“Welcome to my humble clinic,” the skinny man behind the desk grinned diabolically at the sight of the tall figure standing at the door of his grim-looking basement.
The place was definitely not a medical center, more like a shabby BDSM club, known only to those who were looking for trouble. The man at the entrance must have been looking for some, since he climbed down the dirty stairs without a second thought, the sound of his footsteps not as heavy as his muscular figure would have indicated.
“How can I help you tonight, Mr. Bane?”
The man in the luchador mask made his way toward the dusty desk in the middle of the room. “Same as last time, compañero,” he placed his massive hand on the wooden surface and leaned toward the small, scrawny figure sitting behind the desk. “I need your medicine, Professor Crane.”
Scarecrow’s narrow lips curved up in a creepy smile. “Excellent,” he nodded, rubbing his bony hands together. “I’ve been counting on you to return to my fear clinic. An interesting test subject like yourself…”
“I believe the term is ‘patient’,” the tall man corrected calmly.
“Old habits…,” Crane brushed it off as if his sick tendencies could be hidden behind the mask of being professional. “Anyway, shall we begin our session?” He showed the other man to the metal table waiting in the dark corner of the room.
Bane walked over there without a sign of fear. Crane followed after him, his thin frame radiating eagerness.
“No restrains,” the big man ordered as he laid himself down on the cold, metal surface – the table almost too small for his bulky body.
Scarecrow raised his eyebrows, curious to say the least. “You don’t like the feeling of being trapped? Held down? Does it make you uncomfortable? Scared, perhaps?”
“No, nothing like that,” Bane smirked, his Spanish accent thick as ever. “I don’t think your cheap restrains could hold me.”
“Then, I would suggest not mixing venom with my fear toxin.”
“That’s not what we agreed to,” the patient reminded him. “You have your experiment, and I have mine.”
Crane crossed his arms. “Last time your experiment costed me a new facility since you had punched a hole in my wall.”
The man only shrugged. “Call it a side effect.”
“A side effect you didn’t pay for, Mr. Bane.”
The glare the other gave him was nothing less than a warning. “Listen, compañero, I broke you out of Arkham asking for just a little favor in return, si? Unless you rather rot behind the bars in a loony bin, I expect more appreciation from you, professor.”
Scarecrow’s face got stern, his eyes darkened a bit, he didn’t like being treated like that – looked down at by some ex-prisoner with no understanding of the human psyche.
“Be careful with your threats. I am the Master of Fear, boy!”
“And I can crush your rib-cage with one hand,” the other man bit back.
They stared each other down for a tense few seconds, Bane from his seemingly compromised position on the dissection table, and Crane towering over him, slowly reaching for a cylinder of his infamous fear gas.
“Everyone, man or woman, fears something, my friend,” Scarecrow’s voice was soft, almost melodic as he held an oxygen mask in his right hand, his other hand turning the handle to release the gas. “Me, you, even Batman. The fear gets the worst of us, making us weak and helpless…”
He leaned toward Bane, ready to apply the mask and start the sweet, sweet fear trip for the wrestler-man.
Then, a strong hand caught his own, stopping his action midway.
“No, professor,” Bane disagreed with a voice equally soft. “The fear can make you stronger. It motivates you, helps you survive. It is either run or fight – and I am a fighter. I am Bane.”
With that, Bane pulled at Scarecrow’s right arm, bringing the mask in his grasp closer to his own face and taking a healthy hit of fear toxin.
Taken by surprise, Crane didn’t even manage to react when Bane’s meaty lips crushed with his own in an act of a quick, forceful kiss.
A moment later, the big guy fell back to the table, eyes wide as first symptoms of anxiety began.
Shocked by the turn of events, Jonathan stood next to his patient, his hand still trapped within Bane’s steel clutch. Licking his own lips, he still could taste the hint of his fear gas – and he would have lied to himself if he pretended that it didn’t excite him.
Looking down at the other man, he smiled faintly. “I don’t recall this being part of our deal.”
The man on the table didn’t answer, instead, he let out a small whimper that caused a pleasant shudder of Scarecrow’s lanky body.
“Oh, don’t be so whiny,” Crane’s free hand patted Bane’s cheek through the fabric of his luchador mask. “It was just a sniff of my delicious concoction. Soon, I will allow you to have some more, and only then the real fun starts.”
A pair of blood-shot eyes stared back at him from behind the mask and the look in these eyes – the angry, panicked and uncertain look of someone who was fighting his inner demons – this expression pleased the Master of Fear. “Don’t look at me like that,” he faked a pouting face. “In fact… It might be more interesting if you can’t see anything at all.”
That said, Jonathan pulled the lower part of Bane’s luchador mask up, completely covering his eyes with it. Suddenly blindfolded, the man started thrashing about, his head turning from side to side. Jon caught his chin, trying to hold him in place. “Hush now,” he leaned in even closer, his voice turning into a menacing whisper. “Be a good boy and let Scarecrow help you to face your deepest fears.” He pressed their lips together, this time allowing himself to enjoy the softness of Bane’s lips.
“Crane…,” the man on the table sounded rather weak, his voice harsh and strangled, as if some invisible force squeezed his throat. “More… You can give me more…”
Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat and the grin on his gremlin-like face grew even wider. “What a cooperative patient,” he laughed mockingly as he made his willing test subject inhale more of the fear gas. “Marvelous, just marvelous!” he praised, thrilled for what was to come.
Bane’s muscles trembled, and his palms clenched involuntarily. Scarecrow hissed as his tiny wrist nearly broke under the pressure of the other man’s merciless grasp. The grip got lighter after a second or two and Jon wanted to tear his hand away. He couldn’t, his hand was trapped for good.
“Really?” he teased his poor victim. “A big, strong man like you wants me to hold his hand? What’s next? You want your teddy bear too?”
There was no answer, of course, just a half-muffled sound coming from the suffering man. And again, Jonathan had to admit to himself that it was delightful – the sense of power over a man this strong. It made him feel invincible, to have this huge chunk of body squirming and tossing under the influence of his own creation.
Big brutes like Bane, Jon had known them all too well – men like that have never missed their chance to beat him up, to torment him. Now, it was him – Scarecrow – who controlled the situation. This muscular, perfectly built body was his playground and nothing could stop him from ruining it.
One leap and Scarecrow was sitting on top of Bane’s large chest, his lanky legs on each side of the body beneath him. His left hand slipped under the man’s black shirt, traveling over the impressive abdomen muscles. The body felt so hot under his giddy fingers, the massive rib-cage raised and fell with the rhythm of his uneven breathing.
Professor Crane laid his head on Bane’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Fast, it was as fast as his own, he noticed with a shiver creeping down his spine. Oh, how he loved proving all the courageous cretins who had dared to doubt the effects of his formula wrong. No mind was strong enough, no body tough enough – his fear toxin always won against the nonbelievers.
What did his victim experience right now, he wondered, what horror did he go through in his polluted mind. How did Bane feel when blindfolded and weakened. Did he find Scarecrow’s treacherous fingers disturbing? Or maybe comforting?
Jonathan was a man of science, he wanted to know the answers to the theory forming in his head. That was why he let his hand roam against Bane’s trousers, to finally put it down his pants, exploring.
The body beneath him jolted with a convulsion, a small grunt escaping the half-opened mouth.
Jon knew from experience that by reducing one of his test subject’s senses, he forced the other senses to be more sensitive.
His slender fingers moved up and down, teasing Bane’s hardening member with a touch as light as a feather. “Are you dying?” Scarecrow’s dark tone was dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “Did you overdose the venom? Did your heart burst? Tell me, boy, what are you seeing?”
Blind like a bat and high on the fear toxin, Bane must have been a big bundle of nerves by now. The whimper he emitted was a song to Scarecrow’s ears, an ode to the fear and its master.
“Is it Batman who haunts your darkest dreams?” Crane continued his glorious monologue. “Is it the demon-bat that defeated you? Tell me. Or perhaps, you chase after your absent father who abandoned you as a child, leaving you to rot in Peña Duro? What is your phobia? I want to know.”
There was another grunt, and this time Jonathan sensed something more than just the muscles trembling. Bane’s king-size member awoke, twitching and growing under Jon’s careful administrations.
“Oh, here you are, Mr. Bane,” Scarecrow’s dark chuckle echoed through the dim-lit laboratory. “You must really like the adrenaline circling in your bloodstream...”
He grabbed the man’s balls and squeezed them viciously. Bane’s back arched in response, almost causing Crane to fall off of his chest. He didn’t, and as a desperate growl of pain left his victim’s lungs, Jon felt his own arousal taking over his body.
He let go of Bane’s tortured testicles, grasping his massive cock instead, his long fingers closed on the thick shaft with some effort. He made sure not to put on enough pressure to inflict pain but just the right amount to bring him bliss.
“What are you hallucinating of?” Scarecrow breathed out, ecstatic. “What are you afraid of? Describe it to me!”
“N-no…,” The man in his grasp muttered and Crane took that for a mindless cry for help.
Only when Bane’s right hand let go of his wrist and shot up to turn the small gauge of the venom dispenser mounted onto his glove – only then Jonathan realized that his test subject was talking to him, sober enough to comprehend everything that was going on in the room.
“I-I won’t lose...to my own fear.”
The dose of the liquid drug went through the tubes and straight to the blindfolded man’s toxin-corrupted brain. Eyes wide with surprise, Crane watched as Bane's big muscles grew even bigger, chemically boosted by the venom. The cock in Jon's hand was growing as well – just like the rest of its owner.
“You cannot scare me!” the man who broke the Bat growled pompously. “I am invincible! I am Bane!”
Jonathan grinned like a madman he was, his own cock twitching inside his pants. “And I am the Scarecrow,” he drawled, voice heavy with desire. “I am the Master of Terror. Now, let me break you.”
