Alpha Dick's restless. Has been restless for some days now, since meeting Batman's new rogue. Lithe, quick, flexible, equally charming and infuriating. Red Hood fights like a Robin. Jason still fights like a Robin, whatever that means. Robin is Dick's, always been, his mother's loving nickname for him turned into a mantle, something hopeful; a new life, a new purpose, a choice.
Robin is his.
Jason wasn't like Tim or Damian, he took after Dick, no other parameter to use at the time. He was taught to be like Dick, fight like him, stand like him. The few exchanged blows between them showed him that clearly. Death could add new layers, but it couldn't erase the old ones.
He still smells like brewed black coffee with a hint of autumn rain. No smoke underneath, no metallic tang, no supernatural tint. Just fresh and warm, alive.
Dick doesn't reach out to Bruce, not ready to sink into the man’s swollen raw and pulsing hot lair of guilt, pain and self-destructive coping mechanisms.
No, he chooses to ruminate on the limited past memories of the boy, on the hallucinations of his voice during dark moments of his life, on the short fight with the eighteen year old ghost of the past coming back to haunt the most haunted man on Earth. Jason grew up from that short shrimp into a dark and dangerous siren.
He's gorgeous. And Dick growls at the thought.
Long legs, thick thighs, perky ass, large chest, grabbable waist... Only his face remains a mystery to him. He doesn't dare talk to Bruce in this state, this embarrassing, creepy state of wild desire, not even to ask for any footage of the boy.
His foot taps the floor repetitively where it rests as he's sat on his couch, the only part of his body he allowed movement in the last two and a half hour. He's not thinking clearly, he doesn't trust himself now.
His rut comes steady and unexpected. He felt it building for days, expecting to just be a false alarm, not the first time either, but it's pounding the door of his headquarters now, snarling and howling for control. He and the beast are two sides of the same coin, and he has yet to meet a bigger control freak than him — or the Bat.
His senses sharpen as the minutes go by, a tap somewhere in his apartment leaks loudly like the world's pettiest clock. The need to stretch his neck is insurmountable. He doesn't dare move. Yet, the pit-pat of rats tiny feet walking down the street sewer becomes noticeable to his ears even five stores up, the beast throwing a fit in his mind abruptly quiets down, and Dick knows. He should have known he would lose this battle, the beast is him after all, stronger and sharper, but him.
The scent stands out for his senses like a god's beam, leading his nose and body out of his place and towards the source of it, something otherwise impossible were he not suffering from the world's worst case of hormonal sex-drive yet to be recorded. Dick can't possibly say how, but Gotham is soon under his feet as he jumps and swings over the buildings, mind quiet and focused like that of a wild animal. It's all he is now.
Dick first sees the omega through the large window of a nice apartment. Taking over Wayne's Enterprise's R&D division has visible advantages, though apparently not enough for Jason to live too far from Crime Alley, it seems. Dedicated, smart, cunning. The beast praises and appreciates the prey anyway, the omega oblivious while watering a plant sitting on his kitchen's windowsill.
There's an animal finesse in how Dick leaps in the air, slipping through the suspiciously open living room window, but the remainder of his reason washes away by the scent saturating the place, and his cock aches inside his trousers.
Jason stands by the room's door that leads to the kitchen, as if he expected him, leaning with his shoulder on the doorway, arms casually crossed in front of his chest. Dick's mouth fills with saliva. The omega's eyes were the same teal color, his lips the same tantalizing soft pink, faint freckles still spread across his nose, his cheeks still holding onto the last of baby fat.
"Should I call the cops?" Jason jokes, smooth voice a lullaby to the ears.
"... Only if you want an audience."
Dick doesn't recognize his own voice, he never really spoke more than one or two words during his ruts, spending them either alone or too absorbed by his needs to voice anything out loud. The thing is rough, croaking, low, and Jason's body reacts to it with goosebumps and a compulsory heightening of his lovely scent.
"You shouldn't be here. Lost your way to your den?" The omega asks, and Dick smells the fake composure of his words.
"I'm exactly where I want to be."
This shuts Jason up for long, loud seconds. Teal eyes shifting as it seizes the unbonded alpha in his apartment. Dick recognizes skepticism in Jason's young face, the beast recognizes longing in the omega's scent.
"Are you?" he asks slowly, quiet. Crossed arms no longer a casual posture as much as a shield.
Verbalizing is tiring to the beast; few words, too much weight, too many voiceless meanings.
Stepping closer to the omega, body stretching to its full size, pheromones spreading around the living room, Dick asserts his intention in the most undeniable and primitive way.
Jason tries to steer away, only to be moved by a heavy hand around his elbow, pushing him against the wall, a knee fitting between gorgeous thighs clothed with a small comfortable shorts. Something sweet reaches the beast's nose: interest.
"You'll regret this next morning," Jason warns lowly, no threat in his voice, no defensiveness in his body.
He doesn't twist away when Dick puts a hand below his shirt, caressing his waist. He doesn't push him off when Dick grips his cock over the shorts, rubbing it up and down. Jason moans quietly, back arching slightly so, pushing his cock against the heavy hand. Something damp catches the tip of Dick's fingers, the sweetness in the air taking form in the slicky wetness flowing from between Jason's buttcheeks. He glues his body against him, nose finding the omega's mating gland and breathing it in.
"I'll eat you whole," the beast groans, hand going below the shorts, claws pressing behind shaved balls, earning a soft keening sound from plush, bitten lips.
"I'll let you," Jason whispers back, encouraging the worst in Dick.
Of course he'll let him. Robin was never Batman's. Robin was, is, and always will be Dick's. Tim inserted himself in it for Batman, Damian inherited it as part of Batman. But its true owner only gave it to Jason.
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