A/N: I have an exam tomorrow, so clearly, this is what I'm doing. Thanks to lettered for the prompt this came out of, it's been a fantastic fun to experiment with this.
Bruce ends up staying for almost the entire length of the party, because the commissioner apparently can't leave the GCPD shindig earlier than the guests. Which is sort of logical, but still a dumb rule, if anyone asks Bruce. The party itself isn't that bad, even though a few people look at him strangely, he's rather known for blowing the charity events after an hour or so, mostly because he either actually has a Batman business to attend, or he gets incredibly bored.
Only Garcia actually asks, turning it into a good joke. Bruce tells him gravely that he had too much to drink but had managed to send his car away, and that the good commissioner offered to personally escort him home. Garcia seems quite happy with that; Gordon finally doing something productive in catering to the whims of the main campaign benefactors, while Jim just glares at Bruce with mild annoyance. Which is, to be honest, a great bonus of the excuse.
"Am I a personal taxi service?" he asks later, when they're outside, getting into Jim's car, and Bruce laughs.
"Do you really want me to answer that one, Jim? It's so easy it's almost insulting."
Jim snorts, turning on the ignition, and taking the route that almost definitely doesn't lead to the penthouse. And Bruce hadn't said anything the last time, but honestly, he can't always play nice, can he now?
"My, my, aren't we presuming, commissioner?"
Jim doesn't even glance at him, eyes fixed on the road, but the corner of his mouth rises. "You were the one hanging around at the party, as if waiting for your prom date."
"I could come up with a lot of jokes about a belle of the ball and prom dresses," Bruce assures him.
Bruce does. He didn't really have that many jokes, three at most. And they weren't any good. Surprisingly, Jim seems more amused than anything else by the exchange, as if Bruce Wayne behaving like an asshole was something entertaining. There is still a hint of old exasperation under the smile, but it's as if he had figured out the game and is just slightly disappointed that Bruce insists on playing it.
It rather makes trying to annoy Jim Gordon pointless, if he refuses to get annoyed there's really no fun in trying, but it probably bodes well for them, and this thing between them, wherever it's going. And the desire for this to go somewhere, to have something come out of it, is not exactly new to Bruce, but it's still startling.
The moment the doors close behind them, Bruce finds himself pinned against the hall's wall, and that's sort of new too, but not unwelcome in the slightest.
Bruce considers it a great achievement when they actually make their way to the bedroom, considering that he has to make the sacrifice of disentangling himself from Jim for at least a few seconds. But as much as he came to appreciate vertical surfaces (and the pun is unfortunate but succinct), for what he wants and needs right now bedroom would do much better.
He hadn't exactly planned this, it had spiraled out of control even faster than it would if he had, but right now, as Jim undresses him efficiently and with unexpected reverence that probably hadn't been there before... he can't think of any place that he'd rather be in, anything he'd rather be doing, and it's not just for the moment.
It's almost scary, but not as scary as the gentleness in Jim's kiss, slow and coaxing and terrifying, and yet he doesn't move away, not until Jim does, breathing harshly.
"Jim," Bruce catches Jim's wrists as he tries to undo Bruce's belt.
He must be barking mad, he thinks, to be choosing this very moment. But epiphanies have their own timing, he supposes, and you can get one even when you are really only interested in something very different than life-changing events, and so is your dick.
"For god's sake, Wayne." And so, apparently is Jim. And it's another thing that hints well at any kind of the future Bruce might be thinking of, if Jim has pretty much the same idea that Bruce's dick does. However strange this sounds, even in his own head; he has a very good excuse for his thought processes to be a tad impaired at the moment.
"Jim," he says again, or rather tries to, but the hand tightening on his dick is a bit distracting, and the name turns into an incomprehensible moan.
He used to think Jim Gordon was much like an open book, unable to keep the emotions from showing up on his face, plain for anyone to see. But recent weeks proved that whatever he was thinking or feeling could be well hidden under the annoyance and the exasperation and the constant eyerolls Bruce was getting out of him.
And so now, when Jim looks down at him with gentleness and care and fucking trust, it's almost too much. He's no stranger to being on the receiving end of Jim's complete trust, no, but what Batman seems to get easily, just for the grace of being there and doing what should be done, is not something Bruce Wayne is used to, not something he expected to achieve. He feels compelled to do something in return, share that one secret that would bring all the barriers still between them crashing down, but he can't find the words.
He spreads his legs, letting Jim settle between them comfortably. Maybe it's enough for the moment, the small amount of trust this requires, he can find the words later. Later, when Jim isn't pushing inside him, and kissing him hungrily, as if trying to taste the sounds Bruce is making. Later, when Jim isn't tugging at his cock almost too hard and yet painfully perfect; later, when he's not coming around Jim, biting at his lip and drawing blood mixed with low and needy sounds.
Later is calm and quiet and dark, their breathing almost back to normal, Jim on his stomach, face burrowed in between pillows, Bruce on his back, eyes closed shut as he chases the words that still don't come.
"Jim," he tries, and he really should be coming with different opening lines, but somehow he doesn't think he will.
Jim opens one eye and squints at Bruce, his fingers moving lightly across Bruce's wrist, but Bruce will be damned if he believes this was accidental. Which, on further thought, is a good thing.
"This is an afterglow, Wayne," Jim offers, his tone tight as if he was trying to hide his amusement. "So shut up and glow, will you?" he adds and promptly shuts his eye again, muttering something against the pillow that sounds rather uncharitable towards Bruce. It's very unhelpful.
"I would, if you'd just let me say this," Bruce grumbles, and Jim looks up at that, raising his hand to dab at his eyes briefly, before propping himself up on his elbow with a more serious expression and a slightly resigned sigh.
"Fine. Have it your way."
Something in the way he looks at Bruce doesn't fit with the way he looks at Bruce, it's expectant and serious and familiar, and it finally clues Bruce in.
Jim nods, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm not an idiot, you know?" he says pleasantly, and Bruce doesn't even bother to protest and say that he never thought that.
"How long have you known?" he asks instead, and Jim laughs, and moves to get out of bed.
"Known? About three seconds, I suppose. Suspected? Since the restroom," he says and shrugs. "Come on, make yourself useful and help me make some coffee, if you're insisting on staying awake at this ungodly hour. Although I suppose it's a middle of the day for you," he muses as he's putting on his pants.
Bruce wants to ask which restroom, and how, and many other things, but Jim seems altogether too smug already. Instead, he just sets into wiping that smirk off his face differently, pulling at Jim's hand to drag him closer, licking at his mouth. He doesn't say it often, but coffee can wait, this is too good to pass on.