Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13739805.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU
  Relationship:
      Jason_Todd/Bruce_Wayne, Jason_Todd/Slade_Wilson_(mentioned)
  Character:
      Jason_Todd, Bruce_Wayne
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Dubious_Consent, Animal_Instincts, fighting-
      to-fucking, Biting, Possessive_Behavior, Age_Difference, Knotting
  Series:
      Part 3 of The_Trouble_With_Instincts
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-19 Words: 2753
****** There You Go Again ******
by MissNaya
Summary
     Bruce is left alone with Jason during one of his heats. As the
     responsible adult in the situation, it's his duty to handle things.
     Whether or not he handles them properly is up to interpretation.
Notes
     hello hello, 2018! I feel like I've been gone for ages. the writer's
     block hit me pretty hard this year, so I wasn't able to keep up with
     my usual posting speed. but fear not! the lovely undertheglass from
     tumblr helped me break through it by giving me this wonderful prompt
     to run with. in return, she illustrated some concept art for a few of
     my fics. go check her out, she's amazing!
     this takes place in the same universe as Fixation and Rules. you
     don't need to read both of them to understand this; it only mentions
     Jason's tryst with Slade briefly.
See the end of the work for more notes
When Bruce’s ever-present earpiece pings him awake, he knows what the security
breach is immediately. The manor has plenty of measures to keep people out;
most of them involve louder alarms, meant to prepare the whole household in one
fell swoop. But this one, silent everywhere except for in his ear, is meant to
keep someone in.
With a sigh, he rises from bed. A quick time check tells him he’s gotten maybe
two hours of sleep. Tonight, Batgirl is in charge of protecting Gotham in place
of Batman. It’s not ideal, but he brought it upon himself by insisting quite
vehemently that Alfred go overseas to spend time with his daughter and enjoy a
much-needed vacation. And with Alfred gone, there’d been no one else available
to watch Jason.
No one Bruce would trust as far as he could throw them, anyway.
He exits his bedroom, and the stench of an omega in heat hits him square in the
face. Jason’s room isn’t even in the same wing as his (partly for this reason),
so this month must be an especially bad one for him. And after that first
disastrous time, when he somehow managed to wander through Gotham and track
down Slade Wilson, of all people, Bruce no longer trusts him to be rational
through his heats.
Alfred is usually the one in charge of corralling Jason. As an older alpha, he
isn’t plagued by the sex drive that would make ruts a concern, but he still had
that alpha tone and presence that made omegas listen. For months, he’d been the
one calmly but firmly leading Jason back up to his room whenever he’d try to
slip out. This will be Bruce’s first time handling Jason on his own.
The dread sets in the further downstairs he goes. Jason’s smell becomes
concentrated enough that he can track his path through the manor. Here and
there, an end table or a doorway will particularly reek of it, as if Jason
couldn’t resist rubbing himself up against something on his way. Even for an
alpha with as much self-control as Bruce, it’s a little much.
He finds Jason shaking the handle of a door that leads to the garage.
Instantly, his stomach drops with fear at the mental image of a heat-blind
Jason speeding through traffic. The result is a quick, booming loud command,
stern and parental in its delivery.
“Jason.”
Jason immediately spins to face him, back pressed flat up against the wall. One
hand continues to grip the doorknob hard enough for his knuckles to go white. A
hint of recognition dawns on his face, but as soon as it appears, it's gone
again, giving way to a snarl.
He doesn’t speak, so Bruce does.
“Jason, go. Upstairs.”
His alpha tone isn’t much different than the one he uses for Batman. Both are
meant to intimidate, to deliver a message quickly and efficiently without room
for misinterpretation. But Batman is more cultivated, more conscious; Bruce-
the-alpha comes to him by nature, rough and feral and with the promise of
teeth.
Jason is familiar with one of those voices. He’s clearly not used to the other,
if the way his knees buckle is of any indication. Glancing down at the
movement, Bruce sees Jason’s sweatpants already damp with slick. He forces
himself to look back at his face.
“Jason,” he says. His repetition of Jason’s name is careful, intentional. It’s
meant to ground him, remind him he’s more than just a set of instincts and a
growing body. “Now.”
It doesn’t work. Jason leaps at him with teeth bared, so quick and graceful
that Bruce scarcely has time to block the kick directed toward the side of his
head. Jason lands surprisingly steady, then comes at him again with a well-
aimed fist toward his throat.
“No!” he yells when Bruce swipes his arm away. “Leave me alone! Not the boss of
me!”
When Jason keeps fighting even after that, Bruce starts to worry. First,
because it means that whatever biological urge or teenage angst Jason is going
through is so strong that he’d even fight back against his pack alpha to get
his way.
And second, because he feels his own body start to respond to the challenge.
Jason fights like Robin, like he’s in real danger, backflipping and
somersaulting and even using nearby knick-knacks as makeshift projectiles.
Bruce fights back, not as hard as Batman would, but much harder than Bruce
Wayne should. He has to use some of his own combat maneuvers to counter
Jason’s, and for a brief few moments, it almost feels like they’re just
sparring. But then a new, muskier wave of Jason’s scent hits him, and Bruce
growls.
He tackles Jason to the floor, the pair of them colliding hard with the debris-
stricken carpet. Jason’s tactics switch immediately. All his calculated martial
arts melt into a mess of flailing, growling, scratching, and kicking. He uses
every bit of power in his scrawny body to try and throw Bruce off of him. Bruce
returns in kind, snapping his teeth, using his bulk to his advantage to get
Jason’s lower body pinned. The kid still manages to squirm and turn around
underneath him, and even strikes blind with his palm until it collides with
Bruce’s chin. His jaw snaps shut with an ugly crack, and he tastes his own
blood on the tip of his tongue.
The realization that an omega has just caused him pain shifts into place
somewhere in the back of Bruce’s mind. When it clicks, his rational mind
temporarily blacks out, leaving only raw, ugly instinct in its place. The next
time Jason’s arm flails upward, Bruce grabs it hard enough to bruise and slams
it down against the ground. Then he bends down and bites the back of Jason’s
neck, hard.
Jason immediately starts to make a high-pitched, nasally sound, one that might
have evoked sympathy from a lesser alpha. But, god, when was the last time
Bruce heard an omega whine like that? It spells pure submission, tinged with
the undeniable arousal from Jason’s heat. He can’t stand to let up now.
The second Bruce shifts, he feels his cock drag across Jason’s leg. He’s hard.
If he had to venture a guess, he’d say he’s been hard since he walked into the
room, but this is the first time he’s let himself truly feel it. Caught up in
the moment, he gives a shallow few thrusts, but it’s not enough, not through
his padded robe and silk boxer shorts. With an eligible omega right beneath
him, the friction of his clothes feels akin to sandpaper.
He lets go of Jason’s neck for half a second to re-adjust his grip, and in that
time, Jason shifts underneath him, squirming until he has his knees bent and
his hips pushed up. Bruce moves with him until they’re slotted together, his
cock caught firmly between Jason’s ass and his own stomach.
It, Bruce realizes, is the most archetypal mating pose out there. The kind
shown in diagrams when kids take sex ed classes. The first position to come to
mind when one thinks of an alpha dominating an omega completely.
He wonders if Slade and Jason fucked like this. The thought makes him growl
against Jason’s skin. Jason whimpers again in return, squirming, spreading his
legs wider between Bruce’s own.
“Please,” he says.
And just like that, all Bruce’s moral qualms crumble into dust and get swept up
in the wind.
Without letting go of Jason’s neck, he shoves his pants down with both hands.
Turning his attention to his own clothes, he yanks his robe open and pulls his
cock from his shorts. When the length of it settles between Jason’s asscheeks,
Jason moans, jerking his hips up and down in shallow little movements. It
spreads slick along the underside of Bruce’s cock; not much, but hot and wet
enough to make him throb.
“Alpha… Alpha… Please, alpha…” Jason keeps repeating, fingers tangled in the
plush carpet. Bruce’s chest rumbles with an appreciative growl that makes Jason
practically sob. He rocks his hips, more to feel the heat of Jason’s body than
anything.
It’s intoxicating, having an omega trapped underneath him. He’s slept with a
lot of people to keep up with appearances, but those encounters are, by nature,
insincere. Bruce Wayne as the public knows him is a “modern” alpha, a civilized
and charming one who doesn’t get much rougher than your average romance novel
hero. He ravishes his partners, pampers them, and never leaves more than a few
little pink hickeys by the time the whole thing’s done. All his life, he’s
struggled to keep his baser instincts in check; just like Batman has to tamp
down on his urge to go too far in combat, Bruce Wayne does the same thing in
bed.
And, in the same vein as Batman occasionally slipping up and leaving someone in
a full-body cast, Bruce forgets to check himself before lining up and pressing
as much of his cock into Jason as he can fit.
Whatever Jason’s been doing in the interim between sleeping with Slade and
spreading his legs tonight, it hasn't been enough. Bruce can tell he’s not
prepared to take someone as big and thick as he is. He only gets about a third
of the way in before Jason's muscles clench and stop him. Were he thinking
straight, he would pull out, finger Jason properly, let him become accustomed
to the stretch. But now, filled to the brim with lust he’s been repressing for
who knows how long, he can’t fathom leaving Jason’s warm, wet heat. He bears
down with his hips until Jason starts to keen, at which point he lets go of his
neck and starts to lap at the bite marks.
It doesn’t take long for the soothing gesture to ease some of the tension in
Jason’s body. Bruce gives a throaty growl and covers one of Jason’s hands with
his own, threading their fingers together. When Jason’s whines taper off into
soundless little breaths, Bruce bites down again and starts to move. This time,
just over half of his cock slides inside before he feels any resistance. Jason
is slick inside, so much so that Bruce can hear himself move when he starts to
rock back and forth. That scent, so potent and uniquely Jason, fills his flared
nostrils and clouds his mind more than any drink or drug ever could.
It’s much easier to work the rest of his cock inside after that. Occasionally,
Jason squirms or yelps or scrambles for purchase with his toes against the
carpet, but Bruce is steady and unyielding, and eventually finds his pelvis
flush with Jason’s ass. The feeling of every bit of his length wrapped in that
tight heat is almost too much to stand. He yanks back a few inches before a
proper knot can form, then begins to fuck Jason in earnest, filling the room
with the sound of wet slaps and strangled moans.
Jason is loud, so loud that it almost hurts Bruce’s ears. It’s a good kind of
hurt, though, the kind that makes his heart flutter with its intensity — and
Bruce’s heart never flutters. The mere thought of other alphas nearby, of Slade
listening in, riles up the part of him that’s determined to win above
everything else. Bruce Wayne has status, power, wealth, and an entire alternate
identity based around his ability to intimidate and dominate. The only thing
he’s never let himself have is an omega to rule over completely.
Dick satisfied some of that urge for a while. But only when he was younger,
only when he was prepubescent. And back then, it wasn’t about sex, but rather
the need to nurture and guide someone else. Then he grew up, got taller and
wider and started to stink of a fellow alpha, and everything went downhill from
there.
Robin shouldn’t be his outlet. Jason shouldn’t. Bruce knows that, he does. But
right now, with his cock deep inside Jason, the boy howling for more, begging
with every stuttering breath for his knot… Now, he doesn’t really care.
Jason’s moans start to reach a crescendo. He’s tearing up bits of the carpet
with his one free hand, leaving ugly bald spots on the carpet. Bruce’s spit is
dripping past his teeth, down Jason’s neck, like he’s a rabid dog who can’t
stop drooling. The wet schlk-schlk-schlk sounds of their coupling make his head
spin, so unabashed and real and dirty, and Bruce goes harder, faster, until he
feels resistance when he tries to tug himself back. He gives in to his building
orgasm entirely, lets himself push down and pump Jason full of his seed.
Jason’s inner walls squeeze Bruce’s swollen knot for everything it has, and
Bruce realizes dully that Jason is coming, too.
By the time they’re both spent, Bruce is breathing hard, chest pressing down on
Jason’s back with every inhale. He slowly lets up the pressure on Jason’s neck
until it slips from his mouth. Once it does, Jason slumps further forward as if
he’s boneless, and Bruce follows, wrapping his arms around his protege and
rolling both of them onto their sides.
The post-coital bliss seeps into his senses and chases away any thoughts
besides Jason, Jason, Jason. In that moment, his only goal is to keep Jason
safe and warm and still. He gathers up his shivering ward, kissing at the bite
marks on his neck, chest rumbling with noises too soft to count as proper
growls. Slowly but surely, Jason’s breathing evens out, and he relaxes in
Bruce’s grasp.
They stay like that for twenty, thirty minutes, until the swelling goes down
and Bruce can tug his cock out of Jason’s ass with no resistance. A clammy
feeling descends over Bruce, and he rests his forehead against Jason’s shoulder
blades, staring down at the much smaller body in front of him.
A thin, pearly strand of cum drips out of Jason’s ass. Before he can think
about what he’s doing, Bruce growls and shoves two fingers into Jason’s hole,
forcing his seed back inside. Jason yelps, but Bruce is quick to kiss and lick
his neck, mumbling comforting words into his skin.
“Good, good boy,” he says. “Keep it inside. All of it inside for me. So good
for me, Jason. My good boy.”
Jason sighs, one hand drifting down to Bruce’s between his legs. The way he
rests it there is equal parts protective and satiated. With a body full of
alpha cum, he’ll be able to get some rest at last. That’s all Bruce wants for
him. He just wants to give him what he needs.
He adjusts his grip and, fingers still inside, carries Jason up to bed.
 
Jason hardly even stirs when Bruce lays him down and pulls his fingers out.
Looking at him, you’d think he padded off to bed after a good dinner, stomach
full and mind free of worry.
That is, if you disregarded the mess of his hair, the marks on his neck, and
the intoxicating stench that emanated from his abused, pink little hole.
Bruce sucks in a shaky breath and cards a hand through his hair. He knows he
should try to clean Jason up, but (he looks so good marked up and claimed) he
doesn’t trust himself to stick around much longer. Jason could wake up, could
look at him again with those pleading eyes, could— could—
After making quick work of tucking the covers around Jason’s body, Bruce turns
on his heel and walks out.
Part of him thinks it’s unfair to retreat to his room and shower while Jason
still reeks of sex and sweat. The other part thinks it’d be too akin to getting
rid of the evidence, bathing Jason, too. He lets the cold, cold water rush over
his face and numb his body in the hopes that he might never have to feel
anything again. If he freezes his nerves off, it won’t matter how good Jason
smells or how well he begs. He won’t get tempted to violate him again.
But while he can still feel, while his own rut still thrums in his veins, he
takes hold of his cock and gives it a harsh stroke. One more time, he’ll allow
himself to think of Jason, of his legs and his mouth and his eyes and his ass.
One more time, he’ll give in.
Just one.
End Notes
     enjoy? shoot me comments and requests on tumblr! maybe I'll write
     your idea next!
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