#under 5k

It’s nothing like it usually is.

Usually it’s a competition, a war: tongues forced down throats, bruising grips, threats growled between wanton moans. Grabbing. Clawing. Heat.

Jefferson is a perfectly respectable business associate, but he's a smug, succulent bastard in bed, and Rumplestiltskin hates how much he loves it, so it’s all hate sex from his perspective. Nasty, noisy, non-stop sex until he leaves Jefferson dumb and drooling, bent over whatever’s holding him up, unable to formulate, much less deliver, a witty one-liner.

But this is not that.

This is something else.

This is low candlelight flickering against stone walls and tapestries in a cool, quiet chamber. It is silence, tender kisses, still hips. Their naked bodies lie tangled in a nest of velvet and furs, legs entwined, cocks hard and pinned between their bellies as they let time forget them for a while.

Rumplestiltskin’s kisses are patient and indulgent, brushes of lips and nips and gentle tugs with his teeth until Jefferson’s mouth is pink and swollen, ripe for another slow plucking. He licks into the Hatter’s mouth leisurely, and his cock twitches. Aches. Needs.

Jefferson moans—much louder than he means to—and curls his fingers into Rumplestiltskin’s hair, cradling the back of his head, urging him closer. His cock leaks steadily now, arousal coiling tight in his gut with every wet suck of tongue and hum of breath.

His breath hitches as Rumplestiltskin’s rough thumb grazes his nipple twice before that shimmering hand glides down his side to cup the curve of his ass. Rumplestiltskin finally rolls his hips.

Their groins meet, hot shafts heavy on their stomachs, and both of them shudder as their balls nudge and knead together, friction thick and electric.

They pause. Almost lose it.

“Slower,” Jefferson says, fighting the urge to buck. “Please. It feels so good.”

Rumplestiltskin hums against his neck. It feels even better to see him submit before he can smirk.

“This is why we never do this,” Rumplestiltskin says, rolling his hips again with a hiss. “You unravel far too quickly when you’re fucked slowly, Hatter. Takes all the fun out of it.”

Jefferson groans, his cock pinned and pulsing between them.

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “I will, just don’t stop.”

Rumplestiltskin reclaims Jefferson’s mouth with quiet hunger, devouring the little moans that pile pleasure deep in his gut. His hips roll in slow, savoring laps, pressing their shafts together in a maddening rhythm that offers everything and nothing at once.

His fingers sink deeper into the curve of Jefferson’s ass, clutching and coaxing as Jefferson sighs into his mouth, writhing against him in need.

When Jefferson tries to thrust, hunting for more friction, Rumplestiltskin claps a strong hand on his hip.

“Ah-ah.”

Jefferson whines prettily, breath catching at every graze. “Gods…what are you doing to me—fuck…”

Rumplestiltskin lifts his head off the pillow, eyes dark and gleaming. He seizes Jefferson’s chin, steadies the heat behind his eyes, and descends on him with a smoldering kiss that lands soft and slow, all control.

He shifts his weight to keep Jefferson half-pinned, his voice a velvety murmur.

“I’m doing what I always do, boy…” He grinds down hard, drawing a startled jolt from Jefferson. “Shredding at what precious little sanity remains under all those hats.”

Jefferson gasps as Rumplestiltskin’s black nails skim down his ribs, cruelly light, then dig into the meat of his ass once more. The purchase allows Rumplestiltskin to milk their slick cocks together with a deliberate, decadent motion, around and up and down, like he’s stirring a thick batter and watching it drizzle off the spoon.

Then he lowers his mouth to Jefferson’s neck and laves at its salty sheen.

“Oh, yes, there,” Jefferson says, tipping his head back with a shiver. “Don’t stop—don’t stop…”

He fists the furs with both hands, willing himself not to thrust. They’re doing this slow. Filthy, fevered, and slow.

Rumplestiltskin purrs against his throat, and the sound vibrates through him, straight down to his cock. Jefferson curls into him with a moan so depraved, Rumplestiltskin almost abandons the game.

Almost.

But no, he wants this. This slow, devastating rhythm is everything he’s after, mouth feasting on Jefferson’s neck. He wants every sound, every tremor wrung from his lover’s throat. It might even be more powerful than those fraught, feral fucks they love so well.

“You feel so good like this,” Rumplestiltskin says. He traces the shell of Jefferson’s ear with his tongue, then nips at his earlobe with just enough bite to make him shiver. “So close. So pliant. Mine.”

Jefferson arches into him now, jaw clenched to stifle the desperate, inelegant sounds spilling into Rumplestiltskin’s mouth when he kisses him again. His tongue swirls in sync with their hips.

“Will you come for me when I ask you to?” Rumplestiltskin whispers.

“Nngh, yes…”

Rumplestiltskin hums as he lowers his mouth to Jefferson’s chest. His tongue flicks at one nipple with kittenish licks, then teases the other with not-quite kisses, leaving each slick and sensitive to the cool air seeping through the seams of the stone.

“Will you lick our seed off me—“

Jefferson’s face contorts, jaw dropping.

“—while I dip my tongue into you—“

“Auhh—!”

“Not yet, Jefferson.” Rumplestiltskin stills, holding him steady as he waits for the edge to recede. He mouths up Jefferson’s jaw again, lips dragging over stubble. “I want this to last. I want to feel this”—a press—“as long as I can.”

Jefferson nods, his body taut and straining. His cock continues to leak between them while Rumplestiltskin resumes that punishingly measured pace, grinding with promise and purpose.

Then, Rumplestiltskin licks his palm and reaches between them. He wraps his fingers around both their cocks, squeezing them together in a fist slick with spit and pre-cum. His thumb sweeps across the glistening heads, teasing the silky flesh until both men groan, helpless.

Rumplestiltskin bucks gently, and the friction is so sweet and shameful that Jefferson gasps.

“If you keep doing that,” he warns, voice cracking, “it’s not going to be long.”

Rumplestiltskin carefully lets go; to hell if he isn’t right. He slides his hand up Jefferson’s supple, toned body, smearing their mingled fluids up to his chest with a firm, splayed hand. When his sticky hand closes around Jefferson’s throat, tilting his jaw, the Hatter’s breath catches.

“Beg for me, Hatter.” Rumplestiltskin noses Jefferson’s flushed cheek to be coy but tightens his grip. “Bend for me, break for me, you dirty, delicious fool.”

“Please,” Jefferson chokes, voice raw as a sob bursts free. “Fuck, please—make me come. I need to. I need to come for you, Dark One. Please...”

Rumplestiltskin slants his mouth over Jefferson’s with a hum of approval. Their hips move in tandem now, an instinctive, sacred grind that melts them into moans.

The slick glide between their bellies grows heady, wet, unbearably good.

“I want it all,” Rumplestiltskin rasps, lips trembling with restraint as his own rhythm starts to falter. “When you come for the Dark One, you give him everything.”

“Yes,” Jefferson gasps. His hands fly to Rumplestiltskin’s face for a frantic kiss. “Mm, yes, gods—I want to—everything—“

His head snaps back with an involuntary, strangled cry, nails biting into Rumplestiltskin’s scalp. His hips buck high, erratic, thighs quaking beneath the mounting rush.

Rumplestiltskin snarls, grabs his ass, and ruts with reckless abandon.

“Mmm, that’s it,” he coos, voice ragged and lush. He drags his tongue up Jefferson’s jaw, slow and searing—nothing like the frantic wreck he’s making by repeatedly ramming his body against this exquisite specimen of a man.

Oh, he wants this. He wants this so much.

“Come for me, dearie,” he says, hips slamming one final time. “Now.”

Jefferson bows and shatters, choking on blissful moans as a hungry hand wraps around his shaft. Rumplestiltskin exhales reverently as it pulses in his grip, spilling hot, thick bursts between them. Watching the Hatter’s seed streak their abdomens puts him in a glorious chokehold, and he’s certain he’s about to come so hard he passes out.

“Gods…just like that,” he breathes, rising to his knees. He barely gives Jefferson time to finish before seizing his own cock in a slick fist. He rubs the head of it into Jefferson’s balls, voice breaking on a gasp. “Just like that—“

Jefferson groans weakly as Rumplestiltskin strokes once, twice—

Moan after rapturous moan tears from his chest as he convulses, spurting silky-hot semen across Jefferson’s painted stomach. Everything goes white from the intensity of it, like he’s experiencing every orgasm they’ve ever shared simultaneously, and he can’t believe the euphoria doesn’t kill him.

It’s sublime. Erotic. Violent.

And he hadn’t even fucked him.

Rumplestiltskin smears the last of his seed across a clean patch of Jefferson’s skin, dragging it between two overlapping streaks as if to mark him.

For a breathless moment, he stares, loins blistering, utterly enraptured at the mess he’s made of them. Like he’s figured out one of life’s greatest secrets.

Jefferson reaches for him.

“Do you want more, my lord?”

Rumplestiltskin readily meets and plunders his mouth with another sloppy, syrupy kiss, a promise to pair with his primitive offering as they melt back into one another. Jefferson moans, rolls into him as their cum-coated stomachs meet, skin squelching and smacking as they absently writhe, spell-struck and lust drunk.

Rumplestiltskin doesn’t know when he stopped just using Jefferson’s body. Now, he wants it to need him back, to ache for all of him the same way. Because this isn’t just pleasure anymore—it’s passion. It’s about the secrets they touch andthe fires they feed.

No one else reaches this part of him. Not even Belle.

As the candles burn lower, the scent of wax and sweat trapped beneath the bed’s canopy, Rumplestiltskin’s hand falls from Jefferson’s cheek to his strong chest. They caress for a time. Linger too long.

But then fingers slip into the sticky heat between them, harboring some kind of ulterior motive Jefferson can’t bring himself to care about right now. The hand spreads down through the sweat and seed pooled in their groins, smears the mess low between Jefferson’s legs, and cups him with a possessive squeeze.

Jefferson hisses and rolls against Rumple’s touch, breaking the kiss as his head falls back with a whine.

“Fuck, Rumple, please…”

Lower, lower—

He does not go lower.

Instead, his touch goes in the opposite direction—and Rumplestiltskin’s thumb coats Jefferson's bottom lip with their cum. His eyes darken instantly, pupils wide from the odor as he holds Rumplestiltskin’s ravenous gaze and tastes it, slow and shameless.

The Dark One is pleased.

“Gods, you’re such a whore for me,” Rumplestiltskin growls. He sweeps a generous swath of their semen across Jefferson’s mouth again. “A magnificent, cum-drunk whore. Look at you.”

Jefferson smirks at that, his hands roaming Rumplestiltskin’s rough, shimmering skin. If anyone’s cum-drunk, it’s the sorcerer sucking it off his lips so hard they bruise.

“Does my taste satisfy?” Jefferson teases.

“Yes, it does,” Rumplestiltskin says, bringing more to Jefferson’s lips. “And I want more.”

Jefferson moans and pulls the thumb into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. The look in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes is that of a rabid dog, dangerous in his inability to access logic or reason—just get what his body needs. But he had enough control to lean in instead of pounce, replacing his thumb with his tongue in a kiss as sensual as it is starved.

As they kiss, Rumplestiltskin’s fingers wander again, smearing more of their mess between Jefferson’s thighs. He nudges his legs wider, and they fall open, a chill racing over the damp skin when the air hits it. Jefferson sighs against his mouth, then groans as a single, slippery fingertip breaches him.

“Oh, fuck...”

He stills, spine arching, as the finger retreats, gathers more of their fluids to slicken his hole, and eases all the way in, stretching him open with their sin.

“Ohhh, fuck—what the fuck, Rumple, yes—“

Rumplestiltskin curls his finger. Jefferson cries out.

“Gods! What are you—nghh, what are you doing to me?” he whines as Rumplestiltskin’s finger charms a rhythm into his hips. “Fuck…”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice is a gravelly purr at his ear.

“Still shredding at that scrap of sanity, Hatter,” he says. “Gods, you’re so fuckable.”

He says it like the smallest secret, then kisses him so softly it stings.

Jefferson’s body is caught in the crossfire, robbed of breath; his heart aches from the tenderness while his cock aches for the filth. He gasps when a second finger enters him, thighs shaking and mouth open. Rumplestiltskin begins to pump in and out as he breaks their kiss. The pace is barely faster than before, but the pressure, the stretch, the intimacy of it is turning him inside out.

“How much, Hatter?” Rumplestiltskin asks, pressing kisses to his shoulder. “How much do you want the Dark One buried inside of you when he comes? How much do you want me to catch what leaks out with my tongue?”

“Gods, you’re so fucking hot—”

Rumplestiltskin kisses lower.

“How many times, I wonder, will you let me milk that luscious cock for my cream before you black out from pleasure?”

“As many times as you want,” Jefferson moans as Rumplestiltskin’s lips blaze a scorching path down his chest. “All my cum is for you, Dark One. Every drop.”

“That’s right,” Rumplestiltskin breathes against his sternum. “You consume me,”—he licks a long, hot stripe through their smeared seed—“and so, I consume you.”

“Fuuuck, you’re insane,” Jefferson says huskily, fingers knotted in the furs as he clenches around the fingers still shoved inside him. “You’re madder than I am, you know that? And fuck, if I don’t love your fucking mouth on me.”

“You’re a slut, Hatter,” Rumplestiltskin says matter-of-factly. “You couldn’t make it through breakfast without fucking my wife.”

Jefferson’s head lifts off the pillow sharply at that.

“Hey, she climbed on me—”

“As is your privilege,” Rumplestiltskin reminds him. “If that woman wants to tie you down and ride your face until you suffocate, you’ll thank her with your dying breath.”

Jefferson yelps as Rumplestiltskin’s thumb teases the underside of his balls.

“I’m—I’m so fine with that, my lord, so fine…”

“Of course, you are. What man wouldn’t want to die drowning in that sweet cunt?”

Jefferson whimpers. Rumplestiltskin licks into his navel.

“But I know you, Jefferson,” he lilts. “I know how much you need my mouth on you.”

“Yes,” Jefferson breathes. “Your mouth. Only yours.”

“Good. Because I am going to feast on every delectable inch of you for an eternity, my boy.”

Then, over-enunciating: “Feast. Flip. Fuck.”

The words go straight to Jefferson’s cock.

“Yes…”

Rumplestiltskin kisses up the salty, sappy mess, savoring the taste of everything they’ve spilled together as he laps into Jefferson’s groin with robust, worshipful strokes. When his lips ghost the head of Jefferson’s hardening cock, Rumplestiltskin slides his fingers free and feels the spark ignite low in his gut as his prey keens.

He pushes his hands into the backs of Jefferson’s knees and tilts his hips, angling his ass up and out. Rumplestiltskin’s hands glide down the backs of his warm thighs, coaxing them wider, exposing his entrance with a hungry moan.

“Mm, that’s what I want.”

He leans in and licks him with one strong, flat stroke of his tongue. Jefferson gasps, hips twitching, then groans when Rumplestiltskin leaves a chaste kiss on the now-slick ring of muscle.

“Oh, my beautiful boy…” He bites the soft inside of Jefferson’s thigh, then again, harder, until he whimpers. “Yes…” Another bite, another growl. “My beautiful, leaking thing.”

The sudden, sharp edge of his tone cuts Jefferson open, and he feels something snap, flooding his core with an exquisite wave of arousal.

“I am,” Jefferson says as the head of Rumplestiltskin’s cock teases his rim in tight, steady circles. “I am, gods…”

His voice catches, breath stuttering from the barest pressure. He’s scrambling to have it, tilting higher, like he’s afraid Rumplestiltskin might change his mind and pull away, because he does that sometimes, and Jefferson knows he won’t survive it if he does it now.

“I always want your cock in me, Rumple, I do,” he rasps. “Gods, please, I—I need it.”

“I know you do.”

They moan together as Rumplestiltskin enters him in one sweet, long sweep to the hilt. Jefferson blinks the black stars from his vision, heart pounding and body arching into the sensation as Rumplestiltskin settles his weight on top of him.

As Jefferson adjusts, Rumplestiltskin’s dark gaze locks onto his, devout and dazed and wrecked with want.

“And there is nothing else I’d rather be doing,” he murmurs with a featherlight kiss, “than stuffing your ass and making you mine.”

“I can’t believe you made that sound romantic.”

“Can’t you?”

They fall into another passionate kiss as Rumplestiltskin starts to move, long, loving, lazy laps that coax every nerve to the surface, that strike gold with every stroke. As the furs cradle them and the chamber disappears, Rumplestiltskin grinds deeper, and Jefferson’s legs wrap around his waist.

“Gods…I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” Jefferson whispers.

“Then take it,” Rumplestiltskin says just as quietly. “You are stunning, the way you take it in that tight little hole.”

Jefferson groans.

His smooth hands frame Rumplestiltskin’s face as their tongues tangle and curl in the wet heat of their mouths, and when he pushes them into his hair to pull him closer, the Dark One acquiesces, thumbs stroking the sides of Jefferson’s throat as he growls.

And then Jefferson feels it with the other heat they share: the thick weight of Rumplestiltskin’s cock hitting that perfect spot again and again, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but it is building to the most glorious chord his body has ever struck.

“I don’t think I can go back to being fucked against a wall after this,” Jefferson says when they break for air.

“But you will. That’s what we are,” Rumplestiltskin says, dropping delicate kisses on his eyes. “We ambush. We attack. We fuck like enemies to claim what isn’t ours.”

He hums as Jefferson’s mouth finds his pulse and holds him there, circling his hips as he absorbs the lewd moans vibrating down his neck.

“This doesn’t work if we don’t deeply punish our desires.”

“Oh, it’s working,” Jefferson gasps, hips rising into the next slow thrust. His eyelashes flutter, intoxicated by the rhythm. “It’s fucking working, I promise—gods…”

“That’s because this is a dream,” Rumplestiltskin says, brushing their mouths together softly. “It won’t last.”

He shifts his weight to one arm and grips Jefferson’s hip with the other, thrusting slower, stronger, and deeper.

“But I’ll carve its memory into you,” he breathes as he drives inward. “Because after this,” he says, voice spiraling into the depraved depths of his imagination, “I’m pinning you to the tapestry in the East Wing and fingering you until you choke.”

Jefferson moans, cock throbbing. Rumplestiltskin’s pace picks up as his voice drops lower, darker.

“I’m throwing you on my dining table and sucking down every last drop of your sweet cum—“

“Fucking hell, Rumple—” What the fuck— “Oh! Ohh, fuck—!”

Rumplestiltskin grits his teeth, snarling and trembling as he forces himself not to speed up more, but his fantasies challenge his restraint. He drops his face into Jefferson’s sweaty shoulder as he slowly saws into his heat, just barely keeping control.

“I’m fucking you awake,” he growls, “to the wet slap of skin and the sound of your own screams—“

“Gods, yes!” Jefferson sobs, nails carving into Rumplestiltskin’s rippling back as his legs squeeze like a vise. “Please! Make me. Make me!”

“Say you’re mine,” Rumplestiltskin rasps, shutting his eyes as he feels himself swell, “and I’ll keep you warm and full in this moment—forever—“

He cries out as he cracks, lashing into Jefferson until the force of his climax fuses them. Rumplestiltskin roars as he spills, hips jerking through the aftershocks as he pulses deep inside, grunting and gasping, dumbstruck at the way Jefferson’s body claims him in return.

Jefferson writhes beneath him, legs still wrapped tight, speaking in tongues, hand flying to his cock.

Rumplestiltskin grabs his wrist, panting. “No.”

Jefferson protests loudly as Rumplestiltskin pins his wrist to the damp furs—and louder still when he pulls out.

“Gods, please, touch me, Dark One,” Jefferson begs, cock flushed and still weeping. “Touch me. I have so much cum to give you—please.”

“Yes, you do.”

Jefferson’s eyes go wide, his mouth slack as Rumplestiltskin straddles him, teasing his hole with the tip of his erection. Rumplestiltskin then licks his palm and reaches back, wettening and warming Jefferson’s aching length with a generous coat of saliva.

“Y—Rumple—“

“I already told you, Hatter,” Rumplestiltskin says, yellow eyes glowing as he lines them up. “When you come for the Dark One, you give him everything.”

Jefferson’s gasps sharpen to shouts as Rumplestiltskin’s heat envelops him. His fingers dig into Rumplestiltskin’s thighs, hips, and waist as he slowly sinks onto his cock with a quiet groan in the back of his throat, and Jefferson responds in kind, clawing up Rumplestiltskin’s lithe body like a madman, up to those black stars.

It’s so overwhelming that before Rumplestiltskin can fully seat himself, Jefferson cries out, strong hands yanking their hips flush as he arches and pours into his sighing sorcerer.

“Fuck—fuck—!” Jefferson grunts against Rumplestiltskin’s neck, clinging to him unabashedly as he quakes and cracks.

“Push it deeper, Hatter,” Rumplestiltskin pants, grinding down greedily as Jefferson fills him with hot, wonderful ropes of cum. “Push it all the way in, boy, deep inside me. Come on.”

“Fuck…”

“Come on!”

“Fuck—!”

Rumplestiltskin lets out a long, indulgent groan as Jefferson thrusts through it, fucking his release deeper than even Rumplestiltskin knows what to do with. He’s boneless in Jefferson’s arms, spine wilting with satisfaction, yet his body whispers for more worship to ride it all out.

He leans back far enough to guide Jefferson’s mouth from his neck to his nipple, shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back as he’s sucked and nipped and kissed like he deserves. Like he always should be.

“Good boy,” Rumplestiltskin says, rolling his hips. His eyes flutter open, hazy and half-lidded as he looks down at the Hatter, reverently raking his hair aside to watch his mouth work. “Mmm.”

He threads his fingers through Jefferson’s hair, drawing him into a tender kiss, slowly slipping his tongue inside as their bodies begin to soften and quiet. A residual shudder ripples through him at the perfect frequency, and he breaks their kiss, lowering Jefferson to his other nipple.

“There.” His breath catches as Jefferson’s lips latch on, mouth wet and lazy and amazing. “Just there, that’s it.”

He rewards him with another slow roll of his hips, luxuriating in the way Jefferson’s whimper vibrates through his chest and the way his hands hold his back. The air around them is rife with sex and sweat, but it’s thinning, allowing the sounds of the fire and clock to creep back in.

They are never going to fuck like this again.

Or maybe this is how they’ll do it forever now. Who the hell knows.

Because this sadness is starting to creep into Rumplestiltskin’s face as their adrenaline fades, and he can’t take any more, but he can’t stop, either, because then it’ll be over.

He lifts Jefferson into another kiss and leans back, falling at the foot of the bed with Jefferson on top of him and his cock still inside him. Rumplestiltskin sighs into the kiss as Jefferson shifts onto his knees, tilting Rumplestiltskin’s pelvis at the perfect angle between his hips before his cock slips out.

Rumplestiltskin is too overstimulated to stop it. He sighs with the loss of it, the finality of it, and closes his eyes as Jefferson’s mouth returns to his neck. He lets his legs fall wide, taking Jefferson’s full weight on his groin, and it’s magnificent. The purr it extracts is like watered-down venom, like a beast yielding to sleep, and Rumplestiltskin feels his whole body sink deep into the mattress, limbs turned to lead as his breaths even out.

Firelight dances weightless on his eyelids, lovely on their skin. He sparkles. Jefferson glows. And they tangle beautifully and fully, molten sun melded to ancient stone.

Jefferson mouths his jaw and throat. Nods off where his breath hits the hollow of Rumplestiltskin’s neck, tired, tired, tired.

It’s nothing like it usually is: Rumplestiltskin lets him stay.

Lets himself drift off.

Memories were still muddled and murky but there was something about Alfred that stuck out in his mind—a chuckle, a smile, a proper English accent, the scent of freshly baked biscuits and earl grey tea.

Tim glanced over to the sleeping pup still in the bassinet attached to his bed. She was swaddled just right, somehow still fast asleep at—he squints at the clock—11 am. She never sleeps this late—he never sleeps this late, normally too racked by nightmares and insomnia to get more than a few hours at a time.

What should he do? If he didn’t answer, would he eventually give up and go away? Odds are, if he let the door go unanswered, more Bats were sure to follow (because if Alfred knew, the rest of the Bat Clan would find out, if they hadn’t already). But the thought of going back to bed while he still had the option was tempting—just a little while longer, while Amalia slept before the cycle of change-feed-burp-soothe began again.

Tim breathed a heavy sigh and pressed the button for the intercom on his phone, “I’ll be right there.”

Alfred visibly perked up, glancing up to the security camera in the corner. “It is no problem, dear boy, do not rush on my account.”

His voice is like a balm on a wound that has been oozing, refusing to heal, soothing his inner Omega, settling his racing heart just a touch, his voice radiating safesafesafe.

That’s…unexpected. And not definitely something he wanted to prod with a hundred-foot-pole, Alfred in the hall or not.

Tim grabbed a pair of sweats from the pile on the floor, sniffing to make sure they smelled clean enough for company, and a faded Green Day tee. Good enough.

His industrial (read as: vigilante) grade scent patches were on the dresser nearest the door. He slipped on his slippers and shuffled over to riffle through the nearly empty box.

(Note to self: pilfer more from one of the many Bat-stashes the next time he’s out.)

He delicately peels one off the sheet and presses it to the scent gland to the soft meat of his neck, adding an additional to the scent glands on the inside of his wrists.

When Amalia woke, not being able to scent him would make her fussy, but he didn’t trust his emotions when dealing with Bats. And Alfred? Was a wild card.

Tim shoves his collapsible bo in his pocket before pocketing the baby monitor. Something about leaving her alone made his stomach churn. She was alone without someone to protect her. What if something happened? What if someone gets in and takes her?

…what if someone gets in and takes him? She would be alone for who now’s how long, starving and crying and his eyes feel hot.

His chest constricts. Nope, nope, not happening. Not right now.

She’s sleeping peacefully, her little chest rising and falling, deep in slumber, a hint of a smile on her chubby little cheeks.

His apartment was the most secure location outside of the Bats. In fact, since his last patch after Dick unceremoniously and unwantingly broke into his home, he would say his apartment is more secure than the Bats, second only to (maybe) the clock tower.

He could do this.

He could do this.

(In through your nose one-two-three, out through your mouth one-two-three, come on Tim, one foot in front of the other)

His eyes lingered on the pup for a moment longer before he finally forced himself to move, leaving the door open a crack.

He felt like a mouse caught in a glue trap, trudging his way to the front door, doing his best to ignore the piles of clutter and baby supplies scattered throughout the living room.

There was a pile of clean laundry yet to be folded, taking up the majority of the well-loved sofa and a mountain of dishes in the sink. If he’d known he would have company, he would’ve put in an effort to tidy, or at least shove things in the closet until Alfred left.

Tim made quick work of disarming the security protocols trying to pretend like his hands weren’t trembling. He still had time to change his mind—he didn’t have to let the elderly man in. In all actuality, he could go back to bed right now and pretend this whole thing never happened.

But Dick, he reminded himself.

Damnit.

Tim took another measured breath before inching the door open and with it, the warm scent of Beta hit him like a ton of bricks, filling his chest with a warmth he had only felt in his dreams. It was like drinking a hot cup of tea, the way it pooled in his heart, warming his chest and for a moment he felt like he was choking.

He couldn’t move, staring at the elderly man like he was a ghost, liable to disappear at any moment.

It seemed like Alfred went through something similar, a complicated mix of expressions crossing his face—disbelief, astonishment, sorrow, grief, anguish, before settling on something akin to relief.

“Master Timothy, I’m pleased to see you’re doing well. I’m afraid we had far too many leftovers at the manor and thought perhaps you would be open to helping us before they’ve spoiled.” The English accent was soft and comforting and it felt… it felt like coming home. “May I come in?”

Tim fisted the baby monitor in his pocket, a little part of him hoped that now, right this moment, his pup would whimper or cry, and give him some sort of out, but she didn’t. Damnit.

Slowly, he backed away from the door, allowing Alfred to come in, but said nothing. No hi, hello, or even, it’s good to see you, thanks for dropping in but, y’know, a call would’ve been nice. He had zero trust in what would come out of his mouth, so he stayed silent, watching.

With the Beta inside, Tim glanced out around the hallway for any unwelcome visitors, but the hallway was empty. Judging by the overabundance of Chinese takeout menus the past few months, most of this floor had been empty since he moved, back when he was newly back in Gotham, the tiny pup strapped to his chest.

Reassured they were alone, Tim shut the door and busied himself with reengaging the security, trying to ignore the way his hands were now fully, without a doubt, trembling. By the time all was settled and they were locked in, Alfred had already found his way into the kitchen.

If he noticed the dishes (let’s be real, when he noticed the dishes), he didn’t say anything, his sole focus on unloading the “leftovers”, which was beginning to look like a whole lot more than just leftovers. Multiple casserole dishes were carefully stacked, slowly but surely filling his fridge

“Thank you for helping us with these. I’ve grown accustomed to large family meals, but with master Damian out of the house more and more, it seems we have an overabundance.”

Tim knew Titan duties and university had Damian out of Gotham more and more. He had his choice of Ivy League schools and had ended up with early placement in the Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine after graduating from GA a year early (as valedictorian, no less).

Dick was still in Bludhaven, social worker by day, Nightwing by night but came back to Gotham most weekends (or when he wanted to see Tim on random Tuesday nights).

Jason, on the other hand, from what he’d garnered, was with the Outlaws more often than not these days, back periodically for his heats.

Life had moved on without him. He didn’t blame them—couldn’t blame them—but there was still a bitter tinge in his chest.

Tim blinked and when his brain picked up again, Alfred was still talking.

“-thing is labeled with the ingredients and how to prepare each meal, I hope you don’t mind. It is a force of habit with master Dick and master Bruce. You know how they are.” Alfred mused, moving onto stuffing the freezer. “You wouldn’t believe it—the one time I left them alone for the weekend without enough instructions, I came home to a house full of builders.”

You know how they are.

Maybe he did, sometime in the Before. But now?

Alfred glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Tim isn’t sure what he saw but the Beta had a deep look of concern.

“Oh my dear boy,” slowly he closed the freezer, giving Tim his full attention. “Perhaps I should have called but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you.” I didn’t want you to run.

Which, fair, but it made the ordeal a whole lot more complicated. The way Alfred spoke to him, it was like he was expecting the old Tim, the one who hadn’t been lost to the Pit.

“Did Dick tell you I was here?”

“He did not. In fact, he has warned others not to seek you out, including master Bruce and myself but-“

“But you came anyways.” It wasn’t a question. Alfred opened his mouth to respond but Tim was quick to cut him off, “You being here puts me at risk. How do I know you weren’t followed?”

By Bats, by what was left of the League, pick your poison.

“I assure you, I was not followed.”

“But how can you know?”

“Just because I’m not Batman, does not mean I’m oblivious. I do have a few special skills of my own beyond being the butler for the Wayne family.”

“That’s the problem—you can’t.” Bat or not, there was no way to 100% guarantee. “If you really cared, you would’ve listened to Dick and stayed away. I know you miss Tim but I’m not him.”

“Master Tim, I understand-“

“No, I don’t think you really understand, I don’t remember you. I saw you and I remembered your name, that’s it. Things are a little,” a lot, “hazy, after coming back. I didn’t choose to forget you—I remember blips, but memories are just, not there.” It was like someone had taken a scalpel and cut the out—really, there’s no telling Ra’s hadn’t. “I’m just not him.”

A smile, a stifled chuckle, the clank of fine china cups and saucers.

(I want to remember you—I need to remember you but I can’t)

Tim swallows hard, trying to shove down the sharp fear of rejection, of letting him down, or not being trusted that this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It makes his chest ache, and his eyes hot.

“Look I-“ and, the baby monitor finally goes off, giving him the perfect out—the soft whimper of his pup waking up alone without her bearer makes his inner Omega stir. “I’ll be back.” Please be here when I get back.

He doesn’t give Alfred the time for rebuttals, rushing off down the hall where Amalia is waiting, trying to pretend he isn’t running away with his tail between his legs.

-

“Computer, lights at 70%,” Tim called to the AI of his own design. The lights go on as Tim pushes into the room. His pup isn’t crying just yet, the soft whimper, a call to her bearer, a cry of changemeholdmefeedme.

“Shh, good morning, ya rohee,” Tim croons in League dialect, carefully lifting her out of her crib. She scrunches up in his arms like a little inch worm and yawns a yawn much too big for such a little thing. It makes him want to coo, and scent, and snuggle her forever in his nest, never letting her go. This is the best part, his favorite part of the day. “How did you sleep, my love? I’m sorry you woke up alone.”

She answers by blinking up at him with wide, deep violet-blue eyes, all his own. There’s still time for them to change from blue to vibrant green, just like her other father, but he hopes they stay. Just like this. All his own.

Tim just smiles trying to tamp down the thought. He—Ra’s—couldn’t hurt them anymore—he was dead, for good this time.

A sword, sawing through sinew and bone, severing his head from his body, the taste of metallic tang on his teeth as he ripped into his throat and the burn of smoke in his lungs.

There’s only so much the Pit could do and what he’d done? That was way beyond even its capabilities.

He just hoped that when the Bats found out, they took care of her, his life, his heart, his soul.

Logically, he knew the daughter of a vigilante and the former leader of the League was a vulnerable asset that needed to be protected. In the wrong hands—a chill ran down his spine.

Batman didn’t harm innocents. His choices weren’t hers so, by all intents and purposes, she was innocent. She didn’t choose her heritage.

Tim tucked her into his neck where normally his scent would be strongest. He just hoped he would keep her safe in his absence.

Amalia snuffled and nuzzled against his skin searching for his scent currently patched over. When she couldn’t find it, her little lip wobbled and clenched her fists.

Pups needed scent to help regulate their delicate nervous systems and they only left the house a few times a month for diapers and formula or groceries (and the occasional Bat safehouse break-in) so she was used to it near 24/7.

The fact that Dick caught him was a fluke.

Just before laying her down on the changing table, Tim breathed out, trying to still his beating heart, and lifted the scent patch up just enough for her to catch a whiff. Almost immediately she went lax in his arms, letting out a huff of air. Any chance of her crying was snuffed out in an instant.

Crisis averted.

Tim took a breath to calm himself and held her there, gently rubbing her back. He guessed, for just a moment, he could have this.

Alfred could wait.

-

Changed out of her swaddle and sleep clothes, Tim shuffled back into the kitchen, the same bitter fear of rejection in his gut. Amalia was settled in the cloth pack on his chest, smacking her lips, making it known that she was ready for breakfast. He, on the other hand, was not.

Breakfast meant facing Alfred but there was only so long he could keep putting it off—put off their conversation.

When he rounded the corner, it was to a clean kitchen. In the time it had taken to get the pup up, most of the laundry was folded and ready to be put away, including pairs of socks he hadn’t seen in months (how Alfred did that, he’ll never know).

The mountain of dishes had been diminished to a clean sink and the dishwasher running. Crumbs and spilled formula had been wiped away and Tim… all Tim could do was stare, a wave of shame is like cold water.

Thank god he’d reapplied the scent patch because this would be embarrassing. Luckily, the carrier smelled enough like him, that, for now, Amalia was settled.

Alfred finished folding a faded band tee and turned his attention back to Tim. Eyes were immediately on his pup and Tim waited for something. Shame? Disgust? But Tim found none of that.

Instead the elderly Beta’s expression softened. “I apologize, I seem to have gotten a bit carried while you were away. A bit of a habit, I’m afraid.”

Tim swallows hard, wrapping a protective hand around the pup, eyes drawn to the unimpressive greige carpet. “I’m sorry it’s been a long week and she’s been so fussy. If I’d known you were coming over I would’ve cleaned up.” His eyes were hot. He was not going to cry—he was not going to cry.

“Nonsense,” Alfred’s voice is gentle and insistent. “It is one of my joys in life to care for my charges. Trust me when I say this is nothing compared to young master Dick’s room, a few dishes and clean laundry is nothing in comparison to the ecosystem I have found on occasion.”

He could tell Alfred was trying to be humorous but it did nothing to ease his conscience. “I shouldn’t need to get caught up. I should’ve just handled it when it happened but I’m just…” Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Missing the pack he doesn’t even remember having?

“I understand and I mean this when I say, I pass no judgement.”

Tim risked a surprised glance. “How?”

Alfred smiled, “I wasn't always just a butler. I was a parent too once upon a time before coming to work for the Wayne’s.” He continued, “Believe it or not, I, too, have a daughter.”

“…you do?”

He nods, “I do, back in England—Julia. We don’t have the best of relationships. It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m afraid.” He chuckled a bit sadly before changing the subject, “Now then. How would you feel about some breakfast?”

Almost as if at the mention of food, Amalia started to wriggle, very obviously done with their dilly dallying. Tim breathed a sigh and nodded. He didn’t normally eat breakfast but it was nearly lunchtime and his stomach was starting to make its presence known in a feed me or else sort of way. “Breakfast would be nice.”

Ding ding ding. By the look on his face, Tim answered correctly. Go him. “Will scones hold you over while I prepare something more substantial?”

“Scones sound…nice.”

Which is how they ended up in the kitchen, a plate of scones with clotted cream and tea in front of him while Amalia went to town on her bottle, ravenous. One little hand was on the bottle and the other fisted in his shirt.

Tim was sitting at one of the bar chairs glancing up at Alfred every so often, watching for something, anything to go wrong, (a dash of poison, or paralytic, Alfred disappearing into thin air) as he cooked up a proper English breakfast.

Before Alfred, his fridge had nothing more than some flaccid celery, a weeks old pizza from Rao’s a few blocks down, and half a bottle of ranch. Now, it was stuffed to the gills with fruits and veggies, eggs, and other household staples.

(No wonder his bags looked so heavy. How he carted them up five stories and a broken elevator was beyond him. Bats, am I right?)

“Her name is Amalia.” Tim said awkwardly after a few minutes of silence. “I don’t know if Dick told you.”

“Master Dick did not mention it but there was some…speculation, that something more was going on, on master Bruce’s part.”

An arch of dread runs through him, “Bruce knows?”

Of course Bruce knows. Why wouldn’t he know? He’s Batman. Alfred being here all but confirmed he knows about his apartment, too. And if that thought doesn't make him want to high tail it out of Gotham.

Hearing the hoarseness of his voice, Alfred looks up, “I am truly sorry. I should’ve listened to master Dick. This was your secret to share and I forced your hand.”

Tim shook his head, “I should’ve known, it makes sense, I just-“ he wanted to pull his hair out and scream. It makes sense. It’s just—he wasn’t ready for a boatload of Bats invading his nest.

Amalia was still so little. Being taken from her at this age… if birth trauma and the subsequent fallout hasn’t hurt her, this will. It could kill her.

“It isn’t alright.” Alfred sounded genuinely remorseful as he pushed mushrooms around in the pan. “I was being selfish and did not take into account the trauma you’ve been subjected to.”

Tim mulled over those words trying to tamp down his inner Omega stirring, wanting to reassure the elder Beta that it was okay, the wanted to bask in the feeling of being cared for. There were whispers of pack at the back of his mind.

Alfred had brought him groceries and meals—he was providing for him, showing he cared, but no, no, no. His arms tightened around the pup.

The old Tim may have been pack but that was Before and this is now—the After. Who wanted a broken murderer of an Omega? One that had broken the Bat Code of Conduct whose number one rule was don’t kill.

Alfred turned off the burner and slid the mushrooms onto the plate beside the eggs and sausage just as the toaster popped. Tim looked up briefly when the plate slid in front of him. After a terse moment, Tim said, “Thank you.” The weariness on his tone almost makes him flinch.

Almost.

“My pleasure, Master Tim.” His inner Omega preened at the title. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Tim glanced down at the pup in his arms, finishing up her bottle. And, before he could think the words slipped past his lips. “…do you want to hold her?”

Safe, the Omega crooned. He wouldn’t let Dick hold her but Alfred… Alfred was different.

At those words, Alfred’s face lit up like it’s Christmas. “Are you quite sure?”

No, Tim wanted to argue, while the Omega practically screamed, yes.

It would make eating easier and here, in his apartment, he was in control. The collapsible bo-staff was heavy in his pocket. In just a few steps, he could have him neutralized if he dared to do anything to harm her, but part of him just knew he wouldn’t.

Tim bit his lip and nodded, “Can you burp her? She isn’t rolling over just yet so she still needs to be burped.”

Alfred gives him a gentle smile, seemingly genuinely happy at the offer. “I would be delighted too.”

There’s a smile on Amalia’s chubby cheeks, kicking his little legs in delight when he leans down and nuzzles her. She laughs in delight, warming his heart and making it that much harder to let go. She smells content and full, making a grab at his too-long hair. “Just a few minutes, hayati, be nice for Alfred, alright?”

In true baby fashion, she squeals when he rubs his nose against her cheek. He finishes off with a a long kiss to her forehead, lingering on the scent of his pup.

It was getting stronger the longer they were in Gotham. She was getting stronger.

Tim carefully untangled her fingers from his hair, pressing a kiss to each finger before looking to Alfred who was standing in front of him, eyes soft. “I am honored you’re allowing me this opportunity. I promise, I will take excellent care of her.”

He didn’t trust himself to answer so he nodded and slowly passed her to his waiting arms, trying to remember to breathe.

At first, realizing she was changing arms, her little lip wobbled, but Alfred murmured something soft in her ear just for them, holding her close and she was all his.

He didn’t stray far, grabbing a burp rag from the pile of carefully folded laundry, staying in Tim’s line of sight. Close enough that if Tim suddenly needed to jump in, he was right there.

But she didn’t fuss. In fact, by the time Tim had plowed through his breakfast, she was burped and settled, her face pressed into his neck, milk drunk and content. It made his heart ache, wanting her back all the more.

He made quick work of rinsing his plate and dropping it in the sink for later. It was the first time in months his belly felt full and he felt like his battery wasn’t running on 5%.

Rushing back into the living room, Alfred had moved to the gliding chair, rocking the cooing pup.

He smiled up at Tim. It was all he could do not to make grabby hands for his pup—his baby. “You’ve done well with her. She is lovely.”

“Can I-?” Without needing to finish the sentence, Alfred carefully passed her back.

“You need not ask, my boy. I am grateful for the moment with her.”

With her in his arms, he could breathe again, squeezing her just the right side of tight to his chest. She was safe, he had her, she was his.

“She will always be yours. I would never dream of taking her from you.” Alfred assured standing up from the rocker. Oops. “I assure you, neither would Master Bruce.” Until he finds out about Ra’s. “Now, I believe you both have had quite the afternoon, perhaps if best you retire to your nest? I have a few things to finish up here and I will be on my way.”

His nest sounded nice but- “You don’t have to do that.”

“As I stated earlier, it’s no chore helping you with these things. Please, let me help you.” Let me help you. Tim’s eyes felt hot again. (Translated to: Let me take care of you)

He was not going to cry… not now, at least.

Okay. This was okay, this was, “Okay.” Tim’s voice is strained but Alfred doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he tentatively reaches a hand out, giving Tim enough time to pull away, but he doesn’t. He placed it on his shoulder and squeezed. It’s a warm and reassuring touch, grounding, and now Tim is actually going to cry. Damnit.

Tim has to blink quickly, trying to stave off the tears that will inevitably fall once he’s back in his nest and able to be vulnerable. His instinct is to lean into the touch, to sink and melt, and let himself have this one moment, but he can’t.

He can’t get close.

Tim goes rigid under his touch but doesn’t pull away and Alfred? Alfred smells…happy. Happy in a way that forces Tim to choke down a purr.

“Very good. I know that my coming here was unexpected but it was so good to see you.” He is not going to cry. “You don’t need to make a decision now, but it’s alright, I would like to come back, this time on a day of your choosing. It’s perfectly alright to say no but I’ve missed you so much.” His eyes are wet when he says, “Between you and Master Jason, I have never regretted anything more in my life.”