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At first, it had little to do with passion or love.
It was feral, almost in a ludicrous way, how they attracted one another, ignoring any rule of logical thinking and free will.
There was something intrinsic to Damian's body that made him perfect for this - standing on his toes, stumbling over his pants tugged down to his ankles. Under Gotham's starry sky his presence was no more than a shadow among many others, darkness surviving in darkness, as he belonged to the nocturnal scenery, to the cold air that tickled his naked legs and shaken his body in arousal and trepidation.
He did not beg for what was coming, yet a remote part of his mind - for too long ignored and neglected - was overflowed with hushed pleas and prayers. A quiet please, touch me, take me, that his heart understood and cherished, while his pride was denying pleasure.
It should've been humiliating for a warrior conceived as he'd been. He'd come to this world as a result of wrath and anger. Born to kill and conquer, not to bend over one of Gotham's roofs in search of fulfilling such low desires.
Of flesh and dependency.
Damian wanted to feel what it meant to be used, letting someone else decide, leading the way towards a direction that everything was but calculated.
He wanted to relish the pressure of another body against his, sharing warmth and savouring the metallic taste in his mouth whenever he bit his tongue.
And Jason wasn't gentle. Brutal would've not described his fervour either.
There was a certain fret in his gestures, as though an imminent danger was looming over them, threatening to take these moments of closeness away from him. He'd always been on the run, a lost soul in a lost town - his moaning and his clutching at Damian's hips were so violently Gotham, the latter would've laughed at it if he still had breath to spare in his lungs.
Jason enjoyed sex with a zeal akin to the frenzy of a criminal breaking the law. He did not confine himself to take, to mark Damian as his - it was a constant challenge against the self too, proving there was no limit of space or time to enjoy Robin's body under him.
His hands dug into Damian, clasping at his waist, and uttering just close to the shell of his ear. It was indecent, the litany echoing against his cheeks, compliments tainted by harshness and care all at once.
You're taking my cock so well, said Jason when his nails plunged into flesh, leaving a trace of their presence.
Dark red as blood on Damian’s brown skin, whose scent was intoxicating, and whenever Jason found the right spot to nuzzle his nose against, his words became sluggish and confused.
"’want my scent all over you."
Not an invitation, yet too weak to sound like an order.
But that was how Jason liked to finish, pushing Damian, towering over him as he lazily stroked his own cock.
The view of Robin's cape soaked in cum and sweat made his alpha’s instincts tempestuous. A sense of possession, mine, mine, mine, swelling inside his chest.
As an artist admiring their polished masterpiece, he stared down at the mess Damian had become ― clumsily adjusting his costume, head hidden under his hood.
And when Damian looked up, darting a glance at him, Jason could see a fury in his eyes, so intense the domino mask he was wearing could nothing to conceal it. It screamed hate ― no, disgust, as though he despised Jason more as the same mistake was repeated.
Filled with regret and longing, the air of Gotham weighed on their shoulders, leaving Red Hood to his own company.
🩸
It was a simple proportion: as their affair went on and on, the distance between them seemed to increase as well.
Jason noticed it for the first time by accident, while he stared at Damian’s back hunched before him. They’d fucked like this in the past too, squeezed in a dark corner of the batcave as soon as Bruce went back to his shallow, billionaire persona in the outside world.
Jason had always liked the quietness of the cave and now, chills overwhelmed him, imagining what the mighty and scary Batman could’ve told him in a similar situation. Seeing little Robin, the prodigal son, yielding in the hands of the family’s black sheep would’ve probably broken a few hearts, even Bruce’s cynical one.
It was twisted how Jason felt gratified by that potential scenario. The risk of getting caught made everything better ― Damian’s skin felt tastier on his tongue, the saltiness of his sweat appealed to Jason's craves, lapping and sucking at his nape like a man satiating his thirst.
“Don’t bite,” Damian muttered through his teeth, hips sinking down. A move he’d had chance to perfect, making it his, as if it was the most natural thing to do. As if he belonged there, on Jason’s cock, and nowhere else.
“I would never,” he babbled back, quietly. A bitter laughter left his lips as Damian’s body tensed up, revealing wariness which should’ve offended Jason, yet his face showed no surprise whatsoever.
He knew of the oddness and limits in their relationship.
He could tell by how they avoided each other’s eyes, not making love ― or other crappy words people used to describe it ― never face to face, never breathing the same bliss in. Perhaps it was a way to cope with their inability to deal with emotions, fleeing like the cowards they were.
Damian wasn’t called demon or brat for no reason. He was an asshole half of the time, and the other half was him being calm and impenetrable. Not the charmingly mysterious kind, but the typical Wayne’s stoniness, embellished by his Al Ghul killer tendencies.
Despite all this, Jason was there, his groans and the sound of wet skin meeting skin echoed in the deep of the cave. He couldn’t do without the heat coming off Damian above him, sat on his lap and fucking himself over his cock with such eagerness that made the elder wonder if they really couldn’t stand each other as they claimed.
Damian was enjoying it, didn’t he?
Jason wanted to reply yes, he clearly did, otherwise they would’ve not thrown themselves into this loop, a continuous repeat of the same old, bad habits.
But apart from that, Damian barely spoke while doing it, not now, as Jason trusted inside him, hitting that sweet spot which made him slightly tremble. Not ever, for what he could remember.
The little bastard wasn’t used to whispering obscene words, didn’t display appreciation through caresses or moans or ― something, anything would’ve been fine for Jason’s ego.
Thus, the silence blinded him like the most annoying and involuntary seconds of consciousness. Droplets of sweat ran along his forehead and with his bare hand he swept them away, heart clenching at the sudden realisation.
Was he not enough? Was he an incompetent alpha? Too weak?
He couldn’t recall what taste Damian’s orgasms had ― were they as sweet as Jason was trying to picture them? Spicier?
The void emptying his mind was dreadful, no reminiscence of Damian’s pleasure in his memories, not a single hint enough to give him answers.
And when the end came, he was left to his wandering and the ghost of a touch lingered on his limbs.
🩸
Damian’s fingers grasp at the messy sheets, grinned teeth and eyes shut as Jason was pounding him from behind. He followed an erratic rhythm, at times hitting rougher inside Damian, cock hard and throbbing in its path to climax. It wasn’t too egoistic nor too generous ― sex with Jason was a balanced game of taking and giving.
Damian liked the roughness, the frantic moves of Jason’s hips thrusting into him. It was nasty, in its own way, because the elder knew no candour, didn’t shy away from seeking physical pleasure and Damian could tell from how he was handled, carefully but with no hesitation, that Jason had plenty of past experience under his belt.
Another omega would’ve been jealous of it, resentful of the idea of Jason fucking someone else. Perhaps a more graceful partner, an omega who knew how to beg and plead and strike the right nerves to make their alpha feel powerful and in control.
Damian couldn’t do any of that ― he’d never tried, truth be told, but there was a natural integrity that made it impossible for him.
He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t docile, and that was a like it or lump it situation: if his independence made Jason disappointed, then he should’ve found someone different.
Easier said than done, as Damian couldn’t deny a certain emotional attachment between them. He didn’t know if Jason really had flings with other people, and a part of him was scared, if not terrified to ask.
He was in no place to demand loyalty in their relationship.
They were nothing, after all.
Not mates, barely confidants.
Jason had never proposed to bite him, and Damian excluded the possibility because he didn’t want to get marked, signing for a commitment he considered foolish, redundant for their kind of bond.
And there were days when he couldn’t bear with anything Jason said or did.
Tonight too, despite feeling great and only an inch close to rapture, the feeling of Jason’s above him was contradicting.
He’d been the first to initiate this, presenting himself in the middle of the bed, hips exposed, face down, drowning into the softness of his pillow. He assumed Jason liked this, as he could be heard groaning and grunting louder, harder whenever he sank deep into Damian.
It always began with a slow, contained pace ― of his cock sliding between Damian’s cheeks, head pushing into his hole, already gaping and desirous to be filled up. And then, as though he couldn’t do otherwise, Jason’s voice raised to a point where only his groans resonated in the room.
“You pant worse than an animal,” Damian viciously spat out, lying prone and with Jason’s chest leaning against his back. He could feel the sweat sticking their bodies together, wet and warm. An intimacy he would’ve appreciated if only Jason’s heavy breath wasn’t hitting his cheek, so intensely he couldn’t even hear his own thoughts anymore.
“At least someone enjoys it,” Jason replied with sarcasm, “a piece of wood is less frigid than you.”
“What’s the matter, your alpha ego is wounded because no one is telling you how big your dick is?” Damian smirked. A sigh coming from Jason hit his nape, suggesting wrath and insecurities that were left unsaid.
It was nonetheless heavy, the air between them. The shift was predictable, as Damian’s nose picked Jason’s scent getting sour, arousal turned into rage. Yet, underneath that façade, a hint of distress could be perceived.
Jason hiccuped, holding back wrath rather than a weeping, or so Damian wanted to believe.
“You’re an asshole. A real piece of shit.”
🩸
“Todd, stop being so loud,” Damian admonished him when they finally found themselves alone, the others being but a mere silhouette close to the batmobile. They could see them debating on their next plan from there, Red Robin looking at Batman with a frown on his face, as he always had whenever he listened to Bruce with commitment.
“What the hell are you talking about now,” Jason replied, shoulder resting against a pillar of a building. “And no names on the field, you idiot.”
“Why are you even here,” Damian grumbled, nervously adjusting his utility belt tighter around his hips.
Something seemed off.
Jason couldn’t put a finger on it, and it would’ve been unwise to draw conclusions from a simple gesture, but Damian was rarely, if ever, this jumpy during patrol. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, squirmed in his costume and rubbed his neck when Batman wasn't checking on them.
And Jason could sense his scent, soft and almost imperceptible in Gotham's chill midnight. Of cardamom, earthy and itching to his nostrils. Then came a wave of raisins over him, such a stark contrast of sweetness that made his knees weak and his mind filled with thoughts like Damian needs help, your omega, what kind of alpha would let his partner deal with this alone.
Shortly followed by an urgent feeling of longing, because he knew how Damian looked without clothes, he knew where his mating gland was and how strong his scent could become in times of need, but they've never spent a heat together.
Damian had an unspoken rule about sharing with Jason - it was simply not allowed, and the alpha never bothered to ask if it was for the fear of getting caught by Bruce or just because Damian didn't feel at ease enough to trust him.
Heat.
Damian's heat was approaching, which should've been impossible, considering Batman and his allies used patches and suppressants during patrol.
"Robin," Jason called him, biting down a growl that was forming in his throat, ready to be released.
Damian huffed, crossed his arms against his chest and, stubbornly proud as only he could be, he averted his eyes. There were better things to stare at, rather than Jason’s pitiful yearning. "Do not talk to me."
Jason would've barked back louder on any other occasion, but now he wasn't sure if Damian was aware of his situation. "Does B know?" He asked. "I doubt he would've let you leave home like this."
"Like what, exactly?"
Damian was trying to make a point. He was able to handle it himself, he fought against enemies and dangers worse than a foolish heat. It was asinine, to say the least, renouncing to patrol only for fleeting issues.
His heat was coming, but the filth in Gotham would've not waited for him.
Evil did not sleep, didn't rest while he should've been nesting and taking care of his own body.
"You know it already," Jason slurred, catching a whiff of it once again, even beyond his helmet. "You fucking stink, go home."
"Do not order me around." Damian's response suggested outrage, as though the idea of leaving a battle was blasphemous, an utter disrespect to what he was, what he stood for. Robin was as brave as Batman and could be deadlier than Red Hood and the toys with which he liked to scare bad people around.
Damian Al Ghul Wayne never compromised.
And like that he tugged his cape, moving forward and leaving Red Hood behind.
🩸
Batman used to call them safe houses, the shelters he had all scattered around Gotham.
Damian considered the definition amusing, as they didn’t resemble a house at all ― cold, hidden buildings with no past or future. Most of them had been unused for years, even before his birth.
They were helpful as backup plans, alternatives in case something was going to happen to the manor and the batcave; but apart from that, it was easy to tell the majority was just left as they were.
Father checked on them from time to time, making sure that there were no violations or thieveries, but that was all.
Batman used to call them safe houses, and Damian had something to say about the surveillance too, because he was sneaking in one without encountering resistance, no alarm or hyper secret codes to block him in the hallway, labelling him as the intruder he was.
One less problem for Robin, he thought, walking through the main door always on alert.
The initial silence that welcomed him suggested no one was there, no one wasn’t expecting him either, which made him feel conflicted ― he had left the manor for a reason, jumping from his balcony. He’d tiptoed away and was hoping that Alfred would’ve not noticed his absence.
The whole operation had been easy, too easy for him. His intuition was telling him that a calamity was imminent, perhaps father knew about his little escape already and warned about his arrival.
Maybe Jason knew he was here.
But that didn’t explain the stillness surrounding the house.
Not a single sound came from the main room ― of Jason’s sparring alone or cooking a fast dinner in the small kitchen the shelter had to offer. Neither noises of his breath, so familiar to Damian’s ears that it was impossible for him to miss it.
He sighed, taking off the hood from his head and wandering aimlessly. He was visiting for the first time, after knowing where Jason lived. Truth be told, he didn’t have a fixed residence, moving here and there from a safe house to another.
Damian had come to know this from the hearsay flying around the manor, of Bruce and Tim and Dick speaking about Jason when he wasn’t there with them.
Not always in positive terms, but it was nothing he’d never heard before. All things father had been saying to Jason personally for a while now, about his ethics and grey morality.
Wherever he went, Red Hood was followed by a kind of infamous reputation, fascinating and deplorable at once. Jason’s attitude had his allure, Damian couldn’t but admit it, but in their intimacy he wasn’t always rough or untouchable as Red Hood liked to show himself.
Their last arguments proved it, and Damian had been thinking about certain words they’d thrown at each other, what they’d implied and how contradicting they were compared to their obvious physical affinity.
Thus, he was there, seeking for something he couldn’t even name.
A reconciliation? A fleeting peace?
Damian didn’t know what he wanted. On the other side, he questioned Jason’s ability to find an appropriate solution.
Surprisingly, a first, timid answer could be found there, in a random corner of what was supposed to be a living room. A spartan place with an old sofa and other essential comforts. A small, quite vintage TV and a table full of bottles of water, all aligned in a tidy line.
From the soft glow of a lamp emerged a shadow, faintly taken by a tremble when it moved back and forth in the room.
Damian recognised Jason by his posture, a bit hunched as he was absorbed in reading a book folded in one hand. The other held a cigarette, bringing it close to his mouth in a tense, yet captivating gesture.
His lips always puckered a little when he smoked, sucking on the filter as if his life depended on it. As if that was the last cigarette he could savour before the world’s end.
He then paused there, in the middle of the room. Pensive, a hint of some hidden turmoil crossed his face before seeing him flipping a page with a certain gentleness that was so out of character.
Damian found himself at a loss of words.
His omega instincts kicked in, confused and charmed by Jason's presence alone. Such a soft confidence came off the way he carried himself, reading his book, muttering sentences while his cigarette laid between his fingers.
Sitting in the back of Damian's mind rest an urge to present himself, showing he could be good, he could be enough for his alpha. But any silliness was repelled by his rationality.
"Gonna watch me like that all night?" Jason whispered, glancing upon him with a sly expression. So, he knew.
He knew, and Damian stiffened, suddenly realising that a couple of minutes had passed by in total silence. Jason had every reason to sound pissed off by his bad manners, but he wasn't bothered by it. Amused, perhaps, because a small smirk was resting on his face, disappearing only when he puffed at his cigarette again.
From his parted lips came a gust of smoke, a thin mist that covered his scent so much that Damian wanted to step forward and nuzzle against his mating gland.
"How did you―"
Jason grinned, " I could smell you since you got in."
He was so accustomed to Damian's scent that it was normal to sense it from afar. There was something inherently sexual in it, an undertone that Jason didn't hide as he brushed his thumb on his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out for a mere second.
Damian swallowed down, knowing what that look meant. He'd seen it on many other occasions, especially in the beginning, when Jason still lacked the audacity of courting him but the fierceness of his gaze had been louder than words.
It screamed desire and I want to devour you, want to pin you down.
"You're in rut." Damian said, putting the clues together. Jason had a good sense of smell, he knew how to survive in the worst conditions and use his abilities at their full potential, but this case was clearly more than just training.
And Damian could sense it too, subtle, the arousal underneath the stench of smoke and the faint perfume of old paper.
"Yes." Jason slurred with the cigarette held between clenched teeth," yes, I am in rut."
His free hand was moving down along his chest, stopping between his legs, just at the band of his boxers.
Damian hadn't even noticed he wasn’t wearing any pants until now. It was inevitable, at that point, lowering his eyes. He could see it, restrained by the fabric around Jason's groin. A glimpse of his erection, half hard and twitching when Jason squeezed at it.
"Why are you here?"
It was a simple question.
And simple questions required simple answers.
Yet, Damian couldn’t speak, wetting his mouth as a pavlovian response to Jason’s irritation. He could picture it, feeling it on his tongue already - the taste of Jason’s cock, of seed sliding deep in his throat.
"Damian, you should go," it wasn’t an order.
Jason learned from his previous mistakes. It was harsh, sure, but it gave space for a little interpretation, as though Damian could actually pick another option and say no, I'm staying.
But was it what Jason wanted?
"Is it for my scent," Damian chirped sheepishly, "you never shared a rut with me."
It sounded more sorrowful than what he was feeling. He'd asked himself why they'd never got to the point of spending heats and ruts together, but the lack of answers hadn’t been a problem. Until now.
"You don't share your heats with me either, guess that's a draw," Jason's voice was gravelly, a raspy whisper that reached him despite the distance.
Goosebumps ran across Damian's nape, mouth almost watering as Jason resumed his reading and stuck the cigarette back to his lips.
"You said I reek." Damian muttered, flushed cheeks because he knew that sounded stupid. He should've not listened to his futile paranoia, but it was not an easy task.
"I certainly said that, yeah," Jason wasn't denying it.
A part of Damian knew it wasn't a big deal. There were plenty of alphas that hated their partners' scent. They didn't find any appeal in it, no arousal, no attraction. He was aware of the scientific explanation behind it, but deeper inside, close to his heart, his omega self was weeping.
His alpha didn't like him. He wasn’t a good partner. No one would've ever liked an omega so imposing, aggressive as he was.
Damian's scent got more bitter, matching with the despair he was feeling. He tried to hide it, squirming in his clothes in an attempt to appear impassive.
But Jason must've caught his reluctance, closing his book and sniffing the air like a predator would've done with his prey, so close to sensing blood and trepidation.
"Oh," he then sighed, blinking at Damian. "Oh fuck, Dami, I didn’t mean it in that way."
A rush of comfort, protection, pride washed over him, engulfed by Jason's presence. The latter was just an inch away now, without touching him yet and Damian couldn’t resist any longer.
It would've been cruel, denying himself from this. There was a natural urge, a crave whispering to his head that he wanted to be embraced, resting between his alpha’s arms.
He could, at last, melt in Jason's smoky scent - of gunpowder and rusted iron, so consuming that Damian couldn’t help but bury his face in the crook of his neck.
It was blissful and more honest, raw than whatever moment they'd shared in the past. Deeply engraved in Damian's psyche, more than the pleasure of sex or the adrenaline flowing in his veins during a fight.
"I have a rotten scent," he whined, surprised by his own shyness.
Jason held him tighter, daring to give a lick along his neck, nipping and leaving hickeys on him. "No, you don’t." His teeth were aching, holding back from taking a bite at Damian's gland and making him his.
Like a proper alpha would've done.
But Jason felt barely decent, mentally punishing himself because - what a stupid, idiotic of an alpha would treat an omega like that, making him feel bad about himself.
Someone like Damian, even! Who usually didn't lack self-confidence or pride.
"You're gorgeous," Jason muttered against his skin, cupping his cheeks, and tracing a trail of wet kisses all along his face. On his forehead first, and Damian’s lashes trembled at the touch, a faint sigh escaping his mouth.
"You're gorgeous and―" Jason stumbled upon his words, staring at Damian's lids closing slowly. "'could spend days just scenting you," he planted a peck on the bridge of Damian's nose, another on his cheek, the next one on the corner of his lips, going on and on until he could feel a faint giggle bubbling up in the omega's throat.
"I want to assist you," he said, their foreheads brushing one against the other. "Let me, Todd."
"Jason."
Damian hesitated, "Jason."
"Is your― what about your heat?" A whole week had already passed from their argument. They hadn't met each other ever since. Jason assumed Bruce had told Damian to rest, to take care of himself properly.
The thought of him spending his time alone, sulking and feeling inadequate made Jason's heart clench, a bleeding lump in his chest.
"It ended two days ago," Damian said but Jason could tell he was still a bit sensible to someone touching him. And that was making his inner alpha go crazy. "Father benched me for a week, told me I was reckless."
"He’s right, you were," it was odd, agreeing with Bruce for once.
Jason growled against Damian's neck again. "'m going to make you feel good now."
"Me too," he answered back, purring loudly. And fuck, Damian had never purred at him before, never stared in his eyes so feverishly as though his mind was fixed only on this. "I want you to knot me." His voice was limpid, a bizarre contrast to how impatient his face looked. " I want to feel you inside of me."
"You know you don't have to do this," from Jason came a watery laughter, overwhelmed by desire and pining, but nervousness too. Because Damian’s words felt patronising, as if he was trying to soothe his old insecurities away.
"What, I did not say you have a big dick yet,” he dared to reply, smirking as if he'd been able to read the elder's mind right now.
And it was clumsy, his attempt to please Jason. Comforting other people wasn’t exactly Damian's forte, but seeing him trying, licking his lips and pressing his body against Jason's bulge made the latter think his efforts were sincere.
"You're a brat," he bit his chin gently, Damian holding back a chuckle. "A little, spoiled brat.”
“But you like it.”
“Fuck yes,” Jason said, a mischievous grin foretelling one of his silly ideas. “I’m setting my own trap every time I listen to your shit.”
Damian squeaked as Jason carried him on his shoulder, holding him tight, with the same ardour he had always had, but his hands were ― trembling?
It was such an odd reaction that Damian couldn’t explain.
Was he nervous? That Jason Peter Todd?
“Jason?” He mused, a dazed oh escaping his lips when he was dropped on a bed.
They were in one of the adjacent rooms, colder and even more aseptic than the living room. It was quite anonymous for being Jason’s bedroom too, nothing that underlined his staying there.
Just a couple of books were left abandoned on a night table, Damian caught a glimpse of the names inscribed on the covers. Yeats, Tynan…
“I read poetry,” a timid cough, and Damian could’ve sworn he saw the tips of Jason’s ears turning red, as if there was something to be ashamed of. “Can’t waste three days only fucking my own fist.”
“This time is different,” Damian said, peeling the jacket and the hoodie he was wearing off. Jason’s eyes were fixated, observing every of his gestures, flicking his tongue as Damian popped on the bed again, with less layers of clothes.
“Todd―” his breath itched, “be quick.”
He rolled onto his stomach, bucking his hips high, enough to peel down his pants. It was slow, the wait as the first hint of skin began to appear before Jason’s eyes. He could feel his dick throbbing in his boxers, aroused by the mere thought of getting its way through Damian’s twitching hole.
Slick was trickling along his inner thighs already, making his skin glimmering under the faint light of a night lamp. Jason held himself back, almost drooling when Damian kicked his pants off and removed his t-shirt too, impetuous and impatient.
He was completely naked, hunching his back into a familiar position, face disappearing in the folds of the sheets.
“Dami,” Jason whispered, flopping on the bed to leave a single kiss behind his ear. “Turn around.”
He said softly, fighting back against the sense of embarrassment spreading over his face. He was blushing, he knew, he could feel the heat rising on his cheeks and a lone drop of sweat running along his jaw.
It was an odd request for them, despite being so ordinary for plenty of people.
The dullest sex he could offer to Damian, no fight for dominance, no display of strength ― an inner voice was telling him to not give in, not surrender to sentimental urges, for alpha men were made for taking and conquering and constantly proving their might.
Damian too, knew it ― a puzzled expression could be seen on his face, a frown so deep on his forehead Jason craved to kiss it away.
“’want to see you,” he hushed meekly instead, and a part of him was expecting Damian to laugh at it or smirking, at least, in the same manner he always did when he found something amusing.
Not in a funny way, but more as a mockery of things he considered pathetic.
Not worthy of his attention.
“Fuck,” Jason dismissed the tension with a giggle, an edge in his voice as he yelped, “if you’re more comfortable with―”
“It’s alright,” Damian said, out of breath. He looped his arms around Jason’s neck, dragging him down. The little thud of their bodies sinking on the mattress echoed in the room.
From where he was lying, he couldn’t see anything, barely acknowledging the grey shade of the ceiling above their heads.
His view was filled with Jason and him only ― his broad shoulders when he, at last, removed his t-shirt and with a hand brushed his hair back, smoothly, from falling over his face.
His skin was pale, emphasising old wounds and bruises scattered all over his chest. Damian couldn’t resist, and stretched an arm towards him, tracing with a fingertip the line of his autopsy scar.
And it hit him hard, the realisation of the experiences they had in common.
Dying and coming back was perhaps the most peculiar one, but there were so many other details popping in his head now.
“Alive and breathing,” Jason chuckled, taking Damian’s hand in his. He kissed the knuckles gently, once, twice, such a trivial gesture if compared to what they were going to do next. But Damian sighed poignantly, air caught in his throat, thinking he had never seen this side of Jason before.
“Please,” his begging took the elder off guard, heart swelling with pride. And it was foolish, how his face lightened up, as though until now he needed proof, an explicit evidence that their pining was mutual.
That Damian too, desired this as much as he did.
“’going to prepare you a little first,” Jason shushed him tenderly, brushing his lips on Damian’s temples.
A small pout appeared on his face, “no, I am ready.”
“’don’t want to hurt you,” Jason was beginning to feel feverish, his tongue resting numb in his mouth. He wanted to taste Damian, wanted to move and thrust inside him. “’don’t want to fuck this up again.”
His words were nonsense mumbled against Damian's neck, holding his breath to avoid being too loud.
Maybe it was the rut that made him behave like this, Damian thought. The need to fill something up, a hole to fuck, made him lose his mind, muttering as if this was his only and last opportunity to do the right thing.
As if he was seeking forgiveness.
Damian then remembered his own words – his complaint about Jason being too loud, how his groans and grunts during sex were annoying.
Alphas could be stupid, he found himself thinking, but he was in no place to judge, not since he’d spent his heat in contemplation, plagued with doubts similar to Jason’s.
“You won’t, I’m not delicate, look."
Jason struggled to focus now, on the verge of giving into his rut completely, but he could distinguish Damian’s body parts ― the latter was guiding him along his belly, going beyond his cock, down to his rim. It was wet already, the scent of his slick impregnated the air, mixed with sweat and the sound of his quiet breath.
Even now, despite the adrenaline rush, precum seeping over his abdomen, Damian was still calm.
Jason fiddled with his boxers, pulling them down on one go. His cock bounced out, hard and throbbing under Damian's curious gaze.
He was aware of Jason's physique, how the height difference between them made him appear towering, herculean in all his virtue and flaws too. He was just beautiful to look at, flexed muscles and intense blue of his eyes that seemed to darken just now, when slick dripped copious between Damian's legs.
A natural response of which he was shy of, but Jason was watching and a new wave of curiosity and approval in his scent made it less shameful. As if to imply that there was nothing wrong in enjoying it, soothing away his worries.
It was alright, Jason loved it too.
"I'll take care of it, Baby Bat," he muttered. His hands were slightly trembling as he rolled a condom over the head of his cock, slowly stretching it till the base.
Damian thought time was going terribly slow, slower than what his body wanted. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd been feeling like this, as though he had something to prove, a shadow of disappointment blossoming in his mind.
He opened his legs more to give space to Jason, just there in the middle. He drew his knees higher and spread his cheeks apart, showing his gaping hole and his cock spilling precum all over his skin.
"Move already," he whined and Jason - the bastard - tilted his head back, laughing softly and with a hint of genuine surprise to colour his cheeks.
"Don’t worry," he took Damian's thighs in his hands, a tight hold to help himself get closer. "We have all night."
Which was the sweetest threat Damian had ever heard.
It was a shame his heat had ended sooner. His cycle was rarely regular anyway, he couldn’t say if it was due to his lifestyle as a vigilante or a serious health issue. Nothing he'd ever talked about with Jason.
But now he was secretly hoping for this, spending their time together and relishing each other's company as proper mates would've done.
And letting Jason fuck him for three days straight was a delightful scenario.
Jason lined up, thrusting his hips towards Damian's. Gently, at first, controlling himself from moving too fast, giving time to Damian to suck air in. Anxiety and quietness filled his mind, which was trying to rationalise this - it wasn't their first time having sex, and Jason being into his rut wasn’t any different from how he had fucked Damian in the past.
Or perhaps, it was, but not in the way Damian was expecting.
Less rough, more patient.
And having to look at each in the eyes added a kind of intimacy that went beyond the simple act of fucking.
It was the closest thing they had to love, Damian thought. He had always abhorred that word, as there was an excessive optimism attached to it.
He wasn’t sure if he loved Jason yet, but he admired him - for standing for himself, for his morals and methods despite antagonising father frequently.
And again, Damian wasn't sure if he loved Jason, but he adored this.
There was a pleasant friction between their bodies, not painful but significant enough to make Damian squirm, feeling the head of Jason's cock tickling his hole.
He slided in quietly. The previous tension fell apart in an instant, Jason's mouth hung open and a low noise came from the back of his throat.
"Jesus," he moaned, observing with odd interest how his cock was disappearing inside Damian. "You feel so good, Dami, so fucking tight."
Damian purred, loud yet sheepishly. And his reaction must've hit a sweet spot in Jason, as he threw himself forward, the tip of their noses brushing one against the other.
They had kissed in the past.
Jason couldn’t remember the whens and the hows, but there was a memory of it in some remote corner of his mind, hidden beneath the sorrow and the anger a life like his brought. He couldn’t recall if he’d liked it back then, if he’d desired it as he was doing at the moment.
It was irrational, how he yearned for it, eyes lowering towards Damian’s mouth. It shone under the light, moistened by his saliva, lips puffy and swollen and-
He couldn’t look any longer, returning to Damian’s eyes, green and full of undeserved wonder. It was almost frightening, how expressive they could be, how many emotions they could convey. For a long time, Jason had thought of Damian like a sculpture made out of steel and iron.
Cold to the touch, difficult to bend and rigid, to an extent it was difficult to imagine him being able to feel at all.
But now here they were, Damian was purring ― at him, even! ― and his skin was warm, no, hot under Jason’s touch. His fingers drowned into flesh, into the plumpness of Damian’s thighs, dumbfounded by how the little Robin could seem so frail and deadly at once.
Or maybe, his apparently innocuous façade was exactly what made him the warriors he was, the little soldier with no master, owner himself of his own life.
And then there was Bruce too, of course.
Who would’ve thrown Jason out of Gotham if he knew.
“You’re quiet,” Damian whispered, frustrated. He then bumped Jason’s chin gently, daring to give a lick at his jaw as if to draw attention. “Why are you so quiet?”
Jason snorted, melting into those attempts to be cheered up, “wasn’t I too loud? How was it, ‘Todd, you pant like an―’”
“Do not mock me,” Damian looked funny in his brooding. A pout didn’t make his beauty falter, embellishing the frown on his forehead and his lips stretched in a thin line.
“Mocking you? Nah, I would never.” Jason speeded up a little, hips thrusting and pumping into him with controlled strength. Fast, but relishing every push, ears filled with the noise of his balls hitting Damian’s ass.
But it was a small kiss on the lips, just a fleeting peck, that made him clench around Jason's cock more. It tasted of tobacco, of all the cigarettes he had been smoking during the night, and Damian should’ve hated it, but it was so Jason, he couldn’t help but drowning into it.
The corners of his lips were bitter, and his tongue was licking and messily rolling inside Damian’s mouth, but it was somewhat cathartic, releasing weeks, months of frustration in one moment.
Damian felt so full, stuffed with Jason’s cock and pampered by his kisses. His eyes rolled on the back of his head when his knees were pushed higher, bodies grinding against each other.
At times quickly, at times with kindness, Jason pounded deep, deeper than he'd ever gone through, and in response, Damian's hands grasped at his neck with an affection he had just discovered to have.
"’m coming," Jason moaned, hiding himself in the crook of Damian's neck. At least, the scent was reassuring - it radiated comfort and satisfied pheromones. Which lead him to think is it okay, is the little brat enjoying it, repeated over and over in his mind.
"Please," Damian mouthed, leaving a wet kiss on his ear. “Please, please do.”
He knew he sounded stiff, strained if compared to the attention he was receiving. But nonetheless, Jason was hugging him, and replied to his purring with kisses and little bites peppered on his skin.
“I can’t even last for long,” Jason chuckled hysterically. He felt dizzy, confused as sobs escaped him, one, two, so many times he couldn’t but hide more into Damian’s neck. It stung, the shame, a sense of desperation that was pooling in his belly and should’ve not been there, not when he was expected to enjoy this. “’can’t fill you up like this, can’t give you pups, can’t―”
“Pups?” Damian asked.
Jason pushed himself up, just a little, enough to meet his eyes. He was expecting to find a reply, of disgust for sure, on Damian’s face. Jason knew how to recognise his hatred by now, from the way he wrinkled his nose whenever someone treated him like a child or underestimated his abilities. Damian wasn’t subtle about his arrogance nor in showing his ego ― but now, looking at him was like staring at a blank paper, an empty wall.
Something unreadable, no matter the eagerness with which Jason was searching for clues.
“Damn, I wasn’t supposed to say that,” he confessed, less convinced as Damian stood there, arms still lingering on his neck. “It’s the rut talking, I―”
For a second, Jason thought he was dreaming it, the heat, warmth spreading from the pit of his stomach. A shiver ran across his back, and he thought there must’ve been a mistake of some sort, both of them driven by the atmosphere, air so thick and with the scent of arousal and sweat floating around.
Damian was tightening around his cock, more and more, as a new wave of slick gushed out between his legs.
He liked it. He― Damian loved this.
“Wow,” Jason growled, his instincts were yelling at him ― Damian wants pups. Pups, fuck, my pups. Or perhaps, he was just into the idea of hearing Jason talking about it, which was a hot revelation on its own, as the latter would’ve imagined everything but this.
“You like this,” he ventured, still a bit stunned. “Really?”
Damian was looking at him through his eyelashes, lids trembling, and a faint blush made his cheeks a tone darker. He mewled just slightly, a low hum coming from his throat as he nodded with his head.
Jason couldn’t understand if it was part of a bigger scheme, an attempt to flirt, to tickle his inner alpha and made him feel better about sex, but it mattered little.
They could indulge in this fantasy for once.
“Jason,” Damian cooed, planting a timid kiss on his lips. He couldn’t understand why Jason was losing himself in his thoughts again, why being so serious about it, a badly timed rationality that didn’t fit in the context. Damian wasn’t going to get pregnant, that wasn’t part of their plans ― no bite, not mates. And while someone didn’t need to have a mate to be a parent, father and mother were an obvious example, theirs was just a pretence.
He arched his hips then, wrapping his legs around Jason’s waist to convince him to keep moving.
They resumed with a more irregular pace, of wet thrusts and clumsy embraces with the fear that letting go would’ve ruined the frenzy of the moment.
Jason moved inside him languidly, sometimes grunting again, which made Damian hold back a smirk. It would’ve been terrible to crack a joke, telling how Jason’s breath was tickling his face, like a faint caress with the scent of cheap cigarettes.
The typical fret was coming back in its full force, an obvious contrast to the kindness in which they had wallowed in at first. This was how Damian remembered Jason, giving and take, his shoulders trembling and the urge of biting Damian everywhere ― all over his chin, his neck, any place far from claiming him, but close enough to please his instincts.
And Damian was the first to come, orgasm washing over him as a surprising relief. He kept quiet, mouth agape as soundless moans got caught in his throat, making him weep silently instead. He could hear Jason’s voice somewhere in his mind, blurting things that he would’ve never confessed in a state of sobriety ― yes, let it go, perfect for my pups, going to take care of you ― and praises that faded away, becoming one with other wails of his.
Of what came next, he had no memories.
Pitch black, but comforting in its solitude. He let himself feel good and the darkness replied back, embracing him in a soothing sleep.