Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dick shudders, his breath catching in his lungs, an unintelligible sound making its way past his lips. His hands clench on the shoulders of the man beneath him, reflexive and desperate, but Slade pays him no mind, roughly bucking his hips up once, twice, three times, and then stilling again.

Dick lets out a sob, head dipping forward.

They’ve been at this for hours, what feels like days. He’s exhausted, his thighs shaking on either side of Slade’s lap, the muscles of his stomach cramping. His body is covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead with it. His panting and whimpering is loud in the room, and with Slade’s ear so close to his face he must hear him, and yet the man doesn’t react at all, gaze bored as he watches TV past Dick.

The thrusts start up again, slow and languid, and Dick keens as Slade hits his prostate on each one. Heat pools in his gut (again) and he feels himself getting close (again), but Slade knows, Slade always knows, and he stops, holding Dick still by the hips to keep him from trying to do it himself.

Dick sobs again, shaking his head. “Please, Slade, please.”

As unmovable as a rock, Slade doesn’t even blink.

Dick doesn’t know how the man can do this. They’ve been at this for hours, Dick wrapped around Slade’s cock, being bounced up and down just how Slade likes it. And yet the man appears perfectly put together, no signs of approaching his own end, and it doesn’t make any sense. It’s one thing to be able to go non-stop in the field, but this is very different, and his stamina should not be lasting the way it is.

Slade’s hands tighten around Dick’s hips, and he forces the younger man up and down, slamming him down on his cock over and over again. It punches breathless noises out of him, little “Ah, ah, ah”s that normally would have Slade smirking but still draw no reaction.

Dick starts to adjust to the pace, putting his weight into Slade’s hands to take some of the strain from his thighs, but as soon as he does that Slade changes it up, slowly rolling his hips upward, relaxing his grip enough to force Dick to hold his own weight.

“Please,” Dick keens, forehead falling against Slade’s shoulder, “please, please, please.”

His entire body is on fire, overstimulated. Every thrust is like a knife inside of him, bringing with it sparks of pleasure, and he can feel each and every callus on Slade’s hands as they drag idly across his hips. The fabric of his pants is far too rough against Dick’s oversensitive thighs. At this point, Dick doesn’t even care if he gets to come, he just wants this to be over.

“Slade,” Dick sobs out as the man starts to pick up the pace again. “Slade, please, stop—”

His voice breaks off into incoherent whimpering as his pleas go unacknowledged, clutching at Slade’s shoulders, just trying to hang on. He presses his face to Slade’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut. His cheeks feel wet, and he tastes salt; how long has he been crying? He doesn’t know. He’s been here for days.

One of Slade’s hands trails towards his cock and wraps around it. Dick gasps, hips automatically trying to buck into the grip, but Slade’s other hand effortlessly keeps him in place as he strokes his cock lazily.

Dick cries as the pleasure builds again, as he feels his orgasm approaching, because he knows Slade won’t let it happen, knows he’ll be cut off at the last second, and the drag of Slade’s hand moving around his cock is almost painful.

Soon enough Dick’s breath catches, balls tightening, and then Slade grips the base of his cock tightly, stopping it in its tracks.

Dick wails, convulsing in Slade’s lap, nails digging into the man’s shoulders. If he’d been looking at the man instead of tossing his head, he would’ve seen the first reaction from Slade after hours of this, his lips curling very briefly up into a pleased smirk.

“Please, Slade,” Dick begs again, like they’re the only words left in his vocabulary. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, his entire body throbbing with pain and need. “Please, please, please, please, please, please—”

Slade fucks up into him, hard and fast, keeping Dick in place by the grip on his hips. Dick’s head lolls back, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He knows he’s making noises, but a gun to his head wouldn’t have made him able to tell what he’s saying or sounding like.

He thinks he hears Slade say, “Look at you,” but there’s a roaring in his ears that’s making it difficult to clue into anything, hanging onto Slade’s shoulders for dear life.

Slade growls, the sound rumbling against Dick’s chest, slamming Dick down over and over. He leans in, dragging his teeth along Dick’s neck and then biting down, sucking a hickie into the skin, then moving his mouth and doing it again and again.

“Please what, little bird?” Slade asks him, and Dick is so utterly relieved to hear the slightly breathless quality in his voice, a sign that maybe he’s close, maybe this is almost over.

“Please,” Dick sobs out, trying to find the words for a coherent sentence. “Please—end this—”

“Oh?” Slade says conversationally, and suddenly he’s not moving anymore, falling still again. “You want me to stop?” Dick trembles, desperately shaking his head.

“No, no, no, please,” he whimpers. He tries to move up and down, tries to get them back to the point where Slade was almost finished, but Slade’s stronger than him on his best day and he is certainly not at his best right now.

“Poor little bird,” Slade purrs in his ear, his fingers clenching on Dick’s hips. He settles back against the couch, gaze drifting past Dick once more to whatever is playing quietly on the television.

“Let me get you off,” Dick slurs desperately. He wants this to end. Sweat drips into his eyes, mixing with his tears. Slade cocks an eyebrow, still not looking him, lips curving in amusement. “L-let me, Slade, please—”

“Who am I to say no to a request like that?” Slade chuckles, and releases his grip on Dick’s hips, arms going up to rest across the back of the couch. “Well, go ahead, then.”

Dick’s fingers flex on Slade shoulders and he slowly starts to push himself up and down on Slade’s cock. His thighs shake and burn with exertion, his stomach muscles cramping, his arms feeling weak. But he ignores it all, focusing on fucking himself on Slade’s cock, making himself move more quickly. They’re so close to the end, so close, just a little longer—

Slade slides his gaze to watch Dick, eye dark with lust as he takes the younger man in. Dick wonders what a picture he must make, sweaty and shaking and almost past the point of coherent thought, and so very hard.

When Slade finally comes with a snarl, buried to the hilt in Dick’s ass, Dick slumps in relief, not having anywhere close to the effort to be disgusted by the feeling of Slade’s cum filling him up. His head falls against Slade’s neck and he pants, eyes sliding shut.

Slade runs his fingers up and down Dick’s spine for a few calm moments before he pulls Dick off his cock. Dick mewls at the feeling of the cock dragging out of him and the cum sliding down his thighs, body still oversensitive.

Slade swipes a finger up his inner thigh and then lifts his hand to Dick’s mouth. Dick obligingly takes the digit into his mouth, cleaning the cum off of it, and then shouts in surprise when Slade wraps his large hand around Dick’s cock, jerking him off quickly. Dick comes with a groan, more relief than pleasure. His vision whites out, ears roaring.

When he comes back to himself, he’s been lowered to kneel on the ground, his head against Slade’s knee. Slade’s hand is petting his head, fingers stroking through his hair. The hard wood floor feels cold against his legs but the touch is nice, so he relaxes into it, ignoring the slick feeling between his legs, drifting peacefully towards sleep.

“You’re not done yet, pretty bird,” Slade murmurs, and puts his fingers under Dick’s chin to tilt his head up.

Dick blinks up at him in incomprehension, unable to speak or ask what that means, but he doesn’t fight it when Slade guides him towards his cock—pressure from the thumb on his jaw making his mouth drop open—and pulling him until the head nudges at the back of Dicks throat.

Slade keeps his hand on Dick’s hair, holding him in place, and, after stroking a finger across his stretched lips, Slade lifts his gaze and goes back to watching TV.

Dick closes his eyes, keeps his jaw slack, and settles in for what’s sure to be another few hours.