It was a dark and stormy night; Alfred stared longingly out the window waiting for Master Wayne to come home from a late night excursion. In his hand he held a letter he planned to give to his Master, who over these years had become good friends. Alfred always kept his feelings to himself, scared of what the young master would think of him. He wanted to stay close to Bruce without making things weird, so he threw the letter in the fire, watching it burn.
Soon the door burst open, and inside came Mr. Wayne, sopping wet and half undressed with an open cut down his ribcage. His hair dripped water, splashing the floor, and the salty glands of sweat burned his wound, making him grab his side and groan with pain.
Quickly Alfred rushed to his Master, grabbing him before he could fall. Behind him the last of the letter disappeared into the flames, never to be seen by Bruce. As much as he was relieved, part of him still wanted to confess. But now was not the time. His master needed aid, and Alfred had the skills and means necessary to perform the operation. Time was of the essence.
Even with his old and breaking body, he managed to drag Bruce over to the bed, where he forced him down and pulled out his trusty medical kit. Years of practice guided his hands through the procedure, stitching and cleaning ever so quickly, while avoiding eye contact with the man. Though his hands were covered in blood and his eyes held back tears, there was nowhere else he'd want to be. Bruce's moans filled the silence, and occasionally he lifted his torso only to be pushed back down by Alfred.
"Moving only makes this harder," Alfred stated, adding more rubbing alcohol to the wound.
"But it hurts," Bruce complained, making eye contact with the Butler.
"Now do you think that's what Batman would say, Master Wayne?"
"Well, I did just say it didn't I?"
Alfred had an annoyed complexion, although most of him was very pleased with the comment. As much of a prick Bruce could be, Alfred always secretly admired it. A slight grin escaped his demeanour, Bruce grinned back, his young strapping face glowing with satisfaction to know that he could still joke around Alfred. Bruce grabbed Alfred's hand, squeezing it with desperation, making Alfred slightly uncomfortable but mostly enlightened. Bruce saw the excitement in his eyes, and knew exactly what to do. He moved his hand to the shoulder pulled himself up close to Alfred, his lips just inches away from his forehead.
"But Master," Alfred whimpered, shaking with emotions.
"Oh, but Alfred," Bruce breathed seductively down his neck, "I thought you'd understand."
Bruce brought his teeth into contact on his neck, gently biting a flap of skin; Alfred breathed heavily, and lifted himself onto the bed, where Bruce pushed him down, planking over him. "Now it's my turn. But do me one more favour, Alfred.
"What is that, Master Wayne?"
"Call me Bruce."