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It's nearly 2300 by the time Bruce gets back to his private quarters on the Watchtower.
The artificial lights have dimmed all over the vessel, leaving Bruce comfortably bathed in cool shadows as he made his way to the personal deck. While he had enjoyed the talks with the Kryptonians for the last few days, he was… for lack of a better word, tired.
For once, Bruce wanted nothing more than to lay down in his bed and rest.
The door to his room opens with a soft sound, a breeze of cool air melting out to meet him. He always kept his room cold; it prevented him from falling asleep before he finished what he needed to do. And he always had things to do.
Right now, he isn't sure if the chill will help in the slightest—his eyelids are heavy, and his back aching from standing all day.
Without looking up from the datapad in his hands, Bruce steps into the room and quietly locks the door behind him. There should be no interruptions between now and when he's all set up to get back home to Gotham, but Bruce didn't want to chance it.
He needed peace and quiet, or he might lose it.
Well. Peace and quiet after he files his daily report, and then sets up the zeta to get back to Gotham. He'd locked down all the tubes while their foreign visitors were on-ship, just as a precaution, and there was about an hour long period for all the tubes to be unlocked (unless Bruce wanted to set off the emergency codes and put the entire ship on red alert. If he were as dramatic as the Flash was, he would've done it about 2 days ago).
Bruce doesn't mind waiting. He always finds something to do. Still, Alfred will appreciate the chance to give the boys a heads-up before Bruce makes his grand reappearance. He has no doubt Damian has been very passionate about not being allowed out as Robin on his own without Batman. Even with Dick there, Bruce forbade it.
He's sure Damian has snuck out at least twice by now. But hopefully he has the wherewithal to be back before Bruce finally makes it home.
Whatever the case, Alfred will be sure to tell him all about it. Bruce taps on the call button and sets the datapad down on the desk with a soft sigh as the message filters down to the atmosphere to Earth.
Bruce cracks the stiff bones in his neck as the lights in the room slowly lift to something from pitch-black to something that the human eye can actually perceive. He liked to use the lull in light to give his eyes a rare chance to rest. He pinches at the bridge of his nose, now, and begins to reach up to pull his cowl off so he can get at his eyelids directly.
A noise further in the room distracts him. Shuffling. Fabric sliding against fabric.
Immediately, Bruce tenses all over.
A marathon of threats hurtles through his mind. Sabotage by their Kryptonian visitors, a third party who snuck aboard to figure out the Batman's secrets, or even—God forbid—Hal attempting to play a prank on him.
Batman reaches into his belt, forcing his eyes to focus through the darkness. A batarang presses, almost comfortingly, into his palm as he closes his fist.
It's a nearly-square room, but someone had suggested a divider between the desk side of the room and the bed. Something about keeping the spaces separate. Batman hadn't seen the need (as he usually sleeps at the desk anyway, if he needs to sleep) but didn't bother arguing a relatively small aspect of the architectural design of the Watchtower—he was more focused on the security.
Now he wonders if it had been a threat to the security of their private rooms.
Batman prowls forward silently, bodyweight shifted forward onto the tips of his toes in preparation at leaping at the stowaway in his room.
Brandishing his weapon of choice, he tucks his cape back and yanks his arm up to throw it with all of his might.
It's the sound of a soft, breathy sigh, a familiar tone of voice he hasn't heard in days, that has Bruce stopping in his tracks.
There, on the bed, lying curled up and deep asleep, sits the prettiest omega he'd ever seen in his life. Wrapped in pure, soft white chiffon-like fabric, handsome face nuzzling into Bruce's pillow.
His omega.
Kal-El.
Two Weeks Ago…
"This is our meeting room. Discussing battleplans, diplomacy issues, even simply checking in on our fellow brothers-in-arms… it all happens here," Diana explains.
She gestures out towards the windows, where a Kryptonian ship is idly floating by, engines shut off though a handful of bodies were still inside, surveying the Watchtower inside and out. It had made Batman weary, but Diana took the lead and he would follow her command.
It isn't as if they were out there alone, studying and scanning whatever they pleased. Barry, Shayera, and J'onn were all out there with them. Batman can see, now, J'onn phasing through the hull, heading back into the Kryptonian vessel after assessing the outside.
Weariness aside, what Batman wouldn't give to be out there at the same time. Being a diplomat was not his inclination. But, as co-leader of the Justice League, Diana had insisted on his appearance here—greeting the dignitaries, bumping elbows with the royalty of the foreign planet many lightyears away. Making sure there was no security risk. Red Tornado was in charge of implementing their new technology with what was already available on the Watchtower, so it wasn't as though he could be security detail this time either, and the handful of Green Lanterns had gone off to Krypton as a show of goodwill and faith that Earth was not a threat to them. That this alliance would only mean good.
But Batman had to admit he was bored out of his mind.
It was all a bunch of power play, and he'd had enough of that on an average day at Wayne Enterprises when he had to take over a board-meeting. Though the Kryptonians were much less menacing and bloodthirsty than Bruce's stakeholders, he still had to watch his tongue with every interaction.
It'd be better if he could get a hand on some of their technology himself, to idly study while Diana handles the rest. At least she's seeming to enjoy herself.
Batman watches as she reaches forward to press a friendly hand against one of the Kryptonian's shoulders, leading them out of the room and towards the mess hall.
"You would think our rations were endless, if you saw how the Flash devoured them," she jokes. "But my friend has introduced me to cuisines I never would have otherwise had in my homeland. Have you ever had ice cream?"
Batman steps to the side to let the rest of the merry band of envoys and ambassadors pass him, staring directly when one seems to size him up. At the unending intensity of his cowled stare, they hurry forward with their head down.
Batman holds in his sigh, taking up the rear of the entourage. The cafeteria is only two doors down. Still, it takes them nearly five minutes to get there as they 'ooh' and 'ahh' at every bit of new Earth culture, technology, even language that Diana shares.
Finally, though, the last of the Kryptonians shuffles through the double doors and Batman leans against the wall to tiredly let out that sigh from before.
"Oh, Batman!" Diana says cutting through the crowd with a giggle at whatever joke she'd just been told. "Is there anywhere you'd like to show them after this? Hawkgirl was going to show her prowess in the training room once we're done here, but if there's anything you'd like to exhibit…"
"I'm fine," he declines. "Truthfully, I'd rather be engaging with a scientist if they'd brought any, studying the capabilities of their compatible tech… maybe I should have Lantern take over as tour guide and go check on our security?"
One of the Kryptonians perks up.
Batman regards them from over Diana's shoulder, so much so that she glances back and gives them an easy smile. Just one look from the Princess and they scurry back to the rest of the group, talking animatedly.
When Batman looks back at her, Diana smiles at him. She could see his desperate attempt at escaping this charade for what it is, and mirthfully grants him it.
"Our security is fine, my friend. But… perhaps a break is in order, for all of us. I'll keep them busy in the mess hall, why don't you head down to the docking bay and make sure there's no issues with our new friends' ship?"
"Sounds good." He stands up straighter. "Comm if you need backup."
"You worry too much, my friend," she says, though her eyes hold a glint that say if there is any trouble, she has it handled with or without backup. Batman has no doubt she could take any of the aliens on even if they had one hand tied behind her back with her own lasso.
Though… they all had noticed that some of them were being affected by the solar radiation in ways none of them were expecting. One of them had leaned too hard against a door and dented it. Another had started floating, something that none of them had had happen before where they come from. They'd used the opportunity to excitedly examine the LED lamps that were inlaid in the ceiling, of all things—a novelty that wasn't available on their home planet.
A not-so-quick study of their biology told them that it had something to do with the sun. These Kryptonians were aware of how different sunlight radiation affected them, but they'd never been able to study a yellow sun's solar system before… They seemed in awe at how 'cold' it was in comparison to their home, how the radiation was 'weak'. Some of them had remarked that they were lucky to have stored more crystals on their ship so they could make it home sooner rather than later—apparently every ship on Krypton was entirely solar powered, but with power banks that could have a supplementary charge with a specific type of crystal. As far as Batman was aware, there were no such crystal structures similar on Earth. If they hadn't brought them, their ships would have needed nearly two weeks to properly recharge just to make it to the next system with a stronger sun.
But, luck was on their side. They'll be gone by the end of the week. Batman didn't need their sudden powers making them think that Earth's protectors would roll over easily at a sudden, hostile takeover.
"Comm me personally," he repeats. She hums, almost playfully, but nods nonetheless and taps at her hip, where her comm-badge hangs in easy reach.
"I will, if necessary. Go take a break, Batman."
With both that promise and the dismissal, Batman takes his leave.
The rest of the ship is relatively quiet as he prowls through it. In fact, he doesn't run into another single living creature as he wanders from the main deck all the way to one of the lower hangars, small enough that its only use is for stowing a ship for spare parts.
Bruce has a small ship here, one he's been designing himself since the Watchtower's inception. Bruce often hides in the underbelly of the ship, listening to the hum of the Tower and how she almost breathes along with the life that is within her. If his room isn't enough to put him to sleep, even on the most insomniac of days Bruce can find solace here.
With a soft sigh, he climbs into the ship and sits himself in the copilot seat. The seats still need work. But the wiring needs much more attention. Bruce peels his gloves off, tossing them into the empty pilot's chair. Maybe he'll do a little bit of wiring, maybe some more mechanical repairs… if Diana needs him he can be back within three minutes, even if he gets pulled into the task.
He nods to himself and reaches under the seat for his tools. Just the basic ones, but the more advanced ones are in the workbench on the other side of the hangar. Bruce, for once, chooses to be lazy and take it easy while he can.
For nearly an hour, Bruce works undisturbed. Matching color to color, soldering what needs to be. One of the motherboards had gotten burnt out on the last test flight, Bruce is surprised to find. The ship's power output might be greater than he expected, hm…
So lost in his task, Bruce doesn't realize someone has entered the hangar until he sees a shadow peek around the corner of the open cargo ramp.
Batman stands, one hand shoving his task off to the side, the other reaching for a weapon in his belt.
Before he has to melt himself into the shadows and observe his potential attacker, a nervous voice calls out,
"Um! Hello, Batman. I was told you wanted to meet with me?"
The voice is unfamiliar, but the cadence is warm and shy.
Lifting a brow, Batman relaxes the tense pull of his shoulders but doesn't let his guard down.
"By whom?"
"Um—Well, Ju-Mek just said that you wanted, um…" The Kryptonian stammers a bit, face red. Nervous. "That you wanted an engagement with one of our scientists? I'm sorry if I'm not what you were expecting. See, I'm the only one they brought this time—there's this big project back home and they kind of needed all hands. But I really wanted to see Earth… we'd heard a lot about you all! The Justice League, I mean. It's all so… incredible. Inspiring, really."
Batman eyes the unwelcome, rambling guest. He hasn't seen this one just yet. Dressed in geometrically cut patterns, more than the other diplomats but only by a few golden lines stitched into the seams. And, matching, a golden circlet adorned around his head, resting from temple to temple.
A scientist. Batman remembers seeing the designation through fashion when he and Diana had studied up on Kryptonian culture before their new allies entered the Milky Way. A very revered profession on Krypton, from what he's learned. How exciting to have his very own to observe.
And… he's tall, taller than Batman himself by at least a head, though he stands a bit slouched so they're closer to eye level nonetheless. He has a thick curl of hair that tickles at his forehead, and he plays with it idly as he waits for Batman's response. Jet black in color, dark like the night.
And… eyes bluer than an icy diamond. Batman stares into the rich color of them longer than necessary, even when his guest darts them off to the side to break the contact.
He gives him another nervous smile, even as his eyes stay trained out of the large glass window of Batman's personal ship.
"This is all so interesting," the alien says, voice soft. "Earth truly is marvelous."
Batman glances out the window. The Watchtower has rotated on its axis enough that the full curve of the Earth was in view. Rich blues and greens whirling together, outlined by the whites of the clouds and blacks of the soil and deep ocean. It's always breathtaking, to realize how little everything is.
"Yes," Batman agrees, honestly. "Earth is known for its innovation and… inability to die when it should have."
The Kryptonian laughs, and Batman watches as a handsome little dimple appears on one side of his chin. It stays even as the laugh peters out and the alien reaches forward to press his fingertips against the cool glass window. His touch is delicately light, as if he's all too aware of the new strength pulsing beneath his skin.
"Yes," he echoes. The sun is starting to rise, coating half of the visible sphere with golden hues and flowing, liquid warmth. His eyes sweep over, glancing down at the diagrams and blueprints Batman had laid out. A curious gaze, one that doesn't linger too long on any one detail before he moves his on. Sooner, rather than later, his eyes are pulled back to the view in front of him.
Batman watches him the entire time, carefully breathing in and out of his mouth.
The silence comfortably fills up the space between them, until, finally, the Kryptonian speaks,
"I can… if I'm not up to your preferences, I can request for one of my fellow researchers to come? It'll be a few weeks before they can make it this far… but this alliance means very much to my people."
The alien tilts his head bashfully as he says this. His skin is sun-kissed, dewy and golden as if he were made to bask in warm sunlight. Perhaps he was. Batman's gaze rests heavily on the column of his bare throat, before he glances back up. Explicitly noting the Kryptonian holds himself. Small, as if he's nervous of coming off as frightening. He has such a kind face, Batman isn't sure it would ever be a problem.
"That's not necessary," Batman says, finally. "I am grateful you came all this way, and I look forward to seeing what our new allyship provides for both of our planets."
The words are simply a copy of what Diana had said when the Kryptonians first walked through their doors.
But it brings a palpable relief to this Kryptonian's face, and he stands up straighter with a grin so bright that Batman finds himself stepping closer, drawn in like a moth to a flickering flame.
"That's great! Oh, everyone will be so relieved…" The man says. Before Batman can ask for clarification, he continues, "Let me show you my ship? It's further away, just for 'us scientists'," he chuckles. "But… I'd like for you to see it. We can get to know each other on the way? If you like."
"Mm," Batman hums, monotone. Inside, he's perked up like Ace when she's been given one of her chew toys. "I'll lead."
"Of course," the man says, dipping his head deferentially. It bares his neck again, but Batman looks away before he gets ahead of himself.
Kryptonians don't have alpha, beta, or omega designations. They didn't have the biology for it, nor any similar customs. Baring their neck, flaring their scents… none of it mattered to them as far as Bruce has been able to research. Any ploy of dominance and submission is purely based on personality, not just biology. Bruce reminds himself of this as he steps around the Kryptonian.
Still, he is slave to his biology. He's only human. Batman has to take a slow, steady breath in at the act of natural submission and try to ignore the way his belly warms, pleased.
All that does is fill his nostrils with the scent of the not omega in front of him. Gentle and almost sweet, fresh like how the ocean smells, but sterilized like how the vacuum of space is. Metallic, like a spaceship's engine, with a mix of some sort of natural oil, like almond or coconut. Bruce has never smelled a single thing like it.
He tries not to like it as he leads the way towards the Watchtower bay.
Bruce learns his name is Kal, of House El.
His ship is the smallest, but has the most safeguards. Shields and backup generators, even a rudimentary cloaking system for a quick escape. The other handful of ships are larger, with enough room to fit five bodies per. Something about that makes Batman regard the Kryptonian… Kal-El, closely.
Protecting one of their planet's most important assets only made sense. Bruce tries not to make it about how his instincts, damn them, view Kal as an omega. That he has just been invited into an omega's den freely. It's an honor not many omegas allow, whether it be to family or romantic partners. Bruce is neither, to Kal-El. Still, his instincts don't seem to care about the logic.
It is decorated like a personal space as well. Each bit of decor is maximalist; the walls are covered with swatches of fabrics—some of which are alien-made, though the others seem to be made by Earthlings, gifts from the League. There's a small circular bed in the corner, perhaps just big enough to fit Kal alone. The ship, though it is mostly just the singular room, is more open concept than any other that Bruce has seen.
He likes it, for Kal-El. A safe nest, well-guarded and well-loved. Surrounded by all of his interests.
Beside the bed are a number of tall stacks of books, which seem to have been taken off the empty shelf right next to them all. Messy, but Bruce can see that they've been organized by category. Botany, chemistry, even medicine… An organized mess. Bruce understands that entirely.
There are a few floating plant specimen in some sort of stasis chamber, closer to the helm, along with a number of test tubes filled with liquid and corked so they don't spill. A spare circlet, hanging loosely from the armchair of the pilot's seat. No second seat for copilot. There is a soft cushion there, lopsided from use and seemingly hand-stitched to repair a rip with mismatching thread. It has the House of El symbol embroidered on it.
Bruce has observed all of this by the time he has Kal-El's tongue in his mouth.
He grabs Kal by his thighs, hoisting him higher when the omega begins to slip from where he's wrapped himself around Bruce's torso to kiss him deeper. Bruce hadn't wanted to mess up the tapestries on the wall, so holding Kal up was the only choice left, at least… until, if he pleased, Kal invited him into his nest.
The lights are low and warm, amber and red in appearance. They make Kal-El's eyes look even more poignant, mesmerizing, but Kal's eyes are shut more often than not when Bruce kisses him back with as much passion as he receives. He wraps his tongue around Kal's, briefly, and suckles the tip into his mouth to encourage the omega him to do the same. As soon as he laps at the ridges along the roof of Bruce's mouth, Kal grips him so tightly that he nearly breaks through the armor along the Batman's arms.
"Sorry," he gasps, pulling back. Kal licks his wet lips, carefully rubbing over the cracked carbon fiber. "This solar system… your sun is quite different for us. Please, let's lay down."
He's flustered, Bruce notes. But he is more than happy to accept the invitation with a low, crooning noise that rumbles from his chest.
"I've noticed," Bruce hums shortly, distracted as he lays Kal back on the bed so that he can cover him with his entire body, aided by the long, flowing length of his cape. Nearly completely hiding Kal from view, keeping the notomega from catching a chill, and from being ogled by any potential intruders. No, this sight was for Bruce alone right now.
Kal's thighs are bare now, the lower half of his outfit slipping off almost as soon as they kissed. Needy. But he's still covered by his top, the long hanging part acting as a sort of shawl or gown, fitting between his inner legs to keep his intimates still rightfully hidden until Kal deigned to show himself.
Bruce chuffs, careful not to let himself fully growl—though it'd be pleased more than not. His instincts have always been quite intense, even for an alpha, and he didn't need to scare this little thing off needlessly. Bruce would do whatever he needed to prove that he could worship this notomega exactly how he deserves.
Kal spoke, a lot, on the way up. About his work, about how his planet wants to be peaceful as much as possible (thus, treatises drawn up far and wide), about how he loved the color of the moon even though he hasn't been on it just yet, and how he's 'never usually this messy, he just wasn't expecting company'.
It was all so endearing that Bruce wanted nothing more than to offer up his cape for the omega—not omega—to line his walls with, if he chose.
"Oh…" Kal moans, as Bruce licks a long stripe across his throat. "You're so warm."
"Mm."
Bruce is careful to keep his head angled so his cowl doesn't get in the way. Then he licks again, right above where a scent gland would be. Where throat meets shoulder, where the skin is fragile but, on Kal, surrounded by dense muscle and a scent so dizzyingly sweet that Bruce felt as though he was drunk off it. Most everyone on Earth wears some sort of scent-patch or dampener. Bruce fears he's going to be addicted to this scent for the rest of his days.
God, he wants to drink it down like wine and forget the rest of the universe as long as Kal will keep making that soft, breathless noise for him.
He sits up before he forgets himself. His tongue feels heavy as he swipes it across the fronts of his teeth, his fangs aching with the need to tease Kal's skin with just the tips of them… He wonders if Kal will make that gasping sound when Bruce is digging his teeth in purposefully, piercing the sensitive gland, mating him—
"Kal-El," he groans, pinching his own thigh to bring forth his focus. "May I kiss you again?"
"Yes, please," Kal sighs, already shifting upward to meet his lips. Bruce is gentle as he cups the back of his head to push him back down, tilting him so that Kal can comfortably rest against the few pillows he had on his bed. He needed a few more to be truly comfortable… swathed in them so that not a single muscle would ache. Bruce would have to offer him some.
For now, though, he allows his fingers, free of his glove some time ago by now, to tease through Kal's hair and ease away any tangles. Gently grooming him, simultaneously bathing Kal in Bruce's scent; all heady alpha, all protection and reverence.
Bruce can't remember if he's ever been so overcome by his instincts before. Of course, he's had one night stands. Trysts. Passionate love stories that fizzled out or turned sour (one of which, despite the heartache, resulted in the delectation that is his youngest son).
Something about this, now, is different. He can feel his brainwaves shifting. All logic has left him, and Bruce can only, nearly helplessly, follow each desire that blips into the haze of his mind. He wants Kal to smell more like him than Bruce himself does. He wants to smell more like Kal, too, until everything about them becomes one. It must be a mistake to indulge in more than a brief taste of this ecstasy, because Bruce is sure he'll go mad once Kal has to leave in a week.
Kal kisses him, a gentle peck, and blinks at him happily, as if he's never had such attention before in his life. It pulls Bruce from the distraction that is higher thought and yanks him back to the pleasurably here and now.
Bruce brings his other hand up to cradle Kal-El's jaw on either side and deepen the kiss before he fully pulls away. Kal's chest shudders with the contact, his moan muffled and swallowed down by Bruce.
His voice keeps trembling out of him, as if he can't help but mumbling sweet little nothings as Bruce finds new ways to worship his tongue. Some of it is Kryptonese, Bruce can tell by the shapes of the vowels. As a show of good will, the Kryptonians had learned a handful of Earth languages before they'd even arrived. How they learned so quickly, Bruce can't be sure—can only marvel at his luck. He gets to hear Kal speak so beautifully in his native tongue, and murmur so coyly in English, as if he doesn't realize what he's doing to his alpha.
To the alpha. Bruce's eyes flutter open as he inwardly corrects himself. God, the things he'd do if he were Kal-El's mating partner. The lengths he would go to ensure his omega would want for nothing.
He breaks the kiss with a ragged groan, hiding his face against the strong slope of Kal-El's chest. Bruce is falling too deeply. Kal will be leaving soon—there is nothing that would keep him here once the treatise has been fully established. Bruce cannot allow himself to fantasize about more, like a greedy alpha.
"Batman…?" Kal-El croons softly, hands rubbing up and down the planes of Bruce's back beneath the cape. Even his voice is enough to send Bruce right back to that alpha-hindbrain mental state, where he thinks of nothing more than courting him, if he's allowed, and bestowing him with gift upon gift until he's proved his worth as a capable mate.
He must go quiet for too long, because Kal's hands drop, and he is soon sitting up on his elbows. Bruce sits up with him, though Kal doesn't stop pushing until their chests are resting together and he can feel the strong thrum of his alien heartbeat even through the armor.
"Gosh," Kal mumbles. "You're very pretty."
The compliment is startling. Bruce has always been large (post-puberty at the very least), imposing to many, and gruff to others. He can understand that he is considered attractive on most fronts. But his size alone is enough to ward off compliments at all unless someone is comparing him to some sort of cut of meat.
Bruce has to admit, though, being so close to Kal in this moment that he is smaller. Kal has a wide wingspan. Thick thighs. A big barrel chest that makes him look heroic, in a way. Very beautiful.
Pretty…
Bruce can't help the way his mouth curves up in a smile. "That's a first."
"Mh?" Kal asks, attention already taken as he studies the shape of Bruce's lips. He licks his own, twice, before he darts his eyes back up to Bruce's white lenses. His cowl is still on. "What is?"
"C'mere," Bruce murmurs, mouth parting to kiss Kal again. And again, and again.
Before he catches himself, Bruce's hand sneaks its way between Kal's legs. They part eagerly for him, and even though there is a layer of cloth in the way, Bruce can feel the heat absolutely radiating from between his thighs. He cups his fingers, expecting to feel a hardened bulge against his palm, perhaps something twitching and aching to be satisfied.
Instead, his palm flattens as he slides it firmly over a soft, almost plush, mound of flesh. There's a soft squelch as wet is displaced and, soon, soaks through Kal's clothing.
A pussy. Warm and dripping and, as far as Bruce can tell just by prodding it curiously, human in every way.
"B…" Kal starts, the beginning of Bruce's hero name. It makes Bruce's heart beat hard in his chest, though he holds back giving Kal-El his real name. "Batman—ahhyeah…!"
Bruce keeps petting at the pretty little thing in his grasp as Kal writhes for it. Bruce angles his fingers so that the fabric of Kal-El's outfit sticks between the two fat, wet lips just waiting to be touched. Bruce wonders if it would feel even hotter without that barrier between them.
"Your hand is so big," Kal gasps, voice tittering with the beginning of incredulous laughter. "I don't know if it'll… if…"
Kal squeezes his thighs down against Bruce's wrist, ever so careful of his strength, but Bruce doesn't stop twitching his fingers for a moment. Flicking the tips of two of them against a fat, swollen clit that he can just barely outline through fabric.
Bruce's eyes don't leave Kal's face for a moment, either. He keeps avoiding eye contact, shy and overwhelmed. His face is entirely peachy pink with a blush, chest slowly heaving as he attempts to pace his breathing. It keeps catching in his throat when Bruce tries something new, though. So of course Bruce continues to try something new.
He traces along the seam of Kal-El's cunt, thumbing at where his clit tries to hide away beneath the fat of his pubic mound. Then he follows the line back down in a circle, until he reaches the very bottom of his hole, where most of his slick has gathered and dripped down. When Bruce dips a finger in, barely a centimeter and still through the clothes, he feels how Kal clamps down hard. As if he's desperate for something inside of him.
Bruce kisses him before he abandons all of his honor and begs Kal to bare himself completely, so that Bruce can sink his fingers—his cock—inside that tight, wet heat and fill it to the brim with his seed. Just so that he can lick it out later and suckle on his clit so that Kal can coat him with slick, enough that the scent of him would never fade from Bruce's glands.
Saliva coats his tongue thickly as he imagines it. If Kal-El's natural scent was so addictive, he can only imagine his slick is like divine nectar.
He yanks his hand away before he can curl his fingers and try to sink them fully inside of Kal. Just barely controlling himself, perhaps even proving to the omega that Bruce can control himself even when tempted with the most tantalizing bliss.
Kal makes an affronted noise at the loss, and Bruce almost immediately reaches his hand back down to continue taking care of him, but Kal yanks him forward in one strong motion—to kiss him, and so that he can plant the full jut of his cunt against Bruce's curved thigh and ride it as roughly as he pleases. Instantly, his hips jerk and tremble, short and sharp as he tries to get friction on his aching clit.
Bruce squeezes his fist, fingers still wet, and licks into Kal's mouth as if it is his pussy. Using his clean hand, he places a thumb on Kal's jaw to keep his lips parted. He feels the way Kal's toes curl behind him, ankles firmly hooked together at the small of Bruce's back as if Bruce would dare to pull away again.
Would he do the same with Bruce's head? Pin him there and allow Bruce to lick and suck and drink down every drop that spills from him? Fist a hand in Bruce's hair to angle him exactly where he needs it, forgoing his soft, careful demeanor to take from his alpha the pleasure that he desires.
Bruce would give it to him. Will gladly give it to him until he drowns in it, until the taste is permanently etched into his tastebuds and not a single decadent meal can overwrite it.
Maybe Kal would become used to tasting himself on Bruce's tongue as well, still giggling shyly as he leans in for it, dipping down that inch or two that offsets their height so that Bruce can prove his devotion to him. His tongue, Kal-El's throne.
So lost in the fantasy of it, Bruce is entirely startled when he feels his head hit the ceiling.
They're… floating.
Kal is focused on humping himself against Bruce's thigh, trying desperately to get the stimulation he deserves through the layers of their clothing. Though Kal-El's outfit is thin, Bruce's is thick and unyielding by design. Still, he's delighted Kal can bring himself pleasure using Bruce however he pleases.
Bruce puts a hand against the ceiling to push him back down, glancing over at the helm to see if there's been any errors to affect the gravity aboard the ship.
Except… nothing else is floating. The books are still in a heavy stack at the foot of the nest, the fabric on the wall is still lazily hanging and swaying in artificial air currents, and Bruce's cape is still wrapped around Kal's legs and hanging down like the tendrils of a willow tree.
Bruce realizes, even just lifting his hand and feeling the gravity affecting him, that he's not floating either. It's just… Kal. Like a shooting star, Kal has taken off and, without even realizing it, stolen Bruce up along with him.
"Batman… Please—don't stop," Kal begs him, all bashfulness gone and replaced with a need that Bruce, too, feels burning beneath his skin. "Our biology is similar enough, I think… to let me feel you? I want to feel you deep."
Bruce does growl then. He can't resist, not when Kal is ready and begging for it. It is an affirming noise, one born from the desire to please, and he has to bite down on his lip, fang digging in sharply, to keep himself from obeying without further thought.
His cock is aching in his underwear, the flattening spandex keeping his erection from becoming a problem. He may just cum simply from how erotic Kal's begging is. Popping a knot just because his omega is dripping for it.
Bruce holds on, barely, and pushes more forcefully at the ceiling so that he can have some fresh air away from the cloying pheromones of Kal-El's notomega scent. Perfect scent.
Bruce opens his mouth to taste it directly from the air, then firmly shuts it when he realizes he's being a knothead.
Kal-El yanks himself forward again, back arching up so he has a new angle at which to hump his pussy against Bruce's armored thigh. He doesn't even realize his head isn't cushioned by pillows anymore, so frantic with need as he is.
"Inside me… please—"
"No," Bruce denies, rougher than he means to. "It's—put us back down."
It's dangerous. If Bruce loses control like this, they may plummet before he can properly shield Kal from the fall.
Kal makes a confused noise, both at the rejection and the command. He blinks his eyes open, though his gaze is hazy until he blinks a handful more times.
Both his hands have ended up on Bruce's shoulders for purchase—so that he can better get himself off—and Bruce feels that hold tighten as Kal yelps upon realizing that, yes. They were floating.
Bruce hooks an arm around Kal's back, as if he is the one controlling their sudden skyward dance.
"Stay calm," Bruce says. "Bring us down. No need to panic."
"This has never happened before," Kal swears, face entirely turned away as he looks, wide-eyed at the bed some 10 feet below them.
"It's alright," Bruce reiterates, attempting to keep the natural growl from his voice. This close to cumming, he's surprised he's verbal at all. Usually he'd be nothing but nipping and growling until he'd wear his partner out and leave them in a satisfied, sweaty mess in the middle of his bed.
Never before has he had sex mid-air, least of all with an alien. He's finding he doesn't mind it as much as he would've assumed—especially when the spike of panic on Kal-El's face encourages him to calm down even more.
"We are so high up," Kal-El says, frenzied. "How did we get so high up? We'll—fall—we're going to fall—"
"Omega," Bruce's voice rumbles as he interrupts Kal-El's downward spiral before it truly begins. "I've got you. You won't be hurt while you are in my care."
Immediately, Kal's gaze meets his. The way that he worriedly nibbles his bottom lips slowly eases, and the taut line of his shoulders relaxes as he allows Bruce's words to wash over him.
Though it may not have been the most eloquent of promises, Bruce means it. He is sure that it shows on his face by the way that Kal relaxes entirely, mouth parting for a moment before his pink tongue darts out and wets them.
"I… Okay."
"Focus on bringing us down," Bruce repeats. "I'll handle the rest."
If anything, he'll take the brunt of the fall with his armor. The bed should cushion much of it—this height is far from fatal especially considering the heights he willingly jumps from in Gotham. A tuck and roll may not be very elegant, but it'll stop any broken bones.
"Alright," Kal-El tries again, breathing out slowly. "I'll bring us down. I can do that."
Bruce hums encouragingly, thumbing a gentle pattern along that bare bit of skin at Kal's waist. Greedily, he allows his touch to drift even higher beneath the clothes, so that he can touch the small of his back. Just to hold him even more intimately.
"That's good," Bruce encourages, head tilting as he eyes the hickeys that have bloomed along the column of Kal's throat. He has enough room for a dozen more, if Bruce has anything to say about it. As he thinks this, he lifts his palm and lays it flat against the ceiling once more, just so that Kal has more breathing space. "Easy now. Lean into me, I can carry you."
Kal makes a noise—as if Bruce couldn't handle it—but nods and leans in close.
When that noise of his shifts in pitch, Bruce realizes that his cunt had still been firmly plastered against Bruce's thigh. The movement caused it to slide, seemingly pleasurably, until he ends up in a trembling mess in Bruce's arms.
"Good," Bruce purrs reflexively. "Just like that."
Getting himself off, using Bruce however he needs to in order to reach that apex… what a beautiful partner Kal is. Bruce nibbles on his neck.
In response, Kal murmurs out something indecipherable, legs trembling as he seemingly tries to focus on the task Bruce has given him.
Perhaps inevitably, they end up more in the corner of the ceiling rather than further down to the ground. Kal's eyes keep losing focus, especially when Bruce purposefully lifts his leg.
"Please… ah, ple—ease…!" Kal reaches down, but he can't reach his clit with how closely tangled their bodies are.
Bruce can't be cruel to him. Would never dare to be. He removes his thigh and, slowly so that Kal-El can push him away, lifts the skirt hiding him away from view. When Kal's hazy eyes latch onto him, ravenous, Bruce doesn't hesitate.
"Kal-El," Bruce moans. Mine, he thinks.
He sinks two fingers into Kal's dripping pussy and curls them over, rubbing eagerly at his soft insides. Slick squelches audibly, prompting Kal to turn a brilliant shade of red, but he doesn't break eye contact. Rather, he nods encouragingly, words lost to him as Bruce gives him what he needs.
His beautiful curls bounce when he does. He'd look handsome if he let it grow out. Hell, he'd look handsome if he slicked them down and flattened them, or shaved them off, or anything in between. Bruce kisses him before he can control himself.
Carefully, he hooks his leg around one of Kal's, to help straighten it for when they fall.
"Focus," Bruce reminds him. "Focus on me; listen to my voice, pretty thing."
Kal hides his face against the length of Bruce's throat—and God does that make his cock throb. He tilts his neck but, even if Kal had the fangs for it, he wouldn't be able to bite him at all with the thick material of his cowl in the way.
Still, it's almost as though Kal's shuddering inhales are like he's trying to desperately scent his alpha, and Bruce is helpless but to give it to him.
He fucks his fingers in and out of his lover, lifting his free hand and rubbing his wrist glands across Kal-El's lower jaw. It'll leave him smelling like pleasedalpha all day long to anyone with the nose for it. The scent will match perfectly with the pheromones of his slick, which will no doubt be difficult to wash away or cover up with how potent they are. Not exactly omega, but not exactly notomega, not with Bruce's scent outlining it and making it even stronger.
He smells so good.
Bruce licks a long, wet stripe up Kal-El's neck, and the latter shudders as the spit cools. If he felt the scrape of Bruce's fang against his skin, he doesn't mention it at all.
No, he's only focused on the third finger that Bruce slowly, carefully, slides into him. It's a snug fit, Kal was right to be worried, but Bruce would never force them. No, Kal opens up for them beautifully all on his own, voice whining out as he's stretched.
Bruce digs the heel of his boot against the wall, carefully not to disturb the tapestries and cloth hanging near.
"Kal-El," he rumbles, and Kal wraps his legs around him tighter, trapping that hand between his thighs.
It also forces Bruce closer, until each nudge of his fingers ends up knocking against the codpiece of his armor. It's his turn for his voice to catch as the subtle vibration just makes him want to reach for his cock properly and jerk it off so hard that he goes numb.
"Batman," his omega cries out. "Batman, Batman…!"
"I want to make you cum," Bruce hums, low and soft in Kal's ear. "Show me how well I'm taking care of you. Soak me with it."
Kal's fingers dig into his back. The armor might have cracked again, Bruce isn't really sure. All he's focused on is the way Kal has begun to dig his teeth into Bruce's shoulder, the only way he's able to muffle the raunchy noises spilling from him.
"That's it," he prods. He twists his wrist, briefly, before he straightens his fingers a bit more so they can reach deeper. Bruce is sure that if they were still on the bed, Kal's back would've still been arched clear off of it from how good it must feel.
Bruce humps forward, helping to shove his hand even deeper. The increase in pressure on his cock makes him do it again, and again, until he is practically dryhumping the back of his own fist. Pseudo-fucking Kal-El.
If he could, he'd fill up the omega nicely. Give him all the length he could ever want, deeper than he can reach even now. And offer him up a nice, thick knot for him to grind against and milk for as long as he desires, until he's wrung himself off all the pleasure he could possibly take. Bruce is sure he'd go mad feeling this around his knot, but he'd gladly lose his mind for this.
For the rest of his life.
God, Bruce wants to have him for the rest of his life.
Bruce bites down on his own wrist, the one that had still been idly scenting Kal's neck. The fangs pierce, thanks to the lack of gloves, but the sharp pinch is the perfect contrast to the sinful vice of Kal's pussy. He nearly lost himself again.
"Mm—!" Kal-El cries out, as Bruce begins to attack his g-spot all over again (or, rather, where he assumes it would be if Kal has anything similar in his biology). "Ss—…! 'sgonna—"
Bruce extracts his fangs from his skin, laying his tongue flat over the puncture marks so that the sight of blood doesn't startle his Kal. The wound will plug quickly thanks to the platelets in his saliva. Perfect for when Bruce mates him.
If—or. Not. They won't be mates.
"Kal," Bruce breathes. "Mine."
"Mmm," Kal moans in agreement. "Mhm—yours. Yours, B. I'm—"
It's hard to remember why he can't bite Kal-El anymore. Bruce allows himself to bury his nose in against the heat of his neck anyway, licking again and again. Lapping up the sweat there, prepping the site for his teeth to puncture.
He won't. But just in case.
His fangs feel heavy in his mouth.
Kal speaks to him, voice frantic. "'m gonna… cum…!"
Bruce growls. The vibration makes him feel heavy as he yanks Kal in as close as they can get. Their legs get tangled together, along with the weight of his cape, and he tilts Kal-El back so that he can aim properly.
It's best to bite when the omega is cumming. It'll heighten their pleasure. Kal deserves the best that Bruce has to give. And Bruce will give everything.
Focus. Focus on…
"Just like that," Kal whimpers. "Don't stop—please, I'm—"
Bruce doesn't stop. He fucks himself forward, fucking his fingers in, out, in, out, until slick is spilling from between his fingers like a fountain. Kal-El's cunt clenches around him in an undulating motion, the beginnings of his orgasm. His voice breaks and goes silent, except for one, shaky gasp that almost almost almost sounds like Bruce's name.
Distantly, Bruce can feel his cock throb one last time beneath his underwear. It gets tighter as his knot inflates, locking him to absolutely nothing as he floods the cotton with spurt after spurt of his thick cum. He pays it no mind, not when Kal is still cumming for him.
Bruce leans in again, teeth aching.
Kal intercepts him.
His hands cup Bruce's jaw and pull, until he connects their lips and licks his tongue along the sharp edges of his fangs. Not a drop of blood spills, but somehow the feel of Kal at all against his teeth makes him melt. Bruce groans as the kiss deepens, until his own tongue feels heavy in his mouth as Kal slides his own in atop it.
He doesn't stop nudging his fingers until, finally, Kal goes limp in his hold. Only when they break the kiss to breathe does Bruce slowly, one by one, slip his fingers free.
But before he can suck them into his mouth to clean them properly, maybe show Kal-El that he can continue to pleasure him for as long as he requires, the two of them are soon plummeting back down to where they came from.
It is pure instinct that has Bruce twisting them midair. Just as Kal-El gasps, the cap billows out around them, and Bruce grunts with the impact.
Thankfully, the bed works to catch them just as he hypothesized. There is an audible thump, or maybe a crack of the bedframe unable to take the impact, but they don't fall through the mattress, nor does the entire structure topple over.
Still, Bruce sits up almost immediately to survey the Kryptonian that has landed in his lap. Kal is shaking a bit, but mostly his legs. His eyes are half-lidded, mouth idly parted as he leans whichever way Bruce tilts him, checking him for any scratches he may have gotten on the way down.
He smells divine.
"Batman," Kal-El speaks softly. "Are you alright? Thank you for catching me."
"Nn."
Bruce carefully reaches for the quick release on his cape and, once unattached, wraps it around Kal's bare thighs.
"Are you hurt?" Bruce asks, already standing. He wobbles a bit, damningly, but forces his muscles to respond as he's trained them to. He won't feel truly satisfied until the omega… until Kal-El is properly looked after. Kal-El reaches for him, and Bruce allows a brief pet along his lower arm before he steps away.
"Batman?" Kal bares himself again. Perhaps hinting that he's already ready for the next round—Bruce can do that. He just needs to…
Briefly, Bruce stalks around the perimeter of the bed to secure the area, before he climbs back onto it and retucks the cape around Kal's legs, to keep the chill away.
When he lifts his hand, his clean one, to Kal-El's cheek and thumbs away the sweat that has gathered there, Kal relaxes all over again. Good. He knows he's safe.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Kal breathes quietly. "You caught me."
Bruce frowns at the implication that he would have done otherwise, but Kal-El's eyes look at him almost reverently.
He looks beautiful, like this. Satisfied, skin glowing golden as the artificial light reflects off his sweat, and scented so thoroughly that it's difficult to tell where Bruce's scent ends and Kal's begins—just as Bruce has desired from the very beginning.
His eyes follow a trail of sweat down the curve of Kal's neck, pausing at the unbitten part of his throat, where Bruce had almost bitten. His stomach pulses with the need to finish the job, or at least offer himself up for Kal to bite, too, to begin the mating claim—except…
Except.
It's then that Bruce remembers why he shouldn't bite Kal-El. He pulls away, even though it makes his chest ache to do so.
This had, perhaps, been a frenzied mistake. But it's one that Bruce can't feel an ounce of regret for, even if he must cut it short before he gets too attached to an alien that doesn't belong in this solar system more than Bruce belongs in this ship.
"I… apologize. I must get back to the League. I have duties to attend to."
"Oh." Kal blinks at him slowly. But, rather than upset, a small smile crawls its way onto his lips as he gives him a singular nod. "Of course."
Bruce stands. He glances down at his cape, but he has plenty of extras on the Watchtower. Dozens more at home. He can spare the one for… for the notomega.
He tips his head, never one to extend his goodbyes, and turns away.
Kal surprises him, yet again, by grasping his wrist.
"I… thank you, Batman. I'm happy I can be of service to you. It means so much to my people and—well. Thank you."
Bruce pauses as he allows the words, and their true meaning, parse through his brain. He isn't sure if he's missing something.
Still.
"… Likewise," Batman offers. The treaty matters much to Krypton. Bruce will never be one to scoff at people who simply want peace.
Kal releases his wrist.
And Bruce leaves without looking back.
After that, Bruce had needed to isolate himself for nearly forty-eight hours before the effects of the pseudo-rut had left him. After leaving the Kryptonian's presence, Bruce had been able to think clearly. But upon getting an emergency check-up at medbay, no foulplay (i.e. no drugs) had been in his system. He had simply, wholly, been overrun by his biology because.
Well.
Regardless, for those two days, Bruce had bred his fist over and over again because of how desperately he'd wanted to feel Kal beneath him again.
Diana had found someone else to stand in for him, thank goodness. But Bruce hadn't been able to get the sensation of Kal-El from his hands for the rest of the week that the Kryptonians had been there, even with emergency suppressants pumping through his veins.
Naively, he'd thought he'd never need to worry about Kal's scent getting him drunk ever again.
But then he finds an omega in his bed, swathed in a combination of their scents, and his people are, by now, lightyears away with no way to turn back and get him without recharging their ships.
His communication attempts won't reach them until they recharge, either. They'd had to turn off all secondary power systems just to make it out of this space quadrant.
With a harsh breath out of his nose, Bruce turns back to the alien in his bed.
"They just left you?" He asks again, for the fourth time that hour.
Kal-El nods, as he has every other time Bruce has asked.
It makes no logical sense. They would leave one of their coveted scientists? Not even check to ensure his ship was with the rest of them? Perhaps that had been the real reason his ship had been the most well-armoured, he was expected to fend for himself.
Bruce frowns.
Diana was also attempting contact, through her own provided frequencies. When he had sent her the emergency alert, she had stormed in with her sword at the ready.
One look at the scene before her: Bruce frowning and Kal-El sitting, hunched over and small, she had sheathed it instantly.
Bruce had tried not to yell. It wasn't Kal's fault that his leaders were imbecilic to not even check for him in their fleet. As soon as they returned for him, Bruce had no doubt he would be yelling at them. Better to save the energy.
Still, his ire must be leaking out of him like hot tar. Kal won't meet his gaze.
"I will attempt to call them again in the next hour," Bruce sighs. "But you will be safe in the meanwhile. I swear to you."
Keeping quiet, Kal-El simply nods and picks at a thread he had frayed in his outfit. It's different from his scientist outfit. More abstract in pattern and design than the geometric shapes from before. He still had his circlet, but he had it loose around his neck, like jewelry.
Bruce had made sure to lock his ship in the same docking bay that his own private project was being held, just to keep prying eyes out of his nest. Omega or not, Kal deserved the privacy.
But Kal hadn't left Batman's bed since he had been found, and that jovial lilt to his voice had all but left him.
Despite his promise, Bruce reaches for his comms to try, again, to contact the Kryptonians.
"You aren't keeping me, then."
Bruce pauses at the way Kal-El inflects the statement. His voice is stony, almost angry, but more sad than anything else. Bruce tries to parse his vocabulary to accurately describe it in his head. Morose, perhaps? Disappointed?
"I… no," Batman confirms. "We are sending you home."
Kal-El slouches over even more, until he is all but hugging his chest to his knees and hiding his face there.
"I thought I pleased you," Kal-El says quietly. "I thought…"
Bruce stands all at once, stopping Kal-El in his tracks with a flinch at how suddenly the Batman was at his full height in front of him.
But Bruce doesn't worry about how intimidating he looks right now. He reaches for his comm to ping Diana, instead.
"… You didn't attempt to leave with your group at all. You stayed here until you were sure they left."
Kal blinks at him.
"… yes? You… you chose me. You accepted me. Why would I leave?"
Bruce's eyebrows furrow. "Explain it to me plainly. You willingly stayed, without permission, to—"
"I did not!" Kal cries out, scandalized. "You told me you wanted me! Or—you wanted… a scientist. A researcher. For the treaty!"
It is his turn to blink dumbly. Bruce falls heavily back into his chair.
"I see."
No. No, Bruce doesn't understand this at all.
The Kryptonians explain that, yes, they are quite pleased the treaty had been agreed upon most promptly. They had expected to have to show off their prowess for the entirety of their two-week stay, but they were very delighted that one of the Justice League illustrious leaders gave them a hint on how to guarantee their allyship.
An engagement with a scientist.
A miscommunication.
And now there is a lost omega under his care until he can, somehow, convince the Kryptonians to come back for him—or at least give them hints on how to synthesize a power source for Kal-El's ship to get him home. All without making them assume he is secretly 'displeased' and wanting to break off the treaty without directly saying so.
The mounting frustration when he was met with nothing more than congratulations on his 'new engagement' no matter how he had tried to word it had made it so that he spent most of his hours on the training deck, punching low level spar-bots just to keep his aggression low.
Every time he returned to his room, Kal-El was there. Unmoving from where he was curled up in a ball in the corner of the bed, taking up as little room as he could.
Bruce had tried to offer him free access to his ship. Even access to the rest of the Watchtower. He seemed clever enough—it was possible he'd be able to synthesize his own power crystals.
But Kal-El had just shaken his head quietly and turned away at each offer.
"Thank you, Batman. I'm sure they'll send for me soon," Kal-El says, whenever Bruce gives him an update. Rather, a lack of an update from his homeplanet. Simultaneously, he seems unsurprised at the lack of response.
Bruce hasn't been home to the manor for a total of three weeks. He should've been zeta'd back to Gotham three days ago, to greet his sons and relieve Alfred of having to mind the chaos they could bring.
Instead, he had decided to delay his return until. Until Kal-El could return to his home safely.
It seems strange, to him, that he is the only one trying. Not even Kal-El is overjoyed to not be tied to a man—an alien— that he just met.
Bruce sighs as he stares at his closed door. The muted grey mocks him, as does the lunch tray in his palms. Kal-El hasn't eaten, as far as Bruce knows, since he had dropped himself off in Bruce's room.
Still, Bruce steps through the door to offer it to him regardless.
"I'm. I'm sure they'll come for me soon," Kal begins, as he does. "Thank you for—"
"You don't want them to return for you," Bruce interrupts. He sits the tray on his desk, pausing only briefly before he turns his full and unwavering attention to the lump in his bed. "Why not?"
Kal-El lays facing the wall. He has gone a bit rigid, though, at the sudden question.
When he sits up, Bruce can see that he's nervous.
With a frown, Bruce steps forward. The audible footstep makes Kal freeze, still facing away.
"I won't hurt you. I wouldn't," Bruce promises. "No matter what your answer is."
When his knees hit the edge of the bed, Kal-El still flinches. He's shorter like this, hunched over, and Bruce finds that he doesn't like that.
So, he sits. It makes their height equal. He tucks his cape (a new one, not the one he had left with Kal) to one side, so that he can turn easily and stare at the curly hairs on the back of Kal's head.
"Kal-El."
Kal flinches again. Fidgets.
"I will not hurt you. Nothing will, not under my watch," Bruce promises once again.
"I know," Kal whispers. "I don't know much about you but… I know that."
Bruce waits patiently until Kal gathers the courage to turn around. It's astonishing how quickly he's learned to care about this man, how quickly he's wanted to care about someone new.
He wonders if Kal feels similarly. He also wonders, in the back of his mind, if Kal had felt this connection when they had… in his ship, nearly made love under artificial stars. If that, maybe, is why he doesn't want to return home.
Despite how much of his personality relies on his ability to compartmentalize, Bruce can't help but feel a bit… joyful, perhaps, that Kal is staying a bit longer. Perhaps longer than Bruce first assumed, upon seeing him resting so peaceful in the small nest he had created. Right in Bruce's den, where he would be most protected.
He has to take a slow, steadying breath to calm himself.
The Watchtower is not his den. He has a very well guarded (and not to mention much more lived in) space at the manor. He barely even sleeps here.
But… some part of him would be glad to make this his new den if his omega feels safest here.
Which is why it makes him frown so much to see Kal-El so small, hiding away from him in perceived fear. It's wrong, for him to feel that way no matter where he is, and Bruce has an itchy feeling in his brain that he knows won't go away until he fixes the problem.
Most of all, he hates that the omega is facing away from him in fear.
Mercifully, Kal sits up properly, turning so that he is at least facing Bruce if not looking him in the eye. It almost instantly calms the tension that has sludged its way through Bruce's body and left him off balance.
"You were very kind to me," Kal-El offers. "I'm not… mistreated where I come from. I'm pretty well respected, all things considered. I got the best education. I… I have a few friends."
Bruce nods, slowly. Confused.
"And still you don't wish to return home," Bruce states. "Because?"
"… The treaty," Kal tries, weakly. "We need the treaty."
Bruce stares at him, steady. It makes Kal-El begin to fidget yet again, eyes dropping to stare at the way he picks at his own fingernails.
When Bruce's hand, gentle, cups atop them before he can start yanking at hangnails and making them bleed, Kal sighs.
"… I don't have anyone waiting for me. There wouldn't be anything exciting at home. It would just be—me. It's always just been me."
Bruce breathes out softly, quietly, and Kal seems to breathe with him.
"My parents… they died when I was very young. Young enough that I don't remember a thing about them. I wouldn't even know I looked like them if not for the pictures around their house. M-my house," Kal corrects himself. "My home. All I have of them are pictures, or recordings of their old lectures. They were also scientists, y'know?"
Bruce nods, as if he did know. Kal takes the motion as the encouragement that it is and continues,
"I thought it'd make them happy if I followed in their footsteps. They were very. Renowned. Everyone seemed to know them, so when they died it seemed like everyone knew me and, well. Expected me to replace them. Be just like them. But how can I be like them when I don't know them?"
Kal laughs quietly, raking a hand through his hair. When he brings it forward, he scrubs the heel of his palm into his eye harshly. When he pulls away, his palm is wet with tears.
"Being a scientist is really boring," Kal confesses. "It feels like everything that's been discovered was already found before even my parents were born. There's nothing new I can do, I just… keep replicating what someone else has done and get prizes for it. I don't feel like I matter at all—you know? Like. I'm just a stand-in for ghosts because they died too soon according to everyone else. Gosh, that sounds terrible—"
The beginnings of a sob works its way out of Kal-El's throat.
"I don't mean that," he says softly. "I really don't. I love my parents. They… they were good people. I'm glad I can continue their work, but…"
"But it's not what you want to do," Bruce offers. "You don't want to do it forever."
"I really don't," Kal says wetly. "So when… I don't know."
He makes another frustrated noise, sniffling a few times until Bruce reaches into his belt and fishes out a handkerchief for him. On one edge there is an elegantly embroidered bat. Something Alfred had taken the liberty to add himself on slow nights running comms.
When Kal notices the little detail, he smiles. The little dimple of his shows up again, and Bruce feels like he can relax again.
"'When' what?" Bruce prods gently. "This can stay between us, Kal. I won't betray your trust."
Kal wipes at his eyes with an almost-giggle.
"I know that about you, too," he says softly. "Trustworthy and safe. And kind. I like that about you, Batman."
Kal stays quiet for a moment, but Bruce can see his throat working as he tries to think of the right words to say. Carefully, Bruce slides just an inch closer, so that the heat from him can radiate out and reach Kal, if he so chooses to lean into it.
Kal does.
Leaning over, Kal rests his head on Bruce's shoulder with a soft, wispy sigh.
"When they assumed that the only way for this alliance to work out was for me to seduce you or, or something…" A gentle flush overtakes Kal's features until he offers Bruce a wobbly, if not apologetic smile. "I was excited. I'd never done something so exciting, beyond flying this far out. They usually don't let scientists like me really leave the planet, you know."
"I know," Bruce interrupts softly.
"I wasn't actually trying to seduce you," Kal hurries to say. "That was… a surprise. You're just very handsome and I guess, well. It's been a while since anyone has wanted to touch me like that."
Bruce glances down at where Kal's fingers are slowly crawling their way closer and closer to Bruce's palm. He flips his hand over so that his palm is facing the ceiling, an open offering. Kal takes it with a gentle smile.
"I didn't want to trick you, either. But… the idea of being able to stay on this planet, even if it did mean I wouldn't be able to go home again. Getting to try to be something new—or just. Study new science. Learn about Earth. Maybe being able to use that knowledge to help someone—it was too good of a chance to give up. I'm… I really am sorry for trying to use you."
"It's alright."
Bruce can understand the sentiment. The need to get away from ghosts—not necessarily run from them but… distance. Before their memories overtake everything you know and you're not yourself anymore. Wanting to respect them but still needing to be different, to do some kind of good…
Bruce understands.
"You don't have anyone else to go home to?" He broaches, hopefully gently to keep Kal from spiraling. By the way that Kal smiles at him, nose red from how much he's rubbing it in the handkerchief, he isn't as smooth as he hoped.
"Mm," Kal denies. "Well. My cousin. But she doesn't live on Krypton anymore either. She says it's too quiet, so she rarely visits either. But, sometimes she sends me pictures of her dog."
Hm. Space dog.
"Kal-El. I won't send you home if it'll make you unhappy," he begins. "Despite what many may think of me, Batman doesn't enjoy cruelty. Especially not cruelty towards people he's trying to protect."
As he says this, he reaches forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Kal's ear.
"And I haven't lied to you for a single moment since we've met. I want to protect you. I want to… get to know you, as well. You're very interesting."
"So are you," Kal hums. "The others said you were scary, but I think we just aren't used to seeing someone in all black. And you're tall."
"It serves me well, in more ways than way," Bruce says, shrugging a shoulder. "Both at night, and…"
Kal blinks at him curiously. Tilts his head when Bruce squares his shoulders and sits up straighter. Kal copies the posture as he feels the mood shift.
It isn't the first time that Bruce has done this, but perhaps it is the fastest he's done it with someone he's just met.
He reaches for his cowl and tucks it back, until he feels his hair fall and tickle the shells of his ears. Kal's eyes widen a bit, as if it hadn't even occurred to him that Batman had a face beneath the mask.
When he reaches out to touch, Bruce tilts his head to allow it.
Like this, nose fully unprotected from the gentle scent of his omega in front of him, Bruce relaxes again. He nuzzles into the palm that cups his cheek, eyes fluttering shut and Kal curiously hums at a scar here and there along Bruce's jawline.
"You are…" Kal pauses for a moment, struggling for the words. Then, he smiles brightly. "You're still very pretty. I like your eyes."
Bruce huffs out a laugh.
"I like yours, too."
When he reaches forward to mimic the way Kal-El is holding him, Kal takes it upon himself to clamor even closer, so that their chests are touching from the side and their hips are flush from waist to knee. Side by side.
"My name is Bruce Wayne."
It is nearly 2030 hours by the time Bruce makes it home to Gotham.
When the zeta tube announces his arrival, along with one other body as 'unregistered', he is unsurprised to see all of the activity running rampant in the Cave come to a halt. It isn't often that Batman brings home a friend, after all.
Still, Bruce takes a moment to reach behind him and help Kal down from the edge of the zeta tube. Usually, the step down trips up everyone (along with the slight nauseous from the rush of having your molecules rearranged). Kal is hardly looking at him, too amazed by the high, natural roof of the Cave and the dozens of bats that are waking up from their daily slumber.
"I see where you get your name from," Kal mumbles, partially under his breath. Bruce simply hums in agreement, carefully tucking the cape firmly around Kal-El's shoulders. The same cape he had given him that first night, entirely matching the one Bruce is currently wearing.
"It's cold," he says. "Careful."
Kal smiles at him, but the smile freezes when he, undoubtedly, catches sight of the half dozen bodies lined up to marvel at them. Bruce doesn't even have to turn around to know they're all there.
Alfred is already standing nearby with a proper blanket hooked over one arm, and a tray of two drinks in the other. Whether he had hurried to grab a second drink as soon as his arrival announced, or if Alfred was just that good at predicting him, it's difficult to say.
Regardless, Bruce reaches for the filtered water and passes the glass to Kal. "Drink."
Kal shivers as the condensation soaks into his skin, but he nods gratefully to both him and Alfred, and it makes Bruce preen. Especially when Kal immediately takes a sip, carefully angling himself so that he's slightly behind Bruce's body, hiding behind his wide wingspan. Trusting his alpha to protect him.
Bruce clears his throat.
"Who the hell is this?" Jason asks, before Bruce can actually explain. The scar across the right side of his face scrunches as he gives Kal an impressive glare, but upon Bruce stepping in between them to bear the brunt of said glare, he is quick to huff and look away.
"This is—"
"I thought your playdate with aliens was supposed to be over, like, a week ago," Dick pipes up, standing on the tips of his toes to glance at Kal. It isn't as if he has to try very hard. The omega is quite large. And so beautiful it'd be a crime to not appreciate him.
"Is this an alien?" Calls Tim, where he is still sitting at the batcomputer. But he has twisted the chair so that, even sitting sidelong as he is and melting into the leather, he can stare at Kal-El perfectly. "He looks amazingly human."
"I feel like that's rude to say," Dick says.
Jason snorts, already bored of the conversation. He's turned back to his bike and is rubbing away a smudge of oil from the engine. "Yeah, dude, don't be racist."
"Xenophobic is actually the correct term in this situation. And I'm not!" Tim argues back.
Bruce sighs.
He should've waited a few more hours and allowed Kal a more peaceful entrance. To be introduced to the excitable Robins all at once… Unfortunately, his damn instincts had insisted on showing Kal to a proper den as soon as possible, and as soon as Bruce had sent one last message to the Kryptonians thanking them for his new partner, he had gathered Kal up and left.
Kal was happy to see it all.
He still is, stepping close to Bruce just to lean his head against his shoulder from behind and smile at all of the Robins, both new and old.
"Hello," Kal says softly. "Who are you?"
A quick glance down reveals Damian. At just ten, he's very small. Wonderful for getting into small spaces he has no business being in, encouraged by Dick who also gets into spaces he definitely shouldn't be in considering his size.
Terrible for Bruce's heart when he realizes just how young his youngest is. Bruce begins to drop down to one knee, to meet his eye, but Damian doesn't regard him in the slightest. His green eyes are wide, lips pulled into a sharp frown, but there's a curious tilt to his head.
"… Damian Al-Ghul Wayne. What business do you have with my Father?"
"These are all my children," Bruce explains softly. "My Robins. Damian is the youngest. Dick is the oldest." When he gestures to Jason and Tim, the both of them turn away. One annoyed and the other awkward.
"Jason and Tim," Bruce introduces regardless. "And this is Alfred."
As soon as he is mentioned, Alfred steps forward with the blanket and offers it up. Kal startles, as if he hadn't thought for a moment the blanket was for him, but only hesitates to take it because it means letting go of the cape. He has a hand fisted in it tightly, like a security blanket.
Bruce takes the blanket for him and gathers it so that Kal can hold onto both at the same time. It's one of their fluffier blankets, the kind that Dick uses to cuddle up in when he's near the nesting phase of his heat but doesn't want to hide away in his room—ever the extrovert.
Something pleased unfurls in Bruce's chest as the scents begin to mix, Kal's merging perfectly with that of his family's. Bruce has no doubt he will fit in perfectly, especially once they're all out of costume and, thus, less suspicious of anyone new encroaching their territory. Much like their father, they all were a bit overprotective. Especially of one another.
It only makes Bruce feel more proud. He knows they'll take very good care of the newest omega in the pack.
A soft rumble vibrates from Bruce's chest, like the purr of a gratified cat. He steps back to make sure Kal is covered from the neck down, safe from the chilly air of the Cave. With a nod, he steps in close again, just so that Kal can lean against him again.
When he glances back up, every single face is looking at him with furrowed brows.
"What the hell," Jason mumbles.
"I'm—Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I met Batman, um… Bruce the other day. We sort of… came to an agreement. And he agreed to take me in."
"Truth," A quiet voice calls, from somewhere deep in the rafters above them. It echoes through the cave like a specter. Kal's eyes glance up, startled, and seem to focus immediately on the shadow figure of the Batgirl despite how well she blends in.
"My daughter," Bruce says calmly. "Cassandra."
Cassandra makes a curious noise upon being spotted, which echoes throughout. Dick's responding chirp is just as curious, as he steps forward to survey Kal properly.
Reflexively, Kal pulls away.
"I promise, I won't take up much space or anything. I would hate to step on any toes—and I'm sure I can find my own way eventually. I swear not to take advantage of your father's kindness towards me."
Kal doesn't stammer as he promises this, but Bruce can still hear the nervous waver in his tone. Bruce reaches back to grab his hand, tangling their fingers together like woven thread.
"It's alright," he whispers, just for Kal's ears. "Come here."
Bruce steps forward, tugging Kal with him. Purposefully, he rubs his wrist along the thin skin of Kal's own, spreading the comfort of his scent to the omega—though he's sure Kal doesn't have a clue.
It is a very obvious clue, to all of his children.
He pulls the omega forward until they are entirely side by side, glancing just an inch or two upwards so that he can give Kal a stalwart nod, just until Kal smiles at him and nods back, encouraged by his confidence.
When Bruce turns back to his family, he doesn't hesitate to lift their combined hands and declare,
"This is my omega. Kal-El, of Krypton."