In Flagrante Delicto (DC Comics, NC-17)
Sep. 12th, 2006 10:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
browngirlI think this is the first time I co-wrote something. Anyway.
Title: In Flagrante Delicto
Fandom: DC Comics
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
petronelle and rubynye
Rating: NC-17
Summary: And if Slade had been quiet, Dick wouldn't be playing chess in the nude now.
Pairing: Deathstroke/ Robin I (Slade/Dick), other pairings mentioned
Warnings/Features: Very dubious consent. Slash and het mentioned.
Sequel To:petronelle's "Mao"
[ETA: Prequel tomildredmilton's "A Shift In Understanding"]
Based On: This picture, general New Teen Titans milieu.
Beta Reader:mildredmilton, hitting it out of the park on her first swing.
Dedicated to:katarik, because. :D
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DC Comics, not to us.
And if Slade had been quiet, hadn't kept dropping little comments and hints, Dick wouldn't be playing chess in the nude now. "Five hours left," he says, moving his remaining bishop and double-checking the timer Slade has set up. It's hard to focus on the game when he thinks his friends may be dying. It would be whether or not he was naked, but that's not helping.
"So impatient." Slade pats his knee under the table. It also doesn't help that he's 'undressed to keep you company,' bare to the waist. "Don't worry, we'll get there."
Dick shivers, not entirely from the cool air. "I'm sure."
"If you want to be touched so badly --"
"I don't," Dick says, though he's no longer sure he's telling the truth. "I want to make the call. And I will, in five hours and thirty-eight minutes."
Slade concedes this with a nod. "The rest of the game would be much more fun if you sat on my lap."
Dick stares at him. It's an odd request, even from a man of Slade's height and strength. "The angle would be off."
"I'm sure your spatial skills can handle the challenge." Slade pushes his chair back and says, "Come here."
He looks at the board again. "And if I say no?"
"Six hours becomes six days," Slade says.
"Five hours," Dick corrects him
"Yes." Slade spreads his hands invitingly, and there should be absolutely nothing inviting about him. "Five hours also becomes six days."
Dick nods and gets up, looking at the wall so he doesn't have to see Slade staring at him. He doesn't have to see it to feel it.
Slade's lap is about as uncomfortable as laps get. His legs are strong, and their only breadth is from muscle. It doesn't help that he puts his arm around Dick's waist immediately and nuzzles his ear, saying, "There, that's better."
There shouldn't be anything erotic about it, but it makes Dick's spine tingle. He reminds himself again -- and again -- that he's in danger for his life here and should be doing anything other than what he is, but it doesn't faze his hormones. "Your move," he says, and Slade reaches past him to move the king's knight.
"How noble of you to remind me." When he's completed his move, he sets his hand on Dick's thigh.
It's not impossible to envision the chessboard from the opposite direction. It's not even difficult, generally speaking, but when Slade's hand moves to his dick, cognitive challenges get insurmountable. "Oh," he says, feeling like an idiot, and he makes a move more or less at random.
Slade makes a disapproving noise against his neck. "If you throw the game, we'll just have to play again when you've made your phonecall."
"Fine," Dick says, trying not to gasp. Then he remembers the terms and adds, "But I'm getting dressed again for it."
"If you must." Slade nibbles his ear and makes a move he doesn't see for the next thirty seconds.
When he does, he's at a loss for how to counter it. It's getting to be a familiar feeling. He shifts a little on Slade's lap, concentrating on not pushing into his hand at all, and makes another move. "I just -- I'm a little distracted."
"You're not the only one." Slade traces a scar on his stomach, then makes a move. "Check."
Dick shivers and leans back against him, trying not to be distracted by how completely not soft it feels, failing at visualizing the appropriate moves. "I don't care."
"Not at all?" Slade sighs, though he doesn't sound unhappy. "I suppose we'll skip to the 'mate' part, then, shall we?"
This is supposed to feel miserable and morally reprehensible. Dick knows he's supposed to be repulsed. It's just hard to be repulsed when he's being petted expertly enough to make his hips want to twitch up for more, and besides, he's already said he'll go through with it, so if it's at all enjoyable, he may as well enjoy something.
Even so, that's a terrible pun. "I think you should let me go now."
"Oh?" Slade gives him a little squeeze. "Why should I?"
Dick has to catch his breath to reply. "Obviously you've been spending too much time with me. The puns are wearing off on you."
Slade chuckles in his ear. "I'll be sure to wash thoroughly afterwards. Are you conceding the game?"
"Yes. You're sure I can't go call them yet?"
"Five hours and thirty minutes." Slade squeezes his thigh. "Get up."
He's not shaky when he does it. He's also very careful not to think about how arousing this is, and equally careful not to look at Slade at all. "Just checking."
Slade gets up, too, and runs his hand down Dick's back, a shiver following in its wake. "Kiss me." He holds his other hand up. "And none of that messing around, this time."
It's less stomach-turning now, in part because it's an alternative to worse things rather than the worst thing that could be happening; so much less stomach turning that he nearly finds himself enjoying it and tries to think about something or someone else. But Kory doesn't smell like this, and no one feels like this.
Except --
Except Slade, who's squeezing his ass as though he's got every right to do it and nibbling on his bottom lip until he makes a soft sound. Slade laughs. "Much better."
By the middle of the eighth kiss, Dick's finding it pretty much impossible to ignore his own arousal. He's not going to draw attention to it, but it's inescapable. The whole process would be easier to take if all he had to do was gratify Slade. If it's pleasurable, he's not sure what that says about him. He's not about to ask, or to say anything at all.
"I think we'll start in bed," Slade says, and he spares Dick the indignity of another kiss, but tugs him down the hall to a bedroom. It's a full bed, certainly not military issue, and that's all Dick has the chance to see before Slade kisses him and makes him walk backward toward it. He won't stumble, even now, but he wants to. It would be more appropriate to fall on the floor than to end up lounging on the bed as if it's somewhere he wants to be.
Slade pets him again. It seems backward, somehow. "I don't get it," Dick says. "I thought I was trading you sex for a phone call, here."
"Of course." Slade nuzzles his neck, biting gently. "But there are a lot of gratifying things about playing with you."
Dick blushes and closes his eyes, though that does nothing to keep him from hearing the amusement in Slade's voice, or feeling Slade's mouth on his skin. "Oh."
"You squirm so nicely." He resolves to stop moving, and succeeds for all of three breaths, when Slade bites his nipple and makes him shudder. "There, like that." Slade chuckles. "I could spend four hours just doing this."
Dick winces. "That would defeat some of the purpose."
"Not at all." Slade kisses his stomach. "I'm more than willing to make this trade."
"I'd rather you just got it over with," Dick says, though the reality of Slade teasing him is a lot more pleasant than the idea of perfunctory sex.
"There's a reason I wanted a time limit instead of a laundry list of activities." Slade strokes the inside of his thigh, then bends his head and sucks and nibbles until Dick has to grab at the sheets. "It's much easier to handle, I think. More finite." Another nibble at the same spot -- for good measure, maybe -- and he switches thighs.
This time, even though he twists the sheets till the cloth strains over his fingers, Dick can't hold back a moan. Slade looks up at him and smiles. "Good to know I'm having an effect."
There are significant portions of Dick's brain that are still terrified and convinced that he should be running away right now, but they're being loudly chastised by twelve thousand trenchantly nasty mental images and his memory of geography. There's no running and no away here, just Slade nuzzling his thigh and then, in a complete reversal of what Dick's expecting, wrapping his lips around the head of his dick and licking him there, too.
He says, "Oh, fuck," without thinking about it, and Slade laughs.
"Why, Robin, I don't think I've ever heard you say that."
He's still supposed to be Robin. The thought chills him with the extent of his failure, but only for a second. He's doing his best to get away as soon as possible. His chosen method is making him arch off the bed, whimpering, as soon as Slade licks him again, but that's not the main goal. "Because --nn -- because you've never -- Jesus, that's good --"
A prolonged wet sound and Slade lets him go, petting him one-handed instead. "Just think what I've been missing. And how many men have you had sex with -- Robin?"
It would be easier to take if the question was addressed to "Grayson," in Slade's normal mocking tone. "Three," and Dick doesn't say 'including you.'
"Hmm." Slade mouths his thigh again. "That makes things easier."
Dick shivers and tenses. "I -- um -- we never actually had, you know, anal sex."
Slade stops and looks up at him. "Really."
He bites his lip. "Never got around to it."
Slade fingers the mark on Dick's thigh. "Ah. So none of them was Batman."
Dick knows he's blushing and can't do anything about it. It makes sense -- it really does, for someone who doesn't actually know them very well at all. "No -- no."
"Intriguing." Slade fondles him. "And yet you've had some experience."
Dick sits up a little. "Look, I didn't say I'd play Twenty Questions with you."
"Six days isn't that long." Slade stops touching him. "You can read several books if you want. But by the time you get out, Starfire may be in serious danger -- not to mention Wonder Girl and Speedy."
There's no reason to blush at Roy's name, but Dick does.
"I see," Slade says, apropos of nothing apparent. He pets Dick's thigh again. "Did one of those neglectful men -- or boys -- teach you to suck cock, at least?"
Dick winces and sits up all the way. He misses the distraction of the chess game, which at least kept Slade from being vulgar and inquisitive. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You could show me instead." Slade touches his mouth, running his thumb a little roughly over Dick's bottom lip. Some of the charm has faded, and Dick remembers how little he wants to do this. Slade keeps watching him, eye bright and hard as a hawk's. "Well?"
When he is finally home, alone, in his own nice comfortable bed, Dick will start forgetting this ever happened. Right now, he's more or less obliged to nibble Slade's thumb. He catches himself tracing callouses with his tongue, and has to decide whether he should.
At least this keeps him from saying the kinds of things he wants to say, all the insults that would just make Slade take back the bargain, maybe, and be more miserable to be around in the time between now and when the Titans show up. And given that he's expected to provide sex, it's relatively easy to prove he can. "Good to know," Slade says when Dick nibbles two of his fingers at once. "You -- you've made your point." There's something of a catch in his breathing as he pulls his hand away. Dick's not sure whether to be proud or afraid.
His body picks afraid for him when Slade shifts up, over him, large enough to block out the light. Dick can feel his pulse racing, even more so when Slade presses his damp thumb against the inside of Dick's wrist. His eyes widen too much for a game face, and Slade smirks down at him. If he had his mask --- if he weren't here. But he has what he has. Dick doesn't back away pointlessly against the headboard, or let himself renege on the deal. He smirks up at Slade and says, "Anything worth doing's worth doing well."
"Now you're learning, kid." If he can get Slade to stop calling him Robin, maybe Dick can get him to--- Slade kisses him again, and the train of thought gets away from him. He tries to catch it, but Slade tilts his head, pushing, leaning down, and it's gone. Instead of distinct kisses, now, this is a longer involved one, Slade's beard brushing his chin, Slade's tongue flexing in his mouth. Slade settles down onto Dick, heavy and tall and broad, and it's a little like how Kory feels when she's too distracted to fly or hold herself up, when she hugs him hard and presses him down into the bed.
It's nothing like Kory, with all this hard, scarred, scratchy-haired muscle, rasping Dick's chest with every breath. It's like--- it's not. And if Kory could survive everything she did, Dick can get through this for that phone call. He doesn't reach up to touch Slade's massive shoulders, whether to push Slade away or... or not. He twists his fingers in the sheets till they start to tingle with lack of blood flow, and doesn't let his breathing speed up, and kisses Slade back. Dick can't keep from shivering when Slade growls a chuckle, and again when he strokes his sides lightly with big hands, but he doesn't let go or back away, and there's no way Slade can say these kisses don't count.
Even if, or because, Dick is breathless by the time Slade backs off.
Slade is way too close, smiling at Dick with possessiveness he has no right to, the tips of their noses almost touching. Dick's hot all over, every hair on Slade's chest and arms flicking his skin like fingertips. Slade's actual fingertips are over Dick's ribs, touching so lightly Dick can't think of anything but how hard he could press. Slade could probably break his ribs just by squeezing. "You know what I like about you, Robin?"
Dick grits his teeth, and does not tell Slade to stop calling him Robin. "Please tell me, so I can fix it."
Slade laughs, warm breath stirring Dick's hair. "How you know so much, but there's so much you don't know. You're a great mix of smart and taught and trainable, kid." He licks Dick's ear, and Dick's not going to shake, he's not. "I do enjoy teaching a bright kid, when I don't have to start at ground level." He presses his fingers in as he speaks, stroking down Dick's sides, and Dick doesn't twist, but he does shiver.
He should have a smart answer, he's the guy with the sassy jokes, but Dick can't think of anything to say as those fingers drag down his skin, and then there's no point because Slade's kissing him again. It's easier than it should be to respond. He's desperately hard now, shaking and fuzzy-minded with it, and all his dick wants is for someone to touch it. Slade pulls Dick's legs up as he kisses him, stroking the undersides of his thighs, and they don't actually fit as well in Slade's palms as they feel like they do. He pushes Dick's legs up so one's over his shoulder and the other's around his waist, and Dick falters and nearly chokes, then recovers and braces himself. This must be it. Slade's going to strip off his tights, and Dick will just have to endure, and then he can make his phone call and get out of here.
Slade doesn't. He pulls one hand away, and Dick can hear a drawer open, things shifting; he strokes behind Dick's knee, so lightly he keeps twitching like there's a button there being pushed, and when the hand comes back it's cool and wet and stroking between his asscheeks. Dick jerks away, squirming back, but Slade's got him pinned with the kiss, and his chuckle is deep and rumbly as he folds his hand around Dick's knee and holds it against his shoulder. "Time for something new," he murmurs over Dick's wet lips, and when Dick opens his mouth to say something -- anything -- defiant, Slade kisses him again.
It's not new, and Dick breathes as best he can with Slade on him. He didn't ask, so Dick's definitely not about to volunteer that he's done this before, with Kory. If he's prepared for the blunt nudge of fingers, if he knows how to breathe with it as one pushes inside him, that's an advantage and he's not giving it up. Slade's fingers are bigger than Kory's, he goes slower, and Dick clings to the sheets like a jumpline as he doesn't tense, breathes and relaxes into it. Nothing's new, and he can do this.
Slade laughs into his mouth, low and sharp, and pulls away. Dick can feel him looking even though his eyes are pressed shut. He should open them. Slade's breath on his eyelids is hot and moist like a tiger's. "Not bad, kid. I was expecting a scream." He slides his other hand down Dick's leg, to his groin, and the touch on his cock makes him grit his teeth so he won't curse. "How about two fingers, Robin?"
Dick's jaw's still clenched, and he means to shake his head, but for some unfathomable reason he nods. Slade laughs, teeth over his pulse, and bites him as he pushes in two fingers, faster and steady and hard.
Dammit, he gets that scream. Dick tries to press his mouth closed, but Slade strokes him with both hands; he can feel every callus on those big fingers, rasping along his cock, firing every nerve inside of him, and the best he can do for being quiet is panting like an animal. He doesn't even manage that when Slade bites his collarbone, his shoulder, his bicep, sucking hard on each bite as he rings Dick's cock and drags his fingers across Dick's prostate. "God dammit," Dick hears himself say, and then it's just noise and Slade's low chuckles between searing bites and too much sensation to endure.
Until Slade stops abruptly. Gasping, Dick whimpers, "please!", hears himself, and blushes hard as he bites his lip to shut himself up; his stupid begging echoes in his ears, but the only sounds in the room are his ragged breathing and Slade's low, amused rumble.
"I bet," Slade drawls, his hands still inside Dick and around him, "right now, Robin, you'd do anything." The words fall like blows, and Dick can press his eyes shut till his eyelids crinkle, but he can't stop gasping noisily, can't stop sweating, can't close his ears. "If I asked you nicely." Slade pulls his fingers out of Dick, slowly enough for him to feel every ridge and scar, and the circle he rubs with his fingertips feels like wet fire. "The Bat's security codes, the Tower's schematics. To get on your knees, to dress up in my colors and fight beside me." He shoves those fingers back in, and Dick arches off the bed, a scream escaping through his clenched teeth. "You sure want it, don't you."
Dick's heart pounds like it's about to explode. He doesn't want this. He wants to come so badly his eyes are watering. He never wanted this. He hates Slade and wants to be kissed again and hates him so much. He groans, and clutches the sheets till his fingers go numb, and doesn't beg.
Slade laughs. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." He leans closer, and if he'll just kiss him Dick won't have to worry about what fuck-stupid thing he might say; he arches his neck, stretching up for the kiss, but Slade pauses again, close enough for his lips to brush Dick's, to breathe hot on Dick's face. "You're lucky I'm too nice for that, eh?"
Chuckling, Slade swallows Dick's indignant gasp as he kisses him.
Dick bangs his heel on Slade's back, but all he feels is inflexible muscle. He wrenches his fingers out of the sheets and pounds Slade's shoulders, which means he can feel them moving at the same time as he feels Slade's hands resume stroking his aching cock and inside him, at the same time as his spine melts and Slade pushes his head down into the pillow with a deep, hard kiss. Dick shivers in time with Slade's thrusts, his brain shredding a little more with each double stroke. He doesn't-- he shouldn't -- he can't help it. Hands clutching the massive curves of Slade's shoulders, failing to remember why he wants to not want this, Dick comes shuddering with Slade's tongue in his mouth. Somewhere in it his teeth clench and he accidentally bites down, and Slade just rumbles a chuckle and works him till the last spasm passes and trails off.
When the orgasm fades to aftershocks, Slade withdraws, kisses Dick's forehead, and pets him, and that may just be the worst thing of all. The last association Dick wants to have for this is tenderness.
At least, that's what he tells himself as he shivers and gasps with a beard brushing his forehead, hanging onto Slade like he'll fall off the bed if he lets go, trying to stop feeling fragmented. He needs to stop shaking. He wants to stop being petted like some pretty needful thing. He... Dick clenches his teeth against Slade's hard warmth and thinks of everything that keeps him still on a stakeout, till he can control his breathing and stop shaking. There.
Slade lets Dick push him away and roll out of bed, and that's the limit of his stillness. Dick's skin is crawling like it wants to pull off his body, he feels so jittery he wants to run fifty miles or at least climb the walls. He'd hug himself but that would look unforgiveably vulnerable. When he glances back Slade's just watching him, head propped up on one hand, completely relaxed and smiling a little. As he watches Dick move. Right. Dick folds his arms and makes himself face Slade, who just rakes his eye up and down him till his skin prickles. "That, Grayson," and Slade lets the little smile widen towards a smirk, "was even more fun than I was expecting."
"I'm glad it was good for you," Dick snaps, as if he isn't sticky with his own come, and, God, his legs are twitchy and shaky, all the bites on his neck and shoulders and legs are throbbing, and he almost wishes he felt worse. The last place he wants to go is back to that bed, but he's pretty sure the door is locked, and... and he hasn't completeted his end of the bargain yet anyway, not with the way Slade's looking at him, waiting patiently but with a hot blue eye.
Dick can't afford to push Slade's patience; the Titans can't afford for him to. They could be in a lot of trouble right now. Dick thinks of Kory, her bright smile and soft shoulders and rippling hair, and thinks of how to get through this, and the last place he ever thought he'd need to consider strategy is in bed.
He takes a breath, and Slade smirks into a grin. "Good, Robin? You're magnificent, kid. Not that I want you to get a swelled head. " He holds out his hand. "Well, not the wrong kind, anyway. C'mere."
Dick doesn't hug himself. He unfolds his arms and goes back to the bed, and it shouldn't be that easy to sit down. When Slade smiles it shouldn't be easy to smile back. He's not sure if he hopes there's a nervous breakdown in his future, or just expects that there is, as Slade skims Dick's wet stomach with his fingertips and licks them, sucking on his index finger.
Dick's stomach lurches with the meaningfulness of the gesture, and he swallows hard, and doesn't lose the smile. It's just like trying out a half-learned move. "And what can I do for you?" It's just like jumping off somewhere too high to see the bottom.
Slade sits up, grinning ferociously, and when he pushes off his tights Dick doesn't look down. "That's a very good question." He takes Dick's wrist and pulls his hand up to lick his palm really, really slowly, a hot tongue and the lightest graze of teeth, and Dick shakes uncontrollably even when he bites his lip. He could brace against a hard bite, and that has to be why Slade's doing it lightly.
That, and the deep chuckle as Slade kisses Dick and pulls his hand down. The first word that comes to Dick's mind is, 'oversized', and he'd be glad Slade can't see this blush except that he's sure he can feel it even before he nips Dick's lip with another chuckle. But, well, Dick's hands grew a lot in his last growth spurt and his fingers still barely overlap around the girth of Slade's dick. It pulses in the curve of his hand, fittingly massive, and Dick's having enough trouble keeping up with the breathlessness-inducing kiss, his lips being bitten and his head tilted back, without hyperventilating over the mental image of dislocating his jaw. Let alone... his ass throbs, and his thoughts careen wildly through the impossibilities of finding excuses for that particular injury, and he really wants to laugh hysterically. Of all the things he's undergone as Robin. How would he even explain it to Batman?
Batman.
Batman will be---
Slade's hand is on Dick's jaw, pushing his face up, and Dick can't even imagine Batman's reaction. What Bruce will think, of this, of him. "Kid, look at me." Slade says, low and sharp. "Grayson. Dick. Look at me."
Dick blinks. Slade's face fills his vision, narrow blue eye and eyepatch, white hair and craggy cheekbones; he blinks again, and can't shut his eyes.
The grip on Dick's face eases to a caress. Slade's smile is slow and lopsided and glints with teeth. "That's better." He pulls Dick's other hand in and wraps it around his cock as well, then winds his arm around Dick's waist. "Move your hands, would you?" More effortlessly than a pull, he lifts Dick onto his lap and kisses him again, thumb stroking his jaw, fingers curved back behind his neck.
With his other hand Slade pets Dick again, from the nape of his neck to the tops of his thighs, in long unhurried strokes. It's not any easier to sit still for it than it was before, without even a rope to keep him in place, or to balance on two hard pillars of thighs. Dick strokes Slade the way he likes to be stroked, and every time he twists his hand he can feel an answering tremor that almost makes him want to try doing it more; still, this can't possibly be all Slade wants, and Dick's trying to keep himself alert for the push down onto the bed, the growl, the sign of some kind. He's trying to remember that he should be doing anything but relaxing into this, enjoying this, but every time he starts to actually succeed at thinking Slade changes the rhythm of the kiss, or presses his fingers in till Dick can feel hot dents in his skin, or rumbles deep in his chest, sounding amused and pleased and... Dick doesn't want to like that rumble.
He wants... he wants to be able to think, but when Slade bites his lip again Dick moans, shivering down to his toes, and the twitch in his groin tells him he's getting hard again. Not what he needs, and he sternly tells his body this just before Slade skims fingertips across the small of his back, making him wiggle.
Slade's answering chuckle is a little breathy, his hand on Dick's face is minutely shaking. Dick swallows hard and speeds up one hand, pushing the other down, and when Dick's palm slides beneath his balls Slade pulls back with an eager hiss. "Yeah, kid," he growls, his hand on Dick's shoulder tight enough to make the bones creak. He lets go of Dick's head, though, to wrap his hand around Dick's lower wrist, and Dick dizzily wonders if it's to keep him from doing anything unpleasant. It feels like Slade just wants to feel his hand move as he strokes, pumping with the other.
"C'mon," Slade grits through clenched teeth. "C'mon, pretty boy wonder." Dick growls at that, though he sounds like a puppy next to Slade, and shifting back just gives him a better view of Slade's face as he comes, forehead furrowwed, grinning fiercely. Dick watches before he thinks about whether he wants to; when he's in bed with someone, no matter how guarded they usually are or how strong, at the moment of orgasm their expressions soften into something individual and universal, open and vulnerable and sweet, and Dick never feels better than when he makes someone look like that.
Slade doesn't look like that. He looks more dangerous than ever somehow, not lost in pleasure at all but like he's using it to know every inch of himself even better, and Dick too. His hands on Dick's shoulder and wrist are tight enough to grind the bones together, for an endless moment, before his grip relaxes and he opens his eye and grins widely. "You've got good little hands, kid."
They're not little, Dick's not little whether or not he lets himself say so, which he won't. And as he thinks that he takes in the mental image of himself on Slade's lap, and pulls away as Slade laughs at him. He's tempted to see if Slade can catch a punch and his breath at the same time, and the thought is so strange it gives Dick vertigo. He doesn't want to mix violence and sex, not for real as opposed to a spar. He shoves himself to his feet as Slade, still laughing, leans back on his elbows.
Dick folds his arms, balling his sticky hands into fists. He feels more naked than naked, if that's possible, as Slade looks at him with an annoyingly pleased smirk. "I always knew you were a young man of potential, but I must say I'm impressed."
"Thanks," Dick mutters, folding his arms tighter.
"The next few hours are gonna be fun." Slade sits up, looking avid. "Unless you want a nap, of course. But I'll have to stop the clock."
"I'm not sleepy." Dick wonders if a kick or a kiss would get Slade to shut up. He's pretty sure which would work better. "I could use a shower, though."
"Now that's a great idea." Slade stands up, and he's near, and sweaty, and big, and if Dick backs up there's a wall behind him, so he stands still. "Robin, brains of the operation." Even when Slade taps his forehead, and slings an arm around his waist. "C'mon, Grayson. I'll wash your back."
*************
Eight hours and fifteen minutes after the timer went on, Dick sits with the chessboard behind his elbow, his head propped up on his hand as he stares at the swirling characters on the page in front of him, trying to make them turn into words. He's so sleepy he can't turn the pages with his gauntlets on, and his bare fingers keep getting sweaty enough to slide against his mask, which makes his head start to drop, which jerks him awake.
Across the table, idly humming, Slade's sitting back in his chair, completely dressed in his suit, reading another book. His ankles are crossed beneath the table, now that he doesn't have one hooked over Dick's. He hums, more a satisfied sound than a tune, and turns a page.
He actually is tired. Dick can see it in the set of his shoulders, and he wonders how many other things he'll be able to see about Slade now, and if it was worth it to know them. But he's less tired than Dick is, which is really, incredibly pissing Dick off, as he rubs his sore eyes with the back of his hand and tries to read about the history of Europe before 1000.
All he can think about is when Slade pinned his wrists to the tiled shower wall, the shiver-inducing scrape of wet beard on the back of his neck and heat of a mouth between his shoulderblades. Dick shudders, closing his eyes, and thinks desperately about anything else. Like where the Titans are at the moment. When the Tower relayed his call through the JLA's ansible he reached Vic on Rann, where the whole team was behind bars.
That made a certain kind of sense; when Dick's had a nap he'll pick it all apart and make someone pay. Meanwhile, though, he had to get his team out of jail, with one phone call, because Dick was not about to ask what another would cost. As Slade silently smirked at him, Dick pressed his palm against his face, and thought, till he could tell Vic how to call Adam Strange, the ambassador's contact info, and everything else they needed to get themselves out.
How long do Zeta Beams take, anyway? Dick's head starts to fall, and he jerks awake, again, just as Slade dog-ears his page and puts the book down, then stretches like a big cat after a good meal. Dick catches himself imagining Slade yawning to display a pair of long fangs, and clenches his fist till it hurts. "Well, the doorbell's about to ring," he says as he stands up. "I'd better go answer it."
"The Titans won't be pleased with you." Dick's defiance sounds as tired as he feels.
Slade shrugs, and pats Dick's cheek with his grip-textured gauntlet; Dick sees it coming, but inexplicably lets him. "But you were, huh?" Dick glares, but can't quite open his mouth. "We should do this again sometime."
"Not on your life," Dick snaps. Slade's smirking in his stance, even if Dick can't see his face, and he conspicuously lets Dick have the last word as he turns and walks away.
Dick really should go too, to find out where the safe exit is, if nothing else. He pulls on his gauntlets and stands up; he's in his suit, which he's spent years wearing, but his legs feel incongruously bare, every hickey sore and livid. His arms are marked up to match, but at least the suit hides the finger-marks on his wrists, the bites on his shoulders.
Dick's still looking down at himself when the room shakes. The explosion's in entirely the other direction from the way Slade went, and Dick can't believe he fell for that, but even with the adrenaline shock he's sluggish; he only gets a couple steps before he hears Kory shouting, "Robin? Robin?"
"Starfire!" Dick calls back, and watches the wall explode with some satisfaction. Kory hovers there, glowing and fierce and gorgeous, with Donna beside her and a radiation-suited blur under one arm who strips at speed, revealing Wally. "Hey."
"Robin!" Kory grabs him from one side, Donna from the other, and they wrap him up in nice soft feminine arms and spin him around in midair. "I was so worried!"
"We all were! I'm so sorry we left you!" Donna has tear-tracks on her face. "But the message was code-orange urgent---"
"And they said they needed us---" Wally's speaking from different sides of the room, zipping around nervously.
"But it was a trap!" Donna lets go to wave her hands expressively; Kory lands with Dick, but doesn't let go. "They said they wanted children---"
Dick doesn't want to let go of Kory either, but he has to pry an arm free and wave to get their attention. "Wait. Guys, wait. You can explain in a minute. Right now we have to find Deathstroke, he---"
"Oh, Robin!" Donna's looking at his legs, and Dick's stomach folds itself over as his face turns a completely obvious red. "You're hurt!"
"Hurt?" Dick echoes; Kory hugs him tighter. "No, I'm--"
A whirl of air, as Wally checks Dick out from all sides. "My God," Wally gasps, "he tortured you! I'm gonna tear him apart!"
"Wait--" Wally's already gone, and Dick knows he won't find anything. Donna's hugging Dick again from behind, apologizing and crying into his shoulder. He looks up at Kory, who's still silent.
Because she's Tamaranian, and she knows. She smiles at him with wide, soft eyes, and folds her long warm hand around his.
Title: In Flagrante Delicto
Fandom: DC Comics
Authors:
petronelle and rubynyeRating: NC-17
Summary: And if Slade had been quiet, Dick wouldn't be playing chess in the nude now.
Pairing: Deathstroke/ Robin I (Slade/Dick), other pairings mentioned
Warnings/Features: Very dubious consent. Slash and het mentioned.
Sequel To:
petronelle's "Mao"[ETA: Prequel to
mildredmilton's "A Shift In Understanding"]Based On: This picture, general New Teen Titans milieu.
Beta Reader:
mildredmilton, hitting it out of the park on her first swing.Dedicated to:
katarik, because. :DDisclaimer: These characters belong to DC Comics, not to us.
And if Slade had been quiet, hadn't kept dropping little comments and hints, Dick wouldn't be playing chess in the nude now. "Five hours left," he says, moving his remaining bishop and double-checking the timer Slade has set up. It's hard to focus on the game when he thinks his friends may be dying. It would be whether or not he was naked, but that's not helping.
"So impatient." Slade pats his knee under the table. It also doesn't help that he's 'undressed to keep you company,' bare to the waist. "Don't worry, we'll get there."
Dick shivers, not entirely from the cool air. "I'm sure."
"If you want to be touched so badly --"
"I don't," Dick says, though he's no longer sure he's telling the truth. "I want to make the call. And I will, in five hours and thirty-eight minutes."
Slade concedes this with a nod. "The rest of the game would be much more fun if you sat on my lap."
Dick stares at him. It's an odd request, even from a man of Slade's height and strength. "The angle would be off."
"I'm sure your spatial skills can handle the challenge." Slade pushes his chair back and says, "Come here."
He looks at the board again. "And if I say no?"
"Six hours becomes six days," Slade says.
"Five hours," Dick corrects him
"Yes." Slade spreads his hands invitingly, and there should be absolutely nothing inviting about him. "Five hours also becomes six days."
Dick nods and gets up, looking at the wall so he doesn't have to see Slade staring at him. He doesn't have to see it to feel it.
Slade's lap is about as uncomfortable as laps get. His legs are strong, and their only breadth is from muscle. It doesn't help that he puts his arm around Dick's waist immediately and nuzzles his ear, saying, "There, that's better."
There shouldn't be anything erotic about it, but it makes Dick's spine tingle. He reminds himself again -- and again -- that he's in danger for his life here and should be doing anything other than what he is, but it doesn't faze his hormones. "Your move," he says, and Slade reaches past him to move the king's knight.
"How noble of you to remind me." When he's completed his move, he sets his hand on Dick's thigh.
It's not impossible to envision the chessboard from the opposite direction. It's not even difficult, generally speaking, but when Slade's hand moves to his dick, cognitive challenges get insurmountable. "Oh," he says, feeling like an idiot, and he makes a move more or less at random.
Slade makes a disapproving noise against his neck. "If you throw the game, we'll just have to play again when you've made your phonecall."
"Fine," Dick says, trying not to gasp. Then he remembers the terms and adds, "But I'm getting dressed again for it."
"If you must." Slade nibbles his ear and makes a move he doesn't see for the next thirty seconds.
When he does, he's at a loss for how to counter it. It's getting to be a familiar feeling. He shifts a little on Slade's lap, concentrating on not pushing into his hand at all, and makes another move. "I just -- I'm a little distracted."
"You're not the only one." Slade traces a scar on his stomach, then makes a move. "Check."
Dick shivers and leans back against him, trying not to be distracted by how completely not soft it feels, failing at visualizing the appropriate moves. "I don't care."
"Not at all?" Slade sighs, though he doesn't sound unhappy. "I suppose we'll skip to the 'mate' part, then, shall we?"
This is supposed to feel miserable and morally reprehensible. Dick knows he's supposed to be repulsed. It's just hard to be repulsed when he's being petted expertly enough to make his hips want to twitch up for more, and besides, he's already said he'll go through with it, so if it's at all enjoyable, he may as well enjoy something.
Even so, that's a terrible pun. "I think you should let me go now."
"Oh?" Slade gives him a little squeeze. "Why should I?"
Dick has to catch his breath to reply. "Obviously you've been spending too much time with me. The puns are wearing off on you."
Slade chuckles in his ear. "I'll be sure to wash thoroughly afterwards. Are you conceding the game?"
"Yes. You're sure I can't go call them yet?"
"Five hours and thirty minutes." Slade squeezes his thigh. "Get up."
He's not shaky when he does it. He's also very careful not to think about how arousing this is, and equally careful not to look at Slade at all. "Just checking."
Slade gets up, too, and runs his hand down Dick's back, a shiver following in its wake. "Kiss me." He holds his other hand up. "And none of that messing around, this time."
It's less stomach-turning now, in part because it's an alternative to worse things rather than the worst thing that could be happening; so much less stomach turning that he nearly finds himself enjoying it and tries to think about something or someone else. But Kory doesn't smell like this, and no one feels like this.
Except --
Except Slade, who's squeezing his ass as though he's got every right to do it and nibbling on his bottom lip until he makes a soft sound. Slade laughs. "Much better."
By the middle of the eighth kiss, Dick's finding it pretty much impossible to ignore his own arousal. He's not going to draw attention to it, but it's inescapable. The whole process would be easier to take if all he had to do was gratify Slade. If it's pleasurable, he's not sure what that says about him. He's not about to ask, or to say anything at all.
"I think we'll start in bed," Slade says, and he spares Dick the indignity of another kiss, but tugs him down the hall to a bedroom. It's a full bed, certainly not military issue, and that's all Dick has the chance to see before Slade kisses him and makes him walk backward toward it. He won't stumble, even now, but he wants to. It would be more appropriate to fall on the floor than to end up lounging on the bed as if it's somewhere he wants to be.
Slade pets him again. It seems backward, somehow. "I don't get it," Dick says. "I thought I was trading you sex for a phone call, here."
"Of course." Slade nuzzles his neck, biting gently. "But there are a lot of gratifying things about playing with you."
Dick blushes and closes his eyes, though that does nothing to keep him from hearing the amusement in Slade's voice, or feeling Slade's mouth on his skin. "Oh."
"You squirm so nicely." He resolves to stop moving, and succeeds for all of three breaths, when Slade bites his nipple and makes him shudder. "There, like that." Slade chuckles. "I could spend four hours just doing this."
Dick winces. "That would defeat some of the purpose."
"Not at all." Slade kisses his stomach. "I'm more than willing to make this trade."
"I'd rather you just got it over with," Dick says, though the reality of Slade teasing him is a lot more pleasant than the idea of perfunctory sex.
"There's a reason I wanted a time limit instead of a laundry list of activities." Slade strokes the inside of his thigh, then bends his head and sucks and nibbles until Dick has to grab at the sheets. "It's much easier to handle, I think. More finite." Another nibble at the same spot -- for good measure, maybe -- and he switches thighs.
This time, even though he twists the sheets till the cloth strains over his fingers, Dick can't hold back a moan. Slade looks up at him and smiles. "Good to know I'm having an effect."
There are significant portions of Dick's brain that are still terrified and convinced that he should be running away right now, but they're being loudly chastised by twelve thousand trenchantly nasty mental images and his memory of geography. There's no running and no away here, just Slade nuzzling his thigh and then, in a complete reversal of what Dick's expecting, wrapping his lips around the head of his dick and licking him there, too.
He says, "Oh, fuck," without thinking about it, and Slade laughs.
"Why, Robin, I don't think I've ever heard you say that."
He's still supposed to be Robin. The thought chills him with the extent of his failure, but only for a second. He's doing his best to get away as soon as possible. His chosen method is making him arch off the bed, whimpering, as soon as Slade licks him again, but that's not the main goal. "Because --nn -- because you've never -- Jesus, that's good --"
A prolonged wet sound and Slade lets him go, petting him one-handed instead. "Just think what I've been missing. And how many men have you had sex with -- Robin?"
It would be easier to take if the question was addressed to "Grayson," in Slade's normal mocking tone. "Three," and Dick doesn't say 'including you.'
"Hmm." Slade mouths his thigh again. "That makes things easier."
Dick shivers and tenses. "I -- um -- we never actually had, you know, anal sex."
Slade stops and looks up at him. "Really."
He bites his lip. "Never got around to it."
Slade fingers the mark on Dick's thigh. "Ah. So none of them was Batman."
Dick knows he's blushing and can't do anything about it. It makes sense -- it really does, for someone who doesn't actually know them very well at all. "No -- no."
"Intriguing." Slade fondles him. "And yet you've had some experience."
Dick sits up a little. "Look, I didn't say I'd play Twenty Questions with you."
"Six days isn't that long." Slade stops touching him. "You can read several books if you want. But by the time you get out, Starfire may be in serious danger -- not to mention Wonder Girl and Speedy."
There's no reason to blush at Roy's name, but Dick does.
"I see," Slade says, apropos of nothing apparent. He pets Dick's thigh again. "Did one of those neglectful men -- or boys -- teach you to suck cock, at least?"
Dick winces and sits up all the way. He misses the distraction of the chess game, which at least kept Slade from being vulgar and inquisitive. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You could show me instead." Slade touches his mouth, running his thumb a little roughly over Dick's bottom lip. Some of the charm has faded, and Dick remembers how little he wants to do this. Slade keeps watching him, eye bright and hard as a hawk's. "Well?"
When he is finally home, alone, in his own nice comfortable bed, Dick will start forgetting this ever happened. Right now, he's more or less obliged to nibble Slade's thumb. He catches himself tracing callouses with his tongue, and has to decide whether he should.
At least this keeps him from saying the kinds of things he wants to say, all the insults that would just make Slade take back the bargain, maybe, and be more miserable to be around in the time between now and when the Titans show up. And given that he's expected to provide sex, it's relatively easy to prove he can. "Good to know," Slade says when Dick nibbles two of his fingers at once. "You -- you've made your point." There's something of a catch in his breathing as he pulls his hand away. Dick's not sure whether to be proud or afraid.
His body picks afraid for him when Slade shifts up, over him, large enough to block out the light. Dick can feel his pulse racing, even more so when Slade presses his damp thumb against the inside of Dick's wrist. His eyes widen too much for a game face, and Slade smirks down at him. If he had his mask --- if he weren't here. But he has what he has. Dick doesn't back away pointlessly against the headboard, or let himself renege on the deal. He smirks up at Slade and says, "Anything worth doing's worth doing well."
"Now you're learning, kid." If he can get Slade to stop calling him Robin, maybe Dick can get him to--- Slade kisses him again, and the train of thought gets away from him. He tries to catch it, but Slade tilts his head, pushing, leaning down, and it's gone. Instead of distinct kisses, now, this is a longer involved one, Slade's beard brushing his chin, Slade's tongue flexing in his mouth. Slade settles down onto Dick, heavy and tall and broad, and it's a little like how Kory feels when she's too distracted to fly or hold herself up, when she hugs him hard and presses him down into the bed.
It's nothing like Kory, with all this hard, scarred, scratchy-haired muscle, rasping Dick's chest with every breath. It's like--- it's not. And if Kory could survive everything she did, Dick can get through this for that phone call. He doesn't reach up to touch Slade's massive shoulders, whether to push Slade away or... or not. He twists his fingers in the sheets till they start to tingle with lack of blood flow, and doesn't let his breathing speed up, and kisses Slade back. Dick can't keep from shivering when Slade growls a chuckle, and again when he strokes his sides lightly with big hands, but he doesn't let go or back away, and there's no way Slade can say these kisses don't count.
Even if, or because, Dick is breathless by the time Slade backs off.
Slade is way too close, smiling at Dick with possessiveness he has no right to, the tips of their noses almost touching. Dick's hot all over, every hair on Slade's chest and arms flicking his skin like fingertips. Slade's actual fingertips are over Dick's ribs, touching so lightly Dick can't think of anything but how hard he could press. Slade could probably break his ribs just by squeezing. "You know what I like about you, Robin?"
Dick grits his teeth, and does not tell Slade to stop calling him Robin. "Please tell me, so I can fix it."
Slade laughs, warm breath stirring Dick's hair. "How you know so much, but there's so much you don't know. You're a great mix of smart and taught and trainable, kid." He licks Dick's ear, and Dick's not going to shake, he's not. "I do enjoy teaching a bright kid, when I don't have to start at ground level." He presses his fingers in as he speaks, stroking down Dick's sides, and Dick doesn't twist, but he does shiver.
He should have a smart answer, he's the guy with the sassy jokes, but Dick can't think of anything to say as those fingers drag down his skin, and then there's no point because Slade's kissing him again. It's easier than it should be to respond. He's desperately hard now, shaking and fuzzy-minded with it, and all his dick wants is for someone to touch it. Slade pulls Dick's legs up as he kisses him, stroking the undersides of his thighs, and they don't actually fit as well in Slade's palms as they feel like they do. He pushes Dick's legs up so one's over his shoulder and the other's around his waist, and Dick falters and nearly chokes, then recovers and braces himself. This must be it. Slade's going to strip off his tights, and Dick will just have to endure, and then he can make his phone call and get out of here.
Slade doesn't. He pulls one hand away, and Dick can hear a drawer open, things shifting; he strokes behind Dick's knee, so lightly he keeps twitching like there's a button there being pushed, and when the hand comes back it's cool and wet and stroking between his asscheeks. Dick jerks away, squirming back, but Slade's got him pinned with the kiss, and his chuckle is deep and rumbly as he folds his hand around Dick's knee and holds it against his shoulder. "Time for something new," he murmurs over Dick's wet lips, and when Dick opens his mouth to say something -- anything -- defiant, Slade kisses him again.
It's not new, and Dick breathes as best he can with Slade on him. He didn't ask, so Dick's definitely not about to volunteer that he's done this before, with Kory. If he's prepared for the blunt nudge of fingers, if he knows how to breathe with it as one pushes inside him, that's an advantage and he's not giving it up. Slade's fingers are bigger than Kory's, he goes slower, and Dick clings to the sheets like a jumpline as he doesn't tense, breathes and relaxes into it. Nothing's new, and he can do this.
Slade laughs into his mouth, low and sharp, and pulls away. Dick can feel him looking even though his eyes are pressed shut. He should open them. Slade's breath on his eyelids is hot and moist like a tiger's. "Not bad, kid. I was expecting a scream." He slides his other hand down Dick's leg, to his groin, and the touch on his cock makes him grit his teeth so he won't curse. "How about two fingers, Robin?"
Dick's jaw's still clenched, and he means to shake his head, but for some unfathomable reason he nods. Slade laughs, teeth over his pulse, and bites him as he pushes in two fingers, faster and steady and hard.
Dammit, he gets that scream. Dick tries to press his mouth closed, but Slade strokes him with both hands; he can feel every callus on those big fingers, rasping along his cock, firing every nerve inside of him, and the best he can do for being quiet is panting like an animal. He doesn't even manage that when Slade bites his collarbone, his shoulder, his bicep, sucking hard on each bite as he rings Dick's cock and drags his fingers across Dick's prostate. "God dammit," Dick hears himself say, and then it's just noise and Slade's low chuckles between searing bites and too much sensation to endure.
Until Slade stops abruptly. Gasping, Dick whimpers, "please!", hears himself, and blushes hard as he bites his lip to shut himself up; his stupid begging echoes in his ears, but the only sounds in the room are his ragged breathing and Slade's low, amused rumble.
"I bet," Slade drawls, his hands still inside Dick and around him, "right now, Robin, you'd do anything." The words fall like blows, and Dick can press his eyes shut till his eyelids crinkle, but he can't stop gasping noisily, can't stop sweating, can't close his ears. "If I asked you nicely." Slade pulls his fingers out of Dick, slowly enough for him to feel every ridge and scar, and the circle he rubs with his fingertips feels like wet fire. "The Bat's security codes, the Tower's schematics. To get on your knees, to dress up in my colors and fight beside me." He shoves those fingers back in, and Dick arches off the bed, a scream escaping through his clenched teeth. "You sure want it, don't you."
Dick's heart pounds like it's about to explode. He doesn't want this. He wants to come so badly his eyes are watering. He never wanted this. He hates Slade and wants to be kissed again and hates him so much. He groans, and clutches the sheets till his fingers go numb, and doesn't beg.
Slade laughs. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." He leans closer, and if he'll just kiss him Dick won't have to worry about what fuck-stupid thing he might say; he arches his neck, stretching up for the kiss, but Slade pauses again, close enough for his lips to brush Dick's, to breathe hot on Dick's face. "You're lucky I'm too nice for that, eh?"
Chuckling, Slade swallows Dick's indignant gasp as he kisses him.
Dick bangs his heel on Slade's back, but all he feels is inflexible muscle. He wrenches his fingers out of the sheets and pounds Slade's shoulders, which means he can feel them moving at the same time as he feels Slade's hands resume stroking his aching cock and inside him, at the same time as his spine melts and Slade pushes his head down into the pillow with a deep, hard kiss. Dick shivers in time with Slade's thrusts, his brain shredding a little more with each double stroke. He doesn't-- he shouldn't -- he can't help it. Hands clutching the massive curves of Slade's shoulders, failing to remember why he wants to not want this, Dick comes shuddering with Slade's tongue in his mouth. Somewhere in it his teeth clench and he accidentally bites down, and Slade just rumbles a chuckle and works him till the last spasm passes and trails off.
When the orgasm fades to aftershocks, Slade withdraws, kisses Dick's forehead, and pets him, and that may just be the worst thing of all. The last association Dick wants to have for this is tenderness.
At least, that's what he tells himself as he shivers and gasps with a beard brushing his forehead, hanging onto Slade like he'll fall off the bed if he lets go, trying to stop feeling fragmented. He needs to stop shaking. He wants to stop being petted like some pretty needful thing. He... Dick clenches his teeth against Slade's hard warmth and thinks of everything that keeps him still on a stakeout, till he can control his breathing and stop shaking. There.
Slade lets Dick push him away and roll out of bed, and that's the limit of his stillness. Dick's skin is crawling like it wants to pull off his body, he feels so jittery he wants to run fifty miles or at least climb the walls. He'd hug himself but that would look unforgiveably vulnerable. When he glances back Slade's just watching him, head propped up on one hand, completely relaxed and smiling a little. As he watches Dick move. Right. Dick folds his arms and makes himself face Slade, who just rakes his eye up and down him till his skin prickles. "That, Grayson," and Slade lets the little smile widen towards a smirk, "was even more fun than I was expecting."
"I'm glad it was good for you," Dick snaps, as if he isn't sticky with his own come, and, God, his legs are twitchy and shaky, all the bites on his neck and shoulders and legs are throbbing, and he almost wishes he felt worse. The last place he wants to go is back to that bed, but he's pretty sure the door is locked, and... and he hasn't completeted his end of the bargain yet anyway, not with the way Slade's looking at him, waiting patiently but with a hot blue eye.
Dick can't afford to push Slade's patience; the Titans can't afford for him to. They could be in a lot of trouble right now. Dick thinks of Kory, her bright smile and soft shoulders and rippling hair, and thinks of how to get through this, and the last place he ever thought he'd need to consider strategy is in bed.
He takes a breath, and Slade smirks into a grin. "Good, Robin? You're magnificent, kid. Not that I want you to get a swelled head. " He holds out his hand. "Well, not the wrong kind, anyway. C'mere."
Dick doesn't hug himself. He unfolds his arms and goes back to the bed, and it shouldn't be that easy to sit down. When Slade smiles it shouldn't be easy to smile back. He's not sure if he hopes there's a nervous breakdown in his future, or just expects that there is, as Slade skims Dick's wet stomach with his fingertips and licks them, sucking on his index finger.
Dick's stomach lurches with the meaningfulness of the gesture, and he swallows hard, and doesn't lose the smile. It's just like trying out a half-learned move. "And what can I do for you?" It's just like jumping off somewhere too high to see the bottom.
Slade sits up, grinning ferociously, and when he pushes off his tights Dick doesn't look down. "That's a very good question." He takes Dick's wrist and pulls his hand up to lick his palm really, really slowly, a hot tongue and the lightest graze of teeth, and Dick shakes uncontrollably even when he bites his lip. He could brace against a hard bite, and that has to be why Slade's doing it lightly.
That, and the deep chuckle as Slade kisses Dick and pulls his hand down. The first word that comes to Dick's mind is, 'oversized', and he'd be glad Slade can't see this blush except that he's sure he can feel it even before he nips Dick's lip with another chuckle. But, well, Dick's hands grew a lot in his last growth spurt and his fingers still barely overlap around the girth of Slade's dick. It pulses in the curve of his hand, fittingly massive, and Dick's having enough trouble keeping up with the breathlessness-inducing kiss, his lips being bitten and his head tilted back, without hyperventilating over the mental image of dislocating his jaw. Let alone... his ass throbs, and his thoughts careen wildly through the impossibilities of finding excuses for that particular injury, and he really wants to laugh hysterically. Of all the things he's undergone as Robin. How would he even explain it to Batman?
Batman.
Batman will be---
Slade's hand is on Dick's jaw, pushing his face up, and Dick can't even imagine Batman's reaction. What Bruce will think, of this, of him. "Kid, look at me." Slade says, low and sharp. "Grayson. Dick. Look at me."
Dick blinks. Slade's face fills his vision, narrow blue eye and eyepatch, white hair and craggy cheekbones; he blinks again, and can't shut his eyes.
The grip on Dick's face eases to a caress. Slade's smile is slow and lopsided and glints with teeth. "That's better." He pulls Dick's other hand in and wraps it around his cock as well, then winds his arm around Dick's waist. "Move your hands, would you?" More effortlessly than a pull, he lifts Dick onto his lap and kisses him again, thumb stroking his jaw, fingers curved back behind his neck.
With his other hand Slade pets Dick again, from the nape of his neck to the tops of his thighs, in long unhurried strokes. It's not any easier to sit still for it than it was before, without even a rope to keep him in place, or to balance on two hard pillars of thighs. Dick strokes Slade the way he likes to be stroked, and every time he twists his hand he can feel an answering tremor that almost makes him want to try doing it more; still, this can't possibly be all Slade wants, and Dick's trying to keep himself alert for the push down onto the bed, the growl, the sign of some kind. He's trying to remember that he should be doing anything but relaxing into this, enjoying this, but every time he starts to actually succeed at thinking Slade changes the rhythm of the kiss, or presses his fingers in till Dick can feel hot dents in his skin, or rumbles deep in his chest, sounding amused and pleased and... Dick doesn't want to like that rumble.
He wants... he wants to be able to think, but when Slade bites his lip again Dick moans, shivering down to his toes, and the twitch in his groin tells him he's getting hard again. Not what he needs, and he sternly tells his body this just before Slade skims fingertips across the small of his back, making him wiggle.
Slade's answering chuckle is a little breathy, his hand on Dick's face is minutely shaking. Dick swallows hard and speeds up one hand, pushing the other down, and when Dick's palm slides beneath his balls Slade pulls back with an eager hiss. "Yeah, kid," he growls, his hand on Dick's shoulder tight enough to make the bones creak. He lets go of Dick's head, though, to wrap his hand around Dick's lower wrist, and Dick dizzily wonders if it's to keep him from doing anything unpleasant. It feels like Slade just wants to feel his hand move as he strokes, pumping with the other.
"C'mon," Slade grits through clenched teeth. "C'mon, pretty boy wonder." Dick growls at that, though he sounds like a puppy next to Slade, and shifting back just gives him a better view of Slade's face as he comes, forehead furrowwed, grinning fiercely. Dick watches before he thinks about whether he wants to; when he's in bed with someone, no matter how guarded they usually are or how strong, at the moment of orgasm their expressions soften into something individual and universal, open and vulnerable and sweet, and Dick never feels better than when he makes someone look like that.
Slade doesn't look like that. He looks more dangerous than ever somehow, not lost in pleasure at all but like he's using it to know every inch of himself even better, and Dick too. His hands on Dick's shoulder and wrist are tight enough to grind the bones together, for an endless moment, before his grip relaxes and he opens his eye and grins widely. "You've got good little hands, kid."
They're not little, Dick's not little whether or not he lets himself say so, which he won't. And as he thinks that he takes in the mental image of himself on Slade's lap, and pulls away as Slade laughs at him. He's tempted to see if Slade can catch a punch and his breath at the same time, and the thought is so strange it gives Dick vertigo. He doesn't want to mix violence and sex, not for real as opposed to a spar. He shoves himself to his feet as Slade, still laughing, leans back on his elbows.
Dick folds his arms, balling his sticky hands into fists. He feels more naked than naked, if that's possible, as Slade looks at him with an annoyingly pleased smirk. "I always knew you were a young man of potential, but I must say I'm impressed."
"Thanks," Dick mutters, folding his arms tighter.
"The next few hours are gonna be fun." Slade sits up, looking avid. "Unless you want a nap, of course. But I'll have to stop the clock."
"I'm not sleepy." Dick wonders if a kick or a kiss would get Slade to shut up. He's pretty sure which would work better. "I could use a shower, though."
"Now that's a great idea." Slade stands up, and he's near, and sweaty, and big, and if Dick backs up there's a wall behind him, so he stands still. "Robin, brains of the operation." Even when Slade taps his forehead, and slings an arm around his waist. "C'mon, Grayson. I'll wash your back."
*************
Eight hours and fifteen minutes after the timer went on, Dick sits with the chessboard behind his elbow, his head propped up on his hand as he stares at the swirling characters on the page in front of him, trying to make them turn into words. He's so sleepy he can't turn the pages with his gauntlets on, and his bare fingers keep getting sweaty enough to slide against his mask, which makes his head start to drop, which jerks him awake.
Across the table, idly humming, Slade's sitting back in his chair, completely dressed in his suit, reading another book. His ankles are crossed beneath the table, now that he doesn't have one hooked over Dick's. He hums, more a satisfied sound than a tune, and turns a page.
He actually is tired. Dick can see it in the set of his shoulders, and he wonders how many other things he'll be able to see about Slade now, and if it was worth it to know them. But he's less tired than Dick is, which is really, incredibly pissing Dick off, as he rubs his sore eyes with the back of his hand and tries to read about the history of Europe before 1000.
All he can think about is when Slade pinned his wrists to the tiled shower wall, the shiver-inducing scrape of wet beard on the back of his neck and heat of a mouth between his shoulderblades. Dick shudders, closing his eyes, and thinks desperately about anything else. Like where the Titans are at the moment. When the Tower relayed his call through the JLA's ansible he reached Vic on Rann, where the whole team was behind bars.
That made a certain kind of sense; when Dick's had a nap he'll pick it all apart and make someone pay. Meanwhile, though, he had to get his team out of jail, with one phone call, because Dick was not about to ask what another would cost. As Slade silently smirked at him, Dick pressed his palm against his face, and thought, till he could tell Vic how to call Adam Strange, the ambassador's contact info, and everything else they needed to get themselves out.
How long do Zeta Beams take, anyway? Dick's head starts to fall, and he jerks awake, again, just as Slade dog-ears his page and puts the book down, then stretches like a big cat after a good meal. Dick catches himself imagining Slade yawning to display a pair of long fangs, and clenches his fist till it hurts. "Well, the doorbell's about to ring," he says as he stands up. "I'd better go answer it."
"The Titans won't be pleased with you." Dick's defiance sounds as tired as he feels.
Slade shrugs, and pats Dick's cheek with his grip-textured gauntlet; Dick sees it coming, but inexplicably lets him. "But you were, huh?" Dick glares, but can't quite open his mouth. "We should do this again sometime."
"Not on your life," Dick snaps. Slade's smirking in his stance, even if Dick can't see his face, and he conspicuously lets Dick have the last word as he turns and walks away.
Dick really should go too, to find out where the safe exit is, if nothing else. He pulls on his gauntlets and stands up; he's in his suit, which he's spent years wearing, but his legs feel incongruously bare, every hickey sore and livid. His arms are marked up to match, but at least the suit hides the finger-marks on his wrists, the bites on his shoulders.
Dick's still looking down at himself when the room shakes. The explosion's in entirely the other direction from the way Slade went, and Dick can't believe he fell for that, but even with the adrenaline shock he's sluggish; he only gets a couple steps before he hears Kory shouting, "Robin? Robin?"
"Starfire!" Dick calls back, and watches the wall explode with some satisfaction. Kory hovers there, glowing and fierce and gorgeous, with Donna beside her and a radiation-suited blur under one arm who strips at speed, revealing Wally. "Hey."
"Robin!" Kory grabs him from one side, Donna from the other, and they wrap him up in nice soft feminine arms and spin him around in midair. "I was so worried!"
"We all were! I'm so sorry we left you!" Donna has tear-tracks on her face. "But the message was code-orange urgent---"
"And they said they needed us---" Wally's speaking from different sides of the room, zipping around nervously.
"But it was a trap!" Donna lets go to wave her hands expressively; Kory lands with Dick, but doesn't let go. "They said they wanted children---"
Dick doesn't want to let go of Kory either, but he has to pry an arm free and wave to get their attention. "Wait. Guys, wait. You can explain in a minute. Right now we have to find Deathstroke, he---"
"Oh, Robin!" Donna's looking at his legs, and Dick's stomach folds itself over as his face turns a completely obvious red. "You're hurt!"
"Hurt?" Dick echoes; Kory hugs him tighter. "No, I'm--"
A whirl of air, as Wally checks Dick out from all sides. "My God," Wally gasps, "he tortured you! I'm gonna tear him apart!"
"Wait--" Wally's already gone, and Dick knows he won't find anything. Donna's hugging Dick again from behind, apologizing and crying into his shoulder. He looks up at Kory, who's still silent.
Because she's Tamaranian, and she knows. She smiles at him with wide, soft eyes, and folds her long warm hand around his.
