Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You're lying," Dick says, and Slade laughs in his face.

"Why would I lie to you about something so straightforward? It's a pretty big lie, telling you Batman's dead." Slade leans in and whispers, "Or should I say Bruce is dead?"

There have been several occasions on which different villains have thought that they've killed Batman. Dick has learned not to believe a word of it. He pulls at the handcuffs -- but Slade is too good for that to work at all. Given that he's stuck there for a while, he raises his chin and says, "Show me."

Something flickers in Slade's eye -- respect, maybe, or pity -- no, he has no pity. Not this monster of a man. "A man with multiple gunshot wounds is not a pretty sight, Robin." He unlocks one of Dick's cuffs and catches his hand before he can get anywhere, then unlocks the other and refastens them behind his back. "But I know you can take it." He squeezes Dick's shoulder like he has some kind of right to be proud of him, like anything Dick is has to do with Deathstroke, and leads him out of the warehouse office.

Batman is lying on the concrete slab, limbs at odd angles. It must have been a pointblank shot to the chest, because his armor would stop anything else.

And to the thigh. Both of them.

Dick knows just from the damage that whoever this man is, he's not alive. He pulls away from Slade and runs over, even so, because there has to be something someone can do.

The cowl is ripped back.

Dick falls to his knees next to Bruce's body. If he cries in the mask, he'll never get it clean. It takes all his strength to fight back the tears, and when he manages it -- five minutes, twenty minutes, he doesn't know how long it takes -- he sits back on his heels. "Wesker, you said."

Slade pats his shoulder again. "Never thought he had it in him. You want to get up?"

"Yes, but --" Even in handcuffs, even in shock, he doesn't need help for that.

"You can't go home again," Slade says, and he sounds oddly sympathetic. "The media got some good shots of your buddy over there after the battle. I just managed to grab him before the coroner showed up. Everybody knows your name now."

Dick wills himself to stand up straight and manages it. Just. Alfred can take care of himself, no matter what happens. He's probably heading for London already.

That leaves Dick in a mask that isn't worth a dime anymore, with no home and no money he can claim without also having all the supervillains in the world after him. He bites his lip hard. "Do they think I'm dead, too?"

Slade unlocks the cuffs and Dick chafes his wrists. "They found your cape, and they're out dredging the river."

"Then I might have time to take out Wesker before they find me."

"Hey, now." Slade grabs him by the shoulders. "You're not going to do that."

Dick ducks free and gets out of reach. "The hell I'm not. He destroyed everything." He can't look back at Bruce -- at the body. The only safe place to focus is on Slade. "I'll break his neck if I have to."

Slade shakes his head. "You really won't."

"Go to hell," Dick says, and spins away, looking for the door.

Slade catches him before he gets three steps and picks him up, carries him so fast he could be flying with Superman, and slams him against the wall so high he can't reach the ground. "You listen to me, and you listen good. You are damn smart and damn fast, and you've never killed a man. Have you?"

Dick hasn't got his breath back yet. He shakes his head.

"Right. So you think you're going to start with this worthless nothing of a psycho, just because he killed your daddy?" Slade shakes his head, and he shouldn't smile at this, but he is. It's not funny, it's not fair, and Dick wants to punch him for it. "You don't know how to kill anybody, Dickie."

"So teach me." He says it before he can even think about what he's asking.

When Slade's smile deepens, he's not sure whether he's asked the right thing or the wrong one. "You got it."

*

It takes eight months for Slade to say, "You're ready." In that time, Dick gets in touch with Alfred long enough to make sure everything's okay with him, and in touch with Lucius long enough to get all the money stuff squared away.

Everyone assumes Robin is dead, and Dick Grayson with him. Lucius won't tell anyone; he understands it's safer this way.

Nobody in Gotham is expecting Tiercel when he shows up, heavily armed and camouflaged in greys and browns. "I'm not taking the orange thing any more than I'd put on an eyepatch," he'd told Slade, more than once.

Slade punched him amiably enough in the shoulder and gave him another five pointers for his next training run.

When he finally gets out in the Gotham night again, the smell alone makes him feel alive. It's not a good smell -- millions of people all in one place are just about the polar opposite from a bed of roses -- but it's a real smell, and it's home.

It's as easy to break into Arkham as it ever was, and with the silencer, the guards don't budge an inch. Wesker first, and he never knew what hit him.

Then the Joker, and Dent, and Croc, and the Penguin.

The morning shift will have a hell of a surprise.

Dick feels like he can stand six inches taller without having to worry about what these nutcases will do to his city. His. It's not an inheritance he can claim any more than he can claim Wayne Manor, but it's still true.

He doesn't start shaking until he's at the hotel room that passes for a safehouse and Slade is helping him out of his armor. He smells like gunpowder. Slade is wearing jeans and a shirt and looks like any normal man who happens to be well over six feet tall and spend hours a day on his physical health.

Dick can't make his fingers work right. "I don't think I can clean them tonight," he says, and sets the guns down on the veneered table with a rattle.

"You don't have to. You got everybody you came for?"

Dick nods and fumbles with his collar. "Every one of them that was there."

Slade gives him a fierce grin. "You can always go back for the rest."

The thought of the silent hallways, the silent deaths, the way the Joker looked so horribly, perfectly surprised when Dick shot him between the eyes --

"It's not over?" Dick takes a deep breath. "I did what I needed to -- I can --"

"You can what?" Slade opens his tunic for him. "Go back to your old life? Sorry, kid, it doesn't work that way."

He knows this, in the back of his mind, but it's nearly impossible to believe. "But I killed them." He stares at the floor, where the hideous green-on-orange carpet could conceivably be hiding any number of blood stains.

The spreading puddle under Wesker's body --

"You could kill a hundred more bad guys if you wanted." Slade grabs one of his hands and strips his glove off, then the other. "None of that's going to bring him back. Ever."

Dick looks up at him -- he's almost entirely accustomed to how tall Slade is, most of the time, but now he seems dangerous. He is dangerous.

Dick backs up a step. "Then why did you show me how to do it?"

"'cause none of them will ever hurt anybody else now. Ever." Slade spreads his hands. "That's the point, isn't it?"

"I don't know." Dick sits down on the bed. "I -- he wouldn't be proud of me for this."

Slade sits next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. "Here's a thing you don't want to hear, but I'm going to tell you 'til it sinks in -- Batman's dead because he was wrong."

Dick shoves him away and stands up, taking off his jacket so he can throw it at Slade. "He wasn't. There -- there has to be a better way."

"Like what?" Slade tosses the jacket aside and gets up again. "They die, you live. That's the way this business works."

"I'm not an assassin."

Even as he says it, he's not sure he's telling the truth.

Slade throws his head back and laughs. "Oh, god, kid, you are." He grins at Dick and picks up one of the guns. "This is yours. And you killed a man with it, tonight, without anybody seeing you, and he wasn't trying to hurt you. He wasn't doing anything right then except waiting for you to come and take him out."

Dick kicks the gun out of his hand. "I'll never do it again."

"No? What are you going to do next?" Slade raises his eyebrow at Dick. "Come back from the dead and run Wayne Enterprises for five minutes until one of the guys you didn't kill shows up to take you out? Give up this life of crime and go straight for a week until you go crazy from stark raving boredom?"

"Shut up," Dick says. "It's not --"

"Or," Slade says, grinning, "you could always do just what your daddy did -- put on bat ears and lock them away without killing them. And watch them break out, and put them away, until one of them kills you."

Dick knows from more training sessions than he can count that Slade can stop him, but the words make him too angry. He charges at Slade and tries his best to punch him, kick him, do anything that will hurt him as much as Slade's hurting him. "I hate you. You're wrong. Shut up, shut up!"

Slade trips him and gets him pinned on the floor. Dick hasn't done enough hand-to-hand recently -- Bruce would be so mad at him. For all of this.

"The thing is," Slade says, "you know I'm not wrong. You can do what he did, and die like he did -- or you can be better."

"Let me go," Dick says, but when he moves, Slade tweaks the pressure point in his arm and he has to hold still again because it hurts so much he can't breathe.

"Where are you going to go, kid?" Slade lets up just a little. "Stick with me, I'll give you the jobs that let you feel like you're fixing something in this crazy world of ours. Leave, and you'll last maybe two months. At the outside. You think I taught you everything you need to know?"

Slade hasn't seen him cry, not once. Dick's not going to start now. He bites his lip until he's sure he won't and says, "I hate you."

Slade laughs in his ear. "You're wrong about that, too. Too jazzed from your first job to think straight. Good thing I know just how you feel."

The adrenaline has been out of his system for what feels like years. "Like I want to die," Dick says.

"What, and waste all the time I put into you?" Slade lets him up -- pulls him up and tosses him toward the bed where he lands hard. "You're too pretty to die, Grayson."

Dick sits up, but Slade's there, pushing his shoulders down again and kneeling over him. "What -- Slade, what are you talking about?"

"Jesus, kid, you act like nobody's ever flirted with you." Slade touches his cheek. "You're freaked out from your first hit -- hits, in your case, overachiever -- and you're hyped up, and you don't feel all that alive." Slade kisses his forehead. "There's a fix for that."

He's spent almost a year focused on death, talking to Slade and the few people Slade sent him to train with. He hasn't had time to flirt, to be anything but on the job.

How many times has Slade been in his personal space maybe a second -- or a minute -- too long? He should have seen this coming, should have ducked or dove into it, whichever, but dealing with it now makes him even dizzier. The only response he can come up with is a stupid, awful crack. "How many first times can a guy cram into one day, huh?"

Slade blinks at him for a second before he starts laughing. "This isn't going to be your first kiss, is it?"

"No," Dick says, though the girl he kissed in his bedroom back in the manor seems like she lives on another planet now. She'd let him touch her breasts, and stopped him, and that was just about it.

He can remember her name -- Lisa -- and the smell of her skin, but not her face.

"I'm not sure whether I should be grateful for that or not," Slade says, and kisses him. His mouth is huge and hot, and Lisa has never seemed quite so far away. Slade tastes like coffee and the push of his tongue makes Dick shiver. It feels like sex and it gives him a thousand things to think about. It's like he could drown in just this kiss and never have to think about what he's done.

Dick puts his arm around Slade's waist. "You feel --"

"We're doing this out of order," Slade says, and bites at his lip. "I should get you drunk first."

"No." He's had wine at formal dinners and parties, but never to the point of getting really intoxicated, let alone drunk. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do this."

Slade smiles like he's proud of Dick. "It's not a training drill," he points out, but every word makes it more a dare.

"I know." Dick shrugs at him. "You think this is the best thing to do next -- I said I wanted you to teach me. So teach me -- Wilson."

He shakes his head slightly. "Someday you'll stop surprising me, kid, but I don't know when that's going to be." He sits up and reaches back to pull Dick's boots off.

Dick pulls his leggings down while Slade's not staring at him on the off chance that doing it that way will be less embarrassing. "So if I get boring, you'll send me away?"

Slade drops his boots and turns back to look at him. He whistles softly. "Even if you get boring, you'll still be gorgeous."

Dick reaches up and starts unbuttoning Slade's shirt. "Anybody ever tell you you're a dirty old man?"

He laughs and kisses Dick again, long and lingering and distracting enough that he loses track of the unbuttoning process. "Sure, but never with as much cause as you've got."

"It's still true. More true now, maybe." Dick opens Slade's pants and loses a little of his nerve. "Just how long have you been planning this?"

Slade licks his finger and thumb on one hand and tweaks Dick's nipple. "Since I thought you'd actually go through with the hit."

"Oh. So -- three weeks?"

"So little faith, Grayson." Slade licks his nipple and he shudders hard, biting back a whimper. "Three days after you started training with me."

"How'd you know?" Dick asks. His voice is breathy and sounds terrible in his ears.

Slade sucks his other nipple for a few seconds and says, "I've seen a thing or two."

It's too frightening to be really funny, but Dick is laughing anyway, perilously close to hysteria until Slade moves down, away, off him. "What --"

"Tell me later how many firsts this is," Slade says, and pats his hand. "Better if you just keep count in your head." He kisses the head of Dick's dick and licks him in a way that makes his hips arch off the bed.

"Oh, god --" Dick covers his mouth with his hand. The walls in this place aren't so thin that somebody's likely to hear them -- Slade has more than enough money to afford a better hotel than that -- but he can't stand listening to himself.

The wet, filthy noise Slade makes pulling his mouth away is enough all by itself to make Dick's toes curl. "If I have to stop every three seconds to correct your stance, we'll be here all night," he says, and from his smile he's only half joking. "Let me hear you."

Dick blushes and shakes his head. "I sound --"

"Like you're alive." Slade pats his thigh. "Like I'm doing something right, here. Don't hold out on me. You never have before."

"I --" Dick tightens his hands into fists at his sides and wails as Slade licks him again. He stops breathing for ten, eleven, twelve seconds when Slade starts sucking him, and he has to watch to believe any of this is real, that he's actually naked on this bed with Slade on his knees, that Slade's mouth is wrapped around him and making him gasp for air. "God, that feels --"

Slade hums around him and cups his balls, teasing him until his eyes roll back and he can't watch anymore. He bites his lip to cut off the first shout before he remembers and the next shout is almost a scream. All of his nerve endings were awake and alive earlier, and it felt like he burned them all out.

Now they're all back and humming with this experience, and Slade might just be right about this being the best thing to do. Dick doesn't want to die anymore, not at all, not when life can feel this dirty and perfect. "I -- oh, god, I'm going to come --" and his voice sounds broken.

Slade squeezes his hip and pushes him faster until he groans and squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees flashing lights, and he pushes himself off the bed and comes.

He can't feel his toes and his vision has narrowed considerably, but he can hear Slade's grin and feel the warmth of his body when he lies down next to Dick. "Not bad for a dirty old man, hmm?"

"I don't think 'dirty' is strong enough," Dick says, and turns to put his arm around Slade's waist. "So."

"So?"

Dick edges a little closer and Slade's erection presses against his thighs. "I guess you want to -- to fuck me now?"

Slade laughs. "You're a hell of a kid, you know that? Do I want to? Yeah. Am I going to? Well -- can you get to sleep yet?"

"I don't know." Now that the rush of orgasm has passed, the memories of the evening are flooding back. "Probably, eventually."

Slade kisses him, wet and slippery, and rolls until Dick's lying on his chest. "You should've taken me up on that offer to get drunk."

"It wouldn't help," Dick says. He was already sufficiently aware of Slade's arousal, but from here, it's inescapable. And somewhat distressing in magnitude.

"You getting Puritanical on me now?" Slade runs his hand down Dick's back. "You need to sleep this off. If straight vodka will knock you out --"

"I'm not interested." Dick bites Slade's lip and he twitches. "Besides, you're -- it would be pretty rude."

Slade squeezes his ass. "Somebody should've taught you some self-preservation, 'cause you were never going to get the lesson from me," he says. "I'm not going to die of blue balls. But if you're willing --"

Dick kisses him again. "Yeah, I -- I am."

"Never done this before, have you?" Slade asks, his voice rough.

Dick is so surprised he laughs. "Of course not."

Slade swats his ass. "Get up on your hands and knees, then. But we're taking this slow."

It's a ridiculous position to be in, and the comment makes Dick snicker
more. If he doesn't stop laughing soon, he might not stop at all. "This is slow? What happened to the first date?"

"First time you shot at me."

Dick's laughing so hard he's gasping for air now. "That wasn't a date. Goddamn, you're a pervert."

"If I have to take you over my knee to quiet you down, I will," Slade warns him, and swats him again.

Dick snickers and tries to get it under control. "I think you'd like it too much."

"I don't think I'd be the only one, but we're going slow." Slade taps the inside of his thigh. "Spread your legs a little -- there."

"It still doesn't feel slow. It feels --" Like Slade spreading him, and then wet, and warm, and -- like a tongue. "Are you seriously -- god, that's --"

Slade squeezes his buttock. "You want me to stop?"

Dick blinks a lot. "I -- no?"

"Then relax." Slade licks him again and he shivers and doesn't have any words for the way it feels.

"Oh god, I never thought --" The slick push against muscles he's never been that aware of before makes him whimper. "Fuck, that feels good, I -- fuck, yes."

Slade laughs and sits back. "I've never heard you swear so much, kid. This must be good for you."

Dick shakes his head and tries not to start laughing again. "Better for me than it was for you, so far."

"We'll get there." Slade spanks him once, firmly. "Hold on a sec."

Dick sits back on his heels to give his arms a rest and watches Slade -- flushed, hard, and frankly huge -- looking for something in his pack. "That was -- unhygienic."

Slade tosses him a tube of lubricant. "I don't catch diseases. Or carry them. So you're fine as long as you stick with me."

"Still." Dick wrinkles his nose. "Do people who aren't invulnerable to disease do that?"

Slade laughs and sits next to him. "People do all sorts of crazy things, kid. C'mere." He pats his thigh.

"On your lap." Dick kneels up and grins at Slade to cover a flutter of nervousness. "Are you going to spank me?"

"Only if you keep being such a damn flirt. Put your thighs around my waist -- there." Slade kisses him again and Dick tries not to make a face at the thought of where his tongue's been, though the actual taste makes him shiver.

"Now what?" Dick asks.

Slade holds out his hand. "Lubricant." When Dick hands it to him, he opens it and puts a large glob on his fingers. "There. Now -- relax for me."

Dick takes a deep, conscious breath and tries to let go of the twenty kinds of tension in various muscle groups. No amount of meditation has gotten him ready to calm down while he's balanced on Slade's thighs, though he does his best. Slade reaches around him and presses one finger into him, slowly. It doesn't feel any stranger than his tongue did, but it's plenty strange. Dick bites his lip and closes his eyes to try to find the edges of the feeling. "I -- huh."

"Talk to me," Slade says, like he would if they were training.

"Your hands are huge," Dick says, and tries not to start laughing at how stupid he sounds and how weird and important this all feels. "But it doesn't hurt. It just feels -- a lot."

"If anything's too much, you tell me so," Slade says, and it's his command voice. "Got it?"

The only possible response to that is, "Yes, sir," although saying it makes Dick snicker. "I -- no, keep going, you're fine. Just -- it feels --"

"Finish your sentence."

Dick pushes back onto his finger a little, experimentally. "It feels like I can't figure out why people would bother. I mean -- I get why you would, but not why anybody would let you, if that makes sense."

"Give it a minute," Slade says, and pushes a little deeper.

Something in the motion and what he's touching combine to make Dick shiver. "Oh -- okay. Got it."

"Open your eyes," Slade says, and when Dick does, he does it again.

"I -- I can't keep my eyes open if you're --" he whimpers. "What did you even change?"

Slade chuckles. "No one thing. You're relaxing into it, you're getting used to the feeling, and --" another push that makes Dick gasp. "That's your prostate."

"God, that's --" Dick shakes his head and tries to open his eyes. Slade is watching him like everything he does is incredibly important. "I get it now."

"Think you can take a little more?" Slade kisses him and Dick groans against his mouth.

"How should I know?" Dick bites Slade's lip. "You're not hurting me, so -- go ahead, I guess."

The push of another finger doesn't hurt, quite, but it makes things that much more fraught. "Relax, Grayson," Slade snaps at him, and it works better than Dick's conscious mind thinks it should. He's used to following that kind of order, even if it doesn't usually have anything to do with spreading his thighs a little more and letting Slade fuck him better.

"How big are your hands, anyway?" Dick asks, reaching for Slade's free hand. The relative span of their fingers makes him shake his head. "God. I should've signed up with somebody four-foot-two."

"You'll get used to it." Another push, and there's a rhythm to it now, enough that Dick can arch into the thrusts. "And if this is as far as we get tonight --"

Dick groans. "You think I'm not ready." He throws himself into it more. "Do you know -- how many people I killed today?" Slade pulls his fingers out and away. Dick stares at him. "What?"

"Relax," Slade says, chuckling. "We've got all the time we need."

"You're the one who decided that tonight was the best night to start this." Dick scowls at him. "Yeah, so it's not the easiest thing ever. So what? I can take it."

Slade rolls them over and kisses him until he needs to take a breath and can't get half enough of one. "You don't run a marathon your first time on the track, and --" he rocks his hips against Dick. His erection is as big as the rest of him, and, if Dick lets himself admit it, moderately terrifying. Slade sits up enough to let him get a good breath. "And I'm not going to fuck you tonight. To answer your question."

"If you're sure," Dick says, and shrugs.

"You're not going anywhere," Slade says, and something of the certainty in his tone makes Dick shiver. It's true, and they're both entirely aware of it, but that doesn't make it much better.

Dick nods. "Right. But this isn't putting me to sleep. Or you, either."

Slade snorts. "Demanding, aren't you." He wraps his hand around Dick's dick and kisses him, long and deep.

"God, I --" Dick reaches for him to return the favor and chokes. "Uh."

Slade chuckles. "You sure you're all right with stopping here for now?"

Dick is sure he's blushing. "Um, yes."

"Eyes are bigger than your -- stomach," Slade says, and kisses him again, speeding his hand up.

Dick can't get as good a grip as Slade can, and when his hand slips, he loses the rhythm. Part of him wishes he were better at this, and part is more than a little fascinated with the promise of whenever they get past this stage. The thought of being able to deal with just that much of anything pushing into him makes him whimper. Two fingers made his eyes cross. If -- when, really -- Slade really does it -- he might die, but he'll die knowing he's really lived.

Slade sighs against his mouth and breaks the kiss off, moving down the bed. Out of reach. Dick says, "But --"

Slade bites his nipple lightly. "Stop arguing so much and enjoy yourself."

"Not fair," Dick says, and groans as Slade finds a faster rhythm. "God, I --"

"Pretty, pretty boy," Slade says, and Dick would argue with him if that particular pattern of squeezing and stroking left him any air to speak with.

"God, I -- please --" he thrusts into Slade's fist and loses what little breath he had in a moan as he comes. The bed may well be a wreck, but he doesn't care.

"There," Slade says, and pats his hip. "Ready to sleep?"

"Mm," Dick says, and then looks at him. "But I didn't -- do anything for you."

Slade kisses his forehead. "Sleep, kid. You can get me off tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow," Dick protests, but he doesn't care enough to check the clock, or even to wipe himself off before he falls asleep.

*

The trip back to HQ would, Dick is perfectly willing to admit, be much more uncomfortable if sitting down were really an issue.

The part where Superman descends out of a clear blue sky at the airport once they finally get to Kenya -- that would be worse, too, though not because of Superman's arm around Dick's waist, lifting him halfway to cloud height.

"Why?" Superman asks him.

Clark -- smelling of sunshine, ozone, and inhuman things -- asks him.

"To make the world safer, Superman." Dick raises his eyebrows. "I thought you were in favor of --"

"Dick, stop." Clark's voice is warm and desperate. "I know you did it."

"I know that no human can prove it." Dick looks up at Clark, who is studying him with a worried frown. "Are you going to take me in for killing the Joker?"

Clark sighs and Dick relaxes a little. "No. And not for Wesker, either, though I wish you'd chosen a less terminal solution." He squeezes Dick's shoulder. "I can't say that I was surprised," he says dryly, "considering the company you've chosen to keep, but -- are you all right?"

Dick nods, and says, "Yes," in case Clark is looking somewhere else. "I should get back."

"Mm," Clark says. "Just -- get out of his business as soon as you can."

"And do what?" Dick looks out over the city beneath them and thinks of Gotham, where he probably ought to be. "I can be good at this."

"You already are." Clark shakes his head. "I would hate to have to stop you."

Dick smiles. "I'll keep my nose clean, Clark."

Clark's mouth tightens. "I miss him, too," he says, and it's supposed to be gentle, but it feels like a knife in the gut.

Bruce would have hated everything that Clark is upset about, everything Dick has done.

"I -- I know." Dick bites his lip and attributes all the water in his eyes to the wind at this altitude. "I'll see you around?"

Clark hugs him, warm and deceptively safe. "Be careful."

"You, too," Dick says, and Clark sets him on the pavement where he'd been minutes before, moving in a blur.

"Well," Slade says. "I was wondering when he'd check on you. You okay?"

Dick nods, watching the sky to see if he can see which way Superman goes. He can't. "He's an old friend."

"Status?" Slade asks.

Dick makes himself smile. "Seventy-five percent. It was a little --" he shrugs. None of what has happened is Slade's fault. He's only been willing to go along with what Dick asked of him.

Slade puts his arm around Dick's shoulders. "Getting grilled -- even by old friends -- is no fun. Let's get you home."

It still doesn't feel like home, though Dick gets along fine with Wintergreen and it's pretty enough. Jet lag and fresh memories of Gotham make matters worse, and Dick heads for his room as soon as they get there, feeling tired and ludicrous. He's too old to be homesick, and home is too far gone to be meaningful, but all he wants is something comforting.

He tries to get the feeling to go away and realizes that half the problem is that he misses Clark, now, too. "Superman, I'm sorry," he says softly, "but I haven't done anything wrong yet. And I don't want to stop -- being your friend."

There's no answer, but he wasn't expecting any.

*

The cultists in their robes have freaked Dick out since the first time he saw them. In their native Zandian habitat in high Mediterranean summer, he's sure you have to be completely off the deep end to worship Brother Blood.

But he knew that.

The inner sanctum is not so hard to get to. Dick keeps his head down and his stolen robe clutched tightly until he's past all but the last layer of guards, then takes to the ceilings.

People just don't look up very often inside, even if they're supposed to be guarding the holiest of theoretical holies. A tiny timed charge around the corner, two running guards, and he's in.

The shroud of invulnerability is just as vulnerable to acid as any other two thousand year old piece of fabric, especially with its owner sleeping. With that gone, Brother Blood, whatever his desires of expansion, is just as easy to shoot as any napping baby. Dick resists the urge to sign his work as Tiercel -- anyone who needs to know who he is already knows, and somewhere Clark is proud or furious or both.

The trip out is even simpler, thanks to Slade's informant and a secret tunnel down to the cliffside.

One of Slade's men is waiting in a boat there, with two hours to spare on the clock.

Dick nods to him and they start for Sardinia, which gives him plenty of time to practice his somewhat faltering Italian.

Slade is waiting on the dock to give Dick a hand out of the boat. "Mission accomplished," Dick says, and Slade pats his shoulder.

"The citizens of the free world thank you," he says, and hands the boatman extra money. "As for you," he says, switching to Basque, "you'll get your thanks as soon as we get back to the villa."

Dick smiles at him. "I'd rather have payment," he says in the same language.

Slade raises his eyebrows. "You think your apprenticeship is over?"

"No, but if you want me to work for you, you'd better compensate me." Dick shrugs. "I don't know enough to teach -- or to surpass you -- but I know enough to make my own way."

"You knew that before you ever came to me." Slade gestures toward the road and they start walking.

Dick nods. "All the more reason why you should pay me. The pleasure of your company is just that -- a pleasure -- and it's not enough to live on."

"Your friends would be devastated to know you've become so mercenary," Slade says softly.

"My friends have their own concerns."

Slade hails a taxi. "As they always do." He opens the door for Dick, then gets in and gives the driver directions to the villa. He switches back to Basque and asks, "Should I double your tip?" When the driver doesn't respond, Slade smiles and says, "I am looking forward to making you scream."

Dick bites his lip and looks out the window to hide his blush. "What makes you think you will?"

"You're not half as stoic as you'd like to pretend." Slade squeezes his knee. "I wouldn't be surprised if I can convince you to beg, plead, and scream before we're done."

"The job went well," Dick says, over the pounding of his heart.

"Of course it did, or you wouldn't be here." Slade waves this away. "I want a full report later, but first I want you on your knees."

Dick frowns at him and tries to stick to a less erotic subject. "Brother Blood's followers are not going to be pleased when they find him."

Slade nods, acknowledging this. "I haven't quite decided whether I want your mouth first."

"Damn it." Dick shakes his head. "If they know you're here, they may come after you."

"Don't worry." Slade tucks his hands behind his head and leans back against the seat. "They'd be horrified enough by finding us together to run away."

"Sometimes you make me miss wearing green panties," Dick says as sharply as he can manage. "You do have perimeter guards, don't you?"

Slade reaches over and tousles his hair. "Even your friend in the blue wouldn't be able to get in without a struggle when all the systems are armed, kid. Deep breaths."

It's less reassuring than Slade thinks it ought to be. "Show me the plans."

"When you're naked," Slade says blithely. "You can study them and touch yourself for me at the same time."

Dick closes his eyes. "I thought you were planning to do most of the touching."

Slade chuckles. "If you're planning to make me wait any longer than I have to, you can tease yourself for it."

"If you think I'll play along with that --" Dick shivers at the thought. "You overestimate your charm."

"Oh, I don't think so. I know just how long you've been waiting for this, and I'm not above treachery." Slade squeezes his thigh. "We could start now."

Dick grabs his wrist. "Try that again and the only thing you'll be having sex with tonight is your hand."

Slade whistles softly. "And wouldn't that be sad for you?"

Dick pushes his hand away and grins at him. "There are other people in town."

"Some of whom may know Brother Blood, and be looking for strangers with that air of mystery."

"So you were paying attention," Dick says, and grins.

"I'll have the last word when you moan my name," Slade says, and smiles back.

The driver stops at the villa, accepts Slade's payment, and leaves with no hint that he understood any of the conversation.

"I want to see those plans," Dick says. Slade ushers him in with an arm around his waist.

"And you want to get paid, I remember. But I told you -- first, I want you naked." Once they're inside, Slade kisses him until he shivers. "I'll set the alarms."

Dick folds his arms and holds onto his composure hard. "Show me."

The various perimeter guards, charges, and fences are quite impressive, to say the least, and when the fences across the driveway shut and the grids of sensors over the roof come online, Dick can imagine feeling relatively secure in the villa.

"Do you approve, Robin?" Slade asks.

He's still not used to hearing his old name as a mockery of what he is and what he was. It makes him tense. "Don't call me that." He makes a show of studying the boards again. "This should be sufficient."

Slade touches his shoulder in what passes for an apology between them. "Come to bed, then -- Dick."

"Forget the plans," Dick says, and Slade snaps his fingers.

"I was looking forward to watching you try to masturbate and analyze them at the same time."

Dick snorts and pulls him down for a kiss. "Some other time."

The process of getting undressed in an unfamiliar location involves hiding plenty of weapons in easily accessible locations while Slade, who has already armed himself sufficiently, is as distracting as a man well over six feet tall with preternatural reflexes can possibly be. He tackles Dick backward onto the bed as he finishes hiding one last knife. "I almost cut myself that time," Dick protests.

"Almost," Slade says, and takes Dick's hand to suck on his fingers one by one.

"Just -- god -- how impatient do you want me to be?" Dick asks, trying and failing to make his breathing even.

Slade kisses the tip of his thumb. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to beg."

"I'm not in the mood," Dick says, and rocks against him.

"Another time." Slade kisses him again and pulls him closer, then sits up. He doesn't mean to end up on Slade's lap, but Slade means him to, and it would take too much struggling to fight his way out of his. "So," he says, putting his arm around Slade's neck.

"You're a lot less shaky this time," Slade says, petting his cheek. "Not bad for your second time out."

Dick shrugs, ignoring the parts of him that want to feel guilty for being able to settle into this trade. The world is a safer place without Brother Blood.

The world would also be a safer place without Deathstroke, but only in a much more specific and unpleasant way. "I had a good teacher," he says, and grins.

Slade chuckles. "Flattery will just get me to bend you over that much faster."

Dick wrinkles his nose. "I didn't mean you."

Sometimes he stops noticing how strong Slade is, and he has to make himself remember in some obvious, visceral way. Getting Slade to throw him sideways onto the bed is a good start, especially because Slade can pin his hands over his head with one hand. "The hell you didn't."

"You're not bad," Dick says, keeping his voice as light as he can, "but -- well."

"I'm not up to your standards, is that it?" Slade moves over him and kisses him, lying on top of him with enough weight that it's increasingly hard to breathe. Dick tries to pull his hands free and twists his right wrist out of Slade's hand -- but Slade grabs it again and holds him there. "Have it your way," Slade says, and lets him go, rolling off and standing up in one fluid motion. "Here endeth the lesson."

Dick follows him a second later, taking careful breaths to get his air back. "Don't."

"What?" Slade raises an eyebrow at him. "You think I can still teach you something?"

Dick puts his hands on his hips and smiles, pushing aside the impulse to apologize. If Slade was really angry, he'd have left, and he wouldn't be watching Dick so hungrily. "You tell me."

"Getting cocky already." Slade shakes his head and turns away, shrugging too emphatically to be entirely real. "Have you been wasting my time, kid?"

"So you don't have anything left to give me." Dick snaps his fingers. "Guess I have to find somebody else to work with."

Slade turns and catches him by the shoulder. "If you think I'm done with you, you've got another think coming." He's expecting the kiss, and the bite, but not the nervestrike to the thigh that makes his leg tingle. He doesn't manage to block the second, even with the warning of the first. "You go out in the world like this and people will think I didn't teach you manners."

Dick grabs Slade's shoulders for balance. "You didn't," he says, and Slade laughs and puts an arm around his waist to hold him up.

"I can see that." Slade squeezes his ass. "I'd better start now."

"By making me swoon into your arms?" Dick snorts and gets one of his feet under him again.

He's been pushing for the sake of it, to see what will happen, and he's been expecting the slap on the ass -- much more than the nervestrikes, if he had to measure all the different odds. "Not even close," Slade says, and takes him the few stumbling steps back to the bed.

Dick sits gratefully and puts on his best grin. "So how do I show you I've got manners?"

Most of the time, he's used to the way Slade focuses on him, but sometimes it makes him blush. "I'd make you suck me off, but I don't think you need practice at it." Slade sits next to him and pats his knee. "Time for your next lesson."

"You --" Dick laughs, and catches the hint of a smile in the corner of Slade's mouth. "You're kidding, right?"

Slade raises his eyebrows at Dick. "You need a little humility, kid. Nothing takes the wind out of your sails like a good old-fashioned spanking."

"Right." He moves away a little. "We're both kind of naked for the -- old-fashioned part."

"Call it newfangled, then." Slade lets himself grin and Dick is torn between running away more effectively and giving in. "Maybe I just want an excuse to stare at your ass for a while. Either way -- you might learn something."

Dick shakes his head and laughs again, once. "It's not going to hurt."

"Nah." Slade jerks his chin. "The only endurance I want you to test is your stamina in bed, this time. Get over here."

It feels incredibly silly to bend over Slade's lap and put his ass in the air, besides seeming entirely beside the point when they're both half-gone with all the flirting. "I don't feel very humble," Dick says, and turns to look at him.

Slade pats him lightly a few times before he gets in a really good -- spank. "You should think about all the things you did to get yourself to this situation," Slade says, and swats him again.

"Flirting with you. Right --" It doesn't hurt, but it makes Dick gasp. "I won't flirt with you anymore." Another slap and he bites his lip. "Ever. I promise."

"Now you're lying." Slade smacks him again. "Unless you were going to get up." He squeezes Dick's ass, and it hurts in a very superficial way that is way more erotic than even mild pain should be.

"I'll stay," Dick says, and shivers, trying to hold his hips still. He's too tempted to rub himself against Slade's leg, and that's probably just about what Slade wants from him right now. "I -- I'm sorry."

Slade laughs. "Now we're getting somewhere." He gets Dick to moan with another series of swats and -- it's not that he's petting Dick, exactly, except that he is. "What are you sorry for, kid?"

"I have no idea." Dick laughs and winces. "I -- whatever you want me to be. Making fun of you, I guess."

"You guess?" Slade runs his hand down Dick's thigh. "You can do better than this."

"I -- ow." He bites his lip and doesn't let his hips move, even though he wants to. "I was only doing it -- god -- to get you to react, and -- that shouldn't feel so good, dammit."

Slade clucks his tongue. "If you're going to start swearing --"

Dick shivers. He still feels silly, but the gentle burn is getting to the point where it's really worth the goofy position. "I'm not really sorry I said any of it. It got you to -- god -- do this and it --" He whimpers.

"It what?"

Dick thrusts against his leg. "Like I needed to want you any worse than I already did."

Slade pats him affectionately and it stings and burns and makes him that much crazier. "Honesty's the best policy, Grayson. Get on your knees."

The alternative is begging Slade to jerk him off right there, and it's an increasingly attractive alternative, but Dick kneels on the rug next to the bed instead and reminds himself not to sit back on his heels. The only thing that makes him feel less silly is that his stomach is sticky from lying across Slade's dick. He's not the only one enjoying this. "I don't want to jump to conclusions, here," he says, grinning.

Slade narrows his eye and tangles his fingers in Dick's hair. "Your manners are still terrible."

"I told you, I'm not sorry." Dick shrugs.

"Sometimes you'd better know how to pretend." Slade tugs gently. "Put on a good show."

"If it's the only way to get you to last," Dick, grinning, and Slade snorts.

"You're optimistic. Think I'll let you live after that comment?"

"At least 'til tomorrow." Dick licks his lips and sucks the head of Slade's dick into his mouth. He's getting the hang of not dislocating his jaw, keeping his ability to breathe most of the time, and still managing to get Slade off. The amount of practice it's taken doesn't make him very, well, optimistic about how well he'll be able to walk tomorrow if everything goes according to plan, but the way Slade grunts when Dick wraps his hand around him makes it worth every bit of the time.

If Slade wanted to, he could force this, choke Dick and keep him breathless for however long it took. The only thing that makes it safe is his willpower, which is, in its way, as strong as his body. "God, you're beautiful," he says, and it's not a word Dick has ever applied to himself. He can ignore it and take the compliment of the burr in Slade's voice instead. And if he pushes himself far enough that he chokes -- it won't hurt long, and it makes Slade shudder.

"Such a pretty boy," Slade says, and he sounds choked. Dick squeezes him and speeds up, and Slade shakes under his hands. "So very -- good -- at what you do --" He pushes into Dick's throat one last time and comes, shaking and fierce and still, under it all, vulnerable.

Dick sits back, makes his breathing even out, and licks his lips. "You'd better not fall asleep on me."

Slade is giving him an uncharacteristically dopey grin, but when Dick says something, he gets it under control. "I'll wear you out first, kid. Come back to bed."

His ass is still tingling a little, but he's not going to complain about something this minor. He sits next to Slade on the edge of the bed and says, "You're not reassuring me about this."

"God, you're impatient." Slade kisses him again, nibbling at his lower lip. "Don't give up on me yet."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Dick pats his thigh and smiles, and remembers just why he's here, and why Slade has been putting this off until tonight. Brother Blood, bleeding out --

It's much easier to distract himself with another kiss. He wonders what the milestone for his next job will be, and grins into the kiss. The chances of it involving prostitutes are pretty low, and anything else is survivable.

"What's so funny?" Slade asks.

Dick shrugs. "Trying to figure out where we go from here."

"On your back with your legs over my shoulders," Slade suggests, in the tone that's not a suggestion at all.

"Not what I meant," Dick says, and explains while he's following orders. "I mean the first time I went on a hit, you jumped me, and this time if you don't fuck me I want to know why not."

Slade grins. "Dancing girls?"

"Not really my style," Dick says, and puts his ankle on Slade's shoulder. "And not dancing boys, either, while we're on the subject."

"That's a pity." Slade reaches under the edge of the mattress and takes out a tube of lubricant. "How about if I just take you dancing?"

Dick laughs and stretches his arms. It's easier to assume he's joking about this than figure out what he could mean. "Right here?"

"Here, too." Slade slicks his fingers and Dick tries not to stare. Looking away won't make Slade any less present, or Dick any less eager, but it might stop him from getting too worked up. "But I meant somewhere else, maybe." He moves up the bed and pats Dick's thigh, then starts working his finger in.

It makes Dick's ability to frame a useful sentence evaporate for a while, but after the third thrust he can say, "You want to dance? With me?"

"Next time we hit Metropolis, maybe," Slade says. "Deep breath, kid -- there you go."

"What kind of dancing?" Dick shivers and bites his lip, trying to stay relaxed.

"Something loud and wild." Slade twists his finger and makes Dick moan. "Somewhere where nobody would stop us."

The concept makes more sense than Dick's first, ridiculous image of something slow and formal. They'd get booed off of a traditional dance floor, but -- there are places. "Why?"

Slade laughs. "Why not?"

"It --" Dick clenches his teeth on a groan. "Sounds a little crazy."

"Think it through." Slade pulls his hand away and slicks his fingers again, then pushes two of them into Dick, agonizingly slowly. "Showing up with you, in public, and watching you move --"

"God, you're --" Dick shakes his head when Slade pauses. "Don't stop, I'm fine."

"Watching you move just like that, I was going to say," he continues. Dick can't stop himself from pushing, right then, and bending his leg to pull himself off the bed a little more. "Yeah, that's why."

Dick laughs, and gasps, and laughs again. "We can just stay here if that's -- all you want." He rocks his hips and watches Slade's face, getting himself used to feeling this full. There are bigger mountains to climb, still.

"You missed my second favorite part." Slade shakes his head. "Your attention span is terrible like this."

Whatever it was, Dick can't think of it. "Tell me again. And -- I can -- I can take more."

Every now and then, he gets to feel like he's surprised Slade. "Yeah?" His grin makes Dick want to skip all the messing around, all the caution. Dick knows it's going to be another age and a half before Slade's even half willing to go through with it, but his smile says he's ready now. "Show me."

It burns to push back onto three of Slade's fingers, but he's getting better about relaxing into it and getting his breathing just right.

The way Slade stares at him when he does it gives him something to focus on, a reason to take the stretch and make it work for him. "Told you," Dick says, when he can take another deep breath.

"Next time," Slade says, grinning more, "you're going to finger yourself for me."

The image makes Dick have to close his eyes. "And what do you figure I get out of that?" Slade pulls out a little and shoves back in with a force that makes him clench his fists. "God -- yes."

"I'm not sure, but I'd enjoy it." Slade strokes Dick's thigh again, then his dick. "You want to get off?"

"Not yet." Dick grits his teeth and thrusts into the touch. He's wound so tight he can't figure out how to wait. "But --"

"We've got time," Slade says, and jerks him faster. "You're too excited."

"I -- wonder why -- dammit." Dick bites his lip and swallows another groan. "You drag me back here, toss me over your knee, and make me -- fuck, I can't -- make me blow you -- and you wonder, god, why I'm --"

Slade hits a rhythm between fucking Dick with his fingers and rubbing his dick that makes the world go white and perfect. Dick is about half sure that he shouts -- something -- when he comes, but he has no idea what it is, or what his name is, until Slade lets his dick go, pulls his fingers out, and pats his hip. "I'm not surprised, no."

Dick blows out his breath, feeling too dizzy to laugh. "Good. You're too smart for that."

"So you think I made you --" Slade's smile is entirely smug.

The phrase is too harsh outside of Dick's head. "No." He pushes himself up on his elbows. "You didn't make me do anything."

"Did you want me to make you?" Slade asks.

It's a dangerous question, and not one Dick can answer when he doesn't even know important things like the precise location of his toes. "You don't have to make me. Just ask."

"Sometimes, kid --"

The sentence hangs there, unfinished, for a few breaths. "Yeah?"

Slade shakes his head. "Sometimes you're too good at this." He runs his hand down Dick's thigh. "Don't go anywhere." He stands up.

Dick shakes his head. "Hurry back."

"I'm not going anywhere, either." Slade walks around the bed and takes down the rich tapestry hanging on the wall across from the foot. There's a floor to ceiling mirror behind it.

"What --" Dick stares at it, and then at him. "That's -- um."

"I was thinking," Slade says, and there's no good sentence, ever, that has started that way, "I want you on your knees for this, but I want to see your face."

Dick looks at himself in the mirror -- his face is flushed, he's sticky with his own semen, and he looks exactly like he's waiting for his -- partner -- to come back to bed and finish the job. He has to close his eyes. "What for?"

Slade kisses him lightly. "To keep me warm on lonely nights. Come on, kid, if you haven't figured out how pretty you are, I don't know how else to tell you."

"It doesn't matter." Dick turns so he doesn't have to see his reflection.

"Humor an old man," Slade says, and pets his hair. "Call it vanity -- I want to see every second of what I'm doing to you and how it makes you feel."

Dick shivers at the mental image and tries to make a joke out of it. "All this setup -- you know the rules. Something's going to go wrong."

"It'd have to get through all those defenses we turned on earlier," Slade says, "and there's a gun between the mattress and the footboard. In case."

"I meant --" Dick waves a hand. "Something smaller-scale. But sure, that could happen, too."

Slade shrugs. "If it does, it does. Are you chickening out on me?"

He knows it's a dare and it's not going to stop him. "Not at all."

Slade laughs and pulls him into another kiss. "Damn, kid."

"What now?" Dick leans back and looks around. "Are you going to make confetti fall out of the ceiling or something?"

"That would be a hell of a mess. No." Slade nibbles his ear. "How're you doing?"

Dick shrugs, estimates just how patient Slade is capable of forcing him to be, and smiles. "Ready when you are."

"Then turn around." It's Slade's command voice, and it gets him to do it before his conscious mind remembers the mirror a few feet away.

Dick's reflection has swollen lips from too much kissing and a few bruises on his arms and shoulders from getting into and out of Blood's compound. Slade is watching him with a focus that makes his skin feel too tight. "Do you really want to --"

Slade tousles his hair. "Why not?"

He looks debauched and they're not anywhere near done yet. Catching Slade's gaze in the mirror makes him feel surrounded and watched and dirty.

None of these are good tactical reasons to say no. "All right, fine," Dick says.

"That's my boy." Slade squeezes his ass. "Up on your knees."

He's getting hard again from the promise in all of this, and from the way Slade teases him with light touches. "You look like you could eat me alive," Dick says, frowning at the mirror.

Slade kisses the back of his neck and runs his hand over Dick's chest. Practically covers it, for a second. "Later, maybe."

Dick grins and avoids looking at himself when he does it. "I -- maybe."

"Or maybe I'll tire you out." Slade slicks his fingers again -- they glisten strangely, reflected -- and pats Dick's thigh. "Spread a little more."

He looks like he feels when he does it -- wanton and entirely too willing. He closes his eyes again and bites his lip when he pushes himself onto Slade's finger. "Enough?"

"For now." Slade kisses his shoulder. "More?"

Dick nods and leans back into his hand, against his chest. "I -- nn -- think this is -- okay."

"Just okay?" Slade pinches his nipples and he shivers at the quick stabs of sensation.

"You --" Dick twists his hips and groans. "You really want the mirror -- god, harder -- you should -- blindfold me, maybe."

"You really are chickening out." Slade bites his earlobe and pulls Dick back a little faster. "It's just us, kid."

Dick shakes his head. "I don't mind watching you. I just." He shrugs and catches his breath in a whimper.

Slade kisses his neck. "Watch me, then."

It takes all his willpower to open his eyes, and more to avoid looking at himself directly. Slade's hand is on his hip, now, covering old scars and giving him something to brace against when he thrusts back. "I -- fine," Dick says, and makes himself smile. "More."

He knows damn well that there's no way Slade needs to slick his fingers again, but he makes a production out of it anyway, giving Dick something to watch in the mirror. "You sure?"

Dick laughs and nods. "I forget how big your hands are," he says, and it sounds both completely obvious and weirdly profound.

"How do you manage that?" Slade asks, and pets Dick's cheek with his dry hand. His calluses are hard and rough. It makes his skin feel real, solid in a way most people's doesn't.

"Don't ask me right now." Dick looks away from his own face again -- his eyes are too wide to be really his -- and wriggles against Slade. "Just remind me."

The diameter of three fingers is enough to make his eyes roll back in his head so he doesn't have to look at anything. Slade says, "Keep breathing," and Dick tries to, but it's easy to forget when he's dealing with this much feeling and trying to not fall backward or open his eyes. "Just relax -- there."

"God." Dick braces his hand against Slade's thigh. "You're -- I --" He shakes his head.

"Yeah? Talk to me." Slade kisses his neck again.

"You're going to break me in half," he says, and only half his brain thinks he's joking.

Slade pets his stomach and Dick opens his eyes, stares at his open mouth and the way he's shivering. "No chance of that. Anything hurts, you tell me, we stop."

He already looks broken -- used -- and aroused like anything. "I know. I." Dick fixes his eyes on Slade's hand, on his hip again, and pushes back. "I just."

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid." Slade wraps his free arm around Dick and pulls him back into what feels -- and looks -- like a hug. A really dirty hug. "You want me to stop?"

"No." Dick turns enough to be able to stop staring at himself and kiss Slade. "I'm okay."

Slade looks him over like he's casing a site for a hit. "You're not ready yet."

Dick frowns at him. "I am so."

"Nope." Slade kisses him and twists his fingers again, killing Dick's retort in a wordless shout. "Not yet."

"What -- fuck -- what are you waiting for?" Dick shoves himself back and chokes back another scream. "Do it."

"Tomorrow. Maybe." Slade buries his face in the back of Dick's neck, biting him all too gently.

Dick shakes his head and reaches back to squeeze Slade's erection. "Not tomorrow. Not maybe."

Slade's command voice -- "Cut it out" -- isn't nearly enough to cut through the tension.

"What the hell?" Dick points at the mirror, halfway to laughing -- or possibly crying. "Do I look bored to you? Unenthusiastic?" He looks like a complete wreck, overeager even for some kind of whore crazy enough to get in bed with Deathstroke. "Jesus, Slade, fuck me already."

Slade grins at him with the wickedest expression Dick has seen him use yet. "I knew I could get you to beg me."

"Oh, you --" Dick can't find a word mean enough, but he doesn't have the breath for it anyway when Slade pulls his fingers out. "I hate you."

"Don't tell lies." Slade spanks him once and he shivers. "Or do you really want me to stop?"

"You were telling lies a second ago," Dick says, shaking his head. "No, don't stop, no, I don't damn well hate you, but I don't like you, either."

"That's not healthy," Slade says, and he nuzzles Dick's neck. "You really shouldn't have sex with people you don't like."

Dick closes his eyes and tries to make his breathing even out. "You really don't want to."

"Not what I said." Slade kisses his temple. "Do you really want to?"

It's not helping him calm down to have to answer the same question what feels like ten times. "Yes. Stop -- playing."

"I haven't been playing for months, kid." Slade catches his gaze in the mirror. "If you're sure --"

"Yes!" Dick glares at him. "I was out of my damn mind a minute ago. Why didn't you just go with it?"

Slade shrugs and strokes his nipples again. "I like you better with a little fight in you."

"Bastard." Dick takes a deep breath. "So. Yes. Please. I'm really getting sick of asking."

"Lean back on me -- that's it." Slade's chest is broad enough behind him that he feels like a breathing, scarred wall. "Spread a little more -- and push back, nice and slow."

Dick smacks him in the thigh. "I know, already."

"Show me what you know." Slade is staring at him again.

It's starting to feel reassuring.

The way his erection feels, the tension and pressure in his hips, is anything but. "God, you're --" he can make himself relax, spread just that much more, and really not breathe at all.

Slade groans in his ear. "You're so damn beautiful," he says, and Dick wants to hit him harder to make him not say that. The only decent offensive he has, though, is rocking forward and then back onto him.

It makes Dick's thighs feel like jelly would be an improvement. "Oh, fuck --" He can take a lot of physical strain, and this isn't a new one.

He's just close enough to his boundaries to need every last breath he can get to take it and keep going.

"Even your mouth, kid," Slade says, and he's as hoarse as Dick feels.

He doesn't want to look at his own mouth, but it's hard not to follow instructions and watch himself bite his lip, trying to keep back a shout. "Please, I --"

"You okay?" Slade asks.

"Yes. Dammit." Dick manages to twist his hips just right on the next thrust and he's lying back against Slade's chest, feeling like if he gets any more fucked, there won't be room in his body for him anymore.

"Open your eyes."

As soon as he's dressed again, Dick is going to work nonstop on developing the ability to ignore that tone of voice. He doesn't want to see the flush he can feel on his chest and cheeks, or the way his thighs are shaking continuously now. "I --"

"Hold yourself up for a second." Slade kisses his neck. "Unless you can't."

He's not going to admit to being that far gone until he can't even pretend he's not. The way it feels when Slade pulls out is enough to make him scream, though -- and his reflection doesn't look like it's in pain, not at all. Not even with Slade looming behind it and --

He's spent way more than enough time around Slade naked to not lose track of how big he is, but the dark, glistening glimpse of his erection makes Dick dissolve into laughter now.

Slade stares at him. "What?"

"I --" he shakes his head, tries to put the words together, and snickers. "I was thinking how I shouldn't feel like this is a challenge, but -- god, look at you."

"If it makes you feel better --" Slade shakes his head, grinning at him. "Should I stop?"

"I like challenges." Dick kneels up enough to press back onto him again and makes himself keep his eyes open -- for the challenge.

He looks like --

"If you keep that up -- I'm -- not going to last," Slade says, between gasps.

Dick grins and looks like himself in the mirror for the first time since he saw it. His eyes are really dark, and he's sweating like crazy, and he's really not going to want to sit down tomorrow for any reason at all, but it's okay. "As long as you take me with you."

He can feel Slade's heart speed up against his back. "I always knew you were more dangerous than you looked." Slade strokes him way too slowly and Dick whimpers. "Too much?"

"Not enough." He pushes into Slade's hand and feels less like he's watching somebody else moan, this time.

"God, kid --" Slade's shaking. For him, in him. "You're killing me here."

Dick groans and pushes into his fist again, faster, losing the rhythm of it. "Oh -- god --" and he doesn't mean to scream, doesn't mean to make himself, but he's too full and he's staring at himself, and for a second he really gets it when Slade calls him gorgeous.

He can't keep his eyes open when he comes and he doesn't want to. Listening to Slade say, "Fuck, you're beautiful," is more than enough exposure, and he can feel every nerve ending in his body, dancing like everybody's watching and everybody knows just how gorgeous he is.

Coming down is less fun, though the world's still a lot pink around the edges. It's been almost too much since they started, and it's too much now, but Dick can deal with it for a few minutes, grind his hips back and let Slade mouth his neck and grunt -- so quietly, for all the theatrics he expects -- as he orgasms.

"Don't laugh -- but -- ow," Dick says, kneeling up and wincing. "God, am I a mess."

Slade pulls him back sideways and kisses him. "Are you surprised?"

He grins. "No. It's just starting to get -- itchy. And a little -- ow."

Slade cups his ass. "Are you all right?"

It doesn't hurt that much -- half of the problem is how tired his muscles are. "Yeah. Though we're not flying back 'til Wednesday, right?"

"Right." Slade kisses him again. "Are you going to fall asleep if you take a bath?"

With the rush gone -- Dick yawns. "Maybe."

Slade squeezes his shoulder. "I'll keep you company. Come on."