Fic: Shadows II - Nightwing/Deathstroke
Title: Shadows II.
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Dick realises something dangerous.
Warnings Contains references to sexual violence. Seriously. You have been warned. If you are sensitive to this, do not read.
A/N: This ficlet follows on from From the Journal of a Stalker which has now been renamed Shadows I. I suck at titles and I aim to confuse. I also aim to fill the interwebs with this pairing.
Beta'd by kitty_poker1. Thank you!!
Also posted to we_love_dick and batfic.
Apologies to bradygirl_12 for the Clash of the Titles. I honestly didn't notice. Must be the Hive Mind again. But you should all go read her Shadows which is a beautiful Bruce/Dick fic that made me cry.
It was easy to focus. It was easy to keep his mind on the maniac dressed brightly in green and orange with red and blue wires curling around his body to and from a digital display and a block of C4. The dead-man’s trigger held out to the side was almost to the point of enthralling. The girl, blonde and dead at the maniac’s feet, was riveting.
Yet a tiny part of Dick’s brain was distracted, even with his mentor standing by his side.
‘Now,’ Batman said, calmly and quietly, and then he sprang forward like he’d been catapulted. Dick followed a nanosecond later.
The maniac screamed. It was wide and loud, thin lips stretching over teeth like yellow gravestones, tongue lolling in the middle like a floundering slug.
Batman reached him first, one black, gloved hand curling around a neck that was bony and slightly too long. Dick clamped both his hands around the skeletal fingers gripping the trigger and, together, the three of them fell to the wet ground.
‘I’ll let go! I will! I’ll do it!’ The villain looked at him, watery green eyes locking with sharp blue ones. ‘You can’t hold on forever,’ he said, his voice now a sad whisper, and Dick, his hands held tightly around the trigger switch, nodded at him.
‘Got it,’ Batman said, and held up a red wire. The bomb’s display flashed once and went blank.
‘Aw, shucks. I knew I shoulda gone with gas.’
Batman flipped him, tied his hands behind his back and phoned Gotham PD. When he was done and the body was covered, he turned to Dick. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing. Why?’ Honestly, he couldn’t think why Bruce would ask. He was still himself. Same Dick Grayson, same Nightwing, same costume, same smile, same tactics, same theories, same walk and talk.
Batman shook his head. It was the smallest of movements. ‘There’s something different about you.’
Really? Oh yeah, now you mention it, I got fucked by my nemesis last week. He held me by my throat and sexually assaulted me. But you know what? I enjoyed it. How fucked-up is that?
‘Same old me.’ Dick smiled brightly. Images of Deathstroke floated around inside his head: thighs straddling him, crushing lips kissing him, his own hands urging . ‘Unless we’re counting a change of skincare routine. Bludhaven is bad for my complexion.’
Batman continued looking at him. He could have been looking right through him. Dick was tempted to turn around and see what was so interesting directly behind his head.
‘Thank you for your assistance tonight, Nightwing.’
‘Anytime.’
Bruce nodded. ‘Same here. Call if you need me.’ He started to walk away and Dick felt that same wrench he always felt when they parted, that old feeling of Robin losing his Batman, of Dick losing something much more important than a partner or a friend or a lover.
‘And, Nightwing? Call me even if you don’t.’
And then Batman was sucked into the shadows and Dick was left standing in a puddle with a guilty conscience and an unrelenting desire for something sweetly suicidal.
He drove his bike back at an even eighty, and thought only once of the dead girl’s staring eyes and the streak of blood that soaked her fringe. Once, he would have thought about the dead for weeks, then days, then all day, then three times a day. Now, after years of failing to save everyone, he allowed himself to think and mourn just once. Then it was time to move on. Maybe it would keep him from becoming Bruce. Maybe it wouldn’t.
Dick parked up in a random alleyway and pulled off his helmet. The night itself was pitch black; no stars, no moon, just the artificial glow from a nearby street lamp.
‘Looking for me?’ a hoodless Deathstroke said, brushing his fingers over one of the bike’s handlebars as he approached.
Dick edged back from Slade’s shadow as it neared, and resisted throwing a wing ding at the street lamp. Sometimes the darkness was better when it was total.
‘Waiting for me?’ he said with more poise than he felt, but this time he didn’t flinch when Slade darted forward, clutched him and kissed him.
He pressed against Slade’s body, slid his arms around Slade’s muscular shoulders, and vaguely thought this is what it would be like to kiss Superman.
He drew back.
‘Not here.’
Slade opened his mouth.
‘And not my apartment again,’ Dick quickly added, his expression firm and annoyed.
‘I’ve got just the place. I rented it especially for us.’
‘Presumptuous.’
‘Confident,’ Slade corrected. He kissed Dick again and, in that long, warm and blood-pumping moment, Dick knew.
He knew he couldn’t stop this.
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Dick realises something dangerous.
Warnings Contains references to sexual violence. Seriously. You have been warned. If you are sensitive to this, do not read.
A/N: This ficlet follows on from From the Journal of a Stalker which has now been renamed Shadows I. I suck at titles and I aim to confuse. I also aim to fill the interwebs with this pairing.
Beta'd by kitty_poker1. Thank you!!
Also posted to we_love_dick and batfic.
Apologies to bradygirl_12 for the Clash of the Titles. I honestly didn't notice. Must be the Hive Mind again. But you should all go read her Shadows which is a beautiful Bruce/Dick fic that made me cry.
It was easy to focus. It was easy to keep his mind on the maniac dressed brightly in green and orange with red and blue wires curling around his body to and from a digital display and a block of C4. The dead-man’s trigger held out to the side was almost to the point of enthralling. The girl, blonde and dead at the maniac’s feet, was riveting.
Yet a tiny part of Dick’s brain was distracted, even with his mentor standing by his side.
‘Now,’ Batman said, calmly and quietly, and then he sprang forward like he’d been catapulted. Dick followed a nanosecond later.
The maniac screamed. It was wide and loud, thin lips stretching over teeth like yellow gravestones, tongue lolling in the middle like a floundering slug.
Batman reached him first, one black, gloved hand curling around a neck that was bony and slightly too long. Dick clamped both his hands around the skeletal fingers gripping the trigger and, together, the three of them fell to the wet ground.
‘I’ll let go! I will! I’ll do it!’ The villain looked at him, watery green eyes locking with sharp blue ones. ‘You can’t hold on forever,’ he said, his voice now a sad whisper, and Dick, his hands held tightly around the trigger switch, nodded at him.
‘Got it,’ Batman said, and held up a red wire. The bomb’s display flashed once and went blank.
‘Aw, shucks. I knew I shoulda gone with gas.’
Batman flipped him, tied his hands behind his back and phoned Gotham PD. When he was done and the body was covered, he turned to Dick. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing. Why?’ Honestly, he couldn’t think why Bruce would ask. He was still himself. Same Dick Grayson, same Nightwing, same costume, same smile, same tactics, same theories, same walk and talk.
Batman shook his head. It was the smallest of movements. ‘There’s something different about you.’
Really? Oh yeah, now you mention it, I got fucked by my nemesis last week. He held me by my throat and sexually assaulted me. But you know what? I enjoyed it. How fucked-up is that?
‘Same old me.’ Dick smiled brightly. Images of Deathstroke floated around inside his head: thighs straddling him, crushing lips kissing him, his own hands urging . ‘Unless we’re counting a change of skincare routine. Bludhaven is bad for my complexion.’
Batman continued looking at him. He could have been looking right through him. Dick was tempted to turn around and see what was so interesting directly behind his head.
‘Thank you for your assistance tonight, Nightwing.’
‘Anytime.’
Bruce nodded. ‘Same here. Call if you need me.’ He started to walk away and Dick felt that same wrench he always felt when they parted, that old feeling of Robin losing his Batman, of Dick losing something much more important than a partner or a friend or a lover.
‘And, Nightwing? Call me even if you don’t.’
And then Batman was sucked into the shadows and Dick was left standing in a puddle with a guilty conscience and an unrelenting desire for something sweetly suicidal.
He drove his bike back at an even eighty, and thought only once of the dead girl’s staring eyes and the streak of blood that soaked her fringe. Once, he would have thought about the dead for weeks, then days, then all day, then three times a day. Now, after years of failing to save everyone, he allowed himself to think and mourn just once. Then it was time to move on. Maybe it would keep him from becoming Bruce. Maybe it wouldn’t.
Dick parked up in a random alleyway and pulled off his helmet. The night itself was pitch black; no stars, no moon, just the artificial glow from a nearby street lamp.
‘Looking for me?’ a hoodless Deathstroke said, brushing his fingers over one of the bike’s handlebars as he approached.
Dick edged back from Slade’s shadow as it neared, and resisted throwing a wing ding at the street lamp. Sometimes the darkness was better when it was total.
‘Waiting for me?’ he said with more poise than he felt, but this time he didn’t flinch when Slade darted forward, clutched him and kissed him.
He pressed against Slade’s body, slid his arms around Slade’s muscular shoulders, and vaguely thought this is what it would be like to kiss Superman.
He drew back.
‘Not here.’
Slade opened his mouth.
‘And not my apartment again,’ Dick quickly added, his expression firm and annoyed.
‘I’ve got just the place. I rented it especially for us.’
‘Presumptuous.’
‘Confident,’ Slade corrected. He kissed Dick again and, in that long, warm and blood-pumping moment, Dick knew.
He knew he couldn’t stop this.