interpretthis: (tdk_wellllllllll)
[personal profile] interpretthis

Title: Devout

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: TDK

Pairing: Batman/Gordon

Rating: PG-13ish

Summary: One story ends and another begins.

Notes: For[info]brushed_velvet.




“Sometimes the truth isn’t good enough.  Sometimes people deserve more.  Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded.”


Gordon’s outline trembles slightly, like a digital image skipping, and though Bruce knows the commissioner will never in a million years dare to say it, dare to impose, decades of police training cannot hide the question swimming in his eyes: what about my faith?


The heart of darkness stills around them for an endless moment as they stand – man in hero-suit, hero in man-suit – beside the blown-out carcass of the dead building home to so much of their pain. 


Bruce’s pitch-ringed eyes burn into Gordon’s pleading ones and they say everything, everything he needs to know.  Their tacit exchange is enough to establish the truth but not enough to make it good enough, not enough to hijack fate.  


Gordon’s mouth – rosy putty beneath those desperate eyes - falls open the slightest bit.  The breath of time they have before the world distorts itself into a deeper lie is running ragged.


“Maybe you can do this, but I can’t.” His voice sounds foreign to his own ears.


Silence cradles his words.  Intensifies them.


The stillness in the world shatters into a million screaming pieces, and Gordon doesn’t have time to brace himself for the onslaught as Batman slams through the air between them like a bullet, tangling gloved fingers through already-disheveled hair.  He doesn’t have time to breathe, time to think.  Fierce, night-black heat is everywhere and warm human lips are crushing his, just as hungry and desperate on the outside as Gordon is on the inside.  He lets out a half-sigh, half-sob and kisses back in a dazed frenzy.  The kiss is true and not enough and over in a half second that feels like a decade and a millisecond at once.  Then Batman is slipping his hot lips over Gordon’s ear to whisper “have a little faith” and his warmth is gone and his cape is billowing out behind him like a shadow desperate to keep up and the hell hounds are chasing, chasing, chasing and Gordon doesn’t want to have faith in himself or anything, anything but him, but he will if there’s the slightest chance it will be rewarded.

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