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“What’s your darkest fantasy?’
Wayne raises an eyebrow at him. They’re in the back room of Wayne’s club, reclining on what turned out to be a fold-out bed. They’ve been having their...private sessions here for a few months now. Gordon wishes he still smoked just so he’d have something to do with his hands.
“Don’t you think you’ve already helped me act it out?” Wayne asks in that charming way of his.
“Not even close.” Gordon clasps his hands over his stomach. “The first time we did this, you had me stick a gun in your mouth. I expect it’s only uphill from there.”
“Maybe I got a little excited.” They sit in silence as Wayne mulls this over. Gordon is patient. He can wait.
“I’m not sure you’ll want to hear it,” Wayne says slowly.
“I’ve been a cop for twenty years. I think I can take it.”
“That might be why you won’t want to hear it,” Wayne says dryly. It’s his turn to clasp his hands over his stomach. “I have...rape fantasies.”
It’s about what Gordon was expecting. “And?”
Wayne looks at him. “And?”
“How would I fit into these fantasies?”
Wayne’s mouth parts. His eyes go soft and delighted. He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling. “Well, they mostly take place at night.”
“Makes sense.”
“On rooftops.”
The silence stretches. “Am I on duty?”
“Yes,” Wayne says simply.
“Do I have my gun?”
Wayne smiles. “Yes. I...upset you, and you pull it on me.”
“Upset me like contaminate a crime scene, or like let a suspect get away?”
Wayne’s smile widens. “Whatever would make you hold your gun to my head and fuck me against the wall.”
“Sounds like the perfect situation for Batman to rescue you from.”
Wayne’s mouth twitches. “In this scenario, he’s...occupied.”
Gordon contemplates the ceiling for a moment in silence. Then, seemingly out of the blue, he asks, “What do you think Batman’s safeword is?”
“If I had to guess? Broccoli.”
“Not a fan?”
Wayne’s grin lights up the room. “I hear bats hate it.”
It’s night and Gordon is on a rooftop.
Technically, he’s on the top floor of an abandoned building, but with the gaping holes in the plywood boarding up the windows, it might as well be the rooftop. The building is empty, and scheduled for demolition in a few weeks—for zoning reasons; Gordon confirmed it’s structurally sound. He and a team swept through the building yesterday based on an anonymous tip about a drug ring in the area. They seized enough pills to keep Narcotics happy for a while.
So technically, it’s a crime scene.
It’s also freezing, which wasn’t something he’d thought of. He grits his teeth and shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he paces the room. It had looked a lot cleaner in daylight. In the dark shadows cast by the moon, he imagines he can see rats and cockroaches watching him wait for someone who is notoriously unburdened by things such as plans and being on time.
A shadow flickers across the moon. Gordon stops pacing. All he can hear are the low sounds of his own breathing and rapid heartbeat.
Batman leaps in through a gaping hole and lands heavily on the floor a few away. In an instant, Gordon has his gun drawn.
“I don’t like guns,” Batman growls at him.
A shiver of fear goes down Gordon’s spine. “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t like your tone.”
Gordon slams his shoulder into Batman’s chest. Batman grunts and stumbles back a step. Gordon takes advantage of the element of surprise and slams him against the wall. Batman’s back hits the plaster with a thump. Gordon puts one hand solidly on his chest plate and points his pistol at the ceiling. “What do you say if you want me to stop?” he demands in a low voice.
“Broccoli.”
Gordon cocks his head. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Get your hands off me,” Batman growls. The words reverberate in his chest and travel up Gordon’s arm.
“I’ve had about enough of you,” Gordon says. His blood burns in his veins. “You’ve contaminated more crime scenes than I can count, but this really takes the cake. Do you know we lost every collar from the drug bust that took place here yesterday, every one, because the evidence wasn’t lawfully gathered? Evidence you gave me! That’s months of work down the drain.” Gordon lowers his voice to his own version of a growl. “Now you dare show yourself here? Turn around.”
“I don’t take orders very well.”
The gun Gordon holds in his hands is unloaded. It’s not his; it’s Wayne’s. It’s a perfect replica of the GCPD-issue pistol locked in the glove compartment of his car. But the click as he thumbs off the safety still sends a familiar fire over his skin. Clarity settles over his mind, sharp as the night air. “From me, you do.”
Batman slowly turns around.
“Hands flat on the wall above your head.” Batman slowly raises his arms.
Then Batman whirls around and swings for his head.
Gordon ducks. He comes up as Batman goes for a leg sweep, and he barely leaps out of the way in time. He brings up the gun just as Batman darts toward him.
“Stop.” Gordon’s voice is low and commanding. Batman freezes. His eyes are trained on the muzzle of the gun pointed in his face.
For all that he and Wayne have played with guns before, Gordan has never pointed one in his face so aggressively. The horrified thrill it sends up his arms fizzles out somewhere in his shoulders.
“Back against the wall.”
Batman slowly retreats, the tread of his combat boots heavy on the cement floor. He stops by the wall and waits.
“Tool belt. Off.”
Batman’s eyes don’t leave the gun as he unhooks the tool belt and drops it on the floor. It clangs heavily; who knows what kind of stuff he has in there.
“Kick it over here.”
He does.
“Does the cape detach from the rest of the suit?” No response. “Remove it.”
Slowly, Batman unclips the cape from his collar. The fabric falls to the ground.
Like this, he looks so much more like a man. A terrifying one, and a strong one, but a man nonetheless. A man who is flesh and blood.
“Face the wall,” Gordon says gruffly in a voice he barely recognizes. Batman complies. “And pull your pants down to your knees.”
Batman jerks. His head turns over his shoulder. “No.”
Gordon steps just close enough to rest the cold muzzle of the gun against the back of Batman’s head. “I don’t know if you can feel this through that cowl of yours,” he says quietly, “but if I pull this trigger, you will be dead before you hit the ground.” He pushes Batman’s head forward with the tip of the gun until his forehead knocks against the wall. Gordon murmurs in his ear, “Someone once threatened me like this with a stapler. I assure you, this gun is very, very real.”
Batman’s hands slowly move to the front of his suit. There’s the click of snaps and the purr of a zipper. He hooks gloved thumbs in the bottom half of the suit and pushes it down.
He’s wearing plain black underwear beneath the suit. Gordon’s cock starts to fill out beneath his jeans. It shouldn’t be so arousing, but to see Batman unwrapped like this before him, it’s—exhilarating.
“Fuck,” he breathes. He fumbles with his own zipper. He manages to pull his jeans and underwear far enough down one-handed to get his cock out. “I’m going to fuck you, Batman. And you’re going to stay still, you understand?”
Without waiting for a response, Gordon pulls down the waistband of Batman’s black Gucci underwear and snaps them against the underside of his thighs.
Batman flinches. His grunt is loud in the silent room.
Gordon holsters his gun; he needs both hands for this. He runs a hand over Batman’s right butt cheek. He finds the bruise he left on Wayne last week and digs his thumb into it. The muscle tenses, but Batman doesn’t make a sound. Gordon pulls his hand back and slaps it. The smack rings in the silent room.
“Fuck you,” Batman growls.
“Hands on the wall where I can see them,” Gordon says as he digs inside his pockets. Fuck; he should have done this before he pulled his dick out. He manages to find the condom and the small bottle of lube. Slicking up in an abandoned building isn’t normally his idea of a good time, but his pulse pounds in his ears as he unrolls the latex over his dick. He liberally lubes up two of his fingers and reaches between Batman’s ass cheeks.
Batman grunts as the cold liquid makes contact with his hole. Without preamble, Gordon pushes both fingers inside. He lets out a breath; Batman’s loose. He pushes the fingers in and out a few times. Then he pulls them out and slips his hand under to fondle Batman’s balls.
Batman squirms away from the cold wetness. But Gordon persists, and soon there’s a shaky exhale of pleasure from between Batman’s teeth.
Gordon pulls back. He pours a liberal amount of lube in his palm and shoves the bottle back in his pocket. He gives himself a few quick strokes, twisting his wrist to spread the lube, and then lines up.
“Don’t do this,” Batman gasps. His hole twitches against the tip of Gordon’s cock.
“Someone has to teach you a lesson.” More quietly, Gordon asks, “Do you need to use your safeword?”
“Gordon,” Batman says, and Gordon pushes inside.
They both groan. It’s cold, here on the rooftop in the dead of night, but Batman is blissfully hot. Gordon thrusts shallowly a few times, then sinks in all the way. He gasps at the sensation. Beneath him, Batman shifts his feet as far apart as they can go—not far, hobbled as he is by his suit.
“Fuck, you feel so much better than I thought,” Gordon pants as he begins to thrust. “I’ve thought about this so many times—so many of those evidence drops, waiting for you to melt out of the shadows and bend over, beg me to fuck you—”
The fantasy is starting to blur with the reality: fucking Batman by moonlight. Has Gordon always wanted this, or is he just saying it to feed one of Wayne’s sick fantasies? Maybe it’s Wayne who has always fantasized about big bad Gordon fucking the big bad Bat. Or is this really what Gordon thinks about when he’s alone in his apartment, his hand wrapped around his dick under the covers?
“You’re sick,” Batman growls at him. “I didn’t beg you to fuck me. How many rapists have you put away, and you—”
“Fuck you,” Gordon snarls, and he puts one hand on the back of Batman’s neck and pins him to the wall. He fucks into him hard and fast. With his other hand, he reaches around and grasps Batman’s dick. He’s rock hard. Batman lets out a strangled gasp. “If I’m sick, what are you?” Gordon growls in his ear. “You’re the one enjoying this.”
“Fuck,” Batman gasps. His body melts against Gordon’s. Gordon has to release him so he can use both hands to grab his hips and keep him steady. He sets up a bruising pace while Batman braces himself against the wall with his forearms. Gordon’s balls start tightening. God, Batman feels amazing.
“Please, Gordon—”
“What, you want me to stop?” Gordon pants. “Tough luck. I’m going to fuck you until promise to never step foot on one of my crime scenes again.”
“Fuck,” he whines.
His voice has lost the artificial roughness of Batman. That’s how Gordon knows he’s truly lost in it.
Gordon reaches around and palms Batman’s dick. He pants wetly as Gordon strokes it. He’s so hard; the tip is wet with precome. The lube left on Gordon’s fingers has gone tacky, making his hand drag rather than slide over the velvet-soft cock. He grips it more firmly and goes for long, rough strokes. Batman is trembling under him. Though the man must work out five hours a day, Gordon isn’t confident he can hold himself up much longer.
“Since you’ve been so polite and only tried to punch me once,” Gordon murmurs, “I’m going to let you come first. I want you to clench around me as hard as you can and milk me for all I’m worth.”
“Gordon,” Batman sobs. “I’m so close.”
“Yeah?” Gordon twists his wrist. “Then why don’t you come?”
“Need you to—” He chokes off his words.
Gordon’s movements slow. “You need something, Batman?”
He whimpers. “Stop touching me.”
Gordon automatically goes still.
“Gordon,” Batman hisses in frustration.
“Sorry.” Stop isn’t a safeword. Gordon resumes his movements, though his thrusts are slower. He drops Batman’s cock. “Is that what you meant?”
Batman’s head bobs, though it’s hard to tell if it’s a nod or not. “Gun,” he chokes out.
The gun. Gordon had forgotten about it, tucked away safely in its holster. He slows. Then he pulls out.
Batman sobs. He slumps against the wall. “Please, what do you—”
“I didn’t say you could take a break.” Gordon unholsters the gun. He clicks off the safety. “Stand up straight.”
Batman’s shoulders tense. He pushes himself so he’s no longer slumped against the wall.
“You look fucking pathetic like this,” Gordon tells him. “Look at your sloppy hole. The rats can see it all the way from their little holes.” He cocks the gun. “You picked a good night for this. The moon’s bright. If Gotham could see you with your pants around your ankles, they wouldn’t even give you the time of day.” He grips his cock in his free hand and lines it up with Batman’s hole. “Lucky for you, I prefer you like this.”
He shoves in in one long stroke. There’s no resistance; Batman is already well-fucked from what they’ve been doing. Gordon intentionally misses his prostate. This isn’t about Batman. This is about him.
He shoves the gun into the small space of pale cheek visible above the cowl. “Come. That’s an order.”
Batman seizes around him. He comes with a cry, loud in the silent night. Gordon shoves inside him hard. Fire licks up his spine. His thrusts become faster and shallower as he chases it. He’s so fucking close. He’s barely aware that he’s chanting, “Bruce, Bruce, Bruce,” until he comes hard.
Gordon simply rests his forehead against Batman’s shoulder and tries to breathe. He’s still holding the gun in one hand; he’s going to have to put that away in a minute. “Fuck, that was good,” he says tiredly. Beneath him, Batman rumbles in agreement.
Reluctantly, Gordon pulls out. They both hiss. Gordon holsters his gun and manages to get the condom off, though it takes him a few tries to tie it off. Then he looks up and sees Batman’s come splattered across the patchy wall.
He chuckles. Batman sees what he’s looking at and chuckles too. At some point, Batman has pulled up his underwear and pants, though the fly is undone. He sinks to the ground and rests his head against the wall.
Gordon joins him. He tosses the used condom on the ground. “I’ll clean up the evidence when I go. I’ve got a cleaning kit in the car. Next time, I’ll bring it with me.”
“We can’t do this in public if you’re going to say that every time,” Batman says wryly.
“What?”
“That name.”
Gordon’s face heats. He clears his throat. “Sorry. Guy I’ve been seeing.”
He snorts. “Lucky guy. Does he know you’re cheating on him with Batman?”
“It’s more of an open thing,” Gordon quips back. Though as soon as he says it, uncertainty coils in his stomach. They’ve never talked about it like this. They’ve never talked about anything.
But Batman simply smiles and looks at the ceiling. So they must be alright.
Gordon tilts his head and looks at him. “Was it what you wanted?”
Batman’s smile is bright and boyish beneath the cowl. “Exactly what I wanted, Lieutenant.”