
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12614836.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gotham_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Alfred_Pennyworth/Bruce_Wayne
  Character:
      Alfred_Pennyworth, Bruce_Wayne
  Additional Tags:
      Drinking, Alcohol, Drunk_Sex, Underage_Drinking, Underage_Sex, Shota,
      Pennywayne, Anal_Sex, Making_Out, Love_Confessions, worried_Alfred, drunk
      Alfred, Drunk_Bruce, 4.07, Mildly_Dubious_Consent, (Because_they're_both
      drunk)
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-03 Words: 1160
****** Lowered Inhibitions ******
by Johniarty
Summary
     After his bender, Bruce comes home to find Alfred waiting and worried
     sick about him - but Bruce doesn't have the self-control he usually
     prides himself on. Not after so much champagne.
Notes
     You know how after you adjust to the temperature of a pool, and
     you're confident in your swimming ability, it's fun just to get on
     the diving board and jump in the deep end?
     I've done a VERY good job of keeping my more garbage kinks out of
     content I make in the Gotham fandom, but tonight's episode finally
     made me say '... eh, fuck it'.
     We don't have enough Pennywayne. Not enough people talk about all of
     the romance between them. And tonight, Bruce was double-fisting wine
     and champagne so
     you know
     fuck it
     have some quick, drunk pennywayne
     Author is not condoning drunk copulating or sex with minors, etc etc,
     the usual disclaimers
His head spun as he reset the alarm. Bruce’s body felt light and tingly, his
face and lips almost entirely numb. The champagne flowed a little too freely at
the party but he didn’t care. For the first time in a long time his mind was
quiet.
Bruce grinned as he stumbled toward the stairs. Freedom felt incredible.
Killing R’as wasn’t a burden - it was just what he needed to let go of the high
expectations he forced upon himself.
The light in the study clicked on.
“Shit,” he cursed, squinting against the brightness.
“Had fun tonight, did we?”
Alfred’s voice felt cold.
“Yes, Alfred, I did - and now I’m going to bed. If you’ll excuse me...”
He moved faster than Bruce had ever seen, gripping him by the uneven lapel of
his shirt. Alfred crowded him against the doorframe. Breathless, well in his
cups, Bruce blinked up at him.
“You stupid boy - I’ve been worried sick! Won’t answer your bloody phone, no
one’s seen you, you waltz in at three in the morning stinking like the inside
of a bottle... Anyone could’ve taken advantage of you, could have taken you!"
“Isn’t - isn’t this what you wanted? Me to play the brat in the public eye so
no one... no one would... um. Know about the vigilantism? I’m just doing  that
.”
Alfred licked his lips. Bruce’s eyes followed his tongue, wondering how he’d
taste. This close he could smell whiskey on Alfred - he hadn’t been the only
one indulging that night. Champagne was much easier to drink than bourbon,
Bruce bet. Maybe if he asked nicely Alfred would let him -
“What if you’d been kidnapped? Assaulted? What if someone lay their hands on
you, Bruce? I wouldn’t have known until -”
Bruce cut him off with a rough, sloppy kiss.
“Mmn… Shut up, Alfred.”
===============================================================================
 
Alfred’s large hand slid up beneath his shirt as he drew Bruce closer, taking
control of their embrace. Bruce was warm and soft beneath his fingers, relaxed
and drunk and he knew his boy wasn’t thinking right.
He needed to stop whatever burned between them.
Reluctantly, Alfred pulled back.
“Bruce, we can’t - “
“You said you loved me.”
“God, Bruce, I do.”
“You’d do anything for me.”
“And I mean that.”
“Then shut  up  and carry me upstairs,” Bruce breathed. “Now.”
The door slammed open. Alfred carried Bruce into the bedroom, squeezing his
firm little arse through his slacks. Against him Bruce moaned. His legs
tightened around Alfred’s waist for a brief moment, until Alfred pushed him
down against the bed.
“I want you, Alfred.”
“Want me, Bruce?”
He nodded, grinning.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Who’s been teaching my boy such naughty language, eh?” Alfred teased, popping
open the buttons on Bruce’s shirt. His bare skin was pale and marred by scars.
He’d seen them plenty when he treated Bruce’s injuries, but to have them so
close…
“I’ve been learning a few things on my own,” Bruce replied. He grabbed Alfred’s
tie and yanked his head down, crushing their lips together. “Don’t make me
wait. Fuck me.”
“Hold on, hold on - I can’t get your clothes off with you moving like that…
It’s distracting…”
“Tear them open,” Bruce hissed. “I have plenty of clothes. Don’t  think ,
Alfred - I need you. I need this.”
Well, if Bruce insisted…
Alfred ripped the seat of his trousers open and shoved his underwear aside.
With shaking hands he managed to shove his own pants down. Their skin brushed
together and hungry groans slipped from their throats. Reaching over Bruce,
Alfred jerked a drawer on the nightstand open and pulled out a bottle of
lubricant.
“It'll hurt at first, remember? You’ll have to tell me when to move, how to
move, how you like it.”
“I don’t care. Hurry!”
Alfred popped the cap open and slicked his fingers.
===============================================================================
 
Bruce’s muscle relaxed around his fingers. He was ready. Alfred kissed him
deeply as he spread the lubricant over the length of his cock and pressed into
Bruce. Beneath him Bruce gasped, digging his nails into his back. He’d never
felt so full, so hot, so weightless. Alfred wrapped himself around Bruce’s
lithe frame, kissing him breathless as his body adjusted.
“Move,” Bruce managed to slur. “Move, Alfred. Like you used to.”
“Are you sure? It’s been a long time, Bruce. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Fuck me. That’s an order, Alfred.”
“Oh, yes sir. Can’t say no to you, can I?”
Alfred thrust into him, tangling his hands in Bruce’s messy curls. The frame
knocked against the wall. Moaning, Bruce met his hips with desperation. Beaded
sweat rolled along his skin. His mouth felt dry, his fingers buzzed, he bit
Alfred’s lip hard enough to draw blood -
“Take it you missed me?” Alfred’s voice rumbled in his chest.
“A little,” Bruce panted. “I thought about you all night.”
“Liar. All that liquor and you didn’t think about anyone else with you?”
Bruce let out a breathy giggle.
“The champagne only made it harder to stay away from home.”
Alfred sat up and pulled Bruce into his lap. His cock slid deeper inside of him
and Bruce moaned without restraint. With each sharp snap Bruce bounced on
Alfred’s thighs, every ridge rubbing against his nerves.
He wanted to suck scotch off of Alfred’s skin. He wanted to stain the bed with
wine in a hedonistic blur of rough sex and drunken delight. More than anything
he wanted to see Alfred unhinged and starving for him.
Too bad all their alcohol was downstairs.
“I bet you’d lick it off my cock, wouldn’t you?”
“Ch-champagne? Yes, yes, I would!”
“What a dirty little thing you are, Bruce. I love it. I love you.”
He’d said it before. Time and time again, reaching through the haze of
brainwashing to show Bruce how much he cared. Each private confession lived
inside his heart, nurtured in the quiet depths. He’d never said it back, even
when Alfred lay dying by his hand.
But god, he’d say it now. While he had the courage, the freedom…
“I love - I love you too, Alfred,” Bruce whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever
love anyone else.”
“Damn right you won’t,” Alfred teased, grinning up at him. He caught Bruce by
the wrists and held him down as he pounded his tight little arse, pouring his
strength into driving his boy wild.
Without warning Bruce came over Alfred’s stomach, his back curving as his
thighs trembled. His muscles quivered but he didn’t stop -
Not until he’d milked Alfred dry.
Bruce rode him hard, ducking down to kiss him again, until Alfred flooded him
with his release.
Alfred groaned his name, clinging to him.
They sat entwined, soaked in sweat, dizzy in their mutual heat, for what seemed
like ages until Alfred curled up with Bruce in his arms.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered, lips bushing against Bruce’s
ear.
“Next time I’ll call you,” Bruce promised.
“... Maybe I’ll even share.”
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