Chapter title inspired by "You Make Me Feel So Young" by Frank Sinatra.

Explicit scene warning.
_

It took Claire a full minute to realize where she was upon waking. She'd never slept anywhere besides her own bed or a hotel room, so waking up with the feeling of thin cotton sheets, a handmade quilt, and a slightly squeaky old mattress startled her. But then Jim's familiar scent struck her nose, and she felt her body let out an involuntary sigh of relief. She shifted a bit to embrace him, only to find his side of the bed pulled up neatly— his sexy smell having wafted over from his pillow and the room itself, not from him.

Claire clutched his pillow and nuzzled it with a tiny moan. She was still so painfully horny and unsatisfied. Part of her thought about trying to get off quickly right then. Maybe being in his bed would help put her in the right headspace. But what if he walked in on her? They had work that morning, and she didn't want their first time to be some quickie before heading to the office. Nope. It was best to just get ready for work and move on. The right time would present itself, surely.

She noticed on the way to her bag that a few inches of snow had fallen overnight, the narrow Gotham alleyway outside his bedroom window dotted with snow covered trash cans and cars. It dawned on her that Thanksgiving was this week; she'd been so off of her normal routine that she'd lost track of time. Normally she and Grace spent holidays together, since they'd both grown further apart from their families over the years. But with Hans in town for this particular birthday, Claire imagined he might stay for Thanksgiving as well. Did Jim have plans? Surely he was going to see the kids.

Claire laid out her dress slacks and blouse on Jim's bed and took a quick turn in the bathroom before wandering in search of him. The bathroom was steamy and smelled like Ivory soap and aftershave — the sexy smell swirling on the warm, damp air and making her tortured clit ache again. As she brushed her teeth she pictured him bent on top of her, fucking her right there on the bathroom counter, their disheveled, wanton reflections gazing back at them from the foggy mirror.

"Get it together, Claire. Now," she ordered, and she rubbed a spot of the mirror to see well enough to apply makeup. She did the bare minimum to make herself work appropriate then returned to his room to dress. She all but skipped down the hall in anticipation of seeing him. He was already dressed, of course, in tailored gray suit pants and that crisp shirt Claire loved so much with the blue sheen, accented with a woven tie. He sipped his coffee from an old gold rimmed china cup, no doubt a wedding set, while he perused the Gotham Globe with stern brows. His face softened when he saw her, his eyes drifting over her from head to toe and back again. A crooked smile teased his lips.

"Good morning, beautiful." He winked and turned to pour her a cup. "One Splenda right? And half and half... this the right color?" He strode over to her, and Claire confirmed the creaminess of her brew with a smile and nod. She sat at his table while he grabbed a pan of eggs that he quickly assembled into sandwiches on the sourdough from last night. Her toes curled happily at the simple pleasure of enjoying breakfast with someone— the smell of a freshly brewed pot of coffee, the sounds of newspaper turning, and the contentment that came with someone taking care of her. She couldn't believe as a thirty-six year-old woman she'd never allowed herself to experience such.

"Barbara texted me this morning," Jim started, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "She invited me to Cleveland for Thanksgiving. I haven't responded yet. I wanted to check with you first, to see if we..." he trailed off, clearly hoping she would interject one way or the other before he had to put himself out there too much.

"Go see the kids," Claire said quickly. "They need their dad on Thanksgiving. I get you the rest of the time."

Jim nodded, seeming half relieved, half sad. "What about you? Any plans?"

"I might work..." she mused. "Float the holiday and save it for another time? Or I'll see what Grace is up to. Her Dom's in town for a bit."

"Oh?" Jim replied with raised eyebrows. "So not Ben? Who is he? Will he be at the club this week?"

"Doubtful. They tend to keep to themselves when he visits. She wears his collar when he's in town, and the other Doms she plays with know to steer clear. He allows her free reign while he's gone, of course. But when he's in town, he dictates their schedule."

Claire kept rambling in hopes she wouldn't have to answer his question in regards to the man's identity. Jim certainly seemed intrigued, no doubt since he and Grace had become rather intimately acquainted. But Claire glanced at the microwave clock and reminded him they should be leaving, so the topic fortunately fizzled out. Jim of course made his own schedule, but Claire was expected in the general vicinity of eight o'clock to stay out of trouble.

"What ya' got on tap at the office this week?" Jim asked casually as he drove them through Gotham rush hour.

"Archiving on Wednesday," she answered miserably. "Sending old stuff to our offsite storage. Every six months. At least I get to wear jeans— that's the plus side of hauling boxes around all day."

"Ah," said Jim. "You know if you were on my field teams you could leave those boxes of files to someone else."

"And if I were on your field team we couldn't be fucking," Claire reminded him boldly. "We're already taking an awfully big chance."

Jim chuckled. "True, true. About that... I have something I've been meaning to ask you."

A few moments of silence passed as Jim focused on traffic, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

"Yes?" she prodded him.

"Will you be my date for the holiday ball?" His voice was quiet and shaky, like a teenage boy nervously approaching his crush at her locker.

Claire turned away and watched skyscrapers pass by out the passenger window. "I figured we'd meet up for a drink or a dance or two," she answered slowly. "But being each others dates... doesn't that complicate things? I'm not sure what Kay would say... and won't the mayor be there?"

"Garcia won't care," Jim laughed. "He's in no place to judge when it comes to who a guy dances with... in or out of the bedroom. Of course he doesn't know about the divorce. I'm kind of a private guy— just haven't thought to bring it up. But I'll handle Kay. Just trust me. Say yes?"

Claire's heart was racing again— this was another first. She'd been so selective in high school; no boy ever excited her enough for her to say yes to a real date, so she'd spent school dance nights at home reading or watching movies, daydreaming about the world beyond her small town. She'd met Stan her freshman year of college, and of course they never dated— only fucked and role-played, laying in each other's arms and discussing philosophy, art, the classics, and Stan's own insecurities and idiosyncrasies. After he died, Claire was exclusively Mistress— all her encounters confined to shady dance clubs and underground playrooms, until Wayne opened The Asylum and that became Mistress's playground. She'd missed out on basic things like being someone's date for a dance. She had to admit it thrilled her, simple as it was.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Just don't get me fired, Commissioner."

"Don't worry, Greene. I'm never letting you go."

XXXXXX

Jim strode into the office excitedly Wednesday morning. It was the first time he'd shown up there in jeans in all his years of working, and the perplexed looks thrown his way by his officers reflected such. He gave them all a wink and a grin, taking note of Claire's desk and Kay's office dark and empty, as well as the spaces of the rest of the admin team.

"Watson, can you grab the elevator for me?" he asked one of his newest officers, since he was juggling two trays of coffees. She hopped up and assisted him, and Jim rode down to the basement file room. He saw Kay first, her red hair tied up, pacing back and forth while jazzy hold music played on her cell phone.

"Commissioner?" she asked, wide-eyed as she surveyed his wardrobe choice.

"Morning, Kay! I brought coffee for everyone and am here to help. Where do I start?"

She just blinked. "You're archiving?"

"Sure. I'm obviously needed less in the field these days. Happy to pitch in and help."

Kay still looked stunned, but she shrugged and accepted her coffee cup. "I'm on hold with the records management company— they bumped our pickup due to staffing issues because of the holiday. I'm trying to get us back on the schedule. Go find Greene— she's been doing this longer than anyone else and can get you started."

Jim passed out all the coffees but one and was greeted with looks of surprise and gratitude, which made him smile. He liked that things were less chaotic on the work front and that he had time to boost morale, even if such things were always haunted by guilt for how it all was achieved. Claire was bent over a box, flipping through file folders and seeming to inventory them against a printed list. The denim she'd chosen was fire engine red, and she wore a thin, loose gray sweater, dangly earrings and the cute little sneakers she'd worn to the amusement park weeks ago. She'd pinned the front parts of her hair back with a clip and had straightened her curls.

"Coffee, Greene?"

Claire jumped a mile and spun around. Her eyes flickered quickly to her boss, who was indeed watching them as she waited on hold. Jim supposed they hadn't been quite as careful as he'd thought. But he needed to test the waters a bit anyway to have her as his date for the ball.

"What are you doing here? I mean— morning, Commissioner." She accepted her coffee and took a nervous sip.

"Just helping my staff," he said warmly. "And you're the lucky one picked to train me. Shall I grab a box?"

"This looks really suspicious, you know," Claire whispered after she'd gotten him trained and on task. "The commissioner doesn't throw on jeans and toss boxes around."

"This commissioner does," Jim whispered back. "Think of it like Undercover Boss."

"You're not undercover!"

"Until I met you, kid, jeans were very undercover for me."

Claire buried her face in her box and tried to stifle her laugh. They worked in awkward silence for over an hour, and Jim felt a strong urge to loosen her up. He glanced at his watch. He knew the Lieutenant and the majority of his detectives were headed out to a crime scene at 10:30 with some of the officers, and of course the admin team were all busy in the basement. It was a rare chance for a semi-empty building.

"10:45," he muttered, lips barely moving. "I'm headed up for a break. "You break at 10:50. Meet me in that supply closet across from the bathroom." He rather enjoyed experimenting when it came to issuing commands to her. He sealed the box he was working on and carried it to the growing pile in the corner, looking back to see Claire's chest rising and falling a bit, her face flustered. Beaming with pride, he jogged up the stairs and visited the men's room before darting into the closet to wait.

What the hell has gotten into you, Gordon? Your career has always come first— you can't jeopardize something that big just to get off.

This woman was flipping his whole sense of self upside down. It was a mid-life crisis, perhaps a few years late. But it wasn't his fault, right? He was living a lie that was propping up an entire city. He'd lost daily contact with his wife and kids. He went home every night to a sad empty house that was too big and too quiet. Enter this goddess that brought his pleasure to the forefront— put it above all else. How could he not have tunnel-vision when it came to her and all the possibilities they could experience together?

Jim left the door cracked just slightly and listened for the rhythm of her footsteps on the tile floor. 10:54. He was beginning to think she may not show up, until he finally heard distant movement.

Four minutes late, his brain mused. What punishment would Mistress have doled out for four minutes?

No. He wasn't quite ready to bring Daddy Gordon out, especially for just a quickie at work. But perhaps he could remember this little transgression for the future. Mistress certainly wouldn't have let it go.

Jim waited for the flash of those flaming red pants to show in the crack of the door. He grabbed a broom so he'd have a likely story if someone else was out there. He threw the door open, took a split second to make sure it was safe, then grabbed her arm and whisked her inside. He was panting with adrenaline as he shut the door, threw the broom aside, and brought her against his chest. Claire's eyes and glossy lips sparkled in the dim light from the overhead bulb. Jim ran his fingers over the heart-shaped curve of her cheek, a warmth filling him and making the closet feel almost uncomfortably hot. He stiffened in his pants almost immediately and began rutting against her leg the minute their lips met.

"Is this okay?" he breathed, breaking their kiss just long enough to gauge her feelings in this new situation. In some ways it was yet another role being introduced— Commissioner and Greene now playing in their own space.

"Mmm, Jim... you're so hot," she responded, tilting her head upward to draw his lips to her neck. "This is so hot." Her hands massaged his arms, flew over his back, grabbed his ass— then she suddenly pushed his head upward and took the lead, sucking the skin of his neck into her mouth this time before tonguing his ear.

"Oh fuck," Jim muttered. Claire did the same to the other side of his neck, the clicking sounds of her lips on skin seeming to echo off the shelves of cleaning supplies so loudly Jim was certain passers-by could hear. But his body told his brain to shut up, and he cupped her chin in his hand to bring her head back up, diving in for her lips again. His tongue brushed over them until they parted and allowed him entrance, then he sucked her tongue into his mouth, little bit by little bit, teasing and caressing.

Jim suddenly felt her shift beneath him, her body now leaning forward against the door, her curvy ass sealed to his pelvis as she began to undulate back against the aching tent in his pants. She reached one hand behind his head and tilted hers so they could still kiss at an angle while she tortured him with her hips. His hand drifted beneath the hem of her sweater, lifting it up so he could gently grab her stomach before reaching into the waistband of her pants.

Jim's cock was fighting against his own jeans so hard he wasn't sure he had time to undress either of them before it would explode. It had to be the forbidden aspect of fucking at work that was getting to him, because he all of a sudden felt like a teenage rookie lover with zero control. His fingertips just barely met her wetness when he heard Claire gasp sharply.

"Stop, Jim! Someone's coming!"

"Yeah, me!" he groaned, his hips literally riding her ass against the door, his fingers never budging from where he'd now wedged them between her soaking wet labia. He felt her squirming to line his fingers up the way she wanted on her clit, even as her voice kept panicking about a potential audience in the hallway.

"No, Jim— really!"

Jim soon heard the murmured voices in the hall— of course one was Kay's— why wouldn't it be? And one of the other admin staff, a young guy named Joe, if he remembered correctly. But he couldn't stop. All Jim could think about was the way his tip was forced against the zipper of his jeans and how it was aligned perfectly with the seam on hers, the friction just enough, just on the right spot... the swirling of voices making the forbidden nature of everything even more acute... how wet Claire was... how he could smell it... how he could feel the tightening of his sack...

"Ohhhhhh!" Jim's eyes shut, his nose burying in her hair, stars exploding in his brain, his cock surging. He felt his warm, sticky orgasm pool around his softening member and saturate his boxer briefs. And he became aware of the fact that the voices in the hall had stopped. Had they left, or were they just in shock at the groan they'd just heard from behind the closet door? The hand beneath Claire's waistband kept moving of its own accord, dedicated to giving this woman what she'd denied herself for so long. But he felt her forcibly remove it, and he heard her barely audible giggle.

"No, Jim. We have to get out of here somehow and get back. Separately, so they don't suspect."

"I want to make you come," he protested. "Please. It's been so long."

"Soon, but not now," Claire assured him. "Besides, you need to get cleaned up before it soaks through to your jeans there, Cum-mmissioner."

Jim sighed and hung his head in embarrassment. "I guess I deserve that. I don't know what the hell I was thinking or what's come over me."

Claire slid her arms around him and gave him a friendly hug, lowering her lips to whisper in his ear. "It's okay. It's so hot... and it's something I'll think about when I touch myself... my naughty, naughty boy cumming in his pants for me." She stood abruptly and began adjusting her clothes, then opened the door a crack to peek out. As soon as she was sure the coast was clear, she was gone without another word.

XXXXXX

"Commissioner Gordon? A word before you leave, please?"

It was five o'clock, and Jim had a plane to catch to be in Cleveland for Thanksgiving.

"I'm trying to catch a plane, Kay. Can it wait?"

"It will only be a few minutes. My office, if you have time."

Jim cast a barely noticeable look at Claire to see her hanging her head as she finished up the last few boxes. Her co-workers had all gone home to catch transportation for the holiday. He hated to leave her on her own when there was still work to be done, but he had to get a jump on the Thanksgiving airport crowds himself.

"Um, sure, a few minutes then. Uh, see ya', Greene— Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Commissioner," she returned quietly.

"Greene, kill the lights down here before you leave, okay? Have a good holiday." Kay gave Jim a rather reprimanding look and took off up the steps. He followed with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. He'd cleaned up as best he could in the men's room, but the guilt remained.

Clearing his throat as he took a seat in front of her desk, Jim reminded himself that he was in charge here, not Kay. She could always file a report though and ruin him or call for Claire's removal. He didn't think she would though. She was fairly reasonable and even somewhat funny in a dry sort of way.

"What do you see out beside the name on my door, Commissioner?" Kay asked him pointedly, crossing her arms tightly as she sat back in her office chair.

"Um, your credentials?" Jim offered.

"Which are?"

Jim wracked his brain. "I— I'm sorry— may I get up and look?"

Why? Why do I always go into subspace where women are concerned?

"Yes, Commissioner, you may."

Jim scurried back to the hall and took note of her nameplate, then settled back into his chair. "SPHR, CAP," he answered.

"And do you know what those mean?"

He hesitated. "I... I don't. I'm sorry. You were hired under Loeb, and I..."

"Certified Administrative Professional, and Senior Professional in Human Resources. Human Resources, Jim. Which means I know a thing or two about spotting workplace affairs."

"Oh, well, I'll let you handle that, then, Kay. I don't need to know anything about it, whoever it is. Just have them sign a statement saying it won't interfere with work, and we'll call it a day. Happy Thanksgiving." Jim made a move to stand again, but Kay effectively fired daggers with her eyes.

"Jim."

He sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Kay, I—"

"Take your own advice," she said. "Don't let it interfere with work. And from now on assignments need to come from me, not from you. Anything you need from Greene, you need to route through me. For your own protection."

Jim nodded meekly. "Thank you. You're right."

"Of course I am. And I can't blame you. She's had a crush on you for years, you know." Kay's stern scowl had started to crack, a sly smile creeping in its place.

Jim instantly blushed. "She told you that?"

"No, of course not. Greene is so shy and quiet ...innocent. She'd never admit to anything like that. But like I said earlier, you learn to spot certain signs. She'd turn positively giddy when you'd give her an assignment or tell her she'd done a good job. She's such a sweet girl— I'm sure she wouldn't dream of making a move on a married man, but it doesn't surprise me to see the two of you running to the closet together now that you're divorced."

Jim had no clue to respond to any of this, except to snicker inwardly at how Claire had managed to fool her boss. Shy? Innocent? Sweet? Well... Claire was those things, actually. Mistress, on the other hand... it was all so confusing sometimes.

"Thank you for your concern, Kay. And your support. Just so you know, I've invited Claire to be my date for the holiday ball. We'll behave," he added quickly. "I haven't advertised my divorce at all outside of the station, and I don't want to draw too much attention. If I learned anything with all that mess two years ago, it's that the less the public knows about my personal life, the better. I want to keep Claire safe."

Kay nodded in agreement. "Are you asking me to chaperone? Because I certainly will."

"No," Jim chuckled. "I can manage just fine."

XXXXXX

Claire arrived late at her building, exhausted, grubby, and with an aching back. She'd stopped to pick up Chinese on her way home, craving some lo mein and a night of zoning out with Netflix. She was still a nervous wreck about Jim going off with Kay like that. Surely if she was getting fired, she would have heard by now. She would have thought Jim could at least text her an update either way, but he did have a plane to catch.

As she made her way to the entry door she felt the sudden sense that she wasn't alone, despite the empty street. It was hard to put a finger on— just some feeling that a presence was nearby. It was enough to make her heart begin to race and her stomach tighten. Claire hurried her pace up the steps and inside, grateful to see Albert sitting there flipping through a book. He was no Jim Gordon when it came to making her feel protected, but it was nice to see a familiar face.

Protected from what, Claire? The boogeyman? There was nobody there!

She sighed and kicked her sneakers off, sinking onto her sofa and digging her chopsticks into her delicious noodles. She grimaced as she thought of all the junk food she was consuming lately. Jim had her going soft in every way— bending her rules, losing all sense of discipline.

God, she missed him already. It wouldn't have been right to ask him to spend Thanksgiving away from his kids, but the thought of him laughing around a bountiful table with his ex, remembering all their years together, enjoying her home cooked food— well, it hurt. Not to mention it was something Claire herself hadn't experienced since she was a child. Would she ever? Could she and Jim have that, be a family? Or would it always be about nights at the club or trysts in a closet?

Her phone dinged and she jumped, heart racing once again as she awaited news of Jim's conversation with Kay. Or just a text telling her he'd landed, or that he missed her. But it was Grace, giving her a time to meet her and Hans for dinner tomorrow. They were having Thanksgiving catered inside his giant suite at the Royal Hotel.

Bring Jim! Grace's text encouraged. Claire hadn't told her about Cleveland.

I'll be there! washer half-hearted text back. She set her half-eaten noodles on the coffee table and curled up with a blanket, finding one of her favorite movies. Yes, it was definitely the holidays again, with Serendipity on TV. Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack falling in love at first sight as they fought over a pair of gloves while Christmas shopping... sharing a chocolatey drink at a cafe... ice skating in the snow... finding each other again after years apart, realizing they were meant to be. Claire had seen the movie a dozen times, but it had never gotten her teary-eyed until tonight. Jim Gordon had her emotions in a pathetic, laughable mess.

Ding!

Checking to make sure you got home safe, kiddo. Plane just landed. Please let me know you're okay.

Butterflies... fucking butterflies. Could her stomach physically turn upside down? Because that's what it felt like whenever she saw the name "Jim" on her screen.

I'm home. I miss you.

God! No! Did she really just hit send? Could you take text messages back? She'd just gotten an iPhone a few weeks ago and wasn't fully sure how the damn thing worked.

Me too. I'll call you from the hotel when I can this weekend. Sleep well, Princess.

Princess. Stan used to call her that sometimes. She'd liked it, of course. But with Jim it felt real, like he had her on some pedestal where he would truly protect her and take care of her every need.

Claire really wanted to ask how much trouble she was in at work, but that text seemed to end the conversation. Jim had told her to let him handle Kay; maybe she really should trust him more. She had to admit, taking a risk like that one in the closet felt amazing and was a huge turn on. She'd always liked exhibitionism at the club, where it was safe... but maybe she liked it in other places too.

You too, Jim. Good night.

She'd told him she would touch herself to the memory... she wanted to, but she knew it was no use. She'd been so close today... so close. If she just hadn't let her mind get in the way...

Claire sighed. When Jim got back into town, she'd have to find some way to dial it up a notch. Make him realize how much she wanted him, make herself come to terms with the fact that he was the one. She definitely couldn't go on like this much longer.