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It’s four miles to Dick’s nearest safehouse, and Jason is already getting sloppy, missing his jumps and stumbling at the smallest inconveniences.
Dick needs to get him somewhere, fast. Bruce has a safehouse a mile away, but he would have way too many questions that Dick is not prepared to answer right now. Like, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in Gotham?” or “Since when did you and Jason start working together?” or “Are you ever going to forgive me for, for, for…”
Anyways. Dick is sure Jason would be even unhappier at Bruce’s involvement.
There is one other option, four blocks down, but—
Jason slips on a ledge, nearly careening off the side of a building until Dick grabs his arm to pull him back. He moans loudly at the contact, a sound Dick has never heard from him.
“God, Wing, I’m sorry, that was…“ Jason trails off.
This is bad, so bad.
Even through the voice modulator of the Red Hood mask, he can hear Jason’s breathing going ragged, labored. It’s been about twenty minutes since he was hit with Ivy’s pollen—he’s got a will of iron. Dick could barely hold out for fifteen, last time they had a run-in.
It’s now or never. Dick switches directions.
“C’mon. We’re close.”
‡
The safehouse is dusty when they arrive. Probably been sitting been empty since the last time Dick was here a couple of months ago. That’s perfect. Means it’s way less likely its owner will pop in tonight.
“Whose place is this?” Jason asks warily as Dick raids the drawers, looking for antitoxin.
“What makes you think it’s not mine?” Dick asks, tongue in cheek.
Jason scoffs, like the answer is obvious. Oh, dunno, maybe the racks of guns on the walls, Dick mentally supplies for him.
“It’s safe,” is all he says.
“Sure.” Jason’s voice is pinched. He’s standing stock-still not three paces from the door, like he’s worried a trap will spring out if he comes any closer. Or maybe he’s worried about what he will do, his fingers flexing open and closed, open and closed.
Dick abandons the drawers, wrenches open the cabinet instead. No luck.
“Sit down, Jay, the couch won’t bite you,” he says, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. “I won’t be much longer.” But he’s lying. Doesn’t even know if the antitoxin is in here. If worst comes to worst, he might just have to knock Jason out and tie him down, let the stuff burn through him. It won’t be pleasant for either of them. He turns back to the drawers again, praying he missed something in his last sweep.
A loud gasp behind him makes Dick’s head snap around.
Shit.
Jason still hasn’t moved from right in front of the door. And now Slade Wilson is standing behind him, knife at his throat, one large arm locking him in place.
“You brought the Red Hood to my safehouse?” Slade snarls, angrier than Dick has seen him in a long time.
“You brought me to Deathstroke’s safehouse?” Jason says, piecing together who the voice belongs to.
Oh, not good at all. Dick puts both his hands up. “Wait, wait. I can explain.”
Slade’s eye narrows. “Better be a damn good explanation,” he growls, arm squeezing Jason even tighter.
And then Jason moans—a desperate, wrecked sound—as he bucks up against Slade.
You could hear a pin drop. For a moment, none of them move, Jason wide-eyed and frozen in his almost pornographic position. Slade is the first to act, slowly dropping the blade from Jason’s neck. The wolfish grin breaking out across his face makes Dick shiver.
“I see,” he says.
“Slade,” Dick pleads. “He needs help. He needs—"
“Antitoxin. Yeah, I know. You’re out of luck, kid, I don't have any. Ivy’s pollen runs through my system quick.” With his knife resheathed, his hand is other hand is free to draw slow circles on Jason's thigh, which is making his breaths come in short little pants. Open, closed, open, closed, go his fingers.
“Can we... can you...” Dick’s mind is racing. He could get some from his own safehouse and be back in half an hour, but he can’t ask Slade to look after Jason. Not ever, but especially not in this state. Could he ask Slade to go get it for him? No, that’s insane.
“You’re not thinking of leaving him right now, are you?” Slade says, mouth still ticking upwards.
“He needs help,” Dick repeats weakly.
“I don't know if ‘help’ is exactly the word I’d use to describe what he needs right now.”
“I'm right here, asshole,” Jason grits out.
“That you are,” Slade says, giving him another squeeze. It draws a deep and guttural moan out of him, sounding positively indecent even through the modulator. Another moan escapes him as Slade hooks a thumb under his jaw and removes the Red Hood mask. Without it, it’s even more obvious how wrong something is. Jason’s face is flushed and blotchy, and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes are practically black. They zero in on Dick and go impossibly darker before Jason screws them shut and begins to thrash in Slade’s hold.
Dick shoots to his feet. “What do you need?” he asks pathetically. Like there’s anything he can do right now.
“Yeah, why don’t you tell your brother what you need?” Damn it, what Jason needs is for Slade to let him go, but Dick doesn’t dare try and wrestle him out of Slade’s grip himself; there’s no telling how that would end.
“I…” Jason’s eyes are still shut tight, and now he bites his lip, like he’s trying to close off every part of him. “Hot,” he finally chokes out. “It’s so fucking hot in here.”
Without warning, Slade drops him. Jason falls to his knees with a groan and immediately starts to tear at his suit, fingers clumsy, until it falls half-open around his waist.
Dick drops to the floor beside him, careful not to touch. Shit, Jason is far in it, losing control rapidly. What’s it been, thirty minutes now? Dick doesn’t have a frame of reference for this anymore; last time he was dosed was years ago, and he got the antitoxin into him in half the time. He doesn’t know how much worse it’s going to get.
“Jason,” he whispers. “What can I do?” Jason’s entire body is radiating heat, unnaturally feverish. He can feel it from here. Dick reaches out before he can think twice, brushing Jason’s hair away from his forehead.
Jason jerks away like he’s been burned, scrambling back until he hits up against Slade’s legs. His eyes are open now, wide and crazed. “Don’t touch me,” he pants. “You can’t… I won’t be able to—you don’t want—”
Slade’s eye shifts between the two of them, calculating. Dick doesn’t know what he’s seeing, but he does not like where this is headed. With Jason now in easy reach, Slade fists one hand into Jason’s hair and pulls him up. “Fuck,” he gasps again. “I need—“
“Don’t touch him,” Dick parrots.
That just makes Slade rest a defiant hand on Jason’s shoulder. A touch Jason—for some reason—leans into. So Deathstroke can touch him, but not Dick?
“Nightwing,” Slade says in mock placation. “You know me. I take care of my toys.”
Dick can feel an uncomfortable blush creeping up underneath his suit. Resolutely not thinking about what it looks like, seeing Jason kneeling at Slade’s feet, practically vibrating with need. “One, don’t call him that. Two, I’m really not sure you do. You tend to break things.”
“Didn’t hear you complain about that last time,” Slade all but purrs.
Jason turns towards Dick incredulously, snapped for a moment into almost-sobriety.
Dick’s teeth work into his bottom lip. “Don’t,” he says. Once, it was supposed to be just once.
“Don’t? You came to my safehouse.” Slade presses one gloved finger against Jason’s lips. It’s a testament to how far gone Jason is that he lets his mouth fall open for it. Dick can’t bring himself to look away.
“And uninvited this time,” Slade continues. “What, are you embarrassed? Don’t want your brother to know how well you took it for me? How well you…” He trails off with a small chuckle; Jason has bitten his finger. Not so far gone after all. Dick’s heart thumps. Jason, so strong-willed. Jason, resisting until the end, even as his hips jerk up at every movement, desperately seeking friction.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Slade says, wiping his finger against Jason’s cheek. Jason bucks up again, spine twisting in a vulgar display of need that Dick still, still can’t look away from.
Jason’s eyes tentatively find Dick’s again. “He’s lying. Dick?” he asks weakly.
When Dick doesn’t say anything, Jason looks away, something like betrayal flashing over his face.
Slade laughs. “Well, kid, way I see it you’ve got one of two choices. You can watch me fuck your brother, or you can come over here and take care of him yourself.”
Dick gapes. “Neither!” he shouts, too loud for the small apartment. Jason flinches back like he’s been slapped, and Dick feels immediately guilty.
Slade tsks. “I can’t believe him either,” he says, addressing Jason now. “I’m being so generous. Well, since he won’t choose, how about I leave it up to you?” Jason’s eyes slide from Slade’s to Dick’s, back to Slade’s again. His eye movements are sluggish, dazed. “Want to see what I did that made your brother scream? Or do you want to make him scream yourself?”
“Jason, you don’t have to…” Dick starts to say, but then Jason’s eyes settle on him with so much hunger that it makes his mouth go dry. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, that look on Jason’s face, but what's unfamiliar is the depth, the intensity of it. Jason licks his lips, maybe unconsciously, and heat spreads down Dick’s spine.
“How long have you wanted him, Hood?” Slade says softly, almost tenderly, caressing Jason’s shoulder like a lover. Just the words, the verbal confirmation of it—now it’s Dick turn to reel back, slapped in the face with the startling force of his own arousal.
“I’m going to call Bruce.” Dick pushes himself up decisively, though his voice trembles a bit at the end. “I’ll just be one second, Jay, don’t—”
“Dickie,” he says, voice so small it makes Dick’s heart break.
Dick freezes.
“Please,” Jason whispers, boring into him with those dark, dark, eyes, ringed with blue-green. “Please don’t leave me.”
Fuck, and how could he deny him that? Dick falls back down on the ground alongside him, takes his face in his hands. “I’m here, Jason. Whatever you need.”
Slade lets go of his hair, and Jason is like a tiger unleashed; he attacks Dick’s lips with a fervor Dick has only seen from him while fighting. Dick’s mouth parts in a small gasp and suddenly Jason’s tongue is inside, insistent and wanting; suddenly his cock is pressed against Dick’s thigh, so hard it could be one of his guns.
Dick takes it in his hand. “Ye-es,” Jason sobs. Now that he’s finally given permission, Jason is relentless, pressing up against Dick like he’s trying to crawl inside him, clutching him so tightly that Dick feels guilty for even thinking about leaving. Jason’s hands leave small smears of blood on Dick’s suit, palms ringed with half-moons from his fingernails digging into them. Open, closed.
And Dick feels sorry for that, too, sorry for not letting Jason have this sooner. He’s clearly been holding back; it’s a miracle he made it this long.
Dick lets himself be pushed to the ground, lets Jason peel off his suit and suck bruises into every inch of skin he uncovers. He feels so lightheaded that for a moment he thinks he must have been dosed with the pollen too, or maybe there’s something residual in Jason’s hair… but he knows, realistically, that’s not true. That’s all his own brain, breaking as he watches Jason shuck the rest of his suit off. Did he always find Jason this attractive? Or was it only recently, in the early mornings after a patrol, tense but tender new friendship rising out of something dead and twisted?
Jason presses the two of their cocks together and wraps one hand around the pair. Dick doesn’t know whose moan is whose.
He can hardly stand to look at it, so he lets his head fall to the side, and that’s even worse. Slade is leaning back on the couch, cock freed from his pants. When he sees Dick watching, he grins and pours lube over it, smearing it all over himself like a Chippendale oiling up, only way less PG-13. The image sends a pang of heat straight to his stomach.
Slade tosses the bottle towards them. What a gentleman. Dick works himself open as Jason babbles nothings into his skin. All the while, Slade watches with a level gaze. Fisting himself slowly, showily.
Well, he’s not the only one who can put on a show.
Gently, Dick pushes Jason back and climbs on top of him. Jason whines in protest before he realizes what Dick is doing. Dick’s back is to Slade now, but that’s okay—Jason makes for an incredible audience. As Dick lowers himself onto Jason’s cock, his face goes from surprise to awe to, finally, a deep and dizzying hunger.
“So good, Dickie,” he says as soon as Dick starts to move, throwing his head back in pleasure. The praise makes Dick’s cock, now abandoned by Jason’s hands, jerk up. “Wanted this so bad. You don’t even know,” and Dick isn’t sure if he’s talking about right now, or if he’s talking about a want that stretches back further than this.
Dick tries to go slow, tease a little. But Jason has other plans, gripping his ass tightly to guide Dick’s hips the way he wants to. His movements are needy, desperate, but also sure. Strong. Managing to wrench some semblance of control over Dick, over himself, despite the situation. Dick wonders what it would be like to ride Jason when he’s not drugged out of his mind, wonders how different it would be if Jason had his usual amount of self-control. Wonders how long it would take for Dick to make him lose it again. Dick knows he’d be able to, knows he could rile Jason up to the point of desperation like he has in so many fights before this.
He’s distracted enough by the thought that he doesn’t notice Slade coming up behind him until Jason suddenly stumbles to his feet, taking Dick with him, Dick’s legs locked around Jason’s waist.
“Get away,” Jason growls, closer to the surface now than he’s been since he got his lips on Dick’s.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Slade says lightly, reaching a hand over Dick’s shoulder to thumb at Jason’s cheek. “You don’t have to stop for me. I know how much you want to keep going.”
“Y-You’re a fucking psychopath,” Jason says, but he allows Slade’s hand to linger. Dick hangs like a human shield between the two.
“I don’t think you realize how much you owe me,” Slade says. Pressed up against Dick’s back like this, his voice tickles against Dick’s ear. “You think this would be happening if I wasn’t in town, if I didn’t decide to check in when I saw a security breach? You’d be knocked out on that couch and Batman would be on his way.” Dick’s cheeks burn guiltily at the truth of it.
“So how about you thank me for sharing?” Slade continues. As if Dick is Slade’s to give away. Jesus. Dick has to bite back a moan thinking about it.
Jason’s fingers dig deeper into Dick’s thighs, but he’s otherwise frozen. He seems torn between leaning into Slade’s touch and breaking through the drugs to do something drastic. Slade seems to sense it, too. “Keep him under control or I’ll kill him,” Slade warns, breath hot in Dick’s ear. Dick gulps. He’s not worried about Slade hurting him, but Jason…
“Jaybird,” Dick whispers, redirecting his attention. “Just focus on me. Can you do that for me?”
Jason’s eyes flit back to Dick’s, worried but still half-lidded in pleasure. “I…” he starts, but Dick doesn’t let him finish, pressing his lips to Jason’s and rolling his hips.
All the tension melts out of Jason in an instant. “Oh—fuck, yes, Dickie, I can do that for you.” He bucks up into Dick again, and if it weren’t for Slade’s solid chest against his back, it’d be like Slade wasn’t even there.
Until Dick feels a pressure against his ass.
Dick breaks away from the kiss, frantic. “Slade, no—I can’t take it,” he says.
“Sure you can,” Slade says. The pressure turns out to be just a finger, which Slade works in alongside Jason’s cock. It makes Jason let out a delirious string of expletives. Whatever shred of his mental faculties he’d been holding onto to deal with the threat of Slade in the room, he’s now completely let go of. Jason wouldn’t stop Slade now even if Dick wanted him to. The thought sends a shiver through him.
“Please,” he tries. Slade adds a second finger.
“Please, what?” Slade asks. “Please don’t? Or please, more?”
Dick can’t answer that.
Jason is still bouncing Dick on his cock, meanwhile. It’s easy to forget that Jason is strong, almost as strong as Slade, when he hasn’t been on the receiving end of the Red Hood’s blows for a while. Now, rocking back against Slade with every thrust, Dick doesn’t know how he’d ever forgotten. Sandwiched between the two of them he feels so hot, so dizzy. Is he sure his gas mask activated in time? Maybe he was dosed, and it’s just hitting him really late.
Slade adds one more finger, and it jolts Dick back to reality. “Slade, I really can’t,” he says, trying to muster up some force behind it.
“C’mon, kid. Since when do you think there’s anything you can’t do? You’re always so sure of yourself.” And despite—because of?—the mocking tone, Dick’s cock twitches.
“You can take it,” Slade says again, sliding his fingers out.
“Oh fuck, Slade, please,” Dick begs pitifully. The tip of Slade’s cock nudges against his ass, unrelenting.
The lube Slade poured on his cock earlier was useful for more than just the visual, Dick thinks faintly, as Slade slides the tip in alongside Jason. The pressure must feel incredible, because Jason lets out an earth-shattering moan and goes still. Inch by inch, Slade stretches Dick out around him. Dick gasps through clenched teeth with every movement. Slade alone is already massive, but with Jason in him too, he feels so full it’s unbelievable.
The stretch isn’t the worst of it, not even close. With how slow Slade goes, the burning sensation is mild, a level of pain that Dick can take easily. But god, he feels so used like this. So completely opened up. Taking whatever the two of them will give him, his own pleasure or pain be damned; Jason too far gone to care and Slade… well, Slade’s always liked seeing Dick in a little pain, anyways. But that’s not the worst of it either.
No, the worst is Slade talking him through it.
“That’s right, just like that.” Slade whispers into his ear every time he hisses out a breath. “Christ, kid, you really are taking it so well.” He sounds impressed, even though he’s the one that was so confident in Dick just a second ago. “Just like that. Good, you’re so good for me. Run around all day playing hero but you know you were really made for this, don’t you? Made to moan like a little whore on my cock.”
Dick is so shockingly aroused he can’t even reply. He just digs his fingernails into the back of Jason’s shoulders and trembles with the effort of not falling apart.
Finally, finally, he feels Slade’s thighs hit up against his ass. He tries to relax, waiting for the inevitable—but Slade doesn’t move. Just stays there, still, as Jason slowly begins to move again.
“I’m so sorry, ‘m so sorry Dickie,” Jason keeps mumbling. Dick’s not sure he’s sorry for allowing Slade to join, sorry for enjoying it, sorry for the situation as a whole, for getting Dick involved in his weird feud with Poison Ivy. But Dick is sure Jason has nothing to apologize for, not when Jason’s mouth is biting a ring into his shoulder and his fingers rake marks into his thighs, the pain and pleasure exactly how Dick has always liked it.
Jason doesn’t last much longer, thankfully; it’s almost too much for Dick to take. He comes with a shudder, head falling against Dick’s shoulder, heaving hot breaths against Dick’s chest.
One breath. Two. Then, alarmingly, the grip on his thighs starts to loosen.
It’s the only warning Dick gets before Jason is slipping out of him with a wet plop and stumbling backwards. Dick trips over himself to try and keep Jason upright, but Jason is heavy and losing consciousness fast. If it weren’t for Slade wrapping his arms around them both, they would have gone down in an ugly mess of limbs. As it is, they don’t exactly fall so much as they are let gently let down to the floor, Slade folding down to his knees along with him. Still rock hard inside him.
Dick catches his breath, somehow struggling to find his balance even on his hands and knees. Underneath him, Jason looks peaceful. Usually he’s tense even in sleep, but now he’s slack-jawed and loose, hair splayed out on the rug.
“He’s prettier when he’s quiet,” Slade says, ruining the moment. Asshole.
And then, finally, Slade starts to move.
“Wait,” Dick gasps. It’s too soon. He tries to push away, but Slade effortlessly grabs both of his arms and pulls them behind him, pinning them to his back with one broad palm. It makes Dick arch his back, and oh, goddamnit, he forgot that Slade already knows exactly what angle does it for him.
“I think I’ve waited long enough. You knew what you were doing, putting on a show for me like that. And you’ve had plenty of preparation, haven’t you?” Jason’s come is dripping down the back of his thigh. Slade runs an absentminded finger through it and pushes it back inside Dick. Somehow it’s the most depraved thing that has happened to him so far. Dick only trembles, hard cock bobbing in the air like a betrayal.
“Were you trying to make me jealous, kid? Wanted me to watch you ride your brother? You didn’t do that for me last time. Bet you wanted to. Bet you thought about it when you showed up here tonight.”
Dick’s face burns. “You wish,” he says, unable to formulate a more than a schoolyard-level retort.
“Lying doesn’t sound good on you. Try again.” Slade punctuates this with a slap to Dick’s ass.
“Cocky bastard. I wasn’t thinking about you at all,” Dick says. A half-truth—by the end of it, all of his attention was was on Jason.
Slade isn’t having it. “Try again or I’ll make you come on your brother’s face and then lick it up.”
Jesus, he doesn’t want to think about how hard that made his cock twitch just now. “Not my brother,” he protests weakly. Slade tightens his grip on Dick’s wrists, almost to the point of snapping them, and thrusts in so hard it feels like a punch.
“Fuck, I did, I did,” Dick gasps out in surrender. “I did want you to watch me.”
“Thought so.” Dick doesn’t address the other things Slade said, and thankfully, Slade doesn’t press it. He just picks up his pace, hitting Dick in the same spot again and again. With Slade holding Dick’s hands away, and Dick on his knees straddling Jason, he can’t get any friction. Jason is starting to stir already, and Dick wishes he’d just wake up so he could—
“Did you ever want to fuck your brother before this?” Slade asks, interrupting his thoughts.
“No,” Dick says, a little too forceful. Not sure if this one is a half-truth. “And stop calling him my brother, that’s—that’s—” He wouldn’t have a problem with it in any other context, would even have called Jason that himself if given the chance. But he doesn’t want to think about that now, how filthy and wrong it is, how it makes him feel even dizzier than he already does.
Jason stirs again. When he wakes, will he still be under the effects of the pollen? Dick has no idea how long it’s supposed to last. Shit, he doesn’t want Jason to see him like this, desperate and needy and… and completely sober.
Of course, that’s when Slade decides to reach around.
“Slade, don’t,” he gasps out.
“I told you not to lie to me.” Slade twists his hand. It’s cruel how good it feels. “Sorry.“ But he doesn’t sound sorry at all, twisting his hand one more time.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dick says, like a prayer, and comes all over Jason’s sleeping body.
Even through the white-hot burn of his orgasm he can’t tear his eyes away from Jason. His eyelashes dark and starting to flutter open, his lips pink and parted, Dick’s come splattered on his chest and jaw. Slade seems to share the sentiment. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. And then, one hand in Dick’s hair, he pushes Dick’s head down into Jason’s chest and rubs his face in it.
A moan rips out of Dick’s mouth like it’s been snatched from him at gunpoint. The humiliation of it is almost too much to bear, and yet bearing it is all he can do. Slade’s thrusting drags Dick’s face back and forth through the mess he’s made.
“Dickiebird,” Jason murmurs sleepily above him. Dick shuts his eyes. He’d rather stay down here forever, come sticky on his cheek and in his hair, than have to look Jason in the eye like this. God, he’s going to have to look Jason in the eye like this.
A hand comes up to touch his face. “C’mon, Dickie.” That light touch, that soft voice that Dick hasn’t heard from Jason in god knows how long—all Dick can think about is the contrast between that gentleness and how utterly obscene he must look, feeling every inch the whore Slade said he was.
Steeling himself, he cracks one tentative eye open. Jason’s pupils are, blessedly, still dilated to the point that Dick can hardly see any iris.
“’Morning,” Slade greets. Jason blinks up at him in a semiconscious daze. “Had some fun without you, hope you don’t mind. Want to help clean up?” Slade stops thrusting, pulls Dick’s head back again. Jason’s eyes travel down to the sticky mess coating himself, coating Dick’s face.
“Mmhmm,” is all Jason says, voice husky. Fuck.
He scoops some of Dick’s come off his chest with one finger and, keeping his eyes locked on Dick’s, brings it to his mouth and swirls his tongue over it. It’s the lewdest fucking display. It’s the hottest thing Dick has ever seen.
There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing, Dick thinks desperately. Jason shouldn’t have the brainpower right now to tease like this, should he? You can’t think about what other people would want when you’re under the effects of Ivy’s pollen. All you can think about is what you want, what you need.
The only other option is that Jason isn’t doing it for his benefit. That laving his tongue over his finger, wet with Dick’s come, simply is what he wants right now.
Dick can feel himself hardening again. There must be a contact high effect to the pollen that he doesn’t know about; he makes a furious mental note to study its effects once he’s out of here.
Jason is still running his tongue over his come-slicked finger.
“My god, Jason,” Dick moans.
Jason’s small smile is almost mischievous. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing! Dick’s brain yells again. Jason wipes some of the come off Dick’s cheek and sticks his finger inside Dick’s mouth, this time. Dick swallows it down without hesitation.
“Little slut,” Slade teases. “He’s been dosed. What’s your excuse?” he asks, voicing the question Dick has been trying not to ask himself for the last half hour.
Jason’s eyes find Slade’s behind him. They must share some silent communication, because they move almost in tandem: Jason removes his finger from Dick’s mouth as Slade lowers Dick’s head, letting Jason capture his mouth in a wet kiss.
Slade begins thrusting again, slower now, like he wants to make this last. How powerless Dick feels right now. At the mercy of Slade, still pinning his arms back, still holding his head down; at the mercy of Jason’s tongue inside his mouth, licking out the come he’d just deposited there. And now, at the mercy of Jason’s hand, which has come up to rest against his hips, helping Slade keep him in place as he pumps into Dick’s ass.
“Good boy,” Slade says. Dick isn’t entirely sure who the praise is for, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Jason, who sighs contentedly underneath him.
When this is over, that will probably be the thing that grates on Jason the most. Dick will need to pull himself together, will need to be there for him as he sobers up. But for now, with Jason’s feverishly hot hand grabbing Dick’s cock and pulling it against his own—that sound like a problem for future Dick.
‡
Slade is smoking a cigar when Dick comes out of the shower. Still mostly unclothed, feet up on the coffee table. The very picture of post-coital bliss.
Jason is out again, this time likely for good. Slade is the one who had to carry him to the bed, what with Dick’s legs quivering so much they hardly worked. Dick certainly won’t be telling Jason about that when he wakes up, one thing’s for sure.
Dick gingerly takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, eyeing the cup of tea on the table suspiciously.
“Relax. If I wanted to drug you, I already would have.” Sound logic; Dick reaches out and takes a sip. Chamomile. “Besides, I clearly didn’t need to,” Slade raises a suggestive eyebrow.
Dick glares daggers at him, but he doesn’t have the energy to make it look convincing. “If you think tonight means that this is gonna happen again, you’re mistaken.”
Slade shrugs. “What’s stopping me from just chaining you up in that bedroom and keeping you as my own personal fucktoy?”
Dick chokes on his tea. Slade looks smug.
“You couldn’t keep me here if you tried and we both know it,” Dick points out once he’s cleared his throat.
“Yeah, well.” Slade flashes a smile, wicked and unfairly attractive. “More fun when I get to chase you down anyways.”
The flush on Dick’s face is definitely just the heat from the steaming mug in his hands.
Slade stretches lazily, pulls on his discarded t-shirt. “Seeing as this safehouse is compromised now, keep it. I’m going to head out.”
Even in his exhausted state, Dick registers that Slade only considered it compromised after Jason had seen it. He’d kept it after the first time he took Dick here, even kept monitoring its security system.
Dick perks up. “Well… say I changed my mind and did want this to happen again. Any other safehouses in the area I could find you at?”
Slade huffs out a laugh, seeing through him immediately. “Don’t push your luck, kid. I know where to find you.” He starts lacing up his boots.
In this almost-domestic afterglow it’s easy to convince himself that Slade is doing him a kindness, despite it all. Letting Jason sleep the night here instead of kicking the two of them out the second he’d finished with them. Leaving when he could just as easily further press his advantage against a defenseless Jason and a worn-down Dick. It makes it all the harder to convince himself that this won’t happen again.
“Don’t expect anything when you find me,” Dick says, but it feels like a lie even to himself.
Slade lingers at the door, half-turned towards Dick, and for the briefest moment Dick wonders what the look on his face would be if he asked him to stay.
“Give your brother my regards,” Slade says, and the moment slips away.
God, that is not a conversation he is excited to have in the morning.