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Deathstroke shoved him against the wall, armor meeting kevlar meeting brick. Dick grunted as his skull cracked against the stone.“Fuck,” he groaned. Gravel skittered beneath his feet as he stumbled and then caught himself, shaking his head as if to clear it from the pain.Slade laughed, low and rough, like a motorcycle’s rumbling engine.“Tired already, little bird? But we were just getting started.”Such coy disappointment.Dick snarled, launching himself at the man.Slade sidestepped him easily, as Dick knew he would, tutting like he was scolding a child.“Too slow, boy, lazy–”With an acrobat’s grace (and speed from living in a house where being last to the kitchen meant getting a corner piece of Alfred’s famous brownies), Dick ducked behind Slade and jammed an escrima stick into his back, wedging it between the armor plates and turning the voltage up high.Slade grunted, twitching as he keeled over into the gravel.Fucking yes. He might actually make it back home at a reasonable time tonight. There was a box of cereal and a shitty rom-com calling his name…And then, with the air of someone swatting a fly, Slade gripped the escrima stick and tore it straight from Dick’s hands.Crack. The stick crumpled in his hands like tin, falling to the ground in pieces.Well shit.Dick swallowed, heat creeping up the back of his neck (because those hands, those fucking hands), and swiftly backpedaled, holding the remaining escrima stick before him with all the might of a child’s stick play-acting as a sword.Slade rose slowly from his crouch. He looked larger than life like this, backlit by the sun, silver hair shining, armor gleaming and molded tight to every muscle.He turned to Dick with a vicious smile, that single-eyed stare pinning him like a bug.“That all you got, kid?” he murmured.Dick only raised his remaining stick higher, waving it in invitation. Come on.Slade snorted a laugh, and then, like a lion pouncing after its prey, he moved.He was an orange and black blur against the evening sky, bulky body moving deceptively fast. He lunged for Dick, not a sword or gun in sight; his gloved hands and brass-plated knuckles were weapon enough. Dick dodged a blow aimed for his face, lashing out with his escrima, but it only rebounded off his armored forearm.Slade chuckled, and he swore he could feel the vibrations traveling through the spaces between them.“You can do better than that.”He could, he knew he could, but something about this fight, the closeness of it, the fucking smell of gunpowder and leather every time a fist came close to his face, was putting him off-balance. Breaking him down to his baser-Robin instincts, with none of the flair and finesse he’d come to know as Nightwing.It was pathetic.It was fucking aggravating.Seething, he lashed out harder, the force of his hits becoming sloppy and weak. Momentum brought him with his blows, and Slade was quick to take advantage of his clumsy movements, driving his fist into his stomach, his arm, against his back.“Pitiful,” he hissed when Dick sunk to the concrete after a particularly harsh blow, clutching his midriff. He wheezed, tears in his eyes. He could hardly breathe.His last escrima stick was ripped from his hands without a fight, and then Slade was hauling him to his feet and slamming him into the wall once again. Brick and the metal edge of the door dug into his back as he held him there with an arm against his throat, pressing so hard he gagged.“Finally had enough?”
Fucking asshole.
He scrabbled at his armor, searching for purchase and finding none.“Fuck… you,” he rasped. His vision was starting to go black.Slade gave him a considering, pitying look before releasing the pressure on his throat.He coughed as air hit his lungs, doubling over as much as he could in his sturdy grip.“Always gotta make things harder for yourself, don’t you, kid?”He pounded a weak fist on his chest, knowing it was pointless, like a kitten’s clawless scratch, but he had to do something. Had to make some show of opposition against the burgeoning heat growing in his gut.Quick as a viper, Slade snatched his hand from his chest and dragged it over his head.Oh. That was… oh, no.He was so fucked.“You know, it doesn’t have to be like this,” he murmured, crowding Dick against the wall. Dick’s breath caught as his armor pressed him into the brick. God, he was so big. Just, physically. Even through the armor, he could tell he was pure muscle, all of him, it was so–No, he thought fiercely, shaking his head like it could knock the thoughts from his mind. We are not going there. We are so not going there.But then Slade’s hand was stroking down his side, tracing the curve of his free wrist, and he couldn’t help the way his body shivered in response.“No?” he whispered, leaning close to nose along his jaw.He did not whimper. He did NOT whimper.Mutely, he shook his head.Slade laughed.“I could be so good to you, baby.”Kisses along his neck, the gentle nip of teeth at his pulse.“So good.”What was he doing? This was Deathstroke, the Terminator, enemy numero fucking uno, and he was–what? Getting handsy with him on a rooftop?This is such a bad idea, he thought, but he didn’t stop him from slowly dragging his hand up and pinning it with the other.He was at his ear, now, mouthing words against his skin.“We could do anything you want. I’ll do whatever you ask, Dick. Anything.”His name, his name on his tongue–“Or maybe…”He moved impossibly closer, slotting an armored thigh between his legs. Dick sighed at the contact, briefly closing his eyes, imagining, wishing, feeling…“Maybe you’ll be good for me, hm? I’ll bet you look so pretty on your knees.”He rolled against him, moving without thinking. “Your armor…” he whispered, but Slade ignored him in favor of licking at his ear, beard scraping his neck.“All in due time, little bird.”Dick groaned and tried to tug his hands free. He wanted to touch him, pull him closer, to fucking reciprocate instead of just standing there and taking it, but Slade’s hands on him tightened minutely–an order, a warning.“Be still.”And he was.His eyes widened at the easy obedience, lust lining his body.“Fuck, Dick.” One of his hands slid down his back, cupping his waist to pull him closer. “You’re so perfect.”You too, he wanted to say, but words failed him as the tips of Slade’s fingers skimmed his ass.Slade kissed from his ear to his nose, so chaste, domestic compared to the heat of his body against his own, the filthy words he whispered, turning the air electric.“I’m going to take such good care of you, Dick. You’re going to be fucking begging for it.”“Yes,” he gasped, tilting his head back to encourage Slade to go lower, to his mouth. “Please.”“So polite,” Slade chuckled, and yes. Dick could have cried when he felt lips brush his, barely there, teasing. Yes, yes, finally. “I’m going to make this the best night of your life, baby,” Slade whispered against his mouth.And that–That–Well, Dick couldn’t help but laugh.“Sorry,” he gasped, tucking his face into his shoulder as the laugh bubbled up, but he couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry, just–give me a minute.”Slade’s hands gentled on his, but he didn’t let him go.“Little bird?”“Just a minute, Slade.”Dammit, he was losing it. He was going to lose it on a rooftop in Bludhaven, in the middle of getting frisky with Deathstroke.Pull yourself together, he thought, feeling like a field marshal commanding the troops (“the troops” being him, his awkwardness, and the uncontrollable desire to laugh still sitting in his chest).Right. He could do this.He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to Slade’s questioning face.“Okay, I’m back. Ready,” he sing-songed, and just like that, Slade pushed his shoulders and slammed him against the wall, growling.He laughed. Out loud. Right in Slade’s face.“I’m sorry,” he said again, but it came out a squeak amid his giggles. He collapsed against Slade’s chest, and this time he let him fall, dropping his arms from the wall.“Dick…”He could feel Slade sigh against him, and it only made him laugh harder.“It’s just–”God, he hadn’t laughed like this in ages. His stomach hurt, his cheeks hurt, he felt like he was going to throw up.“You sounded like we were in a shitty porno. And–” A gasping breath as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I couldn’t take you seriously.”Oh, poor Slade. He looked so crestfallen, so puppyish as he peered at Dick from beneath lowered lashes–pouting like a child.“Ah, babe,” Dick said, patting his cheek. He turned his head to kiss his palm. “Don’t worry. You did great.”“Evidently not.” He’d never heard him sound so petulant. Deathstroke the Terminator: reduced to childish whining. “I thought you wanted this.”“I did.” He leaned forward earnestly, and Slade groaned softly. “I do, I just… rain check?”There was no getting the mood back tonight. Besides, he kind of liked this, too. Slade, sulking, but with a hint of amusement lurking at the corner of his eye. Still looking at him like he’d hung the moon.Slade pressed a kiss to Dick’s forehead as he stepped back and gently let him slide down the wall. “As you wish, little bird.”“Hmm.”Dick grinned, standing on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips.“Love you, babe,” he murmured. Slade’s smile was like diamonds.“Love you, too.”Night was beginning to fall as they walked across the rooftop, standing at the edge to survey the city below them. Dick took Slade’s hand and leaned against him, savoring his solidity, how easily he took his weight.“Pretty night, pretty bird,” he purred, winking at him.“Indeed.” And it was. For all Bludhaven’s faults (pollution, corruption, crime rates, and a frankly atrocious lack of good barbeque places, to name a few), the city was gorgeous in the dark–sky glittering through the smog, neon lights lighting up its center. Like at night, the whole city came together to make sure it could shine. “Couldn’t ask for a better view.”“Indeed,” Slade echoed, eyes trained on his face.An easy silence fell between them, borne of comfort and familiarity and all the little oddities that make up everything good. Because it was good, with Slade. So good. He hadn’t been lying, then.Although…“I’d just like to start off by saying that I love you, Slade–”“–Oh, god–”“–but even you have to admit that some of that dirty talk was pretty bad.”Dick watched gleefully as he ran a hand over his face, always so long suffering, and–was that blushing? Was Slade Wilson actually blushing?Dick poked his side, delighting in the way that he jumped.“Come on. Do we have to do this now?”“Hey, I’m not trying to start anything,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “I’m just saying. It was a little cliche.”Slade shook his head, muttering something incomprehensible.“What was that?”“I said…” There was an intensity to his gaze as he looked at Dick, eyes blazing in the dark. “That it’s a little hard to come up with something original when you’re staring at someone so beautiful.”Which–what the hell? Was he trying to make him cry?I love you had become so easy between them, an everyday placeholder for all their affection and commitment.I love you, Slade told him when he went out the door to get groceries, keys swinging from his fingers.I love you, he texted him when he was away on week-long jobs, midnight and missing him so hard it hurt.I love you, shouted from the kitchen. I love you, giggled between soap suds and shower spray. I love you, I love you, I love you.But this?This was something more. Weightier than just affection.It was an admittance: I love you, yes, but also, You’re the one for me. I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Only you.Dick swallowed, uncertain. He loved Slade, had for a long time, but he didn’t know if he was ready to say it like that just yet. When he told Slade how he felt, he wanted to mean it. To have planned it out and written it down because he didn’t deserve anything less (and because more often than not his words jumbled to alphabet soup when he was nervous).And so, he did what he always did: rolled his eyes and brushed it off like it was nothing. “You’re not too bad yourself, mister,” he said, the words like ash on his tongue.But then Slade smiled at him, softly, kindly, and he knew he understood.“So,” Slade started, casually running his hand down his arm (which–thank you, Slade, thank you for that bit of normalcy), “which’ll it be: your place or mine?”Dick pulled a face like he was really thinking hard. “I have a box of Fruity Pebbles and some leftover Chinese takeout?” he offered and then winced. That takeout was three weeks old.Slade scoffed. “I think I’ll pass. My place it is, then.”“We always stay at your place,” Dick grumbled, but he allowed him to take his hand and lead him to the rooftop door.“Maybe you should just move in, then.” That teasing tone, but–he meant it. He knew he meant it.“Maybe I will,” Dick said, smiling as he followed him down the stairs.