FIC: Go Your Own Way (5/12)
Title: Go Your Own Way
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Lots of dirty talk, daddy issue kink. Not really that much plot.
Summary: Bruce Wayne spends time on Jim Gordon's side of the tracks, as it were.
A/N: Story is finished. Please mind warnings.
Previous: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
Go Your Own Way, chapter 5
If Bruce Wayne made it to Gordon’s apartment that night, Gordon missed him. The arrest Batman had helped him set up took a while, though they were successful. Not only did he and the Bat bag the perp they were gunning for, but one of his accomplices who had heretofore been unknown. Then Gordon had to take them to get booked. He didn’t get home until the wee hours so he could sleep for two or three of them, and then he was back at the MCU.
But he did see Wayne the next night. They had sex. They didn’t have Pasta Roni.
Gordon wouldn’t have said it got to be a routine, him and Wayne. There was really no pattern to it. Wayne showed up whenever he willed it, and Gordon happened to be at home some of those times. He certainly didn’t wait around for Wayne to show up; he still didn’t count on it, didn’t expect it. But when it happened, Gordon let it.
Wayne didn’t just swing by to see Gordon for sex. When he came around the MCU, or dallied at City Hall because he knew Gordon had a meeting, he came to talk about the Police Foundation, new technologies, what Gordon could reveal of cases they were working on.
They often went to grab a bite-not at the diner, because Joe had banned them over the issue of Wayne’s paparazzi. Wayne always made Gordon pick the restaurant, then followed him around like the puppy Gordon had likened him to once. Gordon selected holes in the wall, maybe because he was trying to push Wayne’s limits. Maybe because he knew it was what Wayne wanted from Gordon-something common, low-down. Nothing fancy. Mostly, Gordon picked those places because they were the places he was used to, and Wayne would just have to deal. If he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to go.
But Wayne always seemed to like it. He still ate with enthusiasm, and ordered two meals at least wherever they went. Lots of times he polished off Gordon's as well. Sometimes Wayne even resorted to stabbing food off Gordon's plate, which was never seemed intimate and always seemed like he was half-starved. Gordon asked him once whether he ever ate at home. Wayne just said, "You get tired of protein shakes, bananas, and steaks. And that caviar shit."
He also seemed to enjoy the waiters and waitresses, the cashiers at the counter when the place wasn't even up-scale enough for floor staff. Wayne always left them bigger bills than even the price of putting up with him accounted for, and sometimes seemed like he ordered dessert just to flirt some more (though he always ate dessert, too). Gordon sometimes thought Wayne was just an incorrigible flirt, and never meant anything by it. Except when he did.
There was the time they were getting pizza at Fuzzy's, where there were loud arcades and plastic table cloths, and they had a little blonde waitress. Wayne had been going at her all night, licking his lips when she'd said she'd bring the pizza, asking if she was old enough to bring him a beer. He acted like a homeless man looking for a meal, already thinking of where he could get his next fuck when he finished the one he was in the process of procuring. He and Gordon had just started the pizza when Gordon got called in about a hostage situation. Gordon was already putting on his coat when courtesy caught up with him. "You should stay," he told Wayne lamely. "Finish the pizza."
Wayne was standing too. "Don't think so," he said jovially, but his gaze was directed to the other side of the room. "I suddenly find I have business too."
Gordon couldn't resist. He looked, and there was the little blonde. She'd apparently gone off shift, because she was taking off her apron and lingering by the door, waiting for her ride, maybe, or Wayne. Or to make Wayne her ride. Wayne was already making his way toward her, looking twice as hungry as before, except apparently not for pizza. That was the first time Gordon paid.
But at Gordon's apartment, Wayne didn't seem to suffer from the lack of wait staff to make eyes at. He seemed to like Pasta Roni about as much as anything, and stole Gordon's bad beer and cheap cigarettes. He put his feet up on the water-stained coffee table and watched Gordon's tiny TV, and sucked Gordon off on Gordon's dilapidated couch.
When they fucked it was always in Gordon’s apartment, but sometimes they talked there, too, about the same sorts of things-difficulties the department faced, the news. Wayne only ever seemed interested in his amused, detached way, but Gordon still felt the same sense of relief when talking to him. It was good to talk to someone who wouldn’t worry, who wouldn’t recognize these matters as life or death. They were life or death-but they were Gordon’s job, too. He dealt with them every day, and sometimes he needed to get them off his chest so he could do the other things in life.
Sometimes it did seem as though Wayne would get interested, in spite of himself. His comments were simplistic, obvious. Once or twice, though, that straight forward insight had proven valuable, though probably not in the way Wayne meant it.
Once Wayne mentioned that once you had your eye on one thing, someone else had something bigger. Wayne was talking about the crime lab, the lasers or something, but it reminded Gordon of something he’d once said to Batman. And it reminded him of the way he was so focused on these AKs proliferating, and the fact that horrible and dangerous as AKs were, they could be covering the dealing of things far more dangerous. It occurred to Gordon this may be the key to what he and Batman were working on, the way inside.
It made Wayne ask why he was smiling.
“What about escalation?” Gordon said.
Wayne frowned. “What about it?”
“Someone holds you up with a stapler, next thing you know, he's got a tank.”
“Squad cars, not tanks,” Wayne said, mildly amused. "Stay with me here."
“I know,” Gordon said. He kissed him and reached for his cock. “I was saying: I like it when you talk dirty.”
Bruce Wayne always had sex with his clothes on. Sometimes they made it to the bed, though Wayne never stayed, but even then, the shoes and socks would go, but there was always a shirt, usually slacks. Gordon thought it was odd, but there was a lot about Wayne that was odd, and he didn’t bother to ask. Maybe it had to do with the way Wayne liked to direct the fucking from the bottom sometimes-some measure of control. Maybe it had something to do with homophobia, or maybe it was a kink.
Gordon didn’t know; he thought rich kids with fucked up childhoods were liable to have a lot more twisted quirks than Wayne actually did. Wayne probably thought his bisexuality was some kind of aberration, though Gordon had always found his own rather natural. But he did think Wayne’s difficult early years had probably led to rebellion and experimentation. Wayne had probably spent a long time searching for his identity, still was, it seemed like. That would have helped him to explore his sexuality in a way a lot of guys who took it for granted they were heterosexual never had.
As far as actual kinks, Wayne only had the few. The clothes, the dark. The things he liked Gordon to say when they were fucking, liked Gordon to call him. The smoking: usually when Gordon smoked after sex, Wayne stole a cigarette, though Gordon never saw him smoking otherwise.
A couple times, too, Wayne talked about Ducard, the guy he’d mentioned after the first time they had sex. Wayne talked about his personal life other times, too, but usually it was about parties or models or sports cars, or a myriad of other subjects Gordon knew nothing about. Wayne was fairly talented at making conversation when he was clueless-namely, when Gordon talked about police work. Gordon, however, was dismal at it, and never knew what to say when Wayne talked about designer suits and sky-diving, and so didn’t say anything.
Ducard, though, was different. There was something there Gordon understood, something in Wayne’s voice. “You loved him,” Gordon pointed out finally, one night after a long hard fuck, and Wayne didn’t seem to be able to stop talking.
For a moment Wayne was silent, lying on the bed, drawing on his cigarette. “Yeah. You could say that. I would say that. Yes, I did; I loved him.”
Gordon didn’t ask whether Wayne wanted to talk about it, because obviously Wayne did. Gordon was well aware this was a reason Wayne was with him, these odd nights out, instead of the super models and pop stars still splashed all over the tabloids. Gordon knew Wayne liked that he was older, that he was experienced, careful, thoughtful.
Bruce Wayne liked that his father would have liked James Gordon.
That was undoubtedly another kink.
“What happened?” Gordon asked, not because he needed to know.
Wayne puffed on his cigarette some more. “He lied to me.”
Gordon nodded. “He was married?”
“No.” Wayne was quiet for a while, letting the smoke curl into the air. “It was close enough, though. The vows he’d made.”
“She was a jealous type?” Gordon asked, still gentle.
Wayne shook his head. “No, he was. She was never even his to take, but he just-he used me to get to her. He used me.” Wayne looked into the distance, obviously lost in the memories.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Gordon said, because he had learned with his own children that you didn’t always say what you knew; you said what needed to be heard.
“I tried not to.” The ash tipped off the end of Wayne’s cigarette. “I tried . . . You know the worst of it, Jim? He didn’t even do it because he loved her. He wanted to destroy her.”
“Stop.” Gordon leaned over and took away Wayne’s cigarette. “You tried, that’s what’s important.”
“He thought I would go along with it. . . And sometimes I think he knew better, what I would do, what I’m capable of . . .”
Gordon kissed him. “Only you know what you’re capable of,” he said, and reached down to palm Wayne’s cock through his open pants, his boxers.
Wayne finally blinked up at Gordon, above him on the bed. “I trusted him,” he said, voice strangely blank. He looked like a lost child who hadn’t gotten his way. Gordon guessed maybe a bit of that was true, if Ducard cheating on him was the worst thing to happen to him since his parents’ death. Not that that was so very little, but there were worse things.
It didn’t make Gordon any less gentle.
“You said you trust me.” Gordon pulled on Wayne’s cock, working him steadily. “So do it. Trust me now.”
“Right.” Wayne reached for the lube, gave it to Gordon.
“Good.” Gordon took the lube, started spreading some on his fingers. “Good boy.”
“Christ,” Wayne said, and threw his head back as Gordon eased his finger in.
“Good,” Gordon said again. “That’s good. Trust me, my fingers inside you, getting you ready.”
Wayne opened his legs wider, wide as they would go in his half-down business slacks. Pity they wouldn’t go further, really; Gordon had always liked to see a man who spread for it.
He stopped to put a condom on, then Gordon pushed more fingers in, working the tight muscle. “Say it,” Wayne said.
“It’s alright,” Gordon said instead. “You’re tight and perfect for me, try to relax, get ready for me. You’re trying; you’re doing such a good job.”
“You know what I want,” Wayne said, and twitched as Gordon entered him. “You know.”
“You want me to fuck you?” Gordon said, holding off. Wayne was right, Gordon knew, but wouldn’t give it yet. If it had been someone else, the delay might have been because what Wayne wanted was even dirtier, but Gordon hardly ever even listened to the filthy things he said. They were mostly nonsense, just the things Wayne needed to hear.
Gordon never asked himself how he instinctively knew them. He’d rather not know. “You want me to tell you how nice and slick you are, since I got you all wet?” he was saying. “How easy you are, open like this? How good you are for me?”
“God,” Wayne said, blindly pulling Gordon’s head down for a kiss. Wayne’s mouth was warm and hungry, eager to suck Gordon’s tongue, and then just as quickly pulling away so Wayne could focus on the movements of his hips against Gordon’s. “Tell me,” Wayne panted. “You know what I wanna hear.”
“Don’t beg,” Gordon said, squeezing Wayne’s cock as he drove his own in deeper. “You can’t get what you want just by asking for it; the world isn’t your string. Maybe if you work for it, if you earn it, if you’re a good boy-”
“Jim,” Wayne huffed, “please-”
“Now you’ve got it,” Gordon said, because Wayne was tightening his ass and rolling his hips, pushing Gordon’s hand away on his own cock so he could get the rhythm perfect. “Good,” Gordon grunted. “Yeah, that’s so good, you’re doing beautiful, you’re beautiful. That’s right, perfect; it’s going to be alright.”
“Jim.” Wayne’s fingers were clamped around Gordon’s arms hard enough to leave bruises.
Gordon’s mouth was by his cheek, gentle and soft, despite the thrusting of his body. “It’s alright, son,” he said, and Wayne came.
Chapter Six
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Lots of dirty talk, daddy issue kink. Not really that much plot.
Summary: Bruce Wayne spends time on Jim Gordon's side of the tracks, as it were.
A/N: Story is finished. Please mind warnings.
Previous: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
Go Your Own Way, chapter 5
If Bruce Wayne made it to Gordon’s apartment that night, Gordon missed him. The arrest Batman had helped him set up took a while, though they were successful. Not only did he and the Bat bag the perp they were gunning for, but one of his accomplices who had heretofore been unknown. Then Gordon had to take them to get booked. He didn’t get home until the wee hours so he could sleep for two or three of them, and then he was back at the MCU.
But he did see Wayne the next night. They had sex. They didn’t have Pasta Roni.
Gordon wouldn’t have said it got to be a routine, him and Wayne. There was really no pattern to it. Wayne showed up whenever he willed it, and Gordon happened to be at home some of those times. He certainly didn’t wait around for Wayne to show up; he still didn’t count on it, didn’t expect it. But when it happened, Gordon let it.
Wayne didn’t just swing by to see Gordon for sex. When he came around the MCU, or dallied at City Hall because he knew Gordon had a meeting, he came to talk about the Police Foundation, new technologies, what Gordon could reveal of cases they were working on.
They often went to grab a bite-not at the diner, because Joe had banned them over the issue of Wayne’s paparazzi. Wayne always made Gordon pick the restaurant, then followed him around like the puppy Gordon had likened him to once. Gordon selected holes in the wall, maybe because he was trying to push Wayne’s limits. Maybe because he knew it was what Wayne wanted from Gordon-something common, low-down. Nothing fancy. Mostly, Gordon picked those places because they were the places he was used to, and Wayne would just have to deal. If he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to go.
But Wayne always seemed to like it. He still ate with enthusiasm, and ordered two meals at least wherever they went. Lots of times he polished off Gordon's as well. Sometimes Wayne even resorted to stabbing food off Gordon's plate, which was never seemed intimate and always seemed like he was half-starved. Gordon asked him once whether he ever ate at home. Wayne just said, "You get tired of protein shakes, bananas, and steaks. And that caviar shit."
He also seemed to enjoy the waiters and waitresses, the cashiers at the counter when the place wasn't even up-scale enough for floor staff. Wayne always left them bigger bills than even the price of putting up with him accounted for, and sometimes seemed like he ordered dessert just to flirt some more (though he always ate dessert, too). Gordon sometimes thought Wayne was just an incorrigible flirt, and never meant anything by it. Except when he did.
There was the time they were getting pizza at Fuzzy's, where there were loud arcades and plastic table cloths, and they had a little blonde waitress. Wayne had been going at her all night, licking his lips when she'd said she'd bring the pizza, asking if she was old enough to bring him a beer. He acted like a homeless man looking for a meal, already thinking of where he could get his next fuck when he finished the one he was in the process of procuring. He and Gordon had just started the pizza when Gordon got called in about a hostage situation. Gordon was already putting on his coat when courtesy caught up with him. "You should stay," he told Wayne lamely. "Finish the pizza."
Wayne was standing too. "Don't think so," he said jovially, but his gaze was directed to the other side of the room. "I suddenly find I have business too."
Gordon couldn't resist. He looked, and there was the little blonde. She'd apparently gone off shift, because she was taking off her apron and lingering by the door, waiting for her ride, maybe, or Wayne. Or to make Wayne her ride. Wayne was already making his way toward her, looking twice as hungry as before, except apparently not for pizza. That was the first time Gordon paid.
But at Gordon's apartment, Wayne didn't seem to suffer from the lack of wait staff to make eyes at. He seemed to like Pasta Roni about as much as anything, and stole Gordon's bad beer and cheap cigarettes. He put his feet up on the water-stained coffee table and watched Gordon's tiny TV, and sucked Gordon off on Gordon's dilapidated couch.
When they fucked it was always in Gordon’s apartment, but sometimes they talked there, too, about the same sorts of things-difficulties the department faced, the news. Wayne only ever seemed interested in his amused, detached way, but Gordon still felt the same sense of relief when talking to him. It was good to talk to someone who wouldn’t worry, who wouldn’t recognize these matters as life or death. They were life or death-but they were Gordon’s job, too. He dealt with them every day, and sometimes he needed to get them off his chest so he could do the other things in life.
Sometimes it did seem as though Wayne would get interested, in spite of himself. His comments were simplistic, obvious. Once or twice, though, that straight forward insight had proven valuable, though probably not in the way Wayne meant it.
Once Wayne mentioned that once you had your eye on one thing, someone else had something bigger. Wayne was talking about the crime lab, the lasers or something, but it reminded Gordon of something he’d once said to Batman. And it reminded him of the way he was so focused on these AKs proliferating, and the fact that horrible and dangerous as AKs were, they could be covering the dealing of things far more dangerous. It occurred to Gordon this may be the key to what he and Batman were working on, the way inside.
It made Wayne ask why he was smiling.
“What about escalation?” Gordon said.
Wayne frowned. “What about it?”
“Someone holds you up with a stapler, next thing you know, he's got a tank.”
“Squad cars, not tanks,” Wayne said, mildly amused. "Stay with me here."
“I know,” Gordon said. He kissed him and reached for his cock. “I was saying: I like it when you talk dirty.”
Bruce Wayne always had sex with his clothes on. Sometimes they made it to the bed, though Wayne never stayed, but even then, the shoes and socks would go, but there was always a shirt, usually slacks. Gordon thought it was odd, but there was a lot about Wayne that was odd, and he didn’t bother to ask. Maybe it had to do with the way Wayne liked to direct the fucking from the bottom sometimes-some measure of control. Maybe it had something to do with homophobia, or maybe it was a kink.
Gordon didn’t know; he thought rich kids with fucked up childhoods were liable to have a lot more twisted quirks than Wayne actually did. Wayne probably thought his bisexuality was some kind of aberration, though Gordon had always found his own rather natural. But he did think Wayne’s difficult early years had probably led to rebellion and experimentation. Wayne had probably spent a long time searching for his identity, still was, it seemed like. That would have helped him to explore his sexuality in a way a lot of guys who took it for granted they were heterosexual never had.
As far as actual kinks, Wayne only had the few. The clothes, the dark. The things he liked Gordon to say when they were fucking, liked Gordon to call him. The smoking: usually when Gordon smoked after sex, Wayne stole a cigarette, though Gordon never saw him smoking otherwise.
A couple times, too, Wayne talked about Ducard, the guy he’d mentioned after the first time they had sex. Wayne talked about his personal life other times, too, but usually it was about parties or models or sports cars, or a myriad of other subjects Gordon knew nothing about. Wayne was fairly talented at making conversation when he was clueless-namely, when Gordon talked about police work. Gordon, however, was dismal at it, and never knew what to say when Wayne talked about designer suits and sky-diving, and so didn’t say anything.
Ducard, though, was different. There was something there Gordon understood, something in Wayne’s voice. “You loved him,” Gordon pointed out finally, one night after a long hard fuck, and Wayne didn’t seem to be able to stop talking.
For a moment Wayne was silent, lying on the bed, drawing on his cigarette. “Yeah. You could say that. I would say that. Yes, I did; I loved him.”
Gordon didn’t ask whether Wayne wanted to talk about it, because obviously Wayne did. Gordon was well aware this was a reason Wayne was with him, these odd nights out, instead of the super models and pop stars still splashed all over the tabloids. Gordon knew Wayne liked that he was older, that he was experienced, careful, thoughtful.
Bruce Wayne liked that his father would have liked James Gordon.
That was undoubtedly another kink.
“What happened?” Gordon asked, not because he needed to know.
Wayne puffed on his cigarette some more. “He lied to me.”
Gordon nodded. “He was married?”
“No.” Wayne was quiet for a while, letting the smoke curl into the air. “It was close enough, though. The vows he’d made.”
“She was a jealous type?” Gordon asked, still gentle.
Wayne shook his head. “No, he was. She was never even his to take, but he just-he used me to get to her. He used me.” Wayne looked into the distance, obviously lost in the memories.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Gordon said, because he had learned with his own children that you didn’t always say what you knew; you said what needed to be heard.
“I tried not to.” The ash tipped off the end of Wayne’s cigarette. “I tried . . . You know the worst of it, Jim? He didn’t even do it because he loved her. He wanted to destroy her.”
“Stop.” Gordon leaned over and took away Wayne’s cigarette. “You tried, that’s what’s important.”
“He thought I would go along with it. . . And sometimes I think he knew better, what I would do, what I’m capable of . . .”
Gordon kissed him. “Only you know what you’re capable of,” he said, and reached down to palm Wayne’s cock through his open pants, his boxers.
Wayne finally blinked up at Gordon, above him on the bed. “I trusted him,” he said, voice strangely blank. He looked like a lost child who hadn’t gotten his way. Gordon guessed maybe a bit of that was true, if Ducard cheating on him was the worst thing to happen to him since his parents’ death. Not that that was so very little, but there were worse things.
It didn’t make Gordon any less gentle.
“You said you trust me.” Gordon pulled on Wayne’s cock, working him steadily. “So do it. Trust me now.”
“Right.” Wayne reached for the lube, gave it to Gordon.
“Good.” Gordon took the lube, started spreading some on his fingers. “Good boy.”
“Christ,” Wayne said, and threw his head back as Gordon eased his finger in.
“Good,” Gordon said again. “That’s good. Trust me, my fingers inside you, getting you ready.”
Wayne opened his legs wider, wide as they would go in his half-down business slacks. Pity they wouldn’t go further, really; Gordon had always liked to see a man who spread for it.
He stopped to put a condom on, then Gordon pushed more fingers in, working the tight muscle. “Say it,” Wayne said.
“It’s alright,” Gordon said instead. “You’re tight and perfect for me, try to relax, get ready for me. You’re trying; you’re doing such a good job.”
“You know what I want,” Wayne said, and twitched as Gordon entered him. “You know.”
“You want me to fuck you?” Gordon said, holding off. Wayne was right, Gordon knew, but wouldn’t give it yet. If it had been someone else, the delay might have been because what Wayne wanted was even dirtier, but Gordon hardly ever even listened to the filthy things he said. They were mostly nonsense, just the things Wayne needed to hear.
Gordon never asked himself how he instinctively knew them. He’d rather not know. “You want me to tell you how nice and slick you are, since I got you all wet?” he was saying. “How easy you are, open like this? How good you are for me?”
“God,” Wayne said, blindly pulling Gordon’s head down for a kiss. Wayne’s mouth was warm and hungry, eager to suck Gordon’s tongue, and then just as quickly pulling away so Wayne could focus on the movements of his hips against Gordon’s. “Tell me,” Wayne panted. “You know what I wanna hear.”
“Don’t beg,” Gordon said, squeezing Wayne’s cock as he drove his own in deeper. “You can’t get what you want just by asking for it; the world isn’t your string. Maybe if you work for it, if you earn it, if you’re a good boy-”
“Jim,” Wayne huffed, “please-”
“Now you’ve got it,” Gordon said, because Wayne was tightening his ass and rolling his hips, pushing Gordon’s hand away on his own cock so he could get the rhythm perfect. “Good,” Gordon grunted. “Yeah, that’s so good, you’re doing beautiful, you’re beautiful. That’s right, perfect; it’s going to be alright.”
“Jim.” Wayne’s fingers were clamped around Gordon’s arms hard enough to leave bruises.
Gordon’s mouth was by his cheek, gentle and soft, despite the thrusting of his body. “It’s alright, son,” he said, and Wayne came.
Chapter Six