Pairing: Jim/Bruce, Babs/Steve
Word count: 1071.
A/N: Coming back from a longer break of not-writing, sorry if I kept you waiting, I hope you'll stick with me and the story :)
Bruce got away with maneuvering Jim into his car and taking over the wheel, which would never have happened if Jim wasn't almost too tired to think, and it was barely afternoon. Almost too tired to point out that Bruce's driving was a menace to everyone involved, and all the innocent bystanders as well.
"I had no idea that my car could even reach this speed," he noted conversationally, almost managing to keep the reproach out of his voice. Almost, because where would be the fun in that.
"I'm amazed myself. Mostly, that the car is still functioning at all. You should get a new one," Bruce said, and it was such an old argument, comfortable and worn out, that Jim only smiled, leaning his forehead against the cold glass. Bruce threw a slightly worried glance his way, but apparently whatever he saw in Jim's face reassured him, because he let go off the wheel just for a brief moment, fingers fleeting across the back of Jim's hand, then turned back to keep his gaze on the road ahead.
Back at the mansion, which they reached in record time, or a normal time if Bruce was the one driving, Alfred looked smug and omniscient, a usual look for Alfred, but now more than ever, which meant he had seen the conference, and Jim was never going to live down the cheesiness of his admission.
Bruce relied his dinner idea, and Alfred muttered something dryly, about wanting to be notified in advance when he was supposed to cook for five people, to which Bruce replied that they could order take-out. Of course, that got a dangerous glare out of Alfred, who regarded ordering take-out as one of the deadly sins. They got thrown out of the kitchen soon after, which might have been Bruce's plan all along.
"One day," Jim said thoughtfully, "he's going to kill you. With a spatula."
"While I know Alfred might be uncannily resourceful, I have years of martial arts training," Bruce muttered, already intently working out the knot of Jim's tie, grimacing at the tightness of it.
"You sleep sometimes. LIke a log, I might add," Jim rolled his eyes and caught Bruce's wrists, stilling them, then loosening the knot just enough to pull the tie over his head. He looked up just to see a smirk blossoming in the corner of Bruce's mouth. "If you're going to make an inappropriate remark, don't," he warned.
Bruce made a good show of pouting, spoiled only by his efforts to unbutton Jim's shirt at the same time. "You love the inappropriate remarks," he accused Jim, fingers brushing just above the waistband of his pants, a brief promise of things to come. Pun probably intended, Jim had to admit, even though it meant he was letting himself be dragged to Bruce's level of pointed conversation.
"No, I really don't," he said, breathless enough to make his words a blatant lie, but keeping his voice calm and even was practically impossible once Bruce's mouth started traveling along the line of his neck, soft and wet, his fingers treading Jim's hair, the other hand under Jim's shirt, palm flat and warm on his skin.
Jim hadn't realised how much he wanted this, needed it for the entire day, his hands clutching Bruce's shirt, pulling him just that little bit closer.
Bruce's eyes were closed, lips parting eagerly under Jim's tongue. Jim inhaled the soft sigh, the last of the tension melting away as Bruce's body molded into his. The day might have been exhausting, and in many ways not what he was ready for, but he remembered Bruce absently referring to his small house as 'home', and it might have been worth it.
"Dad called," Jimmy announced, cheerfully interrupting Babs and Steve before they even started making out on the couch. He took great pride in his timing, and this wasn't an exception. "They're on their way here, with Alfred, and food. Also, the conference is already up on youtube, and I think I'll print out some of the comments and pin them to the fridge."
"That good?" Babs asked, after a customary glare.
"Priceless. There's also a facebook group and a livejournal community devoted to them, and Devika found some stories I refuse to read on principle. Of course, this was only to be expected, after Dad dropped that 'partner' bomb."
Babs nodded, laughing, nodding at slightly confused Steve. (In Jimmy's opinion, slightly confused was Steve's default setup, so this wasn't surprising.) "That was a stoic cop version of holding hands and skipping through a field of flowers..." she said, smile slowly fading.
"Got the visual. Thanks, sis," Jimmy muttered, Steve's expression informing that he too had just been traumatized for life. Jimmy gulped. "You know what makes the visual even worse? If you imagine Bruce in..." he paused, catching himself. "You know," he waved vaguely at Babs, who cottoned on, and started laughing so hard she slid off the couch. Really, imagining Bruce in the Bat gear always added to hilarity, but this was infinitely ridiculous.
She was just starting to cry from laughter, when the doors opened, and all three, Bruce, Dad, and Alfred, looked at them with various degrees of confusion (mostly Dad) and amusement (Alfred). "What's so funny?" Bruce asked, setting Babs off again.
Bruce turned to look at Dad, smiling widely. "Seems like your tv career is a hit."
"Do shut up," Dad muttered, stepping further in, and around Bruce, finally catching the sight of Steve. "Hello, Steve," he said, friendly but wary, and Steve stood up, slightly uncomfortable.
"Sir," he said stiffly, and Babs was already waving her hand at Dad pointedly. Stealthy, she was not.
"We agreed on you not calling me that," Dad said finally, and Jimmy rolled his eyes. Dad caved in too fast when it came to Babs, especially for all his talking of shotguns and her not dating till she was forty.
"Yes, Sir," Steve said, winning the dork of the week award. Jimmy followed Alfred into the kitchen, deciding he had enough of the soap opera going on in the living room.
The day was looking up, however, he concluded, upon discovering Alfred brought dessert.