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“That little stunt you pulled with the Roman is going to cost you,” are the first words spoken when Batman enters the office through the window, dropping in from his perch outside and bringing the night with him.
“I can handle it,” the night says. He’s blocking out the street lights below, the gaudy neon signs across the street, and what little moonlight trickles in through the dense clouds and smog. “Gordon only thinks he’s closing in on me. Let him.”
The way he’s holding himself, shifting his weight slightly, curling his fists without intent to fight suggests he’s injured. He probably hates that he can’t hide it—Harvey is slowly learning that Batman’s tendency towards secrecy extends beyond the who and why—but that’s not what Harvey is thinking about right now.
He pushes his chair away from the desk but doesn’t stand. Batman’s presence is even more menacing as he towers over him, a hulking mass of muscles shrouded in the shadows and primed on a hair trigger, and Harvey spares a brief moment to be grateful that he’s on this side of the law. And not on the take.
He shakes his head, closes the file labeled People of Gotham City v. Batman, and frowns only to signal his disapproval. “I meant it’s going to cost you with me.”
The cowl hides a lot, but it doesn’t hide the flicker of surprise that crosses Batman’s face then. He composes himself quickly but the energy in the room has shifted and suddenly the menacing presence in it doesn’t belong to the night.
“You know—you’re really not making this whole defending-a-masked-vigilante gig easy,” Harvey says with a sigh. “The people can’t decide if they love you or hate you, Loeb is calling for your head on a pike, and now Gordon is launching an investigation into your civilian identity so the GCPD can try to corner you at your day job too.”
Batman stands still as a statue and doesn’t speak. There are days when he’s more talkative than others but he’s honing his words like a weapon more and more now, treating them like the darts and bat-shaped blades he throws around every night.
Harvey holds out his hands. “And you’re hog tying the most influential players in the game and sinking their cars into the river just to provoke them.” The left corner of his lips twitches upwards to reveal his amusement, but Harvey takes pride in his poker face and doesn’t let it show beyond that.
No response, but Harvey doesn’t need one.
“So like I said,” he continues as he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, “it’s going to cost you.”
It’s all he needs to say for Batman to cross the room in three strides and drop to his knees at Harvey’s feet. The silent intensity with which he approaches everything is applied to unbuckling his belt the rest of the way, unzipping his pants, and pulling out his half-hard cock with practiced ease.
Harvey’s cock isn’t exposed to the room for even two seconds before Batman wraps his lips around it. His training is absolute and it doesn’t seem to matter if it’s his expert marksman aim or his ability to suck cock like a pro—he does everything like his life depends on it.
That first contact makes Harvey feel like a goddamn teenager but he holds back his groan. He won’t let go of control that easily—they’re a lot alike in that way. Instead he pushes his hips up, chasing more of Batman’s mouth as he grows harder within it.
“Knew you’d be eager for it tonight,” he says in a low voice. It’s just after 10pm and everyone but the sole workaholic with chronic insomnia has left the building so no one will hear them. But Harvey is learning that the secrecy of what they do behind closed doors is half of what makes their affair as exciting as it is.
Batman is teaching him that everything is more exciting in the shadows.
They’ve done this well over a dozen times by now. Batman was beyond skilled in his movements the first time but it’s clear he’s only refined his art. His tongue swipes along slowly from base to tip, tracing the vein that pulses under his touch, swirling around the head once he reaches it.
Harvey hums appreciatively. “They’re hunting you and you get off on it. The danger, the thrill of the chase.” Batman focuses his attention on the head for a moment, lets his lips purse around it, presses sloppy open-mouthed kisses to it in quick succession.
The thought of the same Batman who terrorizes criminals and cops alike kissing anything is almost too preposterous to consider and yet here he is—kissing Harvey’s cock.
His tongue dips into the slit and Harvey hisses involuntarily. But he matches Batman’s response time in composing himself to say, “You’re just as hungry for the adrenaline as you are for my cock, aren’t you?”
He feels more than hears Batman’s soft moan in response. Then, just to prove Harvey right, the vigilante swallows his entire length down to the hilt.
The following groan is impossible to stifle regardless of how much restraint Harvey possesses. Batman bobs on him quickly at first then sets a slow pace, leisurely sucking his cock like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. The wet heat of his mouth is downright maddening. His cheeks are hollowed, his tongue pressing against him, hard and soft. Every other bob the pressure eases, his touch becomes feather-light.
The vigilante is clearly baiting him, daring him to lose control first.
He just might.
It’s a 50/50 chance.
“If it was about sending a message, you would’ve strung Falcone up in his courtyard for everyone to see, made it public. But you tied him up and left him on his bed. Naked.”
Batman reaches up with a gloved hand—Harvey assumes its leather based on the texture and the fact that he’s only partially convinced the bat regalia isn’t just repurposed fetish gear—and wraps it around the base of Harvey’s cock. But he doesn’t move to stroke him, just squeezes him like that alone can stave off the assault of pleasure.
Harvey groans. He feels his resolve wane, the logical side of his brain falter.
“You’re not trying to subdue them,” he manages to say without sounding breathless. “You’re trying to humiliate them. But none of them have a clue that you’re the one who likes being humiliated.”
Then his body decides, Fuck it.
He’ll win their game of chicken another day.
Harvey grabs the sleek, pointy ears of the cowl and thrusts up brutally at the same time he pulls Batman’s face down.
He keeps him in place, leather-covered nose nestled in coiled curls, longer than would be comfortable for anyone else—but Batman isn’t anyone else. Harvey uses the ears to guide him off until just the tip is still encased by the perfect circle of his lips, holding him there a second longer so he can admire Batman’s lips on his cock, before he pulls him back down.
No gagging, no teeth.
Harvey idly wonders, not for the first time, if Batman has spent as much time perfecting his cock-sucking strategy as he has the rest of the tactics in his arsenal.
His movements are rough. He doesn’t hold back. He forces the hot, wet heat of Batman’s mouth off of him harshly just to slam it down even harder. He can feel Batman’s drool dripping down his balls, the loud gluck on every downstroke spurring him to move faster as he chases his release.
Harvey fucks Batman’s face like the Rolls Royce at the bottom of Gotham Harbor is his, fucks him with all the unrestrained rage of a dirty cop facing consequences in Gotham City for the first time.
Neither could be further from reality, of course. But he knows how Batman likes it and Batman knows how he likes it and that’s why they work well together. So well that Harvey is risking his career to aid him in his efforts to clean up the city.
Among other things.
It’s harder to compose himself this time, but he does. He pants as he says, “I’d bet my salary that little display was a hint. Everything you do is intentional. You knew the details would be on my desk first thing in the morning. You knew I’d think about you like that the second I saw it.”
Batman moans loudly around his cock—he moans because it was his intent and he is getting off on it—and the sound sends shock waves straight through Harvey’s core that make him groan. His cock hits the back of Batman’s throat again and Harvey thrusts even further, and still he doesn’t gag. All he does is swallow around him, pulling him as deep as he can go.
Harvey’s head is swimming with pleasure and it’s unbelievably hot to think about him honing this particular skill. The way he was probably clumsy about it when he sucked cock for the first time much like he was a clumsy vigilante when they first met a couple months ago.
But Harvey knows, he’s seen, that Batman is a fast learner.
He never settles for just okay.
The vigilante at his knees is a man who would sooner suck a hundred cocks than give a blow job anything short of mind blowing.
Harvey is not technically on the take in the traditional sense. He sees him and Batman as collaborators or allies in their shared mission to save Gotham—and ignores the fact that most cops and politicians on the take have a practiced excuse that begins with technically.
Even so, a small voice in the back of his head is all too insistent that Batman’s blowjobs are more than worth looking the other way for.
Right about now, when that voice gets louder, he wonders what else he could train Batman to do…
He smiles at the thought and says, “From one professional to another, Batman—if you wanted to be tied up, you only had to ask.”
Batman looks up at him then and tenses. At first, when Harvey feels his throat constrict deliciously around him, he’s pleased with himself for knowing exactly how to chip away at the armor elevating Batman from man to myth.
But then there’s a knock on the door that makes Harvey jolt in his seat and the myth thing feels more apt.
Batman’s unnerving ability to tune into his environment on a molecular level even with a mouthful of cock does nothing to dispel the rumors that he’s not actually human, but it sure comes in handy in situations like this.
The vigilante starts to pull back, lips dripping with saliva and coated in precum, but Harvey stops him and keeps his head in place with a hand to the back of it. Batman could easily snap his wrist if he really wanted to leave, but he doesn’t move.
Well-trained is the adjective that comes to mind.
Still, Harvey is half disappointed that Batman doesn’t jump out the window and go back to his night of crime-fighting with the taste of his cock on his tongue.
“Yes?” Harvey calls after a second, shaking his head to try and knock sense into it. He clears his throat when it comes out hoarser than intended, raw with the pleasure coursing through his veins. Batman swallows around him.
Absolutely maddening.
“It’s Gordon,” the gruff voice of the lieutenant responds on the other side of the door. His bulky shadow can be seen through the frosted glass cutout but it’s nothing compared to the shadow underneath his desk. “You got a second?”
Harvey’s eyes lock onto the glowing-white lenses of the cowl and he searches for any sign that will indicate Batman’s thoughts. His lips are stretched wide around Harvey and the sight of it, the way the mask intentionally dehumanizes him and allows Harvey to treat him like any random whore even though he’s the night personified, makes him shudder.
He thrusts once.
Batman’s eyes are blank, unreadable. Even though it adds to the appeal, it doesn’t help communicate anything. Harvey reluctantly rolls his chair back so Batman can make his escape, content with the knowledge that he will likely go jerk off in an alley to relieve himself of his own desperation.
Then Batman suctions his lips again, bobs his head up and down, up and down, and Harvey chuckles his understanding.
“About sixty every minute, Lieutenant,” he says with a chuckle intended for Gordon this time. “The door’s unlocked.”
Batman shoots him a glare and Harvey is sorely tempted to ask if it’s because he didn’t lock it in the first place or because Batman forgot to check in his haste to get on his knees. But instead he pushes Batman under the desk and slides his chair in place so he’s seated behind it properly as Gordon walks in.
“Appreciate it,” the man grumbles, an edge to his voice as he enters. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of day it’s been.”
He looks like shit—bags under his eyes, hair mussed up like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Only six months he’s been in Gotham and already the city has sucked the soul out of whatever bright-eyed, bushy-tailed transplant Gordon was at the start.
Outsiders.
Whoever he is, clearly Batman is a native.
“I’m sure I can imagine.” The vigilante is still as a statue now. Reconnaissance, Harvey presumes. It doesn’t matter what confidential information he’s bound to glean from this conversation when his mouth keeps Harvey’s cock dutifully warm like any move otherwise would set off a bomb.
Not like Harvey wouldn’t tell him anyway. Not like Batman wouldn’t find out even if he refused.
“I’m sure you can’t,” Gordon counters in frustration. He adjusts his glasses and looks around the room like a beat cop, taking in the bookshelf full of dense law books, the court documents strewn across his desk, the weights set in the corner of the room.
Harvey brought the latter here to put his insomnia to good use when his workaholism wouldn’t otherwise allow him to go home.
Despite his original intention, lately the only use it gets is when he’s fucking Batman over the bench.
His cock twitches in the vigilante’s mouth and the involuntary movement brings Batman to life. Slowly, so slowly it hurts, he drags himself off Harvey’s length. It’s wet and sloppy and all Harvey is thinking about is fucking into Batman just as slowly, driving him just as mad. He forces himself to suppress a full-body shudder.
He focuses on keeping his breathing even but it’s, admittedly, a challenge when he imagines Batman bent over, ass clenching tight around his cock like he was born to take it, a fistful of his sleek, leather cape in hand to use as reigns...
Gordon walks over to the weights set and starts counting the plates. The sound of the weights clinking as he touches them does nothing to dispel the fantasy.
Harvey clears his throat again and ignores Batman’s deliberately slow downstroke. “250,” he offers. He wills his poker face to extend to his voice and is satisfied with the result. “I’m hoping to hit 300 by the end of the year.”
Unlikely, if Batman keeps showing up like this. Lips eager, intentions sinful.
Gordon cracks a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wanna place a bet, see who gets there first?”
Batman is pulling off of him again.
“Tempting. But don’t you have a baby on the way, Lieutenant? I’m sure junior will be taking up more than enough of your time.”
For a split second the smile reaches his eyes and Gordon huffs good-naturedly. But then he frowns.
“Not sure how much time I’ll be getting with the kid at this rate.” Gordon runs a hand down his face and sighs wearily, but his next words are angry. “Loeb lit a fire under my ass that I just can’t seem to put out. My overtime is getting overtime. All thanks to this Batman business.”
The vigilante in question stills under the desk and Harvey feels him exhale against his skin. Then he pulls off with an unnecessarily loud pop that Harvey covers with a cough and a hum. He hopes it passes as thoughtful and not braindead.
“Just when I thought I was finding my footing on the force, he shows up. Christ, I can’t believe this city. Chicago had its fair share of crazies but nothing like this.”
“Not sure any city has crazies like this,” Harvey says with a smirk that Batman can’t see.
He doesn’t need to. In direct retaliation, Batman swallows him down to the root and doesn’t stop once he hits it, bobbing without pulling off, cock embedded so deep it has nowhere else to go but hit the back of his throat over and over in a way that makes Harvey’s eyes roll back, his head thump against the chair behind him.
The teeth that pinch him are definitely tactical.
Gordon is still talking. It takes everything in him to actually listen.
“Gives me the creeps just thinking about the bastard. Dirty cops I can handle well enough. Can’t kick ‘em off the force to save my life, Loeb’s made sure of that, but they say to keep your enemies closer than your allies, so fine. I make do.”
The man starts fiddling with the barbell but Harvey decides to peek at Batman then and he moans softly when he sees the clear bulge of his cock in Batman’s throat even through the suit protecting it.
He startles and looks up to be sure Gordon didn’t hear, but it’s clear the man is far too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay attention to what’s happening right under his nose.
“But him?” he continues on. “I can’t seem to make heads or tails of the guy and I’m telling you, Dent—I don’t like shades of gray.”
“Well, Gordon, it’s a good thing his costume is mostly black.” Batman huffs against him in what Harvey discerns as amusement but he doesn’t slow his pace.
Gordon shoots him a look but otherwise ignores the statement. “Two weeks we’ve been setting up these tests for him—”
“Traps,” Harvey corrects. He chokes slightly around the word, feels his pleasure mounting.
“Traps, sure,” Gordon amends with a dismissive wave. “Every night for two weeks! We place them in every district he’s hit. East End, Park Row, the Bowery, the Narrows. I don’t know how he knows, but he knows. It’s like he has eyes on the inside, or eyes on the back of his head, or actually uses echolocation to see right through ‘em. I’d rather eat nails than agree with Flass, but I have to say—the SOB is starting to feel extraterrestrial.”
“It’s just uncanny.”
Gordon only grunts, which is just as well. It’s clear they’re both only half listening. Batman might be the only one in the room paying attention to everything that’s happening at once.
“He knows when and where we set our traps for him and night by night he terrorizes the most powerful men in Gotham.” Gordon turns around and begins pacing. His footsteps cover up the renewed glucks, the sound of Batman’s eagerness to get him across the finish line. Harvey doesn’t dare move for fear that he’ll start thrusting and the desk will shake with the force of it. He curls his hands into fists on top of his desk instead.
“You heard what he did to the Roman’s car?” Gordon asks without looking over.
“Mmmm,” Harvey lets slip.
His head is bowed over the desk and he feels a bead of sweat run down his temple. His thighs are trembling with restraint. He begins to wonder if this is his punishment for trying to outlast the Batman.
He thinks he can pull off the slip as agreement. Even though he stutters through it. “Laughed myself silly, Lieutenant. A Rolls Royce…”
“Yes,” Gordon says, then he pauses. So maybe not. After a full beat he looks at Harvey with sharper eyes than before, focusing on him intently. The renewed attention comes at the exact moment Batman wraps a hand around his shaft.
It’s beyond maddening by now—it’s downright diabolical. The leather is slick with spit in an instant. The texture provides a friction that’s only enhanced by the wet glide, the cool material juxtaposing with Batman’s hot mouth.
Batman pulls off of his cock but keeps the head on the flat of his tongue and then jacks him off like that. Every stroke has Harvey’s cock pressing further against his tongue without slipping back in.
Harvey wishes he could see his face. Cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen and wet, mouth open and waiting. He wants to stare straight into the blank, white lenses when he comes and makes Batman take it all.
He mindlessly flips open People of Gotham City v. Batman to give his now-incessant fidgeting purpose and his eyes somewhere meaningful to land.
There’s a different kind of edge to Gordon’s voice when he speaks next, but Harvey is beyond analyzing the lieutenant.
He really, really needs to leave.
“You’ve been after the Roman for years, from what I hear. Actually came close to indicting him once or twice.” Gordon takes a step closer to the desk. “Some of your witnesses change their testimony. The rest vanish. It must be frustrating.”
Batman dips down and takes one of Harvey’s balls into his mouth sloppily, tongue nudging against him, sucking at him softly, before moving to the other.
“Oh yes,” Harvey moans, toes curling in his loafers.
He actually moans.
Now Gordon is looking at him with a sideways glance like he has two heads. Harvey wants to explain himself but if he opens his mouth again, he has no clue what will come out. He bites his lips so hard he can taste blood.
Gordon frowns. “I understand he’s used his muscle to keep you an assistant District Attorney…” and it’s only because Batman pauses, tensing in that mythological way again, that his own ears perk up. “You keep in shape,” Gordon says with a pointed glance at the weights in the corner, “don’t you, Mr. Dent?”
Harvey clears his throat as Batman pulls back and his wet cock hits cold air. He’s suddenly very painfully aware of just how sweaty and flushed he is. If Gordon is asking what he thinks he’s asking, his disheveled appearance isn’t doing him any favors.
“What are you driving at, Lieutenant?” he asks.
“I need to know where you were on the following dates…”
Then the man lists every night they set a trap Batman failed to trip.
He actually feels Batman smile against his cock.
“I was here,” he says, short and clipped. Only in small part because of the accusation, but Gordon doesn’t need to know that. “You’re welcome to check with security.” Who will of course corroborate. He wouldn’t need to be anywhere else—Batman always comes to him. “Insomnia,” he finishes by way of explanation.
“Course.” Gordon nods but doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll be sure to check with security across the way too. Wouldn’t want anyone getting in and out through your windows. You’ve got a lot of sensitive information in here.” He gestures at the folder in front of Harvey.
Harvey closes it again. “Anything else I can do for you, Lieutenant?"
“Just…” He looks like he wants to say something else—which has Harvey sweating even harder—but at the last second he seems to change his mind. “Keep your wits about you, Dent.”
After a final, hard stare Gordon fixes his glasses and slips out the door, shutting it behind him.
Harvey lets out a big gust of air. “Thought he’d never leave.”
This is one of the few times Harvey is grateful Batman has a tendency to forego conversation.
He swallows Harvey back down and hums loudly, unabashed, sounding just as worked up as Harvey is. There’s no pausing or playing chicken now. His tongue is swiping across the underside of Harvey’s cock with every bob of his head, the seal of his lips has Harvey suspended in an endless pressure vacuum, and he’s instantly teetering on the edge. He won’t last much longer and they both know it.
Then Batman—who’s just showing off at this point—swallows over and over and it feels the same as when he comes on Harvey’s cock and it’s that feeling, that visual, that pushes him over.
The first spurt is swallowed down expertly, eagerly, but Harvey quickly pushes Batman off of him and strokes himself as he comes all over the cowl. There’s a flicker of dissatisfaction in Batman’s expression but he sits back, opens his mouth, and lets his tongue flick out to catch as much as Harvey will let him.
It’s practically pornographic.
Batman, this immense force for good, this entity that not a soul in the city can touch, no better than a back-alley whore.
By the time he’s fully drained, Batman’s mask is covered. White ropes of cum painting black tactical gear like he’s out tonight roleplaying some insane fantasy and not an actual militarized myth.
He licks what he can off the edges of his mouth, staring up at Harvey all the while. Then he uses the cape to wipe the rest of it off. Because he’s practical like that.
No sooner than Harvey tucks himself back in his pants, Batman stands. “I have to go.” His voice is hoarse, raw from the thorough face fucking he received, but he still manages to sound menacing like he wasn’t just debased before the man leading the headhunt. Harvey’s cock twitches with interest far too soon.
“Sure,” he says.
Harvey still hasn’t quite figured out how to end these meetings of theirs. Any annoyance over the situation with Gordon, Loeb, and the Roman can wait. It hardly matters. They’re allies, yes, but Batman doesn’t answer to him outside the bedroom and Harvey wouldn’t know what to do with his obedience even if he did.
Similarly, any desire for further fucking will be ignored even if he voices it. It’s a perk, not a feature, of their arrangement. And while they may be lovers, kissing Batman would be like kissing the judge who announces your acquittal. Or else like kissing a stripper.
He’s not into you, Harvey, the voice that has so much to say about Batman reminds him. He’s using you. He shrugs off the insistence.
Clearly there's a not-so-small part of Harvey that’s using him too.
So he lands on, “Keep your wits about you, Batman,” with a smirk and a wink.
Then Batman drags the night back into the streets of the doomed city they both stay fighting for. Other than the blinds swinging softly behind him, there’s no indication that Batman was here.
Harvey stares out the window for a long while after he’s gone. Then, when he finally stops basking in the afterglow, he sighs. Resolves that he should get back to work since he won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.
Only when he looks down, he notices his desk isn’t how he left it.
People of Gotham City v. Batman is gone.
