Chapter Text
Bruce grimaced as he moved through the manor, the dark hallways and ghostly rooms. Evening was falling, faster then he was ready for, and he refused to turn a single light on. His head had begun to ache earlier that day, had continued to worsen as he attempted to keep up with his day. Meetings had blended, paperwork blurred, and now, alone in the dark of his kitchen, fumbling for a glass of water, his stomach was adding to the problem, cramping. The pain left him feeling feverish.
Bruce drank down the small glass of cold water, let the chill damn near hurt his throat, and searched for some pain killers. He had wanted to be down in the cave suiting up a good half hour ago, but could barely bring himself to move. He felt heavy, like there were lead weights settled in his belly.
He cursed, downed the pills with another half a glass of water, and made his way to the cave, even if all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed for a good twelve hours.
Had Gotham been quiet lately, he might consider it. There were nights, from time to time, when the Bat didn’t need to make a showing. Though few and far between, they still existed. But fresh from a recent break from Arkham, the Joker had been nothing but a thorn in his side for the past few nights. When he had gotten word the clown had gotten out, he had hoped he might have a little time to prepare himself before the clown made an appearance and turned his nights upside down, hoped that the Joker would have taken a bit of time to get on his feet, get organized-
He should have known better.
The past few nights had been nothing but rooftop chases, explosions thankfully of more minor proportions, and the taste of blood between his teeth. He had a bruise along his side that was still a nasty purple, that ached when he bent just right- that he touched from time to time, as a reminder. As a promise.
A promise that each time he got close to the clown, it wouldn’t give them those hot shivers down his spine, wouldn’t undo something within himself he had worked so long to zip up safely, to tuck away from the world- form himself.
Bruce stripped down, began to suit up. His thigh itched vaguely where a clear patch was settled, pumping hormones into his system to keep his body in a fragile balance. He was upset that he had placed it nearly exactly where he had the previous month, not giving his skin time to breathe. But he couldn’t remove it now- he couldn’t afford to possibly disrupt the fragile state of his own hormones.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, his skull still feeling a few sizes too small. Then, taking a deep breath, settled his cowl into place anyway, and pressed a small button hidden on the wrist of his left gauntlet. For a brief moment he lost his breath, the overwhelming scent of Alpha pheromones bursting into the air around him, making him dizzy. The fever that he was so sure was caused from pain flooded into him, making his belly tight, his palms sweat.
He inhaled again, held his breath a moment, eased it out, took himself down from the high he got every time he put the suit on. In his daily life, he had contact with Alphas more times then he could count- but the sudden rush of pure hormones always knocked the breath from him.
And never ceased to remind him of his Omega status.
The patch on Bruce’s thigh itched again, and his stomach still felt knotted, but he could do nothing about either at this point. He told himself it was due to the fact that was he well over due allowing himself into heat- he already forced himself to go long periods of time without one, but as of late he had pushed it further and further back. Typically, he let himself go every three months- but forced himself to swallow hormone pills while locked away within his manor to shorten the duration. However, there had been an incident with Ivy the month prior, when he could have allowed his body to experience the brief cycle, and now with the Joker free, he was into month five of repression.
He knew it wasn’t healthy, that if he was going to take suppressants he should be experiencing heat every four to eight weeks. The range was large, but Omegas were all built so differently it was hard to narrow down how often it would happen until one grew to know their own body. But Bruce couldn’t stand it, hated the feeling of helplessness, the blindness that cast over him when all he felt was the emptiness of his body, the heat of his skin and blood.
And he couldn’t afford to be away from the streets that long.
*
Gotham’s night skyline was a pretty sight, lit up by the massive buildings, the street lights, headlights- the stars and moon faded into an obscurity, as if the city was bigger then the sky above. Oh, how the Joker had missed it, locked inside that tiny cell in Arkham for those long two months. He stretched his limbs out, curling his toes within his shoes, flexing his fingers and enjoying the tiny cracks he heard. He rolled his neck, sighing, breathing in the cool night air, the smell of exhaust and rain from that morning.
The scent of gasoline lacing everything around him.
The Joker tapped his foot, fingers fumbling along the line of his pants pocket. There was a lighter inside, just waiting, waiting, waiting to start a slow burn, to make love to the gasoline he had spread out along the junk cars lined perfectly up the street. The neighborhood wasn’t a bad one, and he had had to plant the cars himself- with help of course, to make sure he could get six lined up perfectly along the street. Close enough that each blast would ignite the next, like glowing dominoes.
He pulled the lighter from his pocket, tossed it a few times, watching it carefully, before he clutched it, took the few steps towards the first car, and held the flame along the gasoline soaked interior through an open window.
Within moments it lit up like Christmas, and he was leaping back, laughing, the sound echoing up into the night around him. He hurried to make it up the fire escape of one of the apartment buildings along the street, wanting a bird’s eye view-
Wanting a clear waiting spot for his Bat.
After all, this was nothing more then a mating call.
*
Bruce heard the sirens before he saw the lights- but once he did, he moved as swiftly as his body allowed. Gotham’s rooftops felt more comfortable then any streets he had known, and by the time he was swinging down onto an apartment building directly above the blazes, he felt almost calm.
Until he heard laughter.
The Joker was standing center-stage, grinning at him in a magnificent sort of way, all red lips, his smile disorted by the red dragged up along his scars. His curls had been slicked back, and aside of sloppy lipstick, he appeared too damn put together.
Bruce was always far more unnerved when the Joker seemed in control. He preferred his disheveled curls in Arkham, when his finger nails were too long and jagged. When he looked the victim. It was easier then, to swallow his existence, to handle the very reality that he created in his tiny sliver of time and space.
“Just on time, Batsy,” he called, beginning his walk towards Bruce. There was a skip in his step- there always seemed to be, around Bruce. “I knew you’d never stand me up.”
Bruce clenched his fists, inhaled sharply- and instantly regretted it. The Joker’s pheromones were thick in the air- attraction, desire, arousal turning him into a pool of rushing hormones, his body reacting without a care from his mind. In fact, he probably wanted it to drown Bruce.
His stomach clenched painfully, more so then it ever did around any other Alpha. Something about the Joker always undid him, left him feeling light in the head, light in the vein, but heavy in his belly. He hated it, down to the hallows of his bones-
But he missed it when the feelings were gone.
He gritted his teeth, gently tapped the button on his wrist against his side, and the Joker’s grin split into laughter, echoing out into the smoke-spiced air.
“Oh Bats, this isn’t a pissing contest, unless you wanna play a little game of mine is bigger than yours.” He showed the whites of his teeth, and Bruce felt dizzy. His head ached again, made the corners of his vision hazy. But oh, it could be the smoke. He told himself so.
He ignored the heat under his skin.
He couldn’t allow himself to think it was anything other then a reaction to everything except the Joker.
Instead, he took his clenched fist and connected it with the Joker’s jaw. The clown stumbled back, reaching up to hold at his chin, laughing at he pinched- as he heightened the pain. “Cutting riiiight to the chase Batsy baby- just the way I like it.”
When he moved, it was like he was smoke, Bruce was breathing him in, tasting his very existence in the air as the Joker threw his entire body into him, the full of his weight, body slamming Bruce towards the ground. Bruce stumbled, might have managed to stay upright- but the contact made his muscles go lax, turn to water, made his skin constrict. He was falling before he could react, hitting the roof with the Alpha rolling on top of him, grasping at him and pinning him down.
“Where’s your spunk, Bat boy- where’s your fire?” The Joker threw his head back, laughing, rolling his hips into Bruce’s pelvis. His suit left him feeling none of the motion- but he saw it, felt the pheromones the Joker released, the way they made his brain go to fire, the way they told his body what it could feel like.
He pushed up, his hips moving into the Joker, begging for more, and suddenly the maniac was staring down at him, wild green irises devouring his pupils until there was no black.
Bruce squirmed, tried to grasp beneath him at the roof, to pull away, back, anything. He needed this man to not be touching him, he needed him thrown off the roof, into the flames. He need space, air, anything.
He felt himself getting wet, slick between his thighs, and it was far too real, what had been building in him all day. He wanted to swallow it down, will it out of existence.
Not now.
Not here.
Not with this man.
“Finally playing along?” The Joker asked, leaning down, pinning Bruce beneath his weight. His breath was warm, ghosted along Bruce’s chin, as his forearms rested on either side of his head. Bruce tried to thrash again, but the Joker felt like pure stone, unmovable, impassable. “You’ll like it, if you just try it, Bats.”
Bruce pushed his chest up, trying to jostle the Joker’s hold, at least get into a sitting position, but while he moved, the Joker did not. All it did was remove the small bit of space he had. All it did was crash his mouth into the Joker’s.
Bruce went past lip, had teeth against his mouth for a moment, and then the accident became a kiss, became the Joker holding him down and devouring his lips, aiming to bruise them. Bruce gasped into it, shook, tried to wrap his mind around a way to move-
But there was fire in his throat now, down into his ribs. It dripped into his belly, and when he got a hand free, all he did was clutch at the clown’s jacket. He kissed him back, out of pure instinct first, because it was what his body told him to do- the Alpha was there, filling that gap that his heat left him, easing his own scent into Bruce’s blood. Bruce’s nature told him this was what he wanted.
Below them, one of the burning cars gave a ghastly crash of noises, followed by shouts as the fire department tried to tame the blazes. It shook Bruce, and through the fog he remembered what he was here for- who this was- and he was shoving, pushing with all his might, throwing the Joker off him and onto the roof. He pushed himself up, lunged at the clown, landed a blow to his gut and took his turn pinning him down. The Joker thrashed, then tilted his head back, exposing his pale throat and cackling.
“Mmm Bats, you always play a har-d game.” He pushed his hips up to emphasize, and Bruce willed himself not to think about it- was so thankful he couldn’t feel much through the suit. Not that he was given much of the chance- the Joker was tangling their legs together, rolling them, and suddenly Bruce was losing his senses, thrashing in a tangled mess with the clown. His shoulder bashed down into the roof, shot sparks up through his neck. He heard the Joker give a rough gasp as Bruce elbowed him directly under his ribs-
Then Bruce’s head banged something uneven, something protruding out of the flat surface they rolled on like spoiled, bratty children- he didn’t take the time to figure out what, just knew his neck was screaming, his skull ringing. He lay dazed for a moment, on his back, as the Joker crawled over him again, settling on his hips and throwing his head back to laugh, a ghostly shape set in blues and reds from the night and the fire below.
His laughing, however, lasted but a moment, ending in a weak note, as he chose to gaze down at Bruce, cock one eyebrow and study the man whose vision was swimming. Bruce half registered the look, tried to figure out what could possibly have gripped the clown’s attention-
And then he could smell it, taste it- or well, it’s lack. His suit had ceased releasing the Alpha pheromone as programmed, and instead gave not a single barrier to his natural scent. There were times that Bruce was able to nearly mask himself, such control he had learned over his body and his very nature- but not when he had put his heat off so long- not when it was begging to begin, when his body was ignoring the hormones from his patch and quite possibly about to throw him head first into one regardless.
For a moment, the Joker couldn’t breathe. It was as if his lungs were frozen, filled with smoke that would not leave. His laughter died and he could not restart it- all he could do was stare down at his Bat, unable to ignore the sudden sweetness in the air.
He knew it. Even if he had never been around an Omega before, his very nature would have told him what was beneath him. Without thought his own pheromones changed, altering to the realization and sweeping out like a warm blanket to settle over the man below him.
“Why, Batsy, I’ll be damned- and to think, you had me fooled. All. This. Time.” One hand reached down, splayed on Bruce’s chest, over the ridges of his emblem, and stroked down carefully, along his belly. Suffocating in the last wave of pheromones, Bruce pushed up against that hand, felt his skull crushing down along his brain, his belly knotting up.
There was no denying it. His heat was coming, and fast. He’d pushed his body to its limits, and now it didn’t seem to matter what hormones were seeping into his blood- he needed it, and his body wouldn’t say no.
That only made this position all the worse.
The Joker stroked again, up now, past Bruce’s collarbone and to his neck, fingers playing at the tips of the cowl. Normally, too much unauthorized pressure would give a shock, but it seemed Bruce’s blow to the head had no only sent the pheromone system to hell, it had short circuited his cowl nearly entirely. Without it, it was just a mask, to be easily pushed up.
Through the fire in his belly, he thrashed, but the Joker smiled more, inhaling deeply- openly shivering, and gripped it between deft fingers, shoving it up over Bruce’s head, letting it flop lifeless as skinned flesh behind him.
For the first time, Bruce stared up at his nightmare without his Batman cloak. He was no better then naked in that moment-
Well, perhaps a little better off.
The Joker grinned, wide and red with those white teeth of his, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he stroked his knuckles along Bruce’s cheek, seemed to be trying to memorize his face, even though Bruce was sure he’d seen it before.
“If anyone had ever told me that, ah, Bruce Wayne was dressing as a bat every night, why, I would’ve told them they deserved my cell in Arkham!” He leaned closer, inhaled, sighed as his breath rushed out. “They never talk about you being an Omega, little Bat Boy. Have you simply managed to pay everyone off?”
“Spend enough time trying to hide it, and you get good at it.” Bruce squirmed again, but the Joker held firm in his lap, squeezing his thighs tightly over Bruce.
“You can never hide something from me forever,” the Joker whispered, “no matter how good you are at it, Batsy baby.”
He leaned closer, pressed his mouth to Bruce’s- but this was a bit calmer, like he was trying to suck something from Bruce- his sanity, his resistance, everything and anything- and Bruce was giving, because he couldn’t say no-
Because, if he was honest about this night, about all the nights before it, he didn’t want to.
“I highly doubt a roof top is a very, ah, suitable place for your heat, Bats-y.” The Joker kissed the corner of his mouth. “Maybe it’s time I take you home.”
Was Bruce delirious, or did the Joker’s voice sound soft?
Bruce knew he couldn’t just take the Joker back to the manor- couldn’t use him to ride through his heat. He’d never been with an Alpha, had never had anyone touch him during his heats- and that weighed heavy on him, made the fact that he had an Alpha on top of him, willing, ready, almost irresistible.
“Tick-tock,” the Joker sang, leaning back, giving Bruce room to breathe. “Wait much longer and it’s gonna happen right here Bats. I can smell it on you.”
Bruce sucked in a breath, and then, knowing that when this was over, when his brain didn’t feel a fire, he’d hate himself, curse himself, damn himself- never want to be himself again.
He nodded, consigning his fate.
*
The trip back to the manor had felt like agony- Bruce had been forced to let the Joker drive his bike- he was glad he had chosen to leave the Batmobile behind that night- had been forced to cling behind him, arms locked around his lithe waist, face pressed between his shoulders, against his spine. He’d put his cowl back on, but it felt useless.
Thankfully, there had been enough commotions still putting out the fires the Joker had started for them to slip away, to get to the bike- and by the time they were on the roads to the Manor, there was no traffic. Not that there was ever much here- Bruce liked that his home was set back, away from the city.
They left the bike out of sight, and Bruce walked stubbornly in front of the Joker- in full suit, directly to his front door. It seemed that bringing Gotham’s most wanted home was the worst he could do- why bother not using his own front door? Or maybe it was the pain in his head and belly, the ache in his thighs- the fact that his body was screaming. Had his heats always started with so much pain?
Whatever the cause, caution be damned.
Bruce locked the door behind them, didn’t offer to turn on a light- simply moved, quickly, into the dark. The Joker followed, watching Bruce’s unsteady movements- and halfway up the stairs, when Bruce crumbled to one knee, feeling as if everything under his skin was water, he was there grasping one arm and helping him up, taking some of his weight as they moved.
Bruce couldn’t push him away. He didn’t want to.
Once they made it to the master bedroom, Bruce tore his cowl off, tossing it off towards a lounge chair. He took a deep breath, tried to work through his head how this would work- could work-
He needed to call Alfred. He’d insisted Alfred take a little time to himself- although they had only agreed on two days- and he would be back tomorrow evening.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” the Joker whispered behind him, reaching up and touching where his cape clasped onto his suit, “it can wai-t.” He undid the clips, tugged the fabric away and left it on the floor, and Bruce began to push pieces of his suit aside, off. He should have done this in the cave- but there was no way, even in this state, he was bringing the Joker there- and wasn’t sure he could wait anyway. He was fumbling already, biting at his lower lip to keep quiet.
Between his thighs, he was wet.
He began tossing bits of his suit, not caring where they landed- he would track everything down when this was over. Besides, it needed repairs now. Lots of them.
The Joker didn’t offer to undress him- nor did he reach to do more then the initial removal of his cape- he knew better, knew the suit was rigged. He gave Bruce at least the peace of removing his own skin. He was thankful for that.
Once the suit was gone and Bruce stood in nothing but his underwear, he finally turned, staring down the man in the dark, a black silhouette against the shadows against his door.
The air seemed to hum between them, something alive, pulling tight. Bruce felt it in his chest, felt his skin prickling. He wanted to be touched, everything in his body was screaming for it- but that it should be this man, this freak to do it? To see him at his absolute lowest- well, what a sick joke of fate’s.
The Joker didn’t say anything, just took a step towards Bruce, inched closer until their chests were grazing, and he was leaning along his neck, inhaling, tasting him in the air. For a moment Bruce was tense- the cramps in his belly, that hot knot reaching back and grasping his spine, peeling bone away to get to his raw nerves.
And then something was washing over him, and he knew it was the Alpha’s doing. He was trying to calm him, to nearly still the caged bird within his ribs.
“I can taste your heartbeat,” the Joker murmured, letting his lips graze Bruce’s neck. “Hush. Don’t make me sing you a lullaby, Bat boy.” His hands found Bruce’s waist, touched the fevered skin gently, held him in place as he kissed just under his chin. “How do you normally do this, pretty boy?”
Bruce swallowed, all too aware that, even tho he was hot, the Joker felt warm- that his warmth seemed to balance everything, made Bruce feel like his own fire was normal. He had no answer- couldn’t admit he had never had anyone during his heats- couldn’t admit how long it had been. All he could do was close his eyes, let whatever spell the Alpha seemed to be settling over him take affect. He began to calm, slightly, and the Joker’s hands squeezed his waist.
One more kiss to his throat, and he was being led to his bed, eased down onto it, and the Joker- still fully clothed- was crawling over him, settling between his legs to lay along his body, to seek out his mouth and kiss him in an almost lazy fashion.
It wasn’t what Bruce expected. Slow wasn’t part of the dance. But it was making the knot in his stomach ease, the heat under his skin tolerable. And when one of the Joker’s hands reached up, tangled in his dark hair, tugging gently, Bruce pushed his hips up into him, ground against him for a sweet friction that left him gasping into the clown’s mouth.
The Joker’s other hand was running along his side, to the hem of his underwear, finger tips slipping just beneath it. Bruce’s belly tightened, once, a small convulsion of need, and his own hands found the Joker’s hair, sinking into the neat, slicked back green curls, undoing the image of control as he tried to devour the Alpha’s mouth, pressed his tongue past red lips, tasted a mouth like candy.
They rolled slightly, the Joker’s hand untangling from Bruce’s hair to instead clutch around his shoulders, holding him close as they kissed. His other hand pushed past Bruce’s waist band, over warm skin, grasped at the base of his hard cock, and gave him a gentle squeeze. Bruce mewled, gave a soft tremble as the Joker began to stroke him, as he blew on the kindles of his fire.
Bruce could barley breathe. The touch felt like too much, like someone was pouring acid inside his skull. He tried to breathe and couldn’t, sucked in air and buried his face under the Joker’s chin. The man’s arm around his shoulders tightened, hand squeezing his shoulder as he hushed him. “Take a deep breath, Batsy,” he whispered, the sing-song rhythm of his voice sounding more like a lullaby. Bruce did, inhaled the calming pheromones the Joker was triyng to feed him. When he exhaled, his trembles calmed-
But when the Joker stroked again, he openly groaned, opened his lips and mouthed at the man’s neck. He sucked pale skin, squeezed his eyes shut and let his teeth graze flesh as that hand moved in a way Bruce never knew- as if the Joker already knew what Bruce liked, how he’d be touching himself right now were he alone. Like he had a map of every nerve inside his body.
Bruce felt a light sweat on his spine, felt hot within his skin- not quite burning, but still overheated. He tilted his head back, tried to find cool air, and instead found a mouth, waiting lips, eager tongue. The Joker kissed and kissed, took and took and took until Bruce couldn’t breathe and the knot in his belly was so tight it ached, burned. One more stroke of the Joker’s hand, and Bruce was crying into his mouth, shuddering as he came until he was breathless.
The Joker kissed him through it, sharp teeth and knowing tongue and those red lips, kissed him until Bruce was going limp, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling above him. For a moment, the burning fire beneath his skin cooled, the fog in his brain clearing. His belly still felt heavy, but he didn’t feel a total stranger within his skin.
And in that moment, the exhaustion of the day, of his lack of sleep lately, crashed in. His muscles felt weighed down with every step he had ever taken, and he was suddenly so sure he would never move again.
He heard the Joker moving, then felt him stretch out next to him, fitting into the curve of his body. One arm draped over him, stroked the muscles along his side, as he leaned in, kissed just below his ear. Bruce closed his eyes as the Joker nudged his nose against him.
“Go meet your dream maker, Bat boy. Tomorrow, ah, you might not get the reprieve.” He squeezed him again, and Bruce knew it was no threat- just the truth. Whatever he had felt today, whatever they had managed to stave off, would come full force with the morning- or sooner, if fate felt such ill will for him.