To Serve and Protect - Chapter 6
Title: To Serve and Protect
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: (eventual) NC-17
Summary: The beginning of the partnership that would change the face of Gotham.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Can’t imagine what I’d do with these two sexy men if they were left in my delicate care…
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
I remember feeling rushed when I wrote this chapter; something doesn't sit quite right about it to me, but I can't put my finger on it and I'm tired of trying to fix it.
Title: To Serve and Protect
Chapter Six
Summary: Gordon muses on the nature of trust.
Gordon woke to a rough hand brusquely giving him a nudge.
"Time to go." The Batman's voice held no inflection; the eyes were without emotion and the tone was cool and disconnected. Gordon stared at him blearily, wondering what the problem was, then flushed nearly puce as memory flooded back. God, he’d never been so wantonly obvious in his life, what had possessed him? And with this man, of all people! Panic blazed through him; to think that momentary insanity might have destroyed a preexisting trust, blown apart all the camaraderie they'd built up over the last couple days, the personal insights he'd gained. That all that might be lost to mere unfulfilled lusts…
But, thinking further, he realized the Batman hadn’t been cold or annoyed, merely neutral. Unaffected. Distant.
It should have been the ideal solution to the problem of this - attraction - that was flaring between them, but Gordon found himself perversely searching those eyes for a trace of the desire he'd seen there earlier. He was like a schoolboy with a crush, he thought sourly, always looking for the slightest sign of approval.
Batman held out a set of pills and Gordon tried to wave them away but he insisted.
"You’ll want them," he cautioned, gesturing to the far wall. Gordon turned to look, and saw the Batman’s motorcycle sitting idle on a lowered platform that receded from the ceiling. "I’m afraid the only way out is on that, and it wasn’t built for double occupancy. I’ll take it smoothly, but you’ll be jostled. Take them." Gordon took them, giddy at the thought of tinkering with another of the Bat’s vehicles, equally eager and apprehensive.
"Oh. And, don’t startle." The lights went out. Or so Gordon thought at first, but clever fingers were adjusting something around his ears, an object pulled tight across his forehead, and Gordon realized that he’d been blindfolded. Shock held him immobile long enough for the Bat to set it securely, then he reached up, angry and indignant.
"What-"
"Leave it," Batman said, and it was not a request. His hands were caught and held firmly, in spite of his tug to free them. "You can’t know this place. Even having you here was a risk in itself; if you leave with the knowledge of how to find it again, we’ll both be in danger." A moment passed when Gordon fought his natural instinct to remove the obstacle to his vision, fists clenched, and the Batman squeezed his fingers reassuringly. His glasses were placed in them, folded neatly.
"Trust me."
And what could Gordon say to that? Of course he did. So he let himself be led, blind and stumbling, to where he assumed the bike was waiting; each step he took seemed to trip him up and he had to be guided carefully over the small displacement of the ramp. A helmet was fitted over his head and buckled. Batman settled him on the padded seat, the span of the bike forcing his legs uncomfortably wide to support himself, and he had a thought.
"What time is it?"
"Late. It’s been dark several hours."
"You could drop me at the station, there a few things (people, he thought) I should check up on."
"I’ll get you home," Batman said implacably. "You should see your children before things have the chance to get… uglier."
Gordon felt the thought of going home settle into his stomach like lead, but he could hardly disagree, and he missed his children fiercely. Batman’s assurances aside, Gordon felt the same obsessive need from he’d gotten shot, to physically assure himself that his children were safe.
He nodded, then wondered if the man had been watching, then wondered if he should say something out loud, then decided it didn’t matter since the man wouldn’t care if he objected anyway.
The bike tipped slightly to the side and Gordon almost went with it before a hand steadied him. Rough, armor-clad legs settled in front of his own, rubbing in a very distracting sort of way, and he was drawn forward by an immovable grip, his arms encouraged to hold snug against the Batman’s stomach. Gordon swallowed and settled himself gingerly, trying at once to hold himself remote and stiff and failing miserably. If not for the disconcerting darkness from the blindfold and the trepidation at the idea of riding passenger on this vehicle without being able to see, Gordon was fairly certain his ‘problem’ would have been quiet obvious to the other from this vantage point.
A hand dropped reassuringly to his and the entire platform jolted and began to rise. Gordon lifted his head, ears straining for something beyond the grind of machinery and gears. When they stopped, Batman gunned the bike, leg scraping alongside Gordon’s inner thigh in a way that made him bite his lip and pray the kevlar was too thick to feel anything, er, untoward.
"Hold on," Batman warned, muscles tensing, and they were off.
It was the scariest and more exhilarating ride of Gordon’s life. It was truly like being blind, and blindly trusting. Anything could have happened and Gordon wouldn’t have been able to save himself. His ears struggled to pick up sounds but the rushing air was far too loud, and gradually his sense of touch began to spike off the chart, essentially his only means of detecting what was happening. The rush of the cold wind felt like fire, the warmth of the engine beneath him in stark contrast, but of course the most distracting portion of the journey was the man to whom he was clinging. Riding a motorcycle wasn’t an event designed for distance and Gordon found himself molded tight to the Batman’s back, grateful for the support and desperate not to notice it at the same time.
Straining his body for something else to occupy him it took him a moment to realize that the world was sinking. Or they were. It was really very hard to tell with no sense of depth perception, but he could swear that he and the Batman were descending at a steady, even pace from a certain height. It reminded him of the warehouse where this had all begun and he wondered briefly if the Batman had a lair on the top floor of some abandoned building. Moments later he squashed those thoughts and left them firmly behind. The blindfold was there for a reason, no need to go borrowing trouble by trying to circumvent it.
Though it did occur to Gordon to hope the Bat had some discretion in him when it came to driving. If his officers caught them and a chase occurred not only would Gordon be royally screwed for being seen with the man, but doubtless he’d be killed in the subsequent run from the authorities.
He lost all sense of time as they drove on, never stopping (he didn’t want to know how many red lights that meant they’d run through). The ride was as smooth as it could be, but Batman had of course been right. Gordon was injured and it shortly became painful to sit rigid and correct. Gradually he sagged forward, pressing his cheek against the hard armor gratefully and letting himself relax. A glove dropped from the handlebars to settle reassuringly atop his own, clasped at the waist in front of him, and he found himself smiling.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he was enjoying the ride. It was an odd realization to have seeing as, at any other time, a similar combination of blindness and 50 mile-per-hour speeds would have sent anyone into a panic. But he trusted the Batman. That was the worst part of it really. It was hard not to truly, genuinely like a man you could trust with your life, and liking him lead to far, far too many other things to go down that road.
They began to slow not long after that, taking wider turns more often, and Gordon was surprised to realize he recognized the tight alleyways connecting near his townhouse. Huh. Drive a route long enough and you could recognize it in your sleep, he thought.
When they stopped he had to press himself tight against the dark knight and it was with true regret that he felt his feet touch the ground. They were still for a moment as the bike sputtered to a stop beneath them, engine whispering into silence. Gordon found himself memorizing the feel of the man between his legs and realized he was storing up memories. The likelihood of being this close to the man again was remote and a dull pain in his chest made him take slow, easy breaths. Must be the bullet holes complaining about the rough ride. Right.
As the Bat dismounted, Gordon did the same, stepping carefully and reaching to remove the blindfold. But, Batman beat him to it, gloves slipping behind his ears and into his hair to untie the knot. A shiver wracked him at the light, almost ticklish feeling and he allowed himself this one last indulgence, unconsciously leaning toward the man as he dislodged the blindfold and pulled away.
He blinked, eyes adjusting quickly. The darkness was complete; if there was a moon tonight it was hiding itself well. He put on his glasses, focus sharpening on the man still standing before him, extending something silently. Gordon blinked and picked it up, examining it. It was small, compact, like a mini data device or a cell phone. A bat sigil graced one side of it.
"What’s this?" he asked.
"Contact. You’ll have your family tonight; press the bat emblem tomorrow or the next day when you’re ready for me and I’ll come. We need to plan this soon. If there’s another attempt and we’re not ready, it could go very badly."
Gordon heartily agreed but hesitated, staring at the device.
"It’s not a one-time use," Batman said quietly, as though reading his mind. "Keep it. It’s more subtle than a floodlight, anyway."
The device was temptation incarnate; a way to contact the mythical Batman, a personal line into the mans life, and it was a temptation he didn’t need but couldn’t bare to refuse. Gordon didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, pocketing it. They stood in momentary, uncomfortable silence, staring at each other until Batman’s eyes moved beyond him. Gordon turned and froze at the sight of his wife standing in the doorway, watching them through the mesh screen door, silent.
Now this, Gordon thought moodily, is awkward.
He turned back to say something, he wasn’t sure what - thank you, goodbye, be careful, slow down - but the Batman was already driving away, as silent as ever. Gordon watched him go, delaying going into the house for just a moment, feeling Barbara’s eyes burn into his back.
Perhaps he’d just been busy holding on for dear life. Or, perhaps it was because he was enjoying the trust between them too much to end it prematurely. But, as he watched the Batman ride away, he thought it in keeping with their understanding that he hadn’t mentioned he could have taken off the blindfold any time after they’d exited Batman’s home.
He thought it equally interesting that the Batman, always observant, never ignorant, and ever the gracious host, hadn’t offered.
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: (eventual) NC-17
Summary: The beginning of the partnership that would change the face of Gotham.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Can’t imagine what I’d do with these two sexy men if they were left in my delicate care…
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
I remember feeling rushed when I wrote this chapter; something doesn't sit quite right about it to me, but I can't put my finger on it and I'm tired of trying to fix it.
Title: To Serve and Protect
Chapter Six
Summary: Gordon muses on the nature of trust.
Gordon woke to a rough hand brusquely giving him a nudge.
"Time to go." The Batman's voice held no inflection; the eyes were without emotion and the tone was cool and disconnected. Gordon stared at him blearily, wondering what the problem was, then flushed nearly puce as memory flooded back. God, he’d never been so wantonly obvious in his life, what had possessed him? And with this man, of all people! Panic blazed through him; to think that momentary insanity might have destroyed a preexisting trust, blown apart all the camaraderie they'd built up over the last couple days, the personal insights he'd gained. That all that might be lost to mere unfulfilled lusts…
But, thinking further, he realized the Batman hadn’t been cold or annoyed, merely neutral. Unaffected. Distant.
It should have been the ideal solution to the problem of this - attraction - that was flaring between them, but Gordon found himself perversely searching those eyes for a trace of the desire he'd seen there earlier. He was like a schoolboy with a crush, he thought sourly, always looking for the slightest sign of approval.
Batman held out a set of pills and Gordon tried to wave them away but he insisted.
"You’ll want them," he cautioned, gesturing to the far wall. Gordon turned to look, and saw the Batman’s motorcycle sitting idle on a lowered platform that receded from the ceiling. "I’m afraid the only way out is on that, and it wasn’t built for double occupancy. I’ll take it smoothly, but you’ll be jostled. Take them." Gordon took them, giddy at the thought of tinkering with another of the Bat’s vehicles, equally eager and apprehensive.
"Oh. And, don’t startle." The lights went out. Or so Gordon thought at first, but clever fingers were adjusting something around his ears, an object pulled tight across his forehead, and Gordon realized that he’d been blindfolded. Shock held him immobile long enough for the Bat to set it securely, then he reached up, angry and indignant.
"What-"
"Leave it," Batman said, and it was not a request. His hands were caught and held firmly, in spite of his tug to free them. "You can’t know this place. Even having you here was a risk in itself; if you leave with the knowledge of how to find it again, we’ll both be in danger." A moment passed when Gordon fought his natural instinct to remove the obstacle to his vision, fists clenched, and the Batman squeezed his fingers reassuringly. His glasses were placed in them, folded neatly.
"Trust me."
And what could Gordon say to that? Of course he did. So he let himself be led, blind and stumbling, to where he assumed the bike was waiting; each step he took seemed to trip him up and he had to be guided carefully over the small displacement of the ramp. A helmet was fitted over his head and buckled. Batman settled him on the padded seat, the span of the bike forcing his legs uncomfortably wide to support himself, and he had a thought.
"What time is it?"
"Late. It’s been dark several hours."
"You could drop me at the station, there a few things (people, he thought) I should check up on."
"I’ll get you home," Batman said implacably. "You should see your children before things have the chance to get… uglier."
Gordon felt the thought of going home settle into his stomach like lead, but he could hardly disagree, and he missed his children fiercely. Batman’s assurances aside, Gordon felt the same obsessive need from he’d gotten shot, to physically assure himself that his children were safe.
He nodded, then wondered if the man had been watching, then wondered if he should say something out loud, then decided it didn’t matter since the man wouldn’t care if he objected anyway.
The bike tipped slightly to the side and Gordon almost went with it before a hand steadied him. Rough, armor-clad legs settled in front of his own, rubbing in a very distracting sort of way, and he was drawn forward by an immovable grip, his arms encouraged to hold snug against the Batman’s stomach. Gordon swallowed and settled himself gingerly, trying at once to hold himself remote and stiff and failing miserably. If not for the disconcerting darkness from the blindfold and the trepidation at the idea of riding passenger on this vehicle without being able to see, Gordon was fairly certain his ‘problem’ would have been quiet obvious to the other from this vantage point.
A hand dropped reassuringly to his and the entire platform jolted and began to rise. Gordon lifted his head, ears straining for something beyond the grind of machinery and gears. When they stopped, Batman gunned the bike, leg scraping alongside Gordon’s inner thigh in a way that made him bite his lip and pray the kevlar was too thick to feel anything, er, untoward.
"Hold on," Batman warned, muscles tensing, and they were off.
It was the scariest and more exhilarating ride of Gordon’s life. It was truly like being blind, and blindly trusting. Anything could have happened and Gordon wouldn’t have been able to save himself. His ears struggled to pick up sounds but the rushing air was far too loud, and gradually his sense of touch began to spike off the chart, essentially his only means of detecting what was happening. The rush of the cold wind felt like fire, the warmth of the engine beneath him in stark contrast, but of course the most distracting portion of the journey was the man to whom he was clinging. Riding a motorcycle wasn’t an event designed for distance and Gordon found himself molded tight to the Batman’s back, grateful for the support and desperate not to notice it at the same time.
Straining his body for something else to occupy him it took him a moment to realize that the world was sinking. Or they were. It was really very hard to tell with no sense of depth perception, but he could swear that he and the Batman were descending at a steady, even pace from a certain height. It reminded him of the warehouse where this had all begun and he wondered briefly if the Batman had a lair on the top floor of some abandoned building. Moments later he squashed those thoughts and left them firmly behind. The blindfold was there for a reason, no need to go borrowing trouble by trying to circumvent it.
Though it did occur to Gordon to hope the Bat had some discretion in him when it came to driving. If his officers caught them and a chase occurred not only would Gordon be royally screwed for being seen with the man, but doubtless he’d be killed in the subsequent run from the authorities.
He lost all sense of time as they drove on, never stopping (he didn’t want to know how many red lights that meant they’d run through). The ride was as smooth as it could be, but Batman had of course been right. Gordon was injured and it shortly became painful to sit rigid and correct. Gradually he sagged forward, pressing his cheek against the hard armor gratefully and letting himself relax. A glove dropped from the handlebars to settle reassuringly atop his own, clasped at the waist in front of him, and he found himself smiling.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he was enjoying the ride. It was an odd realization to have seeing as, at any other time, a similar combination of blindness and 50 mile-per-hour speeds would have sent anyone into a panic. But he trusted the Batman. That was the worst part of it really. It was hard not to truly, genuinely like a man you could trust with your life, and liking him lead to far, far too many other things to go down that road.
They began to slow not long after that, taking wider turns more often, and Gordon was surprised to realize he recognized the tight alleyways connecting near his townhouse. Huh. Drive a route long enough and you could recognize it in your sleep, he thought.
When they stopped he had to press himself tight against the dark knight and it was with true regret that he felt his feet touch the ground. They were still for a moment as the bike sputtered to a stop beneath them, engine whispering into silence. Gordon found himself memorizing the feel of the man between his legs and realized he was storing up memories. The likelihood of being this close to the man again was remote and a dull pain in his chest made him take slow, easy breaths. Must be the bullet holes complaining about the rough ride. Right.
As the Bat dismounted, Gordon did the same, stepping carefully and reaching to remove the blindfold. But, Batman beat him to it, gloves slipping behind his ears and into his hair to untie the knot. A shiver wracked him at the light, almost ticklish feeling and he allowed himself this one last indulgence, unconsciously leaning toward the man as he dislodged the blindfold and pulled away.
He blinked, eyes adjusting quickly. The darkness was complete; if there was a moon tonight it was hiding itself well. He put on his glasses, focus sharpening on the man still standing before him, extending something silently. Gordon blinked and picked it up, examining it. It was small, compact, like a mini data device or a cell phone. A bat sigil graced one side of it.
"What’s this?" he asked.
"Contact. You’ll have your family tonight; press the bat emblem tomorrow or the next day when you’re ready for me and I’ll come. We need to plan this soon. If there’s another attempt and we’re not ready, it could go very badly."
Gordon heartily agreed but hesitated, staring at the device.
"It’s not a one-time use," Batman said quietly, as though reading his mind. "Keep it. It’s more subtle than a floodlight, anyway."
The device was temptation incarnate; a way to contact the mythical Batman, a personal line into the mans life, and it was a temptation he didn’t need but couldn’t bare to refuse. Gordon didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, pocketing it. They stood in momentary, uncomfortable silence, staring at each other until Batman’s eyes moved beyond him. Gordon turned and froze at the sight of his wife standing in the doorway, watching them through the mesh screen door, silent.
Now this, Gordon thought moodily, is awkward.
He turned back to say something, he wasn’t sure what - thank you, goodbye, be careful, slow down - but the Batman was already driving away, as silent as ever. Gordon watched him go, delaying going into the house for just a moment, feeling Barbara’s eyes burn into his back.
Perhaps he’d just been busy holding on for dear life. Or, perhaps it was because he was enjoying the trust between them too much to end it prematurely. But, as he watched the Batman ride away, he thought it in keeping with their understanding that he hadn’t mentioned he could have taken off the blindfold any time after they’d exited Batman’s home.
He thought it equally interesting that the Batman, always observant, never ignorant, and ever the gracious host, hadn’t offered.