First Times (Usually Lead To Seconds)
Title: First Times (Usually Lead To Seconds)
Rating: R
Pairing: Bruce/Gordon
A/N: tie-in with kubis' First Time For Everything. Great thanks to her for letting me play with this :). And with love for juana_a for the mental images, she knows what I mean :)
The first time he had almost (and he was eternally grateful to whatever deity looked after men and bats alike, for the 'almost' part) gave in and kissed Jim Gordon was under the most inconvenient circumstances. Not the worst possible, no, but he had a hard time imagining worse, and imagine he did try, in an effort to will his erection to fade.
Bruce Wayne had just happened to provide the necessary distraction for the police commissioner to reach his weapon unnoticed by the thugs who held up the guests at the Wayne's fundraiser (and he really needed to stop throwing those, because gods, they apparently never ended well). Much as Bruce hoped, Jim Gordon with a gun was enough to remedy the situation in no time (impressive, actually, but not that surprising), and soon, as the arriving officers started making arrests and escorting the guests out, Gordon searched him out in the crowd.
"Mr Wayne," Jim said, extending his hand, his voice just a little rough and his breathing still a little hastened, and of course, let's not forget the suit he was wearing, again. Bruce certainly couldn't, and neither could his dick. For heaven's sake, it was really starting to be infuriating. "Are you alright?" Gordon's eyes held warmth that not even Batman had had directed at himself ever before, but it was faintly familiar to Bruce Wayne, from long ago. Concern. Comfort. Not helping at all, in his current predicament.
"Just great," Bruce smiled widely, trying his best not to sound sarcastic, or betray in any other way that he was lying through his teeth. "Just a little..." wired, dizzy, incredibly turned on, hard... "confused," he settled for.
Gordon laughed, saying something Bruce didn't quite catch, what with the ringing in his ears, and Jim's face all too close to his, bow tie now untied and top buttons of his shirt undone, and this was a really, really bad idea...
"Master Bruce, your guests are leaving." Never was Alfred's clipped tone so well-timed and so unwelcome at the same time.
"Thank you, Alfred. If you'll excuse me, Commissioner."
He considered firing Alfred for that knowing smirk he had offered, but wasn't so sure Alfred would agree to be rehired.
Hours later, guests long gone, along with the police, and the cleaning crew, he stares at the ceiling in the bedroom he uses so rarely it's still unfamiliar. But the feeling low in his stomach, that's not new, and once again it's connected to Jim Gordon, and it was inconvenient enough when only the Batman got it, looking into Jim's open face, finding trust and honesty (and it shouldn't be that addicting, but God help him it was), but now that just a memory of a handshake and an approving smile was enough to have Bruce Wayne slowly stroke himself through his pants...
A little voice at the back of his head, sounding suspiciously British, suggests therapy. Like that would help. The only good thing about this is that even the imaginary Alfred sounds disapproving enough to have an effect of a cold shower, and Bruce spends the next few hours watching the play of lights in the city below, until the sun shyly came up on the horizon.
"Good Morning, Master Bruce," Alfred says, coming in with the breakfast tray, sounding too smug for Bruce's liking. "The party made both the social and crime columns. Again."
"That sounded suspiciously like a complaint, Alfred."
"It was one, Sir. Please remember that bloodstains aren't easy to remove from the carpeting." He fills the coffee cup, and straightens up, his expression unreadable. He's good at unreadable expressions, Bruce had always wondered if it was a British thing. "There's also a message for you," he says and pauses for long enough to cause Bruce to roll his eyes. The penchant for drama is undoubtedly an Alfred thing. "Commissioner Gordon would like to take your statement on last night's events, at a time convenient for you."
Bruce held his gaze for a long moment, trying not to give anything away. Finally, he sighed. "Say it, Alfred."
"I can't imagine what you mean, Sir."
"Alfred."
"Of course, in my time, we didn't call it 'giving statements', but I guess that the times change."
"Thank you, Alfred. Is that all?"
"Should I call the Commissioner back and tell him that any time of his choosing would be, ah, convenient?"
"That will be all, Alfred."
This entire thing seems like a really bad idea, but usually Alfred is the first one (and yes, the only one), to point out the idiocy of his ideas, and now he's being almost encouraging. Maybe, just maybe, this isn't going to end up disastrously.
But even if it does, Bruce thinks, absently tying the knot on his tie, it will probably be worth it.
Rating: R
Pairing: Bruce/Gordon
A/N: tie-in with kubis' First Time For Everything. Great thanks to her for letting me play with this :). And with love for juana_a for the mental images, she knows what I mean :)
The first time he had almost (and he was eternally grateful to whatever deity looked after men and bats alike, for the 'almost' part) gave in and kissed Jim Gordon was under the most inconvenient circumstances. Not the worst possible, no, but he had a hard time imagining worse, and imagine he did try, in an effort to will his erection to fade.
Bruce Wayne had just happened to provide the necessary distraction for the police commissioner to reach his weapon unnoticed by the thugs who held up the guests at the Wayne's fundraiser (and he really needed to stop throwing those, because gods, they apparently never ended well). Much as Bruce hoped, Jim Gordon with a gun was enough to remedy the situation in no time (impressive, actually, but not that surprising), and soon, as the arriving officers started making arrests and escorting the guests out, Gordon searched him out in the crowd.
"Mr Wayne," Jim said, extending his hand, his voice just a little rough and his breathing still a little hastened, and of course, let's not forget the suit he was wearing, again. Bruce certainly couldn't, and neither could his dick. For heaven's sake, it was really starting to be infuriating. "Are you alright?" Gordon's eyes held warmth that not even Batman had had directed at himself ever before, but it was faintly familiar to Bruce Wayne, from long ago. Concern. Comfort. Not helping at all, in his current predicament.
"Just great," Bruce smiled widely, trying his best not to sound sarcastic, or betray in any other way that he was lying through his teeth. "Just a little..." wired, dizzy, incredibly turned on, hard... "confused," he settled for.
Gordon laughed, saying something Bruce didn't quite catch, what with the ringing in his ears, and Jim's face all too close to his, bow tie now untied and top buttons of his shirt undone, and this was a really, really bad idea...
"Master Bruce, your guests are leaving." Never was Alfred's clipped tone so well-timed and so unwelcome at the same time.
"Thank you, Alfred. If you'll excuse me, Commissioner."
He considered firing Alfred for that knowing smirk he had offered, but wasn't so sure Alfred would agree to be rehired.
Hours later, guests long gone, along with the police, and the cleaning crew, he stares at the ceiling in the bedroom he uses so rarely it's still unfamiliar. But the feeling low in his stomach, that's not new, and once again it's connected to Jim Gordon, and it was inconvenient enough when only the Batman got it, looking into Jim's open face, finding trust and honesty (and it shouldn't be that addicting, but God help him it was), but now that just a memory of a handshake and an approving smile was enough to have Bruce Wayne slowly stroke himself through his pants...
A little voice at the back of his head, sounding suspiciously British, suggests therapy. Like that would help. The only good thing about this is that even the imaginary Alfred sounds disapproving enough to have an effect of a cold shower, and Bruce spends the next few hours watching the play of lights in the city below, until the sun shyly came up on the horizon.
"Good Morning, Master Bruce," Alfred says, coming in with the breakfast tray, sounding too smug for Bruce's liking. "The party made both the social and crime columns. Again."
"That sounded suspiciously like a complaint, Alfred."
"It was one, Sir. Please remember that bloodstains aren't easy to remove from the carpeting." He fills the coffee cup, and straightens up, his expression unreadable. He's good at unreadable expressions, Bruce had always wondered if it was a British thing. "There's also a message for you," he says and pauses for long enough to cause Bruce to roll his eyes. The penchant for drama is undoubtedly an Alfred thing. "Commissioner Gordon would like to take your statement on last night's events, at a time convenient for you."
Bruce held his gaze for a long moment, trying not to give anything away. Finally, he sighed. "Say it, Alfred."
"I can't imagine what you mean, Sir."
"Alfred."
"Of course, in my time, we didn't call it 'giving statements', but I guess that the times change."
"Thank you, Alfred. Is that all?"
"Should I call the Commissioner back and tell him that any time of his choosing would be, ah, convenient?"
"That will be all, Alfred."
This entire thing seems like a really bad idea, but usually Alfred is the first one (and yes, the only one), to point out the idiocy of his ideas, and now he's being almost encouraging. Maybe, just maybe, this isn't going to end up disastrously.
But even if it does, Bruce thinks, absently tying the knot on his tie, it will probably be worth it.