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Slade doesn't like taking jobs that involve Black Mask in any capacity. In his professional opinion, the man is too unpredictable, violent, and, quite frankly, unpleasant to deal with. Contracts that involve disrupting Black Mask's operations aren't much better; Slade knows well how Black Mask holds grudges.
The only reason he's on this current job of extracting sensitive data from Black Mask's servers is because the client offered a ludicrous amount of money for him to do it. Two million dollars, sixty percent up front. How could Slade refuse a deal like that?
Well, he's reminded how he could possibly refuse a deal like that as he's currently pinned down behind a metal shipping container with hostiles approaching from either side. That's another thing Slade hates about Black Mask's operations: they're usually very heavily guarded.
A thumb drive containing the stolen data sits safely in a pocket of Slade's utility belt. All Slade has to do now is leave the building, which is proving to be a little difficult at the moment.
He listens intently where he's crouched behind the shipping crate, hearing four sets of footsteps drawing closer to his position. They don't know he's here yet, but they will soon. There's twelve armed men in the room and zero chance that Slade can sneak past all of them without being spotted.
They patrol in pairs, which makes things simultaneously way easier and way more difficult for Deathstroke. His strategizing is cut short, however, when both pairs of guards on either side of the shipping container turn the corner and he comes into their line of sight.
He throws down a flashbang and jumps onto the top of the shipping container. He rolls off one side and comes up behind one pair of now disoriented guards, grabbing his bo staff from his back and expanding it. He takes both of the guards into a chokehold with the staff and promptly snaps both of their necks with a jerk of the staff backwards.
The other two are shooting blindly at the spot where Deathstroke detonated the flash grenade. Their sloppy, desperate shots make it easy for him to deflect the bullets with his staff as he approaches head-on. He grabs one of the thugs by the arm and throws him into the other, causing both to crash to the ground. He makes sure they stay down with a stomp to the head of one that causes the skull to cave beneath his foot and an equally forceful blow with the end of his staff to the other's head.
Deathstroke works quickly now that the attention of the eight other thugs is on him. He ducks behind a concrete support pillar and grabs a frag grenade from his utility belt. He lifts his mask just above his mouth with the hand holding the grenade and takes the pin out with his teeth before tossing it at the three guys running at him with their guns drawn and then ducking back behind the pillar. He hears them panic and scramble to get out of the blast radius, only for their screams to be cut short by the sound of an explosion.
He unholsters a pistol strapped to his thigh and the next three men that enter his sightline are met with a bullet to the head—one shatters a man's jaw, one directly pierces another's eye like a bullseye, the third hits a guard square in the center of his forehead—and drop immediately.
For the last two men, Deathstroke abandons his cover. He shoots one of them in the shoulder, curses, and readjusts his aim. As he does that, the other flanks him and manages to land three shots. Two ricochet off of his chest armor, the third buries itself into his side just beneath his armpit, where there's a gap in his armor.
Deathstroke switches his attention for a second, dropping his bo staff and using his freed hand to unsheathe a throwing knife and launch it at the guard who just shot him. It embeds itself into his neck, and the man starts to choke on his own blood. Deathstroke turns back to the one he shot in the shoulder before and finishes him off with another shot to the head.
When Slade bends over to pick up his discarded bo staff, he grunts with discomfort, reminded of the bullet he took in the side. He lifts his arm to inspect the damage, but the wound is already healing itself. The muscle spits out the intrusion and starts to knit itself back together.
Satisfied, he turns his attention away from the injury and looks for the door out of the room. When he exits, he stalks back through the dimly lit hallway that he came in through. There are several doors on either side of the hallway, none of which Slade had paid any mind to when he entered. He's hypervigilant as he makes his way down the hall, staying aware in case his fight in the other room tripped any alarms.
The careful attention he pays to his surroundings is probably why he ends up noticing the noises coming from one of the doors in the first place. They're barely audible, even with his enhanced hearing. Slade can hear laughing, the sound of fists or some other blunt object meeting skin, and faint grunts and moans of pain.
Slade wouldn't normally stick his nose into business that isn't his, not if he's not being paid to do so, but he's curious as to who Sionis could possibly be holding here.
Screw it.
He pushes open the door and it takes him to another hallway. Said hall leads to an entirely separate wing of the building he's in. He follows the noises until he comes to a door with a rectangle glass window. From here, he can clearly hear the conversation that Black Mask's thugs are having through the door.
"Aw man. He passed out."
"Go get a bucket of water, then. Wake him up."
"I don't think it works like that..."
"Shut the hell up. I ain't done with him yet. Boss won't let us have any more fun with him once he comes to collect him, so either you wake him up or I start beating you up instead."
Slade looks through the window to see who they're talking about. There are four thugs in the room, each with their back turned to the door. They're facing a captive with his hands chained above his head, attached to a hook on the ceiling in the center of the room. His head is slumped between his shoulders so his chin is touching his chest. From the angle, Slade can tell he had a domino mask on.
Even without the signature red helmet, Slade knows its Red Hood by the red bat symbol on his chest. The surprise Slade feels is quickly overtaken by a feeling of exasperation. This is going to become his responsibility.
Dick is never going to forgive Slade if he learns that he had a chance to save his little brother and didn't, which is one reason he starts to form a half-baked rescue plan in his mind. The main reason, however, is that it's always convenient to have a bat owe him a favor.
It's that thought that has him smashing the glass window and dropping each of the four thugs with a bullet before they have a chance to react. He reaches through the shattered window and unlocks the door for himself to let himself in.
As Slade crosses the room, he spots Red Hood's helmet laying on its side on the floor a couple feet away from its owner, like someone had carelessly thrown it down. Red Hood is unconscious, like the thug had said, slumped where he's strung up by the arms. Slade assesses his condition with one long look, and gets an idea of what he's working with here.
The skin around one of his eyes is so black that Slade is certain it would be swollen shut even if he was conscious and had his eyes open. There are several cuts across his face and neck, some looking like they came from a sharp blade, others like they were the result of an impact from a hand with rings on it. The ugliest looking injury is one Slade can't fully see. Red Hood's kevlar armor is torn halfway down his abdomen on his left side, and the fabric that clings around the star-shaped hole is soaked and almost black with blood.
Slade sighs. He'll have to get a closer look at that at some point. For now, though, his priority is to get the two of them out of there without any further injury to the wounded vigilante.
He takes a small pair of bolt cutters from a pouch on his utility belt and makes quick work of the chains attached to Jason's wrists, not bothering to go looking for a key. Slade takes care to support the weight of the unconscious man as his arms no longer suspend him. Slade's first instinct is to hoist the slightly smaller man over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, but he quickly remembers the bullet wound in Jason's side, and he knows that that would only make it worse. Instead, he opts for a bridal carry, with Jason's uninjured side closer to Slade's own abdomen and the injured one facing away from him.
From there, it's a pretty speedy escape. Slade killed most of the guards on his way in or on his way out before he picked up Red Hood, so he doesn't have to be particularly sneaky to avoid being caught as he leaves with Red Hood in his arms. The trip to Slade's Gotham safehouse is also a quick one, with a small pitstop at the drop point for the thumb drive with the data he was hired to steal on it.
When he gets back to the apartment he calls home while in Gotham, he carefully deposits Jason on the bed in the master bedroom before walking to the bathroom to dig under the sink for the medkit he keeps there. It's well stocked; it's rare that Slade ever has to use it, but he keeps it in case something like this happens or if he has a particularly nasty wound that he wants to make sure heals properly.
He lays the medkit next to Jason on the bed and pulls out a suturing kit, rubbing alcohol, gauze, medical tape, antibacterial cream, forceps, and medical shears. Using the shears, he cuts open the padded suit Jason wears starting from the tear caused by the bullet. His intention is just to expose the skin around the wound, but the more he reveals, the more he realizes is discolored from bruising. He assumes the kid must have a broken rib or two. To ease his access, Slade cuts the whole top off and drops it to the floor.
When he gets a good look at Jason's bruised abdomen, he presses his mouth into a tight line, considering. He gets up and walks to the kitchen, where he grabs an icepack from the freezer, a towel from a cabinet, and a bottle of the strongest painkillers he owns. He puts the three items off to the side for later.
For now, he focuses on the bullet wound on Jason's abdomen. He soaks a piece of gauze with rubbing alcohol and disinfects the whole area, including the wound itself, before he grabs the medical forceps and inserts them into the hole. He listens to Jason's breathing carefully as he works. Jason makes a pained noise when the forceps reach and brush against the bullet inside him, but he's still completely out.
Slade grabs the bullet with the forceps and very carefully pulls it out. Thankfully the padding of Jason's suit stopped it from penetrating too far, and it's near the surface. That means both that Slade doesn't have to pull it too far, and that it should've missed any organs.
Once the bullet is entirely out of Jason's body, Slade drops it onto the nightstand with a soft plink and then lets out the breath he had been holding as he concentrated. He doesn't waste any time starting with the stitches, poking the needle through the torn skin at the edge of the wound and pulling the suture through. He carefully knits the skin of Jason's abdomen back together, mindful of the pained reactions of the unconscious man—a whimper or groan of discomfort here or there when the needle passes through flesh—and working as swiftly as possible without causing more damage.
When Slade is satisfied with his work, he cuts the thread and ties off the stitches before spreading some antibacterial cream all over the area to prevent any infection from taking hold. Only then does he cover it entirely with gauze and secure it with medical tape to let the wound begin its own healing process. Afterwards, he steps back and admires his work with a grin; for someone who doesn't have to patch himself up very often, he does a pretty good job of it.
As Slade's gaze wanders over the rest of the kid's torso a bit appraisingly, he's reminded of the severe bruising just below his left pectoral. There's bruising elsewhere—almost all over his entire body, in fact—but the worst of it is in that spot, and that's likely where he's broken a rib if he's broken a rib. Slade sighs and takes the icepack he brought over to wrap it in the towel. He places it over the dark purple, almost black bruise and affixes it with some medical tape.
From there, Slade mostly works on sanitizing smaller cuts he notices all over Jason's body and bandaging the ones that need it. After a certain point, Slade knows the best medicine from there is rest. And food, he remembers belatedly.
He heads to the kitchen to see what he has in terms of things to eat. Slade doesn't keep this safehouse well-stocked with food, but he finds a couple of protein bars and a bunch of bananas that aren't too brown. He breaks off two bananas from the bunch—one for himself, one for the kid—and takes two protein bars, as well as grabs a glass from a cabinet and fills it with water before walking back to the bedroom, where Jason is still out cold.
He sets down the protein bars, one banana, and the glass of water down on the nightstand next to where he left the painkillers and the bullet, then takes the other banana and a book from the shelf in the room and sits down in the armchair that sits in the corner of the room facing the bed. Then he waits.
It takes hours before Slade hears Jason's breathing pattern change, signaling the fact that he's awake. Slade doesn't look up from his book and decides not to say anything, letting the kid come back to consciousness on his own terms. His attention is more on Jason now than the book, though; his ears are perked and listening to every tiny shuffle coming from the bed.
Jason is unnaturally still for a couple of moments after reawakening. He pretends that he's still sleeping even as Slade knows he's awake. Slade realizes he's taking stock of his surroundings. Smart kid. The bat taught him better than to wake up with too much noise.
Jason's ocean-blue eyes flutter open once he's assessed his situation the best he can without any visual stimuli. He looks confused that he's patched up and laying on a comfortable bed. After blinking a couple of times, probably to convince himself that he isn't seeing things, Jason's gaze finds the corner of the room where Slade is seated.
"Good morning," Slade teases, finally, lazily moving his eye from the pages of his book to Jason on the bed.
Jason shifts to prop himself up on his elbows and groans as the movement disturbs one of his many wounds. He doesn't respond to Slade's teasing, just asks, "Was this you?" gesturing to his bandaged body with a nod.
"It was," Slade confirms. "I found you strung up in one of Black Mask's operations while on a job. I was feeling merciful."
Jason scoffs and Slade follows the motion of his Adam's apple that it creates. "I know you. You don't do mercy. You want something in return."
"Maybe," Slade hums with a smirk. "Eat something before you pass out again."
Jason glances at the food and the painkillers left on the nightstand but doesn't move to ingest either right away. Slade can see the cogs turning in his head, assessing if Slade would bother drugging him or not. After a few seconds of Jason's consideration, Slade tells him, "I'd offer to try them before you, but—"
"Enhanced immune system, I know," Jason cuts him off. That seems to be enough for him to decide to trust Slade, though, and he grabs the bottle of painkillers a second later. As he unscrews the cap, he asks, "What's the dosage on these?"
"I take six when I need them," Slade answers, "so one, probably."
Jason makes a small noise of amusement and shakes his head as he pours two pills onto his open palm and throws them into his mouth before washing them down with the water on the nightstand. When Slade raises a white eyebrow at him, Jason shrugs and simply says, "Lazarus side effects."
Jason grabs one of the protein bars next and rips the foil packaging hastily. He takes a bite, grimaces at the chalky taste of the protein, then continues to eat the rest of it in three hungry bites. Slade suppresses the amused quirk of his lip at Jason's wolf-like appetite.
Curiosity gets the better of Slade, so once Jason's mouth isn't full, he asks, "How did you even get into that situation? I thought the bat taught you better than getting shot."
"I wasn't planning on getting shot, asshole," Jason snaps indignantly, already reaching for the second protein bar. "I was doing recon. It was supposed to be a stealth mission."
"That went well," Slade smugly comments.
"Shut up," is the irritated reply he gets. He doesn't miss how Jason's cheeks go a little pink with embarrassment, though. Cute. "I tripped an alarm while hacking into the data terminal. I wasn't prepared to be overwhelmed by the amount of thugs that came running; I keep my arsenal light on stealth missions."
"Sounds like poor planning on your part," Slade provokes.
Jason shoots him a glare but refrains from responding while he chews his food. Slade finds the intensity of the anger in those blue eyes unreasonably attractive. "Guess I'll bring a bazooka next time," he spits sarcastically once he's done chewing.
Slade snorts at the comment but doesn't tease Jason any further. His attention returns to the book that never left his hands. Jason's eyes drop from his face to the book and then back to the bandages covering his own body. He seems to put them out of his mind for a few minutes as he grabs the banana and eats it, but his attention returns to the bandages once he's done eating entirely.
"I don't like owing favors," Jason says, picking at the edge of one of the bandages as he talks. "How much do I owe you for the rescue and patch job? Name your price."
Slade does. Jason gawks.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Rescue missions aren't my MO. That's the amount I'd charge anyone else," Slade explains evenly, placing the book in his hands on the table next to his armchair.
"You know I don't have that kind of money," Jason protests.
"Your daddy's a billionaire, I'm sure you can ask him for the money," Slade shrugs.
The kid lets out a humorless laugh. "Real funny." He puffs out a sigh, and Slade can tell he's mentally grasping at straws. "There has to be something else you want," Jason almost pleads.
Slade smirks and slowly trails his icy gaze from Jason's own eyes down his body and then back up to his face. "I can think of a few things."
Jason's cheeks go bright red. "You're a fucking perv." It's not an immediate no, which is more than Slade was expecting.
Slade doesn't deny it, just shrugs. "It's that or you can owe me one. Your choice."
The kid is quiet for a minute. He lifts an arm to scrub his hand over his face as he considers the offer. Eventually, he takes a deep breath and says, "Fine."
Slade's smile grows wider and he stands from his chair, beginning to stalk towards Jason on the bed like a predator would its prey. "'Fine,' what?"
The blush on Jason's cheeks spreads even further to the tips of his ears as he sits up properly so his back is against the headboard. He buries his face in his hands in mortification. "Don't make me say it," he mumbles.
When Slade reaches the edge of the bed, he slowly climbs over Jason and situates himself so that one of his knees is planted between Jason's legs, not quite rubbing against his crotch yet. He grabs both of Jason's wrists in one hand and pulls his hands away from his face while he grabs Jason's hair with the other hand and forces him to crane his head up to look at Slade looming over him. "You're not in a position to make demands here, boy. Do you want to pay off your debt or not?"
The look in Jason's eyes is one of pure hatred, but he only huffs and says, "Fine, I'll have sex with you."
"Good boy," Slade purrs, leaning closer to smash their lips together in a hungry kiss. He doesn't miss how Jason's eyebrows shoot up and he goes a little pliant under him at the praise. Slade files that away in his mental file of the kid for later.
The kiss is hurried and messy. Slade doesn't waste much time before pressing his tongue between the seam of their lips, and Jason opens up for him easily enough. He explores the other's mouth with his tongue almost feverishly, and their teeth clack together several times with the intensity of it. Slade's knee comes up further as they kiss to press and grind against Jason's crotch, and Jason's breaths start to come shorter as arousal takes hold.
Slade allows Jason to break the kiss to catch his breath, and releases his grip on his wrists and hair. He moves on to Jason's neck, nibbling and sucking little marks here and there. Jason makes small, throaty noises at the feeling of Slade's lips, teeth, and beard against his neck and jaw. Slade finds one very sensitive patch of skin just beneath Jason's ear that he bites before sucking a deep bruise into, which makes Jason whine.
"Sensitive," Slade hums when he pulls away to admire his work.
"Shut up."
Slade does, going back to marking up Jason's neck and listening to the tiny noises it earns him. His hands travel down Jason's torso, careful to avoid any bandaged wounds or only apply very gentle pressure. Jason shudders beneath him at the combined sensations of the fingers skittering over his abs and the mouth on his neck. Slade's hands find Jason's ass and squeeze firmly before reaching for his waistband.
Jason goes stiff beneath him and suddenly says, "Wait." When Slade doesn't, his hands come up to Slade's chest to push him firmly. "I said wait, damn it. Just hold on."
Slade's hands retract from his waistband and his eye lazily trails up to meet Jason's as he pulls away from his neck as well. "What? Nervous already?"
"No, it's not that. It's just— Uh..." Jason stammers, looking for the words. "There's— Uhm— There's something you should know before we... Y'know..."
Slade raises an eyebrow, looking at Jason critically. "You're not about to tell me you're a virgin."
The flush on Jason's face goes from cherry red to beet red. "No. God, no. It's— Uh. I don't— I don't have a penis."
Slade levels him with a blank stare before asking, "Did you lose it or something?" He watches the embarrassment on Jason's face grow even deeper—if that's even possible—and can practically see the gears turning in Jason's head as he struggles to determine how to possibly explain his situation to Slade.
"I— Uhm.."
"Relax, kid," Slade tells him, placing a light kiss on his collar bone. "I'm fucking with you. I know."
Jason just stares at him with those deep blue eyes for a couple of seconds before repeating him, "You... know?"
Slade's hands wrap around Jason's sides, just under his armpits, and his thumbs brush back and forth over Jason's top surgery scars. "I had a couple of hints." As if to make it obvious, he leans down to kiss both scars, one at a time. Jason whimpers a little bit at that, the skin there sensitive. "I don't care, if that's what you're worried about. Sex is sex."
"Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page." Jason let's a relieved sigh anyways, and Slade suspects that he had more anxiety about it than he wanted to let on.
While Slade has his face close to Jason's pecs, he decides to take one of his nipples into his mouth and suck hard on it. Jason makes a small noise that gets caught in his throat, but reaches with one hand to grab Slade by the hair and pull his mouth away. "I don't have much, ah— sensation there anymore," he explains. "As fucking hot as that looks."
Instead, Jason guides his head down towards his navel, encourages him to kiss and nip there, and he tips his head back and groans at the tingly sensation that goes straight to his cock at that. Slade happily buries his face into Jason's happy trail, sucking marks into his skin and smiling at the minute movements of Jason's hips as he twitches at the attention.
Slade reaches for the waistband of Jason's tactical pants again, and Jason doesn't stop him this time. He takes that as permission to slip them off along with his underwear. When he has them halfway down Jason's legs, he decides to adjust their position, encouraging Jason to slip further down the bed so he's propped up on his elbows like before. Jason lifts his legs to help Slade take his pants off, but tsks when Slade carelessly tosses them over his shoulder.
"Fold them," he demands when Slade looks at him with confusion.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, fold the pants," Jason repeats.
"This is the hill you're going to die on?" Slade asks incredulously.
"It's going to bother me the whole time."
Slade sighs and shakes his head in disbelief as he leaves the bed to do just that. "Pushy," he mutters more to himself. While he's at it, he takes the opportunity to take his own clothes off, folding them and placing them down with Jason's. When he turns back to the bed, Jason is staring at him, mouth agape, practically drooling. "Like what you see?" he teases.
That seems to snap Jason out of his haze. "Fuck off," he bites.
"Come on," Slade goads, smiling wide, "You think I'm attractive."
"For an old man, maybe," Jason snarks. But if the flush spreading to Jason's chest as Slade walks over—subtly flexing—is any indication, he definitely does. Slade considers that Jason probably doesn't often meet people bigger than him.
Slade climbs over Jason on the bed again and takes a second to appreciate how that makes Jason's heart rate audibly pick up. He grabs one of the pillows at the headboard and lifts Jason's hips to prop them up with the pillow. He nuzzles the inside of one of Jason's thighs before nipping lightly. Jason whines and squirms beneath him, which makes Slade's already half-hard cock twitch with interest.
"I'm going to eat you out until you cry," he speaks into Jason's skin. He immediately surges forward to take Jason's engorged clit into his mouth and sucks it. Jason moans above him, his hands flying to the back of Slade's head and grabbing tight fistfuls of white hair. Slade chuckles while still swirling his tongue around Jason's clit, which makes him shiver and moan again.
"Fuck, Slade. Feels good," Jason says, tugging on his hair a bit, motivating him to keep going. Slade does, continuing to lap and suck at Jason's cock, running his tongue flat across the bottom from base to tip every so often before taking him in his mouth entirely and sucking so intensely it's like he's trying to milk it for something.
Jason is panting and moaning when Slade pulls away and places a delicate kiss to the tip of his clit before moving on to his hole. He licks a broad stripe from his pussy to his clit a couple of times, dragging his tongue through his folds and tasting the wetness that's starting to accumulate. His hands come up to hold Jason's legs beneath his knees and spread them nice and wide for him.
Once he deems Jason wet enough, he delves his tongue into his cunt and starts to eat him out in earnest. Jason writhes beneath him, makes a sound like he's been punched, and starts moaning enthusiastically as Slade laps at his insides like a man starved. "Fuck! Shit— Slade! Oh my god, don't stop! Fuck!"
Slade's nose—buried in the black curls of Jason's pubes—rubs and bumps against Jason's clit as he eats him out, making Jason cry out with pleasure. Occasionally Slade will pull back, lock his lips on Jason's hole, and plunge his tongue back in a twisted parody of a kiss that has fire building inside Jason's gut. When Slade returns his attention to Jason's cock, his face is messy with Jason's slick, his beard soaked, and a thin line of a mixture of slick and saliva attaches his mouth to Jason's hole.
It's a filthy image, but Jason is even more so, shaking and panting where he lays on the bed. A thin layer of sweat sheens on his abs, rhythmically flexing and unflexing as Jason tries to control himself. His hands alternate between pulling Slade's hair and just scratching his scalp when his fingers go too numb, which makes Slade purr from between his legs.
When Slade pulls away to sit up and start to rummage through the nightstand drawer with one hand, he's panting a bit. He pushes past the pistol he keeps in the drawer for the sake of his own paranoia and grabs a bottle of lube and a condom. He leaves the condom in its foil package and sets it aside for later.
Slade's other hand leaves its position beneath Jason's knee for a moment as he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers, then returns slightly slick when he's coated his fingers sufficiently. Slade continues to lick and suck Jason's clit as one of his fingers prods at Jason's hole and starts to slowly press in. He can't tell if Jason's shiver is because of the stimulation from two spots or if it's because of the chilly temperature of the lube.
Slade eases his finger in with zero hurry, pausing with any noise of discomfort that Jason makes. Most of the noises coming from Jason are those of pleasure, though, as Slade closes his lips around Jason's cock and sucks hard. When his entire finger is inside, he crooks it and twists, searching. "Fuck! There! Guh~ God, Slade— Right there!" Bingo.
He continues to rub at and massage that spot until he deems Jason ready for another finger. He pulls the first out and then presses at his entrance with two until Jason relaxes enough to take them. He eases them in just as slowly as the first, and then scissors his fingers once Jason's taken them down to the knuckles. "Ngh... Hah.. Fuck, f-feels good." Slade wasn't expecting the kid to be this vocal, but it's a pleasant surprise. When he chances a glance up at Jason's face, he finds it so red he looks like he could be having a heatstroke.
By the time Slade adds a third finger, Jason is whimpering and crying beneath him, torn between thrusting up into Slade's mouth and thrusting back into his fingers. It's not long after the third is fully in that Jason warns, "Close! Fuck— I'm close! Stop! Fuh— Fuhn~ 'M gonna—"
Slade doesn't listen, continuing to finger and suck Jason off until he starts shaking violently above him, cunt clenching and unclenching around Slade's fingers in a vise grip. "Oh my god! Yes! Fuck! Daddy!"
The kid goes stock-still beneath him mid-orgasm as he realizes what he just blurted out, like he was splashed with a bucket of ice-cold water. Slade smirks from between his legs, unlatching his lips from Jason's clit and resting his head on Jason's thigh like a pillow as he looks up at him. Jason covers his face with one head and tips his head back with sheer mortification.
"There's something entirely fucked up with me," Jason mumbles as he gradually relaxes.
Slade climbs up the bed so he's face to face with Jason, and the hand that he was holding Jason's thigh with comes up to pull his palm away from his face. "I prefer my partners fucked up," Slade says directly into Jason's ear, sending chills down the kid's spine.
"You don't mind?" Jason asks, the pink color returning to his cheeks from the blanched white they turned after his slip-up.
"Does it look like I mind?" Slade returns the question. To prove his point, he slides his hips forward, rubbing his painfully hard and throbbing erection against Jason's stomach.
Jason's face quickly goes from pink to bright red, and he swallows nervously instead of answering. Slade takes a moment to trace the movement of his Adam's apple with his tongue before crashing their lips together and desperately kissing Jason again, letting him taste himself on Slade's tongue. As they kiss, Slade rocks his hips back and forth, dragging his dripping cock across Jason's stomach to relieve some tension, leaving a lingering trail of pre-come in Jason's happy trail.
"Let Daddy take care of you, baby," Slade rumbles when they pull apart. Jason's only response is to flush brighter, look away, and nod.
Slade furrows his brow and grabs Jason by the jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye as his fingers dig into Jason's stubbly chin. "Look at me," he orders firmly. Jason does, for a lack of a better option, and because he's more agreeable as he's still floating on his post-orgasmic high. "I'm going to fuck your pretty little cunt. Daddy's gonna make you feel so good. You want that, baby?"
Jason is halfway through a nod before Slade cuts him off. "Use your words."
Jason hesitates. Then, in a small voice, "Yes."
"Yes, what?" Slade prompts.
"Yes, I want you to fuck me. Make me feel good..." Jason pleads, then his face turns an even darker shade of red before he adds, "..Daddy."
"Good boy," Slade praises, and Jason practically glows at the words. "You like that? Like hearing you're a good boy?"
Jason starts to nod, then remembers that Slade wants to hear a verbal answer. "Yes, Daddy."
"It's true. You're a good boy, Jason," Slade tells him, then kisses him again. Jason moans into his mouth and shakes beneath him, preening at the praise.
When Slade pulls away, he grabs the condom packet and tears it open with his teeth. He sees Jason staring at him with awe and arousal, so he tells him, "I can roll one on with just my mouth, too. If you have a strap, maybe I'll show you one day."
"Oh my god," Jason groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Slade can tell whatever he's picturing in his head is enough to turn him on to another round.
Slade rolls the condom on and pours a generous amount of lube on his hand before stroking himself. He could get off just like this, watching Jason's reactions to his words while masturbating, but he did promise Jason he would fuck him. Maybe another time.
Once his dick is adequately slicked up, he rubs it between Jason's folds teasingly before lining himself up with his pussy and slowly pressing in. After the head has popped in past the rim, Slade lets go of the base of his cock and grabs Jason's hips, throwing his head back as he sinks in inch by painstaking inch. "Feels good, baby. So tight. So tight for Daddy."
Jason moans and grabs the sheets in tight fists as soon as Slade is fully sheathed inside of him. "Mmmh~ Move. Move, please, Daddy."
Slade doesn't keep him waiting. His movement starts as gentle rocking of his hips, back and forth, pulling out a little further each time before pushing back in at a controlled pace. As Jason's moaning and whimpering gets more desperate, however, he loses track of his measured pace and begins to thrust frantically into Jason over and over.
"Fuck! Daddy! Yes! Ssss.. 'S good. Feels so good! Don't stop."
Slade groans as Jason's walls clench down on his dick occasionally without warning, providing glorious friction. As both of them near their climax, one of Slade's hands leaves Jason's hip and presses down on his navel. They both cry out as Slade can feel his cock through the layers of Jason's skin, and the pressure makes Slade rub so nicely against Jason's walls.
"Haahh~ I'm close, Daddy! So close.. 'M gonna..!" Jason is cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, making him shake around Slade and clench down hard. Slade leans forward and bites down hard on Jason's shoulder to muffle the animalistic noise that threatens to escape him as he thrusts several more times and then stills, pumping his release into the condom as he follows Jason over the edge.
When he comes back to himself, they're both still panting, coming down from their highs. Both of them are drenched in sweat, and the inside of Jason's thighs are a mess of slick. Slade makes a mental note to himself to clean the sheets later as he gets off the bed. He takes the condom off and ties it on his way to the bathroom connected to the bedroom.
He throws the condom into the trash and grabs a washcloth from the cabinet beneath the sink. He soaks it with warm water before wiping the sweat off himself, brings it back to the tap to soak it again and wrings it out, and then takes it to the bed where Jason looks entirely boneless and sated. He does a cursory cleanse of the sweat and slick covering Jason's body before pulling the sheets over the kid and tossing the washcloth towards the bathroom, not quite caring where it lands.
Slade climbs under the covers with Jason and spoons him from behind. Jason rumbles sleepily in front of him as he wraps one arm around the kid's chest and the other around his waist. Slade kisses the back of his neck, nuzzling the skin there and sucking one last purple mark onto it.
"We're even," he tells Jason, closing his eyes and beginning to drift off.
He just barely catches Jason's reply, "We'd better be."
When Slade wakes up in the morning, it's because he can sense the change in Jason's heart rate even while unconscious. He stirs at the same time the kid does, stretching wordlessly on the bed as the kid gets up and makes his way towards the bathroom.
"Oh my fucking God, Slade!" he hears Jason shout from the bathroom. "It looks like I got mauled by a damn wolf!"
So he's finally got a look at all the hickeys Slade left. Slade smiles to himself, smugly satisfied. That reaction is all the payment he needs for saving the kid, really.