Sessions One Through Ad Nauseam

Disclaimor/Notes: I had a dream last night in which I owned Dr. Crane and oddly enough a giant hamster, but I've been told that that won't hold up in court. So back to nothing then. Anyway, don't kill me for the ending here. I swear I'm doing it on purpose. Wait, am I missing a word back there? Hmmm, well, the chapter title (in case anybody is interested) is from a quote by Publilius Syrus that goes, "It is folly to punish your neighbor by fire when you live next door." It seemed oddly appropriate for our guys.


Session Three: Of Folly and Doors


Batman opened the door to Warehouse Two of Arkham Asylum as silently as the ninja he’d been trained to be. Despite his initial doubts over how smart Crane could really be to have his secret hideout right next to the asylum he’d been imprisoned in, Batman was now forced to conclude that is was a pretty good idea. The warehouse was in shambles and located so that while nobody could accuse it of being hidden it was perfectly inconspicuous. It obviously hadn’t been used in quite some time and a healthy film of dust covered the outdated equipment of an old mental institution. Batman regarded the small metal tubs piled in a corner and let his eyes float over the various chairs and beds, all equipped with straps for their former occupants.

Finally Batman spotted a large table in the very back, all but surrounded by large empty crates labeled with strange initials. A dark red cloth covered the table fully. Batman looked at it for a moment, wondering at the dark stains that flecked it and why Crane had chosen that color. He reluctantly pulled the cloth off and let it sink heavily to the ground. Then Batman didn’t gasp, but only just barely.

The table was filled with various beakers and vials plus rusted tools of the medical trade, looking much the worse for wear. He spotted several brown notebooks piled neatly on the farthest corner and a well-sharpened pencil situated perfectly parallel to the bottoms of the books.

The dead rats in cages didn’t really fit the professional look Crane had been going for, but Batman was strangely relieved that at least the doctor hadn’t been mad enough to experiment entirely on himself. Batman put the bag he’d brought on the table and wondered if Crane had tried out his cures on any people. Somehow Batman knew that he couldn’t think about that right now, not and keep his own sanity.

He began piling the supplies and poisonous-looking concoctions carefully into the bag. The notebooks he grabbed last and used them as cushion for the vials. The last thing he wanted to do was get any of the chemicals on his car upholstery. Impulsively he opened one of the last books to the middle and began to read.

It was mostly scribbled in a wild jagged print that seemed oddly appropriate for the mad doctor and discussed complicated chemical equations paired with delusional ramblings. He read on and realized that Dr. Crane had written his toxin notes in the same journals he’d previously used at Arkham.

One page started off with a date from two week ago:


It’s Maddening, So Utterly Maddening to be working under these conditions!
My New compound works—for a time—but without further testing I can’t
Be certain that it’ll remain effective. God, how could anyone be expected to
Concentrate with all these distractions! The bats are everywhere! The Bat-
Man has sent them, I know, to spy on me. He won’t leave me Alone! Damn Him! As soon as my compound has been perfected I’ll go to the Batman and Show Him—


There the entry cut off as it bled onto another page with a date reading almost a year earlier. Crane’s handwriting was different, straighter and neater, but Batman could still see the madness lying in wake under the words:


Patient #11940 is displaying an unusual reaction to my newest serum. Instead of fear he seems to find any stimulus inappropriately amusing. As his medical history does suggest a manic personality, I believe that the toxin has amplified his preexisting disorder. As much as I would love to study him more closely myself, the board has begun investigating too closely into my work. I’ll need to deal with them. For now I’ve decided to assign Dr. Harlene Quinzelle to the patient. She is moderately trustworthy when it comes to clear documentation. Hopefully this will not encourage her unwelcome fixation on me.


Batman closed the journal and shoved it into the bag. It told him nothing important save what he already knew. Dr. Crane was a dangerous and malicious man that had thought nothing of experimenting on human beings when his mind had been intact and was now obsessed with Batman as his insanity grew. The pages should have only encouraged him to stop this madness with Crane.

So why was it that all he wanted to do was find this Dr. Quinzelle and wring her nervy little neck?


* * *


Crane’s mind snapped mostly back into place about an hour after Batman left. He wasn’t aware of the passage of time, of course, as his first conscious thought concerned the fact that he appeared to be suffocating.

Crane gasped, twitching sharply in his chains as he tried to figure out what was surrounding him. It was thick and black and covering his face completely. He couldn’t move his hands to touch whatever it was as they were trapped under his bound body as effectively as they had been in his straight jacket. The Scarecrow began cackling in manic delight.

“All dark,” he sing-songed in a wavering voice. “Time for a new test? If I’m good, I’ll get a treat.”

Crane suddenly scowled darkly under the thick warmth surrounding him. “I don’t want a treat!”

The smile was back a moment later. “Trick or treat. What are you supposed to be?”

A pause for dramatic license. “The Scarecrow!”

He collapsed into uncontrollable giggles that somehow sounded more like sobs and contemplated rolling off the hard table under his back. He didn’t think he was really going to suffocate to death but this was a most undignified way to treat a doctor. He was the head of Arkham Asylum! That almost made him king.

“King of the crazies,” he murmured and didn’t know whether he was proud or mocking himself.

Suddenly the warm protecting blackness was ripped away and the dark dripping face of the Batman was looming over him. Crane shrunk away, simultaneously ecstatic and terrified to see him.

“Which one is it, Crane?” It was the low growl of the monster that hides in closets and a collection of sharp-looking syringes were thrust before his face.

“Which witch is which?” The Scarecrow countered with a sly smile. “That’s the real question. My money is on that perky DA bitch.”

“Tell me which one it is, Crane!” The Batman grabbed the doctor one-handed by his collar. His mouth twisted into a hideous fang-filled grin. “Or I’m going to try all of them on you.”

Something shifted once again in Crane’s mind. He knew that that would be bad. It would probably kill him. The Scarecrow blinked.

“Why don’t you try the one with the white liquid?” he suggested lucidly and then let his head fall back with a happy sigh. “It reminds me of—”

“Don’t finish that,” Batman warned, jabbing the needle into Crane’s cloth-covered shoulder.

The Scarecrow gasped as an icy liquid seemed to spread throughout his body. The sensation was completely opposite of how it felt when the serum left his system, cool where it became hot and soothing where it would be searing.

“I was going to say liquid eraser.” Crane’s grin was toothy as he regarded Batman through tilted glasses. “What on earth were you thinking of?”


* * *


Batman pulled off his mask, feeling somewhat like he was getting nude in front of a stranger, and watched with too much interest as Crane’s pupil narrowed from a huge inky pool to a small dot. The blue surrounding it seemed magnified to an absurd degree. Bruce fought against and finally couldn’t resist the urge to straighten the doctor’s glasses on his thin face.

Crane blinked sleepily at Bruce, an action which seemed odd as he’d blinked only rarely since they’d first met.

“Thank you,” he murmured and despite himself Bruce felt warmed.

“You’re welcome.” He waved the syringes at Crane. “I’m going to have these sent to Fox. How many do you need in order to be useful?”

“One every twelve hours or so. Less if you were to give me a sedative when it wears off. I can…control myself somewhat better that way.”

“If you don’t fall asleep.” Bruce watched Crane yawn, his long delicate tongue curling up to the roof of his mouth.

“That’s always a possibility.” Crane shrugged in his bondage. “But I don’t sleep very much.”

“Hmmm.” Bruce thought for a moment and asked tentatively, “Do you…do you want something to eat?”

Crane made a face that he quickly covered a moment later. “No, the cure tends to make me feel…a bit nauseous if I eat.”

There was a long pause in which Bruce looked down at his boots and tried to think of something to say while Crane stared speculatively at him.

“However, I would like to take a shower,” Crane said finally and shot a disgusted look down his body. “The facilities at my new lab are less than adequate.”

Bruce thought the idea over hard. The construction workers had left for the day so there wasn’t a chance that they’d see him letting a convicted criminal use his shower, but Bruce wasn’t really sure he liked the idea of having Crane in his house.

“Oh, honestly, Batman, you can stand there and make sure I don’t pollute your water if it bothers you that much,” Crane said with a polite snarl, his eyes back to being cold and calculating.

Bruce glared at the doctor and was about to tell him where he could stick his shower when he decided to go a different route.

“Okay,” Bruce agreed and quickly undid the chains surrounding Crane. For a moment he was dangerously close to the other man’s small body. He closed his eyes briefly, his cheek almost touching Crane’s smooth skin, and whispered heatedly, “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

* * *


The trip upstairs was anything but fun, at least for Crane. He was obviously weaker than he’d been willing to admit to himself and several times Bruce was forced to catch him as he stumbled. Bruce obviously didn’t mind as it gave him an opportunity to place his hands on Crane’s body without feeling like a pervert but it upset the doctor. He was glowering darkly by the time they reached the bathroom that was linked to Bruce’s temporary bedroom. He was mostly disappointed that they hadn’t run into that nosy butler. It would have been fun to hear Bruce try to explain why he was half-carrying Crane into his bedroom.

Once in the mammoth bathroom Crane broke away roughly, stumbling to the middle of the white room and looking around with cool disinterest. He didn’t look back at Bruce, who’d shut the door quietly behind him and was now leaning on it casually.

“Are you really going to watch me take a damn shower?” Crane asked, still eyeing the glass doors of the Olympic-sized shower instead of Bruce.

“Can’t risk you doing something sneaky to my water supply, Crane. You warned me yourself.”

Crane leaned his head to one side and then shrugged. That was fair. Without warning the doctor began to remove his asylum uniform. Or at least he tried. Part of the reason why he’d been unable to get clean since he’d been institutionalized was that he couldn’t get the damn jacket completely off. The arms were free and he’d ripped most of the back ties, at least enough to move around freely, but the ones on his upper back were damned impossible to undo himself. He’d hoped as he lost more weight he’d be able to slip it off, but he was apparently as thin as he could be without being completely emaciated.

After a few minutes of struggling in vain to undo the straps behind him, Crane stopped and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and tried to avoid doing what he’d rather die than do. Bruce asked before he had to.

“You need some help with that?” Crane could hear the secret glee in Wayne’s voice, however hard he tried to hide it. It sickened him how this man was feared and respected by millions while he’d had to struggle for a straggly few in his asylum.

Crane didn’t answer, wouldn’t and couldn’t, but Bruce didn’t wait for confirmation. There was the sound of light confident footsteps and then Wayne’s strong hands were on his back, lightly pulling the straps through and letting his knuckles slide across the sensitive middle part between his shoulder blades. Crane wanted to believe that his shaking was entirely from the drug, but he was far too self-aware for that.

The straight jacket was practically hurled to the floor, hopefully to never be seen again. Underneath Crane only had a thin white undershirt and the pants he’d been wearing the night he’d received the hallucinogen. All of that was removed quickly.

Naked to his own eyes for the first time in far too long, Crane forgot Wayne’s presence entirely to study himself. Masses of small bruises covered his upper body and arms, courtesy of the Batman’s room and board, but the scores of cuts and scratches were his alone. He’d been angry with himself for quite a few days after that bitch DA had ended his glorious night ride.

Other than the bruises and cuts, which were not altogether unfamiliar sights on his body, he seemed relatively unchanged. Perhaps slightly thinner, in the gentle curving in of his stomach. As Crane entered the shower he wondered treacherously what Wayne thought of him.


* * *


It took all of Bruce’s hard-earned self-control to simply undo the strange binding on Crane’s jacket when he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers down that smooth spine. The other man had refused to look at him since they’d entered the bathroom and somehow that made it a little harder, as though he were truly invading on the man’s personal space. He told himself that it was more than Crane would have enjoyed in the asylum and held his breath as the doctor pulled his undershirt off quickly and methodically. There was nothing in the striptease to suggest that Crane was trying to entice him and that made it even more seductive.

The ragged business pants came off next, revealing lean coltish legs and an ass so firm that Bruce had to bite his lip to keep from biting it. When the clothes were off and Bruce could finally breathe once more he had to notice the livid bruises covering Crane’s entire back, in obvious patterns that would have matched his chains downstairs perfectly. The small but deep-looking scratches all along Crane’s arms and sides were strangers however. Bruce wondered if he’d gotten too close to some of his rats.

The water from the shower broke Bruce out of his thoughts and he watched as Crane stepped gracefully under the water. A look of rapture crossed over the doctor’s face as he turned up towards the showerhead. Heat stirred in Bruce’s stomach as he mesmerized the pleasure, vowing to himself that he’d see it again under his own power soon. Then his eyes were running eagerly down the front of Crane’s body.

He had a thin chest that wasn’t completely devoid of any musculature, making Bruce wonder what it was that a man like Crane did to keep in shape. The bruises were equally accusatory on his front along with those strange cuts and Bruce skimmed over them, forcing himself to take accountability for the pain he willingly inflicted. Then his eyes had to go lower, for the sake of comparison if nothing else.

Crane’s half-hard cock was shorter than his own, as Bruce noted with a man’s smugness, but it was surprisingly thick nestled amongst such gangly limbs. The sight of it made his own interested erection jump forward and suddenly Bruce didn’t like this game any longer.

“Fox will come back tomorrow with some equipment.” Bruce shifted from side to side like an anxious child, wanting to drop his eyes from Crane’s lithesome body but finding it impossible. Those consuming blue eyes turned to him for the first time and Bruce’s cock jerked up fully at the languid heat in them.

“Whatever shall we do until then?” Crane murmured softly, suggestively and then chuckled at the shocked face Bruce knew he was sporting. Crane began washing his hair, frowning slightly as dried blood came out with the shampoo. “I suggest we play a nice game of Charades. I’ll bet you’re good at that.”

“Did I…do that?” Bruce asked, ignoring the insult as he watched the blood slide down Crane’s pale body.

“Possibly,” Crane mused and then shrugged again, a light motion that drew attention to his long neck. “Or possibly I did as the Scarecrow. Either way I see it as your responsibility.”

Crane turned off the water with obvious reluctance and stepped out of the shower, unmindful of the dry floor beneath him. He drew close to Bruce, too close for comfort, one bare arm brushing against Bruce’s hand on the counter to the sink.

Crane looked at himself critically in the large mirror, his eyes flicking back to Bruce through it. That familiar look of quiet condescension was back on his gorgeous face, making Bruce want to slap it out of him.

He settled for spinning the doctor around and slamming his hands on the counter on top of Crane’s. He was practically touching Crane’s bare body with his own as he leaned in with Batman’s low growl to say, “What makes you think I’m responsible for anything the Scarecrow does, Crane?”

“You forced the gas into me, Batman, ergo you created the Scarecrow.” Crane’s face was malicious as he stretched the remaining inches between himself and Bruce, lightly touching their bodies together. “Everything I am now is what you made.”

“Does that make you mine?” Bruce asked harshly and regretted it.

Crane’s soft mouth worked wordlessly for a moment as the doctor appeared to shockingly not know what to say. Bruce stopped fighting himself and rubbed his now aching erection firmly against Crane’s. Those blue eyes closed for an agonizing moment and those irresistible lips fell open in a bating gasp.

Bruce had no choice but to take those lips to his own, biting and sucking so hard that he knew Crane would have new bruises tomorrow. Crane shuddered hard and attacked back for the first time, struggling to free his hands from underneath Bruce’s own large ones, and finally settling on rubbing his naked body frantically against the hard thighs and chest that trapped him.

“Tell me who you belong to, Crane,” Bruce demanded, moving his teeth to the wide space of sweet skin that gleamed on his long neck. Crane made the sound of a caged and frustrated animal, his teeth bared as he tried to free himself from Bruce’s grasp.

“Let me go, damn you,” Crane cried out, the tension in his voice palpable.

Bruce growled, releasing Crane’s hands in order to slam his fists down on the porcelain counter around his narrow hips. “Wrong answer!”

Bruce pulled away only by strength gained from Crane’s stubbornness. If the right words had come out of that honeyed mouth Bruce would have been forced to prop Crane up on the sink and show him just exactly what was his.

Crane continued to lean against the sink, gasping for air and regaining his composure more quickly than Bruce liked. The billionaire turned his eyes away and roughly handed him a large bathrobe.

“Let me get you some clothes,” Bruce said and opened the door to his bedroom. He tried to be gentle as he grabbed Crane’s arm and dragged him from the bathroom, but the choked cry of pain that escaped from those whorish lips told him that he’d failed.

Well, that was just too bad.

TBC

Thanks

kittykat: Kinky is good! It's my favorite snack!

despritecranefan: How can I resist that emoticon? More it is!

Alice: *Laughs* Well, much like the real voting process, it takes a bit to see results, but here you go!

J. Crane: *Snorfles* High praise indeed, Doctor! Hopefully you won't mind the ravaging you're past due for.

gilthoniel: Never fear. I'm up to nine chappies on this puppy with more to come.

sabz: *Rubs ears* Ouchies! It's a good thing I love loud music or I'd be deaf right now. Thank you! I hope you'll find this chappy interesting.

Caryn: Hmmm, I understand that Batman/Ducard is more common, but honestly Crane is such a uke I couldn't stand him not getting some.

bobwraith: Your wish is my command!


In Session Four: Closer

“You and Ducard were lovers?” There was danger in Bruce’s tone. Crane would have been wise to acknowledge it. However he was still shook up over his impromptu trip through nostalgia and angry over having shown such a weakness. His response was to flash Bruce a smirk filled with malice.