the thrill and the fear

Velma had been alarmed the first time the Scarecrow had assisted them with his fear gas, then unmasked himself to reveal that he had no rebreather and was in fact actively hallucinating. He'd been grinning with something like that same amusement he'd shown that first Halloween night, when he'd said he was a crazed fan, but all of them had insisted (with varying degrees of nervousness) that he find some quiet and safe spot to come down, and Velma had sat with him in the back of the Mystery Machine as they'd driven to find a hotel, with a bottle of water, keeping an eye on his pulse and the state of his pupils and his overall mental state.

It had been a kindness he wasn't at all used to, and as much as it had been appreciated, it had also been unneeded. It didn't affect him as much as it used to, he'd explained with surprising calmness for someone obviously high off his ass on terror drugs, and he had learned to control his fear in any case.

"Think of it as a form of..." He had glanced at Scooby, grin turning wry. "Dog training." A small tremor that had occasionally gone through him had been the only tell that he was feeling any fear at all.

"You've trained yourself out of fear?" Velma had queried, because that hadn't seemed right.

Dr. Crane had shaken his head. "That would be a very unwise decision. Fear is a vital force, perhaps our most vital... But I am the master of it. It runs beside me and offers me assistance, but it does not yank me down the street."

Compelling. And it seemed to be true: Dr. Crane showed alarm on occasion, even fear, but the signs were short-lived and he seemed to use fear to drive himself forward, protect himself... more and more, when they crossed paths, protect the Scooby gang.

If he was getting attached, he definitely wasn't the only one.

He only used the fear gas around them on occasion, in part because they weren't always prepared to quickly don their own gas masks, and in part because the screaming so many of the culprits did seemed unsettling to them. He used other tactics as a courtesy. But sometimes it was the easiest and most effective way, and sometimes when a "monster" or "ghost" seemed to actually be trying to kill the gang he didn't really care to restrain himself, and the point was that the gang was no longer any stranger to him during his come-downs and that it was often after he'd saved at least one of them and sometimes it was after he'd nearly died himself.

He was making sounds Velma had never heard from him as she kissed him. Both of them had been almost surprised as she had, but it had also made a great deal of sense, suddenly, and neither of them wanted to pull away. This time she could feel his shivering, and it wasn't occasional after all -- just occasionally visible -- he trembled faintly as she kept his head close, fingers in his hair, his own fingers clutching at the back of her shirt.

He didn't resist as she pressed him against the wall; more than not resisting, he pulled her back against it, against him, and they both gasped as she ground against him. Once again, not quite as surprising as it seemed like it should have been. Velma opened her eyes to see Dr. Crane breathing hard, his face mostly pale but with a high flush, his hair in a state, his lips bruised and trembling, his eyes drastically dilated. They looked past her, for a moment, then snapped to her face.

She felt a twinge of combined, confused guilt and arousal, biting her lip. He was definitely still being affected by the fear gas, then, and that made this feel even more complicated somehow. "Are you okay, Dr. Crane?" she asked, starting to ease back, but his grip tightened on her and he pulled her closer again, closing his eyes tightly. She blinked as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"I don't," he managed, picking his way through the words in a whisper, "want you to go. Not now. We don't have to continue if you aren't comfortable..."

Velma blinked, fingers of one hand combing through his hair absently. "If I'm not comfortable?"

The laugh he gave was wild, and he turned his face to press his mouth to her turtleneck and then, so thwarted, the curve of her jaw. "Are you, then?" he murmured.

"I wasn't expecting it," she admitted. "But if you're going to be all right..."

"Nothing here can hurt me," Jonathan Crane noted, and lifted his head again to look at her. His eyes were piercing and canny. They always seemed to be. The smile he got then was odd, almost soft if not for that sharp enthusiasm that always seemed to accompany his terror-highs. "Except you."

I wouldn't she almost said, couldn't get it out before he kissed her again and it seemed so much less important. She wouldn't, and maybe that was even the point. He certainly didn't ask her to. He was vocal, more than she might have expected; pliable, hands slipping up under her shirt but only increasingly enthusiastic as she pressed him into the wall again and placed increasingly harsh, biting kisses to his neck, moving her hips against his. Whenever his eyes weren't closed he looked directly at her in a way that made her feel feverish. Intense and dazed by turns, half-lidded or wider than she was used to. Still holding onto her tightly, breath still shaky and quick.

She kissed him again, grinding her hips against his, seriously considering at that point asking to move this to his bed, even if it was nice to have him like this. The way he groaned, hips jerking, fingertips digging into her skin, caught her off guard, her own eyes widening, a shiver shooting straight through her and down between her legs.

"Oh!" she managed, breathless, as she broke off the kiss. Her glasses were smudged, and she knew they were a bit crooked, but she was glad she hadn't taken them off so that she could see Dr. Crane's face now. He noticed her looking, and his smile seemed... unguarded. Faintly embarrassed and a little wondering but mostly happy.

Her breath caught.

"'Oh' indeed," he agreed slowly, sounding breathless himself, trying to get his breathing under control. His smile tinged a bit more sly, eager, amused by some internal joke. "I hope you'll allow me to return the favor..."

His pupils were a bit less wide, but his eyes still drifted away from her for a moment, to something/nothing in the background. Velma reached up to touch his cheek, trying to get him to look back at her.

"I'd love that," she said firmly. "Don't look at anything but me, doctor."

His eyes widened again, and she didn't think the shiver she felt go through him that time was fear, not with the hungry look that followed. "Oh," he said, voice low, "I think that can be arranged."