More smut (mild, more summarized. :))

Claire woke up flustered just as she had after their overnight at Jim's. She was used to being on her own, and the strange sense of another's presence still felt foreign. Not to mention it was already lunchtime when she awakened after their late, adventurous night, and the midday winter sun was steaming into her small bedroom. She was still bleary eyed when she felt and heard a naked Jim Gordon jump to his feet. She watched him grab his glasses and discarded boxers frantically.

"What's the matter?" asked Claire, a knot already forming in her stomach at the possibility he might regret last night.

"I overslept," Jim answered with a sigh. "I wanted to wake you up with coffee."

Claire grinned and sank back into the pillows with relief. "I just want to wake up with you, Gordon. Coffee can wait. Get that sexy ass back over here. Actually wait a minute— let me brush my teeth first." It was her turn to spring naked from the bed.

It dawned on her that those sexy morning scenes in the movies never accounted for morning breath or bedheads or smeared makeup. Of course she was a stranger to all that too. She darted toward her bathroom only to have him catch her arm and pull her naked body into his embrace. In terms of bedheads, Jim had the most adorable one she'd ever seen. His hair stuck out in about twelve different directions. Claire's face laid against his chest, his skin warm from all the covers he'd had heaped upon him.

She'd glanced over in the middle of the night to see him completely covered, only mustache-up peeking out. He'd looked so cozy and relaxed, and she remembered brushing back a soft piece of that rogue hair that had fallen over his eye. She'd wondered in that moment whether it was possible to have your heart hurt over a person, but in a good way. Maybe the blur between pain and pleasure in sex translated into a similar blur when it came to love. And she was ridiculously in love with the man.

She took a deep inhale and appreciated the morning-after dry-down of his cologne, then she managed to slip away to freshen up. She purposely hurried to grant him his turn; he was her guest after all, but he still managed to beat her to the kitchen and start the coffee in that short amount of time.

"This is my place, baby boy— I'm supposed to be spoiling you," Claire reminded him coyly.

Jim held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll turn it over to you. Mind if I grab a shower?"

"Not at all. You want breakfast or lunch?"

Jim's gaze roved suggestively downward even though she'd already thrown on yoga pants and a t-shirt. "Whatever you're serving."

Claire play slapped his arm. "Go clean up, dirty boy. I'll surprise you."

XXXXXX

It was the best weekend of Jim Gordon's life. He felt a little guilty thinking of it that way. He was a dad, after all, and he'd had twenty-eight years of weekends with another woman. Why should his mind grant those accolades to a woman he'd barely known until three months ago?

But it wasn't just her. It was the way he felt... and felt about himself... when he was with her. He felt sexy... strong... capable. He loved that he could take care of her and feel just as taken care of himself. Even though it was small, the subdued colors and sumptuous textures of her home warmed and relaxed him. Decades of cold, hard streets and sterile interrogation rooms had apparently left him yearning for comfort. He even felt amazing after eating her food. She'd whipped up eggs florentine along with vanilla yogurt and granola for their Saturday brunch, then she'd made him one of her famed salads for dinner — the kind she always brought to the office. It was light and satisfying and gave him energy to go all weekend— which is exactly what he needed, given their shared insatiable sexual appetites.

Jim took her multiple times in her bed, once on the sofa, once on the kitchen counter, and he convinced her to shower with him Sunday morning. That last one had been amazingly hot— their height difference made in-shower intercourse rather challenging, but he'd enjoyed soaping up her beautiful breasts and rubbing intimately between her legs with a soft cloth until she leaned limply against him and surrendered to yet another climax. Claire returned the favor by kneeling at his feet, fondling and sucking him to an explosion all over her face and body, which allowed him to clean her up all over again.

Their sofa encounter had been Claire riding him cowgirl Saturday afternoon, after she'd caught him flipping through her channels and sneaking in a few minutes of The True Story of Jesse James. Jim had never, ever combined westerns and sex— Barbara would usually just roll her eyes with "How many times have you seen this one?" It turned out to be fortunate that he had them memorized, since the show on his lap— Claire's arms atop her head and tangled in her hair, breasts bouncing, hips undulating— was a hell of a lot better than 1957 technicolor.

"Feeling good there, cowboy?" she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

"You're gonna kill me, little girl," Jim replied, panting and arching up to meet her fierce pounding. "But what a way to fucking die."

Claire really put her arms and hips into her ride, lifting up so his cock was fully out before plunging back down again, angling so the plum-like head hit her g-spot full-on each time. Each strike was rewarded with a grunt from deep within her— an uncontrollable, primal sound that lit a match in his brain. Jim took it upon himself to smother his face into her breasts as she rode, letting her steal the air from his lungs as her pussy worked to rip his orgasm from his throbbing cock.

"Fuck, yes... Jim... I've never had one like this before... oh, god..."

He felt her walls clamp down on him and suck him dry in a powerful grip. Sweat clung to her skin, and she struggled to catch her breath as a chorus of gunshots rang out from the television.

Their incredible weekend included plenty of nonsexual elements as well. They enjoyed coffee infront ofher balcony instead of on it, due to the snowy weather, and he accompanied her on her Sunday shopping excursion. Claire was grateful to have the aid of a car for a change as well as someone to share the experience with. Jim took mental note of the things she bought so he would always be ready for her, hoping there were many, many more of these weekends in their future. They'd cuddled on the couch while watching some holiday movies, folded laundry, watered her plants, cooked and did dishes— normal things that reminded Jim what it was like to have a partner and made him grateful to get a second chance.

Some of the weekend was spent calling the kids, of course, and planning his next trip to see them for New Years before school started back. This left him with a sinking feeling about Christmas and the prospect of spending it alone. Most years he ended up working at some point on the holiday, but barring some huge emergency, he doubted that would be the case this time.

"Hey, Claire?" he asked tentatively as they washed the Sunday dinner dishes in her tiny kitchen. She'd roasted a chicken with lemon and garlic, and her apartment still smelled delicious.

"Hmm?" she responded lazily. She looked stunning in a pink blouse uniquely paired with silk pajama shorts. Jim had found her look so mesmerizing he'd even asked to take her picture earlier in the muted rays of the setting sun through her window. He knew his work productivity would probably reduce to a dismal level since he would spend all day staring at the picture and remembering their amazing weekend.

"Do you want to spend Christmas together?" he asked, trying his best to sound casual and not desperate. "I still have the old tree if you want to come to my place. I could try my hand at a turkey... or maybe one of those places that cater would be a better bet..."

Claire dried her hands and kissed him softly. "I'd love to. I have to say I usually go to the club on Christmas though. The holidays are rough for a lot of people, so I always see a regular or two. They might miss me this year."

"Yeah, well, you're taken," Jim said firmly. "Although I'm not opposed to some time at the club... do they make dominatrix Mrs. Claus garb?"

Claire blushed a lovely pink to match her shirt and massaged his pecs through his. "Maybe..."

Jim laughed. "I'm going to assume it currently resides in the back of your locker."

"Maybe..." she repeated with a giggle.

"Mmmm..." he growled deeply, his hands locking to her bottom as he pulled her in. "I suppose I'll have to tell her what a naughty boy I've been this year."

And that was how the encounter in the kitchen began. Jim found himself wondering if there were negative side effects from too much sex. If so, he was about to find out. He slid her little silk shorts to the ground and hoisted her onto the small square of wooden countertop next to her sink, kicking her rug aside to avoid slipping as he plunged into her and started pumping.

"Ahhh!" Claire cried out at the sudden invasion. But her fingernails dug into his back through his t-shirt as she held on for the ride. Jim swiveled his pelvis to make sure her clit enjoyed the impact of his thrusts, loving the slapping sounds of skin on skin. His tongue rammed her mouth no less enthusiastically, feeling like no matter how much of her he tasted it wasn't enough. Their angle on the countertop offered little time between penetration and climax so it ended up being the very definition of "quickie." But it left them both sweaty and panting in a tangled mess of limp, exhausted limbs.

"Fuck, I love you, Claire," Jim muttered, his head dangling so his nose rested in the crook of her neck. She responded by squeezing her arms around him even tighter and letting a contented mewl escape her throat.

They were interrupted by a ringtone unfamiliar to Jim; it dawned on him that he'd never heard Claire's phone ring before. It was usually his work or personal life that interrupted their escapades, not hers. She hopped off the counter and stepped back into her shorts, looking no less perplexed than Jim at the prospect of a caller.

"Hello? Oh, hey, Dad."

Claire retreated to the living room portion of her small studio and stood at her balcony door, the furthest point from Jim. But his keen detective ears were used to overhearing things people wished to keep hidden from him, and he found that old habits died hard.

"Yeah? I've never heard of a phone doing that before, Dad. It probably just means the service is spotty where you're at. Not surprising for Lititz, right?"

She paused and listened for a few moments, and even from across the room Jim could hear agitation in her dad's voice. He seemed to be a spirited guy.

"I don't know, Dad. You'll have to just call your carrier and ask... Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry I didn't call... I spent Thanksgiving with friends. Christmas? No, I'm sorry, I have plans. Just someone... a friend..." She glanced warily at Jim. "I mean, I'm seeing someone."

"No, Dad," she sighed. "Someone from work. He's a great guy..." She paused and listened. "Maybe? I don't know. It's too soon for all that. Look, I need to go, okay? Tell Mom I said hi... okay, real quick... Hi, Mom..."

Jim honestly hadn't given much thought to Claire's parents. Now that the reality of them was sinking in he realized they were probably close to his age. His cheeks flushed a little with embarrassment at the weekend he'd had with their daughter thus far. He was older and a gentleman... he should know better.

Don't be ridiculous, Gordon. She's a thirty-something woman— nothing to be guilty about.

But as he watched her body language while conversing with her parents, it was easy to forget that. She hugged her waist nervously, her eyes darting around the room, her voice shaky. She seemed defensive, not unlike young suspects he would bring in for interrogation, always trying to justify their behaviors. It was apparent her relationship with her family was complicated at best. Jim wanted to step in and come to her rescue, but he wasn't sure how. He ended up grabbing a small notepad and pen from her coffee table and scrawling a quick note: We can spend Christmas with them?

He flagged with his arms until he caught Claire's eye, and she shook her head vehemently. Jim scrawled a follow-up: Let's at least talk about it?

Claire dismissed him with another shake of her head.

"Mom, I have to go. It was good to talk to you. Yeah, I'm sure. Talk to you soon. Okay. Bye." She tossed her phone onto the couch and rubbed her forehead tiredly.

"Daddy issues?" Jim attempted lightly, referencing her off-handed remark from their night of drinking in Cleveland.

Claire shrugged. "Not really. They're just annoying. Can't take a hint, you know?"

"Yeah, I do know," Jim chuckled. "Kind of like an annoyingly persistent sub of yours who wouldn't give up asking for a date. Sometimes persistence pays off... for both parties. Maybe give Christmas some thought?"

"You'd really want to meet them?" Claire asked in disbelief, still hugging herself.

"Well, that depends. You said they're cops. Would they cuff me for courting their little girl who's half my age?"

Claire relaxed a bit and laughed. "I'm not half your age, Jim Gordon. And 'courting?' Is that what this is?" She crept closer to him and raised up, placing a slow, lazy smooch on his lips.

"Courting... with benefits, perhaps," he replied. He returned her kiss, prepared to swing her into his arms and embark on another make-out session in the plushness of her bed. This time it was his own phone that interrupted them; he supposed he should be thankful they'd made it to Sunday evening without such disruption.

"Gordon."

"Commissioner, we have a big lead on Flannery," his lieutenant told him. "We think you may want to come down."

"I'll be right there."

This particular case would be one of the final nails in the coffin of Gotham organized crime if they were to wrap it up. This family was small time and managed to fly under the radar for years while GCPD pursued bigger fish. While not big league, they were wily and rough and frustratingly good at evading capture.

"It's Flannery, Claire. I gotta go. I'm sorry," Jim said wistfully. "At least we made it this far, right?"

She nodded and squeezed his waist. "It was an amazing weekend. We'll do it again sometime. But for now, go get the bad guys."

Jim retreated to her bedroom to grab his bag, not exactly sure he liked the implications of "We'll do it again sometime," but he didn't have time to dwell right then. When Gotham needed him, he went. As he strode confidently onto the scene with his officers, he realized their weekend together had generated some pretty powerful endorphins. Claire made him feel invincible... like he could conquer the world. And he couldn't wait to get back to the club and try his hand at conquering her.