Business and Pleasure (DC)
The gossip magazines had had a field day from the rumor that sprung up from that visit.
Tim smiles and pushes his fingers through the fringe of ink black hair at his brow. “How about ‘none of the above,’ Brucie,” Tim says as he makes room for his body on Bruce’s big desk. “I made an appointment.”
Bruce has to blink at that and he finds himself looking at Tim as though he has never seen the teenager in front of him in that particular light. “An appointment,” he repeats, “You?” I thought you liked the element of surprise.”
“I still have it don’t I?” Tim reaches for something on Bruce’s desk --a silver perpetual motion machine that rotates in slow circles next to Bruce’s solid gold nameplate-- and slides his fingertips over one gleaming silver tip. “This is new.”
There’s something about that fact, that Tim is able to recognize the most minute changes in the décor of Bruce’s office. However, Bruce has better things to do than let himself fixate on Tim’s near-constant presence in his office. “It’s a gift from Stark,” Bruce says, “I think he thought my office needed to be as tacky as his.”
Tim flicks at the little knickknack, resetting its rotation pattern without a second thought. “I don’t think it’s tacky.”
“Then you take it home.”
Tim laughs and shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says, “I didn’t come here to clean you out. I came here on business.”
Bruce feels his eyebrows lit and he just looks at Tim in silence for a moment. One day, Tim will come to his office without a surprise up his sleeve for Bruce. Today, however, is not that day. “Business,” Bruce asks, “Not pleasure?” Bruce tries not to let himself sound as disappointed as he feels. “What did you mother send you here to ask me for this time?”
If Tim picks up on the bitterness that leeches into Bruce’s voice at the end of his question, the teenager doesn’t let it show. He crosses his legs at the knee and then starts to trail his fingers over the mahogany wood top of Bruce’s desk. “Oh,” Tim says in a pointedly casual tone, “Not much. She just wants you to agree to meet with her more than once this year.”
“I saw her last week, Tim, “Bruce points out in a dry tone. “I even talked to her. What more could your mother want from me?”
Tim starts ticking points off by using his fingers. “First of all,” Tim says, “That was at a party --someone else’s party I might add. Second, you spilled red wine on her new white dress. You weren’t talking to her so much as you were apologizing.”
Bruce at least has the grace to look ashamed of his actions. “That was an accident,” he mutters underneath his breath, “If I agree to let your mother try and talk me into a partnership again, can we end this?” I do have work to do, Tim.”
“Bruce, I--” Tim makes a soft noise of marked frustration and then hops right off Bruce’s desk. His shoes make a soft slapping noise on the tiled floor and before Bruce can say anything, Tim puts his hands on the armrests of Bruce’s big office chair and leans in close. “I told you I was here on business,” Tim says with hope and something undefinable shining naked in his eyes. “But we’re done with business now so why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad,” Bruce lies on instinct. At Tim’s narrow-eyed glare, he attempts to fix things. “I’m not mad at you, Tim,” he says, “I’m just...” Bruce trails off, finding himself at a loss for words.
Tim picks off where Bruce had left off. “Frustrated with my mother,” he says, voice lifting in question. “Aren’t we all? But like I said, I came for business. Now that it’s done, I’m staying for something else.” Tim licks his lips, wetting them with a slow swipe of the tongue.
Against his better judgment, Bruce finds himself staring at Tim’s soft pink mouth. “And what might that me?”
“I scheduled a two-hour long appointment with you, Bruce,” Tim says with a sharp-edged smile at the ready. His hands move from the chair to Bruce’s body, the fingers of one hand curling around the blue silk tie knotted around Bruce’s thick neck. “We’re not going to be interrupted any time soon. “Tim tugs once on the end of Bruce’s tie, yanking him forward with no trouble at all.
Bruce is more than willing and gives nothing that even resembles resistance.
“Two hours alone in your office with you,” Tim says as he slings one leg over Bruce’s thigh as a precursor to straddling the other man’s lap. “What do you think I have in mind?”
Bruce smiles and shifts in his seat as he feels the familiar heat of burgeoning arousal start to burn in his belly. “Pleasure,” Bruce offers.
Tim stops just short of slanting his mouth over Bruce’s own. “Damn straight.”
Tim smiles and pushes his fingers through the fringe of ink black hair at his brow. “How about ‘none of the above,’ Brucie,” Tim says as he makes room for his body on Bruce’s big desk. “I made an appointment.”
Bruce has to blink at that and he finds himself looking at Tim as though he has never seen the teenager in front of him in that particular light. “An appointment,” he repeats, “You?” I thought you liked the element of surprise.”
“I still have it don’t I?” Tim reaches for something on Bruce’s desk --a silver perpetual motion machine that rotates in slow circles next to Bruce’s solid gold nameplate-- and slides his fingertips over one gleaming silver tip. “This is new.”
There’s something about that fact, that Tim is able to recognize the most minute changes in the décor of Bruce’s office. However, Bruce has better things to do than let himself fixate on Tim’s near-constant presence in his office. “It’s a gift from Stark,” Bruce says, “I think he thought my office needed to be as tacky as his.”
Tim flicks at the little knickknack, resetting its rotation pattern without a second thought. “I don’t think it’s tacky.”
“Then you take it home.”
Tim laughs and shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says, “I didn’t come here to clean you out. I came here on business.”
Bruce feels his eyebrows lit and he just looks at Tim in silence for a moment. One day, Tim will come to his office without a surprise up his sleeve for Bruce. Today, however, is not that day. “Business,” Bruce asks, “Not pleasure?” Bruce tries not to let himself sound as disappointed as he feels. “What did you mother send you here to ask me for this time?”
If Tim picks up on the bitterness that leeches into Bruce’s voice at the end of his question, the teenager doesn’t let it show. He crosses his legs at the knee and then starts to trail his fingers over the mahogany wood top of Bruce’s desk. “Oh,” Tim says in a pointedly casual tone, “Not much. She just wants you to agree to meet with her more than once this year.”
“I saw her last week, Tim, “Bruce points out in a dry tone. “I even talked to her. What more could your mother want from me?”
Tim starts ticking points off by using his fingers. “First of all,” Tim says, “That was at a party --someone else’s party I might add. Second, you spilled red wine on her new white dress. You weren’t talking to her so much as you were apologizing.”
Bruce at least has the grace to look ashamed of his actions. “That was an accident,” he mutters underneath his breath, “If I agree to let your mother try and talk me into a partnership again, can we end this?” I do have work to do, Tim.”
“Bruce, I--” Tim makes a soft noise of marked frustration and then hops right off Bruce’s desk. His shoes make a soft slapping noise on the tiled floor and before Bruce can say anything, Tim puts his hands on the armrests of Bruce’s big office chair and leans in close. “I told you I was here on business,” Tim says with hope and something undefinable shining naked in his eyes. “But we’re done with business now so why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad,” Bruce lies on instinct. At Tim’s narrow-eyed glare, he attempts to fix things. “I’m not mad at you, Tim,” he says, “I’m just...” Bruce trails off, finding himself at a loss for words.
Tim picks off where Bruce had left off. “Frustrated with my mother,” he says, voice lifting in question. “Aren’t we all? But like I said, I came for business. Now that it’s done, I’m staying for something else.” Tim licks his lips, wetting them with a slow swipe of the tongue.
Against his better judgment, Bruce finds himself staring at Tim’s soft pink mouth. “And what might that me?”
“I scheduled a two-hour long appointment with you, Bruce,” Tim says with a sharp-edged smile at the ready. His hands move from the chair to Bruce’s body, the fingers of one hand curling around the blue silk tie knotted around Bruce’s thick neck. “We’re not going to be interrupted any time soon. “Tim tugs once on the end of Bruce’s tie, yanking him forward with no trouble at all.
Bruce is more than willing and gives nothing that even resembles resistance.
“Two hours alone in your office with you,” Tim says as he slings one leg over Bruce’s thigh as a precursor to straddling the other man’s lap. “What do you think I have in mind?”
Bruce smiles and shifts in his seat as he feels the familiar heat of burgeoning arousal start to burn in his belly. “Pleasure,” Bruce offers.
Tim stops just short of slanting his mouth over Bruce’s own. “Damn straight.”