(no subject)
I wrote this story about Alfred and Lucius from Batman Begins, because their love is so obviously pure and good and hot. I'm dedicating it to Musesfool, because she's pretty damned cool her own self. And she, too, loves the slash. She's my idol, I think.
Anyway, here's my story. No title. Titles are fascist. Or fascistic, maybe. They're something that starts with fasc, I'll tell you that much. And it's not fascinating, either!
Anyway. The story.
===========
Discretion had always been their watchword.
Not that they ever found it hard to be discreet. Neither of them was particularly flamboyant, after all. Neither of them was particularly famous, either, which helped a great deal in keeping their relationship secret. In truth, they were never sure it was strictly necessary to keep things a secret. It just seemed safer that way, for all concerned.
Lucius was a manager at WayneTech, of course, and Alfred was an important part of the household of its leader. Even a small scandal would reflect poorly on the company and the Waynes themselves, and they simply weren't willing to risk that. Thus, discretion was their watchword.
They rather enjoyed being discreet, really. Having dinner or attending the theater as mere friends became a game to them. Who could send the most meaningful glances while remaining outwardly proper and platonic, who could convey the most emotion with an apparently innocuous comment. The occasional midnight rendezvous added an element of danger and intrigue that made things even more delicious. And occasionally absolutely hilarious, as they learned when Lucius booked them into what turned out to be the Jungle Room at a small motel outside of Gotham. They never did figure out what half of the buttons and contraptions did.
After the Waynes were killed, discreet turned into cautious. Overcautious, Lucius thought, but he knew how seriously Alfred took his guardianship of young Bruce, and he knew how badly various distant relatives would have loved to be able to take a "deviant lifestyle" to the courts and have Bruce reassigned to their custody. For several years, Alfred was fanatically devoted to Bruce's welfare above all else, leaving him almost no time for a life of his own. Lucius understood. He didn't like it, resented it in fact, but he understood. He knew he might well have acted the same were he in Alfred's shoes.
As Bruce entered adolescence, Alfred's paranoia waned. Caution became discretion once again, and Alfred set out to make things up to Lucius, courting and wooing him in a way that was new to both of them. It was something of a second honeymoon for their relationship, and they both enjoyed it immensely.
When Bruce became a legal adult and went off to college, even simple discretion felt unnecessary. Neither of them had ever been given to public displays of affection, however, and so their behaviour was only slightly more risque than it had been all along. No one seemed to notice, or care, which disappointed them more than they cared to admit. Those who did notice and react, such as the staff and proprietors of their favorite haunts, seemed more surprised that they were no longer hiding their relationship than that they had a relationship at all. It struck Alfred and Lucius that perhaps they weren't as talented at subterfuge as they'd always believed. Armed with this new self-realization, they did the only sensible thing - booked the Jungle Room for a full weekend and studied the buttons and contraptions some more.
When Bruce disappeared, Alfred was a wreck. A dignified, British wreck, to be sure, but a wreck nonethless. Lucius all but moved into the mansion to care for him. For a time they were afraid the tabloids would discover and broadcast their relationship, but they were far more interested in stories about the vanished billionaire himself than the servant he'd left behind. After a time, Alfred calmed down. As the world came to believe Bruce had died, Alfred was absolutely convinced he was alive and well, somewhere. Lucius didn't agree, but he never pushed the issue. He was too busy enjoying the fact that he was spending more time with Alfred than ever before, and feeling guilty over profiting from Bruce's death.
Bruce was not actually dead, of course. As Alfred had known all along, the prodigal son returned home when he was ready. He moved back into the mansion. And back in between Alfred and Lucius, though they both tried very hard not to think of it that way. They were back to exercising discretion. No, to exercising caution. It was like the time after Alfred became Bruce's guardian, only worse. They'd been close, effortlessly close for too many years to go back to the charade now. Discretion wasn't nearly as fun as it had been years before. Now it was a chore, a burden. A problem.
They had never really encountered a problem in their relationship before. Not a real problem. They weren't quite sure how to react. They talked about it, but that didn't help as much as all the advice columns and talk shows always claimed. They loved each other, but they had to keep that love a secret from Bruce. They wanted to be together, but his presence made that impossible.
Bruce's new calling should have made their lives easier, but it was just the opposite. They never knew when Bruce would return needing Alfred's medical attention, or when Batman would come calling to make use of Lucius' scientific expertise. Bruce had tried half-heartedly to keep his dual life a secret from Lucius, but that hadn't worked very long at all. It was soon a very open secret indeed.
Looking back on it later, Alfred and Lucius agreed that it should have occurred to them that their own secret was no less obvious to Bruce. He was the Darknight Detective, after all, smart enough to track a criminal enterprise from the smallest of clues. When he finally stopped hinting at knowing of their relationship and officially gave them his blessing, it came first as a surprise and then as a relief. They didn't have to hide their love anymore. Not from society, which didn't care a bit. Not from Bruce, who'd known for an embarassingly long time. Not from each other, now that they were finally able to be together with no obstacles.
No more discretion. No more caution. Just family.
Anyway, here's my story. No title. Titles are fascist. Or fascistic, maybe. They're something that starts with fasc, I'll tell you that much. And it's not fascinating, either!
Anyway. The story.
===========
Discretion had always been their watchword.
Not that they ever found it hard to be discreet. Neither of them was particularly flamboyant, after all. Neither of them was particularly famous, either, which helped a great deal in keeping their relationship secret. In truth, they were never sure it was strictly necessary to keep things a secret. It just seemed safer that way, for all concerned.
Lucius was a manager at WayneTech, of course, and Alfred was an important part of the household of its leader. Even a small scandal would reflect poorly on the company and the Waynes themselves, and they simply weren't willing to risk that. Thus, discretion was their watchword.
They rather enjoyed being discreet, really. Having dinner or attending the theater as mere friends became a game to them. Who could send the most meaningful glances while remaining outwardly proper and platonic, who could convey the most emotion with an apparently innocuous comment. The occasional midnight rendezvous added an element of danger and intrigue that made things even more delicious. And occasionally absolutely hilarious, as they learned when Lucius booked them into what turned out to be the Jungle Room at a small motel outside of Gotham. They never did figure out what half of the buttons and contraptions did.
After the Waynes were killed, discreet turned into cautious. Overcautious, Lucius thought, but he knew how seriously Alfred took his guardianship of young Bruce, and he knew how badly various distant relatives would have loved to be able to take a "deviant lifestyle" to the courts and have Bruce reassigned to their custody. For several years, Alfred was fanatically devoted to Bruce's welfare above all else, leaving him almost no time for a life of his own. Lucius understood. He didn't like it, resented it in fact, but he understood. He knew he might well have acted the same were he in Alfred's shoes.
As Bruce entered adolescence, Alfred's paranoia waned. Caution became discretion once again, and Alfred set out to make things up to Lucius, courting and wooing him in a way that was new to both of them. It was something of a second honeymoon for their relationship, and they both enjoyed it immensely.
When Bruce became a legal adult and went off to college, even simple discretion felt unnecessary. Neither of them had ever been given to public displays of affection, however, and so their behaviour was only slightly more risque than it had been all along. No one seemed to notice, or care, which disappointed them more than they cared to admit. Those who did notice and react, such as the staff and proprietors of their favorite haunts, seemed more surprised that they were no longer hiding their relationship than that they had a relationship at all. It struck Alfred and Lucius that perhaps they weren't as talented at subterfuge as they'd always believed. Armed with this new self-realization, they did the only sensible thing - booked the Jungle Room for a full weekend and studied the buttons and contraptions some more.
When Bruce disappeared, Alfred was a wreck. A dignified, British wreck, to be sure, but a wreck nonethless. Lucius all but moved into the mansion to care for him. For a time they were afraid the tabloids would discover and broadcast their relationship, but they were far more interested in stories about the vanished billionaire himself than the servant he'd left behind. After a time, Alfred calmed down. As the world came to believe Bruce had died, Alfred was absolutely convinced he was alive and well, somewhere. Lucius didn't agree, but he never pushed the issue. He was too busy enjoying the fact that he was spending more time with Alfred than ever before, and feeling guilty over profiting from Bruce's death.
Bruce was not actually dead, of course. As Alfred had known all along, the prodigal son returned home when he was ready. He moved back into the mansion. And back in between Alfred and Lucius, though they both tried very hard not to think of it that way. They were back to exercising discretion. No, to exercising caution. It was like the time after Alfred became Bruce's guardian, only worse. They'd been close, effortlessly close for too many years to go back to the charade now. Discretion wasn't nearly as fun as it had been years before. Now it was a chore, a burden. A problem.
They had never really encountered a problem in their relationship before. Not a real problem. They weren't quite sure how to react. They talked about it, but that didn't help as much as all the advice columns and talk shows always claimed. They loved each other, but they had to keep that love a secret from Bruce. They wanted to be together, but his presence made that impossible.
Bruce's new calling should have made their lives easier, but it was just the opposite. They never knew when Bruce would return needing Alfred's medical attention, or when Batman would come calling to make use of Lucius' scientific expertise. Bruce had tried half-heartedly to keep his dual life a secret from Lucius, but that hadn't worked very long at all. It was soon a very open secret indeed.
Looking back on it later, Alfred and Lucius agreed that it should have occurred to them that their own secret was no less obvious to Bruce. He was the Darknight Detective, after all, smart enough to track a criminal enterprise from the smallest of clues. When he finally stopped hinting at knowing of their relationship and officially gave them his blessing, it came first as a surprise and then as a relief. They didn't have to hide their love anymore. Not from society, which didn't care a bit. Not from Bruce, who'd known for an embarassingly long time. Not from each other, now that they were finally able to be together with no obstacles.
No more discretion. No more caution. Just family.