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Suppressants is a symbol of human rights. It’d helped omegas take control of their own bodies. It’d reduced unprosecutable sex crimes by more than 30% worldwide. It’d paved the way for more omega-centric health products that make being an omega marginally more bearable.
In Bruce’s case, it’d made him into the man he was.
It allowed him the freedom to pursue his cause. Training. Fighting. Protecting. It was all thanks to the little pill. He didn’t have time to nest and mate and push out little wailing creatures. He got a city to defend. Criminals to put away. An empire to run. Cutting-edge technology to develop. God-like deities to keep in check. He was BUSY.
In other words, he hadn’t had a heat in ten years.
Alfred kept telling him he had to watch his suppressants consumption. It might be perfectly safe, he would say, but it is not suited for prolonged use.
“Your body is not a machine, my boy.”- he would say, whenever the time of his heat was near- “You can’t push and expect it not to break.”
He would brush it off. Turned on his heels and walked away with the back cape billowing behind his back.
“God”- he panted, discreetly loosening the collar of his suit- “I should have listened to Alfred.”
He’d taken double the dose for today. Another pill is pushing it. The Watchtower is not a good place to OD on suppressants. Not only did no-one here have the necessary expertise to handle such a delicate situation, no-one here even knew he was an omega to begin with.
He didn’t regret hiding his second gender from them. Don’t get him wrong. He didn’t have anything against omegas. Omegas are strong. Compassionate. Competent. They had to be, with all the shit society throws at them daily. “Omegas are delicate”. “Omegas are hard-wired to be homemakers”. “Omegas can’t handle the trials and tribulations of life without a big, strong alpha to help them”-all the alphas and betas would say, and some of the omegas would even agree with them.
What a stinking pile of bullshit.
His comrades are all alphas and betas. His comrades wouldn’t understand. His comrades couldn’t even begin to imagine all the things he had to go through to be here. Worst case scenario, they would take advantage of him. He didn’t want to assume the worst out of Earth’s mightiest heroes. But every omega knows you can never be too careful, especially surrounded by super-powered alphas. Best case scenario, they would want to protect him, give him some kind of special treatment or hold him to some different standard. It was the last thing he wanted. He’d spent too long shaping the status quo into what would work best for them. He’d rather die than let some knuckle-head’s knot ruin all his hard work.
He'd got too much riding on this. On his ability to do his job for….8 more hours.
It had been more than 2 hours. Why wasn’t it working?
He was so hot, heat simmering low in his stomach, burning him up from the inside out. He felt…jumpy. Uneased. On edge. He flinched at the smallest sound. The hiss of the engine. The creek of the metal plates. The zap of electricity. He couldn’t keep still in front of the main monitors, kept looking over his shoulders. There was nothing there, well, except Hal Jordan. He couldn’t tell if it was a curse or a blessing that Jordan was his patrol partner for today. On the one hand, he is a lot to deal with. Inappropriate jokes. Overly casual demeanor. Lack of tactical skills. The list goes on and on. On the other hand, he was a beta, which means he wouldn’t be able to smell Bruce out as well as an alpha would. Would be less enticed to…get handsy, if it ever comes down to that. Would be able to keep his cool and fight, in case Bruce were…incapacitated. On a personal level, he was…alright. Upstanding. Reliable. If push comes to shove, he could be trusted to help Bruce through it. Could even be persuaded to keep his secrets. For how long, though, he wasn’t too sure…
Jordan caught his eyes, brilliant in the darkness of space. How reckless of him, forgoing his domino.
“Just you and me, babe.”- he’d said jokingly, standing way too close for Bruce’s comfort- “No need to be so formal.”
He smiled from his station, mouth stretched so wide it almost reached his ears. Bruce felt something inside him throb, warmth perfusing every of his cell. He was suddenly too aware of his body. The touch of Kevlar as it dragged against his skin. The sound of blood as it rushed through his ears. The weight of the chest plates as it strained against his pecs.
He felt his face heat as the thought. He hadn’t felt his face heat since forever. Images popped into his head. Sweaty. Lewd. And so very confusing. He wanted to press his palms against his eyes until white spots explode behind them. But he couldn’t. His suit was in the way.
God. He was really losing it. How could he think that his suit was in the way? He’d spent endless hours making sure it would NEVER be in the way.
He needed to get a grip.
He willed himself to concentrate, going over the report he was in the middle of typing on the computer. Locations. Check. Suspects. Check. Evidence….Evidence….
His eyes were getting blurry. He couldn’t see very well what he was reading. If he did, he couldn’t understand them. He saw the photos alright. He just couldn’t make out what they were.
Maybe…maybe he’d been sitting here for too long. He is a man of action. He doesn’t like sitting around doing nothing. On quiet nights like these, he’d always felt a bit claustrophobic. Maybe he could…walk it off. Stretch his limbs. Maybe that’d clear his head.
Jordan leveled him a look as he passed. Curiosity. Concern. Something like…excitement. That…might have been an effect of the heat, though. Hal Jordan couldn’t be….
He needed to get to the gym. No better workout than a round on the simulator.
Yes. That. That’ll clear his mind right up.
//////////
There’s something...strange about Bruce today. That is not to say that there is nothing strange with him on any other day. No. Bruce Wayne will never be not strange, with or without the cowl he insisted on wearing even on a completely deserted spaceship. Some might think, with the way he hardheadedly holds onto that cowl, that he must look like shit. At least, that was Hal’s first impression. Scarred face? Lazy eyes? Bald head? There must be some really fuck up shit in there he didn’t want anyone to see. But no. No. No. No. That’s not it. In case you’ve been living under a rock, there’s nothing lacking about Bruce’s apperance.
If anything, he’s dangerously handsome. Exactly Hal’s type. Down to a T. Blue eyes that pierce you to the soul. Dark hair that dwarfs the blackness of space. A seriousness that riles him up in all the wrong (right) ways.
But there’s something else. Something…unique…about him. Blue-eyed brunettes are a dime a dozen. Crazy motherfuckers are a dime a dozen. Billionaire playboys who think the world owe them something are a dime a dozen. None of them could quite measure up to this one, though. Brilliant. Edgy. Arrogant. With a secret touch of vulnerability. Just enough to reel you in. To entice you to peel back those layers and see what there is inside. Temptation. Frustration. Rage. All rolled up into a dark, gloomy, spooky ball.
In a word, he’s hot.
Today, though, he’s not just hot. Today, he’s a hot motherfucker who smells of lemons.
It was subtle. Like a breeze of fresh air. Sweet. Sour. Nostalgic. Reminded him of what good memories he’d had in his parents’ house. Of the first time doing a flip in the middle of the sky. Of late nights on top of a hill starring down at the city he’d sworn to protect. As a beta, scent usually didn’t get to him, didn’t inspire in him the need to claim or submit or protect, the way he’d been told from alphas and omegas. Yet, this scent did, for reasons beyond his comprehension. There was something about it. Calming yet provoking. Like a beacon. A temptation.
He wanted to embrace it. Wanted to rub himself all over it. Wanted to bury his nose into it and nuzzle it to death. Not Bruce. The scent. That earthy, velvety, heavenly scent.
“Wait.”- his last 2 brain cells chided at him, commanding his mind to pay attention to logic instead of erotic serial-killer scent monologue- “Doesn’t he look like…”
Yes. Hal nodded at his inner demon. He’d sensed this since their shift started, something odd about Bruce that he couldn’t put a finger on. It’s not blatantly odd. Not like….Kevlar suit and bat-shaped boomerangs odd. It’s like…health…functions…odd.
“Oh god”- his eyes widened as realzation hit him, straight in the face like a sledgehammer.
The bastard’s in heat.
It makes perfect sense. He was fidgeting in his seat, looking even stiffer than he usually was. He was breathing heavily, sounding a little bit out of breath. Granted, he doesn’t pay attention to how Bruce normally breathes, so he couldn’t say for sure that it was labored. Maybe he’d always breathed like that, the weight of his own self-righteousness too much for the human’s lungs. But then there was that scent. That cursed scent. Wrapping Hal up like a warm blanket. Last time he checked, there was no-one here other than them. Spaceships don’t tend to smell like freshly squeezed lemons. It could be him. But between the two of them, one chilling against the glass windows and the other tugging on the collar of his catsuit, it was painfully clear who was the more probable source of that enticing scent. He might be a college drop-out, but he was not too dumb to know what a heat looks like.
He looked over at Bruce, typing away at the computer. This was not okay, right? No omega should be working during their heats, especially if their jobs entail fighting evil aliens. Should he say something? Tell him to take a break? No. The bastard would chop his hand clean off. Call someone else to take his place? Nope. Forget his hand, that would mean his head. What the hell should he do? Does Google know? Google knows everything. Maybe he should…
Bruce passed him on the way out, jet black cowl hiding the brilliance of those eyes. The scent was almost overwhelming now, warm and fresh and uncharacteristically sweet. He wanted to ask. To see if he were ok. If he needed any help. Where he was going. But he held himself back. Batman doesn’t need a babysitter. Batman doesn’t need a beta to tell him what to do. Batman knows what he’s doing. He’d studied medicine and strategy and maybe even defense against the dark arts. He has contingency plans for his contingency plans. He has dealt with heats all his life. What could Hal possibly say that he hadn’t known already?
“It’s decided”- Hal thought to himself, settling into his perch against the windows. He’d give him a little time to do what it is he needed to do. His presence was not needed here anyways. It’s an unusually quiet night, probably due to an intergalactic villain conference somewhere they didn’t know about. Let’s give him.....an hour? Yeah, he had a hour before Hal come looking for him.
“For the record.”- he told himself, swallowing pass the lump in his throat- “I don’t want to come looking, okay?”- Yeah. That’s right. He had no intesrest in sticking his nose anywhere near a Bruce Wayne in heat. It’s not like he was wondering what Bruce usually likes to do to calm himself down in these instances. It’s not like he wanted to know what he was feeling, right in this very moment. It’s not like he was picturing what he’d look like, sweaty and flushed and....
He wasn’t interested. He wasn’t. He just thought that it would be in poor taste to let your...patrol partner go through his heat alone in space. They’re on this ship together, both figuratively and litterally. They were responsible for each other’s well-being, be it against alien envasions or...or....biological...attacks.
Right, enough contemplating. There’s only trouble where that comes from. He’ll deal with it when he had to deal with it. For now, let him just lose himself in staring out at the vast expanses of asteroids that were not writhing or moaning or whimpering.
50 more minutes...
//////////
He managed one round on the simulator. One blissful round of nothing but kicking, slashing and taking his unexplained anger out on a bunch of pixels. It worked like a charm. Calmed his mind. Relaxed his muscles. He felt strength. Control. Like he could go on forever.
Until his body betrayed him.
He dropped to the ground writhing. Something inside him snapped. He felt like he was on fire. Blood boiling. Lust swirling. Mind clouding. He was in heat. There was no point pretending otherwise. He didn’t know how that happened. If it was the suppressant or his body or just very bad timing.
He was in full blown heat.
He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what he SHOULD do. He knew all about the birds and the bees. Knew all the necessary steps to take when encounter an omega in heat. Knew all about what an omega in heat needs to do to protect their wellbeing. He knew. Everything. Because Batman had to know everything. Down to the last messy detail. But knowing is very different from experiencing. The moment he accepted to himself that he, The Caped Crusader, voted the epitome of alpha’s physique 3 times in a row by the Gotham Gazette , was having a heat, right here in the Watchtower, with only Hal Jordan to help him out, he’d completely lost track of what he needed to do.
“Fuck me.”- he thought to himself as he stumbled into the showers, turning every knob he could reach to the max.
Water cascaded over him. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall. He could feel them. The water. Every drop. Slithering down his burning skin in rivulets. The water was cold. But it was somehow hot at the same time. It touched him everywhere, evoking in him sensations water can’t normally cause. Pleasure. Hunger. Lust. Swirling around him in a hazy fog. It grew thicker with every passing moment, catching him in an invisible web.
“Fuck me.”- he banged his head against the wall in frustration, trying to clear his mind, knowing full well it was futile.
Images crept into his mind, vibrant and unstoppable. Sweat-slicked skin. Cherry lips. Hazy eyes. Strong hands holding his legs open. Soft cotton rustling under his back. Palms scratching for purchase against slippery bathroom walls. The feeling of something inside. Something hot. And hard. And satisfying.
He didn’t know how he ended up in his quarters. Naked. Wet. Squirming on pristine white sheets. He’d had….moments of passion before. But they were never quite so intense. He felt high. On the scent of his own arousal. The slickness of his skin. The thick air solidifying in his very lungs.
He knew he was still on duty. He needed to keep an eye out in case something happens. Things tend to happen last minute. It is reckless to indulge in a premature sense of security. Yet in this moment, they all melted away. They’re future him problems. They’re things to be taken care of later. Insignificant. Unimportant.
He ghosted a hand on his chest, hesitant fingers skirting through the soft swell of his pecs. He brushed a nipple, letting out a moan at how good it felt. Every cell in his body seemed to come alive at that single touch. A bolt of electricity zapping down his spine. His nipple perked up. Warm and soft. He felt pain. Shyness. Want. A delicious sense of satisfaction pooling at his navel.
He did it again.
And again.
And again.
Before he knew it, he was kneading his chest with desperate fingers, shamelessly tweaking the pink buds to his heart’s content. It felt good. It felt so, so good. He felt his legs opened on instinct with every swipe of his hand. The fire inside his guts burned. Blazing. Higher. Hotter. Threatening to burn him alive.
Something inside him itched. Something wet sliding down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Something in his head was yelling at him, urging him to abandon his nipple for something else. Something South. Lower. Softer. Something that would make him feel so good. Much better than how he was feeling now. Something that would drive him out of his goddamned mind.
Hal Jordan chose that very moment to knock on his doors, rudely jolting him out of his wickedly creative mind.
“You okay in there, Spooky?”
“Go away.”- he yelled. Which, in hindsight, was a stupid mistake. Nothing says “I’m doing something you shouldn’t know about” like those 2 little words.
“Listen to me, Jordan.”- he said, channeling every ounce of intimidation he wasn’t feeling at the moment- “You have no idea what’s going on.”
An exasperated laugh sounded through the door.
“Ph-please.”- he drawled, sounding like a cat that got the canary- “I’ll admit, our education system is shit.”- he banged his fist against the door, again, just to be an asshole- “But I can still tell that you’re in heat, Bats.”
Busted. He banged his head against the pillows. Angry and panicked and somehow, still incredibly turned on. He knew, from a logical standpoint, that Hal would not use it against him. He might be an asshole, but he is far from that type of asshole. Still, an irrational voice shrieked, painting him one terrible picture after the last. He could go to the press. He could tell everyone in the Justice League and have him kicked out. He could blackmail him. For money or sex or power. They all sounded equally fucked-up to him.
“Don’t you dare.”- he lashed out at once. He was feeling too many things. They threatened to overload him.
“If I wanted to do something, babe.”- Jordan said, a touch of frustration coloring his voice- “I would have done it already. There will be at least 10 people here slamming on your door instead of little old me. Diana would even kick my ass on your behalf”
That…makes sense. Which somehow made him even angrier. How dare Hal-I-don’t-really-have-a-plan-right-now-Jordan sounded so logical? What did that make him, having to have things explained to him by Hal-I-fly-between-mountain-ridges-just-for-kicks-Jordan? How low had he stooped, to have Hal-Can-I-please-borrow-some-cash-I’ll-totally-pay-you-back-Jordan reassuring him?
“You need some help there, sweetie?”- he sounded unbearably smug.
It sent his mind into overdrive. He was pulled into every direction all at once, finding that one sentence demeaning, infuriating, hot, rapturous, all at the same time.
“What can you possibly do to help me?”- he screamed, wanting for all the feelings to just go away. He couldn’t be feeling all of this. It is impossible for someone to be feeling all of this.
“I can.”- Jordan hesitated, the earlier mirth nowhere to be found. Good. He could use this. This was the opening he had been waiting for to get Jordan off his tail. He could take care of this himself. This is purely physical. A few rounds of self-pleasure, and he would be back to being who he is. The more time he wasted arguing with LED lights over there…
“I can help you take the edge off.”- Jordan’s words cut through his thoughts like a knife, rendering his mind completely useless. All neurons were firing at the same time, but they couldn’t get anywhere. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t remember what he was thinking about. His mind was stuck on that single idea, of Hal Jordan “helping him take the edge off”. He had no idea what Jordan had meant by that. No-one could, given how vague it was. His mind, however, was more than eager to help, providing him with a slew of images he’d rather not see at any point of his life, least of all this very moment.
“Come on, Bats.”- the knocks sounded loud in his ears. Like thunderbolts. Urging him to MOVE.
“I won’t bite.”- to run.
“Promise.”- to embrace the heat sweltering inside his core.
“Is this your first time, sweetheart?”- to split open the world with his hands.
“Is that why you’re so afraid?”- to fucking DO SOMETHING.
He was panting when he opened the door. Hal Jordan was there. In his ridiculous glowing outfit. Fist raised. Eyes dark. Smile teasing. Telling budge denting the front of his pants.
“What can you do?”- he asked, ignoring the way hazel eyes were roving over every inch of his body.
“What do you want me to do?”- those heated orbs caught his gaze. So deep he wanted to drown himself in it.
//////////
It felt like one of those moments in movies where the door opens to reveal a glittering glow. Bruce was standing against the lights. Raven hair framing his face. Sweat matting the strands against his forehead. He was flushed. Coveted splash of pink sitting high on his cheekbones. There was a sneer on his lips. Mouth curve up into a disgruntled arc. His eyes were so dark. Only a thin ring of blue surrounding his huge pupils. And that scent. That wonderful scent.
Hal’s limbs moved without his consent, pulling Bruce in to nuzzle on the gland at his neck. Bruce was saying something. Asking something. Brows frowned. Teeth bared. But he didn’t care. He was deep under. Lost in his own senses. He licked a stripe up that delectable neck, savoring the taste on his tongue. God. He even tasted of lemons.
“Jordan!”- Bruce shocked him in the face, the pain sharp enough to bring him back into his right mind. Not for long. Not with that scent lingering in his nose. Warm and spicy and irresistible.
“Yes?”- he hummed absentmindedly. Bruce was faring no better, purring low in his throat. Were he his usual self, he would have killed Hal for daring to lay a hand on him, not leaning into the touch with a sigh.
“Do something!”- he looked so good like this. Soft and sweet. Gruffly so. He was scowling, but it lacked its usual disdain. It felt like he was disagreeing just for the sake of disagreeing. Any other time, it would have driven Hal insane. The stubborn bastard clinging onto his stubbornness even in such dire situation. But now it just felt…natural. A familiarity to cling onto. Especially when everything around them was changing so fast it made him lightheaded.
He buried his head deeper into the crook of that fair neck. His hands were everywhere, unsure of where to touch. There was so much skin, like silk under his fingertips. It was only then that he realized the bastard was naked. Acres upon acres of untouched territory. Milky. Feverish. Marred with battle scars. He wanted to trace every ridge. Every mark. Every story. Pain and joy and sorrow. He wanted to know them all.
His hand ended up on his chest, thumb swirling around one pink bud. It greeted him eagerly, malleable to his every touch. Its owner seemed to enjoy the attention, too. Little noises dropped from pink lips. Small. Suppressed. Secret. And all the more beautiful for it.
At the lack of protest, he grew bolder, grabbing his pecs with both hands. That startled a moan out of Bruce. A single sound. Choked. As if forced out from his very lungs. The first real sign that this was happening. It drove him out of his mind. Made him press harder. Scrape his nails against the sensitive skin. Panting sweet little nothings into his ear. Before long, he’d had Bruce cursing in earnest. The filthy sounds music to his ear. Moans and insults and encouragements. Like a melody begging him for more.
He felt something wet on the front of his pants, slowly soaking through the cotton of his underwear. It turned him on like nothing ever had. Cool and dirty. He didn’t know what it was right away, the lust coursing through his brain temporarily numbed his less than impeccable deduction skills. But when he did, it was as if fireworks were exploding from his very core. Every cell of his body came alive. The knowledge of what it was. Dirty and erotic. Prompted him to wring out every ounce of pleasure from their bodies. The knowledge of why it was there. Him. His hands. His breath. It made him felt as though he’d gained another superpower. He did this. Him. Hal Jordan. Bruce was panting because of him. Moaning because of him. Leaking slick because of him. Never in his life could he have imagined being here. With him. Like this. He felt special. Chosen. The feeling so intense it made the front of his pants uncomfortably tight.
“Lower.”- Bruce panted, yanking at one of his hands, placing it on his navel.
It was a strange feeling. He was so rough everywhere else. Scars and wounds. But here he was soft. Soft and smooth and so damn sensitive. He moaned. Loud and long. As Hal traced circles on his skin. His hips bucked up, involuntarily, right into Hal’s palms. He was close. So close. Yet nowhere close enough. Bruce’s cock strained against the back of his hand. Red. Leaking. Desperate. Begging to be touched.
He gave in. Cruely. Teasingly. Tracing a vein. Cirling the head. Taping against the slit. Just the barest touch. Short and agonizing. Instead, he took great care sucking a bruise into the arch of his neck. Tongue a matching circular rhythm with the fingers down below. Then teeth. Sharp and rough and satisfying. Drawing blood to bloom on tan expanse of skin. Then tongue, soothing over the sting. Over. And over. And over.
Bruce growled low in his throat. He’d never heard that sound before. Alpha, beta or omega. It was fierce. Both a warning and a plea. How very much like him. Threatening even at the peak of vulnerability. It ate away at his patience. One low snarl at a time. It brought out something he never knew existed. Teasing. Mean. Self-serving. He wanted to push him. Harder. See what he can get away with. Make him beg. Just because it was something he’d never dreamt of doing under any other circumstances. Want to feel wanted. For reasons he couldn’t quite understand. He wanted Bruce to acknowledge that he wanted it. And that he wanted Hal to give it to him.
“You ready for more, babe?”- he whispered in his ear, red at the tip. It was unbearably cute.
“Seriously?”- his dance partner snort. Half-annoyed, half-pacified- “I almost fell asleep with your fumbling.”
The moment snapped. Like a rubber band stretched too thin. Need rose in his chest. Dark. Violent. Passionate. He abandoned Bruce’s side, preening at the high whine it ensued. Bruce almost lost his balance, leaning back against air in search of his body heat. He recovered quickly enough, near-super-human reflexes intact even when his higher brain function wasn’t. Hal would have admired that very much if the act itself hadn’t fried his mind with arousal.
“Don’t you dare.”- he panted, forcibly dragging Hal’s hand back on his dick. Such strength. Such control. Such bossiness. All the things he would normally hate. In that moment though, it couldn’t be further from the truth. All his blood rushed South, helpless against the high of being on the receiving end of such obvious neediness.
“Aw.”- he bit the lobe of Bruce’s ear, sharp teeth digging into soft skin. It must have been his new favorite hobby, playing with Bruce’s ear, if only for the way it made him shiver. His whole body shook. A deep purr vibrating from within his core. His scent grew sweeter, if that were even possible- “What do you want me to do to ya?”
“We’ve been over this”- Bruce sounded frustrated, even when he was pressing himself harder into the ring of Hal’s fingers. Bruce’s cock felt great in his hand. Hard and red and leaking at the tip. Valerie Vale was right. The bastard really is perfect everywhere- “What can you do? Because I don’t think you can handle even half of….”
A moan cut him off. Higher than he’d ever made. Breathier than Hal had ever thought he could. It made Bruce blushed harder. Pink tainted down to the tops of his shoulders. Serves him right. Why must he be difficult now, with Hal literally holding his fate in his hands? Why can’t he just be a co-operative little thing and tell Hal what he wanted? Why must he be so insufferable, while it was clear that he wanted it just as bad?
That’s just the thing, isn’t it? That’s who he is. The Dark Knight. The Caped Crusader. A lone wolf through and through. Hal had been going at it the wrong way. There’s no point getting Bruce to co-operate. Not with his massive ego standing in the way.
As his dear old dad always said, “If you can’t fight them…”
“How about I help you take the edge off?”- he gripped Bruce firmly and stroked, setting a torturous pace.
Up and down. Up and down. Bruce was so wet there was no need for anything else. Are heats always like this, or is he just special? He didn’t know. Didn’t pay any decent amount of attention during sex-ed. Though he doubted any amount of sex-ed could properly prepare him for this. For the dirty squelch of skin on skin. The yelp Bruce made as his tongue traced the shell of his ear. The way he nodded enthusiastically. The wetness of his slick pouring between Hal’s fingers.
//////////
He never thought he would like it so much.
It was the heat. It must have been. He’d had sex before. But it’d never felt quite like this. He could swear he’d felt a bolt lanced right through him the moment Jordan’s fingers wrapped around his cock. It touched some place deep inside him. More than just the physical. A part of him let out a satisfied sigh, as if it had been waiting for that one single touch. It was irrational. Uncontrollable. And yet at the same time, it felt so fucking good.
It was obvious that Jordan knew what he was doing. This confidence. This surety. This finesse. It couldn’t just come from him being able to handle his own equipment. Jordan here had experience. It made him feel competitive, even if he had no what idea what they were supposed to be competing for in this scenario. His lust didn’t care. It loved the idea. This unspoken rival between them. It made fucking him that much hotter.
Jordan set up a steady pace, and he could finally see why. His fingers circled the tip of his cock in a torturous drag. It was more sensitive than he’d like to admit, trembling at just the smallest hint of contact. He groaned in embarrassment as Jordan gripped him. His cock, though, missed it almost entirely. It preened under the attention, leaking slick profusely. The clear liquid seeped down the side of him. On the back of Jordan’s hand. Between his fingers. Wet. Slippery. Dirty. It shouldn’t turn him on. He was as wet and eager as a teenager. And his least favorite teammate was making him this way.
Yet it did. Drove him out of his mind with lust. The pressure was perfect. Just on the right side of painful. The pace was perfect. Hard and fast and scratched an itch somewhere deep within his core. The slide was perfect. The slap of skin and wetness stuck in his ear. Unnatural. Unusual. Undignified.
He could feel Jordan everywhere. The warmth covering his back. The puffs of breath next to his ear. The thumb on the top of his slit. The callus gliding against his velvety skin. The nails catching on his pink nub. It was amplified by about a hundred times, no doubt an effect of the heat. He felt it. Every sensation. Every stimulus. Felt it with every fiber of his being.
He heard noises. Choked-off. Low. Desperate. It took him a while to realize it came from him. It sounded so…wanton. Like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Like it felt so good he could hardly keep the noise in. It wasn’t him. It was the heat. It was the reason he was feeling this way. It wasn’t because of the delicious ring of Jordan’s hand. Tight. Strong. Wet. God. So wet. All that slick. Was that all because of him?
No. It was the heat. It must have...
His orgasm caught him off guard. It was so violent. All emotions rushed out of him all at once. Quick and painful. One moment it was this explosion of color. The next. Nothing. Just darkness so intense it made him lightheaded. He felt numb. Desensitized. Like coming down from a high. His senses trickling back to him. A little bit at a time. His vision was first. The overhead lamp almost blinded him. Next came hearing. Panting breaths that did little to calm his racing heart. Touch wasn’t here yet. Which was why he barely register the mess. It must have been catastrophic. Slick was no doubt everywhere. Wet and dirty. Dripping down his toned torso. That might have been a blessing in disguise. He didn’t know what he would have done. Probably die of shame.
Despite how utterly humiliating it was, it was still not enough. It killed him to admit this, but Jordan was right. It only took the edge off. Temporarily staved off that needy whine in his head. But the want was still there. Simmering. Churning. They wouldn’t go away anytime soon, now that they’d had a taste. He could feel it squirming. Asking. Demanding. He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it.
He leant back into the body behind him, strength draining out from his limbs. He could worry about the specifics later. His focus was shot now anyways. He might be a master at self-denial. But right here. Right now. He knew what he needed. More. Around him. On him. In him. Anywhere, really. He could do it himself. He could do anything himself. But the hormones were having none of that. They liked what they sampled. And they would not shut up until they get it.
“More.”- he growled, ignoring the light kiss pressed against his temple. Jordan’s voice was smug. Too smug for his liking. He wanted to silence it with a right hook. His mouth. His fingers. His tongue. Preferably in that order.
“Of course, babe.”- Jordan chuckled, dumping him unceremoniously on the bed. He lashed out on instinct, intent on making him pay with his life.
He was stop dead in his tracks with a pair of hands. It wouldn’t normally faze him, skilled as he is in the art of war. But this was no ordinary pair of hands. These were the hands that just got him off. Still shinny with his slick. Cool on his feverish skin. He shivered. His mind caught in a loop. Unable to fight back. Not that he wanted to. He was…unusually malleable to the rough treatment. Purring at being pushed onto his back. Being coaxed back into hardness with skillful fingers. Having his legs pushed open wider to make room for another body.
Jordan smirked at him as he dropped to his knees with a soft thump. He looked oddly attractive as he stuck out his tongue to lick a stripe up the length of Bruce’s cock.
//////////
Hal had always liked taking things slow, a romantic at heart. He enjoys undressing his partner, striping them of their self-consciousness. It was such a shame that he didn’t get to do that to Bruce. That suit. With its many buttons and plates and buckles. He would love a go at it. Smooth his hand all over that expensive material. Undo every clasp excruciatingly slowly as Bruce curses at him. A control freak like Bruce? With an ego that big? Impatience would look perfect on him.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Bruce looked good in the low light. Sweaty and turned on and wet all over. Skin glistening. Raised scars like veins on a marble statue. Hair matted. Eyes closed. Teeth bared. Cock hard. Jutting up proudly from a neat patch of black. Curious, he kissed it lightly on the tip. That got him a long moan. A calf landed on his shoulder. Gripping him tight. Drawing him in where the prize was. Red. Throbbing. Delicious.
He dove in. Laving his tongue around the leaking head. He tasted nice. Sour and bitter and all the other things you would expect to taste. There was something else, an underlying sweetness that was completely unique to him. Subtle. An alluring touch of sugar. Enough to entice Hal to stop pulling his punches.
He went in harder.
He wanted more of that.
He fastened his lips fully around the head, tongue swirling against the swollen gland. That earned him another moan. So he did it again. Harder. Sucking on the stiff cock as if it were a lollipop. Delighted at the rustling sound of hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets.
He liked what he was feeling. Bruce fitted nicely in his mouth. Leaking more of that sweet slick. He gulped that up greedily, sticking his tongue under the head just to catch more. Before long he’d had half of the shaft in his mouth, alternating between sucking and caressing it with his tongue. It was hard for him to decide. Both ways got Bruce to make equally dirty noises. Choked-off gasps and loud curses and helpless grunts. It went straight to his dick, straining hard against the fabric of his pants. His suit had powered down some time during the process, leaving him in his underwear. He couldn’t tell when, too busy sucking Bruce’s stubbornness out through his dick.
He was so hard it hurts. Would kill for something to rub himself against. Or bury himself into. But that would mean ending their game way too soon. Can’t have that. He was having so much fun bringing this little asshole to tears.
He ignored his erection for the time being, choosing instead to take more of Bruce into his mouth, the tip tickling the beginning of his throat. He had never liked giving head. Always thought of it as something he had to endure before getting to the good stuff. But he could honestly say, right here. Right now. That that was not the case.
Hal was about to deepthroat him when Bruce’s fingers wound themselves into his hair, tugging on the brown strands almost painfully. They stopped him from going any further, seemingly content with sitting himself there on Hal’s tongue. Hal took the cue, doubling his efforts. In and out, fucking his mouth in earnest. It took every ounce of self-restraint to go against himself. Every instinct he had screaming at him to take him to the root. To drive Bruce to delirium with his hot, wet throat. That was a sure way to get him to come so hard he sees stars.
But the little dickhead didn’t want that, his cheeky side coming out to play. He wanted to draw this out. Feel more. Scream more. Which was fine by Hal. Who was he to deny such a lovely request?
He kept Bruce exactly where he wanted to be, just shy of entering his throat. He was getting off on the denial. On the promise of that delicious suction. That overwhelming pressure. So close. Yet so far. It didn’t surprise Hal. The guy’s a master at self-denial. He’s been ignoring his needs for a long time, discarding every human joy for the sake of revenge. No wonder he was into this kind of torture. Sweet. Drawn out. Intense.
He lost himself in the rhythm, leaning in, tongue dancing teasingly on the length of his hard cock. Pulling back, until only the head was in between his lips. It wasn’t long before Bruce took control. His fingers gripped Hal firmly, guiding him where he wanted him to be. Up. Down. Fast. Slow. Hal let him, content with messing with him in some other way. He scrapped his teeth along velvety skin. Just a little bit. Pinpricks of pain to remind him that this isn’t the kind of control he could rudely take. That Hal was indulgently GIVING it to him. There’s eroticism in the reminder. Bruce positively screamed at the touch of his teeth, earlier caution entirely forgotten.
“Smug bastard.”- he panted as if he’d run a hundred miles. If Hal’s mouth weren’t…occupied, the hoarseness of Bruce’s voice would have made him smirk.
As pleasant as the whole…arrangement was, it was too athletic to keep up for long. Granted, they were both in peak physical condition, but some things are just humanly impossible. His jaw was getting tired. Judging by the pace of Bruce’s thrusts, his hips were getting tired, too. He kept quiet. Intent on saving face. But his face betrayed him. Muscles strained. Brows twisted. Hair matted. It was clear that Bruce’s also at his limit.
Between the two of them, Hal must be the one to help them out.
He didn’t want to change what they were doing. Didn’t want to go against Bruce’s will and force him down a road he didn’t want to tread. But he couldn’t keep up with this. They couldn’t keep up with this. Regardless of what the stubborn bastard was thinking.
He needed a new approach.
His fingers traced the rim of Bruce hole. Slow but firm. Intent on testing the waters. Not gonna lie, he was surprised he didn’t immediately come when he found it. Wet and messy. Leaking a patch onto the bed sheets. And at the first touch of his fingers, fresh slick rushed out to greet him. Eager. Lustful. Obscene.
He put his finger carefully inside. Slowly. So as not to hurt him. And then to tease him, just the tip. The pressure there was so exquisite. Bruce gripped him so tight it was almost painful. Clenching and unclenching. Massaging what little was there. He was so soft. So pink. So tight. He was going to feel amazing around Hal’s cock. Just thinking of it made him squirm. His hand immediately went to his cock, gripping the base tightly. He couldn’t come now. The REAL fun was only beginning.
He pressed deeper into the tight heat, feeling along slick-soaked walls. Bruce’s voice was getting higher. Urging him on. Inviting him in. Deeper. Harder. Until he was all the way to the knuckle. That earned him an ecstatic noise, Bruce’s hips shaking at the foreign feeling. Hal gave him a moment to adjust to the fullness. He needed a moment for himself, too. The pressure was shy of too much. On impulse, he pressed hard along the walls, basking in the sweet way the flesh parted for him. Another moan. Another yank against his scalp. A loud tear. Something ripped, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, care. He had more important things to attend to.
He spent long moments committing this feeling into his memory. Every squeeze. Every twitch. Every dirty sound. God. He wished he could have it on tape. It was so good it was almost a crime not to be able to relive every minute of it. Over and over again.
He lost track of time. How long had he spent exploring every inch of Bruce’s insides. Seconds? Hours? He didn’t really know. When he came to, he’d somehow had two fingers knuckle deep. Jabbing in and out. Gliding lewdly along soft walls. Scissoring him open. Bruce moaned out every time he pushed all the way in, muscles tightening like a vice. It triggered something inside him. Something demanding him to pump just a tad harder. To part his fingers just a bit wider. He heard a gasp startled out of him as he did just that, holding them as far as Bruce would let him.
It was really happening. He was keeping Bruce open. Pink insides exposed to his viewing pleasure. Slick pouring out to make way for his quest inside. Plentiful. Unending. That was how much he was wanted. How much he was needed. The sight. The urgency. The feeling of being inside him. It messed with his brain. Bruce was so different from the way the world sees him. Right here. In bed. With Hal. This creature. Naughty. Erotic. One of a kind.
In the haze, he accidentally pressed on something. Nothing special. Just a little bump. Yet it did something he could have never imagined. Bruce’s back arched into a curve, an almost pained sound escaping his mouth as he came so hard he almost choked Hal to death. He reeled back as something hit his throat, instinctively disengaging himself from the source of discomfort. He wasn’t sure if that was the right call, for it let Bruce’s slick spray all over his face.
//////////
It was indecent.
Bruce was hardly a blushing virgin. He’d had his fair share of encounters. Had plenty of sex. Some even borderline kinky. Against the wall. Blindfolded. Restraint. As long as he was the one giving, and didn’t have to shed his clothes, he’s all for it.
He didn’t like stripping down in front of his partners. Didn’t like them being privy to the scars littering his body. Didn’t like seeing awe or pity or curiosity on their faces at the sight. It was a matter of security. If word got out, he would be under a lot of scrutiny. The whole city would be watching him, the infamous playboy with a penchant for pain. His identity, his operation, his allies would all be in danger.
So the clothes stayed on. He had a lot to protect, and a lot more to lose.
Until today.
Jordan already knew who he was. About a month ago, just a few feet away from this room, he had been forced to share his identity with the entire JL. They all were, stripped of their masks and the secret that makes them powerful. “It’s a show of trust, Bats.”- they’d said, looking at him with their bare face and placating smile. “Come on, Spooky.”- that was Jordan, with the stupid nickname that irks him to no end, the smirk on his face infuriating-“ You’re not bald, are you?”.
The point is, that Jordan already knew more about him than all his previous partners combined. His legacy. His scars. His second gender.
The thought made him flinch, physically retracting himself from the situation. He couldn’t have anybody know he’s an omega. He was too proud. He wasn’t ready. And yet he was so horny it hurts. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to scheme right now. He felt…oddly safe, in the company of Jordan. He didn’t want to hide behind sharp suits and designer ties. He just wanted to be touched all over.
Jordan’s mouth was so warm. His tongue so clever. His teeth so sharp. He sat himself there with a content sigh. Now that the urgency is gone, he felt a foreign need to do something else. To be…playful. Mischievous. All the things he’d never felt before during sex. He wanted…to tease himself. To be dangled on the edge of not enough. To be driven out of his mind with the need for more. Just thinking about it got him leaking all over again. Jordan caught it with his tongue, tip circling his slit, hungry for more.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled on those brown locks, wordlessly telling Jordan what he wanted. Jordan, smart little asshole, understood immediately. He stopped when he was all the way to the base, engulfing him in deliciously sweltering heat. Then he started moving. Fucking his mouth with Bruce’s dick. He was such a good boy. Didn’t take more than he was given. It was too much. It was not enough. He loved every moment of it.
He realized only when it was too late. He might have notice the delicious pressure of fingers forcing their way in, but the glide was so smooth it rendered his mind obsolete. It was his eyes that alerted him. Hazel giving way to pitch black. Delighted smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Then he felt it. Thick fingers prying him open. Wider than he ever knew he could be. It was embarrassing. He was exposed. Fully. To Jordan’s hungry gaze. Dark. Crude. Primal.
He should have known better. Jordan can never play by the rules.
Jordan was looking at him. Observing him with those bright eyes. The deepest parts of him. The most secretive parts. The most vulnerable parts. Completely on display. It should feel crude. Salacious. Improper. Yet it didn’t, for reasons that escaped him. He should be hiding himself. Lash out. Call the whole thing off. Yet he didn’t, twitching madly under the attention. In a bout of madness, he brazenly widened his legs, exposing himself even further. Jordan seemed to enjoy that very much, tongue flicking in a clear sight of appreciation.
That tongue. He wondered what it would feel like inside him.
It was crazy. Completely insane. He shouldn’t be thinking that. He couldn’t be thinking that. Nothing good could ever come from that. From…
Jordan, with his trigger-happy attitude, chose that very moment to do something that blindsided them both. His body moved of its own accord, curving into an arch so sudden it was almost painful.
He was coming. Harder than he’d ever done in his life. White spots exploded behind his eyelids, travelling down his spine in an electric dance. For a minute, his mind was completely bank, devoid of all thoughts. All he could feel, in that brief moment, was bliss. Total relief. A kind of release so intense it turned his limbs into jelly.
He dropped against the mattress with a loud thump, hands pressed hard against his eyelids. There were still fireworks in his eyes, a lingering sense of ecstasy and amazement that was hard to process. It took a while for him to come to, eyes hesitantly travelling down his body to assess the damage. It was mortifying. He was slicked all over. Sweat pooling at his navel. Glistening in the dim light. And blushing. He couldn’t believe it. He thought he had maxed out his blushing card in high school. Yet here he was. Pink stained everywhere. Nipples. Thighs. The head of his cock, which was somehow still hungry for more, stirring with interest, even after all of that.
And Jordan.
God. Jordan.
There was slick on his face, dripping down the corner of his mouth. Fat, clear, viscous strings, marking him up for the world to see. It was, for all intents and purposes, unsanitary. Dirty. Undesirable. Yet he was in no way put off by it. He caught the drop with his tongue. Indecently pink. Improperly wet. His eyes grew darker as he swallowed. Black so intense it almost eclipsed maroon.
He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when he found out he was being watched, challengingly catching Bruce’s gaze with a vicious smile. The mean edge of it shouldn’t make him hot. Yet it did. Inexplicably. Irrationally. Prompting his cock to stand back up to attention.
It was almost inhuman. And yet nothing had happened so far had been human.
Jordan brought his hand up, pausing in mid-air for a while until he took notice. It was his…action…hand. The hand that was just inside of him. Fuck. Those fingers. They were…lodge inside of him. Still wet with slick. Sides sparkling perversely. He wanted to look away. To block the sight that was invoking some very…confusing emotions in his chest. But he couldn’t. They caught his gaze in a death grip. Held his attention as steadfastly as a magnet does iron. He couldn’t avert his eyes. Not even an inch. Not even when Jordan did something truly humiliating.
He put those fingers in his mouth, wrapping his lips around them as carefully as he’d done with his cock. It was 3 seconds of pure torture. Everywhere on him throbbed. All at once. His heart. His cock. His ass. They all took notice of Hal fucking Jordan savoring his slick as if it were candy.
“Liked that, didn’t ya?”- his leer looked downright criminal, sending sparks all over Bruce’s body.
//////////
He wasted no time getting on top of Bruce. It felt imperative, in the moment, that they push this party along. He’d gotten the bastard off. Twice. There he laid, panting and flushed and looking like the poster boy of good sex. But Hal didn’t get to come. Not even once. He was so hard it hurts. It felt as though his dick would fall right off if he didn’t get to stick it in that soft, sweet, beautiful asshole (pun not intended) this very minute.
Bruce looked startled when Hal pushed him firmer against the mattress. Lips parted. Eyes wide. Blue burning like cold fires. He looked so cute when he was surprised. Hal wanted to bring him to incoherency. Kiss him senseless. Lick him all over. Wrap himself in that wet heat and….
Lost in his own dirty fantasies, he’d failed to notice Bruce’s next move, which was whacking him on the head. That was his mistake. Bruce looked so good he’d completely forgotten how much of a control freak he really was.
“What the fuck, man?”- he yelled, holding the side of his head. The ring on his finger glowed, ready to come to his defense. Poor little guy. He didn’t know that they couldn’t punch their way to getting what they want in this situation.
“No-one gets on top of me.”- Bruce said matter-of-factly, sitting up with his arms behind his back.
“What the fuck kind of alpha male bullshit is that?”- Hal laughed, flabbergasted by the sheer ridiculousness of that sentence.
His mockery was cut short, though, when he took a good look at WHO was he was mocking. Bruce looked so…distracting. Scowling. Angry. Naked. Shoulders drawn. Thighs wet. Legs open. Sweat sliding down his abs. Nipples pebbled in the night air. Chest littered with red marks HE sucked into his skin. He was testing the last thread of Hal’s sanity and he knew it.
“We do this my way.”- he smirked, arching his chest for emphasis.
Stubborn little bastard. It always has to be his way, isn’t it? That, in and of itself, is everything that’s wrong with him. Hal could go into a long essay about how much he hated that shitty attitude. Right now. But he had a feeling his dick wouldn’t appreciate it. So he did the only logical thing there is to do in that situation. He shut up and glared at Bruce in resignation.
“Can you just hurry up?”- he gritted through his teeth, pulling down his boxer shorts with great impatience- “I’m in a bit of a rush here.”
Bruce’s laughter sounded foreign in his ear. He’d never heard him laugh before. Like a hundred little bells chiming at the same time. Yeah, that was cliché as hell, but it was really what it felt like. It sounded mesmerizing.
But not as mesmerizing as what was coming next.
Bruce pulled him on the bed with superhuman-like strength. That…turned him on, somehow. He didn’t know if it was because of the impressive power behind his movements. Or if it was his assertiveness. Needless to say, he’d never been with someone like Bruce before. Aggressive. Forthcoming. Bossy. He’d never known he was into the pushy type. He’s in big trouble. Bruce Wayne is as pushy as it gets. What if this ruin him for…
He didn’t get to finish that thought. Bruce had deemed it the right moment to sit on his abs, derailing his entire train of thought with the wetness between his legs.
He smirked down at Hal with a glint of triumph in his eyes, nails bitting into the skin on his chest. Bruce was such a vision. Haloed in the pale glow of night. Shadows playing on the side of his face. Light bouncing off the droplets of sweat on his brows. He was a mixture of sharp angles and soft curves. Strong jawline and flared hips. Hard biceps and velvety thighs. The contrast hit him to the core. Bruce was a walking contradiction. A paradox whose ass was currently against Hal’s dick.
He rubbed Hal slowly with his plush cheeks. Up and down. Up and down. Lathering Hal’s length in his slick. It was a smooth slide. Frustratingly slow. Torturously wet. He was doing it on purpose, intent on being a cock tease just to mess with Hal. He gave Hal a sneak-peek. Once or twice. Bringing himself down enough for Hal’s tip to kiss his opening. It felt so fucking good. The tight ring of muscle opened on contact, inviting him into a clutch so tight it was almost painful. He managed to fit in half of his tip one time, groaning at the way Bruce’s walls massaged him in a sweet rhythm. But it didn’t last long, the cruel bastard pulling away when he was just getting into it, letting out a delighted sound at his desperate whine.
“Come on.”- he wasn’t above begging. He could feel himself leaking uncontrollably. The vein on the side was throbbing so hard he afraid it might burst- “It’s not like you’re not getting anything out of this.”
“True.”- Bruce sat himself firmer against him with a pleased sigh. The movement was so sudden it brought his cock bumping against Hal’s abs with a wet slap. Hal almost went cross-eyed looking at it. It looked cute. Sweet. Helpless. Shinny with a combination of Bruce’s slick and his spit, rubbing softly against his front- “Say please.”
“You want me to beg?”- the request sounded ridiculous to his ear. Here they were. Horny. Eager. Leaking. And he wanted Hal to beg to get his dick wet? He was the one in heat. It hardly sounded fair.
“No deal.”- he grabbed Bruce’s dick in a tight grip, smoothing his thumb against the base. That earned him a whine. Dark lashes falling shut. Red lips parted seductively. Gotcha! He bucked his hips minutely against Bruce’s ass, enticing him to give into his needs as soon as humanly possible- “You want it just as much as I do.”
“You can tease me all you want.”- he upped the ante, pulling his cheeks open with one hand. Hal let out a long groan as he felt Bruce’s entrance against his tip, leaking fresh slick down the side of his poor cock- “We both know who’s going to win this game.”
Hal’s hips gave one sad buck against that perfect ass.
He hated it when Bruce was right.
//////////
Bruce loves it very much when he’s right.
It’s rarely surprising. He’s right most of the time. But it’s still a win. He’ll take every win he could. Especially when it’s against Jordan, someone who’d decided to contradict everything he’d ever said within 3 seconds of meeting him. It’s something like power, watching the way the emotions shifted, one by one, in those chocolate-colored eyes.
There was instant denial. “No.”- he said. Clenched jaw. Fiery eyes. Like molten lava under Bruce’s skin. It wasn’t hard, making him see that this was a battle he couldn’t win. He grinded harder against the tight grip around his cock. Enjoying himself. Letting out lustful sounds. Jordan is not the patient type. He couldn’t just stand by when someone else was having all the fun. He would tighten his grip. Yes, just like that. Hoping that it would halt his movements. It didn’t. A little pain wouldn’t deter him.
But the bastard already knew that.
Next, a twinge of persuasion. Provocation. Challenge. Words and action alike. Rubbing harder against him. Giving him a little taste of what he could get if he would just give in. It shouldn’t take long. If there’s one thing he’d learnt over sex pollen attacks, is that it’s easier to push through the pain than this kind of need.
It didn’t take long. He could see the exact moment Jordan folded. His eyes grew softer. Hazier. Like a switch had been flipped somewhere inside of him. His next words were barely above a whisper. Soft and breathy and sweeter than any surrender Bruce’d ever heard.
“Please.”- he said. Cheeks as red as apples. Trying valiantly to hide his eyes behind an arm.
“Good boy.”- he would deny this to his dying breath, but he felt like something inside him just melted.
He ended their suffering in one fell swoop, slamming himself down with so much force it forced out a whine from his throat. He needed a minute to adjust to the intrusion. It wasn’t life-changing or painful or anything like the things they used to teach him in classes. He didn’t feel full close to bursting. Or if someone stuck a pole inside him. It was just a little bit of discomfort. And then after a moment, a lot of pleasure. Jordan’s…thing was all the way in. Fitting him like a glove. Touching spots he didn’t even know existed. It wasn’t overwhelming. Just…satisfying. Like finally scratching an itch.
He wouldn’t say it felt good. It was…deeper than that. A profound sense of indulgence. Before he knew it, he was moving, pushing himself up and then dropping down, trying to get more of that feeling. It was hurried. Wild. Uncoordinated. Which was probably why it felt all over the place. It was nice. Don’t get him wrong, it felt great. It was just…not what he was looking for. Felt like he was toeing the line without being able to break through. It frustrated him. And like with all things that had frustrated him in the past, he stormed in, guns blazing. Harder. Faster. Which had worked on most things. Except this wasn’t most things. All he got in return were sore thighs and even sorer hips. He was so mad he felt like he could explode.
Before he could do something that would probably blow a hole in whosever quarters that was next to his, Jordan finally took a hint. Large palms gripped him on the hips, slowing down his pace. Bringing him all the way up until only the flared head was inside. Then ringing him back again. That was….better, actually. Deeper. Fuller. The glide smoother. The jab sharper. The ache started to abate. Then the frustration. He felt like he could finally breathe. His legs fell wider on instinct, hungry for more of…whatever it was they were doing.
Then something shifted. He couldn’t put his finger on it. The angle? The pace? No. Not that. But something was definitely different. Everything felt more intense. More…vivid. Pleasure came at him in waves, radiating from where they were connected all the way to the tips of his finger. He watched in fascination as they flexed in time with the movements, gripping harder into flesh, leaving behind welts of red crescents.
A part of him was glad there wasn’t a mirror in the room. He didn’t want to look at himself right now. He must have been quite a sight. Chest pushed out. Cheeks blazing. Sweat rolling down every curve of his body. It was so embarrassing. And yet he didn’t care. His mind was too numb to care about his image right now. He was moving with Jordan, readily communicating his needs. Jordan, for his part, was actually paying attention. Following his every cue. Giving all the effort. Working him steadily closer towards ecstasy.
As they were finally on the same page, everything else quickly fell into place. Jordan looked good like this. Hair disheveled. Brows furrowed. Eyes glazed. And then there was the sounds. The filthy slaps of skin on skin. Needy gasps punched out from his lungs without his consent. Soft, wrecked, begging sounds. They made him so hot.
It is unbelievably ironic, that after all those seminars on teamwork where Clark would look at them pointedly while doling out advice, they hardly need any help to work together in this.
//////////
Hal couldn’t say for sure if Bruce had ever shared his heat with anyone. His best guess was no. Look at him! He’s the most paranoid bastard in the universe. Always about control and dominance. Probably couldn’t even see himself being vulnerable, let alone giving anyone else the chance. Which was why it was hard to believe he would be this open to what they were doing. Arching his back. Widening his legs. Sounding out obscene encouragements. He looked as close to presenting as someone like him possibly could, and that did to Hal’s libido what gasoline does to fire.
He got into it fully. Letting go of all restraints. Fucking him harder. Basking in the feeling of soft walls hugging him so flawlessly. Shoving himself deeper. Swiveling his hips in sharp circles. Luxuriating in the tight squeeze against his entire length. He got lost in the moment. Bruising Bruce’s insides to his heart’s content. God. He felt so good. So soft and wet and HOT. He wished he could be doing this forever. Or at least for a couple more days. How long do heats usually last, he wondered.
“Hold up.”- his higher brain function screamed at him in a panicked tone- “Are you seriously planning a future with this dude?”
Holy fuck. Did he just…
“Jordan!”- Bruce rudely interrupted his inner melt-down. Fuck. He looked so…perfect. Hair matted to his forehead. Eyes alight with lust. Cheeks stained with desire. Bouncing on his cock like a champ. Puffs of breath clouding up in the air. Sweet mouth parting to show just the sexiest hint of tongue.
“I want something in my mouth.”- he said with all the seriousness in the world, as if speaking in a conference.
“What?”- he hoped he sounded as puzzled as he felt. Don’t get him wrong. It’s great that they were communicating their wants and all that. But what the hell was he supposed to do with that information?
“I want a cock in my mouth.”- Bruce somehow managed to demand that with a straight face, shaking his hips impatiently.
“O…kay?”- Hal tried his best to push through the desire that was turning his brain into mush. It is really hard to think during wild heat sex with your long-time rival.
“I only have one cock.”- he offered awkwardly, fucking up into him HARD for emphasis. Oh. His insides felt amazing.
“I know, idiot.”- Bruce scratched an aggressive line down his pecs. The pain pooled like liquid down the pits of his stomach- “Use. your. imagination.”- he punctuated every word with a hard push, cradling Hal in the exquisite clutch of his body. For someone who was demanding Hal to use his head, he was far from helping.
“Oh.”- realization hit him all at once. A valiant feat, given his current…situation. Oh Bruce. You evil genius. You. Slutty. Creative. Resourceful. Genius.
The ring glowed as soon as he called for it, eager to assist. It was a good thing it wasn’t sentient. Nothing puts a dent in a partnership like unsolicited voyeurism.
Bruce had an appreciative glint in his eyes as Hal raised his hand, sitting back firmly to watch him work his magic. Er…alien technology. He felt…something washing over him at THAT look, in those lovely baby blues. Something like acceptance. Approval. Encouragement. Something he felt like he’d always wanted. Something he’d resigned to never be able to find in this lifetime. Yet something he was getting, without prompt, while doing the kinkiest shit he could imagine with Bruce-asshole-Wayne.
Life really is stranger than fiction.
As gratifying as…that was, he didn’t get to see it for long. Bruce opened his mouth eagerly as the sight of his newly fashioned dildo, glowing a faint green in the warm lights. It was…normal. No spikes or suckers or anything. He felt like that might be too much for a first time. Maybe later. When they were more familiar with each other. Any guy who wears that much latex is sure to have some interesting kinks worth testing out.
Stop it, Hal. Don’t you dare “later” yourself into this. “Later” is scary. Dangerous. Distracting. You can’t afford “later” now. It’s already hard enough to keep yourself from coming.
He watched in amazement as Bruce tried to fit the…thing into his mouth. It was so erotic. He had tried to make it look and feel like his own. He wasn’t sure if he’d managed it, but the thought alone was enough to turn him on. To think that this is how he would look. On his knees. Sucking his cock. It didn’t help his arousal one bit that Bruce seemed to enjoy himself way too much. Swirling his pink tongue around the head. Scrapping his teeth against the vein down the side. Eyes fluttering shut in appreciation.
It was downright obscene. Never in his life had he thought he would be grateful for the transparency of the ring’s creations. He could see, through the clear green light, exactly what Bruce was doing with his mouth. He has such a talented tongue. It danced beautifully against his length, lathering every inch of him in sweltering wet heat. It dipped its blunt tip into the hole at the head, intent on getting every last drop of his desire. It flexed cutely as if basking in the feeling of his weight sitting deep in its owner’s throat, claiming him almost entirely.
It was all too much. Bruce carving his mark into his skin. Bruce fucking himself furiously on his cock. Bruce twirling his tongue lewdly around the fake cock in his mouth. Bruce’s scent. Bruce’s walls. Bruce’s mouth. Bruce’s everything. Enveloping his entire being so completely it felt as though he would leave a mark in the very fiber that make up who he is when they’re done. It was ridiculously possessive. Presumptuous. Patriarchal. Yet in the moment it was insanely appealing. Seeing the man behind the mask. Knowing him inside and out. Marking him up for the world to see.
It was that thought that pushed him over the edge, coming harder than he’d ever had in his entire life. He saw stars exploding behind his eyelids, galaxies of light flashing on his retinas. All emotions rushed out of him all at once, helpless against the sweet suction of Bruce’s body. Bruce rode him through it, milking him for all he had to give. Hard. Angry. Desperate. Until he, too, reached his high. Gripping Hal just shy of painful. Massaging him from root to tip. Arching his back in a beguiling curve. Giving an orgasmic shout that would forever be imprinted in Hal’s memories. Collapsing onto him in a sweaty heap. Spent. Satisfied. Beautiful.
Without thinking, he bundled Bruce up in his arms, trying to stay where he was. To maintain their connection. Just for a little bit longer.
//////////
That wasn’t too bad.
Sure, it was bad. He is so used to being in control that he feels threatened whenever things fall outside of his predictions. A misplaced file. A new villain. Another player in the game. A full-blown heat? That’s up there with alien invasions and the dead popping up from their graves. Still, it could have gone worse. It could have been on enemy grounds. In a battle. In a public place. He could have been captured. His face could be all over the tabloids. Some dickhead could have force-marked him. Shit. Just thinking about that put his head into a spiral. Goosebumps broke out on his skin. Hairs stood up at the back of his neck. Unconsciously, he smoothed his palm against the sensitive skin of his gland, making sure it was completely intact. He knew, rationally, that it was. He had been fully aware during this whole encounter. He could gruffly attest to the fact that Jordan had never even hint at having any impure intentions. He just…worry.
Maybe he wasn’t as alert as he thought. Isn’t that a scary thought?
“Ouch.”- Jordan’s voice sounded somewhere on his left- “Way to make a guy feel special.”
“What?”- he scowled, hand still rubbing the side of his neck. It was mightily unfair how good Jordan looked after a good fuck. He was positively glowing. Criminally smug smile. Bright hazel eyes. Artfully tousled hair. He didn’t care if it were genes or some power ring side-effects. No-one should look that good after sex.
“You know I didn’t bite you, Spooky.”- a foreign spark of hurt crossed his face. He looked serious, now. Way more serious than Bruce had ever seen him. He scooted closer to him. Brows furrowed. Jaws set. Lips parted.
He was about an arm’s length away when he gave Bruce an uncharacteristically shy smile. He had never pegged Jordan to be the shy type. He didn’t even know he was capable of shyness. He’s the type to dive head-first into any situation. Sitting here, looking at Bruce with borderline puppy eyes? It can’t be. It was…troubling.
He lifted Bruce’s hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across his knuckles.
“If I had done anything that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me…”- he trailed off, looking like a kicked puppy.
Now it was his turn to get uncharacteristically flustered. Who the hell does that? This isn’t the Middle Ages. He isn’t some dainty princess. Who kisses people on the hand anymore?
“You do.”- his mind supplied, completed with instances of him kissing ladies on the hand in events.
“It’s different.”- he protested weakly, trying his damnedest to cut his mind off as it tried to list all the reasons why it WASN’T different.
Jordan was oblivious to his inner struggles, still looking at him like a kicked puppy. And, God, holding his hand, too, fingers brushing through his calluses indulgently.
“You think too highly of yourself.”- he snatched his hand back with more force than necessary- “I wouldn’t have LET you do anything that makes me uncomfortable.”
He was relieved to find that Jordan’s face had morphed back into that half-playful, half-grave expression he always wears around Bruce. It was still strange, though. He still looked way too soft for comfort. Too nice. Too reverent. Like what they had done had somehow shifted the air between them. It shouldn’t have. It was just one-time sex. Plain and simple. And yet there was something inside him that was agreeing with the sentiment. It was the heat. All those damn hormones waltzing around in his body. Feeding his head nonsense. That it had felt amazing. That maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to do it again sometimes. Or better yet, they can make it into a regular heat thing and…
No. Not going there.
“Let’s clean up.”- he jumped off the bed, hoping to clear his head of all of this mess. It didn’t work, however. Not one bit.
As soon as his feet touched the carpet, another problem presented itself. Jordan’s mouth quirked up into a devilish smile, shamelessly leering at his back. It wasn’t hard to guess why. He could feel it, running down his thighs. Warm. Thick. Dirty. It’s proof of what they’d done. Here. Tonight. He should be ashamed. It was an impulsive decision. But Jordan’s eyes were on him, tracing every line of his body with the kind of desire that kindles the fire in his gut. It might have been just some stupid omega instinct. But in the moment, it was addicting. He felt sexy. Powerful. Wanted. It’s a feeling he’d felt often, but never with such an intensity.
//////////
They stripped everything bare. The duvet. The blankets. The pillowcase.
“Everything”- Bruce had specifically stated, coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist. He looked particularly hot like that, skin rosy with heat and droplets of water running down his torso. It makes making out what was being said to him very difficult- “I want no trace of your DNA in here.”
“That hurts, babe.”- he held a hand against his chest dramatically- “You were enjoying yourself last night.”
“Don’t call me that.”- Bruce grabbed a corner of the duvet with more force than necessary. Is it him, or is there a light flush sitting atop his cheeks? Damn. It’s so cute. So foreign. So unexpected. He wanted to plant a kiss on it.
Which he did. Or at least, he was trying to, before Bruce whacked him on the head with a pillow.
“Getting laid makes you stupid, Jordan?”- he asked, folding up the duvet. Because God forbids Batman ever bundle up laundry like a normal person- “Get a move on. We only have 30 minutes before the next shift starts.”
“Maybe it did.”- he jumped off the bed, stripping a pillow and folding the case carefully. Oh. The things he does to get laid. He hadn’t folded a pillowcase in more than decade- “You fucked me stupid.”
“Don’t be crass.”- Bruce procured a bag out of thin air, placing the dirty sheets inside.
“What are you gonna do with it?”- he motioned at the bag, shocked by the chain of images it evoked in his head. Bruce, in the throes of heat, rolling on sheets that smell like them, furiously rubbing himself to completion. Bruce, flushed and wanting, getting off to his scent, moaning his name. Bruce, fingers deep within himself, panting out in frustration, wishing it was Hal’s instead.
“Burn it.”- he answered decisively, biceps flexing as he put on his suit.
It did nothing to stop the stream of images, each one lewder than the last. Fantasy. Memory. They present Hal with the most erotic version of Bruce one could ever dream of. Naked. Wanton. Confident. Slu…
“Whatever you’re thinking, STOP. It feels dirty.”- that was his business voice. Serious and menacing. The voice that strikes fear into the hearts of Gotham’s lowest. That wasn’t the case for him. It got his dick perked up surprisingly quickly. Got desire burning low in his gut. He didn’t know what that said about him.
“It definitely is, baby.”- arousal was making him reckless. He boldly grabbed 2 fistfuls of his delicious ass, basking in the way the flesh spilled between his fingers- “What do you say?”- he crooned into Bruce’s ear, teeth latching onto the softness of his lobe- “Wanna get dirty with me again sometimes?”- traced the shell with his tongue and the happy trail with his fingers- “How about later? Heats usually last for a few days, do they?”
Bruce was trying to stay emotionless. Keep his stance rigid and his head high, as if he’s above all mortal desires. His body, however, betrayed him. Slick leaked from between his legs at Hal’s offer, dampening the back of his briefs.
God. He’s so horny.
“Alfred.”- that doused his lust remarkably quickly. Nothing turns one off quite like having a parental figure being privy to all the kinky shit you get up to behind closed doors- “Can you sanitize the bed?”
“Certainly, master Bruce.”- a voice replied, seemingly out of thin air. At least Alfred wasn’t actually there. Thank goodness- “You have an estimated 1 hour until the next wave hits.”
Wait! He couldn’t actually see them, could he? He couldn’t have been watching this entire time, right? It would be so weird, would it? The voice didn’t sound so life-like. Maybe it was an AI. Yeah. It must have been an AI. Bruce wouldn’t be so nonchalant at the prospect of his father figure getting an eyeful of them otherwise.
Right?
“Very well.”- Bruce shared none of his concerns, whispering orders to his suit as he hightailed out of there with his usual air of regality and self-righteousness.
“It’s an AI, right?”- Hal couldn’t help it. He had to know. Fuck his life- “It’s not actually Alfred on the line, is it?”
All he got in response was a devilish smirk.
Evil bastard.
He heard voices out in the corridor, other heroes arriving to pick up their shift. He couldn’t remember who it was. Maybe Bruce did ride him stupid. He scrubbed himself down in the shower, trying to decipher who they were through the sound of flashing water. They sounded male, but that was as far as he got. Oh no! It isn’t Barry, is it? Barry’s gonna know they’d had sex the moment he sees Hal. He can’t hide anything from Barry. Believe him, he tried.
Bruce was debriefing them like a pro, like he hadn’t spent the last hour sexed out of his mind. He got to hurry up. Between the 2 of them, Bruce was the better-looking one now. Attentive and responsible. Hal might not be the one with the money or the technology, but he refuses to look like someone who would slack off and take a nap while Bruce does all the work. His arrogance doesn’t need reinforcing. Can you imagine how insufferable he would be then? Hal would sooner die than let that happen.
As he was powering up his suit, he got a message. A string of numbers, followed by a few sentences, so curt and business-like there’s little doubt who wrote them.
“A heat usually lasts for 3 days. Punch in the code at the entrance.”
No-one has to know he had joined his comrades in the control room that day with an odd smile on his face and a jovial spring to his steps.
Well, maybe except a certain someone.