He wasn't suppose to be there, that night, not even nearby the area.
He wasn’t suppose to know about it, not that time, but it happened.
Scarecrow saw them and pretend he didn't. Had a laugh, got drunk over it and tried to forget, cause there was no way he could admit he was a terrible liar.
Crane knew and tried his best aswell. Tried to ignore that stab of anger and mindless jelousy he felt over something, he was sure, he didn't want to own.
"But he is mine" he kept repeating himself, unable to delete his smile from his mind.
Ours, Johnny boi, but I don't mind sharing with you.
He can't do that to us.
Edward asked him to come over, that night, to bring him back his keys.
Of course he did, he left them on the table, for Jonathan to find.
His smile was euphoric, at his sight, wicked.
His voice broken in moans, his arms clutched to someone's else neck.
"Ah~ Crane, thanks."
He told him, not even caring to stop moving on top of that guy, or trying to hide what he was doing.
"Leave the keys on the table."
The other man's hands were on his body, touching his hips, his thighs, his hair.
Touching what was his.
The doctor smiled back at him whispering "sure" while in his head Scarecrow was screaming.
He wanted us to see!
He just wanted to annoy him, nothing more, unable to get the attention he was craving from the doctor.
He wanted him to know what he refused to have once again.
We are just an easy fuck to him!
Scarecrow’s growls grew stronger, lost in his rage, but Jonathan soothed him with cold words and pity in the eyes.
“It's mutual, must be mutual." Reminded him, after they left Riddler's apartment.
"That's what we wanted to be. Nothing more."
This is your fault!
And Scarecrow was right, cause even if Edward tried so hard to have more from him, he always treated him like dirt. There was some kind of affection in telling him to get the fuck out of his bed the next day, or to ignore his calls. There was pleasure in seeing him so lost and needy under his touch, pretending he agreed with his rules, but Crane would probably be dead before admiting it.
The very idea of having him for his own, desperate for his attention and touches drove him insane, but Jonathan was a smart man, he knew that he couldn’t let this go too far. He felt hunger for him, for the warmness of his body, for the cleverness of their talks, for the feeling of unlimited power the boy made him feel.
I told you!
I told you it was a bad idea!
For every moment of peace they shared...
He wanted it, and once tasted, he wanted more.
Even if he knew he had to shut it, there was no way he could stop being addicted to him, not even after seeing him fucking another man in his bed.
How could he?
He wanted to delete that careless smile from his face, to make him choke on his words, wanted to see him burn in anger and jelousy like he dared to make him feel.
But you barely touched him this month.
Even when urges came strong, he didn't allow himself to have him.
He wanted to punish him, denying him what he really wanted.
Not like Edward deserved his attention, anyway. He was the one who allowed Jonathan of all that power, in the first place.
He did it because he could.
Cause he was in control, cause forcing Edward to stay at his rules was a stronger pleasure than the one he had between his legs.
But then, he got it from someone else.
He needed to show him once again who held the power.
Deciding to leave his apartment in silence, that night, had been hard.
Waiting outside his door for hours, with his needled glove up, not as much.
He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breath, all there was in his blank mind was Edward moaning someone else’s name instead of his, finding pleasure in something he though was for his eyes and ears only.
He must pay.
Why it hurts so much?
He left his mark on us for the last time.
But it hurts so good...
Edward hands clawed his own hair, pulling at them the way he was used to do when he was stressed.
Was it my fault?
He made you weak, you spineless sicko.
He must pay.
For making you fall for him.
Hurt him like he did to you!
Let me do it! For us!
You know that I can, we know what makes him terrified.
Break him, let me break him, leave only the pieces.
Not even you would be able to fix him, after i finish to tear him apart.
Let me do it, Johnny boi, let me do it...
Please, for us.
He answered not to Scarecrow’s pitiful moans.
To hurt Edward was easier than looking through his beautiful emerald eyes and still stabbing his chest with four needles. He couldn’t lie, he loved to hurt him, to see all the marks pain would leave on his skin, twisting the pretty face of his.
He wasn’t pure and innocent. Far, from it, but there was some kind of dirty pleasure for Jonathan in ruin him and drive him to the edge of the abyss.
He wanted to break him, psychologically shatter every part of him and have him for his own.
Edward was screaming and crying on his knees, trying to get away from his nightmares. His arms vainly wrapped around his head.
Jonathan closed his eyes and savored every scream and moan, finding nourishment at the only sound of his nails scratching the parquet.
Grab him, wreck him, make him pay!
“Dad, please not this time...”
The doctor licked his lips as a wicked smile would spread on his face.
Finish this senselessness, put an and on him.
You don’t need him, anyway.
Never did, never will.
It’s just me and you again.
I won’t betray you as he did.
I won’t hurt you.
Edward gasped and raised his head to Jonathan’s, wanting to meet his gaze, but his eyes were emptied by fear and instead of his blue eyes he meet the green’s of his father.
The boy closed the eyes again, but instead of a violent blow he received a caress on his cheek.
His hand was shaking, trembling on the soft wet skin of his cheek.
He wanted to sink his fingers in his flesh, to tear it apart and wash them in his blood.
The thumb gently stroke the boy’s lower lip, finding his way inside his mouth.
He didn’t fight, he didn’t bite, just able to stare back at him with empty eyes.
Tear him apart.
But Jonathan was a terrible liar, anyway.
Even now, with shaking hands and hatred in his heart he couldn't hurt Edward.
Not like this?
Never like this.
The boy pleaded shamelessly, parting his lips and mindlessly licking at Jonathan’s finger. Was looking at him without being able to see him for who he was.
Jonathan withdrawed his hand, standing again tall and threatening over him.
Edward’s tears were like melt gold, breathtaking, beautiful, his broken screams like a perfect symphony, and even if Jonathan wanted more, he would ever be able to beat him.
Like his father did.
Not like his father did.
Beside Edward, the other man was already dead, dosed with so much Fear Toxin that made his mind going blank in mute anguish withing the first minutes.
It didn’t matter. He was worthless.
There was no time to take care of him, now.
Even if the redheaded boy managed to share time and intimacy with him, (“his body”, Crow growled), the doctor knew it was all because he denied him his attention.
“You cheated on me, Eddie.”
The boy shaked and cried, memories triggered by the sound of that word.
“I did no-”
Yes you did, you worthless whore.
“Yes. Yes, you did...”
The boy bit down his lips, denying every word he was hearing.
“I trusted you and you betrayed me.”
For the last time!
“I...” his voice was broken in sobs; Jonathan’s hands around his neck.
The next morning Edward woke up on the couch, with a great headache and a bitter taste in his mouth.
His clothes were dirty, bloodstained, his throat was sore and the skin of his neck marked by dark bruises. There were needle wounds on his chest, he could know that just by the look of his shirt, clearly showing cuts on the cloth.
He had some spark of memories from the last night: he remembered wanting Jonathan to come over, then his father.
The taste he had in is mouth, also, was way too familiar.
The boy almost stumbled on his feet in the difficult attempt to stand up and reach for the glass of water the doctor left for him on the table.
There was a corpse on the floor, madly abused, defiled, desecrated, reduced to a pathetic mud of blood and bones. He could see blond hair crimson stained, but there was no need to recognize him.
He knew too well who he was.
On the garish light green painted wall, there were words. Lot of words.
The handwriting was narrowed, stunted, in some points faded where the blood wasn’t enough to make the letters clear, but the message was still readable. Most of it, at least.
“nExt tiMe i WiLl bE in cOnTroL”
“He woN’t SavE yoU aGaiN” “wHorE” “miNe” “YoU aRe MinE” “nEver AgaIn”
“YoU aRe MinE.”
There were claw marks on the wall, lot of blood on the floor, and the corpse’ stench was starting to be unbearable, but he was alive.
There were no doubts that the message on the wall was from Scarecrow, Jonathan would never be so emotive about something like this.
He was his.
He could mask his jelousy with offense and hard words, with death threats and insane writes. He could refuse to touch him for days or weeks, could fuck him at his please and denying him to come. He could even play with his mind and leave a complete emotional wreck of him, if this would mean to have his attention.
Edward wanted everything from him.
His glance, his hands on his body, the bitterness of his words, the cruelty he could use to judge his psyche.
It didn’t matter.
Jonathan wanted him to be his.
“I’lL kiLL yoU”
And Edward couldn’t help it.