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Whatever was in the gas kept Jervis’s brain fixed in the present. Each moment lasted an age, and everything that came before blurred out of focus.
He hadn’t forgotten - if pressed, he was sure he could remember every interaction, every detail that had brought him here. But they didn’t matter.
Jervis rested his weight on his hands, leaning back against the cold metal of the stairs to the airship. Though he could feel its chill, he barely registered it, and nearly didn’t notice the rough edges of the stair supports pressing into his spine. In front of him stood a multitude of Scarecrows, copy after copy multiplied ad infinitum.
“Why aren’t you afraid?” A scarecrow slightly to his left asked, voice distorted from the gas mask Jonathan always used. “The toxin is clearly affecting you.”
That it was. Jervis thought his mind existed as a part of every cell in his body, and when he shivered, he felt each individual goosebump the way one might feel water on their skin.
One scarecrow knelt in front of him, placing their bodies in the same plane. The world spun like a kaleidoscope as the other scarecrows followed suit.
Jervis reached out a hand, which was heavy as lead, and pointed at a scarecrow in front and to the right of him. “Jonathan,” he said, a slight slur to his voice. He crooked his finger.
That scarecrow, or maybe the one next to it, cocked his head. Because of the wooden board across his shoulders, the one to which his various tubes and stashes of toxin were attached, the movement was even more noticeable.
“Tell me,” he asked slowly, “what do you see?”
The crooked finger turned into a failed attempt to grab Jonathan’s sleeve. The scarecrow that Jervis believed to be the real Jonathan looked down at his hand with some distaste before his eyes trailed up his arm to his face. Jervis felt another shiver pass through him.
“I see you,” Jervis said with a wide smile. “You’re everywhere.”
And he was. While the real Jonathan squatted on his heels near Jervis, the other scarecrows drew closer. One trailed the needles on his toxin dispenser up Jervis’s arm, lingering over his throat. Another pushed a burlap-gloved finger between the buttons on his shirt, the rough fabric scratching his stomach. He felt breath on the back of his neck.
All this and yet Jonathan, the one who had spoken to him, remained stubbornly separate.
“Are you afraid?” Jonathan asked.
Jervis felt himself touched by more and more scarecrows - rough burlap and bitten nails and sharp needles. A heat began growing below his stomach, and he felt blood swelling his cock.
“Of you?” he said, more of a breath than anything. He locked eyes with his Jonathan, saw the gleam in them below his mask and eye paint. He reached out once more, and this time succeeded in tangling his fingers in Jonathan’s sleeve. “Make me be,” he said, tugging hard.
The tug did little to nothing. Jonathan did not so much as rock on his heels. He did, however, allow his gaze to rest pointedly on Jervis’s lap, where his slacks did little to hide the bulge. “Are you sure?” He asked, voice slightly too quick.
Jervis thought the blood in his veins had turned to lava, a burning heat trapped just under his skin. “Please,” he begged.
Jonathan moved forward. He now knelt, one knee on the tile on either side of Jervis’s thighs. The other scarecrows faded from Jervis’s vision, as did much of the bright fluorescent light from the facility. Jonathan himself, in full scarecrow costume, was illuminated before him, shining as though haloed. Flashes of color and shapes floated through the dark air around him, like something out of an old cartoon. He saw them on his eyelids when he blinked.
“I’d like to get a blood sample,” Jonathan said, “to study why your reaction to my toxin is so unique.”
When Jervis nodded his assent, Jonathan pulled out a vial. “You‘ll have to take your jacket off,” he said.
Jervis felt a dozens of fingers graze his shoulders, his wrists, as the multitude of scarecrows that surrounded him pulled the blazer from his shoulders. It fell to the concrete in a heap.
Dispassionately, Jonathan unbuttoned the cuff of Jervis’s right sleeve, although Jervis felt too many fingers run up his arm to his neck, down to finger the buttons down his chest. He began to breathe harder, cock straining against his pants from the imagined touch. Jonathan followed proper procedure, folding the sleeve to reveal much of Jervis’s arm, cleaning the skin of his elbow with an alcohol wipe before inserting the needle. When Jervis saw his own blood hit the bottom of the vial, he moaned.
His eyes wanted to close, but he instead watched Jonathan, whose pupils had noticeably expanded. With slightly shaking hands, he pulled the needle out of Jervis’s arm and capped off the vial of blood.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready now.”
“Frabjous,” Jervis said.
It didn’t take long before Jervis was fully seated inside Jonathan. At first, Jonathan didn’t even remove his mask. He simply moved forward until he sat more on Jervis’s lap than on his legs, and began to move. It was rough and uncontrolled, and above them, the airship’s engines fired up. The hypnotized crew guided the ship, with its unwilling passenger, out of the hangar and over the city while on the hard floor below it, two of Gotham’s most wanted frantically dry humped, breathing hard - Jonathan into his gas mask, Jervis into the space between the scarecrow’s neck and shoulder.
They’d had sex before, but never like this. With Jervis out of his mind on Jonathan’s toxin. On the floor in the middle of a massive room, doors open and roof retracted for easy takeoff. Jonathan rolled his hips down, and Jervis gasped, hips jerking up. His dick was rock hard, and the scarecrows had returned - refracting from around Jonathan, glimmering replicas of him filled Jervis’s vision. Their hallucinatory tongues licked Jervis’s jaw, false hands caught in his hair.
Jonathan’s hands left their grip on Jervis’s sides, and Jervis whined until he realized what Jonathan was doing. Without looking, he was scrabbling to unhook his gas mask and breathing apparatus. The gas mask fell down with a sharp hiss and hung around Jonathan’s neck, while the burlap it normally sat under hung loosely around Jonathan’s face. The gas mask and attached tubing bumped against Jervis’s chest as Jonathan moved even closer, panting hot breaths against the side of Jervis’s neck. When they found a rhythm, Jervis felt like he was floating.
He snapped back into reality when he felt Jonathan’s fingers scrabbling at his waistband. With almost mechanical efficiency, he unclasped his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and lifted his hips enough to shove both pants and underwear a few inches down his thighs.
The tiles were cold against his bare ass, and Jervis thought the only real thing in the world might be Jonathan and his echoes as he stared hungrily at Jervis’s leaking dick bobbing in the space between them. His pupils were blown wide, and Jervis thought he could see an entire universe in their deep blackness. Above them, the airship floated off with its deadly cargo.
“The GCPD will be here soon,” Jonathan said between heaving breaths. His eyes flickered between Jervis’s face and cock, which throbbed after only a few seconds of not being touched. “I won’t go back to Arkham.”
Jervis, who was seeing three Jonathans and a host of colorful creatures besides, did not think much about the GCPD.
“I’ll get you out,” he promised, fingers reaching for the top of Jonathan’s pants.
“We have ten minutes.”
Jervis had no idea how Jonathan was keeping track of the exact time, nor how long they had been in - wherever they were - at all. But when his fingers made contact with Jonathan’s stomach and dove lower, Jonathan let out a sharp breath. “We can do ten minutes,” he said, his voice high enough to be a squeak.
Together, they almost tore Jonathan’s pants as they pushed them to his ankles as fast as possible. With one hand, Jervis reached between Jonathan’s legs and let his fingers sink into the wet folds of skin there. Only knowing what would happen next kept him from coming when his finger slid inside Jonathan. His cock pulsed, and Jonathan clenched around him, folding himself over to pant helplessly onto Jervis’s neck. He seemed to grow bigger and bigger until he blocked out every fluorescent light, until even the sun was blocked by his shape. When Jonathan sunk down onto Jervis’s dick, he was a giant and Jervis was no larger than a dust mote in the air.
Jonathan moved on top of him, slowly as he adjusted to Jervis inside him, then faster. Jervis held onto his hips as Jonathan thrusted down hard and fast. His speed flung Jervis’s back into the metal structure again and again, and his fist clenched so tightly in Jervis’s shirt that the fabric strained against his grip. Jervis’s face felt warm. He thought the entire universe was born, lived, and died while Jonathan rode him. He could see through the burlap, through Jonathan’s skin to the creature that lurked below. It was made of twigs and bones and living rage, and Jervis felt incandescent. He felt something wet on his neck and realized he’d been crying.
Jervis came. He went boneless as his dick twitched, pumping come into Jonathan’s body. His orgasm lasted forever, longer and sweeter than any he’d ever had. Jonathan rode him through it, not slowing down even as Jervis’s dick began to soften and some of the come dribbled back down, pooling on the rough hair at the base of his cock. Eyes screwed shut, head tipped back, Jonathan chased his own orgasm until a shudder went through his body and he fell forward, face in Jervis’s neck.
Three minutes later, Jim Gordon stood a few feet away, surveying the clearly empty crime scene.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Harvey Bullock said. “Is that come?” He kicked the floor. “Sick bastards.”