Fandom: Pairing: DC Comics/Toons: Dick(Nightwing)/Slade(Deathstroke), Bruce(Batman)/Wally(Flash), mention of past Dick/Wally
Concrit: Please. If you spot a typo or a grammar glitch, feel free to tell me in comments.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: **Physical restraint, mention of voyeurism, non-graphic mention of underage sex**
Summary: Deathstroke delivers some unexpected news
Notes: Written for suki_blue, because she's a gifted emotional blackmailer and a first class enabler. Thanks, darlin'! *smooch*
They come together on a rooftop away from the usual ebb and flow of nocturnal traffic, criminal and otherwise. They fight in comfortable, well-worn silence for a while, their movements full of sweeping grace and barely leashed emotion. Each fleeting, bruising point of contact cranks the ambient tension higher as they perform their ritual parry and riposte, strike and counter strike, trading blow for blow; a dance they've choreographed almost to perfection through the years.
Slade waits and watches, timing his conversational rapier thrust to coincide with his sparring partner's latest tumbling move. The boy leaps, twists and spins, and Slade's words strike true.
"So, how long has Bruce been nailing your speedster pal? I wouldn't have thought he was the vibrating sex toy type, but from what I saw the other night…"
Nightwing's landing is smooth; he doesn't stumble, but a crucial hesitation – just a sixteenth of a second – has brought him into range of Deathstroke's waiting fists. A solid blow to the solar plexus knocks him back into the side of the structure he's just leapt from, and Deathstroke takes advantage of his momentary lack of focus – his sheer disbelief – and tries to sweep his ankles out from under him.
He anticipates the swing, leaps and grabs for the eaves above his head, recognising his error just a moment too late to avoid the other end of the power staff as it swings round. It catches him just below his raised left arm, laying a stripe across his ribs that will no doubt be turning purple before the night is done. Again.
He drops, tucking and rolling, only to be brought up short as Deathstroke's foot lands heavy in the middle of his back. The solid orange boot keeps him pinned to the grimy rooftop just long enough for Slade to follow him down – knees straddling his hips, his wrists caught and drawn back with ruthless efficiency to be held by one huge hand at the base of his spine.
With a dark chuckle, Slade settles his weight more fully onto Dick's ass, making no attempt to hide his obvious arousal.
"Is this another dirty secret the Bat's been keeping from his little flock? How… typical. I wonder if he knows you got there first, that you know how it feels to have those lean runner's legs locked tight around your waist, his whole body vibrating so fast he's almost a blur."
"You're wrong." Dick flexes his arms and Slade's grip tightens on his wrists, squeezing tight enough to grind the bones together in a clear warning.
"I watched you, remember? I watched you bounce from one team-mate to another, looking for something from them that you didn't even understand." Slade leans down and breathes hotly against the back of Dick's neck, growling in satisfaction as Dick gives in to the urge to buck, to push up and back into his controlling embrace.
"Have you figured out what it is yet, what it is you've been looking for? I could tell you. I could… give it to you. All you have to do is ask."
"No, I… Dammit, Slade! You planted cameras in the bedrooms at Titans Tower? What the hell were you-?" Dick is squirming and thrashing in earnest now, and Slade rides out every ripple of muscle and sinew, every shift and twist of bone, taking advantage of Dick's struggles to insinuate himself even more intimately into his personal space, pushing into the curves and hollows of his limber frame.
"Only yours, little bird. Only yours." Slade breathes the words directly into Dick's ear, causing a full-body shudder that leaves them both slightly breathless.
"You- You're a twisted man, Slade Wilson."
"I was curious. Intrigued."
It's not taken as an insult; there's no question that Slade can be very… focused when there's something he wants. And they both know exactly what he's focused on right now.
"I wonder if Bruce was watching Kid Flash back then the way I watched you. I like the symmetry of that; why should I be the only dirty old man on the block?"
Dick's head snaps back in a futile attempt to break Slade's nose.
"Bruce would never-! He… He wouldn't… Flash isn't-"
Slade's fingers tangle in the loose curls at Dick's nape and twist, dragging Dick's head back and around so Slade can lean in and rub fabric-covered lips across the corner of Dick's mouth, a move that silences him faster than any admonition ever could.
"Maybe he wasn't then, but he is now. They are now. There's no mistaking what I saw on one of the rooftops across from Gotham's Grant Park last Wednesday night. The kid's still pretty vocal when he comes, even with Batman's hand across his mouth."
To Slade's surprise, Dick's body goes completely limp beneath his own.
"Way to kill the mood, Slade. How the hell am I supposed to get that image out of my head the next time I have to look either of them in the eye? I can't believe Batman would-"
"-fuck your best friend?"
"-fuck my best friend on the job! After all the years he spent telling me not to let my focus slip, not to let my guard down, not to let anything distract-"
Unable to resist, Slade leans back in and drags his nose up Dick's neck, from his clavicle to the hollow behind his ear.
"He looked pretty focused to me, and I hung around long enough to make sure they weren't disturbed."
"Oh, that's… That's just wrong! You watched them?"
The bright flare of sudden pain as his crossed wrists are jerked up towards his shoulder-blades sends a jolt of adrenaline through Dick, and he starts fighting Slade's hold once more. Slade settles down and enjoys his efforts.
"I watched out for them, which, incidentally, you owe me for."
"…" Dick opens his mouth but doesn't get a chance to speak.
"You don't think I give a damn if two of the League's finest are caught in flagrante delicto, do you? Hell, I was almost tempted to call one of the tabloids myself, just to see the morning headlines."
Dick winces at the thought of Bruce's reaction. "So why didn't you?"
"It was much more satisfying to deliver the news in person."
Slade's weight abruptly disappears from Dick's thighs, but before he can react, he's being hauled to his feet and slapped sharply on the ass.
"You got sloppy, Grayson. Don't let yourself get distracted so easily. I could have been lying."
"But you weren't, were you?" Dick twists on one heel to face Slade, absently rubbing his wrists to dispel the ghostly imprints of powerful fingers.
Slade tilts his head. "Not this time." His gaze flickers off to one side and then returns to Dick's face. "Time for me to disappear, I think. Your little archer friend is charging to your rescue as we speak."
Dick turns to follow Slade's gaze over his shoulder, and when he looks back, the rooftop is empty.