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It’s not unheard of for Omega to become superheroes. Eloquently, Jason Todd once said: “It’s the twenty first century, shit lord. As long as you kick asses, no one cares.” He might not get along with his adoptive father, but he was vocal about the man’s caste and what it meant for his crime fighting career.
Batman was a six foot two, two hundred and ten pound Omega who could make gangsters eat out of straws for the rest of their lives. People lovingly - or mockingly - called him the Jeanne d’Arc of Gotham because of his dedication to the city and his celibate lifestyle.
(“Mother? A virgin? He had me.” When Damian arrived at Wayne manor a year later, he had this to say about Bruce’s alter ego.
“You’re too young to know what that word means. Grayson, stop filling the demon spawn's head with junk.”)
The abstinence rumor came from the fact that whereas Omegas spent their heats romping in the sheets, Batman spent his terrorizing the felons of Gotham. His fans, many of whom were the mentally ill, criminally inclined patients of Arkham, loved to praise him for it. Without missing a beat, they would often add: “Bruce Wayne could learn a thing or two from our Bats and keep his legs shut for once.”
No language could describe the riot Gotham would plunge into if these people discovered that Gotham’s promiscuous prince and virginal dark knight were one and the same. Hard to swallow, but Bruce Wayne would likely never sleep with you; and Batman fucked. In the same vein of disillusion inducing, the latter’s heat escapades weren’t as poetic as people made them out to be.
In his designated cell in Arkham asylum, the Riddler had carved this line on the wall: “Watch out, Gretel and Hansel. What smells of sweets in the night, will soon be your new demise.”
(“Good God, Eddie, you suck at poetry.”
“It’s a rhyme, kitty cat. I don’t expect an uneducated simpleton like you to appreciate it.”)
Clark was finishing up his manuscript when he got a comm from Nightwing. “Bruce is in heat. Need help, ASAP.” Dreading the worst, he flew to Gotham. Imagine his surprise when he saw Dick and Jason chilling on a rooftop, completely unharmed.
“Disappointed?” The younger of the two boys sneered. Jason squared his shoulder at the Kryptonian and looked pointedly downward.
Clark’s attempt to make his crotch less conspicuous only drew even more attention to it. Ears burning, he explained: “It’s the pheromone… why does he smell so… What is he doing on patrol?”
Heat covers up all the nuances that differentiate Omegas’ scents from one another, making them smell of pure sweetness and carnal lust and barely anything else. The air stank of sweat, blood, Omega’s frustration, Alpha’s arousal and fear. If Scarecrow and Poison Ivy had a love child, it wouldn’t get better than this. Bruce was unleashing hell on a gaggle of gangsters. He did a complicated grappling technique where he jumped and clamped a taller goon’s neck between his legs. He then twisted his entire body in midair. The goon was flipped over and hit the ground on his back. Everything, from running to taking down, happened in two seconds, during which the (lucky) unlucky man had his nose and mouth smothered by Bruce’s powerful thighs.
The sight sparked a flame in Clark's guts.
A growl from Jason reminded him to keep his eyes to himself. Dick, the instigator of this whole mess, sniggered and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Relax, Little Wing. No harm done with a little looking.”
Clark said sourly: “If you only called me here to embarrass me, you’ve succeeded. Goodbye. ”
“But don’t go!” Dick said. “We need you! See Timmy down there?”
To Clark’s dismay, he had in fact not seen Robin until Dick mentioned him. Tim was sticking to the shadow, only intervened to keep stray knives off Bruce’s back or to keep Bruce from going overboard. The older Omega was doing more than enough ass whooping for the two of them.
“Stop! Stop!” Tim screamed, rushing at his mentor.
Bruce answered with a snarl. The smell of fear and arousal spiked, so heady Clark could taste it in his mouth. A goon was thrown through the window of a jewelry store and triggered a security measure in place. Cacophonous sirens wailed around them, joined by curses from both Tim and the rest of the criminals.
“Looking good, Robin!” Dick yelled.
“Fuck off, you slackers!” Tim snapped.
Dick turned back to Clark and explained: “When Bruce is in heat, he gets uh… cranky. He’s a goddamn powerhouse too. I think the ‘Batman is a meta human’ thing comes from him going out during this time of the year. We come along to make sure he doesn’t accidentally kill anyone.”
Jason snorted. Dick shot him a side-glance. “Well, except Little Wing here. He doesn’t care about Bruce’s no-killing policy, he’s just reallyyy worried about him.”
“I’M NOT!” Jason made a half-hearted attempt at throttling the older boy. Dick hid behind Clark and stuck out his tongue at the fuming Alpha.
“Why aren’t you down there helping Tim?” Clark asked.
“We were. But you know how Alphas get around pack Omegas in heat. Some guy almost shank Bruce with a broken glass bottle, next thing we knew Tim and I had to pull Jason off him. I took Jay up here to cool off.”
Jason kicked a pebble off the edge of the building, grumbling under his breath. “I get it, you want me to leave. You could’ve just told me, no need to involve Superman. I know when to take a fucking hint.” He said.
“That’s not it. We’re all high-strung, Jay. We need a break, I need a break! I could be watching Netflix with Koriand’r right now!” Dick walked around Clark to stand in front of him. Hands on his hips, he chirped: “You don’t mind chaperoning Bruce, do you? After all, you guys are such great friends”
Clark nodded hesitantly.
“Excellent! See? I told you we can rely on him.” Dick nudged Jason. His face suddenly took on a thoughtful look. Clark heard Jim Gordon’s voice ringing out of four different earpieces. The GCPD’s private line wasn’t as private as those cops liked to believe. “And that’s our clue to scram. Let’s grab the dynamic duo down there and go before the commissioner shows up.”
“Leave it to me.” Clark said. He swooped down, threw Bruce over his left shoulder and took Tim under his right arm. Bruce fought him every step of the way. A continuous growl rose from somewhere deep in his chest. His fists bounced right off Clark’s invulnerable back but he didn’t stop hitting him. It wasn’t about hurting Superman, it was about sending a message.
“Thanks Supe.” Tim complained. “If I have to smell another horny Alpha tonight, I’ll move into a convent and call myself sister Timothy.”
They landed on the rooftop. Clark dropped him off but wisely held onto Bruce. His friend would make a run for it the moment he set him down.
“Does he always do this?” He asked.
“Beating criminals to death door? Every single heat.” Jason said.
“Why don’t you guys make him stay home? Alfred?” If anyone could command Batman to stay put, it had to be the butler.
“Oh no, not even Alfred has anything on him. Restraining him? He’s our teacher. For every knot we know how to do and undo, he probably knows ten more.”
Clark sputtered. The wink Tim threw him confirmed his suspicion that the teen had said ‘knot’ on purpose. When and how had he slighted the Bat-kids to warrant their torment?
Jason said bemusedly: “Alfred let him out because he hopes the old man would bring someone back and give him a reason to throw a shotgun wedding.”
“Jay!” Dick exclaimed. "There is a child!"
“You know I’m right.”
While the three Robins squabbled, Clark subconsciously grabbed Bruce's utility belt with his free hand to keep him still. All the flailing was spreading the Omega's pheromone everywhere; and the last thing he wanted was spotting a full erection in front of his best friend’s children. “Hey, hey, would you quit that!” He snapped when Bruce yanked a handful of his hair.
“I can hear you.” Bruce’s voice, rougher and lower than his Batman’s one, struck something deep in his core. “Stop talking about me like I’m not there.”
Dick said: “Can you blame him? With the way you were acting, everyone would think you’ve gone feral!”
“Are you finished now, old man? Are you ready to go home?” Jason crossed his arms.
Bruce pretended to think about it for a second. “No.”
“He’s all yours!” Dick said. “You might want to… put him down before Little Wing here bursts a blood vessel.”
Clark asked wearily: “If I let you go, do you promise me to behave?”
“Yes." Bruce bared his teeth. "Now unhand me, Kent!”
You know you’ve fucked up when Batman calls you by your civilian’s name while you’re in the cape. Clark gently put him down. Despite having been attempting to escape moments ago, Bruce didn’t step away. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the other hero and glared defiantly at his three children.
“Good luck, Superman, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The oldest of the trio saluted, grin growing a bit wider.
“You’ve better not.” The second oldest threatened. No one could see it, but he was spotting a scowl under his helmet.
“If he does anything stupid, just ship him back to Wayne manor.” The youngest advised helpfully with a blank face.
In the face of his children’s slanders, Bruce didn’t say a thing. He walked to the edge of the building, pulled the Batclaw out of its holster and was whizzing away before he could be stopped. With a nod and a quick "I'll look after him" to the boys, Superman also left, flying in the direction Bruce had disappeared to.
When they could no longer see Clark’s red cape, Jason said: “I can’t believe you pimped our dad out to Superman.”
“You really think they are going to…” Tim started.
“Definitely.” Dick said. “And about fucking time.”
Thirty minutes in, nothing of interest turned up on the hacked GCPD channel. A full hour later, it was clear that Gotham criminals had caught wind of the Bat’s condition and made themselves scarce. The city was oddly quiet while his breathing was loud and ragged. The overabundance of neediness in his pheromone turned it mouthwateringly sweet like caramelized sugar. Every pore in his body was screaming come-hither. Sadly, with Joker in Arkham, no one was foolish, insane or masochistic enough to volunteer to be his punching bags. Bruce produced a batarang from the utility belt, fiddled with it, put it away, then took it out again when his fists began to shake. His steps were heavier, stealth be damned. For all intents and purpose, he looked like a junkie going through a bad withdrawal.
Clark stayed out of sight. Bruce didn’t like his interference on a good day, let alone when he was clearly pissed.
The Alpha still kept vigil of course;; he had promised the Robins that much. He made notes of Bruce's vitals: heart rate and respiratory rate within acceptable ranges, and above average body temperature - the last of which was Clark's main concern. Although it was heading into colder months of the year, Bruce was burning up. The part of his skin that the cowl didn't cover was splotchy red and dotted by sweat. Clark wondered whether he should - and could - convince Bruce to take a water break. Heat might make Bruce physically stronger, but it also was taking its toll on him. Most Omegas take days off for their heats for a reason. There are too many things that could go wrong and hence, people outside of Gotham didn’t buy into the Jeanne d’Arc stories, treating them as another urban legend the city cooked up to romanticize her guardian.
“Kal, come here.” Bruce spoke, hot air leaving his lungs as puffs of mist.
Before his breath disappeared, Clark landed in front of him. “What do you need, B?”
Bruce took in a lungful of his scent. Clark smelled of sun fed wheat, of summer and fall combined; and under that robust earthiness, there was a note of hunger that made his inner Omega croon. He looked away, pretending to check out their surrounding. They were in a dark and musty back alley. It should’ve been enough of a turn off. Apparently, his animal hindbrain didn’t think so. “Lend me your eyes and ears.”
Clark frowned. “I’m not your personal crime radar, B.”
Bruce shouldn’t be thinking about how hot Superman looked when he was serious. He bristled: “You never turn down a chance to snoop in my territory, what changes? I’m giving you a chance.”
“I don’t ‘snoop’.” Between the two of them, Clark wasn't the one who systemically investigated their colleagues and profiled them as if they were Interpol’s most wanted. Softer, reminding himself that this wasn't a Justice League's meeting, he said: “You look like you can use a break, B. Maybe you should.. head back? I can watch over Gotham for you in the meantime; I know how important she’s to you.”
“No, no. You don’t get it.” Bruce gritted out and stalked away from the Alpha, determined to not look at him. “I have to… I need to go out, need to patrol. If you aren’t going to help me, I’ll do it myself.”
Clark took a hold of his cape as he passed. “Why?” He blurted out.
Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t… Bruce couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion in Clark’s voice. He pretended to be dumb. “W… why what?”
“Why do you need to go out?”
Clark was expecting the punch before Bruce whirled around. Releasing the cape, he dodged out of the way, then caught Bruce’s shin when the Omega’s leg came flying at his face, stopping it inches from his temper. He hardly had the time to marvel at the power behind that kick and how it would’ve been fatal on a human when another leg came up to perform a rolling arm bar. He toppled out of surprise. As Omega’s frustration exploded in his nostrils and drowned his lungs, a dizzy Clark was empathetic of the criminals who threw themselves at Bruce like moths to flames.
There is a certain perverted allure to Batman crushing your head between his thighs like a watermelon.
Bruce fought brutally, but he never once took out the Kryptonite he kept on his person, so Clark knew he wasn’t in any real danger. He waited for their one-sided fight to end, for Bruce to work out his pent-up energy. His intention wasn’t so noble, not really. He got something out of this as well. There were Bruce’s defined arms, flexing as they threw bone shattering punched. There were Bruce’s toned legs, surprisingly supple and Clark had to try hard not to give into the temptation to knead them. Bruce was statuesque, beautiful and deadly; and he was unknowingly moving his body in all the flattering ways for Clark and Clark alone.
All too soon, Bruce limped off him, breathing heavily through his mouth. Clark slowly made his approach. He touched him; and, when the Omega didn’t rebuke, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on Bruce’s bicep. The action was for both of their sake: a part of Clark was getting angsty, his head spinning with reoccurring questions. What if Bruce met someone stronger, faster than him? What if they took advantage of him? What if they marked him against his will? There was no shortage of sick men and women who wouldn’t miss a chance to put Batman in his place; and he wasn't invulnerable when he was in heat.
And maybe… Clark was a little sick too. He didn’t want Bruce to be with someone else, especially if that someone didn’t love him and just wanted to tame the Bat.
“I won’t judge you, B… just please, help me understand.” Clark murmured. “Why do you risk yourself like this?"
What Bruce said was barely louder than a whisper. It didn’t matter to a man who had super hearing. “You want to know why? It's because it's easier." To punch, kick, bite, and claw. "No one can fuck me right. My Omega wants to be completely ruined, and I can't... just ask anyone for it. It isn't fair to them”
(On his soul-searching journey, he had left more than a child. He had left his chance at normalcy too.)
He needed to get his heart soaring; he needed to feel each and every single one of his bone ache in the aftermath of heats, to burn up all of his energy and be birthed again as weak as a newborn lamb. He was too proud to let anyone he trusted cure that itch for him. A deadly date with the scums of Gotham could take the edge off his heat, so why not do it? Why not let his fists do the job? He’d rather be known as a prude than an insatiable bitch.
He was shoved up against a wall. Clark leaned over him; and he was hit by a fear, because Clark could snuff out his insignificant life with a lift of his pinkie, but that fear was short-lived, because this was Clark, kindhearted, gentle Clark.
“Ask me… ask me, Bruce.” Clark plead. He continued to lean. They were close enough to almost brush lips, close enough for their pheromones to intertwine. Not for the first time that night, Bruce wished he wasn’t in heat. He wanted to know what beautiful symphony his unpolluted scent would make with Clark’s
Oh… did that mean he actually loved this oaf of an alien?
Bruce licked his lips. The breath of his words caressed Clark's face: “Do you want to fuck me, Clark?”
The other man nodded fervently, blushing to the tips of his ears.
Oh shit, Bruce loved him.
Bruce surged forward. He plundered Clark's mouth and bit down on his bottom lip. His tongue forced Clark's into a tango. With a growl, Clark returned the favor just as earnestly. The Kryptonian didn’t need to breathe, so he sucked and nipped and licked like a starving stray gnawing on a bone. He only got the message to stop when Bruce smacked his chest. Bruce’s face was a little purple when they broke apart.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” The Omega retorted, glaring at him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
Clark pecked him on one corner of his lips, a chaste kiss. His hands weren’t as shy; they settled on Bruce’s hips and squeezed. It took all of Clark's self control to not tear the Batsuit to shreds. “How do I take this off?”
(In the future, Bruce would sit Tim down and say: “If your superhero boyfriend wants to do you bareback in an alley with a garbage bin less than five meters away, you say ‘No.’” The young man would be embarrassed, he would be down right mortified, but it would be a fair price to pay for selling out his dad. No one ever said Batman wasn’t vengeful.)
At the moment, Bruce only nudged Clark to make some space between them. He unbuckled the utility belt, let it fall, then turned around and swept his cape aside. There was a thin zipper that ran along the length of his spine, from his suit’s neckline to the top of his natal cleft. He reacted back as far as his arm allowed, pointing at a slider that would otherwise be hidden under the cape. “There.”
Batman was presenting himself to him. It was the hottest thing Clark had ever seen. Chuckles bubbling out of his lips, he asked: “Does Alfred help you zip up every night?”
“Don’t mention Alfred when you’re about to be balls deep in me, Kal.”
Clark pulled down the zipper then slithered his hands into the tight gap between Bruce’s back and the Batsuit. It was agony. The skin under his palms was inferno-hot; the wet Kevlar refused to be peeled off; and Bruce’s idea of helping was rubbing his ass against the Alpha’s crotch.
Clark couldn’t be blamed for what he was about to do. With a crisp sound, the suit was ripped, exposing Bruce’s back and black underwear to the night air.
“KAL!”
“Shh.” Clark appeased him with more kisses.
The underwear was damp with sweat, but not soaking wet; and the smell of slick was muted. Clark found out why when he pulled the flimsy black cloth down and saw a white pad. It took him a second to register what it was.
“You wear sanitary napkins?”
“So?” Bruce threw a glare over his shoulder at him. “I’m not running around sloshing in my own slick, Kal. It’s dir- Ah!”
Clark pushed a finger in all the way to the first knuckle. As he pulled out, a fresh wave of slick followed. The sanitary napkin did its job and absorbed any nectar his palm failed to catch. “So needy” He taunted, angling his finger just right for its reentry. “You prance around the whole of Gotham underground every heat, I’m surprised your cunt is still so tight.”
“You…” The rest of Bruce’s sentence dissolved as the finger touched something in him that made him see stars.
Clark attacked that spot relentlessly, drinking in his reaction. “How many of them have fucked you?” He added a second finger and began to scissor. “Joker is so obsessed with you, you won’t even have to ask, he’ll welcome you with open arms. Two-Face… you went to NYU together, right? Did he recognize it was your ass when he fucked Batman, or did he only ever have you as Brucie? And… Bane… his dick would destroy you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“No… no. I’d… I… never…” Bruce shook his head. In the beginning, he had fought waves after waves of rabid Alphas. There had been close calls, but he had ultimately triumphed, returning to the Batcave with his dignity intact and his knuckles bruised and bloodied. Over the years, most of the knot heads had given up, not fancying a trip to local ICUs that would already be overrun with their brethren.
“Of course not. You’re their Jeanne la Pucelle, they might think all they want, but they wouldn’t dare defile you…” Clark nodded sagely. “But I would.” Three fingers. The rim of Bruce's hole yielded around their girths, its rosy pink shade a little paler.
“Who… who taught you to talk like that?” Bruce managed to gasp when he finally caught his breath. The wet noises between his legs were making his ears burn with shame. “You’re a boy scout!”
“Told you, B. I was never a scout.” What he would give to get rid of the cowl and see how far Bruce’s lovely flush went. Clark admired how Bruce jerked back to meet the thrusts of his fingers. He could just stop and let the man fuck himself to completion on them. A sight that would be, but he wasn’t that cruel!
He replaced the fingers with his cock. Bruce keened, a loud and pitchy sound that tapered off into strings of low broken whines. At once, Clark remembered where they were. While he waited for the Omega to get used to the sensation of being utterly filled, he grabbed Bruce's cape and held it in front of his face. “Bite.”
Bruce's eyes were too teary and red rimmed to pull off a proper Bat glare. “You're going to pay… for how you treat my suit. It's more- ah- more than your salary can afford. It'll bankrupt you, Kent.” He still accepted the cloth into his mouth, which reminded Clark of how snow leopards would bite their own fluffy tails. It’s unclear why they do it, but it's scientifically freaking cute.
“I promise I'll pay.” Clark said. His hands found Bruce’s hips again. He pulled out until only the head was submerged, then thrusted back in, hearing Bruce hiccuping and scraping his fingers against the wall.
Bruce was immediately grateful for the impromptu gag when Clark started fucking him with a punishing pace. He pawed at his own erection and whimpered pitifully. The front of the Batsuit was still intact. He could see his cock’s outline through the kevlar, feeling it strain against the fabric, but he couldn’t relieve it.
“As a matter of fact…” Clark said between grunts. “I’ll even help you with your new suit design. How about… you tell Lucius to add another zipper, just over your taut ass… I can please your cunt anywhere you want. Could you imagine that?”
Yes. Bruce babbled into the cape in his mouth. Clark could fuck him through those dreadful shifts on Watchtower where it was just the two of them. Clark could even bend him over the table in the conference room for a quickie before a meeting. Bruce would have to sit through it with Clark’s cum leaking out of his hole. He might even have to give a presentation, have to stand on weak legs and speak in front of their colleagues even though Clark would’ve made him scream himself hoarse minutes ago. Everybody would be none the wiser. (Well, J’onn would know, but the thought of being caught only made Bruce harder.)
Clark picked him up as if he weighted nothing and flipped him over. Bruce wrapped his arms around the Alpha’s neck, his legs around his middle. He spat the cape out and sought Clark’s lips. “C-Clark. Kiss me.”
Any time Clark rammed up into him, his hands like iron hoops on Bruce’s hips pulled his entire body down to meet the thrust. Bruce took the abuse, high on heat and Clark’s pheromone and Clark’s cock. His cries were swallowed by Clark before they could alert Gotham to her knight's scandalous deed.
He was leaking tears, drool and slick. He was a weeping mess above and bellow
Bruce came. The Kevlar covering his abs became warm and sticky; his inside spasmed and a torrent of aphrodisiac-like slick poured onto his invader. Clark came a moment latter, knot swelling and locking them together, his cum filling Bruce up. The urge to nose at the Omega's scent gland and bite - and claim - was strong, but he willed himself to do nothing of the sort. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. He let his hearing extend beyond their secret corner.
Peace. Quiet. A rare phenomenon in this city. Beyond their jackrabbited hearts and pantings, Clark heard cats meowing on rooftops; he heard rats skittering along shadowed walls; and he heard bats fluttering their wings, screeching in a frequency too high for human hearing. The saccharine sweetness in Bruce's pheromone had subsided. A hint of roses and gin came through, floral, woody and wintery, Bruce's true scent.
When he opened his eyes, Bruce was staring at him. Clark really, really wanted to see his face. He lamented in his heart.
“You didn’t mark me.”
“You didn’t ask me to.” Clark said bashfully.
Bruce snorted. Was this the same Alpha who accused him of letting Arkham’s finest pulverizing his ass like a cheap whore? He made the mistake of kicking Clark with his heel. The knot tugged at his rim and made them both hiss.
“How long… are we going to be stuck together?” He asked.
The Alpha rubbed Bruce’s back, thinking. “Uh... A while.”
“What is ‘a while’?”
Clark's cock was still applying a steady pressure on Bruce's prostate due to gravity. Feeling mean, he thrusted up, a short jerk of the hips that had Bruce gasping in pleasure and pain.
“Kal!” Bruce warned.
“What’s the average duration of a human’s knot?” And another.
"S-stop that!"
“It’s longer than human’s?” Clark blinked innocently and answered Bruce's previous question. "So uh... we'll have to be here for a while."
“Are you expecting me to... praise you for this?” Bruce hid his face in the crook of the Alpha's neck. “Damn Kryptonian. Just take me home.”
“Oh.” Clark pouted. He'd gone too far. Bruce would never want to sleep with him again. “I… understand.”
Bruce scoffed: “Put away your sad puppy dog eyes, I just don’t want to spend another second in this place. It's smelly and I'm freezing my ass off.”
He then sandwiched Clark's cheeks between his palms. “If you even think about leaving, I will tie you to my bed and ride your dick til morning.” His smile was all Brucie as he announced: “I have kryptonite handcuffs.”