Yet what an aura surrounds you;
Your evil little aura, prowling, and casting a numbness on my mind..."
--"The Mosquito" by D.H. Lawrence--
Seeing and feeling the shock and abashment overcome Jon, was the funniest thing Scarecrow had ever witnessed in the years he'd shared the man's conscious. Jon's want was there, Scarecrow could feel it, but humility and chivalry held him back.
She'd asked him to help though, for heaven's sakes!
'Let me take over here, Jonny-boy. I won't touch her inappropriately. Don't want to scare the mouse away, after all.'
Perhaps it was anxiety that let him escape so easily. He wasn't complaining.
"Open the door," he replied, skillful with the intonation of Jon's voice just as Becky attempted to diverge to save her own composure. His usual baritone was hardly removed from the other's tenor, but it was deeper and he still held a grasp on the Southern, Georgian twang Jon had lost in his years in Gotham.
The bathroom opened and Scarecrow saw her stare at the floor. He could feel the embarrassment rolling off her. It was quite adorable. He caught the door with his foot and she turned around. Scarecrow glanced down the length of her back and his hands caressed the nape of her neck as they gathered her hair. She stiffened and Scarecrow chuckled to himself, gently tucking the crimson curls over her shoulder.
There was something unmistakably alluring about the curve of her spine, and though he itched to touch, his fingers only took the zipper next and without halt slid it up her back, binding the cloth together. She pulled away when he had finished and turned to him, demurely raising her gaze to his.
He hid it until she turned away, but his eyes widened. Jonathan choked within as well. The plum dress was heavenly on her. Scarecrow did not retreat as he took in her figure, body now against the doorway, waiting for her to exit the restroom. He stared unabashedly and Jonathan did not argue. He smirked.
'See, Jonny, I was good, but our mouse is very tempting.'