Suits and Suitors - Chapter 4
Title: Suits and Suitors
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: NC-17 (really, I promise this time!)
Summary: Gordon’s life is never easy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way (usually).
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." ~Oscar Wilde
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 links are under the cut.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Summary: Where Gordon learns to mind his surroundings.
It seemed to Gordon, as he was inundated with earnest, idealistic rookie cops, that people wanting to save Gotham appeared to be coming out of the woodwork lately. Batman. Harvey Dent. Rachel Dawes. Bruce Wayne. The list just went on and on, and as he rifled through applicant after applicant for the department, he found himself wishing obscurely for the days when it had been just he, a Bat, and an array of high-tech gadgets up against the world of the criminal underbelly. It was a selfish, unworthy thought, but the excitement of launching a new frontier had often made him feel like an adrenaline junky. Now, he was lucky to actually squeeze outside his office for a quick check of the bullpen, let alone attend to an actual crime.
Not, he thought, that revamping the entire Gotham Police Department wasn't launching a new frontier (if it wasn't, Gordon didn't know what was). But, it desperately made him wish for the days when things had been infinitely simpler, if also more life threatening.
At the end of Wednesday afternoon he was fairly certain he'd exceeded the number of allowable recruits by at least a good half, and he was looking forward to having to explain that expense to the mayor next council meeting. Not. But, if they were to start a new order in Gotham, flush out all the criminal complacency, rid themselves of the remainder of the mob, he had no doubt that he could use all the help he could get. And that included green, fresh-from-the-academy rookies, costumed vigilantes, and any billionaires who offered (and those that didn’t).
When he was finally ready to pack it up for the day his bones practically creaked when he stood, crackling like driftwood. Sanchez sniped at him for being acting like such an old man - "Careful Commissioner, stay there any longer and we'll have to get a crowbar to pry you out" - well before his age should be telling the tale. Gordon ignored her, secretly amused at her antics. If there was a jester at the GPD, Sanchez fit the bill, and he found it interesting how often he relied on her caustic humor to get him through a long, terminally boring day at the office.
It wasn't quite five when he headed for the parking garage, leaving at, what was for him, an early hour. He tried to tell himself he was tired, he needed time for a long hot shower, he needed to pick out a casual-formal-casual outfit before getting ready, but truthfully, he was eager to go to dinner. It had been a long time - a very long time - since Gordon had felt excited to have a meal with a friend, someone he could actually talk about common interests with. It was a very strange thing indeed that Bruce Wayne should fit the bill of a potential conversationalist and friend. Gordon wasn't sure how or why it was happening, but Wayne had made the first overtures of friendship in his direction, and against all the odds, Gordon found himself looking forward to picking them up and seeing where they went.
And, also, in the long run keeping ones options open with regards to future, ahem, charitable donations to the GPD from well-intentioned, well-endowed sources was always a plus.
He auto-unlocked his car, opening the door and sliding in along the creaky leather seats. It was an old car and it made him think, with guilty pleasure, about the vehicle worth more than all his worldly possessions combined, picking him up tonight. Perhaps Alfred would let him drive.
He'd just put the keys in the ignition, lost in a fantasy about himself, no speed zones and open road, when a hand clamped down over his mouth.
His first instinct was to yell, but he was instantly muffled, so he went with his second; struggle. He found his attempt for his gun intercepted easily; when he threw an elbow, a move that would have broken the nose of a close-quarter assailant, the seat back got in the way, and he hit the cushion harmlessly. He reared up, intending to knock the person senseless with his skull, but met air. He was starting to panic and tried to turn, but the hand kept him immobile.
Mind leaping wildly from thought to thought he scrabbled at the steering wheel, reaching for the horn, but a long-fingered hand grabbed his own, locking the wrist. For the first time Gordon could see in his peripheral vision the reinforced kevlar suit. His heart, already pounding wildly, lurched, and he zeroed in on the rearview mirror, caught immediately by a pair of dark, burning eyes starting back at him. He went limp, so relieved he could hardly speak, utterly pliant under those hands. They settled on him - gently now that he wasn't struggling - and an unnamable thrill shot through Gordon, sexual heat and adrenaline and the residual traces of fear combining to light up his skin like fireworks.
"Jesus," he gasped, panting hard against the hand that braced his jaw, his eyes never leaving the others. "You scared ten years off my life. Damn."
"You should learn to mind your surroundings," the gravelly voice scolded him, some inner joke lighting up his expression with Batman's version of a chuckle. Gordon didn't take offense, though he could have. He always reveled in those times, so few before and happening more and more often, when the Batman proved his trust in Gordon by relaxing in his presence.
"I wouldn't have to if you would stop accosting me in police headquarters."
"And I suppose nearly being killed in your own office taught you nothing." The Bat frowned at him, at once chastising and aloof, and Gordon sighed, conceding the point. He was letting the exhilaration of a seemingly safe, crime-free office get to him.
"Alright. Alright." He had a thought to discretion and quickly glanced around but there were few cars down here and no one in sight. Halving your department payroll could have that effect on traffic.
The hand on his jaw slipped to his mouth, brushing over his moustache, across his lips, leaving them tingling faintly. Gordon let his tongue flicker out to taste the palm, salt, rubber and heat all coming back to him. It was a familiar taste, one he'd spent the last few months getting used to, as often as he could. Then he caught himself, acutely aware of where they were.
"Are you crazy?" He demanded, prying irritably at the Batman's grip, but he wouldn’t be moved. The hand at his wrist (and to think, he'd been going for the horn with that one, and wouldn't his officers have had something to say about that?) dropped to his thigh, tracing a teasing pattern upward. Gordon moaned and spread his legs, instinctively reacting to that touch. Before he could get lost, he forced himself to protest.
"We can't here. The risk..."
"Minor. Proximity sensors." the Bat purred in his ear, a shadow of darkness from which only a pair of eyes burned out of. "Unless you want an audience."
Gordon had never considered himself an exhibitionist before, but the very idea made his insides melt with hunger and embarrassing desire. Right, so he'd never been an exhibitionist before he'd met Batman. The hand on his thigh tugged, parting his legs further and he shuddered, eyes drifting closed.
"Open you eyes," he was commanded, and did, caught in the heat of that stare. The Batman looked, as he always did, ridiculous in artificial light, a man dressed up in a costume, but Gordon thought that he'd never seen anything more arousing than the sight of that mouth, those teeth, which just days ago had marked him, owned him. He panted, thrusting his hips up, and a hand settled over him, impatient and demanding. He fumbled his zipper down, not helped in the least by the Bat's callused fingers rubbing at him through his khaki's. Never once did they stop looking at each other; when he was taken in hand, hard and throbbing, he kept looking, eyes at half-mast. From the edges of his fading vision he could see that hand drop to his neck, settling there like possession made reality and he arched into it, wanting it, needing it, as he was stroked with a firm grip, up down, then again.
He reached down and laid his hand across the other mans so they were both jerking him with an easy, unhurried pace. After a moment the Batman's hand melted away until there was only his own stroking erratically, fingers tightening and relaxing in a very familiar rhythm.
"Keep going."
He breathed out hard, jolted all the way down to his toes at that intimate, demanding tone. He didn't stop pulling on himself in an uneven frenzy, approaching the peak far too fast for a man of his age. It wasn’t even a minute later that he felt it coming and closed his eyes.
A hand clamped down on him tightly, and he opened them again in surprise.
"Slowly." The hand demonstrated, setting a rhythm that seemed designed to kill him. He tried to mimic it, fighting the urge to go faster, harder, now. Long, hard stroke up the shaft, flick of the wrist at the head, shudder, slow glide down, repeat. Soon it began to drive him insane, the need for more transmitting up his entire body, tremors shaking him in his bones. He tired to speed up and was restrained.
"Please," he rasped.
The Batman didn't answer, but the hand holding his slowed him down even further. Gordon gasped.
"Uhn. Please."
The hand stopped.
Gordon snarled, frustrated and wanting and so hard it hurt, turned his head and sank his teeth into the palm of that sweat-salty hand.
Batman convulsed, shuddering all over, and it was the sight of it, the thought of it, the idea of the Bat coming from just the touch of his teeth, the growl of his voice, shaking and gasping behind him like a dying man. It pushed him over the edge and he tugged frantically, orgasm hitting him like a train, derailing everything inside him. It went on, hot pulses crashing through him, and when it was over he felt completely wrung out, utterly spent, and slumped back against his seat, cradling himself with one hand and clutching at his lover with the other.
Batman was limp against him, his full weight resting on the back of Gordon's seat, pressing him forward. Gordon waited for him to move, too spent to do anything, and it was a full minute before he saw the bowed head stir, cowl lifting to showcase its set of pointed ears. Gordon grinned at the image he presented; satiation was not a good look on Batman. Not very fear inspiring.
He entwined their fingers with the one hand, cradling them both against his naked thigh as the Bat straightened up, looking a little winded, but mostly just content. Gordon smiled.
"I hope you have a good dry cleaner," he murmured, bringing their clasped hands up to press a kiss against a bare knuckle. The fingers tightened on his own, a bat version of a hug. "If that suit stains I'm not responsible."
Batman laughed, a dry raspy chuckle that made Gordon's spent cock twitch with interest. He told it to shut up.
"I'll send you the bill," Batman promised, eyes hooded behind his mask. He disentangled their fingers, looking very unwilling, and tapped Gordon's cheek. The Commissioner, obligingly, turned his head, and they shared a quiet kiss. That was how they ended all of their encounters. Place, situation, humor aside, each time they had together was a new experience, and they both cherished what time they could take. But, beyond the sex, there was trust and respect, and the kiss was an unspoken promise of what lay ahead. Gordon thought that as hot as the sex was (and considering what little they'd managed to have, it was damn hot), the kisses were probably the parts he remembered most fondly.
Batman straightened and opened the backseat door.
"Wait," Gordon said, forcing back the lethargy for a moment. "I had something to do tonight, but I'll cancel it, if you've got the time to come with me now. For the night." Gotham, and Bruce Wayne, can wait one night, he thought.
Batman gave him an enigmatic look, somewhere between searching and hesitant. It was the least assertive expression he'd ever seen the Batman wear, and it struck an odd note inside Gordon that only fatigue kept him from exploring. At last the man merely shrugged. "Prior obligations tonight. I'll take you up on that another time. Enjoy your evening, Gordon."
As he watched the Batman leap to the nearest wall and glide off it, he reminded himself to tell him to call him Jim next time he saw him. Being called Gordon by the man didn't bother him - far from it - but he couldn't help thinking that normal couples didn't call each other by their last name. Of course, there was very little about their relationship that was normal, but still.
He luxuriated in the feeling of contentedness and, dare he say it, happiness that often followed an encounter with the Bat. His lover.
Dazed, he considered that. His lover, the Batman, he mused, laughing quietly out loud. Gordon rather thought that his old, simple life of near-death situations and turning a blind eye to crime were long past. If he had his way, nothing was ever going to be simple again.
And, he thought to himself, as he quickly readjusted his clothing with only a faint blush at the carnal acts that had put it askew, if he ever needed a good dose of adrenaline to remind him that simple didn't necessarily mean better, he certainly knew who to go to. Without a doubt.
The urge to commit suicide was less pronounced this time, when Alfred stopped at his apartment to pick him up nearly two hours later, arriving at a smart 6:45. Half of that was a pleasant sort of expectation for the upcoming evening, but a lot of it, Gordon admitted ruefully to himself, was from the sight of the sleek silver Lamborghini Reventon crawling up to the curb, all power and grace. Gordon might not know much about cars but he knew enough to recognize money and value when he saw it (it wasn't hard to spot, really, since that's all Bruce Wayne seemed inclined to buy).
He also knew enough to take advantage of a golden opportunity when it was presented to him, and it was with only the thinnest veneer of politeness that he kindly told Alfred to shove over, and let him drive.
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: NC-17 (really, I promise this time!)
Summary: Gordon’s life is never easy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way (usually).
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." ~Oscar Wilde
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 links are under the cut.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Summary: Where Gordon learns to mind his surroundings.
It seemed to Gordon, as he was inundated with earnest, idealistic rookie cops, that people wanting to save Gotham appeared to be coming out of the woodwork lately. Batman. Harvey Dent. Rachel Dawes. Bruce Wayne. The list just went on and on, and as he rifled through applicant after applicant for the department, he found himself wishing obscurely for the days when it had been just he, a Bat, and an array of high-tech gadgets up against the world of the criminal underbelly. It was a selfish, unworthy thought, but the excitement of launching a new frontier had often made him feel like an adrenaline junky. Now, he was lucky to actually squeeze outside his office for a quick check of the bullpen, let alone attend to an actual crime.
Not, he thought, that revamping the entire Gotham Police Department wasn't launching a new frontier (if it wasn't, Gordon didn't know what was). But, it desperately made him wish for the days when things had been infinitely simpler, if also more life threatening.
At the end of Wednesday afternoon he was fairly certain he'd exceeded the number of allowable recruits by at least a good half, and he was looking forward to having to explain that expense to the mayor next council meeting. Not. But, if they were to start a new order in Gotham, flush out all the criminal complacency, rid themselves of the remainder of the mob, he had no doubt that he could use all the help he could get. And that included green, fresh-from-the-academy rookies, costumed vigilantes, and any billionaires who offered (and those that didn’t).
When he was finally ready to pack it up for the day his bones practically creaked when he stood, crackling like driftwood. Sanchez sniped at him for being acting like such an old man - "Careful Commissioner, stay there any longer and we'll have to get a crowbar to pry you out" - well before his age should be telling the tale. Gordon ignored her, secretly amused at her antics. If there was a jester at the GPD, Sanchez fit the bill, and he found it interesting how often he relied on her caustic humor to get him through a long, terminally boring day at the office.
It wasn't quite five when he headed for the parking garage, leaving at, what was for him, an early hour. He tried to tell himself he was tired, he needed time for a long hot shower, he needed to pick out a casual-formal-casual outfit before getting ready, but truthfully, he was eager to go to dinner. It had been a long time - a very long time - since Gordon had felt excited to have a meal with a friend, someone he could actually talk about common interests with. It was a very strange thing indeed that Bruce Wayne should fit the bill of a potential conversationalist and friend. Gordon wasn't sure how or why it was happening, but Wayne had made the first overtures of friendship in his direction, and against all the odds, Gordon found himself looking forward to picking them up and seeing where they went.
And, also, in the long run keeping ones options open with regards to future, ahem, charitable donations to the GPD from well-intentioned, well-endowed sources was always a plus.
He auto-unlocked his car, opening the door and sliding in along the creaky leather seats. It was an old car and it made him think, with guilty pleasure, about the vehicle worth more than all his worldly possessions combined, picking him up tonight. Perhaps Alfred would let him drive.
He'd just put the keys in the ignition, lost in a fantasy about himself, no speed zones and open road, when a hand clamped down over his mouth.
His first instinct was to yell, but he was instantly muffled, so he went with his second; struggle. He found his attempt for his gun intercepted easily; when he threw an elbow, a move that would have broken the nose of a close-quarter assailant, the seat back got in the way, and he hit the cushion harmlessly. He reared up, intending to knock the person senseless with his skull, but met air. He was starting to panic and tried to turn, but the hand kept him immobile.
Mind leaping wildly from thought to thought he scrabbled at the steering wheel, reaching for the horn, but a long-fingered hand grabbed his own, locking the wrist. For the first time Gordon could see in his peripheral vision the reinforced kevlar suit. His heart, already pounding wildly, lurched, and he zeroed in on the rearview mirror, caught immediately by a pair of dark, burning eyes starting back at him. He went limp, so relieved he could hardly speak, utterly pliant under those hands. They settled on him - gently now that he wasn't struggling - and an unnamable thrill shot through Gordon, sexual heat and adrenaline and the residual traces of fear combining to light up his skin like fireworks.
"Jesus," he gasped, panting hard against the hand that braced his jaw, his eyes never leaving the others. "You scared ten years off my life. Damn."
"You should learn to mind your surroundings," the gravelly voice scolded him, some inner joke lighting up his expression with Batman's version of a chuckle. Gordon didn't take offense, though he could have. He always reveled in those times, so few before and happening more and more often, when the Batman proved his trust in Gordon by relaxing in his presence.
"I wouldn't have to if you would stop accosting me in police headquarters."
"And I suppose nearly being killed in your own office taught you nothing." The Bat frowned at him, at once chastising and aloof, and Gordon sighed, conceding the point. He was letting the exhilaration of a seemingly safe, crime-free office get to him.
"Alright. Alright." He had a thought to discretion and quickly glanced around but there were few cars down here and no one in sight. Halving your department payroll could have that effect on traffic.
The hand on his jaw slipped to his mouth, brushing over his moustache, across his lips, leaving them tingling faintly. Gordon let his tongue flicker out to taste the palm, salt, rubber and heat all coming back to him. It was a familiar taste, one he'd spent the last few months getting used to, as often as he could. Then he caught himself, acutely aware of where they were.
"Are you crazy?" He demanded, prying irritably at the Batman's grip, but he wouldn’t be moved. The hand at his wrist (and to think, he'd been going for the horn with that one, and wouldn't his officers have had something to say about that?) dropped to his thigh, tracing a teasing pattern upward. Gordon moaned and spread his legs, instinctively reacting to that touch. Before he could get lost, he forced himself to protest.
"We can't here. The risk..."
"Minor. Proximity sensors." the Bat purred in his ear, a shadow of darkness from which only a pair of eyes burned out of. "Unless you want an audience."
Gordon had never considered himself an exhibitionist before, but the very idea made his insides melt with hunger and embarrassing desire. Right, so he'd never been an exhibitionist before he'd met Batman. The hand on his thigh tugged, parting his legs further and he shuddered, eyes drifting closed.
"Open you eyes," he was commanded, and did, caught in the heat of that stare. The Batman looked, as he always did, ridiculous in artificial light, a man dressed up in a costume, but Gordon thought that he'd never seen anything more arousing than the sight of that mouth, those teeth, which just days ago had marked him, owned him. He panted, thrusting his hips up, and a hand settled over him, impatient and demanding. He fumbled his zipper down, not helped in the least by the Bat's callused fingers rubbing at him through his khaki's. Never once did they stop looking at each other; when he was taken in hand, hard and throbbing, he kept looking, eyes at half-mast. From the edges of his fading vision he could see that hand drop to his neck, settling there like possession made reality and he arched into it, wanting it, needing it, as he was stroked with a firm grip, up down, then again.
He reached down and laid his hand across the other mans so they were both jerking him with an easy, unhurried pace. After a moment the Batman's hand melted away until there was only his own stroking erratically, fingers tightening and relaxing in a very familiar rhythm.
"Keep going."
He breathed out hard, jolted all the way down to his toes at that intimate, demanding tone. He didn't stop pulling on himself in an uneven frenzy, approaching the peak far too fast for a man of his age. It wasn’t even a minute later that he felt it coming and closed his eyes.
A hand clamped down on him tightly, and he opened them again in surprise.
"Slowly." The hand demonstrated, setting a rhythm that seemed designed to kill him. He tried to mimic it, fighting the urge to go faster, harder, now. Long, hard stroke up the shaft, flick of the wrist at the head, shudder, slow glide down, repeat. Soon it began to drive him insane, the need for more transmitting up his entire body, tremors shaking him in his bones. He tired to speed up and was restrained.
"Please," he rasped.
The Batman didn't answer, but the hand holding his slowed him down even further. Gordon gasped.
"Uhn. Please."
The hand stopped.
Gordon snarled, frustrated and wanting and so hard it hurt, turned his head and sank his teeth into the palm of that sweat-salty hand.
Batman convulsed, shuddering all over, and it was the sight of it, the thought of it, the idea of the Bat coming from just the touch of his teeth, the growl of his voice, shaking and gasping behind him like a dying man. It pushed him over the edge and he tugged frantically, orgasm hitting him like a train, derailing everything inside him. It went on, hot pulses crashing through him, and when it was over he felt completely wrung out, utterly spent, and slumped back against his seat, cradling himself with one hand and clutching at his lover with the other.
Batman was limp against him, his full weight resting on the back of Gordon's seat, pressing him forward. Gordon waited for him to move, too spent to do anything, and it was a full minute before he saw the bowed head stir, cowl lifting to showcase its set of pointed ears. Gordon grinned at the image he presented; satiation was not a good look on Batman. Not very fear inspiring.
He entwined their fingers with the one hand, cradling them both against his naked thigh as the Bat straightened up, looking a little winded, but mostly just content. Gordon smiled.
"I hope you have a good dry cleaner," he murmured, bringing their clasped hands up to press a kiss against a bare knuckle. The fingers tightened on his own, a bat version of a hug. "If that suit stains I'm not responsible."
Batman laughed, a dry raspy chuckle that made Gordon's spent cock twitch with interest. He told it to shut up.
"I'll send you the bill," Batman promised, eyes hooded behind his mask. He disentangled their fingers, looking very unwilling, and tapped Gordon's cheek. The Commissioner, obligingly, turned his head, and they shared a quiet kiss. That was how they ended all of their encounters. Place, situation, humor aside, each time they had together was a new experience, and they both cherished what time they could take. But, beyond the sex, there was trust and respect, and the kiss was an unspoken promise of what lay ahead. Gordon thought that as hot as the sex was (and considering what little they'd managed to have, it was damn hot), the kisses were probably the parts he remembered most fondly.
Batman straightened and opened the backseat door.
"Wait," Gordon said, forcing back the lethargy for a moment. "I had something to do tonight, but I'll cancel it, if you've got the time to come with me now. For the night." Gotham, and Bruce Wayne, can wait one night, he thought.
Batman gave him an enigmatic look, somewhere between searching and hesitant. It was the least assertive expression he'd ever seen the Batman wear, and it struck an odd note inside Gordon that only fatigue kept him from exploring. At last the man merely shrugged. "Prior obligations tonight. I'll take you up on that another time. Enjoy your evening, Gordon."
As he watched the Batman leap to the nearest wall and glide off it, he reminded himself to tell him to call him Jim next time he saw him. Being called Gordon by the man didn't bother him - far from it - but he couldn't help thinking that normal couples didn't call each other by their last name. Of course, there was very little about their relationship that was normal, but still.
He luxuriated in the feeling of contentedness and, dare he say it, happiness that often followed an encounter with the Bat. His lover.
Dazed, he considered that. His lover, the Batman, he mused, laughing quietly out loud. Gordon rather thought that his old, simple life of near-death situations and turning a blind eye to crime were long past. If he had his way, nothing was ever going to be simple again.
And, he thought to himself, as he quickly readjusted his clothing with only a faint blush at the carnal acts that had put it askew, if he ever needed a good dose of adrenaline to remind him that simple didn't necessarily mean better, he certainly knew who to go to. Without a doubt.
The urge to commit suicide was less pronounced this time, when Alfred stopped at his apartment to pick him up nearly two hours later, arriving at a smart 6:45. Half of that was a pleasant sort of expectation for the upcoming evening, but a lot of it, Gordon admitted ruefully to himself, was from the sight of the sleek silver Lamborghini Reventon crawling up to the curb, all power and grace. Gordon might not know much about cars but he knew enough to recognize money and value when he saw it (it wasn't hard to spot, really, since that's all Bruce Wayne seemed inclined to buy).
He also knew enough to take advantage of a golden opportunity when it was presented to him, and it was with only the thinnest veneer of politeness that he kindly told Alfred to shove over, and let him drive.