Title: Mine and Yours; Yours and Mine
Authors: Katarik and Yami no Kaiba
Editor: Katarik
Beta: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Animated Teen Titans -- overtones of comics
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Slade/Nightwing, suggestions of a threesome [Slade/Nightwing/Robin].
Archive: Yes, just leave me a note on where it's being archived. E-mail is on the main page.
Summary: Slade and Nightwing have something to... discuss.
Disclaimer: The characters are not ours; DC Comics owns the original characters and the animation studio and artists of Teen Titans own the character concepts of the animated cartoon.
Notes 1: Dick Grayson will be called both Dick and Nightwing. Every time Dick is referred to as "Nightwing", Slade’s the one thinking. "Dick" means everyone else is thinking. But that’s why the apparent inconsistency.
Notes 2: We basically traded off every paragraph, in script format. Yami started off the story and we mostly swapped back and forth after that.
Notes 3: Katarik deserves a big big thank you and lots of hugs and loves and presents for going back and changing the script to narrative form. Don't forget to leave her something.
Notes 4: If you can bear through the breaking of the fourth wall, I promise you that there will be lots of good sexiness.
*---*---*---*---*
"Of course, all Bird Boys are pretty and sad, so I can see why you'd have a problem finding one you liked more than the other." Yami snuggles Tim, who has appeared and looks remarkably confused.
Katarik steals Tim to snuggle herself. She kind of enjoys the way he looks at her as though she’s the weirdest puzzle he’s ever seen.
Yami pouts and grabs Dick to snuggle in lieu of Tim. She likes both of them, after all.
Katarik feels a little guilty about stealing Yami’s toy, so she finds Slade and offers him to Yami as a replacement. But she’s keeping Tim.
Yami eyes Slade warily; she appreciates the thought, but a professional killer is a bit much. "Umm... Want a Nightwing?" She gestures to Dick, who's trying to creep away unnoticed.
Slade is still for a moment before smiling a truly fiendish grin.
Dick curses under his breath and starts to run.
Slade is still way too fast for sanity, so he is able to appear in front of Dick, who barely avoids crashing into him.
Dick is shocked, although he knows really shouldn’t be. He’s fought Slade before, and the only ones faster are speedsters or Clark--and, occasionally, Bats. "Uh... heh. Hi?" He tries to dodge around, hoping that this will be one of those occasions.
It’s not.
Slade’s arm shoots out and catches Dick square in the chest, shifting to clasp his shoulder. "You do realize that won't work?"
Dick does realize that fact, now, and mumbles that it was worth a shot. Hoping to escape this confrontation, he calls out louder, "I could use some help here, little brother!"
Tim looks at Slade. Tim looks at Dick. "I saw the footage from when you were leader of the Titans. I'm not getting involved." He had also seen, perhaps, a little more than Dick had wanted anyone to.
Dick looks cross. This is not how he had intended the evening to go; too much old history and too many old wants are here. "Damn. There goes that plan."
Slade smirks. The fangirl has an odd gleam in her eyes, and he thinks she’ll obey... "Katarik, remove the current Robin. Now."
Katarik glances at Tim, then glances at Dick, and then glances at Slade. She knows which of them could kill her first, and she thinks Slade and Dick could use a nice, long conversation. "Yes, sir!"
Yami pouts. "But..." She waves her hands in the air, vainly attempting to punctuate her point. "Threesome!"
Slade is amused by the thought and this new Robin is pretty, but... "It's been such a long while since I had my late apprentice to myself. Perhaps some other time."
Yami knows she’ll have to be appeased with that, but she doesn’t have to like it. "... Fine. Hey Katarik, think we should call Kon over to play with Tim?" She walks hurriedly after Katarik and Tim, who are turning to leave.
Dick’s noticed for a while that Superboy’s eyes follow Tim quite often, and he’s also noticed that Tim is different around the clone. Still. "... Fangirls creep me out."
Katarik considers before responding. "...all right. But I refuse to be responsible for any damage he does during ‘playtime’."
Yami sighs happily. "Is all right. Tim can put the repair charges in the bat-a-rang account!"
At this, Tim stops dead. "Br--Batman will kill me." Like he would if he knew how close Tim had come to letting out his name. Bruce would do worse than kill him; he’d fire him.
Yami giggles in that not-so-sweet way which always signals future trouble. "Then how about you hack into Penguin's offshore accounts and get the money that way?"
Tim thinks for a minute. Viable possibility, but for one minor fact. "That's illegal, and Batman would still kill me."
Slade sighs dramatically. "If it will make you go away, I'll pay for repairs." It isn’t as though he cannot afford them, after all. Death pays well.
Yami jumps and hugs Tim, since Slade's a bit intimidating. She’s not stupid, after all, she merely (mostly) chooses to ignore the danger signals. "See? All's well!"
Katarik is not stupid either, nor does she ignore danger signals. She does, sometimes, disregard them. Just not now. "I think we should leave now, Yami. Slade and his Robin probably have... things... to talk about."
Dick knows that the fangirls like Slade too, but he thinks they’d still protect him. Only not if they aren’t here, so, "... Don't leave me?"
Yami looks at them. "He won't hurt you."
Katarik is a little more honest, so she murmurs, "Unless you ask him to do so."
Tim raises an eyebrow, but generally doesn't do anything to stop Yami and Katarik from pulling him out of the room. Dick talks in his sleep, sometimes, and he’s heard remarkably interesting things about Slade.
Slade’s attention refocuses entirely on Nightwing. "Now. I believe we were going to discuss something?"
Dick blinks up at him. This is... unexpected. "Umm... we were?" Also, he’s hoping Slade will underestimate him again. The ‘stupid’ act never worked like it did when Tim used it, but maybe...
Slade doesn’t bother with Nightwing playing the fool; they both know it’s an act. "Yes. We were. Unless you felt like wasting my time with useless running away?"
Dick’s slightly annoyed now, and doesn’t waste his own time hiding it. Especially since the stupid act didn’t work. "Well excuse me for trying to get out of a few more bruises, because if I remember correctly, trying to fight you is just as useless."
Slade’s voice approximates surprised approval; he’s always been a good liar. "Well, well, my Robin. 'Trying' to fight me? Have you admitted that you never truly did fight?"
Nightwing’s eyes are narrow and angry. "No, I'm saying that I've learned it doesn't help any when it comes to you. You just brush any hits I land off, and your endurance is greater than mine. The only time I seem to actually faze you at all is when I fight you with others."
Slade is silent for a moment, reassessing. "...I commend you. Before, you would never have realized nor admitted these facts. You have grown up, Robin. Well done."
Dick smirks a bit, hiding how ridiculously pleased he is with a killer’s approval. "‘With age comes wisdom.’ Not to mention going solo means you have to know your limits more thoroughly if you want to be alive at the end of the night."
Slade already knows the answer, but he’ll ask anyway. "Oh? Have you gone solo, then? Did you finally realize that your friends only held you back?"
Dick’s face sharpens, loyal fury clear in every line of his body. "They never held me back. If anything, they helped me get at you." He smirks a bit. "Still have that broken mask, or did you pitch it?"
Slade’s grip tightens; he loathes being reminded of that failure. "Your pathetic friends had nothing to do with that."
Dick knows he's getting under Slade's skin, even though the mercenary is almost as good at hiding his emotions as Bruce is himself, who could out-stubborn a brick wall. "Sure seemed that way to me. Certainly couldn't have been just me, considering you've already admitted that it's a fact I couldn't do that on my own."
Slade is faintly disturbed by this logic. "You never had the skill to defeat me. I did, however, occasionally underestimate your determination and luck."
Dick is utterly shocked that Slade has admitted an error. Still, the man has a point. He pauses and thinks a bit. "But you still don't think my friends had even a *tiny* bit of influence on what happened?" And yes, he sounds whiny, but that’s okay.
Slade can hear the whine too. "Certainly they did. Without them, you would have remained my apprentice and--perhaps--eventually have been able to pose a true challenge."
Dick growls and tugs against Slade's grip on him. He’d let himself hope, just a little. "And you say you're smart! You still haven't figured it out at all!"
Slade yanks Nightwing off balance and trips him. The other’s indignation--hurt?--was oddly disconcerting. "What, pray tell, did you want me to figure out? And why on earth would you care?" There’s a trace of frustration in his voice; he can’t hide everything anymore.
Dick buckles and falls against Slade. Such a long time it’s been since the man touched him, and there’s no reason good enough not to use it. "You say you underestimated my determination. It doesn't even occur to you to wonder what fueled it."
Slade catches him, slightly surprised that Nightwing was so easy to take down. But why waste an opportunity? He murmurs into Nightwing's ear, "And once again, Robin--no, you’re not Robin anymore. Robin was a child. But still I ask you: why do you *care*?"
Dick nibbles a bit at his lip. It’s a habit he thought he’d broken himself of, but apparently this is the time to resurrect things he thought he’d stopped needing. “I--I don't know. You kept saying you wanted me as your apprentice, but you keep overlooking the reasons and drives behind all the things you *like* about me, and expect me to function in the same way without them. I guess... I guess I want you to see *me* and not whatever stupid imaginary image you have of me."
Slade asks this question softly, almost as though he's unsure. "...Why? You always said you hated me. Why would my opinion of you matter?"
Dick has given more honesty tonight than he has in years. Why not a little more? "I was a kid. Kids hate what they don't understand."
Slade’s breath catches just a little when he shifts his grip to Nightwing's waist. Possibly he’s misreading this…but possibly not. "And you understand me now? What do you understand?"
Dick looks up into Slade's mask. Maybe these signals are wrong, but he doubts it. And maybe this is just a dream that two fangirls created. If so-- "I was so obsessed with you. It was bound to turn into something else. But I was a kid, and when it turned into something I knew it shouldn't, I got so *angry*..."
Slade is very still now, as if he is attempting to lure a frightened and dangerous animal to his hand. He thinks he might be. "Nightwing--what did it turn into?"
Dick slowly takes off his own mask to let it fall to the ground. This is dangerous and he knows it, Slade can find him if his face is seen, but-- "I think you know." Dick moves his fingers up to lightly stroke the metal of Slade's mask, a questioning look for permission in his eyes. Masks are important, and no Bat removes one without asking.
Slade nods. How could he not, when he’s slowly raising one hand to hover it at the curve of Nightwing's revealed cheekbone? "You have blue eyes..."
Dick lets his eyelids shudder half closed as he nuzzles into the close palm. "You’re everything I think about as I sleep. As I dream." Nimble fingers find the catches of Slade's mask and open them, peeling back the seemingly-insurmountable barrier.
Slade shudders; such a long time he’s wanted this. His mouth parts and his eye closes. "Nightwing..."
Dick swipes quickly at his own lips. "Slade..." He's bracing his hands against Slade's shoulders, dropping the metal mask to join his own on the ground with a clang. "I love you." Words he’s never said, not and meant them like this. He tilts his head and kisses softly at Slade's lips.
Slade parts Nightwing's mouth and kisses deeper, so *hungry* for so long, but he pulls away and whispers into Dick's still-open mouth. "Nightwing, you don't--love me. You just want me." Because lust is infinitely easier to trust and if he is betrayed, abandoned, by this one again he does not think he will survive it.
Dick growls and slips a hand into Slade's hair. It’s thick and healthy against his fingers, as dark and as spiky as his own had been when he was a child. "Don't think I'm still a kid, who doesn't understand his feelings. I know what I feel now, and I don't hate it. I love you. I love the attention you give me. I love how you want me, even if it is a skewed image of me. I love how you'd do almost anything to get me. Perhaps it's a selfish love, but that's the kind of love that comes from obsession."
Slade lets his hand trail down Dick's face to his throat; rubs his thumb against the too-fast pulse pseudo-idly. The speech was one he might have made. "You so easily forgive me murder, then?"
Dick grins wryly to hide his flinch. "Never one to ask an easy question, are you?"
Slade has no reason to answer this question. "The last person I trusted, save for Wintergreen, shot out my eye. Why should I ask easy questions?" So why does he answer it? He’s not quite sure, but he thinks it might have something to do with the fact that whenever he saw Nightwing with someone else his chest hurt. It hurts now at the thought that this brilliant creature might leave.
Dick hums slightly, thinking. Considering, because this question really is important. "I don't... I don't *like* it. And I really can't condone it. I wasn't *raised* that way, and I've felt the loss of loved ones because of stupid *petty* crime. But even if I could forgive you, it's not my place to. If you're looking for forgiveness, you'd have to look at the families of the ones you deprived of life."
Slade responds before he can truly think about his answer. "I do not desire forgiveness. But--you say that you love me. I want you to know what it is that you love." As an afterthought, he adds, "And I am not ‘petty’."
Dick snickers a bit; on the one hand, that was funny. On the other, a laugh is a good way to hide his disappointment. "I should have expected you to see that as an insult to yourself." Expected you not to regret.
Slade flushes a little; perhaps the barb hadn’t been aimed at him? "You are avoiding the issue at hand, Nightwing."
Dick sighs a bit. "It's said one can't choose their family or the ones they love. I don't *like* it that you've murdered people. But it doesn't change the way I feel."
Slade is silent for a moment. "You do realize that I will never repeat your words. And that you will still have to fight me. That, or become a criminal alongside me." He raises his other hand to Nightwing's mouth and strokes his lips. It would be a pretty thing to have Nightwing at his side again. But that would break him, and Slade would not be able to put him back together. So he says, very softly, "But I would not ask that of you again."
Dick laughs a bit. Slade... gets it, now. Finally. "Arsenal and I could start a support group: Heroes Who Fall for World-Class Assassins and Murderers. Think we'd get any more members?"
Slade is not distracted by the apparent non sequitur, but the conversation is getting a little too emotional. "Arsenal? That seems unexpected. He was...Speedy, was he not?"
Dick, on the other hand, does not desire a change of subject. He wants this settled *now*. "Yeah. We all grow up, Slade."
Slade’s response is calm and measured. "So I have noticed, Nightwing. This would not have happened when you were Robin."
"Perhaps. In some alternate dimension it probably did." Dick hopes so, at least; he’d hate to think he was always an immature idiot. He kisses Slade again, reminding himself of what he chose not to have. And what he’s having now.
Slade licks Nightwing's tongue, but pulls back again quickly. "You never responded to my earlier statement. Do you realize what you are doing?"
Dick frowns. Of course he knows. "If you're wondering if I'm under the influence of an outside source or chemical, I assure you I haven't done anything other than beat up a few gang-bangers tonight."
Slade laughs a little, sounding surprised even as he does so--as though it has been a long time since he laughed for the humor of it. Maybe it has been. "That--was not what I meant. I meant-" kisses Nightwing's throat, can’t stop *touching* him-- "-do you know the consequences of this? Of...loving...me?"
Dick considers. Carefully. "I won't lie to you and say yes. I have thought of them, though. And I've come to the conclusion that there's way too many ways it could go. Too many possible consequences to map them all out. But I will say this. I'm strong enough to weather them, and I want this enough to risk the worst case scenario." He slides his hands down Slade's sides and wraps them around Slade's waist, bending his neck to allow Slade more access to it.
Slade is quiet for a moment. Offered his heart’s desire on a silver platter, can’t possibly refuse it any longer. "...As you wish, then." He bites the pulse hammering in Nightwing's throat.
Dick tightens his grip and moans lightly. Teeth--teeth are *good*.
Slade flicks his fingers at the collar of the Nightwing costume. "Take this off."
Dick’s voice is steady even when his mind isn’t. "Alright." He bites his lip and squeezes with his hands once before letting go of Slade and backing up a bit, reaching for his belt clasp.
Slade reaches for his own belt, but stops when he sees Nightwing watching.
Dick knows he’s flushing at getting caught, but how could he *not* look? "Um. Right." He works his belt and gloves off and grips the Kevlar material of his suit, pulling the hem out of the pants and the shirt over his head.
Slade’s voice is a little too even. "Are you afraid? ... of me?"
Dick knows exactly what Slade is. "I'd be stupid not to be."
Slade undoes his belt. He has never wanted Robin to be afraid of him, but Robin would not have admitted it. "So long as you know--it is enough." He tugs the shirt over his head in one easy motion.
Dick raises one hand between them, lightly running over a few scars on Slade's revealed skin. "You know, a stupid, naïve part of me thought no one could ever permanently hurt you. Even when you'd only stare at me with one eye every time we met."
Slade’s response is dry. "That was merely a flesh wound. Nothing yet has truly injured me."
Dick snickers a little before outright laughing. "Are you-" he tries to catch his breath, "-are you going to say that when someone cuts off your arms and legs as well?" He starts laughing again, whole body shuddering with the movement. Baiting a killer is not intelligent, but the laughter clears his mind.
Slade glares and kisses Nightwing hard. He’d known what he was doing, but he hadn’t expected that much of a reaction.
But his voice has a smug smile in it once his mouth is not longer occupied. "So that's how to get you to be quiet. I should have tried that years ago."
Dick is remarkably dazed. So much for the laughter clearing his head. "uhh..." The man can *really* kiss.
Slade smirks. "Nightwing--there's still a touch of Robin in you yet."
Dick blinks a bit and comes back. "A person's future is built on the founding stones of their past."
Slade chuckles. "How very philosophical of you, my dear enemy." He idly licks Nightwing's cheekbone. "And what future will come of this?"
Dick allows his eyes to flutter closed. "Mmm... Probably a really fucked-up one." He smiles a bit. "Pun intended."
Slade smiles back, though Nightwing can’t see it. "Well then... perhaps we should get to that part?"
Dick inhales sharply. "That-", opening his eyes part-way, "-that would be nice."
Slade purrs. "I'm glad we agree."
Dick licks his own lips before stepping in closer for another kiss, hands straying up Slade's chest in a petting way. "Should have asked those fangirls for a bed." Oh well. They can do without. He kisses Slade again.
A ghostly image of Katarik fades in. "Well, you should have just said so." She smirks as a king-size bed appears.
Dick stares a bit. "Those fangirls are freakier than the current Robin." Because no matter how much he enjoys having his ‘little brother’ around, the kid is indeed a freak.
Slade blinks before recovering. "Thank you for the bed. Now go away."
Katarik doesn’t think she’ll get the answer she wants, but no harm asking. "Can I have pictures?"
Dick glares. "I'm not *that* much of an exhibitionist!"
And Slade doesn’t want to share. "... Maybe later. Now leave."
Katarik shrugs. "As you command, oh my lord and master. Enjoy."
Dick glares at the space where the ghost-like Katarik faded out. He *hates* crazy fangirls. "Freaky. The whole lot of them."
Slade laughs. "But useful. For example..." He alters his grip and tosses Dick bodily onto the bed, "That would have been a great deal more painful without the so-helpful fangirl."
Nightwing emits an indignant yelp as he twists to land correctly. His irritation shows through. "What were you going to do? Toss me onto the floor?"
Slade tilts his head. "Probably not."
Dick takes a page from Tim's book and raises an eyebrow questioningly.
Slade’s answer is *hungry*. "You have such pretty skin." He strides towards the bed. "I would rather it be me than the floor that bruised it." But he halts.
Dick narrows his eyes. "Good to know." And he moves fast, catching Slade's wrists and pulling him onto the bed. "Just note that I give as good as I get, Slade."
Slade lands on top of Nightwing, too surprised to alter the pull even if he could have; even if he had wanted to. "You always did."
Dick smiles, still holding Slade's wrists. "Out of curiosity, was this what we were originally going to discuss?"
Slade sees no reason to lie. "It was certainly one of the things I had planned on...discussing."
Dick hums a bit, deliberately stroking little circles with his thumbs. "Nice to know we're still on topic, then." He shifts a bit to run the tip of his left boot up and down Slade's nearest calf lightly.
He also opts to have a question answered, since that last comment Slade had made just *screamed* innuendo. "And do you try to make everything sound sexual? I always did wonder."
Slade narrows his eye and smirks a bit. "Perhaps." He lowers his head to lick and suckle at the juncture of Dick's neck and collarbone.
Dick hears himself gasp a little as his hips roll forward. "I used to dream of this. Of you touching me, and me touching you, and what would happen next."
Slade asks softly, "And in these dreams of yours--what did happen next?"
Dick is a bit wide-eyed now, but who wouldn’t be? "Sometimes--sometimes you'd take me, hard and fast. Other times, you'd tease me for what seemed like forever, bringing me to the edge, again and again, but never letting me go over."
Slade is barely breathing now. "And which would you rather have now? Or would you rather--have something else altogether?" He strokes a hand over the hero’s stomach. "Touch me, Nightwing."
Dick whimpers but does as Slade demands, what he himself wants to do, slipping a hand down Slade's skin and under the other man's pants, petting at the half-hard erection. "God, your skin's so warm..."
Slade half-moans and arches into the touch. Even his control gives eventually.
Dick’s voice is breathy and he knows it. "God... I've wanted you, loved you for so long..." He lets go of Slade's wrist to touch and explore the skin of the other man's back. Sweaty and slick as though oiled, muscled and it *jerks* when he claws it experimentally.
Slade hisses and touches Dick almost desperately. Dick really likes that edge of need that he’s never seen anyone but himself draw forth.
So he permits himself a groan. "Ohhh..." He pants a bit, eyes fluttering, and takes a firmer hold on Slade's erection. "Even when I was saying I hated you, I really loved you." He squeezes once and begins to stroke slowly, other hand running fingertips lightly down the vertebrae of Slade's spine.
Slade tenses, but very deliberately relaxes. "Even then, I knew that if anyone could match me it would be you. Love or hate, it would be you."
Dick lets his breath hitch like it wants to. "Back then, if you had approached me in this way, I would have let it happen. I would have; I hated myself for knowing that. That I'd betray the others for such a selfish reason."
Slade moans; so many dreams of just that and they could have come *true*. "If I had known that fact..." Bending his head down and *biting* where neck meets shoulder, murmuring into the skin, “I would have stolen you without a qualm. I would have had you and rejoiced in it."
Dick whimpers again and shifts to tangle his legs with Slade's. Dick's hand on Slade's erection is moving faster, brushing against his own trapped erection as his other hand dances up Slade's spine to clutch the back of Slade's neck. "And I would have gone, damning myself for every willful step, but it would have been such a seemingly small thing next to having you..."
Slade can’t *not* touch after that, shoving a hand down Nightwing's pants and *tugging* that heat, shaping it upright as Nightwing writhes beneath.
Dick doesn’t want to hold back the cry. "Oh, oh *God*." He whines high in his throat and adds a twist to his next belated stroke; he refuses to come first.
Slade catches his breath; Nightwing knows *exactly* what to do. "If you continue that, no one will be taking anyone else. Or teasing."
Dick moans in disappointment, but goes back to petting. He really does want to do more than just touch. "And which of that did you decide on?"
Slade smirks. "Perhaps I should combine them."
Dick shivers and leans up to kiss Slade hard and deep. That sounds like--he’s not actually sure it sounds like Heaven, because he doesn’t think stuff like this is entirely legal there, but it certainly sounds entertaining.
Slade kisses back and takes advantage of the motion to run the hand stroking Dick's erection under and behind. He is always efficient, after all.
Dick keens lowly and wriggles a bit away from the pressure of Slade's touch. "God, *Slade*..."
Slade is teasing, but the question is serious. "Do you want me to stop touching you, then?" He draws his hand away just slightly.
Dick whimpers and moves his hand from Slade's erection to dig into Slade's hip. "No, it's just - it's just no one's touched me there before, and it feels weird."
Slade knows that he looks very predatory all of a sudden. He had cherished hopes that Nightwing was still virgin, but the man *flirted* so damn much, was so amazingly and obviously attractive, that he had given up. "I find it difficult to believe that no one wanted to touch you. Why did you not take them up on any offers?"
Dick nibbles a bit on his own bottom lip. "The ones that want to and that I feel comfortable enough to do it with," Barbara, fierce and pretty Barbara who had been Batgirl and who would have understood, Kory who had so clearly let him know that she wanted him, "it seemed, well, kinda mean of me to just use them when I knew already who I really wanted. And the others never got close enough for more than a stolen kiss."
Slade lets the note of triumph sneak through. "So I am the only one who has touched you like this." He slips one finger in, up to the first knuckle. He’s being cautious, but not gentle. He doesn’t need to be, not with Nightwing, but he wants to. "Good."
Dick takes in a quick gulp of air. "*Shit*." He plants his boots and lifts his hips up a bit. Because yeah, he *can* take it. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t *feel* it.
Slade’s finger inadvertently slides deeper with the movement. "Do you *want* me to hurt you, Nightwing? Because if you don't, do not do that again without lubricant.
Dick keens softly as his body tenses from the greater intrusion. "I - I thought it would help." His voice is nearly steady when he says it.
Slade’s voice *is* steady, but someone who knows him well--like Nightwing--can hear the tension. "It will help. But unless you desire pain, it will also require something to ease the way." He pauses for a moment. "When you dreamt of--us, did you ever dream of pain?"
Dick shivers, and if he was sane he’d never admit this. Sanity has no place here. "Yes, I did. Because that was all you had shown me for some time."
Slade shudders once before he regains control, but his voice is lower than normal when he asks, "Which would you rather have now?"
Dick bites his bottom lip *hard*. "Whatever makes it feel *real* and not like a dream."
Slade’s eye gleams as he shoves his finger in *deep*.
Dick screams and arches, lifting his hips completely off the bed and clutching again at Slade. He--he’d never known the real difference between doing this to himself and someone else--*Slade*--doing it to him. There is a huge difference.
Slade uses his other hand to stroke soothingly down Nightwing's chest, lingering to flick at his nipples. He knows Nightwing can handle much more than this without requiring careful treatment, but why not indulge them both? "Do you have anything which is suitable for application on human skin?"
Dick shudders, opening his eyes, just now realizing he had closed them tight. He’s really losing his edge with this... thing; he’d never ordinarily not know precisely what his well-trained weapon of a body is doing. "There's non-skin-irritant lubrication oil in my belt."
Slade is used to commanding, so it doesn’t occur to him to say anything but an order. "Get it out." Even though he realizes as soon as he’s said it that it’s ludicrous, especially since he’s teasing Nightwing's nipples again.
Dick huffs, than moans at the pinch. "Who's on who here? The belt's over on the ground back that way." He raises his hand from leaving nail-marks on Slade's neck to wave in the direction they had come from.
Slade’s response is very quiet. "... I don't want to stop touching you." He raises his voice now; he wants to be heard. "Yami! Or Katarik, I won't be picky. Get Nightwing's oil and give it to me."
Yami, unlike Katarik, doesn't appear at all save as a bodiless entity. "I love being the genie," giggling in that not-so-good-but-thinking-dirty-thoughts way. A snapping sound is heard, followed by Nightwing's belt appearing, laid flat on the bed by Nightwing's right side.
Slade raises a brow. "How pleasant for you. Which box is it in?" he asks, attention flipping instantly back to Nightwing.
Who answers promptly. "Fifth on the right of the oxygen mask."
Slade crooks the finger still inside Nightwing, snapping open the box and removing the container with his free hand.
Dick whimpers and shifts his hips, trying to lessen the pain and the flash of pleasure. He could take it in silence and stillness, but doesn’t really want to. "Fuck..." He brings his hands to the edge of Slade's pants and tugs them down a bit. Besides... "These really need to go." He wants more than a finger.
There’s a hint of laughter in Slade’s voice. "Once again, we agree. I told you we were alike." He leans down to kiss Nightwing's cheek. "This will hurt," he warns.
Dick’s answer is cynical, even for him, and he knows it. "When does anything not?" He jerks Slade's pants down to the man's knees impatiently and, once Slade shifts, manages to lean forward and yank them off, unsnapping his own boots in the process. Because his pants need to go too.
Slade pauses. Intriguing. "That comment could lead to some remarkably interesting speculations about your life."
Dick smirks ruefully. "Everything hurts in some way," even being Robin, the best thing that ever happened to him. "You just have to hope the good feelings outweigh the bad in the end."
Slade’s voice is pensive when he answers. "I suppose I'll have to ensure that they do. This time." He pulls his finger out--slowly, so that Nightwing can feel every centimeter of what's inside him.
Dick moans, bringing his hands back up to wrap around Slade's neck and clench around his shoulders. "You do that."
Slade hauls Nightwing’s pants off. He’s not strong enough to rip Kevlar bare-handed, but he’s always wanted to tear the clothes from Nightwing and watch him squirm. He squeezes half the contents of the tube straight where his finger was before and pushes it back in, quickly.
Dick murmurs and lifts his hips again, curling himself into Slade's chest. "That's... that feels weird. But good."
Slade smiles. "I am pleased to hear that you approve. My life's true purpose is now complete." He drags his finger back out, and when it slides back in there's a second finger with it.
Dick tilts his head up, both to kiss Slade and to muffle the noises he makes at the increased pressure on his inside walls.
Slade’s voice is hoarser than normal. "I trust you won't mind if there's no more preparation. I have waited quite long enough."
Slade chooses to accept it, pulling out his fingers and shifting his body enough to be right where Nightwing wants him but not in, not quite, pushing Nightwing's legs *open* and shoving inside.
Dick curls up more into Slade. Brushing skin against skin as he latches onto Slade's neck and bites down *hard* to muffle a cry. He’s a virgin here, and Slade has never been gentle with him.
Slade purrs quietly, "Come now, Nightwing. I want to hear you scream. Why won't you?"
Dick lets go of the flesh between his teeth and gasps slightly, trying to catch his breath. "Wouldn't - nnngh - wouldn't want to scream that close to your ears."
Slade’s murmur is cold. "I won't break any more than you will, Nightwing."
Dick’s eyes just sort of *glitter* at that and he hums lightly in the back of his throat. "I know that. Maybe I just want you to *force* it out of me."
Slade’s eye shines fast and hard and *fierce*; his voice is no less harsh. “Far be it from me to disappoint my erstwhile apprentice.” Hard roll of hips, and roll again, but he refuses to set a steady rhythm.
Dick can feel himself pushed into the mattress with every thrust that Slade makes. "Oh, oh shit--" Voice cutting off on a high note, he brings his hands down to brace against the mattress and fist the sheets in his steely grip.
Slade laughs. "Can you take no more than this? If so--perhaps I should simply *stop*."
And Slade does, and it causes Dick to whine high and needy in his throat, trying to shift his hips to continue the motions, but Slade has his hands vised on Dick's hips, keeping them still. "I-" Dick cuts himself off, because he has no idea what he was going to say.
Slade bends low again, predatory intent so obvious Dick can *taste* it, salt and metal on his tongue. "You what, Nightwing?"
Dick's eyes are open and *lost*. "I *need* more."
Slade loves that admission. "Take more, then." He shifts so that Dick can move--if he wants to.
Dick moans and closes his eyes. Planting his feet once more firmly on the bed and bracing himself on his forearms, he starts to work his hips up, taking as much of Slade as he can.
Slade groans and tenses. The feeling of Nightwing hot and tight around him is--indescribable. And worth every second he ever waited for it.
"Oh God, Slade..." The feeling of being filled is all Dick can focus on and it's almost everything he's ever dreamed of. But he knows he won't last long if that's all he can do. He needs a distraction. "Touch me. Touch me anywhere you *want*."
Slade absolutely cannot help but obey that command. He runs his hands over Nightwing's chest and torso, pausing to pinch and twist and generally drive both of them insane. He's panting now, but still has breath enough to murmur, "That leaves a great deal of leeway."
Even through the almost mindless haze of pleasure he's adopted, Dick can't help but retort. "Always leave as many options open as possible."
Slade wants to laugh at this, that even when plundered in the most elemental way possible Nightwing has a sense of humor and a quick tongue. Still, he shouldn't let his--what is Nightwing now? Lover, equal, rival, enemy--almost-partner get away with that. He leans over to one hard nipple, and applies teeth to it.
And that just makes Dick arch and *scream*. His hips still, body tensing everywhere, erection weeping pre-come, and Dick can't help the sudden hunger that rears up in him. Ignoring the consequences, Dick coils, pressing his hands against Slade's chest and pushes the man back onto his heels, following him up to sit directly in his lap, letting gravity work his hips farther down than he could get them.
Slade's never been very religious, but *God*! that feels amazing. His own scream is muffled only by his teeth set back in Nightwing's shoulder.
And fuck, Dick is going to *pay* for that move later, but it will be so worth it to hear that sound coming from Slade. Bending his neck, Dick licks at any of Slade's skin he can get at.
Slade really likes the feeling of Nightwing's tongue hot and eager on his shoulder, and he really likes the clench of solid muscle around him, but he doesn't really like that Nightwing is in control. But--he can live with it. For now.
Dick hums again in the back of his throat. "You know," he licks a non-continuous path up Slade's neck, fingers tracing ribs, hips lifting up a bit to shift himself into a kneeling position over Slade's lap. "In some of my dreams, you'd have me tied *down*." And with that emphasis he lets gravity work once more.
Slade would be still chewing on Nightwing's neck, but softly now, except that that image makes him *moan*. "Do you want to be? Because," hunter's smile as he turns his head to meet Nightwing's bright blue eyes, "that could be arranged."
Dick *shudders* all over. "Oh God, yes," he hisses before plunging into a deep kiss, hands splaying flat and fingers digging in, hips wriggling down.
Slade nips Nightwing's questing tongue and yanks back his head, using that glorious hair--he's been wanting to have his fists wrapped in that since he saw it, and finally he can. "Now, or later?" Hips *thrust* up and Nightwing's head snaps back, exposing a near-impossible length of pale throat.
Dick mewls, jerking teasingly against Slade's hold. "Now."
Slade can move when he wants to, and he really wants to. Before Nightwing has finished the word Slade has him pinned full-length. "*Stay*", he hisses out, and slides off to retrieve the chain hidden in his belt.
Dick shivers and does what he's told, following Slade with eyes that he’s dead certain are lust-fogged.
Slade holds the chain carefully. He's actually not sure about using it; on the one hand, its color would suit Nightwing wonderfully well. On the other, he has killed with this and trying to move against it could certainly break Nightwing's wrists.
Dick has to bite off a moan at the sight of Slade fingering the titanium links. They're seemingly-delicate and they’re small, but they’re also obviously well-made. When he notices Slade's hesitation, his mind tracks the other man's thinking. "If you're worried, you could pad some of the critical areas. There's plenty of material," he finishes, fingering the sheets of the bed.
Slade bites back a smirk at the way Nightwing can read him in this. He turns his head deliberately and smiles. "True." And the fangirl had been so kind in selecting those sheets; their midnight-blue wouldn't ruin the picture at all.
Dick's eyes lower as he unabashedly takes in the sight of Slade's naked backside. "If you don't hurry, this will rapidly become a 'later'," he says ruefully.
Slade's eye lights. "I wouldn't even need to touch you much more, would I? You're so close now that just the chain and my voice could make you come." He turns and near-glides back to the bed. "I believe I like that idea."
And apparently little Dick likes that thought too, Dick thinks, as his erection twitches and leaks at Slade's words. Dick licks his lips and shifts just a bit to look as gracefully sexy as he can get.
Slade carefully places one large hand on the sheets beside Nightwing's own and *rips*. Silk obligingly shreds apart, forming a piece of fabric large enough to act as a cushion against the chain.
Dick lets out a breathy moan, and his fingers twitch. All that hot flesh right there, and he could not just reach out and *touch* it; Slade had told him to stay, and considering where this was heading, it was the smarter plan not to annoy Slade by disobeying the spirit of the command. Even if the word could have been interpreted as staying in the bed, Dick knows Slade had meant for him to stay still.
Granted, as a child he would never have obeyed this man save under threat of death; sheer contrariness beckons him to disobey, but Dick knows that Slade is entirely capable of halting this. And besides...he kind of wants that chain on himself. Of course, he'd also like the chain binding Slade's wrists, and isn't *that* a pretty image?
Slade positions himself back on the bed, straddling Dick's thighs. "If tying you down arouses you, one has to wonder what you do all those times when an enemy knocks you out and ties you up."
Okay, that's a little much. "For the record, Robin's the one who gets caught. Not me. And bondage didn't get me off until--" *you*, and watch it there, Dick. What do you think you'll be after this, partners? Slade was right when he told you that you'd still fight, and you can't afford to hand over another weapon. You've been careless enough already.
Slade chuckles under his breath, looking down at Nightwing. "Don't think I haven't followed your career, Nightwing. There were many times while you were working in tandem with the Dark Knight that your enemies blindsided you." The tiny clinks of metal-on-metal muffled themselves as Slade rolls the silk over the titanium chain.
Wow. Slade's been keeping tabs on him. Slade is still obsessed with him. Dick is pleased enough with the thought to almost not mind the condescension.
Finished padding the chain, Slade leans over, running a hand possessively up one of Nightwing's arms before lifting it and deftly looping the silk-wrapped chain around the wrist twice, tugging the ends to make sure the thin wrist couldn't slip out. Slade purrs. "I can tell you haven't slacked in your training."
Dick might have wanted, just a little, to feel the metal instead, but pragmatism brings up good points. Besides, Slade is still touching him, and that makes up for silk rather than titanium.
Slade lays the bound arm down, dropping the remaining chain in a small pile next to it, before kneeling up off of Nightwing and moving the younger man farther up the bed. Once done, he pets at Nightwing’s chest. "A choice, my night bird. Face-up or face-down?"
Dick shudders at the myriad fantasies that evokes. He wonders, too; Slade's being unusually considerate with this. "I want," he has to swallow, throat too dry to speak properly, and even then his voice is husky, "I want to see your face when you take me."
Slade's eye narrows and his breath hitches. "Remember what I once said, Nightwing. You don't always get what you want." Slade flips Nightwing over, pressing him down with one hand on his back as he grabs for the longer end of the chain, leaning over to loop it twice around a flailing wrist, smirking at the muffled sounds of protest from his prey.
Okay, maybe not so considerate. But Dick doesn't mind much (oh, not at all), except that it's the principle of the thing. So he struggles. But he knows that one hand isn't nearly enough to hold him down anymore, not if he really wants to get up, and Slade knows it too. So that's all right.
Slade maneuvers himself, placing a knee on the small of Nightwing's back, as he leans closer to the left post. Metal rings spaced two feet apart march vertically upwards to the canopy, and Slade allows himself a moment to appreciate the thoroughness of fangirls before dipping his hand under the level of the mattress. He slides the titanium chain upwards with a the metal-on-metal clinking sound through the lowest ring, looping it around and pulling the excess slack out before leading the chain through a higher ring and tying it off--as well as a chain can be tied off. Shifting position, he does the same for Nightwing's opposite arm.
Nightwing tugs, testing, and Slade lets him. He sits back on his haunches and just...looks. Long black hair absorbing the light against deep blue silk and pale skin shimmering against all that darkness. Nightwing's muscles are tensed a little against the slight strain of his position, and Slade can't decide what to touch first.
When the light tugs do nothing, Dick can't help but feel a little thrill run through his spine. This is *Slade's* handiwork, and he starts trying to get out of the bindings in earnest, twisting as much as he can in what little slack - bare millimeters - that Slade has left for him.
True, his feet are still free, and he plans to use those soon--oh. Oh God. Forget that plan, because Slade's mouth is running up Dick's hamstring and he doesn't even *try* to hold back the groan.
And Slade likes the noises he's making Nightwing give birth to. He'd be really surprised if the young man could slip the bindings, but Slade knows that if anyone could, it would be a focused Nightwing. So he teases the pale flesh he can reach, with a skilled tongue and mouth, massaging some of the muscle groups as he goes.
Oh, oh fuck, mouth hot on his skin and tongue licking away his sweat and teeth *just* the right side of vicious, "...even better than the dreams, oh *god*," Dick doesn't even quite realize he's said it aloud.
That just makes Slade smile and chuckle, soothing the trembling flesh beneath his hands. "On your knees," he purrs, moving back a bit to settle on his heels, watching to see how eager his ex-apprentice is for his touch.
Dick doesn't even need to think for that one. Ripple of muscle, brace with the chains, toss back his hair and flash a gaze like blue lightning. He knows he wants this. Slade knows he wants this. Enough with the teasing, especially since he already knows what it's like to have all that focused attention inside him.
Nightwing is so beautiful like this, and Slade makes a mental note--if this interlude should ever happen again, make arrangements to do exactly this action once more. He shifts on the bed, taking Nightwing's hips into hand, stroking the flesh with his thumbs as he lines them up. "I've missed you, *my* night bird."
Nightwing's eyes flare so *bright* at that admission, a sun gone nova blazing in his blood. Slade can't find it in him to regret the impulse of honesty.
His eye half closes, and he hums in a thoughtful way. "Should I make you pay for leaving me?" Slade leans forward, grip tightening and stilling needy hips as he brushes at Nightwing's entrance.
Dick can't stop the laugh that bubbles from his throat. "You already did." Years, literally years, spent dreaming in the night of what could have happened if he hadn't run. "Will you make yourself pay for letting me leave?"
Slade scrapes his nails against the sensitive skin of Nightwing's hips. "Have I?" he asks, ignoring the posed question. "If so, I really don't think it was *enough*," Slade growls, *thrusting* forward and pulling back, forcing Nightwing to meet him.
A high, wild keen spills from Nightwing's throat. "Tell me," Slade snarls. "Tell me what you wanted then." Nightwing is breathing hard and fast, but--
"No." Black hair pouring down from a thrown-back head, "You tell me," disciplined body *clenching*.
Slade hisses and stills from the feeling of all that hot, still-slick flesh tightening around him. Leaning over the tensed expanse of pale, scarred skin, he whispers, "Do you really want to know?" Pulling out and then *slamming* back in, driving deep. "Be careful around the shadows of the past, my night bird. They might *devour* you."
Dick hears himself gasp, but he really doesn't give a damn. This is what he's been wanting since he was Robin, but the bird he wears now is a hawk. "Be careful with night birds, Slade. They tend to be predators." They both hear what's unspoken: I want to know. And I don't care if you don't want to tell me.
Slade growl/purrs, and shifts to nuzzle obsidian hair to the side so the he could lick the sensitive skin beneath him, catching the trail end of an old burn. "I *wanted* you. I wanted you any way I could *have* you, at first. But as time went on, I wanted it *all*. I wanted *you*; body, mind and soul. I wanted to *cage* you, *mark* you, *brand* you, and then *take* you, so that all the world would look at you and know you were *mine*." Slade pushes Nightwing into the mattress at every emphasis, hands gripping tight enough to bruise.
Dick can't stop himself from moaning at every thrust, and the last word breaks something inside him. "So did I." Dick doesn't specify whether he had wanted to be owned by Slade or to own Slade himself; maybe both.
“*Mine*." Slade hisses, biting into the nape of Nightwing's neck, one hand letting go of an already-bruising hip to *pet* Nightwing's ignored and weeping erection.
Dick *arches*, but he doesn't let his muscles release, hands yanking against the chain and legs spreading even more. "Mine. *You're* mine," shoving back against the pelvis behind him hard enough to knock the air from Slade's lungs.
Slade gasps and *helps* Nightwing as far down against him as he can, letting up only when Nightwing cries out from the strain on his arms and the biting tightness on his wrists. "Each *other's*," Slade whispers into the shell of the ear closest to him, taking Nightwing's erection in hand and rubbing down.
"Nnnn...”--Dick wouldn't stop that noise if he could. Slade tenses against him, inside him, with every sound he makes. Each other's--yes. Mine and yours and mine forever and ever, amen.
Slade squeezes gently, and licks at the shell of Nightwing's ear. He shifts and thrusts, brushing against that sweet spot inside the bound man. "Come for me, my beautiful night bird."
That voice is the one that's populated almost every fantasy he's ever had, and he can't fight it now any more than he could fight it in his own head, but..."You come for me first, want to feel you lose control for *me*...", there's something else he wants before he can obey.
And some unnamed emotion *flares* in Slade's eye and he squeezes Nightwing's erection once more as he works himself in and out repeatedly. He could do as his night bird has asked, but he wants something in return. "Say you're mine. Say it and *mean* it," he rasps, stroking the flesh in his hands.
Dick wants to snicker but chokes on pleasure first: didn't Slade *know*? All the Titans had. "Yours. Always yours, since I first asked who you were."
"Yesss..." Slade hisses, *shoves* into Nightwing one last time, releasing in a burst of the purest pleasure he's known in years.
Slade's hands *tighten* on him, more than Dick thinks Slade meant to, and it's that as much as anything else that makes him come: Slade has lost control. Slade has been hunting him and watching him for years without ever losing control of himself--and now he has.
And when Dick finally comes back from that mindless sensation, he finds himself being petted by Slade and--yeah. "When you’re done with that, think you could undo these?" Dick shakes his wrists to indicate his still bound limbs.
Slade considers for a moment before he realizes that his hand is *still* petting and knows he needs to distract it. "Certainly, if you're sure that's what you want." His hands slide up Nightwing's still-sensitive skin to the bonds, undoing the ties and letting them slide through the rings.
Dick shudders, breathes, and crawls out from under Slade's figure. Twisting, he sits down and faces Slade, shucking the silk-wrapped chain off and rubbing his bruised wrists to get the circulation flowing correctly again. "So... what now?"
Slade hesitates, then gets off the bed. The lithe pretty boy is now a beautiful man who might not know that this won't be happening again. This *can't* happen again. He's already turned down a contract to kill Nightwing, but that refusal doesn't make them allies. Nor does this. "I...don't know." I want to keep touching you, I want to brand the taste and scent and feel of you into my bones and never again be without you.
"Well... Surely there's a shower around here somewhere." Dick lets one of his hands swipe through the mess spread on his abdomen, considering it with a wry look before wiping it off on the sheets. Smirking, Dick looks up, knowing his eyes have that glitter in them. "Join me?"
Slade feels the smile stretch across his face and doesn't bother with hiding it. "Yes. And Nightwing?"
Dick turns from where he's rising from the bed to face Slade's outstretched hand. He takes it.
Slade's voice is almost--tender. "I do still have that broken mask."
--Fin.