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Dick smells him before he sees him, cinnamon and star anise, rich like mulled wine, with a deeper, musky note that hints at rut. It shouldn’t affect Dick the way it does, arousal stirring in his gut, but Dick’s long since accepted it. He pushes sweat-slick hair back from his forehead, placing the training staff back in its stand, and turns to give Damian a tired grin.
“You’re back,” Damian says. He’s even taller than when Dick last saw him - broad shouldered and muscular - which doesn’t seem fair because Dick’s pretty sure he stopped growing at sixteen and Damian’s almost nineteen now. He’s got his father’s build, his mother’s delicate features and caramel skin, and Dick aches at the sight of him.
“Yeah, Bruce asked me for help with a case,” Dick says. He knows he doesn’t visit as much as he should, knows that Damian misses him, but Dick finds that it’s better if he stays away. For everyone.
“Oh,” Damian says.
Dick looks him over, purposefully not lingering at the tent of his arousal in his sweatpants. “You’re in rut.”
Damian shrugs. His face is flushed, hair as damp as Dick’s, even though he hasn’t been working out. Dick’s been through enough ruts to know how he’s feeling, pent up on testosterone and aggression, itching for a chase. Dick’s tempted to offer him one, but he’s not sure how Damian would take it. That’s something omegas do after all, incite a chase, a hold-over from when omegas tested their mates.
“Want to spar?” he says instead, because a fight is almost as good. It’ll get some of the tension out of him anyway.
Damian swallows. His voice is rough when he speaks. “If you wish.”
“I do wish. Now get your ass on the mats, short-stuff.”
Damian’s face scrunches up, but he steps forwards obligingly. “I’m taller than you, Grayson.”
“Yeah, well, when did that happen anyway? I swear you used to be the short one,” Dick grumbles. He settles into a ready stance, no weapons. Hand-to-hand is probably safer when Damian’s compromised.
“I surpassed Timothy years ago.”
Right, poor Tim, Dick still remembers the epic sulk when he’d realised that Damian was going the same way as Bruce, which is to say up. He can’t help grinning as Damian shakes his limbs loose, expression going sharp and focused. There’s an intensity to it that Dick hasn’t seen in a long time. It sends a shiver down Dick’s spine, to have it directed at him.
Dick holds his hands up in front of him and does the ‘come on’ signal that so many bad martial arts movies use. It eases the tension a little, Damian’s intense gaze breaking as he rolls his eyes at him, and Dick takes the opportunity to throw the first punch, a sharp jab aimed right at Damian’s face. He dodges it, one arm coming up to knock Dick’s fist aside. Dick follows up with a low kick that catches Damian in the meat of his thigh. He grunts but takes the blow easily. He’s not quite the tank Bruce is, but he’s getting there. Dick’s at a disadvantage in close combat like this, but he’s used to fighting larger opponents. He shouldn’t have a problem beating Damian when he’s compromised.
Except, Dick is compromised as well. The longer the fight goes on, the more Dick can smell him, sweat and anger and lust, heavy at the back of Dick’s throat, sending heat creeping through his veins. And worse than that, he can feel him. Everytime they grapple, Dick can feel the hot press of his erection against his thigh, his hip, his ass.
Damian gets one hand at the base of his throat, twisting a leg behind Dick’s, then flips him down onto the mat. Dick rolls out from beneath him and Damian grabs his ankle, fingers clenching tight against bone. He drags him towards him, and Dick could kick him in the face, could bring his other leg down on his arm and break the hold, but he’s so surprised that he doesn’t do any of those things.
He ends up half in Damian’s lap, legs splayed either side of his hips. Damian’s pupils are blown wide with adrenaline and rut, hair mussed, cheeks flushed. He looks beautiful.
Damian’s hold gentles on his ankle. His chest is heaving, harder than a little sparring warrants, shirt clinging damply to his muscles. His gaze falls to the spread of Dick’s thighs and his breath hitches. Embarrassment burns through Dick like wildfire, he’s hard, his cock swelling beneath his sweatpants. He should have better control of himself, he’s not in rut, not a teenager anymore. There’s no excuse for the obvious arousal in his pants.
He tugs his leg free sharply, rolling onto his front to push himself up, but Damian layers himself over his back before he can, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other falling to his hip. Damian’s a hot, heavy weight against him, and Dick can feel the thick press of his arousal against his ass.
“Dami-” Dick says, voice tight with some emotion he can’t quite put his finger on. Damian rolls his hips, damp breath puffing against the nape of Dick’s neck, sending shivers down his spine.
“Grayson,” Damian says, rough. “Dick- I- I want-”
A sharp groan, another roll of his hips. Dick feels like he’s been set aflame, every nerve in his body alight with sensation. The scent of alpha rut and arousal is strong enough to make his head swim, his cock twitching where it’s trapped between his stomach and the mat. His inner alpha is roaring with the sudden need to fuck, to fight, to claim.
“What- what do you want, Dami?” Dick gasps out.
“I want to fuck you,” Damian growls, low and alpha. Pleasure starbursts across Dick’s skin, bright beneath his pelvis. His hips press down against the mat, then back against Damian’s cock, his lips peeling back from his teeth, an answering growl rumbling through his chest.
He wants to roll over and show Damian his belly, wants to reverse their positions and get his teeth on Damian’s throat. He wants, he wants.
Fingers tighten against his hip, teeth scraping across his neck. Damian rumbles, the way alphas do when they have an omega beneath them. It shouldn’t get Dick’s blood up, and yet he feels almost desperate with it. Damian manhandles him up onto his knees, the hand on his shoulder sliding down his spine, pressing his upper body into the mats. Dick can’t help the growl that slips past his teeth at the inherent vulnerability of the position, the submission, his instincts raging against it, even as his cock grows impossibly harder.
“Damian-” he tries again. He feels stupid with lust, drunk on the spice-sweet scent of Damian’s rut.
Nails scrabble at the waistband of his sweats, tugging the material down haphazardly. Dick moans as cool air hits his heated skin, then Damian is pressing up against him, huge and velvety soft. Dick must have missed him taking his own trousers down.
“Wait, wait!” Dick yelps, attempting to squirm away. Damian growls, hips flexing forward as if he’s about to just shove his cock in, the head catching on Dick’s rim. He nips at his throat and Dick snarls, elbowing him in the ribs sharply. Then they’re grappling, rolling across the mats, all elbows and knees as they each try to get the upper hand.
Eventually Damian manages to pin him, an arm heavy across his sternum, knees either side of his hips. Dick could probably get free if he really wanted to, there’s a couple of moves he could pull to twist out of his grip, but instead he meets Damian’s gaze, bright and hazy with lust, and tips his head back to show his throat. Damian groans at the submissive display, his hold relaxing a little, and Dick rolls his hips up against him.
“You can fuck me, Dami,” Dick says, breathless, and Damian groans low in his throat, leaning down to mouth wetly at Dick’s jaw. “But we need lube, prep. I’m not an omega, I don’t produce my own slick.”
“Sorry,” Damian says. He doesn’t even sound like himself anymore, voice rough with lust.
“It’s okay Dami, just- in my bag.”
Damian rolls off of him, grabbing his bag with record speed, rifling through the spare clothes and coming up with Dick’s emergency lube. He looks a little more like himself when he holds it up, wrinkling his nose and giving Dick an unimpressed look.
“Why do you have lube in your gym bag?”
Dick grins, waggling his eyebrows. “Always be prepared, Dami.”
Damian snorts, but drops the bottle into Dick’s hand when he holds his palm out. Dick slicks his fingers, sliding two into himself with little preamble. This isn’t the first time he’s let another alpha fuck him, although he doesn’t tend to make a habit of it.
Damian gasps, crouching between his spread thighs, gaze fixed on where Dick’s fingers press deeper. The look on his face has Dick groaning, pushing his fingers into the last knuckle, heat pooling in his gut. He can feel the rapid beat of his pulse at the base of his throat, sweat slick on his skin as he twists his wrist, slipping a third finger in a little sooner than he probably should.
“Grayson,” Damian says, reaching out to lay a hand on his thigh, easing his legs wider. Dick swallows, fucks his fingers faster, cock flexing against his stomach.
“Yeah, Christ Dami, I’m ready.”
He’s barely pulled his fingers out before Damian is gripping his hips and flipping him back over to his front. He knows what he wants, Dick will give him that.
A hand grips onto the nape of Dick’s neck, holding him down, even though Dick isn’t fighting him. Then Damian is pressing up against him, rolling his hips forward with a groan as he pushes his cock inside.
Dick’s growl tapers off into a moan, fingers scrabbling against the mat, lips peeling back as Damian presses inexorably onwards until his pelvis is flush to Dick’s ass. He feels huge, filling Dick up, stretching him wide, pleasure and just a hint of pain sparking down his spine.
“Fuck,” Damian chokes out. “Grayson I-“
His fingers tighten on the back of Dick’s neck, hips jerking as he gives a sloppy thrust. Dick moans, legs sliding wider, pushing back against him as he thrusts again, and again, rough and desperate.
“Dami,” Dick groans. They’re both sweating, the scent of sex and rut thick in the air. Damian works his hips in jerky, ragged motions, jolting Dick across the mat. He bends over his back, hot and heavy, sweat slick against Dick’s spine, to fit his mouth against the curve of his throat. Dick jerks, instincts flaring at the hint of teeth against his pulse. Damian bites down, hard enough to draw blood, and Dick howls.
Damian’s hips stutter, grinding deep, and Dick can feel the swell of his knot forming, stretching him impossibly wide. He drops a hand to his cock, fisting it roughly, jerking himself off frantically as Damian groans around his mouthful of flesh and comes, wet heat spilling inside of him.
Pleasure winds tight like a rubber band in his stomach, the pressure of Damian’s knot almost too much as he clenches down around it. Damian unlatches his jaw, moaning softly. His hips grind forward, nose skating across the damp hair at the nape of Dick’s neck, then he’s biting down on the other side of Dick’s throat and Dick is coming so hard he sees stars, over his own fingers and the mat beneath him.
Damian maneuvers them both onto their sides, releasing his jaw and licking over the bite mark left behind. It stings a little, but Dick feels too fucked out and exhausted to do anything but moan weakly, squirming against Damian.
“Sorry,” Damian murmurs, and it’s not often that Dick hears him so contrite.
“Don’t be,” Dick huffs. Then, quieter: “I enjoyed it.”
Damian rumbles, the vibrations of it rattling through Dick’s back. An arm snakes around Dick’s chest, holding him close. “I’ve wanted to do that for…longer than I care to admit.”
Dick’s heart skips a beat, his breath faltering in his lungs. “Oh yeah?” he says, falsely casual. “Well, I can help you out with the rest of your rut, if you want?”
“I want,” Damian says, something almost desperate tingeing his voice. “And- and after my rut?”
Dick laces their fingers together, lifting them to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss over Damian’s knuckles. “For as long as you’ll have me.”