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Red Card

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“Are you serious?!” Jim demands, voice raised several octaves. He stands in his bedroom, examining the black mess Victor has insisted on spreading across his bed.


“Look, if you don’t act the part you’ll get thrown out. It’s simple, Jim.”


“What you are asking me is not simple!”


“Alright, alright, calm down.”


“Victor, dressing all dominating is one thing. Saying you're my pet is something else. Come on, who’s gonna believe that?”


“Give me ten minutes and I’ll prove it. Oswald can judge!”


“Oh God... fine. Ten minutes. Fucking hell...”
Jim slams the door too loudly, anger and embarrassment morphing into a twisted beast. He groans into his palm, rubbing his eyes afterwards and sighing.


Victor had disappeared by the time Jim woke up, and had returned during breakfast. Now he was trying to convince the detective that they had to play roles in the Red Card. Jim had been nervous enough the night prior when talking about it but this was... it is too much.


Part of him, the nasty, self-loathing part, says to just walk out and head to work. He’ll have to deal with Harvey and whatever case comes his way and it will distract him from his evening plans. He could turn the two criminals away and forget this ever happened.


“You should let him go by himself if you can’t handle it,” Oswald comments as he munches on some toast.


“No way. I want to keep an eye on him.”


“I know you and your GCPD friends think he’s just a psycho killer, but he's not. If you order him not to murder, he'll obey that command. He's incredibly well trained.”


Jim sighs again, near collapsing onto his chair. He runs his hands through his hair, messing up the careful styling. His eyes scan Oswald for any lies but deep down, Jim knows Victor is as obedient as his kind come.

 

The bedroom door opens and heavy boots stride towards the kitchen. Jim hears a soft gasp from Oswald and pulls his hands away from his face to get a look. His breath catches in his throat.


Victor kneels obediently, with his knees spread, on the floor beside Jim’s feet, his head raised and eyes defiant. His clothes are dark: tight trousers covered in distressed patches and zippers, a loose sleeveless vest with mesh beneath, and a leather harness that wraps around his torso in a mess of straps and buckles. A simple, chunky collar adorns his slender throat.


In what Jim can only imagine is his sex-addled curiosity, he hooks his index finger in the small hoop on the front of the collar. When he pulls gently towards himself, Victor follows without a word. His eyes don’t fill with disgust or arousal, in fact he acts as if this is all normal.


“Fucking hell...” Jim can only mutter, entranced by the arousing sight. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought of this.


“So, Boss, do you think I can pass as a sub?” The question is directed at Oswald but Zsasz refuses to break the staring contest first.


“Uh huh,” a soft, almost silent voice answers. Oswald clears his throat and attempts to compose himself. “Definitely. Are you going out in that?”


“Yes sir,” the hitman purrs, directing the words at Jim. The detective subconsciously licks his lower lip so Victor mirrors the action, earning two barely contained moans. “That settles it then, Jim. Tonight, you’ll play the role of my Dom and I’ll be your loyal pet.”


“What do I have to do?” Jim manages to breathe out, unable to look away. Barbara liked wearing lace, and his search history contained a few vulgar things, but seeing it in person was something else.


“Act like you own me. Lead me around, make me do stuff, whatever you would do if you actually owned a sex slave.”


“Right.” At that point, Jim’s brain decides to short circuit. He excuses himself to get ready for work, despite already wearing his suit and badge. The bedroom door slams, followed by the bathroom.


“I think you broke him,” Oswald comments. He stretches his palm out and Victor crawls to him, nuzzling his fingers with a shark-like grin. “You’re going to have fun tonight. Too bad I can’t join and see it for myself. But you’ll tell me what happened afterwards.”


“Bet you twenty bucks he’s jacking off right now.”


“Victor!” Oswald’s fake outrage is met by a filthy grin. “...He totally is.”


“You want some help?” The hitman nods towards Oswald’s bulge, his kinkier persona taking over his usual, vocal restraints. His boss smirks, spreading his knees wider to accommodate the assassin. “Is that a yes?”

Oswald hums his approval.


He leans in bravely, rubbing his cheek along the outline of Oswald’s cock. He earns a breathy moan but the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing has him pulling away in time.


Jim pokes his head out before exiting the room completely. His face is flushed but his hair and suit are impeccable as always. He takes one last, longing look at Victor and heads to work once he’s bid his goodbyes.

 


 


“Where the hell have you been?” Harvey yells as a greeting from his office doorway.

Several officers turn their heads but Jim ignores them, jogging up to the platform.


“Working a lead,” the detective drawls as he sits down and glares at the mountain of paper that somehow built up yesterday. He’s certain to find Harvey’s own stuff in there, just to spite him.


“Cobblepot?”


“Yep. I’m on the case, Harvey.” He gives his partner a sarcastic smile and starts with the first file.


“You working with Zsasz?” The question is innocent but the thoughts that come rushing to the surface are not. Jim shifts subtly, his earlier problem rising up again. Goddamn that stupid, kinky man.


“Uh huh.”


“So?” Harvey prompts after a long silence follows. The pen caught between his index and middle fingers taps noisily on the front cover of a homicide report.


“So what?”


“Is he a better partner than me?”


Jim sighs, letting go of all hope of starting work and just forgetting this spiralling mess.

“He’s different. Listen, I didn’t mean what I said earlier, I was just angry.” Harvey doesn’t seem convinced. “I’m sorry I said what I said. Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me?”


The playfulness returns naturally to Jim’s voice. The detectives have had their ups and downs but things always manage to end well after they’ve apologised and had time apart.

It’s like a long term relationship, his mind whispers and Jim barely stifles the chuckle.


Harvey seems less volatile after the apology but he leans back with his arms crossed. “For a price.”


“Anything you want.”


“I want in on the investigation.”


Jim's mind takes a stumble at the request. He was expecting to pay for lunch or buy out Harvey’s tab at the local cop bar.


“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harv.”


“Why not? I’m a better detective than you, after all.” Harvey smirks, his anger also fading away.


“Sure you are. It’s just that...”


“Well, come on. Spit it out!”


“Our only lead is a woman by the name of Sarah White. She’s known to hang around the Red Card. We’re heading there tonight.” Jim confesses at last, his attempts to push away the planned evening into the dark recess of his mind completely fail. Anxiety and nervousness claw at his chest relentlessly. It’s not like him to feel so vulnerable and uncertain. The implications of the change makes Jim panic.


“You do know it’s a sex club, right?”


“Yeah, I’m not too thrilled. Victor is tagging along and having you there as well would raise too much suspicion.”


“I will never understand you. How could you not be thrilled? Naked babes in leather! What’s not to love?”


“It’s not my kind of scene, Harv. But you could help me track her history? Penguin doesn’t know who the culprits are. They wore masks and used nicknames.”


“If that’s the case, how do you know about this White lady?” Jim squirms under the question, not exactly pleased to admit allowing Victor to kill. “Jim? It was Zsasz, right?” But Harvey beats him to it.


“We tracked down a gang, one of them gave up the name.” Jim proceeds to give Harvey the details of his clever plan, missing out the part where Victor killed a hostage and almost the entire gang.


“I’ll give you props for that. Alright, I’ll look into this Sarah White. But you, my friend, have got other business to attend to.” Harvey gestures at the paperwork with a sadistic smile. Jim reflects it and grabs the top file.

 



“Don’t look so scared, Jim.” Zsasz mumbles, his eyes fixed on his phone.

The quiet darkness of the Jaguar's backseat is lit only by the screen, illuminating Victor’s sharp features and casting long shadows across his handsome face.

The detective squirms in his seat, unable to decide whether he wants to watch the city lights stream past the tinted window, admire the man next to him, or tuck and roll out of the car.


“I know you don’t like me, Jim. It’s obvious you’d rather be anywhere but here, but you promised to help the Boss. All you have to do tonight is go undercover. I’m sure you’ve done it before.” Victor finishes by flashing Jim a smile and turning his attention back to the retro game on his phone.


“I like you,” Jim stumbles out before his brain catches up with his big mouth. Victor freezes, thumb hovering over his screen for a moment before the words ‘GAME OVER' flash up and the title menu replaces the bloody letters.


“Yeah right. Just because I’m wearing skin tight clothes doesn’t mean I’m not carrying,” Victor warns. His voice is cold, like when he speaks to an unfortunate victim. The temperature in the car seems to drop a few degrees.


“I just mean... you’re not that bad.”


“Whoa.” Zsasz drags the word without emotion.


“Okay, I’m not great with words-“


“No shit.”


“But, what I’m trying to say is that I do like you.” Jim finally finishes without interruption from his sarcastic companion. “You’re fun and it’s actually been pretty great having you two there. Makes the place lively, you know?”


“Do you wanna know what I think?” Victor asks, still incredibly cold and emotionless. He doesn’t seem to believe a word or care for Jim’s stunted emotions. “I think you have a crush on the Boss, and you’re trying to keep me happy because you know I can cut your throat at any moment.”


Victor’s words sting him bitterly. “But last night...?”


“Last night was the first time you were honest to us and yourself. You weren’t Jim Gordon, golden boy of Gotham. You were just Jim, lonely guy who doesn’t know what he wants. I’ll be honest here, I don’t like indecision. Guys that wait around for that perfect opportunity to present itself or that, magically, others will know what you want, piss me off.”


“I don’t-“


“Let me finish. The thing is, Oswald likes you. A lot. You’re all he ever talked about for months before you sold him out and made your opinions very clear. And now, you’re all up for being Mr nice guy.
“You hurt him. You don’t get to swoon over him and act as if it will all be okay. He’s had his heart broken enough times. Nygma nearly destroyed him, and I won’t let you do the same.”


The anger seeps out of Victor like a tidal wave, and it’s terrifying to witness it. But Jim listens to what he had to say and now he tries to form the words to make it right. He can’t, though. He messed up and trying to fix things would just make things worse.


Jim risks glancing at Victor, but the hitman is engrossed with watching the late night shoppers and early drinkers.


“You’re right,” Jim starts, because Victor deserves the truth even if it makes him hate the detective. He already hates you.                “I don’t know what I want. It was simple to ignore Oswald, I could pretend I was avoiding a criminal. We kept using each other and eventually, I realised I relied on him too much. He was all I ever thought about. So I started lashing out, hoping he would keep far away from me. But he kept coming back and it got easier to push him away each time.”


The hitman says nothing.


“I do like Oswald. He’s kind, brave, and one hell of a fighter. I respect him, but there’s always a part of me that says it's wrong and I need to stop. Every time he smiles or just...” Jim trails off, the sting of tears blurring his vision. “It fucking hurts so bad.”


“I believe you,” Victor mumbles as he turns his head towards Jim. He notes the unshed tears and something akin to pride sparks in his eyes.

“That’s not all. It’s not... just him. I like you too.”

Now you’ve done it. Like hell is this going to go well, his darker part snickers.


“Why?" Victor asks before shaking his head and chuckling. "Just kidding, I don’t really care. But I’m glad you finally confessed.”


Jim watches him uncertainly, narrowing his eyes and balling his fists. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. His inner demon pauses too.


“Dude, I know about your crush on us. But it’s good to hear it. All of it. The Boss will be happy.”


“W-wait! Did you set me up?”

“Uh huh. Had to be sure you were serious.” Victor flashes a mad grin, leaning back against the leather seat with his arms crossed.

“So what you said wasn’t true or-?”

“Oh, every bit was true. I stand by what I said, including the part where I’ll kill you if you hurt him.” Jim struggles to say anything intelligent so he just shuts his trap. “We're close to the club. Remember what you have to do?”

“Act like I own you,” Jim finally says after an awkward moment of silence. He’s not too sure how to do that. He can take control of situations and be a leader, but this takes another route that Jim has never explored. He has to think and act for two people, and find the suspect.


“You know, we could get started right now. That way, you’ll be ready when we get in.”


Jim starts fidgeting with his cufflink at the thought. “What do you mean?”


Victor suddenly climbs into his lap, knees hugging Jim’s hips and hands clutching the lapels of the black suit. His warm lips meet the detective’s in a harsh, biting kiss and Jim allows him to lead. The shock fades as the unfamiliar taste and softness pique his interest. The man straddling his lap is so unpredictable but Jim relishes in that, embracing the spontaneous turn of events.


“Fuck, Victor...”


Jim’s hand snakes up to wrap around the hitman’s throat. Like this, he can forget the awkward discussion and keep his mind from overworking. His fingers slide into the collar and he tugs at the metal ring to pull Victor closer. Their chests bump and slide together, the harness catching onto the silk tie and unknotting it.
Before Jim can even think his next move, Victor is climbing back to his side of the backseat. He smirks, dangling one leg between Jim’s as his knee casually rubs into Jim's straining length.


“Fucking tease.”


“Gonna put me in my place?”


Jim grins before pouncing on the younger man, pinning him down on the leather. All animosity disappears as his hand reaches for the collar again, pulling Victor into another heated kiss. The hitman curls one leg around Jim’s hip, drawing him impossible close. His arms wrap around his neck tightly and Jim shivers at the eagerness.


It feels good, but completely different to anything Jim has ever experienced. Victor is demanding and rough and insane, nipping at his sensitive lips and grinding upwards into his abdomen. The nervousness fades as he loses himself in the sensations. He can manage this, at least.


A sharp knock on the partition glass informs them that the car has arrived at the club. Jim pulls back slightly, glancing down at Victor just in time to see him lick his bruised lips to chase the taste. The hitman meets his eye, those dark eyes watching Jim with a mixture of amusement and lust.


“We should get going,” Jim states as he sits back and rearranges his suit and tie. He looks back to see Victor leaning up on his elbow, clothes askew and thumb tracing his lower lip. A red bead stains his skin and Jim realises he must have accidentally bitten too hard. Zsasz doesn’t seem bothered. He licks the blood away, flattening his tongue and curving it around the digit needlessly. But Jim is more than affected by the display, observing that curious tongue and imagining what it would feel like.


“Agreed.”


They exit the car, and the driver moves to park behind the building with the strict instruction to wait. The club is rather high-end with a flashy neon card and devil tail twisting around one corner. A short cue of leather-clad people wait to be judged by two bouncers.


Jim takes Victor’s hand, linking their fingers. It’s more for his benefit than appearances. He casts one look at his companion, who flashes him a wicked smile, and then they head to the front with the knowledge that Victor already has their names on the list.
The bouncers judge quickly, and a minute later the doors are opened for them.