A/N: Sorry for the long wait for the update guys! Between school starting, getting sick, and crew starting up again, things got busy! The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to come up!

A/N 2: Major slash content. NC-17. Consider yourself warned my friends :)

Gordon was still trying to figure out how he and Alfred had managed to cart the unconscious Bruce Wayne—who had to weight more than the two of them put together—across the front lobby of the tower and into the elevator without the receptionist noticing. There was, of course, the fact that they had come from the elevator to the underground garage, but even that didn't account for the man not turning his head at the sound of their arrival. Gordon thought that the woman's carelessness was probably the reason why so many of Bruce's parties were crashed by crazed criminals. Although, now that Gordon knew that Bruce Wayne was not only the richest man in all of Gotham but its Dark Knight as well, he realized that it was possible that Bruce planned these parties around the times when loonies would be after city officials who were all, quite conveniently, obliviously chattering away in the Wayne penthouse, which happened to be the lair of the elusive Batman. If that was true, Gordon added to himself, then he needed to have a talk with Batman about endangering the lives of others as he tried to protect the few. But if he did that, it would inevitably result in Bruce Wayne slyly inserting an invitation for him to attend said party to supervise. And Gordon, completely absorbed in his argument, would end up saying he would attend without thinking the situation through. Again.

The elevator dinged, jolting Gordon from his thoughts as the chrome doors slid open to reveal the semi-dark loft, illuminated as it was by only the faint glow of outside lights leaking through glass windows. Alfred directed him down the hall, each of them grunting with the effort of carrying the dead weight.

"What do you feed him?" Gordon muttered under his breath. Alfred chuckled quietly in response as he nudged open Bruce's bedroom door. Between the two of them they maneuvered him into the room.

"I'm going to go get something for him to eat," Alfred said in his perfectly elegant British accent, sliding out from underneath Bruce's arm and trying not to allow it to thud limply back to the younger man's side. He glanced at Bruce in concern for a moment before turning on his heel, immediately resuming butler mode, and leaving the room. Gordon moved Bruce around to the far side of the bed: the side where the pillow seemed more used.

"Down," Gordon grunted, plopping Bruce none-to-gently onto the bed. He pushed the man's legs up and onto the covers, quickly sliding off his shoes and socks and tossing them to the floor. As an after thought, he pried Bruce's suit jacket off as well, hanging it on the corner of the closet. Gordon moved around to the other side of the bed and dropped down onto it, momentarily closing his eyes. Momentarily. Just for a second.

His vision began to fuzz into black as exhaustion hit his entire body at the same time. He wondered not for the first time when he had last slept for a full night. He couldn't remember. He belatedly realized that both he and Bruce were lying atop the sheets; they'd probably both catch their death of cold after all the stress of the evening thanks to his laziness. He vaguely recognized Alfred's footsteps clapping down the hall before everything slid into restful black.

When Gordon woke up, only the palest tremors of light were filtering through the large glass windows of the room. He was confused for a moment about as to where he was. Then he was confused as to why his back was so warm.

Gordon shifted, fully intending to roll off the bed and stand but held back by a restraining pair of arms about his waist. He looked down with a start, moving his hand to anxiously hover above one of Bruce's as it lay across his hips.

"You're awake," Bruce said quietly.

"Yes," Gordon replied awkwardly, not sure what to say in response. He continued to allow his hand to hover just above Bruce's, uncomfortably aware of the other man's proximity and heat against his entire back.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said quietly, "about last night."

Gordon froze, his hand slipping to briefly touch Bruce's before he snapped it away and rolled in the other's arms to lie on his back. Gordon looked sideways at Bruce's face, noting the exhaustion overlying the usual energy of those aristocratic features. Bruce allowed his arm to drape across Gordon's stomach as he continued to look at the older man soberly. Gordon was glad his glasses had miraculously remained on his face, else he would never have been able to see the man so close to his face.

"You're sorry," he repeated slowly. Bruce nodded slowly, rolling his upper lip into his mouth as he nodded. "Why are you sorry?" Gordon asked with a frown. "None of last night was your fault."

"I got caught," Bruce replied, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling and breaking some of the contact between. "And Batman couldn't save the day."

"Because Bruce Wayne was being tortured," Gordon said slowly, reaching up with one hand to pull Bruce's head back to face him.

"I should have been there," Bruce whispered back hoarsely, his voice sad and angry, "Batman should have been there. Instead Bruce Wayne was incapacitated by a madman." Bruce rolled his head down to rest his forehead on Gordon's, much to the older man's surprise. He cautiously reached a hand up to run through the broken billionaire's brown locks, threading the strands through his fingers.

"Everyone needs to be saved sometime, Bruce," Gordon said quietly, "and Lord knows you've saved enough people to make up for being rescued once or twice in this lifetime." Bruce let out what may have been an attempt at an amused snort, the air rustling through the coarse hairs of Gordon's mustache with a quiet hiss. Neither moved, Gordon not protesting at the increasing pressure of Bruce's looming weight and Bruce simply relaxing into the other's comforting presence.

Suddenly Bruce inhaled sharply, shifting the placement of his arms so his hands rested on the covers on either side of Gordon's torso and swinging his legs over both of the commissioner's. Gordon blinked in surprise as Bruce straddled his lap, sitting atop his pelvis and immobilizing him with his greater mass.

"What are you doing?" he croaked, embarrassingly aware of where the younger man was sitting and what the pressure there was doing to him.

"I don't know," Bruce replied quietly, leaning closer yet managing not to relieve any of the pressure on the older man's crotch. "Following my instincts." Gordon tried to shift his hips, instantly regretting the motion as one of Bruce's eyes winked shut, his teeth catching part of his lip in their grasp as he let out a nearly inaudible groan. Gordon inhaled in surprise, frozen by both the situation and Bruce's expression.

"Stop," he whispered, his voice cracking like a teenage boy's.

"Are you sure you want me to?" Bruce said hoarsely, his eyes opening again as he leaned closer, his breath a mixture of sweet and something else as it rushed against Jim's nostrils.

"Yes," Gordon croaked. Bruce rested his forehead against the older man's again, just barely allowing their noses to touch. Gordon could feel the other's warm breath ghosting across his lips, teasing him. "No," he amended quietly.

"Hm," Bruce hummed in response, bringing one hand up to run along the side of the commissioner's head, mussing up the wiry brown hair. "Me neither." Bruce's lips were suddenly upon his and Gordon was lost, no longer noticing the fancy dress shirt or hundred dollar haircut which defined Bruce Wayne the billionaire, for his attention was diverted to the more primal clash of their lips as they met and parted in an aggressive, needy dance of a kiss.

"Jim," Bruce whispered quietly, pleadingly, as he pulled away for breath. The simple syllable of his name from those flushed lips drove Gordon further into a mindless oblivion as he pulled Bruce back down to claim another kiss. He clawed at the buttons on Bruce's shirt, forcefully attempting to part the material and failing. Bruce's own hands moved to aide his, the strong yet agile fingers making quick work of the shirt and sending it cascading to the floor in a puddle of white. Bruce pulled back, leaning low over Gordon's body but just far enough to evade his lips. But Jim didn't mind, for his eyes were tracing the wild network of scars and injuries in all stages of recovery across the younger man's chest. He tentatively reached up a hand and brushed his finger across one of the newer injuries, pulling his hand back quickly when Bruce winced at the contact.

"There are so many," he said quietly, again extending his hand to run it over a raised scar, still an angry pink as it healed.

"There are so few," Bruce replied quietly, somberly, "for what I do." His eyes were dark, their deep hazel so black they seemed to form an endless mirror of Gordon's own. He leaned down again, lying gentle but hungry kisses along Jim's jaw line as he worked the older man's shirt off, hurrying to undo its many buttons. The commissioner squirmed beneath him, his hips rolling into Bruce's to draw a hitch in both their breathing. He finally managed to undo all of the shirt's buttons and hastily pulled it from Gordon's body, tossing it to the floor to join his own.

Gordon's reason surfaced suddenly, self-conscious and utterly aware of the fact that he was looking at the battered but heavily muscled body of the unmasked Batman and that his own wasn't nearly as well conditioned. But as Bruce leaned down, ghosting his lips across Gordon's lips and jaw and neck and sucking his self-consciousness away like a leech as he lavished feather-light kisses across Jim's body.

"Bruce," Gordon groaned quietly, his back instinctually arching upwards as the younger man's fingertips trailed across a sensitive nipple. Bruce smiled against his skin, his lips smooth and hot as he licked his way downward, pulling every reaction he could from the commissioner's body. His fingers absently played along Gordon's chest as his lips continued their descent, forcing him to move backward from his spot on the older man's pelvis. Gordon moaned quietly at the loss of contact, painfully aware of his hardening erection as it was released from the pressure of Bruce's weight. Bruce didn't ignore the sound, but immediately set to removing Gordon's belt and pants and, in a fluid and whip-like motion, tossed them across the room to leave the commissioner in only his underwear, which quickly followed the rest of his clothing to the floor.

"Jim," Bruce rumbled, his very voice drawing a jerking reaction from Gordon's cock as it drew dangerously close to the Batman's deep growl. Bruce ground his still clothed crotch against the other's, the friction of the fabric nearly driving the older man insane.

"Take it off," Gordon groaned, his eyes sliding shut as dark spots began to play behind his lids. "Please." He blindly reached up a hand to brush Bruce's erection, his lips curling slightly in a smile as Bruce thrust instinctively into his hand with a moan sure to live up to his playboy reputation. The younger man's hands fumbled for the zipper of his black dress pants. Bruce hastily pulled back and pushed his pants and underwear off to join the rest of their clothes on the floor.

Gordon reached out a hand to guide Bruce back atop him on the bed, meeting Bruce's needy and passionate kisses with his own hungry desire.

"Jim," Bruce called quietly, his voice laced with the dark, seductive tones of his alter ego, but undermined by a faint uncertainty which didn't belong behind the mask. Gordon groaned in response, hating and loving the power that a simple voice had over him. "Jim," Bruce said again, nipping along the path from his bellybutton to his crotch.

"Bruce," Gordon moaned in response. "Please."

"Please what?" Bruce growled as he looked up from under his brows near Gordon's crotch, his breath brushing over sensitive skin. Jim's breath hitched at the contact. "Please what, Jim?"

"I don't know," he replied hoarsely. "I don't," his head dropped back, rolling against the pillows. "Just—please."

"Alright," Bruce said with a quiet laugh, the airy sound further agitating Gordon's cock with its proximity. The billionaire flicked his tongue roughly across the very tip of it, pulling back immediately as Gordon cried out and bucked his hips.

"Bruce," Gordon whined, hating the needy pitch of his voice but well beyond the point where he cared enough to erase it.

"Jim," Bruce said quietly, slinking up his frame with licks and nips along the highly receptive nerve highways which criss-crossed Gordon's body. He pushed at the older man's hip, turning him over and covering his body with his own, his tongue tracing loopy patterns along the sensitive spine and sending shivers running through Jim's body.

"Damn it, Bruce," Jim muttered, his head nearly spinning with the variety of sensations running through his frame. "Please," he pleaded again. Bruce leaned sideways, removing the warm cover and pressure from Gordon's back. "No," the older man growled, glancing sideways in agitation.

"Patience," Bruce admonished with a playful smile, his momentary grin nearly matching the one Jim would have suspected the playboy to wear. Gordon noticed the tiny square package Bruce had pulled from the nightstand as he ripped the foil wrapper open and slid it onto his own prominent erection. Gordon licked his lips with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. The motion did not go unnoticed by the Dark Knight.

"Be patient," Bruce said quietly, his voice and expression unguarded again and, Gordon was sure, as only he had seen it. He once more moved behind the commissioner, running a hand across his back and stomach before sliding a lubricated finger into Gordon's ass.

"Ahh," he hissed, startled at the pain and tensing up.

"Relax," Bruce's voice commanded quietly, though his tone held the unquestionable authority of the Batman. Gordon let go of his remaining control over the situation and succumbed completely to Bruce's direction.

Pleasure began to swirl into the pain, not quite erasing it but overriding it in his mind. Bruce's finger moved slowly, creating a bittersweet friction within his ass. Another finger intruded into his opening, creating a blinding spot of pain which was quickly eclipsed by a more subtle pleasure.

"You're okay?" Bruce asked quietly, running the fingers of his other hand along Gordon's ribcage as he trailed a wet path of kisses along his spinal cord again.

"Yes," Jim hissed in surprise, startling them both by pushing back against Bruce's next movement of his hand.

"Good." Suddenly the pressure in his ass was gone, leaving him feeling empty and unsatisfied.

"Bruce," Jim started, only to gasp in surprise as something larger and more solid than fingers slid into his opening. Gordon hissed between his teeth in pain at the sudden intrusion. Bruce forced himself to still and wait. "It hurts," Jim admitted quietly.

"Cause you're tight," Bruce responded, his voice gravelly as he restrained himself from motion. He slid in a little further, moving Jim's hips to align the planes of their two bodies. Jim gasped.


"No," Jim replied, his voice sounding almost surprised.

Then Bruce slid out, slamming himself back in with more force and neither of them spoke, except for in the wordless language of pants and gasps and undistinguishable words.

"Jim," Bruce groaned, white sparks flaking about the edges of his vision. He reached a hand around to grasp the older man's cock, sliding his hand up and down the shaft in time with his thrusting. Gordon groaned in response, his body losing touch with reality as his nerves danced in the pleasure given from both front and behind. Tremors ran through the commissioner's body, followed by the alternating tightening and loosening of his muscles which sent Bruce over the edge.

"Jim," he breathed, his call nearly drowned out by the roaring waves assaulting his senses as he climaxed. The single word sent the commissioner over the edge, setting them both in the middle of a stormy sea of light and sound. They both collapsed onto the bed, neither moving as their minds spiraled down from the dazzling heights. Slowly, Bruce pulled out of Jim's puddle-like body, rolling slightly onto his side to pull off and dispose of the condom in the trashcan a short throw from the bed. He reached out and pulled Gordon closer to his body, ignoring the stickiness of sweat and cum which coated their bodies.

"What do we do now?" Jim asked quietly, his voice still carrying some of the tell-tale hoarseness, but his mind returning and awkwardly that what had just occurred completely erased the last illusions of their "just business" relationship.

"I don't know about you," Bruce said with a yawn, tightening his hold about Gordon's waist. "But I could use some more sleep."

"But Bruce—" Gordon protested.

"Goodnight, commissioner."

"But it's morning," Gordon insisted, ignoring the slight tenderness of his ass. Bruce muttered something against his back about billionaires not having to get up at the crack of dawn. Gordon almost pointed out to him that it wasn't dawn and that only one of them was filthy rich, but sleep pulled on his eyelids as the comforting presence at his back warmed him and lured his mind back to slumber.