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Chapter Text

"Why didn't you bite my nape?"

The question knocks Jon right out of the post-coital haze he'd been enjoying, lying zoned out atop the rumpled sheets and breathing in the warm air still heavy with the scent of their earlier lovemaking. He jerks upright, lifting his head to stare at his lover.

Damian is sitting at the edge of the bed, not looking at him. Which annoys Jon a little, but he can't object to the sight of Damian's lean yet well-muscled back, still glistening with sweat and peppered with little red and purple bruises. Quite a few of them trace the contours of his scars - a bad habit of Jon's, and one that Damian's expressed annoyance about in the past, but can Jon help it when there's just so many of them? Who knows, maybe on some subconscious level, he's just futilely trying to kiss them better.

Not that he'd ever say that aloud, of course. And right now, he's got more important things to focus on - like what Damian just said.

He also can't help but notice the way Damian's brushing the curve of his neck where it flares into his shoulder, fingers lightly dancing across the skin. Somehow, he makes even that idle gesture look impossibly poised and practiced. 

"Uh, what did you say?" Jon says, planting his elbow into the mattress to help himself up. 

"Tt." The familiar scoff cuts through the air, though Damian still doesn't turn to look at him. "Don't pretend that you didn't hear me, Superboy."

"I did hear, I just - just wasn't sure you - "

Though he can't see Damian's face, Jon would bet real money that he just rolled his eyes. "Of course. I keep forgetting how slow you are. Fine, I'll ask again: why didn't you bite my nape? You clearly wanted to."

"What makes you think that?" Jon shoots back indignantly, responding to that scornful tone more out of well-trained reflex than anything. "You have mind-reading powers now or what? Maybe we should hook you up to the meta analyzer - "

"Shut up." Damian's voice slices through Jon's mindless babbling like one of the blades he wields so well. For the first time, he turns his head to look at Jon, just enough for him to make out a single furiously burning green eye. "You think I wouldn't notice you breathing heavily right over my neck, drooling all over me like some untrained dog? Absolutely disgusting, by the way."

Jon's face floods bright red. He can't find any words through the embarrassment choking his throat, and maybe that's a good thing. The memories from just a few minutes ago tumble through his mind again, searing like a fresh brand. Bent over Damian's heaving back, moving inside him at a savage pace, his mouth hovering inches above that hot, enticing, impossibly delicious-smelling patch of skin....

Every instinct, every urge, every desire inside his body was roaring at him to do it. Bite down, break the skin, taste Damian's blood, finally, finally claim the omega he's been madly in love with since childhood and been fucking on a regular basis for the past few months as irrevocably his.

But he didn't, because he seriously does want to take to heart everything his dad taught him about being an alpha - the importance of always being in control. Jon himself has faced firsthand what happens when he loses that control, and the guilt is always squirming somewhere in the pit of his stomach every time he touches Damian, grounding him even while he's otherwise drowning in pleasure.

Besides, the last thing Jon wants is to die at Batman's hand. Can't be a worse way to go. Though there might not be much of him left for Batman to kill after Damian's done with him.

Except now Damian's just asked that question casual as can be, and doesn't even seem offended aside from the part where Jon drooled on him. Jon isn't really sure what to make of it. 

"I, uh," he stammers. "Do you...do you actually want me to? 'Cause it kind of sounds like...."

He trails off, trying to ignore the furious beating of his heart, let alone the stupid, foolish, ridiculous hope that's starting to rise somewhere deep inside, in a place he doesn't want to examine. But really, that hope's never gone away ever since Damian agreed to date him.

"Yes, actually." Damian's answer hits him like a Kryptonite-laced punch to the gut. All Jon can do is stare at him, mouth wide open. No way. He didn't mishear, did he?

He's hoped, waited, wished, dreamed for this moment for so long - but instead of overjoyed, he just feels confused out of his head. Damian's tone doesn't help either; it's cold and precise, without a hint of the passion he expressed while moaning Jon's name earlier tonight.

"If you think about it, it's the most beneficial course of action," Damian continues, now rubbing at his nape with increasing force. "If we're mated, I would be able to manage my heats more easily. The same goes for your ruts. It would also...reduce quite a bit of the risk when it comes to dealing with alpha opponents."

"Huh? You actually worry about that?" Jon blurts. After all, Damian is the toughest, most fearless person he knows, and has definitely never cared about putting himself in danger if it's for the sake of a mission. Which, Jon won't lie, might be the one thing he simultaneously loves and hates the most about him.

The withering look Damian throws him makes him feel about five inches tall. "Please. You can't be this naive. That sort of risk is something every omega has to live with, as I'm sure you're very much aware."

His voice lowers, becoming soft and cutting, and Jon knows exactly what he's talking about. It makes him burn with shame, and he has to fight not to look away.

"But like I said, being claimed by an alpha would mitigate it at least." He's brisk and business-like again, but that doesn't make Jon feel any better. "I'll accept it if it's you. Well, our fathers might object, but I can deal with them. It's not their decision in the end, anyway."

Every word he says twists Jon's stomach into tighter knots. "Okay, okay," he bursts out, lifting his hands. "Hold up. Just - stop talking, okay?"

"Why?" Now Damian looks annoyed. "You're the one who wants it in the first place, aren't you? Don't tell me you changed your mind."

"I...." Jon inhales deeply, though it doesn't calm him down at all when the air is so rich with both his and Damian's scents. It even sends a faint twinge of heat through his gut, to his great embarrassment; and here he thought he was completely spent.

At least he doesn't get hard again. Small miracles. "I - look," he says, forcing himself to continue speaking. "I do want it. More than anything. I want it so much it drives me crazy."

"Then do it." At last Damian turns around, rising to his knees on the bed and reaching out for Jon. Jon reacts by instinct, lurching backward so fast he slips off the bed and drags the blanket down with him.

Thanks to his invulnerability, the fall doesn't hurt anything except for his pride. While he struggles to extract himself from the blanket, he looks up to see Damian gazing disdainfully down at him, not making a single move to help.

"What is your problem? Are you getting performance anxiety now? I didn't think you were the type."

"I'm not!" Jon hollers, taking the bait despite himself. "It's just - Damian, do you actually want to be my mate?"

Damian blinks, looking genuinely caught off guard for the first time tonight. Too bad it doesn't last long before a much more familiar sneer tightens his face. "What is the use of that super hearing if you can't seem to hear the words I am speaking right to your face?"

"I mean, I mean, the way you're talking," Jon blathers, feeling his face grow hotter and hotter, "it makes it sound more like a business arrangement than anything else. I don't know, it's just - it's not really romantic, you know?"

"Romantic." Damian repeats the word slowly, as if it's a foreign language he's hearing for the very first time. Then - and Jon's heart drops all the way into his stomach - a wicked smirk tugs at his mouth and he bursts out laughing.

It's a vicious laugh, an evil laugh, with a lot more Ra's al Ghul in it than Batman, and it legitimately makes Jon want to cry. "Damian! Damian, please!" he keeps babbling, but Damian can't seem to hear him at all. He's laughing so hard he's doubled over with his arms wrapped around his stomach and his entire body is shaking. Each harsh peal echoes around the room like a thunderclap, piercing straight through Jon's heart.

When he finally stops, the laughter dying down into wheezes and then gasps, Damian lifts his head and looks back at Jon. To Jon's deep despair, the smirk is still there - if not even more mocking than before.

"Romantic," Damian sneers. "I can't believe this. You've always been childish, but I didn't expect you to be this immature."

"Immature!" Jon erupts, disbelieving. "What the hell do you - "

"What did you want me to do? Melt into your arms while vowing my eternal love to you? Please, farmboy. This is real life, not the movies."

"I - I - " Jon sputters, fisting his hands in his hair. "I mean, I know you wouldn't do that, I just didn't think...."

That you'd treat it this coldly. That you'd act like my feelings don't even factor into the equation.

But he can't begin to figure out how to say this. Even if he does, Damian will probably just make fun of him some more. 

And it hurts. He feels like a kid again, meeting the Wayne brat for the first time and being forced to endure his insults and shitty attitude. Somehow, all the progress they've made over the years, all the trust they've come to put into each other, all the love Jon has come to feel for him, doesn't seem to mean anything anymore. Damian will always be that insufferable brat.

Maybe Jon was expecting too much in the first place. After being raised by assassins, and then Batman, of course there's no way Damian would end up possessing anything in the way of emotional intelligence. Jon tells himself this, but it doesn't make the pain lessen an ounce.

He takes a deep breath, then with a flash of wind gets up and gathers his clothes scattered around the room, carelessly throwing them back on. When he stops, it's in front of the bed and he's got the pieces of Damian's costume in his arms.

He drops them onto the bed in front of the wide-eyed Damian. "I'm going." His voice sounds strained, nothing like his own. "Get dressed on your own."

"What - " For a fraction of a second, Damian goes a little paler, and Jon doesn't miss the sharp stutter of his heartbeat. Too bad it doesn't last long before the sneer returns full force. "Running away, are you? Flouncing off in a tizzy because you didn't get your way? You're so tiresomely emotional."

"And you're a massive dick, has anyone ever told you that? Well, they should a lot more often, all the time, in fact every time you even think about opening your stupid mouth!"

"Jon - " But Jon doesn't want to stick around to endure the next round of insults. He dashes off without a single glance back, crossing their base in just a few seconds and leaping into the pod that will take him back to Metropolis. His heart is racing so fast he doubts even super speed could keep up with it.

Guilt is already starting to bloom inside him as he sets off in the pod; he left Damian behind with his ass still stuffed with cum, without even offering to help him clean up. He's never done that before. 

But whatever, Jon tells himself fiercely. Damian can handle one night of inconsiderate treatment. Maybe a taste of his own medicine might finally shock some sense into him.

Yeah, right. This is Damian Wayne they're talking about, after all. 

Chapter Text

Grayson dances out of the way of Damian's sword with startling speed. Unbalanced, Damian stumbles a few steps forward, and Grayson takes advantage of the opening to whirl upon him from the unguarded right.

Or so he thinks. Pivoting on his heel, Damian swings the sword around and meets Grayson's escrima stick with the blade. The clash of metal on metal echoes through the Batcave. 

Grayson disengages, as expected, his left foot sliding back in the telltale way that suggests he intends to do a flip and avoid the next attack. Damian won't let him. He lunges, aiming right for Grayson's unprotected stomach. 

Grayson throws himself low to avoid the blow - which is his mistake. Having closed the distance between them, Damian kicks out and hooks his foot around Grayson's ankle. A sharp jerk of his leg sends Grayson crashing heavily on his back. 

Damian jumps on top of him, sword pointed directly at his throat. "Yield," he says coldly.

"All right." Grinning, breathing hard, Grayson raises both hands. "Yield."

Satisfied, Damian steps off him and lets Grayson rise to a sitting position. He grabs Grayson's hand to help pull him to his feet, then steps back to allow Grayson to gather his fallen weapons while sheathing his own sword.

"Whew." Grayson runs a hand through his already mussed up hair. His face is shining with sweat, but his smile hasn't slipped an inch. "Good work, kid. As always, you don't go easy."

Damian knows from long experience that it's pointless to protest Grayson still calling him 'kid' even though he's now in his twenties. And honestly...he doesn't particularly mind. Only from Grayson, that is.

He wipes the sweat from his brow, accepts the drink of water Grayson offers, then reaches for his sword again, body instinctively falling into a ready stance. "If you're up for it, old man...."

Really, he should be grateful Grayson's decided to do this with him in the first place. Father has never particularly liked helping him train with swords, though Damian has managed to convince him on a few occasions that it can serve as practice for fighting the League of Assassins. But Grayson accepted without a moment's hesitation, as he always does. 

It had to be swords today. Perhaps because it's the first weapon that he ever trained with, feeling the familiar weight in his hands, going through the familiar movements and stances, calms him in a way nothing else possibly can. 

And after last night's...whatever the hell that was...with Jon, he needs all the calming he can get.

When he looks up, he blinks; Grayson hasn't gotten out his weapons again. Instead, he has his hands on his hips and is gazing at Damian with a strangely troubled expression.

That isn't something Damian is used to seeing from Grayson's face. He breaks from the stance, lowering his sword. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing." Grayson blinks rapidly. "Just...are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"What do you mean?" Damian snaps, a little harsher than intended.

Grayson, of course, takes it right in stride. "I mean, I don't want to pry or anything, but your focus seemed a bit off. I could tell."

"Really now?" Damian sneers. "Even though I still beat you?"

"Well, that's true, but...." Grayson pauses as if weighing his next words. "Your...scent feels unsteady too. Different from usual."

Damian can't suppress the heat that blooms in his cheeks, nor the most ridiculous childish sense of unfairness. He takes the kind of powerful suppressants only a man like Bruce Wayne can afford, and Grayson barely counts as an omega; he shouldn't be able to detect anything. 

That even he is able to suggests Damian is in far worse condition than he would like to admit. Which irritates Damian beyond all measure, because the last thing he wants to do is admit that immature child Jonathan Kent is able to throw him this far off balance.

"Look, you can tell me if you want to. Only if you want to, of course," Grayson says, stepping a little closer. When he sees Damian doesn't move out of the way, he closes the distance between them and squeezes Damian's shoulder. The warm weight of his hand is surprisingly reassuring, easing some of the tension knotting Damian's chest.

Still, he doesn't look at Grayson. "I don't want to."

"I figured you wouldn't." Grayson laughs a little. "But still, better me than Bruce, right? It's omega business, isn't it?"

"How do you - " Damian bursts out before he can stop himself. He swallows the rest of his words, but it's already too late. 

Damn Grayson's perceptiveness. It is most certainly Damian's least favorite trait of his oldest brother's.

"Is it Jon? Did you have a fight?" Grayson's tone is kind as ever, but Damian doesn't miss the edge that enters his voice upon Jon's name, nor how his grip subtly tightens. He can't fight a scowl. If he had his way, his family would have no idea about his...whatever it is...with Jon. Unfortunately, he has no way of hiding an alpha's scent on him.

They've all come to accept it, though some more reluctantly than others. It isn't as if they have any other choice. Though perhaps their attitudes will change if they learn Damian asked Jon to claim him....

Hold on. This might present an opportunity. Keeping it a secret is no longer a possibility, so he might as well make it incontrovertibly clear that this is something he wanted, initiated, chose. That Jon didn't force him into anything. 

Indeed, the exact opposite happened. When given the choice, Superboy fled faster than a speeding bullet.

"I wouldn't say a fight, exactly...," Damian says, testing the waters. "It's more that he's a fool and a coward."

"Uh-huh." The expression on Grayson's face says everything for him: Yep, you definitely had a fight. For a moment, Damian seriously considers punching him.

He will not call it a fight, not as long as he lives. A 'fight' implies unreasonable behavior from both parties, and last night, the only one acting in any sort of irrational manner was Jonathan Kent. 

Really, hadn't Damian done everything right? He had asked for it, for his own reasons, not for the sake of appeasing his alpha. Jon has made it clear from the very beginning that he would never force anything on Damian, and he's never once failed to fulfill that promise. Sometimes to Damian's annoyance.

Hell, he almost would prefer if Jon had given in to his instincts and bitten him in the heat of the moment, as he so very clearly wanted to. It would spare both of them all of the trouble that followed.

"Damian." Grayson inhales sharply, and his grip tightens to painful extents. Instinctively, Damian jerks away from him.

"What is your - " he begins, only to realize what Grayson is staring at. His own hand, clamped firmly over the back of his neck. Without consciously noticing, he must have been rubbing it the entire time....

Damn! It! All his training emphasized that his body is his most valuable weapon, and that means he must have total control over every movement at all times. How could he have let himself slip now?

Irrationally, he decides to blame Jonathan Kent.

But right now, he has to deal with Dick Grayson, who is staring at him with open horror in his eyes. "Damian. He didn't try to bite you, did he?"

Damian reacts on instinct: his hand flies to his belt and he yanks out a batarang and sends it flying. Grayson dodges with an indignant yelp, a few strands of hair flying in the weapon's wake.

"Hey! We're done sparring!"

"Shut your mouth, Grayson, or I will - "

"What did Jon do to you?" 

"I told you to shut up!"

Grayson's eyes flash. "Look, Damian, if you're not going to tell me, I'm going to have to assume the worst. And in that case, you know I'll have to go to Bruce."

Damian's heart wrenches, but the shock soon gives way to fury. "Resorting to that tactic? You dishonor yourself, Grayson."

Emitting a weary sigh, Grayson rubs his forehead. "I don't actually want to, okay. It's a last resort. So if you could just tell me...."

Damian folds his arms and glares at Grayson, considering his options. He knows from experience just how persistent his eldest brother can be...and he does want to correct any misconceptions. It...does not sit well with him to make his family believe that Jon somehow attacked him. Not when what actually happened might as well have been the complete opposite.

"Tt, he didn't do anything to me," Damian declares haughtily. "Which, as a matter of fact, is the entire problem."

"What do you mean?" Grayson blinks, looking for all the world like a confused owl.

"I...." As he fights back his embarrassment, Damian realizes he's begun rubbing his neck again. "I wanted him to."

If Grayson were drinking something, he would most certainly have spat it all over the Batcave floor. As it is, he makes a horrible sputtering noise like he's just choked on his own spit. As he coughs and hacks, Damian surveys him coolly with folded arms.

When Grayson is finally done, he's red-faced and his eyes are wild. "Damian, please don't tell me you just said what I think you said."

"I said," Damian snaps, annoyed now, "I asked Jon to bite me. He's clearly wanted to for a while, but he never does it, so I decided to take the initiative myself."

"No, no, no, I am not hearing this," Grayson groans, tugging at his hair. "My baby brother - ow!"

In a fit of pique, Damian kicks him in the shin. A cruel move, perhaps, but not at all unwarranted.

"I am twenty-one. You and Father may be in denial, but I'm not a child anymore. I am most certainly old enough to form a mating bond."

"But Jon is - "

"Eighteen. Also an adult." 

"No," Grayson says, angry now, "he's a college kid. When I was his age, I was definitely not mature enough to even think about things like mating and life bonds."

"And you apparently still aren't, otherwise you wouldn't be an unclaimed old maid," Damian sneers, though he immediately regrets it. This is a low blow, even for him.

Not that he'll ever apologize. And for his part, Grayson seems more exasperated than upset. "I know you, or most people for that matter, don't understand what Kory and I have, but it's - "

"I understand perfectly well. You're living in peaceful married bliss like a nice, normal couple of betas," Damian says, rolling his eyes.

"It's not like that, okay? Neither of us are betas, it's - it's different for her people. We might not have things like claiming bites or mating bonds, but that doesn't make our bond any less real."

Grayson is taking his strict lecturing tone, which Damian finds tiresome beyond all measure. Striving to change the subject, he snaps, "You don't have to worry about this, anyhow. Because he refused."

"Oh." Grayson blinks. "Good on Jon, I suppose?" He actually looks a little impressed.

It takes all of Damian's restraint not to kick him again. "He wanted to. He even said he wanted it enough to drive him crazy...but he wouldn't accept when I offered. And not for any noble reason you're imagining. It's because...because he thought I wasn't being romantic enough."

He spits out the last words, his insides twisting in embarrassment but burning with fury at the same time. How dare he, how dare that whiny, selfish little farmboy take Damian's genuine offer - one that he had not made easily or lightly - and stomp all over it just because Damian hadn't said it in a way he liked? And then run away (presumably to cry to his mother) while leaving Damian alone to clean out a firehose's worth of Kryptonian seed from his ass in the base shower, alone might he mention....

"Uh. What." Grayson's voice cuts through his increasingly unhinged thoughts. Not that it's much of a relief, because the expression he's wearing - the most bizarre mix of disbelief and...amusement? - makes Damian want to cave his face in.

"So...hold on a moment here...," Grayson is saying all the while his mouth is twitching like he's trying his hardest not to smile. "Just to make things perfectly clear. What exactly did you say to him?"

"Do you have to know?" Damian yells, reaching for his sword on instinct. Grayson evidently doesn't consider himself under any threat, though, judging by how he neither reaches for his own weapons nor adopts a defensive stance.

"I mean, I don't have to, but now I'm curious." By now, he isn't even making an attempt at hiding his smile. "Whatever you said must have been awful."

"Awful! Where the hell are you drawing this conclusion from?"

"Because I know you," Grayson says, grinning wider. "Let me guess, did you put it like this? Become my consort and together we can rule the world?"

"No!" Damian yells, his face burning. "Grayson, you absolute - "

"Or, or maybe something more like, You can have a doghouse next to Ace and Titus? Or, I know, I'll give you a position on the company board as long as you never talk - oop!"

He leaps out of the way of the batarang Damian just threw with his usual acrobatic grace, grinning like an idiot all the while. It makes Damian almost blind with rage. And here he thought this sort of immature teasing was more up Todd's alley.

"Grayson, I will disembowel you if you don't stop spewing nonsense this very instant!" he snarls, drawing two batarangs in each hand and flashing them threateningly.

"Okay, okay." Grayson shakes his head, wipes his eyes, then steps back. "Sorry, Damian. I went a little too far. I definitely didn't mean to mock your feelings...for you to even make that offer means you really do care about Jon a lot, right?"

Well, Todd most certainly would never have apologized. Satisfied, Damian sheathes the batarangs and straightens with an officious little cough. "Fine. I accept your apology. And I...may have gone too far as well. I shouldn't have attacked you."

This time, Grayson's smile is bright and warm - sincere. He steps forward, and before Damian can object, gives his hair a fond ruffle. "Atta boy. Let's all calm down and talk things over like adults, okay? So what did you actually say to him?"

"Tt." Damian folds his arms, trying to once again fight down a rising sense of embarrassment. "Even if I told you, what use would you be? It's not like you have any experience in these matters...."

"Well, I guess not," Grayson concedes. He blinks, then slams his fist into his palm. "Should I reach out to Steph and Cass? They might be able to give you better advice."

"Ah." Damian hadn't considered that possibility, but it makes sense. Of their family, only Stephanie and Cassandra are a mated pair. They would have experience with the courtship process, wouldn't they?

It irritates Damian to think that he even needs help, though. As far as he's concerned, he said and did everything correctly. Jon is the problem here. He feels quite certain that neither of his older sisters (not even Brown) would ever behave as irrationally as Jon has.

"On the other hand, I don't know if they should get involved in the first place...," Grayson is saying while scratching his head, seemingly speaking more to himself than anything. "I feel like they're just gonna encourage you to go forward with this."

"I am going to go forward with it," Damian snaps. "All I need to do is find a way to convince that idiot Kryptonian to accept."

Grayson sighs. "Yep, you got that stubbornness from Bruce for sure."

"Wrong. I'm better than him," Damian declares, lifting his chin. "Even after all these years, Father still can't bring himself to bond with the person he so desperately wants to. It's pathetic."

"Bruce has his reasons, you know," Grayson says. "He doesn't want Selina to become a way enemies can get at him...but you know this. And I guess you're not worried about Jon in that way because, well, the whole being Superboy thing."

"Of course. We've already fought beside each other for years. Together, we can only make each other stronger."

Damian is relieved by how confidently he can say this. Even after everything, after Jon's idiotic behavior, he still believes in the alpha he has chosen with all his soul. Of course he does; he has never doubted, not once in his life.

One way or another, he will wear Jon's bite mark, and he will wear it with pride.

Grayson smiles again, and there's something soft - and maybe a little resigned - in his eyes. "You sure are set on this, huh? Jon is lucky to have you."

"Of course he is. I'm his better half in every single way."

This time, Grayson makes a face halfway between a grin and a wince. "Please don't tell me you said something megalomaniacal like that to him. Because I can't blame him for thinking that's unromantic."

"Romantic," Damian sneers. "Does it have to be romantic? What does romance have to do with pair bonds anyhow?"

"Uh. Damian." The smile slips off Grayson's face entirely, replaced by an expression very much like he just got kicked in the stomach. "It kind of - what else is it if it's not romantic? You're asking someone to become yours, to join their soul to yours, for the rest of your lifetimes. You need to be able to trust that person, make yourself completely vulnerable to them - "

"Yes, yes, I know," Damian says, cutting Grayson off with an impatient wave of his hand. "But I still don't see how that has anything to do with romance."

Grayson tilts his head, blinking hard, before a disbelieving smile trembles across his face. "Hold on, Damian, what do you think romance is?"

"What?" Damian was not expecting this question. "I suppose...roses? Dates at expensive restaurants? Valentine's cards? Embarrassing ostentatious public proposals?"

He could go on, but that's when Grayson turns away and buries his face in his hands, groaning, "Oh my god."

It does, perhaps, alarm Damian a little. Very rarely does he see Dick Grayson this abject - and knowing it's because of him does not sit well with him. Even if he doesn't understand why.

"Damiaaaaan....," Grayson sighs into his hands. "You have the complete wrong idea, okay? That stuff's just surface gestures. I don't think Jon wants any of that."

"Then what does he want, since you're apparently such an expert - "

"I mean...." Grayson slides his hands away from his face, then lifts his head to gaze at the Batcave ceiling. "I can't say exactly, since I wasn't there. But I'm sure when Jon said he wanted something more romantic, he wasn't thinking about roses and champagne. He's a straightforward, goodhearted kid, I can say this much. I think...he just wants something genuine."

"Genuine." Damian feels like he's been hit in the solar plexus, knocking all the air out of his lungs. "Are you saying I was lying to him?"

"No, I'm not, though I don't know what you said - "

"I said it was logical! If he was my mate, I'd have better control of my heat cycle and he'd have better control over his ruts. And it would put me at less risk from alpha opponents. Which would enable us to do our work more effectively, wouldn't it? You and Father can't object, I know you've always worried about me in that way, regardless of how pointless and unwarranted it - "

"Damian, Damian, please. Oh, God." Grayson holds up his hands, shaking his head. "Okay, I completely understand where Jon's coming from now."

"What?" Damian sputters. He most certainly didn't expect this betrayal...though come to think of it, he probably should have. "Damn it, I should never have told you in the first place. You're just like him, too emotional and sentimental for your own good. If it were Drake or Gordon, they might - "

"Yeah, you're right, you made a very logical argument," Grayson speaks over him. "But at any point, did you say anything about how it had to be Jon in particular?"

"What do you mean? That goes without saying," Damian says, irritated.

"I think you do have to say it to him. Because if you really said to him what you just said to me, it almost sounds like you're suggesting any alpha would do."

"No." The very prospect sends a sick wave of nausea wrenching through Damian's stomach. "No. How can it - how can he possibly - it has to be him. Does he not know that, the idiot?"

"Damian," Grayson says, almost sadly. "Jon has a lot of powers, but mind reading isn't one of them. You have to tell him these things."

"He should already know! All my life, I've never wanted any other alpha. That he'd even think I would is an insult of the highest order!" It's embarrassing, but Damian can't stop his voice from rising. He sounds terrible, all strained and hysterical, and he suddenly feels a sharp stab of gratitude that neither his father nor mother are here. 

"It has to be him," he mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I chose him long ago, and I waited for him all these years. Does that mean nothing to him?"

When he feels Grayson's hands on his shoulders, Damian starts. Heart pounding, he looks up into his older brother's face, and though Grayson is still smiling, there's a seriousness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"Damian, I think you already know you shouldn't be telling me this. Tell it to him. If he really does love you, he'll understand."

Damian opens his mouth to speak, but he has no idea what he even wants to say. Nor can he find any words through the buzzing that's filled his head.

And before he can, Grayson adds, a familiar mischievous twinkle to his eyes, "And you know, the things you're saying, the way you feel...it actually is pretty damn romantic when it comes down to it."

"Have you finally lost your mind, Grayson?" Damian snaps, shaking his brother's hands off his shoulders and backing away from him. "It was a long time coming, considering how many times you've gotten hit in the head."

"Now that's just not fair." Grayson pouts, though that infuriating twinkle hasn't left his eyes. "Well, at least you're feeling better."

"Tt," Damian scoffs, turning away with his arms folded. He wants to chew Grayson out for being unhelpful, or presumptuous, but the words just aren't coming. Perhaps because - though he'll never admit it - it really does feel as though a massive burden has lifted from his shoulders.

"Oh, but," Grayson adds as if it just occurred to him, "you can tell him all this, but hold off on the actual biting for now, okay? At least until Bruce - "

"Goodbye, Grayson, your help was most appreciated," Damian declares loudly, striding toward the Batcave exit without looking back.

"Damian! Hey! Come back here!"

Damian keeps walking, and if there's a little spring in his step, well, who can blame him?

"All right, fine, when Bruce finds out and goes on a Kryptonian-murdering rampage, just don't tell him I had anything to do with it, okay?" Grayson hollers after him.

Damian can't help but smirk. Who does Grayson even think he is? As if he'd ever allow Father to lay a single finger on his alpha.

Chapter Text

The moment Jon gets back to his apartment, he throws himself into bed and buries himself beneath the covers. Somehow, incredibly, he does manage to fall asleep, because the next thing he knows he's blinking beneath the warm sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. 

Huh, last night's activities must have tired him out more than he thought. Whether that's a good or bad thing, he can't say.

It wasn't actually the sunlight that woke him up, but the insistent buzzing of his phone on the nightstand. Still half-asleep, Jon grabs it and automatically answers the call.

"Morning, Jon. How are you doing?" It's Dad's voice, not Damian's. Jon can't decide whether he's relieved or disappointed. Though if he thinks about it, Damian has never once reached out first after an argument. 

"Morning, Dad. What's up?" Jon mumbles blearily as he shrugs out of his cape. Damn, he fell asleep in his costume, and now he feels all itchy and uncomfortable. He desperately needs a shower, but first he's got to talk to his dad.

"What, I can't say hi?" Dad says lightly. A pause, then, "Well, to be honest, I was a little worried. I've already tried calling a couple times earlier, and you didn't pick up."

"What? This early in the - oh, wait." As Jon checks his call history, his heart sinks. It's actually almost noon, and sure enough, he does have two missed calls from Dad, as well as several unread texts. How did he end up sleeping through all of that? You'd think he'd have at least picked up the ringtone with his super hearing.

"You also didn't check in last night. I was...worried something might have happened."

"No, no, not at all," Jon bursts out. "It's fine, really. It was a pretty quiet night. Busted a drug operation, found a lost cat, put a stop to whatever Kite Man's been up to. Typical stuff, so no need to worry."

Dad chuckles. "Of course. And I know Damian would never let anything happen to you."

The unexpected mention of Damian's name startles Jon. He breathes in sharply, his heart skipping a beat. 

Of course, Dad heard over the phone. "Is something wrong, Jon?"

"No, no, I'm fine, I am," Jon finds himself babbling. "Just...I guess I'm a little bit tired, that's all. Not because of patrol stuff, okay? It's, um, midterms are coming up...."

"Hm. Well, I'm sure you'll ace them." Dad pauses again, and Jon can practically hear the tension thrumming across the phone line. "Is...is everything okay with you and Damian?"

"Huh?" It takes all of Jon's self-control not to drop the phone. "What do you - "

"Bruce told me he hasn't seen Damian since last night. Which isn't too unusual for him, but combined with you not checking in, well...I don't mean to be overbearing or anything, Jon, but...if you'd like to talk about it, you know I'm always here for you."

"I know, Dad," Jon says quietly, fighting back a lump in his throat. He can't believe he's made his family - and probably Mr. Wayne too - worry about him because of his own immature behavior. Maybe Damian was right calling him an overly emotional child. 

But just thinking about his insults hurts like a fist squeezing Jon's heart. Which only embarrasses Jon even more; after how long he's known Damian Wayne, you'd think he'd have become totally immune to this kind of thing by now.

Really, though, it's not the insults that hurt as much as the laughing. Jon tried his best to be honest about his feelings, and Damian treated it like nothing more than a gigantic joke. Doesn't Jon have the right to be upset about that?

"Jon?" Dad's anxious voice startles him back to reality. "You okay, kid? You've gone quiet."

"I'm fine," Jon says automatically, but his mind is whirling. Maybe...maybe he does want to talk to Dad. Maybe that'll help him make sense of things. Help him figure out how to react properly to what happened, the way an alpha should. 

Damian would probably make fun of him some more for running to his dad for help, but screw it, Jon no longer cares what that jerk might think. "Actually...can we talk? In person, I mean. If you're not busy or anything."

"Of course." Dad's immediate answer fills him with a strange kind of relief. "How about you come over for lunch? I'm used to cooking for two, anyway, and since your mom's not around, I'd love it if my kid could keep his old man company for a bit."

"You got it, Dad," Jon says, smiling. "I'll be right there."

His apartment isn't too far from his parents' place - his mom insisted on that - so it doesn't take long at all for Jon to arrive after showering and getting changed. Dad immediately greets him with a big hug, and as they get started on making lunch together in the kitchen, Jon almost feels like nothing's changed since he was a kid. 

Over lunch, they keep the conversation light; Dad's job, Jon's classes, Mom's current assignment on some remote Pacific island, what the Justice League's been up to lately. It's only after they finish up the dishes and they return to the table that Dad looks at Jon with a more serious expression. "So do you want to talk about what's been bothering you?"

"Yeah, I...." Jon breathes out, feeling his cheeks warm. Dammit, he can't be chickening out now when he's the one who wanted this in the first place. But still, talking about this stuff with his parents is always going to be embarrassing. No helping it.

"How did, uh...." He can't meet Dad's gaze. "You and Mom, when you decided to, uh, become a pair...."

Dad's demeanor changes in an instant - muscles snapping taut, heartbeat quickening, alpha scent thickening. It comes so suddenly, so sharp and caustic, that Jon almost lurches out of his seat.

"Jon, don't tell me you and Damian - "

"We didn't do anything, okay!" Jon says quickly. Even though I wanted to. Even though he wanted to! "You should be able to tell, right?"

Dad breathes in deeply, then leans back a little, his stance relaxing just a fraction. His scent is no longer as overwhelming either, though Jon's nerves still feel painfully taut. "Good. You're much too young."

"Dad," Jon says, exasperated. "I told you, didn't I? From the very beginning, I've always meant to court him for real."

"Courtship is one thing," Dad says severely. "That's fine. But it's much too soon to think about becoming a pair."

Jon's frustration rises. "I've been in love with Damian since we were kids. I've never even thought about any other omega. How much longer do I have to wait?"

"It's a serious decision, Jon. A life-altering one, and one you can never come back from. Of course I'd like you to put some real thought into it...."

"I have," Jon insists, already sick of this argument. He didn't mean to start it in the first place, but now that he thinks about it, there was no other way this could possibly go. "This isn't some spur of the moment thing or me getting overwhelmed by my rut or anything like that. I've thought about this long and hard, and so has he. He's actually the one who, uh, brought it up in the first place."

"Really." Jon doesn't think he's ever seen Dad's eyes go so wide. "That's...a bit of a surprise."

In more ways than one, Jon thinks with a touch of bitterness. He almost wishes Damian had begged for it in the heat of the moment or something. Instead, passion didn't enter into his cold, clinical calculations at all.

"I also have to admit," Dad said, adjusting his glasses and not quit meeting Jon's gaze, "I'm also surprised you didn't immediately accept."

"Of course not," Jon says, more than a little stung. "Come on, I'm not some hormone-addled kid. You're the one who taught me, right? An alpha's always got to be in control of himself."

So he says, though deep down, he has to admit that if Damian had begged for it, he'd have given in without a second thought. But he didn't, and he never will, so there's no point indulging what-if scenarios.

"Yes, you're right." Dad nods slowly, almost looking sheepish. "Sorry, Jon. Sometimes I forget you're not a kid anymore. I should...have more faith in you."

The admission startles Jon, making his heart beat faster. Embarrassed, he drops his gaze to the table. 

"So what happened?" Dad asks, his tone gentle. "He asked, and you refused...did he get upset with you? To be honest, that doesn't sound very much like Damian."

"No, it wasn't like that," Jon says. To be honest, he can't even begin to imagine that scenario. Not like Damian has any feelings to injure in the first place. "It was more...I guess...the way he put it was...I didn't...like it....."

With each word, his voice becomes smaller until it trails off into nothing. His entire face is blazing hot, and he's sure his heartbeat must be echoing off every wall in the house. Oh, why did he think this would be a good idea? Now that he's finally spoken it aloud, it sounds so ridiculous. So childish.

Damian was one hundred percent right about him.

"Hm." Dad's contemplative tone doesn't help things an ounce. "How exactly did he put it?"

Some vague part of Jon considers flying out of here this instant, maybe join Mom on that Pacific island. But there's no way he'd ever be able to outspeed Dad, and running away would only make him seem more immature, if that's even possible.

"I guess...it just...he was talking about how it'd be advantageous for us as crimefighters," Jon mumbles, rubbing the back of his head so hard he almost expects his hair to start falling out. "Help him deal with his heats and make it easier to fight alpha opponents? I mean, I guess he's not wrong, but it just...it was pretty cold, you know? I mean, I don't know what else I'd expect from Damian, it's not like I ever think he'll say he loves me or anything like that, but...but...."

Dropping his gaze to his lap, he mumbles, "It almost...it's almost like...any alpha would do for him. Like...it doesn't have to be me."

Only now, speaking the words aloud, does he finally understand why it hurt so much. No, he never did seriously expect Damian to say something romantic; he knows his lover too well for that. He wasn't even expecting an "I love you." He just...he just wanted some indication that he was special to Damian.

Maybe that's still immature of him, but he doesn't think so. Because in the end, isn't that what it means to love another person?

"Jon." Dad's voice is quiet and thoughtful, but there's a startling steel within it. Jon snaps his head up to meet his dad's eyes, more serious than they ever have been in this whole conversation.

"I can see where you're coming from, don't get me wrong...but just consider this. Ask yourself if you seriously believe Damian would accept any alpha besides you."

Jon opens his mouth, then shuts it. Such simple words, but they hit him like a bullet to the heart.

He already knows the answer. Of course he does. He can't even begin to picture Damian, the most proud and stubborn omega in the entire universe, ever offering himself to anybody else. If he did, he wouldn't be...Damian.

"I know why you're upset, son, and you have every right to it," Dad says, his voice softening. "If you take what he said at face value, of course it would sound cold. There's no way Lois would every talk like that to me." He laughs a little sheepishly. "But Damian is different. I obviously don't know him as well as you do, but I do know he's very much like Bruce. Not even the imminent threat of the universe's destruction could make the two of them talk about their feelings."

He laughs again, and this time Jon feels a matching smile twitch up his lips - though it's not enough to overcome the shame boiling in his guts. Why couldn't he see it? How can his dad have a better read on the person he loves than he does? 

It makes the stupid possessive alpha part of him jealous, of course, but in his rational mind he wonders if that isn't exactly why Dad was able to perceive what he couldn't. Maybe he's too close to Damian to see him properly at times.

"As for how you want to proceed from here, well, I can't say exactly." Clasping his hands, Dad leans back in his chair. "Every pair is different, you just have to remember this. There's no one set way for any of this to work. It's something the two of you have to figure out yourselves."

"I know, Dad," Jon says, and he's relieved by how clear and steady his voice comes out.

"In fact, while I do think you're still too young...you may have this figured out better than Lois and I did." Laughing again, Dad scratches at his temple. "We danced around each other for years...although a big part of that was because I was trying to hide my identity from her. Once I stopped hiding, once I finally trusted her with the truth, that's when...everything fell into place. So I guess that's the advice I'll give you. Trust him. Tell him the truth, your truth."

"Dad." Somehow, Jon doesn't think he's admired Dad more than in this very moment. Yes, even though he's Superman and he's saved the world way too many times to count, none of that seems to mean half as much as what he's saying now.

"Well, I say that, and I do think you should clear things up with him," Dad says quickly, sheepish now, "but, er, the actual bonding part - maybe you should save it for another time? At least until we can get your mother on board. And Bruce...now that might be the biggest challenge."

"I know, I know," Jon says, but honestly, he isn't paying that much attention. His heart is pounding a mile a minute, and a wonderful electrical excitement is sizzling through his nerves. Suddenly he feels like he can't spend a single second longer sitting here. He needs to run off and find Damian right here and now, apologize to him properly....

But Jon fights back the urge, as overwhelming as it might be. No, Dad is right. He can't rush things. 

When it comes to this, he absolutely has to do it right. Because Damian is the one he loves, after all.

Chapter Text

It's a couple of days later that Jon finally requests a meeting with Damian. Damian answers in the affirmative almost immediately, which relieves Jon more than he can say. 

After that, Jon spends the rest of the day itching with impatience. When evening finally falls, he takes off for their base at top speed. 

Yet Damian's already waiting there when he arrives, dressed in full costume and leaning against the wall. "You're late, Kent," he snaps. 

Friendly as ever...but that does fill Jon with a strange kind of relief, too. "Nope, it's nine PM on the dot. You're just early."

"Tt. Didn't have anywhere else to be."

Jon can't think of a proper retort in time. Now that he's alone with Damian for the first time in days, it feels like his mind is starting to turn into molasses. It doesn't make sense; despite the powerful suppressants Damian takes, his scent is always so incredibly overwhelming to Jon. It blooms in the air between them, thick and heavy, filling every inch of the enclosed space and melting Jon's brain all the more with every breath.

Damian must be sensing his alpha scent just as powerfully, judging by the way he inhales sharply and holds himself stiffer. He presses his back to the wall, tapping his foot impatiently, and it strikes Jon that Damian seems almost...nervous. Just like him.

For a moment, the two regard each other from opposite sides of the room, neither moving nor speaking.

Then unable to take it, Jon takes a step forward. "Damian, I'm so - "

"Jon, there's something I - "

As their voices overlap, the two stare at each other in mutual surprise. Not for a long. A huge, and very genuine, grin spreads across Jon's face. "After you, I guess."

"No, you first," Damian declares, lifting his chin haughtily. "Don't even think about proceeding until you apologize for your idiotic behavior."

Like always, Jon can't help but take the bait. "Listen, you jerk, I'm trying to be nice here - "

"Then do it already instead of complaining. After you've said your piece, I'll...." His voice softens a little, to Jon's surprise, and he turns away. "I have things I need to say as well."

"Damian." Jon blinks at him, half unable to believe what he's hearing. Well, it isn't as if Damian hasn't apologized to him before, but...he still hadn't expected this.

"Hurry up." Now Damian sounds irritated, though he still isn't facing Jon. "We haven't got all night, hayseed."

"Okay, okay." Jon holds up his hands, trying to fight a mounting sense of awkwardness. "All right. Damian, you're right...I was being immature the other night. I shouldn't have run away and left you alone. That was wrong of me."

Damian is still facing away, and it's always harder to read his expressions with his mask on, but Jon feels certain he didn't imagine the smug little smirk tugging at his lips. It pisses Jon off, of course it does, but he swallows his anger and forces himself to continue.

"And...I guess...I didn't really understand what you were saying to me." He takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. God, why is this so much harder than he imagined? "I...I wasn't thinking about your feelings at all, just mine. You didn't say it in the way I wanted, so I got mad at you, but...it actually must have taken a lot of courage to even say it in the first place. And then I trampled all over your sincere feelings...I'm sorry."

To his shame, his voice cracks a little, and he feels a faint stinging in the corners of his eyes. It does not help when Damian whips toward him, looking genuinely startled. 

"What are you - "

"I mean, I mean," Jon forces himself to continue, "to me, I guess it sounded like you thought any alpha would do? And that's what bothered me. But of course I should've known it wasn't like that. I know you wouldn't even think about saying anything like that to any other alpha. I should have...believed in you more."

"That's...." Damian's throat convulses. It's been a long time since Jon has seen him so caught off guard. "No, I...I should have been clearer. I forgot that you're an idiot and you need things spelled out in small letters."

A familiar caustic note slides into his voice upon the last words. Jon groans. "Come on, man - "

"I guess...I've never directly told you how I feel." Diffident again, Damian crosses one ankle over the other and - Jon's heart leaps - starts rubbing the back of his neck. "You aren't the Martian Manhunter, I can't expect you to read my mind...I mean, it should be obvious anyway. At least to anyone with a functioning brain. But of course, you're slow, so I suppose I'll have to say it as directly as possible so even you won't be able to misinterpret my intentions."

"Damian," Jon sighs. "Can't you just apologize like a normal person instead of trying to get a dig in every other sentence?"

"I'm telling the truth," Damian snaps. "All right, Kent, I'll only say this once, so try to commit it to your goldfish memory: I want you to be my mate. You, and only you. Nobody else will do. I will wear your bite and I will join my soul to yours for eternity. There, are we perfectly clear?"

Like hell if Jon isn't going to burn every single last word into his memory, set them all down in stone so he won't ever forget. Never, not once in his life, has he ever expected to hear something so unbearably romantic from Damian Wayne of all people. Damian would probably sneer at the idea that he's being romantic, and maybe it isn't champagne and flowers, but it means so, so much more to Jon.

He wants to tell Damian this, but he doesn't know where to begin, or even whether it makes any sense. And Damian is gazing back at him, stern and straightforward and composed as ever, but Jon definitely isn't imagining the pink color tingeing his cheeks. 

Somehow that gives Jon the courage to reply, light and teasing, "Hey, is that all? Aren't you forgetting something?" 

"What did you say?" Damian's stance stiffens, becoming sharp and dangerous in a way that makes his lean, lithe body resemble nothing so much as a a well-honed sword. "How dare you - "

"No, no, really," Jon interrupts, wanting to defuse the situation before Damian can actually attack him. "When it comes to these kinds of vows, there's usually something else, right? Something about submitting to your alpha - "

A firm grip seizes the front of his costume and just like that Jon finds himself slammed into the wall. He cries out more from surprise than anything, but doesn't make any move to escape. Instead, staring down at Damian's flushed, furious face, he finds it isn't difficult to put on a wide, and very genuine, smile.

"Come on, won't you say it? Pretty please?"

"Don't push your luck, Kent," Damian snarls, tightening his grip. "I will never submit to you for as long as I live."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Whistling casually, Jon reaches for the bag by his side. Damian tenses, his eyes tracking the motion of Jon's hand, but he makes no move to stop him. Of course; he knows Jon isn't actually an enemy. 

"I guess that means you won't be interested in this, then," Jon says as he pulls out a small, thin box from his bag. As casual as he's trying to act, he can't keep his heart from pounding harder and harder.

Damian loosens his grip, his hand sliding away from Jon's shirt, but he doesn't remove his gaze from the box. "What's in there, a love letter?"

"Open it and see." Jon smiles, though he's sure his heart is going to tear out of his chest any moment now. Damian still looks suspicious, but accepts the box without protest.

He opens it easily, quick and precise as ever, and as he pulls out the object inside, Jon clenches his sweaty hands into fists. It takes all his self-control not to rip off Damian's mask right then and there - anything to find out what expression he actually has behind those indifferent white lenses.

It's a collar, plain and made of leather, barely any wider than Jon's index finger, unornamented aside from a simple buckle. As Damian holds it up, examining it with an air of wary curiosity, Jon can no longer deny that sweat is gushing like a waterfall down the back of his neck. 

Damian's continued silence doesn't help at all. Striving to break it, Jon stammers, "I, well, I dunno if you'd like something fancier, but I, uh, kind of - "

"Actually," Damian says, sounding quite calm, "I have to admire your restraint. It seems more your style to include some silly charm like a bat with an S shield in it or something."

"Uh, do you want - "

"Of course I don't, idiot."

Laughing nervously, Jon rakes a hand through his hair. "I thought, well, I wanted it to be practical, at least, so you could wear it under your costume - I mean, only if you want to."

"Hm." Damian rubs the leather between his thumb and forefinger, eyeing it carefully. "Did you make this yourself?"

Jon's face blazes like he's set himself alight with his own heat vision. "I...I might have...?"

"It was a yes or no question. Answer yes or no, fool."

"Yes! Yeah, yes, I made it, okay? Sorry, sorry if it's not up to your standards - "

"I never said it wasn't. Don't make stupid assumptions." Scoffing, Damian turns to the side, but Jon can't ignore the brilliant flush painting his face, lovely against his bronze skin. It makes Jon's heart stop right in his chest.

"I...it's well made." His voice softens, and he drops his gaze slightly. "I will...wear it with pride. Thank you, Jon."

Jon was not expecting such a sincere thanks. It wipes his mind clear of everything - all thought, all feeling - and for a moment he can only stand there like a big, dumb statue while his brain reboots. When it finally does, the sound of shuffling cloth startles him. Damian has shed his cape, he realizes, and opened the collar of his uniform, revealing the elegant sweep of his throat.

As he wraps the collar around his throat, sliding the buckle to adjust it, Jon's brain threatens to crash all over again. Struggling as hard as he can to keep his composure, Jon stammers, "Wait, wait - "

"What?" Damian sounds impatient. He gives the collar a slight yank, then nods, seeming satisfied by the fit. "This fits quite well. How do you know my measurements?"

Jon's mouth moves before his brain can catch up. "Of course I know your body, D. I mean, how many times have I grabbed your throat when I - "

If he didn't have super speed, he would never have dodged Damian's kick in time. As it is, he just barely rolls out of the way, feeling air whoosh past his shoulder, and his momentum sends him crashing heavily to the floor. 

As quick as he can, he scrambles to his feet, already on the defensive - but to his surprise, Damian hasn't followed through on the attack. Instead, he's surveying Jon with a smirk on his face and his arms folded across his chest. "You're an incorrigible pervert, aren't you."

"Aw, you like me that way," Jon pouts.

"Of course I do," Damian declares in that bold, straightforward way of his, as if he's stating a natural law of the universe, and Jon finds himself falling in love all over again. 

"Okay, glad to see it fits, now you can take it off," Jon says as he rises to his feet. "And I'm glad you like it too."

"Tt, what are you talking about? I'm not taking it off."

"What? No, I mean, I'm giving it to you now, but you - you probably shouldn't wear it until after we're mates, right?"

"How is that a problem? We're going to become mates right here and now."

"Uh." For the second time tonight, Jon's brain shuts down. "What."

Another "tt," then Damian tears off his mask. The sight of his green eyes blazing with intention turns Jon's legs into jelly. And it doesn't help an ounce when Damian leans close and reaches out for him, tracing the line of his jaw with gloved fingers. 

"I don't know how I could possibly be clearer. We're becoming mates tonight. Isn't that why you gave me this?"

Jon can barely register the meaning of his words beneath the scent rolling off him in waves. This close, it beats against his skin with almost physical force, driving the breath from his lungs. His alpha instincts respond, of course they do, searing through his blood like lava, urging him to grab the impossibly beautiful omega before him and pin him to the floor and have his way....

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to imagine the least sexy thing he possibly can - which ends up being a smugly smirking Lex Luthor. It's not much, but it does give him just barely enough wherewithal to at least speak. Thank you, Mr. Luthor!

"Da-Dami, I don't, that's not, I g-gave you that, but I seriously just wanted to, to apologize tonight, okay? We can't now, I mean, our parents - "

"Who cares what they think," Damian growls, and the sensation of his hot breath on Jon's skin nearly snatches away the last remnants of his Luthor-induced self-control. "I'm your omega. I'm the only person whose opinion means anything to you."

"No, that's, I mean - it'd be great if - if it were, but - " Jon has never heard his own voice like this, so shrill and breathless. "Batman, I don't want Batman to kill me - "

"Don't worry, I'll deal with Father." A startlingly strong arm slides beneath his cape, wrapping around his back. "Better to ask for forgiveness than permission anyway."

"You don't - care about - either of those," Jon gasps out, his mind an utter wreck. It does not help when Damian presses down on the small of his back, fingers digging through the spandex of his costume. 

"No, I don't," Damian murmurs into Jon's throat, before lightly swiping his tongue across the pulsing, straining tendon. The sudden warm, wet sensation drives a startled moan from Jon's lips, and the way his soft chuckle brushes against the damp skin only makes Jon moan louder. 

And just like that, all of Jon's remaining doubts crumble to dust. Yeah, what's so bad about this? He's got the most beautiful omega in the world in his arms, practically throwing himself at him - he'd be crazy not to accept. 

Emboldened, Jon grabs Damian by the waist and tugs him closer so their hips press flush against each other. Like this, their clothed erections briefly rub together, and the sharp gasp Damian lets out turns Jon's blood into magma. 

He grips tighter, only to feel the hard, uncomfortable shape of Damian's utility belt beneath his hands. Irritated, he grabs it and yanks it off one-handed, letting it clatter somewhere on the floor behind them. While Damian laughs breathlessly, Jon works on undoing his already part-open tunic. 

But even in the throes of his pleasure, some distant - but carefully-trained - part of his mind is always holding himself in check. If he truly were to let go, he knows Damian would have broken bones by now. So he works as carefully as he can, even while his increasingly clumsy hands keep fumbling with the clasps of Damian's tunic. 

Then Damian suddenly rolls his hips, grinding his cock savagely against Jon's, and Jon yelps aloud and lets go of him. "What the - "

"How long are you going to take, idiot?" Damian pants while shrugging out of his tunic. "If I have to wait for you any longer I'll get soft."

Stupidly, Jon tries to defend himself. "I - I don't want to rip your clothes - "

"How considerate," Damian sneers. "You do know there's an entire spectrum between ripping it off and taking an eternity on every damn button."

"Maybe you should consider a simpler costume, without all those fiddly little parts - mff!" when Damian cuts him off with a ferocious, devouring kiss. 

It takes him entirely by surprise, so he can't do anything but stand there and let Damian probe his tongue inside his mouth. It tastes so good - sweet like his scent, but concentrated a hundredfold. When he finally pulls away, stars are swimming in Jon's vision, but he still tries to sputter out words. "Wait, Dami - ngh!" 

Another kiss, harder and fiercer, and this time Damian nibbles a bit on his lower lip, tugging the sensitive skin between his teeth. Jon groans aloud. Damian bites harder, probably enough to draw blood if Jon were human, and when he pulls away he swipes his tongue across the sensitive area where he just bit.

"Oh God, Damian, that - nff!" Damian kisses him yet again, and again and again, each time more greedily than the last, and still Jon keeps trying to talk, to tell him to stop or slow down, or maybe do it faster - 

"Seriously, will you, just let me," Jon pants when Damian finally pulls away from their latest kiss. His lips are swollen and stinging, saliva dripping down his chin; he must look like a total wreck.

"No," Damian breathes against his mouth. "Just shut up already, Kent. You only say stupid shit anyway."

"Hey!" Jon protests - then seized by some dark, ferocious impulse, he grips Damian's waist tighter, most certainly leaving bruises, before hauling him off the floor altogether. Damian's indignant shout cuts off in a squeak when Jon grabs his thigh and hooks it around his own waist, tugging Damian so close their chests press against each other.

With his other hand, he grabs the collar. It's fairly snug, with very little give, but Jon manages to work a finger beneath the leather. With a sharp tug, he forces Damian to tilt his head back, exposing the smooth arch of his throat.

"Is that any way to talk to your alpha?" he murmurs into Damian's skin, right above the twitching, leaping vein. He feels Damian's throat convulse as he gulps in a breath, but when Damian speaks his voice is clear and fearless as ever.

"Of course it is. Like I said, I don't take orders from you. You take them from me."

Jon can't help but admire Damian's bravado, despite his vulnerable position. He wouldn't be Damian otherwise. But the part of him that's all alpha, of course, can't let that statement go unchallenged. "Who decided that, huh?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm older."

"I'm taller," Jon says, grinning.

Damian's snorted laugh sends his spirits shooting all the way to the stratosphere. Yes, he thinks, he could never have anyone besides Damian Wayne. Nobody else could possibly make him feel like this.

Overcome, he tilts Damian's head back further, forcing him to arch his neck to what must certainly be uncomfortable extents - but of course Damian doesn't even put up a token complaint. Jon eagerly attacks the exposed skin, sucking, biting, and licking a trail all the way from the corner of his jaw down to his shoulder, leaving behind marks like tiny red flowers in his wake.

Damian shivers harder with each bite. When Jon reaches the crook of his shoulder, he convulses so violently he almost falls out of Jon's arms. Jon stumbles a bit, alarmed, only to feel Damian's hands clamp down around his back, digging painfully beneath his shoulder blades.

"Yes, yes," Damian gasps, sounding nothing like the composed crimefighter he usually is. "Please, do it now. Make me yours."

Yes. The desire sears through Jon in a violent wave, scraping every vein clean. He tightens his grip on Damian, leaning in close, burying his nose into the sweat-damp skin right behind his shoulder, where his scent is so rich and concentrated Jon feels like he's drowning in it. He swirls his tongue across the skin, making Damian sob - 

And pulls away. 

The sob instantly turns into a curse, and he feels Damian digging his heel into his calf, sharp and insistent. It's easy enough to ignore, of course, and Jon cheerfully disentangles Damian from his body, carefully lowering him back to the floor.

When Damian swings his fist, Jon takes it full to the jaw. No utility belt, no chance he's got any Kryptonite. "Fuck you! You goddamn - "

"Not yet, okay?" Jon says, grabbing Damian's wrists when he tries to hit him again.

Damian snarls like a cornered alley cat, thrashing futilely in his grip. "Don't be so chivalrous, bastard, I know what you're really like!"

"It's not chivalry," Jon says, bending down close so all he can see are Damian's furious, lust-clouded green eyes. "I want to claim you properly. While I'm inside you."

"Ah." Just like that, all the fight goes out of Damian's body. He collapses to the floor, pliant and obedient in a way he almost never is, and even his scent seems to become sweeter. More enticing. When he whispers, "Hurry," it isn't an imperious command, but a soft, barely audible plea.

Yet that simple sound twists straight through Jon's guts, setting every inch of his body on fire. He grabs Damian again, hauling him off the floor, then uses a bit more force than necessary to push him up against the wall. 

"Gh!" Damian gasps as his face bumps into the wall. "Hey, wait, are we really - here - Jon!"

That last indignant shout comes when Jon grabs the waistband of his pants and yanks them down along with his underwear. They're soaked, Jon realizes with a surge of vicious delight, and one look at his twitching, bright pink, dripping wet asshole makes it clear why.

He grabs Damian's ass cheeks, spreading them wide to give himself a better view. Damian lets out a sharp, strangled noise that he probably intended as a snarl but sounds more like a sob. 

For the first time tonight, Jon finds himself frozen in indecision. There's so much he wants to do to that beautiful hole, gaping and fluttering as if trying to invite him inside. Stick his tongue in, lick up the deliciously sweet slick. Tease it with his fingers. Pound it mercilessly with his cock. All he knows is he can't possibly hold it in long enough to do everything. 

Like always, Damian is the one who snaps him out of it. He twists his head around, shooting Jon a glare that would've made his blood run cold if he weren't also blushing like a tomato. "Are you just going to stare all night? Super speed, more like super dawdling - hngh!"

Making up his mind, Jon slides three fingers right inside his hole. Damian swallows them easily - of course he does - his spine snapping taut and shoulders stiffening. The sensation of his hot, wet, pulsing insides squeezing around Jon's fingers almost makes him cum right then and there. His cock feels like it's going to tear right through his costume, and he can already see a damp spot spreading where the tip pushes against the spandex.

No, not yet. He bites down as hard as he can on the inside of his cheek, and when that doesn't work, pictures Luthor again. Whatever clarity that mental image brings him flees in an instant, however, when his fingers slam down on something impossibly soft and tender deep inside Damian.

"Ahhhh!" Damian's raw, unrestrained shout echoes across the room, setting Jon's blood on fire. There can't possibly be a more beautiful sound in the universe. He jabs Damian's prostate again, earning more helpless whines and whimpers, and then driven by some mischievous impulse decides to put a little super speed into the next thrust, just enough to vibrate his fingers....

Damian clamps down hard around him, almost making him lose feeling in his fingers. He doesn't stop moving them, though, driving them into Damian's sweet spot over and over again just so he can keep listening to the incredible noises Damian is making, gasps and groans and whimpers and pleas that barely sound human. 

Another hard press, and Damian's back arches into a perfect curve, his cock bouncing heavily between his legs. "No oh God please if you I'll cum - "

That's enough to get Jon to stop. As suddenly as he entered, he pulls his fingers out - or at least he tries to. Kind of hard when Damian's insides keep squeezing around them in a desperate attempt to pull them back in. He finally yanks them free with a delightfully lewd-sounding squelch, a line of slick still dripping between them and the violently quivering hole.

Some irreverent part of Jon thinks he deserves a gold star for not coming from that sight alone, but his silly thoughts flee when Damian sags against the wall, legs trembling. Jon instantly grabs him by the waist - taking care to avoid the dark, finger-shaped bruises from earlier - and forces him back upright.

"Hey, don't collapse now. I know you're stronger than this."

"Die," Damian mutters blearily.

Jon bites back a laugh just in time - though he can't keep the amusement out of his voice when he says, "Hey, if I die, who's gonna be your alpha?"

"I'll kill you after we mate." To Jon's relief, Damian's starting to sound a little more coherent, though his voice is still hoarse as hell. 

Jon grins, but as much as he'd love to banter some more, the problem between his legs demands a solution now. So he tightens his grip with one hand, while working the front of his costume with the other.

It's such an astonishing relief when his cock finally bursts free, rock hard and bulging with veins, the tip colored almost purple. And he only gets harder from the sensation of the warm air, rich and heavy with his and Damian's scents, brushing the sensitive flesh.

But of course, he knows he can feel even better than this. With the hand still drenched in Damian's slick, he gives his cock several hard yanks, coating it thoroughly with the sweet-smelling liquid. His cock spasms violently, so hot he half can't believe it doesn't burn his palm, and it's a minor miracle he doesn't cum right then and there.

When Damian's voice reaches his ears, he realizes his lover has been mumbling the whole time. Jon thought it was more death threats, but now he realizes it sounds more like, "In me, in me, already, hurry and put it in me."

His cock gives another ferocious twitch. Yeah, no way he's ever going to disobey this order.

Damian abruptly cuts off when Jon leans over him, carefully lining his cock up with his hole - but not quite touching it yet. But he's certain Damian can feel the heat radiating from it, to say nothing of the desire thickening Jon's scent. 

"Ah, Jon...." He turns his head slightly, blinking beneath the loose, sweat-soaked hair hanging over his face. Jon's breath catches. Damian looks absolutely beautiful - and he knows he's the only person in the universe who's ever seen him like this.

Overcome, Jon grabs the back of his head and turns him around further, enough to capture him into a crushing kiss. At the same time, he finally, finally pushes his cock inside.

No matter how many times they've done this, the initial penetration always comes as a shock. As Damian whimpers into his mouth, Jon can feel every ridge and contour of his passage, stretching and straining around his girth. It takes another hard thrust before he seats himself completely inside, his pelvis snapping taut against Damian's ass. 

Like this, the head of his cock grinds insistently against Damian's prostate. He throws a little more weight into the thrust, pressing down harder, and Damian's entire body convulses. When he bites Jon's tongue, Jon lurches back in surprise and breaks the kiss. 

It didn't hurt so much as surprise him. Damian makes a noncommittal kind of noise, but rather than kiss him again Jon grips his waist tighter and begins pulling his cock back, doing it slowly and carefully because he wants Damian to feel every inch. He can feel Damian gripping and squeezing his length, trying to suck it back in and very nearly succeeding. Only when he gives Damian a violent shove forward does he manage to free his cock entirely.

The instant it pops out of that amazingly tight, hot hole, an ache of regret stabs through Jon's groin - and Damian also puts up a storm of curses and protests. Jon wastes no time thrusting back in, and Damian's contented sigh when he slams his prostate again almost makes Jon giggle like a child.

He sets a savage pace, unwilling to wait any longer, and Damian matches him with expert snaps of his hips. Like always, their bodies easily find the perfect rhythm, working together just like they do when they're fighting enemies. Though that wary part of his mind still always holds him back, Jon finds himself putting a little more force into every thrust, until he's certain he must be bruising Damian's insides, but judging by how eagerly Damian grinds back against him, sucking him deeper in, he doesn't give a damn.

Deeper, deeper, he wants more, it's not enough, never enough. He wraps his arms around Damian's stomach, pulling him back further on his cock, and leans over his back to plant delicate kisses along the hard ridges of his scars, feeling the firm muscles shift and heave with every movement, every rapid breath. 

His hands slide further up, rubbing Damian's chest, teasing his stiff nipples, as he speeds up his pace. And then he finds his mouth at the crook of Damian's neck, drawn to that deceptively plain patch of skin as if by some magnetic force. 

Damian goes stiff, his insides clamping hard around Jon's cock. For the first time, a cold sliver of doubt pierces the haze of pleasure, the intoxicating cloud of scent shrouding them. "Dami...," he begans, so quietly he doesn't even know if the other hears.

But of course he does. "Do it," Damian gasps. "Alpha, please, I need it, I need you."

It's ridiculous, but tears sting Jon's eyes - and this time he doesn't bother blinking them back. "I do too. I love you, Damian," he murmurs into Damian's skin.

Damian doesn't say it back, but Jon wasn't expecting it - and he doesn't need it anyway. Not when he has something far more precious.

Jon gives his collar a gentle tug, and Damian tilts his head to the side to expose more of his neck - a move so thoughtlessly submissive it sends sparks twisting through Jon's blood. A violent throbbing has filled his head, drowning out all other sounds, and he's not sure if it's his heartbeat or Damian's or both's, and it doesn't matter anyway.

He times the bite with his final thrust - letting go completely, throwing aside for just a moment the limits he otherwise so strictly lives by. His teeth pierce skin easily, and the hot, thick, coppery taste of blood blooms in his mouth. Something he'd normally find disgusting, but now it's like water in the desert, quenching a thirst he never even realized burned inside him.

Damian shudders, his sharp gasp piercing through Jon's skull, but he makes no move to escape. And his scent, wrapping around Jon like a warm blanket, makes his true feelings more than clear. 

It sends Jon right over the edge. His entire body snaps taut as the best orgasm of his entire life hits him like a freight train, and liquid heat floods Damian's heaving insides, engulfing his softening cock. Damian convulses against him, moaning his name, before going limp and sagging against the wall. If it weren't for Jon's arms around him, he'd probably collapse altogether.

Jon's concern for Damian breaks through the blissful haze descending upon him. He immediately breaks away from Damian's neck, swallowing blood, and carefully gets down on his knees and lowers Damian to the floor. When he pulls out, the mix of hot cum and slick that spills from Damian's gaping hole sends a faint twinge through his otherwise spent cock, but it's easy enough to ignore.

"Hey. You okay, D?" he asks, his breathless voice echoing around the room. When he gets no reply aside from ragged breathing, he makes to repeat himself, only for Damian to haul himself onto his hands and knees and throw him a ferocious glare over his shoulder.

Only Damian can glare at him like that right after getting his brains fucked out, thinks some very facetious part of Jon.

"Stop asking. It's tiresome," he snaps, rising up to his knees. When he winces, though, a fresh surge of terror runs through Jon.

"No, really, are you - "

"I said stop asking," but it comes out almost half-hearted. Instead, he brushes the back of his neck, then gazes in fascination at the crimson blood shining upon his fingertips. "You put all your strength into this, didn't you? Well done."

"Oh." Jon's eyes land on the ring of bloody bite marks at the base of Damian's neck. I did this, thinks the part of him that is never silent. I hurt him.

But the guilt fades away to nothing beneath the sheer, trembling amazement. I did this. I marked him. Damian is mine forever.

Overwhelmed, he flings himself at Damian, wrapping his arms tight around his omega's torso and burying his face right into the middle of the bite mark. Damian sputters a protest, but makes no move to escape; if anything, he relaxes, leaning against Jon's chest with a kind of languid ease that Jon almost never sees from him.

Jon breathes in deeply, taking in the overpowering scent of the mark - not blood, but his own alpha musk, richer and more concentrated than he's ever smelled it. Normally he'd find it unappealing, but not now. Not when it's on Damian's body. Not when it's proof that Damian Wayne belongs to him. 

Damian Wayne...belongs to him.

Damian...Wayne.

Jon instantly lets go, flinging himself back from Damian with so much force he almost skids across the floor. Damian whips around, looking indignant. "What the hell?"

"Oh, shit. Shit. No, no, no. What did I do?" Jon groans, burying his face in his hands. "Batman is going to kill me. I'm dead, I'm so totally dead."

"Tt, why are you so afraid of my father in the first place? He's a man without powers who dresses like a bat."

"But he's Batman!" Jon protests. "And he's been looking for an excuse to kill me for the longest time!"

"Don't be so dramatic now." Damian rolls his eyes. "Batman doesn't kill, anyway."

"I think he might make an exception for this...," Jon sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face. 

When Damian's scent wafts all over him, he looks up in surprise - only to get a sharp flick on the forehead. Blinking, he sees Damian fixing him with a steely glare, somehow managing to look poised and intimidating despite being naked and covered with bruises and stuffed full of cum.

"I told you I would deal with my father, so quit sniveling. It doesn't befit my alpha."

A faint smirk tugs up the corner of his mouth, and Jon manages a weak little grin in response, but deep inside he's wondering just what the hell he's gotten into. And maybe, he thinks with the tiniest quiver of dread, he ought to be a lot more afraid of his new mate than the Dark Knight.

Chapter Text

A nap. That's the only reason why Jason came to Wayne Manor.

He can't sleep in the place he shares with Roy because the idiot's been keeping him up all night watching some kind of Korean video game tournament livestreams which he can't watch at any other hour because of the time difference, duh, and it has to be live because spoilers or some shit. Red Hood's got a number of safe houses for storing weapons across the city, but that's just it, they're for weapons and not people. And he'd rather not waste his funds on booking a hotel for just a single afternoon. 

So that's why - sigh - he came to the unwelcome conclusion the only place where he can hope to hope to catch up on sleep is the manor. He figures he'll just sneak in through a window, make only Alfred aware of his presence, and be gone before he can get dragged into dinner.

That's the plan, but as soon as Jason climbs into the ground-floor guest bedroom, he hears shouting echoing from the hall beyond. Instantly he freezes, all his battle senses alert, because he's never heard that voice before. 

Did intruders breach the manor? Leave it to Bruce and Alfred's lack of concern for security, he supposes. It isn't his problem, aside from the fact that it's getting in the way of his nap goals....

And hold on...that voice isn't entirely unfamiliar, is it? In fact, if he listens a little more closely, it almost sounds like Bruce. 

Except Bruce never yells. Cold glares and disappointed sighs are more his weapon of choice. So color Jason just the slightest bit intrigued.

He eases the door open just a fraction, just so he can hear a little better but hopefully make sure nobody notices him. The moment he does, though, an overpowering stench hits him like a slap to the face, raising his hackles and setting his alpha instincts roiling.

What the fuck? Is that...Bruce's scent? Jason doesn't think he's ever seen him lose control like this.

Color him more than a little bit intrigued.

He chances another peek out, just in time to see people appear at the end of the hall. To his surprise, Bruce isn't the first one he sees; instead it's Damian, striding with his hands behind his back and looking quite calm considering how loudly Bruce is yelling behind him.

"Damian Wayne, I'm not done here! I told you to come back!" 

"I am done, Father. I have nothing more to say to you, and I'm getting more exhausted of your presence by the minute. Don't you have a board meeting you need to be fashionably late to?"

"Don't take that tone with me, young man!"

"Come on, guys, let's all calm down here, okay? Fighting won't solve anything." Great, Dick's here too. Bleating gormlessly like always, from the sound of it.

"We are not fighting. I'm attempting to make clear to Damian the consequences of his incredibly foolish and misguided actions."

"Well, clearly this approach is not working, Master Bruce. Perhaps you ought to reconsider?" sighs Alfred, sounding even more long-suffering than usual.

Damn, just what the hell is going on? The most likely scenario is the demon brat killed somebody, except in that case you'd expect the cold glares and disappointed sighs treatment, not this undignified gasket blowing.

"What happened can't be undone, so I don't see any point in continuing to complain about it," the demon brat says, his voice becoming louder as he comes closer. He sounds completely unrepentant, which, Jason won't lie, makes him admire the brat just a little bit.

He wonders who the victim was. Catwoman, maybe? Commissioner Gordon? Superman? Nah, not the latter; Bruce would be throwing Damian a parade in that case.

"This is not the point. The point is you went behind my back and - "

"Shh." A sharp zing of metal fills the air, putting Jason on high alert. He immediately backs away from the door, stepping as quietly as he can.

"Whoa!" Dick shouts. "Look here, there's no need for weapons - "

"Damian, put that away." Now Bruce's tone is a lot more familiar - harsh, authoritative, filled with a clear, cold warning. 

"Do you not realize it yet? There's an intruder."

"What?" says Dick.

Oh, shit.

Jason makes a beeline for the still-open window, but he's too late. Next thing he knows the guest room door flings wide open and Bruce's obnoxious scent floods the space. 

"Oh. Hey." Jason manages a little wave at the stunned-looking peanut gallery.

"Jason?" Dick says, stepping forward. "What are you doing here?"

Well, he's been busted, so no use trying to wriggle his way out of this one. "Trying to take a nap. 'Trying' being the key word. Not like anyone's gonna get any sleep with you stomping around bellowing and spreading your scent everywhere, Bruce."

"A nap, Master Jason?" Alfred's eyebrows shoot toward his nonexistent hairline.

"Explain later. I want to know what's going on here." Jason nods at Bruce, who looks like he just got hit in the face with a concrete block. A rare expression from him, and Jason can't help but savor it a little. "Who'd the demon brat kill?"

"I didn't kill anyone, Todd," Damian snaps, not lowering the batarang he was somehow carrying despite not being in costume. "And next time, consider entering through the front door like a normal human being."

'Normal human being,' huh? Talk about pots and kettles. But before Jason can fire back at him, Bruce speaks up. Folding his arms, he glares at Jason and snaps, "This is none of your business."

A good attempt at the cold glare tactic, and Jason supposes it might've worked if his face still wasn't bright red with rage.

"Nah, I kinda think it...." And that's when Jason notices something. The thin leather band around Damian's throat, and the faint hint of bandages peeking beneath his shirt collar.

"Ohhh." A huge, shit-eating grin spreads across Jason's face. "Ohhh. So who is it? Superkid? Is he even legal?"

"It's Superboy, and yes he is," Damian snaps, folding his arms, while Bruce instantly pounces like a shark on a surfer. 

"See? He's much too young. Even Jason understands - "

"Whoa, whoa, I don't have any kind of dog in this fight," Jason says with a yawn that isn't quite as fake as he'd like. "I told you, I was just looking for a place to take a nap. You think I could use Tim's old room?"

He nods at Alfred, who heaves a sigh. "Master Jason, please. At least try to have some consideration for timing."

"Fine." Jason rolls his eyes, then saunters over to the window. "I'll go now. Seems like I won't be able to catch a wink of sleep here anyway."

"Jason!" Bruce says sharply. 

"What? Come on, don't drag me into this. I don't give a shit, to be honest." 

Well, he doesn't give a shit, but he does have to admire the vein popping in Bruce's temple. Never seen anything like that before.

"Damian is your brother," Bruce doesn't say so much as growl.

For the first time, Damian looks genuinely angry. "The day I call that cretin my - "

"Yeah, so? What do you want me to say? Congratulations? 'Cause I'll say it, I guess. Congrats, demon spawn. Never knew you had it in you."

"Do you want to die, Todd?" Damian snaps, raising the batarang and giving Jason a very clear view of its glinting, razor-sharp edge. Not like that scares Jason even a little.

"Hey, go right ahead," he says, arching an eyebrow. "Who knows, maybe if you kill me, Bruce just might forgive you."

"Please stop making things worse," groans Dick into his hands.

Meanwhile, Bruce yells, "This is not a laughing matter!"

"I'm not laughing, am I?" Jason yawns again, and this time entirely not on purpose. Gee, thanks, Roy! "Really, Bruce, aren't you getting your panties into a twist over nothing? Look on the bright side. Maybe having an alpha will finally calm the demon brat down a little. Well, not likely if it's Superkid, but that's - "

Jason sidesteps the batarang just in time. It lodges in the wall right next to the window, quivering with the force of the throw. Pretty impressive, he has to admit.

"Master Damian, not inside the manor," Alfred says, though he sounds more resigned than anything.

Bruce has plenty of anger for both of them, anyway. "Damian!"

With the shout comes a harsh flood of alpha musk. Caught off guard, Jason tenses, and even Dick wrinkles his nose and takes a step back. 

But Damian faces Bruce as cool as ever, seeming as unaffected as Alfred. Which, Jason won't lie, impresses him a little. It's not like the kid has ever submitted when Bruce exerts his authority as an alpha, but before he would at least show some signs of being bothered.

"If you don't have anything else to say, Father, I'm leaving," the little shit announces, conspicuously fingering his collar and even managing a little smirk. Despite himself, Jason feels his admiration for the brat increasing. Just a tiny bit.

"Hh." Bruce shakes his head, stiff and stubborn, but he at least eases up on the scent a bit. "Don't think this is over. I'm going to contact Clark - "

"I told you already, he gave his approval."

"I know Clark. There is no way it's that simple." Sighing deeply, Bruce turns around and steps back into the hall. "For now, consider yourself benched from all further patrols with Superboy." 

"If you say so, Father." Damian doesn't cross his fingers, but he most definitely is doing it in his head. Bruce certainly knows this, because he throws Damian that patented disapproving glare, but doesn't say anything else before disappearing into the hall.

Yep, Jason definitely doesn't regret his decision to come here. Sure, he might not have gotten his nap, but he'll gladly sacrifice a little sleep for the show he just got to enjoy.

"Well, good to see you, Jason. I guess," Dick says with a helpless shrug. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be," Jason says, grinning with his hands behind his head. "I'm having the time of my life."

"By the way, Master Jason, I suppose we can arrange a room for you. Unless you wish to stay in this one?" Alfred throws a disapproving glance at the batarang in the wall. 

He's getting his nap after all? Today's his lucky day.

"Thanks, Alfred. Lead the way."