A lot of shit went down in Gotham on Saturdays. So Jim almost always went into the office. He'd sometimes take a weekday off instead, but that was pretty rare. He was almost addicted to the adrenaline of his job, and there was only so much propping his feet up in front the sports channel that he could take. Perhaps if he'd been one of those husbands who fired up the grill and drank beer on Saturdays instead of going in to study evidence and forensics and run after mob bosses, he wouldn't be alone right now.
But was he alone? Shit. As Jim's eyes fully opened to the morning sun streaming in through the wooden hotel blinds, the memories from the night before came flooding back. He immediately reddened and covered his face in shame. He hoped for a few brief seconds that it was just some insane dream. How could he possibly face Claire at the station after he'd...? Oh, god. The girl had to be twenty years his junior and he'd licked between her legs. Let her flog him and suck his dick. He'd been inside her... and Christ, he'd let her suffocate him in her breasts.
That's it. He'd have to quit. No, he couldn't quit. He was the Commissioner, for crying out loud. She'd have to quit. Sometimes she went over a bit on lunch breaks. Or took a few personal phone calls here and there. Maybe he should talk to her direct supervisor...
Claire is amazing, you idiot, he scolded himself. The girl deserved to be promoted, not sacked. No, Jim would just have to man up and deal with the humiliation. The man he was at the station was nothing like the man he'd been at The Asylum last night. The Asylum... really? What was he of all people doing getting his kicks at a club called that? It was like giving all his hard work and the bad shit that went down at Arkham the middle finger. But was that so bad? Was it maybe... healing, in a way? Letting go?
He would just have to put up a wall. Commissioner Gordon versus "Submissioner" Gordon. Good god, that sounded ridiculous. This time yesterday, a sub was a sandwich. And the whole idea of creating two personalities implied that he'd be going back. Actually, he had told Claire he would be going back... told her he wouldn't mind doing it again. It would be wrong to disappoint the poor girl, right?
Jim turned the shower on full blast, hot as fire. It felt good to have something to draw him out of his mind. He moved to splash water over his face, but then he gasped and jerked his hands away. Mistress had told him not to wash his mustache. Damn, that was dirty. He wrinkled his nose a bit to see if he could indeed still smell her. Then he tentatively snaked his tongue out to run over the bushy brown bristles.
What the hell are you doing, Gordon? his inner voice shouted. Get it together, man!
He turned around with a sigh, only to hiss when the hot water hit his tender backside. He remembered all the other implements he'd seen hanging on the wall and in that terrifying drawer, and he wondered how all these club patrons went about their regular days without Tylenol and antiseptic bandages and makeup.
At least it was Saturday. He could have a day to focus on work and clear his head without having her sitting a few desks over. Plan his strategy for encountering her on Monday morning. He finished up and wrapped his towel around his waist before donning the usual Dockers, Oxford shirt, and dark tie. He even thought about her as he tied the tie, thinking about how she'd cut off his air a bit as she'd given it a hard tug. Jim was pretty sure he'd let Mistress grab that tie and lead him anywhere if he could just fuck her again. For a man who had gone so long without any, he wasn't sure why he was already hard and longing for it again. Last night should have been enough to get him through three months at least, with his kind of track record.
Coffee. That would help get him back on track. He scurried to the small, self-serve coffee bar in the hotel and helped himself. It was a bit watery, but it would do. He grabbed a rather crusty croissant before jumping in his Corolla and heading to the station. When he reached his office, he was surprised to see the trademark beige and black cup from the coffeehouse across the street sitting on his desk. There was a sticker on the side indicating it was a vanilla latte. He glanced through the glass wall suspiciously, heart already racing. And suddenly he remembered her sultry voice telling him she wanted to feel his, erm, seed — dripping down her leg at work tomorrow. Claire never worked on Saturdays.
And yet there she was, glasses on, completely focused as her head darted between two computer monitors. In mere seconds she wasn't Claire in his mind; she was the rosy lips that had maneuvered so expertly in the first blow job of his sad fifty-something life. She was the soft hair that he'd buried his nose in after collapsing on top of her, exhausted from their exquisitely non-missionary fuck. She was the tits... oh, god, the tits... pillow soft yet lethal as they'd stolen the breath from his lungs. The woman was beautiful and she'd wanted him— old and awkward him— as boring and predictable as a vanilla latte. Jim suddenly stood a little taller. And so did his trousered friend once again.
"Good morning, Claire," he offered confidently, figuring it was best to get it out of the way. She glanced away from her spreadsheet with a demure smile.
"Good morning, Commissioner. I decided to stop for coffee to start the day off on a good note, since I'm not used to working Saturdays. Figured you could use one as well."
Jim nodded. "Yes, thank you. But why are you working on a Saturday, Claire?"
"Kay asked me to clerk for the briefing on Flannery today since Dimbuco is on vacation," she reminded him. Her eyes betrayed no sign of their prior evening activities. She was the calm, professional Claire he'd known for years. Jim had been hopeful she would at least let her gaze wander down or give him a sly smile, but she gave him nothing. It was like Mistress was a completely different person. There were already about eight people in the larger conference room just up from her desk, so her detachment made sense. Thanks to her reminder, Jim remembered why they were all there. Normally Saturdays in the office were less crowded.
"Ah, yes, I forgot about the briefing." Jim massaged the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He was already starting to slip. This was a high profile case; there was no way today's event should have slipped his mind.
"Gordon! You coming?" His lieutenant poked his head out of the conference room, always good at keeping Jim on task when he was being pulled in multiple directions. Only this time Jim had no excuse other than adolescent-like hormones.
"Yeah, one minute," Jim replied with a nod. He turned back to Claire, who stood slowly with her laptop clutched to her chest. She wore a black skirt that came a few inches above the knee and clung like second skin. A thin ecru sweater was thrown on top, and she wore dark red stilettos with a thick buckle around the ankle. Claire always dressed rather suggestively, and while Jim had certainly taken notice, it had never bothered him before today. Now he had an almost paternal urge to tell her to cover up. He glanced behind him at the conference room full of men to see if any were ogling her.
"Something wrong, Commissioner?" she asked, her wide eyes blinking. "You look a little... uncomfortable."
God, what he wouldn't give to take her right there over her desk. He stared at her warily, hand on his hip. "No. I'm fine."
"If you're worried about the presentation, it's all ready to go," she offered with a smile. "Right here. I'll control the slides— you just have to present the team with updates on the evidence pulled last week. Oh, and here— I've made some notes for you in case you get... distracted or flustered." She handed him a thin stack of stapled papers before walking into the conference room ahead of him, hips sashaying with the exaggerated gait of one in sinfully high heels. Jim exhaled and followed, vanilla latte in hand.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Claire chewed on her pen, ankles crossed, her right hand absentmindedly clicking through PowerPoint slides whenever Jim would give her a nod. Each time it was required, the man would pause adorably in his pacing, staring at the floor for a few seconds like it pained him to look at her. She knew the poor Commissioner's brain was short circuiting in his expert analysis every time he saw her. Claire tried her best not to contribute to his distress, giving him brief professional nods in return and focusing on the photographs onscreen.
They'd taken separate Ubers last night after their session, Claire insisting she had some "closing" duties to tend to as one of club's more seasoned members. They'd given each other a rather awkward kiss on the lips once dressed. Jim had gone back to the station to get his car, and Claire had taken a few moments to decompress with Zac, who'd been waiting excitedly for a report.
"So how was it with grandpa?" Zac teased her, sending her a tequila sour flying across the bar.
"Sexy as fuck, I'll have you know," Claire replied. "And it's Daddy to me, thank you. I'm no spring chicken anymore myself."
"You're eternally young," Zac praised her with a wink.
"I suppose to him I am," Claire laughed. "I really think the poor guy has only been with his wife. Maybe a drive-in movie or two back in high school, based on his experience level. Didn't they have those back then?"
Zac snickered. "So what I hear you saying is that you have a whole new world to show Daddy Gordon."
"Shhh!" Claire reprimanded in a whisper, looking around. "All of Gotham knows who he is. It would ruin his street cred if this gets out... that the Commissioner likes his balls flogged."
"He's not the most famous face these walls have seen, Claire. And if he's going to be a regular, he'll want to lose the mask eventually. We're family here."
"Not all of us." A tired, dejected voice had drifted into the conversation, and Claire's best friend Grace sank onto the barstool next to her, throwing her head on her arms with a sigh.
"Bad encounter?" Zac asked her with a sympathetic pout. He sent a Long Island her way.
"Just that little guy who thinks he's Santa Claus again," Grace sighed. "He came looking for you, Claire, since he likes it rough. But everyone said you were tied up tonight. What happened?"
"She wasn't tied up— grandpa was," Zac corrected.
"Oooh, that sounds fun!" Grace's eyes lit up. The two friends shared a tendency toward... daddy issues.
Claire wasn't quite ready to discuss Jim with Grace yet. Jim wasn't just another patron. They'd worked well together for years, and she respected him. He was an incredibly honorable man and a fair person. He always respected her and had her back— the whole staff, really. She'd always admired him. When she'd noticed the sadness in his face becoming more and more frequent these last few months, she'd wanted to make him feel better... take care of him, like he took care of everyone else. But now that she'd accomplished her mission, she was left with a big question mark as to what they were and what she wanted to be. Grace liked to ask questions, so Claire wanted to be prepared with answers before they had this conversation.
"Wilson doesn't pretend to be Santa Claus," Claire corrected, changing the subject with a laugh. "More like the genie of the lamp. He goes around spreading cheer and making people's days. Likes to come in here to have the favor returned. He's sweet."
Grace made a face. "Well, I entertained him for you, boo. No fucking though. Sooo not my type. Still, you owe me."
Claire nodded distractedly. She was suddenly tired. And since by a stroke of fate she was needed at the office tomorrow, she needed to get some sleep. With a quick kiss on the cheek to her friends, she'd taken off to her tiny studio apartment and crashed.
After their adventurous night, she'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep. So as she advanced to the 52nd slide of random objects uncovered at an unmarked warehouse last week, she was beginning to crash again. She sat her pen down and placed her chin lazily in her hand, gazing at Jim in his element. He talked a lot with his hands, his tone level and practical but also relatable. His head had a slight swagger to it whenever he was making a case about something. He seemed effortlessly calm and confident, with the exception of slight pauses to push his glasses up on his nose. Her eyes drifted downward, remembering her offhand inquiry last night as to where he kept that magnificent tool of his while at work. She never, ever would have guessed Jim Gordon was packing anything other than his Smith & Wesson 5904. It had been a very nice surprise, as had been the position he'd yanked her into, using his knees as a fulcrum in that sexy kneel.
Claire suddenly felt very hot.
"Any thoughts before we move on?" Gordon stopped to survey the room, finally stopping on her, but she was so far into daydreams she barely registered. "Claire, care to join us?" His eyebrow raised in a challenge wholly unlike Jim Gordon. All heads in the conference room turned to her. Ohhhh... baby boy would pay for this later. But something told her he'd known exactly what he was asking for with a comment like that. He would learn very quickly how she felt about brats.
A new officer named Emma raised her hand eagerly like she was still in academy. As she gave her assessment of what Gordon had laid forth so far, the Commissioner resumed his pacing in front of the dark paneled wall, biting a thumbnail as he listened intently. His other hand slid casually into the pocket of his jacket, and he froze. A pink flush soon crept to his pale skin.
It took Claire a minute to realize what had happened; in fact, she wasn't entirely sure. But as Jim anxiously rubbed the top of his neck and hastily agreed with whatever his newly minted officer was saying, Claire was fairly certain he'd rediscovered his reward from last night. Jim waved his hand frantically to speed Claire through his remaining slides. She bit her lip, a giggle threatening to burst through her mouth at any moment. The man's hand was still in his jacket pocket, as if he were afraid royal blue panties would go flying across the conference room if he made the wrong move.
When the meeting was over, Jim bolted for the door, bypassing his office completely. Claire would put money on the men's room being his next stop. Finally she let her chuckle out as she shut down the laptop.
"And what's that pretty smile for?" a low voice asked her. She inwardly rolled her eyes. Detective Harry Evans was certainly a "daddy" himself— sexy voice and silver hair— but he was married and notoriously sexist with his come-ons. Luckily he was in the field a lot, so she didn't have to deal with him often. Of course he would accost her just as she was contemplating following Jim to the bathroom. There was a storage closet right across the hall...
No, Claire scolded herself. Not outside the club. It's too soon. You'll confuse him. And yourself. You have to establish the roles and the boundaries before you can go crossing them. He just had his heart broken ... you have to be sure...
She recalled her words the night before, how she'd cooed "Anytime, any place" to him in her post-orgasmic bliss. That was a huge fuck-up. A dominant was never, ever supposed to show their hand that soon. Eighteen years in the lifestyle, and Commissioner Gordon, of all people, was the one causing her walls to cave. Nope. She would reassert control— over Jim, over herself. Tonight, if he'd have it. Judging by his blush just now and her imaginings of what he might be doing in a bathroom stall, she felt certain he would. But... she wanted it to be his idea. Ideally, she wanted him to seek her out of his own accord. But would he even have the guts to go back without an invitation? Maybe if she just dropped a hint as to her plans for the night...
"Dinner tonight, Claire?" Evans asked. "That new Brazilian steakhouse opened up. They say it's good for girls who like a lot of meat. Do you eat meat, Claire?"
A mischievous grin graced her face, but she didn't answer his gross question. Instead she stood and made her way to her desk, and the man followed her like a puppy.
"Why don't you and your wife try it out first?" she suggested brightly, wanting to do a little dance when she saw a slightly panting Jim Gordon returning to his office. She added loudly, "I have plans tonight, Harry. It's kind of a standing engagement, if you will."
"Oh?" Evans asked, amused. "Who's the lucky guy?"
It was more than she wanted to ever reveal at work, but if it got her point across to Jim without her having to humble herself to invite him again, it would be worth it. It was just Harry, after all. "Whoever gets there first," she answered cryptically, making sure out of her peripheral vision that Jim was watching. Of course he was. He was even craning his neck and likely wishing he had some magical ear extender to enhance his middle-aged hearing.
"Well, aren't you a little..."
"Evans!" Lieutenant Black barked. "In the car— now! I'm sorry the mob doesn't work on your mating schedule. Now, Greene— back to work— if you're staying. Now that the meeting's over you can have your Saturday back though, if you want."
Claire nodded eagerly and grabbed her purse. She wanted to take a long nap to reenergize for tonight.
"Thanks, Lieutenant!" She watched the two men head out back to the squad cars before she met Jim's eye. Those beautiful baby blues were burning a hole through her. She felt a tremor start in her core and drift up her spine before fizzling out through her arms in a full body shudder. She sure as hell hoped Gordon hadn't noticed.
"See ya' around, Commissioner!" she called to him with a wink, making sure to calculate each sway of her hips on the way out.
