Would you write me BruJay A/B/O-ness? Preferably with *all* the challenging?
Bruce knew this moment was coming. The instant he heard that the Red Hood was back in town, he knew that at some point when he stepped out onto a rooftop - into an alley or a warehouse - or in this case one of his many safehouses dotted around the city, it would be to find Jason there waiting for him.
He announces his presence with a gunpowder grin and pistol fire, red helmet and mask already discarded so Bruce can see the baring of his teeth: the challenge in his eyes when he launches himself down upon him. There’s no scent in the air to give him away, but then the two of them have never needed such obvious cues to read each other, and despite all evidence to the contrary (as much as they might each wish to believe), the knack of that soundless and scentless communication has never left them. They know each other just as well now as they did then; perhaps even better.
Which is why Bruce knows, even without being told, exactly why he’s here.
Maybe, somewhere out there in the infinite multiverse, there’s a world where Jason comes to him sweetly, asking for what he wants - what he needs - with a bowed head and an arched back. A world where he is soft and yielding, offering his throat in a surrender that is exquisitely tempting: like the sight of a forbidden banquet before a starving man. But it is not this world, their world, and even as Bruce throws out punches and snarls to fend off the attack, he wonders with every alternate breath what he would even do if such an event ever came to pass - if he’d still be able to see his Jason in that person’s skin.
For his boy is a creature of rage and vengeance; one who must be tamed anew each time to be loved. Forged in a fire Bruce himself had a part in laying the kindling for, and Jason will never let him forget it.
Violence is their foreplay, and yet - despite that terrible knowledge - when the fighting is done and Bruce has him on his back with his throat clutched in his hand, sniffing and tasting the blood and sweat on his skin: the heat that’s starting to burn his once-child from the inside out - he still says, in the same almost-pleading tones he always does, “You know it doesn’t have to be this way.”
And Jason, as always, laughs wildly and shakes against the carpet, which is darker than the bruises already starting to mar his pale skin, “Don’t be stupid, B. This is the way it always has to be.”
“There’s a place for you in the pack.” Bruce argues, against the wilder parts of him that agree with Jason: the alpha that enjoys enforcing his dominion. “The same as there ever was. A home -”
“Where I’ll what? Fall in line like the rest of them? Be your meek little maid waiting in your bed for you to come back every night?” Jason snorts, smiling with teeth stained red from blood. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Even now, pinned in a way that any other omega would instantly surrender to, there’s still fight in him. The raised tilt of his chin threatening to set Bruce’s blood boiling over again.
“You like it this way.” Jason tells him with brutal honesty, his thighs pressing tight on either side of his hips. “The same as I do. So don’t try to pretend otherwise. Not to me. You want this, you want the fight none of the others will give to you.” he’s starting to pant for other reasons than exertion, eyes burning fever bright. But contrary to the aggression of his words, the touch of his gloved thumb is momentarily tender underneath the line of Bruce’s cowl before it digs in with sudden bruising pressure. “You want me, you earn me, those are the fucking rules, remember? So shut up and get on with it, old man. Before I find someone else who will.”
Such a threat Bruce has never been able to ignore, and so, despite the callings of the better parts of him, he gives in to Jason’s demand. The same way he always does.