Fic: Shadows IV -- Nightwing/Deathstroke
Title: Shadows IV.
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Dick wants his life back.
Warnings This entire series contains graphic coercion and sexual violence. Seriously. You have been warned. If you are sensitive to this, do not read. Also, it is my hobby to abuse canon.
A/N: Previous parts are HERE
Beta'd by kitty_poker1. Thank you!!
Also posted to we_love_dick and batfic.
At the beginning of December, when a four-inch blanket of snow had covered Bludhaven’s streets in just one night, Dick took the weekend off. Five o’clock on the Friday night he called Wally and by five-o-five he was in Keystone toeing off his sneakers and cracking open a beer with Roy. At five-o-six Wally arrived back with a windswept Gar.
‘You took your time,’ Roy said, and Wally snatched the offered beer. They argued with smiles on their faces, Gar spilled the chips and turned into a Labrador to clean them up and Dick fell asleep feeling comfortable and happy.
‘We should hang more often,’ Dick said with a yawn in the early hours of the morning. His eyelids felt so heavy and his arms and legs seemed weighed down like they were made of pure iron.
Wally regarded him with an amused expression and glanced at a snoring Roy and then at Gar, sprawled sloth-shaped in an armchair. He nodded. ‘Anytime.’
The next morning Wally sped him to Gotham and left him on the doorstep of Wayne Manor. Alfred greeted him with a warm hug, took his bag up to his room and made him a jam sandwich, served with a glass of water and an Advil. Tim thought it was ‘Awesome!’ to see him and Bruce looked at him like he was a puzzle waiting to be solved. Dick stayed the day and the night, endured a weirdly touching lecture from Bruce about taking on too much, and indulged in a snowball fight with Tim that ended in the two of them collapsing into a hedge with Dick’s arm and a supersnowball down Tim’s back. The manor smelled like home, the food was hot and comforting, and the crackling fire was a timetravel device that took him back ten years every time he closed his eyes.
On the Monday, on the corner of an icy rooftop in Bludhaven, Dick’s voice cut through the city’s soundtrack of whistling winds and beeping cars.
‘I’m ending this,’ he said, and pulled his Escrima sticks from his back.
Slade stared at him and Dick just knew his lips were forming a sly smile under that hood.
‘Aw, are we fighting?’ Slade said. ‘Was it something I did? Did I forget your birthday? Did you cut your hair and I didn’t notice?’
Dick stared back him, his arms and weapons hanging loosely at his sides. He tilted his head. ‘Actually, yes to the last thing. You’re lucky I’m not the sensitive and vain type. It’s over, Slade. No more.’
‘I say when it-’
‘I’m prepared to fight you to the death on this.’
There was nothing quite like poking a tiger and watching its demeanour change. It was a dangerous experiment, but maybe you occasionally learned something. Dick watched Slade’s entire presence still. All creatures had to move, even the crouching tiger. They breathed, their whiskers twitched and their fur rippled in the breeze. But Slade was motionless, muscles pulled tight, feet cemented to the ground and his chest inanimate as a corpse.
‘You’ll lose,’ Slade said.
‘Of course. You know I don’t kill.’
Perhaps Dick would have wondered what Slade was thinking, what he was planning, but he was too lost in his own thoughts now. Beyond Slade’s frozen form was a city full of people he was supposed to protect. They wandered backwards and forwards like clockwork toys, wrapped up in their warm coats and scarves and cosy in the knowledge that they had their very own superhero to protect them from the dark. But he wasn’t super, was he? Not anymore. He was dirty. He was the dark.
The brush of fabric against his arm surprised him, jolting him from his thoughts. He didn’t move, though, didn’t flinch from Slade’s gentle touch. His stomach knotted instead and his fists clenched around his fighting sticks.
‘You will submit to me, Nightwing.’
‘No fucking way.’
Dick was sure Slade was raising an eyebrow. It was weird and disturbing how much he knew about his enemy now, all those little details you could only know when you scrutinized, fixated and wanted.
Slade’s other hand lifted and brushed Dick’s cheek, and Dick was suddenly unsure if he wanted to throw up or drop his sticks and wrap himself around this man he hated and obsessed over and sometimes wished was dead.
‘Maybe I’ll just take what I want anyway.’ He rubbed his cheek against Dick’s and whispered into his ear, ‘Maybe I really won’t give you a choice.’
‘Fine!’ Dick spat, and Slade pulled away like he’d just had his nose swatted. ‘Do it. Give it your best shot. Maybe I’ll die trying to stop you, but I guarantee I’ll take away your most prized asset along the way.’
Slade looked down at the stick resting against his groin. He laughed, spread his arms and stepped backwards out of Dick’s immediate range. ‘That’s what I’ve always loved about you. Such spirit. I’ve enjoyed breaking you down.’
Dick held his breath as Slade walked away. No chance he was getting off this easy. No way Slade was done.
‘One more thing,’ Slade said, turning around when he reached the fire escape. The bastard was smiling. He was fucking smiling under that hood. ‘I’ll be waiting when you change your mind.’
The following Monday Dick stepped aside and Tarantula put a bullet between Blockbuster’s eyes.
‘I’m so proud of you, little bird,’ Slade said as Dick peeled off his costume and dropped to his knees.
***
**
*
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Dick wants his life back.
Warnings This entire series contains graphic coercion and sexual violence. Seriously. You have been warned. If you are sensitive to this, do not read. Also, it is my hobby to abuse canon.
A/N: Previous parts are HERE
Beta'd by kitty_poker1. Thank you!!
Also posted to we_love_dick and batfic.
At the beginning of December, when a four-inch blanket of snow had covered Bludhaven’s streets in just one night, Dick took the weekend off. Five o’clock on the Friday night he called Wally and by five-o-five he was in Keystone toeing off his sneakers and cracking open a beer with Roy. At five-o-six Wally arrived back with a windswept Gar.
‘You took your time,’ Roy said, and Wally snatched the offered beer. They argued with smiles on their faces, Gar spilled the chips and turned into a Labrador to clean them up and Dick fell asleep feeling comfortable and happy.
‘We should hang more often,’ Dick said with a yawn in the early hours of the morning. His eyelids felt so heavy and his arms and legs seemed weighed down like they were made of pure iron.
Wally regarded him with an amused expression and glanced at a snoring Roy and then at Gar, sprawled sloth-shaped in an armchair. He nodded. ‘Anytime.’
The next morning Wally sped him to Gotham and left him on the doorstep of Wayne Manor. Alfred greeted him with a warm hug, took his bag up to his room and made him a jam sandwich, served with a glass of water and an Advil. Tim thought it was ‘Awesome!’ to see him and Bruce looked at him like he was a puzzle waiting to be solved. Dick stayed the day and the night, endured a weirdly touching lecture from Bruce about taking on too much, and indulged in a snowball fight with Tim that ended in the two of them collapsing into a hedge with Dick’s arm and a supersnowball down Tim’s back. The manor smelled like home, the food was hot and comforting, and the crackling fire was a timetravel device that took him back ten years every time he closed his eyes.
On the Monday, on the corner of an icy rooftop in Bludhaven, Dick’s voice cut through the city’s soundtrack of whistling winds and beeping cars.
‘I’m ending this,’ he said, and pulled his Escrima sticks from his back.
Slade stared at him and Dick just knew his lips were forming a sly smile under that hood.
‘Aw, are we fighting?’ Slade said. ‘Was it something I did? Did I forget your birthday? Did you cut your hair and I didn’t notice?’
Dick stared back him, his arms and weapons hanging loosely at his sides. He tilted his head. ‘Actually, yes to the last thing. You’re lucky I’m not the sensitive and vain type. It’s over, Slade. No more.’
‘I say when it-’
‘I’m prepared to fight you to the death on this.’
There was nothing quite like poking a tiger and watching its demeanour change. It was a dangerous experiment, but maybe you occasionally learned something. Dick watched Slade’s entire presence still. All creatures had to move, even the crouching tiger. They breathed, their whiskers twitched and their fur rippled in the breeze. But Slade was motionless, muscles pulled tight, feet cemented to the ground and his chest inanimate as a corpse.
‘You’ll lose,’ Slade said.
‘Of course. You know I don’t kill.’
Perhaps Dick would have wondered what Slade was thinking, what he was planning, but he was too lost in his own thoughts now. Beyond Slade’s frozen form was a city full of people he was supposed to protect. They wandered backwards and forwards like clockwork toys, wrapped up in their warm coats and scarves and cosy in the knowledge that they had their very own superhero to protect them from the dark. But he wasn’t super, was he? Not anymore. He was dirty. He was the dark.
The brush of fabric against his arm surprised him, jolting him from his thoughts. He didn’t move, though, didn’t flinch from Slade’s gentle touch. His stomach knotted instead and his fists clenched around his fighting sticks.
‘You will submit to me, Nightwing.’
‘No fucking way.’
Dick was sure Slade was raising an eyebrow. It was weird and disturbing how much he knew about his enemy now, all those little details you could only know when you scrutinized, fixated and wanted.
Slade’s other hand lifted and brushed Dick’s cheek, and Dick was suddenly unsure if he wanted to throw up or drop his sticks and wrap himself around this man he hated and obsessed over and sometimes wished was dead.
‘Maybe I’ll just take what I want anyway.’ He rubbed his cheek against Dick’s and whispered into his ear, ‘Maybe I really won’t give you a choice.’
‘Fine!’ Dick spat, and Slade pulled away like he’d just had his nose swatted. ‘Do it. Give it your best shot. Maybe I’ll die trying to stop you, but I guarantee I’ll take away your most prized asset along the way.’
Slade looked down at the stick resting against his groin. He laughed, spread his arms and stepped backwards out of Dick’s immediate range. ‘That’s what I’ve always loved about you. Such spirit. I’ve enjoyed breaking you down.’
Dick held his breath as Slade walked away. No chance he was getting off this easy. No way Slade was done.
‘One more thing,’ Slade said, turning around when he reached the fire escape. The bastard was smiling. He was fucking smiling under that hood. ‘I’ll be waiting when you change your mind.’
The following Monday Dick stepped aside and Tarantula put a bullet between Blockbuster’s eyes.
‘I’m so proud of you, little bird,’ Slade said as Dick peeled off his costume and dropped to his knees.
***
**
*