Title: The Cure

Author: skye007lex

Character/Pairings: Bruce/Jim, Stephens, Montoya

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warning: Slash-don't like, please don't read.

A/N: Not Beta'd and my very first story in this fandom and with this pairing.

To say it was a slow work day would be a vast understatement. The sudden heat wave, which had hit the city hard earlier in the month, caused life in general to grow quite sluggish and lazy in Gotham. During the peek hours of the afternoons, the city streets were nearly disserted. The sidewalks and pavement sizzled audibly and burned the soles of shoes well past sunset. Criminals and citizen alike kept indoors, glued in front of their air conditioners and portable fans. The month of June hadn't seen temperatures this high since—


"No, you're doing it wrong, Commish," Montoya said, with a shake of her head.

"You said to plug my ears and—" Hiccup "—take a drink," Jim Gordon replied with a heavy sigh and fell back into the comfort of his desk chair in frustration.

"You gotta plug your ears while you take a drink," was her answer before she perched herself against the edge of his desk.

"And not coffee," Stephens added before he pulled Jim's mug away and poured the rest of its contents into his own.

"Right," Montoya agreed with a nod. "It has to be ice water." A paper cup was pushed forward, the sweat from its bottom leaving a wet trail on the Commissioner's, surprisingly, clean desk.

"This is ri—" Hiccup "—diculous."

"My oldroommate used this all the time," Montoya assured. "Always did the trick."

"Everyone knows this one, Jim," Stephens assured. "It always works."

"That's what you said about eating the teaspoon of honey and breathing into that damn paper bag." Said bag lay crumbled inside the Commissioner's trash bin, crestfallen and sulking in its failure.


Jim wanted to growl in response to his traitorous body. He'd been hiccupping since his return to the office from his big budget meeting with Mayor Garcia earlier that afternoon. The quiet halls of the station had quickly echoed with his ailment, which caused much attention and unnecessary mockery for the Commissioner.

The calm work week had, at first, been a blessing to him. Jim had been able to sort through the disorderly mess that was his desk. He'd completed the mounds of paperwork and filing that had accumulated there for the past few weeks…perhaps even months. But it was now painfully obvious to him that his detectives were in a similar situation. In light of the empty cells and with the lack of criminal activity, they suffered a fierce case of boredom. Two of his – more annoying– detectives had now taken it upon themselves to cure his sudden ailment.

"How am I supposed to plug my ears and hold the cup, Montoya?" Jim asked with annoyance. He sent her a look that clearly said, 'Don't you dare suggest that I, Jim Gordon Police Commissioner, make a fool out of myself and—

"Just bend over the desk and pick it up with your mouth, commish," she responded with a small shrug, the corners of her mouth itched to curl upwards. Gerry Stephens was not as successful as she, and desperately tried to hide his snicker in the depths of his coffee mug.

Jim sent him a glare in response over the rims of his glasses, "You are enjoying this a little too much."

"Now Jim," he began with a mask of pure innocence in place. "We are only trying to help you."

"That's Commissioner to you, detec—" Hiccup "—tive."

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that last part, sir." Gerry leaned forward with a cupped hand around his ear.

"Oh shut up," Jim mumbled.

"The website we checked earlier also said strong pressure to the collar bones would work too," Montoya piped up as she straightened and pushed off his desk. "How about a little massage, sir?" She had the audacity to wiggle her hands towards Jim and lean far into his personal space.


"Dammit, Renee!" Jim barked in frustration. While he waved her off, he desperately ignored Gerry's explosion of laughter and his own sudden urge knock his oldest friend off his chair and flat on his ass.

"Fine!" he growled and threw a hand in the air dramatically. "You two want something to laugh at…" His chair marked the floor with the harsh tug Jim gave the seat as he positioned himself closer to the desk with determination.


"If this doesn't work," his words rippled the cups contents as he bent forward, "you're both fired." He promptly raised his hands to his ears and everything went down hill after that…

As Jim tilted his head back to swallow, Stephens' and Montoya's fits of laughter became rather contagious. Unable to hold back his own sudden snort of amusement, Jim grinned and spluttered into the cup. Most of the water spilled out against his mustache and down his chin. Then, when the door to his office was suddenly thrown open, he gasped in surprise and sucked in a rather large ice cube …which promptly lodged itself in his throat. Montoya realized this and leapt forward just as the cup fell and flooded the office floor. She ignored the odd look the room's newest occupant gave the scene and gave a good hard smack to the Commissioner's back. Unfortunately, Montoya had thrown all her weight into the swing of her arm and became off balanced when her heels met the wet ground at her boss' feet. With a shriek she fell backwards and landed hard on the ground. Her new vantage point, regrettably, caused her to miss the sight of the dislodged ice cube as it sailed across the desk and hit Stephens squarely in his eye.

The aftermath was a pitiful sight.

Stephens barked out a few choice curses and clutched at his injury. Half a glare was sent across the desk to his Commissioner, who was still bent over in his chair with a hand at his throat. A violent cough, littered with hiccups, accompanied Jim as he slowly straightened himself and reached out a hand to help his fallen detective to her feet. Sulking in embarrassment, Montoya swatted away the appendage and glared in return.

"That's the last time I save your life," she mumbled to the Commissioner and used the desk to hoist herself up. When she straightened, she would have easily burst with amusement at the sight of Gerry's angry expression …if she hadn't recognized the man who stood behind him.

"So, this is where our hard earned tax dollars go," Bruce Wayne grinned and stepped further into the office. "I'd always wondered."

"Mr. W—" Hiccup "—ayne," Jim greeted as he stood from his seat as hands nervously straightened his glasses and tie. One of Bruce's eyebrows rose and Jim's cheeks turned red as he followed the man's gaze lower and noticed the water stains on his pants. He promptly sat back down in his chair and prayed for a sudden hostage situation to take him far across town.

"If you aren't too…busy," Bruce stifled his mirth with a few coughs, "I just need a few minutes of your time, Commissioner Gordon."


"Of course," Jim responded with an overenthusiastic nod before he turned to address his colleagues. "Detectives, if you'll please excuse us." Two polite, yet awkward, responses came from each detective before they both quickly moved towards the exit. The door shut behind them and the sudden noise echoed loudly in the small room. Once he sat down in Stephens' abandoned seat, Bruce leaned back in the chair with a grin. His smile only grew as he watched the older man's cheeks reddened further as he purposely ignored the hushed commentary of his detectives outside.

"Put your hand down! You look like a pirate."

"I think I'm blind."

"Yeah, well-my ass is broken..."


"Uh, what can I do for you Mr. Wayne?" Jim asked, as he swallowed his embarrassment and tried to sound more like the professional Bruce Wayne was accustomed too.

"Well, you see Commissioner G—"


"…Are all right, Commissioner?" Bruce asked with a playful frown.

"Yes, of course," Jim shook his head and brushed aside the attention. "Please continue."

Bruce remained silent for a moment and studied the man's appearance while his target fidgeted in his chair under the intense scrutiny. The Commissioner, due to the heat no doubt, had removed his suit jacket and sat in only a creased beige shirt and dark tie. The rolled sleeves at his elbows exposed Jim's bare arms, and Bruce was unable to pull his gaze from the pale and flawless skin. Certain lascivious thoughts, which he normally hid behind Alfred's rules of safe poolside activity, crawled to the forefront of his mind and shouted loudly. They refused to be disregarded this time and eagerly pointed out the lack of a wedding ring on the Commissioner's left hand.

Bruce pulled his gaze from Jim only to study the dozens of framed photos that decorated the shelves and walls of the office. All traces of Barbara Gordon had been removed and replaced with additional pictures of the Commissioner's children, proof that the divorce was final.

With a small smile, that worried Jim, Bruce turned his gaze back to the Commissioner and continued, "You see, Commissioner Gordon, there has been a small misunderstanding."

"What sort of misunderstanding, Mr. Wayne?" Jim asked with a raised eyebrow, unsure where the conversation was about to go. Though, he did silently commend himself for going the last few moments without once—



"Well, I received this today by mistake." Bruce was all seriousness as he pulled a slip of paper from the inside of his jacket and pushed it across desk.

"This is a speeding ticket," Jim responded after he studied the slip and recognized the familiar print.

"Yes, of course," Bruce agreed, "But I can't accept it."

Jim's mouth fell open for only a fraction of a second, before he was able to quickly compose himself. "These aren't the types of tickets that need an RSVP, Mr. Wayne," he replied dryly and pushed the slip back towards the younger man.


Bruce made no move to pick up the paper and withstood the urge to childishly push it back towards the Commissioner. "But I can't have it. You see, with the acceptance of this last ticket I'd loose my license. I can't have that, Commissioner. I'm a very busy man need the freedom my license allows. And…well, I'm afraid Alfred would be quite upset and would force me to take taxicabs everywhere as a punishment." A flash of worry did cross the billionaire's features at that last thought. "Have you seen how filthy Gotham's cabs—"

"Let me stop you there, Mr. Wayne," Jim interrupted with a raised hand. "I don't know what Commissioner Loeb let you get away with, but this speeding ticket is nothing to make light of. Traffic laws are established to keep the roads of this city safe. If one of my officers had reason—" Hiccup "—and having seen your reckless driving first hand—" Hiccup "—I'm sure that he did…then there is nothing I can do to help you."

"Commissioner," Bruce began with a small wave of his hand and a confident smile that irked Jim greatly, "I'm sure we can reach an understanding."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but if I make exceptions for you, I will be forced to make them for everyone."


"I'm sure a sizable donation—"

"No, Mr. Wayne."


"Then a charity ball in honor of your fine officers would be more—"

"Mr. Wayne—"

"I will cure your hiccups."

"Mr. Wayne – wait…what did you say?" Jim asked in confusion, sure he had misheard the billionaire's last comment.

Bruce grinned and repeated, "I will cure your hiccups."

"You…" Jim was momentarily at a loss of words due to the younger man's antics and shook his head at the absurdity of their conversation. Bruce looked quite sure of himself and a mysterious glint sparked in his gaze when Jim met it. "Fine!" When he sensed the sudden build up of an ugly headache, Jim gave in and prayed the younger man would be leaving his company quickly.

"We have a deal?" Bruce asked as he straightened in his seat. Eager almost.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne. If you can cure—" Hiccup "—me, then this ticket will disappear." Jim actually smirked at his cleverness, positive the billionaire would be exiting his office after a silly and failed attempt. Stephens and Montoya had been trying to accomplish that task all afternoon. How could Bruce succeed when his detectives had tried nearly every remedy known?

His smirk abruptly turned into a frown as Bruce swiftly stood and rounded the desk with a determined and powerful stare. He didn't stop his strong stride until he was directly next to the Commissioner. Suddenly, Jim's chair was spun towards Bruce with a powerful tug and he clutched at the arm rests in fear.

"What are you—"

His statement was quickly swallowed by Bruce's strong mouth.

One hand grasped the back of Jim's head, possessively pulling him closer, while its pair dug into his arm and made sure he did not flee. The Commissioners eyes were wide in shock and his hands dug further into the hard wood of his chair desperately. Utterly unresponsive, Jim was frozen in surprise until a mutinous act from his lungs forced his mouth to open and search for oxygen.

Bruce's tongue found the opening it needed and entered the warmth of his mouth with a hungry thrust. The sensation of the younger man's tongue caressing his own seized a groan from deep within Jim and his eyes shut on their own accord. Surrounded in a thick cloud of arousing excitement, Jim opened completely for Bruce. Tongues danced and breaths mixed into one as he reached forward towards the warm body leaning above him.

Bruce shifted the hand at Jim's arm to the back of his chair for support when he felt the pull. He inwardly celebrated and would have smirked triumphantly, if he hadn't chosen a more satisfying task for his mouth. The new angle still left him slightly unbalanced and he was, regrettably, forced to draw apart from Jim's mouth a few seconds later.

A wicked smile was the last thing Jim saw before heat fogged every cell of his brain at the sudden hand on his knee. It caressed and teased a brief trail higher, before it pushed unsteady legs apart. A moan was the offered response as Bruce slipped a bent knee in between Jim's thighs and rested it on the now exposed seat of the chair.

Balance once again in check, Bruce dove forward eagerly.

The Commissioner's hands slipped beneath Bruce's jacket and tightened on hips in time with the repeated thrust of the knee sandwiched between his thighs. He was lost in the moment. Wanting more. Needing more. Everything this man wanted to offer he was ready to accept. Because in this unexpected, yet surprisingly now welcomed, moment Jim realized that—

"Commissioner Gordon, the Mayor is on line one for you," the voice of his secretary interrupted from the intercom on the corner of his desk. Jim jumped with surprise and drew a pout from Bruce as he quickly pulled back and pushed Bruce away.

"Uh – um thank you," he replied hoarsely with a touch of a button on the tiny machine. "Could you ask him to hold for just a moment while I finish…my-uh-meeting with Mr. Wayne."

"Yes, sir."

"Finish, Commissioner? What did you have in mind?" Bruce smirked and leaned against his desk, looking quite at home.

"I…uh- …I," he started lamely, his hand nervously rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Bruce," he corrected with a wink and leaned forward to straighten Jim's tie and glasses with a gentle hand. "I think we are past polite formalities now."

"Yes…I suppose we are," Jim agreed, the corner of his mouth shifting upwards.

"And you're cured," Bruce added with mirth.

Realizing that his hiccups were in fact gone, Jim let out a soft chuckle and grew warm when Bruce joined in. A sudden frown on the younger man's face looked odd and Jim was curious when Bruce turned and reached for a pen off his desk.

"But hiccups are a very serious condition, Jim." Bruce's sudden somber expression didn't quite reach his eyes and Jim enjoyed the spark of humor there.

"What do you recommend, Bruce?" A wink was sent Jim's way as a reward…for playing along or for calling him by his first name, Jim wasn't sure.

"Well, Jim," replied a grave tone, "they are know for their stubbornness and their tendency to return."

"Really? I never knew that," Jim replied and somehow managed to look thoughtful and not crack a smile.

"New studies," Bruce assured. "It's been documented."

"I'm sure it has." Jim watched as Bruce pulled the forgotten speeding towards him on the desk. When he bent forward and began to write across it with the dark pen, Jim instinctively moved to stop him.

"I believe we had an agreement?" Bruce reminded and gently pushed Jim back into his seat before finishing his task. He capped the pen when he was done and playfully turned back to Jim, "Now, the studies all showed a high percentage of attacks at meal times. Since it is past lunch, I can only assume you are out of the woods until – hmm– about seven o'clock, when I pick you up for dinner."

Jim was then handed the slip of paper, "That is in case your condition is worse then I originally diagnosed. Call me immediately and I will be right over to administer the antidote."

Jim smirked down at the phone number scribbled across one of his officer's smooth script and an emotion stirred deep in his gut. The events of this afternoon had, without a doubt, altered the journey that lay before him. Jim was certain Bruce Wayne's sudden presence was about to throw his life into a wild frenzy. A wild ride of excitement, adventure, and undiscovered emotions was calling out to him.

Jim was eager to jump aboard.

The end.