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When Damian turns eighteen, his father and Richard throw him an overly large and ostentatious birthday. The early evening is dedicated to Gotham elites and media, all interested in the Wayne heir and what he’s going to do with his life. He responds with the usual vague comments that he may go off to college overseas, that he might return to his mother, that he may simply travel to ‘find himself’. They eat it up and don’t ask too many probing questions.
He’s forced to endure a gaggle of young Gotham bachelorettes, all interested in Wayne money and status, and he’s turned off by the sweet omega scents as much as the deeper, muskier scent of the few alphas who are willing to demonstrate interest. He’s never pandered to the crowds like his father or Richard, and yet still they flock. He resists curling his lip at them only because of the stares of Alfred and Stephanie across the grand room.
He survives the public festivities and heaves a sigh of relief when Bruce escorts the last non-vigilante out. Within half an hour, others from the capes crowd begin to show up, those who can’t pass at a Wayne function, like Raven and Starfire, Garth, Emi, still others. He thinks he catches a glance of Red Hood even, a nod, before his Lazarus kin is gone…as is Roy Harper.
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He forgets all about the potential dating life of the gun-wielding Bat when he discovers there’s a guest at his party Damian doesn’t expect. When he sees him, he does something very uncharacteristic and runs, flinging his arms around the other man, then quickly stepping back, embarrassed, before the hug can be returned.
Jon smiles at him. “Hey, Damian.”
Damian eyes Jon critically. He’s another two inches taller than the last time Damian saw him, four years ago. He’s filled out a bit more in the shoulders and he’s kept his hair long. It brushes his eyebrows and over his ears; windswept, like he just flew here – though from the future or the Kent farm is up for debate.
“You know, once I was taller than you,” Damian says, drawing himself up to his full height. He’s made it to five eleven, one inch taller than Richard – which he lords over his older brother ceaselessly – but Jon is now a solid six one.
Jon snorts. “Yeah for about six months. And then—”
“And then you went and aged four years on me.”
“That I did,” Jon responds with an easy smile. His smiles have always come easily, though. “You look good in green. Always did.”
Damian doesn’t spare a glance at his clothes, knowing the picture he makes in charcoal grey slacks and a deep emerald green Oxford, both of which offset his jade eyes and dark skin. That said, it’s not something Jon has ever commented on. Still, he doesn’t say it like the simpering debutantes or the lascivious older men who whisper it when they think his father can’t overhear.
“Thank you,” he settles on for his response, turning to lead Jon in from the door and to the party filled with their friends. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I said I was coming,” Jon says, tilting his head a little in confusion. His hands slip into the pockets of jeans. They form to his long legs nicely.
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“I assumed it was a statement one makes to appease, even when they know they cannot. You do live some thousand years in the future. I would not have been hurt if you hadn’t been here.”
Jon stops and looks at him, first from the corner of his eye, then head on. “Damian. I have never felt the need to appease you. I wanted to be here.”
Damian looks him over once more, taking in the earnestness in his light blue eyes, the hint of a frown on his lips, like he’s upset Damian wouldn’t believe him, the way his hand almost reaches Damian before he seems to remember Damian doesn’t like to be touched outside of the field – even if he’s broke his own rule already tonight. He opens his mouth to tell Jon he’s pleased he’s here, but a squeal interrupts them.
It’s Stephanie, leading an array of teen titans, former and current. Raven comes along slow behind the group. In less than a minute, Jon has been dragged away to the punchbowl – even if the punch won’t have an effect on his Kryptonian biology – and Damian is left with Rachel.
“He came,” she says, quiet.
“He did.”
“You didn’t think he would.”
Damian shrugs. “He lives in the future, has for four years. What person comes back, away from their team and friends and—” He cuts himself off. “Friends they’ve made, to see a childhood teammate for his birthday?”
“You two were more than teammates, Damian. Your parents might have pushed you together, but you two became friends. He was your best friend, Damian. I know.”
Damian glares at her. “Stop reading my mind.”
Rachel laughs; it’s light, almost musical. Such a laugh is rare from her but becoming less so. He wonders what’s changed, even as he’s pleased something has. “I don’t have to read your mind to know. And maybe, for once, you’ll let him in, the way you let me.”
“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds, haughtily.
“Sure thing.” Rachel gives a small smile, purple-stained lips twitching. “Come one. Let’s get you drunk. I have it on good authority Kori brought the good Tamarean alcohol.”
~~~
Two days later, Damian has finally recovered from the hangover only alien liquor gives him. In those two days, he’s been subjected to a droning lecture about drinking from his father, a disgustingly cheesy speech from Richard about what it means to be an adult, a missive from his mother insisting he make a journey to see her next month – and coordinates as to where she might be found – a letter from Ra’s demanding he come discuss the League and arranging an al Ghul approved match, and a really embarrassing gift from Jason that he mistakenly opened in front of Tim and Alfred (the cat).
He thinks, of anything, it’s the gift that he will never live down. What possessed the Red Hood to give his youngest brother-figure a heat aid?
He sits at his laptop, devising a response to his grandfather that says fuck you, but in the most diplomatic manner possible.
A tapping at his bedroom window wakes him from a zoned-out trance: three taps followed by a pause and then two taps. That means it’s Jon and it’s urgent but not an emergency. Damian wanders over, pulling back the curtains and opening the window wide to his costumed floating friend.
“Jon,” he says.
“Damian,” Jon responds. He looks shy, nervous. Almost as nervous as when he first mentioned he might be leaving, when Damian was fourteen. Damian closes the window behind him as Jon shoves his hands in his pockets. “Um, hi.”
“Hello.” Damian scrutinizes his friend, curious at the late-night visit. He checks the clock. Alright, it’s only seven pm. Apparently time did not go by as quickly as he hoped. Writing Grandfather is tedious. “Why are you here, Jon?”
“We didn’t really get to hang out at your party.”
“You have many friends. I understand.”
Jon huffs through his nose. “I do. But I came to see you. It felt like you were far away that night. Like maybe, you’re mad I came?”
Damian blinks. “Why would I be upset?”
“You said yourself, you didn’t expect me to come. Maybe you only invited me out of a sense of duty. I know duty’s a big al Ghul thing.”
“Also, a big Robin thing.”
Jon rolls his eyes.
“But no, I did not invite you out of duty. I…apologize if I made you feel that way.”
“So, can we hang out?”
“I am attempting to write to my grandfather but,” he pauses. “I would appreciate the distraction.”
“Great!” Jon says, grin lighting up his face. It’s the same expression he had when he was twelve, but it looks different on his more refined features.
It’s still as goofy, though.
“I brought stuff, just in case.”
In the blink of an eye, Jon has gone out the window and come back with a backpack. He sets it on the bed and unzips it, revealing brightly colored packages that he doesn’t recognize but seem to be various forms of junk food.
“I hope your tastes haven’t changed too much. I brought everything I could fit and not get in trouble for bringing back. You should start with the Saturn pops.” He rips the bag open and shoves one in his mouth. Even at twenty-two, Superman’s son is little more than an overgrown child. It’s Damian’s turn to roll his eyes as his neat bed becomes a disaster of food wrappers almost instantly.
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He does take the proffered sucker, though. Hm. Like cherry…but not. He finds he likes the taste, whatever it is.
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“I also brought a game. You’re gonna love it! I just have to make some adjustments on your tech. It’s a thirtieth century game so just let me…”
Jon trails off as he zooms over to the TV and is soon wedged in between the wall and the console, his ass practically staring Damian in the face.
“I’ll inform Alfred and Father you’re here. Wouldn’t want the meta alarm going off,” he says, slipping out of the room and away from any infant niggling thoughts about said ass.
When Damian tells his father that Jon is here, Bruce simply gives him a look with a thoughtful hum and then turns back to the Batcomputer. He’s currently speaking to Nightwing. Richard gives a wave and a big grin and then the two go back to discussing the intricacies of some newly developing escapade. Damian lets them be.
He and Jon proceed to spend the new three hours crushing level after level of the game Jon brought; his friend was completely right, and Damian loves it – even if he doesn’t admit it. He simply slices through all the villains with his sword and tries not to look too smug when he beats Jon at the game he’s been playing far longer.
“Go on,” Jon groans after he finishes a bottle of water.
“Go on what?” Damian asks, chewing on something that is like licorice but not. Damian’s stripped down to a tank and yoga joggers. The longer they played, the more heated his room became.
“Gloat. I know you want to.”
Damian holds his composure for another moment, acting like he has no idea what Jon means, before he lets a smirk cross his face.
“I knew it!” Jon crows, exuberant, even in defeat. He falls back to the bed, his shirt riding up. Damian tries not to stare.
After a few minutes of companionable silence between them, only the tinny sound of video game music playing, Jon props himself up on Damian’s pillows so that he’s sitting against them. He puts his arms behind his head, tries to rest in what Damian assumes is an attempted casual pose and falls serious.
“There’s another reason I came back.”
Damian nods. “I figured you wouldn’t travel through time only to wish me a good birthday.”
Jon grimaces, rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “I mean your birthday is the reason. But not the party.” As much as he’s grown into his limbs, Jon still manages to look like a puppy as he shuffles his feet on the bed, blushes. “It’s…you’re eighteen now.”
“I am aware of that, yes,” he responds, eyebrow raised.
“My heat is coming up and I wondered if you would share it with me,” Jon says – but he spits it out like an auctioneer and it takes Damian a full thirty seconds to comprehend what his friend just said and all the while, Jon looks more panicked.
“You want to share your heat with me,” he clarifies, slow, after he thinks he’s figured out Jon’s words.
His friend nods, pale blue eyes beseeching.
“Why me?” he asks, curious, finally putting down the game controller.
“I’ve been waiting.”
Damian gestures for him to go on when Jon stalls.
“I presented when I was…away. I went through that heat alone; it was awful, all happening under Ultraman’s gaze. Not like, in a rapey way – thank Rao – but it was happening while I was away from everyone I knew. And I kind of thought we’d experience them together, you and me. Not together, but at the same time? So, you were on my mind and it got me through. It got me through each heat.” He blushes. “I don’t mean in a sexual way! At least, not really. Sorry.”
He heaves a deep breath. “I came back and I wanted…but I aged so much. You hadn’t even presented when I got back; I mean, it was only like three weeks for you. I couldn’t. It was wrong even thinking about it. You know what, never mind.” Jon is beet red and appears very uncomfortable, refusing to look at Damian. “This was all an awful idea. I’m going to go, please don’t hate me.”
“Wait,” Damian commands, before Jon can leave out the window he came in. “Have you had a heat partner? In the future.”
Jon nods without turning back. He hasn’t left the bed, though. “I even dated Saturn Girl. I thought I could love her. I did, for a while.”
“And through that, you still came back to ask me?”
He does look back to Damian, now. His eyes are sad. “You’re my best friend, Damian. Even with all this.” He gestures vaguely, like he can encompass the never-ending weirdness of their lives.
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Damian considers.
“What about you,” Jon asks, shy.
“A heat partner?” Damian scoffs. “I’ve better things to do.”
“Oh.” Jon bites his lip. The action plumps it up in a not-unappealing way. “Um. Do you like omegas?”
Damian shrugs, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t really know, would I?”
“But I mean, you have an idea, right? If you’re like Batman, interested only in other alphas?”
“I suppose…I am not not interested in omegas.”
“Do you like boys?”
“I find myself entirely indifferent to biological sex,” Damian hears himself saying, admitting it out loud for the first time, though it is not a new revelation by any means.
“Do you like me?”
“Of course, I like you—” Damian starts but Jon cuts him off.
“Do you like me?”
“I…I don’t know,” he says truthfully. He never expected this conversation. Never had a strategy for navigating it. He thinks of Rachel’s words. Maybe, for once, you’ll let him in.
Jon breathes out a frustrated sigh through his nose, tossing up his hands. “Why did I think you would be any less obstinate four years older?”
The corner of Damian’s mouth ticks up. “I should think you wouldn’t expect any less of me.”
“Are you ace?” Jon asks. “Andromeda, she is. It’s okay.”
It’s Damian’s turn to be frustrated. He spreads his hands, and then grips them into tight fists. “I don’t know. It always seems like there’s something going on; I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve been busy. I’ve had offers, I watch Dick and his carousel of love interests, Father and Selina even make time but I—”
Jon wraps his arm around Damian’s shoulders briefly before leaning back. “I’m sorry, Damian. I didn’t mean to pressure you. Just, your letters, sometimes I thought maybe, maybe you were flirting. In your own way. And I got caught up.”
He gulps. “Maybe I was.”
They sit there in silence for a bit, not as uncomfortable as it could be. Jon isn’t touching him, but Damian can feel his Kryptonian body warmth between them, notes that – sitting like this – they’re the same height. Jon’s height is all in the leg, while Damian’s own body has grown muscled but lean, like his mother’s. Jon, too, is lean, significantly smaller than Superman. It suits him, though, and Damian thinks it suits his taste.
He says, quiet. “I’d like to try.”
“Hm?” Jon asks, even though Damian knows he has super hearing. He glares at his friend.
“I said, I’d like to try. Sharing. Heat, I mean. With you.”
Jon’s grin is blinding. It’s almost annoying how handsome he looks in that moment. Finding people attractive – or rather, the warm feeling that comes with looking at Jon in particular – isn’t something Damian experiences all that often.
“I won’t let you down,” Jon says.
Damian lifts an eyebrow. “You are the one with experience.”
Jon nudges him in the side with his elbow. It’s a little strange, the camaraderie that feels juvenile when they’re talking about heats. He’s never had such a cavalier discussion about them before; perhaps because he’s resisted, even after he presented. “Yeah, but I’ve never known you to be bad at anything ever, so.”
Damian knows he’s flushing, and turns away, tossing Jon’s remote back at him. “Play again. Perhaps you’ll get closer to beating me this time.”
~~~
Within a day and a half, Damian has arranged for everyone to be cleared from the mansion but himself. It wasn’t as hard as he suspected in many ways; it turns out whatever Richard and his father had been discussing the other night is happening in Blüdhaven tonight, anyway. He sends both Stephanie and Tim emails seemingly from each other to meet at her new apartment which puts them both out of town. Alfred, of course, is the most difficult, and sees through every attempt until Damian is forced to humiliate himself by asking if Alfred will leave so he can have a night alone for heat purposes, his cheeks burning hot and red.
With a knowing eye, Alfred asks after “Superman’s son’s favorite foods” and when Damian returns home that afternoon, he’s left a note next to the snacks and Gatorade saying he’ll be visiting relatives a few towns over for several days and that it was his job to look after the Manor given – short of a Joker or Bane emergency – Gotham would be Bat-free.
Damian took that to mean Alfred had found ways to keep Tim and Bruce away longer than his one planned evening. He picks up and cuddles Alfred (the cat) in lieu of thanking the butler.
It’s good timing as Damian has only just finished cleaning himself and putting on a robe when the Manor door rings. He sighs internally, wondering if Jon is acting on some kind of misplaced courting tradition per his father’s strange midwestern morals.
He walks the length of the house, more aware of its scents than usual, knowing he’s invited – or at least allowed – an omega to come over for the purpose of heat. The Manor smells ancient, a vague mustiness that thankfully isn’t unpleasant, but always present, despite Alfred’s expert care. It emanates from the stone and wood, the lacquered floors, the heavy brick from near Gotham’s swamp. The penchant for old books all the Bats have doesn’t help, but Damian finds he prefers the smell of first editions, coffee, and bourbon over thin parchment, tea, and blood of his matriarchal home – even if he prefers to drink the tea over the coffee.
Most importantly, though, he notes the lack of the smell of the other alphas that come to the house. While his father’s master bedroom would no doubt smell strong, there’s only a vague sense that other alphas live here, underlying those other Manor scents. He doesn’t even notice the cleaner; Alfred, as always, is an utter perfectionist.
Damian approves.
When he opens the heavy wood door, he’s faced with Jon dressed in a blue polo shirt that matches his eyes, and jeans. The first thing that registers, though, is his scent.
It’s thick, something like fresh air and hay, like he brought Kansas with him. It’s a smell Damian has always associated with Jon, even to some extent his father and Conner, though the older Superboy has the musk of an alpha and the tang of something Damian has always assumed has to do with the unfortunate inclusion of Luthor’s genes. Now, though, there’s also the scent of clean linens, grass and sunshine, and if Damian didn’t know better, he’d say he was in Kansas, and not only next to a farm boy.
His initial inhale had been deep, and he slowly lets it out, surprised as he is by the strength. Even so, it is the one combination of scents that leaves him as at ease as the Manor itself. Safe, friend, it tells him. Jon.
“Hi, Damian,” Jon says, and interestingly, while it’s said with his usual big smile, there’s a strain to his lips, a tension in his body and face Damian isn’t used to seeing. “I’m sorry, it seemed more polite? Coming to the door?”
Damian looks to the overcast Gotham sky, knowing his initial thought was correct. He resists the childish urge to call Jon ‘hayseed,’ as he was wont to do when they were only pre-teens. But only barely, the word practically on his tongue.
He looks at Jon again, though, taking in the fact that his hair is not only windswept, but also damp on the very ends, like the super is sweating. He’s also leaning against the door like it’s holding him up. Damian raises an eyebrow.
“My heat started a little early,” he says. “I mean, it was due today, obviously, but it hit harder than usual?” He keeps saying things like they’re questions. Damian’s unsure if it’s nerves about him, or about his heat, generally.
“Well, come in,” he says, instead of inquiring. With some things, he simply accepts others will act in ways he doesn’t understand.
Jon steps into the house and Damian closes the door behind him. If anything, Jon’s scent blooms more, filling Damian’s nose and the entryway.
“Can I…can I scent you?” Jon asks, shifting his feet. He looks as he did when he flew into Damian’s room; unsure of his welcome, embarrassed.
“Here?” he asks. It seems too intimate for the hall.
Jon nods his head; his hair falls in his eyes briefly, before he brushes it back. “Please?”
Damian tilts his head, both in acquiescence and to offer his glands for Jon. His friend, taller than him, steps in, one arm around his waist, the other resting gently on the opposite side of his neck, thumb on his jaw. It lets him tilt Damian’s head softly another inch, and then he leans down and breathes deep.
He holds the position for around two minutes, slowly, obviously calming down, even as Damian stays rather rigid. No one has ever scented him like this before, this close, aside from his parents. It’s not unpleasant, but it is unusual, and so it is only when Jon steps back, looking significantly less stressed, that Damian too can relax his shoulders and miss the contact.
“Thank you, Damian. Your pheremon—you smell good. Like chai, saffron. Like an alpha. I feel better now.”
Jon takes another step back, attempting to give Damian his normal space and to his own surprise, Damian catches Jon’s hand. It’s pale, long-fingered, broad. Damian’s doesn’t quite look small, but his hand fits comfortably in Jon’s. It’s thicker, more calloused than Jon’s. He finds he doesn’t mind the action.
Jon, though, blinks down at their hands and then up at Damian. “This is okay?”
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“I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t,” he says, tone snobbish to cover for his own warm feelings.
They end up walking side-by-side to Damian’s bedroom in the east wing, instead of Damian leading as he initially assumed. It’s not like Jon’s never been over before, but this is different, it feels different, and Damian’s actually pleased with Jon’s shoulder brushing against his, the small smile he’s trying to hide, even as Damian can also tell he’s continuing to sniff at him, take in more of Damian’s pheromones. Despite that, Jon doesn’t try for anything else.
They maintain silence until Damian opens the door to his bedroom. Once inside, door closed behind them, Jon whistles. “All this for me?”
All this includes the snack tray Damian set up, lights covered with sheer fabrics, a candle going. It’s a mediocre attempt at a traditional League heat room; the effect is significantly different surrounded by stone and swords and the smells of the desert seeping in, but Damian has done what he can without ridding his Manor room of all modern technology. He can’t help but feel more comfortable, though, now that they’ve entered the space. It’s familiar, even as its different, even as he never had a heat room for himself when he was at Nanda Parbat.
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Jon’s mouth quirks up, like he’s amused by Damian’s reaction. “I like it. It feels…right. Smells like you. More than usual.”
He looks down at their hands, still clasped together, and brushes his thumb over Damian’s knuckles. Damian slowly extracts himself, raising his hand to brush over Jon’s glands, pulling him down the few inches it takes so he can press his nose there, just under Jon’s collar, caress his thumb over the spot where a mating claim will one day sit. He inhales a burst of that linen scent and he feels both of their bodies loosen, heat pheromones triggering relaxation in the intended alpha partner, a biological mechanism to keep omegas from being injured during sex. Jon, though, also seems to gain something from the contact, give the way his hands grasp onto Damian’s biceps. He grabs tight enough to leave bruises given his super strength, though Damian doesn’t think he even realizes he is doing it.
He’s not sure he’s upset by it, either.
Damian begins to edge his friend towards the bed, a little adrift at the next phase of this and opting for the direct route. “Have you cleansed yourself?” he asks, letting Jon go long enough so that he can pull back the duvet.
Jon plops onto the bed, eyes wide. He drops his gaze and slides his shoes off with his heels, kicking them out of the way. “I did.”
Damian can see the tips of his ears are burning, even in the dim light. “Good.” He reaches around Jon, opening a drawer and pulls out lube and condoms.
If anything, Jon’s ears turn redder and he coughs, his pale lips quivering.
Damian leaves them on the top of the nightstand and places his hands on his hips. “You said you’ve taken a heat partner before. If you cannot even view such items without being embarrassed, how can you be prepared to follow through?”
“Rao,” hisses Jon, a chuckle escaping him after. “It’s not…when Saturn Girl and I dated, there wasn’t a problem. We just sort of knew what was needed, when. But it also…she wasn’t as forward as you, Damian. Or rather, you are forward in different manners.”
“Is discussing past heat partners a common way to instigate sex in the future?” Damian questions, feeling a little put out at the comparison. Telepath or not, Damian suspects he could still defeat this Saturn Girl.
Another chuckle. “Depends, I guess. What I mean to say is: I am squeaky clean, you won’t need the lube because my body produces enough slick during heat, and I’m on the best birth control the future has to offer, so we also won’t need the condoms unless you’re personally fond of them.”
Damian sniffs. “Was that so hard, Kent?”
Jon reaches out, cautious until he notes Damian doesn’t pull away. Then he snags Damian around the waist, pulling him in between his open legs. “Incredibly. You’re lucky I like you and that my body is already dripping at the thought of you sliding into it, or I might have skipped the sex to avoid saying any of those words to you. Don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.” He’s smiling while he says it, his eyes twinkling, and Damian knows he’s teasing.
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…my body is already dripping at the thought of you…
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He finds himself petting Jon’s hair, looking down and into his eyes. Jon’s face is all sharp planes, as long and lean as his body. His eyebrows are thick, cutting dark across his face that only serves to highlight the baby blue of his eyes. In the muted covered lights of Damian’s room, his skin appears golden, reflecting the yellowed light like a god.
Damian doesn’t believe in gods, and he knows Kryptonians are no gods, but he supposes, if he were less educated…he could believe they were.
“Damian,” Jon breathes, and Damian’s never heard his name said like that, never seen the look on Jon’s face – a little awe, a little something he can’t put a name to. He can sense Jon scenting the air; his lips part so slightly, yet it changes his features. His eyes drop to where his hands rest on Damian’s waist, then lower, then back up, but now he’s looking up from under his eyelashes instead of straight on.
Damian’s alpha preens and purrs in response. He places his hands square on Jon’s chest and pushes. His friend – and heat partner – goes easily, gracefully crawling back on his hands until he’s entirely on the bed, legs still spread so Damian can crawl in between.
When Damian is close once more, Jon’s eyes have blown out, the blue a small ring, swallowed by heat-driven black.
“Damian,” Jon moans, his hands coming up to grab at his hips, trying to press them together.
He resists, bending down to remove his socks instead, running his thumb across Jon’s arches. The Kryptonian doesn’t laugh, thankfully. His mouth drops open and then his bottom lip is in between his teeth as Damian proceeds to give him a foot massage, first the right, then the left, until Jon’s eyes are closed tight and he’s tenting his jeans.
Damian isn’t aroused, sexually, yet, but he can admit to himself that there’s something about the way Jon is reacting to him: an omega reacting to its alpha taking care of him. He enjoys the way Jon’s scent is beginning to mix with his own, how the room is gradually growing warmer.
His friend’s hips begin to move in a way that suggests impatience, his hands white-knuckled in the bedsheets. “Damian,” he says, a quiet moan let out between his teeth biting his lip. “Please. I need…I can’t…”
“Are you always this impatient?”
Jon whines. “Only you have made me wait this long.”
“You have barely been here twenty minutes.”
Jon tilts his head up, showing off his long, pale neck to Damian. “And my heat started an hour ago.”
“To lose patience is to lose the battle,” Damian replies, droll.
Jon stops gripping the sheets and moves up onto his elbows, staring at Damian somewhat incredulously. “Did you just quote something at me? Now? When I’m begging you to fuck me?”
“Are you?” Damian counters, eyebrow raised. “Begging?”
Jon closes his eyes like he’s exasperated, and leans his head back, unsupported by his neck. Yet, Damian sees the tell-tale hint of a smile on his lips.
“I will. If you want.”
“Unnecessary.”
Then, in one swift set of actions, Damian moves and grabs Jon’s waist, turning the other man over onto his hands and knees, pressing up along his backside. Jon lets out a breath in surprise, pushing his ass back against Damian’s crotch. He leans further forward, sniffing at Jon’s glands. He mouths there, a noise escaping him that even takes him aback; it sounds needy, wanton.
“Damian,” Jon says underneath him. He reaches back with a hand, grasping at Damian’s hip, grinding back. “Please. I’m so—”
Damian’s body is beginning to respond, his cock growing thick under his robe, a stir of his alpha deep in his groin. He scents again, thrusting down against Jon, his alpha thinking he can fuck through their clothes. He feels his rut building, a thick taste on the back of his throat. With a not insignificant amount of force – though he knows Jon only moves because he wants to, intoxicating in its own right – he places a hand on the back of the omega’s neck, shoving his face into the pillow and into a traditional submissive position. Jon’s ass, skinny seeming through jeans, flaunts itself and the smell of slick grows stronger. He places pressure on his neck again, silently telling Jon to stay.
Damian then moves down further, pushing up Jon’s shirt with one hand, baring the pale skin of his back. Damian’s hand looks especially dark against it.
“I’ve never understood you supers. You soak up the sun, yet your skin is paler than anyone else’s I know.”
Jon’s body presses up and into his hand. “You want to talk about Kryptonian biology and yellow suns now?”
Damian presses down with his hand, keeping the fabric of Jon’s tee clenched in his hands. Jon lets himself be pressed back down, though there’s the smallest hint of a complaint in the breath he exhales. “Not especially. In fact, I rather appreciate the contrast.”
“I swear to Rao, if you analyze this whole thing,” Jon grits out, even as his body pushes back up, just enough into Damian’s hand.
“You wouldn’t have asked me if you wanted something different, Jon,” Damian responds, sure in that assessment.
Jon grumbles underneath him. Damian reaches around and undoes the button of Jon’s jeans, then the zipper. He doesn’t touch his friend’s cock. He pulls the jeans all the way off, tossing them onto his floor, leaving only blue boxer briefs. The smell of Jon is overwhelming now: fresh cut grass, clean air. It’s not cloying like the other omegas Damian has been around, not as heavy as the alphas.
There’s a damp patch on the back of his shorts. Damian bends down to press his mouth against it. He licks the spot of slick. He tastes mostly clean, warm. Under him, Jon moans. His hips press up. Damian licks again. Jon twitches this time, like he’s trying to control himself.
He removes his mouth and uses both hands to drag down the briefs until Jon’s ass is bare. He lets them rest under his ass, though, the thick band helping to perk up the cheeks. He sits back and considers.
He should probably finger him first. After all, he is human. Then again, he’s also Kryptonian; perhaps he doesn’t require prep? Damian can see a trickle of slick sliding just out from between his cheeks.
“I,” Jon starts. His voice sounds hoarse. “Will you…will you eat me out? God, Damian I want that so much I—” He cuts himself off.
“I do not know how,” he says. He understands the reference, of course. But does he lick, does he suck? What is the proper protocol?
Jon moans. “I’ll tell you. If you want. If you will.”
“You may instruct me.”
Jon presses himself up onto his forearms. It stretches his back further, puts his ass a little closer to Damian. “Spread…spread me open.”
Damian leans forward and complies. Jon’s hole is revealed to him: pink, small. It’s drenched; clear fluid oozing out. The smell here is even more intense and Damian inhales, finding he doesn’t mind. His own body begins to react, saliva collecting in the back of his mouth.
He has no hair either and Damian wonders how he shaves that, given the supers are generally immune to Earth metals. A thought for another time, he finds, as Jon presses back into him again, eager.
“Put your mouth on me, Damian. Almost…almost like kissing.” Jon’s ass turns pink with a flush as he speaks the words, but he doesn’t back down, doesn’t stop or try to hide.
Damian places his mouth directly on Jon’s hole, continuing to use his hands to keep Jon spread. He purses his lips, without being asked. It’s followed by a sharp inhale.
“Now, gently, lick me.”
Damian does, and gets a mouthful of slick. It has a thick consistency and a slightly bitter taste that ends in sweetness. He’d liken it to burnt sugar, if he had to identify it. He’d never choose to eat such a thing normally but here, like this…he gives another lick without being asked and is rewarded by a shiver traveling through Jon’s body.
“Now, now switch them. Lick, then kiss, then lick again.”
Damian follows the instructions and kisses once more, pursing his lips and then wetting his tongue to lick again. He begins to move slightly, kiss the side of the pucker, licking across, with pointed tongue and then flat.
“See,” Jon pants. “I knew you’d be a quick study. Now just, lick in. In me, please.”
He dips his tongue inside, the very tip, and is treated to a mouthful of slick as he draws it back out. He does it again and then again, and then he’s alternating between the three moves, creating a rhythm, delving deeper. He begins to eat Jon’s ass in earnest, the way he’s seen Harper eat a sucker, all sloppy and slow and seductive and what he always thought was needlessly lewd, but it appears whoever he was taunting when he did that – well presumably, they took him up on it.
The noises become obscene and a part of him winces, but the alpha inside him is feeling pleased at the slick sounds mixed with Jon’s heavy breath. He can feel his own rut coming on, brought about by engaging with Jon’s heat. It feels nice, low and simmering in his belly, and for once, Damian isn’t dreading it beginning.
He regroups and adjusts his hands, spreading Jon more, shoving his face in between so far that spit and slick smear up to his cheekbones. It’s all over his lips and in between, when he needs to breathe, he licks his lips. Every bit of slick he takes in, Jon only produces more.
“Fuck. Damian. I’ve never been this wet. Oh, fuck.”
It’s unusual to hear Jon swear; his alpha growls, knowing he’s reducing Jon to something baser in nature. Less pup and more mate. He begins to lick harder, to force his tongue inside, to shove it deeper, wriggling it and then pulling out to lick across the hole that’s quickly turning wet with his spit as well as slick, and more red than pink under his ministrations. He sucks and shoves in more, addicted now to the taste, to Jon’s moans and his wet, gushing slick.
“Dami—!” Jon shouts and then his body seizes and he nearly writhes away from Damian’s grip until Damian catches on that he’s coming and holds him still, tongue-fucking him through it, fingers digging into the line where pelvis and thigh meet while his thumbs keep Jon spread on his tongue.
When Jon stops shaking, Damian pulls back and wipes a hand across his face. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, once he’s no longer immersed in the act but it’s not the end of the world. He runs a hand over Jon’s ass before he gets off the bed and goes to the en suite, taking a cloth to his face and swishing mouthwash. He knows he’ll get dirty again – it’s the nature of heat to be messy, wet – but that doesn’t mean he has to be covered in it.
He returns to the bed to see Jon still trembling, looking a mess with his skin all pinked – probably not exertion, maybe just from orgasm? – and his underwear still bunched under his ass. He’s looking at Damian with blue eyes that are slightly glazed, his mouth open, lips as pink as his skin.
He’s also cock-down in a puddle of his own semen, so Damian moves to him, pulling his briefs down and off, then turning him over to wipe him down.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jon says, as he props himself up on his elbows, but it sounds more like a question.
Damian raises a brow. “Is it not an alpha’s duty to take care of their heat partner?”
Jon squirms and flushes more. “I mean, if you’re going to get traditional about it. But you don’t have to always do it. I, ah, I don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind what?”
“Come?” Jon chuckles, nervously. “I like it. Being covered in it.”
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“I’ll consider it. Now, what next?”
Jon pretends to smack himself in the face and falls back to the pillows. His hair spreads around his head, waves gentle. “You’re really making me question asking this of you. If you don’t want to, I don’t want you to feel like—”
“Like what?” he asks.
“Like I’m forcing you!” Jon grits out as both of his large hands come up to rub at his eyes.
“Kent – do you honestly believe you could force me into anything?”
“I mean, no, but. I am older and stronger and maybe it’s just ‘cause you’re my friend and—”
“It is because you are my friend. As I noted, I haven’t shared a heat with anyone before. That doesn’t mean me saying yes was under duress.” He shrugs. “Only, I’m not sure how to proceed. Also, appearances aside, technically I’ve been on this Earth longer than you.”
Jon chuckles and his hands come down. His cock is soft, resting against his thigh. It’s nicely shaped, larger than what Damian has seen from other male omegas. Likely because of his alien genetics. Still, it’s smaller than his own, just shy of six inches to his eight and not as girthy.
Damian thinks it would fit nicely in his mouth – the thought startles him.
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“Come here, Damian. I’m one orgasm in and I can tell my body’s not as desperate. Let’s start over, hm?” Damian moves to crawl onto the bed, but Jon stops him. “No, wait. Come to this side.”
Damian circles the bed and stands in front of Jon who sits back up, legs swung over the side of the bed. Then he takes Damian’s sash into his hands, slowly undoing it, staring the two inches up into Damian’s face as he does. It falls with a quiet whoosh, the fabric sliding to the floor.
“Have I said how good you look in green?” Jon asks, Damian assumes rhetorically, quiet. He hums a little, just a sound in the back of his throat.
Damian finds his alpha responding, a soft purr beginning in his own throat. “You have,” he says, because, rhetorical or not, he’s learned most people still want a response to their questions.
“You do. Is this from your mother?” He fingers the embroidered collar, gold and red patterns that mean nothing to Damian, personally, but a great deal to those the League commands.
Damian nods.
“It’s beautiful. Like you,” Jon says, right before leaning in, hands pressed to the fabric at his shoulders, and kisses his chest where the robe has fallen open. It’s shockingly intimate and for a moment, Damian can’t comprehend this man who kisses his skin with a gentle possessiveness and the friend who asked, shyly, if Damian would share his heat.
Damian’s hands come up of their own volition, and thread into Jon’s hair, keeping him close. The other man doesn’t object, just slowly moves his way up from Damian’s chest to his neck and then he stands until he’s taller than Damian once more, kissing him on the mouth and sliding down his robe until Damian, too, is naked.
The rush of all that skin – well, Damian’s never been naked with another person. Not like this. Once or twice, training as a child, but it’s not the same at all. When he breathes and his chest touches Jon’s, Damian feels both faint and strong at the same time, overwhelmed by the scent of an omega, by his touch, just from feeling.
Damian doesn’t touch and no one touches Damian.
“Can I kiss you? Please let me kiss you, Damian,” Jon whispers.
Damian assumes he manages to get the intended yes across somehow because then Jon is kissing him; at first a small press of lips, and then something more passionate as Damian opens his mouth under Jon’s gentle pressure. He finds himself moaning and then blushing, all while Jon continues to kiss him, hands now framing his face, touching his neck, the short hairs at the base of his skull. He feels like the omega, weak and heat-driven, instead of Jon. His hands clutch a little harder and then suddenly, he’s being lifted into the air. That gets his attention and he looks down.
Instinctively, being hefted from the ground, his legs sought purchase and now, when he stares down, he sees his legs wrapped around Jon’s trim waist, who’s abs flex and his cock is beginning to grow hard once more.
Damian wasn’t joking when he said he liked the contrast of their skin. The brown shade of his legs clasped around miles of pale, milky-white skin sends him reeling, desperate to mark, to put bruises and a claim on it. It leaves him rutting against Jon’s abs, all while the other man briefly leaves the floor entirely and then presses Damian down onto the bed.
“Damian, I—” Instead of continuing to speak, Jon’s mouth descends on his once more. He’s talented and he slows the kiss down to let Damian follow. Damian who has never kissed anyone before and only been kissed once, by Rachel, before she quickly backed up and apologized and they agreed to never speak of it again. So, he lets Jon lead him, to open his mouth with his tongue – and he’s very grateful for using the mouthwash now – to let him in, and eventually, begin to play-fight back. He snakes his tongue around Jon’s, pushes them both into the other man’s mouth, then deserts it to lick at Jon’s teeth, his soft palate. He pulls back, teasing Jon back into his mouth, bites on his lip, and he can feel his friend’s smile through the kiss, a little huff of laughter as Damian begins to take control.
By the time they part, both are panting, just from kissing.
“And so, the student surpasses the master,” Jon says, his voice lower than usual.
Damian smirks.
Jon laughs. “Alright, prince, now that you’ve got kissing down, why don’t we find out if your nipples are sensitive?”
Damian looks askance at him. “Why? What purpose does that serve?”
Jon rolls his eyes. “There is no purpose. Sometimes the purpose can just be, you know, enjoying it. You don’t plan on breeding me, right?”
Damian can feel his eyes bulge. “You said you were on birth control!”
“And I am,” Jon assures, trying to calm him. “My point is, why have sex if we’re not attempting to breed? Well, because I’m in heat, my body wants to breed. But also, because it feels good. It’s fun. Have a little fun, for once, Damian.”
“I have plenty of fun,” he responds, chilly. He hates being told what to do and how to feel.
“I know taking down villains is your number one thing, Dami. But you’re allowed to let yourself feel, too. To be more than the trained assassin. I guess I’ve been gone too long. I haven’t been here to remind you you’re a person, too, not just a weapon.”
Jon’s words burn and Damian latches onto his shoulder, biting out his anger and frustration, and something else he can’t identify nagging at the back of his mind. Jon doesn’t flinch, his skin impenetrable, but he lets out a sound like maybe he can feel it and likes it.
“Let me help you remember,” Jon says and, he gently pulls himself from Damian’s teeth and dips his head to suck at one of Damian’s nipples. It does nothing at first, just feels hot and wet, which is fine, but not astounding.
Then Jon backs off, pulling an inch away and blows on it, a cool breath so cold, Damian thinks he must be using his powers. It sends Damian through the roof – metaphorically – body curving up into Jon’s above him, his legs tightening where they’re still wrapped around Jon’s waist. The cry he lets out is more like a war-cry than anything he’s ever made by himself during his ruts.
“That’s it,” Jon croons, then leans in again.
He repeats the move several times, before switching to Damian’s other nipple and repeating the process there. Soon enough, his nipples feel responsive to the air in the room; they’re peaked, hard, and a deep rose, both aching for touch and shying away from oversensitivity. His hands clench in the bedsheets and his cock is rock hard.
“This is embarrassing,” he grits out between his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. “I am an alpha. And here I am, begging like an omega, being taken apart by one.”
“Do you think I am weak, Damian?” Jon asks, pulling back. Damian can feel the space between them as much as if it were solid. “Look at me.”
He shakes his head.
A hint of linen scent hits him hard and he finds himself responding to it and opening his eyes against his will.
“I’m an omega. Am I weak? Would you rather be with another alpha?” Jon asks, eyes for once unreadable, blue glass staring at Damian. His black eyelashes make the blue brighter.
“You are Kryptonian,” Damian says.
“And half human. The Eradicator once said I needed to be cleansed. It did not understand humans or second genders. Do you also believe that?”
“Never,” he hisses. Jon might be a reckless super, but he is good and pure. A hero.
“Then why do you think, because you enjoy something, that it makes you weak, like an omega, if I am not weak?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he says. He knows if his father heard him speak just then, he would have called Damian a petulant child. Richard would have summed it up simply with brat.
Jon dips his head again, kissing his way across Damian’s chest. The fingers of his right hand trace across Damian’s muscles, a featherlight touch that seems appreciative. “I wouldn’t understand decades of traditional assumptions about gender status? Stereotypes? I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be different? You’ve never suggested that before, Damian.”
Damian groans, his body pressing into Jon’s once more.
“It’s alright,” his friend continues, voice a low rumble. “You can still knot me, even if I top you.” With that, Jon moves quick, unclasping Damian’s legs and rising onto his knees. He reaches behind him and pushes what must be two fingers into his asshole immediately and all Damian can do is stare. “I’m sorry, it’s been too long. My body wants your cock. I promise I’ll let you take charge again after.”
Then his hand is gripping Damian’s cock firmly, his own standing proud, leaking onto his pale skin, and he adjusts, then presses himself down on Damian. It takes a moment, a fumble because of how slick Jon is, how neither can see, but then the head of his cock pops in and both of them moan; Jon’s high, Damian’s more of a deep growl.
There’s resistance as Jon descends, his hole tight. But he’s also so, so slick, and burning hot. Enough that, with a simple placement of Jon’s fingertips on his hips, he’s arching up and into Jon, pushing his cock in one thrust, his head falling back and his mouth open.
Jon falls over him once he’s fully sheathed, his hands resting on Damian’s chest, their faces close enough to kiss. Neither move to do so, though, both just holding out against a wave of pleasure.
“Damian,” Jon pants. “You’re so thick. Filling me up so good. No one else has—” He groans once more as Damian shifts an inch. “Slow, Dami. Pull out slow, then back in slow.”
He follows Jon’s words, moving as the cadence of his speech goes up and down and soon Jon is breathing too heavy to keep speaking, but Damian maintains the pace. Each slide is better than the last, Jon’s body clenching down, pulsing around him. He’s wet and hot and it’s driving Damian mad. None of his heat aides have ever felt like this, not even the best fleshlight he owns.
His hands grip Jon’s waist, fingers spread wide, almost encircling his entire waist. Even filled with cock, he can feel excess slick easing the way, building up around where their bodies join. It fills the air with the same slick sounds as when Damian rimmed Jon, but they’re louder, even more of a squelch and inside, his alpha salivates. Tells him to stuff Jon further, to play with that slick, but Damian ignores it.
“Oh, Damian. You’re doing so well. A little faster. Please,” Jon pleads above him and Damian attempts to comply, shortening his thrusts in order to speed up until he’s only moving about an inch of his cock. It keeps Jon split at the widest point. “Oh, yes. Fuck, like that.”
Jon’s cock is dripping, a small puddle landing on Damian’s stomach now, instead of just catching on Jon’s body. He separates one hand and swipes his fingers through it. He brings it up to his nose, curious. It smells like sex, like male, with that barest bit of something fresh tossed in.
He considers tasting it, but before he can, Jon grabs that hand and places those fingers in his own mouth, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he sucks hard on them. His hair swings in his face, his cheeks are red, and there’s a drop of sweat on his brow.
The action sends Damian into a spiral. He moves faster still, thrusting harder, until there’s almost no movement of Jon on his cock, only Damian grinding into his ass and the wet sounds of their coupling. He takes his fingers from Jon’s mouth and uses that had to jack him off, entranced by the sight of Jon’s cock with its red head moving in and out of his slick grasp.
“Damian, just a little to the left if you can—oooooh!” Jon keens, Damian having hit the spot where Jon wanted him, apparently. “Yeah, so good, you’re going to fill me so good, I can’t even. Rao, it’s so good, I knew you’d be good at this, how could you not be. I’m, I’m coming!”
Jon begins to spurt into his hand, hot trails of come striping Damian’s stomach and pectorals. His body becomes unbearably tight and Damian’s knot pops, sitting just under Jon’s ass, trying to get in, but it can’t, it’s too tight—
Then, as Jon’s shakes begin to calm, his body releases a new wave of slick and he loosens, the channel not quite as tight, and with biological instinct overcoming Damian’s rational sense, he grips Jon’s hips harder and forces himself in until Jon’s ass is seated on his knot and milking it as he shivers through the end of his orgasm. Those tremors, massaging his cock, send Damian into his own orgasm and he comes and comes.
And comes and comes. He comes until Jon opens his eyes wide and stares down at him, mouth dropped open. Then he trembles again, steadily and harder and bursts out with another cry, his ass even tighter than his last orgasm, as he comes again, only minutes later, just from Damian’s knot.
He falls onto Damian’s chest, his hands moving up to scramble at his shoulders, then into his hair as he breathes like a human just completing a marathon. His body continues to milk Damian of his orgasm, and he can feel spurts of come still leaking out, filling Jon more.
Abstractly, he notices the candle on the dresser has burned itself out, a flicker of smoke smell before its drowned out once more by the scent of an omega in heat.
Eventually, both of them stop quaking, but Damian’s knot isn’t anywhere ready to deflate.
Jon lifts his head, murmurs into his ear, “I don’t suppose you know how long you knot?”
“It’s normally ten minutes,” Damian states, noting his own breath is coming faster and harder, as though he’s three hours into training with one of the other Bats. “But since I’ve never, with someone else—”
“There’s no way to know,” Jon sighs.
Damian hums, closing his lips on an apology.
“It’s fine, Damian. I can feel you thinking. I just, should have been more prepared. My body doesn’t tire easily, but it’s still easier to be knotted when I’m not on top.”
Damian thinks and then, engaging his own strength and abdominals, flips them over, making sure his knees take more of his weight than the junction where their bodies are bound. Jon sighs happily as his legs spread out on either side of Damian. He looks up, brushing a hair from Damian’s brow. His face is soft, pleased.
He leans up to offer his mouth for Damian to kiss. He doesn’t quite engage all of the techniques he learned earlier, but Jon seems happy enough, if his little sounds are anything to go by.
“Mm, Damian,” he says, breaking away. “That was…mind-blowing. Pretty sure I’d be pregnant right now if I could be.”
Damian blushes and turns away, burying his face in Jon’s graceful neck.
“No, mm, it’s good. It means, when you want a family, it’ll be like your dad, collecting all the children. Your mate will be very happy.”
“I—” he shuts his mouth, nibbles at Jon’s neck instead.
“You what?” Jon persists, lifting Damian’s face so that they can look at each other.
“Do you want a mate?” he ends up asking instead of his original comment.
Jon tilts his head, blue eyes searching Damian’s face. “Of course, I do. Doesn’t everyone?”
Damian takes a breath. It’s awkward, talking about this generally, even more so, intimately tied. “I never really thought about it. Until you came back.”
“I know you didn’t have a heat partner but—”
“No. I didn’t even think about a mate. Sex, less so. But a mate is what I’ve been constantly told I need; from the time I was ten. It was all about the al Ghul name and how I had to choose someone. Then I became part of my father’s house and it was no longer only the al Ghul’s demanding, but the Gotham press asking.”
He’s terrified in a way he hasn’t been since he was a child. But never let it be said that Damian Wayne is a coward.
“It wasn’t until you asked, that I thought about it.”
Jon tilts his head, clearly trying to understand what Damian is saying.
“You talk about my eventual mate being happy. But would you be happy? Do you want pups?”
It dawns on Jon then, Damian can see it in the spark of his eyes, the lines of his expression. Damian buries his face once more in shame.
“There’s something wrong with me,” he whispers.
“No, oh no, Damian,” Jon says, his voice less deep than before, less sex-soaked and now more the timber Damian is used to. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Did you like this?”
“Our bodies are compatible. You are…aesthetically pleasing,” Damian mumbles.
“Did you like it?” his friend pushes.
“I like you I think.”
Jon sweeps one large hand down Damian’s back, to his ass, and back up, before resting on the space between his shoulder blades.
“Then yes, I would be happy. Damian, even when we first met, when you were a mean brat who got me in trouble with my dad, well, I knew who Robin was. And you might have been shorter, but I looked up to you. I had a crush on you before we became friends, before either of us presented. I don’t think I would have cared if you’d been an omega like me. I still would want you, Damian. Didn’t you get that, when I asked the other day?”
“I thought it was perhaps more a curiosity.”
Jon taps at Damian’s temple. “Less thinking, more asking.”
Damian shifts and it causes his knot to pull at Jon. He’s still hard. In fact, he thinks his cock is still hard.
Jon moans, light, under him, echoing his thoughts. “God, how are you still this hard? You suggest you don’t like sex, but yours is the best knot I’ve experienced.”
Pride and jealousy war inside Damian at that statement. Jon seems to notice, given his chuckle – which turns into another moan because Damian decides he’s done talking and only wants to hear the sound of their sex.
He begins to fuck into Jon again. There’s only a half inch that can be spared, but he begins to try other things, circles with his hips, short staccato bursts. Then he gets up on his knees, Jon letting out a deep sigh of air because every moment Damian’s cock is tugging at his rim, until Damian gets him situated how he wants, legs slung over his shoulders, bent in half.
Damian leans his upper body back so he can get a good view of his cock inside Jon, and he begins the circles again, little grinds. Jon’s body is spread, obscene, his hole tight and puffy around his cock, stretched to its seeming limit. He’s wet inside, definitely still producing slick, but with Damian’s knot, it can’t make it outside to slick the skin.
He spits in his hand, wincing at the need, at the glob, and then slides his fingers around Jon’s rim, trying to make sure nothing tears or gets uncomfortable. On the one hand, he’s sure, like earlier, Kryptonian physiology can take it, but why make it? It’s Jon who is teaching him this can be more than a necessary biological chore, and it satisfies the alpha in him, seeing his friend slicked with Damian’s spit, to know he’s taking care of his omega partner.
Damian fucks Jon back into hardness, fucks until Jon’s long lithe body is trembling from its fourth orgasm, come arching up to his chin, his limbs quite literally shaking in an out of control way. He fucks until he himself is spurting once more. He feels his own come squishing around his cock, sloshing inside the super, and Jon presses his hand on his lower abdomen, groaning with what sounds like delight as he murmurs praise at how full he is, at how he can feel Damian’s come and his cock.
The words or the amount must satisfy Damian’s alpha because his knot finally goes down and he slides out with a wet pop, come spilling after, white gobs oozing out of Jon’s hole that no longer looks as tight. He’s by no means gaping, but he looks loose and soft. Jon’s ass clenches down on the come, trying to keep it in himself and when that doesn’t work, Damian watches as he slides his own fingers back inside himself, awkward angle be damned, plugging himself up.
When he catches Damian’s somewhat disgusted face, he shrugs as much as he can when he’s bent in half. “I said I liked come. Since you obviously don’t that much, before we do this again, one of us needs to invest in some toys. I want to stay full.”
The underlying assumption is when, not if, and Damian leans down, scent-marking Jon’s neck in a frenzied alpha response.
His free hand brushes back Damian’s hair and he laughs, soft. “Yeah, you like that, huh?
Now that he’s scenting, now that there’s a discussion of maybe and mate and next time, Damian’s alpha instincts demand he claim what’s his, the urge suddenly strong. He noses at Jon’s scent glands, the only part of his body he can be truly marked.
“No biting,” Jon says, tone indulgent. “We should wait.”
Damian growls and attempts to suck a hickey in the spot instead. The voice that is non-rutting-Damian in the back of his head knows Jon is right. Jon will leave again, back to the future and the Legion, it’s only their first heat together. Damian knows he can’t keep Jon here by claiming him, won’t do that even as his alpha senses are demanding he do exactly that, that Jon is his, his, mine. He won’t betray his friend’s trust like that.
But his alpha is begging to claim Jon, thinks it will keep him from leaving, will mean Jon has to listen to him. So, with every bit of civility Damian has in him, he shifts his mouth from Jon’s scent gland where he can be claimed with a mating bite and moves to his shoulder and latches on there, instead.
Jon’s body arches beautifully, pressing him further into Damian’s body, exposing his neck further. When Damian pulls off, he sees he hasn’t made a mark. It leaves him unsatisfied.
“You know, if it would make you feel better,” Jon says, and when Damian looks up, his brow and lips are pursued in careful thought. “I bet when we get some toys, we could get a collar, too.”
Damian’s vision whites out as he imagines Jon, neck bared to a thick black collar. He’s torn between the sign of the Demon or a bat as the claiming symbol. Either way, it would have to be gold, something to blend in with Jon’s colors.
“Oh, you do like that,” Jon purrs. “It’ll work, at least until we decide on the bite.”
“I’ll make you a collar,” Damian decides. Jon blushes, that pretty pink spreading across his cheeks and down his throat.
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Leather, from his Robin suit, he thinks.
Jon hauls him down then, kissing him and the two get lost in the rest of their heat-rut session for another day and night. Damian learns he enjoys more sexual acts than he would have thought, but that what most pleases him is making Jon happy. He soaks up every sound, every whisper of his name, every time Jon directs him to make him come harder, stronger. He learns Jon likes dirty talk, and while it’s awkward at first, his mouth shaping his words he once found beneath his notice, it earns him more praise from Jon, and he finds he likes that even more than coming inside of Jon. Knowing he’s made Jon feel good, being told he’s doing something right.
Jon continues to take the lead, not only directing him, showing him, but in attitude too, and Damian’s concerns over being a bad alpha slowly fade. He still provides the care, ensuring they both eat and drink what Alfred provided, and he still cleans himself up after each round. Eventually, Jon acquiesces to being wiped down when Damian indicates it makes his alpha happy; they come to a compromise where he leaves Jon filthy inside, but fresh and come-free on the outside.
When Jon’s body no longer demands his cock and the slick slows, they stay in bed, Jon curled into his side while Damian stretches out, keeping the touch minimal. He’s feeling a little raw and overextended, touch too much right now, while before he couldn’t get enough.
His bedroom is thick with the scent of their sex and their combined scents. A little clove mixed with grass, some musk with that sweet-burnt sugar, saffron-drenched air. His alpha is calm for the first time in days.
“Long distance is going to be hard, you know,” Jon says, after they’ve slept for a few hours. The sun has been up for at least two and Damian’s relatively sure he heard Tim’s motorbike an hour ago. “Saturn Girl isn’t going to let me go every heat, you know.”
Damian swallows. “If you need…I understand—”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Damian. The future has even better sex toys than Gotham in the twenty-first century and I can take suppressors. Some people chose to never have a heat or rut.”
Damian wonders if he could ask for them. Not for always. This rut was good, the only one he’s ever enjoyed. But he knows, once Jon is gone, his body will still be a slave to biology and it’s only ever gotten in the way of what he wants.
“I just mean, I won’t get to visit every month. Even every other. A lot won’t change; we’ll have to depend on letters sent through the portals, still. Are you okay with that? It doesn’t mean forever. And you can visit me.”
“I can?” he asks, surprised. “I would have expected they’d need to erase my mind, to ensure no future events are corrupted by past knowledge.”
Jon makes a face at him. “Yes, that’s exactly what Saturn Girl said, but I don’t care. We’ll figure it out.”
“’Figuring it out,’ is something you are good at, Jon. I, as you know, prefer to have a plan.”
“So, we’ll plan,” Jon says, pressing his body up and over so he can kiss Damian gently on the chin, the nose, his forehead, then back down to his mouth.
“Jon,” Damian says, low, and Jon beams. It’s the first time Damian’s said his name in bed.
“We’ll plan,” his friend – his mate? – says, once more, soft. Then he gets a mischievous look in his eyes. “Until then, you should get up and go make me that collar, my prince, before I have to leave, back to the future.” He swats at Damian’s ass, grin wide on his handsome features.
Damian sniffs, nose in the air, in mock protest, but he climbs out of bed to get in the shower and go greet the Bats as they return. Perhaps eat a real breakfast, prepared by Alfred.
~~~
Four days later, after Jon has returned to the Legion – red leather choker hidden under his costume’s collar – he receives a new parchment letter from his grandfather.
A Super will do quite nicely. You will have strong heirs.