Disclaimer: I do not own the rights "Batman" or any of its characters, including Scarecrow, nor do I own any rights to the comics or the films. I own nothing save for any original characters I have created.

A/N: This story features my OC Teagan James, who I first introduced in Intoxicating. If you have not read it, I recommend doing so before reading this story. I was inspired by a prompt I read on Tumblr—iI cannot recall exactly what it was, but involved a character shaving another in the bath or shower before indulging in a kiss.

Indulgence

Jonathan Crane was not a man who took pleasure in vices; he never smoked cigarettes nor consumed drugs (save for bouts of experimentation with his fear toxin, although it seemed almost vulgar to refer to such a pure formula as a drug), and he only partook in alcohol when casually (and with much disinterest) sipping wine or champagne during staff social events at Arkham Asylum. He did not enjoy the taste of tobacco, and he found any chemical that altered his senses to be detrimental to his work—although he sometimes caught himself thinking that being mildly inebriated would be a preferable experience to the mind-numbingly slow crawl of boredom he felt inside of his cramped office at Arkham.

Instead of indulging himself in such mundane and dull recreational activities, he took great pride in his work; he would spend hours upon hours pouring over his research, a pen held in between his teeth and a finger scrolling quickly across the pages. His current project was making alterations to his toxin—while he was satisfied with the degree of fear that the recipients experienced, his intention was to create additional side effects. Paralysis, in particular, would be a valuable asset. Not only would the inability to move inspire even more fear within his subjects, but it would be highly convenient for Crane—it would be quite difficult for a victim (especially one equipped with a firearm or any other type of weapon that could bring him great harm) in the midst of a terror-laden nightmare to attack him if they were incapacitated.

Outside of his work, there were a few additional past-times that brought him delight; reading one of his favorite books on a rainy weekend afternoon, watching an Alfred Hitchcock film, or cooking a gratifying meal instead of his usual monotonous dinner of sandwiches or soup were amongst his favorite leisurely hobbies. And then there were other, more intimate activities that he enjoyed in the company of his consort and lover Teagan James, a former Arkham intern that had wandered out of the halls of Gotham University and innocently stumbled into his well-crafted web of manipulation and intrigue. Beneath his guiding hand, she had transformed from a doe-eyed, naïve and shy girl to an enraptured companion, obsessed and infatuated with Crane. He had shown her life through the eyes of fear, and she had beheld the world in all its ugly, loathsome glory. She had eagerly followed the path to enlightenment and accepted her place by his side, and together they would submerse Gotham in immaculate fear, drowning the city in its own filth and chaos.

Although fantasizing about the demise of Gotham was an amusing and otherwise enchanting activity, there was simple and equally pleasurable experience he frequently engaged in: a long, hot bath.

After a banal and draining day spent at the asylum listening to the rather perverse and often violent thoughts of the criminally insane—an unpleasant task to be sure, but not nearly as trying as forcing himself to interact with his coworkers and pretending to find them interesting—he enjoyed nothing more than to unwind in the comfort of his bathtub, relaxing in the water's warm, soothing embrace.

Today had been a particularly trying day—Victor Zsaz had managed to overpower a new and inexperienced security guard, and the gruesome aftermath had resulted in a rushed trip to the hospital and a seemingly endless mountain of paperwork. Within moments of him walking through the apartment door, Teagan had sensed his overwhelming weariness and without saying a word she began to run a bath. Grateful for her silent understanding, he placed his briefcase on top of the bedroom desk, hung up his coat, and retreated to their bathroom. He stripped and wiped the misty condensation from his glasses before carefully lowering himself into the tub, allowing his body to gradually adjust to the temperature. When he was submerged from the chest down, he rested his neck and shoulders against the back of the tub and closed his eyes.

After a few blissful moments of delicious silence and warmth, he heard the sound of Teagan's bare footsteps on the tile floor and opened his eyes. Although she had seen him unclothed on countless occasions, each time brought a flush of pink to her cheeks; he found it quite endearing, a remnant of her previous innocence.

"I'm sorry," she said sheepishly, nervously fumbling at the towel in her hands, "I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to bring you a towel..." Her voice trailed off as she placed the towel on the rack, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles she had created.

Crane lifted a hand from the water and extended it towards her. "Join me," he said quietly, and her blush deepened from a soft pink to a crimson of shy lust.

She nodded and began to remove her clothing with eager quickness, as if worried that he would rescind his invitation. Crane's eyes traveled sensually over her body, taking in the alluring sight of her smooth, pale skin and undergarments that were more lace than cloth. When she was done she stood before the foggy mirror and piled her hair on top of her head, using pins to fasten it into a messy bun. A few strands escaped from her grasp and fell to loosely frame her face; satisfied with the effect, she gave her reflection a quick nod of smiling approval before turning towards him. He moved to the side to give her room as she climbed in beside him, and she let out a quiet (and rather cute, Crane thought) squeal of surprise when she felt the water's heat. She beamed at him, beyond delighted with her current location, and let out a barely audible sigh of content.

"Is it too hot for you?" Crane asked, and she shook her head quickly.

"No," Teagan replied happily. "It feels perfect."

He acknowledged her reply with a nod and ran a hand over his chin, feeling prickly stubble beneath his fingertips. "I think I need a shave," he said absentmindedly, speaking more to himself than to Teagan. He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him, then turned his head to face her. "Would you mind helping me?"

Her eyes widened at the prospect; Crane was unsure if it was from surprise or delight with the suggestion—likely it was a combination of both emotions. "Only if you want to, of course," he added quickly, as if embarrassed that he had even asked; usually he was not quite so forward, but this evening he was feeling uncharacteristically bold. He didn't know if it was the stress of the day or just simple attraction, but he felt nearly overcome with desire for her.

It was more than a longing; he craved her.

"Oh no, I want to help!" Teagan replied with swift earnestness, her eyes sparkling with euphoric joy. She rose and stepped out of the tub; Crane watched as she opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved his shaving cream and razor, water dripping from her body and leaving behind a wet trail. "Watch your step," he warned, and she was cautiously avoided the larger puddles on her way back to the bath.

She lowered herself onto his lap, her face so close to his that she fleetingly considered placing the shaving products aside and leaning in for a kiss. But Crane was a practical man, not prone to or fond of sudden displays of affection, and with that in mind she lightly shook the shaving cream can and sprayed a generous amount of the frothy lotion onto her open hand. She began to gently spread the cream across his cheeks, jaws, and neck; she loved touching him like this, exploring the texture of his skin and features with her fingertips. There was stubble, yes, but otherwise his skin was smooth and blemish-free. She spread the froth a little higher than necessary, just so she could stroke his cheekbones; privately, they were her favorite feature of his besides the blue eyes that were full of secrets and thoughts that he shared with no one but her.

Crane found the sensation of her nude body pressed against his exquisitely arousing, her bottom in his lap and her breasts inches away from his chest, her soft, caressing touch stroking his face. Her hands were light and attentive, lovingly applying the shaving cream with the tenderness of a lover. They had been together on many occasions, but this moment felt more intimate than any experience shared between them before. He placed his hands on her hips beneath the water, gripping her with tender arousal, and for a moment he contemplated forgetting the shave entirely and exploring her enticing body with his hands and mouth instead.

But he kept himself composed, and settled for softly rubbing his hands up and down her waist, his fingers amorously tracing her skin. It would do—for now.

Crane felt a pang of disappointment when her touches ended; it had felt comforting and pleasurable, but he hadn't realized just how satisfying it was until she had stopped. She rinsed the cream from her hands and picked up the razor, leaning in closer until their noses were almost touching and she was sure that he could feel her lusting heartbeat against his own chest. His breath felt hot against her skin and she shuddered with suppressed excitement before returning to the task at hand. She bit her lower lip in concentration and with slow precision began to carefully drag the razor across his cheek.

The blade sliced through foamy cream, cutting down his whiskers and leaving behind smooth skin. Satisfied, Teagan dipped the razor into the bathwater and cleansed it of its frothy residue before continuing. She worked with the painstaking delicacy to rival a surgeon, absorbed in the act. He had entrusted her with a job and she would complete it with every ounce of grace she could muster; the thought of being rewarded with one of his faint, approving smiles made her dig her teeth further into her lip and her heart pound faster until she felt it would burst with anticipation and joy.

This is actually quite nice, Crane thought, allowing himself to bask in the moment as his hands traveled beneath her waist. We should do this more oft—

"Ouch!"

A sharp prick of pain interrupted his thoughts, and he instinctively brought a hand to his neck. He felt a slight, warm trickle underneath his fingertips, and when he lifted his hand to his face he saw red drops of blood. Judging by Teagan's crushed expresson of horror and the beginnings of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, he concluded that she had cut him with the razor. It mattered little to Crane—despite his many years shaving, he still nicked himself at times and the surprise hurt more than the actual pain—but he could tell that Teagan was devastated by her error.

"It's alright," Crane said, trying his best to sound comforting; the concept of expressing reassurance was foreign to him, although he'd imitated the emotion for manipulative purposes in the past. "I'm fine."

Either Crane was not convincing enough or Teagan was simply too upset; whatever the reason, the imminent tears slid down her cheeks and she cupped her face in her hands. She had hurt him, sliced his beautiful skin with a razor and ruined their intimate moment with her sloppy carelessness—and after all he'd done for her! She would never forgive herself; there was no penance that could match her crime. She began to cry softly, overcome with shame.

"No, Teagan, it's fine. It didn't hurt at all," Crane lied. "I didn't even realize you'd cut—" Dammit, poor choice of wording. He swore at himself inwardly as fresh tears coated her face and dripped into the bathwater. He searched his mind frantically for anything to calm her; Teagan had always been an emotional companion, but he'd never seen her so completely defeated before. He found it unsettling and frankly a bit irritating—and although he would never openly admit to it, seeing her cry made a part of him sad.

"Why don't you...kiss it and make it better?" Crane offered, feeling dumb for even uttering the words. It was a childish suggestion, true, but it was the sort of thing she would find appealing.

Teagan nodded and wiped her face with the back of her hand; it did little to dry her tears, as her hand was already wet from the now-lukewarm bath. She leaned forward, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, and pressed her lips to his neck.

The sensation of her lips on his skin re-sparked his arousal, and he resumed his exploration of her body, his hands gently cupping her bottom. She hadn't finished shaving him entirely, but he could wait no longer; although he prided himself on his composure, even he had his limits. She lifted her head and looked up at him with wet eyes, a drop of bright red blood vibrant on her pink lips, and he brought his mouth onto hers.

There was a faint copper taste of blood on his tongue and shaving cream was smearing across both their faces, but he did not care and neither did she; instead he gripped her harder, fingers kneading her skin with passionate fervor. She responded by running her fingers through his hair as she wrapped her legs around his body, her murmurs of satisfaction muffled by his lips. When their kiss was broken he trailed his lips down her neck, traveling lower and lower until he could hear her heartbeat pressed against his ear.

Perhaps there were only a few things in Crane's life that gave him any joy, some of them unconventional and tight-kept secrets until he was prepared to unleash his own brand of fear onto Gotham City. There would be screams of horror as the city fell to its knees, wild-eyed and begging for mercy. Crane and Teagan would stand above them, their hands entwined, and they would smile at the destruction unfolding beneath their feet.

But in the meantime, Crane had found a new way to enjoy himself.