miss maggie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bossymarmalade) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thejusticelounge2015-01-01 09:07 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2015-01-01 09:07 pm
and oh, i know
It could be the jeans, or maybe it’s the plaid shirt, but no one seems to really pay him mind as he enters the apartment complex where Cass, Bai, and Steph reside; he makes it all the way in, and up the stairs (not the elevator) to their place, rapping his knuckles lightly against the door.
Cass stands on her tiptoes to peer out of the peephole. She’s beaming wide as she opens the door, “Hi!”
Bruce is shocked to see her smile, so wide and so proud, it makes something inside of him twinge, nearly painfully as it awakens to the sight of it—God, she’s beautiful when she smiles—that he can’t help but return the expression with one of his own, a funny little thing that curls at the edges of his mouth. The crow’s feet at the edges of his gaze crinkle and he murmurs back, quietly. “Hi.” Glancing beyond her, he doesn’t see any sign of her roommates, and looks back at her for permission to enter.
Cass bobs her head backwards, inviting him in. Wrapping a hand around his wrist to tug him in just for a small bit of additional encouragement, “This is surprising. Were you in the neighborhood?” she takes a seat on the couch, pushing aside a few throw pillows to see if Bruce wanted to take a seat.
Bruce takes a seat where she has cleared the pillows, and holds out a small bow, wrapped carefully in dark red and silver themes: the paper is velvety to the touch, the box ornate but not so large as to be considered outlandish. “It didn’t arrive in time,” he explains, and nods at the present, urging her to take it.
Cass takes the small box in her hand, “You didn’t have to give anything else, Bruce…” she rubs her fingertips over the box, her smile still curled with excitement as she pulls the top off the gift.
Bruce inside of the box is a scarf, soft to the touch, tumbling like cool sand through her fingers, and Bruce watches her expression carefully as she pulls it out. “Just something for you to have,” he explains, nearly hurriedly, like she might reject it if she doesn’t know why he gave it to her. “It made me think of you.”
Cass studies the pattern printed on along it carefully, “I love it,” she whispers, folding it over in her hands, “Thank you!” she leans across the couch, wrapping her arms around Bruce for a hug.
Bruce returns the hug, his arms wrapping around her securely, his fingers moving over the top of her head, as he embraces her. His smile is back, tugging further at the edges of his mouth, and he hums, under his breath. “Alfred will be pleased to hear it. He insisted I wait until the New Year, but.. I’m impatient sometimes.”
Bruce pulls out his cell phone while Cassandra goes into the kitchen to prepare them tea, dialing Ollie. He leans forward, his hand curling against the edge of his knee.
Ollie picks up his phone from the kitchen counter, grinning to see Bruce’s display there even before he answers, loud and cheerful. “Yello! You want me to send the usual? Double-stuffed crust with mushrooms and caviar?”
Bruce smirks, and rises up, pacing towards the window in the living room, his voice low. “You’re cheerful..” He rumbles, “Wasn’t sure if you’d gotten your fill of me during Christmas.”
Ollie ”Baby,” Ollie purrs, “You know I’ll never get my fill of you. It’s impossible.” He also strolls over to the window, mirroring Bruce’s movement on the other side of the country. “Have you recovered yet from the festivities? My place can get a little … hectic, compared to the Manor.”
Bruce smirks even deeper now, a hand moving around the back of his neck and around, fingers playing against his throat, nails tracing the place his lover’s teeth had been, just a day before. “..just barely recovered. I’m at Cassandra’s apartment, giving her a belated gift.” After a beat, he amends. “Or an early one.”
Ollie feels a note of panic spasm through his chest when Bruce mentions where he is, but he manages to rein it in and keep his tone light, teasing, jocular. “Oh, hey, that’s nice!” he declares. “Checking up on the chicks who’ve flown from the nest.” Ollie stares out the window at the sunshine coming in, the way it touches the tops of the trees. “Are we … still on for New Years’? What we were talking about before.”
Bruce makes a low contemplative noise as he drags his nails in deeper, tongue tracing against his teeth before he answers Ollie. “We should be, but even if we’re not, as long as we’re together..” He trails off, letting his silence fill that space. That is what he wants.
Ollie ”Good,” Ollie says, letting the pleasure in his voice be obvious. “We’ll find somewhere we can all be alone together and we’ll — that’s all we’ll think about, is the three of us.” He takes a breath, turning away from the window, the sunshine. “Kate and me are talking. About stuff. It’ll get better, I think. If we all work on it together.”
Bruce falls silent as Ollie speaks, allowing the weight of what he says to settle, before he adds his own opinion to it. “Good,” is what he says, and glancing towards the winding wrought iron staircase, moves up and out of the living room, towards the roof. Once outside, he speaks, a bit freer, his free hand moving to button up his jacket. “I’m glad, Ollie.”
Ollie ”I love you,” Ollie says impulsively, about to embellish it when he pauses and listens, frowning. “Did you go outside? I feel like I can hear that church bell. The one that nearly deafened me that night we were out looking for the sniper.”
Bruce responds, quietly. “I love you, silly boy,” before he adds on, “Yes. She’s taking care of some things in the kitchen, but I know she’ll be able to hear me from anywhere inside the apartment.”
Ollie snickers. “Bat sonar,” he intones, then turns so he can lean against the counter, folding one arm over his abdomen. “You coming to the shindig me and Zee’re throwing? It’s gonna be big fun. We can drive each other crazy doing the billionaire playboy acts through the whole thing and then screw in a janitor’s closet once all the civilians go home for the night.”
Bruce “‘Big fun’?” He repeats, dutifully, as he drags his hand against his chest, mirroring Ollie again, even though, as he walks over to the shielded edge of the parapet, his fingers move under the waist of his coat, nails finding the edge of his shirt, pushing below the band of his jeans. “I was thinking about it. I received a few other invitations, you know. I’m a very popular guest for these things.. even if I rarely stay through the whole night.”
Ollie growls a little, straightening up as he curls his fingers into the side of his t-shirt. “Listen, buckaroo,” he says sternly, “you can show up at those other ones for fifteen minutes and then skedaddle. I expect you to be at MY party by the time I’m wasted enough to want to start doing scandalous things. Either that or you do some serious making it up to me later.”
Bruce chuckles, quietly. “And what did you have in mind, for either option?”
Ollie says promptly, “For in front of people? Either drinking contests or an impromptu slalom. As for my ideas for when we’re in private, well…” Ollie feels himself flush at the idea, heat kindling in his belly. “I don’t wanna say and spoil it, but trust me, you’ll be inside out with pleasure by the end of it.”
Bruce growls, the noise hard and loud over the line. “..you’re not selling me on going to the party.”
Ollie chuckles. “Awful, isn’t it,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying open over his side, stroking. “Maybe you /should/ skip the party. Just make sure I get plenty of time with you afterwards. Let me spread out and … experiment.”
Bruce exhales, as he leans against the edge of the roof’s wall, overlooking the city as he brushes his fingers against his belly, as if to soothe the warmth that is pooling there. “..you just can’t wait to get your lips against it, can you?”
Ollie brings his teeth shut with a click, feeling nicely dizzy by the images they’re conjuring up between them, through inference and innuendo. “Lips, teeth tongue, fingers — the whole gamut, baby. Anything I can manage. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, don’t you know that? Well-nigh obsessed.” He crosses his ankles, stretching his back, huffing as his cock rubs against the front of his jeans. “Getting hard like a goddamn teenager at the thought.”
Cass has taken her time in the kitchen preparing tea for Bruce and herself- as soon as he was one the phone with Ollie she knew she could tell from his voice alone. She didn’t want to sit nearby Bruce, admiring the nice scarf he’d just gifted her and pleasantly drink tea now that she was thinking on Ollie again. Cass was afraid her poker face wouldn’t hold up around Bruce. Knowing she couldn’t hold out any longer before raising suspicion (even if he was distracted by Ollie on the phone he’d still be keeping track of time), As Cass brings a small tray of tea and cookies out to him, she picks back up clearly on what his conversation is centered on. Her face goes bright red with embarrassment for overhearing. Swiftly she sets down the tray and grabs her scarf from her seat rushing back to her room to find a place for it, really not wanting to linger for what she picks up on the conversation.
Bruce feels Cass’ presence, and exhales, laughing, as he states: “..she might have overheard me, anyway.” He doesn’t attempt to hide the pleasure from his voice, however, his hand curling around the phone. There’s a luxury in this, one that Bruce hadn’t been aware of in any of his other relationships, not with Selina, nor Talia, not even, really, Kate; talking on the phone with Oliver, like they were.. what had he said? Teenagers? “I’ll see you tonight?”
Ollie laughs too, at the absurd normalcy of being overheard by one of the kids, forgetting for the moment what had happened between him and Cass. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, honey,” he says warmly, and makes a kiss noise before hanging up.
Bruce tucks his phone into his pocket and quickly descends the stairs from the roof, towards the living room. He looks over at the young girl, smiling at her. “Ollie,” he says, warmly, by way of explanation and apology.
Cass nods, “I heard some, I figured it was him,” she returns to her seat, tucking her chin down slightly before making a grab for her mug, “Tried to make it like Alfred, but it’s never the same.”
Bruce reaches for his own cup and takes a sip, shaking his head. “No, this is good,” he insists, and looks up at her, his expression still warmed by the conversation, by her acceptance of the gift, before that. “I’m glad you liked it.”
Cass smiles, but it’s not nearly as wide as before, but she tries to hide that behind her cup, “Of course I like it. Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Bruce had noted the tuck of her chin, but now the weakening fault of her smile makes Bruce worry. “I’m sorry, Cassandra,” he states, the words slipping out easily—this was the ease of his emotions now, to be able to say this without too much pain, discomfort—even as he sets his cup down. His brow furrows. “I should have..” He makes a face. “I’m just happy you liked it. I’d like to have you in attendance for more events in the future, and we all need a bit of color to brighten the usual black.”
Cass shakes her head, “I don’t have to be at everything. It’s alright, I’ve never been upset about it.” she presses her fingers along her mug trying to soak up the heat, “Is there something upcoming? That you’d like me to attend.” her smile peaks out, “The scarf will look good with my favorite black dress.”
Bruce exhales. “I meant for making the call,” he rushes out, before he takes another sip of the tea. “A few charity events in the new year, more than likely. Tim and I are still attempting to determine how we lost so much stock.. But I’d let to get in front of any speculation with the good things we can do together.”
Bruce ’s mouth curls at the edges. “Our family,” he says, quietly, the word velvet in his mouth.
Bruce: *I’d like to get in front of
Cass presses her lips together, “I’m not upset about the call,” I am upset about the person on the other end, “I’ll be there for you both. It’ll be nice.”
Bruce takes another sip, and reaches out, setting a hand on her knee, carefully. “I want things to be different. Better.” He sets the teacup down, and turns to look at her. “I want to be better.”
Cass wiggles her leg under his hand, “How?” she asks him softly, “Why are you thinking about this right now?” she bites down on her lower lip, feeling bad, like her answers are pushing his suggestions away.
Bruce exhales and looks up at Cassandra. “I’d like you to come work at Wayne Enterprises. With me.”
Cass ”Oh,” her brow raises with serious surprise, “Really? Me?”
Bruce nods. “Yes. If you agree to the terms, I’ll be making the announcement after New Years.”
Cass smiles, “Alright. What terms?”
Bruce laughs, suddenly. “That you set your own terms.” He smiles at her, and lifts his hand, pushing it through his hair. “You’d get a paycheck, trackable income.. That’s the only requirement.”
Cass leans into his hand, “I set my own terms. A paycheck. Nothing else?”
Bruce shakes his head, and watches her, the care and adoration never so blatant on his face as it is now. “That’s all. A paycheck.”
Cass giggles, “Ok. Deal. Deal!” she perks up in her seat, setting down her tea so she doesn’t spill anything, “I’m working with you double time!”
Bruce grins, suddenly, his teeth bright, and nods. “Yes.” He reaches out and sets his hand against her knee again, squeezing gently. “It would be my great joy in having you there.”
Cass nods, excited by these new possibilities for her working with the family company. Starting to nibble on a cookie she asks, “Any plans for New Years?”
Bruce nods. “Going to spend it with Kate, and Ollie.” He glances at the cup again, his brow arching as he muses to himself. “It’s our second one.”
Cass tucks her legs under her, nodding slowly, “I should’ve guessed,” she offers a small smile, “Your second? Wow…wow.” Cass hadn’t realized they had been together for so long.
Bruce nods. “Yes. Last year marked the start of our..” He smirks. “Official beginnings, you might say.” Shaking his head. ‘Perhaps that makes it our first?” He exhales, and smiles. “What about you?”
Cass ”Oh so official~ First anniversary at least!” she teases, pushing off the couch to go get a fresh cup of tea, “Maybe something with Steph and Bai? Or patrol.” the exciting civilian life of Cassandra Cain, “Nothing that big.”
Cass ”Ollie isn’t my favorite you know?” she throws out there to Bruce as her thoughts on her adoptive father’s partner continue to churn, and she’s unable to shake them.
Bruce smiles. “Maybe I should leave the Wayne Enterprises New Years’ party up for you three to plan and host.” He watches her, and shakes his head, as he rises up. “First official duty?” He offers, as he buttons up his coat, meaning to leave.
Bruce is silenced, and his brow furrows. “I—” Did he know that? He doesn’t say anything else, stopping the movement of his hands.
Bruce moves towards the kitchen, but stops halfway there. His voice is soft. “That’s.. fine, Cass.”
”Steph would love that- Bai too,” she nods, knowing that she’d only really be a part of the invitation, less so the planning. It wasn’t really an interest of her’s, “He knows. He is very aware and doesn’t like me either. We don’t like each other. He likes everyone but me.” Her shoulders stiffen, “I wanted you to know. For sure. From me.”
Bruce sees the stiffening of her shoulders, and remembers, suddenly, Cass’ demeanor, her spirit when he had finished talking with Ollie. He had assumed it was embarrassment at having overheard something not meant for her ears, but on the heels of this, his mind moves around her confession, the slope and carriage of her spine, her shoulders. “Alright,” he begins, and then, gritting his teeth, his brow furrowing, Bruce watches her, carefully. “Did you talk about this?”
Cass looks away from Bruce, “Recently. Yes.”
Bruce feels a thrill run down his spine, coolness curling at the base, when Cassandra looks away. He steps forward, into the kitchen, the living room behind him, as he steps towards his daughter. “And he told you this. This directly?” There is something he is missing, and the thrill ripples the hair along the back of his neck, his arms. He exhales. “Why?”
Cass shakes her head, “It was just reminded. We’ve never gotten along. I thought you weren’t aware and I wanted you to know. That’s it,” she turns about looking at the sink to try as if checking to see if there’s room for her cup, “We worked together recently. It was reminded.”
Bruce watches her, moresothan he listens to her, watching the movements of her body as she turns, the varying degrees of grace that seem.. awry, different, as she speaks. He isn’t satisfied with this answer, as it gives him no context, and more than that, it perhaps, troubles him to know that it isn’t something that Oliver would bring up, attempt to rectify. But he doesn’t know how to continue on, respectfully. He breathes, in and out for a moment, mulling over what she has said, and more importantly, what she /needs/. Tim’s voice filters into his head, and exhaling, Bruce murmurs: “Do you want to talk about it?”
Cass turns about to face Bruce, but she still can’t look at him directly. Her mouth crumples, “If we talk about it, you promise not to get upset. With either of us,” her chin quivers.
Bruce feels his heart skip a beat, as the last of the breath he had been exhaling leaves him, before the thrum of it returns, thudding against his sternum so fast it seems to want to climb up his throat. His brow furrows further, the warmth leaving his expression as he weighs this request of hers, watches her, the way her chin trembles. That. That alone, from this, this warrior child that had found her way under his wing, cuts him to the quick, and he swallows, Tim’s voice softer now, but reminding him to breath. “You don’t want me to get upset with him?”
"With both of us." she reminds him, "I don’t want you upset with us because of what happened. We worked together, recently." she shakes her head, "We were in disguise together, a couple. When we were done, we kissed." She squeezes her eyes shut, still remembering it, and not minding it at all, "I didn’t hate him when he kissed me."
Bruce doesn’t so much as blink, and continues on, his voice tamed, gentle. “Did he kiss you, or did you kiss him?” He moves his arms, to his sides, as his thumbs move over the material of his coat. “By which I mean, did you want it?”
Cass leans back against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest, “He kissed me. As soon as he did, I wanted it.”
Bruce licks his lips, slowly, his chin dropping against his chest as he considers this. “Did he ask you before?” Glancing back up, Bruce watches her face, is attempting to paint the picture, as best he can, of how it happened, what could have been going through Oliver’s mind. His gaze settles, briefly, on Cass’ mouth, the irrevocably sumptuous and generous curve of her lower lip, and he remembers that mouth fighting to form words, to shape them in a way that would allow the world to understand her, the stolen gift of language that her father had—
Bruce rolls his tongue back, swallowing the keen brightness of his rage, Adam’s apple as sharp as powdered glass in his throat, and he follows his question up with the only thing that overcome his rage. “..are you alright with what happened?”
Cass looks up directly at Bruce as she suddenly remembers the first kiss- in character. She hadn’t been telling him the whole story, and hadn’t been remembering it either, “Technically I kissed him first. In disguise,” she laughs at the sudden memory, finding it funny that their second kiss had eclipsed the other. She shakes her head, smile fading as she notices his rage just beneath the surface, “…I don’t regret it. I regret…a lot more than a kiss.”
Bruce watches her, carefully, as the possible meaning of what she says blooms in front of him. “..With him?”
Cass begins to flush furiously, “No NO! Nothing more. Only a kiss.” she could go on in detail of their kiss, sitting in Oliver’s lap, how he held her. But Cass thinks that might not be the best idea, those details weren’t as important as the kiss was, “I mean, over my life. I regret a lot more than a kiss. Even if you’re upset with me.”
Bruce exhales. “I am not upset with you, in any sense, Cassandra,” her name is warm in his mouth, shaking his head for a long moment before he stills, looking up at her. A thought passes through his mind, razor-tipped, and he watches her. “Do you.. want more from him?”
Bruce ’s expression is passive, placid.. He tilts his head, to one side, watching her.
”You’re upset though. You are.” she nods, his posture-while not as telling as her’s still revealing enough, presses her lips together, considering his question thoughtfully, “I don’t want more. I don’t,” she shakes her head.
Bruce nods. “I am upset, but not with you,” he repeats, and as he exhales, the tension leaves his body, compartmentalized away. His neck stretches, vertebrae cracking as he looks upon her. “Do you believe he wants more?”
Cass bites down on her lip, “I don’t believe so. I don’t.” She lowers her arms, flexing her fingers that had been balled into fists, “Are you upset with Oliver?”
Bruce looks at her, and it is obvious that he weighs his options, his speech. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, cutting across his throat, and after a few moments, understands that he cannot trust his voice to the answer: he nods.
Cass nods in return, looking past Bruce and blinking fast, “I’m sorry.”
Bruce ’s voice is a hard reprimand. “No.” He softens, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Cass presses a hand over her mouth, she softly whispers, “I could’ve stopped. I almost stabbed him with a chopstick.”
Bruce shakes his head, and walks over to her, his hands lifting to her shoulders, before his arms move, wrapping her in an embrace. “..you have nothing to apologize for.” He smooths a hand over the top of her head, before he ducks his mouth to kiss the dark cascade of hair, quickly. Briefly. Anger rises up in him, hidden and secret, and he speaks softly. “It’ll all be alright, Cass.” Pulling back, he looks down at her, his gaze hardened with the promise of his words.
Cass is initially stiff in his embrace, her arms and back slowly easing tension as she returns his affection, “I want to believe that.” she looks back to him, trying to commit to his words. That despite her actions and Oliver’s things would be alright for them all. It was just a kiss, really.
Bruce nods, and steps back, away from her. “I’ll see you soon.” He smooths his hand over her hair, settling it on her shoulder. “Tell Stephanie and Bai I said hello.” He moves towards the door, buttoning his jacket up, towards his neck.
”Ok.” she nods, smoothing her hair back behind her ears, “I’ll tell them.” she watches him go, still unsure of what to think of everything.
Bruce pauses, at the door, looking back at her. His mouth curls at the edges, as he manages, of all things, a soft smile for her. “..it will be fine.”
Cass returns the smile as best she can, “If you say so.”
Bruce nods, as he turns the lock on the knob. “I do.” And turning, he moves into the hallway, closing the locked door behind him.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] She told me.
[ENC TXT] Oh, I
Ollie sends that off too quickly, then grimaces at his phone. He pads out of the kitchen onto the patio, and although his bare feet curl onto their sides on the cold flagstone at night, he doesn’t move from where he stops and holds still. He takes a few deep breaths and then lifts his phone again, sending a more complete message.
[ENC TXT] It wasn’t a secret. I didn’t know how to tell you.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] She did.
Blinking at the terse message, Ollie was about to answer in kind, but instead of dialed Bruce’s number. If they were going to talk about this, it should at least be in person.
Bruce picks up the phone on the first ring, settling into his car. Alfred had not driven him, having other matters to attend to, and starts it up, but doesn’t bother with the heat. He doesn’t speak.
Ollie does the speaking, as soon as the ringing stops. He knows he won’t hear Bruce breathing; he just starts talking. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he says. “It was nothing, Bruce. A moment’s worth of getting carried away with the parts we were playing. Nothing happened except some kissing, and most of that was make-believe.” He gives a bitter huff of a laugh. “Hell, /all/ of it was make-believe, if you wanna get down to it.”
Bruce’s voice isn’t harsh or hot with rage, but curled, peculiarly, around what he says next. The leather is inside is freezing cold, Bruce’s breath frosting inside the darkness of the cavern of it, the windows tinted dark. “You don’t get to decide if it was nothing, Oliver.”
Bruce exhales, as he leans back, the leather yawning under the weight and bulk of him. “That isn’t yours.”
Ollie didn’t expect that. He lets those words unfurl between them, like tight felt carpet, and his tongue feels thick with it when he asks in a quiet, worried voice, “…she’s upset?”
Bruce changes subjects, smoothly. “Is it on you right now?” His voice drops, into a cool brush of noise against the microphone of the cell phone. “Is it around your neck?”
Ollie lifts his free hand unthinkingly, running a fingertip along the flat, cool metal of the necklace Bruce had gotten him. He taps his nail against the notch point lying between his collarbones and answers. “Of course it is. You know I don’t take it off.” He pinches the tip between his fingers, letting the pointed part dig into the meat of this thumb. “Tell me if she’s all right. I asked her, I made sure when it happened, but I …” Ollie swallows. “Tell me she’s all right.”
"Take it off."
"I won’t." The response is followed quickly, Ollie’s voice rising, "I /can’t/, Bruce. I won’t! You can’t just /say/ that!"
Bruce leans forward and hisses into the receiver, his hand clenching around the steering wheel so tightly, twisting so fiercely that the patent leather splits at the seam: “She wanted it.”
Bruce repeats, so Oliver understands. “With your mouth on hers, she wanted it. But not before. Did you ask, Oliver? Did you ask to kiss her?” Bruce’s voice burns around the edges of his silence. “Or did you just take it.”
Ollie shakes his head miserably, even though Bruce can’t see it. “It all got so mixed up,” he says. “The act. She kissed me when we were playing the characters, and I just … things got muddled. I didn’t realize.” He clenches his hand around the phone. “I wouldn’t have done anything if she didn’t seem interested, Bruce, I’m not — I wouldn’t /do/ that.”
Bruce falls silent. He leans back against the chair, his hand releasing on the steering wheel, the imprint of the seam embedded into his palm.
Ollie continues, “…and it wasn’t going anywhere. It was just that one kiss and then we both moved on. Nothing else was gonna happen. I swear to god.”
Bruce says, calmly, as he looks ahead, snow beginning to fall lightly now, as the evening turns. “What does he have to do with it?” His words are a frigid blasphemy. Then, after a moment, he repeats: “Take it off.”
Ollie hears Bruce say those words again. His jaw works, pain shooting through his back teeth, and he says bleakly, “You want it off me, you take it off. I’ll even come to the Manor so you don’t have to inconvenience yourself.”
Bruce hangs up the call, tossing the phone behind him, and shoots the car into drive, tires squealing against asphalt as he moves through Gotham, well above speed limit, as he heads out of the city limits, towards his home.
Ollie takes a few deep breaths of Star City air. Although the zeta pad’s outside on the patio where he is, he goes back inside to calmly, numbly, wash his face and brush his teeth, take a comb to his unruly hair, before going back out to the pad and transporting himself to the Cave’s hangar bay.
Bruce doesn’t descend into the Cave to meet him, but instead, remains in the study, pouring himself a drink. The tumbler in his hand, Bruce moves, removing the grate for the fireplace, adding kindling to the embers that remain of the day’s fire and stoking it back into flames.
Ollie makes his way upstairs, face set, the numbness starting to set in at the edges of his features. “Here I am,” he says, when he comes into the study. He pushes his fingertips against his bottom lip, distorting it. “Like I promised.”
Bruce replaces the grate over the hearth, and rises, setting his drink down on the mantle, gesturing with a hand at the scotch. “Make yourself a drink.”
Ollie doesn’t question this, and in fact, it had been in his plans for after this ordeal, anyhow. He goes over to the bar cart and pours himself a healthy slug, draining it before splashing more liquor into the glass. “You gonna drag this out?” Ollie asks, voice raspy from the whiskey. “Make me suffer.”
Bruce lifts a hand and points at Oliver, one crooked finger, broken again and again, over time. “You’re going to take it off.” His voice is calm, as if he had been practicing the words inside of his mind, again and again, since they had spoken over the phone. “You’re going to show me that you care about something more than yourself and take it off.” He lifts his own scotch, and takes a drink, drains it on second thought, and hisses. “When I tell you to.”
Bruce reaches over, opening the lid on a long, stout, cherry-wood box on top of the fireplace, reaching inside. The ring slides onto his ring finger, gleaming the same dull color as the necklace, clinking against the decanter of scotch as he pours himself another, larger portion of the liquid.
Ollie stares at Bruce as the other man lays out his demands, the green of his eyes going glassy, dull. His shoulders, bunched under his t-shirt — he hadn’t bothered to put on anything more — sag in something that looks almost like relief. “Okay,” Ollie nods, the agreement flat, mild. “Something more than myself. All right. If that’s what’ll make anything better. If that’s what you want.” He reaches for his glass, pours more scotch and drinks it down as he watches Bruce put on his ring.
Bruce takes a swig of his whiskey. “Do you want her?”
"No. I don’t."
Bruce takes another drink. “Do you want her?”
Ollie frowns, muzzily. “No. Don’t you believe me? You think I’m gonna trip up and confess, or something?”
Bruce moves towards Oliver, his voice clipped, hand moving to the front of his jeans, to his belt buckle, fingers deftly unhooking it. “On your knees.”
Fingers spanning the rim of his glass, Ollie looks at Bruce’s hands on his belt buckle as the whiskey sweeps up his throat, the middle of his face, making sweat start to dampen the fine, pale hairs along his forehead. “Yeah,” he says, and puts the glass down. He takes one more swig of whiskey from the bottle before stepping forward to meet Bruce, dropping down to one knee, then the other. “I don’t want her,” Ollie mutters, one more time.
Bruce watches him, as he lowers himself down, to his knees, the flames from the newly created fire brightening, warming, the other man’s skin. “Take off your shirt.” He finishes his whiskey, this second, or third one, and walks over to Ollie, setting his hand against the archer’s head, fingers curling, pushing through his hair. “Have you ever wanted her?”
"No, god. We can barely even stand each other. We’ve never gotten along." Ollie says this partially from within a swath of jersey material as he tugs his t-shirt off, letting it fall in a soft tumble next to him. "I never wanted her and I don’t now." He pushes the heel of one hand hard against his shoulder, rubbing the collarbone to the cup of his bicep and back again.
Bruce curls his hands in, deep against the roots of Ollie’s hair, and tugs, jerking his head back. He pulls the belt from his waist, curling it in his hand, and drags the leather against the proud jut of his Adam’s apple. “Then why did you do it?”
Ollie shudders against the feel of the belt, the edge of the finely-turned leather. “Because,” he says, “she hates me. And that felt good.”
Bruce murmurs, as he moves around, in front of Ollie, and crouches in front of him. “You like the pain of it?” He cants his head to the side. “Of knowing she hates you?”
Ollie looks up at Bruce, from under his eyebrows, mouth pressed down in distress. “I nearly left,” he croaks. “The night before Christmas Eve. I thought about you all, everybody who means so much to me, and the only thing I could think was that I wanted to get away from you all and it’s been building up inside me for weeks, Bruce, all this goddamn panic and pressure and I nearly /left/ without looking back and you should — you should /all/ fucking hate me.” He takes a gasping, harsh breath after this all comes out of him in one blurt, so fast that his bottom lip is left wet with spit from the frantic rush of it.
Bruce listens to this, before he reaches out and curls his hand, warm from the scotch, from the fire, rough with weeks’ worth of wood-working, of working on their home, and curling it, gently, against Ollie’s cheek. “Does that feel better now?” His voice is gentle, as his thumb moves against his lower lip, drying it as he settles his weight on his haunches, still crouched in front of his partner.
Ollie shakes his head, shoulders slumping even more. “Nothing feels better,” he says. “And I’m trying, Bruce, I’m trying so damn hard not to do what I normally do, the self-destructive bullshit that I use to cope with this feeling. I just feel like —” Ollie screws his eyes shut, teeth bared. “I’m not meant to do this. I’m not built for it, for being a good father and a good partner, I’m not meant to have all this, I’m not meant to be—” He clacks his teeth shut, eyes opening wild and rolling as he draws a sharp breath in.
Bruce ’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, as he drags his hand up, pushing his fingers into Ollie’s hair. “..meant to be what?” His brow is furrowed in concern, the lines of his mouth softened, as he pushes the tips of his fingers into his scalp.
Ollie shakes his head again, the motion less controlled this time; it’s an uneven wobble, his mouth twisted to the side. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just do what you need to do, Bruce. I deserve it.”
Bruce repeats, his voice firmer, as his fingers move down to clutch at the archer’s chin. “Answer the question.”
But Ollie’s gotten back a bit of self-control by now, and he jerks his chin out of Bruce’s grasp, whiskey-sotted stubbornness in his expression. “No,” he says, shortly. “It doesn’t matter anyhow. All that matters is I did something wrong and I hurt you and maybe I hurt Cassandra, and I deserve this. That’s the only thing that’s important.”
Bruce arches his eyebrows. “And you don’t think that I deserve the answer to my question, Oliver?” His hand tightens over the belt, knuckles going white with the pressure.
Ollie meets his look. “What d’you think I was gonna say. Tell me that and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
Bruce shakes his head, and a sternness settles over his features. “That isn’t what I am asking you.” He sits back, removing the belt, and regards Ollie, the bareness of his chest. Dragging his palm down, over his partner’s sternum, Bruce presses his fingers against the warming flesh. “Answer me.”
Ollie sets his mouth. “I’m not going to. A man should keep at least a shred of dignity, even if he doesn’t keep anything else.” Ollie taps his fingertips against the necklace. “You wanted to take this back. I don’t want to endure this any longer. If that’s what you want, then let’s do it and I can go and you won’t have to deal with it anymore.”
Bruce watches the other man, for a long moment, before he rises up, back to his full height, and allows the belt to unfurl in his hand, the buckle clinking lightly. “No,” he says, quietly. “Not yet.”
Ollie repeats it. “Not yet.” He reaches for his shirt to tug it back on. “All right. I guess I have to suffer a while longer, then.”
Bruce turns the belt over, gripping the buckle, and brings it down so hard, and so fast, that the leather sings before it cracks against the curve of Ollie’s backside, where the shirt hasn’t quite yet covered. “..we both will.”
Cass stands on her tiptoes to peer out of the peephole. She’s beaming wide as she opens the door, “Hi!”
Bruce is shocked to see her smile, so wide and so proud, it makes something inside of him twinge, nearly painfully as it awakens to the sight of it—God, she’s beautiful when she smiles—that he can’t help but return the expression with one of his own, a funny little thing that curls at the edges of his mouth. The crow’s feet at the edges of his gaze crinkle and he murmurs back, quietly. “Hi.” Glancing beyond her, he doesn’t see any sign of her roommates, and looks back at her for permission to enter.
Cass bobs her head backwards, inviting him in. Wrapping a hand around his wrist to tug him in just for a small bit of additional encouragement, “This is surprising. Were you in the neighborhood?” she takes a seat on the couch, pushing aside a few throw pillows to see if Bruce wanted to take a seat.
Bruce takes a seat where she has cleared the pillows, and holds out a small bow, wrapped carefully in dark red and silver themes: the paper is velvety to the touch, the box ornate but not so large as to be considered outlandish. “It didn’t arrive in time,” he explains, and nods at the present, urging her to take it.
Cass takes the small box in her hand, “You didn’t have to give anything else, Bruce…” she rubs her fingertips over the box, her smile still curled with excitement as she pulls the top off the gift.
Bruce inside of the box is a scarf, soft to the touch, tumbling like cool sand through her fingers, and Bruce watches her expression carefully as she pulls it out. “Just something for you to have,” he explains, nearly hurriedly, like she might reject it if she doesn’t know why he gave it to her. “It made me think of you.”
Cass studies the pattern printed on along it carefully, “I love it,” she whispers, folding it over in her hands, “Thank you!” she leans across the couch, wrapping her arms around Bruce for a hug.
Bruce returns the hug, his arms wrapping around her securely, his fingers moving over the top of her head, as he embraces her. His smile is back, tugging further at the edges of his mouth, and he hums, under his breath. “Alfred will be pleased to hear it. He insisted I wait until the New Year, but.. I’m impatient sometimes.”
Bruce pulls out his cell phone while Cassandra goes into the kitchen to prepare them tea, dialing Ollie. He leans forward, his hand curling against the edge of his knee.
Ollie picks up his phone from the kitchen counter, grinning to see Bruce’s display there even before he answers, loud and cheerful. “Yello! You want me to send the usual? Double-stuffed crust with mushrooms and caviar?”
Bruce smirks, and rises up, pacing towards the window in the living room, his voice low. “You’re cheerful..” He rumbles, “Wasn’t sure if you’d gotten your fill of me during Christmas.”
Ollie ”Baby,” Ollie purrs, “You know I’ll never get my fill of you. It’s impossible.” He also strolls over to the window, mirroring Bruce’s movement on the other side of the country. “Have you recovered yet from the festivities? My place can get a little … hectic, compared to the Manor.”
Bruce smirks even deeper now, a hand moving around the back of his neck and around, fingers playing against his throat, nails tracing the place his lover’s teeth had been, just a day before. “..just barely recovered. I’m at Cassandra’s apartment, giving her a belated gift.” After a beat, he amends. “Or an early one.”
Ollie feels a note of panic spasm through his chest when Bruce mentions where he is, but he manages to rein it in and keep his tone light, teasing, jocular. “Oh, hey, that’s nice!” he declares. “Checking up on the chicks who’ve flown from the nest.” Ollie stares out the window at the sunshine coming in, the way it touches the tops of the trees. “Are we … still on for New Years’? What we were talking about before.”
Bruce makes a low contemplative noise as he drags his nails in deeper, tongue tracing against his teeth before he answers Ollie. “We should be, but even if we’re not, as long as we’re together..” He trails off, letting his silence fill that space. That is what he wants.
Ollie ”Good,” Ollie says, letting the pleasure in his voice be obvious. “We’ll find somewhere we can all be alone together and we’ll — that’s all we’ll think about, is the three of us.” He takes a breath, turning away from the window, the sunshine. “Kate and me are talking. About stuff. It’ll get better, I think. If we all work on it together.”
Bruce falls silent as Ollie speaks, allowing the weight of what he says to settle, before he adds his own opinion to it. “Good,” is what he says, and glancing towards the winding wrought iron staircase, moves up and out of the living room, towards the roof. Once outside, he speaks, a bit freer, his free hand moving to button up his jacket. “I’m glad, Ollie.”
Ollie ”I love you,” Ollie says impulsively, about to embellish it when he pauses and listens, frowning. “Did you go outside? I feel like I can hear that church bell. The one that nearly deafened me that night we were out looking for the sniper.”
Bruce responds, quietly. “I love you, silly boy,” before he adds on, “Yes. She’s taking care of some things in the kitchen, but I know she’ll be able to hear me from anywhere inside the apartment.”
Ollie snickers. “Bat sonar,” he intones, then turns so he can lean against the counter, folding one arm over his abdomen. “You coming to the shindig me and Zee’re throwing? It’s gonna be big fun. We can drive each other crazy doing the billionaire playboy acts through the whole thing and then screw in a janitor’s closet once all the civilians go home for the night.”
Bruce “‘Big fun’?” He repeats, dutifully, as he drags his hand against his chest, mirroring Ollie again, even though, as he walks over to the shielded edge of the parapet, his fingers move under the waist of his coat, nails finding the edge of his shirt, pushing below the band of his jeans. “I was thinking about it. I received a few other invitations, you know. I’m a very popular guest for these things.. even if I rarely stay through the whole night.”
Ollie growls a little, straightening up as he curls his fingers into the side of his t-shirt. “Listen, buckaroo,” he says sternly, “you can show up at those other ones for fifteen minutes and then skedaddle. I expect you to be at MY party by the time I’m wasted enough to want to start doing scandalous things. Either that or you do some serious making it up to me later.”
Bruce chuckles, quietly. “And what did you have in mind, for either option?”
Ollie says promptly, “For in front of people? Either drinking contests or an impromptu slalom. As for my ideas for when we’re in private, well…” Ollie feels himself flush at the idea, heat kindling in his belly. “I don’t wanna say and spoil it, but trust me, you’ll be inside out with pleasure by the end of it.”
Bruce growls, the noise hard and loud over the line. “..you’re not selling me on going to the party.”
Ollie chuckles. “Awful, isn’t it,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying open over his side, stroking. “Maybe you /should/ skip the party. Just make sure I get plenty of time with you afterwards. Let me spread out and … experiment.”
Bruce exhales, as he leans against the edge of the roof’s wall, overlooking the city as he brushes his fingers against his belly, as if to soothe the warmth that is pooling there. “..you just can’t wait to get your lips against it, can you?”
Ollie brings his teeth shut with a click, feeling nicely dizzy by the images they’re conjuring up between them, through inference and innuendo. “Lips, teeth tongue, fingers — the whole gamut, baby. Anything I can manage. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, don’t you know that? Well-nigh obsessed.” He crosses his ankles, stretching his back, huffing as his cock rubs against the front of his jeans. “Getting hard like a goddamn teenager at the thought.”
Cass has taken her time in the kitchen preparing tea for Bruce and herself- as soon as he was one the phone with Ollie she knew she could tell from his voice alone. She didn’t want to sit nearby Bruce, admiring the nice scarf he’d just gifted her and pleasantly drink tea now that she was thinking on Ollie again. Cass was afraid her poker face wouldn’t hold up around Bruce. Knowing she couldn’t hold out any longer before raising suspicion (even if he was distracted by Ollie on the phone he’d still be keeping track of time), As Cass brings a small tray of tea and cookies out to him, she picks back up clearly on what his conversation is centered on. Her face goes bright red with embarrassment for overhearing. Swiftly she sets down the tray and grabs her scarf from her seat rushing back to her room to find a place for it, really not wanting to linger for what she picks up on the conversation.
Bruce feels Cass’ presence, and exhales, laughing, as he states: “..she might have overheard me, anyway.” He doesn’t attempt to hide the pleasure from his voice, however, his hand curling around the phone. There’s a luxury in this, one that Bruce hadn’t been aware of in any of his other relationships, not with Selina, nor Talia, not even, really, Kate; talking on the phone with Oliver, like they were.. what had he said? Teenagers? “I’ll see you tonight?”
Ollie laughs too, at the absurd normalcy of being overheard by one of the kids, forgetting for the moment what had happened between him and Cass. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, honey,” he says warmly, and makes a kiss noise before hanging up.
Bruce tucks his phone into his pocket and quickly descends the stairs from the roof, towards the living room. He looks over at the young girl, smiling at her. “Ollie,” he says, warmly, by way of explanation and apology.
Cass nods, “I heard some, I figured it was him,” she returns to her seat, tucking her chin down slightly before making a grab for her mug, “Tried to make it like Alfred, but it’s never the same.”
Bruce reaches for his own cup and takes a sip, shaking his head. “No, this is good,” he insists, and looks up at her, his expression still warmed by the conversation, by her acceptance of the gift, before that. “I’m glad you liked it.”
Cass smiles, but it’s not nearly as wide as before, but she tries to hide that behind her cup, “Of course I like it. Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Bruce had noted the tuck of her chin, but now the weakening fault of her smile makes Bruce worry. “I’m sorry, Cassandra,” he states, the words slipping out easily—this was the ease of his emotions now, to be able to say this without too much pain, discomfort—even as he sets his cup down. His brow furrows. “I should have..” He makes a face. “I’m just happy you liked it. I’d like to have you in attendance for more events in the future, and we all need a bit of color to brighten the usual black.”
Cass shakes her head, “I don’t have to be at everything. It’s alright, I’ve never been upset about it.” she presses her fingers along her mug trying to soak up the heat, “Is there something upcoming? That you’d like me to attend.” her smile peaks out, “The scarf will look good with my favorite black dress.”
Bruce exhales. “I meant for making the call,” he rushes out, before he takes another sip of the tea. “A few charity events in the new year, more than likely. Tim and I are still attempting to determine how we lost so much stock.. But I’d let to get in front of any speculation with the good things we can do together.”
Bruce ’s mouth curls at the edges. “Our family,” he says, quietly, the word velvet in his mouth.
Bruce: *I’d like to get in front of
Cass presses her lips together, “I’m not upset about the call,” I am upset about the person on the other end, “I’ll be there for you both. It’ll be nice.”
Bruce takes another sip, and reaches out, setting a hand on her knee, carefully. “I want things to be different. Better.” He sets the teacup down, and turns to look at her. “I want to be better.”
Cass wiggles her leg under his hand, “How?” she asks him softly, “Why are you thinking about this right now?” she bites down on her lower lip, feeling bad, like her answers are pushing his suggestions away.
Bruce exhales and looks up at Cassandra. “I’d like you to come work at Wayne Enterprises. With me.”
Cass ”Oh,” her brow raises with serious surprise, “Really? Me?”
Bruce nods. “Yes. If you agree to the terms, I’ll be making the announcement after New Years.”
Cass smiles, “Alright. What terms?”
Bruce laughs, suddenly. “That you set your own terms.” He smiles at her, and lifts his hand, pushing it through his hair. “You’d get a paycheck, trackable income.. That’s the only requirement.”
Cass leans into his hand, “I set my own terms. A paycheck. Nothing else?”
Bruce shakes his head, and watches her, the care and adoration never so blatant on his face as it is now. “That’s all. A paycheck.”
Cass giggles, “Ok. Deal. Deal!” she perks up in her seat, setting down her tea so she doesn’t spill anything, “I’m working with you double time!”
Bruce grins, suddenly, his teeth bright, and nods. “Yes.” He reaches out and sets his hand against her knee again, squeezing gently. “It would be my great joy in having you there.”
Cass nods, excited by these new possibilities for her working with the family company. Starting to nibble on a cookie she asks, “Any plans for New Years?”
Bruce nods. “Going to spend it with Kate, and Ollie.” He glances at the cup again, his brow arching as he muses to himself. “It’s our second one.”
Cass tucks her legs under her, nodding slowly, “I should’ve guessed,” she offers a small smile, “Your second? Wow…wow.” Cass hadn’t realized they had been together for so long.
Bruce nods. “Yes. Last year marked the start of our..” He smirks. “Official beginnings, you might say.” Shaking his head. ‘Perhaps that makes it our first?” He exhales, and smiles. “What about you?”
Cass ”Oh so official~ First anniversary at least!” she teases, pushing off the couch to go get a fresh cup of tea, “Maybe something with Steph and Bai? Or patrol.” the exciting civilian life of Cassandra Cain, “Nothing that big.”
Cass ”Ollie isn’t my favorite you know?” she throws out there to Bruce as her thoughts on her adoptive father’s partner continue to churn, and she’s unable to shake them.
Bruce smiles. “Maybe I should leave the Wayne Enterprises New Years’ party up for you three to plan and host.” He watches her, and shakes his head, as he rises up. “First official duty?” He offers, as he buttons up his coat, meaning to leave.
Bruce is silenced, and his brow furrows. “I—” Did he know that? He doesn’t say anything else, stopping the movement of his hands.
Bruce moves towards the kitchen, but stops halfway there. His voice is soft. “That’s.. fine, Cass.”
”Steph would love that- Bai too,” she nods, knowing that she’d only really be a part of the invitation, less so the planning. It wasn’t really an interest of her’s, “He knows. He is very aware and doesn’t like me either. We don’t like each other. He likes everyone but me.” Her shoulders stiffen, “I wanted you to know. For sure. From me.”
Bruce sees the stiffening of her shoulders, and remembers, suddenly, Cass’ demeanor, her spirit when he had finished talking with Ollie. He had assumed it was embarrassment at having overheard something not meant for her ears, but on the heels of this, his mind moves around her confession, the slope and carriage of her spine, her shoulders. “Alright,” he begins, and then, gritting his teeth, his brow furrowing, Bruce watches her, carefully. “Did you talk about this?”
Cass looks away from Bruce, “Recently. Yes.”
Bruce feels a thrill run down his spine, coolness curling at the base, when Cassandra looks away. He steps forward, into the kitchen, the living room behind him, as he steps towards his daughter. “And he told you this. This directly?” There is something he is missing, and the thrill ripples the hair along the back of his neck, his arms. He exhales. “Why?”
Cass shakes her head, “It was just reminded. We’ve never gotten along. I thought you weren’t aware and I wanted you to know. That’s it,” she turns about looking at the sink to try as if checking to see if there’s room for her cup, “We worked together recently. It was reminded.”
Bruce watches her, moresothan he listens to her, watching the movements of her body as she turns, the varying degrees of grace that seem.. awry, different, as she speaks. He isn’t satisfied with this answer, as it gives him no context, and more than that, it perhaps, troubles him to know that it isn’t something that Oliver would bring up, attempt to rectify. But he doesn’t know how to continue on, respectfully. He breathes, in and out for a moment, mulling over what she has said, and more importantly, what she /needs/. Tim’s voice filters into his head, and exhaling, Bruce murmurs: “Do you want to talk about it?”
Cass turns about to face Bruce, but she still can’t look at him directly. Her mouth crumples, “If we talk about it, you promise not to get upset. With either of us,” her chin quivers.
Bruce feels his heart skip a beat, as the last of the breath he had been exhaling leaves him, before the thrum of it returns, thudding against his sternum so fast it seems to want to climb up his throat. His brow furrows further, the warmth leaving his expression as he weighs this request of hers, watches her, the way her chin trembles. That. That alone, from this, this warrior child that had found her way under his wing, cuts him to the quick, and he swallows, Tim’s voice softer now, but reminding him to breath. “You don’t want me to get upset with him?”
"With both of us." she reminds him, "I don’t want you upset with us because of what happened. We worked together, recently." she shakes her head, "We were in disguise together, a couple. When we were done, we kissed." She squeezes her eyes shut, still remembering it, and not minding it at all, "I didn’t hate him when he kissed me."
Bruce doesn’t so much as blink, and continues on, his voice tamed, gentle. “Did he kiss you, or did you kiss him?” He moves his arms, to his sides, as his thumbs move over the material of his coat. “By which I mean, did you want it?”
Cass leans back against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest, “He kissed me. As soon as he did, I wanted it.”
Bruce licks his lips, slowly, his chin dropping against his chest as he considers this. “Did he ask you before?” Glancing back up, Bruce watches her face, is attempting to paint the picture, as best he can, of how it happened, what could have been going through Oliver’s mind. His gaze settles, briefly, on Cass’ mouth, the irrevocably sumptuous and generous curve of her lower lip, and he remembers that mouth fighting to form words, to shape them in a way that would allow the world to understand her, the stolen gift of language that her father had—
Bruce rolls his tongue back, swallowing the keen brightness of his rage, Adam’s apple as sharp as powdered glass in his throat, and he follows his question up with the only thing that overcome his rage. “..are you alright with what happened?”
Cass looks up directly at Bruce as she suddenly remembers the first kiss- in character. She hadn’t been telling him the whole story, and hadn’t been remembering it either, “Technically I kissed him first. In disguise,” she laughs at the sudden memory, finding it funny that their second kiss had eclipsed the other. She shakes her head, smile fading as she notices his rage just beneath the surface, “…I don’t regret it. I regret…a lot more than a kiss.”
Bruce watches her, carefully, as the possible meaning of what she says blooms in front of him. “..With him?”
Cass begins to flush furiously, “No NO! Nothing more. Only a kiss.” she could go on in detail of their kiss, sitting in Oliver’s lap, how he held her. But Cass thinks that might not be the best idea, those details weren’t as important as the kiss was, “I mean, over my life. I regret a lot more than a kiss. Even if you’re upset with me.”
Bruce exhales. “I am not upset with you, in any sense, Cassandra,” her name is warm in his mouth, shaking his head for a long moment before he stills, looking up at her. A thought passes through his mind, razor-tipped, and he watches her. “Do you.. want more from him?”
Bruce ’s expression is passive, placid.. He tilts his head, to one side, watching her.
”You’re upset though. You are.” she nods, his posture-while not as telling as her’s still revealing enough, presses her lips together, considering his question thoughtfully, “I don’t want more. I don’t,” she shakes her head.
Bruce nods. “I am upset, but not with you,” he repeats, and as he exhales, the tension leaves his body, compartmentalized away. His neck stretches, vertebrae cracking as he looks upon her. “Do you believe he wants more?”
Cass bites down on her lip, “I don’t believe so. I don’t.” She lowers her arms, flexing her fingers that had been balled into fists, “Are you upset with Oliver?”
Bruce looks at her, and it is obvious that he weighs his options, his speech. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, cutting across his throat, and after a few moments, understands that he cannot trust his voice to the answer: he nods.
Cass nods in return, looking past Bruce and blinking fast, “I’m sorry.”
Bruce ’s voice is a hard reprimand. “No.” He softens, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Cass presses a hand over her mouth, she softly whispers, “I could’ve stopped. I almost stabbed him with a chopstick.”
Bruce shakes his head, and walks over to her, his hands lifting to her shoulders, before his arms move, wrapping her in an embrace. “..you have nothing to apologize for.” He smooths a hand over the top of her head, before he ducks his mouth to kiss the dark cascade of hair, quickly. Briefly. Anger rises up in him, hidden and secret, and he speaks softly. “It’ll all be alright, Cass.” Pulling back, he looks down at her, his gaze hardened with the promise of his words.
Cass is initially stiff in his embrace, her arms and back slowly easing tension as she returns his affection, “I want to believe that.” she looks back to him, trying to commit to his words. That despite her actions and Oliver’s things would be alright for them all. It was just a kiss, really.
Bruce nods, and steps back, away from her. “I’ll see you soon.” He smooths his hand over her hair, settling it on her shoulder. “Tell Stephanie and Bai I said hello.” He moves towards the door, buttoning his jacket up, towards his neck.
”Ok.” she nods, smoothing her hair back behind her ears, “I’ll tell them.” she watches him go, still unsure of what to think of everything.
Bruce pauses, at the door, looking back at her. His mouth curls at the edges, as he manages, of all things, a soft smile for her. “..it will be fine.”
Cass returns the smile as best she can, “If you say so.”
Bruce nods, as he turns the lock on the knob. “I do.” And turning, he moves into the hallway, closing the locked door behind him.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] She told me.
[ENC TXT] Oh, I
Ollie sends that off too quickly, then grimaces at his phone. He pads out of the kitchen onto the patio, and although his bare feet curl onto their sides on the cold flagstone at night, he doesn’t move from where he stops and holds still. He takes a few deep breaths and then lifts his phone again, sending a more complete message.
[ENC TXT] It wasn’t a secret. I didn’t know how to tell you.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] She did.
Blinking at the terse message, Ollie was about to answer in kind, but instead of dialed Bruce’s number. If they were going to talk about this, it should at least be in person.
Bruce picks up the phone on the first ring, settling into his car. Alfred had not driven him, having other matters to attend to, and starts it up, but doesn’t bother with the heat. He doesn’t speak.
Ollie does the speaking, as soon as the ringing stops. He knows he won’t hear Bruce breathing; he just starts talking. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he says. “It was nothing, Bruce. A moment’s worth of getting carried away with the parts we were playing. Nothing happened except some kissing, and most of that was make-believe.” He gives a bitter huff of a laugh. “Hell, /all/ of it was make-believe, if you wanna get down to it.”
Bruce’s voice isn’t harsh or hot with rage, but curled, peculiarly, around what he says next. The leather is inside is freezing cold, Bruce’s breath frosting inside the darkness of the cavern of it, the windows tinted dark. “You don’t get to decide if it was nothing, Oliver.”
Bruce exhales, as he leans back, the leather yawning under the weight and bulk of him. “That isn’t yours.”
Ollie didn’t expect that. He lets those words unfurl between them, like tight felt carpet, and his tongue feels thick with it when he asks in a quiet, worried voice, “…she’s upset?”
Bruce changes subjects, smoothly. “Is it on you right now?” His voice drops, into a cool brush of noise against the microphone of the cell phone. “Is it around your neck?”
Ollie lifts his free hand unthinkingly, running a fingertip along the flat, cool metal of the necklace Bruce had gotten him. He taps his nail against the notch point lying between his collarbones and answers. “Of course it is. You know I don’t take it off.” He pinches the tip between his fingers, letting the pointed part dig into the meat of this thumb. “Tell me if she’s all right. I asked her, I made sure when it happened, but I …” Ollie swallows. “Tell me she’s all right.”
"Take it off."
"I won’t." The response is followed quickly, Ollie’s voice rising, "I /can’t/, Bruce. I won’t! You can’t just /say/ that!"
Bruce leans forward and hisses into the receiver, his hand clenching around the steering wheel so tightly, twisting so fiercely that the patent leather splits at the seam: “She wanted it.”
Bruce repeats, so Oliver understands. “With your mouth on hers, she wanted it. But not before. Did you ask, Oliver? Did you ask to kiss her?” Bruce’s voice burns around the edges of his silence. “Or did you just take it.”
Ollie shakes his head miserably, even though Bruce can’t see it. “It all got so mixed up,” he says. “The act. She kissed me when we were playing the characters, and I just … things got muddled. I didn’t realize.” He clenches his hand around the phone. “I wouldn’t have done anything if she didn’t seem interested, Bruce, I’m not — I wouldn’t /do/ that.”
Bruce falls silent. He leans back against the chair, his hand releasing on the steering wheel, the imprint of the seam embedded into his palm.
Ollie continues, “…and it wasn’t going anywhere. It was just that one kiss and then we both moved on. Nothing else was gonna happen. I swear to god.”
Bruce says, calmly, as he looks ahead, snow beginning to fall lightly now, as the evening turns. “What does he have to do with it?” His words are a frigid blasphemy. Then, after a moment, he repeats: “Take it off.”
Ollie hears Bruce say those words again. His jaw works, pain shooting through his back teeth, and he says bleakly, “You want it off me, you take it off. I’ll even come to the Manor so you don’t have to inconvenience yourself.”
Bruce hangs up the call, tossing the phone behind him, and shoots the car into drive, tires squealing against asphalt as he moves through Gotham, well above speed limit, as he heads out of the city limits, towards his home.
Ollie takes a few deep breaths of Star City air. Although the zeta pad’s outside on the patio where he is, he goes back inside to calmly, numbly, wash his face and brush his teeth, take a comb to his unruly hair, before going back out to the pad and transporting himself to the Cave’s hangar bay.
Bruce doesn’t descend into the Cave to meet him, but instead, remains in the study, pouring himself a drink. The tumbler in his hand, Bruce moves, removing the grate for the fireplace, adding kindling to the embers that remain of the day’s fire and stoking it back into flames.
Ollie makes his way upstairs, face set, the numbness starting to set in at the edges of his features. “Here I am,” he says, when he comes into the study. He pushes his fingertips against his bottom lip, distorting it. “Like I promised.”
Bruce replaces the grate over the hearth, and rises, setting his drink down on the mantle, gesturing with a hand at the scotch. “Make yourself a drink.”
Ollie doesn’t question this, and in fact, it had been in his plans for after this ordeal, anyhow. He goes over to the bar cart and pours himself a healthy slug, draining it before splashing more liquor into the glass. “You gonna drag this out?” Ollie asks, voice raspy from the whiskey. “Make me suffer.”
Bruce lifts a hand and points at Oliver, one crooked finger, broken again and again, over time. “You’re going to take it off.” His voice is calm, as if he had been practicing the words inside of his mind, again and again, since they had spoken over the phone. “You’re going to show me that you care about something more than yourself and take it off.” He lifts his own scotch, and takes a drink, drains it on second thought, and hisses. “When I tell you to.”
Bruce reaches over, opening the lid on a long, stout, cherry-wood box on top of the fireplace, reaching inside. The ring slides onto his ring finger, gleaming the same dull color as the necklace, clinking against the decanter of scotch as he pours himself another, larger portion of the liquid.
Ollie stares at Bruce as the other man lays out his demands, the green of his eyes going glassy, dull. His shoulders, bunched under his t-shirt — he hadn’t bothered to put on anything more — sag in something that looks almost like relief. “Okay,” Ollie nods, the agreement flat, mild. “Something more than myself. All right. If that’s what’ll make anything better. If that’s what you want.” He reaches for his glass, pours more scotch and drinks it down as he watches Bruce put on his ring.
Bruce takes a swig of his whiskey. “Do you want her?”
"No. I don’t."
Bruce takes another drink. “Do you want her?”
Ollie frowns, muzzily. “No. Don’t you believe me? You think I’m gonna trip up and confess, or something?”
Bruce moves towards Oliver, his voice clipped, hand moving to the front of his jeans, to his belt buckle, fingers deftly unhooking it. “On your knees.”
Fingers spanning the rim of his glass, Ollie looks at Bruce’s hands on his belt buckle as the whiskey sweeps up his throat, the middle of his face, making sweat start to dampen the fine, pale hairs along his forehead. “Yeah,” he says, and puts the glass down. He takes one more swig of whiskey from the bottle before stepping forward to meet Bruce, dropping down to one knee, then the other. “I don’t want her,” Ollie mutters, one more time.
Bruce watches him, as he lowers himself down, to his knees, the flames from the newly created fire brightening, warming, the other man’s skin. “Take off your shirt.” He finishes his whiskey, this second, or third one, and walks over to Ollie, setting his hand against the archer’s head, fingers curling, pushing through his hair. “Have you ever wanted her?”
"No, god. We can barely even stand each other. We’ve never gotten along." Ollie says this partially from within a swath of jersey material as he tugs his t-shirt off, letting it fall in a soft tumble next to him. "I never wanted her and I don’t now." He pushes the heel of one hand hard against his shoulder, rubbing the collarbone to the cup of his bicep and back again.
Bruce curls his hands in, deep against the roots of Ollie’s hair, and tugs, jerking his head back. He pulls the belt from his waist, curling it in his hand, and drags the leather against the proud jut of his Adam’s apple. “Then why did you do it?”
Ollie shudders against the feel of the belt, the edge of the finely-turned leather. “Because,” he says, “she hates me. And that felt good.”
Bruce murmurs, as he moves around, in front of Ollie, and crouches in front of him. “You like the pain of it?” He cants his head to the side. “Of knowing she hates you?”
Ollie looks up at Bruce, from under his eyebrows, mouth pressed down in distress. “I nearly left,” he croaks. “The night before Christmas Eve. I thought about you all, everybody who means so much to me, and the only thing I could think was that I wanted to get away from you all and it’s been building up inside me for weeks, Bruce, all this goddamn panic and pressure and I nearly /left/ without looking back and you should — you should /all/ fucking hate me.” He takes a gasping, harsh breath after this all comes out of him in one blurt, so fast that his bottom lip is left wet with spit from the frantic rush of it.
Bruce listens to this, before he reaches out and curls his hand, warm from the scotch, from the fire, rough with weeks’ worth of wood-working, of working on their home, and curling it, gently, against Ollie’s cheek. “Does that feel better now?” His voice is gentle, as his thumb moves against his lower lip, drying it as he settles his weight on his haunches, still crouched in front of his partner.
Ollie shakes his head, shoulders slumping even more. “Nothing feels better,” he says. “And I’m trying, Bruce, I’m trying so damn hard not to do what I normally do, the self-destructive bullshit that I use to cope with this feeling. I just feel like —” Ollie screws his eyes shut, teeth bared. “I’m not meant to do this. I’m not built for it, for being a good father and a good partner, I’m not meant to have all this, I’m not meant to be—” He clacks his teeth shut, eyes opening wild and rolling as he draws a sharp breath in.
Bruce ’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, as he drags his hand up, pushing his fingers into Ollie’s hair. “..meant to be what?” His brow is furrowed in concern, the lines of his mouth softened, as he pushes the tips of his fingers into his scalp.
Ollie shakes his head again, the motion less controlled this time; it’s an uneven wobble, his mouth twisted to the side. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just do what you need to do, Bruce. I deserve it.”
Bruce repeats, his voice firmer, as his fingers move down to clutch at the archer’s chin. “Answer the question.”
But Ollie’s gotten back a bit of self-control by now, and he jerks his chin out of Bruce’s grasp, whiskey-sotted stubbornness in his expression. “No,” he says, shortly. “It doesn’t matter anyhow. All that matters is I did something wrong and I hurt you and maybe I hurt Cassandra, and I deserve this. That’s the only thing that’s important.”
Bruce arches his eyebrows. “And you don’t think that I deserve the answer to my question, Oliver?” His hand tightens over the belt, knuckles going white with the pressure.
Ollie meets his look. “What d’you think I was gonna say. Tell me that and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
Bruce shakes his head, and a sternness settles over his features. “That isn’t what I am asking you.” He sits back, removing the belt, and regards Ollie, the bareness of his chest. Dragging his palm down, over his partner’s sternum, Bruce presses his fingers against the warming flesh. “Answer me.”
Ollie sets his mouth. “I’m not going to. A man should keep at least a shred of dignity, even if he doesn’t keep anything else.” Ollie taps his fingertips against the necklace. “You wanted to take this back. I don’t want to endure this any longer. If that’s what you want, then let’s do it and I can go and you won’t have to deal with it anymore.”
Bruce watches the other man, for a long moment, before he rises up, back to his full height, and allows the belt to unfurl in his hand, the buckle clinking lightly. “No,” he says, quietly. “Not yet.”
Ollie repeats it. “Not yet.” He reaches for his shirt to tug it back on. “All right. I guess I have to suffer a while longer, then.”
Bruce turns the belt over, gripping the buckle, and brings it down so hard, and so fast, that the leather sings before it cracks against the curve of Ollie’s backside, where the shirt hasn’t quite yet covered. “..we both will.”