Fic: Socalise. Batman Beyond, NC17.

[jamjar]

Title: Socialise
Fandom: Batman Beyond
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.
Notes: buggery needed cheering up. Possibly, there are other ways to make someone feel better than Bruce/Terry porn, but neither of us could think of any off the top of our heads. Written in AIM, so unbeta'd. Comments, criticisms and pointing out of mistakes is always appreciated.



It's the kind of party Terry is only just comfortable at. Way, way out of his league, of course. Out of his parent's league, $2000 bucks a head charity, and he probably couldn't make it in here as a *waiter*.

Still, he doesn't feel entirely out of place. Standing behind the old man's chair, dressed in something suitably inconspicuous. He's got his working smile on, friendly enough, without actually encouraging any conversation. Bruce is doing the schmoozing thing, which he does so well, it's kind of funny. Bruce should not be *charming*, not like this. Meaningless phrases and light compliments. It's absolutely bizarre to watch.

He feels like he should be taking notes.

Bruce introduces him to some people, lets him slip into the background for others. Mostly, no-one really sees him. Pretty boy, and he's not the only one here. He's probably not even the only there as something more than eye-candy. He can see a few of the trophies moving like something dangerous when they're not aware he's watching. They look at him and almost see him, but...

Yeah, not quite.

He catches one looking at Bruce, though. Something in her eyes that makes him shift just a little bit closer to Bruce, not as a warning, exactly, but because when she looks back at Terry, she raises one eyebrow. Wondering what he's doing there, when Bruce doesn't need anyone else's protection.

Good eyes, but a sloppy mind, because he can see her dismiss him again.
He really doesn't mind. It's not like there's not a grain of truth in it, and even more than that, it's the best lie. The lie that looks like the truth you're not meant to know. It covers up all the little intimacies that Terry doesn't think he could take out of his actions. He *knows* he looks at Bruce too much, sometimes, but honestly? It'd be pretty much impossible *not* to look at him like he's half the world, and maybe more.

Sex is a good cover. It explains a lot and works with the rumours. He asked the old man about them once, when he was feeling particularly reckless.

"Old gossip never dies, McGinness. It just waits for a new excuse."

Absolutely no point asking if there was truth in those, because he knows the answer.
More than that, he knows *Bruce's* answer.

If you can't find out the truth yourself, you don't deserve to know.

The only downside to all this is that it's pretty hard to keep his mind off certain subjects. When half the things people whisper when they're walking away from you are wondering if you get on your knees for the old man, well...

It makes it pretty hard not to *think* about that, even more than usual.

Harder still not to react to it, and mostly, he doesn't even bother. He's almost used to it. Just this continuous thing, mostly low-grade and in the back of his head. It never quite goes away, but he doesn't bring it to the surface much.

"Terry, this is Dr Jenkins. He's the head of our new MechEngResearch department."

He puts on his bright smile, and it goes a little more sincere. "Dr Jenkins, I know you. You worked with my dad."

Dr Jenkins smiles back and almost meets Terry's eyes. "Yes. I was so sorry to hear about your father. How are you and your family coping?"

He lets the smile dim. "We're okay. Matt has the hardest time, but... we're good."

"That's good. If you or your mother ever need anything..." This time his eyes meet Terry's and it's in the way he *doesn't* look at Bruce.

"We're good. We really are." Keeping his voice sincere and just young enough for plausible innocence. Not so young as to actually freak out Dr Jenkins any more than he already is.

He nods, and Bruce waits until he's out of range to speak.
His voice is low enough that Terry has to lean in. Bruce's aftershave is absolutely unique. Expensive, handmade and specially designed not to last, not to linger in the places where Bruce shouldn't be.

"Sometime next week, I want you to make contact with Dr Jenkins. Try and get an invitation to the lab."

"You think he's involved in something?"

"Someone there is."

Terry nods and straightens up. He hopes it isn't Jenkins.

Bruce shifts in his seat and grips his cane.

"So, how long before we can get out of here?" Terry says. It's risky saying anything. Bruce is perverse enough to stay longer, if he thinks it'll teach Terry something. Or just to annoy him, whatever.

"After the first two speeches. Talk to Dr Teague before we go."

Dr Teague's public doctor. Bruce is big on self-treatment, but he needs to be seen sometimes. Seen as healthy or seen as weak depending on the situation.

"Anything I should pass on?"

"Mention that I've been stiffer than usual. Less appetite. I want her to be pressuring me for a check-up within the month."

"Trouble getting out of bed in the mornings?" Terry says, and smiles at Bruce's expression. Dr Teague likes to think of herself as open-minded. In theory, she's pretty okay with Bruce Wayne's personal assistant, as long as he's over the age of consent. In practise, it makes her uncomfortable. Her husband works in accounts at WayneCorp, he knows how much Terry gets paid. It's not enough. She'd be more comfortable if she thought he was just there for the money.

It's fun to tease her, especially since she has no idea that he's doing it. Little suggestions that he knows more about Bruce's body than maybe he should. "He hasn't been sleeping well..." and, "He keeps waking up in the night..."

He gets his fun where he can.

Speaking of which...

"Terry." Repressive tone, like Terry is a child three steps away from misbehaving.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Behave."

"C'mon. You know what everyone thinks..."

"Thinks. They don't know."

"What they think they know, whatever. I'm not saying anything they don't already believe. You know you use the rumours, too."

"If they had confirmation, they'd need to find another guilty secret," Bruce says. "As long as they think they know this, they won't look any harder."

Terry-- doesn't pout, because that's not the sort of thing he does. He can *feel* it though.

"On a related note, I was thinking, it might be worth having Dana come as your guest to the next event."

Terry blinks. He can't honestly tell if Bruce is being serious or sadistic or *both*.

"You think that's going to stop the rumours?"

"Or redirect them." Bruce looks up at him and it's that smile. Humour, but not the kind to make you comfortable, and an acknowledgment of-- something. Shared connection, maybe. Knowledge. It's the smile that Terry can feel, like watching Dana stroke her cat. Fingers are hard going down its spine, and the cat just pushes into it.

And then he thinks about Bruce and Dana in the same room. "I..."

Bruce looks away. He's still smiling, but it's not for Terry anymore. Strictly private. "Maybe later. When you've had some time to-- brace yourself."

Which-- fuck. They have at least an hour, maybe two, before they can clear out of this place. Not an easy thought, and honestly? Terry could go to the restrooms and take care of himself in about two minutes flat, and he knows it wouldn't do anything to make it better.

That's not what he wants right now.

Not even close to what he needs.

Getting Bruce alone, dropping to his knees and going down on him is a lot nearer the mark, but not... It still wouldn't be enough, though maybe...

"Do you see Tsutsui's bodyguard?"

Bruce dragging him away from his contemplations and nodding at the woman who was looking at them earlier. The one that dismissed Terry, and saw more of Bruce than most people do. "Yeah."

"Her name's Mai Harrison. Talk to her. You might find it-- educational."

Which means he's about to be on the receiving end of one of Bruce's jokes, which is never a good place to be.

"Now?"

Another look. Terry shrugs, makes sure Bruce's drink is in reach and heads over. She meets him two thirds of the way over, detaching from her client.

"You're Wayne's boy," she says. She looks him over, obviously grading on a scale of one to ten. He's pretty sure he got a seven.

"And you're not Tsutsui's girl, even in that dress."

"You came all the way over here to tell me that?"

He shrugs. "You're more interesting than most people here. Though I might just have high standards."

She looks over him at Bruce. "I can see why. He seems... interesting, your man."

"You're observant. He said almost the same thing about you."

She looks back at him. She's amused and cliché thoughts of lionesses bounce around his head. "And he sends you over to play with me? That's... daring."

"He thought it might be educational," he says. She stiffens slightly, maybe taking offence. "But then, we might have a teacher in common." he adds, realisation clicking into place. "You ever try the fish-soup in Chinatown?"

They spend a couple of minutes fencing around the subject, then she agrees to meet up at a gym downtown tomorrow.

He knows that Bruce misses his abilities most of the time. When he's watching Terry at work. When he hears Terry over the comms. This is another way. Bruce can't train him, not the way he trained-- the others. It doesn't bother Terry much. He's learning by *working*, and Bruce's suggestions and practise routines help, but it's mostly just being *out there*.

Bruce doesn't feel the same way. Bruce, he suspects, would want to give Terry two bruises in training for every one bruise he let himself get on the streets.

It's not, actually, an unpleasant thought, carrying the damages of being built up and made *better* on his body, instead of marks that show even slight failure.

Though there are other ways to get Bruce's marks on his body. Ways that he prefers and marks that are easier to explain. Or rather, not to explain, and just let be suspected.

"You have any other errands for me to run?" He says when he gets back.

"Not right now. I take it, it went well?"

"Depends what you were after. We're meeting up tomorrow."

Bruce nods. "Light patrol tonight. You'll need energy for tomorrow, and she'll notice any injuries."

"She believes the press," Terry says. "It's a good explanation for any minor aches."

Bruce raises one eyebrow. Terry smirks. "I'm pretty sure she thinks I got the good deal, there."

"Hmm."

And that's a promising sound.

"I think we need a bit of fresh air," Bruce says. He stands up, putting his weight on the cane. It's at least partly an act, but maybe also Bruce just taking advantage of the act to use the cane as much he actually needs, as opposed to as much as he has to. Or something like that.

Working through the crowd takes time. Bruce Wayne is a popular man. He catches occasional glimpses of the woman, enough to know she's watching them.

The gardens are wide and dark. There are occasional lights, but the designer wasn't going for well lit. It's all about seclusion, hidden corners. Or not, he corrects himself. Corners and nooks that were designed to look hidden, but actually were clearly visible from certain angles. Places where you could see in, without them seeing you.

Bruce leads the way until they get to a bench overlooking a pool. There's a tall hedge at the back of the bench and actually, Terry realises, it's almost the opposite of those discreet-but-not places back there. This one looks exposed, but you can only see the bench from right in front. Back there was designed for voyeurs while looking like it was designed for lovers. This... Hmm. This looks like an exhibitionists dream, but actually offered some kind of privacy. If they could see you, you could see them.

There's no one else here.

"You-- how much of the design work from the gardens actually came from you," Terry says.

Bruce smirks. "Very little. I saw the final plans of course, and chose the landscaper, but it was his own design."

"And you knew exactly what he'd come up with," Terry says.

Bruce doesn't say "Of course", but Terry can feel it anyway.

"You were pushing low-key earlier," Terry says.

Bruce sits down on the bench. "This is just an old man taking a breath of fresh air."

"That's not what anyone will think."

Bruce grins, sharp as Curare's sword. "You'll be bringing Dana to the next gala, and you were seen flirting with an attractive woman earlier. That should provide distraction. *This* is to balance it out and help feed into certain-- suspicions."

"In case I need an excuse for a little stiffness tomorrow?" Terry suggests. He moves to the front of Bruce and puts one hand on each thigh, pushing them apart slightly as he kneels down. There's moss on the ground, rather than cold stone and yeah, he thinks that wasn't accidental. It's weird; his back should feel exposed. There's the night sky and the sound of Gotham at work and play, and very little in the way of concealment.

He doesn't. Bruce's eyes on him and *not stopping* him, which is almost as good as a *command*. Bruce rests the cane next to him and his hand comes up to Terry's face. Holding the side of it, then brushing the back of his fingers against Terry's throat.

Terry swallows against them. This is going to make the next two hours very uncomfortable for him-- and he knows Bruce, after this it'll be two at least-- but absolutely worth it, and right now, absolutely necessary. Unzips Bruce's fly, takes him out and takes him *in*. Memory of whispers in his mind, all the remarks and prurient interest, and they don't have a *clue*.

The dirty old man in their minds, lecherous being a *nicer* phrase, and yeah, it's not *Bruce* whose ruled by his appetites right now.

Bruce doesn't have his hands in his hair, which is a shame, even if Terry gets the necessity of it. Plausible deniability and having to keep this semi-gentle. It's not enough, until he can feel Bruce-- brace himself, get ready for the brief lack of control. The moment of *vulnerability*.

There's the sound of traffic in the streets outside the garden, sounds of music and conversation in the party inside the building and the sound of Bruce's breathing *here*.

He wants to drag it out-- he could, almost certainly. Probably. Maybe. But Bruce says his *name*. And he has to remind himself all over again about the deniability thing, about why fucking his mouth on Bruce's cock is not a good idea right now. He takes it easier, but not *slow*. Feels Bruce tense, right before he comes. Swallows and sits back on his heels.

His pants are *really* uncomfortable right now. He can't stop looking at Bruce as he pulls himself together. It maybe says something, but watching Bruce get more *focussed* is just as hot as watching him come apart.

Bruce is looking at him, eyes almost lazy.

"What?" Terry says.

Bruce tilts his head to one side, then reaches for the cane. "Remember to brush off your knees before you get back into the party," he says. "Wait here for at least ten minutes."

"Why?" Terry stands up, blinking.

"Mai Harrison will be wandering the gardens. Keep her talking and try and come back into the hall together." Bruce smiles. "You can confirm the arrangements for tomorrow."

Terry looks at his back as he leaves. Two more hours of the party. Probably three.


End.