A/N: based on requests from kubis and juana_a. Sponsored by my cold medicine, therefore, porn. But with a semblance to a plot.
Sequel to night lights
The sounds of the party are not that obnoxious here on the balcony, muffled by the distance and glass. Jim glances at his watch impatiently, counting. Just twenty minutes since the party started, not nearly enough for him to leave, especially since the host himself hadn’t arrived yet. Which was mostly why he was hid… well, not really hiding, as such, but it was why he was here, on the balcony, unlit cigarette between his fingers. As much as he usually complained about being dragged to all the galas and benefits, Bruce’s presence at least made them bearable.
Of course, that was based on the assumption that Bruce had actually bothered to show up to his own party. And yes, Jim did realise he was being rather uncharitable with this line of thoughts, as all the absences had been more than justified, and every late arrival made sense, even if it was just to uphold the flaky billionaire persona, but that left Jim to his own devices, and in conversations with the members of the City Council, small talk he couldn’t really avoid, and only champagne to drink, and he really, really didn’t like champagne.
The air is heavy and almost still, evening not bringing any release from the heat wave that has taken over Gotham in the recent days. It's unprecedented, and the talking heads on tv blame the global warming, and Jim finds it slightly refreshing from all the other things that people complain about, as all the other things are blamed on Batman. Jim tugs at his tie uncomfortably; months had passed, getting closer to a year, and nothing had changed, nothing he could use to exonerate the man, and he is really ready to pounce at any chance.
"There is air conditioning inside, you know."
Jim doesn't turn, and doesn't jump startled either, he's not that easily caught off balance nowadays, much to Bruce's disappointment. Jim can swear, the man was actually amused whenever he was able to scare Jim out off another few years of his life. "It's not that bad out here."
Bruce nods slowly, as if he doesn't believe a word of it, joining him in leaning against the railing, emptying his champagne flute in a swift move. Jim's gaze follows the liquid pointedly. "Someone's going to sue you one day, when it lands on their head."
"In this heat, it will evaporate before it reaches even the tenth floor," he shrugs, taking off his jacket, index finger edging the inside of his collar. And yet, the shirt is still crispy white, and Jim takes a moment to marvel at that fact, one of the world's greatest wonders. "Besides, not like I can't afford the eventual lawsuit."
Gordon frowns at the flat tone, and searches Bruce's face. He reaches out, fingers gently brushing the back of Bruce's hand, the wrists, the cuffs of his shirt, pushing the material up his forearms. It's all the skin he dares to touch within the view of the people inside; the glass might be tinted, but it still allows for anyone who walks close enough to see them.
Bruce's hand covers his, fingers tightening, and at the same time, as if by a pull of some invisible string, Bruce's body relaxes just a bit, the tension Jim hadn't even realised was there easing. He shakes his head at the unspoken question. "Just a long day."
"For whom?" Jim asks, and a small smile tugs at the corner of Bruce's mouth.
"I'm pretty sure Bruce Wayne doesn't have bad days," he mutters, and Jim nods.
"Then he wouldn't need me to ask if I could do anything to make it better?"
The smile becomes more real, softer, and yet predatory in that way that Jim swears only Bruce can actually pull off. Honestly, Jim hadn't even meant it in that way. Well, fine, not only in that way. Bruce's fingers move to Jim's wrist, just skimming over the pulse point, and this is enough to send ripples of arousal through his body.
"Not the best moment," he mutters, even though he's pretty sure he doesn't sound at all convincing, not the way he's voice is breaking. "And definitely not the best place."
"I could have them gone in two minutes," Bruce says, and somehow, his lips are much closer to Jim's ear than Jim expected, he can feel the warm breath on his neck. "Hell, I don't think I'd even have to torch the place, this time."
Jim almost laughs, but it comes out drawn out and breathless, and strangely resembling a groan. "One day, you're going to tell me the story behind that one," he says, and reluctantly shakes his head. "And I don't think your reputation needs another blow like this." He hadn't even finished the sentence when he finds himself guided backwards, maneuvered towards the wall.
"You really shouldn't have used that word," Bruce whispers against the skin of Jim's neck, as he's pushed against the wall, Bruce reaching around him to switch something on a panel, and Jim wonders briefly, how many of those are really hidden around here?
"Which word? Reputation?" he smirks. The balcony windows tint further, he can still see the people inside, but is pretty sure they can't see out now. Probably.
"Blow," Bruce says, sinking to his knees.
He really shouldn't have used that word. "Can they..." he takes a breath to calm his voice down when Bruce reaches inside his pants, "Can they see us?" It might be a rather dense question at this point, but his thought processes are never at their finest when Bruce Wayne is getting ready to suck him off.
"Depends. Would you like them to?" The tone is conversational, casual, and enough to have Jim throw his head back in a soundless moan, reaching out to run his fingers through Bruce's hair, resting them on the back of his head as Bruce moves forward, taking him into his mouth.
Jim bites his lip; he's never been very vocal during sex, but just the necessity of keeping quiet now makes him want to scream. It's mad, and he should stop, should move away and straighten his clothes, and wait till the end of the party, and move to the safety of Bruce's bedroom... But moving away is difficult, when you're pressed hard against the wall, and can't form a coherent thought because your brain has apparently melted.
He rests his other hand flat on the glass, for balance, sheen of sweat covering his skin, his body shaking with soft tremors as he empties himself into Bruce's welcoming mouth.
Everything stills for a moment, and Jim leans lightly against the glass, cold against his skin, muffled sounds of music and mundane conversations getting through the ringing in his ears. "I don't think it counts as me helping with making your day better," he offers after a longer moment, his voice low and coarse.
"Oh, I don't know, I think it's looking up," Bruce says suggestively, before placing a gentle kiss on Jim's thigh, then moving to stand up, shifting closer to Jim. Droplets of sweat glisten on his neck, and Jim is ridiculously proud of that, of spoiling the immaculate look, of being able to run his hand through Bruce's hair again, messing them up.
In turn, Bruce reaches out, fingers brushing the side of Jim's face, thumb softly passing against his lips, his mustache, then the appearing smile. Jim shifts, undoing Bruce's tie, working the shirt buttons open as he gently pushes Bruce against the glass. "And how can I make it better?" he trails the line down Bruce's neck with his mouth and tongue, at the same time tugging Bruce's shirt out of his pants, pushing his hands up Bruce's sides.
"That would be a good way," Bruce says softly, tilting his head to capture Jim's mouth with his, licking at their corner, then tracing the bottom lip with his tongue before Jim responds with a rough kiss, shifting even closer, moving his hand to work Bruce's pants open, taking him out and stroking lazily.
"It's a start anyway," Jim shrugs, biting Bruce's shoulder. Through the glass he can see people moving across the room, completely oblivious of what goes on just behind the glass, of the soft sounds Bruce starts to make as Jim's hand begins to move just a bit faster, but not close enough to get him to come just yet.
"Jim..." Bruce starts, low and almost pleading, and Jim silences him with a bruising kiss, speeding up a little bit more, waiting. He doesn't have to wait long, just until they come back for air.
"Jim," it's a whisper now, breathed out against his lips, it's not a plea, it's dangerously close to a prayer.
"Bruce," he mutters back, equally reverent, mouth to mouth, as his fingers tighten, and his hand moves faster, and Bruce launches into another kiss, one that again feels like a scream.
It's minutes before they calm down, breathing even again, as they sit on the balcony's floor, leaning against the cold glass, Bruce's hand still on Jim's thigh.
"I don't think we can get back to the party," Bruce offers conversationally, and Jim barks a laugh. Not in his pants stained like this, no, he doesn't think so.
"I can live with that, and not going to complain too much, if that's what you're worried about," he says mock-seriously.
"Yes, that's precisely what I was thinking. I hope you'll manage somehow. I'll make it up to you, though."
Bruce smirks, tilting his head. "Next Saturday, a party in your honour?"
Jim rolls his eyes, and makes an effort to swat Bruce's shoulder pointedly. "Do that, and you can forget about any repeats of recent activities."
"Blackmail, Commissioner? That's very low."
He shrugs, and takes a moment to consider Bruce's face, the gaze not as covert as he'd like it to be, as Bruce just raises his eyebrows at him. "I'm fine, Jim," he says.
No, he's not. But it will do for the moment, and Jim nods. "How long till the end of the party?"
"Depends when Alfred realises we're gone and starts on kicking the guests out."
"Kicking out? Alfred?" Jim has to admit, he'd actually pay to see that.
"Very politely," Bruce concedes. "Give or take an hour. Why?"
"Just wondering what we're going to do to pass the time."
"We'll figure something out, I suppose," Bruce smiles.
on to Part One