Pairing: Gordon/Batman, eventually.
Rating: PG for now, will go higher in later parts.
Of course Wayne was right. Gordon had known that yesterday, standing in the garage and trying to keep his breathing under control (and by 'breathing', he meant... breathing. Definitely). He had known that in the taxi, his eyes closed to keep the dizziness at bay. And he had known that getting home, crawling into his bed and trying not to think about anything at all.
But in the harsh light of day it was even worse, accompanied by a throbbing pain in his head. This precisely was why he preferred smoking as his vice of choice. The worst thing that could happen with that was death by lung cancer, as opposed to death by acute embarrassment.
He made his coffee stronger than usual, and was a little surprised when it was still liquid. At work he shut the blinds before getting started on the new pile of requisition forms: the dimmed light might be hell on his eyesight, but at least it didn't make him want to hit his head against nearest flat surface.
It went like this until around lunchtime, when his doors were pushed open loudly. He grimaced, then stared, as Bruce Wayne marched into his office, placed a flask on his desk, and sat down in the visitor chair with a proud smile.
Gordon continued to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Bruce laughed. "I thought you might need this," he said, pushing the flask towards Gordon.
"What is it?" Jim asked suspiciously, reaching to pick it up, unscrewing the lid and peering inside. It didn't smell very promising and it looked a little strange too.
"Alfred's hangover remedy. Don't let the look fool you: it's good stuff. Tastes awful of course, but works wonders."
"Do I want to know what it's made of?"
Bruce shrugged. "I never asked. I think I prefer not knowing myself."
Gordon nodded, then hesitated, looking at the other man. "Mr Wayne, I wanted..."
"Bruce," he interrupted, corners of his mouth rising. "You had your tongue in my mouth last night; you can try and use my first name."
Gordon stared at him, speechless, until Bruce cracked a wide grin. Jim rolled his eyes. "I'd prefer if you didn't put it quite like that," he muttered, before bringing the flask to his mouth and downing half of it in one go. He grimaced. "It really does taste awful."
"I think Alfred makes it that way on purpose, as a form of punishment," Bruce volunteered, then raised his hand when Jim wanted to say something. "If you're going to apologise, spare me and yourself and don't," he said and leaned forward a little, his smile softer. "I didn't mind."
There wasn't much that Gordon could say or do in response to that apart from the thing he actually did, which was blush madly. "Still, I shouldn't have..." he started, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.
Bruce sighed and stood up, walking around the desk slowly, purposefully. Gordon frowned at him, starting to ask what was going on when Bruce reached to pull him up, closing the distance between them, reaching to touch the side of Gordon's face. "What..." Jim started, but his words were silenced when Bruce's lips touched his, gently at first, then bolder, tongue coaxing Jim's mouth open.
Jim's hand moved up without his conscious thought, resting on Bruce's hip to pull him just a little bit closer. Bruce moaned, a low sound in his throat, and gently bit at Jim's lower lip, eliciting a similar sound. Then, reluctantly, Bruce pulled away; breathing harshly, his lips swollen.
"Should I apologise for this?" he asked hoarsely, and when Jim shook his head, he nodded. "Good. We're even then."
Jim snorted a laugh and nodded. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked the world in general, and was rewarded with an unabashed smile.
"Oh, we'll get to that," Bruce said, drawling the words suggestively. "Lunch, tomorrow?" he asked and moved further away, straightening his tie. At Gordon's nod, he smiled. "Good, I'll pick you up here. 'Til then," he said and walked out, leaving Gordon really, really grateful that he had shut the blinds earlier in the morning.