Fic: Shadows III - Nightwing/Deathstroke
Title: Shadows III.
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: At their meeting place, Slade touches something raw.
Warnings This entire series contains graphic coercion and sexual violence. Seriously. You have been warned. If you are sensitive to this, do not read.
A/N: Previous parts are HERE
Beta'd by kitty_poker1. Thank you!!
Also posted to we_love_dick and batfic.
It wasn’t exactly the Hilton, with its bare floors and dirty walls. No electricity, no heating, no telephone, no amenities at all except a bucket in the far corner and a rusty tap that protruded from the wall at an angle that defied geometry. It didn’t matter. Dick Grayson didn’t come here for room service and a solid marble bathroom. He would make do with the occasional scuttling cockroach and the constant drip, drip, dripping of the crooked faucet.
Dick Grayson was only here for one thing, and right now he was stretched out atop the only piece of furniture in the room, wrists and ankles manacled to solid oak posts with chains of shiny new steel. This was how Slade liked him - conflicted but yielding. This was how Slade dreamed of him - gasping and arching, fists clenching and blue eyes pleading.
Slade pushed into him again and basked in Dick’s deep, long groan. He reached for a blade nestled in the purple silk of the sheets. He’d brought it just for the occasion, just like he’d brought everything else. The knife had cost him five hundred dollars, but for a thing of such beauty it was worth it. It felt light in his hand, passive, with the handle curving gracefully through his fingers and the blade patiently waiting to do his bidding. He leaned over Dick’s body, sucked a nipple into his mouth, gently cut the flesh just below and lapped at the blood that flowed.
‘Please,’ Dick whispered, and from the look on his face, even he didn’t know if he was begging Slade to stop or to do it again, so Slade did it again just to see. Dick shouted something vile and Slade pumped into him again and again until the pressure built and they were both cursing and coming.
‘Off,’ Dick said, and he shifted until Slade climbed away and reached for the key to Dick’s chains.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a band-aid?’
Dick moved to wipe at the smear of blood on his chest, but Slade batted his hand away and licked at the wound. He knew without looking that Dick had closed his eyes.
‘How long are we going to do this?’ Dick asked.
‘Until I say we don’t.’
‘How about if I say we don’t?’
Slade looked up and studied Dick’s expression. His question wasn’t a threat. It was just a question. He climbed up Dick’s body and took his lips in a deep kiss.
‘You won’t say it,’ Slade said when he’d pulled away and buried his face in Dick’s neck.
Dick didn’t reply and Slade was glad about that. He felt too good, too relaxed to argue. Dick was his and only he would decide if and when this would ever be over.
‘Nice bed, by the way. IKEA?’
‘No.’ Slade lifted his head and smiled at him. ‘But the chains are.’
‘Ah, the S&M section. I heard about that. A fine selection of do-it-yourself hammocks. Apparently.’
There was something like mischief in Dick’s eyes and Slade liked it. He’d always liked it.
‘I suppose you have to get back to patrolling or whatever it is that you actually do.’
Dick pushed him away and swung his legs off the bed onto the dusty floor. ‘You know what I do. You’ve watched me for long enough, haven’t you?’ He padded naked to the faucet on the far side of the room.
‘Why do you do it?’
Dick frowned at him over his shoulder. ‘Do what?’
‘Save people, care, the hero thing. All of it. Why do you care so much when all you really want are your parents back? But that can’t happen, can it? They’re gone and all you’ve got is a guy in a bat suit who doesn’t really give a fuck about you. So why do it?’
Dick turned the faucet and somewhere behind the wall something groaned and rumbled like it just wanted to give up. He cupped his hands under the pathetic trickle of water and started to wash.
Slade relaxed into the pillows and watched him.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘I’m waiting for an answer.’
‘You think I should be more like you?’ Dick said angrily, and Slade sat back up, surprised. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Answer me for a change. You think I should be a killer? An assassin like you? Not gonna happen, and if you think for a moment that it could, then you don’t know me at all.’
Dick walked back to the bed and snatched the towel wrapped around one of the bedposts. He dried himself and dressed in silence, and when he was done he climbed out of the window and jumped without a word.
Slade had known Dick Grayson a long time. He’d admired him, used him, loathed him and fought him a hundred times. Dick was wrong. He did know him - maybe better than anyone else in the world.
‘No, Dick, I don’t want you to be like me.’
**
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: At their meeting place, Slade touches something raw.
Warnings This entire series contains graphic coercion and sexual violence. Seriously. You have been warned. If you are sensitive to this, do not read.
A/N: Previous parts are HERE
Beta'd by kitty_poker1. Thank you!!
Also posted to we_love_dick and batfic.
It wasn’t exactly the Hilton, with its bare floors and dirty walls. No electricity, no heating, no telephone, no amenities at all except a bucket in the far corner and a rusty tap that protruded from the wall at an angle that defied geometry. It didn’t matter. Dick Grayson didn’t come here for room service and a solid marble bathroom. He would make do with the occasional scuttling cockroach and the constant drip, drip, dripping of the crooked faucet.
Dick Grayson was only here for one thing, and right now he was stretched out atop the only piece of furniture in the room, wrists and ankles manacled to solid oak posts with chains of shiny new steel. This was how Slade liked him - conflicted but yielding. This was how Slade dreamed of him - gasping and arching, fists clenching and blue eyes pleading.
Slade pushed into him again and basked in Dick’s deep, long groan. He reached for a blade nestled in the purple silk of the sheets. He’d brought it just for the occasion, just like he’d brought everything else. The knife had cost him five hundred dollars, but for a thing of such beauty it was worth it. It felt light in his hand, passive, with the handle curving gracefully through his fingers and the blade patiently waiting to do his bidding. He leaned over Dick’s body, sucked a nipple into his mouth, gently cut the flesh just below and lapped at the blood that flowed.
‘Please,’ Dick whispered, and from the look on his face, even he didn’t know if he was begging Slade to stop or to do it again, so Slade did it again just to see. Dick shouted something vile and Slade pumped into him again and again until the pressure built and they were both cursing and coming.
‘Off,’ Dick said, and he shifted until Slade climbed away and reached for the key to Dick’s chains.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a band-aid?’
Dick moved to wipe at the smear of blood on his chest, but Slade batted his hand away and licked at the wound. He knew without looking that Dick had closed his eyes.
‘How long are we going to do this?’ Dick asked.
‘Until I say we don’t.’
‘How about if I say we don’t?’
Slade looked up and studied Dick’s expression. His question wasn’t a threat. It was just a question. He climbed up Dick’s body and took his lips in a deep kiss.
‘You won’t say it,’ Slade said when he’d pulled away and buried his face in Dick’s neck.
Dick didn’t reply and Slade was glad about that. He felt too good, too relaxed to argue. Dick was his and only he would decide if and when this would ever be over.
‘Nice bed, by the way. IKEA?’
‘No.’ Slade lifted his head and smiled at him. ‘But the chains are.’
‘Ah, the S&M section. I heard about that. A fine selection of do-it-yourself hammocks. Apparently.’
There was something like mischief in Dick’s eyes and Slade liked it. He’d always liked it.
‘I suppose you have to get back to patrolling or whatever it is that you actually do.’
Dick pushed him away and swung his legs off the bed onto the dusty floor. ‘You know what I do. You’ve watched me for long enough, haven’t you?’ He padded naked to the faucet on the far side of the room.
‘Why do you do it?’
Dick frowned at him over his shoulder. ‘Do what?’
‘Save people, care, the hero thing. All of it. Why do you care so much when all you really want are your parents back? But that can’t happen, can it? They’re gone and all you’ve got is a guy in a bat suit who doesn’t really give a fuck about you. So why do it?’
Dick turned the faucet and somewhere behind the wall something groaned and rumbled like it just wanted to give up. He cupped his hands under the pathetic trickle of water and started to wash.
Slade relaxed into the pillows and watched him.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘I’m waiting for an answer.’
‘You think I should be more like you?’ Dick said angrily, and Slade sat back up, surprised. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Answer me for a change. You think I should be a killer? An assassin like you? Not gonna happen, and if you think for a moment that it could, then you don’t know me at all.’
Dick walked back to the bed and snatched the towel wrapped around one of the bedposts. He dried himself and dressed in silence, and when he was done he climbed out of the window and jumped without a word.
Slade had known Dick Grayson a long time. He’d admired him, used him, loathed him and fought him a hundred times. Dick was wrong. He did know him - maybe better than anyone else in the world.
‘No, Dick, I don’t want you to be like me.’
**