To Settle a Bet

To Settle a Bet


“Sometimes I feel like I won’t be able to control it anymore, Doctor.”

“You’re talking about the fear?”

“Yes, it’s consuming, maddening. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

Silence.

“Well, of course you’d understand, but it’s always different when it’s your fear, isn’t it?

“Fears are specialized even when they seem general. The fear of heights, for example, can mean something different for a thousand people.”

“I know all of that! I just don’t know how I’m going to cope with it.”

“Perhaps you’re trying too hard. You spend so much of your time obsessing over your fears that you have no chance to accept them. Fear is natural.”

Hesitant. “I suppose.”

“You know. Don’t punish yourself for being human.”

Suddenly there was a knock at the door that was quickly followed by a huge orderly. He rumbled, “Time’s up.”

“Yes, of course.” The young Arkham Asylum psychiatrist Joan Leland stood with her patient and reached out impulsively to touch his restrained hands. “Thank you, Dr. Crane.”

Doctor Jonathan Crane smiled warmly, his face calm and professional, his voice low and soothing. “It was my pleasure, as always, Joan. Please think about what I said. You’re only human.”

“Yes,” Joan agreed with a nervous chuckle that was tinged with relief.

Jonathan nodded once to her, still wearing a comforting smile as he followed the orderly. His smile faded as they walked down the therapy halls back to his cell.

“Mindless twit,” he mumbled as he settled back into his room.

“Leland again?” Scarface hollered on his right.

“To think I don’t even get paid to listen to that drivel.” Crane sighed, relaxing in his straightjacket. The board had allowed him to go without it after he’d worked for Bruce Wayne yesterday, but even his commendable behavior at Wayne Enterprise couldn’t keep him out of bondage during a therapy session.

Crane smirked as he thought about his commendable behavior with Mr. Wayne the day before. He couldn’t wait for a repeat today.

“Hey, that reminds me, does Wayne pay you to answer his phone?” Scarface again, this time sounding deadly serious.

“Not in money,” Crane murmured, knowing that the Ventriloquist, and by extension Scarface, would hear him.

Scarface chuckled loudly, matched by a high-pitched giggle on Crane’s left. Poison Ivy snorted from across the hall. She always had good ears when it came to gossip, even though she’d deny it. She was always the first to know when the Joker and Harley were on the fritz again or when Killer Croc was feeling emotional. He tended to shed in those situations.

“I won’t believe it until you bring us proof, Crane.” The Scarecrow glowered at the smugness in her sultry voice. He’d show that man-eating bitch. After all, the bet had been her fault in the first place.

* * *

One Month Earlier

“Gosh, that Bruce Wayne is so cute!” Harley Quinn exclaimed with a squeal on the couch of the maximum security recreation room, her eyes locked on the TV. She paused and looked around guiltily. “Not as cute as Mistah J, though.”

“Please, Harl, that clown can’t hold a candle to a man like that.” Poison Ivy’s crimson lips curled into a lascivious grin as she watched the news report on Wayne Enterprise. A miniature Bruce Wayne smirked down at them from a corner on the screen.

“I held him up at gunpoint once.” Harley sighed dreamily. “At a charity thing. He’s a giver.”

From a lounge chair near the couch the women were sitting on the Scarecrow chuckled quietly from behind his Psychiatry Magazine. It was several months old but it was all they would give him.

Harley didn’t notice Crane’s mirth but Poison Ivy glanced in his direction before running her fingers in a casually sensual gesture through her silken red hair.

“I went out with him once. Before I had my career change. He’s definitely a giver.”

Crane couldn’t disguise the snort that escaped him from that little comment. Both women looked over at him, Harley with a puzzled expression and Ivy with a glare.

“Something funny about that, Crane?” Ivy snarled. They hadn’t gotten along very well since they’d teamed up awhile back. Crane thought that she was being damned petty about her silly bushes. He’d offered to steal her some new ones.

Crane closed his magazine with a sedated flip and placed it neatly on the coffee table. He gazed at the two women with a serene expression on his face, his broken glasses glinting at them.

“The only thing amusing is the idea that Bruce Wayne would give anything to a woman besides money to keep quiet.”

“Keep quiet about what?” Harley asked innocently.

“About the fact that he’s gay.” Crane chuckled, an amused rumble. “Honestly, I would think that it would be obvious, even to…those less trained in observation.”

“Bruce Wayne is not gay,” Ivy snapped.

“I beg to differ. I too spent some time with Mr. Wayne and found myself quite the center of his attention.” Crane let out a reluctant sigh, pushing up his glasses. “Unfortunately I was still working with Ra’s Al Ghul at the time. He was an extremely possessive…business partner so I could allow nothing to happen.”

“You are full of it.” Ivy crossed her arms tightly.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call you a liar, Dr. Isley. Tell me, did you and Mr. Wayne enjoy a wild night of passion on your little date?”

“Yeah, tell us about it!” Harley gushed, pressing her palms to her face in excitement.

Poison Ivy swallowed deeply, her eyes flicking from her best friend to Dr. Crane. “We didn’t exactly…do anything like that.”

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.” Crane tilted his head. “You didn’t do anything on your hot date?”

“It was a first date,” Poison Ivy said through gritted teeth. “I’m not a slut.”

“Mmmm-hmmm, of course.” Crane nodded politely.

“If you’re so irresistible, why don’t you screw around with him?” Ivy spat out before laughing sarcastically. “Oh, right, you’re in a mental institution and he lives in a mansion.”

Crane frowned, appearing upset for the first time since the conversation had started. He composed himself quickly though and a sly grin spread across his face.

“What would you give me if I did manage to engage Bruce Wayne in some sort of carnal act?”

Ivy shrugged, now looking bored with the whole thing. Harley jumped up on the couch, her pretty face bright with excitement.

“Twenty bucks!”

“Twenty dollars for managing to get out of Arkham and into Wayne Enterprise?” Crane snorted again. “No thank you.”

“I’ll give you twenty too. And…we’ll get everybody else in on it. Everybody in maximum security.” Ivy grinned, her green eyes flashing. “Hell, I’ll even convince Mr. Freeze to chip in. He never has any fun.”

Jonathan considered the proposal. All the patients in the maximum security wing of Arkham plus twenty dollars each. That wasn’t chump change. He nodded and held out a hand.

“Deal.”

Ivy took his hand, shaking it vigorously. If he hadn’t been immune to her toxin, then the prolonged exposure would have likely killed him.

Harley giggled, adding her hand on top of theirs. “This is gonna be fun!”


* * *

Fun hadn’t exactly been the word that Crane would have used. He settled back in the car seat, though it was hard to get comfortable when he was strapped in as tightly as one would a hyperactive baby. Beside him Harvey Dent poured himself another drink, still babbling on about something or another.

The District Attorney had been one of Crane’s former patients, back in the day when he’d practiced psychiatry on those who weren’t certifiable. Harvey actually was, if the truth be known, but he was better at hiding it than anybody else that Jonathan had ever met, save himself. Jonathan had helped him in extremely private sessions to come to terms with his split personality.

Actually Jonathan had helped him splinter himself even more, using some of his earliest drugs and some less orthodox methods. Dent had been incredibly grateful, at least half of the time, and had told Crane that if he ever needed a favor, he knew where to come.

Jonathan didn’t think that Harvey had believed the Scarecrow would contact him from Arkham Asylum years later asking him for a way into Bruce Wayne’s office, but after quite a bit of gentle persuasion, and not a few pointed threats, Harvey had agreed.

After all the Scarecrow knew where Two-Face kept his skeletons, under tight lock and key in the dirtiest parts of the Narrows. The District Attorney had more crooked dealings with the lower aspects of Gotham as his alter ego than anybody else in Arkham. Only the Penguin could hope to match him for connections and Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t fooling anybody into thinking that he was really one of the good guys.

The rehabilitation working program had been Dent’s idea, much to Crane’s surprise, but he’d quickly recognized how brilliant it was. Gotham City had a highest population of the certifiably insane in the whole country. The good citizen knew that this didn’t exactly reflect well on them. What better way to prove that they didn’t make the crazies than to try to help them start new sane lives?

Being Wayne’s secretary had been Harvey’s idea as well. His idea of a joke. Crane hadn’t appreciated it.

“I’m just saying, I had to pull a lot of favors to get you in there, Johnny.” Dent’s nickname for him brought Crane out of his musing, causing the mad doctor to grimace.

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

“Lot of wishes in the world, Johnny, doesn’t mean they all get to happen.” Suddenly Dent’s hands were on him, entirely too familiar on his bound body. Jonathan stiffened, in more ways than one.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jonathan asked, although it was obvious as Harvey undid the straps holding the Scarecrow to his seat. He found that he really didn’t mind the idea. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Bruce that the medication made him feel odd. Horny was a strange reaction, but he’d rather blame it on the drugs than believe that he was that hard-up for real human interaction.

“I told you that you owed me one, Dr. Crane.” Harvey settled back in his seat, stretching out his legs and nodding to the metal sheets separating the driver from the back of the car.

“I suppose I do.” Jonathan grinned slightly, his long fingers deftly finding the zipper on Harvey’s pressed Armani slacks and pulling it down slowly. He started leaning forward and then paused, glancing up.

“We’re even after this, Mr. Dent. Understand?”

“Sure, Johnny.” Harvey chuckled, pushing Jonathan’s head down. “Doctor’s always right.”

* * *

Jonathan walked down the massive hallway that led to Bruce’s office on the top floor of Wayne Tower. The guards that had escorted him up were still in the elevator, watching him go with twin expressions of grim solidity on their faces. They weren’t happy about Bruce forbidding them to stay on his floor, but since it was his company, they couldn’t really do anything about it.

He approached the door to the office and took a moment to look back, amazed once again that one man could command so much space just for himself. Then the door was opening in front of him, leaving him scant seconds to review his plan.

Bruce Wayne had struck him as the type that liked someone pretty, submissive, and yet rebellious. Although the man had proved to have a little more depth to him than Jonathan had suspected, he saw no reason to completely change his modus operandi.

Flirt, act innocent, get fucked. In that order.

Jonathan plastered a cool but suggestive expression on his face before straightening the yellow shirt and black denim jacket that the asylum had let him wear instead of his normal attire. He honestly would have preferred the straightjacket, but they had given him the choice of the hideous orange jumpsuit that less crazy inmates wore or some of his old clothes. He couldn’t quite remember where he’d gotten this outfit, though. It was so…casual.

He walked in, blinking at the surprising darkness of the normally luminescent office and wondering where Bruce was.

His answer came a few seconds later when the businessman slammed the door shut using Jonathan’s body, pressing intimately close. Hands started moving feverishly over him, groping his sides and ass before one hand abandoned the fun to lock the door behind them. The click seemed deafening in the large room, the only other sounds Bruce’s heavy breathing against Jonathan’s ear and his own surprised gasps.

Apparently flirt and act innocent could take a hike.

Jonathan pressed back against the body trapping him to the hard wooden door, still aroused from doing Two-Face his little favor. The District Attorney had been too selfish to offer a little in return.

This was better. Dent was always of two minds about what he wanted, soft or hard, top or bottom, sadistic or gentle.

Conversely Bruce was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and was more than willing to take it. Jonathan could admire that in an individual.

“No interruptions this time, Crane,” Bruce growled, the harsh pitch oddly familiar to the Scarecrow. Bruce reached down, grabbing Jonathan by the hips and pulled him impossibly closer to his own body, half-supporting the doctor’s weight with one of his knees. Jonathan moaned, grinding his cock against Bruce’s upper thigh while his head fell onto a strong shoulder.

“Oh, that sounds like a good idea,” Jonathan said weakly, his whole head spinning in a way that usually meant he had been overmedicated. Somehow he didn’t think that was his current problem.

Bruce shifted Jonathan in his strong arms to free up a hand to grab the dark-haired head on his shoulder and yank it up fiercely. His eyes were nearly black with arousal as he glared into Jonathan’s dizzied blue eyes, his glasses askew on his face. With a grunt Bruce pulled the spectacles off and flung them over his shoulder before slamming his mouth over the open one inches from his. Their teeth clicked together before Jonathan opened his mouth wider, allowing Bruce to force his tongue in. Jonathan let out a muffled cry, already so close to the edge and they hadn’t even gotten to the good parts.

“Be quiet,” Bruce hissed, pulling back to stare angrily once more at the doctor. “Nobody is going to find out about this, understand? You tell anybody, your guards, the newspapers, anybody, and I’ll deny it. Nobody will believe you over me.”

“Your little rodent friend might,” Jonathan murmured and wondered why he’d brought Fox up.

Bruce responded by slapping him hard. Jonathan hissed at the pain, his arousal flaring up to supernova proportions. He couldn’t analyze the sensations running through him, except to recognize that he hadn’t felt anything like this since the first time the Scarecrow had been freed on Gotham City, so damned long ago. Fear mixed so deliciously with a wild pleasure that the psychiatrists in the asylum tried so hard to medicate out of him.

“Nobody will know, Crane.” Bruce lowered his leg, letting Jonathan slid down the door towards the floor on limp legs. The billionaire gave a helping hand by pushing hard on his shoulder with one hand while wrapping the other around his throat. The squeeze was tight enough to let Jonathan know that Mr. Wayne meant business.

“Understand?”

Jonathan nodded as best he could because talking was no longer an option.

“Good boy,” Bruce said smugly, releasing his hold on Jonathan’s throat to move it to the back of his head, stroking his hair in a soothing gesture. Jonathan had to hate him a little even as his respect rose. Wayne could give him a run for his money when it came to a mind-fuck.

Bruce licked his lips heavily, staring down at the morsel he’d caught for himself. “You said something about sucking my dick yesterday, didn’t you, Dr. Crane?”

“Yes,” Jonathan murmured, his eyes lowering without his permission.

“Yes what?”

Jonathan’s head shot up, the gleeful smirk on his face at sharp odds with his shocked wide eyes.

“Yes, sir,” he said through a tight throat. This was almost too good, too much. Bruce would eat him alive and leave nothing left.

Jonathan hoped that he would enjoy the ride.

“Get to it.” Bruce’s voice was low, that strangely familiar rumble again, but before Jonathan could start to think about it the hand was off of his shoulder and joining the other in his hair, jerking him closer to Bruce’s crotch. The man was wickedly aroused, his cock straining inside of his comfortable designer dress pants. Jonathan reached with trembling hands towards the top button, popping it open and then sliding the zipper down with agonizing slowness. Then nothing stood between him and one of the largest cocks he’d ever seen.

“Naughty,” Jonathan said and had his hair pulled roughly as a reward. He glared up at Bruce. “I meant sitting all day in this office with no underwear on, very unprofessional.”

“I was thinking of you the whole time.” The intense look in Bruce’s eyes made every smart remark on Jonathan’s lips disappear.

“I was thinking about those lips of yours,” Bruce continued, still pulling steadily on Jonathan’s hair. “Thinking about them wrapped around my cock. Thinking about yanking on your hair until you screamed. Thinking about your damned gorgeous eyes filled with tears because it’s too much for you to take and making you take more.”

Jonathan groaned at the images Bruce’s words produced, his hands finally sliding down to find his own cock, rubbing himself through the fabric. Bruce pulled harder on his hair, causing a sound unmistakably similar to a scream to tumble past his lips.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself, not while you’re working for me. Now get to work!”

Jonathan nodded as best he could, his teeth clenching together almost painfully. Bruce’s death-grip relaxed somewhat and Jonathan reached out, pulling that throbbing cock out and eyeing it.

Sucking cock was an academic process, really. It was all about mind over matter, recognizing and exploiting stimulus. Once Jonathan had realized that all those years ago, he’d gotten rather great at giving blowjobs, if he did say so himself.

That being said, besides Harvey’s rather average dick, Jonathan hadn’t given head in a very long time. The last time had been with Ra’s Al Ghul, surprisingly similar to the member before him in size, and that had been just ages ago.

He hoped he wasn’t too out of practice.

Jonathan licked his suddenly dry lips, pleased at the harsh moan above him from the action, and leaned forward. He liked to start on the outside before he took a cock into his mouth, exploring all the angles with his tongue to test what was most sensitive.

Smooth head, check.

Bumpy vein running on the underside of the cock, check.

Ropy vein running on the top of the cock, check.

Going back to the purpled head, the dripping slit. Check, check.

Well, this wasn’t helpful at all. Bruce seemed to like all of it equally, judging by his low moans and the hands flexing impatiently around Jonathan’s aching head.

Which meant, of course, that Jonathan would have to deep throat him. The doctor sighed. It always seemed to come to this.

He wrapped his lips around the head of Bruce’s cock, keeping his teeth away for the time being. Plenty of time later to explore that particular kink. He worked his tongue around for a moment until he was as comfortable as he could be with an enormous cock in his mouth and took a deep breath.

Breathe in through the nose, remember that, and resist the gag reflex. Very important.

He could sense the moment right before Bruce was about to force him down the pulsating cock and beat him to the punch, swallowing it down completely. A smug smile wanted to sneak over his face at Bruce’s strangled gasps, but he couldn’t quite manage it in addition to everything else.

“You fucking gorgeous little cock-slut,” Bruce said huskily. Jonathan was impressed by his description but was too busy to dissect it. He sucked hard, molding his cheeks around the member choking him.

With some men that was it. They would so won over by his ability to take them down completely so fast and his admittedly impressive suction power that they would come immediately. It was always a bit of a relief, but he didn’t think he’d be so lucky with Bruce.

As usual his original hypothesis was correct. A few minutes went by. He sucked. He pulled back, licking loyally along the veins that had interested Bruce before. He went back up, slowly this time, just to test the waters, and sucked again. Nothing but more deep moans. Finally he set a time-tested pattern, fast and wet and hard. Ra’s Al Ghul had always had pity on him when he went to that and would usually begin doing some work of his own.

Bruce grunted but otherwise didn’t do anything that Jonathan would have anticipated. He didn’t start pulling on Jonathan’s hair again. He didn’t start thrusting his hips into the warm mouth working on him. He definitely didn’t start skull-fucking him viciously, like Jonathan had expected when they’d started this liaison.

Several more minutes went by and Jonathan’s jaw was really starting to hurt. His cock was a painful cord of raw nerves at this point as well, making him wonder if it would be worth punishment to just touch himself. He was starting to wonder if a few hundred bucks was worth all of this when his eyes started to water on top of anything else. He glanced up at Bruce, knowing that his expression was one step belong begging and not caring.

“That’s it, boy, that’s what I wanted to see.” Bruce chuckled darkly, caressing Jonathan’s head in a pointlessly soft way. “You did good.”

Well, Jonathan’s brain corrected snidely as he closed his eyes, feeling as humiliated as Bruce obviously wanted him to. This meant that he missed any visual clues that the man gave before he came, a thick stream flooding Jonathan’s throat. He gagged once and reached up, holding desperately to Bruce’s hips as leverage as he swallowed it down. When the flow finally subsided Jonathan slowly pulled back, releasing the soft cock with a sigh of relief.

Bruce sighed, a contented grin on his face that was far different from the annoying shit-eating one he wore most of the time. It made him look darker, more sinister, and once again made Jonathan think that he should recognize this man from somewhere else.

However before the doctor’s heavily medicated brain and painfully aroused body could work on that little puzzle, Bruce was pulling away, tucking himself back in. He turned and went to his desk, leaving Jonathan still on his knees on the floor.

Bruce settled into his chair and began pulling papers out of his inbox, whistling some random tune and completely ignoring the other man.

“Um,” Jonathan began, a terribly clever thing comment just aching to enter into his mind but being blocked by the parts that really just wanted to come.

Bruce looked up in surprise. “Are you still here? You’re free to go for today.”

“What?” Half-parts outraged and half-parts just shocked.

Bruce found that shit-eating grin again and spoke to Jonathan like he was very young child. “You did a really good job and I appreciate it, but I have other work to do so why don’t you go back home.”

“I live in an asylum,” Jonathan said numbly, before rage took over. He stood in one quick shot, fully intending on taking that giant stapler on Bruce’s desk and beating him to death with it.

“That’s great. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce chuckled pleasantly, still at his papers. Jonathan was mere inches away from that stapler when Bruce’s eyes met his once more, dark and serious and very much the boss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated in a dangerous voice. A suggestive voice.

Jonathan paused, his fingers curling around the office equipment. He blinked. Synapses fired and a few didn’t miss despite all the inhibitors in his brain.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m going to show you the supply closet tomorrow.” Bruce looked Jonathan over carefully. “Wear one of those suits that you used to have.”

“Okay,” Jonathan agreed before his head caught up with his mouth.

“Good-bye.” Bruce dismissed him completely.

“Right.”

Jonathan was halfway down the elevator with his armed escort when he realized that he didn’t have any proof of his encounter with Bruce, unless one counted the semen in his stomach.

He decided midway back to the asylum that he wasn’t going to tell anybody about that. Some of his fellow inmates still managed to hang onto sharp objects and he wouldn’t put it past one of them to cut him open to settle the bet.

There was always tomorrow.

He’d be prepared tomorrow. Bruce Wayne wouldn’t get the best of him next time.