Work Text:
Jonathan Crane laid on the bed he shared with his roommate, atop the covers, clad in boxer shorts and a loose fitting t-shirt, staring up listlessly at the factory ceiling. His life was in shambles, from his point of view, and of course it had to have happened during one of the worst heat waves Gotham had seen in years.
It wasn't often he was in bed before Jervis, but lately his study had grown too hot to stay in for longer periods at a time, and besides … a part of him, a rather possessive part of him, had felt the need to stick by the man's side every chance he could. Even now that Jervis' leaving was inevitable, he continued to cling. It was pathetic, he knew that. But that hadn't stopped him thus far.
It was, with no surprise, that the man in question made his way into the room- with bedtime being so near, Hatter continued to be one that followed routine.
What was against routine, however, was the fact, upon discovering as Jervis Tetch entered the room, that he hadn’t changed into his nightgown. The Englishman ran his glove across his forehead, nearly panting, as he did a double-take of surprise upon seeing his flatmate already in bed.
“ Oh ,” he cried out softly, blinking as he straightened himself up in the doorway, “ Jonathan, I didn’t expect-- ” Hatter sighed, giving the man a sympathetic look of his own, despite his apparent sheepish mood. “You couldn’t stand the heat either, could you?”
Jonathan lazily lolled his head over to look at Jervis. Still in his clothes? He wasn't planning on sleeping in them, was he? Had things grown that stale between them, that impersonal ?
"I simply missed you, I suppose." The truth, spoken in weary confidence. It didn't matter. It would be seen as a joke. It always was.
Jervis took a moment soaking in the answer, the man’s inability to hide his emotions causing a show of shock, followed by reaching said conclusion Jonathan had already predicted. Still, the Englishman’s flushed face deepened its hue, as he looked away-- politely closing the door behind himself.
“Yes, well… It’s nice to see you out and about too.” He had noticed his flatmate had been spending more time out of his study as of late, no doubt the temperature growing too fierce for even the Southern bred man. Jervis walked towards the bed, shaking his head softly. “I know we have the air-con set up in the main part of the factory, but perhaps we should consider moving it so you may continue your work? I know how--” frustrated was the word he wanted to say, but chose against it, “ displeased you become when you feel behind on things. Surely that would help?”
Hatter reached his side of the bed, feeling more like a lethargic plop as he made contact with the mattress. He sighed, his gloves yet again swiping at his brow. In all actuality, he wouldn’t mind having something within their room. He was tempted to mention they should consider buying quite a few of them, but it was with frustration that he realized it most certainly wouldn’t solve the issue they were facing currently . Sweating like a hog in heat, Jervis felt positively disgusting by his own standards!
“Oooh, drat it all!” He groaned, hand tugging at his collar, letting just the barest bits of his covered skin meet the exposed air. “Blast this heat, and this city too. It’s positively sweltering! ”
Not fit weather for a man that preferred his layers: in fact, it had become so hot as of late, that he had begun not even bothering with his undershirt-- as per usual. Which made the cotton of his floral print stick to him in a way that just begged for Jervis to remove it all together!
It was a thought that caused him to straighten up on his side of the bed, gloved hand against his chest, as he stared at the wall. That… that was certainly a thought. An IMPROPER way of doing things, mind you… Yet, there was nothing proper about the state of things, and desperate times sometimes called for desperate measures…
Jervis continued to stare ahead, even as he began what would, no doubt, lead to his end.
“Jonathan…?” Jervis inquired, looking down at his gloves and he slowly started to remove them one by one.
Jonathan had closed his eyes, rolling his head back over to point toward the ceiling, enjoying the sound of Jervis' voice as he whined and complained about Gotham and its heat wave. He did so enjoy the man's voice, and it was regrettable delights like this that would make the factory's silence even more dreadful should he decide to leave.
"Hm?" Jonathan didn't even bother to move or open his eyes, but oh, he was certainly listening.
One glove had been removed, gently placed onto his lap, as Jervis went to remove the other. His heart hammered in his chest, even as he knew what he was going to say was perfectly reasonable .
“Do you… Do you recall a conversation we had a little while back, sometime during the start of all of this?” He meant the heat, but he supposed there were many ways to take it-- even as his mind drifted back to conversations he had with Alice Reynolds not too long ago. Hatter shook off that thought, as he carried on. “ I had told you that if you needed to, ah, if you needed to go without your top, that you were more than allowed to do so, for the sake of not needing to rush to the hospital with a case of heatstroke?”
The other glove was removed, and it was then, more so from curiosity than from bravery that the Englishman found himself looking over his shoulder-- turning slightly.
“Did you… mean it when you said you wouldn’t mind if I, in turn… may… may need to-?”
He couldn’t finish his words, embarrassment eating at him as he looked away. He let out a shaky sigh, burying his face into his hand.
“Dear lord, what am I doing? ” Jervis mumbled to himself. It was with a louder tone he spoke up again. “ Nevermind , this was foolish of me. Improper. I can simply just go change into my nightgown: we Brits are known for being able to pull through. I’ll just-”
While Jervis was fumbling with his words, Crane's eyes had finally open, staring at the ceiling wider this time as he listened. Was Jervis actually asking permission to sleep without a shirt? A devious smirk began to spread across Crane's face, but dissolved quickly upon remembering where Jervis' affections apparently lied these days. Still...
"Please, go right ahead, make yourself comfortable." He'd replied, perhaps too hastily, completely cutting Jervis off. "I'm already lying here in my undergarments ," He lifted his head only briefly to scowl down at his boxers, and gesture to them with both outstretched hands. His head plopped back against the pillow and he finished in a mutter, "this accursed heat has rendered manners and decency null and void."
The interruption, followed by reassurance, was enough to get Jervis to whip himself around. He stared at the man, his eyes momentarily drifting as he took in the articles of clothing the professor had mentioned, before he realized what he had done. It was just as fast that the Englishman turned himself around-- yet again staring at the wall.
“I… only if you are sure …”
Jervis received no complaints, and that was all the indication he needed to continue. Hatter put his gloves onto the boxes he had turned into his makeshift bedside table. He took a couple of deep breaths, his fingers reaching the first button of his shirt. It was now or never. To die of heat, or meet his end from pure mortification alone.
He supposed it wouldn’t be the first time he felt this way in front of the man of his affections, nor did Tetch think it would be the last.
Fabric rustled as buttons quickly came undone-- each free loop another puff of cooler air against Jervis’ heated skin. It was by the third that the reward outweighed his sense of embarrassment, as the rest quickly followed. His chest and stomach now exposed to the wall, Hatter brought his hands to both sides of the opening. Like a plaster, he ripped his shirt off from his person-- the air that met his shoulders and back equally as refreshing. Jervis found himself sighing with content, even as he used the time to fold up his shirt neatly.
Just because he needed to undress did NOT mean he was going to be completely barbaric about things, after all.
The ceiling had suddenly seemed rather uninteresting, as Jonathan's full attention was, shamelessly, on Jervis as he undressed. His fingers twitched against the blanket as the shirt came off completely, and the fluttering moths in his stomach moved lower.
Yup. He was currently in bed, with a shirtless man. A man he held a multitude of inconvenient feelings for. Days after learning he didn't have as much of a chance with him as he suspected he did.
This was the life of Jonathan Crane: needlessly cruel and endlessly unfair. He forced his gaze back toward the ceiling before he was caught staring.
"Better?"
“ Immensely ,” Jervis replied, relief evident even with his demure state. He bent over to remove his shoes. “Although, in either case, I should think this will do only for tonight. Perhaps we should consider procuring another unit for this room as well? Lest we find ourselves in such a state again.”
Shoes removed and put to the side, it was then that the Englishman had to take the final step. Jervis inhaled deeply through his nose, its telltale whistle giving him away, as he closed his eyes. With all the encouragement he could muster, Jervis leaned back, slowly, as he tried to lay down with as much grace as a prudish yet shirtless man could in his hyperaware state.
His eyes remained tightly closed, even as his head landed on his pillow.
“ ... Please tell me I don’t look nearly as ridiculous as I feel. ” Jervis couldn’t help but complain, even as his arms crossed against his chest to cover up his exposed bosoms-- his self consciousness growing by the minute.
Oh? Crane raised a brow. Had that been permission to look? He was fairly certain it had been. Crane lifted himself up, resting on his elbows, and looked back over, taking in the man's figure from head to toe. A few times, for good measure.
"Well if this is the delightful sight I'll be treated to, perhaps we should consider a heater rather than a fan for the room."
It didn't matter. A joke. Of course it was a joke. The Scarecrow, the Master of Fear, Master Comedian.
That had been enough to cause Jervis to open his eyes, head whipping in Crane’s direction. Where his gaze landed upon the devious impish grin of his flatmate. Butterflies danced and fluttered within him: his love for the devil hitting him hard even as he knew better than to fall for its sway. Jervis huffed, fitting into his role in their comedic act-- more so for the sake and comfort of it, even as he lightly swat at Jonathan for his teasing.
“Ooooh, hush now. You know that’s impractical! That would only require you to strip next, more so than solve the issue.” Hatter quickly moved on, before Jonathan could fit in another ill placed joke at his expense. “ In any case… thank you, I suppose. For--” allowing him to undress? That didn’t seem quite right. “ For understanding, ” was what was settled upon.
Being swatted was commonplace, more an act of friendly affection than harm, and it caused Crane to chuckle deviously.
" Oh no, thank you . " He may not have been allowed to have him, but he was certainly allowed to look, and look he did, before settling back down against the bed, and reaching over toward the light.
"Good night, Jervis."
“Good night, Jonathan.” The Englishman replied, using the moment Jonathan was looking away to turn on his side. Jervis took a deep breath, one hand resting under his pillow, as he allowed himself to relax despite the awkwardness of everything.
Crane lay there thinking, now staring at nothing but the darkness, listening to Jervis breathe. It really wasn't fair . It wasn't as if he hadn't been trying, it was hardly his fault his advances had all been shrugged off as jest. So how was it fair that Alice got to swoop in and take what he'd set his eye upon? It wasn't , and it didn't need to be this way. He could lay it out clear, right this very moment, in an act that would leave no room for misconstruing his intentions.
After all, nothing said, 'I'm interested, please consider me' quite like lips on one’s neck and an erection pressed up against their back.
Stirred onward with a sudden rush of defiant courage: Crane sat up; but before he could make a single move toward his target, the stifling heat of the room socked him in the face and left him lightheaded. He slumped back down against his pillow with a defeated exhale.
Maybe … another time.
Jonathan didn’t get long to stew in his frustrations, as rustling could be heard at his side.
“Mmm … Jonathan, is everything alright? ” Jervis called, voice tinted with the tones of someone who was already beginning to drift off to sleep.
Crane's eyes shot back open wide, but only briefly. They closed again soon after, albeit slowly.
"Yes, Jervis. Everything is fine." He rolled over onto his side, curling up into the fetal position, despite that being very uncomfortable, given his condition.
"The heat is simply making sleep rather … hard." he mumbled, doing his best to catch up to the elusive beast they called ‘sleep’.
“Yes, it does.” Jervis mumbled out a reply in agreement, clearly assuming they were on the same page on the subject. Crane heard a single yawn. A few more things were said, though the soft mutterings let it so the professor couldn’t make out heads or tails of what he was trying to convey.
It was for the best… perhaps the likes of Jonathan Crane wasn’t meant to know the man’s secrets.
That privilege belonged to Alice Reynolds, after all.