Archive of Our Own

“That’s it,” Bruce murmurs, running a soothing hand down Dick’s thigh. “You’re taking it so well for me.”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on his breathing. Despite Bruce’s praise, he feels like he’s not taking it well at all. The toy feels impossibly big as Bruce presses it deeper, a steady, unerring pressure that feels as though it will split Dick in two.

“Breathe,” Bruce whispers, the command gentle but a command nonetheless. Dick does as instructed, trying to force his body to relax, but he’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

“I can’t—” Dick bites out.

“You can,” Bruce says, now easing the toy out, giving Dick a moment of respite before he presses it back in. Dick’s cunt aches as Bruce presses the toy even deeper this time, his heart pounding in his ears as he tries to think of something else: a tranquil rainforest, the sun setting over the mountains—literally anything other than the dull ache growing inside him.

There’s something wet on Dick’s cheeks. Tears, he realises after a beat. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, and Bruce takes the opportunity to press the toy even deeper.

“You’re almost there,” Bruce says.

Surely Dick must be at the widest point right now. Dick imagines his own cunt, pink and glistening and stretched obscenely around the toy. Dick can do this, he has to do this. He wants to be a good omega, a good omega for Bruce—an omega who can take a knot, who can be bred, an omega who can be mated and knotted and filled with—

“Ah! Stop, please!”

The words escape Dick’s lips before he’s even aware of uttering them, and a second later the pressure recedes. Where Dick had expected relief, there’s only shame, and for a moment he lets it consume him. When he finally opens his eyes, Bruce is carefully cleaning the toy, his expression indecipherable.

“I’m sorry,” Dick tries, and he hates how childish he sounds. Realising his legs are still spread, he discretely closes them, as if Bruce hasn’t already seen every inch of him a hundred times over. “I tried, I really did… But—”

“Dick, do you know why we’re doing this?”

Dick’s face heats. The temptation to look away is overwhelming, but Dick resists it, barely. “Because…”

Dick trails off. He can’t bear to say it.

Bruce places the toy back in the case and rests a reassuring hand on Dick’s thigh. “We’re doing this,” he says gently, “because when you go into heat, I don’t want you to get hurt when you’re knotted.”

Dick swallows hard. Bruce is always careful to use the passive voice in these discussions; it’s always when you’re knotted, never when I knot you. Dick’s tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth so he simply nods his assent, not quite able to meet Bruce’s eyes.

“I know you’ve found yourself in a difficult situation,” Bruce says, running his hand further up Dick’s thigh. “But we’re going to get through this. Together. Alright, chum?”

Dick forces a half-smile and nods again, his eyes still on the carpet.

“Good boy,” Bruce says, and Dick can hear the smile in his voice. He ruffles Dick’s hair, just like Dick’s dad used to whenever Dick did something to make him proud. Dick takes his first full breath since they started, and some of the tension from their session leaves his body. For a second, Dick feels as though he’s been let off the hook, until—

“Now, there’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

Dick’s heart stutters at Bruce’s words. Dick doesn’t know what Bruce will ask of him, but he’s somehow certain Bruce is only asking because he couldn’t complete his training today. Logically, Dick knows it’s so he can improve for next time, but he can’t quite shake the feeling that this is a punishment for his failure.

“I’d like you to try this out.” Bruce reaches into the case and pulls out—it’s a toy, but it’s not shaped like the other ones. It’s more narrow, tapering off at the base, and then flaring out again. It’s black, matte, and appears to be made of the same material of the other toys. Dick eyes it warily.

“Lie back down,” Bruce says softly, and Dick obeys immediately. There’s something about that soft, gentle voice that’s every bit as commanding as Batman’s growl. “This is a plug,” Bruce says in response to Dick’s unasked question. “It’s a toy that’s designed to be worn for hours at a time.”

Dick doesn’t like the sound of hours, but he’s not about to tell Bruce that.

“Dr. Thompkins said it’s particularly useful for omegas in your situation.” At that, Bruce presses the tip of the plug to Dick’s hole, then begins slowly pressing it inside. It goes easier than the toy, and when it’s in all the way, it feels almost unobtrusive. In fact, unless Dick clenches around it, he can almost forget that it’s there.

Dick breathes out a sigh, relieved that his punishment isn’t too severe. “How long do I have to keep it in for?”

“Until our next training session.”

Dick feels all the blood drain from his face. “What, until tomorrow night? But I have school. And then—and then Robin training, and then patrol—”

“It’s designed to be worn for hours,” Bruce repeats simply.

Dick opens his mouth to speak, but his voice dies in his throat. By now, he’s learned better than to argue.

*

Dick had been thirteen when he’d learned he wasn’t like other omegas.

“There are many factors that can contribute to this,” Leslie told them. “Trauma, grief… Any significant distress experienced at a young age can bring on early heats, and Dick here has been through more than most. All things considered, it’s hardly surprising that he’s already showing signs of preheat.”

The room fell silent. Dick stared at the spot just beyond Leslie’s shoulder, not quite meeting the doctor’s eyes. Bruce was especially still, even for him.

Finally, Bruce cleared his throat and asked, “So what can we do about it?”

According to Leslie, there was nothing that could be done to stave off Dick’s impending heat. “All you can do,” she’d said, “is arrange a suitable alpha in advance, and ensure that by the time it hits, Dick’s ready.”

Leslie gave Dick a sympathetic smile. Dick continued staring at the wall, not wanting to see Bruce’s reaction—the shame, the worry, the disgust.

But Dick couldn’t avoid Bruce forever. And when they left Leslie’s office sometime later, laden with pamphlets and sound advice, Dick had caught a glint of something in Bruce’s eyes. He quickly looked away, something in Bruce’s expression making him feel hot and uncomfortable, like his skin was too small for his body. It wasn’t until he was safely back in his bedroom, aimlessly sifting through pamphlets, that he had recognised Bruce’s expression for what it was:

Hunger.

*

When Dick wakes the morning after his training session, the first thing he’s aware of is that he’s incredibly sore. The second thing he’s aware of, is that there’s something inside him.

“Ah,” Dick gasps when he sits up, the sudden change in position causing the plug to shift inside him. Sleep-dazed, he reaches between his legs and is met not with soft, warm skin, but the smooth texture of the plug, still nestled deeply inside him. “Crap.”

There’s no way he can go to school like this. In fact, he’s not even sure he can stand up with this thing inside him, let alone walk. He’s already had it in him for eight or so hours—surely that’s more than enough. And if Bruce asks, he’ll just say he removed it right before their training session so he could be ready.

Stifling a groan, Dick plants his feet flat on the bed, shoulder-width apart. His hands are cautious as they reach between his legs, gently feeling for the outline of the plug’s base. He runs two fingers up either side of the base, sizing it up, and gasps when he inadvertently brushes against his clit.

Ever since Dick learned how abnormal he was, he’s refused to touch his pussy more than strictly necessary. It feels wrong—dirty, even—to touch himself now that he knows how desperate his body is to be bred. But recently, with Bruce increasing the frequency of their training sessions, Dick’s cunt feels hypersensitised. Primed. Like the slightest touch could set him off. Even a task as mundane as putting on underwear or washing in the shower can leave him gasping. His cunt feels—swollen, almost, flushed deep pink, and what’s worse is he’s always wet. He’s started to do his own laundry just so he can avoid the scrutiny of Alfred’s raised eyebrow.

But this—getting rid of this damn plug—this is what Dick would describe as necessary. Extremely necessary, even. So he steels himself and, taking a deep breath, firmly grasps the base to pull it out of him in one, smooth motion and—

Nothing.

Dick shifts his hips. He grits his teeth and pulls again, harder this time, and—

Still, nothing.

Dick tries and tries and tries, but no amount of twisting or tugging allows him to pull the plug free from his body. It’s like his body is hungry for this, his cunt desperate to be filled with anything remotely resembling a knot. Dick’s eyes prickle with tears as he finally falls back onto the bed, panting with exertion, and already dreading the day ahead of him.

*

By the time Dick finally makes it downstairs, teeth brushed and hair combed, Bruce is already seated at the table with his customary black coffee, hiding behind today’s issue of the Gazette.

“Morning,” he murmurs in that half-disapproving, half-amused way that tells Dick he’s already late for school.

“Morning,” Dick replies, snagging a piece of toast. “I gotta run, I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Wait.”

That’s Bruce’s command voice, the one he uses in the field, and it has Dick stopping dead in his tracks. Bruce slowly lowers the paper to reveal his face, and when he does, Dick recognises the glint in his eyes all too well.

“Come here,” Bruce says softly, and Dick his helpless to disobey. He drops his school bag and slowly crosses the five paces between them, finally coming to a stop by Bruce’s side.

“Hands on the back of the chair,” Bruce says, indicating the empty chair next to him.

Dick obeys without comment.

“Take a step back. Feet shoulder-width apart.”

Dick complies, and a second later, Bruce has risen and is standing behind him, correcting his stance.

“Bend lower,” Bruce says, pressing gently between Dick’s shoulder blades. “Lower. Plant your hands on the seat of the chair.”

Bruce continues correcting Dick’s stance until Dick’s legs are spread wide and his back is parallel to the ground. This is just like training—Robin training, that is. Bruce teaching Dick fighting stances, or how to deflect a blow. But something about this feels off. Dick’s just about to ask when Bruce suddenly presses a hand between his legs, his broad palm cupping Dick’s front, while his fingers press against his pussy. Even through two layers of fabric, Bruce’s touch is almost enough to make Dick’s knees buckle, and he has to take a deep breath to maintain his composure.

Bruce hums as he presses harder, his fingers moving with intent. It’s as if he were trying to feel out the exact shape of Dick’s cunt, as if he were trying to learn it by touch, and it’s not until he suddenly presses against the base of the plug that he finally breathes out a satisfied ah.

Dick’s face burns when he realises that this is what Bruce was looking for. Bruce presses against the base once more, almost as if he were trying to drive it deeper into Dick’s body, until suddenly, his hand withdraws as quickly as it had appeared, and he takes his seat back at the table.

“You’re going to be late,” Bruce says mildly.

Dick, still bent in two, straightens abruptly. His face is burning, his throat dry, and all he can manage to say is, “Right.”

Bruce’s face breaks into a smile—his Bruce Wayne smile, the one that Dick hates the most. “Good boy,” Bruce says, and ruffles Dick’s hair.

*

School is a nightmare.

Dick struggles to focus on his classes, hyperaware of the plug buried deep inside him. Sometimes he manages to forget it, but then he’ll sit or stand or even just lean forward and suddenly, the plug presses against something sensitive inside him, and he’s left struggling to maintain his composure.

Dick is sure that they know, they all know—his classmates, his teachers. He’s sure that they take one look at him and can at the very least sense what he is, even if they can’t see the proof. They can sense that he’s a needy, desperate omega whose eager little cunt has to be plugged up before he can so much as step foot outside the house.

At first break, Dick makes a beeline for the bathroom, and spends long minutes staring at himself in the mirror. He expects to see something different in his face or his posture, something that gives him away. But other than his slightly-flushed cheeks, there’s no obvious clue that he’s hiding a dirty little secret under his uniform pants.

But if Dick thought school was bad, Robin training is infinitely worse.

“Sloppy,” Bruce says as he lands an easy hit, one Dick was too slow to dodge. “You’re leaving your left side open, you need to keep your arm raised.”

Dick corrects his stance but his arms are too high now, leaving his solar plexus exposed. Bruce lands the hit—harder than Dick had anticipated—and it’s almost enough to knock the wind out of him.

They’ve been sparring for half an hour now, but Bruce is barely out of breath. “If you show weakness, any weakness, your enemy will exploit it.”

Dick only nods, too breathless to comment. He advances on Bruce, aiming a roundhouse at his chest, but the movement forces the plug to move inside him and his leg falters at the peak of its arc. Bruce catches his leg easily, and a second later he’s pressing Dick into the mats, pinning him down with his entire body.

For one long second, the sensation is overwhelming. Bruce’s weight is heavy on top of him, and his alpha scent is potent, mingled with the smell of sweat. Every part of Dick’s brain is screaming submit, and before he even realises, he’s tilting his head back, exposing his throat to Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes flash with something dangerous, and Dick thinks he might mount him then and there. The moment lasts for one beat, two beats, until suddenly, Bruce pushes himself off Dick, leaving him breathless and panting on the mats.

“What’s going on with you today?” Bruce asks quietly. “You’re better than this.”

Dick gets to his feet gingerly, trying not to jostle the plug inside him. Heat rises in his face, and he prays to god that Bruce won’t make him say it out loud. “Um. Well, it’s about my training. My other training.”

Bruce’s expression shifts into one of pity, but it feels insincere in a way Dick can’t quite identify. “Dick,” Bruce says placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know this may feel… uncomfortable at first. But this is something you’re going to have to get used to. I didn’t want to go down this route, but I’m concerned that you’re not progressing quickly enough, and we need to be prepared for when the time comes. Leslie says your heat can come on at any time and—”

“I know,” Dick says quickly, but Bruce refuses to be interrupted.

“—given your age, your body’s not ready. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Always I don’t want you to get hurt. Never I don’t want to hurt you.

Dick nods, too embarrassed to speak. Dick has always been small from his age, and for years, he was at peace with that. In fact, when he was in the Flying Graysons, his size was an asset. Gymnasts—aerialists especially—were supposed to be small; it makes them easier to throw and catch. But these days it feels like a curse, has felt like a curse ever since the first time Bruce had tried to work a toy inside him and had said with something like awe in his voice, you’re so tight.

Bruce gives Dick’s shoulder a quick squeeze, bringing Dick back out of his thoughts. “Alright chum, hit the showers.”

“But—” Dick falters. He’s almost afraid to ask. “What about patrol?”

Bruce’s pitying expression is back, and a flash of anger flares inside Dick, already knowing what he’ll say.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, and his hand on Dick’s shoulder feels anything but reassuring, “but I can’t have you in the field like this. Why don’t you meet me upstairs for your training now, so you don’t have to wait up for me after patrol?”

Bruce is using the Bruce Wayne voice he uses whenever he wants to seem generous and accommodating. Dick, already dreading what’s ahead of him, can only nod and do as instructed.

*

By the time Bruce makes it upstairs, Dick is already showered and undressed, lying on his bed with a towel under his hips. Bruce enters without knocking, carrying that nondescript, black case that Dick has grown to hate so much, and locks the door behind him.

“Alright,” Bruce says, setting the case down and kneeling at the foot of the bed. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

Dick spreads his legs with some reluctance, trying not to think about what Bruce is seeing right now; his slim, pale legs spread wide, and at their apex, his cunt: pink and puffy, tightening desperately around the plug.

“Did you have any issues with this today?”

Dick thinks about his near-constant discomfort, the way the plug drove him to distraction, and says, “No.”

Bruce hums. “Everything looks good, as far as I can see. Increased blood flow perhaps, but that’s normal considering these toys can have a slightly stimulatory effect.”

Bruce likes to describe these things in a clinical, detached manner that somehow sounds more obscene than if he were to say something vulgar. Without warning, he closes his fingers around the base of the plug, and begins to gently ease it out of Dick’s body.

“That’s it,” Bruce murmurs. “Just relax for me.”

Somehow, with a combination of gentle pulling and twisting, Bruce manages to remove the plug with little effort. It’s surprising, considering that less than twelve hours ago, Dick had struggled and ultimately failed at this exact task. Not for the first time, Dick wonders if his body subconsciously responds to Bruce, not only because he’s an alpha, but because he’s Dick’s alpha. The thought lodges in the back of his brain, impossible to shake loose, and it’s just another reminder that Dick’s body is no longer his own.

Dick breathes a sigh of relief when the plug is finally free, even as his pussy throbs, clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled again.

“Shh, just relax, we don’t want to undo all your hard work,” Bruce says, and Dick flushes with the realisation that Bruce can actually see his cunt contracting.

Dick takes a deep breath and wills his body to relax as Bruce sets the plug aside and opens the case. He selects a toy—the same toy they’d practised with last night—and it’s not long before Dick can feel the rounded tip pressing insistently against his hole.

“Remember to breathe,” Bruce says as he begins pressing the toy inside Dick, slow and inexorable. The first inch or so goes easy, Dick’s body glad to be filled. The second inch is harder. Bruce corkscrews the toy, pressing and pulling with a twisting motion as Dick wills his body to accept the intrusion. By the time the toy gets to its widest part, Dick is panting with exertion and blinking back tears, struggling to force his body to relax.

“Stop,” Dick whimpers, the word slipping from his mouth unbidden, and he instantly curses himself for his weakness. Bruce sighs, then tugs the toy free of Dick’s body abruptly, making him gasp.

“I’m sorry!” Dick says quickly, but Bruce has turned his back on him. “I’m trying, I really am, but—”

“You’re aware of our training schedule?” Bruce asks shortly.

Dick’s apologies and excuses die in his throat. He swallows hard. “Yes.”

After Leslie’s diagnosis, she had recommended an omega training kit. The product marketed itself as “ideal for petit or slim omegas,” but Dick knew instinctively they were designed for underage omegas in his exact situation. The kit consisted of eight toys of increasing size, along with corresponding plugs, and carried a recommendation to continue training with knotting toys once all eight toys had been mastered.

Since they’d started, Dick hasn’t been able to progress beyond the third toy.

“So you’re aware that we are weeks behind where we should be?”

Dick stares at his knees. “Yes,” he says glumly.

Bruce sighs again. Finally, he says, “Lie back down.”

Dick obeys after a second’s hesitation, not liking that he can’t see what’s happening between his legs. He jumps at the feeling of smooth silicon pressed not against his hole, but cupping his entire pussy. The toy, whatever it is, is probably about the size of his palm, and for a long second Dick holds himself still, anticipating what’s coming next.

“Ah!” Dick gasps suddenly. A buzzing sound has filled the room, and along with it, powerful vibrations that seem to resonate throughout Dick’s entire cunt. Bruce hums, thoughtful, and a second later, the vibrations intensify, leaving Dick struggling to keep still.

“It’s—ah—it’s really—”

“Dr. Thompkins said that external stimulation may make an omega more receptive to penetration,” Bruce says mildly. He presses the toy even harder against Dick’s cunt, the added pressure ensuring the toy touches his clit directly. “Particularly,” Bruce adds, almost as an afterthought, “if the stimulation is sufficient to induce a climax.”

Oh god.

Oh god.

Bruce is going to make him come.

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, his hips twitching as he tries to escape the too much, too much press of the vibrator. But Bruce is unwavering, keeping the toy in place, even as Dick bucks his hips, trying to escape.

“Hold still,” Bruce says sternly, and Dick forces himself to obey. He’s getting wet now—wetter than usual—can feel the slick dripping out of his hole. Sometimes, he wonders if Bruce can smell him. Not just during their training, but other times—like at breakfast or on patrol. He wonders if Bruce likes it.

“I, ah—” Dick swallows. “Could you maybe turn it down?”

“No,” Bruce says simply, and presses even harder.

Dick’s orgasm is building steadily, the pleasure overwhelming. Dick rarely touches himself anymore; sometimes, when his preheat comes on, he’ll try to hold off for as long as possible, only to wind up hating himself the second he inevitably gives in. But it’s been weeks since his last preheat, and Dick hasn’t come since, and his impending orgasm feels like it might destroy him.

“God, Bruce—I think I’m—I think I might—”

“It’s okay,” Bruce says softly, and that’s all the permission Dick needs.

Dick’s orgasm tears through him, his own scream drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Bruce holds the vibrator steadfastly against Dick’s cunt, even as his hips buck and his body shudders. It feels like it goes on forever, the pleasure so powerful it pulses throughout his entire body, extending all the way out to his fingertips.

“Bruce!” Dick gasps. “Bruce, I—”

“It’s okay,” Bruce says again, and those two simple words are enough to make Dick’s pussy throb. Bruce is still pressing the vibrator to Dick’s hypersensitised cunt, and Dick can barely summon the words to express how desperately he needs Bruce to stop.

“No, I can’t—”

“We need to continue.”

“No, wait—stop Bruce, I can’t—”

“You can,” Bruce say sternly. “And you will.”

Dick chokes back a sob. He feels raw and thoroughly spent, his hips stuttering as he jerks away from the stimulation. The sensation is unbearable, was unbearable, even before he’d come. But Bruce is murmuring encouragement, small things like that’s it and you’re doing so well and—

“Good boy,” Bruce says, and suddenly Dick’s coming again, his orgasm hitting him out of nowhere. This time, Dick doesn’t even try to hold back; he moans full-throated, tossing his head back and leaving his throat exposed.

“That’s good,” Bruce murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he presses a button on the vibrator, taking it up a notch. Dick yelps, thrashing on the bed, but Bruce stills him with a hand on his chest.

“No—please, it’s too much, I can’t anymore, please, we can try the toy again—or the plug, we can—”

Dick is babbling, barely cognisant of what he’s promising, but Bruce silences him with five simple words:

“It’s for your own good.”

Dick chokes out a sob. His eyes are wet (he’s crying, when did he start crying?), his vision blurring at the edges, and he needs to tell Bruce, needs him to know that he can’t possibly come again.

“You can do this,” Bruce says evenly, as if reading Dick’s thoughts. “I know you can.” Bruce is rubbing the vibrator against Dick’s cunt now, alternating the pressure, and Dick can’t help but rock into his touch every time he eases off. “See? You need this.”

“No,” Dick whimpers, even as he grinds against the vibrator.

“Yes. This is what’s best for you, this is what you need. This is what you were made for, this is—”

The rest of Bruce’s sentence is drowned out by Dick’s shout as he comes for a third time, arching off the bed.

This is what you were made for.

The words echo around Dick’s head as he sobs through his orgasm, shame quickly chasing away any relief it might have brought. For months now, Dick has been grappling with the idea that as an omega—an early-presenting omega, at that—he’s is just a thing to be used, a body to be bred, a hole to be fucked. It makes him feel dirty and ashamed to the point where he can think of little else. How many people look at him, and can instantly tell what he is? How many people can smell it on him? The fact that it was those words—that idea—that pushed Dick over the edge fills him with a shame that curdles in his gut, leaving him feeling sick and dizzy.

“Shhh it’s okay, you did well,” Bruce murmurs. Somehow, he feels very far away. Bruce has put the vibrator back on it’s lowest setting, a gentle hum that barely registers against Dick’s overstimulated pussy.

Dick sniffs and brushes the tears from his eyes, embarrassment adding to the sick feeling in his stomach. “Are we done?” Dick asks in a voice that sounds too small to be his.

Bruce is very still. His eyes are fixed between Dick’s legs, his expression indecipherable.

“Bruce,” Dick asks, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are we done?”

Bruce is voice is carefully even when he says, “I need you to come one last time.”

“What? No, I ca—ah.”

The rest of Dick’s sentence is swallowed up by a gasp as Bruce turns up the vibrator to the highest setting. Whatever it had been on before is nothing compared to this. Dick squeezes his knees shut on reflex, doing anything to get away from the sensation, but strong hands on his thighs force his legs apart.

“Dick!”

Bruce’s voice is loud, but it’s nothing compared to the smack that follows. The sound registers first, and a split-second later Dick’s nerves catch up with his ears and the pain finally hits him.

Dick howls. It’s an agony unlike anything he’s ever known. Dick has sustained plenty of injuries in the field, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of Bruce bringing his hand down on Dick’s over-sensitised cunt. Dick sobs, the tears flowing freely now. He’s heard of omegas being punished this way, back when—back when things were worse. But these days it’s generally frowned upon, and Dick never imagined that Bruce of all people would ever—could ever—

“Hold your knees to your chest.” Bruce’s voice is cold and unforgiving, and Dick knows better to resist.

Dick is extremely flexible, has been since he was a small child. And despite that, this position is the hardest one he’s ever had to hold. He grabs onto his knees with shaky hands, and slowly draws them to his chest, exposing his pussy. He can’t imagine what his cunt must look like—red and swollen and glistening with slick, a perfect little hole just waiting to be bred.

“Wider,” Bruce commands.

Dick doesn’t dare disobey. He spreads his legs in increments, until they’re shoulder-width apart. Bruce takes a deep breath through his nose, and Dick can’t shake the impression he’s being scented.

“Do you remember our conversation after your first appointment with Dr. Thompkins?” Bruce asks.

Dick’s brain scrambles to parse Bruce’s words, hesitating for what appears to be a second too long.

Smack.

Dick cries out as Bruce brings his down his hand in a wide arc, his palm squarely hitting Dick’s exposed pussy. Dick breathes through the pain, remembering his Robin training, and gives Bruce the answer he thinks he wants to hear.

“Yes,” Dick says, barely more than a whimper.

“What did I say?”

Smack.

Dick bites his lip and tastes blood, the slight sting a welcome distraction from his throbbing cunt.

“You said…”

Smack.

Smack.

Dick screams on the second blow, the hardest one yet. It’s taking every ounce of his control not to protect himself, to give into his self-preservation instincts and close his legs. Bitterly, Dick recalls that was what got him into this mess in the first place.

“What did I say?” Bruce demands.

Bruce raises his arm again, ready to bring it down on Dick’s aching cunt, when Dick blurts out, “You said you would do everything in your power to help me!”

Bruce stills, his arm still raised. His expression softens somewhat, and Dick’s gratitude is palpable.

“And?” Bruce prompts.

Dick takes a deep breath, blinking back tears. “You said you would do everything in your power to help me, but I—but I needed to let you.”

Bruce’s expression melts into one of sympathy. He lowers his arm and runs it up the underside of Dick’s calf, his touch a welcome comfort.

“That’s right,” Bruce says softly. “Can you do that for me, Dick? Can you let me help you?”

Dick sucks his lower lip into his mouth, tasting copper. Wordlessly, he manages to nod, and Bruce’s face breaks into a smile.

“Good boy,” Bruce says, and Dick can’t help but shiver.

The vibrator is worse this time around, but Dick’s determined. Bruce presses it flush against Dick’s cunt and flicks through the settings in quick succession, settling on a speed that’s barely tolerable. Dick grits his teeth and focuses on his breath, but the toy still feels like torture against his battered cunt.

“That’s the way,” Bruce murmurs, and Dick hates that even now, his praise makes Dick’s pussy throb with need. “If you can manage this, we can try out the toy again. See how well you take it.”

There’s something about the words see how well you take it that has heat pooling in Dick’s belly. The thing is, Dick wants to do well—he wants it so badly—and if can just endure this, then maybe, Bruce will be proud of him.

Dick is rocking against the vibrator now, tiny movements of his hips, trying to find that balance between not enough and too much. Bruce is wearing an expression of quiet determination, and Dick knows that that he won’t be deterred. But Dick’s worn out, his nerves frayed, and every time he thinks he’s approaching the precipice, it’s somehow never quite enough.

“Bruce,” Dick says, breathless. “I’m trying but—I really don’t think I can—”

Bruce hums and a second later, the vibrator’s on its highest speed, setting every one of Dick’s nerves alight. It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much, but Dick is helpless, trapped like a pinned butterfly, his entire world reduced down to the incessant buzzing between his legs. Dick’s writhing now, coordination forgotten in favour of animalistic panic, doing everything he can to get away from the stimulation. Bruce doesn’t even seem bothered by his struggles so long as he keeps his legs spread, just presses the toy harder so it’s rubbing directly against Dick’s clit, and in that instant, the pleasure coalesces and Dick comes so hard that he sees white.

By the time Dick comes back to himself, the first thing he’s aware of is that he’s crying. Not even sobbing, not even sniffling—just crying. Tears that blur his vision and stream silently down his cheeks, tears that won’t stop no matter how much he tries to blink them away.

After that, everything else comes back to him in increments, and Dick has to piece the facts together, one by one: he’s lying on his bed, in his bedroom; the curtains are drawn, which means it’s night; Bruce is here, which means they must be training; Bruce—

Bruce made him—

Bruce made him come so hard he passed out.

“Oh you’re awake?” Bruce asks, sounding amused rather than concerned.

Dick swallows hard. “I—”

“No need to apologise,” Bruce says, although Dick wasn’t going to. “Some omegas are particularly sensitive to external stimulation.”

Right. Sure. Dick’s probably just really sensitive.

“Ready to try the toy again?” Bruce asks.

Dick can’t think of anything he wants less. He feels disconnected from his body, as if he were floating a few inches above it. On an intellectual level, he knows that he’s sore and worn out, but every physical sensation feels detached, as if his body belongs to someone else.

But Bruce doesn’t seem interested in a reply. He takes the toy without comment, and presses it against Dick’s hole, easing it in. There’s a rushing noise in Dick’s ears, and every sound from Bruce’s murmured praise to the beating of his own heart feels somehow muted, as if he were underwater. Dick stares at a point on the ceiling, but he sees nothing, his mind adrift and his senses barely registering.

Distantly, Dick’s aware that Bruce is forcing the toy deeper into his body. A slow, inexorable slide that feels like it goes on forever. Dick’s body is completely numb, none of the sensation making its way to his brain, only the distinct impression of being filled and filled until suddenly, it stops.

“Good.”

Someone says that. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t him, so it must have been Bruce.

“That’s very good,” Bruce says, the words floating to Dick as if on a cloud. Distantly, Dick realises that the entire toy is nestled within his body, that he’s stuffed full—just as he should be, just like he was made for. Dick groans, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s subconsciously tightening around the toy, as if it were a knot he could milk.

“Look at you,” Bruce says, awed. He must be able to see Dick’s cunt hungrily clenching around the toy. “You’re a natural. Don’t worry,” he says as he slowly eases the toy out of Dick’s body, “we’ll get you started on knotting toys soon enough.”

Dick closes his eyes and lets Bruce’s words wash over him, barely taking them in. He sighs once the toy’s finally removed, relieved to be done with what’s been his most difficult training session yet. He wants nothing more than to bury himself under the covers and sleep for about ten hours, but Bruce, it seems, has other ideas:

“I want you to keep this in until tomorrow night.”

Dick flinches at the first press of the plug to his hole, feebly shifting his hips. “Bruce,” Dick pleads, but Bruce pays him no mind. He gathers up some of Dick’s own slick and uses it to coat the plug, then slowly presses it inside him. This one is bigger than the last, pressing against Dick’s insides and filling him to the brim.

“This is an important part of your conditioning,” Bruce explains, as if Dick hadn’t spoken at all. “I know you’re tired, and I know you’re sore. But if you don’t keep this in, then we’ll be back to where we started. Can you do that? For me?”

Dick opens his mouth, but no words come out. Finally, under the scrutiny of Bruce’s expectant gaze, Dick manages to nod.

*

After that, they fall into something of a routine.

Before, their training sessions had been sporadic; Bruce would appear at Dick’s bedroom door one or two nights a week, seemingly whenever it suited him.

Now, the training sessions are nightly. And during the day—

“I want you to keep this in until tomorrow night,” Bruce says, easing the plug into Dick’s body.

That sentence, those exact words, quickly become the natural conclusion to all of their sessions. Dick always grits his teeth and accepts the intrusion, grimacing as it stretches out his hypersensitive cunt. Dick knows he’ll have no choice but to do as instructed, knows that Bruce will check at seemingly random intervals; will bend him over and feel him up through his uniform slacks, or else slip a hand down the front of his pyjama pants, just to make sure Dick’s stuffed full at all times. The plugs grow in size, but are still relatively modest and slim, no wider than two of Bruce’s fingers. And yet, Dick always wakes up the next day feeling hot and uncomfortable, and throughout the day, it’s nearly impossible for him to think of anything else. School is bad, but Robin training—

Robin training is worse.

“Yield,” Bruce mutters, pressing Dick’s face into the training mats.

Dick struggles, trying to remember that one manoeuvre that Bruce had showed him, the one that was particularly effective against armlocks. Every shift of Dick’s hips jostles the plug inside him, and when it rubs against him just so, Dick can’t help but let a moan escape his lips.

“Dick?” It’s half-statement, half-question, completely flat and without inflection. Dick can’t tell if Bruce is shocked or disgusted or some combination of the two. Before Dick can yield, Bruce is releasing him, pushing himself off the mats, and leaving Dick splayed out on the floor.

“I’m sorry.” Dick’s face flushes in a way that has little to do with physical exertion. “I guess I’m still, um. Adjusting.”

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t let your extra training interfere with your duties as Robin.”

Dick’s heart sinks. Robin is the one thing that’s keeping Dick going right now, the one thread of normalcy that’s holding his life together. Bruce has insisted he patrolled alone this past week, just to give Dick the opportunity to adjust. But he wouldn’t—it’s only temporary—Bruce would never—

“I’m benching you,” Bruce says. “Indefinitely.”

Dick splutters. “Wha—? But Bruce, you said—”

“I can’t afford to have distractions in the field,” Bruce says, turning his back on Dick. Bruce leaves him there, splayed out on the mats, but Dick’s not about to give up that easily.

“I’m not distracted!” Dick says, running after Bruce. “I can still do it, Bruce. Please, just let me prove it.”

“It’s not just that,” Bruce says, not breaking his stride.

“Then what?”

Bruce stops in his tracks. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself as if what he’s about to say might cost him a great deal. Dick’s heart hammers against his ribs, his apprehension reaching a crescendo, just as Bruce says:

“Do you have any idea how vulnerable you are?”

Bruce’s voice is soft, gentle, but his words make Dick go cold. “Being Robin entails a certain amount of risk, but given your unique situation… There are plenty of alphas who would gladly take advantage of you.”

An image floats to the forefront of Dick’s mind: Dick, in his Robin costume, on his hands and knees in some filthy alley. Behind him is an alpha, a criminal Dick was trying to apprehend, who tugs Dick’s shorts aside to expose his pussy, lines up his cock, and forces his way into Dick’s tiny body while Dick frantically begs him to stop.

The very idea has fear and revulsion curdling in Dick’s stomach, but at the same time, Dick’s traitorous cunt tightens desperately around the plug. It’s disturbing. Dick’s rational mind knows that such a situation would be traumatic, but some deeper, more primitive part of him obviously likes the idea. Maybe this is who Dick really is. Maybe he’s secretly desperate to be forced to his knees, to be mounted and knotted and—

“I can’t allow that to happen,” Bruce says, snapping Dick out of his thoughts.  

Dick’s cunt is throbbing now, clenching rhythmically around the plug as if he could milk it. He realises that Bruce might have a point.

“I understand,” Dick says, and is almost surprised by how sincere it sounds.

*

With Robin benched, Dick’s extra training becomes even more frequent. The evening sessions remain constant, but sometimes, there are others. Sometimes, Bruce lets himself into Dick’s room in the early hours of the morning, after he returns from patrol.

Dick’s still sleep-dazed, worn out from his training just hours prior, but Bruce doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, after the first time it happened, Dick quickly realised that Bruce was perfectly happy for Dick to go back to sleep, just so long as he got to toy with Dick’s unconscious body.

“Shhh, I’m just checking on you,” Bruce had whispered through the darkness. He’d then felt for the base of Dick’s plug, pulled it out halfway, then pushed it back in, slowly fucking Dick with it. “Go back to sleep.”

Dick’s never been a heavy sleeper, not by any means, but somehow, he’d found it easy to drift off again. And in the nights that follow, Dick wakes less and less. Maybe some subconscious part of him realises that Bruce is his alpha and he’s safe, protected. Maybe some part of him is desperate to be touched, and has convinced all the other parts of him to just let it happen. Or maybe, this is Bruce’s doing. Maybe Bruce has been slipping something into his—

No, Dick thinks just as quickly as the thought occurs to him. Bruce would never do that.

Truth be told, Dick actually prefers these sessions to his regular ones. Bruce is always softer, more gentle, carefully working Dick open even as Dick dips in and out of consciousness. But it’s not just that. There’s something else about them, something—something dirtier. Maybe it’s the idea of being at Bruce’s mercy, unable to resist even if he’d wanted to. Maybe it’s the idea of being used, his entire personhood stripped away until he’s nothing more than hole to be fucked. But whatever it is, whatever the reason, it never fails to make him—

“—so wet,” Bruce says in awe, early one morning. Dick stirs at those words, so out of it he hadn’t even realised Bruce had let himself in. Normally Dick stirs as soon as the door opens, the slight creak in the hinge alerting him to Bruce’s presence every time. Reassuring himself that it’s only Bruce, he then drifts off again, floating in that fuzzy place between sleeping and waking while Bruce does whatever he wants, for as long as he wants.

Still clinging to sleep, it takes Dick a moment to realise Bruce is working a toy between his legs. They’re up to the fourth one now, and it squelches obscenely in the quiet of Dick’s room every time Bruce drives it in and out of his body.

“Sorry,” Bruce says, suddenly noticing Dick’s awoken. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” Dick murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. “Didn’t hear you come in earlier.”

“I had Alfred fix the door,” Bruce murmurs. “Now it won’t wake you anymore.”

Dick clenches greedily around the toy, his cunt aching at the idea of Bruce letting himself into his room without so much as alerting him, giving him ample time to do whatever he wants to Dick’s body before Dick so much as stirs.

Bruce lets out a satisfied hum when he feels Dick clenching around the toy, holding tightly as if he doesn’t want to let go. “You really need this, don’t you?” he asks, brushing Dick’s hair off his forehead.

Dick, sleep-dazed and sex-stupid, can only nod as Bruce pulls the toy free from Dick’s body.

“It’s okay,” Bruce whispers. “You can relax. Go back to sleep, and let me take care of you.”

Dick feels his eyelids grow heavy, and by the time the toy’s back inside him, he’s already drifted off.

*

As Dick’s training increases, it only seems almost inevitable that the check-ups would follow suit.   

Bruce has always insisted on tending to Dick’s medical needs, everything from scraped knees to knife wounds. Bruce would give anything to preserve the identities of Batman and Robin, and avoiding awkward questions at the Emergency Room goes hand in hand with that.

The Cave is equipped with a state-of-the-art medical bay, and Bruce, while not a doctor, is more than capable of administering first aid in any number of situations. In fact, Dick’s appointment with Leslie had been the first time he’d seen an actual doctor since Bruce had adopted him, and that was only because they’d needed her specialist advice. But ever since that appointment, Dick’s regular check-ups have expanded to encompass a particular kind of examination.

“On the bed,” Bruce says brusquely. He turns his back as Dick undresses, giving him the thinnest veneer of privacy, and Dick almost has to laugh because it seems beyond pointless given everything else.

Stepping out of his underwear, Dick hops up on the examination table and shuffles into position. Bruce always has the bed folded down so Dick’s flat on his back, and Dick can’t decide if it would be better or worse if he were upright and able to see what’s coming.

Worse, probably.

“Feet in the stirrups,” Bruce says, as if they haven’t done this a dozen times by now. Dick gingerly places one foot as instructed, and then the other, until he’s wide open and exposed. He’s still wearing a plug per Bruce’s instructions, although he can’t help but notice it’s slightly larger than the one he was wearing before he went to bed. Which means—

“I checked on you last night,” Bruce says, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves.

“Um,” Dick mumbles, unsure what to say. He has absolutely no recollection of Bruce’s visit, nothing except for the change of plug to suggest anything happened at all. The idea makes him wet, and he’s grateful that the plug prevents him from leaking slick all over he examination table.

“Everything appeared in order,” Bruce adds, sitting on a stool between Dick’s spread legs. “But it always helps to see these things in the light of day.”

Dick gulps. Somehow, these examinations—clinical though they are—always feel more intimate than any of their training sessions. It took some time for Dick to realise, but Bruce never uses his hands during training; it’s always a toy or a plug or a vibrator. He never actually touches Dick’s pussy, at least not beyond what’s necessary, and certainly never with intent.

But during Dick’s check-ups, every touch is intentional. From the careful way Bruce spreads him open to the way he gently presses against Dick’s cunt, palpating for any abnormalities.

“Labia appear normal,” Bruce says, and it always makes Dick flush to have his pussy described in such a clinical manner. “No bumps or lesions. Clitoris is slightly engorged,” Bruce adds, and Dick’s blush deepens. “Although that may be due to internal stimulation.”

At this, Bruce gently pinches Dick’s clit between his thumb and forefinger, teasing it out of its hood. Dick gasps, his hips stuttering. Because Bruce never touches him like this during training, and Dick so rarely touches himself, his clit feels hypersensitized, responsive to the slightest touch. “Sensitive,” Bruce murmurs, more to himself than to Dick. He runs his thumb in tight circles around Dick’s clit, and Dick’s all but arching off the bed now, his feet shaking in the stirrups. “Good reactivity,” Bruce concludes, and Dick’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when Bruce finally abates.

“Alright, let’s get this out so we can have a look,” Bruce says, gently tugging on the plug. He removes it with some resistance, Dick’s cunt desperately trying to keep it inside. “Just relax,” Bruce adds, setting the plug aside.

Dick tries to do as instructed but his cunt is already clenching around nothing, as if Dick has no say in it. Bruce rifles through a drawer for something, and—oh god, Dick has always hated this part.

“Now I need you to breathe deeply for me,” Bruce murmurs, and yes, that is a speculum in his hand.

Dick barely resists the urge to close his knees. “Okay,” he says, and it sounds a little shaky.

Bruce applies some medical-grade lubricant—as if Dick isn’t already wet to the point of dripping—and gently eases the speculum inside him. “Breathe,” Bruce repeats. Dick complies, and just as he’s on the point of exhale, Bruce expands the speculum, making him gasp.

Dick never feels more vulnerable, never feels more exposed as he does during these exams. Legs forcibly spread, cunt on display, and worse, pried open by the speculum. It’s humiliating. Dick hears the click of Bruce’s penlight, and Dick’s stomach churns with embarrassment when he realises Bruce is actually looking inside him.

“Vaginal epithelium looks good,” Bruce says, and Dick actually wants to die. “No evidence of abrasions or irregularities.”

Dick idly wonders if Bruce is checking that the toys aren’t causing him any damage, or ensuring that Dick hasn’t been touched by another alpha. Probably both.

“There’s a considerable amount of discharge,” Bruce says, and Dick wrinkles his nose. He can’t think of a more disgusting word for slick. “But that’s expected from an omega in preheat. Overall, everything looks good.”

Bruce clicks the penlight again, and removes the speculum a second later. Dick’s body sags with relief, but his cunt feels bereft, eager to be filled.

“I brought the case,” Bruce says, his tone carefully neutral. “I was thinking that if your internal exam went well, we could move you up a size.”

Dick bites his lip. His pussy feels tender and sore from the speculum, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to take it. But the thought of being empty is likewise unappealing, and Bruce’s gaze is very expectant.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Bruce’s face breaks into a grin. “Good boy.”

Dick’s pussy throbs, and he can only hope that Bruce inserts the plug before he begins leaking slick all over the table.

In the end, the plug goes easier than Dick expected. Bruce eases him into it, alternating between corkscrewing the plug in and out, and rubbing circles around his clit to help him relax. By the time it’s all the way in, Dick is breathless—slightly overwhelmed, but glad to be full again. At least the exam is over. He’s just about to say as much when Bruce asks him—

“Have you experienced any symptoms of preheat recently?”

Bruce is stroking two fingers up and down Dick’s pussy, his fingers following the outline of Dick’s inner labia, checking for—checking for something, probably.

“Uh,” Dick says, distracted by Bruce’s fingers. “There was—last Saturday—”

“What were your symptoms?” Bruce’s strokes have grown firmer now, and he takes a second to circle Dick’s clit on every upstroke. Dick is all too grateful for the plug filling him up, and clenches around it rhythmically.

“Um, well I had a fever. And I was—I was sweating.”

Bruce returns to circling Dick’s clit. “And?”

“Ah! Well, I mean—I was—I was aroused.”

Bruce’s movements slow until he’s simply pressing his thumb against Dick’s clit. Dick’s hips stutter, seeking out more friction, but Bruce stills him with a gloved hand on his stomach.

“And did you stimulate yourself sexually?” Bruce asks evenly.  

Dick’s mouth goes dry. “Bruce,” he pleads.

“It’s okay,” Bruce says softly. “It’s fine—normal, even. I just need to know.”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes.”

“And did you achieve climax?” Bruce has begun stroking him again, those long, slow strokes that leave Dick rocking into his touch.

“Yes,” Dick says again, unable to keep the shame out of his voice.

“How many times did you climax?” At the word climax, Bruce presses his thumb against Dick’s clit again, presses it hard. Dick arches off the table, the stimulation too much all at once, but Bruce is undeterred. “Once?”

Tears are leaking from Dick’s eyes now. Bruce has reverted to that circular motion, and Dick knows he’s on the precipice.

“Twice?” Bruce prompts, but Dick can’t formulate a response, unable to think of anything but Bruce’s thumb on his clit, on the plug nestled in his cunt. He’s going to come, oh god he’s going to come—he’s never come during one of these exams before. It’s disgusting, it’s shameful; this is a medical procedure and he’s perverting it, making it into something filthy, making it into—

“Three times?” Bruce asks. He presses his fingers against the base of the plug, pressing it deeper so it’s rubbing inside Dick in just the right way, and that’s all it takes before Dick is coming, tightening around the plug as his feet tremble in the stirrups. Bruce doesn’t stop rubbing his clit, not for a second, not even after Dick shudders through the aftershocks, twitching with hypersensitivity. As Dick comes down from his high, he hears himself choke out an answer to a question he’d already forgotten.

“Four times,” Dick says, and it almost sounds like a sob.

Bruce hums, thoughtful. The finger on Dick’s clit suddenly retreats, and Dick takes his first full breath in what feels like forever. “Four times?” he asks, and Dick nods. “And you’ve had a very strong reaction just now,” Bruce adds.

Dick flushes, even though Bruce’s tone is carefully neutral. “Do you think—do you think my heat could be coming soon?”

Bruce’s expression is indecipherable. Finally he says, “I think we need to make sure we’re prepared.”

*

Dick has lived at Wayne Manor for five years now, and he has never—not once—seen Bruce naked.

The Batcave is outfitted with a changing room, complete with lockers and a communal showers. Dick always used to use the communal showers—back when his body was still his own and he didn’t think of himself as a thing to be used—but Bruce had always opted for the stalls. Even now when they suit up, Bruce keeps his back carefully turned, making a conscious effort to hide himself from Dick.

So when it comes to Bruce, Dick isn’t exactly sure what he’s dealing with. Sure, he’s sneaked glimpses—Bruce trains in sweatpants that leave little to the imagination, and sometimes Bruce opts for a robe at breakfast with nothing but boxer-briefs underneath. But beyond that, Dick’s in the dark; he doesn’t even have any other alphas to compare to. Although, if he were to assume everything’s proportionate, then—

Well.

Dick’s in for a world of hurt. It’s something he can’t help but dwell on as they attempt the fifth toy:

“Breathe,” Bruce says for what feels like the hundredth time. Dick does because being contrary never got him far, and Bruce eases the toy deeper into his body. “That’s it,” Bruce says and Dick can’t help but be soothed by his tone, allowing the toy to slide a little deeper. As it does, Dick can’t help but wonder how this toy compares to Bruce’s cock. It’s shorter, probably; definitely narrower. But by how much?

Dick has been plagued by thoughts like these ever since his last check-up. Before then, being fucked by Bruce had seemed like a hypothetical; a distant, far-off event that perhaps might not ever eventuate. But after Bruce had confirmed his suspicions with Leslie, Dick began to realise that his first heat was imminent. Extremely imminent. And now, not a day goes by that Dick’s not sizing Bruce up, imaging his body (tall and muscled and alpha-strong) overpowering his own, imagining his cock (oh god, it’s probably huge) filling him up until he’s fit to bursting.

When it comes down to it, Dick’s fate had been sealed almost a year ago. When Leslie had said, all you can do is arrange a suitable alpha in advance, there was never any question of who that would be. Bruce is an extremely private person—he has every reason to be given the secret he’s harbouring. And given that Dick is now a part of Bruce’s crimefighting legacy, there wasn’t any question—there wasn’t even a conversation—about whether or not Bruce would be outsourcing this particular task.

“There you go,” Bruce says approvingly as the toy slides in the rest of the way. Dick is overwhelmed and utterly speechless, feels like he can barely breathe with this thing stuffed inside him.

“Hey,” Bruce says, cupping Dick’s cheek. As if sensing Dick’s distress, he runs his thumb along Dick’s cheekbone. “I’m proud of you.”

And the thing is, Dick didn’t think he was close, not in the slightest. Sure, pleasure was radiating out from his cunt and buzzing under his skin, and that low-level hunger of need to be filled, need to be filled was finally satiated. But when Bruce looks at Dick like that, cupping his face like a lover, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he says those four simple words, Dick comes hard, convulsing on the bed as Bruce shushes him gently.

“There you go,” Bruce murmurs, stroking Dick’s cheek. “You really needed that, didn’t you?”

Dick can only moan, his muscles contracting around the toy as he imagines it’s a knot—Bruce’s knot, to be precise.

“It’s okay,” Bruce adds, now running his fingers through Dick’s hair. “Take whatever you need.”

Dick does. Bruce fucks him with the toy, dragging it in and out of his swollen hole, and Dick is ravenous for it, canting his hips to meet every single thrust. After he’s come again and Bruce is packing away the toys, Dick can’t help but ask the one question that’s been circling his head for the last week:

“Do you think—soon?”

God, he sounds fucked-out; sex-crazed and utterly ruined, and Dick would blush if he had any shame left to speak of.

But Bruce seems to be able to parse his question. “I think you’re close,” he says, a glint of hunger in his eyes, then he stuffs Dick full with the biggest plug yet.

*

In the end, Dick’s first heat hits one ordinary Sunday morning, completely catching him of guard. Dick wakes—hot and sweaty and wet, and immediately knows this is not just another preheat. He’d slept with a plug but it feels slippery and not nearly big enough to satisfy him, no matter how hard he clenches around it.

Dick knows what he needs to do. He and Bruce had discussed this, all those months ago:

“Wherever you are and whoever you’re with,” Bruce had said, “you stop what you’re doing and you come straight to me. Is that understood?”

Dick had agreed, dutiful as ever, but now that his heat’s upon him, he’s not so sure. They’d never gotten around to the knotting toys, never even made it to the largest regular toy, and Dick, well, he’s still—small. Tight. Even though he’d been practising, none of his toys—not even the biggest ones—were designed for adults. And Bruce is very much an adult.

“Shit,” Dick says, rubbing his pussy through his pyjamas. Even through the fabric, his cunt feels hot, feels slick, even though it’s plugged up. For a moment he indulges in grinding against his hand, the pleasure bringing him some relief.

“I can do this,” Dick mutters to himself. He could do this. He could pass his heat alone, just as he had his preheats, and he didn’t need Bruce or any other alpha to help him through it.

*

Dick makes it until noon before he seeks out Bruce.

Dick isn’t even aware of having made the decision, just finds himself wandering the halls in a daze, following that familiar alpha scent until it leads him to Bruce’s bedroom.

“Bruce?” Dick says. Even to his own ears his voice sounds timid, like a child.

Bruce’s room is dark, the curtains still drawn. Dick’s last two functioning neurons tell him that Bruce is likely sleeping off last night’s patrol.

“Bruce?” Dick asks again, now approaching the bed, but Bruce isn’t there. Panic bubbles up inside Dick. He needs Bruce, needs his alpha. If Bruce isn’t here then Dick—he doesn’t know what he’ll do—he’ll have to—

“Dick?”

That’s Bruce’s voice, alpha-deep, coming from somewhere behind him. Dick turns to find Bruce standing in the doorway to the adjoining bathroom, still dripping from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel.

Dick’s mouth goes dry. “Bruce—”

Dick breaks off, his entire lexicon abandoned in favour of Bruce’s name. Bruce crosses the room in long, even strides, then crouches before Dick and takes his face in his palms. “It’s okay,” Bruce murmurs, “I’m here.”

Dick nuzzles into Bruce’s palm, desperate for his alpha’s touch. “I need—”

“I know,” Bruce says, then presses a tender kiss to Dick’s forehead. “Get on the bed.”

Dick’s not even aware of moving, just knows he needs to obey. His body seems to understand the order, and a couple of seconds later he’s on the bed on his hands and knees, presenting like a good omega.

For a long moment, the room is quiet, and the only sound Dick can hear is his own rapid-fire heartbeat. The air feels thick and heavy, and Dick is so, so hot, desire burning inside him like a fire.

“Bruce?” Dick asks again, desperate for assurance from his alpha.

“Shhh, I’m not going anywhere,” Bruce says. There’s a dip in the mattress as Bruce joins him on the bed, and a second later, Bruce is pressing his hand between Dick’s legs, rubbing his pussy through his sodden pyjamas.

Dick whines, desperate for more of Bruce’s touch, and suddenly Bruce snaps. He grabs two fistfuls of Dick’s pants and tears them right down the crotch, then tugs aside his underwear to expose his pussy. Bruce swears and he sounds—he sounds awed—and Dick forces his back into a steeper arch, giving Bruce better access to his cunt.

“Yes,” Bruce hisses, making short work of the plug. He tugs it free of Dick’s body and for one, horrible moment, Dick is devastatingly empty. Dick moans in distress, and a second later, Bruce his pressing two fingers into him, filling him up.

Fuck, this feels better than any toy, better than Dick could have imagined. Bruce’s fingers are huge and calloused, and when he crooks them just so, they’re enough to make Dick scream. Dick is so eager for it, fucking himself back on Bruce’s fingers like he can’t get enough. Someone is saying something, someone is say please and more and knot me, and it takes Dick far too long to realise those words are coming from him.

But Bruce, it seems, needs little convincing. The instant the words knot me escape Dick’s lips, Bruce’s fingers withdraw and a second later, Bruce is tugging off Dick’s pants and underwear, leaving him naked. After all their months of training, all the gentle praise and reassuring touches, Dick expects a soothing hand on his thigh or encouragement whispered into his ear. What he doesn’t expect is Bruce’s hand squeezing the nape of Dick’s neck like a vice, and pushing him face-down onto the mattress. What he doesn’t expect is the blunt head of Bruce’s cock—rock-hard and impossibly big—pressed against Dick’s cunt without warning.

The shock of it all is enough to leave Dick breathless. The omega part of his brain is telling him this is what you need, this is what you were made for, but the other part of his brain, the rational part of it, the part not yet lost to the throes of his heat, is screaming—

“Wait!”

Dick isn’t aware of having said that aloud, not until Bruce growls, “I’ve waited long enough,” and begins pressing forward. Dick wails, the pain unbearable, and enough to snap him out of his heat-induced daze. He thrashes, trying to escape, but Bruce’s grip on his neck is unyielding. “C’mon,” Bruce mutters under his breath. “That’s it, take it.”

Bruce begins rocking his hips, inching himself deeper with every thrust. Dick’s crying, sobbing even, and there’s no that’s the way, and you’re taking it so well, to comfort him. There’s only Bruce’s harsh breathing and the occasional grunt, until finally, after what seems like an age, Bruce has buried himself completely inside Dick’s cunt.

Dick can only sob as he struggles to adjust to Bruce’s cock, his cunt convulsing around the intrusion. This is nothing like training, this is—this is magnitudes worse. Even with his heat priming him for mating, even with all the slick to ease the way, Bruce’s cock feels like it’s splitting Dick in two. None of the toys even came close to matching Bruce in size, and Dick’s stomach roils when he realises Bruce must have known that all along.

“Bruce, please—” is all that Dick manages before Bruce seizes him by the hips and begins fucking into his tiny body. Dick’s too—god he’s just too small, too tight, too unprepared for this. Heat or no heat, there’s no way Dick can endure this. Bruce fucks with military precision, sharp snaps of his hips that punch the breath out of Dick’s lungs with every thrust. Dick scrabbles against the bedsheets, doing anything to get away, but Bruce’s grip on his hips is unyielding.

“That’s it, give yourself over to it,” Bruce is saying, but the words barely register. He says other things too, things like, so goddamn tight, and, you take it like you were made for it, but Bruce’s words are rapidly drowned out by the growing static in Dick’s head. Already, Dick can feel himself drifting, and it’s so much easier to let go, to submit, to let himself be used the way that nature intended.

Bruce fucks Dick for what feels like forever, never once missing a beat, until somehow, it almost begins to feel good. Dick’s just thinking that he might survive this after all, when Bruce’s hips begin to slow, his thrusts becoming deeper, more forceful. It’s not until Bruce groans in frustration, having pulled out and apparently unable to press back in, that a stray thought occurs to Dick:

The knot.

Oh, fuck.  

“Bruce!” Dick cries, panicked. If Bruce’s cock had barely fit, there’s no way his knot would. But Bruce is determined, rutting against Dick’s hole like he’s trying to tear Dick apart. Dick thrashes but Bruce grabs a handful of Dick’s hair and drags Dick back into his lap so they’re pressed chest to back. Dick’s actually sitting on Bruce’s knot now, the tip of his cock still buried in Dick’s cunt, while Bruce fucks into him, trying to make it fit.

“Bruce—wait, stop—I can’t—”

But Bruce doesn’t seem to hear him. He growls and tugs Dick head back to expose his throat. Dick realises what he means to do about a second before he does it, but it’s already too late. Bruce plunges his teeth into the soft skin of Dick’s throat, claiming him with a mating bite. A rush of hormones suffuses through Dick’s body, leaving him light-headed, and they all tell him to do one thing:

Submit.

Bruce bites down even harder, clamping down on the tendons in Dick’s neck, and distantly, as though he were being governed by some external force, Dick feels his body relaxing. Bruce is still rocking into him, sharp snaps of his hips that have Dick gasping as he’s stretched impossibly wide.

Bruce growls and grabs Dick’s hips with both hands, forcibly dragging him down onto his knot, and finally burying it inside him. Dick screams, the shock of pain unbearable. The knot continues to swell even as it’s inside him, and the last thing he hears before he passes out is Bruce’s voice in his ear repeating one simple word:

“Mine.”

*

When Dick finally comes back to himself, the first thing he’s aware of his Bruce’s knot, huge and throbbing and buried deep inside him, pumping him full of come. Dick groans, clenching around the knot like he doesn’t even have a say in it, his body desperate to be bred. How many times has Bruce taken him now? Three? Four? Night has well and truly fallen, which means it’s been hours since they started. Dick has been incognisant for most of it, drifting in and out of consciousness, ragdoll-limp and utterly unresisting as Bruce fills him up over and over again.

The second thing he’s aware of is the bite on his throat. The mating bite. The claiming bite.

This had never been part of the arrangement. It was normal—encouraged, even—for familial alphas to their help omegas through their heats if the omega in question had no mate of their own. For someone in Dick’s position, it would be years before he started dating and found a mate, and as Dick’s guardian, Bruce had been an obvious choice to assist him. But a claim conferred ownership, and now that Bruce had bitten him, it meant—oh god, it meant that—

“You’re awake.” Bruce’s voice is low and gravelly with sleep, and the sound makes Dick tighten around his knot reflexively. Bruce sighs and draws Dick closer; like this, they’re pressed chest to back, lying on their sides while Bruce’s knot keeps them joined together.

“Yeah,” Dick breathes.

“You’ve taken it beautifully,” Bruce murmurs, and Dick flushes. He’s clenching rhythmically around Bruce’s knot now, milking every last drop of come, and Bruce hums in approval. He kisses Dick’s shoulder, licking and nuzzling until he reaches the juncture of Dick’s throat, right next to the claiming bite.

“Are you okay with this?” Bruce asks, as if sensing some of Dick’s apprehension. Now that they’re bound, perhaps he actually can.

Dick wants to protest, wants Bruce to rescind the claim. Something feels off about this situation, something isn’t right. There are too many pieces that don’t quite fit together. Like how Bruce had spent months training him, all the while knowing that the toys were inadequate, would do nothing to prepare Dick for his heat. Or how Bruce routinely touched him in his sleep, and somehow, Dick managed to sleep through it. Or how when Bruce had gabbed Dick by his hair, he hadn’t hesitated before sinking his teeth into his throat, as if that had been his intention all along.

“Dick?” Bruce prompts. He runs the flat of his tongue over Dick’s claiming mark and the sensation is incomparable. Dick feels light, weightless, utterly elated, and when he tries to speak, his lips form only one word:

“Yes.”

Bruce sighs and draws Dick even closer. “Good boy,” he says, and kisses Dick’s throat.