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Spring Break was starting tomorrow, and Tim was being exiled from Gotham.
Well, Tim could admit to himself that even through his gripes he was being overdramatic. Bruce was sending him away from Gotham for his own safety, insistent that Red Hood, who had just begun menacing the underworld in a rather different fashion to the Bats’ style, had made pointed threats to Robin in the few encounters he had with Batman.
Tim could also admit that Bruce had probably had a point, as he observed his current situation, pinned to a wall in a small maintenance closet in one of Black Mask’s warehouses by Red Hood himself. When Batman had refused to hear of Tim’s investigations into what was clearly an illegal drug den whose operations were turning more rotten by the day, Tim had decided to take his last night in Gotham and matters into his own hands.
Of course, he somewhat regretted that now, considering that Bruce wasn't expecting to hear from him for a while because he had been supposed to fly out of town tonight, and had secretly changed his ticket to tomorrow morning by himself. He’d gone out, comms dark, no backup, and now the Red Hood could probably do anything to him and no one would be the wiser until Tim’s next check-in, which was not until the next weekend, or until the new crime lord bragged about his fate, whichever came first.
Of course, anything had so far only comprised of spitting threats when they had crossed paths on the second story of the warehouse; Tim had come in through the window and met Red Hood descending from the roof. They'd both hushed instinctively due to sounds coming from the nearby stairwell, and though Tim had resisted, Red Hood had somehow known how to perfectly deflect Tim’s combat style in order to wrangle him into the closet and slide the door shut behind them.
“Shut up, Replacement, and be quiet, if you know what's good for you,” Red Hood’s mechanized voice threatened lowly. “You're lucky I didn't know you’d be here tonight or we’d be having a lot more fun right now, but I can't let you interfere with my plans.”
Tim had a lot of questions in response to that comment–why was he being called Replacement? What plans was Red Hood talking about?–but they were quickly subsumed under a larger question that was slowly taking over Tim’s whole mind.
Why did it smell like a bakery in here? Was one of Black Mask’s goons secretly running a sweets shop in the back rooms of his drug den? But no, the scent wasn't coming from anywhere in the room– it was coming from Red Hood.
From where he was pinned, it was easy for Tim to crane his neck and see what looked like a square bandaid unpeeling itself from Red Hood’s neck, dislodged in their tussle. Tim breathed in, taking in the mix of warm spices: ginger and clove and underneath, a bitterness that reminded him of fresh-brewed coffee. The scent seemed to swirl around him and surround him, and Tim was helpless to his instincts, which led him to lunge forward as best he could in Red Hood’s grip and nuzzle in close to the source of that scent.
“What–Replacement?” Red Hood’s voice threatened to escalate beyond the low murmur it had been before, for the sake of the low risk of being overheard by the goons that had cornered them here. His grip loosened, but Tim was no longer interested in escaping, and instead pressed himself closer and started to purr.
“What the fuck,” Tim heard, and then a quiet click and short hiss of air. He cast heavy-lidded eyes upwards to see Red Hood pulling his helmet off, and was abruptly jarred out of his scent-induced haze because that was Jason Todd.
Tim had followed Dick as Robin for only a year before he had disappeared and Batman was left to prowl the streets alone. That was the first time Tim had seen what Batman was like without a Robin: darker, angrier, more violent.
Seeing Jason don the Robin colors and fly had been like seeing the sunrise, and Tim had almost slavishly devoted himself to capturing his magic. The photographs he developed in Drake Manor’s darkroom were almost entirely dedicated to Jason as Robin. Tim had too many favorites to count: Jason’s dimples as he swung off Batman’s shoulders and grinned down at Commissioner Gordon, his legs dangling over a roof as he snuck a cigarette hidden in what soon became Tim’s favorite gargoyle, the flash of his cape as he grappled from rooftop to rooftop.
Even in his civilian persona, Jason Todd shone in Tim’s eyes. Tim hadn't been able to take his camera to school or the galas where he could spot Jason, but he did his best to hold those images in high fidelity in his mind. They had only spoken a handful of times, but in Tim’s most secret fantasies, they were best friends.
And then at the last gala where Tim had seen Jason before his tragic death, he'd braved his parents’ disappointment and shirked the networking they'd told him to do, and found Jason at the hor d’oeuvres table. And Jason, just starting to bulk up as a newly presented Alpha, had smelled… like warm spices and coffee.
The memory was all the proof Tim needed. Even if the domino mask under the helmet somewhat protected his identity, Tim had spent too many hours memorizing pictures of his face and trying to recall this exact scent. If this was Jason…
“You're alive,” Tim breathed, and beamed up at him. He saw a white lock in Jason’s hair and noticed the green gleam of his eyes, even in the dark, and thought he could easily make a deduction about how exactly that came to be the case. Tim's mental faculties were quickly subsumed by another, larger thought: this was Robin. Tim was safe. And so Tim closed his eyes and leaned back in and nuzzled into the rich, warm scent cloud, content to interrogate Jason about his recent history at a later date.
Actually, now that Jason wasn't winning his hands anymore, Tim could reach up to his own neck and loosen the scent blocker affixed there. His own scent rose willingly to meet Jason’s, redolent with nutty brown butter and crisp apples with a growing edge of sticky honey. Tim whimpered as he consciously felt what that scent meant for his body: his dick hardening where it was pressed against Jason’s thigh, and slick trickling from his still-tight hole.
“Holy shit, Replacement, what–”
“Tim, I'm Tim,” Tim said, and couldn't help but twitch his hips up against Jason.
“Tim,” Jason said, tone stunned, “there is no fucking way B let you out like this.”
“I wasn’t,” Tim insisted. “It's you, the first time I presented was after the first time I smelled you, went home from the gala and built a nest and missed you the whole time, and then you were gone,” Tim gasped, and then begged, tone ragged, “Jason.”
“Holy shit, the Omega that night was you? Fuck, Tim, you sent me straight into a rut.”
“Yes, asshole, and the same thing is going to happen right now,” Tim pointed out, annoyed that Jason wasn't understanding what was going on.
Jason was silent for a moment, then looked directly in Tim’s eyes and said, “There’s no way we can get out of here before the first wave hits. You get that, right?”
“I'm in heat, not stupid,” Tim said, and leaned up to kiss Jason before he could respond. Their masks slid against each other as their lips met.
Jason’s mouth was warm, and tasted almost better than he smelled. Tim moaned and immediately opened his mouth to lick at Jason’s.
Jason reached down and palmed Tim’s side, sliding his hands under the waistband of Tim’s costume to catch skin. Tim helped, pushing his shirt up and pants down eagerly to bare himself for Jason.
“I think this will be easier,” Jason said a little uncertainly as he turned Tim around to face the wall. Jason’s hands traced down his spine until he could pull Tim’s cheeks apart to see his hole.
Tim felt himself clench involuntarily as Jason traced it, and shivered.
“Easy,” Jason murmured, then, “fuck,” he said as his first finger sunk in, Tim’s slick easing the way. He sounded like the wind had been knocked out of him. Even so, it didn't take long before he was adding another finger, twisting and scissoring then to stretch Tim’s tight hole.
Tim was hobbled by the tights pulled down to his knees, so he could only push back into Jason’s fingers so far. He whined, frustrated, and entreated, “Faster, Jason, please.”
“I don't want to hurt you,” Jason said, but obeyed, spreading his fingers to nudge at Tim’s prostate, which he rewarded with a moan. “Fuck, you're still so tight, I'll never fit.”
“Yes, you will,” Tim said. “Just a little more, c’mon, give me another finger.”
“Impatient,” Jason chided, then, a little inquisitively: “Slut.”
Tim moaned and felt more slick trickle down, making it even easier for Jason to slide in a third finger and stretch him even further.
“Okay, that's good, I'm ready,” Tim said.
“You really are a slut. Look at you, taking it so easily, begging me for more.”
Tim whined as Jason slid his fingers out and wiggled impatiently as Jason swore, fumbling with his own clothes. As Jason moved his hips into position, Tim sighed happily; he felt the head of Jason’s cock nudging against his hole and whined again as it notched in.
“Tight,” Jason said, voice strained. Tim moaned in agreement and felt satisfaction haze his thoughts as Jason slid in slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was magnificent, and the slight burn only elevated his pleasure as Jason bottomed out. The first few slides in and out were tentative, but as Tim moaned encouragingly, Jason picked up speed and confidence.
Tim lost himself in pleasure as Jason reached around to stroke him in tandem with his thrusts. “Yes, Jason, please,” he begged, and as Jason’s thumb swept over the head of his cock as his wrist twisted with an exquisite stroke, Tim whited out in pleasure.
When he came back to himself, Jason was still thrusting into him, muttering praises as he dipped his head to lick at the scent gland on Tim's neck. His hands had moved to Tim’s hips to better leverage his thrusts, and his thumbs made small, absentminded, affectionate circles at the terminus of each one.
“Gonna knot you,” Jason grunted, and pulled Tim’s hips tighter against him as he ground to fill him to the base. Tim felt the swell at the base of Jason's cock catch against his hole and moaned in agreement, and once Jason started to come, Tim fell over the edge again, untouched, feeling Jason finally fill him just right.
An initial knotting during a rut didn't last very long, only enough to warm up an omega for longer, more extended sessions later, so Tim spent only a few moments suspended in warm delight, falling limp against Jason, before he felt Jason’s cock soften inside him.
Tim whined as Jason pulled out, feeling slick and cum ooze out of his hole. Jason stoppered the flow by framing Tim’s hole with what felt like his thumbs, petting the very inside of what had been only hours before a tight furl. “Look at you, so wet and loose,” Jason said admiringly. “I could just slide right back in, couldn't I?”
“Please,” Tim said helplessly, feeling himself clench and send another gush of fluid over Jason’s fingers. “I want to, you can, I’m your slut–”
“Fuck yeah you are,” Jason agreed, “mine and only mine. Nobody else has or will see you like this, will they, baby?”
“No, no, you're the only one,” Tim agreed. “Alpha, Jason, I-I always liked you, and at the gala, I thought–that night,” he said, “I only wanted you.”
“Now you have me,” Jason promised. “You were always meant to be mine. I'm gonna get you out of here and take you home, and nobody’s gonna be taking you away.”
Tim relished the sound of that promise and twisted back for a brief kiss.
Jason broke away and said, “You're killing me, Tim, we are not spending this entire cycle in this goddamn closet. I meant what I said: you're going to come with me to a safehouse and nest up and not leave.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Tim agreed, and followed Jason as he guided them away from the warehouse and into the night.