Chapter Text
Dick arched his head back with a low, breathy moan.
Slade folded Dick’s right leg toward his head, knee next to his chest. The change of position allowed Slade to pound into that sweet spot that made a flash of white burst across Dick’s vision, over and over. The heat spread, and Dick felt the climax coming.
"Harder! Harder! I’m almo—”
Dick’s words were captured behind a wet, sloppy kiss and he exhaled a pleasant moan into Slade’s mouth. He dug his fingers into the man’s back as he ran his tongue past the man’s lips before he broke out with a gasp, the sensation of his climax nearly coming and...
Slade gripped Dick’s balls and ceased his relentless thrusting.
Dick whined and humped on Slade’s cock still in him, chasing that release.
Slade smirked cruelly and tightened his grip on Dick’s balls, forcing Dick to stop. “You want to cum?”
Dick glowered darkly. “What the fuck, Slade, come on.”
Slade kissed him sweetly on the nose. “Do one thing for me, love, and I’ll give you that pleasant release.”
“Anything, please, anything.”
Slade licked the sweat off Dick’s neck. “Why the booty call?”
“Really? You can’t ask me this afterwards?”
Slade gave a few hard thrusts bringing Dick back up to the edge again. He scraped his teeth against one of Dick’s nipples.
Dick whined. “Can’t a guy wanna fuck with his boyfriend?”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling ourselves now?” Slade’s low voice rumbled against Dick’s chest before he sucked the same nipple.
Dick’s breath stuttered at the sensation. “Ugh. Maybe...maybe… I had a bad day.”
“Hmmm.” Slade loosened his hold on Dick’s balls. “And?” He kissed Dick’s other nipple.
“Maybe…I got in a fight with Bruce.”
Slade’s blue eye narrowed. “Try again.” He tugged his cock out of Dick’s ass.
Dick cried out, feeling so empty. He twisted his legs around Slade’s torso and brought their pelvises back together. “Please!”
Slade’s hard cock rubbed against Dick’s own, but the bastard continued to stare back disbelieving at him, unaffected by the needs and wants of pleasure. He brought up one of Dick’s knuckles and ran a thumb roughly over the scabbed wounds that crusted over the skin. He raised a brow, the silent question evident.
“You should see what the other guy looked like,” Dick quipped. He grinded his cock against Slade’s.
Slade bit into one of Dick’s scabs and peeled back the crust of hardened blood. Fresh, bright red oozed over the knuckle of Dick’s forefinger.
“Fuck, Slade!”
Slade licked the blood and trailed his teeth over the other scab.
“Okay. Okay! Tony Zucco is out. Now can you just fuck me and let me forget it?” Dick shifted his torso and slammed Slade’s cock back into his ass.
Slade grabbed Dick and shifted their position so that they both sat on the bed, Slade’s cock deeper in him. He held Dick tight to prevent him from riding him.
“Slade!” Dick whined.
"This is the only time I can easily break you,” Slade purred. He sucked on re-opened cut and Dick nearly groaned at that, the masochist he was. “You tracked him down and beat him up, didn’t you?”
Dick trembled. “He only spent seven years in prison for my parents’ murder. Seven years. And they released him.”
It’d taken five years for Tony Zucco to head to trial for his parent’s murder. The downside of Gotham’s criminal justice system is the slow pace of court proceedings, especially in homicide cases. He’d know the old adage of the wheels of justice grind slowly, but he’d been naïve in how slowly it really meant. When he became Robin, it took him nearly a year to gather all the incriminating evidence he needed to prove Zucco’s guilt in his parents’ murders. When Zucco’s case finally went to trial, it took nearly a year-and-a-half for him to finally be convicted.
He still remembered when he discovered Zucco’s cushioned cell he lived in while awaited trial, how the guards pampered him, the anger that surfaced when he learned Zucco still managed to hurt people even behind bars.
“Hmmm. And what stopped you from killing him?”
"Do you still want him dead?” Bruce asked.
“No. It wouldn’t bring back my parents. I just wish I could do something so people like him couldn’t hurt anyone ever again,” Dick, the naïve, idealistic, nine-year-old answered.
Dick closed his eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Slade pressed a kiss on the back of Dick’s hand with a hum.
A rough smack across Dick’s ass shot his eyes back open with a yelp. “Slade!”
Slade twisted Dick’s arms back, yanked his cock free from Dick’s ass, and folded the man over his lap. “Twenty hits.”
“No! Come on!”
Slade slapped the bottom of his palm, hard, across Dick’s buttocks.
Dick screamed out, pain exploding up from his butt to his back. It felt like someone took a baseball bat at his hide. The fucking bastard wasn’t holding back his strength.
“You don’t count, we start over.”
“Slade!” Dick growled, he struggled to get out of the man’s hold.
Whack.
Whack!
Dick cried out, embarrassment and shame twisting within him. “One!”
“Good boy.”
The praise took the edge off the shame before Slade smacked his ass again.
He managed to get up to four before he lost count, Slade intentionally increasing the intensity of his hits that made Dick shudder in pain and lose count.
He got up to five the second time before the pain burst into pleasure, and his vision whited out. He weakly got to two before Slade whacked him so hard he could feel the skin break and he lost count again. He couldn’t take another hit. He couldn’t. He broke.
“I couldn’t do it! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m not a killer, Slade! And it kills me, because I’m trying to find another way to protect other people from Tony Zucco, and I know I’m going to fail—and I know he hasn’t changed or will be reformed, and I just can’t do it!” Tears slipped down Dick’s eyes and he curled himself around Slade’s torso. “I’ve killed before…to save a child in the heat of the moment, and it scared me how much I didn’t feel any remorse. I know I made the right choice in the moment, but sometimes I wished I could’ve found another way.”
“Sometimes there isn’t another way,” Slade said.
Dick buried his head against Slade’s side. “I know. I just…can’t...”
Slade rubbed his hand over Dick’s sensitive bum, and the tickling pain upon the touch on his skin soothed the raging war in his heart. “Because of Bruce.”
Dick stiffened. “That’s not...” He sagged further, knowing he couldn’t lie to Slade. Not now. Not everything they’ve been through. “I swore to follow Bruce’s code.”
“You don’t have an obligation to Bruce, no matter how much he’d done for you.”
Bruce took him in. Raised him. Gave him a home. Drive and a purpose. He owed Bruce so much, and if Bruce anchored himself through his belief in justice, Dick would do the same, even if he didn’t agree with it. Even if…
"I still love Joey and Rose, even though they don’t follow my code.” Gentle fingers massaged through Dick’s skull. “If breaking a code that is not your own causes you to lose a parent’s love, their love had always been conditional.”
“I...can’t give up on him.”
Slade hummed again, his finger trailed down the back of Dick’s spine, eliciting goosebumps across his skin. His flaccid cock started to harden again. “You’re a protector—and at the end of the day, your loyalty is to people. Even protector have to kill to save people.”
“Some protector I am,” Dick groused. “Zucco has already killed again.”
Slade paused. “You still want Zucco dead.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Dick answered it as one nonetheless: “Yes.”
A soft kiss brushed the base of his skull. “Thank you for telling me.”
He wanted to quip back that he didn’t have a choice, but a part of him felt relieved Slade got it out of him. He had a bad habit of concealing his feelings, that it felt safe to be honest in this room.
“Good boys deserve their reward.”
Dick suddenly was flopped onto his back, the back of his head sunk into the pillow.
Slade scooped both legs up this time and slammed his cock back into Dick’s gaping hole.
Dick gasped at the fullness and the prickles of pain on his ass, and it all served as one wonderful cocktail of endorphins.
Slade rammed into him with a ferocity that Dick wanted from before, where he suddenly lost himself and forgot who he was and everything they had talked about before. He rolled his eyes back, wanton moans escaping his lips.
“That’s it, you’re such a good whore for me, always willing to break for my cock.”
Yes, Dick wanted to say, yes, but Slade had driven the breath out of him. He held onto dear life as Slade rutted harder and harder into that spot, over and over, and the climax from before grew much stronger. His burst of release made him scream with a gasping whine.
Slade continued on through the release, and the sensation was too much, too overwhelming, and yet Dick took it, screamed and cried and urged Slade to keep going.
He passed out as Slade filled his insides with heat.
Two days later, Dick found Slade at his third safehouse in Bludhaven.
He stormed into the den where Slade sipped on whiskey from a crystal glass. He dropped the duffel bag of his Nightwing outfit and equipment onto the floor. He tossed the newspaper onto the desk.
“Was this you?”
Slade flicked his singular eye up toward him. Took another sip.
Dick gritted his teeth. “Answer the damn question.”
“Kneel, boy,” Slade ordered.
“No. We’re not doing this right now. You’re answering my question.”
“Kneel.”
Dick bowed onto his knees at the low, gravelly order. Bruce always barked orders at him, and Dick always fought back, but somehow Slade purred out his orders with sweet rewards given at the obedience that over the years, Dick found himself almost, always submitting to Slade’s orders, like a dog. He dug his fingers into the soft carpet and inhaled sharply as Slade’s boots appeared in his vision. He didn’t dare look up.
Slade dropped the newspaper Dick had thrown onto his desk on top of his boots.
Dick read the headlines, even though he already knew what it said.
Mob Boss Commits Suicide by Jumping off Ithaca Building.
“How did you feel when you read the news?” Slade asked. Dick heard the rattle of ice as the man downed the rest of his whiskey.
“Relieved,” Dick answered honestly. He owed Slade that much if his hunch was correct.
“And?” the man hummed.
"Angry.”
“Why?”
“If you did, then I broke my oath!”
“You didn’t kill him. I did.”
Dick gasped. He refused to look up. “You…”
“I took him the bastard up to the highest building in Gotham and made him beg for his life. I thought perhaps I could sway him to renounce his ways, but you know how easily men lie to be freed from the grips of death. I asked him about the Flying Graysons.”
Dick went stiff as a board.
“I asked if he felt a single ounce of remorse. If he could take back their deaths.”
Dick didn’t know why he held his breath. He knew the answer.
“He told me that if Haly’s Circus only paid him what they owed him, he wouldn’t have had to kill them.”
Pure anger roared through him. Justice. Where was the justice in releasing a man who didn’t have a shot of redemption? Who felt nothing? Who would go back to creating more Dicks in the world? Justice wasn’t an eye for an eye—it was taking in everything a person was, their strengths, their weaknesses, their life stories, and giving them what they deserved.
That was what Dick believed.
But unfortunately, above all, Dick believed in upholding all the oaths he swore.
I promise I will avenge you.
I promise I’ll find her killer.
I promise I’ll stop them.
I’ll save him.
If he broke his oath to Batman, that he would uphold his mentor’s code—what weight did his promises and vows held then?
“I dropped him. But not until I made him believe he would live. He was conscious the entire time he fell. He didn’t pass out. He felt fear and the crack of his body on the pavement.”
Another emotion surged through him. One that had been hiding behind the anger because he couldn’t believe it, because…
“What else do you feel, little bird?”
“Gratitude.”
Slade froze. Dick wondered if he recalled what he said all those years ago too. Slade had told Dick once during their earlier fights as enemies that he would teach Dick gratitude.
A finger pressed gently under Dick’s chin, and he allowed Slade to guide his head up.
Slade gazed down upon him as if Dick had given him the world, and it shot a spark of heat in Dick’s groin.
“Why?” Dick had to know.
“Simple. We had a business arrangement. A contract.”
“I never asked you to kill him.”
“You don’t have to. I’m a killer, and you’re the protector. You upheld your code, and I honored mine.”
Objections screamed out in Dick’s mind, many of them that said that by association and allowing Slade to follow through on his kills, Dick was a killer too, but..
He thought of his younger self. He thought of Slade killing Zucco before the man put acid on the ropes. Did the ends justify the means? Yet something twisted in Dick’s heart, maybe he’d changed, maybe he didn’t see the world in black and white anymore. Maybe he could still hold onto hope, and know when the line should be crossed. Maybe…
Maybe Slade can cross the line for you so that you don’t have to.
“I didn’t pay you for it,” Dick said.
“Oh?” Slade moved the tip of his boot and brushed it against the hard-on tenting in Dick’s jeans. Dick bit his lips to hold back his groan at the contact. “There are other means of payment besides finances.”
Dick licked his lips. “How do you want me?”
Slade chuckled. “It’s already been paid.”
“You don’t understand.” Dick fluttered his eyelids up at Slade. “How can I best express my gratitude?”
He expected Slade to tell him to strip. To get on the desk and allow him to have his way with him. To warm his cock while he worked.
Instead, he widened his eyes in surprise when Slade said:
“Let me meet your parents.”
Dick rose to his feet, nearly reaching Slade’s eye-level. He knew there was a reason why he fell in love with Slade, though he hadn’t quite told him yet, he knew there was a reason why they danced around each other for years before they got together, knew why he stayed despite their strange dom-sub relationship he couldn’t exactly tell anyone else about, knew why he could accept Slade for all he was, even as a killer.
Slade Wilson was a good man.
Dick cupped Slade’s cheeks. “They would’ve loved you. And not because of what you are to me.” He dove in for a soft, gentle kiss before he nestled his nose against Slade’s. “But because of you.”
Slade set the whiskey glass on his desk and kissed Dick back, deeply. He tapped his forehead against Dick’s. “Let me do what you can’t so you can uphold your oath.”
“Slade. I can’t ask that of you.”
“You don’t have to ask. Just merely imply.”
Dick smiled softy. He wanted to tell Slade that he loved him, but not now, later, so he wouldn’t think it was because of what he did for him. Perhaps he’ll save it in the midst of their lovemaking. He kissed the tip of Slade’s nose. Instead, he told Slade something that nearly meant the same thing: “As you wish.”