In Their Element

Title: In Their Element
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Jonathan Crane
Rating: NC-17
A/N: The slash version of the gen story ‘Scintillating Conversation’ found on fanfic.net. I took a few liberties with the movie-verse in order to fit it to my story, but nothing drastic.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no harm intended, no profit made.


In Their Element


Security for the ‘Lost Children of Gotham’ charity auction kept the flashing cameras at bay while the city’s elite made their way down the red carpet to the entrance of the recently opened Crystal Sky Hotel. One of the tallest buildings in upper Gotham, though not quite reaching the glamorous heights of Wayne Tower, the hotel had been designed to look as if it had been carved out of a piece of crystal. It was a beacon of light during the day when the sun hit its sparkling windows, which in turn glittered at night with the light shining through them. There were curtains for those who didn’t care to lodge in glass houses, but the fabric was lined with reflective crystals so the hotel never stopped shining.

The Crystal Sky was the self-proclaimed eighth wonder of Gotham, though its publicists had never fully clarified what the first seven wonders were. Still, the hotel was glamorous enough that everyone who was anyone arranged to host their social events at the Crystal Sky, with many guests choosing to take a room there for the night. It was just more convenient for those who needed quick and easy access to someplace a little more private.

Bruce Wayne was among the hotel’s guests for the charity that night.

He’d been back in Gotham long enough to start mouths moving as everyone from those who’d watched him grow up to those who’d grown up on tales of him wondered about the mystery of their no longer missing Prince. Since the name ‘Bruce Wayne’ had been raised from the dead by its owner, the only question remaining was where had the body of Bruce Wayne been for seven years? Wherever it had been, its lips weren’t talking. For the first few weeks after his return, the only surviving heir of Gotham remained locked up in his mansion and showed no signs of emerging, which drove the gossips mad.

Then, one night, and almost every night thereafter, Bruce Wayne emerged from hiding and could be found at all the hottest clubs, eating at all the fashionably expensive restaurants while accompanied by only the most desirable women. Gotham went from wondering about his past to wondering what stunt he was going to pull next. He shot to the top of the most eligible bachelor list, as well the list of most adored playboys. The body of Bruce Wayne made the front page of every gossip paper in the stands, his only rival being that of Gotham’s other mysterious figure--the Batman. Between the two of them, it was an exciting time to be in Gotham, though one wouldn’t think it to look at the rather solemn face of the Wayne heir as he entered the Grand Ballroom of the Crystal Sky.

Holding out a chair for his companion of the evening, Bruce settled down at one of the tables and waited for the masses to come and pay him his dues.

He loathed this part of the act.

No matter how necessary he knew it to be, he had to literally force himself to sit through it every time. It wasn’t just the inherent falseness of the ‘Bruce Wayne’ persona, but of the entire lifestyle. There wasn’t a single soul in the entire ballroom who could look at him with their true eyes. The only thing they were capable of seeing was how their reflection looked in his eyes. He wondered if the time would ever come that he’d actually be able to tell them the truth of what he saw.

Probably not, unless Gotham suddenly developed a moral conscience and no longer needed the Batman, and that was about as likely to happen as him enjoying himself at the auction that night.

As Bruce accepted the wishes of more good fortune from the Mayor, an unfamiliar man sat down in the empty seat to his right. Sipping at a flute of champagne, he began speaking to the other individuals at the table, who clearly knew him and more than willingly accepted his attention. Bruce was still too new to know by sight everyone worth knowing around town, but was surprised he hadn’t seen this man before. Gotham’s husband-hunters usually didn’t let an eligible soul escape their social engagements, but as there wasn’t a ring lingering on the young man’s left ring finger, Bruce was amazed this one appeared to have avoided their clutches. Listening in on their conversation with one ear, he could tell the man was articulate, knew who to flatter and when without being obsequious about it, and definitely ranked well above the average socialite in terms of intelligence.

He was just the sort of man Bruce would want to carry on a conversation with if he hadn’t been so busy playing the playboy fool who didn’t welcome actual thoughts into his head. When the man finally deigned to give his attention to Bruce, Bruce offered him a smile and promptly said, “I’ve reserved that seat.”

The man looked over him with eyes hued a brilliant blue, the irises further illuminated by silver glasses frames. There was an expression of mild amusement on his face--too pretty to be handsome, too angular to be beautiful--as he glanced at Bruce’s guest sitting at his left side, then back to the Prince himself. “I didn’t realize your ego required its own chair.”

A deadly hush fell over the table at the man’s insolent comment, but Bruce was merely entertained. Was this man trying to rile him? If so, he was going to find Bruce wasn’t as easy to rile as that.

“I like to keep a chair empty for friends to sit in when they stop by.”

“How very considerate of you to worry so about your friends’ comfort.”

“What can I say? My best trait is thoughtfulness.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, looking over Bruce in a way that almost made him want to squirm in his chair, “thoughtfulness.” And then the man held out his hand. “Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

He hesitated a moment to show he didn’t entirely approve of this man’s intrusion, then shook the Doctor’s hand. “Bruce Wayne.”

“Excellent. And now that we’re friends, you won’t mind me borrowing this chair for a few moments.”

“Oh, so we’re friends now?” he asked, letting show his enjoyment of the Doctor’s brashness.

“As much as you can claim to be friends with anyone here.”

Though his smile never faltered, Bruce’s eyes narrowed as he caught the serious note behind the Doctor’s light-hearted tone. He couldn’t decide whether or not this man was being deliberately aggravating or just happened to be extremely intuitive.

“I know them better than I know you.”

“Oh, you haven’t met?” a young woman said from across the table, having spotted Bruce’s interest in the man and decided to offer information in the hope of not being overlooked. “Dr. Crane is the youngest doctor ever to be named head of Arkham Asylum. He’s the one responsible for keeping Gotham’s streets safe from the criminally insane.”

“You flatter me,” Crane said without ever looking away from Bruce’s face and effectively blocking her from the conversation, a trick he couldn’t help but admire. “I was chosen because no one else would take the job. It seems that Gotham’s most respected psychiatrists prefer to keep their distance from Arkham. I, on the other hand, practically live down there.”

“Cheaper rent?” Bruce quipped, and Crane’s good-nature thinned a little.

“Convenience. I have made a life out of trying to understand the workings of the criminal mind, and though I’m afraid my studies are far from complete, my time at Arkham brings me closer to that goal every day.”

“Arkham’s in the Narrows, right? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not for me. I’m in my element down there.”

“Your element?”

“Yes,” Crane said, and something in his blue eyes made Bruce distinctly uncomfortable, giving him the feeling that Crane may have been a little too much in his element down there.

“I see. So, you study criminals?” Bruce said with polite interest, and Crane smiled, the movement softening the sharp features of his face, though his eyes never lost their sardonic edge.

“I study their minds, their thoughts, their instincts and their motivations. I seek to understand what it is that drives them.”

“And what is it that motivates criminals?” Bruce asked, twirling the stem of his champagne glass between his thumb and forefinger, revealing to anyone still listening that his own attention was rapidly fading. His guest had already wandered off in boredom, though Bruce secretly hoped she wouldn’t wander back.

“The same thing that motivates all of us,” Crane said, his smile turning a touch condescending. “Fear.”

A corner of Bruce’s lips quirked. “Fear?”

“Yes.”

“And that applies to everyone?”

“It does,” Crane nodded, then gave the table a sweeping glance. “Take the people in this room, for example. Their fear is derived from their wealth and power--the fear that they’ll lose it, that someone will get more of it than they have. They respond to this fear by fighting to keep what wealth and power they do have and to gain more so they’ll always be on top.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said in a lazy drawl, “that sounds like greed to me.”

“There’s no difference, really. Greed is ultimately driven by fear.”

“Why is it fear and not survival?”

“Do you actually need an Armani tailored tuxedo in order to survive?”

“Absolutely. I have sensitive skin, and anything less than Armani just makes me itch.”

Their table companions laughed appreciatively, but Crane wasn’t about to let their disdain affect him.

“Of course, your sensitive skin must absolutely come first, even if the tux that clothes it is enough to feed a family in the Narrows for a year.”

“You cannot criticize the cost of my clothes when your own is clearly something you didn’t just buy off the rack,” Bruce said, and Crane chuckled.

“I never said I had anything against leading a luxurious life. I’m simply trying to make a point.”

“If your point is that our fear is causing us to horde our wealth and power at the expense of others, why are we here at a charity auction where the goal is to raise money for those who don’t have our wealth and power?” Bruce asked, and everyone at the table, who hadn’t exactly been thrilled at Crane’s evaluation of them, enjoyed a smug smile at his question. Crane, on the other hand, didn’t falter but grew even more pleased with himself.

“I’m glad you brought that up. We’re here because of an entirely different fear--fear for our immortal souls.”

Bruce found himself nodding. “We’re afraid our greed will send us to hell.”

Crane smiled, approval of Bruce’s astute deduction brightening his face. “Precisely. Criminals give in to their fears, the wealthy use money to hide from their fears--”

“And the Batman?” he couldn’t help asking, and the Doctor’s blue eyes practically glowed.

“Isn’t it obvious? The Batman protects himself against his fears--thus the costume and the toys. He’s trying to keep his fears from touching him.”

“Interesting theory,” Bruce said, and as he thought it over, decided it truly was an interesting theory. Was he really trying to protect himself? He’d always thought he was fighting his fears, standing up to face and ultimately control them, not trying to put up a shield against them. Maybe it was a little of both.

“Admittedly,” Crane continued, “the Batman puts on a brave face to the world playing the part of the hero, but deep down, I have no doubt he’s just a scared little boy trying to overcome some childhood trauma that has continued to haunt him well into his adult life.”

Okay, now that was hitting a little too close to home, Bruce thought, and flashed Crane a mocking grin. “Think he got his bag of candy snatched by a couple of kids in masks on Halloween?”

“It could be something as simple as that, or it could be something much worse--abuse, neglect, abandonment. It doesn’t take much to scar a child.”

“Speaking from experience there, Doc?”

Crane smiled a little coldly, as if having come to expect something more from Bruce than a flippant response. “Absolutely. Most criminals I deal with have had something traumatic happen to them during their formative years which resulted in their eventual downfall and subsequent loss of humanity.”

“That’s a rather harsh judgment, don’t you think? It almost sounds as if you think every criminal is incapable of reform.”

“Not every criminal, Mr. Wayne, just most. I’m sure that you above all others here can understand how some criminals are forced into their roles by desperate situations, but should their situations have been different, they wouldn’t have had to seek out their criminal status and their desperate acts never would have been committed.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened at Crane having brought up, even if in a roundabout fashion, the ‘forbidden subject’ and he realized he’d let this conversation continue for far too long. Most socialites he associated with preferred not to remember the murder of his parents because they didn’t know how to fit such a serious event into their vapid world, but it appeared Crane had no qualms about mentioning it if it could gain him more insight into Bruce’s mind. Already, Crane had revealed too many associations which could cause some people to reach an unwanted conclusion about himself and his alter ego if they thought hard enough about it.

However, he still felt a twinge of disappointment at having to end their discussion. Crane’s insights into the criminal mind might have been a help to him, but the man was too intelligent for Bruce to risk any further questions. Crane would quickly seek out the reason for his interest and probably arrive at the correct answer, an answer Bruce definitely didn’t want revealed.

Feigning anger at the Doctor’s audacity in recalling to their minds the ‘forbidden subject’, Bruce pushed his chair away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I think this conversation has grown a little too heavy for my tastes. It was a pleasure seeing all of you again. Dr. Crane, good luck on your work.”

Bruce made his way through the ballroom and to the elevators in the lobby. He’d arranged to take the penthouse for the night, but was considering going home to his own bed when a man slipped through elevator doors just as they were about to close. “Dr. Crane?” he said, surprised at the Doctor’s sudden appearance. He was certain his words earlier would have put an end to their short-lived relationship.

“Mr. Wayne. I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to see again tonight--”

“You could say that,” he said sharply, as would be expected of him, but the Doctor stood his ground.

“--but I wanted to apologize for what I said. I was out of line, and I’m sorry, but even more, I’m sorry my words caused you to leave.” Crane looked him over with those calculating blue eyes filled with puzzlement as well as curiosity. “You’re not quite the simpleton people make you out to be, are you?”

“I’ve never claimed to be a simpleton,” Bruce said, trying not to find the turn of events as intriguing as he did.

“But you don’t want people to know how bright you are, either.”

“If people think I’m intelligent, they might decide to take me seriously and start expecting more from me, and that would put a severe crimp in my social life.”

“And that’s all that matters to you? The expansion of your social life?”

“Dr. Crane--”

“Jonathan.”

Bruce nodded, accepting the gesture meant to set him at ease as well as offering him friendship. “Jonathan, I’ve spent most of my years running from the ‘desperate act’ that ruined my childhood. I’ve since decided there’s no point to running when I could actually be enjoying myself, and that is exactly what I’ve decided to do.”

“In other words, you’re still running, you’re just going about it a different way.”

Bruce sighed with the feigned impatience of a man tired of a subject that has, in his opinion, been beaten to death. “Do you always have to analyze everything everyone says, Dr. Crane? Maybe you’re working too hard. Maybe you should take a page out of my book and just start having fun.”

Crane smiled thinly at Bruce. “I doubt your ideas of fun and mine would coincide.”

“You never know until you try.”

“Is that an offer?” Crane asked.

“You want to try having my kind of fun?” Bruce countered.

“I was actually thinking you might enjoy trying mine.”

Just as he was about to answer, something in those blue eyes made Bruce hesitate. There was a gleam of lust, all right, but that he easily recognized. He was feeling a spark of it himself as he stared at the pale skin of the other man, at the rose-tinted lips so full that they looked as if they’d already spent the evening wrapped around his cock. Oh yes, he felt it, but beneath the lust, it almost seemed as if Crane were challenging him, daring him to accept. He already knew that intellectually Crane was a dangerous man. If he placed himself in the good doctor’s hands, who knew what Crane might discover?

But then, Bruce always did enjoy a challenge.

“Are you going to tell me what it is you do for fun first?”

“I’d rather show you,” Crane said, taking a step towards him. He reached towards his chest, causing Bruce’s breath to catch in his throat, but Crane’s hand made only a whisper of contact as his fingers dipped inside his coat and pulled out the plastic keycard. Crane stepped out of the elevator, glancing back over his shoulder at the man trying to fight back the shiver that ran through his body. “Coming, Bruce?”

Bruce. His name was like a kiss on those lips, leaving them slightly parted, an invitation for his tongue to slip between them. He was definitely coming, and soon, if he had anything to say about it.

He quickly stepped out of the elevator and followed Crane into the penthouse, deciding he was going to have to take control over this situation or Crane would have him eating out of the palm of his hand. Tracing with his tongue the lifelines on his skin. Sucking on his fingers. Nipping at his fingertips.

Bruce bit his lip, hoping the pain would distract him from the sudden strength of his erection, but in order to do that, he’d have to bite down hard enough to draw blood, and that was something he didn’t want to explain to Alfred. He had a feeling the night would end with enough questions on his body to occupy his old friend for days.

Crane walked over to the windows and stared outside at the lights of Gotham shining dimly from far below.

“Perhaps we should shut the curtains,” Bruce said, and Crane turned to him with a smile.

“Do you really think anyone’s going to see us from up here? Unless, of course, you’re afraid of being spotted by the Batman.”

“If he has nothing better to do than watch us, then I say let him,” Bruce said, walking over to the bar, and his companion laughed.

“That’s exceedingly generous of you, Bruce,” he said, and again the sound of his name on those lips caused Bruce’s pants to tighten.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked as Crane wandered into the suite’s master bedroom.

“Just a glass of ice, please,” he called, and Bruce arched an eyebrow at this, but didn’t seek out an answer. He simply filled a glass with ice and brought it with him into the next room. The Doctor took it from his hand and set it on the bedside table nearest him. He then grabbed Bruce by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into a kiss that so relentless in devouring him, he didn’t have time to breathe.

Those lips were everything he could have hoped for, everything he’d imagined and more. Soft and strong as silk, they tied him up and commanded him, and he willingly followed their orders. He opened his mouth when told, allowing Crane’s tongue entry, and followed it with his own tongue back between those silken lips. Simply kissing him was enough to make his body hard and aching for more, but Crane didn’t release him until just before he’d found his release.

Stepping back, Crane smiled with his swollen silken lips and removed his glasses, carefully folding them up and placing them on the bedside table. He looked back up and Bruce found himself want to press his mouth to the edges of those shocking blue eyes, but the Doctor held himself out of reach, pulling at the end of his tie. “Undress,” he said, stepping back as he slid the loosened tie from his neck. Bruce nodded, his hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

Their eyes never leaving each other, they removed their clothes. The process was steady, not rushed, allowing a gradual building of the tension already permeating the air. To watch them, one would think they’d done this a hundred times before if it wasn’t for the intensity in their eyes as their naked selves were slowly exposed. Bruce didn’t dare blink or risk missing a single inch of flesh revealed on Crane’s body. He felt a thrill when every piece of his own clothing that hit the floor brought a slight gasp from Crane’s mouth. After an exhausting amount of time even for a man of his patience, they were finally both standing before each other, naked, aroused, wanting.

Beautiful, Bruce thought, his muscles trembling with desire at the sight before him. He retracted his earlier statement regarding the Doctor’s appearance and simply thought beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Smiling, the young Doctor reached down to pick up Bruce’s dress shirt and motioned towards the bed with a nod of his head. “Lie down.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow.

“You wanted to know what I do for fun. . .” Crane said, and Bruce decided it wasn’t worth the agony not to play along. He lay down on the bed, the Doctor looking on with approval. “Good. Now, spread your legs. Lift your arms towards the headboard and do not move them until I say you can move them.”

Bruce did as he was told and Crane climbed onto the bed to kneel down between Bruce’s legs. Taking the shirt between his hands, he ripped off the left sleeve, letting the rest of the material fall back to the floor.

“That’s a month’s worth of food for a family in the Narrows you’ve just destroyed,” Bruce said, recalling their conversation from before.

“They were already lost,” Crane replied and leaned forward, tying the sleeve around Bruce’s eyes. His body immediately tensed at the loss of sight, but his hearing still worked, so he wasn’t too concerned. He’d already learned how to survive in the dark.

“You’re surprisingly calm,” came Crane’s soft voice next to his ear, sending a shiver through his body. “Most people tend to fight when they can’t see.”

“Most people are afraid of what they can’t see.”

“And you’re not?”

“I know what it is I’m not seeing. I’m disappointed, but not afraid.”

Crane chuckled and Bruce felt the mattress dip as the young man reached across him. He heard the clink of ice in a glass and then Crane was back in place.

“Don’t forget what I said about your arms,” he said, his breath kissing Bruce’s lips though their mouths never touched, “or I’ll leave.”

“I wouldn’t let you. But I won’t move.”

He could sense Crane’s amusement at this, then bit back a gasp as a shockingly cold object brushed across his left nipple.

The damn ice! Bruce realized with a growl.

Crane circled his sensitive skin with a piece of ice, his nipple becoming taut beneath the sudden onslaught of sensation, his cock throbbing between his legs, his heart pounding. Just as his skin was about to grow numb, Crane replaced the ice with his mouth and then Bruce did groan, twisting his hands in the sheets as he fought the urge to grab Crane and pull the beautiful man down on top of him. His body screamed to feel more than just the warm wetness of the other man’s tongue or the sharp pull of his teeth, but he kept himself from moving as his right nipple was subjected to the same treatment.

He’d hoped it would be over when that piece of ice melted, but Crane just picked up another piece. He trailed it down the center of Bruce’s torso to his navel and let it sit in his bellybutton. He leaned over Bruce to play with the ice with his tongue, flicking it in and out, swirling it around, all of which sent his senses reeling, but it was the brush of Crane’s hair against his stomach that nearly undid him.

“Damnit, Jonathan!”

The Doctor chuckled. “Patience, Bruce.”

“If you tell me good things come to those who wait--”

“No, you’ll just get to come,” he said, brushing his fingertips along the length of Bruce’s erection. His nails bit into his palms as he resisted the urge to either grab Crane and punch him, or kiss him.

“I am warning you,” Bruce said through gritted teeth, “I am this close to throwing you down and fucking you so hard you won’t remember how to beg me to stop.”

“Are you now?” Crane teased, trailing his fingers up and down Bruce’s cock.

He bucked against Crane’s touch, trying for more friction, more contact, more anything. “You know I am!”

There was movement on the mattress followed by a rustling to his left, the sound of cloth being lifted off the floor. Just as he was starting to worry that Crane was preparing to abandon him, the blindfold was snatched from his eyes. His sight adjusted to see Crane staring down at him, a smile lighting his full lips, a condom and a bottle of hotel-issued lotion in his hand.

“Make me beg, Bruce.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He grabbed Crane by the waist and flipped him over so their positions were reversed. He kissed him with all the desire that had been building up ever since those lips first said his name, but he’d been forced to hold in check so long as Crane was in charge. Now, though, it was his turn and his only regret was that Crane had him so worked up, he couldn’t take the time to torment the lovely doctor as he’d been tormented.

Still kissing Crane, he opened the bottle of lotion and poured some into his hand, not caring that it splattered onto the six hundred thread count sheet below them--by the time they were done, the sheets would be in no condition to be used again. Without any urging from him, Crane parted his legs and lifted his hips, and Bruce immediately moved his hand to the puckered entrance. He started with two fingers, Crane keening into his mouth but not fighting the sudden pain. Instead, he seemed to welcome it, pushing against Bruce’s fingers.

“You’re as beautiful inside as you are out,” Bruce whispered harshly, working his fingers in the tight heat he knew would make his body scream. Crane’s chuckle drifted across his ears as he momentarily abandoned the luscious mouth and slid his lips down the long neck. “You don’t agree?”

“Not. . . quite. . .” Crane moaned, fingers digging into Bruce’s scalp as the billionaire playboy left his mark in red and black and blue on the pale skin.

Bruce raised his head to look into the glazed blue eyes. “Why not?”

Crane’s only answer was a smile. “You want to have a conversation now? I thought you were going to make me beg.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten,” he said. Kissing those delectable lips once more, he tore the end off the plastic wrapper and slid the condom on his waiting cock. “I hope you’re ready.”

“I’ve been ready since the moment you accepted my challenge in the elevator.”

“You knew I would accept?”

“I could see it in your eyes.”

“So what do you see in my eyes now?”

Crane looked at him, holding his gaze, and a slight frown creased his forehead. “Nothing. Bruce, I see nothing. Why do I see nothing?”

“Because that’s exactly what you’re supposed to see,” he said, and without further ado, thrust into the Doctor.

Crane cried out, his body arching into Bruce, the tip of his erection brushing against the chiseled stomach which caused the Doctor to shudder even more.

“I know you don’t want me to stop,” Bruce said as he leaned over Crane, trying to keep from giving in to his need to start thrusting.

The Doctor shook his head, eyes clenched shut, teeth biting into his lower lip as he tried to adjust to Bruce’s girth.

“You want me keep going?”

Crane nodded.

“Say it. Say you want me to keep going.” Bruce’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Beg for it.”

Crane’s eyes opened into narrow slits as he glared at Bruce. “No.”

“No?” Bruce withdrew and thrust in again. Crane bit back his cry that time and held the icy blue gaze. Seeing he wasn’t going to give in, Bruce reached down and wrapped his hand around the Doctor’s leaking erection, slowly pumping it. “You don’t want this?”

Crane drew in a shaky breath, his lower lip quivering so enticingly that Bruce had to take it in his mouth, sucking on it, pulling on it with his teeth, casually abusing the bit of flesh before releasing it.

“Bruce. . .” Crane said in such a pleading tone that he decided to interpret it as begging. His body was in such a state of lust that, even if he’d wanted to, Bruce couldn’t risk waiting any longer and he began thrusting in earnest.

The sounds of needy pleasure coming from the back of Crane’s throat sent jolts of electricity through Bruce’s veins and he pounded into the younger man. The pale body bent to his will and Crane thrust back against him, long legs wrapping around his waist to push him deeper. He felt as if he was losing himself inside the Doctor and he closed his eyes, giving his mind over to the act of fucking. He barely even noticed when a warm fluid spurted between them, but he couldn’t ignore the muscles clenching around his cock. With a shout, he pushed hard into the Doctor and came with waves of seemingly unending ecstasy until stars appeared in front of his eyes and he thought he would pass out.

Barely able to remain conscious, he slid out of the Doctor and collapsed onto his side, panting only slightly despite his exertions. After several minutes had passed and his mind returned to Earth, Bruce glanced over at Crane and smiled to see the rather satisfied smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I agree,” Bruce said and the blue eyes flickered over to him.

“I’m glad to hear it. Almost makes it a pity this will never happen again,” Crane said as he rolled over, preparing to get out of the bed.

While Bruce knew he was right, he didn’t want it to end like this. It was too abrupt, too fast, too soon, and with the edge of his desire only barely sated, his body still wanted more. He reached out and stopped Crane with a hand on his hip.

“Doesn’t mean you have to rush off tonight.”

Pushing him back down, Bruce leaned over to begin cleaning off Crane’s stomach with his tongue, taking extra care to tease his bellybutton as retaliation for before. He noted the reaction he was enticing from between the Doctor’s legs and began moving lower, smiling as he heard Crane whisper, “You’re right. No need to rush at all.”

[Completed June 27, 2005]