Work Text:
NOTE:
Italics = Narration
Quotes = Outer Dialogue
Starry speckles lay against ink skies with grey brush strokes as clouds accompanied the moon with her calm radiance pouring down idly against quiet, dark waters with bright, neon blotches decorating it.
Gotham City was always so beautiful when it turned nighttime, and in a rare occurrence, it wasn't filled with any outlandish rogues or flying bats like it always does.
At the Iceberg lounge, it was packed. Men and women of high society rubbed elbows, clinked drinks, and made bets to spend their nights while the poorer masses were asleep or tending to their jobs.
At the balcony of the lounge, overseeing the almost bird's-eye view of the city and its bustling roads and windows full of lights, stands a certain known bachelor with nothing but a half-empty glass of whiskey in hand at the edge of the railing.
Bruce originally came here to keep an eye on a senator here at the lounge, collect information, and eventually expose the man for his crimes. However, Bruce already finished his mission, quite quickly too. He sent the information to Alfred to send to the GCPD, scheduled when he'll make a meeting and announcement and what he'll do going forward.
Now? All he had was time. It was a first that he wasn't working. Usually, he would be capturing criminals, busting crime rings, and sending some, if they were his rogues, to Arkham.
He stared at his glass, watching as the lights behind him reflected off it and the already melting ice was watering down his half-finished drink.
Bruce thought he'd be alone for a bit, take some fresh air and stare at the sky for a bit. Sometimes having the playboy mask on was exhausting, having to interact with so many people... especially with many lustful and envious eyes constantly watching his every move and manner.
For now, he could breathe.
Until…
"Good evening, Mr. Wayne. Not every day would I see Gotham's very own Prince grace my lounge."
Bruce's eyes panicked as he straightened up on instinct, expecting another socialite to yap in his ear. He slipped on the mask he perfectly trained.
He turned and saw Oswald before him. Bruce wasn't sure why his brain couldn't register him, especially since he knew his voice. But, since they were in Oswald's territory, he might as well continue.
"Ah, Mr. Cobblepot, good evening. I wasn't expecting you to pay me company out here; I would've thought the very owner of the lounge would've rather greeted his guests."
Oswald smirked as he approached, the tap of his cane in rhythm with his uneven waddle.
"Well, who am I not to greet the man of the hour, hm? The guests can be without me; the night is still young after all, old boy."
Bruce blinked in slight surprise before turning to his glass, muttering in a lower volume this time.
"Ah, right."
Oswald stood at the railing, a foot away from Bruce, looking at the same overview of the city. He pinches a cigar between his gloved, wedged fingers, sucking in the warm smoke in his lungs before expelling it into the wind, letting the smoke curl and twist like a graceful snake.
...
...
...
They were in a semi-tense silence before Oswald interrupted it with a deep-chested laugh.
"So, Mr. Wayne,"
Bruce's eyes narrowed at nothing, already expecting what he would say.
"Who is it this time? I know you aren't one to come here without a reason."
Oswald glanced at Bruce's turned face with slit, sly eyes as he smoked.
Oswald, just like his fellow rogues, knew the true identity of Bruce Wayne; however, they all collectively came to an agreement that they wouldn't expose the secret because it would interrupt not only their favorite game of cat and mouse, but they also know he is an important entity that sustains the balance of Gotham and without him? It simply would be boring having just chaos around.
Bruce huffed through his nose, continuing to stare at the sight of the city.
Well, Bruce has had enough relations with Oswald, even with the few team-ups and deals they made, so what's a little information? Not like he could use it anyway.
"A senator."
"Oh, interesting. Let me guess, the usual tax fraud? corruption? using campaign funds for... unsavory ambitions?"
Oswald's smirk transitioned to a sharp-toothed grin as he was waiting for an answer.
"No."
"No?"
"It was trafficking…and tax fraud too."
Oswald's face turned to silent shock, blinking a few times before recovering just as quickly to mild interest.
"My, what a reputation indeed!"
"So…" Oswald put the cigar in his mouth and brought out a lighter from his coat. "I'm assuming this is already with your butler?"
"Mhm."
"GCPD?"
"Mm."
"I see."
Oswald hummed to himself in thought before asking.
"What do you need from me since you're here?"
"I don't."
Oswald stopped mid flick of his lighter before raising a curious eyebrow at Bruce, who still had his gaze averted from him.
"Really now? And you expect me to believe you came here? Of all places? At my establishment?"
"Yes, I had no need for you tonight."
"A first, to be sure."
Oswald flickered his lighter to life and lit his cigar, with the singe eating away at the foot of it.
He then glanced at Bruce's glass.
"Well, while you're here, I could get you a refill. Get you to unwind—"
CRUNCH
Bruce tossed a piece of ice into his mouth and crushed it between his teeth.
He refused to drink—not tonight, not around him.
Oswald blinked, his monocle nearly falling over before laughing suddenly in disbelief at the sudden action.
"Dear Lord. You know, most normal people enjoy the drink more than they do the ice. Though, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised when it's coming from you."
...
"You know, you really do need to learn the concept of relaxing. Always so tense, old boy."
Bruce's eyes glanced at Oswald before looking at his glass, twirling it silently.
Oswald notices, seeing the taller man almost distracted in it. He gets an idea.
Before Bruce could even process, he saw the glass in his hand snatched away.
"Here, I'll get you some more. Can't waste it being out here all night."
Before Bruce could even form a protest on his lips, he felt a sharp tug at his wrist, feeling the grip of the shorter man dragging him along.
Bruce could've easily pulled away; he had the strength to do so, but for some reason...he didn't. So, he trailed behind as Oswald pulled him through the crowd, beelining to go to his office.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Wayne. No need to look so timid; we're getting you somewhere more comfortable. Let's have a chat, hm?"
Bruce knitted his brows as he grumbled; he didn't like the idea of it... especially being in the presence of the Penguin. He didn't know what he had planned after all.
They eventually entered the office, Oswald opening the door for Bruce as he entered first before Oswald continued behind, closing the door behind them.
The office is elegant, giving the room the presence of something luxurious yet comfortable in its interior, which is a signature of Oswald's aesthetics. The lights were comfortably dim and warm-colored, not so bright and overwhelming.
On both sides of a dark wood coffee table were velvety tufted couches with beautifully wood-carved frames. Bruce settled on one of them with his arms crossed and one leg going over the other as his eyes glared at Oswald moving through the room to his mini bartending station with suspicion.
Oswald, though, was quite calm. Not minding the glaring daggers at his back as he made their drinks.
When he finally approached Bruce, offering the other glass, he rolled his eyes, amused at Bruce's skepticism.
"Oh, relax; it's not poisoned. It's just an aged brandy, one of my favorite purchases. Wouldn't dare waste such a delicacy."
Though, that did little to ease Bruce's ever-analyzing brain. He took the glass from him anyway with a weary grip.
Oswald takes a seat next to Bruce, crossing his leg over the other while settling his cane on the side of him before placing his hand on his knee. He twirled his ice-less glass of brandy in his hand casually.
"So, now that we're in a more fitting atmosphere…"
He slowly draws off.
"Let's start conversation, shall we? Starting with that stick up your ars—"
All at once, Bruce downed his drink in one go with swiftness, making even the glass clink loudly as it turned over suddenly.
The warm burn down his throat went to his stomach in an embrace before following along with a pulsing wave of dizziness from the familiar "hit" of the alcohol. However, he tried to ignore how it made him slightly stumble.
Bruce placed it on the table with a soft clink as he was about to stand up.
"Alright, drink over; I'm leaving."
Bruce felt the grip on his wrist again, this time guiding him back to his seat again.
"Now now, I was only making a jest. Come now, you just downed a whole glass of my finest; no need to leave so soon…"
Bruce sat back down, glooming at the shorter man as he did.
"Fine…"
Again, he didn't know why he was agreeing to all this.
"See? Was that so hard?"
Oswald's smirk eventually softened to bemusement.
"I'm not your enemy tonight, and you aren't Gotham's protector either. Right now," Oswald takes a moment to sip his glass before placing it against his knee. "We are just two men taking this time to decompress. No chase, no detective work, and no Arkham."
As he said that, Bruce could feel the warmth of the Brandy increase once more, engulfing his nerves and mellowing out his body from its stiff position.
Bruce can feel the warmth spread to his cheeks, making it feel as if the warmth of a fire were cupping his face with its loving hands. His eyes faded into a half-lidded expression as they stayed in their brief silence for a mere moment.
Oswald felt an unexpected warm weight resting upon his shoulder; he turned and saw Bruce had laid his head against it. Neither of the men was expecting it, but instead of pulling away harshly, probably would have commended Bruce if it were any other situation.
Instead?
Oswald snaked his hand behind Bruce's back and turned to place a hand on the other man's shoulder to pull him closer into his bigger frame.
Bruce reciprocated wordlessly by nuzzling just a few inches closer, resting his face at the inner part of Oswald's clothed shoulder.
Bruce didn't know what came over him; maybe it was the alcohol or perhaps a deep part of his consciousness, but he didn't mind it.
Oswald felt somewhat of a soft smile across his face as his own eyes softened into a calm expression, twirling his glass before taking another sip, feeling the warm sensation submerge him just like it had Bruce.
"You can stay for the night…"
Oswald then adds on quickly afterward.
"Only because it's easier to have an eye on you when you aren't ruining my plans."
An excuse, they both knew it.
Eventually a simple rest on the shoulder turned into them stripping out of their suits and into their collared shirts and fishtail suspenders.
Oswald was leaning against the cushions of the couch, with Bruce leaning over, resting on his chest with his arm across Oswald's stomach.
A slow rise and descent of their slumbering breaths are only heard in the peaceful quiet of the office, closed off from the outside, where the people party and the city continues to be alive with activity.
For once, it wasn't the typical back and forth between Batman, his rogues, and crime. It was a break from it all. A temporary but rewarding break.
A temporary truce.
A rare sight of two opposing forces, two men that normally wouldn't stand being in the same room with each other, now cuddled up closely in a well-deserved nap.
Their drinks lay untouched on the coffee table, sitting side by side.
Right now?
It was...
A place to rest.
.
.
.
.
.
.
End.