Author's Note: This is pretty much meaningless - I just got that Nirvana song on my iPod today, so. . .yeah.


10:40 post meridiem.

Jonathan Crane sat in the kitchen of his apartment, chair tilted back on its rear legs and feet up on the table, ankles crossed - wearing nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxer shorts, head twitching along with his upper body, absolutely rocking out to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" as it literally blasted from the radio on the counter, volume cranked up all the way as he screamed the lyrics at the top of his lungs.

". . .HERE WE ARE NOW. . .ENTERTAINERS. . ."

He could have blamed it on Scarecrow - after all, the cornfield being had threatened to take over his muscle control and do this anyway if he didn't agree to do it himself (For God's sake, Jonathan - HAVE SOME FUN, for once!) - but Crane was feeling a bit reckless this evening anyway, and needed no further prompting.

The clown's taste in music was growing on him.

So who gave a fuck if the landlord kicked him out?

As long as Jonathan could stay with his man, he didn't care.

Without warning, a pair of strong muscular arms wrapped themselves around him: the Joker, clad in dark green boxers and a wife beater (he must've taken the open balcony door as its intended invitation).

Scarecrow's keen hearing allowed Jonathan to hear the words murmured lovingly into his ear even over the obnoxiously loud rock music, following the soft chuckle.

"Y'know, you are so cute when you do that."

And suddenly they were on Jonathan's bed, a tangle of arms and legs, Joker on top as always, both moaning as they made out lustily, the clown grinding his cock enthusiastically into Jonathan's.

The humid summer air wasn't the only thing that was hot that night.

END


Whaddya think? Kinda random, I must admit - but what have I written so far that's NOT random?