Chapter Text
Lorenzo Paolucci drank behind the velvet VIP rope, not lured into the pulsing Saturday night crowd. Apparently, he truly came to the club for business. Who knew? If only said business was legal.
Dick slid through the packed crowd, dancing enough to blend but moving enough to prevent wandering hands from pulling him closer. He was incognito, leather pants practically painted on and shirt sheer with hair mussed in a way that looked like Richie Grayson was attempting to disguise his appearance. Playboy blowing off some steam was a tried-and-true cover. One that granted him immediate access to Ghost Baby, a surprisingly successful front that the Paolucci family was quick to capitalize on. An eastside location was set to open in a few weeks.
But Dick ignored the money laundering in favor of tracking down the head of Blüdhaven’s growing human trafficking ring. Oracle pinpointed a regular meeting with Lorenzo at Ghost Baby and it came to Dick to gather information, which he assumed would be easy as most twentysomethings with money loved to flaunt it, but this twentysomething lurked by a private bar separate from the masses.
He tamped down on Bruce’s voice reminding him a plan wasn’t complete without minimum three contingency plans and winging it never counted. He nursed his ginger ale. Clubs did not lend themselves to eavesdropping unless he was right on top of the target. And clubs did not lend themselves to subtly lingering nearby when the target insisted on being quarantined.
Monitoring would get him visuals on Lorenzo’s accomplices, but he intended to gather more damning information so he could nip the ring in the bud sooner than later. If all he got was visuals, it was a wasted night since Dick could get that information from the club cameras. None were close to the VIP section but enough pointed that direction.
He was tempted to steal a bartender’s outfit and hope for the best, Bruce’s lectures be damned.
“What’s a little birdie doing so far from his nest?” a deep, gravelly voice Dick would recognize anywhere asked. A large figure neatly caged Dick against a concrete column.
“Originality is a solid two out of ten,” Dick said, “and the two is generous but I do like wordplay.”
He sipped his drink as Slade’s scarred face flashed in the rave lights. The mercenary had no visible weapons, but after years of combat, Dick could guess where four were hidden. Similarly, Slade likely knew about the collapsible escrima sticks in his shoes.
“Underfoot as usual,” Slade said. His bulk blocked Lorenzo but a reflection in the mirror behind the lowly non-VIP bar confirmed the mob boss’s son hadn’t moved. “Some may call this stalking.”
“Shockingly,” Dick tapped a foot and Slade raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Yep, he definitely knew about the collapsible escrima sticks, “I’m here for reasons that in no way concern you.” Dick considered. “Or if my reasons do concern you, it’s not my fault you keep terrible company.”
“Targeting Lorenzo then?”
There weren’t many big names that hung around Ghost Baby so Slade’s guess was educated, but Dick still felt like kicking himself for being obvious and checking the mirror. “What’s it to you? You contracted to protect him?” Last he checked, Slade was on the opposite coast two days ago.
“To collect payment and provide proof.” Slade’s voice was calm, but Dick smirked. Slade was seething, which Dick hoped meant his contract was nowhere near Blüdhaven so his trip to Ghost Baby was out of his way.
“Junior forcing you to play errand boy? Adorable. How high do you go when he says jump?”
“I can get a bonus by delivering an unmasked Nightwing to him.” Slade didn’t noticeably move, but Dick found the column scrapping his back. A flip high or low would get him out but drew too much attention. That was assuming he was able to move before the mercenary got his enhanced strong grip on him. Close quarters annoyingly favored Slade since it limited Dick’s movements. Range also favored Slade when his guns were out. Really, Deathstroke was constantly a pain in the ass to fight, but that was what made it fun.
“If you were going to reveal me, you’d go to the highest bidder.” Though part of Dick believed Slade would never reveal his identity. That part was shoved deep, deep down. “Not some mobster wannabe that dabbles in human trafficking.”
“I thought that drew your interest,” Slade said. “I can get you close to him.”
Dick blinked and Slade’s mouth twitched into an almost smile. “Why?”
“So suspicious.”
“Obviously?” Dick said to the man who kidnapped him at least three times and attacked him on the regular. “What do you gain out of this?”
“I don’t support trading kids.”
Which, fair enough, but, “You tried to kill the Teen Titans constantly though?”
“And Lorenzo is frustrating.”
“There we go.”
Slade loomed and Dick pretended not to be annoyed at tilting his head back to meet the taller man’s eye. “But you need to convince Lorenzo you belong by my side. He knows we didn’t enter together.”
So business partner or apprentice was out. Not that Dick wanted to even pretend to be the man’s apprentice. The mercenary’s eye gleamed. Dick knew what path Slade wanted to lead him down. It was a path that put the control firmly in Slade’s court—never a good idea—yet he struggled to think of an alternative. Literally anything would do. Yet only the cover of a clubgoer wanting to get off with the mercenary stayed.
Mirrored Lorenzo greeted some men in suits. Most with a handshake and one with a bro hug. Business partners then. A few were recognizable and all had drinks in their hands, lips already loosened.
He didn’t have time. Alright, superficially Slade’s ploy was believable. His muscles rippled under his black shirt and he had a dangerous air. Objectively attractive all around. Dick fucked around with more than a few older men—enough that Jason’s crude comments of daddy issues led to a heated fight and Dick fleeing to drink away all thought—so he knew their pairing wouldn’t attract too many questions.
As if sensing his resolve weakening, Slade’s hands lowered to rest next to Dick’s hips. Not touching but Slade practically radiated heat. Dick could roll his hips convincingly enough without any actual contact and pull out tricks to keep wandering eyes satisfied with his presence.
“Fine.”
“Come up with something?” Slade asked.
He was really forcing Dick to spell it out. Such an asshole, but an asshole offering him the best option to get close to Lorenzo.
“I’ll convince Lorenzo and company I’m your plaything for the night,” Dick said. “Don’t touch me though.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands.” Slade tugged Dick towards the VIP by the waist, a thumb possessively stroking his hip bone. Dick wanted to smack the mercenary, but he was nothing if not a professional. It was showtime. He leaned heavily against the larger man, his signature leather and gunpowder smell—which he was still convinced was a custom cologne because Slade was just that side of forced effortlessness—enveloping Dick. He clung drunkenly to firm biceps.
The security guard wordlessly lifted the velvet rope and Slade ignored Lorenzo and company in a classic power move and sat in the middle of a black leather couch. Dick didn’t fight as Slade pulled him onto his lap. It was the position, unfortunately, best used to convince mobsters Dick had one thing on his mind and it was not their shady business.
“Remember, no touching,” Dick breathed, legs bracketing the mercenary. He rolled his hips a hairsbreadth from Slade’s crotch.
Slade stroked up his thighs. “No time for demands.”
Dick ran a hand into Slade’s white hair, smiling lopsidedly in a way he knew drove people crazy, and twisted until the mercenary involuntarily hissed. “No touching.”
“If I don’t touch you, they won’t buy your role.”
Dick released Slade’s hair, catching movement out of the corner of his eyes. “Fine, minimal touching.” He pressed his face into the crook of Slade’s neck and groaned.
“Where’d you find this one?” a gruff voice asked.
“He found me,” Slade said, resting his hands on Dick’s hips.
“You can’t bring a stranger.” That was definitely Lorenzo, who proved how difficult it was to demand control with a voice that nasally. “This is a closed meeting.”
Dick’s rolling hips didn’t stutter, but his stage whisper grew breathy as he pressed against Slade’s ear. “I didn’t know you were important.”
“Don’t worry about it, pet. I won’t be long.” Slade’s thumb skimmed the top of Dick’s pants. “Then we can get out of here.”
Dick grinned, squeezing extra vapidness into his eyes. His grip on Slade’s shoulders turned clawed. Slade’s thumb was getting dangerously close to crossing the minimal touching line. Lorenzo sputtered in the background but Slade paid him no mind. He also managed to look unimpressed with Dick’s threat without shifting his face. The mercenary dipped his thumb into Dick’s pants and made a sound of approval at the lack of underwear. His callous brushed Dick’s soft skin.
Dick immediately smoothed his grip to something less painful. The twitch in Slade’s mouth returned and Dick wanted to kick it off, but the mercenary returned his grip above clothing.
“Proof of death.” Slade dropped gold veneers and a photo on the table, cold blue moving to mobster junior. “Payment?”
Lorenzo likely made a show of looking at the veneers. Dick was busy making note of a muttered conversation about a late shipment at the dock. He mouthed Slade’s neck lightly. This was also more than minimal touching but a stage kiss would be easy to spot this close.
“Your reputation is well earned,” Lorenzo said graciously. “I had to thin out the competition after Garcia refused to join.”
“Payment?” Slade hated to repeat himself. It didn’t take much to evoke his ire, but Dick should be able to prevent bloodshed if Slade snapped. Not that he particularly wanted to protect the head of a human trafficking ring but hero and all that. Murder was a no; an arrest and jail time was a yes.
Lorenzo nodded and his number two brought up a suitcase. “It’s all there.”
“It better be. You don’t want me to take a second trip.”
“It’s there.” Lorenzo sounded less confident. “I’ll have my men double check.”
“You do that.” Slade’s deep voice, deceptively calm, had Lorenzo scrambling. Dick smirked against Slade’s neck and continued his catalogue of everyone’s name and the various locations mentioned. Most were likely nothing, but some were undoubtedly related to their business. A few cross-references from Oracle would have the list narrowed down in no time.
Slade slid his hands with the ease of a predator from Dick’s hips to cup his ass, one hand fondling with way too much familiarity. No telling how long Slade fantasized about this, the pervert. Dick lapped a trail up to Slade’s earlobe. He sucked gently for a few moments, but the mercenary didn’t acknowledge him, too busy kneading his ass. Dick bit Slade’s earlobe and yanked. The mercenary’s grunt barely registered. Slade’s grip tightened and Dick swore he felt the beginning of bruises.
Dick sensed it coming but was helpless to stop. Even if he wanted to, Dick was no match for Slade’s sheer strength. Once Dick was grappled, it was nearly impossible to escape Slade’s grasp and this position was more compromising than most.
Slade brought his hands to Dick’s hips and forced Dick’s superficial grinds to turn so immediately real. His breath hitched. Slade wasn’t fully hard, but he was already so big. Dick thought Slade was hung—it wasn’t his fault most costumes left little to the imagination—but getting proof was not something he was prepared for tonight.
Dick’s light mouthing from earlier turned rough as he bit the mercenary’s neck. He continued rolling his hips, almost entranced as Slade hardened. He couldn’t stop now, not when they were in the middle of the meeting and eyes watched every move. Information still needed to be gathered, but Dick struggled to focus on anyone other than Slade.
The mercenary wrenched Dick’s mouth to his own. Slade kissed exactly like Dick expected, brutally dominating and all-consuming. Dick sucked his tongue as his beard scratched deliciously against his face.
Slade’s other hand palmed Dick’s ass and his pants went impossibly tighter as he continued to grind against Slade’s enormous length. The mercenary made no attempt to slip under his pants again, though he pawed as if wanting to tear through the fabric.
Spoke too soon, though Slade went the other direction. Slade’s hand stroked up Dick’s shirt, goosebumps following. God, Slade was doing this just to spite his minimal touching request. Slade scratched down his back and Dick groaned into his mouth. His lips were slick and it felt like the Terminator was tongue fucking his mouth in time with Dick’s sloppier grinds.
Wait.
His grinds stuttered and he felt Slade smirk. His hands remained where they tangled in Dick’s black hair and scratched his lower back. As in no longer pressing down on his hips and forcing the proximity. How long had Dick been grinding against Slade as if he wanted it?
Slade thrust up and he hissed. There was no hiding it. He was incredibly hard. For Slade.
“If you’re done,” Lorenzo said in a voice that sounded like he repeated himself several times already. “Everything’s there plus a little extra for a job well done.”
Slade nodded, allowing Dick to slide off his lap and onto the couch. “We’ll be going.”
“Please do,” Lorenzo said. The other men stared at Dick with varying degrees of interest. A couple ogled the tent in his pants with obvious desire. Fucking creeps. Slade unsheathed a nasty knife Dick knew was strapped to his thigh and stabbed it through the table. Lorenzo let out a horrified squeak.
“Don’t contact me again unless you up the payment. I don’t do house calls,” Slade said in the same tone he used before torture. The other men suddenly found everything that wasn’t Dick very interesting and Lorenzo looked ready to keel over.
Slade’s hand seared on his hip as he dragged Dick out of the VIP section and out a side entrance. Dick hated how aware he was of the mercenary’s body, the knife tucked back into its hidden sheath. They rarely saw each other in peaceful settings—well, settings where they weren’t actively attacking each other—yet this was the most Dick’s heart pounded. The cool night air was a welcome relief.
“That was mutually beneficial,” Slade said.
Dick was currently trying to distract his boner with computer code to no avail. “Sure.”
“And you got what you needed?” Slade’s voice deepened. Fucking old man.
“Yep.” Because he collected good information, which was the only thing Dick needed from tonight. He carefully didn’t glance down. If he saw Slade’s arousal, he didn’t know if he could curb his impulse.
Slade hummed thoughtfully. So theatrical. “Awfully terse for someone I struggle to get to shut up normally.”
How was this more frustrating than when they fought each other? “Whatever, Slade. I got the information I needed and you can be content getting paid and not dealing with Lorenzo ever again.”
“I don’t mind dealing with Lorenzo with your company,” Slade said. Dick scowled and Slade nodded at Dick’s crotch. “Need help with that?”
There went not mentioning it. Dick reddened and hated that he did something so telling. Slade’s eye danced. “Not from you.”
“Suit yourself, little bird.” Slade brought a hand up to Dick’s face, smirking when he jerked away. “Don’t make too tempting a target for people. You look ravished.”
He walked away without a backwards glance and Dick questioned his life choices, especially the one that was tempted to jerk off in the alley before trekking home.