Fic: Shadows V -- Nightwing/Deathstroke
Title: Shadows V.
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Slade gets exactly what he wants. Or does he?
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.
He’d never seen Dick asleep like this before. He’d seen photographs, video footage, even the real McCoy through a wide-angle lens, but there was nothing like being this close. Dick was beautiful, even despite the lines of exhaustion on his face. He looked haunted, broken and vulnerable, and it should have made Slade hard.
You must be desperate to still be here with me, Slade thought, and he brushed his fingers through Dick’s hair and kissed his forehead. Dick stirred, rolled onto his back and turned his face away. Dick’s body was a collection-in-progress of scars, some long, some short, many that were mere nicks and would probably be missed by most people. Slade traced one cut beneath Dick’s nipple with his index finger. It would scar well in time, but just to be sure Slade planned to open it up again and do a little more damage.
Slade drew his hand back and stared up at the ceiling. Dick was his and always would be. He liked the control and the manipulation, but he revelled in Dick’s defiance, Dick’s struggles. They had a connection, the two of them; a wire bound them together and burned so hot no one else could get close. He’d threatened to take from Dick whether he liked it or not but, truthfully, Slade knew he was lying to Dick and himself. Yes meant yes and no meant yes, unless Dick’s eyes contradicted it, and they never had. He felt those eyes on him now, and turned his head to face him.
‘You must be tired,’ Slade said, and Dick just nodded. He was broken, a shell of what he was before all this had started. Slade had meant to bend and break him, not shatter him into tiny pieces. Something had gone terribly wrong along the way. ‘Drink?’
Dick shook his head.
‘Blockbuster deserved to die. This Tarantula did you a favour.’ He turned over, sliding his leg over Dick’s and leaning down to kiss him. Dick accepted the kiss with slack, uninterested lips.
‘Not in the mood, dear?’
‘Would you be?’
Slade slid his hand down Dick’s body and only found more disinterest. He sighed and put his hand above the sheet instead. ‘Okay, what’s wrong?’
Dick’s brows knitted into a frown and he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out and instead of words he rolled onto his side and curled in on himself. Slade touched his shoulder.
‘Dick?’
‘I don’t know what I’m doing any more. Congrats, Slade. You win.’
He’d waited a long time to hear that from his Boy Wonder, and he wondered why it filled his gut with pain instead of jubilation. Maybe it was because he never expected to get his way. Maybe it was because he wanted to fight Dick Grayson forever.
It had never been about the ultimate submission. It had only ever been about the fight.
His hand tightened on Dick’s shoulder and he pulled him roughly back around. He saw the immediate annoyance tumble across Dick’s features.
‘Can’t you even let me do the emo thing in peace? Are you gonna take that too?’
Slade leaned in close. ‘If I wanted to, you couldn’t stop me.’
Dick hesitated.
‘Whatever I want to take, you couldn’t stop me.’
He grabbed Dick’s waist, pulled them flush against each other and rolled them until Dick was on top.
‘What the fuck are you doing, Slade?’
Slade grubbed a fistful of Dick’s hair and held him in place. ‘I’m taking. Going to stop me?’
The next few seconds were a blur and even many hours later Slade would have trouble remembering just how many times Dick punched him, but Slade would never forget the force of those blows or that he didn’t once hit Dick back but kept hold of him until the black storm passed.
‘I would never, I would never, I would never,’ Slade said, over and over again. ‘Don’t ever give up, Dick. Always fight.’
He’d never seen Dick asleep like this before, exhausted, his face pale with stress and worry. Slade slid his hand over Dick’s body, his strokes soothing and selfish at the same time. He peeled the sheet back to touch lower. Part of him wanted Dick to feel he was protected all over and the other part, the part that made him turn from his own reflection, just wanted to look and touch, get hard and come.
Slade gripped his own cock and pulled, his free hand now sliding up Dick’s legs, over this thigh, brushing his hips-
Then he saw them. The scratches. Not made by a knife or any other kind of weapon, but by fingernails. His libido dropped and he sat up. The marks were faded, as were the bruises around them. He’d missed them before when his desire for Dick had been frantic and blind. Who did this? That bitch?
Slade fought the need to scream and tear Dick apart for allowing someone else to touch him. He leapt from the bed and marched to the window. He leaned all his weight on the sill and wondered why Dick had gone to Tarantula first and not him.
Slade got dressed and kissed Dick goodbye without waking him. He left in absolute silence, light footfalls that no human could hear leaving or coming. He felt the weight of his sword strapped across his back, and longed to swing it.
***
**
*
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author: suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Slade gets exactly what he wants. Or does he?
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.
He’d never seen Dick asleep like this before. He’d seen photographs, video footage, even the real McCoy through a wide-angle lens, but there was nothing like being this close. Dick was beautiful, even despite the lines of exhaustion on his face. He looked haunted, broken and vulnerable, and it should have made Slade hard.
You must be desperate to still be here with me, Slade thought, and he brushed his fingers through Dick’s hair and kissed his forehead. Dick stirred, rolled onto his back and turned his face away. Dick’s body was a collection-in-progress of scars, some long, some short, many that were mere nicks and would probably be missed by most people. Slade traced one cut beneath Dick’s nipple with his index finger. It would scar well in time, but just to be sure Slade planned to open it up again and do a little more damage.
Slade drew his hand back and stared up at the ceiling. Dick was his and always would be. He liked the control and the manipulation, but he revelled in Dick’s defiance, Dick’s struggles. They had a connection, the two of them; a wire bound them together and burned so hot no one else could get close. He’d threatened to take from Dick whether he liked it or not but, truthfully, Slade knew he was lying to Dick and himself. Yes meant yes and no meant yes, unless Dick’s eyes contradicted it, and they never had. He felt those eyes on him now, and turned his head to face him.
‘You must be tired,’ Slade said, and Dick just nodded. He was broken, a shell of what he was before all this had started. Slade had meant to bend and break him, not shatter him into tiny pieces. Something had gone terribly wrong along the way. ‘Drink?’
Dick shook his head.
‘Blockbuster deserved to die. This Tarantula did you a favour.’ He turned over, sliding his leg over Dick’s and leaning down to kiss him. Dick accepted the kiss with slack, uninterested lips.
‘Not in the mood, dear?’
‘Would you be?’
Slade slid his hand down Dick’s body and only found more disinterest. He sighed and put his hand above the sheet instead. ‘Okay, what’s wrong?’
Dick’s brows knitted into a frown and he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out and instead of words he rolled onto his side and curled in on himself. Slade touched his shoulder.
‘Dick?’
‘I don’t know what I’m doing any more. Congrats, Slade. You win.’
He’d waited a long time to hear that from his Boy Wonder, and he wondered why it filled his gut with pain instead of jubilation. Maybe it was because he never expected to get his way. Maybe it was because he wanted to fight Dick Grayson forever.
It had never been about the ultimate submission. It had only ever been about the fight.
His hand tightened on Dick’s shoulder and he pulled him roughly back around. He saw the immediate annoyance tumble across Dick’s features.
‘Can’t you even let me do the emo thing in peace? Are you gonna take that too?’
Slade leaned in close. ‘If I wanted to, you couldn’t stop me.’
Dick hesitated.
‘Whatever I want to take, you couldn’t stop me.’
He grabbed Dick’s waist, pulled them flush against each other and rolled them until Dick was on top.
‘What the fuck are you doing, Slade?’
Slade grubbed a fistful of Dick’s hair and held him in place. ‘I’m taking. Going to stop me?’
The next few seconds were a blur and even many hours later Slade would have trouble remembering just how many times Dick punched him, but Slade would never forget the force of those blows or that he didn’t once hit Dick back but kept hold of him until the black storm passed.
‘I would never, I would never, I would never,’ Slade said, over and over again. ‘Don’t ever give up, Dick. Always fight.’
He’d never seen Dick asleep like this before, exhausted, his face pale with stress and worry. Slade slid his hand over Dick’s body, his strokes soothing and selfish at the same time. He peeled the sheet back to touch lower. Part of him wanted Dick to feel he was protected all over and the other part, the part that made him turn from his own reflection, just wanted to look and touch, get hard and come.
Slade gripped his own cock and pulled, his free hand now sliding up Dick’s legs, over this thigh, brushing his hips-
Then he saw them. The scratches. Not made by a knife or any other kind of weapon, but by fingernails. His libido dropped and he sat up. The marks were faded, as were the bruises around them. He’d missed them before when his desire for Dick had been frantic and blind. Who did this? That bitch?
Slade fought the need to scream and tear Dick apart for allowing someone else to touch him. He leapt from the bed and marched to the window. He leaned all his weight on the sill and wondered why Dick had gone to Tarantula first and not him.
Slade got dressed and kissed Dick goodbye without waking him. He left in absolute silence, light footfalls that no human could hear leaving or coming. He felt the weight of his sword strapped across his back, and longed to swing it.
***
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*