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Dick looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize the person who looked back at him. Delicate flowers were woven into his hair, his eyes lined delicately with kohl, with a shimmer over his cheeks from the powder dusted on them. They hadn’t quite known what to do with him, the stylists–he wasn’t a bride, but he wasn’t a king. He wasn’t even a crown prince anymore–well, he wouldn’t be in a few hours. He still had until the wedding.
And then it was over. Years, an entire youth spent learning what was necessary to rule a kingdom. Strategy, economics, empathy. All for what? To be a consort. An offering for peace. Just a pretty accessory.
Maybe he should be glad it wasn’t any of his brothers. That Jason, still seething with rage from his reuniting with the family, didn’t have to–or Tim, and Damian wasn’t old enough, but–
Dick startled at a hand on his shoulder, but he turned to see Bruce looking down at him, his expression stony.
Not to Dick. Not to the son he raised from boy to man to sacrifice.
“It’s not too late,” Bruce said, low enough that Dick had to strain to hear even with him close. “We can still–”
“No,” Dick said, shaking his head. He met Bruce’s gaze through the mirror. “We have to. I have to.”
For Gotham. For all the people depending on them. Because without Defiance’s armies, with Ra’s al Ghul pushing at their borders, sending spies in their midst–Gotham wouldn’t lose, but at what cost? How many lives, innocent lives? For Ra’s’ greed and Gotham’s pride.
Dick couldn’t let it happen. Even if it meant marrying Slade Wilson, a king renowned for his brutality. Dick wasn’t an enemy just a bed-warmer but he had no idea how far that temperament went, with one son dead, another mute, and a queen gone into the wind.
Dick wondered if he would be the next to disappear.
Bruce couldn’t argue with him. He knew the truth of it as well as Dick did–he was the one to sign the treaty. Alliance. Dick knew the difference, but what did it matter? He wouldn’t be Defiance’s diplomat. He’d be a consort, no power at all but the king’s dubious favor.
“Alright,” Bruce said finally. “It’s time, then. Are you ready?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
Dick deflated, looking at his reflection once more. He reached up to wipe the shimmer off of his cheeks with the back of his hand. It smudged, but it didn’t matter. “Then I guess I am. Let’s go.”
Bruce walked him out. The wedding was a public affair, technically, but only a few guests were present. Dick guessed he should be grateful. He remembered Clark and Lois’ wedding; hundreds of people, family, friends, acquaintances, representatives. The only people here were family. Dick didn’t know if he would be able to meet their eyes.
Bruce opened the door for him, and Dick stepped through, chin held high. Everyone looked at him–including the man at the altar, white-haired and one-eyed.
Dick hadn’t seen Slade Wilson for years. Not since the night Grant Wilson had died. And he hadn’t particularly wanted to; the chances were–or had been–that by the time Dick took the crown from Bruce, still spry and healthy, Slade would have been out of the picture, and Dick was content to avoid him until then. He all too clearly remembered Slade’s look of utter desolation as he cradled his dead son to his chest.
Dick’s eyes went to Jason, sitting stiffly beside Tim. His green eyes flashed.
Bruce nudged him, and Dick startled into motion, realizing he’d just been standing there. Staring. Bruce walked beside him. They hadn’t had to do this, have Bruce walk him to the altar like he really was a bride, but Dick wanted him to. Wanted to have his father there. He wondered if it hurt Bruce, who was already a storm of emotions about offering Dick to the man who hated him, more or less. ‘Giving him away’ would only make it worse.
Slade still hated him, though. It was their wedding day and his eye was sharp as he watched Dick move towards him, expression unreadable.
There had been quite a fit over what he was wearing–someone had wanted a wedding dress, and someone else had pointed out quite accurately that he wasn’t a woman, and someone else had remarked that he might as well be, with all the power he would have–Dick thought that was rather unfair, as both Gotham and Defiance were quite progressive in that regard–and they had settled on a tight-fitting shirt with flowy white pants.
Dick didn’t think it mattered, in the end. He was still getting married, and he could do it just as well in a potato sack as he could the finest of gowns. Slade was well-dressed, but not exactly glittering with jewels. A tailored suit, threaded with Defiance’s gold, did just fine. Dick was wearing Gotham’s black and yellow, embroidered into his clothes.
In what seemed like a heartbeat and a lifetime, Dick stood across from Slade at the altar.
Dick’s marriage had been specified in the agreement. Not Steph, not Cass, a woman like Slade’s former queen. Dick. He didn’t know why, and he tried not to think about it, but he remembered the hatred in the same eye that looked at him now with utter indifference, like they weren’t getting fucking married. Like this wasn’t tearing Dick’s life apart. All Slade was getting from this was benefits. Sure, in theory, he was adding his armies to a fight that wasn’t his, but they all knew once the alliance was official, Ra’s would back off. He didn’t want to fight Gotham and Defiance.
So he lost nothing, and he got Dick at his whim. Once the ceremony was over–minutes from now–Dick would be under his control. Even Bruce couldn’t stop it, not in another kingdom under another king’s sovereignty, no matter how he would try. Dick would do it anyway. He had to, for the thousands of lives at stake. They could fend off Ra’s, but too many lives would be lost in the process. Unless Dick got married and threw away everything he’d ever trained to be.
Dick wished he could say the vows were a blur. Instead, he remembered every moment, every word. The way his hands felt in Slade’s, calloused and warm. The way the ribbon wound around their joint hands, a dark blue that made Dick’s skin crawl. Defiance colors, Slade’s colors.
The way Slade looked into his eyes when he said, “I do.”
Dick’s throat closed over as the officiator repeated the vows to Dick. He couldn’t look away. “I do,” he said, clear and strong. He didn’t do things by halves. He had agreed to marry Slade–he wouldn’t whisper his words. At least Bruce had given him the chance to say no.
The room was silent as the officiator spoke. “You may kiss your husband.” Dick didn’t know who he spoke to, maybe both of them, but he was leaning up and Slade was leaning down, and their lips brushed for a split-second before Dick pulled away.
In the other weddings Dick had seen, this was where those in attendance would cheer, clap, something. Instead, Dick looked out at his family, sitting in stony silence. Jason was clutching the side of the chair so hard his knuckles were bleached white, and Tim’s expression was utterly blank.
The wedding seemed to last an eternity. Dick’s titles had been stripped from him already; now the only one he carried with Consort of Defiance, which wasn’t the same as Crown Prince of Gotham. That fell to Jason, now, and he didn’t look happy about it. Chances were he’d duck out and leave it to Tim, who was much better equipped for it, even if he was young still. It didn’t matter.
That was what he told himself as he took Slade’s hand to dance, of all things. It was tradition, apparently, and Dick knew that, and somehow he hadn’t been prepared. They stepped onto the floor, hand in hand. The music was a familiar tune, and Dick knew the dance. Etiquette had featured heavily in his education growing up, to his everlasting dismay.
There was a slight pause when Dick tried to take the lead, muscle memory kicking in, and Slade forced him into the other position. Right. That made sense. He was a consort dancing with his king, not a prince. Dick fell into place, taking care where he placed his feet. He knew how to dance this part, and it wasn’t wildly different, but it was strange.
Dick danced, and he followed, and slowly, the festivities began to feel a little more festive. Cass dragged Jason to dance, and she was leading, which was a funny picture, with Jason a head taller. Dick wished that this moment wouldn’t end, that he wouldn’t follow Slade up to his bedchambers after this. That he wouldn’t–
Slade caught him when he stumbled, one brow lifted. Dick didn’t flush, just shrugged with one arm. They kept dancing.
Despite Bruce walking Dick to the altar, they didn’t dance. But when Dick peeled away from Slade to shelter in his family, he hugged him, clutching his father like a lifeline. Like it was the last time he would. Maybe it would. He didn’t know–none of them did, Slade hadn’t revealed even a hint of his intentions–but he had to do this. It wasn’t a choice, in the end. Dick didn’t get choices. At least, not easy ones.
The night passed too quickly. It seemed that no time passed at all before he hugged his siblings and his father goodbye and walked after Slade. Once they left the party, if it could be called that, it was quiet. Slade didn’t talk. Dick didn’t either, as Slade walked them to their room–Dick’s room, once upon a time.
They were in Gotham. That had been part of the agreement; the wedding would be here, in Dick’s home, one last night before he left. And now–it was their wedding night, and Dick knew what that meant. He wasn’t some untouched maiden–which had been made clear, embarrassingly, when Slade had called for Dick’s hand–but this was Slade, who hadn’t looked at him with an ounce of warmth the entire night–their wedding night. And Dick was meant to bed him, like Slade hadn’t sworn to kill him, years ago.
Dick hoped he wouldn’t make good on that.
Slade opened the door for him. It was such a–this was the man who–holding the door open for him like a knight. Dick made a choked sound, not quite a laugh, and stepped through. And then it was them, alone in the room Dick had grown up in. It gave him a view of the courtyard and the lands behind it. When he was young, he would spend hours staring out, watching the world. Now, it was dark, the only light from the torches the guards on watch
Dick blinked hard and turned to see Slade undressing, unbuttoning his suit. Well, the first thing on Dick’s agenda was washing his face, so he stepped aside to use the water graciously left by a servant, presumably, though it wouldn’t surprise him if Bruce had done it himself, in a fit of despair that he was prone to. Dick cupped water in his hands and washed his face clean of the kohl and the remnants of the shimmering powder on his cheeks and corners of his eyes.
He started pulling the flowers out of his hair next, dropping them into the water one by one. Daisies, which had to be Jason’s demand, since no one else would want ‘weeds’ at a royal wedding. Daffodils and poppies and carnations, woven into dark hair. Dick hadn’t known he had enough hair for that, but they’d had some very talented people on the task, with Cass overseeing. Dick hadn’t seen her braid once, but he supposed she’d probably learned at one point.
One glance back at Slade–his husband–told him that he was almost entirely out of his suit. Dick gritted his teeth and pulled his shirt off. He heard threads ripping, and it probably had a fancy way to get out of, but it didn’t matter. He wore nothing beneath it, and his skin prickled now that it was bare.
He looked down at the flowy, white pants he wore, and slipped out of them, leaving them on the floor. Normally, he would put his clothes away, make it easier for the servants who gathered them to wash, but he didn’t–he wanted to throw them out of the window, in truth, so this was the best alternative.
Dick turned back to Slade, bare save for his underclothes. Slade raised a brow, looking him over. “You look cold.”
“It’s cold in here,” Dick said, perhaps more stiffly than the situation called for.
“Hm,” Slade said. He was in just a loosely fitting pair of shorts, the kind worn under the formal pants of his wedding clothes.
Dick glanced at the bed. Slade followed his gaze, and, without warning, snorted. Like this was funny. “Not gonna fuck you, kid. You’re hardly going to bear me a child, so I don’t see the point of standing on tradition. Unless you want to?”
“No,” Dick snapped, mostly on instinct as his mind reeled. He would’ve thought–for all their past, he thought Slade would’ve reveled in the power over him this gave. Made it painful. Made it–
The amusement drained from Slade’s expression. “Ah. If I wanted to hurt you, Dick, there are easier ways than getting married.”
“Again,” Dick said, because apparently he was suicidal.
Slade’s eye twitched. “Again.”
That night, they slept side by side, without touching. Dick woke in the morning pressed to Slade’s chest.
It took him a moment to realize where the warmth was coming from. Despite all his fears from the day before, he’d fallen asleep rather quickly. Apparently his anxieties had worn him out. But once he realized he was, in fact, using Slade’s chest as a pillow, he pulled back, spluttering. That was–
Slade was smirking, the royal bastard, but what could Dick do about it? Exercise all of his mighty power as the Consort of Defiance? Right. If only. Dick had woken up yesterday morning as the heir to the throne of Gotham, the crown prince, and now he was–nothing. Had nothing that Slade didn’t give him.
Dick stared at Slade flatly and said nothing, turning over and closing his eyes. Normally, he’d be up by now, but between his sudden lack of duties and the fact that he’d gotten married last night, he suspected that no one would be pestering him to rise and shine anytime soon. He’d thought he would be recovering from the night before, but thankfully he’d avoided that. Maybe he should be initiating, trying to win favor, but–he couldn’t make himself want it, and he suspected, for all his sadism, that Slade was looking for desire.
He was a king, after all. He could force anyone he liked. And he–they were in Gotham, still, so it could’ve been that, but what could Bruce do about it? They were married, and the threat of Defiance’s armies combined with Gotham’s was the only thing holding Ra’s back. And yet, Slade had merely looked at him, asked if he wanted to fuck, and gone to sleep when that answer was no. Dick couldn’t wrap his head around it, but he probably should, eventually. This was the man he would spend the rest of his life with–he had no illusions of outliving him.
“We’re leaving today,” Slade said, into the silence.
Dick blinked. “I thought we were leaving tomorrow.” To give him this day to spend with his family and friends before he left, off to a kingdom he’d been to once to live out his days.
“There’s been a change in plans.”
“Why?” Dick said, pushing himself upright. “We were meant to–”
“Weather’s turned. Either we leave today, or we leave in two weeks, and as much as you’d like to huddle in your little flock, I’ve got a kingdom to run. We leave in three hours. Get your things together.”
Dick blinked, but he–what choice did he have? He nodded.
They made it to Slade’s castle by nightfall the next day, weary from travel. They could’ve taken a carriage, technically, but Slade decided on riding, and Dick couldn’t exactly protest, not that he wanted to. Dick preferred it too. They’d taken his mount, which was a pathetic comfort, but the dappled gelding was something familiar, nudging Dick’s hand, fishing for carrots. Unfortunately, Dick was lacking in those, among other things. Dick patted Pegasus’ neck in apology.
He passed out as soon as he hit the bed, more or less. They shared a room again, but apparently his own chambers were currently being made up, which was–nice. He was under no impression that Slade couldn’t come in whenever he wanted, but it would be nice to have his own rooms, something he hadn’t hoped for. It seemed like–well, it really seemed like Slade was just disinterested in him. Which was–a relief, but a mystery in itself. He’d specified Dick’s hand in marriage, and here he was. Like he couldn’t be bothered.
Dick pondered that the next morning, waking up alone. Sunlight slanted through the windows, and it was late enough that Slade was certainly attending to his duties. Dick–didn’t have any. He didn’t know what to do with that. So he got out of the bed, got dressed from his bags, unpacked stilled, and wandered into the hallway. He should probably do something–look at his new rooms, or write a letter to his family, put on something nice–but instead, he asked a servant where the king was and found himself knocking on the door to Slade’s official room.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” Dick said, awkward. “May I come in?”
Slade grunted, and he may not be exactly the same as Bruce, but Dick knew an affirmative grunt when he heard it. He pushed open the door–unlocked, strangely–and stepped inside. The office was rather pleasant, actually. A window letting the morning sun in, streaming over a desk filled with various papers, Slade’s seal lying nearby. It seemed organized; Dick knew for a fact that Bruce’s ‘office’ would be a disaster if Alfred didn’t personally care for it. The things in there were too confidential for anyone else. Yet here Dick was. In Slade’s work space.
“Hi,” Dick said, glancing over the papers Slade had in front of him. “Good morning.”
Slade gave him a flat look. “Good morning. Did you want something? I’d think you’d be settling in by now.” It was pointed, and Dick shifted. He really shouldn’t be annoying Slade so early in their marriage–two days in, in fact–but he couldn’t just do nothing.
“Do you–want help with anything? I understand if you don’t want me seeing more important things, really, but I’m not an idiot, and I know how to manage this kind of thing, and–”
“You were prepped to run a country the minute you became Wayne’s ward,” Slade finished, raising a brow. Dick did flush this time, and he didn’t know what it was about Slade that threw him off so much, but it was working.
“Yeah.”
Slade sighed. “Get out of here, kid. Go do something fun. God knows you never got the chance to before, with Wayne breathing down your neck.”
Dick blinked. What did–go do something fun? Dick was a–not a prince, but he wasn’t a child either. “What?”
“Have a good time. Spar with someone. Ride your horse. You’re not here to be my little helper.” Slade gave him a pointed look before glancing back down at his desk, brow knitting ever-so-slightly as he read over the parchment.
“But I–”
“Go.”
Dick didn’t refuse that, slipping through the door and shutting it behind him. He took a second to breathe, turning over–Bruce had never been so condescending when Dick was ten. When Dick wanted to learn and be useful, Bruce had guided him the right way, through the swarm of politics and sword-fighting and kindness. He’d never told Dick to–go play, in essence.
Dick fumed as he walked away, taking Pegasus from his new stable. At the very least, Pegasus seemed pleased with his new quarters. Dick didn’t know where exactly he could go, but the guard at the gates, upon seeing his face, lifted them and ushered Dick through. Well, he wasn’t exactly going to run away, but he could’ve, quite easily. Sure, he wasn’t as familiar with Defiance’s landscape, but years as royalty hadn’t dampened his survival instincts. He nudged Pegasus into a canter, circling the castle as he went.
People questioned why he had a calm, unbothered gelding instead of the rearing stallion many imagined. There was a good reason for that. Dick crouched in the saddle as Pegasus cantered along, a rolling, easy gate, and stood.
He hadn’t gotten to do this in–ages, really. Either he was working, training, preparing, or he was enjoying what little time he got with his family or sleeping. Not a lot of time for tricks, but Dick had to admit he missed the wind in his face as they went. Dick was grinning before he knew it, urging Pegasus faster with a click of his tongue.
He had a dumb idea. He hadn’t done this in years, and it was a good way to crack his head open, but the alliance had already been sealed, so what did it matter? Bruce would believe it if they told him he died doing idiotic tricks on horseback. Dick laughed, balancing on the balls of his feet and–jumping. Flipping in a tight movement moments before he landed. He wobbled, just a little, and Pegasus slowed like the beautiful fucking horse he was, and Dick emerged victorious. Ha. He stood there for a little longer, circled the castle one more, before he dropped down in the saddle and let Pegasus slow to a walk. Dick patted his neck and steered him to a patch of luscious grass, still in view of the castle. It wouldn’t do to let them think he was running away.
He wiled away an hour or two like that, sprawled in the grass as Pegasus grazed, tail flicking this way and that. It was odd, really–he couldn’t remember the last time he did something like this, just laid there in silence and relaxed in the sunshine. Still, when the sun dipped behind the castle, hitting the afternoon, Dick got to his feet and climbed back in the saddle, walking them back to the gate. He was let in, naturally, and Dick stabled Pegasus himself–something he rarely did, because he didn’t have time. Today, at least, he had nothing but time, but he’d find something useful to do. He couldn’t spend every day like this.
Dick walked back to their rooms, which were really Slade’s rooms, and changed clothes, because his were rather sweaty and grass-stained. He really should go see where his chambers would be, maybe give a little guidance. It would be where he stayed, after all, and he doubted Slade had strong opinions on the interior design of it. Dick didn’t either, but he didn’t want to hate it, which he felt was reasonable.
He emerged and went back to Slade’s working rooms. He might be gone, but from personal experience, there was a lot of work to be done. Dick had taken some off of Bruce’s plate, and Slade might not trust him with the very important things, but he had to know Dick was capable. Dick knocked on the door again. “Hello?”
Slade grunted. “You again?”
“Can I come in?”
“I suppose,” Slade said after a moment. Dick huffed and pushed past the door. Slade looked more worn than he had this morning, crown sitting beside him, hair ruffled. “Didn’t I tell you to do something?”
“I did,” Dick said. “‘Had some fun.’ Rode a horse and everything.”
Slade smiled, a quicksilver thing. Dick wasn’t entirely sure he’d seen it. “I saw that, little bird.”
“Little bird?” Dick said, raising a brow. “That’s a new one. Better than ‘kid’, I guess.”
Slade hummed, leaning back in his chair. “I saw you riding. Very graceful.”
“I almost fell,” Dick pointed out, glancing out of Slade’s window. Right, he’d ridden by there. That was right where he’d flipped, though Slade might not have seen the landing of it.
“You didn’t, though,” Slade pointed out mildly. “Looked like you were flying. What did you want this time?”
Dick blinked at the subject change–hardly a smooth transition for royalty–but went along regardless. “I wanted to–can I do something? Something useful, not sending me out to play like a child. I know I’m not your advisor or anything, but we’re married, and you’re the one who asked for me, so there’s got to be something you can trust me to do–”
“Why?”
That pulled up short. Why? It was hardly even a question, and the answer was so obvious–”What?”
Slade sighed and looked him in the eye. “I said why? Why are you so determined to take up more work for yourself? Do you think my kingdom’s not running smoothly already?” Slade cut through Dick’s wide-eyed no without a thought, waving it off. “Give me one good reason I should put you to work.”
Dick had no idea how to answer that, because, again, the answer was obvious. Less on Slade’s plate, and Dick wasn’t exactly charging for the service. Why wouldn’t Slade pass on some of his burden? “Because it makes sense?”
“Why do you want to do it, Dick?”
Because I have to, were the words Dick barely kept from coming out. That wasn’t the answer Slade wanted, and Dick had to be doing something. He had to be useful. He had to be doing something that made him worth all the expensive clothes, the bedroom full of elegantly carved furniture, everything he used and took–not for granted, never for granted–or what was it all for? A waste.
“Because I want to,” Dick said instead, looking away. He shouldn’t have. He wasn’t guilty, yet he was acting like he was.
Slade didn’t say anything for a moment, looking him over. He looked like he wanted to sigh again. “Your being here isn’t a drain on resources, Dick. You don’t need to make up for it. I don’t know what twisted shit Wayne put in your head–”
“Like you’re the perfect father,” Dick snapped on instinct, then flinched, but Slade pushed forward without acknowledging him.
“–but you’re my consort, and you don’t have to push to take on more responsibility to make your presence here worth it. You’re not a prince anymore, Dick–no one is relying on you. Stop trying to act like they are.”
“I rely on you,” Dick said, unfathomably twisted just by his words. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or anxious, but his chest was tight and getting tighter. “Everything I do from now on is because you allow it.”
“I’m a king, Dick. Thousands of people rely on me. You’re just the unlucky bastard who happened to marry me.” Slade’s eye was sharp, and Dick didn’t know why, but it felt like he was seeing right through him, through all his walls and protections. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Dick shouted, fists clenched. He took a step back, tensed up and instinctively ready to run, because he had just shouted at the man who held Dick’s life in his hands, held the lives of his kingdom–Gotham, still–in his hands. And Dick had–
“Sit down,” Slade said in a tone of voice that Dick couldn’t disobey. He found himself in a chair a moment later, hands in his lap. “You don’t know?”
Dick shook his head, because it had been the truth, really, and he couldn’t exactly take it back–or lie.
“That’s because there’s no good reason. You’re not going to inherit any thrones. You can help, sure, but at the end of the day, nobody’s wellbeing rests on your shoulders. Not anymore. You don’t have that kind of control now.” Slade stood, and Dick was very aware of his height, looming over Dick as he stepped closer. “You don’t have control.”
Goosebumps broke out across Dick’s arms. He stared up at Slade, not quite sure what the shiver up his spine was, but it didn’t feel–bad. Not compared to the vice around his lungs. “I don’t–”
“You don’t,” Slade said. His hand settled on the curve where Dick’s neck met his shoulder, and Dick leaned into it without meaning too, warmth spreading from the touch. “You can relax, Dick. No one’s counting on you. It’s just us.”
“It’s just us,” Dick echoed, nearly mindless. His head was spinning, because there had always been some sort of responsibility on him, and now there–wasn’t. He didn’t know what to do with it. He felt unbearably light, untethered.
“Good boy,” Slade said, and Dick’s eyes widened at the way he reacted–flushing and–Dick leaned forward, trying to get closer to Slade, and he didn’t know why but he had to. The praise lit a fire in his chest, warming and needy.
Slade’s expression sharpened for a half-second before it softened, and he stepped closer. “There we go. Get up.”
Dick got up.
Slade walked back to his desk, pushing his chair back a little. It was finely carved, fine-grained and dark, fit for a king, but light enough that it could be moved, with a cushion where Slade sat. And sit he did, legs spread for comfort. Maybe. “Come here.”
And Dick went, drawn to his voice like a siren’s song, drawn to–obeying, and he didn’t know why. Just like he didn’t know why when Slade put his hands on his shoulder and pressed down, Dick fell to his knees. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but it was strangely easy. Dick hadn’t knelt before, like this.
He hadn’t thought it would feel like utter peace. He shouldn’t trust Slade, not like this. He shouldn’t feel his anxiety leaching away and he leaned into Slade’s leg, realizing why they were open. He shouldn’t heave a sigh and relax. But he did. And Slade watched, a whisper of a smile on his face. “What–”
“Shh,” Slade said, smoothing a hand over Dick’s hair. “I have work to do. All you need to do is stay here and relax, okay? That’s what I want you to do.”
Just–kneel quietly? Normally, the idea would infuriate him, but right now, he just nodded. It was–direction and a purpose, at last. Slade pulled him a little closer, so he could rest his head in the crease where his thigh met his torso, but then he looked back to his desk and picked up his pen.
Oh. Dick leaned his head into Slade and breathed out, letting himself settle in an unfamiliar and utterly wonderful way. He could relax. Slade was in control, and Dick wasn’t, and all he had to do was be quiet and good. It was like nothing he’d felt before, but he couldn’t deny how easy it was to sink into it, each breath he took deeper and slower than the last.
Every so often, Slade dropped one hand to stroke over his hair, trace over his face, run his thumb over Dick’s lips. It was the only marking of time–it passed meaninglessly otherwise, to Dick’s slow breathing and the scratch of a quill over parchment.
And when Dick next looked up at Slade, the way the sun hit his face, limning his features in gold, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, something else besides sweet submission sparked in his gut. He leaned closer, this time with a destination in mind. When Dick’s nose was nearly brushing his target, Slade looked down with a smirk.
“Now you want to?”
Dick nodded. He did.
Slade smiled and unbuttoned his pants, leaning back in his chair indulgently, and Dick sunk down even further.
It was nice, Dick thought, some time later, sprawled on top of Slade, how utterly safe it had all made him feel. Strange. He might just do it again.