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Doctor's Orders	By : HarlotOhara Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 2073 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any of the characters within this story. They are all owned by DC comics. No money is being made off of this story,it was written for fun.

Chapter List
- 1-Doctor's Orders
- 1
The waiting room at the Elwood Health Clinic was thinning out as the clock continued steadily to make its way towards Six O’clock. Slowly the weepy coughing children cleared out along with a man with a limp that obviously turned out to be a break, a morbidly obese woman with a breathing problem that may have been sleep apnea and a very angry and semi-dirty college student with her arm in a sling. Dr. Crane watched it all with a thinly veiled fascination; it wasn’t often he had the opportunity to simply diagnose without speaking to anyone and he found it refreshing. Soon enough the nurses and doctors began to leave also.

Of course he was still waiting for his appointment to come. He had a physical examination to look forward to with a certain Dr. Thomas Elliot. He crossed his legs in his uncomfortable plastic seat, smoothing down an invisible wrinkle in unintimidating grey slacks and smiling his misleadingly gentle smile at the pretty young receptionist. She wanted him to leave in that moment and he could tell that she had genuinely wanted that from the moment he entered the room. He had signed his name, making sure as always to use the title Dr. with vigor as he did, and from that point on she seemed ‘untrusting’.

She must have known that doctors couldn’t simply examine themselves but still she seemed growingly relieved that it was soon time to lock the doors. But yet just before she could voice this, Thomas himself opened the door to the back of the building. It was generally a nurse’s job to do so and possibly Jonathon might have reminded the younger man of that had they been in private, but for now it was delightful to see that young woman’s face fall at his enthusiasm. It was very possible that she had a torch she was holding for the doctor judging by only her aghast expression when Tommy motioned for his friend to come in.

“Doctor Elliot, it is only three minutes until closing…” She tried to remind him, as if to jog a perceived short memory to the situation. As Jonathon walked closer, he felt himself fight amusement at the charming grin that her boss offered her in response. If only the dear girl knew Thomas’ real innermost self as well as he did, then she wouldn’t have found that look so alluring. “That’s just fine, Whitney. You can head home; I’ll deal with Dr. Crane here on my own. He’s a good friend, actually.” That drop-dead handsome sparkle returned to his eyes and she nodded obediently, though not particularly happily.

“Won’t you need me for the files…”She started without much hope for her lost cause and once again, that lie of a brilliant grin appeared and Tommy shook his head. “Don’t worry about that.” He interrupted, a beautifully manicured hand absently falling on the shoulder of his silent friend. It was a gentle cautiousness in his touch and he continued to speak those promising words. “I’m not so absent minded that I didn’t learn a thing or two about computers. It gives me all the places I need to fill out and I just insert the information. Now go on, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you over time. If I have problems, I’ll leave a note.”

And so that was settled. The finality of his words brought back memories from many years ago; the brilliant little psychopath hadn’t changed a bit since the first day they had met, Crane mused. At least not mentally; physically he was much different, the childish softness of his face had given way to a more sculpted set of features and his physic gave him the leverage to lack hypocrisy when he lectured on physical exertion. More important than any escape from hypocrisy, it put a smile on his therapist’s face. The door of the front entrance closed loudly behind the receptionist and Tommy led Jonathan down the squeaking clean white hall to his exam room without another word.

It was surprisingly quaint and homely, or as much so as an exam room could be. The pale pastel yellow walls were covered in the usual bright and cheerful posters offering suggestions on healthy BMIs and insulin adjustments but also in small white framed crayon drawings from his young and highly unskilled patients. The exam table itself was a deceivingly warm purple tone that Jonathon was surprised to find they even made outside of the gynecological models. “Well this is just nauseating, Tommy.” He finally exclaimed after having taken in the horror of it all.

“But I suppose it will have to do.” The psychiatrist finished, seating himself on the matching ‘purple grey’ plastic seated swivel stool. He placed his briefcase on the floor beside him and opened it removing his files before he spun around to face the other man; still standing beside the door. “You may sit down, if you would.” He requested briefly of his patient, nodding pointedly towards the table and flipping through his papers. Tommy slid his white coat off and tossed it onto the counter attached to the sink before seating himself.

Jonathon nodded his head and read through his past files from therapy quickly, making soft disapproving sounds towards the end before he looked up. “It’s been some time since you were last on your medication, how are you dealing with that?” He inquired as he placed the files on top of the coat on the counter, removing a stethoscope from his briefcase and looping it around his neck. Tommy shrugged at the words, offering his mentor a patented uncaring glance. An almost affectionate smile was returned. “Well, we’ll talk about that later. Let me listen to your heart.”

Moving over to his friend, Jonathon carefully unbuttoned his shirt for him, untucking the starched navy fabric and parting the shirt. He rested a cold hand against Tommy’s smooth bared chest then, a short gasp following the actions. “Your hands are like ice, Crane.” The young man informed him sharply with a small glare that his therapist found particularly delicious, given the circumstances. He teased him with the intent of seeing it grow darker and replaced his cold hand with the even more chilled stethoscope. “Temper, Tommy! Surely you want to earn your lolli when you’re done with this.”

As Dr. Crane slid the cool metal down the hard chest before him, he allowed his fingers to play against soft smooth though gently scarred skin. With a premeditated slowness he slid his right hand up under the back of Tommy’s shirt, pleased with the shiver and twitches that ran through his patient as spiderlike fingers stroked up his spine. His little project had grown up from an angry hurt boy to be very beautiful threatening man indeed…looping the stethoscope back around his neck; he moved back to his briefcase and retrieved an otoscope.

He adjusted the fitting as he walked forward and took Tommy’s chin into his hand to hold his face firmly in place. The skin didn’t bare a hint of roughness suggesting anything but the pampered life he had so long pretended to live; it was creamy and flawless under his touch. The light on the device was flipped on and Jonathon moved it back and forth in-front of those cold eyes that he so loved, the pupil dilating appropriately at the light. “You’re not doing that right.” Tommy grumbled and Crane was duly reminded with those words that his friend really was not much more than a spoiled brat at times; no matter how hard he had to work.

“Dearest boy, don’t you think that you ought to trust the doctor? I’ve had years of training.” The bird-like man sighed, shaking his head before he continued with a mocking tone. “Now, I know you want to be a doctor when you’re all grown up and once that happens I will allow you to help make decisions regarding exams but until then I think you ought to learn to mind your elders.” The entire phrasing of the words struck the nerve they were intended to and Tommy grew suddenly silent, the very edge of a pout playing on his full curved lips.

Jonathon brushed a finger across the lower one gently, looking into ocean blue eyes, “Now open up and let me look in your mouth.” The lips didn’t budge but to move into a smirk, as if he thought this little act of disobedience was actually a clever move. It had been too long since they had last shared a game of chess. “Tommy, open your mouth.” Jonathon demanded, offering his best stern paternal stare when he did, which was usually enough to make most everyone give into his demands. Dr. Thomas Elliot was not everyone, however, and had met this expression previously, at the age of ten, with one of matching disdain.

“Fine then, Tommy, if you want to play the game this way then we shall.” Jonathon turned off the light on the otoscope with a sharp clicking sound and placed it back into the bag. He removed several more medical tools and slid them into his coat pocket, not making any show of what they were. He moved to the glove dispenser on the wall then and yanked out a pair, pulling them on with a vigorous snap, though they fit a little too loosely. Tommy’s eyelashes fluttered back up and down against his cheeks rapidly and his expression changed to one of surprise. “Now, can you take down your own pants, Tommy or do you need my help?”

It turned out that Tommy needed help as he only managed to get down off of the table and shake his head vigorously. He backed closer to the door and put his right hand in front of himself defensively, glowering. “No! I don’t want to do this!” He growled, though he realized the tantrum would gain very little sympathy and instead simply excite the other man. Dr. Crane swiftly moved forward and took hold of the extended wrist, expertly unfastened the soft Armani pants. He then pushed his patient rather forcefully back over the exam table, though he knew there was no way he could have managed without Tommy’s complete consent.

“Now, you must realize you’ve gotten your way.” The currently snarling young man was scolded as his mentor methodically shook the thin glass rod in his hand. He coated an elegant finger less than liberally with the lubricant from the jar he had previously stashed in his coat pocket and proceeded to spread the thermometer with that in turn. “You couldn’t open your mouth then so am I supposed to assume you will be able to adequately do so now?” He questioned sharply. Any quickly thought out answer or plea that could have come from Tommy’s lips was cut short by a whine at the placement of the item.

A deep rose blush spread across his pale white skin and he squirmed in a very sincere discomfort; the paper under him crumpling loudly as he did. Dr. Crane busied himself with watching his watch; keeping a hand on his subject’s backside he held the glass firmly between his fingers. A small strained noise slipped from Tommy however and soon Jonathon found his gaze lingering on him. His hands were clutched in annoyance and he had hung his head down facing the purple plastic where just the hint of a tear remained as a damp spot on the paper.

A surge of arousal flew through Dr. Jonathon Crane and he adjusted his reading glasses with a small sigh. He slowly removed the thermometer, watching and listening thoroughly to his patient as he did only to be rewarded a small sound of relief. The doctor gave just a brief glance to check the temperature. “Well, you aren’t sick, my little Mockingbird.” He crooned, spare hand rubbing the trembling shoulders incased in Italian silk comfortingly. He placed the rod to the side and swiftly slapped the other, now freed, hand firmly against Tommy’s backside. “So how do you explain your petulance?”

“Did you want my attention? Was that why you kept sending me all those very unkind letters at work?” The therapist inquired, rubbing against the red mark that had formed so quickly under his latex gloved hand. Tommy nodded with a slowness that made the admission seem almost painful, as if it was a terrible blow to his pride. “Now, don’t you think you could have told me in a better way than insults and tantrums, baby bird? I may have enjoyed watching those being thrown at others but you know better than to aim that at me.” The last sentence was punctuated with a slap to his thigh that made Tommy jump.

“Yes, I should always be honest with you!” Tommy declared as if reciting a verse, eyes narrowing and teeth gripping between words. His mentor was raining down hot sharp smacks against his thighs and buttocks that made him wince with the force. Jonathon may have seemed frail but he delivered the spanking with a sharpness that left his self proclaimed sidekick near sobbing, even more so for the lecture that went with it.

“You know I have not told you what to do with the rest of your life, Thomas. However, you do not dare throw malevolent words at me that threaten what I have made for us.” Jonathon’s voice never raised or even deepened; the reproof was as calm as if he were offering it to someone much younger were it not for the actual meaning. “I am not going to fail you even if you try to make me. This is not just a game for me, I care deeply about you. I would like you to be able to remember that even if it has to be through the sting you feel when you sit.”

That last slap had just landed with a sense of finality before Tommy spun around desperately to seek his mentor’s loving embrace. He cried quietly within the Scarecrow’s embrace, designer trousers still in a tangle at his feet. The warm closeness of his lover providing that contact was enough to calm his quickened heartbeat but was only fuel to the fire for the other’s lust. “Now that we have that nastiness behind us, my dear Hush, I would like to make love to you.” The doctor said, meeting teary blue eyes as he did so.

The consent was given in the form of a nod and Dr. Crane helped maneuver his disciple how he wanted him over the exam table, keeping as much contact with him as he could. He was bent over it as before though this time from the front rather than the side and he found that as before he was clutching at the ghost of nonexistent bedding. He would have relaxed his hands but the sound of the lubricant being reopened in the otherwise silent room startled him. He always expected penetration to be as dry and painful as it had been his first time and so was startled by even Jonathon’s thoughtful removal of the gloves.

A slick finger was pressed into him slowly and kindly enough that he felt himself willingly begin to relax; The Scarecrow had always been attentive to his slowly developing sexuality. The lack of fear seemed ironic given whom he was submitting to the desires of but it was something he found deeply emotional and intimate to be granted. The finger inside of him moved back and forth and he inhaled and exhaled slowly, letting himself accept the feeling as well as he could.

Another finger joined it; slick, warm and gentle in the motions. Tommy had to count to ten before he could exhale again but soon that feeling began to arouse him despite his reserve; he wasn’t really sure how he managed to do that. It wasn’t that he thought it was wrong but still…he felt odd enjoying it after what had happened. He moved his head closer to the hand Jonathon had rested on the table, nibbling nervously against his thumb so he wouldn’t have to think. The tempo of the fingers inside of him sped and he sucked at the ones in front of him, the action feeling almost desperate when another finger was pushed into him.

The fingers were removed then and there was a brief sound of tearing foil in the room. Hush might have cried out now normally but he instead nipped anxiously at the hand that lay against his mouth, feeling foolish to want that extra contact to comfort his fears. Jonathon was still being tender in his movements when Hush felt his cock replacing the past fingers and he groaned deeply at the slow entry, almost shocked when his own arousal was seen to by the other man’s hand. Inhales and exhales were now much louder panting and Tommy was surprised by his own interest in the continuation.

Jonathon matched his thrusts with the strokes of his hand and after a few minor whines his disciple was soon clawing at the table before him. He moaned at the sight of the dark red hair bouncing with each thrust forward and kissed at the thin line of exposed white skin the starched collar offered. Infrequently Tommy pushed back to meet the thrusts, offering small cries of distressed excitement each time he managed that added to the sound of the paper under them tearing. It was unusual and jolting to his senses though nowhere near unpleasant to receive the participation from his partner, in fact it sent waves of pleasure more mental than physical. He was making a man who never even masturbated giddy with sexual pleasure.

He was understandably shocked when Tommy came before him, filling his palm with a warm white fluid and moaning deeply. The involuntary twitches and jerks of the younger man’s body had been pleasing but now that he was so completely without tension, The Scarecrow saw fit to move a bit harder, trying to find his own pleasure before his mockingbird became crestfallen. The pants and whines of the man under him fueled his growing speed and soon he too was spent, arms wrapped tight around the other’s body. Upon catching his own breath he withdrew gradually to lessen the feeling of emptiness, hushing the little gasps from beneath him. He threw the condom into the trash-bin then and washed his hands.

Dr. Elliot for his part lay in the same place for that moment, not so much catching his breath any longer as collecting his thoughts. Jonathon’s hands interrupted him from his self analysis with shockingly cold sanitary wipes; despite the initial startle he cleaned off his partner with an almost loving fondness before he helped him back up. His pants were pulled back up into place and fastened, his shirt was smoothed out and tucked in and soon he was as presentable as he could be made. Their leaving was briefly delayed by quick clean of the exam table and a check to make sure the room seemed acceptable straightened.

Turning the light off as he did, Dr. Crane led his lover from the room, one hand rested against his back and the other occupied by the briefcase. Tommy let them out and locked the door behind them, finding that while they had been engaged it had began to storm. The area surrounding them was completely dark now save for flickering streetlamps and the occasional flash of thunder. The cold felt like a razor down into the bone and reawakened the hot stinging of his skin and the soreness of his muscles; sleeping alone would be a farfetched idea that night. “Perhaps, you’d like to stay with me tonight?” He offered his mentor, his tone giving away his hopefulness.

The Scarecrow smiled.
- 1
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Doctor's Orders