Archive of Our Own ^beta

For the most part, Dick gets left alone by the boss, which is just fine with him.

Having the attention of a man like Roman Sionis is never a good thing, especially not if you work for him. Because it either means that a) you've fucked up and you're going to have to face his ire, or sometimes worse, b) he likes you for whatever reason, which means you'll be standing on the edge of the knife until he grows bored.

So Dick just does his job, hands over the cut he's supposed to, keeps his head down. Stays calm and quiet and out of the way, doesn't make any trouble, stays far away from anyone that might anger the head of the Black Mask Gang if he were to see them associating. He knows how to play this game, after so long of having to. Dick knows how powerless he is, and how to keep as much power and autonomy as he can.

And because he's been doing all of that, because he hasn't dipped a single toe out of line, Dick has no idea why he's been called to the home of Roman Sionis, the man at his door easily conveying that it might be phrased as a request but it's really, really not (as if he needed that spelled out to him).

He keeps his expression placid and open, locking all of his disquiet down deep. He puts on his shoes and coat and follows the man—thug, really, with a broken nose and pistol tucked into his jacket—down to the town car waiting on the street.

The ride is completely silent, the thug not even glancing at him once, leaving Dick to stew in his anxiety. He's wracking his brain to figure out what this could be about, what he could've done wrong, what he could've done far too right. Nothing's changed lately—hooking isn't exactly a business that goes through growth, it just is what it is, and no one's been making any noise they shouldn't be, at least not around him.

There's not a single thing he can think of that would have Roman sending for him. Right before he was supposed to start working for the night, no less.

When they arrive, the thug opens the door for him and leads him through winding halls that remind him of the Manor before stopping in front of a pair of dark wood double doors, knocking briskly.

After a moment, there's a call to enter. The thug pushes the door open, gesturing Dick inside with a bored expression that makes Dick want to scowl at him, an instinct he manages to hold back as he straightens his shoulders and strides inside.

Dick's only met Roman Sionis once, back when he first started working for the man. Dick had been on his own, stumbling through figuring out how to go about selling himself for money he desperately needed to keep his head above water. He moved into Roman's territory without knowing a thing about it, and ended up getting picked up by a pair of large, terrifying men.

Dick thought for sure he was about to be killed. He didn't know why or who by or where he'd gone wrong, only that all the stories he'd heard of prostitutes being murdered were coming true for him.

Instead, Roman with his slick smile and roaming eyes offered him protection. Offered to make him one of his boys. Said he takes care of the ones that work for him, that he'll always have someone on the street watching his back, a guard at the ready if a client were to do anything they're not supposed to. That his cut would be thirty percent of whatever Dick makes, which yes is a lot but it's ever so worth it for how Roman looks after his people. No one would dare touch him if he hooked for Roman, and if they did they'd live to regret it.

It seemed like a good deal, especially to the person Dick was back then, completely on his own and not yet wise to the intricacies of how the world works, even if he'd been responsible for himself for a year by that point. The idea of having safety was too good for him to pass up on, not to mention the assurance that he would be making money. It felt—more solid, than what he'd been doing. Less risky. So, he accepted.

He was sixteen, at the time. Five years have passed since then and he's learned so much. Certainly figured out long ago that Roman's offer for Dick to work for him wasn't an offer at all—it was an ultimatum. Either Dick agreed, and Roman got another pretty little boy working for him, or he didn't, and Roman—

Well, to be frank, he would've raped Dick and then killed him, left his body out on the street like yesterday's trash. And he wouldn't have lost a wink of sleep over it.

(Back then, Dick didn't know the kind of man Roman Sionis was. He knew he was a bad man, because what good person runs a you-name-it crime ring, but Dick's view had been clouded by desperation and maybe even a bit of naivete, his sixteen-year-old brain picturing all of those mobster movies he'd seen, the ones where the mobsters were bad but honorable. He didn't yet know, hadn't yet seen. He viewed Roman as a—not savior, but a hand he'd been desperately in need of.

He knows better, now. Enough to have all of his rules in place about flying under the radar. Enough to be afraid of meeting the same fate that he would've if he said 'no' back then.)

Roman looks exactly the same now as he did back then, despite all the years that have passed. His blonde hair is perfectly styled, his suit expensive and fitted. He's relaxed in an armchair off to the side of the big desk against the back wall, one ankle propped up on his opposite knee as he sips idly from a glass of amber liquid, other hand occupied with a stack of papers. He sets both down as Dick enters, instead folding his hands loosely in his lap and smiling.

It's a charming look, artfully tailored to be so. Roman has taken great care to shape himself into something pleasing to the public; he's well-spoken and well-mannered, intelligent but not smug, confident but not egotistical. Handsome, clothes and style and routine making sure that doesn't fade as the years go by. Engaging and kind and trustworthy.

Everything everyone who actually knows him, knows he's not. But while he might always put on this show, it isn't meant for his gangsters or his drug runners or his whores—it's for the rest of Gotham, for the high society snobs Roman has fancy lunches with, all the politicians he meets at this gala or that.

Power and influence, that's what it's all about. Because Roman is nothing if not greedy and ambitious.

"Richard," Roman greets, posture relaxed, charming smile in place, expression perfectly pleasant. "It's nice to see you again; you've certainly grown up."

Yes, that's what happens when you hire a sixteen-year-old hooker; they tend to change a bit.

Dick keeps his features arranged in something calm and open, unworried. He walks closer without hesitation or wariness, and offers a grateful smile when Roman gestures to the armchair opposite him, indicating he should sit.

"Hello, Mr. Sionis," Dick returns, dipping his head just a tad in greeting, enough to be submissive. His heart is thudding in his chest. He just needs to keep Roman happy with him, figure out why he was brought here, find a way to survive—

"How have you been faring?" Roman asks, and Dick allows himself to be pulled into pointless small talk, fighting the nervous urge to fidget, keeping his posture relaxed by sheer force of will.

After a few minutes of this, and of Dick's dread rising higher and higher, Roman asks, "And you've been seeing someone, haven't you?" He offers a small, amused laugh. "Outside of work, I mean."

The question is just as light and casual as the rest of the small talk, but panic squeezes Dick's lungs nonetheless, feeling the ground rocking beneath his feet. There's a buzzing in his ears.

He doesn't know how Roman knows that, chills running up his spine at the idea that he's been being watched. Doesn't know why he would be—Roman has so many boys and girls working for him, too many to put a tail on everyone. So why? And if he knows Dick's dating someone then he likely knows who and that will be such a complete and utter shitshow—

"Yes," Dick agrees, after a long enough pause that it's definitely noticeable, even with the easy-going tone Dick does his best to pull up. "Is that alright?"

Of course it's alright, Roman's never given two shits about any of them having actual relationships. Hell, there are even a few married workers under his 'protection', and they were married when they started. Dick has certainly dated a little bit here and there. It can't possibly be that Roman is upset by Dick having a boyfriend.

Which means this is about who Dick is seeing. Which is...so, so much worse.

"Of course," Roman says, with the air of someone bestowing something one should be grateful for. "Of course it is. I was just curious—how did you meet Bruce Wayne?"

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

Doing his best to speak past the lump in his throat, Dick says, "My brother and his son met at the park, became friends."

Roman hums, nodding. His pleasant, charming persona hasn't dropped an inch, but his eyes are sharp. "That's very sweet. How's the relationship going, if I may ask?"

No, you may not, Dick wants to say, but he wouldn't dare. There's no other option than to answer.

"It's going well." Dick knows his smile is tight on his face. He can't find the strength to fix it, too focused on retaining the ability to breathe.

Another nod from Roman. He tilts his head, watching Dick, finger tapping idly on the back of his hand. "That's good," he says. "Young love, hm? Always so exciting. Well, young for you, of course—there's quite the age difference between the pair of you. Does Bruce like his partners young?"

Dick suppresses his scowl, shoves down his anger at the insinuation. "We've only been dating since January," he says. "When I was already twenty." I wasn't sixteen and tiny like so many of your clients enjoy, and Bruce isn't a fucking pedophile like the news loves proclaiming.

"Still," Roman says, but doesn't follow it up with anything. Instead, he starts again with, "Have you been to Wayne Manor?"

"...I have," Dick says reluctantly. Roman's smile widens a little, a flash of teeth.

"Good, that's good," the man says. "He must really like you, then. Plus Bruce really doesn't date much these days, does he? So he must think you're something special."

"If I may," Dick says, trying to sound respectful and submissive, "can I ask what this is about? None of this has interfered with me doing my job."

"You're very good at your job," Roman agrees. "Never had any problem with you, Richard. You keep your nose clean, I appreciate that. Do the work without complaint, hand over my cut, live your life. I can respect that. And because you're so good at your job, I'd like to...promote you, take you off the street. How's that sound?"

Dick stares at him, eyes flicking between Roman's as he tries to understand where this is going. Because it sure as hell isn't as straightforward as it sounds, especially not after that conversation about Bruce.

"Promotion how, exactly?" Dick asks hesitantly.

"One client," Roman says, holding up a finger. "You sleep with him, keep him company, do whatever—and pass me back information on him. And in return I'd pay you a real salary, which would be double what you currently make in a year."

Double what he—

Fucking hell, that's a lot of money. He could find him and Jason a bigger—nicer—apartment, maybe in a slightly better part of town, too. That kind of money would change their lives, would make Jason's so much better than what Dick currently can offer him. And for just a bit of information passing? Dick can do that, he can do that no problem—

But they were just talking about Bruce.

"You want me to spy on my boyfriend," Dick says, and his voice sounds dull even to his own ears.

"Don't think of it as spying," Roman denies. "You don't have to change your behavior at all, you just get the perk of not having to fuck strangers every night. Enjoy your relationship, go on dates, fuck Wayne the way he likes—none of that has to change one wink. Just, every two weeks, you'll come here and tell me things about him. It won't be hard. Hell, your relationship might even get better without you having to do what you do."

"I—" Dick's ears are ringing, his blood running cold. He's pretty sure he's not shaking, but he feels like he is nonetheless. "I...can't do that, Sir. We—my relationship with Bruce is...separate, from all of this. He—doesn't need to be pulled into it." He manages a tight smile, feeling uncomfortable and brittle. "I'm okay with my current job, really, Mr. Sionis. But thank you for the offer."

Roman's eyes narrow. Dick's breath stills.

"Come here, Richard," Roman says, and Dick really doesn't want to. His heart is pounding so fast it hurts, adrenaline flooding his system as a fight-or-flight response ignites in him.

But, like everything else with Roman Sionis, there's no real choice.

He manages to peel himself out of the armchair, legs tense as they carry him to stand in front of Roman. The position forces Roman to look up at him, but there's no misunderstanding about who has the power here.

Roman leaves him in suspense for a moment, sharp eyes boring into him, before he says, "Get on your knees."

Dick's throat bobs nervously. He sinks to the ground, going still when Roman lowers his crossed leg to spread them instead, Dick settled between them.

A hand, nearly gentle, reaches out and strokes through Dick's hair, a cold smile flitting across Roman's face before his fingers tighten, drawing a shout from Dick as his hair is harshly pulled back, forcing his neck into an arch.

"See that's where you're wrong, sweetheart," Roman says, sickly sweet. "He's not separate from all of this, because for some reason he's dating one of my whores. You got him involved, Richard. So now you're going to do your fucking job. You're going to be a good boy and do as you're told."

"Mr. Sionis," Dick says, voice coming out breathy, "I can't—"

His words cut off as Roman yanks him forward, making Dick grunt as his face is smashed against Roman's crotch, belt buckle stabbing his forehead.

"You don't get to tell me no," Roman says. He uses the grip on Dick's hair to grind his face forward, rolling his hips up to meet it. It's—degrading, and Dick can feel the man getting hard. "I own you, remember, you little whore? You belong to me. I can do whatever the hell I want with you; your loyalty is to me first and your billionaire boyfriend second."

Dick doesn't have a chance to catch his breath before Roman is tugging his pants open and pulling out his cock, immediately shoving the half-hard length down Dick's throat. It makes him gag and choke, but years of habit quickly take over, his body relaxing, steadying his breath around the cock in his mouth.

Roman fucks his throat hard and fast, the punishment element of this perfectly clear. But Roman's also a sadist, and makes no secret of the fact that he's enjoying this. His anger only seems to fuel his lust.

Dick doesn't fight it, knowing it would be pointless, knowing it would only make everything hurt more. Better to just kneel there and take it.

Dick's certainly had a lot of practice.

Roman's thrusts begin to speed up, hips snapping forward again and again, and then suddenly he pulls out of Dick's abused throat, roughly forcing Dick's neck into an arch again as he wraps his other hand around his cock and beats himself off.

Dick manages to close his eyes in time to avoid getting anything in them as Roman's release paints across his face, hots streaks of cum covering his skin while Roman holds him in place and forces him to take it all.

He keeps him there for a long minute. Dick can hear him panting, coming down from his orgasm. Dick stays pliant, trying to tell himself the burning in his chest is anger and not sick humiliation.

"I own you," Roman says again, still a little breathless but quickly composing himself. He yanks Dick's head farther back, and Dick winces. "Get that through your head, you little whore. You continue to breathe because I allow it. And I am happy to teach you that lesson as many times as it takes to make it stick."

Yeah, Dick doesn't doubt that one bit.

"Welcome to my home, baby," Roman says, maliciousness threading every word. "You're gonna be here until you learn your place. As long as it fucking takes."