a de-lectable cupcake, too." The Joker ran his tongue up Jonathan's cheek, causing him to gasp with pleasure.
"Can I try some of your frosting, Cupcake?" Joker twitched his dark brows invitingly.
Emitting a somewhat hysterical giggle, Jonathan quickly knocked back his wine while mussing up his own hair with a free hand. Hastily undoing the top three buttons of his shirt, he unfastened his belt as he leaned back against the Joker and purred, "You can try my frosting any time you want."
Joker grinned and swept Jonathan up, carried him into the bedroom, and kicked the door shut behind them, tenderly laying Crane down onto the still-unmade bed. (Jonathan had decided to not make his bed that morning, for once - it was his birthday, after all - and besides, he had been anticipating the need for having the covers out of the way. . .)
The clown's eyes fell on a familiar glass ashtray laying next to the alarm clock on the night table, and which was brimming over with individually-wrapped peppermints. Jonathan had always been very particular about his breath; not because he possessed any bad habits that might befoul it, but because he loved the feel of a freshly-cleaned mouth - he couldn't stand morning breath - and because he was practically addicted to the fresh taste and smell of peppermint leaves. He even owned a small potted peppermint plant which sat on a little table just inside the French sliding glass doors leading to the open balcony of his apartment.
Joker snatched up one of the candies, unwrapping it slowly, almost thoughtfully, the flames of an almost predatory lust burning in his deadly brown eyes as he watched Jonathan strip down to his boxers; these were of a deep blue plaid. Joker smiled as Jonathan sat back, drawing his knees up and tightly pressing the pillows into the headboard as he looked up at the clown expectantly.
Joker leaned over Crane and placed the mint on the doctor's tongue, huffing contentedly as Jonathan playfully licked his fingers and complied with his orders to "Suck." He placed his hand gently on his lover's lower abdomen and stroked his thumb over the crotch of Crane's undergarments, smirking as he felt Jonathan's erection harden beneath his fingers.
"Well, well, well - even our drawers match our eyes today. Did you wear those for me, Jonathan? Hmm?"
Crane said nothing - though his sudden blush gave the clown all the affirmation he needed.
Joker disrobed to his suit trousers, his movements slow and deliberate as he flaunted his toned body at Crane. He slipped smoothly onto the foot of the bed and slowly inched his way toward his lover in a catlike manner. Jonathan tried not to giggle as he hastily swallowed his peppermint whole, wincing as it scraped against the insides of his esophagus on its way down.
Joker walked his fingertips patiently up Crane's thigh, the ticklish movements forcing his legs wider. The clown placed his hands on Crane's lower back and gently slid inside his lover, Jonathan mewling like the sex kitten he was at the pleasurable friction. He moaned as the clown slowly licked his neck.
Jonathan stared up at the Joker, watching him watch him as he gasped in their lovemaking. All the emotion associated with the act brought tears flowing down over Jonathan's cheeks. "Oh, oh Joker. . .Ohhh. . ."
"Ssh." The loving murmur was soothing, consoling as Joker kissed the tears away from his lover's cheeks - it amazed him to realize just how much he hated to see Jonathan cry - as he whispered, "Happy birthday."
END
For those who didn't catch it, the title of the book Poison Ivy gave Jonathan is a play on the classic Harry Potter textbook Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.