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Bruce is much heavier now.
More muscle, more stubble, and a whole lot more scars on top of the constant injuries. In the years that he has been with him, in every way that he is and is not now, Alfred has honestly thought he has seen it all. He keeps both eyes on the proposal he is reading through, going line by line while a hand goes to muse up the head of hair settled in his lap. Alfred wonders just how long it will take for the fine wisps of grey to take over at the rate Bruce plans to play this city’s dark knight. Alfred has to wonder how long it will take for the two of them to match. (If either one of them would live long enough to match.)
Even the young Master Wayne has grown up too old to die young, Alfred thinks when Bruce finally cracks open an eye only to wince at the lamp still lighting up the room.
Alfred takes his hand away and watches as his charge sits up with the same groan and a rub of his eyes with the heel of his palms.
Long days like theirs always try to end with a quiet night in like this, and Master Wayne is still predictable when he reaches out to take the papers from Alfred’s hands. Neither one of them needs to say that predictable is not quite the right word when it really is second nature at this point.
“The company doesn’t run itself.”
Alfred can warn him all he wants but it is never firm at all when Bruce has already put away the papers somewhere Alfred knows better than to try reaching for. Instead, Bruce is settling himself into the other man's lap, the nice fabric of his bespoke suit stretching taut across his thighs. His hands go for the buttons on Alfred's vest, undoing one then the next until he is tugging the tie out of the way to work down the dress shirt Alfred has on underneath. He leans down to close the distance between them.
“I think Wayne Enterprise can handle itself for several minutes alone.”
“Seems like you can’t though, Master Wayne?”
Alfred tips his head to accommodate Bruce, makes it easier for when his mouth finds that familiar spot where the love bite never quite fades away with how often Bruce marks him. It is not only a little bit possessive but it isn’t like Alfred doesn’t know this particular trait of the Wayne heir.
“I can handle myself, Alfred.” And don’t the both of them know this all too well. Bruce drags his tongue up and across skin at that, his hand down the expanse of his chest now that he’s got his shirt opened wide. Bruce turns his head to catch Alfred watching his every move from behind those glasses still and it is still a thrill even now. “But I’d rather you did.”
He kisses him, and he is not drawing it out when he is already drawing his tongue into his mouth.
Alfred is a constant in his life and the man might think of this as a temporary arrangement but Bruce thinks of everything in his life, and knows that it will all be gone before Alfred is.
Bruce kisses him with force, with bite, with a rock of his hips forward that have them both more than a little bit affected. Bruce doesn’t let him go but it isn’t like Alfred would rather be anywhere else. Alfred might be bending to every demand but he lets it be known that he can match up to Bruce Wayne at every turn. After all, he’s been here next to him for as long as Bruce can remember.
It is messy and they are only starting. But this is a far more pleasant mess than the usual affairs Alfred cleans up after.
When he pulls back an inch to catch his breath, his glasses is a little bit skewed, and Bruce is looking down at him like he’s never seen Alfred looking this good beneath him. Really, he is just looking the farthest thing from being put together but Alfred has an idea this might be one and the same for Bruce.
“Maybe a little more than several minutes then, Master Wayne.”
"We better make it well worth the drop in our stock prices then, Alfred."
It always sounds like a challenge coming out of Bruce's mouth but Alfred knows better. After all, he might not always be right about his charge but he has never been wrong before.