Chapter Text
Chapter-7
Tony would never forgive himself for taking ninety-two hours to put the pieces together: for someone who prided himself on being the smartest person in the room, it took him laughably long to figure out that mating him meant that his presentation heat would have triggered a responsive mating rut in his alpha.
The moment he figured it out, Tony found Alfred, demanding to know Bruce’s whereabouts. The elderly beta didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and Tony suspected that the beta had been waiting for Tony to figure it out.
The guest wing Bruce had chosen was one of the oldest in the manor, seldom used... Far enough from the family quarters that nobody wandered there casually. Like the rest of the old manor, it had thick walls, heavy doors and multiple secure locks.
Bruce engaged every single one.
He had known this was coming: The reciprocal response after bonding... And so, he had prepared: stocked food and water, set contingencies, and told Alfred what to do if he failed to emerge after five days.
Every instinct pulled him toward the Master suite. Towards where his body promised his omega was dutifully waiting for him... The very omega he had promised— personally, verbally, with every fiber of himself—would never be obligated to him.
The pull was brutal: Sweat dampened his shirt. The bond tugged at his mind.
“No.”
Bruce faced his bloodshot eyes in the reflection and grit his teeth: He was not going to walk into Tony’s room while Tony was exhausted and healing and vulnerable and let instinct make choices for him. He was not going to make Tony feel responsible for something Bruce could endure.
He cares for you... His mind whispered traitorously.
Bruce stared at his reflection. Then shook his head once... because every cell in his body wanted to go drag Tony into his arms and bury himself in the omega and let instinct take over.
But Batman could survive four days of pain... He had survived worse—
He would survive this.
The door gave way under the repulsor blast: Wood splintered inward, metal screamed. And Tony Stark, wearing his gauntlet only on one hand stepped through the rubble and forgot how to breathe—
Because Bruce was crouched low in the open bathroom door. Wet. Bare. Body coiled tight like a spring. Every line of him built for defense.
For one sharp heartbeat Tony saw Batman there... Not Brucie Wayne— Not his smiling, gentle billionaire friend, but something stripped down to pure reaction and violence and protection.
Then Bruce recognized him and everything changed. The tension didn’t vanish, exactly but the shoulders lowered and the defensive angle eased, hands unclenching as blue eyes locked onto Tony’s face.
And only then did Tony really see him. His stomach dropped because Bruce looked awful: There was color high on his face from fever. And under that, he looked cold: Goosebumps prickling across broad shoulders. Tony could still hear the water pouring from the overhead shower in the bathroom where Bruce had clearly been— his hair was plastered dark against his forehead, and his lips were pale where they were spread around the folded leather piece he was biting down on.
But it was everything else, that made Tony feel abruptly sick: Dark red welts striped across Bruce’s back and upper torso while a black-metal restraint was locked in place lower on his body. His manacled ankle had a steel chain running to the heavy carved bedpost where it was anchored down.
Tony remembered Bruce adjusting pillows for him two days ago, carefully bracing him so his compromised sternum wouldn’t hurt— letting Tony lean against him without comment. Like Tony was something precious and breakable.
And now Bruce had taken all of that care and softness and aimed the exact opposite at himself.
Tony’s throat tightened so sharply it hurt, and the fury hit so hard it almost made him dizzy. Tony took one step forward.
Bruce instantly pressed himself flatter against the wall and spit out the leather bit he’d been biting on: “Stay back.”
Tony glared, “No.”
“What if I lose control?” Bruce whispered.
“You chained yourself to a bed,” Tony’s voice came out sharper than intended, “... and you’re currently worried that you’ll hurt me?!”
Bruce shrugged. Tony saw the movement pull at the bruised stripes across his shoulders and Bruce wince before he could hide it.
“You used a belt?”
“Pain gave me something immediate to focus on,” Bruce admitted.
Tony was about to say something cutting— then his gaze snagged on the bathroom vanity. At the tiny glittering fragments scattered across black granite, to be precise. He stepped sideways and picked one up, his arm catching the edge of the shower stream in the process.
Tony physically recoiled at how frigid the water was before focusing on the piece in his hand: Metal... clearly the remnants of a key. But to what?
Tony glanced at Bruce, and his stomach dropped as the realisation hit all at once, making him take a stumbling step back right under the full force of the icy shower. He spluttered and jumped out, hurriedly turning the water off, eyes still locked on the broken piece of metal in his hand... This was a key that was not thrown aside but destroyed deliberately so that there would be no temptation or back-up plan, no chance that Bruce might change his mind later. Bruce had locked himself into something cruel and unforgiving and then destroyed the only way out.
Tony felt abruptly nauseous... because the destroyed key meant sharp tools dangerously close to vulnerable skin. And Bruce had chosen that instead of risking Tony even accidentally.
“Tony.”
Tony snapped his head up: Bruce looked wrecked— sweating, shivering— teeth clenched hard enough the muscles in his jaw jumped. But his eyes were calm as he tried to reassure Tony, “It was just precautionary.”
Precautionary. Like this was some casual contingency.
Tony’s voice came out thin, “So you…”
“I wanted there to be barriers,” Bruce agreed quietly. “I couldn’t trust discipline alone in case instinct failed sense... The- the pain kept me aware and gave me something stronger than instinct to focus upon.”
“So, if I hadn’t blown open that door…” Tony felt his throat close.
Bruce’s silence answered, because Bruce truly hadn’t intended to mention any of it. He would’ve endured it until he could stand upright again and smile and then, come back downstairs like none of it had happened.
“Let’s get you out of here,”
“It’s not safe... Besides, it’s only going to be a few hours more... a day, maximum—”
“Do not say that to me.”
Bruce went quiet.
Tony dragged both hands through wet hair. “Your plan is seriously what— lock yourself in a guest room, chain your ankle to a bed, freeze under a terrible shower, and then eventually hike to the cave with… that still on?”
“I anticipated better mobility by then.”
Tony laughed— a sharp ugly sound. He stared at the broken metal in his hand for another moment and looked around the room: No hidden override or spare release or a conveniently placed tool kit to allow his escape. Bruce hadn’t left himself an out, hadn’t planned for comfort. He hadn’t left himself a loophole.
Tony felt cold and forced himself to look closer at the unforgiving metal Bruce had locked himself in: The restraint itself was brutal in its simplicity: Solid, high-grade metal, no exposed latch or accessible hinge. And the lock housing had been reinforced specifically to prevent tampering. There were only three ways off: The original key, a plasma cutter, or heavy rotary tools with proper stabilizers.
None of which were anywhere in this room.
Tony looked up slowly, “I’m changing the plan. We’re getting you back to your room. Now. ... and then we’re getting that thing off you.”
“We’ll uhm... we’ll need precision tools.” Bruce struggled to find an excuse. Not because he wasn't in pain, but because even half-delirious with his rut, he still placed Tony's autonomy first.
Tony stared. Because Bruce had planned for this— for cutting it off later, for sharp metal and heat and pain... and, planned to endure it alone.
"Are you trying to say you don't have one?" Tony growled.
"No, I do. I do... it's- it's in the cave."
“We are not going to the cave.” Tony lifted his chin in challenge, “And I know exactly where your precision tools are... You’ve been here three days. I got bored. I found the rotary kit in the left cabinet under the sink.”
Bruce blinked. Then let out a startled laugh, “Of course you did.”
“What about the manacle? Did you destroy that key as well or is it just out of reach?”
“Under the armoire,” Bruce pointed across the room.
Tony raised an eyebrow. The armoire was at the opposite end of the room and the given the size of the rooms in the manor, the chain was definitely too short for Bruce too reach it.
“What was the plan?” He asked casually as he lowered himself to his hands and knees to peek beneath the heavy wooden frame. He grinned triumphantly when he spotted the key almost immediately.
“Alfred would hand me the key once he could verify that the rut had abated... I’d handle the rest myself.”
Tony tightened his grip on the key automatically, heart clenching that this was yet another failsafe: Bruce didn’t trust his own judgement and would await external validation before he would even attempt releasing himself.
“Okay... well, since I’m not waiting for that, sit back.”
“Tony...” Bruce asked softly even as he moved to obey, “Are you sure about this?”
Tony glanced once at the younger man and had to look away. Bruce was still shaking— visibly struggling. Still fever-hot and pale. And somehow still focused on Tony.
“Yes,” He bit out, as he crouched by Bruce’s ankle instead and worked the lock. The manacle sprang open. Bruce’s foot shifted automatically—
and Tony’s stomach turned.
The steel had bitten deep: raw, red skin circled Bruce’s ankle, two places rubbed open entirely... The sort of injury that only came from prolonged movement against too-tight metal.
Tony stared, then looked at the cuff: clearly too small for someone with Bruce’s physique
He frowned, “Pretty sure you misjudged the size, Brucie Bear.”
Bruce didn’t answer.
And Tony immediately understood— not an accident or simply what happened to be available. Bruce had chosen the smaller restraint: Something tight enough to hurt every time he paced—every time instinct made him move toward the door. He'd made sure his every step was punishing to keep himself present.
Tony felt vaguely sick.
Bruce saw his expression and immediately tried to redirect, “You should dry off.”
“You chained yourself to furniture with the wrong-sized restraint.” Tony snapped, “And your concern is me dripping on antique hardwood?”
Bruce glanced at the floor. Then—
“Moisture is not good for antique floors...?” he offered.
Tony closed his eyes, counted to five. Then went and found Alfred’s stack of towels folded neatly outside the bathroom door. “Happy?”
Bruce was still sitting there entirely bare and somehow trying very hard not to make a thing of it.
So, he sighed and wrapped a towel firmly around Bruce’s waist. Bruce instinctively caught the edge to keep it secure. Tony tugged it tighter.
“Now listen carefully.” He ground out.
Bruce actually straightened.
“You’re mated. Which means your body,” Tony informed him solemnly, “is now exclusively for my eyes.”
Bruce nodded his acquiescence immediately.
“Wonderful,” Tony sighed dramatically. “I’m mated to the one alpha on the planet who can hear blatant flirting and turn it into a wardrobe adjustment plan.”
“You were... flirting?” Bruce looked genuinely startled. “With... me?!”
Tony rolled his eyes as he stepped beside the alpha and slid an arm around Bruce’s waist. “Ready?”
They moved slowly down the corridor. Tony in wet clothes and Bruce barefoot, towel secured low around his hips. Every now and then Bruce’s step faltered almost invisibly. And every single time he corrected without complaint. By the time they reached the master suite Tony was vibrating with fresh anger. He got Bruce seated on the edge of the bed, wrapped another dry towel over his shoulders and then, crossed straight to the cabinet beneath the sink.
He opened the left panel and pulled out a sleek black case: Precision rotary tools nested in foam, diamond bits, heat guards and insulation pads... everything they needed.
Tony checked the charge as he returned to the room and selected the smallest cutting head. Then glanced up.
Bruce sat still: shoulders trembling, welts dark against pale skin, ankle raw, hands braced on the mattress. Waiting.
Trusting Tony.
Tony’s chest tightened. He positioned the heat guard carefully. Then muttered—
“You know what I hate most?”
Bruce lifted his gaze.
“That you genuinely would’ve endured all of this without saying a word.”
Bruce looked wrecked but stayed quiet.
“Good thing you’re stuck with me now.”
A small real smile tugged at the corner of the alpha’s mouth. “…good thing.”
Tony glanced up once for permission and then quietly undid the towel around Bruce’s hip, crouching between the alpha’s legs to get a better look at what he was dealing with:
Bruce inhaled sharply but held still.
Tony positioned the towel barrier and heat guard, adjusted the angle and turned on the diamond-tipped cutter on low speed, aiming for short contact: a tiny, controlled cut.
Bruce’s breathing changed.
“Too much?” Tony looked up instantly.
“No.” Bruce had gone utterly still, “… its manageable.”
Tony rolled his eyes, “Congratulations, that tells me nothing.”
That actually got a weak huff of laughter.
Tony touched his knee, “Look at me.”
Blue eyes, bright and feverish, immediately met his.
“I need one thing—”
“Anything.”
Tony’s mouth softened, “Don’t ‘anything’ me.” A breath. “You need to tell me if it hurts.”
Bruce nodded.
Tony angled the cutter and made contact: a tiny burst of sparks, the smell of hot metal.
Bruce’s hands gripping the bed hard enough his knuckles went white.
Tony pulled back immediately, “Sorry.”
Bruce shook his head, “No—keep going.”
Tony resumed without a word, the smell of heated metal intensified, Bruce stayed terrifyingly still until his breathing hitched hard.
Tony immediately cut power and looked up.
Bruce had gone pale, jaw clenched.
Tony’s stomach dropped, “Bruce?”
“It’s alright—”
Tony glared at the man till he amended: “It’s hot.”
Tony nodded and waited until the metal cooled again, readjusted the insulation pad and re-started, working until the metal gave with a quiet snap. He killed power instantly.
Heart hammering, he reached for the metal circlets, carefully removing them from their strangling hold over tender flesh, checking to ensure there were no sharp edges that might accidentally drag against skin.
Bruce’s head tipped back against the headboard, a shudder tearing through him.
Tony got the final piece free; then sat back on his heels, staring at the angry marks left behind.
“Thank you.”
The gentle gratitude had him feeling violently angry all over again, but he tried to swallow it down in favour of the strain Bruce was hiding: the constant minute corrections to keep control, the deliberate effort not to crowd him. Even now.
“You can repay me later.” He managed to snark as he climbed to his feet. “Preferably by never chaining yourself to antique furniture again.”
Bruce huffed out a laugh before freezing as want rolled through him again. Tony raised an eyebrow before dragging a blanket from the foot of the bed and covering the man.
“I’m not cold.”
“I know,” Tony kept fussing, pulling a towel to dry the man’s hair and re-adjusting the blanket till it covered Bruce’s feet from the knee down. “You spent two days proving you can survive Gotham winters naked— Congratulations. Now you get to prove that you can endure basic care like a civilised billionaire.”
“Is that an order?” Bruce’s mouth twitched.
Tony lifted a finger, “Strongly worded suggestion.”
Bruce nodded solemnly. But the alpha still kept his hands to himself, carefully ensuring that he did not touch Tony. Then Bruce’s breathing caught, his shoulders tensing hard enough Tony saw it immediately.
Another wave.
Bruce shifted like he meant to stand.
Tony caught his wrist, “Stay.”
He glanced at the door once to confirm it was locked before stripping down to his boxers and placed one knee on the mattress. Then the other... His hands landed on broad shoulders to steady himself and somehow— without really planning it— he ended up squarely in Bruce’s lap. He had spent years draping himself over furniture and people alike and flirting his way through gala dinners. Climbing into another man’s space should not have felt like stepping off a ledge. And yet—
He found himself abruptly aware of several things: Bruce was far broader up close, especially without the softening effect of his tailored suits. The hard planes of Bruce’s body were suddenly, intimately close. And worse—
The reaction that shivered through him was alien: Forty-two years of instinct said one thing. His body now answered with something else entirely.
Tony felt his cheeks heat as his boxers grew damp. He was sure Bruce could smell the sudden change, and yet Bruce’s hands remained where Tony could see them, resting lightly on the mattress.
And because Tony Stark had never in his life known when to leave a thing alone—
he caught Bruce’s wrists... lifted them—
And set them on his hips.
Bruce inhaled sharply, hands flexing once. Then going deliberately so still Tony could feel the effort of it. Blue eyes, darker than usual, met his eyes—
Waiting... Always waiting.
Bruce’s voice came out low and careful, “…this is new.”
“You’re welcome,” Tony rolled his eyes because if he didn’t, he might combust. “And yes, you can touch me.”
In response, Bruce adjusted his grip— sliding his palms to the outside of Tony’s thighs to better support his balance. But his grip stayed feather-light. Like Tony could pull away at any second and Bruce would let him.
Tony’s chest tightened. And before he could overthink it—before either of them could ruin it with practical questions or discussions of logistics— Tony kissed him. Warm and deliberate and a little breathless.
Bruce kissed him back like restraint itself: not plundering or taking what was being so freely offered, but gentle. Allowing Tony ingress and lightly sucking on his exploring tongue, but somehow still controlled.
Tony could feel the want that was there... the utter need. Bruce’s rut fanning the flames of instinct. But it was ruthlessly hidden under discipline, old friendship and Bruce’s endless effort not to ask for anything he hadn’t been offered.
Tony deepened the kiss in response, felt Bruce’s breath catch. Felt the way his fingers tightened slightly at Tony’s hip.
Tony pulled back barely enough to breathe.
Bruce looked wrecked.
And somehow still entirely willing to walk away if Tony changed his mind. He kissed him again just to wipe that expression off his face. This time Bruce made a rough sound low in his throat. One Tony felt more than heard. And Tony— shifted closer.
He felt it then; the sheer effort it took Bruce not to move unless Tony moved first. And something warm and bright unfurled in Tony’s chest.
Not love...not yet.
But something close to it.
That night the manor finally felt quiet, Bruce’s rut had burned down to embers, and the worst of Tony’s injuries had healed. The intimacy of the evening had carried into their nightly routine, and now Tony’s bare back was pressed firmly against the alpha’s equally bare front, a shiver running through him when Bruce’s knuckle accidentally brushed against his left nipple.
“Sorry,”
“No- no... it’s – it’s fine. Just... sensitive.” Tony whispered back, grabbing the alpha’s wrist and pulling it closer, Bruce’s arm over his waist a welcome anchor.
“Sensitive?” Bruce rumbled. Then—
“That reminds me, I’ve booked an appointment for us this Thursday.”
Tony hummed, “What appointment?”
“With an Omegatologist. Leslie recommended him.”