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31_days2008-07-26 11:00 pm
rhye.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2008-07-26 11:00 pm
[July 26] [Batman: The Dark Knight] Our Insanity
Title: Our Insanity
Day/Theme: July 26/"It’s me and you and our insanity"
Series: Batman: The Dark Knight
Character/Pairing: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne
Rating: light NC-17
Our Insanity
On the face of things, it was perfectly normal. The police commissioner had, for once, made a friend outside of the police department. This was understandable in light of his recent divorce and subsequent depression (a depression he thought no one saw, even though it was etched in most everything he did).
Like many things in Gotham City, the friendship was not at all what it seemed.
****
Jim Gordon couldn't get off unless he was blindfolded. He did not like the idea of fucking Bruce Wayne. He'd known the man as a kid, and it just wasn't right. So much about this situation wasn't right.
One thing was right-- too right: driving repeatedly into the heat of his partner. The Batman was his partner in every sense of the word. His sounds were rabid and dangerous and Jim drank them in. The Batman posed a threat to many people in the world, but Jim got off on realizing he was not one of them. His strange hold over this man had nothing to do with age, with having known him as a child, with rank or badge, or even with the regular fucks at Wayne's penthouse. His hold over The Batman was hard-won respect and nothing less. At times it felt as if their mutual respect and trust were the only things holding the city up. They worked together at all times, even when separate. Jim was not a sidekick, would never be a sidekick. He was an equal, one without a suit or mask or body-armor or bits of clothing that exploded and shot hooks or whatever the hell was going on with that get-up. Jim's own hard work and good instincts had earned him the same trust (not power; they were equals) that allowed him to be here, in the penthouse, hilt-deep in Bruce Wayne.
Jim knew he wasn't beautiful during sex. He was, as all people are, older than he had once been. His skin was loose in areas, wrinkled in others, and he had a few scars with stories to tell. From the feel of Bruce Wayne's muscle-hardened skin beneath his hands, though, Wayne's body had its own share of stories. Jim should not have been surprised at the scars that ran up Wayne's arms, across belly and upper shoulders. That first time he felt them, though, they had come as a shock. A part of him had either forgotten or never acknowledged that The Batman was a man. His brain could not fit the parts together properly. How much easier for Wayne, to know who was fucking him with so much certainty.
And surely Wayne did know. Wayne had his legs hitched around Jim's hips, trying to keep the same steady rhythm, though every few thrusts Wayne would buck wildly and growl, just a little out of control of his own body. Wayne's hands, though, never left Jim's back, where Wayne clenched for dear life, and sometimes telling phrases would escape Wayne's mouth and Jim would flush. Wayne's words were never about sex. Jim didn't think any two other people in the world would talk about the city while they fucked, but nothing made Jim harder than hearing the gravelly voice of The Batman say that the city needed Jim, "like this, strong, in control." Jim took Wayne's unscarred, perfect manhood in hand, pumping and trying, trying ever so hard to keep a rhythm, to keep that control that The Batman so admired in him.
"Jim," Wayne groaned, an urgency in his voice.
For the first time ever, Jim tore off the blindfold, holding the younger man's gaze while rolling into their mutual, messy rhythm.
Struggling through a moan, Wayne managed to resurface again, babbling. This time not about the city. This time he was saying things that drove Jim mad. "I couldn't do it alone. Would kill me if-- uh, uh-- if no one believed we could-- guh-- make a difference. If everyone thought--"
Jim watched the sex-wild green eyes. Beautiful. Bruce Wayne was beautiful. He wondered why he'd been such a fool as to blindfold himself all these weeks to the image of Bruce Wayne shivering near orgasm underneath him.
"I need you, I need you, I need you--" Wayne was stuttering the phrase between thrusts so strong that neither of them could pretend Jim was still in control. Wayne was holding Jim in place between strong arms and legs and driving himself up to meet the contact he wanted.
Wayne came a moment earlier than Jim, both with their unique sounds-- Wayne's a loud, gleeful cry that sounded entirely as if it belonged to a young playboy and not a masked vigilante, and Jim with the self-contained grunt and groan of a man too long used to jerking off in the bathroom within hearing of his wife.
As soon as the sensation of perfection faded from Jim's nerve-endings, he found he had slipped out of Wayne and was laying messily on his half of Wayne's king-sized bed. He raised his head and found Wayne engrossed in the ceiling with a characteristically-Batman intensity about his eyes. Jim likewise watched him with a characteristically-Detective attention to detail.
"Bruce." Jim's voice was sturdy and authoritative. The given name sounded odd; he wasn't sure if he'd used it before.
Wayne turned towards him slowly, expressionless, though very gradually humor flooded into the green eyes and something sarcastic settled into the shape of his lips.
"Don't," Jim directed. "This isn't a joke. I need you to know that I need you too."
The humor disappeared instantly from Wayne's face. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, turning back to the ceiling. "Do you ever wonder if I'm going insane?"
Jim laughed. "You, insane? You're not normal, Batman. And that means I can't be either. I'm here, after all."
Wayne sighed as if he'd been expecting the declaration. Jim saw his expression turn pained.
"But as for sane, sometimes I worry you and I are the only sane people in this city. I have to believe it's not true--"
"It can't be true--"
"But believing and knowing are different things." Jim reached out and scrubbed a finger along a jagged scar on Bruce's arm. It looked like it had been stitched up by a monkey. He laughed. "Did you ever hear that saying, insane people don't spend their time worrying about whether they're insane?"
Wayne turned once again to look at him, expressionless and quiet.
Just then, Jim's cell phone rang through a series of urgent beeps, sounding from its place on the floor in his abandoned pants. He rolled over and fished for it, feeling Wayne move on the bed. "Hello?"
When he hung up, Wayne was mostly dressed again and Jim got up to follow suit. "Problem?" Wayne asked.
"What makes you think that a call to the police commissioner at three in the morning when he's off-duty means there's some sort of problem?" Jim fastened his belt and sat to put on his shoes.
"I guess I'll see you in a few minutes, then." Wayne walked from the room.
"Watch your back!" Jim called after him. "My people have orders not to fire at you, but it doesn't mean they won't."
"I'll watch yours if you watch mine," Bruce answered him from somewhere that produced an echo.
Jim found himself smiling sloppily down the hall. He'd see The Batman soon, he told himself, but that was work, and it was different. He wanted to be here. Maybe he even wanted to be with Bruce Wayne.
He ran from the penthouse down the stairs, already redialing the station. Maybe he was insane, to be in this odd relationship with a name-less vigilante and his playboy alter-ego, to have left his wife. Maybe Wayne was insane, too. But if the hope of the city was hinging on the trust between two insane men, God help it. Then again, maybe in a place like Gotham City, hope was reserved for those crazy enough to do whatever it took to find the light at the end of the tunnel.
Day/Theme: July 26/"It’s me and you and our insanity"
Series: Batman: The Dark Knight
Character/Pairing: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne
Rating: light NC-17
Our Insanity
On the face of things, it was perfectly normal. The police commissioner had, for once, made a friend outside of the police department. This was understandable in light of his recent divorce and subsequent depression (a depression he thought no one saw, even though it was etched in most everything he did).
Like many things in Gotham City, the friendship was not at all what it seemed.
****
Jim Gordon couldn't get off unless he was blindfolded. He did not like the idea of fucking Bruce Wayne. He'd known the man as a kid, and it just wasn't right. So much about this situation wasn't right.
One thing was right-- too right: driving repeatedly into the heat of his partner. The Batman was his partner in every sense of the word. His sounds were rabid and dangerous and Jim drank them in. The Batman posed a threat to many people in the world, but Jim got off on realizing he was not one of them. His strange hold over this man had nothing to do with age, with having known him as a child, with rank or badge, or even with the regular fucks at Wayne's penthouse. His hold over The Batman was hard-won respect and nothing less. At times it felt as if their mutual respect and trust were the only things holding the city up. They worked together at all times, even when separate. Jim was not a sidekick, would never be a sidekick. He was an equal, one without a suit or mask or body-armor or bits of clothing that exploded and shot hooks or whatever the hell was going on with that get-up. Jim's own hard work and good instincts had earned him the same trust (not power; they were equals) that allowed him to be here, in the penthouse, hilt-deep in Bruce Wayne.
Jim knew he wasn't beautiful during sex. He was, as all people are, older than he had once been. His skin was loose in areas, wrinkled in others, and he had a few scars with stories to tell. From the feel of Bruce Wayne's muscle-hardened skin beneath his hands, though, Wayne's body had its own share of stories. Jim should not have been surprised at the scars that ran up Wayne's arms, across belly and upper shoulders. That first time he felt them, though, they had come as a shock. A part of him had either forgotten or never acknowledged that The Batman was a man. His brain could not fit the parts together properly. How much easier for Wayne, to know who was fucking him with so much certainty.
And surely Wayne did know. Wayne had his legs hitched around Jim's hips, trying to keep the same steady rhythm, though every few thrusts Wayne would buck wildly and growl, just a little out of control of his own body. Wayne's hands, though, never left Jim's back, where Wayne clenched for dear life, and sometimes telling phrases would escape Wayne's mouth and Jim would flush. Wayne's words were never about sex. Jim didn't think any two other people in the world would talk about the city while they fucked, but nothing made Jim harder than hearing the gravelly voice of The Batman say that the city needed Jim, "like this, strong, in control." Jim took Wayne's unscarred, perfect manhood in hand, pumping and trying, trying ever so hard to keep a rhythm, to keep that control that The Batman so admired in him.
"Jim," Wayne groaned, an urgency in his voice.
For the first time ever, Jim tore off the blindfold, holding the younger man's gaze while rolling into their mutual, messy rhythm.
Struggling through a moan, Wayne managed to resurface again, babbling. This time not about the city. This time he was saying things that drove Jim mad. "I couldn't do it alone. Would kill me if-- uh, uh-- if no one believed we could-- guh-- make a difference. If everyone thought--"
Jim watched the sex-wild green eyes. Beautiful. Bruce Wayne was beautiful. He wondered why he'd been such a fool as to blindfold himself all these weeks to the image of Bruce Wayne shivering near orgasm underneath him.
"I need you, I need you, I need you--" Wayne was stuttering the phrase between thrusts so strong that neither of them could pretend Jim was still in control. Wayne was holding Jim in place between strong arms and legs and driving himself up to meet the contact he wanted.
Wayne came a moment earlier than Jim, both with their unique sounds-- Wayne's a loud, gleeful cry that sounded entirely as if it belonged to a young playboy and not a masked vigilante, and Jim with the self-contained grunt and groan of a man too long used to jerking off in the bathroom within hearing of his wife.
As soon as the sensation of perfection faded from Jim's nerve-endings, he found he had slipped out of Wayne and was laying messily on his half of Wayne's king-sized bed. He raised his head and found Wayne engrossed in the ceiling with a characteristically-Batman intensity about his eyes. Jim likewise watched him with a characteristically-Detective attention to detail.
"Bruce." Jim's voice was sturdy and authoritative. The given name sounded odd; he wasn't sure if he'd used it before.
Wayne turned towards him slowly, expressionless, though very gradually humor flooded into the green eyes and something sarcastic settled into the shape of his lips.
"Don't," Jim directed. "This isn't a joke. I need you to know that I need you too."
The humor disappeared instantly from Wayne's face. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, turning back to the ceiling. "Do you ever wonder if I'm going insane?"
Jim laughed. "You, insane? You're not normal, Batman. And that means I can't be either. I'm here, after all."
Wayne sighed as if he'd been expecting the declaration. Jim saw his expression turn pained.
"But as for sane, sometimes I worry you and I are the only sane people in this city. I have to believe it's not true--"
"It can't be true--"
"But believing and knowing are different things." Jim reached out and scrubbed a finger along a jagged scar on Bruce's arm. It looked like it had been stitched up by a monkey. He laughed. "Did you ever hear that saying, insane people don't spend their time worrying about whether they're insane?"
Wayne turned once again to look at him, expressionless and quiet.
Just then, Jim's cell phone rang through a series of urgent beeps, sounding from its place on the floor in his abandoned pants. He rolled over and fished for it, feeling Wayne move on the bed. "Hello?"
When he hung up, Wayne was mostly dressed again and Jim got up to follow suit. "Problem?" Wayne asked.
"What makes you think that a call to the police commissioner at three in the morning when he's off-duty means there's some sort of problem?" Jim fastened his belt and sat to put on his shoes.
"I guess I'll see you in a few minutes, then." Wayne walked from the room.
"Watch your back!" Jim called after him. "My people have orders not to fire at you, but it doesn't mean they won't."
"I'll watch yours if you watch mine," Bruce answered him from somewhere that produced an echo.
Jim found himself smiling sloppily down the hall. He'd see The Batman soon, he told himself, but that was work, and it was different. He wanted to be here. Maybe he even wanted to be with Bruce Wayne.
He ran from the penthouse down the stairs, already redialing the station. Maybe he was insane, to be in this odd relationship with a name-less vigilante and his playboy alter-ego, to have left his wife. Maybe Wayne was insane, too. But if the hope of the city was hinging on the trust between two insane men, God help it. Then again, maybe in a place like Gotham City, hope was reserved for those crazy enough to do whatever it took to find the light at the end of the tunnel.