Undiscovered First

by riddlerism

Joker/J. Crane

Undiscovered First. Joker/Crane. There are actually two parts to this story that give more insight to several things, be it tiny or not. If this stays for a while, I might upload the others to tie it all together. This one in particular was solely a poor (& perhaps poorly written) excuse to have them suffer each other.

"They... they are wondering about you."
Joker didn't react. Jonathan climbed the last step to the roof, holding the arms of his scarf tightly in his hands and reflected on the clown lounging against the parapet wall, one arm across his chest, facing opposite. The cold air nipped at his senses and exhaled sharply, nearing this other. Joker had his eyes closed.
"They..."
"I heard you."
Jonathan swallowed, nodding.
Joker opened his eyes, narrowing them and let the cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth as he waved his fingers to Jonathan, beckoning for him to come closer.
The doctor hesitated at first, realizing the other wasn't blinking as he stared at him, waiting. He neared him slowly and stopped, mimicking his stance. Joker exhaled the smoke in his face.
"You seem concerned." he said quietly. Jonathan cleared his throat, breathing in the tobacco, somewhat taken by that painted face, those dark eyes searching him, so bewitching... so curious. "Is there a reason you came looking?"
Jonathan felt at a loss. His mind was racing, his hands now sweaty beneath the leather of his gloves.
He already knows.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes upon hearing that voice. His lips parted as he looked back at the clown. Jonathan didn't move as he came closer, even when he exhaled the smoke into his mouth.
Jonathan took it in, held it for a moment and expelled it slowly, eyes watering. Joker made his eyes small, his teeth nipping at the filtered end. "The earth stopped, the stars said... light was left for dead."
The doctor felt a shiver and embraced himself, wondering. Joker smirked, raising his eyes to the sky. "How does it begin...?"
Jonathan dropped his eyes, fingers nervously playing with the frayed ends of his scarf. "How does it end...?"
He had not meant to say it out loud.
Joker remained still and eventually lowered his eyes to the doctor. He regarded him but said nothing more.

-

Paint was smearing across a distorted face. His laughter echoing through the alley, a strange backdrop to the sound of the rain. Jonathan had acted irrational that night. Following, waiting, watching how the Batman and the clown fought and struggled, how the vigilante left him bleeding.
Irrational, yes. But it had been Scarecrow that approached the clown, standing over him. He had taken his hand and led him back to the apartment. Once there, Jonathan tried to adjust his vision, leaning against the door and watched this other become one with the darkness. Jonathan shivered, holding onto his mask rather tightly, hearing him hum very softly and it seemed as if he took a bit of the darkness with him once he left the room. And like that, Jonathan was able to make out his surroundings. He narrowed his eyes, waiting.
Why lead him here?
Silence.
It felt as if he had locked Scarecrow outside. He unlocked the door and turned the handle with held breath, peering into the hallway. Feeling foolish, he shook his head and closed the door gently, not wanting the other to come back. In his nervousness, he had burned the coffee. Shivering from the wet clothes, not being able to stop looking over his shoulder. Of bringing in this vision from hell and keeping him behind a locked door.

-

"No... no..."
"Please stop."
"No. No, I won't." Joker smacked his hand away.
"If you didn't want it, you wouldn't be here..."
Joker licked his lower lip, touching it with a stubborn, restless hand and rolled his eyes.
Jonathan pressed the handkerchief to his lip and sighed when the clown smacked his hand again.
This time it was harder and the look was a reminder to Jonathan that he had to be careful how he sought him.
"I don't mind it. In fact, I encourage it." he said quietly, leaning back against the sink.
Jonathan stared, lowering his hand.
"Why did you bring me here?"
Jonathan readjusted his glasses, shivering. "Why did you come?"
Joker languidly nudged his broken lip with his tongue, his eyes narrowed downward. "You have burnt coffee." he said after a moment.
Jonathan dabbed, trying to ignore his mocking tone and looked elsewhere when his hand was smacked again.
"Do you want to get out of that?"
"Out of what?"
"You will catch a cold."
Joker raised his eyebrows. "Doctor, you seem quite concerned about me..." he said most disconcertedly and gestured lazily toward Jonathan's own wet clothes.
"I'm not concerned. It's more like curiosity." Jonathan said, under his breath. His hand wavered halfway and tried to dab at his lip again. Joker moved to the side, avoiding it and crossed his arms.
He stared, expressionless.
Jonathan gave up and threw the handkerchief into the sink. His eyes found his reflection in the mirror behind the clown. "On his part."

-

He had disappeared after that night. Jonathan welcomed it. And even though it was expected, it almost didn't feel like he was gone. Where he laid nights, vulnerable and shaking, he could still feel the imprint of the other within him, all over. As if he had tattooed his very aura onto the doctor. Making plays of the shadows that danced across his ceiling, pretending it was his own picture book to fall asleep to, his fingers would listlessly touch the shirt this other had left at the corner of the bed, to breathe him in. Instead of the usual tea, he drank the coffee to swallow him. He would lock himself in to feel the entrapment of him. Fingertips frenetically searched out specific letters in the book he was reading, to spell the word denial over and over again because he needed to be reminded, the word HIM as an afterthought. But he had claim of the clown. How could he deny this to himself? That night the clown had been forced to wear that shirt, albeit small but enough to allay his discontent, drink the burnt coffee without another complaint or hear the ceaseless nagging from the doctor. He had been interesting to look at, sitting there
at the opposite end of the table, chin in hand, with half of his paint gone, vision creating stories elsewhere. Half-finished man with a faded mask, wet, static yet so enigmatic. Jonathan had been so curious, had wanted to know everything that had creased those features every now and then. The clown didn't speak thereafter, only staring at the doctor rather incredulously when he had offered his couch, as if he had no recollection of what sleep was. Jonathan had felt those eyes searing the
outline of his existence when he cared to move away, to hide away in his room and take into account what he had done, by inviting the clown here to his home. The other had prevented that, had stopped him at the door to his bedroom, imprinting the doorframe into the small of his back as the clown regarded him like prey, his hold on his wrist unforgiving. Jonathan had been shocked to receive his touch, soft upon his face. After what had seemed like eternity in the ascertainment, he had leaned into him, bending at the knees and had given him a kiss, chaste but a kiss nonetheless and Jonathan had refrained from looking at him when it was done, savouring the coffee kiss in his silence, his wonderment with eyes closed. Never expecting to feel the clown's hand on him, touching him so obsessively, yanking at the belt, to get on his knees and almost devoured to the point of obliteration by that beautiful mouth, as it ruthlessly disobeyed his modesty, when it took him whole. Jonathan remembered the wood frame tearing into his back, the scrape of that tongue, the suckling sound in the dim of the small space, the doorframe giving an idea of boxing him in. Hands that had fervently grasped the opposite side, how hard it had been to breathe as if the air around him had been mocking his absolution, wet eyes imprinting memory of this other below, sucking the life out of him. The manner in which the clown expressed his devotion on his body had not allowed Jonathan to even consider how wrong it might have been or that he was sought in such a brutal way. He remembered such a lacerating sensitivity to his flesh, as if he had been burned all over, how the other left him without warning, of closing the door, only to falter once he had turned the lock. He had sat there against the door until the sun, catching glimpses of it through such tired eyes before he fell asleep on the floor. He had been awakened by a harsh knock that had jarred his bearings. To give him the love bite before throwing the shirt toward the foot of the bed, where it would stay for Jonathan's benefit.
In spite of, he was more alone than ever. The disappointment Scarecrow felt was enough to silence him. His anger could be felt like pinpricks and the doctor tried to mentally pick at them, to appease the blistering sensation they left behind.
On the third night, his other half shared those sentiments he was desperately trying to push away.
Maybe he's hurt.
Jonathan turned to his side, tugging slightly at the shirt but wouldn't allow it to leave its spot. Coffee had been how he had tasted that night and it was the most overpowering scent that had filled every one of his senses but when he had found that other scent, something like sandalwood on the collar, he had felt a strange giddiness. His finger traced the collar of the white shirt and sucked on his lower lip, feeling pain there from the love bite that was in-between healing. As he faintly tasted the coppery wetness, he stopped.
Jonathan, look for him.
He opened his eyes, surprised to feel this other so strongly at the moment.
Maybe he's dead?
He felt hate then. Toward himself. To keep breaking whatever remained of himself.
If death has claimed him... Jonathan turned his head, looking out the window.
You don't believe that, do you Jonathan?
He rose from the bed and went to resume the painting of the bathroom. What compelled him to do such a thing escaped his mental capabilities. If craziness was the new normality, he was in over his head.
Erasing the ghost of him is not going to make you better.
Jonathan smacked the brush against the wall in frustration.
There are matches in the kitchen drawer by the stove.
Jonathan threw the brush onto the floor, splattering the paint and inspected his finger. He brought it to his mouth, nipping at the hangnail, pulling at the tiny piece of skin with his teeth. The pain numbed his finger and he turned around, opening the mirrored cabinet above the sink. He tried to remove it with the nipper but his trembling hands prevented him from doing so.
This is ridiculous, he thought. Acting like some jilted lover. The idea of it started to make him nauseous.
I should let it consume me and get sick. Maybe I will get rid of all this and let it go to hell by flushing it all away.
Ah, yes, this is the way the world ends.
If I look for him and do find him dead, I will still kill him so hard, he will feel it.
Shhh, he might hear you.
And you are a faceless, dickless jerk.
He stared at his reflection, trying not to mind the dark circles and pale skin. "It's your fault."
Dickless wonders, do tell?
He glared, searching the looking glass, always expecting his other half to be seen. "You and your sick obsession with the clown. You drove me to his madness. Now he is getting me more sick than ever. Do you see?"
Your eyes are still so blue.
Jonathan threw the nipper across the small space and sucked on his sore finger. He made his way back into his room, taking the book from the dresser.
I will lock myself in there. Hide myself away.
You will never be alone.
Before he did so, he was in the kitchen. He had meant to throw the oranges away and now they sat there in the bowl on the counter, the memory of him dying with their rotting flesh. His tongue nudged his teeth as he slammed the book down beside them, his palms caressing their ugliness.
"We should go out and play."
Scarecrow stirred.
Jonathan started to separate the good from the bad.
Why do you concern yourself with such trivialities?

"A faint rank taint like April coming,
It cocked his ears and his blood went drumming..."

Jonathan nudged the love bite with his tongue.
He jerked suddenly, his heart stopping when he heard a loud thump in the next room. His eyes to and fro as he concentrated upon the movement. Something broke. He couldn't place the sound. He stayed rooted to his newfound spot, a rotten orange in his hand. And he felt his skin run when the clown made his way into the kitchen, grinning like the Cheshire as he leaned against the frame of the door.
"Why darling, such a sight for sore eyes."
Jonathan threw the orange upon hearing that nasally tone and somewhat turned, leaning against the counter. His hands gripped the edge because if he didn't, his knees would give out. His lips parted but nothing was attempting to come out.
The Joker inhaled deep and made his way to the cupboard. He started to inspect the cups, the remaining few and admired them a second longer before breaking them.
Jonathan felt his eyebrows come together and he rubbed his forehead, flinching every time one broke, shielding his face with his arm. The clown grunted in annoyance when there were none left. He slammed the cupboard door and turned around, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked down at the doctor and smiled. "We just ran out of cups... I don't know where..."
"Paper." Jonathan uttered, interrupting him without second thought, his eyes turning as if he was about to nod off.
The clown chewed the inner scar tissue in his mouth for what seemed like a season and furrowed his brow. "That's no fun, Crane."
Jonathan swallowed several times. He lifted his chin, trying with all his might to seem confident. He failed miserably when the other bent slightly, acting like a cat as he started to sniff him. Jonathan leaned back onto the counter, trying to get away. "What... are you doing?" he managed rather weakly.
"You still don't learn, do you?"
Jonathan felt the counter digging into his back as he edged away. The clown's foot met his shin and he caught the doctor as he almost slid down in pain. "The more you resist..." he straightened him and didn't mind Jonathan's pained expression. "And really... do you think you can hide it?" Jonathan bit his lip as the clown leaned his body against his. "We are both happy now, yes?" those gloved hands now held onto his face. Jonathan couldn't look into those dark eyes for long and tried to believe he was in control, twisting his head to forget that painful hold. He would never find enough strength within himself to fight this other. It seemed rather insuperable. He almost tasted the paint on those lips, their breath becoming one and the other simply teased him. The idea of a kiss could have been constructed so perfectly yet every time he leaned in a little closer, the clown would pull back somewhat. He winced in discontent, fisting his hands in frustration. He hit the the clown on the arm. Joker made a humming sound deep within his throat and let go. Jonathan took his book, shoved the bowl of oranges off the counter out of spite and left the room. How he did so was beyond comprehension and when he found himself in the bathroom, he stood paralyzed in the middle of it, hugging the book, wondering how he got there.
He smells nice.
Jonathan crumbled to the floor.
You can have him.
And he started to giggle as he mocked his other half.
The silence was deafening. He dropped his book and covered his ears. He stayed that way until the door opened with such force, he could swear it would come off its hinges. Yet despite the entrance, the clown held the door for a mere second, acting as if that had not been the intention all along and closed it softly. "I thought you wanted to talk."
Jonathan lowered his hands. "I did?"
The clown giggled. "No." He nudged the paint can with his foot and gave the impression he would kick it. He giggled again as he glanced at Jonathan's terrified face.
"How did you get in?" Jonathan demanded as he grabbed the paint and brush, placing them into the tub and rolled his eyes. He glared, regaining his position and heard the other sigh heavily with annoyance.
"I've been in, Crane. The question you should be asking is how will I get out?"
Jonathan narrowed his eyes in confusion. He stared off into a corner. There was a sound in the dryness of his throat as he felt the other crouch down before him. He moved away, leaning against the wall.
"You didn't invite me in."
I don't plan to, thought Jonathan, brushing the hair from his eyes. He regarded this other and made a face. "I didn't ask for you to come."
"Come... for you." the Joker wistfully added, positioning himself beside the doctor. He made a production of stretching his long, pinstriped legs. His gloved hands smoothing down the material of his trousers at the thighs. Jonathan found himself staring at his forearms. The clown stilled and exhaled sharply, clasping his hands upon his lap and turned his head away.
"You are affecting me, Crane." he silently affirmed, clearing his throat thereafter.
Jonathan tried looking at him but the clown's hair was now shielding his profile. Jonathan's finger touched the wall between them, his nail scraping the old paint. He recognized a pain in his gums, within his stomach, his throat, his forehead. He felt the air becoming thinner in this room and regretted coming here to feel safe when he felt anything but that. The man who destroyed him in every definition was the only one capable of taming him and he felt trapped.
But that was the thing. He felt it like a tug of war, his emotions. If he hated, he needed. Loved, then he would burn him alive. The Joker turned his head, looking at him. Jonathan scraped the paint harder, could feel those dark eyes outlining every inch of him. He stopped. Without much thought -and it was better that way- he climbed onto the clown, straddling his lap. His hands held onto the green waistcoat, fingertips grazing the velvet. Joker leaned his head back, staring.
"Don't you ever get soft?"
There was a slight smile that tugged at the corner of the Joker's mouth and he gradually closed his eyes. "You are tormenting me."
Jonathan could feel the foreign mistrust of a beating heart, nimble underneath his hands as they settled upon that broad chest, ragged nails picking at the buttons.
But he would not pursue it any further. He wanted to keep looking, to keep touching because he wanted whatever time they had between them to drag them into oblivion.
I need you.
At this point, Jonathan couldn't tell if it was him or Scarecrow that created that mental promise.
Joker reached out, his hands ghosting over Jonathan's features. "Thinking of me..." he said ever so quietly, forcibly touching the love bite that was struggling to heal. He proved Jonathan wrong and grabbed him brutally by the hair, yanking him close. Jonathan closed his eyes tight, crashing into this other and now he was sinking lower and lower into the wetness, the suffocation of that drowning kiss. Those arms circled him completely, bringing him so close, so close that if not for the kissing and kissing and kissing, he would have panicked enough to murder any concept of life to be this constricted. But if it was a death of some sort because with every kiss it did, he felt closer to it, he would welcome it with open arms. Their laboured breathing, sucking, wet deliciousness of their consummation the only bearable sound within the small space. A filament of saliva hung upon their lips when they separated and Jonathan drew his head back drowsily, gasping for breath. His skinny arms circled the clown's head, that tongue scraping against his adam's apple. The doctor felt as if the clown was turning him inside out. His flesh feverish, goosebumps searing every pore as that mouth left its mark within every inch of that throat, his collarbone. He felt his lips swollen, his eyes hazy. They had lost their way and it was at this point of their time in another universe where Jonathan realized a passion he would never feel again. No one would dare annihilate him like this, dominate him like this. He was malleable in the clown's hands, and time didn't exist here. The clown held the back of his head, holding onto his hair tight as he fought to breathe, suffering him. He bit his lower lip, not opening his eyes. And he didn't let Jonathan go but he pushed him back somewhat. Jonathan shook at seeing the Joker in such a susceptible state, feeling every pulse point, every cell, any idea of salvation on fire.
The Joker removed his hand from Jonathan's chest.
He rose suddenly, careful not to drop Jonathan on his face and almost fell against the sink.
Jonathan leaned against the wall, brushing his hair from his eyes, fighting with the air to fill his lungs, completely. His head lolled against the wall, hearing the clown laugh. His eyes drifted to the window, his hand resting upon his chest, his heart trying to rip his chest open. It felt like he had been under water and now that he was free, he felt this pressure in his skull. As if the air was squeezing with its hands on either side of his head.
"I want to break you." the other said rather quietly.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes, breathing behind an open palm, his sweat-stained hand quivering against his cheekbone. His filmy eyes fell to Joker's gloved hand fidgeting with the buckle of his belt. Jonathan found himself crawling toward him, on his knees before the clown. Joker took a step back, almost sitting on the sink as he looked down at the doctor with disconcertion. Jonathan was merely acting curious, his hand tracing a stripe down the trouser leg, teasing yet so innocent with those big, blue eyes looking up at his other. Joker tilted his head, scrutinizing.
"Crow?"
Jonathan stopped, eyes downcast, his hand touching the hem of the Joker's trousers.
"I don't like to repeat myself." he sneered, index finger touching his right brow.
"Jonathan." the doctor managed.
The Joker bent over, grabbing the doctor's face and held it tight. With a trembling hand, noticed Jonathan. He looked into those dark eyes. The Joker held him for a second longer and then cracked his neck as he straightened. "Didn't want to ruin the mood by ripping that lie from your beautifully thin throat my dear doctor."
Jonathan let go and slightly raised himself, his hands now taking hold of the buckle. He was starting to think twice for this was unlike him but Scarecrow was pushing into him and Jonathan felt his breath hitch when he unbuckled that belt. The Joker's hands came over his, stopping him. He didn't ask him if he was sure but Jonathan could sense it. Beneath his hands, he could feel what he was doing to the clown and this made his heart beat faster, his breath unkind, tiring his body. Scarecrow
broke free from his grasp and Jonathan unzipped him. The Joker swatted his hand away, touching himself and this angered Scarecrow. He mimicked the clown and reached in, releasing him and the doctor slowly wrapped his lips around its intimidating length. As he started to suck and tongue the clown into complete submission, he had to lean his hands into those hips, to steady him.
Jonathan solely allowed his mouth to echo the play by play of the Joker's paroxysm, trigger and aim, those fragmented nails digging into the doctor's scalp, actually making him wince but it didn't deter him because he needed to bring this other to his surrender, his anticipated denouement because Jonathan would be that undiscovered first. The idea almost made him so enraptured, he had to remember he had teeth. And as he fell into that quickening pace, his free hand held onto that thin waist obsessively. He started to fully understand with each movement how the Joker wanted to be touched by him. And closed his eyes, trying not to choke when the Joker came long and hard... it was seismic in its rawness. Jonathan swallowed him whole, every bit of him consumed. The heat of it tickling Jonathan's throat yet didn't mind the bitterness of it. The Joker lost his footing and Jonathan closed his eyes tight at hearing those knees hit the floor with such violence. His hands grabbed Jonathan's shirt, holding on and it took all of Jonathan's will power to not fall back. He held onto him tightly, the Joker burying his face into Jonathan's neck. He realized there was a bias overshadowing the unfamiliarity of the act, and upon understanding this it was bothersome to find Scarecrow strangely quiet. As he continued to hold on but leaned back and reposition his aching knees, he yearned to look at that beautiful face. He held him for a long time it seemed. When his breathing slowed somewhat, he pulled away yet didn't look at Jonathan, as he composed himself, fixed himself, and stood with the support of the sink. Jonathan started to feel a numbness within his body, confusion distorting his face. Joker turned his back to him, a low hum in his throat as he unbuttoned his gloves at the cuff, removing them. Jonathan simply stared at him. Watched him bend over the sink, fumbling with the tap. He wet his face, his fingers angrily rubbing off whatever remained of the paint. Jonathan realized it then and brought his fingers to his own face, wondering how much of it stained his skin. Joker held onto the tap as he turned it slowly, and leaned his forehead against his outstretched arm for a moment. Jonathan sucked on his lower lip to stop the blood collecting there and wished to move but felt so stuck, staring at this other, wondering, wondering what ran through his mind. Would he make good on his promise? Would he hurt him then?
Joker stood straight and stared at his reflection in the mirror, loosening his tie. Jonathan bowed his head, still tasting him in his mouth. He could smell the scent of sandalwood in his sleeves.
I still need you.
Jonathan stopped breathing when the Joker turned his head suddenly to look at him. Did he say those words aloud? He cleared his throat and the Joker knealt down before him, a tiny smile at his pale lips now.
The Joker held the same energy as the eye within a storm. He was so calm yet Jonathan could swear he could hear the crackling of that energy. He got on his knees and grabbed Jonathan's face with both hands. He felt like fire and Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the lambency of that breath over his flesh.
"I wanted to hide here... from the thought of you."
Jonathan felt a shiver down his spine as he felt the faint graze of those scars on his cheek, that mouth blindly finding his.
"Are you still hiding?"
He looked into those eyes. Jonathan touched those scars, that mouth, his tongue... he held his face, drying him with the cuffs of his shirt before leaning in and kissing him. Joker allowed him to lead. Giving back softly at first until his breathing changed. He rose and took hold of Jonathan by his upper arms, lifting him without breaking the kiss. He persuaded him out, leading the doctor down the hallway but they didn't get too far down when Jonathan gradually pushed him against the wall, kissing him all over. "Seducing me with all of your charm, doctor." Joker lifted his chin to let Jonathan stand tiptoe and kiss there. He bit his lower lip, liking the friction the doctor gave him with his body, amused by his futile attempts of reaching his face. Joker held onto him rather protectively and turned, now pinning Jonathan against the wall, bending slight. Joker held his face, parting those full lips eagerly with his tongue. His hand touched his arousal and pulled from the kiss, bowing his head. He removed his other hand from the wall and caressed Jonathan's feverish expression, trying to edge him along. The doctor's fingernails dug into the old paint as he moved languidly, his hands greedy. "Don't... don't..." Joker stopped again, starved kisses that seemed to hunger his breath, his hands wrapping around the doctor's throat. His thumbs gently rubbed beneath Jonathan's chin until he pushed his head back, nipping his throat, entrapping butterfly kisses within the cleft of his collarbone. Jonathan shook his head, hearing his heart thrumming in his ears, his hands trying to push the other away but holding him back. "Make up your mind." mused the clown and Jonathan took his hand.

Jonathan clung onto the Joker's waistcoat desperately, trying not to fall as he was lead backwards into the bedroom, not wanting a break in the kisses. He winced as he was held tightly, the back of his knees scraping the edge of the bed and slowly opened his eyes, to see his other looking back. He could feel a smile forming in the kiss and held his breath as he was pushed back, pulling the clown down with him. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as he tried to use his elbows to keep climbing but it was in vain as the full weight of the Joker settled upon him. He bit his lower lip as his other leaned onto his elbow, gesturing for him to move but he felt such a weakness then. His fingers outlined those scars, his hair, grazing his neck, to find the rapid pulse there. Joker grunted and straddled Jonathan. With little to no strength he moved him, as if he were merely a rag doll and leaned onto his palms, staring at the doctor with utter fascination as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. Jonathan's eyes fluttered as he tried to remain placid and swallowed, waiting. He whimpered ever so softly as the Joker came close, parting Jonathan's legs with his knee before settling upon him once more, making a small noise in his throat when his erection brushed against Jonathan's. Despite how much Jonathan squirmed to get away, for he was feeling too much at once, he felt the sound of Joker's heavy breathing a strange serenity and it disturbed him as it clashed against his overall state, enjoying its warmth against his flesh. And the kisses so wet and unhurried, exploring, undemanding. Joker's hands came over Jonathan's face, cradling as he kissed him all over. Jonathan felt those scars graze his cheeks, his eyelashes, his forehead... like slivers of electricity, making his skin run.
"I like the sounds you make, Jonathan."
His eyes oscillated maddeningly around the room, that voice forming his name, resounding within his head.
His heart would stop, he was convinced of this. He could feel everything becoming thready, his gums so numb.
I want you, I want you, I want you, I need you, I want you...
He didn't know if it was him or Scarecrow at that point. He solely longed for release. He pulled his head back, his eyes closing.

He abandoned himself to it.

Break me gently.

He aggressively consummated the seduction as he wished, with all of his hour and grace, all of his seconds and gratitude, kissing the marred fingernails as the doctor finally consented. Removing each article of clothes indiscreetly, as if such things had no place on the doctor. He felt a tinge of insult due to the clown not fully removing his own. It would have been an act much too intimate for him, he assessed. But what of he could see, what was exposed, he touched fervently. Jonathan
tasted the diffraction thereafter, the hurt of this rape-like indemnity, his strangled cry wanting to escape the confines of his throat, his eyelashes relatively leaving behind an imprint upon the sheets. Retribution in his knife-like thrusts, lightening his anamnesis, to hit and run against the blood within his veins. Blood that became currents, pulling him under. Face distorting in subservient greed, that hand upon his throat again, holding protectively, his kisses -incessant, like fingerprints. Marking him. Those hands all over, holding in such a way that Jonathan felt so small in them, fragile, compliant.

His scream was soundless at first until it felt like it was ripping his chest, his body from the inside and he closed his eyes tight, arching against him, hands grasping the material of the clown's trousers and wailed with such vengeance, persistent and unyielding, grunting until it dispelled all breath from his body. It would seem as if he were to be impaled by such savagery, the calloused burn of those fingers on his body, all over, running through his hair. He winced when he felt those nails dig into his hips, drawing blood, wanting to rip the skin as the clown came sudden and Jonathan didn't know how he was holding on but the Joker never let him go, he held onto him so, so close... as if Jonathan were merely an extension of him. He bowed his head, struggling to breathe, those teeth biting into the nape of his neck, at the start of his spine, still thrusting into him. The clown had one hand upon his mouth, the other rough, possessive, urging him... urging him to come. Life stopped for an instant until it all came rushing back, falling forward onto his trembling hands with a sob when he did. Shaking beyond disbelief, his salty tears cold against the heat of his flesh. His hands fisted the sheets, burying his face into them and languidly moaned when the other finally, finally removed himself. He heard faint movement, the tinkling of the buckle, the footfalls slightly heavy against the wood floor, a sensitivity in his ears that made them ache. A hurt of many and preferred not to move. His manner of being wanted to bury himself under the sheets, to shield his sudden embarrassment to be so bared but he couldn't move. He tried
lifting himself with his elbows but they lost their strength and he succumbed to the position, his wet eyes nictating fast when he opened them, trying to breathe again, silence his beating heart. He had reached the shore of his awakening. A baptism fusing fire with water. And now he burned. His only strength was to stare at the peeling paint peeking between the bars of the headboard. Coming undone... like him.

The rays of the sun gave him scorched kisses. He could feel their pecks on his face even though he tried to taste the rain. He leaned out the window, the wood sill harsh on his hands. "I feel so feverish." he whispered, trying to remove the splinter in his thumb.
It will be harder if you don't give in.
Jonathan turned his head, the shadow straining from his peripheral. He turned his body and realized that at every turn, the shadow seemed to be one step ahead.
I'm right behind you.
Jonathan swallowed, looking at the sun creeping in again.
I don't have the strength to love him... to love anyone.
I will always unmask you, Jonathan. It's no use hiding behind me.
I gave in.
Not you, me. I gave in.
Aren't you me?
Am I?
Jonathan turned his head, narrowing his eyes downward.
I will make you do things that will keep you on your knees, on all fours, like an animal. I will make you beg. You will think a little thing called formidophobia was a lullaby your grandmother used to sing to you while you slept.
The strong scent of oranges creeped in with the sun, taunting his senses. He stepped back, away from the rays and felt Scarecrow engulf him, blanketing him in darkness. The stickiness of the darkness made him want to flail and he tried to scream.

Jonathan inhaled so deep he felt pain in his chest. He hesitated at first, opening his eyes slowly. He let his vision scatter about the room, not recognizing it at first. The scent of oranges was powerful in the room and heard faint sucking to the right of him. He leaned onto an elbow, brushing the hair from his eyes. The Joker was sitting in the corner, staring at him. A knife in hand, an orange slice in the other.
"Did you watch me sleep?" he had asked so softly that he was convinced the other had not heard. Joker chewed slowly, licking his finger and nodded. Jonathan rose from the bed, the sheet embracing his nakedness and made his way to him. His body pained him, his heart skipped a beat, feeling lightheaded... but Scarecrow was still asleep it seemed. He settled before him and was wordlessly offered a slice. Instead he leaned in close, licking the taste of the orange from his lips, his tongue tracing the scar there.
When Jonathan pulled back, he saw a hint of fear in those dark eyes.
"What will I do with you?" his voice sounded raw, almost sad. Jonathan touched his lips gently. "Stay." he said after a while. Joker closed his eyes.