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After the clowns gas Wayne Enterprises, after Batman diffuses one of the bombs in Divinity Church, after Gordon sells out Batman for maps to the bomb locations, after Joker is back in Arkham Asylum…
Batman disappears.
With the Agency gone, the Gotham City Police Department has to clean up the city streets on its own. Gordon appreciates being reinstated without government higher-ups manipulating his own people. He’s back to having the necessary power and freedom to chase any criminals creating chaos in his home.
What he doesn’t appreciate is the shame boiling hot and ugly in his gut every time he lights up the Batsignal and never receives the nightly visitor he once trusted with his life. Since that night when Gordon sold the Batman out to a madman, Jim’s been certain that powerful man in a ridiculous cowl is the best person to grace Gotham’s grungy city. Even after being betrayed by Jim, the Batman had gotten free and succeeded in apprehending the Joker.
If there’s a hero in Jim’s city, it’s the Batman. Jim’s certain of that. When he lights up the Batsignal before heading out to address a corporation break-in, Jim can taste the bitter regret already forming on his tongue. Batman hasn’t been seen since Jim sold him out to those damned clowns, and Jim isn’t narcissistic enough to think he’s the cause of that. He just knows the last thing he did to one of the best people to happen to this city was betraying him.
He can’t handle that failure on top of the many others his life consists of: a broken marriage, inadequate parenting skills, a rising crime rate.
It’s a mess. He’s a mess.
But, he’ll be damned if he lets his relationship with Batman be one of those.
When the GCPD’s press release airs, Bruce is trapped in a meeting with cut-throat and greedy investors. He doesn’t doubt for a second that every single one of those smiling faces would lie to his face or stab him in the back if it meant they would flourish financially.
However, he makes it work. He can be just as blunt when money is on the line. Without his massive finances, he could lose a lot of influence on the city. If Batman truly is gone for good, the weight of saving the city falls on Bruce Wayne’s shoulders.
The responsibility doesn’t satisfy Bruce like it should. He promises Alfred he would hang up the cowl, and he has, but unrest and anxiety claw the insides of Bruce’s stomach. Despite Alfred’s assurances, he struggles to justify his decision to give up the mantle of Batman to himself. Every night the Batsignal lights up the sky, Bruce has to close the blinds and hide away in the inner rooms of the manor, pacing back and forth like a caged panther.
Bruce is recalling these exact behaviors from the night before as Gordon appears on his office’s television. Journalists with microphones surround the commissioner. There’s a cacophony of questions, but it is the headline beneath Gordon that stands stark:
GCPD DESPERATE FOR THE RETURN OF BATMAN.
Bruce’s heart rate spikes, and he turns up the television’s volume. The cameraman zooms in on Gordon’s face. Bruce thinks the commissioner’s crow’s feet may have dug deeper into the corners of his eyes, but he looks far healthier and safer than he had during their last encounter.
“Batman, if you are still out there, the Gotham City Police Department would like to speak with you.”
That winds up being the only mention of Batman in the entire press release, and more than half of Bruce finds himself disappointed. Sure, he’s reassured the headline is false and, though there has been increasing crime rates, the police don’t need him. But he worries for the citizens and the commissioner, a lone white knight amongst a police force that has given into corruption in the past.
A variety of news commenters appear on screen, listing off possible reasons the GCPD would like to speak to Batman. A warrant for his arrest? A need for his assistance? They digress into analysis of the Batman’s last sighting with the Joker, and Bruce’s mind wanders.
Gordon must be desperate to see Batman if he’s willing to make a public announcement. While continuing to light the Batsignal without any response comes with a degree of vulnerability, this level of publicity only increases it. Gordon is a good man, and has as much pride as he does a sense of justice.
Briefly, Bruce wonders if this is a social call. He could imagine Gordon seeking Batman out in order to make amends for putting him in Joker’s trap.
Bruce would be lying if he said his heart didn’t swell at the possibility of a man so concerned with doing the right thing, with doing the right thing by Batman, that he would risk public embarrassment for just the chance to make things right.
The cautious, calculated side of Bruce reminds himself the commissioner probably needs another set of eyes, eyes that can be objective, or access to his vast resources that the GCPD cannot provide.
Bruce reminds himself that Gordon isn’t like the investors from earlier. That doing the Right thing outweighs pragmatic gain. Otherwise, he never would have gotten cold feet in regards to selling Batman out to Joker.
Bruce’s heart swells again, and the former vigilante knows without a shadow of a doubt he is fucked no matter how he reacts to the press release. If he dons the suit again, Gordon may try to involve him in defending the city and Alfred will leave Gotham for real this time. If Bruce doesn’t put the suit back on, Gordon will be left to handle whatever his situation is alone.
‘He’s not alone,’ Bruce reminds himself. ‘He has a police force.’
The reminder feels hollow. Not because it is inaccurate, but because Bruce wants to be there to help the one man on the police force who has repeatedly proven himself to be a true hero.
“Did you see the news?” Bruce asks as he enters the kitchen. Alfred is finishing dinner, stirring a broth on the stove as something warm waits in the oven. Bruce still has his briefcase from work in hand. Alfred spares him a glance before humming an affirmation.
“I did. Based on how you just walked in the door and have skipped the usual pleasantries, I take it you did as well and you’re concerned for our dear commissioner?”
Bruce has the good grace to duck his head in admonishment. The gesture is so boyish Alfred smiles despite his disapproval for where he predicts this conversation will head.
The broth reaches its boiling point and Alfred removes the pot from the burner as Bruce places his briefcase on the counter and undoes his tie.
“It must be urgent for him to contact Batman publicly.”
“I must say I do wonder what has gotten into the commissioner’s head. Using his position to announce his desire to speak with a known vigilante risks his and the police force’s entire reputation.” Alfred replies and removes a simmering, heavily seasoned chicken from the oven. “No telling how long he has before reporters and others on the force start accusing him of abusing his power.”
Knowing Alfred would reprimand him if he tried to help with dinner, Bruce removed his suit jacket instead, hanging it on the nearby coat hanger, and took a seat in the smaller dining room that adjoined the kitchen.
“I doubt any accusations would get far. The GCPD has hired several new recruits. They only know a commissioner who uses every resource at his disposal to help Gotham without misusing the law. They wouldn’t throw a coup over contacting an asset they are used to the force having access to.”
Alfred hums again, less an affirmation this time and more questioning.
“Are you certain he’s contacting you for business reasons?” Alfred asks, and Bruce swears his heart plummets into his stomach.
Bruce resists immediately responding with a negative, but then his mind gets lost in the possibility behind Alfred’s words and he finds the appropriate amount of time for an unbiased response has escaped him.
The clang of dishes and cutlery fills the men’s silence as Bruce ponders how much he wants the commissioner to be making a public social call for an audience with Batman. Is it work-related? Or is it personal, like Alfred is suggesting and Bruce wants? If it’s personal, is it just guilt eating at the commissioner? Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt horrible for cutting the commissioner loose after all they had been through with the events at Arkham and the whole escapade with Waller.
Even after the Agency had came in, Bruce had tried his damnedest to work with Gordon. There was loyalty there, and an understanding they both prioritized the common good. Bruce would be lying if he said Gordon’s betrayal had stung, but he still wished the man well. He hadn’t been able to go through with the Joker’s demands after all, which revealed even more of the man’s good nature.
Gordon didn’t have it in him to be the next Amanda Waller, and Bruce found it ridiculously attractive.
Attractive. Dear God, he was losing his sense of self-control. In the past, his sex drive had gotten him into enough trouble with Selina. The last thing he needed to do was let desire ruin his relationship with the commissioner.
Well, ruin it any more than it already was.
“Master Bruce, you are thinking so hard I fear you may be able to cut this chicken with your mind. Please tell me you aren’t planning on taking my one job from me.”
“Sorry, Alfred. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bruce says as Alfred sets the table for the two of them. “I want to know what the commissioner’s reason for contacting Batman is.”
“Have you decided how you intend to do that?” Alfred asks, skepticism evident in his voice.
‘If I go back in the suit, he’ll leave.’
“What if Batman just pays the commissioner a house call?” Bruce asks, and Alfred sighs. His eyes look tired again, already imagining Bruce returning to life wearing the cowl. Seeing what Bruce has done to the gentleman who has raised him, he feels guilt weigh on his heart.
“And if Commissioner Gordon does want the Batman for professional reasons, what then? If Gordon informs you of some dangerous mission he needs your assistance for, could you tell him no?”
Bruce imagines relatively tame scenarios first: of Selina back to a life of thievery, outwitting police; or of drug dealers getting a little too comfortable and cocky with their power over the addicts who come to them. But then the scenarios worsen, and Bruce sees bombs all over the city, jars brimming with laughing gas that leaves people bursting with blood and the Joker on a throne of bodies.
Without knowing what the threats are, the mere sight of the Batsignal on the night sky results in Bruce destroying his own flooring from so much stress pacing.
To know what the threat is and to be capable of envisioning a variety of scenarios in which he could save the day? It would be too much. He could only display so much self-restraint when action could save other peoples’ lives.
Bruce avoids answering Alfred’s question, silently providing an answer in itself: if Gordon wanted Batman involved, Bruce likely couldn’t tell the commissioner no forever.
Bruce felt ridiculous for being tempted into danger by none other than ‘the only good man on the force’ Gordon. If anyone really wanted to lead a daredevil lifestyle, performing what duties are necessary to get on the Gotham commissioner’s good side would just about cover it.
Bruce sighs and takes a bite of the chicken Alfred prepared. He recognizes the basil, thyme, and garlic. The longer he savors the taste, the more seasonings he can point out. Rosemary, cumin. He’d much prefer thinking about the food to testing Alfred’s patience, but here he is.
“I want to know what he wants from me, Alfred.”
“You don’t need to get back in the suit to find that out, Bruce.”
Bruce can feel his anxiety ramping up from potentially losing Alfred or abandoning Gordon.
“Gordon asked to speak with Batman.”
“I think, Master Bruce, if you visited Commissioner Gordon and informed him of the current situation in its entirety, he would understand.”
“Alfred, Gordon tried to arrest Bruce Wayne.” Bruce remembers wanting to tell the commissioner that day in Wayne Enterprises, but knew he couldn’t. If it hadn’t been for Amanda Waller’s swift intervention, Bruce would have been arrested and the mission would have been prolonged because Bruce had never managed to reveal his identity to Gordon.
“Because Bruce Wayne was going undercover with a criminal organization.” Alfred explains. “Amanda Waller cleared Bruce’s name, and I do believe Batman has mentioned Bruce in a positive light to Commissioner Gordon multiple times. If you are invested in the commissioner, and not the opportunity he presents to put yourself back into danger, it might be time to inform him of Bruce Wayne’s real relationship to Batman.”
The thought of revealing his identity as Batman to Gordon causes Bruce’s blood pressure to skyrocket. Gordon could lose all trust in Batman or, well, Bruce. Was it Bruce in his entirety that held Gordon’s trust or just Batman? Would Gordon still want Batman if he knew only Bruce Wayne could help him now? Not mention how Bruce’s public persona isn’t exactly someone Gordon trusts or even remotely likes.
So many questions, and the only person who holds all their answers is in the Gotham City Police Department headquarters. Plus, revealing Batman’s identity isn’t information that can just be stuffed in a bottle and ignored. Once Pandora’s Box was opened, there would be no coming back. Gordon would never see Bruce Wayne, nor Batman the same way again.
“There’s no telling how he will react,” Bruce finally says.
“If he’s half as good of a man as I think he is, you have nothing to fear, Bruce.”
‘Then why does you saying that only make me twice as nervous as before?’ Bruce thinks, nervous but also deciding Alfred might be right after all. Abiding by his promise to Alfred doesn’t necessarily mean he has to ignore Gordon. He can do right by both of them. It just…is going to require a degree of vulnerability from himself now. Alfred deserves that, as does Gordon.
It just terrifies him.
Gordon’s hope Batman will contact him wanes with the falling sun and rising moon. Part of him, a small and very foolish part, had envisioned Batman delivering an encrypted email or well-placed batarang hours after the press release, and coming to him with an explanation for his weeks long disappearance in the night.
Dumb, childish, idyllic.
Feeling embarrassed for even trying to arrange a meeting with someone who probably has lost all faith in him, Jim sleeps poorly and enters the GCPD headquarters in a foul mood. Not even the stereotypical officer meal of doughnuts and coffee brightens his morning. When the front desk clerk informs him Bruce Wayne has requested an emergency meeting at Jim’s convenience, he almost growls.
“Did he give any explanation or reason for this emergency meeting?” The commissioner asks.
“No, sir. Said he could only explain it in person and to you.”
Gordon takes the time on his wrist watch, his vintage preference to his cellphone’s digital clock, and reads the time as 8:05.
“Call him and tell him to be here at 9 on the dot. If he doesn’t answer, don’t leave a voicemail. The GCPD doesn’t answer to the beck ‘n call of every businessmen just because they have money.”
He had dozens of files to sort through, planned meetings to attend, officers to assemble and manage, and a plethora of other duties that involved trying to keep the city from collapsing in on itself from the blackhole of crime it seemed to have created on its own.
In the end, Bruce arrives at 9 on the dot, flushed from running and with his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He had failed to answer the clerk’s call-back and, since she didn’t leave a voicemail, had to play phone tag while preparing for the day in order to discover Gordon had given him a small window of opportunity to meet.
Gordon’s behavior didn’t offer Bruce much hope for how this meeting would go. Bruce almost wants to backtrack the whole plan, but knows asking the commissioner for an emergency meeting and then ghosting him would look out of place. He also isn’t too keen on giving Gordon any more fuel for reasons why Bruce Wayne is someone to be ignored, belittled, or skeptical of.
Unless telling Gordon the truth about who Batman was resulted in all of the above.
God, Bruce wants to crawl in a hole. Instead, he settles for walking up to the clerk and informing them he has arrived to see Commissioner James Gordon. They pick up a phone, dial the commissioner, and give Bruce permission to head on back. He knew where it was.
The door is cracked open, but Bruce knocks anyway, more nervous than he felt at his first gala.
“Come in,” Gordon says, and Bruce can almost hear the man bark his welcome.
‘He’s not in a good mood. Maybe he wanted Batman for work after all,’ Bruce thinks as he enters the commissioner’s office. File cabinets litter the walls, while a map of Gotham’s districts is on the back wall. Gordon’s brown jacket is tossed over the back of his chair, which he is seated in at his desk. Papers, forms and photos, litter all of the desktop that isn’t covered by his laptop to the side.
A scowl hangs on Gordon’s lips, and Bruce would rather be fighting Bane one-on-one in a wrestling ring than be here, doing this.
“You said it was an emergency,” the commissioner says, patience running thin today. Bruce can sense his foul mood lingering in the air around him. The negative energy makes Bruce want to dart out of the room even more, but he steels himself and shuts the office door behind him.
“Yesterday, you said the Gotham City Police Department wanted to speak to Batman.” He states, and can visibly see heightened attention light up Gordon’s eyes. Gordon might not give a damn about Bruce Wayne outside of necessity, but Bruce knows for a fact Gordon still feels personally invested in Batman.
Damn it. That realization only makes his nerves worse. Bruce’s speech halts. To his horror and, oddly enough, his satisfaction, Gordon waits, hanging onto any information about Batman Bruce is about to offer. Bruce licks his lips.
“How often is this room swept for bugs?” Bruce asks.
“It was swept three months ago when there was a leak in the GCPD. I am the only one with a key now, and there has been no break-ins since.” Gordon answers and holds Bruce’s gaze. Bruce would melt under the attention if there wasn’t a part of him basking in it, having secretly prepared and wanted this moment of honesty.
“Come to Wayne Manor tonight. You’ll get your audience with Batman,” Bruce finally says, face as calm and collected as possible. “Come alone, don’t wear any recording devices and triple check for any type of bugs on your person.
“You can tell others where you are and remain in contact with them the entirety of your visit through text or some other method, but he doesn’t want what he tells you tonight getting out to the public…unless that’s something you decide to reveal of your own volition. Afterwards.”
Bruce can feel the drills Gordon is digging into his skull, wanting more information now than just what Bruce is giving. It’s horrifying and impressive and, if Bruce admits it, a little bit of a turn-on.
Gordon exhales a breath Bruce didn’t realize he was holding. Gordon returns his gaze to his desk work, and his shoulders droop slightly as if he’s lost a match Bruce didn’t even realize they were playing.
“It’s always something.” Gordon sighs. “Alright, Wayne,” he starts, looking back up at Bruce. “He said he considered you a friend. If I find out – in any way, shape, or form – you are fucking with me and my department, there will be real consequences.” The words have fire to them, but Bruce can hear the exhaustion seep through Gordon’s voice.
‘An honest man stuck dealing with a shadowy underworld.’ Bruce observes and doesn’t bother to hide his own forming frown.
“I understand.” Bruce replies before turning to leave. On an impulse, he adds, “if it’s any consolation, he wants to see you. For personal, more than professional reasons.”
He exits the office without waiting for a response or reading Gordon’s face.
The scheduled duties for the day switch between dragging on and moving too quickly for Gordon, fluctuating based on his mood and current opinion of Bruce Wayne. He really doesn’t understand what Batman sees in Gotham’s billionaire playboy. There was clearly more to Bruce than meets the eye based on his involvement with the Pact for Amanda Waller, but she could have rounded him up through blackmail or a variety of other techniques that suggested Wayne was as sketchy as his mobster parents.
Waller didn’t just drag good men into her line of work unless they were kicking and screaming.
Gordon messaged a trustworthy deputy about his plans to visit Wayne Manor, and informed him if he didn’t respond every hour, Wayne was up to something. He had also informed Barbara of his location on the off-chance his deputy wound up not being so trustworthy. He didn’t subject her to his hourly messaging system however.
Time would tell if he wound up regretting either of those decisions.
Shutting the door to his cop car, Gordon approaches the manor’s large double doors. He decides he could fit every house and every apartment he’s ever lived in together and they would still only be half the size of this place.
‘Born with silver spoon in his mouth,’ Gordon thinks, nerves and frustration adding bitterness to his assessment. The early night air chills him, raising the hair on the back of his neck despite his coat’s collar. He rings the doorbell and Wayne’s butler opens the door. Gordon knows his name is Alfred Pennyworth due to prior investigations on the Wayne family. He has been a long-term presence in their home.
“Come inside, Commissioner Gordon,” Alfred says, holding open the door and gesturing Gordon inside. Jim finds the opulent furniture and high quality of interior architecture to be both beautiful and further infuriating. “I’ll take you to Master Bruce. He has been particularly…anxious about your arrival.”
Gordon almost snorts, but manages to cut himself off half-way.
“Can’t say I don’t get nervous when someone asks me to show up at a location, repeatedly reminds me to check myself for bugs and asking for the utmost secrecy.”
He doesn’t miss the icy look Alfred shoots him as he shuts the front door.
“Bruce Wayne and Batman are showing you a degree of trust few have ever been privy to, Commissioner Gordon.”
Alfred’s tone pisses off the part of Gordon who doesn’t like being left out of the loop nor threatened, but another part of him calms at the words ‘Batman’ and ‘trust’ in association to Gordon.
God, he’s developed a case of puppy love for the Bat. If he wasn’t so nervous, he’d be disgusted with himself right now.
“Take me to him,” he says, and Alfred leads him through the empty halls of Wayne Manor. They enter a study, where Alfred stands before a grandfather clock. Gordon watches the butler turn the clock hands to 10:47 before a back panel opens up in the clock, revealing a stairwell and lights that react to movement.
Gordon questions what nuthouse he willingly walked into. And without backup.
“I would lead you farther inside,” Alfred says, “but I believe he wants to speak freely with you alone. The panel will close behind you after you descend to a certain degree, but all you have to do is press the panel from the inside and it will open for you to leave.”
“The GCPD knows I’m here. If I go missing, they will come looking for me,” Gordon says, watching Alfred for a reaction. The butler just nods, mostly for a visible representation that he understands what Gordon is suggesting but still not surprised in the slightest.
“I would expect nothing less from Gotham City Police’s Commissioner, and neither would Master Bruce. No one here means you any harm and, I would dare say, the master welcomes your presence at the manor.”
That revelation throws Gordon off center. What would Bruce Wayne ever want with him? He’s an aging police commissioner of a toxic city where the citizens who live inside its boundaries for too long suffer at the hands of one another. He’s not wealthy, and he’s certainly not pretty.
Gordon almost starts his descent, but stops himself for one more word with Alfred.
“Why would Wayne want me here?”
Gordon swears he sees the butler almost smile through the knowing shine in his eyes. If that’s possible.
“I believe they used to call you ‘the only good man’ on the force. There’s something admirable about someone who strives to do the right thing no matter how pressing the circumstances.”
Gordon remembers how Joker offered bomb locations in exchange for Batman. How he had taken that deal, been so willing to sacrifice another man who had dedicated his life to helping others. He’s not so certain he’s as admirable as Wayne’s butler thinks him to be, but he doesn’t press further.
Leaving Alfred, Gordon descends into the depths, nervous about the answers awaiting him but also suddenly confident no one in the vicinity means him ill will.
The stairwell leads into a cave. A cave filled with actual bats, with stalactites dripping from the ceiling, and with more advanced technology than the entire GCPD has at their headquarters. Gordon almost, almost panics at the eeriness exuded from witnessing the product of someone who is both a technological genius with gothic interior decorating tastes, and a resourceful as hell hermit.
He sees skillfully carved stone platforms intermixed with metal supports and railings. A giant computer screen with a lone chair placed in front of it.
He also spots a series of glowing pedestals with mementos placed on them.
He would recognize Harvey Dent’s election poster from a mile away. They had been plastered all over Gotham for so long. After Gordon reaches the bottom of the stairs, he makes a beeline for the poster, familiarity beckoning to him in such an odd, foreign space. He stops himself as Wayne steps out from where he had gone unnoticed amongst the other mementos.
“Wayne,” Gordon starts. “What…what is all this?” Gordon barely catches Wayne’s nervous hitch before he replies.
“This is the Batcave.
“Batman’s home and headquarters…
“My home and headquarters.”
‘Bruce is Batman,’ Gordon thinks, the revelation horrifying him. The greatest hero of Gotham City also happens to be the billionaire playboy of Gotham’s notorious mobsters.
The billionaire playboy Gordon tried to arrest.
“Proof,” Gordon says. “I want proof.” He continues as though the room around him isn’t proof enough.
Wayne walks past him, pressing a button on a panel that reveals the Batmobile. Silent and filled with awe, Gordon follows him across the cave floor. Wayne leads him to the illuminated rack holding the Batsuit.
Gordon’s breath catches in his throat. “It can’t be you.” An unusual look of concern appears on Bruce Wayne’s face, brows furrowing in thought, possibly confused or offended.
Gordon doesn’t know. Gordon doesn’t know if he wants to know.
The person who has spent numerous nights saving his and other citizens’ lives for years is none other than the man he has come to consider a public nuisance at best, criminal at worst. The shock is quickly moving from dumbness to anxious energy.
“Prove it. Put the suit on. If you’re Him, it’ll fit you,” Gordon says with conviction he didn’t realize he was capable of summoning at this moment.
Bruce’s eyes – ‘blue,’ Gordon notes for the first time with any sort of reverence – resemble the gloomy dark pools Gordon imagines must reside at the bottom of this cave, growing with the water dripped from stalactites.
“I promised Alfred I wouldn’t be Batman anymore.” Gordon shakes his head, dissatisfied with the answer and also not fully processing the statement.
“Put it on. Please. I need—I need something physical to go with this.” A physical symbol or representation to help process the situation.
Bruce nods and unbuttons his shirt, revealing a dark material similar to a wet suit. The pants go next, and then Gordon watches as the handsome, wealthy playboy of Gotham turns into the dark knight who has worked alongside Gordon in the past.
When Bruce pulls up the cowl, the dam in Gordon gives way.
“You’re Him. You’re Him, and I’ve been making your life hell for you. I betrayed you as Batman, and I tried to arrest you as Wayne.”
Bruce Wayne was a true hero, is a true hero, and Gordon has been interfering in saving the lives of Gotham citizens.
Gordon almost bolts from shame, but Bruce grabs his wrist.
“Wait,” he says, and it’s the gravelly tone Gordon recognizes from nights on the roof of GCPD headquarters.
“Oh my God.” Shock is clear on Gordon’s face, but he doesn’t pull away.
“You wouldn’t have arrested me if you’d known. I wanted to tell you then, but with Waller already aware of my identity, I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of anyone else knowing.” Bruce explains, returning to the tone of voice he used outside the suit.
“That’s how she got you to work with her. All this time I thought Bruce Wayne was being blackmailed by her in order to hide criminal activities, maybe a new mob, but…but you were hiding this.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce. Batman. Wayne. I didn’t want our last encounter to be me selling you out to the Joker. I regretted. I regret it.”
Bruce gently squeezes Gordon’s wrist still in his hand.
“Don’t regret it. You made the best decision. You saved a lot of lives that otherwise would have been lost.” Gordon shook his head.
“No. We don’t know that. We could have found another way. Maybe worked together and gotten the map from Joker. If I had just talked to you—”
“I have forgiven you. I forgive you,” Bruce says. “Hell Gordon, you didn’t even go through with it. You still warned me about what I was walking into. That says a lot about your character.”
God. Hearing validation from the man who Gordon believes could probably walk on water lights a fire in him. He’s proud, but also desperate to make things right. It’s a heady feeling for an old man.
“Never again, Bruce. I promise you, right now, I will never even entertain betraying you like that again.”
Gordon sees, hears, and feels Bruce’s breath hitch at the declaration. Now, that observation goes straight to the wrong head but Gordon reminds himself to keep his attention on Bruce, the man he’s here to ask forgiveness from.
It mostly distracts him.
Until Bruce, in a hushed voice, speaks:
“I…didn’t expect any of this. I prepared for the worst, Gordon. I was ready for you to maybe run, possibly threaten to blackmail me.”
Gordon leans forward, closer into Bruce’s space. He remembers seeing this suit practically melt into the shadows of the night on rainy evenings. Now, it looks like an odd combination of Kevlar velveteen.
“I’m not running, Bruce. And I’m definitely not blackmailing you.”
“Gordon.” Bruce states, sounding a little in awe of the commissioner himself. It baffles Gordon, but also empowers him.
For the moment, he feels like he’s thriving, a feeling that has eluded him most of his life here in Gotham.
“Jim, Bruce. You can call me Jim.”
Gordon witnesses an actual smile appear on the Batman’s face, and it leaves Gordon a little starry-eyed. He did that. He made Batman, he made Bruce smile despite the circumstances. He’s capable of creating small miracles of his own it seems.
He’d expected to be kidnapped, and here he was reunited with Batman. Oh wait—he’d prepared for kidnapping. He needs to text back his deputy. Pulling himself out of the reverie, Gordon takes out his phone, sending the update and the designated safe word so he wouldn’t be messaging the deputy all night. He doesn’t miss the way Bruce momentarily tenses.
“I’m telling my deputy I’m fine. And that Bruce Wayne wasn’t setting me up.” Bruce relaxes his shoulders, relieved.
“Automatic response.” Bruce replies, explaining how his response contradicted his actual conviction in Gordon’s trust. Now, it’s Gordon’s time to smile.
“I understand. Not fully, but well enough to imagine.” Gordon gazes up at the cavern’s ceiling. “This—all of it—I can only guess how difficult this was to put together. Let alone keep secret.”
“Jim, why did you ask to speak with me?” Bruce asks.
“I just wanted to apologize for what happened with Joker. I didn’t want us to end like that.”
“I feel the same. I just—I was supposed to give up the cowl, and I wasn’t sure if you would appreciate a house call from Bruce Wayne as much as Batman.”
Gordon has so many questions, and his face shows it. In the back of his mind, he registers how physically close he and Bruce have remained throughout this entire conversation, but he avoids focusing on it too much. His brain might stop functioning otherwise.
“Supposed to give up the cowl?”
“Alfred was sick of me endangering my life,” Bruce says, finally releasing Gordon’s wriest, and tilts his head in the direction of the stairs. The loss of the other man’s hand chills Gordon, but Bruce continues speaking, unaware: “It was either let Alfred leave or give up the Bat.”
Gordon’s heart almost stops.
“You quit.” Gordon tries to make sense of the situation. “You quit months, years of vigilante justice to preserve your relationship with your butler?” Even though Bruce is still in the cowl, Gordon can see his eyes narrow.
“He raised me, Jim. He’s been more of a father to me than my real one. I can’t make decisions that will cause him suffering. Every time a new assignment popped up, he developed tremors. The fear ate away at his health.”
“So you just quit? Hell, you could have at least left a note,” Gordon says, anger in his voice. “’Hello Commissioner, you can stop lighting up the Bat Signal and waiting on rooftops for me. I decided to give up my career, because my dad is worried.’”
“I don’t owe this city my life, Jim.” Bruce almost growls. “And would a note really have satisfied you?” Gordon looks down and imagines finding a note in his office about the Batman taking an early retirement. It would have driven him, well, batty.
He exhales loudly in exasperation.
“You’re right. About the note, and the city. But does this – giving up the Bat – really satisfy you?”
The dark knight doesn’t answer, merely stares back at Gordon as the cave echoes the question.
“I’m…adapting. Just like you, the GCPD, and the rest of Gotham.” Gordon almost wants to shove the bastard or hit him. Gordon isn’t happy about this outcome, and it doesn’t seem like Bruce is in the slightest either. He settles for putting a hand on the vigilante’s upper arm, and meeting his gaze.
“Dammit Batman, I knew I could rely on you.” Gordon gently shakes the other man. “There was time when I trusted you more than my fellow officers on the force, and there is no one else I would rather work with.
“You’re damn good at saving people, Bruce.”
“You got all of those bombs defused, Jim.” Bruce reminds him. “You saved most of this city, while I hunted down Joker.”
“Nothing could have stopped the Joker from making more bombs unless you had caught him.”
The men reach a standstill. All Gordon can think is ‘we make a damn good team, Bruce.’ He contemplates spending the rest of his career leading the GCPD with Batman as his nightly support. They could do a lot of good. They’ve done a lot of good, but Gordon doesn’t want to accept this…alliance? Friendship? It’s a relationship he can’t name yet, but he knows he won’t accept its premature end.
“Together we saved the city, Bruce. The commissioner and Batman,” Gordon finally says.
His heart skips a beat as Bruce lifts his arms, forcing Gordon to drop his own hand to his side. Slowly, Bruce peels back his cowl, revealing those blue eyes once again and they focus in on Gordon like he is the most important man in Gotham.
“Work with me as Bruce. I still have the same resources as before, Jim. I just…I can’t break my promise to Alfred. I can’t wear the suit again.”
Gordon wants to retort ‘I got you in the suit right now. What’s a couple more times for the good of the city?’ But, he resists out of fear he might not be able to persuade Bruce to don the cowl again. He’s an aging commissioner with a pretty petty salary. Right now, Bruce Wayne – or Batman – is humoring him because of their history. After this, Batman will be gone. Bruce will go back to focusing on the billionaire lifestyle, and Gordon will be on his own.
“Will you really? Bruce Wayne is a billionaire in charge of Wayne Enterprises and more resources than the entirety of the GCPD. I’m just a police commissioner running on a few years – ideally decades, but let’s be realistic here – until a criminal or early retirement due to injury take me.”
“Jim, I have worked with you and I will continue to do so. The only thing that’s changed is I cannot wear the suit on the streets, and your awareness of my identity. It was always me in the suit and, even with the suit gone, I will help you however is possible.”
Gordon stops and thinks. He…was willing to accept help from Batman. He knows he can trust Bruce. He just isn’t too keen on accepting Batman as a past entity rather than a facet of Bruce. The latter would be easy to accept if it didn’t mean the end of a chapter Gordon felt had just been truly revealed to him.
He remembers how hopeful part of him had felt when Bruce walked in his office and informed him he would get his audience with Batman.
That Batman wanted to see him. For personal reasons, not just professional. Wait.
“Bruce, when you came to my office, you said Batman wanted to see me—for more than just work.” Gordon can see Bruce tense and shutter his expression. “Did you mean that? Are you willing to work with anyone for Gotham’s sake or…”
Silence returns. It is only after a beat passes that Bruce replies:
“No. And it’s not just willingness, Jim. I want to work with you. I trust you and…there is no other man in this city who compares.”
Gordon can’t take it. Hearing those words from Batman, the mysterious figure who has protected Gordon and his home, and from Bruce Wayne, a handsome heir who once inspired so much anger, unbottles something within him.
Wrapping a hand around the back of Bruce’s head and closing his own eyes, Gordon pulls Bruce in for a kiss and the billionaire all but jumps him. Gordon’s breath catches when he feels Bruce’s soft lips against his own, and it happens again as Bruce entwines his arms around Gordon’s waist, pressing the commissioner against him. The contrast between soft lips and the hard shape of Bruce’s body – of the Bat suit – shoots desire straight to Gordon’s cock.
As if he had been starving for affection, Bruce holds Gordon tight against him and deepens the kiss. Thoughts of Bruce Wayne and Batman possessing any sort of want for Gordon leaves him heady and wanting more. He twists a hand into Bruce’s hair, and Bruce emits a sound of pleasure so sweet Gordon realizes his imagination could have never created it.
It’s Bruce who slides his leg in between Gordon’s thighs and rubs just enough pressure for stars to burst beneath Gordon’s eyelids. Gordon separates from Bruce’s slick lips to gasp.
“Bruce.”
After placing a gentle kiss beneath Gordon’s ear, Bruce slides his gloved hands under Gordon’s thighs. The commissioner barely has time to assess their positions before Bruce lifts him up his own thigh, helping Gordon grind against his leg. Friction has never felt so delicious, and Gordon moans.
God, the thought of Bruce fucking him in a cave shouldn’t stoke flames of desire in Gordon but it does.
Desperate and turned on, Gordon tries pulling himself even closer to Bruce. Despite the limited sensitivity permitted by the suit’s thick material, Bruce shudders and sucks the skin beneath Gordon’s jaw. Hearing the loyal commissioner’s breath hitching in Bruce’s ear sends all of his blood and thoughts southward. Bruce groans.
“Jim, how big of a thing is the suit for you?” He asks, and Gordon misses the question in his sex-induced haze.
“Huh?”
The glazed look to Gordon’s eyes and the skew of his glasses bring a smile to Bruce’s face. He could get used to disheveling the commissioner with sex.
“Do you want me to keep the suit on, or would you be okay with me taking it off?” Gordon flushes scarlet, imagines Bruce as the Batman having his way with him. It takes a moment of serious self-control and consideration for Gordon to decide.
“We should do what’s most comfortable for you.”
“How does no-suit and an upstairs bedroom sound to you?” Bruce asks. “We’ll save the cave for more hurried second or third times.” Gordon’s heart flutters, and his hard cock twitches.
God, who did he save to deserve this?
“Let’s go,” Gordon says before sliding down Bruce’s thigh and planting a kiss on the man’s throat. When he notices the reddish burn his mustache left on Bruce’s lips, Gordon feels a sense of pride he did that.
With an admirable speed, Bruce loses the cowl and armor. Gordon almost regrets letting him take off the suit except the skin-tight material beneath reminds Gordon Bruce is a monster of a man in more ways than one. Even as they walk towards the stairs, Gordon finds himself looking back and admiring Bruce’s body.
As an officer of the law, he tries to keep himself in shape but genetics and age are hardly his best friend. He didn’t even have abs at his peak physical condition and, right now, he’s got a pretty good guess Bruce is hiding a full set underneath that skinsuit.
The longer Gordon thinks about his physical comparison to Bruce, the greater his anxiety gets. They walk up the stairwell and even Bruce picks up on the commissioner’s change in energy. Before they press on the dark panel that opens into the grandfather clock, Bruce stops him.
“Jim, what’s wrong?”
“Bruce, are you sure you want me? I’m not like you. Even remotely. I’m a washed up police officer with several years on me and a less than prime figure.” He finishes and avoids the other man’s eye contact despite the small amount of room between them.
Bruce puts his hand on Gordon’s back and waits until Gordon meets his eyes. Gordon’s breath stutter as Bruce leans in, kissing Gordon silly to the point where Gordon stands on his tip toes to chase Bruce’s lips when they retreat.
Bruce notices and he comes back for a couple more minutes until he’s certain Gordon feels reassured of his affection. The gesture leaves Gordon nervous from excitement rather than insecurity, and he follows Bruce into the study with an uncharacteristic spring in his step, wondering what kind of strange world he’s stepped into.
The hurried journey from the Batcave to Bruce’s main bedroom mostly consists of silence and sporadic touching. Bruce isn’t certain what to make of escorting Commissioner Jim Gordon to his bed, but he knows Jim is different than anyone else he’s ever slept with.
Halting outside the bedroom door, Bruce suddenly feels grateful Jim didn’t push him for a cave fuck in the suit. If this thing does make it past one day, he wouldn’t want to always remember their first time to be a sloppy, uncomfortable mess no matter how kinky it seemed at the time. Behind him, Gordon speaks up.
“My turn to ask is something wrong?”
“Um.” Bruce starts, feeling far more awkward than a proclaimed playboy should. “Do you want this to be a one-time thing? I never asked and assumed, but…”
Gordon laughs, deep and satisfied. He turns Bruce all the way around to face him, and backs him up against the door. When Gordon kisses him and traces the lines of Bruce’s lips with his tongue, Bruce curls his toe from anticipation for more.
“Bruce, the sooner we get me out of these clothes, the sooner we can focus on the first, second, third, fourth time—” Bruce hushes him with a kiss, moving his hands under Gordon’s jacket. It swiftly winds up on the hallway floor and Bruce begins unbuttoning Gordon’s shirt with a deftness Gordon has never seen. When the rough pads of Bruce’s fingers brush against his skin, Gordon realizes the man has far more calluses than would be expected of a billionaire from birth.
What other signs had he missed? He wonders before barely managing to open the bedroom door behind Bruce.
Bruce is trying to push Gordon’s shirt down his shoulders and arms as Gordon walks them backwards into the bedroom. When Bruce’s ass meets bedframe, he laughs, deep and honey smooth.
“Need to go around the side,” he says, smiling, and kisses Gordon, who finally frees himself of his shirt. Bruce sucks on Gordon’s bottom lip, eliciting a groan from the commissioner, as his hands make fast work undoing Gordon’s belt. Holding the belt ends in separate hands, Bruce pulls Gordon forward, grinding their crotches together.
Shivering from pleasure, Gordon slides his hand under Bruce’s skin-tight shirt.
“Off.”
Bruce smirks before ignoring the command. He tightens his grip on the belt, holding Gordon close and rubbing himself against the man. “God, Bruce,” Gordon says, torn between embarrassment at how turned on he is and sexual satisfaction at dry-humping Gotham’s most eligible bachelor and vigilante.
His reaction leaves Bruce more than a little pleased. He only lets go of Gordon’s belt to push enough room between them for Bruce to kneel. Using only his mouth, Bruce unbuttons Gordon’s pants with the ease of a skilled sex worker. “Bruce.” The gesture leaves Gordon a flushing mess. He digs his nails into Bruce’s still covered shoulders, and Bruce mouths along the damp outline of Gordon’s cock, dripping precum and trapped in a pair of worn boxer briefs.
Bruce moves to slide Gordon’s briefs down, but Gordon stops him with a hand in his hair. Gasping, he says, “Wait. Bruce.” Bruce stays back, but Gordon shivers at the sensation of Bruce’s spit and warm breath still so close to his cock. “It’s been too long for me. We might want to save that for, uh, later.”
The dark look of desire in Bruce’s eyes does little to help Gordon’s self-control.
“All right.” Bruce replies and, without getting up, he slowly strips himself of the tight shirt. Each inch of revealed muscle leaves Gordon heady with the realization he’s allowed to touch that.
God. Bruce has ruined him for absolutely anyone else.
As Bruce rises from his kneeling position, Gordon forgets his inadequacy and licks a stripe underneath Bruce’s collarbone, tasting salt and sweat. The moan that leaves Bruce’s mouth and the way his body shudders against Gordon does wonders for the commissioner’s self-esteem.
Tucking his fingers in Bruce’s tights, Gordon starts sliding them down and, after confirming Bruce does in fact go commando, frees Bruce’s flushed, leaking cock. Gordon had only been with one another man, a fellow officer years ago, and he had been packing far less.
“Do you insist on outdoing other men in every area?” He asked, exasperated but hungry. Bruce laughs and pulls Gordon forward enough to press a kiss to his shoulder.
“It comes naturally. Now, get out of your shoes and I’ll outdo everyone else you’ve had in your bed,” Bruce says, eyes shining in the dim room.
“Dammit, Wayne—” Gordon’s voice devolves into a growl as he slides out of his shoes and pants. Bruce uses the time to take his tights off the rest of the way.
Gordon contemplates dropping his briefs now, but is distracted by Bruce moving behind him.
“Lean forward and grab onto the bedframe.” Bruce orders, and Gordon realizes he is fucked in the absolutely best way possible. After the commissioner does as he’s told, Bruce takes his cock and balls in hand.
Gordon releases the loudest sex-induced moan he possibly ever has, and knows the bastard above him is smirking.
“Wayne—” He’s cut off by Bruce grinding against his ass, sending fireworks off behind his eyes. The feel of Bruce’s hard cock between his ass cheeks, more than ready to bury itself within him, has him gasping. Bruce’s pressure on his own cock and balls does little to relieve the situation.
“I could fuck you like this,” Bruce says in a voice that sounds more like polished Wayne than darker Batman and neutral Bruce. “Pound you from behind as you cling to my bed.” Gordon’s breathing stutters.
“Bruce, you’re killing me here.” He continues, almost begging. “Just put me in your damn bed and fuck me.”
Gordon hears Bruce’s intake of breath. It almost satisfies him but then Bruce slides his hand into Gordon’s briefs, wrapping around his hot, sensitive cock, and sends Gordon standing again in surprise from the sensation. Bruce twists his grip, and Gordon arches, pressing his back against Bruce’s body as tightly as he can.
“Please, Bruce,” the commissioner finally says. Bruce releases him, only to move in front of him and lift Gordon up by the backs of his knees. He walks to the bedside and drops Gordon onto the bed. He moves away and Gordon frowns, displeased with the lack of heat between his legs. “Bruce, I’m an impatient, old man,” he says, and Bruce snorts from beside the bed, pulling lube and a condom from the side table drawer.
“Jim, you run hot and cold faster than Catwoman,” Bruce says but its with a soft smile. The sight of Bruce’s smile causes Gordon’s unhappiness to ebb. He holds a hand out, and Bruce takes it, sliding between Gordon’s thighs and dropping the condom and lube beside them.
Bruce kisses Gordon. The glide of Bruce’s tongue leaves Gordon shivering with want, and the sensation of Bruce’s rock hard body pressing Gordon’s softer shape into the bed has Gordon gasping into Bruce’s mouth.
Pulling back, Bruce asks, “How long has it been since you were taken from behind?” The sentence combined with the memory of his last time being pegged by Barbara’s mother causes him to groan.
“About nine months ago.”
The words bring another small, soft smile to Bruce’s face. He leans back, rises to his knees, and maneuvers so he’s straddling Gordon’s hips, the latter’s cock comfortably sliding between his ass cheeks.
“How does you taking me sound? I’m still a little loose from getting myself off this morning,” Bruce says, and Gordon damn near comes from the image of Bruce with a dildo shoved up his ass, chasing an early morning climax before getting ready for the day. Through clenched teeth, Gordon replies, almost in pain.
“No complaints here.” Bruce takes the condom from beside them, opening it with his teeth and, in his haste, damn near ripping it.
When he rises, Gordon’s hard cock follows and he rolls the condom on with ease. The small physical satisfaction of being touched causes Gordon to uncharacteristically sigh. Bruce releases a silent laugh, smiling, as he uncaps the lube. He starts to pour the lube on his free hand, but Gordon stops him, holding out his own.
“The least I can do until you let me spend another night eating you out,” he says, and Bruce’s entire body shivers attractively at the thought of Gordon pressing him to the sheets and eating his ass out.
Gordon notices and doesn’t bother to hide his own smirk as he coats his fingers in lube. “Mhm.” He hums, using his non-lubed hand to massage Bruce’s ass and relax him. Bruce sighs, enjoying the soothing action. Gordon follows it up by tracing a lube-covered finger around his asshole, not yet penetrating and just coaxing. The actions trigger a more sensitive side of Bruce as he leans forward and leaves hurried kisses on Gordon’s lips.
If you had told Gordon an hour ago Batman had a secret turn on for consideration and gentleness in bed, he wouldn’t have believed you.
But, here he is with a lap full of Bruce and he can’t say he has any complaints with the change in perspective. Gordon keeps up the shallow touches and soon, Bruce is grinding his hard length in Gordon’s hip, eager for more. Gordon laughs, but abides by his wishes, sliding a finger inside Bruce and earning a happy gasp for the decision.
Bruce is dripping precum all over Gordon’s stomach and the amounts only increase as Gordon thrusts his finger in and out. Bruce chases his hand, following his finger the couple times he seems like he might leave. Gordon drags the moment out until finally Bruce whines deep in the back of his throat.
“Jim. I’m not a boy toy for you to play with.” He sounds displeased, but Gordon can tell his efforts are appreciated by one part of him.
“You could be,” Gordon says. In response, Bruce shivers and Gordon finally adds another finger inside of him, earning a gasp and a delicious, bodily shudder.
“God, Jim,” Bruce says, thrusting back against Gordon’s fingers as though his hand is just a dildo to be played with. Gordon presses particularly hard once, going deeper than before, and Bruce whimpers.
‘Definitely did something good in this life,’ Gordon thinks. Continuing with the scenario of Bruce being his personal boy toy, Gordon returns to talking as Bruce rides his hand like he hasn’t had sex in ten years.
“You could be the handsome billionaire who spends all his day fighting with investors, only to come home and be fucked into his mattress by his beloved commissioner.”
Bruce groans, and Gordon thrusts a third finger inside, causing Bruce to press his hands against Gordon’s chest for support as he bounces back against Gordon’s hand.
Over the wet sound of lube, ragged gasps, and sliding skin, Gordon adds: “Rich and unattached Bruce Wayne does what he wants during the day. Buys what he wants, flirts with any skirt that passes his way.
“But it’s when he comes home and has to answer to his older lover that the real fun begins.”
Bruce shivers, readjusting his hips so he can feel the tip of Gordon’s cock right outside his ass. “You good?” Gordon double-checks, teasing his fingers along the edge of Bruce’s ass.
“Yeah.” Bruce replies and, as soon as Gordon’s fingers are out of the way, he’s sliding his way down the commissioner’s cock. He grunts at the uncomfortable stretch, but reaches the base of Gordon’s cock without much effort.
Bruce is hot, and tight, and possibly the sweetest corner of heaven Gordon is gonna get in this lifetime. He thrusts up, soft and shallow, to test the waters. Out of spite, Bruce presses down against Gordon’s crotch, grinding against him in a smooth circle.
Bruce doesn’t bother to hide his smirk as Gordon grabs his gyrating hips, less so to stop him and more so for something to ground him in the moment.
It’s ridiculously satisfying.
Putting his thighs to work, Bruce rises, almost sliding off Gordon’s cock, before thrusting back down, riding Gordon for all he’s worth.
In a light, breathy voice, Bruce manages to say, “So much for Bruce Wayne answering to the commissioner.”
Gordon clicks his tongue and after a beat, when Bruce is on his downstroke, he flips them. Keeping Bruce seated comfortably on his cock but now on with his back against the mattress, Gordon thrusts into Bruce, earning a deep-throated moan for his efforts.
As Gordon starts picking up a fast pace, Bruce wraps his legs around Gordon’s hips, pulling his partner deeper into him. “Jim,” he says in between gasps, moving his arms around Gordon’s sweat-coated shoulders. Clutching onto him and edging closer, Bruce gasps out a “Commissioner.”
Gordon is ashamed to think about the speed and intensity of his orgasm following a wanton Bruce Wayne addressing him as commissioner.
He sees white, and rides out his orgasm by thrusting into Bruce, short and shallow. In order to make up for coming first, Gordon stays focused and wraps a hand around Bruce’s hot, leaking cock.
“God, you’re a gift, Bruce. Follow my hand,” Gordon says, stroking Bruce as his own cock softens.
Bruce does as he’s told, thrusting up into Gordon’s hand and body. His gasps reach a staccato, breath coming in rapid against the shell of Gordon’s ear. It’s hotter than hell, and Gordon presses a kiss to the side of Bruce’s sweat-soaked neck. “Please come for me, Bruce,” he says, and Bruce climaxes, spending white streaks over the both of them.
Feeling hot and tired, Bruce collapses backwards onto the bed. Despite the heat and discomfort of another body in the post-sex haze, he drags a satiated Gordon down with him. The scent of sweat and salt, along with the precum and semen coating them, should be overwhelming disgusting but they stay clumped together in a messy heap.
Catching their breath, the two men stay in bed but never entirely break physical contact with the other, overheated but wondering what could happen when the spell of the moment wears off. A chest rises, another breath taken, a beat passes, another breath given. With every minute that passes, Gordon or Bruce thinks the other may suggest a shower before taking off.
Gordon breaks the silence first.
“So, I know this is a disgusting suggestion.” He starts, looking towards Bruce and holding his gaze with those baffling dark blues. Bruce’s expression itself doesn’t give away what he’s thinking nor show any sign of concern for what Gordon is saying.
Out of curiosity, Gordon places his hand on Bruce’s chest, over where his heart is hiding. “How would feel about skipping the shower and just falling asleep together?”
Bruce’s cool exterior gives way for another one of his small, signature smiles, clearly relieved Gordon doesn’t have any desire to hightail out of Wayne Manor despite their activities.
“That would be disgusting,” Bruce says and his tidy billionaire preferences win out as he suggests, “how about this: we drag each other out of bed, shower for maybe a total of five minutes, come back and toss the dirty sheets for a night of rest?” Gordon groans, more than ready to get some sleep after a day of work and a bout of good sex but he’s smiling.
“If you insist, I suppose we can compromise.”