Work Text:
So this is love.
His darling was finally free. This was who he was meant to be. A bringer of justice. The judge, jury, and executioner. The angel of death. He was beautiful. They went through so many hardships together, but in desperation, Jeremiah relented and made a perfect formula for him. For Bruce. Everything he had done- from the moment he blew the city- was for him. And now, Jeremiah's work is done. All he will do now is help Bruce. If asked to kill, he'll do it. If asked to burn the world, he'll do it. Everything. Anything Jeremiah was capable of, he'd do. For him.
--- Time-skip to roughly a year later ---
As Bruce lay on his lap, he was overcome by fondness. After a year, his love hadn't diminished. If anything, it had increased. Once, it was an obsession. Now... well- it still is, but it was also fuelled by something stronger. It was almost like co-dependency.
He took in his very best friend's features: straight nose, dark eyebrows, curled hair. He was so pretty. He was sleeping, and Jeremiah didn't have the heart to wake him. Instead, he drank his wine and stared at the fire, marvelling at its beauty, too. It couldn't compare to Bruce, of course, but still. He stroked his love's head and sighed in contentment. His eyes trailed the man's face once more, before settling on the lips. They hadn't kissed and rarely exchanged touch. Jeremiah never saw the need to, but he realised the appeal. If Bruce ever wanted to do anything, he'd accept the offer happily. He was a patient man and would wait until Wayne was ready. The anger held towards him had diminished, leaving room for other emotions. Sometimes, he caught Bruce staring. He saw something in his eyes, but they were harder to read more often than not.
The intimacy was interrupted by a knock on the door. He glanced down, thankful that his friend hadn't woken. Ecco walked in, sensing the silence. Jeremiah stroked a strand of hair away from the sleeping's face, before looking at his assistant. She was very different now and had grown to find some individuality. She even had a partner, Ivy. He liked her a lot more than when he first shot her. She stayed as his assistant, but it wasn't her life anymore. She hurried over to the leather sofas, and upon seeing her boss unharmed, her shoulders sagged in relief. She noticed the position the two were in and looked excited before getting to the matter at hand. "Hey-ah boss. There's a couple-a FBI guys here askin' about some murder. You got any part in it?" Her Brooklyn accent had become more prominent over time, with no real source as to why. She'd been there once.
"Did they give any details? You're being too vague." Jeremiah checked his watch: 8:00pm. It was far too late for investigations, right now. It must be urgent.
"Uhm... Somethin' about the Vergers I think." Ecco hadn't been listening, but Jeremiah didn't fault her for that. The bullet had been rattling too much as of late. It almost worried Jeremiah. Almost. The name Verger sprung to mind. They were a large company, known for packaging meat. However, there had been multiple accusations of child molestation lately. He requested information on the man and found them to be true, unfortunately. His brother took care of the matter, as far as he could tell. Unless he failed in some way. That'd be disappointing, especially with their growing alliance.
With an eye-roll, Jeremiah nodded. "Let them in. Tell them to be quiet, and make it clear. That's an order." He dismissed her with a wave. She blinked, processing the words, and scurried off. Bruce hadn't moved on his lap. He inhaled and puffed. His eyelashes fluttered, and Jeremiah saw the rapid moving of his eyes underneath the lids. He was in REM sleep. Bruce rarely slept well. Jeremiah was glad he helped him sleep. All because of Jeremiah.
Footsteps drew near the door, and it opened with a creak. Jeremiah didn't pay it any mind and swirled the wine in his glass. If the visitors wanted to talk, they'd have to come to him. The footsteps came closer, then went to the left. A man emerged from the side: stout, serious, dark skin. He stood in front of Jeremiah and flipped open a badge. Two men followed close behind. The first wore a suit and was full of sharp lines. He had a European face with pale skin. The second had curly brunette hair and was more on the scruffier side. The brunette's gaze lingered on the man in his lap, before turning to look at the royal furnishing.
The dark man spoke firmly, "Jeremiah Valeska. I'm agent Jack Crawford with the FBI. This is Will Graham." He gestured towards the brunette. "And this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter." He gestured at the European.
Jeremiah stared at the man, before giving him a closed-mouth smile, "Take a seat." He nodded at the many chairs around the fireplace. The trio took the offer, all sitting on the same side.
"You have a beautiful home," Jack commented, clasping his hands together. Clearly, he wasn't there to antagonise him, then. He wants the engineer to do something for him if he's sucking up to the man. Or, he could be scared of Jeremiah. You see, the reason Jeremiah isn't behind bars is his use. Also because he's blackmailed a couple of officials. He's proven to be a great asset to the government, and he got off scot-free. In return, he'd aid the high-ranking officials in any way. There were a lot of layers to his immunity, but it makes life easier. The workings of corrupt governments were truly fascinating.
"Thank you. I designed it myself." Jeremiah's labyrinth had evolved. It still held many dead-ends and twists, but he'd designed it to be more... homely.
"We're here to talk to you about the Verger murders."
"I know." Jeremiah set his glass on the table beside him. He rubbed his fingers one by one, craving the feeling of a glove as of now.
Jack leaned forward, "You know?" Oh, that's just cute. He thought Jeremiah was going to reveal ground-breaking information.
"My assistant told me." Jeremiah raised one delicate eyebrow.
Jack looked a little sheepish, "Ah- of course. We'd like to ask you some questions on the murders."
"And why do you think I know something about it?" The pale man tilts his head.
"We have reason to believe your brother is involved."
"Huh. Is he now?" Jeremiah glanced at Bruce, who was smacking his lips as he slept. Awh. Jeremiah's eyes softened, and the trios gaze followed his. Jeremiah didn't get distracted, but he did sometimes redirect his attention when bored.
The Doctor- Hannibal, was it? Questioned, "Is there a reason your brother would've killed Mason? Money is out of the question, and we've looked through any personal leads. All resulted in nothing." His accent was Lithuanian and thick.
"Is Jerome the suspect or perpetrator? It seems you've got different views on the subject." Jeremiah points out, almost mocking. The three-letter companies were hardly any better than the local forces.
Will Graham, the one with peculiar eyes, spke his mind, "The motives and methods all point to him."
"What exactly were the motives and methods? I thought that's what you're asking me." How contradictory. They can't find a stable horse to ride on.
Graham sighed, rubbing his temples. He reminded Jeremiah of a shaking leaf. Despite the changes he's had, his sadistic bone will never disappear. "We haven't agreed on it, exactly."
"And you want my insight into Jerome's mind because I'm closest to him, correct?" The former cult leader talked to him like he was a moron.
"Yes." Will muttered.
"There," Jeremiah gave a false smile, "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Jack's temper was wearing thin, as was Jeremiah's, "Mr Valeska. Don't undermine my agents."
"Who is it you're really undermining?"
The head of the BAU took a deep breath and readjusted himself, "Tell us about your brother."
"You can refer to him as his name, you know. What will I get out of this?"
With gritted teeth, Jack snarled, "My gratitude."
Jeremiah graced himself with a cruel smile. "Deal." He paused, malling over what he was going say. "In reality, to catch Jerome, you'd have to kill him. Even then, death won't stop him. It certainly hasn't before. To find him, you'll have to ask his lackeys. Most of the people from his past are locked up or dead. However, there is one person I can think of."
The three listened to his words with focus. Upon hearing he wasn't going to continue, Hannibal prompted, "Who?"
"Jeri."
"Jeri?"
"The owner of a nightclub Jerome frequented often- usually for business rather than pleasure."
"Where can we find this Jeri?"
"Somewhere in Gotham. She's moved places after the GCPD infiltrated it."
"And that's all you know?"
"That's all I know," Jeremiah confirmed, not stepping down from his lie. He looked at Hannibal right into the eye, conveying sincerity. Bruce stirred and let out a stretch, eyes still closed. Then he let out a groan, flinging a hand over his eyes. Jeremiah looked at his friend and decided it was time for bed. He was surprised the detectives didn't realise it was Bruce Wayne on his lap.
"It's late. It's time for you to leave." Jeremiah stroked Bruce's face once before gently waking him. His best friend's eyes shot open before he placed his palms over them. He sat up, and Jeremiah felt the momentary loss from his lap. He refrained from pouting, so he crossed his legs to make up for it. Bruce hung his head before scraping a hand through his curled hair. It was only then he noticed the other men in the room. Each of their eyes registered shock as they looked at the missing Bruce Wayne's face.
Thing is, when Bruce went through his... transformation, Jeremiah decided to whisk him away for his own safety. Bruce was compliant, and commented on the need for a holiday. It was an extremely long 'holiday', but Bruce never hinted at wanting to reappear to the public, or even move back to his manor. Jeremiah wasn't complaining, though. They had done a lot within the year: they went to Paris, where Bruce spoke fluently and Jeremiah swooned, they went to Switzerland, to Florence, and even to Peru. Of course, each trip was an opportunity for more. Jeremiah expanded his business, Bruce helped religiously, and everything was perfect. Everything that happened in Gotham was practically water under the bridge- there was no need to dwell on it now. Jerome and Bruce still held their rivalry, and Jeremiah had to calm them down a few times in heated arguments.
He didn't blush- didn't even look surprised as he asked in a sleep-laced voice, "Who are they?" Oh, the sweet thing. Jeremiah wanted to cuddle him and just *hold*. He put a hand on his shoulder instead.
"Nobody you need to worry about," Jeremiah answered because it was true. They weren't anything significant. "You should go to bed; you have an early start in the morning."
Dull eyes looked towards him, unshielded. They looked so soft, eyes searching and eyebrows almost drawn up in... what? The corners crinkle, and Jeremiah can't help the smile that curls from his mouth. Bruce turns his body to face Jeremiah, "What about you?"
Jeremiah replied, amusement warming his tone, "I'll be up in a minute."
Bruce nodded and went to stand when he second-thought it. Bruce turned to Jeremiah again and quickly leaned forward, right to his cheek and... kissed it. It was chaste, quick, yet Jeremiah sat dumbfounded and staring after Bruce as he left with a smirk on his face. Jeremiah blinked, composed himself and ignored the pounding of his heart. He ignored every fibre in his being that called to run after Bruce and he schooled his expression to look dismissive. He assessed the men and simply said, "Leave."
The men, who wore confusion like a tight-fitting suit, complied with his demand. Jack muttered with some suspicion and hesitance, "Thank you for your time, Mr Valeska." The trio sauntered out, and in the background, he heard Ecco chatting away with them. The voice drifted to nothingness as Jeremiah was left with his own thoughts. Bruce kissed him. Bruce kissed him without defiance. Without hesitance. Without words. He just did it to his own accord like it was the easiest thing in the world. Jeremiah lifted a hand to his own cheek trailed his fingers along the area blessed. His chest churned and flipped. He wanted... no-- needed Bruce to do something. He wanted it again. And again. He wanted more.
He straightened his pant legs and stood. He flexed his fingers, feeling the ghost of Bruce's face, hair-- lips. His mind grew clouded with thoughts of Bruce. They circled and swirled, chanting the name in reverence. He strode out of the room, oxfords thumping on the carpet then transitioning into clicking on the hardwood. The manor was dark, with only the chandelier flickering its candlelight. He ventured into his own room, instinct driving him towards it despite Bruce's room being opposite his own.
His instinct proved correct, for Jeremiah was faced with the image of Bruce laying on his bed, asleep. For whatever reason Bruce went to Jeremiah's and not his own was unknown, but he wasn't complaining. His heart squeezed at the display, with Bruce on his stomach, nothing but pyjama bottoms on, and his leg hiked up that did wonders to his backside. Jeremiah was so tempted to take him then and now, but the peace of his darling's face stopped him. He looked like a renaissance painting. Instead, Jeremiah approached the bed, all while slipping off his shoes and removing his jacket. Then, off his shirt went and so did his pants, leaving him just in underwear. He wasn't entirely sure about Bruce's opinion on sleeping half-naked beside him, so he gave the other the mercy of wearing silk pyjama bottoms. Bruce hadn't moved, save for the snuggling of the pillow that Jeremiah nearly cooed at.
Finally, Jeremiah slid onto the bed. It was temperate within the room, not hot nor cold, but Jeremiah longed to hold Bruce anyway as if it were the only thing keeping them alive. God, he wished for it to be cold. It was a new intimacy to sleep beside someone. To put trust into Bruce to not kill him in his sleep was relatively easy, now that they were on good terms. Jeremiah turned to his side, watching Bruce's eyelashes flutter in his slumber. Jeremiah breathed through his nose, unsure of being so close to Bruce. He licked his lips, stroked a strand of hair from the other's face ever so lightly, feeling the softness of both his skin and hair.
Jeremiah moved forward, brushed his lips over Bruce's forehead, then pressed down on it, giving it a sweet peck. He lingered, savouring the feeling of his skin, before nosing up to his hair and inhaling his scent. His body unconsciously relaxed, then he brought a hand to Bruce's cheek and just held it. He swiped his thumb, feeling the soft peach fuzz and the heat from underneath. He lowered his own forehead down onto Bruce's crown, shutting his eyes.
Before he could drift off, Bruce moved. He froze minutely, wondering if perhaps he took the signs wrong. Before he could think anything else, Bruce nudged his head further under his own, then *nuzzled* at his neck. Jeremiah felt his heart beat faster, then more so when an arm wraps around his torso. With Bruce's moving, his hand now lay on the back of his head, entrapped in the dark curls. He started to stroke through them, the texture sending a pleasant buzz through him. Under him, or beside him, he felt Bruce practically melt, a sigh escaping his lips. Whether he was awake or not didn't matter, as he was content in this moment- just the two of them. He was hyperaware at the other's lips pressing at his collarbone, feeling the hot breath from them. Bruce shifted one last time to entangle their legs and Jeremiah's certain he's fallen for him all over again. He was also distinctly aware of each place their skin touched; bicep on shoulder, hand curled at his back, one settled on his chest. He wanted to hold his friend tight, but that would wake him up, so he resolved for the loose embrace.
Half-asleep many minutes later, he felt the press of lips at his collarbone. The soft smack of the lips on skin resonated through the room, signifying a finality. With one last sigh, Jeremiah submerged himself in the warmth and drifted into a dreamless slumber.