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Dick’s been curating his cover as a low-level mobster for five years and seven months when the one man who could tear it all apart with a single sentence walks in right through the front door.
Dick turns, grabbing Kenny Chang’s arm and hauling him back into his study before Slade can see them.
“Freddie?” Kenny says, bewildered, as Dick shuts the door. “What’s going on?”
“Did you hire Deathstroke?” Dick says in a rush as he goes to the desk.
“Deathstroke?” Kenny repeats, staring at the door with furrowed brows like he could look straight through it. “Was that him? Max said he was bringing in extra security for tonight’s job.”
Dick doesn’t like the sound of that. Tonight’s shipment was meant to go smoothly—on the Changs’ side, anyway. They’re one of the middle links of a weapons smuggling operation, and Dick’s goal is to trace it end-to-end. He’s already made sure to set things up so that the Bats would have valid reasons to be occupied on the other side of town, and other investigations into the Changs’ activities have been kept low. There’s no reason for anyone to have been suspicious.
And certainly not suspicious enough to hire Slade.
“Deathstroke’s bad news.” Dick opens the hidden bottom of the middle drawer, and is relieved to see Kenny’s emergency gear is all still there. “He’s a merc. He’ll follow the money, and Kenny, you know I’m always on your side, but you don’t have the money right now.”
“You saying he’s going to betray me?” Kenny frowns. “I know his reputation. He doesn’t go back on his word.”
“His word isn’t to you,” Dick says, rising with the electromagnetic cuffs in hand. “It’s to Max.”
Kenny narrows his eyes at the cuffs. “Careful, Freddie,” he says, and it’s a warning, but not a threat. “You know I trust you, but you can’t throw around accusations like that without any proof. Max is my top guy. I let him run this op for a reason.”
Dick’s had his suspicions about Max, but hadn’t seen anything concrete, and also hadn’t had time to dig deeper, either. Bringing in Deathstroke for a standard shipping mission with no verifiable threat is overkill, though—and Kenny might not understand exactly how much overkill, but Dick does.
“Give me one hour,” Dick says. “I’ll—”
The doorknob turns, and Dick shoves the cuffs onto the desk behind them, adjusting his position so that he’s covering it with his body.
The door opens and Max steps through, followed by Slade in full Deathstroke regalia.
Dick stays still and silent. Slade knows him well enough to pick him out just from the way he moves or the sound of his voice—not a level of familiarity Dick enjoys having with a frequent enemy, but one that he’s learned to live with.
Despite his caution, though, Slade looks at him the moment he enters the room, and doesn’t stop looking—and Dick knows for certain that he’s been made, even though he doesn’t know how.
“Hey, boss,” Max says, eyes skimming past Dick to Kenny. “Here’s the extra hands I was telling you about.”
“Deathstroke, right?” Kenny says confidently. “I’m surprised this job wasn’t too small for you.”
“I take jobs of all sizes,” Slade says, just barely taking his eyes off Dick’s face to look at Kenny as he answers.
Kenny frowns slightly. “Max, why don’t you go make sure everything’s ready for tonight?”
Max visibly hesitates, but he must realize there’s no reason for him to refuse the implied order, because he says, “Yes, sir,” and—with a meaningful look at Slade—leaves the room.
“He your guard dog?” Slade says, jerking his chin at Dick.
“My friend,” Kenny says.
Slade chuckles darkly. “Trust me, that man is no friend of yours.”
Dick stares in mild disbelief. He hasn’t even done anything yet, and Slade’s already trying to ruin his relationship with the head of the Chang family for no real reason other than to be an asshole.
It’s a good thing Dick always comes prepared.
“That man is the only reason my wife and baby girl are still alive,” Kenny growls, “so maybe you want to think again about what you’re saying.”
Slade looks at Kenny, his expression halfway to amused. “You have no idea what kind of snake you have in your bed, do you?”
“Freddie and I’ve been friends for years, and I know exactly the kind of man he is,” Kenny says, eyes narrowed. “You, on the other hand—I’m not sure I’m liking you.”
“He’s always been good at drawing people in,” Slade says, stepping closer. “Isn’t that right, Nightwing?”
Dick is wildly tempted to stab Slade in his good eye, but he holds himself back and gives Kenny the space to work it out. The most convincing lie is the one where Dick doesn’t have to say a word, and he’s laid enough of the groundwork here that he might not have to.
Sure enough, it only takes a few seconds for Kenny to go through his cycle of shock-disbelief-doubt, and it ends with him frowning suspiciously at Slade. “That’s impossible. I’ve seen him fighting Nightwing, more than once.”
Slade throws Dick a dirty look, and Dick subtly bites at the insides of his cheeks to suppress a smile, silently thanking Cass for her repeat performances as Nightwing over the years.
Dick’s made sure that Kenny’s personally seen him in the same place as every Bat at least once, and also getting punched by at least half of them. Nothing Slade says is going to be enough to change what Kenny knows from his own experience.
“If you know Nightwing, you should know there’s not a lot that’s impossible for him,” Slade says, and he somehow manages to make it sound like an insult.
“I know for a fact that he ain’t Nightwing,” Kenny says. “And whatever bone you have to pick with him, this is my operation, and if you’re gonna work for me, you’re gonna respect my friends.”
The silence that follows lasts a couple seconds too long, and Dick knows what Slade is thinking—Slade isn’t working for Kenny, not technically. But Slade knows better than to say it out loud and put that fear of betrayal in Kenny’s head.
Too bad Dick has already planted the seed.
“Your op, your call,” Slade says, raising his hands like he’s backing off. “But if things go wrong tonight, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Oh, there’s no way in hell Dick’s going to take the fall for whatever Max and Slade have planned. Slade’s already got himself all the way on Kenny’s bad side—it would just take a little push for Dick to end this now.
“What makes you think something’ll happen tonight?” Dick says, with a pointed look at Kenny. “Far as I can tell, everything looks clear. Unless you plan to cause trouble?”
Slade narrows his eye at Dick. “I’ll do my job, like I always do.”
It’s the wrong answer.
“Freddie,” Kenny says, glancing briefly at the cuffs.
It would have been a mistake, if Slade wasn’t so distracted looking at Dick and mouthing, Freddie.
Dick smiles, and lunges. It’s easy to hold Slade’s attention—Dick’s had it, the entire time they’ve been in the room together. Dick draws him away from Kenny long enough for Kenny to grab the cuffs, and then feigns an opening, letting Slade grab him in the perfect position for Kenny to slam the meta cuffs around his wrists.
Slade’s eyes blaze with rage. “You—”
Dick hits him with the tranquilizer dart before he can get further, and eases him to the ground as he slumps over, unconscious.
Kenny is scowling down at him. “I’m cutting Max loose—”
“Don’t.” Dick stands. “Not yet.”
“He’s going to blow this entire operation!”
“I’m not saying we let him,” Dick says, “but we need to be careful about it.” He looks down at Slade—specifically, at Slade’s costume. A perfect, terrible thought comes to mind. He smiles at Kenny. “Don’t worry. I have an idea.”
Dick slips in through the window of his safehouse late that night, exhausted.
Honestly, running around in any costume other than his Nightwing suit always feels like he’s clunking around in a full suit of armor. At least when he was Batman he’d been able to modify the Batsuit into something a bit lighter-weight and more suited for him. He hadn’t had the opportunity, this time, and had to make do with both the heavier costume and a padded undersuit so he could fit its frame.
He hates it.
“That doesn’t belong to you,” Slade snarls from where he’s sitting on the floor, stripped down to his underwear and bound against the bed with the meta cuffs.
“You think I want to keep this?” Dick pulls off the mask and takes a deep breath of air. “God is this thing stuffy. How do you even wear this with a beard?”
Slade narrows his eye. “How long have you been kissing up to two-bit mobsters?”
Dick hums in mock consideration. “Nunya.”
Slade growls. “Kid—”
“Old man,” Dick returns.
“I hope your night of ruining my reputation was worth it,” Slade says, “because I’m going to kill you after this.”
“It was one night,” Dick says, tossing the mask onto the dresser. “You’ll live. You, on the other hand, just tried to burn an identity I’ve spent over five years building.”
“One identity,” Slade says, clearly mocking. “You can make another one. But to go out in my costume—”
“You’ve had impostors before.”
“And if any of them ever so much as thought about touching anything that belonged to me, I would’ve killed them on the spot.”
“Not really sure death threats are a good way of convincing me to let you go,” Dick says, slowly walking toward Slade.
“I don’t need to convince you. You’ll do it anyway.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, actually,” Slade says, voice low and eye narrowed to a slit. “I am.”
He’s not wrong, is the thing.
Dick could call in reinforcements, try to actually get Slade shipped off to a holding cell somewhere and see if they might actually be able to keep him contained this time—but he doubts Slade would stay there very long. And then Slade’s going to come after him, or Kenny. Probably both.
Either Dick gives Slade the opportunity to get even now, or Slade’s going to pay him back with interest later. Dick doesn’t really like either option, but he knows which one he prefers.
“Fine,” Dick says. “You’re right. I am. But you’re not going to kill me, either.”
“And why’s that?” Slade says in a voice that makes it clear he doesn’t agree.
“Because something’s going to happen,” Dick says. “One of your kids will be in danger, or you’ll get yourself wrapped up in something bigger than you were prepared for. And after all the shit you’ve pulled, we both know I’m the only one who’d still listen to you, even though I shouldn’t. You’re not going to kill your only backup plan for when shit hits the fan.”
Slade bares his teeth. “Cocky little bastard, aren’t you?”
“You gonna try to tell me I’m wrong?”
“Why don’t you take these cuffs off me and find out?”
Dick crosses his arms. “Sure. But in exchange, you’ll stay here the rest of the night. In the morning, you leave town without bothering anyone—and that includes Kenny, and any of his family.”
“And why would I do that?” Slade says, clearly humoring him.
“Because I’ll stay in here with you,” Dick says, before he can second-guess himself. “The entire night.”
Slade’s eye narrows at the implication. “I’m listening.”
It’s not the kind of agreement Dick would make with anyone else, but Slade’s screwed-up sense of honor means it’s possible that, if Dick sets the terms, then Slade can have his revenge and Dick can protect everyone else—and also walk out of it alive.
“This is between you and me,” Dick says. “You don’t go after anyone else. You don’t bring in anyone else. And you get me all to yourself, for one night.”
“No other terms?”
Dick considers it for a second. He needs Slade to be satisfied enough to leave him alone afterward, but it’s not like he wants to get maimed. “No physical damage that would require a hospital or take longer than two weeks to heal from. Anything else is on the table.”
Slade’s lip curls. “You think that’s enough to make up for what you’ve done tonight?”
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Then enlighten me.”
Dick crosses his arms. “Max is actually Maxwell Li, of the Li Crime Family. I’m not sure what reason he gave you for wanting to take out Kenny, but the real reason he wants control of the Changs is so that he’ll be able to make a power play against his older sister, who inherited control of the family when their parents died. Bet you didn’t know that part, huh?”
“Get to the point,” Slade says, but Dick can tell some of his annoyance is now directed somewhere else. Slade’s never liked not being told all the information.
“The point is that the Changs now have an actual alliance with the Lis, coordinated between the heads of both families and facilitated by Deathstroke, who now also has a good working relationship with them both,” Dick says. “Also, I let you punch Batman right in front of them. You’re welcome.”
Slade looks unimpressed, which is honestly a little hurtful considering how long it took to get Bruce to agree to taking one for the team. “Where’s Max?”
“With the police,” Dick says. “His sister would’ve killed him.”
“How’d you get them to agree to turn him over?”
Dick shrugs. “He doesn’t know any of the details of his family’s operation anyway. He might try to spill on Kenny, but that would’ve been the risk with cutting him loose, too. Kenny would’ve had to change things up anyway.”
“And it’s to your advantage if he changes things based on your recommendation.”
“It’s extra work, but I’m not mad about it, no.”
“You’ve always got them all wrapped around your little finger,” Slade says, sounding disgusted. Rude. “What was all that about his wife and kid?”
“He’s exaggerating,” Dick says. “They had a bed at Gotham General’s maternity ward, but his wife went into labor during bumper-to-bumper traffic on the bridge.”
“You delivered a baby?”
“First three things you learn in hero school,” Dick says brightly, ticking them off on his fingers. “Costume design, saving cats out of trees, and delivering babies.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Slade mutters. “You’re a walking parody.”
“Thank you,” Dick says serenely. “So, satisfied I haven’t irreparably redeemed your terrible name?”
Slade looks at him like he wants to wring his neck, but he says, “The cuffs stay off the entire night. If you’ve got cameras, you turn them off. You don’t communicate with anyone while we’re here. Anyone else wanders in, I’m shooting first and asking questions later.”
“Deal,” Dick says.
“All right,” Slade says. “Deal.” He lifts his arms behind his back, pointedly.
Dick kneels beside him and slowly pulls out the key. Everything suddenly feels much more real, now that one turn of the lock is the only thing standing between him and twelve hours of hell.
But it’ll be worth it.
“Not having regrets already, are you?” Slade says, and Dick suppresses a shiver. It’s almost impressive, how Slade can make basically anything sound like a threat.
Dick swallows and unlocks the cuffs instead of answering, handing them to Slade in a show of good faith. Slade takes them, watching Dick’s face as he does. For a second, Dick thinks the cuffs are going to end up around his own wrists, but Slade only sets them aside and stands.
Dick stands with him, watching warily as Slade rolls out his shoulders.
“First things first,” Slade says, cracking his neck. “Take my costume off, or I’ll take it off for you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Dick says, and there’s just enough of an edge to his voice that Slade lowers his shoulders and narrows his eye.
“Kid—”
“I said I'd stay in here with you,” Dick says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I never said I’d roll over, just ‘cause you said so.”
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Slade says, but he sounds just as darkly amused as he does angry. He rolls his shoulders one more time, languidly, and Dick gets the fleeting sense of a lion preparing to pounce. “Just remember that you asked for it,” Slade says, and attacks.
Dick dives out of the way rather than toward Slade. Slade may be in his underwear and Dick in his armor, but the meta cuffs are off, and Dick’s not going to play around when it comes to Slade’s strength.
He sprints out of the bedroom. The safehouse is a tiny one-bedroom, so there really isn’t anywhere that he can hide where Slade won’t find him. All Dick can hope to do is delay the inevitable, for as long as he can. He leaps out of the way of Slade’s grasping arm and throws random objects at him as they tear their way through the house.
“All right,” Slade says as he catches a kitchen chair aimed at his head and lobs it against the wall with a crash, “now you’re just pissing me off.”
“I thought you were already pissed.”
Slade growls and lunges at him. “Swear to God, if you don’t shut up—”
Dick ducks under his arm and vaults over the couch, landing in a sprint to the other side of the room. “What, you’ll bite me?”
“You’re gonna wish that was the worst thing I’ll do to you.”
“Promises, promises,” Dick sings, and punches the panic button he’d pre-programmed.
The fire alarm goes off immediately, knockout gas and smoke spilling from the vents. Dick slams his rebreather into his mouth and runs into the smoke, then uses the cover of it to roll beneath the coffee table. Once in place, he slows his breathing as much as he can. No visibility means Slade will have to rely on his hearing, and the shrieking alarm should provide enough cover if Dick stays quiet.
He just needs to hold on long enough for the gas to do its job.
It’ll take longer than usual for Slade to go down, but even he’s not immune to the gas. Dick hears Slade moving around, trying the windows and doors—all now locked down with steel shutters that would take Slade more time than he has to break through—and then Slade’s frustrated snarl. And then silence.
Slade’s looking for him now, Dick’s sure of it. He holds his breath for as long as he can, and when he runs out of air, he exhales slowly and quietly through the rebreather, and inhales again.
A hand closes around his ankle.
Dick shouts through his rebreather and kicks out, but Slade yanks him out from under the table easily. With more room to maneuver, Dick raises his leg and slams the back of his other heel down on Slade’s wrist, and Slade’s grip loosens briefly enough for him to squirm free. He makes a mad dash toward the bathroom to lock himself in—it’d be child’s play for Slade to break down the door, but it would at least take him some time—
“Enough,” Slade growls, and slams Dick against the wall hard enough that his jaw clatters. Slade wrenches the rebreather out of Dick’s mouth and jams it into his own.
Dick holds his breath and glares as Slade drags him across the room to the security panel. Slade waits there calmly, rebreather in his mouth, the message clear: turn it off, or soon enough Dick’s going to be the one passed out.
And Dick shudders to think of what Slade would do if Dick isn’t awake to fight him off.
He punches in the code to deactivate the system. The alarm stops wailing, the steel shutters go up, and the gas stops streaming from the vents.
Slade pats him patronizingly on the head, making Dick bare his teeth, but Slade only smirks. Dick almost doesn’t want the rebreather when Slade shoves it back at him covered in spit, but at least Slade isn’t just waiting for Dick to pass out, so he begrudgingly puts it into his mouth for the few breaths that Slade allows before he takes it back.
Slade drags him from window to window, opening them to air out the gas, and giving Dick a few breaths with the rebreather every now and then. It’d be considerate, if it wasn’t also gross.
“If this house were a little bigger, you might’ve had me,” Slade says once they’re back in the bedroom, and he’s satisfied that the air is clear.
Dick spits out the rebreather and glares. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
“There’s not gonna be a next time.” Slade grabs Dick by the hair, and Dick instinctively raises his arms to free himself.
“We are not doing this again,” Slade growls. He throws Dick face-first to the ground and slams a knee into the middle of his back.
“Get the hell off me,” Dick snarls, struggling to escape the hold.
“You wanted to do it the hard way, so we’re doing it the hard way.” Slade climbs on top of him, his legs pinning Dick’s to the ground, and undoes the catch on the suit. “Starting with this.”
Dick doesn’t make it easy for him, thrashing and evading Slade’s hands as best he can while he’s pinned. But piece by piece Slade strips him of the suit, tossing aside gloves and his boots along the way until Dick’s left in the padded undersuit —and then that goes, too. Slade’s fingers slip below the waistband of his underwear, ice cold against his skin.
Dick freezes. “Seriously? C’mon, I left you yours.”
“That was your call,” Slade says. “This is mine.” He yanks Dick’s briefs off, and Dick struggles in vain as his underwear and his cup are both audibly tossed aside.
He can’t say he’s surprised. He’d figured Slade would want to humiliate him to some extent after being humiliated all day. It doesn’t mean he enjoys being bare-ass naked in front of him, though.
“Give it up, kid,” Slade says, rolling Dick onto his back and holding him down with hands on his shoulders and legs pressed over his. “You make me chase you around again and you’re not gonna like what happens next.”
“Bet you I won’t like it anyway.”
Slade leans closer and says in a low voice, “I can always make things worse.”
Dick shivers involuntarily.
It’s not the only thing that happens involuntarily.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Slade says after a long, silent pause in which Dick had hoped that Slade hadn’t noticed anything.
Maybe if Dick pretends he didn’t hear him—
Slade pushes Dick’s cock against his stomach. It twitches traitorously again against Slade’s hand. “You have something you wanna tell me?”
“Involuntary bodily reaction,” Dick says through gritted teeth. He’s naked, and Slade’s mostly naked and on top of him and growling in his ear. It’s not his fault. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Really. Because it seems to me like you want this.”
“I want you to stop touching me.”
Slade hums, like he’s considering it. His hand doesn’t move. “Beg me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Beg me not to touch you, and I won’t,” Slade says. “It’s that simple.”
Dick laughs in disbelief. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Then whatever happens next is on you,” Slade says, like he’s not the one with his fingers curling around Dick’s cock, slowly enough that Dick thinks he’s giving Dick plenty of chances to give in and call it off.
Too bad Dick isn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He stays perfectly still as Slade’s fist closes all the way around his cock and lingers there, long enough that Dick’s nerves start to fire with something that he recognizes as anticipation—the good kind.
He does want Slade to touch him.
He can never admit it. Ever.
“You know,” Dick says, “this whole threatening me with sexual assault thing would probably work out better for you if you knew how sex worked.”
Slade’s fist tightens around Dick’s cock, hard enough that Dick has to suppress a wince. “I know how sex works.”
“I mean, I know it’s probably been a while since you could get it up, but—”
“Kid,” Slade says, with that voice that means he’s this close to snapping. “You’re gonna wanna shut up now.”
Dick bares his teeth. “Make me.”
Slade growls. “Gladly.”
Dick expects to have something shoved in his mouth. He doesn’t expect it to be Slade’s fingers, pressing against his tongue.
He makes an indignant noise and bites down, but his teeth have just barely made contact when the fingers slide out of his mouth and Slade slaps him across the face, hard enough to sting.
“Try to bite me again,” Slade says, grabbing Dick’s jaw, “and I’ll do the same to you. And trust me, I can bite a lot harder than you can.”
“Fuck you,” Dick spits.
“Keep this up and it’s gonna be the other way around,” Slade says, and that’s a definite threat.
Dick still isn’t afraid.
Slade’s fist around his cock finally starts moving. He isn’t gentle—the downstroke is forceful enough that Dick feels like he’s getting punched every time—but the fact that it’s Slade’s hand pumping around his cock makes Dick feel almost high on the pain.
Dick is starting to think he might be a little fucked up, when it comes to Slade.
“Like that, do you?” Slade says.
Dick blinks rapidly, bringing Slade’s face into focus in front of him. “Feels terrible,” he says, and if it sounds weak, it’s only because he needs to catch his breath. “Is this how you masturbate? I’m surprised you ever manage to get yourself off.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel good.”
“Oh. In that case, it’s great.” Dick gives him a thumbs up. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
Slade actually laughs, but it’s a dark sound. “Maybe I will.”
His hand moves faster around Dick’s cock, jerking him off harder and rougher than Dick would do it himself. Dick’s pretty sure he’s going to be bruised to hell in the morning. It’s a punishment, and it feels like it.
“Oh, Slade,” Dick moans dramatically. “Just like that. I’ll come if you keep doing that.”
“Yeah,” Slade says in the deep, gravely voice that sends shivers down Dick’s spine, “I think you will. This is what you like, isn’t it? Being held down and made to take it.”
“I don’t,” Dick says sharply.
Slade looks at him, considering.
“I can hear your heartbeat,” Slade says. “I can hear the way you breathe. I know what you sound like when you’re scared, little bird. You’re not scared of me.”
“You’ve never scared me in your life.”
“Is that why you’re going to let me fuck you when you’re done coming all over yourself like a whore?”
Dick shivers, and disguises it with a thrash of his body. “Get off me.”
“You know how to make this stop, if you really wanted to.”
Dick takes a deep breath. “I will never beg you for anything in my entire life,” he says clearly.
Slade leans in, until his breath fans hot against Dick’s ear. “I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong,” he murmurs, and then his grip shifts and—
Dick’s hands fly to Slade’s arms, and he has to strangle a moan as Slade chuckles in his ear. “Gonna keep trying to tell me you don’t want this?”
“Worst handjob I’ve ever had,” Dick pants.
“Sure it is.” Slade’s hand leaves Dick’s cock for the second that Dick can hear him spitting into his palm, and then it’s back and firm and slick and hot, and Dick’s biting his lower lip to keep his noises in as his eyes roll back into his skull. “That’s right, kid, down you go. You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Not—” Dick says, “—for you.”
“For me,” Slade says, and crushes his mouth against Dick’s.
The kiss is harsh and demanding from the outset, and Dick pushes at Slade’s shoulders and gives Slade’s lip a sharp nip in protest.
Slade doesn’t budge—instead, he bites back, hard.
Dick gasps, but refuses to be intimidated. He bites Slade in retaliation, and Slade bites him again, and then they’re kissing and biting and panting open-mouthed against each other, lips bruised and bitten raw as Slade’s hand pumps his cock and makes his head spin and spin and spin.
“That’s it, Grayson,” Slade says, a breath away from his lips. “Let me see what you look like when you’re coming for me.”
Dick strangles his groan deep in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut as he seizes in Slade’s hand, come spilling in pulses all over his stomach. Slade keeps touching him past the point of oversensitivity, and Dick clamps his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to let Slade see the discomfort on his face.
Finally, Slade lets go. His hand swipes across Dick’s chest, smearing come all over him as Slade uses him as a towel, and Dick slaps him away for that.
“Let me guess,” Slade says, swiping come across his cheek with a finger. “You’ve had better?”
Dick looks at him impassively. “Didn’t even crack top fifty.”
Slade scoffs. “Liar.”
He grabs Dick, trying to turn him over, but Dick slithers out of his hold. Slade growls and throws a leg over him before he can get too far, and Dick drives a knee into his balls, but Slade catches him before it connects.
“Kid,” he says dangerously as he wraps all his limbs around Dick to lock him in place, a massive prison of a big spoon, “You do not wanna piss me off right now.”
Dick squirms to get free. “But you make it so easy.”
“I’ll show you easy.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Shut up.” Slade wraps an arm around Dick’s waist and hauls their lower bodies together. Slade’s cock presses against Dick through the thin fabric of Slade’s underwear, hard and hot and huge, and Dick focuses on breathing through his nose as Slade grinds against his ass. Slade’s hand sweeps over his chest, pinching and pulling and rubbing, until small pleasured-pained noises begin spilling out of Dick’s mouth without his consent.
“Let me hear you,” Slade murmurs, and Dick tries to swallow his noises back down, but that only makes Slade yank at his nipples until Dick keens. “Good boy,” he says, so deeply satisfied that Dick thinks he could drown in it, and then hates himself for wanting to.
Slade moves behind Dick, kicking off his briefs, and then he pulls Dick back snugly against him, his cock pressing in between Dick’s cheeks. “Stay right there for me, sweetheart,” Slade murmurs, like Dick has any kind of choice. Slade has him firmly trapped in a mockery of an embrace, and all of Dick’s squirming only makes him feel like he’s grinding back against Slade’s cock.
It almost feels dirtier, the fact that Slade’s not actually inside him—that he’s just holding Dick in place and getting himself off against Dick’s body. It makes Dick feel used, in a way that he should hate much more than he does.
But it makes him feel powerful, to know that he can reduce Slade to this—that just the promise of a fuck is all that he needs to bring Deathstroke the Terminator to his knees.
“Good boy,” Slade grunts in his ear, and Dick gasps quietly as Slade spills all over his back.
Slade swipes a hand through the mess, pushing it down, and then the blunt head of his cock smears come against Dick’s hole.
Dick freezes, a real trickle of fear creeping up his spine for the first time tonight. He hasn’t actually looked, but from everything he’s felt, Dick is very, very sure that Slade is too big to take practically dry.
“Stay,” Slade says, like Dick’s some kind of dog, and gets up.
Dick rolls over and sits up as Slade heads for the door. “Where are you going?”
Slade glances at him. “I’m sure you have cooking oil in here somewhere.”
Dick feels a little flutter of something in his chest—pleasure, maybe, or relief. Slade’s an irredeemable bastard, but Dick’s always trusted him to stop before going too far. Maybe Slade doesn’t deserve it, but he’s proven it time and time again—and this time is no different.
“Nightstand,” Dick says.
Slade gives him a questioning look, but moves toward the nightstand.
“Post-patrol adrenaline,” Dick says weakly. “You know.”
“I know.” Slade opens the drawer and rummages inside briefly before tossing Dick the bottle of lube. “One minute.”
“What?”
“You have one minute to get ready,” Slade says, ambling back toward him. His cock is, in fact, distressingly big where it stands proud against his stomach. “Starting now.”
Dick stares at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”
“Clock’s ticking.”
“Oh my god, I hate you so much.” Dick dumps lube on his fingers and works on trying to get himself to relax. He has a healthy solo sex life, so it’s not like he needs a lot of prep in general, but he thinks even given half an hour he’d still be nervous about taking Slade.
“Time,” Slade says while Dick’s deciding if three fingers are half the right size or closer to a third. He takes the lube from Dick and then picks him up, tossing him face-first onto the bed. Dick moves to roll over, but Slade climbs on top of him before he can, and shoves the thick head of his cock against Dick’s hole.
Dick makes a strangled noise in response.
“You good?” Slade says, sounding almost concerned.
It makes Dick want to snap at him. “Sorry, am I supposed to be feeling something?”
Slade laughs. “If that’s how you want it, then fine.” He grabs Dick’s waist, and despite knowing what’s coming next, Dick still isn’t anywhere near prepared for it when Slade slams all the way in.
Dick screams and claws at the sheets. His only mercy is that Slade stays still after he’s bottomed out, waiting for Dick to catch his breath.
Slade presses his palm flat against the back of Dick’s neck. “Don’t lie to me, kid. It’s never going to end well for you.”
“I hate you,” Dick croaks. Slade is so stupidly big that Dick’s overcome with sensation, just from having Slade resting inside him. “Fuck, don’t—don’t move yet.”
Slade holds still and strokes the side of Dick’s hip. “Say please.”
“You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”
“And you clearly never learned your manners.” Slade slaps his palm over Dick’s ass, just hard enough to sting, and leaves it there as he starts grinding inside Dick.
Dick makes an embarrassing strangled sound as Slade grinds up against his prostate, and keeps grinding.
“Fuck,” Dick groans, pressing his palms against the sheets—and Slade seems to take it as an invitation to move more, fucking right against his prostate with shallow thrusts that make sparks fly behind Dick’s eyelids.
“Look at you,” Slade says cruelly. “So much time wasted figuring out how to fight you when I could’ve just slapped you around and put you on your knees this entire time.”
“N—no,” Dick manages, heart pounding in time with Slade’s rhythm. “Wouldn’t let you.”
“You’re letting me right now.”
“We had a deal.”
“For you to stay here,” Slade says. “Not for me to fuck you ‘til you can’t stand.”
Dick doesn’t respond. He knows he lost the moment he told Slade where the lube was. Hell, he’d probably lost the second Slade touched his cock and Dick just lay there and let him do it.
“You gonna come on my cock, kid?”
“Nn—” Dick’s brain is fried enough that he isn’t sure what the right answer is. Yes, probably. But if he admits that out loud, Slade will never let him live it down. But even if he says no, Slade will make him come anyway.
Either way, he loses.
“Bet I wouldn’t even have to touch you,” Slade says. “Bet you could come just like this, just from me fucking your tight little ass.” He slaps it with both hands, then slides them to Dick’s hips, grabbing them and pulling Dick back to meet his thrusts.
Dick whines open-mouthed instead of answering, clenching down with everything he has and demanding his body not to give Slade the satisfaction of being right.
Slade shoves three fingers into his mouth, pressing against his tongue, and Dick closes his lips around them, desperate for something to focus on that isn’t quite as overwhelming as the feeling of Slade inside him.
Slade groans as Dick starts to suck, and then he’s moving his fingers, in and out of Dick’s mouth like he’s fucking him there, too. Dick lets his mouth fall open with his moan. He feels dirty, used—owned, and he doesn’t know how he ended up here, like he’s something for Slade to play with however he wants until he’s had his fill.
“You were made to take this,” Slade growls, and Dick moans again around his fingers. He isn’t sure if the sound was protest or agreement, and he doesn’t have the mental energy left to figure it out. “That’s right, sweetheart, take my cock just like that.”
Dick makes a sound like a sob, and Slade groans again, burying himself to the hilt, and comes hard enough that Dick can feel his cock kicking inside. Dick lays there panting and dizzy until Slade pulls out. He flops to the mattress the second he’s free, hoping to catch his breath, but Slade immediately rolls him onto his back.
“You’re not finished,” Slade says, and Dick is too pent-up to protest as Slade wraps a hand around him again.
He looks up at Slade, and is startled to see Slade staring back into his eyes, gaze intent as he works Dick over with his hand—watching as Dick falls apart, because Slade’s touching him.
Because Slade’s making him.
Dick’s going to come for him again, and there isn’t anything he can do about it.
“Slade,” Dick says, desperate for something that he doesn’t know how to name.
Slade lunges, pressing their mouths together with a violent clack of teeth, and Dick kisses him hungrily, biting at Slade’s lip and sucking on the tongue that Slade slides alongside his. He comes with a cry into Slade’s mouth, and keeps crying out as Slade pumps him dry.
“Good boy,” Slade murmurs, pressing kisses against his jaw and ignoring the way Dick is trying to shove his hand away. “Keep coming for me, sweetheart.”
“Can’t,” Dick says, voice cracking.
Slade hushes him. “You’ll do what I tell you.”
Dick groans, cock pulsing at the words, and Slade seems to take that as evidence that he can keep going, even as Dick continues to protest weakly. He doesn’t stop until Dick is completely wrung out, senseless and sobbing with it, but when he finally does stop, he wipes Dick mostly dry with his hand and covers him with a blanket.
“You did good, kid,” Slade says, and Dick isn’t sure if Slade’s actually tucking him in or if he’s just getting delirious with how good everything hurts. “Take a break now.”
“Hate you,” Dick mumbles tiredly. Everything is throbbing, and his throat is sore from crying and screaming. “Asshole.”
Slade ruffles his hair with a hand that’s probably covered in come, because he’s awful. “You brought this upon yourself,” he says. “And, kid? Next time you interfere with my business, I’m not gonna let you out of my bed for a week.”
Dick cracks his eyes open to glare. “You should know by now your threats don’t work on me.”
Slade leans down and grabs Dick’s jaw, pulling him into a kiss, open-mouthed and slick.
“That wasn’t a threat, little bird,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot against Dick’s face as his hand fists in Dick’s hair. “It was a promise.”