It was a whirlwind of a kiss, and what was more was that it was celebratory. Because they'd won. The anterior job they pulled had been a success, and as such, test group "A" was just beginning to suffer the effects of The Scarecrow's latest batch of toxin. The police were left in a similar state, and in fact, even a very in-demand Batman hadn't arrived on the scene until the perpetrators were well beyond catching. That November was too busy for Bruce's comfort, or his punctuality, apparently. The alliance between The Mad Hatter and The Scarecrow had become a major thorn in his side, though Kevlar-protected it may have been. At the very least, he knew that test group "B" was due for its doctor's appointment soon, but at present, he hadn't a clue who those people might be, nor where Tetch and Crane were hiding.
The duo in question had paused in a dark alleyway, not exactly within range of their newest base, but far away from the mess they'd recently made. Spirits were high and jovial, and though he shouldn't have been, Jonathan was always surprised by his partner's poise and confidence when it came to amative moments like this. He continued to be surprised even as he found himself swept into a firm embrace. With a free hand, The Scarecrow lifted his mask away, much to Jervis's delight.
Their liplock was always awkward at first, and this could be attributed, of course, to the notable disparity between a man who stood at 6'4" and his companion, who was barely 5'1". In the early days, kissing was only slightly less challenging than scaling a branchless tree, but by now they were used to such difficulties. Still, some concerted teamwork and creative spacial reasoning was required when they were caught without a stepstool.
Jonathan arched his back, and their lips connected. The first few moments, from his vantage point, were colored by nothing but an uncomfortable wash of teeth and tongue. This wasn't a rare problem, as Jervis had probably never seen the inside of an orthodontist's office once in his British little life. With some small adjustments, though, his overbite could be avoided fairly easily. From then on, it was fine. The Hatter was a singularly enthusiastic swain, and it was easy to sink into his osculation. Jonathan squeezed his small shoulders affectionately, bowing a little further at the smaller man's nonverbal insistence.
Even when the professor thought himself lost in their contact, his partner would often complain that his kisses seemed restrained and guarded. Crane never knew what to say to that. If it were true, he had no real way of rectifying the problem; he wasn't going to push himself. He couldn't have been doing too badly though, at least not at the moment. Jervis had been smiling the entire time.
The Hatter's arms were thrown tenaciously around his hare's wiry neck, keeping their faces together, almost like a fastened strap. Because Crane was so cumbersomely tall, the pair often found themselves mutually holding one another in place. Tippy toes, on Jervis's part, were also essential. He chirped and giggled at Jonathan's every approving hum, relishing the feeling of a clawlike hand twining into his hair. If asked later, Tetch would vehemently deny that he was guilty of popping his foot.
Truth be told, Jonathan wasn't the best kisser, but that hardly mattered to his Hatter.
Jervis pulled away to place spotty little pecks all about his partner's face and jaw. Something in the pit of his chest felt like a blaring alarm, and he was also slightly dizzy. He slid his hands around to brace the sides of Jonathan's face, which exhibited a rare, contented expression.
The Hatter opened his mouth to speak, intending to say something in the line of, "You were wonderful back there," or "They'll never see phase two coming," but somewhere along the way, his congratulations melted into a verse of poetry:
"How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spread his claws,
And welcome little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!"
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So that's the last one. I'm the reason God doesn't talk to us anymore.