Games

Disclaimer: All Characters belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers and various others. I make no money from this.

Jonathan Crane knows that he isn’t insane. The Scarecrow is, even he will admit, certifiable. Fortunately, Crane also knows that he and the Scarecrow are completely separate people. Crane is perfectly well balanced, mentally.

Well, mostly. He’s not too sure that if he were that well balanced, he’d have ended up here, on his knees on the floor of his office, Ducard looming over him, that extra 7 inches or so of height even more imposing from Crane’s current position. Ducard’s hand grips his hair, pulling his head back until he has no choice but to look up at the dark blue eyes, although Crane makes sure he gets a good long look at the body encased in that black shirt and suit as his head is forced back. Notes with satisfaction the bulge in the black pants.

If Ducard wants him to play the submissive little whore, well, Crane doesn’t have a problem with that. Ducard is impressive enough, and hot enough, for all that serene posturing, for Crane to have no problem whatsoever with being his bitch.

When the cane tip taps Crane’s groin, he almost groans, but he doesn’t stop looking into those striking eyes. He’s heard the old saying about eyes being windows, though he’s never believed it. But if it is true, then there’s nothing soul-like residing in Ducard at this moment, because those eyes are as blank now as they always have been. Crane had wondered what it would take to see something in that gaze. He found out when he made some off-hand remark about Bruce Wayne. Just the mention of that name had aroused Ducard. Crane had watched with detached interest as anger, sadness and pain had bled into, and out of, Ducard’s eyes. When he looked back at him, Jonathan got what he wanted. Now there was emotion in those eyes. And the emotion was anger. While the Scarecrow cackled with glee, Dr Crane was filing away the knowledge that at some point in the past, Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, had, however unlikely it seemed, hurt Ducard; hurt and betrayed, if Jonathan read that look right. Crane didn’t fully understand how Wayne had met Ducard, but he recognised that finally he was seeking a chink in Ducard’s formidable defences. It seemed that Ducard had realised it too.

Which leads them back to the present, with Crane on his knees as Ducard’s cane tip leaves his groin and trails up his chest. Crane shivers, feeling goose-bumps breaking out on his skin. The cane continues, up the line of his throat, the tip pressing painfully into the skin on the underside of his jaw.

Crane closes his eyes, concentrating on playing the meek sub for all he’s worth. It isn’t difficult – he learnt early on that his looks gave him an air of vulnerability. A fact Crane has exploited more than once to get what he wanted.

He could well imagine how he looked, on his eyes, eyes closed, cane at his throat, Ducard’s hand in his hair, pulling his head back to expose the line of his throat, Crane’s own erection pressing against the material of his pants. He knows he looks just like a cheap slut; he knows because he’s worked hard to look just that way.

The cane slides down the line of his jaw, and the hand tugs hard on his hair, forcing him to tip his head to one side. The cane moves up, over his cheek bone, then down again as his head is pulled back to its original position. The cane brushes over his lower lip. Crane keeps his eyes closed, and tries to keep his breathing steady. When Ducard presses the cane more forcefully, Crane parts his lips. Ducard doesn’t need to say a word, Crane knows exactly what he wants. He lets Ducard fuck his mouth slowly with the cane tip, the slide backwards and forwards slow and deliberate, letting him experience the full measure of shame of submitting like this. Except Jonathan feels no shame, cares not at all what Ducard thinks of him. All he feels is satisfaction at wringing this reaction from the taciturn man standing over him, and a growing arousal that he has finally found someone who can give him what he craves. He keeps his hands at his sides, pliant, obedient.

It amuses Jonathan, to let people like Ducard think they are controlling him. Ducard thinks he is so dispassionate, so imperturbable and above petty human emotions. Even now, Crane knows that Ducard has convinced himself that this is about disciplining a subordinate, about re-establishing his dominance. It isn’t though. This is about Ducard doing to Crane what he’d like, in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind to do to Bruce Wayne. Crane doesn’t care why, all he cares about is how he can use this knowledge, although he can’t help wondering what the vapid Wayne had done that so disturbs Ducard. The Scarecrow, of course, merely delights in the fact that they have found a crack in that smooth and composed façade. A crack that they can exploit and use. Little cracks can be widened, bit by bit, until they are gaping chasms. The Scarecrow wants to hurt, to lash out, but Crane knows the value and rewards of patience and timing.

When Ducard pulls the cane back, Crane lets it go with a pop, knowing that his cheeks hollow obscenely when he does so. He can hear Ducard’s breathing, faster now and a little ragged. Crane knows how to use those pretty looks of his, knows how to project an air of fragility, of vulnerability, just waiting to be hurt. He wonders whether he’d be so good at it if he didn’t enjoy it so much. He keeps his eyes closed, the perfect picture of submission. The cane rests on his shoulder, nestled against his neck, and Crane wonders if he’d be overplaying his part if he rubbed his cheek against it like a cat.

The hand in his hair releases him, so suddenly he almost loses his balance. He’s confused, for a moment, until he hears the sound of a zipper being lowered, then he fights to contain the smirk.

The cane shifts, pressing against the back of his neck, pressing his head forward. Crane opens his eyes at about the same time he parts his lips and lets Ducard slide his cock into Crane’s mouth. Ducard’s well endowed, and Crane knows that at the very least his jaw is going to ache after this, and he can’t help but anticipate that with some glee. So far Ducard has been gentle, but Crane knows that at some point that reserve is going evaporate, and Crane is going to get to see what really goes on behind Ducard’s mask of civilised refinement. It’s difficult to be poised when your cock is in another man’s mouth; and Crane is *very* good at sucking cock.

He can feel the cane at the back of his neck, Ducard is holding both ends now, using it to keep Crane’s head still as he begins to give in to the pleasure and begins to really fuck Crane’s mouth. Jonathan finally looks up, knowing that the angle, and those big blue, ‘hurt me’ eyes of his are going to make him look like a victim, and he’s very glad he’s not wearing his glasses so that the effect is undiluted. Oh yes, Ducard is watching him, watching his lips drag over his cock, even as his tongue is pressing against it, and Crane would crow with delight if he could, when he sees those eyes darken at the sight of him servicing Ducard like the willing whore he is. Ducard is indeed looking for a victim, and Crane is more than willing to accept the role.

A few more minutes, and Crane’s jaw is indeed aching, and his lips and chin are covered with saliva and pre-cum. He thinks it’s a shame that Ducard can’t fully appreciate that image. He closes his eyes slowly, hearing the slight hitch of breath as he resumes his air of submission.

He hears the faint moans that Ducard can no longer quite suppress, and the sense of pleasure at knowing Ducard is not as immune to such lewd carnality as he’d like to make people think makes Crane work even harder, applying tongue and the occasional brush of teeth with renewed vigour.

The cane lifts, quite abruptly, and the hand is back, twisting in his hair and yanking his head sharply back. When he hears the groan, and raises his eyes again to see the look Ducard gives him, he knows that he is the absolute image of debauchery and defilement, and it has just the effect he hoped for. Though, to be fair, the sight of Ducard, dressed in that tailored black suit, cane in one hand, the other in Crane’s hair, cock jutting out from the unzipped pants has a very similar effect on Crane.

When the cane falls to the floor beside them, Crane knows he’s won. When Ducard’s hand wraps around his own cock, Crane closes his eyes and parts his lips, the tip of his tongue extending, as if to catch whatever he’s offered. Ducard groans aloud then, sounding almost pained, and Crane wants to laugh. The warm drops hit his face, and Crane stays still, holding his own breath so he doesn’t miss the sounds of Ducard losing control. He’d rather see the crumbling of that mask, but he can’t so he’ll make do with hearing and imagining it.

Finally, Ducard stops groaning like he’s dying, and his hand drops from Crane’s hair. Crane opens his eyes, feeling the strain in his neck. He watches as Ducard takes a few, unsteady steps backwards. Crane could laugh at the look on Ducard’s face. Halfway between lust at the sight on his come over Crane’s face and in his hair, and disgust at them both for giving in to this.

Crane remains kneeling, making no effort to clean himself up, even as Ducard pulls himself together, straightening his suit. Crane knows that the other man is going to think of this every time Crane looks up at him with a pout on his face, and he also knows just how to use that knowledge. He wonders whether Ducard will think of this when he sees Bruce Wayne.

When Ducard has finally composed himself, he looks at Crane, and Jonathan takes the opportunity to wipe some of Ducard’s come off his cheek and rub it over his lips. Whatever Ducard was going to say seems to get stuck behind his teeth, and then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Crane smirks, licks his lips and slides a hand down to unzip his pants. Everything is going perfectly to plan, his plan, and now he can relax and enjoy the thought of Ducard, dishevelled and disturbed. He wonders, as his hand grips his cock tightly and strokes, whether if he pushes some more, he can get Ducard to fuck him over his desk…