Work Text:
Bruce hates a great many things. Gotham docks, natural aphrodisiacs, and Poison Ivy are near the top.
But, above all, he hates the man dumb enough to smack a sack of the stuff right into Robin's head, pale pink dust erupting in his general vicinity.
Bruce dislocates the guy's left kneecap and fixes a rebreather to his own mouth in the same move, sweeping the man to the floor just long enough to drive the palm of his hand into the guy's jaw and knock him out cold.
The other two loading up the stash are dispatched before they know what's hit them, unconscious and zip-tied to a nearby lamppost with their friend.
All-in-all, its done in seconds. Long enough for Robin to get it into his system. Long enough for Poison Ivy's latest concoction to hit the boy like a sack to the head, for God's sake. His domino mask has turned a thick shade of light pink, covered from the curls of his hair to his shoulders in a heavy dusting of the stuff.
It's enough of a dose to send the whole night to Hell, Robin frozen still where he's crumbled to the floor, eyes wide. Bruce crouches at his side, careful not to touch any more than he needs to to check his pulse — elevated, but understandable given the circumstances — and then check the back of his head for blood, Robin beginning to shiver.
"Robin." Bruce says, popping out the rebreather. Everything he knows of the drug is pointing to this being extremely, horrifically bad. A gram or two is enough to do it in boys of Robin's size, let alone the heaping he got, Robin's tongue darting out to lick his lip clean of the powder. "Robin." He repeats.
Tim moans, a pained noise. "Wh— B—Batman?" He groans, turning his head in Bruce's palm. "I don't feel good."
"I know." He murmurs, ignoring the scent that's started to bubble beneath the starchy powder. As far as he knows, it doesn't do too much to Alphas, it's only real selling point being how it affects Omegas. Or, the unpresented. Children. "You're going to be okay, Robin."
"Don't feel it." Tim mumbles, voice slurred.
"Hold still." Bruce doesn't give him any more warning than that, sliding his other arm beneath the boy's knees and then hefting him up. He's so light, fitting perfectly into the crook of his elbows, Tim moaning again at the movement. "Nauseous?"
Tim nods sharply, rather than open his mouth.
"We've got lorazepam in the car," Bruce sighs, turning on his heel and taking a second to remember which direction he'd parked. Right now, all he can think of is the slow heat building in Robin, the powder still thick on his skin.
"Jus' call it Ativan." Tim huffs, apparently not too far gone to needle him. "Lorazepam." He mumbles, amused.
"Do you know what else we have in the car, Robin?" Bruce asks, careful when he breathes. This close, he can scent Tim's conditioner, the lingering traces of sweat from the night. The warmth radiating off of him as he wriggles and twitches in his arms. "Tell me."
"Mm?" He hums. "Why?"
"Because I asked." Bruce huffs, turning in the direction of the abandoned warehouses, away from the loading docks and quiet waves. "What do we have in the car."
"Ativan." Tim states, then coughs, a puff of white passing his lips. "This tastes like salt. Ugh. Uh, dihydrocodeine, tramadol, oxycodone, morphine, epinephrine—" He coughs again, stopping short when a whine escapes him, a soft and sweet sound that had Bruce's feet tripping over each other for a moment. "Sorry." Tim whispers, before continuing.
By the time he finds the car, two blocks east of the docks, Tim emphatically states, "We own a pharmacy. In a car." He giggles, a light noise that Bruce doesn't hear half enough.
It's all going smoothly, right up until Bruce has to set him down. The boy notices immediately, his fingers slipping over the plates of the Batsuit, a desperate whine in his throat that forces a matching growl from Bruce — warning and answer. Assurance.
"Stay." Bruce commands, hates how easy it comes when all he can smell is Omega. Fresh and new, forced to the top above all else, far sooner than Tim is ready for.
He whines again, digs his fingers into the plates, and whimpers, "Hurts."
"I know," he murmurs, leaning back over the boy to buckle him in and adjust the seat. He's fussing, he knows. Dragging it out. "We have to get back to the Cave. Robin." Tim's fingers tighten. "Focus."
"I'm trying," the boy replies, voice a little higher, panicked, "Can't— I can't— don't go, please, can't think without you—" He sucks in a breath sharply, attempting to bodily heave himself from the car by Bruce's shoulders alone. "Please, Batman—"
A growl builds in his chest, slow and soothing, all but smothered by the Batsuit. "I'm not leaving. I need to drive."
When it's obvious Tim won't answer, and won't let go, he pries the boys fingers from his chest and then sets a foot on the open door of the Batmobile, climbing over Tim and the gearshift in one fluid movement. He buckles in before Tim's hands can get in the way, then ignores the exploring hands — so small, curious and innocent hands, searching for what they don't know — to fish out the lorazepam and carefully push it past the boy's trembling lips.
Tim chews it, but that's better than nothing. He also sets up a steady set of whines, straight from his throat. He's never made noises like this, though Bruce had always suspected.
The boy is small enough, soft around the hips and chest, always carrying a sweetened scent most Alpha's shed by puberty. It was almost certain he'd present this way. But in time, not now— not when he's not ready.
All over again, Bruce hates the docks and the idiots that work there during the night.
The drive home could be automatic, let Alfred or the A.I take over, but by God — he needs the distraction.
Outside, it was okay. Manageable. He's had thirty years to control his instincts, he can handle a pup presenting fast and hard. But that was with the wind blowing, salty air in his lungs, cooling his skin. That was with Tim staying coherent, only just dosed with the powder.
Now, in the car, it's a new kind of tough.
The air in the car is only slightly ventilated, holding onto the cloying scent of the powder and the new caste of his Robin. It fills up quicker than he expects, Bruce breathing through his mouth after only a few moments, taking the next corner sharply. And the noise—
Needy, broken little noises. So many flavours, from scared to aroused, all mixed into a constant assault on his senses. He switches the cowl to the GCPD line and calls in the shipment, and then changes lines to the emergency line across Gotham in a futile attempt to drown out the whimpering beside him, tugging at all the right strings in his instincts.
There is an overwhelming urge to cover Tim, blanket him entirely in the car where he is safe. Drown out his mewling with Bruce's own rumbling, a low and slow growl to soothe his pup.
And then there is the urge to—
The powder works best on Omegas, but it isn't without its Alpha affects. He knows that.
Bruce switches to the Cave, and pings the desk. "Get a bed ready." Is all he says, glad for once that the Bat's growl isn't out of place.
Tim whimpers all the same, twisting under his seat belt like a boy on fire.
He clicks the comms off before Alfred can reply, switching back to the loud chatter of emergency operators and police patrols.
The ride home is long and torturous. By the end of it, Tim is a different boy all together.
What was once a whip-sharp Robin is now a desperate Omega in heat, focused entirely on Bruce and all the layers of the Batsuit as he lifts him from the car.
This would be fine, if it were a normal heat. He'd gone through it with Dick, when it had developed naturally. When, over weeks and months, his body had filled out, and his hormones had balanced themselves, when he'd had time to adjust to his new instincts.
Tim, instead, has it all thrust on him in the space of an hour, with all the grace and finesse of a punch to the face. Forced into it, rather. And that makes him angry more than anything else.
He hands the boy off silently, sets him securely on the bed and stays long enough to take the boy's temperature and swipe his mask before he lets Alfred take over. He sets the computer to work the compound over, but he already knows what happens at the end of this.
The heat takes, and Tim's body goes through a months-long process in the course of a night, with an Alpha to ride him through it. Or, he doesn't, and that is not—
Bruce strips off his gauntlets, discards the cowl and stares at the pink residue over his chest.
It is an unthinkable expectation. He cannot, in good conscience, leave Tim to this. To die. He also can't swallow down the horror at taking Tim through this, either.
That was the whole point of this drug; force an Omega into heat, so an Alpha can take advantage. And now that's his only option. Worse, it's what Tim wants now. What he thinks he wants, pumped full of hormones and forced into this.
He scrubs at his face harshly, removing the rest of the suit. In the Cave, all noises travel, Tim's whimpers like drums in his ears, calling out to him. The pleaded, sobbed words aren't missed either, from his name to the generic, desperate call for an Alpha. Any Alpha.
After a while, Bruce stuck in the corner and listening to his latest Robin go through hell, it quietens down. Slows to a slurred, confused moan, Tim thrown in the deep end. "Blockers?" He asks, clearing his throat when the words come out like gravel.
Alfred doesn't answer right away, instead fussing over the boy. "Quite a few."
"It won't stop it." Bruce states, not that it needs said. "The fever will burn through them soon."
"At least Master Timothy can have a small reprieve." He replies, voice quiet and tentative, loathe to broach the subject. "The plan, Sir?"
"I…" He swallows. "I don't have one, Alfred." He can't quite bear to look at him just then, focusing instead on the computer, sitting large and bright at the head of the Cave. "He'll die if I can't get a viable antidote. All the others have failed so far."
"Unless." Alfred starts, and then shifts slightly to watch the boy, pale and sweaty on the cot.
"Unless." Bruce repeats, a bitter laugh in the word. "I can't— Alfred."
"I'm afraid you are the only option, Master Bruce." He doesn't sound pleased, not in the slightest. Grave, instead. As nauseous as Bruce feels at the prospect.
"I can't. He doesn't know what he wants, he's barely thinking right now." Bruce bites the inside of his cheek, the pain doing little to clear the rising effects of the drug. It's so hard to talk himself out of it. "Even if he was, I'm his— Tim is far too young. I'm three times his age."
"Quite." Alfred sniffs. He steps away, heading back to the boy. "And yet, you are still the best option. Unless you'd rather we lose him, or risk some other Alpha having their way with the boy, and causing irreparable damage to the boy." He says coolly, staring down at where Tim lays, twisting under his sheets restlessly.
The thought is a vile one. But it's still one he considers, just to escape the choice at all. Some other Alpha, their hands on his pup's growing body, being the first. The first to scent him, the first to feel his hips fill out, to taste his slick and make him moan so prettily.
Clark, maybe. If he could control himself when Tim's scent is dialed up to eleven. Or any other number of Alphas that Tim runs circles around at fundraisers and galas, all far too uncaring to be trusted with him like this.
Bruce is growling before he's aware of it, taking strides toward the cot, stopping short by a few steps.
This close, he can see the red of his cheeks now that the powder's been wiped away. An unhealthy glow to his skin, the tips of his ears little hot pokers between his sweat-matted hair, Tim's eyes glassy and unfocused with the blockers working overtime to keep his heat at bay.
They won't stop the heat, can't change biology. But they should get him clear-headed, at least a little. Long enough for Bruce to ask. Just to ask, and live with the decision, no matter what Tim says.
He can't lose him. The threat of it is enough to have him stepping closer, legs unwieldy beneath him, close enough to run a hand through the boy's hair. Tim turns up to it like he's desperate for it, a sigh puffing past his red-raw lips.
"Alfred." Bruce murmurs, glad that the Cave carries it. "Give him another dose of the blockers, and some acetaminophen. I'll take him upstairs after. We're not…" he struggles, not sure how to continue. "I'm not doing this here. He should be in a bed."
There's silence, so heavy on his shoulders that Bruce almost turns heel and gets back in the damn car and drives away from all of this in the hopes he can beat a cure out of Ivy herself. And then Alfred nods, stepping away to retrieve a clean syringe.
"Very well, Master Bruce."
Dick used to sleep in his bed, some nights. When the nightmares were particularly bad, or when the Manor was a touch too cold in the winter. He'd said Bruce was a living furnace. Bruce had never particularly turned him away, had enjoyed it, even. There was something comforting about a small weight beside his, the boy's nose pressed to his scent gland.
Tim is an entirely different creature, almost comically small on Bruce's king bed, burned red on the dark sheets. The blockers have had their time to work, and the fever's down just enough that he's back to lucid, struggling his way until he's propped up against the pillows.
The boy is thirteen, but that's so hard to remember when he looks so much younger. His eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is fluffed, standing at odd angles, the softness to his cheeks only highlighted by the heat. The shirt and pajama pants he'd been changed into barely hang on, damp with sweat.
Tim watches him intently.
He feels inherently predatory, taking up the doorway and watching Tim back, and so Bruce enters stiffly, shutting the door quietly.
"Time is it?"
Bruce blinks, stopped short by the coherent question. He looks to the clock on the nightstand. "Three."
"At night." Tim adds, unsure.
"Yes." At a loss of what else to say, Bruce shuffles his way to the bed, hesitating to sit. It would make it far too real. He stands instead, Tim's head tipped back on the pillows to watch him.
The boy licks his lips, working his mouth. "I'm gonna die." Tim thins his lips. "The Omegas that don't… finish their heats. They die."
Bruce nods. "They do." It's what had tipped them off at all. Hard to miss a few dozen young, fevered Omegas dying in hospitals and on the streets, dumped in the bay or the sewers. "You're not dying, Tim."
"I am." He shrugs a shoulder, then stops, squinting up at Bruce. The lamp's on, barely enough light to illuminate the whole room, but it's enough to watch the thoughts flit across Tim's unguarded face. "Unless."
"Yes. Unless." Bruce sighs. "Tim, I know this is… It's a horrible choice. It's— I can't fix that. But I can give you options." He brings his hands together just for something to do, wringing his fingers between each other. "If there's an Alpha, one that you'd feel more comfortable with, I can try and… I could get in contact." With his piece said, Bruce waits, eyes flicked to the corner of the room, the curtains, anywhere but where Tim's laid out on his bed like an offering.
"There's no one." The pup replies quietly. "No one else. I'm sorry, Bruce."
"You're—" He chokes. "You're sorry? Tim. This is my fault."
"I didn't see it coming any more than you did." Tim sighs, his hand flopping for a moment before he rubs at his eyes. "My head hurts."
"It was my responsibility." Bruce states, finding himself on the edge of the bed to take a hold of the pup's hands. Clammy with sweat and trembling, Bruce rubs them between his palms. "And it's my fault that you'll have to… endure this."
"Could be worse." Tim mumbles. His lips quirk up, the laziest smile Bruce has ever seen on the pup. "Not every day I—" he stops, smile faltering. "Well, you're not exactly unattractive, Bruce."
At the moment, he feels vile, the compliment sinking in his stomach.
"Tim." He whispers.
"Oh, come on?" He snorts, head lolling to the side, gaze a little unfocused. "Like every Robin hasn't…" he sighs. "Wanted that."
Dick had flirted, once he was older. Before he'd left. Tested out cheesy pick-up lines and all manner of batted eyelashes and clothing styles. It was natural. They weren't biological family, and Bruce was the nearest — and safest — Alpha around.
Jason had propositioned him, more as an insult than a genuine offer. Thrown it in his face when he felt like it, or when he felt he owed something. It had burned out, after a while. Before he'd— Well, before.
Bruce had, up until now, brushed it off as nothing more than innocent stretching of legs. Testing the waters inside the pack, before the real thing.
But hearing it now, Tim's eyes lidded and his mouth set in an embarrassed line, sweet scent seeping off his heated skin— its almost impossible to pace himself. The drug's heightened his senses, he knows. Got him ready to go, and the half-hard ache in his boxers is undeniable. He rubs Tim's small hands between his own, stares down at the pale tips, the dust still beneath his fingernails.
"It won't hurt." He promises, voice rough. "I'll make it as comfortable as I can, Tim. And if, after, you can't… if you want to leave, I'll understand." The boy's hands jerk in his grip, nails digging into to the calluses of his fingers.
"I want to stay." Tim says with conviction. "For as long as you'll have me. This doesn't change that."
He nods, the words washing over him. They should make him relax, safe in the knowledge Tim won't leave, but all he can think is good. Stay. It's a deep, primal need, voiced in the growl that builds low in his chest.
"Tim, can I ask." He shakes his head, breathing in deep by his mouth. "Have you ever been kissed?" He feels wrong even asking, but some part of him wants to know. Wants to hear it voiced, how Bruce will be all his firsts. His first Alpha.
It's a heady thought, heightening the rumble in his throat.
Tim turns his head then, blinking the haze from his eyes. After a long, tense second, he shakes his head. "No." Then, slipping his hands from Bruce's, he asks, "You gonna be the first?"
God. He acts before he thinks, keeps going even at the surprised yelp against his mouth, Bruce taking the chance to slip his tongue inside and taste. The effect is instant; Tim's breath fluttering and heated against his lips, entirely unrefined and it only has Bruce pressing in harder, setting a pace that Tim has no chance of following.
He tastes heavenly, sweet and saccharine on his tongue, his mouth velvet and inviting. Tim doesn't fight, and instead melts into it, lets Bruce take his fill and doesn't so much as whimper at the nips he leaves over the pup's bottom lip, giving him a chance at breath.
It's not the first kiss any Omega envisions, not the one Bruce wanted to give. But it's enough to clear his head some, shaking away the need to claim, and so he leans back in gentler this time.
Takes his time to feel Tim against his lips, the tremble beneath him, and the soft sigh he earns when Bruce kisses him slow and languorous, dipping in to map his mouth again, taking his time to find the spot beside the pup's tongue that tastes sweetest. This young, it's almost nauseating, but easy to power through when Tim whimpers with need.
"Shh," Bruce rumbles. Kisses him again, lets Tim find his feet, following after him with a noise of agreement. When he pulls back, the pup already looks debauched, his lips wet and plush, the color of his cheeks high and his eyes vibrant in the heat. "Good?"
Tim nods, inhales through his nose. Scenting. Of course. Bruce leans in again, almost chaste this time, and kisses from his mouth and across his soft cheek to rub his jaw to Tim's, letting the pup find his scent. "Good." He mumbles. "More?" He snuffles at Bruce's scent gland, warm mouth dragging over it.
Bite. The thought is enough to have his cock ache, a physical need. All it would take was a little pushing, rearranging, and he could sink his teeth right into his pup's soft little neck, mark him permanently. Claim him entirely.
Bruce breathes hard and pulls back. Meets Tim's kiss to cover the sudden urge to bite him all over, letting the softness of his mouth soothe him until it's simmered down in his gut. A promise for later, rather than an urgency.
He shifts on the bed, easing the pressure on his spine. He's hardly getting any younger. Tim sighs happily at the current position, the weight of Bruce over his, pressing him securely into the sheets.
"Good boy," Bruce rumbles, nuzzling against Tim's reddened nose. "You're doing so well, Tim."
"Uh-huh." Tim sighs, eyes fluttering shut at the praise, accepting the kiss pressed into his mouth. "Starting to hurt again." He mumbles. "Bruce."
Putting any more blockers into the boy would be dangerous. Can't put it off forever. He'd just wished he'd had a little more time, just enough to truly relax the pup, explain to him as he went.
Bruce growls soothingly, pulling back to bring his palms to the boys face. "You're going to be okay, Tim." His hands dwarf the pup's soft cheeks, his fingers threading through Tim's hair, holding his gaze steadily. "Don't fight it, pup. Just tell me what you need." He inhales deeply, lets the pup's scent fill his lungs like smoke, thick and heavy on his tongue. "I'll make it stop hurting. Your Alpha will make it all better."
Tim whines, squishes his cheek to Bruce's palm hotly. "Dunno. Just—" His eyes scrunch shut, so much brighter when he focuses again. "Touch me. Please. Need you, A—Alpha." The last word is unsure, more of a question. Baffling that he could still think— still worry that he's part of Bruce's pack in any capacity, and he bares down on the pup to kiss the certainty into him.
Tim opens up for it gladly, doesn't fight when Bruce's hands leave his face to bunch up his shirt and pull it off cleanly, running over the boy's ribs. He's still working on putting on muscle, not quite there yet, but his chest is painfully red now, too, swollen and sensitive when Bruce brushes over the start of what will one day be a soft set of breasts. Tim keens, bucks up at a trace over his nipple, pained and needy.
"So pretty," Bruce growls, bites Tim's lip sharply. "So pretty for me, pup." An hour ago, he'd have never said the words, but it's all he can think, his head clouded by how beautiful Tim is as he comes into his body, filling out and softening his edges. "So pretty for your Alpha."
"Y—Yeah." He arches, chest pressed to Bruce's shirt and whimpering at the contact. "Please. Alpha, please." Begging has never sounded so perfect, Tim's voice gone soft and soothing, a new register that wasn't there before. His hands are burning hot when they fumble the hem of his shirt, attempting to work it over the barrel of Bruce's chest with a frustrated noise.
"Impatient?" He asks, brushing Tim's fingers away easily. He's got the strength of a kitten right about now, nice and pliable. "Need to touch me, pup?" Rather than wait for an answer, he fumbles through the process himself, and stops himself just short of shucking his trousers and pants as well, some distant part of his brain sounding warning bells.
He huffs, pausing, so damn hard to think with an Omega just for him, untouched and desperate, his scent more powerful than Ivy's drug.
Tim doesn't have the same hesitation, his fingers hot and delicate as he touches hungrily, nails digging marks into his flesh. The sensation is so new, dragging heat through Bruce's gut, only turned on more by how damn small the pup is, delicate and vulnerable and all his.
Red continues to seep over the Omega's chest, getting deeper by the minute, an inviting signal that Bruce follows until he's got the pup's swollen chest in his mouth, suckling hard at first. Tim yelps, nails digging in sharply.
"Ow!" He bats Bruce's head, enough to bring a snarl to his teeth. "Hurts." Bruce nips the soft flesh, then licks it over, waiting for Tim to calm down. "You promised." He whines.
The words stick around, swimming through his clouded head until they click. Yes. Tim. His pup. He leans up, captures Tim's mouth and mumbles an apology against his tongue.
"It's alright, little one." Bruce nuzzles him. "I know, you're sensitive." He huffs a hot breath, feels like he's drowning under the scent of Omega. "Got carried away. I'm sorry."
Tim stays silent, long enough that he has to check he's still awake, the boy only nodding once. "Kay. Hurts, Alpha."
"I know." He rises up, enough that he can hook his fingers into the waist of Tim's pajamas. "Can I take these off, sweetheart?" He traces the line they've left in the boy's heated skin, pulled taut over his rounded hips. "It'll help, pup."
Tim squints, head tilted in a way Bruce can only describe as adorable. He looks to Bruce's hands, his thumbs tucked in against his skin, and then whines. "I— I don't know." If possible, his cheeks turn a darker shade of red.
Bruce answers with a soothing resound deep in his chest. "Nothing I've not seen before, Tim." He finally says, feeling as close to clear-headed as he's been in this room. "With you, or any other Omega."
"I know, I'm just—" He breathes hard, taking in cool air. "I'm wet." He admits. So innocent, and it shouldn't, but it just goes right to his knot, makes it throb. "Like, really wet, Alpha."
The growl in his chest deepens, Bruce moving forward to box the pup in, his hands travelling to grip Tim's thin thighs. "Yeah?" He nuzzles the pup's neck, smells the shame and arousal there, suckles on his pulse point. "You wet for your Alpha, sweetheart? All ready for my knot?"
Tim whines. Shifts under him as much as he can when he's pinned by the chest and secured hip-to-hip, can no doubt feel the hard ridge of Bruce's cock in his boxers. "I'm—" He swallows, mouth no doubt watering at this point. Bruce nips his gland, a dangerous game. "Yeah, I'm wet for you." Tim whispers, more of a breath than anything.
Bruce grinds down. "Good." Even through layers of cotton, Bruce can feel the heat radiating off the pup, burning through him with such a painful, desperate need. He suckles on the boy's neck, grinds his cock down again to let him feel— so he can know how full he'll be, won't have to worry about that.
Tim makes the most beautiful noises, breathy and soft, soothing right in Bruce's core, the perfect noises to draw him in. Even if Tim doesn't know what he's doing, his instincts do, the pup's legs tightening around Bruce's hips, attempting to pull him closer. He gives him what he wants, blankets Tim down on the bed and all but folds the boy in half to kiss him deep and filthy, taste the sweetness of his mouth.
Tim's hips jerk in a sudden move that sends electric through his cock, Bruce's hands sliding up to grip his ass hard. The fabric of his pajamas is wet, soaked through, so damn desperate for Bruce's knot, Tim unable to fight it when Bruce hooks his fingers in and eases the pants down. It takes some work, his head clouded and single-minded, but eventually Tim's divested of everything, left bare.
He's so goddamn beautiful. He rumbles appreciatively, drinking in the sight of splayed legs and heated eyes, Tim's lashes thick and damp. It's better than he could have imagined, if he had ever— his pup is stunning, fitting so perfectly under him when Bruce cages him in and kisses his way down, over his heated skin and the soft swell of his stomach where a young womb is waking up, ready to take his Alpha's knot and be bred— pumped full of his come until he can't take any more, and Bruce will hold him right where he wants him, will make sure it takes and his Omega is filled—
Tim whimpers at the first brush of sharp teeth to the soft skin of his thighs, such a soft sound, so perfect, only going higher when Bruce hefts his thighs up easily and licks a filthy stripe up the backs of his thighs, tasting the sweetest slick. He suckles a bruise into the boy's pale skin, marks it all up and then moves to the other thigh, his tongue thick with the taste of his Omega.
So ready. He's so ready. So good. "So good for your Alpha," Bruce growls, all but snarls, and lets go of Tim's thigh just long enough to shove his own shorts out of the way, relieving the pressure on his hard cock. "So ready to get bred, pup. You want that?" When no answer comes, he nips at the spot that hip meets thigh, the skin delicate. "You want to get bred baby? Want Alpha to fuck you full of his pups? Tell me."
Tim makes a strangled noise, bucks his hips and the words come out like a sob. "Please, Alpha." He sucks in a sharp breath, hips grinding up for more. "Please, need it— need you so bad, oh God, hurts, please— in me—" Tim's fingers fumble in his hair, dragging him down. "Alpha. Alpha. Please, more."
A noise comes out of him without thought, soothing the hurt in Tim's vocal chords, Bruce dragging his mouth across the smooth, heated skin of his thigh. "I know, sweetheart."
He nips one last time, earning an oversensitive squeak from the pup that goes straight to his knot and makes it throb. He rises clumsily, hands heavy on Tim's hips and thighs and ribs until he's adjusted in such a way that Bruce's instincts settle and quiet in pleasure, and doesn't hesitate to line himself up without warning.
Tim mewls, moves and writhes, so pretty and spread out on the bed just for him. Pulls away and drags Bruce closer where he can reach, his fingers heated and damp with sweat. His hips cant up, the head of Bruce's cock pressing insistently at where he's wettest.
The part of him that is still coherent, unaffected by the heady scent of Omega , the part that is still Bruce — father, mentor, Batman — is telling him, insisting, he should be— preparing— make it gentle, he's only small— The part that is Alpha — drugged up on Ivy's powder and the pull of Tim under him — pushes in, and growls at the shallow resistance. Grips his cock hard and pushes again, feels the tightest grip around the head of his cock, burning so hot it almost hurts.
Tim goes silent at that, eyes wide and glassy where they stare up at Bruce, the light behind his eyes vibrant and satiated. Yes. Inch by inch, Bruce forces his way in, and the pure act is enough to almost bring him to the edge; taking, inch by inch opening his Omega up, watching as Tim's mouth goes blissfully slack.
The pup does wonderfully. Barely a whimper as Bruce drives home, feels the press of his thighs tight around his hips, every muscle trembling. Tim shakes all over for a second, teeth clacking shut, his eyebrows drawn together in pain-pleasure, and then he sighs, going lax in his Alpha's hands.
"Good," he rumbles, though the word is barely recognizable, straight from the center of his chest. It feels like he stays there for a week, a year, Tim's walls trembling around him at the struggle of taking Bruce's cock right to the base as the instincts rise in him almost deafeningly. A chorus of yes, bite, claim, fuck, bite, yes, mine, now, that only quiets when he shifts. Pulls out, just an inch, and sinks in again with force, Tim's grip around him like a vice.
The pup tenses again, moans so high and light that Bruce almost misses it. Such a sweet sound, so unlike his Tim. Much more like this new, heated Tim, falling into his new caste as gracefully as he'd become Bruce's partner. "So perfect," he murmurs, enjoys the way Tim's eyes flicker awake at the compliment, fading away again at the drag of Bruce's thick cock inside him. "So pretty, baby."
Tim makes a noise that could be agreement, choking off at the next pull back, Bruce taking his time to pull almost all the way out. He adjusts the boy's hips, sights the way Tim's abused hole tugs at the head of his cock, the pup whimpering at the near loss before Bruce fucks into him again, rough and harsh, makes sure his Omega feels it all.
Tim claws at his skin, blunt nails leaving red marks, such feeble attempts when Bruce feels as though he could bite down anywhere and never stop, mouth thick with saliva and hunger. He bucks up, begs for more with the twist of his body and the push of his ankles, can't speak when he can barely keep his eyes open, but it's read loud and clear.
A wanting. A needing.
He continues like that, such a torturous pull out, almost all the way, lets Tim whimper and start up his slurred begs, and forces himself to the hilt again. Each motion brings him closer, every sound pushing him forward; every obscenely wet noise, every moan, and breathy, cut-off Ah-ah-ah from his pup's overwhelmed mouth.
He'll never tire of the bliss that takes Tim over at that, filled until he can't possibly take any more. Filled with his Alpha, and nothing less.
The Alpha in him purrs at that, but the coherent part of him, the Bruce buried under the seductive call of a rut, he's pleased too. Even if he'd never entertain the thought, there was always a base hope that perhaps one of them might, just might— He feels a white-hot shock up his spine, crackling like electric, feels his knot swell unexpectedly.
He grunts, thrusts himself until he can't possibly get deeper, makes sure Tim takes his knot entirely even as the boy's noises turn strained and pained. It must hurt, the boy's far too small, but at that moment he doesn't care. His fingers grip Tim tightly, hold him still, hold him full. Right where he's meant to be, where he belongs.
He bares down on the pup and sinks his teeth in, tastes blood and the saccharine sweet of his scent gland, Tim giving one last wail before he goes submissively silent. Not a sound, even when Bruce grinds down, wrings the heat out of his knot with a tightening of his teeth. Yes. Good. Bite. Claim. Mine. Now. The mark will be large, and scar terribly. He can't help but be pleased about that.
Tim holds still, such a good pup, always a good pup, lets his Alpha have his fill, and only twitches minutely in his grip at every hot pump of come, the Omega's scent settling, content, as he's filled to his absolute most. Bruce lets his weight settle over the boy, curled slightly to keep his hold on the pup's neck, and lets his eyes fall shut.
Under the taste of young Omega is the undeniable taste of a resounding, returned Yes, good, bite, claim, yours. Soothed, protected. Happy. His knot throbs at the realisation, such a rare moment for a boy like Tim to be happy right down to his scent. Happy because of Bruce, of all things, happy being bred.
A moan slips out, muffled into the boys neck, Bruce rolling his hips to keep the pup tight around him. Tim answers in kind, a soft sigh and the trembling of his stretched hole squeezing him tightly, letting Bruce finish with a last pump into him, knot softening slightly.
He exhales, feels the haze clear just long enough to disengage his teeth. There's blood over his tongue, his Omega's slick across his palate, and Tim opens up pliantly for the kiss he presses down, hums at the crush of Bruce in his mouth. Where he'd been gripping hard, leaving bruises in the pup's pale skin, his touch turns soft, soothing the sore spots of his thighs and hips.
"Hurt?" Bruce asks, almost doesn't recognize his own voice. "Omega." He kisses again before Tim can answer, licks into his mouth with purpose and lets the pup gasp against him at the wet, obscene slide of Bruce's cock as he pulls out. He'd rather stay there forever, keep his pup full of his come and fit to burst with his knot, but he knows—
Tim nods. Yes. Hurt. Bruce kisses him again, light and fleeting.
Bruce nuzzles his soft cheek. "I'm sorry." And he is, God he is, but most of that is the concern of an Alpha with a heated Omega, not what it should be. Their foreheads touch, both clammy, overheated but cooling down now that the worst is out of the way.
Tim trembles as the head of his cock slips free, come dripping out freely. "'s okay." He mumbles. "Felt good, too." He exhales shakily. This time, it's Tim who kisses first, hesitant and testing. His eyes slip shut, still hazy, pupils blown wide.
Small fingers wind into his hair, a soothing gesture that works almost instantly, the rut still bubbling beneath the surface. Tim's blunt nails scrape his nape, up to the crown of his head and back down, almost absentminded.
"You okay?" Tim asks, voice quiet, almost a breath.
Bruce hums, leans down to press his head into the pup's shoulder. "Think I want to fuck you again, Omega." His knot's gone down, but his dick remains hard and persistent, a thick line against the inside of Tim's delicate thigh.
Tim pats his hair, such an Omega gesture. The difference is dizzying, Tim from a few hours ago wouldn't— but he is now. Listening to his instincts, following them perfectly, no doubt able to scent the agitation under Bruce's skin.
"Think you can wait?" Tim asks, somehow not the answer he was expecting. Bruce lifts his head, feels like it's weighing twenty pounds now, boneless after his orgasm. "I could nap." He mumbles, and yes, he looks exhausted. His eyes are red-rimmed, the set of his mouth slack, so close to dropping off again.
The sight brings Bruce up enough from his own arousal to nose at the pup's fresh bite mark, swiping his tongue over the punctures. "Get some sleep, Tim." He kisses his way up, covers Tim as he goes, and presses a last gentle kiss to his sweat-matted hair. "I'll be here."
"Good." The boy replies. "Better be here when I wake up, too." He grumbles, though the wound is obvious. The thought of leaving now, leaving after this is one that leaves him feeling sick, his grip tightening on the pup's soft skin.
"I'm not going anywhere, Tim." he shifts, just enough to lay down, makes sure Tim is mostly still beneath him and then sets his head on the pillow. His eyes are heavy almost immediately. "We'll… talk in the morning, pup."
Tim nods, expression almost attentive, though his cheeks turn a shade darker. After a moment, he shifts closer, drags bruce's arm over his stomach tightly. "Night, Alpha."
He tightens his grip, pulls him close enough to bury his face in the boy's soft waves of hair. "Goodnight, Omega."