Alpha, Beta, but Never an Omega
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Chapter 10: Is it Too Late to Change My Mind?
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It's a kink, and Valentine is a real character in Nightwing. Enjoy!
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Slade knew that Blud had a more Manhattan style noir feeling when you were a cop here. In fact, a general number of cops there were cheerleaders for the bad guys. Slade slipped a slip envelope under the door of a hotel room; 103.
He checked his watch and tossed the only drink he'd need at the bar. The man he'd drunken with was lying off of a headache till next Thursday. Slade knew that this Renaldo Estrada (OC) had files on everyone in the precinct that Dick would be gearing up to and, not join. God forbid it if he just sauntered in with a name tag and a coffee mug that read "proud mutt."
Slade snarkily chuckled at the image as he went to call a cab back to the safehouse. With the boy busting his bits over what to do with this golden moment, the man had remembered to play his own trick. A precariously placed box of soda bread mix was in relocated so that just maybe there was a choice involved.
Richard was after all a beta boy, right?
There was no way that he could be anything else, not certainly a home wrecking, clumsy, spiteful minded omega?
He had two options Slade had placed, and he was sure one would end up better than the first.
Dick was tasked in using his analytical side, the right side of his brain, while the house wife, the omega was lying in wait for him to slip up. To pull a loaf out of the oven while none of his drawings were as well performed as a perfect rounded half of a disc.
Slade imagined Dick sobbing over burning the roast, that he'd have a little tantrum when Slade was just outside the door in nearly ten minutes.
Bruce would put that brat to work forever, now that he was a target on everyone's list as a self-proclaimed where to so many disloyal gothamites.
The butler might coax the kid to enjoy being the help, little Cinderella. A poor example of discipline, until he'd finally decide to bear a litter and change his sex for good.
Slade wasn't expecting that. Kids were an Alpha's calling less so than an Omega's referral desire to pounce on any potential mate.
Dick's scent though, told Slade things. That even Wayne would not get unless his nose were covered in it. That odor, of his soulmate. The boy had a short supply of suitors, and now it had to be true.
He took the key and made sure the locks all activated. "I'm home…" Slade slipped in as he turned the knock slowly, hearing a whistled breathing while the boy must have let the dough set…the bowl was in the sink, shaking. About a half hour. Slade noticed that the preset oven was the on yet. Good. He saw the trail of flour, the timer set up to wake the boy, and in bed. He…
Slade held back an amused, low snort.
He'd changed. The clothing was now just the top, the black pants on as he didn't feel fond of the dress, Slade guessed. He saw how it was crumpled up in a mound by the floor, so picking up each piece, stocking as well, the scent of exhausted boy in his heat on day two, showed that the kid was not just making cakes here. The notebook, the pages were all over the bed.
He was trying. Writing down ideas, notes too of his new alter ego and plans to gather a following. The logo he stuck with, was similar to the Bat's but the center was of a blue hawk silhouette. The oval surrounding it was black as he had used both colors to show off. Slade plucked up the page and saw "undecided" under the mention of a name.
The kid chose to be a maker and wrecker. Slade put a hand out to the kid's forehead.
Heat, and it needed to come down. Slade frowned, putting a few more blankets he had handy onto the shivering teen. Richard's sweaty brow was normal, but his pants were thoroughly soaked through. Slade clicked his tongue and began to remove them, the kid allowing this as he lay in a stupor. A haze of whatever he was trying not to be.
The pants stripped for the wash; Slade took his time starting a quick load. He made sure to separate the delicate goodies that Grayson had tried to dump unceremoniously out of his eye onto the hardwood floor. The bread was setting in the fridge as Slade pulled it out to rise a bit, to undo the wait as he wanted to finish before the kid woke.
Into the oven, into the fire the mound of dough was set to. Bake it, break over a short discussion about making ideas happen. Dick had passed one test. The next, was not going to be so hidden from him. More in – your – face, seeing as the pieces were falling where they needed to be.
Slade let the bread go on fourty- odd what minutes before he tapped it. Hollow, done.
The plated item was left to cool as Slade checked on laundry that needed to either be strung or set to a low heat. He waited in the hall and saw the body on the bed stir. It moaned under the covers as Slade scented something, something thicker and sweat.
His bristled back stood erect with another piece to himself, Slade's nose getting a waft of whatever Omega did to their alpha. It…
Biting his cheek, Slade left the room after clearing it, every crumb to keep him busy from the man's own musk, also cooling with arousal that it wished to one day express to its mate. Soulmates, a red string was their prison guard as Dick's legs shifted on his side under the heavy quilt. "Damn." Slade took to what he had in the fridge and made a simple bite before pouring himself some milk.
The moan became softer, like a whisper in a maiden's glory. The boy turned into his back, the item shifting as he kicked, to reveal his crotch, already the scent as heady as any might picture.
Slade stuck to the wall, watching as the kid let his legs part while he slept. The papers all to the ground, the kid's knees jerked until his cock bobbed along in his boxers. The tip was fighting on staying a single lack of damp, it was entirely soaked as well. Dick was having a very good dream, and Slade…. was curious to know just how good it still was.
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Bruce Wayne had to take to a disguise as he entered the precinct of the police station in Blud. This place was known to be a headquarters for crime, not against it according to the Gotham Gazette.
Then again, Blud's bad side had been published and written by highly prejudicial members of the city's sister news corporation that had agreed on the story originally. Blud had hope, it was just harder to keep to without one's heroes in the shadows for that same sake of justice. There were none, not even a crossing guard as Bruce put all of his efforts into scenting out a disaster before it struck.
"James? The comish in Gotham is here, Luc!"
The man at the front station shouted back to his boss as the commissioner, an older Black American with a lackluster love of name calling, took to the steps and eyed Gordon. His nearly clean-shaven shadows and his tie were intact, but he looked worn out. He'd seen a lot; Gordon had told Bruce from the way here. Lucas Davidson was an honorary member in the group of those waiting to retire. Yet, he had answers and had always taken the hard way to find justice where crime ran rampant before them. (Oc time. Basing him from the guy from Happytime Murders because he'd be no push over.)
"Jim, to what do I owe the honor? You're new recruit on board with us?" His brown eyes pointed directly at Wayne's disguise, as if it had already been shattered by a senior former detective. "The fact you came all this way means you have a case those boys of yours clearly are having trouble over. You didn't radio it in."
"It's a personal favor, actually." Jim said. "We gotta talk, like back then, Lucas. It's more than urgent enough to see an old former protector of our rights in this country."
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They walked up to the rattled halls; getting stares from each and every person, while Bruce didn't like that at all. And yet, he kept on top of not letting his cover be complete thrown out the window.
Once he'd gotten a hold of how many floors, rooms and staff were in the main area, the older comish had he and Jim slide over to seat themselves uncomfortably in two beat up chairs. Those chairs had probably seen the end of Nam or worse, Roosevelt's sister.
"You got a request, so spill it."
Bruce looked at Jim as he let down his hat and fake beard. "Not who I thought you'd be. Mr. Bruce Wayne. Here?"
Lucas looked at Jim who paused on what to say. "You know about the news on this man's son, his ward. Dick Grayson. Been all any of the people every day are still gabbing on about. –
"I'm sorry for your loss at this time, truly. But Jim, Wayne, you know I can't just take on a person cause without filing in on that to the big bosses." Luc shook his head and put a hand to his face, running it down slowly as he thought, "Wayne came ta see if we had any leads, that about it –
"No. Not exactly. The Batman contacted me and said to look for him in this city, that he was traced here. The man who took him, a mercenary fir hire who's not going to let my ward go even if I pay fir him to retire completely."
"What he's saying is the truth, Luc. Honest to God. That kid is like the prince taken from his tower and the Bat was nice enough to drop us a hint at all."
"Why didn't you just hire him, why want us for the job if you know how Blud operates?" Luc wondered. "It's gotten worse out there, Gotham gangs come here to get their loot and take it back to other cities. Countries. We're not gonna just bust every criminal until the people are afraid of the law. These gangs are more in hiding than out taking money from rich grammas." Lic explained. "No rich grandmother would be caught dead living here if they wanted to. So, you see what I'm saying –
"Yes, that you're going to retire this year after you've passed over your badge to someone willing to clean up this city again."
Bruce's detective skills had come in handy. Whether by a fat rumor he'd heard or the man's stricken face right in front of him until his shoulders slouched downwards, Luc let out a low groan. "The big men upstairs said its my time already. I had nothing to do with wanting to get out, I don't even think I can find anyone as qualified as …" He stopped. "She's a real hardballer. A legend here. Miss. Valentine." He nodded to Gordon, who wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Bruce could think of a few things though.
"How long as she been with you in this life of wok. Any noticeable traits? When are you slated to pull out? Luc….you attended that last session in March…" Jim frowned. "If we gotta know the new comish, lead the way. I wanna ask if she's ever worked a missing person's case like this one."
"Multiple times. She's almost Wayne's age, actually. Like I said, her attitude is why I'm forced to go, and it's better if I do."
"Before you retire fir good, Lucas, did your men and women find anything off about the current week on the streets, any disputes that ended up too guarded to know much about?" Bruce asked the old comish. "I can't say that I have, but you're welcome when she gets to it ta get everyone's number in this building and question them."
"So, where are you and Shari's, headed? Sunny weather on ahead? I'm sorry we didn't-
"Laws are meant to be followed, Jim. But if I had a choice, I'd stay. I don't anymore." Luc sighed himself into his seat. "I've seen men be gutted like fish from the market by the docs, hooks attached where that sun don't shine fkr them. We've stopped meta and human trafficking, including a recent bust on the city overturning Omega abortions which is criminal from the get go I want this city to think about itself as a whole, but we got no Batman. No Flash and no less a confusion in this public office than the cells of Arkham have built in speakers."
"We'll see this Valentine. If sge has all of your information on any events in the last ten days or more."
"Got that, and she should have a folder waiting."
"Too bad we can't drink to your golden years starting, Lucas. Next time I'll buy a few glasses. You are going, what. When? Today?"
"Actually, good thing too." Smirked the elder. "He's a great detective still. Today after I ended my shift, my stiff was packed a day ahead. That's why nothing would have come out that door. Already made the big boys upstairs thank me for my fucking fifteen years of excellent service to the community."
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