It's certainly a new definition of surreal: watching the report of a recent Batman sighting, with live footage, as Bruce Wayne sits opposite him in his office. Maybe a few months ago Jim Gordon wouldn't find it at all strange, just slightly inconvenient, but now he knows better.
"I told you it was a great misunderstanding," Bruce says smugly, leaning back in his chair in a far too more relaxed manner than handcuffed suspects usually do. Jim holds back an eyeroll with great care, and nods.
"That you did, Mr Wayne," he says, and nods at the two officers standing guard at the door. "If you could please leave us," he offers, and Bruce's smile grows even wider.
"Yes, your commissioner and I need to discuss how he's going to make up to me that wrongful arrest," he offers cheerfully, and shrugs. "I was thinking, next week's banquet..." he stops as the doors close behind the officers, and his expression immediately looses the smug playboy charm, his mouth settling into a straight unrelenting line. "That was too close."
"Tell me about it," Jim agrees, and turns back to the screen, where the Batman has disappeared, and the anchors are guessing the reasons for his appearance at a very public and filmed venue. "So, this was the plan I wasn't supposed to worry about?"
"I'm always prepared," he draws the words in a fair attempt at his usual Bruce Wayne persona, but there's no real feeling behind it.
"Out of interest, whom did you put inside the suit? Because if it's Alfred, I think I'm going to..." he pauses, considering what he is going to do, choices ranging from dying from laughter to never being able to look at Alfred again.
Bruce gives him a look that plainly suggests he didn't want that particular image in his mind either, then shrugs. "I have... associates."
"Meaning, I don't want to know."
"You don't want to know," Bruce agrees.
Jim nods, switches the tv off and stands up, fishing out the key to the handcuffs from his pocket. "I suppose you'd like those off?" he gestures, and Bruce tilts his head, smirking.
"Oh, I suppose that depends. Would you like them off, Commissioner?"
It's neither time, nor place, definitely not the place, but Jim shivers at the tone of Bruce's voice, low and rasp, but still Bruce, not Batman. "Bruce," he warns.
Bruce stands up, steps forward, purposeful and predatory even with his hands cuffed behind his back, getting well into Jim's personal space before he tilts his head and smiles. "Yes, Commissioner?"
"Didn't I warn you already against trying anything in this office?" he asks, and tries to keep his voice even and unmoved, failing miserably of course.
"Your men know better than interrupt your meeting with Bruce Wayne," Bruce points out quietly. "Especially when it's about false accusations. But if it makes you feel better, you can always lock the door."
He doesn't even know why he's still protesting. He was hard at the first suggestion, and the entire day of running on adrenaline and worry means that all he really wants at this moment is not to think, and just give in. But even so, he should wait until he's able to get out of the office, just in two hours, maybe three if there's something important needing his attention, and to be honest, there usually is...
"Come on, Jim," Bruce says, moving even closer, words breathed out against Jim's lips. "I need this."
Jim groans, his eyes closing automatically, his head tilting on its own. This is not playing fair, as long as Bruce made it about Jim, he could control this, but the shaking tone and desire in Bruce's voice is too much for anyone to stand.
"Come here," he says roughly, pulling at Bruce's shirt hard enough to tug it out of his pants, fingertips skimming across the taut skin, edging the faint scars, with great care. Bruce groans, his whole body arching as he leans towards the touch, or maybe away from the gentleness of it, but mostly just shifting closer to Jim, warm breath on Jim's neck.
Jim works the buttons of Bruce's shirt open, trailing the skin his fingers are exposing, pushing the shirt off Bruce's shoulders. It stops at his bound wrists, restraining him even further. Bruce leans in, a comfortable weight against Jim, and kisses him hungrily, teeth pulling at the lower lip, tongues clashing, it makes up with rough enthusiasm what it lacks in finesse, and it leaves Jim gasping for breath.
"Better close the door, Commissioner," Bruce mutters between the biting kisses he trails down Jim's jaw. "Wouldn't want your officers to come rushing in at the curious noises they hear. Things crashing, maybe. Screams."
It's enough to make Jim groan quietly, his hips twitching as he rubs himself against Bruce. Part of him know the truth of the previous remark, his men will stay the fuck away from a meeting the commissioner holds with Bruce Wayne. And the other part of him, the same one that has him still chasing criminals down the dark alleys when he should be dealing with paperwork and going to fundraisers... that part of him doesn't care if they rush in.
"Wouldn't want that," he says against Bruce's shoulder as he moves a step away, before falling to his knees and not grimacing as they protest. "You better keep quiet, then," he mutters, efficiently undoing Bruce's belt.
"I don't think I have any problems with keeping..." his voice shakes, changing into a low moan, and he bites his lip, as Jim takes his cock in hand, and gives it a long, slow stroke.
"Yes, I can hear that."
"Did I ever tell you that sarcasm is not one of your best qualities?" Bruce asks between shallow breaths, and Jim gives the tip a tentative lick, his fingers tracing the long vein on the underside.
"You might have. I do make up for it, though," he adds, and leans in, taking Bruce in deeply, one hand on Bruce's hip, steadying him as his legs tremble. With hands cuffed behind his balance is already skewed, and even his grace and skill doesn't hold for long, and Jim moves away before guiding Bruce back into the chair. He groans in protest as his hands get trapped between his body and the back of the chair, an uncomfortable position under any circumstances, but it turns into a groan of something else when Jim sets back to his task.
The chair's wheels move across the floor with gentle squeaking at every thrust of Bruce's hips. Jim looks up, a smile tugging at his lips, as Bruce throws his head back, mouth half open and eyes half closed, the tense set of his shoulders most telling. He's straining against his cuffs, enough to leave bruises for later, new ones to add to the always growing collection, but these won't be regretted, and yet will fade all too quickly.
"Jim," Bruce says, his voice between a whisper and a harsh groan, a thing of wonder. Jim nods, reaching to add slow strokes of his hand to the work of his mouth, and soon Bruce is shaking, and coming.
The office is filled with silence for a long moment, just the sound of two people breathing, calming down from an impossible high, and then a squeak of rolling wheels as Bruce pushes the chair back, and then slides to the floor, not gracefully at all.
"Should I..." Jim starts, but Bruce raises one hand, cuffs dangling from his wrist, the other one open. "Nevermind."
"Piece of cake," Bruce offers. "Really, I don't think there is a pair of cuffs I couldn't work out with a good incentive," he says, theatrically hilarious in the bragging.
"Oh? Do tell, what's the incentive?" Jim asks, smiling, because he's fairly sure of the answer.
Bruce shakes his head. "Show, not tell," he says cheerfully, and moves to sit in front of still kneeling Jim, leaning in for a brief kiss as his fingers start tugging on the tie, easing it off, letting it fall to the floor, to be soon joined by the shirt. He pushes Jim's undershirt up, hands caressing his sides, thumb stopping to gently flick across the nipple, and Jim closes his eyes, and moans, surprising himself.
"What was that about keeping quiet?" Bruce asks innocently, and Jim makes a good effort of glaring at him, but with his eyes glazed over he doesn't really manage.
"Oh, shut up."
"That's my line, Commissioner," Bruce says happily, index finger caressing Jim's lower lip, one side to the other, then back. Jim's tongue flicks across the pad, and Bruce sighs, and shifts, lips and tongue taking the place of his finger, mapping out Jim's mouth, a territory blissfully familiar by now, but always exciting.
When he pulls back, Jim is breathing harshly, and Bruce smiles with some satisfaction. "Now, that's a good way of keeping you quiet."
"I'm so glad. Here I was worried you were going to suggest a gag," Jim offers dryly, and then catches Bruce's eye.
"Would you like that?"
Jim rolls his eyes at the pleasant tone, honestly, at this point, he's entitled. "Bruce?" he starts as nonchalantly as he can manage, and it comes back in kind.
"Could you just please shut up and fuck me?"
Bruce snorts, or maybe groans, it's hard to tell at this point, as he covers his mouth with his hand and it comes muffled somehow. He reaches out, brushing Jim's hair back, hand resting at the back of his neck as he brings their foreheads together, smiling. "Now that's very romantic, Jim."
"That's exactly what I was going for."
"I thought so," Bruce mutters, his breath warming Jim's lips, before he pulls away, taking off Jim's glasses, folding them and carefully placing them on the chair, before pushing it away. It rolls towards the door and gently bumps into it, almost soundlessly. His hand lazily travels up Jim's chest, resting above the quickly beating heart, pushing lightly, guiding Jim down onto the floor, shifting to sit across his thighs as he efficiently works Jim's pants undone. "And I hope you did mean to ask me to get you off," he says conversationally, hand sneaking inside and cupping Jim's cock through the cotton of his underwear. "Because if you meant it literally, this might be the one thing for which I'm not prepared today. Didn't count on being arrested, really."
Jim raises his eyebrow, and schools his voice down before he hazards a dry answer. "Strange. I'm pretty sure I've heard Bruce Wayne is always prepared in this specific area."
"You should know better than to listen to urban legends, Jim, really," Bruce shakes his head mock-seriously. "And in your line of work?"
"You're saying they're all not true? Not even the one about you, a certain A-list actress, a bucket full of vaseline, and..."
"Especially not that one," Bruce makes a show of shuddering. "I don't think I even want to know where you heard that one."
"Alfred," Jim offers and watches with some satisfaction as Bruce's jaw drops a fraction. Jim smirks, and raises his hips a little, reminding Bruce of the situation at hand, pun probably intended.
Bruce rolls his eyes. "For this one, I should just leave you like this," he mutters, and his hand starts moving excruciatingly slowly, fingers lightly squeezing Jim's dick.
"But you won't," Jim says with certainty, and Bruce nods, before leaning down, just as Jim is rising up, resting on his elbows, his head tilted back.
"I won't." When their lips meet, the kiss growing rough and intense in an instant, Bruce clumsily works to push Jim's pants and boxers down, enough to have free access to his cock, stroking faster now.
"Bruce..." Jim whispers, his head falling back, arms giving up from under him as he comes.
After a long moment of stillness, Bruce leans down to kiss him briefly. "Jim," he says casually, and Jim laughs, pulling him down for a much longer kiss, lasting until they're both breathless.
"So," Bruce says, after he moves off Jim's legs, and sits on the floor next to him, leaning against the desk. "Definitely liking your handcuffs."
"I don't think these are mine, actually. Do you remember who cuffed you?"
"You did. And honestly, Jim, I am gravely offended you don't recall this."
Jim shrugs, moving to sit up, looking around for his shirt and tie. "I had other things on my mind."
Bruce nods seriously, grimacing, then sets his mouth into a smile that's only a little bit forced. "Well, let's not repeat this part. All the other parts, on the other hand..."
"Not the office part," Jim warns him, rising to his knees and buttoning up his pants. "Once was enough. Four times now, that's pushing it."
"You loved each and every one of those times, so I don't think you have any moral ground to stand on," Bruce says cheerfully, his best playboy expression called up.
"Yes. But all the previous times were well after dark, when the office was almost empty."
Bruce looks as if he was going to ask, and then follows Jim's gaze to the stains on his pants, and shrugs. "I'll think of something," he says smugly, and Jim can't help laughing.
Of that, he is pretty much certain.